Emperor's Bane

Chapter 1011 Gastalin Speed ​​Bump
Roger Dorn.

Lord of the Fist of the Empire.

A name that carries considerable weight.

He can turn a battle line on the verge of collapse into a safe one in the blink of an eye.

Similarly, it can instantly plunge a group of opponents who are confident of victory and have smiles on their faces into an ice cave.

In a sense, of the eighteen offspring of the Lord of Men, Rogdoryn is the one who comes closest to the concepts of victory and success.

Compared to him, Morgan appears weak, Horus lacks resolve, Saint Gilles lacks a sense of responsibility, and Guilliman is too fond of boasting. Feralus and Johnson may seem like they can rival Dorne, but fighting alongside them is not a safe thing in itself.

Only Dorn: As a comrade-in-arms, he will bring you unquestionable victory.

For the past two hundred years, Shadowmoon Wolf has been the most compelling witness to this view.

But, unfortunately.

Today, they will witness Rogdorn's greatness in another capacity.

……

The air was quiet.

When that figure, the one that the Shadowmoon Wolves knew all too well, the one they had heard of and seen countless times, but who should never have appeared at this time and place, slowly emerged from the smoke, his icy gaze seemed to possess an indescribable magic, instantly drawing the breath away from everyone present.

Rogdorn wore a suit of adamantite armor made of the same material as the Emperor himself. In one hand he held a chainsword powerful enough to cleave Astartes in two, and in the other hand his shield was taller than Abaddon himself. His gaze swept carefully over the twenty or thirty Gastalins present: the gaze of a hunter looking at his prey.

Faced with this palpable killing intent, even the bravest warriors cowered in fear, whether they were the soldiers closely following Abaddon, swords and shields in hand, ready to charge, or the brothers-in-arms positioned further away to provide fire support.

When the Primarch appeared, everyone forgot their responsibilities. They just stared blankly at the Imperial bloodline who had fought alongside them, as if they were not enemies, but reinforcements that had never been expected on the same battlefield.

Even though it was only a few hundred meters away, the sounds of gunfire and busy activity continued unabated. The other Gastalins and Shadowmoon Wolves in the fortress were completely unaware of what was happening. They were busy clearing out the remaining enemies, regaining control of the fortress, and keeping the active Imperial Fists firmly at bay.

The sounds of gunfire, shouts, opening doors, and moving heavy objects did nothing to alter the silence at either end of the corridor: for a second or longer, Horus's sons simply stood there, stunned.

They felt not fear, but a sense of unfamiliarity mixed with awe and bewilderment.

To be an enemy of a Primarch?
Horus above, although every warrior who was willing to declare war on Terra had already made such a vow the moment they followed the Wolf God in raising the banner of rebellion, making a vow in one's heart and facing it in reality are two completely different things.

But this heartfelt reverence could not extinguish the rage of a Primarch: even on Rogdorn's stubborn, rock-like face, anger and killing intent were so evident, not to mention the footsteps of large numbers of Imperial Fist elites pouring out of the teleportation array behind the Primarch's radiant figure, which anyone could clearly hear.

Dorn took a step forward.

There's no time to hesitate anymore.

In the end, the first one gritted his teeth and persevered.

Unsurprisingly, it was Azekelle Abaddon, known for his courage, even recklessness.

"For Horus!!!"

Amidst the astonished and admiring gazes of his fellow warriors around him, Abaddon unleashed a hysterical roar unlike any he had ever heard before. With fury, he charged toward the fully armed Primarch before him, his chainsaw axe humming in his hand.

His charge was so fast that the storm whipped up by his pearly white armor slapped against his face, causing even Astartes to feel the pain. But Abaddon had no time for that. His eyes were bloodshot and his face was contorted with rage. When he was about a dozen steps away from his Primarch, he used the momentum to leap high into the air, wielding his axe with both hands and slashing down.

Jump!

This powerful strike drew the attention of all the Astartes warriors present. Not only Gastalin, but even the Imperial Fists behind Dorn were looking at the Shadowmoon Wolf flying in the air with incredulous eyes.

Rogdorn, however, didn't even glance at him.

When Abaddon charged over, Dorn finally turned his gaze away from Gastalin in the distance: it was as if the pride of Horus was less conspicuous to him than the few phosphorus weapons standing at the farthest point.

He walked as usual, holding a sharp chainsaw sword in one hand and raising his shield with the other.

The Primarch did not raise his head until Abaddon was captured by gravity, his body, his roar, and his chainsaw axe all screeching as they lunged at Dorn's face.

Without any hesitation, he raised the giant shield that was closer to Abaddon and slammed it into the Shadowmoon Wolf.

"boom!"

This attack seemed incredibly casual, but Abba immediately felt as if a mountain range had rolled right over him.

Like a baseball being hit, the 1st Company Commander flew backward faster than he had charged forward, and no one could see him clearly: the Gastalins further back only felt a blurry black shadow flash by, and then their leader slammed into them solidly.

The immense force was far beyond what these Terminators could resist. Before they could even whimper, they were swept away by the force and hurled further back.

Just like a bright, clean pane of glass being smashed to pieces by a football that came from nowhere, the Gastalins, who were originally in neat formation, were scattered in the blink of an eye by a whirlwind called Abaddon.

In an instant, huge gaps appeared in the rows of gleaming formations. While the Gastalins, who had been smashed and thrown to the ground, were groaning in pain, their comrades beside them did not even realize what was happening.

They only felt a gust of wind, and then the fearless company commander had disappeared before their eyes.

When I saw him again, he lay broken and broken at the farthest point behind the battle line, like a wild boar whose spine had been removed, lying on the ground, his life or death unknown.

But before the Gatalins, who were still able to stand, could react to this abrupt change, an even stronger sense of crisis made them look ahead.

After defeating Abaddon, Dorn did not hesitate.

He took a step forward.

In less than a breath, his shadow enveloped Gastalin, who was standing at the very front.

Then, he raised his hand, and the sharp blade fell.

The massacre began.

The Horus elite standing at the forefront snapped in two, the unshakeable Terminator split in two. Its lower body remained standing blankly in place, while its upper body slammed heavily against the wall beside it, turning into a pile of mud.

This couldn't even be called killing; Dorn's expression was as calm as if he were throwing trash from the table into the bin: after catching the first one, he looked at the second.

The next Shadowmoon Wolf was standing on the other side. The Primarch casually raised his shield and slammed it heavily into him. Gastalin was blasted into the concrete wall like a cannonball. His shattered body, still carrying the Primarch's lingering rage, actually smashed cracks into the wall.

Next, the third, fourth, and fifth sons of Horus met their doom at the same moment. The roaring chainsword flashed by, sending their heads flying high into the sky, their headless bodies instantly turning into chunks of flesh encased in armor. All of this slaughter, in the blink of an eye, had occurred.

Only then did the surviving Gastalins finally understand what had happened.

With no time to hesitate, and their status as Horus' elites not allowing them to make any more choices, the Shadowmoon Wolves at the forefront forgot their instinctive fear and charged towards the Primarch with a roar that seemed to have no regard for anything else.

Dorn looked at them and then met them in attack.

In the next ten seconds or so, a pure massacre unfolded in the corridor, a contest between a merciless judge and a reckless fanatic: the warriors of the Shadowmoon Wolves charged fearlessly toward Dorn, while the Primarch responded with the most fervent fury, using chainsaws, shields, his own rage, and his fists to slaughter Horus' elite one by one.

Sever the head, smash through the chest, smash half the body to pieces with a shield, or simply slam it against a wall, breaking every bone in the body.

When the first Imperial Fist warriors to break through the teleportation array finally arrived at the battlefield, their Gene Father had already slaughtered all the most valiant Shadowmoon Wolves. The remaining warriors were not armed with shields and swords, but rather with devastating weapons; they were Gastalin, who had originally intended to provide ranged support.

The Primarch continued its attack.

His response was an even fiercer attack.

The previous bloody massacre was enough to prepare these battle-hardened sons of Horus.

"Fire!"

There was no time to think about the purpose of their arrival, no time to consider any tactics or reactions, and no time to worry about the fate of their company commander, whose life or death was unknown. Someone in the surviving Destroyer squad shouted, and all the killing weapons pointed at the Primarch.

The flamethrowers and phosphate weapons illuminated the entire corridor, while deadly toxic gases rapidly spread to every area. Even the slightest lingering effects were enough to halt the Imperial Fists forces further back from advancing.

Even Dorn frowned at this.

But when the Primarch raised his shield, Gastalin's last resistance turned to ashes. The Destroyers' despair only delayed the Emperor Fist Master for a few seconds. When Dorn's figure charged again like rolling thunder, their shattered formation collapsed.

Once again, the Primarch raised his blade.

Blood splattered on their faces, gushing forth relentlessly. Gastalin, renowned among heroes for his recklessness and fearlessness, was like a trembling sheep before him, howling and resisting hysterically until the last drop of blood was shed and the string of cautious reason snapped.

Until the first follow-up footstep appeared, the Shadowmoon Wolf's dam collapsed and vanished without a trace.

The few warriors furthest from the Primarch were fortunate enough to escape Dorne's first wave of slaughter: when the Primarch, who had temporarily stopped, met their eyes, these men also lost the courage to continue their futile efforts. They abandoned their overly heavy primary weapons, drew their sidearms, and, for their own comfort, fired toward Dorne as they retreated into the distant shadows.

Through roars and piercing groans, they wanted to inform their more bewildered comrades of the arrival of the Gene Prototype.

Dorn did not pursue them, but allowed the Imperial Fists, which were gradually being deployed, to begin firing on the fleeing remnants: the Primarch had more important matters to attend to.

The Lord of Imperial Fist turned around and looked at the six Imperial Fist warriors who were originally holding the fort here: Although the warriors he brought were all elites, they did not understand the layout of Vox Fortress, so he needed these survivors.

"Tell me, how bad was the situation at Vox Keep before I arrived?"

Which key hubs have already been captured?

After quickly surveying the battlefield, Rogdorn issued his orders.

"We must immediately retake the main control room, as well as the teleportation positions that are very likely to be used by the enemy."

"Only in this way can we contain Shadowmoon..."

The Primarch's voice abruptly stopped halfway through his sentence.

Amidst the utter bewildered gazes of his offspring, Dorn strode off in one direction: at the end of the road lay several lifeless Gastalin corpses.

They were among the first to die in the battle, those who were caught in the crossfire after Abaddon was knocked away.

Some of them died instantly from the immense impact, while others struggled to their feet and joined the battle before being picked off one by one by the Primarch.

But these are not the most important things.

Most importantly, one key figure is missing from among these deceased individuals.

Ezekiel Abaddon.

He was neither among the dead nor among the piled-up corpses.

Right under Rogdorn's nose, the Shadowmoon Wolves Company Commander, whom he had personally severed, vanished without a trace.

Upon realizing this, Dorn's relentless pace faltered.

He stood where, in his memory, Abaddon should have landed after he had knocked him away, and carefully examined the spot.

Then, the master of Emperor Fist frowned.

He sensed it: it was the aura of psychic energy.

------

"cough!"

"Cough! Cough!"

As the teleportation flash faded, Abaddon could still feel the blood whipping his burning face.

Pain, numbness, frustration, resentment.

Even a thousand words could not fully express the First Company Commander's feelings at this moment, but above all, the regret for defeat and the fear of death were probably the most glaring. Abaddon's mind was still shrouded in chaos, as if he had just awakened from a ten-thousand-year slumber: the damage inflicted on Abaddon by Rogdorn's seemingly casual attack had not yet subsided, and if it weren't for his tenacious vitality that allowed him to retain the last shred of instinctive will, Abaddon would never have been able to escape that hell.

Ironically, what allowed Shadowmoon Wolf to escape from the clutches of the Emperor Fist Master was the artifact from Avalon on his wrist.

That was over a hundred years ago, when Abaddon was still fighting under the Spider Queen, who had just returned to the Empire. As Horus's representative, he naturally received preferential treatment: whenever war broke out, Abaddon, who was always at the forefront, would always get Morgan to give him an extra glance.

Over time, the Lord of Avalon naturally discovered a problem with this Shadowmoon Wolf: he always charged too fast and too deep into enemy territory on the battlefield, often becoming separated from friendly forces that were not fast enough, which resulted in his own troops being surrounded by the enemy and suffering heavy losses.

Although this courage had indeed opened up new possibilities on countless occasions in the stalemate, Morgan chose to take insurance for Abaddon in order to avoid having to explain to Horus why his company commander had died in the Far East.

Thus, a teleportation beacon, crafted by the Queen of Avalon, appeared on Abaddon's wrist.

At first, Shadowmoon Wolf didn't care much about this.

As he grew older, even Abaddon became more shrewd and cautious. He developed the habit of leaving a teleportation coordinate before heading to the battlefield, a habit he has maintained to this day, and which once again saved his life.

Unfortunately, it only saved his life.

As his mangled body was helped to his feet, Abaddon struggled to open his swollen eyes. It took him a long time to make out the faces around him with his blurred vision: several were Gastalin, who had been ordered to stay behind, and there was an even smaller one, the mortal ally who had let them in.

As for his brothers who charged toward Dorne with him...

None of them returned.

"..."

Shadow Moon Wolf raised its head.

He wanted to roar, but his voice was already hoarse.

He wanted to cry, but no tears came out.

In the end, all Abaddon could do was sob, a mixture of pain and hatred.

But even this sobbing was interrupted by the frantic questions from those around her.

"Company commander, what exactly happened?"

what's up?

This question brought Abaddon back to his senses: his previously blank face finally regained some focus.

Correct!
That's right!

Now is not the time for crying and grieving!
Dorn!

He's inside the fortress!
Leading a brand new army!

We must immediately inform the Primarch and our brothers inside and outside the fortress of this news.

Otherwise...

The thought of the Shadowmoon Wolves scattered throughout the fortress, each busy with their own tasks, suddenly bumping into a Lord of the Imperial Fist and his elite guards made Abaddon feel like he was sweating more than he was bleeding.

No, no, he must do it immediately...

"Bah!"

Unexpectedly, as soon as he moved, the excruciating pain throughout his body almost made him faint. When his brothers rushed over to help him again, Abaddon could only anxiously push them away, point to his mouth, and shout as loudly as he could in their ears.

"Primarch!"

"quick!"

"Contact the Primarch! Contact the Vengeful Spirit!"

------

"You mean: Abaddon and his men failed?"

The Wolf God, who had been standing in front of the command post since the start of the operation, overseeing the entire Minerva campaign, finally frowned and turned around after hearing the latest news from the Twisted Ones.

"Yes, my lord."

Malohrist nodded seriously.

Horus hesitated.

"But just recently, Abaddon sent me news that the operation was a success."

"Moreover, judging from the real-time battle lines, the first line of defense of the Imperial Fist is indeed showing signs of collapse."

As he spoke, Horus looked at the map.

He was right.

After the fall of Vox Fortress, the various strongholds centered around it gradually began to crumble.

Even the steel walls, designed by Dorn himself and built and forged by the Fists of the Empire, could not withstand the all-out attack launched by the Shadowmoon Wolves with overwhelming numerical superiority, and the sudden spewing of the deadliest flames from their previously secure rear. Even these tenacious defenders could not truly use their flesh and blood to resist the malice from all sides.

Dozens of once immovable strongholds are now teetering on the brink of collapse, with the outermost walls completely falling to the iron boots of the Shadowmoon Wolves: the once perfect defenses are now riddled with cracks, as if being gnawed by an ant colony.

From Horus's perspective, they could carve out a stable base on the outermost line of the Sun Barrier before the sun set on Minerva: even if this was only a drop in the ocean compared to breaching the entire fortress, it was indeed a fairly stable first step.

Once this outer shell is broken, the rest can't be any more difficult.

But just as Horus was pondering how to reward these brave Gastalins, and the mortal ally who had done them such a great service, the Twisted One's message interrupted his thoughts.

"So, Rogdorn led a highly skilled guard directly into the fortress?"

Upon receiving Malohrest's letter, Horus immediately understood what was going on.

While he grieved for Gastalin's loss, he kept his mind racing.

One minute later, the Primarch raised its head.

The light in his eyes was all too familiar to Malohrist: he humbly lowered his head and began to await the Primarch's command.

"Marlohurst".

"I am here, sir."

Where is the Eternal Expedition now?

"Still stationed near Mandeville, waiting for the other fleets of the Imperial Fist."

"As per your orders, we do not intend to engage in an immediate battle with Dorne's fleet."

"No, things are different now."

Horus shook his head.

"Transmit my will and change this command."

"The captains stationed outside the Minerva system are instructed to snipe Dorn's fleet."

"Anyway, he's not up there right now."

"There's no need to wipe them out completely; just delay their journey to Minerva as much as possible."

"Yes."

"in addition."

Horus paused for a moment.

“Tell me, Malochist.”

"Dorn and his guards have appeared inside Vox Keep. Do you know what that means?"

"Please give me your guidance, sir."

"It's very simple."

The Primarch shook his head.

"I've been on the Eternal Expedition, and I've seen its teleportation array."

"I can assure you of this."

"It can indeed complete intra-galactic teleportation."

"But it is not large enough: it is impossible to send a real army to Dorne."

"Given its teleportation capacity, if my brother wanted to assemble a legion of a thousand men, it would take at least half an hour or more."

"Do you know what this means?"

"..."

Malohrist understood perfectly well.

He looked up, and the Primarch was smiling at him.

Malohrist.

Horus's voice remained clear and resolute.

"You will take over command from now on."

"The same order remains: intercept the Imperial Fist fleet and break through the outer defenses of the Solar Barrier at all costs."

"The bomber formation cannot stop."

"The artillery barrage cannot stop."

“Tell the soldiers at the front that the battle ahead will be even more difficult, as the Imperial Fists will recover from the initial chaos: but we cannot forever rely on the enemy’s mistakes to fight; ask them to crush the Terran army’s resistance head-on.”

"We should have a stable position inside the solar barrier before the sun goes down."

"In addition, do everything possible to gather all the Shadowmoon Wolves that are still able to fight for me."

"You want to?"

"Yes."

The Primarch nodded.

"They will be teleported with me to Vox Keep."

"Let me personally meet my Stone Brother."

(End of this chapter)