"...Custodian Guard?"
The new star of the Second Legion gritted his teeth, disbelief escaping in fragments between them. Hektor's brow furrowed; even when besieged by thousands of times his numbers, this "Emperor's Fang," known for his talent and willpower, had never shown such an expression.
"Now is not the time for jokes, master. Are you really... certain?"
"A... Custodian Guard?"
The ancient warrior Chiron was now unusually serious. With a stern face, he remained silent, his brown-yellow eyes fixed on the bizarre and terrifyingly tall opponent before him. Hektor's squad had been fighting on the frontline of the Randan conflict for almost ten years, and such an opponent was unprecedented for them.
It was incredibly tall, perhaps even four meters high; even an Astartes seemed small before it. Although the Randan were always a tall and strong Xenos species, such a striking individual had never been encountered by the Imperium before.
This terrifying opponent neither initiated an attack nor evaded combat. It simply walked slowly to within ten meters of Hektor's squad, like an incredibly arrogant and silent giant, nonchalantly surveying the four Astartes warriors of the Second Legion.
It was clad in a layer of black armor that exuded an ominous aura, concealing itself from head to toe in an eerie shadow. It was arrogant, rightfully so, and the reason for its arrogance was clearly displayed before Hektor and his comrades: several spikes protruded from the back of its helmet, impaling several damaged, blood-stained Astartes helmets, and its limbs and body were covered in wounds and blood.
Hektor could distinguish blue, purple, iron-grey, and even black among them. He also saw honor marks belonging to Captains or elite veterans on the best-preserved helmets, and some of the bloodstains on those helmets hadn't even dried, indicating that before encountering Hektor's squad, this incredibly bizarre Xenos "Custodian Guard" had been wantonly enjoying one slaughter after another.
Hektor also noticed some subtle but exquisitely carved reliefs and inscriptions on the Xenos' armor, clearly indicating its high status within its species and organization.
Now, this formidable Xenos warrior raised its head, scanning the continuously burning, fiery sky. A low, rapid voice emanated from behind its faceplate, which Hektor found he could understand. After such a prolonged war, both humans and Randan had, to varying degrees, mastered some of their mortal enemy's language.
Hektor could vaguely make out the Xenos' words: [Solve] [Mission] [Escaped Subject] [Hunt] [Capture alive]...
Hektor bent down, breathing, deeply breathing. He clutched the indestructible blade in his hand, shifting his weight forward, placing himself at the forefront of his squad members. He narrowed his eyes, staring intently at the unhurried Xenos before him, and slowly spoke, asking his master one last time.
"Lord Chiron, are you certain?"
The ancient warrior didn't immediately answer his most proud disciple. He stared at the excessively tall Xenos. Under the cover of the other three squad members, his mind could temporarily pierce the mists of time, returning to the moments he had experienced on Holy Terra, to the glorious years he had fought alongside the Emperor's greatest creations. He took a few moments to recall those initial battles, the impressions left by those powerful golden warriors in his mind.
Finally, he shook his head.
"It is not a Custodian Guard. At least, it is certainly not one of the Emperor's Custodian Guard. But it does exude some similarities to them. I dare not dwell on the reasons why."
"But regardless, we need to kill it. If we can bring it back, that would be even better."
Listening to his master's words, Hektor couldn't help but smile, a purely bitter smile.
"What a formidable objective..."
——————
[Mengel...]
[Where did he and his legion go? This incompetent wretch, he has caused the Imperium more losses than a thousand Randan fleets combined. He should be court-martialed, or simply hanged!]
When Corswain brought the new batch of crucial military intelligence to his gene-father, he could hear the Lion of Caliban emit a deep, dark roar, like an ancient beast trapped in a bottomless abyss, constantly howling at the only sliver of moonlight that could penetrate its cave.
The Knight-King of Caliban looked terrible. His hair was disheveled, messy golden strands clinging to his ears and cheeks, accentuating his bloodshot eyes. His beard hadn't been shaved in a long time,
and his armor hadn't been changed in ages. In fact, for the past few Terra standard months, except for fighting on the most critical frontlines, Jonson had barely left this command room, which was constantly filled with more and more bad news, nor had he left the battle-scarred Unbending Truth.
Corswain was unaffected by this wave of anger. As one of the most trusted sons of Caliban, he understood the immense burden his gene-father carried, as well as the multiple afflictions brought by loss, defeat, and dereliction of duty.
He waited quietly and patiently for his gene-father's fury to gradually dissipate. Then, Corswain began to sort through the thick stack of documents in his hand, reading them aloud one by one—messages from various fleets, various Fortress Worlds, and even from Holy Terra, all of the highest priority.
The Lion's son specifically placed the most encouraging piece of news at the top.
"One good piece of news, my lord, good news from Holy Terra."
"They have learned of Lady Morgana's situation: she is in good condition, operating with Zahariel's company, and has suffered no casualties so far. They are currently fighting alongside Lord Horus's Shadow Moon Wolves Legion in the western reaches of the galaxy, unable to disengage immediately for certain reasons. However, once the matter is concluded, she will soon be able to return to the First Legion."
Corswain delivered the good news in one breath, then stood like a perfect knight's statue, awaiting his gene-father's reaction.
As he expected, the gloomy aura that had clung to Jonson for months dissipated visibly the moment he heard the news. This prompted a silent sigh of relief from the Lion's most trusted son: By the Emperor, ever since Lady Morgana mysteriously disappeared in that bizarre storm unleashed by the Randan, the gene-primarch of the Dark Angels had been shrouded in a most somber and terrifying aura. During those times, the entire Unbending Truth had been cowed into silence by this powerful gloom.
[Certain? Is she still safe? Still within controllable limits?]
"According to the information returned from Holy Terra, Lord Horus has nothing but praise for Lady Morgana's abilities and attitude. He stated that he would clear out the Xenos before him as quickly as possible and personally select a warship to transport her and all the Dark Angels back to the First Legion."
"Lord Horus also mentioned that if Holy Terra agrees, he is willing to immediately mobilize all his forces to reinforce the Randan frontline with the utmost speed. He also hinted in his letter that we could... proactively mention this to Holy Terra."
[Hmph... Horus...]
[The prettiest thing about him is his mouth.]
The Lion snorted lightly, but his mood had visibly brightened considerably. The Calibanite raised his head, letting his gaze wander around the room for a few seconds before once again focusing on Corswain.
[In that case, we need not worry about Morgana any longer. She can take care of herself and my sons.]
[Next, Cors.]
The Dark Angel nodded, then continued to flip through the documents, his words transitioning through a series of grim news.
"The 446th Expeditionary Fleet and the 932nd Expeditionary Fleet have been confirmed annihilated. They were swept into Randan-controlled territory by a Warp storm. This is the sixtieth fleet destroyed in this Terra standard month."
"The Fortress World of Joval has been confirmed fallen. According to the last message from the commanding officer there, the Imperial citizens who were once ruled by the Randan seem to have been infected with a strange virus; they launch riots as the Randan fleet approaches."
"The stalemate in the Duvall Sector continues, primarily over control of two habitable worlds. Admiral Astra has received support from several units that escaped Warp storms, but he still requests your direct order, permitting him to destroy the entire sector at any unfavorable juncture."
"The battle in the Smyrslerr Sector..."
Corswain briefly recounted the most critical war zones. Every word he spoke brushed past the lives of millions of warriors and the wails of the populace. As his voice resonated, Jonson stared intently at the star chart of the Sol Sector before him: the last defense line in the northern galaxy had been breached, and the Randan vanguard had begun to encroach upon the rich worlds of the Sol Sector.
Jonson began to ponder whether he needed to make a desperate gamble: he needed to gather strength, the strength of at least three legions, for a strategic decisive battle at a critical Randan thoroughfare, to halt the Randan advance...
As this thought emerged, the Lion of Caliban's gaze began to sweep across the countless stars, his eyes passing over each important thoroughfare, selecting the most crucial ones.
And it was at this moment that a discordant phrase appeared in Corswain's report.
"There is another piece of information, my lord, one I intercepted personally. I believe it may contain something... unusual."
Jonson's gaze fell upon his son. He silently met Corswain's eyes for a few seconds.
[Speak.]
"According to intelligence, shortly after the Eleventh Legion's disappearance, the Sixth Legion, that is, Lord Leman Russ's sons, dispatched a small force to Lord Mengel's homeworld. No news has returned since, until..."
"Until five Terra standard days ago, Lord Leman Russ began to summon all his Great Companies, seemingly preparing to launch a... punitive expedition against Lord Mengel's homeworld?"
[...Does Terra know?]
"The punitive fleet was specifically dispatched by Holy Terra."
"According to the intelligence we received, the Sixth Legion's scout force seems to have encountered something on Lord Mengel's homeworld..."
——————
"Monster!"
A low curse escaped Hektor's gritted teeth. Lady Morgana's chosen son felt his arms numb, and wounds appeared on his body, like a sharp storm tearing at a boulder.
Hektor gasped heavily. In his memory, this was the first time he had been at a disadvantage in a pure contest of strength. It was worth noting that even against the renowned Black Knight Sigismund, his strength had been absolutely superior.
This "Custodian Guard," this Randan "Custodian Guard," was like a moving, living mountain. It silently delivered the heaviest blows, its strength and speed crushing Hektor's squad.
In just the first round, the "huge" Ajax was sent flying before anyone could react, its sacrilegious weapon aimed directly at the Astartes' throat. Fortunately, this Xenos "Custodian Guard"'s other aspects were far from comparable to human Custodian Guards.
At the very least, Hektor and Chiron could keep up with its combat rhythm. Although this terrifying opponent's strength and speed could indeed rival or even surpass those golden creations of the Emperor, in terms of reaction speed and technique, it was clearly lacking.
At the very least, when Hektor fearlessly charged forward, struggling under its insane onslaught, it failed to eliminate the exceptionally talented Fang immediately. And when the four-man squad fully assembled, this sacrilegious Xenos construct showed no panic. Its claws and unholy blades produced grating screams, and psychic light echoed within its head and vision.
The subsequent battle perhaps lasted more than ten minutes. They fought desperately on the barren hills, spilling equally crimson blood and other things under the blood-red sky: spittle, acidic fluid, sweat, bone fragments, shouts, curses, smoking boltguns, hissing blades, and tears, some bitter, some salty. The battle was so intense that it left no doubt it would awaken slumbering underground monsters.
Hektor forgot how they endured. He only remembered the Xenos' blade screaming like a storm, each swing leaving a genuine, grievous wound on an Astartes. They could only dodge, only flee, only cling on by relying on Chiron's constant commands and taking turns absorbing damage.
They survived.
That was all.
He still remembered Ajax's pained curses. In a single moment of distraction, one of his hearts was pierced, and the other was only half-beating. He remembered Salieri's psychic aura constantly waning, his right arm once again severed, dripping chilling blood. He remembered the breathing, his and Lord Chiron's breathing. They took turns charging to the front, exchanging wounds for opportunities for their comrades to deal damage.
He still remembered the Iron Warriors, the allied forces who joined midway through the battle. They clearly did not understand the horror of this Xenos. Before Hektor could warn them, eight heads of the Sons of Perturabo flew high.
He remembered, but he also forgot.
He forgot how that battle ended. Only in fragmented flashes could he see that the Randan "Custodian Guard" seemed to have grown weary of this exchange of injuries. Its attack suddenly became swift, and some peculiar spell shimmered on its body. It seemed to have merely swung its blade lightly, and Hektor fell heavily to the ground, feeling a malicious magic invading his body.
But immediately afterward, an unknown power pulsed in his heart: a warmth that inexplicably comforted him. He propped himself up, ready to once again charge at the opponent that could kill him.
Then, he heard a [howl].
A howl that would send shivers down the spine of any Astartes.
He heard the powerful Randan Xenos continuously uttering curses. It shook them off, seemingly facing an unimaginable opponent.
Hektor heard it.
Hektor saw it.
It was a [monster].
An unimaginable monster, a monster a thousand times more terrifying than the Randan "Custodian Guard."
It had emerged from who knew where, letting its corpulent, fleshy, twisted body wander through the sand. It looked like a flesh-and-blood Titan constructed from scraps of meat and bones, or a living, walking mountain.
It continuously rolled across the sand dunes, its hideous face covered in over twenty eyes of various shapes and sizes, staring intently at the Randan Xenos. With an indescribable roar, it opened its two enormous mouths, revealing hundreds of sharp, filthy, deformed teeth.
Its body seemed to be stitched together from various corpses, twisted haphazardly, revealing only large and small severed limbs and tentacles. Dozens of these chaotic appendages waved constantly with its movement. At the very bottom of this twisted body, a dense mass of hooves and feet were vaguely visible, moving forward like a deformed centipede.
It roared, it went mad, and it unhesitatingly initiated combat with the Randan "Custodian Guard," fanatically inflicting its pain and vengeance upon the only creature still standing.
After that, Hektor couldn't remember much. He only remembered his severely wounded self being buried by endless Yellow Sands, with only the equally repulsive and twisted roars of the Xenos and the monster in his ears. They were fighting, savagely tearing at each other in boiling flesh.
Killing each other.
Hektor didn't remember how long he was unconscious. In fact, his memories of the battle had become completely fragmented: after the appearance of the hideous stitched monster, he couldn't recall the details of the fight.
He only remembered Lord Chiron pulling him out of the Yellow Sands. He saw that half of Chiron's face had been utterly torn apart by the Randan's blade, and the pupil that once rolled with brown-yellow eyes was now only still.
He was about to say something when he saw Chiron point to a pile of rotting flesh in the distance, motioning for him to take a look.
Hektor was confused, but he complied anyway. He dragged his almost broken body to the putrid pile of rotting flesh. He quickly recognized it as the monster that had suddenly entered the fray. As for the Randan "Custodian Guard"...
He saw the severely corroded armor in the acid, and the gaping wound where this monster had been disemboweled, choosing not to ponder what exactly had happened.
Then, his gaze was drawn to another figure. He stepped in, tearing through the decaying chunks of flesh, inching his way from the intestines to the chest. There, a highly decomposed Astartes corpse lay: or rather, it seemed this monster was assembled around this Astartes as its core.
Hektor narrowed his eyes, discovering that some of the armor had not completely corroded away. He picked up a fragment of this Astartes' shoulder pad; faint markings were visible on it.
He took a look.
And froze in place.
"By the Emperor..."
Hektor stood stunned, his arm falling limply, letting the fragment drop into the sand and rotten flesh. Through the crimson light of the sky, the almost vanished markings could be vaguely seen:
[XI]
——————End of Volume Two——————
The gene-primarch of the Eleventh Legion is named Mengel. As for him... how to put it, his name has an allusion.
Readers who are interested can look up Joseph Mengel; you will probably understand what kind of person the "Eleventh" was.
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