Chapter 338: Power Bows to You, But We Do Not Care for Power
Gurgle~
Gurgle~
Like a geyser erupting from the depths, eight kilometers from the outermost ring wall of the Tucana Bastion, blood gushed from the fissures, drowning the bones of the dead. It formed a tide of gore stretching to the horizon, the viscous fluid flowing slowly under gravity's pull, carrying broken armor and shattered weapons, turning the land into a crimson swamp.
Daemons rose from the surface blood-pools. Their twisted forms struggled free from the sticky plasma, bones and rotten flesh reknitting under the reshaping energy of the warp. They pulled skeletons from the trenches, turning the remains of the dead into profane weapons.
Twisted shadows began to enter realspace as the Blood God's power surged. Their silhouettes flickered in the blood mist, greedy and hungry eyes gazing from afar at the two Primarchs in the distance.
Khorne's roar began to penetrate reality.
It was not a sound wave in the material world, but a roar exploding directly in the depths of the soul, carrying pure killing intent and fury.
There was anger in it, and helplessness.
The defenders of humanity looked past the coalescing daemons.
These minions of Khorne were worth attention, but they were not the masters of this war. Their gazes pierced through the blood mist and smoke, locking onto the threat further away.
They watched the fallen Conqueror in the distance.
The massive ship was intact, but even from afar, Karna could feel her dying wail.
The defensive fire of the Tucana Bastion remained at full intensity. The roar of ground-based macro-cannon arrays shook the atmosphere, shells pouring down like rain.
Occasionally, a shell tore through the Blood God's blessing and landed, only to vanish in a flash of distorted light above the void shields.
Behind the layered walls, the defenders began intense preparations. Soldiers ran through narrow corridors, heavy footsteps and mechanical hums weaving together.
CLANG!
A door, deformed by pressure and unable to open, vibrated. The metal frame groaned under immense stress.
SCREEECH!
Metal was torn from the inside by a chainblade. Sparks flew as teeth ground against armor. Then, under the impact of immense force, it curled outward, forming a man-sized passage.
A claw hooked onto the sharp edge of the breach.
Blood trickled down.
A World Eater clad in crimson armor climbed out.
His armor was covered in congealed blood scabs, and heavy breathing came from beneath his rebreather mask.
Then a second, a third...
Countless!
They carved open pathways and stepped into the blood-pool.
They cut open the armor of the Conqueror, breached door after door, dragging out roaring war machines, setting up anti-missile systems. Void shields and the Blood God's blessing protected them as they assembled and formed ranks.
Some couldn't suppress their inner bloodlust, so the Skull-Takers executed these chaotic souls first.
Some wanted to claim the honor of being the first to charge, but were stopped by their leaders relying on past authority.
With mixed emotions of doubt, respect, or resentment, they looked toward the bridge. Breathing under their helmets was heavy as thunder, yet no one moved rashly.
Everyone was waiting.
Over ten thousand years, countless World Eaters had fallen, and countless had rebelled.
The fallen were common; rebels were often heard of.
But only one man stood at the forefront of rebellion.
Khârn.
Rebelling against the enslavement of the Butcher's Nails.
Rebelling against the fate arranged for him by his gene-father.
Now, he rebelled against the defeat brought to him by the Dawnbreakers.
CRUNCH!
The bridge of the Conqueror shattered. The twisted metal frame groaned like a dying beast as it collapsed.
The Regent of the World Eaters and his bodyguard walked out slowly.
In one hand, he gripped a keen axe symbolizing strength, blood still dripping from its edge. In the other, he clutched a Blackstone rune symbolizing authority, eerie green light seeping through his fingers, illuminating the trembling Butcher's Nails behind his skull.
RUMBLE!
Fire clouds roiled in the sky. Blood-red lightning tore cracks in the lead-gray firmament, as if the Blood God was venting His dissatisfaction.
This was not the ending He had envisioned.
"Heh."
Khârn gripped the Blackstone rune tightly. The edges cut his palm, blood dripping down his gauntlet. He looked up at the sky with a mocking smile, his bloodstained teeth gleaming in the shadow.
This was given by Perturabo, born of the Iron Lord's wisdom—an inverted Blackstone device capable of amplifying warp influence. It allowed him to project his authority to control and corrupt machines wantonly into realspace.
In one of the Black Crusades thousands of years ago, Perturabo could corrupt a Mechanicus fleet and the Titan Legion it carried in an instant. Now, with inverted Blackstone enhancing warp influence, seizing control of a warship would only be easier.
So Khârn used it to kill Lotara Sarrin and the machine spirit of the Conqueror that had been trying to kill him, gaining true control of the ship and the opportunity to throw his chips onto the table.
And the chips were the World Eaters he had selected and gathered onto the Conqueror by various means, relying on the fighting pits atop the starfort.
Opportunity always favors the prepared.
The tragic losses on the ground angered him; the impregnable Tucana Bastion humiliated him.
So his past preparations allowed him to be crazy for once, instead of just being angry in extreme anger.
He had been ready for a long time.
Opportunity is not left to cowards who have lost their courage, nor to reckless fools with empty bravery.
So he used this to draw the Blood God's gaze.
Khârn bet his own life, and the lives of thirty thousand World Eaters!
That was all they had left.
Thirty thousand.
Under the torture of the long past, under the screening of those lost to slaughter in this war, the Legion that once numbered a hundred and fifty thousand in its glory days now had only a fifth remaining.
Yet no one dared ignore them, not even a god.
The Blood God dared not ignore them.
Khârn bet the Legion's life as chips on this battlefield, seeking a glorious death.
So the Blood God had to call.
Aside from them, there were no Legions obeying the Blood God in realspace. No other faction could bring the lives of thirty thousand Astartes to create a battlefield for the Blood God to confront the Burning Angel.
This was an excellent opportunity. Even if the Blood God wasn't ready, His greedy nature made Him wish the climax of the war would come later. These bandits accustomed to plunder were always stingy.
It didn't matter!
As long as he was ready.
The Butcher's Nails constantly tried to disturb his thoughts.
Khârn looked around at these World Eaters, at their strange gazes. These people seemed puzzled why such a nameless pawn could stand at the front, ahead of various Captains and bodyguards.
Even though many of them didn't know him.
But soon you will know.
Taking a step, Khârn walked through the crowd, among the minions of the Blood God.
There were bloodthirsty Bloodletters, majestic Juggernauts, powerful Bloodthirsters, and many daemons Khârn couldn't name.
Clang!
Khârn threw the long axe in his hand into the blood.
Gripping the Blackstone rune tightly in his other hand, he resisted any interference with his mind, focusing on controlling every part of the Conqueror.
At this moment, Perturabo would not lie to him.
He had tied the Iron Lord's interests firmly to himself for this moment.
He looked at the horde of daemons mockingly, his meaning self-evident.
Splash~
A Bloodletter dropped its flaming sword, waded through the blood-pool, and came to Khârn to retrieve the weapon.
Crunch!
Khârn raised his leg and stomped on the back of the Bloodletter's head.
Then exerted force suddenly.
Crack!
The Bloodletter's skull burst.
Stepping on the Bloodletter's head, Khârn held his head high and looked around.
All World Eaters saw that face.
It was a pathetic face, pale as a corpse hung on an iron fence and bled for months.
Eyes sunken, ears and remaining lips and teeth misaligned due to long-term habitation in the warp, mouth looking like a crater full of broken teeth.
His face twisted, looking mockingly at the Bloodthirster.
Khârn didn't know it, but these features undoubtedly belonged to one of Khorne's Greater Daemons.
It made the same twisted expression.
After a brief stare-down, the towering Bloodthirster reached out, picked up the weapon from the blood swamp with one hand, and offered the handle.
Khârn remained unmoved.
Power would not pass smoothly to the next leader.
Hiss—
The Bloodthirster snorted hot breath, imagining the anger in its heart at this moment.
But could it move? Could it kill this ant that could be annihilated with a single blow?
No.
Few in this galaxy could throw attitude at the Four Gods, and Perturabo happened to be one of them.
So what could it do?
Look—
The daemons were impatient; they wanted to drag the Angel into the blood tide and offer him to their supreme god.
The daemons were also afraid. They were afraid Khârn would go mad, afraid this Regent who had conquered the Conqueror would withdraw the void shields, leaving the pressure entirely to the Blood God, exposing a whole army to enemy artillery fire.
Afraid this Regent would overload the Conqueror's plasma reactor, blowing all the Blood God's minions sky-high.
Afraid he would meaninglessly bury the Blood God's most powerful force in realspace.
Look, this is a World Eater.
Khârn arrogantly took the battle axe offered by the Bloodthirster with both hands, raised it high, and saluted every World Eater present.
At this moment, power bowed to him.
This is who they are!
Even high gods have to compromise for them.
"Breathtaking."
Images sent back by Blackstone detectors hovering in the atmosphere made the officers in the command center marvel.
These instruments could block localized Chaos influence, ensuring the efficiency of Legion information transmission to the greatest extent, allowing commanders to understand the battlefield situation more directly and make judgments.
"He is an excellent Space Marine, without a doubt."
On the high wall, sensing the changes in his colleagues around him, Rann judged.
Rann once believed that these traitors, even as enemies, should have the dignity of warriors, so his opponents died standing.
But what he saw and heard ten thousand years later made him clear how fallen Chaos was, how disgusting these fallen ones tainted by Chaos were. With the nobility of loyalists, fallen ones should not be treated as human.
And now, he actually saw a shining point in a World Eater, a pawn who was once obscure.
Resistance to fate.
It was a pity for Rann that such an excellent person had fallen into Chaos.
Rann always firmly believed he was serving a noble cause. The winters of Inwit shaped his endurance, violence, and cruelty, and also gave him the persistence to defend humanity's right to survive.
They fought for humanity, so they were noble.
It was only natural.
And now, among the enemies they had always despised, an existence appeared that made people look sideways. It was truly a twist of fate.
"I feel sad for him," Sarpedon replied. The Lord of the Crimson Paladins and leader of the Cherubim battle group looked at the distant Regent with pity.
"If he could change his environment, he could prove himself in a better way, but now he can only do this."
"..."
Hal was silent, arms crossed.
He had nothing to say. He had seen many such people in the Unification Wars of Terra.
Living, dead.
He would kill this misguided War Hound.
"This is exactly why Chaos is most disgusting."
Karna looked at the warrior staring back at him, a nameless anger suddenly rising in his heart.
Khârn made such a choice because he only knew he could do so.
"He was born for more than this."
Arthur whispered again, then looked up at the surroundings, at these souls swept up by war.
Old men dragged out to fight by them ten thousand years later.
This was the alienation of this universe by Chaos, the torture of countless lives.
"We were born for more than this too."
"We were born to create the future."
"And to enjoy the future," Karna added.
"Yes, enjoy the future."
Arthur nodded, looking at the rift opened by the Blood God in the distance.
Images of the fleet were sent back through Ramesses's channel. An area almost swallowing the entire southern region of Cadia could be seen.
The bastions within were almost simultaneously besieged by indiscriminate Khornate daemons.
The atmosphere grew heavier, as if the air was gradually solidifying.
When Greater Daemons emerged from the blood swamp one after another, when the World Eaters Legion lined up neatly, unified under a clear consciousness.
Everyone knew the real challenge had come.
This was a terrifying opponent.
"So we will win."
The Lord of Knights promised.
The power of words always exists; noble ideals need to be displayed.
"One day, we will lay down our swords, put away our shields. We will sit together under the same sky, laugh, look at the sky, look forward to the miracles built together by our great compatriots, standing proud here, only because of what we do today."
Their motivation was simple.
Because they wanted to do it, so they did it.
"Be careful."
Karna reminded.
"Fulgrim only cares about you, and the Four Gods also hope you and Old Ro fall first."
"Yeah."
Arthur nodded solemnly.
Karna immediately shook his head.
He was thinking too much; Arthur was always the one to worry about the least.
"Let's have a meal together when we return to the Dawnstar Sector. Tell Old Ro and the others. I found a very nice place, and the cat chef is also very cute."
He added.
Don't say later, say next time.
Arthur was dumbfounded, then chuckled.
"Okay."
"Then it's settled."
Karna nodded, ignited his wings, jumped off the high wall provocatively, and came to the wasteland not submerged by the blood tide.
Arthur looked around, meeting the eyes of the warriors.
The number of Astartes in the Tucana Bastion was not large, even with his timely transport, only about eight thousand.
But they had a considerable number of Astra Militarum armored units, about five hundred thousand strong.
"They are strong."
Arthur said.
"Yes."
Everyone nodded solemnly.
"Defeat them."
Arthur spoke again. It was a statement.
"Yes."
Everyone responded solemnly.
Arthur thought briefly and slightly adjusted his wording.
"After the war, we shall eat at the same table and drink together."
"Yes!"
"Dismissed."
"Yes!"
The warriors scattered and began meticulous preparations.
They hid their fantasies about the future deep in their hearts and began to focus on the present.
Some had never seen the Emperor, only fighting for Him in oral tradition.
Some were awakened ten thousand years later, came to this universe tortured out of shape, and still chose to fight to defend humanity.
The Emperor deceived them; the Emperor was not a good person.
The Emperor denied the existence of supernatural power, forbidding others to touch it, yet squandered it wantonly.
The Emperor concealed the dark undercurrents of the galaxy, keeping silent even as loyalists burned out worrying about it.
But none of this mattered.
Disdain or helplessness.
The Emperor lied to them, but it didn't stop them from fighting for humanity.
As always.
No need for words.
Waiting—
The two sides confronted each other in the vast rift. Reality and the warp would decide the ownership of this land based on the victory of this war.
On the wasteland, the World Eaters panted.
They were beasts stripped of everything.
Hunched figures, no longer human.
They summoned the minions of the Blood God, paid everything they had left, ready to witness each other's destruction.
Between the bastions, Astra Militarum and Astartes stood like bells.
They were dazzling defenders.
Full of glory, paragons of humanity.
Their strength stemmed from powerful hearts, from the ideals bestowed upon them, from the deep connections forged between them.
All things were silent.
Everyone was waiting.
Everyone, every god was waiting.
Khârn's chainaxe churned bloodthirstily, his gaze sweeping forward.
Those enemies ready for battle, those warriors bathed in radiance.
Blood Angels, Imperial Fists, Dark Angels, and those mortals who dared to block the World Eaters...
He shouted.
"World Eaters—"
Thirty thousand broken souls erupted in a roar, the sound wave shattering the bones on the ground.
"No mercy!"
He shouted.
"World Eaters—"
Answering him was the roar of chainswords and frenzied war cries, sound waves making the observing ants tremble.
"Kill! Kill! Kill!"
"I knew it! I knew it!"
In the void, the Iron Lord, who was lowering his eyes as if planning an untimely nap, opened them, light bursting from his dark orbs.
"They came! They intervened!"
Khârn successfully forced the Blood God to intervene.
He dared to think and act, and he succeeded!
"Khârn, Khârn, I did not misjudge you!"
The bridge of the Iron Blood trembled. The Iron Lord's surprised roar repeated the name of the World Eaters' Regent, the sound rushing through every communication line like molten steel suddenly boiling in a furnace.
The surrounding Iron Warriors showed indescribable expressions, exchanging glances, knuckles tightening under ceramite gauntlets.
Fortunately, this torture did not last long.
The Iron Lord stood up abruptly, as if the previous fatigue was just an illusion. The holographic star map in front of him suddenly magnified, countless crimson dots representing warships spreading like blood on the strategic projection.
He wanted to seize this unprecedented opportunity.
"Forrix!"
The Breaker knelt silently on one knee towards his gene-father.
"You are in command of the assault fleet. I grant you full control. Prioritize breaking through the Dawnbreaker Fleet's outer defense line, then entangle the returning Eternal Crusader. Regardless of casualties!"
The moment Perturabo's voice fell, terrifying changes occurred inside the flagship of the Chaos warband he had been paying close attention to and had given gifts to.
Rust began to seep from the rivets of the bulkheads, and the shriek of metal friction came from the ventilation ducts.
Metal began to animate, winding through every corridor like a hungry python.
Serrated blades extended from deck seams, forcing fleeing crew members toward the hangars and boarding torpedo launch bays.
The monitors of the cogitator array watched all this, reporting everything in the ship to its new master in detail.
The machine spirit began to rampage. Servitors, daemon engines, including the warship itself, began to kill any creature daring to retake control of the ship.
At the moment of thought fluctuation, these unruly warships obeyed a unified will.
The ancient emblem of Olympia appearing on the bridge display was an irrefutable decree.
"Barban Falk."
Noticing that ninety percent of the ally lines were disconnected, the Warsmith responsible for diplomatic liaison quickly stood up.
"Contact Fulgrim. Tell his master to whip him twice to pump him up. If she doesn't plan to move now, then wait for the next life to fantasize about getting my brother!"
"Yes!"
Falk accepted the order immediately.
Seconds later, he stood up quickly to respond.
"Report, the Phoenix Lord has begun to move."
This time he finally showed his annoying speed.
"Iron Warriors!"
Perturabo pursed his somewhat dry lips, no longer paying attention to the surface gradually shrouded by warp fluctuations, immediately shifting his gaze to the rear of the Dawnbreaker Fleet, the Emperor-class battleship under heavy protection.
"Await my command!"
The Iron Lord intended to make a move!
In the long confrontation, he knew clearly that relying on his subordinates was worse than relying on himself.
His sharp eyes saw those shifting ships. The fleet, free of hidden dangers and friendly constraints, began high-speed formation changes.
Let him personally test his brothers and sons.
On the chessboard, the appearance of a king necessitates another king to respond. The collision of kings pushed this war to its climax.
If it was a long grind between meat grinders before, now everything turned into a stormy sea.
[Southern Cadia lost contact. Massive rift shrouds the area centered on Antares Landing Zone.]
[Emperor's Children fleet active, submerged into the warp. Concurrent detection of increased Slaaneshi warp influence on Cadia.]
[Iron Warriors battle group initiates suicidal assault. Eternal Crusader intercepted by multiple forces, unable to return in time. Defensive line untenable.]
A series of information flashed through his mind.
Naval commanders led by Polux also felt the trouble. The enemy's coordination and execution suddenly increased by an unknown amount.
Romulus looked at the enemy fleet, which suddenly changed formation and showed high coordination. As data scrolled, he selected a pre-prepared plan and began to handle it with ease.
"My lord."
Quickly reorganizing the current situation, Polux made a judgment.
He shouted.
"We need to retreat."
"Then retreat."
Again, Romulus had no Primarch pride. Countless humans did not need to be responsible for his arrogance.
Preserving strength was also showing weakness to the enemy.
"Are you ready?"
His partner's voice sounded.
Bits of scrap paper swirled and landed on his shoulder.
Of course, always ready.
Surrounded by numerous Custodians and Astartes guards, his face still wore a relaxed smile, giving strength to the commanders, holding the table to observe the enemy's movements within.
"Not worried about Karna and the others?"
Ramesses watched every partner's movement, knuckles white from tension, secretly determined to be able to pull them out of danger at critical moments.
"They will win."
Romulus replied: "So will I."
"Indeed, you have a great chance. Thanks to Guilliman, at least everyone thinks you really are weak."
Ramesses, playing patty-cake with a Lord of Change in the warp waves, pretended to be bored while replying, maintaining two hundred percent vigilance of the surroundings.
He didn't know if Tzeentch realized He couldn't catch Ramesses or if there was a bigger trap, but the Changer of Ways seemed to have given up, not applying any intensity to him at all.
This made Ramesses's many clones and his main body hiding in the Idealized World very awkward.
"But I'll say this first."
He reminded again.
"Perturabo is extremely well-prepared. Just as we can't enter the Four Gods' home ground with our main bodies, he can't choose to face us directly. The chance of wiping us out in one go is probably not high."
"Is your spell ready?"
Romulus asked back, still seriously processing various data, devoted to the naval confrontation with Perturabo.
To get something, one must always give something.
Scanning the fleeting red dots, Romulus watched the Iron Warriors fleet inserting itself into the Dawnbreaker Fleet formation with unwavering posture.
BOOM!
Blinding glare pierced through the viewport. That was the flash of a Retribution-class battleship disintegrating in a suicide attack.
Surrounded by the drifting wreckage of several heavy cruisers.
Perturabo indeed paid enough.
The distance was getting closer.
"Of course!"
Ramesses replied.
With Ulthwé's Farseers in the gang, with the teaching of these professionals among professionals, his professional level skyrocketed.
"That's enough."
Romulus hadn't changed much compared to before all these unexpected events occurred.
Still calmly deciding the fate of thousands of warships and hundreds of millions of people.
The strength or weakness of the enemy did not matter.
It made no difference to the four wings of the Dawnbreakers.
Because they didn't do this for the strength or weakness of the enemy, nor would they treat it seriously because the enemy was strong or slack off because the enemy was weak.
Simply because they wanted to.
So they put all their energy and enthusiasm into the cause they wanted to participate in from beginning to end.
Romulus looked down at the Iron Blood, which maintained a fierce attack and advanced constantly, still maintaining the most efficient operation, accepting the opponent's declaration of war.
Clatter clatter~
Unsettling echoes came from the viewport.
That was the tide of debris stripped from the wreckage of warships, striking along the satellite orbit with planetary gravity.
At this moment.
Even though Romulus seemed to be able to see Perturabo's playful and confident expression from the constantly advancing fleet, that majestic face still wore a smile so calm it felt arrogant.
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