[Assembled on Istvaan V was a massive fleet capable of shaking the Galaxy.]
[Logically, this should have been a torrent of steel, disciplined, obedient, and ready to rewrite the destiny of mankind.]
[However, when one looked deep inside this grand army, the scene revealed was not one of solemn military might, but a horrifying and absurd dance of demons.]
[This was no longer an Imperial army; it was more like an asylum that had lost control.]
[In the encampment of the Emperor's Children, the area had been transformed into a Pleasure Den filled with psychedelic colors.]
[The air was thick with nauseating perfumes and the smell of unknown chemical agents.]
[The warriors were no longer cleaning their Bolters; instead, they were injecting colorful Hallucinogens directly into the fluid lines of their Power Armor, emitting uncomfortable moans or maniacal laughter.]
[The Chaos quickly escalated into fratricide.]
[A World Eaters squad responsible for liaison passed by the position of the Emperor's Children; they had originally come to transmit tactical coordinates.]
[But several Emperor's Children, their eyes glazed over and craving "New Thrills," suddenly pounced like rutting Beasts.]
[There was no tactical reason; it was simply because Chief Apothecary Fabius Bile had promised the latest Pleasure Drug to anyone who could bring back a "strong living sample."]
[The former brothers dismantled his Power Armor as if dissecting a toy, tearing out his glands and spine, and presenting them to the mad Apothecary amid cheers.]
[On the other side of the fleet, Mortarion's Death Guard exhibited another form of extreme "Insubordination."]
[They stood in the warship corridors like silent gravestones, ignoring the conflicts among their allies and deaf to the deployment orders from Horus.]
[They merely wiped their Rusty Scythes over and over again, as if the entire Universe contained only them and some unseen, decaying whisper.]
[If the Chaos at the lower levels was merely a minor affliction, then the high-level command meeting completely exposed the fatal malignancy of this rebel army.]
[A catastrophic meeting, destined to be recorded in history, was currently underway.]
[Horus stood before the Star Map, his face still conveying majesty, but deep in his eyes lay profound exhaustion.]
[Around him sat his three "allies":]
[Fulgrim, who was admiring his Nail Art in the mirror; Mortarion, who was as gloomy as a corpse; and Angron, who was pacing restlessly and snorting heavily.]
["The plan is simple."] Ho-
-rus suppressed his anger, pointing at the Urgall Depression on the Star Map,
["We show weakness here. Once Ferrus charges in, we retreat. Then, Konrad Curze, Perturabo, Lorgar, and Alpharius, hidden at the edge of the star system, will flank him from the rear."]
["Caught between two forces, like turtles in a jar. We will annihilate the loyalist faction main force at minimal cost."]
[This was indeed a perfect strategy: cold, efficient, and deadly.]
[But just then, a loud crash shook the Holographic Projection on the Strategic Table.]
[Angron slammed his fist onto the table, instantly denting the alloy surface.]
["A coward's tactic!"]
[The Lord of the Red Sands roared, the Butcher's Nails behind his head pulsing madly, his eyes bloodshot. "Why hide? Why ambush? We have seven Legions! They only have three! We have the absolute advantage!"]
[Angron pointed into the Void, in the direction of the approaching loyalist faction fleet, spittle flying:]
["Let them come out! Let Perturabo and Konrad Curze openly display their banners! Let our seven Legions line up on the plain and have a straightforward duel with Ferrus and his forces! That is how a warrior dies! Not by setting up an ambush like rats in a sewer!"]
[Horus rubbed his temples, trying to use reason to placate the Beast: "Angron, brother, this is to minimize casualties, this is for the greater good..."]
["This is to hide your weakness!" Angron rudely interrupted the Warmaster. "You dare not face them! You want to win through trickery!"]
[At that moment, Fulgrim, who had remained silent, let out a scornful laugh. That effeminate, smooth laugh was more infuriating than Angron's roar.]
["Oh, my dear Angron."]
[Fulgrim didn't even look up, still obsessively gazing at his perfect reflection.]
["You really are full of 'honor,' aren't you? That's why your Gladiator brothers and sisters died like dogs on the mountaintops of Nuceria."]
["Because they, like you, only have muscle, no brains."]
[The air instantly solidified.]
["Gladiators" was Angron's only sensitive spot, a wound forever bleeding in his heart.]
["ROAR!!!!"]
[Without any warning, Angron drew the Chainaxe from his waist and charged at Fulgrim like a mad bull.]
["I'll kill you! You painted peacock!!"]
[Mortarion took a step back indifferently, clearly not intending to intervene, a cold glint of amusement even flashing in his eyes.]
[If Horus hadn't activated his Power Claw in time, forcefully blocking Angron's axe, the rebellion might have lost one of its Primarchs before it even began.]
["Enough!!!"]
[Horus unleashed Warp-fueled Psychic Power, forcibly blasting the two brothers apart.]
["Look at yourselves! You are Primarchs! Demigods! Not street thugs! Ferrus's fleet is about to arrive, yet you are trying to kill each other over such stupidity?!"]
[The meeting ultimately ended in discord. Angron was "escorted" out, while Fulgrim shrugged innocently and went back to his artistic pursuits.]
[When Horus was left alone in the hall, the Warmaster slumped into his chair and looked toward his silently standing Adjutant, Maloghurst.]
[In Horus's eyes, an unprecedented despair and self-doubt emerged.]
[He muttered to himself, his voice hoarse]
["A pervert who only kills for pleasure, a madman who wants to charge to his Death, a block of wood as gloomy as a corpse... These are my allies? This is the army I must use to fight Father?"]
["I feel like I'm not commanding an army; I'm running an asylum."]
[However, the most ridiculous and unbelievable scene was yet to come.]
[Angron, back on his own warship, had not calmed down.]
[The more he thought about it, the more he felt that the ambush plan was an insult to a warrior's honor and a desecration of the battleaxe in his hand.]
[In this mind, already shattered by the Butcher's Nails, a shocking logic emerged: Since Horus refused a fair duel, I will help Ferrus make the battle "fair."]
[Thus, this Rebel Primarch made a move that stunned everyone.]
[He stormed into the Communications Room, cutting down the Emperor's Children Communications Officer and the Sons of Horus Monitor who tried to stop him.]
["Connect me to Ferrus! Connect me to the Iron Hand!"]
[Angron roared into the Communications Device that hadn't yet been destroyed, his fingers clumsily trying to adjust the frequency. "I'm going to tell him! It's a trap! There are four more Legions waiting to hit him from behind!"]
["Run! Don't come here to die! Or gather your forces and come fight me head-on!"]
[Fortunately, the Warmaster had anticipated that this madman was uncontrollable, having already cut off all external Warp communication channels, and personally rushed over with his Terminator Guard.]
[The scene at that moment was utterly surreal: the rebel Warmaster had to bring men to beat his own Vanguard Commander down and tie him up with Adamantium Chains, simply to prevent him from tipping off the Enemy Forces.]
[Angron, pinned to the ground, continued to curse:]
["Horus! You gutless coward! You don't even dare let them know who their opponents are! If we are to win, we must win honorably!!"]
[Horus looked at this brother, who, despite defecting to Chaos, insisted on "martial virtue" more than any loyalist faction, and felt a deep pang of nausea.]
[This was the truth before the Istvaan V Campaign.]
[Behind this seemingly precise military operation lay a group of monsters, each with their own agenda, mentally deranged, and barely held together by "hatred" and "profit."]
[Meanwhile, on the other side of the star system, Ferrus Manus, unaware of all this, was charging with full fury straight into this Death trap woven by madmen.]