"I still miss how things were when we first met."
The black silhouette waved its hand dismissively, its voice tinged with regret and nostalgia: "Sharing wine and laughter, speaking freely of the future and our ideals."
Appearing truly nostalgic, Solas tilted his head back. Though devoid of facial features or expressions, his posture conveyed a distinct emotion.
"Did you contact me just to say this?" Unmoved, Blazkowicz donned his helmet, preparing for the next stage of the operation: "To talk of brotherhood?"
"Moribas Solas," his deep voice resounded through the flickering holographic projection, "this is war—a life-or-death confrontation where blades cross."
"Did you think this was a joke? A wine party that could be ended whenever you pleased?"
Blazkowicz could see Solas's internal turmoil—a deeply conflicted individual lost in hatred and suffering. Wavering between emotion and reason, he had pushed himself down a dark path, resulting in a choice that was utterly twisted.
On the other end of the transmission, Solas fell silent.
In truth, he did not know why he had chosen to initiate the call, or what he intended to say. Was it to bid farewell to a blood brother after realizing his defeat was absolute, or was it a desire to vent what lay in his heart?
Judging by his brother's response, however, Blazkowicz had no intention of engaging in idle conversation.
"Sigh~" Solas let out a long, feeble sigh, as if countless knots remained twisted within his chest.
"Was I wrong?" he asked.
"There is no right or wrong," Blazkowicz replied, tapping his forearm data pad to select an operational route as he answered: "Only a difference in allegiance."
"However, we are adults. We must take responsibility for our choices, and we must pay the corresponding price."
His expression was impassive, his eyes devoid of any emotional stirrings. Nothing Solas displayed affected Blazkowicz in the slightest; his resolve remained unshakable and his objective crystal clear.
"You do not even know what you are pursuing," Blazkowicz deployed his Legion warriors, looking straight at Solas's dark silhouette: "Just like now."
"You open a transmission channel and utter empty greetings. It seems as though you have a thousand things to say, yet none of it matters."
"A man who does not even know what he wants, attempting to seek answers from others—do you not find that ridiculous?"
Blazkowicz's words were incisive, laying bare Solas's true state of mind: "Be straightforward. Let it go."
"Since you chose to be a traitor, do not carry a burden of guilt."
"Look at me," Blazkowicz raised his arm, pointing toward Planet VI. "When it comes to executing traitors and annihilating xenos, I have never hesitated."
"Because I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that for the rise of humanity, every enemy blocking our path must be eradicated."
His voice was deep and firm. He turned on his heel, leaving the panoramic bridge as he led his Legion warriors toward the flight deck.
"Your grand cause is absolute," Solas's voice sounded rigid, taking a long time to utter a single sentence.
Blazkowicz glanced back at him, shaking his head slightly: "If you lack a grand cause, then choose selfishness."
"Do not dwell on emotions; focus on your choice."
"When I kill you——" Blazkowicz paused in his tracks, gazing at the black silhouette, "at least do not let me see your regret."
Solas raised his head, letting out a faint, mocking chuckle: "Are you afraid that you won't be able to bring yourself to strike?"
"Yes," Blazkowicz did not deny his weakness. "After all, we were once brothers."
"I will kill you without hesitation, but in my heart, there will be regret."
On the other end of the channel, Solas fell into silence, saying nothing more.
He leaned back into the Command Throne, resting his chin on his hand, contemplating what he was actually doing.
With Planet V destroyed, defeat was completely irreversible. Faced with the onslaught of his brothers, even the most brilliant strategy could not overcome the vast disparity in absolute strength.
Yet, as defeat drew near, a strange sense of relief welled up in his chest—humanity would achieve victory.
For the supreme commander of the Rangdan to harbor such a thought was inherently absurd. What was even more absurd was that, as a human Primarch, he commanded a host of trillions of xenos, waging war against his own blood brothers and biological father.
Keenly aware of the contradiction in his heart, Solas shook his head with a bitter, helpless smile.
For the first time on the battlefield, he had opened a channel to speak with a former brother. Clearly, he had received his answer.
Just as Blazkowicz had said: he did not know what he was pursuing, blindly wandering forward into an endless abyss.
"Let it go?" Solas rose from his throne, shaking his head repeatedly: "I cannot do that."
"I cannot let go of my hatred for the Emperor, not until the day I die."
Blazkowicz heard the low rumble of fury. Before terminating the channel, he spoke one last time: "Then abandon your self-perception as a human."
With that, he closed the holographic feed and stepped boldly into the teleporter.
He could tell that Solas's lingering attachment to humanity was what maintained his human silhouette. Even without facial features or a concrete physical form, one could tell at a glance from his outline that he was human. If not for that fierce self-perception, he would have degenerated into an unspeakable darkness the moment the Emperor stripped him of his human identity.
Blazkowicz shook his head helplessly, viewing Solas as a tragic figure. Under the ideology of "Human Supremacy," conspiring with xenos was a capital crime. Furthermore, fate had been far too cruel to him—voyaging through the vast galaxy, only to run directly into the Emperor right at the start, was truly a stroke of terrible luck.
Arriving at the flight deck amidst the glow of teleportation, Blazkowicz boarded a landing craft. He felt it had been a long time since he had spoken with such sharp intensity.
He was accustomed to observing first and taking action second. Yet, facing a former brother, his emotions had inevitably flickered, prompting him to say a few extra words. To Solas, who sought comfort, those words had been far too cold—cutting deeper than any blade.
He turned to look out the viewport; Planet VI appeared hazy beneath a rain of orbital lance strikes.
"I cannot let go of my hatred for the Emperor, not until the day I die."
The sentence echoed in his mind once more. Solas's feeling toward the Emperor was not pure hatred; it was laced with deep sorrow. Yet all he could see was the hatred.
The landing craft flew silently past the rear of the massive fleet, reaching the near-ground spaceport of Planet VIII before making a rapid descent.
The Salamanders Legion had established a firm presence on the western hemisphere of Planet VIII, building comprehensive facilities to facilitate the transit of troops and supplies. On an apocalyptic battlefield, drop-pod assaults were virtually impossible; the anti-air grid was nearly impenetrable. Legions had no choice but to deploy systematically and launch ground assaults to avoid severe casualties.
Blazkowicz and his entourage moved briskly to the Salamanders' command center to meet with Vulkan.
"The battle is urgent, dispense with formality," Blazkowicz raised his hand, halting the Legion warriors before they could kneel.
"Brother!" Vulkan's voice boomed like a bronze bell. The obsidian giant opened his arms, embracing Blazkowicz: "I have waited for a counter-offensive for a long time!"
"Ever since Nocturne, I have wanted to find you and fight side by side with the mighty Doom Marines."
The Lord of Dragons possessed a warm, forthright nature and sincere emotions, instantly putting those around him at ease.
Blazkowicz clapped his brother's rear armor, well aware that Vulkan's enthusiasm was pure and unpretentious: "I have come precisely to fight side by side with the Salamanders."
The two released their embrace, walking toward the command console with broad laughter.
"What is your plan of attack?" As a reinforcing commander, Blazkowicz had no intention of usurping authority. By handing tactical initiative to Vulkan, he demonstrated absolute trust and respect for his brother.
Sure enough, the Salamanders guarding the fortress noticeably relaxed upon hearing this. Though subtle, the shift did not escape Blazkowicz's meticulous observation.
The Doom Marines arrived on the heels of a glorious victory; the humility and composure they displayed earned them immense goodwill from the Salamanders Legion. As one of the oldest Legions, the Salamanders had been active since the Unification Wars and had fought alongside many brother formations.
Though the Doom Marines were taciturn, they lacked the bizarre quirks of other Legions, making them easy to work with.
"We strike from underground," Vulkan manipulated the holographic display, mapping out an attack route.
By boring through the earth at a depth of a hundred meters, assault teams would drive straight beneath the Rangdan fortress, executing a surprise strike against their main command hall.
Blazkowicz did not immediately dismiss the idea based on past experience; instead, he looked up and asked Vulkan: "How do you intend to execute this?"
On Planet V, subterranean tunneling was entirely impossible; probes were planted at every depth to monitor unusual seismic activity. At the slightest anomaly, deep-burrowing weapons would be unleashed to bury the enemy underground. Planet VIII possessed a similar detection grid, so it remained to be seen what miraculous tool the Salamanders possessed to bypass Rangdan sensors.
After all, the Lord of Dragons was a master of invention—a blacksmith of supreme skill.
"Brother," Vulkan smiled, deeply moved by his brother's unquestioning trust: "I have been planning this counter-offensive for a long time. I have a mature solution."
He turned to his honor guard: "Bring them up."
As Blazkowicz watched with curious eyes, Firedrake Terminators emerged from the lower deck of the command hall, bringing with them a cluster of floating rocks.
"What are these?" He inspected them closely: "The silicon-based lifeforms of Planet VIII?"
On Planet VIII—a life-bearing world within System J-11—there existed a unique form of silicon-based life. Under normal protocols, during the early stages of constructing fortress infrastructure, such bizarre xenos should have been purged and eradicated long ago.
"They are indeed," Vulkan did not deny it. "Unique lifeforms born from millions of years of exposure to electromagnetic pulse spectrums."