Observations from the Era of the 52nd Chapter: Clearing Out the Trash

(And anti-submarine assessment)

Zel gently released his fingers, letting the combat dagger slide to the ground.

It should have slipped from his grasp if he hadn't used his fingers to hold the guard. Then, he twisted the handle and gripped it tightly again. Now, his index and middle fingers were pressed firmly against the blade, while the remaining three fingers gripped the handle.

This way of holding the knife goes against its own design and isn't exactly a good fighting stance, but Zel has gotten used to it.

He emerged silently from the darkness, carrying a knife.

After leaving the elevator platform, they marched for another seventeen minutes through the radioactive dust of Calth before finally reaching their destination, Fortress VI.

From its appearance, this fortress was unlike any Zel had ever seen before. It was entirely black, and although it bore the insignia of the Aquila and the Ultramar, its austere shape and the complete absence of observation holes and walls made it somewhat strange.

He fell silent, becoming absolutely still, and drifted about like a Ghost. Before long, they saw the hall that Zel had mentioned.

Karyl squinted, reached out and grasped the statue, then began to exert force.

He created a religion here for the Lord of Macragge, and then quietly left, as if he had simply planted the flowers without any intention of letting them bloom and bear fruit one day.

He turned and began walking towards the passage, with Zel following behind, his Boltgun already in his hand. Although he followed, he still had some doubts, which he did not hide from Skaradrik.

"You can move freely in the darkness, but that doesn't mean it welcomes you. Danger lurks everywhere in the darkness; you are just one kind of monster among many. There are many more things that lurk in the depths. Never let your guard down, or you will surely suffer the consequences."

As soon as he finished speaking, he took the lead and walked past them, beginning his ascent into the depths of the passage.

His words drew a voice from above them, a deep and appreciative voice expressing its agreement with Zel.

Or rather, become his opposite, his flawed counterpart?

Yes, he has already killed many people here.

Any one of the things he did in those ten thousand years could instantly elevate a Cultists to a higher status, let alone something like this.

Ten thousand years ago, the religion founded by Lorgar Aurelian revered the Emperor as a god, and the Primarch as his sons, demigods walking among mortals.

They are nothing yet, but their bodies have become enormous, and their faces are changing.

Therefore, even at this moment, though facing enemies that have degenerated into primitive beings, he remained vigilant.

Zel didn't hide anything and told Skaradrik everything he knew. Because of the helmet, Zel couldn't see his expression, but he guessed it wasn't too good.

He has certainly experienced far worse circumstances, but the psychological aversion is very difficult to erase.

Moreover, the situation isn't that bad yet.

Judging from the paint job and the emblems on the handle, they clearly do not belong to him.

Zel looked down and realized that the dagger at his waist had disappeared. Coincidentally, the same was true for Skaradrik's dagger.

According to the map, he is currently on the fourth level of the fortress.

The High Lord and the Paladin looked up abruptly and saw a person standing upside down on the ceiling.

Just as Skaradrik is determined to regain his honor, Zel also has his own principles to uphold.

They even began to scream loudly and shout Roboute Guilliman's name in standard Gothic.

It was practically like she was begging him for help.

Zel remained relatively calm, standing there with his gun raised, awaiting the instructor's orders. Karyl, however, said nothing and simply walked forward.

The Great Khan let out a cold snort without turning his head.

He lowered his head, gently tossed the stone in his hand into the air, then caught it precisely between two fingers, and raised his hand again so that Skaradrik and Zel could observe it more closely.

In the center of the hall stood a crudely made stone statue. Zel captured its image through his eyepiece, intending to analyze it, but at that moment his heart sank, and he felt a sense of oppression for no reason.

To be precise, it is a stone-carved, mutilated version of Roboute Guilliman, missing his armor and legs.

He continued forward, his steel boots rising and falling silently, repeating the motion without making a sound.

Especially those so-called "flesh," they are all mutants who have lost their human form. Their dirty and hideous faces are filled with a strange peace, as if as long as they cling to this statue, they can be free from pain and enjoy all the beauty in the world.

But what about the image of that statue?

To his disbelief, Zel found that he couldn't recall its exact appearance at all—he didn't hesitate any longer and immediately began calling for backup.

Zel suddenly began to retreat, all the way to the end of the passage before the motor's error returned to normal, but the shapes of the statue and the flesh still lingered deep in his eyes.

At some point, he came to Calth and gave these mutants a proper evangelism unique to Roboute Guilliman.

Completely devoid of human form, the "flesh" struggled to move across the floor tiles, its large mouths swallowing other "flesh" into its mouths. The sounds of swallowing were incessant, yet the "flesh" covering the entire hall did not decrease in the slightest; on the contrary, it seemed to be increasing in number.

"I didn't use psionic powers or any other means to conceal my presence. Except when I was carrying a knife, I only used some stealth techniques from my Legion days."

Karyl reached out and threw the knife back to them.

This means that they are indeed demigods, and demigods who can become gods, as long as they awaken to their true nature.

Ironically, Roboute Guilliman awakened to his true nature.

These things are changing, and changing in the form of Roboute Guilliman. There are at least several thousand such lumps of flesh throughout the hall, endlessly repeating the process of devouring and rebirth.

The combat dagger pierced his heart from behind. In his final moments, the mutant could only manage a short, muffled groan, which went unnoticed.

This place was originally used as an armory, but Zel didn't see any of the solemnity of an armory along the way.

He continued, "Although I don't know much about war, I think there should be absolutely nothing that is 'useless' in war. In the final moments, even a stone can be used as a weapon, let alone such a basic skill?"

"And this has nothing to do with my psionic distortion of the Power Armour system. At such close range, even if it wasn't me, but another enemy skilled in stealth or equipped with cloaking devices, you would probably already be dead."

At least the pieces of flesh at Karyl's feet were like that; their faces even bore a four or five-point resemblance to the Lord of Macragge. Their eyes remained tightly closed, but who could guarantee that they wouldn't open them one day?

If this continues, will they really turn into his likeness?

Whether viewed from a secular or mystical perspective, it cannot defy him.

"We should call them," he repeated. "And we should call them now. If those savage bastards were truly religious, they would never be carrying just a statue."

Perhaps due to a genetic mutation, they cannot smell blood at all, which could explain why they can tolerate the extremely unpleasant odor on themselves.

"What's going on, Instructor?" Zel asked in an indescribable voice.

What the two of them were thinking was probably only known to themselves. Karyl, however, could guess some of it, so he began to explain.

He had no doubt that most people would experience vomiting or other adverse reactions the moment they smelled their odor.

"Is this the wisp of dust?" Skaradrik asked.

He stared at the chaotic scene before him, remaining silent.

Thousands of Roboute Guilliman faces, resembling cheap imitations, remained in a grotesque, agonizing pose within the carcass.

He pinpointed the crux of the problem, silencing a Chapter Master and a seasoned veteran, but Karyl did not stop there.

At the time, this term seemed biased, even derogatory to some, but now it seems that Lorgar was right. He hit the nail on the head, pointing out the true nature of the Primarch.

"A statue that can also affect you," the Highlord muttered somberly after a few seconds. "Looks like we've caught a big fish, Zel the Shadow Knights."

Regardless of what the sculptor used to shape the stone, he displayed no skill whatsoever. Strangely, within those clumsy marks of impact, Zel discerned a pure and sincere sincerity.

Upon realizing this, he almost vomited, not for any other reason than that the sculptor was a devout believer in Roboute Guilliman.

Skaradrik and Zel exchanged a glance, then silently sheathed their swords and followed.

Why didn't the Power Armour itself issue a warning?! Zel thought with a grim expression.

"I won't make excuses like a lack of Legacy. The fact is, we haven't done any more anti-submarine warfare training."

Its gaze pierced through the darkness, and, amidst the surging "flesh" around it, reached Zel precisely.

Skaradrik slowly stopped, turned his head to the side, glanced at Zel, and said nothing.

He is no longer considered a god, the reason for which remains a mystery, but the fact is the fact. He is no longer a god, and although his power is no longer comparable to when he killed that imposter, he can still completely destroy the statue at its source.

→

"Just Chaos conspiracy," Karyl said calmly. "From an evil being that is already dead, yet still tormented. Do you know? Erebus once took a wisp of dust from Macragge."

They are like enormous, soft worms covered in human skin, forever busy devouring each other, and then allowing their kind to be reborn from behind them.

Is it disgusting? It really is disgusting.

"Just one of them," Karyl replied, narrowing his eyes.

The digestive system and most of the internal organs have disappeared from these organisms that have degenerated to the extreme. They have no eyes, hands, feet, or organs other than the heart. They don't even have teeth or vertebrae. At least, Karyl couldn't sense any bones in them.

These beings, transcending the mortal realm, are not human beings; they are the embodiment of some power that a barbarian from Eurasia stole from the Warp.

The fleshy creatures began to disintegrate, transforming from barely recognizable forms into utter mincemeat, emitting a pungent stench, while their skin remained intact.

He slowly raised the blade in his hand and, with a seemingly gentle yet powerful motion, plunged it into the back of a barbarian.

It was a smell that couldn't be described simply as a stench; even the breathing grille built into the Zel helmet couldn't completely filter out this complex odor, which was akin to a biological attack.

The fortress that the Calth had built layer upon layer with countless years of blood and sweat has now been completely polluted by the blood and excrement of the descendants of traitors. Zel even has to avoid the filth when he walks to prevent it from staining his armor.

"No need," Karyl replied softly.

If not for a deep faith, it would be impossible to repeatedly adjust the angle and force of the blows to create a better statue that more closely resembles the person. Those marks speak volumes about the sculptor's sincerity.

"Instructor!" Skaradrik roared, already drawing two Power Axe from his belt. "I'll cover you!"

The statue was easily crushed into powder by five fingers. The flesh suddenly stopped eating and then began to convulse, jumping and trembling as if it had been thrown into a pot of boiling oil.

He fabricated a story about a god.

He landed lightly without making a sound. Two pale hands emerged from the wide sleeves of his black robe, holding two short combat knives that appeared out of nowhere.

Zel finally stopped.

This made Zel feel an overwhelming sense of absurdity. He had never dealt with such an enemy before. Even the natives of the barbaric world could quickly evolve in war and learn how to use light guns or Chainsword.

The flesh creatures were completely unaware of his arrival, and even the statue that had previously made Zel feel oppressed did not move. It stood quietly in place, and nothing more strange happened.

That's why Zel simply couldn't stand it.

"This is infuriating," Karyl thought expressionlessly.

This vigilance saved his life.

He saw only dried blood, countless skeletons hanging upside down, and excrement carelessly discarded by the roadside, mixed with mutilated limbs that had been gnawed on.

The armory doors, which should have been opened, remained closed, untouched. The mutants seemed uninterested in them, leaving nothing but "marks" on them.

Logically, he should have moved long ago. He could hide the corpses and his own whereabouts, but he couldn't mask the smell of blood. However, these mutants who occupied the fortress clearly had a poor sense of smell.

These mutants, however, are different; they even resist the weapons of the Calth and the civilization they have built.

This fortress has been occupied by mutants for eleven years, and its power system has long been completely destroyed. Although it is a colossal structure about three hundred meters high, there is not a single ray of light inside.

He stood with his feet on the writhing chunks of flesh, which remained oblivious to him, busy devouring each other.

What Erebus did was actually quite simple: he stole the Ashes of his homeland, which was closely connected to this demigod in mysticism, then sculpted his image and did once again what the Word Bearers were best at.

Zel frowned and began to examine it carefully again. This time, he successfully analyzed the statue's exact shape, but he preferred to forget it all.

"What's going on?" he asked bluntly.

For any Night Lords, stealth is the first lesson. Zel has always excelled at this skill, solely due to his caution. While most Astartes possess a degree of arrogance, he lacks it. His arrogance vanished entirely not long ago.

Karyl glanced back and clenched his right hand. When he released it, the wisp of dust had turned into a small gray stone.

He was now even starting to admire Erebus. Even Tzeentch's Daemon probably couldn't have stirred up the material world into such a mess.

It's practically a rebellion against civilization, Zel thought, frowning.

"We are too," Zel said through gritted teeth.

"To be honest, you should know about them too. It was just a matter of adjusting your breathing and heart rate to enter a blind spot. I was just a little more patient, but you didn't even notice when I took the dagger."

"Why? Because you feel you won't need it?" Karyl asked without turning his head.

Skaradrik frowned in exasperation; the moment he saw the intertwined chunks of flesh, he felt an urge to throw an incendiary bomb into them.

Zel silently maintained his breathing, his right hand calmly reaching for the Boltgun at his waist.

At the same time, his newly donned Terminator Armour suddenly displayed an error message: the servo motor had malfunctioned, forcing the artificial muscle bundle in his right hand to unleash its maximum power at that moment, completely freezing him in place.

"If that's the case, we should call for them," he said softly. "To die a heroic death is a good thing, Lord Skaradrik, but to risk one's life alone against an enemy whose true identity is unknown is nothing short of foolish."

Zel fell into a brief silence at his words. He understood Skaradrik's meaning, but reason ultimately prevailed.

Zel didn't understand why the person who designed it would abandon these two useful defensive structures, but he was too lazy to guess.

"No, Instructor," Skaradrik replied in a low voice, his tone filled with self-reproach.

"Well said, Zel."

The man didn't even feel the pain at first; his rough, cancerous skin made it difficult for him to notice the sudden attack. By the time he realized it, it was too late.

"So—" he sighed noticeably, "—all that training we did during our Legion days, is nobody doing it anymore?"

Zel reached out and pulled him back into the darkness, piling the corpse on top of more dead bodies that had died in the same manner as him.

What kind of thing?

Okay, about this.

He turned around, staring thoughtfully at the wisp of dust in his hand, and walked back empty-handed.

Karyl stopped in front of it, expressionless, his hands clenched tightly.

Three minutes later, he received unexpected support from Crimson Claws's Highlord, Skaradrik. The latter's claws still reeked of blood, clearly indicating that he had just finished a killing.

"However, both of you failed the anti-submarine warfare test," Karyl Lohars announced expressionlessly. "You still need to strengthen your training regularly, understand?"

The carving technique and the incomplete, bizarre image of the statue were not enough to evoke such a feeling in him; what truly made him feel a sense of oppression was the statue's eyes.

No wonder they were able to fight the Calth to a standstill. But that's the smell; what about other aspects?

"Perhaps we should wait for reinforcements," Zel said. "Proceeding rashly like this could lead to danger."

"You're a veteran, Zel. And I'm a Chapter Master, so if anything poses a threat to either of us, it's probably up to Jago Sevatarion and our instructors to handle it. I don't want them cleaning up our mess, not either of them."

Even Karyl had to admit the blasphemy of the sight, but besides disgust, he saw something else.

That statue is of Roboute Guilliman.

"It's just a matter of attitude, not a serious one. I understand, after all, ten thousand years have passed. In short, don't take this assessment too seriously. After today's events are over, if any of you feel that anti-submarine warfare is also important, you can come and find me."

"By the eternal night," Skaradrik growled beside him. "How dare they do such a thing?!"

After leaving the long corridor, he was greeted by a deep, dark hall. Torches lit with human fat were tied to the walls with human hair, illuminating a scene of demons and monsters below.

Zel shook his hand to remove the blood, then sheathed his sword and walked towards the other end of the fortress.

The paladin maintained his composure, meeting his gaze without flinching. He knew, of course, that the Crimson Claws's kin were all cruel and ruthless, but wasn't he himself a stubborn man?

As he walked, he issued commands to the servers built into his Power Armour via a neural link, and a map provided by the Calth's Sons appeared on his visor.

It's alright, Father. There are still many, many people who need to settle scores with him.

No matter how many times he dies, it will never undo what he has done.

Karyl exhaled calmly and put the stone back into the pocket of his robe.

He vaguely sensed that a storm was brewing. Within the Chaos tide, something was eagerly awaiting.