The Phalanx.
The Macro-cannon Array Compartment.
The space here was vast enough for an Emperor-class Titan to stand proudly upright.
As far as the eye could see, drive gears as thick as castle bearing columns meshed slowly together. Giant ammunition chains dangled from the ceiling, each macro-cannon shell comparable in volume to a Titan. Servo-skulls hovered silently along the bulkheads, using crimson optical lenses to monitor the operational status of every mechanical component.
At the very end of all this lay the electromagnetic rails of the macro-cannon. Pale blue electric arcs leaped across them, and the entire compartment filled with the low-frequency hum of charging, vibrating so intensely it made one's chest shudder.
"Lord Sanguinius, this is far too reckless. I absolutely cannot agree to this!"
Tears welled up in the eyes of Dante, Chapter Master of the Blood Angels.
Having undergone the Primaris transformation, his once fragile, candle-in-the-wind frailty had improved significantly, yet deep wrinkles remained etched across his face like indelible scars left by time. Right now, those wrinkles grew deeper with his agitated state, and two lines of tears were on the verge of bursting forth. Standing before him was, naturally, the Primarch of the Blood Angels Legion, the Great Angel, and Regent of the Imperium Secundus—Sanguinius.
He gently flapped his flawless white wings, which radiated a soft glow under the illumination of the compartment. He then tilted his head slightly, flashing a highly charismatic smile.
"Rest assured, I reckon this will absolutely work. My child, do you not believe in my abilities?"
Dante wavered instantly.
His lips quivered slightly. The counterarguments that had been jammed in his throat just a moment ago could not find their way out now.
Damn it, such charisma—
It wasn't just him. The senior leadership of the Blood Angels standing behind him, along with a succession of Chapter Masters from the Blood Angels' successor chapters, all wavered at the exact same moment. No scion of the Blood Angels could refuse that face.
Dante was on the verge of nodding.
However, a millennium of active service ensured his will was a fraction more resilient than the others. With great difficulty, he swallowed the word "yes" back down his throat and spoke again with a choked voice.
"No. I absolutely do not agree to such an action." His voice was hoarse. "You are being too reckless. We have better methods—"
As Dante spoke, he hurriedly averted his gaze from his genetic father's face. He scanned the surroundings in a panic and quickly found his target—a figure standing right next to Sanguinius.
The man was fully clad in power armor, gripping a power glaive horizontally. He stood silent and erect, dressed like a bodyguard.
"Lord Raldoron!" Dante's voice carried an almost pleading note. "Please, say something!"
Raldoron, former First Captain of the Blood Angels Legion and the first Chapter Master of the Blood Angels Chapter, slowly turned his head and glanced at Dante. Then, he shook his head.
Still too inexperienced.
"Give up," Raldoron said calmly. "We cannot alter a decision made by our genetic father." He paused, then added a sentence with a touch of detached serenity unique to someone who had seen it all before. "We need only obey."
Raldoron's emotions were perfectly placid.
To be completely honest, he really didn't think this was anything to make a fuss about. Back when he followed Lord Sanguinius to board an Emperor-class Titan, had he not tried to dissuade him then? He had. Did it work? It didn't work at all.
"Do not worry," Sanguinius laughed heartily, as if comforting a group of fresh recruits stepping onto the battlefield for the first time. "I have already looked into the future with my prophetic abilities. There is no danger."
He swept his clear eyes across the crowd.
"Wait here for a short while. As soon as the window for teleportation arrives, immediately support my operation."
Having said that, his gaze passed over the crowd and landed on a figure standing on the outermost perimeter. Unlike the other Blood Angels, this man wore jet-black power armor, looking exceptionally conspicuous amidst the room full of gold and red.
"Mephiston." Sanguinius's voice softened, his eyes filled with anticipation. "I will leave the psychic support to you. The brother I am about to face possesses immense confidence in his psychic prowess. If you can disrupt him a bit at the critical moment, that would be for the best."
Mephiston nodded with great difficulty.
Even though he was one of the most powerful psykers in the history of the Blood Angels—a presence his peers reverently called the "Lord of Death"—he felt a stomach-churning pressure regarding what they were about to do.
Going toe-to-toe with a Primarch who specialized in psychic power? That was truly a bit too pressured.
Yet, he still nodded. Because that was Sanguinius.
With everything arranged, Sanguinius turned around.
He pulled back his smile, his movements becoming focused and solemn. His wings flapped gently, lifting him off the ground like a petal caught in a breeze, drifting slowly forward. He flew toward the massive launch silo.
Directly ahead of him, the launch silo gaped like a pitch-black abyss, waiting to swallow the projectile about to be fired. His silhouette vanished into the darkness.
The charging roar of the macro-cannon array suddenly spiked, making the entire compartment tremble. Dante closed his eyes. He felt his two hearts skipping a beat.
Sanguinius's plan was simple and crude. Summarized, it boiled down to a single thought—
Since conventional orbital bombardment could not breach Magnus's psychic shield, and deploying an Exterminatus-level weapon would likely blow up Cadia along with it... then what would happen if he launched himself, a Primarch, as the artillery shell?
He was very curious!
After remaining silent for less than a quarter of an hour, the main gun array of the Phalanx roared once more. The barrel array flashed with a white light that illuminated the entire sky.
Witnessing this scene, the Thousand Sons sorcerers raised their staffs once again.
Their movements were perfectly synchronized, as if rehearsed countless times. Massive psychic power gathered once more under their will, and torrents of purple-red energy surged from all directions, weaving into a brilliant yet lethal ocean of energy above their heads.
However, they suddenly froze. The Thousand Sons sorcerers widened their eyes.
They performed a unanimous action—stretching out their iron-clad palms to rub their eyes vigorously.
Were they hallucinating? Or had the dogs of the False Emperor used some sort of sorcery to deceive them?
If they weren't mistaken, that thing—
Seemed to be a fucking person?
Wait, why did this person also seem to have a pair of white wings? And an incredibly beautiful face, golden armor, holding a spear in one hand and a sword in the other... Why did this sound exactly like a certain Primarch?
High up in the sky, under everyone's terrified gaze, Sanguinius's wings suddenly beat violently. His trajectory of descent shifted abruptly, turning him into a golden meteor slicing through the skyline, piercing right through the Thousand Sons' psychic defenses on the spot.
His smile remained gentle and radiant amidst the plasma gale, and his voice rang out in an uncanny manner, accurately delivered to the ears of everyone in the Chaos frontline headquarters via psychic power.
"Magnus! My brother! Long time no see! How have you been lately?"