A Joke That Wasn't Funny (6k)

Azrael pulled the trigger.

Without a doubt and with absolute certainty, the Torchbearer pressed his finger down. As always, he remained steady, the muzzle of the gun only rising slightly. The recoil had been completely neutralized by the excellent design and his Stone- solid left hand.

He aimed at that person—or thing—whatever it was, but he did aim. Time slowed down, stretched out, and the bullet spun from the barrel, carrying with it an unwavering determination to kill his chosen enemy.

Then it was gently pinched by five fingers.

At the same time, the Lion El'Jonson's roar had only just reached his ears.

"Azrael, no!"

No? But why...? The Dark Angels stared blankly at the bullet that had been fired from the gun barrel, now casually held between someone's fingers. His fingers, which had been about to fire another burst, involuntarily stopped.

At the same time, a hoarse laugh came from the darkness. Immediately afterward, there was a sickeningly loud sound of flesh grinding together, as the Lion El'Jonson's spear was pulled from its own chest and held in its hand.

However, there was no blood.

A Primarch -level weapon struck a mortal, even a spear, creating a terrible hole in his body, yet no blood flowed.

Is it a monster? It must be, otherwise there's absolutely no way to explain it.

Azrael stood up warily, only to realize that he was not actually injured—he had merely been knocked away, and the weapon had simply been thrown from his hand by an irresistible shockwave.

He wasn't hurt at all; upon closer examination, the only thing he could be said to have suffered was his self-esteem.

Then he heard the roar of Lion El'Jonson, but unlike before, it lacked the irresistible confidence and majesty of its former self. Instead, it was extremely low and somber, like the final sigh of a philosopher lamenting the meaninglessness of his life.

"That's impossible," Lion Aljonsen said.

"Why?" the person asked gently.

He raised his right hand slightly, flicked his fingers, and spun the spear around, turning the golden tip downwards. Then he raised his arm and pointed the hilt of the spear at the Lion El'Jonson.

This was a very dangerous position. If the Lion El'Jonson had any other thoughts, the weapon could pierce his body again. Azrael secretly hoped that this would happen, but was once again greatly disappointed.

The Lion El'Jonson did not do that; it didn't even reach out to take the weapon. Instead, it took another step back.

For a moment, Azrael felt his Primarch attack at any moment, but it didn't. The other person—let's call him a human for now—spinned his spear again, driving it deep into the "soil."

Then, he turned around, looking at Azrael through the hole in his chest. Through the gruesome wound, the Dark Angels could even see the Primarch's ever-changing expression.

The man walked towards him, slowly but with firm steps.

"I think you'll need this." As he walked, he raised his right hand, showing the explosive bomb to Azrael.

Azrael decided to postpone trying to understand what he meant. He wanted to stop the man from advancing, but he failed, as the world before him began to distort without warning.

Countless bones slowly rose from beneath the flesh, the horrifying scraping sound almost like the wails of the dead, and incomprehensible whispers echoed from the darkness.

Finally, it was that person's voice.

"Take a deep breath, you'll be alright soon, I'm sorry."

Azrael did not heed his advice. Instead, he focused his mind on trying to dispel what he saw as nothing more than some kind of Chaos evil magic illusion, unaware of the consequences this would bring.

Karyl knew, but he didn't even have time to stop it.

He heard a muffled groan, and the young Dark Angels fell backward to the ground, his limbs twitching, and low growls came from under his helmet.

Karyl turned around, slightly embarrassed, and said, "Looks like I made a really bad joke, Lion."

"A joke?" The Lion El'Jonson stared at the large hole in his chest, repeating, "You call this a joke?"

The Lion El'Jonson, its face grim, held a stone in each hand, pressed them together, and then suddenly exerted force. With a soft click, sparks flew, easily igniting the wood chips and setting a fire.

Karyl sighed, took off his coat, which he had just bought but already had a hole in it, rolled it up and draped it over his elbows, before slowly sitting down.

Behind them, Azrael, still unconscious, was muttering in his sleep.

The Lion El'Jonson glanced at him, then looked away, asking in a steady voice, "So, when did you get back?"

"Four years ago," Karyl said, visibly relieved.

"Four whole years? You haven't even tried to contact us?"

"No, it took a little longer. But actually, I met Roboute shortly after I woke up, and then Sanguinius. You must have heard about the Five Hundred Worlds, right?"

The Lion El'Jonson narrowed its eyes and slowly nodded. "I know, but I don't know about you. I've already dispatched a fleet to the Ultima Segmentum to support them."

"The Tyranids are a formidable enemy. Roboute and his sons have almost single-handedly kept them at bay. In the past, we were unable to provide support due to the weakening of the Astronomican, but now things are different. Those Zerg must know who the true masters of the galaxy are."

"But that's not what I'm most concerned about right now—how did you get back, Karyl Lohars?"

"Sacrifice," Karyl said.

"Is that all?" the Lion El'Jonson pressed.

The person he pressed for an answer to gently shook his head, offering no further comment. But the Lion El'Jonson wouldn't let the matter end there; he changed the subject to something else. "That key sent through the Banjo-1 Adeptus Arbites's data terminal—"

"--It's me," Karyl said.

But how do you know that?

The Lion El'Jonson stared intently at him, its jaw clenched, but only for a moment. He quickly gave up trying to get to the bottom of things, and a hint of weariness appeared in his eyes.

"No, never mind. The most urgent thing is these Xenos. What's the specific situation?"

Karyl smiled, as always, a smile that was anything but gentle; he seemed to have a knack for it. The smile vanished in an instant, Lion El'Jonson, looking at his face which had become as cold as a statue, gleaned the answer he sought.

So he stood up and grabbed the spear with his right hand.

"So, what are we waiting for?" the Lion El'Jonson asked seriously.

"I don't know how many you killed before I arrived, but this is one of their gathering places, and it's also where a rebellion is about to break out. You've wiped it out completely. The purebreds among them will definitely get wind of it and launch assassinations and riots ahead of time. We don't have much time left."

Before he could finish speaking, and before Karyl could reply, he strode over to Azrael and tapped the poor young man's helmet with the end of his spear.

The latter's convulsions suddenly stopped, and then he leaped up. Karyl could even clearly hear the faint sound of the artificial muscle bundles in his Power Armour suddenly tightening.

"Get to the ground, Azrael. Find a data terminal, then tell your brothers I've given them permission to use lethal force against Banjo-1. The target is Genestealers. I want them all to land on Banjo-1's surface within twenty minutes. Keep it a covert operation."

The Dark Angels quickly recovered from the confusion brought on by being forcibly awakened, but he still wanted to ask questions.

"But, the Primarch..."

The Lion El'Jonson calmly interrupted him, "Just do as I say, my son."

"Yes, Primarch," Azrael said in a deep voice, then picked up his weapon from the ground and turned to leave without hesitation.

Karyl watched the retreating figure with admiration, walked to the Lion El'Jonson's side, and suddenly reached out and grasped the Dionysian Spear.

"Hello, Russ," he greeted softly.

"Hello, Karyl," Russ replied slowly. "Promise me you won't stab yourself with the Dionysian Spear next time, okay?"

"I stabbed him," the Lion El'Jonson corrected him, his lips taut.

He probably had a thousand or ten thousand questions he wanted to ask, but he didn't answer a single one. Lion Aljonson possessed an exceptionally peculiar focus, and now he was using it to hunt down the Genestealers.

Karyl smiled, finally picking up where the Lion El'Jonson had left off half a minute earlier. "We actually still have time."

He received a probing gaze.

"The Genestealers are not a monolithic entity. Although their mental networks and hypnotic psychic abilities are indeed very troublesome, I still managed to find weaknesses, such as by using Deceit code to infiltrate the Cogitator Array."

"In other words, Lion, I have infiltrated the minds of these Xenos. The purebloods among them are unaware of my arrival, let alone the situation of these hybrids who have not been integrated into the psionic network."

The Lion El'Jonson frowned. "They weren't incorporated? What do you mean? How did you manage that?"

Karyl replied softly, "It means these hybrids aren't atavistic enough, while those who are atavistic enough aren't intelligent enough. As for how I did it..."

"Alright, on Sotha in the Five Hundred Worlds, I faced the elite of an entire Hive Fleet. Is that explanation enough? Besides, since we still have time—could we go grab a bite to eat?"

The Lion El'Jonson stared at him in disbelief.

--

"Three servings of thick fish soup, and a large portion of grilled fish," Karyl said. "Thank you, Ms. Katerina."

The noise inside the Foolish Fisherman's Home couldn't drown out his voice. The waitress nodded excitedly, grabbed the menu, and ran to the kitchen.

The old sailor Haide, sat stiffly at the back of the booth, not daring to move.

The day had started off well; he had a fish cake, then a meat pie. Then, his employer made the request that would take things drastically wrong: to go to the government building.

Haide, fulfilling his duty, led him there, unaware of his employer's true intentions. It wasn't until a few minutes later, outside the gate, that he saw his employer surrounded by several smiling officials who had rushed in.

And so, the tall, thin man who looked more like a teacher than an official was led away by those officials who had inexplicably become obsequious, while a young staff member in a crisp uniform ran out the door right after him and found Haide.

The young man told him that his employer wanted Haide to wait at the Foolish Fisherman's Home, as he had some business to attend to and would be back soon.

The standard for "quick" is two hours.

Two hours later, the anxious old sailor was greeted by his employer, along with a burly old man.

In such cold weather, the man was only wearing a long robe, the sleeves bulging from his arms. Despite his strength, he held an incongruous wooden staff in his hand.

Haide was skeptical: Did he really need this cane to help him walk? Was it actually a weapon? But he dared not ask the question aloud, after all, the old man was sitting right next to him.

Moreover, for some reason, he kept reminding Haide of his former superior officer, a colonel known as "the Madman." In the Imperial Army, with its strict discipline and terrifyingly severe punishments, he was one of the few who dared to disobey those obviously unreasonable orders.

Haide recalled that he even dared to lead a group to question the officials sent by the Departmento Munitorum on several occasions, asking why they weren't being given the required amount of supplies, and where the stew and drinks on the supply list had gone.

Frankly, it was a miracle that the Departmento Munitorum officials didn't throw him into the penal corps for his defiance and insubordination. Moreover, the mad colonel was still serving when Haide retired, with a full head of white hair and full of energy.

Haide wishes he were still alive.

He was lost in thought, unaware that his expression was changing as he recalled the past, but the other two people at the dirty wooden table did.

Therefore, Haide's contemplation ended there.

A deep, convincing voice came from above him, startling the old sailor so much that he almost slipped off his seat.

"What are you thinking, soldier?"

"Uh, I, sir--!" Haide stammered as he straightened up, almost standing up to salute.

This was an instinctive reaction; the old man's tone of voice was just too much like someone in the military, and he must have been an officer, or at the very least a sergeant major in charge of overall planning for the company.

"Soldier?"

Haide took a deep breath to calm himself, bowed his head, and made an Aquila Salute in front of his chest.

"Haide of the 23rd Company, 77th Regiment of the former Doomsday Guard greets you, sir."

"There's no need for that, Corporal. You've already retired, and the unit I served in wasn't even in the same combat unit as you. You were just tense. Relax, we're not on a mission, we're just simply waiting for our food in this tavern."

"Yes, sir," Haide said.

His instincts kicked in again—the aftereffects of spending twenty years in a system. Haide thought he could let time heal his wounds, but he now realized he was wrong.

He could never forget those days of service; vivid faces flashed before his eyes, followed by the gray trenches filled with the sound of gunfire, the trembling light gun in his hand, and the myriad of strange yet equally ferocious enemies.

The identity of a soldier slowly revived within this dying body, causing him to instinctively straighten his back in the chair and place his hands flat on his knees.

"Would you be interested in telling me about yourself, Corporal?" the old man continued, his voice seemingly carrying a hint of approval.

"My lord, what do we have to talk about?"

"Let's talk about the Battle of Sovet," the old man said. "Judging by your age, you should have been there, Corporal."

"In that battle, the Doomsday Guard fought alongside the Dark Angels against the second battle group of the Orks in the Hadiran System. I remember that battle; you fought very bravely, but I can only know about it from written records."

"And you were a firsthand witness. The Third Company of the 77th Regiment was one of the assault companies that directly faced the Orks in that battle, suffering a casualty rate of 83%. You were one of the few who survived, and even retired from the military."

"But you're obviously not doing well, and I'd like to know what's going on. But if you don't want to talk about it, that's fine; I can tell you my own story. That's all the soldiers talk about to pass the time when they get together."

Haide gave a grimacing smile, then suddenly clenched his fists.

It was obvious he didn't want to talk about it, and Karyl saw it perfectly. But the Lion El'Jonson didn't force him.

If others familiar with Lion Aljonson had known him, they would have been utterly astonished by the tone he had just used—was that really a soft emotion that could be expressed by Caliban man known for his authority and ruthlessness?

"There's really nothing to say, sir. It's just a trivial matter. I fought the Orks and survived, but the mental trauma forced me to retire."

"That's no reason for you to have fallen to this state." The Lion El'Jonson, whose size had been shrunk by Karyl's psychic powers, frowned sharply.

"Everyone who survived that battle was awarded the Medal of War Hero, and as a member of the Assault Company, you should also have a Medal of Honor and an Imperium Star. Such honors are enough for you to spend the rest of your life in a Garden of Nurgle world after you retire. How did you end up here?"

The old sailor sighed, finally raising his head and looking at the Lion El'Jonson with his weary eyes.

"Sir, or sir, I don't know how to address you, please forgive me. You must work in the Departmento Munitorum, right? The Military Discipline Department? To be honest, I don't really care. I thank you, but please don't investigate this matter too thoroughly; it won't end well."

"Why?" the Lion El'Jonson asked softly.

Haide didn't answer again. The waitress, unaware of the strange atmosphere in the booth, walked towards them with her tray. She placed the thick fish soup and two servings of grilled fish down and left the booth, her expression no longer as cheerful as it had been at the beginning.

Clearly, her father said something to her in the kitchen.

Haide quickly raised his spoon and shoved the piping hot, thick fish soup into his mouth, eating it as if trying to cover something up.

The Lion El'Jonson still frowned, its anger subtle yet palpable to Karyl. However, unlike before, the Lion El'Jonson didn't immediately unleash its fury. Instead, it obediently picked up its spoon and began to savor the fish soup.

After he took a sip, Karyl smiled and asked, "How does it taste?"

"This manufacturing technique should be promoted throughout the military," the Lion El'Jonson said calmly. "This technology, which removes even the finest, softest bones from fish, has never been used in canned goods issued by the Departmento Munitorum. I never expected to taste it here, and at such a low price."

Karyl shook his head, tapped the table with his left hand, and began to defend the Departmento Munitorum.

"It's probably not entirely their fault. A new machine capable of removing fish bones requires money to manufacture, debug, and maintain. Not to mention, the Departmento Munitorum doesn't actually distribute much canned food; synthetic nutritional pastes are the primary food source."

"No need for fire, no need for preservation, and rich in nutrients—compared to other factors, this is the best rationing option. Moreover, the Imperium is too vast, but communication methods are too backward; therefore, the implementation of any policy requires astronomical figures and an almost incalculable amount of time to accumulate."

"Being able to do something but not doing it is different from wanting to do it but not being able to," said the Lion El'Jonson Karyl.

The conversation ended very quickly and quietly, almost imperceptibly. But Haide heard it clearly, and as a result, he drank his fish soup even faster, as if trying to cover something up.

About ten minutes later, they finished their simple meal, paid the bill, and left the Foolish Fisherman's Home.

It was just past noon, and the eerie sun stared down on the earth through the gray haze. The miners, changing shifts, moved wearily back and forth in this area densely packed with taverns. Some wanted to drown their sorrows in alcohol, while others just wanted to fill their stomachs and go home.

They were all completely unaware of what was about to happen, Haide was one of them.

He received his pay for the day in advance, plus an extra waiting fee, and then his employer dismissed him. The old sailor seemed to have no objection, though his departing figure showed a hint of hesitation.

He had questions to ask, but he didn't. He could have chosen to report Karyl's conversation with the Lion El'Jonson at the dinner table to the Adeptus Arbites for a reward, but he didn't.

"Just like I said, he's a very sensible person." Karyl spoke softly in the cold wind. "So, what could have happened to put him in this situation?"

He turned and walked into a dense jungle of steel. The Lion El'Jonson followed slowly, carrying his wooden staff without touching the ground, his brow furrowed.

"I want to know the answer, just like you, Karyl. After we finish this, we can go look for it together. I hope it's a good answer, something like a program error or a missing list, something carelessness and negligence compared to deliberately framing someone and stealing their honor."

The Lion El'Jonson took a deep, deep breath.

Karyl shook his head, quickened his pace, and led the Lion El'Jonson to another Underhive full of hybrids.

Meanwhile, Azrael and his brothers also entered the underground system of Banjo-1.