Chapter 352 The Guide (Part 1)
It is Sigismund.
How lucky he is to be able to witness the holy battle between the saint and his people!
Geratos was so excited that he was shaking all over, and the bloody red mist on his power armor and robes trembled slightly with his movements.
However, as a Chapter Chaplain, he knew more than ordinary believers, so he immediately noticed that there was something... that did not quite fit the description.
According to tradition over the years, even if the details of what is seen in the champion's vision vary, in the end, there will always be a glorious hero who is too scary to look at, who will hold a flaming sword. Guide the Emperor's Champions, unfolding before them their victory over their destined enemy, until the pact of blood is finally fulfilled.
But this is not a battlefield.
Geratos noticed the thick red sand on the ground under his feet, the stands around him, and the armor painted in unfamiliar yet familiar colors.
The battle brothers of Iron Heart...? No……? That mark is...?
When Geratos realized that although many people were not wearing power armor, the styles of the remaining power armor and the meaning of the lightning logo on them, he turned his eyes towards him in horror. People coming.
His first reaction was to salute him with warrior etiquette.
But then, he discovered that this was not the face of the weathered and respected chief company commander he had seen on the Eternal Expedition.
Although they are very similar, almost the same person.
The battle scars that covered Kahn's entire head and face were not as layered as Geratos had ever seen, and the first eight well-known golden service nails were not yet above his brow bone. Leave a trail of traces.
The temperament of this fighter does not have the experience and calmness accumulated by Chief Company Commander Kahn over the years. His hair is not short hair dyed with frost and wisdom. On the contrary, his scalp is shaved. The aggressive metal implants were gnawing through his flesh and skull, gnawing at the much younger Kahn, and the eyes of this young Kahn.
Geratos was horrified.
This was the closest look he had ever seen to the chaotic and blood-hungry evil god.
Only a trace of human clarity still suppresses the bloodthirsty desire inside the skull in the flashing eyes.
Then the priest saw the implant on Kahn's scalp - malice - it was such a filthy and bloody malice that the Black Templar growled involuntarily.
What is that? !
The tentacle-like metal braid was surging with evil scarlet energy——
Then Geratos realized in horror that this red color had just come from the battle he had just fought on Armageddon. Which number...? The eighty-eighth...? Eight hundred and eighty-eight...? Since then, this scarlet color has been lingering on him, staining his soul, and gradually becoming his lingering emblem and name.
"That is the Butcher's Nail. A creation of the old night, which then became a powerful promoter of desire and sin."
A hand stretched out from the side and brushed Geratus's nails. Removed the scarlet cloak.
The voice continued to speak in a tone that was neither sad nor happy, but for some reason, Geratos felt a bitter taste of sadness spreading from the tip of his tongue.
"This is the last time I saw 'him' in the gladiatorial pit on behalf of the Seventh Legion. The 'him' that followed may not be him anymore, but of course, he must have looked at me the same way."
Geratos He couldn't help but murmured his question.
"Then you didn't point it out to him or sentence him at that time?"
"No." The voice replied, "I am not here to judge anyone, I am here to... ..." He paused, "Come to understand the truth"
"Understand..."
"You cannot claim to be able to draw conclusions about anyone or anything without in-depth investigation and understanding. As far as I know, you haven't done this for a long time, haven't you?" "But you made it with your sword nine thousand years ago. A pledge of eternal crusade and vengeance for the Emperor! You are the Emperor's chosen warrior, and so are we, and we will be. "...Yes" the voice finally said. There was a slight fluctuation.
"I am. I was."
While talking to the shadow of the past hero, in the gladiatorial pit in front of them, the one who was still wearing the black and yellow of the Templars The armored Sigismund took off his armor, revealing his energetic body, and walked onto the red sand - then asked Kahn for an iron chain, and tied the weapon tightly to his wrist.
Geratos uttered a curse so shocked at what he saw that he forgot to ask the voice the meaning of "I was."
“Look,” the voice continued, “I know that this is what you now call sacred, naming its meaning piety and fanaticism. But in the beginning, that’s how it came about, It’s that simple, it comes from one of the last gifts left to us by the Red Angel and the World Eater.”
In the red sand gladiatorial pit, the heart pumps blood and the sound of steel clashes.
Then the scene in front of them changed again:
Geratos found himself standing on a ruins.
The overflowing smell of human blood in the air made him moan unconsciously, and the strong impulse of pure and savage joy began to instigate in his cerebral cortex again, cutting something, causing some warm liquid to gush out. .
Someone sighed softly and seemed to whisper a plea to someone else.
Then the blood-red nebula began to fade from Geratos' vision. He felt a little dizzy and his tongue couldn't control his movements.
"We-where am I?"
"Hush." That voice accompanied the priest, comforting and frightening the son of Dorne. "Look."
Geratos looked as he was told.
(This description was banned after being reviewed and published, so it is just some wet work done by the Midnight Lord. Uh-huh, please fill in the blanks.)
He saw stabs on the ruins. The steel bars of the building, with strings of fresh () () () () on them, are still steaming (), exhaling the temperature of () death from the mouth, and the skinless () () are burned in the square. The oil formed under the firewood pile ()()()() is seeping out from the bottom, and the fountain is filled with the ()() soaked in the fresh () of the victim () himself, and the whole () () () skin.
He frowned at the meaning of the horror he saw, the sound of blade on blade catching his attention.
He turned his head and saw the Lord Templar fighting an unknown Space Marine.
The opponent has midnight-colored armor, towering crimson bat wings and a white tusked skull decorating his helmet. This man holds a unique power halberd.
Hateful heretic apostate!
This must be a glorious battle for Lord Sigismund!
But then, he realized that Sigismund did not activate the weapon's decomposition field, and neither did the other party.
The two fighting men were surrounded by cheering and cheering crowds. The yellow power armor of the Imperial Fists was mixed in with the midnight-colored power armor. Their weapons and helmets were hung on their waists— —They are still comrades working together.
He saw them fighting from midnight to dawn, and then from dawn to night, until the first ray of light of the next day hit each other's helmets.
The two sides were immersed in continuous fighting, one after another.
One side is uncertain and the other side is gifted. This exquisite and evenly matched battle seems to extend to eternity.
(End of this chapter)