Emperor's Bane

Chapter 1012 Demon Forge
Just like their perfect attack on the Seventh Legion less than an hour earlier: the Imperial Fists' counterattack far exceeded Shadowmoon Wolves' expectations.

As the sons of Horus stood beside the still-wet corpse of the Imperial Fist, cleaning up the battlefield and savoring the afterglow of victory, they certainly did not expect that the transformation from hunter to prey would come so quickly.

At Rogdorn's command, hundreds of elite Imperial Fists warriors, fully armed, rushed out of their well-hidden hideouts, forming small teams of a dozen or so, and began methodically reclaiming their land: compared to their scorching breaths, even hell seemed mild.

The only thing that could restrain these enraged warriors was their unfamiliarity with the fortress itself.

Only six Imperial Fists survived the attack by the Shadowmoon Wolves. They were the only guides the Sons of Dorne could rely on, and only with their guidance would the Seventh Legion not get lost in their own fortress.

Therefore, the Imperial Fist warriors' counterattack was greatly delayed from the very beginning. They could only send out a maximum of six mobile squads, while the reinforcements had to advance step by step, establishing stable occupied areas.

On the other hand, this cumbersome organizational structure inadvertently gave the Imperial Fists an absolute numerical advantage.

Although the Shadowmoon Wolves active in the fortress outnumbered the Imperial Fists by several times in total strength—after all, the former occupied better teleportation positions and had been preparing for a long time—the Sons of Horus, as the victors of the last battle, had no reason to gather in large numbers now.

When the Emperor Fist's vengeful army charged out, the vast majority of Shadowmoon Wolves were scattered throughout the fortress in small squads of a few people, ensuring the Sixteenth Legion's control over the entire Vox Fortress and clearing out any remaining sporadic resistance.

When Gastalin, a force that had long since dispersed and was excessively intoxicated with victory, was completely unprepared for the sudden second battle, it ran headlong into Imperial Fist elites who outnumbered them several times over, were filled with rage, and were just as powerful as they were: the outcome of the battle was already predetermined from the start.

Fate is always so fickle: in just half an hour, Shadowmoon Wolf and Imperial Fist had completely switched identities. They stood on the same cold land, continuing their slaughter of each other in ways that seemed exactly the same, yet completely different.

Everything seemed to be a replay of the previous raid: when the Shadowmoon Wolves were completely unprepared, the muzzles of Imperial Fists' guns suddenly emerged from behind them, and the flashes of explosives and lasers once again illuminated the entire corridor, as the lingering vengeful spirits welcomed their new companions in terror.

Blood splattered on the wall again, and the original bloodstains, before they could dry, were covered by fresher stains: the blood of the Shadowmoon Wolf covered the dryness of the Imperial Fist, until they permeated and merged with each other, making it impossible to tell who had raised the gun first.

The effects of the massacre were already evident within the first minute: as the Shadowmoon Wolves, further away, raised their heads suspiciously and listened intently to the distant gunfire, dozens of unsuspecting Sons of Horus had already fallen on the land where they had once distinguished themselves.

Stepping over the corpses of traitors and paying tribute to their fallen comrades with their eyes, the sons of Rogdorn methodically advanced toward their next objective. Within minutes, they achieved remarkable results, almost completely turning the tide of the war.

But the smooth-sailing battle came to an end. The chaos among the Gastalins lasted for less than a minute. When the distant gunfire became chaotic and clear, even the most foolish sons of Horus knew what had happened. They quickly abandoned their tasks and, instinctively, joined forces with their nearest brothers.

The wolf-in-the-sheep hunt was over. When the Imperial Fist team turned the corner again and saw a brand new batch of opponents, they were met with a legion that would require a hard-fought battle to defeat.

Dozens of hastily assembled Gastalin grabbed the deadliest weapons they could find and threw themselves into the sudden war with wild fearlessness. Behind them, more and more squads clad in pearl-white armor poured in from the shadows of the fortress, like streams flowing into the sea.

The numerical advantage of the Shadowmoon Wolves was displayed in the most ruthless way. In every encounter, the Imperial Fists had to endure a gap of at least two or even three times. The sons of Dorne could only rely on their tenacity and fearlessness to fight to the death in the dark corridors, raise their great shields, entrust their backs to their trustworthy comrades, and keep a close eye on the wolves that were surrounding them tighter and tighter.

Hatred and blood flowed together, and a larger-scale war was being waged in every corner of the fortress, from the dilapidated power room to the vital supply depot, from the narrow branch corridors to the command post protected by steel doors. Every room and passageway was being fought over repeatedly.

The battle cries echoed between the collapsed walls, and figures wielding chainsaws and explosives were illuminated by electric lights. At every corner, the sound of large-caliber rifles firing at close range reverberated, each one a mortal destruction for its master: the calamity of fire rose from the corners no one paid attention to, and in the blink of an eye, it had devoured countless battlefields and corpses.

The fiercest battle took place in a boiler room near the central courtyard. In this strategically important location, which was connected to the most crucial command post, the Shadow Moon Wolf, having rested and recuperated, awaited the advance of the Imperial Fist.

At first, it was just a small-scale conflict between a dozen or so people. But once the gunfire started, more and more soldiers would swarm in like bloodthirsty sharks. The scale of the battle quickly escalated to dozens, then hundreds of people, until the two legions' most elite soldiers began their blood-for-blood exchange around countless rooms and corners.

The flashes of bolters and plasma ignited the entire dark hall, making it as bright as day. The rampant release of poison gas and flames scorched everyone's breath. After abandoning dozens of corpses, the attackers and defenders briefly faced off against each other across the fresh wall. Fragmentation grenades and armor-piercing grenades were ruthlessly unleashed. Occasionally, one or two brave souls would dare to advance, but their lives would often last only until their next breath.

Just when everyone thought the battle in this core battlefield would tilt in favor of the Shadowmoon Wolves: after all, the Sons of Horus were receiving reinforcements in droves, with dozens of more reckless warriors joining their ranks every minute and every second, while behind the Imperial Fist's lines, only the roars of their fighting brethren still struggling in other directions, and the occasional arrival of two or three reinforcements.

But just as Gastalin steadied himself and prepared to drive the Imperial Fists from their land, a voice that should never have been heard emerged from the ranks of the Sons of Horus they were fighting against.

The Fist of the Empire cheers: they cheer that the greatest force is about to fight alongside them.

Some of Horus's more astute sons turned pale at the mere sensation of a change in the wind.

Sure enough, as the morale of the Imperial Fists surged to a visible level, the massive, mountain-like golden figure, draped in a cloak and holding a shield, slowly emerged from the almost desperate gazes of the Shadowmoon Wolves.

The giant stepped into the children's paradise.

……

"The boiler room's defenses have been breached."

"Rogdorn personally intervened: of the 140 fighting brothers, only 12 survived."

"...Okay, got it."

Abaddon's voice was calmer than expected.

Sometimes, he even doubted whether he was still himself: When did Azekael become so indifferent to the death of his brother?

If Loken, Seyanus, Togadon, and Horus the Younger saw him now, would they be shocked?
Such philosophical questions were naturally beyond the comprehension of Shadowmoon Wolf's mind: Abaddon could only see the reality before his eyes.

The reality was that when Abaddon's body and soul recovered from that devastating defeat, he was already standing in front of the No. 1 control panel, overlooking and controlling the entire fortress, observing the battle situation while preparing to change the structure of the entire fortress at any time.

They could either turn the walls around to clear the way, allowing the Shadowmoon Wolves to hold the battlefield more quickly, or simply turn the smooth shortcut into a dead end, causing the Imperial Fists to fail: although Abaddon did not return to the battlefield, his role here was more important than that of the two hundred Shadowmoon Wolves.

Even so, when his gaze fell upon the ever-changing battle situation on the electronic screen, and the ever-accumulating red numbers on the side of the screen, Abaddon would always feel his heart involuntarily clench: it was the sound of his soul sobbing.

Too much.

It's too much.

In this short period of time, the sons of Horus have shed far too much blood for this fortress.

That's not just dozens or hundreds.

Moreover, there were thousands, even tens of thousands of people.

Thousands of elite Shadowmoon Wolves are fighting to the death in this dark fortress. They are fighting against the most powerful force in the entire galaxy, an invincible being, a god on earth whose progress they can only barely slow down with their flesh and blood and courage. Heaven knows how much more they will have to pay before the turning point arrives.

But now, at least four hundred of Horus’s elite troops have given everything for victory.

Perhaps, from the perspective of the Great Expedition, such casualty figures are nothing more than trivial matters, not even worth mentioning.

But it's different now.

Although it may be unfair to say this, the importance of the elite troops lost in this fortress far surpasses that of the soldiers from the Great Expedition: although they were all Shadowmoon Wolves, even if ten or twenty of them were lost on the unknown battlefields of the Great Expedition, it would not be comparable to any loss here.

They were all the backbone of the legion, and yet they were dying in droves: there were simply too many of them.

Abaddon began to wonder if, if every victory required so many sacrifices, the Warchief and his legions would even make it to Terra alive.

How do you say that word?

In short, it will be on Lady Morgan's lips, and she will use it to describe the victory of the Dawnbreaker Legion.
Ah...right: Pyrrhus's victory.

If such a victory were to come again, I would be utterly annihilated: who could have imagined that such a lament would one day be borne by Shadowmoon Wolf?

Abaddon didn't even dare to think about it in detail.

Because right on the screen, a specially marked gold dot caught all his attention.

Rogdorn is on a killing spree.

He was like a true sun; any Shadowmoon Wolves that got too close to him melted away like ice and snow. Every strike he made was a precise harvest of lives, without rage or pity, only repeated heavy blows and slaughters against Gastalin. The Imperial Fists, united in purpose, stood by their Primarchs, and neither armies nor walls could stop their advance.

Abaddon used every means at his disposal, whether it was mobilizing overwhelming forces or creating labyrinths, but he could not slow down the Primarch's speed at all. Horus's warriors fell in droves under Dorne's iron boots. Even at a distance of hundreds of meters, the cold face of the Lord of Invet could still make the Krzunians breathless.

When Abaddon witnessed firsthand how the army near the boiler room was instantly vaporized by Dorne's arrival, he almost gave up. He dared not send any more Gastalins, but the Imperial Fist army swarming in from the entrance seemed to offer him no other solution.

An even more despairing reality is that there seems to be no Gastalin Terminator available for him to continue commanding.

Looking at the muddy battlefield, Abaddon sighed and calculated the strength of his troops.

For this operation, he brought all the Gastalins under Horus's command, as well as a large number of elite legions: even when the Wolf God personally led an expedition, he rarely dispatched so many key members of his legions at once.

Now, a significant portion of these core elites have already perished under Rogdorn's sword, and Gastalin's losses have reached as high as 60%, with the remaining 40% still bleeding profusely on various fronts, not to mention the Legion's elites who are disappearing like snowflakes.

Even if they miraculously repel Rogdorn's counterattack and break through the Sunwall's steel defenses, Abaddon would still consider the entire battle a poor trade.

Indeed, judging from their names alone, the Gastalin Terminators truly lived up to their reputation as elites of the Great Crusade. Even against the elite Seventh Legion handpicked by Rogdorn, they maintained at least a one-to-one exchange, often even achieving superior numbers and inflicting heavy casualties on the Imperial Fists. Therefore, even if all the Shadowmoon Wolves elites in this fortress perished, they could at least outnumber Rogdorn's elite Haskar Guard, Templar Knights, and other key members of the Imperial Fists, effectively crippling the Seventh Legion's backbone.

But that’s not how the accounts work out.

These elites can be consumed, but absolutely not at this time, in this place.

Even Abaddon could figure that out.

So, when he saw yet another unexpected squad evaporate in front of Rogdorn, Abaddon couldn't help but give the order.

"Tell them to adjust the entire fortress."

The company commander rubbed his temples in pain.

"Block all roads and make sure that no team outside will ever encounter Rogdorn again."

"Then……"

He pointed to a spot in the picture.

"Then open this route."

"Are you sure?"

The Shadow Moon Wolf behind him asked.

“Once we open this route, Dorn and his men can fight their way to the Central Courtyard: beyond the Central Courtyard lies our command center, and we cannot afford to lose it.”

"I know."

Abaddon nodded menacingly.

"Only in this way can we hook him and keep him from paying attention to what we are doing."

"Tell each squad not to get entangled in battle with the Imperial Fist teams in front of them, but to find the right opportunity to break away: we will take care of trapping those Imperial Fist teams."

"As for Rogdorn's forces, we will find a way to stop him in the central courtyard: all the Shadowmoon Wolves that are still able to move freely should flank the central courtyard from their direction, and try to completely surround Rogdorn and his main force in the central courtyard area."

"Okay, my lord."

Abaddon's entourage nodded, but they clearly still had a problem.

"But how can we keep Rogdorn here in the Central Courtyard?"

Abaddon turned around but did not respond.

Because someone will respond for him.

“That’s a really good question.”

A blinding blue light echoed in the room, a sign that the teleportation array was operating at full capacity.

Apart from Abaddon, everyone in the room involuntarily looked toward the source of the new voice. And when they saw the enormous figure standing in the center of the formation, the pupils of every Shadowmoon Wolf saw the very thing they needed most in this battle.

hope.

……

"Without a doubt, the Shadowmoon Wolves are retreating."

"They are avoiding engaging us in combat."

"The various detachments reported that the Shadow Moon Wolf troops in front of them were retreating in an orderly manner."

"And the terrain they were in was also changing, seemingly preparing to trap them rather than annihilate them."

Akamus's voice was loud even on the most intense battlefield, truly befitting his position as captain of the Haskar Guard: whenever Rogdorn needed him to report the latest situation, the Primarch didn't need to spare any extra effort to pay attention; he could simply walk normally, and Akamus's voice would naturally catch up with his.

Also engulfed by this sound were at least two hundred taciturn Imperial Fist warriors. Not counting the soldiers who had already fallen, their numbers accounted for a quarter of the Seventh Legion's total strength in this operation. Under the flickering light on the walls, these fearless faces leaped freely between the human world and hell.

"Are there any troops that can come and join us?"

Primarch Dorne recalled the topographical map he had laid out when he built the fortress.

He somewhat regretted that he had been too naive at the time.

At the beginning, or even now, Rogdorn doesn't see anything particularly unique about this war.

Indeed, the Warchief raised the banner of rebellion, openly breaking with Holy Terra and declaring war. Such a thing, at first glance, is truly unimaginable to anyone.

However, upon closer examination, this scenario of an emperor being absent, princes entering the capital, and the inner and outer courts vying for power, ultimately leading to the removal of the emperor, is not uncommon in human history.

Even in a world like Invit, Rogdorn had seen such royal dramas.

Therefore, at the beginning, the Lord of Emperor Fist did not think this was an unconventional war. He was prepared for bloodshed with the Shadowmoon Wolf Legion. However, when he began to lay out the layout of Vox Fortress, he did not put his darkest thoughts into it.

If he had actually done that, Abaddon and Gastalin would not have survived at all.

And now, these expected dead are actually giving Rogdorn a resounding slap in the face.

This forced him to correct the mistake himself.

"Something's not right, sir."

Akamus responded to the Primarch's inquiry with a word of concern.

“Apart from our own troops, all friendly forces in the fortress have been deliberately blocked. The enemy seems to be amassing an unprecedented force. We are very likely to encounter a large army in the central courtyard and command room: that will be all their strength in the fortress.”

"I can't ask for it."

In response to concerns about offspring, Dorn said this.

He knew very well that what he would encounter in the central courtyard would be far more than just a so-called large army.

Sure enough, when Rogdorath and his offspring finally arrived at the central courtyard, Abaddon and a far greater number of Shadowmoon Wolves were already waiting there.

The so-called central courtyard refers to an unimaginably spacious area in front of the command room of Vox Fortress. It is usually used as a gathering center and speech square, and there is nothing there except for the dense, heavy load-bearing columns and the clean ground.

When the Imperial Fist planned this courtyard, they designed it to accommodate five thousand people.

Therefore, this closed public space could naturally accommodate an equal number of troops to fight each other.

Upon seeing the formidable Shadowmoon Wolves, Rogdoryn did not hesitate. He led his offspring into the battlefield of the central courtyard without a second thought. The well-trained Imperial Fists dispersed without orders, forming a crescent-shaped formation to confront the Shadowmoon Wolves that subtly surrounded them.

Strangely, the Shadowmoon Wolves, who had a clear numerical advantage, did not attack. They held their weapons but simply stood silently in confrontation with the Imperial Fists, showing no fear of Dorne, the Primarch. Even Abaddon, who was clearly still a bit weak, looked directly at Dorne without any fear.

The confidence of this leader became clear when the black door behind him was suddenly flung open.

"Long time no see...brother."

Horus-Lupecal, the god of the wolf, descends the steps.

------

This chapter is 10,000 words long. There will be another 4,000-word chapter updated later, in about half an hour, or maybe even sooner.

I originally thought I would finish writing the story between Horus and Dorne much faster, but there is actually more to write than I expected. However, I will definitely be able to finish it by tomorrow, and the update of the next chapter will not affect tomorrow's update.

(End of this chapter)