The strongest astral army in Warhammer 40K

**Terra Palace - Strategic Sanctuary**

Vulcan knelt on one knee, his obsidian-like knee slamming into the marble floor, cracks spreading like a spiderweb. His head hung low, molten blood dripping from his clenched fist, scorching small craters into the ground.

“It’s my fault.” His voice was low and rumbling like thunder. “If I hadn’t been imprisoned, if I hadn’t brought that axe out—”

Killieman placed his hand on his shoulder.

“Stand up, brother,” the Regent’s tone was unusually gentle. “We all make mistakes—including Father.”

Vulcan looked up and saw that Guilliman's eyes held not blame, but something much heavier—understanding. The kind of resonance that only those who have lived for millennia and borne the same burden can comprehend.

Russell stepped forward: "The responsibility lies with me. I should have noticed the unusual nature of that axe."

Guilliman suddenly smiled. Not a politician's smile, but the relief of a warrior before a final battle: "Instead of discussing right and wrong, let's discuss how to dismantle those metal skulls into scrap metal."

He turned and walked toward the holographic star map, where the fleets of the undead and chaos had already formed an encirclement.

"The Silent King's fleet will arrive in Mars' orbit in 14 hours." The mechanical tentacles of Archsage Kaul of the Mechanicus traced paths on the hologram. "Abaddon's Black Legion will simultaneously attack Jupiter's defenses."

Vulcan stood before the star map, his lava-like pupils reflecting the enemy fleet's distribution: "Their formation has flaws—there's a buffer zone between the undead and chaos fleets, indicating they don't truly trust each other."

“I’ll guard this place,” he said, pointing to a strategic point near Saturn’s rings. “Burning their phase engines with Eternal Fire will at least delay the Necromancer main force for 12 hours.”

Guilliman nodded, then looked at Russell: "And you—"

The commander of the Imperial Guards had already gripped the double-headed axe tightly. The runes on the axe blade, suppressed by the golden light in his palm, no longer emitted their green glow: "I'm going to see the Emperor."

The room suddenly became quiet.

Everyone understood the weight of those words—since the Great Crusade, only the Primarch and the Commander-in-Chief of the Guard had ever been able to meet the One who sat upon the Golden Throne. And the resolve in Russell's eyes at that moment clearly went beyond simply "paying homage."

The throne room at the deepest part of the palace is older than the universe itself.

As Russell passed through the final black stone gate, the spiritual pressure in the air seemed capable of crushing mortal bones. The light from the golden throne stung his eyes, but within that blinding radiance, Russell saw not holiness—but **pain**.

The Emperor was no longer human, not even a living being. He was a concept, a symbol, a beacon forcibly fused from millions of souls. But at this moment, the being on the throne slightly raised his head.

Without a word, a voice resounded directly in Russell's mind:

"You brought the keys."

Russell raised his giant axe: "It also brought disaster."

"Calculations in progress." The Emperor's gaze fell on the axe blade. "The ancient saints and the undead forged this to slay gods—including me."

"Then why is it allowed to get close to Terra?"

The light on the throne suddenly softened, and Russell saw an illusion in that instant—

He witnessed humanity's rebirth amidst steel and fire;

He saw the Primarchs standing on the deck of a massive ark, with a fleet of ships as numerous as the stars behind them.

He saw at the edge of the Milky Way, some shadow more ancient than chaos was awakening...

As the illusion dissipated, the Emperor's will touched his soul for the last time:

"Because some locks must be broken from the inside."

…………

The roar of the bombs and the screams of plasma overload intertwined to create a symphony of death.

Guilliman stood on the bridge of the "Radiance of Macragge," the blade of the Imperial Sword dripping with the black blood of a Chaos warrior. His blue armor was cracked, and one side of his visor was broken, revealing his bloodied right eye.

"The Third Company is completely wiped out! The Seventh Company has suffered 70% casualties!" Karga's hoarse voice roared through the communicator. "The enemy has broken through the left flank!"

On the holographic tactical map, the Ultramarines' defenses appeared as if torn paper, with the Black Legion's raiding ships flooding into the breach like a tidal wave. Further away, the Necromancer fleet was engaged in combat with the Imperial Guard, green and gold energy beams weaving a web of destruction in the void.

Guilliman's fingers dug deep into the control panel: "Contract formation, abandon lunar orbit, and focus all efforts on defending the near-Earth defenses—"

His orders were abruptly interrupted by a violent explosion. Outside the porthole, the battleship "Otlam Glory" was torn in two by the Black Legion's heavy artillery bombardment, and thousands of Ultramarines were instantly reduced to cold corpses.

Behind the burning wreckage, the menacing bow of the "Ghost of Vengeance" slowly turned its main guns toward the "Radiance of Macragge".

On the bridge of the USS Vengeance, Abaddon's four divine insignia swirled wildly across his armor. He watched the Ultramarines' fleet retreating in the hologram and roared deafeningly:

"All troops, charge! Terra is in sight!"

Behind him, two of the deadliest assassins knelt on one knee—

**Haken the Skull Snatcher**, with black wings on his back like the broken wings of a fallen angel, and his spear "Kiss of Pain" dripping with venom.

**Traitor Kahn**, the chainsaw axe "Blood Seed" hummed thirstily, his eyes behind the goggles filled only with a crazed, blood-red hue.

“That Imperial Guard commander,” Abaddon said, his fingertips tracing his throat, “I want his head hanging on the bow of the Vengeance.”

Harken's wings unfurled slightly: "His soul will be part of my collection."

Kahn's axe suddenly burst into sparks: "This time... I won't... miss..."

Deep within the Terra Palace, Russell stood before the golden throne. The double-headed axe hovered before him, its runes resonating with the throne's energy, bathing the entire hall in a halo of blue and gold.

Valerian burst in, covered in blood: "Commander! The lunar defenses have collapsed! Abaddon's vanguard fleet has—"

“I know.” Russell’s voice was unusually calm. He reached for the axe handle, and the runes instantly blazed like a supernova. “Summon all the Imperial Guards. Prepare for the final agreement.”

“The final agreement?” Valerian’s face turned deathly pale. “But that’s the final agreement for the throne—”

"The Emperor has given his answer." Russell's eyes blazed like two golden stars. "Either Terra falls, or... we rewrite the rules."

Just then, a dark shadow suddenly obscured the palace dome. Through the stained-glass windows, a chaotic landing craft could be seen plummeting into the palace courtyard like a meteorite.

The moment the hatch exploded open, Harken's spear had already pierced the throats of three Imperial Guards.

“Found you, Gilgamesh.” His wings cast a shadow of death.

Kahn's chainsaw axe ripped through the final barrier: "This time... you can't escape..."

Russell slowly turned around, the energy on his giant axe forming a vortex of light. His voice was no longer the frequency of a mortal, but belonged to something more ancient and terrifying:

"escape?"

The moment the axe blade struck, the entire throne room was engulfed in light.