Dedicate loyalty to the good empire

Chapter 481 The Emperor's Angel of Death

Dark angels descended from the sky like bright red comets.

Grand Master Azrael and his six wings stepped out quickly. Even though the opponent was a terrifying demon, they did not retreat at all.

Chainsaws and bolter bombs roared simultaneously, the Emperor's angel of death like divine wrath descending upon this place.

Blades whistled, bombs were fired, and the Valhallans now timidly began to poke their heads out of the bunker.

White winged swords, experienced warriors have recognized their names.

"It's the Dark Angel!"

People cheered as if the end of those demons had come, and that was indeed the case.

The Dark Angels' rapid strike force was like a pack of vicious dogs, drooling as they rushed forward, ready to tear the bodies of the demons apart.

The chainsaw sword is like a crisscross of wolf fangs, tearing apart the demon's physical body.

Whether it was a vampire or an unclean being, they would be bitten to pieces in an instant.

The cruelest thing is that the killing power of those angels in a moment is equivalent to the achievements of the mortals in the empire in a week.

Frankly speaking, even the veterans of Skadi would find it difficult to match such combat effectiveness, speed and reliability.

Their method of warfare is more like slow, determined strangulation of the enemy with a rope.

This is not a question of superiority or inferiority, but one has to admit that the dark angels are quite proficient in this area.

The Dark Angels' Supreme Grand Master Azrael now leads the charge, flanked by a company of elite veterans known as the Deathwing.

What's surprising is that the Dark Angels didn't become as obsessed with the heavy Terminator armor as the Wolves.

Instead, they choose to mix rapid strike forces and firepower forces, maintaining mobility and small scale, while using the Terminator armor as a vital sword.

Such an attack was efficient and fast, like a sword that had been through many battles. Combined with the second company's Ravenwings' most proficient and decisive attacks, the demon's front-line troops soon began to retreat.

At the same time, the remaining outer rings and other wings all have their own fighting styles, but they also complement each other.

Although those guys appear to be no different on the surface and each wing has similar weapons, within the Dark Angels, only the Grand Master and the Inner Ring Elite know countless stories.

Most of the original Space Marines created during the Guilliman era could only serve in the Outer Rim, in those rear-rank companies with slightly lower priority.

But this doesn't mean they are worthless or weak.

Those warriors are also battle-hardened Space Marines. Especially the experience accumulated while fighting as non-commissioned officers makes their fighting style appear quick and sophisticated.

Although the original Space Marines provided by Guilliman cannot become the real core, their vigorous fighting style and achievements in the Indomitus Crusade are still amazing.

Nowadays, a single Space Marine can handle a dozen Daemons, or even more, especially considering the Dark Angels' paranoia and fury in dealing with traitors.

The Taliban lions are now showing their violent wielding of chain saws, firing plasma and explosive bombs, making those ignorant creatures realize what kind of enemies they should not mess with!

Azrael is considered the best among them. The secret sword in his hand is a beautiful rune-powered sword with a golden handle, which is almost never slow when killing demons.

Even a few huge and twisted Nurgle beasts can be easily killed when the blade passes by.

At this moment, the fat that was impervious to artillery shells and gunfire quickly dissipated as if it were burned by flames, making crackling sounds, which was quite relaxing.

Supreme Grand Master Azrael has now put away his weapons, and they have completed the initial cleanup, making this place barely safe.

Now the Ravenwing began to retreat. Previously, they had driven their enemies like nails, only for the Deathwing to re-open the wound like a scattering of projectiles or hammers. Such success made the exhausted Valhallan Commissar say in disbelief. "By the Emperor..."

"You, you are the savior of all Valhallan people, my lord!"

But Azriel, wearing a lion helmet, just glanced at him. At this moment, he had already turned into the silent lion. This indifferent attitude was that of a true dark angel.

They are silent knights, and have been so since ten thousand years ago.

In front of them, mortals are so powerless that even demons pale in comparison.

The old political commissar took a deep breath again and again, as if he had seen the most terrifying thing, and realized that he was not worthy of those soldiers. He could only lower his head and wait for Azriel to speak like a servant.

As the six wings began to gather, the demons retreated, and soon many transport planes carrying mortals began to land.

The old commissar subconsciously thought that the people coming should be the servants of those Space Marines, until he saw the emblem of the Krieg Legion and several Imperial Guard Legion emblems that he did not recognize.

He swallowed slightly, his old mind pondering what kind of person could travel with the Space Marines, could fight alongside them.

He raised his head, with many thoughts in his mind, including pain, disgust, happiness, and hope, but there was no peace of mind.

God knows what will happen next. Although it won't get worse, he has really reached his limit.

What was he to do? Continue serving or die, by the blade or by the claws of the devil.

He smiled, a helpless smile, a bright smile, until a slightly cynical voice said.

"You're in a good mood, old man. I'm glad to see a Valhallan who can still smile after all he's been through."

The political commissar turned his head to look.

He saw a standard Imperial Lieutenant Colonel insignia, a young face, black hair and eyes.

He wears what looks like a private's equipment (flesh armor and helmet), and a fur cloak that doesn't fit him well (a gift from the Fenrisians).

The chest of his armor was covered with emblems, including the Star of Terra and several others he didn't recognize. (Most of them were specially awarded by Guilliman during the Plague War.)
An unsettling chainsword and heavy bolter ammunition that wasn't suited to him. At least the gun should be given to someone more capable.

The commissar asked uncertainly. "Who are you?"

The young man replied with a slight embarrassment. "Oh, sorry my friend, I forgot to introduce myself. Mainly because I haven't needed to introduce myself to anyone lately."

"Few people asked this question after the Plague War."

He rubbed his head and said helplessly.

"It would be very difficult for me to explain it in detail. This story is ridiculously long. I have to start from the time when the Great Rift opened."

"I know. It feels like a hundred years."

"In short, I'm an Imperial Lieutenant Colonel with a bit of a weird personality. Everyone calls me Taylor, and I almost forgot my full name."

"And I will help you, my friend, and you will leave this prison and join the Emperor's crusade once again."

The political commissar smiled bitterly and replied that he did not believe the young man and could only say.

"May things go as you wish."

(End of this chapter)