Red Angel Descends

A week later, under Admiral Abukansis's personal authorization, Alexander obtained everything he wanted. Tons of high-energy plasma explosives, which only Space Marines and the Inquisition were qualified to use, were secretly transported to the 99th Regiment's garrison. Each explosive possessed enough terrifying power to melt even a Titan into molten iron.

The entire 99th Regiment of the Cadian Pride was deployed to the engine chamber of an enormous ancient fortress, forged during the Dark Age of Technology, directly beneath the Hymn Engine. This fortress was the strongest and final line of defense on all of Malakbel.

When the soldiers of the 99th Regiment first entered this ancient fortress, steeped in the weariness and tragedy of history, they showed not the slightest fear of the unknown. Their faces held only the wild joy and excitement of people about to attend a grand festival.

They began building their final defenses against the clock. Under Alexander's personal command, they turned the ancient fortress into a colossal sacrificial array filled with the art of death. They arranged those immensely powerful plasma explosives in every corner of the fortress like decorations, linking every charge together with psychic trigger wires.

They waited for the final "main course," worthy of being "welcomed" with the most magnificent and dazzling fireworks.

On the third day after they completed all preparations, that day finally came.

The calm expanse of space within the Malakbel System, which had always been illuminated like daylight by the Hymn Engine, was suddenly torn apart. An enormous Warp rift, like a hideous scar flowing with blood and pus, burst open at the edge of the system. Then, a gigantic warship, so immense that even the Glory of Terra looked like a child's toy beside it, slowly emerged from the rift, steeped in blasphemy and corruption.

Its hull was pieced together from countless wailing souls and twisted steel, while its prow bore a gigantic, horrifying skull emblem of Khorne formed from the skulls of billions of creatures from different races.

The Conqueror, Angron's flagship.

Immediately afterward, endless Chaos warships, painted in the blood-red and brass colors of the World Eaters Legion, swarmed out of that bleeding scar like a locust cloud.

The moment the two forces made contact, the war entered its most brutal and bloody stage. Admiral Abukansis commanded his massive Imperial fleet of more than a hundred warships, forming an immovable wall of steel that crashed headlong into that crimson tide of madness and slaughter.

The roar of macro cannons tore through the void, and the judgment of lance batteries set the darkness ablaze. Countless fighters darted and fought between the wreckage of warships like swarms of bees. Every second, warships became cosmic dust in violent explosions; every moment, countless lives vanished into the cold void.

Yet everyone knew that no matter how savage this epic naval battle became, it was merely an insignificant appetizer. Only one person could decide the outcome of this war.

On the blood-and-brass-forged bridge of the Conqueror, steeped in bloodshed and madness, a towering figure beyond mortal proportions sat silently upon a bloody throne made from the skulls of countless powerful enemies he had personally beheaded.

A pair of enormous, hideous bat-like Demon wings grew from his back. In his hands, he gripped a massive axe and sword, both still dripping with scorching blood.

He was Angron, the Red Angel.

He did not look at the brutal void battle beyond the viewport. His gaze pierced the endless void and the planet's atmosphere, locking onto that ochre world, onto the white spire that filled him with unbearable disgust and pain.

The Hymn Engine.

That psychic radiance, filled with order, hope, and "hypocrisy," was like countless red-hot steel needles stabbing viciously into his brain, already utterly twisted by the Butcher's Nails and filled with pain and hatred. It made him recall the memories he most wished to forget: Nuceria, that hopeless land he had once fought for, only for it to betray him in the end; and his brothers and sisters, who had bled and fought beside him in the gladiatorial pits, only to be mercilessly abandoned by the cold tyrant he had called "father."

"...Home." A hoarse voice filled with endless pain and fury squeezed out of the throat twisted by the Butcher's Nails, like two rusted iron plates grinding against each other. "...A lie!"

Boom—!!!

A visible crimson shockwave, formed purely from rage and hatred, erupted from him! The entire bridge trembled violently beneath his wrath, as though struck by divine judgment.

He rose from his Skull Throne, spread his enormous, hideous Demon wings, and raised his giant axe and sword, both thirsty for blood and slaughter.

"—Kill!!!"

A roar filled with the purest, most primal, most absolute will to destroy echoed through the entire universe.

He transformed into a dark crimson meteor of destruction and charged without hesitation toward the planet that caused him endless pain.

When Angron's enormous form, burning with the fires of rage like a meteor, tore through Malakbel's murky atmosphere, the entire planet seemed to let out a pained moan. He did not even use a drop pod. With his powerful Demon body blessed by the Warp, he simply slammed straight into the ground.

Boom----------!!!

With a deafening crash like an asteroid impact, the earth was smashed into a massive burning crater hundreds of meters across. Angron stood unharmed at the center of the molten scorched earth.

Then the sky tore open. Countless Khorne drop pods, brimming with bloodshed and blasphemy, crashed down around his massive figure like a rain of steel and blood. Their hatches burst open, and endless World Eaters Chaos Space Marines, clad in blood-red armor and utterly twisted by the Butcher's Nails and Warp energy into beasts that knew only slaughter and bloodlust, poured forth; endless mortal cultists, their faces painted with Khorne's runes, let out meaningless beastly roars.

They surged from the drop pods like a bursting crimson flood, gathering into a blood-red tide that would destroy everything. Following in the footsteps of their furious king, they charged toward the white spire standing at the far end of the horizon.

Standing in their path were millions of Astra Militarum soldiers and a large number of Space Marines, already waiting in full battle formation.

"For the Emperor! Fire!!!"

War erupted on the ground once more. This time, however, it was a completely one-sided massacre with no suspense at all.