2nd Primarch

The rotation of the 50,000-horsepower magnetic field allowed mortals to exert incredible strength. Against such overwhelming power and speed, even the tough bodies of the orc warriors were torn apart with ease.

On the battlefield, the voice channel buzzed with reports:

"The sixth coordinate point has been occupied."

"The eighth coordinate point has been occupied."

"Coordinate point number 13... Point number 17... Point number 22."

Amidst the chaos, the Primarch drew the attention of nearly all the Orc Corps, enabling the swift and efficient occupation of all twenty-two coordinates.

"Prepare to build the Mind Matrix!"

As the command echoed through the channel, the mental energy of each guard member formed a node in the growing psychic field. Layer by layer, the invisible force spread outward like ripples on water.

Though the mental force field generated by 5,000 guards could not rival the scale of the mind matrices used in warp navigation—capable of covering entire imperial fleets—it still expanded to encompass a 50-kilometer radius.

On the front lines, Dukel, who had been harried by long-range heavy fire, suddenly felt the pressure ease. The mental force field suppressed the orcs' Waaagh! energy, disrupting their crude but dangerous machines.

Amid a series of explosions, massive war engines fell silent or detonated catastrophically. The orc boys piloting these machines were thrown skyward or incinerated outright.

Without the orcs' firepower to hinder him, the Primarch's advance accelerated. Chainswords roared as orcs fell in droves. Bereft of their ranged advantage, the greenskins were forced into melee combat—a fatal mistake.

"Monster!!!"

The Primarch's figure became a nightmare for the orcs. Some trembled so violently they couldn't stand, let alone fight. Even meeting the Primarch's gaze became a death sentence.

From above, it was clear: the Primarch carved a crimson path through the orc horde, driving toward their core.

As the battle raged, Dukel's tactical insights sharpened. Piece by piece, the location of Bonebreaker Sakara, the orc warlord, became clearer.

Pushing through scattered war boy formations, Dukel encountered a hastily constructed defensive line.

The orcs swarmed like ants, desperate to stall the Primarch. Despite their numbers, breaking through would be a trivial task—if not for the need to avoid a war of attrition.

"Requesting long-range fire strike. Coordinates confirmed. Repeat, requesting long-range fire strike."

Though he seemed alone on the battlefield, Dukel was far from isolated.

"Long-range strike confirmed. Deployment underway. Please take shelter."

High above, orbital warships adjusted their massive cannons.

"Railgun bombardment commencing in 3... 2... 1..."

A deafening explosion shattered the battlefield. Flames erupted into the sky, and a mushroom cloud of smoke and debris marked the devastation. The orc defensive line disintegrated under the bombardment, leaving a gaping breach.

"Long-range firepower strike complete. Do you require a second volley?"

"No," Dukel replied, advancing through the newly opened path.

"Initiate airdrop operations."

"Confirmed."

Moments later, the sky roared as hundreds of airdrop pods descended, crashing into the ground around the Primarch. Extreme Warriors emerged, bolters blazing and chainswords singing.

Under the suppression of the mental force field, orc anti-aircraft weapons failed, leaving the airborne troops unscathed. The newly arrived warriors worked in perfect harmony, clearing large swaths of the battlefield.

Dropships followed, unloading heavy war machines: Dreadnoughts, Knight Titans, War Dog Titans. These mechanical titans became harbingers of doom, unleashing devastating firepower that fractured the orc lines.

Seizing the chaos, Dukel pressed forward. Within five kilometers of the orc stronghold, he finally laid eyes on his target: Bonebreaker Sakara, perched atop a malfunctioning war machine, its massive frame paralyzed by the psychic suppression.

The orc warlord noticed Dukel's approach. Murderous intent clashed between them, heavy as the dark clouds of smoke overhead.

War horns sounded.

From the stronghold emerged waves of orc boys, reinforced by clanking, bloodthirsty Killa Kans. These light mechs served as elite guards, more formidable than the average greenskin.

Bonebreaker, atop his iron fortress, bellowed commands. Tens of thousands of war boys unleashed a barrage of bullets and crude projectiles, but the Primarch charged through unfazed.

The slaughter began anew. Chainswords tore through orc ranks, severing limbs and spraying blood. The war boys' attacks were futile; their weapons could not pierce the Primarch's power armor.

As fear spread through the orc horde, Bonebreaker ordered a desperate strategy: orcs strapped with explosives, herded forward as living bombs by heavily armored bosses. The resulting explosions tore the battlefield asunder, but Dukel emerged unscathed, his power armor bloodied but intact.

Standing atop a mound of corpses, Dukel's imposing figure seemed godlike. The remaining orcs hesitated, paralyzed by fear.

Bonebreaker, unwilling to relent, led his elite bosses and war chiefs in one final charge. The ground shook under their weight as the orc warlord roared a battle cry, dispelling the fear from his troops.

On the pile of corpses, Dukel stood motionless, his chainsword humming ominously. The Primarch awaited their charge, a grim reaper atop his throne of death.

The final clash erupted in a maelstrom of blood and carnage. The orcs fought with ferocity, but against Dukel's godlike combat skills, they were no match.

After twenty minutes of relentless combat, only a handful of bosses remained. Most survivors, crippled in body and spirit, could no longer fight.

Bonebreaker, wounded and kneeling, faced his end.

"Why?" the orc warlord rasped, blood dripping from his mouth.

Dukel stepped forward, placing the bloodstained chainsword on Bonebreaker's shoulder.

"Dissatisfied?"