Gaius's gaze, like a hawk locking onto its prey, followed the fleeing figure as it disappeared into the darkness of the passage, through the grimy tavern window. He didn't immediately give chase; experience told him that overly hasty actions would only alert potential enemies, making them hide deeper, or even detonate an uncontrollable crisis.
He raised his hand and made a silencing gesture to Dorian, who was in the midst of an excited description of how the Lion King, Lion, had punched a certain Chaos Champion. Though rough-hewn, Dorian had an instinctive obedience to Gaius's commands. He immediately fell silent, looking at Gaius with an inquiring expression.
Gaius didn't explain immediately. Instead, he turned his gaze to Laya, who sat opposite him, looking somewhat bewildered by Dorian's sudden stop. His tone was calm, as if asking a casual question, but it went straight to the heart of the matter:
"Laya, have there been any reports of unusual incidents in Dratamidas recently? Or, are there any signs of xenos activity, such as..." He paused, carefully observing Laya's reaction, "...Genestealers cultists, or... Eldar?"
He specifically mentioned "Eldar," not only because of the fleeting glimpse of the tall figure near the Governor's Mansion earlier but also because the psychic energy belonging to Kolesa within him had produced a subtle, almost imperceptible tremor in response to the hurried man, akin to a repulsion from a similar source.
Upon hearing the question, Laya's beautiful face showed an expression similar to that of Sister Fulinna earlier—a kind of almost naive certainty based on devout faith. She gently shook her head, her tone firm as she said, "Lord Angel, please rest assured. Dratamidas is always enveloped in the supreme glory of the Emperor and the omnissiah. Nothing profane, whether the filth of Chaos or the impurity of xenos, could ever hide here. Are you... perhaps overly vigilant from years of campaigning?"
Her answer was watertight, attributing all possibilities of abnormality to Gaius's "over-worry."
Gaius nodded, not pressing further. He knew that from Laya, or indeed from any official channel, it would likely be difficult to obtain valuable clues. True darkness often hid beneath such grand assurances.
He looked at Dorian, and the two exchanged a glance. Years of fighting side-by-side had long forged a wordless understanding. Though Dorian didn't know exactly what had happened, from Gaius's sharp eyes and his earlier focus on the hurried man, he already understood—something was amiss.
"We're following him," Gaius commanded succinctly, standing up first. His massive body once again made the worn-out sofa groan in protest.
Though Laya was puzzled, a perfectly appropriate look of confusion on her face, she dared not disobey in the slightest and immediately stood up as well, asking softly, "Lord Angel, are we going to chase that man from earlier? He looks like just an ordinary worker..."
"Follow," Gaius repeated the order without explanation, his tone leaving no room for doubt.
The three quickly left the noisy tavern and re-entered the dim, acrid-smelling passages of the lower levels. The flustered man had long since vanished.
But this was exactly the effect Gaius wanted. A greater distance would prevent them from being detected.
Standing at the passage entrance, Gaius closed his eyes slightly and took a deep breath. The extraordinary senses of an Astartes Acolyte, honed by genetic modification and rigorous training, were instantly heightened to their peak. The air was filled with countless complex odors—engine oil, sweat, decaying food, waste, cheap fuel... But amidst these chaotic scents, a unique odor, recently departed, carrying specific sweat, cheap soap, and a faint, almost imperceptible hint of underground mold, like an invisible thread, clearly pointed in a certain direction down the passage.
"This way," Gaius opened his eyes, his gaze sharp, and took the lead. Dorian followed close behind, like a moving fortress. Laya, however, had to half-run to keep up with their long strides, her high heels clicking a rapid, crisp rhythm on the metal floor, a stark contrast to the heavy, silent steps of the Astartes.
"Gaius, what exactly did you find? What's wrong with that guy?" Dorian asked in a low voice as they walked, his robust nerves also detecting something unusual.
Gaius's gaze swept the winding passage ahead like a searchlight, while he responded, his voice calm and clear: "That man, he carries an aura of... betrayal."
He tried to explain in a way Dorian could understand: "Not ordinary panic, but a deep-seated fear, from the depths of his soul, of having done something wrong and being discovered. Coupled with his intense reaction when he saw us, it wasn't just reverence, it was more like... seeing a natural predator."
He paused, making a judgment based on his intuition and experience: "My gut tells me he's definitely problematic. To be safe, we must follow him and find out. If it's just ordinary illegal dealings, so be it, but if it's an early sign of Chaos corruption, or... even worse, xenos infestation, we must deal with it immediately and nip the threat in the bud."
After listening, Dorian's intact eye narrowed, a fierce glint flashing within it: "If it really is xenos, I'll twist his head off and kick it around for the Captain! Save him from always eyeing my head." For any threat to the Imperium and humanity, he never hesitated to use the most extreme measures.
Following the scent trail, the three moved swiftly through the labyrinthine lower-level passages. The surroundings grew increasingly dilapidated, the lighting dimmer, walls covered in rust and haphazard markings, and the strange odors in the air grew heavier. They passed through several narrow alleys piled with discarded parts and trash, eventually arriving at a large factory-affiliated residential area.
The environment here was even more crowded and chaotic than the areas they had passed through earlier. Towering residential units were packed together like a beehive, their exterior walls covered in grime and rust. Most windows were small and dim, many with broken glass crudely sealed with wood or plastic sheeting. Intersecting metal staircases and elevated walkways connected the units like a spiderweb, hung with drying clothes whose original colors were indistinguishable. The air was thick with a sense of despair and stagnation.
And here, the previously clear scent trail mysteriously vanished. As if deliberately covered or absorbed by something, it disappeared without a trace.
Gaius stopped, his brow furrowed. This situation was uncommon. Either the individual possessed extremely high anti-tracking skills, or... this area itself contained something capable of interfering with or even eliminating scents.
"The scent is gone," Gaius said to Dorian over the comms.
"Lost him?" Dorian looked around, somewhat unwilling, his powerful vision unable to locate a specific target in such a complex and chaotic environment.
Gaius didn't give up. He turned to Laya, who had been following behind, slightly out of breath and flushed from the hurried walk. He remembered the man's features—a haggard face, sallow complexion, sunken eyes, and that characteristic anxious gaze.
"Laya, can you contact the manager of this factory area?" Gaius asked, his tone still calm but with an undeniable implication, "I need to know the exact residence of that man. I'll describe his features..."
With his photographic memory, Gaius clearly described the man's appearance, build, and even some subtle facial expressions and habits.
Laya listened to Gaius's description, a thoughtful expression appearing on her beautiful face, then nodded: "Please wait a moment, Lord Angel."
She took out the data-slate she had been clutching, expertly operated it a few times, and using the Governor's Mansion's authority, directly connected to the factory residential area manager's communication. After a brief exchange, Laya handed the data-slate to Gaius, from which a slightly nervous and fawning male voice emerged:
"Your... Your esteemed Lord Angel! The person you described... I remember him, it should be Ray Mao! He's a worker in the Third Sheet Metal Workshop, but... he hasn't reported to the factory for almost half a month. His reason for leave was... his wife is pregnant and unwell, needing him to care for her at home."
Wife pregnant? Gaius's mind stirred. This might be a reasonable explanation, but it could also be a perfect excuse to cover other activities.
"Tell me his address," Gaius commanded directly, without any pleasantries.
The manager on the other end of the communication clearly hesitated, stammering, "This... Lord Angel, a worker's address is personal privacy, we..."
Before he could finish, Laya had taken over, her voice still gentle, but her tone carried a cold, authoritative majesty befitting a superior, transmitted through the data-slate: "Sir Manager, please mind your words. It is the esteemed Emperor's Angel inquiring of you. If you cannot immediately provide accurate information, I imagine Governor Gaine would be very pleased to consider replacing the manager of this area with someone more... 'sensible.'"
This naked threat instantly shattered the manager's hesitation. He apologized profusely, then quickly rattled off an address: "Area A, Residential Unit 13, Sixth Floor, Fourth Level. That's the one! Lord Angel!"
"Area A, Unit 13, Sixth Floor, Fourth Level," Gaius repeated, confirming it was correct, then ended the communication directly and handed the data-slate back to Laya.
"Let's go," Gaius said to Dorian, and the two immediately strode off in the direction of the address provided by the manager.
Laya, holding the data-slate, watched their unwavering backs, standing in place, seemingly hesitant. The chaos and squalor of this area clearly made her uncomfortable.
Gaius walked a few steps, noticed Laya hadn't followed, and stopped. He turned around, his deep eyes calmly looking at her, his tone devoid of discernible emotion but carrying an invisible pressure:
"Laya, are you not planning to come up with us?"
His words were still in the form of a question, but every syllable was imbued with the weight of a command.
Laya's delicate body trembled imperceptibly. She looked up, meeting Gaius's gaze that seemed to see through everything, and her perfect smile once again became somewhat stiff. She was silent for two seconds, then bowed slightly and said softly, "As you wish, Lord Angel."
Having said that, she took a step, her expensive high heels clattering on the oil-stained and rusty metal stairs, making a crisp "thump, thump" sound that was out of place in the dilapidated environment, as she followed Gaius and Dorian.
The three climbed the rusty, shaky metal stairs towards the sixth floor. The higher they went, the more crowded and rundown the living conditions seemed.
The air was filled with an indescribable smell, a mixture of mold, sweat, and a certain… faint, sweet and decaying aroma.
Gaius and Dorian's senses were heightened to their maximum, their muscles slightly tensed, like beasts about to pounce on their prey.
They both knew their target was close.
What secret was hidden in the home of Ray Mao, who carried the "scent of betrayal," and his wife, who "needed care due to pregnancy"?
The answer lay behind that closed metal door on the fourth level of the sixth floor.
Stepping onto the rust-pocked metal platform of the fourth level of the sixth floor, Gaius clearly detected Ray Mao's unique scent, which had been interrupted outside the tavern.
The anxiety mixed with a faint, unsettling musty odor in this scent was particularly strong here.
Like the most seasoned hunter, he followed this invisible trail, finally stopping before a tightly shut metal door with peeling paint.
The house number "4-3" was crudely spray-painted in red on the doorplate.
Gaius's gaze inadvertently swept over Laya beside him.
Her delicate brows were slightly furrowed, and her expensive red high heels carefully avoided the stains and puddles on the ground, her eyes openly showing disgust and discomfort with the surrounding filth and environment.
This posture formed a stark contrast with her earlier claim of "living in the lower levels as a youth," deepening Gaius's suspicions.
"You knock," Gaius said, turning to Laya and making an unquestionable "please" gesture.
He wanted to see her reaction in this situation.
Laya seemed to pause for a moment, but quickly resumed her well-trained demeanor.
She lightly smoothed the creases of her red dress, which was out of place in the environment, held the data pad in one hand, and raised the other to tap the cold metal door three times, neither too lightly nor too heavily.
"Thump, thump, thump."
The knocking echoed in the silent and oppressive corridor.
Gaius's enhanced hearing keenly caught an extremely subtle, muffled commotion from inside the door, as if someone was whispering rapidly, with clear panic in their tone.
Then, everything fell silent again.
After about three minutes, just as a hint of impatience appeared on Laya's face and she was about to raise her hand to knock again—
"Creak—"
With a grating sound, the metal door was pulled open a crack.
Ray Mao's sallow, haggard face, etched with exhaustion and tension, peered out from the gap.
When he saw Laya, elegant in her exquisite red dress, standing outside, he seemed to subconsciously sigh in relief, his tense shoulders relaxing slightly.
However, this brief relaxation vanished instantly when the corner of his eye caught sight of the two towering, iron tower-like figures behind Laya, emanating an invisible sense of oppression!
His pupils suddenly constricted, the color drained from his face at a visible speed, and his entire body began to tremble uncontrollably, even his fingers clutching the doorframe quivering.
"Is… is there something you need?" His voice was dry and trembling, almost squeezed from his throat, "I… I'll go back to work in a few days, when… when I feel better…" He tried to change the subject with talk of work, his eyes darting, not daring to meet Gaius's gaze.
Gaius stepped forward, his nearly three-meter height casting a shadow that almost completely enveloped Ray Mao.
He ignored the man's excuse about work and, with a commanding and deep tone, directly pierced through the fragile facade: "Ray Mao, you don't look well."
This simple sentence seemed to strike directly at the deepest corner of Mao's fear.
He abruptly looked up at Gaius's profound eyes, which seemed to penetrate the soul, his panic almost overflowing, as he stammered defensively: "I… I'm just… tired from taking care of my wife… She… she's pregnant, and very weak… needs constant care…"
As he spoke, Gaius's sharp gaze, like a scanner, quickly swept through the room through the door crack.
The interior of the room was extremely cramped and narrow, with all sorts of clutter—old tools, discarded parts, dirty clothes—piled in every corner, almost impossible to step anywhere.
The large bag of food he had been carrying earlier now sat on the dilapidated sofa in the living room, its springs exposed, but the bag's volume was noticeably smaller, as if much of the food inside had already been consumed.
Seeing this, Gaius's earlier suspicions were confirmed.
A man needing to care for a weak pregnant woman, consuming such a large amount of food in a short time?
This was certainly not just the normal needs of two people.
He spoke to Ray Mao, his tone calm but with an undeniable assertiveness: "Do you mind if this beautiful lady and I come in to take a look? Perhaps she can provide some… necessary help for you and your wife." He deliberately mentioned Laya, using her potential representation of "upper-class authority" to exert pressure.
Ray Mao opened his mouth, seemingly wanting to find another excuse to refuse, but when he saw Gaius's cold and firm gaze, and Laya's exquisite attire and the data pad in her arms—which in his perception likely belonged to an official under an upper-class noble lord—he knew any resistance was futile.
The last trace of color drained from his face, and with a resigned, trembling gesture, he moved aside, clearing the narrow doorway.
"Please… please come in…" His voice was as faint as a mosquito's buzz.
Gaius stepped in first, Laya hesitated for a moment, then followed.
Dorian remained outside; his overly large physique made it difficult to move in such a low, cramped space, and guarding the door also prevented anyone from escaping.
Upon entering the house, the air, mixed with mold, sweat, cheap food, and a faint, sweet, decaying smell, became even more intense.
Gaius subtly surveyed the cluttered room while continuing to question Ray Mao in a seemingly casual tone, each question as precise as a surgeon's scalpel:
"How many people live here?"
Ray Mao closed the door, leaning his back against the cold metal door panel as if to support his weakening legs, and replied tremblingly: "Only… only my wife and I."
Gaius's gaze swept over the clothesline in the corner of the room, where several faded items of clothing, clearly child-sized for a seven or eight-year-old, were hanging.
His eyes then moved to the room's only small windows leading outside; they were all securely boarded up from the inside, allowing no light to penetrate.
"How long has your wife been pregnant?" Gaius continued to ask, his voice steady.
"One… one month." Ray Mao lowered his head, not daring to look at Gaius.
One month?
Gaius sneered inwardly.
A woman one month pregnant, so "weak" that she needed her husband's constant care?
And those children's clothes, the completely sealed windows, and the far-beyond-normal food consumption… All clues pointed to an unsettling conclusion.
While questioning, Gaius's keen senses remained focused on the only closed compartment in the room.
He could hear extremely subtle sounds from inside, as if something was wriggling and… sucking.
He couldn't wait any longer.
Gaius suddenly clenched his fists, his muscles instantly tensing, entering a combat-ready state.
He subtly retreated half a step backward, shielding the still somewhat bewildered Laya behind his broad back.
This action made Laya pause slightly, and she looked up at Gaius's back, as reliable as a mountain.
Gaius's gaze, like two cold, sharp swords, pierced directly into Ray Mao, whose face was pale and covered in cold sweat, and he spoke in a tone like an ultimatum:
"Now, may I see your wife?"
Ray Mao's body trembled violently, his eyes filled with struggle and despair.
He looked at Gaius's unquestionable expression, then back at the closed room door, and finally, as if all strength had been drained from him, he nodded with difficulty.
He walked unsteadily to the door, opened it with trembling hands, and said something in an extremely soft, tearful voice to the inside.
A few seconds later, a figure slowly emerged from the dim room.
It was indeed a woman, her face haggard and pale, her eyes vacant and numb.
She held her hands over her stomach—it was noticeably distended, but the size and shape of the bulge did not match Mao's claim of "one month pregnant" at all; it looked more like full-term, or even… larger.
However, what was most horrifying was the "child" she held tightly in her arms.
It was not a normal human infant at all!
Its body was abnormally large, almost the size of a two- or three-year-old child, and its skin was an unhealthy, grayish-white.
Most terrifyingly, beneath the translucent skin, countless thick, worm-like winding blood vessels were clearly visible, and the blood flowing through these vessels was an eerie and dazzling, faintly discernible deep purple!
A nauseating, alien odor, a mixture of sweetness and decay, emanated from that "child" as if it were a tangible presence!
And at this moment, Ray Mao, who had always appeared cowardly and fearful, his eyes suddenly became incredibly fierce and crazed, a savage look mixed with despair, fear, and the ferocity of a cornered beast!
He suddenly pulled out a hidden, rusty but sharpened metal wrench from behind him!
Ray Mao's desperate and frenzied sneak attack was as slow as if he had fallen into a viscous quagmire before Gaius's battle-hardened dynamic vision and neural reflexes.
The rusty but sharpened metal wrench, with a whistling sound, swung towards Gaius's back, but before it could reach its target, Gaius's reaction was already complete.
He didn't even fully turn; he merely used his core strength to swing his right arm backward like a cannonball fired from a barrel!
The movement was concise, swift, and full of explosive power!
"Bang!!!"
A dull, thunderous roar!
Gaius's punch struck first, hitting Ray Mao squarely in the chest!
The terrifying force erupted instantly, and Mao's scrawny body was thrown backward as if hit head-on by a speeding vehicle, crashing violently against the metal door they had just entered!
"Boom! Clang--!!!"
The immense impact caused the already flimsy metal door to instantly dent inward and twist out of shape, emitting a teeth-grating metallic tearing sound!
Ray Mao, like a flattened painting, was wedged between the deformed door panel and frame, his chest completely caved in.
The liquid spewing from his mouth was no longer blood, but a viscous, dark red fluid mixed with fragments of internal organs, also containing a few unsettling streaks of purple.
The madness and ferocity in his eyes solidified instantly, then rapidly dimmed, his life force dissipating like a snuffed candle flame.
This violent and decisive scene, unfolding in a flash, terrified Laya, who had been standing behind Gaius, still somewhat bewildered!
Her beautiful blue eyes instantly widened to their limit, pupils constricted, as she let out a short, sharp shriek, clamping her hands over her mouth.
Her delicate body trembled uncontrollably, her face turning paler than the dust on the ground.
She had never witnessed such direct, such brutal death at such close range!
Almost simultaneously with dealing with Ray Mao, Gaius's gaze had already locked onto the woman holding the "child," who was attempting to flee into the inner room amidst the chaos.
Her movements also seemed slow in Gaius's eyes.
Gaius lunged forward, his massive body displaying astonishing agility, and slammed into the woman's side like a battering ram!
"Crack!" A clear sound of bone breaking rang out.
The woman let out a pained grunt, slammed violently against the cold wall by the immense force, shaking dust from it.
The "child" in her arms also flew out due to the impact, falling to the ground and letting out an inhuman, sharp cry like the chirping of an insect!
The woman struggled, still trying to crawl towards her "child," a twisted, maternal instinct still lingering in her eyes.
But Gaius had no hesitation or pity.
For hosts infected by Genestealers, who had become an extended tendril of the Tyranids, purification was the only option, and the greatest mercy.
He stepped forward, his iron-hard fist swinging out again like a hammer, ending her life.
The "child" in her arms—the Genestealers larva—was also crushed by Gaius's foot the next moment, completely silencing its horrifying cries.
The small room was instantly filled with the strong smell of blood and the unique, sweet yet decaying stench of the Tyranids.
"Clang!!!"
Just then, there was a loud crash at the doorway!
The metal door, already deformed by Mao's impact, was violently torn down from the outside by an even more ferocious force, sending twisted metal fragments flying everywhere!
Dorian's bear-like figure, bent at the waist, squeezed in through the low door frame, his murderous gaze instantly sweeping the room.
When he saw the glaring, viscous purple blood on the floor and the clearly non-human larval remains, he immediately understood the situation.
"Genestealers?!" Dorian's voice was like a muffled thunder, carrying undisguised disgust and killing intent.
This bloody and bizarre scene was already commonplace on the battlefield for him, but his gaze lingered for a moment as it swept over Laya, who was slumped on the ground, trembling uncontrollably, almost fainting.
Gaius nodded affirmatively to Dorian, his tone cold and certain: "It's Genestealers.
This entire family is infected, already deeply mutated."
Laya sat slumped on the cold, dirty floor, leaning against the wall, her hands still clamped over her mouth to prevent herself from screaming again.
Her once vibrant and beautiful blue eyes were now filled with immense fear, bewilderment, and disbelief.
She had initially thought it was just a routine, perhaps even slightly exaggerated, investigation, yet in an instant, right before her eyes, three living "human lives" were brutally "killed" just like that!
Blood, brain matter, purple mucus... All of this was too much of a shock for her, a "canary" who had always lived in a delicate ivory tower.
Could it be... could the Lord Angel just... kill people like that?
A voice screamed in terror within her.
But she bit her lip hard, not daring to voice the question.
What if... what if they got angry and did the same to her?
She dared not think further; the immense fear almost suffocated her.
Dorian stooped to enter the confined space, carefully avoiding the disgusting puddle of purple blood on the floor, and looked at Gaius.
Gaius shook off the foul-smelling, viscous purple blood clinging to his fist, his cold gaze turning to Laya, who was slumped on the ground like a startled rabbit.
His voice, devoid of any warmth, like cold steel, came through the blood-filled air:
"Laya."
Laya suddenly shivered, as if pricked by a needle, and fearfully looked up at Gaius.
"This family has been infected by Genestealers and become pawns of the Tyranids," Gaius's voice was decisive and brooked no argument, "You are to immediately arrange reliable personnel to gather their bodies and all contaminated items within this nest, then thoroughly incinerate and purify them, ensuring no biomass residue remains."
He paused, his tone growing even colder, imbued with the unwavering resolve of an Inquisitor:
"At the same time, immediately use all means to gather and contain all direct relatives of this family, as well as anyone who has had close contact with them recently, for isolation and interrogation."
He stared at Laya's pale face, uttering the final command word by word:
"Once signs of infection are confirmed, kill without mercy."
The four words "kill without mercy" were like four cold daggers, plunging fiercely into Laya's heart, causing her delicate body to tremble violently, her fear almost overflowing from her eyes.
Gaius looked at her terrified expression, his brow slightly furrowed, and he intensified his tone: "Laya? Did you hear what I said? Execute it immediately!"
The cold command was like a splash of cold water, jolting Laya from her extreme fear.
She looked at Gaius's emotionless eyes and Dorian's fierce gaze beside him; her survival instinct overrode everything else.
Trembling, she used all her strength to pull herself up against the wall, her legs still weak.
She lowered her head, not daring to look at the gruesome scene on the floor, her voice a mere whisper, tinged with a sob:
"I... I understand, Lord Angel... I... I'll go at once..."
Gaius looked at her, knowing that fear alone wasn't enough; she needed to understand the gravity of the situation.
He added, his tone still cold:
"Furthermore, immediately notify the Adeptus Mechanicus savants and the Sisters of Battle of the Shrine World, formally informing them that confirmed cases of Genestealers infection have appeared in the lower levels of the Dratamidas Industrial World.
Require them to immediately activate emergency protocols, intensifying the sweep of the entire planet, especially the lower regions, and specifically conducting a comprehensive genetic sequence screening."
His gaze seemed to pierce through the small room, seeing a potentially more terrifying future:
"I, and the Ultramarines Chapter, do not wish to be forced to return here one day for a large-scale, even bloodier purge.
Prevention is far better than cure.
Do you understand?"
Listening to Gaius's words, especially the terms "Tyranids" and "large-scale purge," sent a chill down Laya's spine.
She had always lived in Governor Gaine's seemingly safe and prosperous gilded cage, subconsciously believing that the terrifying legend of the Tyranids was incredibly distant from her.
Only now, with the foul-smelling purple blood and the twisted, non-human larval remains truly present before her eyes, did she realize with absolute clarity that Dratamidas was far from as impregnable as she had imagined; darkness and threat lurked beneath the seemingly calm surface!
For the first time, she also truly witnessed another side of these Lord Angels—they were not just the glorious and magnificent figures depicted in murals.
When facing the enemies of humanity, the cold, decisive, and ruthless iron-fisted methods they displayed were enough to make any ill-intentioned individual tremble, and also filled ordinary people like her with deep reverence and... fear.
"Let's go," Gaius no longer spared Laya or the bodies on the ground a glance, as if he had just performed a trivial task, "Tyranid blood doesn't smell good."
With that, he turned directly, stepped over the metal fragments and bloodstains at the doorway, and walked out of the room, filled with death and defilement, without stopping.
Dorian saw Laya still frozen in place, her face pale, her eyes vacant, clearly not fully recovered from the immense shock.
He knew that such pampered "canaries" hadn't seen such bloody scenes and were stunned.
He didn't have the delicate sensibility to comfort her, so he simply extended his bear-paw-like hand and grabbed Laya's slender wrist.
"Let's go! Don't stand around in here like an idiot! This place stinks and is dirty, what's there to see!" Dorian said gruffly, almost half-dragging, half-pulling the limp Laya out of that nightmarish room.
Returning to the relatively open corridor, Laya gulped down the murky but at least odorless air, as if she had just been rescued from drowning. She looked at Gaius's steady, mountain-like back, as if nothing had happened, and felt Dorian's vice-like grip on her wrist, her heart a mix of emotions.
Fear, lingering terror, shock, and a hint of… a cruel understanding of the true nature of this world, intertwined.
The cleansing had begun. And this "canary," accidentally caught in the eye of the storm, her fate, it seemed, had irrevocably deviated from its original path.
The murky air in the corridor now seemed somewhat "fresh" to Gaius. He walked directly to a rusty, dripping public faucet at the end of the corridor, turned the valve, and icy, bone-chilling, rust-smelling recycled water gushed out. He placed his fists, covered in viscous, foul-smelling purple blood, under the stream and meticulously scrubbed them. Tyranid blood had a peculiar stickiness, as if alive, trying to cling between skin and Power Armor joints. The sweet and putrid mixed scent was even more stubborn; even under the rinsing water, it still vaguely lingered at his nostrils.
He cleaned himself expressionlessly, as if the thunderous actions he had just taken were merely routine. His gaze flicked to Dorian beside him, who was leaning idly against the mottled wall, vigilantly scanning the silent corridor, his face showing no ripple of emotion. This level of scene was indeed nothing to Dorian. He had experienced battles infinitely more bloody and cruel than this; the sight before him probably stirred less commotion in his heart than Eiras's soft, playful little fists hitting his Power Armor.
However, Laya on the other side was in a completely different state.
After Dorian had practically dragged her out of that bloody room, she completely collapsed onto the cold, dirty floor, utterly drained. Her expensive red high heels had long since fallen off somewhere during her struggle, revealing a pair of fair, delicate feet now covered in grime. She leaned against the cold metal wall, her arms tightly wrapped around her constantly trembling body, her face as pale as fine white paper, devoid of any color. Large beads of sweat continuously seeped and rolled down her smooth forehead and the tip of her nose, mixing with the tears she had shed from fright, leaving streaks of disarray on her exquisite makeup. Her once vibrant and charming blue eyes were now hollow and lifeless, filled with the immense terror of a survivor, as if her soul had drifted away, leaving only a terrified shell.
Gaius finished cleaning the filth from his hands, turned off the faucet, and shook off the water droplets. He walked in front of Laya, his tall figure casting a shadow that completely enveloped her. He silently watched her for a few seconds, observing her fragile, helpless appearance, so different from her previous sharp, capable, and poised demeanor. The chord within him, belonging to a warrior yet not entirely cold, was gently plucked.
He slowly squatted down, bringing his gaze level with Laya, who was sitting on the ground, trying not to let his massive size impose further on her. His voice remained steady, but he deliberately slowed his speech, shedding his previous coldness, with a rare, almost imperceptible gentleness:
"I'm sorry," he began, his gaze calmly meeting Laya's hollow eyes, "that you had to witness this. This scene… for an ordinary person like you, it is indeed too… bloody and cruel."
He tried to soothe her traumatized nerves with words, and at the same time, explain to her, or rather, reaffirm the meaning of the Astartes' existence:
"But, Laya, you must understand. We are the Emperor's Angels, that is true. But we are also the Emperor's Angels of Death." His tone gradually took on an undeniable solemnity, "Our duty is not merely to bring hope and protection, but more importantly, to mercilessly unleash destruction and death upon the Daemons and xenos who defile human purity and threaten the Imperium's security. That family just now, they are no longer human; they are Tyranid infected, filth that must be purged. Our methods may seem cruel, but this is to protect more innocent lives, to maintain the purity of the Emperor's domain. Hesitation and mercy, when facing such enemies, are deadly poisons."
His words were like heavy bells, striking Laya's chaotic mind. She seemed to have absorbed some of it, a faint glimmer of light returning to her eyes, but her body's trembling still wouldn't stop. The bloody scene and the purple slime were already etched into her mind like a brand.
Seeing that she seemed to have recovered a little composure, Gaius stood up, saying no more. He knew that some shocks needed time to digest.
"We should head back," he said, his tone returning to its usual calmness. "We need to inform Luna of the situation here so she can compile it and report it immediately to Captain Cassius. The appearance of Genestealers is by no means an isolated incident and must alert the Chapter to a high degree of vigilance."
He motioned for Dorian to prepare to leave.
However, Laya tried to support herself with her hands to stand up, but found her legs as soft and weak as overcooked noodles, completely unresponsive. The immense fear and physiological stress made it extremely difficult for her to even maintain a standing posture. She tried several times, only to fall back down clumsily, her face showing an even more desperate and helpless expression.
Gaius watched this scene, his brow furrowing almost imperceptibly. He glanced at Dorian, who was standing idly by, and issued a direct order:
"Dorian, you're responsible for taking her back."
"What?!" Dorian's eyes instantly widened at the words, his face full of disbelief and resistance, as he gruffly retorted, "Why me?! Why not you? You're closer, and you look more like the type to comfort people!"
Making him, a rough man, take care of a terrified, delicate woman? This was even more of a headache than asking him to duel Angron!
Gaius looked at Dorian's expression, as if he had received a death sentence, and a minuscule, fleeting curve seemed to appear at the corner of his mouth. He deliberately spoke in a slightly teasing tone:
"Execute the order, Dorian. Weren't you complaining earlier that no one cared about you, that you were a lonely man? See, isn't this your chance? It's time to show your 'gentle' side."
"Bullshit chance! Bullshit gentleness!" Dorian grumbled, his face turning a bit red. "Gaius, you bastard, you always push this kind of troublesome stuff onto me! Damn it!"
He complained incessantly, but his body still honestly moved. After all, Gaius's orders he would eventually have to follow. He grumbled something inaudible to anyone, took heavy steps to stand before Laya, and looked at the trembling, teary-eyed "trouble" on the ground, a complex expression of helplessness, disgust, and a touch of… bewilderment on his rugged face.
He bent down and extended his massive hands, calloused and scarred, capable of crushing steel. His movements were not gentle, even a bit clumsy. One hand supported Laya's back, the other passed under her knees, and with a slight effort, he lifted her light body horizontally into his arms.
Laya let out a tiny gasp the moment her body left the ground, instinctively reaching out to grab the taut black T-shirt fabric on Dorian's chest. When she realized she was being held by this terrifying giant who had just moments ago, like a god of slaughter, ripped a solid metal door off its hinges, her body instantly stiffened. Fear surged back like a tide, making her tremble uncontrollably in Dorian's iron-hard embrace, like a wilting leaf in a cold wind.
Dorian could clearly feel the uncontrollable trembling of the small body in his arms. It felt so light, as if she would break with a little more force, completely different from the Bolter or power weapon he usually held. This unfamiliar touch and the subtle trembling made him feel uncomfortable all over, yet inexplicably… a little afraid to use force, fearing he might accidentally damage this "fragile item." He spoke gruffly, trying to say something to ease the awkward atmosphere, but after a long pause, he only grumbled out:
"Don't… don't move! I won't be responsible if you fall!"
It would have been better if he hadn't said anything. As soon as he did, Laya in his arms trembled even more violently, even turning her face away slightly, not daring to look at his scarred face, which now seemed somewhat fierce due to his awkwardness.
Dorian: "…"
He felt like he had said the wrong thing, but he didn't know where he went wrong, so he just closed his mouth even more sullenly. Holding Laya, he took large strides, following Gaius, who had already turned and was leading the way, towards their temporary quarters.
Gaius walked ahead, listening to Dorian's heavy footsteps and Laya's suppressed, faint sobs behind him, his heart untroubled. Calming frightened mortals was not his specialty; his duty was to identify and eliminate threats. Today, they had successfully cleared a Genestealers nest, but this was likely just the tip of the iceberg. Laya's reaction, though pitiable, also indirectly confirmed the official complacency of this world.
He needed Luna to relay the information back to the battleship as soon as possible. Beneath Dratamidas's calm surface, the undercurrents were even stronger than they had imagined. And Dorian, holding the constantly trembling Laya with a gloomy expression, became a somewhat abrupt yet incredibly real interlude in this grim mission.
The cold and murderous bridge of the nightfall now served as a battlefield for the clash of two Primarch Fathers' wills. On the comms screen, Lion El'Jonson's granite-carved face occupied most of the display. His eyes, weathered by millennia yet still sharp as a hawk's, pierced through the distant star-sea, locking onto Konrad's pale, pain-etched face.
After an initial silence and scrutiny, Lion El'Jonson broke the stillness, his voice deep and authoritative, carrying undisguised sarcasm:
"Konrad... look at you. The night haunter I remember, though mad, at least maintained a semblance of pathetic dignity. What could have wounded our 'great' Master of Nostramo into such a sorry state? Has your twisted precognition finally shown you your own end, to the point where you can't even stand steady?"
His words were like poisoned arrows, precisely aimed at Konrad's pride and current predicament.
Konrad endured the excruciating pain from the plague's corrosion, feeling like a thousand maggots gnawing at his soul, and forcefully straightened his slightly trembling spine. In his sunken eyes, a crimson glow flickered, but his voice struggled to maintain a cold calmness, even with a hint of retort:
"Nothing can truly wound me, Lion El'Jonson. Except..." He paused deliberately, his gaze sweeping over Lion El'Jonson's majestic, lion-helmeted image, "...except for that not-so-glorious, utterly dishonorable 'duel' some people engaged in ten thousand years ago."
He was referring to his duel with Lion El'Jonson ten thousand years ago. He had expected Lion El'Jonson to adhere to the knightly spirit of Caliban, but to his surprise, the other party directly stabbed him with a greatsword while he was speaking, and during the subsequent close combat, Lion El'Jonson simply pulled out a Bolter and emptied its magazine into his face.
Lion El'Jonson let out a cold sneer, like a collapsing snow mountain, upon hearing this: "Hmph! Old grievances, mention them no more! Your mad ramblings about 'destiny' and 'judgment' have long been swept into the dustbin of history along with your betrayal."
He no longer engaged in a war of words, directly bringing the conversation back to reality, his tone becoming incredibly serious, carrying the unquestionable decisiveness of the First Legion's Master:
"Enough talk, Konrad. I came here personally not to hear you reminisce about the past or make excuses for your sorry state. Now, immediately, disarm all your warships, power down their engines, and lock their weapon systems. Have all your sons lay down their weapons, leave their combat posts, and submit to boarding inspection and control by my 'Angels'."
His conditions were extremely harsh, almost equivalent to demanding the Eighth Legion's unconditional surrender.
"This is the only way for you to show sincerity." Lion El'Jonson's gaze was almost tangible, pressing on Konrad's nerves, "If I, Lion El'Jonson, after a thorough review, confirm that your desire to return to the Imperium is genuine, and that you are indeed capable of restraining those murderers and psychopaths under your command, whose hands are stained with the blood of loyalists, to make them a controllable blade in the Imperium's hand, pointed at the enemy, rather than mad dogs that bite back again..."
He leaned forward slightly; even through the screen, that heavy sense of oppression seemed to pierce through the void:
"Then, I will represent the Imperium and accept you, as well as the Eighth Legion you have rebuilt."
However, this "acceptance" was not without cost, nor was it a glorious homecoming. Lion El'Jonson's voice was cold and realistic, shattering any unrealistic fantasies:
"But you must clearly understand your identity! You are still traitors! Sinners branded with a ten-thousand-year stain! The Wall of Heroes before the Terra Palace will not add new names because of your return, nor will it engrave your 'achievements' filled with darkness and blood! And in the Primarch Father Plaza, no statue belonging to you will be re-erected because of Konrad Curze's 'return from wandering'! The most you can hope for is to cleanse your countless sins in the shadow of the Imperium, as a cleanser! This is the only 'future' you can possibly have!"
These words, like a cold steel whip, struck the hearts of every Night Lords Warrior who could hear the communication. There was no glory, no recognition, only eternal infamy and the possibility of washing away their guilt with even darker deeds.
Finally, Lion El'Jonson gave the ultimate choice, or rather, the final ultimatum. His voice suddenly became even deeper, containing a destructive power like an impending volcanic eruption, not at all like he was joking:
"If you refuse... Konrad Curze. Then, I will now, right here, utterly... annihilate you and this fleet of traitors and scum you have reassembled."
The four words "annihilate" carried the Lion King's characteristic coldness and determination, a promise to act on his words, echoing like a death knell across the nightfall's bridge. The poised muzzles of the Dark Angels' fleet were the most direct manifestation of this final warning.
All eyes were focused on Konrad. Sahar clenched his fists, the Black Guard silently exuded killing intent; Sevatarion's fingertips lightly tapped the crow's talons, his gaze deep and unfathomable; the other Night Lords Warriors officers held their breath, awaiting their night haunter's decision.
Konrad's body swayed slightly from the pain of corrosion and mental pressure, but he clutched the armrest of his throne tightly, his knuckles white from the effort. In his sunken eyes, the crimson glow flickered violently, as if struggling against some unseen force. Finally, the light slowly subsided, replaced by a calm that was almost resigned, yet carried a hint of defiance.
He looked up at Lion El'Jonson on the screen, his voice dry and hoarse, yet clear enough to carry across the bridge:
"Do as... the Lion King says."
He turned to Sevatarion and Sahar, commanding with all his strength:
"Relay my order... All warships, disarm, engines on standby, accept boarding control by the Dark Angels... Show our... attitude and sincerity."
This order was like a giant stone thrown into a seemingly calm, yet turbulent, lake. Many Night Lords Warriors showed expressions of unwillingness, anger, and even humiliation, but they had an almost instinctive obedience to their Primarch Father's command. Sahar let out a low growl, but then stomped his foot and turned to relay the order. Sevatarion gave Konrad a deep, unreadable look, then silently carried out the command as well.
Meanwhile, at the other end of a distant star system, inside the Macragge's Honour, simulated night had already fallen.
In Sergeant Gaius's cabin, numbered I-10-A, the atmosphere was in stark contrast to the tension on the nightfall, filled with a rare warmth and tranquility. Soft, warm light illuminated the room, dispelling the coldness of the metal walls.
Kolesa lay on the bed, which was too large for her, her silver hair, like moonlight-woven brocade, spread across the pillow. At this moment, her arms were not empty; instead, a petite figure was curled up there—Eiras.
With Gaius absent, the little girl with pale pink hair rightfully occupied his usual spot, snuggling into Kolesa's soft, fragrant embrace like a kitten finding a warm nest. She wore clean pajamas with a small gear pattern, prepared for her by Luna, and a cunning, satisfied smile on her face.
"Hehe, since Lord Gaius isn't here, the pretty big sister is all mine!" Eiras triumphantly rolled around in Kolesa's arms, rubbing her small face against Kolesa's soft, comfortable nightgown, greedily inhaling Kolesa's unique, fresh scent, like a mix of moonlight and orchids.
From time to time, she would look up with her bright green eyes at Kolesa's beautiful face, then quickly lean in, giving her soft lips a wet "smooch," leaving a damp mark, and then giggling with a triumphant air.
Kolesa was tickled by her childishly affectionate gestures and couldn't help but chuckle. She extended a slender arm, gently pulling Eiras's restless little body closer, preventing her from rolling off the bed. She lowered her head, lightly rubbing her smooth chin against Eiras's soft, pale pink short hair, and said in a teasing, doting tone:
"Stop it, Eiras. When Gaius comes back and sees you like this, he'll be angry."
Her tone held no real blame, but rather indulgence.
Eiras, hearing this, lifted her small head from Kolesa's embrace, pouted, and said confidently: "No way! Lord Gaius is the nicest Sergeant in the Chapter! I secretly took apart his sniper rifle to study it, and he didn't even scold me, he just told me to put it back! I've never seen him truly angry! But Lord Dorian..."
She wrinkled her small nose, imitating Dorian's gruff voice: "...is like a powder keg ready to explode! In the company, no one can control him except Lieutenant Golden and Captain Cassius! He's scary when he gets angry!"
Then, her tone softened again, with a hint of dependence: "But... Lord Dorian is very good to me. Every time I get into trouble, he helps me take the blame or pleads for me... though his way of pleading usually makes things worse..." She added in a whisper, her tone a mix of helplessness and warmth.
Kolesa listened as Eiras, in her childish voice, described Gaius and Dorian, the two Astartes Acolytes whose destinies were closely intertwined with hers. A soft light flowed in her purple eyes. She could feel Eiras's trust in Gaius, and her complex emotions towards Dorian, a mix of fear and closeness. She hugged the small soul, who had lost her home and sought warmth on a human warship, even tighter, as if to transmit her strength and comfort to her.
Eiras gradually quieted down in Kolesa's reassuring embrace and familiar scent. The excitement of playing faded, and sleepiness crept in. Like a young animal searching for milk, she unconsciously nudged Kolesa's chest, then, in a hazy state, with a certain instinctive sense of security, she took Kolesa's soft nipple under her nightgown into her mouth, and, like a true child, gently suckled a few times, seeking the most primitive comfort.
Kolesa's body stiffened slightly, and a faint blush instantly appeared on her face. This intimate contact was unfamiliar and shy for her. But as she looked at Eiras's gradually steady breathing and her small face sleeping peacefully, the shyness in her heart was quickly replaced by a more surging maternal love and tenderness. She didn't push her away, but merely adjusted her posture more gently, allowing Eiras to sleep more comfortably.
She pulled the soft blanket over them both, and gently patted Eiras's back with one hand, as if humming a silent lullaby. Soon, Eiras let out a steady, faint snore in her arms, completely falling into a deep sleep.
Inside the cabin, only the even breathing and warm tranquility remained. Outside the window was the simulated deep night sky, dotted with artificial stars.
In this war-torn galaxy, this small cabin seemed to have become a haven of tenderness and protection, isolated from the cruel reality of the outside world.
While Kolesa and Eiras embraced in the warm covers, immersed in a rare peaceful dream, Captain Cassius of the First Company was not resting on the bridge of the Macragge's Honour. He stood before a gigantic star map, having just finished an encrypted communication with Luna, who was on Dratamidas.
Luna's calm and clear report still seemed to echo in his ears: "...Confirmed the eradication of three deeply infected individuals, located in residential unit thirteen of lower A-zone. Laya, Planetary Governor Gaine's personal secretary, has, according to Officer Kars's orders, mobilized the Planetary Defense Forces to begin a large-scale investigation of the lower areas, focusing on suspicious locations that might hide Genestealers and close contacts..."
Cassius listened, an undisguised look of disgust on his rugged face. He rubbed his brow and cursed in a low voice: "Why these damned bugs again! They're like a plague in the universe, omnipresent, able to burrow anywhere! They're a bunch of persistent pests!"
He was deeply troubled by the pervasive threat of Genestealers, which was far more difficult and dangerous than facing enemies head-on.
"Tell Gaius and Dorian they did well, a swift response," Cassius instructed Luna, his tone serious. "But we must not let our guard down. Genestealers are best at hiding and disguising; the real danger often lurks in the deepest shadows. You must pay attention to your own safety, and while ensuring the smooth completion of the mission, do your best to eradicate these xenos scum for the Emperor."
He raised his fist to his chest and said in a deep voice: "For Ultramar!"
Luna on the other end of the communication also pounded her chest with her fist, her voice coming through the speaker with the steady tone characteristic of a Tech-Sergeant: "For Ultramar!"
After the communication ended, Cassius let out a long sigh of relief. Because Chapter Master Marius Calgar, out of consideration for his previous "overwork," had voluntarily taken on most of the administrative tasks that had originally fallen to him, and now the daily affairs of the company were mainly handled by Lieutenant Golden, the burden on Cassius's shoulders was instantly lightened by a large margin. More importantly, that noise source—Dorian—who was constantly in his sight and challenging the limits of his blood pressure, was also not on the battleship at the moment.
This rare peace made Cassius feel that even the air circulating inside the battleship had become much fresher, and his mood was unusually smooth for recent times. He even had the leisure to ask a member of the Honor Guard, who stood by, to brew him a cup of synthetic coffee that the Tech-Sergeants had concocted, which was said to be refreshing.
He held the cup of dark liquid, which emitted a strange odor, and sat back on the simple throne belonging to the First Company Captain. He tried a small sip, and the indescribable taste, a mixture of bitterness and a metallic astringency, instantly assaulted his taste buds, almost making him spit it out.
"This stuff... is really awful!" Cassius grimaced and complained, but still forced himself to take another sip, as if using this self-abusive method to confirm that he had indeed escaped the boundless sea of paperwork and meetings.
Enjoying this moment of peace and the terrible coffee, his thoughts unconsciously drifted further, to the news that had come from Raven Lord Corax and was personally confirmed by the Chapter Master, a message that was enough to shake the entire Imperium—the Night Lords Legion intended to return. This news was strictly sealed by order of the Chapter Master, but as First Company Captain, he naturally knew the inside story.
"If... if the Night Lords were really accepted, and the Imperium set this precedent..." Cassius rubbed the rough wall of the coffee cup, his brows furrowed, lost in thought, "Then... what about the other traitor Legions? Is it also possible... for them to follow suit?"
As soon as this thought arose, even he felt a sense of absurdity and unease.
"For example, the Fifteenth Legion... the Thousand Sons?" He immediately shook his head, rejecting the idea, "No, they have now completely become the playthings and pawns of Tzeentch, the Lord of Change. Their souls are bound by curses; there's no turning back."
His thoughts unconsciously turned to another name: "Death Guard?" This thought filled him with a physiological revulsion, as if he smelled the omnipresent stench of plague. "Emperor above, how could I have such a terrible thought! Those pus-flowing, rotting walking corpses..."
He shook his head vigorously, as if to drive these impractical and even somewhat blasphemous thoughts from his mind. Traitors were traitors; ten thousand years of hatred and blood had already forged an insurmountable chasm. How Lord Guilliman and Lion King Lion El'Jonson would decide was not something a Chapter Captain should speculate on too much. What he needed to focus on now was the mission on Dratamidas and ensuring his Astartes Acolytes returned safely.
However, just as Cassius was enjoying a rare moment of peace on the battleship and Gaius's squad was resting in their temporary quarters, danger, as Cassius had predicted, lurked in the shadows, quietly approaching.
Four tall, slender, ghost-like figures, using the complex pipe systems, abandoned ventilation shafts, and blind spots of lighting in the lower levels of the Hive City, silently bypassed the rigid and patterned patrol routes of the Adeptus Mechanicus Guard with astonishing agility and precision. Their movements were as light as if they had no weight, almost merging with the environment, without triggering any alarms.
Their target was clear—the mansion located in the middle zone, temporarily requisitioned for the Astartes Acolytes. They knew that a direct confrontation with these death angels of the Emperor would be like hitting a rock with an egg, with no chance of victory. Therefore, they chose the method most skilled to infiltrators—infiltration, hiding, waiting. Like the most patient hunters, waiting for the moment their prey showed a weakness, then delivering a silent yet fatal blow.
They infiltrated the perimeter of the mansion like melting shadows, silently, searching for ideal hiding and observation spots, a cold killing intent permeating the silence.
Inside the mansion, the tranquility of night had also fallen.
Gaius lay on the soft bed in his assigned room, undergoing the efficient and brief shallow sleep characteristic of an Astartes Acolyte. His body was relaxed, but his mind remained alert, like a lurking leopard, ready to unleash thunderous power at any moment.
Meanwhile, in the hall that had been specially cleared out to serve as a temporary maintenance room, Luna was using portable tools to lubricate and maintain the joints of Dorian's heavy Saturnine Terminator armour. Her movements were precise and focused, her mechanical arms and tools acting like extended limbs in her hands, emitting a faint, rhythmic hum.
The most "tormenting" one was Dorian.
He had been directly ordered by Gaius to guard Laya, who was "under house arrest" in one of the rooms. Gaius had explicitly instructed that until the threat of the Genestealers was thoroughly investigated, the Planetary Governor's secretary was not to leave the mansion, to prevent any leaks or accidents. Thus, the "boring" task of guarding this "important witness" and "potential monitor" fell to Dorian.
At this moment, Dorian, like a door god, stood leaning against the corridor wall adjacent to Laya's room, his massive arms crossed, a look of gloom on his face. He could hear the faint rustling of fabric and breathing coming from the room next door.
Earlier, at Gaius's request, Laya had changed out of the red dress that was out of place in the environment and put on a relatively plain gray casual outfit prepared by the servants. But even so, it couldn't hide her graceful and alluring figure. Dorian's mind involuntarily recalled the light and soft touch when he had held her before, and the faint scent emanating from her, completely different from the polluted environment of the lower levels... He vigorously shook his head, as if to shake off these "muddled" thoughts, muttering under his breath, complaining in a voice only he could hear: "Damn Gaius... always throwing this kind of crap at me... Why do I always get stuck with these boring tasks? Guarding a woman is worse than standing still and getting beaten..."
He felt the power in his body had nowhere to vent, and he was extremely frustrated. He would rather go to the gladiatorial arena and fight the Captain, or confront the Genestealers head-on, than stand here like an idiot. He had already "greeted" Gaius a thousand times in his mind, but an order was an order, and he could only grit his teeth and obey.
Inside the room, Laya lay on the bed, also tossing and turning, unable to sleep. The terrifying experiences of the day replayed like a nightmare in her mind: the purple blood, the twisted larvae, Gaius's cold gaze, Dorian's fierce appearance... all filled her with waves of lingering fear and chill. She curled up in the blanket, her delicate body still trembling slightly, unsure of what fate awaited her. And the Astartes outside the door, like a giant bear exuding an aura of 'do not approach,' made her feel an inexplicable pressure and helplessness.
Inside and outside the mansion, all seemed calm.
But the lurking shadows were in position, and a silent killing intent slowly flowed through the night. Gaius's squad's rest was destined not to last long.