Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 352: Guide (Part )
It was Sigismund.

How fortunate he was to be able to witness the sacred battle between saints!

Geratos was so excited that his whole body was shaking, and the blood-red mist on his power armor and robes trembled slightly with his movements.

However, as a chapter chaplain, he knew more knowledge than ordinary believers, and he immediately realized that there were some things that did not quite fit the description.

As has been the tradition for many years, even if the details of what the Champion sees in his vision vary, in the end, a glorious and terrifying hero will always appear, holding a blazing sword, guiding the Emperor's Champion and showing them the scene of their victory over their destined enemy vividly before them, until the blood pact is finally fulfilled.

But this is not a battlefield.

Geratos noticed the thick red sand on the ground beneath his feet, the surrounding stands, and the armor painted in colors that were both strange and familiar.

Ironheart's battle brothers...? No...? What is that mark...?
When Geratos realized that although many people were not wearing power armor, the styles of the remaining power armor and the meaning of the lightning symbols on them, he turned his gaze in horror to the people walking towards him on the opposite side.

His first reaction was to salute him with a warrior's salute.

But then he realized that this was not the face of the weathered and respected chief captain he had seen on the Everlasting Crusade.

Although they are very similar, almost the same person.

The battle scars that dotted Kahn's entire head and face were not yet as dense as those that Geratos had ever seen, and the first eight golden service spikes that were known to him had not yet left a row of marks above his brow.

This fighter's temperament does not have the experience and calmness accumulated over the years like Chief Captain Kahn. His hair is not short and frosty with wisdom. On the contrary, his scalp is shaved clean, and aggressive metal implants are piercing through his flesh and skull, gnawing at this much younger Kahn. And the eyes of this young Kahn.

Geratos was horrified.

This was the closest thing he had ever seen to the eyes of the chaotic and blood-thirsty evil god.

Only a trace of human clarity still suppressed the bloodthirsty desire inside the skull in the flashing eyes.

Then the priest saw the implant in Kahn's scalp - malevolence - it was such filthy and bloody malevolence that the Black Templar could not help but roar.

What it is? !

The tentacle-like metal braids surged with evil scarlet energy.

Then, Geratos realized with horror that this scarlet color had come from the time he had just killed the number of people on the battlefield of Armageddon...? The eighty-eighth...? The eight hundred and eighty-eighth...? Since then, this scarlet color had always lingered on him, staining his soul, and gradually becoming his indelible emblem and name.

"That was the Butcher's Nail. A creation of the Old Night, and then a powerful promoter of desire and sin."

A hand reached out from the side and brushed off the scarlet cloak on Geratos.

The voice continued to speak in a tone that was neither sad nor happy, but for some reason, Geratos felt a bitter sadness spreading from the tip of his tongue.

"This was the last time I saw 'him' in the fighting pit on behalf of the Seventh Legion. The 'him' who came after that might not have been himself. Of course, he must have seen me the same way."

Geratos couldn't help but murmur his question.

"And you did not point it out to him or pronounce judgment on him at the time?"

"No," the voice replied, "I am not here to judge anyone. I am here to..." He paused, "to understand the truth."

"understand……?"

"Without in-depth investigation and understanding, you cannot declare that you can make a final judgment on anyone or anything. As far as I know, you haven't done this for a long time, right?" "But you swore an oath with your sword nine thousand years ago to carry out the Eternal Crusade and avenge the Emperor! You are the warrior chosen by the Emperor, and so are we, and we will be."

"...Yes." There was finally a hint of fluctuation in the voice.

"I am. I was."

While talking with the shadow of his former hero, in the gladiatorial pit in front of them, Sigismund, who was still wearing the black and yellow armor of the Knights Templar, took off the armor, revealing his energetic body, and walked onto the red sand - then asked Kahn for an iron chain and tied the weapon tightly to his wrist.

Geratos cursed in shock at the reality of what he saw, so much so that he forgot to ask the voice what the words "I was" meant.

"Look," the voice continued, "I know you call this a holy act now, and give its meaning names of devotion and zealotry. But this is how it came to be, in the beginning, so simple, from one of the last gifts left to us by the Red Angel and the World Eaters."

In the red sand fighting pit, hearts pumped blood and the sound of steel clashing could be heard.

Then the scene before them changed again:

Geratos found himself standing on a pile of ruins.

The smell of human blood that filled the air made him groan unconsciously, and the strong impulse of pure and brutal joy began to stir in his cerebral cortex again, cutting off something and making some warm liquid gush out.

Someone sighed softly and seemed to whisper a request to someone else.

Then the blood-red cataracts began to fade from Geratos's vision, he felt a little dizzy, and his tongue was out of control.

"Where am I?"

"Hush." ​​The voice accompanied the priest, making the son of Dorne feel at ease and frightened. "Look."

Geratos looked as he was told.

(This description was banned after it was published, so it’s just some of the wet work done by the Midnight Lords. Please fill in the blanks yourself.)

He saw the steel bars of the building stabbed out from the ruins, the strings of fresh clothes on them were still steaming, exhaling the temperature of death from their mouths. The oil formed from the pile of burning skinless wood in the square was oozing out from the bottom, and the fountain was piled with skin of the victims soaked in the fresh water of themselves.

He frowned at the significance of the horror he saw, the sound of blade against blade drawing his attention.

He turned his head and saw the Lord Templar fighting an unknown Space Marine.

He was wearing midnight armor, towering crimson bat wings and a white tusked skull adorning his helmet, and he held a unique powered halberd.

Hateful heretic!
This will surely be a glorious battle for Lord Sigismund!
But then he realized that Sigismund had not activated the weapon's decomposition field, and neither had the other.

The two men fighting were surrounded by cheering and encouraging people, the yellow power armor of the Imperial Fists mixed with the midnight power armor, their weapons and helmets were hung at their waists - they were still comrades in arms at this moment.

He saw them fighting from midnight till dawn, and from dawn till night, until the first light of the next day struck each other's helmets.

Both sides were immersed in continuous fighting, again and again.

One side has foresight, the other side is gifted, this exquisite and evenly matched battle seems to stretch to eternity.

(End of this chapter)