Chapter 1110 Angron Attacks
"Everyone take cover!" Marcus roared and rushed towards the nearest crater, but the next second he realized that the warning was unnecessary, because what was pouring out of the crack was not destructive energy, but some older and more violent existence.
First there was the sound of chains.
The heavy sound of metal collision penetrated the vacuum and echoed directly in the minds of all living things.
That voice contained thousands of years of anger and pain, and every crisp sound made people's teeth chatter unconsciously.
Then came a pair of giant hands.
The hands were three times the size of an ordinary person's, and the knuckles were covered with rusty bronze armor.
In his left hand he held a madly spinning chainsaw axe, with fresh demonic flesh still hanging on the teeth; in his right hand he held another even more hideous-looking giant axe, with the blade engraved with blasphemous runes, but these runes had now been roughly scratched out and covered with some kind of golden paint.
When the giant stepped completely out of the crack, the communication channels of the entire star sector burst into harsh noises.
Angron, the former Primarch of the World Eaters, now stood there in the blood-red armor of the Loyalists.
His armor was covered with ancient battle scars, dark blood seeping into every dent.
The shoulder armor was crudely carved with the Emperor's emblem.
The most eye-catching thing is the heavy chain wrapped around his left arm. The chain is made of some kind of warp metal, and each link is engraved with words mocking the Blood God, emitting a faint golden light in the void.
"tell me…………"
The Primarch's voice was like the roar of thunder, exploding directly in everyone's skull.
His scarred face was twisted into a hideous smile, beneath which was an endless sea of corpses and blood.
"Where is that bastard Khorne hiding?!"
With this roar, Angron crushed the head of the Khorne Daemon at his feet.
The demon lord that had once terrified the entire sector now exploded like a ridiculous toy under his combat boots, and black blood and broken bones splattered all over the primarch's calf armor.
The battlefield on orbit fell into an eerie stillness.
The Zerg fleet stopped firing its artillery fire, and the tentacles of the biological warships squirmed restlessly; the crews of the Imperial fleet stood still at their posts, and some even forgot to continue loading torpedoes.
Everyone was shocked by this surreal scene.
A deafening cheer erupted in the communication channel, sweeping across the entire Imperial fleet like a tsunami.
"For Master Angron! For the Emperor!"
Sailors climbed out of the damaged gun turrets, and the scarred deck was crowded with cheering crew members.
Blood and sweat condensed on their faces, but could not conceal the fanaticism in their eyes.
Between the warships, signal lights flashed wildly, conveying the simplest and most straightforward messages.
"Move forward, move forward by any means necessary!"
On the bridge of the "Spirit of Vengeance", Horus Lupercal raised a relieved smile at the corner of his mouth.
The Warmaster's silver power armor gleamed brightly under the lighting of the bridge, and a look of relaxation appeared on his weather-beaten but still handsome and shiny face, which had not appeared for a long time.
He pressed his broad palms on the tactical holographic table, his knuckles slightly white from the previous fierce battle.
"I didn't expect Brother Angron would come." His voice was low and powerful, with a brotherly gentleness.
Beside him, Rogal Dorn folded his arms across his chest, a rare hint of approval on his stern face.
The Imperial Fists' primarch's golden pauldrons still bore the scars of battle, but he stood as unshakable as the walls of the Imperial Palace.
“He arrived just in time,” Dorn commented briefly, his eyes fixed on the blood-red, violent figure in the holographic projection. “The swarm’s flank has collapsed.”
Fulgrim leaned gracefully against the carved pillars of the bridge, a playful smile on his flawless face.
His slender fingers tapped lightly on the hilt of the power sword at his waist, and the gorgeous purple-gold armor reflected star-like light as he moved.
"Our brothers are still so... direct." The Emperor's Children Primarch chuckled, his voice as mellow as the finest wine, "But, the efficiency is indeed impeccable."
Mortarion stood in the shadows, a low hum coming from beneath the Death Guard Lord's breath mask.
His heavy sickle, the "Scythe of Silence", was leaning against his shoulder. His bone-white armor was stained with the body fluids of the Zerg, but it still maintained an eerily clean feeling.
“Indeed.” His voice came through the respirator, dull but not to be ignored. “His power…is stronger than before.”
Perturabo said nothing.
The Lord of Steel stood on the other side of the tactical holographic table, the blue light of the data stream shining on his cold and hard face.
His fingers slid quickly across the holographic interface, calculating every variable of the battlefield situation.
Finally, he nodded imperceptibly, and his finely forged steel body emitted a slight mechanical hum.
"The Zerg fleet has suffered losses of 37.8%." His voice was like hot steel in a forge, "The probability of victory has increased to 92.4%."
Horus laughed upon hearing this, and that laughter was filled with long-lost joy.
He turned and looked out the window at the vast starry sky, where Angron was tearing through the Zerg's lines in the most violent way possible. With every swing of the Primarch's chainsaw a ship exploded into a bloody firework in the vacuum of space.
"Notify all fleets," the Warmaster's voice spread across the entire communication network, "all-out attack. Let our brothers see that the Imperial Army never disappoints the Primarch's expectations!"
With this order, the long-silent Imperial fleet woke up again.
The macro cannon array spewed out blazing fury, and the light spear launcher cut through the dark void.
Led by Angron's violent charge, humanity's counterattack officially began.
Dorn calmly adjusted the defensive formation to ensure that every warship was perfectly covered.
Fulgrim had drawn his power sword, ready to personally lead the strike force to land the remaining hive ships.
Mortarion silently checked the supply of poison gas bombs, and the Death Guard lined up behind him and waited for orders.
Perturabo's iron warriors have already completed the warm-up of all siege weapons, and the cold mathematical calculations are behind devastatingly precise firepower.
At this moment, the six primarchs each performed their duties, but they were in unison.
No taint of the Warp, no shadow of betrayal, only Mankind's mightiest warriors fighting side by side, for the Emperor, for Mankind.
The balance of victory finally tilted irreversibly towards the empire.
The swarm's node creatures attempted to command more hive fleets into the battlefield, but the Empire's counterattack was imminent.
Warships from every star field, every star region, every sub-star region, even every galaxy, every planet, every merchant and ronin family, and every imperial noble are rushing in in full swing.
Dozens of Zerg tentacles invading the galaxy were cut off simultaneously by the joint efforts of the Necrons and the Human Empire.
