🚨 Note : Consider to Support this Story on Patreon.com/Flokixy to access +200 advance Chapters and To Support The Daily Update
"It's falling! It's going to crash!"
Neither the roar from high above nor the desperate screams of his sons attracted Perturabo's attention.
The death of a steel behemoth was destined not to be a silent whimper. The wail of the Spirit of Diligence rose from the flight of countless people, echoing long and loud in the steel jungle that had already become a ruin. Both attackers and defenders stopped in unison, looking up with awe at the destruction before them.
Like the roar from the deepest part of purgatory, the sounds of explosions and grinding steel continuously tormented the Primarch's ears. But Perturabo was unmoving. He gripped his hammer tightly, single-handedly guarding the innermost city avenue. Piled in front of him were destroyed tanks and armored vehicles, forming a continuous line, looking like a smoldering Great Wall from afar.
Perturabo breathed heavily. Just as he was calmly adjusting his breathing, the steel ruins in front of him rumbled. He looked up and saw an Executioner tank crushing its dead comrades, its grotesque muzzle painted blood-red, searching for its prey with its dark vision.
The Primarch laughed. He planted his warhammer on the ground, lowered his head, and silently confronted the fierce challenger.
The scene grew awkward for a moment. The meters-tall Primarch stood opposite an even larger war engine, surrounded by a mountain of corpses composed of at least one armored regiment and three infantry brigades.
Perturabo's will was connected to every corner of his body through countless psychic conduits. Following his thoughts, countless fist-sized projectiles emerged from the storage areas of his back armor, arrayed in order, awaiting their moment.
The Primarch quietly issued commands. His voice flowed through the psychic conduits into the unit network, receiving and processing a continuous stream of information. Perturabo naturally bypassed his high-ranking officers and advisors, directly commanding every squad defending key positions, and even personally operating the anti-aircraft battery behind him, constructing what he considered a passable anti-aircraft network.
Finally, the Executioner acted.
Perturabo's silent few seconds were seen as disdainful mockery by it. The Primarch could even hear the frantic shouts from behind the tank's thick frontal armor. The blood-red muzzle aimed at his face, firing a deadly bolt of death in anger.
The Lord of Iron raised his hammer. This unbreakable steel, enveloped in lightning and energy, he roared and swung it, tearing a whirlwind in the air.
"Boom!"
The projectile was struck. The Primarch's barbaric strength and exquisite technique forcibly altered the trajectory of death. The blow, originally aimed directly at his face, was forcibly twisted by the demigod's will in mid-air. It struck the ruins nearby, completely pulverizing the last remnants of a former skyscraper into dust.
Then, Perturabo moved his shoulders. Accompanying his movements, spider-like mechanical arms and steel prosthetics extended in all directions, revealing rows of ruthless destroyers beneath.
The Primarch's fingertip tapped, and dozens of missiles and more energy beams whistled out, instantly engulfing the bewildered challenger before him. This was the last fiery wave in this steel torrent.
"I'm waiting for my gauss cannon and beehive missiles to reload."
"What are you waiting for?"
The Primarch's chuckle echoed in mid-air. Then, as if sensing something, he frowned, looked up, and gazed towards the high altitude above Carena City.
The beast was dead.
The situation of the Spirit of Diligence had reached its worst point: this magnificent ancient vessel was already tilting in high altitude. Its bow and starboard bridge were drooping at a terrifying angle, as if they would directly crash into the ground the next second.
Magnus narrowed his eyes. He could already hear the violent cracking sounds coming from the center of the colossal ship. He could already see large fragments continuously falling from various parts of the ship. He could already foresee the horrifying carnage that would ensue when this steel behemoth finally fell, its death throes causing widespread slaughter.
The Iron Warrior beside him cautiously reminded the Primarch.
"Lord, the Spirit of Diligence is not in optimal condition right now. Our repair work is only less than 60% complete. Its engine room and anti-gravity devices are functional, but there are large tearing ruptures in the hull, which haven't been fully repaired in time..."
"So, it could potentially disintegrate in mid-air at any moment?"
Magnus interrupted Perturabo's son's report. His crimson face was now tinged with a hint of gloom. But the Primarch knew he couldn't blame anyone. Under the circumstances just now, raising the ship into the air to avoid danger was the safest option.
"It could indeed disintegrate, but it's more likely that the power core area will detach from the main body, causing the entire ship to lose its power source and crash directly."
Magnus looked up, silent for two seconds. Then, his single eye began to shine, a fluctuating light where deep blue and crimson clashed.
"Ahriman, assist me."
He softly summoned his son.
"Morgan, you're responsible for clearing out the pests around."
The silver-haired female official nodded. The Primarch then felt a power, enough to make him take it seriously, gathering within this mortal.
"Phosis, Amon, Enan, Balec..."
He softly called out each name, until every son of Prospero in Carena City answered their father's call. It didn't take long, perhaps only a second in the eyes of mortals.
"I need your strength."
With that, Magnus spread his arms, and an invisible giant stood behind him.
Ahriman looked up, his eyes now filled with pale blue psychic flames, like a fire elemental emerging from myth.
The Thousand Sons Captain squeezed every last ounce of psychic energy from himself, then unhesitatingly poured it all into the invisible giant constructed by his genefather. He knew that if Magnus made even the slightest mistake now, he himself would be torn to shreds by the immense psychic backlash. But he believed in his father with all his heart.
Since the catastrophe of Prospero, he had always been like this, just like every Thousand Son.
Ahriman, from the corner of his eye, saw a pale blue-purple light shimmering beside Morgan. He saw Phosis also raise his arms, unleashing all his psychic energy. And all the blood brothers whose names he could call, he saw every Thousand Son near them rushing frantically to join their ranks. And those beyond his sight, Ahriman soon felt their surging power within the invisible giant.
"That's enough."
Finally, Magnus moved.
As the Primarch spread his fingers, the towering, ethereal giant took a step forward. Only the most powerful psykers could truly discern every minute detail of it in the ocean of the third eye.
Magnus's hands began to twist. The giant, composed purely of psychic energy and will, also extended its arms, preparing to turn this devastating fall into a controlled crash.
Ahriman gritted his teeth. He squeezed his eyes shut, and large beads of sweat instantly covered his forehead.
Morgan's eyes flickered with a purple shimmer. Her consciousness drifted through thousands of souls. She selected those individuals emitting strange energies, almost indiscriminately crushing their lives.
Perturabo gazed into the distance at the rapidly falling colossal ship. No one knew what thoughts lay behind his iron face. After a long while, the Lord of Iron turned and entrusted everything, including his trust, to his brother.
"Hold your ground, Iron Warrior. The battle is not over yet."
Under the gaze of ten thousand people, amidst mothers' prayers and children's cries, the colossal beast and the giant finally collided. This was a war between the will of a Primarch and the mighty force of nature.
Mortals could not witness it. The panicked refugees only saw the steel behemoth, which should have crashed, halt in mid-air. Violent whooshing sounds erupted from its underside in all directions, shattering countless eardrums, but unable to stop the thunderous cheers.
But the mortals' cheers, by the time they reached the Primarch's tower, were few and far between. All that remained here were low, rapid incantations and the crackling sound of everyone's sweat hitting the ground.
Despite the powerful assistance of over a hundred Thousand Sons, Magnus still bore immense pressure. Blue veins, as thick as a mortal's finger, now covered the Primarch's forehead. Under Morgan's gaze, Magnus's eyes radiated an unbridled madness.
No one could evaluate Magnus, because no one could truly comprehend the pressure he was under. Even all the Thousand Sons combined could not bear one-thousandth of the power the Primarch endured.
The sheer size of the Spirit of Diligence was comparable to a standard battleship of the Imperium's Navy, not to mention that almost every piece of its material contained anti-psyker elements. Magnus felt as if he was personally lifting a battleship. His mind had completely exploded, and countless memories, thoughts, and psychic fragments twisted in his boiling mind.
"No..."
The Primarch moaned softly, uncontrollably. From his fingertips to his ankles, he trembled ceaselessly. Magnus felt the might of the warp celebrating this insane confrontation, surging after him and his sons, assisting in this miracle, yet inadvertently destroying it.
"...Damn it..."
Countless streams of power rampaged through his mind. He could vaguely hear everyone cheering, but his mind could no longer comprehend them. Magnus could feel saliva dripping from his teeth. His feet were deeply planted in the mud due to the invisible struggle. His muscles, his brain, his tendons, his teeth were all crackling, all moaning in torment.
He saw rain falling before his eyes, then he realized it was his own sweat.
He felt himself wailing, then he realized it wasn't his own voice—it was his children.
"...No!"
Magnus's soul roared, but the bloody prophecy had already blossomed on its own.
He saw what was about to happen. He saw that in his terrifying clash with gravity, he would win a most tragic victory.
With the successful landing of the steel behemoth, countless concentrated psychic energies would instantly backlash. These unstoppable forces would, in turn, tear apart every Thousand Son.
He would be stained with blood, covered in blood... the blood of his sons.
The Crimson King... that's what people would call him.
"No!"
Magnus wailed, but he couldn't stop any of it, because the Spirit of Diligence was closer to the surface than ever before. He could even hear the Iron Warriors beside him cheering as they witnessed the miracle. He could even sense the psychic giant raising its fist, aimed at every one of his unsuspecting sons.
In that desperate instant, he heard a voice.
[Do you need help, Lord Magnus?]
Ahriman slumped to the ground, gasping for breath.
He swore he hadn't been this frantic in a long time.
Only now did the belated pain begin to spread throughout his body. It was the inevitable result of pushing himself to the absolute limit. Ahriman struggled to raise his hand, but he no longer had the strength to heal himself.
He felt like a mortal at this moment, a mortal on the verge of dying of old age. The Thousand Sons Captain looked up and scanned his surroundings, only to find that everyone in his sight was like this now, including Morgan.
She even looked the most miserable.
Then, Ahriman felt an incredibly powerful and familiar psychic energy envelop him and everyone present. It was the healing power from his genefather, Magnus himself. In just a few dozen seconds, Ahriman felt as if he could once again throw himself into a battle or the most arduous task.
The Primarch walked among his sons and subordinates. He watched with satisfaction as they quickly recovered their vitality. Ahriman looked up towards the center of Carena City: the Spirit of Diligence had safely landed, and thousands of people were pouring out of it like an ant colony.
"You created a miracle, Father!"
"It was us. We created it together."
Magnus smiled and replied to his child. Then, he walked over to the only one who had not yet recovered.
The Primarch bent down, carefully helping Morgan up himself.
"I need to thank you especially, Morgan. Thank you for everything you've done for me and my sons."
[Cough... it's just my duty, sir.]
The silver-haired female official replied with apparent difficulty. She coughed continuously, occasionally spitting out drops of blood.
"No, it's far more important than that. You cannot imagine how timely your help just now was."
Faced with Magnus's praise, Morgan seemed to want to reply, but she quickly bent over, coughing desperately. Although she covered her mouth, Ahriman could still see incessant blood flowing through her fingers, dripping onto her snow-white trench coat like shattered red plum blossoms.
Magnus's expression grew serious.
"Alright, it seems the situation is worse than I imagined. But don't worry, I will personally oversee your treatment until the very end, Lady Morgan."
[I feel it's a tear in my soul, sir. It might be very difficult.]
"Of course."
Magnus laughed. It was the laugh of absolute confidence that only came after creating a miracle.
"But the Warp is a boundless treasure trove."
"And I am the one who holds the key."
"After things here are concluded, I will take you and the most severely wounded of my sons and re-enter the Warp to find a way to heal your injuries."
"Trust me. Leave everything to me. I am Magnus. I never make things worse."