Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 295 "Who's there?"

The tail flame of the jumping torpedo roared silently across the almost empty dark void.

Brother Penates of the Sixth Squadron of the Third Company of the Origin Chapter whispered one last prayer to the Golden Throne for the machine soul of his bolter, hoping that the Emperor's blessing would allow him to kill a few more hateful traitors.

His brother Larys was buckled into the seat beside him, also meditating silently. The engines of the torpedoes roared silently in the cold and dark vacuum, sending their two teams towards the Empire. On the ships of the traitors and enemies of Chaos.

——Two hours and twelve minutes ago, their company champions, the brothers Ptolemion Saralon, had already led the six leading gang jumping teams and rushed into this area while taking advantage of the opponent's void shield being overloaded by a sudden attack. A place of evil.

This time the Origin Chapter's ambush on the traitor warship was extremely successful and efficient. The Chapter's think tank immediately monitored the movement in the nearby subspace route - since the Ultramarines gathered all sub-groups eight thousand years ago. Since that attack, which completed the crushing and massacre of the Eighth Legion, the Origin Chapter has been monitoring the planet regularly for eighty centuries without slacking off.

For it is not impossible that the traitor will return, the Slaves of Darkness will always crawl out of the shadows to exact revenge, and the Sons of Guilliman will crush this blasphemous attempt just as they did before.

They are the eternally vigilant sentinels of the galactic frontier.

With a unique intuition, Penates felt that they should be arriving soon, and the readings displayed on the auspicious device of the Tiaobang torpedo indeed indicated that they had flown to the visual distance of both sides. In a void battle, this was almost It's no different than sticking one's face on one's face.

He tightened his grip on the weapon, and the power armor machine spirit began to monitor his physical condition and surrounding environment more frequently, suddenly.

The sergeant brother who led them roared.

Penates nodded, grateful that his helmet did a good job of hiding his look, which must have been terrible.

"What's wrong with you? Brother Penates."

"Is it that weird dizziness again?" Laris asked with concern, "Our master of pharmacy failed to find out the cause. Maybe when we finish this battle and return to the monastery to rest, you can apply for a trip to the library. For a place on the Raghu pilgrimage, I can seek help and guidance there. The think tank masters and pharmacy masters of the Ultramarines should be able to find a way."

"No, I'm fine. Thank you for your concern, brother."

Suddenly, the hands on the invisible clock jumped to the next second smoothly, and Penates found that he was still sitting on his fixed seat, with Laris and the other eighteen brothers staring closely at him. He, his power armor's built-in health monitoring system showed that his various hormones and biochemical indicators suddenly reached a terrible peak one second, but now they have begun to fall back to normal levels.

After all, Laris was blasted into a mass of scarlet and pink in the vacuum before his eyes ten seconds ago...

An astonishing picture flashed across his retinas like a meteor: the metal bulkhead of the torpedo was suddenly penetrated by some kind of heavy individual rapid-fire weapon, and then the continuous pouring firepower smashed it into pieces, and the vacuum of the universe became ruthless. The ground outwards absorbed the soldiers with scarlet power armor and their lives. In the cold, silent black air, the torpedo he was riding on completely exploded and turned into large and small fragments. As they separated and disintegrated, those final explosions rippled. It can launch him and others at high speeds like cannonballs towards the rusty and dirty hull of the Cursed Echo. Their flesh and blood explodes like cannonball fireworks and is instantly turned into crystal pink powder by the low temperature in the vacuum——

"For the Emperor, for Guilliman—"

"Contact is about to happen, the front melt cutter is ready to open, three, two, one!"

I will apply to go to Macragge when this battle is over.

Penates put aside other distracting thoughts, put his finger next to the trigger, and waited attentively for the moment when the landing door opened. ————————

Ptolemion Saralon is no stranger to the evil heretics of the Eighth Legion who have been notorious for thousands of years. In the honorary exhibition hall or library of the Origin Chapter, many battle records and historical records shine brightly for him. It is open to all new stars, and he can freely read it, learn from it and absorb the knowledge to fight against the empire's enemies, strengthen his mind, and make himself more unshakable.

Therefore, he had no premonition about what he might suffer if he did not die in a glorious battle but was captured alive by the opponent - vivisection, skinning alive, being cut into pieces with thousands of cuts, decomposing people into Immortal organs and lumps of flesh and blood, etc., all of this can even turn into painful torture that lasts for several days with the use of chemicals and the opponent's cruel and precise methods.

All these tortures were not something that frightened the stoic Emperor warrior and Son of Guilliman, but what made Ptolemion feel the most disgusting when he read it was that the chapter's records clearly stated Mentioned that some traitors of the Eighth Legion, especially those corrupted ones who carry a large number of skulls, blood seals and chant the name of a specific enemy, will dig out the victim's gene seeds from their bodies and regenerate them bloody. Eaten - In some cases witnessed on the battlefield, they cannot even wait for the loyal victim Astartes to die completely.

The thought of his own gene-seed, the Chapter's precious continuation and property, might be swallowed into the mouths of a Chaos Space Marine, chewed, swallowed, and reduced to a useless blob of nutritional slime in the acidic saliva and internal stomach. Lemion felt a wave of nausea welling up in his heart, but this must not be discovered by the traitor's interrogators or anyone. He must absolutely conceal his feeling.

If his disgust is discovered, the champion of the Origin Chapter is very sure that this group of scum with no limits will drag him out and hang him on a meat hook, and take out the gene seeds from his body. Forcing him to watch them eat it.

------

Well, with this terrifying and documented impression as a premise, it's no wonder that the company champion was filled with doubts when he woke up in his cell.

First, he checked himself a little, and it was no surprise that the power armor and other things had been taken away. But surprisingly, he had all four limbs, his facial features were intact, and there were no signs of surgery on his neck or chest. He sat up against the wall and touched his neck with lingering fear - there, he remembered, there was something - ghostly, inhuman, pricking the needle in. He now felt that it should be a large amount of anesthetic. , but even his excellent vision after genetic modification could not capture the other party's appearance.

What exactly is that? So quickly, as if appearing out of thin air, some kind of inanimate being driven by a Chaos Wizard?

Someone chuckled in the darkness.

The loyal Astartes sprang to his feet alertly, moving defensively.

"A very standard starting point for Macragge's holy book fighting skills... Where did you train? Calth? Thalasa? Or Macragge?"

"Who's there?"

"..."

(*(hissing sneer) Your idea is ridiculous, I don’t think...)
"Just watch."

A little light came on in the completely dark cell.

Ptolemion uttered an indescribable cry.

(End of this chapter)