Battle!

More than thirty human Titans opened fire simultaneously.

Volcano Cannon, Inferno Cannon, Laser Blaster Array, Vortex Missile —all weapons unleashed their firepower at the same time.

The light coalesced into a torrent, surging towards the Necrons Titans.

The torrent was so fierce that it made the earth tremble; the torrent was so intense that it made the sky burn.

An Obelisk- shaped Necrons Titans was struck; its surface began to crumble, its runes began to extinguish, and its energy core began to overload.

Then it exploded, the light of the explosion bursting across the battlefield and engulfing everything around it.

But more Necrons Titans are awakening.

They rise from the earth, leap from the void, and emerge from dimensional rifts.

Their numbers are increasing, their firepower is intensifying, and their killing intent is gathering.

Humanity's Titans are retreating, their Void Shield are overloaded, their armor is melting, and their Machine Spirit are wailing.

Both sides tacitly chose to use heavy units to clear out a suitable battlefield.

The Titans ' cannons wove a web of death in the void, turning everything in the center of the battlefield into scorched earth.

Buildings collapsed, streets melted, and the earth cracked.

That area was turned into a barren wasteland under the combined fire of both sides.

Then, the cleared area became a meat grinder for small units from both sides.

The Astra Militarum ' infantry leaped from the trenches, their bayonets gleaming coldly in the sunlight, their shouts echoing across the battlefield.

They charged towards the wasteland, towards the Necrons's defenses, towards their inevitable death.

Necron Warriors poured out of the phase portal, their weapons charging in a ghostly green light, their footsteps echoing rhythmically across the wasteland.

The two torrents collided.

The Chainsword clashed with the phase blade, producing a piercing metallic clang.

The Bolter and Gauss Rifle fired at each other, leaving bullet holes in the wasteland.

The cries of humans mingled with the hums of the Necrons, echoing across the battlefield.

An Astra Militarum soldier was pierced through the chest by a phase blade. As he fell, he detonated Melta Bomb in his hand, perishing along with the Necrons around him.

An Necrons Immortals, its arm severed by Chainsword, used its other arm to grab the Space Marines and fling him toward the distant ruins.

But the Space Marines adjusted his posture in mid-air, and upon landing, he had already drawn his Bolter and shattered the Immortals's head.

Cadia's commandos moved through the ruins, their shotguns incredibly powerful at close range, each shot capable of tearing the Necron Warriors to shreds.

The jungle warriors of Catachan dug trenches in the wasteland, blocking the Necrons's advance with mines and traps.

Valhalla's ice warriors established a defensive line amidst the ruins, their Lasgun firing in volleys like a blizzard, felling wave after wave of Necron Warriors.

The Necrons army is also continuously reinforcing itself.

The Immortals phalanx advanced steadily, their Gauss Rifle tearing the human defenses apart piece by piece.

The Destroyers Legion launched a flanking attack, their heavy weapons crushing the human armored forces into scrap metal.

The Lychguard's phalanx swept across the battlefield, their phase blades gleaming coldly in the sunlight, each swing claiming the lives of several human warriors.

On the battlefield, corpses piled up like mountains.

Among them were the remains of Astra Militarum soldiers, the remains of Space Marines, and fragments of Necron Warriors.

Blood flowed across the wasteland, forming dark red rivers.

A ghostly green energy flickered within the fragments, like will-o'-the-wisps, like a lament.

A sergeant from Cadia leaned against the back of a wrecked Leman Russ Tank, his left arm charred black from a Gauss Weapons wound.

He was still holding a Chainsword in his hand, the blade covered in the residual liquid of Living Metal.

He looked at the surging Necrons army, took a deep breath, and shouted into the communication channel, "For the Emperor!"

Behind him, his warriors shouted in unison, "For the Emperor!"

They charged out of the trenches, towards the army of the Necrons, towards their inevitable death.

The Necrons Titans are advancing.

Those non-human geometric behemoths—pyramids, Obelisk, spheres—moved slowly across the battlefield, each step cracking the earth and each energy pulse changing the color of the sky.

Their surfaces are covered with eerie green energy patterns, a gift from C'tan Shard, the power accumulated over 65 million years, and the ultimate technology capable of rewriting the laws of matter.

Humanity's Titans fell one after another.

The Void Shield of the Reaver-class Titan was as thin as paper before the Phase Beam of the Necrons Titans; the beam pierced through the armor, the structure, and the core.

The Imperator-class Titan ' weapon systems were largely ineffective against the Necrons Titans ' quantum shields, which deflected, absorbed, and annihilated humanity's strongest firepower.

The Warhound-class Titan attempted to use their speed advantage to launch a flanking attack, but the Necrons's Obelisk Titans only needed a thought to tear open a dimensional rift beneath their feet and devour them.

One Reaver Titan is being besieged by three Pyramid Titans.

Its left arm had melted off, its engine was smoking, and its Machine Spirit was wailing.

The captain frantically pressed buttons in the cockpit, trying to initiate the self-destruct sequence and take a few enemies with him before he died.

But before the signal could be sent, a beam of eerie green light pierced through the cockpit.

The captain's body disintegrated within the beam of light; his consciousness, his honor, everything about him vanished into nothingness.

Amidst the ruins, the warriors of the Astra Militarum gazed up at the rampaging steel behemoths, their eyes filled with despair.

A sergeant from Cadia knelt in a crater, his left leg severed by shrapnel. He haphazardly wrapped the wound with a tourniquet from his first-aid kit, his eyes fixed on the approaching pyramid-shaped Titans.

He was still holding a Bolter in his hand, but it was almost out of ammunition.

His comrades lay beside him, some still groaning, others already silent.

He knew he was next.

He took a deep breath and shouted into the communication channel, "For the Emperor!"

Then he pulled the trigger, and the bomb exploded on the surface of the Necrons Titans, leaving not even a scratch.

A ghostly green light gathered at the top of the pyramid Titans, and that light was directed at the sergeant.

He didn't close his eyes, nor did he try to avoid it; he simply straightened his back, facing death with his last shred of dignity.

"An angel!" someone exclaimed. "It's an angel!"

Countless beams of light are falling from the sky.

That wasn't a shooting star, a meteorite, or any natural phenomenon.

It was in human form.

Hundreds, thousands, tens of thousands of humanoid figures are falling rapidly from space.

They did not use Drop Pod, a space elevator, or any other auxiliary equipment.

They flew like that, in the vacuum, in the atmosphere, amidst flames and smoke.

Their Power Armour burned from the friction, but it wasn't a flame of destruction; it was a radiant glow of glory.

Blue, red, green, crimson, silver-gray, golden—lights of all colors intertwined in the sky, like a dazzling meteor shower.

But that meteor shower was not a gift from nature, but rather a counterattack by humankind.

Ultramarines, 14,000 men.

Their blue and gold Power Armour gleamed in the sunlight; they gripped Power Sword in their hands, their eyes burning with fighting spirit.

Blood Angels, one thousand people.

The red figures resembled fresh blood; they had no wings, yet their flight was more graceful than that of angels.

Dark Angels, one thousand people.

The lion emblem was engraved on their dark green armor; their silence was more powerful than any shout.

Thousand Sons, a thousand people.

Their bronze armor shimmered with Psionic Energy, and their eyes gleamed with the flames of wisdom.

The World Eaters, numbering one thousand.

Their white armor was stained with battle scars, and their roars echoed in the sky.

The Imperial Fists, one thousand men.

Their yellow armor was as heavy as a mountain, and their posture was as firm as a rock.

Iron Warriors, a thousand men.

Their silver-gray armor was covered with rivets and welds, and their silence contained 65 million years of rage.

Six thousand Space Marines from various Legions, plus fourteen thousand Ultramarines, a total of twenty thousand Angel of Death, descended from space.

On the ground, a Sisters of Battle was praying in despair looked up at the falling lights, tears welling up in her eyes.

"The Emperor has sent his angel," her voice trembled, "His Angel of Death."