On the other side of the Star Sea, Raldoron led two companies of the Legion to the mortal homeworld—Earth.
When he first learned the name of the world, Raldoron nearly drew his sword to slice several mortals to pieces.
Earth, whether now or in the past, symbolized the origin of humanity and held an extremely sacred significance.
It was unique; in terms of mystical abstract concepts, Earth symbolized the human race.
For a mere wilderness planet to dare call itself "Earth," Raldoron not swinging his sword to execute these mortals showed his extremely strong self-restraint.
After some understanding, the First Company Captain put down his Greatsword and forgave the mortals' disrespectful words.
Raldoron speculated that humans must have arrived here during the Old Night era or even earlier.
They abandoned technology, lived in isolation, and were unwilling to have any further dealings with other humans, thriving and multiplying on this world.
The origin of the name "Earth."
Perhaps at some point, a phrase of longing spoken by the colonists was remembered by their descendants, passed down orally, and eventually evolved into the planet's name.
After the battleship entered the star system, it immediately detected numerous artificial signals. The system was a hive of activity, with orbital factories constructing large colonization battleships.
According to the battleship computer's prediction, the humans of Pseudo-Terra were already planning to fully colonize Pandora.
Sure enough, as the Auspex scan deepened, it was discovered that the homeworld of these lost humans was already overwhelmed.
Natural resources were exhausted, industrial exhaust covered the entire world, and atmospheric radiation levels were excessive across the planet.
Acid rain, black rain, and radiation snow—all natural weather conditions were toxic.
The rich lived high up in Sky Gardens, far from surface radiation; the middle class huddled in the concrete jungle; while most of the poor were buried deep underground, struggling to survive between the acid rain and radiation.
As Miles had said, the world was dying, and to avoid internal strife and extinction, humanity had to expand outwards and colonize.
The First Company Captain did not hesitate, ordering the ship to perform an in-system jump, and the Argent Nur Super Carrier proceeded directly to high planetary orbit.
The humans of Pseudo-Terra cried out in shock and confusion. All weapons systems at the spaceport were activated, aiming at the mysterious newcomers.
"mortal rulers, abandon the current planetary name, submit to humanity—"
Raldoron hesitated, realizing this was the Nur Stars, and immediately corrected himself: "Submit to the rule of the Nur Stars, and pledge loyalty to King Nowick."
"You shall enjoy the following benefits—"
The Iron Men Captain thoughtfully displayed the relevant information. Raldoron followed the procedure, broadcasting and sending the surrender message across all Pseudo-Terra channels.
High Gothic was translated into the local language, and the electronic code intrusion was completed, leaving no room for refusal.
"You have ample time to consider. After the world completes one rotation, I will hear your decision." Raldoron's tone was serious as he finished his last sentence: "You also have no right to refuse. Your answer directly concerns the life and death of this world."
With that, he signaled to cut the communication, stopped accessing external information, and silently began preparing for war.
The declaration completely ignited public opinion worldwide.
The local humans never expected that before they could colonize Pandora, humans from beyond the Star Sea had come knocking.
People put down their work, seriously read the terms, and contemplated the future of their homeworld.
Overall, the Nur Stars' terms were favorable. They promised to improve basic civilian security, abolish all old powers, and mandate that old nobles or rulers must comply with the new order.
"Captain. Please send a message to Argent Nur, requesting Internal Affairs personnel to come and take over the planet."
Raldoron's expression was cold. The Auspex relayed monitoring footage—within Pseudo-Terra's data network, secret codes flowed silently like venomous snakes.
The world's controlling class began mobilizing troops, planning to resist the arrival of the Blood Angels.
"The message has been sent," the Iron Men said, appearing as a hollow projection instead of a physical form. "I will assist with your military operation."
"Thank you very much." Raldoron nodded, put on his power armour helmet, and selected multiple attack targets.
The Super Carrier slowly adjusted its hull, adopting a ground attack posture. All flight decks opened, entering full firepower attack mode.
"Commence attack!" The First Company Captain, acting as Commander, gave the order, and the battleship immediately began attacking the world below.
Black drop pods launched from the carrier's belly, commencing the attack on the world's illuminated side, targeting various military bases.
Attack aircraft swarmed out from the flight decks. Within one minute, the Super Carrier reached peak efficiency, and tens of thousands of Void Fighters completed their formation.
The remote-controlled attack aircraft were extremely fast, protecting the transport ships carrying the Space Marines as they flew toward the space station.
Pseudo-Terra was definitely not easy to deal with. Although the war started abruptly, they quickly launched a counterattack.
High-energy lasers lit up the cosmos, various missiles flew together, intercepting the payloads entering the atmosphere.
The humans of the lost world did not even recognize the Argent Nur drop pods, mistaking them for large bombs.
The Argent Nur drop pods were equipped with shields; the missiles created fireworks upon impact, and all kinetic ammunition failed. The technological disparity mercilessly mocked their powerlessness.
In the military base housing area, a drop pod landed, smashing through a rooftop and falling into a sealed plaza.
Pssshhh~
The top armor plate of the drop pod sprang open, and the weapons platform immediately deployed. Suppressor Lasers swept across, melting the mortals who had been waiting in formation, severing them at the waist.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The guns were savage and crude. The Blood Angels stepped out of the drop pods, mercilessly pulling the triggers as their Bolters spat explosive fire.
The Space Marines' shooting was exceptionally precise, hitting the cockpits with every shot. The AMP mechs, which humanity was so proud of, offered no resistance. The Bolters' power was extremely savage, with specialized warheads shattering the mechs.
Before the mortal troops could react, the Blood Angels, masters of assault, formed battle formations, and high-caliber Bolter rounds tore through the defenders' lines.
Alarm sirens blared across the sky. The Space Marines slaughtered all resistors, showing no mercy to anyone who dared raise a weapon.
"Disability Code executed." A Legion Warrior found a data terminal, implanted a virus into the physical interface, and crippled the military network.
Soon, Pseudo-Terra's military network ceased operation, and all automated weapons stopped.
Machinery relying on smart assistance was invaded by a virus compiled by the Iron Men, turning against their former masters on the battlefield.
In just half a Terra hour, all of Pseudo-Terra's ground forces were paralyzed. Soldiers dropped their weapons, walked out of cover, and surrendered to the Blood Angels Legion.
In space, the tens of thousands of remote-controlled fighters were unstoppable, covering the Legion as they stormed the space stations and quickly secured them all.
Legion Warriors air-dropped via transport ships, stormed the Suspended Gardens, and arrested all government executives and corporate giants.
In just one Terra hour, the Blood Angels completed their tactical planning, disarmed the planet's local forces, and seized control of the government hierarchy.
When the dust settled, the virus code self-deleted, and ordinary people suddenly realized that their lives seemed unaffected?
"Mortals."
On all visible screens across the planet, a handsome, charming face appeared, displaying extraordinary charisma.
"We are aware of the suffering you face."
Raldoron waved his hand. Several thousand well-dressed, high-ranking personnel, who enjoyed privileged lives, knelt in the Sky Gardens Plaza.
He spoke slowly, his voice melodious and magnetic: "They resisted the Nur Stars, refused to relinquish the power in their hands, and attempted to coerce the planetary residents into waging war against us."
"Now that the chief culprits have been executed, I declare you innocent."
The planetary residents cheered. Being declared innocent meant they would not face cleansing, and their relief at surviving the ordeal was overwhelming.
"Now, we will settle their crimes." As Raldoron's voice fell silent, electronic screens began scrolling, listing evidence of collusion between government officials and corporations.
The mortal residents initially watched with cold detachment, but as the crimes were revealed one by one, their eyes turned bloodshot, wishing they could devour their flesh raw.
Case by case, every crime involved the theft of public welfare. The upper class lived in luxury and debauchery, while the middle and lower classes suffered unspeakably.
Bang!
The first gunshot triggered a chain reaction. Gunfire erupted across the area; the guilty were all executed, their heads exploding and brains splattering, their upper bodies pulverized by Bolter rounds.
"Great!!!"
Mortals roared with anger and hatred from behind the electronic screens. Their resentment was somewhat alleviated, and they felt a greater sense of affinity and trust toward the outsiders.
All changes were summarized by the Iron Men and transmitted to the terminal. Raldoron gave a subtle nod; things were moving in the direction he had guided them.
" Mortals, please return home and wait. Pay attention to the data terminal information; we will redistribute material rations."
Raldoron employed both carrot and stick, first offering reassurance to the masses, resolving most people's concerns, and then redirecting public hatred: "We will continue to publicize the crimes and settle accounts with the criminals."
The mortals were naturally overjoyed, returning home to wait, staring at their data terminals for the judgment, hoping for rivers of blood!
The Super Carrier dropped the Hive, releasing anti-gravity drones into the city, beginning the purge based on the information acquired by the Iron Men.
This purge lasted for a full Terra Week, eliminating hundreds of millions of vested interests and completely cleansing the old powers.
Raldoron used both military might and wisdom to quickly conquer Pseudo-Terra.
Before the end of the seventh day, Argent Nur officials arrived to complete the transfer of power, and the First Company Captain hurriedly departed for Pandora.
Seven rotation cycles passed, and Pandora's blood-light dimmed; sorrow blanketed the entire planet.
Blazkowicz and Sanguinius met in the depths of the sea, ended their hunt, and returned to high orbit.
"My brother—"
Sanguinius stood beside Blazkowicz, saw the crease in his brother's brow, and quietly asked, "What are you thinking about?"
"This world." Blazkowicz raised a hand toward the blue-green orb brimming with life. "I'm thinking about its fate."
Beyond the warship's viewport, engineering craft were surveying the planet, preparing for the coming relocation.
Blazkowicz stared at this cosmic pearl, his gaze conflicted; his stance had shifted several times and he still could not decide.
Sanguinius, ever perceptive, sensed his brother's turmoil—such complexity rarely surfaced in a Primarch.
He had fought beside Horus and met Rogal Dorn on Terra; though each brother bore a different temperament, all were men of swift action.
"What is your fundamental impression of it?"
Sanguinius stepped closer to the port; his eyesight rivalled a telescope, letting him clearly see everything unfolding below.
The hunts continued, but with less bloodshed.
Pandora's world spirit had realized the slaughter was a contest between two human factions, and found an alternate path of resistance.
Wherever the Legion passed, flora and fauna ceased resistance, using non-resistance as silent defiance, temporarily halting the bloodshed.
The hunt changed form: Legion Warriors scattered, marked every alien tribe they met, and claimed them for the Legion.
"First impression?" Blazkowicz inclined his head as memories of Pandora flashed through his mind.
After battle above Gela Prime, the fleet had been ready to return to Argent Nur when it spotted the flare of a ship decelerating; they followed the artificial light.
Arriving in the Pandora system and perceiving the world spirit, Blazkowicz's first thought had been to destroy it.
"A ticking bomb," Blazkowicz murmured, voicing that impression, "and then a world of immense value."
He spoke plainly; in this universe a world spirit truly was a ticking bomb—far too dangerous.
His resolve to annihilate it sprang from its very nature.
To the Ruinous Powers of the Warp, Pandora was a safe vessel; seize its spirit and they would gain an eternal anchor in reality.
To prevent that, Blazkowicz's first instinct had been to raze the planet and block a major Warp incursion.
A thousand light-years from Argent Nur Prime, in the former Aeldari capital zone, the Warp had torn reality open, leaving an ugly scar across the Real Universe.
Were Chaos to claim Pandora, the wound dealt to reality would dwarf even that.
But then an unexpected variable appeared.
The human survivors here offered information on a life-extending substance; Blazkowicz reappraised Pandora and chose to relocate it under Argent Nur's oversight.
His stance shifted from annihilation to supervision.
Destruction embodied humanity's darker side—eradicating threats to resist Chaos and survive.
Blazkowicz knew well that Pandora itself was blameless; under its spirit's guidance many species had attained high intelligence.
His wish to supervise Pandora stemmed from desire for that life-prolonging substance—to let human heroes live on, ending the regrets born of fleeting lives.
His position dictated his attitude toward all things, yet personally Blazkowicz bore Pandora no malice.
Were Chaos absent, Pandora would have remained a pristine world, its technology curbed, becoming a scenic jewel of the Argent Nur Stars.
"Now—" Blazkowicz's words caught; he narrowed his eyes and drew a slow breath. "Seeing the spirit's high intelligence, I find new thoughts stirring."
Human hearts are fickle, tossed upon the waves, shifting with each new tide.
As world spirits, Salts and Pandora were not the same.
The former, still in its infancy, acted on instinct alone, sheltering the lizardfolk upon it and stubbornly rejecting the Emperor.
The latter possessed full sentience; by choosing non-resistance it blunted the Legion's bloodlust, proving it grasped values.
That spark of intelligence changed Blazkowicz's mind once more.
He wanted to call the Emperor.
One who knows to seek advantage and avoid harm also understands life and death. Perhaps what the Emperor failed to achieve on Salts might find fruition here, in Pandora's "Eva".
The clash of many different choices is the source of Blazkowicz's vexation.
Sanguinius's eyes flickered, his tone cautious. "Was it my hunting plan that put you in such turmoil?"
The Great Angel guessed that his brother had a new design for Pandora and that the hunt was interfering with it.
Wantonly slaughtering the world's inhabitants would turn the world spirit against humanity, making Blazkowicz's true intention impossible to carry out—hence his brooding distress.
"Not at all." Blazkowicz shook his head, calming the angel. "I approve of the hunt; don't trouble yourself over it."
He turned to Sanguinius with a smile. "Apart from humans and certain cosmic old ones, I regard every other race as equals—equals to be exterminated."
"My present dilemma is whether to inform the Emperor and let the Master of Mankind deal with Pandora."
Blazkowicz told his brother everything: Salts' ordeal and the Emperor's petty retaliation.
Sanguinius was stunned; he had not expected his brother's first task after returning to come directly from the Emperor himself.
His eyes blazed; who would have thought his unfeeling father, beneath that stern mask, could fuss over trifles?
"What does Father want with the world spirit?" Hearing the anecdote, Sanguinius could tell the Emperor prized the spirit highly.
"No idea." Blazkowicz shrugged and feigned ignorance, deliberately withholding the link between souls and the Chaos.
He still remembered the Emperor's injunction: never reveal the Chaos to a Primarch, even to the dearest brother.
Chin in hand, Sanguinius regarded Pandora with blue eyes now tinged by caution. "Better to inform Father."
"world spirits are exceedingly rare; even our mighty father searches in vain. Let him decide how to use such a cosmic treasure."
Blazkowicz listened, gazed down at Pandora for a long while, then nodded. "Let the Emperor decide."
Sanguinius's advice aligned with Blazkowicz's own leanings; handing Pandora to the Emperor would maximize its value.
"Then what of our hunt?" The vexation left his face, replaced by a grin. "It won't last the month."
"End it early." The Great Angel waved a disgusted hand. "With the Na'vi refusing to fight, the hunt has lost all meaning."
"From the moment they stopped resisting I wanted to stop this dull slaughter. Let it end at sunrise tomorrow."
Seeing his listlessness at the mention of the Na'vi, Blazkowicz proposed, "Set the score aside for now. The cosmos is vast; some other xenos world will let us settle our wager."
"Just so." Sanguinius brightened, flashing a sunny smile as he accepted. "Next time I'll give Raldoron command—he's my shrewdest son."
The Great Angel knew that, by results alone, the Blood Guard had already lost.
Beside the giant tree visible from orbit, the Blood Angels had erected sprawling internment camps packed with Na'vi.
The Destroyer Legion—Blazkowicz's own blood—had read the shift, reined in their butchery, and imposed centralized control.
Just as Eywa ceased resistance, they rounded up huge populations, sealing victory in short order.
The Destroyer Legion's tally was under ten thousand dead; far more Na'vi were taken alive. The Blood Angels, before resistance collapsed, had wiped out over forty thousand and tagged tribes large and small.
"As you wish." Pride shone on Blazkowicz's face. "The Destroyer Legion does not lose."
"We'll see!" Sanguinius refused defeat. "I'll ask another brother to find a fitting arena amid the stars, and our friendship will be tempered by fresh contest."
"I'll be waiting."
Two massive hands clasped tight; the Primarchs grinned at each other, closing an accident-ridden, less-than-perfect hunt.
At the Primarchs' order, the Legions halted the hunt, left Pandora's jungles, and regrouped at the original staging ground.
The gates of the stockade the Destroyers had built swung wide, releasing the Na'vi.
"Get lost!" Harlan, face dark with irritation, kicked a Na'vi in the small of the back to hurry it along.
The Champion Swordsman looked glum; even worse, these spineless xenos seemed reluctant to leave.
"Move!" Harlan vaulted onto the stockade gate and shouted down, "You can go home."
In the plaza the Na'vi stared blankly, set down their tools and checked with one another, unsure whether the humans' words were true.
The man on the wall had raided tribe after tribe, dragged the elders here, locked them up for days—only to let them walk free?
"You may leave." Obelisk spoke in fluent Na'vi, voice low, and motioned toward the open gate.
Seeing the humans' actions looked genuine, a few bolder Na'vi edged cautiously out of the stockade.
Once outside, dawn light on their shoulders, they wept openly and helped one another away from the camp.
After the first group left, the rest wasted no time; supporting each other they filed out, glancing back to see if the humans would raise their weapons.
Several thousand Na'vi moved fast; within ten minutes fewer than thirty remained inside, reluctant to go.
"Get out of my stockade." Harlan waved them off; his Na'vi was clumsy but the meaning clear.
Obelisk shook his head inwardly—the Champion Swordsman's stockade? Well, perhaps.
Each day he did only two things: go out and bring back Na'vi, then snarl at the natives to keep building the prison camp.
"Planning to use these?" Obelisk pointed at the tech, seeing through the young Na'vi's intent. "Use what you've learned to defend your world?"
To speed the tech climb, the Techmarines had picked bright youngsters as labour and assistants.
Thanks to them the stockade shot forward; in seven short days its tech level neared the Third Industrial Revolution.
Clearly the radical youths, watching the humans withdraw, wanted to arm their race with science so the next invasion wouldn't leave them helpless.
The Na'vi who stayed said nothing, but clenched fists and resolute eyes spoke for them.
"Make way." A Doom Slayer dragged an iron crate, voice flat, shouldering aside the Na'vi in his path.
"Brother Hitler," Obelisk nodded, indicating the crate Hitler hauled on chains, "all components recovered?"
"Of course." Hitler gave a polite smile, adjusting his holo-glasses. "Every piece of the stripped power armour is accounted for—no data left behind."
"Such a pity," the Techmarine sighed, cheeks full of regret. "Give me seven more planetary rotations and I'd have had a fusion engine."
Obelisk clapped his brother's shoulder in sympathy, understanding the ache of "work unfinished," and gave a helpless shake of the head.
Doom Slayer Techmarines, unlike other Legions, didn't force recruits to Mars; brothers volunteered.
They learned their scientific mysteries straight from the Stone Artisans themselves.
To be yanked from a full-scale tech climb, starting from scratch, made the halt to the hunt almost unbearable.
"Oh, right." Hitler, still walking, jerked a thumb behind him. "Want me to execute them? After a week with me they've had a crash course in tech development."
The Na'vi caught the gesture if not the words; they stepped back in dread, yet none raised a hand—they knew they couldn't kill these near-immortal warriors.
They knew that even outnumbered they stood no chance; the humans were too strong, almost unkillable.
"No need." Obelisk's gaze swept over them without a flicker. "It's meaningless."
Hitler and Harlan both stiffened; sharp as they were, they sensed Obelisk had seen something deeper.
Meaningless.
He seemed to speak of the science the Na'vi held, yet the word carried a far wider portent.
"Right then." Hitler pointed to the sky-ship in farewell. "The engineering vessel's surveying the planet; I'll join the world-shift. Talk later."
Obelisk and Harlan waved him off, then turned their attention back to the Na'vi.
"W—we want to take these."
One Na'vi stepped forward, trembling, fists clenched against fear, and raised a stiff finger toward the industrial gear.
"Data." Obelisk called the Na'vi by name, his voice still calm, as deep as the sea.
Data's heart was trembling, adrenaline surging, the capillaries in his face contracting, his blue complexion paling considerably.
He shook all over, his blue face ashen with fear.
Only three humans guarded this stronghold.
One wielded knowledge to create technology, another was a wildly ferocious warrior; only the man before him remained unfathomable—profound as an abyss, silent as a mountain.
"You are a clever man." Obelisk's eyes pinned the Na'vi, his steady voice cutting straight into Data's thoughts: "You brim with vitality, radical and brave, wishing to arm your people with the knowledge you've learned.
"But—" He gave a slight shake of his head, warning Data of a simple truth: "It's meaningless."
Data staggered weakly, barely able to support himself; two clansmen behind him propped him up so he could stay on his feet.
"You studied under Syhac—you should understand us better."
Obelisk pointed to the sky; beyond the white clouds and blue sky, silver warships reflected sunlight. He stamped the ground lightly: "Had we wished, this world would already have been blasted to atoms."
"No!" Data snarled, driving back instinctive fear, rising from his companions' support to challenge the towering human: "So after learning the gap, we should just give up?"
"And watch our kin be slaughtered? The world burn? Eywa tremble beneath your boots?"
He seemed to abandon everything, even life and death; hot tears rolled from his large eyes as he cried out in accusation: "We should surrender and let you invaders trample us?"
Harlan's face changed; he raised a finger toward Data, an adamantine spear leveling at the Na'vi, ready to skewer the chattering xeno.
A powerful arm blocked him—Obelisk lifted a hand to stay the Champion Swordsman, bidding him be at ease.
"Every resister who finds courage deserves a song."
Facing the accusations, Obelisk remained unruffled; few things in the cosmos seemed able to stir his emotions: "Including you—I will remember your bravery."
He suddenly stepped closer; the Na'vi recoiled as one, only Data held his ground, teeth chattering yet chest high.
Obelisk raised his arm; many Na'vi shut their eyes in despair, unwilling to see blood spilled within five paces.
No scream came; the Na'vi opened their eyes to see the human had not killed Data—he merely plucked a single Sacred Tree seed from the Na'vi's neural queue.
The large fingers held the dandelion-like seed; Obelisk studied it and gave a soft laugh, speaking to no one in particular: "Meaningless."
He let the seed fall, turned, and signaled Harlan to leave with him.
"Cherish the time you still have."
A dull echo drifted on the wind as the human warrior, wrapped in a beast-hide cloak, crossed the man-made clearing and vanished into the mottled shadows of the jungle.
"Did you foresee something?" As they walked, Harlan asked casually.
His manner seemed careless, yet his eyes were calm and calculating as he sorted through a chain of thoughts.
As Blazkowicz's "Primarch Attendant," Obelisk's towering, mighty frame was highly deceptive; his keen insight was rarely matched, and few truths escaped him.
"Mm." Obelisk gave a soft nod, admitting he had formed a guess.
His gaze left the glowing moss at his feet; he looked back at the entire forest and sighed: "Such a wondrous realm will eventually vanish like mist."
The tall warrior's eyes held reluctance, imprinting the magnificent sight upon his mind to color future memories.
Harlan's brows knit together; he neither denied nor agreed, but countered: "You're so certain? That the Emperor will destroy this world?"
The orders were explicit: the Legion would end its hunt, evacuate Pandora, and after the planet's transfer leave the decision to the Emperor.
"Destroy?" Obelisk shook his head, still without explanation, and gave a soft laugh: "For this world, annihilation would be a release."
"In this perilous, insane universe, kind species and worlds are unfit to survive; utter death is perfect deliverance."
He turned to Harlan beside him, weariness in his eyes: "The world spirit is kind and beautiful, yet lacks the strength to protect itself. It is meat on the block, and the hand holding the knife has changed—the Gene-Father passes the blade to the Emperor, who will do anything for mankind!"