143 Terra (18)

The giant scythe and the sharp sword clashed, the putrid miasma and the black flames of fury collided head-on. As the sharp edges clashed, the two giants saw each other's eyes.

One burns, the other is deathly still.

Their feet spun, and they parted from each other, then turned around simultaneously. The greatsword slashed down, and the scythe swung backhand, colliding once more.

Mars flew everywhere, and the immense force even made the obsidian ground tremble. A strong wind rose, and the giant wearing rotten armor suddenly laughed strangely.

"You've changed a lot, Fulgrim."

Phoenix ignored her and continued swinging her sword.

The Lord of Death is a formidable opponent, resilient, powerful, and capable of enduring pain that no ordinary person could bear. He is the kind of warrior any commander dreams of, but the one Phoenix is now facing is not.

It lacked the wisdom hidden between tenacity and coldness that Mortarion possessed; it was merely an empty shell. Though powerful, it was slow. It was stubborn, but more often than not, it was rigid. It didn't even have any tactics or skills; it simply fought against Fulgrim with strength and endurance.

For example, right now, it forcefully pushed Fulgrim back with an unstoppable blow; its brute force was truly terrifying. However, at such a crucial juncture, it did not press its advantage but instead remained in place, continuing to move and waiting for the next opportunity.

It displayed a complete lack of combat intelligence, or rather, it acted extremely slowly.

Fulgrim noted this down, then swung his sword sharply. With a twist of his wrist and a burst of power from his waist, the greatsword slashed diagonally at the monster, which braced itself and parried with the hilt of its scythe.

Phoenix had anticipated this—this wasn't the first time it had used this move. It immediately retreated, its greatsword thrusting out amidst the burning flames, delivering a truly deadly strike with effortless ease.

The rotting monster snorted coldly, neither dodging nor flinching, and took the blow head-on with the front of its breastplate.

The black flames burned freely, surging into its flesh and blood. Strange gurgling sounds came from within its body, but it showed no reaction whatsoever.

"I am immortal," it said. "Nothing can destroy me."

"You dare to challenge me?" Phoenix replied.

The brief conversation ended quickly, and they were at it again.

A dazzling series of attacks occurred in quick succession within seconds. Fulgrim first thrust, then changed direction to slash, his sword cutting deep into the monster's armor and into its flesh.

It remained unmoved; teeth sprouted from its bones and flesh within the wounds of its armor and began to gnaw at the sword blade formed from raging flames.

With a grim expression, Fulgrim released his grip, causing the greatsword to dissipate. The monster, of course, did not let this opportunity pass; the Silence roared as it slashed down, intending to take his life.

The phoenix, however, moved faster than expected, retreating instantly as if it had foreseen the future, while simultaneously kicking out and striking the center of the scythe's hilt. The flames of fury flared once more, and the greatsword was once again in its grasp.

The monster was forced back two steps by the kick, but immediately caught up. The wound on its shoulder was now slowly healing, just like the one on its waist.

It's terrifying. Unless it's killed on the spot, it can gradually recover. Even the flames of Vengeance will be slowly devoured by this corrupting and distorted power.

No, not swallowing.👤♩ 6➈ ♥👌

The phoenix keenly recognized the difference—it didn't devour; it simply endured the damage and then healed, nothing more.

The flames can still damage it.

A chilling, terrifying smile slowly spread across Fulgrim's face.

He rushed forward again.

The violence between the two sides began to become increasingly terrifying over time, with each step or dodge causing the ground to tremble as if an earthquake had struck.

The deafening sound of the sword and the scythe clashing together could echo for a long time in the darkness. This sudden duel was escalating, yet it was difficult to determine which side had the upper hand.

Since the start of the war, Fulgrim has not been injured even once, while the rotting monster has suffered considerable losses.

Its terrifying armor was now riddled with wounds. The phoenix showed no mercy; the most lethal swordsman in the entire galaxy was unleashing a bloody murder with power far exceeding its former strength.

The monster paid a heavy price for this.

For example, the disappearance of its left shoulder armor, a wound on its abdomen, a stab wound on its cheek—it suffered so many injuries, yet it showed no signs of weakness whatsoever, and the power it wielded in silence even began to grow stronger.

"Look at yourself, Fulgrim!" it roared, "Your dead offspring will be ashamed of your current state!"

"You should look in the mirror before you speak," Phoenix replied with a smile. "I really want to know what kind of gloomy, ugly face you have under that mask right now. You're utterly disgracing the name Mortarion. How dare you act with his face on your person?"

"A single word is too much," the monster roared, swinging its scythe in fury.

It is an extraordinary thing; even as a rotten, diseased monster, no one can deny its power, which far surpasses that of the mortal world.

Its current method of venting its anger is no different from that of ordinary mortals; it simply resorts to violence, nothing more. Although it clearly possesses other powers, it does not use them.

Although Fulgrim could smell the stench of the plague, it simply refused to use it, as if it had forgotten how to use those things.

But Fulgrim did not forget.

So he spun his sword, summoning a raging torrent of flames before the scythe could arrive, within which vengeful spirits roared and viciously bit the monster's face amidst the fiery waves.

Flesh and blood were torn off by sharp claws, and the morbid, tumor-covered pieces of flesh were ripped apart by the vengeful spirits. Dark green pus and insect eggs gushed from the wounds, which should have hatched there, but were burned to ashes in mid-air.

The monster let out a low growl and retreated repeatedly, halting the attack of its giant scythe that was about to fall.

Fulgrim immediately pounced; how could he possibly let such a golden opportunity slip by? He wasn't slow to react.

He raised his sword and began a terrifying, relentless assault on the monster, slashing, thrusting, and parrying, one strike after another, continuous and unending like a flowing river.

In just a few seconds, he had already struck it seventeen times. The monster flapped its insect wings and roared as it retreated. Finally, unable to contain its rage, amidst the pain and the tingling sensation of healing, it covered its disfigured face and roared.

"Seriously, go look in the mirror," Fulgrim chuckled. "My brothers aren't as ugly as you."

"I am Mortarion!" it roared in protest. (っ◔◡◔)っ♥ ♥ "And you, what are you?!"

"I am your death," said the Phoenix. "I will kill you here, so that my brother may rest in peace."

He stood there, leaning on his sword, not giving chase. He calmly gathered his strength—Phoenix knew he would need to fight for a long time to kill the creature, and his stamina was almost depleted.

The chilling sensation was growing stronger, enhancing his use of rage and other abilities, but not healing his injuries or restoring his strength. Perhaps they could, but a voice within Fulgrim was urging him not to accept such treatment.

That's not treatment! it hissed.

"I know," Phoenix replied calmly.

Beneath his smile lay no joy, only seriousness, solemnity, rage—and sorrow.

I'm going to kill you.

The monster muttered and shook its head, the scythe slipping from its hand. It gripped the weapon by the end, clearly not a suitable way to launch an attack.

Phoenix frowned, unsure of what it was up to, but still drew its sword. It intended to defend itself, to remain unchanged in the face of any change, but suddenly heard a buzzing sound, like the scorching heat of an engine roaring.

Then, he saw a smile appear on the thing's mutilated face.

Phoenix's pupils contracted sharply.

The monster turned around slowly but precisely, its scythe seemingly slow but actually fast slicing through the air. Silence swept across the darkness with deadly force, and several heavy objects fell to the ground with a thud, accompanied by the sound of blood splattering.

One of the heavy objects rolled down to Fulgrim's feet.

It was a head.

Wearing a white helmet, a red lightning bolt flashed across his right side, the cut was perfectly smooth, and blood was slowly dripping down. He shouldn't be dead yet; at least Fulgrim could still hear him trying to breathe, but he soon went silent.

The monster chuckled deeply.

"Jaghatai!" it cried. "You cannot defeat me!"

Accompanied by the high-speed roar of the hovermobile and the subsequent screech of brakes, the Eagle of Chogoris calmly emerged from the darkness, carrying the White Tiger Dao in his hand, his armor stained with blood.

The White Scars men followed closely behind the Khan, only a few without helmets, and their rage needed no visual observation.

"Really? Why?" Khan asked, seemingly unconcerned, his sharp gaze sweeping over Fulgrim.

"Because I can help," said the monster. "Fulgrim! Come and help me!"

Phoenix, his face grim, raised his sword and charged forward. The greatsword was held high.

The Khan laughed, a very obvious laugh that couldn't be concealed even by his imposing beard. He drew a dangerously gleaming pistol from his waist and, without hesitation, fired a shot into the monster's head.

Blood splattered, hitting a left eye, and even half of the skull was pierced by this premeditated shot.

The shattered eyeball fell out of its socket, melting in the air along with pus and diseased brain matter, turning into a rotting flower. It fell to the ground, only to be violently cleaved in two by the White Tiger Dao, not even having a chance to grow.

"Do you think I'm as stupid as you?" Jaghatai said with a smile, slowly sheathing his long sword.

The monster roared in fury, about to retaliate, but a massive black flame sword pierced its chest from behind and held high. Something that could be described as either blood or pus gushed from the wound, and it screamed in agony—a scream that was definitely not the sound a true Mortarion would make.

"I don't know which master you begged for this power, but He should have given it to Typhus; it's a terrible waste for you to possess it."

The Khan laughed loudly, and only then did the Phoenix spare a little attention to observe his brother whom he had not seen for a long time.

He discovered that although the Khan still appeared dashing, he was probably already extremely exhausted. His worn armor and unkempt beard were proof of this.

"It's been a long time, Fulgrim." Jaghatai nodded politely to him. "May the brave Emperor's Children rest in peace."

"How did you know?" Phoenix asked seriously, and began to unleash its full fury, intending to burn the rotting body to ashes.

Flames roared and immediately spread from the sword, causing it to scream in agony—something Mortarion would never do. The Lord of Death scorned pain; how could he let out such a scream over such a minor injury?

The Khan laughed mockingly, but didn't ask Fulgrim what was going on. He waved his hand behind him, and a head was handed to him.

It was the Sons of Horus who died with his eyes wide open, the Eight-pointed Star originally etched on his forehead, now covered by the Imperial Aquila.

"We have encountered Horus's fleet."

Jaghatai exhaled a breath of stale air.

"No, perhaps that's not the right term for it. It's a monster, utterly devoid of mercy or fraternity. It uses your stories as gossip fodder to boast to me, trying to force me to submit."

"Then?"

Jaghatai shrugged, White Scars men suddenly revved their motorcycles, the engines roaring like the neighing of ten thousand horses.

Fulgrim smiled, intending to say more, but his expression suddenly changed. He swiftly turned and threw the sword, still attached to the impaled corpse, away.

Jaghatai immediately rushed to his side, guarding him with a sword, while signaling the White Scars to hand Fulgrim another sword. However, the Phoenix shook his head, merely making a grasping motion with both hands, and a massive black flame sword, its power undiminished, materialized from the air.

Jaghatai glanced at him in surprise, while Phoenix remained silent. They had no time to communicate, for a strange, distorted sound was already echoing in the darkness.

The monster's voice rang out again.

"Arrogant and self-important," it said grimly. "What do you know, Jaghatai? You can't even organize your own army. How does it feel to be threatened with a knife by your own son?"

"That was Alpharius's trick," Khan calmly retorted.

"Was it also part of his scheme to deflect your fleet's course toward the Vengeful Spirit? Don't deceive yourself, Jaghatai. Your offspring are more loyal to Horus than you are, and it is unwise of you to lead your remaining offspring to Terra now."

It laughed cruelly.

"You didn't act like a good Primarch, only caring about staying on Horus's arm as his Falcon. It's utterly shameless. What good does that bring you? Mental satisfaction? You don't even have the wisdom a general should have. On Terra, you'll get nothing but death."

"When did you become so eloquent, Mortarion?" Jaghatai asked slowly. "This isn't like you."

"It's not Mortarion," Phoenix said. "Just a monster."

"And what about you?"

A voice in the darkness asked.

"A beautiful hero with slicked-back hair, a foolish general who values his reputation more than victory, a jealous idiot who smiles and fawns over anyone who makes contact with Ferrus Manus, and an incompetent Primarch who ruined most of his legion."

"You are indeed beautiful, Fulgrim, handsome even now. So perhaps you should stay in a brothel rather than on the battlefield; this place is not for you. Go find a brothel; you'll surely shine in this ancient profession."

The phoenix turned its head and said to the Khan, "Now it's a monster adept at distorting the truth."

"When isn't it hateful?" the Khan retorted. "However, it is indeed adept at distorting the truth; perhaps we should invite it to the High Lord's meeting table to debate with them."

A loud laugh echoed from the darkness, and a bloodied face emerged—it was Lorgar Aurelian.

"Then I'll make them convert," he said maliciously. "That way they won't keep arguing with you about military spending, right, brothers?"

The face then withdrew, and the strange sounds in the darkness began to grow louder. Fulgrim calmly stood back to back with Khan, and the two began to watch out for each other's blind spots.

Just then, a roar came from among the White Scars. A warrior opened fire into the darkness, driving back a monster—or perhaps it couldn't be called a monster, but rather another blood-stained face, named Eidolon.

However, only Fulgrim knew it was Eidolon's face.

In fact, it wasn't even the Eidolon he knew. That Eidolon was fighting to the death somewhere on Terra.

"Father, oh Father!" it wailed as it swallowed the bomb, its throat a hazy pink. "Father! Let me lick your blood! Just like last time!"

The Khan turned his head and asked in a low voice, "Who is he talking to?"

"Something you've never seen before is about to happen, brother," Fulgrim said, black flames burning in his eyes. "But it's all lies, all illusions. Stay calm, or they'll find an opening."

"I thought I'd seen it all."

Jaghatai sighed, then suddenly stepped forward, his blade slashing down. The White Tiger moved with lightning speed, a piece of flesh flying out of the darkness and landing at their feet, emitting wisps of smoke.

It should have melted, but it didn't; it even throbbed briefly. Fine teeth grew from the edges of the flesh, and it deftly flipped over, transforming into a mouth detached from its body.

It had no lips, it was excessively pale, excessively ugly, and flies flew out of its bottomless throat.

"Incompetent fools!" it laughed shrilly. "The Lord of Pestilence has arrived!"

Phoenix destroyed it with a single sword strike.

"Let it come to its death," he whispered. "I'll kill it too."

A colossal monster emerged from the darkness, its insect wings flapping behind it. Its face was swollen, as was its body; its rotting armor was stretched to its limit by its obesity. On that swollen face, undisguised malice was blooming, like a flower blossoming from a corpse.

The next second, it suddenly exploded.

Update complete, totaling 10,000.