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"Enemy attack!"
Phrixus, known as the [City Breaker], roared at the top of his lungs, his voice hoarse.
But even this shout, enough to shatter city walls, vanished in an instant amidst the even more terrifying torrents around him.
The thunderous roar of artillery shells and energy beams tore through the air, relentlessly battering the Iron Warriors' defensive lines and trenches like surging ocean waves. As far as Phrixus's eyes could see, there were vast armored divisions of the Red Dragon Legion, and the twisted banners of the rebels.
In the face of the rolling tide of iron, composed of armor, artillery, warplanes, and mechanized forces, even the will of an Astartes seemed so fragile.
Sword of Destruction, Rhino Armored Personnel Carriers, Executioner tanks, Chimera Armored Vehicles, and in the far reaches of his vision, the vaguely visible Commander-type Missile Carriers and Hydra-type Anti-aircraft Self-Propelled Guns.
Phrixus distinguished the attackers' equipment, then looked down at the bolter in his hand, and remembered the 150mm cannon just dragged from the warehouse. He felt his teeth ache with anxiety.
Then, a strange sound in the air attracted Phrixus's attention again. He looked up and saw about two squadrons of Thunderhawks rapidly approaching his defensive line.
"...Fuck."
Was this truly the firepower a mere Planetary Defense Force should possess?
But the Iron Warrior knew he had no right to complain further, for to his left, the sound of artillery fire from the western suburbs of Carena City had not stopped. His genefather, Perturabo, was stationed there, directly facing the Red Dragon Legion's most furious spearhead of attack.
"Anti-aircraft fire!"
Phrixus used a roar to convey his command, as his comm-unit was already overwhelmed by the chaotic gunfire and shouts, making it impossible to convey any order.
With that, without waiting for a reply, he raised his gun, dodged from his cover, fired three shots, then quickly hid under another tower.
Accompanying his gunshots, a heavy weapons team that had been continuously pouring fire instantly went silent. And behind them, the commander of an Executioner tank directly collapsed onto his vehicle, his head completely exploded.
Phrixus did not linger for a moment over his precise marksmanship. He quickly got up, moving away from his previous position in a few breaths, and behind him, the Red Dragon Legion's belated vengeful firepower had already plowed the entire land once more.
The City Breaker retreated all the way, easily crushing or dodging rocks on his path, while continuously firing back. Amidst the continuous roar of his bolter, the Red Dragon Legion's vanguards successively fell into the dust.
After running for about a hundred meters, Phrixus directly leaped into the newly established position. Over twenty Iron Warriors were dispersed in the trenches and ruins, blocking the intersection in front of them.
And just then, the anti-aircraft fire loyal to the Imperium began to show its might. The City Breaker watched as the leading Thunderhawk was directly hit, exploding in mid-air. Its successors nervously shook their wings, finally drawing ugly arcs in mid-air and retreating.
But the aerial failure did not deter the attackers' fervent will. Accompanied by the rumbling sound of tank tracks knocking down small buildings, hundreds of well-equipped Red Dragon soldiers appeared in Phrixus's sight. They swarmed around those terrifying war beasts, suppressing the Iron Warriors' positions with a thunderstorm-like barrage of steel.
Just like its name, the Red Dragon Legion's offensive was like a colossal dragon, seemingly unstoppable. They completely disregarded material consumption, meticulously incinerating every patch of land before them with artillery shells and raging fire.
And compared to the wealthy attackers, the Iron Warriors' counterattack was far more cautious. Phrixus and his subordinates meticulously calculated their remaining ammunition. Each of their strikes would take down a most fanatical opponent, or precisely clear out every heavy weapon.
Under the control of Perturabo's sons, even the old artillery pieces continuously spat out deadly fire, turning the Red Dragon Legion's advancing vanguard tanks into burning torches, completely blocking the main road ahead. Then, the Iron Warriors cleared the battlefield with bullets, chainswords, and even fists, until the last enemy roaring the name of the Sons of the Serpent fell.
Phrixus's gaze immediately scanned the entire position and his squad, confirming that none of his warriors had fallen. Then, he reached for his waist.
There was only one magazine left there.
Before the Iron Warrior could lament his current impoverished situation, he heard the most jarring noise. Phrixus looked up and saw that the areas where the Commander-type Missile Carriers and Hydra-type Anti-aircraft Self-Propelled Guns were displayed were emitting a deafening clamor, and directly above them, two squadrons of Thunderhawks had returned.
This time, they were utterly resolute.
For the Iron Warriors, this battle was far from easy.
Although thanks to Magnus's timely warning, Perturabo and his sons were not caught completely unprepared, the invaders' advance was indeed faster than they had imagined.
Less than twenty minutes after Perturabo gave the order to evacuate the city's inhabitants, the first wave of airstrikes from the Red Dragon Legion appeared on the horizon, followed by a surging tide of steel vehicles across the land. Behind the most elite armored forces were even more numerous fanatical cultists of the [Sons of the Serpent]. They rode in privately modified armed trucks, shouting deranged slogans, charging endlessly towards the Iron Warriors' hastily erected defensive lines.
The Lord of Iron allowed his sons to temporarily abandon their defensive lines in this war, because he clearly understood that if a few thousand lightly armed Iron Warriors in Carena City were to directly confront armored divisions, it would be an undisputed massacre. Even with the Thousand Sons Legion providing support, Perturabo would not commit his Legion to such a certain hell.
Because this was merely a disaster relief operation, the large war machines that the Fourth Legion prided itself on were naturally kept on the fleet in low orbit. Perturabo also didn't follow his usual habit of having his sons fortify Carena City into an impregnable fortress. All of this constituted the current dangerous situation: after barely managing to drive away the outermost refugees, the Iron Warriors could only use their limited bolters and personal weapons to skirmish with the endless armored army amidst the city's ruins, protecting civilians while continuously retreating towards the central defensive perimeter centered around the [Salimavius] fortress.
And this was not the worst of it.
Almost at the very instant the Red Dragon Legion officially launched its assault, thousands of rioters suddenly erupted in the center of Carena City. In a flash, the Thousand Sons' communications were flooded with reports of hundreds of violent incidents. The mind-controllers of the Tzeentchian scholars were exhausted from fighting countless indiscriminate massacres, barely managing to maintain stability in the core areas.
Ahriman reached out his hand. This was the forty-fourth time today he had wielded his psychic whip, tearing the dozen [Sons of the Serpent] fanatics before him into shreds.
Even the Primarch could not explain this strange problem: why, after the most rigorous and cautious exploration and differentiation by Magnus's sons, which even affected evacuation efficiency, could these [Sons of the Serpent] cultists still infiltrate on such a large scale?
There was no pattern, no distinguishing features. Whether old or young, rich or poor, any of them could at any moment become a fanatical follower of the [Sons of the Serpent], brutally attacking strangers around them or even their own relatives and friends.
[How are things on your end?]
Morgan's question echoed in his mind. This was a direct psychic link between two powerful psykers, thus avoiding the comm-unit's static.
"Barely under control, but I can't guarantee it won't happen again."
Ahriman's scrutinizing gaze swept across the street before him. Although the area was now mostly occupied by women, children, and elderly, Magnus's son could no longer trust any of them.
Ahriman's psychic power swept over these mortals' minds again and again, but he couldn't find the slightest clue. His proud mind-reading and prognostication abilities also seemed to be suppressed, their power greatly diminished.
The Thousand Sons Captain suspected this was due to his proximity to the [Spirit of Diligence]. For some reason, this Golden Age colonial vessel used a large amount of anti-psyker material during its construction, and even its decorations contained many components that suppressed psykers. Weaker Thousand Sons couldn't even get too close to it. Even the Primarch Magnus was affected by the giant ship's layered anti-psyker devices.
Just as he felt more doubts, Ahriman heard the roar of fighter engines.
Then, the Iron Warriors' anti-aircraft alarm sounded.
Ahriman looked up and saw about a squadron of tattered Thunderhawks charging towards him. In their shadows were countless fleeing civilians.
"What's going on, Phrixus?"
The Thousand Son activated the comm-link between them. Amidst the destructive sounds of countless bolter rounds and artillery shells, he heard Phrixus's gritted-teeth reply.
"Thunderhawks! Two squadrons of Thunderhawks! They're like madmen, directly crashing into the anti-aircraft net! We only shot down about one squadron..."
"Understood. Leave it to me."
Ahriman whispered his promise, then roared in his mind.
"Morgan!"
[I can hear you. Keep your voice down.]
The silver-haired female official's voice carried a hint of complaint. Then, Ahriman's psychic eyes saw only an invisible iron curtain appearing out of nowhere behind him. And behind this iron curtain, the [Spirit of Diligence] had already taken on enough refugees. The ancient colonial vessel was slowly setting sail, preparing to first avoid this troubled area.
Turning back, those Thunderhawks were already close at hand—their target was not at all concealed: it was the [Spirit of Diligence], carrying countless people!
"Get lost!"
As Ahriman gnashed his teeth and cursed in a low voice, the ammunition of the first fighter suddenly twisted in mid-air. The next moment, it plummeted, exploding violently in mid-air.
Then came the second. Ahriman directly crushed the pilot's head, making it disappear with a falling scream. The third quickly followed suit. As for the fourth, the Thousand Sons Captain's psychic power directly tore it to shreds.
The remaining Thunderhawks all opened fire, unleashing all their ammunition. These burning destructions, the moment they touched Morgan's iron curtain, all veered off course, destroying all the dodging fighters. An entire squadron of Thunderhawks instantly became red and white fireworks in mid-air. Their corpses and fragments scattered all over the ground.
"Boom—!"
Before Ahriman could even catch his breath, a thunderous roar suddenly came from behind him. The sound was even more intense than the battle outside the city, making the Astartes' ears tingle.
"What's going on!"
Ahriman roared into his comm-unit. At this moment, the comm-unit fell into a long-awaited silence. After a while, a voice hesitantly answered him.
"Self-destruct! Ahriman... self-destruct!"
"Calm down! Explain yourself clearly."
"It's a self-destruct! Large numbers of refugees, who had gathered outside, merged with the Sons of the Serpent and attacked the bridge and engine room with self-destructing charges!"
"Power... loss... We're... falling!"
The roar of a colossal beast came from beside his ear. Ahriman looked up and saw the [Spirit of Diligence], which had just risen into the air, now spewing thick smoke. Visible flames had already spread to every corner of the ship, and what was worse...
It was falling!
Carena was doomed!
Looking at the size of that colossal vessel, and then thinking about the immense energy contained within it, and then imagining such a beast crashing to the surface, combined with the various energy supplies piled up in the town center...
Ahriman felt his throat instantly dry up.
"Morgan..."
The Thousand Sons Captain gritted his teeth. Just as he decided to summon Morgan and the other Thousand Sons, and even unite all their strength for one last desperate effort, a voice that filled him with immense relief appeared.
"No, Ahriman, my son."
Ahriman felt a gigantic red palm press down on his hands, which were gathering psychic energy. He looked up and saw the towering figure of his genefather.
Magnus had returned in time.
"You've done well enough. Now..."
"Leave everything to me."