40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 728 20. Catching the Eagle (VI)

Many times had Fulgrim stood in orbit and gazed upon his homeworld.

Mother planet, what a unique concept, isn't it?

People are always accustomed to poeticize and beautify it, giving it all kinds of warm concepts that only exist in memory and imagination, and even changing its name to "she" - the mother planet, the mother, the great land that nurtures everyone.

What if we put all that aside and look at her from a rational perspective? Then, I'm afraid there's nothing special about her. In the end, people will realize that she's just a giant ball of stone.
But, in the final analysis, human rationality cannot overcome emotion.

What was the motivation of the first primitive man who dared to walk out of his cave in the dark and stone the stray beast to death? Anger caused by extreme fear? The courage to take a risk to save the children of the tribe?

Maybe both, but these things are irrational. They transcend the scale of gain and loss. They have no weight in themselves, but they are enough to make countless people willingly break into pieces.
Mother planet.

Fulgrim gazed upon her, watching her suffer and perish in the green hell.

She used to be very beautiful. After the ecological environment was rebuilt, she has always had large areas of oceans, forests and land. The power of technology has restored these things that took billions of years of natural evolution to their original state in just a few hundred years.

Fulgrim still remembered the moment when he announced to the post-rebellion Chemosians who had spent several generations on the ship that the transformation of their home world was over, and now everyone could return to Chemos, get down to earth and live a good life.
In that instant, the huge battleship was filled with crying and shouting from beginning to end, and people celebrated each other with tears and hugs, happy and sad.

These people had never actually seen what Chemos looked like before, nor had they ever lived on land. Their knowledge of Chemos was limited to the stories and legends passed down from their ancestors.

But even so, they fell deeply in love with the strange planet they had never seen before.

Sensibility. Supernatural sensibility.

Fulgrim raised his hand so that a servitor sent by Cawl could dress him in a new suit of armour, one that had been crafted only twelve minutes earlier and brought here to be presented to one of the Primarchs.

It has deep purple and burning gold, exquisite, but not the fragile beauty of a work of art that you dare not touch. Every line and every detail is so reliable that it feels like it is speaking with its humming reactor and tense muscle fibers.

I will protect you. This armor promises so. I will protect you until I am utterly destroyed.

Fulgrim closed his eyes, taking in the feeling, as Cawl spoke to him through the sound device on the servitor's neck.

"If you feel any discomfort, please be patient. It was just born from a production line twelve minutes ago. I did not pray, bless, smear oil on it, and proclaim the power of Ohm Messiah according to our tradition. However, although it is my temporary design, I also think it can definitely bring you some help."

Fulgrim opened his eyes, clenched his fists gently, and felt a strong response.

"Did you name it?"

He asked this, completely ignoring certain facts revealed by the great sage in his words.

It took only twelve minutes to create a suit of power armor suitable for the Primarch? Who would believe such a thing? Belisarius Cawl must have studied the relevant knowledge a long time ago.
"No, sir, I don't usually name my experimental works."

"Then I'd like to do it for you."

“This is your right.”

The servitor bowed, raised his hands, and held up a helmet. It had an iron mask that belonged to the old MK2 power armor, but the details were more sharp, and the eyepiece had lit up, casting a bright silver light.

Phoenix picked it up and put it on slowly. The servitor turned and left, returning to its sleeping cabin without any movement, which meant that Belisarius Cawl had temporarily left the gunship.

Fulgrim lowered his head and made a brief connection with the eyepiece observation system of the power armor. He still felt a warmth, as if the armor really had a stubborn soul, constantly swearing to him, telling him, I will protect you.

You are so thoughtful, Phoenix thought.

He smiled and turned to the right side of the gunship, where a weapons display stand was placed, on which a two-handed sword that was huge even for a Primarch was quietly waiting.

Phoenix reached out and grasped it, stroking it as the gunship plunged into the atmosphere, and finally lifted it up.

There was a hum, and the disintegration field suddenly lit up, but Fulgrim did not press any trigger. So, either Cawl had designed it with some dangerous automatic sensing design, or it had the same nascent consciousness as his new armor.

Phoenix held it close to himself and saw his own reflection in the mirror-like blade. After a few seconds, he lowered his arm, letting the blade cut gently, and the force field closed with it.

It had no sheath, but that suited him just fine.

He came to the rear of the cabin, reached out and pulled the lever to open the tail. A strong airflow poured into the gunboat, blowing the seat belts on the empty seats up and down, hitting the steel with a bang.

Fulgrim stood firm and the magnetic lock opened automatically. He straightened his back and stared at the clouds ten thousand meters in the sky.

The disaster began around noon, and now it was evening, and the scene of fire that he had seen countless times on Eagle's Wings was replaying before him.

This time, the clouds were much thinner and the ground was even more devastated. All I could see were ruins and scorched earth.
Fulgrim waited patiently.

The gunboat continued to descend, and the air current became stronger, making the collision of the seat belts louder. The setting sun was as red as blood, radiating its glory at the far end of the horizon.

A warning suddenly sounded from within the gunboat, informing Fulgrim in a mechanical tone that the Ardent Zeal was about to launch a thorough bombardment of the vines that covered the surface of Chemos.

Fulgrim had discussed this matter with Cawl twenty minutes ago. The great sage thought his suggestion was radical, but he had obviously underestimated the Phoenix. "I want you to gather as many survivors as possible and then cleanse the entire surface."

Fulgrim smiled behind his helmet as he recalled his words.

The sky was bright, and a huge, almost pure, incandescent white light descended from the sky, piercing through the clouds accurately with a sound like an earthquake. Despite such a terrifying momentum, Fulgrim did not dodge, and even took a few steps forward, came to the edge of the cabin and stared down. When he saw everything clearly, his smile turned into complete calmness.

Aggressive tactics paid off. Very good.

He didn't care whether the city would be closer to complete destruction because of the bombing. He only knew that Belisarius Cawl would strictly implement this tactic - unless he was sure that the survivors in a city had been completely evacuated to a safe area, the bombing of the city would never begin.

Besides, they had already been destroyed since the vines came out of the ground, causing the earth to crack, the buildings to collapse, and the dams to collapse. This destruction was inevitable.

No matter, we will rebuild them one by one.

Fulgrim took another step forward, holding his sword, and leaped, falling from thousands of meters in the air. He did not carry a parachute or any other device to slow down his descent. He only had a sword, a set of armor, and himself - and that was enough.

He straightened his body in the air, adjusted his posture, and dived towards a vine that had been torn apart by artillery fire. After dozens of seconds, the giant sword pierced deeply into the surface of the vine and fell down.

Fulgrim came to a complete stop a minute later, by which time he had reached the vine's base above ground.

He pulled out the sword and swung it gently. The heat generated by the high-speed friction made its dark surface infinitely close to a true crimson color, hissing in the air.

He took a step back, stood on the bricks and rubble, raised his sword, and used two slashes to create a gap at the root of the vine that allowed him to enter, and jumped in without hesitation.

It was dark inside, but that was not a problem for him, as he could clearly see the interior of the giant vine - he had thought it would be full of disgusting juice and insect eggs, and that was indeed pretty much the case.

The interior of the vine was filled with many things that looked like human intestines, hanging from the unreachable height to the bottom. Fulgrim looked down and saw countless white egg sacs hanging at the end of them, swaying slightly, swaying with the breeze that came from nowhere.

Seeing this, he couldn't help but smile again, pointed his sword downward, and leaped again.
The giant sword destroyed some of them easily, and things flew everywhere. Some were larvae that had not yet taken shape, and some were Chemos people who had died long ago. These corpses fell down and fell among the dense white egg sacs, and the surfaces of the egg sacs that were breeding insects began to swell.

Fulgrim sighed softly, bent his knees slightly, landed steadily, and waved his great sword to destroy these nightmare things.
However, no matter how he chopped, pierced, or simply smashed them whole with the blade of his sword, even though the fragments of egg sacs and larvae began to accumulate, they seemed to show no sign of decreasing at all.

Fulgrim could not help but miss the flames he had once controlled - and yet, somehow, the thought of them made him more determined.

He continued to swing his sword, patiently looking for the weak point of the "tree" like a woodcutter. He became calmer and his strikes became more precise, and he knew that something would soon come to stop him.
Whether by intuition or rational reasoning, he knew that they would come.

He is right.

Soon, accompanied by a high-speed chirping sound typical of insect wings, a group of giant rot flies appeared above his head. As soon as they appeared, they swooped down and rushed straight towards him, seemingly not caring about the greatsword in Fulgrim's hand.

In response to this courage, Phoenix killed four of them in one go with a single clean strike.

The other eight seemed to realize that something was wrong and immediately circled up. Their disgusting and hideous mouthparts began to move, and after a few seconds, some kind of tender green liquid with a strong stench flew out of their mouths and shot towards the Phoenix.

Seeing this, the latter simply thrust the giant sword downwards, then spun around, carrying the chopped egg sacs deeper into the vines.
Flies buzzed violently around the gap, their compound eyes fixed on him, but Fulgrim just sneered coldly.

He knew these things would not harm the egg sacs.

But he will.

In front of them, standing in a hell of egg sacs and corpses, he began to swing his sword, swinging it wildly. He was reckless, as if he was drunk, and wherever he walked, the edge of the great sword exploded.

This extraordinary weapon created an indescribable style in his hands. Although it was huge in size, it was incredibly agile. Each rotation was extremely fast, and the power of its slashing or stabbing was unparalleled.

Speed ​​and strength, slashing and stabbing - the four most basic elements were used to perfection by Fulgrim.

Gradually, he stopped caring about what the flies were thinking and just focused on pouring out his confused thoughts and complex emotions into swinging his sword.

His slashes were hatred, his footsteps were the death knell of revenge, but his heart was as cold as ice, and every beat was unusually calm - he hated everything in front of him, but he was far away from madness.
Fulgrim did not think that he could have done it on his own. He felt that the answer might lie in the scimitar that Khalil had given him.

Fear, he thought. What am I afraid of?

Many things came to his mind. The death of the Scion, the bloody Angron, the frozen face of Horus and the bloody hammer in his hand.
Past events came back to him, and Fulgrim thought he had let them go, but he was clearly wrong.

He didn't let go, he just escaped temporarily. The Emperor helped him avoid certain costs, but what did that have to do with him? He didn't rely on his own strength to take revenge, nor did he get rid of that madness with his own hands.

I had to conquer it myself. But first, I had to face it.

Amid the screams of the flies, Fulgrim raised his sword with both hands and smashed it down fiercely. Mucus splattered, and the fat white bodies of the larvae were crushed into pieces and scattered everywhere, while the world beneath his feet suddenly became empty.

A strong damp wind blew from beneath his feet. Fulgrim looked down and saw a complex and intricate cavern, covered with moss and tiny vines.
Okay, great.

He landed heavily, the greatsword in his hand cutting deeply into the ground, raising a puddle of dust. Fulgrim raised it, stared at its spotless surface, and suddenly nodded solemnly and seriously.

"I will call you the Eternal Scourge." He whispered, as if he was signing a contract with it. "We will become their eternal scourge."

The giant sword hummed, as if in response.

Fulgrim laughed softly, lowered the sword, and dragged it toward the place where this disaster had begun and would end.

He couldn't wait any longer.

(End of this chapter)