Lion was thoroughly sick and tired of these bugs.
They were not merely invading; their entire purpose in coming here was to harvest current human genetics and the colossal biomass across all five galaxies.
They had long craved a Primarch's genetic code. If possible, they wished to acquire the genes of the Lord of Iron, the Emperor, and the Perpetuals as well.
The Great Devourer was insatiably greedy—so greedy that the shadow storm it formed in the Warp constantly consumed horrifying daemons and raw warp energy alike.
Not long after the Great Devourer launched its full-scale invasion, Perturabo could already feel a powerful entity competing with him for the domain of Dissolving Greed, and he could tell this enemy was no less dangerous than Chaos itself.
Fortunately, Perturabo maintained a firm grip on his position, leaving no opening for the Great Devourer to exploit.
This did not stop the Great Devourer from ravaging the realspace galaxy, however, as it never relied primarily on the Warp to operate in the first place.
It was fortunate that the Imperium had not allowed the situation to deteriorate to the point of forcing Perturabo to come out of retirement and deploy his iron daemon legions from the Warp; otherwise, the containment on Chaos would have loosened, forcing him and the Emperor to fight Chaos across five galaxies all over again.
That would be no easy campaign. If the Necrons were to trigger a full awakening at the same time, the Imperium would truly be plunged into an unending winter.
This was precisely what disgusted Lion: these bugs simply ate—devouring everything in their path. Their invasion of the galaxy lacked any higher motive beyond pure hunger!
Whenever the Imperium destroyed one of their fleets, all that remained was a ruined, hollowed-out husk devoid of any practical value.
Winning these battles felt fundamentally fruitless for the Imperium because the remnants of the swarm yielded no usable resources.
Setting aside the slight genetic enhancements added to the gene-banks, their concept of infinite evolution meant little. Human technology was steadily advancing; as long as technology kept upgrading, was that not also infinite evolution? What real meaning did it hold?
Could individual biological evolution ever surpass the Primarchs who had now awakened their true essences? Besides, the swarm's evolution required specific environmental catalysts.
At its core, it was not true evolution, but adaptation.
Yet when stripped down to basics, what species lacked adaptation?
Humanity stood at the absolute apex of adaptability, having endured in a mere thirty thousand years catastrophes that other species had not faced in tens of millions of years, rising to the absolute peak of power twice within a few millennia.
With such terrifying developmental efficiency, it was impossible for the swarm not to covet human genetics.
Thus, even if it meant waging war across five galaxies, they were determined to consume human genetic material. The Great Devourer was ravenous, desperate for genetic traits possessing such explosive, immense potential.
High-intensity command had continued on the bridge of the Invincible Reason for twenty-seven straight hours. Abominable Intelligence operators executed commands in silence before their respective consoles, the tactical grids in the holographic projections updating front-line shifts by the second.
A group of veteran Astartes stood nearby as observers, ready to step in if a situation arose that the Abominable Intelligences could not process in time.
Lion stood at the central command platform, his emerald eyes sweeping continuously across live battlefield feeds transmitted simultaneously from five galaxies. His right hand rested on the hilt of the Fealty Sword, his knuckles white from tension, though his breathing remained steady. A Warmaster could not afford to lose his composure.
The first shipment of materiel from Perturabo had arrived nineteen hours ago—a full eleven hours ahead of the thirty-hour estimate Dantioch had promised.
The swarm in the 746-43 system had long been swept away. Perturabo's war gear was simply too formidable; Lion felt as though he had barely flexed his own strength before these troublesome bugs were erased into ash.
Those Necron Tomb Titans were terrifyingly potent. Standing at a colossal height of thirteen hundred meters, no ground-based engine of war could defeat them short of orbital bombardment from capital ships.
They were fitted with two thousand two hundred layers of Void Shields usually reserved for battleships, constructed entirely out of living metal, and capable of self-repairing when damaged.
The Imperium currently deployed very few fleets or assets constructed entirely of living metal due to the sheer technical difficulty involved, which spoke volumes about the sheer power of these Titans.
The vast barrage of Gauss beams and heavy energy blasts they unleashed was enough to disintegrate the swarms in an instant before they could react, leaving not a single atom intact.
Crucially, Necron weaponry could re-harvest those scattered atoms to replenish their energy reserves, ensuring the Titans and their armaments never ran short of power.
Nor did they need to worry about heat overload, as the living metal automatically repaired any internal stress.
This was why most Imperial weapons no longer feared structural overload—Perturabo had designed them with this exact feature in mind long ago.
It could be said that Lion had reclaimed his strategic confidence and command flair through this single battle.
In truth, Lion had been thoroughly shocked when he saw those resources emerge from the Warp.
He had not questioned the logistics at the time, simply watching the massive transport fleet jump directly out of the Warp transit corridor.
The livery on those ships belonged to no known Imperial fleet registry. Their hulls featured lines far sharper than standard Imperial designs, and the dark gray coating across their armor rendered them virtually invisible against the void.
Most notably, Lion's psychic sight could perceive a faint dark mist swirling around the vessels.
Included in the logic engine data package shipped with the fleet was a brief audio message left by Perturabo, explaining that these vessels belonged to his private transport system, bypassing the Imperial logistics network to ensure faster delivery.
In reality, they traveled along a transit line he had physically carved through the Warp—much like the Webway, but significantly faster due to the personal empowerment Perturabo provided.
Such transit routes could not be disclosed to the public, much like Lion's own forest walk teleportation ability, which was known only to a select few. Whenever his elusive figure appeared unexpectedly on the battlefield, it guaranteed a unique experience for his enemies.
More importantly, some of his sons had inherited a portion of this trait. Though not as potent as Lion's, short-range intra-planetary teleportation was entirely within their capability.
This had nearly doubled the operational efficiency of the Dark Angels. Aside from the Emperor and Perturabo, they had never made this ability public, remaining the mysterious and mighty First Legion even after being broken into separate chapters.
Across every galaxy, the swarm's fierce offensives were being systematically dismantled.
The biological tides that had once flooded battlefields were reduced to clouds of organic debris floating in the void under combined strikes from Perturabo's Phase-Annihilation Warheads and triple-array Antimatter Field Generators.
The Tomb Titans then directly absorbed this ambient energy, converting it into high-output attacks that launched the swarm skyward!
The debris was pulverized into atomic clouds once more, forming a closed energy loop.
The wrecks of Bio-Titans floated in orbit like snapped giant trees, their biomass carapaces twisted into bizarre geometric shapes by the force fields, the congealed blue-purple fluids at the severances glowing with a sickly fluorescence under the starlight.
The fact that any residual debris remained on the battlefield was not due to Imperial mercy, but because those fragments had been blasted into space by naval artillery on the ground. Flying too high and too fast, the bugs were blown clear before the Gauss weapons and Perturabo's advanced armaments could finish vaporizing them.
Lion was already redeploying to the next theater of war, where the fighting remained equally intense, as was the case across all other fronts.
Lion was confident that Perturabo had dispatched these high-tech assets across every front line. The bugs would not enjoy their rampage for much longer. Previously, every Imperial victory had come at a Pyrrhic cost.
From this moment on, the instant those bugs touched down on a planet, the Imperium would reduce them directly to atoms—leaving them nothing to feed on!
"Eastern Fleet Group, the third wave of swarm reinforcements is pushing through the remaining defense line at the $\alpha$-87 Star Gate, numbering roughly forty billion. Estimated arrival in thirty minutes," Zabriel's voice reported from the flank command terminal.
"The Sons of Caliban and the Consecrators Chapter have completed preparations for their first salvo. The Psychic Suppression Matrix is fully deployed, awaiting your order."
"Tell the Eastern Fleet Group to let them through. Do not engage at the Star Gate," Lion commanded calmly.
"Once they pass the coverage area of the Psychic Suppression Matrix, execute a pincer cut from the flank using Annihilation Warheads to sever them from following reinforcements, then eliminate them in batches."
Lion's voice was icy and composed. The auditory sensors of every Abominable Intelligence operator on the bridge captured his instructions completely, executing them without delay.
"The swarm's synapse beasts cannot coordinate effectively without a link to their main hive ships. Once information-sharing between their forward and rear echelons is severed, the tactical adaptability of their front-line units drops by at least seventy percent."
"Inform the two Chapter Masters in the chain of command not to launch a reckless frontal assault, nor should they let all the bugs in at once to encircle them. Slaughter them in divided groups."
"Understood, Warmaster."
Zabriel dispatched the orders quickly. The tactical grid in the holographic projection shifted accordingly as the Eastern Fleet Group adjusted its formation.
The prows of those Emperor-class Battleships began turning toward the flanks. The thermal radiation emitted by their macro-cannon arrays during charging caused brief fluctuations in the dark matter sensors across the void.
Lion turned around, looking toward another large holographic projection in the center of the bridge displaying live data from the Western Theater, where command had been temporarily entrusted to Astelan.
This son was quiet, secretive, and perpetually carried an air of heavy preoccupation. Lion could sense that Astelan did not truly trust him; in fact, he trusted no one, owing his loyalty solely to the Emperor.
Yet Lion never doubted his son's capability. Very few veterans of the Unification Wars remained, and Astelan was unquestionably among the most elite of that original cohort.
It was a pity that others had fallen during the earlier Siege of Terra counter-offensives; otherwise, the Dark Angels would be even stronger today.
Astelan's battle reports arrived once every three hours—formatted uniformly, rich in precise data, and completely free of redundant information.
It mirrored the processing style of an Abominable Intelligence, which was simply how Astelan operated.
The latest battle report showed that the main force of the western swarm had lost nearly seventy percent of its combat strength through three consecutive days of grueling attrition warfare.
Astelan was currently organizing an ambush campaign codenamed Anvil, aiming to completely sever the western swarm's retreat routes and annihilate them entirely near the Mephisto Star Cluster.
Satisfied, Lion shifted his gaze to the Southern Theater, commanded jointly by Alajos and Kai.
Alajos was exceptionally cautious—almost to the point of paranoia. He never met the swarm's spearhead head-on, instead threading through gaps in their formations like a razor, precisely severing supply lines, destroying bio-pools to prevent reinforcement, and sniping the synapse creatures directing the swarm.
Kai was different. Lion had assigned him to the southern front specifically to inject a layer of decisive aggression into Alajos's strategy, ensuring ideal tactical opportunities were not wasted.
This arrangement had proven correct. Kai's battle tactics were far more aggressive than Alajos's, and his resolve on the main battlefield accelerated their advance significantly.
The two had reached a seamless operational agreement: one commanded the main battlefield while the other handled special operations and severed the swarm's logistics—a flawless combination.
Over the past three days, the duo had delivered an impressive record: the southern swarm had been compressed back into their initial landing systems, their retreat routes cut off, leaving them trapped in a desperate last stand.
The Northern Theater was Luther's domain, where the situation was considerably more complex. The bugs there had undergone strange mutations after consuming an alien species that had previously occupied the sector, leaving Luther's forces struggling to adapt.
A company of Grey Knights had already been dispatched to assist them. Furthermore, the terrain of the northern sector was unique—filled with dense asteroid belts between planets and dotted with Warp rifts that allowed the swarm to execute repeated short-range jumps, maintaining an elusive distance.
This made it impossible to resolve the northern battlefield quickly, as the bugs operated with cunning agility. Thus, Lion had assigned the sector to the experienced yet aggressive Luther, who possessed his own methods for dealing with such slippery foes—much like how he had once taught Lion to hunt the Great Beasts of Caliban.
Luther had indeed delivered a satisfactory result. Through multiple rounds of pursuit, the northern swarm had exposed clear tactical disarray: their once-tight hive formations were showing gaps, and the command frequencies of their synapse creatures were growing chaotic and hurried.
The Grey Knights were sealing those Warp rifts one by one, while planned ambushes targeted the brain-bugs and synapse bio-ships in deep space. The swarm was showing clear signs of collapse, its momentum nearly broken.
"Zabriel," Lion called out suddenly.
"Warmaster."
"Establish a channel to Corswain."
"At once."
The connection was established within three seconds, and Corswain's holographic projection expanded on the flank of the bridge.
Uncleaned biomass residue still clung to his dark power armor, which gleamed dully under the cold lights of the bridge.
His face was calm, yet the sharp intensity in his eyes—unfaded after days of continuous pursuit behind enemy lines—remained clear.
Corswain had always served as the Lion's sharpest blade. During this campaign, he had been dispatched behind enemy lines, leading his Chapter in precision strikes against the mother ships of the Tyranid fleets.
Superb martial skill paired with technological support enabled him to complete boarding actions against hive ships with remarkable speed.
This was Corswain—First Sword of the Dark Angels, second only to the Legion Champion!
"Father."
"The pincer interdiction on the eastern front has begun," Lion instructed. "The swarm's reinforcements have been sliced into three segments and are being systematically eliminated. Keep your mobile reserve unit on standby. I do not need you on the main battlefield right now; keep your forces ready for a specific task."
"When the eastern swarm routs, their remnants will inevitably flee toward the northern rift clusters. I want you positioned at the exits of those rift clusters ahead of time. However many enter, destroy them all."
Corswain nodded without asking how Lion could be so certain of the swarm's escape route. Certain matters required no questioning—he trusted his father, trusted a Primarch, and trusted the strategic vision of the Imperium's Warmaster.
He studied the holographic map for a few seconds as the Abominable Intelligence marked several target coordinates on the tactical grid.
"I will arrive ahead of their retreat to intercept them."
Lion nodded. He never doubted Corswain—his finest son had never once let him down.