Chapter 245 Brothers
A trap.
A conspiracy.
A sacrifice.
Istvaan III.
Angron Petra chewed the word in his mouth. The word tasted bitter and full of metallic smell. He was not sure whether this was because too many people had died here in the past two or three months. , and the air here also has a strange smell.
After all.
There are eight billion people on this planet, and some of the tens of thousands of loyal space warriors from different legions who were put here in advance with almost no heavy weapons and vehicles.
All these lives were turned into fetid organic ooze by the rebels' virus bombs in the first round of air attacks. Their bodies, souls, broken dreams and the remnants of all biomass on the surface were destroyed. The flammable gases ignited the entire atmosphere of Istvan III during orbital bombardment.
The flames burned so fiercely that the oxygen content on the surface of this world also dropped significantly.
He looked up at the sky obscured by billowing smoke and dust, and continued walking forward following the guidance of his soul.
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Da’or didn’t know if there were any other surviving World Eaters here.
In the past few weeks or more, he himself was the only World Eater he had seen - if not counting the brothers he killed who followed Angron's betrayal.
He didn’t know how he survived, or why he could or was still surviving.
He only remembered the devastation caused by the initial bombing of the virus bombs and the World Eaters under the leadership of Karn - himself a member of the 8th Company - most of his brothers - if they had not been bombing When they rushed out to shoot in the sky with grief and anger and faced the betrayal of the Warmaster and the Primarch——
they all chose to face Kahn’s 8th Company and the other forty-nine companies with the only weapons at hand. The remaining brothers in Dalian.
Fifty thousand people.
Fifty thousand World Eaters loyal to Angron.
Fifty thousand World Eaters who betrayed the Empire.
Da'or's other battle-brothers fought to the death against the traitors, and like a true Warhound warrior would rather face destruction head on than be shot in the back while escaping.
The nails were hammering at him and he tried to think of something else to quiet it down.
He recalled what happened in the last bunker they thought was safe.
Angron brought his legion, which was once his, and he rushed in with all his nailed brothers, blasting open the adamantine door of the bunker, in a battle that lasted for eight heartbeats The calm Death Guard commander of the 14th Legion, Olxson of the 14th Legion, who had slain the Loyalists of the 3rd, 14th and 16th Legions, was torn alive, guts and Blood splattered across the filthy cream and blue armor of the World Eaters, embellished with Angron's brass armor and massive chainsaws.
The memories of the Primarch's appearance and the fight made a thorn in his head, dissatisfied with why he couldn't join them in destroying everything.
The nails sang a shrill song in his scalp, throbbing an inch beneath Da'or's scalp and skull, stirring up more intense pain to demand that he do something to grant him a second of peace. and the false comfort caused by endorphins. He groaned in pain again, new blood flowed from his nostrils, and wiped them casually, Dae'ol spit out the emptiness that he had been sucking expectantly for a long time in the ruins of this small underground station. Empty shells of high energy triglyceride gel packs.
The light outside is very weak. It leaks slightly from the crack on the top of the station that is tens of meters underground. Only a ray of light can be seen at the top.
The near-dark environment does not affect the vision of the Astartes, but from time to time a bright light flashes or shakes: their power armor is dilapidated, and the auspicious display screen malfunction causes their eyepieces to emit Jittery flicker.
There is a team of warriors guarding the stairs on one side, which lead to the ground. Although it is small and winding, it is only designed for emergency use by mortals.
There are still two exit spaces left. This was originally an underground driving tunnel. One side of the cave-in was hidden in darkness, and the other side of the tunnel opened to the east. It served as the main entrance and defense point for the loyalists. Guarded by twenty-two warriors in turns, there were also their last supporting weapons and vehicles: a Predator tank that was missing one of its tracks and could not move, and a Death tank that was obviously deteriorating due to a lack of pharmacists and technical maintenance. Guard fearlessly.
The last apothecary brother among this group of warriors, the gloomy Fros, belongs to the Fourteenth Legion; but he was broken eight days ago, very broken, the bottle of flesh, blood, and gene seeds Mixed with ceramite powder, he died in a volley fired at him by the searchers of the Twelve Legion, laughing with heavy weapons and vehicles.
When Dae'ol first joined the loyalists gathered by Commander Olkerson in the ruins, there were more than 500 of them, and their equipment was much better than now.
Now they have less than fifty brothers.
His facial muscles twitched nervously, and a hot stream flowed out of his nostrils. It was fishy and sticky, but this time he did not reach out to wipe it.
"Are you okay, brother?" A firm and gentle voice sounded, and Dae'ol turned his eyes to the place where the sound came from. His eyes were blurred, and there were only two points left in his field of vision.
He gripped his weapon and made a gesture to attack.
The nails are roaring, urging, he is in pain, he is confused, he is at a loss, he is thinking.
Why? Am I not one of the first people to side with Angron even though he knew he was crazy?
Am I not one of the first warriors to volunteer to have the same implants implanted in my head as our Gene Father after I solved the rebellion of the Terran veterans?
Didn't he remain loyal to his Primarch when his friend and mentor Gil, the former Legion Master, died a bloody mess deep inside the Conqueror, as they now called it? Silent?
Remorse, shame and guilt poured out from the depths like a tide, almost drowning the pain and anger that drove him.
The red in his vision began to fade.
"I am not your brother." The World Eater said vaguely. "You are not my brother either."
"We are brothers now, Dae'ol." The other party pressed his hand and called him patiently and calmly, showing a repetitive tone. This feeling of skill is just like how he has called the World Eater back again and again before, "Brother, it's me."
He opened his eyes wide and tried to see the person in front of him clearly. The exhaust holes on the side of the power armor fluttered in the hot wind with fire paint marks and a few oaths engraved before the first battle of landing in Anthem City. His honours, further insignia and the insignia of his regiment are all obscured by the wearer's many efforts to engrave the details.
A broken bolter hung from his gauntlet.
He clearly saw the opponent's sea pine green paint.
The other party's name also emerged with heat from the bloody depths.
Kerrorn Warbottom, his friend and a warrior of the Luna Wolves.
(End of this chapter)