After holding on to the burning pain, Kahn decided to face death.
He had done this many times in the past, but this time was different. This time, the deaths he faced were once his brothers.
Gripping his chainsaw, he dashed down the dark corridors and into the burning gun decks, where his brothers fought the enemy and turned the world into a bloody slush.
Kahn immediately joins in, but he will never allow himself to be stained with the bloody mud. In fact, on the contrary, his purpose is to make all his brothers come out of it.
He galloped into the fray, slashing an enemy in the neck with his chainsaw from the side. He howled and fell to the ground, still trying to attack, but he wouldn't get the chance again. Kahn stepped on his chest, picked up the bolter on the ground and pointed it at the enemy's chest. He pulled the trigger and fired three shots. The bolts completely destroyed his heart and other flesh and blood.
In just an instant, the dirty phantom disappeared, and the deceased who belonged to the war dog fell to the ground, his eyes wide open, staring at the brother who killed him with his own hands.
Kahn memorized his face and continued to charge.
The burning pain still protected his sanity, allowing Kahn to ignore everything and move forward. Five minutes later, he killed the last enemy with an axe, and the latter's body fell to the ground, changing back to its former appearance in constant flickers.
Kahn gasped, turned around, and shouted to his bruised brothers: "I am Kahn of the 8th Company! Come to me!"
"Kahn?"
A man stepped forward. He was Barron Benson of the 1st Company. He nodded to Kahn expressionlessly: "The first company has chosen me to be the company commander now. Kahn, what are you doing here? We worked hard to let you escape. How did you come back?"
"I don't know," Kahn replied in a growl. "But I have to go to the bridge, will you guys come?"
"That's where we came back from," said another man, a man from the Third Company. Kahn could tell from the markings on his shoulder armor, but he couldn't figure out who it was.
That mutilated face no longer matched anyone in Kahn's memory. The flesh on his nose and most of his face was gone, his one remaining eye was swollen, and the last remnants of his helmet gleamed on the gaiter of his neck.
The man noticed his gaze, nodded, and briefly introduced himself: "Harlan Corson."
"What's wrong with your face?" Kahn now knew who he was.
"Sneak attack." Harlancosen said vaguely.
He couldn't speak clearly, and his broken jaw was wobbly. The fact that he was alive was simply a miracle. "But I killed that bastard."
"Why do you want to go to the bridge?" asked Barron Benson, the commander of the 1st Company.
He stared closely at Kahn. His left hand had completely disappeared from the elbow down, leaving only the twisted remains of armor. Fiber cables, ceramic bones, and broken artificial muscles dangled from the blackened wounds like some horrific joke.
Kahn pursed his lips.
"I can't say why." He whispered. "Because I don't know the reason myself. I don't know who he is, and I don't know why I can come back, but I want to go to the bridge."
"You must give us a reason that is convincing enough, Kahn." Barron Benson said.
The other war dogs came over slowly, all of them wounded. The most common expression on their faces was not seriousness, but a kind of terrible confusion. There were corpses all around, but they all belonged to war dogs. They killed their enemies, but those who fell were dogs of war, their brothers.
"I have no reason to give!" Kahn said angrily. "I don't know what's going on, but I'm standing here, Captain Barron, and I'm going to the bridge!"
"It's all their people there," Harlankosen said thoughtfully in a voice that sounded uncomfortable. "That's where my company commander died. And three squads from the fifth company."
"Why?" Barron Benson stepped forward aggressively. "You don't explain why you came back, and you don't tell us what you are going to the bridge for. Why should we trust you and go to the bridge with you?"
Kahn was silent. He didn't know how to explain the nightmare short journey to his brothers, nor how to describe the man from the Eighth Legion he met and his final appearance.
That bone-like appearance.
Kahn slowly clenched his right fist, and the burning pain came again, rolling endlessly in his heart, becoming a force that supported him in accepting the gaze of the war dogs.
Kahn of the 8th War Hound Company raised his head and spoke in an extremely soft voice that did not belong to him.
"Because I want to fight," he said quietly. "The Emperor saw us fighting bloody battles on the heights of Severs. After the war, he named us after the white hounds bred by the Jeshki. We are the Emperor's hounds, so I will return to fight. War hounds will never Surrender and never retreat.”
"How are you going to win?" Barron Benson stared at him closely. "Tell me, Kahn, how are you going to win?"
"We don't need to win," Kahn said. "We just have to fight back."
"Resist against whom?"
"One that seeks to turn us into slaves to Him," Kahn said.
He seemed to have entered a door. Behind the door was endless courage and calmness. He stared at each of his brothers and saw the red collar that was about to take shape around their necks.
"But He will not succeed, because we are war hounds, and our Primarch is a gladiator. He was also a slave, but he has always resisted, and he has never surrendered. So we must resist too, and neither do we." Will give in."
"How do you know?" Barron Benson asked. He didn't laugh, but he wanted to laugh because he thought Kahn's words were ridiculous. But he didn't, he didn't smile, because he wanted to believe Kahn.
His eyes sparkled.
"Because I saw him, he was very tall, a company commander."
Kahn nodded to him and told a lie, a lie that he was really willing to believe. He was calm and calm, and his heart was full of determination.
"Are you coming? Go to the bridge and we will fight together."
He looked at his brothers and saw that the terrible daze had subsided.
Barron Benson finally smiled, a low laugh.
"Okay." He said. "Then come on, let's go, Kahn, lead us to start the resistance."
The first company commander roared angrily.
"Hounds of war! Rush to death!"
——
Eight minutes ago, Robert Guilliman and Angron, despite the opposition of everyone on the ship, used boarding torpedoes to crash into the cursed front half of the Unwavering Resolve.
Marius Gage even threatened his primarch as they entered the torpedo boarding bay, swearing that if Guilliman did not allow them to join the gang, he would report the matter to Thalasa. · Eudon.
Guilliman ignored it.
He felt sorry for his legion, but he had to fight alongside his brothers. This was a battle that would leave him with uneasy conscience for the rest of his life if he missed it, and he also knew very well that what Khalil Lohars said was absolutely not false.
If he said that only two people can participate in this gang-hopping event, then only two people must participate.
Now they walked in silence between the corpses of war dogs and the dark corridors. Guilliman was fully armed, while Angron only held a two-handed giant sword, breaking down and jumping dangerously on the sword.
As he walked in silence, Guilliman felt that his brother might be bleeding. Angron was not actually injured, but that was what Guilliman thought.
He could see the transformation in his brother.
Ever since Angron saw the chopped-up body of the first warhound with his own eyes, a tough and cold concentration appeared on his face. The Butcher's Nail was still trying to influence Angron, while his brother Ignoring it with some terrible determination.
They continued to move forward, stepping through the corridors filled with black dust, passing the corpses of the war dogs. Angron never showed any anger on his face, but he stared at every face, every corpse that still had a head. .
He would stop between walks, turn over the corpses whose faces he could not see, and then gently put them down.
A deep sadness welled up in Guilliman's heart. He did not expect that his brother would pick up the connection between him and his heir at this time. The first meeting between a Primarch and his offspring should have been a beautiful sight.
But what is this?
Robert Guilliman gritted his teeth silently and silently, his hand of dominion buzzed, and the dagger of sincerity reflected the light in his right hand.
The corridor was quiet, perhaps even too quiet. They heard no sound of battle, and the whole ship was dead silent. Guilliman and his brothers passed through long corridors one after another and saw countless skull decorations along the way. Angron's expression began to become calmer until he reached a certain critical point.
Then, he spoke slowly.
"Do you think it's a good idea to use my gifts here, Robert?"
"...I will not advise you," Guilliman said. "As much as I want to, I won't."
Angron smiled, closed his eyes, and his body began to tremble violently. Guilliman stared at his brother without saying a word. He protected him, standing beside him, alertly sensing every corner of the darkness.
Blood began to ooze from Angron's mouth, nose, eyes and ears, and he once again let out that broken groan, which sent shivers down the spines of those who heard it. After a full minute, he opened his eyes.
"Follow me," he told his brother, wiping the blood from his face, and started running. Robert Guilliman did not ask him why, but ran with him.
——
Somewhere, in a dark place, beyond the reach of the flames, there was a flash of golden light.
There was a skeleton inside, his chest filled with burning embers, bloody and bloody, power and authority surging between the bones, and the empty eye sockets lit up with a cold blue light.
He did not go behind the curtain. He drifted away according to the anchor left by an authority.
+Live, Khalil Lohars, the covenant between you and me has not yet been burned. +
The skeleton did not answer, he could no longer answer.
One more chapter.
(End of chapter)
