127 Terra (VI)
A biting, icy storm howled past, the condensed snow striking Rogal Dorn, shattering him to pieces and leaving only faint marks before being carried away by the gale. ღ(¯`◕‿◕´¯) ♫ ♪ ♫ ♫ ♪ ♫ (¯`◕‿◕´¯)ღ
Dorn, however, remained unmoved. He simply stood there, on the circular balcony of Malcador's private residence, trying to look down upon the Terra landscape through the wind and snow.
This is a tall tower, which is also Malcador's study and even doubles as a museum. Countless precious relics from history are stored in Stasis Field and placed peacefully not far from a stone round table.
Countless meetings have been held here, with the participants being some of the most powerful people on Terra —and now, at this crucial juncture, it is surprisingly empty.
Only Rogal Dorn stood here, not even indoors.
If you want to know the reason, you have to go back two hours, when he was still inside that building made of wood and brick, and Malcador had just finished talking about time.
As if to fulfill his words, or perhaps it was the work of that so-called God, in any case, within half a second of Malcador's words, Terra's already harsh climate began to change abruptly.
But it wasn't heading in a good direction; it was heading in an even worse direction. At the same time, a blinding flash of light suddenly pierced the clouds from somewhere in the Imperial Palace.
It was incredibly bright, but what it pierced and destroyed was not just the clouds, but also the communications of the entire Terra. Within minutes, several important departments that were directly connected to Dorn and Malcador lost their connection and disappeared from communication.
So, is the situation any better now?
The answer is no, the situation has not improved..•♫•♬• •♬•♫•.
More than an hour of emergency equipment repairs brought even worse results. People had to resort to the ancient method of communication, passing the word up the chain of command, until finally a shocking report was presented to Dorn and Malcador.
All communication equipment across Terra was completely malfunctioned by that beam of light; electromagnetic signals became chaotic, equipment was damaged, and Cogitator caught fire. Nowhere could escape this fate, not even the spaceport.
The open platform, 13,000 meters above sea level, is now deathly silent. It is hidden behind the dark clouds. It used to be faintly visible, but now it is completely hidden in the wind and snow.
Dorn deployed 18,000 Imperial Fists at the airport. He trusted them, but he didn't know how they would handle the situation.
It's like going back to the Stone Age, Rogal Dorn thought coldly.
The savages carrying torches trek through wind and snow to deliver news of wild animal attacks to friendly tribes—this is what we are doing now.
He stretched out his hands, brushed the snow off the iron railings of the circular balcony, and placed his hands on them.
The unbearable cold seeped through his leather gloves and into his veins, almost freezing his blood. He looked down at his hands, which, like his face, were already covered in snow in just a short while.
Frost spread over the mouth and nose, while snowflakes covered the cheeks. At this moment, the stubborn rock seemed to be frozen in snow and ice.
A few minutes later, a blue light flashed behind him, and the wind and snow stopped. Although it was only a short distance away, it was enough to make the chill dissipate for a moment.
Dorn turned around and saw Malcador, who had just regained his footing. 🎉💢 ♕🎅 The Sigillites's expression was extremely serious, and the Radiance at the top of the scepter in his hand had never been so bright.
"How is it?" Dorn asked.
He disregarded etiquette; this was no longer the time to worry about whether his tone of voice was offensive.
"The Ten Thousand, the Sisters of Silence, the Mechanicum, and the Fire Wasps have all set off."
Malcador spoke slowly, completely disregarding Dorn's tone. His hand gripped the scepter tightly, veins bulging, fingers white.
"But the situation is still far from optimistic; he is still fighting deep within the Webway. I have dispatched the Astropath from the Astropathic Court who are still of use to various parts of Terra to temporarily serve as communication relay stations. If things go well, perhaps we can restore some communications in a few more hours."
"I have five battalions deployed throughout Terra," Dorn replied quickly. "I can send men out to inform them—"
"--No." The Sigillites shook his head resolutely. "Absolutely not. And your Phalanx and all the fleets deployed in the Sol System must not be mobilized, Rogal."
"The reason?" Dorn asked calmly, but his fists suddenly clenched.
Because this is the final assault.
Malcador answered, each word distinct, his eyes gleaming with blue light—nowadays, only a few could understand the true meaning behind the Sigillites's expression, and Dorn was not among them.
"If this were a war where the specific situation on the battlefield could be observed at the tactical table, this would be the final moment. The two armies are locked in battle, fighting to the very end, all strategies exhausted, yet the enemy commander has still not appeared. Your army must delay him, even if only for a second."
"Delay?" Dorn repeated. "Delay?"
"Yes, delay."
"Is there no possibility of victory?"
"Absolutely not," Malcador said firmly. "I'm not a member of the Ten Thousand, and I won't distrust the Primarch and Astartes like they do. So there's only one reason I'm asking you to do this, Rogal. Because only in this way can we win."
Dorn paused for a moment, then said, "If things are really as you say, then, Malcador, you are asking me to send my legions to their deaths."
"Who do you think isn't?" Malcador retorted. "Yes, I am asking you to send your legions to their deaths, to delay Horus's advance, but once communications are restored and you relay this message to the fleet, I demand an additional explanation."
"What?" Dorn asked.
He remained calm—it was incredible how he managed to stay so rational. Perhaps no one would ever know the reason. But Malcador didn't care about the answer; he simply looked into Dorn's eyes and spoke, word by word.
"Tell them it's all worth it, all the bloodshed, death, and sacrifice is absolutely worth it, because we will win."
Where does your confidence come from?
"You will understand, just as Ferrus Manus and Fulgrim are on their way. Give them some answers. You must do this for me," Malcador said calmly. "Also, Rogal, keep a close eye on Mars."
As soon as he finished speaking, psionic light surged and immediately engulfed him. The cold wind continued to blow, bringing snow that was gradually turning black. Dorn stood silently in place, continuing to feel the cold.
He didn't know where Malcador was going, but he had gotten the answer he wanted. Therefore, there was no longer any need for hesitation or worry.
There is only one path: victory. Nothing more.
--
The Adeptus Custodes are charging—never before have you seen so many Adeptus Custodes.
They were engaged in a horrific massacre, each Adeptus Custodes imbued with unparalleled rage in the swing of their weapons. But this rage only made the killing more precise and ruthless, devoid of any impulsive or hot-blooded actions. Then came the Sisters of Silence, who, as always, fought alongside the Adeptus Custodes Guard.
Closely following behind were the loyal Mechanicum, the Secutarii, and the priests, who stood firmly behind the Adeptus Custodes, advancing alongside the deadly and well-maintained armed forces against the lines created by the Adeptus Custodes as the spearhead.
The Fire Wasps's Divine Machines were positioned at the rear of the line, yet they inflicted the most devastating damage—who had ever seen dozens, or even hundreds, of Divine Machines firing simultaneously?
Beneath the Imperial Palace walls, within the Webway, in this vast yet densely shrouded place, a miracle was unfolding. For anyone, this was an extraordinary and wondrous sight; in the past, it would have been considered an honor.
But not now, because nobody even cares about such things. Anyone who rushes to the entrance to the Webway will be immediately captured by the war and become a part of it.
Regardless of who you are or what your status is, whether you are a member of the Auxilia, a member of the Secutarii, or a member of the Sisters of Silence, even the Adeptus Custodes are not exempt from this influence.
They fought, they died, and they had only one goal: to penetrate the depths of the Webway.
Everyone could feel the heat, the heat emanating from the depths of the Webway.
And there was the Emperor's voice.
"I will wait here," he said.
Waiting for whom?
Sorry for the writer's block and late post. I'll stop here for today and adjust the outline to prepare for the climax.