Chapter 235: Run! Run!
The loss of control started slowly.
[The sensors in Zone 3 just cut out for 3 milliseconds.]
[It's probably just a false alarm. At a time like this, they still want us to check the psionic circuits?]
Two Rangdas walked through the corridor, their footsteps echoing in the dim space. The faint light reflected off the floor like congealed fat—cold and greasy.
[Decisions are made by the higher-ups. What we can do is take responsibility for our part. We can't afford to be careless—]
A soft thud interrupted the voice, but the second soldier hadn't noticed yet.
[Fine, fine, take responsibility, take responsibility. Aren't you just the same as me, slacking—]
?
Sensing something was wrong, the one walking in front turned back.
The comrade who had just been lecturing him now lay silently on the floor, completely still.
[Huh?]
[PTYUH! Hey! What happened to you?!]
[Hey?! Wake up! Wake up!]
Panicked, he rushed over to check his partner, activating the alert channel—but the once-busy comms were now dead silent.
The communication was down.
Hands trembling, he drew his blade. While staying alert, he tried to shake his comrade awake—but then realized something else.
Using psionics, he probed his friend—
There was nothing.
The soul was gone. All that remained was a still-warm corpse.
It was the first time the Rangda truly understood that terror didn't come only from bullets and gunpowder.
True fear came from the unknown.
A chilling stillness surrounded him. Kneeling in the center of the endless corridor, his fallen companion beside him, he became acutely aware of how terrifyingly quiet it had become.
The light overhead shone silently down. Time and space seemed to stretch, trapping him and the corpse like two actors in the center of a stage—watched by some unseen audience reveling in his fear and disgrace.
The pale light was dry and blinding.
His soul shuddered. His brain throbbed in pain.
At the far end of the corridor, something appeared—something that defied observation, cloaked in darkness.
Summoning all his courage, the Rangda pointed his blade toward the indescribable presence and shouted,
"Hey! You—"
Thud
Another soft noise. Something dropped.
The corridor fell silent once more.
At the rear of the ship, a warning sensor flickered twice before returning to normal. The lights failed for several seconds, and a few soldiers lost contact with command.
A common malfunction. Nothing noteworthy—certainly not in the face of an enemy fleet.
The clock's pendulum sped up. The army was closing in. The oppressive sense of impending doom tightened its grip, while the Lord repeatedly recalculated the fleet's trajectory, desperately trying to lead his people out of the trap.
But it was clear now—the enemy fleet's commander was no fool. What once seemed like idle maneuvering had in fact sealed off every possible route of retreat.
There was only one option left:
Everyone would have to bleed.
Despair slowly gave way to madness. A vicious light gleamed in the Lord's eyes. If the only ending was destruction, then he would drag all existence down into hell with him.
Rangda blood held savagery beneath its surface. When facing a tyrant, all they could do was become even more brutal.
If they were to perish, they would make the enemy pay.
Calming his circulatory system, the Lord steadied himself. The decision was made. It was time for a final farewell—time to tell his warriors the truth.
He cast aside physical senses, diving deep into the Sea of Consciousness. In the darkness, a beautiful blue-violet ocean appeared before him. Waves rolled across it. Flame-like sparks shimmered across the seafloor like strands of seaweed.
The waves of soul and the warp gently cradled him, restoring clarity to his mind.
How beautiful the Sea of Consciousness was— it was the soul that lit this dark ocean, giving it life and energy, singing a magnificent psionic symphony.
Flickering flames—those were his people, his warriors, pure and—
Wait—?!
At the edge of vision, on the border between sea and darkness, something stirred.
A shadow flashed by.
At first, the Lord thought he had imagined it. But the moment he saw it—
That presence suddenly became colossal.
It was watching him.
It was only then that the Lord realized—the entire sea of consciousness was flowing abnormally.
Unlike the usual chaotic currents, the waves were clearly converging toward a single point—
A shapeless black creature clung to the very bottom of the sea. Fragments of golden light were nailed into its flesh, nearly piercing through it, forcibly restricting the creature's movement.
But the monster seemed completely unaware of pain. It writhed wantonly. Even when chained down, it advanced with a grotesque, unfeeling motion.
It was a creature of ignorance and primal savagery, driven by nothing but instinct.
From time to time, it twisted and swelled, then shrank again—like a predator licking and devouring all life at the sea's floor. Any flame it touched was instantly snuffed out. The music of souls abruptly ceased, as if it had never existed at all.
This hideous being was devastating the seabed's entire ecosystem. Its writhing, its distortion, its monstrous bulk—this was not a form the Warp should ever have produced.
It was a violation of all natural laws.
Wha– what is that?!!
The Rangda Lord swore it had never seen anything so profane, so vile. It couldn't comprehend it. Couldn't even truly perceive it. The black, fleshy abomination squatted on the ocean floor like a tumor.
A grotesque sphere of flesh that inflated and deflated with every breath, its body still bound by what seemed like shattered seals.
The Lord's soul instinctively screamed in alarm—a primal terror, like prey sensing a predator.
Trembling, the Lord realized that if not for those golden nails, the monster would have already consumed everything.
What kind of selfless entity had managed to bind this creature?
And what kind of disaster had allowed it to break free?
Even worse—it was swimming now. Fast.
And it was headed directly for the Lord.
Wherever the monster passed, his warriors vanished like candle flames in a hurricane—extinguished in an instant.
It wasn't a battle.
It was a massacre.
Suddenly, the Lord understood what had happened to the other Lord who had fallen silent and disappeared.
He had been devoured.
—AAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!
Don't! Don't come any closer!!
The soul-wrenching truth struck him like a hammer.
Overwhelming terror and shock convulsed his being. His organs seized violently. His unstable mind snapped back into physical reality, yanked from the Sea of Consciousness.
He staggered to his feet. The floor undulated beneath him like waves.
The Lord collapsed onto the command console, hands flailing madly across controls. A servant rushed to support him—but he shoved them aside in panic.
Eyes locked on the screen.
No—no, no, no—something was there. A clear and precise route began to emerge. The surveillance feeds had all briefly flickered at the same time.
With shaking hands, he zoomed in frame by frame.
In one corner, part of a corpse was visible—limbs motionless.
Dead. Without a sound. Already dead.
No—not just dead.
Their souls had been sucked out—devoured into that creature's body.
A body nourished by the dead.
The Lord trembled as he searched, praying desperately.
Finally, buried in the playback from a now-defunct security feed, he saw it—a massive figure crawling forward. It was still hidden in shadow, but one of its tendrils had emerged into the light.
The buzzing in his soul grew louder. He could feel the drop in pressure—the calm before the storm.
Something was slithering this way.
Indescribable. Incomprehensible.
The Lord barked orders at his servants to scatter, shoving past them, staggering in his own attempt to escape.
No—nothing would work.
Using psionics would only make the creature euphoric.
He could hear it now—the distant sound of flesh squirming and multiplying.
The monster was coming.
And it was coming for his soul.
No—no, no, no—what would happen if a soul was devoured by something like that?
Would it suffer eternal torment in a bottomless blackness?
The Lord fled the command room, stumbling and staggering.
Run. Get away. As far as possible.
Even if he died under the alien race's artillery fire, his soul must not fall into that monster's hands.
He had to escape.
Escape as far as possible.
He couldn't let that thing touch even a fragment of his soul.
He's here. He's here.
He could feel it—something was slithering along the floor.
He ran as if his life depended on it. He had found him. He was right behind him.
A wave of intense disgust and dread overwhelmed him.
He couldn't even bring himself to look back.
What if—if he turned around and saw the creature's true form—would he be cursed forever?
Heavy, rhythmic thuds struck the floor behind him, slamming directly into his auditory organs like hammers.
Run! Run!
He could hear the slicing wind from his tendrils.
He could hear the screams of souls.
The cunning predator, once exposed, had completely revealed its true form.
He watched his people extinguished one by one, like candles in a storm.
Darkness pursued him.
Light faded behind him.
In his psionic vision, everything behind was swallowed in black—no light, no thought remained.
He couldn't even mount a defense—just being close was enough to be devoured.
To be lost, utterly and completely.
He even began to long for the alien race boarding troops—at least they might be able to stall this thing.
Or maybe—maybe his soul could vanish before he got caught.
Despair was piling up inside the chamber, squeezing him from all sides.
Space itself felt warped, everything whipping past in a blur.
The only good news—it seemed the thing couldn't catch up. Not yet.
A fork in the passage was coming.
If he could just make it past there—on the other side was the altar.
He would sacrifice his soul to the High Heavens if he had to.
He couldn't endure this any longer.
At least he knew what to expect from the altar.
The light at the corridor's end was like a beacon in the void.
The monster behind seemed to fear this light—its pursuit grew disordered.
It was close. So close.
Joy erupted in his heart.
He lunged toward the fork with everything he had.
The wind howled past his ears—
From within the light, a massive scythe burst forth—
The blade gleamed, cold and razor-sharp.
Time seemed to freeze.
In the blinding white light, there was only the beast fleeing forward—and the Reaper's scythe lying in wait.
With crushing force, the blade hooked his charging body, slamming him brutally back into the darkness.
BANG!
He lay on its back, staring up into the piercing overhead light.
An alien race face loomed above, completely shrouded beneath a dark hood.
Harsh, ragged breaths hissed through a breathing mask.
A charged weapon was pressed to his head—yet no shot was fired.
Hah… hahaha… he's done for now!
Let this alien be bait, to slow that monster down!
The Lord grinned viciously and tried to rise—only for the scythe's handle to smash down on its face, shattering bone.
Then came a slow, rasping voice:
"Hades, move faster."
—Huh? Huh??
"He ran really fast, I've been chasing him half the ship."
The alien voice echoed through the corridor.
—HUH???
The Lord, pinned under the figure, looked up at the upside-down world.
And from the darkness emerged a human—panting heavily.
"That's not a good reason to chase someone across half the ship,"
Wha—?!
A human?!
That… thing… was a human?!
The Lord instinctively surged its psionic power, preparing for a desperate blast—
But neither of the two even looked at him.
The jet-black scythe fell.
The Rangda head—and soul—hit the floor together.
Hades scratched his head.
Who knew why this Lord just turned and ran the moment he saw him?
He hadn't even attacked yet.
In all his battles, Hades had never seen anyone run immediately.
The guy didn't even look that strong.
"By the way, Mortarion, how'd you board the ship so fast?"
"Hades," Mortarion rolled his eyes, "Look at the corpses littering half this ship. Then look at the other half—filled with Rangdas driven insane by the corpses."
He pulled up the ship's surveillance feed.
The Death Guard's Master of the Forge had already cracked the enemy's systems.
On screen, countless Rangdas trembled in fear, curling up or fleeing in madness.
The Lord's final scream before death had infected them all.
When they realized that more than half their army had died in total silence, the rest simply couldn't withstand the absurd, horrifying truth.
Next time we fight psyker species, Mortarion thought, we should just throw Hades at them.
"How did you even do it, Hades? How did you scare the Rangdas into madness?"
Or… was this species just inherently that fragile?
"I—I didn't really do anything though?"
Hades furrowed his brow in confusion.
He had just carried out a normal infiltration, then used the Black Domain to finish off the targets.
Sure, in a few places the terrain forced him into some undignified crawling…
Maybe the moment they realized that too many of them died too quickly, their morale check failed?
Even Hades didn't know for sure.
He could understand people dying.
But going insane?
That, he couldn't quite figure out.
Still, regardless of the cause, the outcome was ideal.
Thanks to this unexpected turn of events, the Rangdas on the flagship were wiped out—reduced to souls beneath the scythes of the Death Guard.
So when the Dark Angels finally arrived at Rust—panting and battle-ready after traveling an immense distance—all they found were Death Guard troops already cleaning up the battlefield.
Over the comms, the Death Guard commander greeted them with a smile.
In response to the Dark Angels' skepticism, he laughed awkwardly and said:
"Ah, we got lucky this time. Barely had to fight."
The Dark Angels exchanged puzzled glances—and a few visible question marks.
They were the ones assigned to pursue and destroy this xeno fleet.
They knew how terrifying these enemies were.
Yet that Death Guard's smile radiated a kind of cluelessness—like someone who'd stumbled into victory by accident.
Even their most seasoned interrogator couldn't find any cracks in the man's words or expression.
He seemed, genuinely, like an ignorant fool blessed by pure chance.
But…
Even the act of firing ship weapons would take time.
Not to mention the Rangdas' signature psionic self-detonations upon death.
There was no way this was just "good luck."
Something didn't add up.
The Dark Angels silently turned to one another, suspicion in their eyes.
<+>
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