Burning of Five Hundred Worlds (Sixteen)

Valentius watched the so-called camera explode with his own eyes. ☮♕ 💘ඏ What began was a burst of almost solidified fire, like a solid hitting the waxed floor, before it suddenly exploded.

Immediately following was a violent flash of light that stung his eyes, forcing him to close them for a moment. When he opened them again, the white light had vanished, and a torrent of flames had gladly taken its place, making everything look like a scorching hell.

This was the final explosion; it was spectacular, but caused little damage. Its only effect was perhaps to distract him—but that effect had already ended, and Valentius already held his spear and sword.

Filled with immense rage, he began searching for his enemy, but to no avail. The damned Rogue Trader, his guards, and his young assistant had all vanished without a trace.

The only remaining press officer, the foreign correspondent, cried out Roboute Guilliman's name, repeatedly explaining his reasons for doing so: forced, threatened, his family held hostage—his reasons were so numerous that it sounded like a crudely fabricated story.

Invictarii gave him a cold look, raised his gun as a warning, and kicked him over. The man rolled over in terror, lay on the ground, and stared at him tremblingly.

Valentius didn't give him a chance to utter any more platitudes. He lightly stepped on the other man's chest, about to begin questioning him, but before he could, a strange, sweet scent mixed with a foul stench assaulted his nostrils before he could even begin the interrogation.

Valentius immediately pulled the trigger.

His reaction was swift, but it was to no avail, for once the transformation began, it never stopped. Blood splattered, and in Valentius's presence, Elam Santyafoss, the foreign correspondent for the Macragge News Office, became the first documented victim.

His death was described as Daemon possessing his body—a genuine Daemon.

A hound, seemingly formed from shadow, leaped out of his body. At that moment, the gate was smashed open by the guards, and the Victrix Guard rushed in with sharp blades. The hound began to bark wildly.

It charged at Valentius, who fired three shots at it, the explosive force of which sent it flying. Then came a vicious slash, the Power Sword cruelly decapitating it.

But this was only the beginning. More Daemon began to leap from the remains of Elam Santyafoss, defying all logic. The stench of decay grew stronger and stronger, and even the midday sun in Macragge vanished with its appearance.

Thick clouds inexplicably appeared in the sky, blocking out the sunlight and obscuring the sky—such an abnormality, and the Death Guard were the first to notice that something was wrong.

The warnings, which began with them, spread throughout Macragge, and their vigilance proved to be correct. Because of these advance warnings, as many as tens of thousands of civilians were saved and allowed to survive.

According to the subsequent investigation report, eight minutes after the explosion, the Word Bearers were already witnessed leaping out of the portal.

This was not a surprise attack, but a genocidal war whose fundamental purpose was to kill every Macragge.

From Calth onward, every innocent soul that died along the way, and their blood, was for this moment. Hatred-filled individuals, carrying innocent souls, descended upon Macragge and began to sacrifice them.

A spiral of slaughter is about to begin, but the seeds of hatred were sown years ago, deeply rooted in the hearts of everyone who experienced it. Now they have arrived, seeking Vengeance.

They had eight-pointed stars tattooed on their foreheads and their bodies were wrapped in flesh and bones. This was unnecessary, but they wanted to make the sacrifice even more horrific.

They'll do anything for Vengeance.

Meanwhile, in a corner of Terra, Magnus Crimson King, and his sons held their routine weekly call.

This was one of the few privileges he still enjoyed after being imprisoned in Terra, and he continued to use it, striving to guide his sons on how to overcome the pain of losing their psychic powers, for he himself had overcome it.

Now, though he is blind, he is calmer than ever before.

But he did not anticipate one thing: that the son will resemble the father.

The consequences of this event continued for ten thousand years.

Perturabo and Vulkan both heard the loud noise, and they immediately stopped their argument and ran towards the source of the sound.

The only difference between the two was probably their expressions. The Lord of Iron was gloomy, but not surprised. He had expected it; his current gloom was merely the annoyance of his terrible guess coming true.

The Lord of Drakes, however, displayed not only anger but also a profound sense of embarrassment on Vulkan face.

The two Victrix Guard followed behind them, their weapons crackling with electricity. Three minutes later, they encountered the first wave of Daemon.

They were certainly no match for the two Primarch; in fact, if you really wanted to, they couldn't even defeat those two Victrix Guards. But that didn't matter anymore; they were summoned to their deaths.

Just like Elam Santyafoss.

Even if a mortal is forced to stuff their entire body with ornaments of Chaos, even if the places hidden by their clothes are covered with Eight-pointed Stars, even if they have been "blessed" beforehand by a priest well-versed in Daemon knowledge, this is the best they can do.

But he was merely bait, a decoy used to conceal the enemy's true intentions, nothing more.

Perturabo had anticipated this.

The Lord of Iron, carrying his blood-stained Warhammer, stood in the corridor littered with severed limbs. His face, which had been icy cold since his landing, finally revealed a truly ferocious smile.

--

Tarasha Euten also heard the explosion; how could she not? The housekeeper sat calmly in the empty reception hall, still tidying up the documents in front of her.

Half a minute later, a side door to the hall was slowly pushed open. The Rogue Trader Mog Srelt and his ten followers filed in, with Elam Santiafors' young assistant bringing up the rear.

Euten raised his eyes, glanced at them, and remained calm.

"Who are you?" she asked sternly. "Trespassing here without permission is a crime punishable by imprisonment."

The Rogue Trader glanced at her and chuckled in a tone completely different from when he had answered Invictarii's question earlier.

"You truly live up to your reputation, Tarasha Euten."

"No wonder you were able to teach Roboute Guilliman so well." The young assistant echoed his words, nodding as well. "What a pity."

The housekeeper frowned, gripped her cane, and slowly rose from behind the desk that had been moved in.

Mog maintained his smile and even clapped. He wasted no more time, waved his hand, and the ten followers, stunned, obeyed and walked towards Euten at a perfectly synchronized pace.

The steward, however, calmly returned his smile, his genuine composure causing the Rogue Trader and his young assistant to change their expressions drastically.

"Too late, traitor," Tarasha Euten whispered. "Fire, Lord Dantioch."

Just as she said, flames immediately erupted. They rained down, appearing from nowhere, and instantly riddled the ten attendants with bullets. At the same time, the black and white floor of the hall suddenly collapsed.

The Iron Warriors, Death Guard, Ultramarines, and Salamanders silently rose slowly from the underground trenches that had been dug sometime before, surrounding the Rogue Trader and his young assistant.

The city breaker Forrix, swung his Warhammer, smashing the Rogue Trader's shoulder blade and kneecap. The sensation returned to him brought an involuntary smile to his face.

The young assistant had his legs severed by the sword of Garro, the captain of the Death Guard, and his head was pinned down as he gasped for breath.

Garro coldly trampled on his head, cruelly, yet with a sense of satisfaction.

"Alpharius Salamanders" Company Commander Arteus Numenzia roared angrily, "You shameless scum, you've joined forces with traitors!"

"They are traitors, Lord Arthas," Forrix corrected. "To do such a thing, are they no different from beasts?"

"You have no right to judge us!" the Rogue Trader roared. "Pray, you fools, may that False Emperor protect your souls!"

His words caused Forrix to smash his head open, Garro also swung his sword, beheading his young assistant. But this was not the end, only the beginning—in the rising, black mist, the bodies of the ten followers began to mutate.

Dantioch's voice rang out from above the hall, filled with urgency. "Attack! Attack! Protect Lady Euten!"

A demonic tide erupted, and hounds several times stronger than the first Daemon that had died burst forth from the mist, baring their fangs, and charged toward Euten.

Behind them were even more dark Shadow, some like wild beasts with bird heads or wings, others as massive as siege engines, six meters tall, muscular, their breath as bloody as a river.

Forrix and Arters acted swiftly, unleashing a torrent of Phosphex flames that struck the Daemon, while the Citybreakers rushed to the woman, shielding her tightly behind them. The Victrix Guard followed closely behind, protecting their lady flawlessly.

The battle erupted in an instant, and the entire hall instantly transformed into a nightmare. The air seemed to freeze as everyone fought desperately, while the housekeeper, standing at the center of the crowd, calmly gripped her cane.

As she gazed upon this bloody nightmare, only one thought occupied her mind.

Roboute, is this what you faced on Calth?

If Roboute Guilliman could answer, he would lie.

But he couldn't.

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