40k: Midnight Blade

Chapter 427 153. Terra (twenty-four)

Leon El'Jonson watched Leman Russ take his last breath.

He took off his gauntlet - literally ripped it off. It was very difficult to do this. His power armor made a protest, and for some reason a burst of high-temperature steam erupted from the connection.

He immediately raised his hands, not letting them touch Leman Russ. The lion put his gauntlet aside and gently touched Ruth's face with his fingers.

It felt cold in my hand, as if I was touching frost.

The lion withdrew his hand expressionlessly and looked into those eyes, which were filled with pure nothingness. After a few seconds, he suddenly bent down, pulled up Leman Russ, and began to carefully observe the wounds on his body.

Ruth's injuries were very serious. The temperature was leaving the body, but the blood was still gurgling out. The four brutal wounds that penetrated the chest made it impossible to stop the blood, and fragments of organs, flesh, and bones rushed out together.

Through the collapsed skin, the lion discovered that there were traces of fractures all over the Fenrisian's body. No, maybe it couldn't be called fractures, it should be called bone fragments, such as his left hand.

The muscles under the skin of the forearm were propped up by the broken bones, and the wound exposed a horrifying scene, with red and white mixed together, like a horrifying painting. There was not a single piece of good flesh on his body, just like his armor, which was so damaged that it was impossible to see its former glory.

The lion gently put his brother down.

An old knight limped up behind him.

"What should I do?" he asked. The beard on his chin had changed from white to a dizzy dark red, as if he had vomited blood. "We're all here, Leon."

"How many people?" the lion asked without raising his head.

The lion sword lay across his knees, lying quietly. It was still bright, and the honor of severing a piece of Horus Luperkar's pauldron did not change the sword at all.

Leon El'Jonson stared at its mirror-like sword body, staring into his own eyes through the reflection.

They had crossed the river, they had ascended Terra - but that was not the goal, ascending Terra was not the purpose, winning was.

The question is, how to win?

The lion held his sword and slowly stood up.

"It's impossible to count. A conservative estimate would be around 140,000. Who can tell these damn things?"

The old knight said, letting out a hoarse laugh. He didn't look tired, and could even be called confident.

The lion looked at him with some strangeness, but Luther talked about another thing meaningfully.

"And—" He winked. "—Maybe more will come along the path you left, Leon. I'm glad you didn't let Caliban be destroyed."

"I said I wouldn't do that." The lion turned around calmly. "It's my hometown. But let me remind you one thing, Luther, there are some things that are not being dealt with right now just because I don't have the time."

"Are you still going to destroy it?"

"I want to execute all the masterminds and accomplices behind this matter in the name of law and justice, and then it depends on the situation." The lion said slowly. "And, if I could, I would have a Midnight Blade record the trial."

“Why not bring in Conrad Coates himself?”

The lion did not answer the question, but shook his head gently.

After a few seconds, he asked another question: "How are you doing?"

Luther didn't answer. He just shook his head just like the lion, and stretched out the prosthetic limb from under the cloak. It is no longer as bright as before, but has become mottled. There are a few dangerous sword marks on it that dazzlingly indicate its existence, which is quite high-profile.

Leon El'Jonson narrowed his eyes and asked again: "Who shot first?"

"I don't know." Luther said. "But after the sound of gunfire, there was orbital bombardment and a swarm charge of armored divisions, as if they had determined early on that we were here to kill them."

"It will be like this next time we meet again," the lion said in a softer voice.

Luther nodded and said nothing. He knew that the leader of the First Army had another sentence to say.

"But I still want the truth - at least part of the truth. I killed a lot of people, Luther. Some of them died confused and confused, as if fighting us was not their intention. Some of them died. People even yelled that I betrayed them, and obviously they really thought so, so no matter what the truth is, there are people who are forced to fight us.”

"You want to forgive them?"

"Never," the lion said, but paused. "Because someone laid down their arms and was forgiven and they didn't, they died. I will honor them with the blood of the real murderer."

"So." Luther asked again. "How are you going to attack?"

"Is there a map?"

"No."

"communication?"

"nor."

"Remote sensing mapping? Radar scanning?" The Lion asked persistently. Luther's answer was very simple. He just shook his head and explained.

"Nothing, Leon. Do I need to remind you that we have no fleet? They are still in orbit on Caliban. So, this is a war with no air superiority, no follow-up reinforcements, and no intelligence."

"Just what I wanted." The lion said coldly. "If the power shown by that thing is anything to go by, I have no doubt it could easily take over our fleet. I will not have our own weapons turned on any loyalist."

Luther heard a hint of indignation, but he didn't say anything. He just walked to the dead Fenrisian and knelt down slowly.

He sighed, very long and with obvious sadness. Of course he was not familiar with Leman Russ, but if even a primarch could be killed, and died in such a cruel way, could the murderer be able to do other things?

Or could the murderer easily replicate this incident on others?

"Do you think you could possibly beat him?" Luther asked. "Forgive me, even though both the Emperor and the Markbearer have used the word, I still don't believe that such a thing could happen."

"That's it." The lion corrected, his expression serious, his eyes shining slightly in the darkness.

The sound of artillery shelling was constantly coming over their heads, and the huge and distant echo made everything begin to look absurd, like a boring scene that the most incompetent novelist screamed in his dream.

"So, can you beat it?"

"No," said the lion. "You don't understand what it feels like, Luther. Standing in front of it, fighting it, is almost like fighting-"

He paused and said no more.

"What are you talking about?"

The lion still didn't answer, but just uttered a name in his heart.

Emperor.

But how is this possible? Leon El'Jonson was shocked by his answer, but then memories surfaced that confirmed his thoughts.

The feeling at that time once again occupied his heart, and the lion painfully realized that standing in front of that thing, he needed the support of willpower to even swing his sword.

Without enough determination, he couldn't even raise a weapon against the thing - was it fear? The leader of the First Army asked himself, and then immediately denied it.

No, definitely not fear. But if it wasn't fear, what was it that made him instinctively want to avoid fighting it? Like refusing to raise a sword against the Emperor?

His thoughts gradually began to drift into an unpredictable abyss, and Luther interrupted him. Very timely and just right, always.

"What should we do with Lord Russ?" the old knight muttered to himself. "He deserves to be buried, but we should hand him over to the wolves first."

The lion looked down at him, unable to determine for a moment whether Luther's words were intentional or unintentional. He could not see any evidence on the old face that could let him know the truth, because Luther had no expression at all.

He just knelt beside Leman Russ and placed one hand on the hilt of the sword at his waist. There were still bloodstains on his cloak and armor that had not been clear in time, and several bullet holes remained unsightly on the right shoulder armor, blurring a mark painted by Leon himself.

The lion narrowed his eyes, showing a rare displeasure.

"We have to find his pack first," Leon said. "At least some of the wild wolves who boarded the ship with him are still alive. These wild and untamable Fenrisians possess a terrifying vitality. I don't believe they will all die - and Russ is dead."

"What's the meaning?"

The lion finally showed some obvious sadness. He slowly bent down, picked up the right gauntlet from the ground, and hung it around his waist.

"There is a connection between the Astartes and their respective Primarch, Luther. And Leman Russ is dead, so that connection will start to tremble, will give a warning."

Leon El'Jonson said in a low voice, his voice tightly connected with the words. Luther raised his head and looked into his adopted son's eyes. He suddenly had a funny description - he felt that the lion was singing.

A vast elegiac song of which he was unaware, a song that did not involve any mourning, longing, sadness or anger, like the howl of a wild beast under the moonlight.

No one would know that it was just mourning the loss of a member of its pack.

"That connection is closer than the blood connection. It is a call from the depths of genes. So, if something happens to Ruth, the wolves will definitely know, even before we know. In this case. "

Leon El'Jonson bent down again, reached out and pulled out the Spear of Dionysus from Leman Russ's hand.

He held it in his hand and pressed the spear to his forehead. Ruth's blood, which seemed to never dry up, stained his face red. From his eyebrows down, it began to drip slowly, dividing his entire face into two.

".It won't be difficult to find them."

An hour and twenty-two minutes later, he was proven right, but it wasn't good news, as the First Legion's warriors also discovered traces of the Word Bearers.

On top of Terra.

One more chapter, or two, or three (not sure)