The rotary autocannon hummed, adorned with dangerous nails and spikes that could even be used as a mace in a pinch.
Missile pods were mounted on the heavy black shoulder plates, their red targeting beams fixed on the Ugul Ghouls to guide the missiles with precision.
The killing intent radiating from Perturabo made him the center of the battlefield, to the point that even the Howling Banshees locked in close combat cast glances his way amid the bloodshed.
"Oh~ It would be wonderful if I could ride him!"
"You slut."
"You pretentious hypocrite! There might already be a little spring inside your armor!"
The bickering between the Daemonettes and the Banshees never reached Perturabo's ears, because someone else beside him was already tormenting his nerves.
"When it comes to running fast, you really are the best!" Lin Fan sat atop Perturabo's shoulder plate—or, more precisely, on one of the missile pods.
Lin Fan's constant chatter irritated Perturabo, but Chaos's whispers no longer clouded his judgment, nor was anyone assigning him impossible targets. The Lord of Iron was a little gentler than before. He had undergone a great transformation, from kicking people into grievous injury with one blow to kicking them really hard.
"Get down from my executioner missile pod." Perturabo forced the words through clenched anger. He helplessly pinched the iron mask, and the dangerous aura around him was greatly diminished by Lin Fan's presence.
"I'm fine staying here. The view's pretty good." Lin Fan's giggling made veins bulge across Perturabo's forehead. He could feel Lin Fan sitting on the missile pod and pulling out his weapon, "Eighty."
A humming sound of rising temperature came from above. Perturabo knew it was produced by the gear-heating system inside the great hammer, Eighty.
The slowing gears had been perfectly installed within the