Warhammer: In the Name of Nirvana

My name is...

What's my name?

In the few minutes after I regained consciousness, I struggled in a state of half-asleep and half-wakefulness. The familiar and gentle friction of the motor forced my senses to return to normal. I looked out again, and then I immediately heard the sound of hymns: These damn gear asses, can't they find some words that are not creepy?

I don't want to know what kind of shitty relationship my interrupted dream has with Omni's fucking Saiyan oil!

Anger rushed to the top of my head, and the surging blood made my brain recover faster. The noisy sound beside my ears became clearer and clearer: the unfamiliar technical sergeant and the mechanical modified man in ochre robes that I had never seen before were whispering there, and the way they were arm in arm with each other made people jump.

When I was alive, we didn't have such a good relationship with these gear people, and they would wear bright red robes and speak more stiffly and cumbersomely: I subconsciously opened my mouth and wanted to imitate those fragmented memory fragments, but soon found that my throat was dry.

Dry! Damn! Die!

Damn, this damn living coffin is good in every way, except that there is no rum machine.

I coughed heavily, and my iron fingers tore up the remaining prayers, found the marble platform next to me as a support point, and stood up from the huge throne: In the process, I had to realize again that my shoulder armor and back armor were much higher than my helmet. Just a slight movement of my shoulders, hundreds of cables and pipes behind me were all invalidated.

I am different from others: compared with those brothers who are also trapped just one step away from the door of death, I am more different and more fortunate. Every time I wake up, I have to realize this fact again, and return to boredom after a brief joy.

In the boredom that came with a beckoning, I chose to stand up straight, and noticed that the shadow I cast easily covered the little guys standing in front of me: they seemed to have never seen such a great and fearless elder like me. I could hear the gear butts in long robes talking excitedly and incoherently, and a pungent smell of engine oil came from under their robes.

I had to ignore the ambiguous feelings made up of ones and zeros in their mouths.

They looked at me like valley girls looking at those rich tycoons.

Damn!

Every time I wake up, I look like this!

"Where are my weapons?"

"How is the battle going?"

I suppressed the anger in my heart, observed and recalled the layout of the room, and then I focused my attention on the little guy standing in the front: I was satisfied to see that he trembled a little when talking to me, including the little guys behind him, which was enough to make me happy.

This is a good thing.

Why is it a good thing?

Because it proves that the Legion has been replenishing fresh blood over the years.

Those little bastards who have some qualifications can only smile at me!

This is not the most hateful thing. The most hateful thing is that those old bastards who fought with me in the trenches can actually stand in front of me and smile at me: I will never forget that when I woke up last time, the one who stood there to greet me was actually the mentor who selected me into the legion.

That old bastard is still alive!

He must be three hundred years old!

Emperor, I still remember when we were guarding the gate together in the Himalayas. At that time, the so-called empire was only a little big, about the size of a city. The emperor’s residence was two blocks away from our sentry post. Basically, we could meet the seal holder patrolling every night.

Back then, a mortal servant accidentally fell asleep while on duty at night: when he woke up, he had been promoted to the seal holder.

Ah... That was a long time ago.

I looked up, and a huge halo hung on the iron-gray dome, vaguely like the sun of the past, and like a mess in my mind now: Maybe it was because I just ended my sleep, I couldn't remember what happened for a while.

What did I do after standing guard?

Maybe it was the unification war?

Or something else?

When did the thunder warriors who were responsible for teaching me war skills die?

Mosenlan, or Albia?

"Please forgive... respected elder."

Interrupting my memories, the young technical sergeant didn't point out the location of the weapon rack to me at the first time. What a foolish rookie: However, he seemed to have another set of rhetoric, and I noticed that he was wearing a ceremonial armor, which was the kind of fancy thing that looked beautiful, but it was vulnerable on the battlefield.

I was very clear about this: someone told me this fact with his life.

The fact is: even great killers like the Thunder Warriors, wearing ceremonial armor for victory ceremonies, bare-handed, waiting for medals with jubilation, are no match for us: their fists will indeed hurt our flesh wrapped in battle armor, but their muscles cannot stop our chainsaws and hot melts, nor can they stop my agility...

Wait...

No, no longer agile: I was already in this coffin at that time.

The first awakening after a long sleep, in order to chop off the heads of old friends who died with their eyes wide open.

But they deserved it.

"..."

No.

I don't want to recall these.

Let them all disappear.

Obviously, my sudden irritable movements scared the kid in front of me. He seemed a little nervous and wanted to say something, but I didn't need him: I solemnly glanced at this spacious steel morgue that was big enough to accommodate an entire legion, but found that the ones still sleeping here were all old guys.

Still those old bastards.

Not more, not less: it seems no different from the last time I slept.

Since the return of the Primarch, the Legion seems to have no more unlucky people like me.

Of course, before her return, there weren't many guys sleeping in this broken place.

I was the first one, and there were probably seven or eight after me. Anyway, there were no more than ten people at most: the Fang Angels have always resisted this fate worse than death. Even if fate falls on our heads, we will bite its crotch hard.

Then lie down.

Fuck the fearless: it's up to us to decide whether to wake up.

I remember that most of the old guys here have never been awakened, but the day when the Primarch returned was an exception. That real event woke us all up: it was a bit surprising that our Primarch would be a woman, but if you think about it carefully, it's a good thing.

The next time I see those idiots from other legions (if they are not dead), I can call them motherless bastards: I can already imagine what wonderful expressions will appear on the faces of bastards like Astelan or Akudona.

Anyway, those bastards can't lower their faces to duel with me now.

I am fearless.

Elder! Do you understand!

As for the rest of the days?

No one can wake up these cubs: not even me.

I am already the most active one, after all, I can't sleep deeply, and I can't pretend not to hear the calls of these cubs: although I really don't want to wake up, these idle guys sometimes even sing in front of me for days and nights, and I don't know which bastard suggested that the sound of an alarm clock be specially added to the awakening ceremony!

I must kill that guy.

Just this time!

I waved my fist in anger.

Good: the power is returning.

But even so, I have only woken up four times in the past hundred years, once because of the return of the Primarch, once when the Legion was almost split, Marshall asked us to stand behind him, and another time seemed to be a tragic war, but strangely, I have lost all my memories.

And then this time.

Every time, I can clearly feel that my mind is recovering more slowly.

Old... Old...

I shook my head tiredly, and felt that my body was becoming a little rusty: maybe I need a little relaxation to relieve the pain of not being able to sleep, but these two bastards who woke me up obviously didn't realize this.

"So, let me sort it out."

Before this kid opened his mouth, I had figured out everything.

"Didn't you wake me up for a crucial battle?"

"Yes, sir."

The way he stiffened his neck and tried to muster up courage reminded me of... uh...

What was the name of the little guy who died in the Caucasus with the dragon warrior?

That's all.

"Then what's the matter with you!"

"It's a ritual, sir!"

Before I could gather more anger, he finally found his mouth.

"The Emperor appointed Lord Horus as Warmaster in Ullanor this year. He hopes..."

"He hopes that we old bones can support his precious wolf boy, right?"

"It's Horus..."

"Damn Horus!"

"When I was on Terra with the Emperor, he was still a fertilized egg!"

"What title does that kid want? Just find a place to secretly put it on: he really thinks that opening a circus is admirable. It was the Emperor who led us to Terra. Without the Emperor, Horus is nothing! How dare he order our Second Legion to do things for him!"

I pulled my chin down, instinctively wanting to spit in the face of this kid and then beat him into a corner, but when my furious action only brought the meaningless friction sound of electric shocks beside me, a huge sense of decline suddenly hit me: I realized again that I was just half dead.

Fuck it.

What does this have to do with me.

Whether it's him or Horus.

And the Emperor: When did he become such a fussy guy?

Ceremony?

Pah!

When he led us from the foot of the Himalayas to throw all the other idiots and cyborgs on Terra into hell, there was no ceremony: I remember picking up my sword, putting on my armor, and following the Emperor's flag to leave from the west gate. After decades, I returned from the east gate. The road I walked was what they called the Unification War.

There was no holiness or greatness. At that time, we just changed places to kill people, and we basically changed places every day.

And, I remember clearly: when we finished the first half of the Unification War, strangled the most important opponents, and returned to the foot of the Himalayas for a short rest, the magnificent stone pile began to be built. They called it the Terra Palace. It happened to be my turn to stand guard on the day it broke ground.

It was a very ordinary day. I stood guard with my brothers, and everything was as if the Unification War had never happened: until I realized belatedly when reporting the point that none of the people who had stood guard with me had returned to the Himalayas alive.

They changed another group.

I became a veteran that day.

Tsk... really...

I chewed the bitterness in my heart, and mocked the master I swore allegiance to without any taboo: I would never disobey the emperor's intention. As long as the Lord of Humanity could give an order, I would still be willing to go through fire and water for him, but since I walked back and forth on the edge of life and death, it was no problem for me to die for him. He wanted me to respect him as before...

Eat!

I cursed again, which was considered to be a little bit of venting the resentment in my heart. After doing these things, I suddenly found that I seemed to have nothing to do: every awakening was for an impossible war. What's the point of living without war?

What ceremony to attend? Be a big clown at the celebration of Horus.

Then I would rather die.

"It looks like you are going to mess up your mission, little guy."

I told this little guy, and it seemed to be asking myself in my heart.

Listening to their tone: Even the Great Expedition is about to end?

We old bones who are only fit for fighting are finally going to be swept into the garbage dump.

I ignored the little guys behind me who were leaning against each other like hungry bamboo rats and chattering with each other, but went straight back to my throne: other old guys didn't have such things, but I still needed this set. Through the luster of marble and steel, I saw the steel cage that imprisoned me at this time.

At that moment, I even somewhat understood those gear guys who were drooling over me.

How perfect it was.

The silver-white paint wrapped around the steel body that was not bloated at all. Compared to the Dreadnought, the one that buried me was more like a Terminator, with a sturdy body and slender limbs. The details of various joints were so beautiful that it was more than enough to match an ancient warrior like me: it was more like a battle mecha carefully built for warriors than a tormenting coffin.

In fact, it was.

Frankly speaking, this was not something an Astartes should have.

But I am special...

"..."

Ah, I remembered.

I finally fucking remembered it!

I don't know how many times, the word [special] finally awakened some long-forgotten memories in my mind, and a road was cleared out of a mess of dust, leading directly to the past that happened on Holy Terra, which was more than two hundred years ago.

"I changed my mind."

I whispered softly, and before these little guys could react, I strode towards the door. My ultimate goal was to walk to the corridor of the warship fully armed: I didn't need them to point out the weapon rack, I would not forget where the old guy in my hand was placed.

After retrieving it, there were some [grudges] from hundreds of years ago that needed to be resolved.

Those bastards.

Those bastards who promised me that they would not bury me in the Dreadnought.

I hope they are still alive...

I laughed, and the rough laughter made the little guys following me shudder: they pricked up their ears to hear some unfamiliar words from my low tone, which were ancient terms they could not understand.

The Himalayas, and the Thunder Stone.

That's right.

The Himalayas, and the Thunder Stone.

I followed the Emperor, and my expedition started from the foot of the Himalayas, from the first city of the Lord of Mankind: and the day I fell. The Emperor's army was on its way to the Thunderstone Cathedral, and I was buried in the Dreadnought in front of that temple of faith.

This was my journey.

But it would not be my entire journey.

At least before I die completely: I still have something to tell our Primarch.

I can guarantee on my honor that it is something important.

It's about...

What is it about?