This was the final battle.
All the warriors had vaguely realized this. Their positions were being built both inside and outside the golden shield, the last of the steel and cement in storage used to construct this intricate network of fortresses.
Construction on these defenses might have begun the moment that mysterious portal was discovered. Perturabo had later reinforced and modified them with fanatic intensity. This was a meat grinder capable of dealing a devastating blow to Space Marine Legions as powerful as demigods. Anyone who saw it would feel their limbs go cold.
But would such a defensive line really be of any use?
The army that had never known defeat during the Great Crusade was forced back step by step before these daemons. Even with Primarchs personally commanding them, they could not reverse the rout.
The enemy's numbers were endless, and their methods inexhaustible. All they had to rely on was a bolter, a chainsword, and the courage to fight to the death for the Imperium.
This was the final battle.
Win, and they would have everything.
Lose, and they would be forgotten by time.
For the first time, the Legion warriors had gathered together, helping one another without distinction. Even the auxiliary soldiers did everything they could, hauling crate after crate of ammunition from warehouses managed by the Adeptus Mechanicus to the front lines.
Battle could erupt at any moment. They had to make every second count.
The White Scars, Raven Guard, Night Lords, and Alphariuses who had been delaying the enemy at the very front withdrew. No matter what colors their armor had originally borne, it had now been corroded by the power of the Warp into mottled blackish brown, the dreadful color of a corpse seven days into decay.
Warriors standing in the watchtowers observed