Someone once said that falling into the arms of the gods is a curse.
Warriors are willing to admit it.
Maybe it's a curse, but it's a blessing all the same.
In his quiet moments, whenever he receives mercy, even for a moment, the warrior comes to believe that this is a truth that others too often forget.
He was always looking forward to something they never had, a glory they would never get.
War Hounds, World Eaters, Blackblood Reapers, Traitors of the Legion——
He didn't even realize he had so many names, it was ridiculous.
Everything was given by their father who was cursed ten thousand times and blessed ten thousand times. Although it is now difficult for him to remember what he has done, his descendants - at least those who retain some of their sanity still remember. .
Suddenly, a familiar sense of oppression grew behind his eyes, crawling through his skull.
If he lingers too long in contemplation, he will pay a painful price. His hunger and thirst must be satisfied or he will be punished.
The soldiers continued to advance, their armored boots echoing on the stone ground.
The enemies fled in front of him, the ticking of activated armor and the hoarse rattling of the chainsaw blades shocking their ears. The ax in his hand was an object of cruel and bloody beauty, its gear rails were painted The sacred ointment is often blood.
Blood--
This word was like a dose of acid splashed on his cobweb-like thoughts, and its breath was like the fishy smell flowing through the broken flesh.
The warrior kept trembling, looking at the blood on the edge of the weapon, the anger in his heart suddenly soared - the blood on the ax chain serrations had dried up.
The pain erupted again, the pain behind the eyes was sharp and sharp, and it didn't go away this time.
The blood has dried, and the battle ax has been waiting for a long time to kill.
The next moment, the roar released the pressure and the warrior began to sprint.
"Blood sacrifice to the blood god!"
The next person to die was a soldier.
When death came, he used the broken rifle to stain the soldier's eyepiece, while the wet filth in his belly poured down his legs.
The warrior hurled the disemboweled man against the wall, smashed it to pieces with another blow, and then decapitated the dying man with his short sword.
The blood stained the gauntlets red. He held the harvest and turned it over in his hands, seeing the looming skull through the pale skin.
He imagined peeling it off, slicing off the pale skin first, then carving jagged veins of flesh into the bone, eyes pulling out of their sockets, the brain being flushed with acidic cleaning fluids.
The warrior could clearly describe this scene because it was a ritual he had done countless times.
"Skull-presenting skull-"
The pain began to subside.
Peace returns to all things, and the hunter hears the voices of his brothers.
As usual, everything was interrupted by a roar.
The warrior slowed down, trying to make out their words. Like him, they were hunting, something he vaguely made out in the distant hum of their voices.
His name - they called it again and again.
"Benoit!"
"brother?"
He spoke into the communicator, his voice low and moist.
"Look in front of you!"
"I……"
The warrior paused, his loose hand lowering the skull, the ax hanging beside it.
A section of broken parapet stretched before his eyes, and he saw the huge chain-wrapped door that stretched to the heights, but was now smoldering and lying on the ground.
The shell collapsed a wall and threw half-melted wreckage to the ground, where flames burned among the debris.
Likewise, there are dead bodies here.
Squads of Marauders marched in front of him, shooting into the smoke.
The berserker Benoit stepped forward and forced his mind into a calm mode.
As usual, the behavior made him sick.
Suddenly, something hit Benoit on the shoulder, then chest, and exploded.
He staggered, his head filled with sharp sobs and his armor clanking.
Part of the system failed, and he could only hear his own breathing in the darkness.
But he could feel blood, thick blood, rolling down the inside of his right arm.
Soon, sounds filled his ears, and the din of battle returned.
Somewhere around him, a blood-stained warrior was howling, and then a flaming arrow flew out of the smoke, melting the man's upper body and armor together. It was a familiar tooth-shaped burst.
Hot Melt--
His tactical eyepiece restarted, gunfire flashed frequently in his vision, and the damage icon glowed bloody in the corner of his field of vision.
The battlefield gradually became clearer in his eyes. A long building stretched out in front of him, with copper plating covering the walls stained by patina. Twenty marauders from the hunting group and their slave beasts were heading towards the towering roof of the building. The door advances.
It bears the emblem of a certain family and is a stronghold that is easy to defend but difficult to attack.
Fire spread around their silhouettes, and in the distance, bolter muzzles spit fire.
As Benoit watched, a hail of bullets struck one of the looters.
The warrior fell, his breastplate cracked and blood flying into the air.
"Master! The enemy's firepower is too strong! We, we—"
A slave cried imbecilely beside him.
Weakness is always weakness.
The warrior's lips and teeth peeled off, revealing a wet smile. Then the mechanical teeth bit the flesh, and the last cry left the screaming mouth.
"Kill!"
Benoit let out a howl and leaped forward.
Explosions followed him, but he didn't slow down.
As he moved, he murmured a thousand supplications to the god that he had never refused during countless battles in the past.
The same is true now.
A warrior in silver-gray armor crouched behind a broken wall, still firing as the warriors charged.
The bullet split open Benoit's chest along with the spray of flesh and armor, but he didn't stop at all.
While the Space Marine continued to fire, Benoit leaped over the remains of the wall and slashed down.
With a violent crash, the Space Marines stepped aside, the chainsaw's teeth spraying sparks across the deck.
Blood flowed from Benoit's body. He reached out and pulled off his helmet. The face under the helmet was hideous and terrifying, and the neural implant spread like a vine on his forehead.
The silver-gray armored warrior stepped back slowly, put down his bolter, and drew a blade from his waist.
Benoit laughed loudly and raised his battle ax as a tribute to his opponent.
Then the two warriors jumped at each other at the same time.
After the sword struck several times, Benoit slashed the battle ax into the opponent's breastplate, and then pushed forward until the sharp teeth chewed through the warrior's chest.
Just as he was about to behead him, a laser hit Benoit from the side.
Benoit staggered back, the skin of his face dripping like oil on the ground.
"The act of cowardice."
The warrior drawled, then turned his head, which was almost unrecognizable.
A soldier holding a pistol stood twenty meters away to his right, and his brothers - let's put it this way, they all fell to the ground.
"This is the Emperor's punishment."
Emperor——
The word caused pain to spread from Benoit's temples, and a sense of oppression dug deep into the center of his skull.
