Nimrod raised his gaze, locking onto the highest point at the battlecruiser's stern, where the Fra'ow's strategium was situated.
From this deck, only three levels needed to be ascended to reach it.
"Follow me," he commanded.
As he spoke, Nimrod swung his power halberd in a sweeping arc, cleaving through six Fra'ow warriors as effortlessly as a scythe harvesting wheat.
Their torsos slid slowly from their lower halves, deep purple blood spraying, yellow fibrous tendrils stretching like silken threads between the severed parts, white secretions vainly attempting to rebind the flesh.
Their death throes lasted but a moment; the Fra'ow's evolved regenerative capabilities proved futile against the devastating might of a Primarch.
Nimrod then ascended the spiral staircase, its purple metal gleaming underfoot, striding upward with unyielding purpose.
Countless Fra'ow swarmed from all directions, their lithe forms darting with agility, launching frenzied assaults against the four intruders.
Maria, witnessing Nimrod's terrifying prowess, understood that no matter how many Fra'ow assailed them, they would fall mercilessly before the giant. Her task was to secure the rear, ensuring he remained unhindered.
"Tsvetana, Dementieva, we hold the rear."
Dementieva, her physique as robust as a man's, produced a syringe and plunged it into her left wrist.
Her body swelled visibly, muscles bulging. With a primal roar, she charged downward, her left hand gripping a shield.
A dozen Fra'ow surging toward the staircase were hurled backward by her onslaught, her chainsword axe roaring as it cleaved through the skull of a xenos charging from the right.
At that moment, a Fra'ow wielding dual daggers lunged from the flank, its eyes—positioned on either side of its head—fixating on its central prey.
In the next instant, a searing lasbeam pierced its right eye, exiting through the left.
The three assassins operated with seamless coordination, repelling the Fra'ow assault.
Nimrod, a reaper incarnate, felled dozens of xenos with each casual sweep of his halberd.
The Fra'ow gazed upon the giant with mounting terror. Having plundered dozens of star systems, they had never encountered such a relentless war machine.
For a moment, they hesitated, fear overtaking them, retreating in disarray.
Nimrod carved through the spiraling staircase with ease, poised to ascend further when a thunderous clank resounded. A bulkhead groaned open, and a Fra'ow commander, clad in deep purple armor, emerged with his retinue, charging onto the deck.
Spotting his faltering kin, the commander bellowed in outrage, his voice a harsh alien cadence.
The routed warriors rallied, steeling themselves to counterattack the giant, only to feel an overwhelming force bearing down from behind, as though a mountain had descended upon them.
The Fra'ow commander reeled in shock. Dozens of his kin, seasoned void warriors, were slaughtered in a single enemy charge.
Though not elite, every Fra'ow aboard this capital ship was a capable combatant, yet they were butchered like livestock.
His eyes widened, disbelief seizing him. After a second's stupor, he snapped back to reality.
The Fra'ow commander gripped his twin blades tightly, rolling repeatedly, seeking the giant's vulnerabilities.
Simultaneously, he activated his throat-vox, urgently relaying a message in his alien tongue to the bridge.
Nimrod, advancing through the fray, had gleaned fragments of the Fra'ow language from their cries and actions. From the commander's urgent transmission, he discerned words like "terror" and "reinforcements."
With a flick of his wrist, Nimrod's halberd lashed out, its point darting like an arrow, piercing the throats of twenty-seven of the commander's elite guards in an instant.
Maria drove her serrated dagger into the crown of a Fra'ow's head, then launched a kick with her right leg, sending the corpse crashing into two advancing xenos.
Her eyes caught Nimrod executing the sixteenth form of the "Osberh-Vaya" sword art, a technique she had trained under her fencing master since childhood, a hallmark of Vostonian blade mastery.
The sixteenth form was among her specialties, yet even with her curved blades or combat stimulants, she could not unleash twenty strikes in an instant. Her limit was thirteen. Nimrod, wielding a heavy halberd, delivered over twenty precise thrusts, each piercing an enemy's throat with unerring accuracy.
[This is the sublime union of strength, speed, and swordsmanship. His strikes are unparalleled!]
Maria's eyes gleamed with awe, her mind consumed by the image of Nimrod's form.
In a flash of inspiration, she propelled herself forward, leaping toward the xenos, wielding her curved blades in the sixteenth form, each strike severing a throat.
One, two, three…
Mimicking the halberd's thrusts with her blades, Maria achieved five strikes in an instant, surpassing her unaugmented, single-handed limit.
Dodging an attack, she severed a xenos's arm, seizing its dagger, and reflected inwardly.
[The gulf between us is vast.]
Landing, she glanced at Nimrod, witnessing him counter a xenos's lightning-fast dual-dagger thrust with a single, direct chop of his halberd, striking the alien's chest.
[The twenty-third form! He found the sole gap in the xenos's rapid strikes, delivering a precise blow to its weakness!]
Maria questioned herself: could she execute such a precise strike in the blink of an eye?
[Perhaps, but not with absolute certainty, and never with such ease.
What term would the Magdanese use?
"Lifting the heavy as though it were light."]
The commander's demise shattered the Fra'ow's morale once more, affecting not only the crew but also the warriors.
Nimrod, unstoppable, advanced to the next deck.
Another bulkhead hissed open, and a cadre of Fra'ow clad in purple-gold robes soared forth, each gripping a staff wreathed in Warp energies.
Simultaneously, over a thousand Fra'ow warriors stormed upward from the lower deck, attacking from below.
Nimrod knew the Fra'ow wielded a repertoire of fearsome psychic arcana. His genetic memory recalled their clashes with various Astartes Legions during the Great Crusade, where they inflicted notable casualties upon Space Marines.
In the Serapis Compliance, Salamanders and Word Bearers faced the Fra'ow, with Word Bearer Edikar grievously wounded, interred within a Contemptor Dreadnought.
The infamous Alpha Legion Saboteur, Terran veteran Nihalen, was similarly entombed in a Contemptor after battling the Fra'ow.
Nimrod drew a deep breath, air surging into his lungs, cycling through several revolutions before he unleashed a thunderous roar.
Dozens of Fra'ow clutched their heads in agony, the howl burrowing into their minds, ultrasonic waves reverberating. Blood streamed from their mouths as they collapsed, stunned, tumbling downward.
Nimrod swung his halberd, dispatching the unconscious psyker xenos, his gaze lifting skyward.
A handful of potent Fra'ow psykers, forewarned by their prescience, had shielded themselves with psychic barriers before the "Howl" struck.
[The Fra'ow excel at foresight.
The "Howl," after all, is merely a Sequence 8 Beyonder ability. Though my Primarch physiology far exceeds a Sequence 8 Beyonder's limits, my lungs lack specialized enhancements, and the "Howl" has not undergone qualitative transformation.
They clearly wield telekinetic sorcery, capable of deflecting sonic attacks.]
In a fleeting moment of reflection, Nimrod bent his knees, coiling his strength, and leapt upward.
He materialized before a Fra'ow psyker, his right arm swinging the halberd, crushing two others with a single blow.
His left arm shot out, seizing another Fra'ow's head.
The psyker's telekinetic shield crumpled like parchment, offering no resistance against the Primarch's might.
Nimrod's hand clamped around the Fra'ow's skull, and with a slight exertion, the shark-like head burst, a mist of deep purple blood dispersing into the air.