At this moment, the battle in Sector 7's docking bay of the Death Star raged on fiercely.
Clang! Clang!
Whoosh! Whoosh!
The roar of explosive spike rounds and the shriek of energy weapons intertwined as shattered armor and human tissue littered the ground; blood on the cold metal floor had coalesced into tiny "streams."
The assault troopers' formation had been completely broken; hundreds of soldiers lay in pools of blood, and the casualties were rapidly approaching the thousand mark. Their morale was on the verge of collapse, and the eyes behind their helmets were filled with terror and despair. Had it not been for orders from above and the threat of severe punishment—and with nowhere left to retreat—they would have surrendered and scattered long ago.
In stark contrast, the six Blood Raven veterans moved across the battlefield like harbingers of death. Their power armor bore several bullet marks yet still stood unyielding, as if invincible. Even these battle-hardened Astartes veterans were not immune to attrition. In such an intense firefight, their ammunition reserves had nearly run dry, and the power of their energy shields was steadily declining. Although the assault troopers' marksmanship was abysmal, their overwhelming numerical superiority meant that many energy beam rounds still managed to strike the fast-moving Blood Raven veterans. Each hit sent ripples across the veterans' shields, sometimes even shattering them, which is why scorched burn marks appeared on their armor.
Fortunately, the shield systems of their Titanium-class armor were designed for continuous use; even if the shield broke, it could recharge after a brief pause.
Clang—clang—crack!
Suddenly, the Blood Raven squad leader's explosive spike gun emitted the sound of an empty magazine, signaling that his last clip had been spent. Without hesitation, he quickly secured the spike gun to the magnetic lock on the right side of his waist. Immediately, his right hand reached to the opposite side of his waist and grasped the hilt of his power sword with smooth, practiced movements.
Clang—buzz!
Accompanied by a crisp metallic friction sound, the power sword was drawn from its sheath, and the energy field along the blade instantly activated, emitting a low, resonant hum. Blue electric arcs danced along the blade as if it were an awakened thunder dragon, ravenous for the taste of blood.
Beneath his helmet, the bearded squad leader's eyes were as sharp as those of a hawk as he scanned the remaining assault troopers ahead. His voice, transmitted through his helmet's external speaker, was deep, authoritative, and carried a distinctive metallic quality as he declared, "If you want to live, surrender now."
No sooner had he finished speaking than his figure shot forward like lightning, the power sword carving a lethal arc through the air. Wherever the blade passed, assault troopers were effortlessly cleaved as if they were straw; armor and flesh vaporized instantly under the high heat of the energy field, releasing a charred, acrid odor.
The other five Blood Raven veterans quickly followed suit, each drawing power swords, chainsaw axes, and other melee weapons to launch a crushing assault. Every swing was accompanied by the screams of the enemy and the spray of blood and gore. The assault troopers attempted to organize a final resistance, but against these Astartes veterans their efforts were utterly futile.
"Submit! We're surrendering!"
"Don't kill us!!"
The desperate cries for mercy echoed throughout the docking bay like a sharp blade slicing through the battlefield that had been filled with gunfire and roars. Witnessing the terrifying display of near-melee ferocity from the Blood Raven veterans, the last vestiges of courage in the assault troopers were completely shattered. The hum of power swords, the roar of chainsaw blades, and the shrill cries of energy weapons tearing through the air left those who once prided themselves on being the elite of the Empire feeling as defenseless as lambs awaiting slaughter.
"Spare us, spare us!"
One assault trooper, trembling, fell to his knees, having discarded his energy weapon long ago. His voice was filled with terror and despair, as if the Blood Raven veterans before him were demons crawling up from hell. Soon, the other troopers followed his example—abandoning their weapons and raising their hands in a feeble bid to exchange surrender for a chance at survival. Their commander had long since disappeared, and any talk of orders or punishment seemed meaningless in the face of certain death.
They simply couldn't win—couldn't possibly win! Even the seemingly simple task of holding back the Blood Raven veterans had become an unattainable luxury. These warriors in power armor were unstoppable war machines; every swing of their swords sent blood and flesh flying, and every charge further disintegrated the assault troopers' already crumbling lines. In the face of such overwhelming power, the numerical advantage of the assault troopers seemed laughable. Finally, the soldiers understood that any further resistance would only lead to more merciless slaughter. When life hung in the balance, those forced into close combat with the Blood Raven veterans made the only, and the most sensible, choice: surrender.
Fortunately, the Blood Raven legion was not a band of bloodthirsty savages. When the six veterans noticed that the assault troopers around them had been completely cowed—with most of them looking pale, legs trembling, and some already collapsed or nearly losing control—they finally paused their slaughter. The hum of the power swords gradually diminished, the roar of chainsaw blades fell silent, and the oppressive aura of death in the air lessened somewhat. At the same time, their helmet displays showed a message: "Curze and his Glory Guard will arrive in approximately 2 minutes and 30 seconds." The squad leader's gaze lingered on the information for a moment before he scanned the surroundings. The surrendered assault troopers lay scattered, their weapons abandoned like heaps of useless scrap metal. The squad leader knew that once Curze and his Midnight Lord's Glory Guard arrived, these troopers would likely not even have a chance to beg for mercy.
Though the Blood Raven veterans and the Midnight Lord's forces rarely crossed paths, they had heard enough about the latter's brutal reputation—a legion that took perverse pleasure in fear and torture, whose arrival usually meant indiscriminate slaughter and endless suffering. Seeing this, the squad leader took a deep breath and his cold, authoritative voice resonated through his helmet's speaker: "Fall back to the side and lie prone—that is your only chance."
His tone was icy and commanding, as if pronouncing a final pardon. In response, the assault troopers, as if granted a reprieve, quickly dragged their trembling bodies into the corners, fearful that any movement might further enrage these fearsome warriors.
The Blood Raven veterans cast no further glances at them; instead, they rapidly reformed their formation to prepare for the imminent arrival of Curze and his guard. From behind cover, sharp bursts of energy beams sliced through the air, attempting to suppress the advance of the Blood Raven veterans. The assault troopers hiding behind cover, though they had witnessed the gruesome fate of their comrades, still clung to a glimmer of hope. They believed that the arrival of "specialist" support was imminent, and that the distance between them and the Blood Raven veterans was safe enough for them to continue following orders from above. Their fingers gripped the triggers of their energy weapons tightly, and though most of their attacks were easily deflected by the veterans' shields, they continued to deliver firepower. After all, they thought, if the Blood Raven veterans were so hard to kill, then it wasn't their problem.
At that moment, the originally bright lights began to flicker, growing dim and intermittent, as if the entire docking bay trembled under the influence of some unknown force. The strobing lights cast wavering shadows on the floor, exuding a heavy, oppressive atmosphere.
Suddenly, the psychic aptitude of the Blood Raven veterans alerted them to something amiss. Their helmet displays, showing auxiliary sensor readings, began to fluctuate wildly—as if an indescribable "darkness" was rapidly approaching the docking bay. That presence was cold and heavy, like a whisper from the abyss laden with endless darkness. The squad leader furrowed his brow and, over internal comms, said in a low tone, "Something's coming. Prepare to engage." The other veterans immediately adjusted their formation, gripping their weapons tightly once more. Their eyes swept the area vigilantly, their psychic senses fully activated as they tried to pinpoint the source of this dark presence. As for the distant assault troopers, they were completely ignored; at this point, the troopers were blindly firing with barely any accuracy, posing no real threat.
A low, resonant hum filled the veterans' ears, as if some power was gathering in the air.
Before long, several waves of invisible force swept in from all directions, like enormous unseen hands, crushing down on the six Blood Raven veterans. Their energy shields instantly erupted in dazzling ripples; shield power plummeted, teetering on the edge of overload. Even these battle-hardened warriors couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of suffocation. Their steps slowed as if trudging through thick mud, and the servos of their power armor emitted low, strained hums, struggling to resist the invisible force but clearly outmatched. On their helmet displays, warning signals flashed in glaring red, casting a grim, fierce light on their visors.
Then—Boom!!
The invisible force suddenly surged, as if compressing the very space around them. The six Blood Raven veterans' movements froze, unable to advance an inch. Their power armor groaned under the unbearable strain; the metal floor beneath them began to emit a harsh, twisting sound, visibly buckling and bending, even splitting into fine cracks.
An invisible tidal wave swept over them, and for the first time the veterans truly experienced the helplessness their assault troopers must have felt when facing them. Their progress was completely halted; even breathing became laborious. Yet the Blood Raven veterans were no ordinary warriors. Possessing formidable psychic abilities, they instinctively channeled their inner energy in a bid to counter the invisible force. Faint streams of pale golden psychic energy flowed along the surface of their power armor like a thin membrane of light, successfully repelling the encroaching darkness. Although the pressure remained immense, it at least granted them a moment to catch their breath.
Simultaneously, their genetically enhanced vision quickly locked onto the hidden enemy—several Sith apprentices clad in black robes and wielding lightsabers. Their figures appeared and vanished under the flickering lights, ghost-like and elusive. These young Sith apprentices were clearly inexperienced; although capable of harnessing formidable Force power, their skills were far from perfected. In the squad leader's mind, images of his own company commander's failed encounters with Darth Vader flashed by. He knew that the best strategy against these Force-wielding foes was to close the distance quickly and, using the strength, speed, and reflexes that Astartes warriors prided themselves on, deliver a lethal strike when the enemy was off guard. Of course, Darth Vader himself did not suit such a strategy. And the squad leader had deduced, from the failures of their previous commander, the method to deal with these Sith apprentices. After all, a Dark Lord of the Sith like Vader could scarcely be challenged by conventional means—the sheer, inhuman Force power he wielded was enough to make even their former commander tremble. But these young Sith apprentices were clearly on a different level.
Without delay, the squad leader used his helmet's display to lock onto one Sith apprentice and shouted over the internal comms, "Close the distance with these scraps!"
No sooner had he spoken than his form blurred into a shadow as he charged straight toward the targeted Sith apprentice.
Thud, thud!
Every step he took sent deep vibrations through the metal floor, causing it to sink and flex slightly under the tremendous force. The other five Blood Raven veterans also locked onto their targets and surged forward like cheetahs on the hunt. Their movements were swift and precise, without a hint of hesitation; power swords, chainsaw axes, and other melee weapons carved deadly arcs through the air, while blue arcs of energy from their power armor flashed brilliantly in the dim docking bay.
In the blink of an eye, the squad leader reached the Sith apprentice. Raising his power sword high, its energy field emitting a deep hum, he brought it down in a thunderous vertical strike.
A loud clash ensued!
The Sith apprentice, clearly unprepared for the disproportionate speed and mass of an Astartes warrior, instinctively narrowed his eyes. Although he had anticipated the squad leader's attack direction, he still hastily raised his tightly gripped lightsaber to block the deadly blow.
Buzz—!!
In the instant the plasma field and the energy beam from the kyber crystal collided, dazzling light exploded between them, as if a miniature star had burst between the two combatants. Energy interwove and sparks flew, illuminating the dim space around them. The Sith apprentice managed to momentarily bolster his own strength with the Force to barely withstand the squad leader's assault; otherwise, he would have been cleaved in two by the power sword. Moreover, through Force sensitivity, the apprentice realized that if he tried to create distance, he would be met with a counterattack resulting in a fatal, waist-level slash.
Then, no longer daring to be overconfident, the Sith apprentice cried out hoarsely to the nearby assault troopers, "What are you just standing there for?! Fire! Fire!"
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