40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 678 60. Delayed Judgment (Twenty-four)
Serafax squatted down and grabbed a handful of so-called soil. The eyepiece's analysis function gave a conclusion after a few seconds: 42% of flesh and blood, 17% of broken bones, and 20% of armor fragments.
But don't think that this is the end. Within the remaining 21%, there are still many mixed substances whose mass is difficult to calculate, such as the poisonous dust distorted by the mixture of poison gas and flesh and blood, or the little metal debris left after the violent explosion at the center of the bombing.

Only when they are completely removed, the little bit of residue left will belong to the "soil" of Terra.

The Dark Angel stood up silently and put the handful of blood and soil into his belt.

According to his not-so-accurate map, he was now almost reaching the entrance to the Himalayan Plateau.

According to data and memories, there are always a large number of pilgrims from all over the galaxy gathering here, and hundreds of camps that can be infinitely subdivided according to religious factions are scattered around this entrance in a disorderly manner.

There is a fortress above them, manned by the Imperial Fists, but they have no business dealings with the pilgrims.

The real person handling the relevant affairs is a bureaucratic team of 2,000 people, specially drawn from Terra's complex administrative system, whose only purpose is to maintain stability.
The power and implications of these four words are terrifyingly huge. Therefore, ten years after the establishment of this team, they built a bridge across the entrance of the plateau in the name of the pilgrims and with their donations. It will allow anyone who comes here later to avoid crossing mountains and rivers and directly reach the prosperous city under the palace.

Of course, Seraphax saw nothing now. The pilgrims, the fortress, the bridge, the sentry post—all these things had disappeared, and even the sky was obscured by a thick layer of dust.

These death elves brought by huge amounts of radiation filled every corner of the air on the plateau, making visibility incredibly low. Even the eyepieces could not help Serafax avoid this difficulty.

He couldn't help but have some pessimistic thoughts.

In such an environment, even if someone was still alive, how could they continue to fight? Even an Astartes would not be able to hold out for long without a helmet. His power armor had warned him about this more than once.

But
Serafax looked to his right front. Fourteen minutes ago, the ground had faintly shaken several times, then paused for a few seconds, and then shook several times again. After tracing the source, he roughly determined the direction from which the vibration came.

The servo core of the power armor gave the possibility of artillery support through computational analysis, but Serafax did not agree with this conclusion.

He believed that the war had reached this point, and even if there were artillery ammunition left, the commander in charge of issuing orders would never ask his gunners to fire a few shots or a few bases according to the tactical manual or the textbooks in the academy.
However, he himself could not tell the truth. So he changed direction and headed towards the direction where the vibration came from. Along the way, the vibration never stopped, but it was still the same rigid interval bombing.

At this point, even Serafax couldn't help but wonder: Could it be that there was really an ammunition depot that was only discovered and activated by a lucky troop until now? Moreover, the commander of this troop still maintained his sanity and superb tactical qualities?

The Dark Angel's previous war experience told him that this was extremely unlikely to happen.

Once the war reaches a white-hot stage, issuing and executing orders becomes a very difficult matter. It is easy for one unit, but if multiple legions are mixed together, the complexity of information will gradually drag everyone into the quagmire as time goes by and the intensity of the war develops. Even the Primarch cannot be completely immune to this influence.
Serafax maintained his suspicion and continued to move forward. He had to raise his hand to wipe the eyepiece every ten meters to prevent the radioactive dust from completely blocking his vision.

The servo motor responsible for the air purification system and the breathing grille has been running at maximum power, and the low whistling sound it emits continues to echo in his ears.

He was like a ghost, walking in a world where flesh and blood turned to mud and ashes floated, his eyes radiating scarlet light - Serafax was almost amused by his own inappropriate sense of humor, and was also surprised that he still had such unnecessary emotions left.

However, when he arrived at the source of the tremors, he lost the ability to speak and even think.

Seraphax did not see an army or a battlefield, but rather a ruin, or a valley, a deep pit left behind by the complete destruction of a city.

There were also some remains of buildings piled up on its edge, as well as on both sides of the valley. Some of the wonders of the artificial mountains on the Himalayan Plateau still remained. From Seraphax's perspective, it looked as if someone had aimed a giant sword that spanned the sky and the earth at this place and chopped it off.
Nothing remains under the sword's blade, and the edge is not very sharp. Many broken "teeth" are still swaying in the dusty wind, calling for the glory of the past.

However, the center of the valley was not empty. A huge object was still there, connecting the two ends of the broken valley with a relatively low and rugged amplitude, just like the connection of a mountain range.

Of course, it didn't look much better. The Gothic spire that was once so dazzling that it reached the sky had already collapsed or broken, and the many weapon arrays mounted on it had also been destroyed. Only the left arm and the plasma incinerator cannon on it seemed to be intact.

It was covered in thick dust, and around it lay the wreckage of many fighter planes, tanks, or armored vehicles. With it as the center, circles of cracks covered the entire ground, filled with corpses, mostly the filthy flesh and blood of demons.

Serafax looked at it in silence, watching it slowly, slowly raise its left arm. The amplitude was extremely small, as weak as an old man on his deathbed. But it finally raised it up, and the creaking sound from the mechanical operation was carried far away by the wind.

Then fall.

Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.

Serafax began to run towards it, gun drawn. He was alert for possible enemies, but he did not slow down. He often jumped over the bottomless cracks.

The ghost joke is back, and this time it seems a little more believable if it's told.

He jumped over the abyss filled with corpses, climbed over the overturned tank, and crossed the empty battlefield - but the tremor came again, and this time it was not as gentle as before. Serafax had to stop and seek cover during this period as if he was dealing with an earthquake.

During this time, dust, mud or other things would completely cover him, which in turn increased the time it took him to approach it. After more than an hour, Serafax finally arrived at his destination with difficulty.

He raised his head, looked at the collapsed mountain range, and unconsciously took a deep breath.

An Emperor-class Titan - or rather, a dying Emperor-class Titan.

Serafax was not one of the Mechanic Priests, and he had no favorable impression of their teachings, but he was still willing to use words like "alive" or "dead" to describe this huge machine. However, there was a new problem before him: the communication channel was still dead silent, with no new message prompts or communication requests, and no response to the active call function he had always turned on.

This either meant that the crew of this Titan was completely wiped out, or that their situation was so dire that they couldn't even receive the communication signal that was so close.

Either way, it's not good news, but Serafax must give it a try - Titans, especially Emperor-class Titans, will only be sent to places where the intensity of war is the highest, otherwise it would be a blasphemy to itself.

No commander would ever tell a Titan crew to go and kill the mutants hiding in the hive or anything like that.

Even if someone is really stupid enough to do this, the Mechanicus will dissuade them. The red priests never leave any room for reason when it comes to such respect issues.

That is to say, even if he could only find a dead crew, he would still be able to get some useful information. If there were still one or two living people, that would be even better.
Serafax lowered his head and began to run along a path under his feet. The ground was rugged, and even though he had reached the foot of the Titan, he had to be careful every time he walked a certain distance. He had no idea how many traps were formed in the collapsed ruins.

And this was just the appetizer, the subsequent climbing was the highlight - yes, Serafax planned to crawl to the core of the Titan little by little, and as long as he remained cautious, this would not be difficult.

But he forgot one thing: this is Terra.

"Stop." A dead, hoarse voice said to him condescendingly. "Put your hands up."

A dangerous buzzing sound followed closely behind.

Serafax tactfully complied without hesitation.

He looked up and found that a faint blue light was emitting from the end of the left leg of the Emperor Titan, which had fallen flat on the ground like a giant bridge. A completely inconspicuous black shadow was staring at him from behind the blue light, only a dozen meters away.

As if he had sensed the Dark Angel's gaze, the shadow did not try to hide his true colors and stood up. He was wearing a heavy gas mask and his clothes were covered in dust.

As he stood up, more shadows appeared from behind him. Serafax took a quick look and found that their uniforms were different and their weapons were varied, ranging from laser guns to various live ammunition weapons.

A temporarily reorganized force?
"Identify yourself, Astartes," the man said again. "In the name of the Emperor's Firebee Legion, I command you."

Serafax introduced himself without hesitation and took the initiative to broadcast an authentication code through the external radio of the power armor. As expected, the other party quickly connected to his power armor through the code.

The blue light faded, and the soldier nodded to him, saluted with the Eagle, and then made an apologetic gesture before disappearing into the darkness again. His companion did the same, remaining motionless on the sacred steel, completely invisible.

Another voice sounded in Serafax's ear, hoarse and tired: "Although I am very happy to meet a cousin at a time like this, how did you get here, Brother Serafax?"

The Dark Angel glanced at the identity code displayed on the upper right corner of the eyepiece, then replied, "I would also like to know how a Blood Angel became the temporary commander of the Firebee Legion, Captain Zefeng."

The man called Zefeng smiled, his tone already slightly amused: "I used to hate your secrecy, but now it seems quite cordial."

"Come on up, brother, but be prepared for battle. The Machine Spirit of the Raging Flame is using its last bit of strength to attract enemies or friendly forces like you for us. We may have to fight a new battle at any time."

That's what I came for, Serafax thought.

He climbed silently onto the left leg of the Blazing Flame and slowly moved upwards.

At the same time, a distant echo reached his ears. It came from a very, very far away place, but it was created by Serafax and was therefore still loyal.

It told him many things, such as the death of Lion El'Jonson, the arrival of an unexpected visitor, and finally, and most importantly.
It is being eroded.

The uninvited guest possessed another kind of power, derived from the bitter winter and the unquenchable wildness. Without Serafax, it would be hard for it to last long.

It doesn't matter, the Chaos Sorcerer whispered to the Dark Angel in a corner of his mind. It doesn't matter how long you can hold out, as long as the victor is reincarnated into the body I have prepared for him, then nothing will matter.

He spoke with confidence, as if he had expected this, but that was not the case. He did not know why Leman Russ came, why he could come, or where his special power came from.
However, since he took the initiative to enter the darkness, he must abide by the rules set by Serafax.

What would a Fenrisian think if he could hear these words? No one knows the answer, but one thing is certain - Leman Russ would sneer at them.

Wolves howled and snow filled the sky. The wolf king of Fenris slowly straightened his back, stretched his muscles, smiled and touched the two giant wolves that were clinging to him.

Opposite him, the hunter who had no intention of fighting and the king with a frown on his face were looking around in amazement.

"What's the matter? Haven't you been to Fenris?" Russ asked with a grin. "This is a great place."

(End of this chapter)