Regardless of the fact that the Dissonance Engine had fallen into his hands, Vashtorr knew that if he could not repel the full might of the Dark Angels, he would be unable to hold his prize. To lose it now would render all his machinations meaningless. Thus, the Arkifane, Master of the Soul Forge, took to the field once more to drive back the scions of the First Legion!
Following the retreat of the Skaven fleet, Dark Angels Drop Pods fell like a torrential rain upon Wyrmwood and its satellite celestial bodies. The Sons of the Lion, wreathed in righteous fury, slammed into the surface of these Daemon Worlds. In the shrieking, industrial sprawls of the iron cities, Soul Grinders and mechanical abominations rose to intercept the Astartes. Skitarii of the Dark Mechanicum, wielding weapons fused with daemonic essence, unleashed volleys of malevolent ordnance.
Against these traitors and heretical filth, the Dark Angels showed no hesitation. They tore through the turncoat ranks with terrifying lethality. The Dark Mechanicum's firepower was ferocious; Skitarii, cloned or captured and forcibly augmented, clad in black greatcoats and heavy plate, fired galvanic rifles incessantly at the advancing wall of green-armored giants. Dark Onager Dunecrawlers and Kataphron Breachers equipped with graviton cannons and heavy lascannons proved to be formidable counters to the Astartes.
A single graviton pulse could instantly compress an Astartes into a localized sphere of crushed ceramite and bone; heavy lascannons punched through Land Raiders and Baneblades as if they were mere scrap. Yet, such horrors could not cow the Firstborn of the Emperor; they served only to stoke the fires of their wrath.
"For the Lion!"
The furious war cry echoed through the Astartes ranks. Mighty Terminators and Dreadnoughts advanced with thunderous strides, supported by the relentless bombardment of modified Basilisk self-propelled artillery. As the Ironwing, the hexagrammaton wing most proficient in frontal assaults, they possessed the highest concentration of Terminators, Dreadnoughts, and heavy armor.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The pinnacle of marksmen, these Astartes directed every shell with surgical precision. The falling ordnance provided cover for their brothers as the iron feet of Dreadnoughts trampled the steel soil of the industrial hive. Twin-linked heavy stubbers and Storm Bolters spat a ceaseless rain of lead at the Dark Skitarii. The heretics' trenches were filled with high-explosive fury, ground into component parts, while their rear echelons were consumed by the firestorms of the artillery.
Suddenly, the machinery crippled by the Ironwing seemed to gain a life of its own, returning fire at the Dark Angels even without Dark Mechanicum operators. Finally, from the heights of the Rock, Supreme Grand Master Azrael laid eyes upon the ultimate objective: the physical manifestation of the mechanical daemon himself.
Beholding the metallic, daemonic visage of Vashtorr, the Supreme Grand Master led the Terminators of the Deathwing into the fray, accompanied by Grand Master Ezekiel and his epistolaries. These two legends immediately recognized the entity as the daemon who held the darkest secrets of their Legion. To prevent the First Legion's shame from being exposed by this warp-spawn, and to avenge the desecration of the Rock, the two mighty Astartes led their warriors in a thunderous charge.
"FOR THE LION!!"
Infected by the Supreme Grand Master's fury, the entirety of the Dark Angels host surged toward the legions of the Soul Forge. Ezekiel raised a hand, and a catastrophic burst of psychic energy erupted, instantly crushing a dozen Daemon Engines, twisted fusions of metal and warp-flesh, into mangled heaps of meat and iron. A storm of bolter fire, plasma, and melta blasts rained down upon Vashtorr.
But to their shock, Vashtorr's mechanical form dissolved instantly, replaced by a roar of bloodthirsty madness. Azrael's eyes narrowed as Vashtorr's presence was swept away by a more primal force. Amidst a mist of gore, a warband of World Eaters in blood-red power armor descended upon the battlefield. And at the center of the carnage stood the Red Angel himself, Angron, driven by the Butcher's Nails!
The appearance of the Daemon Primarch was a catastrophe the Dark Angels had not foreseen. Before they could react, Angron and the World Eaters charged with their timeless cry: "Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!"
…
Lucius had anticipated Angron's arrival, but the timing was abrupt. He realized that Angron was drawn purely by the scent of war, manifesting without omen. This was a testament to Khorne's burgeoning power; the Red Angel was becoming increasingly difficult to banish, returning once every eight days, eight hours, eight minutes, and eight seconds.
While Lucius's own Greater Daemons had not yet reached such heights of manifestation, the Great Rift had caused Warp energy to swell to unprecedented levels, strengthening all daemons within realspace.
This environment was perfect for Sneek, who was currently infiltrating Vashtorr's inner sanctum. It was impossible to fathom how Sneek's tall, lithe frame could remain so perfectly concealed. With practiced ease, he produced a warpstone token, crushed it, and tossed it. The daemon-tech of Vashtorr immediately erupted in a cacophony of electrical arcs and haywire interference.
Soul Grinders within the chamber clawed their way out of the shadows with terrifying shrieks, attempting to find the intruder, yet finding nothing.
"One, two, three, four..."
Sneek watched these horrors, fusions of mechanical limbs and the filth of the Four Gods, as if counting his own trophies. Then, gripping his three Weeping Blades in his hands and tail, he leapt down with lethal grace.
Roar—Argh!!
A Soul Grinder of Nurgle, possessing mechanical lower limbs and the bloated, rotting torso of a plague-daemon, was too sluggish to react. A lethal black shadow descended upon its putrid form. Two Weeping Blades crossed, piercing its festering skull. The corrosive power of the blades was so absolute it scoured the very Nurgle-rot from existence.
Warpstone is the crystallized essence of Chaos, a "Philosopher's Stone" that can manifest any desire at a terrible price. In this moment, the power to extinguish Nurgle's plagues had been manifested through Sneek's cold, focused intent.
Splat.
The Nurgle Soul Grinder collapsed into a heap of sludge. A Soul Grinder of Khorne roared, but the sound died in its throat as a Weeping Blade transfixed its neck. A Soul Grinder of Slaanesh lunged with serpentine elegance, but Sneek deployed a Warp-smoke bomb, drowning it in a toxic green fog.
"Aaargh!"
Even the heightened senses of the Slaaneshi daemon could not locate the Skaven assassin. Suddenly, the green mist shifted. The daemon struck out reflexively, only to have Warp-stars pierce its limbs. Sneek's spectral silhouette appeared behind it, his red eyes gleaming with cold lethality as he claimed its head.
In less than half a minute, a dozen Soul Grinders were reduced to mounds of dead meat and scrap metal. As if pulling a coin from his pocket, Sneek ignored the fallen obstacles. He used his Weeping Blades to sever the daemonic cables linking the Dissonance Engine to the planet.
Cradling the Engine, Sneek whispered: "The unseen blade is the deadliest."