So Many Secrets
Another Dark Angels couldn't hold back any longer:
"Then let me tell you one more! We have a Terminator in Deathwing who's terrified of the dark!"
Everyone was stunned again.
Terminator for those afraid of the dark?
What's going on?
The Dark Angels explained:
"That man's name is Bedivere. When he was a child, he got lost in the forests of Caliban and was chased by a lion for three days and three nights."
From then on, he became extremely afraid of the dark.
I have to sleep with the lights on at night, otherwise I can't fall asleep.
Everyone burst into laughter again.
"The Terminator who's afraid of the dark -- hahaha -- so incongruous --!"
"He wore Terminator Armour and was invincible on the battlefield, but he ended up needing the lights on to sleep at night—hahaha—!"
The Dark Angels got more and more excited as they talked, completely forgetting that they had just said, "We are knights, the representatives of civilization."
At this moment, they were no different from Leman Russ's wolf cubs.
They're even crazier than wolf cubs.
Looking at this group of Dark Angels who had completely let loose, the Blood Angels couldn't help but sigh:
"You guys have really hidden your hidden talents well."
A Dark Angels waved his hand:
"This isn't called a hidden attribute; it's called being too tense most of the time, and then collapsing when you relax."
He picked up his glass and drank it all in one gulp.
"Damn, this is the first time in hundreds of years I've felt this relaxed."
A complex emotion flickered in his eyes:
"Back then, we were on the Rock, constantly on edge."
They lived in constant fear, guarding against those secrets and traitors.
Where do I find the time to drink?
When do I have time to chat?
"Where would I find the time--"
He paused:
"I don't have time to be a... human being."
The surrounding atmosphere suddenly fell silent for a moment.
Another Dark Angels patted him on the shoulder:
"Brother, well said."
He raised his glass:
"Come, let's pay homage to being human!"
"Be respectful as a human being!"
All the Dark Angels simultaneously raised their glasses and drank them down in one gulp.
The wine, as it entered my throat, was like fire, like warmth, like—the feeling of being alive.
The banquet grew increasingly lively.
The Dark Angels mingled with the Ultramarines and Blood Angels, clinking glasses and putting their arms around each other.
They talked about their battles, their embarrassing moments, and their days making weapons.
An elderly Dark Angels leaned back in his chair, gazing at the dazzling lights on the ceiling, and murmured to himself:
"In the past, I felt like I was a weapon."
The Emperor's Weapon.
The Lion King's weapon.
Sharp, cold, tireless.
He turned his head and looked at his brothers beside him, whose faces were flushed from drinking:
"But now I realize—I was wrong."
Another angel asked:
"Where did we go wrong?"
The older angel smiled:
"Weapons don't drink alcohol."
Weapons don't laugh.
The weapon won't--
He reached out and patted the shoulder of the Ultramarines next to him:
"It doesn't feel warm."
The Ultramarines paused for a moment, then smiled.
Well said.
He raised his glass:
"Come, let's offer some warmth!"
"A toast to warmth!"
Another round of heavy drinking ensued.
In the distance, a Blood Angels stood up and said loudly:
"Let me tell you, Lord Guilliman once said something that I particularly like!"
Everyone looked at him.
He cleared his throat and said, trying his best to imitate Guilliman's tone:
Only humans can love each other.
The Emperor's weapons do not love humanity, nor do the Emperor's slaves.
Only--"
He paused, a glint in his eyes:
Only humans can truly love each other.
The entire banquet hall suddenly fell silent.
Everyone fell silent, pondering that sentence.
a long time.
A Dark Angels whispered:
So... we're not weapons?
Another Dark Angels chimed in:
"Not even a slave?"
The third Dark Angels laughed:
"We are -- human beings."
At that moment, everyone laughed.
That smile contained relief, warmth, and something else—a new beginning.
Respect people!
Respect for humanity!
"Respect—to us who love humanity!"
The clinking of wine glasses echoed through the banquet hall.
That sound was more beautiful than any war cry.
The banquet lasted for three days and three nights.
Over the course of three days, the Dark Angels completely relaxed the tension that had been building up for the past few centuries.
They drank all the blood wine treasured by the Blood Angels, all the Ultramar wine brought by the Ultramarines, and ate all the delicacies that could be made in the kitchen.
They chatted, sang, and danced what could hardly be called dancing.
They laughed, they cried, they hugged.
They are alive.
Three days later, as the last Dark Angels was carried back to its dwelling, the whole of Terra was abuzz with the news of this grand celebration.
Later, a scholar wrote in the "Imperial Annals":
"The collective celebration of the three legions— the Ultramarines, the Blood Angels, and the Dark Angels —is arguably the second grandest celebration in the history of the Imperium."
Its scale and the fervor of the atmosphere were second only to the coronation of the Emperor in his time.
The day after the book was published, three figures appeared at the scholar's doorstep.
One is blue, one is red, and one is green.
The Ultramarines stared at him expressionlessly.
"Second?"
The Blood Angels smiled gently, but there was something unsettling about that smile:
"Second only to the Emperor's coronation?"
The Dark Angels's eyes are the most terrifying; their gaze pierces his soul like a sharp sword.
"Say it again?"
The scholar was so frightened he almost died on the spot.
"I... I... I was just... recording objectively..."
"Objective?"
The Dark Angels sneered, "Do you even know what objectivity means?"
The scholar shook his head frantically.
"Then shut up."
The three figures turned around simultaneously and disappeared into the night.
The scholar collapsed to the ground, panting heavily.
But the nightmare had only just begun.
From that day on, he always felt like he was being watched.
While sleeping, he felt someone was under the bed.
While eating, he felt someone was on the ceiling.
While using the restroom, he felt someone was behind the door.
No matter where he goes or what he does, he always feels like there are eyes watching him from the shadows.
One time, he couldn't resist any longer and lifted the bed—there was nothing there.
But as he lay back down, he heard a soft chuckle coming from under the bed.
The people in the Inquisition.
The people in the Inquisition hiding under the bed.
He laughed very loudly.
The scholar was on the verge of tears.
"Can't you... can you laugh somewhere else?"
The answer came from under the bed:
"Cannot.
The view is good here.