The strongest astral army in Warhammer 40K

**The Dark Angel's Assault**

Russell's warship "Emperor's Wrath" had just left the orbit of the Great Stone Fortress when the alarm suddenly sounded.

**"Enemy attack! Enemy attack! The Dark Angel assault boat is approaching!"**

On the tactical hologram on the bridge, dozens of scarlet dots emerged from the shadows of the Stone Fortress, like a pack of wolves hunting their prey, heading straight for the Imperial Guard cruisers.

"Are they insane?" Valerian, captain of the Imperial Guard squad, growled. "They dare to attack an Imperial Guard ship directly?"

A cold rage ignited in Russell's eyes.

“No, they are perfectly lucid.” He slowly rose to his feet. “Azrael wants to make sure we don’t take any secrets with us.”

"All defensive turrets, fire! Shields at full power!" the captain roared, issuing the order.

But the Dark Angels' attack came too fast and too fiercely. Three Thunderhawk gunboats slammed into the broadside of the "Emperor's Wrath" in a near-suicidal dive, the shockwave from the explosion causing the entire warship to tremble violently. Immediately afterwards, boarding torpedoes pierced through the ship's armor, and the Dark Angels' hundred-man assault team flooded into the cabins like a plague.

Russell, wielding the greatsword "Judgment," led the Imperial Guard squad to meet the attack. The corridors inside the warship had been transformed into a bloody killing field, the roar of explosive bombs and the howl of chainswords intertwining into a death symphony.

The Dark Angels' warriors were clearly handpicked—all were Deathwing veterans of the First Company, equipped with Terminator armor, each a battle-hardened killing machine. Their tactical coordination was near perfect; explosive bombs and plasma fire sealed off every passage, forcing the Imperial Guard to retreat step by step.

"For the Emperor! For Caliban!" roared the Dark Angels' assault captain, his power axe cleaving through the shoulder of a Royal Guard.

Russell's golden psionic energy suddenly erupted, and his figure rushed forward like lightning. The "Judgment" greatsword swept across, tearing the captain's Terminator armor like paper and slicing him in two along with his body.

"You're courting death," Russell's voice was like a whisper from the abyss. "The blood of the Imperial Guard is not something you can shed lightly."

The warriors of the Dark Angels charged forward fearlessly. Their numbers were overwhelming, and the five Imperial Guards were quickly overwhelmed, two of them falling to the ground severely wounded.

Russell was furious.

He no longer reserves strength.

Golden psionic energy erupted like a volcano, engulfing the entire corridor in blinding light. Russell's eyes transformed into two burning stars, and psionic lightning shot from the "Judgment" greatsword, instantly piercing the chests of five dark angels. His movements were so fast they were almost impossible to follow, each swing of the greatsword sending up a shower of blood.

The Dark Angels' Terminator armor was meaningless in the face of absolute power. Russell cleaved the man and armor in two with a single sword strike; he unleashed a punch, the psionic shockwave shattering the internal organs of three warriors.

"Is this your courage?" Russell's voice boomed like thunder. "Betraying your comrades, ambushing the Imperial Guard? You dare call yourselves warriors of the Emperor?"

The Dark Angels' assault team began to crumble. They had never seen such power—the Imperial Guard Commander's fighting prowess far exceeded their expectations. The once perfect encirclement was torn apart, and Russell single-handedly fought his way through the entire corridor, leaving behind a trail of severed limbs.

The last five Dark Angel warriors retreated to the hatch, their helmets shattered and their faces etched with terror.

Russell stopped in his tracks. Blood dripped from the greatsword onto the ground, making a soft hissing sound—the sound of psionic energy burning the blood.

“Go back.” His voice was icy and chilling. “Tell Azrael this is the final warning. If he dares to lay a hand on the Royal Guard or the Primitive Warriors again, I will personally lead Guilliman’s fleet to wipe the Stonehenge off the galaxy.”

The soldiers trembled as they retreated, then fled in panic.

The interior of the warship was a scene of utter chaos, with the corpses of Dark Angels lying strewn everywhere. The Imperial Guards helped each other to their feet; two of them were seriously injured and needed immediate treatment in stasis chambers.

Valerian clutched his wounded abdomen, gritting his teeth as he said, "Commander, they've really gone mad... how dare they attack us directly?"

Russell withdrew his "judgment," the golden light in his eyes gradually subsided, but his anger remained.

“This isn’t madness, this is despair,” he whispered. “What are the Dark Angels hiding? Is it so important that they’re willing to wage war against the Custodians?”

The captain reported over the communicator: "Commander, we have received an encrypted communication from Stonehold... it's from Azrael."

Russell sneered, "Now you want to explain? Play."

Azrael's voice was still cold in the communicator, but it had lost some of its arrogance and gained a hint of... weariness.

"Commander Russell, this will not happen again. But remember—some secrets, the less you know, the longer you live."

Russell immediately shut down the communication.

"Full speed back to Terra," he ordered. "I need to report to Guilliman personally—the Dark Angels problem is no longer just about the Primitive Warriors."

…………

**The Stone Fortress, the Hall of the Dark Angels**

Azrael sat on the heavy stone seat, his fingers digging deep into the armrests, the metal groaning under the strain of his power armor.

In the holographic projection before them, the five surviving Dark Angel warriors knelt on the ground, their Terminator armor riddled with cracks. One of them had his left arm severed at the shoulder, and golden psionic embers lingered at the wound, burning slowly like a leech.

“One hundred Deathwings…” Azrael’s voice was so low it was almost inaudible, “...all wiped out?”

“Commander…we couldn’t even force him to use his full strength,” the one-armed warrior’s voice was hoarse. “His psionic powers…it’s almost like…”

"What does it look like?"

"It's like the emperor himself is here."

There was dead silence in the hall.

Azrael's prosthetic eye flashed wildly, data streams raining down on his vision. He pulled up the combat log footage—in it, Russell was enveloped in golden flames, each swing of his greatsword "Judgment" unleashing a psionic storm, the Terminator armor looking like a paper toy before him. The most breathtaking moment was a close-up: when three Dark Angels simultaneously attacked from behind, Russell didn't even turn around, simply raising his hand, golden psionic energy materializing into a barrier that deflected the bombs and power sword, then with a backhand strike, he sliced ​​all three in half at the waist.

“This isn’t the power the Imperial Guard should have…” Chief Think Tank Ezkel murmured, “unless…”

“Unless what?” Azrael looked up abruptly.

"Unless he is truly the incarnation of an emperor."

The taboo word made everyone present tense. Azrael slowly stood up and walked to the reliquary in the center of the hall—where a black stone slab was engraved with the deepest sins of the First Legion.

“Prepare to initiate the ‘Atonement Agreement’,” he said suddenly.

"Chapter Commander!" Deathwing Company Commander Angrir stood up in shock. "That means we have to broadcast this to the entire galaxy—"

“I know the price!” Azrael smashed the blast-proof glass of the reliquary with his fist, blood seeping from his knuckles. “But if Russell really is the Emperor’s messenger… then our secrets will be impossible to hide from him!”

He picked up the black stone slab, and the ancient runes on it began to glow with a dark red light.

"Notify all inner circle members to activate the final contingency plan." Azrael's single eye burned with a resolute flame. "If Guilliman intends to judge us... then let the entire Empire know what secret the Dark Angels would rather betray than betray!"

**Terra Palace, Strategic Chamber**

Guilliman slammed his fist down on the tactical table, instantly creating a spiderweb-like crack on the adamantite surface.

"How dare they?!" The usually composed Regent King lost his composure. "Attack the Imperial Guard ships? Slaughter the Primitive Warriors? Is Azrael planning to repeat the Horus Rebellion?"

Russell stood silently before the holographic star map, the greatsword "Judgment" leaning against his shoulder armor, its blade still shimmering with lingering golden psionic energy. At his feet, three rescued Primitive Warriors knelt in respect, their bodies covered in wounds from torture.

“My lord, things are more complicated than a rebellion.” Russell pulled up data intercepted from the Dark Angels warship. “While imprisoning the Primitive Warriors, they repeatedly asked the same question—'What did you see?'”

Killieman frowned: "What do you see?"

“According to this warrior’s recollection,” Russell pointed to one of the Primitive Warriors, “while on a resupply mission in the Philos system, they unexpectedly witnessed the Dark Angels’ fleet… retrieving some kind of massive space debris.”

The holographic image switched to a blurry scan—a metal construct larger than a battleship, its surface covered with familiar winged emblems.

Killieman's pupils suddenly contracted.

That is…

“Caliban,” Russell’s voice was like a death knell, “They’ve found their lost homeland.”

The temperature inside the chamber seemed to plummet instantly. Guilliman slowly sat back on his throne, his fingers unconsciously tracing the hilt of the Sword of Sanguis. Everyone knew what this meant—if Caliban's remains were discovered, then the ultimate secret guarded by the Dark Angels for millennia would be revealed…

“Lyan Aljonson.” The Regent uttered the taboo name softly, “They fear we will discover that the Primarch is actually—”

A sudden, urgent alarm interrupted him. On the tactical table, the entire image of the Stone Fortress was suddenly enveloped in a blinding red light, with hundreds of warp signals surging around it.

"My lord!" the communications officer's voice was filled with terror, "All the Dark Angels chapters... are on high alert! Deathwing, Ravenwing, the Sword of Atonement... they are gathering!"

Guilliman and Russell exchanged a glance, both realizing the gravity of the situation. This was no ordinary act of disobedience—it was a harbinger of the First Army's impending civil war!

"Summon all available fleets." Guilliman's voice was as cold as iron. "If Azrael chooses to betray us, then the Empire will—"

“No,” Russell interrupted him abruptly, “Give me twenty-four hours.”

To Guilliman's astonishment, the commander of the Imperial Guard removed his helmet, revealing eyes that burned with golden flames.

"I'm going to the Stone Fortress by myself."

"Are you crazy? They'll kill you!"

Russell's lips curled into an almost pitying smile.

"Then let them try."