Chapter 151: The Contested Prize |
The Iron Warriors were currently struggling within a meat grinder they had already anticipated.
Meanwhile, the Dark Angels moved through the shadows of this planet, probing for hidden secrets.
Whoosh—
The air parted around a physical form, emitting a faint whistle.
Guided by Rameses's precise soul tracking, Arthur's figure darted like lightning. In the blink of an eye, he appeared inside the cockpit of a Chaos Warlord Titan. He was light and swift, infiltrating the core of this metallic behemoth as silently as a formless breeze.
Compared to the Titan's sleek and imposing exterior, its interior was unspeakably horrific.
Biological tissue clung to the metal of the delicate instruments surrounding the core. Like parasites, the fleshy growths twined through the mechanical crevices, exuding a nauseating stench.
These tissues were too precious and far too difficult to replace. Even the Iron Warriors had to suppress their disgust and keep them intact.
Inside the liquid life-support tank that linked the Titan and continuously supplied power to the pilot, a twisted ball of flesh pulsed rhythmically.
But everything came with a price.
The moment Arthur appeared in the cockpit, the ball of flesh, now severed from the sustaining power of the Warp, began to collapse almost instantly.
Lethal toxins accumulated in its twisted organs flooded into the nervous system, rapidly killing off any remaining healthy cells.
Mutated microorganisms drifting in the amniotic fluid died alongside it, floating to the surface or sinking to the bottom, while others were sucked into the fleshy orb's gills with its dying breaths, choking its airways.
The mass of flesh convulsed a few times inside the life-support pod before falling completely still.
The throbbing beneath its skin grew faint, finally fading into silence.
There was no grand explosion, nor any blinding flash of light.
After a spray of sparks as the mutated servitor was cleaved in two by a blade, the Warlord Titan, which had been attempting to support its allies just a second prior, simply lowered its weaponized arms. As if its very soul had been snuffed out, it turned into a motionless statue.
"I can already imagine the fate of any Death Guard that runs into you in the future."
Rameses noted with a hint of emotion. His gaze pierced through his visor to stare at Arthur's back, seemingly picturing that future scene.
"We'll talk about that when we actually meet them."
Arthur quickly inspected the Titan's interior. After confirming there were no hidden threats, he placed a recovery beacon, then lightly tapped his wristlet open, sweeping his gaze over the Dark Angels' internal comms channel.
On the screen, the mission statuses of the other anti-Titan squads almost universally displayed "Completed."
Reliable and swift—
This was the signature style of the Dark Angels.
Aside from these awkwardly positioned Titans that required Arthur's personal intervention due to distance and the need to halt their firepower swiftly, the remaining targets were eliminated almost simultaneously with Arthur's own strike.
The efficiency and execution of the Dark Angels were truly admirable. All you needed to do was select the right personnel, provide the target and the necessary equipment, and they would orchestrate the mission flawlessly, leaving absolutely no room for error.
[Proceed to Sector N14 at the base of the fortress for a lockdown. Assist the Ravenwing in erasing any traces of combat. Allied forces will handle the recovery of the war machines.]
Arthur issued the new command over the internal comms channel.
He had no intention of keeping these war machines for their own use. To the Transmigrators, such massive engines of war were somewhat superfluous at present.
Thanks to their presence, the Expeditionary Fleet already enjoyed plenty of freedom when deploying heavy fire support platforms.
Keeping the manufacturing schematics was enough. It was better to hand these Chaos-corrupted machines over to Cawl in exchange for other resources. Even if Cawl did not need them, they could be traded with Forge Worlds along their journey—plenty of planets would gladly take these Creations.
[Mission Objective 1: Annihilate Enemy Titan Units (Completed)]
Arthur logged the completion mark into the mission system, then slowly raised his blade.
"Release the psychic marker. We are moving to the next zone."
[Mission Objective 2: Recover Xenos Creations.]
The Imperial Fists were wholly devoted to their battle against the Iron Warriors. Meanwhile, Arthur's team would seize the opportunity to recover the ancient Eldar relics currently being fought over by both the Harlequins and the Iron Warriors.
Long before the Imperial Fists launched their assault, a strike force led by Kai and Gareth had already infiltrated the fortress's interior via a breach carved out by the Grand General Cannon.
—
"Hektor mentioned that it is a miniature circuit housing countless of their ancient sages. It holds clues to unlocking the power of their God of the Dead."
Hektor, the Eldar Farseer captured by Rameses, was currently leading the Craftworld Aeldari who had accepted their reality. With grins stretching from ear to ear, they had begun their steady operations within the Warp.
Rameses did not torture these Eldar the way he tormented Daemons.
As long as they did not try anything funny, he treated them as employees hired for a corporate job, granting them relative freedom.
Furthermore, the moment this group of Eldar joined, they provided Rameses with a crucial lead—
The exact coordinates of Belial IV, a Crone World located deep inside the Eye of Terror.
Resting within the Soul Forge on that planet was one of the five Swords of the Crone: the Sword of Souls: Vilich'zar.
This divine artifact had been forged by Vaul, the Eldar Smith God, using the five finger bones severed from the Crone Goddess by Khaine. It pulsed with the power of the God of the Dead.
According to Eldar prophecy, gathering all five blades would awaken the Eldar God of the Dead, an entity powerful enough to rival Slaanesh.
A few Eldar viewed it as their beacon of hope, but the majority treated the God of the Dead as something they were Unable to Escape and heavily dreaded.
After all, judging simply by its name, the God of the Dead was clearly not an entity associated with "survival."
As to whether it could actually save the Eldar, one only needed to look at The Emperor, who had been permanently stalled in His Apotheosis ritual with no intention of fully ascending. If the God of the Dead truly completed its Apotheosis, what kind of horrific monstrosity it would become was highly debatable.
Given the utterly chaotic state of the Warp, expecting a benevolent deity to be born from it was nothing short of wishful thinking.
Hektor, the Eldar Farseer, had been somewhat desperate, grasping at straws as he sought the God of the Dead's power to break the deadlock threatening his homeland.
Even if the ultimate conclusion was death, he was willing to gamble everything on a reckless charge.
After all, regardless of whether this power was righteous or unholy, there was no denying its sheer strength.
But now, Hektor couldn't care less about such trivial matters.
He had achieved Liberation!
"Praise the Lord of Pioneers! May your path to seeking truth be unimpeded, and may your wisdom guide all living beings!"
Inside the "Divine Realm of Truth-Seeking," the Craftworld Aeldari threw themselves into their work with burning enthusiasm.
Ah, the surging tides of the Warp! I no longer need to fear you, for we can once again swim freely within your depths.
Ah, the raw emotions welling up from our souls! I no longer need to suppress you, for we will no longer invite doom by feeling.
Ah—
Are those our Dark cousins?
Their gazes fell upon their kin in the adjacent Enclave, who were having every last drop of their surplus value ruthlessly squeezed out of them by Slaanesh Daemons. A profound sense of relief washed over them, instantly sobering their wildly racing thoughts, which had been running rampant now that they no longer had to suppress them.
Sorry about that, but we, your beloved Craftworld cousins, have found a new protector.
These Craftworld Aeldari still spontaneously maintained The Path, preserving their mental discipline. They understood perfectly well why the Lord of Pioneers had chosen to spare their lives.
While the Craftworld Aeldari were certainly full of arrogance, egotism, and condescension, they had at least learned to reflect, forging a new road when the rest of their species had spectacularly descended into depravity.
Whether as enemies or allies, the Craftworld Aeldari were absolutely Newborn, but their individual competence would be rated as outstanding by human standards—though those on the Path of the Seer were a different matter entirely.
Then, they cast grateful glances toward Hektor, who was currently busy drafting a psychic textbook.
Thanks to this Farseer, they had been able to come to this planet and meet the magnificent Lord of Pioneers.
In the instant their souls breached the Warp, the regret and despair born from their imminent deaths instantly transformed into elation.
Eh? I am not in The Youngest Lady's palace. Whose divine domain is this, then?
What do you mean, we can enjoy Divine Protection in the Warp just by continuously providing knowledge?
What do you mean, even if we run out of knowledge, we can still enjoy Divine Protection by collecting and organizing fragmented information within the Warp?
Given the sheer density and difficulty of sorting information in the Warp, this Divine Protection would likely last long enough to see the soulless metal constructs crumble to dust.
Hm?
What do you mean, a god of humanity?
Oh, please, refer to us as an abhuman subspecies—the Eldar.
There were already Eldar biology masters spending their free time researching how to achieve interbreeding between Eldar and humans, hoping that their efforts might persuade the Lord of Pioneers to show extra favor to their kin.
Unfortunately, conditions in the Warp were limited, and they were not the Hrud from among their Dark cousins; achieving any real results at present would be highly difficult.
The two species had fundamental differences on a Warp level.
Somehow, within mere days of entering The Enclave, these Eldar had instinctively established a religious cult dedicated to Rameses.
Because Rameses had never concealed his own curiosity, the task he assigned to the Eldar was to document everything they knew.
To the Eldar, psychic power was the natural and absolute truth of the universe.
In their eyes, this behavior signified a newborn god's quest for ultimate truth.
And naturally, Rameses was incredibly curious about the power of the God of the Dead.
"Its structure cannot be destroyed by physical means. Any damage will regenerate into an entirely new form. Even if struck by the chaotic waves of the Warp, the massive number of Eldar souls housed within can effectively ward off the impact. Outwardly, it manifests as a hollow, crimson wraithbone disk."
Rameses recited as he flicked through the documents on the soul circuit. He followed Arthur, blinking and teleporting through the various passages where Eldar aesthetics clashed with the Iron Warriors' stark pragmatism.
"From the perspective of the material universe, this is indeed a priceless resource. The Creation the Iron Warriors have set their sights on is likely this very soul circuit. We need to find it before it gets sacrificed."
According to the Farseer's memories, among the Creations being fiercely contested by the Harlequins and the Iron Warriors on this Planet was the very key to unlocking the Soul Forge and releasing the Sword of Souls: Vilich'zar.
The Transmigrators had continuously tried to comprehend the authorities wielded by the gods, seeking to master similar powers for themselves.
Since the Golden Old Man's condition was unstable, the group decided after a discussion to hold off on direct action. Instead, they would slaughter Daemons and funnel pure souls in to slowly dilute the corruption. As for the other Four Gods, they avoided provoking them whenever possible.
Even with Vashtorr, the weakest of the bunch, Rameses had observed him for nearly two years and still felt that making a move carried far too much risk.
These Warp entities, who possessed sentience and governed certain cosmic laws, were exceptionally difficult to deal with. The Transmigrators had no intention of exposing their unique nature until they were absolutely certain of victory.
A blade that remained unsheathed and continuously sharpened was always the most lethal.
Now that such a prominent clue presented itself, there was no reason not to make a play for it.
The Sons of Dorn were focused on reveling in combat, the Blood Angels were occupied with rescuing civilians, and the rest were acting as reserves.
The covert mission to retrieve the Xenos Creation fell upon the shoulders of the Fallen Angels who had recently joined their ranks.
"We're here."
The distinct metallic scent of military combat stimulants lingered in the reinforced concrete corridor. The recovery team, consisting of twenty-six individuals, advanced rapidly through the labyrinthine underground passages. They were elite operatives handpicked from the Order of the Broken Crown and the Dreadwing.
Soon, they encountered an enemy squad constructing a makeshift barricade.
The assault team moved with absolute silence. Even at point-blank range, these warriors—who were accustomed to turning every environmental factor to their advantage—remained undetected by the Iron Warriors.
Gareth raised his hand, his fingers twitching in rapid succession to sign commands. The Tactical Visors of five squad members lit up with confirmation icons simultaneously.
The first blast tore through the artificial darkness, fired by a Destroyer wielding a multi-melta.
The searing beam erupting from the muzzle instantly liquefied the concrete cover. Four sentries were incinerated before they could even scream, dissolving into nothing more than bubbles in the boiling slag without a trace.
The shriek of a vortex grenade followed close behind. The corridor was instantly plunged into a vacuum, as if a colossal invisible hand had squeezed the air tight before violently releasing it.
Bodies caught in the resulting Warp vortex were mercilessly shredded. Flesh and Blood mixed with shattered metal, transforming into a thick orange-red mist that permeated the air with a nauseating burnt stench.
Caught completely off guard by enemies who had no business being in this sector, the Iron Warriors suffered a devastating ambush. Armor was punctured, and the hastily erected defenses buckled and deformed as the storm unleashed by the vortex grenade tore through, consuming everything in its path.
As the assault squad strode over the semi-solidified metal slag on the floor, a proximity-triggered Melta-Charge flew out from a leftward junction. Before it could fully arm itself, it was blasted apart mid-air by a precise bolter round.
The dispersed heat merely raised the corridor's ambient temperature by a few degrees before the remnants sank into the molten floor.
By then, the assault squad had already closed the distance.
Squelch.
A halberd thrust forward, pinning an Iron Warrior sentry to the ground. Gareth instantly brought his weapon up to parry, blocking an incoming Power Fist from a Terminator.
Clang!
In that very instant, a streak of silver flashed by.
The Terminator's helm, adorned with daemonic horns, was cleanly decapitated. The cut across its neck was as smooth as a mirror. Blood sprayed like a geyser, painting Gareth's shoulder pad crimson.
Allowing the severed head to slide off his blade with a practiced flick, Kai let it drop into the flames behind him with a sizzling hiss. He kicked the Terminator's headless corpse aside and rushed to catch up with Arthur and Rameses, who had already mopped up the remaining enemies at the end of the passage and were advancing toward the objective zone.
Behind them, the cleanup crew began pouring out the components of a specialized virus bomb. Thick white smoke from the corrosive solvent rapidly filled the corridor, carrying a pungent, suffocating odor.
By the time a squad of Iron Warrior reinforcements arrived, the roaring flames had already melted and obliterated all traces of the ambush, leaving behind nothing but scorched walls and twisted metallic debris.
Not far from their position, the Dark Angels tasked with locking down the lower levels of the fortress silently closed the net around them.
What awaited these Iron Warriors was merely another swift purge.
They were indeed the most suitable candidates for the job.
When it came to matters concerning a Xenos God of the Dead, the fewer people who knew, the better.