The illustrious [Lion Sword] stirred up a hurricane in the cold air, accompanied by the scent of explosive gunpowder and stubborn metallic tang, leaving a shocking sharpness in mid-air.
This sharpness cut through the heads of at least five Rangdan warriors. These tallest and ugliest opponents didn't even have time to utter a cry of pain before they fell to the ground, becoming pulp beneath the Primarch's boots.
Jonson looked at his latest battle results, falling into a fleeting, less than a second's worth of intoxication: the thrill of hunting, ending, depriving life and the possibility of breath, personally creating this pain and slaughter made his emerald pupils sparkle.
But in the very next second, he reverted to the taciturn Lord of the Nine Legions, silence and aloofness once again covering his face and mind.
[Tighten ranks, keep advancing!]
The Primarch roared his command, his voice suppressing all the noise on the battlefield. Hundreds of the finest Dark Angels responded to their genefather with silent slaughter and the lowest growls from their throats.
The battle near the landing zone lasted less than fifteen minutes. Before the Knight-King, who personally joined the front line, and his most loyal retainers, the resistance of thousands of Rangdan warriors and slaves was like a pebble thrown into raging waves, merely causing the faintest ripples.
The front line was butchered, the fortress pierced. Those heavy weapon emplacements and artillery positions that had originally suppressed the Astartes warriors were annihilated by a black hurricane: no one could withstand Jonson's offensive.
His figure could not be captured by any gun muzzle. Xenos positions crumbled in the slaughter and terror he unleashed. Behind him were his most dedicated warriors, the Ninth Chapter, the Primarch's personal guard led by Grand Master Alajos.
With the fall of the last Rangdan warrior, a wider expanse of land was cleared. More drop pods and transport ships appeared from the hazy sky. They carried more Dark Angels, as well as the most crucial heavy weaponry and logistical supplies.
From this moment on, the First Legion's foot was firmly planted on this world, unshakable.
The Primarch of the First Legion stood on a small hill, stained red with blood. He looked up, only to see distant, hazy mist.
Then, he heard the sound of boots treading on sand.
[They are coming, My Lord. More Rangdan armies, charging from six directions.]
Jonson did not reply. He merely slowly turned his head, looking at his ever-unruly psychic advisor.
Her long hair was unbound, fine beads of sweat seemed to cling to her temples, and her cyan-blue pupils emitted a light that yearned for destruction. This was something he had never seen in her eyes before.
Something was wrong with her.
Jonson continued to look at the distant mist.
[Continue.]
He heard a somewhat sharp laugh.
[Yes, My Lord.]
[These six army groups are not balanced. Three of them bear the unmistakable scent of pure Rangdan xenos, while the others are a mixed bag.]
[Especially the approaching enemy from the front right, their numbers are the largest, and their quality is the best. They even include thousands of powerful individuals worth noting.]
As if to confirm these words, Alajos swiftly stepped forward, reporting in a low voice to his liege.
"My Lord, Corswain reports that the Indomitable Truth's sensors detected a very dense signal source approximately 220 kilometers to our front right.
The signal feedback there is completely consistent with our records of the Rangdan command center. Corswain is concentrating the fleet's power to contest actual control of that airspace. He estimates it will take at least two Terra standard hours to achieve this objective."
At the same time, a simplified map of the nearby area, now a communication, was transmitted from the Gloriana-class to a receiver near the Lion's ear. The Primarch carefully observed this aerial view, contemplating.
[Tell Corswain to deploy at least thirty more companies of drop pods. The struggle for air superiority can be slightly relaxed, as long as the xenos are prevented from providing aerial fire support to the ground. He must also focus some attention on the vicinity of the Mandeville Point, as maintaining control there is critical.]
[Then, tell Astoran that I am leaving him all the artillery and half the armored forces. Until my new orders arrive, his mission is to ensure the safety of this area and delay the xenos armies from other directions as much as possible.]
[Finally, gather the Ninth Chapter and the Five Hundred. We need to cleave through the Rangdan army on the front right, then advance approximately 100 kilometers, seize the fortress there, and then take the next course of action.]
——————
The columns of Land Raiders kicked up swirling storms of yellow sand. Hundreds of black-armored Astartes, surrounding these most powerful war beasts, ground every Rangdan column they encountered into crimson dust. More warriors followed behind them, establishing mutually supporting strongholds to ensure the integrity of the controlled areas.
They covered this hundred-kilometer journey in about two Terra standard hours. Intermittent skirmishes and ambushes filled every second, yet they never halted the advance of a single Dark Angel, until they reached their objective.
It was a fortress built upon a hill, appearing like a dilapidated palace. Hundreds of xenos blasphemous artillery pieces and tens of thousands of Rangdan warriors surrounded this defensive core. Millions of gun muzzles and cannon barrels continuously played a symphony of firepower, preventing even the most valiant Dark Angels from breaching this almost perfect fire network.
This most powerful force was thus blocked by sturdy ramparts, a dense curtain of fire, and trenches. Elite Astartes warriors were forced to fight in trenches and amidst boulders, while the more conspicuous armored units could not even approach the stronghold.
Finally, after clearing another heavy weapon emplacement, and looking at the dozens of white marks on his pauldron, the Primarch lost his remaining patience.
[Destroy it.]
Jonson's demeanor was neither impatient nor enraged. Instead, it was filled with a lust for slaughter, making the Dark Angels near him feel an uncontrollable chill down their spines.
They did not know who this order was given to, but they soon found out.
[As you command, My Lord.]
When those Dark Angels heard this response, laced with a laugh, they were momentarily bewildered.
These two voices seemed equally terrifying.
As if two malevolent chess players, in endless rage and malice, were deciding the fate of their pieces.
——————
Morgan took deep breaths, then exhaled slowly.
As her gaze fell into a pure, merciless light of judgment, the souls rampaging through her thought-realm began to wail and flee in distress. Their remaining will seemed to realize the impending catastrophe, but they were powerless.
Morgan's will casually snatched at them. With a flick of her hand, tens of thousands of souls gathered in her palm. With her smile, her soft murmurs, and her psychic hands constantly kneading and manipulating, these wailing souls were fused together in the harshest and most ruthless manner.
As if molten iron flowing into a mold, when the last gasp of these souls completely vanished.
The [Spear] appeared.
And all of this was but an instant in the eyes of outsiders.
To the Dark Angels, and even to Jonson, Morgan merely clenched her five fingers, and countless alarming wails of despair spontaneously arose from thin air. Then, an invisible spear, which they could perceive but not see, was raised high by her.
She whispered softly.
[Savage.]
This seemed like a prayer, and also like a spell to unleash primal power.
Accompanied by a violent sound, the [Spear] detached from Morgan's palm, like a swift bolt of lightning, leaving an ear-piercing shriek in the sky above countless Rangdan xenos.
Almost in the next instant, the [Spear] struck the hilltop fortress, which was constantly spewing flames. It was like a pure hurricane; it produced no explosion and tore down no walls, but simply and silently surged through the cracks and gunports.
Time seemed to freeze for a second.
Then, an incomparably vast, frantic, hysterical, and tragic wail, which every Dark Angel, even thousands of meters away, could hear clearly and even feel apprehension and pity from, suddenly erupted. It was tens of thousands of xenos wailing in unison. It was tens of thousands of xenos having their souls literally torn out, then dying twisted deaths in a merciless slaughter.
This sound was so immense, so tragic, that even the battlefield, engulfed in continuous artillery fire, paused for an instant due to this unimaginable collective wail. Even the wind stopped.
A peculiar silence enveloped the battlefield. Everyone looked towards the fortress, which no longer emitted any sound: the hideous faces of the Rangdan xenos were consumed by panic, and behind the Dark Angels' visors were expressions of apprehension and shock.
Until the next moment, before anyone present could react, a black hurricane had once again plunged into the battle.
[Attack!]
The 'Lion's' roar awakened the slumbering Legion. All Dark Angels once again raised their blades. This time, they had no more qualms.
——————
The Rangdan were an ugly race. By any standard of civilization in the galaxy, their faces were unbearably hideous.
And at this moment, the faces of the Rangdan corpses piled high in the fortress reached a new level of hideousness: their already unsightly countenances, combined with the extreme pain and terror of their dying moments, ultimately transformed into a sight that would make an Astartes long to forget.
This fortress contained at least eight thousand Rangdan warriors. Among them were not a few individuals comparable to Astartes. But now, they were all dead, killed in a single instant.
[You drained their souls?]
Jonson squatted down, carefully examining the xenos corpses beneath his feet. The Primarch's innate psychic senses told him that these bodies harbored a peculiar emptiness.
[No, My Lord.]
With her back to the muzzles, Morgan's face was hidden in the dim light. The air beside her even subtly distorted, speaking of the powerful energy this psyker had to constantly control. As Jonson's psychic advisor, she was not busy constructing new defensive lines in various corners of the fortress like other Dark Angels, but this did not mean she was having an easy time.
Jonson always had questions waiting to be answered. Whenever he posed a question, he always expected the most resolute and swift answers. Even brief contemplation or hesitation, in his eyes, emitted a certain odious suspicion.
[I merely shattered them.]
[Shattered their souls?]
Jonson frowned. He had never known such knowledge.
[Yes, I gathered tens of thousands, or even more, souls from the battlefield and condensed them into a 'spear.' This spear carried these souls, which had lost their self-awareness. When it struck this fortress, it exploded. Countless souls formed an abrupt tidal wave in the Sea of Souls, crushing these fragile xenos souls like a tsunami.]
The Primarch nodded. He did not fully believe Morgan's one-sided explanation, but this did not prevent him from beginning to ponder how this technique could be used for his own purposes.
The Primarch stood up and left. Morgan silently followed behind him, feeling a slight sense of relief from the heavy burden in her thought-realm.
The [Spear] was powerful. Its impact meant the certainty of successful slaughter. Even a psyker, without prior knowledge, would only become another wailing soul beneath its edge.
But the [Spear] was also costly. The [Savage Spear] was merely the most basic of Morgan's conceptions, yet it still required tens of thousands of souls.
But Morgan felt no regret, because the [Spear] meant inevitable slaughter. She could replenish new souls after the slaughter. As for the fragile souls consumed during the slaughter, these inferior goods could neither truly fill the cracks in her heart nor would they disturb the remaining order in her thought-realm, merely adding to her troubles. Their loss was naturally irrelevant, even a good thing.
If it weren't for the fact that most battles with the Rangdan were swift and allowed no time for selection, she wouldn't bother devouring these souls. In these five years, although she had devoured billions of souls, only so many were truly useful.
The rest were merely consumables.
Anyway, they were originally just a bunch of xenos.
——————
[This technique of yours can be developed.]
After walking onto the fortress's balcony, Jonson slowly spoke, looking at the distant, lingering mist.
[Whether it's lightweighting it to focus on numbers, or sacrificing some preparation time to make it a long-range sniping tool or even a general-slaying weapon, you can, and need to, research it as much as possible. Our war with the Rangdan always requires new power, especially in the psychic domain.]
A faint smile hung on Morgan's lips.
[In the realm of war, you are truly a prodigy, Lord Jonson.]
[No.]
The Lion gave a brief denial.
[This is a universal talent. You can see it in every one of my brothers. We are generals and commanders under the Emperor. We are born to understand and master this.]
Then, the Primarch merely felt a strange silence behind him, followed by a sigh.
[I'm afraid I cannot agree with that, My Lord.]
[Because, as I said, the talent you display in the realm of war is the best, the greatest I have ever seen, bar none.]
Jonson slowly turned his head.
[Are you faulting the talents of my two brothers?]
[I have no right to do so, My Lord. Nor do I have the right to judge the talent of a Primarch.]
[But I still stand by my earlier statement.]
Morgan's eyes held a glow. Jonson looked closely, recognizing it as the light of 'persistence' and 'sincerity,' like the snow on an iceberg.
[Because this has never been a question of talent, My Lord.]
[It is a question of attitude.]
[It is a question of attitude, awareness, and dedication.]
Jonson turned his head back. He remained silent.
[I do not intend to blacken anyone's name, but as I said, Lord Jonson.]
[Your heart shines with some of the galaxy's most precious stars, but you have grown accustomed to it and do not realize how precious those lights, those silences, and those sacrifices in your heart are in this era where everyone frantically pursues so-called glory and boundless personal desires.]
[And I have witnessed them.]
[You are the undisputed King in the world of war, and this crown was not given at birth, nor is it based on superior talent. For this is a crown forged with dedication, with loyalty, with silent, unquestioning sacrifice, and it belongs only to you.]
[You deserve it, My Lord.]
——————
Morgan could hear Jonson's somewhat heavy breathing.
He no longer looked at her, merely leaving behind a tall, silent figure. His fingers seemed to be tapping his armor, tapping unconsciously.
Jonson's head was held high, preventing Morgan from seeing even a trace of his face. He only stared at the layers of thick mist, breathing deeply, as if there were some priceless treasure there.
[Your words... are somewhat exaggerated... Yes, exaggerated.]
[In the future... speak less...]
For some reason, Jonson's soft whisper sounded somewhat weak and hesitant. He turned around and quickly walked off the balcony, radiating a peculiar aura that kept others at a distance.
🚨 Note : Consider to Support this Story on Patreon.com/Flokixy to access +300 advance Chapters & 2 Chapters Daily and To Support The Daily Update