Chapter 459: Let Us Go First
When the soul of the Chaos Lord Vorx found its eternal slumber, two things happened.
First, and most obviously, the Death Guard—those venomous insects coiled among the stars—finally began to move toward the forefront of the Unbreakable Line under the pressure of the counterattack.
The Imperium learned of this easily, for the planets that had fallen under irresistible assaults beamed back their final messages.
They evacuated their populations, then courageously blocked the Death Guard's path. Before the legs of Titans could smash into the ground, they had already formed battle lines, facing the sky-filling smoke and dust.
In front of those fetid Titans and tanks—massive walking objects that looked to the naked human eye more like biomechanical siege engines of some unknown xenos species—the defenders carved out gaps in the horde, charging toward the Daemon Primarch who was becoming increasingly isolated on the battlefield.
The second thing happened after the first.
Only those still on Calth could see it, for they witnessed the descent of a Primarch.
Karna had arrived at the Calth Starport.
This planet, which had suffered devastation ten thousand years ago, had once again become the focal point of the Empyrean gods' gaze.
Blood flowed like rivers, drifting shields and helms; dust and smoke obscured the sun.
A torrential rain of rot fell upon the surface. Countless daemons emerged from the curtain of rain, rushing into human settlements to unleash slaughter. Countless living beings lay dead, the killing ceasing not for a moment, facing the star that was gradually turning a sickly green.
A Void Whale, hundreds of kilometers long, crashed into the planet. Covered in foul daemons, they surged like a flood of insects. The tide of the daemonic host devoured the wastelands like swarming ants, then climbed upward, suffocating the cities on Calth's surface.
The wounds Lorgar once inflicted on Calth were torn open again after ten millennia by the capricious chess players of the Warp.
This was the authority of the Gods.
"My Lord!"
Inside the starport, responsible for evacuating the masses before the enemy fleet arrived, an old man grabbed Karna's wrist.
He gripped it so tightly he almost pulled the gauntlet off the wrist.
"I can still fight! I can still fight!"
The old grenadier repeated it like a mantra, over and over again.
As if saying it would make his aging body indestructible and vigorous again, just like he was on the battlefield back then.
"It is enough—"
Karna held the hand reaching out to him.
"It is enough."
"Not enough, My Lord!"
The old soldier said, "It is not enough at all."
Revenge is never enough.
The scars of battle were deeply etched in his mind, like an insurmountable chasm, a fixed memory, a mark hard to forget...
Ah, he couldn't forget.
Fire, rot, daemons.
It was just now.
Everything suddenly became distant and blurred. Everything the old man had experienced, everything he cherished, everything he swore to protect.
The stew his daughter put in the stasis-box before he woke up in the middle of the night; the workshop his son built for him to pass the time; the scholarship award day for his grandson at the Schola on Calth, and the essay read out in that clear voice...
The strips of cloth woven from his comrades' clothes on the house; the first face he kissed when he returned to the soil of Calth; the first meeting with those good old boys...
Memories turned steadily and silently in his mind, piling up in their unique way, then overlapping with reality.
BOOM!
The starport had been under constant artillery bombardment.
The scattered light from explosions was shrouded in billowing black-green smoke, becoming dim and unclear. Beams from ground-based macro-cannons broke through the cover like solar flares, licking the walls. Supersonic shrapnel mixed with daemon fragments annihilated a moment ago tore through everything in their path.
Facing the overwhelming daemons, flames spewing from volkite weapons wove into a net of fire. The paths of plasma and tracer rounds crisscrossed. These daemons crawling out of hell advanced fearlessly against the firepower, pressing forward step by step under their master's rebuke.
The living and the dead fell constantly from the contact zone. Crimson metal and rotten steel plates were jagged and uneven. Cruelly processed body parts were everywhere. Chaos, which usually stressed rituals, appeared so crude at this moment, desperately snatching any nutrients that could be turned into combat power.
The screech of plasma focusing and accelerating mixed with the howls of daemons clawing at void shields. The ground scorched by melta weapons evaporated into churning molten iron, shrouding and swallowing everything around.
Blood mist filled the sky; smoke roiled.
Ruined. Everything was ruined.
"...My Lord, ignore me. Go to the battlefield, go slaughter them. Do not compromise for us. We will follow you."
In front of him was the resentful old man.
Around him was the panicked crowd. Many boarded the evacuation ships under the guidance of the Auxilia, but many others gave up the chance to leave.
They endured unprecedented pain, lost relatives, and felt despair in their hearts.
Filled with righteous indignation, after a brief rest, they prepared to pick up weapons to fight the invaders.
There was nothing left to lose.
But the regular army, apart from placing these civilians behind them where artillery fire couldn't reach, really couldn't think of what they should do.
For the Dawnbreakers, order was far from collapsing. At least on this planet, it hadn't reached the point where these aging civilians had to pick up weapons.
"..."
What could Karna say?
Persuade this old man who lost everything to let it go and start a new life?
Sorrow appeared in Karna's eyes, but his face still wore a solemn expression of compassion.
But before lamenting the suffering, he still hoped these people could fight for a chance to escape.
Karna couldn't delay here too long. Even if the Blood Angels on the frontal battlefield could still cope, even if his standing here could maintain order and make everyone present relax several times over.
There were too many places that needed him. The battlefield was never a place full of hope.
The roar of countless souls echoed in his ears; intense emotions hovered by his side.
The dead, those who died in the Nurgle invasion. Some entered the realm of Eternal Fire to sleep, some were shattered by the waves of the Warp, some were brutally snatched away by the Plague God...
These emotions focused on the Angel they believed in, the Angel walking the world on behalf of the Emperor.
Anger, resentment, urgency...
How much more can I change?
A brief question surfaced in his mind.
If I hadn't chosen to be enemies with these existences from the beginning, would everything I cherish have been spared this disaster?
Karna immediately shook his head, casting aside the voices interfering with his mind, planning to ask Ramesses to install a few more firewalls later.
Ever since accepting the power of the Warp, this was annoying. The gods came to him first when they had nothing to do.
His connection with humanity was too deep.
Karna stood up, facing the humans shocked by his existence, wanting to speak.
As long as he spoke, people would obey orders. This was the authority and credit belonging to the Burning Angel.
His personal credit.
But a soft call interrupted his thoughts.
"Grandpa!"
The ferocious-looking old man froze instantly.
A routine refugee transfer. The flow of people passed through the disputed area forcibly isolated by soldiers. The entire port was still handling the population continuously and efficiently.
Since the beginning of the war, such a scene was normal.
A boy of twelve or thirteen squeezed through the crowd, waving and calling.
Someone came up with the registration list.
Seeing Karna here, the staff member exclaimed, then quickly explained.
"The rescue force saved 930,000 people at the education center in East Sector 6. They are currently being allocated and identities associated. This way—"
She looked around and whispered in a voice only Karna could hear: "Higher-ups think blocking like this isn't a solution."
Evacuees were roughly categorized by residence to facilitate statistics and identity verification by shipboard staff, preventing accidents.
Thanks to the administrative capabilities the four Dawnbreakers had always emphasized, at least the branches under the four Wings could guarantee administrative order in extreme environments. And due to Romulus's existence, the database of Greater Ultramar could also interact with the Dawnbreakers.
So the personnel organizing the evacuation spent some effort and could at least find the relatives of these stubborn members who refused to evacuate among the refugees.
"I understand."
Karna understood the reason immediately.
"Grandpa!"
The boy called out again. This time he came to his relative.
The hostility on the old man disappeared in the blink of an eye. He looked at the child at the giant's feet in disbelief.
He reached out with a trembling hand to touch, as if touching an illusion.
Until the rough fingertips touched soft skin, the old man burst into tears and hugged the boy.
Karna looked at the boy, then at the group of refugees, and then shook his head at the nervous staff member.
This made the nervous member breathe a long sigh of relief.
With the Burning Angel's approval, this meant the meeting wasn't an evil god's conspiracy, meaning the Chaos pollution survey by their psyker staff was effective.
She asked for Karna's opinion, then began organizing those personnel who wished to step onto the battlefield to obey the evacuation order.
When a considerable number of members learned their relatives were saved, they chose to evacuate one after another. Even those who hadn't waited for their relatives mostly chose to leave harboring a sliver of hope.
Karna no longer intervened in the evacuation process.
Although not everyone could be saved, at least everyone had the hope of being saved.
This wasn't enough, but it was enough as a start.
To see hope, to touch hope.
The authority and credit of an organization were built gradually like this. Even without relying on those idols endowed with transcendent godhood, the people would trust the organization itself.
"My Lord, I will take my leave."
Although she hoped to continue bathing in the brilliance of the Burning Angel, the staff member knew clearly she had many things to complete.
They still needed to verify the list, plan inspection schemes to prevent loopholes; conduct on-site inspections of supplies to prevent greater disasters after the fleet left port; and communicate constantly with psychic and gene units to prevent conspiracies of those ubiquitous malicious existences...
They were fully focused, holding their breath, cherishing these means they might never have mastered on their own, an opportunity handed to them by the Primarch himself.
Many people cherished this opportunity very much.
An opportunity to do something with their own hands, to resist malice, to make their actions truly meaningful.
Karna left through the port passage.
When he returned, covered in ash burned to charcoal black, Sarpedon, Chapter Master of the Crimson Paladins, greeted the Primarch.
"This is the last batch."
Sarpedon walked up. These daemons didn't have the ability to break through the starport's defensive fire, which made him look decent when facing the Archangel.
Karna nodded, shaking his shoulders to let the last trace of ash fall, stepping across the empty corridor, looking at the city brightly lit in the deep green fog below.
The remaining ones really didn't want to leave.
"Lord Lion sent a message. The Plague Fleet is coming towards us. It's the main force. Lord Ramesses has confirmed the enemy carries the Godblight and has jumped to Ultramar ahead of time in other areas."
Mortarion became somewhat desperate after knowing the Lion's arrival.
Although Arthur went to Sotha first for safety, Romulus and the Ultramarines were still there.
Of course, no one could say for sure about things like the Godblight. What if it worked?
"Lord Ramesses signaled to ignore it. For some reason, the Plague God's rival will ensure that the fleet transporting the Godblight never arrives before you decide the outcome."
It really answered the saying: When fortune comes, heaven and earth work together.
Should they rejoice that luck was in Tzeentch's hands?
Staring at the daemons torn to shreds under the firepower net, Sarpedon said again: "They will be here soon."
"It seems the deterrence of the Emperor's Firstborn is much greater than imagined."
Karna grinned, laughing sarcastically.
As the only one without a record of defeating a Primarch, and unlike Ramesses who thrived in the Warp rivaling the Four Gods, Karna—apart from knowing he was almost the people's favorite in the Emperor's long-term propaganda—perhaps many existences had a mysterious confidence when choosing to face him.
He indeed didn't do much, especially in terms of slaughter.
Compared to wandering among high-level politics, being active on the battlefield, and battling wits and bravery with various monsters in the Warp, he had always accompanied people the most.
Many people knew him, had seen him, accepted his protection, and gradually watched their homes built up and food and clothing secured as government orders reached local areas.
Before the war started, he mixed among the short humans, always inconspicuous in the eyes of those enemies who never looked down at humans.
"I think that one will change his view next."
Sarpedon looked at the Burning Angel, unable to help recalling Sanguinius back then.
Although the two differed greatly in fundamental personality, they had one thing in common.
They didn't become noble in an instant.
Suddenly, Sarpedon thought of the returned Lion, the soon-to-return Guilliman, and the Emperor who was the only one missing from Imperium Secundus back then.
He suddenly clutched his chest. An indescribable sadness enveloped him in an instant.
Pat.
A pair of sharp eyes noticed his anomaly. A hand rested on his shoulder.
"There will always be a chance."
Karna spoke.
"Yes, My Lord."
Sarpedon replied.
A chance, a miracle. Maybe very slim, but the possibility wasn't completely lost.
He believed so.
What could make people believe more than everything happening before their eyes?
He quickly gathered his mood, thinking optimistically.
Just like now, still fighting side by side with the Burning Angel on a defense line, just like with the Archangel in front of the walls of Terra back then. Even because of various unifying factors, he wouldn't be driven away, but could always stand shoulder to shoulder with the Burning Angel.
They were the advantageous side. Even if currently in a passive defense state, they were forcing the enemy to crash into them.
The despairing ones should be their enemies. The war had yielded no profit so far. Inciting daemon invasions, slaughtering living planets, relying on Warp whispers hoping to unbalance the Primarchs mentally... all means were exhausted, like a gambler screaming and slamming all his chips down.
"As for our enemy—"
Fire always burned in Karna's pupils. He looked at the fleet slowly emerging from the light of the emerald star.
"He should pray he has a chance to change."
Indescribable anger escaped from the Burning Angel, hatred condensed from countless lives at the moment of death.
The living, the dead. That was an emotion that even the Blood God looked at sideways.
The Blood God on the Brass Throne looked directly at reality, letting out a fierce, excited howl.
Since the appearance of this angel, He, already obsessed with the blood curse of the Blood Angels, liked the Blood Angels even more.
Natural killers no longer hid in war, even actively embracing the hatred the Blood God loved most, making enemies dread them, fear them.
"No need to endure anymore, Sarpedon."
He whispered. Sarpedon listened carefully.
"Discard etiquette, discard elegance, discard smiles."
He began to stride. Sarpedon caught up.
"Let us cut off their limbs, crush their skulls, hollow out their souls."
He began to run. Wings solidified by fire lifted him up again, carrying the Crimson Paladins falling from the sky.
"Let us pile their wreckage into a corpse heap, then burn it to ashes."
Violent.
Smoke roiled in the murky atmosphere, lingering on the piled and twisted corpses. Blood gurgled from the exploded green smoke clouds.
A Great Unclean One was just born from the rain tens of thousands of meters high when a meteor scraped past its body.
"Let them realize the consequences of torturing our compatriots, what price they will pay."
The Angel was as high-profile as ever.
Fire meteors streaked across the sky. Humans only needed to look up to see.
People happened to need such a high profile.
The head evaporated, disappearing.
The huge, bloated Great Unclean One didn't die immediately. After being beheaded, the flames struggled at the break for a few seconds before the energy in this monster's body showed signs of weakening. Then this maggot began to roll uglily due to pain.
At that moment, it turned slightly sideways, falling forward, spewing clusters of screaming and roaring flames from the severed neck.
The sky was filled with thousands of winged creatures, insects, arthropods, beating their rot-wings, chasing closely after the Burning Angel and Blood Angels falling towards the surface core area.
Daemons were constantly burned. Just touching those trails, the fire within seemed to gain substance, trapping, tearing, dragging the daemons.
At about half the distance, the creatures in the sky began to slow down. Some hesitated, wanting to turn back. Others fell from the sky; the weaker ones disintegrated again before hitting the ground.
Those largest, fastest, strongest ones were often terrified. Fear of death. The Grandfather's mutating face made them fear, but they were bursting, bleeding. Their forms fell apart under the threat of the Empyrean with every flap of wings, forcibly shaped into more obedient existences.
Their despair and comicality before destruction were so fascinating that as their enemies, people couldn't help but sigh at the scene before them after witnessing it with their own eyes.
Some were amused by the scene, and people around them laughed uncontrollably, but the laughter was drowned in the surrounding cheers.
The meteor materialized.
Tearing through the meaningless chase of the Nurgle host, Karna led the Crimson Paladins to slide onto the high platform.
Golden boots scraped across metal, sparking.
Wings spread, slowing down.
His spear rolled up flames, completely swallowing the howling daemon souls within.
The cheers were deafening.
The Burning Angel turned to face the enemy tide rising again from the distant horizon.
Overwhelming.
"Legion!"
He shouted: "Legion!"
The order passed along the city wall, from one officer to the next, and further in the vox-casters. Sarpedon stood beside Karna; he could hear it rippling in a receding wave of sound, an echo that seemed never to dissipate.
Clatter~
The sound of ceramite collision was uniform. Space Marines, all Space Marines, stepped forward, leaving the mortals behind.
The mortal defenders had no choice. They couldn't keep up with the Astartes' pace, so they could only choose to retreat.
As a qualified military government, led by the Dawnbreakers and approved by the Imperium with both hands, the military drills for the whole people worked. The mortal defenders obeyed order, quickly making way. Columns of gold-red warriors belonging to the Blood Angels replaced their positions on the defense line.
Tens of thousands of weapons were raised like a forest. Hundreds of thousands of guns were ready to fire.
"Let us go first!"
Karna ordered.
Everyone listened. With an unexpected sense of awe, they realized the Burning Angel wasn't just commanding his Legion. He flapped his wings again, turned, his radiant face meeting the eyes of almost everyone who had seen him. He shouted to the mortals gathered behind the Astartes line.
"You have chosen to obey orders."
Karna said to the Imperial Army and civilians holding weapons. His voice was calm, echoing in everyone's ears, seeming to connect everyone's soul.
"You know your role. Stand fast and defend everything you have, then extend a helping hand to those around you as best you can. You are defending your lives. This is what you should do—"
"But let us go first."
Because we were chosen from among you.
Numerous Blood Angels lined up in front. Many of them had just stood out from the selection in the Cryptus System and Dawnstar Sector. They were so young. They scrambled to be first, full of anger, unwavering.
The new blood was far more numerous than those ancient souls.
People obediently hid behind the battle line, behind the Astra Militarum.
Karna turned to face the enemy. Firelight appeared on the horizon.
Still distant, but close enough...
The Archangel's spear swung down.
Then, they launched the attack.
Mortarion saw all this clearly through the observation gallery.
The observation gallery was a slender walking space located inside the bridge. It extended along the arc of the bridge's inner extension, covered by piles of precise monitors. The internal observation facilities were long damaged; the surface of the function pod was covered with a layer of writhing organic matter.
These thin organic matters failed completely as Mortarion approached.
After a brief struggle, the equipment began to flicker, about to stop working.
"..."
Mortarion decided not to pay attention to these annoying details. He looked at the Burning Angel on the ground.
The Burning Angel was inviting battle.
Those resistance forces were not hidden in the dense spore clouds because of the Plague God's anger. Down to every city retaining function, up to the lifting platforms of the spaceport operation layer, resistance fire was everywhere.
Their tearing fire was so dazzling. Mortarion also knew clearly that with fleets entangled with each other, he couldn't forcefully break through the blockade here.
He only hoped Morarg and Ku'Gath could be faster, bringing this torturous war to an ending Mortarion could accept.
Grey mist was hazy, completely stopping those life-supported equipments.
He turned around and said to those retinues keeping away from him.
"Follow!"
His retinues were seven Deathshroud in Tartaros Terminator armor, and forty-nine Death Guard chosen from various squads. These people now seemed breathless. Just walking along the pale avenue of the Endurance made clanking footsteps.
Their steps seemed a bit heavy, losing the control belonging to an Astartes.
Mortarion had a plan in his heart. He needed the Deathshroud to stop the Blood Angels, preventing those familiar named faces from commanding their troops to gain advantages in the macroscopic battlefield.
Mortarion came to the other end of the teleportation deck away from his sons, tapping his scythe hard.
Just a moment before the teleportation was completed, he sensed an attack, right nearby. While his thoughts were pulled back to reality, a trace of admiration for the defenders sprouted.
Such efficient counterattack speed meant the defenders still maintained control over the battlefield in such a situation.
"Positions!"
He hissed, stepping first, away from those sons who felt extremely uncomfortable because of his existence, passing through the field covered by artillery fire, rushing straight towards the dazzling firelight on the horizon.
As the voice fell, the Deathshroud also acted immediately. After losing their master, their movements were slightly awkward. The rest of the Death Guard under their leadership merged straight into the surging daemon army, divided into squads, each entering the preset teleportation area pointing directly to the sources of noise and light of battles all over the planet.
In areas not guarded by the Burning Angel, walls collapsed inward in the roar of explosives, followed by a string of plague weapons pouring in. Blood Angels poured out from the cracks in the wall, leaping down before the rubble landed. Their hands full of blood, roaring in anger. Terrifyingly, they could extract blood from daemons, these supernatural creatures, while reaping them.
At the same time, teleportation triggered the familiar ozone smell. Air was displaced in the blink of an eye. The pressure difference caused a loud noise in the air. Deathshroud covered in pallor emerged from the teleportation light, immediately joining their battle-brothers in combat.
The two sides collided. The queues instantly erupted with flying bullets and surging energies of various colors.
Astartes were fighting; daemons were using flesh and blood trying to carve a bloody path under mortal artillery fire.
Only then did Mortarion withdraw his gaze.
He had to watch these sons, or he feared he would forget their appearance.
He turned around, flinging his tattered cloak, but saw only emptiness. But he could sniff the terrifying changes in himself. Yet he had to rely on this increasingly powerful force; he needed to meet the Grandfather's requirements to preserve the Legion.
He took another step, ignoring the battle behind him, a pair of sharp eyes staring ahead.
Immediately, grey mist scuttled. The surrounding soil began to tremble and collapse as it lost vitality, passing through the daemon army struggling in artillery fire, passing through the land scorched by angels.
When the power of death tore through the arena forged by flames with an unmatched posture, Mortarion appeared in that instant.
One moment it was still hazy, like a lifeless natural object; the next moment he stood here, turned into a solid creature, feet on the ground, swinging the giant scythe wrapped in grey mist, slashing directly at Karna who had just finished his opponent.
Under the burning wall, Karna threw down the corpse of a Great Unclean One.
Following that hazy grey mist, he saw his opponent.
He smiled.
His teeth shone in the firelight; his short pale blonde hair fluttered in the night wind, dancing like the huge tongues of fire above.
"You are much cleaner than I remember. Where are the viruses and sons you love?"
No one ever told me the Burning Angel had such a venomous tongue.
"They are with me."
Mortarion's appearance now was so gloomy, body pale, lifeless.
Everything around withered with his descent. Even the most universally loving and cost-ignoring Nurgle daemons were unwilling to approach this Primarch.
His sons died. It was these deaths that were constantly providing him with power. He knew this clearly.
"And you? Where are the humans you love, the humans who died because of your choice?"
He retorted sarcastically.
"They are with me."
Karna responded proudly.
Demoralizing the enemy before battle was always a standard tactic. He had no combat wisdom, but happened to learn from Ramesses.
And Primarchs, except for some completely slacking guys or rock-solid existences, were often easily broken.
"You saw the essence of the galaxy, yet you are escaping."
As if stimulated by something, Mortarion was furious. He swung his giant scythe down, splitting the earth under Karna's feet in two.
"I embraced it, I endured the pain, I looked straight at the gods, received the gift of surviving this pain. I led my sons out of the hell of this galaxy."
"Was your original intention of loving them to let them step onto the battlefield? Or are they your sons only because they went to the battlefield?"
Karna retorted with equally indisputable power. Fire scraped his body; Mortarion could clearly hear the roars lingering in his ears, desperate for revenge.
"You hate the Emperor, then choose to do the same things as the Emperor? Facing threats, you chose surrender? Now you come to persuade a resistor to make the same choice as you?"
"I still protect the humans behind me. On the ships in the void, on those unthreatened planets, in the fortress behind me, they still stand by my side, resisting with me."
The fire burning on the Burning Angel covered the misty grey fog.
"Where are your favorite sons?!"
He selected from Ramesses' vocabulary, questioning.
"Did you order them to die, or did Nurgle order them to die? Are they your sons, or Nurgle's sons?"
Sharp-tongued!
Mortarion recalled the intelligence he held. He found these damned guys, every single one of them, had a vicious mouth.
"Stop talking!"
Mortarion knew clearly.
They were walking on a dead end.
Because of his orders, and even more because of Nurgle's orders.
He had no choice.
Silence, this scythe Mortarion loved, screamed, out of resentment and pain, hacking into the earth, shaking the rocks deep underground.
Karna knocked the giant scythe away, grabbed Mortarion's neck with one hand and lifted him up. The huge blade of Silence was pulled out of his calf wound. The Spear of the Crimson Dawn pierced his jawbone; flames wrapped around Mortarion's head.
Mortarion grabbed the suspended scythe handle. Silence slashed at Karna's arm again. Karna retreated. The spear blade burned off half of the Death Lord's face, then Silence cut his forearm.
The weapons of both sides collided.
Immediately, after a violent explosion, the two separated again.
"Stop talking!"
Mortarion roared loudly.
"Hmph."
Responding to him was only the second round of assault.
Everything that should be said had been said.
It could only be said that Ramesses' conventional combat methods against each Primarch had considerable effects.
Mortarion falling to this step might be because of Typhus, but mostly it was his own fault.
Hypocritical towards sorcery, weak towards Nurgle, turning a blind eye to things already noticed, drifting with the tide.
Opponent of sorcery, rebel against tyrants, good father to sons—he might have thought so, but he actually achieved none of what he claimed.
His heart wasn't worthy of the power he mastered. He sold himself for a good price, then became complacent because of the master's charity. What he lost and made the Death Guard lose was far more than what they gained.
He was never resilient from beginning to end.
This is the truth!
Of course, he could also blame the Emperor, blame those brothers who perceived some truth, blame them for not telling him the power he truly possessed.
But the question returned to where he was most obsessed.
Does having no power mean not resisting?
Then what is the resilience he is proud of?
"..."
Patter patter patter—
The torrential rain transformed from the Plague God's anger hovered overhead.
One red, one grey. The two engaged in an unprecedented confrontation on the surface battlefield.
Karna charged head-on, swinging his spear to break the stance being prepared. The spear tip plunged deep into Mortarion's shoulder, then he slammed his body into him, knocking him to the other side of the platform.
Mortarion returned the favor with a forward dash, slicing off a large piece of armor from Karna's side. The Burning Angel suddenly erupted, launching eight fierce attacks in succession. Every move was exquisite, a killing move purely for killing.
But relying on the power of death, Mortarion blocked every blow, becoming smoother and smoother.
Interlacing dance, sparks flying.
The earth tore apart between their every crossing.
Mortarion was still becoming tougher and stronger. With the passage of time, with the death of all life around him, he was immersed deeper in the gift of this supernatural power that almost completely poisoned him.
But now he was full of doubts, shocked by the existence in front of him who showed unremitting fury in the face of the same predicament.
After the brief shock came emptiness, an emotion approaching nothingness.
Then came panic.
The opponent was also becoming strong, also resentful because everything he cared about was dying. This anger rose into flames in the material universe, slaughtering the enemies in front of him for him.
Before the war, as a qualified commander, Mortarion had also analyzed the members of the Dawnbreakers. At least their combat data was in hand. Mortarion couldn't say he understood the characteristics of the other three, but for the power Karna possessed, Mortarion felt it was so familiar, so recognizable.
Without relying on the Great Powers of the Warp, only the part belonging to Karna himself.
As long as he maintained a firm mind, as long as he rejected the gods, this power could allow him to resist the intrusion of the Chaos Gods, allowing him to defend everything he cared about with his own hands, in a better way.
He had it too.
Clang!
Weapons collided; both sides retreated two steps.
Mortarion wiped his lips with the back of his hand. What flowed from the wound cut by Karna was blood. He smeared it on his cheek.
Inexplicably, a doubt, a guess he had avoided in the past, uncontrollably surfaced in his mind.
He should have had it too.
It was just taken away, sent away.
"Who do your sons belong to?"
Karna's voice just now echoed in his mind, lingering.
No, wrong!
Boom!
Explosions lit up in the distance. That was the starport's defensive fire tearing patches of plasma into the Nurgle warships.
The two crashed into a crater at the edge of the battlefield. Their impact on each other became increasingly fierce and violent, like ship-borne lances collapsing the entire area, raising the same light on the surface.
They spun and danced in the churning rubble, then rushed into another plain cleared by the shockwave, completely immersed in their contest.
Further away where the Primarch's vision could reach, the sky was burning, impossible to extinguish.
Evil voices howled in the increasingly wet hurricane.
I am right! I should be right!
My choice back then wasn't weakness; it was because I was right!
Karna leaped out. Two combo strikes forced the shaken Mortarion to barely block.
"No!"
He said.
He countered with a backhand, bowing and slashing horizontally. It was knocked open directly by Karna, who then swung the blade back, tearing the Burning Angel's illusory wings and striking his armor.
Broken gold armor scales scattered.
Watching the angel still able to fight him, feeling the burning sensation piercing his abdomen, Mortarion just wanted to kill the person in front of him.
That person was willing to give everything, never fearing, urgently urging his body, mind, and soul to pump power, just to fulfill the promise he made to those existences who believed in him.
Never compromise.
Those humans' abilities sometimes couldn't keep up with their courage.
But Karna wouldn't.
Mortarion shouldn't either—
Once, he wouldn't have.
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