The green-skin tide had almost completely taken control of The Rock.
Their nearly endless numbers, and the bizarre trait of growing crazier and stronger the longer they fought, had become the most uncontrollable destructive force on the battlefield.
Although the Forerunner Fleet's cold beams sliced through space like precise razors, constantly harvesting the Orks' crude ships and even heavily damaging the enormous battle moon several times, they still could not stop the green flood from pouring into every corner of the fortress.
Inside the fortress, every inch of space had become a meat grinder.
Under Horus's precise and ruthless command, the loyalist warriors struggled to hold the line, mounting a desperate resistance around the core nodes.
The Dark Angels, Luna Wolves, Ultramarines, and the Blood Angels who had just arrived as reinforcements all displayed astonishing resilience and combat prowess. Yet before the endless, fearless Ork tide, the casualty count continued to rise at an alarming rate.
Ork boys trampled over the corpses of comrades and enemies alike, hammering crude weapons against finely crafted power armor and battering the warriors' nerves with mad WAAAGH! roars.
The Forerunner ground forces were like efficient extermination machines, carving vast empty zones through the green tide. But they also drew even more Orks toward them like moths to flame, becoming the battlefield's new focal point.
Vashtorr's damaged mechanical body, along with the heavily wounded Abaddon, paused briefly in a relatively secluded maintenance corridor.
The air was thick with gunpowder smoke, blood, and the distinctive stench of Ork sweat.
Vashtorr's scarlet mechanical eye rapidly scanned the surrounding streams of environmental data while analyzing his own condition.
"Black Legion signal sources... massively diminished. Almost completely wiped out!" A cold synthetic voice sounded beside Abaddon's ear.
Abaddon slumped against the freezing metal wall. Agonizing pain still tore through