"How is it, Mortarion? Does it feel good to return to your old stomping grounds?"
"Quiet, Jaghatai."
Mortarion replied coldly. As he looked upon the magnificent, towering palace, his heart churned with complicated emotions, even though the palace before him was a false structure created by Tzeentch.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.
The seven detachments broke away from the legion according to the original plan and steadily advanced toward the Imperial Palace.
The Degraded Ones fired from within their cover. They had grown together with the fortresses and trenches—or rather, the defensive works fused with them were merely another mutated branch of the Degraded Ones.
A rain of bullets splashed against the heavy shields, leaving shallow dents and scratches. Shells came arcing from the palace, smashing into the center of the Death Guard formation.
As Mortarion's sons, the Death Guard were even tougher and more tenacious. They had anticipated where the explosions would strike and raised their shields before them. The shockwaves and rolling flames could only force their steps back slightly, their boots scraping the ground with shrill squeals.
Once the smoke cleared, the Death Guard came forward again, cloaked in fire. Their bolters pulverized the defenders in the trenches and bunkers from afar, while toxins capable of melting steel softened the defenses' hardness.
Even the Degraded Ones could not endure for long within the virulent poison personally concocted by Mortarion. Bubbles rose from their pale bone plates, which collapsed like melting plastic.
Seven hundred and seventy-seven meters away, the gun captains took up advantageous positions. Their skin was grayish white, making them appear rather unhealthy compared to the other warriors.
Highly radioactive rounds were loaded one by one, then fired with a roar.
The bullets carved dark-green trails through the air. Even after embedding themselves in