Chapter 65 - Dark Angels
Luther, the 1st Captain of the Dark Angels, stood as the vanguard on the terrestrial battlefield, his eyes sharp, and his senses honed for any sign of the enemy. Amidst the chaotic battleground, a Dark Angel Astartes Lieutenant rushed to his side, reporting the approach of Eldranthii forces and the detection of a wormhole at 11 o'clock.
"Captain, Eldranthii forces 5 kilometers away, wormhole detected at 11 o'clock," the lieutenant urgently relayed.
Without a moment's hesitation, Luther's voice boomed across the battlefield, cutting through the clamor of warfare. "Terminator Squad, take aim!" His order resonated through the ranks of the Astartes, each member of the elite Terminator Squad adjusting their powerful railguns for maximum impact.
These Terminator Skins, larger and more heavily armored than their counterparts, were the epitome of Astartes technology. Standing at a formidable 8.5 feet tall, these warriors wielded weaponry capable of decimating continents, and their durability was unmatched. While a regular combat skin could endure concentrated enemy fire, the Terminator variant could withstand even larger caliber shots, a testament to its advanced design.
The Terminator Squad materialized their railguns, their gleaming barrels pointed toward the emerging Eldranthii forces from the ominous wormhole. With deadly precision, they unleashed a torrent of firepower, hurling projectiles at velocities that approached 0.1% the speed of light. The Eldranthii, caught off guard, found themselves obliterated by projectiles that carried the kinetic force of nuclear detonations. In the blink of an eye, the Eldranthii and their surroundings were reduced to superheated plasma and debris, a glimpse to the devastating power of the Imperium's weaponry.
Amidst the chaos of battle, Luther maintained his steadfast demeanor, commanding his forces with the precision of a seasoned veteran. In battles like these, where Primarchs and divine adversaries clashed in the void above, the leadership of stalwart commanders like Luther proved essential. His role as the 1st Captain was not just an honor but a vital responsibility, ensuring the Dark Angels stood firm against the tide of enemies, even in the face of the unknown threats that loomed beyond the veil of reality.
Luther stood amidst the chaos, his eyes scanning the battlefield, where the clash between Primarch Valerian and the Star God had torn the very fabric of space. Above, the once-tranquil moons of the Capital Planet now hung in the sky, doubled in number but forever marred, their halves cast adrift like eternal witnesses to the cosmic battle unfolding below. Despite the celestial spectacle, Luther had little time for contemplation. His focus was on the present, on the relentless ebb and flow of the battle before him.
"Steady, men!" Luther's voice cut through the din, his commanding tone rallying the Cosmic Militarum and the Dark Angels under his charge. The forces of Eldranthii and Korrks pressed hard against the Imperial defenses, their onslaught unyielding. The Cosmic Militarum, brave and resolute, formed a stalwart backbone, holding their ground against the onslaught. Their disciplined ranks absorbed the initial brunt of the enemy's assault, buying the Dark Angels precious moments to adapt and respond.
"Fall back to the 2nd Defense Lines! Prepare for the Korrk flood!" Luther's orders echoed across the battlefield, relayed swiftly by his adept officers. The Cosmic Militarum, battle-hardened and well-coordinated, executed a tactical retreat, regrouping at the secondary defense lines. Luther, his keen strategist's mind working tirelessly, adjusted the formation on the fly. He directed the placement of armored divisions to bolster weak points, ensuring every inch of ground was contested.
Amidst this orchestrated chaos, the Dark Angels Space Marines fought with unyielding determination. Luther's presence infused them with a sense of purpose, their loyalty to their Primarch evident in every strike. The Eldranthii, employing their swift and deadly beheading tactics, attempted to breach the Dark Angels' defenses. Exarchs, their skilled leaders, led these assaults, hoping to exploit weaknesses in the Imperium's lines.
But the Dark Angels were no ordinary Legion. They followed the way of the sword, a legacy handed down from their Primarch. In melee combat, a Dark Angel Captain was a force to be reckoned with. The Eldranthii Exarchs, courageous but perhaps overly confident, occasionally challenged Luther in single combat. These encounters, more often than not, ended in their defeat. Luther's blade, honed through centuries of warfare, met the enemy's with precision and power. Each duel was a testament to the Dark Angels' martial prowess.
The Terminator Squads, their bulky and imposing figures clad in advanced combat skins, had become the Eldranthii's worst nightmare. Their imperviousness to conventional weaponry left the Eldranthii in a state of disbelief and fear. Gravity shurikens, lasers, plasma cannons—none of these formidable weapons could penetrate the Terminator's defenses. Even a direct hit from a Grav Tank, a formidable piece of Eldranthii engineering, failed to bring down the Terminator. The Tachyon shields, while momentarily punctured, quickly regenerated, leaving the Eldranthii bewildered and terrified.
In the midst of battle, the Terminator Astartes stood as immovable pillars, absorbing the Eldranthii onslaught without faltering. Their enemies' spells, while powerful, seemed ineffective against the might of the Terminators. The Autarch, a masterful wielder of magic among the Eldranthii, managed to extinguish the soul of one Terminator. It was a rare victory for the Eldranthii, a brief moment of triumph amidst the chaos of battle. However, their joy was short-lived.
The Terminator Squad retaliated with a ferocity that shook the very foundations of the battlefield. Their heavy caliber weapons, including Rail Guns and Heavy Gauss Flayers, roared to life. The air crackled with energy as they unleashed devastating volleys upon the Eldranthii forces. Each shot was a testament to the Imperium's advanced technology and the Astartes' unparalleled combat skills.
The Autarch, realizing the danger, swiftly teleported away from the scene, narrowly escaping the Terminator's wrath. He watched in horror as the ground he had stood on moments before turned into heated plasma, consuming everything in its path. Behind him, his troops were reduced to blue ash, a stark reminder of the overwhelming power of the Imperium's elite forces.
The Terminator Squads, with their relentless onslaught and unyielding resolve, had become a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. The Eldranthii, despite their mastery over magic and honed combat skills, found themselves outmatched and outgunned against the might of the Imperium's Terminator Astartes.
65.2 The Man of Silver
Amidst the chaos of the battlefield, Silver-01, the Man of Silver designated SILVER-01, stood as a beacon of unwavering determination. His sleek silver frame, superior to the Men of Bronze, gleamed in the harsh cosmic light. He was not just a warrior; he was an advisor and Commander in Chief of the Men of Iron, acting as the custodian to the Primarch Valerian Ironclaw, as per the God Emperor's decree.
Silver-01 faced off against the largest of the Korrk Warbosses, a hulking green figure that roared with primal fury. Despite the Warboss's imposing size, Silver-01 moved with a grace that defied his bulk. His silver frame rippled with energy, producing Phase swords that sliced through the Warboss's power armor like it was made of paper. The clash was intense, a battle of raw power against calculated precision.
As the Warboss bellowed in rage, it became evident that Silver-01 outmatched him in speed and technique. The Korrk Warboss swung its massive weapon, but Silver-01 effortlessly dodged and countered, his Phase swords finding weak points in the Warboss's armor. The fight raged on for days, the Warboss's roars drowned out by the hum of Silver-01's advanced systems.
During a brief lull in the battle, Silver-01 glanced up, his sensors detecting a colossal disturbance in the cosmic fabric. He witnessed the breathtaking sight of stars splitting in half, imploding under the devastating power of his Primarch, Valerian Ironclaw. Yet, the serpent-shaped Star God absorbed this energy, growing stronger.
Calculations ran swiftly through Silver-01's artificial mind. "Battle Calculations... Primarch Valerian Iron Claw 49% Win rate... Serpent Star God 51%... winner yet to be decided... warm-up is over," he intoned, his voice resonating with machine-like precision.
Suddenly, another Warboss, more aggressive and cunning, tore through a Men of Bronze with terrifying strength. With swift precision, Silver-01 turned his attention to this new threat. "Target Acquired, Korrk Warboss," he stated calmly, his silver frame ready for another battle. The fight continued, Silver-01's Phase swords a blur of lethal precision as he engaged the Warboss, demonstrating the efficiency of the Men of Silver and the determination of the Imperium in the face of overwhelming odds.
65.3 The Herrscher of the Sword
In the vast emptiness of space, the battle between Valerian Ironclaw, the Herrscher of the Sword, and Vorphex, the Void Serpent, raged on. Vorphex's attacks were cataclysmic, encompassing stars, asteroids, gamma rays, and raw energy. Each strike of the serpent sent shockwaves through the cosmic fabric, testing the limits of Valerian's combat prowess.
Despite the enormity of Vorphex's attacks, Valerian countered with unparalleled precision. His swordsmanship was a dance of destruction, slicing through phenomena of cosmic scale. Stars were cleaved in half, imploding into stellar remnants, while planets and asteroids hurled at the Primarch were effortlessly bisected before they could reach him. Yet, the Serpent's strikes were relentless, dealing substantial damage to Valerian's advanced Combat Skin. The Primarch fought valiantly, but the Star Gods, rulers of the physical plane, proved to be formidable adversaries.
Their battle took them far from the Carolis galaxy, and the surrounding universe served as both weapon and battleground. Vorphex seized celestial bodies and hurled them at the Primarch, who deftly sliced through these projectiles. In a moment of desperation, Vorphex flung a supergiant star at Valerian. The Primarch, with unmatched skill, cut the star in half, causing it to implode into a black hole. Valerian was prepared to nullify the black hole's existence when Vorphex, in a swift move, transformed into a humanoid shape and impaled the Primarch through the chest.
Pain seared through Valerian as he swiftly retaliated, severing the serpent's arm. Despite his wound, he extinguished the black hole. Kneeling in the void, his golden blood staining the cosmic canvas, Valerian knew he was in a dire situation. Vorphex, now in human form, hissed triumphantly, licking the Primarch's blood from his face. "Divine Blood has always been delicioussssss," Vorphex taunted, a sinister glint in his eyes. "It's the end for you, Demi-god!"
Valerian's chuckle echoed through the void. "The End?... Do you know why we are called Herrschers, Vorphex?" Valerian's voice cut through the cold silence of space. The Void Serpent, intrigued yet confident in its impending victory, hissed, "Sssss. Do tell," it said, indulging the wounded Primarch.
Valerian smirked, his eyes ablaze with determination. "Because as a Herrscher, we embody the whims of God. We are the pinnacle of an Aspect of the Honkai, which means we possess something called an Absolute." He stood tall, his aura resonating with unyielding resolve. "In this solemn oath, I declare with unwavering conviction that I shall renounce the very essence of entities that elude the keen edge of my blade. I shall not suffer the existence of that which my sword cannot sever!"
His words served as an incantation, a key to unlocking his Herrscher Ascension. Primarchs were born Herrschers, their true forms concealed behind a veil until they chose to lift their power limiters. However, this Ascension came at a cost. Using such immense power in a universe not yet consumed by Imaginary Space meant the Primarch would enter a deep slumber, a necessary limitation to prevent the destruction of the universe itself.
In the blink of an eye, within mere milliseconds, Valerian underwent his Herrscher Ascension. His attire transformed into a majestic ensemble: matte black armor adorned with silver and blood-red accents. His helmet bore a sword-themed crown, while a flowing ebony cloak, decorated with celestial galaxy patterns, billowed around him. The chest plate displayed an emblem of crossed swords and angelic wings, representing his dual nature. His gauntlets, leg armor, and boots were a perfect blend of strength and agility, accentuated by silver chains with unique pendants dangling as accessories.
In his hand, he wielded an energy-infused sword, resembling a sacred artifact. The weapon merged martial and angelic design elements, a testament to the fusion of his divine heritage and martial prowess. The Primarch's Combat Skin seamlessly merged into this new form, amplifying his power and granting him abilities beyond mortal comprehension.
His wounds, once grave, were miraculously healed by his Herrscher Ascension. However, the newfound power came at a price – a limitation approaching swiftly, like an unstoppable tide.
"I don't have much time, death to you, Serpent!" Valerian's voice echoed through the void, filled with unwavering determination. With a series of swift and decisive strikes, he obliterated the Void Serpent, reducing it to atoms. "Impossible!" were the serpent's final words, a futile protest against the might of the Primarch.
With the battle won, Valerian turned his attention to his loyal lieutenant, Luther. "Luther, I will enter deep slumber. Tell the Legion Master to follow the Grand Strategist's orders. If he deems it unnecessary, he can lead the Legion. Keep Caliban safe, for I shall return," Valerian commanded, his words carrying the weight of destiny.
Luther saluted, acknowledging his Gene-Father's orders. "It shall be done, my Lord. Caliban will be safeguarded in your absence," he vowed, his voice unwavering.
As Valerian's strength waned, Silver-01, the Man of Silver, approached his Primarch. "Your Royal Highness, it appears that your slumber is nigh," he observed, his tone respectful.
Valerian nodded, a sense of fulfillment in his eyes. "It appears so, but one less Star God, and this galaxy is safe for now," he murmured, his words filled with quiet resolve.
With those words, his form reverted to its normal state, and he fell unconscious. Swiftly and gently, Silver-01 scooped him up, cradling the slumbering Primarch in his metallic arms.
Carrying his noble burden, Silver-01 made his way to the Tomb World, a sacred place nestled within the Imaginary Space. Guarded by the vigilant Men of Iron and the Primarch's Honor Guard, this tombworld was where Valerian would rest and recuperate. The Dark Angel Astartes, his sons, would visit their Gene-Father regularly, ensuring his undisturbed slumber and safeguarding the legacy of their lineage.
Across the vast expanse of the universe, the other seventeen Primarchs observed the events unfold, their thoughts a mix of reverence and concern. "One has slumbered," whispered the collective consciousness of their thoughts. Some Primarchs fell silent, their hearts heavy with the knowledge of a fallen sibling. Others bowed their heads in prayer to their father, seeking guidance in this moment of loss. Anger simmered in the hearts of a few, questioning the cosmic balance that allowed one of their own to fall.
Yet, amid these emotions, they all knew the eternal truth: their existence was timeless. In the ever-turning wheel of fate, fallen Primarchs would rise again. It was not a matter of if, but when. And so, the Primarchs, eternal and undying, watched, waited, and prepared for the inevitable return of their fallen brother, Valerian Ironclaw.
In the ethereal expanse of the Divine Realm, where gods waged wars with cosmic might, Fafnir, the God Emperor, observed the events unfolding in the physical realm. His eyes, as deep as the cosmos, were fixed on the slumbering form of his child, Valerian, nestled within the protective embrace of the Imaginary Space. "So it begins," Fafnir murmured, his voice resonating like distant thunder, recognizing the significance of this moment.
Even as he monitored his child's rest, Fafnir's attention was divided. Valorath, the God of Magic, stood before him, defiant and unyielding. Fafnir, engulfed the deity in searing divine fire, determined to purge the realm of this treacherous presence. Valorath, though facing annihilation, summoned his own divine flames in a desperate attempt to resist. The clash of their powers created a dazzling inferno, illuminating the Divine Realm with its divine brilliance.
Meanwhile, Esdeath, the God-Empress, was embroiled in her own battle, her icy prowess unmatched. The frozen corpses of fallen deities bore witness to her unyielding might. A cruel smile played upon her lips as she taunted her adversaries. "Weaklings, come! Don't you wish to avenge your kin?" she jeered, her voice cutting through the cosmic stillness.
Val'pyros, the God of Fire, answered the call with reckless determination. His fiery temperament blazed, fueling his assault against the formidable goddess. "Die!" he roared, unleashing torrents of flame. But in the face of Esdeath's icy dominion, his fire was but a flicker. Esdeath, untouched by the scorching flames, countered with a swift and precise strike, her sword cleaving through the God of Fire's chest. "Your fire isn't hot enough," she sneered, her words laced with chilling confidence.