156. Terra (27)
Flames rose in the darkness and spread as far as the eye could see. ➶➶➶➶➶ 69Şᕼᵘ.ςØᗰ ➷➷➷➷➷
The sounds of explosions were everywhere, dissipating into the thick fog. Huge or grotesque shapes disintegrated and melted in the most violent weapons that mankind could create. The air trembled, and a cruel, deathly wind carrying gunpowder smoke swept past.
Faced with this hellish landscape, the First Legion silently but fiercely charged forward, beginning a bloody melee with the Daemon and traitors.
The battles between artillery and tanks continue, and will create more deaths in the explosions, but they will not allow the blades in their hands to remain silent.
An unseen evil god laughs loudly in this bloody millstone, where the corpses of the dead slowly rise and fall in the putrid blood, each collision and ripple forming a commentary on His name.
He anticipates what will happen next; He has already seen it, but He still longs for this bloody war that will last for ten thousand years to truly begin.
Amidst the Chaos waves, He roared, offering praise in His own name to the warriors who had fought, more generous than ever before. Perhaps it was because, in the galaxy, no war had ever continued in this form, had never endured with such intensity.
It will last for ten thousand years. The evil god roars. And you will fight in my name!
Did anyone answer him?
"Forward!" Luther heard a roar. "For Russ!"
As the roar rang out, the old knight was still busy pulling his sword from the chest of a Word Bearers. Blood splattered, forcing him to wipe his face again, his expression unconsciously turning to one of disgust.
Getting splattered with blood during a killing spree is no pleasant experience, especially blood that reeks of the Warp. The old knight lowered his head, swung his sword, and severed the man's head.
A young face ended there, life cut short, and this was exactly what he deserved. From the moment he hung human skin and skulls as trophies on his armor, he was destined for such a contemptible death.
Luther took a deep breath and, his face covered in blood, continued his charge, determined to find the one who had uttered that battle cry.
His physique was not as good as a real Astartes, but that did not mean he could not earn honors in such battles. He knew his limits very well, so he focused solely on killing, an attitude that proved highly effective in war.
As he began to run, his dark green cloak, already soaked with blood, danced wildly in the ashes-filled wind, and some sharp, silvery objects flickered silently at the edge of the cloak for half a second.
A traitor busy reaping the lives of the Secutarii saw him arrive, and Luther noticed him as well, for a very simple reason—this man seemed much more normal than most of the Word Bearers.
His armor didn't have as many blasphemous markings, but he was still an enemy, as could be seen from the eight-pointed star emblem on his armor; he was also a believer in those four evil gods.
The man raised his sword at him, making an inviting, provocative gesture. Luther's response was simply four dazzling streams of light shooting out from beneath his cloak. The traitor reacted swiftly, immediately sidestepping to block.
He successfully blocked three shots with his shoulder armor, relying on his reflexes and experience. The last shot, however, struck his side, and a burning sensation immediately appeared on his scarlet armor, spreading rapidly with no end in sight.
The man roared in fury and uttered a curse, "Despicable!"
Luther remained unmoved, even responding quite politely—his cloak billowed up abruptly, two flashes of silver light appeared abruptly, accompanied by a slight hum, and the Word Bearers's body crashed to the ground, his head already turned into a puddle of mush.
The old knight didn't even glance at the corpse, coldly rushing past it. His prosthetic left hand subtly twitched as he passed the body, and two blood-stained silver lights followed the pull of his fingers back to the bottom of his cloak.
He continued forward, but a violent roar rang in his ears, "For Russ!"
Luther looked up and saw a pack of Space Wolves without any obstruction. They were fighting a group of Daemon, enemies of various forms with sharp claws and teeth, but the wolves were still winning.
They surrounded a giant spider, using various weapons to weaken and kill it and the other monsters that emerged from its body and the darkness.
This was certainly not the first time Luther had encountered Russ's pack of wolves; he had seen just how ruthless they could be in battle. However, this was the first time he had seen them display sadness in the midst of battle.
The old knight sighed silently, then slowly approached.
He deliberately slowed his pace, but the powered short sword, a private gift from the lord of the Fourth Legion, was already sheathed.
Seconds later, with a deliberate howl, Luther joined the wolf pack in the fight—howl was not his only means of announcing his arrival.
A crimson beam burst from the cloak, sweeping away the darkness, scorching the air, and hissing as it pierced half of the spider's body—damage that a beam rifle could never inflict.
The wolves howled in unison, and one of the strongest immediately swung his axe, seized the wound Luther had inflicted, and began hacking at the creature's wound with the axe. The spider cried out in pain, its body twisting strangely.
"Back off!"
Luther roared again—he had no other choice; if you wanted to communicate with the wolves, this was the only way. However, even though he did, he didn't really expect the wolves to listen, but things always turn out differently.
The wolves obeyed his orders perfectly, even surprising Luther. But he didn't have time to worry about that now. The old knight immediately raised his left hand, and thirteen silver beams shot out from under his cloak, hitting the wound on the spider's carapace with pinpoint accuracy from dozens of meters away.
The horrific sounds of flesh being torn apart rang out one after another. The spider began to wildly twitch its numerous, eye-straining limbs, piercing, slicing, and smashing many Daemons.
Amidst the splattering of blood and flesh, a chilling killing intent swept over them. The Daemon's crimson eyes, covering its entire back, all turned and stared intently at Luther, the instigator. The old knight, however, simply drew a large-caliber revolver from his waist.
That murderous intent was nothing compared to a certain outburst of anger Lion Alderson had experienced years ago.
Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger.
Six deep green beams of deathly light streaked past, all striking the spider's head and forcing its rampage to a halt for a few seconds. Then, its hideous head, with its enormous pincers, began to swell. At the same time, strange sounds emanated from within its body.
"Lie down!" Luther roared. "Everyone lie down!"
The wolves obeyed again—two of them, closer to him, even rushed forward and formed a shield wall around him with their shields. Luther roared angrily and pulled the two reckless Space Wolves to the ground.
They buried their faces in the blood, and then a terrifying, piercing sound, sharp enough to shatter eardrums, immediately echoed from the darkness.
Luther slowly stood up, his ears ringing.
The Space Wolves were talking to him, but he couldn't hear anything. He knew they couldn't hear him either, and if they hadn't just lay down, they would be blind now.
This wasn't the first time he'd used "Flash"'s self-destruct function; Luther already knew what these unassuming little things were capable of, but this was definitely the first time he'd blown up thirteen of them in one go.
That's too extravagant.
He shook his head, pushed the Space Wolves away, and stumbled forward a few steps. A strange, metallic taste rose in his throat, and a sharp, throbbing pain shot through the joint of his prosthetic limb. High temperatures followed, spreading from a nerve throughout his body, searing his internal organs and causing excruciating pain.
The old knight gritted his teeth, fell to the ground, and roared in pain. His aged body began to remind him once again of what he truly was.
Yes, yes, Luther thought vaguely, I know I'm just a lucky mortal, but you don't have to torture me like this.
A cold wind came from behind him, and the tinnitus and internal torment he was enduring were somewhat relieved at that moment. Luther turned around and saw a face that was unrecognizable in the blood.
His beard and hair were covered in scabbed blood, which should have been smooth but were now stiff and clumped together. The man grinned at him and shouted, "Well done!"
The Space Wolves howled in unison.
Luther looked at them, slightly dazed, when a straight horizontal line suddenly flashed overhead, illuminating everything. The ray of light possessed the most intense pure white in human imagination, almost as white as looking directly at the midday sun with the naked eye.
It sliced through the world of light and darkness, illuminating things in that instant: soldiers, traitors, Daemon, corpses.
But this was just the beginning. More lines like this suddenly shot out from behind them, shaking the ground and accompanied by thunderous roars. Luther and the wolf pack turned to look and saw some enormous steel shadows in the dissipating mist.
"Now we have Titans," Luther heard the Space Wolves who was healing him mutter. "Great, your First Legion is really rich; all your Titans are equipped with Volcano Cannon. Do you have a lot in stock?"
"How could you think that was our Titan?" the old knight instinctively asked.
Interestingly, he did not deny the existence of a stockpile of Volcano Cannon.
"I didn't say it was your Titan—" Space Wolves grinned. "Nice to meet you, Sir Luther."
"Nice to meet you."
Luther stopped speaking, looking at him questioningly, as if seeking a name, but the man shook his head and uttered a string of Fenris. Then he spoke in High Gothic.
"I have no name anymore," he said, then tilted his head, raised his arm, and encompassed all the Space Wolves behind him. "I went mad, and in doing so, I lost my name. I must find it again to tell you what my name really is."
Luther frowned, but surprisingly didn't show any displeasure at this cryptic style and manner of speaking. He even patiently pressed further, "So, how should I address you? I need at least one."
"Pastor," the man said, "That's good, it suits my job."
Luther nodded again, and twelve minutes later, they found Lion Aljonson at the very front of the battle line—a strict requirement of the Lion El'Jonson.
The First Legion is sweeping away the darkness on Terra with overwhelming firepower and superiority. The battle line is not advancing in any one direction; in fact, the First Legion is active in all directions.
This has led to an interesting phenomenon: in the four hours and twenty-eight minutes since the Dark Angels joined the battle, more than five scattered wolf packs have been brought before the Lion El'Jonson.
"Russ is dead," said the Lion El'Jonson.
His direct first sentence made Luther turn his head slightly, while the priest who was speaking to him simply nodded calmly.
"We know, Lord Lion— "
"--It is the leader," said the Lion El'Jonson. "I have received Gunnar Gunhild's permission and consent; until the revenge for Russ is avenged, I will be a member of the pack, and I will hunt with you."
He uttered those words with unwavering conviction, and the pastor was stunned. For a fleeting moment, Luther heard him mutter to himself.
"Understood, Chief." The pastor bowed respectfully. "What are your orders?"
"Close your eyes, priest. You are all," said the Lion El'Jonson.
He wielded a sword in one hand and a spear in the other. His face, stained with blood, showed neither sorrow nor joy, only the purest fervor for war. His words were incomprehensible, yet the wolf pack immediately obeyed without the slightest hesitation.
"Keep feeling it, do you see it?"
The pastor opened his eyes after a shiver, his voice now hoarse.
What is that?
"That's the Astronomican," the Lion El'Jonson said calmly. "Sigismund of the Imperial Fists sent out a plea for help. He didn't specify the location, but he didn't need to. He could see the Astronomican's Radiance simply by closing his eyes. It should have blinded us and dried up our brains, but it didn't; its light was dimmer than ever before."
"Therefore, at present, we have two strategic objectives."
"First, we kill all the enemies we see and unite all the forces we can. Second, we march toward the Astronomican to support them."
"The Radiance of the Astronomican must not dim, must not waver, Priest. For this catastrophe has spread throughout the entire galaxy, and countless people are rushing toward Terra. They may be navigating the Materium, or they may be making jumps in the Warp, and the Astronomican must remain stable at this moment. I assure you, every drop of blood we shed for it is worthwhile."
"The wolves await your command," the pastor said crisply. "When do we depart?"
The Lion El'Jonson smiled slightly.
"Now," he said, "We'll go together. Wolves always hunt together, Priest."
He gripped the Dionysian Spear tightly, the cold wind howling, his profile almost like that of a wild beast. Luther was silent for a moment, then suddenly smiled knowingly.
This chapter is 4k, and there's another chapter coming up; I'll try to write at least 8k.
I still feel like I have a low-grade fever? I'm not sure, I don't have a thermometer at home, it's hard to be sure. I accidentally broke the last mercury thermometer I had.