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Chapter 169: Trust and Iron
This weapon had been taken from the hands of Death itself and contained the authority of mortality.
Every living being that died beneath the Death Scythe would have its soul become part of the blade.
"It is indeed a very fine weapon."
Vulkan and Ferrus both reached out to touch Mortarion's Death Scythe, sensing the death and decay woven into its essence.
Both were masters of the forge, and they could feel the exquisite craftsmanship used in creating the Death Scythe. Their admiration was genuine.
Perturabo stood silently to the side, like a cold sculpture.
He wanted to join his brothers' conversation but also hoped they would invite him first.
"Perturabo, what do you think?" Ferrus glanced at Perturabo.
"The specifications are impressive. Given sufficient time, I could forge a similar weapon." Perturabo's tone was measured.
"Concise and modest." Ferrus shrugged.
Perturabo: "..."
Should I be more enthusiastic? More modest? But enthusiasm doesn't suit my temperament. As for modesty—I genuinely can forge such a weapon. Is speaking the truth not modest enough?
They're ignoring me again. How infuriating. Even if my response was somewhat arrogant, they could still engage with me. You call yourselves brothers? Disappointing.
A thousand thoughts flooded the Primarch's extraordinary mind in an instant. Annoyance, uncertainty, faint regret, indignation, all flickered through his consciousness.
"Let's change the subject." Jaghatai interrupted the ongoing discussion about the alien universe. "This time, we fight alongside Father."
Lorgar said, "The Orks are the greatest obstacle to humanity's unification of the galaxy. Once this Ork Empire is destroyed, nothing will hinder our rise."
"After that, we can consider traveling to other star systems, or even other universes." Mortarion's voice carried excitement. "I'm impatient to face enemies from beyond our galaxy."
"This is not a game," Lorgar warned. "When that time comes, we won't be fighting the weak beings we face now, but entities of immense power."
"During the galactic conquest, our enemies were pathetically weak compared to us. Only a few ancient races posed any real challenge."
"Once we venture to other universes, we'll face the strongest individuals those realities can produce, along with their most elite armies. Beings like the Ork Emperor will be nothing more than minor threats."
"Fighting gods, creators, unspeakable existences, that is when a Primarch's existence truly has meaning." Mortarion's voice was cold. "Weak beings hold no interest for me. My scythe craves the blood of gods and creators."
At that moment, the Custodian Guard marched in formation from the distant archway.
"Father has arrived," Lorgar said to his brothers.
The other Primarchs turned to look.
Escorted by the Custodes, the Emperor walked before them.
He wore golden armor adorned with a spread-winged eagle, and a bronze cloak woven from scales billowed behind him. Terrifying psychic energy swirled around him, radiating a presence that made lesser beings tremble.
"My sons, are you interested in joining my vanguard?" the Emperor asked.
No one would refuse the Emperor. Especially not his sons.
The Primarchs gladly accepted the honor.
"Where is Mr. Raven?" Lorgar noticed that the raven, who usually perched on the Emperor's shoulder, was absent.
"He is busy with his own matters."
The Emperor's mouth twitched slightly as he recalled Valdo's report. The raven had become obsessed with games and had been playing continuously. He'd even had Custodes arrest developers, claiming they might be involved in betraying humanity or colluding with Chaos.
"I see." Lorgar felt slightly disappointed.
Without Mr. Raven, something felt missing. Like a child competing alone without someone in the audience to watch.
As the order for general assault was given, warships suspended in low orbit began a new round of orbital bombardment.
Dense beams of light, antimatter missiles, and annihilation shells rained down, hammering the Greenskin Empire's shields. The bombardment changed the color of Ullanor's sky. Everywhere lay the lingering afterglow of dissipated lasers and the bright flashes of explosions.
Fighters surged from launch rails like falcons, whistling as they dove toward the ground to suppress enemy fire.
With the roar of the teleportation matrix, portals opened across the battlefield. Heavily armored Titans stepped through with thunderous strides, treading upon Ullanor's heavily modified surface.
The planet was covered with towering structures, gigantic fortresses welded from rusted steel plates, sturdy battlements mounting superheavy cannons. Endless power generation equipment and shield devices spanned the landscape like mountains.
Supported by their massive population, Ullanor's Orks had developed extraordinary intelligence and built their own unique civilization.
Unfortunately, that civilization would be erased entirely today.
The Ork cities had no roads built for Titans, but the Titan legions forced their way through with sheer size and firepower. Thick beams swept out, melting steel structures into molten iron that flowed to the ground and solidified into blackened slag.
Ancient gargants, spewing black smoke, were activated throughout the city and lumbered toward the Imperial Titans. They were equipped with deadly weapons, creations forged by the Orks' unique art of destruction and warfare.
A colossal battle erupted, and the released shockwaves destroyed everything they touched.
Astartes were deployed to battlefields across the planet, engaging in fierce combat with the formidable Orks. They advanced like a tide, killing enemies, destroying objectives, winning battle after battle.
They paid a price, of course. But the key to determining this battle's outcome did not lie with them.
The Emperor, accompanied by the Primarchs and the Custodian Guard, arrived at the battlefield via teleportation.
The Orks surged forward like a raging tide, roaring as they brandished heavy weapons or fired oversized pistols at the Emperor and his retinue.
The Primarchs formed a semicircle, blocking the frenzied Ork tide like a dam, protecting their Father.
Mortarion's Death Scythe danced through the air. A casual swing could easily take the lives of those creatures. Wherever he went, he left swathes of severed limbs, a scene from purgatory itself.
Perturabo roared as he wielded a battle hammer of tremendous size. An Ork over five meters tall was sent flying by his strike, then had its skull crushed by another blow.
Jaghatai relied on speed, weaving through the Ork tide. Blade light flashed like lightning. Enemies were often cut in half before they could even perceive his movements.
Valdor wielded a spear crackling with electricity. With each swing, swathes of Orks fell.
Roar!
A giant Ork swung a cleaver at Perturabo, who blocked it with his hammer. Another Ork roared and swung a warhammer toward him. The force was terrifying enough to make the air crack, a single blow capable of flattening a heavily armored vehicle.
At the critical moment, Jaghatai appeared beside Perturabo, blocking the Ork's warhammer. Then, with a flash of his blade, the Ork was split in two.
"I don't need—"
Perturabo's words came out instinctively. The Lord of Iron needed no help. Only the weak needed assistance; the strong could solve everything alone. Help was pity, and pity would only make him weak.
Before he could finish, rationality reasserted itself. He forcibly suppressed the rest of the sentence.
What a foolish thing to say. How could he speak such cold words to his brother?
"Thank you," Perturabo corrected himself.
Jaghatai smiled. "It's nothing. I told you, you can trust your back to me."
Perturabo's battle hammer swept toward Jaghatai.
Jaghatai didn't move, didn't even consider raising his blade.
The air shrieked. The disturbed airflow ruffled his long hair.
Perturabo's hammer struck a Greenskin Ork charging from behind. Its massive body flew backward and landed with a dull thud.
"You can also trust your back to me," Perturabo said.
The Emperor and his retinue formed a wedge-shaped assault formation. Like a spear, they pierced through the Ork tide, heading directly toward the magnificent hall where the Ork Emperor resided.
The closer they got to the Ork Emperor, the greater the resistance they encountered.
The powerful WAAAGH energy was almost materialized. Every Ork's combat power was incredibly exaggerated, with bulging muscles, immense size, and complete mechanization. The most extreme specimens reached tens of meters in height, comparable to Knight-class war machines.
Standing still, they looked like statues. Only when they moved would observers realize these behemoths were alive.
[End of Chapter]
Anio Brother, how you doing? Fine? happy? Shitshow? hmm?