Interlude: Extinguishing the Sun (Ten Thousand)

Kargio removed his helmet, and blood immediately gushed out of the steel cage along with his sweat, creating a small, man-made tsunami. He loosened his grip, letting the helmet and blood slide off freely, then knelt down and began to take deep breaths.

His three lungs greedily devoured the air, regarding this unique, cold air, which he had never seen before, as a lifesaver.

The Chapter Master carried out this task in silence, clearing his mind of all thoughts.

He didn't want to think about anything now, neither what the trembling deck beneath his feet suggested, nor what they had seen when they had just taken to the poisoned skies of Calth.

He was tired, he wouldn't admit it, but the war had truly exhausted him.

The original plan was disrupted. The fortresses were destroyed one after another by the demon army that suddenly appeared before his eyes. The underground city-states that he had sworn to protect and the mortals within them were slaughtered and their skulls chopped off one by one before his eyes.

Kargio slowly stood up.

No, that won't do. He has to figure these two things out.

He turned around, leaving his helmet there all alone, and strode toward someone.

His Power Armour hummed incessantly with each step, the noise reaching a noticeable level, likely due to a problem with the servo motor, but this was to be expected.

His armor was covered in the marks of war, and the right shoulder armor had even disappeared, revealing the artificial muscle fibers underneath, with deep blue electric sparks dancing and bursting inside, emitting small groans.

It was unclear whether it was the sound of his footsteps or the clatter of his armor that drew his target's attention, but in any case— Jago Sevatarion had indeed drawn his attention here.

The psychic Radiance still lingered in his eyes.

"I need an explanation, Lord Sevatarion."

"The ship beneath your feet is called the Soul of Night, a battleship of great merit, which entered service during the Legion's era. After the Shadow Knights were formed, the Soul of Night was their flagship. It was confirmed to have been destroyed not long ago, and now, its existence can be considered a unique summon."

Kargio remained silent for a long while, then asked with difficulty, "What kind of summon?"

"The Emperor's summons," Sevatar replied expressionlessly. "I believe you must have seen them on Calth, or at least heard of them? Flaming spirits, awakening from slumber to fight once more for the living. In short, the Soul of Night exists in a similar form to them."

But it's just a ship.

A faint rumbling sound came from below the deck, and a cold wind howled. Kargio frowned and looked back uncomfortably. He had a feeling that someone was coldly observing him, but it was probably just his imagination; no one around him was looking at him like that.

"And no one has stipulated that a ship cannot exist as a Heroic Spirit, Chapter Master Kargio. Anyway, that's how it is. Now, let's talk about the second matter."

"But I haven't said what I want to talk to you about, sir."

"And I know what you want to talk about," Sevatar said gently, his right hand already on his shoulder. He led the Calth's Sons to another corner of the unmanned bridge.

"You saw him, didn't you?" he asked.

Once again, Kargio fell silent. He didn't really want to talk about it, but since Sevatar had brought it up, there was no need for him to ignore it any longer.

He believed that the legendary Jago Sevatarion must have experienced something similar in his long life, and the calmness that this true veteran showed now was not a forced composure, but a kind of indifference after seeing so much.

Moreover, there was an inappropriate smile in his last words. Kargio couldn't understand the cause of this strange emotion, but he would remain rational about everything until the truth came out.

"Yes," Kargio said. "I saw him."

Sevatar smiled and nodded, "That makes things easier. Forget about him, Chapter Master."

Forgive my ignorance.

"Remember his face, and get to the bottom of his existence. Neither of these things will do you any good, believe me, Kargio."

But why?

Kargio wanted to ask the question, but he ultimately held back.

Not only that, he even actually began to genuinely banish these two things from his mind, just as Sevatar had suggested, and proactively closed the door on them, shutting them out once and for all.

He already had some answers in his heart, even though those answers were quite vague, they were still answers.

Those burning wings, the flesh-and-blood armor, and the grotesque bone structure—to regard a being possessing all these characteristics as an emissary of the Emperor seems utterly ridiculous.

In Kargio's rudimentary understanding, only one being could possess all these things simultaneously. Moreover, when he saw him through a corner of the warship's porthole, he was burning the sky with the infamous Ka'Bandha.

"I believe you already have your answer, Kargio, so I won't elaborate further—but there's something else I must explain to you."

"What is it, sir?"

"Don't call me 'sir' anymore," Sevatar said.

His tone was soft, like a whisper carried on the evening breeze. Kargio stared at him intently, waiting for the bombshell he was about to drop.

He was convinced that Jago Sevatarion would shock him with something, but he was wrong. Sevatar didn't drop any bombshells; he just gave a dry laugh.

"Look out the window," he said.

Kargio did as he was told. He turned to look at the observation window on the bridge, and in an instant, he saw the poisonous cloud disappearing at an alarming rate, and a burning shockwave.

The familiar Calth sky, filled with radioactive dust, was gradually transforming into something else entirely—a scene that existed only in the Calth books. Even as Chapter Master, Kargio had never actually seen it, but now, he was seeing it.

His soul was deeply shaken, for the sight far exceeded the descriptions in the books and the continuous imagination of the Calth over the past ten thousand years.

Kargio saw the cancerous stars. Each one resembled the cloudy eyes of a dying man, and the most blazing, the most vibrant one was called the Sun.

It left a deep impression on his retina, and even with his eyes closed, its image could be clearly seen in his mind.

He could see it expanding and boiling continuously, and whether it was an illusion or not, he felt that he could even faintly hear the star screaming.

Amidst the increasingly violent tremors of the deck, Kargio formed an Aquila with his hands in front of his chest.

"By the God-Emperor."

"The Emperor isn't here, Kargio," Sevatar said with a half-smile, slowly opening his arms. "Welcome to the Void. And, we shall extinguish this sun."

"What?"

"We are going to extinguish the sun," Sevatar repeated. "Actually, we're already on our way."

He was right. Kargio turned back to look at the array of Cogitator on the main bridge and gleaned what he wanted from the chaotic data streams.

He had indeed never boarded a warship before, but that didn't matter, because every Sons of Guilliman was very good at learning, and not only that, they were also good at immediately putting what they learned into practice.

Kargio displayed this trait perfectly, becoming a skilled sailor in just over ten seconds. From the data, he knew that the warship beneath his feet was indeed heading towards the sun in the Calth system.

It had just broken free from the shackles of gravity, taking the remaining Calth away from their homeland, and now its first task was to destroy its sun.

Why? Because we don't need it anymore? Kargio thought, and he even had a slight urge to laugh.

"No, it's because this ship needs energy," Sevatar said very seriously. "She needs a little help to get us to our destination."

But what does that have to do with the sun?

Sevatar smiled again, a smile that carried an obvious sadness and an innate rage.

"You'll find out," he said.

What he said was true.

--

I've heard of you.

Ka'Bandha licked the blood from his lips with satisfaction, his left whip whirling and tearing through the air, ripping in two a group of audacious Bloodletter who dared to stand beside him and cheer him on.

The great Daemon paid no heed to the screams and curses of its inferior kind; its sharp, beastly eyes remained fixed intently on its adversary.

"Does that matter?" Shen countered.

He stood there empty-handed, the ground beneath his feet cracked, each fissure overflowing with boiling magma.

The pair of burning wings that rose behind him were even more terrifying than those of Ka'Bandha. At least the pair of wings of the Khorne Daemons wouldn't scorch the sky, burn flesh and blood, or make the earth roar in unbearable pain for no reason.

"Oh, Shen, that's certainly important," Ka'Bandha replied with a low laugh. "A warrior's reputation is forged by his honors and his achievements; that's why even the most violent can be revered."

Shen listened calmly without uttering a word.

"War is the only eternal truth in this galaxy, and every race needs warriors. As long as they are brave, skilled in battle, and absolutely ruthless towards their enemies, then even if they have many flaws, they can still be full of honor."

Ka'Bandha sighed slowly, "Just like the offspring of my only nemesis, how many of them are ashamed of the insatiable rage boiling in their veins? And how many have almost drowned in blood?"

"The answer is zero," Shen replied, seemingly unconcerned about the current situation. "No matter how many times they've approached that one and only line, the Radiance of Sanguinius will resurrect them, Ka'Bandha. You and your god cannot lay a finger on any of the angel's children."

The Daemon laughed, finding genuine amusement in its words. Its blood gushed from the wounds on its limbs and body, turning into a bloody mist within which the dead Daemon transformed into primal, pure ferocity and returned to its body.

In the blink of an eye, Ka'Bandha was completely free of wounds, but it seemed quite dissatisfied and let out a cold snort. Crimson Thunder streaked across the sky, as if urging it on, and it spoke again.

"I have no interest in touching them, nor in turning them from warriors into trash. Don't get me wrong, Shen, I am not one of those shameless, pleasure-seeking scoundrels. Standing before you is Ka'Bandha— "

It suddenly roared, its wings flapping, and a heartbeat like war drums resounded beneath its brass armor. The great Daemon took a step forward, shattering the earth, spewing magma, and its left whip whistled as it struck Shen's head.

This strike was powerful enough to destroy any city wall, but it didn't even touch Shen before a scorching blast of air blew it off course, and it ended up in Shen's hands.

He gripped the bloody whip with one hand, and flames of rage instantly clung to it, beginning to burn the essence it had gained through countless lifetimes of slaughter.

Ka'Bandha didn't flinch, but instead grinned and gripped its left claw tightly, watching the flames spread towards it without letting go, allowing the blade-like flames to precisely slice through its flesh. The smell of blood and flesh assaulted its senses, followed by its brass armor.

The metal was torn apart, boiled, and turned into molten scrap iron that crashed to the ground. The already battered ground seemed to have reached its limit because of this, and it suddenly sank several meters, with dust flying everywhere.

Ka'Bandha exhaled a breath of hot air, thick with the smell of blood, and chuckled in praise.

"Every battle with you guys always brings me joy, leaving me battered and bruised, a testament to my honor. Tell me, Shen, do you enjoy this fight?"

"No."

"And what about the past? You have such a long life, so many battles, haven't you ever felt a moment of pleasure while wielding your sword?"

"Perhaps, but I can't remember." Shen answered noncommittally, gripping his long whip as he wrestled with the Daemon, his voice still clear.

"Then, I truly feel sorry for you."

"Ka'Bandha said, his voice low and resonant, each syllable echoing like a fist pounding armor. He gripped his whip, enduring the fury, and stubbornly walked towards Shen in the pit."

Step by step, firm and powerful, the decapitation sword in his right hand shone brightly, the skull symbol of Khorne roaring in the center of the blade, radiating a dark rage, from which countless howls rang out, loudly calling for slaughter.

Ka'Bandha gave a soft snort, then suddenly gripped his sword tightly, causing the mist to instantly dissipate. Thunderclouds rolled across the sky, and radioactive dust was gathered by an indescribable force, forming an eye overflowing with blood-red light.

The great Daemon looked up at it and slowly shook its head.

"It's not time yet, Khorne," it said in a low voice, the rage in its voice breathtaking. "I promised you I would offer you a continuation of the battle from ten thousand years ago, but this is not it. My nemesis has yet to arrive."

"Your courage is truly astonishing," Shen said.

Ka'Bandha withdrew its gaze, and a smile returned to its face.

"It's nothing. My God admires the brave, not the cowardly. I am not disobeying Him, but doing His work in His name."

"Just as you and I are fighting here now, every battle in this world more or less pleases Him. And He is always generous, always bestowing blessings; otherwise, why do you think you always have some warriors who survive every battle?"

Shen didn't answer, but suddenly released his right hand, and the long whip whistled as it rushed back, striking Ka'Bandha himself with a loud bang.

It grinned menacingly, released its grip and threw it to the ground, then tightened its grip on the decapitation sword in both hands, the hilt, like angel wings, now emitting a shimmering blood-red light.

The great Daemon reached out and pulled a spear from the sharp end of the greatsword's hilt.

"The Spear of Telesto," it proudly proclaimed. "Forged in my blood, reborn; in my name, slaughter is carried out. I swore to the Khorne that I would use it to pierce the chest of Sanguinius."

Shen remained silent, instead clenching his fists and slowly walking towards it.

The battle resumed in an instant. Ka'Bandha's rage was breathtaking; the two horns on its head were a symbol of hell, and the blood in its veins was a manifestation of this violence.

It may be injured, but its rage will only grow stronger. The desire to slay powerful enemies and carry out massacres is rampaging through its massive body, leading it to even greater heights.

It has been getting stronger ever since the start of the battle, without ever stopping.

Shen couldn't fathom the meaning this matter represented, but he couldn't be bothered to care— Chaos might not always be a matter of idealism, but Daemon certainly were.

Fortunately, so was he.

He responded with equal anger.

The stronger Ka'Bandha became, the more piercingly the souls of those it slaughtered screamed. The more evident its rage, the more Vengeance fury Shen could obtain.

In the Chaos, there is no concept of time. From ancient times to the future, countless innocent victims of the massacre by Ka'Bandha are screaming and demanding that Shen Vengeance them in a river of blood.

In the past, this would have driven him crazy, but not now.

He has fallen into a state of perpetual madness.

The pristine white bone surface was stained with shattered blood, and pitch-black flames ignited from the center of his fists. Fist against spear, fist against sword, Daemon against Daemon, rage against rage.

Their battle began to destroy everything around them, from the Bloodletter who started killing each other out of boredom, to Khorne's steel bulls, and even the ground of Calth itself.

Unbeknownst to them, their battle escalated into an apocalyptic affair, with two thoroughly monstrous and relentless monsters using their innate characteristics to force Calth to collapse.

A spiral of hatred, an abyss of rage—the blood of the two Daemons had unknowingly overflowed the pit, turning it into a wetland. One remained perpetually laughing maniacally, while the other was as cold and lifeless as the dead.

Barring unforeseen circumstances, this battle will likely continue until Calth truly collapses due to their atrocities, but let us not forget that this is still an altar.

Therefore, an accident was bound to happen, because Shen orchestrated all of this.

Now, he doesn't need to look up at the sky to know that the Night's Soul is flying towards Calth's sun, which has been cancerous for ten thousand years.

She was a great mother who, even after enduring illness for ten thousand years, continued to follow the tradition of bringing the alternation of night and day to the Calth, even though most of them would never witness it even once in their lives.

This arduous journey of ten thousand years will come to an end today. The Soul of Night will soothe her pain and let her rest in peace. This is a helpless but necessary act. Her last Embers will continue to burn in the Night's Soul's engine, carrying the Calth to the Macragge's Honour.

"Ah"

Ka'Bandha suddenly let out a sigh, stopped swinging its sword, looked up at the darkening sky, and a hint of human surprise appeared on its ferocious, beast-like face. Then, it actually laughed.

With a thud, Ka'Bandha lowered his hand, forcefully slamming the decapitation sword into the ground. He rested his claws on the ground, maintaining his smile as he looked at Shen.

The latter calmly stepped back, pulled the spear from his chest with one hand, and threw it back, piercing Ka'Bandha's neck.

The great Daemon nonchalantly tossed its head, letting its weapon tremble, craving more blood. Even its voice remained unchanged.

"Like I said, fighting you guys always makes me happy."

Even so?

"Even so," the Daemon said, "Winning by strategy is part of the battle, and I'm not a fool like Skarbrand —you won this battle, Shen, but you should know that this is not my end."

Shen hummed in agreement.

"I will return, and continue the slaughter," Ka'Bandha said earnestly. "You don't need to ponder who summoned me here; the lack of an answer is itself an answer. Besides, I don't think you care about it at all, do you, my enemy?"

Where will you reappear?

Ka'Bandha couldn't help but burst into laughter.

"I don't know either!" it said calmly and proudly. "But I will destroy all your hopes. At that time, war will spread to every corner of this starry sky. Can you imagine how powerful I will be then?"

It lowered its head, leaning against its sword, then suddenly its smile vanished, replaced by a serious whisper to Shen: "And he is not the savior; he cannot save anyone. The only one who can save you is Sanguinius."

After a moment of silence, Shen uttered a single word. "Symbol."

"Yes, a symbol—only such a person is worthy to be my nemesis. In the darkness and despair, amidst your screams and cries, Sanguinius flapped his wings, showering down golden Radiance, and finally stood before me."

Ka'Bandha grinned as he raised his sword, pressed it to his face, and whispered slowly as if making an oath.

"That battle will be my greatest masterpiece."

The sky darkened, and the diseased sunlight suddenly vanished, leaving no trace. The toxic heat it had cast vanished without a trace, and an indescribable cold descended upon the ground of Calth.

Countless pairs of scarlet eyes stared at each other, not understanding what had happened—of course, for the Khorne's demonic army, this was not a question worth considering.

Soon, they began to kill each other. Ka'Bandha was the only Daemon that stopped using violence; it certainly had the urge, and all the killing happening around it was provoking its sensitive nerves.

But it's grown tired of it.

Fighting the followers of the God of Vengeance is always the same: it's fun at the beginning, but it becomes increasingly tedious and boring as the battle progresses.

Their anger was something entirely different from the kind that Ka'Bandha was familiar with; how could ice and fire be combined?

Moreover, in essence, their battles are merely two forces tearing each other apart. The real victory or defeat lies not with the warriors themselves, but with how much of their divine power the world can contain.

Ka'Bandha now sees things very clearly. For a Daemon of Khorne, it is remarkably calm. No one knows what favor Khorne has shown it that allows it to retain such a self-centeredness.

"Come on," said Ka'Bandha. "Let's end this tedious battle and return to the Chaos. That's the best place, where we can fight freely and die without restraint."

It suddenly twitched its nostrils and chuckled, "I smell war. Your brothers are fighting my own kind in the middle of it all. What a chaotic battle! It might as well be a dessert before my battle with Sanguinius."

"You have quite an appetite," Shen said.

Ka'Bandha laughed out loud at this statement, "I'm never satisfied!"

Once again, Shen calmly clenched his fists. In the dark night sky above, the phantom of a burning warship was rapidly receding, as small as a speck of dust.

He understood that this was a farewell.

He approached Ka'Bandha, who held his sword expectantly, allowing him to get close without swinging it.

Shen understood what it was trying to do. The Daemon intended to end this battle, which they had both decided was no longer necessary, in a fair way. Therefore, it did not maintain its distance as before, but instead allowed Shen to get closer.

From now on, they will only have one chance to strike.

He stood silently in place, indifferently enduring the Daemon's terrifying gaze, letting it choose the angle at which it would swing its sword.

He didn't care about it. Throwing a punch wasn't something to worry about too much. In Xianni's words, "Just throw your punches, the enemy is the one who needs to be worried about." His words were somewhat unreasonable, but Shen accepted them.

By now, he has seen far too many illogical things, and he himself is one of them.

So, there's nothing more to say.

However, there's still a slight sense of regret. When will we meet again? I haven't had a chance to convey their words to you yet.

Shen finally looked up at the sky, but there was nothing there anymore, not even the light of the stars. Only darkness remained, as always.

Ka'Bandha roared as he swung his sword.

Shen calmly clenched his fist.

Calth trembled beneath their feet, beginning the final transformation.

--

Amidst the blood, Roboute Guilliman limped to his feet.

His fist was still stuck with bits of Orks, and the huge, wounded beast groaned and breathed its last, trembling breath.

It was four meters tall, but not anymore. Now, it's just a horrific wreck; Roboute Guilliman destroyed any possibility of its survival, turning it into a pile of minced meat in the process.

He himself didn't know how he did it. Before the battle actually began, he didn't think he could match this thing. However, once the battle started, he put all those thoughts out of his mind.

There was no longer any worry, only a strange anger.

He silently began to clean himself; his crude chainmail was dented in several places, and the soft leather padding underneath was torn. He simply ripped it off with one hand and threw it aside.

He spent three hours crafting this rudimentary chainmail, and so far, it hasn't performed as well as he had envisioned in combat.

He could dodge most of the Orks attacks, so the armor itself was of little use. As for the few attacks he couldn't dodge, it offered no protection whatsoever.

Roboute Guilliman raised his hand and touched his right side, feeling a sharp pain. He knew his bone was broken, but he didn't have time to deal with it.

He turned around and saw a group of survivors. They were looking at him with awe, as if gazing at a god. They were also wearing armor, but unlike Roboute Guilliman, their armor was typical knight's armor with a tunic, but there were no warhorses in sight.

This is easy to explain: the ferocity of the Orks is such that even galloping warhorses cannot defeat them; the strong individuals among them can often overturn them with one hand, and then it's time for a delightful slaughter.

These creatures are born unaware of how terrible war truly is, or perhaps it's simply something they rely on for survival, serving both as entertainment and a means of survival. And it is precisely because of this that they become even more terrifying.

Roboute Guilliman silently summarized and categorized these observations, then walked towards the group of knights.

"Grown ups--"

They bowed to him, worshipped him, and even knelt before him. Roboute Guilliman remained unmoved by these things; he had learned to deal with them calmly, not out of indifference, but out of protection.

People can't understand why he dislikes these superficial things, nor do they have the fertile ground to cultivate minds capable of understanding him. At least not now.

--Domien.

Roboute Guilliman called out the name of one of the knights, who trembled and immediately knelt down, burying his head deep in the earth to show his utmost respect for Roboute Guilliman.

Suppressing his annoyance, Roboute Guilliman tried to calm his tone.

"Clean up the battlefield, search for survivors, return to the city, and have Lord Camo bring all the wine from his vault here; I have a use for it."

"Understood, sir," the knight addressed as Domien replied respectfully, and Roboute Guilliman turned to leave.

He didn't need to look back to know that Domien would probably only dare to turn back after he had walked quite a distance. He didn't have time to deal with this matter now; he simply kept walking, timing it perfectly, and got far away from the battlefield until he reached the depths of a mountain forest, where he slowly lay down on the ground.

He had only been given the name for about ten days, but he felt extremely exhausted, as if he had lived for centuries.

Before the images of the dead villagers had even faded, he had already arrived in a new city. Not a village, but a city, with a moat and towering walls, and soldiers and knights protecting it.

From a feudal perspective, this was already a very good place, yet its inhabitants were filled with unease. The reason was simple: news from the east.

According to the terrified merchants, one or even several cities better than their own had been destroyed by Orks. Powerful knights were all dead, and noble lords were slaughtered one after another, leaving no one alive but their terrifying laughter.

It was understandable that they were afraid, but Roboute Guilliman could not understand why they revered him so much from the first moment they saw him, and even began to call him by his name as Savior.

People truly regarded him as a savior, a demigod, and the son of God. Even the pastors in the church rushed to crown him at the first moment, placing a golden laurel wreath on his head.

He couldn't comprehend this absurd fact until he saw the local lord—even the lord who was supposedly extremely power-hungry—not doubt his identity, but directly and publicly declared that he was the son of the mythical God-Emperor, and even offered to serve him as his master on the spot.

Roboute Guilliman politely declined this bizarre source of power, but did not completely reject it either.

He borrowed the lord's family library, hoping to figure out what was going on, but unfortunately, he didn't have much time, because the Orks arrived again.

Without hesitation, Roboute Guilliman immediately joined the war. This time, with the help of well-trained soldiers, he was able to avoid another defeat.

But victory is secondary; the immediate priority is to verify the knowledge he inexplicably acquired from his mind.

Wine, grease, and anything that could ignite a fire were his targets. If this method succeeded, he might be able to crack the secret recorded in the lord's library about the Orks' ability to always rise from the ashes.

At that point, a true victory will be within reach.

But what happens after that?

Roboute Guilliman gazed blankly at the sky through the lush greenery overhead, then suddenly gave a wry smile—perhaps he shouldn't think so much and should focus on the present.

He sat up silently, and out of the corner of his eye, he naturally spotted a wild beast hiding in the woods. It was a doe, gazing at Roboute Guilliman across a stream. The stream was calm and flowed slowly, and her eyes were so serene.

Roboute Guilliman returned the same gaze, and a strange, inexplicable peace naturally arose within him.

He even couldn't help but smile, though the smile only lasted a short while. He thought of what he had done before, even though it was for survival.

He suppressed his laughter, swallowed the urge to vomit, and slowly stood up. But at that moment, the doe walked towards him. She walked very carefully and cautiously, but she did not retreat or stop.

Roboute Guilliman frowned, trying to shoo her away, but no matter how he waved his hands or made threatening noises, the beautiful creature did not back down. She crossed the stream, damp and carrying the scent of the forest, and came to Roboute Guilliman's side, raising her head to sniff him.

Roboute Guilliman touched her cheek with trembling hands.

He temporarily forgot all his pain and regret, the destruction of the village, the mystery surrounding him, and his distrust of his stolen identity; only the doe and her peaceful breathing remained.

Then, a jet-black bird silently flew overhead.

Roboute Guilliman suddenly felt a surge of hunger, but it wasn't just simple hunger; it was a frenzied impulse capable of destroying human reason. His mouth watered, his throat bobbed uncontrollably, and the way he looked at the doe subtly changed.

Roboute Guilliman abruptly released his grip, took two steps back in disbelief, and barely managed to break free from the instinctive comfort.

How could this be?! He asked himself. He had eaten enough food before the battle; the war couldn't have depleted him to this extent.

He pondered painfully, trying desperately to control his instincts, but the deer took a few more steps forward and caught up with him.

Through her dark eyes, Roboute Guilliman saw his own face—a grotesque and twisted face with exposed teeth, lips pale from excessive tension, and eyes filled only with simple hunger.

Seeing such an ugly thing, his last remaining thread of reason finally snapped.

A second later, he ripped the beautiful creature open. Her blood splattered out, and her flesh began to linger between Roboute Guilliman's lips and teeth, the exquisite taste filling his mouth.

The flesh was so tender, the blood so sweet, yet she made no sound before she died. Roboute Guilliman ate in a daze, his face covered in sweat, completely unaware that a black bird was casting a pleased gaze upon him from above.

He ate until he was covered in blood, his face streaked with bits of flesh, and his fingernails filled with fur clippings, yet he remained completely focused. He pulled out her internal organs and stuffed them into his mouth, starting with her heart, then her lungs, liver, and a tiny, wet, still-breathing creature with its eyes closed.

Roboute Guilliman suddenly froze.

He looked at the dying fawn in his hands with the same shock as a newborn opening his eyes for the first time, or a blind person who has never had sight.

He vomited.

He wanted to cry again, but couldn't. Then he heard footsteps behind him, wary, and the sound of leaves and branches rubbing against his armor.

"My lord? You haven't returned yet, so I followed the trail you left behind—"

Roboute Guilliman turned around abruptly and saw a knight whose face was filled with astonishment, which was turning into fear.

He stood up and lunged at him.

Above him, the blackbird took flight. It was very happy, and so was He, but He always saw further.

His gaze was not limited to this remote, wild world, but also extended to many different places. He looked at these different Roboute Guilliman with fascination and, with a rather wicked sense of humor, categorized them one by one according to the nature of the Primarch.

Cannibalism, not yet cannibalism, evil, order, chaos—He dealt with this matter in an instant, but left this one unclassified.

He singled him out and set him aside.

"Fate," He chuckled involuntarily, whispering, "Can you defy it?"