Interlude 171: Reignited (IV, 7.2k)

As the blood mist dissipated and the darkness vanished, the scene that followed was far from peaceful. 69Sᕼᑘ᙭.ᑢᓍᘻ

Luther gripped his sword tightly, standing behind a Land Raider, his eyes fixed on the forefront of the battle line. The blood mist behind the Astronomican Gate had transported them to another world; it was an open secret that anyone with sight could understand their predicament.

The sky was no longer the fiery blue it once was; instead, it had turned into an unsettling, overly vibrant azure.

Luther looked up at it, a bad feeling rising in his heart. The screams that followed made him sigh silently; he knew that his intuition, which usually only worked for misfortunes, had struck again this time.

Turning his head, the old knight saw several armored vehicles fighting on the ground, with Lascannon and crews firing continuously at the thick fungal carpet that had somehow replaced the original ground.

But they clearly didn't care about the damage; thick, murky yellowish-brown fluid oozed from the punctured veins, gushing out like silt and clamping down on the vehicle's wheel hub.

A swarm of buzzing flies suddenly emerged from beneath the fungal carpet, exploding into clumps of powder above people's heads, while wriggling, plump white maggots fell from the air. Each fall, or each crushed maggot, left behind a dark green stain.

The fungal carpet then seemed to be drawn by something, and began to wriggle towards them like living creatures, clearly trying to expand their territory. Some people were unfortunately captured and swallowed, and after screaming, they disappeared without a trace.

At the same time, a huge shriek came from the sky, and a burst of Radiance illuminated everyone's faces like a supernova explosion.

Countless birds with brilliantly colored feathers screeched as they flew out, blotting out the sky, and clusters of blue flames descended from between their wings, landing among the crowd.

Luther frowned, leaning against the side of the Land Raider, trying to avoid the flames. But when they descended upon the roof, he realized that they weren't flames at all, but rather small, flame-like Daemon.

A sinister face leaped in the flames, a mixture of greed and ugliness. Luther drew his gun and shattered it into pieces. With its scream, the war officially the Veil.

The armored forces sped up, trying to evade the creep, but crimson flames erupted in front of them. Daemon riding brass bulls burst forth, laughing maniacally, and began to collide head-on with various tanks and armored vehicles like ancient knights and chariots.

Twin Lascannon, Heavy Bolter, and twin Assault Cannon immediately began to roar. But the Daemon also had cannons—brass cannons, with bones as cores and flesh as fuel.

This supernatural war is becoming increasingly absurd. The soldiers on the artillery positions saw this and immediately began manually adjusting their aiming data, intending to give the Daemon something to enjoy.

But a pinkish-purple miasma with a strong musky scent had quietly surged up behind them, within which demonic figures moved and seductive sounds filled the air, yet were so soft as to be almost a whisper. The soldiers had no idea what was going on until it was almost upon them.

And so everything happened in an instant, and depraved evils began to be committed one by one by those shameless and vile creatures amidst their gleeful laughter.

Meanwhile, the White Scars on the flanks had spotted the enemies. They charged in with lightning speed, beginning to wield their swords and fire their guns to ensure the survival of the artillery positions. Seconds later, the first human-made shot landed on the brass cannons, sending up a spray of shards.

"That's terrifying."

Luther took it all in and couldn't help but sigh. Just then, a Warhound-class Titan strode past him, its blood-red cannon barrels flashing with intense fire once more.

The monitor on the charred head glowed with an inexplicable crimson Radiance, the Machine Spirit roared silently, its movement speed increasing, and its body radiating a high temperature that distorted the air.

It was so violent that even its movements were extremely aggressive, causing the ground to tremble. Left with no other choice, the old knight gripped his short sword and plunged it deep into the chest of a bird Daemon that was trying to attack him, thus securing it in place.

The latter screamed, rising higher as it viciously pecked at Luther's beak, intending to pierce his skull.

The old knight calmly raised his left prosthetic arm and grabbed the bird's beak, the prosthetic arm immobilizing it. He then drew his sword and chopped off its claws. The bird weakly flapped its wings, helping Luther regain his balance and preventing him from falling.

The old knight smiled slightly at it, mouthed his thanks, then drew his sword, beheaded it, and knelt down.

A barrage of artillery fire landed behind him, kicking up a cloud of dust and flying mud. Luther looked back and saw several minotaur Daemon, emerging alongside blood-red flames, tearing apart a Dracosan Transport Vehicle belonging to the Solar Auxilia.

That precious vehicle, which had been meticulously maintained and treated with utmost care, was now gradually turning into a pile of junk. Its armor was bitten through and torn apart. Its tracks were snapped off, its engine was smoking, and its chassis was damaged in multiple places.

However, its twin Lascannon were firing incessantly, and the crew's attempt to fight against impending despair had the opposite effect.

The old knight frowned, then pulled the massive revolver from under his cloak and began to aim. He fired four times in quick succession, piercing their heads. The armored vehicle landed heavily on the ground, and Luther immediately sped away.

The Daemon's corpses were still trembling, but they had not melted. Their illusory bodies, composed of hideous Ethereal and blood, were now writhing, convulsing, and spitting blood as if they were real living beings.

Luther noted this down, his power shortsword already flashing in his hand. With little effort, he used the sword, a personal gift from the Fourth Legion Commander, to slice open the armored vehicle's compartment, from which soldiers immediately scrambled out.

The thick armor of the Dracosan saved their lives; most of the twenty men suffered only minor injuries and bleeding, nothing fatal. They gripped their weapons and briefly engaged Luther.

There were no words spoken from beginning to end, only a few simple glances and hands crossed in front of the chest.

Luther turned and left, while they headed towards another position to the right. There, the undead, resurrected from the creep, were swarming towards them.

Luther didn't know what fate awaited them, but he wished them victory.

He switched the sword to his left hand; the prosthetic arm was far stronger than his left. Besides, he still preferred to hold the gun in his right hand. From the lining of his cloak, he drew a short submachine gun and began using precise bursts to attack any enemy he could see.

The battle had become chaotic, as chaotic as revealing the First Legion's organization to an outsider. Luther believed that the most urgent task was to find the Lion El'Jonson.

The surroundings were incredibly noisy, filled with shouts, roars, death, and the screams of Daemon. It was an unfamiliar war song, completely different from the war songs Luther was familiar with.

But he accepted it.

He wasn't Astartes; adapting to any war was their mission and instinct. He was just a slightly modified old Caliban, stubbornly insisting on using the Order to face this unfamiliar galaxy.

These old things are outdated, but some of their merits will not fade with time.

For example, loyalty, courage, and the way of killing.

If a living being has a physical form and flesh and blood, then it can be attacked, bleed, and die.

Luther gripped his sword tightly.

A flock of birds flew overhead, and he fired, shooting down most of them. The purity of the energy flow seemed to interfere with their so-called flesh and blood bodies, forcing them to lose their ability to fly as they melted.

The ugly birds screamed as they landed, and Luther pounced on them with insane speed, stabbing them one by one to death. No blood splattered, only scattered blue flames.

The fire demon emerged from their corpses and, barely born, saw the old knight's dark gun barrel. He fired repeatedly, no longer caring about the ammunition supply.

After finishing this task, he looked up at the sky, which had been obscured by Chaos forces and was now illuminated by a murky aurora that stung his eyes.

Something roared and charged at him from behind, and Luther thrust his sword without turning his head. Then, he bent down, lowered his head, turned around, and drew his sword in one fluid motion.

A blood-red Daemon, its chest pierced, furiously slammed its twisted blade down at him. Its sharp edge gleamed with blood, and the agonizing face of the dead flashed briefly from the skull in the center of the hilt.

Luther dodged the dangerous attack by sidestepping, simultaneously slashing his short sword and severing its bent left leg. It fell to the ground, its head instantly smashed by a burst of energy.

Luther straightened up, and he heard himself sighing unconsciously, but he also heard something else. The old knight looked down and saw the ground changing.

The soil was replaced by fleshy growths, and several thick roots silently pushed open the growths and the earth. In the cracks, countless maggots wriggled, waiting for the unlucky ones to fall in.

Luther took a deep breath, left without hesitation, and continued running towards the rear of the position.

He told himself with a touch of optimism, "It's just a slightly more disgusting Caliban forest."

He burst out laughing at the joke.

--

Nasir Amit heard a sound like a strong wind whistling through a cliff, rushing towards him like the howling of ghosts and wolves. But it wasn't actually the sound of the wind; it was the sound of a creature.

This sound was absolutely the most disturbing sound Amit had ever heard during his wartime career.

With a taut face, he leaped forward and severed one of its slippery tentacles with his Chainsword. It shrieked and twisted its other thousands of tentacles, sending him flying. The fifth company commander of the Blood Angels fell to the ground, letting out a low growl from his throat.

He quickly got to his feet, his face charred black. A burst of gunfire came from behind the thing, bullets raining down on its pinkish body, the explosions blasting through its entire chest cavity.

Internal organs or mucus splattered out, and the Phosphex flamethrower immediately followed, beginning to burn its flesh.

Amit laughed—immediately, his two fangs gleaming savagely from below his lips.

He coughed, spitting out a clump of thick blood. His brothers from the Fifth Company strode past him and began firing at what was hidden in the pink miasma.

"Keep going!" Amit roared. "Don't stop for a second, fire all the bullets first!"

This was, of course, based on his experience—back in the Signus Cluster, the Blood Angels had already dealt with Daemon.

He didn't care what the colors of these things actually represented, but after arriving in Terra, Amit used his experience and sense of smell to come up with a very effective conclusion.

If you're fighting Daemon, you'd better run out of bullets first. You'd better not draw your sword and start melee combat as soon as you get within range, unless you want to be killed by them in all sorts of illogical ways.

He gripped his Chainsword and strode after his brothers. The Astartes, clad in crimson armor, rained fire through the miasma, while missiles whistled overhead, landing behind the fog and triggering a series of chain explosions.

Amit couldn't help but laugh again; he knew this was proof that the ordinary people on those artillery positions were fighting valiantly.

As always—he told himself—it was just another war fought alongside the Auxilia, nothing special.

Then the sky began to burn and howl above them, as if punishing his thoughts. The ground shook, as if undergoing a sudden tectonic movement.

Amit lost his balance and fell to the ground, whereupon he grabbed the Chainsword with both hands and plunged it deep into the ground. He no longer cared whether this would wear down the teeth.

→

The ground continued to shake, and a strange, piercing scream, beyond the realm of sound, began to emanate from beneath the earth, causing him excruciating headaches. It wasn't until several minutes later that Amit realized he was screaming, and by then, his mouth was already filled with the taste of blood.

He coughed twice, spitting out blood, and staggered to his feet, only to be suddenly attacked by something and knocked to the ground. The thing was probably a breed of dog, but not a normal one.

Its head was a swirling, fleshy tumor with a large gaping wound revealing pink flesh and fine teeth. It lunged at Amit, and the Blood Angels, as if by instinct, sliced it in two from top to bottom.

Amidst the splattering, foul-smelling blood, he rose again. A shrill spear was thrust at him, but Amit once again used his instincts to dodge the attack. Looking up, he realized that the attacker was not human, but a twisted creature with a snake's tail and a long body.

It didn't look human, yet it possessed facial features, and at that moment it was giving him a disgusting smile, its forked tongue slowly licking the edge of its lips.

Amit pounced on it, dismembering it with pure rage and passion. It continued to laugh, even as Amit chopped it into pieces with Chainsword; the laughter never ceased.

The Blood Angels felt another headache coming on. He looked around and saw that most of his brothers were in the same boat.

All those not wearing helmets had faces that were similarly deathly pale and abnormally flushed. Blood flowed from their noses, thick and viscous like undissolved paint.

A murky thought flashed through Amit's mind, like water mixed with another kind of black water being poured into his brain. That thought was the black water; trying to scoop it out over the obstacles of ordinary water was simply a pipe dream.

Amit was panting heavily. Just when he felt helpless, a sharp whooshing sound came from above. A figure descended from the sky and landed beside them.

Radiance emanated from his wings, Amit's thoughts, which had been on the verge of spiraling out of control for various reasons, suddenly calmed down. He looked at the man, and the man looked at him and slowly nodded.

Its wings suddenly unfurled, flapping and blowing away the miasma with a fierce wind. The Daemon screamed and charged forward, their target the angel Baal himself who had just landed.

Amit gripped his Chainsword and stood before the Primarch. His brothers did the same; though their faces were still stained with blood, the oppressive feeling that had been giving them headaches had dissipated, all thanks to the presence of the angel.

Sanguinius observed all of this with detached indifference, showing neither sorrow nor joy, only complete tranquility.

He raised Spear of Telesto high, and its golden Radiance suddenly burst forth on the chaotic battlefield, like a silent horn, attracting the attention of those around him.

The chaos vanished in an instant. Amit roared, felling a Daemon, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Auxilia charging down the high earthen ramparts formed by the churning earth—thousands of mortals, Dreadnought.

They were summoned, by whom? The answer is obvious. He turned to look at his father, but the latter did not look at him.

Sanguinius held the Spear of Telesto intently, gazing up at the sky. In that burning sky, deep purple and blood-red Radiance bloomed together, as if in a struggle, splitting the sky in two.

"Amit!" Sanguinius suddenly called out.

"I'm here," the Flesh Tearers responded immediately.

The angel lowered his head, and a tremendous rage quietly bloomed in his eyes. Nasir Amit could swear he had never seen his father so angry.

"Kill them all," Sanguinius said coldly. "Leave not a single one alive."

--

Ahzek Ahriman heard Bjorn panting, a kind of wheezing as if he couldn't breathe, as if the Lone Wolf's three lungs had exploded, or perhaps he had asthma; otherwise, why would he make such a sound?

You see, this is the disadvantage of being blind. He can't see the specifics of the battlefield; he can only imagine what the battle looks like based on the sounds he hears. But imagination is just imagination; how can it compare to reality?

Bjorn's panting had a reason, just like Sol Tavitz's difficulty walking, Sigismund's broken wrist, and Thunder's still-gushing blood from his chest. But Ka'Bandha could see all of it.

It laughed heartily, thoroughly enjoying itself.

"Your blood will become a sacrifice to glorify my Khorne," it declared with a calmness far surpassing that of its own kind. "You may rise again and again after death, but the blood you shed will not lie. Your blood will eventually run dry, and I will smear it on the faces of your gods."

Thunder remained silent, only slashing horizontally with force. The lightning-wrapped blade sliced through the brass armor, but the Daemon spread its fleshy wings, those shattered, blood-red wings seeming to blot out the sky.

It leaped up, dodging Sigismund's attack, and retaliated by knocking Sol Tavitz away. Bjorn howled and followed up, recklessly plunging his fist blade into the Daemon's ankle.

Ka'Bandha glanced at him, then suddenly grinned, pulled him up, and threw him down hard. The lone wolf fell into the river of blood once more, but this time, he didn't float to the surface immediately.

Ahzek Ahriman stumbled forward, the Daemon's laughter echoing behind him, but Ahzek Ahriman paid it no heed. He focused solely on following the sound to Bjorn's crash site and pulling him out of the river of blood.

He couldn't see Bjorn's current appearance, only that he had to pull him up. He succeeded, a burning pain shooting through his fingertips, while Lone Wolf abruptly stood up amidst a cough.

He nonchalantly straightened his broken bones, grabbed his axe, and charged forward again. Ahzek Ahriman followed, trembling, but collapsed halfway into the river of blood.

His disability was an indelible pain. He struggled to his feet, panting, but held the ancient book tightly in his hands, as if it had become one with his own. As he stood up with difficulty, he heard the Daemon's mocking voice again.

"Do you really think you can defeat me?"

It rubbed its sharp teeth together, asking this question. The sound emanating from its lips and teeth sounded like swords rubbing against each other, sharp enough to be frightening.

"You can't kill us," Sigismund said calmly, and swung his sword at the demon's exposed side, which was being exposed by the Daemon as it parried both Thunder and Tavitz's attacks.

Ka'Bandha chuckled, taking the blow without a care, and even had the strength to repel the Thunder with a sweeping tail.

It burst into laughter again.

"Yes, yes, Imperial Fists. I truly cannot kill you here. That cowardly god has locked up this hell, turning it into a cycle of endless torment for you."

"But you are the key, the lock, and the door. You will eventually have to leave this place. I only care about one thing now: when will He let you out?"

"Silence!" Thunder roared as it charged back.

His armor was shattered, something that had never happened during his previous tortures; his face was contorted with rage, he had never been so furious.

"You maggot, how dare you comment on him?!"

"You're angry, aren't you, test subject?"

The Daemon grinned, eagerly accepting his sword. In just a few seconds, they exchanged dozens of blows.

Thunder, covered in blood, retreated, while Ka'Bandha licked the deep wound on his forehead, which exposed bone and caused his face to twitch. Yet, the Daemon's face remained filled with a satisfied smile.

"You should know I'm telling the truth," it continued. "If He wasn't cowardly, why would He willingly relinquish His altar, and why would He turn your homeworld into this state? Admit it, warrior, admit the contempt you've always held for Him in your heart; I can feel it."

"Bullshit truth!"

Thunder roared furiously, his face contorted in rage.

"At most, I only hate his ruthlessness, but I also understand it. How could someone like you possibly understand what he was willing to sacrifice for humanity? How could you possibly understand what we are willing to sacrifice for humanity?!"

"Damn it," Bjorn gasped as he walked up behind him. "You really have a lot to hide from us, Thunder."

"Come with me, brother!" Thunder roared without turning his head. "For unification!"

"You're in charge, boss." Bjorn grinned. "For unification!"

They charged forward again, Daemon focused intently on blocking Sigismund's blade, only to be struck instantly by a bolt of black lightning. The Thunder roared at it, then lowered its greatsword and strode forward, the greatsword sinking deep into the river of blood.

Amidst the agonizing pain, Sol Tavitz plunged his sword into its left eye. Bjorn severed its thick tail with his fist blade, while Thunder turned and charged, dragging its greatsword through the river of blood, splashing up an endless wave of crimson.

He rushed right up to it before pulling out the greatsword. Blood surged high as the greatsword embedded itself deeply into Ka'Bandha's skull, seemingly about to cleave its head in two, but it couldn't advance an inch.

The Daemon gripped the greatsword tightly with its claws, breathing heavily. Its brass armor was slowly crumbling under Sigismund's silent sword dance, and it was powerless to resist, for it had to contend with the Thunder.

Bjorn seized the opportunity, relentlessly attacking its curved legs, wielding his fists and axe incessantly; the Daemon's legs were now bare bone. Tavitz roared as he spun his blade, a mixture of brains and blood flowing from it.

"Die! Die! Die!" Everyone was shouting in unison, including Ahzek Ahriman, who was stumbling towards them. He had already drawn the blade from the ancient book; he didn't know if it would work, but he had to try.

Daemon can be banished, and they can be killed, he thought, his mouth dry. He couldn't see the specifics of the situation, but he had only one thought.

Die, please, I beg you, just die.

But Ka'Bandha is immortal.

It slowly exhaled a mouthful of blood with a strong sulfurous smell, and smiled approvingly.

"Well done," it praised in a hoarse voice.

Its tone didn't sound like it, but rather like a god?

Ahzek Ahriman was stunned.

An endless beam of blood-red light burst forth from the gaps in its armor, and that was the last thing Ahzek Ahriman could remember. He regained his sight—albeit for a brief moment, but he did see again.

It wasn't the thing he was dealing with that made him see it, but someone else. Who was it?

He instinctively searched within the stillness of time and found the answer.

It was the Emperor; it was the Emperor who made him see all of this.

So he looked.

He saw Sol Tavitz's head broken, Sigismund's internal organs ripped out, Thunder pierced through the chest by his own greatsword, and Bjorn's spine broken, trampled into a pile of flesh.

He screamed, and bloody tears flowed from his long-dead tear ducts, covering his entire face.

Then, he heard the Emperor sigh.

"Utterly shameless," the Master of Mankind said coldly. "But they will not die here, false god."

The Khorne burst into laughter.

Then, golden light burst forth. Ahzek Ahriman's consciousness was plunged into darkness.

This chapter is 7,200 words long, and there's another chapter with 8,000 words. I'll try my best to finish it before midnight, writing as much as I can. My recent goal is to at least 10,000 words per day, with a maximum of 15,000 words.