socalfunplaces Page 169
Page 169
“I don’t know,” Grimaldos shook his head. “I just felt that when the final moment comes, we will all be silent, even weep, at the end.”
Atalion blinked and touched an itchy spot on the back of his neck.
Have you told the Grand Marshal how you feel?
Grimaldus laughed, speechless at his brother's naiveté.
Why do you think he would need me to notify him?
In terms of lethality and majesty, few ships in the human empire can compare with the Eternal Expedition. It is a marvel crafted and forged by the imperial artisans ten thousand years ago, a spear that Rogue Dorne cast into the void. When the Codex Astartes was promulgated and the Imperial Fist Legion was dismantled, Rogue Dorne bestowed this ship, his favorite of his, upon the original Templars, so that they might launch the Eternal Expedition, just as its name suggests, to crush the empire's enemies time and time again.
In terms of designation, the Eternal Expedition is a Queen Glorious-class battleship, a super battleship that the Empire is no longer capable of building. Her sisters have either sunk or betrayed her over the millennia, but she remains steadfast, as eternal as her name.
However, in the ten thousand years of expedition, although the sisters were not there, the eternal expedition was not lonely.
Behind her, the engines of the capital ships Night Watcher and Majesty were running at full speed, striving to keep up with the pace of the Eternal Expedition. Behind these heavy cruisers, even more and smaller strike cruisers and escorts formed a sizable fleet. The entire fleet formed a spear-like formation in the void, facilitating the fleet's advance and enabling it to break through enemy lines in case of an encounter.
Upon reaching Mandel Point, the subspace engines activated, propelling the fleet back into the real universe.
The instant they arrived in the real universe, Grimadus and Atalion in the Halls of Dorne suddenly felt a tremor—not a tremor caused by inertia, but a tremor generated by the Eternal Expedition itself—she was excited. The Glory Queen-class battleship was trembling with excitement, and as long-serving Templars, Grimadus and Atalion had never seen the "lady" beneath their feet so excited.
How is this going?
Questions arose in both of their minds.
Grimaldos watched as the skylight in the hall slowly opened, her brow furrowing slightly as she looked at the gray planet before her.
Amigidoton.
This is the name of this planet.
If one were to investigate this tormented, punished Amegiddon, one would discover a ravaged empire. In this place, even the empire's most prosperous hive cities are scarred and unable to recover from frequent wars.
And now, a brand new war is about to break out on this planet.
Prophets used glass balls and tarot cards to divine vague destinies. These true and false predictions were spread by traveling merchants and transport fleets. Among them, the most heretical claim was that the empire would perish due to defeat in war.
Destruction.
Grimaldos sneered.
He wasn't sure if the strange behavior of the Eternal Expedition was related to Armageddon, but he knew that the Empire wouldn't perish so easily, nor would it fail so easily.
Amegidon was an impregnable fortress world of the Empire. Planetary Void Shields operated day and night on the planet, rendering orbital strikes by the fleet virtually useless against its surface. Not to mention the endless stream of tanks produced from the factories, which formed armored regiments, arming millions of men and women on the planet. They concealed their faces behind breathing masks, wore the uniforms of the Steel Legion, and stained their flags with glory and blood.
The Armageddon Steel Legion is a renowned force among the vast Astronautical Army of the Imperium.
In addition, there were twenty Astartes Legions participating. The gathering of these numerous angels of death further convinced Grimadus that this war would not be easily lost.
However, it is very likely that the victory will be extremely fierce.
"Gremadus".
"what happened?"
"The Grand Marshal said that after we arrive in the real universe, he will have me take you to see him."
"Then let's go."
Grimaldos followed his brother and turned around, but just before leaving, a strange feeling suddenly arose, causing him to stop and turn back to look at the gray planet one last time.
The next instant, the feeling vanished, as if it had never existed.
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Amigidoton, the surface of the earth.
Yellow sand spreads across the world, and the atmosphere is disturbed by industrial waste gas, making it impossible to see the light of stars when looking up; all that can be seen are gray clouds.
The ground is covered with traces of war: the tracks of tanks, graveyards of broken-down war machines, and countless dangerous creatures mutated by industrial pollution.
These creatures are incredibly dangerous, as anything weak cannot survive in this place. Among them, the most powerful is undoubtedly the manticore. This creature is a full five meters long, reaching an astonishing eight meters with its scorpion-like tail. Its muscles are incredibly developed, and its bite force is enough to tear through steel, not to mention the astonishing venom within its body, powerful enough to make Astartes faint.
Such creatures are undisputed apex predators in Amegidon's native ecosystem.
However, starting a few months ago, the manticore had to move its position slightly lower in the food chain.
Because an even more dangerous apex predator has emerged.
Without any fancy techniques, the giant grabbed the manticore's tail with one hand and then ripped it off with his unparalleled strength.
The manticore let out a painful howl and fled in a sorry state. The giant did not give chase; instead, he took his long tail and went to a cave, where he lit a fire and began to roast the tail he had hunted.
"Aren't you going out to take a look?"
A voice rang out, echoing in the giant's ears.
The giant remained silent, watching as the manticore's tail slowly oozed oil under the intense heat.
"Your son has already arrived."
The giant took out a small knife, cut off a piece of meat, and put it in his mouth.
"Hey, hey, I'm the one who got this knife for you. For this reason, you should at least go out for a bit."
There was a hint of helplessness in the voice, but the giant still didn't reply, and the voice stopped trying to persuade him, only letting out a helpless sigh.
The giant used a knife to slowly slice the meat, eating his tail clean, leaving only a pile of bones. Then he stood up, and in the light of the campfire, his resolute face gave off an aura of quiet authority.
"I am Rogal Dorn."
The giant said this.
Chapter 200 Roger Dorn Doesn't Want to Go to Work
How many people have to die in a war before it can end?
Kulov asked himself this question, and then, his decades of life spent in the flames of war quickly provided the answer.
The answer is, there is no answer.
Yes, the question of how many people need to die to end a war is one that has no answer.
Because war itself is an extremely abstract concept. On a small scale, the gang wars that take place in the darkest, most gloomy places of the hive may only require the deaths of a few people to end. On a larger scale, the war between the human empire and the aliens and heretics that started ten thousand years ago has not ended to this day, even though countless people have died and countless resources have been invested.
Let's set aside those abstract concepts of war and limit it to a specific time, a star sector, a galaxy, or a planet.
The Third Armageddon War.
Kulov sighed softly, thinking to himself.
Orcs, or to use a more vulgar term, they can be called orcs.
They are the Empire's greatest enemies, ever since the Empire was first established ten thousand years ago. Kulov is a historian in private, so he studies books that record the history of the Empire. Although ten thousand years have blurred many records, they still allow him to barely tear a corner of time and see the magnificent Unoran Expedition ten thousand years ago, and the life-or-death war of beasts thousands of years ago.
And that guy, that orc, after repeated studies, revealed pressure and potential that almost made Kulov, the general of the Steel Legion, breathless.
This war is destined to kill many people.
Kulov took a deep breath.
He will die, the millions of steel legions behind him will die, the workers living in the hive who have become cogs in the machine will die, and the imperial nobles at the top will die.
Fortunately, their deaths were not meaningless. When they died, on the surface of Amagidon, in the void of this world that belongs to the Imperial Fortress, the enemy of mankind would forever leave his blood.
All of this is for that final victory.
Kulov raised his head, gazing intently at the sky.
A squadron of Thunderhawks broke through the clouds. They flew at great speed, and to those on the ground, they looked like a flock of swift and deadly crows swooping down from the sky.
Black Templar.
Kurov silently repeated the names of the chapters to which these Death Angels belonged.
This is a glorious name, belonging to the sons of Rogue Dorne. They are a powerful warrior who fight across the worlds of the Empire, bringing the wrath of the God-Emperor time and again to the Empire's enemies.
They have come to Amighiddon to face the crisis that is about to unfold.
Behind Kulov, a large procession had gathered. They were all personnel responsible for welcoming him, led by a Chimera command tank, followed by six Leman Rustamsk tanks. A striking flag flew from the command tank, a flag scarred and bearing witness to glory, blood, and death.
The Thunderhawks began landing at the landing site, and as they slowly descended, Kulov finally had the chance to count their numbers and see their markings—a total of eighteen gunboats, each bearing the Black Sanctuary's unique emblem: a cross with eight sharp points.
Kulov stepped forward and pulled his hat up to shield himself from the not-so-hot but still very glaring afternoon sun. A squad of guards followed behind him, but these soldiers were all ragged, and the skull-shaped metal ornaments on their bodies and backpacks clanged together with a sharp and piercing sound as they disembarked from the tanks and moved forward.
The guards all held light guns, as if they were the only proof of their elite status. These light guns were different from the mass-produced ones on the factory assembly line; they were all individually designed according to individual habits.
The Thunderhawk gunship drew ever closer to the ground, and the massive landing force slowly descended around the landing zone, their engines whipping up clouds of dust. The general squinted, watching the gunship come to a stop, its hatches open, and the enormous figures approaching with heavy footsteps.
Three Astartes walked at the head of the procession. Kulov couldn't see which gunboat they came from; they might have been on the same gunboat, or they might have been separated and not together.
Of the three, only one wore a helmet, and that helmet was different from the others—it was a steel skull mask with a scarlet glow emanating from the eye sockets, instilling an indescribable sense of fear in those around him.
"You are General Kulov?"
One of the Astartes spoke up, his tone neither particularly respectful nor contemptuous.
"Yes, it's me."
The general nodded.
"It is my honor to welcome you all..."
Before he could finish speaking, Astartes in front of Kulov suddenly drew his weapon.
This wasn't an isolated incident; all three Astartes drew their weapons together. Kulov involuntarily took a step back, not out of fear, but because he knew that even in an assassination attempt, he wouldn't need the three Astartes to act together.
He was astonished by the Templars' behavior.
The three knights activated their weapons together, their machine spirits were awakened, the batteries began to hiss, and blue electric light coiled around the surface of the weapons.
The first Astartes was robust and wore black armor adorned with cyan and gold accents. The armor was covered with Gothic script recounting his exploits, along with various blessings, insignia, and ornaments symbolizing honor.
He gripped a two-handed greatsword taller than Kurov, its tip plunging into the ground. War had shaped his face—a square jaw, scarred, expressionless, and solemn.
The second Astartes wore simpler black armor and a black woven cloak with a scarlet lining.
His sword could not compare to the majesty of the first knight's weapon, but this longsword was simple yet deadly.
This knight couldn't maintain his seriousness like the previous one; he seemed to be trying hard to suppress a laugh as he stuck the tip of his sword into the ground.
The last knight, wearing a helmet, carried no sword. The ground trembled beneath his feet as he placed his scepter on the ground.
The three knights knelt, heads bowed. All of this happened within three seconds of Kulov revealing his identity, so fast that none of the guards behind him could react.
"We are the Emperor's knights."