Terra (Forty, Wolf and Wolf, 7k)

Garviel Loken had read many books, some from his time, others from much earlier times, from a period before humanity ventured into the stars, even when multiple nations were still at war. (69shux. com)

He also once cleared his mind, trying to imagine how ancient philosophers could write magnificent works in an era of material scarcity, whose words could still amaze readers tens of thousands of years later, their souls singing immortal songs in the text.

Take Shakespeare's plays, or some poems, for example. Comedies, tragedies, fathers and sons killing each other, brothers fighting each other. In the end, they all turned to arms. Looking back now, it seems that fate had already foreshadowed something back then, but he couldn't see it at the time.

Garviel Loken gazed at Ezekyle Abaddon, his eyes fixed on him.

His brother—his former brother—stood at the forefront of the Sons of Horus' elite forces, the banner of the Eye of Horus flying high behind him.

Their armor was free of ashes, their boots unstained by the mud mixed with bits of flesh. They bore no wounds, no mental trauma, and showed no sign of wavering. They stood here, on the very ground they had sworn to protect, atop the burning ruins of the Imperium of Man.

Even with pride.

Even, filled with pride.

Garviel Loken saw Abaddon smiling.

He released his grip, leaving the Word Bearers he had strangled behind. He picked up his sword from the ground and ran towards the nearest enemy.

Judging from its appearance, it was a creature that was somewhere between Daemon and Astartes. It was difficult to determine which side it was on. Its fleshy armor and erratic behavior could not erase the fact that it was once Astartes, but it still possessed strong characteristics of corruption.

It was fighting Haren Kosen, and the War Hounds's captain wasn't letting it gain any advantage. That was good; he'd created an opportunity for Garviel Loken to launch a sneak attack.

The Luna Wolves charged toward it, unleashing a swift sword strike from behind. The disintegrating force field obliterated flesh and blood, and tens of thousands of muscle fibers vanished in an instant, spurting foul-smelling black blood from the wound.

It roared in pain and turned around in a rage. Its hands, which had become one with its weapons, gleamed coldly, and the two twisted blades stabbed towards Garviel Loken. The War Hounds seized the opportunity to decapitate it.

Sometimes, all you need to win is a tiny, insignificant chance.

"They're here!" Garviel Loken roared at Haren Kosen. "We must be prepared, Company Commander Harlen, we must!"

War Hounds calmly sheathed his decapitation sword, his face, half replaced by bionic parts, now covered in blood. "How many of them are there?"

Garviel Loken turned his head, punched the peephole, and smashed it open, the blood and dirt mingling and flying everywhere. He looked at the dark horizon and drew a fairly credible conclusion.

"At least four companies," Luna Wolves said. "At least four, Company Commander Harun."

Dalian?

Dalian.

The War Hounds nodded. "It looks like we have no choice but to retreat."

That's what he said, but his actions revealed a completely different idea. Garviel Loken caught up with him, while still firing his Boltgun at another group of charging Cultists.

He was getting a little annoyed—he didn't know how to describe the feeling, but for someone who was feeling somewhat emotionally deprived these days, annoyance was perhaps the best word to express his emotions.

"Aren't you going to call in the troops?" Garviel Loken shouted.

The explosion of the bombs did not drown out his voice; instead, the Cultists' roars sounded jarring. An Imperial Fists charged through, smashing the bastards into pieces with his assault shield.

"I think," the War Hounds's company commander turned to look at Garviel Loken, "No, let me put it this way, Luna Wolves —a warrior's best end should be to fight to the death, do you agree?"

Garviel Loken answered with silence, a wave of sorrow rising from the depths of his heart.

"We can indeed retreat, Garviel Loken," Haren Kosen said, almost with a sneer. "But we'll be caught up with on the way and killed one by one. You should know better than I what four Sons of Horus of the Great Lian means, shouldn't you?"

"They clearly came prepared, although I don't know why they chose to attack the area we were responsible for, but..."

The War Hounds nonchalantly hoisted his sword, shut his mouth, silently made a gesture, and walked to the other side of the trench. Garviel Loken watched him leave, then looked around; every loyal soldier within his sight was fighting to the death.

That initial sorrow gradually transformed into extreme indignation.

Garviel Loken deactivated the disintegration field, sheathed his sword, removed the magazine from his Boltgun, and checked the ammunition. After doing this, he hung the gun back on his right leg holster and jumped onto the top of the trench.

Almost no one noticed what he was doing; they all had things to do, just like him.

Garviel Loken started running.

He covered a distance of over a thousand meters in two and a half minutes, an incredibly slow pace for Astartes. But he needed time to think, and the treacherous terrain of the battlefield further complicated his movement.

He turned himself into a living, moving target. The group of people a kilometer away had definitely spotted him long ago, but they didn't fire. Garviel Loken didn't know why, and he didn't want to know. He just ran.

In the process, he put aside all factors that could lead to an emotional outburst, and finally stood calmly before Ezekyle Abaddon.

"What are you doing here, Garviel?" Abaddon asked, sword in hand.

Their reunion was neither dramatic, nor preordained, nor as intense as one might imagine. They simply sat face to face, one of them asking questions in a casual tone, as if it were just another brief conversation after a sparring session.

While one man was surrounded only by burning wreckage and ruins, the other was backed by a group of imposing, elite soldiers, their expressions suggesting a victorious triumph.

Garviel Loken did not answer his question, but simply drew his sword.

His heart began to race during this process. He wasn't worried about being shot. He knew these men, and he understood they would give him time to do it. But he was still somewhat anxious because those who remained in the trenches didn't know him as well as these men did.

What an ironic contrast.

But he was at a loss. Now, he could only pin his hopes on Haren Kosen's keen observation skills. He hoped that the company commander would discover his departure and whereabouts soon, and then realize the time he had bought for them.

This is such a stupid solution, so stupid, so incredibly stupid, as stupid as Ezekyle Abaddon.

Garviel Loken gripped his sword, staring at Abaddon.

"You want to fight?" Abaddon asked.

His tone suggested he didn't care much about it.

"Perhaps," Garviel Loken said, gripping his sword. "But it's not just about fighting, it's not simply about fighting. Ezekyle, what I want to do is kill you."

This was no exaggeration; Abaddon could see the weight of those words in Garviel Loken's eyes. Those eyes, once brimming with passion and overflowing with the unspoken understanding between brothers, were now only filled with an empty calm.

"Really? What a pity," Abaddon said. "I thought you were here to rejoin the Warmaster's ranks."

Garviel Loken silently took a breath of air; he needed the awful, acrid smell of burning air to calm his emotions.

Ezekyle Abaddon was trying to provoke him, and he didn't even need to think about it to reach that conclusion. Just as Abaddon knew exactly what he should say to make Garviel Loken lose control, they knew each other too well.

Decades of brotherhood and camaraderie cannot be easily erased. Although both sides share this sentiment, it is by no means an easy task to accomplish.

Only blood can repay blood. The blood they once shed for each other.

"Raise your sword," Garviel Loken growled. "Raise your sword."

Abaddon indeed raised the longsword in his hand, a sword that once belonged to Horus Aximand and was known as the Mourn-it-all.

Horus Aximand once said that he had thrown his sword in front of Abaddon. Garviel Loken already knew this, but now, seeing Abaddon's expressionless face as he held the Mourn-it-all, Garviel Loken felt a sharp pain for some reason, a pain that compelled him to launch the first attack.

And so they began their battle.

The four wolf god offspring of Dalian silently watched this scene. It wasn't that no one wanted to interfere with the duel, but it had already been started before they could fire.

But isn't this duel absurd?

Garviel Loken, clad in the white armor of the Luna Wolves era, battles Ezekyle's Abaddon, who wears the black armor of the Sons of Horus era, amidst the burning ruins of Terra.

There was no preamble, no lengthy discourse, just a few brief exchanges, filled with a deep understanding born from an extreme level of tacit agreement.

Garviel Loken came to his death, determined to sacrifice himself, in order to buy those doomed puppet False Emperor's lackeys a few more hours of meaningless life.

Ezekyle Abaddon knew all this, but instead of ordering his arrest or execution, he risked his life to duel him and fulfill his final wish.

Many of Sons of Horus felt uneasy. They disliked the scene, even though the duel had not yet shed a single drop of blood; it was still far too cruel for them.

"Did you ever expect this day to come?" Garviel Loken growled.

As the blades collided with Aximand's "Mourn-it-all," the electric arcs of the disintegrating force field pulsed and began to intertwine, bursting forth with new Radiance between the collisions and friction of the blades, illuminating the two men's faces until they turned deathly pale, as if they were two Ghost who had long since died.

Abaddon remained silent, but suddenly swung his sword and attacked fiercely.

Unlike most Power Sword, the Mourn-it-all is a sword that even describing it as a two-handed greatsword seems somewhat inadequate. Once upon a time, Garviel Loken thought only Aximand could wield it with ease. But now, he realized he was wrong— Abaddon could too.

But Abaddon had never shown it before.

This caused him trouble.

Garviel Loken began to retreat, his steel boots sinking deep into the mud. Abaddon pressed his advantage, showing no mercy; his intention was clear—to seize this opportunity and kill Garviel Loken completely.

To win, you must seize every opportunity that can make the outcome "victory," no matter how insignificant it may seem.

Horus Lupercal's teachings are now being faithfully practiced by Ezekyle Abaddon.

He caught up with Garviel Loken, unleashing three consecutive slashes while perfectly parrying them, giving Garviel Loken no chance to counterattack.

His attack was so swift that Mourn-it-all spread through the air with lightning-like colors and trails, lingering around the black armor.

The Sons of Horus, who had changed their paint scheme to match the Warmaster's new armor, suddenly realized from the two rapidly moving opposing color blocks who would win.

Some were delighted, for this meant they would no longer have to witness the unsettling duel. Others, however, felt a chill run down their spines, finally realizing something was amiss.

Unfortunately, it was too late.

"It's too late" is the most frustrating phrase in the world.

Garviel Loken parried with his sword, skillfully anticipating Abaddon's sword path and blocking it one by one. For Astartes, all sword battles inevitably involve this process. If the two swordsmen are of similar skill, the battle will inevitably be prolonged to a certain extent.

Garviel Loken turned the tide in a mere second, his efforts revitalizing what seemed like a hopeless situation. Abaddon, however, wore a faint smile, as if admiring him.

He suddenly stepped back, his sword blade digging deep into the mud, slicing through dried blood and shattered armor, and raising a cloud of dust in that brief half-second pause.

Garviel Loken's vision was not blocked, but Mourn-it-all was. The enormous sword suddenly vanished amidst the swirling mud, becoming an invisible sword.

At the same time, Garviel Loken heard a heavy rumble, not like the sound of a sword about to strike, but more like a cannonball about to hit the ground.

In that instant, his mind was blank except for one sentence, from Tarik Torgaddon Torgaddon.

"You always focus too much on how to kill your opponent when you swing your sword, dear Ezekyle," Torgaddon advised patiently. "Why not lower your expectations for speed and focus on developing a certain level of agility first?"

It seems he didn't listen, Tarik Torgaddon.

A dazzling white streak of light roared and sliced through the air, reaching Garviel Loken's face. Without hesitation, Luna Wolves tilted its head back to dodge. The blade pursued him closely, like a ravenous wolf that knew no fear of retreat.

Garviel Loken blocked the sword again with a backhand, and seized the small opening exposed by Abaddon's eagerness for quick success. He pounced and began to use the tip of his sword to strike Abaddon's thick armor.

The first place to strike would naturally be the abdomen, followed by the small area connecting the armpit and neck. Ezekyle Abaddon was not wearing a helmet, just like Garviel Loken at this moment.

Both of them could see each other's faces naturally, and Garviel Loken noticed that Abaddon's expression had become somewhat gloomy.

He suddenly smiled. He didn't hide his smile, and Abaddon probably noticed it too.

Seconds later, with a muffled thud, they separated.

Abaddon had a small dent on his forehead from a punch, and blood was flowing out, running down his face and staining him bloody.

Garviel Loken appeared to be unharmed, but upon closer inspection, a deep sword mark could be seen on his armor, on his right shoulder.

He could never be completely unscathed, just like Abaddon. They had sparred with each other countless times, and this deep understanding transcended time, influencing the entire battle.

The onlookers were puzzled, not understanding how Abaddon's advantage could be reversed in an instant. Only the two of them knew that this battle was destined to last a long time.

They began to pace slowly, moving subtly, their eyes fixed on each other, swords raised or lowered, a gentle breeze carrying a message of destruction. The power of Chaos howled, bringing dim light and irrational torment to the darkness.

The sounds from inside the trenches reached their ears, traveling thousands of meters, yet they were as clear as if they were actually there.

A look of disgust flashed across Abaddon's face, which Garviel Loken caught.

"It seems you know very well what you're associating with," Luna Wolves sneered. "You know its greedy nature, and how it thirsts for our flesh and souls, Abaddon, yet you still insist on deceiving yourself."

"Traitor," Abaddon uttered coldly. "You're the one deceiving yourself, Garviel. You've returned to the False Emperor's side, yet you can't see what a hypocritical liar he truly is. Can't you sense the strangeness in Terra now? Do I need to remind you, great Moon Wolf? Look at yourself now, back in your old paint job."

He sneered, drawing a circle on the ground with his Mourn-it-all. Garviel Loken returned a mocking smile, "Re-enter? I never truly left him; my loyalty has been unwavering from the beginning."

"And Horus?!" Abaddon growled, a roar that sounded eerily similar to Garviel Loken's not-so-short ago. "You betrayed him!"

"He is not Horus," Garviel Loken said softly. "Horus Lupercal would not torture mortals to death, leaving a ship full of Vengeful Spirit, nor would he vanish at this moment. Where did he go, Abaddon? Do you understand?"

"He's winning for us," Abaddon replied in a low voice, his face contorted with rage. "And you— Garviel, how can you remain so calm?"

"You really don't know the reason?" Luna Wolves asked in return.

They stared at each other, and after half a second, they began to charge at each other face to face, their blades clashing once more.

This should have been the clarion call for another close-quarters battle, but a whistling bullet flew straight at the unprepared Ezekyle Abaddon —even Garviel Loken hadn't noticed where the bullet came from.

But it failed to hit the target. It had all the advantages: the right time, the right place, and the right people. The sniper behind it must have carefully planned before pulling the trigger, but it still failed to hit the target.

It shattered suddenly just nine centimeters from Abaddon's head, easily crushed into dust by the surging Chaos power.

Abaddon's pupils contracted sharply. He swung his sword and retreated repeatedly until he was at a safe distance. He wiped his face, took a deep breath, and looked at Garviel Loken with a grim expression.

"Despicable—!" he cursed. "You are tarnishing our honor!"

Garviel Loken laughed. He didn't know who was interfering with the duel, but he really didn't care. He even nodded, taking the blame upon himself.

Do you really think that you and I have any honor to speak of?

Abaddon roared and fell silent, while the Sons of Horus, realizing the gunshot, raised their guns and aimed them at Garviel Loken.

Abaddon continued roaring without turning his head, "Put down the gun, let me do it--"

Before he could finish speaking, another bullet whistled through the air, precisely interrupting his words.

The burning, blood-red sky was suddenly obscured by dark clouds, and a thick fog surged from behind the Sons of Horus. Within it, shadowy figures appeared, and the Midnight Blade's attack, though without warning, was extremely effective.

Wolf God's elite warriors were immediately dragged into the mire. One group was renowned throughout the galaxy, so powerful that it needed no further explanation. The other, however, had only a sinister and terrifying reputation; even though books about them had been popular for years, they could not conceal the horrifying fact that they were assassins.

However, even with such a clash between the two armies, the result Garviel Loken saw was a stalemate.

"You've really changed, Garviel Loken," Abaddon said sincerely, standing opposite him.

"Shut up, traitor," Garviel Loken said contemptuously, and charged at him with his sword raised.

Amidst the fog and the roar of gunfire, they began to fight again, this time hundreds of times more intense than ever before.

Because there was no longer any reason or justification to stop them from treating each other with hatred; there was only hatred and the desire to kill each other. Everything else was discarded, even the original tactical objectives.

Garviel Loken no longer cared whether Company Commander Haren Kosen could lead the remaining men in the trenches to safety, just as Abaddon didn't care that his four companies were engaged in a bloody tug-of-war with the Night Lords.

They were extremely focused and desperate to kill their opponent; this was their top priority, their only concern right now.

Abaddon roared and swung his sword, cutting Garviel Loken down. "You betrayed us!"

Garviel Loken swiftly rolled backward, rising from the mud, and thrust his sword out with a backhand strike, his voice equally ruthless. "Is that so? Think of Aximand and Tarik Torgaddon! Don't make yourself sound like an outcast, Ezekyle's Abaddon!"

Swords clashed, footsteps spun, and the wolves stared at each other, their eyes filled with unparalleled hatred. The only difference lay in their expressions: one was as cold as ice, the other as ferocious as fire.

"You've bewitched them!"

Garviel Loken almost laughed, "Listen to yourself, this is ridiculous. You can't accept that all the members of the Mournival have left, so you start deceiving yourself, is that it? Don't be so absurd, traitor, maybe this will earn me a little more respect."

"Only I remain standing by his side!"

"Only you are fucking stupid enough not to see things clearly!" Garviel Loken roared suddenly. "Only you, after experiencing all the terrible things he did, actually believe he is a father, actually believe he is Horus Lupercal!"

"He is," Abaddon insisted. "No one else can lead us."

"Go tell the Emperor, you traitor," Garviel Loken cursed. "Go tell your original creator."

We only have --

Abaddon took a deep breath and found a potential weakness in Garviel Loken's relentless offensive. He seized it and plunged his Mourn-it-all deep into it, successfully forcing Garviel Loken, who had briefly gained the upper hand, to retreat.

"--A Gene-Father!"

"But what if he's wrong?" Garviel Loken took a few steps back, stood still, and asked softly. "What if he's wrong, Abaddon? What was the original purpose of the Mournival? Besides, he's not even him! Horus Aximand witnessed his death and heard his last words!"

Abaddon stopped answering, and just roared as he charged forward again. He dared not ask any more questions.

However, at that moment, a decapitation sword whistled through the air, heralding the start of another battle. War Hounds Haren Kosen of the War Hounds slashed his sword into Abaddon's armor, even sending him flying with the force of the blow.

Terminator Armour's Adamantium frame saved his life; otherwise, he would have been completely cleaved in two by that decapitation sword on the spot.

This should have been the moment to press the advantage, but Garviel Loken momentarily froze. He was so focused on the duel that he forgot everything else until the War Hounds reappeared.

At this moment, the responsibilities he had forgotten suddenly surged from the corners of his heart, crashing into his thoughts and tearing everything to shreds.

Why would I—no—now is not the time to think about these things—

There won't be a next time.

Enraged, Luna Wolves raised his sword and strode toward Abaddon. The War Hounds's company commander, however, blocked him with one hand, his strength astonishing, his left fist even striking Garviel Loken's chest with a terrifying dull thud.

The next second, right in front of them, the seemingly empty soil in front of Ezekyle Abaddon suddenly burst open, and several long, thick, dark purple tentacles smashed through the ground and were revealed, almost as if they were protecting him.

"Is this all the preparation you've made for this duel, you traitor?!" Garviel Loken roared. "What a noble member of the Mournival, the great Company Commander Ezekyle Abaddon!"

Abaddon did not answer; he could no longer answer. His face was filled with unbelievable shame and anger, his hands trembling violently in the mud, but the forces of Chaos ignored his struggles.

Darkness descended from the sky, enveloping him and the son of the wolf god. The Night Lords followed closely behind, in pursuit. As the mist dissipated and the darkness receded, only a pile of corpses remained on the ground, along with a group of Midnight Blade who had deliberately stayed behind. The leader was equipped with Lightning Claw on both hands, covered in blood, and had achieved remarkable results.

"Fortunately, we still have them." Haren Kosen grinned maliciously, pointing his decapitation sword at the tentacle and the horde of lewd monsters constantly emerging from the ground. "Grip your sword tightly, Luna Wolves, we have another battle to fight."

Yes, there's another battle to fight.

As he had instructed, Garviel Loken gripped the blade tightly.

There will always be another battle to fight.

This chapter is 7k words long; another chapter will follow shortly.