Warhammer 40: Doom

Chapter 204 The Battle of Randan Ends
The battle moon is aging, and the steel surface is cracked with decaying rust lines that spread like festering skin.

The core array of artificial intelligence collapsed one after another, and the logic circuits fell into a frenzied delirium.

It felt like an eternity in an instant; the battle moon fell into a deathly silence, its steel and iron bones eroded by time.

From orbit, the lunar surface faded from lead gray to rotten yellow, eventually becoming a patch of decaying black.

The two war moons, under the supernatural virus catalyzed by time, disintegrated and, in just a few minutes, headed towards the end of all matter—entropy.

"Sigh~"

Seeing this, Ruth gasped. It seemed that his brother had used some forbidden power to defeat the alien.

After a brief moment of surprise, Ruth seized the opportunity and ordered the fleet to press forward: "Wolf cubs, hold onto the alien fleet! Don't let them escape!"

With the fall of the Battle Moon, Ran Dan had no foothold left in the Morse system.

Ruth foresaw Randan's defeat—the enemy, whose morale had collapsed, would surely flee, and he would not allow his prey to escape.

The Space Wolves' fleet became more aggressive, abandoning its formation and rejoining the Randan fleet.

As expected, the fleet was not subjected to an organized attack, and Randan's ships began to slow down and flee.

"For the glory of the Legion!" the Lord of the Void Army roared in the communications, commanding the entire fleet to press forward and reap the rewards of Ran Dan's ships.

The destruction of the battle moon signifies a complete victory in the war.

Now there's no need to worry about anything else; the time has come to charge in and feast. The First Legion must wash away its shame with honor.

"Operate freely and do your utmost to destroy the alien fleet." Doom's voice remained unchanged, as if he were merely assigning a minor task.

His attention was no longer on this.

When the Bloodthirsty Berserker detonated, the Randan Fleet lost its high command, and the fleet commander was struggling to hold on.

The demonic weapons detonated one after another, drawing the gazes of Khorne and Nurgle, prompting Doom to reflect on his actions.

The demonic weapon was indeed powerful, eliminating enemies in the real universe, but it attracted the attention of the gods.

Being targeted by the gods is not a good omen.

He sat on his throne in deep thought for a long time, then issued a command via telepathy: "Tar Rasha, go to Nur and deliver the orders to the Psionic Academy."

"Put aside the research on weapons used against demons and delve deeper into weapons specifically designed to kill demons more effectively."

Doom felt there was a problem with the approach, so he instructed the psionic masters to shift their research focus and sent messengers to specifically oversee this area.

"As you command," Ta Rasha replied telepathically, and immediately set off to leave the war zone.

In the final stages of the battle, a small Noor ship departed, leaving the battlefield alone and entering the subspace.

With his immediate concerns resolved, Doom refocused his attention on observing the battlefield's development.

The closer you get to success, the more vigilant you must be.

Warnings of capsizing in the gutter abound throughout human history; they serve as the best teachers.

The two war moons are being pulled away from their original orbits by gravity and will soon fall into the star.

This is their best place to go, eliminating grime and infection; high temperatures have a remarkable effect.

Space Wolves and the First Legion, they have firmly bitten the enemy and are feasting on their spoils.

The Nur ships joined in, prioritizing attacks on fleeing ships to prevent the rout from entering subspace.

In outer space, the Randan warships sank one after another, and the battle turned into a massacre.

The battle in the Morse system is over.

The elite soldiers of Randan on the ground were nothing more than fish on a chopping board, waiting to be slaughtered by the humans.

In Atum's command center, Grand Master Urian, clad in black armor, stood solemnly before his cousin.

Before the final assault, he came in person aboard a Stormhawk, solely to obtain a share of power.

“Atum, my brother in battle.” Urian bowed to him with a pleading expression and a deep, resonant voice.

Atum quickly stepped forward to support Grand Master Urian, then looked at the Lord of the Heavenly Army behind him.

Almost all of the First Legion's high-ranking officers on the ground have arrived.

Having some guesses in my mind, but not daring to make a hasty judgment, I asked them, "What are you doing?"

“Brother, I beg you.” Urian did not raise his body, but bowed, as did the warriors behind him: “Grant the First Legion’s vile request.”

The Grand Master resolutely refused to straighten up, afraid to face his cousins' faces. "Please speak," Atum said, sensing the Grand Master's determination. He dared not pull him by force and could only let him state his request.

"We are the First Legion, and we crave revenge!" Urian's tone changed, becoming tinged with sadness: "On this planet, the First Legion has lost nearly ten thousand brothers."

"But we crave revenge, to wash away our shame with the lives of aliens!"

"Brothers, this is an excessive request, asking you to give up the honor you have right now."

Grand Master Urian straightened up slightly and looked up, his face full of earnestness: "But in my entire life, I have never asked anyone for anything."

“I only beg you,” he said earnestly, then suddenly knelt on one knee: “Give the First Legion a chance to wash away its shame, and let us avenge our fallen brothers.”

Atum rushed forward, extending his strong arm, and Urian knelt down to pull him up.

The servo joints suddenly locked, and the power armor emitted a metallic groan under Atum's control, its kneeling posture abruptly terminated.

“There’s no need for that.” Atum pulled Urian up with an irresistible force. “Do you know how much sacrifice this will require?”

"The safest approach is to bombard the hive city with orbital bombardment, followed by sending ground troops to eliminate the alien presence."

With aliens lurking in the hive, the best strategy is to make good use of macro cannons and light spears.

“Brother.” Atum called to the Grand Master, his eyes filled with unwavering resolve: “I must be responsible for everyone, for the Primarch.”

"Tens of thousands of elite alien warriors, even in poor condition, are not much weaker than Astartes."

"I must be responsible for you, for the First Legion, and for the Mortal Legion."

"This is a battlefield, not a hall of glory. Eliminating the enemy is the primary objective."

Atum earnestly and profoundly advised the High Master, making him aware of his predicament.

Urian was surprised by the power his brother had exerted, and then Atum's words echoed in his ears, his emotions genuine and without a trace of falsehood.

He naturally knew that Atum's approach was the most rational and efficient.

The reasons given in those words were not open to any rebuttal.

As the commander of an army, his cousin, dressed in jet-black armor gleaming with gold, is admirable for his actions, which are always driven by duty and free from personal feelings.

Urian straightened up and stood there in silence for a long time, while the Heavenly Army Lords behind him looked at the Grand Master with complicated expressions.

Was he really going to return empty-handed? He asked himself.

“How about this,” Atum said, seeing his low spirits, “you will carry out the orbital strikes, and the first wave of attacks will be handled by the First Legion. This is my biggest concession.”

"This matter has nothing to do with honor, but only with the pursuit of victory in battle."

After saying that, he looked at the First Legion's Grand Instructor, Urian Bendreg.

“I agree.” Urian nodded in agreement. Although this arrangement was far from what he had expected, it was the best solution.

Although they could not personally kill all the enemies and bring about the destruction of the aliens, the souls of the Legion brothers were able to rest in peace.

“Thank you for your generosity, Brother Atum.” Urian put on his black helmet and bowed again.

“There’s no need for that. You need to act quickly.” Atum helped the Grand Master up and urged them to leave.

Urian nodded, led the legion's high command behind him to retreat, and rode a Stormhawk to the position.

A First Legion destroyer was dispatched and hovered above the hive city, adjusting its attitude to face the planet with its side facing it, preparing to use an orbital strike to destroy the aliens.

“Brothers!” Urian shouted into the communications channel from the highest point of a transport ship.

Below him stood three square formations; of the forty thousand Astartes who landed in the Morse world, only thirty thousand remained.

"Turn left." At Urian's command, the First Legion soldiers turned in unison, facing the towering hive city.

"Our hatred is churning," the Grand Master cried out hoarsely, "and needs to be washed away with the fiercest artillery fire!"

"The aliens humiliated the Legion and killed our Legion brothers. After the bombardment subsided, we stormed into the city and used their lives to pay tribute to our brothers."

"Revenge!" shouted the warriors of the First Legion, eager to annihilate the aliens and exact their revenge.

"Witness the flames of vengeance descend!" Urian shouted, raising his arm. The Voidship's light spears shot down and landed in the hive city.

Thirty thousand Space Marines remained unfazed, their orange-red spears reflecting off their black armor as if fueled by a burning flame of vengeance.

The towering city, now vulnerable without its shields, was reduced to dust beneath the spears of light.

(Today three.)
(End of this chapter)