The Dreadwing Master had personally led only three hundred Dark Angels veterans, while the other Space Marines had already been assigned across the various sectors of the Divination Needle defensive line, resisting the enemy invasion and manning the defensive turrets.
The Sons of Horus, together with the Gasterlin Terminators, numbered well over a thousand. Yet despite such a vast disparity in strength, the Sons of Horus' vanguard had been completely wiped out.
From the data displayed on his tactical helm's screen, Redloss discovered that forty-two Dark Angels veterans had lost all life signs.
The Apothecaries were already recovering the gene-seed of those Inner Circle brethren, while their bodies were carried into the hall for temporary placement.
Though they all understood that they would likely not survive this war, they continued to perform the sacred rites.
If there is a chance, I will take you back to Caliban.
The Master thought silently. If the enemy's fighting strength was truly no greater than this, they could hold out until Lion El'Jonson's main force arrived.
The Dreadwings moved through the walls and corridors, clashing fiercely with the enemy in every corner, defending the glory of the First Legion with nothing but blades and firepower.
At that moment, beneath the hundred-meter-high wall, a towering figure slowly emerged from a torn Warp rift.
The Warp sealed itself like a writhing mirror, leaving behind only Horus' figure.
He stepped over the burning wreckage of a Titan and passed the corpse of an Imperial Fists Astartes pierced through with blades. With every step he took, the dark power accumulated across the battlefield surged ever more violently.
He stood alone, yet the aura he exuded far surpassed that of the so-called god-machines. Worldbreaker swayed in his hand, while the Talon of Horus flickered with arcs of incomparably deadly