Chapter 31: He Will Return Like Lightning
Soon, a Word Bearers warship appeared before the kill team.
It was a Word Bearers cruiser named Colchis, but at this moment, it clung to the belly of Macragge's Glory like a parasite.
Using a scaffold and a field generator, the warship secured its position, providing the Word Bearers with the means to board.
Nykona Sharrowkyn spotted flashes of light between the cruiser and Macragge's Glory—evidence of the Word Bearers using cutting tools and searchlights.
Having evaded the void shields of Macragge's Glory, these tricksters were attempting to cut through the Glorious Queen-class battleship's armor to create an entry point for their assault troops.
There was more than one such infiltrator. Within Nykona's line of sight alone, at least three warships were attempting to board the vessel.
Hill had organized forty kill teams, but the battleship was massive. Amidst its layered armor and intricate pipes, these teams were like drops of water in an ocean.
There was no time to rally the team members—the battle was about to begin.
The communication channel went silent, and the Ultramarines adjusted their power packs to maximum output, sprinting at full speed along a wide heat exchange channel.
In the silent void, their rapid movement went unnoticed.
The Word Bearers clung to the flagship's armor, using meltas and laser cutters to slowly breach the thick hull of Macragge's Glory, much like the sharp teeth of a parasite gnawing into a giant beast.
Closer and closer.
At an extremely dangerous distance, Hill and his companions came to a stop. Through their helmets, they could see the Word Bearers operating massive cutting machines, the flying sparks standing out vividly.
The blood of the Astartes surged. The Emperor's Angels, fully engaged in battle, fired bolts of vengeance at their treasonous kin.
The bolter rounds ignited their thrusters, accelerating through the void. Without air resistance, they flew faster—silent missiles of destruction.
A Word Bearer on guard was suddenly flung backward. His bolter slipped from his grasp as a massive crater burst open in his breastplate. Fragments of metal and shattered bone scattered into the void.
The explosive round not only tore through the power armor but also reduced the reinforced muscles and bones beneath it to ash. His boiling blood and remains dispersed in all directions. The Word Bearer died instantly, his body tumbling along its trajectory until it vanished into the abyss of space.
The battle in the void was like an ancient silent film. There was no roar of bolters, no screams of dying warriors—only the eerie stillness of space.
Hill's bolter claimed three Word Bearers with four precise shots. One round, however, strayed off course, merely grazing an enemy's helmet.
A sniper shot from the shadows corrected this mistake. The Word Bearer's head exploded, scattering frozen remains like drifting clouds.
The red-helmeted warrior did not turn to look. He already knew—it was a shot from the Raven Guard.
Nykona Sharrowkyn never missed. His terrifying precision remained absolute, even in the weightlessness of space.
He was colder and more precise than a machine.
The kill team opened fire, massacring the Word Bearers outside the battleship, releasing their long-contained fury.
One by one, the enemy fell in shock—just as the defenseless Ultramarines had fallen before them.
The counterattack was swift. Realizing the ambush, the Word Bearers leapt from the battleship, activating their magnetic boots to anchor themselves to the flagship's hull.
Explosive shells erupted in return fire. Hill turned his body, using his heavily armored shoulder to absorb any unavoidable impacts.
But Nykona was fearless. Moving with ghostly speed, he closed in on the enemy, drew his power sword, and severed a Word Bearer's head in one swift motion.
Hill followed close behind, wielding a sword in one hand and a grenade launcher in the other. He sent a bolter round straight into the chest of a Word Bearer wielding a laser cutter.
Another, armed with a high-intensity melta torch, was dealt with by Nykona. The weapon was designed to cut through warship hulls—using it against power armor was sheer overkill.
However, Nykona was faster. Using the propulsion of his power pack, he closed the distance in an instant. His sword slashed through the fairing of the particle torch, sending it into a deadly meltdown.
Out-of-control high-energy particles spread rapidly. The Word Bearer, caught in the explosion, was incinerated—embraced by the very weapon he had sought to wield.
The force of the detonation sent his corpse drifting away from the battleship. The out-of-control particle torch unleashed its full energy, engulfing his remains in violent flames and shockwaves. There was nothing left of him.
All are equal in the face of destruction.
Hill's helmet sensors counted the fallen. Two Ultramarines had lost vital signs—their names shifting from green to red. But more Word Bearers perished in the void.
The Ultramarines encircled the massive cutting machines, placing thermal bombs and magnetic mines. They were seconds away from breaching the armor of Macragge's Glory.
The violent shockwave of the explosion shook the attached cruisers, but it also drew even more enemies.
Heavy bolter fire rained down like a storm. The Word Bearers poured out of their warships, their numbers far surpassing the kill team's.
The death of their comrades had enraged the warriors of the 17th Legion. They leapt from their ship's holds, unleashing a hail of explosive rounds upon the Ultramarines.
Some of the Ultramarines were hit in vital areas. They died instantly, their cobalt-blue armor rupturing, spraying crimson lifeblood into the void, where it condensed into floating spheres.
"Scatter immediately and find cover!"
The Ultramarines activated their power packs, dispersing in all directions, using whatever machinery and armor plating they could for cover.
One warrior was struck near Hill. He wasn't dead yet, but his breached armor was leaking oxygen rapidly, and his damaged power pack could no longer provide thrust.
Hill could only watch as the warrior drifted into the endless void.
Perhaps he would die in moments, or perhaps he would activate his Sus-an membrane, entering a state of suspended animation to be recovered after the battle.
There was no time to grieve.
Hill had to stay focused—he had to evade the storm of bolter fire and retaliate with explosives. If they couldn't break through, their mission was lost.
Fortunately, Nykona was still beside him. The Raven Guard and the Ultramarine stood back to back, eliminating any blind spots.
There could be no mistakes.
In the void, there was no up, down, left, or right. A fatal shot could come from any direction.
"Brother, it is an honor to fight alongside you," Hill said.
He fired off a burst of explosive rounds, taking down two more enemies. But the enemy fire was relentless.
His power armor was damaged—his shoulder plate had a gaping hole, and his waist had been grazed by explosives. Fractures and contusions riddled his body. None were fatal, but they were warnings of how precarious the battle had become.
If his armor was fully compromised, he was as good as dead.
Hill never expected to survive this war. He was ready to sacrifice himself.
Even if he fell, other Ultramarines would take his place.
Nykona said nothing in response. He simply continued sniping enemies with his grenade launcher, each shot striking with lethal precision.
In the cold calculus of war, every life lost was just a number.
Then—something tapped them on the shoulder from behind.
Even Astartes felt a chill at the unexpected. Hill's sword lashed out—but a massive hand caught it effortlessly.
Behind them stood a giant.
Roboute Guilliman had returned.
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