Chapter 331: Killing with a Borrowed Blade
[Terra Time 00:25:08]
The blizzard finally paused to catch its breath.
Hades seized the fleeting calm and began relaying coordinates to the fleet in orbit.
Their descent had been brutal—his group had forced a landing through the storm, which threw their drop trajectory slightly off course.
Originally, Hades had aimed his drop pod directly at Skarbrand's head.
One minute after Hades reached Khârn's position, the rest of his strike force—those who had descended with him—finally caught up to the Lord of the Underworld's advance.
More and more fireballs streaked down from the sky. Drop pod doors slammed open with hissing bursts of gas.
Knights of the Silent Sisterhood emerged and joined the battle.
A few Stormbirds began cautiously circling above the army.
The furious blizzard meant few pilots would likely survive—but their presence was essential.
The ground troops needed eyes in the sky, and whatever supporting fire could still punch through the storm.
Though against the armies of Khorne, ranged firepower rarely mattered much.
Khârn leaned against a pile of skulls, half-sitting upright, his helmet emitting a sharp, labored rasp with every breath.
Frozen blood crackled across his chestplate; both his arms might have been broken.
He could feel the burning fire in his mind slowly ebbing away.
Even so, he did his best to direct the World Eaters landing nearby, relaying what he'd learned about the enemy's nature.
Footsteps crunched through the snow.
The Head of the Silent Sisterhood stopped before him.
"Forgive me. I came late."
Khârn gave a clumsy shake of his head.
Damn it, he wanted to take off his helmet just to breathe, but the air was far too cold—without it, he'd freeze solid in minutes.
"My lord, vanguard teams always pay the price. Your support arrived faster than any I've ever seen."
Before any heavy assets—or a Primarch himself—could be deployed, recon units were always sent first, to ensure no hidden traps waited below.
Khârn pushed himself away from the skull mound, his armor injecting pain suppressants as he staggered upright.
"I only hope we're not too late, My lord. If all's clear, the army must keep moving. Time is precious."
Hades turned to look back at the main host still gathering behind them.
"Can you still fight, Khârn?"
Khârn laughed hoarsely, coughing through the vox.
"My lord, even if I must die, I'll die on this ground. Not a single World Eater will retreat while searching for our father."
Hades gave him a short, unreadable glance—and Khârn felt, for a moment, as though the towering man could see straight through him.
He half-feared he might order him to withdraw—he'd dealt with "merciful" officials like that before.
But instead, Hades simply said:
"Very well, Khârn. But the army will not stop for your sake—even though you are now the acting Legion Master of the Legion."
Khârn nodded without hesitation.
"If necessary, My lord, I'll hand command to Centurion Mago. He's a veteran—he knows how to lead the World Eaters. If he dies too… then I'll hand it to you."
Hades smiled faintly, stepping forward as if to move on.
"And if I die, Khârn—who gets command then?"
Khârn blinked, momentarily taken aback.
He hurried to catch up to his stride.
Someone like him—die? Impossible.
He laughed roughly.
"Then there'll be no man left to command, My lord."
Hades nodded.
His face hardened again as he approached a kneeling Knight waiting before him.
With practiced motion, he mounted the war machine.
The engines roared to life; the towering mech rose slowly to its full height, streams of blood sliding down its dark armor.
Hades's gaze fixed on the distant thick scarlet mist beyond the horizon.
Skarbrand had appeared.
Could Angron truly still be unscathed?
"Then let us move out."
. . .
[Terra Time 03:18:29]
Khârn tore off his helmet with a sharp hiss.
Half-dried vomit and blood dripped down his neck as he gulped in the heavy, warm, humid air.
The stabbing warmth on his frostbitten chest felt almost like a thousand needles.
After three hours of forced marching, the army finally reached the region blanketed by blood mist.
Here, the air grew hotter—magma veins beneath the ravine had raised the temperature.
The aerial detachments that had once provided high-altitude reconnaissance were now useless.
Hades ordered them to fall back, to hover over the glacial plains and maintain communications between the ground and the fleet in orbit.
The stench of iron and blood stung Khârn's nose, and he gagged again.
A Sister of Silence at his side cast him a concerned glance, but he waved her off—he'd lived through worse.
The march had been madness incarnate.
The blizzard before them had become a wall of living flesh, and out of it emerged creatures too grotesque to comprehend—each one howling with mindless frenzy.
Behind every monster, it was as if an invisible wall of chainswords ground forward, shredding anything that dared to falter.
Khârn watched one crimson beast step back—just one step—and saw its heel vanish, cleaved clean away by unseen blades.
The thing toppled and was instantly reduced to pulp.
But the rest of the monsters never stopped advancing.
Their minds could not think, their wills knew no fear—only blood and skulls.
The crimson tide of Khorne's army surged forward with the howling storm.
Khârn felt his blood run cold.
Could they even keep moving against this?
At the front of the host, the black-armored Knights were charging headlong into the maelstrom.
They stood at the spearpoint of the blizzard, blades raised high, tearing the storm apart with their advance—opening the way for those behind and scattering the enemy ranks.
Upon the lead Knight stood the Head of the Silent Sisterhood, unmoving.
Head bowed, wrapped in darkness, the crimson waves of daemons dimmed and wilted as they passed near him.
He was like a banner that would never fall, or a tombstone that would never speak.
The enemies rushing toward them were torn apart by the Knights, their giant engines shredding flesh and bone with ease.
The daemons tried to skirt around them, to strike the infantry lines beyond, but the howling engines would not permit it—every attempt to flank only scattered them into smaller, weaker fragments.
This took immense pressure off the rear lines, but even so, the World Eaters and the Blank warriors were locked in a desperate battle.
Khârn's armor heating system had long since failed.
His broken bones had shifted out of place several times.
His helmet sloshed with half-coagulated blood.
He was slowing down—he could feel it.
Several times he thought he might collapse.
But still, he pushed forward, refusing to yield.
Never retreat.
Finally, he made it.
By now, Khârn had fallen to the rear of the entire formation.
Command had long since passed to Mago.
Few World Eaters remained near him—the rest, consumed by their battle rage, had charged ahead long ago.
Around him were only the Blank ones, grimly holding the line.
Khârn lifted his gaze.
Through the roiling mist, he could just make out the deep scarlet-black pyramid ahead—and upon the Knight standing before it, the unshakable figure of Hades, the Head of the Silent Sisterhood.
'Father… we are here.'
Khârn thought dimly, each breath rattling with the sound of bone fragments grinding in his lungs.
His vision went black.
. . .
[Terra Time 03:23:17]
Hades leapt silently down from his Knight.
Centurion Mago was waiting nearby.
Hades didn't ask about Khârn.
There was no time for that now, finding Angron was all that mattered.
Yet as the army pressed closer to the shroud of blood-mist, Hades began to feel it—a strange, familiar pressure at the edge of his senses.
He could not place it, but he knew he had felt something like this before.
He drew a slow breath, his hand brushing the control panel of his auspex scanner.
A beam of cold data light swept over the massive crimson-brown structure ahead.
But the readings came back in static and noise.
No life signs.
No architecture logs.
No trace of Imperial materials.
It was like the building didn't exist.
That was enough for Hades to know the truth: it was a trap.
Now the only question was—had Khorne buried the same kind of bomb here that Tzeentch once had?
There would be no turning back.
They were far past that point.
Hades called a group of Tech-Priests to his side.
The Knights and larger engines couldn't fit inside the structure; only Astartes and mortal infantry could proceed.
With a low groan of stone and metal, the massive gate opened before them—unbidden, as if the building itself were welcoming them in.
Hades and Mago exchanged a brief glance, then strode forward at the head of their force, stepping into the blood-soaked corridor beyond.
Dim light pulsed faintly through the mist.
Blood covered every visible surface—walls, floor, even the ceiling—so thoroughly that it was impossible to tell what the original material had been.
The stench of iron and rot dulled every sense.
From deep within the corridor came a muffled roar—raw, furious, inhuman.
Beside him, Hades heard Mago's breathing hitch sharply.
So.
They had found Angron.
But the moment Hades crossed the threshold of the pyramid, the ground far below began to shimmer with light—silver, crimson, and green lightning crawling up through the stone like veins awakening.
And somewhere, from far beyond mortal space, Khorne began to laugh.
<+>
If you want to see more chapter of this story and don't mind paying $5 each month to read the latest posted chapter, please go to my Patreon [1]
Latest Posted Chapter in Patreon: Chapter 377: A Critical Hit from Your Dad[2]
Link to the latest posted chapter: https://www.patreon.com/posts/147364832?collection=602520[3]
https://www.patreon.com/collection/602520?view=condensed[4]
[1] https://www.patreon.com/Thatsnakegirl
[2] https://www.patreon.com/posts/147364832?collection=602520
[3] https://www.patreon.com/posts/147364832?collection=602520
[4] https://www.patreon.com/collection/602520?view=condensed