"We had a deal, yeah? You take me to Malcador, and I get rid of these fools for you."
The voice was still echoing, but the compartment was already empty.
The Art of War, "Waging War," stated: "Do not intercept an army with orderly banners; do not attack a force in imposing formation."
In plain terms: do not intercept an army with disciplined ranks and orderly banners, and do not attack a vast, well-ordered army with high morale.
Commonly put: when the enemy advances, we retreat.
The Saint of Khorne's army marched onto the battlefield in perfect step.
The opening Lance strike blasted a hole in the Battle Barge, its edges running with molten metal. Then the Blood Army's Strike Cruiser plunged straight into it. The metal around the edges cooled just then, sealing the gap between the two ships as though they had been welded together. Warp power filled any remaining gaps.
They marched in ranks, dense as a forest, solid as ramparts.
Their synchronized footsteps descended like thunder, until that was the only sound left in the world.
Bang!
A lone gunshot broke the rhythm of war.
In the darkness, in a shadowed space formed by wreckage collapsed in the collision, a member of the Sons of War was firing.
The shots came at irregular intervals. Bolter rounds struck the World Eaters' breastplates with almost no effect. The Khorne Cultists in the formation bore powerful blessings of the Warp, and that power became especially formidable when they moved together.
The eight Chaos Astartes in the front rank were all veteran Terminators. Some were elite World Eaters who had fought their way out of the Gladiator Arena; others were renowned war champions from the Eye of Terror. They had all been summoned here at the same time, and