Warhammer: Start with a dog

It was Sigismund.

How lucky he was to witness the sacred battle between the saint and the saint!

Geratos was so excited that he trembled all over, and the blood-red mist on his power armor and robes trembled slightly with his movements.

However, as a chapter chaplain, he knew more knowledge than ordinary believers, and he immediately noticed that there were some... things that did not fit the description.

According to the tradition of many years, even if the details of the champion's vision were different, in the end, there would always be a glorious hero who dared not look directly at him. He would hold a blazing sword and guide the Emperor's champion to show them the scene of their victory over their destined enemy vividly, until the blood contract was finally completed.

But this is not a battlefield.

Geratos noticed the thick red sand on the ground under his feet, the surrounding stands, and the armor painted in strange and familiar colors.

Iron Heart's battle brothers...? No...? What is that mark...?

When Geratos realized that although many people were not wearing power armor, the style of the remaining power armor and the meaning of the lightning symbols on them, he turned his eyes in horror to the person walking towards him from the opposite side.

His first reaction was to salute him with a warrior's salute.

But then he realized that this was not the face of the weathered and respected First Captain he had seen on the Everlasting Expedition.

Although they were very similar, they were almost the same person.

The battle scars all over Kahn's head and face were not as layered as Geratos had seen, and the well-known first eight golden service nails had not yet left a row of marks above his brow.

This fighter's temperament did not have the experience and calmness accumulated by the years of First Captain Kahn. His hair was not a short hair with frost and wisdom. On the contrary, his scalp was shaved clean, and aggressive metal implants were gnawing through his flesh and skull at this much younger Kahn, and this young Kahn's eyes.

Geratos was horrified.

This was the closest look he had ever seen to that chaotic and blood-thirsty evil god.

Only a trace of human clarity was still suppressing the bloodthirsty desire inside the skull in the flashing eyes.

Then the priest saw the implant on Kahn's scalp - malice - it was such a filthy and bloody malice, and the Black Templar couldn't help but roar.

What is that? !

The tentacle-like metal braids were surging with evil scarlet energy -

Then Geratos realized with horror that this red color was from the number he had just killed on the battlefield of Armageddon...? The eighty-eighth...? The eight hundred and eighty-eighth...? Since then, this scarlet color has been lingering on him, staining his soul, and gradually becoming an indelible emblem and synonym on him.

"That is the Butcher's Nail. The creation of the Old Night, and then became a powerful promoter of desire and sin."

A hand reached out from the side and brushed off the scarlet cloak on Geratos' body.

The voice continued to speak in a tone without sadness or joy. For some reason, Geratos felt a bitter taste of sadness spreading from the tip of his tongue.

"This was the last time I saw 'him' in the gladiatorial pit on behalf of the Seventh Legion. The later 'him' may not be him anymore. Of course, he must have seen me the same way."

Geratos couldn't help but whisper his question.

"Then didn't you point it out to him or make a judgment on him at that time?"

"No." The voice replied, "I am not here to judge anyone, I am here to..." He paused, "to understand the truth."

"Understand...?"

"Without in-depth investigation and understanding, you cannot declare that you can make a conclusion about anyone or anything. As far as I know, you haven't done this for a long time, right?"

"But you swore an oath with your sword nine thousand years ago to carry out the Eternal Crusade and avenge the Emperor! You are a warrior chosen by the Emperor, and so are we, and we will be."

"...Yes." There was finally a slight fluctuation in the voice.

"I am. I was."

While talking with the shadow of the hero of the past, in the gladiatorial pit in front of them, Sigismund, who was still wearing the black and yellow armor of the Knights Templar, took off the armor, revealing his energetic body, and walked onto the red sand - then asked Kahn for a chain and tied the weapon tightly to his wrist.

Jeratos cursed in shock at the reality of what he saw, so much so that he forgot to ask the voice what the words "I was" meant.

"Look," the voice continued, "I know this is what you now call a sacred act, and its meaning is named piety and fanaticism. But in the beginning, it came from this, it was so simple, it came from one of the last gifts left to us by the Red Angel and the World Eater."

In the red sand gladiatorial pit, the heart pumped blood and the sound of steel clashing sounded.

Then the scene in front of them changed again:

Jeratos found himself standing on a ruin.

The smell of human blood that filled the air made him groan unconsciously, and the strong impulse of pure and savage joy began to instigate in his cerebral cortex, cutting something off and letting some warm liquid flow out.

Someone sighed softly, and seemed to whisper a request to someone else.

Then the blood-red cataract began to fade from Geratos's vision, and he felt a little dizzy and his tongue was out of control.

"We-where am I?"

"Hush." ​​That voice accompanied the priest, comforting and frightening the son of Dorne. "look."

Geratos looked as he was told.

(This description was banned after it was published, so it is just some wet work done by the Midnight Lord, eh, eh, please fill in the blanks.)

He saw the steel bars of the building protruding from the ruins, with strings of fresh () () () () wearing them still steaming () () () () () () () () () () () heat, exhaling the temperature of () () () () from the mouth, burning in the square The oil formed under the skinless () woodpile ()()()() is seeping out from the bottom, and the fountain is filled with the whole () Under, () () () skin.

He frowned at the horror of what he saw, the sound of blade clashing drawing his attention.

He turned his head and saw the Lord Templar fighting an unknown Space Marine.

The opponent has midnight-colored armor, towering crimson bat wings and a white tusked skull decorating his helmet. This man holds a unique power halberd.

Hateful heretic apostate!

This must be a glorious battle for Lord Sigismund!

But then, he realized that Sigismund did not activate the weapon's disintegration field, and neither did the other party.

The two fighting men were surrounded by cheering and cheering crowds. The yellow power armor of the Imperial Fists was mixed in with the midnight-colored power armor. Their weapons and helmets were hung at their waists - they were still working together at this moment. comrades.

He saw them fighting from midnight to dawn, and from dawn to night, until the first ray of light of the next day shone on each other's helmets.

The two sides were immersed in continuous battles, one after another.

One side is unpredictable and the other side is gifted. This exquisite and evenly matched battle seems to extend to eternity.