Chapter 895 Black Legion
Mahamadou Christian was riding one of the twenty Thunderhawk gunships on the Relentless Destroyer.
It is a charcoal-black beast, its thick outline covered with spikes, and its surly and aging machine soul grunting inside its body like a trapped animal.
The huge turbines bear the pressure of the planet's dry winds on their way down, rocking and tilting in the turbulence.
Mahamadou has always disliked reckless actions.
If he were one of the bloodthirsty berserkers of Abaddon's pack, he would be shouting now, brandishing a bloody blade ready for carnage.
However, he is an iron warrior who likes to keep his feet on the ground and play it safe so that he can carefully consider how to attack his enemies quickly and violently.
Others in the combat crew cabin had the same idea. Etienne Moss and his Terminators, as well as everyone in the warband, all remained silent.
The Thunderhawk shook, and suddenly there was a bang, and the engine thundered, but they still kept their mouths shut.
They were originally part of the Iron Warriors, a dull and meaningless world of daemons, serving a daemon primarch they had barely met, but now they were part of the Black Legion.
Many people deliberately used this to ridicule him, but Mahamadou rarely refuted or explained, because no one could understand an Iron Warrior.
Reforged in shame and shadow, reborn in black iron and gold——
The Iron Warriors silently recited the words of the Black Legion.
He understands the feeling of a person hating himself. Nothing can be more fanatical than those legions who have converted to the dark gods. But in fact, Mahamadou has never had a true belief so far. He only has a belief in power. Desire, just want to use these gifts to become stronger.
Mahamadou never cared about any beliefs. He just wanted to take revenge on his blurred past and rule the species with which he had severed all ties.
It was about dignity, even if his Legion no longer understood that concept.
Sometimes, he also doubted whether he had chosen the right traitor camp.
The Thunderhawk roared and began to land. The oil-stained warning light came on. Mahamadou heard the roar of the buffering and deceleration engine, and the direction of the power also changed accordingly.
He reached out and grasped the iron chain ring to steady himself, and soon the Thunder Eagle landed heavily on the land of another world.
Etienne roared like an animal. In this small space, the blacksmith looked like a dragon coiled in a cave, spewing steam from the sides of his helmet.
As the hatch creaked open, the warriors sprang into action, stepping into a hurricane of dust and organic matter.
Mahamadou was the last to emerge, temporarily sheathing his chainsword and letting the wind dry the rough surface of his body and evaporate the moisture that had accumulated in the Thunderhawk's dank interior.
They landed in a garbage dump, surrounded by Imperial facilities, which were arranged on every world in the galaxy to be ordinary and lackluster according to the cruel and unimaginative standards.
The underpowered lights flickered faintly in the strong wind, and Mahamadou already knew that this would be a boring killing.
He crunched toward the entrance, while Étienne moved in the other direction.
While banging, they unscrewed the reinforced steel bolts and pushed the door panel open.
The Iron Warrior walked along a narrow corridor, dust followed him in, fell from his knees, and accumulated on the plastic steel wall panels.
Soon, he saw the residents here, carefully spying on him.
They glanced at him, showing a moment of disbelief, and then ran away.
Mahamadou followed them unhurriedly, stepping heavily on the floor. He heard a scream in the distance and guessed that it was the result of Etienne.
Not far away, more Thunderhawks were landing, four or five, and the howls of Khorne's berserkers were heard, and that was enough.
Attica is just a pitiful little place, not worthy of much effort from the Black Legion.
They don’t even understand why they want to attack this world, because there is nothing worth plundering here.
But the Warmaster's decision cannot be questioned.
Mahamadou stomped to a place that seemed to be a command center and broke in easily.
There were hundreds of humans inside, some armed, all terrified. Then the Iron Warriors got to work.
The laser flashed on his scratched black armor, slightly burning the patina on the surface.
Mahamadou did not move his gun, but directly reached out to grab the person at the front, grabbed the person, and broke his back.
The next man's eye socket was shattered by his gentle slap, and even Mahamadou had to slam downward again to stop the creature from writhing in pain.
The glove full of barbs quickly turned into a bloody weapon.
He has been idle on the Relentless Destroyer for too long and needs to stretch his atrophied muscles.
Soon, he stared at a woman in uniform. Her slender thighs were covered with stockings and she looked quite beautiful.
She struggled to stay away from him, exuding fear, but she still held a laser gun tightly and fired at him firmly.
After taking a few shots, Mahamadou began to feel annoyed.
He suddenly accelerated and rushed towards her at an incredible speed, ignoring her attacks and grabbing her throat.
“Get away!”
The woman screamed.
Mahamadou hesitated and was suddenly amused.
“Get away?”
"Get away!"
This was simply ridiculous. The woman turned pale with fright, waving her limbs and slapping the Iron Warrior as if he were a pest under her bed.
This behavior only brought a smile to his scarred and weathered face.
"Louder, scream for help."
This is what he really wants. Send a message and summon an army worthy of the challenge.
Instead, she shot him again - with the gun still in her hand.
The shot hit Mahamadou below the neck. The Iron Warrior laughed loudly, grabbed the opponent's hair, and smashed him against the wall on one side, causing blood and flesh to fly everywhere.
Looking at the bloody scalp hanging by the hair in his hand, Mahamadou felt a little sadistic pleasure.
Then, like a shepherd, he lazily whipped the rest of the flock, and the screams began to numb his ears.
"War Blacksmith!"
He shouted as he killed, wondering if Étienne could hear him.
“Is there anything else worth killing?”
“Only weak pigs and dogs!”
The war blacksmith’s enthusiastic voice came.
“Too boring.”
The Iron Warrior shook his head and walked towards the last person standing.
“I don’t think we can stay here for long.”
The rest of the Iron Warriors are scattered among the chaotic outer buildings and facilities, carrying out their own killing plans without discipline. Looking out in the smoky wind of Tika night, there was only a blurry and silent scene.
(End of this chapter)