I Am Titus!

One sonic boom after another exploded in the sky.

The sound wasn't continuous, but rather dense, like drumbeats, each sound representing a Tyranids being smashed to dust.

The Tyranids's carapaces were as thin as paper in front of that figure.

Their flesh and blood turned into mist under the impact, and their screams were completely drowned out by the sonic boom.

The figure fell from the sky like a blue-gold meteor, leaving a long trail of burning golden flames.

The Swarm Prince's pupils suddenly contracted.

Its sword had already cleaved down, but its wrist!

The wrist that was gripping the sword hilt was brutally crushed by a force it had never felt before!

Blue and gold combat boots stepped on the seven-colored blade, pressing the sword tip down to the ground in front of the governor's nose.

The tip of the sword was only a hair's breadth away from the governor's brow.

The governor was so close that he could see the patterns on every crystal on the blade, and he could feel the aura of death emanating from it.

But it couldn't pierce through!

The blue-gold figure stood steadily on the blade, like a sculpture that had descended from the sky.

His Power Armour was blue and gold, burning with golden flames.

He held no sword in his hand, for he did not need a sword; his feet were the sword.

His hair was black and wouldn't move in a vacuum.

But illuminated by the flames, every strand of hair seemed to be plated with gold.

His eyes were blue-gold, and there was no anger or murderous intent in them, only a kind of calm.

That kind of calm that says, "I've already sentenced you to death."

I'll say it again.

His voice wasn't loud, but every word was like runes etched into the void. "You are not worthy to kill him."

He raised his head, his blue-gold eyes meeting the blue-white slits of the Swarm Prince's eyes.

Two beams of light collided in the void, one as blazing as fire, the other as cold as an abyss.

Two pairs of eyes, two different wills, at that moment, in that instant, on this ruin devoured by the swarm of insects, formed a standoff.

The Swarm Prince's wrist did not move.

It wasn't because it couldn't move, but because it wanted to know—who exactly was the man standing on its sword?

It gleaned a great deal of information from those eyes.

It's not Psionic Energy, not prophecy, but something more direct and instinctive.

This man is very strong.

He was stronger than any enemy he had ever faced.

This man didn't come to save anyone.

He came to kill someone.

The blue-gold figure was reflected in the slits of the Swarm Prince's blue-white eyes.

The governor knelt amidst the ruins, looking up at the soldier who had descended from the sky.

His lips were trembling, his eyes were burning, but he didn't shed a tear.

He simply stared at the figure, at those blue-gold eyes, at the burning golden flame.

Then, the corners of his mouth turned up slightly.

That was laughter.

That kind of smile that says, "I've finally waited for this."

His body fell backward, the back of his head hitting the sand, kicking up a small cloud of dust.

His eyes were still open, and that smile was still on his lips.

The blue-gold figure didn't look at him.

Because he knew the old man wouldn't die.

As long as he's alive, no one can die.

He stood on that sword, looking down at the Swarm Prince.

There was no pity, no mockery in those eyes, only a fighting spirit that said, "We can begin now."

The Swarm Prince slowly tightened his grip on his wrist.

The sword was drawn from beneath the blue-gold boots, its blade carving a deep trench in the ground.

It took a step back, holding the biological sword horizontally in front of it, the seven-colored light on the sword even more intense than before.

"You are..." there was a hint of uncertainty in its voice.

The blue-gold figure did not answer.

He simply raised his hand, and in the void, a longsword burning with golden flames emerged from the light and fell into his palm.

The corners of his mouth turned up slightly.

"Ultramarines, Second Company Commander, Titus." He paused. "The one who came to kill you."

Suddenly, music filled the air.

It didn't come from any particular direction, but rather seeped from the void, from the clouds, and from every single grain of sand that was blasted away.

The rhythm was powerful and the beat was smooth, like some ancient, lost war song, or like the sound of two hearts exploding simultaneously in the chest.

There were no musical instruments, no sound equipment, only two beings—two predators at the top of the food chain—their breaths clashed, their wills clashed, and their souls probed each other.

The Swarm Prince's blue-white eyes narrowed slightly.

It sensed it.

That kind of electric shock-like tremor didn't come from the surface of the carapace, but from the depths of the genes.

The blue-gold warrior before them was neither the ants it had slain with a single sword strike, nor the ordinary people who had been transformed into biomass in the swarm of insects.

This is an entity of the same caliber as it.

Its fingers tapped lightly twice on the hilt of the sword, a habitual gesture it made when thinking, inherited from the human gene fragments within its body.

"Blue-gold hope." Its voice suddenly softened, so softly it didn't sound like a monster slaughtering an entire star sector. "A Prophet of Eldar, an Elder of the Craftworlds, once gave me a prophecy."

He said, "The blue-gold hope will descend and annihilate me."

It tilted its head, and the image of Titus was reflected in its blue and white eyes.

"Tell me, is this true or false?"

Do you believe in the Eldar's prophecies?

Humans—I remember you humans didn't believe in the Eldar's prophecies.

But I still want to ask you one more question.

Do you believe this prophecy?

Its tone was so soft, like that of a therapist, like a doctor in a white coat gently asking questions to a patient lying on a sofa in a consultation room where the afternoon sun shines through the blinds.

But in its hand it held a seven-colored biological sword, the light on its blade leaving fine, tear-like trails in the void.

Titus looked at him, his blue-gold eyes showing no emotion.

His breathing was steady, his heartbeat was steady, and his fingers gripped the sword hilt with just the right amount of pressure—neither too loose nor too tight. It wasn't as if he was ready to swing the sword at any moment, but rather that the sword had become an extension of his body.

"Blue-gold hope?" His voice was calm. "If so, I admit that the Eldar's prophecy has some merit."

After all, our Imperium of Man and the Eldar have now established diplomatic relations.

He paused, a hint of sarcasm creeping into his calm tone.

This is not a mockery of the Swarm Prince, but a mockery of all those who "believe in prophecies."

You cannot understand the true meaning of prophecy.

Because you're an insect.

Prophecy encompasses visions of the future, explorations of one's own mind, and judgments about the steadfastness of one's current actions.

It is not absolute.

The future is always unpredictable.

His gaze remained unwavering.

His hand gripped the sword with unwavering steadiness.

His body was like a rock, like the fortress walls built by the Imperial Fists, like the marble pillars in the Imperial Palace that have stood for millennia.

The wind cannot move him, the thunder cannot move him, and the words of the Swarm Prince certainly cannot move him.