24: Burned Out (III)
Jill Baldwin swung her arm, effortlessly pulling a Power Sword she'd picked up on the road from the enemy's chest.
The owner of that twisted face lay on the ground, his filthy ashes scattering in the wind. The blue and white armor reappeared. Jill Baldwin didn't know why, but he knew the names of every brother he had killed.
He knew everything, but that didn't stop him from continuing to fight.
"Who's next?!" he roared at the enemy on the bridge. "Jill Baldwin, the War Hounds, awaits here!"
The next man rushed forward and was knocked down, but this only added a new scar to his wound. The man lay on the ground, and Jill recognized him. He was Lo Endelis of the Third Company, now dead, killed by Jill Birdwin, by the hand of their corps commander.
But that doesn't matter, I'm not dead yet.
"Next!" the War Hounds roared at the sea of crimson and brass. "Who's next?!"
Next, next, next, and then another—the corpses piled up, and Jill Birdwin's body began to drain of blood, but he remained standing.
He was just steps away from the bridge and the communications equipment. If he could win this battle, he would be able to send a message to the nearest Imperial Navy.
He had already planned it out. He would send a code to let them know that it was Jill Baldwin, commander of the Twelfth Legion's War Hounds, and then he would issue an order, in the name of the Emperor, for all Imperial Navy that received the message to come and open fire on them.
The Firm Resolve is no longer protected by shields; its propulsion system and all other systems have shut down. One or two salvos are all it takes to completely obliterate the contaminated War Hounds, turning them into dust in space.
He had to.
They have to.
"Next!" Jill Birdwin roared into the darkness, his face contorted with rage, obscured by blood and dust, only his eyes remaining bright. "Who's next?!"
There was no answer, nor did any enemy rush towards him with a thirst for blood. He looked around and saw the dead eyes of his brothers.
Jill Baldwin tossed the Power Sword aside, throwing it away as if it were trash.
He stumbled forward, his bridge too familiar to Firm Resolve, even though it had become an almost unrecognizable, twisted, and malevolent place. Yet, he could still recognize the details hidden beneath the skull.
He spent most of his life here.
He lunged at a piece of equipment, his gauntlet brushing against its tattered cables. Then he used it as a springboard, propelling himself toward another long, dark platform. He knew where he was.
Jill Birdwin knelt down, then got up again, grabbing the edge of the iron platform with his hands, which were almost completely devoid of strength, and pulled himself up.
"I'm going to die," he thought.
He stood up straight, then braced himself against the metal platform, using it to support his weak legs.
He wiped away the dark dust, found a few buttons, and pressed them—Jill Birdwin could feel his life slipping away, his eyes were almost closing, but he hadn't yet.
A few seconds later, the machine lit up, a faint blue light flashing briefly in the darkness. The communication system had emergency power; that was great.
Jill wanted to laugh, but he didn't have the strength. Outside the porthole in front of him was a pitch-black vacuum. He breathed in the foul air, not even glancing at the vacuum. A slight sense of satisfaction welled up in his heart, which was almost devoid of joy or anger.
A cold satisfaction, a satisfaction enveloped in death.
He fell to the ground again, landing face down on the iron platform—he was supposed to have crushed the machine, but he didn't, perhaps because he had bled out.
Jill Birdwin leaned against it and touched a button with her cheek. The machine began searching for nearby Imperium ships, then responded to him with a creaking mechanical voice.
Unfortunately, Jill Birdwin could no longer hear the response.
He opened his mouth, but it took him several seconds to speak. He first read out a complex identification code, then touched another button with his cheek to set the broadcast to repeat mode.
At this moment, he began to feel especially grateful to the group of communicators led by Tarolan. They were pursuing efficiency, which was why they had designed this unique communication button, simplifying many complex operations into operations that could be replaced by a single button.
But they died too, all of them died, and their bodies were hanging outside the bridge.
Are there any survivors on our ship besides the enemy?
Jill Birdwin had no answer.
He opened his mouth; his body was already on the verge of death, but his will still compelled him to speak, to speak clearly.
"This is Jill Baldwin, Commander of the War Hounds. I have sent the code, and I demand that any Imperial Navy receiving this message open fire on us immediately. This is no joke, I swear in the name of the Emperor and of our Primarch, Angron. Whoever you are, open fire on us."
Thirty seconds, long, short, the final thirty seconds.
He finally finished speaking, clearly and distinctly, covered in dust and blood.
Jill Birdwin collapsed heavily to the ground, his body devoid of warmth and strength. His eyes were open, his pupils dilating, and two dried tears rolled down his cheeks, slicing through the blood and dust before shattering into pieces.
Angron.
In his final moments, Jill Baldwin, the War Hounds, was still silently reciting the name of their never-before-seen Primarch.
--
"What's the meaning?"
Roboute Guilliman asked—he had already donned his armor and taken his weapons. He was fully armed. His brother, however, was different; Angron was taller than Roboute Guilliman and naturally couldn't fit into the armor tailor-made for the Lord of Macragge.
However, no one advised him against participating in the boarding.
"Literal meaning, Primarch."
Marius Gage spoke to his Primarch on the bridge via the ship's internal communications.
"We received a broadcast from the Firm Resolve. The signal was unfamiliar, not like the one in the database, but the broadcaster gave the correct code. He identified himself as Jill Birdwin, commander of the War Hounds, and ordered us to open fire on the Firm Resolve."
Roboute Guilliman turned and glanced at his brother from his private armory. Angron frowned, so Roboute Guilliman said, "Play this audio."
"Are you sure, Primarch?" Marius Gage asked from inside the armory.
"I'm sure."
A few seconds later, a voice beyond description rang out in Roboute Guilliman's private armory.
"This is Jill Baldwin, Commander of the War Hounds. I have sent the code, and I demand that any Imperial Navy receiving this message open fire on us immediately. This is no joke, I swear in the name of the Emperor and of our Primarch, Angron. Whoever you are, open fire on us."
Silence.
Roboute Guilliman looked back at his brother and saw that Angron's face was changing at a slow pace.
"Primarch?"
"What's up?"
Should we open fire?
"."
Roboute Guilliman did not answer. He looked at his brother again, but Angron had already closed his eyes, and his expression gradually became a terrifying vortex that Roboute Guilliman could not comprehend.
Suddenly, Roboute Guilliman, with his extraordinary insight, understood something—the only thing his brother wanted to do at that moment.
He wanted to find the person who had turned his legion into this, and then he wanted Vengeance.
Vengeance.
The concept appeared in an instant, the lights in the armory began to flicker, and the distinctive hissing of the communication system faded away, replaced by a somber and solemn low sound—the voices of a thousand—or perhaps ten thousand dead, resounding low within the armory.
Roboute Guilliman wanted to speak, but he couldn't; the temperature plummeted, becoming almost icy cold that froze his blood. The next second, as Angron opened his eyes, the surroundings finally turned completely black.
And Karyl Lohars was standing right in front of them.
Its body was a bloody mess, but its eyes gleamed with golden light.
"Don't fire, Roboute," he said softly. "There are still War Hounds fighting on the Firm Resolve. They thirst for death, but do you really want to send them to their deaths with your own hands?"
"Karyl? What's going on?" Roboute Guilliman wanted to ask him, but he couldn't speak, he couldn't utter a word.
"I," Karyl, his body mangled and bloodied, lowered his head and smiled. "I can't explain it to you in detail, you know why, Roboute."
Roboute Guilliman frowned.
Are you using psychic communication? Who hurt you like this?
"That's not important, Roboute Angron."
Karyl sighed.
"You may board the ship now."
He spoke calmly, his face shifting between the pale bones and the bloody mess; the golden light still lingered, but had weakened considerably.
In the dim light, Roboute Guilliman heard a series of angry thunderclaps, the sound of feathers scraping, and a sharp, maniacal laugh.
"I have cleared the obstacles for you, but do not take anyone else with you. Only the two of you may board that ship. The strength I still possess is insufficient to support the many warriors I have helped, Roboute."
He sighed and closed his eyes.
"Go and save them, Angron," Karyl said to them. "Go and save your legion, your flagship, your offspring."
As the words fell, the thunder faded into the distance, and the armory returned to normal in the next second. Angron and Roboute Guilliman remained absolutely silent, while Marius Gage's words still echoed in their ears.
"Shall we open fire, Primarch? Lord Angron?"
After a long time, Angron, a gladiator from Nuceria, spoke his first words under a completely new identity.
"No," he said slowly. "Don't fire."
Roboute Guilliman looked at him, genuinely saddened for him. Yet, at the same time, a chilling anger rose within him.
"I'll help you," Roboute Guilliman said seriously. "We'll find the culprit, and then we'll throw him into hell."
Besides