Chapter 81: Word Bearers: Where Did I Get Sent, Is This Still 40k |
"I have seen your soul, Cornwall. The faith shining around you has finally dispelled the malice of Chaos."
Rameses stared into Cornwall's eyes and declared solemnly, "But I have no right to forgive you, because if falling to Chaos could be forgiven, it would be the greatest insult to the loyalists."
With that said, Rameses turned his head to exchange a glance with his companions before continuing.
"You do not need to worry that your actions will affect your family. Your daughter possesses immense talent; I will take her as my apprentice. You need not fear that everything you cherish will perish along with your death."
"You will die, but you can choose to die silently by my hand, or take up arms and die on the march while firing upon the enemies of humanity, and then let The Emperor judge your sins."
"Now, it is time for you to choose."
Cornwall blinked, suddenly overwhelmed by a sense of absurdity.
He had not been turned into a chastisement servitor, nor was he to be publicly executed in front of everyone. Instead, he stood here, actually allowed to choose the manner of his own death?
'I still have a choice?'
Cornwall spoke with a glimmer of hope.
"I pray for battle. I will die on the march."
"I will atone for my sins! I will make the heretics suffer, and I will bring torment to the Xenos!"
Inside the armored personnel carrier, Cornwall cradled a Melta-Charge in his arms, murmuring softly.
All around him sat fully armed soldiers clad in Void Plate Armor.
They all cast curious glances at this comrade sitting at the very edge—a man with no weapons, no armor, possessing nothing but a Melta-Charge and a tattered uniform.
The Penal Legion was not an uncommon sight, but such cannon fodder was typically organized into insignificant units and thrown into trivial battlefields. They would never be deployed alongside the main vanguard.
Unless this person had been specifically "certified."
Price glanced at his comrade's child, ultimately reaching out to firmly grasp his Las-Rifle.
The war was about to begin!
An armored force comprised of three thousand Cadian Astra Militarum, eight hundred Adeptus Astartes, and over a hundred Sisters of Battle and Inquisition Guard had marched for thirty-six minutes. Now, they arrived at the incinerator, ready to deliver The Emperor's wrath.
Their enemies were the Xenos and cultists entrenched within, along with a conservative estimate of over six hundred Chaos Space Marines from the Word Bearers.
Slash!
The Carcharodons cut down the scouts, a mix of Genestealers and cultists. When the thunderous roar of war machines battered the incinerator's outer walls, it heralded the arrival of war.
Boom!
The deafening blast from the scythe-chariot's Twin Lascannon tore the curtain of war wide open.
The Crystal used as ammunition inside crackled violently. A Melt Stream capable of piercing a Titan slammed into the thick metal of the incinerator's outer wall, carving open two massive breaches.
"Enemy attack!"
Servo-skulls let out shrill shrieks. As the surging metallic jet stream swallowed the high platform, the Genestealers—having just regained a shred of their primal fear—froze in sheer terror at the sight of the densely packed war machines at the end of the road.
They scrambled to sound the alarm, desperately trying to pivot the Logging Gun on the high platform. However, the enemy ranks boasted peerless superhumans. With a few flashes of Heavy Bolter Rounds, deadly wounds were impartially and generously distributed across their vile bodies.
Concentrated firepower poured through the Rift. Accompanied by earth-shattering tremors, the terrifying kinetic impacts forced the metal framing of the building to emit a twisted wail.
"He has given me guidance. He has granted me the path of atonement."
Cornwall, who had been muttering his creed the entire journey, stood up and primed the Melta-Charge beneath the watchful eyes of his comrades.
He sprinted forward, charging into the Rift and tearing through the blazing high walls. The ingrained instincts of an elite soldier allowed him to evade the incoming firing lines, his inferior combat fatigues flapping wildly in the searing thermal winds.
"For everything I hold dear!"
The Melta-Charge detonated. An extreme surge of blistering heat swallowed the soldier alongside the surrounding enemies, sinking them all into the molten metal beneath their feet.
"Terminator fireteams, press forward. Assault squads, prepare to charge."
Romulus, controlling the battlefield from afar, watched the fiery explosion fade before issuing his command.
Boom!!!
The Greyback Terminators carrying Whirlwind Missile Launchers fired their Thermobaric Missiles. Aided by the Peritac Targeting System, these ancient yet highly efficient weapons locked flawlessly onto the concentrated enemy forces within the incinerator.
The immense barometric pressure whipped up by the explosions crushed the enemies, simultaneously snuffing out the flames burning across the metal wreckage.
Creak—
The roof of the entire building finally let out a strained groan, unable to bear the burden any longer. As the ceiling caved in, the defenders could only stare in horror at the collapsing iron dome above them.
They were literally paralyzed with heart-rending terror.
"Get up, prepare to fight! For the Lord of Change!"
A cultist centurion bellowed in fury. His spellbinding, decadent voice subliminally forced obedience from the surrounding underlings, directing the disoriented mob to charge toward the breach.
"You deserters, the enemy is over there!"
He then fired a few flares over the heads of his still-panicking allies, before dragging his broken leg and panting heavily as he shuffled deeper into the incinerator that had been converted into a fortress.
Crash—
A Mastodon heavy transport plowed straight into the ruins. Its side assault doors slid open, inch by inch revealing the formidable warriors housed within to the centurion.
Crackling with electrical arcs, gripping Power Weapons, Individual Heavy Weaponry, and storm shields, the heavily armored Iron Cavalry were fully prepared to strike.
"The enemy is over there, this—"
The centurion stammered briefly before a Power Weapon cleaved right through his nine mouths.
Thud—
Dropping to his knees, raging fires began to lick at his body.
The surrounding cultists, who were mid-charge, stared at their pulverized centurion. It was only when the sizzling sound of las-fire melting flesh from the Astra Militarum formations behind them snapped them awake that they realized they should scramble back toward the safety of their own lines.
Blanket firepower, sustained suppression; center breakthrough, full army advance.
It was an unpretentious offensive, yet it inexplicably achieved the maximum effect, leaving the enemy utterly incapable of countering it.
Because the traitors simply could never possess such firepower, could never possess such vehicles, and could never possess such warriors!
Caught in a pincer attack, hundreds of Iron Cavalry bounded down from the high platforms. Bolter shells rained down, pinning the enemies dead in their tracks as they tried to flee.
The few who dared to resist were crushed beneath the striding Iron Cavalry Terminators the very instant they twitched a muscle.
Chaos and the Genestealers were thrown into utter disarray.
"Gods above."
Thinking their allies had stabbed them in the back, the Word Bearers inside the fortress swiftly tore apart the Genestealers toiling beside them, then shoved open the fortification's observation ports.
Outside stood fully equipped Iron Cavalry Terminators. On one side were the Imperial Fists Outriders; on the other, the Ultramarines Invincible Iron Guard and Greyback Terminators.
A fully mechanized force, Astra Militarum clad in Void Plate Armor—
Huh?
"Am I still in the Five Hundred Worlds?"
Gazing at the impossible sight before him, the Word Bearer turned and asked his comrade in utter bewilderment.
"..."
But this comrade was no longer able to answer him.
His head was already gone.