“Buzz!”

The shock wave caused by the collision between the black sword and the blood blade lifted up all the metal decks within a radius of thirty meters.

A dazzling golden light flowed on Sigismund's blade, and those ancient imperial runes moved like living things.

The same holy light burst out from the gaps in the Grand Marshal’s helmet, and the moment Angron’s blood-red pupils met its gaze.

“Ugh!”

The rebel Primarch howled in pain. The golden light burned his soul directly, causing the Butcher's Nails to temporarily stop working.

Angron's massive body flew backwards like a rag doll, crashing through seven reinforced bulkheads before coming to a stop, leaving a series of human-shaped holes on the hull of the Eternal Expedition.

Sigismund knelt on one knee, gasping for breath. His Terminator armor was broken in many places, and blood foam continued to spurt out of his respirator.

Just as he tried to get up and chase, a hand covered with gray armor pressed on his shoulder armor.

"Child of Dorne? Stand back."

The voice was like steel being tempered in a forge, cold and heavy.

Sigismund looked up and saw Perturabo towering over him like a mountain.

The Iron Lord's armor was covered in fresh traces of battle, and the Iron Warriors emblem on his left shoulder - yellow and black hazard stripes, was particularly eye-catching under the emergency light.

The visor of his helmet opened in a grid-like pattern, revealing a cold and hard face behind it, like a steel sculpture.

"Only a Primarch can fight a Primarch."

Perturabo's words carried unquestionable authority.

His mechanical eyes scanned the battlefield and instantly calculated the optimal tactical plan.

Following a binary command, fifty iron ring robots lined up and emerged from the shadows.

These war machines built by the Iron Warriors themselves are equipped with specially made shields and power hammers. Their movements are so uniform that it is creepy, like limbs controlled by the same consciousness.

Angron had barely risen from the metal ruins when the first iron ring's hammer roared toward him.

"boom!"

The hammer head, which was as big as an adult man's torso, hit Angron's face accurately.

The hammer's surface was as smooth as a mirror, reflecting the distorted face of the rebel primarch, which was a mixture of pain and ecstasy. The Butcher's Nail trembled wildly due to the impact.

Then came the second hammer, the third hammer...

Fifty war machines formed a perfect siege formation, and the angle and strength of each hammer blow were precisely calculated to ensure that Angron could not use the force to break through.

“Kill it!”

Perturabo's voice was transmitted through the encrypted channel to the processor of each iron ring.

The Lord of Steel himself stood still, his tactical eyepiece recording Angron's every reaction, the data stream refreshing on his retina like a waterfall.

It was a delicate slaughter, like shaping a piece of iron with a forging hammer.

However, even sophisticated calculations cannot fully predict the behavior of a mad primarch.

"boom!"

An iron ring suddenly flew backwards, with a clear fist mark on its breastplate.

Angron burst out from the mechanical encirclement, his muscles swelled to the point of tearing his skin, and the Blood God runes glowed a blinding red on the exposed muscle fibers.

“Ka-ba!”

With a teeth-grinding sound of metal tearing, Angron tore open the armor plate of an iron ring with his bare hands and pulled out its core processor along with its cables.

The Chaos Primarch lifted the still-flickering mechanical heart to his mouth and crushed the crystal components with his teeth.

“Your metal contraptions have no power over me, Perturabo.” Angron’s voice was unusually clear, each syllable a gurgling sound of blood foaming. “I do not smell fear.”

Perturabo's mouth curled up slightly, a look that looked particularly dangerous on his stone-like face.

"Who told you they were responsible for you?"

The Lord of Steel's body suddenly unfolded. The shoulder armor slid open to reveal a micro-missile nest, the arm armor split and deformed to reveal a gravity weapon array, the armor plates on the back unfolded to both sides, and the six precision plasma cannons completed charging.

At this moment, Perturabo looked less like a warrior and more like a living fortress.

"I'll take your head."

The moment Perturabo uttered the last syllable, two Primarch-level figures moved at the same time.

Angron's charge was like a javelin thrown by the Blood God, and the blood sprites made a sharp scream in the air.

Perturabo was like a precise war machine, firing the gravity weapon on his left arm first.

"boom!"

Invisible force field ripples spread out.

Angron suddenly stopped when he was three meters away from Perturabo, as if he had hit an invisible wall.

Then, a gravity ten thousand times greater than before descended, and the kneecap of the rebel leader cracked under the heavy weight.

The deck of the Eternal Crusade was twisted and deformed by the force field. Angron was like a mosquito slapped by a giant's hand. He flew backwards, crashed through the outer armor of the battleship and disappeared into space.

Perturabo didn't hesitate for a moment. He activated the backpack's thrusters and jumped into the void right after him.

The Lord of Steel's tactical eyepiece locked onto the falling Angron, the blood-red figure leaving a striking trail in the orange-red sky of Mars.

Two human-shaped meteorites collided five kilometers above the ground.

Angron used a floating piece of warship wreckage as a stepping stone to reverse his attack at an angle that defied the laws of physics.

The bloody sword slashed on Perturabo's shoulder armor, splashing a string of dazzling sparks.

The Lord of Steel did not dodge or evade, and the power glove in his right hand hit Angron's chest directly, breaking three of the twelve Butcher's Nails.

"You have grown weaker, brother," Perturabo's voice came over the vacuum transmitter. "A sword blinded by Chaos is never sharp enough."

They fought as they fell.

Each of Angron's blows was delivered with the ferocity of a berserker, haphazard and yet incredibly powerful.

Perturabo's defense is like a precise equation, and each blocking action has been calculated tens of millions of times.

The shock wave generated by the collision between the sword blade and the power gauntlet shattered all the surrounding warship wreckage.

At an altitude of one thousand meters, Perturabo suddenly changed his tactics. His gravity weapon was activated again, this time it was not thrust but suction.

Angron's body was pulled uncontrollably towards the Lord of Steel, just in time to meet the long-awaited plasma cannon salvo.

Six blue-white beams of light hit Angron at the same time, leaving a charred hole in his chest, and one could even see the beating heart inside.

But the rebel Primarch laughed wildly instead, using the impact to accelerate his fall and kicking Perturabo in the opposite direction.

“I don’t need skills!” Angron’s voice exploded across the communication channel. “The Blood God grants me power!”

Five hundred meters.

Perturabo adjusted his stance and all the missile nests on his shoulders were activated.

Forty-eight micro-melta missiles swarmed towards Angron, forming a series of miniature suns around the traitor primarch.

The high temperature carbonized Angron's skin, but the muscle tissue deep inside had already begun to regenerate at an accelerated rate.

Two hundred meters.

The two figures collided again. This time Perturabo deliberately let the blade pierce his own abdomen, while locking Angron's arms with mechanical tentacles.

The Lord of Iron's power fist pressed against the rebel primarch's chest and began to overload.

"See what your gods can offer you now, brother." Perturabo's voice was cold and mechanical. "Except death."

At the last second, Angron broke free of the mechanical tentacles and smashed his head into Perturabo's visor.

The two fell to the surface of Mars in an entangled posture, and the impact kicked up a dust cloud hundreds of meters high.

When the smoke and dust cleared, the scene at the center of the explosion made all observers cheer excitedly.

Perturabo stood, his armor in tatters, a blade lodged in his abdomen, his visor completely shattered to reveal a bloody face beneath.

But he held Angron's head in his hand, and the body of the traitor primarch knelt on the ground, with the broken surface of his neck as smooth as if it had been melted by high temperature.

The Lord of Steel held up the trophy and announced to the fleets still fighting in orbit:

"The leader of the heresy has been killed!"

This message spread throughout the entire solar system defense line. In the orbit of Mars, on the walls of Terra, and on every Imperial warship that was still fighting, the soldiers stopped what they were doing at the same time.

After three full seconds of silence, deafening cheers echoed throughout every corner of the human empire.