Hathor casually held the massive power Warhammer, World Breaker, in her left hand. The hammerhead was tightly enveloped by a mystical blue energy field, and ancient inscriptions flickered on the handle, illuminating and dimming. A deep hum, like the endless pulsation from the depths of the earth, resonated, shaking one's soul.
Her right hand was adorned with the massive power claw, Horuss Claw. Its streamlined, silver-white metal blades gleamed with a cold, deadly light, and the integrated storm Bolter below her wrist had a profound muzzle, emanating an aura of pure destruction.
At the tip of the ebony-handled ceremonial dagger hanging from her waist, a miniature wolf head emblem was lifelike, as if ready to break free and let out a silent roar at any moment.
She merely stood there, her very presence like thunder tearing through dark clouds!
The surrounding profane psychic pressure was forcefully dispelled and purified by this pure and powerful will.
A power originating from the ancient Golden Age and an unyielding belief in victory instantly imprinted itself like a tangible mark into the soul of every Ash Knight!
All Astartes, whether fresh recruits or battle-hardened veterans, unconsciously tensed their steel bodies and straightened their spines.
Behind their visors, every gaze burned with ignited awe and boiling fighting spirit.
Hathor took a step forward.
Her massive magnetic boot slammed onto the ground with a boom, the sound like an ancient war drum beating on scorched earth, announcing the arrival of the final judgment!
She did not use an amplifier, but her deep, magnetic voice, imbued with supreme majesty, spread like rolling thunder throughout the bloody battlefield, even overpowering the profane hissing from deep within the Purulent Fortress: "Ash Knights! Raise your heads! Fix your gaze firmly upon this Purulent Fortress before you, forged from filth, lies, and betrayal!
See how it exudes the stench of decaying death, how its festering body defiles the Emperor's sacred domain, how its twisted form mocks the indomitable dignity of humanity! It is the target of your sword's edge! It is the object of your burning wrath!"
She suddenly raised World Breaker high above her head! The mystical blue energy field instantly surged, emitting a deafening roar, like the terrifying sound of a starship's keel breaking!
The dazzling light tore through the polluted air, illuminating the congealed blood and symbols of faith on the warriors' armor.
"Those decaying corpses of the Plague Father inside, those abominations wallowing in pus! They think that by hiding behind this planetary shield and the tortoise shell woven from foul sorcery, they can escape judgment? Do they think that a rotten wall built from squirming flesh and twisted souls can block the purifying fire of the Imperium's loyalty?"
Her voice was like Chainsword tearing through adamantium, filled with bone-chilling scorn and icy killing intent.
Her molten-gold gaze swept over every face covered by cold adamantium in the ranks, as if forging every sharp blade in a furnace.
"They are wrong! Terribly wrong! The Codex has forged our steel skeletons! Relentless war has honed our unbreakable edge! Now, it is time for this reforged spear of the legion to pierce the heart of corruption!"
Her voice suddenly rose, resolute and decisive, carrying the determination to end all decay: "In the Emperor's name! I, your commander, will be the first to step into that foul nest! I will shatter their shields with you!
Your Bolters will tear open their pustules! Your Chainsword will sever their twisted limbs! With the loyalty bestowed by the Emperor! With our eternal wrath! This Purulent Fortress! And all the filth and betrayal within it—"
She swung the Warhammer down with the force of splitting mountains and shattering rocks, pointing directly at the core of the foul-smelling Purulent Fortress, her voice like the final trumpet of destruction: "Will! Be! Burned! To! Ash!"
"For the Emperor! For the glory of the Ash Knights! Charge!" Hathor issued the final command.
"For the Emperor! For the Ash Knights! To Ash!!!" A thunderous war cry erupted like a destructive tsunami!
The power packs of all Ash Knights roared violently, Chainsword roared to life, and Bolters were simultaneously cocked!
Hathor took the lead, her massive body transforming into a silver-white hurricane of destruction, rushing towards the Purulent Fortress at an incredible speed!
She did not even make the slightest detour, her target directly the main gate of the Purulent Fortress, which was composed of huge corrupted bones and squirming metal, oozing pus!
World Breaker dragged a mystical blue energy trail, and wherever it passed, the ground cracked, and low-level Nurgle daemons and zombies in the way were instantly crushed as if by an invisible giant hammer, turning into a sky-splattering mess of foul flesh and mud!
"Charge!" The Fifth Company Sergeant roared, and the steel torrent formed by the Ash Knights followed that unstoppable figure, launching a desperate charge!
—
Deep within the Purulent Fortress, in the Profane Hall.
The air here was filled with an indescribable stench, thick with visible yellowish-green spore clouds.
In the center of the hall, a massive profane altar, made of rotting flesh, squirming organs, and rusted metal, emitted nauseating psychic fluctuations, constantly strengthening the Purulent Fortress's sorcerous shield.
Beside the altar, the colossal Nurgle Daemon Prince, Grotesque, clad in rusted plague plate armor and wearing a helmet with huge rotting horns, was emitting satisfied grunts.
He was surrounded by a buzzing cloud of plague flies, and his massive plague scythe dripped corrosive pus.
However, when the roar and killing intent of the Ash Knights' charge, led by Hathor, penetrated the layers of corrupting barriers, a hint of solemnity flashed in Grotesque's cloudy compound eyes.
"Annoying... insects... need... stronger... cleansing..." His viscous voice echoed in the foul hall.
He slammed his plague scythe onto the ground, emitting a dull thud.
Following that, his massive yet agile corrupted body began to shuffle around the altar, each step treading upon pre-drawn profane runes depicted with congealed pus and decaying grease.
He chanted profane incantations, his voice like millions of maggots writhing in slime, or like phlegm clogging a dying person's windpipe, every syllable filled with the utmost distortion of life and order.
As his ritual progressed, the massive, squirming mass of rotting flesh in the center of the altar began to pulsate violently, like a huge, dying heart.
Countless foul pus was drawn from the grooves around the altar and injected into the core of the rotting flesh.
On the surface of the rotting flesh, countless faces, twisted in agony, appeared and dissolved, emitting silent wails, their souls extracted and transformed into the vilest psychic fuel.
The spore clouds condensed in the air rotated and converged towards the altar, forming a viscous, foul-smelling, yellowish-green vortex of psychic energy.
Grotesque raised his scythe, frantically injecting his own foul psychic energy into the center of the vortex. Space began to groan under the strain, and more putrid pus seeped from the walls, as if the Purulent Fortress itself was convulsing in pain for the terrifying entity about to arrive.
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