Chapter 74 - Battle of Moqi Star
The Fire Lizards held the line with grim determination as the first wave crashed against them.
Wielding heavy flamers, they unleashed torrents of fire interwoven with corrosive toxins, raising a wall of flame that barred the Death Guard's advance.
Through the inferno, the plague-ridden warriors pressed forward. Their corrupted flesh resisted the cleansing fire, step by agonizing step.
"Fire cannot burn away the toxic mist," a Fire Lizard roared, charging into the enemy ranks, "but we can!"
His power sword pierced a Death Guard's chest. Both warriors turned to ash in the same instant, consumed by conflicting energies.
Meanwhile, the Raven Guard had already melted into the battlefield's shadows.
Their target: the Word Bearers' daemon summoners.
Long-range las-fire lanced through the smoke, destroying a corrupted Daemon Engine. More warp-spawned horrors tore through reality in response, shrieking as they descended upon the Raven Guard's position.
"Speed is our lifeline," Primarch Corax whispered.
His shadow glided deeper into the carnage, hunting the heart of Chaos itself.
Across the scorched wasteland, the White Scars struck like lightning made flesh.
Jet bikes screamed into enemy formations, chainswords and power lances carving bloody paths through the Sons of Horus' defensive line.
Primarch Jaghatai Khan rode at the center of the assault, his White Tiger Dao reaping a traitor's life with every swing.
Yet Horus remained beyond his reach, shielded by the Warmaster's elite guard.
"We will stop you until eternity!" a Son of Horus bellowed, raising his lightning claw to meet Khan's blade.
The weapons collided in a shower of sparks. Khan's dao pierced his opponent's chest, but more traitors surged forward to fill the gap.
Then Mortarion emerged from the toxic fog.
The Death Lord wore Terminator plate, his scythe Silence gripped in both hands. "Your opponent is me, Khan!" he roared. "Do you think your speed can overcome death?"
Khan circled his foe on his jet bike, measuring him.
The Warhawk wore white armor adorned with red and gold patterns, dazzling as lightning in a storm. His eyes were sharp as drawn blades, and a faint smile of disdain touched his lips.
"Death's pace is too slow," Khan replied, his voice cold and precise as a knife's edge. "The swift wind never waits."
Khan struck first. His bike erupted with flame, transforming into a white blur as he closed the distance. The White Tiger Dao carved a brilliant arc through the air, driving straight for Mortarion's chest.
Mortarion raised Silence to block. The black blade met the White Tiger Dao in a cascade of sparks. When the Death Lord tried to counterattack, Khan had already pivoted, circling behind him.
"Too slow, Mortarion," Khan's voice came from the side, edged with mockery. He charged again, this time aiming for his opponent's flank.
Mortarion swung his scythe furiously, trying to intercept the attack, but his movements were ponderous and predictable.
The chainscythe's blade passed within a hair's breadth of Khan's armor, but the Warhawk had already slipped beyond its reach. He struck back, opening a gash in Mortarion's shoulder plate.
Crimson blood hissed from the wound. Khan didn't pause, vanishing to another angle of attack.
"Do you think speed will grant you victory?!" Mortarion roared, his voice layered with the whispers of Chaos—countless spirits crying out in torment. The toxic fog around him churned into a storm.
The miasma engulfed the battlefield, obscuring Khan's vision.
But the Warhawk did not panic. Instead, he used his bike's speed to circle the edge of the poisonous cloud, striking from unexpected angles.
Each time, he would approach Mortarion, deliver a blow, then retreat before the Death Lord could respond.
Mortarion's patience wore thin.
His swings grew more furious, but each one met empty air. Khan's attacks, though not fatal, accumulated. More scars opened across the Death Lord's armor.
"You are fleeing, Khan!" Mortarion bellowed, Chaos power erupting from his form.
He swept his scythe in a wide arc, tearing the ground apart. Khan had already evaded, long before the blow could land.
"Fleeing? No," Khan replied with a sneer, attacking again. "I am teaching you the meaning of death."
This time, his White Tiger Dao pierced Mortarion's arm, nearly forcing the massive scythe from his grip.
"Mortarion, is this your strength? Too weak! Far too weak!"
The accumulated injuries and failures finally forced Mortarion to change tactics.
He abandoned his futile pursuit and concentrated the miasma at the battlefield's center, forming a toxic barrier while launching psychic attacks in all directions.
Though Khan's speed was formidable, the blast radius of these attacks forced him to slow down.
His bike nearly slid into a miasma trap, forcing him to dismount and fight on foot.
Mortarion seized the opportunity and lunged.
His massive scythe swung toward Khan's head at a deceptive angle and unexpected speed.
Khan dodged, but the blade's edge still grazed his shoulder plate. Blood spattered across white ceramite.
"You won't run for long," Mortarion sneered, his eyes gleaming with the light of Chaos.
Khan did not flinch. He glanced at the wound on his shoulder and smiled coldly.
"Death can catch up to speed, but you are not death. You are merely a slow joke."
The Warhawk committed fully to the assault.
He abandoned all restraint, becoming a whirlwind incarnate.
His movements were as elegant as they were lethal—a deadly dance. Gripping the White Tiger Dao in both hands, he launched a series of rapid, precise strikes around Mortarion.
The Death Lord was completely suppressed. His scythe swept through empty air, never capturing Khan's flickering form.
New wounds accumulated on his armor. The power of his miasma could not match this embodiment of speed.
Finally, Khan leaped. His White Tiger Dao carved a perfect arc through the air, piercing Mortarion's chest. Blood erupted from the wound, accompanied by a roar of agony.
"Aaaaaaaah!"
Mortarion tried to counterattack, but Khan pivoted, withdrew the blade, and thrust again—this time piercing the Death Lord's arm.
"Admit it, Mortarion," Khan said from higher ground, his voice cold. "You cannot keep pace with the storm."
Mortarion struggled to rise, but wounds covered him and his movements had slowed to a crawl.
He knew he had lost this engagement, but Khan did not press his advantage. The Warhawk simply returned to his bike, started the engine, and vanished into the toxic fog's edge, leaving Mortarion roaring impotently.
"Jagatai Khan! I will defeat you sooner or later!"
"Aaaaaaaah!"
Mortarion collapsed in pain. If not for Fulgrim! How could he have lost?
It was all Fulgrim's fault. If he could gain the power of Chaos, then why couldn't Mortarion claim even more?
Elsewhere on the battlefield, the Ranger Knights fought their former comrades with tenacious will.
Their armor bore the marks of different Legions, but their hearts were united by loyalty. They had formed a guerrilla force, seeking atonement for their fallen brothers.
"We were once the shadows of the galaxy," a warrior in Shadow Wolves colors said, gripping his power sword. After beheading a Word Bearer, he growled, "Now we are the guardians of light. For the Emperor."
On another front, the Imperial and traitor Titan Legions engaged in an apocalyptic confrontation. The god-machines unleashed devastating firepower that shook the entire battlefield. The ground cracked open, magma surging from the wounds in the planet's crust.
An Imperial Titan's lance pierced a traitor engine's void shields, bringing the massive war machine down. But it was torn apart in the counterattack, its fallen bulk crushing hundreds of warriors beneath it.
The earth trembled as another figure advanced through the chaos.
Vulkan of the Salamanders strode toward the enemy lines like a walking volcano, his thunder hammer Dawnbringer radiating molten light.
His armor, emblazoned with flame patterns, burned with the Emperor's will. Every step left scorched marks upon the tortured ground.
Before him stood Lorgar of the Word Bearers, positioned within a circle of Chaos ritual.
The Urizen's form was wreathed in warp energy. Behind him, a twisted rift gaped open, and the Immaterium's power surged through. Illuminarum, the ornate crozius gifted to him by Ferrus Manus, pulsed with daemonic runes in his hand, whispering promises and lies.
"Vulkan, your resistance is futile!" Lorgar called out, fanaticism bright in his eyes. "The Emperor's light has long since dimmed. Chaos is the only truth!"
Vulkan regarded him with cold fury. His voice was deep and unyielding as bedrock. "Your truth is nothing but corruption and degradation given form. I am the Emperor's instrument. Fire will burn away all defilement."
He raised Dawnbringer and brought it down toward the Urizen.
But Lorgar did not engage directly. He retreated, using Illuminarum to channel Chaos power. The daemonic whispers grew frantic. The warp rift suddenly widened, and a twisted figure emerged from its depths.
Stepping through the tear in reality was the Daemon Primarch Fulgrim—the Phoenician, fallen and transformed.
Though he once possessed unparalleled elegance and nobility, he was now the embodiment of degradation and excess.
His body was unnaturally slender, clad in daemon-infused armor of crimson and gold. Four serpentine tentacles extended from his back, shimmering with eldritch runes.
The Blade of the Laer shrieked in his grip, thirsting for blood.
[End Of Chapter]