[All According to Plan] stood up, and looked at the gear he had prepared.
[Light Master-Crafted Power Armor]
Type: Protective Gear
Function: Modeled after the Astartes MK IV power armor, forged from composite ceramite. Capable of withstanding direct hits from small-to-medium caliber solid rounds and energy weapons.
Built-in basic servo system, boosting strength and movement speed by 30%.
Price: 167,000 Imperial Coins
Note: Put this on, and you're a budget-tier Astartes. But remember, it's just budget-tier. Don't go actually thinking you're a Space Marine.
[Boltgun (Simplified Mass-Produced Variant)]
Type: Ranged Weapon
Function: Fires .35 caliber bolts that detonate upon target penetration.
Ammo capacity: 15 rounds. Effective range: 800 meters.
Recoil has been optimized so regular mortals can wield it.
Price: 133,500 Imperial Coins
Note: While its firepower is only forty percent of a genuine bolter, it's more than enough to blow away a xenos. Didn't kill it? Shoot it again.
[Chainsword (Mass-Produced Variant)]
Type: Melee Weapon
Function: High-speed rotating monomolecular teeth capable of shredding most biological carapaces and light armor.
Built-in micro-motor with a one-hour battery life.
Price: 172,000 Imperial Coins
Note: Chops people like melons, chops xenos the same way. But don't try hacking at a Terminator, or the teeth will snap.
[All According to Plan] looked at the chainsword in his inventory, a smile slowly creeping onto his face.
"This is the life."
"Who said Chaos players are only doomed to be trash-tier cultists?"
"Can't I just go straight for Tzeentch Astartes Champion?"
He pushed open the cabin door and strode out.
The corridor was packed with Chaos players wearing the exact same gear.
[Konnichiwa Slaanesh-chan], [I Just Love Sleeping In], [Number One Handsome of the Soul Hall], [Blue Pigeon Knows Nothing]...
Faces filled with excitement or tension, eyes burning with eagerness.
They all wore the identical purple uniform.
But pinned to everyone's chest was the insignia of the 13th Company. It was the emblem of Lucius's personal guard, a unit that had only been established recently.
At the front of the crowd, a purple figure stood waiting for them.
Lucius.
His shiny, perfectly bald head reflected the harsh cabin lights with a blinding glare. Combined with his mean, sneering face, he looked exactly like a pickled egg that had just crawled out of some bizarre occult ritual.
"Are you all ready?" Lucius's voice was sharp and caustic. His gaze swept over this ragtag mob with undisguised superiority.
But he didn't say much else.
Because even though these mortals were weaklings, they were top-tier suck-ups. And more importantly, his father thoroughly enjoyed the artworks they constantly offered up.
[All According to Plan] stepped forward, slamming his right fist against his chestplate in a textbook Emperor's Children salute.
"Lord Lucius, the 13th Company Personal Guard is fully assembled and ready to move out!"
Lucius looked at him, the corners of his mouth twitching upward into what could technically be called a satisfied smile.
The smile looked exceptionally creepy on his face. Paired with that bald head, it invariably brought to mind a classic cartoon supervillain.
"Excellent." Lucius turned around, heading toward the landing bay at the end of the corridor.
"Follow me."
"Today, I will show everyone..."
He paused, a vicious, cruel smile surfacing on his bitter face.
"That I, Lucius, am still the greatest swordsman of the Emperor's Children."
"Gabriel Santar's victory was nothing more than a fluke."
[Region Chat (Wings of Freedom)]
[Konnichiwa Slaanesh-chan]: "Lmao, this guy is still obsessing over Paul Dawn."
[I Just Love Sleeping In]: "Duh. He got beaten to a bloody pulp in public and had his head shaved bald by some idiot. You'd hold a grudge for the rest of your life too."
[Number One Handsome of the Soul Hall]: "Heh heh heh... but it's good that he holds a grudge. Spite gives him the drive to push forward."
"The harder he pushes, the easier it is for us to farm assists."
[Blue Pigeon Knows Nothing]: "Makes sense. Let's go, let's go, keep up!"
Over eight hundred Chaos players followed behind Lucius, marching in a massive swarm toward the landing bay.
--
Fist of Iron, the Bridge.
Ferrus stood in front of the massive holographic star map, his living metal hands gleaming with a fluid silver luster under the overhead lights.
His gaze pierced through the hologram, locking onto the Firebird darting through the artillery fire deep in the void.
The fiery red Thunderhawk gunship, with a phoenix spreading its wings painted on the chassis and golden exhaust trails blazing from its thrusters, nimbly wove through the Diasporex's defensive net.
Fulgrim was on board.
Ferrus frowned slightly.
His mind continuously replayed everything he had observed over the past few days.
How often Fulgrim threw around the word "perfection."
The faint, sickly pinkish-purple light flickering in Fulgrim's eyes.
That bizarre curved blade hanging at Fulgrim's waist, having completely replaced the Fireblade.
Ferrus tapped his fingers lightly against his chair's armrest twice.
He turned his head to look at Gabriel Santar, who was standing on the right side of the raised dais.
"Gabriel."
Gabriel instantly slammed his right fist against his chestplate, the metallic boom echoing across the bridge.
"Father."
Ferrus stood up and walked over to him.
Those cold, steel-hard eyes met the gaze of his First Captain.
"Take the First and Fourth Companies, along with a few regiments of the Imperial Auxilia, and launch your own boarding action on the Diasporex flagship."
His voice was deep, carrying the cold, hard edge unique to the Iron Hands.
"Keep a close eye on the actions of my brother Fulgrim and his sons."
"And while you're at it... provide backup if they find themselves in danger."
Gabriel froze for a fraction of a second.
He looked into his father's eyes, spotting that faint, almost imperceptible trace of... worry hidden deep within.
He didn't ask why.
In the Iron Hands Legion, there were no whys. There was only obedience.
"Understood, Father."
Gabriel slammed his chestplate again, turned on his heel, and strode out of the bridge.
Ferrus watched his retreating back until he disappeared through the blast doors, silent for a couple of seconds.
Then he turned and walked back to the holographic star map.
His living metal fingers swiped across the projection, tagging the warships of the Diasporex one by one.
His voice rang out across the fleet-wide vox channel, icy and authoritative:
"52nd Expeditionary Fleet, attention all hands."
"Charge main batteries. Target enemy capital ships."
"Laser arrays, lock onto the enemy frigate screens."
"Torpedo tubes, load anti-ship torpedoes."
His gaze swept over the dense cluster of red dots on the map, a steel-willed battle lust igniting deep in his eyes.
"Open fire."
The next second, the entire Fist of Iron trembled slightly.
It was the resonating roar of hundreds of macro-cannons firing simultaneously.
The silver-grey Iron Hands fleet and the purple-and-gold Emperor's Children fleet unleashed a devastating torrent of firepower upon the Diasporex in perfect sync.
The roar of the macro-cannons became silent explosions in the vacuum, while the blinding white beams of laser batteries crisscrossed through the void.
A Diasporex frigate took three macro-cannon shells at once; its crystal armor shattered, and the hull blew apart in the vacuum.
Another cruiser got focused down by a laser array. Over a dozen massive holes were burned straight through its hull, venting internal atmosphere and sucking countless human and xenos corpses out into the void.
Debris drifted wildly, adding to the sector's new orbital graveyard.
Any ships attempting to close in on the Imperials were bogged down by the escort swarms, hopelessly stalled by the saturation bombardment of lasers and torpedoes.
Meanwhile, in the Fist of Iron's hangar bays.
Dozens of Thunderhawks and assault transports were launching in sequence.
The silver-grey hulls trailed blue exhaust flames as they poured out of the hangars, rocketing into the deep void toward the massive Tears of the Diasporex.
Inside one of the assault transports.
[Defending the Imperium is My Sacred Duty] looked out the viewport at the explosive chaos of the void, feeling his scalp go numb.
There were explosions everywhere, debris flying in all directions, and a literal web of death woven from laser beams and macro-cannon trajectories.
This was a boarding action?
This was a rollercoaster ride! A trackless one, at that!
Was this what legendary interstellar naval warfare looked like?
It was exhilarating as hell, but they could be blown into space dust at any second.
He dropped a message in the [Light of the Emperor] region chat:
"Boys, we all still alive?"