Chapter 690

The ground cracked apart inch by inch, the air around it surged with heat, the smell of ozone sharp and acrid, roaring lightning erupted from beneath the earth, and neatly severed stone fragments hung suspended in midair.

What terrifying psychic energy—upon its release, Azzarel felt reality evaporate like dew under sunlight, thinning and growing fragile.

The horrific creature, known to the Eldar as Maran-Tai’s Doom, clearly lifted its head and stared at Azzarel.

Azzarel felt bone-chilling malice—the psychic monster’s feeding had been interrupted by Azzarel’s sword, and now it sought to vent its fury upon him.

BOOM!!!!!!!!

Sharp psychic tentacles lashed out, instantly tearing through Azzarel’s shoulder armor.

Soul-searing pain swept through Azzarel’s entire body; anyone with slightly weaker willpower would have descended into madness or psychosis by now.

Azzarel was grateful his reflexes had once again saved him—he dodged the blow that could have instantly ripped his soul apart.

But the tentacle, the moment it grazed Azzarel’s shoulder, reversed direction, carving a ninety-degree arc toward his face.

Hrael’s figure flashed—he moved faster than Azzarel, his broad two-handed sword cleanly blocking Maran-Tai’s Doom’s psychic tentacle.

“Attack!!”

No need for Hrael to say more—Azzarel moved, blade slicing, shattering the psychic tentacle outright; the violent psychic backlash seared his arm and twisted his face for an instant.

Maran-Tai’s Doom let out a piercing shriek; the stone fragments suspended by its psychic energy exploded into dust, its overwhelming psychic force surging like a tidal wave, laced with razor-edged pressure toward the Imperial forces.

Many Astarts nearby, already soulless husks, were instantly shattered into fragments by the psychic wave.

The Deathwatch, Blood Angels, and Dark Angels’ Librarians swiftly raised psychic shields—their combined energies blazed like a roaring wildfire.

But Maran-Tai’s Doom’s psychic power was like a scorching star; within two or three seconds, the Librarians’ shield shattered completely.

Yet at that moment, a psychic force stronger than all the Librarians’ combined surged from the ruined fortress.

A warrior clad in unpolished power armor, taller than a standard Astartes, stepped forward from beside Belisarius Cawl the Great Sage; this Astartes radiated four distinct styles of psychic energy.

Like a freezing hurricane, like a clear endless sky, like esoteric scripture, like superstitious folklore—four psychic energies erupted simultaneously, colliding with Maran-Tai’s Doom’s power; for a moment, neither prevailed, both shattered, tearing jagged rifts into the void, exposing the High Heaven hidden beneath reality.

Many demons in the High Heaven sensed the warp rift, cheering wildly, thrusting their heads through to try and flood into the material world.

For demons, this was pure instinct—invading the material world was risk-free profit; even if they died, they merely returned to the Warp to be reborn.

But the moment they poked their heads out, psychic tentacles lashed out, piercing their bodies.

The physical forms the demons had just gained withered rapidly; worse, their inner essence was being swiftly devoured.

The demons screamed in terror; those Jiaoxing untouched by the tentacles fled in panic toward the Imperial lines.

Their thought was simple: let the Astartes kill them, then return to the Warp to respawn.

But what awaited them was a screaming warhammer.

Fulgrim’s face twisted, his three scars grotesque and horrifying, making him look like a venomous snake just used as a Fiji cup; his resentment nearly solidified into substance.

That worm dared make him see, dared make him nearly experience it—pretending to be the one he loved. Fulgrim roared.

In a single glance, the demons charging the Imperial forces were shattered by the warhammer, limbs broken, yet not banished to the Warp—only rendered immobile.

Then, from behind Fulgrim, miniature Doraemons emerged, shaking their belly pockets, smiling as they flew toward the demons.

The demons shuddered, faces contorted in fear, writhing to struggle—but the Doraemons’ round hands seized them, stuffing them into their pockets.

Maran-Tai’s Doom sensed the chilling danger radiating from Fulgrim; it immediately turned, surging dozens of psychic tentacles toward him.

Fulgrim’s Infernus trembled, orange-gold furnace-like flames bursting forth; the psychic tentacles shattered instantly into shards of brilliant blue.

His violet eyes, filled with rage, locked onto Fulgrim.

The humiliation suffered in the illusion conjured by Maran-Tai’s Doom now burned as fury, seeking to reduce the beast to ash.

Maran-Tai’s Doom’s body trembled slightly, its immense psychic energy propelling it backward in a sharp retreat.

Fulgrim stepped forward, pressing the attack; behind him, the Astartes rapidly unleashed volleys of fire upon Maran-Tai’s Doom.

Maran-Tai’s Doom’s brain matter writhed like worms, faint roars and wails echoing incessantly.

Everything around Maran-Tai’s Doom suddenly dimmed, as if all nearby matter had been devoured.

A piercing insect-like screech rang out; a howling wind of psychic energy erupted from around Maran-Tai’s Doom, causing every projectile fired at it to ignite, shatter, and vanish into ash.

This psychic wind crossed the entire battlefield in an instant, striking the Astartes directly.

The psychic wind seemed to contain countless burning tiny insects; their ceramite armor glowed red-hot, the heat tore through the power armor, searing into the Astartes’ flesh beneath, instantly igniting every neural synapse.

Screams echoed—the Astartes struck by the wind spat blazing fire, their bodies incinerated in an instant, collapsing into charred bones.

Azzarel and Hrael were alert enough; the moment the psychic wind surged, they retreated with their squads to safety.

But that was only because they were far enough away to have sufficient reaction time.