The Emperor’s Angel of Death

Azrael stood motionless in the darkness, his eyes fixed on the heavy blast door at the end of the corridor, and the timer display floating around the edge of his peripheral vision flickered to zero.

The enemy's attack has begun.

Sappho was right, the enemy would attack after they had taken over the Governorate, would fall on the outer walls with all the wrath of the false gods, and they would have to fight alone because there was no friendly cover around them.

The Supreme Master imagined the scene outside, imagining the enemy's army assembling in the shadows and tunnels, spitting out foamy assault squads with their remaining vehicles, and as the shells exploded overhead, the assault troops would use melted weapons and Crackling thunder hammers to complete the task, smashing an entrance in each of the main passages of the Governor's District.

Right now, the Black Legion was like a swarm of violent locusts, tearing at him and the others.

Because they knew they were about to fail, the Empire had surrounded them.

The scene ahead remains unchanged, with the blast door intact.

The only sounds Azrael could hear were the soft rubbing of his armor and the washing of his respirator.

His muscles twitched, the urge to change his defensive stance and face the enemy head-on was almost overwhelming.

"The longer you wait, the more blood splatters."

Sappho calmly put his hand on Azrael's shoulder pad, he understood the mood of the Supreme Master at this moment.

"This place will soon be soaked in blood."

Azrael nodded, and the chief priest's words softened the violent call in his head like an ancient arena summoning gongs.

Suddenly, a burst of overheated metal sparks erupted in the darkness, and countless tactical icons flashed across the display—he was ready to kill anything that came in through the blast door, nothing else mattered.

The drizzle of sparks turned into a downpour as the archenemy stepped up its attack on the door, with a pulsing amber line in focus, bisecting the door from the floor.

"They are here."

The cutting stopped, and the fuse hung in the dark, glowing and rough like a fresh scar.

Silence filled the corridors, threatening to take away the last shackles of sanity.

Suddenly, a huge metal gauntlet passed through the center of the blast door, and the pneumatic piston hissed and spat as the fingers bent to find something to rip.

Audio dampers in Azrael's helmet could filter out the screeching of metal rubbing as that hand reached back, grabbed the door, ripped it off its hinges, and dragged it into the dark.

After a moment, the hand, and the bulky body it was attached to, flashed past.

"It's a **** beast, the first passage!"

Azrael warned, resisting the urge to fire the gun.

This kind of enemy is useless even if it is a bomb, it will only scratch the paint of the armor pressed on the body. As a terrifying fusion of countless and technology, even the dark angel is an enemy that cannot be stopped without the help of heavy firepower.

Soon, the tall monster stomped on the wreckage of the door, appeared in the hallway, and opened fire.

"For Caliban!"

Waiting for the enemy to enter the predetermined distance, Azrael suddenly roared.

On the ceiling above him, a missile tube screeched, its ammunition fired at the Hellbeast in a cloud of flame.

The first missile hit the sarcophagus on the front of Hellbeast and exploded, ripping through its armor.

The second missile's secondary booster ignited moments later, driving the tertiary charge through the weakened armor plate, detonating on the front of the Hellbeast.

The flames engulfed the **** beast, wrapping it like a shroud.

But it is not dead. The vitality of this warp creation is much stronger than that of ordinary fearless.

Automatic shells ripped through walls and ceilings as the Hellbeast continued to fire.

The rocket launcher fired again, firing another missile at the metal behemoth.

When Dreadnought raised his claw-like arm in defense, a shrill cry sounded from the **** beast.

The main warhead of the missile hit the arm, blasting it into a piece of silver shrapnel, paralyzing it in place, and the remaining warhead drilled into the wall beside the **** beast, detonated with enough force, and opened in the passage. A big mouth.

An eerie roar filled the corridor, and a group of warriors in blood armor swarmed from the **** beast and rushed in the direction of the dark angel.

Azrael stood up and strode forward, while the surrounding angels also activated flamethrowers and hot melts, bathing the enemy in liquid flames.

He saw the true identities of these enemies, which made him furious—

"A **** of the Crimson Slaughter!"

The Crimson slayers ran through the flames, ignoring their bubbling armour and the flesh flowing from the flames.

Azrael's pistol began to flicker in the dark, firing a barrage of bullets at the enemy.

Whenever he saw an enemy, a curse came out of his mouth.

Their red armor appears to be a direct mockery of the Imperium, the Dark Angel's breastplate is adorned with the divine Aquila, the shoulder pads bear the insignia of the Chapter, while the armor of the enemy is studded with brass skulls and profane rune.

"Cranon! Get out!"

In the narrow confines of the corridor, it was impossible for a bullet to miss, and Azrael found its target with every shot.

He fired one shot directly into the enemy's chest, then two more.

At such close range, not even power armor offered much protection, and bullets shot out of their backs in a **** hailstorm.

Sappho stood to Azrael's right, firing fully automatic with his Seiko bolter until the round counter flashed to zero.

But it's too late to reload, and the next enemy will just pounce in a split second.

"Azrael, get down!"

Hearing Sappho's warning, Azrael resolutely complied.

The next moment, the paralyzed **** beast opened fire again, sending a storm of cannonballs into the corridor, the noise was deafening.

Several dark angels who were shooting were caught off guard~www.wuxiaspot.com~ Their torsos instantly turned into a fleshy mud, and their limbs were severed by the vicious attack.

Azrael lay under the twitching corpse of his enemy, his pulse beating, the smell of blood and burnt flesh suffocating, blood dripping from all around him and congealing into a thick, sticky puddle, threatening to swallow him.

"Emperor, shape my desires according to your unyielding will."

With the final roar, the Hellbeast's magazines were empty, and Azrael stood up and fired from under cover of the corpse.

The Crimson Slaughterers and their minions piled up like red sandbags, but they moved on, before the High Master added two more abominations to the corpse that clogged the corridor.

The smell of promethium and charred flesh flooded Azrael as enemies aimed flamethrowers at their dead, burning a path to the dark angels.

As his pistol spit out the last bullet, Azrael slung it back into his lap, clenching the sword of secrets in both hands.

"I am his revenge!"