The steel corridors of the Eternal Crusade twisted and deformed under the erosion of the warp energy.

Sigismund's black sword had just cut off the head of the eighty-eighth World Eater, and the sacred runes on the sword were glowing with a scorching golden light due to the continuous killing.

Suddenly, his combat instincts rang like alarm bells, not from the traitors who were still resisting stubbornly in front of him, but from some older, more evil energy fluctuations deep within the hull.

"Marshal! A subspace rift has appeared in Sector G-7!" A hoarse warning from the scout came over the communication channel, "They are calling for—"

The signal was suddenly drowned out by a piercing scream. When Sigismund turned around, he saw the bulkhead three hundred meters away peeling off like rotting skin.

Three Chaos Wizards stood in a triangular magic circle, their red armor reflecting distorted auras, and the Tzeentch runes embedded on their chests squirmed like living things.

The wizards' staffs drew blasphemous trajectories, and every swing opened a larger wound in reality.

"They are summoning demons! Stop them!"

Sigismund's command sounded like thunder.

The five nearest Black Templars turned around immediately, their bolters spitting flames as they ran.

But the bullets turned into molten iron drops a few meters away from the wizards. Some invisible force field protected these representatives of chaos.

The crack widened.

At first it was just a thin purple-black line on the wall, but in a blink of an eye it expanded into a huge crack large enough for the Thunderhawk gunship to pass through.

Translucent tentacles were wriggling at the edge of the crack, and every twitch released mucus that corroded the metal.

The five charging Space Marines suddenly froze in place, blood seeping from the seams of their armour, before bursting like over-inflated leather bladders.

Fragments of their entrails and bones were splattered radially on both sides of the corridor, painting a bloody abstract painting on the walls.

"The first of the heretics..."

Sigismund's voice was as deep as thunder.

His tactical eyepiece automatically adjusted the focus, and through the swirling warp fog, he saw a huge shadow four meters tall squeezing out of the crack.

With every step the figure took, the deck of the Eternal Expedition groaned and sank an inch.

Angron has arrived.

The skin of the World Eaters Primarch was like peeled flesh, with glowing Blood God runes engraved on the exposed muscle fibers.

The twelve butcher's nails implanted in the spine wriggle like living things, constantly injecting pure killing desire into the host's brain.

The moment he completely stepped into the real universe, the lighting system of the entire battleship exploded at the same time, and the emergency lights dyed the corridor blood red.

"Sigismund..." Angron's voice was like the screams of a thousand tortured men. "The...son of Dorne..."

The Primarch raised his hand and pulled out a giant sword that was three meters long from the crack.

This weapon is made entirely of coagulated blood, and the blade is embedded with a still screaming soul.

When the sword blade cut through the air, even the light was distorted and swallowed.

Sigismund's black sword immediately burst into an unprecedented golden light.

Blessed by the Emperor himself, the sword sensed the presence of its nemesis, and the scripture upon its blade burned like flames.

The Grand Marshal's armored servo system was running at full power, increasing the reaction speed to the limit.

"For the Emperor!"

Fifty Black Templars opened fire simultaneously. A storm of metal bolts struck Angron, but strangely hovered a meter away from the Primarch. However, this was not blocked by a force field, but was frozen in the air by some more primitive force.

Angron grinned, revealing his jagged fangs, and blew softly.

All the bullets changed direction and shot back at three times the speed, pinning half of the team to the wall.

“Kill it!”

Sigismund charged forward like golden lightning. The moment the black sword collided with Angron's blood sword, the energy wave that erupted blew away everyone within thirty meters.

The Grand Marshal felt the bones in his arm groaning under the heavy burden. Even with the support of power armor, wrestling with the Primarch was still a burden that no mortal could bear.

A hint of surprise flashed across Angron's blood-red pupils.

His next blow came with the force of splitting mountains and splitting rocks. Sigismund barely dodged sideways, and the greatsword grazed his shoulder armor and tore the adamantine ceramic like thin paper.

The Grand Marshal struck back with swiftness of a venomous snake, stabbing Angron's exposed abdomen with his black sword, but the Primarch caught the blade with his bare hands at the last moment.

“Interesting… toy…” Angron’s palms sizzled as the holy energy burned them, but he seemed to feel no pain.

The blood sword suddenly changed its moves and swept across. Sigismund retreated in a hurry but his breastplate was still cut. A wound deep enough to see the bone extended from his right shoulder to his left abdomen.

"For the Emperor!"

The Space Marines of the Black Templars charged forward one after another.

Brother Harald of the Third Company leapt onto Angron's back and attached melta bombs to the Primarch's Butcher's Nails.

Godfrey of the 7th Company stabbed the Primarch in the knee joint with his power halberd.

The snipers of the Tenth Company aimed their rounds at Angron's eyes and unleashed armor-piercing ammunition.

These attacks, powerful enough to kill Chaos Lords, were like children's play in front of the traitorous Primarch.

Angron simply spun himself around.

Harald was thrown against the ceiling and smashed into a pulp, Godfrey's power halberd broke, and he himself was grabbed by the Primarch and his head was crushed, and the sniper bullet sparked on Angron's eyelids, but did not even leave a shallow mark.

The blood sword drew a perfect blood-red arc, and fifteen Space Marines were cut in half at the same time under the sword.

Sigismund took the opportunity to thrust forward. The black sword hit Angron's back accurately, but it only penetrated three inches before it could go any further - the Primarch's muscle fibers locked onto the blade like steel.

The force of Angron’s turn flung Sigismund and his sword twenty meters away, and the Grand Marshal crashed through three bulkheads before coming to a stop.

“Marshal!” Space Marine Ulrich tried to rescue him, but his power sword slashed at Angron’s ankle, but only a few sparks flew.

The Primarch didn't even lower his head, and just casually kicked Ulrich into a pulp.

Sigismund climbed up from the ruins. His lungs were pierced by broken ribs, and every breath was accompanied by blood foam; his left arm was twisted unnaturally, obviously his shoulder was dislocated.

The self-healing mechanism built into Sigismund's armor was working at full capacity, trying to seal the wounds that were constantly bleeding. But the Grand Marshal's eyes were still as sharp as ever.

"Continue the attack," he ordered the remaining fighters through a private channel, "to buy time for the Eternal Crusade."

Angron seemed enraged by this indomitable spirit. He abandoned his Blood Son and tore through the Space Marines that blocked his path with his bare hands.

One by one, the Black Templar Space Marines turned into fireworks of flesh and blood in his hands, and the walls of the corridor were dyed dark red.

The Primarch's Butcher's Nails trembled with excitement at the slaughter, injecting more madness into the brain.

"You are afraid of me, slave of the false emperor. You will watch your false emperor die under my sword."

"I am Sigismund, I am the wall of the empire, I will never be afraid, I will never compromise."

Sigismund, with a seriously injured body and a black sword in hand, stood before Angron.