183 Terra (Forty-One, the Son Who Slew His Father, the Only Rebel)

I found you.🎄🐼 ➅9sùx.ČόM 😾🐟 Shen said. His voice echoed in the darkness, like the roar of a monster.

He grasped Constantine Valdor's spear with both hands and held it tightly.

From the Daemon's wounds, many flickering images are playing out: murder, murder, murder—countless killings, endless and unending.

Shen drew his spear and casually tossed it aside. The Adeptus Custodes Guard Marshal caught it firmly, and his sword was already sheathed.

The Daemon laughed, its sharp teeth protruding from its lips, dripping foul-smelling saliva. "What did you see, dear Shen?"

Shen remained silent, only drawing his sword, Never Forgive and Never Look Back.

Angron Tei slashed at Samus from behind, Ollanius Persson aimed at Samus's head and pulled the trigger, and Constantine Valdor hurled his spear, which transformed into a ray of light in the sky, aiming at its chest.

Faced with all these attacks, Samus's only reaction was to stand still. It did not dodge, it did not defend itself, it simply smiled.

Its sharp teeth reflected all the remaining Radiance in the darkness; each refracted surface was a mirror, bringing scenes from elsewhere to this place. Staring intently at its teeth, Shen swung both swords down simultaneously.

The Daemon's spine was slashed, its eyes pierced by explosives, its chest pierced by spears, and its jaw shattered by twin swords. Its body was reduced to millions of pieces in an instant, and this was not their doing.

They wanted to kill it, but they couldn't do it that way. No one can kill a Daemon that way.

Samus's head lay wet in his own blood, a silent smile on his face. His orange eyes were flashing wildly, as if something was struggling within them.

A brutal power flashed from the head's eyes, and rumbling thunder began to rumble in the darkness. Everything changed abruptly and discordantly, yet the songs of the undead had no order whatsoever.

Samus's remaining incomplete head began to deform, and a gelatinous black mud shed every fine, stiff hair, gurgling out from every hole.

The Daemon's eyes were forced out of their sockets, and two other eyes immediately took their place, as if impatiently. Samus's tongue writhed and danced wildly on the ground like a serpent, and his sharp teeth fell out all at once, filling his mouth with human teeth and deforming his gums.

A jawline suddenly formed from the foul-smelling blood and adhered to the face, while Samus's eyes rolled to Shen's feet.

All of this happened in less than half a second.

The Daemon's voice came from its tongue.

He laughed wildly.

"I absolutely love this kind of drama—!" it cried out. "Fight to the death, heroes! Then I will bring about the ending, I will bring about the conclusion!"

Shen stomped on its eyes, crushing them; Ollanius Persson fired, shattering its tongue and teeth. Angron Te swung his sword at the newborn, wet, and blood-soaked human head, while Constantine Valdor joined him, thrusting out his spear.

An attack that seemed certain of success, an attack made without the slightest hesitation, was firmly grasped by both hands.

Colchis's words gleamed with a golden light on his bare, strong arms, rising higher and higher with irresistible force as he snatched the longsword and spear away. A white robe materialized out of thin air from the muddy black gel, moving without wind.

Lorgar Aurelian stood before them with a smile, spotless, his skin as smooth as white jade, radiating golden light, handsome as a god.

"I rushed here as soon as I heard your voice, my son." Lorgar gently lowered his head to look at Angron Tai. "Our friend Samus has demanded quite a lot from me for this; he's a greedy fellow, but what could I do? I had to see you, just as you've been looking for me."

He released his grip, throwing the sword and spear together, the sound echoing dully in the darkness. The Great Word Bearers thoughtfully raised his right hand, touching his chin as if to confirm its continued presence.

He confirmed this before continuing his story.

"However, I must point out one of your mistakes, Angron Te. You should not associate with these people. Look at the companions you have chosen! Protectors of false gods, foolish Perpetual, the blades of the gods. You should stand with the true pious."

A roar came from the darkness behind him.

"Bartusa," Angron Tei interrupted without turning his head. "Don't fall for it, we all know what it is."

Baltusa Narek limped slowly out of the darkness, his gray armor stained with blood. More Aurelian's Sons emerged from within, and a thick fog gradually rose, with the Night Lords silently waiting for their chance to strike.

A sword and a spear were handed over one by one, and eventually returned to their respective owners.

The Great Word Bearers watched this scene patiently, without reacting in the slightest. His gaze was mostly fixed on Angron Tai, his eyes seemingly able to pierce through the helmet and reach down to the ground, causing a sharp pain in Angron Tai's brow and giving him a vague understanding.

"I am Lorgar Aurelian."

The Great Word Bearers reached into the void and retrieved his scepter. A raging flame erupted from its tip, turning the head a fiery red.

"What am I besides this?" he asked.

"Die," said Angron Te, then charged forward, sword in hand.

He had prepared many words for this day—righteous condemnation, vows of Vengeance —but now, when he was actually face to face with the thing dressed in the skin of Lorgar, he found that he couldn't utter a single word.

Even his anger was completely suppressed by something cold; in this instant, Angron Tey could feel was exhaustion. He had nothing more to say, having carried bitterness and hatred for decades, searching the starry sea in vain.

Today is the end.

His sword was as fast as lightning, but the Great Word Bearers did not dodge.

Can Primarch be harmed? Of course they can. Primarch also have flesh and blood, and even when wearing Power Armour, they can be penetrated, let alone now that they are only wearing a robe. However, if you want to harm them, you must first touch them.

Angron Tai's sword was effortlessly parried by the scepter, and something beneath Lorgar Aurelian's skin caused him to furrow his brow slightly, revealing a look of sorrowful bewilderment.

Constantine Valdor arrived shortly after. The Adeptus Custodes Guard Marshal had never liked Lorgar, but at this moment, when he actually saw such a blasphemous thing with his own eyes, anger still welled up in his heart.

This unprecedented rage spurred him to stop observing and strike again. The Apollonian Spear sliced through the air, easily seizing the opening and piercing the Great Word Bearers's chest.

What should have been a brilliant victory turned into a shock as Valdor instantly withdrew his spear, staggering back several steps, his body convulsing as if in an epileptic seizure. With the battle about to erupt, no one, except for Ollanius Persson, had the luxury of caring about his condition at that moment.

Batusa Narek and his brothers roared as they opened fire. The supplies from the Ultramarines and Midnight Blade were upgraded due to their smaller numbers. Meltagun and plasmas flashed, and Heavy Bolter and Reaper Twin Autocannon roared through the air, hurtling toward the mere shell of a fake, carrying with them unparalleled resentment.

Lorgar smiled as jet-black blood flowed from his body. His scepter flashed through the air, repelling Angron Tai, and boiling flames immediately surrounded him. Melta and plasma energy balls crashed into him, shattering the explosive bombs and Autocannon before they could even get close, completely vaporizing them and generating more explosions and high temperatures.

Shen narrowed his eyes, silently made a gesture, and wordlessly issued a command.

Within the flames, the voice of Lorgar Aurelian continued.

"You ungodly son," he seemed displeased. "Why have you come to this? Don't you have eyes? Can't you see who I really am?"

Shen ran over, helped the Aurelian's Sons the Angron up, but Angor calmly refused his help, slowly stood up on his own, and then took off his helmet.

Steaming hot blood gushed from the junction of the helmet and neck guard, flowing down the Aquila emblem on the armor. A golden light flickered between his brows.

"Shut your fucking mouth," Angron Te said in Nostraman. "I know what you want."

His tone sounded exactly like Jago Sevatarion's. Shen looked at him in astonishment.

Angron Te raised his hand, gripped the sword in reverse, and pressed the hilt against his brow. Golden light flashed, leaving a brilliant glow on the hilt, like fresh blood.

He walked forward, facing the flames, holding the sword upside down.

"I know—" he switched back to Colchis. "—I've always known, every night he calls to me, telling me what you've done."

"The things stolen from my master don't receive the treatment they deserve in the hands of the thief. I often tremble, you know? Every time I tremble, I know you're doing evil again. You're killing people, making sacrifices, setting the world ablaze, and you're still bearing his name and his face."

He paused, then took a deep breath.

"Get out," Angron Te said. "Get out of that fire, and face his last loyal heir, thief."

A bloodied and mangled face emerged from the wall of flames, sizzling, oily flesh constantly peeling away. Trembling lips clung to the teeth as if melting, and the tongue hung between the dry teeth like a long snake.

Angron Tai roared as he thrust his sword forward, striking the face with deadly accuracy. Laughter erupted from behind the wall of flames as a hand seized his sword, and then himself.

The Great Word Bearers burst forth with ecstatic joy, a stench of decay vanished in an instant, and flames spread, directly forcing back the Aurelian's Sons were about to charge forward.

Batusa Narek, breathing heavily, began changing the magazine of his Heavy Bolter and ripped a string of Frag Grenade from his belt. After changing the magazine, he wrapped them around his left hand and waited for his opportunity.

At this moment, Shen and he shared a strange understanding. He silently held his sword, waiting calmly. Da Word Bearers, however, was unhurried, with a bright smile.

"Finally," he murmured contentedly, his voice sticky and wet, a stench emanating from his breath. "The last essence."

His eyes began to change color, turning into two swirling black holes. His flesh suddenly became gaunt, and demons roared as they pushed against his skin, as if about to break free of their restraints.

Angron Tey showed no sign of wavering or fear; from the beginning, he knew it wasn't Lorgar. He didn't even look at it, but instead stared at Shen beside him.

Shen lowered his arm.

A thick fog swept in, a howling wind blew, and gleaming blades pierced the darkness, black flames scorching, the hand holding the sword turning crimson—the fake's shell was instantly pierced by twenty-five blades, passing right through its chest, freezing the smile on its face for a moment.

The scabbard instantly diminished, and tens of thousands of wailing, lifeless faces spewed forth from beneath it. Angron Tai landed steadily and began to hack and slash at them in the black flames. Shen, however, did not rush forward immediately, but instead turned back to observe his squad.

Some have already disappeared; twenty-five, no more, no less.

He didn't speak, his gauntlets growing even more crimson. Just then, Samus's voice came from behind him. "He'll be back, Shen. Have you thought of a plan?"

The Daemon began to launch into a long, rambling monologue.

"He won't leave, at least not until he gets what he wants. Your Terra is shrouded in darkness. You can kill him countless times, but he will return countless times until he gets what he desires. And how many more brothers are you willing to sacrifice? How much more will you have to give to reach the end of this road?"

Shen didn't answer, as he always had. He was always accustomed to silence; within Night Lords, the one who talked incessantly was Jago Sevatarion, not Shen.

Behind them, far from the battle, Constantine Valdor was slowly rising, his face heavy with anger.

The Daemon showed him things he didn't want to see, some painful truths. These things fueled his anger. Within the connection, however, the voice of the Master of Mankind remained calm.

+It was premeditated, Valdor. Its actions are merely a facade of chaos; beneath lies a logic. It, or what's behind it, wants to probe your reaction. They can't see Ollanius Persson, but they can see you. They know you're leading someone, but they want to know who that person is.+

+But the image it displays is of you--+

"That's not important," the Master of Mankind gently advised, his tone possessing the composure of an elder. "Am I not even allowed to sacrifice myself?"

Constantine Valdor gripped his lance tightly and fell silent. His duty, reason, and emotion were all clashing. Every Adeptus Custodes was born to serve the Emperor, and they were willing to die for him Dreadnought.

This fanatical loyalty, while often criticized, was also one of their sources of pride. In the eyes of the Adeptus Custodes, no one in the world was more loyal to the Emperor than they were.

This, however, gave rise to many peculiar contradictions. For example, the difference in attitude between the Adeptus Custodes and the Emperor towards other people, and the wavering that the Marshal of the Adeptus Custodes was experiencing at this moment.

+You're falling into a vicious cycle, Valdor. + The Master of Mankind's voice grew increasingly harsh. +You're placing me above the Imperium and Mankind, what are you thinking? There's no turning back now. Look around, they're fighting to the death, while you're here lamenting my suffering? +

Following his instructions, Valdor turned his gaze forward. In the darkness gradually being shrouded in mist, the demonic tide born from the stolen skin of Lorgar Aurelian was clashing head-on with the Night Lords and the Aurelian's Sons.

He even heard a few rude curses from Ollanius Persson. It was only then that the Adeptus Custodes Marshal realized that his mission target had somehow left him and gone to join the battle.

Instinctively, he took a few steps to catch up with Ollanius Persson, to lead him back to the right path, and towards their next destination.

However, he ultimately fell into hesitation.

The Emperor, his sovereign—the sovereign who sits on the Throne, enduring eternal torment.

Before he knew it, Constantine Valdor's eyes were filled with tears.

Instinctive thinking and reverence for the Emperor were destroying his enthusiasm for the mission. If the ultimate outcome of this mission was that his lord had to endure such torment, then what was the point of completing it? He might as well go back and find the rest of the Ten Thousand, and then...

And then what?

During the connection, the Emperor asked with a disappointed tone.

"Then I'll take you away." Valdor replied immediately, without the slightest concealment. "As long as that's the case, the Imperium will still exist, and humanity will still exist. In the galaxy, no one's life can compare to yours."

A thunderous rage erupted from the other end of the connection, and Valdor's face turned deathly pale in an instant. He took a few steps back, looking completely bewildered.

This time, the Master of Mankind remained silent for a long time before continuing to speak to his marshal through a profound connection that transcended time and space.

+ Valdor, I've always had higher expectations of you.+

And that is exactly what I demand of myself, my lord.

"No." The Emperor calmly denied. "For so many years, you've only been standing still. You've even forgotten what I said when I handed you the Apollonian Spear. You are Adeptus Custodes, my weapon, that's true. But before that, you were just a human."

+Me+

Valdor was speechless, unsure how to answer. He did indeed see himself as a tool, and always placed the Emperor first. But since his lord had made demands of him, how could he refuse?

However, this request was perhaps too difficult for him.

+I understand what I'm asking of you; I'm hoping you'll transcend your own nature. However, that Daemon illusion is merely a small stone on your path, an insignificant one among tens of thousands of difficulties. If you cannot even overcome it, I fear I will have to find someone else for this task. But I have no one else to choose from, Valdor. Only you.+

The Master of Mankind sighed softly.

"Are you going to let me down, Valdor?"

The Adeptus Custodes Guard Marshal remained silent for a long time, his teeth clenched, and low, rumbling sounds emanated from his throat, as if he were bleeding. Several minutes later, his hunched shoulders finally relaxed.

He walked forward, silently grabbed Ollanius Persson who was engrossed in the killing, and slowly dragged him away, leading him down another path.

This chapter is 5k words long, one more chapter to go.