20. Red Sand (7)

Kharn could feel a deep chill creeping up his spine and down into his internal organs. Without warning, it rushed into his body, turning his blood into frozen ice crystals.

And he knew it wasn't fear.

It was something else. Something much older, more ancient, and more terrifying. He didn't yet know what it was, and if he did, he wouldn't be himself anymore.

As for now, he no longer had the time or the right to think about these things. Jager was smashing his armor with an axe, deliberately choosing the areas that were still intact, as if he were venting his anger.

He roared furiously, his face contorting into a vortex. After staring at the vortex for more than two seconds, Kharn finally escaped Jager's attack with a roll and got up—the latter was not surprised, only chuckling softly.

"Why are you still wearing that armor, Kharn?" the Fourth Company commander asked hoarsely.

At this moment, his voice sounds completely different from what Kharn remembered.

The voice was neither rational nor calm; it sounded like the rumble of tank tracks crushing through rubble—broken and terrifying, like a roar or a wail.

Kharn didn't answer him; he simply gripped the Chainaxe, activated it, and lunged at Jager. Axe against axe, monomolecular saw blades destroying each other as they spun rapidly.

Jager smiled casually, his face, which had turned deathly pale, still trembling for some reason.

Kharn stared intently into his eyes, and just a hair's breadth away from moving his gaze to Jager's forehead, his gaze continuing upwards, and then he would discover the truth—if he refused to meet Jager's eyes.

But he didn't.

He couldn't refuse; making eye contact with the enemy was one of Kharn's habits, one of many habits he had developed over years of war.

He had to stare into his opponent's eyes. He needed to use that to determine more.

So he missed the truth; what he got were two emotions from Jager's eyes—anger and intense hatred.

Jager grinned, meeting his gaze through his visor, a thick, metallic taste of blood lingering between his lips. "It's good to see you still have your old habits. But to wear it, how foolish, Kharn."

Kharn squinted, blood smeared between his eyelids, but he didn't care at the moment.

He did not let anger cloud his judgment because of Jager's insults. Similarly, he did not continue this dangerous struggle.

He didn't know if he could defeat Jager in terms of pure strength, but he wouldn't try it with his only weapon; it was pointless. Kharn could see that Jager also had a Chainsword hanging from his belt.

He abruptly stepped back, then nimbly moved to the left, his axe spinning in a deadly arc as it struck Jager's arm. Jaeger chuckled, neither dodging nor evading, and blocked the attack with his shoulder armor.

Kharn immediately frowned.

He immediately realized the gravity of the situation—he had indeed struck Jager's shoulder armor. However, the Chainaxe felt less like it had pierced the armor and more like it had sunk into mud.

Kharn stared in shock at the armor, noticing blood seeping from the metal. He instinctively continued to pull his arm, trying to free his weapon, but Jager didn't give him the chance.

The fourth company commander knocked him down again with a fierce chop, as easily and casually as a skilled lumberjack handling trees.

He kept chuckling coldly, pacing around Kharn, not in a hurry to kill him. His eyes inadvertently turned bloodshot. "Ten thousand years have passed, Kharn, ten thousand years."

He growled.

"And you actually dare to wear it? Why? Does that emblem and color give you some kind of twisted pleasure?"

"This is the symbol of my legion's glory." Kharn gasped as he rose from the ground again. "Not the twisted pleasure you speak of, Jager, you're insane."

"I--?"

Jager stared at him, then burst into furious laughter, the sound escaping his throat like a hoarse scream. "You dare call me crazy?!"

"Otherwise?" Kharn calmly retorted, while inwardly plotting how to defeat him—or simply retreat temporarily and seek other ways to find out what had happened.

"You're wearing armor from ten thousand years ago, Kharn, and you say I'm insane? You dress yourself up like a loyal dog of a False Emperor, with his lightning bolts even on your armor, and you say I'm insane?!"

Kharn paused for a moment.

Then they discarded the second option.

"What did you just say?" he asked. "What did you just say, Jager?"

Jager stopped answering and charged at him, howling.

Kharn's fingers began to tremble, an uncontrollable rage surging within him, almost breaking through the limits he had set for himself—the word Jager uttered had filled him with intense shock and fury.

He howled too and lunged at Jager. Axe clashed with axe again, the ferocity unique to War Hounds surging in their veins. In the heat of the battle, fueled by rage, Kharn realized that Jager wanted to kill him.

But he is too.

It took him less than half a second for this thought to arise in his mind and for him to become aware of it.

I want to kill him.

I wanted to kill my brother.

Why?

There was no time to think. The number of times the axe blades clashed was increasing, and the intervals were becoming shorter. The act of violence was slowly eroding Kharn's mind, leaving him no time to think further.

His focus earned him a fleeting opportunity, Kharn did not let slip away. He roared as he grabbed Jager's weapon-wielding hand and then swung the axe away.

Then, he used his free left hand to repeatedly punch Jager in the face. He knocked him to the ground, but his anger never subsided, because Jager was laughing throughout the entire process.

He kept laughing hysterically.

"What's so funny, Company Commander Jager?!" Kharn growled, grabbing Jager and slamming him to the ground. He could hear his own voice echoing around him. "What's so funny?!"

Jager didn't answer, only continued to laugh maniacally, his voice so broken. Kharn, panting heavily, took a step back, ultimately unable to bring himself to kill his brother.

He wouldn't allow himself to do it. He stared at Jager's face and saw the blurred flesh and blood and the pale bone fragments.

Kharn's gauntlets helped him achieve this; Jager's nose and brow bone were completely destroyed, and one of his eyes was gone, turned into some kind of muddy stuff stuck in its socket, trembling with its master's laughter.

His mouth was agape, blood glistening blurrily between his teeth. Kharn suddenly felt an intense, overwhelming fear, but he had no idea where it came from.

"I'm mocking you," Jager said in his broken voice. "You don't even dare to kill me, Kharn, what are you thinking?"

"Enough!"

Kharn growled and stomped on Jager, silencing him. His brother passed out, finally falling silent, but his face continued to tremble. Kharn stared at him with a mixture of anger and suspicion, unable to understand why Jager had become like this.

He still didn't look at the area above Jager's forehead.

"That's enough, that's enough."

He panted as he hung the Chainaxe back on his belt. Determined to leave, he needed to find his company commander, corps commander—or anyone else he could share this with; he had to report it to them.

The madness of a company commander is no small matter, and what's more, how dare he utter that terrifying neologism?

Kharn's teeth chattered, his mind a complete mess. He didn't know where he was, what had happened, or why Jager had become like that. He quickly left, disappearing into the darkness alone.

Behind him, Jager's body began to flicker, flickering incessantly.

Blood and bits of flesh began to peel away, and screaming souls emerged from the armor. For a fleeting moment, Jager's armor returned to the color of the War Hounds, and his face returned to normal. The Butcher's Nails no longer swayed behind his head and tormented him.

He was perfectly normal—screaming in terror, hoping that Kharn would return to kill him and get away from them to report what the Primarch had encountered in the Warp.

But Kharn didn't; he didn't remember.

And so everything started anew, and blood once again spread.

--

Karyl stood at the edge of the plain, gazing at the rolling hills below. From his expression alone, you couldn't tell what he was thinking, but you could still glimpse a part of what he was looking at in the reflection of his dark eyes.

It was a vast, burning, twisted mass of metal debris that covered the entire earth.

Just half an hour ago, this was liberated farmland and river, and people who had regained their freedom were working in the fields that truly belonged to them for the first time. When the Ultramarines passed by, they would greet them cheerfully in Nuceria, and some children would even chase after the vehicles, shouting and trying to give them some simple produce.

But now, there's nothing left.

There was only ruins.

Karyl slowly clenched his hands, rubbing his thumb, index finger, and middle finger together rapidly.

He looked at the ruins again, his eyes stinging, and a stench assaulted his nostrils, traveling over a thousand meters to reach them. It wasn't the smell of the living, but something emanating from that dark, lightless world.

They've arrived?

But how could that be? How could they possibly cross the Veil?

Amidst his chilling contemplation, he slowly exhaled a breath of air, which quickly froze, turning into dust that filled the air. In an instant, the world collapsed, blood flames erupted, turning everything into corpses in a river of blood, and then a voice roared furiously from within this illusion.

"You can't escape!" something behind the Veil roared at him with unprecedented fury. "They too!"

Karyl squinted, staring silently at the burning crimson flames. He could smell blood, but it wasn't the usual smell. A thought flashed through his mind.

He was injured.

So, is that the reason? The Veil can never truly stop them, as long as they are willing to pay the price?

No.

He abruptly cut off his thoughts and then rushed down the slope.

10,000 words today, two more chapters to go.