fodder that is thrown at tanks at bayonet point.
And at that time, other Space Marines proved it by their actions, attacking from the ruins quickly and sharply, turning corpses into new armies and cutting down entire squads without a single shot, only with the help of their chainswords or even ordinary rusty swords. Speed and strength allowed them to reveal their full tactical potential, but not in an open field. After all, a direct hit from a cumulative shell from a tank can end badly for anyone.
However, the Space Marine wanted me dead too much, just as the rotten army began to cover for their commander. So, making a strange gurgling sound and splashing brown liquid through the cracks in his armor, he rushed at me again.
The only thing I could do was combine my psychic bursts with dodges. The Space Marine himself was becoming increasingly unresponsive to them, but the Nurgle zombies around him were constantly falling into stupor. Meanwhile, the hum of the equipment grew louder and soon lasgun shots began to scorch the putrid power armor.
Realizing that there was no more time, the Space Marine immediately retreated, ordering all the rotten to throw themselves under the wheels and tracks of the vehicles. But the Imperial Guard continued to move forward, while the militia and planetary defense units covered their rear and gaps, clearing everything that the flamethrowers missed.
- THE ENEMY IS ON THE ROOF!!! - the tank commander screamed, looking at the screens, but it was too late.
The missile hit the hatch, pierced the armor, and turned the entire crew into coals, causing the ammunition to detonate. The Space Marines did not engage in direct confrontation, acting carefully and precisely, as befits the elite. However, the cleanup after the loss did not stop, because Mologost gave a clear order and each of the Imperials knew what to do.
The enemy will be destroyed, even if it means drowning him in his own blood.