"Finish them."
Angron's low voice rang out. Complex Fleet bombardments and tactical maneuvers were not his way.
Boarding.
Decapitation.
He would tell Saladin the price of betrayal to his face, in the language of Chainaxes and Bolts.
Almost simultaneously, on the distant Soul of the Sea of Sand's Bridge, Saladin received the news he had been waiting for.
On the tactical hologram floating before him, the scarlet markers representing the Conqueror and its escort Fleet were tearing through the interlocking web of fire with brute, heedless force, charging straight toward his position.
More glaring still, dense clusters of Drop Pod launch signals were lighting up like falling rain.
"That mad dog Angron has resorted to the method he knows best after all," Saladin murmured, brushing his knuckles over the cold guard of his scimitar.
He did not panic. Instead, he remained calm, as though this was exactly what he had expected.
Curze appeared and vanished like a ghost, Perturabo stood firm as an anvil, and Lorgar's whereabouts remained unknown...
Of all the threats, Angron was the most terrifying in battle, but also the easiest to predict.
Facing this mad dog was better than having Curze slit his throat in the shadows, or being ground to pieces in Perturabo's mill of iron and fire.
With Mago's Rangdan Fleet holding the other fronts in check, he had room to respond.
A piercing shriek, signaling the highest boarding alert, tore through the air inside the Soul of the Sea of Sand, heavy with the scent of incense and ancient parchment.
Saladin glanced at the Star Chart one last time and turned, his dark gold Power Armour tracing an arc of light through the dim Bridge.
His scimitar slid from its sheath, a cold gleam flowing along its edge.
Bang! Screeeech!!!
Huge steel