The crescent scythe cleaved through the void, casting dim green light upon death, as the Necron fleet maneuvered in their dominion.
Data pounded Perturabo's veins and nerves incessantly, as the Iron Warriors' fleet dispersed and morphed like a swarm, each flash of light marking an assault, illuminating the profound cosmos with countless points of light.
Based on previous data, Perturabo had left ample margin for this attack, unleashing the vast munitions of the Iron Warriors' main fleet within tolerable and anticipated losses, where gunfire and lasers would successfully ignite these black and inert Necrons.
Space combat with the Necrons was a brute force solution built upon massive calculations and superior technological prowess.
And they were facing Perturabo, a king who wielded computation and data.
Even though the weaponry equipped on the average Iron Warriors' ship was far from as advanced as that of the Necrons, their sheer number compensated for this.
With every ten cruisers added, Perturabo could increase the complexity of the fleet formation by an order of magnitude.
Without the mud and variables of terrestrial surfaces, space combat was a pure contest of calculations.
Massive data flooded into Perturabo's mind. In a rare full effort, Perturabo momentarily set aside the command of the ground forces on planet 106 and other senses, immersing himself fully in this war.
There was no blood splatter, no roars, in the indifferent cosmos, only flashes and steel could leave faint traces.
Only reason and data, only coldness and hardness prevailed.
Millennia of accumulation had these two races clashing here, with the blood and tears of billions merely paying for a minor explosion.
In the cosmos, only war remained.
A slight smile tugged at Perturabo's lips inadvertently, as the reality of battling against rampant data and the cold projections returned by sensors heated his brain.
But he would soon realize something was amiss.
Nas raised its head, looking up at the space where it led its fleet. The enemy's main ships were morphing in a dizzying formation, every gap drowned by spears of light.
Nas was certain that if it were still a creature capable of fear, it might have already been wounded by the enemy's vast array of beams, or screaming in agony as it melted under the immense radiation.
But it was no longer such a creature; it had no flesh.
The massive radiation merely warmed its metallic body slightly.
Perhaps it should be afraid, as the Jackal-class raiders forming the outer defense of its fleet peeled off like rotting skin of a creature once afraid of death.
But it didn't matter.
Nas could be resurrected. Even if the fleet it led was completely annihilated, they would open their eyes again in the shallow tombs of Wymas. Such ships were plentiful; they could simply launch more.
Nas's goal was to locate the fragment of the star god's information. Beyond that, the king did not care.
Nor did it.
The enemy's target ships were trying to escape; they needed speed, more extreme speed. Nas hoped to shorten the duration of this naval battle as much as possible. As a governor, being away from the king it protected made it uneasy.
To ensure speed, only the necessary Jackal-class raiders detached from the fleet under Nas's signal to draw fire, while the remaining main fleet clung tightly above the Fourth Knight.
They were close now.
Mortarion silently observed the avian servitor, where the light green friendly ships cluttered in a mess, intertwining and compressing in a dazzling manner.
No matter how Perturabo maneuvered his ships, the red enemy fleet tore through a gap straight towards their target—
The Fourth Knight, where Mortarion was.
Mortarion silently watched the enemy fleet, where red fragments occasionally fell off and turned to ash. Mortarion knew those were the raiders sacrificed to ensure the main fleet's speed.
Hah.
Mortarion felt as if he were back on the battlefield of Galaspar, at this moment, just like that moment.
But the stance of the Death Guard had long since changed.
What puzzled Mortarion was the purpose of these xenos. Why were they doggedly pursuing the fleet he led, even after they ceased supporting ground operations? Perhaps that's just the nature of aliens; their motives couldn't be assessed through a human lens.
Mortarion's gaze drifted away absentmindedly.
In the communication channel with Perturabo, the static persisted, yet Perturabo hadn't spoken a word.
On the avian servitor's end, the Iron Warriors' attempt to slow down the Necron fleet had turned almost frantic.
Regardless, the current target of the Necrons was Mortarion's Death Guard fleet, and it seemed Perturabo's plan had failed.
The silver lining was that Mortarion was aboard the Fourth Knight.
This ship's engines and overall structure had been modified for the Galaspar campaign.
Mortarion began issuing orders: warm up the engines, activate all shields, and tighten the formation. He excelled at struggling in dire situations, as the Death Guard always had.
The Necron ships were closing in—
Finally, the crackling static ceased, and Perturabo's voice, much to Mortarion's disdain, filled the air,
"Maximize your engines to the greatest extent, let the other ships intercept the enemy, the Iron Warriors can defend against them."
Perturabo was nearly frantic, his calculations making him tremble, but he couldn't fathom the Necrons' behavior. Even if the Necrons' tactics strictly followed optimal calculations, their target selection seemed utterly mad?!
They showed no interest in losses or in attacking the Iron Warriors' ships, focusing solely on chasing the Death Guard.
He even deliberately exposed vulnerabilities in the Iron Warriors' formation, which the Necrons could exploit with minimal cost and pause to inflict significant damage.
But the scythe-shaped ships didn't do so! It seemed their sole purpose was to catch up with the Death Guard ships, indifferent to whether they could win this space battle.
Following the Necrons' current trajectory, all cold calculations pointed to one outcome, the most cruel, the one Perturabo found most unacceptable.
Though Perturabo wished for Mortarion's death, he didn't want it to happen within the jurisdiction of his Iron Warriors!
It would be a disgrace in the eyes of other Primarchs, what would the Father, the Emperor, think of him? What would others say when they spoke of him?
This filthy brother would become an indelible stain on him!
Hearing Perturabo's words, Mortarion gripped his scythe, Silence, tighter, the censers on his armor chiming softly with his movement.
Although Mortarion usually couldn't discern emotions in others' words, his perception of despair and fear was superior to anyone's.
Perturabo was in despair; he was afraid.
Mortarion's lips curled slightly; he relished this scene.
Mortarion's voice was hoarse as he spoke,
"My brother, let this rustic teach you a lesson."
Then, Mortarion cut off the communication, directing his troops.
The Necron fleet was rapidly approaching the Death Guard, their front-line raiders parting to reveal their main ships.
Mortarion blinked, fully focused.
Indeed, the Necrons started to decelerate slightly.
It was a precursor to a boarding action; Mortarion's gamble paid off.
The Death Guard's lances and torpedoes were launched, but unsurprisingly, they were easily torn through by the Necrons' main ships.
The Necrons clashed tumultuously among the Death Guard's fleet.
"Fourth Knight, turn the hull."
Wisps of poison gas slowly drifted from the censers on Mortarion's armor into the air.
The Fourth Knight, initially speeding forward, began to turn around, and this abrupt halt immediately closed the distance between the two ships.
As the Necron ship was about to collide directly with the vulnerable side of the Fourth Knight—
Now was the moment.
"Reverse thrust, full power to the left engines."
The Reaper issued his command.
In an instant, the Fourth Knight burst forth with extreme speed, the tremendous acceleration causing the thrice-reinforced main beams of the Fourth Knight to tremble!
This was an acceleration that could rip the spine out of a mortal crew member! In Mortarion's vision, the skins of these mortals tautened and then tore apart, their blood spurting straight back.
Their insides, most likely, had been reduced to mush by the shock.
But Mortarion had no time to care for others, the Primarch calculated the angles.
"Full power to the right engines."
Before Mortarion could finish, a massive collision sound burst along the hull of the Fourth Knight!
Success.
Under Mortarion's command, the Fourth Knight completed a turn in a moment and successfully moved out of its original position, ramming straight into the side of the Necron ship.
The reinforced prow of the Fourth Knight, which had once smashed through the main nest of Galaspar, opened a breach in the Necron's main ship after sacrificing itself.
But the front end of the Fourth Knight was now in ruins, alarms blaring, air from the front and middle sections being violently sucked out, some unfortunate mortal crew members were caught in the tumult and flung into the cold expanse of space.
Mortarion, without hesitation, moved towards the front end of the ship as soon as the Fourth Knight collided with the enemy, and the Death Guard squads had already advanced to the positions he had designated.
His grey cloak fluttered, Mortarion knew they could begin the battle.
He was better at these than void fleet engagements.
Perturabo watched in disbelief at the Death Guard's fleet.
There, where both sides had been speeding, now came to a halt.
Between the entangled cruisers and Jackal-class raiders, the two largest ships collided, the Fourth Knight firmly lodged into the inner curve of the crescent-shaped Necron ship.
The expected scene, where the Fourth Knight was turned into fragments by the Necrons, did not occur.
Perturabo realized Mortarion had sufficiently modified the Fourth Knight, allowing the ship to withstand a massive impact on the front without disintegrating.
They had survived.
Perhaps Perturabo wished for a moment of stupor, logic told him this was unrealistic, but he coldly commanded the Iron Warriors' ships to encircle the stalled adversaries, tearing apart the enemy's raiders with firepower bit by bit.
In the midst of many ships battling each other, a unique boarding fight unfolded on the main ship.
Led by Mortarion, the Death Guard's scythes easily swung towards these similarly armed xenos.
Compared to the Death Guard, these Necrons' close-combat capabilities were clearly weaker.
As long as they were wary of the Necrons' Gauss flayers, the Death Guard could easily gain the upper hand.
Mortarion swung his scythe, effortlessly tearing through a metal frame, then he fired his gun, each bullet taking away an "life" of the xenos.
In Mortarion's eyes, the enemy soldiers were just assemblies of metal skeletons and Gauss weapons, perhaps varying in shape, but largely similar.
Metal skeletons, more silent metal skeletons emerged, like soulless corpses, to be granted death by the Death Guard.
Under Mortarion's lead, the Death Guard steadily pushed forward, quickly reaching a flat area on the Necron ship.
A larger skeleton emerged, wielding an axe in one hand and a coffin-shaped shield in the other.
Mortarion was unbothered; to him, this Necron was no different from the rest.
He raised his hand and fired a shot, the bullet from his lantern gun grazing the Necron's shield and scorching its leg, leaving a charred mark.
Nasz, facing the significantly larger xeno, knew it stood no chance in combat.
But victory wasn't necessary; had it truly desired their demise, it could have shredded them with its fleet from the beginning.
Nasz's dismay stemmed from the vanished signal of the C'tan shard; even close-range scans confirmed its absence here.
Perhaps inquiry was warranted, however foolish it seemed, at least to prove its efforts to the Phaeron.
"Lowly creature of flesh."
Nasz spoke.
"I, on behalf of the Phaeron's will, address you,"
Mortarion, surprised to hear the metallic construct speak, then—
Charged forward.
Mortarion had no interest in xenos speech, having heard enough already.
In an instant, Mortarion closed in on Nasz, his heavy scythe cleaving through the air, tearing through Nasz's shield, who narrowly dodged.
Mortarion's assault agitated Nasz, regretting its attempt at communication.
Why engage with these inferior beings?
Yet, Nasz's protocols consoled it; its presence here ensured the Phaeron's safety, free from the indignities of flesh.
■*＋&ajsihskdpa
A despairing signal from the surface reached Nasz, momentarily freezing it—
Must it return to the Phaeron's side?!
Mortarion seized this chance, decisively ending the xenos.
With high clearance, Nasz's consciousness was transmitted back to a Necrodermis construct on the surface of Wymar.
Without their commander, the Necron fleet gradually crumbled under Perturabo's tactics, resorting to autonomous assaults, costing the Iron Warriors dearly.
Mortarion continued leading the Death Guard in purging the main ship of Necrons, their close combat no match for the Death Guard, making their advance smoother than the Iron Warriors' naval battle.
Mortarion had hoped to encounter another leader-like xenos, but it seemed the one he had just slain was the sole commander.
If all Necron infantry were of this caliber in melee... perhaps Hades faced less pressure than anticipated.
Mortarion pondered.