Warhammer 40: Doom

Chapter 343 Your name
Cold emptiness.

The chill on the warship's deck intensified, and in the deathly silence, the father and son's faces were clearly reflected in each other's eyes.

Instead of the heartwarming feeling of a father and son reuniting as I had imagined, it was colder, as if the steel deck was covered in frost and emanated a chilling aura.

The Ninth Legion showed no joy; they stopped in their tracks, as if an abyss separated the two sides before their orderly ranks.

Most of the legionary warriors were pale-faced, handsome but bony, and the sons of Saint Gilles exuded an aloof indifference that kept people at a distance.

Even when facing the father of genetics, the wounded warriors still turned a cold shoulder.

During the long journey, the Ninth Army Corps suffered countless cold shoulders, and the souls of the soldiers had long been cooled by the criticism.

The Ninth Legion's transplanted organs have extremely developed "gene detection nerves" used to consume flesh and blood to acquire memories, causing the Legion's soldiers to have a morbid craving for blood.

On the blood-soaked battlefield, many soldiers cannot suppress their thirst for blood, drinking the blood of their enemies and devouring their flesh.

Not only enemies, but in serious situations, the Ninth Army sees no distinction between enemies and allies; they are all just blood drinks to be enjoyed.

As eyewitness reports increased, the Ninth Army, known for its cannibalistic and bloodthirsty behavior, gradually became an object of fear and disgust for its allies.

The Imperial army was unwilling to fight alongside the legions; they were "ghouls" who committed unforgivable desecration against the corpses of their own troops.

Ordinary soldiers who were assisting the Ninth Legion felt insecure and stayed away from the Legion, fearing they would become the next victim.

A combination of factors made it extremely difficult for the angelic offspring to advance in the battle.

The Ninth Army Corps excels at assaults, charging into enemy lines, disrupting their formations and destroying their command systems, thus helping the main force to create openings.

However, due to the deliberate distancing of friendly forces, after they have created a breach, the friendly forces responsible for reinforcements often arrive late, or in extreme cases, they may not arrive at all.

Surrounded by enemies, brothers in arms fell one after another, and the combined effects of emotions and physical ailments shattered the Ninth Legion's rationality.

To alleviate their bloodlust, Legion warriors drank the blood of their fallen comrades to maintain their sanity, which was on the verge of collapse.

Their frenzied, bloodthirsty appearance terrified witnesses and cemented their infamous reputation as 'ghouls'.

As the Great Expedition progressed, the Ninth Legion's reputation was ruined, and the Legion's leadership could no longer suppress their growing thirst for blood, which even evolved into the Legion's culture.

When their brethren die, they remember their blood brothers forever by sucking their blood and devouring their flesh.

However, the Legion's situation became increasingly difficult.

The Ninth Legion was sent to the most dangerous battlefields, serving as the vanguard of death, struggling in the mire of blood and death, and winning one brutal battle after another.

They threw themselves into the brutal battlefield, and the merits they gained were negated by the atrocities they committed.

Time and again, isolated and helpless, the legion's soldiers despaired, unsure of the legion's future.

News of cannibalism spread like wildfire, followed by the disgust of ordinary people who kept their distance, and the questioning gazes of the cousin's army.

Deep within their hearts, the warriors refused to acknowledge themselves as "ghouls." They saw the legion as more like ghosts, wandering the fiercest battlefields, feared and loathed by all.

However, the Ninth Legion persevered, and the soldiers knew that the only one who could save the legion was their own genetic father.

The return of the Primarch has brought about changes to the Legion that are evident to all, and may even transform the Legion.

However, the Ninth Army suffered another heavy blow.

Lord Roger Dorn, commander of the Seventh Legion, witnessed the atrocities committed by the Ninth Legion during a joint operation.

The Primarch despised the Ninth Legion, believing that the Legion had abandoned honor and humanity, and condemned them as slaves of blood, unworthy to be the offspring of his brothers!

The Primarch's rejection and contempt were undoubtedly a devastating blow, shattering the Legion's last remaining hope into dust.

The deepest despair is not being infamous or caught in a meat grinder-like battlefield, but the annihilation of hope in one's heart.

The rejection of the emperor's offspring was like a cruel blade piercing his heart.

Like a lost soul, the Ninth Army threw itself into the fierce battlefield, using a near-self-destructive war to put an end to its tragic fate.

They could no longer bear it; death was a relief...

Just when all hope seemed lost, news arrived from the warp that the Primarch had been retrieved by the Emperor. The Ninth Legion abandoned its combat mission and went to reunite with the Primarch.

The news of the Primarch's return did not cause the Legion warriors to be overjoyed; they calmly accepted their mission and headed towards the assembly point.

When the Ninth Legion soldiers stepped out of the plane, they saw the Father of Genetics.

He was so perfect, his face as handsome as the bright moon, his wings pure and untouched by dust, like an angel sculpture from a mythical palace come to life and walk among mortals.

Awestruck by the flawless work of the Father of Genetics, the Legion warriors' hearts were like still water, their eyes a mixture of scrutiny, confusion, resistance, and alienation, with fear and contempt hidden deep within.

Even on the battlefield where flesh and blood flew, the legionary warriors had never felt such complex emotions.

They examined the father of such perfect genes, wondering what changes his return would bring to the Legion, and felt lost about the future.

Because of his own imperfections, he resisted the perfection of the Primarch, and a sense of inferiority welled up from the depths of his soul. He wanted to stay away from the Primarch and not let him be tainted by his own bloody stench.

But in addition to scrutiny and confusion, resistance and alienation, Legion warriors also fear and despise the Primarch.

The battle-hardened warriors, fearing that the Primarch would not accept them, had ample reason to despise the Father of Genesis.

Despite their controversy, fear by mortals, and alienation from their cousin legions, there is one undeniable fact: the Ninth Legion is no less powerful than any other legion!
Deep in their hearts, the Legion's soldiers felt a profound sense of pride. In the most dangerous battlefields, only the Ninth Legion persevered time and time again, achieving victories that other legions could hardly match.

Thirst for blood, cannibalism, madness—all the despicable elements are merely the path the Legion has stumbled along.

It was the clash between war and humanity that shaped them into who they are today.

If the Primarchs reject the Legion because of these things, then the Legion can also use their past contempt to disregard the Primarchs.

Inside the steel cabin, complex emotions were spreading, a mixture of unspoken pain and sorrow.

Saint Gilles keenly sensed this invisible change, and glimpsed the turmoil in his children's hearts through their lifeless eyes.

"The Ninth Legion will surprise you; their spirits are shattered."

The brother's admonition, no longer vague and ethereal, transformed into a heavy iron hammer, striking the archangel's sincere heart.

Facing his genetic offspring, Saint Gilles was filled with grief and self-reproach, his eyes sweeping across the faces of each of his children.

He remembered the faces of his offspring; beneath those pale faces lay resilient and tormented souls, their inner wounds and fears far exceeding the scars on the surface of their power armor.

Saint Gilles understood that he had to take responsibility!
A flash of warp light appeared in the void as the Ninth Legion arrived in droves, coming to reunite with the Father of Genesis.

A Shadowmoon Wolf shuttle appeared and entered the belly of the Glory Queen-class warship, parking in an inconspicuous corner.

Two familiar faces emerged from the crowd: Cyranus and Gavial Locken of the Council of Four Kings, leading a group of officers.

As the two approached, they immediately sensed that something was wrong. There was no joy or excitement at their reunion; a deathly silence gripped everyone's throats.

Cyranus felt a chill run down his spine, but out of a sense of duty and mission, he swallowed hard and broke the heavy atmosphere with a choked voice: "By order of the Primarch, Hastur Cyranus, along with Gavial Loken and my brothers, has come to assist you in taking over the Legion."

The sound echoed among the steel, dispelling much of the stiff silence.

"Thank you for your trouble. Please guide my offspring here." Saint Gilles softened his voice, not wanting to refuse his brother's good intentions, and immediately had Horus's son get to work.

The messenger of the Wolf God breathed a sigh of relief, pulled his legion brothers away, and began to connect to the Ninth Legion's communication channel, directing the soldiers to come in an orderly manner.

After they left, Saint Gilles walked expressionlessly toward the Ninth Legion, toward his heirs who would inherit his bloodline.

He showed no emotion, but simply walked up to them, his tall and handsome figure looking down at the crimson warriors.

"What's your name?"

The archangel looked down at the offspring at the very front of the procession, his voice flat and unwavering, as if asking a stranger's question.

Saint Gilles knew that any emotion he displayed now would taint and wary his genetic offspring.

The legionary warriors, bathed in the falling sunlight, did not flinch as they looked up at the Father of Genetics, their voices trembling: "My name is..."

(End of this chapter)