The precise strike from the Warp had severely damaged humanity's second line of defense before it could truly come into play.
Space was littered with drifting planetary fragments, wreckage from disintegrated ships, and human flesh frozen into blocks of ice.
Most of the surviving battle planets were wounded as well. Their Blackstone obelisk arrays had overloaded and failed, their dimensional engines flickered unstably, and tremendous crashes from equipment breaking down under distorted physical laws occasionally rang out within them.
The once-impenetrable defensive line now resembled a dam gnawed apart by some colossal beast, riddled with fatal breaches.
Repairing these celestial fortresses would require an exceptionally long time and the support of a complete industrial system, conditions that simply did not exist on this perilous battlefield.
In the direction of the Eye of Terror, visible Chaos energy piled up in waves like a tsunami, heralding the imminent arrival of another assault by Warp daemons.
Lion El'Jonson stood within the command dome of his battle planet, gazing at the apocalyptic scene beyond the viewport.
He knew full well that with humanity's heavily battered forces as they were, holding this shattered line of defense was nearly an impossible task.
"Dorn." Lion's low, hoarse voice broke the suffocating silence in the holographic command chamber.
"I'm temporarily handing command of the defensive line to you. Do everything possible to repair whatever warships and celestial fortresses can still be repaired, and stabilize our battle line."
"Even if it is only one ship or one gun battery, we need to get it operational again, even if it can fire only a single shell."
Rogal Dorn's projection wore an equally grave expression, his eyes filled with unshakable resolve.
"I understand. I will do everything in my power to stop those daemons here."
Perturabo likewise made his position clear.