Chapter 230: Are You, by Chance, Mr. Trazyn of the Tomb World of Solemnace, Nihilakh Dynasty?
As the close-assault force entered the skies above the forge-city, they were immediately greeted by Fabricator-General Krik. A piercing alarm shrieked throughout the city as countless defense turrets deployed from its surface, drawing endless power from geothermal taps connected directly to the planet's crust.
A dense web of energy beams and missiles, including a number of Necron-pattern annihilation beams, crisscrossed the sky, leaving countless trails as they attempted to shoot down the human forces invading the Adeptus Mechanicus's precious property.
But it was obviously not going to be effective. The Stormbirds were agile, and their void shields, one of the few defensive systems that could withstand Necron weaponry, would protect the occupants from harm until they were on the verge of overload.
"My Prince, your orders," Zahariel, in command of the battlefield, reported. Amidst the furious exchange of fire, the surface-level strongpoints of the forge-city were being eliminated. This was clearly because the Fabricator-General was unwilling to expose his secrets. The city's defense system, without human support, was pitifully inadequate, and the Magos himself was likely in trouble.
"Troops to land. Execute the protocol," Arthur ordered.
Before they officially sealed off the forge-city, Archmagos Cawl would provide full technical support.
"Yes, my Prince!"
The most convenient thing about the Dark Angels was that as long as there was a single, respected figure to provide strategic command and stable logistics, they could handle the rest themselves. With their superhuman Astartes physiology and reflexes, specially modified Thunderbolt fighters began to pick off the surface turrets one by one with incredible speed and maneuverability.
BOOM! BOOM!
The turrets flew high into the air, then crashed down the tens-of-meters-high walls. These walls were not mere iron plates on an adamantium frame; they were covered in a dense array of weapon emplacements, enough to withstand Legion-level fire coverage. But there were not enough tech-priests to man them. The city's master did not have the ability to activate all the units.
"Take over the siege cannons in the inner tower! Activate ninth energy supply protocol! Second defensive array, activate!" Seeing his city instantly become a sea of fire, Fabricator-General Krik roared, his mechadendrites trembling. He was simultaneously fending off the A.I.'s counter-attack and defending against the "academic exchange" from the strange Magos. And there was a data-pulse, not in his database, that was interfering with his machine-spirits.
"No, they're going to—"
BOOM!
Another earth-shattering tremor. Several gunships had slammed into the damaged outer shell at full speed. Their specialized ramming prows, assisted by melta-jets, slammed into the walls, the pressure causing molten metal to erupt from within. Several of the city's internal corridors were pierced, data-conduits were physically severed, and the wall, battered by melta-blasts and continuous bombardment, finally gave way.
A third of the outer wall was breached, the heavy internal structures twisted like pretzels. The gunships, their momentum unchecked, plowed through the Skitarii who had not had time to disperse, crushed several battle-automata, and finally came to a stop on a wide main thoroughfare.
Crash... Debris rained down. The corridors leading to several important areas had, under the precise corrections of the Dark Angels "engineers," been connected.
"For the Omnissiah! Form up! Prepare for battle!" a Skitarii Alpha, who still retained some semblance of intelligence after the Magos's "modifications," ordered coldly, limping towards the breach. "May the sacred current be praised, singing between my flesh and metal."
Krik, who was watching the battle, diverted some of his attention. Just then, he heard the hiss of a hydraulic system. The shuttle's multiple modules deployed, revealing the fully armed warriors inch by inch to the defenders. This was a silent, formidable force. The Lion's pride, a symbol of death, had arrived. Among them were warriors from other Chapters. They would follow in the footsteps of the ancient warriors, fighting, learning, until the day their own Chapters needed them, and they would bring this experience back with them.
"Activate, the—"
Krik's order was cut short. His visual feed instantly went dead.
Inside the corridor, a dense crossfire erupted. Kastelan Robots, driven by the Ironwing, acted as shields, providing cover for the Astartes. The Ironwing's Outriders began a violent push towards the enemy's concentration points. The Stormwing, one of the six Wings of the Dark Angels Legion during the Great Crusade and the Horus Heresy, was composed of siege-assault and boarding parties, heavily equipped with boarding shields and Terminator armour. They specialized in ship-to-ship boarding actions. In the 41st millennium, the Stormwing no longer existed.
"Gurgle..." A soldier, lying on the ground, long since having lost his human capacity for thought, had blood bubbling from his mouth. The conflict between his internal bleeding and his breathing, the commands etched into his brain and his dying body, tore at him, tormenting him in his final moments.
CRUNCH! The treads of a heavy vehicle crushed the pitiful soul. The last thing he saw was the smoke kicked up by the vehicle, and the Firewing, clad in optical camouflage, gradually fading into it.
Thousands of warriors quickly fanned out, advancing along the paths that had been carved out by the melta-charges. A rain of bolter shells tore one enemy after another to pieces. If not for the fact that these Skitarii, aside from their neural responses, were incapable of even pre-programmed tactical movements without their neural plugs, and had completely lost their humanity, the Dark Angels would likely have only had to face a group of deserters.
Everything had been planned. The iron tide, after briefly converging, instantly split into several streams, rushing towards the void shield generators, the energy supply hub, the armouries, and the spire at the core of the ancient civilization's ruins, which was encased in the forge-city.
After reconnaissance by the Archmagos, the Firewing infiltrators, and the Ravenwing vanguard, and detailed planning by the Firewing, the operational details, approved by the Lord of Knights, had been distributed to every member who needed to know. After the coordinated fire assault was over, a full-channel jam followed. Kill-codes that could interfere with machine-spirits and conventional electronic warfare were pumped directly into the forge-city.
The Dark Angels had undoubtedly taken speed to the extreme. A multi-pronged attack, a swift sweep, and then a single, decisive stab at the heart. Because the Adeptus Mechanicus was a difficult opponent. Even though their control over the forge worlds of the various sectors had been greatly reduced after they had sided with Horus in the Heresy, leading to the loss of much technology and an overall decline in strength, no one knew what these Magi were hiding. Those un-published, buried-in-history technologies were the most dangerous.
So they had to be fast, ruthless, and precise.
Arthur advanced in silence. Ahead was the sound of a large number of mechanical units converging. He raised his hand, signaling the Deathwing to halt. Half a minute later, there was a continuous series of loud booms. A building dozens of meters high collapsed on the spot, the debris scattering everywhere, neatly cutting the main road in two. Now the mechanized units could not pass. The road was completely blocked.
But that obviously couldn't stop the Lord of Knights, who could now freely teleport his troops locally.
Arthur looked at the darkness ahead, raised his black sword, and brought it down sharply.
"I surrender!"
Trazyn silently watched as several Stormbirds flew through the rift into the forge-city, leading hundreds of "apparently" unplugged Kastelan Robots straight for the forge-city's void shield generators. He held his hands high. He hadn't seen a move like this in ten thousand years.
Whoosh—
A Stormbird landed directly in front of Trazyn. The Dark Angels, their weapons at the ready, were astonished to see this figure moving freely within the stasis field. And that dramatic tone... it reminded some of them of the true master of the Eighth Legion, the master of the Night Haunters, the Night Lord Jago Sevatarion, whom they had arrested ten thousand years ago.
"I am Judgment! I am the Night! I am Justice—"
"...and I surrender."
The dramatic voice of a certain Primarch echoed beside them, awakening a dead memory in the Dark Angels. Exactly the same. How do the four Primarchs know everything?
"Lord Ramesses?" a Dark Angel asked the accompanying Primarch, a sense of fated irony in his voice. Although they were constantly trying to find a way to shut this guy up, when dealing with outsiders, they still had to show a Primarch the proper respect.
Is it really Trazyn?
Ramesses was also sizing up this guy. The name Solemnace was too familiar. In front of those in the know, he wasn't even trying to hide it. And that staff... the Empathic Obliterator. It looked like a Necron creation, but it was actually a warp-artifact that the Necrons had captured from the Old Ones during the War in Heaven. The staff's attack was that when the user killed a being with it, it would release a warp-shock that would kill all beings within the impact range who shared the same thoughts and goals as the slain creature. The judgment was very broad. In theory, even a shared word in different thoughts could trigger it. But it was useless against the Necrons. At the same time, this thing could also traverse the warp regardless of distance. During its transit, it would turn into unknown particles, and would only reassemble and return to the user's hand after the transit was complete. That was why Trazyn always liked to use this staff even when in disguise. Showing off in front of those who didn't know was one of his few pleasures.
"Maintain vigilance. Do not attack without my command," Ramesses ordered. He then disembarked first and strode towards the 'tech-priest' with his hands raised.
He wouldn't use his psychic powers if he didn't have to. Being like Magnus, who couldn't even take a crap without using his psychic powers to wipe his ass, was a no-go. It would make him useless without his powers. 'Though, Master Arthur's punches really hurt.' Ramesses rubbed his waist, lamenting the pain of melee combat, and then smiled at the curious Trazyn.
"Are you, by chance, Mr. Trazyn, the Necron Overlord of the Tomb World of Solemnace, Nihilakh Dynasty?"
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