Dark Crusade (XLI)

"I want to rebuild the fleet," said Malakin Phoros.

His fingers were trembling, but his voice wasn't. His voice sounded calm yet firm, rational, and every syllable was clear.

The Red Tear's remaining communication equipment captured it completely, and the electromagnetic signal was immediately transmitted, allowing the two Battle Barge, Mother of Tears and Daughter of Storm, belonging to the Lamenters, to hear the Chapter Master's voice accurately.

Once the key was verified, they immediately disseminated the order throughout the fleet's communication network without hesitation. In the next instant, at least ten captains began inquiring about the battle order and reporting on the specific situation.

They craved leadership, or at least a simple command like to attack or retreat. No one was blind; installing prosthetic eyes was commonplace, and everyone could see the continuous flashes of light on the Red Tear.

However, Malakin Phoros did not respond in any further form.

The reason was simple: he had moved away from the communication equipment. His hand had also moved away from the microphone and was now gripping a knife.

It was a broad-bladed longsword, with a straight and graceful blade. A scarlet gem was inlaid in the eagle-wing guard, and the silver-white blade was covered with shimmering pale blue inscriptions that would turn completely scarlet once stained with blood.

This weapon, named Redemption, was born from the hands of the angel himself. As for the runes, they came from the Space Wolves.

The wolves of Fenris fought alongside the Lamenters in a war, and these runes, known as exorcism charms, were a gift from the wolves afterward, a testament to their friendship.

For another century and twenty-four years thereafter, the knife remained invincible in Malakin's hands.

There are three reasons: First, Redemption is a deadly weapon. Second, Malakin himself is an excellent warrior and a seasoned duelist. Third, those exorcism talismans truly can ward off evil.

He gripped Redemption tightly and drew it. A flash of cold light, and it sank into a mass of foul-smelling flesh, splattering blood cleanly. Then came the second strike, this time turning offense into defense, completely parrying a dangerous downward slash from a serrated longsword.

Malakin moved his feet, gripped his sword with both hands on the burning bridge of the Red Tear, then strode forward, the blade slicing into another burly body.

The Daemon growled in a low voice, blasphemous words pouring from between its fangs and teeth. Malakin ignored it, focusing intently on ducking and dodging, while simultaneously twisting his wrist, deftly transforming Redemption into a whirlwind that slashed diagonally into the Daemon's neck.

The pale blue exorcism talisman turned completely crimson at this moment, and jet-black flames eagerly surged from the blade, replacing the disintegration field and blurring a boundary that should have been indestructible.

Malakin let out a deep roar, his knees sank, and with a surge of power from his waist, the Redemption, burning with black flames, effortlessly cleaved the Daemon itself, along with its brass armor, in two.

The putrid flesh slid heavily to the ground, and a massive amount of blood gushed out, staining the glorious ground of the Red Tear, which had stood for ten thousand years. The Lamenters spat out a mouthful of murky blood, disgustedly crushed the Daemon's corpse under his foot, and turned to run towards another battlefield.

There, the Sanguinary Guard and his brothers were battling hordes of demons.

If possible, Malakin truly wished he were the only one left there. He would rather face these demons alone than see another child of an angel die.

The image of Sanguinius being taken away flashed back into his mind, causing his heart to race and his temples to throb as if someone were drilling into them.

"Don't think about it anymore," Malakin told himself. He instinctively took a deep breath, and the smell of blood bypassed the air vents, reaching his nostrils and stirring up a deep-seated, terrifying longing.

His sharp canines couldn't help but protrude from his lips at that moment, and the sweet, fragrant, and mellow taste of the Baal Blood Wine he had tasted before returned.

Malakin gripped his long sword tightly.

The coldness of Redemption dispelled his longing and all those unrealistic fantasies. It was like a wise teacher, always able to deliver a powerful blow when Malakin was struggling against something, bringing him back to his senses and forcing him to face the harsh reality once again.

There's nothing wrong with that; Malakin likes the real world, no matter how cruel it may be.

He activated his Jump Pack, and the high-speed propulsion propelled him into the air, landing on a collapsing pillar. He grabbed it, applied a slight force, and caused it to fall.

The heavy marble collapsed like a mountain, causing immense destruction in the demonic tide and giving the Sons of Sanguinius's precarious front a much-needed boost.

The Seraphim of the Sanguinary Guard seized the opportunity, brandishing the relics inherited from their predecessors as they charged into the enemy ranks. However, boarding battles are inherently brutal, let alone when the opponent is Khorne's demonic army.

Killing and death are ingrained in their instincts, and the Sanguinary Guard's killings had no effect whatsoever; instead, they provoked an even bloodier and more fanatical backlash.

Malakin witnessed a member of the guard being pounced on and overwhelmed by dozens of Bloodletter. Two Lamenters who tried to rescue him also died, beheaded and impaled through the chest.

He was furious, but utterly powerless, and could only vent his anger by pulling out his Boltgun and pulling the trigger.

Once upon a time, after the Battle of Terra, the number of Sons of Sanguinius became a sore point, but today, this is no longer an issue.

Malakin never imagined he would encounter the pain of his predecessors in this era.

Half a second later, he came to a tactical conclusion.

"Retreat," Malakin said, his voice echoing through the communications channel. "We cannot hold the bridge; we must retreat and rejoin the main force."

Immediately, someone agreed; it was Sapharion, the captain of the Sanguinary Guard: "Indeed, Chapter Master Malakin, but I doubt whether we can truly carry out your orders."

I had my doubts myself. Malakin almost blurted out those words, but he didn't. At the same time, his bunker shook violently.

This means he has run out of fuel and must land in a safer location, otherwise he is very likely to crash into the demonic tide.

The Bloodletter would gladly dismember him; these creatures spare no warrior's life. They are born to kill, the strong are best, the weak second best, slaughter is paramount.

He adjusted his course and crashed into the midst of the Lamenters crowd. They had been there as an honor guard to accompany him aboard the Red Tear, but now they were forced to fight with their weapons in short supply.

For the sake of some flashy capes or decorations on the shoulder armor, most people removed their belts and matching weapons in an effort to achieve a certain degree of harmony.

This pursuit of beauty became an unspeakable nightmare at this moment. There was not only one Lamenters, but also no one with even the most basic Bolt Pistol. He could only stand in front and speak with the sword in his hand.

This was exactly what the Khorne Daemons, who preferred melee combat, wanted. They advanced with ecstatic joy, gradually closing in, unhurried and methodical.

Malajin didn't even need to observe closely to know what they wanted to do—simply corner them and then slowly devour them.

The essence of war is to find the enemy's weak point and then strike it hard. And now, their weakness has been found.

Malakin clutched his Redemption tightly.

There's nothing more to say now that things have come to this.

The towering, mountain-like Daemon carried Sanguinius away; he couldn't imagine how the Primarch, without his helmet, could fight such a monster in the vacuum.

Pessimistic Lamenters believe that the best outcome afterward is simply that they can find a whole body.

Despair was building in his heart, yet the grip of Redemption remained as cold as ever. Its warmth seeped through the gauntlet, reaching his fingertips and his two hearts, reminding him that the battle was not over.

Now is not the time for mourning, and besides, the angel may very well not have died at all. He is Sanguinius; he could not possibly die, especially not at the hands of a vile Daemon.

"Brothers!" Malakin raised his blade high, his anger exploding from his chest like a bomb, making his voice thunderous. "Let Sanguinius be proud of us!"

He charged into the demonic tide and began to hack and slash with all his might. The exorcising talisman drank deeply of blood, its crimson light never ceasing, and dark flames swirled around the blade, aiding him in his slaughter.

Soon, the main space of the bridge was filled with corpses, and the unique stench of the Ethereal flesh had completely destroyed the remaining sense of smell of the living, making it almost impossible for them to breathe.

Malakin, panting heavily, looked at the Daemon that filled every inch of space before him, and knew in his heart that this was the last moment.

There will be no more support; the conditions for support simply don't exist.

Led by Sentor, the Knights of Blood took the lead and headed to the rear of the Red Tear to surround the engine.

The Flesh Tearers, true to their nature, rushed to the most dangerous battlefields—where the Warp Rift opened. Gabriel Seth volunteered to be the best choice, but he hadn't been in contact with them for a long time.

The Blood Angels and the Lamenters were responsible for guarding the main bridge. Due to the suddenness of the battle, not many Blood Angels were able to arrive in time. Chapter Master Louis Dante was also held back by the losses of the Red Tear. The Lamenters themselves consisted of only a two-hundred-strong honor guard.

It's fair to say that their ability to persevere until now is entirely accidental.

Malakin Phoros slowly tightened his grip on the blade, prepared for this to be the last time he held it. He had no regrets, only hoping that he could live up to the expectations of the Emperor and Sanguinius.

He heard a Thunder sound.

It seemed far away, but it was actually very close. In the blink of an eye, it drifted in from the darkness, casting a vast shadow. The clouds churned, golden light flashed, and a blinding bolt of lightning suddenly struck, crashing straight into the center of the demonic tide, creating a patch of charred remains and ashes.

Malakin stared in disbelief at the lightning, but the words he was about to say were completely ruined by the subsequent chain of lightning.

The main bridge was now as bright as day; no darkness could remain. Lightning had dispelled everything and easily destroyed the very foundation of the demonic tide.

The evil rituals that sustained their arrival in the material world were abruptly terminated by some force, and no matter how furiously these creatures roared, they could not possibly reverse this effect.

"Is it the Emperor himself appearing?" Malakin asked, trembling.

Two seconds later, instead of the Emperor, he saw Gabriel Seth covered in blood.

His Blood Reaver was spinning rapidly, lodged in the center of a Daemon's skull. Blood Flesh Tearers's face, except for his bright eyes. He roared, resolutely applying force, causing the Blood Reaver to saw the Daemon in two from head to toe.

A group of Blood Angels sped up behind him, rebelliously boarding the assault boat. With the engines roaring, they ignored everything else, simply maneuvering the assault boat to fire and ram into the troublesome enemies, clearing a path for their brothers behind them.

Malakin took a deep breath, grabbed his knife, and charged toward Seth.

Finding the Flesh Tearers was deeply mired in the demonic tide, was not difficult at all; he was usually wherever blood was flying everywhere. Just half a minute later, Malakin found him and asked a question.

What was that just now?!

"What do you think?" Gabriel Seth retorted with a question.

His facial muscles were tense and twitching, a mixture of unparalleled rage and complex emotions stemming from knowing the Primarch, ultimately creating his current expression.

Malakin glanced at him once and looked away. He couldn't bear to look Seth in the eye at that moment. He didn't want to embarrass him. But the Flesh Tearers's next words were like cannonballs hitting the ground, deafeningly loud.

"That was undoubtedly the Emperor relic, but there's one problem: the one who cast it was Calistarius. Yes, that brain-dead little Librarian. Somehow he returned from the Warp and even saw some prophetic visions about the Primarch."

The Flesh Tearers straightened up and plunged the Blood Reaver into the ground.

The specially treated, tough head, along with the sword blade, easily sank into the sea of blood at his feet. He shook his head expressionlessly, the emotion he revealed almost making Malakin doubt his own eyes.

He couldn't believe it; he actually saw sadness on Gabriel Seth's face.

"What scene?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Fight," the Flesh Tearers replied heavily. "An endless fight."

--

Sanguinius heard His voice.

As always, accompanied by the clanging of swords, the birth of each syllable is like the beating of a war drum, summoning the arrival of war.

"You will fight," He said. "You will prove your true nature."

Sanguinius gripped his sword tightly in silence, looking at a monster much larger than himself.

Ka'Bandha looked down at him, and a smile slowly appeared on his hideous, grotesque beast head.