The final crusade against the Druon Alien was a lot more laborious than expected.

Before Morgan, Zahariel, and a hundred Dark Angels were involved in this war, the three Primordials and their children had been fighting for six Terra Standard Months in this dead and desecrated sector, during which time the only thing they could see was tens of millions of shriveled walking corpses, controlled humans, and the most twisted and blasphemous mind-controlling aliens.

Mortarian and his death guards worked tirelessly to cleanse world after world of swollen, tentacled psionic monsters, and the Barbaros were eager to erase the last vestiges of these xenomorphs in the galaxy: just as they had done for decades.

Even the most discerning officer could not in any way contest the enthusiasm and attitude of the Lord of the Death Guards for this war of extermination, except on rare occasions, Mortarian always took the lead, holding the scythe full of memories and brandishing the alien pistol given by the Emperor himself, rushing to the front of the legion, and to his left and right and behind him were endless waves of death guards, they were like an unstoppable white-green sandstorm, He trampled all the resistance and desperate struggles of those blasphemous aliens under his feet, and his bones were scattered.

The Fourteenth Legion has neither a battle cry nor a visible passion, only the tenacity and tenacity to carry through every war and slaughter to the end: there is no doubt that they were great warriors at this time, and Motarian at this time was also a hero who carved out territory for humanity.

At the very least, in this battle, he played a great role.

Everyone thought so, whether it was every mortal sailor in the fleet, or every Astarte warrior in the legion, or the two genogens who also participated in and commanded the war: Chagatai didn't care what the others thought, but Horus wanted everyone else to think that.

For the Wolf Shepherd, such a feat of recovering a star sector and exterminating an alien was nothing to him about, and his resume and ambition had those greater, crazier, and more brilliant desires.

And if a little merit and humility like this fed Motarion, and allowed the brother, who had a powerful army in his own right, to further integrate into his inner circle of Horus, it would be a bargain: Horus knew very well that his Barbaros brothers might not have the same sincere feelings for the Empire and the Emperor as he did, but he was not worried about it.

In the heart of the wolf shepherd, as long as Motarian can maintain the most sincere friendship with him, then there is no more difference from the direct allegiance of the Lord of Barbaros to the emperor.

As for Chagatai, there was no need for such trouble, and Horus knew full well that what the Lord of the Ice Sky Dome needed was not merit, affection, or applause: though most Primitives would be intoxicated by it.

What Chagatai really wants is the friendship between brothers who fight side by side, the freedom to gallop and kill the enemy with their children, and the Khan's blade will not be wielded for the so-called interests and favors, but he will wield it for his own heirs, and he will also wield it for his brothers, and even for the weaklings whom he has never met.

As for their gratitude, fear, misunderstanding and even hatred?

This was never within Chagatai's preoccupation: the Great Khan of Chogoris duly threw away the countless so-called glory and values of life, leaving only those that were sincere, noble, and worthy of perseverance.

He's not going to fight.

But there will be no compromises.

Horus knew this, so he became a true brother of Chagatai and not a so-called blood relative.

And when the combined fleet of the Empire finally tore through countless obstacles and powerful enemies, and drove straight into the last node of the desecrated empire of Drune's aliens, they appeared in front of a pale and huge world, even if all the ships in the expeditionary force were assembled, it was far from preventing the light of the stars from shining into this hell full of suffering and malice.

On the Death Guard's Queen of Glory-class battleship, the Wolf Shepherd spent about fifteen minutes detailing the battle plan for this time: first, the first landing force would be made up entirely of Mortarian's descendants, the Death Guard would have the glory of being the vanguard, and Mortarian himself would fight alongside his heirs, who would follow the first drop pods to the ground before his own heirs met the deadliest anti-aircraft firepower and resistance.

The second wave of landing forces is composed of Horus and Khan, as well as their hand-picked elites, Morgan and some of the best Dark Angels will also join them, and Lady Spider herself was specially left by the wolf herding god to stay by her side, and Horus even arranged a [guard] for her.

The second wave of the landing force will advance in two directions, as the flank of the main attack of the Fourteenth Legion, and sweep through it until Motarion's army cuts through the endless tide of the walking dead in front of it, and finds the culprit who caused it all, the sole ruler of the Druon Xenomorphs: the Lord of Barbaros will be obsessed with this goal, and he will not care about anything else, but for the other Druon Xenomorphs who remain in this world, Motarian threw them to the White Scar Legion with a disdainful attitude.

And when the Death Guard finally penetrates the layers of alien obstacles and finds the only target, no matter what the other fronts are fighting again, the three primordials will once again unite to fight side by side and kill the powerful alien, and at the suggestion of the wolf wrangler, Motarian reluctantly agrees: the Storm Prophets under the command of Chagatai will be the only troops participating in the decapitation operation.

As for the rest, leave it to someone else.

——————

"So, that's why you and I are here, Ms. Morgan."

The Wolf Shepherd's protector of the First Legion's distinguished guests, or as we simply call him, Ezekel Abaddon, was patiently explaining all of this in a slow, condescending tone.

During this time, Abaddon's brow never loosened, and at this time, the commander of the Shadow Moon Blue Wolf Legion was already fully armed, and even wore the Terminator armor that was more powerful and important than his martial arts: this armor itself symbolized most of Abaddon's combat skills and wisdom.

At this time, the bravest warrior under the command of the wolf herding god, and one of the most reckless company commanders in the entire Sixteenth Legion, was shrinking his head under the strict protection of the Terminator's armor, squinting his eyes, staring closely at the silver figure in front of him, which seemed a little too thin.

She seemed so fragile, thin, and weak, as if Abaddon's greatsword could easily split her in half with a casual swing: but the Son of Horus was not stupid enough to do that, in fact, he had heard of the almost insane and terrifying reputation that the Soul Drinker had amassed on the front lines of Randan.

There were always those who thought Abaddon was a simple fool, both among his comrades and his opponents, and Abaddon never bothered to refute these false opinions, on the contrary, he saw them as something to exploit in future battles.

But that doesn't mean he's a real fool, a fool can't be one of Horus's most trusted advisors, or a worthy high-ranking officer of the Shadowmoon Legion, except that most of the time, Abaddon doesn't really need to use his wits.

But now, it needs to.

Truth be told, Abaddon was already feeling a little uncomfortable.

——————

The world is burning, and this nameless world, or the alien realm that it might call Drune in general, is burning in the wrath of the three genetic agents and their offspring, and thousands of airdrop positions cut across the almost eternal gray and dead sky, leaving crimson trails to tear through the false clouds, sowing the gospel of death and destruction on a land that has long since lost any life.

The galaxy is so vast and so dangerous, and in many cases, even the most powerful imperial warriors cannot save everyone, and there are always unfortunate people who fall in the first second before they are rescued and relieved.

But fortunately.

They can get revenge.

And now, it's time for revenge.

Warriors symbolizing the Scythe of Silence and the Soaring Eagle emerge from the drop bays, unstoppable as hammers destroying the desecrater's defenses, or as swift blades as they should, each striking to make their enemies wail and weep in an unforgettable way.

Even the most terrible and twisted beings were so fragile under the might of the legion, and the sons of Chagatai who were tasked with purging the stragglers were carrying out their task almost perfectly, and only two or three of them had fallen, but they had already cleansed one vast battlefield after another with the blade of a knife.

Even Abaddon could not help but approve of the forces from the Fifth Legion, and his fanatical participation in the battle, even if his style was out of step with the ethereal sons of Chagatai, did not prevent him from leading his warriors to the front, not lagging behind even the fastest steppe eagles, which even earned him the admiration of Jogoris.

At first, Abaddon would have worried that such a thrust would affect the person he was responsible for defending, but he soon discovered that wherever he charged, even at the very front of the battle line, when he chose to stop, with a distortion of space, the silver-haired lady would easily appear beside him, and she would occasionally strike and raze the stubborn fortresses that required hundreds or more lives to be razed to the ground in an instant.

Abbaddon's brow furrowed more and more every time such a scene happened in front of him, he did not like to see such a force dominate the battlefield, which would make him think that the bravery and fearlessness of the warrior seemed so childish and ridiculous.

But soon, he met an opponent that he couldn't defeat with courage.

A fortress, a permanent colony of permanent fortresses large enough to occupy an entire continent, impossible to see even from the sky, this impregnable structure happened to be on the other side of the world, far from where the Genetic Primitives fought, and the fleet firepower from above the firmament could not do much more in the face of such a stubborn fortress full of Void Shields and anti-aircraft firepower.

Standing on the vantage points around him, Abaddon watched as teams of white scars and death guards struggled to approach the impenetrable Slayer Cave, the walking dead who had been placed there had the ability to assemble ammunition from flesh and metal, weaving together a terrifying web of firepower sufficient to repel any Astarte attack.

In this way, the most difficult and crazy bloody battle began, Abaddon and his comrades rushed to the forefront, they withstood the overwhelming fire and destruction, room by room to clear those opponents who would never retreat, capture and kill every alien, from the scorching sun to the sunset, it was only worthy of capturing more than twenty fortresses, and as far as the eye could see, there were many more waiting for them.

If it weren't for the fact that there was an STC in this world that was incomparably precious even to the Legion, I would have suggested blowing up this damn world to the ground!

Abaddon was silent for a moment, and with his own identity and strength, he communicated with the leaders of the other two legions, and finally reached an agreement to retreat temporarily, and then, he turned his gaze to the silver-haired lady beside him.

Abaddon didn't like psionic powers.

But he's not stupid.

"Perhaps, we need your strength now, Ms. Morgan."

【……】

[Ah......h

[Willing to help.] 】

She smiled, then waved her hand as if she had been preparing for a long time.

In an instant, the heavens and the earth changed color, Abaddon raised his head solemnly, only to see that every inch of the sky in his field of vision was instantly occupied by a silent dark purple, every trace of air he could catch was completely soaked in endless whispers, he stretched out his hand, but felt the incomparably difficult to move, as if some terrible beast was suppressing everyone.

Eventually, he looked up.

He saw it.

The firmament is being killed.

It sheds storm and destruction.

That's its blood.

——————

"Look there, Vaux, what the hell is that?"

The panic of his companion disturbed the contemplative Death Guard, who slowly walked to the front of the porthole and glanced at the heavily armed world beneath his feet.

Then he understood his fighting brother.

Storm.

A huge storm.

It covered almost the entire continent, and it was expanding at a rate visible to the naked eye, and in just a few breaths, it occupied almost half of the hemisphere, or rather, a third of the worlds in their field of vision.

It's moving, it's controllable, it's clearly being manipulated by some kind of will, for Volks' purpose is clear: the nameless storm is moving along the hordes of fortresses visible to the naked eye in space, and every time it sweeps over a place, the once fully armed forces turn into utter nothingness.

Vaux even felt a little dazzled, and near the silent eye of the storm, he saw a tiny tooth.

The next second, he realized that it was actually a weak projection of a battleship in the midst of this storm.

——————

Everything is gone.

The fortresses, the powerful enemies, and even the mountains and continents that stood in their way were all gone.

Everything was gone, leaving only the most barren of land.

Abaddon's Adam's apple rolled, swallowing the non-existent saliva, and he subconsciously tilted his head to look at the person who started everything.

She stood there, hugging her chest, her weight on her left leg, yawning lazily, her silver hair swaying in the air like willows in the wind after a heavy snowfall.

Abaddon was silent, he was silent for very, very long as the screams and shock in his heart had lasted for so long.

Eventually, before he could speak again, he admonished himself in his heart.

At all costs.

Stay away from this dangerous woman.

The farther away the better.

(End of chapter)