"Boom!"
A short, violent blast rang out, neither from a Macro-cannon nor from explosives.
Lorgar had merely flicked the greatsword in his hand. The highly compressed, pale golden aftershock of psychic energy stirred up by its blade swept like an invisible tide of flame across the row of heavy metal and concrete barricades along one side of the Palace corridor.
The next second, a chilling sight unfolded.
The barricades themselves remained completely unscathed.
But behind them lay an area sheltering at least a thousand elite Kiavahr defenders and private noble troops, still stubbornly resisting, firing their pitiful Meltaguns and laser weapons in vain.
That area was suddenly swallowed by Golden Psychic Flame that ignited out of thin air, its heat so intense that it warped the air!
There were no screams, barely even any smoke, only the spine-chilling, faint hiss of flesh, bone, armor, and weapons instantly carbonizing and vaporizing in the extreme heat, accompanied by an acrid odor of scorched remains and ionized air.
In the blink of an eye, all that remained were human-shaped outlines of black ash scattered across the floor and a little metal residue that had melted and solidified again.
Lorgar did not even glance that way. He kept walking.
On the other side, Angron's fighting style was more primal and savage.
He charged into the Palace's main hall and laughed wildly in contempt at the guards and heavy combat machines pouring in from every direction, trying to stop him with concentrated fire.
Without even looking, he spun around and clamped his metal arms, as thick as the roots of an ancient tree, around an enormous carved metal pillar beside him, one so wide that several people would have needed to join arms to encircle it, supporting the magnificent dome!
The pillar had been cast