The rain on Armageddon always carried a pungent chemical stench. Before the inhabitants could adapt to such an environment, they had to wear gas masks on rainy days.
Now, the residents' genes had been altered, adapting them to this extreme weather—yet Armageddon would never see rain again.
Lathia had not seen rain since the day he was born, and there would be no rain after his death. He had only heard of that era in distant legends, a time when the people of Armageddon lived in harmony with the planet's life. Now, the equatorial jungles had transformed into the most lethal zones, choked by toxic substances and soot.
Toxic dust and waste fumes drifted through the air at all times. Gas masks had to be worn constantly, even within the Hive cities. This was to prevent any breach in sealing during a windstorm that could blow the dust inside. Lathia had once watched a comrade inhale that terrible dust; his lungs were corroded shortly after.
The Armageddon Steel Legion was accustomed to such non-combat losses. The Imperium of Man was accustomed to such non-combat losses.
Lathia was accustomed to it, too. Every person stationed on Armageddon knew they could die at any moment. Fighting against heretics, mutants, and Chaos... No, there was no Chaos. Chaos had never appeared on Armageddon. This was what every recruit was told. Lathia knew it was a tradition; whether he believed it or not, it was something he had to accept.
"Today is destined to be restless."
"Yes, I know."
"You're boring."
"That is Armageddon."
Lathia looked at his comrade, and his comrade looked back. After a few seconds, Lathia took out a cigarette and lit one for himself and one for his friend.
"How long will we have to fight?"
"Until death."
"I thought you'd say 'until final victory'."
"Death is our final victory."
Lathia said nothing. He raised his rifle, aiming it at the refugees suddenly approaching. "Show your faces!"
They were all human—at least in appearance, and appearance often told the whole story.
"Pass through."
A man mixed in the crowd suddenly spoke as he passed by. "Loyal guardsman, will there be danger here?"
Lathia heard this question often. He replied, "Yes, and it will arrive soon. If you want to live, keep retreating toward our Hive."
He paused, noticing the woman beside the man, as if remembering something. He used to know a girl just as lovely and delicate as her. She sold snacks next to a street in the Middle Hive, very close to his home. The food was good and cheap. He used to frequent her stall to support the business. Back then, he never imagined he would join the Armageddon Steel Legion and end up like this.
She was very cute, but Lathia had no money for any other thoughts—until one day, the girl who had little connection to him spoke up.
"Would you be willing to marry me?"
"Why?"
Lathia wanted to say they hadn't talked much. Love wasn't supposed to be like this. They should get to know each other first, notice a spark between them, then seek the God-Emperor's grace on the streets of the Middle Hive, and finally become a couple under the blessing of an Ecarchy priest to jointly forge His glorious currency.
"My parents are sick. They can't work. I have to take care of them, but if I do, no one can earn money." Her eyes searched Lathia's. It was simply a judgment made by an ordinary person facing the disasters of her life. "You are a good man; I can see it in your eyes. I am young; I can help you."
Lathia had forgotten how he responded at the time. His only memory was that his legs felt unsteady as he left. Later, the girl continued to sell snacks there until he joined the Steel Legion.
"Take your wife—or your partner—with you. The God-Emperor will bless you," Lathia said to the man.
"Oh?"
"The light in the eyes of two people who love each other... that is the Emperor's radiance."
"Thanks for the reminder."
The man led the woman away. Lathia's comrade laughed. "I didn't know you could speak like a priest. You really should have joined the Ecclesiarchy."
Lathia recalled a night he was temporarily stationed in a cathedral. An anomaly had broken out in a mine—some dangerous creatures that weren't particularly hard to deal with, but the resulting explosion had kicked up a lethal cloud of dust. The cathedral was filled with people who had inhaled the dust. The Sisters of Battle held back the children, preventing them from approaching their dying parents, promising that the best-behaved children could enter the Schola Progenium.
The children fell silent, watching the miserable adults struggling, roaring, and dying on the floor. Lathia saw a man coughing frantically, as if trying to hack up the waste in his lungs. He coughed up piece after piece of flesh; they looked almost like stones. By the time he died, he had nearly torn open his own chest; one could see that his lungs had almost been coughed out.
An elderly priest recited names one by one: "This is Michael, he came in the day before yesterday... Cyril, she was the strongest woman in the mine..."
Lathia stopped thinking. On Armageddon, death and despair were the norm. The world they guarded brought death, but it also provided the Imperium with the resources it needed. Their sacrifice was necessary.
"Lathia, they're coming."
"I see them."
Through the smog, countless Orks charged forward in ramshackle vehicles. The small bunker was on the verge of being surrounded in moments.
"How long was I zoning out?"
"Over a day. I thought you fell asleep."
"Do you think the Imperium will remember our names?"
"It doesn't matter, Lathia."
The bunker's cannons and missiles fired, and the Orks' crude bombs were thrown in return.
"I hate war," Lathia whispered. The lasgun in his hand fired continuously, killing one Ork Boy after another as they tried to scale the walls.
"What did you say?"
The number of Orks was increasing. Lathia had never seen such a flourishing green. At this moment, life manifested itself in their enemies. Watching the roaring, laughing foes, Lathia even felt that they were the ones truly alive.
But if he ever said that out loud, or told his comrade he "hated war," a Commissar would have every reason to execute him on the spot.
He pondered for a moment, listening to the sound of gunfire, and replied, "It's raining on Armageddon."
His comrade was silent for a moment before replying coldly.
"Don't be a fool. It doesn't rain on Armageddon."