Emperor's Bane

Chapter 882: The Fall of the Spirit of Vengeance

"Although I had expected that the crisis on Terra would not end hastily."

"But even I never thought that you would actually make such a bold decision."

"And Dorn: He actually dared to carry it out?"

"..."

"To be honest, Your Excellency the Master of the Seal: I am a little scared by your execution ability."

As the Lord of Hydra, Alpharius has a voice that matches his terrible reputation.

Whenever he doesn't need to make more disguises, especially in front of the Wolf Shepherd God, Hydra prefers to speak with his own voice: a slightly hoarse tone, without any characteristics except for the pretentious procrastination, which is enough to make anyone remember him in the shortest time and forget him quickly after the matter is over.

Of course, this so-called "real tone" is just Alpharius's self-claimed tone, and it is as unreliable as any of his words: in other words, except the Emperor, no one knows the truth about Hydra.

Not even Malcador knew: despite being Alpharius's nominal mentor.

But the Sigillite knew very well that as the only Primarch fortunate enough to fall on Holy Terra, when Alpharius was brought back by his father, he was already an adult with self-awareness and memories: the only thing missing was a relatively immature body.

Of course, this immaturity did not prevent the Hydra Lord from slipping out after a while, sneaking back into the Terra Palace, killing and replacing a guard, and then confronting Valdor again: this overly brilliant resume was also one of the causes of the Blood Game.

At that time, it was Malcador who intervened and interrupted the confrontation between Alpharius and Valdor: the Sigillite was more worried about the safety of the head of the Guards than the Hydra.

After all, no matter how exaggerated the chief of the imperial guards is, he is still a [human]: his ability limit and thinking logic are still within the scope of understanding. Mortals may regard him as a genius or a demigod, but they can still find a sense of identity in Waldo.

Even if they are few, they do exist: this is their necessity as the new template for future humanity in the vision of the Lord of Mankind.

But the Primarch is different.

Each Primarch is a pure monster. The only thing they have in common with humans is their highly similar appearances and some emotions and life perspectives that are added to their growth process: the latter depends entirely on luck, which even the Emperor cannot fully control.

In this process, some Primarchs eventually grew into loyal, kind or reliable beings, while the rest developed in the opposite direction: the occasional few who were involved in two major directions have become the biggest destabilizing factors in the galaxy.

As for Alpharius, he is more special.

As a nominal teacher, there is one thing that the Sigillite has to admit: he is very clear that in the long process of educating Alpharius, he has not fundamentally changed any of the inner character of the Hydra Lord. What Malcador did was only to impart knowledge and tell lessons, and as for what kind of person his student will become, it is completely beyond the control of the Sigillite.

It is also because of this that this eldest son of the Emperor, although seemingly of a completely legitimate family, has not been on the Emperor and the Seal Holder's list of trustworthy people for a long time.

In fact, before the Lord of Hydra found an opportunity to leave Horus' team and took the initiative to find Malcador in private to surrender, he was listed as the most likely suspect in this incident by the Sigillite: followed closely by his vague clone brother.

"Omegon."

Alpharius whispered this name that even he felt was unfamiliar, and walked to the side of the Sigillite with bare hands: he glanced at Malcador's psychic scepter ready to be used, and just smiled without saying a word.

"He did it."

Without any convincing evidence or reason, Alpharius simply stated the answer.

"I went to the scene before the Spirit of Vengeance was towed away by Dorn. It is certain that Sevatar had nothing to do with this incident. He arrived later, while Omegan had been lurking on the ship and used some kind of warp method to activate the macro cannon."

"Didn't you notice?"

"I was aware of his presence, but I never caught him."

Alpharius shook his head.

"We are both equally capable: if either of us tries to hide, the other will be unable to stop us."

"..."

Malcador nodded, still saying nothing.

The air became quiet. The tall Primarch and the thin old man stood in front of the porthole. Their slender shadows were gradually swallowed by a slowly approaching darkness: that was the shadow cast by the Phalanx and the Spirit of Vengeance. They were about to reach Luna's orbit and meet the latter's final fate.

Dorn, Horus and most of the participants stayed on the deck of the Phalanx at this time, attending the funeral of the Vengeful Spirit with serious or complicated moods. The Sigillite and the Lord of Hydra were the only two exceptions. They came to this nameless battleship in their own way and exchanged the information they needed with each other in the shadows.

“Whenever this happens, I feel especially grateful for the unique abilities my father gave me.”

The Lord of Hydra smiled, as if he wanted to liven up the atmosphere in this narrow space.

"Except for Morgan, none of my brothers can accurately detect my appearance and disappearance."

"People like Jonson and Conrad may have a sense of danger like wild beasts, and they often cause me a lot of trouble. But they don't have Morgan's ability to directly explore souls, so as long as the number of times is enough, I can always get a chance."

“What a pity…”

Having said this, Alpharius suddenly shook his head and sighed exaggeratedly, his tone dull.

"Now we have to add Horus: his mastery of his psychic powers is indeed improving day by day."

With that, the Primarch glanced at his teacher teasingly.

"So, I don't really understand: why did you handle this matter so violently?"

"The fight with the Wolf God will never end."

"What good will this do us?"

"Even the high lords under your command would not support your approach in this matter, right?"

"Or……"

The Hydra moved closer.

"Do you have any reason to do this?"

The seal holder did not respond immediately.

He was just waiting: waiting for the moment when Rogal Dorn would do his duty.

The Lord of Hydra naturally understood this, and he also closed his mouth with an expectant look on his face.

Who wouldn't look forward to it?

For everyone present, this was the first time they witnessed the fall of the Queen of Glory class.

Ah, except Colswain: but he certainly wouldn't say such things out loud.

Hundreds of thousands of people witnessed the final journey of the Vengeful Spirit, and every bystander had to close the communication channel: at the latest, the crew of the Vengeful Spirit had more or less guessed their fate during the journey to Luna, and the desperation, requests for help, and wailing of these people were enough to drive anyone who was still connected to the communication channel crazy.

Alpharius hoped that Horus was not in the habit of bidding final farewell to his closest followers.

And as for Makhado?

The seal holder seemed to be completely unaware of how extreme his decision was, and in a sense, how stupid it was.
When Alpharius looked at him, he found that Malcador was frequently fiddling with the strange-looking bracelet on his wrist, and there was no mercy in his eyes when he looked at the Spirit of Vengeance.

How strange: it was a kind of determination and cruelty that one could only have when facing a mortal enemy.

Logically speaking, the relationship between Malcador and Horus couldn't be this bad.

What is the secret behind this?
The Lord of Hydra does not know: but he is sure that he will dig out this secret today.

For this, he needs to be patient for a while longer.

It won't be long.

Because Dorn was not one to enjoy torture.

As the executioner chosen by the Sigillite himself, Rogal Dorn did not shirk his responsibility. He did not try to plead for mercy because of his relationship with Horus, nor did he want to ask the Warmaster to leave the deck of the Phalanx for fear of suspicion. Before leaving, the Lord of the Imperial Fist even went to find the Wolf God and expressed his condolences and responsibility to Horus.

Fortunately, this incident does not seem to affect the relationship between the two Primarch brothers.

The Wolf Lord was even more generous. When Dorn and the others wanted to ask Malcador to at least remove the former honor and important items of the Luna Wolves from the Vengeful Spirit, Horus took the initiative to decline before the Sigillite could even open his mouth.

The Wolf God was very sure that since the seal holder was willing to tear his face off to such an extent, he would definitely not express even the slightest bit of goodwill in this matter: giving up voluntarily could preserve his own dignity.

At least it was better than standing in front of Malcador again and being humiliated by him.

Well, if that's the case, then there's nothing to hesitate about.

After destroying several transport ships that tried to escape before the end of the world, the Spirit of Vengeance was finally towed to the predetermined orbit: as a satellite of Terra, Luna was not as developed as expected, and there was enough space on this gray-white land to accommodate a ship of the Glorious Queen that was about to fall.

So, after everything was ready, Rogal Dorn did not hesitate at all.

Most of the Phalanx's weapons had already adjusted their ammunition base and calibration.

With a command from the Lord of the Imperial Fist, the Vengeful Spirit, a symbol of the glory of the Luna Wolves and the Great Crusade, came to its end.

------

Finally.

This is the inevitable fate for any warship: it is also the best fate.

Even the Queen of Glory-class battleships had experienced destruction or even a more tragic fate in the gunfire and smoke of the Great Crusade: but just as the world believed that the Primarch could not be killed, most people were unwilling to believe that the Queen of Glory-class battleships would sink in battle.

This is a kind of belief, a kind of instinct, a kind of pursuit of security hidden in the heart: but today, all of this was torn apart by the hands of the Guardians of Terra.

Countless eyes witnessed how the Vengeful Spirit was killed: Dorn commanded his warships, aiming at the Glorious Queen's engines, bridge, section connections and all vulnerable parts that could be found, and used all his strength in the first round of bombardment.

There is no doubt that the Lord of the Imperial Fist did not enjoy sinking a friendly warship with his own hands, and he wanted to give the Spirit of Vengeance a quick and dignified death.

Even if it's just for the glory of the past.

Thousands of shells as big as armored vehicles or even knights hit their targets almost simultaneously. The command tower and crew quarters were the main targets of attack. More people would gather there, and the dense rain of bullets would make their deaths quick and peaceful. They would not have to worry about being sucked into the void and suffering a long secondary torture.

However, those halls and corridors that carried the past glory of the Luna Wolves in Dorn's memory were carefully avoided. The Lord of the Imperial Fist had a faint selfish desire hidden in his heart: he hoped that in the future, someone would find traces of the Sixteenth Legion in the wreckage of the ship that crashed on Luna.

The most significant bombardment was directed at the ammunition depots, engine rooms and vulnerable areas of ship connections. Each shell accurately hit its target. The industrial crystallization created with decades of painstaking efforts was quickly flattened and shattered. Raging flames and violent energy outfits began a carnival of destruction on the remains of the Queen of Glory.

The continuous ammunition detonation and subspace fission were enough to turn hard metal into molten wax. The fire disaster advanced rapidly along the cracks and gaps created by the explosion. It could be seen clearly even in the distant space. The red and white intertwined light devoured the darkness and star points around the ship. The flames ignited the half-melted deck, and all the dangerous materials and military supplies began to burn.

In an instant, various types of shock waves generated by the chain reaction of the artillery fire had ruthlessly swept through the once powerful battleship.

At this time, everyone believed that there were no survivors on the Spirit of Vengeance.

But in order to ensure that no accidents would happen and to end it all as quickly as possible, Dorn ordered the Phalanx to launch a second round of concentrated fire attacks.

Those cracks that turned red due to the large-scale vaporization of the metal deck became the best fixed targets in the eyes of the Imperial Fists. In silence, they fired hundreds of shells, as well as almost the same number of torpedoes and plasma arcs at the Warmaster's flagship.

This is fatal.

Before the last shell was fired, this ship that once belonged to the Imperial Warmaster experienced the most tragic explosion in the entire execution ceremony. A visible shock wave leaped out from the subspace engine on the tail wing, sweeping all the way to the beak-shaped space at the bow, tearing the warship in half, and half-melted hull fragments even began to drift towards the Phalanx and the Hercules Fenr.

Under the gaze of everyone, this somewhat abrupt funeral finally came to its final scene.

The soul of revenge burned like a ball of fire, and the silent death scream tore the curtain between the two worlds. Tens of thousands of flashes, ruptures, collapses and disintegrations constantly washed the body of the battleship: in the last moment of its life, this ancient Queen of Glory-class battleship instead produced a different kind of strange vitality.

But this doesn't feel like a flash in the pan at all.

Instead, it seems more like some monsters that were originally imprisoned in it are belatedly trying to break out of the cage.

Despite Dorne's best efforts, the fall of the Glorious Queen was still a long process.

After three more rounds of artillery fire, the last bit of stubbornness of the Spirit of Vengeance succumbed to Luna's gravity. It almost tilted at a right angle of ninety degrees. Every inch of the ship's surface was burning. Countless plasma fuel overloads and explosive magazine detonations were effectively sending it to the end of its destiny.

In the end, this stubborn old lady finally accepted her fate.

When the entire burning sky fell straight towards the designated land, most of Luna was lit up by the blazing flames of the Queen of Glory. Also lit up were the eyes of countless onlookers, executioners, ridiculers and ambitious people on the deck of the Phalanx.

Their sight, their will, and the eternal part of their souls, all slowly sank towards the gray land of Luna along with the warship that once carried the glory of mankind and the dream of the Great Crusade.

This world was where the Luna Wolves first gained glory and name for themselves, and it was also the starting point of the entire Great Crusade: two hundred years ago, in almost the same universe, the Vengeful Spirit was first put into actual combat, starting its legendary life.

And today, it has also received the fate it deserves on this land.

glory.

loyalty.

death.

rest in peace.

At least, in this galaxy: that’s happiness.

------

But Horus might not think so.

Although many people were paying close attention, when looking back on it later, no one could tell what expression the Wolf God had when he witnessed the entire process of the fall of the Spirit of Vengeance.

But everyone was convinced of one thing: Horus did not cry for this, he did not even make a sound.

The Empire's Warmaster was like a stone statue. When the last howl of the Vengeful Spirit flickered in Horus' pupils, the darkness in the wolf-god's numb, expressionless eyes was not the dead heart after the fire, but a terrifying, pure darkness and extinction.

No one knew what he was thinking.

No one dared to know what he was thinking.

But one thing is certain.

That is: during the subsequent journey, until his guests said goodbye and left, Horus did not show any abnormality. He still thanked every guest who came to help him with a smile and a humble attitude: the wolf god held several simple receptions and banquets, and he insisted on attending them every time, and moved everyone as the most enthusiastic host, even Sanguinius and Chagatai Khan, who did not feel any falsehood in Horus.

His face looked as usual.

It's as if nothing ever happened.

It was as if: all this had nothing to do with him.

------

"I don't think it's a good thing anyway."

Alpharius rarely expressed his feelings from the bottom of his heart.

But the Vengeful Spirit had the credentials.

When the last section of the flaming tail wing disappeared from the sight of the Hydra Lord, Alpharius, who also possessed the Glory Queen-class Primarch, came out of his brief sympathy, turned around and looked at Malcador who had remained silent.

It's time to get to the bottom of the matter.

But before that, he had to wait, wait for the seal holder to speak.

Thinking of this, Alpharius moved his gaze slightly downward, from Malcador's silent face to his withered wrist.

There, the lifelike little silver snake was tightly wrapped around the loose skin, flashing a chilling cold tone.

From the beginning to the end, when the Seal Bearer witnessed the destruction of the Spirit of Vengeance in this distant place, his other hand was tightly clasping the bracelet.

And inside Makado's pupils.

What Alpharius saw again was neither the fear after making a big mistake nor the hatred for the wolf god.

But a strange kind: joy.

He knew: that was the joy of victory.

"..."

what happened?

Hydra was confused.

Did the Seal Holder think he had won?
Or: He actually thinks this is a victory?

------

of course.

Of course he won.

This is of course a victory.

He had won a victory: a victory worth any price.

Feeling the little silver snake on his wrist, which was reminding him with vibration and heat, Malcador smiled in his heart, comforting his most reliable weapon now.

He raised his head and looked towards the Vengeful Spirit.

He had observed this terrible ship too many times on this terrible day.

Every time is shocking.

Only in another perspective supported by Morgan, which no one else can see, can the Sigillite clearly see the things on the Spirit of Vengeance.

Those darkness, or rather: parasites.

They are everywhere.

The statues, colonnades, magnificent murals and altars commemorating past heroes, the filthy lower decks and sinister crew members, and the thousands of strange and incomprehensible words sandwiched between the dim banquet hall and the metal vaults.

All of them came from the barbaric and backward primitive worlds that the Luna Wolves had recaptured during the Great Crusade. The descendants of Horus would draw from the culture of those barbarians what they thought was worth learning and add it to their own legions as a legacy: it was hard to imagine which idiot first came up with this suggestion.

The former warrior societies are the best example.

When the latter was banned, these strange and distorted texts were preserved as part of the past culture of the Moon Wolf Legion. Although these shadowy existences would be ignored by most people, the seal holder saw everything that made him nervous in them.

Perhaps to outsiders, these are just words, which may seem a bit strange, but in the other weak vision that Malcador possessed, he saw the dark nature beneath these wild bloodstains.

Perhaps on the surface, the characters of these barbaric worlds are intermittent, unclear, and have no connection with each other, but the seal holder can clearly see that these suspicious characters, which come from different worlds, span several generations, and have different specifications and styles, are somehow connected to each other.

From the perspective of the subspace, all original texts share the same breath.

These words seemed to be confined to different walls and halls, but in fact, when the warp was able to connect them, they also wrapped the entire Vengeful Spirit, like dirty blood vessels carrying rotten fluids: corroding the most glorious warship of the Empire without anyone knowing.

God knows how long they have been doing this.

And it's not just them.

Those seemingly elaborately placed monuments, statues and hero altars actually follow another style from the Warp: when the entire Spirit of Vengeance becomes a grand Chaos shrine, each statue has its significance and is an indispensable part of the entire sacrificial ceremony.

The Sigillite did not know exactly when the sacrifice began, but he knew it must have been a long time ago, because it was not just the words, nor was it just the inscriptions and statues: everything on this ship was saturated with an indescribable smell from the Warp.

The smell reminded the Sigillite of Nikea, Magnus, and the Fifth God.

The memories of the dead were attacking him madly.

They should have thought of it earlier.

If the unborn enemy of the Emperor decided to do something to Horus now, then what better choice than the Spirit of Vengeance? The so-called Sagittarius and the golden ring were just Horus's own opinions, while the title of Warmaster and the Luna Wolves were too easy to expose and might be detected in advance.

Only the Vengeful Spirit was a symbol of the Wolf Shepherd God in the eyes of the world, yet it was highly controllable: no one would casually enter the lower deck of the Vengeful Spirit, and few would care which wild world the Moon Wolves had brought some words from as decorations, and no one would interfere with the places where friendly forces commemorated the martyrs.

Even though the Emperor had been on board the battleship himself, he had not been able to successfully see through the Fifth God's secret methods: if it had been the other four Warp Powers, the Lord of Mankind would have noticed it anyway.

But the fifth god is too special.

So that now, it's too late.

There was a flash of coldness in the eyes of the seal holder.

This was why he had looked towards the Spirit of Vengeance so frequently during the previous meeting.

Before he sentenced this great warship to death based on his own opinion, he had to observe carefully.

And the result is already clear.

Corruption has corroded the soul of the Spirit of Vengeance. Twisted words have penetrated deep into the walls. Under the inscriptions and murals are distorted projections in the warp. The officers and crew who are ignorant of this actually have no less darkness and corruption in their bodies than the Wolf God: The Sigillite can even hear the groaning of the machine soul of the Queen of Glory, and it is trembling in unimaginable torture.

At this moment, destruction is even a blessing.

When the Phalanx opened fire, the Spirit of Vengeance didn't even make the instinctive move to survive.

It accepts its end.

An ending that at least isn't the worst.

Gripping the burning sensation on his wrist, Malcador took one last look at this once great warship: perhaps from the perspective of the Warp, he could still see some remnants, the shadow of light in the darkness, but he knew that this was just an illusion given to him by Chaos, a false hope that every Fallen would experience.

Perhaps this warship did not appear to have succumbed completely to Chaos, and on the surface there was a possibility that it could be retained or even re-purified, but after thousands of years of studying Chaos and the Warp, Malcador knew all too well: the situation was irreversible.

The power of the Fifth God has been deeply implanted into every inch of the skin and soul of the Spirit of Vengeance. Although it seems that it will take a long time and sacrifice to completely control this battleship, in fact, the so-called time is the most meaningless existence in the warp: corruption is always faster than people expect.

It only takes a thought, a whisper, or even a gentle sigh after all hope is lost, and the situation will inevitably go out of control. It only takes a blink of an eye to go from hope to complete desolation. The speed of the change is far beyond the ability of the seal holder.

Besides: Even if he really had a tiny chance of stopping the Spirit of Vengeance's mutation, he wouldn't do it.

That is the fifth god, the apex of chaos, an enemy more terrifying than the four gods in some ways, and the Lord of Humanity who is thousands of times more powerful than the Seal Holder. When facing it, one can only avoid its edge and try to escape from the enemy as much as possible: its power is far beyond the imagination of the world.

How could the Seal Bearer be arrogant enough to challenge an opponent that even the Emperor has no way to defeat?

The only thing he could do was the safest way.

In many cases, this is also the most effective method.

"..."

At least this time: it was.

When the Spirit of Vengeance came to its end in a duet of destruction and burning, the Master who created all of this with his own hands did not indulge in it: he was too tired, and the Queen of Glory was just a mere ship, far from being the battlefield and focus that he really needed to pay attention to.

While Alpharius, who boasted that he had the Pearl in his grasp, was still immersed in the beauty of destruction, the Sigillite's gaze had already been cast to a higher dimension. To outsiders, he was just looking at the sky silently, but in fact, Malcador closed his eyes tightly, opened his third eye, and listened carefully to the echoes from the deepest part of the subspace.

This time, the Seal Bearer rarely heard too many whispers and wild words: Even though the mighty ones in the four realms had the power to pay attention to thousands of worlds at the same time, now they had put all their strength into one place.

Malcador could not imagine the pressure his lord was facing on the severed Webway.

He had no right to care: he knew that was the task the Emperor had left for the Lord of Avalon.

No one is more qualified than Morgan.

There is another thing that the seal holder needs to focus on.

Malcador looked into the deepest depths: there, he usually heard only deathly silence.

But this time, it was completely different.

Angry whispers, malicious nonsense, trembling fear and gasps, there is no doubt that this is the wrath of a being as powerful as a god, a being that even if it does not have its own mind, is a potential threat that can cause great disasters just by relying on instinct, and it is throbbing with the destruction of the soul of revenge.

Just by sensing its presence, the seal bearer felt his soul aching: but even so, he still smiled with satisfaction.

The corners of his mouth were bleeding, but his smile grew wider.

Become!

Just as he thought!
Malcador's mouth curled up.

No matter what kind of cause the fifth god who has not yet awakened wants to accomplish through Horus.

Whatever it planned to do, or destroy, with the fallen Vengeful Spirit.

Now, it's all just empty talk.

The seal holder used the most brutal but effective means to violently break one of the tentacles extended by the fifth god.

The bond between the Spirit of Vengeance and the Wolf God is too deep, and this cannot be compensated by simply changing a battleship or a name.

There can only be one Vengeful Spirit. Once you lose it, there will never be another.

The sinking of the Spirit of Vengeance symbolized that the Fifth God's corruption over the past decades had come to nothing. Even if Horus could find a more powerful warship, the silent Fifth God would not have any more time to corrupt it: the war was coming, and there would be no long period of time for the next Great Crusade for these masterminds to slowly play out their plans.

This can be clearly heard from the angry roars coming from the deepest part of the subspace.

Malcador had no idea what the Fifth God's plan was.

But he was very sure that no matter how ingenious the plan was, no matter what kind of catastrophe it would bring.

At least this part about the Spirit of Vengeance was erased forever and irreversibly by the Seal Bearer.

The Fifth God's great plan was doomed not to have a perfect result: it was destined to use only a flawed weapon to strike at the fate of the empire.

And this gap, this flaw, this crack in the armour, this notch in the dam: perhaps, this is the opportunity that the Emperor and the Imperium can seize in the future.

This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

When the war began, even if the Lord of Mankind could take action himself, he would not be able to wipe out the Soul of Vengeance as accurately as he did now: wipe out the darkness and threats hidden in the Fifth God.

But Machado did it.

At least, at this moment, he gained a glimmer of hope for the Emperor and mankind.

Yes, the hope is so slim.

Yes, it is so costly.

But like the saying goes.

There is no sacrifice too great to accept.

There is no betrayal so small as to be forgiven.

On the battlefield concerning humanity, the galaxy, fate and gods.

The smallest hope: worth any price.

------

Okay, I made a mistake. It looks like one chapter is not enough to finish Terra’s story. Another chapter is needed.

I may not be able to write it today, so don't wait for the update tonight.