65. Reclaiming Hope (22)

Unlike his master, the royal warden Obyron felt nothing but hatred toward the golden blur streaking through the sky, relentlessly destroying the Necrons' elite forces.

It could even be said that he wanted him dead—preferably right now. It did not matter what killed him. A single hit, a deliberate collision, anything would do. Nor did it matter who dealt the blow. So long as he died.

He raised his head and stared into the sky. His eyes, replaced by deep green light many years ago, now blazed with twice their usual intensity.

Zahndrekh, standing with his back to him, knew all of this perfectly well. He merely smiled.

"Feeling unwilling to accept it?" the old general asked without turning around. "Watching our disciplined legions be effortlessly defeated by one man's strength alone must be difficult for you. I imagine so, Obyron. After all, this is not the kind of war you are familiar with."

His guard sharply and angrily seized upon a tiny flaw in his words, immediately counterattacking without the slightest concern for whether it was disrespectful or overstepping.

"Is that so, my lord?" Obyron barked. "There are millions of kinds of war with which I am familiar. Which one are you referring to?"

Zahndrekh turned around, thoroughly amused.

At that very moment, something suddenly exploded amid the black clouds. The firelight illuminated his back and blurred his face, making him seem as though he had returned to the age of flesh.

"You see? You have learned how to be angry again." The old general gave his approval at an unhurried pace. "But let us return to the matter at hand. Indeed, what you say is true. From the War in Heaven to the later act of godslaying, you took part in all of it and earned countless achievements.