The air in the palace command center was as hard as lead.

Rogal Dorn stood in front of the holographic strategic table, his granite face flickering under the flickering tactical data.

The noisy sounds of hundreds of communication channels echoed in the command room. The servo skull was hovering at a low altitude, and its mechanical compound eyes constantly captured the ever-changing battlefield situation.

"Saturn is lost, my Lord."

The communications officer's voice was as dry as the hot desert wind, and his bloodshot eyes were fixed on the casualty figures jumping on the data board.

The solar system defense line on the holographic projection suddenly dimmed, and the blue mark representing the Saturn defense zone was turning into a glaring scarlet at a speed visible to the naked eye.

Dorn's knuckles tapped against the adamantium tabletop with a dull sound.

His eyes swept over the last images sent back from Saturn before its fall, and he saw the purple light of vortex torpedoes engulfing the planet and the Chaos fleet breaking through the defenses like a swarm of locusts.

The Primarch's pupils contracted slightly as he noticed that at the edge of the screen there were several warships of the Emperor's Children engaged in a bloody battle. The purple color was particularly eye-catching in the scarlet tide of Chaos.

"Mars." Dorn's voice was like a vibration deep in the earth's crust. "Their next target is Mars."

The holographic image switched, and a three-dimensional projection of Kalbor Hal appeared next to the Martian logo.

Most of the mechanical priest's face has been replaced by machines, and the area around his remaining left eye is covered with cable interfaces, flashing a strange red light.

The forge temple behind him was running at full speed, and the humming sound of the volcanic artillery array charging came through the communication channel, like the breathing of an ancient behemoth.

“We’ll nail them here.”

Kalbo's mechanical voice had a distinct Martian accent, and his metal jaws spewed out steam of coolant as they opened and closed.

His mechanical tentacles danced across the holographic keyboard, calling up a three-dimensional map of the Martian fortifications. Tens of millions of artillery batteries were deployed on the surface of Mars.

Dorn noticed that Kalbo's right arm had been replaced with an experimental plasma cannon, the barrel still bearing the scorch marks of fresh battle.

"Please, Carbo."

When these words came out of Dorn's lips, all the officers in the command room held their breath.

Don never asks easily, his dictionary only consists of command and execution.

"I will, but we need backup."

"How many people do you need?" Dorn continued.

"At least fifty thousand Astartes. The underground factories on Mars must be defended." His mechanical eyes flashed red, "otherwise Terra's orbital defenses will never be fully recharged."

Dorn's fingers tightened on the tactical table, and the adamantium surface groaned under the weight.

His eyes swept across the holographic star map, and every reserve team around Terra was clearly marked.

The Black Templars' fleet is on standby in low Earth orbit, their warships like suspended steel crosses.

“Sigismund.” Dorn’s voice reached the Black Templars’ Chapter Master through a dedicated channel. “Immediately lead your 10,000-man army to Mars.”

"As you command, Primarch." Sigismund's response was as sharp as a sword drawn from its sheath.

On the holographic projection, the symbol representing the Black Templar immediately turned towards the direction of Mars.

Dorn did not pause and continued to deploy his troops:

"The 3rd Company of the Iron Hands, the 7th Battalion of the Salamanders, the Blood Angels Assault Team..." His voice was like a hammer hitting an anvil. Every time he read out a name, a new troop mark turned to Mars. "A total of 50,000 troops, set off immediately."

As Dorn's voice fell, Carlbo nodded and hung up the phone.

At this moment, the dome of the command room suddenly shook, and fine gold foil peeled off from the relief.

There were dull explosions in the distance, probably orbital defense platforms engaging in combat.

Dorn didn't look up, his eyes fixed on the short distance between Mars and Earth on the hologram.

This journey is just a short distance for the Starfleet, but now it seems like an insurmountable chasm.

"Sir, the Jupiter defense line requests reinforcements." The communications officer's voice broke the silence.

Dorn's thoughts were brought back to reality. He looked at the new information stream that appeared, and the defenders in Jupiter's orbit were exchanging fire with a Black Legion fleet.

The Primarch's finger traced a path on the hologram, and the reserve troops from the moon base were transferred to provide support.

Every decision was as precise as a machine, but the guards beside him noticed that there was an imperceptible tremor in Dorn's fingertips.

The holographic projection of the solar system's defense line slowly rotated in front of him, and each flashing red dot represented a collapsing battle line.

The Lord of Iron's temples were throbbing. Working for hundreds of hours without sleep and commanding tens of billions of troops at the same time was draining his energy to a level that even the Primarch could not bear.

"The loss of orbital defense platform No. 169 is more than 60%, sir." The communications officer's voice was as dry as the hot desert wind, "The distress signal of the 58th Defense Fleet... just got interrupted."

Dorn's jawline was as taut as a bowstring.

His eyes swept across the position of Mars on the star map. The red planet was now shrouded in an ominous blood-red halo, like a moth entangled in a spider web.

At this desperate moment, the alarm on the tactical station suddenly turned into a shrill scream.

"Real space fluctuates!" The technical priest's mechanical voice was distorted due to excitement, "A large-scale jump-out signal appeared in the outer part of the solar system!"

Dorn looked up suddenly. Outside the huge observation window of the command room, a dazzling blue light suddenly cracked across the dark curtain of the universe.

It was not the scarlet of Chaos, nor the purple-black of the Warp, but the pure blue of the Webway, as pure as a newborn star.

When the first battleship jumped out, the entire command room fell into silence.

The Vengeful Spirit.

The armour of this legendary battleship bears the scars of thousands of battles, but the Emperor's Skyhawk emblem still shines brightly on the prow.

Its appearance was like a signal, followed by the second, the third... tens of thousands of warships spread out like a dazzling galaxy, and the bow of each ship was engraved with the wolf head emblem of the Shadow Moon Wolf.

"Yes..." The communications officer's voice trembled, "It's the fleet of Warmaster Horus! They're coming back!"

Dorn's breathing stopped for a moment. For the first time in four hundred years, a hint of moisture flashed in the eyes of the Lord of Steel.

He saw the familiar figure standing proudly on the bridge of the Vengeful Spirit.

Horus Lupercal, Lord of the Luna Wolves and the greatest Warmaster of the Imperium of Man.

The holographic communication screen unfolded in the center of the command room. The image of Horus was like a god descending from heaven, and he was even more majestic than Dorn remembered.

The Warmaster's armor was covered with traces of battles from Commorra, and the wolf-head emblem on his left shoulder was burned with strange patterns by some unknown energy.

In his right hand he held the legendary Worldbreaker hammer, and in his left the Claw of Horus shone with pure psychic light.