Word Bearers

As we all know, cats can climb trees, dogs can bark, and a mouse's son can dig holes.

Although Space Marine are not cats, dogs, or mice, the saying is crude but the principle is sound: based on their Primarch, each Legion has evolved distinct characteristics.

Whether it's the Space Marine of the past, or the Adeptus Astartes Holy Church Army today, even if you're called Space Marines, or even 50-dollar buddies, it's just a change in name. What truly determines the racial value of Space Marine is the Gene-Seed.

With the Gene-Seed, a revolutionary invention, as a link, Space Marine will become more and more like their Primarch, and highly bound together, each with the potential to become a demon army.

The uniqueness of the Space Marine stems from the 21 modifications performed on the Primaris from the 19th to the present day. These modifications were not simply a matter of cramming in any organ; some vital organs were developed and grown entirely from Gene-Seed.

In this context, Space Marine from various Legions will develop a variety of special skills, or rather, amazing superpowers.

For example, the Raven Guard's supernatural stealth; these Sons of Corvus Corax wearing Terminator armor can climb into ventilation ducts, and a Venom Tank can fit 50 people inside.

There were a full 50 people! God knows how they managed to squeeze them in, but somehow they did.

Keep in mind that the average height of Space Marine is only seven feet, and the Primaris Space Marine ten feet tall. They look big because they are strong, and each of them is like a double-door refrigerator. Yet, Raven Guard can squeeze into the refrigerator.

White Scars's bullet time and combat continuation are no different from having auto-aim enabled. Even when half-dead, he can still unleash a desperate attack. He's like a little swordsman with grassland blood, who can run you over on a motorcycle.

The Death Guard is even more formidable. With the thickest armor and the most brutal attacks, even if half your body is blasted away by a single Melta, it can still outlast you, and you might even lose the fight.

Therefore, depending on their characteristics, legions have different combat styles, legion cultures, and even the main functions they perform.

Heavy infantry advances seek out Death Guard, armored onslaughts seek out Iron Hands, precise decapitation strikes seek out the Son of the Emperor, and human wave tactics seek out Blood Angels.

It was these special abilities that allowed the Empire to advance rapidly during the Great Crusade, even encountering Powwa people who wielded dimensional slashes, Xenos resembling evil spirits, and Psychic Power fork soldiers that looked like Zhu Qianlong—each one more outrageous than the last.

Of the 20 Space Marine Legion, three have rather unique roles: the Atlas, which is in charge of logistics; the Space Wolves, the military police; and the Dark Angels, which no one wants to see.

The arrival of Atlas signifies the arrival of logistical support before a major battle; the arrival of Space Wolves indicates problems within their respective legions that necessitate immediate reorganization; and the arrival of Dark Angels has only one outcome: silencing witnesses.

A person's name is like a tree's shadow. Don't be fooled by Atlas's ability to play with the Dark Angels; it's because they're abnormal. They're like dogs, able to get along with anyone.

There's still hope if the Space Wolves come, but there's definitely no hope if the Dark Angels come, especially since they're in disguise and came with the Primarch.

Without any hesitation, upon realizing that this group of people were Dark Angels, Galileo immediately selected the Overload Power Pack Reactor, intending to use a move that would allow him to live as long as heaven and earth.

As for why they possessed this self-destruct technique, it was entirely out of desperation. Rather than be captured and punished, they preferred a spectacular death.

"Backup Hidden Energy - activated!"

"Start up!"

"Huh? Start it up!"

Although the broken neck was only a minor fatal injury, it left Galileo completely unable to control his body. He stared at Mordred with his lifeless fish eyes.

"Star God Power, kid! Do you have anything to say?"

"No need for further words, just kill me!"

Mordred hated these kinds of life-or-death struggles, especially after realizing there was no escape. All 50 Imperial Fists chose to self-destruct. Why were you making such a tragic spectacle? I'm not Slaaneshi Daemon; I even washed my face before coming here.

"I'm not a good person, no, I'm not a bad person. I swear in the name of the Primarch, we didn't come here with any intention of settling scores. Look at these big wings of mine, I am Sanguinius."

Galileo was still somewhat skeptical, simply because he saw Zhuang Sen disguised as Ogryn beside him, and combined with those Dark Angels, he knew without a doubt that this was the Lion King. "My head is about to be ripped off."

As for Mordred's disguised Great Angel, it did reassure Galileo somewhat, but that doesn't mean Sanguinius won't settle scores with them; the Primarch did just that back then.

Perhaps sensing the boy's concerns, Mordred kicked Zhuang Sen, who was just joining in the fun, away and did his best to use his mental power to calm the already furious Imperial Fists.

This skill, which originated from Angron and was once considered rather useless by Mordred, was indeed useful in this situation. Galileo, whose head had been ruffled, quickly calmed down, but perhaps a little too calmly, reaching a kind of sage mode.

Seeing that the guy had calmed down, Mordred, while maintaining his force field shield to withstand the bombardment, took out an elemental vial and poured it down the kid's throat.

The orange-yellow life essence flowed into his body, elevating the Space Marine's self-healing abilities to a new level. Accompanied by the cracking sounds of muscles twisting and bones resetting, Galileo could finally feel his buttocks again.

"See, I didn't lie to you. We're really not here to settle scores. By the way, do you know how long it's been since the current Empire was established? It's been 10,000 years. I'm here to find your Primarch. Quickly, summon Dorn."

"But..."

"But what is it? Tell me!"

"But we are not the Imperial Fists."

"What? You're not from the Imperial Fists, so why are you wearing Imperial Fists uniforms?"

Zhuang Sen's voice always sent chills down one's spine. The Dark Angels, disguised as the Imperial Fists, also sensed something was wrong. No wonder you bastards opened fire right away. So you have a grudge against the Imperial Fists?

"You're not from the Imperial Fists, they're not from the Imperial Fists, and I'm not from the Imperial Fists either. Then who are you? Forget it, I'll see for myself."

Mordred tore a piece of flesh out with his fingernail and threw it into his mouth. After a brief analysis, he instantly came to a conclusion:

"The Word Bearers?"

"No, you're just the Word Bearers, not a rebel army. Why are you hiding?"

"Reporting to the Great Commander, the Word Bearers have been removed from the list."

"What? Why don't I know? Zhuang Sen, do you know?"

Zhuang Sen shook his head, indicating that he didn't know either. Their eyes met, and the two of them instantly thought of one person.

"Guilliman?!" "That bastard's hiding something from us."

Since it wasn't the Imperial Fists, Mordred stopped pretending, reverted to his original form, grabbed Galileo, and ordered him to order the other side to cease fire.

Galileo certainly wouldn't agree. He could at least trust the Great Angel a little before, but now you're acting like some kind of Xenos, changing shape back and forth. Who do you think you are? You think you can just order a ceasefire and we'll stop?

"Fine, I admire your rebellious spirit, Rambo. Tell him who I am."

Having waited a long time, Rambo finally had his chance to shine, so he quickly got up from the ground and said arrogantly:

"Listen carefully, standing before you is the Lord of Atlas, the Second Primarch... the Eternally Healthy Great Commander of the Empire— Mordred Highness Mordred!"

"Atlas? Could you be...?"

"That's right, that's me."

"That lost primordial who sells tender catgirls, oh dear, Your Highness, you should have said so earlier! Commander, I didn't recognize you just now. I was wondering why those Rome's She-Wolf magazines suddenly had names on them lately."

The fighting ceased, but it unfolded in an unexpected way, leaving Mordred feeling uneasy, though he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Fortunately, Word Bearers, who had been beaten to his knees and turned into a vegetable, did not die. He recovered completely after taking a bite of orange juice. The two looked at each other, feeling slightly awkward.

To break the eerie atmosphere, Mordred spoke first, asking why they had come to Inwit and were impersonating the Imperial Fists.

"Your Highness, you are unaware of the truth; we have been forced into this state entirely by circumstances."

"There is no place for us in the empire anymore."