Sanguinius moved as fast as lightning. He charged the enemy formation like a whirlwind, and several afterimages appeared.
His longsword and spear raced across the battlefield and cut down every enemy that entered his sight.
The blade slashed the breastplate of one Terminator; the spear followed and pierced another Terminator's throat.
After felling enemies one after another, he prepared to destroy still more important targets and took flight.
Those pure-white wings spread amid smoke and flame; swirling airflow lifted burning shell casings and rubble.
He soared high and headed for the rebel gunships pouring fire onto the walls and the siege towers advancing toward the high walls.
"For Sanguinius, for the Emperor."
The Blood Angels remaining on the ground roared in unison; the warriors at the front answered by building a wall of shields.
Those clad in crimson power armour stood shoulder to shoulder; the rims of storm shields overlapped one another.
Behind the battlements of the Wall of the Sun, a shield-wall of ceramite and will was raised.
They launched a charge against the Night Lords, still forcing their way through the breaches in the wall.
The dull sound of shields striking rebel power armour drowned out the bombardment heard in the distance.
Datch too was one of the Blood Angels who charged.
The chainsword gripped in his hand roared; the high-speed monomolecular saw-teeth tore to pieces everything that blocked his path.
The Night Lords climbing the city walls were in general wearing Terminator plate.
This composite armour of ceramite and adamantium is several times thicker and heavier than standard power armour and transforms them into walking steel fortresses.
The Night Lords carried heavy shields; on their surfaces ancient runes representing the punishments of Nostramo were carved.
Under the light of gunfire, they emitted a dark-red lustre like congealed blood.
When Datch's chainsword struck one, dazzling sparks flew in an instant, yet he could not tear it; only a few very shallow white marks remained.
"They're all turtles with shields," Datch cursed inwardly and took a grenade from the magnetic lock at his waist.
He flicked the safety pin with his thumb, counted two silently in his hand, then threw it.
The grenade rolled accurately into a gap less than a fist's width between the heavy shield in front and a comrade's shield on the right.
With an ear-splitting roar, the shockwave of the explosion blew the Terminators back; their shields slipped from their hands, rolled through the air, and landed with a dull sound.
Before the smoke cleared, Datch plunged through the breach.
A Night Lord Terminator raised a power claw, intending to tear Datch apart.
However, Datch was faster than the other party; he stepped sideways and evaded the incoming claw.
He raised the chainsword with his right hand; the serrated blade bit into the jaw section of the Terminator helm.
This point is the weakest sealing ring in the entire Terminator armour.
The chainsword punched through the seal-ring, easily slashed the other party's throat, and blood sprayed in an instant.
Raising a groan of pain, the Night Lord collapsed to the ground.
Datch stepped over the enemy's corpse, raised both arms, and shouted.
"For Sanguinius — kill them all. Leave not a single one alive."
This scene greatly stimulated the other Blood Angels.
They roared, charged, punched through the gaps, and headed for the Night Lords.
Like a scorching blade cutting solidified oil, they felled enemies one after another.
While both sides waged fierce combat, the Night Lords' Dreadnoughts appeared.
The heavy combat-engines descended from the transports with heavy footsteps; with every step they crushed rubble and corpses underfoot.
The autocannon mounted on the right arm began to rotate; six barrels spun at high speed and poured a concentrated barrage of shells. The sharp hiss was like a swarm of startled hornets; Blood Angels soldiers charging in a line toward the front were struck.
Even equipped with shields and Terminator armour, it was difficult to withstand such ferocious firepower.
In a mere instant, many of the Blood Angels' descendants, brave to the point of recklessness, were pitifully torn apart and met tragic deaths.
Datch rolled to avoid the bombardment; explosive shells grazed right beside him, struck the wall behind, and blew away a pile of rubble.
While rolling, he took a sticky grenade from his waist and, using the momentum, swung it.
The grenade slipped from his hand and stuck to the Dreadnought's left knee.
The explosion severed the servo-wiring harness of the knee joint.
The Dreadnought's huge body lost balance and tilted to one side. After struggling a few steps, it collapsed with a thud.
At that moment another Dreadnought came forward from behind its own defensive line.
It was decorated with vivid red paint and bore the emblem of the Blood Angels.
"Traitor!!"
The Blood Angels Dreadnought roared as it raced across the battlefield.
An electrified iron fist slammed violently into the Night Lords Dreadnought's armour.
Armour-piercing rounds from the rotary cannon collided at a distance of less than fifty metres with the white-hot beam of a multi-barrel thermal cannon.
Infantry fought one another fiercely in the gaps between the two giant beasts.
"Raldoron, be my enemy!" the Night Lords commander shouted.
It was none other than the Painted Count, Gendor Skraivok.
He could not wait to take Raldoron's head, kill with his own hands the company captain who had been defending the gate, and make everyone know that he was the first to enter the palace.
Horus would surely reward one as brave and fearless as him.
He had already pictured his merits being celebrated with grandeur.
Several Blood Angels tried to stop the Painted Count, yet they were killed by the Count and his black-armoured honour guard.
The sword in Skraivok's hand was no ordinary thing. A daemon possessed it.
That daemon possessed abilities such as interfering with others' perception, increasing combat power, and sharpening the sword's blade.
The daemon-blade gave Skraivok power; he came to hold unbelievable confidence and believe himself the strongest person after the Primarchs.
"Raldoron, come. I will flay you alive and make your skin into a cloak."
Skraivok stood in the centre of a pool of blood. Blood of Blood Angels still dripped from the daemon-blade.
Just as Raldoron was about to step forward, Datch stepped forward first.
"Night Lord, I will be your enemy."
"No one is qualified to be my enemy. No one is qualified to be my enemy." Skraivok did not even glance at Datch and spoke coldly.
Datch ignored the other party's contempt and brought the chainsword down.
His speed was unbelievably fast; the sword lit by gunfire did not merely draw an arc — it appeared simultaneously as multiple afterimages at three points: the left side of Skraivok's head, the inside of the right knee, and the wrist gripping the sword.
"You are courting death!" Skraivok laughed as he retorted.
The daemon-blade moved according to its own will; all three afterimages were knocked aside by the sword.
At the same time, the daemon-blade launched a counterattack at lightning speed.
Thanks to instinct and danger-sense honed in numerous combats, Datch successfully evaded the other party's counter.
Datch's skill was indeed unmatched, yet the daemon-blade brought Skraivok magic and supernatural speed.
Another attack was deflected; the chainsword's serrated blade scraped the daemon-blade; an ear-splitting scream rang out; the recoil numbed Datch's hand.
Skraivok leapt and struck Datch's helm. The impact shattered the goggles to pieces; Datch's face was terribly deformed and became a pitiful sight.
Cheating again!!
Datch staggered several steps backward, spat blood. After recovering his stance, he stared at the sword in Skraivok's hand.
"Damn it, get out of here already. Otherwise, when I enter the Warp, I'll tear you apart alive."
"Is he that insane just because he can't beat me?" Skraivok sneered.
Daemon-blade in hand, he walked slowly toward Datch, holding in his chest the strong resolve to behead the man before his eyes.
The sweet yet evil power vanished from Skraivok's body in an instant.
The daemon dwelling in the blade deliberately severed its connection with the Painted Count.
Skraivok felt the daemon-blade in his hand become heavier than ever and no longer move according to his will as before.
This event plunged the Painted Count into unprecedented terror.
That terror was not fear of death but fear that "the thing I had as the source of my power has abandoned me."
He stared at the Blood Angel before him with eyes wide open.
Clearly, the reason the daemon-blade no longer responded to his commands was related to the man before his eyes.
Who on earth are you?
Datch grinned and said in a mocking tone, "I'm nobody at all. And that little daemon of yours won't help you anymore."
"Now let us duel fairly."
The moment he finished speaking, Datch began a fierce, merciless attack.
Without the supernatural enhancement of the daemon-blade, Skraivok's power dropped sharply.
Datch's chainsword came down without mercy and pressed forward step by step.
Skraivok retreated again and again, yet barely held on thanks to years of combat experience.
Each defensive motion was half a beat slower than the last; he could do nothing but protect himself.
"Black-armoured guard, come protect me!" Skraivok shouted in a voice filled with terror.
"Hold them!" Raldoron roared at the same time.
The Blood Angels roared and mercilessly pinned down the traitors trying to return to their posts.
The black-armoured soldiers' advance suddenly stopped; a fierce struggle unfolded on the walls.
Datch raised the sword overhead and slashed with all his strength. The serrated blade drew an orange-red arc in the flames of the burning walls.
This stroke contained all his power; that tremendous force was enough to cut an ordinary Space Marine in two from head to groin.
Skraivok received the attack with the cursed sword that no longer obeyed him.
The shock of the swords colliding made Datch stagger backward.
His heel struck a fragment of shrapnel protruding from the city brick; he nearly lost his balance.
Datch advanced and launched a continuous attack at lightning speed.
The first stroke came from the left diagonal; Skraivok barely deflected it.
The second sword came horizontally from the right; the other party was forced another step back.
The third sword thrust straight down from the centre; the Painted Count gripped the sword with both hands and barely blocked it.
Skraivok is a Night Lords captain and one of the finest swordsmen among Nostramo's nobility. He has defeated seventeen enemies thus far.
However, Datch is the Player — an existence even the Chaos Gods fear and revere.
Even without the help of various strange methods and props, his basic skill panel has also been upgraded to a very high level.
Datch's attacks grew fiercer and fiercer; the intervals between colliding swords grew shorter and shorter.
The occasional counterattacks Skraivok launched Datch easily evaded with minimal lateral movement.
After the last counter was stopped, Skraivok's daemon-blade flew from his hand.
Datch's chainsword at that instant pierced his breastplate; sparks flew; a high-pitched sound of tearing metal rang out.
The sharp serrated blade punched through the outer armour and tore the thick power armour.
Skraivok collapsed to the ground and struck his head against the brick wall.
Blood sprayed from the penetrating wound in the chest; every time he breathed, pale-red blood-foam sprayed from the visor's breathing grille.
Datch stepped forward, stamped on the wrist gripping Skraivok's sword; Skraivok raised a groan of pain.
He crouched, seized the lower edge of the other party's helm with a gauntlet, and pulled hard.
When the helm's seal-ring was torn off roughly, a very short, sharp scream like a bird being strangled was heard.
Skraivok's face, lit by gunfire, was ash-white; most of the skin was covered in tattoos.
That is a tradition of Nostraman nobility. They take pride in crime.
"Another Nostraman noble? A bastard like you could die a thousand times, and it still wouldn't be enough." Saying that, Datch tossed the helm away carelessly.
"I lost!" Skraivok shouted in a hoarse, desperate voice.
The penetrating wound in the chest caused intense pain every time he spoke.
"I surrender. I am now your prisoner."
"There are no prisoners in this war. The fate of you traitors is complete death." Datch spoke calmly and pressed the high-speed rotating chainsword to Skraivok's throat.
The serrated blade slashed the exposed pale skin where the helm's ceramite seal-ring had connected, punching through armour and flesh.
It passed through the gap between the third and fourth cervical vertebrae and pierced his entire neck from behind.
Skraivok's limbs convulsed violently at once, then completely relaxed.
Datch withdrew the chainsword; the corpse collapsed to the ground.
He straightened his back and looked around.
The battle on the walls was drawing toward its end.
The Night Lords' assault had failed; most of the warriors who had climbed the walls had lost their lives.
Attack craft carrying Night Lords rear-guard units took off one after another, rising in altitude while emitting a sharp, high-pitched sound in overload mode, before the hatches on the lower part of the airframes had fully closed.
On several gunships, Night Lords warriors who had not made it to the engine room in time still hung from the edges of the hatches.
They desperately clung to the cabin-door handrails and kicked their legs uselessly outside the cabin.
When the gunships banked sharply, they were thrown one after another from walls hundreds of metres high.
The drivers abandoned the passengers to save their own lives.
Explosion sounds rang from outside the walls.
Gigantic siege towers were struck by fierce flame and terrible explosions.
Amid explosions and flame, a sharp metallic sound rang from the towers, as if a gigantic tree had been cut at the root and was slowly collapsing into the ruins outside the walls.
That was the Great Angel's doing.
He plunged through the siege towers' breaches, killed every rebel who entered his sight, destroyed the towers' cores, and detonated them.
The units that had climbed the walls were defeated; the siege towers were destroyed; the enemy was forced to withdraw from the high walls and regroup.
Though they had won, every fortress and fort outside the Wall of the Sun had fallen.
Loyalists who could not retreat inside the walls either died in combat or were taken prisoner.
Once the enemy occupied the landing sites, they continuously transported troops to the ground and began relentless siege attacks day after day.
The Death Guard used rotten timber and rusted metal to produce ancient siege engines — catapults and ballistae — driven by slime-covered ropes and tendons.
When these siege engines first appeared in the rebel positions, the defenders almost laughed.
Even if they used these siege engines for ten thousand years, they would never breach the Imperial Palace's high walls.
However, people soon realised these primitive siege engines were not designed to attack city walls.
They projected infected corpses, skeletons filled with toxic slime and sealed with wax, jars full of parasites and flies, and the like.
The projectiles were launched from the catapults and rolled through the air, drawing slow, eerie parabolas.
The speed and mass of the contaminated ammunition were insufficient to trigger the void shields' interception threshold.
There was no value in using heavy guns or volcano cannons to sweep away primitive siege engines.
The defenders could only wait until the enemy came close enough to be swept away with less firepower.
This gave these primitive siege engines the opportunity to launch ammunition and send plague into the heavily fortified palace.
When wax-covered skeletons slammed into city brick, the wax shells shattered; parasites and flies swarmed from the cracks.
Infected corpses scattered along the walls; plague spreading radially diffused through the air.
Many loyalists were laid low by high fever, ulcers, and uncontrollable convulsions.
Meanwhile, the traitors plotted through various evil distortion rituals to weaken the Emperor's power.
Chaos sorcerers and magi who worshipped the gods performed sacrificial rites every night deep in the ruins of rebel-controlled regions.
Captured loyalist soldiers were stripped of armour and bound to altars made of twisted runes.
They had their throats slashed with ritual daggers carved with blasphemous words and dyed the ground beneath the altars with blood.
With every sacrifice offered, the Emperor's golden will protecting the palace weakened little by little.
This made it possible for traitors and daemons blessed by the gods to cross barriers they had not been able to overcome until now and invade the palace grounds.
The enemy also launched a surprise attack on Lion's Gate spaceport. Lion's Gate spaceport is Terra's largest ground-and-rail connection hub. Most spaceships cannot withstand the pull of a gravity well. When they enter the atmosphere, the double pressure of gravity and thrust collapses the hull's structural integrity; keels bend, armour peels away, and the entire ship is blown to pieces.
However, thanks to this magnificent spaceport, cargo loaded on ships can be rapidly transported from orbit to the ground by heavy transports.
This is also one of the methods by which rebels can deploy large-scale forces.
Following the acquisition of landing zones, securing Lion's Gate spaceport is also one of Perturabo's important objectives.
Datch had originally been responsible for defending the city walls. However, due to repeated attacks on Lion's Gate by Perturabo's Iron Warriors and the Death Guard,
Raldoron dispatched him together with a group of Blood Angels to provide support and prevent the enemy from seizing the spaceport.
This spaceport possesses powerful anti-air capability and anti-orbital firepower.
Orbital defence arrays and heavy macro-cannon arrays constantly erupted blazing beams and shells.
Large ships attempting to approach the spaceport would be mercilessly torn to pieces and become blazing wreckage in the void.
However, as the enemy poured into the spaceport one after another, they destroyed many important fire-support points from the inside.
Anti-aircraft positions vanished one by one from the orbital defence network's deployment charts.
Though large spaceships still cannot land at the spaceport, enemy aircraft swarm like a hive of bees.
They continued sending in tens of thousands of Iron Warriors and World Eaters and millions of traitor soldiers and beastmen again and again.
Fierce combat erupted everywhere — unloading platforms, fuel pipelines, control towers, heavy cargo-lifts inside the spaceport.
Every corner of the spaceport became a battlefield; every place was dyed with blood.
Leading Blood Angels Datch conducted mobile warfare and eliminated enemies pouring into the spaceport.
Wherever they went, it became a bloody, cruel slaughterhouse.
However, the enemy's numbers continued to increase.
Airborne troops who succeeded in landing produced new enemies; occupied anti-aircraft positions weakened the spaceport's defensive firepower.
Still more worrying is that the Emperor's power is visibly declining.
That field of pure golden will that once burned Chaos daemons to ash before they touched the palace's outer walls…
Across the entire Terran battlefield, it is becoming increasingly rare.
When combat temporarily quieted, Datch received news.
The Imperial household troops responsible for defending the palace's core sector discovered a daemon prince of Nurgle in an underground sanctuary where the faithful lived.
That daemon had taken over the body of a devout believer of the Emperor and had been lurking with extraordinary skill.
The believers' faith in the Emperor was twisted into faith in Nurgle; as a result, Nurgle's plague constantly invaded the palace and further weakened the Emperor's power.
When Datch, accompanied by Blood Angels, tried to stop traitors attempting to cross an important bridge, he encountered an unexpected enemy.
The Chosen of Khorne, commander of the World Eaters Eighth Company — Khârn.
At this point, Khârn's appearance had changed dramatically from before.
His power armour was covered in countless dried blood and had completely changed to a dark reddish-brown.
The World Eaters emblem painted on the pauldron had been deliberately blurred with blood.
The eight-pointed-star emblem on his chest shone still brighter.
Khârn's helm had been removed and hung at his waist. From there, his face was exposed; that face had been distorted again and again by the Butcher's Nails and Khorne's blessing.
He drooled while continuously shouting words such as "Blood for the Blood God."
Khârn's combat ability is beyond doubt.
Two Blood Angels who blocked his path were instantly torn to pieces by the war-axe gripped in his hand.
Bright-red blood sprayed; severed limbs scattered across the ground.
In a mere few seconds, the ground transformed into a tragic scene too terrible to look at.
Datch wasted no words. With the power sword he had just obtained in hand, he confronted the Chosen of Khorne.
Khârn roared; his flesh forged by Khorne's blessing leapt from the ground with explosive force exceeding a normal Space Marine's physiological limits.
He raised the heavy war-axe overhead and brought it down from on high, putting all his weight and power into it.
Datch received the attack with the sword, yet the impact was as if he had been struck head-on by a Leman Russ tank.
The concrete ground at his feet cracked in a spiderweb; he nearly lost his balance.
The instant he unleashed his force, Khârn's attacks came like a storm, one after another.
Horizontal slash, backhand sweep, blow with the axe-haft from a shoulder-strike, upward flick from a low sweep.
Datch responded calmly, stepped sideways to evade the horizontal chop, leaned back to avoid the backhand sweep, and when the shoulder-blow approached, slid left and recovered his stance.
When Khârn leapt and slashed in the same way again, Datch had grasped the rhythm and rolled sideways.
The tomahawk missed its target, slammed into the concrete, and dug a groove fifty centimetres deep.
Seizing the instant Khârn sheathed the axe, Datch leapt and smashed the left side of Khârn's helm visor with the sword's pommel.
Khârn's helm visor shattered to pieces; the left eye was exposed. That eye had been burned by Khorne's blessing, protruding and bloodshot.
Datch seized the instant Khârn temporarily lost vision on the left due to the broken eyepiece.
The power sword thrust from diagonally below; its tip punched through the seal-ring between breastplate and abdominal armour and left a wound so deep that bone was exposed beneath the other party's left ribs.
Khârn cried out in pain; his war-axe fell to the ground with a dull sound.
Just as Datch withdrew the sword, adjusted the angle, and tried to execute Khârn, the World Eaters around him surged in all at once.
They charged across the concrete ground lit by bombardment, roaring like a pack of war-engines set in motion by a slaughter-order.
Roaring chainswords and war-axes assaulted Datch simultaneously from multiple directions, intending to surround and kill him.
Datch had no choice but to abandon the attempt to finish the enemy and retreat into a defensive posture.
Meanwhile Khârn had already been dragged to the rear of his own force by other World Eaters.
Damn it — Blood God, I've got you.
Once the restrictions are lifted, you'll realise your mistake.
At a glance, Datch understood that the Blood God had intervened in the fight to save his believers.
Shameless, puh…
...
The fall of Lion's Gate spaceport is already an unavoidable fate.
The disparity in strength between the two armies is far too great; it was utterly impossible for the loyalists to hold.
The surviving garrison was forced to withdraw and constantly shrink the defence line in order to buy as much time as possible.
Datch faced the swarming World Eaters head-on and swung the sword again and again, intending to take several more traitors with him before withdrawing.
At that moment the roar of engines rang out.
A giant clad in golden power armour leapt from a Stormbird crossing the sky.
That newcomer was none other than the Primarch of the Imperial Fists, Rogal Dorn.
He wore golden ceramite armour thicker than a Terminator suit and wielded the two-handed chainsword Storm's Teeth, wider than those used by Space Marines.
Every saw-tooth of the sword was the size of Datch's palm and could easily tear tank armour.
His body struck the ground with a dull sound; countless fine cracks remained in the concrete floor.
That unparalleled presence astonished everyone present.
After an instant of surprise, numerous Iron Warriors and World Eaters roared and launched attacks on the Primarch.
They longed for the supreme glory of slaying a Primarch with their own hands.
Dorn's face was hard as stone and showed no emotion whatsoever.
When he swung Storm's Teeth, the rebel front rank was torn to pieces before they could even scream.
Bright-red blood sprayed; broken limbs scattered across the ground; a blood-soaked terrible scene spread.
Incoming bombs and blades bounced weakly off the Primarch's armour.
This finely wrought armour, blessed by the Emperor, never breaks and cannot even leave a slight trace.
However, Dorn's chainsword easily chopped traitor warriors one after another.
He drove through a road of blood, leaving shattered armour dyed with blood and crushed corpses of traitors.
With Dorn's reinforcements, the loyalist line that had been on the verge of collapse held; the situation fell into a deadlock.
Before the loyalists could rejoice, the roar of engines rang again from rebel-controlled territory.
Several Thunderhawk gunships landed on the opposite side of the unloading platform.
When the hatches opened, Perturabo emerged from the cockpit together with iron-ringed automata.
From another Thunderhawk, Abaddon appeared together with a Terminator unit.
From other Thunderhawks, fully armed traitor Astartes appeared.
With their arrival, the scales of war tilted toward the traitor side again.
The two Primarchs confronted each other on the battlefield; everyone expected a duel that would shake heaven and earth.
However, events took an unexpected turn.
A Chaos apostle of the Word Bearers Legion named Alak.
On the battlefield, he chose to sacrifice himself and transformed into an extremely gigantic daemon.
That daemon was more than six metres tall; twisted horns protruded from both sides of the skull; from the back, a pair of fleshy wings born of pure rage spread like flame.
The daemon roared and charged toward Dorn; its claws wrapped in chaotic energy cracked the air.
When Storm's Teeth swung, the weapon Dorn easily cut the daemon in two.
Even Warp-creatures are no match for a Primarch.
However, the next instant the slashed daemon exploded and released an unimaginable quantity of Warp energy.
The terrible shockwave blew Dorn in Primarch form more than ten metres.
The golden power armour carved a deep groove in the concrete ground and slammed with a dull sound into the metal base of a heavy cargo-lift.
Sigismund and Rann of the Imperial Fists raised a shout mixed with anger and panic while throwing punches.
They abandoned the enemy, rushed to the place where the Primarch had fallen, and spared no effort.
"Brother, you are as stupid as ever. Can you not even understand the simplest cutting-edge technique?"
Perturabo spoke in a mocking tone, raised his warhammer, and walked toward the direction where Dorn had fallen.
Datch stepped forward and stood before the Lord of Iron.
"Your opponent is me, Lord of Iron."
"Get lost. I'm not a brainless idiot like Angron."
Perturabo did not even stop; he brought the warhammer down toward Datch just as he was.
When that weapon forged by the Primarch himself came down, a concave air-pressure cone formed around the hammer's tip.
The surrounding air was compressed to the limit, then exploded as a shockwave visible to the naked eye.
Datch had no courage to resist and could only roll sideways to evade.
Boom!!
Perturabo's gigantic hammer slammed into the ground, creating a crater where Datch had been standing, and from there fine cracks spread like a spiderweb.
Seeing Perturabo continue advancing toward Dorn, Datch stood up from the ground and shouted, "Perturabo, your sister was right. You are a coward and a fool."
"You thirst for love yet pretend to despise it. And when you are not loved, you throw a tantrum like a child."
Perturabo stopped and turned toward Datch. His eyes burned with a fierce anger even daemons would fear. "What did you say?"
Datch gripped the sword with both hands and received Perturabo's gaze without fear.
Three sentences for remembering Perturabo. If you want to learn them, type "1". Essential knowledge for anyone who sets foot in the Warhammer world.
"Perturabo, you are a coward. Your spirit is below a child's."
"You'll regret saying that." Perturabo turned toward Datch with his face twisted in anger.
Sigismund and Rann seized this opportunity and dragged the wounded Rogal Dorn into the Stormbird's cockpit.
The hatch closed; engines started; the transport took off through gunfire and carried the Primarch from the battlefield.
The Lord of Iron ignored him. What he wanted now was only to tear apart the Blood Angel before his eyes.
Datch swung the sword magnificently and said to Perturabo, "If you survive my sword, you will see me regret my actions."
"You must be joking?" Perturabo stared at the Blood Angel before him, who knew nothing.
Datch did not answer; he launched the attack first and charged toward the Lord of Iron.
His swordsmanship was unbelievably fierce; the first attack aimed straight at the throat.
After Perturabo turned his head and evaded the second sword-stroke, he smoothly changed stance and launched a horizontal slash aimed at the temple.
The third sword-stroke rose from below, aiming at the servo-joint of the wrist swinging the hammer. Every motion was fatal and accurately struck the other party's weak points.
However, Perturabo is a Primarch; his reaction speed and power far surpass ordinary Astartes, so he easily neutralized Datch's attacks.
Datch must not slacken his extreme caution against Perturabo's counters.
The Lord of Iron needs no flashy swordsmanship or clever combos. Each swing of his warhammer symbolizes unparalleled force.
Every time his warhammer landed, it created jagged, deep craters in the concrete.
Datch had to constantly evade and avoid the attacks.
Boom!!!
After another intense blow, as if a mountain were collapsing, Perturabo's warhammer slammed into the ground.
The hammer-head was momentarily caught in twisted rebar of a metal structural frame.
Datch did not miss the opportunity. He closed in and drove the blade through the shock-gel layer and tore the Primarch's flesh.
Perturabo raised a cry of pain.
That roar was not completely dominated by anger like Angron's roar; it was a low, fierce roar mixed with pain, surprise, and extreme rage.
The Lord of Iron spun around and brought the warhammer down. Every time the hammer's blade sliced the air, a roar rang out.
Datch crouched to evade the attack and was about to counter.
The next instant Perturabo slammed into him.
That armour was like a derailed train; its power was exaggerated to the limit.
Datch flew backward, smashed through the glass curtain-wall of the spaceport control room, and landed amid glass fragments and twisted metal window frames.
The instant he got up, Perturabo's intimidating figure stood before his eyes; that shadow completely wrapped him.
"Go to hell."
Perturabo raised the warhammer high overhead; electric arcs covering the hammer's tip crackled and shone brightly.
Datch raised the sword, intending to defend.
Clang...
The sound of metal colliding rang repeatedly in the closed space of the spaceport and drowned out the explosion sounds continuing in the distance.
Perturabo's hammer-blow was unbelievably powerful.
The power sword's blade bent from the centre the instant it contacted the hammer and deformed. The disruption field was forcibly crushed by Primarch-grade pure physical force; the blade snapped in two.
Datch's sword flew from his hand; the broken blade spun several times in the air, then fell to the ground with a dull sound.
The remainder of the hammer grazed his body; the power armour dented inward near the left ribs.
The steel armour plate shattered to pieces from the shockwave; fragments pierced his flesh; blood sprayed.
Unable to endure the intense pain, Datch collapsed from the knees.
A broken rib pierced the left lung; blood sprayed from his mouth and nose and flowed down the jaw to the knees.
"It seems we are doomed."
Datch continued to spit blood; with every mouthful he spat pale-pink foam from ruptured lung tissue.
"Now if you surrender, I'll spare your life." Perturabo stared mockingly at the kneeling Blood Angel.
His warhammer was set beside him; its blade-edge pressed into the concrete ground, producing radial cracks.
Datch, while spitting blood, wrung out all his remaining strength, raised one hand, and slammed a fist into Perturabo's leg armour.
"Human pride will not permit yielding to one who grovels before gods."
Datch's words and actions enraged Perturabo.
What do you mean?
Did I prostrate myself before the gods?
I'm just using them — you know what using means, right?
Enraged, Perturabo raised the warhammer and brought it down on Datch's head.
Bang!!
With a dull sound, Datch's head exploded on the spot.
The body fell backward and was caught between broken glass and metal window frames.
[The character we were playing has died. A new role is assigned.]
[The new role is a White Scar defending the Gate of Colossi.]
When the warning sound vanished, the darkness covering Datch disappeared again; the noise of gunfire returned to their ears.
Looking around, he realised he was once more on Terra's battlefield.
This was the period of panic that occurred after the fall of Lion's Gate spaceport.
The collapse of the spaceport damaged energy pipelines; a chain reaction wrecked a series of large shield-walls.
Without the Aegis's protection, orbital bombardment was carried out; every exposed Imperial fortress was destroyed.
Magnificent walls and towers that had once looked down on the battlefield from hundreds of metres above collapsed under direct hits from heavy guns as if sandcastles struck by a heavy hammer.
Electromagnetic pulses generated by the war destroyed conventional communications equipment and the psychic-space communications network connected to them.
Those who swore loyalty to the Emperor fell into panic.
Thanks to this spaceport's important transport capacity, the rebels could continuously transport troops from the orbital fleet to the ground.
From heavy equipment to an enormous number of shell-fodder, everything strengthened the surrounding rebel army.
Even traitor Titan Legions can descend to the ground using the spaceport's transport platforms.
These gigantic weapons were unloaded from heavy transport hulls and brought into the spaceport's main unloading area.
They started engines one after another, sounded horns with a roar, and announced their arrival.
Enemy soldiers sent to the landing sites poured into the palace through the breach and destroyed fortresses along the way.
Toxic clouds and smoke from bombardment covered the sky and hid the shining sun above Terra.
Many defence lines collapsed; units were forced to withdraw.
At first, enemy bombardment came only from the rear.
However, as time passed, movement was also seen on the flanks.
Engine sounds of rebel armoured units rang from left and right simultaneously, intending to annihilate the withdrawing Imperial forces.
Internal passages were completely destroyed by bombardment; what had once been a clear withdrawal route could no longer be seen. Rubble blocked the passages.
Some of the destroyed passages required a detour of several kilometres in order to pass; those detours often connected to unknown places.
Some units trying to withdraw to the rear unexpectedly encountered newly established enemy positions.
The withdrawing soldiers did not notice this at all until they approached and realised they were surrounded by traitor banners.
Afterwards, many units abandoned withdrawal, continued combat on the spot, and tried to kill as many enemies as possible.
However, they were like praying mantises trying to stop tanks; they were defeated in an instant and met tragic ends.
Their remains mixed with surrounding rubble and shell casings and lay in the ruins.
Datch, playing a White Scar, would soon receive a mission.
That meant riding jetbikes with other comrades to carry out the mission and interfere with the advancing enemy.
Guide withdrawing Imperial forces lost in the ruins to the correct place.
…