Chapter 93: I Have Seen Through You
The world was dim. In this sunless, moonless abyss, only the light from the warriors themselves could illuminate small sections of the darkness.
Vwhoosh...
A powerful flame swept past, annihilating a daemon. Looking forward, there was a river of pink and green. Looking back, before the mouth of the tiny rift, stood a line of Space Marines and Battle-Sisters, like torches in the dark.
According to the battle plan, this powerful force would fulfill its duty of defending the rift. Their bodies had been tempered by countless hardships, their skills honed to perfection through tireless practice since they could first hold a weapon. Their weapons would spew the most lethal flames. If all went smoothly, these brave warriors would undoubtedly be able to fulfill their duty and defend their honor.
But daemons were destined to make things not go smoothly.
Outmatched in combat power? Fine. Then they would make up for it with endless numbers.
Can't win in a straight fight? Fine. There was always a mental attack or a physical plague that would suit you.
This war had never been equal. While the warriors passively endured endless agony, all they could offer in return were guns and flames.
And the daemons were not afraid.
"Ah!"
A Slaaneshi daemon transformed into a Sister's most cherished mother. In a single moment of astonishment and hesitation, the Sister was pierced by a sharp blade. The blood, mixed with crimson armor fragments, spattered onto her flamer, hissing with steam.
"Despicable!" the Sister hissed, her chainsword shredding the daemon. But the remaining daemons, like hagfish smelling blood, constantly charged at this new wound. They didn't care if it was despicable. They were born of depravity and could not be harmed by it. They stood on a mountaintop, far above these mortal lives. They could pour down their filth with impunity, watching the struggling lives below them with mocking laughter.
"Emperor preserve us!"
Bearing countless more wounds, the Sister cried out, using her last remaining hand to pull the pin on a grenade a moment before the daemonic tide swallowed her.
BOOM—
"..."
A Nemesis Chapter warrior struggled in the green tide. An attack he should have reacted to was blocked by the plague that now enveloped him, a festering pustule of condensed virus eating away at his wound.
SPLAT!
A Beast of Nurgle took a bite out of the warrior's armor. Pus and blood splattered.
The warrior could only silently give up on survival and overload his weapon.
VMMM—
In the surging daemonic tide, fireworks of sacrifice bloomed one after another, only to be extinguished in an instant, the gap filled by the endless swarm.
The warriors' sacrifices meant nothing before the tide of daemons. They might not even be able to take their own lives. How many had, in a single moment of distraction, fallen into the daemonic tide?
Noble sacrifices would only be ignored, would only be met with mockery. Because daemons did not care for sacrifice.
BOOM!
He thrust with his sword, blocked with his shield, and met the flail of the Great Unclean One, freezing space for a moment.
SQUELCH!
Arthur's feet sank into the mire. The corrupted filth that splashed up trembled and roared, then surged forward, as if to swallow the knight whole.
"How much longer will you struggle?" the Keeper of Secrets whispered, coiling around him again, its crimson breath caressing his armor. With it came a rapier, aimed at his heart.
"Knight."
His bones groaned. Arthur silently swung his sword. But the Keeper of Secrets, as if it had seen through his move, gracefully slid away.
Arthur did not answer. It was just a simple distraction from the Greater Daemon.
He could not cut down the magnificent life force of the "Rain that Guides Home," nor could he touch the "Pleasure's Attendant" that saw through his every move. But neither the Great Unclean One's fine, poisonous rain, nor the Keeper of Secrets who prided itself on its skill, could touch him.
The fight had reached a stalemate.
But the warriors behind him were a different story.
"Look behind you, at those tragic warriors," the Keeper of Secrets continued, its lithe steps illogically closing the distance again. "How much longer can they struggle?"
BANG!
A gale-force wind blew in his face. Arthur pressed down on the Keeper of Secrets' blade, sending it and the blade into the body of the Great Unclean One.
Arthur was confident he could win, but he feared he could not stop the death and collapse of the warriors.
To fight Chaos was not just to endure physical pain, but also mental damage. It was a long-term torment. The warriors were still human. And humans had weaknesses. They would think, and they would grow tired.
The daemons had plenty of ways to deal with them!
For a rare moment, Arthur's focused mind began to think.
The Keeper of Secrets, which had been watching the knight's eyes, showed a hint of joy.
Yes, think. Think about how to save the lives of these heroes. Think about what you must sacrifice.
And then—
The Keeper of Secrets thrust its rapier, as if trying to stab the blade into the knight's very soul.
Kneel before the great Lord of Pleasure.
Chaos had no bottom line. To achieve their goals, they would use all sorts of despicable methods. They would use the most depraved ways to defile a warrior's soul.
Why?
Because the warrior is noble, and strong.
The daemons cannot beat them.
The daemons can only use despicable methods. They can only stand on the mountaintop.
Only then can they bridge the gap between them.
But what about me? What about us, from another world?
Arthur narrowed his eyes.
Are we on another mountain, or are we in the valley with the warriors?
WHOOSH—
A tide of corruption rushed forward. The body, weighing hundreds of kilograms, was pushed back. The Great Unclean One strode forward again, chasing the retreating knight, its great plague sword raised high. "Come with me!"
BANG!
Before the greatsword could fall, the thick face of the shield had already sent it flying. A flash of understanding appeared in Arthur's eyes.
The fungus that could corrupt machines couldn't even touch him.
Of course. We were never on the same level.
The knight pressed forward. The Keeper of Secrets had already darted to the other side, its long elven sword closing in from behind.
Arthur didn't even look. He lowered his head, held his sword in one hand, and slashed behind him.
"I am the embodiment of skill," the Keeper of Secrets hissed, seeing its chance. It elegantly withdrew, as it had done in the past, leaving a pink arc in the dim space. "You are destined to lose this battle."
Daemons were dying, lives were being lost, stamina was fading. The Keeper of Secrets felt its own body growing stronger. It felt it could touch the world of the favored courtesans of Slaanesh. And it was constantly getting stronger.
THUMP!
With one kick, he sent the corpulent body of the Great Unclean One flying. Arthur turned.
"It doesn't matter. I can kill you."
Time seemed to slow. The sound of the mud-wave striking the void seemed to mock the knight's arrogance.
But Arthur thought of nothing. A golden light flared on his longsword. In a moment of stalemate, he suddenly abandoned his defense.
Like one side in a tug-of-war suddenly letting go of the rope, Arthur charged forward, his sword and arm forming a straight line, the tip of the blade thrusting out. A sword like a shooting star, aimed straight at the Keeper of Secrets' head.
CLANG!
Blades clashed. The two of them passed each other.
drip~
A drop of blood fell.
The Keeper of Secrets brushed its cheek with its crab-like pincer on its back and found that the tip of the pincer was dripping with a pinkish ichor.
Its pupils contracted into blade-like arcs, a look of astonishment in them.
Something is wrong.
Very, very wrong!
In a situation like this, shouldn't he be like that primarch who fell into Nurgle's embrace, forced to compromise for the sake of his sons?
Why does the knight still possess such a will to fight?
And does the knight care about the lives of these heroes?
Yes, he did.
This seemingly indifferent knight had always cared about life. His gaze, though separated by an infinite distance, though unseen by others, still watched over every person, like the stars in the night sky. Noble or commoner, Astartes, noble, civilian—in his eyes, there was no difference.
'But what of your prayers?'
Prayers?
There were no prayers.
Faced with a difficult situation, one should not blindly seek external power, but should ask one's own heart.
What do I have left?
Arthur ignored the wounds on his body, because the attack that should have pierced his lungs had only left a few seemingly gruesome marks on his armor.
The knight advanced in silence. In the night-like space, a blade-light of stunning beauty flashed, the eyes beneath the black helmet like the opening of a great dragon's eyes.
I have seen through you.
(End of Chapter)