Emil stood on the bridge of the Unyielding Truth, close enough to the observation window to see the dark void outside clearly, studded with the light of death.
He was the Company Captain of the Second Legion's Fifth Great Company, clad in desert-colored Power Armour. Yet at that moment, his armour felt heavy as lead—not from its physical weight, but from the burden on his mind.
From the corner of his eye, he never lost sight of the tall, imposing figure at the center of the Bridge, steady as stone. It was Lion El'Jonson, master of the First Legion and Primarch of the Dark Angels.
In theory, the plan was flawless.
The Second Legion had forged a deadly alliance with the Rangdan Xenos.
Their objective was clear: strangle the First Legion, the Imperium's sharpest and most unpredictable spear, in this remote expanse of space.
Even if they could not annihilate it completely, they had to pin it down, mire it so deeply that it could not break away to support the decisive campaign to suppress the rebellion in the Bloodscab system.
Lord Saladin's grand strategy required time, and their Fifth Great Company was the nail and the bait that would buy it.
But theory was a cold blueprint; reality was a blazing furnace.
Beneath his helmet, Emil's brow furrowed, his eyes fixed on the tactical hologram behind his faceplate.
On it, the dark green points representing the First Legion's Fleet tore into and divided the dark gold and deep green markers of the combined Rangdan and Second Legion forces with astonishing efficiency, like a well-trained wolf pack.
Their losses were mounting. Their lines were falling back.
The First Legion's offensive was precise and deadly, carrying a suffocating pressure.
Lion El'Jonson's command was far more masterful, far more ruthless, than the