Victory

BANG!

The impact from behind shoved the Shark aside, several Poison Crystal shards whistling past to bury themselves deep into the steel wall.

The Ancient Warrior who had knocked the Shark away raised his bolter to return fire.

Beams of light streaked through the air; having realized the situation, they caught glimpses of Drukhari forms flashing through the shadows and heard the sound of Poison Crystal piercing Plasteel, the killing intent erupting in their minds reaching its absolute limit.

With thunderous strides and the howling crack of displaced air, the three Sharks left pale trails in their wake.

KILL!

One raised a foot to deliver a direct kick, forcing the enemy to parry.

One seized an alien limb, restricting its movement.

Then, the last one leaped high, cleaving a skull with a single axe blow.

"!!!"

Having torn the insidious shooters to pieces, the Sharks looked back, their hearts filled with grief and frustration.

Hundreds of meters away, the Ancient Warrior quickly raised a hand to signal that he was unharmed. The Sharks finally eased their tension, and following the tactical gesture signaled by the other, they sprinted toward their next prey.

The squad formed a relatively tight formation; aside from the two Sharks tasked with the main assault, one would always remain guarding the Ancient Warrior.

They had to be more vigilant, more cautious; they could not afford to make such a mistake again.

With cold killing intent, the Sharks swiftly swept through the enemies hiding in every alleyway.

Unlike their violent method of slaughter, the Sharks' movement was silent; after tearing their prey apart, they would instantly melt back into the pitch-black ocean.

The Carcharodons in the offensive possessed an elusive, high-speed nature. The shadows entwined within their bloodline served as the perfect camouflage, and they would only reveal their fangs when they struck, sliced, or crushed any enemy daring to oppose them.

Much like the apex predators of the Terra oceans of old, the prey would only catch a glimpse of the blood-red maw opening beneath the deep blue at the very moment of their death.

"Slow your pace. Proceed to the next node in three seconds."

Romulus's voice echoed in their ears, allowing the focused Sharks to spare a moment to glance at the veteran who remained fixed on the shadows.

Their superior vision allowed them to see the puncture wound on the Raven Mask, from which only a splash of blood had sprayed; clearly, he had tilted his head just in time to avoid a fatal blow.

To be able to track these creatures the moment they entered the domain of the Drukhari, to point out targets for them, and to predict the enemy's attack trajectories—such experience...

The Sharks often prided themselves on their silence and lethality, yet they could not help but marvel at the seasoned sharpness and precision of the Ancient Warriors.

"Stunning impact."

The repeater projected video feeds from various squads. Utilizing thermal vision, Romulus meticulously managed the pace of every squad, seeking out every opportunity on the battlefield and seizing it.

From a slightly green start, they were gradually becoming comfortable.

They were hitting their stride.

Watching the soul projections—like puppets on his fingertips—vanish into nothingness amidst the heavy encirclement, watching their gathered strength be violently carved open by the peerless individual power of Karna and the others, only to be devoured by the endless swarm of Sharks.

These enemies were nothing more than playthings in his palm.

There is no tactic more unsolvable in battlefield command than the manipulation of the enemy.

At this moment, Romulus possessed this unique advantage.

"I finally understand why Horus always liked to use the Pale Nomads for the first wave of assaults back in the day."

Romulus remarked.

If he were unable to command the War Hound, he would do the same.

Although sending troops on a first-wave charge in a major battle meant disregarding their lives.

But this was the pure beauty of raw numbers—

"The efficiency is simply too high."

Maintaining the psychic domain and using his powers to provide his companions with an extra god's-eye view to facilitate micro-management, Ramesses couldn't help but chime in.

Only as a commander could one truly know the lethality of the Carcharodons; the way these men charged, combined with their shadow talent, was terrifying. Even if they rushed right in front of you, you might not even be able to react in time.

And this method of slaughter...

It was only because they were currently facing the death-defying Drukhari that it wasn't as obvious. If this were a conventional front-line battle, and the enemy's troop quality were even slightly inferior, their morale would collapse on the spot.

"I think I can rank the individual combat ability of the Raven Guard one spot behind the Thousand Sons."

"Where are you putting the Dark Angels?"

Romulus stared intently at every frame transmitted from the battlefield, his mind also organizing the vision provided by each Imperial Fists marine.

"If you're really comparing top-tier combat power, why aren't you counting the Imperial Fists?"

Adding soul suppression to a few of the stronger enemies, Ramesses kept his eyes on the movements of the Warp, retorting with a huff.

"Sigismund would end that conversation immediately."

The atmosphere between the two remained quite relaxed, as the battle was proceeding exactly as expected; this feeling of having everything under control was very comforting.

They could even spare the energy to focus on micro-managing individual actions, taking on the risk of injury in place of the Sharks.

After all, the flesh-and-blood soldiers on their side were expendable, but the Sharks were living men; even if they were being watched by the Emperor, they couldn't just be allowed to die.

Romulus had a clear operational ceiling, and while his numbers were finite, any losses could be replenished at a moment's notice.

The Shark would need at least a century to cultivate a veteran of such caliber; he knew exactly where the priorities lay.

"It ends here."

His gaze fell upon the path ahead, fixed on the target with the most magnificent soul energy. Within his field of vision, the movement routes of Karna and the other two killers were overlaid with the tactical imagery.

Right there, at the very center of the Web of Slaughter, stood the Archon of this raiding fleet.

The Archon's retinue had been whittled away through repeated assaults, their desperate, huddled struggles in the face of certain death proving entirely futile.

After Romulus had dispatched Arthur to repeatedly confirm the hidden traps, he discovered that the target hadn't even had the time to trigger the explosives meant for a final, desperate gambit.

It was unclear why the enemy hadn't set up a remote detonation mode, which meant Ramesses had been unable to find an opportune moment to unleash the soul-shock he had been holding in reserve.

"Cease cruising. Assault squads, enter the inner circle in waves. Outer perimeter units, rendezvous at the marked nodes and provide covering fire along the main thoroughfare..."

Absorbing the data from each squad, he rapidly scanned the information through his custom-programmed interface before issuing the orders.

Romulus tightened the noose of death. With the nuanced commands flowing through the comms, the hundred-plus members on the battlefield began to shift their formation with unprecedented coordination.

This battle would naturally conclude in a predetermined fashion.

That was victory—

It's here!

The ground trembled slightly, then surged with the intensity of an earthquake, as if a train were hurtling through the tunnel toward him.

It was him—the black-clad angel.

The subordinates clearing the path ahead barely had time to react; before they could even raise their weapons, they were cut down like stalks of wheat, foul-smelling blood splattering everywhere.

Ah, and there was the Crimson Butcher, and the Silent Knight.

The exquisite scenery of fading life unfolded before him; the Archon swore he would remember these magnificent, towering figures.

If given the chance, he would surely send these warriors to the bloody arena of Lelith, to witness their deaths under the gaze of all Commorragh.

At the same time, he halted his steps, as if abandoning the struggle, and listened to the continuous sound of iron boots trampling the path, smiling at the approaching angel.

The very moment the Archon's triumphant smile appeared, the metal floor in front of Karna suddenly buckled.

BOOM—

A Talos Pain Engine, nearly four meters tall, burst forth, flailing its limbs. God knows how such a behemoth managed to navigate the narrow drainage channel.

Metal was shredded by the complex, flailing limbs, which erupted like thunderbolts with every movement, sending sparks showering in all directions.

Karna raised his hand without a hint of panic.

Thrust, parry, slash!

With a display of astonishing martial arts, the Talos Pain Engine was launched into the air like a kicked ball. Before it could even land, the Sslyth Mercenary that had emerged from the hole alongside it was reduced to a puddle of gore.

Staring straight ahead at the Archon, who had leveled his weapon at him, the black-clad angel did not bother to dodge. He thrust his long spear upward, perfectly impaling the Talos Pain Engine before it could hit the ground.

Squish, squish!

Muffled impacts rang out in succession as Splinter Weapon fire slammed into the back of the Talos Pain Engine, carving away large chunks of flesh. Even Karna was forced to retract his partially gnawed spear-blade before tossing the Talos Pain Engine aside.

Thud!

The massive carcass flew through the air, obscuring the Archon's vision.

Then, the tall angel lunged forward, his Power Spear crashing down.

CLANG!

A jagged rift appeared in the ground.

As if teleporting, the Archon—the target—appeared behind Karna and began to sprint at high speed.

Another trump card. An Archon capable of commanding a raiding fleet in Commorragh always had his own hidden aces.

This was not the first time he had escaped.

His personal guard, his understanding of the environment, and the high-tech weaponry at his disposal were all assets that had allowed him to slip through encirclements time and again.

But the Archon would not choose to merely run and wait for death.

Before he died, he would ensure these apes learned a painful lesson in his own way.

"Nothing but mindless pursuit."

He snapped off the overloaded teleportation device, feeling the agony of his flesh being scorched. Relying on a speed far superior to that of a Space Marine, he widened the distance, the Archon thinking with a sneer.

The roaring behind him faded; the remnants of his guard faithfully fulfilled their duty, drawing the crimson angel away.

In the process of being hunted and intercepted, he, a veteran of countless murders, had long since discovered the only flaw in the lethal net closing around him.

That flaw was the angel's recklessness.

The Archon did not know how he had been tracked, but the dread inspired by She Who Thirsts forced him to ignore certain things he dared not contemplate.

For if his opponent were a chosen of She Who Thirsts, he wasn't even sure he could summon the courage to resist.

Of course, the team hunting him was undoubtedly superb—efficient and powerful. Even in Commorragh, where the strong gathered, they would be considered among the most elite hunting parties.

But the angel, mindlessly chasing the slaughter, exposed the greatest weakness of this hunting party.

That is, the initiative to choose the battlefield was held in his hands.

Listening to the cold, steady wind in the corridor, the Archon was already certain that the angel had moved far away again.

Others might care about traps, but this violent and formidable angel stepped into them time and time again during his probes.

Clearly, this Space Marine did not possess the ability to discern traps.

And even as the environment shifted, he clearly remembered the areas where those Dark Matter Bomb were placed.

He only needed to disguise his intentions with a desperate, frantic flight, and the troops surrounding him would eventually step into the web woven within this flight, then offer themselves as funeral objects for the passing of his life.

A perfect plan.

A cruel smile curled the corners of the Archon's mouth.

A bunch of idiots wasting their talents; only I am the master of conspiracy.

The only pity was that he had to race against time and could not bid farewell to these fascinating warriors in a composed manner.

Sigh, perhaps I should have given my subordinates a certain amount of trust, otherwise I wouldn't be racing against time now to personally trigger the bombs.

"Just, just reach that place."

Ignoring the alarming Logis Engine, the Archon brandished his Agonizer to cut a gap, relying on his powerful physique to crash directly through the closed bulkhead.

Then the Archon stopped.

"..."

The Silent Knight stood quietly in the center of the passage, one hand propping his shield on the ground, his Black Sword resting on his shoulder, facing him in such a loose posture.

It was as if he were provoking him.

The Archon did not act rashly, for he himself had often used this method to trick greenhorns into attacking prematurely; the corpse left at the knight's feet, damaged beyond recognition, was the best proof.

"Think carefully, Ashton, think carefully; there is a door and a passage on the left, I can go that way, though it is a bit of a detour."

Clutching a Plasma grenade in his hand, a series of plans flashed rapidly through the Archon's mind, but before he could make a move, the door on the left was torn open by heavy, sharp claws.

Whoosh—

Scarlet blood mist spread, and Tyberos, far taller than the average Space Marine, revealed his form. Through the gaps in that heavy silhouette, the Archon could only see a floor of meat paste shredded into smithereens, and the blood-scent that filled the entire corridor and was still dissipating outward.

"It seems I can only turn back. That angel is still being entangled by the Snake-men and must have been pulled away. I must trust my judgment."

The Archon turned his head back.

Behind him, the angel, stained scarlet with blood, walked forward slowly. The late-arriving War Hound brandished its axe, gnawing on the still-struggling and twitching remains, conducting the final cleanup of the battlefield.

Hum!

A shockwave delivered from afar fiercely tore through the protection of the Archon's faceplate.

Clang!

In the mere instant he was distracted, the Black Sword left an afterimage in the air, severing the left arm holding the grenade.

The massive Carcharodon withstood the strike of the blade, closed the distance, and crushed the Archon's limbs in the most violent manner possible.

The angel arrived close by, the fury in his eyes dissipating. Looking at the conceited xenos, a mocking smile appeared on his handsome face.

Three gazes watched the Archon quietly like this, watching this Drukhari who had lost everything.

How dare you be complacent with your own wishful thinking?

You have been in the net the entire time.