On the command deck of the Spirit of Vengeance, Horus Lupercal stared quietly at the holographic tactical sandbox.

The Warmaster's silver power armor shone coldly under the dim bridge lights, and the Moon Wolf emblem etched on the breastplate was covered with countless tiny battle scars.

His fingers tapped lightly on the armrests of the throne, and each tap precisely timed the second hand of the tactical clock - that was his habitual action when thinking.

On the sand table, the blue light spots representing the imperial army were slowly advancing on the three-dimensional projection of Comoros.

Angron's scarlet vanguard and Sanguinius' golden spearheads had penetrated into the heart of the city, but the entire battle line seemed to be stuck in a quagmire.

“Angron and Sanguinius’ two legions are tearing through the enemy’s defenses.” The tactical officer’s voice was particularly harsh in the hum of the data stream. “The Raven Guard, Night Lords, and Alpha Legion are creating chaos behind enemy lines, but the advancement speed has dropped by 37%.”

Horus frowned slightly, and his eyes swept across a flashing red dot on the edge of the sand table, which was the direction of Terra.

An indescribable stinging pain suddenly shot through his nerves, as if someone had stabbed an ice pick into his temple.

"Warmaster, what do you think--" Loken took a half step forward, and the joints of his finely crafted power armor made a slight buzzing sound.

Horus raised his hand, and the claw of Horus drew a cold arc of light in the air.

This simple action instantly silenced the entire command deck, and even the servoskulls stopped hovering.

"I have a bad feeling, Loken." The Warmaster's voice was as deep as the vibrations deep in the earth's core. He slowly stood up, and the power armor servo system emitted a king's roar. "I feel... that my father is about to leave us."

These words pierced through everyone on the command deck like a power sword.

Loken's breathing stopped for a moment. He saw a shadow that had never appeared before flash across Horus' eyes. It was a vulnerability that the Son of the Moon Wolf had never shown to anyone.

Trajan stepped out of the shadows, the golden armor of the commander of the imperial guards gleaming in the dimness. The lightning emblem on his shoulder armor flickered with his steps, like a beacon in the dark night.

"My Lord is so powerful, your worries are unnecessary, Warmaster." The commander of the imperial guards spoke in a calm and steady voice, "Even if thousands of demons besieged the palace, they would not be able to harm a hair of your Majesty."

Horus's gaze swept across the squad of guardsmen standing solemnly behind Trajan.

These one thousand golden warriors stood silently in the corner of the bridge like sculptures; their presence alone made the air heavy.

The Warmaster originally planned to use them as the final trump card in the Comoros battlefield, but now...

"After the Battle of Comoros, I will dispatch the Imperial Fists to defend Terra." Horus turned to the tactical sand table and ran his finger across the projection of Terra, leaving a golden mark on it.

The decision made his stomach ache. Rogal Dorn's legions were the backbone of the siege, but nothing was more important than his father's safety.

There was a sudden burst of harsh static on the communicator, followed by Abaddon's rough battle cry:

“We are blocked at the street entrance of the Seventh Spire! The enemy’s firepower is too dense!”

The background sound was filled with the roar of grenade launchers and the hiss of poison crystal weapons.

Horus could picture it - Abaddon's Terminator armour must have been covered in corrosive burns, the barrels of his twin bolters must have been overheated and glowing red.

"Give me ten minutes and I'll break through!" The first company commander's voice was filled with a fierce determination to refuse to admit defeat.

Suddenly there was a deafening explosion and a painful groan was heard in the communication channel.

Horus's power claws tightened unconsciously, leaving five dents on the throne's armrests.

"Brother Abaddon! Get out of the way!"

A deep mechanical roar tore through the noise on the communication channel.

Then came the earth-shaking sound of footsteps - the heavy rhythm unique to the Despiser's Fearlessness.

On the holographic projection, the signal point representing Abaddon's company suddenly began to advance rapidly.

On the battlefield of Comoros, Wald's dreadnought mecha rolled over the ruins like a mobile fortress.

The shell of this ancient war machine is engraved with the glorious scars of thousands of years of battles, and every scratch on the power claw on the left arm records a legendary battle.

As it took a step, the ground trembled under the fifteen-ton steel body, and the obsidian streets cracked into spider-web-like patterns.

"For the Emperor! For Horus!"

With a sweep of the power claw, three Dark Eldar warriors were smashed against the wall like rag dolls.

Their finely crafted armor was like eggshells in the face of the five-ton impact force, and purple blood and viscera splashed on the wall, creating an abstract art of death.

The flamethrowers hanging below roared like a dragon, burning the witch dancers who tried to outflank them into twisted charcoal.

"It's done, Brother Abaddon." Wald's hoarse, mechanical voice came from the Dreadnought's loudspeaker. "This street is clear."

Abaddon stood up from behind the cover. The left shoulder armor of his Terminator armor had melted and deformed, revealing the muscle tissue underneath that was corroded by poison crystals.

The First Captain spat out a mouthful of blood and smashed the still twitching head of a Dark Eldar with the butt of his bolter.

"Keep the offensive, Abaddon." Horus' voice came from the communicator with unquestionable majesty, "Don't give the aliens time to breathe."

The Warmaster cut off the communication, but Abaddon seemed to be able to see the lone figure on the Vengeful Spirit through the burning city. The First Captain wiped the blood off his visor and raised his power claw to point at the dark spire in the distance:

"Lunar Wolves! Forward! Pay tribute to the Warmaster with the blood of the xenos!"

"go ahead!"

Many Space Marines of the Luna Wolves shouted, and then followed Abaddon's steps closely.

On the other side, the slave quarters of the Comoros trembled under the artillery fire.

The shock wave of the explosion shattered the dome inlaid with the gem of pain, and obsidian fragments fell like raindrops between the crowded cages.

Hundreds of thousands of human slaves huddled in filthy cages, their skinny fingers gripping the rusted iron bars, their cloudy eyeballs reflecting the burning spires in the distance.

"Just stay still!" A dark elf slave master swung a neural whip, and the tip of the whip made a sharp explosion in the air.

His gorgeous robes were stained with old blood, and his slender fingers were on the trigger of the poison crystal weapon. "If anyone dares to move, I will-"

At this moment, a dark shadow suddenly pounced from the side.

Former Lieutenant Colonel Ryan Corso of the 37th Cadian Regiment moved so quickly that he didn't look like a slave who had been tortured for ten years.

His ribs were clearly visible and only a festering hole remained in his right eye, but the hand that thrust out the iron rod was as steady as a rock.

The rusty metal tip pierced the slave master's lower jaw, penetrated the upper jaw, and came out from the top of the skull, bringing out a ball of pink and white brain matter.

“For Cadia.” Corso’s voice was as hoarse as sandpaper.

The slave owner's exquisite face was frozen in a moment of astonishment, and his weapon and dagger slipped from his fingers.

Corso caught the weapon, turned and pulled the trigger at the nearest surveillance camera. A beam of purple energy blew the peeping eye into pieces.

The entire slave area fell into an eerie silence.

One hundred thousand pairs of eyes stared at the slave owner's twitching body on the ground, and then looked at the smoking weapon in Koso's hand.

Some invisible electric current was transmitted in the filthy air, something more terrible than all the tortures of the Dark Eldar combined, I hope.

"What are you waiting for?" An old soldier who was once a member of the Eldest Sons Regiment kicked open the prison door. His vocal cords had long been damaged by the branding iron, and he could only use sign language to give orders to kill.

"For our tortured compatriots!" Several veterans with weapons took the lead. Several dark Eldar guards who rushed in were thrown to the ground, and then the wires were used as weapons to strangle their necks.

"For the Emperor!" A group of ragged slaves slit the throats of several Dark Eldar soldiers with broken glass.

The riots spread like wildfire.

Former officers of the Astra Militarum spontaneously formed tactical teams and used captured weapons to build defenses, while the slaves of the Mechanicus used crude tools to modify killing machines.

When the Dark Eldar reinforcements arrived, they were greeted by an overwhelming barrage of homemade incendiary bombs.

Corso stood on the pile of guards' corpses, scooped up a bucket of acid from the slave master's skull and poured it on the screaming witch spirit.

"Look," he raised the stolen poison crystal sword, the blade reflected the faces of thousands of Avengers, "they will bleed too!"

"Kill them! For the Emperor!"

The Comoros is burning.

This dark city that spanned tens of millions of years was now like a giant beast with its heart pierced, convulsing wildly in the agony of dying.

The empire's artillery fire tore at its flesh from the front, while the slave rebellion within was like countless poisonous insects gnawing at its internal organs.

Konrad Curze stood in the shadow of a spire, his pale face hidden beneath his bat-wing helmet.

His fingertips were dripping with sticky purple blood, which was the cerebrospinal fluid of the Dark Eldar Archon who had just been torn apart by his own hands.

The twisted corpse was stepped on by him, and the obsidian ground cracked under the tremendous pressure, crushing the corpse into a ball of meat paste mixed with broken bones and internal organs.

"Master Primarch, we are moving in the direction of the enemy's black hole emitter."

Sevatar emerged from the shadows, his power armor covered with fresh scratches, and a few strands of purple flesh hanging between the teeth of his chainsaw spear.

The Night Lords' First Captain's breathing was eerily steady, as if the massacre just now was just a pre-dinner stroll.

Koz turned his head slowly, his eyes flashing with a sickly cold light under the bat-wing helmet.

He stuck out his tongue and licked the remaining brain matter on the gauntlet, savoring the fear contained in it.

"Go on." The Primarch's voice echoed from the bottom of the abyss. "Kill all who stand in your way."

The Night Lords moved through the shadows of Commorragh like ghosts. Their power armor was coated with a special coating that absorbed light, and every movement was precisely to avoid the scanning of the surveillance cameras. The only sounds on the communication channel were breathing sounds and occasional tactical instructions, as concise as the whispers of the god of death.

A Dark Eldar rapid reaction force is heading to the slave rebellion area.

Twenty elite warriors rode on raider motorcycles, their poison crystal weapons glowing with deadly purple light in the dark corridor. The leader of the team suddenly raised his hand, and the entire convoy came to an abrupt stop.

“There’s something—”

His warning was stuck in his throat forever.

Sevatar's chainsaw halberd chopped down from above, accurately bisecting the Archon from head to hip.

Viscera and blood splattered on the warriors behind them. Before they could raise their weapons, more Night Lords jumped out from the shadows.

It was a perfect massacre.

A Night Lord crushed the engine of a motorcycle with his power claws, and the exploding flames burned the driver to charcoal; another warrior's lightning claws drew a graceful arc, and three heads wearing gorgeous helmets flew up at the same time; Sevatar moved through the convoy like dancing, and every swing of the chainsaw halberd was accompanied by the dull sound of limbs being separated.

Twenty seconds later, the corridor returned to silence. Only the flickering flames on the wreckage of the motorcycle and the purple blood on the ground proved that there had been a battle here.

"Cleaned up." Sevatar shook off the scraps of meat on his halberd, "Keep moving forward."

Meanwhile, the Raven Guard were on another mission.

Doria crouched in the shadow of a communications tower, his liquid metal armor perfectly mimicking the texture of his surroundings.

His fingers gently pressed on the data interface at the base of the tower, and the nanomachines seeped into the system like flowing water.

"Begin the invasion." His voice was as calm as water.

The entire communication network of Comoros was spread out before his eyes. A halo of data flow flowed on Doria's liquid metal helmet, and he accurately located every key node.

As he tapped his fingers, communication tower after communication tower began to overload, and the Dark Eldar's command system gradually fell into chaos.

"Eastern District communications have been cut off."

"Southern zone command link jamming complete."

“False directives are being planted in the North District.”

The Raven Guards' reports were concise and efficient. They were like a group of invisible ghosts, attacking the enemy's most vulnerable nerve nodes with precision.

Soon, fatal cracks began to appear in the entire Comoros' defense system - reinforcements received wrong coordinates, anti-aircraft artillery aimed at friendly units, and the security system of the reserve warehouse was locked for no reason.

Meanwhile, slave rebellions intensified under the cover of chaotic communications.

The human slaves who were once tortured to death have now transformed into the most crazy avengers.

They used crude weapons - rusted iron picks, broken glass, and even their own teeth - to tear apart every lone Dark Eldar.

A veteran of the Catachan Legion led three hundred slaves to capture the armory.

They armed themselves with captured poison crystal weapons and built crude fortifications in the corridor.

When a team of cabal warriors arrived to suppress the rebellion, they were greeted by a rain of energy beams.

"For the Emperor! For freedom!"

The veteran's roar echoed in the corridor.

His right arm had long been amputated, and at this moment he was using the stump to hold a heavy bolter.

Every shot was accompanied by the excruciating pain of his shattered shoulder blade, but the smile on his face became more and more crazy.

Koz stood on a high platform, overlooking the pyramid-shaped black hole emitter in the distance.

The surface of this ancient creation is covered with forbidden runes and is surrounded by three layers of energy shields.

Teams of fully armed Dark Eldar elites patrolled the surroundings. Their armor was more gorgeous than that of ordinary warriors, and their weapons were pulsating with ominous energy fluctuations.

"Prepare for a strong attack." There was bloodthirsty excitement in Koz's voice, "I want to dismantle that toy with my own hands."