Warhammer 40K in a box

Chapter 639 After the battle
After Sharasi the Calamity tore open the rift in reality and fled into the waves of the warp with endless resentment, the suffocating pressure originating from the supreme chaos in the Forge Square finally dissipated.

However, the tense atmosphere that permeated the air did not ease; instead, it became even thicker and more bizarre.

A near-vacuum-like stillness enveloped the ravaged land, as if the entire battlefield had temporarily stopped breathing in immense shock.

All the survivors—whether they were Astartes of the Iron Hand, Ash Knights, knights of the Nearl family, or the few remaining, wounded mortal soldiers—could not look away from two focal points: one was the empty ground where Fugen had vanished, leaving only a few charred marks; the other was the Imperial Sword in the hands of the Ultramarines' Grand Intelligence Strategist, still quietly burning with a faint but undeniable golden flame.

incredible.

The word echoed in the hearts of all who witnessed it, heavy as lead.

A Primarch, a favorite of the Dark God, whose existence should be nearly eternal, and even if defeated, he would eventually be reborn amidst the corrupting tides of the Warp—this is a near-desperate understanding that the Imperium has gained over millennia with countless lives lost.

However, just now, right before their eyes, this ironclad rule was broken.

Fugen, the former Lord of the Phoenix and now the Slaanesh prince, was not banished, but rather completely and utterly "deleted" from both the real world and the warp.

Once this news is released, it will be like a storm sweeping across the galaxy, shaking the hearts of every human being who knows of the threat of Chaos, from the deepest palaces of Holy Terra to the most distant frontier worlds.

This is undoubtedly one of the most significant victories humanity has achieved against the forces of Chaos since the glorious era of the Great Expedition, a powerful dose of hope that can reignite the flame of hope in countless desperate hearts.

Digglis's imposing body swayed slightly, as if the force supporting him had suddenly been withdrawn.

He slowly lowered the Emperor's Sword, his movements carrying an almost reverent solemnity. As the sword tip touched the ground, the chilling golden flames on the blade gradually subsided and extinguished, as if completing a task, revealing once again the ancient, majestic blade, engraved with countless sacred inscriptions.

Clearly, that attack, which poured all his will and spiritual energy into guiding the Emperor's destructive divine might, was an immense burden that even a powerful think tank like his would find difficult to bear.

He took a deep breath of the air, which was filled with the smell of gunpowder, ozone, and blood, and forced himself to steady himself. His sharp eyes continued to scan the devastated battlefield around him like a scanner, searching for any new and imminent threats that might be lurking.

The Emperor's Sword possesses enough power to purify the Primarch, but the chaotic remnants on the battlefield still need to be cleared away.

Ferrus Manus took a step forward, the cracked rocks beneath his feet making a slight creaking sound.

Her silver-gray precision-engineered power armor was covered with deep scratches, dents, and charred marks from energy weapons. Many damaged areas exposed complex mechanical structures and flickering circuitry, occasionally emitting tiny sparks of electricity.

She lowered her head, her cold gaze fixed on the empty, scorched ground. Her metallic face showed no emotion, only her deep silver eyes swirling with complex and unfathomable turmoil.

Ten thousand years of grudges and affections, spanning betrayal among brothers and endless pursuit, came to an abrupt end in such an absolute and abrupt way—there was no earth-shattering final showdown as she had envisioned, no roars to vent her anger, and no opportunity to give or receive forgiveness; there was only a cold, thorough, and almost abstract absolute annihilation.

An indescribable emptiness, mixed with the relief of a formidable enemy's defeat and a heavy sense of loss that even she herself had not anticipated, quietly spread deep within her steely will. She had lost a brother, for the second time, and forever.

Hathor also dismounted from his fighting stance, his signature "Claws of Horus" and heavy "Worldbreaker" warhammer hanging down.

She remained absolutely calm, assessing the situation on the spot as quickly as a highly sophisticated instrument.

Her attention was particularly focused on the remnants of the Emperor's sons who might be driven to utter madness or desperate retaliation by the sudden death of their lord.

Her fighting instincts were ingrained in her very being, making it impossible for her to truly let her guard down in any moment of victory.

Just then, a painful and suppressed groan tore through the brief silence, abruptly drawing everyone's attention.

It's that female version of Fugen.

She huddled on the ground not far from where Fugen had disappeared, her body trembling violently as if she were enduring some kind of invisible torture.

The process of absorbing a portion of the essence of another demonic entity clearly brought a far greater burden and more severe backlash than anticipated.

Her body surface flickered with an eerie pinkish-purple aura, sometimes faint and sometimes suddenly intense, exuding an unsettling and sinister vitality.

Her face was contorted with extreme pain, and its contours were constantly and subtly changing—sometimes clearly showing her own features that were similar to Fugen's but more supple, and sometimes vaguely conjuring up the phantom of Fugen's perfect but grotesque face due to his depravity, as if two completely different consciousnesses were engaged in a fierce and cruel battle within her body.

The power emanating from her body was extremely unstable, like a candle flame in a storm, sometimes flickering and about to go out, and sometimes bursting out with terrifying chaotic energy ripples without warning.

But this energy is different from pure, unfiltered chaotic pollution. Deep within that unsettling pinkish-purple light, there seems to be a strange, orderly, and suppressive golden glimmer—the power originating from the Emperor's Mark struggling to fulfill its duty.

"Control her!" Felus's voice suddenly rang out, breaking the stagnant atmosphere and restoring his usual coldness and unquestionable tone.

"Nothing can go wrong until she stabilizes, or rather, until the chaos within her is completely suppressed!"

Several Gorgon Royal Guard Iron Hand warriors who had been on standby immediately stepped forward.

They moved swiftly yet with extreme caution, as if approaching a highly unstable molten bomb.

Specially designed restraint devices were quickly and precisely fastened to her limbs and torso. Multiple inhibitory force field generators were activated, emitting a low hum, and layers of invisible force fields enveloped her, designed to limit the damage she might cause to the greatest extent possible, while preventing any external stimuli from further exacerbating her internal instability.

(End of this chapter)