34 Judgment Day (III)

Nerat Killing could hear the bells; he could hear them, fucking, no matter where he was.

Covering their ears is useless, and trying to lose their hearing is equally useless. The existence of the bell seems to be a mockery of them—try it? Try it, go ahead, it's all in vain.

He can hear it, I don't know how, he just can hear it.

Captain Shadow gripped his uniform collar, running his fingers over each button, trying to calm himself. But he failed, for he saw the sky.

The sky was a thin, dusty color; the sky shouldn't be this color—it shouldn't be, the sky should be.

What color should the sky be?

Captain Shadow's fingers began to tremble, and his eyes rolled vacantly, drawing his optic nerves toward the hovering fighter jets.

They remained motionless, as if dead. Their engines were no longer roaring, their fuselages no longer trembling, and a long white trail of air trailed behind them. This trail of air did not dissipate; it simply floated in the sky.

Nerat stared at it, feeling a sharp pain in his eye. Only then did he realize that his eye was bleeding. Finally, he began to blink, and his vision blurred.

The ground began to tremble and crack, from which thick blood gushed, bubbling and steaming like magma. He couldn't help but stare at it, and in this painful yet captivating gaze, the captain's consciousness was pulled away.

In the next instant, he found himself in a darker place, naked and separated from everyone. No one was with him except the dead. They rose silently in the darkness and stared at him.

His jaw opened, and a final, agonizing scream escaped his throat.

"Why, Captain?"

Nerat wanted to answer, but he didn't get the chance. He blinked, and in that single blink, he was back in that chaotic hell.

The ground closed up, and no more blood or lava oozed from it. The ground was terrifyingly smooth, as unremarkable as any other alien surface he had ever trodden upon in his past life.

The captain looked down at the ground, his mind once again filled with confusion: Where am I? Where is this place?

His question was shattered by a roar, turning into scattered fragments and gore in an instant, like a corpse crushed by a tank.

"Pay attention, Nerat!" the officer's shout rang out the next moment. "Look down there, focus your attention!"

Okay, yes, focus your attention.

Like a puppet, Nerat Killin bowed his head and did as he was told—but what did he see?

He saw a rift valley, collapsed ruins, and the Sorocia Vanguard Regiment fighting a bloody battle.

Their adversaries are bloodless and ruthless drones. The Balatrum people have poured their life's work into these drone swarms, which are formidable in firepower, agile in movement, and diverse in type. Even for Astartes, they are a terrifying enemy.

Nerat Killing looked up and asked his superior, "Should we provide assault support, sir?"

His superior, a man whose body was half torn apart, shook his head at him. He only reached up to Captain Shadow's waist, but Nerat looked up at him as if he were the giant among them.

"A raid? Are you out of your mind?" His superior scoffed. "We've already communicated with Horus's wolf pack; this will be another positive demonstration of decapitation strike tactics."

"But," Nerat Killing hesitated for a moment, "This will cause heavy losses to the elite regiment."

"What does it have to do with us?" the man in the tattered uniform of the Sorocia Vanguard Regiment replied indifferently.

"This is not our concern, Captain. We are Astartes, and our lives are far more valuable than these mortals. We can die, but we must die for a reason, not here."

A wave of shame surged through the captain, forcing him to clench his fists.

He hadn't realized he was still wearing a military uniform, not Power Armour. He had no weapons at his waist, only a leather belt. He also didn't notice the look in his superior's eyes; he noticed nothing at all.

The captain silently lowered his head, offering no further rebuttal, as if he had already acquiesced to all that was to come.

One hour and fifty-three minutes later, the entire Sorocia Vanguard Regiment responsible for building defensive fortifications in the middle of the rift was dead. Before they died, they made countless requests for support, but no one responded.

Gazing at the towering mass of corpses, Nerat Killin felt a wave of bewilderment wash over him. An almost instinctive sense of shame reminded him of something, but he couldn't see it or hear it at that moment.

The only thing he could see was the pile of corpses outside the collapsed walls of Hell Anvil.

The only thing he could hear was the broken screams of his superior officer in his ear.

"Ready, Captain Nerat Killing! Get ready now! With your Ashen Claws, storm the fortress according to plan!"

"Yes, sir!" The captain instinctively brought his toes together and answered his superior loudly.

He instinctively and mechanically reached for his belt, which had been empty, but now, with his movement, a Boltgun inexplicably appeared. And so, gripping the gun, he jumped alone into the ravine.

His military uniform billowed, the hem fluttering wildly, while he heard the distinctive sound of his jetpack. After several shocks caused by the recoil, he landed on the ground.

"Listen carefully." Nerat spoke calmly into a non-existent communication channel; he had already entered combat mode.

"The mission is to storm Hell Anvil and find the fortress's energy source. Based on calculations, the Balatrum people are using a reactor or some other type of machine with immense thermal power. We need to bypass their overseers, locate the reactor, and destroy it directly. Understand?"

"I have a question, Captain," a voice said. "Why must we listen to Horus? He's not our Primarch. To abandon the Abhumans without communicating with them is simply outrageously arrogant."

"If you're unhappy with the plan beforehand, you should have said so," Nerat Killin said, turning to speak to the empty air.

His expression was distorted, because he actually agreed with the voice's words to some extent. But his duty as a captain did not allow him to disobey the already established orders and plans at this moment.

"For victory, we need them to make sacrifices to tie down the enemy. This is all for the successful recapture of Balatrum, and they will understand."

"Will they really understand us?" the voice asked again. "Our actions are practically tantamount to betrayal, Captain. We ignored all their requests for support."

"That's not our concern," Nerat Killin growled in reply. "Grip your guns, soldiers, prepare for battle."

"Yes, sir." Nerat Killin mechanically raised his head, gripped the phantom spear that had appeared in his hand without him noticing, and bent over as he walked into the living hell made up of corpses.

What was the scenery like inside the fortress? Nerat didn't care at all. Before his eyes were patches of black and red mist, everything was shrouded in mist. The walls and the ground were clearly made of bloody corpses, but he didn't find anything strange about it.

The captain walked mechanically, weaving through the corpses; his confused state of mind did not affect his ability to carry out his mission. He was already prepared and ready.

The Astartes are a subspecies of humans modified to achieve victory in war. They are superior to humans in some ways, grow and are reborn in battle, and will eventually die in a battle. This is their destiny, an inescapable fate.

Nerat Killing had accepted this long ago, so it only took him five hours and twenty-three minutes to lead his non-existent team to the ion reactor at Hell Anvil.

The Balatrum fortress overseers launched a frenzied attack on them, and these withered humanoids, transformed from living people and clad in mechanical enhancements, caused considerable trouble for his forces.

Wait, do they really exist?

For a fleeting, almost imperceptible moment, a tiny doubt arose in Nerat Killing's mind.

He stared blankly at the vast expanse of mangled corpses before him, his eyes darting wildly. Enemy, overseer, death—several words strung together in his mind, forming a short sentence.

In that instant, Captain Shadow succumbed to unavoidable madness and terror.

Yes, the Balatrum overseers should have been dead long ago; they should have turned to ashes in the explosion of the ion reactor. How could they still be standing before him, fighting him?

The distorted memories and the jumbled timelines caused the captain's brain to tremble violently, and drool to drip from his mouth. After several minutes of torture, he collapsed to the ground, his uniform stained with blood, but he rose again the next second.

This time, his face was completely blank.

"We found it." Nerat Killing reported to his superior, his face blank but his tone excited. "We've found the ion reactor inside the Hell Anvil, sir. Please give instructions for the next move."

His superior did not answer.

"Sir?"

"You don't need my instructions, Captain," his superior officer whispered behind him. "The objective was set a long time ago, wasn't it? Plant the Melta Bomb, then lead your squad to evacuate as quickly as possible and detonate it."

Nerat Kilin turned around in surprise, looking up once again at his superior who was much shorter than him.

"But—" he couldn't help but argue, "--this would kill all the Abhumans are still fighting, and even if they don't die, they'll be buried under the ruins of Hell Anvil's Anvil."

"They are just mortals." The officer smiled coldly, his charred cheeks gleaming. The rough cross-section of flesh made his face look almost like a postmodern abstract painting.

"And mortals should sacrifice themselves for Astartes; this is Horus's teaching. He didn't say it explicitly, but he taught you this principle through his actions in his Radiance. The Luna Wolves taught you this. If Astartes can sacrifice themselves for the Great Crusade at will, why can't mortals?"

"Yes, why should I?" Nerat Killin was stunned again. He wanted to refute it; the last vestiges of his reason were struggling to emerge in his almost dead consciousness, in this scorching hell. He threw out a sentence.

"Shouldn't we at least inform them?" Captain Shadow said hesitantly. "Even if they're just mortals, they're still Auxilia. If it weren't for them holding the line on the front lines, we definitely wouldn't have won so easily."

The officer sighed, and in an instant, the world spun around him. Darkness descended, dragging Nerat Killin abruptly into the deep darkness he had once trod. Once again, he was naked. Once again, he was all alone.

Once again, the dead looked over with their empty gazes.

"Why didn't you say that then, Captain?" his superior officer asked quietly. "Why didn't you say those words then?"

Nerat Kilin was stunned; he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

One second he was fighting his abominable overseers in the massive Balatrum fortress, and the next he was here, seeing these dead men. These were pale-faced, with black eyes and gaping mouths revealing withered gums.

"I"

"Why, Captain?" the officer continued. "Why would you just watch us die and do nothing?"

Am I hallucinating? Nerat asked himself, but got no answer. Then he looked at the man, at the man he called his superior.

His eyes swept over every detail of the bloodied and mangled face, and finally, some memories, even those that were too distant for him to recall, were awakened.

A chill ran down the captain's spine. Never before in his life had he felt such a strong coldness and an urge to vomit his heart out.

It's you.

Amidst the chaos of time, the chaos of memories, and the chaos of self, Nerat Killin spoke softly, his voice barely audible.

It's you.

"Yes, it's me," the officer said. "The Abhumans you spoke with before the battle, you finally recognized me, Captain."

"Why?" Nerat Killing asked with difficulty. "Is this some kind of revenge?"

"No, that's not it." The Abhumans laughed. "If I wanted revenge, you wouldn't be here talking to me. But I actually have perfectly legitimate reasons to seek revenge, do you agree?"

Nerat Kirin remained silent for a long time before nodding slightly.

"I agree," he admitted, repeating. "I agree, you have every reason and right to seek revenge."

"So, this wasn't a premeditated revenge." The Abhumans shook his head with a smile. "Don't get me wrong, Captain, I'm not a saint. If I had the chance, I would have killed you."

He raised his hand and mysteriously pointed to the top of his head. The darkness was empty, yet suddenly, the sound of a bell rang out. No, perhaps the bell had never left.

"He who awakened us from our eternal slumber has granted us this sacred right. Can you hear the bells? That is His proclamation. Vengeance is sacred, supreme, and no sane person should allow their enemy to continue to greedily breathe in this world."

He paused, and his eyes, reflecting the twilight, suddenly filled with sorrow.

"Do you know why I've been hesitant to act?" the Abhumans asked sadly.

"Why?" Unable to contain himself, Nerat Kilin asked the question.

His thoughts were still jumbled; he still couldn't figure out who he was talking to or where he was. But he didn't really care. To be honest, he didn't really care.

The image of Al Phall, bowing and scraping before Horus flashed before his eyes, while the friendly, condescending smiles of the Luna Wolves swept through his mind.

And their voices, those flippant voices laced with gang slang—"Just do it, cousin, it's not hard at all. Mortals should sacrifice for us."

"Because you're not a complete bastard yet, because your life is still useful to the Emperor and to humanity."

The Abhumans suppressed his sorrowful smile and answered the question with the indifference of the dead. And with that indifference, he began a speech.

No, it wasn't a speech; only Nerat Kilin called it a speech. In reality, it was the last words of a dead man.

"Let me tell you something, Captain Nerat Killing. I'm afraid to die. We're all afraid to die. We were conscripted from our own homes, trained, and sent to invade the homes of others. We fight for the Emperor, we fight for humanity. We were prepared for this from the very beginning."

But we are still afraid of dying.

"Take me for example. I think of blades, stray bullets, bombings. These images related to death have flashed through my mind countless times, making my legs tremble and my muscles tense before the battle begins. But when it actually comes, I realize what my fundamental fear is."

"Ultimately, the death I fear is a meaningless death. Am I brave? No. But I will not fear death. If I can give my life for the Great Crusade, if I can keep my oath and shed my last drop of blood for the Emperor, then death is a reward to me."

Nerat Killing raised his hand and covered his cheek.

"What, are you going to cry?" the dead man sneered. "For this truth that's finally out in the open? Yes, accept reality, Captain. What you did on Balatrum wasn't just sending us to our deaths; you made our deaths utterly meaningless."

"Yes, I know, yes," Nerat Kilin screamed inwardly, while the Abhumans continued.

"Do you really think the Sorocia Vanguard Regiment would be unwilling to sacrifice themselves for victory? Or are you Astartes so arrogant that you believe no other army in the galaxy can match your courage?"

"Let me make this clear to you: you're brave because you fucking have nothing to fear. You could flip a car with a wave of your hand, and tear our defenses apart with a single charge."

"But we are different. We are mortals clad in Carapace Armour, something that a hundred of us combined might not be able to match even one of you. But we are far braver than you, do you understand?"

Captain Shadow covered his face and nodded, his voice trembling. His reply escaped through his fingers, sounding like an apology, a confession, almost a sob. The Abhumans, however, paid no heed.

Now, he looked much taller than Nerat Killing. He was a broken, frail dead man, barely 1.76 meters tall, but he looked like a giant.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" he cursed viciously. "What makes you think you can look down on everyone like that?"

He paced in the darkness, his eyes blazing, his footsteps echoing like gunfire. After a few minutes, he stopped, and Nerat Kilin looked at him expectantly, awaiting his verdict.

Then he spoke.

The voice was extremely solemn.

"I want you to remember this day, Captain Nerat Killing. Remember, I have a legitimate reason to exact my Vengeance. I was awakened from His long slumber, I endured immeasurable pain for the dead to stand before you, and I could have taken my Vengeance directly, but I did not. Do you know why?"

Nerat Kilin lowered his hand and looked at the Abhumans.

"Because you are still useful to the Emperor," the dead man said with a mixture of pity and disgust. "And I pity you. So take this life I've given you and get out of here, Nerat Killing, and never forget this day."

He took a step forward, and a fierce wind arose, with thick Thunder flashing across the darkness. The air suddenly turned extremely cold, and a blizzard swept in, completely engulfing Nerat Kilin. Until his last moment before disappearing, he stared wide-eyed, trying his best to catch a glimpse of the Abhumans.

In the darkness, the dead man silently closed his eyes. A pale skeleton appeared before him, its cloak pitch black, and the blue light in its eye sockets surged like a tide.

"You chose forgiveness," Karyl said softly. "Your nobility surprises me, Sergeant."

"This is not noble, sir." The Abhumans opened his eyes, shook his head, and his body was already shrouded in a dark red glow of fury.

"I lied to him, I exercised my right, I Vengeance him. I will make him remember my face and what he did to us every night for the rest of his life. He will spend the rest of his life in repentance, and every enemy of humanity he kills thereafter will carry the wrath of the Sorocia Vanguard Regiment. This is my Vengeance."

"Then, depart," Karyl said. "You may continue your slumber."

"And you, sir?" the dead asked in their final moments before vanishing. "As I crossed the boundary between life and death, I heard those cries. Countless dead, even the abominable Xenos, were enveloped within them, yearning for Vengeance."

"You've said too much, Sergeant," Karyl replied gently. "War has a price, as you have paid with your lives. If the price I have to pay is merely a small amount of humanity, then why not?"

The deceased no longer spoke, but simply vanished in silence.

This chapter is 6k, I'll take a nap and then continue writing the remaining 4k.