104 Burning of Five Hundred Worlds (XIV, 5k)

Spitting blood, Lucretius Corvo collapsed to the ground, the fall causing his weapon to inexplicably slip from his grasp. Anger surged from the depths of his heart, but even more so, he felt shame—an unavoidable shame, for this had never happened before.

He had experienced so many wars, and never once had he let a weapon leave his hand.

But he had no time to wallow in self-pity any longer. Gritting his teeth, Lucretius began to crawl, trying to get closer to his sword.

This was not the first time he had faced such a desperate situation. Andermung had been besieged by the Word Bearers for seven days, during which time Lucretius had seen everything.

First came their prized orbital weapon platform, which was forced offline after destroying eleven enemy ships. Loyal Servants were then executed one by one, their brains burned off, as the Word Bearers laughed.

Then came the Starport, which was utterly defenseless. The Word Bearers tore it apart with artillery fire and countless landing craft, along with everyone inside. After that, they began their attack on the ground of Andermung, and darkness descended immediately, impatiently.

During the Great Crusade, Lucretius was almost always on the front lines, and he witnessed more than once the unique light of human reason that shone through the Great Crusade.

Under the banner of the Imperium, world after world, shrouded in darkness and ignorance, broke free from the shackles of religion and ignorance and united once more. Through the Imperial Truth, they were reborn.

But now things are different. The sun is obscured by dark clouds, foul-smelling acid rain begins to fall, and black fog rolls in from the distant horizon. Clearly, the Word Bearers have not come to Andermung alone; they have brought other things with them.

Some things that can make a person lose all reason.

Crawling, Lucretius finally grasped his Power Sword. It was a reward he received in his third year of service after a war, from the private collection of his then-commander. It was by no means a masterpiece, but Power Sword only needed to be easy to handle.

Lucretius swiftly stood up, showing no trace of his previous injury. The blade vibrated, and the disintegrating force field hummed. He rotated his hands, holding the blade horizontally in front of him, and his breathing became calm.

Two Word Bearers lunged at him from the darkness; one was helmetless, and his blood-stained face looked incredibly young. It was obvious he hadn't undergone any rigorous training.

Unlike Lucretius, he was a product of artificial growth, a new creation bearing the name of the Word Bearers. He possessed the body and power of Astartes, but lacked the will and skill to fight, and was even insufficient in cruelty.

Most of his companions were the same; the veterans among the Word Bearers had long since become a different person, easily distinguishable, and this had even become common knowledge among the loyal forces on Andermung.

Faced with the attack, Lucretius coldly drew his sword. A flash of silver light swept across, and one of his enemies cried out in pain, staggering back a few steps as blood gushed from the gap in his breastplate.

Without giving him a moment to catch his breath, the Ultramarines delivered a vicious straight kick, sending him flying and freeing his hands to deal with the helmetless idiot.

The latter clearly hadn't realized how dangerous this was; he was simply excited about the possibility of killing an Ultramarines with his own hands. He raised his Chainsword high with a roar, leaving his defenses wide open, without any intention of defense.

Lucretius calmly rotated his wrist and swung the sword again. With a single, simple swing, the Chainsword shattered in two. Metal screech, serrated edges flew, and the excitement on the Word Bearers's face froze into a shadow of fear.

He raised his sword, assuming a decapitation stance, causing the man to retreat, thus easily achieving his tactical objective. He immediately lowered his hand, precisely thrusting the blade through the enemy's chest, and spun it sharply to ensure he had no further strength to resist, before uttering his taunt.

"Never use chainsaws or Power Weapon in a head-on confrontation. Didn't your superiors teach you that, you bastard?"

Lucretius drew his sword and strode forward. The terrified corpse fell heavily to the ground, while the remaining man was just getting up. What awaited him was certainly not good news.

Lucretius simply beheaded him. The head rolled to the ground, and he finally allowed himself to catch his breath.

Leaning against the dark, rocky wall, he vomited another mouthful of blood; his helmet was now filled with the stench of blood.

A wave of pain surged through his abdomen; not long ago, two explosive rounds had pierced his Power Armour armor. Based on experience, he didn't even need to look to know what was happening there—a bloody mess.

That's alright, though; the remaining Word Bearers will need a little more time to find him.

Lucretius forced himself to stand up. Shouts and sharp explosions echoed from the depths of the cave. He banished them from his own world and began to move forward, leaving behind a winding, crimson path.

After turning several corners, he jumped off a platform and entered a shimmering cave. Cables and instruments were scattered throughout, and only two people were working there. Behind the cave lay a deep darkness, from which a gentle breeze blew.

The moment Lucretius arrived, they sensed the commotion. One of them immediately raised his gun and aimed, while the other took out a round, gleaming object from his red robe, which was ticking.

"How is the situation?" Lucretius asked, without even asking them to put down their guns or the dangerous arc grenades. The man with the gun immediately recognized him, lowered his weapon, jumped over the cables and equipment, and stood at attention and saluted Lucretius.

Lucretius's question was answered by another person standing inside the instrument, whose voice was quite in line with the stereotype of Mechanicum —a stiff, rigid, and emotionless synthesized electronic voice.

"Absolutely terrible," Tech-Priest Osmium remarked mercilessly. "Surface forces are down to a fraction of their strength, almost no one is responding to our broadcasts, Company Commander Corvo. And I seriously suspect that the damned solar storm destroyed the Holy Titans we didn't have time to retreat underground."

"Think outside the box, at least you won't need to spend so much research time maintaining them anymore," Lucretius said, trying to lighten the mood with a joke—which clearly failed miserably.

Hapanei, a member of the Ultramar Auxilia, standing before Lucretius, immediately conveyed his opinion of the Lucretius with a sigh.

The priest turned his head, his electronic eyes flashing a few times, the green light turning red for a fleeting moment.

Only after that did he slowly begin to speak.

"Maintaining the machines of the gods is an honor reserved for a select few. What could better embody the power of the Omnissiah than the Titans? Company Commander Corvo, your jokes are as terrible as your social skills."

Lucretius shook his head, ignoring his sarcasm. He then asked, "So, at least we're doing well underground?"

"That's true." Osmium nodded. "The shameful traitors are being slaughtered by our troops, but I doubt the three of us will live to see them. If you ask me, Company Commander Corvo, we shouldn't be here any longer. This place has been taken over by the Word Bearers."

"This is an outpost of the Andermung underground cave system, and one of the few communication relay stations that can maintain contact with the surface." Lucretius coughed twice. "If we're not here, how will we contact the ground forces?"

"You have a point, but I still can't believe I agreed to your plan half an hour ago," the priest complained in his synthesized voice before stepping out of the device.

He approached Lucretius, examined him closely, and came to a conclusion.

"If you don't receive medical assistance soon, you probably only have a few tens of minutes left to live, Company Commander."

"I have some medical bandages and some medical supplies here," Sergeant Hapanei said, untying a medical kit from his belt. "Perhaps this can prolong your time, Company Commander Lucretius."

"It's no use, those two bullets are still inside me," Lucretius said calmly, raising his hand and slowly removing his helmet. Blood immediately gushed out, steaming and pooling on the ground.

After finishing this task, he put his helmet back on. The Tech-Priest then turned to look at the sergeant and asked a question.

"Sergeant Hapanei, do you really think your Auxilia's medical supplies can work on Company Commander Corvo?"

"We have to at least try," Hapanei said, opening the package and taking out the bandages and medicine. "Things can't get any worse unless I shove both hands into Lucretius's wounds."

The priest shook his head, and a complicated third hand moved from behind him to the front, taking a handsaw and handing it to Hapanei.

"Use this to cut the edges of his Power Armour wound flat, and then see if it works. If we're lucky enough, Company Commander Corvo's death might be delayed a little longer."

"Thank you for informing me," Lucretius said. "This is very comforting."

His voice had become very weak.

"You're welcome. I've always appreciated the beauty in everything, with its precise beginnings and endings at exact times," Osmium replied, shaking his mechanical hand as he walked to the cave entrance.

Two other arms emerged from beneath the bulging red robe, also made of steel, but not as bulky as the servo arms on his back. In his left hand he held a phosphorescent gun called the Serpent Gun, and in his right hand he held three arc grenades.

A few minutes later, footsteps sounded above them. This meant that the Word Bearers had followed the path left by Lucretius and were coming towards them, but Hapanei's hands did not tremble at all.

He calmly laid the handsaw flat, letting the monomolecular saw blade cut off the last piece of serrated Ceramite that might have slashed his arm. Then he grabbed the medicine and began injecting it into Lucretius one by one.

At the cave entrance, Osmium raised his serpent gun high and firmly pulled the trigger. A ball of fire burst from the muzzle of the serpent gun, instantly striking the dark cave ceiling above.

The attack caused no harm to the Word Bearers; in fact, it drew their attention. A barrage of explosives immediately rained down on the cave entrance, but Osmium had already moved away.

His goal was to attract their attention.

The Tech-Priest calmly pressed against the rock face, his left hand retracting under his robe. When he extended it again, the phosphorescent gun was gone, replaced by a crude weapon whose model no one could identify.

Its four enormous, connected muzzles made the weapon look somewhat absurd. Several seconds later, the sounds of jumping and heavy objects hitting the ground echoed from above the cave.

At that moment, the priest threw the three arc grenades upwards without hesitation and pulled the trigger of his left pistol.

He didn't even need to aim; the bullets, following pre-calculated trajectories, struck three arc grenades in mid-air, three against three, while the remaining bullet spun and hit the narrow platform that was the only way to get there.

Amidst the violent explosions and pulsating electric arcs, the priest's synthesized electronic voice calmly rang out.

"We need to retreat immediately, sir."

"Understood," Hapanei said. "But Company Commander Lucretius's injuries are severe; the bleeding hasn't stopped, which is highly unusual. And how are we supposed to move him?"

"No need to worry about that." The priest extended his servo arm, which clicked in the darkness. "My servo arm can even drag a whole block of Adamantium if necessary. Company Commander Corvo's weight is nothing compared to a whole block of Adamantium."

"You dragged a whole piece of Adamantium?"

"I've been working with Company Commander Lucretius for a long time, Sergeant. He returned from Nostramo with half a ship Adamantium."

The priest chuckled softly in his synthesized mechanical voice, walked up to them, and extended his servo arm, locking it onto Lucretius's left shoulder armor.

"Let's go now. It's time to end this reckless yet effective suicide plan. We need to regroup our forces and launch a counterattack against the Word Bearers."

"I understand. But I have a bad feeling about it."

"What's your premonition, Sergeant?"

"Their offensive isn't as fierce as it was at the beginning." Hapanei raised his gun and lowered his goggles; the U-shaped mark on his helmet gleamed in the darkness. "Those more depraved, more blasphemous traitors are gone. Where do you think they went?"

"I don't know, but that's not my biggest concern right now," the priest said. "I'm more concerned about where the Apothecary is."

They walked into the darkness, where a howling wind blew through the cave.

--

The flash of the Macro-cannon passed through the porthole of the main bridge of the Macragge's Honour, striking a Word Bearers warship with unerring accuracy. In a silent explosion and deadly violence, the Macro-cannon cleaved it in two.

The stars twinkled, and the surface of the sun belonging to the Andermung system shimmered with a dark, deathly light. Only then did the other seven Word Bearers ships realize what had happened.

They tried to leave Andermung's orbit, but it was too late. Roboute Guilliman calmly swung his right hand, and a torrent of plasma energy, devastating beyond description, swept through the dark vacuum, striking three of the ships once more.

The explosion's color was as pure as a gemstone, yet Roboute Guilliman felt no admiration for its beauty.

In fact, he didn't even feel the emptiness that followed his Vengeance.

Because this is not Vengeance at all.

"Where is their main fleet?!" Marius Gage roared beside him, urging the crew to hand him the radar reports more efficiently.

He himself kept a close eye on the probe Servitor, trying to figure out as soon as possible what kind of fleet the Word Bearers might be on. But Roboute Guilliman knew in his heart that the Word Bearers were no longer here, at least not the main force.

He looked down at the holographic star map, tapping his finger lightly on it. For some reason, he felt a sense of calm, devoid of any joy or sorrow.

Two minutes later, all the Word Bearers warships were destroyed, and a report was presented to him. Roboute Guilliman glanced at it briefly, tossed it onto the command platform, and ordered the Macragge's Honour to move closer to Andermung's orbit.

Amidst the rhythm of the machines and the bewilderment of the people, a faint broadcast signal from the surface was captured by the Macragge's Honour.

"Play," Roboute Guilliman said, his left hand resting on his sword, his expression calm.

The crew did as instructed.

"This is Lucretius Corvo, Commander of the 90th Ultramarines. I am speaking on behalf of Andermung. Due to the effects of a solar storm, we have all been deployed underground. Anyone who hears this broadcast, please look for the nearest available location."

Roboute Guilliman closed his eyes and didn't listen to what was said next.

He took a few deep breaths, and a deduction quickly formed in his mind. It was forged from extreme hatred and shame, nourished by anger, and finally cloaked in a thin layer of reason—with his eyes closed, Roboute Guilliman issued an order.

"Notify the fleet that five ships remain to aid Andermung's loyal forces. The rest of the ships shall change course and head towards Macragge. The Word Bearers' target has always been Macragge. Everything they've done is merely a smokescreen, a simple tactic to buy time."

Marius Gage roared for him, "To Macragge!"

"There's no need to panic, Gage," Roboute Guilliman calmly advised his First Chapter Master, opening his eyes. "They want to repeat the tragedy of Calth, but the situation in Macragge is completely different from Calth's."

"If they dare to enter Macragge's system, they will definitely be detected by the advance fleet. Even if they are capable of disabling the orbital weapon platform and shield system again, we can arrive in time."

Gage looked at his Primarch, his expression suggesting he had a thousand things to say. But in the end, he could only manage a very simple rebuttal.

"But what if we don't arrive in time, Primarch?"

Roboute Guilliman simply smiled and didn't answer. Gage paused for a moment, then suddenly remembered something.

"Yes." Lord Macragge nodded to him. "They have no chance of winning."

Chapter One, there are still ten thousand left.