The Emperor’s Angel of Death

When Soshjan opened his eyes again, the first thing he saw were the worried faces of Talos and Sol.

The first words he said after sitting up in bed were—

"Sorry, I was careless."

Sol was the first to ask:

"What happened?"

"The Necrons deployed a trap, and I almost capsized in a small ditch."

Lightly skipping over the topic, Soshjan turned to ask:

"How is Amnak?"

Talos answered him.

"He's fine."

"This time, it's thanks to him too."

Sol still seemed eager to know what happened to Soshjan.

"Do the Necrons have weapons that can deal with you?"

"Of course, but I don't know what it is, it seemed to be launched from orbit."

Sol looked at him and didn't continue to press, just nodded.

"It's good you're okay."

Soshjan looked at Talos.

"How long has it been?"

"Nine days."

"That's okay, has anything major happened recently?"

"Nothing major, just a steady stream of reinforcements. The number of Astra Militarum has reached 10 million, and the Orpheus militia is still increasing, currently at over 120 million. Oh, and some scattered naval forces drawn from the surrounding sectors, but they are all old ships, the largest being cruisers."

"Thank you for your hard work, I will deal with these matters as soon as possible."

With that, Soshjan got out of bed, his bare feet touching the cold floor, then walked to the rack on the side, picked up a robe and put it on, and then left the medical bay.

Sol watched his back, then turned to Talos.

"It's the first time I've seen him so flustered. Before, he always had a high degree of confidence, even arrogance, but now he suddenly seems like a different person."

"Let him handle it himself."

Talos didn't respond directly, and also turned and walked out of the medical bay. Sol stood in place, pondered for a moment, then sighed softly.

After briefly handling military affairs and proving to everyone that he had "come out of seclusion", Soshjan, contrary to his usual behavior, went to another place, a place he hadn't been to for a very, very long time.

"Huff—"

In the deep breathing, the simple two-handed sword shone in the soft light, and where the blade passed, the light seemed to be briefly divided.

Soshjan was only wearing a simple blue waist-tied training suit, and was sweating in the training room. It seemed that only the weight of the long sword in his hand gave him comfort, kept him grounded, and made him feel that he was really here at this moment.

This was a place of peace and tranquility, with only pure goals, simple and uncomplicated.

He turned around, letting the hilt of the sword slide across his palm, turning it into an extension of his arm, an extension of his soul.

As he moved, strange halos began to flicker around him, and then the light surged up, turning into Necron images.

Soshjan's breathing became heavy, he focused his will and moved forward, although he was burly, his movements were graceful.

A thrust, a lift, a swing...

The realistic enemy phantoms turned into nothingness, but there were more.

Surrounded by countless cold metal undead, Soshjan's attention unconsciously began to be distracted again. He tried to force himself not to think about those things, but he couldn't control it.

His past worries had been confirmed: easily obtained power always came at a price, whether physically or otherwise.

Soshjan now felt like a poorly repaired broken container, and everything he was proud of was draining away, although the thought made him uneasy.

Sometimes, his mind was filled with fragments - snippets of conversations he didn't remember whether they had really existed, faceless faces, nameless names.

The embers of old emotions burned to new life, and then disappeared again.

Those souls he knew, or forgot, those souls he killed.

In a trance, he felt a ghostly chill coming towards him, clearly hearing the sound of footsteps on the marble floor, and the howls from the Flayer's throat, all the sounds getting louder and louder.

His skin tingled, the book in his hand was heavy, the Phoenix Gate of the Supreme Heaven suddenly opened, and then...

Soshjan shook his head vigorously, exhaled, and gripped the sword tightly, trying to draw strength from the mechanical training he had become familiar with countless times, and gain confidence from its purpose.

This, is not a strange book!

He turned around, piercing the air, letting the weight of the blade complete his thoughts, just as he had once been taught by Sol.

But those memory fragments did not come alone.

A cold silver hand reached out to him, Soshjan retreated sharply, and the sword in his hand cut through the air in a panic.

He heard that wild laughter, the image in front of him shook and dissipated, and another broken memory emerged. The mad god was raging in the stars, with unparalleled desires and ambitions, trying to rush to the ultimate origin beyond matter and spirit.

"Keep your heart still, and you are not far from illness. Forget life and death, and you will find your true nature."

Soshjan repeated in a low voice. This was the mantra that Master Ananda had taught him, which could calm his troubled mind.

Gradually, his voice echoed in the training ground, merging with the nothingness roar of the Necrons.

The reflection of the sword melted into the starry sky, his movements slowed down and became more firm, he began to relax his muscles, and let his attention spread out from the churning vision.

In any case, he didn't need anyone to remind him what his self was: he would uphold everything he cherished, no matter the cost.

And one thing was especially important - he was an Astartes, the embodiment of death, waging war in the name of the Emperor of Mankind, fighting, dying, and fighting again, until the final victory was won, or everything collapsed in the end.

Although this idea did not bring him much comfort, victory could not be determined, and sometimes the price seemed to exceed what he could bear, but it was this thought and experience that shaped him as a person. If he gave up on this, it would be giving up on himself, and what he held on to would be swallowed up, without a doubt - his love for his wife could not replace this anchor point either.

His mind was soothed, able to focus more on the sword in his hand, and the light of the stars shining on the blade - that mad god still haunted him, constantly reminding him of this.

If he was indeed a weapon forged for some purpose, he would strive to fulfill it.

Soshjan assumed a defensive posture, turned his wrist, raised his long sword, and stepped to the left.

Then, he stopped, put down his sword, and felt a new presence behind him.

"Few can defeat their fears with their own sword."

Soshjan turned around.

"I can't defeat them either."

As Talos walked over with a smile, the realistic phantoms disappeared, and the lights were turned on one by one, and the light returned to the training room.

"So you must have something to say to me."