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[Carmen.]
[Carmen!]
[My child!]
[Why do you not answer? Why do you not respond?]
[Why do you not reply to me!]
[My child! Speak! Tell me! What has happened to you! Why can I not sense your consciousness! Why do those grotesque mists envelop your soul!]
[Do not believe them, do not believe any voice in your mind!]
[I am sorry, my child, I have concealed and deceived you: do not believe them! Do not believe those voices! Whatever they promise you, whatever they urge upon you, ignore it!]
[That terrifying eyeball, everything that emanates from it is false, malicious. Those foolish ones believe they can gain advantages in their dealings with them, but you would not want to know what they ultimately became.]
[Therefore, do not believe them, my child, my Carmen!]
[Answer me! Return to my side! I permit you to abandon your mission, to return to my side, abandoning your armies and those other idiots! I will bear all consequences myself!]
[Carmen! Answer! Carmen!]
——————
The anxious words, like sharp arrows, tore through the limits of time and space, rushing directly from the distant Randan battle moon towards that burning bridge on Sabis IV. They were so dense, so prioritized, that even the overall coordination of the Randan fleet made significant errors to clear a path for these words.
These lengthy, anxious requests and commands became fragmented and distorted in their rapid transmission, but still maintained their general meaning. They crossed the ocean of souls and consciousness in almost an instant, finally rushing towards the consciousness of [Overlord Carmen], ready to break through the crimson mist swirling around the Randan warrior.
But the next second, accompanied by an almost emotionless, mocking laugh, they vanished at the final step of their arduous mission. Even the Randan Warlord himself, who prided himself on his psychic abilities, could no longer find them.
Only laughter filled the air—a cold sound that was neither arrogant, nor grand, nor compassionate.
——————
[How interesting...]
[Even the most foul creatures are, in some respects, more noble than the greatest figures.]
[Though "noble" is meaningless.]
[...]
[So it seems... what is called emotion is a universal thing among intelligent beings, regardless of whether it is a damned alien, or a somewhat tolerable kin, this will not change.]
[Then those individuals who abandoned it... for what reason? How did they manage it?]
Morgan smiled, capturing this thread of communication.
This inherently malevolent soul murmured to itself, constantly refining and conceiving its understanding of the world. Every example in its field of vision would plunge it into a very brief period of contemplation, and in countless such contemplations, it affirmed one thing after another.
But none of this hindered the important business at hand.
She deftly rubbed her fingers, and these words, imbued with countless yearnings and infinite care, yet also mixed with commands, hopes, and pleas, completely turned to dust.
Morgan didn't care what emotions that so-called [father] held for its offspring [Carmen], nor did she care why it sent out such a costly communication.
But since it passed within her range, there was no reason for her not to cause some trouble for the damned alien.
Morgan narrowed her eyes.
She felt a hint of [joy], or rather, was it a hint of [pleasure]?
She couldn't distinguish them, but it didn't matter.
She didn't dislike this fleeting sensation.
——————
A Dark Angel Sergeant stood in the central area of the bridge. Before him lay the command center of the mortal defenders, along with auxiliary facilities such as medical stations and communication rooms.
This crucial transportation hub was originally defended by twenty-five thousand mortals and seven Dark Angels. Under Randan's relentless attrition and assaults, when the truly pure-blooded main legions of the Xenos finally committed to the front line, only over ten thousand mortals and five Dark Angels remained, capable of standing, holding fast, and fighting these blasphemous Xenos to the death.
But even so, this was still a battle that could not be fully grasped by mortal eyes. The slaughter of tens of thousands of warriors was far more terrifying, vivid, and cruel than mere pale numbers and descriptions.
Crimson flames and dark purple light waves continuously appeared across various points of the battlefield. Each appearance meant the evaporation of hundreds of lives, or the crumbling of a sturdy fortress.
In the defensive lines composed of hundreds of trenches and tunnels, a grand feast of light was being displayed. Countless soldiers and officers maintained this bloody banquet with their lives, solely to extend the sound of cannon fire and tearing for as long as possible.
The Randan army was advancing. They once numbered in the tens of thousands, capable of arrogantly launching wave after wave of assaults. But now, only thousands, or even hundreds, of their forces incessantly gnawed at countless breaches in every defensive line, searching for an opportune moment to break through.
Human regiments were also attacking. Countless warriors charged out of the trenches almost madly. The fear they once held for the Xenos' colossal bodies and hideous faces was now completely overshadowed by blood-red eyes. Almost suicidal counter-charges spontaneously appeared on countless front lines. Whenever Randan's sharp edge touched human blood, they invariably paid a price. In this way, various types of corpses unintentionally piled up like mountains, forming gurgling rivers of blood.
Both sides were bleeding, both sides were losing, both sides continued this bloody gamble in irrational courage and madness. The stakes were life after life, howling as they charged into enemy formations. They, them, everyone's bodies collapsed like a toppling tower of coins, falling with a crash, scattered without a trace.
Perhaps only the endless, divine laughter from high above the clouds, amidst the fierce winds, noticed by almost no one, could explain why such a kingdom of carnage would descend upon the human world.
——————
But even so, the Dark Angel Sergeant remained unmoved from his position. He guarded the very center of the bridge, serving as the final defensive line, and the only defensive line against the dangerous individual beside him.
And after another round of violent artillery fire sounded in a noticeably closer location, the question once again reached his ears.
[Are you sure you still want to hold this position?]
[Your comrades are struggling, enduring in overwhelming disadvantage, relentlessly swallowed by the Xenos tide. They cannot hold their line. This is not a matter of ability, but of reality.]
[So, are you sure you still want to be here?]
The Dark Angel seemed to be completely ignoring him, and Morgan made no serious attempt to persuade him. She even lazily yawned. While most of the Death Angel's (presumably the Dark Angel's) attention was focused on the ever-nearing flames of war, she, on the contrary, relaxed her limbs, leaning against the anti-psyker devices that made her [suffer unbearably], lazily sensing where those four twinkling light points behind her had gone.
She had no need to deceive him. When her senses roamed the battlefield ahead, they faithfully reported every situation back to her.
She watched the battle as if watching a silent play without a script.
She saw everything that happened within those two Terran standard hours. She saw the human front line slowly crumbling. She saw more and and more souls of Randan warriors beginning to appear on the battlefield, from dozens to hundreds, to thousands, until they completely surrounded a Dark Angel.
It was an extremely uneven battle, devoid of any fairness or hope. The Randan warrior formations disappeared one after another. Each swipe of their blade took several, even a dozen, Xenos lives.
But in Morgan's view, the surrounded Dark Angel was also growing weaker. All his breakthroughs and tactics were worn down by Randan's endless numerical superiority, and this desperate advantage also hindered the arrival of other reinforcements.
Although his swings were still sharp, and his steps still steady, every move he made could not be without some cost. After nearly an hour of confrontation and attrition, on the small mountain of Randan warrior corpses, this silent warrior finally pulled the trigger on what he held in his hand.
Then, an extremely violent light spot appeared in Morgan's vision. As it slowly faded, all traces of this duel also vanished without a trace.
Morgan witnessed the huge wound inexplicably torn open on Randan's entire front line, then she shifted her gaze to the other side, where another duel was also taking place.
Three Dark Angels, three times the power and might.
But their situation was even worse, arguably dangerous.
——————
Blood flowed from his forehead, into Lieutenant Andrews' eyes.
He wasn't sure what had happened. He could only search for fragments in his shattered memories.
That black cavern that appeared out of nowhere, from which Randan's most elite [Overlords] streamed out. It was from that moment that the situation completely spiraled out of control.
As the explosion sounded in his comms, he knew he had lost another battle brother.
No, two.
Andrews looked up at the hand of the only remaining Randan [Overlord]. It was tightly gripping a blood-soaked Astartes helmet, and the helmet's owner had fallen at the Xeno's feet.
And behind [Overlord Carmen], ten [Overlord] corpses lay scattered, that was the price paid for a Dark Angel to fall, and two Dark Angels to be severely wounded.
Andrews breathed nervously. This looked like the end of a brutal victory. They still had two warriors, and Randan had only one [Overlord]. But he knew very well that things weren't that simple.
He had realized all this from the moment that [Overlord] unhesitatingly cut off the head of its adjutant beside it.
"This is a duel, you idiot. It shouldn't be interrupted by anything..."
Carmen was muttering to itself, almost savoring the blood-soaked air. Then, it picked up its long blade and reached towards its right arm.
A great battle, of course, deserved to be commemorated.
Another scar was cut, and just like that, there were eight evenly spaced scars on its two arms.
Then, it lowered its head, but one could see the extremely wide grin on its lips.
Andrews heard a laugh—a sound of ultimate madness.
"Heh heh heh... Hahahaha... Hahahahahahaha!"
When the Xeno raised its head again, its hideous skull had somehow been stained with blood. Its sharp teeth and tongue clashed together, murmuring.
"Blood for the Blood God..."
"Skulls for the Skull Throne!"
It roared and charged forward.
The battle began anew.
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