Warhammer 40K in a box

Chapter 379 Slaying Zanazt
The living saint who entered the battlefield was like a brilliant shooting star streaking across the sky. He immediately spread his wings and flew into the sky shrouded in smoke.

The pair of sacred wings suddenly unfolded in the void, each feather burning with pure flames. The blazing holy fire surged and leaped in the air, sweeping away the surrounding gloom.

A dazzling golden light burst forth from his body, so intense that it was as if a newborn sun had suddenly descended upon the battlefield.

A sacred light pierced through the pervasive blood mist, illuminating every inch of the land stained with blood.

The soldiers of the Imperial Army couldn't help but look up, their eyes reflecting this sacred and awe-inspiring sight.

Countless golden particles of light, like embers from a burning fire, fell from the sky, gently enveloping the Imperial Army's positions with divine power.

The wounded soldier, who was on the verge of death, suddenly found that his intense pain was rapidly subsiding under the golden light.

Some people watched in astonishment as their bloody wounds healed at a visible speed, the new skin glowing a healthy pink.

At the makeshift medical station, a soldier who had lost his right arm stared in disbelief at the golden light emanating from the severed limb, as a new arm miraculously grew.

An even more shocking scene unfolded behind the makeshift medical post on the battlefield.

Among the fallen soldiers covered by white sheets, several corpses suddenly sat up.

They were breathing heavily, their chests heaving, their eyes filled with confusion and horror, as if they had just woken up from a terrible nightmare.

A company commander, whose heart had been pierced by shrapnel, touched his undamaged chest in bewilderment, while his adjutant knelt on the ground, weeping with joy.

The wings of the living saint traced a sacred path in the sky, and wherever he passed, the shadow of death was completely dispelled.

A deafening cheer erupted from the Imperial Army's position. Soldiers wiped away their tears and gripped their weapons tightly once more.

The bandages were ripped off one by one, and the wounded soldiers picked up their rifles and rushed into the trenches, their eyes once again burning with the flame of battle.

Faced with this sacred miracle, the morale of the entire army instantly reached its peak.

"For the Emperor! For the glory of the Sons of Ash!"

A deafening battle cry echoed across the battlefield, and a squad of semi-transparent Astartes suddenly appeared from the void.

Their Terminator armor, burning with intense psionic fire and covered in sacred runes, stood tall before the charging orcish tide.

Arcs of electricity crackled across the Storm Shield, and the decomposition field of the Power Sword hummed. They stood like a high wall forged from flames and steel, blocking the Imperial Army's position.

The orcish charge crashed heavily against this impassable defensive line.

The Storm Shield unleashed a blinding flash of energy, crushing the charging greenskins into minced meat. The flying limbs and blood turned into a foul-smelling mist under the impact of the force field.

Each swing of the power sword unleashed a deadly hurricane, and wherever the blade passed, the orc's robust body was easily severed like a stalk of wheat.

A war leader roared and charged forward, swinging his power claws, only to be cleaved in two by a Child of Ash's backhand sword. The burning blade even set his corpse ablaze, turning it into a twisted mass of charcoal.

The Greenskins' horde was abruptly halted, their once unstoppable charge crumbling before the Ashchildren's iron wall.

The surviving orcs were horrified to discover that their swords and bullets could not penetrate the defenses of these translucent warriors, and each counterattack meant that more greenskins were reduced to ashes in the holy wrath.

The living saint swooped down, transforming into a golden meteor that tore through the sky, leaving a dazzling trail of holy flames behind him.

His only target is the demon prince Zanazt.

The burning wings merely swept across the battlefield, and the Khorne demons that had just crawled out of the portal instantly burst into flames like torches soaked in grease.

The demons' contorted bodies convulsed wildly in the holy flames, yet they couldn't even utter a wail before vanishing into nothingness in the blinding golden light, leaving not even a trace of ash. The two demon princes, Zanazt and Muswag, simultaneously took a half-step back, their demonic hooves leaving deep scorch marks on the metal deck.

Their crimson pupils reflected the approaching golden figure, and their previously ferocious fighting spirit wavered for a moment—a fear they had never shown since becoming demon princes.

The last time they felt fear was before they were mortals, before they were elevated to the status of demon princes.

The Holy Flame Halberd in the hands of the Living Saint transformed into a golden lightning bolt, each strike leaving a long-lasting, scorching afterimage in the air.

Wherever the halberd blade passed, even the air itself was distorted and deformed by the scorching power of the divine force.

The demon princes were forced to dodge with unpredictable movements, their heavy hooves leaving spiderweb-like cracks in the ground, yet they could never completely escape the pursuit of the purifying fire.

"Damn Corpse King's lackey!" Muswag roared deafeningly as his prized double-bladed battle axe came crashing down amidst a storm of blood and gore.

With an elegant sidestep, the living saint raised his halberd, the tip colliding with the axe blade and bursting into dazzling sparks.

Shockingly, the battle axe, which had drunk from countless souls, was cleaved with a crack that emitted blue smoke, and the demonic runes on the axe writhed and fell off in agony like scalded snakes.

Zanazt seized the opportunity to launch a surprise attack from the flank, his massive claws, forged from black iron and bone, tearing through the air and aiming straight for the Living Saint's back.

However, the Holy Flame Halberd seemed to possess its own consciousness as it spun around and parried, with golden waves of fire flowing upwards along the claw blades.

The demon prince let out a heart-wrenching howl as his entire arm was instantly engulfed by holy flames. The meticulously crafted blasphemous runes twisted and fell off like dying worms, turning to ashes in the firelight.

The living saint's offensive grew increasingly fierce. His wings of light were fully unfurled, and every spark that fell transformed into purifying fire that tracked down the demon.

Holy flames coiled and gnawed at Zanatz's twisted remains as if they were alive.

For every inch of the filthy flesh from the warp that regenerated, the holy flames burned it away. The regenerative abilities that the demon prince was so proud of had now become an endless torture—the new growths were burned to charcoal as soon as they emerged, and the writhing blood vessels turned into smoke before they could even take shape.

His exposed bones cracked with a teeth-grinding sound in the golden flames, their black surfaces covered with spiderweb-like fissures.

The demon prince staggered backward, each heavy hoof landing leaving a crimson crater in the ground.

Boiling metal flowed between his footprints, and the air was filled with the pungent smell of burnt flesh and molten iron.

His only remaining left arm was completely carbonized, with his charred bone fingers still twitching and gripping nervously, as if trying to grasp the last thread of life; his right leg had long since turned to ashes below the knee, forcing this once arrogant demon prince to kneel on one knee in humiliation.

“No…this is impossible…!” Zanazt roared hoarsely from between his shattered throat bones, his remaining bone claws frantically scratching at the metal deck beneath his feet.

Each scratch gushed out viscous black blood, which boiled and evaporated the moment it came into contact with air, leaving twisted demonic runes on the scorch marks.

But these marks of dying struggle were instantly swallowed up by the holy flames, just like the fate that was about to befall him.

Just as he staggered backward, Muswag's Destruction Battle Axe, glowing with crimson light, slashed down fiercely.

This strike contained a thousand years of pent-up hatred; before the axe blade even arrived, the violent wind pressure had already torn the ground apart.

The crisp sound of an axe severing a spine even drowned out the noise of the battlefield, accompanied by a deafening energy explosion as bones shattered.

Zanazt's hideous head rolled to the ground, its fangs still emitting vicious curses, and its single eye blazing with an evil, purplish-black light of resentment.

But the living saint simply raised the lantern in his hand, and a pure golden flame enveloped the sinful head.

Amidst a piercing shriek, the head melted like a wax figure, finally dissipating into a wisp of smoke within the holy flames.

(End of this chapter)