Hyperion

The sky above Hyperion is a burning orange-red.

That was neither sunrise nor sunset, but the light of countless warships exploding outside the atmosphere.

Those rays of light pierced through the clouds, dyeing the entire sky the color of blood and fire, like some ancient prophecy, like the arrival of some apocalypse.

Smoke and fire filled the air on the ground.

The once bustling city is now nothing but ruins.

The once bustling port is now nothing but a twisted metal skeleton.

The once clear river now flows with a mixture of engine oil and blood.

war.

Endless war.

This is a war Imperium of Man and the Necrons.

This is a clash between two immortal races.

On the front lines of the battlefield, in the place where the smoke was thickest, a green figure stood at the edge of the trench.

Lion Al Johnsen.

Imperium Warmaster.

A male lion.

Behind him stood 250,000 Dark Angels.

250,000.

This number has never appeared before in the history of the Imperium.

Dark Angels have always been mysterious, secretive, and shrouded in secrecy.

Their numbers will never be too many, because they guard too many secrets.

But at this moment, 250,000 Dark Angels were lined up neatly behind him.

Their armor was a deep, dark green.

That's the color of the Caliban forest, the color of the lion, the color of the Dark Angels that has never changed in ten thousand years.

But their aura had completely changed.

That wasn't the aura of an ordinary Space Marines.

That was an aura that transcended human limits.

Guilliman sent them the modification surgery from Terra.

Every Dark Angels has undergone modification by the Primarch, been infused with Smart Atoms, and become an existence beyond mortals.

Now they can fly and disappear into the ground.

It can fly in a vacuum.

It can destroy a Leman Russ car with a single punch.

It can slice a Chaos Cruiser in half with a single sword strike.

Each Dark Angels can cut down a thousand ordinary Space Marines.

One thousand.

Two hundred and fifty thousand multiplied by one thousand—that's a combat power of two hundred and fifty million.

Lion's lips curled up slightly.

It was a cold laugh.

That was also a hint of satisfaction.

He turned around and looked at the 250,000 pairs of eyes.

All those eyes were fixed on him.

In those eyes, there was worship, awe, fervor—and something else—impatient anticipation.

"My children."

Lion spoke.

His voice wasn't loud, but it echoed throughout the entire battlefield.

The sound pierced through the smoke of gunfire, through the flames of battle, and through the soul of every soldier.

Do you know where this place is?

No one answered.

They are just waiting.

"This is Hyperion."

Lion continued, "It's the flank leading to Terra."

It is the supply line to the heart of the Imperium.

His gaze sharpened. "Those Necrons are trying to cut off our supply lines."

They wanted to put Terra into a state of hunger.

They want us to starve to death.

Anger ignited in the soldiers' eyes.

But they don't know.

Lion's voice suddenly rose. "They don't know who we are."

He raised the sword in his hand— the Sword of Loyalty.

The sword was long and slender, with a sharp blade that still gleamed with a cold light amidst the smoke of battle.

That was a sacred object bestowed upon him by the Emperor, the sharp blade he used to slay countless enemies in the Imperium Nihilus.

"We are the Dark Angels!"

His voice boomed like thunder. "We are the First Legion!"

"We are the offspring of the lion!"

Two hundred and fifty thousand soldiers simultaneously raised their weapons.

Their movements were perfectly synchronized, as if they were performed by one person.

"We have protected the Imperium for ten thousand years!"

"We have protected countless secrets!"

"We protected the safety of all of you!"

Lion's voice rose higher and higher. "Now, it's our turn to attack!"

He turned around and looked at the distant battlefield.

He gazed at the countless Necrons army that was closing in.

Look towards that direction—the enemy's.

"Dark Angels-- "

He swung his sword forward sharply. "Charge!"

Two hundred and fifty thousand figures soared into the sky simultaneously.

The Necron Overlord stood at the heart of the Tomb Worlds, observing the battle unfolding before him.

There was no panic in his eyes.

Because he is Necrons.

The Necrons have no emotions.

But if he did, his expression at that moment would certainly be quite something.

"Report casualties."

His voice was calm, without a trace of emotion.

The Necrons before him—if he could even be called a herald—answered in the same calm voice, "The Lychguard Legion, annihilated."

"Deathmarks Squad, wiped out."

"The Immortals Legion has suffered 97% losses."

"Tomb Spiders, all wiped out."

"Seven Doomsday Arks have been destroyed."

The Necron Overlord fell silent.

Three seconds later, he spoke again, "The enemy's losses?"

The messenger's voice paused almost imperceptibly. "Zero."

He turned around and looked at the huge monitoring screen.

On the screen, those green figures were frantically slaughtering his army.

The Lychguard —his strongest guard, clad in top-tier Living Metal armor, wielding Phase Scythe and Dispersion Shield, capable of shattering Space Marines Power Armour and taking on Titans head-on—was currently being hacked to pieces by those green figures.

The battle formation formed by those Lychguard was enough to withstand any enemy attack.

But those green figures—ten seconds.

It only took ten seconds.

The battle formation was torn to pieces.

The Necron Overlord looked at the green figure on the screen—the imposing figure charging at the forefront, wielding a longsword.

That was a Primarch.

He knew.

But he had seen the Primarch.

During the War in Heaven, the warriors created by the Old Ones were stronger than the Primarch.

But even those Old Ones warriors weren't this outrageous.

With each flash of the figure's sword light, at least ten Lychguard fell.

His speed was so fast that his Phase Scythe couldn't even touch his opponent.

His power was so great that his Dispersion Shield shattered like paper under that sword strike.

"That's not right."

The Necron Overlord muttered to himself.

Although he couldn't understand the concept of "wrong," his tactical analysis system told him—this was wrong.

The fighting power of this group of humans has completely exceeded any record in the database.

They are more powerful than the Orks and more agile than the Eldar.

Moreover, he's not just a regular fighter, he's incredibly agile.

That's fucking outrageous!

Necron Overlord looked at the green figures on the screen slaughtering his people, he suddenly remembered a phrase from a long, long time ago: the War in Heaven.

In that battle, they fought against the Old Ones, against the Eldar, and against all living beings.

That battle shattered half of the Milky Way.

They won that battle, but they also lost it.

That battle—just like now.

On the battlefield, a Dark Angels is chasing a group of Immortals.

Those Immortals are the backbone of the Necrons, possessing powerful firepower and sturdy armor.

At this moment, they are frantically fleeing, trying to find cover.

But that Dark Angels was too fast.

In a flash, he caught up with the Immortals running in the lead.

A flash of sword light.

The Immortals's head flew high into the air, and its metallic body instantly lost power and crashed to the ground.

The Dark Angels did not linger.

He continued forward, continued to wield his sword, continued—the slaughter.

Three minutes later, the group of Immortals were all reduced to fragments on the ground.

The Dark Angels stopped and looked down at the fragments.

The Living Metal is slowly creeping, attempting to recombine.