32 Blood of Calth (IV, 6k)

004. M31, Calth Orbit, Macragge's Honour.

Even between swings of his sword, Roboute Guilliman would constantly recall Fer Zalost's words.

He said a horde of Daemon was coming, and that came true. He also said that Chainsword and Boltgun could harm them, and that came true as well. The latter part of his statement was so true that it almost made Guilliman smile.

He gripped the sword, his arm raised high above his head, his muscles gathering strength, fueled by the surging anger in his chest.

Roboute Guilliman had never felt this way before. He felt like a furnace, his heartbeat the rhythm of the flames, his hands the steel hammer, and the enemy the anvil. A fraction of a second later, the steel hammer fell heavily.

Something screamed.

Yes, it should scream, because its ugly form was completely cleaved in two by Roboute Guilliman's Power Sword.

Thick blood and molten bone or fat writhed at the ends of the exposed wounds, trying to glue the body back together. They dripped incessantly, each drop creating a small crater on the bridge floor of Macragge's Honour.

Roboute Guilliman rotated his wrist, but Lion Alderson's voice suddenly echoed in his mind, "You pay a lot of attention to your opponent's leg movement when you use your sword, which is a good thing, Roboute. But there are always things in this galaxy that don't need legs."

"Yes," Roboute Guilliman admitted. "But you need a brain, right, Lion?"

"Roboute Guilliman--!" the Daemon screamed again.

The sword fell again.

A head then flew up, turning into smoke and disappearing before it even hit the ground. After dealing with this one, he moved on to the next.

Chaos reigned on the bridge, with roars and screams filling every corner. The portholes were obscured by some black substance, viscous like blood, but Roboute Guilliman's eyes allowed him to see more.

The stinging pain in his eyes told him that the black blood was also some kind of monster, some kind of creature that transcended reason and nature.

But he doesn't have time for them right now.

"Die!" the Primarch roared, thrusting his blade forward and piercing the body of a massive Daemon with bat wings and curved horns.

The creature let out a strange grunt and raised its right claw, seemingly to resist, but Roboute Guilliman was faster. His Power Sword fell first, instantly severing the hideous claw.

The Daemon roared, whether from pain or rage, and flapped its bat wings, trying to rise. A gust of wind immediately swept in, but Roboute Guilliman did not give it a chance to escape.

At this moment, his face was inhuman and ruthless, with a Radiance far surpassing that of the sun surging deep within his pupils.

The next second, he grabbed the Daemon's tail and yanked it down from the air. It was still struggling, so Roboute Guilliman raised his foot and crushed its head.

Blood splattered, creating numerous stains on the blue-gold Power Armour, but his face remained expressionless and unmoved. He even raised his foot and stomped on it again, mercilessly grinding it.

"Ampion!" Having done this, he began to roar, his face expressionless. The name he called out was that of his Ninth Chapter Master.

Seconds later, Claude Ampion responded to the Primarch's call from the other side of the burning bridge, firing a Boltgun incessantly. Aiming was pointless, for Daemon were everywhere and continued to pour forth from the distorted light of the holographic projector.

The emergency exit behind him had been opened, and the surviving crew members were quickly leaving through it. Fear had easily taken hold of them, but years of training had allowed them to maintain a degree of order.

More Ultramarines arrived from the other end of the bridge, gunfire erupted, and corpses littered the ground.

Roboute Guilliman began to move toward Ampion, having rescued four crew members, one of whom was seriously wounded. He couldn't see his captain— Roboute Guilliman hoped he was alive, but he didn't pray for him. By the time he reached Claude Ampion, the crew had grown to sixteen.

Roboute Guilliman held out his hand to show them the way out, then looked at Ampion: "Where's Zedorov?"

He's on the auxiliary bridge.

Ampion's answer relieved Roboute Guilliman somewhat—the auxiliary bridge was another command center, a backup plan within a backup plan, and only a third the size of the main bridge.

However, it possessed all the instruments to take over the Macragge's Honour. Zedorov was still alive and on the auxiliary bridge, which meant that the Macragge's Honour would not be brought to a standstill by this sudden attack; they could still move and would not become sitting ducks.

How many people are around him?

"Didn't you notice I was standing here alone just now?" Ampion asked as he fired.

"Send another batch of people over; we don't have a second auxiliary bridge available."

He didn't get to finish his sentence; his voice was interrupted by a violent jolt. The Primarch looked up at the ceiling, where a huge display screen was, thankfully, not obscured by blood.

Roboute Guilliman looked at a certain area, which had turned from a calm pale blue to a furious crimson, and a loud alarm was blaring throughout the bridge.

Roboute Guilliman heard his Ninth Chapter Master cursing, and he knew why; in fact, if he could, he would have wanted to curse too.

The change in color and the sounding of warning lights both indicated that the Macragge's Honour's engines had a problem—either they were overloaded or they were disabled—neither of which was good news.

The Primarch's face was grim, and the display screen suddenly changed in the next second. A grinning face rushed out from it and pounced on him, still screaming.

"Roboute Guilliman--!" it roared.

"Come on, you beast," Roboute Guilliman replied grimly, finally uttering a curse.

--

004. M31, Calth, eastern urban area of Rude Province.

Remas Ventanus is trapped in hell.

He wielded his sword, fired his gun, severed someone's arm, pierced someone's head, and used explosives to turn a group of Cultists rushing towards him into a cloud of blood mist. He fought, fought, and fought without stopping, unless he died.

He had only a force of less than two hundred men and rudimentary fortifications, which meant an extremely low chance of winning and an extremely low chance of survival. But he didn't even consider these two things; he was only focused on fighting.

His brothers, the Secutarii, and the Imperial Army— all were present. Not far away, the roar of Chimera infantry fighting vehicle could be heard; it was the sound of Elken and his crew from the Calth New Army 11th Armoured Division.

They fought valiantly, just like him, never retreating, never backing down.

Is there any room for retreat?

Calth is burning, and so is the whole world; there is no "safe place," not even the sky. The massive shadows and flames behind the clouds foreshadow misfortune; the ground trembles, cities crumble, and rivers of blood flow.

He had climbed to a high vantage point and looked out over the plains outside the city and another city being bombed—the work of the Word Bearers' fleet, orbital bombardment, a safe and convenient method of killing.

A despicable, shameless, and treacherous person.

Ventanus let the curses fill his chest; he refused to consider what it meant that the Word Bearers' fleet could approach Calth's near-Earth orbit and begin bombing. All he wanted now was to kill.

So he left the carnage he had just created and rushed toward another group of scarlet figures. They began to chant at his arrival, and Ventanus's charred face was reflected in his dark green spectacles.

He raised his sword and killed the first one, then rolled to dodge the bullets of the second and third, aiming at his target in the process. After the roll, he leaned against a broken stone pillar, raised his Boltgun, and pulled the trigger four times.

The absolute precision of the semi-automatic mode allowed the four explosive shells to accurately strike the heads and chests of the second and third Word Bearers. They fell to the ground, dead. The fourth continued chanting.

Ventanus roared at him from within the burning city, a roar that seemed inhuman.

He rushed over and slammed the bastard to the ground, smashing his helmet and head to pieces with the hilt of his sword.

After doing all this, he returned to the rear of the trenches and began counting the number of men.

He was calm and numb, like a monster.

"Report," he told his adjutant—the temporary adjutant, a sergeant named Domitian, from the Sixth Company.

The latter was missing a hand, and half of his face was gone. He opened his mouth and began to report in a slurred voice, "We have ninety-three people left in total."

"Looks like we won't have a chance to get back to the communications center," Ventanus said. "But that's alright, I sent them the maps, identification codes, and everything they needed before the attack."

"Do you think they can catch up, sir?"

"I have no hope for this. The area outside the city is being bombed. We even saw them heading out of the city when we passed by the guild's main building. The Night Lords are bound to run into them."

"What should we do now, sir?"

"Kill," Ventanus told him. He was about to say more when he was interrupted by an explosion. He turned around and saw a Chimera with its tracks destroyed.

Several Word Bearers stood nearby, laughing with satisfaction. The Cultists eagerly climbed up and dragged Sergeant Elken and his crew out of the vehicle. Sergeant Elken drew his gun to return fire, but his hand was chopped off, and then they began to skin him alive.

Sergeant Elken screamed, cursed, collapsed, and died.

Ventanus bent down to change the magazine for his Boltgun.

Eleven seconds later, under the cover of fire from the remaining twenty-three Secutarii and thirty-three infantrymen, Ventanus and his brothers charged toward the enemy.

They numbered thirty-two, but ten seconds after the charge was spotted, the number dropped to twenty-one, then fifteen, and after the melee began, it became ten.

Ventanus Word Bearers wielding a power hammer, and Ventanus charged at him.

The sergeant misjudged Ventanus's speed, and his arm was severed by the Chainsword the instant he was about to swing his hammer. Ventanus intended for him to experience the same pain as Elken, but to his surprise, the latter took a step back and began to chuckle softly.

"Poor Ultramarines," the man began to draw his gun, his laughter gradually turning into loud laughter.

"Foolish idealists, what's wrong with your proud theoretical system? Hmm? You should have calmly organized an effective offensive, why did you charge in to your deaths? Look at your brothers, their deaths were utterly pointless."

Ventanus remained silent, continuing his charge. A high-explosive shell interrupted his advance, piercing his left shoulder armor and striking the ground. Ventanus raised his gun to return fire, but the latter dodged, continuing to laugh.

Your world is on fire, cousin!

So? You're proud of it?

"No, perhaps a little." The man shook his head. "But I just want to tell you that your resistance is pointless."

"Your death is the meaning," Ventanus said. "When I tear your throat and rip your tongue from your mouth, you will know what meaning is."

He charged again, his brothers falling one after another. He reached the man and became the last Ultramarines still standing. The Word Bearers lowered their hands and began to watch the duel.

The soldier received a Chainsword from another of the Word Bearers, and each time he swung the sword, he laughed loudly, while Ventanus remained silent.

He knew he was going to die, but it didn't matter; nothing could hurt him anymore. He had witnessed too much today. He had thought he was Superman, a protector, that nothing could shake his will, and then he realized he was wrong.

But that's alright.

Ventanus told himself—kill one more, just one more, for Calth, for Macragge, for Roboute Guilliman.

For all those who died today.

He swung his sword, and the sergeant laughed as he shoved him to the ground. He had only one hand, but he was far calmer than Ventanus was now. Ventanus began to roll, desperately dodging the attacks. The sergeant had many chances to end the fight, but he didn't.

He laughed loudly, the Word Bearers laughed loudly, and the Cultists laughed loudly.

Then the Secutarii and army soldiers who were in the trenches began their charge.

Ventanus watched them die, but he also saw some Shadow.

"You saw it? This is the end, your end. Everyone will die."

The soldier walked up to him, stepped on his back, and stopped laughing; there was even a hint of pity in his voice.

"You like theory, so let me tell you in a theoretical way, cousin. It's normal that you were caught off guard and suffered a crushing defeat, because you didn't understand what kind of war this was."

"You are angry about the attack, saddened by the deaths of civilians, and you have misjudged our purpose. We are not here for the Perfect City, nor to seek revenge against you. Such goals are too lowly. We are here for destruction. Do you understand? Extinction, that is our purpose."

"After this day, Calth will cease to exist, everyone will die, and your souls will become a gift for a god to reclaim his throne."

A sharp pain shot through Ventanus's face, and the weight on his back made it almost impossible for him to lift his head. This was for the best, to prevent his smile from being seen. He lowered his head and told the sergeant.

You will get nothing but death. We are not fighting alone.

"Really? You have reinforcements?" The sergeant bent down closer to him, pressing for details. "This is truly unexpected, but it sounds more like a bluffing lie."

"He wasn't lying," a voice said from above, hissing like Ghost.

The soldier looked up, Word Bearers raised their guns, but it was too late, for death had already come. The soldier was cleaved in two by a sword, his blood and entrails spilling onto the ground and onto Ventanus. He got up, and a sword was handed to him.

An Astartes wearing midnight-colored Power Armour nodded at him, its crimson visors reflecting a charred face.

Ventanus reached out and took the sword. It was a finely crafted Power Sword with a perfect center of gravity and a scarlet hilt.

"What did you encounter outside the city?" he asked, without inquiring why the Night Lords had arrived so late. He had no reason to ask such a question, nor did he blame them. The bombing continued in the distance, the sky as bright as day, the flashes of explosions seemingly never ceasing.

"You might not believe it, cousin," the man said, "But the Word Bearers have Titans, and we were forced to take a detour."

"What?"

"They have Titans, you heard me right." The man turned his head, looking at the blinding flashes of light on the other side of the city. "What do we have?"

Ventanus lowered his head and raised the sword in his hand.

--

004. M31, Calth Ground, Rude Province Army Assembly Point Bunker.

Jago Sevatarion disliked the moment he was experiencing, which he should have liked, because they had just cleared the ground, gathered the survivors, and successfully entered the bunker and cleaned it up.

This should have been a moment to celebrate, but unfortunately, the Aurelian's Sons are going mad.

Eight hundred and twenty-four men watched him in silence. Angron Tey was their only commander, and he too was not calm. He stared at Jago Sevatarion, standing very close to him without uttering a word, his body trembling slightly.

"What do you want to do?" Sevatar asked, glancing at him sideways.

"You know, Captain Sevatarion," Angron Tei replied in a low voice.

"I don't like the way you talk to me. You sound like a grenade about to explode. I'm having an allergic reaction to explosions today, Angron Tei. So could you do me a favor and calm down before we talk?"

Angron Tai shook his head.

Sevatar sighed, and then an awkward silence fell between them. Fortunately, a Word Bearers was on the verge of death came to their rescue; he coughed up blood and crawled out of the pile of corpses, muttering something to himself, breaking the silence.

Sevatar was genuinely grateful—he raised his hand before Angron Tei could and fired three shots in that direction without even looking, as a token of his thanks.

After the gunshots, he spoke again.

"I understand what you're thinking, but my mission is to recapture the army assembly point and restart communications. We're halfway there. Next, we'll establish a base here, send out communications, gather manpower, and then push back into the city. You see, I have many missions, and none of them involve entering the city yet."

"They're all in the city," Angron Te said softly. "Slaughter, sacrifice, for pleasure, in the name of the Word Bearers. We need to get into the city, Captain Sevatarion."

"Later is fine, but not now," Sevatar said, his face beneath his helmet hardening. "I want to reiterate this to you again, Company Commander Angron Tey, you must calm down."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Angron Tey told him. "We'll go into the city ourselves; every one of the Word Bearers will—"

"--They'll be fine, but you'll all be dead." Sevatar sneered, thankful that he hadn't continued his old habit of taking off his helmet. He knew very well that if Angron Tai saw this smile, he would definitely get punched in the face.

"We won't," Angron Tey said. "We'll kill them all."

"Are you out of your mind, cousin? Can't you see the situation right now?" Sevatar stepped forward, grabbed Angron Tai's shoulder, and began to growl at him.

"Calth is being bombarded by orbital missiles. Those damned bastards could have easily wiped out the surface, since we have absolutely no means of countermeasures. But then they suddenly decided to use another method to kill us all."

"Their chosen method is to send a large force to land. We've already encountered their armored units. What's next? Titans? There are at least tens of thousands of Word Bearers waiting for you in that damned city, Aurelian's Sons, right? Do you think they might mistake you for the sons of Lorgar Aurelian as well?"

Angron Tey looked at him for a moment, then turned around. "We'll talk later."

"Yes, we'll talk later, you poor thing." Sevatar shook his head and walked to the other side of the bunker. A Mechanicum technician approached him. "Sir, I have something to report."

"What a coincidence, I also have a poem to write for you."

The technician looked at him, puzzled.

"I was just kidding," Sevatar said. "What is it?"

"We received a communication signal from Leptis Numinus. The sender identified himself as Marius Gage, the First Chapter Master. I believe this information needs to be reported to you," the technician said.

She used to work in a watchtower in Rude Province. When the disaster struck, she was not on duty and luckily escaped the data crash that killed 80 percent of the Mechanicum technicians in Calth.

After the war began, she quickly moved with the Secutarii. They fought all the way and successfully moved to the assembly point outside the city before the main force of the Word Bearers entered the city, thus gaining a time advantage.

However, they still had to deal with a small group of Word Bearers, which was no easy task. Fortunately, Sevatar and his squad arrived, saving them from certain death.

Sevatar nodded to her. "Now I really want to write you a poem, ma'am. Could you please take the communicator?"

There's one more chapter, around 4-6k words. I don't recommend waiting, because I might not be able to write that much.