White light was Jaghatai—or, more precisely, the light reflected by his saber as it danced at incredible speed.
Mortals could not track the speed of Space Marines, and Space Marines could not track the speed of Primarchs. Even among Primarchs, there were differences in speed. When Jaghatai launched into a high-speed charge, his combat prowess flowed as naturally as breathing. He was like lightning in human form, plunging straight from the sky to the ground in an instant. Only after that stunning flash had spread across the heavens and lingered in their eyes did the thunderous roar finally arrive.
Twenty meters was too narrow a distance for thunder to fully unfold, but fortunately, the Iron Hands' charging line was long enough. It gave Jaghatai ample time to warm up.
The bangs of metal striking metal ran together. Under the pressure of such speed, those separate sounds seemed drawn-out and endless. The matching sight was one Iron Hand after another being sent sprawling. A warning slash had been carved across their chests, and the force roaring from the back of the blade seeped through that insignificant opening, smashing brutally into the Space Marines' flesh-and-blood bodies.
Though the mixed composition of flesh and iron in the Iron Hands meant Jaghatai had to use different levels of force with each strike, the slightest change in sound when his blade touched their armor was enough for him to instantly distinguish one Iron Hand from another and apply precisely the right amount of strength.
Those Iron Hands who had not yet undergone extensive augmentation were struck breathless and dizzy by a single blow from Jaghatai. Those veteran Iron Hands whose bodies were already half metal were struck so hard that their metal frames vibrated at high frequency, throwing their brains into such chaos that they