Grant Lion El'Jonson Death and Ascension

Blood Covenant.

Van Zhuode Anrathi, the captain of the First Fierce Claws Squad of the Tenth Company "Night Lords," followed Company Commander Makarion toward the Teleport deck.

"My lord, we should wait for the rest of the legion's warships to arrive before launching an attack on the Word Bearers."

"Those Word Bearers are nothing but useless charlatans," Makarion said disdainfully.

"We arrived first, which is the perfect opportunity to take first blood."

"Where is that Space Wolves warship?"

"Father's order is to attack the Word Bearers."

"No, my lord," Anrathi cried out, "Father's command is to wait for the Word Bearers to step into the trap before launching a joint attack."

"Your attack will make Lorgar realize that we are the enemy."

Makarion paused, turned around, and looked at his first Fierce Claws.

"Anrathi, you are the Legion's most outstanding Void War commander."

"So, do you know why you're Fierce Claws and I'm your company commander?"

A blue light flashed in Anrathi's eyes. His abilities far surpassed those of Makarion; the only difference was luck.

"Why?"

"You're a coward, and I'm the leader of the Nostramo gang."

Anrathi's face was grim as he stared at Makarion.

"Since you're so cowardly, stay on the bridge and command."

It would be foolish to switch sides at this point, as the number of those Word Bearers far exceeds ours.

"Staying on the ship is even better—" Anrathi was thinking when the bird-beak hilt with the sword blade tucked into his waistband emitted a faint blue light.

"You must go; it is the first step on your path to Exalted."

Anrathi swallowed his words and looked at Makarion walking towards the Teleport platform.

"My lord, please forgive my offense."

"As your first Fierce Claws, I must go with you."

Makarion paused, "Anrathi, you're bolder than I thought."

"Keep up."

Anrathi quickly caught up with Makarion.

The foul stench of the Warp swept over the pale body encased in the Tartaros-pattern Terminator Armor, but this time, Anrathi felt no disgust.

He was immersed in the beautiful rhythm of fate until his boots touched the solid deck.

Anrathi drew his sword, the azure blade tracing an arc before striking the Scarlet Armor worn on the chest of the crimson armor.

He drew his blood-stained sword and looked ahead.

Makarion's lightning-fast claws crackled as he clasped his arms together, exploding four Word Bearers into a cloud of blood mist.

Anrathi gripped the blade tightly; Makarion's brutal strength was the weapon he used to command his company.

Apart from the First Company Captain, Jago Sevatar, no one in the legion was stronger in combat.

Even with the Devil Blade, he wasn't confident he could kill Makarion.

He's going to die soon.

"What?" Anrathi asked himself in confusion.

"The Word Bearers? Can they kill Makarion?"

"That dagger carries the power of the Gods; it granted Horus Lupercal rebirth and led him into the light."

Accompanied by whispers, a series of images appeared out of thin air.

A swollen, obese mortal wielded a sharp blade and plunged it into Horus's shoulder.

The scene shifted like flowing water, and the powerful Primarch collapsed to the ground with a crash.

That's a sword, not the dagger you're talking about.

A scene suddenly appeared in Anrathi's eyes: the Word Bearers, clad in Scarlet Armor and holding a scepter, took the blade that had defeated Horus from the shroud.

Erebus!

Erebus walked toward the four statues.

Anrathi looked at the bird-headed statue, which emitted the same eerie blue light as the sword in his hand.

Erebus offered the sword before the idol and loudly recited prayers.

Eight priests, each holding an incense burner and a holy image, stood in a row and prayed in unison with him.

The blade in Anrathi's hand glowed with a ghostly blue light, and the prayers he couldn't understand at all suddenly became comprehensible.

"Praise be to the Fateweaver, Your blessing will grant your Anathame the power of transformation—"

[The Fateweaver, Change?]

[Deities worshipped by Devil?]

Anrathi keenly realized that he had only understood a part of the prayer.

As he pondered, the scene shifted like flowing water, Erebus walked solemnly toward the Eight-Pointed Star altar towering in the center of the temple.

The altar was made of huge bronze pillars and iron stars, which were assembled into an anvil.

Erebus placed the terrible sword on the anvil. "Gul Dir, your Warp blacksmiths will help me fulfill the sacred duty the Gods have bestowed upon me."

Together we will forge a god-slaying weapon, a tool for the end.

"My honor, Dark Apostles."

The priests set down the holy image, extinguished the torches, and took out their ritual daggers from their sleeves.

Erebus received the runic hammer from the Warp blacksmith Apprentice; its head was sharp and wedge-shaped, resembling the tip of a pickaxe.

He gripped the sword tightly, chanting a forbidden incantation.

Knowledge flowed into Anrathi's mind once more—the incantation that Erebus had seized from the mind of the Kinebrach metallurgist.

The hammer slammed down, and the Anathame rang out with a loud bang, followed by a terrifying scream, as if the blade itself were alive and crying out in Affliction.

The priests plunged ritual daggers deep into hearts, their chanting of hymns abruptly cut short by suffocating screams.

The Anathame writhed like a snake, even though it did not move at all in a physical sense.

The dark words of the Kinebrach echoed in Anrathi's ears, and as the hammer slammed down, a burst of green light erupted.

A shard about an inch long broke off from the blade, Erebus smiled with satisfaction as he spoke to the Warp blacksmith.

"Take this fragment and put it in the culture medium."

Gul Dir used a pair of black steel pliers to pick up the fragments from the anvil.

It hisses in the cold air, sending up white steam.

He took out a small jar containing rubies nurtured with fresh blood.

He put the fragment inside, then tightened the lid, sealed it with black wax, and engraved eight runes on it.

Erebus rubbed his shoulder and raised the hammer again.

The image vanished like a bubble, Anrathi saw the Word Bearers, clad in Scarlet Armor, thrusting a dagger at Makarion.

Thump!

Makarion collapsed and died instantly.

"Kill him!" The whisper turned into a scream.

"Get that dagger."

His ambition burned fiercely; the Devil had not deceived him.

Once he gets his hands on that dagger, he will be able to kill the Primarch.

Anrathi lunged at the Word Bearers, his sword flashing a dark blue light.

The Word Bearers raised his dagger with disdain, the blade emanating an evil aura.

Anrathi's body stiffened instantly, as if he were being tightly bound by sticky tentacles.

A burst of eerie blue light suddenly erupted from the blade, and the midnight blue figure moved.

The Scarlet Armor whistled as it pierced through Huaiyan's crimson armor, Word Bearers utterly astonished.

Anrathi raised his left arm and took the black dagger from the Word Bearers's hand.

The hilt of the dagger was wrapped with metal wire, which was printed with golden runes and tied with several ribbons inscribed with prayers.

"You shall grant Lion El'Jonson death and ascension—"

Anrathi glanced disdainfully at the corpse on the ground, interrupting the Devil's incessant whispers.

Do you think I'm one of those charlatans?

Why should I help Lion?

"This is your destiny; you will receive blessings by serving the Lord of Fate," the Devil whispered.

"You will become the Exalted of Caliban."

"Caliban?"

Anrathi turned his blade. "Devil, do I need to remind you? Has the Ruinstorm isolated the Eastern Galaxy?"

"My friend, my Exalted, I will help you."

"Now, let me teach you a basic application of this magical weapon."

Anrathi silently chanted the incantation along with the Devil, then made a slash.

The angle of this strike was so peculiar that it defied description within the realm of mortals.

The streak of light suddenly tore through the air.

Anrathi stepped out, and the next moment, he found himself back on the bridge of the Blood Covenant.

Anrathi walked toward the command the Throne and shouted.

"Makarion was killed by the Word Bearers. From this day forward, I am the commander of the Tenth Company."