"The original is coming."

"It's coming soon."

"It is said that she will arrive on the ground with the next group of fighting brothers, join us in the battle, and fight alongside us: when the time comes, we will launch a new attack! End this damn war! ”

"Is it an hour later?"

"No, I heard it was half an hour later."

"I hope she'll land here, after all, I haven't seen much of our primordial body, she doesn't like to go out, and I have too many assignments."

"I'm not too optimistic: she'll land on the most dangerous front, look at the other side of the hill, the Dark Angel has just smashed down another battleship, and in an hour it's already the seventh: I don't want to admit it, but these guys are really desperate."

"If you don't fight hard, you can't do it, look at what we're fighting, any cowardly thought will only hasten death coming: maybe it's better to be a madman now, at least a madman can't understand people, I've had enough of the slander in my head, they always order me to do something."

"Go check out the think tanks, they're more active than anyone else right now, and the subspace concentration here is so high that they are as happy as the whisperers who have fallen into the church world."

"Your news is outdated, and those guys can't protect themselves now......"

"What's wrong?!"

"You don't know? That's right, after all, you seem to be the last group of spearhead members to charge. ”

"Come, let me tell you......"

“……”

At any given time, war is always contradictory, complex, and ever-changing, and in the narrowest battlefield, it will also be rich in the greatest social projections, like a deep ocean with a sluggish surface, containing countless waves of treacherous and moody turmoil.

On the sunny side of the heights, a combined force of Dark Angels and Space Wolves is operating in absolute silence, and they need to make the fallen fortress a firm forward position before the next battle: if they can do this, and hold the high ground firmly in the face of the enemy's counterattack, then the Imperial's zone of control will once again advance a significant distance, a distance that is enough to have a qualitative effect on the outcome of the battle.

Although there is some dirty hatred between Johnson's heirs and the wolves of Riemannus, the progress of the war obviously does not allow the influence of this [personal friendship], with a high-ranking knight chief and a wolf lord as the absolute core, a large number of Astarte warriors who have been shattered from the original organization are forcibly fused into a cluster, abandoned in this vital fortress, and asked them to be brothers and sisters for the next period of time, Blood and life to save this hard-won strategic point: this is already the best configuration that the Empire can come up with here.

As for whether this will cause dissatisfaction among some people: frankly speaking, every commander who faces the overall situation of the war has to face tens of millions of huge problems at the moment, and among these problems, the importance of the problem of [the dissatisfaction of the soldiers under his command] can be compared to the proportion of the word "prudence" in Magnus's mind.

After all, in the plans of the High Command and even the Temporary Field Command, the garrisons of these fortresses would not survive the moment when the battle line was pushed forward again: the Empire's army had already captured almost twenty of such vital fortified areas in the world, and this law has been proven time and time again.

Reliability written in blood.

On the shady side of the highlands, just a few feet away, the newly rotated Dawnbreakers were enjoying a brief but sincere rest, although they still needed to keep their nerves up to support the front, but that didn't stop them, as more and more warriors returned to their makeshift camps, gossip of all kinds stumbled into the ranks of the Dawnbreakers who were looking for their companions like shadows following in their footsteps.

Majaro was the most common of these Daybreakers, neither a Terra veteran nor a new blood from the Far Eastern Frontier, but a warrior recruited from some world in the Storm Star Domain before the Second Legion reunited with his Mother of Genes, making him one of the rarer, true minorities of the Legion.

Fortunately for him, the Dawnbreaker Legion did not have such a serious [village party system] as in other legions, and the relatively mediocre talent of Majaro performed his duties step by step, becoming an obscure drop in the tide of the silver blade of the Morgan Son, enjoying the [ordinary] life that many other legions' combat brothers envied.

Unfortunately for him, when the war has reached such a point, even those organizations that are most valued and respected, such as several high-ranking main companies, and even the Old Guards, are being pushed into the compass of war in piles like heavy chips, and Majaro and his 37th Company are naturally far less important than these main elites, and they cannot escape this wave of strangulation.

The company, which was not particularly elite, lost some of its best strength in the battle to capture the fortress on the other side of the mountain, and Majaro, as an ordinary soldier, also lost his squad leader and lost contact with the rest of the team, and he had to follow the current of rotation, all the way back to the rear rest base, looking for those familiar faces in all kinds of Terragothic and Avalon accents, looking for bits and pieces that would make him feel at ease in the midst of the mad war.

He first bypassed the mortal forces that were pushing for building materials and carrying corpses: these mortal servants from the Dark Angels, Space Wolves, and even the Alpha Legion were not placed in any battle sequence, and even subconsciously ignored these inconspicuous logistics forces in the meetings of the Primordials to discuss war and prohibit any mortal army from landing on the Dead Star.

The so-called mortal troops in the regulations actually refer to the elite auxiliary forces brought by the Dawnbreaker Legion, who have won the recognition of each legion with their combat effectiveness and will in this long expedition, and also paid the heaviest casualties, but there is no doubt that as long as these survivors can return to the Far Eastern frontier and pass on their experience and courage to the next generation, the Second Legion will soon have a more powerful auxiliary army.

Then, he bypassed the think tanks who were curled up and muttering in pain, these warriors who knew the power of subspace were still able to shine in the first battle, but with the waves of the Supreme Heaven becoming more and more crazy in this world, the think tanks that were not strong enough soon fell into absolute pain, and they murmured: those unspeakable waves were surrounding the ground beneath their feet, and the behemoths trapped in the High Heaven were tearing at the more and more fragile curtains, They prophesied the catastrophe, but they could never tell what it was.

But in any case, they are really not fit to participate in the next battle, only the most sophisticated think tanks can withstand this wave of corrosion, they stand at the forefront of the war, stick to their posts, and fall one after another with a very regrettable but unshakable speed.

The large rear, which was full of logistics supplies and wounded, was a familiar sight: the mechanical priests who dared to fight with the army on such a battlefield with the qualifications and guts, drove their machine slaves and a few cathars, and all kinds of large transport planes, so that the construction of the road closely followed the footsteps of the pioneers of the legion.

The camp of the wounded soldiers of the Dawnbreaker is another noisy scene, those who are seriously injured by the toxin, and those who are infiltrated into the flesh by the traps hidden in the flesh-colored earth are the most conspicuous people, but the number of people is more than them, those who have worked for dozens of hours in a row, and occasionally need to save people, kill people, curse people, shout people, pull people, and drive people away, they are the most seriously wounded people who have fallen in this wounded camp.

Majaro, on the other hand, found the misfit Hilde among the apprentice pharmacist apprentices who were [full of corpses], with dark circles under their eyes, and some glucose in their mouths to talk about masturbation: seeing that this old fellow who had been fighting with him for decades was still alive, it was indeed a pleasant thing, he immediately leaned over, and the two Morgan sons looked at each other, nodded, and said hello.

"Who did you come back with?"

"Erlian, what about you?"

"Ninth Company, how is the situation of our own company?"

"It's okay, the veteran of Terra, as the main force of the last charge, died almost, many people didn't even make it to the camp of the wounded soldiers, they didn't even need to be fearless, that team of Siegtu fell directly into the flesh and mud, and there were no bones left, and at least five new blood of Avalon died in the self-explosion of that flesh engine factory, and when the knight mecha filled with meat was destroyed, at least two more people died."

"What a damn ......"

"We've only been on top for a few hours, and we've lost a quarter of our strength, and if this war continues for a few more days, I'm afraid the entire Thirty-seventh Company will cease to exist: just like the Twenty-Ninth Company, it's said that the original body is already thinking about sealing their formation, and there are so many dead that the rest of it can't be called a force at all."

"Forget it: look at the other three legions, they're just not much left."

"According to the above meaning, the 37th Company is no longer suitable for fighting alone, they decided to split our troops and subsidize them to those companies that still have most of the combat effectiveness, you know: combat clusters, this knowledge point has been mentioned several times in the teaching book, and we often test it in the exams, our luck is not bad, and it is His Excellency Bayar who is responsible for commanding our combat clusters."

"It's useless to be anyone, we've been in this world for a few days? Five days or six days? The time of the Holy Terra is meaningless here, and the battle has not stopped, and the rest time of each rotation is less than twenty minutes, and when I wake up, I am surrounded by all kinds of flesh monsters, and there are those familiar faces to me. ”

"Mortals, greenskins, spirits, antbulls, and Astarte warriors, plus Grot beasts, charged together, and they also carried a few orcs of the trash ancient giant base and the Titans of Mars behind them, and in their blasphemous voices, they were still shouting words similar to for the emperor: I thought, no matter how colorful I am in my life, I am afraid I will never see a scene like this."

Pouring out small grumbles, Majaro had just sat down when he pulled out a knife from the pouch of arms around his waist and began to carefully peel off the foul-smelling minced meat that stuck to the tips of his armand and hand, he did not dare to let them last long: after all, the Daybreakers had seen the soldiers who had been stained with the flesh in battle, and soon in a desperate wail, the flesh had eroded their armor, and they had to save their lives.

And that's not all: the flesh, or the biomass hidden on the surface, has been against them as a forced part of the world, strong enough to soften the firepower of the cannonballs, and the phosphating weapons have taken longer than expected to destroy them, so long that the Empire's armies have to trek through this trap.

Some of the biomass is so quiet that it resembles a mass of dead things, while others become nightmares on the battlefield: either armies of strange shapes rise from them, or they themselves are part of a war trap that devours the unalert Imperial soldiers.

And when these flesh creatures lose their last fig leaf, and let an entire army loyal to the fallen primordial crawl out of the cracks, it will be a scene that can only be recorded in horror legends: these things will try their best to imitate the appearance of those individuals they once devoured, and use their images and martial arts to fight, but they are not those living minds after all, when the armor of the unknown elements on their bodies is shattered, Inside, there were no more chaotic clumps of flesh and hideous howling faces, reminding the Astarte warriors that the enemy in front of them was not a collection of individuals, but that the small pieces of flesh that were living on top of a large chunk of pure flesh resembled a dense colony of bacteria growing from the rhizome of a gigantic fungus.

It wasn't creatures that flocked to them, not even mutant transformers, it was a terrifying howling wall of unintelligent flesh, the vanguard of nightmares, extraterritorial evils born only in the evil fantasies of mortals, and yet, these things were here now, with terrifying wings, rough necks, spider-like eyes, screaming like devils, revealing fangs and pickaxe-like cracked teeth, and pinched facial features or large mouths.

Whenever such a wave of flesh and blood occurs, the battlefield becomes an active purgatory: even purgatory is more amiable than it, after all, the devil in purgatory will only appear to you with pure evil thoughts, and will not turn into the abomination of those familiar memories that tear your familiar memories beyond recognition.

They are cheap cannon fodder and expendables that have been erased at will, which seems to signal an even more terrible reality: the depraved man that the Empire needs to crusade against has never put his real hole cards into his hands, and there is no knowing what kind of monster lurks near the fortress where the Imperial army is getting closer and closer.

At the very least, there seemed to be some stupid people in the Eleventh Legion who followed the fallen primordial until the last moment, and their fate might be the bloodiest part of this war.

And the Empire's crusade army is against such a terrible frenzy, opening a passage of blood and fire on the Silent Star, the advance of the battle line has never stopped, and the confrontation between the charge and the counterattack has never stopped, there have been several times, this wave of blasphemy has even rushed to the rear camp, not only causing another casualty, but even scaring to death many mortal servants who are doing logistics work, the Daybreakers had to cremate these poor people, lest the mechanical priests drag their bodies away, Make food for the cathars' next meal.

If these are not bad enough, then the hellstorms in the subspace are the last straw that destroys the will of many people: they are not only torturing the think tank, with the advancement of time and the flow of more and more blood, the power of the subspace is also visibly increasing, and it has begun to torment ordinary people who have no more feelings for the subspace.

Although these monstrous roars were not specific to the Empire's legions, they had an unusually large impact on the Astarte warriors, who had to fight in a desperate simulated environment: in front of them were an army of flesh that could emerge from the ground at any moment, and behind them were the endless roars of beasts, as if they were backed by a cage full of beasts, and the railings themselves were rotten steel.

In such a desperate situation, even the oldest veterans of the First Legion in the Inner Ring had to maintain their awareness of battle through frequent rotations, and even those who were skilled think tank masters had to use their power cautiously to maintain the thin final curtain between the subspace and the physical universe: although it was only a matter of time before this curtain shattered.

No one knows what will befall the battlefield when the veil is shattered: even a legendary demon army will never get worse.

That's what everybody thinks.

In such a desperate situation, it seems that only the activity of the genetic protogens can give real hope: Johnson and Riemann Ruth had already arrived on the battlefield during the first landing and never left.

As for Conrad: Although no one can say exactly when he appeared, the Midnight Wraith, which roams any bloody battlefield, has become a symbol of salvation in the hearts of all the hard-fought Astarte warriors, and unconsciously, this lonely genetic prototype seems to have established a certain reputation in the four legions, after all, his wanderings have indeed saved many fronts on the verge of collapse, saving hundreds of warriors.

Another Morgan: It seems that the Dark Angel is already calling him that, and the Midnight Ghost is emotionally stable for this title.

No one knew anything about the Alpha, and even the existence of the Alpha Legion made the Astartes in these trenches very taboo.

As for the last genetic protogen, she has been staying in low-earth orbit for the previous time, directing a steady stream of logistics troops and logistics materials to reach the ground, and easily adjusting the linkage between the four Astarte legions: Morgan seems to be more and more accustomed to coordinating the interaction between the large legions, and she has become one of the few characters in the original body who has really handled multiple legions, and even the wolf shepherd god Horus is below her at this point.

It was because of Morgan's presence that the Imperial Army had built a firm base on the ground, and after several days of bloody fighting, it was gradually approaching its ultimate goal.

At this point, the time for the contest of strategy and size had passed, and the focus of the war had become whether or not one last lethal swing could be made, and a massive ground attack had become more important than the movement of supplies across the entire galaxy: naturally, news of the Lord of Avalon about to personally arrive on the ground to fight began to spread among all the participating troops, especially the Daybreaker Legion.

Morgan's descendants swore by this, and no dawnbreaker doubted that their genetic protoplasm would stand with them in the final stages of the war.

"I haven't seen the original a few times, and she's said to be able to name and go through each of us."

Majaro shaved the flesh off his wrist armor with a knife and asked the Hild brothers beside him about the fact that his combat brother had been personally awarded the Gene Prototype for a distinguished performance, which made him the envy of the entire company.

The Dawnbreakers wouldn't drag such brothers into the arena or anything, after all, their performance on the battlefield is obvious to all, and everyone knows that they deserve it.

"Yes, the Lord can tell me my name, my number, my origin, even when I joined the Legion, when I received what honors, and how I made it in battle: she knows it better than I do."

"It's not just me, it's everyone who has been honored with me that has been treated like this: I don't think it's the result of her preparation in advance, because Lord Primordial doesn't look like she's memorizing a document at all, but like it's a common sense that's already clear in her mind."

"Then you say, can other genetic protogens do the same?"

Majaro cleaned himself up, he casually tossed the knife aside, the growing roar in his mind made his brow furrow, and at the edge of his gaze, he found two combat brothers supporting a think tank, quickly walking through the center of the wounded camp: the think tank had no wounds on his body, but his wrinkled face spoke of the torture of his soul.

This was becoming more and more common now, and Majaro could no longer even look at it with sadness, he could only feel a kind of pathetic numbness.

The last vestiges of his panic in the war seemed to have vanished after the death of Pleda: it was his other combat brother and mentor who had led him to join the Legion, an elder who had never had good luck, and it was no different today: after the artillery positions forged by flesh and blood sent them another blasphemous rain of fire, Pleda used his last bit of luck.

By the time they found him, he was all over the place.

"I don't know, but it seems that St. Gillies seems to be able to do this, but Gilliman or Perturabo should not be able to, they have too many children, and they probably don't have the heart to do such a warm act."

"Don't let the Iron Warriors who stay in our legion listen to this, they will definitely arrest you, and then put you in a cage and sentence you to two hundred years."

"Two hundred years?"

"Yes: insulting a primordial should be sentenced to twenty years, and the remaining one hundred and eighty years is because you leaked the secrets of the Fourth Legion."

"Is this a legion secret?"

"Dark angels aren't angels?"

The two Daybreakers looked at each other and let out a short sneer.

"Hehehehehe......"

“……”

“！！！”

But the light laughter didn't last long, and the two Morgan sons suddenly fell silent again: stunned expressions appeared on their faces at the same time, and they looked at each other, communicating with their eyes and deep breaths.

"You...... Do you feel it? ”

"You too?"

Without superfluous answers, nor further rhetorical questions, the two warriors ceased what they were doing, and even stood up and looked somewhere in the distance, their gaze could not catch that place, but this did not prevent them from looking in that direction like devout believers: even the Dawnbreakers of the entire camp were doing the same thing as them.

They got it.

The moment it happened, they knew it right away.

No matter how far they were, no matter what they were doing: for the blood in their minds had already told them everything, and it was as if some kind of vortex bomb had been detonated, and the shock wave was so great that every warrior could not even stand on their feet, let alone think about it.

Many of them faltered until they came to a complete stop, and even the most experienced warriors forgot what they were supposed to do, although they were not surprised by the bloodiest challenges, and they did not have any awe of the dead star in front of them, but when that abrupt sense of happiness filled their hearts, but when a light like a morning star suddenly lit up in their vision blackened by war, everyone could clearly feel a shock that penetrated deep into the bone marrow.

With that comes endless confidence, peace of mind, and a sense of purpose.

It is an indelible connection, the supreme creation of character and truth, a fiery emotion that cannot be completely frozen even in the coldness of the stars: the Dawnbreakers, who have long been bound by the rigors of self-discipline, are still able to suppress the impulses in their hearts and stick to their posts and positions, and only those warriors who happen to have no position in them can climb out of the trenches and run in the direction where the light is, to the direction that their gaze cannot find, in the envious gaze of others. But a teleportation array destined to reach the sky.

The top light of the teleportation array, piercing the dim clouds, went straight to the farthest low-Earth orbit, to the Queen of Glory, where their genetic mother was, like a giant searchlight projected from the ground into space, and they could see the faintest outer halo even from such a distance.

Majaro could hear a thud of metal before he realized, but he took off his helmet, and then breathed deeply: everyone did, they took off their helmets, inhaled the poisonous air, enjoyed its bitterness, enjoyed the stench of the wind lapping their faces and long hair, lest they be carried away by happiness and calling, lest they forget that they were on the battlefield.

Everyone looked at each other, and they could clearly see the joy on each other's faces, and then, a strange noise not far away caught Majaro's attention: I don't know who was the first to draw his sword, pointing his sword high into the air, and without any words of war cry and cheer, it set off a roaring wave.

In the next moment, such cheers swept through the entire camp, infecting everyone at a speed visible to the naked eye, shattering every pessimistic attitude towards this war.

No one spoke, no one could utter a single word with the full meaning of the word, but the purest joy had appeared on their faces, becoming the most united symbol of the entire legion.

They all knew what was happening: relying on the activity of the Supreme Heaven, the blood relationship between them had never been stronger, and the influence of the genetic prototype on them had never been so great, they could feel every move in the bloodline, and felt that their original body was no longer far away in the sky, but within their reach.

They knew that their Mother of Genes had come to earth, and that their primordial would fight alongside them: she had not broken her word, just as every promise she had made to them had been best answered.

As always, she has not broken her word, and as always, she has become the mother of genes that they can always trust, follow, and be proud of.

Here comes Morgan.

And the war of the Dawnbreaker Legion will also really begin at this moment.

——————

Everyone was in a revelry, but in the midst of this extreme wave of cheers, no one noticed an ominous omen: the warrior who had just been helped back to the camp of the wounded, huddled in the shadows, seemed to be intoxicated with a murmur that was getting deeper and more distorted, and he did not notice it, nor did the warriors beside him: the great ship full of armies in the subspace had finally found the faint lighthouse light and threw the anchor of steel that was enough to keep it in place.

Because of the arrival of the original body, the great cheer and satisfaction are called for a new emotional storm in the highest heavens: this storm may not be strong, but it is enough to be the last bargaining chip to break the scale, and the curtain that has been painstakingly maintained has finally appeared a real and terrible rift that cannot be repaired or ignored.

So, at the moment when the last genetic prototype to participate in the battle arrived on the surface, the first warrior from the Supreme Heaven also appeared in the blind spot of the only remaining vision of the warring parties.

And behind it......

In a word, the sky changes.

One thought becomes an army.

The demon appeared in this world: before everyone noticed, the first demon to serve the sadists, wielding its blade, began to search the air for the breath of war and death, and the chasm he walked through also shimmered with deep blue, deep green and lilac.

At this moment, it was alone.

And the next moment, behind it, was an army of millions.

(End of chapter)