Echoes (Part Two)

Calling it a position was not quite accurate, since they were not fighting a tug-of-war here with the traitors outside. This was a hidden underground facility, solid and secure. Aside from the lack of automated firepower, everything about it was good.

It was a transit station, used by them to move between the ruined city and the Sanctuary of the Chanters. By now, they had been resisting bitterly on Isstvan III for one and a half solar months.

War was everywhere, and day and night made no real difference. But the Astartes were not gods. They were superhuman, true, but they still needed rest. At times like this, these underground passages became excellent places to choose. One hour, two hours—they could always recover some strength.

At that moment, Saul Tarvitz was sitting outside a room with its door tightly shut, listening to the intermittent screams coming from within, his expression grave.

He had no particular aversion to interrogation. In war, some things were necessary for victory. Questioning prisoners was required. What truly made his expression grave was this man, Frank Castle, who called himself the Punisher—what exactly was he doing in there?

Why could a World Eater be in such agony?

Another seven minutes passed before Frank walked out of the room, half his body covered in blood. "I've gotten it all out of him. They're very dissatisfied with your stubborn resistance. The storm caused by the bombardment is about to disperse. When it vanishes completely, they'll launch a general assault."

He recounted it without the slightest emotion, his voice utterly flat. "New companies, tanks, and heavy armored units will soon be sent here—to Choral City? Hmph, not a bad name."

Saul immediately frowned—if everything Frank said was true, then it could only mean one thing.

Their resistance could not