I am the magnetic field maniac

Well, we'll still have a good chat before the fight.

"God of Ruth, these bastards have taken away my only daily leisure!"

Jomond muttered curses, and then there was an uncontrollable dark emotion...

"Even if we really die here, at least let us kill more aliens for the Emperor."

Chrom felt uneasy hearing him speak like that.

Every Space Wolf bore the scars of the slavers' lashes, but Jhormund's Terminator armour was in the worst condition.

He fought hard at first. However, the slavers bound him with chains that crackled with dark energy just like their whips.

They stripped him of his heavy weapons and shredded his servomotors until all he could do was stand.

Then he had to take off his precious Terminator armor.

Most of the time, the Dark Eldar's gladiatorial arena was never set up with the primary purpose of pursuing the strongest. What they wanted to admire was always the ugly appearance of the gladiators who were stuck in the middle, in agony, and neither dead nor alive.

The equipment that fully armed the Space Marines might not be the strongest in this cold galaxy... but it can help them avoid most of the pain caused by fighting.

This was the case with Krom. In his last fight, he had just used a wooden stick to beat several mutated zombies to death.

It wasn't difficult, but the zombie's claws, which were laced with neurotoxin, still caused him severe pain.

And each time, Crom would try to charge at the edge of the arena, trying to strangle the pointy ears through the tangled coils of razor wire, but he would always fail.

Then the whip wrapped around his arms, legs, and throat as usual and began to burn his nervous system.

Chrom knew it was futile to fight his captors...and yet, shrouded in rage, he always did.

The struggles displayed by these people were absolutely ugly to the Dark Eldar, and were the source of their pleasure in enjoying pain.

To put it bluntly, they are these pointy-eared "chefs".

The thought of Jormond resigning himself to his fate filled Crome with rage. He wanted to leap. He wanted to yell at his wolf brothers.

Three of them shared his cell. There were more in other rooms. He wanted to remind them that they were wolves of Fenris.

Most of them were members of his Great Company, the Dragon Slayers. He wanted to tell them to rise up, break through their bars, slit the throats of their jailers.

"Brother Terror..."

He recalled. The young Blood Claw had been brought to the arena before him.

Chrom hadn't seen him there, but that didn't mean much.

"Is he... is he back?"

No one answered his question. No one needed to.

Chrom had stopped counting the days he had been here.

His automatic senses showed that a month and a half had passed, but each of his brothers had a different record.

For the first few days, or weeks, he had been certain that the rest of the Dragon Slayers would follow him here.

No matter how impossible their journey might be - to him, to their wolf lord, they would always find a way.

He knew now that no one was coming. If he was going to escape this hellish place, he would have to do it alone.

What if his captors temporarily gain the upper hand?

What if the red sky was filled with Dark Eldar ships?

Across that sky, across this dark city...

Do Space Marines dream? Crom didn't know, but under the torture of these pointy ears...

Chrom found himself recalling more and more frequently what it was like to be a mortal.

He is not a native of Fenris, although he has spent most of his life on that eternally frozen home planet...

But he is actually a kid from a mining planet in the Calixis sector.

To be honest, it was just a coincidence that he became a Space Wolf.

But no matter what, he is still a man who has crossed the endless ice field and drank the mead of Fenris.

The Space Wolves are probably one of the few Space Marines that are considered to be closer to ordinary people...

There is no dogma and rigidity like the Blue Spirits of the Ultramarines, nor the mysticism like the Dark Angels...

They are not like the Iron Hands, who are more like the oilmen, and are as emotionally alive as their Primarchs, and that's probably why...

Under Comoros's destruction and torture, these wolf warriors quickly stripped off their halo as "angels".

After all, the title "The Emperor's Angel of Death" is just a term used by the state religion to spread its doctrine and intimidate dishonest civilians.

In fact, ninety-nine percent of the people in that vast empire would never have the chance to see a real space marine in their entire lives.

Even the planetary governors regarded them as a mere legend and myth, and never regarded them as real existences.

And in this cold and dangerous cesspool universe, they, the Space Marines who are essentially just transformed soldiers, are far from being demigods.

As his feet stomped across the living floor beneath him, Chrom knew those damn pointy ears were coming again. He counted their steps as they came toward his cell.

There are more people than the six in the past, and they are not the beast kings holding nerve whips.

Chrom frowned as he looked at the fully armed cabal warriors in front of him.

His keen intuition told him that something wrong was going to happen next.

They waved at him and spoke rudely in obscene language. A few senior guards had translation machines, which they used to convey orders to the prisoners.

The rest have other ways of expressing themselves.

But these Dark Eldar seemed to understand some High Gothic, and the meaning conveyed from their words seemed to be -

Chrom and his brothers are going to participate in an ultimate wrestling

They would be fully armed to face their enemy, and if they could defeat him, all of them would gain their precious freedom.

In the name of Kane and the integrity of the Dark Muse.

Ha, Krom wouldn't believe a single syllable of this kind of talk about taking off pants to fart. He didn't think that these stinky fart spirits would really let them go. Besides, where did their dignity come from?

But Krom still didn't say anything, because this might be a rare opportunity, a chance to escape from the arena - at least, a chance to die gloriously.

All of Krom's equipment was returned, including his power armor, a fully loaded bolter, and most importantly, a sharp double-edged frost axe and his favorite weapon, the demon claw!

His fingers clenched around it. It felt like an extension of his hand. He missed its feel and presence terribly.

Not all of the equipment was returned, at least the melta bomb that Crom wanted to use to kill himself when he was captured was not returned.

As Chrom thought about it, he put on his power armor with great effort.

These smelly fart spirits were actually very "kind" to order some snake people to help him... After all, it is still difficult for one person to wear this power armor.

All preparations were in place, the black shell was connected to the automatic sensing system, the optical imaging system of the helmet was intact, and the vital signs detection system was damaged... but these pointed ears actually filled him with stimulants and analgesics.

Abnormal, all the manifestations of these pointed ears seem extremely abnormal.

But Krom had no time to think. All his remaining reason and wisdom were spent on thinking about how to escape from here, or at least rush to the streets of Comoros and start killing people.

So he just pushed away the two snakemen next to him and looked coldly at the conspiracy warrior in front of him...

And these stinking fart spirits laughed strangely and spoke in a disgusting High Gothic tone...

"Seize this opportunity, ape. You and your companions will have the chance to leave the arena."

"I've placed a huge bet on you. Remember to tear that little monkey into pieces..."

8. Loyalty and Traitors and Bugs and Titanium

Through the green corridor, Crome passed rows of sealed doors, from behind which he could hear cries of pain, agony, or violence, and he could hear the roars and cheers of the crowd growing louder and louder.

There were three more Wolves waiting in the crowded assembly area, each with its own escort. Chrom was undoubtedly very happy to see his battle brothers still here.

In addition to the very negative Jomond, the other two were Beoric Winterfang and Silverthrow. They were not members of his company, but now even seeing a living battle brother made Crom very happy.

Yin Zhi's body was covered with scars, and even in his power armor one could see obvious fatigue on his face.

Before Chrom could speak, Beoric said...

"They pitted him against a giant spider with blades on its legs. Before he could be ripped apart, these pointy ears suddenly stopped the fight."

"I cut off all four legs of the spider!" Yin Zhi said unyieldingly.

"But spiders have eight legs." Crom chuckled.

Before Silver Toss could retaliate, another participant was escorted in. It was Osnir, a Dark Angel Librarian, and another one wearing black armor, a white hood, a skull hood and a winged sword emblem, a typical Dark Angel Inquisition Priest.

Chrom curled his lips unconsciously.

Chrom hates the Dark Angels and their secretive ways.

His experience with them left him with an impression of mystique and superiority.

He couldn't trust them, because they only trusted themselves - and as rumor had it, they couldn't even trust some of their own brothers...always alert with explosives poking at the backs of anyone they didn't trust.

Indeed, long ago, there had been tensions between Leman Russ and the Lion.

There is also the fact that, while the Primarchs forgave each other, many within their Legions and subsequent Chapters could never get over the grudges.

The personnel replenishment does not seem to be over yet.

Soon, a beastmaster came in pushing a war beast. Crom saw the thorny carapace and six powerful limbs, and immediately knew that he was looking at a Tyranid creature.

"A genestealer..." he muttered darkly.

Jormond murmured, "From the size and shape of its head, I can tell it's a nest owner."

As an enemy, it could be said to be the worst target, but this thing was actually their "teammate". At least in the ensuing death battle, they would not have to face this thing alone.

"Who is our enemy? It can't be a Primarch, right?" Chrom joked.

Of course, Chrom wouldn't really think so. A more rational judgement would be that the enemy they were facing should be a team.

This is a tyrannical team deathmatch, with the strong fighting the strong, bringing new excitement to those pointy ears of shit.

Then, two other Space Marines were brought in. Chrom took a look at them and his eyes instantly turned red.

"traitor!!"

Instinctively angry, he roared at the abominable figures. They were two blue and red traitor Space Marines, with conspicuous bat-wing decorations on their helmets. They were two soldiers of the rebellious Eighth Legion!

"Forget about it, you wolf cub of Russ." The two traitors of the Eighth Legion looked at Krom sarcastically and said disdainfully...

"The Corpse King will not bless you in this ghost place. Your ghost shouting and screaming will not help you."

Krom was about to explode, but Jomond next to him sarcastically said...

"Russ, I'm sorry, we shouldn't say that. After all, the original leader of you bat cubs was beheaded by an assassin ten thousand years ago."

"Oh, do you still want to shout "Hail the Lord of the Night"? Sorry, sorry, maybe you can shout something else, like "Hail Abaddon"? "

Well said, brother—Chrom laughed wildly, and the two bat cubs over there reacted violently, cursing in Nostrum with twisted anger.

Although formally they seem to be on the same side...but even if Chrom had to fight alongside some aliens that he didn't hate that much, he didn't want to associate with this group of stinking traitors.

For example, the Tau people. Although their ignorance and arrogance are quite uncomfortable and incomprehensible...but at least among the Aliens, they are the kind of people you can talk to before shooting.

Just as Chrom was thinking this, another Titan actually came.

Amid the discord and hostility of his fellow space marines...

This thin and tired Tau man had the same fish-like blue skin and face as his kind. His not-so-tall figure looked a little hunched, but the most special thing about him was his eyes.

Even Space Marines like them were gloomy and desperate when they hung out in Comoros... but in the eyes of this Tau man, there was only clarity and wisdom.

"A Tau? Hahahaha, I'm beginning to question the value of this fight!"

The traitorous Space Marine from the Eighth Legion spoke in a sarcastic tone, but what he said was indeed the truth...

The Tau are a race that has only gradually risen on the eastern border of the Milky Way in the last thousand years and are relatively well-known within the galaxy.

At least compared to those other alien races that can't make any waves at all...

The Titanium people, who have occupied a territory equivalent to an extreme star field, can be considered a force of considerable size.

However, as a member of this shithole universe, it is obviously impossible for the other players to give this "newbie" any preferential treatment or benefits. Fortunately, the Tau people's territory is relatively remote, and the Human Empire has been fighting all year round with all kinds of monsters...so the Tau people have been able to survive to this day in ignorance and innocence.

Let's get back to the point. Due to their physiological structure, the Tau people have never been respectable gladiators in Comoros.

Their physical and skeletal structures meant that the Tau were not good at close combat... although their binocular vision gave them good long-range attack capabilities, but - in this universe, the inability to fight in close combat was the greatest fatal harm.