After a long and occasionally "lively" Warp journey, the Steadfast Will finally escorted six Grey Knights smoothly into the familiar Ultramar, eventually docking beside the magnificent, castle-like Macragge's Honour. Returning to the flagship, looking at the endlessly busy blue ships and shining starports outside the window, the members of Second Squad couldn't help but breathe a sigh of relief, as if wandering children had finally returned home.
Although the manner of their return carried the subtle undertones of an unfulfilled mission and being "specially watched," at least they were temporarily away from the suffocating pressure of Gloom IV and Slaanesh's whispers. The six Grey Knights, upon arrival, went directly to a more heavily guarded special area arranged by the Chapter Master, continuing their mission of monitoring and evaluation, as if they had never left that cold shadow. The three relatively "active" Terminators also reverted to their more appropriate, rarely seen state.
Time passed in relatively stable rest and training. Four months flew by in the blink of an eye.
During this period, the best news was Medic Sore's complete recovery. Thanks to Apothecary Vorlak's exquisite skill and Sore's tenacious vitality, both his damaged primary heart and newly implanted secondary heart had fully regained function. Although he had suffered such severe trauma, it might take longer for his physical fitness to return to its peak, but he was finally able to don his power armor and rejoin the squad.
Sore's return made Second Squad much more complete; his medical knowledge and calm demeanor were an indispensable part of the team. The squad held a simple welcome ceremony for him, and Dorian, for once, didn't make any snide remarks, instead giving a firm hug to his brother who had struggled back from the brink of death.
To help Sore adapt and recover quickly, and to test the squad's overall coordination, Sergeant Golden proactively requested some low-intensity patrol and extermination missions in the star systems surrounding Ultramar. Chapter Master Calgar approved these requests, perhaps hoping to observe Gaius' performance in a relatively safe environment.
During a routine patrol, Second Squad received a distress signal and proceeded to a border mining planet to deal with a group of raiders attacking supply lines. According to intelligence, the attackers were likely a Dark Eldar raiding party.
The battle went smoothly. Although the Dark Eldar were cunning and cruel, they were quickly suppressed and annihilated by Second Squad's coordinated teamwork and powerful firepower. Just as they were clearing the battlefield and preparing to withdraw, an unexpected change occurred!
Several melta beams suddenly shot out from a hidden position, narrowly missing Dorian, who was moving spoils of war! Immediately afterward, accompanied by blasphemous war cries and the roar of Bolters, a squad of warriors clad in crimson armor, covered in horrifying decorations and Chaos runes, burst from the shadows and launched a fierce attack on them!
"Word Bearers!" Gorden roared instantly, old and new hatreds surging in his heart!
These traitors had clearly been lying in ambush, waiting for them and the Dark Eldar to mutually destroy each other before reaping the benefits! Their firepower was fierce, their tactics cunning, and they were utterly insane!
"For Lorgar! For the Perfect City!" The fanatical shouts of the Word Bearers pierced everyone's eardrums.
"Damn it! It's you scum!" Dorian's eyes instantly turned red! The sacrifice of Brakka VII, Sore's severe injuries, Lina's shattered family… all the hatred for the Word Bearers instantly consumed his reason! He roared, his power fist smashing the head of a Word Bearer who got too close, then, like a mad bull, he chased after the few Word Bearers attempting to flank them!
"Dorian! Come back! Don't be rash!" Gorden yelled frantically, but the blood-crazed Dorian couldn't hear him!
Gaius tried to provide sniper cover for him, but the terrain was complex, and the enemies constantly dodged using the ruins. Lex's heavy firepower was also firmly suppressed by other Word Bearers.
Dorian chased the "fleeing" Word Bearers deep into a complex of mining facility ruins. Just as he rounded a huge, broken drilling rig, a pre-laid trap array suddenly lit up beneath his feet! Dark red light instantly enveloped him, and a powerful energy field immediately paralyzed most of his power armor's functions, causing his movements to abruptly halt!
"Damn it!" Dorian cursed under his breath, knowing he had fallen into a trap!
But it was too late! More Word Bearers instantly surged from the ruins on both sides, wielding specialized energy restraints and force field generators. Several energy chains, like venomous snakes, wrapped around Dorian's temporarily paralyzed armor!
Dorian struggled fiercely, his power fist smashing the arm of a nearby traitor, but more chains wrapped around him, and powerful currents penetrated his armor, causing his muscles to spasm. He finally fell heavily to his knees, unwilling to give up.
"We got him!" a Word Bearer shouted excitedly.
"Take him! Quick! Don't let those lapdogs catch up!" another, seemingly a leader, roared.
Several Word Bearers quickly dragged the incapacitated Dorian away, running towards a hidden, twisted assault boat deep within the ruins.
"Dorian!" Gorden and the others charged desperately, but only saw the foul exhaust flames from the assault boat's engines and its rapidly closing hatch. They fired frantically, but the assault boat had already accelerated and soon disappeared into the sky.
"No!!!" Gorden let out an angry and desperate roar.
They had lost Dorian.
…
When Dorian regained consciousness from the intense electrical paralysis, he found himself tightly bound by thick metal chains, imprisoned in a dim metal cage reeking of blood and incense. His power armor had been stripped, and he was only wearing his undersuit, aching all over.
Outside the cage, it was no longer the familiar sight of the real universe. Through the bars, he saw twisted, flowing, wildly colored bulkheads! It was as if the entire space was made of living, constantly changing nightmare matter! The air was filled with nauseatingly sweet putrefaction and sharp howls, and in the distance, some indescribable shadows, formed of pure malice and twisted shapes, could vaguely be seen wandering, playing, and devouring each other in the corridors…
The Warp! He was on a ship traveling through the Warp! And this ship… didn't have its Geller field activated!
Fear instantly seized Dorian's heart, but it was followed by an even stronger rage! These damned Word Bearers had completely succumbed to Chaos, abandoning even the most basic reality barrier, consorting with demons!
"Scum! Traitors! Chaos scum!" Dorian lunged at the cage bars, roaring at the outside, "If you're so brave, let me out! See if I don't beat the shit out of you!"
His curses soon attracted the Word Bearer guarding him. It was a traitor with fresh scars on his face and fanatical eyes. He walked to the cage, sneering at Dorian: "Scream, scream, Ultramarine! Soon you won't be able to scream anymore! The Priest Lord needs 'material' like you to complete the great ritual!"
"Ritual? To hell with your ritual!" Dorian spat a bloody gob of saliva on the bars, "You only know how to pull these underhanded tricks! If you're so brave, fight us fair and square on the battlefield! Cowards! Lorgar was a blind megalomaniac! And you're just a bunch of brainless pieces of shit!"
Dorian's foul language poured out like a barrage, thoroughly cursing the Word Bearers' faith, Primarch, and fighting style. His vocabulary was astonishingly rich, and his angles of attack incredibly sharp.
The Word Bearer guard's face turned green and then white from the insults. He tried to hit the cage with his weapon to scare Dorian, but Dorian wasn't swayed and cursed even more fiercely.
"Just wait! When the Priest Lord is finished, there will be plenty of ways to make you shut up!" The guard finally gave up, dropping a threat, and walked away sulkily, seemingly unwilling to listen to the mind-polluting curses any longer.
Dorian panted, leaning against the cold bars. Though cursing felt good, he knew his situation was extremely dangerous. Taken deep into the Word Bearers' lair in the Warp, power armor stripped, isolated and alone… this time, he was probably in serious trouble.
He looked at the bizarre, demon-infested horror outside the cage, feeling the constant Warp whispers trying to invade his mind, and gritted his teeth.
"Damn it… brothers… you better hurry…" he muttered under his breath, but there was no despair in his eyes, only a more vigorous fury and a hint of… contempt for death.
Even if he had to die, he would curse his fill and take a few more with him!
Heavy footsteps and the dragging of chains echoed in the twisted corridor. Two Word Bearer traitors roughly dragged Dorian from the cage, pushing him forward. Dorian continued to curse, but his eyes were rapidly observing his surroundings. They were passing through a more "lively" area of the demon ship; the bulkheads on both sides seemed to be made of writhing flesh and molten metal, adorned with human bodies and shimmering evil runes. The air was thick with the scent of blood and a frenzied energy that stimulated primal killing urges.
Finally, they arrived at a huge, circular space, like an ancient Roman gladiatorial arena. All around were high grandstands, packed with fanatical figures, roaring Word Bearer cultists, and even some more chaotic warriors with eight-pointed star markings on their armor. The arena floor was rough, soaked with dark brown bloodstains, and the central area was a deep crimson, having absorbed countless victims' blood.
This was clearly a dueling arena dedicated to Khorne!
Dorian was roughly shoved into the arena, stumbling a few steps before regaining his balance. The chains were unfastened, and a rusty, chipped combat knife was thrown at his feet.
"Pick it up, weak Ultramarine!" a Word Bearer officer on the grandstand sneered, "Let's see how much the Emperor's dog is capable of! Offer an interesting performance to the blood god!"
Dorian spat a bloody gob of saliva, bent down, and picked up the broken knife, weighing it. Its quality was pathetic, but it was better than nothing. He looked around at the insane and malicious faces, his heart burning with rage, but more so with a humiliated fury. These bastards wanted to watch him fight like a gladiator to entertain them?
Just then, an iron gate opposite was pulled open, and a figure emerged.
It was an extremely tall and burly man, his almost naked upper body covered in grotesque scars and twisted black metal implants—especially at the back of his head, where a crude and terrifying mechanical device, constantly flashing red light, was deeply embedded, emitting an unsettling hum. His eyes were unfocused, filled with endless pain and an uncontrollable desire for slaughter, and drool uncontrollably flowed from the corners of his mouth. He wasn't wearing power armor, only tattered leather pants, and in his hands, he wielded a huge, double-bladed axe stained with dried blood.
It was a World Eater! And a World Eater completely driven mad by the Butcher's Nails!
"Kill him! Tear him apart! For the blood god!" The Word Bearers in the stands erupted in excited cheers; they seemed to enjoy this spectacle of two warriors fighting to the death.
The World Eater let out a roar that was utterly inhuman, the red glow of the Butcher's Nails intensified, and he charged at Dorian like an out-of-control beast, his double-bladed axe descending with a tearing gust of wind!
Although Dorian wasn't the brightest, his close-combat skills were among the best of regular Astartes. He knew that these World Eaters, driven mad by the Nails, possessed immense strength but lacked technique. He slid sharply backward and sideways, narrowly dodging the earth-shattering axe blow, while his combat knife shot out like a viper, precisely slicing across the World Eater's axe-wielding arm's tendons!
However, the pain from the Butcher's Nails already transcended physical injury! The World Eater seemed to feel no pain, sweeping his axe backhand! Dorian ducked, and his blade again sliced across the opponent's thigh, deep enough to expose bone, but the World Eater continued to move as if unaffected!
"Damn it! Madman!" Dorian cursed, forced to maneuver even more cautiously. He used his relatively agile footwork and combat experience to constantly seek openings in the World Eater's frenzied attacks.
The World Eater's attacks grew increasingly frantic, completely disregarding defense. The double-bladed axe spun like a whirlwind, each chop heavy and powerful, but also increasingly chaotic and disorganized.
Finally, Dorian seized a moment when the World Eater overextended and lost his balance, suddenly lunging in close. The old combat knife, carrying all his strength and fury, plunged fiercely into the World Eater's jaw, straight into his brain!
The World Eater's body stiffened abruptly, his axe clanging to the ground. The red light in his eyes flickered rapidly a few times, then completely extinguished, and his massive body crashed to the ground, twitching a few times before falling still.
A moment of silence fell over the grandstands, followed by even louder, yet mocking and derisive, laughter!
"Hahaha! Is that all? Are World Eaters all useless?"
"The blood god isn't satisfied with this offering today!"
"Next! Next! Bring someone stronger!"
Dorian panted, pulled out the combat knife covered in red and white matter, and vigilantly looked around. Before he could catch his breath, the opposite gate rose again!
Another World Eater, almost identical in size, equally tormented by the Butcher's Nails, and wielding a different weapon, charged out with a furious roar!
The battle began again!
Dorian had no choice but to throw himself back into the fray. These World Eaters were all incredibly strong, impervious to pain, and fought with suicidal abandon. Dorian relied entirely on his extensive experience and fierce determination to endure. Each kill became more difficult, consuming more of his energy.
The second World Eater died by his knife, and the third he lured into a spiked fence at the edge of the arena.
The fourth… the fifth….
Each time he staggered and dispatched an opponent, the Word Bearers in the stands would let out satisfied yet mocking cackles, then unhesitatingly release a new, bloodthirsty World Eater into the arena.
They were playing a cruel feeding game, reveling in Dorian's struggles and exhaustion, and in the World Eaters' deaths and blood.
Dorian's wounds grew more numerous, sweat mixed with blood soaking his undersuit. His breathing was heavy like a broken bellows, and his arms ached so much he could barely lift them. The broken knife also grew duller, even developing cracks.
When he used all his strength, combining a dangerously precise groin kick with a backhand slash to bring down the eleventh World Eater, he felt almost completely depleted. He knelt on one knee, supporting himself with the knife, gasping for air, sweat streaming down his forehead like rivulets, his vision beginning to blur.
The cheers and jeers from the grandstands washed over him like a tide, but he could barely hear them, only his own frantic heartbeat and gasping in his ears.
The gate opposite, once again, slowly rose…
An even taller, more scarred World Eater, with the red glow in his eyes almost solidified, dragged a massive chainaxe, stepping out one by one. His heavy footsteps seemed to pound on Dorian's heart.
Dorian looked at his new opponent, then at the wildly mocking faces of the Word Bearers around him, a deep sense of powerlessness and furious rage surging through him simultaneously.
Damn it… it never ends…
But he still gritted his teeth, and with trembling arms, once again gripped the almost ruined combat knife, forcing himself to stand.
The battle was far from over. Or rather, this slaughter feast, with him as its entertainment, had just reached its climax.
The twelfth World Eater fell. Dorian, with what little strength he had left, managed to finish off the insane, pain-immune warrior by jamming his blunted, chipped combat knife, along with half its blade, firmly into the opponent's chest.
He staggered back himself, unable to support himself any longer, and fell heavily to one knee, spitting out a mouthful of sour, blood-flecked water. Sweat poured down his face like a waterfall, forming a small puddle on the ground. His vision blurred, his ears rang, every muscle in his body screamed in protest, and his lungs burned as if they would explode the next second. The tattered combat knife finally broke completely, slipping from his trembling, weak hand.
The Word Bearers in the stands erupted in even more fervent and mocking cheers. Dorian's tenacity and killing efficiency had clearly exceeded their expectations, which they found even more 'interesting'.
The Word Bearers officer who had given the orders earlier stood up. He wore elaborate armor adorned with skulls and blasphemous scriptures, a cruel and playful smile on his face, and walked to the edge of the stands.
"Truly... astonishing endurance, Ultramarines." The officer's voice, amplified, echoed through the arena, full of mockery, "It seems not all of Guilliman's brats are useless. You've pleased the audience, and... you've pleased me a little."
He paused, a malicious glint in his eyes: "To show 'fairness', I'll allow you... to put on your armor."
He waved his hand. Several Word Bearers cultists ran down into the arena with sneers, dragging Dorian's stripped power armor components. They roughly pulled up the almost-collapsed Dorian and began clumsily helping him put them on.
Chest plate, leg greaves, arm gauntlets... one by one, heavy ceramite components were fastened and locked. The familiar weight and feeling of being encased returned, but Dorian felt no sense of security whatsoever; instead, he felt even heavier, as if each plate was draining his dwindling strength.
Finally, when all the components were donned, Dorian discovered that they had not installed the most crucial power pack for him!
Without a power pack, power armor cannot provide auxiliary power, and its internal servo systems cannot function. The heavy ceramite instead becomes a deadly burden, greatly exhausting the wearer's physical strength! For an already exhausted person, this was no different from wearing an iron shackle!
"Hahaha! Look! He can't even stand up!" Deafening laughter erupted from the stands.
Dorian tried to stand using the armor's strength, but the heavy burden almost crushed him. His legs trembled violently, and several attempts nearly sent him to his knees again. He could only barely support himself with one hand on the ground, gasping for air, sweat beading on his forehead and splattering onto the cold deck. Without power assistance, this blue armor, once a symbol of strength and glory, had now become a symbol of his despair.
"Coward! Ultramarines are all cowards!"
"Don't even have the strength to stand up?"
"The blood god doesn't like the weak!"
The Word Bearers officer watched Dorian's struggle with satisfaction. He sneered, then leaped down from the stands, landing heavily in the arena and kicking up a cloud of dust. He cracked his neck, making a series of clicks, then drew a menacing, spike-studded flail from his waist.
Even more chillingly, he activated the flail's disintegration field! With a hum, the air around the hammerhead began to distort, emitting a dangerous pale blue glow. Any matter struck by it would be disintegrated at the molecular level!
"Come on, you waste!" The officer paced around the struggling Dorian, like a beast toying with its prey, "Let me see, can you last a few more seconds wearing that shell? Let me see how much pathetic courage your False Emperor and Primarch gave you!"
Dorian raised his head, staring intently at the arrogant Word Bearers officer through his sweat and blood-stained faceplate visor. Endless rage and humiliation surged within his chest like magma, almost overwhelming his extreme exhaustion.
He listened to the traitors' vile curses from the stands, felt the cold of the heavy shackles on his body, remembered his fallen comrades, remembered the severely wounded Sol, remembered Lina, the girl who had lost her home... remembered Macragge, remembered the glory of the Ultramarines...
A strength, from he knew not where, as if squeezing out all the last potential of his life, supported his trembling legs, slowly, with extreme difficulty, he stood up!
The heavy armor groaned under the strain, but his spine was ramrod straight!
He raised his hand, pointing at the Word Bearers officer, his voice hoarse yet like a roar, piercing through his faceplate and the din:
"For... Ultramar!!!"
"For... the Ultramarines!!!"
No weapon, no power, not even the strength to stand steadily. But he still let out his final battle cry, then, with all his might, dragging that impossibly heavy power armor, like a stumbling iron giant, he launched a desperate and resolute charge towards the Word Bearers officer holding the disintegration field flail!
The clamor in the stands instantly reached its peak, mixed with excitement, mockery, and bloodthirsty cheers.
The Word Bearers officer watched the charge, slow as a snail and full of openings, a cruel and pleased smile on his face. He easily took up a stance, his flail, glowing with a deadly blue light, aimed at Dorian's unprotected head...
A desperate charge met with a poised, fatal blow.
Dorian's desperate charge seemed like child's play in the eyes of the Word Bearers officer. Watching the stumbling blue giant lurch towards him, the officer's cruel smile widened. Instead of meeting the charge, he made an unexpected move—he turned off the humming disintegration field on his flail.
The dangerous pale blue glow extinguished, leaving only the spike-studded, cold metal hammerhead.
"Ending it so quickly would be too boring," the officer sneered, easily sidestepping Dorian's weak lunge. "Let's play a little longer, and enjoy the sound of this blue armor shattering!"
Dorian lunged into empty air; the heavy armor made it impossible for him to adjust his center of gravity in time, and he almost fell again. He struggled to turn around, only to be met by a powerful, heavy blow from the Word Bearers officer!
Bang!!
The heavy flail smashed hard into Dorian's chest plate! Even without the disintegration field, the force of this blow was terrifying! The ceramite plate instantly caved in, emitting a sickening, twisting sound! Dorian felt as if his chest had been struck by a battering ram; his vision went black, and a mouthful of blood spewed into the inside of his faceplate. He was knocked back several steps, almost falling backward.
"Too weak!" the officer mocked, pressing closer.
Dorian tried to raise his arm to block, but the arm gauntlets, without power assistance, were incredibly heavy, and his movements were slow and weak.
Bang! Another blow, striking his shoulder plate! The shoulder plate deformed, and the connections made a screeching friction sound. Dorian's left arm instantly went numb.
Bang! The hammerhead swept across his abdomen. Even with armor protection, the enormous impact felt as if his internal organs had shifted, and a painful grunt was suppressed in his throat.
The Word Bearers officer, like toying with a sandbag, repeatedly smashed his flail into Dorian. He did not attack vital points but instead thoroughly enjoyed the process of destroying this Ultramarines armor and listening to the sound of bones breaking inside. The heavy thudding and the noise of the armor deforming echoed through the arena, accompanied by the Word Bearers' increasingly frantic cheers and whistles from the stands.
Dorian could only passively endure. Each heavy blow brought him closer to collapse. Without a power pack, he couldn't even manage a proper block or dodge. Excruciating pain came from all over his body; he didn't know how many ribs were broken, and his internal organs might be bleeding. His vision began to blur, and all he could hear was the sound of the flail, his own gasping, and the traitors' mad laughter.
He tried to counterattack, but his thrown punches were weak and easily dodged by the officer, which only earned him a heavier blow.
Finally, after another fierce blow landed on his leg greave, Dorian could no longer bear the heavy burden and the pain throughout his body. One of his knees buckled, and he collapsed like a falling mountain, crashing to the ground! The heavy armor collided with the rocky ground, making a loud sound.
He tried to struggle, but the damaged, deformed armor and his depleted strength prevented him from even rolling over; he could only gasp futilely like a beached whale.
The Word Bearers officer walked proudly towards him, raised his iron-booted foot, and stomped hard on Dorian's helmet, grinding it down, pressing his face firmly into the bloodstains and dust on the ground.
"Is that all?" The officer's voice, full of disdain and mockery, boomed through the loudspeaker, echoing across the entire arena and clearly reaching Dorian's almost deafened ears. "This is the warrior Guilliman is so proud of? So easily defeated! Not even one ten-thousandth as good as us Word Bearers! Your so-called courage and glory are nothing but farts in the face of true dark power!"
The stands instantly erupted in a deafening, unified roar of fanatical cheers and shouts. All the Word Bearers stood up, waving their weapons, hysterically yelling in unison:
"Long live Lorgar!!"
"Long live Lorgar!!"
"For the Perfect City! For the Dark Gods!"
This wave of frenzied sound, like a physical force, crashed against Dorian, who lay on the ground. Humiliation, anger, intense pain… all these emotions threatened to consume him. He was being stepped on by the enemy, listening to their insults against his Primarch and Chapter, yet he had not an ounce of strength to resist.
Beneath his faceplate, Dorian's teeth ground together, and blood continuously seeped from the corner of his mouth. He wanted to roar, to retort, but the searing pain in his chest and the feeling of suffocation prevented him from making any sound. Only his bloodshot eyes, swollen with anger, stared fixedly at the filthy sole of the iron boot before him.
Endless darkness and despair, like a cold tide, gradually submerged his last vestiges of consciousness.
The Word Bearers officer savored his victorious stance, stepping on Dorian's head, accepting the worship-like cheers from all directions. For him, this was not merely a victory in the arena, but a complete humiliation of the Ultramarines, his sworn enemies, and their Primarch.
And Dorian, this brave but reckless warrior, was now like a trapped beast in an iron cage, becoming a sacrifice offered by the Word Bearers to the Dark Gods, a gift imbued with extreme mockery. His fate seemed to have already plunged into an irreversible abyss.
The Word Bearers officer's wild laughter and the sensation from beneath his foot immersed him in the pleasure of victory and humiliation. He raised the spike-studded mace, stained with Dorian's blood, high above him, aiming it at the unprotected connection of Dorian's neck to his power armor, where it was most vulnerable.
"Alright, I've had enough fun," the officer sneered, his voice filled with cruel delight. "Time to twist your head off and offer it to the great blood god! I'm sure he'll love this 'gift' from Ultramar!"
The cheers from the stands grew even more fervent, all the Word Bearers anticipating the bloody final moment.
However, just as the mace was about to descend—
Bang!!!
A crisp and sudden Bolter shot cut through all the clamor!
The Word Bearers officer's head, like a watermelon struck by a heavy blow, exploded violently! A mixture of red and white matter and shattered armor fragments splattered everywhere! His arm, raised with the mace, froze. His headless body swayed, then fell backward with a heavy thud, the foot that had been on Dorian's head slipping away weakly.
The entire arena instantly fell into a deathly silence! All cheers and shouts ceased abruptly! Everyone was stunned by this sudden turn of events! Who fired the shot? Why?
Before they could react—
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Successive Bolter shots rang out from several different positions on the uppermost level of the arena! The bullets accurately struck those who appeared to be officers or were the quickest to react among the Word Bearers! In an instant, several more Word Bearers were hit and fell to the ground!
"Enemy attack!"
"Traitors!"
"Catch them!"
Chaos finally erupted! The Word Bearers were furious and alarmed, scrambling for cover and trying to locate the shooters. But they soon discovered that the attackers were hidden among them! Several figures, clad in Word Bearers armor but moving with unusual speed and coordinated precision, were rapidly moving through the crowd, their Bolters constantly spitting fire, each shot utterly lethal!
Their objective was clear—clear a path to the bottom of the arena!
Taking advantage of this sudden confusion, two of the figures slid down the edge of the stands with astonishing speed, leaping directly into the arena! They didn't even glance at the headless officer's corpse, heading straight for the fallen Dorian.
The lead "Word Bearer" quickly checked Dorian's condition, cursing under his breath: "Damn it… he's really badly hurt… how do you persistent Ultramarines manage to show up everywhere? Always causing me trouble!"
Although his voice was somewhat distorted through the helmet, the tone and accent…
He growled into his comm-unit: "Cover! Clear a path! We're going to the hangar!"
The other attackers, who were creating chaos on the upper level, immediately increased their firepower, their precise burst-fire suppressing the Word Bearers attempting to rush down.
The lead "Word Bearer" and his companion worked together, struggling to lift Dorian's incredibly heavy and severely damaged power armor from the ground. Dorian was completely unconscious, oblivious to everything.
"This fat guy is really heavy!" another "Word Bearer" complained.
"Less talk! Move!" the leader roared.
The two, supporting Dorian, quickly retreated along a pre-planned, relatively secluded passage. Their companions above fought and fell back, covering their rear. This group of mysterious attackers was clearly quite familiar with the internal structure of this daemon battleship.
Along the way, they encountered sporadic resistance, but they dealt with it cleanly and efficiently. Their fighting style was ruthless and effective, bearing the distinct mark of the Night Lords—precise, cunning, and lethal with a single blow.
Finally, they burst into a small auxiliary hangar. Docked there was a fast assault craft that appeared modified, painted with Word Bearers insignia but with a subtly incongruous style.
"Quick! Get on board!" The leader shoved Dorian into the cabin and then jumped in himself. The other attackers also quickly boarded, and the last one, before the hatch closed, threw several melta-bombs at the pursuing Word Bearers!
Boom!!
The explosion temporarily sealed the entrance.
The assault craft's engines roared, violently smashing through the hangar doors, and like an arrow shot from a bow, it plunged into the wildly colored, bizarre Warp outside!
Behind them, the Word Bearers' warship blared with shrill alarms and angry gunfire, but the assault craft, deftly evading the fire, quickly vanished into the swirling Warp energy.
Inside the cabin, the alarm still echoed, but they were temporarily safe.
The lead "Word Bearer" finally let out a sigh of relief. He ripped off his helmet, revealing a pale, blue-eyed, scarred face etched with annoyance and exhaustion—it was Jerrison Fall! The Night Lords champion sniper!
"Damn it! What a loss!" Jerrison grumbled, kicking the cabin wall. "I finally managed to sneak into these mad dogs' den to grab some good stuff, but I didn't get anything and now I have to risk my neck to save an Ultramarine!"
He glanced at Dorian, lying on the deck, unconscious, his armor severely damaged, and breathing faintly, and cursed again.
At this moment, a terrified, trembling human medic, whom they had conveniently abducted from the medical bay and was wearing a low-ranking Word Bearers medical robe, was trying to cower in a corner.
Jerrison walked over and unceremoniously pressed the cold muzzle of his Bolter hard against the medic's temple, his eyes as fierce as if he wanted to devour him: "You! Yes, you! Don't play dead! Get over here and look at him! If he dies, I'll gouge out your brain bit by bit and stuff it into a servo-skull as a decoration! Understand?!"
The medic was scared out of his wits, tears and snot streaming down his face as he nodded repeatedly, scrambling on all fours to Dorian's side, trembling as he opened his portable medical kit and began emergency examination and treatment.
Another Night Lords, disguised as a Word Bearer, walked over (also removing his helmet), looking at Jerrison: "Boss, what now? The Word Bearers definitely won't give up, and this small ship won't last long."
Jerrison irritably ran his hand through his hair: "Damn… what else can we do? Find a place to hide first! Get this fat guy awake before anything else! This is really just my bloody luck…"
He looked at the medic, who was diligently trying to save Dorian, and added fiercely: "Put some effort into it! If you can't save him, you know the consequences!"
The medic's hand trembled in fear, almost stuffing the hemostatic cotton into Dorian's nostril.
Jerrison, meanwhile, walked to the viewport, looking at the wildly shifting Warp outside, his brows furrowed. His original plan was completely disrupted. Now, not only had he offended the Word Bearers, but he was also fleeing through the perilous Warp with a severely wounded Ultramarine as a burden…
This mess was truly getting deeper and deeper. And all of it was because of that dying, troublesome Ultramarine on the floor.
Inside the 7th Company's tactical chamber on the Macragge's Honour, the atmosphere was as oppressive as the sea before a storm. Around the heavy alloy table sat all members of the Second Squad except Dorian: Sergeant Golden's face was ashen, his hands clenched into fists on the table; Lex silently wiped his already spotless Heavy Bolter, his bionic arm emitting an almost imperceptible hum; Cliff's brows were tightly furrowed, his fingers unconsciously tapping the edge of his data-slate; Medic Sore, who had only recently rejoined the squad, still looked pale, his eyes filled with worry and a hint of guilt for not having fought alongside them; Gaius sat closest to the door, his head bowed, his expression unreadable, but his silent left arm seemed particularly conspicuous; Luna Aisa sat quietly in the corner, her data-slate displaying limited information on Word Bearers activity patterns, while Lina stood behind her, her small hands nervously clasped together, her face etched with fear and unease.
They had just received the devastating news, personally delivered by Chapter Master Calgar, confirming that Declan Catonia had been captured by the Word Bearers, along with preliminary intelligence analysis from the intelligence department regarding the Warp coordinates to which Dorian's last known location might lead. The cold text and blurry star chart painted a desperate picture of a brother fallen into enemy hands.
The silence lingered for a long time, finally broken by Sergeant Golden's hoarse voice: "The situation... everyone is clear. Brother Dorian... has fallen into the hands of the Word Bearers." His voice was heavy, as if filled with lead. "According to the last chaotic signal received and the intelligence department's speculation, he has likely been taken into a Warp-controlled area by the Word Bearers, or even... possibly on one of their Daemon-ships."
Every word was like a hammer blow to their hearts. Captured by the Word Bearers, especially taken into the Warp, meant the chance of survival was infinitesimally close to zero. Even if he were still alive, the torment and desecration he would endure would be far more terrifying than death.
"We must bring him back!" Lex was the first to speak, his bionic eye flashing red, his voice calm but with an undeniable resolve. "He is our brother. We cannot abandon him to those Chaos scum."
"How do we rescue him?" Cliff looked up, his tone grave and realistic. "Invade a Warp-controlled domain of the Word Bearers? That's no different from suicide! We don't even know his exact location! How big is a Daemon-ship? How many enemies are inside? How many Daemons? With our numbers, we wouldn't even make a ripple!"
"Are we just going to give up because it's difficult?" Lex suddenly turned to Cliff, his bionic arm clenched into a fist. "Dorian would stop at nothing to save any one of us!"
"I'm not saying we don't save him!" Cliff's voice also rose, tinged with frustration. "I'm saying we need a plan! We need support! We need intelligence! Rushing in blindly won't just fail to save him, it will get all of us killed! That's recklessness, not bravery!"
"Wait for support? Wait for whom? For the Grey Knights to take pity on us again? Or for the Chapter Master to send an entire company to their deaths in the Warp?" Lex retorted, rarely so emotional.
Medic Sore sighed, his voice weak but clear: "Lex, Cliff has a point. The Warp is not the real universe; the rules there are completely different. We don't have specialized means to counter Warp environments and Daemons. Rushing in... indeed, the odds are slim. And..." He paused, then said with difficulty, "...Brother Dorian might already be..."
He didn't finish, but the meaning was clear—Dorian might already be dead or have suffered irreparable defilement.
"He won't die that easily!" Lex roared. "That guy is as tough as nails!"
Gaius, who had been silent, suddenly spoke, his voice somewhat low: "Brother Lex, Brother Sore's concerns are valid. The Word Bearers' Daemon-ships... I... I can imagine the horror there. But..." He looked up, his gaze sweeping over everyone, "...abandoning a brother does not align with our Ultramarines' creed. While Brother Dorian is impulsive and reckless, his loyalty and courage are beyond doubt. If we abandon him because he might face misfortune, what difference are we from those cold-blooded traitors?"
His words momentarily silenced both sides of the argument.
Luna Aisa then spoke softly, her voice as calm as ever, with the objectivity of data analysis: "From a tactical perspective, the probability of a successful rescue is below seven percent. The probability of failure and the complete annihilation of the squad is above eighty-three percent. However, considering morale and non-quantifiable factors, abandoning a comrade would be devastating to squad cohesion and could embolden the enemy."
Her words were impartial, merely stating facts, but they made the decision even more difficult.
Lina, hiding behind Luna, listened to the adults' argument, her small face pale with fright. She remembered how Dorian, though rough, had protected her, and how he had thumped his chest, promising to avenge her. Tears welled in her eyes. She whispered, timidly, "...Can't we... think of a way... to secretly rescue Master Dorian...?"
Her voice was very small, but it was exceptionally clear in the silent tactical chamber. However, this innocent idea seemed so pale and powerless in the face of brutal reality.
Sergeant Golden had been listening in silence, his own heart engaged in a fierce struggle. As a Sergeant, he had to be responsible for the entire squad and could not act on emotion. But as Dorian's brother and superior, he could not accept watching Dorian suffer torment at the hands of Chaos without doing anything.
"What is the Chapter Master's intention?" Gorden finally spoke again, his voice weary.
Cliff brought up an encrypted order: "The Chapter Master commands... prioritize squad safety and mission continuity. Unwarranted Warp rescue operations are not recommended... but... he authorizes us... provided we obtain definite intelligence and a feasible plan, to attempt to formulate a limited rescue plan and apply for necessary support."
The order was carefully worded, neither completely denying a rescue nor placing the final decision and immense risk squarely on Gorden's shoulders.
"Limited plan... feasible solution..." Gorden gave a bitter smile. "Easier said than done..."
Just then, there was a knock on the tactical chamber door. Standing outside were the three relatively "active" Grey Knights Terminators—Angerthas, Hoss, and Kazatoki. Their massive bodies almost completely blocked the doorway.
Captain Angerthas' deep voice resonated: "We sense strong... fluctuations of anxiety and determination here. Does it concern the captured warrior?"
Gorden did not hide anything and briefly explained the situation.
Hoss, carrying his massive hammer, grumbled, "Invading Khorne's territory to snatch someone? Interesting! Count me in!"
Kazatoki, in an electronic voice, analyzed: "Warp navigation and internal structure data for Daemon-ships are severely lacking. Success probability cannot be calculated. However... the challenge is extremely high."
Angerthas was silent for a moment, then said: "The Grey Knights Chapter's duty is to purge Chaos, not to rescue individuals. However... an Astartes warrior falling into enemy hands is also a desecration of the Emperor. If you are determined to act, we can provide... limited Warp environment support and advice on dealing with Daemons. But we cannot directly participate in the rescue. This is not our primary mission."
The Grey Knights' stance was clear: they could offer advice and peripheral support, but they would not personally venture into danger to save a single Astartes. This was already the greatest extent of "support" they could express.
Hope remained slim.
Everyone's gaze once again focused on Gorden, awaiting his final decision.
Gorden looked at the blurry star chart coordinates on the table, as if he could see Dorian's struggling figure in that maddening domain. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and countless images of fighting alongside Dorian flashed through his mind—his bravery, his recklessness, his loyalty, his loud and never-retreating figure...
When he opened his eyes again, Gorden's gaze was firm and resolute.
"Declan Catonia is our brother." His voice was steady and powerful, echoing in the tactical chamber. "Ultramarines never abandon their brothers."
Lex's bionic arm clenched suddenly, a red light flashing in his eye. Sore and Cliff exchanged a glance, then silently nodded.
"However," Gorden's tone shifted, his gaze sharply sweeping over everyone, "we cannot go to our deaths meaninglessly. The rescue operation must be based on the most complete intelligence and meticulous planning possible."
"Sister Luna, focus all resources on analyzing all known or speculative data regarding the structure of Word Bearers' Daemon-ships and that specific Warp region, looking for any possible weaknesses or patterns."
"Cliff, immediately draft a detailed resource request list, including specialized equipment, psychic support, and... potentially needed special vehicles, and submit it to the Chapter Master and the Adeptus Mechanicus."
"Lex, Sore, intensify squad training, especially psychological preparation and tactical coordination for Warp environments and Daemons."
"Gaius..." Gorden looked at Gaius. "...Your situation is special. I need you to maintain absolute calm and control. Your state could be a variable, or it could be crucial."
Finally, he looked at the three Grey Knights Terminators: "Thank you for your support. We need all the knowledge you can provide regarding the Warp and Daemons, as well as... as much tactical advice as possible."
Orders were issued one by one, clear in thought. Gorden chose a third path—not to abandon the rescue, but never to act recklessly. This would be an extremely difficult, slim-hope, and possibly very costly path, but they had to try.
For their brother, and for the untarnished honor of the Ultramarines.
The tactical meeting ended, and everyone departed with heavy but determined hearts, beginning preparations for the almost impossible mission.
Lina watched the adults leave, and quietly asked Luna, "Master Luna... Master Dorian... he'll definitely come back, right?"
Luna was silent for a moment, uncharacteristically not answering with data probabilities, but simply patted her shoulder gently: "We'll do our best."
Hope was like a flickering candle in the wind, but they had to protect it until the very last moment.
The decision was made, and action commenced immediately. However, Sergeant Golden knew the extreme danger and near-suicidal nature of this mission; he couldn't apply for official authorization in the name of the entire Second Squad—Chapter Master Calgar would almost certainly reject it. This was an entirely private operation, a gamble of everything just to bring back their brother.
Therefore, he did not involve Sister Luna. On one hand, her technical expertise was limited in a stealth mission lacking ship support; on the other hand, she still needed to care for and guide Lina. More importantly, Gorden needed someone to remain on the Macragge's Honour, so if they didn't return, at least someone would know where they went and why. He handed Luna an encrypted action log and intelligence summary, entrusting her to submit it only if the squad was confirmed missing.
Luna silently took the data-slate, a flicker of extremely complex emotion seemingly passing through her cold bionic eyes, but she ultimately just nodded: "Understood, Sergeant. May the Omnissiah bless you all." She didn't say the Emperor, choosing instead the prayer of the Adeptus Mechanicus, perhaps believing that this journey required precision more than divine grace.
The operational personnel were finally confirmed: Sergeant Golden, Lex, Cliff, Medic Sore, and Gaius. Although Medic Sore had just recovered from his injuries, his medical skills were crucial for the operation, and he himself adamantly insisted on joining.
Unexpectedly, Captain Angerthas, upon learning of their decision, did not stop them but instead provided crucial assistance. He utilized some Grey Knights' special authority and knowledge, combined with fragmented data streams captured during the previous pursuit of a Greater Daemon of Slaanesh, and actually managed to locate an extremely faint and rapidly dissipating Warp signature coordinate, left by the Word Bearers' daemon warship that had once held Dorian, within the vast and chaotic Warp signals!
"This coordinate is highly unstable and could vanish at any moment. You must use the temporary reality rift generated by other ships performing Warp jumps to enter and must find your target and escape before your Geller Field is completely corrupted," Angerthas warned solemnly. "Remember, within the Warp, time and perception are not to be trusted. Act swiftly."
They did not choose a massive Thunderhawk, but instead selected a small, fast, and highly stealthy assault boat, the "Ghostwalker," and loaded it with as many weapons, ammunition, and special equipment as possible.
Using the cover of a transport ship preparing for a routine jump, the "Ghostwalker" clung to its hull. The moment the transport's Warp engine tore open the reality barrier, creating a brief entrance, the assault boat silently slipped into the kaleidoscopic, perilous ocean of non-reality like a shadow!
Almost immediately upon entry, a terrifying sense of oppression surged from all directions! The assault boat's miniature Geller Field generator immediately hummed as if overloaded, the light outside the hull twisted wildly, and countless indescribable shadows, composed of pure malice and desire, swarmed in like sharks smelling blood, violently crashing against the fragile force field barrier, emitting a grating scrape and shriek that made one's teeth ache!
Inside the boat, alarms shrieked, and red lights flashed frantically.
"Field strength dropping rapidly! 70%... 60%... 50%...!" Cliff watched the dashboard intently, his voice urgent.
"Accelerate! Full power! Head for the coordinates!" Gorden gripped the seat armrest tightly, feeling the violent vibrations from the hull.
Lex and Gaius stood on either side of the hatch, their Bolters aimed at the entrance, nervously watching the constantly twisting outer wall of the force field, which seemed ready to tear open at any moment, preparing to face any demons that might rush in.
Medic Sore quickly injected everyone with high-strength sedatives and mental stabilizers to counteract the direct erosion of the mind by the Warp environment.
The assault boat, like a small skiff in a storm, struggled through the chaotic colors and energy currents, accelerating desperately towards the coordinates provided by Angerthas. Every tremor sent shivers down their spines, as if they would be swallowed by the endless demonic ocean in the next second.
"Coordinates approaching! Detecting a massive chaotic entity signal! It should be the target!" Cliff shouted.
Through the severely distorted force field and viewport, they could already see the colossal object ahead—a massive warship, a grotesque nest composed of twisted metal, pulsating flesh, and solidified energy! It hung silently in the Warp's currents, exuding a suffocating aura of evil and defilement!
"Find the nearest entrance! Prepare for a forced boarding!"
The "Ghostwalker" narrowly avoided several massive, tentacle-like energy flows, rushing towards a seemingly damaged hatch on the daemon warship, from which small demons were constantly entering and exiting!
A second before the Geller Field completely collapsed, the assault boat violently slammed into the entrance, sliding for a distance before coming to a stop in a dimly lit area filled with foul odors and blasphemous runes.
"Quick! Quick! Quick!" Gorden was the first to kick open the deformed hatch, and the five-man squad quickly rushed out, taking up a combat formation to survey their surroundings.
Their location appeared to be a deserted cargo passage or lower deck. The air was thick with the smell of blood and ozone, and faint howls and eerie music could be heard in the distance.
Relying on the limited structural diagrams provided by Angerthas, they cautiously moved towards the presumed holding area. The sights along the way were nauseating: walls of fused flesh, flickering Warp energy runes, and twisted creatures nailed to the walls, wailing...
They avoided several patrols of lower-tier demons and fanatical Word Bearers cultists, finally finding the area. However, after a tense search, they discovered that most of the cages were empty, or contained creatures that were completely insane or mutated; there was no trace of Dorian!
"He's not here!" Cliff whispered, a hint of anxiety in his voice.
Just then, they spotted a human, seemingly still retaining a shred of sanity, wearing tattered Tech-Priest robes. He was hiding in a corner, trembling as he operated a damaged data terminal.
Gorden grabbed him, pressing his Bolter to his forehead, and demanded in a low, harsh voice: "Speak! The Ultramarines brought in a few days ago! The one in blue armor! Where is he being held?!"
The Tech-Priest was scared out of his wits, stammering: "I... I don't know... my lord... don't kill me..."
Lex's bionic arm emitted a threatening hum.
The Tech-Priest's eyes darted around, as if he had thought of something, and he quickly said: "...Perhaps... perhaps in the 'Blood Mill Workshop' below... or... the 'Throat of Ecstasy'... I... I can take you there..."
Gorden stared into his eyes, seeing a hint of cunning hidden within. But he had no choice.
"Lead the way! Don't try anything!"
The Tech-Priest nodded obsequiously, leading them towards an even darker passage. However, just as they passed a junction, he suddenly broke free, letting out a piercing scream with all his might: "Intruders! Ultramarines intruders!! In B-7 passage!!"
After shouting, he scrambled to escape!
Bang!
Lex unhesitatingly shot him in the leg! But the alarm had already been raised!
A piercing alarm instantly echoed throughout the entire area! In the distance, there were sounds of dense footsteps, frantic roars, and... the hissing of demons!
"Damn it! We fell for it!" Gorden cursed. "Prepare for battle!"
The five-man squad immediately formed a back-to-back defensive formation, their Bolters and plasma guns aimed at the enemies surging from both ends of the passage—not only fanatical Word Bearers cultists and warriors, but also Slaanesh Daemonettes and Noise Marines seeping from the walls and ceiling!
Fierce gunfire erupted instantly! Lasers and Bolter rounds flew through the passage, demon shrieks intertwined with warrior roars!
...
Meanwhile, in another area of the Warp.
Jerrison Fall's small assault boat was facing an even greater crisis. They had no Geller Field, completely exposed to the Warp's malice!
Countless demons, sensing this "delicious" little boat, swarmed in from all directions like moths to a flame, attacking the hull with claws, energy blasts, and even pure psychic roars! The hull constantly emitted grating impacts and tearing sounds, and the alarm rang like a death knell!
"Damn it! We can't hold out!" A Night Lords warrior shouted, looking at the cracks appearing on the bulkhead.
Jerrison, while firing his Bolter at a Daemonette trying to squeeze through a crack, yelled at the pilot's seat: "Have you not found the nearest reality anchor point yet?!"
"Found it! But it's very unstable! Jumping there might cause us to disintegrate!" the pilot responded.
"We don't have that luxury! It's better than being torn to shreds here! Jump!" Jerrison roared.
The pilot violently pushed the control stick, and the assault boat let out a groan on the verge of disintegration, its engines overloaded to the limit, as it plunged towards a faintly flickering reality coordinate!
Amidst the pursuit and interception of countless demons, the assault boat narrowly tore open a small reality rift, like a rat escaping for its life, violently plunging out and disappearing into a relatively calm starry sky, leaving behind only the still churning, furious waves of the Warp.
Inside the boat, it was a mess, with dents and demon ichor everywhere. Jerrison gasped for breath, glanced at Dorian, who was still unconscious on the deck but whose injuries had been temporarily stabilized after emergency treatment, and cursed: "Damn it... you fat bastard, I almost lost my life saving you..."
On the other side, Gorden's squad was heavily surrounded by Word Bearers and demons, with little hope of breaking through. Not only had they failed to find Dorian, but they were now in danger themselves.
Inside the daemon warship, B-7 passage had become a bloody slaughterhouse. The defensive circle formed by Gorden and his four comrades, back-to-back, was like a reef in a storm, constantly eroded and compressed under the frenzied assault of Word Bearers traitors and Slaanesh daemons.
The roar of Bolters, the overcharged shriek of plasma weapons, the growl of chainswords, and the screams of daemons and the mad shouts of traitors intertwined into a symphony of death. Lex's Heavy Bolter spewed deadly fire, tearing apart the charging Daemonettes, but more enemies surged forward like a tide. Cliff and Sol's precise bursts constantly brought down Word Bearers cultists, but their ammunition was rapidly depleting. Gorden wielded his Power Sword, parrying a cleaving Chainaxe, while returning fire with his Bolt Pistol. Gaius, meanwhile, calmly fired his 'Hawkeye' Sniper Rifle and Bolt Pistol; every shot inevitably brought down an enemy, but his silent left arm subtly transmitted an unusual restlessness, as if resonating with the dense Warp energy around him.
"This can't go on! We're running out of ammo!" Cliff shouted, simultaneously replacing an empty power magazine.
"Break out towards the hangar! See if we can grab a ship!" Gorden made a decisive call, pointing in a general direction they had noted on their way in.
"Go!" Lex roared, his Heavy Bolter temporarily suppressing the forward passage, and the five men immediately moved like a mobile steel hedgehog, pushing arduously towards the hangar.
Every step forward came at a great cost. Sol's shoulder pad was grazed by a Warp energy beam, leaving a charred mark; Cliff's thigh was cut by a ricochet; even Gorden's chest plate bore several deep claw marks.
Just as they rushed past a junction filled with pulsating fleshy pipes and flickering evil runes, Gaius suddenly stopped! His gaze was drawn to a cable dangling from the ceiling, slowly pulsing as if alive, emitting a faint blue light. That cable gave him an extremely strange sensation, especially his left arm; the dormant nanomachines within it seemed to be drawn to it, transmitting a faint but clear throb!
"Gaius! Keep up!" Gorden shouted back.
"Wait!" Gaius, as if possessed, reached out and touched the writhing cable with his dormant left arm!
The instant of contact—
Boom!!!
A cold, vast, blue torrent of energy, filled with endless cunning and knowledge, surged from that cable like a bursting dam, rushing up Gaius' left arm and instantly into his brain!
Gaius groaned, his body trembling violently, and dazzling, swirling blue light erupted from his eyes! Countless chaotic, bizarre images and fragments of information flashed and reassembled madly in his mind!
He saw it! Saw Dorian being dragged onto this ship! Saw him being locked in a cage! Saw him fighting World Eaters in the arena! Saw him being trampled underfoot by a Word Bearers officer! And then... most crucially... he saw several individuals in Word Bearers armor, but moving in a distinctly different manner, suddenly strike, kill the officer, rescue Dorian, seize a small ship, and escape!
The images shattered and twisted, filled with the contradiction and uncertainty characteristic of the Lord of Change, but the core information was clearly branded into Gaius' consciousness—Dorian was no longer on this ship!
The blue light rapidly receded from Gaius' eyes. He staggered a step, his face ashen, gasping for breath, as if he had just undergone an extremely draining psychic ritual. The alien energy that had surged into his body also rapidly receded, his left arm returning to its dormant state, as if everything that had just happened was merely an illusion.
"Gaius! What's wrong with you?!" Sol quickly supported him.
"...Dorian..." Gaius' voice was hoarse and urgent, "...He's not here! I saw it... He was rescued by another group... and left this ship!"
"What?!" Everyone was startled!
"Are you sure?!" Gorden asked anxiously.
"Not sure... but... I feel it's real!" Gaius couldn't explain what had just happened, only trust the bizarre 'revelation'.
Just then, the surrounding Word Bearers seemed to receive new orders; their attack rhythm suddenly changed. They were no longer focused on lethal kills, but rather attempting to surround, suppress, and capture them alive!
"Take them alive!!"
"Don't let them escape!"
"For the blood god! For the dark gods!"
The fanatical shouts of the traitors revealed their intentions. Capturing five Ultramarines alive was undoubtedly a more 'glorious' and 'useful' sacrifice than killing them!
This, in turn, significantly relieved the pressure on Gorden and his four comrades! The enemies no longer aimed for vital points, and their attacks became restrained, creating an opportunity for them to catch their breath and break out!
"Good opportunity! Charge out!" Gorden immediately seized the tactical advantage, and the squad unleashed their last strength, charging like tigers down a mountain towards the hangar!
Taking advantage of the chaos as the enemies tried to capture them alive, they forcibly carved out a bloody path! Lex's Heavy Bolter cleared the way, Gorden and Gaius covered the flanks, while Cliff and Sol brought up the rear and tended to injuries.
Finally, they saw the entrance to the small auxiliary hangar! Several grotesquely shaped small assault craft were docked there!
"Grab the fastest one!" Gorden pointed to one that looked relatively intact.
The five men rushed over like a whirlwind, dispatching several Word Bearers ground crew attempting to block them. Thanks to his prior research and the chaotic state of the Word Bearers' systems, Cliff quickly bypassed the hatch lock, and the five men swiftly boarded the ship!
"Start it quickly!" Gorden roared.
Lex brutally smashed open the control panel, directly initiating a physical ignition! The assault craft's engines emitted a piercing roar, violently smashing aside debris blocking its path, and burst out of the hangar door, once again plunging headfirst into the insane chaos of the Warp outside!
Behind them, the Word Bearers warship unleashed an angry barrage of fire, but it was too late. The assault craft, like a startled fish, frantically evaded the turbulent energy currents, rushing towards the nearest reality anchor!
Without a Gellar Field, daemons swarmed again, furiously attacking the hull. But the five men, relying on their tenacious will and their last ammunition, held on desperately.
After an unknown amount of time, which felt like an eternity, they finally detected a stable reality signal! Cliff, without hesitation, piloted the battered assault craft, charging towards that rift of hope!
Violent tremors and a tearing sensation! As if passing through a cold curtain of water!
The next moment, outside the viewport, there were no longer frenzied colors and daemons, but the cold, silent, familiar black void and scattered starlight!
They were back! Back in the real universe!
Inside the craft, there was dead silence, only the sound of heavy breathing and system damage alarms. Everyone was slumped in their seats, covered in blood, utterly exhausted, as if they had just crawled back from hell.
They had succeeded, but also failed. They had escaped alive, but had not brought back Dorian, only that unbelievable news, difficult to discern as true or false.
After quick first aid and emergency repairs to the craft, they set a course back to the Macragge's Honour. The atmosphere during the next few days of travel was unusually somber. No one spoke; everyone was immersed in their own thoughts and the lingering terror.
When the ship, dragging its broken body, slowly entered the magnificent hangar of the Macragge's Honour, what awaited them was not a welcome, nor solace.
But the mountain-like heavy figure of Chapter Master Calgar, and the icy, millennia-old fury on his face.
Chapter Master Calgar stood alone on the landing pad. He was not wearing his helmet, and his eyes, sharp as a hawk's, swept over the five battered and disheveled squad members descending the gangplank, finally settling on Sergeant Golden.
The entire hangar was silent; all ground crew and passersby held their breath, not daring to make a sound. A suffocating low pressure permeated the air.
Gorden took a deep breath, stepped forward, and prepared to report.
But before he could speak, Chapter Master Calgar's cold and authoritative voice, like a clap of thunder, boomed throughout the hangar:
"Sergeant Golden."
"Tell me."
"Who gave you the authority to take my warriors, leave the ship without permission, trespass into the Warp, delve into daemon territory, to undertake a... utterly foolish, almost suicidal, and hopeless so-called 'rescue'?"
"Who allowed you to disregard my orders, to stake the fate of an entire squad on a soldier who might have already fallen?"
"Do you still remember that you are a Sergeant of the Ultramarines?!"
Every word was like a heavy hammer, striking hard at the hearts of Gorden and all the squad members. The Chapter Master's wrath, palpable, pressed down on their shoulders, more suffocating than facing Word Bearers and daemons.
Chapter Master Calgar's wrath was a tangible storm, sweeping through the entire hangar.
His cold questions and stern rebukes, each word like a hammer blow, made Sergeant Golden unable to lift his head, and left Lex, Cliff, Thor, and Gaius behind him feeling utterly mortified.
Their reckless unauthorized actions, the risks they created, and the ultimately futile outcome were laid bare before the Chapter Master; any defense seemed pale and powerless.
"...You have shamed the glory of the Ultramarines! You have made the discipline of 7th Company a joke! Gorden, you have disappointed me greatly!" Calgar's voice was like ice, filled with deep sorrow.
"From now on, you are relieved of your duties as Sergeant! Second Squad, all of you, are confined for review! Awaiting further..."
Just at this suffocating moment of judgment, a bridge communications officer, looking nervous, almost ran over, not even bothering with etiquette, urgently interrupting the Chapter Master's words:
"Chapter Master! Urgent communication! From an unidentified small spacecraft! The signal is extremely weak, intermittent!"
Chapter Master Calgar's brows furrowed, his displeasure at the interruption evident, but he still suppressed his anger: "What is the content?"
The communications officer swallowed, reporting quickly: "The other party... the other party claims to request to speak with... Sergeant Golden of 7th Company, 2nd Squad! They also said... they also said..." The communications officer's voice held disbelief, "... 'Declan Catonia is with us'! And warned that their ship is severely damaged, on the verge of collapse, requesting emergency landing permission! Coordinates have been sent!"
This news was like a bomb, instantly detonating in the silent hangar!
Everyone was stunned! Including Chapter Master Calgar, who was in a furious rage!
Gorden suddenly raised his head, his eyes bursting with incredible light! Lex's mechanical prosthetic hand clenched tightly! Cliff and Thor exchanged glances, and Gaius also stared with wide eyes in shock!
Dorian? With them? Alive?! And approaching?!
Chapter Master Calgar's expression instantly became extremely complex, anger, surprise, and doubt intertwined.
His sharp gaze shot towards Gorden, as if to pierce his soul, to judge if this was another part of a foolish plan.
But the communications officer's anxious expression and the transmitted coordinate signal were real.
"...Verify the signal source and the authenticity of the coordinates! Immediately!" Calgar quickly ordered, then looked at Gorden again, his tone still cold, but with a hint of caution, "This had better not be another farce you've orchestrated, Gorden."
Gorden immediately straightened his back and replied loudly: "Absolutely not, Chapter Master! I swear on the honor of the Ultramarines!"
Soon, the radar department confirmed that a small, dilapidated assault boat, seemingly modified multiple times, was indeed wobbling towards the Macragge's Honour, its engine signal extremely unstable, as if it could stall at any moment.
Its identification signal was garbled, but the emergency distress call and the message specifically asking for Gorden were repeating.
"Chapter Master!" Gorden urgently requested, "No matter who they are, please allow them to land! Dorian might really be inside! He needs emergency medical attention!"
Chapter Master Calgar was silent for a few seconds, his eyes flickering rapidly, weighing the risks.
Allowing an unknown ship with suspicious signals to approach or even land on the flagship was a huge security risk.
But... if Dorian really was inside...
Ultimately, the importance of a warrior's life outweighed his doubts.
"Grant emergency landing permission!" Calgar ordered, "Guide it to the Third Isolation Hangar! Immediately deploy maximum security and medical teams! All weapons locked on the spacecraft! If there is any abnormal movement, destroy it immediately!"
The orders were swiftly carried out.
The entire Macragge's Honour instantly entered a state of high alert.
The Third Isolation Hangar's shields and weapon systems were all activated, several squads of fully armed guards and Tech-Priests quickly took their positions, and the medical team also rushed to the hangar with their equipment.
The hearts of the five men, Gorden, were in their throats, watching the Chapter Master expectantly.
Calgar glanced at them, saying coldly: "You come with me too. If this is a trap, you will be the first to charge in."
"Yes, Chapter Master!" The five responded without hesitation.
Soon, the dilapidated small assault boat, led by a guide ship, wobbled and spewed black smoke as it entered the heavily sealed Third Isolation Hangar.
It landed askew, like a drunkard, emitting a harsh grinding sound, and after finally coming to a stop, its engines let out a mournful wail and completely died out.
All weapons instantly pointed at the spacecraft!
The guards held their guns nervously, and the Tech-Priests' scanners were all activated.
Due to deformation, it took a while for the hatch to be laboriously pushed open from the inside, creating a gap.
A figure stumbled out.
He was wearing a set of tattered armor, stained with oil and blood, seemingly stripped from a Word Bearer, his helmet missing, revealing a pale, tired, scarred but disgruntled face—it was Jerrison Fall!
He saw the tense situation in the hangar, especially Chapter Master Calgar and Gorden, and paused, then pouted, muttering: "Tsk... such a big show... is it really necessary...?"
"Don't move! Hands up!" The guards shouted sharply.
Jerrison rolled his eyes, but still slowly raised his hands, while shouting into the ship's hatch: "Hey! Hurry up and get that fat guy out! Otherwise, they're going to shoot!"
At this moment, two other individuals, also wearing mismatched armor and looking like Night Lords, laboriously carried a stretcher out of the cabin.
On the stretcher lay an unconscious, bandaged, but vaguely recognizable large body of Declan Catonia!
His face was ashen, his breathing weak, but he was indeed alive! A trembling Word Bearer medic also crawled out, hands raised.
Seeing Dorian actually appear before their eyes, Gorden and the others were instantly overjoyed!
Lex even instinctively took a step forward, only to be stopped by a guard gesturing with his gun.
Chapter Master Calgar stared sharply at Jerrison: "Jerrison Fall. Explain the situation. Why is Dorian with you? What is your purpose?"
Jerrison sighed, with an expression of "what a bother": "Why else? Passing by, saw your fat guy was about to be played to death by the Word Bearers, so I lent a hand.
Ended up almost getting myself involved... a big loss... if I had known it would be this much trouble, I wouldn't have bothered..."
He spoke lightly, but everyone could imagine how dangerous and difficult it was to rescue someone from the Word Bearers in the Warp.
The medical team immediately stepped forward, carefully took the stretcher, and began emergency examination and transfer of Dorian.
Chapter Master Calgar looked at Jerrison, then at the severely injured Dorian, the frost on his face seemed to melt a little, but his vigilance remained: "Your 'lending a hand' comes at a great cost.
Why did you do it?"
Jerrison shrugged, a movement that made all the guards tense up again: "Who knows? Maybe I'm in a good mood today? Maybe I just don't like those mad dog Word Bearers? Maybe..." He glanced at Gorden and Gaius, "...Never mind, I'm too lazy to make something up.
The man's been returned to you, the ship's wrecked, can you give us a place to repair it and some supplies? Then we'll leave, and we'll have no further dealings?"
His request was unexpectedly... simple and direct.
Chapter Master Calgar was silent for a moment, then finally spoke: "Given that you saved an Ultramarine, I can grant you limited... 'guest' treatment.
But all your actions will be under strict surveillance.
If there is any abnormal movement... you will be killed without question."
"Understood, understood." Jerrison waved his hand indifferently, "I know the rules."
A sudden crisis temporarily came to an end in a way no one had anticipated.
Dorian miraculously survived, but was critically injured.
Second Squad, though they brought back news of him, still could not escape punishment for their unauthorized actions.
And the "guests" from an enemy faction brought new uncertainties to the Macragge's Honour.
Chapter Master Calgar looked at Dorian being carried away, then at the indifferent Jerrison, and finally his gaze fell on Gorden and the others, letting out a cold snort:
"Your confinement and review will proceed as planned! Now, immediately, get out of my sight!"
Although the punishment remained, the atmosphere was already different.
At least, a brother had returned.