Fighting a guerrilla war as he fled, the vast Mechanical Throne became a fierce battlefield. The wounded Daemon Prince still possessed tremendous Combat Power. These Lychguard, armed with Necron technology, were each equipped with the most advanced individual gear, and their Combat Power barely reached the threshold of a tactical legend.
He carefully led the Necron warriors away from the severed arm, tricked the Necrons' Encirclement and Suppression with a feint, then turned into a streak of light and shot toward the arm.
When he picked up the severed limb from the ground, he breathed a sigh of relief. If he could reattach it, he would recover in just ten minutes or so. After that, if he maneuvered carefully, he might still have a chance.
At that moment, the light curtain flickered. Three Necron Overlords surrounded the Daemon Prince, forming a triangle around him.
"Foolish traitor, filthy heretic! His Majesty has accounted for your every move!"
The Necron Overlords roared as they launched their attack. The guards swarmed around him, completely surrounding the Daemon Prince for the first time.
Mortarion angrily swung his scythe, but enemies assailed him from every direction, more than he could handle. In the space of a single breath, the traitor's limbs were severed, and he crumpled to the ground in disarray.
"Ah!" Mortarion roared in fury. In a daze, he seemed to be back in the moment when he had once faced an alien warlord.
He possessed immense power, yet was utterly vulnerable against Psionics. All he could do was swing his scythe helplessly and watch his companions fall one after another.
"Put him inside. This will be our offering to the Creator." Andrik's cold voice echoed.
The Necron warriors quickly moved in, clearing away every trace of the battle. The Daemon Primarch and his