40k: Midnight Blade.

Chapter 605 123. Dark Expedition (Forty-four)

"Tell them to cease fire!" a voice roared over the Red Tear Fleet's joint communications network. "There must be some kind of misunderstanding!"

Misunderstanding? Gabriel Seth almost laughed.

There was no misunderstanding, absolutely not. And no one would call a spear of light that pierced the center of the fleet a misunderstanding.

Why?

Because this weapon is not a handheld gun or a machine controlled by a gunner in a heavy vehicle, it is a sophisticated, large and dangerous weapon, and accidental discharge was not part of its design language from the beginning.

The captain gave the order, the machine delivered the order, and the lances preheated - the whole process could take several minutes or even more than ten minutes. Even if a lance really started preheating without receiving an order, the alarm would immediately sound on the bridge.

Everyone would be aware of this unexpected situation and react accordingly. So, there was no misunderstanding, the luminous spear was aimed at them.

Shots fired from the Ultramarines' warships at the combined fleet of Blood Angels, Blood Knights, Weepers and Flesh Tearers.

Roboute Guilliman's son attacked Sanguinius' son.

is it possible?

Gabriel Seth's face suddenly twisted and rage spread across it, but he miraculously resisted the urge to roar.

Not far away, the blasphemous sounds made by the demons continued to ring out behind the closed solid steel doors of the main bridge, like a terrifying symphony.

Several communication devices that were temporarily rescued were flashing red lights, and sweaty maintenance personnel and servitors were debugging them in the hope of gaining the ability to communicate in real time - at least, to transmit commands to the nearest warships.

The Sons of Angels have firmly occupied this place and guarded it heavily. Soldiers from all decks have surrounded this place, and machine gun positions have been established. The brave and fearless navy even reorganized its organization one step ahead of the sons of Sanguinius, recovered from the raid, and fought all the way here from the end of the ship.

Seth looked around, taking all the information in his head, but his rage did not diminish in the slightest.

He dropped his own lance and tossed it into the hands of a Blood Angels battle-brother, motioning him to take aim at Calistarius in the midst of the ritual, before striding towards the Chapter Master of the Weepers, Malakin Foros.

The anger on the latter's face was no less than his, but not as brutal, nor did he have the madness that Seth had hidden and had not yet revealed. The Weeper still retained his sanity, and most of it - all of which was probably related to the knife in his hand.

Seth glanced at it and said, "We have to find a way to pass the order - and, where's Dante?"

"At the stern," Malakin said succinctly. "It is said that a new demonic tide has erupted there, and Sentor has already rushed over. They want to try to close the portal before the demonic tide becomes a major threat."

Seth nodded coldly, turned around and pointed at the few large instruments. "Based on this efficiency, we will need at least forty minutes to restore the communication capability between ships. We can't wait, Malakin."

"What do you want to do?"

"The Red Tear still has eight artillery positions that remain combat-ready."

The Flesh Tearer grinned cruelly, and when he opened his mouth, he revealed a complete battle strategy that made Malakin more and more frightened the more he listened.

"Moreover, they have a manual control system. Skilled gunners and loaders can get the firepower they are responsible for into the launch preheating state within three minutes. As for how to aim after losing the auspicious instrument and rangefinder, I think we don't need to aim too accurately. We just need to send a signal."

He raised his right hand and clenched his fist.

Malakin had fully understood what his unspoken words meant, but he was still worried about something else. He was silent for a few seconds and then proposed a guess that Seth didn't even bother to think about.

"But, if——"

"——I know what you want to say."

Seth said, his jaw tensing again, his fangs poking out from his thin lips in a palpable menace.

“But we cannot gamble, Malakin, and I do not believe that Robouti Guilliman’s Ultramarines will accidentally fire their warships. For the Blood and the Throne, this is a fucking joke.”

"Do you believe it? Do you believe that a group of schizophrenic warmongers and clerks would neglect the maintenance of their warships, causing the instruments to malfunction and even causing the light spears to misfire?"

Malakin didn't answer, but just took a deep breath.

Seth suddenly roared, "Counterattack! All fleets, now! Otherwise, you will die!"

Two minutes later, his order was carried out. The Red Tear responded with a salvo, and the voices in the communication channel quickly fell silent. Then, the fleet began to disperse and move in an offensive formation.

Destroyers and carrier-based aircraft rushed forward, followed by cruisers, weaving a dense firepower network from light to heavy. Battleships and battle barges began to warm up their weapons, and shuttles and boarding torpedoes were fired at the same time, rushing towards the fleet belonging to the Ultramarines.
Indeed, some were still hesitant and did not order to open fire. But more people had realized what the Red Tear's counterattack meant. Like Malakin, they did not think that the Ultramarines would attack them indiscriminately.

This was verified again eleven minutes into the battle, as the Ultramarines fleet did not respond to any communication requests and began to counterattack.

So the war officially began.

This time, there is no room for rebuttal.
-
“What have you done!” roared Sergeant Isis 'Paragon' Tachar of the Ultramarines 117th Reserve Company.

He was missing his left hand, which was completely gone from the shoulder. The bleeding had stopped long ago, but no medical treatment was given, and the wound with obvious teeth marks was left exposed.

Dark red bloodstains spread on his armor. It was not the first time that this glorious MK4 was stained with blood, but this was the first time it was stained red with his own blood.

He was unarmed, without even a basic combat dagger. There were 329 other Ultramarines in the same dire situation.

Half a month ago, the number was 1,294. A week ago, before they were captured, the number was 544.

A day earlier, the number was 417.

In just one day, they lost eighty-eight people. They were not casualties in battle, nor did they die in the void sea battle or the war against demons, but were eaten as food.

Without any honor or dignity, they were brought to the table, their armor was torn off, and then they were cruelly eaten alive. This process was extremely bloody and often accompanied by screams.

It was hard to believe, because those screams were filled with fear. Fear was not an emotion among the Astartes, at least that was what the sergeant, known as the Paragon, thought.

He had been in the army for 29 years, and he had never felt this kind of emotion since the transformation surgery. He understood why, this was a double transformation of the body both physically and mentally. The surgery suppressed their emotions, but the training they had acquired and the atmosphere within the regiment made them truly fearless.
Until they met the monster.

Roboute Guilliman smiled silently, his lips stained with blood, his face handsome, and his golden hair fluttering gently in the breeze.

"It seems that I was right to only enjoy your left hand, Isis," he said softly. "I admire your courage, so I will answer your question."

He moved the bench away and strolled among the corpses on the ground. Suddenly, he bent down, gently picked up a leg bone, and knocked it on the table top that had already been completely stained with blood.

"What did I do? This is a complicated question. Since I was born, I have done many things. At first I escaped, then I rested and looked for a suitable food source."

"Don't worry, my son. I know what you want to know most. You want to know what caused that strange tremor just now, right? The answer is actually very simple."

He smiled, threw away the leg bone, shook his head, and tapped his temple with his right hand. A flash of psychic energy appeared.

"I gave the order for the battleship to open fire."

He whispered, but his voice echoed throughout the banquet hall. All the Ultramarines heard his words, and everyone trembled to varying degrees.

As early as eight hours ago, they learned about the existence of the descendants of Sanguinius through the porthole and the monster's narration.
“At whom?” Robouti Guilliman asked again.

He began to walk around the long table, like a teacher giving a lecture, his tone calm and rational. His clothes were dragged in the blood and corpses, and had long been stained red, just like his hands, but his face still had a childlike innocence.

Isis felt an uncontrollable nausea, something was breaking through the muscles inside his throat - and finally, it resounded throughout this hell.

"You will die. You will die. No matter who you are, Robouti Guilliman will kill you. We will kill you!" the sergeant roared with hatred.

The thing smiled and returned to its seat.

"I am Robert Guilliman." He said this while supporting his left cheek.

"You're nothing but a monster!"

"Yes, but isn't that the fool who is destined to be devoured by me?" He asked in return, with a gleam of reason in his eyes.

The sergeant's emotions grew more and more difficult to control as he realized this. He couldn't understand it, absolutely couldn't understand it.

If he looked like a simple monster, if those eyes were gleaming with pure malice, then the sergeant might not be so emotional.
Yet, at that moment, this evil being, with the face and physique of the Primarch, looked exactly like Robouti Guilliman.

Exactly.

How can this be possible?

"He's a monster, too, if you haven't felt it, Sergeant. You've seen him, haven't you? I saw it in your brother's memory. It was from him that you got your nickname."

"He commended you for your service in the war, shook your hand, patted your shoulder affectionately, and recounted your life story in detail. He was perfect, just like the father, general and leader you imagined."

"But is this really the case? Is there really someone who is so consistent with your imagination? You actually noticed it, Isis. You know what your Primarch is hiding behind that amiable face."

"When you shake his hand, you briefly experience his strength. When you talk to him, you perceive the tip of the iceberg of his vast thoughts. And his memory, his ability to adapt, even the way he walks -"

Robert Guilliman sighed and stood up again, walked to a porthole with his hands behind his back, and spoke in a low voice.

"——They are all telling you that he is not a human being, but a monster."

He turned around, and half of his profile looked terrifying yet natural in the light of the fire burning outside the porthole, and he was still handsome.

"Just like me," he said. "I just chose to face myself, while he chose to tie his own hands and indulge in lies, that's all."

"You are not him." Isis answered through gritted teeth, but her voice was very soft. "You are definitely not him."

"Yeah, I'm not."

Roboute Guilliman turned, walked towards him, and pushed the unresisting Sergeant onto the dining table. All those who tried to free him were bound by a powerful psychic force, and the Sergeant himself was the only one who was not trapped in this prison.

However, in the face of his brothers' shouts, he remained silent, as if he were already dead.

Roboute Guilliman reached out to wipe away his tears of blood and shook his head slightly.

"Don't worry," he said soothingly. "You will understand everything soon."

He opened his mouth, bit off his left index finger, and then thrust it into the sergeant's eye socket. Blood splattered, and the broken index finger slowly sank into it. The sergeant was silent, only trembling and convulsing.

With some strange and teeth-grinding sound, his body began to change shape. Guilliman stood aside patiently, using his psychic power to help him calm down, and even quietly changed the shape of the power armor to make it fit the sergeant's changed body shape.
A few minutes later, without anyone noticing, the sergeant's empty left hand returned, but he stood up from the table and walked out of the banquet hall as if he didn't notice it.

There stood many things like him.

Roboute Guilliman smiled and looked at the other Ultramarines. They said nothing and fell into a deathly silence, but no one's expression wavered.

"Now, Sergeant Isis has understood the necessity of my action. As for you, if we still have time, I will change your minds one by one, but we are in a war, so--"

He walked towards them, his mouth watering and his bright red tongue began to lick his lips.

"—I need strength." He said gently.

"How else can I face the sons of Sanguinius? I cannot fail, my sons. It has taken me a lot to get to this point, to control these ships and these worlds. And you, I believe you are ready to die for me."

"For the Emperor," someone said, his voice firm and firm.

Guilliman sighed regretfully, then thrust his index finger in with great force.

(End of this chapter)