Burning of Five Hundred Worlds (19, 5k)

Before the war began, Cole Fallon never imagined they would see Iron Warriors, Salamanders, and Death Guard on Macragge. Neither he nor Lorgar had anticipated this.

Indeed, Horus did inform Lorgar of his minor defeat. The Warmaster was frank about Perturabo and Vulkan's escape from his command, but he was not angry. On the contrary, he sincerely thought that Mortarion's death was a great pity.

He didn't understand why his brother would rather burn his soul with the Emperor's help than betray Nurgle, but the outcome was always good.

Mortarion is dead, but his body remains. His remnant soul may be able to escape his body, but for the Dark Gods, a Primarch body is sufficient.

As he pondered these matters, the expression of the Word Bearers of the Whisperers gradually darkened. He was well aware of the damage these three legions, along with the Ultramarines, would inflict on their plans, and he had to report this to Lorgar.

Behind him, a towering pillar of flame was burning fiercely, shooting straight into the sky. The captured Macragge civilians were being thrown into it one by one, receiving the baptism of magical flames.

Cole Fallon knew exactly what they were doing, and he wouldn't make any excuses. Murder was murder, and sacrifice was sacrifice—he didn't bother with any embellishment like Erebus did.

In fact, his cooperation with Erebus had long since ended. If possible, he would probably be the only one within the Word Bearers to turn his blade against the Chief Chaplain.

Suddenly, he smelled an extremely strong odor of dust, and the Radiance of the pillar of fire suddenly intensified, surging with a temperature several times higher than before. The air was torn apart, and a phantom scene replaced the ruins of the city of Macragge where they were now.

In the sweltering heat, Cole Fallon saw a magnificent church dedicated to the Dark Gods, and Lorgar Aurelian standing within it, draped in a long robe.

He walked out with a smile, passing the kneeling Word Bearers, and arrived before Cole Fallon.

His very first words revealed his current desire.

"Did you need something from me, Cole?"

Cole Fallon slowly uttered, "I'm afraid we need to retreat."

"Oh?" Lorgar looked at him in surprise. "Why? Did you discover something? Or have the gods given you some revelation that even I haven't received?"

"None of those, Lorgar," Cole Fallon said. "But we do need to retreat, because Macragge doesn't just have the Ultramarines; there are also the Iron Warriors, the Salamanders, and the Death Guard. You understand what that means."

Lorgar nodded with slight surprise. "So, Perturabo and Vulkan are here too? That really surprises me. How did they get to Macragge?"

Cole Fallon didn't answer the question. He knew perfectly well that Lorgar was just talking to himself—in fact, he wasn't even sure how much resemblance this Lorgar had to the giant in his memory.

He certainly wanted to know the truth, but he dared not take action.

What a disgrace!

"This matter has indeed hindered our plans," Lorgar said, frowning, the tip of the scepter in his right hand bearing a persistently bright bone octagon representing Chaos.

He turned to look at it, and his tightly furrowed brows suddenly relaxed. A smile bloomed again on the Radiance face of the Great Word Bearers, and he spoke again, his voice gentle yet possessing a captivating power.

"However, that doesn't matter. They can't have a real impact on the battle; we only need to sow the seeds of hatred. A true Perfect City doesn't exist in the real world; through the seeds we sow, the body of every believer will become a temple."

He chuckled, and Cole Fallon knew what he was talking about. This was the plan proposed by Erebus, utterly vicious.

Once the spiral of hatred takes hold, it will never stop, and the Word Bearers have already created enough Warp Storm. At this moment, in Macragge, the last the Veil between the Materium and the Warp has become so illusory as to be almost transparent.

With just a gentle push, Lorgar could transform everyone on Macragge into a fanatical follower of the newborn god, and they wouldn't even refuse.

Admittedly, this might not be the final push for that god far beyond the stars, but the gods always find a way to achieve their goals.

"Let's continue," said the Great Word Bearers. "There's no need to retreat, Cole. We are already blessed by the faith and the gods. They are watching over us; how can we let them down?"

Cole Fallon suppressed his urge to retort and slowly looked away.

A forest was burning in the distance, and the waterfall cascading down the cliff had turned a blood-red color. The sky was filled with dust, and the trails of artillery fire tore through the clouds as if the end of the world had arrived.

Gazing at all this, the company commander felt neither sorrow nor joy.

He felt no joy at this Vengeance; he even inexplicably thought of Colchis, which was truly torturous, causing his body, now imbued with dark power, to tremble slightly.

Lorgar then spoke again.

"Continue the sacrifices, to please the gods, Cole," said the Great Word Bearers gently. "I must go to find my brothers; what the Warmaster could not do, I will do."

Smiling, he opened a portal with his right-hand scepter in front of Cole Fallon and left. The boundaries of reality seemed to have disappeared, as if the Great Word Bearers had wantonly kneaded and flattened them like toys.

Cole Fallon knew why; he wasn't proud of his adopted son, he only felt a chill.

But it was all too late. The company commander silently turned around and began to use the blood of the innocent to call upon the darkness and offer sacrifices to the gods.

--

"Brother!"

Vulkan whirled around. He had just finished a fierce battle, and the sounds of the monsters' dying howls and his own roars filled his ears. He could barely hear anything else; even the sound of the speedboats passing by was barely audible.

But the call sounded as clear as if it were ringing right next to my ear.

Moreover, just seconds later, the call rang out again, sincere and natural.

The Lord of Drakes's expression gradually calmed down. He lifted his Warhammer from the smoking corpse and began to advance.

Smoke and flames swirled around him as the Word Bearers and the Allied forces clashed head-on, abandoning everything else to pure, savage wielding their weapons, determined to kill each other.

Vulkan should have helped his Legion and the Ultramarines, but he didn't; he simply continued on his way.

He stepped over the ruins, a fiery meteor streaking across his head and landing not far behind him. Fragments of concrete and steel were immediately thrown up, only to fall from the sky like raindrops a dozen seconds later.

Explosions and destruction were everywhere, yet Vulkan's heart gradually found peace.

In a daze, he felt as if he were in his own workshop. The hammer he held was no longer a blood-dripping Warhammer, but a forging hammer representing creation; the howling wind was merely the bellows being pulled.

Horus Lupercal said, "Go and kill Lorgar, brother. He's not the man we knew."

I know.

The Lord of Drakes stopped in his tracks. Unbeknownst to him, he had arrived at a somewhat open outer defensive perimeter. This place was once one of Macragge's famous historical sites, an arena that had been ordered to be abolished during the reign of King Conno.

It survived the attack of the Word Bearers, but this luck only lasted for a moment. When the Lord of Drakes walked into this place with its back to the destructive rain of fire, its fate was already sealed.

Vulkan released his grip, letting his Warhammer fall onto the thick yellow sand. Then, he began to remove his helmet.

Across from him, Lorgar Aurelian smiled appreciatively, "You're still as kind as ever, Vulkan. Indeed, brothers like us should talk face to face, not through cold steel."

Vulkan glanced at him, then suddenly threw the helmet in his hand. The air vibrated, yellow sand swirled, and a deep trench appeared instantly. Without changing his expression, Lorgar raised his scepter and knocked the helmet, which had become a murder weapon, to the ground.

He glanced down at it, shook his head with a hint of regret, and said, "Is this how you treat your helmet, bro?"

Vulkan said nothing, but simply reached for his Warhammer and strode toward him.

"Let's begin," he said.

"Start what?" Lorgar asked, puzzled.

"I don't know. Ask yourself, traitor. Summon Daemon, set traps, or launch an attack against me with Warp." The Lord of Drakes raised his Warhammer. "Do as you please, Lorgar, but I will kill you."

The Word Bearers the big smile took two steps back and shook his head.

"You have a very deep misunderstanding of me, Vulkan. I did not come here to fight you—"

"--But I am," Vulkan said. "I came here to kill you, Lorgar."

He waved his arm.

"Boom!"

The Warhammer crashed down, creating a completely unreal sound, as terrifying as a missile falling. Vulkan swung his Warhammer not in anger, but with a calm resolve.

He was going to kill Lorgar Aurelian, right here, right now. There was no reason to give, no conversation could change his mind.

The Lord of Drakes was exhausted, so exhausted that he no longer wanted to think about anything else. He abandoned everything—his name, identity, status, memories, brothers, and offspring—putting it all to the back of his mind.

After that, what was left of him?

First of all, it is a weapon.

Cast by the Emperor.

This weapon had only one limitation: conscience. And now, Vulkan had cast it aside with his own hands.

Looking into those scarlet eyes, Lorgar clearly realized what was happening—and he had no room to dodge. Vulkan's next attack was coming, without any mercy.

You must understand, this was once a giant who would be careful even when embracing, for fear of hurting his brothers. But now, he is fighting with all his might.

Lorgar abruptly raised his scepter, barely managing to block the attack. Vulkan was faster and stronger than he had anticipated. This was no longer a matter of "combat"; Lorgar even felt as if he were facing a humanoid catastrophe.

The Great Word Bearers began to retreat, with Vulkan close behind. The speed of each strike did not decrease; in fact, the power increased. His offensive was so ferocious, yet his expression was terrifyingly calm.

Lorgar sighed.

That's enough.

He brandished his scepter and instantly appeared at the other end of the arena, supernatural power beginning to manifest within him.

A flash of golden light appeared, Lorgar's figure began to grow taller and taller. In an instant, he became even taller than Vulkan. His eyes were like fireballs, burning fiercely.

The Lord of Drakes calmly raised his Warhammer and walked towards him without the slightest hesitation.

The Great Word Bearers frowned and raised his scepter again.

With the help of his will and extraordinary evil power, the yellow sand where Vulkan stood instantly turned into a burning lava field, and he fell into it against his will, while the air began to tremble.

Energy emerged from the void, transforming into sharp blades that hurtled towards Vulkan's head. The Lord of Drakes raised his weapon, deflecting them all with a series of clanging sounds. When he lowered his Warhammer, his face was completely unscathed.

He looked at Lorgar, placed his hands on the ground, and began to slowly exert force. Half a second later, in front of Lorgar, Vulkan, whose body was mostly covered in lava, stood in front of him.

The magma of the dark world scorched his armor. The normally tolerable heat caused the Power Armour to deform, and even the Adamantium skeleton slowly melted into the body of the Lord of Drakes.

The scene was horrific, but the truly terrifying thing was Vulkan.

Because he was still walking, and his expression remained calm and undisturbed.

"Continue," the Lord of Drakes said, his tone almost commanding. "Lightning, storm, frost, fire. What else do you have? Use it all, Lorgar. You must rely on these things, or you will surely die."

I disagree.

With his brows furrowed, the Great Word Bearers surprisingly put down his scepter and began to walk towards the Lord of Drakes.

At this moment, one of the Primarch was covered in lava, with jet-black skin and blood-red eyes.

The other man, however, was dressed in a magnificent robe, with a handsome face and skin that Radiance with gold.

What an ironic contrast, yet neither of them had time to care about it.

In the next second, walking turned into running, and the earth trembled and the world burst into flames. The Great Word Bearers, wielding his golden staff, smashed it down on the Lord of Drakes, but Vulkan did not dodge. The hammer fell straight down, aimed directly at Lorgar's head.

Neither of them seemed to have any intention of withdrawing their weapons to parry or dodge, as if they wanted to use this attack to decide the outcome.

Then the Warhammer struck the Great Word Bearers's head, blood and flesh splattered, and the white skull was revealed through the torn skin.

The Lord of Drakes's chest was dented by the golden staff, with his armor and sternum embedded in it, forcing Vulkan to vomit a mouthful of blood.

He raised his head, ready to swing his weapon again, but Lorgar had already taken a few steps back.

He shook his head in displeasure, his features, contorted by the immense force, twitching comically for a fleeting moment. Darkness swept in, and Lorgar Aurelian returned to human form, like a repaired puppet.

"You can't win," Lorgar said.

"Really? Let's give it a try," Vulkan said.

Like a hurricane passing through, they began to fight again. For a moment, the battle between the two demigods seemed evenly matched.

While wielding his scepter, Lorgar continued casting spells. Vulkan was already covered in wounds and barely recognizable as a human, but his Warhammer was constantly being swung or smashed down, never stopping.

If you were to calculate carefully, the Great Word Bearers has probably died dozens of times. His heart has been smashed, his spine broken, and his head deformed more than once. Even considering the Primarch's vitality, these are quite terrifying injuries.

However, the damage these injuries inflicted on Lorgar was far less than what Vulkan had shown. Finally, after yet another exchange of life and death, Lorgar once again brandished his scepter and left the spot.

Vulkan swayed, then turned around to look for him.

"What have you done to yourself, Vulkan?!" Lorgar angrily rebuked. "I am blessed by the gods, which is why I am so powerful. What makes you think you can rival me?!"

His words sounded ridiculous, like a clueless fool asking a normal person how to solve a simple arithmetic problem, but Vulkan had no intention of laughing at him.

The Lord of Drakes coughed twice, vomiting a mouthful of blood. He didn't bother to answer Lorgar's question, because he was not Lorgar Jia Aurelian at all.

Just moments ago, amidst countless exchanges of injury and death, Vulkan had already seen the true nature of this thing. It was merely a shell, its essence completely devoured. As a fellow traitor, his power was utterly incomparable to Horus Lupercal.

The Lord of Drakes didn't understand how he had done it. Perhaps it was his keen observation skills as a blacksmith at work, or perhaps it was simply because he, too, had become different from before.

Vulkan able to perceive this because a sun was beating within his chest. All his past experiences were born for this moment.

"So your theory was correct," Rogal Vulkan thought. "As long as willpower is sufficient..."

He began to walk again.

Lorgar sighed.

"Stop, brother," he said with a hint of sadness. "What's the point of us killing each other like this? You can't kill me, but I can kill you."

Vulkan remained silent and continued walking. At the same time, he pressed his left thumb against the palm of his nearly broken gauntlet.

"You're nearing your end, aren't you? I understand. You can be resurrected, Horus told me. But if you fall into a coma, you will suffer a terrible fate; the gods will be angry with you. Why not surrender now? I can put in a good word for you, I can..."

A crisp beeping sound came from within the Lord of Drakes's armor, silencing Lorgar's voice. Vulkan stopped, a smile finally appearing on his bloodied face.

"There's nothing you can do."

Lorgar was stunned for a moment before his expression changed rapidly. He roared and swung his scepter, which flashed with golden light, but he was knocked to the ground by a flying Warhammer.

At the same time, a low, muffled sound began to emanate from the depths of the yellow sand beneath his feet, as if some ancient monster was breaking free from its prison.

Lorgar stood up angrily and stretched out his right hand toward his scepter. It immediately flew up toward him, but Vulkan had already pounced on it first. He pinned Lorgar firmly to the ground and began to wearily punch him.

All of this happened within just two seconds.

In the third second, Vulkan shattered Lorgar's cheekbone, and blood flowed out. He tried to fight back, summoning his scepter again, but Vulkan, without even looking, punched him, sending the scepter flying.

In the fourth second, he began to roar, while Vulkan's smile grew even wider.

"You ignorant imposter," the Lord of Drakes said, looking at him with a hint of pity. "You've been completely devoured, and you don't even realize it."

In the fifth second, a dazzling explosion, as if the world had been destroyed, erupted beneath them.

Update complete.