Mahamadou Christian was aboard one of the twenty Thunderhawk gunships aboard the Relentless Destroyer.
It is a charcoal-black beast, its thick outline covered with spikes, and its surly and aging machine soul grunting inside its body like a trapped animal.
The massive turbines bear the pressure of the planet's dry winds as they descend, swaying and tilting in the turbulence.
Mahamadou had always disliked rash actions.
If he were one of the bloodthirsty berserkers of Abaddon's Hounds, he would be shouting now, brandishing a bloody blade ready for carnage.
However, he is an iron warrior who likes to keep his feet on the ground and play it safe so that he can carefully consider how to attack his enemies quickly and violently.
Others in the combat crew cabin had the same idea. Etienne Moss and his Terminators, as well as everyone in the warband, all remained silent.
The Thunderhawk shook, and suddenly there was a bang, and the engine roared, but they still kept their mouths shut.
They originally belonged to the Iron Warriors, a dull and meaningless daemon world, serving a daemon primarch they had barely met, but now they are members of the Black Legion.
Many people deliberately used this to ridicule him, but Mahamadou rarely refuted or explained, because no one could understand an Iron Warrior.
Reforged in shame and shadow, reborn in black iron and gold——
The Iron Warriors silently chanted the words of the Black Legion.
He understands the feeling of a person hating himself. Nothing can be more fanatical than those legions who have converted to the dark gods. But in fact, Mahamadou has never had a true belief so far. He only has a desire for power and just wants to use it.
These gifts become even more powerful.
Mahamadou never cared about any beliefs, he just wanted to take revenge on his blurred past and dominate the species with which he had severed all ties.
It was about dignity, even though the Legion he was now in no longer understood that concept.
Sometimes, he also doubted whether he had chosen the right side of the traitors.
The Thunderhawk roared and began to land. The oil-stained warning light came on. Mahamadou heard the roar of the buffer and deceleration engine, and the direction of the power also changed accordingly.
He reached out and grasped the iron chain ring to steady himself, and soon the Thunder Eagle landed heavily on the land of another world.
Etienne roared like an animal. In this small space, the blacksmith was like a dragon coiled in a cave, spewing steam from both sides of his helmet.
When the hatch creaked open, the soldiers took action, stepping into a hurricane filled with dust and organic matter.
Mahamadou was the last to emerge, temporarily sheathing his chainsword and letting the wind dry the rough surface of his body and evaporate the moisture that had accumulated in the Thunderhawk's damp interior.
They end up in a garbage dump, surrounded by Imperial facilities that are commonplace and lackluster in every world in the galaxy according to ruthless and unimaginative standards.
The underpowered lights flickered faintly in the strong wind, and Mahamadou already knew that this would be a boring killing.
He squeaked toward the entrance, while Étienne moved in the other direction.
While banging, they unscrewed the reinforcing steel bolts and pushed the door panel open.
The Iron Warrior walked along a narrow corridor, and dust followed him in, falling from his knees and accumulating on the plastic steel wall panels.
Soon, he saw the residents here, carefully spying on him.
They glanced at him, showing a moment of disbelief, and then ran away.
Mahamadou followed them slowly, stepping heavily on the floor. He heard a scream in the distance and guessed that it was Etienne's work.
Not far away, more Thunderhawks were landing, four or five, and the howls of the Khorne Berserkers were heard, and that was enough.
Attica is just a poor little place, not worthy of much effort from the Black Legion.
They don't even understand why they want to attack this world, because there is nothing worth plundering here.
But the Warmaster's decision cannot be questioned.
Mahamadou stomped to what seemed to be a command center and broke in easily.
There were hundreds of humans inside, some with weapons, and all of them were extremely frightened.
Then the Iron Warriors began work.
The laser flashed on his scratched black armor, slightly burning the patina on the surface.
Mahamadou did not move his gun, but directly reached out to grab the person at the front, grabbed that person, and broke his back.
The next man's eye socket was shattered by his gentle slap, and Mahamadou had to slam down again to stop the creature from writhing in pain.
The glove full of barbs quickly turned into a bloody weapon.
He had been idle on the Relentless Destroyer for too long and needed to stretch his atrophied muscles.
Soon, he spotted a woman in uniform, her slender thighs were covered with stockings, and she looked pretty.
She struggled to stay away from him, exuding fear, but she still held a laser gun tightly and fired at him firmly.
After taking a few shots, Mahamadou began to feel annoyed.
He suddenly accelerated and rushed towards her at an incredible speed, ignoring her attack and grabbing her throat.
"Get away!"
The woman screamed.
Mahamadou hesitated and was suddenly amused.
"Get out of here?"
"Get away!"
This was simply ridiculous. The woman turned pale with fear, waving her limbs and slapping the Iron Warrior as if he were a pest under her bed.
This behavior only brought a smile to his scarred and weather-beaten face.
"Louder, scream for help at the top of your lungs."
This is what he really wants. Send a message and summon an army worthy of the challenge.
Instead, she shot him again - with the gun still in her hand.
This shot hit Mahamadou below the neck. The Iron Warrior laughed loudly, grabbed the opponent's hair, and smashed him against the wall on one side, causing blood and flesh to fly everywhere.
Looking at the bloody scalp hanging by the hair in his hand, Mahamadou felt a little sadistic pleasure.
Then, like a shepherd, he lazily whipped the rest of the flock, and the screams began to numb his ears.
"Warsmith!"
He shouted while killing, not sure if Etienne could hear him.
"Is there anything else worth killing?"
"Just some weak pigs and dogs!"
The war blacksmith's enthusiastic voice came.
"too boring."
The Iron Warrior shook his head and walked towards the last person standing.
"I guess we won't be here long."
The remaining Iron Warriors were scattered among the chaotic peripheral buildings and facilities, carrying out their own killing plans without discipline. Standing in the smoke-filled wind of Attica night and looking out, there was only a blurry and silent scene.