This is our Warhammer journey

Chapter 182 I'll Help You Survive (4.8k)

Perhaps humanity has lost its courage.

Amidst the wounds left by history and surrounded by chaotic gods, humanity has already lost too much in the struggle for survival.

A wild beast driven mad, tearing at its enemy while also tearing itself apart.

Its sharp claws were deeply embedded in flesh, yet it could not tell whether the blood came from the enemy or from its own chest.

On one hand, it's about protecting the human race; on the other hand, it means that ordinary people are enslaved to death, while the rulers on the tower look down on the ant-like masses, equally exploiting their own lives and the lives of others.

Enormous, decaying, and hopeless.

The rusted gears continued to turn, emitting a piercing groan, yet no one stopped to drip a drop of oil on them.

From rescuing people to fighting fires, we've fallen into a predicament of fighting for the sake of fighting, and who knows how many more bottom lines we'll have to break.

So, do such humans still deserve to be saved?

Or, to put it another way, can such humans still live up to their ancestors' visions for the future?
Whenever Karna travels to different planets, leading the state religion and the Holy Blood Angels to spread their doctrines and witnessing the current state of each planet, he often locks himself in a room prepared specifically for the travelers.

A perfect smile will crumble at this moment, and a gentle, languid demeanor will gradually turn into impatience as complaints arise.

He was resentful, angry, and sorrowful.

Even the warriors who followed them to conquer countless worlds, those brave men who were fearless in the face of death, dared not take that step alone.

This left him feeling lost.

Fortunately, he has like-minded partners, and the accompanying power has the potential to change the world.

They were able to rely on the beliefs they shared with each other to support each other and try to find familiar sights and their place in this dark universe.

The transmigrators admired the loyal Space Marines; they were brave and fearless, and they had sacrificed too much for the Empire. They were just soldiers, and no more demands could be placed on them.

They admired the Great Sage's adherence to his promise, Aglaia's attitude towards life, and the Battle Sisters' loyalty.

The environment of the Dawn Fleet also proved that humanity can do better and has the power to change things for the better.

But this was ultimately brought about by the time traveler.

Their fates would never have intersected had it not been for the unexpected time travel.

Karna often wondered if the world would just continue to decay without them, even if countless heroes followed one after another, they would ultimately be swallowed up by this sea of ​​decay.

Humans no longer have the opportunity to pursue something better; they simply do their best to live.

And now, a group of beings who have found that path on their own are standing right in front of them.

The most magnificent rebellion of idealism.

Astartes bathed in blood, the Astral Army battered and bruised, and civilians in tattered clothes.

The congealed bloodstains outlined mottled patterns on their bodies, like a different kind of medal bestowed by war.

Someone will continue; someone will lead others to survive.

In a corner, a boy was curled up asleep on the ground, his dirty hands still tightly clutching the explosives in his arms.

The gaze fell upon them, upon those brave souls who, under Karna's protection, had returned to peaceful slumber.

Emergency lights swept across weary faces, casting crisscrossing silhouettes on the vast earth.

It landed on their toes, worn raw from the hasty march, on their cheeks, still twitching from an overdose of combat drugs, and on their bodies, scarred from brutal fighting.

They have done everything they could.

They are the men and women who make up the human race.

In them, Karna saw courage and unwavering loyalty.

Most importantly, he saw the belief that filled everyone's hearts, that glimmer of humanity.

He clearly saw that humanity had never lost what they cherished, and that hope existed in the universe itself.

Even without these time travelers, some people would still choose to embark on this path, even if it meant sacrificing their own lives.

Even in the deepest, darkest, and most poisonous soil, pure white flowers will bloom, breaking through the black wall along with their roots that have been submerged within.

But the cruel world is like a vampire's lair, where one can laugh and joke even when faced with all kinds of filth and cold darkness.

But once they encounter love and light, they immediately feel unbearable pain and want to destroy it.

The data screen on the command console flashed a scarlet light, reflecting the dense enemy markings on the strategic map.

I absolutely cannot allow this to happen.

"Hello, I am Karna."

Karna extended his palm and grasped Forros's palm.

As long as I have a breath left, as long as my muscles and bones are still full of strength, I will not let this light fade away.

That near-perfect face shone with a fervent and precious light, as if gazing upon a candle of hope.

The firelight danced on his pale golden eyelashes, casting a divine glow on his features.

I will help you survive.

"The finest children of Saint Geres".

The first rays of dawn pierced the darkness, illuminating Forros's visor. The battle cries were fading into the distance, while the cries of those who had escaped death grew clearer.

One glance for thousands of years.

Time seemed to freeze at this moment, with only the shifting light source intertwining the two.

An angel adorned with serrated red tears gripped his weapon nervously.

"grown ups."

The call contained too many unspeakable emotions, trembling slightly in the air.

Frost felt his tear ducts trembling; Superman's nerves were sending him a signal of 'weakness' at that moment.

With just one glance, the trauma of war, the pressure brought by bad luck, and the disgust of one's own powerlessness in the face of the cruel reality all seemed to find an outlet.

A trickle of undried blood slid slowly down Forros's arm through the gaps in the damaged shoulder armor, leaving a dark red stain on the bullet-riddled ground.

Some people understand them, and some people support them.

In the distance, several wounded soldiers struggled to straighten their backs, their bloodied knuckles unconsciously tracing the oath inscriptions on their weapons.

This isolated army, walking on a nearly deserted road, has finally found its protectors.

"Please give the order."

Fross's voice came through the broken breathing grille, carrying the hoarse tremor characteristic of electronic voices.

So said the blood-soaked angel.

His bloodied knuckles clenched slightly, and the armored joints made a soft hydraulic sound.

There were no pleasantries, no hysterical cries; only the steady, restrained breathing could be heard on the communication channel.

Because this is a battlefield, and they are soldiers.

The war has never ended.

Those who are grieving must not let their guard down.

"Reinforcements have arrived, but countless people are still caught up in the disaster."

Karna spoke, his gaze fixed on the ruins behind him.

He turned slightly to the side, and chunks of broken concrete rolled off the edge of his cloak with a soft clatter.

The roar of the transport ship's engines faded into the distance, while on the ground, a blood-stained hand weakly reached out from the rubble.

Some people sought a new life by taking airships, while many more continued to struggle in despair.

"Now, prepare yourselves to go to the lives that need you. I think no one here is more experienced than you."

"Yes, my lord."

A sense of unprecedented satisfaction welled up in Forros's heart.

My gaze swept across the distance, and the angel's wing banner quietly unfurled.

Beside the archangel, fully armed warriors stood in neat military formation.

They were taller and more elite; even a brief eye contact with them was enough for Forros to feel their burning blood and black fury.

The curse that had once been like a series of explosive dynamite bursts, constantly reverberating in the brothers' minds, was now so clear.

At the same time, consciousness is also perfectly complete.

The curse that had plagued them for so long simply vanished.

"Commander Romulus will assist you with access to battlefield communications, and I would like to invite you to the victory ceremony after the war."

Karna tapped his finger on the data panel, and a holographic projection outlined the blue veins of the tactical network in the air.

Their undisguised affection for the weeping caused the surrounding angelic offspring to glance at them with a mixture of resentment and envy.

Several Flesh-Tearers unconsciously adjusted their stances, the finely crafted armor components emitting subtle clanging sounds.

The Seraphim often taught them and set an example, but they themselves were always afraid of change, afraid of making mistakes. Gabriel Seth looked down at his dusty gauntlets, his knuckles unconsciously curling and straightening.

They believed they could not be like the seraphs, because angels should be perfect and beautiful, and how could they compare to them?

But now they have seen their own brothers in battle, no different from themselves, so close to the Seraphim.

Fross bowed and led the mortals toward the ruins.

He had no intention of competing with his brothers for the honor of victory; he had already received the command he most desired.

Go and save lives.

Captain Separtus of the Crimson Paladin Guard looked at Forros's figure with a strange light in his eyes.

He had already figured out who should shoulder the responsibilities of the Crimson Paladin in the first celestial realm.

The Crimson Paladins represent the Primarch's protection; they are the Primarch's Sanctuary Guard, the shield of the Sons of Sanjeres, and the protectors.

“Sepatus, you go too, and lead the paladins to help them.”

Karna added.

Sepatius nodded without hesitation.

Then, Karna turned around.

Those who weep are role models, and the transmigrators do not need to treat Astartes as a purely combat force, nor should they separate it from mortals.

In the future, there will be many Astartes; some will go to war, some will delve into politics, and some will engage in research.

They are the best of the best among humankind, and they are also good sons to their parents.

These warriors should not be separated from ordinary people.

They are human beings too.

"Come with me, angels, let us fulfill our duties."

Karna raised his spear high, the sharp lines of its tip gleaming with intense heat.

His gaze pierced through the observation window, fixed on the overwhelming, tidal wave of insects that had returned. Hundreds of millions of crustaceans writh in the earth, creating a suffocating sense of oppression.

The shadows of twisted carapace and claws were reflected deep in his pupils, and a solemn expression settled between his brows.

Things in this universe are not so simple. You can't just take an extreme stance on one side and make a clean sweep of things, pretending not to see them, like the human empire burying its head in the sand.

Victory in war alone cannot eliminate the suffering that plagues humanity; but simply promoting truth, goodness, and beauty is also insufficient, as some supernatural destructive forces can easily thwart societal progress.

The two must be combined.

Subspace, reality.

Since we can no longer separate them, let's go hand in hand.

war.

Karna closed his eyes. The transmigrators were all clear-headed, knowing that every struggle against fate meant more bloodshed and sacrifice.

War can only come to an end through sacrifice.

"Yes, angel!"

Seth took a deep breath; the air was thick with the lingering smell of rust and the acrid stench of plasma burning.

They are the wrath of the angels, and will destroy anything according to the will of the angels.

".bring it on."

Karna still wore a bright smile, but deep in his eyes lay a weariness that only his closest friends could perceive.

A group of uneducated, uneducated thugs may be good at fighting and killing, but how to transform a battle group into a force with core ideals is a long way off.

Fortunately, hope remains.

"Let us be the spearhead of the attack."

He raised his spear, its blade pointing directly at the swarm of insects rushing in through the porthole.

The sparks from the spearheads streaked across the visors of the group, like a mark of a vow.

At that moment, all the soldiers breathed in unison, as if they were one entity, one will.

"Don't let down the holy blood of Jeremiah!"
-
puff!

The dull thud of a sharp blade tearing through carapace was particularly clear amidst the smoke; the swarm of insects was cut in two, with limbs and acid splattering everywhere.

The crimson Astartes, like an erupting torrent of fire, weaved a deathly symphony with the roar of its incendiary weapons and the shrieks of its power weapons as they tore through the air, carving a path of blazing flames through the swarm of insects.

He saw an invisible outline, seemingly a radiant angel, its figure shrouded in a hazy golden halo, the shadows of its wings sweeping across the broken street.

Is this a dream?

Amidst the ruins, the boy stared blankly at the illusion before him.

The swarm was strangled and torn apart; the suffering that the Xenomorphs had inflicted upon them was being returned in the same way.

The bomb shattered the deformed head into fragments, the power sword cleaved the bloated body in two, and the flames of vengeance raged across every inch of land.

His face showed excitement, which aggravated the wound in his abdomen, and the excruciating pain was instantly pulled from his premonition.

Am I going to die?

The illusion dissipated, replaced by a gradually blurring vision. His lips, chapped from blood loss, trembled, and the white mist he exhaled quickly dissipated in the cold air.

The cold reality was telling him that he was about to die.

The boy's trembling fingers weakly gripped the rubble beside him, his fingernails filled with dirt and blood scabs.

He desperately wanted to live.

Guided by the omens, he led his brothers and sisters to a good spot, but the infallible omens foretold his death the moment he boarded the ship.

The images in my memory are so vivid—the flashing warning lights at the cargo ship's hatch, the scorching heat from the engine, and the distorted faces of people scrambling to climb the gangway.

A heavy plasma beam locked onto itself, bringing only destruction.

He was soon in line, and the boy clearly remembered that all he had to do was take a step to board the transport boat that represented his chance of survival.

But the prophecy told him that he would die.

So he gave up the opportunity, pushed the crying girl next to him onto the gangway, and decisively pushed through the crowd, heading alone to a secluded place.

The last sight in sight was the figures of the Emperor Angels fighting a bloody battle.

He wanted to live, but he also hoped that more people could live.

'Will Levi and the others remember me? Will Lord Aglaia be proud of me?'

The boy thought tremblingly, his cold fingertips unconsciously digging into the cracks in the rubble beneath him.

Then, he recalled the illusion in his mind—the figure bathed in golden light, as if reaching out to him.

How he wished the illusion could come true.

He wanted to live, he gave up his chance to live, but he really wanted to live.

Regret, magnanimity, pride—a complex mix of emotions swirled within him, like tangled thorns that pierced his chest with pain.

The moment of waiting for death in solitude is always terrifying, and he was just a boy not even sixteen years old.

He only felt that he was just excited because of the sacrifice of the Emperor Angel.

"Hurry! There are still people here."

Urgent sounds rose and fell as dozens of rescue team members rushed through the ruins, activating the life scan mode of the avian divination system. Heavy military boots rolled over the rubble, and the beams of tactical flashlights crisscrossed in the smoke and dust.

"Found it here."

Thermal imaging quickly locked onto a figure, and armed troops surrounded him in a fan shape.

The rubble was pushed aside, and the tiles began to fall, the rustling sound particularly clear in the deathly silence of the ruins.

The boy breathed heavily, and gradually saw a blurry black shadow. He unconsciously swallowed, his throat feeling dry as if it had been rubbed with sandpaper, and the taste of blood spread in his mouth.

Is it an illusion?

So death isn't so scary after all... Will the Emperor's angels come to take him away?
The bright lights outlined a silhouette, making the tall figure even clearer.

A pebble fell and hit his exposed, chapped skin, the slight pain bringing him back to his senses.

"."

The boy's body stiffened, and his muscles trembled uncontrollably.

Give me your hand, child.

The boulder was pushed aside to support the broken pillar, and the blood-soaked angel stretched out its palm.

"I will help you survive."

　P.S.: Tomorrow I'll be visiting graves, cooking, and socializing. I'll try to post as much as possible these days, but I really can't guarantee the time.

　　
　
(End of this chapter)