Someone once said that falling into the arms of the gods is a curse.
Soldiers are willing to admit this.
Maybe it's a curse, but it's also a blessing.
In his quiet moments, whenever he receives mercy, even for a moment, the warrior will believe that this is a truth that others often forget.
He was always looking forward to something they never had, a glory they would never get.
War Hounds, World Eaters, Blackblood Reapers, Legion Traitors——
He himself didn't even realize that he had so many names, it was really 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 in contemplation for too long, 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 reverberating 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 broken flesh and blood.
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 serrations of the ax chain had dried up.
The pain erupted again, the pain behind his eyes was no different from a sharp edge, 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 run.
"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 threw 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, cutting off the pale skin first, then carving jagged veins of flesh into the bones, eyes pulling out of their sockets, and 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 begins to subside.
Everything returned to peace, and the hunter heard 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 stopped, his loose hand lowering the skull, the ax hanging beside it.
A section of broken parapet spread out in front of him, and he saw a huge door wrapped with chains, extending to a high place, but now it was smoking and falling to the ground.
The shell collapsed a wall and threw half-melted debris to the ground, where flames burned.
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, this behavior made him feel sick.
Suddenly, something hit Benoit on the shoulder, then chest, and exploded.
He staggered, his head filled with sharp sobs, and his armor crackled.
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 next to 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 vision.
The battlefield gradually became clearer in his eyes. A long building stretched out in front of him. The copper plating covered 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, making it a stronghold that is easy to defend but difficult to attack.
Flames spread around their silhouettes, and in the distance, bolter muzzles spit fire.
As Benoit watched, a volley of bullets hit one of the looters.
The warrior fell, his breastplate cracked and blood pouring into the air.
"Master! The enemy's firepower is too fierce! We, we—"
A slave beside him let out an imbecile cry.
Weakness is always weakness.
The warrior's lips and teeth peeled off, revealing a wet smile. Then the machine's sharp teeth bit into the flesh, and the last cry left the screaming mouth.
"Kill!"
Benoit let out a howl and leaped forward.
Explosions followed his footsteps, but he did not slow down.
As he moved, he murmured a thousand prayers to God, which God had never refused in countless battles in the past.
The same is true now.
A soldier in silver-gray armor crouched behind a broken wall, still firing as the soldiers 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 jumped over the remaining wall and slashed down.
Amidst the violent impact, the Space Marines stepped aside, and the chainsaw's teeth sprayed sparks on 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 vines 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 rushed towards 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 when he was about to behead him, a laser beam hit Benoit from the side.
Benoit staggered back, the skin on his face dripping like oil on the ground.
"The sign of a coward."
The soldier said in a long voice, and then turned his head that was almost unrecognizable.
A soldier holding a pistol stood twenty meters away to his right, and his brothers - let's put it this way, all of them had fallen to the ground.
"This is the Emperor's punishment."
Emperor——
This word caused pain to spread from Benoit's temples, and a sense of oppression penetrated deeply into the center of his head.