"The surface has been cleared."
"A total of 56 Randan enemy forces, including one low-tier Overlord, three Psykers, and 52 regular warriors, have all been eliminated."
"Our casualties… zero."
The raging cold wind carried the pungent smell of blood, both the ancient, strangely withered crimson of what had dried, and the fresh, flowing drops.
The war continued, in every corner of this world, from underground to the sky, from the horizon where gunshots and artillery roared ceaselessly, to the close quarters where rumbling footsteps were already heard.
The slaughter on the surface was but a fleeting moment. From the Shadow Champion lopping off the head of the first heavy gunner, to Hektor quietly narrating the not-so-intense annihilation in the dust, it all happened within dozens of breaths.
And as this hastily assembled provisional squad disengaged from the swift annihilation battle, seizing every moment to rest and prepare, they also heard the footsteps of another war gradually approaching.
Clearly, the true central area of the Randan was beneath the ground. The giant engines Hektor and his group were to destroy were there, and the Randan's true elite forces were also there.
The entrance was not difficult to find. Following the footprints made of dried blood, the Sons of Morgan easily found the deep, dark cave entrance that constantly exuded a foul stench of soil and blood mixed together. Vaguely, heavy breathing and mixed footsteps could be heard.
The guards responsible for this area had already perished in the previous massacre. Six Astartes warriors stood at the cave mouth, quietly listening to the gradually approaching footsteps from deep within the cave, constantly adjusting their helmet's electro-optical imaging system and automatic sensing system to maintain good combat vision in low-light conditions.
And to be able to navigate the blinding light that was to come with ease.
When the last sound of system adjustment completely faded, the Randan forces beneath the ground finally arrived late. Hektor, Chiron, and Ezio exchanged glances, then unhesitatingly threw the flashbangs in their hands.
The most blinding light killed the deepest darkness in a single breath, like forcibly prying open eyelids, making pupils desperately stare directly into the midday sun. Ten thousand sharp, snowy-white arrows pierced into every aggressive crimson pupil. Screams, wails, and the crudest, most malicious curses exploded in an instant.
Before even the calmest Randan soldiers could recover, the corner of their eyes caught sight of six towering iron giants, draped in the blood of their comrades, like six unstoppable storm gods, crashing into their battle lines amidst roars, silence, and war cries.
The alien army had not anticipated that their comrades on the surface would be annihilated so swiftly. Thus, when they faced the constantly flashing, roaring, and screaming power swords, boltguns, plasma weapons, and psychic lightning, they were no stronger than a group of terrified civilians.
The old slaughter ended.
A new slaughter began.
And before conducting this slaughter, Hektor had one most important mission, a goal he must always prioritize: he must find that giant engine, he must eliminate all aliens who dared to obstruct him.
He must…
——————
Find it.
Morgana's will issued this command.
In an instant, countless souls converged into a illusory hunt, passing through the already weakened veil between the war-torn real space and the eerie Immaterium, plunging into the core fleet of the Randan Empire.
She had to find it.
Find that thing.
Drag it to this star system, drag it into real space.
Only then could the Imperium truly destroy it, destroy the Randan Xenomorphs' last delusion of winning this war.
Only then could they truly win this war, and Morgana could truly eliminate her last concerns, beginning her long-awaited, true reaping and devouring.
She had paid too much.
Now, she demanded a return.
The Spider Queen could clearly feel the fire burning within her. It was not due to anger or excitement, but because she was constantly depleting her soul reserves due to the ongoing war. She was lavishly pouring these alien souls into the war in Tacus. She could even clearly calculate that the soul power she had consumed in this war was enough to grind several worlds into dust.
Through her will and methods, they became the invisible scythes that continuously harvested large numbers of Randan Psykers, the superior platform that allowed every warship to freely report situations and receive orders, and the means by which Lion El'Jonson could effortlessly oversee everything, allowing the Knight King of Caliban to fully unleash all his talents and create the great miracle of holding back the most terrifying opponents with the fewest troops.
She consumed, she commanded, she facilitated. She used the souls and lives of countless aliens to forge her own greatest achievements and glory.
Apart from truly precious and protected treasures, all the alien souls Morgana had accumulated over more than ten years of the Randan War were being burned at an astonishing rate, transforming into the purest, most essential energy for Morgana to command.
Even the speed of death on the most intense battlefields among the stars could not compare to the wails of those alien souls as they were mercilessly consumed by the Spider Queen.
Morgana even felt that she was merciful.
These despicable, hateful, pathetic alien lives, utterly worthless trash, were actually being used by her to create such beautiful power and miracles, allowing their souls to offer their sole value through her will: what a merciful and righteous act.
Therefore, when the hunting party she had dispatched conveyed good news to her at the fastest speed, she was not at all surprised.
Following the guidance of these souls, Morgana's gaze pierced the boundaries of reality and illusion, temporarily arriving in the Immaterium. She saw the Randan fleets still endlessly surging towards this unconquered star system. She saw the most massive and magnificent war engines preparing for battle one after another, hoping their charge could finally end this somewhat protracted war.
But her gaze did not linger on these fragile little things for a moment. Instead, it bypassed these crude machines and fell upon the truly dangerous object.
At the very core of the Randan grand fleet were two artificial worlds, so vast they could rival small planets. One of them was completely encased in endless black armor, from which only faint traces of specialized cables and psychic energy could be felt. Morgana could glimpse the world's most core secret with her third eye:
A life so powerful that even she felt apprehensive was using a device that would make any psyker uncomfortable, constantly depleting its own power and even life to generate a special kind of psychic aura. Undoubtedly, when the Randan soldiers absorbed this aura, they became fearless and unyielding on the battlefield, and even the overly young and old aliens possessed astonishing courage.
And the cost of all this was that this Randan Emperor was almost immobile. It had to be confined to the instrument it had chosen every moment, burning its own soul and the souls of other aliens to sustain the courage and fearlessness of this terrifyingly massive, all-out fleet.
Morgana's gaze lingered on this scene for less than a second: she could feel the pain brought by the instrument, and she could also feel the immense determination required to endure such agony for so long.
But she didn't care.
She didn't care about the fate of a doomed alien scoundrel.
Then, she shifted her full attention to the place truly worthy of her concern, the soul collective occupying a small portion of a battle moon. It was clearly given the best protection, with Randan warships densely gathered around it, like a suffocating black forest.
Morgana looked at that thing. In the deepest memories of the Randan Psykers she had extracted, they treated this so-called Fate Engine with the utmost importance.
She began to calculate how many souls she had left, estimating whether the upcoming action would harm herself.
It didn't take long.
Almost immediately, the Primarch, currently at the very heart of the Unbending Truth, received a message from his blood relative.
"I've found it, Lion El'Jonson. It will take about half a Terra Standard Hour for me to bring it into the hunting ground."
A flicker of light crossed the grim pupils of the Knight King of Caliban. He silently gazed at the tactical holographic projection before him: despite Morgana's assistance, the operations these past few days had been incredibly arduous. Numerous times, the Randan warships had almost torn through the thin front line of the First Legion, completely segmenting Lion El'Jonson's subordinates.
But every attempt and attack by the xenomorphs eventually fell at the feet of the Inner Circle. A large number of Lion elites, including the Sandalwood Confraternity, had slaughtered countless challengers, covering every deck in sacrilegious blood, and leaving these powerful warriors with only one in ten remaining.
They could not afford to delay any longer.
Lion El'Jonson spoke, his voice already incredibly hoarse.
"Understood. Proceed."
"Excellent, Lion El'Jonson, I need a few more things, including at least two hundred Psykers to chant with me, and…"
"No need to say more."
Lion El'Jonson's gaze had already returned to the battle. He spoke, his words conveying absolute confirmation and promise.
"Whatever you want, just issue your own command. I have instructed the First Legion to treat your orders as equal to mine. At least in this war, you and I both have the authority to command the Dark Angels."
"Now, go forth and do it."
"Give it to me, drag it in!"
——————
The promise from her blood relative brought a hint of joy to Morgana's mood. It was the first time since the battle began.
She emanated her will, transmitting commands to every element she needed, and watched with satisfaction as the First Legion began to move under her will.
But she did not relax, nor was she foolish enough to disrupt Lion El'Jonson's plan. Her will swept over the battlefield again and again. Relying on the long discussion she had with Lion El'Jonson before the battle began, she immediately discerned which plan her blood relative was currently employing. Without disrupting Lion El'Jonson's plan, Morgana quickly gathered the forces she needed.
And before everything was ready, she drew out a wisp of aura and glanced at the scion she was watching.
Hektor's predicament made Morgana's brow subtly twitch. So, she left that wisp of aura there.
Her proud chess piece needed it.
——————
Slaughter.
Endless slaughter.
Dangerous slaughter.
Slaughter without end.
Measured in a straight line, from the surface to the giant engine's storage room, it was only about fifty meters. But in battle, even the closest distance was as unreliable as the moon in water.
The lighting system of the underground passage had been completely destroyed. The once clean and solemn corridors were now covered with foul-smelling chunks of corpses, wreckage, and blood. Only sporadic lights inadvertently provided some visibility.
The figures of Randan soldiers flickered in the ultraviolet light of the automatic sensors, like monsters lurking in the night, charging in groups from every corner. Every obstruction was a bloody battle, and every step required several lives to fall.
Reason was tortured, thought was questioned. The once meticulously coordinated squad and training were shattered by the endless black tide. Hektor felt as if he was fighting alone at this moment: his companions had not yet fallen, still fighting. He could hear their shouts, war cries, and the roar of bolters and plasma.
But they were not by his side.
He charged too fast.
He listened, he perceived, he prayed to the revered power within his heart for answers. He searched for a scent beyond blood and stench amidst the ceaseless carnage.
He heard the crackle of heavy bolters and the hiss of plasma, but they seemed very far away.
He heard the sound of a shadow passing, a command to be anticipated, but before his shout could escape his throat, countless shrill howls engulfed him.
He was furious, he roared, he swung his blade, taking hundreds of lives in one breath after another, moistening every inch of dry land until he heard the aliens' fearful gasps, until he saw the glowing emblem that appeared in the mission, until he discovered a figure not far from him.
Tall, burly, arrogant.
Invincible, indescribable.
Elaborately crafted armor distinguished this creature from all its comrades. Its crimson eyes reflected a power, a power that made the Astartes flex every muscle, preparing to embrace death.
Hektor took a deep breath.
He recognized this monster, this monster he had faced before.
Custodian Guard.
The Randan's Custodian Guard.
And this time, Morgana's proud chess piece was alone.
🚨 Note: Consider supporting this story on Patreon.com/Flokixy to access 400+ advance chapters and 2 new chapters daily! (Full story bundles also available without a subscription).