Humans are creatures that can be easily killed, and Orr knows it.

He had already verified the truth of this in many ways, and even without a firearm or blade, it only took 1.5 seconds to kill a person with his bare hands. Sometimes even faster, you just need to hit your throat and temple with enough force to easily kill your opponent.

Too many weaknesses, full of vital points, no place with fur cover, fear of pain, can be easily manipulated.

The great contradiction with these things is that humans dominate many worlds.

It's a strange thing, how could such a weak race be capable of such a thing?

Across the sea of stars, descending from the sky, carrying out brutal genocide, taking planet after planet for themselves.

Human history is full of butchers and executioners, and these people have slaughtered their own kind. Then, tens of thousands of years later, their descendants carried on the tradition and brought them to the other races of the galaxy.

Don't get me wrong, Orr is not a so-called 'human supremacist', and sometimes he even prefers animals to people, but he doesn't dispute these genocidal horrors in any way.

He knew what they had done to humans.

In essence, the burning of cities and the destruction of civilization were nothing more than revenge, as they were now, like he had stabbed a bayonet into the chest of something. It barked loudly, no different from the dog Orr remembers.

Orr is very fond of dogs.

So he drew his bayonet, kicked it to the ground, and made up for a stab. The whole process is simple and straightforward, and there is no mud or water. The canine form of the demon began to fade, and even the demons became part of the sacrifice in the royal court where Horus Lupecar was evolving towards the temple.

Or rather, everything that still exists here is a sacrifice.

Orr looked down at the jewel on his chest, it was glowing, but it was dim, very faint.

Can you get in touch with him?

Orr looked up and asked silently. His right hand was clutching the gem tightly.

Konstantin Valdo said no.

He couldn't make any sound, and his expression was extremely painful.

He didn't have the energy to talk to me.

One of the Emperor's creations and sons continues to lip sync his torments.

He used to be able to do everything he could, but now he has to focus entirely on one thing. This is my dereliction of duty, Orr, and we are all derelict in our duties.

Orr said, I didn't, and moved on.

A killing team of Raven Guards was clearing the way ahead of them, and Melos of the Blood Angels was on the front lines. In terms of killing efficiency, he certainly couldn't compare it to the Raven Guards.

However, he was simply trying to find his brothers and share in the sacred duty he had received.

A Blood Angel may not be able to compare to ravens, but what if it is a flock? The children of angels have their own pride, and they are never willing to be left behind, let alone on such a battlefield.

Of course, as a very typical self-serving bastard, Orr didn't care about it.

He was trying with all his might to keep himself from looking back somewhere, not at the golden light that was twisting and intertwining with the scarlet light. He'd seen it once, and it didn't turn out to be great.

Orr's sanity was completely rebuilt in the space of a few short and long minutes. If he weren't an eternal, he'd be a rotten charred corpse by now.

But even if he was, his memories were truly shattered.

The body's self-protection mechanism forced his brain to forget what he had seen in those few minutes, and Orr hated it, but he knew that he would not have been able to come to his senses without it.

Damn it. He couldn't help but let out a curse, and felt as if a boulder had fallen from his chest.

But he couldn't help it, he could only keep walking, and so did they.

The scene of the royal court began to become complex and beautiful at this moment, and the darkness was only a fleeting, and the gloomy hall with the great ivory pillars became a narrow corridor, covered with a dark red carpet, and blood flowed from underneath it.

Ravenguard and Melos are gone, leaving only Ur Persson and Constantin Waldo.

There were still dead people hanging upside down from the ceiling, their hands crossed in front of their chests. The decaying red walls were covered with crooked oil paintings, each depicting a giant in pitch-black armor, who had no face, or rather, had not yet received it.

The technique of painting is extremely strange, the painter deliberately uses extreme blurring and large areas of color when he paints his brushwork, and the paint is splashed as if he does not want money. Somehow, however, he sketched out a sharp enough silhouette to form a clear enough armored giant in these patches of color to look extremely magical.

They wordlessly absorb all the light in the dimly lit corridor, reflecting a variety of colors that can make a person suffer from epilepsy.

As Orr stared at the paintings, his gaze swept over the corrupt frames that carried them, he did not pay attention to the paintings themselves, but carefully examined the edges of the frames. Eventually, his gaze was fixed on one of them.

Konstantin Valdo approached him vigilantly, clenching the spear in his hand. You don't need to look at it to understand what Orr will say.

What are you doing? We have to get out of here.

No, not yet, Waldo.

The old soldier shook his head to himself, and walked over to the painting, its frame showing a decaying gold, which seemed unreal, and gold should not have reacted as if it were tortured.

But what really stopped him was the small print engraved on it.

Into Hell. Orr silently pronounced the words.

Waldo's expression became confused, he didn't make out half of the words he could understand from Orr's mouth. He had learned many languages, but now he seemed to be illiterate.

Orr turned and walked to the next painting.

Fear not, just move forward, the oldest messenger.

He pronounced the sentence again, and walked over to the next one and said it again. The boots stepped on the carpet, leaving a pitch-black footprint, blood imprinted on the bottom, scarlet and glaring.

With only two legs, he returned from hell to the world. Have faith and reshape the light. I will endure the torment because I have seen the light.

Waldo approached him restlessly, and the Spear of the Sun God was slowly raised.

The veteran looked back, his expression helpless, but as if he was inspired. He replaced the language that only a few people understood, and even named 'secret', and began to explain him silently and comically in a language that Constantin Waldo could understand.

He repeated those three sentences, and even made a mocking joke at the end: gold is his favorite color, and you should know it better than we do, Waldo.

But how can you be sure that this is what he is speaking to us? Waldo asked suspiciously.

Orr didn't answer anymore, just walked forward.

War can change many things, Waldo, but what we are experiencing is not war. These are two natural laws that are fighting each other and evolving.

Any change in this damn court has their power behind it, and if you understand it, you can find his revelation in the clues

The marshal of the Forbidden Army caught up with him in two or three steps.

Why do you know him so well?

The veteran did not answer, only sighed. It was a few minutes before he answered in the seemingly never-ending corridor.

Do you think I want to?

Waldo tugged at the corners of his mouth.

Their figures faded into the deepest part of the corridor.

They went deep into hell.

——

There are many things in the world that can be solved simply with the sword. The sword, this weapon has been endowed with a variety of special symbolic meanings since its inception because of its special shape.

But there was only one reason Sigismund's penchant for the sword.

He swung it, and the fluid power and the perfect arc of countless exercises allowed this seemingly understated slash to kill three Sons of Horus at once, who were still attacking until they died, not even realizing why they had been defeated.

The champion withdrew his sword, took two steps back, and returned to Azek Ahriman as smoothly as instinct, only to see a gray shadow rushing forward.

It was Bjorn, Bjorn running by. The lone wolf's beard was all open, and the sharp beast pupils were boiling with murderous intent. He rushed into the enemy line as he had done before, and took on part of the responsibility for the thunder.

Saul Tavitz held a sword in one hand and a gun in the other, covering with fire. After a few seconds, Bjorn immediately turned around and returned to his brothers from the tide without looking back.

How much longer? He asked, wiping his face and shaking his head.

Blood splattered, but the remaining three had the same faces as usual. Azek Ahriman didn't know what was going on, but the other two just didn't care - something like this had happened between them millions of times, and if Bjorn hadn't done it one day, they wouldn't be used to it.

Give me a little more time. Ahriman replied.

It's amazing – they can't make any sounds, but they can hear each other's words in their hearts.

He was holding a book in his hand, and the pages were shaking. The scarlet characters twisted and danced on it, the pages even began to fade, and the traces of time on it had turned as pale as the bones of the dead. Ahriman didn't know anything about it, and the others kept their mouths shut.

You have the final say, blind. Björn grinned and slung the axe to his shoulder.

The tide is coming.

Bjorn was the first to rush into the middle, his fists and axes dancing wildly. Saul Tavits continued to cover with fire, always alerting Bjorn at the right time to dodge the sinister attacks from his blind spot.

Sigismund stood in front of Ahriman without leaving his side, and his blade was a pool of thunder, and nothing could cross it. In this way, they made their way through the colony of the lifeless, and soon found another Imperial army.

I've always loved this group of hounds. Björn muttered. Look at the way they fight, how brave they are. Hey, Azek Ahriman? Can you see it?

The blind man scolded him angrily, and the lone wolf laughed, and the avenger ignored them, but looked at the only champion among them. Sigismund spoke before he spoke, as if he had calculated when Saul Tavitz was going to speak.

It's Karn. He said. Looks like almost everyone has arrived.

Kahn?

Bjorn turned his head around, looking slightly excited.

Is that the Karn you often mentioned? Show me, Ade.

He affectionately turned the last syllable of Sigismund's name into a nickname, which seemed presumptuous, but the Imperial Fist had no opinion, just raised his sword and stabbed in a certain direction.

Looking at the blade of his sword, Bjorn did see Karn, who was famous, but not many people had actually seen. The war hounds' blue-and-white livery has been completely covered in blood, but it looks natural, as if it were born this way.

He didn't wear a helmet – only a third of it, to be exact. Most of the helmet had been completely destroyed by some kind of laceration, and only the bottom half remained on his face. Armed with two chainsaw axes, he was engaged in bloody hand-to-hand combat with the Sons of Horus.

The war dogs did not have the advantage, their number was too small, roughly estimated to be only a few hundred. But the army of the Sons of Horus, who was besieging them, had at least two thousand men, and such a disparity in numbers could not be made up by the combat effectiveness of one or two elite warriors.

Bjorn touched his canine teeth, and suddenly turned to look at Saul Tavitz.

What do you think? Lone wolf asked.

We were Astarte first, then the brothers of the Thunder. The Emperor's Son replied. Moreover, you also understand the character of Thunder, he hates this kind of thing the most.

Björn smiled silently, raised his hands, and prepared himself for battle. However, after a few seconds, he put his hands down. There is no other reason, because a one-armed giant has mercilessly slaughtered from the sea of corpses and blood.

His shoulders were as broad as a mountain, and his bare chest was full of scars. His face had been blurred with blood to the point where he couldn't see it at all, and the whole person looked as if it had been soaked in blood. With every step he took, a mist of blood permeated all over his body

The mere running of his own power is terrifying. His undisguised charge soon paid off, and the giant seemingly savagely charged into the formation of the sons of Horus, mercilessly slashing with his great axe, sending flesh and blood flying with his great axe.

No one could stop him, not even the elite Sons of Horus who wore the Terminator. But they quickly figured out what to do—they began to raise their guns, aiming at the giant's bare chest, trying to bring him down with a highly effective salvo.

They pulled the trigger, but the muzzle of the gun suddenly exploded.

Bjorn chuckled and lowered his body, and said without looking back: "You know what, blind? You're still somewhat useful sometimes.

Ahriman cursed him in his own blood, anger rising in his eyes. Ancient books are windless and automatic, and the characters on them are scarlet, twisting like living creatures. Saul Tavitz stared down and saw a line of text.

"Whoever is favored by Him, whoever believes, will surely perish by the sword."

It's horrible. The emperor's son thought. They began to charge, straight into the bloody grinding disc of hell.

——

Bellos von Sharp stood up slowly, slowly. He took several deep breaths before his mind finally calmed down. That sounds like good habit, but you have to ignore that he's doing it in a pile of corpses.

Eleven cultists lay beside him, four of whom had been disemboweled, two who had been beheaded, and the remaining five who had been impaled by him with a flagpole. The head and tail of this flag are sharp, at least for the cultists, which is completely sufficient.

He walked up to a cultist and plunged the flagpole deep into his skull. Blood spurted out, and it was hot, but Bellos didn't care. He simply stooped down to pick up his sword, then sheathed it and straightened his blood-stained shirt.

The pair of gold-rimmed glasses he had bought with so much money were completely gone.

What a pity. As he thought, he pulled out the flagpole, held it with both hands, and began waving it.

He had done this countless times, often accompanied by the sound of trumpets and roars to encourage his soldiers. But he couldn't make any noise now, so he could only keep waving the flag

After about twelve minutes, some people rallied under the flag.

They don't know it, they don't know what it means. They didn't understand why four golden bolts of lightning had passed through an Imperial Aquila that was about to fly, and they didn't know how many people had rallied under this banner or stood under its variants.

Bellos knew the answer, but he was too lazy to explain, and there was no need to explain. This banner signifies the courage and unity of humanity, a determination to kill all the scourge on Terra, and a determination to fight for the Emperor

Just like this at this moment.

The flag had not existed for a long time, and it was Bellos who re-sewed it. His craftsmanship is crude, but who cares?

A smile tugged at the corner of the flag bearer's mouth.

Countless mortals like him charged past him, colliding head-on with a group of Bearers. Astarte is widely regarded as the main candidate for combat in the Great Expedition, and Bellos knows this very well, just like the thunder warriors of the past.

So, how much does it cost a mortal to kill an Astarte?

The answer is life.

It is enough to give your life.

Bellos laughed silently, and waved his flag in front of the Bearers in a manner that could be called arrogant.

He has experienced countless 'moments in history', full of glory and brilliance, and will receive a heavy military medal as a commendation afterwards. These things will be written down and remembered. And this time I am afraid that this time will be the exception, and this is just a corner of the royal court of Lupecar.

It's cruel to say, but how many people care about the courage of a group of mortals?

Well, the Lord of Humanity and the narrator of the Eighth Legion, Bellos von Sharp, remembers.

Before he dies, he will remember everything.

For example, the sergeant who had just died, who had been cut in half by a Bearer, and the last thing he did before dying was to pull the trigger of his shotgun in the face of the traitor.

Astarte is also flesh and blood, and they can fight regardless of pain, but they can't ignore the laws of physics, where the shotgun's knockback knocks him off the ground and forces him off balance.

Then someone picked up the sergeant's shotgun and fired a second shot at him.

He fell to the ground.

The torrent of mortals instantly overwhelmed him. Someone stabbed him in the eye with a knife, someone smashed his armor with the butt of a gun, someone aimed a laser gun at the crack in the power armor and pressed the trigger, and some unarmed people chose to press on him.

They are roaring, but their roar is as silent as their death.

However, every death is exchanged for a victory.

Bellos continued to wave the flag, and only God knows how much he wanted to open his mouth and roar now. He was so old that he felt like he had forgotten how to utter a war cry.

He was wrong, it was an instinct and he never forgot it. Even now, when he is not allowed to make a sound, he still roars in his heart, cheering for them, cheering for them, and shedding tears for their sacrifice.

yes, he's in tears.

The narrator laughed and walked forward, strolling through the hail of bullets.

It's not enough to get him to dodge. No artillery bombardment, no fighter jets in the sky, no sorcery creatures that will pounce on you from underground, or powerful mutants and modified flesh tanks.

He walked forward, his gaze firmly fixed straight ahead.

The space inside Lupecal's royal court had been expanded to a terrifying level, and Bellos still didn't care, he had seen many things a hundred times more terrifying.

His gaze passed through the battlefield, and the next hell they were going to pass through, the next hell they were going to go under.

He didn't stop until he saw the light.

He waved the flag and proclaimed to him.

We will fight for you, just as you fight for us. We will come to you, just as you have awakened us from our numbness. We will be your shield, just as you are always in our way.

The flag bearer clenched his flag, and suddenly, a roaring thunder rang in his ears, as if to allow it. So, in the next second, his roar resounded through the sky.

"For unity! For the sake of Holy Terra! ”

This is the third sound, the voice of the Emperor's Flag Bearer, which is used to make announcements. Almost no one knew his name, or what the first slogan actually stood for, but they were inspired.

All were inspired.

They ran to the road of mortality.

——

Garvel Loken heard the thunder, and he turned his head to avoid the ghostly attack. Tariq Togarton lunged out from his left and slashed at Ezkell Abaddon with his sword raised.

The latter returned to his sword to block and took a few steps back in succession, his face completely filled with anger.

Lorcan couldn't help but laugh, he couldn't understand why Ezekel Abaddon still had such an expression.

Then, sure enough, he saw Abaddon silently reprimanding with his mouth.

Traitor! Abaddon's face was already consumed by rage. You swore to fight for him, have you forgotten your oath?!

Tariq Togardon shook his head at him and plunged his sword into the ground as he reached out to stop the fourth man, Horus Horus Jr., Horus Eichmande.

your vows! Little Horus scolded. Do you know what my father said before he died? He said it would do evil in his name all day long! You're the only one who is too stupid to see everything, Abaddon! Or maybe you're shameless enough to be so shameless that you'd rather deceive yourself than do the right thing!

I swore that I would fight for him, that I was not like you, that I was not a traitor

In one corner of the battlefield, Azekyl Abaddon slowly straightened up. He faced three men, three siblings, two Shadowmoon Wolves, and one of the last sons of Horus.

And what about him? What is he? The corners of his eyes twitched, but that didn't make his hand tremble.

With a one-on-three absolute disadvantage, Abaddon had good reason to turn this one-on-three battle into a hundred-on-three, or even a thousand-on-three. He only needs to give an order and retreat backwards, wait a few minutes, and get support.

However, for some reason, he didn't want to do it. The reason was so secretive and special that he was even a little reluctant to admit it. Yet, whether he wanted it or not, it had already happened.

He was the one who left the group, he roamed the battlefield on his own initiative, as if he knew that he would meet the other three members of the Council of the Four Kings, as if he understood that this was the end

He tried to hold on to the ghost again.

Other. Tariq Togarton shook his head at him calmly. Don't do that, throw away your weapons and surrender, Ezekell, and you'll get a fair trial.

, traitor! Abaddon glared at him. Don't think I don't know what you and Gavill Lorcan have done without the help of the commander, you have secretly colluded with other legions, sabotaged flagships, and killed brothers! You're worthy of calling me 'Ezekell'? What kind of fair judgment do you deserve?

He's gone crazy. Lorcan mouth-tossed Tocarton, and slowly raised his sword.

He walked towards Abaddon, and the two swords collided in the next second, and there was no doubt that it was another close battle.

They know each other well enough to make any fight such a tedious back-and-forth that doesn't hurt anyone or even bleed.

Obviously, both have superhuman physique and extraordinary skills, and with real killing intent, they try to cut off each other's heads, but they can't really win.

They are just deadlocked, that's all. Two minutes later, amid the pulsing sparks of the disintegration field, Lorcan and Abaddon took a few steps back together, staring at each other, even the frequency of their breathing and breathing was so similar.

Come on. Abaddon scoffed, his pale face full of mockery. Together, you don't have to pay attention to any so-called fairness, do you? Come and kill me, it's a hundred.

Tariq Togarton approached him with his sword, but it didn't really raise.

Raise your sword! Or I'll kill you!

You know what, Ezekell? Togarton shook his head calmly. Father didn't blame you, he just said you were a stubborn stupid kid.

You are indeed very stubborn and stupid, and you must go to the end if you decide on one thing, otherwise you will never give up. But it's not because of these two qualities that you don't want to see the truth, you're just cowardly.

He took a step back, and finally slowly raised his sword and made an invitation. He wanted Abaddon to fight him in a desperate contest.

Abaddon's face twitched, and he raised his mind in disbelief and slashed at him with a slap of Togarton's sword. The slash was undisciplined, more like a catharsis of despair.

Togarton easily parried and counterattacked, not only sending the ghost away, but also slashing his sword across Abaddon's neck, but the dismantling field did not activate.

Abadon didn't feel anything but cold.

He opened his eyes in disbelief to see Tariq Togarton's eyes, which were very different from what they had been. There was no longer any mildness in those eyes, only coldness and sadness. Nothing else.

At this moment, for some reason, Ezekel Abaddon suddenly remembered the Water Garden.

Why don't you.? He asked with difficulty.

Killing you here is a relief to you, but you don't deserve it, Ezekell. Togarton had interrupted him as expected, and replied.

You need a just trial, and you have to tell you everything you know, what you see, all in plain art. You know why? For we are to clear the way for Horus.

He took a solemn step back, raising his finger to a blazing light in the distance. It had risen, half golden and half scarlet, as bright as the sun.

The thing that was fighting the Emperor inside was not our father.

Our father will not slaughter all his crew, gouge out his eyes, and hang himself upside down in his own court.

Our father doesn't stab his brother in the chest with his power claws, he doesn't throw his brother's offspring into the gladiatorial arena and ask them to kill each other for fun.

Our father will not let the Galactic and Terra live in misery, nor will he be in the company of these demons.

So who is he? Abaddon was hollowly angry and asked. Tell me, Tariq, who is he?!

It's it. Togarton said. You should ask, what is it.

He lowered his sword, approached Abaddon, and reached out to put his hand on his shoulder.

Come with us, brother. It's not too late, you can still atone for your sins, you can still tell the world that your father died in battle, and after that, his body was desecrated and taken away. He is no traitor, I beg you, Ezekell.

Togarton said with a hint of pleading, and Abaddon looked at him tremblingly, trying to answer, his lips even curled into a 'good' word, but he could not finish his sentence.

His shiver turned into a convulsion in just half a second, and Togarton quickly backed away, finding that Abaddon's eyes had turned pitch black. Then, the pigtail suddenly dispersed, and he shook his head in a draped manner, and after a few seconds, a bloody light quietly bloomed from his eyes.

Then they heard a voice, the first one.

It's sound.

"You want to rebel against my last loyal heir?" It asked. "It's a pity that Ezekel is completely loyal to me, he is the last member of the Council of Four Kings, and not like you, a despicable traitor."

During the words, Abaddon's body began to change gradually. He was wailing, as if he was being torn apart alive. And judging by the results, it probably is.

His body was stretched in the blood, but his armor was tattered, and his internal organs fell from the hole in his abdomen, splashing a puddle of pitch-black dust.

The blood continued to bloom, and some new chaotic force began to reshape him, to recover, but it was rough, like a child playing with mud, concocting a plausible monster with crude techniques and nonchalance.

From the outside, he probably is Abaddon. The details of his eyebrows, eyes, and body size are no different from those of Ezekel Abaddon.

But, just staring at him, Horus Eichmander felt a urge to vomit—it wasn't Azerkell Abaddon, and in a split second, he was sure of it.

It looks like him, but it's already something else, something completely opposite to human, completely opposite, yet unsettlingly similar. Moreover, this is even just a façade.

What exactly is it?

Tariq Togardon had no answer, just raised his sword and tried to parry, but it didn't work. In the blood light, he was instantly pierced through his chest by the ghost, and blood splattered.

Ezekel Abaddon let out a wail, and that was his last voice.

Then, it's just nothingness.

——

"You can't win, father. You can't win because you don't know how to win me. Horus Lupecar said.

"I don't need to win." The emperor said.

"But how much longer can you hold out? Your plans and your backhand need your strength to carry them on, you are their pillar, and you have no extra strength to give to the weak mortals. Am I right, father? ”

"You're wrong." The Emperor retorted slowly.

"Really?"

"They are my pillars." The emperor said. "Every ounce of courage is especially valuable, every death makes hope shine brighter, they are winning for me, and you have nothing but a cursed group of lifeless, and some pathetic traitors."

"What naïve words." Horus scoffed. "I can't believe that's what a monarch should say, can't you see the reality clearly? Their deaths mean nothing, you can't win. ”

"Like I said, I don't need to win." The Emperor repeated.

His countenance was hidden in the galaxy, his voice coming from the Savage Age, traversing endless dimensions and waves of chaos, reshaping in the energy of subspace, ritual after ritual being completed in succession.

Time began to jump at random, sometimes in the Middle Ages, and then on a habitable planet in the interstellar era. He is hidden in these places, the gap between time and space, the places that once existed and are no longer there.

At one point, he clenched a ring. He held it so tightly that it was embedded deep in his palm, blood pouring out, drowning it.

"So, what do you need?" Horus caught up with him, engulfing the form he had left in this moment, his mouth full of blood, and asked cruelly.

The emperor replied with a sword.

He doesn't need to win, the one who wants to win this battle is someone else, and he

What he wants to win is the future of humanity.

(End of chapter)