When the first wave of the daemon horde struck, the entire front line was caught completely unprepared. Only when artillery began to roar did the mortals along the trench network realize that the great enemy of Chaos had breached realspace.
Along the primary defensive line before the abandoned hive, Astra Militarum soldiers clutched their lasguns with white-knuckled grips. Above them, rolling clouds of blood-red psychic fallout churned like boiling lava, raining burning meteorites into the distant hive ruins to ignite towering pillars of fire and smoke.
"Hold the line! For the Emperor!" shouted a commissar behind the barricades, his voice strained as he brandished a roaring chainsword. His rallying cry was nearly drowned out by the deafening thunder of nearby heavy ordnance. Sweat mixed with grime rolled down the soldiers' grimy faces, yet they held their ground.
Suddenly, a bone-chilling shriek echoed through the smoke—an unearthly sound drenched in pure, mindless violence. Moments later, the first wave of Bloodletters burst through the haze.
A wall of red laser fire rained down on the Chaos creatures like a storm.
Yet as spawn of Khorne, these monstrous beasts knew no fear of ranged fire. Shots capable of punching through solid plasteel left nothing more than faint wisps of white smoke against their unnatural hides.
To destroy these daemons, one had to play by their rules—severing their heads in brutal, blood-drenched close combat amid roaring defiance.
The distance closed rapidly. The soldiers could smell the copper scent of blood wafting off the oncoming creatures. Unable to endure the suffocating terror of death any longer, one guardsman dropped his rifle and sprinted toward the rear, wailing in panic.
A split second later, a jagged hellblade cleaved him in two, painting the trench in crimson as the meat grinder began in earnest.
For the guardsmen trapped in the trenches, this was no fair fight; it was a pure slaughterhouse. Taking down even a handful of daemons required sacrificing entire companies.
To make matters worse, the corrupting blood fog from the Warp began to leach into their minds. Fear melted away, replaced by an all-consuming rage burning within their chests. The soldiers began hacking mindlessly at everything around them, indifferent to whether they struck friend or foe, driven solely by a frantic thirst for blood.
The defense line wavered on the brink of total collapse. The commissar grit his teeth, fighting with desperate frenzy. He had just executed several maddened soldiers attempting to attack him when a massive blade swung from the mist. A Bloodletter had caught the scent of blood, closing in to claim the mortal's head.
Parrying the blow with brute force, the commissar sent the creature sprawling into the mud. He scrambled back to his feet, chanting the Emperor's name under his breath as his chainsword churned louder. The sea of daemons thickened, while the supporting artillery fire behind him grew sparse.
He appeared to be the last survivor on his section of the line, yet he showed no hesitation. "For the Emperor!" he roared, charging headlong into the Chaos horde.
Yet pure conviction could not bridge the gap in raw strength. A sweeping blade severed his chainsword along with his right arm. Intense pain flared through his senses, yet he glared back at the daemon with defiant rage, firing his bolt pistol blindly with his left hand.
A jagged blade rose above his head for the killing strike. Suddenly, a beam of brilliant holy light pierced the sky. The daemon before him shrieked in agony as a winged angel descended from above. "I am the hand of the Emperor! I am your executioner! I bring light, and I bring hope!"
Saint Celestine raised her voice in a resounding war cry, snapping her pristine white wings back as she landed beside the critically wounded commissar. The surrounding daemons burst into holy flames, their agony echoing across the battlefield as the commissar's severed arm began to knit together.
Stunned, he watched the battlefield transform. Behind him, artillery commenced its barrage once more, accompanied by the ferocious battle cries of the Adepta Sororitas coming to reinforce the line.
The commissar staggered up, looking around in awe. The Living Saint had already plunged into the blood-red fog. Suppressed by her aura of holy light, the blasphemous mist dissolved, her blade carving through the daemon horde like wheat before a scythe.
It seemed they had held the line. Victory felt within reach. It seemed...
Before his chaotic thoughts could settle, a terrifying roar shattered the air, shaking the very earth beneath his feet.
"What... is that...?" An unbidden tremor of dread seized the commissar's heart as the distant blood fog churned violently, as if something massive were about to break through.
Celestine paused, turning toward the fog with a grave expression, her blade held ready.
Before anyone could react, a mountain of iron and rage burst from the crimson haze, slamming directly into the Living Saint. The strike was so fast Celestine barely managed to raise her power sword to parry.
As her blade collided with a jagged, tooth-rimmed axe, an unimaginable force surged through her weapon. The Living Saint was launched like a cannonball, blasting through the ruins until she crashed through an Earthshaker Cannon, bringing it down in a heap of shattered metal.
Coughing up holy blood, Celestine's expression grew dark. "Blasphemous brute..."
The commissar stood trembling, looking up in absolute terror at the towering nightmare before him. His prayers to the Emperor dissolved into pure dread.
It was a monstrous sight: a towering figure standing meters tall, clad in brass armor carved with blasphemous Chaos runes and draped in countless skulls. Massive wings swept the sky behind him, while his hands gripped a colossal battleaxe and a daemon blade.
His blood-red eyes—burning with pure, ancient hatred—swept down toward the mortal at his feet. With a final wail of panic, the commissar was crushed into a bloody smear.
The Daemon Primarch, Angron, had crawled forth from the blood-soaked depths of hell, bringing endless terror and ruin to the Throneworld.
---
Alexei stepped out from the Emperor's sanctuary, intending to find Guilliman to discuss the C'tan shard hidden beneath Mars. Before he could make his way down the hall, he noticed a massive deployment of Adeptus Custodes assembling in haste.
He even spotted several Venerable Contemptor Dreadnoughts among their ranks. Halting his steps, Alexei watched the golden warriors form up, realizing what was unfolding before him. 'The Battle of the Lion's Gate...'
The battle would ultimately end in an Imperial victory, yet an unbidden sense of unease lingered in Alexei's mind. He closed his eyes, sensing the soul of Kairos Fateweaver—the Greater Daemon of Tzeentch he had defeated, yet not fully absorbed.
"In that case, I might as well lend a hand," Alexei murmured, turning toward the outer courtyards. It was time for those legendary heroes to step back onto the stage.