Boarding action!
At the Primarch's command, the Blackstone Fortress closed in on the Rangdan fleet like a grinning behemoth.
Guided by the eerie laws of the Warp and fueled by its near-infinite energy, it surged forward in a manner that defied the laws of physics, a nightmare made manifest.
"Tractor anchor locked," the Blackstone intelligence reported coldly. A chain of lightning erupted from the fortress's prow, piercing through the psychic barrier and sinking like ravenous fangs into the enemy ship's deck.
The chain snapped taut. The Rangdan flagship thrashed in vain like a fish anchored by its side fin, trying to escape the angler's grasp.
Having closed the distance to the fleet, the Blackstone Fortress unleashed its full firepower!
The Blackstone desperately gorged on energy, creating an energy vortex around the fortress. A swallowing sound seemed to echo through the Warp as the eerie energy conducted through runic sigils to every section of the vessel.
Then, ten thousand beams of light fired simultaneously!
From the rectangular recesses of the eight-pointed star ship's blackstone deck, purple light erupted, pouring toward the Rangdan fleet.
No! The Rangdan fleet now could no longer be called "warships."
Biologically animated by the power of the dark gods, they hovered in the void of the Warp like predatory leviathans, biting and chewing on one another.
Under the onslaught of pure Warp energy, the living warships—the embodiments of malice—howled. Their bodies were shattered, and blood mixed with machine oil splattered into the void as flesh entangled with steel spines stripped away from the hulls layer by layer.
Chaos.
There was only chaos on the battlefield. Warships turned into living organisms hunting each other. With the Rangdan flagship surrounded, the human fortress used its firepower to blast open a bloody path.
The forces in the real universe did not dare to offer support. Everything in sight was a profanity, branding itself into the depths of the Rangdan warriors' minds and slowly eating away at their sanity.
The broadside launchers of the Blackstone Fortress opened, and boarding torpedoes were loaded inside, aimed directly at the heavily encircled Rangdan flagship.
The energy in the acceleration rails surged, launching the deadly passengers into the void.
The boarding torpedoes cut through the emptiness, their trajectories surrounded by ship wreckage, burning embers, and turbulent currents of twisted energy.
"Repel the human boarding party." A roar of agony echoed through the bridge. The Overlord shook its head, struggling to maintain the psychic barrier.
The psychic membrane it projected was being consumed without dead ends by blue flames, and it had just taken another devastating blow—a psychic anchor had pierced the barrier.
Abnormal sensations kept filtering in. The human boarding party had breached the barrier and begun their boarding tactics.
"We swear to protect the Overlord with our lives!"
Beneath the levitating throne, Eldar slaves and Overlord Praetorian Guards swore their oaths of defense. They respectfully left the bridge, heading out to repel and eliminate the human boarding force.
Pssh—
The boarding torpedo hatches hissed open. The Primarch's guard filed out, forming a defensive line to directly face the mass of soldiers inside the Rangdan flagship.
The Iron Men's six legs rotated as their scanners extended deep into the corridor. Countless thermal signatures indicated that enemies were rushing toward them.
"Unleash a volley of thermobaric munitions."
The voice was utterly cold. An Iron Man turned its body, its heavy steps clanging against the steel floor. The missile launchers on its legs locked onto the depths of the corridor. The missiles shrieked, tearing through the air and plunging into the hallway trailing tails of fire.
"Prepare for blast impact," the Iron Man warned. Its mechanical six legs spread to lower its posture, and hydraulic struts bit firmly into the steel deck.
With seamless coordination, the Primarch's guard took cover behind the Iron Men, lowering their stances to brace themselves for the incoming shockwave.
Hum! Hum! Hum!
Violent waves of air surged over them one after another, carrying scorching heat and a heavy, suffocating stench of burning, slamming against the Iron Men's outer ion shields.
The bodies of the Doom Warriors remained immovable. As a sensation of suffocation hit, the power armor life-support systems kicked in, generating oxygen.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Long after the shockwave had passed, the thunderous sound of the explosions finally arrived. But the boarding warriors were already on their feet, fanning out around the Iron Men and advancing rapidly in a combined infantry-armor formation.
"Release the cyber-mastiffs and scouting Aquilas."
The guard captain, Astralan, gave the order. The Primarch's guard deployed their reconnaissance units even as they pressed forward.
This legendary warrior of the Night Sentinels, given new life by the power of the gene-seed, had chosen to remain at the Slayer's side to serve as the captain of the Primarch's guard.
The black Aquilas spread their wings and took flight, while the mastiffs charged down the corridor, transmitting real-time data back to the rear.
The Primarch's guard advanced rapidly. The mechanical legs of the Iron Men crushed charred corpses, and the corridor was littered with aliens and humans who had suffocated to death.
Thermobaric munitions detonated within an enclosed space incinerated everything at the epicenter with extreme temperatures, then sucked out the air, leaving countless alien slave soldiers to die from heat and vacuum asphyxiation.
This ancient weapon, having undergone countless iterations and upgrades, still held a definitive place on modern battlefields.
The boarding party moved swiftly and with extreme efficiency.
Upon breaching a sealed bulkhead, they immediately used thermobaric weapons to clear the room, wiping out most of the low-level slave soldiers to avoid getting bogged down in a war of attrition.
Pssh—
As the Primarch's guard pushed forward in the wake of the cyber-mastiffs, the visual feed suddenly cut out. The final image was the flash of a cold blade.
Without breaking stride, Astralan said flatly, "Eldar ambush. Watch the darkness and the shadows."
There was no surprise or tremor in his eyes; he merely felt that the intelligence provided by Sollas was highly thorough.
During the Rangdan expansion, they had encountered an Eldar Craftworld. The Rangdan Supreme Overlord had personally gone to the Craftworld and infected the entire vessel with his own cerebral fluid.
The remnants of those ancient survivors had thus degenerated into one of the Rangdan's tools, mostly serving as personal guards to high-ranking Rangdan members to ensure the safety of important figures.
Bang—
An Iron Man brutally tore open a pneumatic airlock door. Before them lay a staging room filled with various weapons and gear intended for Rangdan slaves.
"They are right here," Astralan warned, raising his gaze to look upward, where he spotted several slender silhouettes.
They wore bone-white psychic armor, their faces covered by howling masks adorned with red manes. Holding curved blades and single-handed pistols, they exuded an ominous aura.
The Doom Marines recognized them at a glance—those female warriors standing on the high structures, glaring down at them like hawks eyeing prey: Howling Banshees.
The Iron Men ignored the Howling Banshees and continued to push forward. This area was stacked with large amounts of ammunition, making it unsuitable for heavy firepower.
If the ammunition cooked off, everyone would be in danger.
The Eldar warriors had chosen to ambush them here with exactly this consideration in mind. In a cramped corridor, the firepower of the Iron Men was practically absolute.
But while the Iron Men wanted to move past, reality would not permit it.
The inner doors of the staging room slid open, and a century-strength unit of guards marched out. Each held a plasma spear in one hand and a heavy force shield in the other.
They stood roughly three meters tall, their faces hideous and terrifying, with a pair of crimson compound eyes on either side of their heads. Their elongated lower and upper limbs were lined with chitinous barbs, and their blue-gray bodies were covered in a layer of chitin. From their backs grew four transparent wings that fluttered in the hot air.
The Overlord Praetorian Guards—yet another type of formidable enemy had appeared.
With a thought, Astralan signaled his legion brothers to spread out into combat formation, preparing to engage the enemy.
The Overlord Praetorian Guards were a high-ranking Rangdan combat unit.
Hailing from a swamp world, they resembled a humanoid evolution of ancient Terra's dragonflies. They were few in number, but their combat prowess was exceptionally formidable, comparable to humanity's Legio Custodes.
The relationship between the Overlord Praetorians and the Rangdan was not a simple master-servant dynamic; rather, they had joined the Rangdan Empire as high-level partners.
"Humans, passage ahead is forbidden."
One of the Overlord Praetorians stepped forward, its mouthparts rubbing together rapidly to produce a bizarre accent filled with scorn: "Your lives ends here."
"Ha!"
The warriors behind it took a step forward, raising their force shields. Plasma spears struck the round shields with a ringing, metallic clang: "Your lives ends here."
In an instant, the aura of the Overlord Praetorians became terrifying, the air seemingly trembling under their pressure.
"Just with you?" Astralan let out a disdainful smirk. He looked up at the Eldar warriors, then across at the dragonfly-men: "A squad of Eldar warriors, plus some bugs that can be crushed at will?"
He pointed at the Overlord Praetorians, his cold voice cutting like ice from a frozen sea: "Crush them!"
The marines lit their dimensional blades and fanned out into combat formations, their collective combat resolve enough to tear anything apart.
The battle erupted within a ten-thousandth of a second—a fraction of a moment where mortal soldiers or even ordinary Space Marines would completely fail to react. These peak warriors of the physical universe slammed into one another.
Screeech!!!
The Howling Banshees leapt down from the steel beams, sound waves rippling from the mouths of their howling masks as they raised their blades to slaughter the Doom Marines.
They raised their pistols, instantly unleashing thousands of cerulean monomolecular discs that blanketed the area from above.
The air hissed as the shuriken hail poured down like a blizzard, beautiful yet lethal, enveloping all life within a chilling intent to kill.
The Shuriken Pistol—a weapon unique to the Eldar, equipped by everyone from common soldiers to elite warriors. Elegant, precise, cruel, and deadly!
The thousand monomolecular discs bursting forth in an instant could inflict a death of a thousand cuts, slicing a target from muscle to bone into fragments and shreds of meat.
As the shurikens tilted down, Astralan raised his spear with one hand, spinning the dimensional spear in his grip until the gleaming blade resembled a full moon.
With a series of crisp, clattering sounds, the monomolecular discs were batted away and shattered by the spear.
Before the fragments could even hit the ground, the piercing shriek of the Banshees washed over them, a sonic wave powerful enough to deafen mortals and strike terror into their souls.