Warhammer: In the Name of Nirvana

victory.

Only, victory.

When he took over the authority belonging to the legion in the endless deep woods of Caliban and in the magnificent fortress of the Knights, he was told that he already knew.

All the empire needs is victory.

Other than that, nothing matters.

Sacrifice is not important.

The cost is not important.

The process is not important.

Even victory itself is not important.

The Empire just needs victory.

…

The scarlet light pierced through the miasma and world of tens of millions of light years, and illuminated the solemn face of the Caliban Lion without mercy.

Every scarlet spot is a fleet that is collapsing.

Every ray of light is a world that is falling.

Every flickering light and dark place is a legion, a hundred companies, a thousand armors, ten thousand angels, one million or ten million soldiers, silently in the cycle of loyalty and death. Roaring, struggling wildly, trying their best to kill the opponent or escape.

Zhuang Sen raised his head and looked at the flickering star map in front of him: thousands of scarlets scattered throughout the Milky Way. At every moment and every second, they never stop, just like the night of Caliban. , the thousands of stars he saw hanging in the sky: only this time, they were no longer pure dreams, but the dazzling light of blood.

In front of him, Holy Terra and the star field north of the Maelstrom were projected, half of the empire's territory, and half of the human galaxy.

At this moment, everything was riddled with holes and falling apart before his eyes.

How many are there...

One thousand, ten thousand, one hundred thousand, one million...

Far more than that.

…

The Empire just needs victory.

The Empire, needless, wins.

…

From the Eye of Terror to the Maelstrom.

From Medusa to Prospero.

Every world is burning, every land is in dispute, like an endless curtain of iron and blood, arbitrarily cutting the entire galaxy in half, and behind this curtain filled with blood and fire, there are a million A world and galaxy transformed into hell in groans and wails.

Every hour, there are new war reports clogging all communication networks.

Failure, failure! fail! !

Every minute, more messages and cries for help passed through the thousands of stars and piled up at his feet.

Fall, fall! Fall! !

Every second, a new scarlet flashes in the star map, also flashes in his pupils, and also flashes in the unknown galaxy or world far away, which means a failed confrontation, a helpless defeat. A retreat, a noble act of loyalty, or a downright despicable act.

Collapse, collapse! collapse! !

"boom!"

The stainless steel gauntlet hit the table with the star map display heavily, and cracks and sounds wandered around the room, but it did not attract any attention or pause.

The Legion was numb.

There is only the electronic torrent that is constantly reporting and processing information, there is only the sound of wings that are constantly returning and departing, and there are only tens of thousands of living lives that are becoming steel, becoming parts, and becoming a pure game amidst the infinite numbers and sad wails. The perfect cog in the flesh mill.

No one was surprised.

No one cares.

The war continues.

No one can stop it.

——————

Because victory is meaningless.

Because in this galaxy, only war, hatred and death will last forever, and only ignorance, smoke and revenge will be respected.

Victory means nothing.

Winning is everything.

The legions are bleeding, the battle lines are collapsing, and thousands of stars have turned into burning purgatory in abandonment and anger. The billowing smoke has caused hundreds of millions of throats to roar hoarsely in fear, and the fleet has turned into ashes in the light of the stars. The fortress fell to the ground in the flames of the siege. At every hour and every minute of every day, the world was being abandoned, the fronts were being breached, and the legions were being killed.

But despite this, it is still a victory.

The Empire can only [win].

Just accept victory.

You can only pursue victory.

You can only... win.

No matter what.

And that's all they can do.

Just hold on.

There is only silence.

There is only progress.

only……

——————

"Ready to fight!"

The roar of an unknown person exploded in the public communication platform, torturing the eardrums of every unfortunate person who was still alive. This violent shout was like a sudden shout in a thunderstorm night. In just a short moment, After that, he was submerged in an endless wave of even greater roars and orders.

Just like this battle: chaos, disorder, vastness, madness...

despair.

Looking around, there is burning everywhere, screams everywhere, and torrents of iron filings and blood flowing everywhere, just like the rush of flood season wantonly devouring the low-lying areas after the bloody battle.

Looking at it, this is not an evenly matched battle. It can hardly be called a contest. Hundreds of death angels and a hundred times as many mortals are scattered in this place with few defense measures. They are not Coming from the same army, they had never known each other even before this, and after this, they would never know that they had fought side by side with each other.

Looking around, the silver, purple, iron gray, black and blue lights are like beacons in the endless darkness, exuding a few reassuring lights. These powerful angels of death are surrounded by a varying number of mortal assistants. The army formed the only line of defense eager to curb the alien craze.

Among them, some are survivors after the collapse of the battle line, following the only remaining organization to retreat to this unknown world; some are members of the original reinforcement fleet, who were left homeless due to the dual interference of alien attacks and void storms. By chance, They came to this burning battlefield by coincidence; others were confused escapees. Their fleet had just barely managed to break out of the long subspace storm. Before they had time to know the situation in the real universe, they were involved in this ruthless world. In the bloody fight.

And that's the case with Hector.

The rising star of the Second Legion panted and ran. He clutched the strange green blade that had just been repaired, and advanced rapidly amidst the endless smoke and wails. His silver figure passed over countless hills and ruins, like a The bright star pierced the long night, like a clipper riding the wind and waves in the roaring sea.

Countless ferocious roars were trying to delay his steps, trying to take away his life and hope: most of them were miserable slaves in ragged clothes, an army of cannon fodder driven by more powerful masters, and in their endless flow Among the waves, there are truly terrifying opponents hidden.

His brain was running extremely fast, his muscles were constantly swelling and expanding, and his two hearts were constantly pumping, making an unsettling violent sound like it was swallowing up thunder and lightning in the summer.

He breathed, he ran, he thought, his body functions were running faster and faster, being overloaded more and more uncontrollably, constantly producing the famous "tension" and "tension". Anxiety] emotion.

The more tense his body is, the clearer his mind becomes. The genes in his blood that originated from the mother of genes protect his mind at this time: every soldier who belongs to the Second Legion has this. This advantage allows them to maintain an extremely calm thinking that is no different from usual, or even better, in an extremely stressful environment.

He charged forward, waving the long sword in his hand constantly, just like a violent hurricane flattening the jungle on the island. Hector walked in the storm of death and destruction, surrounded by bright green silence. Every time the Dance of Destruction is waved, it will set off a blood frenzy in the huge waves of alien slaves.

Whenever such a song of killing is played by the rising stars of the Second Legion, the primitive instinct will echo in the hearts of the alien slaves. In the next few seconds, they will fall into an instinctive confusion and retreat. , and this period of time is considered a long time for any Astartes, enough for Hector to continue rampaging through the endless sea of ​​slaves to create a bloody passage, leading to the light in the distance.

But such a wonderful time would not last long, because just after the briefest hesitation, accompanied by the scolding of Master Ran Dan and the sound of more exciting currents, the courage formed by fear and pain would Urge them to once again pounce on the endlessly fighting Astartes warriors until he is drowned, and those slaves who still have cunning and ideas quietly go around behind Hector, intending to knock him down. into the endless waves.

But the heir of Morgan never had to worry about all this: he was not alone. Although he had been trapped in the inexplicable subspace and drifted for a long time, fortunately, his most precious treasure was not lost.

"Watch the left! Hector!"

Salieri's brief reminder appeared together with his psychic blade. The new psyker was now standing on Hector's left hand side, waving the chain saw, flashing psychic energy, and jumping from his mouth. Every word he uttered was even more damaging to the alien than every swing he roared in anger. He kept chanting and roaring, and fireballs and lightning bolts continued to shoot out from his fingertips. , never stopped, and the price was that his complexion became as pale as a dying person.

On the other side, on the right side of Hector, the one standing back to back with Salieri is the [huge] Ajax. Different from the usual impression of ordinary people, the tall Ajax is not a person who specializes in close combat. A warrior whose main means of combat is, on the contrary, his strong body makes him one of the few in the legion who can move and fight with heavy weapons. Now, he is holding a heavy bolter while trying his best to Moving quickly, pouring out tongues of fire crazily, through the thick armor, Hector could clearly hear the sound of bones colliding with Ajax's two arms.

In addition, the one who fell at the end of the team was the ancient warrior Chiron, the commander of Hector, Salieri and Ajax, a veteran warrior who fought with a power sword and a plasma pistol. He stayed at the end of the team, constantly Cleaning away the opponents who pounced on him again, his fighting method seemed so ordinary that no one noticed that he was actually the one who killed the most aliens.

The team is advancing, killing, eager to tear apart the obstruction and encirclement of the wave of aliens at all costs. With the roar of chain saws and the sound of explosive bombs, countless aliens are being ruthlessly harvested, slaughtered, and cleaned. Wherever they went, there was a boiling river of blood. Wherever they pointed, they turned into ashes of bones and flesh, scattered in the scarlet sky.

"Hector!"

During the fight, another anxious call came. The son of Morgan was no longer too lazy to distinguish whether the voice came from Salieri or Lord Chiron. He just raised his head and changed his perspective: even without the anxiety of that voice Reminder, he could already feel the rapidly approaching figure.

Ran Dan's warrior, or Ran Dan's overlord: for Hector now, there is no bigger difference between the two.

Hector could see the figure approaching at high speed: that tall body, ferocious face and blasphemous weapons. He had seen enough in the past few years, and he had killed enough. .

He pretended not to notice the approaching opponent, swung his blade and continued to reap the lives of the cannon fodder, letting the Randan warrior carefully observe his every move, letting it seize the opportunity, and began to hide in the chaos of slaves. In the wave, it approached Hector's neck at high speed.

Frankly speaking, its speed is indeed very fast, and the swing of the blade is so vicious and just right. Even an Astartes would have a hard time capturing every moment. If it were Hector three or five years ago, it would be very difficult. It is possible to suffer losses at its hands and even pay the price.

But alas, three or five years of war can completely change anyone.

The moment before it swung its sword, Hector turned around very quickly. He keenly caught the moment when his opponent opened and closed. The Emperor's Fang, chosen by Morgan, did not hesitate to use the most powerful weapon. Counterattacks that play to your strengths:

Impact.

He bumped into it hard, and in the next moment he heard the sound of his opponent's bones shattering. The powerful impact penetrated the thick armor of Ran Dan's alien. This vicious alien was like a big tree with its roots broken. Like a tree, it fell to the ground, splashing countless dust.

Hector didn't give his opponent a second chance. He rushed forward, and the bright green light danced, causing the ugly head to fly high and roll down to an unknown place. Then, He pulled out the explosive gun from his waist, pulled the trigger, and completely burned the alien's chest to pieces: just like what every soldier who fought against Ran Dan was asked to do.

And at the moment when he finished all this, he couldn't help but sigh in his heart. Compared with the terrible killers he encountered in the past, the current Ran Dan alien has changed.

He has also changed.

But now there is no time for him to continue to sigh. With the fall of his master, the wave of cannon fodder slaves finally receded slowly like cowardly rats. Hector and his team did not continue to struggle: they still have something more important. mission, a mission more important than their lives.

They must retreat, to a safe place, and they, or one of them, must report to the Empire what they have just seen.

That terrifying monster, that weird alien shape, those chilling symbols...

What they had just seen was so terrible, so terrible that it could reverse the darkness of this war and shake the entire galaxy. They must send this news back.

No matter what the cost.