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Chapter 300: They Cannot Endure Much Longer
🕑 Added 2025-11-14 11:55:36 +0000 UTCChapter 300: They Cannot Endure Much Longer
"My liege!"
Just as Ramesses was about to say more, a commotion erupted behind him. He turned his head at once, a smile touching his lips beneath his helm.
"They're here."
A knight in black power armour. At his side, crimson cloak billowing gently in the psychic winds, stood a Sister of Silence.
The moment the Null-Maiden laid eyes on the Grey Knights and the Custodian, an unprecedented light blazed in her eyes.
"If you have something to say, then go," Arthur commanded.
After a quick, formal bow, the Sister of Silence strode forward, her pace brisk and determined. Facing the Custodian, she raised her hands and began to sign, her fingers moving with a speed that a common Astartes would struggle to follow.
The Shield-Captain's expression became visibly strained.
"With psychic combat doctrines being integrated into elite military forces, the role of the Untouchables has become… awkward," Ramesses remarked with a sigh.
As he had progressively codified the laws of psychic application—with no small amount of "selfless" assistance from the Aeldari and various daemons—and thus reduced its inherent risks, more and more Chapters, the Dawnbreakers included, had begun to incorporate psychic arts into their core combat doctrines. Combined with the existence of Reality Anchors that could stabilize the Materium at the cost of soul-fuel, the Pariahs—who interfered with psychic teleportation and were relatively weaker in conventional combat—were destined to fade from the frontline.
"Be careful how you voice such opinions," Arthur said, physically blocking Ramesses's view of the unfolding drama.
While the utility of Untouchables on the grand battlefield was diminishing, they remained exceptionally effective in managing small-scale Chaos incursions, containing rogue psykers, and performing other vital law-enforcement activities. Furthermore, because their soulless nature stemmed from a unique gene-sequence, the trait was heritable. They were, for all intents and purposes, a mass-producible, anti-psyker asset.
But their unique souls also subjected them to profound discrimination. Because their presence in the Immaterium was a void, a black hole, their very existence was anathema to life around them. The more powerful Blanks could, even at a distance, strip the soul from a sapient being, leaving a swathe of death in their wake. They were forced to wear suppressor wargear just to function.
The Dawnbreakers had always paid close attention to these Untouchables. Not only did they affirm their military and civic value, but they had also established a dedicated community for them on their capital world of Dawnstar, providing them with advanced suppression technology and allowing these humans, so long ostracized for the unique structure of their souls, to reintegrate into society.
Ramesses was blunt, and while what he said was true, it was a cruel thing to say about a group already so heavily persecuted.
"I know, I know. You're the Warmaster. This is your department," Ramesses said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
The loyalists, including Hal, all wore expressions of pained restraint. To be frank, any warrior who had lived through the Horus Heresy had a certain… visceral reaction to that title. Garro's gaze lingered for a split second on the perfectly sculpted golden hair of Arthur's helm before he let out a quiet, relieved breath.
If I don't manage it, who will? I'm the one who arranged for these Great Crusade veterans to receive mind-healing. All you do is open your mouth and torment people, Arthur groused internally.
"Did you find what you needed?" he asked aloud.
"Yes. It's handled." Ramesses didn't bother to ask if his brother had completed the necessary deployments. Arthur always delivered.
"Then signal the Grey Knights to withdraw. I will close this rift."
The moment Arthur's hand touched the hilt of his sword, the murderous atmosphere infusing the crimson valley let out a mournful keen. As he slowly drew the blade, the very air around it warped. An invisible force-field expanded like a ripple, pushing the thick, sanguine mist away. The bizarre, floating droplets of blood that hung in the air burst upon contact with the field's edge, dissolving into a fine, red vapour.
Before them, the warp tear ripped open by Angron's shattered weapon pulsed erratically, like a wound crudely stitched shut. Shards of broken chain-axes littered the altar ground, and each one began to vibrate faintly, as if answering a distant summons from their master.
Their primary objective, beyond all secondary concerns, was to destroy this fissure. Even though Ramesses could now activate the ritual here without a blood sacrifice, there was no reason to. Feeding assets to the Blood God was foolish, and choosing Armageddon as a battlefield was suboptimal.
Armageddon was a vital industrial world for the Imperium, capable of independently producing a wide range of armoured vehicles and several classes of cruiser. Its manufactorums supplied the fleets and Astra Militarum regiments of the surrounding sectors; it was an indispensable link in the supply chain for the coming total war.
After detecting anomalies around the Cadian Gate, Romulus had decided against a reckless charge into the waiting trap. Instead, he had begun constructing a logistical network with Vigilus as its final node, systematically cleansing and reinforcing his control over the star systems in the corridor between the Dawnstar Sector and Vigilus itself.
Ramesses and Arthur's mission was to investigate Chaos corruption on key worlds within the Veiled Region, deploy the forces that had rallied to the Primarchs' call, and install Blackstone pylons and garrison troops on critical planets, all to limit Chaos's ability to project its power into the material universe.
Their clean-up operation had now brought them all the way to Armageddon, not far from the Fenris system. One by one, regiments of the Imperial Guard and Sector Defense Fleets were being brought under the unified command of the Dawnbreakers.
Arthur refused to believe their enemies could tolerate this for long.
Let's see who breaks first. Did Chaos truly think it could win a war of attrition with them?
CRASH!
The Grey Knights began to withdraw from the crimson vortex, the residual heat of the Empyrean still steaming from their silver armour. A broken brass chain dangled from one warrior's pauldron, clinking with each step.
SNAP!
A Soul Grinder of Khorne, a monstrous fusion of metal and flesh, had just pursued them through the rift when it was instantly torn apart upon entering realspace. Its metal skeleton twisted as if crushed by an unseen giant hand, and its rotten organs and daemonic ichor splattered across the scorched earth.
"My lord, how much longer?" Hal asked, taking a deep breath. He savoured the pure scent of bloodlust as a cold, rational fury began to build within him. His fingers unconsciously tightened, and the master-crafted power fist he wore crackled with energy, as if testing the weapon's readiness.
"Soon," Ramesses said, raising a hand. His gaze went past Hal's shoulder, focusing on the distorted shadows in the distance—the shape of a being growing petulant and enraged by this resolute, unstoppable exorcism.
The Blood God does not care for victory. He cares only for blood, for war, for the incandescent hatred that seeks to burn away all else in the clash of weapons.
The architect of this grand encirclement was patient, willing to weave a more intricate plan. But his allies, it was clear, did not share his temperament.
"They cannot endure this for much longer."
