This is the Last Time.
My name is Sol Hal, and I am the Legion Commander of the Eighth Legion. By order of the Warmaster, I led the Eighth Legion on a month-long march and finally arrived at the Hive World called Nostramo.
I felt a sense of familiarity with this world hidden in an unknown cosmic region, and I wasn't the only one who felt this way; almost all the soldiers in the legion thought so.
Although they prefer the night, this lush green planet is quite nice too; they've become much more cheerful since arriving here.
My mood has improved.
According to the Warmaster, their Primarch has been identified, and the Legion is being summoned to bring him back.
This news caused a huge uproar within the legion, further increasing the already impoverished and neglected Eighth Legion's favor towards Prince Mordred, making them as popular as Prince Horus.
What's even more exciting is that the Emperor actually chose to come with them, a privilege the Eighth Legion had never experienced in their lives.
The soldiers were all talking about how this must be good luck brought to them by the Primarch; the Eighth Legion had finally turned around.
So much so that when carrying out the Warmaster's orders, they did not adopt their usual style of randomly choosing a world to carry out a massacre and create refugees, but instead carefully selected and dispatched Rogue Trader.
It's okay to waste a little time, after all, the Warmaster has given orders, and Atlas is the only cousin willing to aid the Eighth Legion. Who says they don't understand human relationships? They're shrewd.
Hehe, wiping the drool from his mouth, Sol figured it was probably due to the long Warp Voyage, which was perfectly normal. He just didn't know why there was a group of big guys wearing very little clothing hanging on that pillar over there.
Space Marine, Dog-men, Aeldari, and now an Arch-Magos? Sol didn't think much of it, assuming it was just a special welcoming ceremony by Atlas; they also liked to skin people and hang their skins as souvenirs.
"Hey, isn't that Tom the bastard hanging there? I never thought he'd get what's coming to him. Serves him right for stealing my power claw."
With an even higher mood, Sol stood at attention. He had already seen the Emperor descend, with the Arch-Magos beside him. He absolutely could not tarnish the Legion's reputation.
But this good mood didn't last long. As the scorching Lance descended from the sky and slammed into the head of the Master of Mankind, Sol knew that his life might be over.
Especially when he saw Mordred in with the Lance bombardment and stab the Emperor in the butt, Sol knew that he was not only finished, but also very likely to become an accomplice.
"Quickly, save His Majesty! This is a rebellion! The Warmaster has rebelled!"
Before Sol could finish speaking, he was slapped to the ground, and the crisp sound of Atlas bomb being chambered rang in his ears.
"Shut up! If you were really rebelling, I would have wiped you all out long ago. Yellow Skins over there, you like to play dead, don't you? Since you like to play dead, then keep lying there and see!"
Watching Atlas go about his business without a care for the Emperor's safety, the Space Marine of the Eighth Legion dared not move, and could only look at the Arch-Magos had suddenly appeared beside them.
A daring idea suddenly popped into Sol's mind. Sol didn't know why, but ever since arriving on this green planet, some disrespectful thoughts kept popping into his head:
"Could it be that the one Arch-Magos is in cahoots with the Warmaster? Does that mean I've become a loyal subject who has followed the emperor?"
No one knows why Sol had such thoughts, but his mistake was accidentally saying it out loud, which resulted in him being hit by the Cane Alien's Chaotic Cloak Staff Technique and having his left leg broken.
"Pah, serves you right for being so talkative. You've Fel Energy."
Having faced the Primarch's fierce battles and Malcador's club, Sol can now boast about it; at least his health bar is incredibly thick, comparable to the Khorne Chosen, Kharn.
Just as Sol was about to get up, he was helped up by a pair of small, childlike hands. All the soldiers of the Eighth Legion turned to look at the small figure surrounded by three boys.
Here, have a piece of candy.
"Father, Father, are you my My Father?"
Sol was overjoyed when Koz helped him up. He struggled to control his trembling hands and caught the orange-flavored hard candy.
[Damn it, that damned Sol got his father's gift first! He deserves to die!]
Having rehearsed multiple times beforehand, Koz wasn't intimidated. After helping Sol to the right position, he led his friends to the platform and stood in front of Mordred and the Arch-Magos Malcador.
At this moment, the Space Marine of the Eighth Legion finally saw their Primarch's appearance clearly and began to discuss it wildly in their internal communications.
[Oh my god, how come my father is so small?]
[What's wrong with being small? Concentrated goodness is the essence. This is clearly the Primarch not yet fully grown. We also have our own Primarch.]
[Yes, yes, smaller is better. Our Primarch is so cute! I want to Kiya!]
Perhaps due to the excessively high concentration of Fel Energy, the Eighth Legion, who were not wearing helmets, inevitably inhaled the Fel Energy fumes. In addition, Mordred, the Biggest Chaos Energy Pollution Source, deliberately caused this, resulting in them being directly infected with the Idiot Virus and already having a blast.
Time ticked by, and Koz finally saw the Golden Giant lying on the ground, feigning death. He already knew this was his father, but all he saw was a blinding golden light mixed with darkness.
"Soldiers of the Eighth Legion, my Konrad Koz, I am the Primarch of the Empire, and your father."
Even though I never imagined I would have 40,000 offspring, I never imagined I would meet you all so soon.
But I will remember each and every one of your names and fulfill my duties as a father, instead of using you as bloodstained tools for slaughter.
I have returned, midnight is approaching, and I will lead you to victory after victory. We are of one mind and will never betray each other. We are the Night Lords!
And will you always be by my side?
Koz had indeed been corrupted by Atlas, using his age advantage to launch a shameful seductive attack, his eyes sparkling as he gazed longingly at the Night Lords below.
Under this overwhelming and irresistible onslaught, without exception, the Night Lords were preoccupied with their one-year-old fathers.
"Caw~ Father, we love you so much!"
"Long live the Konrad Curze!"
"Damn, I have to start right away--"
Perhaps feeling that continuing to play dead was too embarrassing, and wanting to feel more involved, the Golden Giant teleported to the high platform.
He simply lifted Koz high above his head, making him act as part of the atmosphere team, just like the human-machine interface, so that he wouldn't feel so awkward.
But as soon as the return ceremony ended, that shameless Emperor ran backstage and grabbed Mordred's leg, making Malcador shake his head repeatedly.
Mordred, I can't live without you!
"Get lost, you bastard! You still have the nerve to talk back? You dare to do it but not admit it, huh? I trusted you so much, and how did you treat me? You were spying on me!"
The more arrogant he was before, the more humble he became now, clinging to the Golden Giant and refusing to let go, for the first time actively using his supposedly nonexistent emotional intelligence:
"Son, you promised to team up with me for the Great Crusade forever, please help me!"
When their eyes met, Mordred saw the truth hidden beneath the Psychic Power suit: there was no omnipotent Master of Mankind, only a slightly weary middle-aged man with pleading eyes.
"But why are you doing this? Why are you spying on me?"
"Because you are my proudest offspring, I don't want to lose you one day!"
The sudden straight ball Mordred a little dizzy. He didn't know if it was a lie, but he still kicked it right in the Emperor's backside.
"Damn, I must have owed you something in my past life. This is the last time."