In front of the World Eaters Legion's temporary headquarters, the air froze.
Hundreds of Space Marines in blue and white livery, mottled with blood and dust, like a forest of steel and fury, stared fixedly at the sudden figure in the center of the clearing.
She stood there.
A suit of pink-purple crystal power armor fitting her slender figure shimmered with a dreamlike luster under Nukeria's dim yellow sky. Every inch of the armor was a living work of art—streamlined pauldrons, a slim waist, and crystallized greaves wrapping her long legs—looking completely out of place in this crude, barbaric world.
Moonlight-silver long hair poured from under the helmet, flowing smoothly to her waist.
In her hand, she held a magnificent silver longsword taller than herself.
Fogremia.
A name, a figure, an impassable chasm standing before thousands of demigod warriors.
"Kill her."
A hoarse, dull voice, like it was squeezed from a rusted iron can, broke the silence.
The speaker was Kharn, the Captain of the World Eaters Legion's Eighth Company. His hulking frame stepped out from the shadows of the headquarters, the joints of his power armor emitting a piercing grinding sound. Beneath his helmet, eyes burned by the "Butcher's Nails" until only tyranny remained stared fixedly at Fogremia.
"Kill this reckless bitch!"
Kharn's roar was like a fuse lighting a powder keg.
"Hraaaaaagh—!"
Dozens of World Eaters closest to her roared like beasts. Their heavy power boots trampled the ground with a thunderous boom. They brandished buzzing chainaxes, whipping up foul gusts of wind as they charged from all directions toward that still, slender figure.
It was a storm of steel and flesh.
Every swing of a chainaxe was enough to easily split a Leman Russ Tank. Dozens of such weapons falling simultaneously formed a death web with absolutely no Vitality.
However, Fogremia moved.
Her movement wasn't a charge, a dodge, or even something that could be called fighting.
It was a dance.
The most elegant ballet blooming on the edge of death's blade.
She stood on her tiptoes, leaning back slightly in a light, almost impossible turn, just letting a giant axe whistling from the front pass by. The high-speed rotating teeth on the blade almost brushed against her full breastplate, yet failed to cause even a scratch.
Her left foot slid a step to the side, her body like a weightless feather, finding the only fleeting gap between two crossing chainaxes.
The violent airflow blew her silver hair, yet she didn't even blink.
Her sword was an extension of her dance.
Completing that side-step, the magnificent longsword in her hand finally unsheathed.
No sound.
No whistling.
Only a silver arc, perfect as a crescent moon, flashed through the dim air.
"Puchi."
A slight sound of a blade cutting into flesh, almost inaudible, rang out.
The World Eaters warrior attacking from her left suddenly froze mid-charge. He looked down to see a thin, mirror-smooth cut at his throat. The neck armor of his power armor, along with the flesh and bone inside, had been silently severed by this one strike.
Warm blood gushed from that perfect cut.
Before he could let out a wail, his massive body crashed to its knees.
One strike.
Instant death.
This was just the beginning.
Fogremia's figure moved through the storm of chainaxes as if strolling through a garden.
Every turn, every side-step, and every elegant leap precisely and flawlessly avoided all lethal attacks. Her movements were full of rhythm, as if the battlefield were not a battlefield, but her solo stage.
And her sword was the most ruthless judge on that stage.
Another silver arc lit up.
It precisely pierced the armpit joint of a World Eaters power armor. That was the weakest point of protection; the sword tip easily penetrated the composite material, shredding the internal organs.
The blade turned, drawing an upward trajectory.
It severed the wrist of another warrior holding a weapon.
She didn't even look at the fallen enemies.
Her gaze remained calm, carrying a faint contempt, like a teacher examining a poor student's homework.
This way of fighting was an unprecedented, ultimate humiliation for the World Eaters.
They worshipped strength, and the crushing of enemies into meat paste in the most direct and violent way. In their understanding, combat should be sparks from clashing chainaxes, the crack of breaking bones, and the pleasure of splashing blood.
But this woman...
She didn't parry.
She didn't even let her weapon collide once with theirs.
She was just dodging, dancing.
Then, in a way they couldn't understand—almost "toying"—she harvested their brothers' lives efficiently and artistically.
"All of you, go! Tear her apart!!"
Kharn's roar became even more furious. His brain, repeatedly tortured by the "Butcher's Nails," couldn't process the scene before him. It exceeded his understanding, and what he couldn't understand only triggered a deeper, world-destroying rage.
More World Eaters warriors were infected by this emotion.
They abandoned their already non-existent formations, eyes red like enraged bulls, rushing headlong toward that stage of death.
Hundreds of Space Marines surrounded Fogremia.
A surging tide of people, a forest of axe shadows.
Yet, that silver figure flickered even more effortlessly through the gaps of the crowd and axes.
She was like a silver dolphin playing in stormy waves; every time she leaped out of the "sea," she brought up a spray of brilliant blood flowers.
The longsword in her hand was sometimes like a venomous snake's tongue, cunning and ruthless, stabbing vitals; sometimes leaving no trace, severing enemy limbs from impossible angles.
Her killing had no redundant movement.
Not a shred of strength was wasted.
Only ultimate efficiency and ultimate beauty.
A World Eaters Captain brandishing a massive power hammer roared as he rushed before her. Blue energy arcs flickered on the Warhammer; one hit was enough to smash a deep pit into the ground.
Fogremia did not retreat.
She advanced instead of retreating, her body spinning rapidly like a top.
The silver sword light, following her rotation, turned into a brilliant, expanding tornado of death.
Clang clang clang—!
Countless Bolter rounds were easily deflected by this blade tornado, sparking futilely in the air.
The Captain roared, swinging the power hammer down with all his might.
However, what he hit was only an afterimage.
Fogremia's figure had already appeared behind him.
She stopped spinning, her longsword returning to stillness, the tip gently tapping the power armor joint at the Captain's nape.
"Pu."
A soft sound.
The Captain's massive body crashed to the ground, silent.
The entire battlefield fell into total chaos because of her presence alone.
The World Eaters forgot discipline, forgot command, and forgot their original mission. In their minds, only one thought remained.
Tear that woman apart.
Tear apart that "perfection" they could never understand and never reach.
This was no longer a battle.
It was a grand performance led by Fogremia, akin to performance art.
She even had leisure time.
While dodging three chainaxes with a flash, her gaze caught an unknown red wildflower growing stubbornly from a crack in the ruins.
That flower had just been stained even more vividly by the blood of a fallen warrior.
A playful curve tugged at the corner of Fogremia's mouth.
Her figure flickered again.
The silver sword tip, like the most nimble finger, gave a light flick.
The blood-stained wildflower was plucked whole from the crack, drawing a graceful parabola in the air, finally landing in her palm.
She pinned the flower to the chest of her crystal power armor.
The bright red petals against the pink-purple crystal created a cruel and magnificent beauty.
This scene became the straw that broke the camel's back.
"Aaahhhhhh—!!!"
Every World Eaters warrior who witnessed this let out a roar of absolute madness.
Their sanity was completely incinerated by this ultimate contempt and provocation.
They were no longer warriors, but a pack of true beasts driven by rage. They pushed each other, trampling over their comrades' corpses just to get closer to the figure driving them mad.
The main force of the World Eaters Legion, all their attention, and all their pathetic shred of thought, were firmly attracted by Fogremia alone and dragged into the abyss of chaos.
The defenses toward the Colosseum were now practically non-existent.
On the other side of this bloody hell.
On the other side of the planet.
That massive Colosseum, like a hideous scar, appeared unusually quiet now.
All the guards had been drawn to the other side of the planet by that "perfect open scheme."
After an imperceptible spatial fluctuation.
Two figures landed silently in the empty backstage of the Colosseum.
The foul air was purified by an invisible force as it approached them.
Leticia wore a simple black robe, her pure black eyes calmly watching the massive alloy gate leading to the interior of the Colosseum.
Beside her, Terrania gripped the corner of her robe tightly, her golden eyes showing some nervousness, but more of an absolute trust in Leticia.
In the distance, the chaotic and furious roars of the World Eaters Legion could be faintly heard.
That sound, at this moment, seemed like the perfect accompaniment for their infiltration.
The gates to hell had opened for her.
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