Warhammer 40: Shattered Steel Soul

Chapter 403 Hunter
“He does not require us to repay our debt to Him, so those who believe they can purchase His forgiveness have nothing to do with this unconditional gift.”—The Book of Lorgar

Leon El'Jonson stood in the flowing blood and drew the sword backwards.

The alien flesh and blood reluctantly retained his long sword, and the blood overflowing from the countless wounds deep inside formed a pool of blood that was still spreading, covering the boots and splashing onto the golden and red inscriptions on his pitch-black armor. , moistening the beast fur on his shoulders - this fur once belonged to a real living creature, not an inanimate creature directed from a culture tank.

Finally, blood splashed on his blond hair that fluttered with his movements in the hot air of the battlefield, and then fell from the ends of his hair.

"Ho--" A layer of something similar to the vocal cords inside the alien body trembled with a long and painful cry, overflowing from the severed head shell, causing its milky-white tentacles and transparent glass-like carapace to tremble weakly.

Then, the lion's prey fell completely, and the brilliance flowing on its body dimmed instantly.

There was not a clear word in its heretical call, but Leon understood the message it conveyed: No. it says. No.

Leon didn't even blink once. Since he landed on the ground, he has never exposed that he can feel alien thinking.

His rational brain had quickly informed him of the reason for this. Although the aliens that fell in front of him were often larger than the Caliban beasts he had faced, in terms of being intelligent beasts, the Randan aliens were so similar to the Caliban beasts, and the story they unfolded The expedition is also similar to the knights' hunting of giant beasts.

If he could understand the whispers of the forest that spoke to him, there was no reason why he couldn't understand the alien sobs of Randan.

The deeper their conquests went, the closer they came to the core of the alien empire, the more he became aware of it all.

But he is no longer the king of lions in the forest. He has long been promoted to the commander of the First Legion. The unnecessary understanding of the aliens will become part of the secret, rather than being used by others to doubt Leon El'Jonson. excuse for loyalty and ability.

prey. This is the only identity that the Randan alien can obtain in front of Leon El'Jonson.

After all, he had already learned from intelligence that the Space Marines could hardly understand these dissociated and ethereal sounds originating from the aliens.

His eyes swept over the surrounding scene, overlooking the center of the battlefield. The black armor of the Dark Angels was dripping with sticky blood clots and dark juice. Some warriors inevitably fell, but more were still standing, alert to hidden attacks that might suddenly appear around them.

Sometimes, inside the leather layer they stepped on, the newly born alien shape would break through the flesh and shoot upwards. The tight gelatin membrane covered its outside like the body membrane of a fetus, and quickly fell off when it came into contact with the air. , allowing the alien to grow up in just a few seconds. They must quickly destroy their enemies before they can grow to maturity.

"It's not dead." Leon announced in a low voice, refusing to explain the reason for his judgment. The Primarch of the Dark Angels held a long sword dripping with blood and walked down from the low hill made of alien flesh, sensing the hidden vitality.

His warriors stood silent as he passed them, ready to swoop from their prepared stance and rip apart any alien cub that attempted to attack anyone. Their prey is not completely dead yet.

Leon could smell the aura of death that was on the verge of landing, but was still blocked by a trace of life. Yes, only a trace of it still survives in the depths of the flesh and blood tissue that covers an area of ​​more than 300,000 square miles. The remaining consciousness barely inhabits the flesh and blood that is becoming deactivated and festering in pieces, hiding here and there. …

Another prey on the loose, he thought indifferently. This was the prey of the Dark Angel, but not entirely his.

It was powerful, but not powerful enough to challenge the limits of a Primarch and to be hunted by Leon El'Jonson himself.

over there--

Leon stopped suddenly, a trace of anger flashing across his noble face.

This was not his own voice. Who was it this time, conveying this evil advice to him through a distant vibration?
This was not the first time he heard it. In the low-Earth orbit of the last planet, when the Dark Angel was hunting Randana's iconic plankton ship, he also heard this high-level guidance. Not through language, but through consciousness itself that transcends the limitations of words, it suddenly echoed in his heart.

Shoot it in the eyes, all the eyes.

The voice said, weaving its message back into the fabric of language, and after reappearing in Gothic, the lion decoded the message. He accomplished it with such familiarity that perhaps there are few others in the entire galaxy who are as familiar with how to recast sensitive perception and experience into blunt language in endless combinations.

Even though he understood the other party, Leon still chose to ignore its voice.

He later discovered that when the damage to the open blood-red eyeballs on the two pairs of wide wings of the biological ship exceeded about 70%, its wings would indeed suddenly lose the ability to fire laser cannons without any connection, and even lose defense. The void force field fell off under the bombardment of the naval gun.

The voice told the truth.

An untrustworthy inducement, like a poisoned piece of meat placed in a trap by the Calibans. Maybe the first piece is not poisonous, but the poison in the second and third pieces is definitely not pleasant.

over there……

The voice sounded quietly for the second time. Leon pursed his lips and stepped over the uneven broken bones on the ground with a gloomy expression. His offspring would interpret his brief pause as the Lion's secret thoughts, but he still felt the discomfort of being harassed. He turned around abruptly, refusing to obey the voice.

The Dark Angels looked at him, waiting for his next order. The Lion King's sharp gaze swept over each of their faces, examining their thoughts through the rising blood mist.

"Return to orbit," he said, "the ground threat and air defense system have been eliminated, and small-scale orbital bombing has been launched to avoid affecting the task team on the back of the planet."

His warriors moved into action, and Leon El'Jonson's decision was sound and unquestionable.

Of course, if someone were so bold, Leon hoped that his reaction would not reveal his current annoyance in any form of action.

The information was sent to the briefing room inside the orbiting ship, and the troops began preparing to retreat. In the upper dark gray atmosphere, tiny flashes of gold filaments were looming, and the long-awaited aircraft was about to pass through the thick smoky clouds and descend like black lightning.

I have not deceived you, it whispered, I have not told you lies.

Ah. Leon thought. Get out of my head.

How can you trust me? It said, followed by a quiet anxiety.

Then, the emotion conveyed by that voice became soft and painful. In that leisurely and distant call, there was the sound of corroded and burned breath, as well as some vague and grotesque illusions.

Trying to incorporate those illusions into a language system made Leon seem to have returned to the early days of his life, when his understanding of things remained in an extremely simple state. He now knew that the knight named Luther patiently held his hand Lifting up, he repeated over and over as a rush of air passed between his fingers, "Wind," he said, "This is the wind."

Leon El'Jonson put the long sword back into its scabbard. There was a soft sound when the sword grids collided. The ruby ​​weight ball echoed with the dark red blood stained on his body. A spiritual shield is built silently.

When he was in Caliban, he innately knew how to use spiritual power to resist the invasion of some non-physical aspects. But this time, his defense didn't work. He and it reached a balance of power on some level.

The voice was silent for a moment, but he knew it was still there.

After a moment, it spoke again.

Well, Primarch, you must know that there are countless internal hatreds within a group without external influence. We have some common enemies...

I don't work with aliens. Leon said coldly.

I... The voice was silent, which made Leon's heartstrings seem to have some fleeting connection with its existence. A sore touch cut through his skin like claws, along his arms. Up, then down against your back. This warning of danger gradually began to stir Leon's anger, and at the same time, his uneasy feelings expanded equally. He realized that he had lost control of his emotions, and that his proud rationality was disturbed by the presence of this voice.

If the source of this sound is never eliminated, the fatal feeling will sooner or later make him frustrated.

Leon's hand once again grasped the hilt of the sword that was sheathed.

"Sir," Houguyin walked towards him, "we should prepare to retreat."

Leon glanced at his men, "You go first. Give me an aircraft."

He knew that today was the day when one of the Emperor's envoys, the craftsmen of the old night, visited the Wandering Temple. If he returned now, he could catch up with the brief meeting that unfolded in the overflowing fragrance - but compared to going there Instead of completing a boring meeting that could only be done by an adjutant or a company commander, he would rather spend the time meeting the Emperor's emissaries achieving real merit.

Huqu'in greeted him and began to lead the Dark Angels in their evacuation.

Leon closed his eyes and waited until the eagle-like aircraft descended in front of him with plasma flames and strong wind pressure. The image of the Holy Grail, one of Caliban's relics, is painted on the outside of the Stormbird's armor, glimmering in the mists of oil, blood, and the ashes of fire on the battlefield.

The Lion climbed the ramp of the Stormbird, his blood-stained cloak and robe falling heavily behind him.

tell me where you are. Leon El'Jonson said to the voice in his mind emotionlessly.

You won't see me today, Primarch, we... I'm hundreds of planets away.

It spoke, and its voice was as soft as a long and elegant murmur, existing in some vague memory.

Leon nodded calmly, discerning the truth of its words. Somehow, he already knew that the other party was not lying. This uncontrollable subjective assumption made him determined to kill the other party.

So, the tone conveyed by the lion's relaxed thoughts added a little wavering to his hint, where is my escaped prey?
It fell into silence for so long that Leon was not sure whether the other party had doubts about him. Fortunately, not long after, the voice answered him.

On the back side of the planet, it said, board your...vehicle, and I will help you find our enemy.

Did you find the bait you gave me? Leon answered sharply, challenging the voice and carefully discerning the feedback he could get.

Leon El'Jonson's real hunting has begun, and finding out the habits of his unique prey will be the first step to completing the hunt.

...You can think of it as, the original body.

Said the lion's prey.

-

"Meet the throne, really," Jack said angrily, venting his annoyance on the few small aliens they had just hunted, putting the stomping function of his boots to full use. "The position of the fifth man in our team is simply cursed! Another sacrifice, really? Is this reasonable?"

Hashem did not stop him or correct the Luna Wolf's inappropriate remarks about the curse.

The Word Bearer sat down above the bloodied alien skeleton, his gray armor creaking.

Hashem silently recited some scriptures and their insights in his heart, silently praying that the souls of the deceased would go to the throne of Terra instead of being taken away by the Randan alien.

In the wars over the years, the Legion has never publicly stated where the warriors devoured by Randan have gone, but the Astartes are not living beings without inspiration and understanding of the spiritual environment.

No matter what, the way to escape lies within the bolter in their hands, and their comrades under the control of the alien will rejoice in their own death.

"In death you serve," Yuri once preached to the Word Bearers in the Wandering Temple. "Aliens have their filthy sanctuaries after death, but we will return to the throne. Since the beginning Ultimately, we are under His mercy and we are in Him.”

Kroger shook off his gauntlet: "They have not gotten along well with us, and the battles we face are becoming more and more dangerous. Death is not a small probability event. Your temper has not been good recently, Jack."

"Oh, okay, okay, we are all the same, aren't we?" Jack adjusted his helmet and was silent for a few seconds to recover. "At least we saved his body this time."

He paused for a second, "Barela is probably one of the few Halhabat who can actually put something in your resting place cemetery, right?"

"The Hall of Hindsight, there is a name there, Jack." The priest of Muristan said quietly. Even though the deceased had argued with him for three consecutive missions during his lifetime, he still respected the other party's sacrifice.

After finishing speaking, Hashem calmed down and felt whether there was any danger lurking in the surrounding psychic environment, especially inside the biological ship they were sitting under.

There is always a lingering sense of oppression on the surface of these planets. The afterimages of countless creatures whisper in their ears one after another, emitting shapeless and broken songs. After the Randan aliens attached to the surface of the planet are eliminated one by one, These voices suddenly turned from leisurely tranquility to mourning for the ruined fate, like the cold wind wandering in the lost paradise, telling the despair that was about to dissipate.

Soon after, his helmet turned slightly: "Without a large-scale call, we can prepare to evacuate."

"It seems that the angels' hunting was quite successful," Jack murmured. "They finally cleared the nerve nodes on the plain. After all, it was the original body who led the team, wasn't it?"

"We got a sample." Hammer said, holding a glass culture jar sealed with metal in his hands.

This is a silent flesh and blood sample they took out from the inner side of a closed abdominal cavity of a biological ship. The shape is somewhat similar to the Randan biological ship itself. It may be their prototype or cub, or the one that cultivates invading aliens. Prototype, no one knows. As for the remaining samples, they have all been destroyed.

"Barela got it." Hashem said softly, stood up, bypassed some alien skin holes damaged in battle and natural weathering, walked towards Hammer on the slope of the belly of the biological ship, and walked from Iron Warrior Hammer's He took the glass jar in his hand and held it up to his chest, "We are walking on divergent roads, but we are all warriors of the Emperor."

"It's so rare," Jack said with a smile, "to hear you two groups forgive each other."

Hashem turned back: "This is not forgiveness, my friend. Even though our arguments never stop, we still need to remember that He alone is above and everyone below is equal. From the Astartes to the Auxiliaries, to Mortals who are loyal to Him, we have no right to judge each other, and forgiveness is out of the question. Yes, we will never rain fire on the bodies of the lost like they did, but we respect their merits-"

"Hashem!" Jack exclaimed.

The glass jar held in the Word Bearer's hand suddenly shattered, and the silent alien flesh and blood seemed to be injected with some kind of vivid consciousness, reviving without warning. The bone blade generated in an instant pierced the link under the Space Marine's helmet, Red blood spurted out instantly.

Hashem stepped backward, fell backwards without any force, and fell into the hole that was not covered by the surface film of the biological ship.

Kroger suddenly stood up, and the hand cannon's crosshairs chased Hashem's body with the fastest reaction speed, but the cannonball still missed the falling Word Bearer.

"Go find him." He immediately ordered, "Kill him."

(End of this chapter)