The Emperor’s Angel of Death

"Understood!"

As he said this, Bakhram used the blade of his power sword, crackling with disruptive energy, to sever the arm of a Chaos Space Marine at the elbow. But the Marine didn't retreat, continuing to roar and swing his battleaxe.

"Die, you lackeys of the False Emperor!"

Bakhram parried the attack with his sword, then shot the traitor in the face with his bolt pistol. The traitor's visor shattered, and he staggered backward, falling.

But there was no time for rest.

"Jacob, Neil, with me!"

Bakhram moved again, firing the last bolt from his pistol magazine into the body of a rapidly advancing Daemon Engine. The explosion tore apart its flesh and metal, but it didn't stop until Bakhram violently ripped it apart with his sword, the disruption field grinding its limbs and flesh into dust.

Then, led by him, two tactical squads turned back to support the Tech-Priests. Along the way, he switched to a plasma pistol, using a precise burst of heat to kill a daemonic creation.

Meanwhile, the recruits, with their bolters, continuously shot at the mortal slaves and Chaos Space Marines who were taking potshots from around the battlefield.

Jacob used his sword to cleave a heretic from waist to neck, then used the momentum to dodge a blow from a Red Corsair wielding a black iron power sword. Jacob even heard the hum of the sword as it sliced through the air above his head.

He then used his own sword to meet the enemy's second attack, pushing the Red Corsair back a step. The Corsair snarled behind his helmet.

"You little puppy of the False Emperor! While you were still sucking on your mother's tit, I—"

His last words were cut off by Jacob's plasma pistol. The exploding plasma shattered his helmet and the head beneath it, causing his body to fall heavily to the ground, leaking black blood.

Jacob blew smoke from the muzzle of his pistol, re-holstering the weapon and kicking the corpse contemptuously.

"Old man, trying to act tough?"

Soon, Bakhram saw the robot cohort. They stood motionless, heads and arms drooping like broken puppets, while six Tech-Priests and their one hundred and fifty servitors fought against the approaching enemy. Brilliant white light burst in the darkness as Nasu Mastenbrook fired his weapon.

A Red Corsair was instantly hit, his body covered in eerie bright yellow flames. He desperately ran towards the robot cohort before a heavy servitor opened fire, the plasma blast causing the heretic to fall, still burning.

In response, a heavy servitor fell under a barrage of bolter fire, its body twisting and smoking.

Then Bakhram's squad emerged from the shadows, attacking the enemy from the flank, a total of twenty-four warriors, their armor gleaming in the firelight.

Bakhram fired three plasma bursts in quick succession, the blood mixing with dust in the air, vaporized by the heat of the plasma.

Two Chaos Space Marines fell to the ground, their guns silent. In response, some heretics turned and fired. A member of the squad also fell, but fortunately, he was only hit in the knee.

The enemy clearly recognized this as an opportunity to eliminate these powerful battle robots, surging in from all sides, even more so than from other directions. Even heretics and daemons knew to strike at the weakest point.

Suddenly, with a loud crash, a Fortress-class battle robot exploded, as if detonated from within, shattering into thousands of pieces. All the bolts on the machine burst open, all the seals were destroyed, the floor cracked, and debris flew several meters away. The internal cables crackled in the flames, and the shockwave from the explosion even knocked several nearby battle robots to the ground.

"Another psyker!"

Nasu Mastenbrook's angry voice rang out. The loss of another battle robot clearly enraged him. The sub-processor behind him fired several shots at the enemy. Although the noise was impressive, with flames and lightning roaring, none of them actually hit.

When the smoke cleared, the thing was still floating a meter above the ground.

It was a Chaos Space Marine Sorcerer, wearing a dark blue robe like a priest over his armor. The robe shimmered with iridescent colors in the darkness. His armored fingers were covered with bejeweled rings. His face, uncovered by a helmet, was pale, covered with numbers, letters, and evil symbols. A blue symbol of Tzeentch was embedded in the place of his left eye, and the lower half of his face was twisted by an exaggerated smirk.

Several weapon servitors lunged at him with their blades, but the sorcerer simply snapped his fingers, and the weapon servitors were engulfed in a blue light, leaving only ashes.

Then the sorcerer turned to Nasu Mastenbrook, still smirking.

Nasu Mastenbrook instantly felt the world shrink until he could only see that smirk, so small that he could only hear the pounding of his artificial heart, as if it were about to burst out of his chest. He was truly afraid, but he couldn't look away. He seemed to have lost control of his body.

Then he saw the sorcerer float towards him, trailing smoke and shadows, still smirking.

"Get behind me, Priest Nasu."

Suddenly, Bakhram's voice rang in his mind, as cold as the wind sweeping across the water. His blurred vision instantly cleared. The sorcerer hadn't moved; instead, he was walking towards him!

Interrupted, the sorcerer narrowed his eyes and bared his fangs in a grin.

"Soulless one?"

Bakhram rushed past Suna like a gale, pulling the trigger of his pistol as he ran.

The sorcerer quickly dodged the plasma blast, then his scream echoed in the air. Suna was so shocked that he fell to his knees, his auditory equipment almost completely destroyed.

However, Bakhram was unaffected, rushing forward and blowing the head off a Chaos Space Marine who tried to block him. When the pistol ran out of energy, he wielded his power sword, knocking aside the claws of a Daemon Engine, and then plunged the sword into its head made of three skulls. The Daemon Engine slumped in a screech, quickly turning into scrap metal.

Although affected, the Chaos Sorcerer still struggled to use the power of the Warp. He raised his hand, and warpfire from the realm of Tzeentch floated in his palm.

But the next second, his palm suddenly burst open like chopped firewood. From wrist to elbow, the sound of bones exploding was as sharp as a gunshot.

"Damn soulless scum!"

With pain and bleeding, the sorcerer cursed, drawing a melta pistol with one hand and firing at Bakhram. It was a melta pistol. If it hit, it would be enough to inflict a fatal blow on Bakhram.

But the sorcerer's gauntlet suddenly shattered, the melta pistol falling. Fragments of metal and flesh sprayed everywhere. A recruit not far away put down his sniper rifle and turned to shoot at another approaching enemy.