2nd Primarch

In a situation where the army isn't at a significant disadvantage, staying confined within the fortress is not a good strategy.

It means abandoning the terrain advantage outside the fortress entirely, leading to a passive defensive position and potentially inviting concentrated, heavy firepower from the enemy.

Thus, upon learning that the Warp Gate was nearing completion, the expeditionary legion—having just endured a brutal war—immediately set to work fortifying their defenses.

The successive battles hadn't fatigued the Imperial warriors. Even the mortal Astra Militarum troops were rigorously selected elites. Moreover, the Death Guard warband was vastly outmatched in size compared to the expeditionary legion, barely consuming the warriors' energy.

Inside the iron fortress, Dukel stood, his entire being radiating a battle fervor so intense it felt almost tangible. His expression brimmed with excitement, making it seem like he might charge headlong into the heart of Chaos through the Warp Gate at any moment.

"What?! You want me to defend the final line of defense?!"

Yet, at that moment, the Primarch suddenly received a communication from the Librarius.

"Yes, my lord," the psykers replied. "After extensive analysis, the Librarius estimates there is a 92.46% likelihood that the Chaos forces' objective in this campaign is to target you personally. Therefore..."

To persuade Dukel, these high-ranking psykers—renowned for their eccentricity and lack of conversational skill—babbled on, explaining at length. The gist was clear: the enemy had likely prepared many targeted weapons and schemes against him. The front lines were too dangerous, and the Primarch's safety couldn't be risked until the Chaos forces had been significantly weakened.

Dukel listened with a resigned expression, realizing he had no choice but to reluctantly agree.

Even as a Primarch, he couldn't act recklessly on the battlefield; to do so would be irresponsible toward his comrades' lives.

Once Dukel consented, the Librarius collectively breathed a sigh of relief.

Shortly after, they synchronized the real-time surveillance footage captured by the Pyre of the Mind's Eye with the Space Marines' communication network.

The footage revealed a jubilant army of Chaos Daemons. Even through the recording, Dukel could feel their gleeful energy.

Nurglings leapt about, holding spitting contests; decayed corpses hopped and competed to see who could jump higher and farther; Lesser Daemons gleefully defecated and farted everywhere, rolling in their own filth in delight.

Some particularly bored Daemons had even pulled out their own intestines to play tug-of-war.

This boisterous, chaotic army hopped and skipped forward. One Demon splattered its bloated leader with viscous, unknown fluids, but the Great Unclean One merely wiped its face indifferently, as if washing it, and smiled benevolently—apparently delighted by the sight of its "children" frolicking in robust health.

As they advanced, the entire world seemed to be drawn into their warped jubilation. Waves of maggots and crawling insects spread out in all directions, infecting the land. Beneath them, the ground began to wriggle, twisted and pulsing with unnatural growths.

Under this grotesque "nourishment," plant life mutated and flourished with bizarre vitality.

Everything seemed to be celebrating, cheering. The land, the sky, and even the world itself rejoiced in writhing ecstasy.

"Rejoice!—The Lord of Life has arrived!"

Amid the marching Daemons, a Great Unclean One lifted its bloated face and looked skyward with a wide grin.

Its gaze coincided perfectly with Dukel's through the surveillance feed.

On the Pyre of the Mind's Eye, orbiting in the outer layers of space, massive pustules began to grow across its hull. The monitoring system was abruptly severed.

"Nurgle's Withered Legion," Dukel muttered.

"And even the Great Unclean One, Limbas, is here," one of the Librarius remarked grimly as they watched the footage.

"Truly, the Primarch's presence is... exceptional."

Among the many Greater Daemons blessed by Nurgle, Limbas ranked near the top. His sheer power alone could alter the course of a battle, and the Withered Legion he led was one of the largest armies under Nurgle's command.

This legion was so vast it could divide into three independent armies.

The currently visible Daemon forces alone numbered in the hundreds of thousands. With reinforcements continuing to pour in through the Warp Gate, the army was still growing.

Outer Perimeter of the Iron Fortress

"By the Throne!—"

"Praise Humanity!—"

On the frontline, defenders opened fire.

Tactical squads of Ultramarines and Astra Militarum unleashed relentless volleys. Dreadnoughts, Knight Titans, and Warhound Titans poured firepower into the advancing horde.

Above, airborne units dropped melta bombs, white phosphorus, and other area-destruction ordnance.

The sheer number of Daemons rendered aiming unnecessary; the defenders' firepower tore indiscriminately through their ranks.

"Ah, the fervor of the False Emperor's legions," Limbas mused as he strode among the Daemons. Artillery shells striking his mountainous form caused no harm.

Stretching out a long tongue to lick the unknown fluid splattered across his face, he laughed heartily.

"Children, onward!" he bellowed.

"They will make excellent offerings for the Plaguefather. Such enthusiastic followers of the False Emperor! How can we not repay their fervor with generosity? Spread the soup of life; bless their every breath with our gifts! Generosity, after all, is the Father's first virtue!"

At Limbas's command, countless Daemons surged forward, eager to earn the Plaguefather's praise.

Meanwhile, Imperial soldiers on the defensive line unleashed their ammunition in unwavering loyalty to the Emperor.

"Hold the line, warriors!" an officer barked. "Behind us are our wounded brothers, innocent civilians, and the great Primarch himself. We must hold firm and weaken the Chaos advance as much as possible!"

"Damn it! Don't hold back! Use every round—then resupply and fire again!"

The earth trembled under the barrage of explosions.

The clash between humanity and Chaos reshaped the battlefield, turning the infected, slippery terrain and craters into a hellscape.

Despite the defensive preparations, the sheer number of Daemons wore down the Imperial forces.

Though they fought valiantly, the relentless tide of Chaos slowly forced them to retreat.

Limbas advanced, mocking: "Is this all? I heard your Primarch has returned—yet he hides? Pathetic."

With a swipe of his massive weapon, he shattered defenses, his psychic aura animating the dead and driving them forward as unrelenting, poisonous puppets.

The battle dragged on, and despite their courage, the defenders began to falter.