7. Wrathflame (III)

Under the cover of night, Karyl first saw the burning flames, then the collapsed ruins.

A large hole was blasted into the edge of the arena, and the dozens of meters high building had a truncated section in its otherwise intact wall, as if someone had slicing a piece off out of thin air with a giant blade. It didn't look like the kind of mark an explosion should leave.

He approached quickly, but out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of blue beneath the burning ruins. His eyes narrowed, Karyl immediately stopped. In a few swift movements, he lifted the rubble, revealing a soldier buried beneath it, engulfed in a pool of blood—clearly his own.

His Power Armour bore charred marks, and a large hole tore through his chest, exposing and sparking cables. His own chest was mangled beyond recognition, as if he had been struck head-on by something like a bomb. Karyl silently pulled him out, a fleeting blue glint in his eyes.

He pulled off the wounded man's helmet, carefully examined his features, and only after confirming that there was no bleeding from his eyes, ears, nose, or mouth did he carry him outside the ruins. After healing him with his psionic energy, he raised his right hand and used the communication channel to notify the Second Company in the city.

Only after receiving an affirmative answer did Karyl re-enter the ruins.

He leaped across flames and collapsed walls, moving with ghostly speed. Flames flickered, smoke billowed, and the wooden chairs placed on the stands became catalysts for the fire to spread. As he advanced, the most common sight he saw were corpses.

Six of the dead were Ultramarines, their bodies mangled beyond recognition, charred marks spreading across fragments of their armor, yet the U-shaped insignia still gleamed. Karyl silently gathered their remains, led them away from the ruins, and then re-entered.

The fire intensified, spreading relentlessly. The billowing smoke, acrid and choking, was of no use to him. His vision remained clear, and his hearing was still sharp. He could hear a subtle sound amidst the crackling of the flames, carried by an imperceptible breeze, which he caught without hesitation.

Karyl turned and sped off in that direction.

Along the way, he saw more corpses, but they no longer belonged to the Ultramarines; they were corpses created by Boltgun.

Many of them died still clutching weapons, a gleaming silver metal gun that did not appear to be loaded with live ammunition.

He continued forward, stepping over a sandpit that was gradually undergoing a transformation due to the high temperature and its deep pit with edges filled with some kind of acid, until he reached the front of a cave. Molten black metal fragments were slowly deforming along its edges, and large pieces of broken metal lay on the ground. Karyl knew that there must have been a large door here before.

The sound originated from here.

Just as he was about to enter, a rapid and tense unfamiliar language came from inside the cave. Karyl slowly squinted his eyes and raised his hands, deliberately using a speed that was easy for an ordinary person to see.

He could clearly see the man aiming at him from inside the cave, so he didn't want to cause any misunderstanding. A few seconds later, a man holding a metal gun came out. He had many scars on his body, the most conspicuous of which was the claw mark on his chest.

Karyl could tell that it was a mark left by some kind of ferocious beast, which also proved the man's identity—the arena certainly couldn't just let gladiators fight each other; battles with dangerous beasts could also make tickets sell very well.

He stared blankly at the man, who was lost in a strange, bewildered state. His body trembled slightly, and his expression held a terrifying complexity. After a while, he lowered his gun, gestured for Karyl to come inside with him.

Karyl lowered his raised hands but did not agree. He lowered his head, and a blue light flashed in his eyes again.

"No," Karyl said. "Before that, I need to ask you a few questions."

The man looked at him in surprise, his wariness returning. He raised his gun. "Who are you?"

"I am Karyl Lohars, an instructor in the Eighth Legion of the Imperium of Man. And who are you?"

"What... what Imperium?" The man frowned. "Where are you from? Your accent is strange."

Of course it's strange; I've only recently learned your language.

Karyl raised his hand and pointed to the sky.

"What do you mean by this?" the man asked.

"I come from the heavens, beyond the stars," Karyl said. "Believe it or not, it is the truth."

The man stared at him, still holding his gun. Karyl met his gaze calmly; he knew, of course, that his words would sound no different from the ravings of a madman to a gladiator, but he had no intention of lying.

Moreover, he could sense the subtle emotions in the man's heart—he instinctively felt fear when he saw Karyl, yet he still raised his gun.

But when he saw Karyl's face clearly, his fear vanished, replaced by a strange joy. It was strange because this joy wasn't for himself. And along with this joy, a sense of pity and sorrow also flashed through his mind.

Whom do we sympathize with? And for whom do we grieve?

"So, you and those blue giants come from the same place?" the man asked after a while.

"They're called Ultramarines," Karyl said. "They belong to the Imperium of Man, just like me, but they don't come from the same place as me. They're here to liberate you."

"Liberation?"

"It's so you won't have to be gladiators anymore."

The man stared at him blankly, as if he didn't understand what he was saying. After a while, he put the gun down again and wiped his face with his trembling hands, which were stained with dried blood. "My name is Karelian, and I come from the Norr Sands."

"My name is Karyl Lohars, and I'm from Nostramo."

"Karyl?" Karelian repeated his name, pronouncing those three syllables in the native language of Nuceria with difficulty, but he managed it, albeit with some stumbling.

Then he made the gesture again. "You should come in, those blue warriors, they need your help."

Karyl nodded to him and followed him into the cave. Karelian was surprised by his lack of hesitation, but he didn't forget to explain, speaking in a low voice as he led Karyl into the cave.

"The arena guards fought them into the underground caves. Those tall warriors are very brave, but they are now too few in number; there are only three of them. We are helping them, but we can't help much. This arena belongs to the Talco Family, and they have many personal guards stationed there."

Karyl didn't speak, but silently memorized the names of the Talco Family.

He followed Karelian into the cave, his over four-meter-tall frame not appearing cramped at all. Karelian looked up at him, then suddenly laughed, a strange, sorrowful laugh.

"Ever since Angron turned twelve, they've expanded the entire underground cavern. You should thank him, Karyl, or you might have bumped your head."

"Angron?"

"You don't know him?" Karelian countered. "I thought you would."

"I come from beyond the stars, from a place so far away from you that it's almost impossible for me to know him. Who is he?"

Karelian paused for a moment, then answered his question in a very soft voice, "He's the same as you."

"Same as me?"

"As tall as you, as inhuman as you," Karelian said. "I understood when I saw you, just like I understood when I first saw him. You are all different from us. To be honest, Karyl, I was actually quite scared when I pointed a gun at you."

The gladiator laughed, feigning bravery, as if mocking himself, or perhaps taking the opportunity to speak his true feelings.

Karyl stopped in his tracks, an unlikely guess emerging in his mind. He should have thought Karelian was lying, but the subtle emotions in the latter's heart at this moment did not escape his perception.

So, Karyl took a deep breath.

How tall is he?

"A little shorter than you."

Where is he now?

Karelian stopped in his tracks, turned around in the darkness, and gave Karyl a complicated smile.

"Fighting," he said. "Alone."

--

Rasheed Pal of the 2nd Chapter, Second Company Ultramarines Chapter felt an urge to vomit. He lowered his head and vomited up pieces of internal organs, the smell of blood filling his mouth. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he appeared calm.

Turning his head, he saw their Apothecary Fritz bandaging a woman whose abdomen was bleeding and whose neck was twitching abnormally.

Lashford could see she was suffering from the aftereffects of the explosion, but to be honest, the gladiator was lucky to have survived. Many of their brothers weren't so fortunate.

As he thought about this, names flashed through Lashford's mind, and the faces those names referred to came to mind as well.

He couldn't help but slowly clench his right hand, the metal clanging and creaking. But Lashford knew it was no use.

The explosion came so suddenly, so unexpectedly. The arena guards clearly knew what was going on; despite being pushed back, they roared excitedly and launched a charge after the explosion.

And then there are the modified soldiers who use silver tentacles as weapons.

Lassford pursed his lips. Beside him, Sergeant Tampafus of the squad continued his current task diligently—calling out to their superior on the communications channel and trying to report the current situation.

"This is Sergeant Tampafus. Repeat, this is Sergeant Tampafus. We were attacked by unidentified local Psyker inside the arena. Seven of our brothers are missing. We have three of us left, and we are continuing to fight them in the underground caverns of the arena. We need reinforcements."

No one answered the channel. The gladiators, gripping their weapons—lances, short swords, longswords, and axes—watched Sergeant Tampafus continue making these sounds. Several of them looked on with pity, as if they thought he had gone mad.

Lashford knew he hadn't, but he felt the sergeant should be soon. After all, their communications had been completely destroyed in the explosion. That was undeniable; their superiors couldn't possibly ignore their request.

Furthermore, the sergeant stubbornly believed it was a psionic explosion. This made no sense at all. They had no evidence to prove that it was an attack caused by Psyker.

With a sigh, Rasheed reached out his hand, trying to dissuade the soldiers from their futile efforts. They now had to lead the civilians out of the underground cave on their own; the honor of the Ultramarines could not be compromised.

But just as he stretched out his hand, he heard a non-human roar—coming from the depths of the rocks, filled with unparalleled fury, like the howl of a wild beast.

Lashford immediately became alert. He gripped his Chainsword, not immediately activating it, but preparing to face the approaching beast.

He turned to look at the gladiators, hoping to glean something from their reactions, but they remained perfectly calm. The woman who had been convulsing beside the Apothecary, too, had now calmed down.

She opened her mouth and slowly uttered three syllables. Lassford frowned and repeated it in High Gothic: "Ang-Long?"

He didn't know what it meant, only that each syllable sounded like a roar. The sergeant stopped shouting and stood up decisively.

"Prepare for battle," he commanded curtly. "No one can harm these civilians until we are all dead. They showed us the way to escape the fire and the encirclement, so we must protect them."

"Understood," Lashford replied in a low voice.

Besides