Battle

For the first time in 65 million years, they were looking forward to a battle.

Titus was panting on the wreckage of a Necrons warship.

He had been fighting continuously for thirty-two minutes.

In those thirty-two minutes, he destroyed one hundred and twenty Ghost Ark and killed more than ten thousand Necron Warriors.

His Power Sword was covered in the residual liquid of Living Metal, his Power Armour was covered in marks from the scythe blade, and his body was covered in bruises and wounds.

But the gold and blue paint job remains bright.

But his breathing remained steady, his movements remained agile, and his killing intent remained intense.

The power of the Law of Eternity flowed within him, and Smart Atoms were repairing his damaged muscles and bones.

He looked up at the huge, sickle-shaped warship in front of him.

The hangar doors of the warship were slowly opening, and a tall figure was emerging from them.

The figure was two heads taller than Titus, and was enveloped in a ghostly green energy light, like a god who had walked out of ancient times.

His Necrodermis body reflected a cold luster in the void, and his energy shield, like a thin, eerie green film, slowly swirled around him.

In his hand, he held a giant scythe longer than his entire body.

Each step he took created a ripple in the void.

Those are the imprints left by phase energy in the Material Universe, the overflow of the power of the C'tan Shard.

The surrounding Necron Warriors retreated, making way for their most powerful warrior.

Titus's eyes narrowed slightly.

He could sense that aura, a dangerous aura that sent chills down his spine.

That was the pressure of Primarch- level being, the pressure of the Necron Empire's top combat power, a formidable enemy he had never faced before.

Every fighting instinct he had was a warning to him: this enemy was unlike any he had ever faced before.

But he did not back down.

His lips curled slightly upward, his smile brimming with fighting spirit.

The figure walked up to him and stopped ten paces away.

This is the distance for a duel, the distance of utmost respect between warriors.

Two narrow, dark green slits on his helmet were staring at Titus. There was no hatred or murderous intent in his gaze, only a pure, ancient warrior's scrutiny of another warrior.

"Humans," he spoke, his voice low and cold, like an echo from the abyss.

"Give me your name."

Your battle name, your legion, your Gene-Father.

Titus looked at him, his gaze mirroring those deep green eyes.

He could sense the antiquity in the other person's words, a majesty accumulated over 65 million years.

But he showed no fear; he simply spoke calmly, each word clear and powerful.

"Demetrian Titus, Captain of the Second Company Ultramarines, Master of the Watch, Watcher of Ultramar."

Robert Guilliman, the Gene-Father, Imperial Regent, Lord of Ultramar, lord of war.

He paused, his hand already gripping the hilt of the sword.

And you, Necrons?

The figure remained silent for a moment.

Sixty-five million years flashed through his mind, and the faces of countless enemies passed by like fleeting clouds.

But he remembered this name, this battle name, this Gene-Father.

Then, he slowly raised the Dust Scythe in his hand.

The scythe drew a dark green arc in the air, the energy of the C'tan Shard flowing around the blade, tearing fine cracks into the surrounding void.

"The Blade Phaeron Mesophit," his voice was cold and proud.

"One of the Three Saints of the Silent King, the supreme commander of melee combat for the Necron Empire, and the core of the army's melee combat will."

Lord of the Dust Scythe, sharer of the C'tan Shard, survivor of the War in Heaven.

Titus nodded.

"A good name."

It is worthy of this sickle.

The Blade Phaeron looked at him, a hint of admiration in his eyes.

"You are worthy of that sword."

Guilliman's blessing, I can feel it in your sword.

The two looked at each other in silence.

In the void, countless Necrons and Ultramarines stopped fighting and watched the two figures from afar.

They knew that the outcome of this encounter would depend on the duel between these two warriors.

Titus slowly drew his Power Sword from his waist.

The sword shimmered with golden light, like liquid sunlight.

That was the power of Law of Eternity personally imbued by Guilliman, enabling this sword to cleave through any matter—including Necrodermis, C'tan Shard, and the existence of the entire Material Universe.

The Blade Phaeron raised the Dust Scythe, its blade flowing with eerie green energy, like solidified lightning.

That was the blessing of the C'tan Shard, capable of annihilating any energy shield—including Psionic Energy shields, Void Shield, and Law of Eternity.

They both moved at the same time.

The Blade Phaeron's Dust Scythe swept across.

Its speed was so great that it distorted the surrounding void.

Wherever the scythe passed, space was torn apart, revealing the eerie green Phase World beneath.

The power of this strike was enough to cleave a warship in two, to flatten a mountain, and to reduce any enemy to nothingness.

Titus did not retreat.

His Power Sword met the attack head-on, the golden light colliding with the eerie green energy, bursting forth with a blinding brilliance.

The light was so intense that the soldiers watching instinctively closed their optical sensors. Both human eyes and the Necrons scanning arrays were temporarily blinded by the light.

The moment the Dust Scythe clashed with the Power Sword, Titus felt that power.

That was a power capable of cleaving stars, a power capable of crushing everything, a terror he had never faced before.

His arm was numb from the shock, and the power of the Law of Eternity circulated wildly within his body, barely managing to counteract the impact.

His body was jolted back three steps, each step leaving a deep footprint on the metal surface of the warship wreckage.

But in the instant he retreated, the Power Sword had already drawn an arc, slashing towards the neck of the Blade Phaeron.

That was an instinct he had honed through countless life-or-death battles—to counterattack the instant he was on the defensive, and to attack the instant he was retreating.

The Blade Phaeron dodged to the side, the blade grazing his shoulder armor and leaving a shallow scratch on the surface of the Necrodermis.

His movements were incredibly precise; every dodge was perfectly timed, with an error of no more than 0.1 millimeters.

He retrieved his Dust Scythe, then brought it down again, this time from above with immense force.

Titus parried with his sword, the scythe striking the blade with a piercing metallic clang.

His feet were deeply embedded in the wreckage of the warship beneath him, his knees slightly bent, every muscle struggling against the force.