The crew on the bridge watched intently as the Red Corsairs' fleet tightened its encirclement around the *Macragge's Honour*, the Primarch's flagship. Their weapons roared like an unrelenting storm—lance beams, torpedoes, and macro-cannon shells—all intercepted by the ship's void shields. Only the sluggish boarding torpedoes managed to bypass the shimmering barriers, their payload of eager Red Corsair raiders closing in on the ship's underbelly.
At the vanguard of the boarding torpedoes was a singular, formidable weapon—a heavy breaching torpedo from the Talon system, recovered alongside the wreckage of the *Glory Road*. Familiar with its devastating capabilities, Huron Blackheart had it repurposed as a boarding torpedo. Inside its reinforced shell stood Vaengar, the Red Corsairs' second-in-command and a fierce contender for the mantle of Chaos Lord.
"Storm the *Macragge's Honour*! Bring me Guilliman's head!" Vaengar's bellow echoed within the torpedo, rallying his brethren before the impending clash.
Clad in an MK1 Tactical Dreadnought Armor, Vaengar dominated the cramped interior, his imposing frame consuming the space of three men. The armor, a trophy wrested from the Immaterium, had been bestowed upon him by Huron himself—a gesture too generous to refuse. The promise of unparalleled protection emboldened Vaengar, driving him to lead the assault's first wave. The prospect of slaying the Ultramarines' Primarch offered not only glory but also the power to rival Huron for ultimate command.
"Prepare for battle," Vaengar growled, pivoting heavily to face the forward screen.
The *Macragge's Honour* stood defiantly, trading fire with the fleet's lead vessels. Even under a concentrated barrage, the flagship's might ensured it would not falter quickly. From within the torpedo, Vaengar could see the relentless exchange of lance strikes and flak barrages filling the void.
When the ship's crew detected the swarm of boarding torpedoes, they diverted their interceptors from the enemy fighters, redirecting every defensive weapon to target the incoming threat below. The void shimmered with defensive fire, a brutal curtain tearing through the swarm. Torpedoes erupted into fiery debris, their occupants shredded into unrecognizable fragments that scattered across the cold expanse.
"Activate the defenses! Get us through that damned gauntlet!" Vaengar barked at the Mechanicus adept stationed at the torpedo's aft.
The breaching torpedo, a masterpiece of Talon engineering, engaged its energy shields, shrugging off the surrounding onslaught. Huron's engineers had retrofitted a temporary power supply, allowing the shields to hold for a critical five seconds.
The din of the void filled the torpedo's interior, muted explosions resonating like distant thunder. The shields held firm, deflecting defensive missiles while the torpedo's onboard close-defense systems dispatched incoming projectiles with mechanical precision.
"Five," Vaengar began to count down, his voice a grim drumbeat of resolve.
The torpedo slammed into the *Macragge's Honour* with a deafening crash, its cutting tools slicing through layers of adamantium plating. It came to a grinding halt just shy of the main corridor leading to the bridge.
Vaengar, flanked by his closest warriors, burst through the breached hull. He roared, unleashing a devastating salvo that tore through six Ultramarines within seconds. The MK1 armor, a relic of impenetrable design, turned even plasma strikes into harmless scorch marks.
Each step he took was a calculated act of destruction. Plasma discharges ricocheted off his shoulder plates as he pivoted to eliminate an attacker. His comrades, using the towering dreadnought armor as a shield, picked off the Ultramarines with precision fire.
"Like a damn *Dreadnought*! That's what I feel like!" Vaengar laughed, his voice rising above the carnage.
Even amidst the chaos, he exuded an air of invincibility, dispatching enemies with a chilling ease. He aimed down the kilometer-long corridor leading to the bridge and fired, obliterating the reinforced door with a single shot.
Through the smoke and fire, his gaze locked onto that of Guilliman. The Primarch, flanked by his advisors, glanced briefly at Vaengar before murmuring instructions to Belisarius Cawl.
Vaengar didn't care what was said. Raising a massive gauntlet, he ran a finger mockingly across his neck in a gesture of execution.
Guilliman's expression remained unreadable. His brief glance carried the weight of an indomitable will, unmoved by the hulking figure charging toward him.
Undeterred, Vaengar pressed on, his laughter echoing through the battered corridor. His only thought was to reach the bridge and carve a bloody path through its defenders. The MK1 Tactical Dreadnought Armor, a symbol of his might, would ensure his unstoppable advance—or so he believed.