The Word Bearers who had come to launch a surprise attack instead found themselves at a disadvantage.
Bolt shells fired from the tower pierced through windows and walls, accurately streaking toward the Word Bearers' helmets. The high-ground advantage increased the bolts' power by several degrees while making the Word Bearers' counterattacks far less effective.
High ground was a natural advantage.
But the tower was hardly safe. The Word Bearers' return fire could likewise punch through its relatively thin defenses.
Shattered metal and raging flames swallowed the lives of the two mortals who had volunteered. Their bodies exploded into a mist of blood, leaving only several finger-sized scraps of flesh behind.
The blast even hurled their corpses, along with the floor beneath them, into the level below, burying them amid concrete and steel.
Against weapons capable of killing Astartes, mortals were far too fragile. Even a glancing hit was highly likely to kill them.
Deputy Seraton witnessed it all. He had no time to mourn the mortals, merely retreating steadily with his battle-brothers and gradually widening the distance.
The tower's overall structure was continuously damaged by the bolt barrage. Before long, it began to shriek and topple. When its internal metal framework and external supports could no longer bear the strain, the entire tower collapsed with a thunderous crash.
Smoke and dust spread through the air, and the Ultramarines had already vanished beneath the ruins.
Had they been buried? Or had they fled?
The Word Bearers officer constantly scanned the wreckage, while the auxiliary systems in his helmet searched for traces of the enemy.
A wounded battle-brother lay beside Ventanus. A bolt shell had struck both his feet, and his power armor had failed to protect him. His calves and thighs had been reduced to pulp, but he was still alive. His formidable coagulation ability slowed the loss of life.
"Leave it to you, brothers."
Their answer was the thunderous roar of missiles like a storm. Hundreds of micro-missiles launched from one side of the battlefield as the Iron Hands' support struck precisely at the coordinates they had been given.
Atomic fission unleashed immense energy. Dense nuclear missiles detonated amid the Word Bearers' positions, and these dangerous Astartes were completely vaporized in the flames of the explosions before they could offer much resistance.
This was utterly unequal firepower. Under the saturation bombardment of missile nests, even a small Titan risked being severely damaged.
And this was precisely what the Iron Hands excelled at.
Wayland, still wreathed in smoke, led his warriors onto the battlefield. They laughed heartily. The satisfaction of vengeance slightly diminished the warriors' fury, but it was not enough.
They needed to utterly destroy those damned traitors and drown the traitors' master, Lorgar, in his own blood.
--
The battle in space was even more brutal.
The Word Bearers fleet appeared continuously beyond the edge of low orbit. Having come from afar, their engines and Weapon Arrays had long since been warmed up, while half of the Ultramarines' warships still had their engines shut down.
That meant this would be an unequal slaughter.
The False Emperor turned its broadside toward the docked starships, wave after wave of bombardment descending in fury upon those beasts awaiting slaughter.
Every salvo killed an opponent. They had no power, their void shields could not be activated, and they could not even return fire.
The Sacred Saramanth was hit, its hull breaking apart into four pieces.
Guilliman witnessed it all.
He stood on the bridge, continuously recording the fleet's losses and recovery status. Many warships were being destroyed by the enemy, but they were also delaying the enemy's advance and buying time for their comrades.
Faster! Faster!
The primarch roared inwardly, while outwardly, he only became increasingly calm and severe.
The communication link connected again. The request came from Lorgar's flagship.
Guilliman chose to accept it. Light blossomed once more, and Lorgar's somewhat illusory figure appeared before him, while the figures of his sons were difficult to make out.
Lorgar's head hung low, his eyes deeply sunken, his entire face seemingly shrouded in mysterious darkness.
"You damned beast! How could I have ever mistakenly believed you would reform? You wouldn't. You would only bite again like a mangy dog!"
Before Lorgar could speak, Guilliman's furious rebuke had already arrived.
"My brother, I thought you would offer more useless words about misunderstandings or request a ceasefire." Lorgar was somewhat surprised by Guilliman's reaction. He knew his brother possessed a fraternal affection that could almost be called weakness, and had even always carried a measure of guilt toward him.
Weakness and guilt meant there were cracks in the heart, and cracks contained opportunities for betrayal.
If it had been someone like Lion El'Jonson, he would never have exposed his own weakness.
"Stop putting on that absurd act. You released the Chaos Scrapcode. You created this chaos. You declared war on me! You made Calth burn, and my people are dying."
"I only regret that I did not put more effort into burning that damned shithole of a city. Your foul statues and scriptures should have been destroyed more thoroughly. I even gave those Colchisians seven days to evacuate."
Guilliman's reaction left Lorgar stunned. According to the trajectory of The Empyrean, Roboute should still have known nothing at this moment. What had made him realize the truth so early?
"You spineless maggot, you chose to abandon the Emperor, chose betrayal. The loyalty and faith you once barked about were nothing but foul-smelling excrement. Which master have you found for yourself now?"
Once he knew the other had already betrayed them, Roboute vented a portion of his fury through insults, with no intention whatsoever of maintaining his dignity or sparing the other man's face.
"Lorgar, you have no faith at all. You are merely a loyal dog of power, you pitiful worm! Father should have fed you to Russ and let you die young!"
"How dare you insult my faith!"
This barrage of vicious words finally angered the bald primarch. Guilliman's insults toward his faith in particular made him furious, wiping away any desire he had held to toy with his opponent.
He was supposed to hold the initiative, humiliating Guilliman from on high and venting the old hatred of Perfect City upon him.
So why had it turned into Guilliman relentlessly berating him until he lost his temper and broke down?
This was completely different from what Lorgar had imagined and foreseen.
He had even prepared to say, I am an orphan, when Guilliman tried to soften him with brotherly affection or pressure him in the Emperor's name—thus thoroughly striking this brother and the Emperor in the face, proving his absolute loyalty to The Empyrean.
"Roboute, you will soon understand that Calth is a sacrifice, the beginning of an entirely new universe, the dawn of a fairer order. The galaxy will be turned around and reborn."
"And our father will surely fall from his throne. He will die, because you are foolish and stubborn. The Empyrean will never extend an olive branch to you."
"The Imperium is finished. The galaxy is burning, and our father's dream will meet its end as well."
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