The Iron Blood
The Iron Warriors Legion's Fleet filled Olympia's orbital space like a torrent of steel.
Hundreds of capital warships hung silently in the void, their armored hulls reflecting the pale light of distant Stars, outlining a suffocating vision of hell in the boundless darkness.
The flagship Iron Blood stood proudly at the forefront of the Fleet formation, its bridge like an enormous steel skull gazing down upon the planet covered in layers of fortresses.
Perturabo stood before a Blue Light-glowing screen, his expression thunderous, an indescribable fury and humiliation burning in his deep-set eyes.
Olympia, his former home, had become a sharp thorn lodged deep in his heart.
Seen from orbit, the entire surface of the planet had changed beyond recognition.
The Fortress Complex he had personally designed and overseen spread like tumors among the mountains, across the plains, and even into the depths of the oceans.
Every stronghold perfectly embodied the military aesthetics of the Iron Warriors: angular, impregnable, and without a single flaw.
Perturabo understood the terror of these fortresses better than anyone, because he had designed them.
"Damn you, Dammekos..." Perturabo's voice was low and hoarse, like a curse forced from the depths of his throat. "I'll tear you limb from limb."
His gaze remained fixed on the most prominent, most magnificent fortress beneath the clouds.
It was the heart of Olympia's defenses, a stronghold capable of withstanding orbital bombardment.
Perturabo had poured countless hours of painstaking effort into this fortress, reconsidering the placement of every firing position, the connections between every Defense Line, and the course of every supply route hundreds of times.
He had intended it to repel any enemy who dared invade Olympia, but fate had played a brutally cruel joke on him.
Now he had to lead an army himself to