60. Late Judgment (24)

Seraphax crouched down and grabbed a handful of what appeared to be dirt. The eyepiece's analysis function concluded after seconds: 42% flesh and blood mixture, 17% bone fragments, and 20% armor shrapnel.

But don't think that's the end. Within the remaining 21%, there are still many mixed substances whose mass is difficult to calculate, such as highly toxic dust distorted from poison gas and flesh mixed together, or small amounts of metal debris left over from the violent explosion at the center of the bombing.

Only after completely removing them, the tiny remnant that remains, is the "soil" part that truly belongs to Terra.

The Dark Angels silently straightened up and put the handful of bloody soil into his armor belt.

Judging from his not-so-accurate map, he is now close to the entrance to the Himalazian Plateau.

According to records and memories, this place is always crowded with pilgrims from all over the galaxy, with hundreds of camps scattered haphazardly at this entrance, which can be infinitely subdivided according to religious sects.

Above them is a fortress, guarded by the Imperial Fists, but they are not responsible for dealing with the pilgrims.

The actual handling of these matters is done by a bureaucratic team of two thousand people, specially drawn from Terra's complex administrative system, whose sole purpose is to maintain stability.

The implications and power contained in these four words are terrifying upon closer examination. Therefore, ten years after the team was founded, they built a bridge across the entrance to the plateau in the name of the pilgrims and with the money they donated. This bridge would allow anyone who came afterward to reach the bustling city below the Imperial Palace without having to cross mountains.

Of course, Seraphax sees nothing now. Pilgrims, fortresses, bridges, sentry posts—all of these have vanished, and even the sky is obscured by a thick layer of dust.

These death spirits, brought about by massive radiation, filled every corner of the high-altitude air, making visibility so low that even goggles couldn't help Seraphax escape this predicament.

He couldn't help but feel a pessimistic outlook.

In such an environment, even if someone were still alive, how could they possibly continue fighting? Even Astartes would never be able to hold out for long without a helmet. His Power Armour had warned him of this more than once.

But

Seraphax looked to his right front. Fourteen minutes earlier, the ground had trembled faintly several times, paused for a few seconds, and then trembled again. After some investigation, he roughly determined the direction from which the tremors came.

The Power Armour's servo core used calculations and analysis to suggest the possibility of artillery support, but Seraphax disagreed with this conclusion.

He believed that since the war had already reached this point, even if there were still artillery shells left, the commander responsible for issuing orders would never ask his gunners to fire a few shots or a few rounds, as in the tactics manual or the textbooks in the academy.

However, he himself couldn't say for sure what the truth was. So he changed direction and headed towards the direction from which the tremors came. Along the way, the tremors never stopped, but they were still the same monotonous, intermittent bombardment.

By this point, even Seraphax couldn't help but have some doubts: Could it be that some ammunition depot had only just been discovered and activated by a lucky unit? And that the unit's commander had even maintained his rationality and superior tactical skills?

Dark Angels's past war experience told him that this was highly unlikely to happen.

Once a war reaches its climax, issuing and executing orders becomes extremely difficult. A single unit might manage, but when multiple legions are mixed together, the sheer volume of information and the increasing intensity of the war gradually drag everyone into the mire, and even the Primarch are not entirely immune to this effect.

Seraphax remained skeptical and continued forward. Every ten meters or so, he had to wipe his goggles to prevent radioactive dust from completely obscuring his vision.

The servo motor responsible for the air purification system and the breathing grille was running at maximum power, and its low whistling sound kept echoing in his ears.

He was like a Ghost, walking in a world of flesh and blood, ashes floating in the air, his eyes radiating a scarlet Radiance — Seraphax almost laughed at his own untimely humor, while also being surprised that he still retained such superfluous emotions.

However, when he arrived at the source of the tremor, he lost the ability to speak and even think.

Seraphax didn't see an army or any kind of fortified position; on the contrary, he saw ruins, or rather, a valley, a deep crater left behind after a city had been completely destroyed.

The remains of other buildings are piled up along its edges, as are those on both sides of the valley. Parts of the spectacular artificial mountain range that once Himalazian Plateau remain, and from Seraphax's perspective, it looks as if someone once swung a giant sword across the sky and earth at this place.

Beneath the sword's edge, nothing remains, and the edge itself is not very sharp; many broken "serrations" still sway in the dusty wind, calling out for past glory.

However, the center of the valley is not empty. A huge object still stands there, connecting the two ends of the broken valley with a relatively low and rugged profile, like a mountain range.

Of course, it didn't look much better. The once dazzling Gothic spire that soared into the sky had long since collapsed or broken, and the many weapon arrays it carried had also been destroyed. Only the left arm and the plasma incineration cannon on it seemed to be intact.

It was covered in a thick layer of dust, and the wreckage of many fighter jets, tanks, and armored vehicles lay around it. From its center, concentric cracks covered the entire earth, filled with corpses, mostly the filthy flesh and blood of Daemon.

Seraphax watched it silently as it slowly, very slowly raised its left arm, the movement so small it was as weak as that of an old man on his deathbed. But it did raise it, the creaking of its machinery carrying far on the wind.

Then it fell.

Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.

Seraphax began running towards it, drawing his gun as he went. He kept watch for any potential enemies, but his pace didn't slow; he often leaped over the bottomless cracks.

The Ghost joke is back, and this time it seems even more believable if told.

He leaped over the abyss littered with corpses, climbed over overturned tanks, and crossed deserted positions—but the tremors came again, this time not as gentle as before, forcing Seraphax to halt and seek cover as if dealing with an earthquake.

During this time, dust, mud, or other things would completely cover him, which indirectly increased the time it took him to approach it. It took Seraphax more than an hour to finally reach his destination with great difficulty.

He looked up at the collapsed mountain range and unconsciously took a deep breath.

An Emperor-class Titan —or rather, an Emperor-class Titan on the verge of death.

Seraphax was not one of the Tech-Priest and did not particularly like their doctrines, but he was still willing to use words like "alive" or "dead" to describe the enormous machine.

However, a new problem now lies before him: the communication channel remains completely silent, with no new message notifications or communication requests, and it does not respond to his continuously active call function.

This either means that the crew of the Titan is completely wiped out, or that their condition is so dire that they cannot even receive the communication signal that is so close at hand.

Neither option is good news, but Seraphax must give it a try—Titans, especially Emperor-class Titan, will only be deployed to the most intense war zones; otherwise, it would be a desecration of them.

No commander would ever tell a Titan crew member, "Go and take out those mutants hiding in the Hive City," or anything like that.

Even if someone were truly that foolish, the Mechanicum would dissuade them. The cardinals have never been reasonable when it comes to matters of respect.

In other words, even if he only finds the entire dead pilot crew in the end, he will inevitably obtain some useful information. If there are one or two survivors, that would be even better.

Seraphax lowered his head and began to run along a small path. The ground was rugged, and even though he had reached the foot of the Titan, he had to be careful every step of the way. He had no idea how many traps had been created in the collapsed ruins.

This was just the appetizer; the main event was the climb itself—yes, Seraphax planned to crawl little by little to the heart of the Titan, and as long as he remained cautious, it wouldn't be too difficult.

But he forgot one thing: This is Terra.

"Halt," a deathly, hoarse voice said condescendingly. "Hands up."

A dangerous buzzing sound followed immediately.

Seraphax wisely complied without hesitation.

He looked up and saw that at the end of the left leg of the Emperor-class Titan, which had landed flat on the ground like a giant bridge, a faint blue light was emanating from it. A completely inconspicuous black shadow was staring at him from behind the blue light, no more than ten meters away.

Seemingly sensing the Dark Angels's gaze, the Shadow made no further attempt to conceal itself and stood up abruptly. He wore a heavy gas mask, and his clothes were covered in dust.

As he stood up, more Shadow appeared behind him. Seraphax glanced at them briefly and noticed that their uniforms were all different, and their weapons were varied, ranging from Lasgun to all kinds of live ammunition.

The temporarily reorganized troops?

"State your identity, Astartes," the man said again. "In the name of the Emperor's Fire Wasps, I command you."

Seraphax Fax didn't hesitate to identify himself and proactively broadcast an authentication code via his Power Armour's external broadcast. Sure enough, the other party quickly connected to his Power Armour through the code.

The blue light dissipated, and the soldier nodded to him, gave an Aquila Salute, then made an apologetic gesture before disappearing back into the darkness. His companion did the same, remaining motionless on the sacred steel, completely vanished from sight.

Another voice rang in Seraphax's ears, hoarse and weary. "While I'm glad to meet a cousin at a time like this, how did you even get here, Seraphax brother?"

The Dark Angels glanced at the identification code displayed in the upper right corner of his eyepiece, then replied, "I'm also very curious about how a Blood Angels became the temporary commander of the Fire Wasps, Company Commander Zephon."

The man called Zephon smiled, his tone now slightly amused. "I used to hate your secrecy, but now it seems kind of endearing."

"Come on up, brother, but be prepared for battle. The Machine Spirit of the Raging Inferno is using its last bit of strength to draw away enemies or friendly forces like you. We may have to fight a new battle at any moment."

"That's why I came, "Seraphax thought.

He silently climbed onto the left leg of the Raging Inferno and slowly moved upwards.

At the same time, a distant echo reached his ears. It came from a very, very far place, but it was created by Seraphax and therefore remained faithful.

It told him many things, such as the death of Lion Aljonsen, the arrival of an uninvited guest, and lastly, and most importantly.

It is being eroded.

That uninvited guest possessed another kind of power, stemming from the harsh winter and an indomitable wildness. Without Seraphax, it would be difficult for it to hold on for long.

"It's alright," the Chaos Sorcerer whispered to the Dark Angels in a corner of its heart. "It doesn't matter how long you can hold out, as long as the victor is reincarnated into the body I've prepared for him, everything will be alright."

He spoke with such confidence, as if he had foreseen this all along, but that was not the case. He did not know why Leman Russ Russ had come, how he was able to come, or the source of his special power.

However, since he had voluntarily entered that darkness, he had to abide by the rules set by Seraphax.

If the Fenrisian could hear these words, what would he think? No one knows the answer, but one thing is certain— Leman Russ Russ would scoff at them.

Wolf howls filled the air, and snow swirled everywhere. Fenris's Wolf King slowly straightened his back, stretched his limbs, and smiled as he touched the two giant wolves that were clinging to him.

Opposite him, the hunter, devoid of any will to fight, and the king, his brow furrowed, were looking around in astonishment.

"What's wrong? Never been to Fenris before?" Russ asked with a grin. "It's a great place."