Captain Marsos seemed completely immersed in his "sermon" of instilling the Iron Warriors' faith into the xenos girl.
He ignored Koleyni's terrified and blank stare, and with a near-fanatical patience, using the Eldar language translated and synthesized with a mechanical feel, he elaborated in detail:
"The Iron Lord, the great Perturabo," his voice, distorted with reverence, came through the loudspeaker, "We are his progeny, the extension of his will, his most loyal and perfect warriors!"
He raised his intact bionic arm, tapping the defiled but still prominent Iron Warriors emblem on his chest plate.
"We are clad in impenetrable armor, we possess strength beyond mortals! But more importantly, it is here—" He heavily tapped the left side of his chest with his bionic hand, making a dull thud, "—our hearts, like steel forged through a thousand trials! Cold, hard, unwavering! Our will permeates within and without, our very existence is the embodiment of iron!"
Clad in hard armor, heart like iron, steel within and without!
The more he spoke, the more agitated he became, as if reliving the legion's past glory and the "awakening" after the betrayal:
"We clear all obstacles for the great Iron Lord, destroying all enemies who dare to question his authority! Whether it be the hypocritical Imperium, the cowardly xenos, or those fools addicted to the Warp's vile energies! Under the guidance of the Iron Lord, we shall…"
Koleyni knelt on the ground, clutching the hem of her dress tightly, head bowed, not daring to look at Marsos.
She completely failed to understand what this terrifying human giant was saying about "Iron Lord" and "iron will"; she only felt the cold mechanical voice penetrate her ears like a demonic chant, making her so afraid she wanted to scream.
She could only pray repeatedly in her heart, praying that these monsters would spare her, praying that she could see her sister again—the powerful and gentle Autarch Warlock of the Aisha's Tears Craftworld.
Thinking of her sister, tears welled up again, but she dared not cry out loud.
Marsos thus praised for nearly half a standard hour, from Perturabo's "foresight" to the "great achievements" of the Iron Warriors, as if to unleash ten millennia of pent-up resentment and twisted pride.
Koleyni, like a frightened listener, could do nothing but tremble.
Just as Marsos was about to delve deeper into the Iron Warriors' siege philosophy, a Tech-Sergeant responsible for monitoring the high-energy laser cutting device hurried over, interrupting his "sermon."
"Captain, the barrier energy is rapidly decaying! Estimated three minutes until the cutting point reaches structural criticality, and the barrier will fail!"
This news was like a shot of adrenaline for Marsos; he instantly sobered from his zealous, missionary-like state, and a cold killing intent and the excitement of an imminent breach rekindled in his eyes.
He immediately cast the still-trembling Koleyni aside like trash, forgetting her existence.
"All heavy fire units! Advance immediately!" Marsos's voice, transmitted through the public channel, became decisive.
"The moment the barrier breaks, I want to see the first wave of fire coverage completely shred the pointy-eared ones' defenses inside! Open a path for the assault troops!"
The order was quickly relayed, and Iron Warriors Terminators and heavy weapons specialists, armed with Heavy Bolters, plasma cannons, and multi-melta guns, immediately moved forward, forming a dense firing line behind the The barrier is about to break, their muzzles and barrels aimed squarely at the increasingly dim Spiritstone Gate.
Inside the barrier, the surviving Eldar warriors had already used this precious respite to reorganize their defenses.
The remaining Striking Scorpions, Howling Banshees, Guardian Warriors, and Warlocks, under the command of several Autarchs and Phoenix Lords, had constructed a multi-layered defensive system, relying on the stronger internal fortifications and advantageous terrain.
All shuriken weapons, laser turrets, and even ancient psychic devices were fully charged, aimed at the crumbling gate.
Three massive Wraith Constructs, emanating a eerie blue energy, stood like giant guardians of a holy sanctuary at the very front of the defense line, their psychic blades already activated, emitting a low hum.
Numerous Striking Scorpions hid behind cover, their power sabers and mandibal claws gleaming coldly, waiting only for the enemy to pour in to deliver a crushing blow.
The air was thick with the tragic and solemn atmosphere of a fight to the death.
Every Eldar warrior knew that behind them lay the last core area of the Craftworld; they had no retreat.
Just as the light at the high-energy laser cutting point reached its peak, and the Spiritstone barrier emitted a piercing shriek like glass about to shatter, on the verge of complete collapse—
Captain Marsos's helmet's built-in, highest-priority private encrypted communication channel suddenly blared with an extremely urgent call!
It was the voice of Lieutenant Casto, his second-in-command, who remained on the "Iron Lord" strike cruiser!
"Captain! Emergency! The Iron Lord is under…" Casto's voice was filled with shock and urgency, but his words were cut short as if by a sharp blade, abruptly ceasing!
Only a dead, busy signal remained in the communication channel!
Captain Marsos's head, covered by his damaged helmet, snapped towards the void, as if he could penetrate layers of decks and structures to see his warship in orbit.
His intact bionic hand instantly clenched, emitting a metallic crunching sound.
"What did you say?!" He demanded in a low growl, but there was no response from the other end of the communication.
A cold chill instantly ran up his spine.
The ship was invaded?! In the heart of this Craftworld, at this critical moment when they were about to breach the Eldar's core defenses?! Who was it?! Who had the audacity to lay hands on the son of Perturabo's warship?!
His mind raced.
Was it the Ultramarines? No, their main fleet's whereabouts were known, and they were not near this star system.
Was it reinforcements from other Eldar Craftworlds? Unlikely, their movements had always been covert.
Could it be… other Traitor Legions? Or those damned pirates?!
Whoever the invaders were, it meant an extremely serious consequence—their retreat might be cut off!
If the "Iron Lord" was captured or severely damaged, their main force, deep in enemy territory, would lose orbital support, lose means of evacuation, and might even be attacked by artillery fire from the void!
At that point, even if they killed all the Eldar here, they might be trapped and perish on this Craftworld!
Attack? Or retreat to reinforce?
Marsos's gaze was fixed on the crumbling Eldar barrier; the xenos inside were like turtles in a jar, needing only one more push… But the safety of the warship concerned the success or failure of the entire operation and the lives of all his warriors!
In a flash, the Iron Warriors' instinct, which revered twisted rational calculation, gained the upper hand.
Without the warship, they would lose everything.
The retreat route must be secured!
He spun around, no longer looking at the victory so close at hand, and with all his might, roared through the public channel, his voice filled with offended fury and resolve:
"All units attention! Plan change! Immediately abandon current objective! Repeat, immediately abandon the attack!"
"All landing forces, return to assault boats and drop pods at maximum speed! We are reinforcing the 'Iron Lord'!"
A terrifying red light flickered in his bionic eye as he almost spat out his final command through gritted teeth:
"Find all those invaders who dared to desecrate an Iron Warriors warship… and offer their heads… to the great Iron Lord!"
Meanwhile, on the bridge of the "Iron Lord" strike cruiser in orbit, the scene was entirely different.
The original Iron Warriors bridge crew had all become corpses lying on the ground, blood staining the precise control consoles and pristine deck.
Six Night Lords, clad in deep blue power armor adorned with bone and bat-wing reliefs, stood silently in the center of the bridge like specters dominating this realm of death.
One Night Lord warrior walked silently to the leader, who wore a bat-winged helmet, and bowed respectfully to report:
"Lord Sahal, scattered resistance within the battleship's various areas is being cleared, but some Iron Warriors forces are still gathering towards the bridge. Additionally, it's uncertain whether the main forces on the Craftworld's surface have received the distress signal and begun to return for support."
The leader of the Night Lords, Zo Sahal, known as "Lord Sahal" and head of the Black Guard, swept his gaze from the corpse-strewn bridge to the beautiful, yet war-torn, Aeldari Craftworld outside the observation window.
He did not immediately respond to his subordinate's report. Instead, with a voice distorted by a vocoder, hoarse and echoing, he seemed to be talking to himself, or perhaps questioning the void:
"Sons of Perturabo... do you feel this... 'greeting' from Nostramo?"
He tilted his head slightly, looking at the reporting warrior, the bat-wings casting an eerie shadow in the light.
"Let them come. It's perfect... we'll use their blood to perform a proper 'baptism' for this new ship."
Kael lay on his back amidst the cold, viscous ruins, his vision blurred by intense pain and internal bleeding, his helmet filled with the salty taste of his own blood. He couldn't feel his arms, only tearing pain radiating from all over his body, reminding him of the severity of his injuries. Most of his power armor's system alerts had fallen silent, not due to repair, but because the damage was too severe, even the alarm function had failed.
However, what made his heart pound more than his physical injuries was the palpable killing intent rapidly approaching from all directions! Countless sharp claws scraping the ground, mixed with deep, hungry roars, surged from the surrounding shadows and cracks in the ruins, growing closer and closer!
He forced himself to turn his neck, the only part of him that could still move slightly. Through his severely damaged bionic eye, which flickered with an unstable red light, he saw twisted, purple figures emerging from the darkness. Their blood-red compound eyes were fixed on him, as if looking at an easy feast. They were Purestrain Genestealers, and a large number of deeply infected monsters!
It's over... A cold thought flashed through Kael's mind. In his current state, it was impossible for him to survive the onslaught of these monsters. His power armor was on the verge of collapse, his weapon was out of reach, and he couldn't even move.
But the Ultramarines' pride and indomitable spirit would not allow him to wait for death like a lamb, to be torn apart by these xenos!
A resolute will supported him. He used the last shred of his remaining strength, his almost numb right hand, to move downwards with extreme difficulty, inch by inch, searching. His fingertips finally touched a familiar, cold cylinder—it was the frag grenade attached to his waist.
Enough... This is enough... Kael's fingers trembled, yet he hooked the grenade's pin with abnormal firmness. He couldn't stand and fight, couldn't rejoin his comrades, but he could at least choose his own end, and in the final moments of his life, make these damned xenos pay!
'In the Emperor's name...' he murmured to himself, preparing to pull the pin for that final sound of destruction... Meanwhile, Captain Ricao, who was retreating with difficulty, felt an increasingly strong ominous premonition after repeatedly calling Kael without success. Communication was completely cut off, combined with the earlier loud explosion and the sudden cessation of gunfire, he could almost certainly conclude that Kael was in trouble, and the situation was extremely critical.
He glanced at Dorian, whose power armor was faltering, half-supported and half-dragged by four Terminator warriors, then looked at the relentless pursuers behind him, temporarily halted by their firepower. He instantly made a difficult but unwavering decision.
"You four!" Ricao ordered the four Terminator warriors guarding Dorian through the still-functional comm channel, "Continue to escort Dorian out! Make sure he reaches the landing platform safely! Collen! Gochi! Come back with me! We're going to bring our brother Kael back!"
"Captain! It's too dangerous down there! The enemy numbers are too great!" A Terminator warrior tried to dissuade him.
"Precisely because of that, we cannot abandon any brother!" Ricao's voice was sharp and decisive, carrying an undeniable resolve, "Execute the order!"
The four Terminator warriors said no more, gripping Dorian more firmly and accelerating towards the entrance of the stairs they had come from. Although Dorian's power armor was almost paralyzed and his comms were dead, he seemed to understand the Captain's intent, letting out an unwilling growl, but unable to resist, he could only be forcibly taken away by his comrades.
Ricao, Collen, and Gochi, these three heavily armored Terminator veterans, resolutely turned around, like three iron behemoths swimming against the current, and once again charged into the dark abyss filled with unknown dangers and countless enemies. Their assault cannons and storm Bolters roared again, clearing a path for them, and announcing the start of their rescue operation.
And at the blockade entrance in the mid-level Hive City, the situation was also rapidly deteriorating, even worse.
Luna, protected by the Terminator warrior, stumbled back into a temporary defensive position built from sandbags and metal plates. The wound on her right shoulder blade, torn by a sniper round, was still gushing blood, staining a large part of her deep blue power armor. The intense pain made her face pale, but she bit her teeth tightly, not making a sound, only trying to retrieve hemostatic gel from her medical kit with her still-functional left hand.
"Tech-Sergeant! Hold on!" The Terminator warrior protecting her said in a deep voice, his massive body almost blocking the entire entrance to the position. He turned to the Planetary Defense Forces soldiers outside, who were engaging new enemies pouring down from the upper levels, and asked with a thunderous voice: "Are there any medics here?! Come immediately!"
However, the blockade was now in complete chaos. Although the infected individuals disguised as nobles and private soldiers had mysteriously disappeared earlier, a true, even more terrifying threat had descended from the upper levels!
Dense laser and Bolter fire poured down from various exits of the upper passages, fierce and precise, clearly not comparable to the disorganized infected rabble. Even more alarming, accompanied by the heavy, rhythmic grinding of tracks and the roar of engines, at least three Leman Russ Battle Tanks, their massive, rust-covered bodies adorned with blasphemous markings, appeared at the exits of the upper passages! Their turrets slowly rotated, and their long, thick barrels began to point towards the chaotic defensive positions below!
These tanks, along with the well-equipped and tactically proficient infected soldiers, were clearly the main force of the original Planetary Defense Forces, controlled by Genestealers! They had not only controlled parts of the lower and mid-levels, but even the military forces of the upper Hive City had long been infiltrated and controlled!
"For the Four-Armed Emperor! Purge these lackeys of the False Emperor!" Mad roars came from above.
The Planetary Defense Forces soldiers were putting up a stubborn resistance from their positions, but they lacked heavy weapons. Facing the crushing assault of battle tanks and dense suppressive fire, their defensive line was crumbling, and soldiers continually fell amidst explosions and laser fire. The situation rapidly worsened, becoming extremely unfavorable for them.
Another Terminator warrior, using the cover of the fortifications, continuously fired his Heavy Bolter at the enemy's firing points on the upper level, attempting to suppress their offensive and buy time for Luna and the remaining soldiers. Each burst of fire blew an infected soldier along with his cover, but the enemy's numbers were simply too great, and their firepower was relentless.
Luna leaned against the cold sandbags, enduring the intense pain, and with difficulty applied hemostatic gel to the wound on her right shoulder with her left hand. She looked at the chaotic and desperate battle unfolding before her, listening to the still-unconnected busy signal on her comms, her heart filled with worry for the fate of the lower-level squad and a sense of powerlessness against the rapidly collapsing defensive line.
They seemed to be completely surrounded, trapped in a desperate situation.
Ms. Khaela lay on the cold metal bed, tossing and turning, the faint throb from the Soul Stone on her chest and her worry for her sister, like invisible threads, entangled her mind, preventing her from finding peace.
Finally, she struggled to sit up, deciding to go out for some air; even just standing in the corridor for a while would be better than enduring the torment alone in this cramped, oppressive cabin.
She carefully moved to the edge of the bed, her feet touching the cold floor.
However, just as she tried to stand upright, a strong sense of weakness and dizziness suddenly struck her, blacking out her vision and causing her body to sway involuntarily, almost making her fall to the ground.
She quickly reached out to steady herself against the nearby wall, barely managing to regain her balance.
It was that inhibitor.
Ever since this cold metal ring was placed on her, she felt as if she was constantly bearing an invisible mountain.
Twenty-four standard hours a day, she was in a state of weakness, her energy continuously drained.
Forget about trying to activate her already depleted psychic powers; even standing and walking steadily like a normal person became exceptionally difficult.
This constant feeling of exhaustion even made her wonder if the seemingly just Chapter Master was using this more subtle and torturous method to punish her, this 'unappreciative' xenos.
She took a few deep breaths, trying to adapt to this loathsome weakness, and, leaning on the wall, she wobbled out of her cabin, step by step.
She didn't go far, only reaching the relatively wide corridor outside her cabin, where she leaned her body against the cold metal railing.
The corridor was steadily lit, and the air circulation system emitted a low hum; the air was filled with the battleship's unique scent, a mixture of oil, welded metal, and disinfectant.
She was somewhat surprised to find that she seemed... not as repulsed by this smell as when she first arrived on this giant human vessel.
Was it because she had gotten used to it? Or was it because... in this cold environment, this small trace of 'life' had, instead, become the only sensation she could grasp, proving that she was still alive?
She lowered her head, her gaze falling on the inconspicuous metal ring on her right ankle.
It was this small thing that had reduced her to her current weak state, where even walking was difficult.
She raised her hand, instinctively touching the Soul Stone on her chest again; the cold touch tightened her heart once more.
'Koleyni...' she called out silently in her heart, 'What exactly happened to you? Was that fear... real? You won't really be in danger, will you... Sister... Sister can't do anything now.'
Just as she was immersed in her worry for her sister and the sorrow of her own plight, heavy, rhythmic metallic footsteps echoed from behind her; each step seemed to fall in sync with a heartbeat, causing the corridor floor to tremble slightly.
Ms. Khaela's body stiffened, and she slowly turned her head.
She saw two Honour Guard warriors, clad in Ironclad Pattern Terminator armor, standing not far behind her, like mobile fortresses.
Their imposing eagle-winged helmet visors calmly observed her.
One of the Honour Guard warriors took a small step forward, his voice, processed through a loudspeaker, sounded with the calm and directness characteristic of an Astartes, devoid of emotion, yet carrying an invisible pressure:
"Ms. Khaela, you appear troubled, and your condition seems even weaker than before."
The warrior's gaze swept over her hand, which was gripping the railing and trembling slightly, and her pale face.
"Is it that our care has been insufficient, causing you discomfort?"
His words seemed concerned, but Ms. Khaela could clearly sense the implied scrutiny behind them.
They weren't truly concerned about her physical and mental well-being but were carrying out a surveillance mission, and any anomaly would trigger their vigilance.
Ms. Khaela's heart leaped, and she instinctively lowered her head, avoiding the cold gaze of the visor.
She replied softly, with a barely perceptible tremor: "No... no worries... I just... felt a bit stifled, and wanted to come out for some air..."
She tried to make her voice sound calm, "Your care... has been very thorough.
I... I am very grateful to you, and to... Chapter Master Calgar."
She tried to use humility and gratitude to mask her inner turmoil and her worry for her sister.
However, the Honour Guard warrior who had spoken did not retreat.
Instead, he took another step closer, his massive body casting a shadow that almost completely enveloped Ms. Khaela.
He lowered his head, his armored cranium drawing nearer, his voice, emanating through the loudspeaker, becoming colder and clearer, with an undeniable tone of interrogation:
"Ms. Khaela, you are lying."
These words, like a cold chisel, instantly pierced through Ms. Khaela's barely maintained composure.
She looked up in astonishment, her purple eyes filled with disbelief.
The Honour Guard warrior continued in his cold tone, every word like a hammer blow to Ms. Khaela's heart: "Tell us, why do you always instinctively touch the Soul Stone on your chest?
And, just a short while ago, our monitoring system detected an extremely faint, but indeed present, energy fluctuation from your Soul Stone.
What was this fluctuation?
Who were you trying to contact? Or... whose information were you receiving?"
They were indeed monitoring her! Not just her actions, but even the slightest fluctuations of her Soul Stone!
An indescribable mix of grievance, anger, and the shame of being violated erupted within Ms. Khaela like a volcano!
For the survival of her people, she had endured humiliation, surrendered her sacred artifact, accepted this prisoner-like treatment, and even worn this inhibitor that stripped her of her powers!
She had done everything they asked, so why were they still treating her like this?! Monitoring her every move as if she were the most dangerous criminal?!
"You... you're monitoring me?!" Ms. Khaela's voice became sharp with extreme anger and a choked sob; she could no longer maintain her feigned calm, and tears instantly welled up, brimming in her eyes.
"I've done everything you asked! Why are you still doing this to me?! Why?!"
The immense grievance made her speak recklessly, a desperate, 'what-the-hell' feeling surging in her heart, and she cried out, her voice hoarse, with all her strength:
"Or are you... these so-called 'angels,' these emotionless war machines, have never seen a woman before?! Are you perhaps very curious about my 'xenos' body?! Should I take off my clothes right now and let you look your fill?! Will that satisfy you then?!"
After shouting these words filled with humiliation and self-abandonment, all her strength seemed to drain away, and tears poured out like a broken dam, streaming down her pale cheeks.
She no longer looked at the two Honour Guard warriors, but simply leaned weakly against the railing, sobbing softly and suppressively, her shoulders heaving violently with her crying.
The two Honour Guard warriors remained standing like steel statues, their heavily armored bodies motionless, and no expression visible beneath their imposing helmets.
They showed no reaction to Ms. Khaela's intense words or crying, neither reprimanding nor comforting her.
One of the warriors seemed to be communicating quickly with a superior via internal comms.
A few seconds later, he turned his gaze back to the weeping Ms. Khaela, and said in his unruffled, cold voice:
"Lord Calgar has commanded that you are not to be troubled."
He paused, his tone still flat, but with a final warning:
"But please also be mindful of your status and conduct, Ms. Khaela.
Remember why you are here."
With that, the two Honour Guard warriors lingered no longer, turning simultaneously and walking away down the corridor with their heavy, rhythmic strides, leaving the weeping Ms. Khaela alone.
Listening to the fading footsteps, Ms. Khaela's last shred of supporting strength vanished.
She slowly slid down the railing, collapsing onto the cold, hard metal floor, burying her face in her knees, and began to sob uncontrollably.
At this moment, in her eyes, filled with sorrow and anger, these Astartes Monks, except for the silent Gaius who had once shown her a glimmer of kindness, were all cold, emotionless, iron robots who only knew how to follow orders!
They had no feelings whatsoever and never considered the feelings of others!
All her grievances, fears, and worries, to them, were perhaps just 'unstable factors' that needed to be monitored and evaluated.
Loneliness and despair, like a cold tide, completely engulfed her.
Ms. Khaela sat slumped on the cold floor, crying for a long time.
Her tears seemed endless, soaking the clothes on her lap and drenching the last faint hope she held for humanity in her heart.
Ultramarines First Company warriors passed by her with steady strides; the deep blue power armor and heavy footsteps, to her now, sounded so harsh and indifferent.
Some warriors, as they passed, cast curious or scrutinizing glances.
In their combat careers, the Aeldari they had encountered were either fearless warriors on the battlefield, uttering piercing war cries, or psychics wielding strange powers; an Aeldari female curled up in a corner, crying like a helpless child, was truly unprecedented.
This sight was completely at odds with their perception of 'xenos,' but it only sparked curiosity; no one stepped forward to inquire or comfort.
Discipline and ingrained beliefs led them to choose silence and disregard.
Ms. Khaela was immersed in her own sorrow and initially paid no attention to these passing iron giants.
But gradually, some fragmented, hushed snippets of conversation, accompanied by footsteps, drifted intermittently into her ears.
"...Have you heard? Sanx..."
"...Lower Hive City... signal lost..."
"...That Dorian fellow... seems to have been ambushed... badly wounded..."
"...Sergeant Karl's team... last report was an ambush..."
"...Can't contact them... Tech-Sergeant hasn't responded either..."
These scattered words, like cold needles, pricked Ms. Khaela's heart, causing her crying to gradually subside, replaced by a deeper, cold fear.
Sanx? That was Gaius's squad... lost contact? Ambushed? Dorian seriously wounded? Gaius... what happened to him?
The news she dreaded hearing had, after all, reached her ears in this cruel way.
The only human warrior who had ever given her a glimmer of warmth and protection was now in peril, his fate unknown.
And she, trapped on this cold battleship, wearing an inhibitor, enduring surveillance and humiliation, could do nothing.
A mixture of worry for Gaius's safety, anger at her own powerlessness, and an even deeper despair for the future, like cold mud, clogged her chest, almost suffocating her...
However, what Ms. Khaela and the Ultramarines did not know was that a storm far more dangerous and deadly than the Genestealers in the lower Hive City was brewing on distant Holy Terra, its spearhead aimed directly at Ultramar, directly at the Ultramarines Chapter.
Within the headquarters of the Inquisition in the core region of Terra, in a secret chamber filled with solemn and oppressive atmosphere.
Huge holy images of the Emperor and the Aquila emblem hung on the walls; around a cold metal long table sat several Inquisitors, exuding an authoritative aura, clad in black or red robes.
At the head was an old man with a gaunt face but eyes as sharp as an eagle — a Grand Inquisitor of the Ordo Xenos, named Herman Voss.
His bony fingers gently tapped a thin data-slate before him, which felt as heavy as a thousand pounds.
It clearly displayed some rigorously verified evidence, deemed 'incontrovertible' — including processed images, intercepted vague communication fragments, and informant testimonies — all pointing to one conclusion: the Ultramarines Chapter, the guardians of Ultramar under Marius Calgar's leadership, had openly violated the highest Imperial decrees by secretly harboring and protecting an unknown number of Aeldari xenos!
"The evidence is conclusive," Grand Inquisitor Herman's voice was hoarse and cold, like a chill wind blowing through a tomb.
"Marius Calgar, this habitually protective and short-sighted brute, has finally crossed the red line.
Does he think that in Ultramar, he can do whatever he wants, treating the Emperor's laws as nothing?"
His eyes gleamed with calculation and ruthlessness.
The Ultramarines Chapter was powerful and deeply favored by Primarch Guilliman; conventional inquiries and investigations would be hard-pressed to shake them.
More direct, more powerful means had to be employed.
"We must be cautious," a younger Inquisitor beside him reminded, "Lord Regent Guilliman..."
"The Lord Regent is busy with myriad affairs; he cannot possibly attend to the specific matters of every Chapter in detail," Herman interrupted him, a hint of barely perceptible sarcasm in his tone.
"Moreover, we are not acting without cause.
The Aeldari, especially their sensitive souls, have always been the most coveted 'delicacy' for the Chaos God Slaanesh.
With the Ultramarines harboring such a large number of these pointy-eared xenos, who can guarantee that the gaze of that hungry Chaos God will not be drawn to Ultramar, or even the entire Imperium?! This in itself is a huge threat to Imperial security!"
He cleverly linked the crime of "harboring xenos" with the "potential to attract Chaos threats," which undoubtedly greatly increased the legitimacy and urgency of the action.
"On this basis, we have successfully presented our case to the Grey Knights Chapter."
Herman's lips curled into a sinister smile.
"They also recognized the immense potential risks.
Look—"
He pointed to a teleportation beacon that suddenly lit up on one side of the secret chamber.
In the light, six powerful warriors, clad in silver-grey Aegis Pattern Terminator armor, their armor inscribed with intricate exorcism runes and radiating cold psychic pressure, appeared silently like giants from myth.
They were Grey Knights! The Emperor's most mysterious daemon hunters, transcendent beings dedicated to countering Warp threats!
"Six Grey Knights Terminator brethren will act with us."
Herman's voice held a trace of triumph.
"This sufficiently proves the Grey Knights Chapter's Pay attention to of the potential risks of this incident."
He stood up, his gaunt body radiating an undeniable authority:
"Gather the forces immediately!
Mobilize our direct Stormtrooper detachments, and a sufficient number of Inquisitorial Guards!
Board our battleship, the 'Fire of Purification'!
Together with the Grey Knight brethren, depart immediately for the Ultramar Sector!"
His gaze swept over every Inquisitor present, finally settling on the direction of the void, as if he already saw the territory belonging to the Ultramarines, his tone filled with cold resolve and the satisfaction of vengeance:
"Marius Calgar... you fool who only knows how to shield your subordinates and is short-sighted!
This time, I will make you and your Chapter pay the heaviest price for your arrogance and dereliction of duty!"
He specifically mentioned "Gaius's hatred," which seemed to imply not just the Ultramarines harboring xenos, but also some unknown past grievances.
"This time, I want to see if Guilliman can still protect you!
I will make you... personally initiate a long and painful — Penitent Crusade!"
The massive Inquisitorial battleship, along with its escort fleet, carrying the Grand Inquisitor's wrath, the Grey Knights' cold will, and a political storm about to sweep through Ultramar, majestically departed from Holy Terra's orbit, heading menacingly towards the Ultramarines' home.
Dark clouds had already gathered over Ultramar.
Four Indomitus Terminator warriors formed a tight defensive circle, protecting the almost immobile Dorian in the center, and retreated with difficulty along the way they came.
The heavy weapons in their hands—assault cannons, storm Bolters, autocannons—continuously spewed destructive tongues of fire, tearing apart the infected and Purestrain Genestealers that surged from all directions like a tide.
The explosions of Bolters, the searing sound of laser beams, the dull thud of metal tearing flesh, and the dying roars of the monsters intertwined into a cacophony of death.
Purple blood and shattered limbs splattered everywhere, making the already filthy ground even more gruesome.
The heavy armor of the Terminators was already covered with scratches, scorch marks, and splashed blood.
However, the number of enemies was simply too many.
In the entire lower level of the Hive City, millions of residents and workers, probably a significant portion, had been infected.
They swarmed towards this small blue fortress like an endless horde of locusts, fearless of death.
Even more terrifying, the cunning Purestrain Genestealers, like phantoms, mixed among the ordinary infected, using the bodies of their companions as cover, launching deadly sneak attacks from time to time.
Their attack target was extremely clear—Dorian, who was protected in the center and in a weakened state!
These somewhat intelligent hunters had clearly judged that this severely damaged big guy was the weakness of the team, and concentrating their attacks on him would most effectively dismantle the squad's defense and retreat operation.
A Purestrain Genestealer suddenly darted out from behind a pile of discarded steel, its four bone claws glowing with a decomposing field, heading straight for the severely deformed wound on Dorian's left shoulder plate!
"Get away!" The Terminator warrior guarding Dorian's left side reacted extremely quickly, his right arm, covered by a Power Fist, swung out like a cannonball, carrying immense force!
"Boom!" With a dull thud, the Purestrain Genestealer was sent flying backward, twisting its entire body as if struck by a high-speed vehicle, crashing through a dilapidated wall, and falling silent.
But another Purestrain Genestealer, almost at the same time, from another tricky angle, using Dorian's massive body as cover, silently approached, its bone claws fiercely tearing at Dorian's relatively vulnerable knee joint!
Although another Terminator warrior quickly turned his Bolter and forced it back with a storm of Bolter fire, the sharp claw tips still left several deep, sparking scratches on Dorian's leg armor.
Dorian was protected in the center, feeling his comrades fighting desperately to cover him, feeling the burden of his heavy but powerless body, his heart filled with unprecedented pain and struggle.
He didn't want this!
He didn't want to be a burden to his brothers!
He yearned to fight, to wield his Thunder Hammer and charge at the forefront as usual, paving the way for his brothers!
"Go... leave me... you guys go quickly..." He tried to roar, wanting his comrades to abandon him and retreat on their own.
If this continued, all of them would be engulfed by this endless tide of bugs!
However, he opened his mouth wide, but found that he couldn't even make a faint sound.
Severe internal injuries and the complete collapse of his power system seemed to have even deprived him of his ability to speak.
He could only watch helplessly, feeling the despair and self-blame that penetrated his bones almost consuming him.
Just as this extreme powerlessness and indignation reached its peak—
Dorian suddenly felt everything around him slow down drastically, as if time itself had been frozen.
The Bolters fired by the Terminators moved slowly in the air, the attacking movements of the infected became slow motion, and even sounds seemed to be stretched and distorted, turning into a strange, low hum.
Immediately after, he felt his consciousness being violently pulled away from reality by an irresistible force!
It was as if he had fallen into a bottomless abyss, or as if he had been thrown into a boiling pool of blood!
When he "opened" his eyes again, or rather, regained his senses, he found himself in a world filled with extreme tyranny and destruction, a sight beyond words.
Beneath his feet were endless, mountainous piles of pale bones, stretching to the horizon.
Viscous, blood-red rivers, reeking of rust, surged and roared among the bones, stirring up whirlpools composed of shattered bones and resentful souls.
In the sky hung burning, organ-like twisted clouds, and countless Daemons of various shapes, all filled with violent aura, fought and roared among the clouds and above the blood rivers; their battles were endless.
And in the very center of this bloody purgatory, atop a terrifying throne that soared into the clouds, built from countless brass skulls, twisted metal, and still-beating giant hearts, sat a colossal figure whose majesty and terror were beyond description!
It exuded a pure pressure that made the soul tremble; its very existence represented eternal war, endless slaughter, and ultimate violence!
Blood God!
Khorne!
Dorian's consciousness was as tiny as dust before this terrifying presence.
He couldn't even think, only passively feeling the pure craving for blood and skulls that filled the entire space.
No whispers, no temptations.
The entity on the Brass Throne seemed... "satisfied" with Dorian's extreme anger and struggle stemming from his inability to protect his comrades and to kill to his heart's content.
It adopted the most direct and overbearing method!
A power so pure, filled with destructive and savage will, hot as lava, like a bursting flood, forcibly poured into the depths of Dorian's consciousness, and through some mysterious connection, began to scour, corrode, and transform his flesh and even his soul!
The figure high on the throne, those eyes burning with eternal war, seemed to pierce through the endless void and fall upon Dorian.
He was anticipating, anticipating the exhilarating slaughter that this "seed" cast into the mortal world was about to bring!
The next second, Dorian's consciousness was violently thrown back into reality!
Time flow returned to normal!
The whistling of Bolters, the roar of weapons, and the shrieks of monsters once again filled his eardrums!
Dorian jolted as if waking from the deepest nightmare.
He looked around; the four Indomitus Terminator warriors were still fighting in a bloodbath, but they were completely surrounded by dense enemies, their retreat almost halted.
On the thigh armor of one of the warriors, there were several deep claw marks oozing lubricant, his movements were noticeably slower, but he was still roaring and shooting, and shouted to the other three:
"Don't mind me! Take Brother Dorian and go! I'll cover the rear!"
Seeing his comrade wounded and even preparing to sacrifice himself to cover his own injured state, the violent seed that had just been forcibly implanted in Dorian's heart was instantly ignited and detonated!
He suddenly felt that the intense pain and bone-deep exhaustion that had tormented him before were instantly wiped away by an invisible hand!
In its place was a feeling of power he had never experienced before, as if it were about to explode, and an uncontrollable — anger and desire for slaughter — like a volcanic eruption!
At the same time, a violent buzzing and stinging, as if countless steel needles were frantically stirring, came from deep within his brain!
It was as if some ancient, tyrannical device had been activated, frantically operating within his skull, constantly urging him, screaming the same command—Slaughter!
"Ugh ah ah ah ah—!!!"
Dorian let out a roar that was utterly inhuman, filled with primal savagery!
This sound even overpowered all the clamor on the battlefield!
Under the astonished gaze of the four Terminator warriors, Dorian, who had previously found it difficult to even move and needed their support, suddenly straightened his massive body!
From the slits of his helmet's eye lenses, a terrifying, crimson glow, like burning blood, faintly emanated!
He raised the Twin Storm Bolter, which he had previously been almost unable to use, and pulled the trigger, aiming at the dense swarm of bugs ahead!
"Thump thump thump thump thump—!!!" The Bolter roared more ferociously and continuously than ever before!
The barrage was like a metal storm, instantly tearing the infected and Purestrain Genestealers in the area ahead into shreds!
At the same time, his massive Power Fist, with a shriek that tore through the air, swung out violently!
"Boom!" With a deafening crash, a Purestrain Genestealer attempting to approach was smashed into the hard ground without even a cry of agony, merging with the rebar and concrete, leaving only a bloody, mangled crater!
He seemed to have completely transformed!
His movements were swift, savage, and filled with destructive power, a stark contrast to his previous dying state!
"Retreat quickly!" Dorian turned his head and roared at the four stunned Terminator warriors, his voice coming through the vox-caster, carrying a forcibly suppressed hoarseness and savagery, and the last shred of lingering sanity, "Here... I'll hold them off! Don't... mind me!!!"
Having said that, he no longer paid attention to his comrades' reactions, letting out a ferocious and delighted laugh.
He suddenly spun around, actively taking heavy steps that seemed to contain infinite power, like a berserk War God stepping out of myth, and charged headlong into the seemingly boundless purple tide of Genestealers!
He wanted to slaughter! He wanted to tear apart all the xenos before him! He would use their blood and skulls to quell the insane buzzing in his mind and the boiling, berserk power within his body!
Facing the endless swarm of Genestealers, like a purple tide, Dorian felt no fear.
There was only an extremely pure, primal desire to utterly destroy all living things before him!
The buzzing in his mind, like countless death knells ringing, and the churning pain, far from making him retreat, intertwined with the boiling desire for slaughter, forming a twisted pleasure—only slaughter could temporarily alleviate this inhuman torment!
His crimson eyes, peering through his damaged visor, locked onto the swarm ahead.
He suddenly raised the twin-linked Bolter in his hand.
At this moment, the roar of the Bolter also seemed to undergo a strange change; it was no longer a simple mechanical bellow, but rather a demonic roar, full of savagery and hunger, as if from the abyss!
The muzzle flashes seemed to take on an ominous dark red hue.
"Boom boom boom boom boom—!!!"
A storm of metal swept out again!
But this time, the bullet impacts were more precise, and the firepower was more concentrated, as if an instinctive killing art was guiding him.
The Bolter shells exploded in the swarm, not only tearing apart the infected but also forcibly breaking through the tough carapaces of some Purestrain Genestealers, showering purple blood and dismembered limbs like a downpour!
Just as Dorian was immersed in this berserk slaughter, unleashing firepower ahead, new movement came from a higher metal platform behind him, connected to other passages!
Large numbers of infected soldiers, clad in tattered Planetary Defense Forces uniforms, surged onto the platform.
They held various standard-issue weapons; lasguns and Bolters spewed dense firepower, aimed at Dorian's massive back!
And amidst these infected soldiers, a rusty leman russ tank, its main cannon still emitting a dangerous aura, slowly aimed its barrel at the blue behemoth wreaking havoc below!
"Boom—!!!"
The tank's main cannon suddenly shuddered, and a high-explosive armor-piercing shell, with an ear-splitting shriek, accurately struck Dorian's back!
The violent explosion instantly engulfed Dorian, hot airwaves and shrapnel impacting his heavy armor, as fire and thick smoke billowed skyward!
The infected on the platform let out a distorted cheer, seemingly believing that this blow was enough to severely wound or even kill this terrifying enemy.
However, before their cheers had faded, an even more berserk, more heart-pounding roar erupted from within the dense smoke than before!
That roar was filled with enraged frenzy and an even more fervent desire for slaughter!
The pain of the shelling? No! That would only further stimulate the insane buzzing in his mind!
Only more slaughter, more destruction, could temporarily suppress this pain and noise!
The thick smoke dissipated slightly, revealing Dorian's figure.
The armor on his back was scorched black, with even some indentations, but his massive body still stood firm, trembling slightly with rage.
He suddenly turned his head, his crimson eyes instantly locking onto the steel threat and the buzzing, fly-like infected on the high platform!
He saw them! He saw the scum who dared to ambush him!
"Roar—!!!"
Dorian let out a deafening roar, suddenly raising his Bolter, not needing to aim carefully, relying entirely on a berserk instinct, and pulled the trigger at the high platform!
"Boom boom boom boom boom—!!!"
The Bolter once again let out its demonic roar!
But this time, the fired Bolter shells seemed to carry a faint, ominous trail of crimson energy!
The barrage, as if it had eyes, prioritized covering the infected soldiers around the tank who were firing frantically!
"Puff puff puff puff—!"
Amidst the dense explosions, the infected soldiers fell in swathes like mown wheat, their bodies torn and shattered by the specialized Bolter shells, purple blood and internal organs splattering the platform.
And some Bolter shells struck the leman russ tank's heavy frontal armor, blasting out craters and cracks far deeper than before, with sparks flying everywhere!
The tank on the platform evidently hadn't anticipated that its target, after suffering a heavy blow, could still unleash such terrifying firepower and accuracy.
Its turret hastily adjusted again, attempting a second round of firing.
"Boom!"
Another armor-piercing shell fired!
It struck Dorian again, stirring up even more smoke!
However, as the smoke was slightly dispersed by the non-existent breeze of the Hive City's lower levels, the infected and tank crew on the platform discovered in horror—the blue terrifying figure below had vanished!
"He's gone?! Find... him!" an infected officer, seemingly a leader, shrieked in a distorted voice, looking around frantically.
Just as they were frantically searching for their target, the chilling roar of the Bolter actually... sounded from behind them!
"Boom boom boom boom—!!"
Like the knell of death, it erupted at the platform's entrance!
A dense barrage swept in from behind, instantly mowing down a large number of infected soldiers on the platform's edge!
They spun around, only to see the demonic blue giant, who had somehow surged onto the platform at an unknown time!
He stood at the platform's entrance, his still-roaring Bolter spewing flames, mercilessly reaping lives!
The leman russ tank frantically tried to swivel its clumsy turret, attempting to aim its cannon at the close-range threat.
But it was too late!
Dorian let out a laugh full of brutal delight.
He moved with heavy steps, almost running to the tank, then his massive left arm, covered by a power fist, suddenly swung back, and then, like a launched battering ram, with a terrifying shriek that tore through the air, it smashed heavily into the leman russ tank's side armor!
"Clang!!!!!!!!"
A deafening metallic clang, far exceeding any previous impact, exploded!
The heavy tank's side armor, as if struck by a meteorite, instantly collapsed inward, forming a huge, twisted, deep crater!
The entire tank body tilted sharply to the other side from this terrifying blow, its tracks lifting off the ground, almost overturning!
The internal mechanical structures and crew, under this single punch, had likely been reduced to a pulp of flesh mixed with metal fragments!
This heavy war engine, which had been so menacing just moments before, now lay completely incapacitated, smoking black and spewing electrical sparks, like a toy broken by a mischievous child.
Immediately after, Dorian's power fist suddenly opened, and like an eagle snatching a chick, he seized an infected soldier who was futilely firing a Planetary Defense Forces standard-issue Bolter at him!
The infected soldier struggled in vain within the giant power fist, his Bolter still frantically firing at Dorian's helmet.
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
The Bolter shells struck the heavy Terminator helmet, but apart from a series of dazzling sparks and a few shallow white marks, they had no effect!
Dorian lowered his head, his crimson eyes peering through his visor, staring at the tiny and ridiculous struggler in his hand, as if savoring its despair and helplessness.
Then, he suddenly raised his head and let out an even more berserk, more mocking, earth-shattering roar at the remaining, terrified infected around him!
"Aoooooooh—!!!"
This roar seemed to say: See! How ridiculous and insignificant your power is in the face of true destruction!
The next second, his clenched power fist suddenly closed inward!
"Splish—!"
A sickening thud of flesh and bone being instantly crushed and ground!
The infected soldier couldn't even let out a final scream before being reduced in the power fist to a pulp of flesh mixed with purple blood and bone fragments, oozing between his fingers!
Dorian casually shook off the grime from his fist and once again raised the Bolter, which seemed eternally tireless, blessed by Khorne, and with infinite ammunition.
"Boom boom boom boom boom—!!!"
The demonic roar of the gun once again echoed across the platform, utterly tearing apart and purging the remaining infected along with their fear!
He was like a berserk World Eaters descending, enacting his own bloody and insane feast of slaughter in this inferno of steel and flesh.
Ms. Khaela stumbled back to the small cabin that had become her prison, the metal door silently sliding shut behind her, cutting off the indifferent gazes and heavy footsteps from outside.
Leaning against the cold door panel, her last bit of strength seemed to drain away, her body slowly sliding down until she slumped powerlessly onto the cold floor.
Her tears had long dried, leaving only a burning sting and a parched sorrow.
The Spirit Stone on her chest remained cold, her sister Koleyni's terrified soul tremors seemed branded into her heart, interwoven with the bad news of Sergeant Karl's squad being ambushed and their fate unknown, forming a desperate net that tightly entangled her.
Why did they treat her this way?
She had surrendered the holy relic, intimately tied to the fate of her Craftworld, in exchange for the chance for eight thousand of her people to continue their lives.
She endured the pain of displacement, accepted this prisoner-like situation, and even wore this suppressor that stripped her of her powers and left her constantly weak.
She had given everything she could, so why did she still receive only distrustful surveillance, cold interrogations, and implied threats?
Was it merely because she was an "alien" that all her sacrifices, all her compromises, all her suffering, became a matter of course, not even deserving a shred of respect or basic kindness?
Except for the silent Gaius, all the Astartes on this giant vessel had, in her eyes, turned into cold, emotionless statues of steel; their order and laws were merely chains imposed upon her.
A self-destructive anger, like poisonous flames, ignited in her heart, a feeling of giving up completely.
"Look... since you like to watch so much... then watch your fill!" she whispered, her voice hoarse and full of bitterness.
She struggled to her feet, swaying, and walked to the center of the room.
With a resolute air, she began to take off the modified white casual wear provided by the Ultramarines.
The clothes slid off, revealing the Eldar female's characteristic slender, supple, almost perfect body curves, her fair skin gleaming faintly under the cabin's cold light.
However, at this moment, this beautiful body carried endless humiliation and sorrow.
She knelt on the cold metal bed, her silver hair cascading down like a waterfall, covering part of her body, but unable to conceal the powerlessness and despair emanating from the depths of her soul, instead adding a fragile and helpless poignancy.
She no longer tried to suppress it, letting the stifled, broken sobs echo in the empty cabin.
The fall of Aisha's Tears, the dispersal of her people, her own imprisonment, her sister's disappearance, Sergeant Karl's peril... all the pain erupted at this moment.
She was like a bird with broken wings, in a golden cage, licking her bloodied wounds, emitting a silent wail.
Just then, the distinctive, heavy, and regular metallic footsteps sounded again outside the cabin door, finally stopping outside her door.
Immediately following were two restrained and polite knocks, breaking the sobbing within the cabin.
Ms. Khaela suddenly looked up, her tear-filled eyes full of disgust and resistance.
She did not respond, only offering cold silence as an answer.
Silence fell outside the door for a moment, then a deep voice, more steady than that of an ordinary Astartes warrior, and carrying a unique sense of authority, came through the cabin door; although muffled by the door, it was still clearly discernible:
"Ms. Khaela, I am Vitrius, Captain of the Honour Guard."
His voice showed no emotion, only a programmatic politeness, "By order of Lord Calgar, please proceed to the Chapter Master's office."
Chapter Master?
Chapter Master Marius Calgar?
The one who decided her fate and put the suppressor on her?
Why was he summoning her now?
Had he heard of her previous "loss of composure" and intended to reprimand her?
Or was it due to the fluctuations of the Spirit Stone, requiring a more severe interrogation?
Ms. Khaela felt no apprehension at all about meeting a great figure, only a cold numbness and a deeper resistance.
She did not want to see another Astartes face, nor did she want to hear another word full of calculation and indifference.
She buried her face in her knees and, with a heavily nasal but exceptionally clear and cold tone, uttered a two-word reply:
"I won't."
A brief silence fell outside the door.
Vitrius, Captain of the Honour Guard, did not seem angered by this blunt refusal, nor did he attempt to force his way in.
After a while, his steady voice sounded again, still maintaining politeness:
"I understand.
I will convey your message to the Chapter Master."
With that, the heavy footsteps sounded again, gradually receding, finally disappearing at the end of the corridor.
Vitrius's departure did not make Ms. Khaela feel any relief; instead, it made her curl up even more.
Refusing the Chapter Master's summons was undoubtedly an offense, potentially leading to worse consequences.
But she no longer cared.
How much worse could it get?
At most, stricter imprisonment, or... death.
For her, now disheartened, the latter might even be a form of release.
She maintained her kneeling posture, as if she had turned into a sorrowful statue, immersed in her own boundless darkness.
Vitrius left the oppressive corridor of the First Company's cabin area, his heavy footsteps echoing in the empty passage, finally disappearing into the elevator leading to the upper deck.
He went straight to the magnificent doors of the Chapter Master's office.
After identity verification, the heavy metal doors silently slid open.
Inside the office, the ruler of Ultramar, Chapter Master Marius Calgar, stood with his back to the door, before a massive observation viewport.
Outside, the boundless starry sky and the orderly escort fleet operating around the Macragge's Honour intertwined with specks of starlight and the ships' engine trails, forming a magnificent tableau, symbolizing the unshakeable order and power of the Ultramarines Chapter.
Vitrius walked steadily to the center of the office, stopped, and stood at attention, waiting.
He did not speak to disturb, but merely stood quietly, like a loyal sentinel of steel.
After a long time, Calgar's deep, resonant voice slowly sounded.
He did not turn around, his gaze still fixed on the fleet outside the window: "She refused?"
"Yes, Lord Calgar," Vitrius reported truthfully, his voice somewhat muffled through his helmet, "Ms. Khaela's emotions are very unstable; she... refused to come."
Calgar was silent for a moment, his broad shoulders seeming to sink almost imperceptibly.
He slowly turned around, his weathered, resolute face showing no emotion, only a deep weariness and solemnity.
His gaze swept over Vitrius, finally settling on the large Ultramar Sector map hanging on a wall in the office, where a star marker representing the Korha-IV Hive City world was flashing an ominous red.
"I understand," Calgar's voice was calm, yet carried an undeniable authority, "Let her be for now.
Once her emotions stabilize..." He paused, then made a decision, "Have Cassius go personally, apologize on behalf of the Chapter, and explain to her why we had to take these measures."
He specifically emphasized "apology" and "explanation," his gaze sharp as he looked at Vitrius, adding with increased emphasis, "Furthermore, make it clear to Cassius that he is not to bully or provoke her in any way again.
If he disobeys..." Calgar's voice suddenly turned cold, carrying the absolute authority of a Chapter Master, "I will personally send him to the brig to reflect properly."
"Understood, my Lord," Vitrius bowed and accepted the order without any objection.
"Go," Calgar waved his hand.
Vitrius saluted again, turned, and with steady steps, left the Chapter Master's office.
The heavy metal door slowly closed behind him, separating inside and outside into two worlds.
When Calgar was left alone in the office, he sighed deeply, his voice filled with the heavy burden of leadership and an inexpressible doubt.
He paced back to the giant obsidian throne, but did not immediately sit down.
Instead, he turned again, his gaze sweeping over the desk and settling on the solemn portrait of Guilliman hanging highest on the wall.
Primarch's face was resolute, his eyes containing endless wisdom and foresight, as if he could perceive all the troubles of the world.
Calgar gazed at the portrait, as if seeking guidance, or perhaps questioning himself.
He murmured to himself, his voice so soft that only he could hear it, with a hint of rare confusion:
"Primarch... am I truly doing the right thing?"
Taking in the Eldar and exchanging the holy relic was already walking a tightrope on the edge of Imperial law.
Now, the surveillance and restrictive measures taken for security seemed to be pushing this already fragile alliance to the brink of collapse.
And the severe loss of contact with the Korha-IV Hive City weighed like a giant stone on his heart.
Internal and external troubles struck simultaneously.
Vitrius, accompanied by another Honour Guard warrior, soon arrived at the First Company Captain's office on the upper deck of the battleship.
Unlike the grand solemnity of the Chapter Master's office, First Company Captain Cassius Venus's office had a more utilitarian style, with the walls covered in First Company honor banners and the insignias of past captains; the air was permeated with a faint scent of weapon oil and leather.
As they entered the office, Captain Cassius stood before his tactical command console, his power-armored body rigid.
He had one hand on the communicator, his voice urgent and filled with suppressed anger, as he growled into the other end:
"...I don't care what method you use!
Restore contact with Korha-IV immediately!
I want to hear Sergeant Karl and Ricao's voices!
Now!"
Evidently, the collective loss of contact with Sanx Squad and Demolias Squad had left the First Company Captain, known for his bravery and protectiveness of his subordinates, extremely anxious and in a foul mood.
He abruptly cut off the communication, irritably slamming a fist onto the sturdy metal command console with a dull thud.
Only then did he notice the Honour Guard Captain who had entered.
Cassius turned around, his chiseled face, marked with a scar, was etched with impatience and annoyance, his brows tightly furrowed: "Vitrius?
What is it?
I don't have time for trivial matters now!"
His tone was impolite; nothing was more important now than finding his trapped subordinates.
Vitrius was not surprised by this; he calmly repeated Chapter Master Calgar's order, his voice unwavering: "Captain Cassius, the Chapter Master orders that after Ms. Khaela's emotions stabilize, you are to personally go to her cabin, apologize on behalf of the Chapter, and explain to her the reasons for our restrictive measures.
The Chapter Master specifically emphasized that you are not to bully or provoke her in any way again, or he will personally send you to the brig to reflect properly on your conduct as a Captain."
Upon hearing this, Cassius's facial muscles twitched, as if he had heard something utterly absurd.
He sat back heavily in his Captain's throne, letting out a scoff, filled with strong reluctance and resentment:
"Why me?!
Vitrius, look at the situation now!
My two squads!
Sanx and Demolias!
They've lost contact on Korha-IV, their fate unknown!
I don't have time to cater to that alien's feelings!
I don't!"
He became more agitated as he spoke, waving his hand at the still-dark Korha-IV signal indicator on the tactical console: "When my Sergeant Karl returns safely!
I'll have him comfort her for me!
They can even live together!
Sleeping in the same bed is fine!
I'll have a Tech-Sergeant modify a bed big enough for them right now!
Is that enough?!"
His words were full of petulance, clearly recalling Dorian's earlier joke about "Gaius's wife" and his subsequent punishment of Dorian. Now, in his anxiety, he blurted them out without thinking.
Vitrius and another Honour Guard warrior stood like two silent statues of steel, showing no reaction to the First Company Captain's almost unseemly complaints. They had merely faithfully delivered the Chapter Master's order; how the First Company Captain chose to execute it was not within their purview.
Vitrius bowed respectfully again, his voice still steady: "The order has been delivered. Farewell, Captain Cassius."
With that, he said no more and, along with his companion, turned and left the First Company Captain's oppressive office with regular, heavy steps.
Cassius watched their retreating backs, irritably rubbing his brow, then cast his gaze back to the gray area on the tactical display representing the lost contact, his fists clenched tightly. The safety of his brothers and the Chapter Master's orders clashed fiercely in his heart, but ultimately, his concern for his subordinates gained the absolute upper hand. He picked up his communicator again and connected to the bridge:
"Comms! Get me the nearest scout outpost in the Korha-IV system! I want the latest situation there! Now!"
Meanwhile, in the First Company's cabin area, within Kolesa's small cabin, the Aeldari psyker, oblivious to all this turmoil, remained kneeling on her bunk, like a discarded doll in a corner. Her long silver hair cascaded down, obscuring her expression, with only her slightly trembling shoulders revealing the uncalmed ripples within her. The cabin was utterly silent, save for the eternal hum of the battleship's engines, like a lonely elegy playing for her. Next door, Gaius's empty cabin now seemed like a silent mockery, reminding her of her distant and hopeless expectations.
At the bottom of the Korha-IV Hive City, the hellish scene continued.
Gaius's finger was already hooked around the fragmentation grenade's pin, the cold touch transmitting through his glove, carrying a sense of finality. He closed his one functional eye, preparing for the final destruction, at least to drag these damned xenos around him to hell.
Just at this critical moment—
"Boom—!!!"
A thick, incredibly robust, and iron-meltingly hot gush of flame, like an enraged fire dragon, swept in, instantly engulfing the Genestealers that had lunged close to Gaius, their claws almost touching his armor!
"Sizzle sizzle sizzle—Ah ah ah!"
Under the extreme heat, the purple monsters let out brief, shrill screams, violently burning and coiling in the flames, quickly turning into piles of charred remains. The pungent smell of burning instantly permeated the air.
Gaius's eyes snapped open. Through his blurred vision and the flickering firelight, he saw the figure like a steel fortress—Captain Ricao! His left arm's Flamer still glowed with residual heat, and his right hand's Assault Cannon was already raised, scanning the surroundings vigilantly.
"Hold on, Sergeant Karl! We'll get you out of here!" Captain Ricao's steady and authoritative voice came through the external speakers, like a stabilizing force on this chaotic battlefield. "Gochi, take Sergeant Karl! Collen, cover me!"
The orders were concise and clear. The heavily armored Gochi immediately stepped forward without hesitation, using his strong power arm to support the almost immobile Gaius, draping one of his arms over his broad shoulder plate. "Hold on, brother," Gochi said in a low voice, then began to support Gaius, taking heavy steps, and retreating along the way they had come.
At the same time, Captain Ricao's Flamer roared again, the scorching fire dragon sweeping away enemies attempting to approach from the flanks and rear, clearing a temporary safe zone for the retreat. Collen, meanwhile, used the continuous roar of his Assault Cannon to suppress the endless tide of infected still pouring in from the front with a dense storm of metal, buying precious time and space for Gochi's evacuation.
However, Genestealers, especially Purestrain units, are far more cunning and agile than anyone could imagine. Just as Collen was fully focused on clearing the flood-like ordinary infected from the front, a purple figure, swift as a ghost, leaped and stealthily moved through the complex structures of the surrounding factory buildings, silently approaching Collen's rear flank.
It was a Purestrain Genestealer! It seized the moment Collen's attention was focused on the front, suddenly pouncing from the shadows of a high platform! Its four chitin-covered arms spread open, the bone claws at their ends, gleaming with a dissolving field, like the scythe of death, aiming directly for Collen's beast-helm-covered head and the relatively vulnerable neck guard joint!
Although Collen, at the last moment, sensed the danger with the intuition of a seasoned veteran and dodged sharply, the attack was too fast and too cunning!
"Rip—!"
A grating tearing sound erupted! The cold-gleaming dissolving claws barely grazed the side of Collen's beast-helm and the upper part of his chest plate! The thick ceramite armor, before the dissolving field, was like butter under a hot knife, deeply gouged, sparks flying! More terrifyingly, the claw tips ultimately cut through the flesh beneath, and a gush of hot blood instantly sprayed from the damaged armor seams!
"Ugh!" Collen let out a muffled grunt as intense pain surged, but his combat instincts did not vanish. The rage of being ambushed instantly ignited. He roared, and his power-fist-covered right arm, with unparalleled force, swung backward like a pile driver!
"Bang!" A solid thud! The Purestrain Genestealer, which had just landed, didn't even have time to shriek before its entire upper body was pulverized by this enraged blow, purple blood and carapace fragments bursting like fireworks!
"Captain! Report your injuries!" Captain Ricao's anxious voice rang out in the comm channel; he had noticed the blood splattering on Collen's armor.
"Just a minor injury! Still able to fight!" Collen's reply was brief and firm, as if the gushing blood was merely an insignificant scrape. He forcibly suppressed the intense pain, and his Assault Cannon roared again, shredding several infected who had taken the opportunity to charge. But blood continued to seep from the damaged areas of his helmet and chest plate, flowing down the deep blue armor, indicating that the injury was far from as light as he claimed.
Just as Captain Ricao was distracted by Collen's injury, in the ruins of a half-collapsed factory building in the distance, an infected soldier, wearing a tattered Planetary Defense Forces uniform and with hollow, fanatical eyes, calmly set up a long laser sniper rifle. He clearly retained some military skills, and the muzzle was steadily aimed at Captain Ricao's distinctive beast-helm, the most threatening and command-centric target on the field.
The crosshairs of the scope steadily locked onto that majestic wolf head.
"Whoosh—!"
A deadly red beam of light instantly cut through the dim space, precisely hitting the side of Captain Ricao's helmet!
"Clang!!!"
A crisp and loud impact exploded! Even the thick Indomitus Terminator helmet vibrated violently under such precise sniping! Although not penetrated, the immense kinetic energy and violent shock, like a heavy hammer striking Ricao's head, instantly caused him intense dizziness and ringing in his ears. His vision went black, as if his entire brain was churning within his skull! His left arm's Flamer also instantly stopped firing as a result.
"Captain!" Gochi and Collen exclaimed simultaneously.
Captain Ricao violently shook his heavy helmet, trying to dispel the nauseating dizziness. Through his somewhat blurry vision, he saw that Gochi had already retreated some distance with Gaius, and the surrounding enemies were taking the opportunity to close in.
"Go!" Captain Ricao gritted out, enduring the discomfort. He no longer lingered in combat, raising his right arm and forcefully throwing a spherical melta bomb in the direction of the densest pursuers, while calling to Collen: "Retreat! Follow Gochi!"
The melta bomb arced through the air, landing amidst the infected horde.
There was no violent explosion, only an intensely dazzling white light and a deep thud! Everything around the bomb's impact point, whether infected, Purestrain Genestealers, or debris on the ground, was instantly vaporized and annihilated by unimaginable high temperatures, leaving behind a deep crater with molten edges.
Using the temporary vacuum created by this terrifying weapon and the enemy's confusion, Ricao and the injured Collen turned without hesitation, taking heavy strides, and quickly pursued Gochi, who was retreating with Gaius. Their armor echoed heavily on the viscous ground, each step carrying the lives of their brothers and the hope of evacuation.
Meanwhile, on the distant Macragge's Honour, in stark contrast to the bloody death struggle at the bottom of the Hive City, was the relatively peaceful but slightly peculiar routine in the rear.
In the brightly lit Chapter armory, filled with various weapon components and mechanical parts, Eilaas was bent over, rummaging through a giant parts bin, an energy bar in her mouth, humming a cheerful Commorragh tune. Her light pink short hair was a bit messy, and her green eyes scanned the pile of parts before her, searching for suitable components to modify her beloved Aila Si Storm.
Just then, the data-slate hanging at her waist emitted an urgent alert. Eilaas wrinkled her nose impatiently, freed an oil-stained hand, and picked up the data-slate for a glance.
The message was from the First Company Logistics Officer, concise and direct: By order of Captain Cassius, an emergency assembly of a reinforced bunk, 2.7 meters wide and 3 meters long, is required, to be delivered to the First Company cabin area, designated warehouse, before standard time tomorrow.
"Huh? Assemble a bed?" Eilaas blinked her big green eyes, a hint of surprise on her face. She scratched her head, somewhat confused. Which big brother was so fierce that he managed to collapse a Legion-standard reinforced bunk? And it needed to be wider and longer? Although she grumbled inwardly, a direct order from the Captain was not to be questioned.
She pouted, quickly swallowing the remaining energy bar in her mouth, then reluctantly put back the several precision parts she had just found for modifying her Assault Cannon into the box. "Alright, alright, work first," she muttered to herself, casually grabbing an empty tool bag nearby and starting to fill it with structural reinforcement metal plates, high-strength connectors, and buffer pads, among other materials.
Soon, she was carrying a full, heavy bag of parts, her steps light as she left the noisy armory. Her slender figure contrasted sharply with the large bag of parts in her arms, but she seemed to carry it effortlessly. For her, assembling a bed was much simpler than dealing with those big creatures on the battlefield, and although it delayed her progress in modifying her beloved gun, an order was an order.
As she walked towards the workshop, she was already planning in her mind that once she finished this strange bed, she would definitely go complain to Gaius or Dorian and make them treat her to compensate for her lost precious time. She had no idea what unexpected connections this bed she was about to build would have in the near future with her comrades, currently on the brink of life and death, and the imprisoned Aeldari psyker she cared about.