Russ, Your Armor Is Broken, Let Me Help You Change Into a New One

Right?

Nimrod walked up to Hannibal's corpse and slowly lifted it, as if he did not want to disturb someone in deep sleep.

The Faceless Ones let out grief-stricken roars and broke into a run, charging at Russ.

The wolves raised a battle cry, swung their weapons, and charged toward the Faceless Ones.

Just as the slaughter was about to begin again, the Shadow of Order of the 7th Legion, riding Catachan Wolves, cut swiftly between the ocher and iron-gray battle lines.

A voice from the loudspeakers echoed across the smoke-filled battlefield: "The battle is over."

"Stop!"

The wolf pack slowed, but they still gripped their weapons tightly, ready to charge at any moment.

The Faceless Ones who still retained their reason also stopped unwillingly.

Thousands of Faceless Ones with protruding cheekbones and fangs colder than a wild wolf's bared from their mouths roared and howled, launching attacks at the black-armored warriors.

"Sedation!" First Company Captain Thibault shouted the order.

Catachan stinging grass soaked in Nucerian anesthetic shot out.

Stab, stab, stab...

Countless sharp needles pierced Power Armor and released anesthetic into the bodies of the Faceless Ones.

Amid a series of thuds, Melon and Sasebo Tezuka, clad in ocher armor, led the recruits toward Nimrod.

Grief had shattered the will their training had cultivated, and, wreathed in sorrow, they stared blankly at the crystal coffin.

Although the Adeptus Custodes had already conveyed the Emperor's judgment, the one lying inside was their Primarch.

They were even more lost about the future. They had lost their gene-father.

The thick stench of blood on the wolves and the burning corpses of the Faceless Ones made them uneasy and angry.

Only when Lord Nimrod turned and walked over did they wake from their tangled thoughts.

The recruits remembered that Leman Russ had challenged