The reactivation of the Ring of War provided humanity with a new trump card in the Rangdan War.
Standing by the starship's broadside, Blazkowicz watched the debris within the system streak like meteors, returning to the Ring of War. The ring's bay doors had all opened, entering a state of comprehensive overhaul. Countless drones were activated from standby, beginning repairs on the engines of war.
With the ring's affairs settled, Blazkowicz set off alone once more, boarding his vessel to head for J-11. Before departing, he had made an agreement with the Disordered Array: once the initial maintenance was complete and its long-range navigation capabilities were rebooted, the Ring of War would warp to the designated coordinates.
After half a year, Blazkowicz returned to J-11, once again taking command of Planet Five.
The war was still raging fiercely.
In the Warp, two great wills clashed, golden light and twisted darkness entangling into a vortex that whipped up endless tides. As the war in the real universe expanded, the gaze of the four Chaos Gods focused here.
Since the outbreak of the conflict, Khorne's power had steadily ballooned, with the skulls of countless races piled high beneath his Skull Throne. Amidst the sulfur and smoke of the Blood Realm, countless champions were born, joining the eternal struggle to offer battle to the Blood God. Though some high-quality souls were claimed by the Emperor, the Blood God's harvest remained immense. Furthermore, as the war progressed and blood pooled deeper within his realm, Khorne cared little about "minor" losses.
The cycle of life, aging, sickness, and death persisted through time, causing Nurgle's Garden to flourish even more. Since every individual on the battlefield fought desperately for survival and victory, the weight of their struggles aligned perfectly with Nurgle's domain, yielding him bountiful gains.
Yet, the most delighted among the gods was young Slaanesh. Ever since the shattering collapse of the Eldar Empire, the Dark Prince was once again savoring a gluttonous feast! On the battlefield, any pleasure generated by sapient beings was harvested by Slaanesh, causing the deity to groan in pure ecstasy upon a soft, fragrant divan. The thrill of slaying a hated foe, the joy of a successful scheme, the relief of surviving a near-death experience, and the triumph of tactical maneuvers—the pleasures hidden beneath the surface of war left the Prince of Darkness wanting more.
Among the four Ruinous Powers, the most frustrated was Tzeentch. To a certain extent, both the Imperium of Man and the Rangdan Empire had set aside complex schemes, lining up their forces to bludgeon each other with raw, brute strength. Consequently, major shifts in the grand design were few, reducing his harvest. Even so, countless tactical gambles occurred on the field, and change was ever-present. On the whole, Tzeentch's gains could not compare to his brothers', but they were still not to be underestimated. The Changer of the Ways was not stingy; he scattered seeds of intellect, granting certain commanders a sudden "spark of genius" to devise astonishing strategies and secure glorious victories. Yet, just as these commanders grew smug, the situation would take a sudden, devastating downturn, leaving them completely blindsided. As these dramatic twists played out, Tzeentch clapped and cackled deep within his Crystal Labyrinth, thoroughly amused.
As time marched on, the war between humanity and the Rangdan exerted a massive influence on the Warp. Deep within the Soul Forge of the Warp, demigods reclaimed inspiration from the carnage, scattering malicious technologies back into the mortal realm to escalate the conflict. The resolve and faith of humanity surged furiously toward the Emperor, bolstering his power to battle these demigods. Conversely, the warped humanity and twisted minds wrought by the war nourished the Rangdan Overlords, allowing them to sustain the fight without falling behind. In a war that destroyed all order and humanity, the utterly corrupt Warp always found a way to nourish itself and reap countless benefits.
But just as the entities of the Warp were feasting, a sudden, sharp pain flared through them. On the stellar battlefield, the influence of the Warp abruptly plummeted. Daemons without specific alignments scattered in all directions, terrified of being incinerated by a raging, burning wrath. At the absolute height of the fighting, both humans and xenos felt a sudden sense of relief. The relentless whispering in their dreams, the gibbering rising from unknown quarters, and the flashing hallucinations vanished instantly as the darkness shrouding their souls began to dissipate.
Blazkowicz returned to his quarters and briefly scanned the intelligence briefing—nothing out of the ordinary. Glancing at the corner of his room where many medals remained, he picked up a gaming controller to play some games and banish the monotony of his travels.
What Blazkowicz did not know was that in the eyes of daemons, his arrival was akin to a natural disaster. The Mark of Doom hung high in the Warp, and to the eyes of daemons, the location of the Slayer was a vast, yawning darkness. He was like an ultra-powerful world boss in a game, burning with a furious fire, roaming randomly in the wild and dealing merciless strikes to anyone who dared draw near!
Blazkowicz's return to the J-11 warzone brought a sudden hush to the local Warp. He sensed it, but rarely paid it much mind. The primary battlefield was the material universe; defeating the Rangdan was the utmost priority, clearing away the strongest adversary the Great Crusade had yet encountered.
Time flowed on. Localized engagements were won and lost, but the overall trend remained a grueling stalemate. This was a tacit understanding between both sides, each harboring the ambition of a decisive, all-out strike. The thunder of artillery became the heartbeat of the war as time slipped away in the endless slaughter.
Since the Rangdan invasion of Xana, what humanity calculated as the Second Rangdan War had raged for twelve years. Humanity paid a staggering price in this grinding stalemate; within the war of attrition, casualties truly seemed to be nothing more than numbers. In the early stages of the war, the Departmento Munitorum's conscription vessels would deliver casualty notices to planetary governments. At this stage, however—except for Planet Five—the astronomical death toll meant that casualty notices could no longer be dispatched.
They had simply become impossible to tally!
The various worlds in the deep rear of the Imperium only knew that their empire was locked in combat with a formidable foe, and that the outcome of this war would dictate the survival of the human race. The populace's physical realization of the war lay in the conscription ships that came and went, their age limits and requirements growing increasingly lenient with each visit.
Mortals clutching onto dreams boarded these ships, receiving rudimentary training on rust-caked decks. By the time they disembarked, they had arrived at the battlefield. Their eyes met a sky filled with artillery fire and energy beams hammering against void shields, before a suit of carapace armor still smelling of blood was shoved into their arms.
A cheap lasgun was handed over. Clutching it in sheer bewilderment, they boarded the transport trains of continent-class fortresses. Finally, with their legs still shaking, these young recruits were herded like sheep into bloody trenches under the barks and curses of scarred veterans. When ferocious xenos surged forward without fear, the veterans cursed at the fresh recruits to stand and fire. The dazed recruits had barely poked their heads out of the trench before being killed instantly, their bodies slumping back into the ditch, limbs still twitching reflexively. Someone would step forward expressionless, strip the carapace armor from the corpse, and drag the body away with practiced efficiency.
This was the fate of ordinary men entering the battlefield. No glory, no sacrifice for a grand ideal, and no halo of light in death. They would simply become a string of digits sent to the Departmento Munitorum, once again representing a deficit in need of replenishment.
The war was grinding away at the Imperium's humanity.
On the other side of the conflict, there was a total absence of humanity. The Rangdan had established breeding farms within their territories, where healthy female livestock were reduced to birthing machines, bred with strong males to accelerate population growth and meet the colossal consumption of the front lines. Qualified offspring were loaded onto ships, injected with hormonal drugs to stimulate rapid growth, brainwashed with combat knowledge, and sent to the battlefield as expendable material. As for those who failed to meet the standards...
The breeding machines required nutrition to ensure the growth of the fetuses inside them.
On the front lines, the fast-grown soldiers fought fearlessly under the influence of slaving brain-fluids, yet this could not mask the fact that their lifespans were incredibly short. Among them, the warzone with the highest casualty rate was Planet Five of the Conquering Corridor.
Now, dust fell over both the human and Rangdan fortresses on Planet Five. Countless living beings had been reduced to ash, drifting into the sky before falling back down like a snow of corpse dust. The basin where the two sides clashed had been artificially raised by several hundred meters solely from corpses and war wreckage, reaching half the height of the defensive mountain ranges.
Over twelve years, trillions of Rangdan slave troops had vanished into ash. The Nur elite cohorts had trained ten billion troops through the years, and fully fifty billion automatic battle-automata had been completely destroyed.
Beep... Beep...
A rapid alert woke Blazkowicz from his sleep. He snapped his eyes open, looking at the holographic projection on his desk.
[Rangdan Elites spotted on the battle line.]
Finally!
With a low grunt in his heart, Blazkowicz stood up from his bed. As he washed, the projection on the mirror continuously fed him intelligence updates.
[A cohort of five thousand is rapidly advancing toward our left flank.]
His gaze turned icy, the faint rasp of his razor shaving his beard echoing in his ears. Seeing that the war of attrition was yielding no results, the Rangdan Empire had finally lost its patience, dispatching elite soldiers onto the battlefield to test their strength.
This was the prelude to total war!
A single move would affect the entire board. The intelligence projection shifted rapidly, scrolling at extreme speeds. As expected, changes were occurring in the void battlefield; the Rangdan fleet had suddenly pushed forward, attempting to sever the connection between the other planets and Planet Five.
Blazkowicz remained unmoved, confident that high command would adjust the void lines. Since the standoff in the J-11 system began, Ferrus had proven himself countless times—fully capable of handling the role of Warmaster.
[Second Captain John Wick is leading the Second Company to engage.]
Seeing the intelligence projected on the glass, a glint of approval shone in his eyes.
First Captain Atum was stationed in the command room assisting the Archon; leading the Second Company—the strike company—John was more than capable of handling this Rangdan elite raid.
On the battle lines, a mighty roar shattered the skies!
"Doom Marines! Engage the enemy!"