Azrael stood motionless in the darkness, his eyes fixed on the heavy blast door at the end of the corridor, and the timer display floating at the edge of his peripheral vision flashed to zero.
The enemy attack begins.
Sappho was right. The enemy would attack after they captured the satrapy, and they would fall on the outer walls with all the wrath of the false gods, and they would have to fight alone because they had no friendly troops around them.
The Supreme Grand Master imagined the scene outside, imagining the enemy's armies gathering in the shadows and tunnels, with their remaining vehicles spitting out foamy assault squads. As the shells exploded overhead, the assault troops would use melta weapons and
Crackling thunder hammers come to complete the task, smashing an entrance into each of the major passages in the Viceroyalty.
Right now, the black army was like a swarm of violent locusts, tearing at him and others.
Because they knew they were about to fail and the empire had surrounded them.
The scene ahead has not changed, and the blast door is intact.
The only sounds Azriel could hear were the gentle scraping of his armor and the scrubbing of his respirator.
His muscles twitched, and he wanted to change his defensive posture. The urge to face the enemy head-on was almost overwhelming.
"The longer you wait, the more blood will be spilled."
Sappho calmly placed his hand on Azrael's shoulder pads. He understood the mood of the Supreme Master at this moment.
"This place will soon be drenched in blood."
Azrael nodded, the head priest's words softening the violent call in his mind that was like the summoning gong of an ancient arena.
Suddenly, a burst of superheated metal sparks erupted in the darkness, and countless tactical icons flashed across the monitor - he was ready to kill anything that came in through the blast door, and nothing else mattered.
As the enemy intensifies its attack on the door, the drizzle of sparks turns to a downpour, and a pulsating amber thread takes center stage, bisecting the door in two from the floor.
"They're coming."
The cutting stopped, and the fuse hung in the darkness, glowing and rough like a fresh scar.
Silence filled the corridor, threatening to snatch away the last vestiges of sanity.
Suddenly, a giant metal gauntlet burst through the center of the blast door, a pneumatic piston hissing and spitting out as the fingers flexed in search of something to rip.
The audio damper in Azriel's helmet filtered out the scream of metal as the hand reached back, grabbed the door, ripped it from its hinges, and dragged it away into the darkness.
After a moment, the hand and the heavy body it was attached to suddenly flashed past.
"It's the Hell Beast, in Passage No. 1!"
Azrael warned, resisting the urge to fire his gun.
Even explosive bombs against this kind of enemy are useless and will only scratch the paint of the armor pressed against them. As a terrifying fusion of countless technologies, the Hell Beast is an enemy that even the Dark Angel cannot stop without the help of heavy firepower.
Soon, the tall monster appeared in the corridor, stomping on the remains of the door, and opened fire.
"For Caliban!"
Waiting for the enemy to enter the predetermined distance, Azrael suddenly roared.
On the ceiling above him, a missile tube screamed, its munitions firing at the hellbeast in a ball of fire.
The first missile hit the sarcophagus on the front of the Hellbeast and exploded, shattering its armor.
The second missile's secondary booster ignited moments later, driving the third-stage charge through the weakened armor plate and detonating on the front of the Hellbeast.
Flames engulfed the hellbeast, wrapping it like a shroud.
But it is not dead. The vitality of this subspace creation is much stronger than the ordinary fearless.
Autocannon rounds tore through walls and ceilings as the hellbeasts continued to fire.
The rocket launcher fired again, firing another missile at the metal behemoth.
When Fearless raised its claw-like arms in defense, a sharp cry sounded from the hell beast.
The main warhead of the missile hit the arm, blowing it into a piece of silver shrapnel, paralyzing it in place. The remaining warhead penetrated into the wall next to the hell beast, detonated with enough force, and opened the door in the passage.
A big hole.
A blood-curdling roar filled the corridor, and a group of warriors wearing blood armor swarmed from the side of the Hell Beast, rushing towards the direction of the Dark Angel.
Azrael stood up and strode forward. At the same time, the surrounding angels also activated flamethrowers and melt, bathing the enemy in liquid flames.
He saw clearly the true identities of these enemies, which made him even more angry——
"The Crimson Slayer's bastard!"
The Crimson Slayers ran through the flames, ignoring their bubbling armor and flesh flowing from the flames.
Azriel's pistol began to flash in the darkness, firing a volley of bullets at the enemy.
Whenever he sees an enemy, a curse comes out of his mouth.
Their red armor seems to be a direct mockery of the Imperium, with the Dark Angels' breastplate adorned with the sacred Aquila and the pauldrons bearing the emblem of the Chapter, while the enemy's armor is inlaid with brass skulls and blasphemous inscriptions
runes.
"Kranon! Get out!"
Within the narrow confines of the corridor, it was impossible for the bullets to miss, and every shot from Azrael found its target.
He first shot the enemy directly in the chest, and then fired two more shots.
At such close range, even power armor offered little protection, and bullets ricocheted from their backs in bloody hail.
Sappho stood to Azrael's right, firing his Masterwork Bolter on full auto until the round counter flashed to zero.
But there is no time to reload, and the next enemy will pounce in just a moment.
The next moment, the paralyzed hell beast opened fire again, launching a storm of shells into the corridor, the noise was deafening.
Several Dark Angels who were shooting were caught off guard. Their torsos instantly turned into flesh, and their limbs were severed by vicious attacks.
Azrael lay beneath the twitching corpse of his enemy, his pulse beating, the smell of blood and burnt flesh suffocating, blood dripping from around him, condensing into a pool of thick, viscous liquid, threatening
To swallow him.
"Emperor, shape my desires to your unyielding will."
With a final roar, the Hellbeast's magazine emptied, Azrael stood up and fired from behind the cover of the corpse.
The Crimson Slayers and their minions piled up like red-armored sandbags, but they pressed on, and then the Grand Master added two more abominations to the pile of dead bodies clogging the hallway.
As the enemy turned flamethrowers on their dead, the smell of promethium and charred flesh flooded Azrael, burning a path to the Dark Angels.
As his pistol discharged its last round, Azriel slung the gun back onto his thigh, holding the Secret Sword in both hands.