Warhammer 40K in a box

Chapter 621

Like a master craftsman who controls the whole situation, she makes use of every natural barrier and man-made structure in the Medusa star system.

A previously dangerous and chaotic area of ​​dense electromagnetic storms has been cleverly transformed into an interference barrier.

It severely disrupted the sensor arrays and communication links of the Emperor's Son fleet.

This caused several enemy ships to lose their way in the chaos, and some even collided with each other in a panic.

They were reduced to wreckage in the self-destructive flames.

Hidden guerrilla batteries in the asteroid belt continue to play a vital role.

Like deadly lurkers, they continuously launch precise sneak attacks from unbelievable angles.

It kept tearing at the flanks of the fallen fleet.

Meanwhile, the main fleet of the Steel Hand stood tall and imposing.

Like an iron wall spanning the void, it is firmly nailed to the route to Medusa with absolute determination.

Not an inch will be retreated.

The Emperor's Son's frenzied offensive was gradually worn down and neutralized in this death jungle woven from cold steel, blazing flames, and indomitable will.

Although they inflicted considerable losses on the Steel Hand with their ferocious firepower and uncanny technology—several frigates were torn to shreds and many cruisers were severely damaged, dragging their burning hulls as they struggled to withdraw from the battle line—they were still unable to break through the core defensive perimeter.

They didn't even manage to actually reach Medusa's planetary void shield.

All attempts were thwarted by the dense barrage of fire.

Their fleet commander—the fallen lord who proclaimed himself the "Symphony Destroyer," sitting atop the massive, twisted bridge of the "Carnival-class" battleship—was gradually consumed by restlessness, anger, and extreme impatience.

What he desired was not a protracted war of attrition.

Instead, it was a perfect, morbidly "artistic" feast of destruction.

An ultimate experience that allows him to fully perform his death symphony.

The monotonous, painful, and utterly devoid of aesthetic appeal of this steel strangulation was undoubtedly the greatest insult to his "artistic pursuits."

His symphony of failure seems to be irreversibly heading towards its final chapter.

Just then, Ferrus Manus seized the fleeting opportunity.

The enemy's apparent disarray and exhaustion from their prolonged siege caused their fleet formation to break apart under the furious onslaught.

The massive flagship, however, was pushed too far ahead due to its commander's impatience.

Her command, like a final judgment, was cold and resolute, instantly spreading throughout the entire fleet and defense network:
"All orbital defense platforms, main gun overload charging!"

Target locked on the enemy flagship!

Ignoring escort ship interference, calculate the optimal destructive trajectory.

Main fleet, all units, advance and press forward!

Execute the annihilation protocol for Omega!
Smash them completely!

The orbital defense platform, which had been silently accumulating power in the rear track like a sleeping behemoth, finally let out a roar announcing its end.

Its super macro cannon and light spear array—planetary-level destructive weapons with power far exceeding that of shipborne weapons—unleashed devastating energy torrents that instantly tore through the void.

Like a vengeful thunderbolt hurled by the Olympian gods, it precisely focused on the massive "Carnival-class" battleship from multiple directions!
After enduring the first devastating salvo from three different directions, the battleship's void shields emitted a piercing shriek, strained from the strain.

The shield's light flashed to its peak, then collapsed and dissipated completely like fragile glass.

The next second, more blazing light spears and heavy macro cannon barrages followed, directly hitting its unprotected, massive hull.

The thick armor was easily melted and torn apart.

The multiple decks were lifted and thrown into the void by the enormous kinetic energy.

The turret array was repeatedly blasted into scattered metal fragments.

An extremely thick spear of light even pierced precisely through its bridge area.

It triggered a catastrophic internal explosion.

The corrupt lord, along with his twisted artistic dreams, was reduced to plasma ashes that evaporated in an instant.

The sudden silence and devastating blow to the flagship became the final straw that broke the camel's back.

The last vestige of discipline in the Emperor's Son fleet vanished, plunging it into utter chaos.

At the same time, the main fleet of the Steel Hand began to advance steadily forward with unstoppable momentum.

The artillery fire became increasingly fierce and precise.

Like a mechanical forging hammer, it relentlessly and powerfully struck the enemy fleet that had lost its bearings.

Each step forward was accompanied by the destruction of yet another enemy ship. The remaining Sons of the Empire ships were finally awakened from their fanatical reverie of slaughter.

The harsh reality forced them to realize that the anticipated hunt had turned into a death trap in which they themselves became the prey.

The most primal fear and the instinct to preserve oneself instantly overwhelmed the frenzied pursuit of sensory stimulation.

They began to frantically turn their boats around, abandoning formation and coordination, and retreated in a disheveled state.

They were trying to escape the airspace that had become their burial ground.

Hoping to escape back to the Naya spatial rift for refuge.

The Steel Hands fleet did not pursue them too aggressively.

Instead, they steadily consolidated their defenses and continued to relentlessly bombard the retreating enemy with concentrated long-range artillery fire.

Like driving away a pack of defeated, stray dogs, ensuring they are thoroughly and cleanly expelled from the Medusa region.

Every step of the retreat came at a heavy price.

After the last Son of the Emperor ship—a cruiser with a severely damaged engine, trailing a long trail of smoke and debris—fled in panic back to the slowly closing warp rift and disappeared, the void finally fell silent.

All that remains are countless floating, still silently burning shipwrecks.

A band of metal fragments gradually cooling.

And the dazzling yet deadly aftershocks left behind by the energy weapon as it streaked through the void, slowly dissipating.

The piercing battle alarms gradually subsided among the ships and fortresses of the Steel Hand.

Instead, the channels now feature calm and efficient damage reports, rescue calls, and order restoration instructions.

The battle is over.

In the vast space of the Karada command center, Felus Manus still stands like a steel sculpture in front of the massive tactical holographic table.

In the projection, the red invading dots representing the enemy have all been annihilated.

Only the blue dot representing their side remained flashing.

Many of them have already faded into obscurity, marked with cold labels such as "loss," "severe damage," or "loss of contact."

Countless data streams scrolled across the screen beside him, precisely listing the ship loss inventory, casualty statistics, total ammunition consumption, and more...

Her silver-gray eyes swept over the cold numbers.

His face showed no trace of joy at victory, only absolute rational assessment and precise calculations.

Victory is certain and necessary, but the cost will be far from insignificant.

She knew perfectly well that this was merely the prelude to a much bigger storm.

The defeat of the Son of Heaven will not be enough to deter him; on the contrary, it may invite a more powerful and twisted enemy to return.

Forgrim's shadow may never have gone far; it may still be lurking somewhere in the shadows.

The threat of chaos is endless.

The internal strife and vortex of suspicion within the empire never subsided.

But she and her army were already prepared.

The steel has been tempered and refined again in the flames of war, becoming even more resilient.

The oath to protect Medusa has been etched once again onto the steel with the blood of the enemy and the sacrifice of themselves.

The sons of Gorgon will continue to stand in this dark and despairing galaxy.

They will remain steadfast in their homes and uphold their duties until the very end.

She turned around, her voice once again resounding throughout the command chain—calm, steady, and unquestionable:

"Begin recovering survivors and salvaging all usable wreckage."

Damaged ships should be given priority for dock repair.

The global defense system remains at a level-two alert.

All battle group commanders, fleet commanders, and technical priest representatives will assemble in the Dispute Chamber one hour later for a comprehensive post-war assessment and tactical debriefing.

Once the order was given, this massive war machine began to smoothly and efficiently transition from an extremely intense combat state to a meticulous and orderly post-war handling phase.

We need to calmly digest the fruits of victory.

Trauma requires prompt medical attention.

And the next unknown storm is undoubtedly brewing quietly on the timeline of the future.

(End of this chapter)