Warhammer: Start with a dog.

Chapter 803 I am...
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"We shouldn't go in. Waiting for the others to gather before making any decisions is the most sensible choice."

Horus Lupecal could never have imagined that he would one day offer such… cautious advice to an Astartes. (This was certainly not influenced by any weak mortal constitution!)
Perhaps if it were Loken, or even the Iron Lord himself, he would agree with the suggestion that "since the Terra Glory is such a big target and will be discovered by the landing team sooner or later, we should just hold the gate and wait for reinforcements."

But it's a pity.

He now only has one Astartes by his side.

This Astartes' name was Lucius.

What he didn't know was that this was Lucius, who was now ten thousand years later and whose future was unknown—a man who had been raised in the Wandering Port and was brimming with confidence (?).

and so……

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"Don't make a sound!"

Lucius casually stuffed Horus from Euphrates's body into a piece of detached armor plaque.

"Wait until I call you before you come out!"

Damn it! He's playing the hero now!
...What's the use of this?! If you hadn't insisted on coming in, how could we have encountered such a disadvantageous situation?!

Horus, inwardly cursing his completely unreliable nephew, was squeezed between the bulkhead and the pipe space behind it, listening intently to the sounds of fighting outside—

At first, as they circled the unfortunate flagship, which appeared to have landed belly-down and plunged into the ground, they did find some things that could serve as waypoints.

"This should be part of the passageway on the lower deck behind the command deck, right next to the gun room," Horus announced, straightening up as he revealed the findings of his examination of the fragment before him.

They were now standing on the side of the warship, where a side cannon had fallen from above, forming a ramp that could barely allow the two of them to climb up. At the end of the ramp was the cannon's original gun room.

However, the violent impact had twisted the ship's internal structure beyond recognition, and the damage and impact force scattered its contents everywhere.

Amidst the deadly, massive weapon structures lay decaying clothing or sheets; among the wreckage of a subspace antenna was someone's suitcase, its contents long gone, hanging empty at the top, swaying in the breeze, covered in black mold.

“I didn’t realize you were so knowledgeable about Imperial Navy ships,” Lucius said with surprise, his body language revealing a change in his attitude. “So, if we climb in from here, how far is it to the bridge?”

"From here... it's not too far. I remember... I mean, I remember the drawing. If this is the gun room, then further in is the armory. Then go up, and there's a passage that leads to the central main road. If you keep going straight along the central main road, you'll pass through a few guard checkpoints before you reach the bridge's command deck door."

"Sounds simple!"

“But we have absolutely no idea what the interior of a ship would actually be like after it was wrecked,” Horus pointed out. “The passageways would typically become some kind of maze after a crash.”

"Hmm...that's true, but what if the maze isn't covered?"

Horus stared silently for a moment at the huge, corroded hole on the ship that Lucius had pointed out.

"Okay. I have one last question."

Before reluctantly being dragged into the gun room by the enemy, Horus asked, "Why do you insist on going to the command deck?"

“Because I heard a call that was very familiar but didn’t belong to me,” Lucius replied. “I think that’s where the problem lies.”

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Initially, their walking expedition did not encounter any major problems.

As long as you can manage to ignore the sewage, the patches of black blankets and ribbons of mold, the swarms of flies and the stench, you can simply climb the rusty steel tunnels carefully and hope they don't tear your protective suits, and then you can move on.

In the decaying parts of the ship's hull, a faint breeze, seemingly from nowhere, whistled through the twisted passageways and halls, like the ominous whispers of a critically ill patient or a dying person.

"I say," Horus couldn't help but speak after pushing forward for a while with his head down, enduring the constant din that made him feel like something might burst out at any moment. "Don't you think something's off about these things?"

Lucius stopped and turned his gaze to the direction Horus was pointing.

It was a section of the warship's bulkhead, which was probably where pipes and instrument panels met, but now it showed a damp, bluish-black patch that at first glance looked like just a thick buildup of fungus.

But upon closer inspection, the pipes revealed an unusual milky-white translucency and a slippery, bulging texture, unlike the metallic appearance they should have. The dashboard, which had seemed normal in the dim light, now appeared to have buttons and other components that had taken on a strange, biological hue—a dark yellow and purplish-red—and their shapes seemed…

Lucius tapped the dashboard.

The watch face, which should have been hard and transparent, was dented softly by his poking.

Horus felt Euphrates's golden hair stand on end inside his helmet.

Why did you poke it?!

"This looks like a blister... I can't resist poking it to see if it feels like this."

An unsettling, eerie hissing and squeezing sound came from the pipe.

Then they saw the tubes that stretched up to their heads begin to wriggle rapidly, like some kind of living intestine.

"...I don't want to stay here."

"Let's see what happens..."

"Move forward, you bastard!" Horus roared, his voice unconsciously carrying a certain force. "Don't block the way! Don't make us stand under the pipes!"

Although Lucius still seemed confused, he pulled her along and strode forward a few steps—

"Thump," "Thump," "Thump"... Just where the two had left, the pipe spewed out a large number of fat, leech-like worms. These greedy, aimless worms had only one round mouth with sharp teeth that secreted mucus. Horus saw that as soon as they landed, they immediately attached their suckers to any surface they touched. Then, whether it was steel or fungi, everything began to turn into a soft, muddy substance, and as waves of stench swept over them, they were sucked into their mouths.

"Ah, it seems you got it right this time! But I think..."

“Shut up,” Horus said sullenly. “They’ve blocked our way back,” he said, pointing to the passage infested with eerie leeches. “We can only look ahead and see if we can find a way out.”

They continued their trek through the sewage-pipe-like environment, and Horus was once again filled with an unacknowledged gratitude for the nameless figure within the Iron Lord's shell: if it weren't for the Astartes power armor's piping material, his hazmat suit would surely have already begun to corrode and break down.

He had just noticed that the parchment scroll bearing Lucius's oath of war beneath the wax seal on his body had begun to blacken, smoke, curl, and silently corrode. Many times they stopped, attempting to use Lucius's personal communicator to signal and contact the Iron Lord's forces in the open—he had brought seven companies of Shadowmoon Wolves with him on this landing; although the Terra Glory was large, seven companies were enough to enter from multiple directions.

But their calls went unanswered. The channel was filled with static, noise, or hollow, muffled sounds like the howls of the dead, or suffocating fragments of speech: "Praise...praise...Lord of Decay...praise..."

Occasionally, they would hear echoes of ships being struck or sounds similar to bolt gun fire. They would immediately try to listen, but could not determine the direction of the sound at all, and had no choice but to continue forward.

"Your Lyman Ear is truly wasted!"

"Then why don't you listen to me?!"

“I…I’m just an ordinary person! You’re Astartes!”

"Aren't Astartes human?!"

"..."

The banter often ended like this, and Horus found it difficult to describe the swordsman with any of the words he knew. However, if the people of Wandering Harbor were here, they would tell the Warmaster a very suitable phrase: a relaxed beagle.

Just as they finally managed to climb the crooked and twisted main road of the flagship and saw the first blast door leading to the command deck in the constantly flashing lumens, and were about to breathe a sigh of relief, a tooth-grinding noise suddenly came from all around.

A sense of extreme unease and danger surged into their hearts at the same time.

"Get down!"

Perhaps it was just a subtle shift in balance somewhere that caused the long-crashed starship to suddenly begin to slowly break in two amidst the thick fog and mud. The grating sound of steel scraping against each other was filtered through the thick fog, becoming blurred and lingering, like the muffled sigh of a giant beast before its death.

Dark red rust seeped from the joints of the corroded hull, like congealed blood dripping from the dark blue hull. Every inch of metal trembled slightly in the air, emitting a fine hissing sound like the friction of sand – the whisper of sudden stress tearing cracks between molecules.

The massive steel structure twisted and crumbled at a visible speed, revealing fresh, whitish and reddish fractures that gleamed coldly in the sunlight. Every inch of movement was accompanied by the crackling sound of countless screws falling off, like a torrential downpour of metal striking the ground.

The sudden, unseen force of the impact made Horus dizzy. After a while, he realized that the darkness in front of him was because he was buried by something, not entirely because he was lying in the filthy mud.

He pushed upwards forcefully.

No movement.

Very heavy.

But he could tell by touch that it was the breastplate and body shape of an Astartes, and the unique smell of their blood, rich in oxygen and biochemical agents.

There was only one Astartes by his side.

"Lucius?"

He gritted his teeth and began to push upwards with all his might, using his body to protect his imperial son, who was trying to crawl out from under him.

In the end he succeeded.

Horus then vigorously wiped the mud off his mask, groped for his headlamp, and turned it on.

Strands of bright red blood floated on the greasy, iridescent mud.

"Terra by my side...!"

Twisted steel bars, sharp, blade-like fragments of metal that had broken off from somewhere, a primitive spear that had been transformed from some kind of railing...

Six metals from different sources, each with the same deadly sharpness, the monstrous force of a ship breaking apart, and incredibly tricky angles, pierced deeply into Lucius's head and body from every direction of the power armor.

Horus felt a chill run down his spine. He could tell that if Lucius hadn't risked his life to protect him the moment the ship broke apart, he would have died instantly if struck by any one of the piercings. Even with a force field, it was hard to say whether it would have been enough to deflect such a powerful impact.

"Lucius…?"

The head beneath the helmet remained motionless; a menacing metal shard spear pierced the back of his skull.

Horus took a deep breath of the slightly putrid air and glanced at the glimmer of light beside him.

During the fall, they were thrown across the entire central aisle and landed directly outside the first-level blast door on the command deck.

Now, a crack has appeared in the once heavy and jammed armored door, and a faint, flickering light is shining out from inside, reaching Horus's side.

...? Why does this faint light seem to be blocked by something...?
Horus's heart pounded, and he immediately rose to his feet, searching Lucius's lying body for his sword—the power swords of the Sons of the Emperor were far too heavy and large for the bodies of ordinary women, but a Son of the Emperor would not carry only one sword.

He remembered that Lucius had a strange trophy short sword on his belt!

When he finally drew the unusually shaped short sword, Horus was pleased to see that it was actually a finely crafted power short sword—its bright orange-red light illuminated his face and also lit up the thing behind the armored door that had been causing the light source to flicker.

Ten swollen, mutilated fingers, dripping with slime and maggots, their nails like withered, sharp claws, suddenly plunged into the crack of the door. A face of a one-eyed, rotting corpse, with flesh and skin hanging off its sides, suddenly appeared in the light of his sword, staring at him viciously and greedily, maggots wriggling out from between its green teeth.

“Praise…praise…Lord of Decay…praise…”

I think I now know what fear feels like for ordinary people.

Horus Lupecal thought with absolute certainty.

Then, he suddenly felt a long-lost power, accompanied by a warm current, seemingly returning to his limbs and bones. At first, he thought it was an illusion caused by the movement of the pendant, but then he realized that his body's muscles had begun to be driven by adrenaline—human endogenous drug injections meant only a brief opportunity to attack.

Well, at least he still has this force field pendant and this finely crafted power sword.

He took a deep breath, drawing strength from the wound, and assumed the starting stance of his once-proud combat technique as he faced the staggering, twisted, bloated one-eyed and one-horned zombies that began to surge toward him.

"Never give up until the very end! I am Horus Lupecal! Horus of the Shadowmoon Wolves, Imperial Warmaster, Regent of the Emperor!"

"Come on, you handsome young men, you will have the honor of witnessing the swordsmanship of the War General himself!"

(End of this chapter)