17: Eagle Hunting (IV)

Eagle Hunting (IV)

Alpha Primus clenched his fist tightly, then swung it. Something shattered beneath his blow, and a foul, viscous fluid burst forth. Much of it splashed onto his arm, bringing intense burning pain the instant it touched his skin.

He ignored it and continued punching, as though he were not a creature of flesh and blood, but one component of some divine machine forged from gears and steel. A wrathful Titan, displaying the Omnissiah's supreme majesty here.

More things shattered beneath his fists, one after another.

Swollen limbs flew in all directions from his blows. Melted flesh hung precariously from decayed skeletons, while diseased organs fell steaming to the ground.

Alpha Primus forced himself to keep swinging.

Had he learned how to fight? The answer was yes. Cawl had trained him using specially modified combat servitors. Compared to a true Astartes, his skills and experience might not have been extensive, but they were enough. At least, they were more than enough for the seemingly endless undead before him.

He could kill them with ease. The force generated by his every movement alone was enough to rip apart the pale, bloated surfaces of their bodies and return them to death.

But Alpha Primus felt only sorrow.

He knew who these undead had once been. He had never met them, but he knew they had once lived ordinary, contented lives on Chemos. And now, all that was good had vanished completely.

Fathers were no longer fathers. Mothers were no longer mothers. Their children followed behind them with clouded eyes, their skin long since melted away, their teeth black, indistinct noises constantly spilling from their throats, as if they had returned to the age when they were just learning to speak.

Alpha Primus felt his throat go dry. He snapped the