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"The Imperium's first true power armor was codenamed MKII, the 'Crusade Pattern.' It was crafted by the Archmagos of Mars according to the Emperor's will and ideas, and is now the standard power armor universally equipped by various Astartes Legions."
"Before that, the MK1 'Thunder Pattern' was actually a crude piece of equipment widely used by tech-barbarians, a transitional product from the Unification Wars."
"Subsequently, to adapt to the expansion of war, based on the Astartes' power armor and other armor equipment, the Fabricator-Generals of Mars began to research and restore a specialized power armor intended for mortals."
"However, subsequent experiments proved that the physical qualities of mortals made it difficult to fully utilize the power armor's strength.
Carapace armor was sufficient to meet the needs of large-scale deployment of mortal troops. Therefore, this project was halted, leaving only some experimental products."
"The First Legion specifically collected such creations. They were among the best quality of their kind, the ultimate product personally forged, assembled, and blessed by the Archmagos of Mars who had always been responsible for this project."
As the vault doors opened one by one, Corswain's explanatory voice echoed through the empty corridor. The Lion's confidant smoothly recited the one-time password composed of a cipher, leading the silver-haired mortal advisor deep within the Unbending Truth, the rumbling sound of the engine room echoing in their ears.
Finally, they stopped in an inconspicuous corner. Corswain recited the last segment of the password, and a hidden secret door slowly opened. Behind it was a not-so-large room, where dozens of different, distinct armors were neatly arranged. The Dark Angel extended his arm, pointing to one of them.
"That one."
Morgana's gaze swept over. What entered her eyes was a well-maintained female armor: it was a pure black, finely crafted piece. Compared to the bulky power armor of the Astartes, it was more like a bodysuit,
but from the neck and shoulders, to the chest and abdomen, and then to the thighs and knees, it was indeed strictly protected. Clearly, this was a lightweight armor capable of handling all protective tasks.
"This power armor, while prioritizing speed and agility, also has undeniable defensive power. It can even enhance the wearer's own strength. Moreover, it possesses the same power source as Astartes power armor and can maintain operation almost indefinitely as long as it is not damaged."
Corswain's explanation continued, but Morgana didn't listen carefully, because the moment she saw the armor, she recalled some fragmented memories in her mind.
Whenever Morgana devoured a certain quantity of souls, a thread of the darkest firmament in her mind would shatter, scattering countless fragments. Some of these fragments would reveal a glimpse of the future,
while others would show a moment from the past. There was no connection or logic between them, like a book torn into countless pieces.
But fortunately, these fragments also didn't actively disturb Morgana's thoughts. Viewing them was also a way for the Spider Queen to pass the time, and on one of these fragments, she had seen this armor.
They were worn by a group of the most formidable female warriors, and those female warriors were reverently referred to by the surrounding crowd as "Daughters of the Emperor."
Those silver-haired female warriors, or rather, Battle Sisters, wore armor identical to the one before her.
Corswain pressed a button. A specialized changing room appeared from the wall, and at the same time, two female Battle-Sister Servitors seemed to emerge from the floor, appearing in the room. They would be responsible for helping Morgana put on the armor.
The Dark Angel left the room, turning his back, listening to the continuous clashing sounds of the ceramite armor. A thought formed in his mind, and he began to subtly struggle with it.
Finally, as Morgana adjusted the width of the two rather cramped front armor plates, Corswain's sigh pierced the room's iron walls and reached Morgana's ears.
"Lady Morgana, there are a few things I'd like to say to you."
[Please speak.]
"How should I put it... ultimately, power armor is equipment built according to the physical qualities and requirements of us Astartes. So even specially modified power armor for mortals cannot truly unleash its full power. This is not a matter of attitude or proficiency, but a physical disparity."
"Therefore, Lady Morgana, if you find that you cannot perfectly utilize this armor, please do not remain silent due to matters of pride or similar concerns. You must report any problems to me; there is no shame in that."
"After all, you and we are not... of the same type."
Evidently, the last phrase caused the Dark Angel considerable internal struggle.
In the room, Morgana fidgeted with her fingers, casually adjusting the armor's parameters and dimensions to perfectly fit her current body. Then, she curled her lips, and with a slightly dejected, subtly disheartened tone, she answered the Dark Angel outside the room.
[Thank you for your advice, Corswain.]
"It's nothing."
The Lion's confidant seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.
——————
When Morgana once again returned to the Lion's private room, the progress of the void battle had taken a solid small step forward: the Duran's second space defense line had also been breached. Their only inhabited world, besides their homeworld, was now trembling under the shadow of the Imperial fleet, but the divination box showed it was already empty.
Clearly, this pocket empire had placed all its hopes on their homeworld.
The Lion's sons urged their warships forward steadily. The most powerful Imperial capital ships consistently refrained from engaging in front-line combat.
They obeyed Lion El'Jonson's orders, remaining outside the Duran's firing range, using their longer-ranged firepower to support the destroyers and drone swarms fighting on the front lines.
The Primarch of the First Legion didn't even need to constantly monitor his subordinates, because every warship was manned by the most experienced officers and veterans.
They steadfastly executed Lion El'Jonson's plan, gradually corroding the Duran's defense lines like a persistent drizzle, dragging the fiercely fighting defenders into the Dark Angels' battle rhythm, then ruthlessly annihilating them.
Entangle—Probe—Erode—Advance—Entangle.
The Duran's third and fourth defense lines thus disintegrated unknowingly. The First Legion's vanguard even vaguely touched the Duran homeworld's orbit.
The Duran still resisted, struggled, and even counterattacked relentlessly. The voice of that Duran tyrant, Duras, still echoed through specialized space broadcasts, repeating in the ears of every Duran, inspiring them to fight for their homeland, for every inch of sacred soil.
For the Imperium, Duran was merely a somewhat stronger rebellious nation, a world with some value for exploitation and oppression.
But for the Duran warriors, Duran was their homeland, their everything, their Holy Terra in their eyes, the most precious treasure in the entire galaxy, worth protecting with their last drop of blood.
They had nowhere to go, and nowhere to retreat.
Every Duran soldier resisted desperately and without hesitation, vowing not to surrender. This spirit was indeed noble, great, and brave, but when combined with the Duran's blind rejection of the Imperium's rule, it twisted into an extreme ignorance that disgusted Lion El'Jonson.
Therefore, their only fate was to completely disappear from the galaxy: the countless star rivers were destined to belong to the Human Imperium, and they, who resisted the Imperium, naturally had no hope or future whatsoever.
Through real-time feedback projections, Lion El'Jonson saw all of this in meticulous detail. Even the Lion of Caliban felt genuine pride and satisfaction at these perfect tactics. He even wanted to show off to someone, just the simplest bragging would do.
And the person he wanted to find soon appeared before him.
——————
Morgana had completely adapted to the power armor. Her only dissatisfaction was that when she stepped on the ground, her steps became much heavier, rather than the pleasing crisp sound of her boots on the ground.
She looked taller.
When Lion El'Jonson looked at the fully armored Morgana, this was his first thought.
And then, he belatedly realized that his kin, enveloped in armor, looked much more pleasing than when she wore long dresses and other mortal clothing.
She could even be called [beautiful], like a perfect castle, or a flawless sword, radiating an invisible glow that refreshed the mind.
She walked to his side, still seemingly wanting to exude that private, lazy aura, but the armor's martial presence made her casualness appear extremely uncomfortable. After a few seconds of attempting and struggling, she had to straighten her back, standing as a serious warrior beside the Primarch.
Lion El'Jonson tilted his head, hiding the corner of his mouth.
His mood grew even more joyful.
So, with a somewhat boastful mindset, Lion El'Jonson softly recounted the course of the battle. His finger pointed at the projections of the star system. Soon, the holographic image of a huge space station appeared before the two of them. It was like a floating cylinder in the void, yet it had thousands of tentacles and pipelines connecting in all directions.
[This is the Duran's defensive core, and the largest Duran orbital fortress we have seen. It stands at the end of Duran's void defense line. As soon as we tear through a few more Duran defense lines, we will crash head-on into it.]
[This is not a simple opponent. Its shield thickness is an astronomical figure. Even the main guns and lance weapons of my Unbending Truth cannot penetrate it. If this big trouble is not solved, the battle cannot proceed.]
Although his words were filled with worry, Lion El'Jonson's face was calm and unhurried, as if he were a confident strategist silently demonstrating that he already had a countermeasure.
His head was slightly raised, forming an arrogant angle, until Morgana shifted her gaze, finally settling on his face with an expression of [doubt] and [inquiry]. Only then did the Lion of Caliban silently curl the corner of his mouth, and then slowly spoke.
[So, I plan to use their spear against their shield. Corswain has already gone to inform the front-line fleet.]
Lion El'Jonson waved his hand, and the projection before them changed, revealing a colossal Duran battleship. This ancient and decaying void war engine was even larger than an Imperial capital ship. Its crimson bow was even larger and bulkier than its comrades, like a terrifying, aging, skeletal, and dying behemoth, yet it still possessed deadly power.
[This is the Duran's flagship, their other tactical core. It was originally stationed with that troublesome fortress, but I ordered the front lines to continuously apply pressure. Now this battleship has left its position and is confronting my fleet on the very front lines.]
[Its escort ships are almost gone. Soon, as soon as my fleet launches another assault and encirclement, it will be surrounded by my fleet. At that time, ten squads of warriors, one hundred and eighty of the best Dark Angels,
will board its bridge. They will capture this colossal ship and ram it into the Duran orbital fortress. A collision of this magnitude will be enough to shatter the fortress's shields, and the entire war will be in my hands.]
The Lion's palm clenched triumphantly in mid-air, as if kneading the massive battleship.
He paused, seemingly waiting for something, then slowly turned his head to look at Morgana.
His kin did not exclaim, nor did she utter any sounds of disbelief, or any words of praise.
This was somewhat disappointing.
In Lion El'Jonson's deepening gaze, Morgana meticulously examined the projection of the colossal battleship before her. Her mind seemed to be racing, pondering something.
[Which battleship do you plan to use for this mission, Lion El'Jonson?]
[We'll see when the time comes, but it will likely be the Sword of Numark, as it's the closest.]
Morgana nodded.
[What are you thinking?]
Facing Lion El'Jonson's question, she merely tilted her head.
[I'm thinking whether to make some preparations beforehand, for example, placing a psychic shield on the Sword of Numark.]
A dissatisfied puff of hot air snorted from Lion El'Jonson's nostrils. He was a little angry, but it was not a serious anger.
[Do you believe my plan will encounter an unexpected complication?]
[Not your plan.]
Morgana shook her head, then revealed a sly smile that Lion El'Jonson particularly disliked.
[Do you still remember my cat, Lion El'Jonson?]
[...This is wartime, Morgana.]
[I know. I just want to tell you that when I first picked it up, it was covered in scars. That was because it was protecting a grape vine at the edge of its territory, and even though cats don't eat grapes, it didn't stop it from clashing with canines trying to steal the grapes, getting itself covered in scars and dirt.]
Lion El'Jonson's eyebrows twitched almost imperceptibly.
[Are you worried our brother will cause trouble for me?]
[It's our brother, Lion El'Jonson.]
The Primarch of the First Legion froze for a moment. Then, he snorted, slamming his palm on the table with a deafening thud.
[The Fenrisian fleet is currently scattered chaotically throughout the sector. Even if he knew where Duran was, he couldn't assemble a reliable army, unless he was reckless enough to try to bite this hard bone with only a few thousand men...]
[Canines are often not calm, Lion El'Jonson.]
Before the Lion could finish speaking, Morgana's undeniable cold words interrupted him. After donning her armor, her voice seemed to have grown colder.
[You're implying...]
The Lion still wanted to say something, but a hurried knock on the door rudely interrupted him.
It was Nemire.
"Apologies for the interruption, sir, but the Mandeville Point at the other end of the system has suddenly reacted: it's the Nidhogg, a Space Wolves battleship!"
The Lion's continuously surging hot breath instantly stopped, as if a roaring lion had suddenly had its fate's throat choked.
He straightened his face, almost forcefully, his cheeks and forehead visibly darkening at an alarming rate. His pupils were filled with hesitation, indifference, and the embarrassment and anger that they forcibly concealed.
Under his gaze, Morgana revealed a cold, slow smile. She deliberately made her smile exceptionally slow, and Lion El'Jonson's face also turned exceptionally dark.
[I told you, Lion El'Jonson.]
[Canines are often not calm.]
The Primarch of the First Legion did not answer his kin. He suddenly turned around, his steps hurried as if fleeing something, yet heavy as if wanting to kill something.
In the blink of an eye, he reached the door, his body shrouded in the shadows he himself cast, making Nemire's sweat drip uncontrollably.
[For your own sake.]
Lion El'Jonson's voice was like rolling stones crashing down a valley.
[You had better be telling the truth.]
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