Chapter 403 Hunter

"He does not ask us to repay the debt we owe Him, so those who believe they can redeem His forgiveness have nothing to do with this unconditional gift." - "The Book of Lorgar"

Lion El'Jonson stood in the flowing blood and pulled the sword back.

The alien's flesh and blood reluctantly retained his long sword, and the blood that overflowed from countless deep wounds formed a pool of blood that was still spreading, covering his boots, splashing on the golden and red engraved decorations on his black armor, and wetting the beast fur on his shoulders - this fur once belonged to a real living thing, not an inanimate thing produced in a culture tank.

Finally, blood splashed on his golden hair that fluttered with his movements in the hot air of the battlefield, and then fell from the ends of his hair.

"Ah--" A layer of vocal cords in the alien's body trembled with a long cry of pain, overflowing from the severed head shell, driving its milky white tentacles and transparent glass-like shell to tremble weakly.

Then, the lion's prey fell completely, and the light flowing on its body dimmed instantly.

There was no clear word in its heretical call, but Leon understood the consciousness it conveyed: No. It said. No.

Leon did not even blink once, and since he landed on the ground, he had never once exposed the fact that he could feel the alien's thoughts.

His rational brain had quickly told him why this happened. Although the aliens falling in front of him were often larger than the Caliban beasts he had faced before, the Randan aliens were so similar to the Caliban beasts in that they were intelligent beasts, and the expeditions they launched were exactly the same as the Knights' hunting of the beasts.

Since he could understand the whispers of the forest to him, there was no reason why he could not understand the whimpers of the Randan aliens.

The deeper their conquests, the closer they were to the core of the alien empire, the more he could sense it all.

But he is no longer the king of the lions in the forest. He has long been promoted to the commander of the First Legion. The unnecessary understanding of the aliens will become part of the secret, not an excuse for others to doubt Lion El'Jonson's loyalty and ability.

Prey. This is the only identity that the Randan alien can obtain in front of Lion El'Jonson.

After all, he has long learned from intelligence that the Space Marines can hardly understand these free and ethereal sounds from the aliens.

His eyes swept the surrounding scene and looked down at the center of the battlefield. The black armor of the Dark Angels was flowing with sticky blood clots and dark juice. Some warriors inevitably fell down, but more still stood, alert to hidden attacks that might suddenly appear around them.

Sometimes, inside the leather layer under their feet, the newly born aliens would break through the flesh and blood and jump up. The tight gelatinous membrane covered its outer side like the body membrane of a fetus, and quickly fell off when it came into contact with the air, allowing the aliens to grow in just a few seconds. Before they grow and mature, they must quickly destroy the enemy.

"It's not dead," the Lion announced in a low voice, refusing to explain why he judged so. The Dark Angels' Primarch walked down the low hill of alien flesh with a bloody sword in hand, sensing the hidden vitality.

His warriors stood quietly as he passed by them, ready to suddenly attack from a prepared posture and tear apart the alien cubs that wanted to attack anyone. Their prey was not completely dead yet.

The Lion could smell the breath of death on the verge of landing, but still blocked by a trace of vitality. Yes, only that trace, still alive in the depths of this flesh and blood tissue covering more than 300,000 square miles, the remaining consciousness barely lived in the flesh and blood that was being inactivated and rotten, hiding here and there...

Another prey running around, he thought indifferently, this is the prey of the Dark Angels, but not entirely his.

It is powerful, but not enough to challenge the limits of a Primarch, not enough to be hunted by Lion El'Jonson himself.

There--

Leon stopped suddenly, a trace of annoyance flashed across his noble face.

This was not his own voice. Who else, through a distant vibration, conveyed this sinister advice to him this time?

This was not the first time he heard it. In the low-Earth orbit of the previous planet, when the Dark Angels hunted Randan's iconic plankton ship, he also heard this lofty guidance, not through language, but through the consciousness itself that transcended the limitations of words, and suddenly echoed in his heart.

Shoot its eyes, all of its eyes.

The voice said, reweaving the information it conveyed into the system of language, and reproducing it in Gothic again, the lion interpreted the information. He completed it with ease. Perhaps there is only one person in the entire galaxy who is as familiar as him, still familiar with how to recast sensitive perception and experience into dull language in endless combinations.

Even if he understood the other party, Leon still chose to ignore its voice.

He later discovered that when the blood-red eyeballs on the two pairs of flesh-and-blood wings of the biological ship were damaged by more than 70%, its wings would indeed suddenly lose the ability to fire laser cannons without any connection, and even lose the defensive void force field, and fall off under the bombardment of the ship's cannons.

The voice told the truth.

An unreliable persuasion, like the poisoned meat pieces placed in the trap by the Calibans. Maybe the first piece was not poisonous, but the second and third pieces were extremely poisonous and would never make people feel good.

There...

The voice rang out quietly for the second time, and the Lion pursed his lips, stepping over the uneven broken bones on the ground with a gloomy expression. His descendants would regard his brief pause as the lion's secret thinking, but he still felt a kind of displeasure of being disturbed. He turned abruptly, refusing to obey the voice.

The Dark Angels looked at him, waiting for his next order. The Lion King's sharp eyes swept across each of their faces, examining their thoughts through the rising blood mist.

"Return to orbit," he said, "The ground threat and air defense system have been broken. Start a small-scale orbital bombardment to avoid affecting the task force on the back of the planet."

His warriors began to move. Lion El'Jonson's decision was reasonable and not worthy of any question.

Of course, if someone was so bold, the Lion hoped that his reaction would not let his current irritability show in any way.

The information was sent to the briefing room in the orbiting ship, and the troops began to prepare for retreat. In the upper dark gray atmosphere, tiny golden flashes loomed, and the long-awaited aircraft was about to pass through the smoky clouds and descend like a dark lightning.

I didn't lie to you, it whispered, I didn't lie to you.

Oh. Leon thought. Get out of my mind.

How can you believe me? It said, followed by a quiet anxiety.

Then, the emotion conveyed by the voice became soft and painful, and in the long and high call, there was a sound of corrosion and burning, as well as some vague and strange illusions.

Trying to put those illusions into the language system made Lion seem to return to the early days of his life, when his understanding of things remained in a very simple state. He now knew that the knight named Luther patiently raised his hand and repeated over and over again as a gust of air passed through his fingers, "Wind," he said, "This is wind." Lion El'Jonson sheathed the long sword, and there was a slight sound when the sword guards collided, and the ruby ​​counterweight ball echoed with the dark red blood stained on his body. The spiritual shield was built in silence. When he was on Caliban, he knew how to use mental power to resist some non-material invasion. But this time, his defense did not work. He and it reached a balance of power on some level. The voice was silent for a while, but he knew it was still there. After a moment, it spoke again. Then, Primarch, you must know that there are countless internal hatreds within a race without external influence. We have some common enemies... I don't cooperate with aliens. Leon said indifferently.

I... The voice was silent, which made Leon's heartstrings seem to have established some fleeting connection with its existence. A sore touch cut through his skin like a claw, up along his arm, and then down along his back.

This dangerous warning made Leon's anger gradually begin to stir, and at the same time, the feeling of uneasiness was also expanding. He realized that he had lost control of his emotions, and his rationality, which he was proud of, was disturbed by the existence of this voice.

If the source of this voice is never erased, the fatal feeling will sooner or later make him frustrated.

Leon's hand grasped the hilt of the sword that was put back into the scabbard again.

"My Lord," Houguin walked towards him, "We should prepare to retreat."

Lion glanced at his men, "You go first. Give me a flying machine."

He knew that today was the day when one of the Emperor's messengers, the craftsman of the Old Night, visited the Wandering Son Temple. If he returned now, he could catch up with the short meeting in the overflowing incense - but rather than going to complete a boring meeting that could be done by adjutants and company captains, he would rather use the time he spent with the Emperor's messenger to gain real merit.

Houguin greeted him and began to lead the Dark Angels to evacuate.

Lion closed his eyes and waited until the eagle-like flying machine came in front of him with plasma flames and strong wind pressure. The Holy Grail pattern, one of the holy relics of Caliban, was painted on the outside of the Stormbird's armor, flickering in the oil mist, blood and ashes of the flames on the battlefield.

The Lion King climbed the ramp of the Stormbird, and his blood-stained cloak fell heavily behind him.

Tell me, where are you. Lion El'Jonson said to the voice in his mind without emotion.

You can't see me today, Primarch, we... I am hundreds of planets away.

It said, the voice was as light as a long and ethereal whisper, existing in some vague memory.

Lion nodded calmly, distinguishing the truth of its words. Somehow, he already knew that the other party was not lying, and this involuntary subjective assumption made him determined to kill the other party.

Then, the lion softened the tone conveyed in his mind, adding a little hesitation to his hint, where is my escaped prey?

It fell into silence for so long that Lion was not sure whether the other party had doubted himself. Fortunately, not long after, the voice answered him.

On the back of the planet, it said, board your... vehicle, I will help you find our enemy.

Found the bait you gave me? Lion answered sharply, provoking the voice, carefully distinguishing the feedback he could get.

Lion El'Jonson's real hunt has begun, and figuring out the habits of his unique prey will be the first step to complete the hunt.

...You can think of it as the Primarch.

The lion's prey said.

——

"Meet the throne, really," Jack said angrily, venting his annoyance on the few small aliens they had just hunted, putting the stomping function of his boots to full use. "The position of the fifth man in our team is simply cursed! Another sacrifice, really? Is this reasonable?"

Hashem did not stop him or correct the Luna Wolf's inappropriate remarks about the curse.

The Word Bearer sat down above the bloodied alien skeleton, his gray armor creaking.

Hashem silently recited some scriptures and their insights in his heart, silently praying that the souls of the deceased would go to the throne of Terra instead of being taken away by the Randan alien.

In the wars over the years, the Legion has never publicly stated where the warriors devoured by Randan have gone, but the Astartes are not living beings without inspiration and understanding of the spiritual environment.

No matter what, the way to escape lies within the bolter in their hands, and their comrades under the control of the alien will rejoice in their own death.

"In death you serve," Yuri once preached to the Word Bearers in the Wandering Temple. "Aliens have their filthy sanctuaries after death, but we will return to the throne. Since the beginning Ultimately, we are under His mercy and we are in Him.”

Kroger shook off his gauntlet: "They have not gotten along well with us, and the battles we face are becoming more and more dangerous. Death is not a small probability event. Your temper has not been good recently, Jack."

"Oh, okay, okay, we are all the same, aren't we?" Jack adjusted his helmet and was silent for a few seconds to recover. "At least we saved his body this time."

He paused for a second, "Barela is probably one of the few Halhabat who can actually put something in your resting place cemetery, right?"

"The Hall of Hindsight, there is a name there, Jack." The priest of Muristan said quietly. Even though the deceased had argued with him for three consecutive missions during his lifetime, he still respected the other party's sacrifice.

After finishing speaking, Hashem calmed down and felt whether there was any danger lurking in the surrounding psychic environment, especially inside the biological ship they were sitting under.

There is always a lingering sense of oppression on the surface of these planets. The afterimages of countless creatures whisper in their ears one after another, emitting shapeless and broken songs. After the Randan aliens attached to the surface of the planet are eliminated one by one, These voices suddenly turned from leisurely tranquility to mourning for the ruined fate, like the cold wind wandering in the lost paradise, telling the despair that was about to dissipate.

Soon after, his helmet turned slightly: "Without a large-scale call, we can prepare to evacuate."

"It seems that the angels' hunting was quite successful," Jack murmured. "They finally cleared the nerve nodes on the plain. After all, it was the original body who led the team, wasn't it?"

"We got a sample." Hammer said, holding a glass culture jar sealed with metal in his hands.

This is a silent flesh and blood sample they took out from the inner side of a closed abdominal cavity of a biological ship. The shape is somewhat similar to the Randan biological ship itself. It may be their prototype or cub, or the one that cultivates invading aliens. Prototype, no one knows. As for the remaining samples, they have all been destroyed.

"Barela got it." Hashem said softly, stood up, bypassed some alien skin holes damaged in battle and natural weathering, walked towards Hammer on the slope of the belly of the biological ship, and walked from Iron Warrior Hammer's He took the glass jar in his hand and held it up to his chest, "We are walking on divergent roads, but we are all warriors of the Emperor."

"It's so rare," Jack said with a smile, "to hear you two groups forgive each other."

Hashem turned back: "This is not forgiveness, my friend. Even though our arguments never stop, we still need to remember that He alone is above and everyone below is equal. From the Astartes to the Auxiliaries, to Mortals who are loyal to Him, we have no right to condemn each other, and forgiveness is out of the question. Yes, we will never rain fire on the bodies of the lost like they did, but we respect their merits-"

"Hashem!" Jack exclaimed.

The glass jar held in the Word Bearer's hand suddenly shattered, and the silent alien flesh and blood seemed to be injected with some kind of vivid consciousness, reviving without warning. The bone blade generated in an instant pierced the connection under the Space Marine's helmet, Red blood spurted out instantly.

Hashem stepped backward, fell backwards without any force, and fell into the hole that was not covered by the surface film of the biological ship.

Kroger suddenly stood up, and the hand cannon's crosshairs chased Hashem's body with the fastest reaction speed, but the cannonball still missed the falling Word Bearer.

"Go find him." He immediately ordered, "Kill him."