Chapter 105
Living Saint Celestine, along with her two battle-maidens, descended onto the battlefield as the weakening of the Blackstone Array allowed the Emperor's light to shine through once more.
She was a being personally blessed by the Emperor—carrying a fragment of His divine power within her body.
In short, when the Immaterium's energy grew strong enough, so too could the Emperor's will manifest. Celestine was the proof of this. The radiant halo behind her head mirrored the one that adorned the Emperor Himself.
Though her flaming blade was not the Emperor's sword, it still burned with immense, holy power.
Among Imperial soldiers and hobbyists alike, there was a nickname whispered for her kind: the Emperor's Demon—E-Demon for short.
"She's a Living Saint!"
"The Emperor's blessing!"
The morale of Cadia's weary soldiers surged. Their eyes hardened. Their grips tightened.
Fight.
Fight.
Fight!
Even a Saint chosen by the Emperor now fought among them, her flaming sword cleaving through daemons with holy fury. And though she was revered as sacred, once she entered battle, there was a wild, almost unhinged edge to her strikes.
Trazyn, watching from the distance, couldn't help but murmur to himself. He truly wanted to collect this so-called Living Saint for his galleries.
But he stopped. He still remembered the Emperor's psychic clock that had tricked him not long ago. That humiliation still stung.
He raised his gaze toward the stars.
"Well… the Blackstone Fortress trouble seems handled."
The Phalanx was pushing the fortress away from Cadia's low orbit, driving it toward the Planet Killer further out. If the two collided, the accumulated energy would erupt in a catastrophic detonation.
Trazyn had struck a bargain with Belisarius Cawl of the Mechanicus: Trazyn would lend aid to Cadia, and Cawl would provide his own concessions in return.
Now, Trazyn's Canoptek Scarabs scurried over Cadia's Void Shield Engines, working desperately to repair them. It was a race against time.
Trazyn himself had little fear of death—this body was only a spare, after all. But dying without profit? That was unacceptable. At the very least, he meant to snatch away some valuable artifacts before the end.
Still, when he looked again at the battlefield, he realized Cadia's defenses would collapse without more aid.
But before he acted, fresh reinforcements arrived.
The Cursed Legion descended—Space Marines clad in black power armor, appearing as if from nowhere, unleashing unrelenting waves of bolter fire.
The Cadian front held, barely.
Yet still, Greater Daemons and Chaos Titans advanced, their might pressing down upon the defenders. From Hive City batteries came covering fire, the massive guns pounding the battlefield to prevent total collapse.
Meanwhile, Godzilla had finished with his own battle. The Blackstone Fortress was crippled. Now it floated in space, nothing more than a derelict husk.
'Cadia should be fine now. Shame though… it would've been nice if we could've taken the Blackstone Fortress for ourselves.'
[Impossible. Katata lacks the strength to control something on that scale.]
'I know, I was just saying.'
In truth, Godzilla had no desire to rule such a fortress. To him, it reeked of machine-spirits gone mad. No, his interest was elsewhere.
He wanted girls.
Strong, beautiful, battle-ready girls.
On Isis' front, the daemon attacks slackened once the fortress was disabled.
"Have the daemons changed targets?" she asked, her psychic senses stretching across the battlefield.
With a brief vision, she saw what was to come: the arrival of the Eldar Harlequins of the Death Masque—and Cadia's ultimate fate.
This world could not escape destruction.
"I don't have much time. Soldiers, fall back, we are—"
Before she could finish, a shell grazed past her head, cutting her words short.
Her furious gaze snapped to the direction of fire.
The Imperial Fists. Rogal Dorn's sons had entered the battle, their yellow-painted Land Raiders plowing into the daemon tide, guns blazing.
"We are the sons of Rogal Dorn!" they cried, bolters roaring.
Godzilla glanced at the sight.
'Imperial Fists, huh. A Land Raider in yellow armor… reminds me of that silly vid where the Ultramarines play music to appease their machine-spirit.'
He rumbled faint amusement but did not pay much more attention.
'And for once, the Fists didn't end up as decorations on the floor. That's… unusual. Practically unscientific.'
His gaze lingered, and another thought came.
'Speaking of angels… Sanguinius has yet to return. But Dorn—Rogal Dorn—perhaps his return is close.'
[Even if the galaxy burns, there will always be two voices. One that says: "Everything is according to plan." And the other that declares: "I am Rogal Dorn."]
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