Originally, the Imperial fleet had been at an overwhelming disadvantage in numbers. The rebels had committed nearly all their vanguard forces to the Twin Gates defensive sector, forcing the Imperial Fists to face enemies several times their number.
But now, the rebel fleet was like a long snake severed at the middle, with only the venomous head left charging toward the Imperial Fists.
The Imperial Fists charged in from the direction of Terra. The light of humanity's sun arrived alongside the Imperial warships, and to the naked eyes of the Iron Warriors, it was almost impossible to distinguish the silhouettes of those dangerous behemoths from the radiance.
The Warsmith's eyes were filled with resentment. The Iron Warriors and Imperial Fists were so alike; the Fourth and Seventh Legions were both Astartes Legions most skilled in siegecraft and defensive warfare. Yet the latter were Terra's resplendent guardians, while they could only spend their lives on the most brutal battlefields.
The Iron Warriors did not fear sacrifice, but they had never received the glory and recognition they deserved. That was the root of their betrayal.
Injustice. The Iron Warriors would wage war against injustice. Since the Emperor would not grant them glory, then let the Warmaster overthrow the false Emperor.
Space had long since ceased to be safe. Vast quantities of debris and wreckage from several star forts and the self-destruction of the Twin Gates were scattering in every direction at horrifying speeds.
Unrestricted by resistance, these dangerous fragments, driven by their initial momentum and inertia, would lose little of their lethality. Once they struck an Iron Warriors warship, they would inflict terrifying, fatal damage.
They were called wreckage, but some were as large as half a frigate. The consequences of being hit by them were easy to imagine.
Vollbraun watched helplessly