Emperor's Bane

Chapter 956 Giants Ahead (Part 1)

The attacks of the Dark Eldar are never quiet.

At least for Bayar: that is certainly true.

In this land called Comoros, the Dawnbreakers never need to worry about being attacked suddenly.

Aside from a few elite assassins, the usual targets are monsters called Mandra or Nightmare Warriors. After all, the Dark Eldar generally despise such reckless behavior. Almost every Dark Eldar does not consider "silence" a necessary part of war; on the contrary, they are keen to charge into battle amidst deafening roars.

Facing a massive army of the Dark Eldar is like listening to a symphony in a nightmare: the dull thud of whips and the wailing of slaves rampage through the hellish realm, while the prey of the Lord of Thirst emerge from the hidden depths of the Comoros, rushing headlong onto the battlefield, their slender figures concealing the most ruthless instincts in the galaxy.

The descendants of Comoros crave war; they constantly anticipate sowing the seeds of terror in the hearts of the innocent and leaving behind traces of destruction. They yearn for the fresh flesh and blood that war brings, and they also crave to plunder more slaves to sustain their filthy homeland, in order to satisfy the infamous reputation of the Netdo Netherworld.

But beyond these entertainment needs, there is another, more important reason: the Dark Eldar need pain, need to constantly curse the innocent souls in the galaxy to prolong their pathetic, evil lives. If they cannot satisfy their innate curse with the suffering of others, then when their pitiful souls wither, the Lord of Thirst will mercilessly devour everything they have.

That was a fate that every member of the Dark Eldar feared.

Because they know that compared to the Dark Prince's endless thirst and greed, the torment and cruelty they have left behind in the real universe are nothing but child's play: the Dark Eldar are just a bunch of wretched shadows, but behind them lies the real hell and the abyss.

In order to avoid becoming deeply entangled, and to constantly fill the endless void of depravity and hatred in their hearts, every member of the Dark Eldar will not miss any opportunity to go to the battlefield.

Because the god of hunger is never absent, as long as the children of Comoros are still alive, their withered souls will be constantly devoured and drained. Unless they can use the purest killing to confuse the situation, they will have to endure this torment every moment.

This is why the Comoros Arena, hosted by the Witch Spirits, never has to worry about attendance: for those lowly people who are not qualified to participate in external plunder and can only eke out a living in the shadowy corners of the Dark City, the bloody feast of the arena is not only a necessity for survival, but also an anesthetic to forget the pain.

But no matter how vivid the performance is, it is ultimately less effective than killing and torturing an innocent person with one's own hands.

Therefore, even just to get a brief respite from their innate suffering, tens of thousands of Comorian outcasts would pour out of their lairs, and, incited by the nobles and true sons, charge recklessly toward the imperial army's ironclad defenses.

These pathetic and abhorrent alien waves paid no heed to the cause of the war or the power of the Empire; all they saw were the mighty muscles of the Astartes warriors, which they could use to torture and alleviate their own pain.

Thousands of natives of the Dark City charged forward like sharks drawn by blood, exhibiting an absurd duality: even though they were a group of lowly commoners, they were still Eldar, possessing cold beauty and ethereal figures; even though they were wielding primitive weapons and attacking haphazardly, it still required the Astartes to concentrate all their efforts to resist these ancient remnants of a malignant tumor.

On the other hand, however, there was no trace of the former grandeur and magnificence of the Eldar Empire in these thugs. Their faces were withered from hunger and distorted from disease. They brandished rusty weapons, and most of them couldn't even find a decent suit of armor. But what was truly chilling was their voices: those delicate throats that could once sing the most beautiful songs in the galaxy were now filled with savage and frenzied roars.

Thousands of disheveled Comorian thugs shouted illogical words, completely ignoring their compatriots being constantly knocked down by bombs around them. Their bloodshot eyes were filled with nothing but a thirst for torture and blood. Beside them were equally crazed and savage cyber monsters. These pets of the high-ranking people, their shackles removed, dragged their drooling tongues and swam into the giant waves.

The boiling, churning roars collided with each other, and for a moment it was impossible to tell whether those standing were wild beasts, or what those with sharp snouts and fangs were.

This is the "great army" that the Astartes encountered most often on the Comoros battlefield. The earth-shattering roars and the fierce trampling hooves seemed endless, and behind them often lay the real opponents.

The masked tamers brandished whips, their mouths fitted with complex sonic emitters capable of shattering Astartes' skulls in a single, sudden attack.

The corrupt wolves melted the Imperial army's prized power armor with their toxic crystal pods.

Nightmares, natural disasters, Mandela, debris, witch spirits, twisted abominations, the most troublesome snake people, and the most terrifying jellyfish parasites: any one of these would symbolize the fall of a planet in the real universe, and on the filthy ground of the Comoros, this is just a challenge that must be faced every few tens of minutes.

But the real fear comes from the Bloodlings: when these twisted monsters, long since unrecognizable, watch with amusement as the commoners and Astartes fight on the rear of the battle lines, they often mean that the Dark Eldar have committed their true strength to this attack. They will crush the outer defenses of the Imperial army, and the collapse of the battle will summon even more Imperial elites.

……

When yet another core stronghold falls.

Bayar and his company responded to the call for the seventieth time in forty hours.

They were promised more reinforcements.

……

Just like he said.

The attacks of the Dark Eldar are never quiet.

Before the pale blue psionic teleportation light had completely faded from their sight, the frenzied sound had already reached the ears of every warrior: Bayar and his fellow warriors silently stood up, silently chose their most comfortable weapons, slightly bent their center of gravity, and prepared to join the battle at any moment.

Those who could fight alongside the Spider Queen's finest champion swordsmen were all veterans who had been invincible on the battlefields of the Great Crusade for over a hundred years. They could accurately judge the situation on the battlefield simply by listening to the chaotic sounds: the Dark Eldar army had already invaded very close to them.

The front line is only a few hundred meters away.

This is a very dangerous signal: every core fortress qualified to build a psionic teleportation array is at least a behemoth several kilometers wide, and the psionic teleportation array is the core of these frontline fortresses, and is always placed in a core area that is protected by layers of security.

Now that the enemy has invaded this place, it seems that this fortress is no different from being captured.

Even so, the Dawnbreaker Second Company, which came to provide support, showed no sign of retreating.

Has it fallen?
We'll just take it back.

Sure enough, less than a heartbeat's time after the blinding light of the psionic teleportation array completely dissipated, Bayar spotted his first enemy: a salamander warrior lay dead at the gate a few dozen meters away, with a dark Eldar crouching on his back, enjoying pulling his dagger from the salamander's shattered breastplate.

She wore a revealing suit of tight-fitting bladed armor that offered almost no effective protection. Her slender figure and heavily made-up appearance spoke volumes about her status as a powerful Comorian witch spirit. This ruthless woman, skilled in murder, quickly spotted her opponent. Her narrow eyes met those of the suddenly appearing Dawnbreaker, her pupils showing no fear, but rather the excitement of discovering a new prey.

But before she could even curl her sharp lips into a smile, a cold glint froze her face in time.

Bayar habitually swung his sword, cautiously observing the surrounding situation while bending down to carefully check the fire lizard's breathing until he was sure the resilient man still had a heartbeat. After another heartbeat, the headless corpse of the witch spirit slowly collapsed, seemingly not yet having time to adjust to its death.

The other brothers rushed up to fight, the apothecary began to save the fire lizard that was still breathing, while Bayar moved forward silently like a lynx. He followed the beautiful head of the witch spirit that kept rolling, pushed open the door, and came into the dark corridor outside.

The blood splattered on the walls indicated that the Astartes had not surrendered this place easily, and the corpses of at least seven salamander warriors further confirmed this: the victorious sorcerers had left behind just as many bodies, and four or five Comorian shrews, still alive, were cutting up their spoils on the salamander remains.

In the darkness, the champion swordsman and these elegant, blood-soaked brides gaze at each other.

Both of them gripped their sharp blades tightly.

The next moment, the witch spirits howled, impatiently abandoning their spoils, and surged towards the alluring prey before them. Like vultures pouncing on carrion, they spun and tumbled in the air, twelve sharp blades thrusting down from different directions, their pretty faces filled with predatory, wolf-like expressions. They were incredibly close to each other.

Bayar gripped his blade tightly, seized the opportunity, and leaped forward with astonishing speed.

It's just...too close.

He swung his sword only twice, and six fanatical and beautiful heads fell to the cold floor with a crackling sound.

The soldiers of the second company, armed with swords or guns, their boots stomping on the ground, created a murmur as they quickly followed the champion swordsman's steps. No one was amazed by Bayar's feat, for the deafening shouts of battle from just a wall away had already diverted their attention.

Bayar charged ahead, his hand gripping a sharp blade tightly. Beneath his silent face simmered a raging fury powerful enough to incinerate terracotta: the more corpses and horrific scenes they witnessed along the way, the more terrifying the rage in the champion swordsman's heart grew: until the next enemy appeared thirty meters from the exit.

Bayar did not shout.

He rushed forward.

Like the legendary Kraken monster, who shattered the bow of the warship with a single blow using its enormous fleshy tentacles, the Mandela monster, who chose to confront Bayar head-on, was also knocked to the ground by the overwhelming fury of the champion swordsman. He lost his balance and knelt on the ground in a sorry state, seemingly trying to use his serrated greatsword to support himself as he stood up. But before he could do that, the Dawnbreaker's Chanabal saber tore his throat apart.

As the monster fell, Bayar caught the large sword with his other hand. He used his swaying arm to adjust his center of gravity, turned around, and used the momentum to throw the alien blade, accurately hitting another Mandela who was trying to escape back to the Dark Dimension.

The monster staggered a few steps after being struck in the spine, then lost its strength and collapsed headfirst into its pitch-black sanctuary.

In the few seconds that he stopped breathing, the more than thirty Dark Elven who occupied the entrance had been silently wiped out by the Dawnbreakers: the warriors of the Second Company poured out of the gate and came to the battlefield outside. They didn't even need to adjust to the light, because every corner of the Dark City was equally dark.

Only then did Bayar understand why the battle situation here had deteriorated to such an extent.

As a veteran who had served under the Emperor for over three hundred years, Bayar had never seen so many Dark Eldar and Web Path monsters except for that one time.

With the Primarch above, they may have mobilized tens of thousands of troops to besiege this fortress guarded by only a few hundred fire salamanders.

As an imperial fortress, one can still vaguely discern its former glory: a magnificent, typical Comorian-style spire, its walls, covered in thorns and purple electromagnetic beams, once refracted crystal-like light under the black sun. But now, all of that has been swallowed by raging flames.

The pale flames, like a greedy python, hissed and surged upwards. Even though this imperial fortress, transformed from a spire, was capable of withstanding a barrage of artillery fire, the cunning fire serpent still found a path of invasion. It devoured its way up from the broad foundations until it reached the walls guarded by the Astartes.

While the salamanders were busy dealing with the situation, the Comoros army emerged from the shadows, slicing into the unguarded flanks of Astartes like a blade. Meanwhile, the ancient anti-gravity aircraft, carrying their cruel masters, stealthily made their way to the muzzles of the Vulcans' offspring through winding arches and veil-like mist.

As these arrogant yet skilled assassins overwhelmed the salamanders' defenses with their speed, the endless Comorian army launched their attack. They destroyed the Imperial army's walls and cannons, and wild beasts tore the Emperor's warriors to pieces in a bloody massacre. Arrogant Scourges and Beastmasters soared through the sky, recklessly enjoying the pain and torment of ascending to the heavens.

They could have killed the remaining few hundred salamanders at an unimaginable speed, but instead, they spared these already shattered warriors, leaving them to hold out desperately in their respective fortified strongholds: just to savor the despair and resentment of Astartes.

They did indeed get what they craved.

But at the same time, they also received the silvery blades of Bayar and the Dawnbreakers.

Morgan's sons rushed into the battlefield without hesitation.

The explosions were louder than the howls of wild beasts, and the arrogant natural disasters fell in response, their fragile bodies being crushed to pieces in the stampede.

The slender blades reflected a blinding light in the shadows, and countless disheveled Comorian thugs, like demons from hell, howled as they approached Bayar and his men. Yet, they cowered wildly before this sun-like light, yearning for their filthy heads to be swiftly severed. They leaped high into the air, their filthy bodies still writhing uneasily.

The witch spirits charged into the battlefield in a frenzy, only to be hacked to bloody pieces in their madness: the Dawnbreakers never showed mercy to any of their opponents, and these shrewish women had parts of their armor shaved off by their own hands, revealing their gleaming white skin, which was an excellent target.

Whenever a sharp blade slices through their skin, the witch spirits, proud of their beauty, let out a beast-like howl. They rush towards the Dawnbreakers without hesitation, only to be smashed to pieces by those sharp blades. Some, however, do not even have the chance to perish together with the enemy, and are burned alive to ashes amidst a series of agonizing cries.

The salamanders were no fools. Although their lines were shattered and they were nearly wiped out in the previous battle, these seasoned warriors seized the opportunity presented by the sudden turn of events. Without fear, they grabbed their guns and flamethrowers and stood at a greater distance to provide cover for their more alert comrades.

Despite never having worked together before, Morgan and Vulcan's children got along well.

Although they were outnumbered, their unwavering will and disciplined ranks made up for it. Before the Dark Eldar could react, they had already crashed into the Dawnbreakers' shield wall in droves. Thousands of Comoros thugs stained the ground with their blood. Jellyfish and snakemen fell one after another, and the beastmasters who used to fly through the air were the first to disappear. They either died or fled in disarray to more distant places.

But soon, the Dawnbreakers will realize this.

Sending these howling beast enthusiasts further away is not a good idea.

Because just a few minutes later, a whimpering, muffled beastly sound, and a terrifying roar that seemed completely unlike anything any life in the real universe would utter, instantly shattered the deafening shouts of battle on the battlefield.

The crumbling city walls were pushed down, and the rising dust temporarily obscured the figures of the invaders, but Bayar could still barely make out that there were hundreds of enormous monsters.

The smallest, as bloated as the Terminator.

The largest of them, hidden in the distance, looms majestically like a knight.

"By the Primarch..."

Even Bayar couldn't help but pray at that moment.

Then, he looked to the side.

A fire salamander was standing next to him.

Is this why you asked for help?

"Do not."

The Vulcan soldiers responded with only a wry smile.

"The thing that defeated us... wasn't this small."

(End of this chapter)