Alexander watched the fifteen so-called Sanguinius of the Scythe Wings Champions walk onto the stage.
Among them were the plague bearers skilled in flesh alchemy, the Assassin Species adept at shooting, the burly Abominations, and the powerful and agile Pureblood genestealers and genestealer Hybrids.
These fifteen almost encompassed every powerful genestealer type. They devoutly bowed their heads and slowly emerged from the crowd.
This made Alexander raise an eyebrow slightly.
He was a little unclear what the genestealer were trying to do with this display.
Was it really necessary to make it so ritualistic and sacred? And fifteen Sanguinius of the Scythe Wings Champions welcoming back the living saint, Sanguilius.
"Ritual." A fragmented voice sounded in Alexander's ear.
The voice of Sanguinius faintly transcended the barrier between the Warp and reality, reaching Alexander's ear.
Ritual? This made Alexander raise his eyebrows slightly; he seemed to understand a little.
Mephiston's expression also changed slightly as he watched this scene.
He had read many dark scriptures, ancient books, and forbidden tomes, knowing many ancient and evil spells and rituals.
From the genestealer' actions, Mephiston clearly detected deliberate ritualistic traces.
The preaching in front of almost all genestealer, the team formed by the fifteen so-called Sanguinius of the Scythe Wings Champions, and the welcoming back of that lictor.
All of this made Mephiston smell the scent of a ritual. This might be an unknown xenos ritual, carried out through this series of ritualized actions.
Most rituals, in essence, weaken the barrier between reality and the Warp, guiding the power from the Warp into reality.
The preaching was to strengthen the genestealer' perception of the so-called living saint Sanguilius. The fifteen so-called Sanguinius of the Scythe Wings Champions might serve to point towards the hive mind.
And once they welcomed back that lictor in this way, combining the power projected by the hive mind and the worship of the genestealer,
That lictor might truly become the so-called living saint Sanguilius to a certain extent, gaining extraordinary enhancement.
No wonder,
No wonder that lictor, in the premonition, could easily infiltrate Angel Keep, and could lead the genestealer to destroy the Blood Coffin Hall and the Void Shield array.
This was because centuries of faith from the genestealer had been deliberately channeled into that lictor, strengthening its power.
Mephiston's heart trembled; he recalled Alexander's advice.
Could it be that Saint Doraemon's extreme caution was because he knew this, knew the unique nature of this lictor?
Mephiston suddenly felt he had underestimated Alexander. He had so easily predicted the Tyranid's actions.
Upon reflection, it made sense. According to the visions Mephiston saw through the Eight-Face Weirdo, Alexander was both a competitor to the hive mind and a competitor to the hive mind's relative position. The relationship between them should be extremely hostile.
Perhaps, long before Mephiston knew, the two had already been clashing.
Mephiston composed himself. He knew he had to infiltrate this group and kill that lictor before it was welcomed back to Sheath Wing Fortress.
Because once the lictor was welcomed back to Sheath Wing Fortress and appeared before the many GSC, this ritual would truly be complete.
Mephiston subtly guided his psyker, infiltrating the brain of one of the Sanguinius of the Scythe Wings Champions.
He condensed this psyker into a point, letting it flow along a blood vessel to a critical nerve in this Sanguinius of the Scythe Wings Champion's brain.
Then Mephiston, as if no one else was present, slowly walked out from the genestealer crowd, heading towards that Sanguinius of the Scythe Wings Champion.
That point of psyker buried in its brain silently exploded, severing its critical brain nerves.
That Sanguinius of the Scythe Wings Champion felt its vision blacken and a pain in its head, wanting to cry out.
However, the psyker released by Mephiston precisely cut off the nerve controlling its speech function, preventing it from making a sound.
The body of this Sanguinius of the Scythe Wings Champion uncontrollably tilted backward.
Mephiston slowly extended his hand to support its body, and psyker power flowed in from his hand without a trace.
Almost all of its memories flowed into Mephiston's mind.
Subsequently, the body of this Sanguinius of the Scythe Wings Champion instantly decomposed into invisible macromolecules, disappearing from its original spot.
Mephiston then took the opportunity to step forward, standing calmly in its place, and modified cognitive distortion, making everyone perceive him as that Sanguinius of the Scythe Wings Champion.
Almost no one noticed any of this. He had infiltrated the Sanguinius of the Scythe Wings Champion's team within these few short seconds.
Except for Alexander.
Alexander stood not far away, watching Mephiston show off his skills with interest.
Perhaps due to his own Warp essence and the influence of Sanguinius, Alexander was immune to cognitive distortion and similar psychic abilities that involve the mind to a certain extent.
But even so, Alexander couldn't help but sigh.
As expected of Mephiston, the Chief Librarian of the Blood Angels, one of the peak psyker masters of this era.
If one were to name an Astartes Librarians today who could consistently surpass Mephiston in both power and achievements,
It would probably only be the former First Captain and Chief Librarian of the Thousand Sons Legion, the Tzeentch chosen Azhek. Ariman.
The psyker power of this Ariman, Professor A, was already terrifying, and his achievements were even more spectacular.
Ariman used a masterful spell, Ariman's red word, to almost single-handedly destroy an entire Astartes Legion and enslave it as puppets... although that Legion was his own.
Thinking of this, the corner of Alexander's mouth couldn't help but curl into an arc. Thousand Sons jokes never get old.
Mephiston, who had infiltrated the Sanguinius of the Scythe Wings Champion team, turned his head to look at Alexander, who was still hidden in the crowd.
Mephiston felt a little strange. Had Saint Doraemon not yet taken action?
It seemed this group of genestealer was about to depart. Was he not planning to infiltrate the team?
Mephiston couldn't help but cast a questioning gaze at Alexander, as if asking how Alexander intended to get into the team.
Then...
Then Mephiston saw Alexander's mouth curl into an arc full of mockery, as if ridiculing the most foolish know-it-all in the entire galaxy.
Mephiston's heart suddenly trembled at that smile.
His psyker power silently swept across the entire venue.
Then a look of confusion appeared on his face.
No, in his psyker perception, Alexander did not seem to have infiltrated the Sanguinius of the Scythe Wings Champion team.
But recalling the extremely mocking smile on Alexander's lips, Mephiston was again unsure.
Could it be that Saint Doraemon had already infiltrated when Mephiston hadn't noticed?
Mephiston thought about it and felt that it was entirely possible.
As a Librarians who frequently dealt with the Warp, no one knew the power of the Dark Gods better than Mephiston.
And Alexander was a candidate for no less than three of those positions, always giving Mephiston a strong sense of danger.
His power might also far exceed Mephiston's imagination. Mephiston composed himself, looking at the other fourteen Sanguinius of the Scythe Wings Champions before him.
Mephiston couldn't help but start wondering again, which one was Saint Doraemon disguised as?
"Which one is it?" Mephiston sat alone on a sand dune, his psyker power occasionally sweeping over everyone present.
Whether it was the fourteen Sanguinius of the Scythe Wings Champions, or the genestealer bishop, or even the genestealer patriarch whose figure was hidden by psyker power, all were scanned by Mephiston.
However, half a day had passed since they left Sheath Wing Fortress, and Mephiston still hadn't found Alexander among them.
Could it be that Saint Doraemon hadn't infiltrated? That shouldn't be the case.
Confusion appeared in Mephiston's eyes, and he re-examined the fourteen so-called Sanguinius of the Scythe Wings Champions with his material world eyes.
Just then, a Kill-Team GSC, wearing a woven shawl, a cowboy hat, and having three arms, walked towards Mephiston.
According to the memories Mephiston had acquired, this GSC's name was… Three Shots.Callen.
The name Calian belonged to the First Captain of the Blood Angels; he himself was currently supporting Cadia.
Mephiston's eyes flickered slightly. Could it be him? Was he the disguise of Saint Doraemon?
Indeed, as far as Mephiston knew,
Saint Doraemon's marksmanship was superb, almost exceeding the limits allowed by the material world.
And this Kill-Team was also skilled in marksmanship, and Calian himself had contact with Saint Doraemon during the Ashford incident.
Mephiston's eyes lit up as he watched Three Shots.Callen walk towards him. It must be him.
"Ahazha, have some red grass root tea."
Ahazha was the name of Mephiston's disguised identity, a Librarians among the GSC.
Three Shots.Callen's mouth curled into a confident smile. He opened his shawl, pulled out a can of steeped red grass root tea, and handed it to Mephiston:
"This is my exclusive recipe."
Mephiston looked blankly at the red grass root tea in his hand. Was this some metaphor? A riddle? Or a hint?
Then Mephiston saw Three Shots.Callen walk to someone else, open his shawl again, take out another can of red grass root tea, and repeat the words he had said to Mephiston.
Mephiston looked at the red grass root tea in his hand and couldn't help but fall into thought for a moment.
It's not him? Is he really just simply sharing his secret red grass root tea?
Mephiston was silent for a while, then looked at the others. Would Saint Doraemon deliberately disguise himself as a simple-minded Abomination?
So hard to guess. Did he not come at all?
That shouldn't be. Saint Doraemon clearly said he would participate in the lictor hunt.
Meanwhile, Sheath Wing Fortress, Scythe Wing and Claw Restaurant.
Alexander put down his empty plate, turned his head, and shouted to the boss behind him:
"Boss, another salt-baked fire scorpion! Add more spices this time!"
Alexander wiped his mouth, stacked the twelve plates on the table, and returned them to the restaurant owner.
The restaurant owner looked at Alexander, who had eaten twelve portions of food by himself, and couldn't help but show an approving expression.
"Twelve portions by yourself? My cooking isn't bad, is it?"
The owner extended his four arms, took the plates from Alexander's hands, and said.
"The taste is very good, but..." A hint of doubt flashed in Alexander's eyes: "Is it a lot? Not much, right? Your portion sizes are quite small."
Hearing this, the restaurant owner's expression suddenly stiffened, as if it was the first time anyone had told him his portion sizes were small.
"It really is quite small." Alexander, noticing the change in the owner's expression, said sincerely: "I only ate half full."
To avoid revealing any flaws, Alexander had kept his "Hot Scene Clapperboard & Robot Director" active, so he unconsciously brought his acting skills into his speech.
It was this sincerity that made the owner's face turn from stiff to dark, his eyes filled with deep self-doubt as he looked at the twelve plates in his hands.
Alexander didn't understand why the owner made such an expression; he just felt like he had eaten at most half full.
The portions of these dishes were really a bit small; often, Alexander hadn't even savored the taste before a plate was finished.
But since it was free, essentially freeloading off the GSC, and the taste was good, Alexander felt he had nothing to complain about.
He walked out of the restaurant, followed the metal road suspended in mid-air, and after finding a spot without genestealer, he took out the anywhere door and the person-finding staff from his four-dimensional pocket.
"Mephiston." Alexander whispered, letting go of the person-finding staff in his hand.
The staff then tilted, pointing Alexander in the direction Mephiston was located.
To prevent the 30% chance of error, Alexander specifically tried it again.
After confirming there were no errors, Alexander confirmed the location based on the map in his mind and pushed open the anywhere door.
A wave of heat mixed with radioactive yellow sand blew in, landing on the Body Clay covering Alexander's body.
Alexander stepped out of the door, walking onto the desert covered in swirling yellow sand.
"Mephiston." Alexander whispered again, and the staff in his hand fell, pointing to Mephiston's location.
Then Alexander began to use the remaining brainpower of an expired college student, drawing two lines on the map in his mind.
One started from Sheath Wing Fortress, and the other from his current location, both extending towards Mephiston's position.
Immediately, the two lines converged on the map in Alexander's mind, marking a single point.
Logically, this point should be Mephiston's location.
Alexander pushed open the anywhere door in the yellow sand again and stepped inside.
He stood atop a sand dune, looking into the distance.
Sure enough, not far away, a team consisting of Mephiston, the genestealer patriarch, the genestealer bishop, and fourteen Sanguinius of the Scythe Wings Champions was advancing through the yellow sand.
Alexander stood on the yellow sand, using the dust and his Phantom Thief DX Suit to conceal himself, watching the scene in the distance.
Mephiston walked at the back of the team, lost in thought, his gaze occasionally sweeping over the other members of the team.
Noticing this, Alexander's expression was slightly puzzled.
Why was Mephiston so focused on the other fourteen Sanguinius of the Scythe Wings Champions?
With his psychic power, facing this group of genestealer would be a clear 70-30 split.
Within three seconds, Mephiston would tear the GSC into seven pieces of original recipe chicken, and even have time to dip them in sweet and sour sauce.
Alexander pondered for a while but couldn't figure out what was going on with Mephiston's behavior.
The Baal Star System's sun, Baal, hung solitary in the sand-covered sky, and the Scarlet Scar lay bloodily across it, emitting toxic, radioactive light.
The hot sand beat against Alexander's face, and even through the Phantom Thief DX Suit, it still made Alexander feel emotionally uncomfortable.
He pushed open the anywhere door, and the scene of Sheath Wing Fortress appeared behind it; he stepped inside.
Mephiston's psychic premonition stirred slightly, and his gaze flickered towards a nearby sand dune.
He vaguely felt that some kind of gaze had been cast from that direction just now, appearing and disappearing.
But by the time Mephiston's gaze landed there, the gaze had silently vanished.
Who was it? A hallucination? Or His Excellency Saint Doraemon?
Could it be that he didn't infiltrate this team but instead followed us silently?
Mephiston broke out in a slight sweat; he had actually not noticed at all… only just now had he detected a tiny clue.
"Azhaha!" Three-Claw Calian's roar sounded, and bullets whistled from his hand.
In the desert, a slightly silver water squeezed out from the sand, making a soft crackling sound.
Three-Claw Calian's bullets entered the water, but to no avail.
The genestealer in the team were dodging, occasionally using their blades to temporarily push back the silvery liquid.
The Pureblood genestealer could only dodge; it seemed even its biological blades dared not touch the liquid.
Water of Thirst!
Mephiston recognized what the liquid seeping from the desert was.
No child of Baal would mistake this for ordinary water.
This was the Water of Thirst; every child of Baal knew to fear this liquid.
It was said that this liquid was a technological creation used in ancient wars, appearing to be ordinary water but actually possessing activity and basic intelligence.
Anyone who drank or touched it, mistaking it for water, would instantly have their moisture sucked dry, turning into a mummified corpse and dust.
Even Astartes and genestealer could not escape its clutches.
The genestealer bishop roared, and blue light glowed on her proliferating cerebrum; her powerful psychic energy directly pressed down most of the Water of Thirst onto the ground.
But the other half, with lightning speed, lunged at the largest Abomination nearby.
The Abomination, being large and not very intelligent, had no time to react.
The Water of Thirst clung to its body, and it immediately let out sharp, ear-piercing wails, with beads of crystal-clear water seeping from its arms, and half of its body began to shrivel.
Mephiston slowly raised his finger, releasing just the right amount of psychic energy.
The psychic energy whistled, knocking away the Water of Thirst that was coiled around the Abomination.
By this time, half of the Abomination's body had shriveled like a mummified corpse in the desert, and the whole creature lay on the ground wailing.
It was only by the Genestealer formidable vitality that it was still alive.
Mephiston manipulated his cognitive distortion, appropriately revealing guilt on his face, as if feeling distressed by his companion's severe injury.
"My responsibility." Mephiston said, his voice trembling.
Three-Claw Calian stepped forward, patted Mephiston's shoulder, and said comfortingly, "It's not your fault. Who would have thought the Water of Thirst would appear here? You did very well."
"We are brothers with the same blood, bearing the same duties, and sharing the same responsibilities. The appearance of the Water of Thirst is not anyone's fault; you did very well to expel it in time."
The genestealer bishop Lingnao.Mophiston also nodded slightly, knelt on one knee, and used her psychic power to heal the Abomination:
"Perhaps there will be an opportunity, I can teach you some psychic abilities."
Hearing this, Mephiston couldn't help but show a slight smile at the corner of his mouth.
He knew that the Abomination's injuries were too severe for the genestealer bishop's psychic power to heal; it could only barely keep it alive.
But what was strange was that the genestealer bishop seemed unwilling to abandon the Abomination...
Indeed, the fifteen Sanguinius of the Scythe Wings Champions—this number itself held unique meaning.
Mephiston's act of secretly replacing one of them should have effectively disrupted this ritual.
Thinking this, Mephiston cooperated with the genestealer bishop, using psychic power to carry the dying Abomination, and continued to walk deeper into the desert.
Only this time, Mephiston felt much more at ease.
One reason was knowing that the ritual itself had already been disrupted by him; the other reason was...
His Excellency Saint Doraemon must be lurking around, constantly monitoring this team.
Hot charcoal burned in the restaurant, sparking tiny flames.
A young fire scorpion, over two meters long, was laid horizontally on a grill, sizzling with oil as it roasted over the burning charcoal.
The four-armed restaurant owner was serious, holding the grill with two hands and rotating it, while precisely controlling the flames with the other two hands, not daring to be negligent in the slightest.
The young fire scorpion's meat was tender; one bit too much and it would be tough to chew, one bit too little and it would be raw and astringent. Even a culinary master like the restaurant owner had to concentrate fully to cook it perfectly.
The other genestealer around couldn't help but hold their breath, not daring to make a sound.
The restaurant owner seized the opportunity, used the claws on his arm to pry open the fire scorpion's carapace, and sprinkled his secret spices on the snow-white scorpion meat.
In an instant, the air was filled with the sweet aroma of scorpion meat and the spicy scent of the spices.
At once, the genestealer in the restaurant couldn't help but swallow their saliva; the aroma was simply too enticing.
But the restaurant owner's expression was stern, and his four powerful arms raised the grill.
The surrounding genestealer quickly made way for the restaurant owner, allowing him to walk step by step towards Alexander, who was sitting at the dining table.
Bang!!!
The enormous roasted fire scorpion was placed on the dining table in front of Alexander.
The entire table wobbled, almost collapsing.
The restaurant owner glared, staring intently at Alexander and asking:
"Is this portion enough? Can it make you completely full?!"
Alexander looked at the giant young fire scorpion in front of him and fell into a brief silence.
Then he shook his head, cracking open the young fire scorpion's shell, and said:
"Don't let this thing's size fool you; there's not much meat once you remove the shell."
As he spoke, to the shocked gazes of the restaurant owner and the crowd of genestealer, Alexander began to pull the scorpion meat from the shell and shove it into his mouth.
Sanguinius' mouth twitched, his voice coming in fragments from the Warp.
Alexander sorted it out and roughly understood what Sanguinius was saying:
"If you and Leman Russ had a meat-eating and drinking contest back then, Leman Russ would definitely have lost."
Blood, fresh blood, burned in mid-air, spanning the entire dome of the Red Great Hall, like a scar cut into the fabric of the real universe.
The holosphere was silently operating, projecting a complex star map into the air.
This star map was extremely detailed, every intricate detail meticulously crafted and flawless, presenting the eastern part of the Ultima Segmentum.
The blood-red scar was the center of this part of the star map.
And within the blood-red scar, the twin stars symbolizing the Netherworld Star System were burning, signifying the system's fall.
Beyond the Netherworld Star System, Baal's sun, Barol, was shining.
Several star systems between the two were marked in gray; they had either been invaded by the Tyranid or destroyed by the Exterminatus enacted by Dante.
Dante, emulating the methods of the radical Inquisitor Kryptman, had issued an Exterminatus in the path of the Tyranid between Baal and the Netherworld, which was their only route.
This meant that when the Tyranid crossed this area, they would find it almost impossible to obtain enough biomass to replenish their losses on Baal.
Dante successfully preserved their gains in the Netherworld, but at the cost of countless lives of the Imperium's citizens.
Even though most of them had no hope of survival under the Tyranid invasion, Dante still felt pain for it.
He felt an unbearable torment in his heart; the Emperor had surely not forged them to slaughter mortals.
What pained Dante most was that, as Chapter Master, he didn't even have the right to show this pain.
Because it was the correct course of action, Commander Dante could not waver for making the correct choice.
Dante couldn't help but look at Yor, the Blood Knight Chapter Master. If it were him, or a Chapter that disdained mortals like the Lamenters, perhaps such a decision would be made more easily.
Perhaps it was because deep in Dante's heart, he was still the salt seller's son, Luis from Baal II.
Dante suppressed the pain in his heart, hiding the salt seller's son back beneath the mask of Commander Dante, and then hiding Commander Dante beneath the golden mask of Sanguinius.
"That is the Leviathan hive Fleet," Dante said, pointing to the star map in the air.
On the star map, many shadows extended from below the galactic plane, invading the Imperium of Man, like spreading tentacles coiling over the map, each world swept by a tentacle subsequently extinguished and dead.
"In the past years, the Blood Angels have engaged the Tyranid numerous times. In the last battle, we acquired valuable intelligence about the Tyranid. You can all look at the tables in front of you."
The Astartes, flowing with the blood of Sanguinius, all looked at the tables.
In front of them was a printed booklet, with a large title on the cover: "an ogryn's guide to Tyranid biology"
The Astartes, filled with curiosity, opened the booklet.
Most of the Chapters that had never fought the Tyranid were astonished by the bizarre power of the Tyranid described within.
Those Chapters that had genuinely fought the Tyranid were even more shocked by the detail of the booklet itself and the terrifying information it revealed.
"This is impossible!" The first to exclaim was Chapter Master Malphas of the Flesh Tearers, whose Chapter had once fought the Tyranid.
On the other side, the Chapter of the Blood Drinkers also nodded in agreement: "It claims here... it claims that all Tyranid are essentially a single, larger individual?"
"We have fought the Tyranid; we understand them. They may seem cunning, but they are still essentially low-intelligence insects, animals, a flesh and blood catastrophe formed by independent individuals."
The Chapter Master of the Blood Drinkers continued: "These lower-level organisms are commanded by higher-level node organisms; they also have officers and lords, and some kind of psychic network connection exists between them. Overall, the Tyranid are a group of greedy animals, only advancing towards places with high-density biomass."
"But this is wrong. We cannot ignore them... no, ignore its nature."
Dante said calmly: "The Tyranid possesses a unified will; the Warp Shadow is the effect of its existence."
"That is a single, vast, sentient being. The Eldar call it the eternal dragon or the Great Devourer. The countless Tyranid are created by it and create it, just as our flesh creates our souls, and our souls control our flesh."
He. Everyone noticed Dante's use of the deific third-person pronoun for the hive mind.
There was a deathly silence in the air.
"You mean, the hive mind is essentially a chaotic entity born in the Warp? Merely clothed in a shell of flesh?" a Blood Chapter Librarian asked Dante.
"No, Mephiston, I, and the author of this booklet clearly believe that the Tyranid is an entity born in the material universe and occupying an independent position in the Warp. It is filled with endless hunger, existing both in reality in the form of the Tyranid and in the Warp in the form of the hive mind," Dante said, shaking his head.
"This has no precedent!" The Librarian's voice was filled with alarm: "Nor any evidence."
"There is a precedent. Mephiston told me there is a precedent... but he cannot tell that precedent to anyone."
Dante looked at the Librarian, shaking his head and saying: "And he faced the hive mind and survived. He told me the essence of the hive mind... it is a single mind, a powerful Warp entity, so powerful that it can even block the power of the Dark Gods and the Emperor's light."
"Furthermore, the Tyranid's journey to Baal itself is evidence. In the barren Scarlet Scar, there is no opportunity for it to replenish large amounts of biomass. It came here, directly targeting Baal; there must be other reasons beyond mere feeding."
Dante noticed the gazes of his blood kin around him, gazes mixed with shock, doubt, fear, and confusion.
At no time did Dante wish Mephiston were here more than now. Mephiston had absolute authority in Warp knowledge and could suppress all doubts.
Dante could only try his best to parrot him, relaying the information he had been given.
"..Dante." Yor of the Blood Cavaliers Battle Group questioned, "Where did this booklet come from?"
Instantly, everyone's gaze first turned to Yor, then to Dante.
Yes, where did this booklet come from?
The descriptions of the various Tyranid organisms within were too detailed, from every bio-weapon to the habits of every Tyranid creature.
The author of this booklet seemed like an Archmagos who had infiltrated the Tyranid, otherwise, how could they know such minute details as the fact that brainbugs come from Eldar gene sequences, the Warp characteristics of the hive mind, and even that most lower Tyranid do not have an anus?
Even if Dante had said that the author of this booklet was the Tyranid hive mind itself, the Blood Chapters would probably have believed it to some extent.
"Another Warp entity, perhaps like the hive mind, that has ascended or is about to ascend from the material universe, and will occupy an independent position in the Warp."
"Mephiston believes that it is in competition with the hive mind."
Dante tried to keep his tone as calm as possible.
"You mean," Blood Knight Yor let out a low laugh, "we will fight a God, and receive help from another God?"
".." Dante looked at Yor in silence. Mephiston had taught him how to respond to this question: "Do you have a better name for them?"
Everyone present gasped, even Yor's gaze towards Dante was filled with shock.
"What is its name? The one in conflict with the hive mind?" Blood Knight Chapter Master Yor asked in a low voice.
"..Doraemon," Dante said slowly, looking at Yor, "Saint Doraemon."
Behind Dante, in a white light invisible to all, a winged figure gently trembled its feathers.
A faint blue emanated from his light, as if echoing the name Doraemon.
Barol had sunk beneath the stars, and the Scarlet Scar dominated the celestial wilderness, turning the night sky into a dripping blood-red.
Mephiston and the genestealer walked across the desert beneath the stars, the blood-red light reflecting off them, turning them into blood-colored silhouettes.
The genestealer patriarch, Four-Clawed Dante, had revealed his massive body.
Its six to seven-meter-tall body appeared exceptionally terrifying.
Mephiston assessed its power.
Even he would probably need seven or eight seconds to completely kill this genestealer patriarch, which had been growing stronger for centuries.
After all, maintaining high-intensity cognitive distortion along the way also consumed some of its psychic energy.
Mephiston subtly watched the genestealer patriarch. Since it had revealed its form, it meant it should be very close.
Suddenly, the genestealer patriarch stopped, raising its triangular head.
"The Land of Divine Descent has arrived!" The genestealer bishop Lingnao.Mophiston exclaimed with joy.
Hot sand blew past, and before Mephiston and the others, a steaming, seed-like pod appeared.
It lay diagonally on the wavy sand, its purple carapace gleaming under the blood-red light.
Crunch, Damn, Damn ——————
A tearing sound echoed, and a viscous, wet gap appeared at the top of the pod. The slime-oozing fissure began to convulse and open, as if symbolizing a false birth, the arrival of a twisted being.
A tall, slender, and extremely sharp creature crawled out of the fissure, staggering towards Mephiston and the others.
"The Living Saint Sanguilius has been born!" The genestealer bishop uttered a devout hymn, kneeling on the yellow sand.
However, after taking a few steps, the creature suddenly spread its four claws, much smaller than a normal lictor's, raised its alien head, and opened its gaping maw. The viscous membrane covering its head was torn away.
A furious roar erupted from its throat, and the massive brain tissue exposed to the air released a dazzling psychic glow.
This lictor subspecies, which Mephiston had never seen but had read about in "an ogryn's guide to Tyranid biology", slowly turned its head to look at Mephiston.
"We shall oppose God, and we shall fight God."
Under the glow of the holographic star map in the Red Great Hall, Dante raised his head and declared to his blood brothers and cousins.
"Then should we engage it in the psychic realm?"
Moments after Dante's words fell, Captain Damman of the Crimson Brothers Battle Group's Seventh Company asked with confusion:
"Perhaps if we destroy their minds, their bodies will also collapse."
"It, not them," corrected Scabben, the Chief Librarian of the Flesh Tearers Chapter.
Aside from Mephiston, who was not present, he was arguably the most powerful psyker on Baal, and now this Flesh Tearers Chief Librarian attended the meeting in place of Chapter Master Seth.
"Like Mephiston, I once gazed directly upon the hive mind."
Scabben emphasized:
"I barely survived, and through that, I understood that terrifying existence. It is not an opponent we can defeat in the Warp."
"Besides the Emperor himself, I cannot think of any other being in the material world that could defeat the hive mind in the Warp."
Scabben's words plunged those present back into silence.
"We must destroy it in the material world, no matter what. Its mind is born within the Leviathan's flesh, and by eliminating enough creatures, the hive mind will be weakened."
Dante broke the silence:
"This battle must still be decided in the material realm, right here on Baal."
"Gentlemen, within the Scarlet Scar, there is no longer any place for the Tyranid to replenish biomass except for Baal. The worlds not yet consumed by the Tyranid have had their life taken by me; besides Baal, I have left them nothing but ashes."
A barely perceptible pain tinged Dante's voice.
The Emperor had molded them into protectors of humanity, yet he had ordered the destruction of over forty inhabited worlds.
The Tyranid's obsession with Baal also put them in danger.
To directly reach Baal, the Tyranid even abandoned richer areas and wasted a large amount of biomass during their forced march.
"Besides Baal, the Tyranid can find nothing to sustain their existence," Dante emphasized again.
"If we can defeat the Tyranid on Baal, they will be trapped within the Scarlet Scar, forced to endure hunger and scarcity."
"As long as we resist them on Baal, at Angel Keep, they will be eliminated."
"We are like humans in primitive times, holding high a torch named Hope. As long as the torch remains lit, the beasts will have to endure hunger in the darkness until death."
Dante's gaze swept over all the warriors present.
Every person here represented an entire Chapter, an embodiment of a Blood Angels successor Chapter. Dante intended to bind them together, not through force, but through his prestige, honor, and the trust between brothers.
"Now, Baal has gathered the most powerful force in ten thousand years. This force is enough to protect the torch of hope and scorch the Tyranid's bodies."
"But the size of this army also brings its own problems. Everyone present is the master of a successor Chapter, bearing the same responsibilities."
"Over twenty Chapters, more than twenty thousand battle brothers, countless warships, and three planets. No one but the Emperor and the Archangel has the right to command such a vast force."
Dante's words once again brought silence to the hall.
"The blood of Sanguinius is on your head, and the mask of Sanguinius is on your face."
Yor, the Chapter Master of the Blood Knight Battle Group, spoke with a grim voice:
"Stop with these political pretenses; the Blood Knight will obey you."
Though Yor's words were sharp, they resonated with those present, and almost all the warriors nodded in agreement.
"We heard that during Armageddon, the Imperial commanders debated for a series of time before appointing you as the Supreme Commander."
The Chapter Master of the Crimson Blades Chapter stood up. This veteran, who once believed himself to be a descendant of Guilliman, declared:
"But here, I believe we do not need to. You are our kin, you are the representative of Sanguinius. I am willing to regard you as our Lord."
When he sat down, the room was filled with cheers.
However, Dante understood that many, like Yor, were loyal to Baal, loyal to the blood of Sanguinius, loyal to the mask on Dante's face, but not necessarily willing to accept Dante's personal command.
Dante knew that true power did not come from the deceased or tradition, but from the consent of the governed. If he did not truly gain this power, Dante would not be able to unite them.
Dante needed to hold the right to rule in his own hands. This, of course, violated the codex astartes, which stipulated that no Astartes commander should command more than one thousand Astartes warriors.
However, everyone present was a descendant of the Archangel, so few likely cared about the codex.
A slight smile appeared on Dante's face beneath his mask. For the needs of reality, he could only temporarily inconvenience Lord Robert Guilliman.
"Gentlemen, I have indeed achieved many things, but I am still essentially a warrior, completely equal to you."
"Only the absent Emperor and the Archangel have the right to bestow the title of commander upon me, but if they both truly require me to bear this responsibility, then I must obtain your consent."
Dante looked around, his tone becoming authoritative:
"If you truly desire me to command you, then obey my first order."
"Vote. Use your own power to grant me power, to make me the leader of this war."
"Good!" Yor of the Blood Knight Battle Group growled out, "Then let's vote!"
"If the people deem you a qualified ruler, without needing to rely on the authority of Sanguinius, then I swear I will lead my brothers to die for you."
"But if the outcome is unfavorable to you, then I will unleash the wrath of Sanguinius upon the enemy in my own way."
Dante nodded solemnly: "I only accept the power granted to me by my brothers. Whatever you choose, I will gladly accept it."
Immediately, the warriors began intense discussions about whether to pledge allegiance to Dante himself. Passionate gestures and voices created a breeze in the room, stirring the flickering flames.
Dante watched this scene, knowing he had taken the first step.
He was confident he would win this vote. The vote itself was merely a symbol and a ritual, making them loyal to Dante himself rather than the deceased Primarch.
Suddenly, Dante sensed a gaze fixed upon him.
Dante turned his head and saw Scabben, the Chief Librarian of the Flesh Tearers Chapter, watching him.
"You desire to be like a Primarch, Dante." A voice echoed in Dante's mind, seemingly out of nowhere. It was Scabben's voice.
Dante's face remained calm, as Mephiston had done this more than once.
"No, I dare not aspire to the power of a Primarch," he replied in his mind.
Dante had never once craved power; he only felt weary of it, longing for it to end on the battlefield.
"I'm not talking about power." Scabben looked at Dante, shaking his head slightly: "You desire to sacrifice like a Primarch."
"What could be more arrogant and presumptuous than that?"
Crimson sky light spilled onto the sandy ground. From its pod, a lictor, crawling as if newly born, raised its head.
Beneath its purple-red carapace, like a papal tiara, interwoven, swollen brain tissue was exposed, glowing with blue psychic energy in the darkness, illuminating its pale pink flesh.
This lictor's head twisted towards Mephiston, its smaller claws, compared to other lictor subspecies, slightly open.
The Neurothrope, also known as the Brain lictor, is a lictor subspecies specifically enhanced with psychic powers, used to counter psyker.
Mephiston had read about it in 'an ogryn's guide to Tyranid biology' and knew that the psychic waves released by this Tyranid were enough to plunge a Space Marine into fear.
That powerful psychic lictor evidently saw through the cognitive distortion on Mephiston in a few brief seconds.
It let out a sharp roar, and a cold, hungry, and greedy psychic wave surged towards Mephiston.
Mephiston was too slow to dodge and was hit head-on by the psychic wave. A wave of fear arose from the depths of his soul, and his body stiffened slightly for less than half a second.
But it was that half-second that caused the cognitive distortion around him to fluctuate. The fourteen Sanguinius of the Scythe Wings Champions, the genestealer bishop, and the genestealer patriarch let out angry roars and charged at Mephiston.
The sound of bullets scorching the air rang out. Three Shots.Callen's bullets shot towards Mephiston with unstoppable force.
Blood-like fury surged in Mephiston's eyes. His gaze swept over Three Shots.Callen's body and the bullets he fired.
The bullets instantly disintegrated into countless fragments in the air. Three Shots.Callen's body also shattered into fingernail-sized blood clots, as if sliced by a thousand blades in the blink of an eye.
The Guards and Pureblood genestealers reacted even faster. One held a blade, the other extended claws capable of cutting through Terminator power armor.
However, before they could even touch Mephiston, their bodies shattered into ashes in the blink of an eye, dissipating with the night breeze.
The remaining few so-called Sanguinius of the Scythe Wings Champions didn't even have time to react before they exploded into thin air, turning to ash and scattering into the sky.
"Mephiston?!" the genestealer bishop let out a sharp cry of terror.
Its pulsating brain tissue writhed, and psychic power capable of instantly bursting dozens of ordinary human brains surged towards Mephiston.
But Mephiston merely turned his head, his eyes, filled with scarlet fury, fixed on the genestealer bishop.
The genestealer bishop felt its throat tighten, then watched its body and head separate, as if severed by an invisible blade.
The genestealer patriarch named Four-Clawed Dante roared. It moved at a speed far exceeding its massive body, appearing before Mephiston in the blink of an eye, spreading its four scythe-like sharp claws.
This genestealer patriarch, with a lifespan of several centuries, having grown up in the crimson wastes of Baal, seemed to carry the genetic sequence of the ancient Blood Angels, its strength comparable to that of a typical successor Chapter Master.
Claws descended from the sky, striking Mephiston from four directions.
Mephiston raised his Soul Sword, vita lars, to block. The silver steel forming the blade seemed to feel its master's wrath, heating up and burning fiercely.
"GET OUT!!!" A roar filled with fury erupted from Mephiston's mouth.
In an instant, reality wailed in tremor, and the Soul Sword, vita lars, sang with heat.
The genestealer patriarch's four arms were severed in the scorching flames, turning to ash and scattering with the wind.
"Roar," the genestealer patriarch let out a low wail.
Its body, which had grown and evolved over centuries, seemed insignificant before Mephiston.
The Soul Sword, vita lars, glowed with blue light and plunged into the genestealer patriarch's chest, covered by deep purple chitinous carapace.
This sturdy carapace was nothing before the silver steel longsword, cut open like butter by a hot knife.
Scorching psychic flames surged from the longsword, erupting from within the genestealer patriarch, instantly incinerating the giant beast into ashes.
Fourteen Sanguinius of the Scythe Wings Champions, the genestealer bishop with its mutated brain tissue, and the unique and powerful genestealer patriarch, all together, only lasted seven or eight seconds before Mephiston.
Mephiston's eyes, surging with scorching fury, fell upon the Neurothrope.
The Neurothrope was covered by layers of psychic power that concealed its form, and its own carapace was gradually disappearing, merging into the gaps of light and shadow.
This Tyranid psychic unit, with its powerful psychic abilities and stealth, was almost about to vanish before Mephiston.
The hive mind had once clashed with Mephiston in the Underworld.
At that time, Mephiston not only resisted the power of the hive mind but also, in the interim, slew the psychic beast whose psychic power surpassed alpharius.
Knowing this, the Neurothrope understood that Mephiston was by no means an opponent it could match.
In fact, it only barely gained a chance to escape by relying on the few seconds bought by the genestealer.
"Never!" A beast-like roar came from Mephiston's mouth. A terrifying psychic wave was unleashed from him, and the sand swirling in the air instantly began to burn. The sand around Mephiston was instantly scorched into shimmering, rough black glass.
Fiery, blood-red wings almost sprouted from his back. He leaped, flying in the blink of an eye to stand before the Neurothrope.
The Soul Sword, vita lars, was raised high by Mephiston, and the fierce psychic flames burning on it almost obscured the crimson rift in the sky.
The Neurothrope let out a sharp wail, mobilizing all its psychic power to form layers of thick psychic barriers.
A crimson rift burst between the two, and the real universe shook. The surrounding desert began to burn and collapse, and the light of the stars dimmed.
The lictor, after all, managed to briefly block Mephiston's blade for a moment. Even though this almost consumed most of its psychic power, it still seized this brief opportunity to completely hide its form in the gaps of light and shadow and beneath the veil of reality, making itself disappear from Mephiston's sight.
Mephiston's Soul Sword, vita lars, struck nothing. The blade, imbued with powerful psychic energy, plunged directly into the desert.
In an instant, a blood-red lightning bolt streaked across the desert night sky, and the sand around Mephiston's blade was all scorched into charred, murky glass.
Mephiston let out an angry roar, cursing the damned beast and his own foolishness under his breath.
He had never seen a Brain lictor, nor had he heard of the existence of a Neurothrope outside of 'an ogryn's guide to Tyranid biology.' He instinctively overlooked the possibility that this lictor might be this psychic subspecies.
Coupled with his overconfidence and pride in his own psychic abilities, he exposed his identity at the last moment, allowing that lictor to escape.
Mephiston suddenly recalled what Alexander had once said: many things in the galaxy go wrong because of the three words: honor, pride, and brotherhood.
Just then, a breeze blew beside Mephiston, and a reddish-pink wooden door opened beside him.
"Neurothrope," Alexander's voice sounded beside Mephiston, and then Mephiston heard the sound of a cane falling on the sand.
The Neurothrope's carapace allowed it to hide within the gaps of light and shadow, while its massive brain enabled it to conceal itself beneath the veil of reality, barely interacting with the objects of the real universe.
It ran across sand without leaving tracks; it drew in air without stirring a breeze; its body did not permeate into the air.
Even its footsteps became indistinct, and its path of movement was elusive.
Though it still existed in the real universe, under the influence of powerful psychic energies, it was almost equivalent to truly disappearing.
This was also why the Tyranid sent it into Baal.
The hive mind was always wary of the psychic entity named Mephiston; his immense psychic power astonished even the Tyranid, and the hive mind understood his strength even better than he did himself.
It was specifically to evade his sight that the Tyranid cultivated it: a Neurothrope specialized in stealth psychic abilities.
Not only could it evade almost all psychic prophecies, but even Mephiston should not have been able to perceive it.
And to make it even stronger, strong enough to turn the tide of the future, the hive mind even designed a complex ritual to amplify its psychic power and allow the hive mind to enter the lictor's body more fully.
This ritual was to be executed with the cooperation of the genestealer, but the plan went awry.
Mephiston, by some unknown means, predicted its infiltration and infiltrated the genestealer' ranks.
However, he did not anticipate that the Neurothrope possessed psychic powers capable of seeing through his cognitive distortion, and the sacrifice of the genestealer bought the Neurothrope enough time to infiltrate the gaps of light and shadow, beneath the veil of reality.
This way, even Mephiston would find it difficult to track it.
It scurried rapidly through the desert, relying on its psychic senses to confirm that Mephiston had not followed.
Simultaneously, the pulsed electromagnetic waves emitted from its brain allowed it to confirm safety in the material universe.
It had successfully escaped; that powerful psychic entity named Mephiston had lost due to his arrogance in his own abilities.
But the lictor would not; this was the advantage of the Tyranid, never proud or overconfident, unrestrained by honor or emotion, able to rationally predict all possible situations—
Click.
The sound of a wooden door opening echoed beside the Neurothrope; a pinkish-red wooden door instantly appeared beside the lictor.
Alexander stepped out, holding a slender cane that tilted slightly, pointing in the direction of the lictor.
It's him!!!
An emotion akin to fear instinctively surged through the lictor's nerves; it recognized the prey-like creature before it as another competitor, another hunter, of the hive mind.
Alexander's speed was even faster than the lictor's reaction; he swung the cane in his hand, the Phantom Thief DX Suit beneath his fake skin activating, striking in the direction of the Neurothrope.
The lictor utterly failed to understand how Alexander had discovered its location and hastily mobilized its remaining psychic power to form a shield in front of the cane.
In an instant, a psychic wave rippled across the desert, and the lictor's figure appeared with the flickering of light and shadow.
The shield, supported by its meager remaining psychic power, was utterly insufficient to resist Alexander's swinging cane; a crisp sound rang out, and the psychic shield burst.
The Neurothrope hurriedly released a psychic wave powerful enough to strike fear into a Space Marine.
But when the wave touched Alexander, it didn't even cause a ripple.
It was as if Alexander's consciousness was so vast that a mere psychic wave was insufficient to stir it.
Instead, a smile played on Alexander's lips; every muscle on his face moved perfectly, becoming exceptionally fierce, and his eyes gleamed with a bloody light, revealing bone-chilling killing intent.
"Stay where you are, or you will die, and so will the hive mind," Alexander's voice drifted out softly.
As the Neurothrope heard the voice and saw Alexander's expression, for some reason, all its senses warned it that Alexander spoke the truth; a chilling sensation of death arose in its consciousness, as if one more movement would result in the death of both it and the hive mind in the next moment.
The Neurothrope's body instinctively froze in place for half a second.
Then, the lictor realized that Alexander had used some trick to deceive its senses and frantically manipulated its psychic power and carapace, attempting to conceal its form and escape again.
However, Alexander did not give it the chance; Alexander's hand shot out and grabbed the Neurothrope's arm.
The Neurothrope did not hesitate, raising its scythe-like arm and severing its grabbed arm.
However, Alexander seized the opportunity to exert force, pushing the lictor diagonally backward.
The lictor's form instantly wavered; its invisibility was broken by Alexander.
At the same time, the lictor noticed that behind it was the pinkish-red wooden door, and the Neurothrope's body uncontrollably fell into the wooden door.
"Angel Keep, Red Council," Alexander said to the anywhere door.
"Gentlemen, please begin your vote."
Dante sat at the head of the table, gazing at the five hundred Astartes warriors.
He had to gain the support of the vast majority of them to truly command this army of angels.
"If you approve of me as your Commander, and are willing to entrust your lives and honor to me, then please stand up."
"If you are unwilling to accept my command, then please remain seated, and even if you leave Baal, I will not hinder you."
Voting was the simplest and most primitive way to grant power to an individual.
As Dante knew, even when humanity was still in the tribal era, they would use voting to decide the fate of the entire tribe.
It's just that the primitive people of that time probably wouldn't have imagined that even when human civilization had spread across the stars, voting would still be a simple and effective method.
These five hundred Astartes all had the right to make their choices freely, and each represented the Chapter behind them.
Dante was not worried about them making the wrong decision.
He knew his own prestige and had already used appropriate political means, preaching, and guidance to ensure that the vast majority of warriors would vote for him.
They had the right to choose freely, just as a train had the right to speed freely on its tracks.
Hundreds of Astartes in power armor rose from their chairs, the roar of mechanical components operating echoing through the entire space, mingling with the low music played by the blood thralls in the distance, transforming into a sacred and solemn mechanical hum.
A cherub-like servitor was released from the ceiling, spreading its ornamental metal wings, its mechanical eyes glowing red; it scanned the voters, silently counting the Astartes monks who had voted.
Looking at the cherub in mid-air, Dante felt a faint disgust.
He had always been unable to understand these infant-shaped servitors.
It was said that these things were born in the Adeptus Mechanicus' gene-culturing vats, produced and then fitted with bionics to resemble the child-angels of ancient human legends, and finally anointed with holy oil by the Adeptus Ministorum.
The Adeptus Mechanicus claimed that these cherubs were not actually real human infants, could not even be called human, and did not possess true intelligence, at most having an intelligence similar to that of monkeys.
Even so, Dante still felt an inexplicable revulsion every time he saw them. However, purely in terms of performance, these cherubs were indeed superior to ordinary servitors; each was a unique custom-made item from the Adeptus Mechanicus.
Only a very small number of Astartes warriors remained in their seats.
Commander Dante's thousand years of accumulated prestige were enough to make most people forget the codex astartes and their arrogance, choosing to follow him.
Most of those still seated were either extremely reverent of the codex astartes, believing that no Astartes, no matter how great, had the right to command more than a thousand warriors.
Beyond that, there were those who had conflicts with the Blood Angels, and had only come to protect Baal.
Then there was Yor of the Blood Cavaliers Battle Group; he observed Dante through his helmet, seemingly still assessing whether accepting Dante's command would benefit his Chapter brothers.
Dante believed it necessary to speak with Yor privately.
Of course, there was also Chapter Master Seth of the Flesh Tearers, who was unwilling to attend.
"Four hundred seventy-six in favor of Commander Dante's rule."
"Twenty-four opposed."
The results of the vote were announced; it was an absolute majority.
The four hundred seventy-six warriors who approved of Dante's rule erupted in excited cheers and applause.
Dante stood up and calmly waved his hand, interrupting the uproar.
"You have chosen me and placed the authority of a commander upon my head."
"Therefore, I will command you, and I will consider you part of my Chapter."
"I will trust you as I trust my own blood brothers, not cousins."
"I will respect you, and I will grant you the honor and respect I grant my own warriors."
"I will also command you, and anyone who defies my will shall receive the same punishment as my warriors."
Then, Dante's gaze fell upon the twenty-four warriors who remained seated.
Each of them either did not support Dante's rule or felt hesitant about it.
"Anyone who disagrees may leave; this is your last chance. Even if you leave, I will still consider you cousins, and I will use all my power to help you when you need it and I am able."
"But if you stay, you shall accept my command and become my warriors and blood kin."
As his words fell, the remaining twenty-four warriors still did not leave.
"This does not conform to the codex astartes," said the Chapter Master of the Crimson Blades, "but we accept, only because we share the same blood, Dante."
"So be it," said Yor, Chapter Master of the Blood Cavaliers Battle Group, looking at Dante. "My brothers and I are not welcome, but since you are willing to consider us blood brothers, Dante, we wish to die for you."
"Give me the most dangerous, most impossible place to survive," Yor said, looking at Dante through his helmet.
"As you wish, Yor," Dante nodded slightly. "May you cleanse the stain upon your name."
Yor let out a low chuckle at that.
In an instant, the atmosphere in the air became lively.
Everyone understood that the former glory of the Blood Angels Legion was being resurrected.
It had been ten thousand years; never had so many Blood Angels been under the rule of a single individual.
"Dante!" shouts echoed through the Red Great Hall, "Dante! Dante! Lord of Angels!!"
Five hundred warriors pounded their chests, praising the name of their Commander.
Dante, however, felt his scalp prickle and stood up, wanting to interrupt the shouts.
"Hmm?" Dante let out a strange hum.
A pinkish-red wooden door suddenly appeared in the center of the Red Great Hall, in the space between the marble round tables.
The Great Hall suddenly fell silent; all the Astartes warriors and blood thralls stared intently at the suddenly appearing pinkish-red wooden door.
Most of the Astartes did not recognize this wooden door, but a slight movement occurred at the corner of Dante's mouth beneath his mask, as if he realized something.
Click—
The wooden door suddenly opened.
A Tyranid, long-bodied, with two small scythe-like claws glowing with purple light, a massive brain tissue nestled between its crown, and emanating psychic light, stumbled out of the door.
Its entire body glowed with a hazy light, its form flickering, and its head lifted somewhat bewilderedly, looking at the five hundred Astartes warriors before it.
Click!!!
The sound of nearly five hundred boltguns being cocked rang out.
This chapter is 3,500 characters, plus the previous chapter's 8,000. First, I'll make up 2,000 characters; the rest will be made up gradually.
The Neurothrope raised its head, looking around with a slightly bewildered expression.
The psychic energy and pulsed electromagnetic waves released from its swollen brain instantly made it realize where it was.
Angel Keep! The prey's council hall! A full five hundred gene-enhanced creatures known as Astartes!
It had indeed intended to infiltrate Angel Keep to turn the tide of the war at a critical moment.
But the timing was clearly wrong! And the location was also wrong!
Not only had the lictor not figured out the situation, but the Astartes in the Red Great Hall hadn't either.
An alien had inexplicably appeared in the Red Great Hall?
It was certainly shocking, but as for danger...
There were five hundred Chapter Masters, Chief Librarians, and Company Captains of the Blood Angels standing in the council hall, with nearly five hundred Boltguns aimed at this blasphemous alien psyker.
Let alone a Neurothrope, even if a hive Tyrant came, it would be defeated here.
Although they hadn't figured out the situation, at least a century of combat experience allowed these warriors to react quickly and pull their triggers.
In an instant, hundreds of thunderous roars erupted in the Red Great Hall, shaking the entire building. Nearly five hundred bolter rounds transformed into a burning rain of fire, shooting towards the Neurothrope in the center of the round table.
The Neurothrope let out a sharp roar, and the massive brain matter beneath its crown burst forth with psychic light, instantly blurring the boundary between reality and the Warp. This almost completely drained the Neurothrope's remaining psychic energy.
A sturdy, hemispherical psychic shield enveloped the Neurothrope. The bullets that touched the shield were like objects sinking into a swamp, instantly slowing down and creating ripples on the psychic shield.
The lictor's neural pathways in its head collided and burst, and a pale blue ichor splattered down its crown.
Resisting Mephiston's psychic powers, Alexander's sudden attack, and the combined volley of five hundred Astartes, even the immensely powerful Neurothrope was pushed to its limits.
It turned its head to look at the pinkish-red wooden door through which it had arrived, but that door had vanished at some point.
The Neurothrope could only use the pulsed electromagnetic waves from its brain to find a weak point in the Red Great Hall, planning to break through there—
"Alien!!!!"
Before the Neurothrope could act, a terrifying roar, filled with a chilling aura of blood, echoed through the hall.
Yor of the Blood Cavaliers Battle Group let out a bestial roar. His silver and red power armor, stained with dried blood, was particularly horrifying, and the bloodthirsty hunger seeping from it enveloped the Sons of Sanguinius.
Yor transformed into a crimson, cruel shadow, streaking across the hall. His blood-soaked Chainsword roared furiously, venting his anger at the alien.
The whistling Chainsword heavily struck the psychic shield that the lictor had erected. In an instant, the entire psychic shield let out a mournful wail.
This creation of Warp energy ultimately could not withstand the wrath of the Sons of Sanguinius and dissipated into streams of light.
The Neurothrope roared, quickly turning and raising its two pale purple claws, which resembled small scythes.
However, Yor of the Blood Knight was more savage, insane, fearless, and cunning than it.
He practically allowed the Neurothrope's claws to pierce his power armor, then, using that brief opening, he pushed his Chainsword forcefully towards the lictor with both hands.
The alien's blasphemous, corrosive blood splattered from the Neurothrope's chest, landing on Yor's silver-red power armor and emitting corrosive white smoke.
But Yor didn't care. Some of the alien blood splattered on his helmet and seeped through the breathing holes, yet Yor seemed unharmed. Instead, he let out excited roars, as if the alien's blood invigorated him.
"Hah!!!" The Neurothrope let out a mournful cry; its body was almost severed.
But it seemed to sense something, and with a burst of strength, it plunged its two claws towards Yor's helmet, which he never removed.
Yor instinctively dodged, letting out a cry of fear, and his Chainsword was simultaneously pulled from the Neurothrope's abdomen.
"Yor!!!" Dante's roar rang out. His Meltagun roared, and the Neurothrope's two claws snapped off.
The Neurothrope fell heavily to the ground, letting out a sharp shriek, and a burst of ichor erupted from its head, releasing a powerful psychic wave in an instant.
That fear-inducing psychic wave almost instantly flooded the mind of every Blood Angel.
The lictor had specifically modulated this psychic wave to make every Blood Angel see their greatest fear.
"I curse your Primarch's anus! traitor!"
"The Sons of Sanguinius will never fear!"
"Kill!!! Horus!!! That's Horus!!!"
But this seemed to have the opposite effect. During the brief bodily stiffness, the Sons of Sanguinius were instead roused to anger, roaring and charging towards the fallen Neurothrope.
In his fury, the Chapter Master of the Crimson Blades even directly drew the master-crafted power sword from his waist and threw it like a javelin at the Neurothrope.
The lictor couldn't dodge in time and had half its tail chopped off by the power sword.
A look that could only be described as dumbfounded appeared on the Neurothrope's alien face.
Everything that had happened since it landed on this planet was so inexplicable, so incomprehensible.
Damn it! Why are things always so bad on Baal?!
The psychic light on the Neurothrope's head flickered. It planned to squeeze itself one last time, burning some of its own flesh to forcibly connect with the genestealer in Sheath Wing Fortress, drawing on centuries of their faith to manipulate the power of the Warp, and thus gain a chance to escape.
But just then, the pinkish-red wooden door reappeared.
A hand reached out from the wooden door, grabbing at the dying Neurothrope on the ground—
The Neurothrope, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, suddenly leaped up from the ground with its mutilated body, almost without hesitation, pouncing on Yor, the Blood Knight Chapter Master closest to it, as if actively seeking death.
Yor also noticed the hand reaching out from the pinkish-red wooden door. He almost instinctively believed it was also an enemy.
"Don't even think about it!!!" Yor roared.
Yor's Chainsword whistled as it swung towards that hand.
However, that hand flipped like magic, and a plastic toy short sword, shimmering with a faint golden light, appeared in his hand.
Bang!!!!
Even in their deep anger, Yor and the other Blood Angels couldn't help but marvel at the exquisite swordsmanship.
That toy short sword blocked Yor's attack in an extremely clever way, then gently flicked Yor's Chainsword away.
Subsequently, that hand, with lightning speed, quickly reached out towards the Neurothrope, who was actively trying to pounce on Yor's Chainsword to commit suicide.
But that hand was much faster than the lictor's mutilated body. The hand gripped the lictor's half-severed tail and pulled it into the pinkish-red wooden door.
The Neurothrope struggled, letting out a roar, squeezing the last bit of psychic power from its almost withered brain tissue.
Almost all the Blood Angels heard the lictor's angry roar in their ears.
The roar seemed to be cursing the Blood Angels for not killing it faster.
But this only made the Blood Angels briefly dumbfounded.
Having killed enemies of humanity their entire lives, they had never heard such a request.
The latter half of the lictor's body was pulled into the anywhere door. It struggled, trying to hook its broken arm onto the door, but the strength of that hand was so immense that within one or two seconds, the lictor was dragged into the pinkish-red wooden door.
In an instant, the Red Great Hall fell silent again.
The Sons of Sanguinius, having calmed down from their anger, looked with bewilderment at the shattered marble table and the blood on the floor.
"What was that pinkish-red wooden door?!"
"I think I've seen it. I heard the Dying-worshippers of Saint Doraemon on Baal II say that their worshipped Saint Doraemon emerged from that door."
"No, no, I heard the Death Worshipers on Baal say that it's a divine artifact carried by their revered chosen of the God of Death, capable of going anywhere. Also, there's a staff that can find anyone's location; together, they symbolize the inescapability of death."
"We Flesh Tearers have seen that wooden door on Baal."
For a moment, the hall was filled with low murmurs.
Only one Astartes warrior, clad in red and white power armor, was looking down at the ground with a confused expression, searching for something.
"Where's my sword?"
"Where's my master-crafted power sword??"
"That's my Chapter relic!!! My 'Blade of Halderos'! How is my power sword gone!!!"
Ka'Ang, the Chapter Master of the Crimson Blades, raised his head with a look of grief and indignation, letting out a roar.
The warriors present all looked at Ka'Ang with blank expressions.
Only Dante, standing on the dais, who had a rough guess of everything that had happened, twitched the corner of his mouth.
In the deserts of Baal, Alexander, with a look of satisfaction, stuffed the Neurothrope into his four-dimensional pocket on his stomach.
Mephiston looked away, not daring to watch the secondary Warp god's feeding process.
But suddenly, Mephiston saw a flash of silver light. Alexander, from who knows where, pulled out a shining master-crafted power longsword, its blade inlaid with exquisite gems, crafted in the style of three drops of blood spilling into a skull cup.
"..Isn't this the 'Blade of Halderos', the relic of the Crimson Blades? A precious artifact named after their Chapter's homeworld."
Alexander blinked in confusion when he heard this, but his action of stuffing the master-crafted power sword into the four-dimensional pocket didn't stop for a moment.
"I just saw it lying on the ground, and it seemed a shame. I figured maybe they didn't want it anymore."
"What a waste, don't you think?"
Alexander sighed, shaking his head.
Mephiston's expression stiffened slightly upon hearing this, and he quickly touched vita lars, the Soul Sword at his waist.