Chapter 150: The Contested Prize
The struggles of the Iron Warriors in the meat-grinder they had foreseen were ongoing.
Meanwhile, the Dark Angels were moving through the shadows of this planet, seeking out its hidden secrets.
WHOOSH—
The air was displaced by a physical form, letting out a faint whistle.
Aided by Ramesses's precise soul-location, Arthur's figure flickered like lightning, appearing in the cockpit of a Chaos Warlord-class Titan in the blink of an eye. He was light and swift, like an invisible wind that had silently infiltrated the core of this behemoth.
Compared to the sleek and deadly exterior of the Titan, its interior was exceptionally horrific.
On the sophisticated instruments surrounding the core, biological tissues were everywhere, fused with the metal. They wrapped around the crevices of the machinery like parasites, exuding a nauseating stench. This tissue was too precious and difficult to find replacements for. Even the Iron Warriors had to suppress their disgust and preserve it.
And in the liquid-filled life-support tank that connected to the Titan and continuously supplied the pilot with energy, a twisted ball of flesh was pulsating.
This pilot, whose form was no longer recognizable, had his entire body fused together in an embrace-like posture, like a lump of forcibly kneaded clay. Conduits linked to his nervous system, and red and white nerve tissues surrounded the rusted circuits, granting him a more powerful reaction capability.
But everything has a price.
The moment Arthur appeared in the cockpit, the ball of flesh, having lost the support of the Warp's power, almost instantly began to collapse. The toxins accumulated by the various twisted organs began to pour into the nervous system, killing all the healthy cells.
The mutated microorganisms floating in the life-support fluid, upon dying, either floated up, sank down, or were sucked up by the respiration of the flesh-ball's gills, beginning to clog the respiratory tract.
The ball of flesh struggled a few times in the life-support tank, and then fell still.
The pulsation of the skin gradually weakened, and finally, fell silent.
There was no grand explosion, no blinding flash.
As the sparks from a mutated servitor being cut in two by a sword flashed, the Warlord Titan, which had been trying to support its comrades a second before, just dropped the weapons in its arms, as if it had lost its soul, and turned into an unmoving statue.
"I can already imagine what will happen to any Deathwatch who runs into you in the future," Ramesses remarked, a hint of emotion in his voice. His gaze, through his faceplate, was fixed on Arthur's back, as if imagining a future scene.
"We'll have to run into them first," Arthur replied. He quickly checked the interior of the Titan. After confirming there were no hidden threats, he placed a recovery beacon, then gently tapped his vambrace, his gaze sweeping over the Dark Angels' internal communication channel.
On the screen, the mission status of the other anti-Titan units was almost all displayed as "Complete."
Reliable, swift—this was the style of the Dark Angels.
Aside from these awkwardly positioned Titans, which required Arthur to deal with them personally due to their distance to shorten their fire-projection time, the other targets were completed almost in sequence with Arthur's own actions.
The efficiency and execution of the Dark Angels were admirable. You just had to select the most suitable candidates, then give them the target and the required equipment, and they could arrange the mission perfectly, without a single flaw.
[Proceed to fortress lower N14 area for lockdown. Assist the Ravenwing in eliminating all combat traces. The recovery of the war machines will be handled by allied forces.]
Arthur issued a new command on the communication channel.
He had no intention of keeping these war machines for his own use. These large war machines were a bit of a liability for the current transmigrators. Due to the presence of the four of them, the crusade fleet's deployment of heavy firepower platforms was already free enough. It was enough to keep the manufacturing technology. These corrupted machines were better off being given to Cawl, to be exchanged for other reserves. Even if Cawl didn't need them, they could be kept to trade with the forge worlds along the way—plenty of worlds would be willing to take these creations.
[Mission One - Annihilation of enemy Titan units (Complete)]
Arthur marked the mission as settled in the system, then slowly raised his blade.
"Release the psychic marker. We are proceeding to the next area."
[Mission Two - Recovery of xenos artifacts.]
The Imperial Fists were wholeheartedly fighting the Iron Warriors, and they had to take the opportunity to recover the ancient Eldar relics that were being contested by both the Harlequins and the Iron Warriors.
A force led by Cypher and Gareth had, long before the Imperial Fists had begun their advance, entered the interior of the fortress along a path opened by the Ordinatus Majoris.
"Hector mentioned that it is a miniature circuit that houses countless of their ancestors, and it contains the clues to unleashing the power of the God of the Dead."
Hector, the Eldar Farseer who had been captured by Ramesses, was now, along with the other Craftworld Eldar who had recognized the reality of their situation and whose mouths were almost grinning up to the heavens, operating stably in the Warp.
Ramesses did not torment these Eldar as he did the daemons. As long as they didn't try to stir up trouble, he treated it as if he had found them a job at a company, giving them relative freedom.
Moreover, this batch of Eldar had brought Ramesses an important clue as soon as they joined—the specific coordinates of the Crone World, Biel-Tan IV, within the Eye of Terror.
In its Soul-Forge, was stored the Soul-Sword: Vilith-zhar, one of the five Crone-Swords. This was an artifact forged by the Eldar's smith god, Vaul, from the five finger bones of the Crone Goddess Isha that had been cut off by Khaine. It contained the power of the God of the Dead.
In the Eldar's prophecies, as long as the five blades were gathered, they could awaken the Eldar's God of the Dead, Ynnead, who was powerful enough to rival Slaanesh.
Some of the Eldar saw this as their hope, but more of the Eldar were somewhat averse to the God of the Dead. After all, from its name alone, you could tell that the God of the Dead was clearly not an entity related to "survival." As for whether it could really save the Eldar, you could probably refer to the Emperor, who was stuck in his ascension ritual and didn't plan to fully ascend—if he really did ascend, what kind of thing he would become was really up for debate.
In a chaotic state like the Warp, you expected a god born from it to be a righteous one? You were probably thinking too much.
The Eldar Farseer Hector was also a bit desperate, intending to seek the power of the God of the Dead to break the stalemate for his home. Even if the final outcome was death, he was going to go all-in.
After all, leaving aside whether this power was orthodox or not, you just had to say whether it was strong or not.
But now, Hector couldn't be bothered with all that. He had been liberated!
"Praise be to the Lord of Exploration! May your path of seeking the truth be smooth! May the path of your wisdom guide all living beings!"
In the 'Domain of Reason,' the Craftworld Eldar were actively engaged in their work, full of enthusiasm.
Ah, these surging tides of the Warp, I no longer need to fear you, for we can once again swim freely within you.
Ah, these emotions from within my soul, I no longer need to suppress you, for we will no longer bring misfortune upon ourselves because of you.
Ah—
Isn't that our dark cousin?
Their gaze fell on their kin in the neighboring park, who were having their remaining value squeezed out by the Slaaneshi daemons. They couldn't help but feel a sense of relief. The thoughts that had been able to run wild because they had no scruples had also cleared up a lot.
Sorry, my dear Craftworld cousin. Your dear cousin here has a new protector.
These Craftworld Eldar still spontaneously maintained their Paths, to maintain a restraint in their thoughts, because they knew very well why the Lord of Exploration had chosen to spare them. Although the Craftworld Eldar were also filled with arrogance, conceit, and condescension... they had at least learned to reflect, and had walked a different path when the Eldar had fallen in an exaggerated fashion.
As enemies or allies, the Craftworld Eldar were very naive, but their individual qualities, by human standards, could all be rated as excellent—the Path of the Farseer was a separate discussion.
Then they turned their grateful gazes to Hector, who was still writing his psychic textbook.
Thanks to this Farseer, they had been able to come to this planet and meet the great Lord of Exploration. The moment their souls had entered the Warp, the regret and despair that had been born from their deaths had, in the next second, turned to surprise.
Hey? I didn't end up in the palace of the Youngest Lady. Then whose domain is this?
What do you mean, I can enjoy protection in the Warp as long as I continuously provide knowledge?
What do you mean, even if I have no more knowledge, I can continue to enjoy protection by collecting and organizing fragments of information from the Warp?
With the information density and the difficulty of organizing it in the Warp, this protection period would probably last until the soulless metals had completely annihilated.
Hmm?
What do you mean, a god of humanity?
Oh, please call me a human subspecies - Eldar.
Some of the Eldar's biologists had already begun to study how to achieve intermarriage between the Eldar and humans in their spare time, to see if it would make the Lord of Exploration take more care of their kin. Unfortunately, the conditions in the Warp were limited, and they were not the Haemonculi of their dark cousins. It was very difficult to produce results at the moment.
The two sides had a difference on the Warp-level.
Who knew what was going on, but these Eldar, in the few short days since entering the park, had already begun to spontaneously form a cult of faith around Ramesses. Because Ramesses had never hidden his curiosity, the tasks he had given the Eldar were also to understand everything they themselves had mastered.
For the Eldar, psychic power was naturally the truth of this universe. In the eyes of the Eldar, this represented a newborn god's exploration of the truth.
And Ramesses was naturally full of curiosity about the power of the God of the Dead.
"Physical methods cannot destroy the construct. Any damage will be restored in a new form. Even when battered by the tides of the Warp, the vast number of Eldar souls within can effectively resist it. Externally, it manifests as a hollow, red, wraithbone disk."
In a corridor that was a fusion of the Eldar and the Iron Warriors' utilitarian style, Ramesses was flipping through the materials on the soul circuit in his hand, flickering through the various passages with Arthur.
"From the perspective of the real universe, this is indeed a precious material. The construct the Iron Warriors are after should be the soul circuit. We have to find it before it is sacrificed."
According to the Farseer's memory, on this planet, among the constructs that were being contested by the Harlequins and the Iron Warriors, was the method to unlock the Soul-Forge and release the Soul-Sword: Vilith-zhar.
The transmigrators had always been trying to understand the authority of the gods and to try and master a similar power.
Old Man Gold was not in a good state. After some discussion, they had decided to do nothing, and to first go and chop some daemons to pour pure souls into him to slowly dilute it. The other four gods, they would not provoke if they could help it.
Even the weakest, Vashtorr, Ramesses had observed him for nearly two years and still felt that the risk of making a move was too high. These Warp-entities, which involved certain rules and had their own consciousness, were all very difficult to deal with. And the transmigrators did not intend to excessively expose their special nature before they were sure.
A blade that is still being honed, not yet drawn, is the most deadly.
And now there was such a clue before them. There was no reason not to try and fight for it.
The sons of Dorn were responsible for the fun of fighting. The Blood Angels were responsible for saving people. The rest were all on standby.
The task of secretly recovering the xenos construct was handled by the Fallen Angels who had just joined the team.
"We're here."
The ferrocrete tunnel was filled with the metallic, fishy smell of military combat-stims. The recovery team, composed of twenty-six members, was moving at high speed through the complex underground passages. They were individual elites selected from the Order of the Broken Crown and the Dreadwing.
Soon, they encountered a force that was building temporary fortifications.
The assault team was silent. Even at close range, these warriors, who had been accustomed to turning everything into their own advantage, were not discovered by this Iron Warriors force.
Gareth raised his hand. His fingers trembled, issuing a command. The tactical lenses of five team members simultaneously lit up with a confirmation mark.
The first cannon shot tore through the man-made darkness. It was a multi-melta set up by a Destroyer. The scorching beam of light from the muzzle instantly melted the concrete cover. Four guards, without even having time to scream, turned into bubbles in the boiling steel and disappeared without a trace.
The shriek of a vortex grenade followed. The corridor was instantly sucked into a vacuum. The air, as if squeezed by an invisible hand, was then suddenly released. The bodies that were drawn into the Warp-vortex were subjected to a shearing force. Flesh and metal fragments mixed together, turning into a cloud of orange-red mist that filled the air, exuding a nauseating, scorched smell.
Completely unprepared, the enemy, who should not have been here, had abruptly launched an assault. The armor was breached. The temporarily constructed defensive fortifications were twisting and deforming. The storm raised by the vortex grenade tore through everything within it and devoured it.
When the assault group stepped over the semi-solidified metal solution on the ground, a trip-wired melta-charge that had been launched from a side passage had not yet fully deployed before it was shattered in mid-air by a bolter round. The overflowing heat only raised the temperature by a few degrees, then sank into the molten ground.
And the assault group had already advanced.
SQUELCH.
A long halberd shot out, pinning an Iron Warrior to the ground. Gareth immediately parried, catching the power fist of a Terminator.
CLANG!
In that instant, a silver light flashed past.
The Terminator's head, which was adorned with daemonic horns, was severed. The cut on its neck was as smooth as a mirror. Blood sprayed out, staining Gareth's pauldron.
Placing the head on the ground with the follow-through of his blade, it fell into the flames behind him, making a "hissing" sound. Cypher kicked the Terminator's corpse on the ground and caught up with Arthur and Ramesses, who had already dealt with the enemies at the end of the corridor and were heading for the target area.
The cleanup squad behind them began to pour the raw materials of some kind of virus bomb. The white smoke of the corrosive solvent quickly filled the tunnel, the pungent smell suffocating.
When a support force of Iron Warriors arrived, the ignited flames had already melted and annihilated all traces, leaving only the blackened walls and twisted metal wreckage.
Not far from them, the Dark Angels who were responsible for sealing the lower fortress silently surrounded them.
What awaited these Iron Warriors would be another round of cleansing. They were the most suitable candidates.
The fewer people who knew about matters related to the xenos God of the Dead, the better.