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Chapter 83: Welcome to Purgatory
🕑 Added 2025-08-11 14:28:07 +0000 UTCChapter 83: Welcome to Purgatory
Warriors were bleeding, and Sisters were weeping.
The devout daughters of the Emperor, their eyes filled with tears, peeled the blasphemous skin from the warriors' bodies, applying sacred oils and Seals of Purity to the blood-stained black carapace. A body tainted by Chaos was extremely dangerous when in contact with it again; the slightest lapse in attention could lead to forcible possession.
The warriors closed their eyes and meditated, whispering of vengeance.
Soon, they would step into the Forge-World, into the area known as the Computation Cogitatorum, and they would kill the Word Bearers, kill the hideous daemons, kill every enemy in their sight.
Shadows continued to descend from the clouds in the sky. The planet's anti-aircraft batteries fired without pause, the bullets disappearing into the dense, gray rain clouds, creating only faint ripples. The Hive Fleet's landing had begun. Those gray raindrops, when magnified, were all biological drop-pods, packed with living creatures.
"Karna, you go back," Ramesses said. "If Romulus is under too much pressure, someone needs to hold the line."
The original plan was for just him and Arthur to take the soull-ess warriors to destroy the Forge-World, because entering that flesh-factory was a near-certain death sentence. But now, the plan had changed.
"Right." Karna nodded and departed immediately with the Carcharodons and the Black Templars.
As for the remaining warriors—
The Sisters of the Bloody Rose sought a glorious death and wished to die alongside these warriors. The members of the Inquisition were driven by duty; they could not rest until they saw the main culprit brought to justice.
The transmigrators did not try to stop them. They respected human rights, but they also respected the right of others to choose their own destiny. All they could provide was the sword of war, to ensure that this war ended with their victory.
VZZZZT—
As the extremely modified Exterminator armor covered their bodies, the thermonuclear reactors radiated an intense heat that scorched the air. The ninety-nine Nemesis Chapter marines had a new skin. Phosphex weapons were armed. The massive vortex weapons, under the immense power provided by the armor, could now be wielded by a single person. The super-heated plasma of their volkite chargers glowed like neutron stars, reflecting in the flame-lit eyes of every warrior.
A route lit up on their tactical displays. The flickering data on it stabilized as the reactors heated up, pointing directly to a location in the Forge-World.
"Avoid the operational route of the Exterminator squads. You are authorized to maintain a distance," Arthur said, turning. The Dreadwing weapon teams, controlled by Romulus, followed at his side.
"This operation is different from the past."
Aglaia raised an eyebrow. She recognized the danger of these weapons and knew that the Codex Astartes forbade any Chapter from possessing them. But she did not ask questions. She simply led her team to the rear of the Nemesis Chapter formation.
[740.M41-P | AM 16:13 | Location: Pierdra Prime - Underhive/Forge-World Connection Node]
[Mission Objective: Destroy the renegade Inquisitor's ongoing daemon ritual.]
"The plan of attack—" Arthur paused, his eyes narrowing as he stared ahead, a grim light flickering within them.
"—is to kill every enemy on sight!"
The spires of the hive city receded behind them. The Avengers stepped onto the iron hills, which were now filled with flesh, and were immediately met with a grand welcome.
The Tyranids crawling from their crude hatching pools, the mutants, the daemons, the flesh stuffed into the mechanical structures—the entire machine-world roared, madly trying to surround and kill the living things before them.
And the Avengers, in turn, met these enemies with the greatest enthusiasm.
Without needing another order from Arthur, these warriors, who had inherited the traditions of the Ultramarines' Destroyer companies, expertly sent a squad of Nemesis marines forward.
The vortex weapons activated immediately. The vortexes that bloomed in front of them tore everything within their area of effect to shreds, until the enemies were disintegrated at a molecular level. And the monsters that swarmed from all directions madly pressed into the vortexes, using their endless flesh and blood to neutralize the storm's effect, until the vortexes weakened, and until the second group of Avengers opened fire again.
The phosphex weapons spewed a brilliant white flame, as if a warship's engine had been placed before the enemy, incinerating the metal and the enemy alike into a gray mist.
Arthur and Ramesses watched the battle, occasionally using their own martial prowess to deal with the enemies who had been blessed by the Chaos Gods and could briefly withstand the barrage, a look of appreciation in their eyes. They were no less effective than the Dreadwing squads controlled by Romulus.
WHOOSH—
The sky was filled with a cloud of smoke from the incinerated tissue. The cold, black Avengers continued their advance. A few vaguely humanoid remains were left on the ground. When the bloody,腥 wind blew over the empty shells, those traces also vanished.
Unlike other forms of warfare, the Dreadwing's method of combat sought pure destruction. Nothing of value would be left on the path they trod. No trace of their enemies would remain.
Ten thousand years ago, this unit had been jokingly called the "Dreadnought Reserve" by their old rivals, the Space Wolves. Because their combat effectiveness was so overwhelming, their appearance almost always meant victory, and it also meant that the area they attacked would be turned into a scorched wasteland. So, the warriors of the Dreadwing rarely died in battle.
These warriors, who wielded the weapons of extermination, would often, within a few decades, completely lose their bodily functions due to radiation and various complications. In the end, with their entire body in a state of necrosis, they would be interred in a Dreadnought sarcophagus, waiting in stasis for their final, burning blaze of glory.
Even their Dreadnoughts were the most berserk of all the Chapters.
Absolute brutality, setting themselves and the entire world on fire together.
"Savior, is it you? Savior."
The burning flames ceased. In the formation, the floating sorcerer froze. The team stopped its advance. The knight lifted a steel plate. It was a mouth, embedded in a wall of flesh. Its eyes were hanging from the ceiling. He was lucky. His eyes and mouth were still on the outside. And he still had a hand.
A hand rested on the knight's arm-guard. The intense heat seared the tissue, but the hand did not let go. Instead, it pressed itself firmly against the knight's arm, as if it could not feel the pain. Or had it already lost the ability to feel that level of pain?
"Ah, I feel peace. My savior, Emperor, please take me away. I feel the peace of my compatriots. Please, take me away!"
The voice shrieked. The soul infected the others who were mixed in with him, and the wall of flesh let out a scream. The flesh lunged at the knight. They wanted release, so they attacked.
They just wanted to die!
To die in peace.
As the Exterminator squad continued to spray phosphex, the still-twitching flesh fell silent.
"Ah, thank you. Thank my savior..."
The data in Arthur's eyes changed, but it didn't match the usual readings.
"Savior..." Arthur shook his head. He suddenly felt that this word was so ironic. Even with their transcendent power, which could insulate them from the influence of the Warp, they still could not change the fate of these beings. Was bringing death truly a gift? He had just witnessed Chaos's humiliation of human heroes, and now he was witnessing Chaos's cruelty to ordinary people.
It was truly...
Chaos really should just die!
Arthur quietly clenched his fist, crushing the remains in his hand into powder.
In the past, these people might have been toiling under the hands of slave masters on a feudal world, or struggling like cogs in a factory on a civilized world. But Chaos wouldn't even grant them that chance to survive.
Melted into monsters by a blasphemous ritual, maintained on the border between life and death in endless agony, and then tormented by daemons after death. This scene was truly saddening. It only made one feel depressed. It only made one want to—
Kill.
To hunt down and kill all the malice that brought this baseless suffering. The more he loathed it, the calmer his heart became, because "loathing" could no longer describe this emotion.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that," Ramesses's voice came through. He shouldn't have secretly shielded those souls, letting his partner witness such a cruel scene. And he had used one of his partner's special traits to be able to insulate such a large number of suffering souls. Otherwise, those souls would not have called him their savior.
"No. You did the right thing. You did the very right thing," Arthur said with a smile, leading the team forward at high speed.
"Whether it's Astartes or these ordinary people, their 'value' is assigned by this universe. But their lives themselves have no hierarchy."
"As for us, for us, this world has room for tolerance. I can only swing a sword, lead others to swing their swords with me, and watch why others swing their swords..."
"And you. You just do what you do."
The golden eyes widened slightly. The sorcerer looked at this knight, who had always isolated himself from the entire world.
"...I understand."
We are all living in the past. But you are the one who cares the most about the past. So much so that the influence of the 'present' cannot even touch you.
Ramesses withdrew. He was even more confident about this operation now.
To do what they could. To do what they would not regret.
As for the result?
Arthur didn't know. He would rather do something more efficient.
To send all the monsters in his sight to their graves.
One hundred meters in an instant.
In the complex Forge-World, the Avengers were on the move, burning a path of nothing but ash straight to their destination. The Sisters of Battle and the Inquisitorial Stormtroopers, wearing anti-radiation gear, ignored the potential dangers and provided fire support for the Emperor's Angels. They did not avoid traps. They did not avoid the enemy. They were killing as many enemies as possible, shedding as much blood as possible.
In the eyes of the daemons they crushed, a searing, reddish-gold mist clung to their sides. The mouths and eyes on the walls shrieked that it was the Emperor's great wrath. The crushed daemons wailed that it was the Blood God's war-cry.
The team that burned everything in its path advanced over the ashes, shouting under the guidance of a single objective.
"Vengeance."
"Vengeance!"
"We need to leave, Grand Inquisitor," the leader of the Word Bearers Terminator squad said to the old man, who was still staring intently at his instruments. He had been waiting for this Inquisitor to start the ritual, so he could use it to open a rift and get his men out of this mess.
But this Inquisitor was too greedy, too ignorant. He was using the accumulated suffering of these humans to try and bargain with the Chaos Gods, not knowing that the Dark Gods delighted in such a scene. For every second the torment of the trillion souls who had been turned into mechanical filler was prolonged, the Chaos Gods could savor more emotions.
Now, the leader could be certain that this Inquisitor who called himself "The Seeker" was just an idiot blinded by desire. It was hard to say if this ritual was even for the answers "The Seeker" wanted, or if it was for some other purpose. He might as well go hide in the planet's core with those other idiots who were trying to perform a possession ritual with a Tzeentchian sacrifice.
"...Get out!" the Inquisitor, who had taken on the appearance of the Thinker, glanced at the Chaos traitor from the altar, which was decorated with the heads of six Eldar Archons. He spoke of his faith in the Imperial Truth, yet he held a daemonic weapon, and his body was sprouting mutated branches. If he didn't want to cause any extra trouble, he would have executed this mutated traitor long ago.
'Look at him, trapped on the cliff of Chaos, unable to even see how fallen he has become.'
They simultaneously turned their backs on each other.
'Yes, I am an individual, and I am above the petty tricks of the gods. I never submit to their will. I use their power pragmatically and with purpose, rather than succumbing to their influence.'
They both thought simultaneously.
"We need to go," the leader said, returning to his warband.
"Why?" his second-in-command asked in surprise.
"We are no match for those lackeys of the False Emperor," the leader whispered. "That is the wargear of the Dreadwing. We do not have sufficient weapons. Our ammunition reserves are at a minimum. We cannot win." He had spent so many years building up this Terminator company to prove that they could survive without relying on Chaos or the Imperium, not to throw them away here.
"We can!" the second-in-command roared. "If you would stop imposing the False Emperor's curse on us! If you would let us accept what is truly ours!"
"No!" the leader whirled around, his voice cold. "Do not speak of this again! We will not be enslaved by the False Emperor, and we will not be enslaved by the Dark Gods!"
"What enslavement?!" The second-in-command shoved the leader's arm aside and punched him hard. "Have you seen the Chosen? Have you seen the Possessed? What do you see in them?"
Before the leader could answer, he said with a crazed look, "I see power!"
"If we were willing to open our hearts and serve Them, we would have gained a thousand times more power long ago! You all know I'm right!"
"..."
An uneasy silence fell. The Terminators looked at each other, but no one spoke.
"...You are leading the entire warband into a purgatory!" the leader gritted his teeth. These fools, their brains pickled in Warp energy, had forgotten who had given them their current status.
"We have always been in purgatory!"
Before he could react, his second-in-command lunged forward with an impossibly fast thrust.
SQUELCH!
He looked down. A dagger of writhing flesh had pierced him through.
A daemon weapon. My daemon weapon...
The leader opened his mouth. Such a wound would be considered a light injury for an Astartes, but at this moment, he couldn't even speak.
A grotesque smile spread across the second-in-command's face.
"Welcome to purgatory, leader."
(End of Chapter)
