For five relentless hours, the battle raged on, allowing all the blood slaves and injured to withdraw safely to the fortress's core.
With their mission complete, the Astartes on the central passage began to retreat in waves. The first to withdraw were the allied chapters, leaving the Weepers to guard the line.
The swarm was an endless sea, forcing Fross to conserve his energy, resorting to ranged attacks to preserve his strength. Some Blood Knights, overcome by the Black Rage, charged heedlessly into the heart of the horde, vanishing without a trace into the roiling mass.
Fross forbade his forces from attempting to rescue those consumed by the Rage; once gripped by its fury, no brother could ever be restored.
After taking down a Warrior with a plasma pistol, Fross glanced over at his own troops. One of his guards was firing into the swarm with a storm bolter, fully absorbed in the fight, unaware that an allied Astartes, eyes bloodshot with Rage, had come up behind him, power sword raised. Fross shot the raged soldier down without hesitation.
"Watch for any allies falling to the Rage," he warned his troops over the comms.
"They should be hurling themselves at the enemy—why would they attack us?" a recruit of sixty years asked, stunned by what he'd witnessed.
Silence fell over the channel. None would answer the question; it touched the dark flaw within their gene-seed, a burden they all bore.
"The Black Rage—is it possible no one taught you about it when you joined?" Fross reprimanded, his tone harsher than the young soldier had ever heard.
Karahn, slashing through two Warrior creatures in his path, joined Fross, standing at his back to face the oncoming swarm.
"You should be the ones to fall back now," he said firmly. "We are sons of the Primarch; it is our duty to hold the line."
"You will retreat first," Fross replied unwaveringly.
With no orders binding their allegiance, merely the honor of kin, the Blood Angels held the line, clad in standard armor, facing the relentless swarm. For the Weepers, however, armed in Terminator armor, retreat would have been disgraceful—a shame unworthy of their might.
"Very well," Karahn relented, well aware of the Weepers' obstinance. His company began their withdrawal, with the Weepers taking their place.
But Karahn did not leave with his men. He stayed at Fross's side, fighting shoulder to shoulder. In his observance, Karahn saw his brothers fight with a fierceness born of isolation, each one a force unto himself.
"Tyrant!" Fross shouted in warning.
A Tyrant emerged from the swarm, its guards flanking it with bone swords and strange bio-weapons. As they advanced, one of Fross's guards was severed in half; another was blasted apart by a green projectile from one of the bio-weapons.
These creatures had evolved to a level where their organic weaponry alone could challenge Terminator armor.
Karahn charged with Fross, dodging the incoming bio-plasma, but before they could engage, the massive beasts were abruptly crushed into bloody pulp.
Fross turned to see a Techmarine wielding a graviton staff.
In Tyran's supply cache, they'd found far more than conventional weaponry. Some, like the graviton staff, were powerful yet perilous. On their journey to Baal, one Astartes had shattered both legs while attempting to wield it—even with instructions. Fross had since restricted its use to only Techmarines.
For once, Fross was grateful for his Techmarine's expertise—the man had directed his weapon where it was needed most.
The death of the Tyrant didn't disrupt the swarm's order; another synaptic beast had already assumed command.
"Fall back from the swarm!" the Techmarine shouted.
Fross and Karahn swiftly withdrew. The Techmarine slung the staff to his servo-arm and retrieved a large telescope from his pack, peering deep into the horde before pressing a red button.
A rift opened above the swarm, and from the hidden Stormmaiden in the warp, a pair of searing particle beams sliced through the throng.
The number slain was uncountable, the force of impact spreading to Fross and Karahn, nearly toppling the two Terminators. They planted their weapons into the ground to steady themselves.
With the brief lull, Fross ordered a retreat, the Weepers assembling together, advancing slowly back to the fortress.
The Angels' Citadel was not guarded by the outer wall alone; the inner wall protected the heart of the fortress, where allies had already taken their positions, ready to unleash a torrent of fire upon the approaching horde.
The gate stood open, a golden figure at the forefront of the Blood Angels Astartes, awaiting the Weepers' arrival.
Even from a distance, Fross recognized the figure—it was Dante himself.
As he advanced, Fross noticed Dante's barely perceptible tremor. The chapter master's gesture summoned them forward, yet his stillness betrayed his own injury.
Turning his focus back to the fight, Fross, positioned at the rearguard, led his forces forward. The Weepers and Karahn fought their way to the gate.
Before entering the core, they had to hold back the pursuing swarm. The Techmarine took the lead, retrieving a grenade from his pack and tossing it into the advancing swarm. Rather than explode, it created a field of zero-gravity, suspending the Tyranids helplessly as they drifted upwards.
Fross's armor clung to the ground, securing his stance.
The Techmarine, consulting the grenade's manual as he ran, suddenly froze, stricken.
In that moment, the gravitational field reversed. An immense repulsive force swept outward, hurling Fross, Karahn, and the Techmarine back into the gate, while the swarm was blasted far behind them.
The Astartes retreated fully into the core as the gate shut with a resounding finality.