You Truly Earn My Admiration

The golden sword light clashed once more with the eerie green scythe.

This time, Titus did not back down.

His feet were deeply embedded in the metal deck beneath him, and the power of the Law of Eternity circulated wildly within him, channeling every bit of power into his arms.

The golden light on his Power Sword grew ever brighter, as if he were holding a small star in his hand.

A hint of surprise flashed in the eyes of the Blade Phaeron.

This human's strength is even greater than before.

His battle formation was operating frantically, trying to analyze the cause of this change.

Then he found the answer—willpower.

This human will is pushing his power beyond its limits.

With each collision, his power increased.

With each encounter, his speed increased.

Every time he was injured, his fighting spirit surged.

Titus's sword grew faster and fiercer.

His attacks were like a storm, each sword strike carrying a deadly intent, and every slash delivered with all his might.

The Blade Phaeron's defense began to show weaknesses. Although his Dust Scythe was still accurate, each parry was more difficult than the last.

More and more sword marks began to appear on his Necrodermis body, and fine cracks began to appear on his energy shield.

Finally, in a fierce clash, Titus's sword cleaved through the defenses of the Blade Phaeron.

The golden sword light sliced through the breastplate of the Blade Phaeron, leaving a deep groove on the surface of the Necrodermis.

The Blade Phaeron staggered backward, his energy shield flickering and emitting a piercing buzz at the sword mark.

He steadied himself and looked down at the deep sword scar on his breastplate.

A ghostly green energy seeped from the cracks; it was the power of the C'tan Shard leaking out.

He raised his head and looked at Titus, a complex light flashing in his dark green eyes.

"Humans," he spoke, his voice carrying an ancient, heavy reverence, "You are truly strong."

In my 65 million years of life, the number of enemies who have driven me to this point is very small.

Titus was breathing heavily, and the golden light on his Power Sword flickered slightly.

His body had reached its limit; every muscle was screaming, and every bone was groaning.

But he remained standing, still gripping his sword, still staring directly at the enemy before him.

The Blade Phaeron remained silent for a moment, then slowly raised his Dust Scythe.

But that wasn't a gesture of aggression; it was a declaration.

"But," his voice deepened, like distant thunder, "The gap in our two races' foundations is too great."

Behind the Blade Phaeron, the void began to distort.

It's not the kind of distortion Warp, but rather the wrinkles within the Material Universe itself.

That was the power of four-dimensional space, the pinnacle of Necron Technology, and the ultimate means used to imprison the C'tan.

Titus felt that power.

It was a pure, cold, overwhelming energy, as if the weight of the entire universe was pressing down on his shoulders.

His Law of Eternity frantically struggled against that power, attempting to resist, but the gap was simply too vast.

The Necrodermis body of the Blade Phaeron began to glow.

A ghostly green light seeped from every crack in his body, burst forth from the gaps in his joints, and burned from his eyes.

That was the power of C'tan Shard, the energy of a deity who once ruled the Milky Way, the ultimate power capable of tearing stars apart and creating black holes.

Deep within the four-dimensional space, countless C'tan Shard wailed in agony.

Those once invincible beings, those ancient gods who treated the universe as their hunting grounds, are now being firmly pressed beneath their thrones, like fruits being squeezed dry.

Their power was extracted, transferred, and poured into this cold, Necrodermis body.

Their wails echoed in four-dimensional space, but could not reach the Material Universe.

There was only one sound there, the sound of power flowing, like a waterfall cascading down, like a galaxy turning upside down.

That power poured into the body of the Blade Phaeron, into every Necrodermis of his primordial energy, into every energy circuit, and into his core processor.

His body began to swell, to sublimate, to transform into something beyond the Necrons.

He was enveloped in a ghostly green light, so intense that the surrounding Necron Warriors had to retreat.

The power of the C'tan flowed through his Dust Scythe, and with each breath, the surrounding void trembled.

His eyes burned with a ghostly green flame, a flame powerful enough to instill instinctive fear in any living being.

In the Material Universe, what does this force correspond to?

It's like the Chaos Space Marines being heavily blessed by the four Chaos Gods.

Equivalent to Abaddon in the 40k era, he was turned into a cream puff by the Four Chaos Gods, making him unparalleled in combat power in the modern era.

Equivalent to Horus in the 30k era, he was pushed to the brink of explosion by the power of the Chaos Gods, nearly knocking the Emperor off his throne.

The Blade Phaeron raised his head, as if welcoming the arrival of some divine being.

A ghostly green energy swirled around him, forming a pillar of light that shot into the sky, piercing the deck of the warship, penetrating the void, and piercing the boundaries of the Material Universe.

He remained silent for a long time.

His emotional simulation system was running at full speed, trying to extract the emotion of "happiness" from his current state.

His processing protocol had simulated waves of joy, pulses of excitement, and all the feelings a warrior should have when gaining power into his consciousness.

But he couldn't feel anything.

He lowered his head, looking at his hands burning with eerie green flames, at the Dust Scythe infused with the power of the C'tan, and at his Necrodermis body, which was already close to the level of the C'tan.

Then, he sighed.

The sigh was very soft, but it was exceptionally clear in the silent void.

"I still can't feel anything."

His voice was low, so low that only he could hear it, "Even though I know this body is now brimming with power, even though I know I should be happy, even though my treatment protocol has simulated the emotion of happiness in my mind."

He looked up at Titus.

Something was gleaming in those eerie green eyes.

That was not energy, not light, but an emotion that had not appeared in 65 million years.

But a fake is a fake.

I no longer have a soul.

When he uttered those words, the Blade Phaeron's demeanor was like that of a god descending to earth.

His body burned with energy powerful enough to destroy galaxies, he held weapons capable of cleaving stars in two, and his body was filled with power enough to drive any living being mad.

But his voice only held a sense of desolation.

That deep-seated, unfillable, eternal emptiness.

Titus stood there, gazing at the Necrons Phaeron, brimming with power, at this ancient warrior who possessed divine strength yet felt no joy.