A Complete Savage
Lion did not stop.
He kept walking, faster and faster, and then he started running.
His footsteps left deep imprints on the ground, and his body left a dark green trail in the air.
He jumped up.
He jumped so high and so far, like a cannonball, and crashed straight into the warship.
His sword pierced the warship's armor, which lay before him like butter.
His body crashed into the interior of the warship, whose structure seemed like paper before him.
He charged forward, slashing, chopping, and cutting with each sword strike.
The warship's internal structure crumbled under his sword, and the Necron Warriors vanished into thin air.
He fought his way from bow to stern, from hull to bridge, turning a complete warship into a pile of scattered fragments.
He flew out of the shards and landed on the ground, his body covered in the residual liquid of Living Metal.
His eyes burned with dark green flames, he was panting heavily, and a mad smile played on his lips.
A Necron Overlord stared at him, his processor filled with shock. "This human... he's practically a savage!"
Lion's ears twitched.
He turned his head, his dark green eyes fixed on the Necron Overlord.
"Savage?" His voice was low and dangerous. "Say that again?"
The Necron Overlord's processor was running at full speed, trying to analyze the meaning of that sentence.
Before it could answer, Lion had already appeared in front of it.
The Sword of Loyalty swept across, severing the overlord's head along with its data core in two.
Lion cleaved its body into pieces with another sword strike, and then smashed the pieces into dust with yet another.
"Say it again," Lion said to the pile of powder.
No one answered.
The surrounding Necron Warriors retreated, the same word simultaneously appearing in their processors: "Danger".
Guilliman stood atop the highest point of the ruins, overlooking the entire battlefield.
There was no light, no flame, and no extraordinary signs around him.
He stood there, wearing the blue Power Armour, with golden eagle wings spread over his shoulders, holding no weapon.
But his very existence is the strongest weapon.
He extended his right hand, palm open.
The Law of Eternity coalesced in his palm; that power was golden and warm, like sunlight.
With a gentle wave of his hand, the golden light swept across the battlefield, illuminating the Ultramarines who were battling among the Necrons.
Their wounds are healing, their strength is returning, and their power is increasing.
He extended his left hand, palm open.
The Atomic Law coalesced in his palm; that power was blue and cold, like the deep sea.
With a gentle wave of his hand, the blue light swept across the battlefield, illuminating the bodies of the Necron Warriors.
Their Living Metal began to decompose, disintegrating at the atomic level.
A Necron Overlord was struck by the blue light, and its Necrodermis body began to peel away, layer by layer, like an onion being peeled open.
Its consciousness was dissipating, its memories were fading, and its 65 million-year existence vanished into nothingness in that blue light.
It wanted to scream, but its vocal cords had already disintegrated.
It tried to escape, but its legs had disappeared.
It could only watch helplessly as it turned into a pile of black sand.
The black sand drifted in the wind, like tombstones of the Necron Empire.
Guilliman withdrew his left hand and looked at the black sand swirling in the air.
His expression was calm, without any emotional fluctuation.
Then he stretched out his hands, fingers spread, and the black sand that filled the sky gathered, swirled, and compressed in front of him.
They coalesced into a giant black sphere, which grew smaller, denser, and harder as it rotated.
Ultimately, it transformed into a huge Blackstone ore, entirely black, with a smooth, mirror-like surface that gleamed with a cold luster in the sunlight.
Guilliman waved his hand, and the Blackstone ore flew into the sky, onto the orbit, and towards a transport ship that was waiting.
The transport ship's hatch opened, swallowed the ore, and then closed.
The label on the ship reads, "Mars Adeptus Mechanicus, Belisarius Cawl."
"Thank you for the gift from the Necrons," Guilliman said softly, a hint of amusement in his voice.
He moved on to the next battlefield.
With each step he took, Necron Warriors turned into black sand before him.
With each step he took, black sand condensed into ore behind him.
With each step taken, ore flew towards the transport ship.
Where he went, nothing grew, not even a fragment of the Necrons remained.
All that remained were the black sand swirling in the air and the ever-growing piles of ore.
A Necron Warriors watched the approaching blue figure, its processor filled with terror.
It wanted to escape, but its legs wouldn't obey it.
It wanted to call for backup, but its communicator had malfunctioned.
It could only stand there, watching the golden and blue light intertwine and surge towards it.
The last thing it saw was its own hand disintegrating, starting from its fingertips, turning into black sand bit by bit.
Then it couldn't see anything anymore.
The Silent King sat on his throne, watching the extinguished points of light in the holographic projection.
His processor was running at full speed, trying to analyze the data.
But after he finished analyzing one set of data, ten new sets of data would come in.
For every battlefield he dealt with, ten new battlefields collapsed.
The Blade Phaeron was defeated, the Stellar Phaeron was captured, and the Annihilation Phaeron is organizing a retreat.
The Necrons Titans suffered losses exceeding 70%, the warships exceeded 60%, and the warriors exceeded 50%.
Meanwhile, humanity's Primarch are rampaging across the battlefield.
He brought up the combat footage of those Primarch.
Roge Dorn and Perturabo fought side by side, one on offense and one on defense, their teamwork was seamless.
Together they destroyed seven Necrons Titans, wrecked hundreds of warships, and slaughtered tens of thousands of Necron Warriors.
Lion Al Johnson single-handedly pierced through a Reaper-class Battleship, fighting his way from bow to stern and back again; the warship was like paper before him.
Then he rushed to the next ship.
Guilliman's image caused his processor to freeze for a moment.
The blue figure walked across the battlefield, and wherever it passed, the Necron Warriors turned into black sand, which condensed into ore, which flew towards the transport ship.
The whole process was smooth and effortless, just like cleaning.
His face was expressionless, as if it were all just a routine procedure.
"Failed again."
The Silent King's voice was deep, carrying a weariness he hadn't felt in sixty-five million years. "The Primarch of Humanity is so powerful!"
His fingers tapped on the armrest in a chaotic, disordered rhythm.