Interlude: The Day Terra Shattered (78k)

For ten thousand years, the questions of why Terra shattered and what exactly happened on the day Terra shattered have remained the ultimate questions for historians, devout believers, and simply curious individuals alike.

They tirelessly and desperately pursued the truth behind these two events.

Historians generally attribute this event to the rebellion of the great traitors Horus Lupercal and Lorgar Aurelian, Alpharius' repeated instigations, and the ruthless invasions of the Chaos's greatest foe.

However, these are merely contributing factors; the true cause remains unclear to this day. Many have attempted to traverse the dust of history, ascend the shattered Terra, and search for clues within the ruins.

But none of them came back.

Unlike historians who take a factual approach, devout believers attempt to explain the cause from a religious perspective: the God-Emperor shattered Terra because only in this way could humanity continue to survive.

However, there can never be only one faction of believers.

In some regions, churches where people pray to the God-Emperor during the day become gathering places for another group after midnight, and the sacred and majestic statue of the God-Emperor transforms into a sinister Ghost draped in a black robe.

According to these people, it was He who broke Terra.

But who is He, what kind of god is He? What did He do? Why did He do it? These questions cannot be answered; only vague words circulate among their so-called "doctrine."

For example, the sect's Vengeance, Judgment, and punishment, its high degree of unreliability, and its practice of not worshipping the God-Emperor and even obscuring His statues led to it being labeled a complete cult within the Ecclesiarchy.

As for those busybodies

They don't speculate, they don't study, they don't pray. They only do one thing.

"Are you ready?!"

"Just throw me down!" Cassidorius Ciunas roared. "Hurry up! Otherwise we'll miss the deadline!"

His roar was so intense that it sounded completely unlike the voice of a normal human being. For a moment, his roar almost drowned out the engine roar of the small shuttle.

Its pilot cursed and immediately pressed a button on the control panel. The deck cracked open, and Cassidorius Ciunas fell out of the shuttle, suddenly appearing in a very dangerous position in the pitch-black night dotted with gloomy crimson.

At the same time, the driver's voice came through his earpiece, tinged with dissatisfaction and a rude tone, yet full of respect.

"They say you have five hours, Cassidorius."

"That's more than enough."

He said he squinted and adjusted his posture, then began to fall rapidly.

A fierce wind swept in, carrying with it a terrible chill. The combination of the two resulted in a terrifyingly low temperature that could freeze an ordinary person to death instantly, but it had no effect on Cassidorius.

A faint red glow emanated from beneath his skin, radiating intense heat. High-temperature steam rose from around Cassidorius's body, rendering the cold ineffective.

The fierce wind cut through the air like a knife, and he stared wide-eyed in the gale to make sure he hadn't misjudged his landing location.

He could clearly see a huge ruin.

It was shrouded in darkness, thick fog dissipated, and moonlight, seemingly from nowhere, shone upon it, making it appear pale and eerie. Standing tall for ten thousand years, it has not collapsed even as ruins; Rogal Dorn's design is truly astonishing.

With reverence for the Primarch of the Imperial Fists, Cassidorius activated the jetpack on his back.

Fortunately, it didn't malfunction due to the low temperature and strong winds like last time, which meant that the Mars Tech-Priest had indeed taken his advice. Cassidorius sighed with satisfaction and then slowly descended.

He landed safely in a tower that had lost its top floor. Without wasting a moment, he immediately started running.

Miraculously, the tower's decaying wooden floor and main structure withstood his frantic run. He ran all the way to its edge and clearly saw through the breaches caused by the bombing what lay beyond the ruins—a terrifying darkness, devoid of any other color.

There was only pure darkness, far beyond the limits of what the human eye could perceive.

This is extremely dark.

Cassidorius habitually gritted his teeth, took a flare from behind his waist, threw it, and leaped down.

The height of about ten meters had no effect on his body—this time, he was fully armed and prepared, and would never be caught off guard by various situations like last time.

The flare fell into the darkness, rolled a few times, but emitted no light. Cassidorius looked down at his right wrist, where the Imperial Aquila was gleaming on a silver wristwatch.

He casually pressed the Aquila, and a pale green screen appeared, clearly indicating a coordinate point. He walked forward, fearlessly stepping into the darkness.

However, the temperature began to drop rapidly as soon as they entered. Within seconds, a thick layer of frost had formed on Cassidorius's skin. ☞💔 ☠🌷 He didn't seem to care, continuing to throw out the flare and glance at his watch.

He knew nothing of his surroundings, yet he could find the luminous sticks one by one by relying on his watch. Only when he actually found them could Cassidorius see a glimmer of light.

The ground was muddy and reeked of blood. Shell casings and weapons were buried in the mud mixed with flesh and blood, making walking difficult. For ten thousand years, these remains and weapons had remained uncollected.

Cassidorius sighed.

"Four hours and thirty-one minutes," he read out a number and shook his head.

Eleven minutes later, he finally emerged from the thick, dark fog. Now, under the eerie, and unusual moonlight, he finally saw his destination.

How can I possibly describe this scene?

At least, Cassidorius couldn't describe it in words. He simply reached behind his waist with trembling hands, fumbled for his portable camera, and began taking pictures.

Under the moonlight, in a dilapidated corner of the Imperial Palace, a damaged Titan leaned quietly against the ruins. Its surface was covered in dust, but not enough to cover a divine machine, so the terrible bullet holes and charred remains of bombardment clung to its surface.

Clearly, it fought to the death.

Unfortunately, Cassidorius didn't know its specific model or even recognize its emblem. He hadn't been taught these things, and the Tech-Priest responsible for liaising with him didn't actually like the personified Titan very much.

But who cares about him now?

Cassidorius bowed respectfully to the Titan before continuing his journey, passing beneath it and entering a corner of the Imperial Palace. But as soon as he entered, he saw many skeletons.

Most of them were ordinary people like him, their uniforms decayed and hanging empty on their bones. Some of the dead clutched guns, while others only had knives at their disposal. Cassidorius bowed, took a picture, and then walked past them.

He rounded a corner and saw many Astartes. Most were Imperial Fists, followed by Iron Hands. He silently bowed, saluted again, and then raised his camera.

As is customary, such enthusiasts—or rather, officially certified explorers—are required to write a final account for the fallen.

These photographs will at some point be sent to the Chapter or units where they served, and then this part of the work will no longer be Cassidorius's responsibility. Others will naturally dig their names out of history, and this is absolutely worthwhile.

These skeletons have lay on the shattered Terra for a full ten thousand years, without honor, and even the very troops they once served in could not accurately count the names of every single one of the dead.

After all, most of the units were rebuilt after the war, and apart from their names and unit numbers, they had absolutely nothing in common.

Loyal people should never be treated this way.

Cassidorius silently took photos, one after another, the monotonous clicking of the camera shutter echoing through the ruins, along with the sound of his footsteps. He continued to venture deeper, without the slightest fear.

There's no need for that. Why should he be afraid of the heroes who once protected humanity?

Until a series of footsteps sounded.

Cassidorius abruptly slung the camera back onto his waist and drew the precision Plasma Pistol equipped by the Mars Mechanicum.

Fifty-five meticulous processes, crafted with utmost care. Fitting his palm perfectly, molded individually, designed solely for him. A masterpiece from the Mechanicum, representing absolute precision and absolute destruction.

Below its barrel hung the Lectitio Divinitatus sash, personally baptized by a high-ranking priest of the Ecclesiarchy —a weapon so rare that even some Space Marine Chapter might not possess one. Why then was it in his possession?

The answer is simple.

The exploration of the Shattered Terra has been a slow and cautious endeavor for 466 years. Countless people have died in the process, but it has all been worthwhile. They have brought back the names of the departed, along with countless valuable lessons and experiences, with their lives.

For example, all explorations should not last more than twenty-five hours, and all explorers should be equipped with full armor and weapons, for example...

Cassidorius yanked the trigger.

The shimmering blue light illuminated his face and also illuminated things in the darkness.

It was a crimson monster with bulging muscles, standing upright on its back, with two horns on its head and wielding a sharp sword. Notably, its body appeared extremely ethereal, almost transparent.

However, Cassidorius had no doubt about its authenticity—a low growl of disgust erupted from the throat of the last descendant of the del Kunas Family, followed by a torrent of fierce rebuke.

"Daemon!"

The plasma burst erupted again, and a single shot struck the Bloodletter's head. It convulsed and fell, its blood splattering across the ground.

However, this was not the end. Cassidorius continued firing, and more Daemon swarmed out from the shadows. The explorer showed no fear; he simply fired.

Just start firing.

This wasn't the first time he'd dealt with these so-called "echoes"; he'd fought them during his initial exploration. ♟👌 👺👤

These Daemon echoes, originating from the bloody battle ten thousand years ago, do not possess true life; they are merely remnants of obsession.

Their greed for human flesh and soul lingered on the sixty-five fragments of Holy Terra, thus creating this so-called echo.

Compared to real Daemon, these things were incredibly weak; a single shot could take out several of them instantly, but their numbers were astonishing. It took Cassidorius twelve minutes to finish the battle. He truly wondered how the soldiers of ten thousand years ago had managed to face such a demonic tide.

What he fought was merely an echo, something with less than a tenth of his own power. And what about them?

The explorer silently lowered his head and glanced at the skeletons. He put away his gun, took out his camera, and continued deeper into the area. After navigating several winding corridors, he came to a circular plaza—or at least it used to be.

Judging from the stacked crates, as well as the decaying weapons and armor, this place was probably used as a temporary mobilization point ten thousand years ago.

Cassidorius raised his hand and took another picture. He intended to leave then, as time was running out and he had to return to the evacuation point before the five-hour deadline—however, just a second before leaving, he suddenly stopped.

Crates?

He turned abruptly and rushed to the pile of boxes. He bent down and began to observe them intently, and they, in turn, cast a quiet, decaying gaze upon him.

The surroundings were quiet, without a sound, and the air was cold, devoid of the stench of decay that one would expect from other ruins. After careful observation, Cassidorius made a chilling discovery.

These boxes showed obvious signs of having been moved.

Someone—or something—brought them here.

"This is the third rendezvous point." A voice suddenly rang out from behind him. "We'll be doing our mobilization and distributing weapons here."

Cassidorius whirled around, the plasma already in his hand. He expected to see a monster, or something similar, but he froze.

He saw a middle-aged man with gray hair, wearing a blood-stained military uniform, standing with his hands behind his back, staring at him with his chin raised as if inspecting subordinates.

"Who are you?" Cassidorius asked warily.

"I am Major Saad bin Salah Ibn Rashid Al -Latib of the 21st Terra Defense Force Infantry Regiment." The man slowly uttered a long and intimidating name. "You can call me Major, or Ibn."

Cassidorius was silent for a moment, then replied, "A lucky person? Is that what your name means?"

"That's only part of the meaning," the major said. "You seem quite knowledgeable."

"Me?" The explorer shook his head, his gun still pointed at the major. "I'm not learned; I'm the notorious playboy of my family, good for nothing but eating, drinking, and having fun."

"Family?"

"I come from the del Kunas Family."

The major pondered for a moment, then nodded knowingly. "That Rogue Trader family—it seems your family has been doing quite well."

"What do you mean?"

"Ten thousand years have passed, Ciunas," the major said. "And you still exist, and with that gun, so your family has continued well."

The major looked at it.

"Masterfully crafted, this is truly a fine gun. I've seen many explorers, but none of them possess a weapon like yours. Has your family formed a partnership with the Mechanicum?"

"Deep cooperation," the explorer said. "You said you've met quite a few people like me? What do you mean?"

"Do I need to make it any clearer, Ciunas?" The major looked at him and shook his head.

To be fair, his condescending attitude made Cassidorius grit his teeth, but he didn't lose his temper because of it.

Similarly, he did not lower his guard against the major based on his own opinion, and he still held the plasma firmly in his hand.

"Your words are full of implications, and I don't know if they're true or false. But, at least to me, they all sound like fabricated lies. I don't believe anyone could survive on one of the sixty-five fragments, and I don't believe—"

Cassidorius suddenly fell silent, for no other reason than the major stepped forward and reached out to grasp the barrel of the plasma gun. No, perhaps it wasn't "grasp," but rather "pass through." The five fingers of his right hand went straight through the barrel and slowly closed into a fist.

"--I didn't survive, Ciunas," the major said. "None of us did."

A cold wind blew past, and the explorer stood frozen for a few seconds, unable to contain himself. The impact of this event on him was quite intense; however, he quickly remembered something else.

This year marks the 466th year since the investigation into the Shattered Terra began, and in the past investigations, witnessing Ghost has not been uncommon.

Although the general public may not be aware of this, there is a general consensus within organizations such as the Departmento Munitorum, the Mechanicum, and even the Ecclesiarchy that Terra is indeed haunted.

According to the investigation reports that Cassidorius had read, the Ghost were nothing more than illusory entities that were basically unable to communicate and could only repeat mechanical actions and words.

This is far from the colonel's current demeanor; he is not capable of independent thought, nor is he willing to "provide evidence" to prove something.

"How do you explain those crates?" Cassidorius suddenly asked. "How do you explain them, Major? They were transported here. Ten thousand years ago, the wood should have rotted to dust long ago, yet they can still bear the burden of carrying heavy loads."

"I don't need to explain," the major said.

He turned and walked into the deep darkness in front of Cassidorius, his figure disappearing completely into the darkness in an instant, but his voice was not. His voice remained calm, even reaching Cassidorius's ears precisely.

"You've come for the truth, haven't you?"

"What truth?" the explorer asked, feigning ignorance.

"The truth about the day Terra shattered," the major said. "You want to know why it shattered, you want to know what really happened that day, and that's why you're here."

"What's it to you?!" Cassidorius shouted into the darkness.

He didn't receive an answer, but he didn't need one anymore, because the world before him was changing. Ashes rose up from the ground, the air began to tremble, and a series of fine, continuous clicking sounds came from the void, clearly audible to him.

The clock ticked, like the hands of a clock. Cassidorius instinctively looked down at his watch. It no longer displayed the time; the pale green screen was now frantically and erratically scrolling across one seemingly insignificant number after another.

As he looked at them, Cassidorius's heart began to race—he could read binary language, so he knew what the numbers meant when combined.

"Vengeance," he uttered with difficulty. "The time has come?"

"Yes," the major said.

"It came, and then lasted for ten thousand years, Cassidorius— "

He emerged from the darkness, his blood-stained uniform now clean, and an old-fashioned Lasgun in his hand. His helmet pressed against his white hair, and his face was drenched in sweat. A blinding, bloody red light shone down from above, replacing the moonlight.

Suddenly, a series of loud footsteps sounded behind them. Cassidorius instinctively looked back and saw a group of soldiers charging towards him. He instinctively closed his eyes, a gust of wind swept over him, but he was unharmed.

They rushed past him, and the explorer turned around again, stunned. He saw a raging fireball, blazing with hellfire, shrieking as it descended from the sky, shattering the dome. Daemon clung to it, laughing maniacally as they leaped down from the fireball, landing on the ground and beginning a rampage of slaughter.

The earth trembled, and a group of Astartes clad in bright yellow armor emerged from the darkness on the other side, beginning their battle. Everything was descending into chaos, and Cassidorius's ears were filled with roars and the sounds of death.

He stared blankly at everything before him, unsure how to react, when he saw a vast expanse of hideous flames descend from the sky, scorching the Daemon's flesh. A huge shadow slowly rose, obscuring him.

The explorer looked up in bewilderment and saw a divine machine filled with mechanical beauty, every component of which was so beautiful and so full of power—in contrast to its current grotesque appearance covered in blood.

The Glory of the Omnissiah stood before him, roaring in fury. The frenzy of the Machine Spirit seemed to tangibly penetrate the flashing red light above Cassidorius's head and rush into his eyes. He couldn't help but clench his fists, the grip of the Plasma Pistol creaking in his hands.

"--And this is just the beginning," the major said, standing beside him. "What you've seen is only the tip of the iceberg, but that doesn't matter. Look up, Cassidorius."

According to him, the explorer, who had lost the ability to think for himself, raised his head, not even caring how the major knew his name.

In the night sky, he saw a scarlet crown. It floated there quietly, complete and dazzling, yet it was uncontrollably suffocating.

"Remember this, Cassidorius," the major said calmly. "Twenty-five hours after the start of the defense of Terra, a god awakened in Terra."

As soon as he finished speaking, the sky suddenly darkened.

A warship engulfed in flames emerged from the dissipating clouds, its prow resembling a Ghost draped in black robes. The crown that had been floating in the sky appeared precisely atop its head, as if by divine intervention.

Then, the warship began to fall, or rather, plummet—plunging at an extremely high speed.

Its hull, adorned with Eight-pointed Star, scraped past the atmosphere, burning as it hurtled down, crashing heavily onto the Terra ground with the force of a mountain.

Cassidorius suddenly began to vomit.

In a violent, earth-shattering tremor, he collapsed to the ground. The air smelled of burning, and his eyes darted wildly around him, seeing the ground cracking open, with Daemon and lava laughing maniacally from the supernatural fissures.

"This ship is named Vengeful Spirit," the major said, still holding his gun. "It was once Horus Lupercal's flagship."

He paused, as if to make a point.

"But not anymore. Now, it's a premeditated altar. It has been waiting in the Warp for a long time, where there is no concept of time, Cassidorius."

"Long before the Vengeful Spirit was even the Vengeful Spirit, the name it represents had already begun to wait there. From the beginning of time to the end of time, it has always existed, for so do the gods. It is His own altar, and thereafter it will remain His only altar."

"What exactly are you saying—" Cassidorius struggled to his feet.

His eyes were bloodshot.

"The truth," the major said. "The truth about the day Terra shattered. You want to know why it shattered, and this is the reason. Physically speaking, it's because the Vengeful Spirit struck Terra and brought with it Warp magic. It penetrated deep into Terra's core."

"But... but..." Cassidorius clutched his throat, gasping for breath. "Reinforcements—"

"--Yes, reinforcements." The major laughed. "The loyalists are on their way, at all costs. If you have psionic talent, you can see them right now."

"You will see the Khan the White Scars and his sons, covered in blood, following the Vengeful Spirit as they ascend Terra."

"You will see Sanguinius and his angels being hurled from the Signus Cluster to Terra by Warp Storm."

"You will see a wounded Lion El'Jonson leading the Dark Angels from the forests of Caliban toward Terra."

"You will see a massive fleet approaching from the Ultima Segmentum, unimpeded. Ultramarines, Iron Warriors, Death Guard, War Hounds, Raven Guard, Salamanders, and the Midnight Blade, destined to aboard Terra."

"But."

The major raised his gun.

"Until they arrive, this place can only be held by us, Cassidorius."

The explorer was stunned; a terrifying thought was born in his mind.

"Five hours, that's your time, Cassidorius," the major said. "And we have ten thousand years, ten thousand years of fighting here every night."

"We have accepted our fate. Starting from the twenty-fifth hour, we will fight forever. We die, and then are reborn the next morning. Every night, we travel from the future to the past."

"We shape the past from the future; that is the meaning of our existence. Terra is destined to shatter, and destined to become an altar; its time is chaotic, so we can fight for hope time and time again."

A group of people walked past them.

Armor tattered, uniform stained with blood, bones reborn. The Imperial Fists saluted him, the Iron Hands saluted him, the soldiers saluted him— Cassidorius unconsciously opened his mouth wide, and tears streamed down his face without his knowledge.

He wanted to ask, why do I deserve this kind of treatment? And how do I have the right to know these things?

Then, a hand grasped the plasma.

Hold it firmly in your hand.

"Because of this gun," the major said.

"What?" Cassidorius asked, his lips trembling.

"In your memory, the exploration of the Shattered Terra began four hundred and sixty-six years ago. But for us, it didn't."

"It started ten thousand years ago. You saw those floating fortresses on your way here, didn't you? Every Chapter was involved, building along the fragments of Terra in the cold vacuum."

"All the fighting was for this day, Cassidorius, for your arrival. That's why we appeared before your time. You are the 55,555th explorer to set foot on Terra, and you carry this spear."

"It laid the foundation for a victory; it was a predetermined future, forged by our past."

He reached out and took it, and Cassidorius stared at him blankly, unable to utter a single word.

The major saluted him and slipped a gem into his hand.

"I will make the best use of it," he said solemnly. "For the sake of humanity."

As soon as he finished speaking, everything vanished, and Cassidorius sat up abruptly—a crowd of people stood before him, staring at him, some huge, some short, some clad in steel armor, some in robes, but he cared nothing for them.

He spread out his right hand.

A gemstone shone quietly there.

The major's name in this chapter comes from a member of the book group, Brother David. His name, Saad bin Salah Ibn Al -Latib, can be understood as the heir of the unchanging, righteous path, the son of justice, and the fortunate one. Thanks to him for the suggestion.

Sorry for the late update. That's all for today. A lot has happened recently, and I haven't been feeling well. This chapter might not have the effect I wanted, I apologize. Also, this chapter actually has a lot of foreshadowing; if you're interested, you can try to organize it. I'll add an extra chapter if you guess them all correctly.