Markusen trembled as he died in her hands.
Even through his dimming vision, he noticed the damage to her helmet and breastplate—the armor had cracked, letting out some of the stinky alien blood.
He only managed to graze her a few times with over forty bolters from his heavy bolter, and while there were no direct hits, the blasts burned her - if not crippled her as much as he had hoped.
"Go to sleep."
She caressed him with a voice that was gentle but somehow mocking.
Ma Kuchen grabbed the spear that pierced his chest, pulled it out with all his strength, and moved half a meter closer to her. He felt the harsh friction sound of the metal rod, rubbing against his damaged chest and burnt bones. Meat.
"Go to sleep."
She spoke again, and with laughter, it was a low and melodious laughter, which only made Ma Kuchen's teeth bite together harder.
He grabbed again, pulled again, but barely moved - the strength and the blood fled from him.
She swung the spear back, and the pain when it came out was far worse than the snap when it went in.
With nothing to support him, Ma Kuchen's legs fell to the ground stiffly, and the sound of the armor's impact echoed in the air.
For a moment, he lay in a fetal position, trying to suck in the air that was unavailable.
His vision was graying around the edges.
She walked past him, the swish of her combat boots jolting him awake.
In his sight, she was just a vague figure, but training allowed him to see the specific information he needed.
With a roar of effort and pain, Markushen moved as fast as he could in his life, faster than ever before.
He swung the dagger in his hand, intending to pierce the Phoenix Lord's right leg.
But he had lost too much power, making the blow seem slow and weak.
"Poor pest."
She laughed, turned, and drove her spear through his chest a second time.
Markusen grinned at her and with his last breath almost gone, the warrior of the Eighth Legion stared into the Phoenix Lord's eyes and spoke his final words.
"Haha, you can never catch the prophet..."
Then the fire of his life burned out.
———————————
Lukovus landed in a dusty mist. One of his arms was missing and his armor was damaged in many places.
But he was still alive, and the Phoenix Lord couldn't kill him.
Valiel ignored the raptor. He stood in the rain, breathing the filtered air in the sealed armor.
"I saw them."
The raptor spoke.
"They climbed out of the ground to the west on the battlements."
Valiel immediately started running, Lukovus laughed, and the Raptor's engines came back to life.
Within seconds Lukovus attacked Rubble from behind, grabbing him by the shoulder pads and lifting him from the ground.
Valier didn't like flying, but he didn't like any bird of prey - but this was undoubtedly the fastest way.
"Um?"
The first time Talos saw Valiel, it wasn't as if the apothecary had been roughly thrown to the ground from above.
The pharmacist finally landed on his feet, while Lukovus landed more calmly, his claws grabbing the curved and sloping battlement wall.
Talos approached the apothecary as Valiel stood up.
"I want an answer, Valier, and I want it now."
"My explanation may take some time."
"Are Septimus and Octavia still here? In this world?"
"They should be gone. It will take time to explain."
"Brother, we are short of many things, such as ammunition and hope. Where is the Dark?"
"It may never come back."
Valiel replied regretfully, but Talos didn't show any disappointment.
"Everyone move to the bunker, don't let her find out, act now, Valier, follow me. Start explaining."
Cerion began running through the rain, his boots crunching on the rocky ground.
It is not difficult to find cover in this huge fortress. Although it is a prison, it is more like an abandoned city made of rubble and sloping walls.
He ran for a few minutes and finally stopped, arriving on a slope of ruins, where the walls of the barracks were located, next to the battlements.
The Night Lord began to climb, his gauntlets tapping and clawing at the stones, which were too slick in the rain to hold on to.
"Have you ever noticed that when we lose a war, it always rains? The gods have a strange sense of humor."
The others didn't answer a single word of Serion's cold joke.
Valiel then spoke, but only to Talos.
"This world is a tomb."
Talos responded softly.
"For the Legion, for the hundreds of Eldar who died there tonight."
The Prophet then connected to the public channel communications.
"All Talos, all souls of the Eighth Legion, this is Talos, if you are still alive, answer me."
There was only silence in reply, and the coldness that passed through the communicator made Talos feel as if he was shouting into the cemetery.
Maybe Macharion was dead too, the thought made him shudder.
For a moment, Talos just looked at his tactical retina.
Ciel, Markusen, Ursus... everything gradually faded, everything fell into silence, everything disappeared.
"Valiel, this is not me. I doubt if there will be a prophet who will stand up to unite the Eighth Legion, but if there is, it won't be me. I can't even unite the First Claw."
"Hey."
Cerion interrupted immediately.
“We are a difficult bunch at the best of times.”
"I'm serious, Valier, it's not me you expected, it's not me... Look at me, brother, tell me, do you believe I can unite thousands of murderers, traitors, thieves and assassins? I actually It's not like they think, I never want to be one of them again, they deserve to die! That's always been the Legion's flaw, so we deserve to die too."
"Your loyalty to your brother is commendable, but you are so pessimistic."
Valiel tried to appease the prophet.
"No."
Talos shook his head and took a step back.
"I'm telling the truth. Speaking of this 'prophet', in the era after the rebellion, we still preserved many such legends, which we called the Crucible Omens, although some company commanders never confirmed these. , but whether this is fate or not, I am not that prophet."
Valiel nodded, and Talos saw his thoughts in his brother's pale eyes.
"Pharmacist, you've considered the alternative, I'm sure."
"This concept has stayed with me ever since I gave you the physiological test."
Valere took off his helmet.
"If a child has your genetic seed implanted in his body, he will have all the qualities to become a powerful prophet."
"You're making a wild guess."
"Yeah, but that's a good guess."
Selion cursed them on the ramp.
"If we really have to leave, can we leave now?"
Lukovus also climbed up the slope, but Talos and Valier did not move.
"Do you know what the Primarch said to me a few hours before he died? He said that in the years after his death many people would claim to lead the Legion, and many would claim that they were appointed by the Primarch The successor, but he doesn’t care at all… I hate this legion, Valier, do you really believe that I care about what will happen to you after I die?”
Talos took a breath as the apothecary stood motionless.
"Sometimes, I can almost feel what the Primarch feels, Valiel, the war will go on forever, and in the meantime we have to endure betrayals... We hide, we run, we surprise, we ambush, we drink the blood of our enemies. , we also suffered endless cannibalism, my mother died in front of me, but I didn’t know her face! In the last century alone, I killed nineteen of my own brothers, almost all for this Ownership of a sword, or stupid duels over wounded pride! I don't want the Legion, I hate the Legion! Not for what it is, but for what it makes me!"
On the night before his death, Talos could finally speak out the anger he had buried in his heart for ten thousand years without any scruples.
He, Talos Valcolan, has always hated the Night Lords, hated the Eighth Legion, and hated himself even more.
Valier remained silent. He didn't seem to be shocked, but he just had no desire to speak.
"Now, there's only one thing I want."
Talos said, tearing off the emblem of the Eighth Legion on himself with his bare hands, tearing off the winged skeleton.
This move shocked both Selion and Lukovus, because in the past, such a move meant rebellion, and it meant that the warrior was about to abandon his identity and belonging.
"I just want the alien's head. I want it to be on her spear, in the center of the ruins, in the name of Talos."
With that said, he turned and walked towards the ramp.
"I must get it, Valier, you'd better hide, no matter whether I am dead or alive tonight, you are welcome to come for my gene seeds when dawn comes."
Valier stood in the rain, fighting the urge to follow.
"Talos——"
Suddenly, the pharmacist's voice was blocked.
The prophet looked back and saw that Valier's body suddenly began to bleed, and a black spear tip protruded from his chest.
The next second, the pharmacist began to roar. This was the first time Talos heard such a loud sound coming from Valiel's mouth.
He then covered his bloody mouth with his hands, as if he could stop the life-blood spurting from his mouth.
But the spear suddenly pulled out and threw him back.
"Uh-huh..."
Valiel swayed half to death, his bionic legs crackling with sparks of protest as his shattered systems tried to regain balance.
When Valier fell,
The three remaining Night Lords have begun running at full speed.
