"The communication environment here is very unfriendly to us, Ulsbro."
"I know, Tatock. These humans have obviously made some preparations. They don't intend to give up this place; they want to put up a resistance and a struggle here."
In a haze at the edge of the Tacus System, two tall Randan nobles stood side by side on the bridge of a battleship. They were dressed in different attire: one in armor that seemed designed for charging into battle, while the other was indistinguishable from the Randan crew members on the warship.
"I can no longer contact Roslo's fleet. I can't even contact the battleship right next to me, let alone the task force that was supposed to attack the center of the system according to the plan. They haven't sent back any news since the initial report. Our communication network is now as noisy as a beehive, with endless static and electrical currents buzzing around my ears. I can't even contact my own adjutant."
"Everything is a mess. These newly replenished guys have no idea how to operate the war machine. I'd rather have two thousand battle-hardened veterans than hundreds of thousands of 'new bloods' who haven't even fired a shot."
"I know what you're complaining about, Ulsbro. My troops are the same. They dug up a bunch of 'elites' from schools and nursing homes for me. I have to lead them to forcibly land on those human fortress worlds and face the demons called Astartes under that Mad King."
"It's terrible."
The lord of the legion spat, and the mucus ejected from its mouth corroded the floor beneath its feet.
They looked up, their eyes filled only with the burning cosmos and endless darkness.
The battleships pressed forward, advancing through the wreckage piled up by countless comrades. The originally unstoppable steel torrent instantly became a devastating disaster: every battleship lost contact with its companions, and the originally unimpeded communication plunged into complete chaos after a mocking laugh.
Officers couldn't reach soldiers, and sailors couldn't find captains. There were helpless roars and chaotic information everywhere. Before the Randans could restore communication with their newly flooded Psyker,
the entire vanguard fleet moved forward in catastrophic collisions, with the only command being the ironclad fact: once they stopped advancing, they would be crushed into dust by the continuous stream of followers.
This chaos may have lasted less than an hour, but the losses it caused were even greater than the previous bloody battle. Hundreds of Randan battleships collided, tearing each other to shreds with their hardness and firepower, and then disappeared into the rolling iron current.
The Randans were still advancing, a terrible news that no one could deny, but likewise, they were bleeding, bleeding non-stop.
"Such psychic power... it's that special human individual, that Soul Drinker."
Although it was a brutal general commanding millions of troops, when it mentioned this name, Tatock's tone was unconsciously filled with trembling and fear.
"She's here... damn it."
"The Soul Drinker is here, we're all going to die!"
"Shut up! Don't demoralize the army at a time like this!"
Its companion refuted, but its trembling words, heavy breathing, and the unconscious grinding of its teeth all indicated the terror of that name.
"That gluttonous, mad, insatiable demon, shouldn't she have died in the Warp Storm long ago?"
"I don't know, but I only know that we will shed more blood."
"Bleed? It's not that simple!"
"How many warships have we lost? A hundred? Or two hundred? But we haven't even touched the edge of the star."
"Alright, save your complaints. You know what this operation means. We have no retreat. Once we stop advancing, all that awaits us is slaughter. You and I both know the true nature of that human Emperor and his servants very well."
"What will happen to the worlds they conquer? Haven't you and I seen enough in these ten years? They are merciless, man-eating demons, thorough massacre fanatics, a terrible disaster for the entire galaxy. They will destroy our civilization, burn our worlds, and devour our kin."
"They are madmen! Beasts! Living dead dug up from graves!"
"We must defeat them, otherwise, what we lose will be more than just honor and victory."
"We will bleed here, perhaps a lot, but this is blood we must shed."
"You know, the Fate Engine is in the grand fleet behind us. Our great Sovereign is protecting it. It is our last hope to win this war."
"For it, for the creation of this Fate Engine, how much cost and suffering have we endured? The blood of the entire empire has been drained. Each of us carries the greatest pain and determination, because this is our last chance, a chance bought with hope, dignity, and the future."
"Conquer that world, destroy the resistance here, destroy all the resistance and struggle we encounter, until we reach the star system called Terra. We must not stop, even if you and I, and the millions of warriors under us, all die in this place, it is only a necessary price."
"It doesn't matter if we all die. Everything of the empire is in this war, in this fleet. Someone will always take our place and burden, to fight to the death for the final victory, for our Emperor."
"As long as the Fate Engine appears in that place called the Solar System, the victory of this war will belong to us. That mad and evil tyrant and his beloved empire will drown in a lake of fragmented blood, and all our sacrifices to date will be repaid."
"Victory belongs to us."
"Destiny belongs to us."
"The galaxy belongs to us."
——————
The grandest rhetoric supported the most insane, futile, and bloody offensive.
No one knew how many xenomorph empire battleships disappeared in the bloodlight, because in the brief moment Morgan diverted her attention, dozens of brutal engagements and battles erupted across the star system.
From the new fissures torn at the edge of the star, no less than two hundred fearless xenomorph war engines surged forth. They scrambled out of the tides of the Warp and plunged into the grinding vortex of the real universe, guns blazing, engines roaring, as if swarming out of the deepest purgatory, eager to once again ravage the world like monstrous demons.
The fastest Randan battleships didn't even open fire, but like bloodthirsty hounds, they recklessly charged the nearest Imperial warships, using their suicidal assaults and desperate entanglements to buy more time for their allied battleships behind them.
And when the Dark Angels' warships annihilated these mad death warriors with cannon fire, lance beams, boarding actions, and various unimaginable methods, the front-line defenders shockingly found that their once intact defensive line was shattered, teetering under the xenomorphs' costly charges.
And at this moment, the Unbending Truth, like an angelic flame descending to the world, charged into the Randan battle line. No weapon could contend with this greatest battleship. From its noble hull, hundreds of deadly tongues of fire continuously spewed forth, sending one presumptuous challenger after another into eternal damnation.
To face it was to fear.
To challenge it was to die.
The appearance of the Unbending Truth was as if the Emperor of the Mortal Imperium had personally arrived on the front lines of the war. Countless shouts and battle cries erupted in unison from the bridges and decks of all First Legion ships that could see it. The cheers of the Imperial warriors, accompanied by the wails of the last Randan death warriors, ignited the first great slaughter of this war in the blazing light of the star.
Slaughter, never-ending slaughter. Every time the clock in the Warp ticked, tens of thousands of souls ascended to the sky, and tens of thousands of corpses collapsed. The shattered remains of countless warriors, along with their warships, turned into burning supernovae, and when thousands of fireballs ignited sequentially in the endless void, even the darkest cosmos shone like day for a moment, and even the great sun dimmed in that instant.
The stars faded. At this moment, only the souls of the brave lit up the entire firmament.
And this was but a fleeting glimpse in the real universe, in this war.
The most powerful weapon of the Unbending Truth was not its thunderous artillery, but a terrifying, god-like figure deep within its hull, in the sea of souls.
The war in the soul world was even grander, crazier, bloodier, and a hundred thousand times more twisted than the clashes in the physical universe. When the first First Legion battleship first engaged the Randan vanguard, the Spider Queen of the Human Imperium had already reaped tens of thousands of Randan wizards' souls in the fading ocean.
The wizards of the xenomorph empire were even faster than their fleet. Just as Morgan's energy was slightly dispersed by the chaotic fissures, tens of thousands of Randan wizards, like screaming vultures扑向 rotten corpses, poured into this battlefield from the edge of the star system.
Their piercing screams tore at the souls of countless Imperial warriors. Their twisted dark arts transformed one Imperial battleship after another into blazing torches. With unimaginable shrieks, they summoned their kin, commanded their armies, rapidly restoring order to the chaotic xenomorph fleet, and crushing and devouring one Imperial defense line after another.
Morgan frowned.
As more and more cracks appeared around her, the tides of the Warp surged hungrily into the real universe. She even felt her power expanding vigorously.
So, she turned her head and looked again at the edge of the star system.
As for those cracks...
She waved her hand and smiled. Millions of xenomorph souls were incinerated without hesitation in the same instant. The waves of the Warp were swallowed and driven by her, like docile splashes. Her soul, along with her will, lightly snapped her fingers. In an instant, countless powers burst from her fingertips, even more dazzling than the light of a thousand suns.
All the Randan wizards, all the Randan Psykers, all the presumptuous gnats who dared to challenge and fight her in the sea of psychic energy, their souls let out a piercing wail at this moment. Their lives were held in the hands of an evil god, roasted by endless flames, burned by divine heat, turning to ashes in an instant, leaving no trace or shadow.
Morgan breathed out, and the gentle breeze she exhaled instantly became a deadly vortex, precisely cleansing every crack in the center of the star system, stirring up a violent, small storm in the Warp connected to those cracks.
Madness, wailing, struggle, shock, lament, ending...
When Morgan stopped smiling and withdrew her gaze, everything in the Warp had ended. All the cracks could no longer spew out more warships, because they had been filled with countless wreckage, making more newcomers recoil with fire and blood.
Those Imperial Psykers who were not affected even forgot their mission. Their proud and powerful souls trembled in all the shadows, thankful that such a powerful entity was not their enemy.
Only the bravest and most reckless Psykers dared to extend their will, carefully observing the radiant figure on the Unbending Truth. And most of these reckless individuals, after this transgression, immediately closed their eyes, covering their smoking third eyes, wailing in pain, paying the price for their presumption.
In that reckless glimpse, they saw only the most brilliant and dazzling silver-white light occupying the center of the entire star system. They saw millions of xenomorph souls wailing in unison,
cast into endless flames, transforming into the primal power for those world-destroying, terrifying techniques. They saw the faceless lady enthroned on a web woven of netting, with endless twisted souls piled like mountains at her feet, for her to consume at will.
That was a queen.
That was a web.
Those were countless twisted faces...
That was destruction, and catastrophe.
——————
Morgan was burning.
Burning, always burning.
Ten years of war, ten years of slaughter, the tens of millions, or even more, xenomorph souls she had accumulated, were now burning.
And she, sitting atop the burning, felt unprecedented power and authority.
She had never been so wasteful, so extravagant, so lavish with her reserves. As of now, every breath and every smile, every wave of her hand and every reprimand, burned countless souls, like a storm whipped up by a frantic star, cleansing this star system again and again.
Randan wizards charged into this star system without hesitation, thousands of them.
Then, they died.
Then, more charged in.
The next moment, they turned to ashes.
Again and again, the essence accumulated by the xenomorph empire over millennia was wantonly crushed in her wanton laughter, as if a bored dragon was slowly tormenting a desperate kingdom and its knights.
Until another batch of wizards charged in.
Morgan blinked.
Each of these new xenomorphs would be sufficient to become an officer in the Thousand Sons Legion. She even saw dozens of figures on par with, or even more powerful than Ahriman. A third of them unhesitatingly slit their own throats, their souls exploding into a bloody mist that enveloped their companions.
Immediately afterward, the remaining powerful wizards, like death warriors rushing into a sea of fire, charged without hesitation towards the queen in the spider web. And in the shadows behind them,
more and more equally powerful wizards continuously surged forth, repeating the same actions: slitting their throats, a bloody mist filling the air, embarking on a path of no return in silent madness, turning all their knowledge and pride into a one-time assassination, charging towards the invincible existence.
Their strength was unstable.
Their aura was uneven.
They exuded a twisted and painful psychic energy, and their pupils were tainted by the colors of the Warp.
They.
Made Morgan.
Lick her lips.
——————
She felt hungry.
——————
And at this moment, the Randan vanguard fleet was almost within reach of the last defense line in orbit around Tacus V.
I'm really bad at writing fleet battles and long-range psychic duels...
GW also doesn't have many novels to learn from, sigh...
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