Interlude: Rekindling (End, 74k)

Exhausted—that was the perfect word Luther could think of to describe his current state. 🏆♤ ☯♗

He was panting, and the sound was like an old water buffalo being driven by its master with a whip. But he had no master; his master was himself. He was both slave and master, meaning he was driving himself with his own whip.

How pathetic.

The old knight exhaled a hot breath from his throat with a hoarse voice.

How pathetic, he thought again. His lungs felt like they were about to explode, his heart felt like it was going to burst out of his throat, and everything in front of him was becoming blurry and shimmering.

Then, finally, with a leap, Luther successfully reached a burning trench that had been dug out later.

Without hesitation, he lay down on the ground, and the first thing he did was cover his head with his hands and curl up.

A few seconds later, accompanied by a strange, muffled sound, darkness descended upon Luther's head, followed by a tremor, an ultimate earthquake like the end of the world.

It was relentless, with mud flying everywhere, stones, corpses, and all sorts of miscellaneous objects flying about. The wind whipped up the ground, completely altering the terrain. Several minutes later, when everything had finally calmed down, Luther opened his eyes.

The trench was no longer the one he had jumped into; it was something indescribable. Corpses and the wreckage of half an armored vehicle were piled up in front of him, and a soldier lay diagonally under the armored vehicle, his eyes fixed on him.

Luther propped himself up on his elbows and slowly crawled over. His hearing was impaired, but he still managed to ask the question.

"How are you?"

The soldier stared at him, as if he didn't understand what he was saying at all. Then he opened his mouth, and Luther read his lips.

Titan

The old knight sighed. "Yes, Titan. Titan crashed. A good Titan of Warlord-class was destroyed by those damned Daemon with cannons and some kind of evil magic. Otherwise, why do you think I would be running like this for my life?"

He looked at the soldier again, wanting to say something, but found that he was already dead. His eyes were still wide open, and the burning ashes fell into the bloodshot whites of his eyes, creating a somewhat absurd scene.

Luther reached out and closed his eyes, then struggled to his feet. He lifted his blood-soaked cloak and looked around, finding that he didn't have many weapons left, but thankfully his short sword was still intact, which was enough.

He drew his sword, gripped it, and turned to look. He saw that what had fallen was a Mars - Alpharius, an ancient model, a magnificent Mars. The divine machine that countless people had dedicated their lives to maintaining had fallen before his very eyes.

It was as majestic as a mountain range, but unfortunately, it was a dead mountain range.

Luther turned away resolutely. He was sad, but he wouldn't say it out loud; he simply continued running.

However, one thing must be pointed out—his sense of direction was perfectly fine, which is nothing short of a miracle.

Imagine this: on a battlefield where there's no distinction between front lines and the heartland, how could he precisely traverse every battle, moving from one front to another, from one battle to another, and still have his sense of direction guiding him?

He sighed, stopped thinking about the problem, and instead leaped into a large crater formed by artillery shells.

He jumped in only to find it was already full; a makeshift emergency field medical team was performing surgery on some wounded soldiers inside the crater. Luther had no time for conversation; he ran past them, but then suddenly turned back after a few dozen meters.

He found a doctor whose face was covered in blood, pulled two short submachine guns from under his cloak, and handed them to him. The doctor stared at him blankly, not understanding what this meant.

So Luther began to patiently explain.

A firelight flared above his head, and something howled as it flashed across the horizon before dissipating into light. To the east, two Warhound-class Titans were tearing apart corrupted zombies emerging from the ground, while the standard-bearer of the 26th Armored Division was frantically waving his flag on a nearby earthen mound and beginning to blow the charge horn.

Despite the chaos, Luther's voice remained calm.

"Safety." He pointed to a black protrusion on the top edge of the pistol. "Slide it up to open, slide it down to close."

The physician was still staring blankly at him.

"This is the trigger, adaptive, perfectly balanced. Pull it all the way down for full automatic fire. Thirty rounds in the magazine, one shot is enough to shatter the Daemon's head."

He kept talking incoherently, then pulled three magazines out from under his cloak and stuffed them into the physician's clothes.

"Alright, that's all." Luther spread his hands. "Go do what you're supposed to do. If anything comes looking for you, remember to use my gun, not that damn crappy Lasgun."

He turned around and kept running, without regretting the time he had wasted or the weapons he had given away.

Yes, they might be more useful in his hands, like killing Daemon or saving people—but who says they couldn't serve the same purpose in other people's hands?

Every rescue is meaningful; every living person can make millions of different choices, creating new hope.

"Ah, hope," Luther sighed.

He suddenly swung his sword alertly; a flash of light, and the short sword severed two decaying heads. Luther held his sword horizontally, scanning his surroundings warily, then immediately took off running, escaping before more swarming zombies could reach out and pull him down.

Damn it, he's becoming increasingly adept at thinking, and once he starts, he can't stop. Many times, it's his instincts that have saved him. Speaking of instincts, do human instincts take precedence over thought?

Wait, here we go again?

Luther squinted, keenly sensing that something was very wrong with his current state. He slowly stopped, found a relatively high mound, and began to observe the situation on the battlefield.

The first thing he saw was a group of conspicuous warriors, Jaghatai Khan White Scars. The steppe eagles tirelessly rode their war motorcycles back and forth across the battlefield, Luther really couldn't understand where they got so much fuel.

He silently wished that these eagles would never fall.

He then began searching for the nearby Dark Angels —unsurprisingly, he saw none. They were already fighting on the front lines before the very concept of the front lines had crumbled and before distinctions were made between different positions.

"Good," Luther thought. "This means my sense of direction isn't wrong; I'm indeed on the flank behind the White Scars' territory."

How did I do it?

He glanced down at the power short sword in his hand, his prosthetic arm gripping it firmly. The personal mark of the Fourth Legion Commander was still clearly visible on the smooth metal hilt, though the anti-slip texture on the hilt was now blurred.

Luther stared intently at the sword, then suddenly nodded. He raised his hand and plunged the short sword deep into his chest. With a sharp screech, something burst forth from his Shadow, flashing with brilliant blue light.

It cried out and flapped its wings, rushing toward Luther's face, but was caught halfway by a creaking prosthetic limb.

Luther coughed as he drew his short sword. What oozed from the gap in his armor wasn't blood, but rather a viscous mechanical maintenance fluid. Without batting an eye, he used his neural connection to cancel the prosthetic's over-power mode, and the creaking sound immediately disappeared.

He stared at the bird in his hand and slowly shook his head. The bird opened its beak, as if wanting to say something, but Luther didn't give it the chance.

He roughly squeezed it into a lump of minced meat, Warp maggots gushing out from beneath the burst feathers and muscles, splattering all over him. Luther shook his hand in disgust, but then heard a dangerous whistle in his ear.

He immediately raised his sword and looked up, but the person who fell from the sky was not an enemy.

Luther recognized him and immediately sheathed his sword.

"Lord Sanguinius!"

He rushed over and helped the angel Baal, who was barely able to stand after landing, to his feet, and was horrified—what could possibly have wounded the Lord of the Ninth Legion like this?

The angel's tattered wings came into view, and Luther felt even more horrified. He discovered that the angel's wings were covered in filthy blood and charred black from burning, and even the feathers were no longer as dense as before. To describe Sanguinius as covered in wounds at this moment would not be an exaggeration, and would even seem somewhat understated.

"Is the enemy still nearby?" Luther paused for half a second, then suddenly drew his sword again.

"It's dead," Sanguinius gasped. "I banished it, Mr. Luther."

The angel glanced down at him, then suddenly smiled. The numerous bloodstains and bruises on his face couldn't conceal the brilliance of that smile. Luther was taken aback, not understanding why Sanguinius was smiling, until he heard his next words.

"Isn't it quite appropriate to call you 'sir' now?" The angel winked at him, his tone relaxed and natural. "Lion doesn't seem to have asked you to return to the First Legion?"

The old knight, unsure of what to think, twitched the corners of his mouth, revealing a strange, mysterious expression.

"I have won, Mr. Luther," the angel said slowly. "And every victory has meaning."

"In short, I observed the ground while flying and found that our troops were fighting independently. This situation must be reversed, and all loyal soldiers should fight side by side. We must find a way to rebuild the chain of command, and to do that, we must find every one of my brothers."

"I agree with you." Luther nodded solemnly and helped the angel down the slope.

Sanguinius slowly sat down, exhaling a breath of air still tinged with the stench of blood. Fragments of his armor slipped silently from his shoulders and fell to the ground. Even his golden hair seemed to have turned the color of blood.

"So, do you have any leads?" the angel asked. "I mean, about Lion?"

"I'm looking for him too," Luther replied worriedly, glancing at the archangel.

The latter smiled slightly and said, "If you have something to say, please just say it."

"I think we should probably leave here quickly," Luther said, frowning. "Besides, I'm not sure I can still be trusted now."

He pointed to the bird carcass not far away.

"It influenced my thinking in some way. It even did it from my Shadow."

"Then how can you be sure I can be trusted?" The angel pondered for half a second, then quickly asked back, surprisingly without questioning whether Luther's sudden explanation was reasonable.

Luther squinted and stepped back a few paces to look at the angel. The hazy Radiance still lingered around the angel, bringing a gentle yet invigorating power.

The old knight smiled, walked back to the angel's side, and carefully helped him up.

"The reason, Mr. Luther?" Sanguinius asked curiously.

"How can you explain something like this?" Luther shrugged with a touch of humor. "You are you, and nothing can truly impersonate you. Just like the Emperor, the Emperor is the Emperor; we all know him the moment he appears."

These words stunned the angel. He remained silent for a moment, then sighed.

"Yes," he said slowly. "After all, we're already on this battlefield; intuition is probably much more useful than reason. In other words, it truly is the spark."

"What, sir?"

"It's nothing," Sanguinius gave him a sad smile. "I just think we might have a chance."

He was right. Just sixty-five seconds after they restarted, countless golden rays streaked across the sky, as dazzling as shooting stars, illuminating the earth and their faces.

--

"We are the keys, we are the locks, we are the doors—" Ahzek Ahriman said with difficulty. "—Please, wake up. The Astronomican must continue to burn."

He knelt beside the four unconscious people, repeating the same phrase over and over. He clutched a book tightly, almost as if praying, or perhaps weeping.

He himself hadn't realized it yet, but the Lion El'Jonson saw it clearly. Ahzek Ahriman's face was covered in crisscrossing, crimson tear tracks, which meant that he genuinely believed these four men were his brothers.

A phantom golden arm reached out from the Lion El'Jonson's blind spot.

"That's exactly what he thinks, Lion."

Russ's voice came from beside him, Lion El'Jonson silently frowned, but this still couldn't drown out the Fenrisian's incessant chatter.

Time forged a bond between them, but what truly made that bond unbreakable was the profound realization that came after experiencing excruciating pain, deciding to die, only to find themselves unable to die at all.

"Ahzek Ahriman was once a blind and short-sighted man, just like his father. But Magnus made his change; he defied his constructed false nature and resolutely charged headlong into the monument of sacrifice. His son naturally followed in his footsteps."

Russ let out a long sigh.

"Sigh, to be honest, seeing this scene really makes me feel complicated. You know, not long ago, Ahzek Ahriman was on my ship, desperately trying to find out where his father was."

"Are you ever going to stop?" the Lion El'Jonson thought through gritted teeth. He really had the urge to throw away his Wolf Spear.

Even if you throw it away, you can't get rid of me.

Russ appeared behind Ahzek Ahriman, who shrugged dismissively and waved at the Lion El'Jonson.

"Besides, I don't think you'd really throw it away, do you, Lion?"

The Lion El'Jonson remained silent.

"Ha!" Russ burst into laughter. "Don't be so serious, brother, smile, okay? Things are gradually improving, and now we just need one last step to completely ignite hope."

"You've finally said something constructive," the Lion El'Jonson thought coldly, looking at him.

"But the problem is that the last step is often the hardest."

The Fenrisian suppressed his laughter, walked over to one of the four men, and knelt down.

Inside the makeshift tent, the four wounded men had received the best medical assistance the Lion El'Jonson could muster under the current circumstances, but they remained unconscious and showed no signs of waking up.

At this moment, Russ uses one of them to point out the real reason behind the matter.

"The problem lies in willpower, Lion," Russ said seriously, intently observing Sigismund's tightly closed eyes.

"Believe it or not, Rogal's theory is correct. With enough willpower, a person can accomplish anything. In the real world, that's utter bullshit."

He raised his head, glanced at the expressionless Lion El'Jonson, and suddenly said, "Don't tell him I said that. I don't want him constantly repeating it at my tombstone. Anyway—"

He stood up and shook his head.

"--The reason his theory holds true and is correct is because we are not currently in the Realspace. I think you've noticed it too, haven't you? Those omnipresent Chaos forces?"

The Lion El'Jonson nodded silently.

"In such a world, willpower can determine everything."

Russ pointed to his temple; the barbarian king's eyes were filled with unparalleled wisdom.

"Willpower can even make them refuse death. Brother, let me tell you a story."

He walked slowly to the Lion El'Jonson, ignoring the lion's frown, put his hand on the lion's shoulder, and suddenly started to smile.

"Look, those five people are brothers who are not related by blood."

He spoke in a low voice, still full of pleasure.

"The first one from left to right is Sol Tavitz, from the Emperor's Children. His Gene-Father is Fulgrim of Chemos, who drove him away from the flock of eagles. However you describe that behavior, it certainly seems to me like a protective expulsion."

Most of his brothers had gone mad, or were on their way to madness, but he was different. His father demanded that he become Vindicators for the wrongfully killed, and the upright Sol Tavetz decided to do so without hesitation.

"He was interrogated by our old Malcador and given some stuff he has absolutely no use for now, and doesn't even know exists. He was at the Fortress of Despair from the very beginning of the war."

"The giant in golden armor lying next to him is called Thunder. That's not his real name, of course, but we shouldn't care too much about it, right, Lion?"

Russ smiled and hugged him tightly. The Lion El'Jonson instinctively straightened his body, trying to avoid being affected by the embrace, but he saw that the illusory golden arm pass straight through his armor and body without causing any harm.

The Lion El'Jonson silently lowered its head.

The Fenrisian took in this reaction but said nothing, continuing his story.

"He's one of the millions of secrets my father kept; he's one of the last survivors of an army and an era. My father can be ruthless sometimes, you know? Of course you know."

The Lion El'Jonson silently nodded in response to the Wolf King's dark joke, to which Russ whistled.

"A father can abandon those who are clearly loyal to him without hesitation, or use them as tools to send them to their deaths. Ha, how dark."

He chuckled lightly once more.

"However, considering that this old man is even more cruel to himself, I think we have no right to criticize his actions. After all, he has the entire human race on his shoulders."

"Thunder understood this clearly, which is why he was willing to set aside his endless blood feud and work for him again. He had been cooperating with the Sigillites for a long time and fully understood the necessity behind every order. Therefore, he fought to the very last moment in the Astronomican Hall."

"And because of this, he gained four new brothers, one of whom was the most taciturn."

Russ shook his head with a sigh, pointed to Sigismund lying on the ground, and uttered a remark that sounded like both a complaint and a compliment.

"How come that stoic Rogal has such a good son?"

"What's wrong with him?" the Lion El'Jonson asked silently.

"He's strong," the Fenrisian replied sternly. "Sigismund, don't tell me you've forgotten who he is, Lion. I know him well; he took on six men single-handedly during his visit to your flagship—truly terrifying."

He is indeed very strong, I know, but my question is, what's wrong with him? The Lion El'Jonson, suppressing his impatience and anger at Russ for bringing up such a sensitive topic, asked this question.

"He's a little too strong," Russ shrugged. "Father had prepared a sword for him, but before he even got his hands on it, he understood what Father wanted him to understand. But considering what they both went through in the Astronomican Hall, I don't think it's surprising."

He suddenly stopped talking and changed the subject to another question.

Do you want to know what they experienced inside the Astronomican Hall?

The Lion El'Jonson nodded.

Of course he wanted to know.

"Ten thousand years," Russ uttered with a smile. "Tell me, what do you think of that word?"

The long road, the Lion El'Jonson thought.

"You guessed right, it's long." Russ continued smiling. "Then let's stretch ten thousand years, stretch it to a second that's a year, stretch it to time becoming fragmented, stretch it to time itself losing all meaning."

He raised his right hand and opened his palm in front of the Lion El'Jonson.

"Nothingness," the Fenrisian said solemnly. "That's what they experienced."

The Lion El'Jonson returned the same solemn gaze.

"Sol Tavitz endured betrayal, slaughter, and fratricide, and was ultimately ordered by his own father to leave his legion."

"Thunder survived a top-down purge and has lived to this day, harboring a hatred so intense it would shock us all. And the one who personally ordered the purge of his army was the very lord he served."

"Sigismund was part of the reinforcements; he was supposed to lead men to support the Astronomican Hall, but his entire force was wiped out along the way. He struggled to explore within, trying to reach his destination, each second more agonizing than the last. He knew that even if he reached his destination, his mission would have failed."

Bjorn experienced the cruel echoes of my death; he lost his name once. He found it again, but his heart remained filled with pain, for he understood that the wolf pack would never again be the one he knew. Moreover, how many of the people he knew would survive?

"Ahzek Ahriman created a terrible mistake, and his Legion and his Primarch paid the price for it. He wanted to die, but he couldn't. He wanted to atone, but he lacked the power to do so; he was now just a crippled piece of trash. Nothingness, brothers, all five of them carried some kind of emptiness deep within them."

He clenched his fist.

"So Father chose them," Russ said. "To fight nothingness with nothingness, to pit those who had no attachment to life against a hellish, certain death."

The Lion El'Jonson gripped his sword and spear tightly.

"They died and were reborn again and again over that immeasurably long period of time. Their father's strength bore the cost for them, and their will became increasingly refined through countless cruel deaths. Everything was for the sake of this moment."

Russ left him and strolled over to the four lying men and the kneeling man, slowly opening her arms.

Do you understand what they're going to do?

The Lion El'Jonson slowly exhaled a breath of stale air.

They refuse to die.

As the words fell, the figures, like specks of light, vanished abruptly, and a gentle breeze stirred a corner of the tent. Sol Tavitz was the first to open his eyes. He coughed convulsively, blood spurting from his lips and teeth. Thunder followed closely behind, sitting up with clenched fists. Sigismund awoke calling out Rogal Dorn's name, Bjorn announced his rebirth with a wolf's howl.

Ahzek Ahriman stared at them, speechless, tears streaming down his face.

"Now the key is back in the lock, the door can be opened, and hope will be rekindled." The Lion El'Jonson heard his dead brother breathe a sigh of relief and murmur to himself, "Go outside and see, brother, the sky must be beautiful right now."

The Lion El'Jonson did as he was told and strode out. Russ was right; the sky was indeed beautiful at that moment.

His face and armor were illuminated by endless golden Radiance, the darkness in the sky was completely eliminated, and it was as bright as day by billions of Auramite points of light. A gentle breeze blew from the other side of the earth, and there was no longer any trace of the stench of Daemon.

The Lion El'Jonson instinctively looked back and saw a colossal pillar of light, reaching to the heavens and the earth, burning with unprecedented brilliance. Countless monsters and nightmares screamed and melted completely before this burning pillar of light.

Lion Aljonson had nothing more to say; he was speechless. He simply realized that the beam of light was not Astronomican.

"It is, but it is also hope."

Russ's voice rang in his ears again, and the light spots coalesced once more into the majestic and wild figure of the Wolf King.

"Humanity has come this far through sacrifice, brother, and those sparks of light—"

The Dionysian Spear dragged the Lion El'Jonson's arm and slowly pointed it towards the sky. The tip of the spear shone Radiance, and a huge vortex slowly condensed in the sky.

Seconds later, the massive hulls of the Nightfall and the Macragge's Honour burst out of the whirlpool at breakneck speed, followed by an entire massive fleet. One after another, they stretched endlessly, showing no trace of decay. The Imperial Aquila gleamed, their legion insignia flashing like lightning.

They had endured hardship and torment along the way, filled with anger, sorrow, and anxious helplessness. Only now, having traveled this far, had they finally returned home.

"--It was the countless souls who perished beneath the Golden Throne in this battle," Leman Russ Russ said softly. "But now, we, the dead, have done all we could for you. What shall we do next?"

He paused, his voice suddenly becoming strange, and then burst into laughter.

"Oh, wait, that's really strange. Lion, are you crying?"

The Lion El'Jonson said, "Yes."

"What?"

"Yes, I'm crying," Lion El-Jonson repeated. "But there's one more thing I don't understand, Russ."

"What is it?" the Wolf King asked gently.

"How can we win?" the Lion El'Jonson asked earnestly.

Russ smirked and said, "We're waiting for a gem."

Yes, I stayed up all night—but I couldn't sleep until I finished writing this. A creator's state has its limits. Anyway, I'm going to bed now, hoping to see lots and lots of comments when I wake up (just kidding).