Vulcan had not received a summons or order from Perturabo for eleven minutes, and even calls from the communication channel were answered, and Motarian was equally silent.

The incident was undoubtedly unsettling, and the Lord of the Fire Dragons sighed solemnly as he stood in the command room of the Fireforge with his hands on his chest - somehow, he suddenly remembered Cassian Vaughn at this moment.

It was the captain of the Salamander Legion when he hadn't returned to the Legion. A venerable warrior who is now lying in a dreadnought, waiting for the horn of battle.

He pondered, the display of the battle report summary beside him flickered. There was a strong light flickering outside the porthole, and each brightness represented an explosion, the destruction of a battleship, and the Fireforge was undoubtedly at the center of this destruction.

After a few seconds, Vulcan came to the conclusion that something very dangerous must have happened to his brothers

But the question is, is that Horus really capable of such a thing?

Vulcan asked himself and did not come up with any answers.

He had indeed heard of strange powers, and he had seen the Thousand Sons evoke thunderstorms on the battlefield. But Horus wasn't Magnus, his legion wasn't a thousand sons, and he wasn't proficient in psionic or sorcery.

But if it weren't for psionic power. What kind of force could have caused two primordials to be in a bitter battle at the same time, unable to respond to his communications from such a long distance?

"Primordial."

As he pondered, his guard, Atellus Numeang, a company commander, walked into his command room.

Unlike most people, Vulcan didn't really like to stand on the bridge and take in the big picture, preferring to sit in a small command room and think quietly, but the door was usually unclosed and anyone could report anything directly to him.

"What's the matter?" Vulcan asked.

"We received a request for communication." Atellus Numeão did his best to keep his composure and reported. Despite this, there was a palpable solemnity in the eyes of the Terra.

"From the vengeful spirit, it's Horus."

Vulcan's eyes narrowed.

"Did he say what he meant?"

"No, sir." Atellus Numeong said. "He only asks to talk to you, in any way. Communication, holographic projection, or face-to-face"

"Face to face?" Vulcan smiled. "He's either joking or he's really crazy. At such times, there is little difference between the two. Take the com, I'd like to hear what he has to say. ”

The company commander left his command room in silence, and dozens of seconds later, a communication signal slashed through an array of contemplatives in front of Vulcan, and was picked up by the Lord of the Fire Dragon.

"Traitor." Vulcan called calmly.

"I'm not here to quarrel with you, brother." The man on the other end of the communication said this, his voice slightly hoarse. "You don't have to be so hostile, in fact, I even contacted you with good intentions."

"My fleet is attacking each other's fleet, and if possible, I hope to blow every one of your ships to pieces with artillery and torpedoes, but you are speaking of kindness at this time? Maybe you do have good intentions, but I only have murderous intent towards you. ”

"I have the impression that Vulcan would not be so cruel to his brother."

"But you're not." Vulcan said slowly. "I don't know what exactly you are, but you're definitely not Horus Lupecar. But it doesn't matter, I think I'll find out when I throw you into the flames and watch you gradually turn into a puddle of ashes. ”

The man on the other end chuckled, not offended by Vulcan's words. In fact, on the contrary, he even continues to explain, acting completely away from the realm of anger.

"You seem to know me well, Vulcan, but it's not what you think you want to do, and that's what I've called for you."

"Tell your lies."

"What I'm about to say is not a lie." Horus said solemnly. "You can stubbornly take my words as a lie, but I will never deceive my brother. Listen, Vulcan, Perturabo is about to die. ”

Vulcan's pupils are constricted.

"It's not a threat, it's not some so-called alarmism. I'm just telling you the fact that he's about to die. ”

"Why should I trust you?"

"You may believe it or not, but there are enemies on his flagship that he can't face, so not only him, but his descendants and legions will also be destroyed by the plague. I don't want him to be treated like this, he probably has the most of us to do the lie of the Great Expedition, and he deserves a better ending. ”

"What do you want to say?" The Lord of the Fire Dragon asked coldly. "I heard the inducement in your words."

"I'm going to cease fire." Horus said. "I'll turn the bow of your fleet back to support him, to save him, Vulcan. The blacksmith saves steel, and rightly so. ”

"Wishful thinking." Vulcan approached the Ponderor array, his hands on the edge of sharp metal. His expression was very cold, and his tone was even more gloomy.

"Listen to me, there will not be a single ship in my regiment that will turn its bow or cease fire. We will fight here until you are all buried in the flames. ”

Horus sighed softly.

"Okay." He said. "I regret that, but since you have chosen to sit idly by, then, the war continues."

He hung up the communication.

Vulcan stood still, his breathing still long and calm, but his expression became solemn little by little.

Talk back, Perturabo, Motarian.

Talk back.

——

Sadly, Peturabo was unable to reply at the moment.

Whether the Lord of Steel wants to admit it or not, he is indeed in a bitter battle.

The evidence of this can be seen in his sickly bloodstained armor, as well as in the Iron Warriors around him who are suffering from the plague. They faltered, let alone fighting, and could not even stand up.

The metal that made up the power armor had rusted to rot, the skin and flesh that came into contact with the air were covered in blisters and pus, and some people had taken off their helmets and were vomiting. The internal organs and teeth vomited from the mouth, and the stench was terrible.

The sight is so horrible, but it's only because of a ridiculous swarm of flies.

"So strong." The voice in the swarm of flies came again, and it spoke as if the wings of a fly were buzzing. Very noisy and very annoying.

"It's a shame that your tenacity has completely exceeded my expectations. If you could accept the love of a loving father, how strong would you be? Combine that with your will that nothing can break, and you will be the end of it all. ”

It goes on and on for a while, but then ends with a dramatic twist, and laughs non-stop: "Alas, alas, you can't be blessed anymore." ”

"Shut your mouth." Peturabo said coldly, and brandished a warhammer to end the suffering of an Iron Warrior. Before he died, he watched the original warhammer fall, and let out a grunt of relief in his throat.

The Iron Lord's words dispersed the buzzing flies a little, and the voice sounded again, this time with a little displeasure.

"This is really rude, you guy, I am already very sincere, and I am even willing to tell you the whole story, why do you still behave so rudely?"

Perturabo kept his mouth shut, but walked over to the next warrior and raised his hammer.

He had already issued an order through the command system built into the Warframe, and from now on, the main bridge of the Steelblood would be completely under martial law. He stated bluntly in his order that it was a contamination of witchcraft and that no one was to enter or leave without his permission.

The hammer fell, splattering pus and blood. The warrior's ribcage turned into a gaping gap, and he let out a contented sigh as he tapped his fingers on the ground.

Before he died, he had been staring into Perturabo's eyes.

Without squinting, the Lord of Steel withdrew his weapon and continued on foot, running to the next target.

The crew is going crazy, gas masks have no effect on the bite of flies, in fact, even if they are wearing protective suits, I am afraid that they will not be able to resist these flies.

The Prototype had witnessed how a swarm of flies had creefully burrowed into a Legionnaire's armor a few minutes earlier, and since then, Perturabo had vaguely realized one thing—these things just appeared to be flies. That's all.

It's just a physical manifestation of them in the physical universe, like a disguise. They weren't flies, they were more depraved, more disgusting, more evil creatures, like the eye he saw.

"Primordial." One of the fighters stood up in a delirious state and staggered towards Perturabo.

His armor had rotted away completely, mixed with his own flesh and blood. The helmet had long since been removed by himself, his face was covered with scratch marks, his flesh had rotted, and his eyes had fallen out of their sockets and were melting.

"Primordial." He called again. "Please give the order—"

"The command is rest." Peturabo said.

Once again, the hammer fell.

"It's cruel." The voice in the fly commented. "You cut off the possibility of him stepping into the arms of a loving father, and I take back the preface, you are not strong, you are only rough and cruel. It's hard to imagine who can kill their sons? ”

Hearing this, Peturabo paused, and his right hand crunched the handle of the hammer. He glanced up at the swarm of flies, then raised his left hand.

The triple burst of bombs hanging under the armarmor immediately began to roar, the bombs were too large and the flies were too small. It was supposed to be a comical and absurd scene, until the swarm of flies screamed in pain.

"Stop fighting!" The thing said angrily. "It hurts!"

Hurt?

The Iron Lord waved his left hand, and the blaster immediately stopped firing. A piece of armor popped open from the side of his armour, and a portable model of promethium flame launcher was immediately raised.

The flames erupted, the swarm of flies crackled as they were roasted, and the thing screamed in pain, and finally let out an angry roar.

"I'm angry!" It shouted. "You don't deserve respect!"

Perturabo remained silent, and the flamethrower returned to its armour. He reached for his waist, and the special armor belt immediately flipped over, ricocheting out two improved incendiary grenades.

The primordial holds them, presses the trigger button on them, counts silently for two seconds, and then throws them violently. The arcs and trajectories of their throws were calculated by him, hitting the moving fly colony with unmistakable accuracy.

The flames erupted again, and countless flies fell to ashes, but the swarm itself remained undiminished.

So Peturabo spoke for the first time.

"Looks like you can let me kill for a long time." The Lord of Steel said as he lifted his hammer.

"I'm not good at fighting – and it really hurts!" The thing yelled. "You hateful fellow!"

"Come out." Peturabo said indifferently. "Get out of here and face me, or you'll hurt more."

"I don't want to, and I'll be leaving soon." The thing spoke, suddenly changing its attitude and adopting an extremely cautious tone. "Your loving father, what the hell are you? Why can there be so much hatred in a person's heart? ”

Hate? I?

Peturabo almost laughed.

He turned his head to look around, and the diseased corpses were lying on the ground. Some were killed alive, but most of them were executed by his own hands.

At the same time, he could feel a terrifying heat coming from all over his body, which meant that his immune system was functioning abnormally. Obviously, he is not immune to these diseases.

So they can't either.

Each legion was sampled from its original body, and he was neither Vulcan nor Motarian. They're just as tough, but the Fourth Legion doesn't have the resistance of salamanders or death guards to roam in extreme environments.

So it's my fault. Perturabo told himself.

Again - you have failed your legion again. You swore never to do it again, but you broke your oath. Shame on the treacherous.

"Why do you think it's the reason?" He asked softly about the swarm of floating flies. "Do you think hatred is an easy emotion, you filthy monster? You are the one who started it. ”

"Me?" The swarm of flies asked hesitantly. "Rottigus didn't remind me of these things, are you mistaken?"

Stupidity. Perturabo made an assessment of his enemy—a stupid, naïve, childlike creature. Acting like a young child, he can easily turn his bridge into hell on earth.

Why?

Why, what?

"That. It's time for me to go. The swarm of flies said cautiously. Keep hateing, but don't go beyond that tipping point. I'm so sorry I didn't want to be like this, I didn't expect you to hate me. I'm leaving, uh, you, you go ahead. I can't stay long, my existence is a destruction of the present."

"What are you?" Perturabo asked, looking at the fly.

"I'm—" The thing took a deep breath, and a fly exploded abruptly. Its filthy shards splattered everywhere, creating a minor plague spread on the bridge of the Iron Blood. Then another fly, another one, the next one.

It's endless, like eternity.

The dark green poisonous mist had a chain reaction with the corpses on the ground, and a thick fungus blanket spread across the entire bridge in an instant. The supernatural power exacerbated the burden of Perturabo's immunity, causing him to fall to his knees abruptly, his knees weak, and he could not maintain his feet at all.

His vision began to blur, and everything became ethereal and distorted. The Iron Lord gritted his teeth and tried to get himself back on his feet—but there was an end to the human willpower, and he couldn't do it with his willpower alone, and he couldn't even hear what the damn fly was saying.

The fungus blanket swept over and enveloped him.

Update complete, 8.5k

(End of chapter)