Endless

Under the influence of some mysterious force, the fragments are being pieced together little by little.

In the past, the Dark Angels would have had a headache.

This means that if the tomb cannot be destroyed, these Necrons will resurrect indefinitely.

They will rise again and again, and fight again and again, until they exhaust humanity's supplies, wear down humanity's will, and drag humanity into an endless war of attrition.

But now— the Dark Angels is laughing.

He crouched down and began collecting the Living Metal fragments.

The fragments trembled slightly in his hands, as if in resistance.

But that resistance was pointless.

His strength was so great that those Living Metal simply couldn't break free.

"It's limited anyway."

He muttered to himself, "If I cut off all your reserves, you'll be finished."

He put the fragments into his collection bag.

The bag was already full.

These are today's achievements.

After the war, these things will be sent back to Mars and delivered to the Belisarius Cawl.

With the Cawl is gradually able to understand the structure of this metal.

Perhaps before long, the Imperium will be able to produce Living Metal on its own.

The Dark Angels stood up and looked into the distance.

There are even more Necrons there.

There is also more Living Metal.

And there's even more to come.

His lips curled up slightly, then shot upwards again.

Deep within the tomb, the Necron Overlord stood motionless in front of the monitoring screen.

He had been standing there for a long time.

It went on for so long that his tactical analysis system started prompting him to "whether he needs a rest."

But he ignored it.

He simply watched the green figures on the screen, watched them slaughter his army, watched them collect Living Metal fragments, watched them—it was a tactic he had never seen before.

No, that's not a tactic.

That was—crushing.

Pure, absolute, and unreasonable crushing.

His army once struck fear into the hearts of countless civilizations.

His Lychguard had torn countless enemies to shreds on the front lines.

His Immortals legion once ravaged planet after planet with endless firepower.

But now—those green figures completely ignored his firepower.

The Necron Warriors ' weapons, though powerful, couldn't even touch the hem of those green figures' clothes.

They're too fast.

It's almost at its limit.

It was so fast that his aiming system couldn't lock on.

It's so fast that his prediction algorithm simply can't predict it.

The fact that it was almost there even made this Necron Overlord feel a little confused.

What's going on with these humans?

How come they love fighting even more than the Orks?

That kind of fanaticism, that kind of madness, that relentless killing spree—it was as if the Orks had possessed them.

But they are even more agile than the Eldar.

That speed, that agility, that ability to change direction at will in the air—it was practically the reincarnation of the Eldar.

The power of the Orks, combined with the speed of the Eldar —what kind of monster is this?

The Necron Overlord's tactical analysis system was operating at full speed, trying to find an answer.

Cannot find it.

It can't be found at all.

His database contained no records that could explain this phenomenon.

He could only draw one conclusion: this group of humans had evolved.

It evolved into something he couldn't comprehend.

On the battlefield, Lion is wreaking havoc.

With each swing of his Sword of Loyalty, at least ten Necrons fell.

The Dispersion Shield of those Lychguard were useless against him.

The slashes of those Phase Scythe couldn't even touch his afterimage.

The cannon fire from those Doomsday Arks exploded behind him, yet it couldn't even scratch his head.

He has already killed countless people.

Several thousand?

Tens of thousands?

unimportant.

The most important thing is -- it's awesome.

That's fucking awesome.

Lion had never fought such a lucrative battle.

250,000 Dark Angels.

Two hundred and fifty thousand!

Back when he was in Caliban, having 10,000 warriors under his command was already his limit.

Back then, every battle required careful planning, every soldier had to be cherished, and every charge required weighing the pros and cons.

What about now?

Two hundred and fifty thousand!

Moreover, each one is modified, and each one can kill a thousand ordinary Space Marines!

Lion recalled what Guilliman had said when he sent the men to him, "These are the men I recruited for you from Terra."

The modification surgery was performed on the spot.

Every one of them--

Guilliman paused, then laughed, "I've beaten them all up."

Lion was taken aback for a moment. "You beat him up?"

Guilliman nodded. "Yes."

I tested it myself after the modification was completed.

"Only those who can withstand ten moves from me are considered qualified."

Lion remained silent.

He looked at the soldiers—each one with a bruised and swollen face, each one with a resentful expression, and each one—with an indomitable spirit.

Because they were beaten up by the Primarch.

Because they survived ten moves against the Primarch.

Because they know how strong they are.

At this moment, those soldiers are wreaking havoc on the battlefield.

Their battle cries rose and fell, their sword flashes wove into a net, and their figures darted through the air—they were two hundred and fifty thousand burning meteors.

Those were 250,000 lions released from their cages.

Those were 250,000 Ynnead.

Lion looked at them, a feeling he couldn't quite put into words welling up inside him.

If he had had that kind of setup back then, he could have fought his way from the east side of the Milky Way to Milky Way west side.

He could tear all those traitors to shreds.

He could prevent the Four Chaos Gods from ever daring to set foot in the Milky Way again.

But it wasn't there back then.

Back then, he had only ten thousand soldiers, only one the Rock, and only one—a sleeping dream.

Now, the dream is over.

He had 250,000 brothers.

They possessed the power to crush everything.

Now they have the means to seek revenge.

Lion took a deep breath and raised his sword again.

"Brothers!"

His voice boomed across the battlefield. "Charge with me!"

He was the first to rush out.

Behind them, 250,000 green figures followed simultaneously.

Deep within the tomb, the Necron Overlord looked at the green figure charging at the forefront on the screen, and at the 250,000 figures behind him—his tactical analysis system had reached a conclusion: victory was impossible.

If the fighting continues, his entire army will be annihilated.

All Living Metal will be collected.

His tomb will be razed to the ground.

His race will lose countless precious compatriots.

This conclusion caused a slight tremor in the core of his logic.

It was a feeling similar to "despair".

He shouldn't despair.

Because he is Necrons.

The Necrons have no emotions.

But he did feel that emotion—powerlessness.