119 Dark Crusade (Forty)

Calistarius leaped into the dark elevator shaft.

His hands dug deep into the wall like iron hooks, holding firmly in places that could hardly be called edges. Then he turned, nimbly leaped onto a dark steel cable, and began to climb.

At this moment, the chaos had receded from him, and his mind was exceptionally clear. The entire internal structure of the Red Tear had even formed a holographic map in his mind, which he could zoom in and out to view at any time. Even details that he wouldn't normally pay attention to were now appearing one by one.

For example, here is an old-fashioned elevator that is nearing the end of its service life.

Only a small number of ordinary servants still use it. These people are responsible for transporting some of the scribes' work to the scribe's office. Due to the Imperium's cumbersome stone tablet weighing system, they usually choose to use this shortcut to save time and effort.

And now, Calistarius has become one of them.

He had to take this shortcut to reach the eleventh deck of the Red Tear, where there was a small cabin that had been idle for a long time, but had a very long history.

It existed as early as the Great Crusade and was once exclusively provided to Librarian, allowing them to have a quiet place to meditate and hone their talents.

There are many similar rooms; Calistarius knows of thirty-two. These rooms were not abolished after the Nikaea ban, and although the Librarian have moved out, they still return from time to time to seek inner peace.

This is, in a sense, a tradition—as Librarian, Calistarius naturally has his own separate cabin.

He made special modifications to it, removing the bed and some precious artworks and replacing them with many books, as well as weapon racks and armor racks that he had specially made for himself.

However, in theory, he shouldn't have needed to travel such a long distance to find weapons and armor. Yet, from the twenty-second deck where the ceremony was held to the sixteenth deck where he was just now, he didn't even see a single living person, let alone find an armory.

Calistarius refused to believe that everyone was dead, so he took a detour to use the emergency communication platform to call the main bridge, but still received no response.

All he heard on the communication channel was static and a pre-programmed alarm that echoed continuously amidst the raging flames.

Since awakening or returning, all Calistarius seen are corpses. Familiar and strange, humans, Daemon, and monsters are all mixed together, forming a crimson swamp. He himself is dragged into it, unable to leave, and struggling to breathe.

He almost dared not think about what the lack of response meant.

Calistarius a deep breath, cleared his mind of distractions, and focused on continuing his ascent, when the steel cable in his hands began to tremble rapidly.

A screeching sound of metal scraping against metal came from above him. Calistarius looked up and saw a falling elevator. Mars flew wildly from its bottom, and even before he got close, they brought a wave of heat.

The young Librarian member's pupils contracted, and he immediately jumped to change the cable, but then he heard a second sound—the distinctive spinning sound of a chainsaw weapon.

Then came a third sound, a roar far more ferocious than a chainsaw weapon.

Calistarius held his breath, his muscles tensed, and he gripped the steel cable with one hand, waiting for his chance. In the blink of an eye, the elevator, accompanied by a gust of wind and blinding Mars, passed by Calistarius and then rapidly descended.

He could then clearly see the two figures fighting above, one clad in black and red armor, the other...

Calistarius no longer hesitated, no longer waited. He exhaled the cold air that had lingered for a few seconds, then resolutely leaped down.

He wore no armor and carried no weapons, but let us not forget that he was still a Psyker.

Psionic power is unrelated to armor or weapons. Psyker themselves are the deadliest weapons.

As he fell, the world began to slow down before his eyes. A pale white electric snake suddenly appeared from the center of his still-unclenched palm, buzzing, and in an instant it expanded into a huge energy ball that was enough to illuminate the entire wide elevator shaft—even Calistarius himself was taken aback.

Psychic lightning is one of the most basic psychic spells. He has used it at least eight thousand times, if not ten thousand, but never before has it been this violent.

It is powerful enough to be this powerful.

However, the window of opportunity often lasts only a moment, Calistarius had to cast the spell before it harmed him.

He stared intently at another figure on the elevator and charged towards it. The black-and-red warrior he was fighting keenly sensed his presence and immediately turned to swing his sword.

The blood- Blood Reaver in his hand changed course, even slowing down. Instead of slashing rapidly towards his opponent's chest, it instead blocked a massive battle axe.

One second later, Calistarius from the sky.

The lightning in his hand started from the top of his head and poured into the Daemon's body. It roared and immediately its skin was torn open, and pale electric snakes burrowed into its filthy flesh, wreaking havoc, with blood and flesh flying everywhere and bone fragments flying.

A second passed, then the next second arrived quickly, and soon, the Blood Reaver was swung again. A head flew high into the air, crashing into the boundless darkness at the bottom of the elevator shaft. The elevator followed closely behind, carrying the enormous corpse in pursuit of its head.

Calistarius gripped one of his left hands tightly.

Hold on tight!

"The Flesh Tearers' Chapter Master Gabriel Seth roared at him and immediately ignited the Jump Pack on his back."

It was never designed to carry two Astartes, but fortunately Calistarius was not wearing armor at the time, so their subsequent "jump" was completely smooth.

Before the fuel ran out, the Flesh Tearers carried him back to the ground platform, away from the darkness. He had barely landed, and before he could even catch his breath, Calistarius heard the Flesh Tearers's voice.

"In the name of the Throne."

The Blood Reaver flashed and came to rest against Calistarius's neck.

"Who are you?" Gabriel Seth asked coldly.

His face bore many small wounds, some of which had stopped bleeding, others not. His armor was the same, riddled with wounds, its surface covered in filthy blood, forming a bloody veil.

His anger was evident, even though he had just accepted help from Calistarius.

The young Librarian slowed his breathing and answered with restraint, "I am Calistarius, sir, I am—"

"--I fucking know."

Seth interrupted him angrily and rudely, his fangs barely visible on his lips.

"The Blood Angels' Librarian, I know it all, I know it perfectly well. But I don't care about that. All I know is that he was declared brain dead a few hours ago, the ritual to analyze that psionic signal failed, and you, you abomination, you've taken over his body."

Calistarius couldn't help but take a deep breath, urging himself to meet his gaze. The renowned Gabriel Seth, the Chapter Master of the Flesh Tearers, a dreadful and ill-tempered man.

Some describe him as the most savage of the Emperor's Angel of Death, and even among the Flesh Tearers, he stands out as exceptional, both in terms of combat prowess and the rage lurking within him.

Previously, Calistarius had considered this to be an exaggerated rumor, much like how some within the Imperium had called Jago Sevatarion of the Midnight Blade a complete madman—it almost came to be slander.

Now, he believes there must be a reason why those rumors have spread so widely.

However, Gabriel Seth did not act immediately.

Calistarius knew all too well how precious this was; for this alone, the Chapter Master of the Flesh Tearers could prove one thing: he was not a monster.

The eye contact continued.

Calistarius no explanation; he knew the inadequacy of words. He stared fearlessly into the Flesh Tearers's black eyes, suppressing all instinctive reactions caused by the weapon pressed against his neck.

He neither resisted nor explained, but simply stood there calmly, letting Gabriel Seth analyze everything about him. A minute later, the Blood Reaver was put down and landed on the ground with a heavy thud.

"Are you still able to fight?" Seth asked briefly.

"Yes," Calistarius said.

"Very good." Seth nodded, then turned and left.

His blood-stained cloak swept across the flames, sparing the headless corpses nailed to the wall a little less of the burning pain, but their flesh had already begun to melt.

This event, like their deaths, had been forged in the furnace of war. Calistarius hurried after him and then got another question.

"How many more times can you cast a psionic spell like that?"

He hesitated for a moment before answering, "At least twenty times."

Seth glanced back at him, a nasty laugh suddenly escaping his throat, as hoarse as two pieces of blood-soaked wood rubbing against each other.

They advanced silently, striding along this path of death. After about three hundred meters, a faint shout reached their ears. The Flesh Tearers immediately turned to running—in fact, to sprinting.

Calistarius had expected to fall behind, but he was wrong; he caught up with Seth, who was wearing Power Armour, with very little effort.

He frowned in surprise and doubt. All the things he had experienced before, and the impropriety they contained, surged into his mind and turned into a questioning of himself.

What have you become, Calistarius?

No one answered this question.

Ahead of him, Gabriel Seth roared as he charged into a battle.

His arrival was announced in a bloody manner; the Blood Reaver swept across, easily cleaving several Bloodletter in two. Before their remains even hit the ground, the Flesh Tearers rushed toward other targets.

His charge was relentless, as was his roar. If he weren't still wielding his sword like a champion, Calistarius might have truly regarded him as a cruel beast, but he wasn't.

In reality, he was not only not, but an extremely cunning warrior. Although he charged into the enemy formation alone, he made sure not to encounter any of the larger creatures that might hinder his progress.

From the beginning until now, he has consistently chosen the low-tier unit, the Bloodletter. Admittedly, there are powerful individuals among the Bloodletter, but those are usually quite easy to identify.

He charged forward, killing his way through the enemy lines.

He tore off the Daemon's heads, dismembered them with Blood Reaver, skin and bones still attached, and crushed their skulls, never missing an opportunity to create more bloodshed.

"Daemon!" the Flesh Tearers roared. "In the name of Sanguinius--!"

He held the Blood Reaver high above his head.

Calistarius clenched his fists, and a blinding flash erupted above everyone's heads in the next second. A thundercloud was summoned from the Empyrean by his will, and golden lightning descended instantly, beginning to cleanse the demons with unparalleled power.

One of the arrows struck Gabriel Seth with perfect precision, causing no damage whatsoever, but instead coating his weapon and armor with a dazzling golden light.

In the ensuing carnage, each swing of his sword drew upon the trajectory of lightning. The Flesh Tearers couldn't help but let out a hearty laugh, and during a rare lull in the fighting, he took a moment to nod at Calistarius, as if in approval.

However, the young Librarian, who was the instigator of all this, was far from relaxed; he was even somewhat terrified—how could this be?

Why is this happening? Those thunderclouds, that golden lightning...

Was that really my power?

Calistarius wanted to think more, but he no longer had the luxury of doing so.

Amidst a barrage of explosions, a group of Astartes clad in blood-red Power Armour launched a counter-charge.

They seized this tremendous opportunity, their fighting style ruthless and merciless, each individual's every attack aimed at annihilating every enemy in their path. They were imbued with an indescribable rage, and...

A scene suddenly flashed before Calistarius's eyes.

A frigid vacuum, a boiling rage—a scarlet meteor swept across from the other side of the void.

Clad in brass armor, he charged through the asteroid belt, crushing the burning wreckage of warships. His steel-needle-like hair gleamed red, and he held a steel whip in one hand and a spear in the other. He had sharp teeth and bloodshot eyes.

It crashed headlong into the center of the Red Tear, which was still ablaze, billowing thick smoke.

When it reappeared, it had already crossed to the other end of the Red Tear, holding a being with pure white wings in its hand. Amidst the spinning fragments and shimmering stars, the Daemon vanished without a trace.

Calistarius roared as he awoke from the illusion.