Chapter 73: Go Tell My Brother
Zarakynel the Calamity elegantly surveyed the scene.
Its daemonic eyes, gleaming with purple light and capable of penetrating the very essence of souls, swept across the entire area.
Finally, its gaze settled on a corner.
There huddled a ball of grey presence (Lars), and beside it lay a "murder weapon" that had consigned two champions to death.
On the sword, the orange-red "mortal flame"—which even stung its eyes—still flickered weakly.
"Hmm?"
Zarakynel's narrow eyes narrowed slightly.
It completely ignored the dust-like soul, its gaze fixed intently on the short sword.
Then, following the unique psychic energy fluctuations emanating from the short sword, it abruptly turned its head to look at Eileen, who was being protected behind Sicarius.
The psychic energy fluctuations of both originated from the same source.
It was the scent it loathed and feared most—the scent of the "Anathema."
"So that is how it is…"
Zarakynel's voice soared like an operatic aria, tinged with the thrill of discovering its prey.
"It is you… that little thing emitting a foul, golden glow."
It raised its spear, the tip pointing directly at Eileen.
"You wielded that weapon to destroy the Prince of Pleasure's collection?"
"Do you know what a crime that is? That soul… must be repaid by you!"
Faced with the Greater Daemon's accusations, Eileen did not back down.
Buzz—
She raised her still somewhat weak right hand, her fingers outstretched.
In the corner, the ceremonial short sword stuck in the ground seemed to be summoned, drawing itself out in a flash of golden light, transforming into a streak of light that flew across most of the battlefield, landing steadily in Eileen's hand.
"That is right."
Eileen gripped the hilt of her sword, feeling the warmth of the blade. Despite the cold sweat on her palms, she raised her head and spoke arrogantly:
"That was definitely done by my newly recruited 'little brother.'"
She glanced at the stunned Lars in the corner, then looked back at Zarakynel.
"But so what?"
Eileen sneered, with the same expression she used when dealing with other neighbourhood thugs.
"You beat up the ugly one, so the older, uglier one has to come out and yell?"
"Come find me if you dare! Do not come crying back to your so-called bitch prince to resurrect you after I beat you to a pulp!"
Zarakynel the Calamity paused.
As a being that had hunted down several Greater Daemons, it had heard countless curses and roars, but this… this kind of vulgar, streetwise mockery was truly a first for it.
Then—
Zarakynel laughed.
A chilling, intensely pleasurable smile bloomed on its stunningly beautiful face.
"Ah… how fresh…"
It extended its long tongue, licking its lips.
"What an exciting humiliation…"
"Your soul… must be delicious. Worthy of my hunt…"
Zarakynel slowly lowered its spear, the purple aura around it surging.
"It is decided."
"After the hunt… I will definitely cut off your lovely little tongue intact and present it to the Prince of Pleasure as a keepsake. I will have it tell this joke forever in the prince's wine cup."
Faced with this terrifying threat…
Eileen showed no fear.
On the contrary,
she flashed a radiant smile.
Her once-flowing golden hair, worn from excessive exertion, had reverted to a dry, flaxen colour, cascading messily over her shoulders.
Her eyes, once burning with intense fire, had lost their golden lustre, almost reverting to their original brown, and were bloodshot.
The green laurel wreath on her head lay askew, and her tactical overcoat was stained with dust and blood.
She looked young and fragile—the kind of girl who would be brave enough to secretly make a face at a foreman.
Yet she faced the most powerful Greater Daemon under Slaanesh's command and met its gaze with the most contemptuous mockery.
Her face showed no fear whatsoever.
"Want my tongue?"
Eileen took a deep breath.
She did not look at Zarakynel, but instead raised her head, adjusting the green laurel wreath Roboute had given her, and looked up at the fragile ceiling above.
"Such words…"
Eileen's voice suddenly brightened.
"You should save those for… and tell them to my brothers!"
The words had barely left her lips—
"BOOM—!!!"
A deafening roar, a hundred times louder than ever before, like the collapse of the heavens and earth, exploded from above the Governor's Spire.
Immediately afterward—
Crack—Bang!!
The sturdy dome, painted with distorted murals, was violently shattered.
Dust and debris rained down.
Slamming heavily into the horde of daemons in the centre of the hall.
Accompanying the falling debris,
several enormous metallic objects, trailing crimson flames, plummeted like meteors.
Massive blue airdrop pods.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
A series of deafening explosions shook the heavens.
Countless massive drop pods, carrying enough kinetic energy to shatter the ground, slammed into the earth like dumplings being dropped into a pot.
The Chaos Space Marines and Slaaneshi daemons who had been screaming just moments before did not even have time to utter a cry before being crushed into two-dimensional forms by the "steel rain" falling from the sky.
The entire hall trembled.
Smoke and dust filled the air.
Hiss—
The sound of a pressure valve releasing rang out.
The hatch of the foremost drop pod suddenly flung open.
And stumbled out…
a bulky old man, dressed in a specially made, extra-thick cushioning suit, resembling a white Michelin man.
A jumble of holy relics and bones hung around his neck, and he held aloft a copy of the Lectitio Divinitatus.
Cardinal Mathieu of the Ecclesiarchy.
He charged out, completely ignoring the surrounding daemons and the frozen figure of Zarakynel, spear in hand.
His fanatical eyes instantly locked onto Eileen in the distance.
"Ah!!"
Mathieu let out a frenzied howl, rushing to Eileen's side, tears streaming down his face as he raised his hands to the sky.
"I saw it! I witnessed it!"
"Holy! Great! Holy Healer Eileen!"
"You risked your life alone! Leading an army into the daemon's lair! You shone a holy light in this filth-ridden land!"
"What mercy! What—"
"Enough! Mathieu!"
A dignified, deep, yet somewhat exasperated voice emanated from the drop pod.
"This is not your weekly cathedral mass. Shut your mouth."
A massive hand, clad in deep blue, precision-engineered power armour, reached out and grabbed Mathieu by the back of his bulky protective suit like a child, tossing him aside to the surging Honour Guard.
Thump.
A massive blue combat boot stepped out of the pod, crushing a still-twitching daemonic limb on the ground.
Then—
the figure emerged completely from the shadows.
He was tall, imposing, clad in the Armour of Fate, the symbol of Imperial power.
In his hand, he held the sword burning with raging flames—
the Emperor's Sword.
Roboute Guilliman.
The Lord Commander of the Imperium of Man, the Primarch of the Ultramarines. Lord of five hundred worlds.
[Coconut-Shell Bun]
But he was not the only protagonist.
Beside him, another, slightly shorter figure slowly emerged.
A figure clad in finely crafted grey power armour, draped with a simple grey robe.
But the oppressive aura he exuded was no less than that of Guilliman in the Armour of Fate.
He wore power boots, his footsteps landing on the gravel-strewn ground.
His snow-white hair cascaded over his shoulders, his face pale yet handsome.
His grey eyes, once clouded, now held a blazing fury that seemed to spit fire.
In his hand he gripped a terrifyingly massive, finely crafted war-scythe—a weapon newly forged for him by the Great Sage, which he named "Judgement."
The Pale King, Liberator of Barbarus, returned son of the Imperium's Fourteenth Legion Primarch.
Mortarion.
The two Primarchs stood side by side.
The Emperor's Sword in Guilliman's hand blazed fiercely. He looked at Eileen in the distance, his eyes first filled with anger, then with helplessness, before turning to the daemons, his gaze turning murderous.
"It seems… I have arrived just in time."
Guilliman sneered, his sword pointing directly at the Slaaneshi Keeper of Secrets, Zarakynel the Calamity.
"What gave you the courage to wreak havoc here, daemon?"
Behind them,
more drop pods rained down.