Warhammer: Black Emperor

Chapter 779 Saint Gilles' Fear, Nimrod's Thought of Helping

“Saint Gilles.” Ninglu looked at the golden-armored figure opposite him, whose holy wings had patches of charred blackening along their edges.

"We, as the anvil, have drawn out the enemy's main force—the wizard idol."

"Then hand it over to them."

Saint Gilles immediately understood that what Nimrod meant by "them" was a secret that even the Primarch could not fathom—the Order of Omens.

Seeing that Nimrod had given the order to the Shadow of Order to withdraw from the psionic nodes, he gave the same order.

Ninglu gazed at the psionic mist inside the Ark, activated his communicator, and issued orders to William Wood, the lord of the 12th Regiment.

"Prepare!"

The spoils of war are just as important as hunting down the Eldar.

Saint Gilles saw his offspring clad in blood-red armor, stepped back from the node area, and then followed Nimrod's gaze.

The light dimmed rapidly.

The interior of the Eldar construct was molten into a dark, crystalline gray, and large chunks of crystal in the collapsed dome were stained with shadows...

Four Raider Titans immediately came into view, their long strides leaving afterimages in their wake.

The ripples of time spread, and the unmarked Marauder Titans were as swift as the elegant Eldar Titans.

Whoosh...

Dark light leaped up and collided with the sunlight emanating from the elegant spear of the Eldar Titan.

The collision of light and darkness, an explosion powerful enough to destroy the entire hive city, was uttered without a sound.

The deathly darkness engulfed everything around it, swallowing up light and sound, and melting fragments of spirit bones and shattered pieces of terracotta armor into wisps of ominous shadows.

Saint Gilles looked at Nimrod, [Could he also possess precognitive abilities?]
Without Nimrod's warning, Astartes would have been torn to shreds in the devastating explosion.

As Saint Gilles pondered, he suddenly realized something and turned to look.

A wizard statue strode forward, its spear gleaming brighter than a star, and struck a Marauder Titan.

The Void Shield shattered instantly, and the hurricane-like lightning tore apart the Marauder Titan, smashing it like a toy.

After the War Witch Titan destroyed one of the Marauders, it did not immediately launch an attack, burying the souls within, but instead gazed at the three approaching monkey constructs in the distance.

As they walked, their homeland—Marg Silas—trembled beneath their feet.

The entire ark loathed them.

As the guardian of the dead, he will surely destroy the monkey construct.

As the War Witch Titan turned his arm, Saint Gilles's icy blood gradually spread throughout his body.

The Melgio Oval came into his view.

"His name?"

His chief of blood, Radoron, spoke, "Aloteros."

"The 111th Company, under Company Commander Targas."

“The brothers Aloteroth are dead.” Azcalon, clad in golden armor, emerged from the dark doorway, glaring at Radoron. “You shouldn’t have brought him here.”

Radolon was about to speak, but the Primarch spoke first: "Captain of the Guard, this is not a decision you can make."

The force hidden in Sanguiles' firm tone made Azcalon's face turn slightly pale. "Get out of the way."

Azcalon turned to the side, but still stubbornly said, "This should be handled by us, quietly."

"Handle it quietly?" Saint Gilles shook his head vigorously. "No, my son, no Holy Blood Angel will die quietly so easily."

As soon as he entered the Nephilim's temple, he looked at Alothros.

"look at me."

Alotross's beastly gaze fell upon his Primarch, and Saint Gilles saw a palpable hunger within him.

Alotros roared, his hands clenched into claws, baring his fangs.

Saint Gilles knew it was too late, but he still tried to salvage the situation and reached out his hand.

"My son, step back."

“Come back from the abyss, come back to us, and I will save you.”

Alotross blinked, as if he heard the alien's language.

“It’s my fault,” Saint Gilles said. “It’s my fault, but if you help me, I will fix it.”

He took a step forward. "Aloteros, will you help me?"

A wild intent flickered across Aloteros's face, while Saint Gilles was plunged into a profound, empty, and powerless sorrow.

"Roar!" Alotros roared furiously, screeching out the dialect of the Bal Mesa tribe.

Saint Gilles pieced together the incoherent sentences and understood what his son meant: he only longed to bite his teeth deep into the flesh of the living and drink his fill of the rich, scarlet liquid.

Saint Gilles did not move, while Aloteros frantically pounded on his golden armor.

His armor was intact, but the flames of anger did not subside; instead, they burned brighter and brighter, and the stench of blood mixed with his breath assaulted his nostrils.

Saint Gilles knew where this crimson rage, this blood-red thirst, came from.

He could feel the poisoned lines lingering within his own genetic spiral.

This is the dark legacy he left to his descendants.

Hidden signs of death.

“I’m sorry, my son,” Saint Gilles said guiltily to Aloteros, as he snapped his son’s neck.

He turned around and looked at the figure emerging from behind the leaning pillar.

"What have you done?" Light illuminated Lupecal's face as he asked in shock.

"what have you done?"

“You…killed him.”

Saint-Gilles turned around and stood in a peculiar protective stance in front of the corpse, blocking Lupecal.

"You followed me?" His tone was filled with a complex mix of anger, surprise, shame, and regret. "You were spying on me?"

As Saint Gilles was caught in a group of three Warlord-level Psionic Titans, and the psionic energy amplified the fear deep within his mind, the cold voice of Old Man Huang echoed in Ninglu's mind.

"Hannibal and his army were punished for their evil deeds."

"From this day forward, all Imperial departments shall delete all data related to the Second... and Eleventh... Legions."

Click!

The sounds of a spine breaking and the screams of death rang out.

[Ha!] Nimrod ascended to the second level of the Thelma state of mind, his spine radiating a dazzling golden light.

Ruth, your defeated foe!
Even Old Man Huang couldn't decide my fate!
He then turned his gaze to the pale-faced Saint Gilles, [This is... a mental shock related to thirst?]

Speaking of which, the Holy Blood Angels are really in a bad situation. Not only are their genes suffering from blood thirst, but they will also fall into Black Wrath after Saint Gilles dies in the future.

If given the chance, perhaps I would try to save her.
Unlike the Space Wolves who have suffered malignant mutations from the Kennis Spiral, the Blood Angels will still be saved if possible, provided that they can be controlled.

The thought of rescuing the Holy Blood Angel flashed through Ninglu's mind for a moment, but he immediately turned his attention to the three War Generals, the Ominous-level Psionic Titans.

Their dark pulses collided with the overwhelming starlight of the war shaman Titan.

In the silent explosion, the entire ark trembled continuously.

As the three Warlord-class Omen Titans clashed with the War Witch Titans' psionic attacks, a fleet of Spectral Knights joined the battle, fighting against the remaining three Marauders and aiding their War Witch Spectral.

Nimrod and Saint Gilles spread their wings and leaped down, rushing towards the Eldar army surging from the depths of the Ark.

Golden wings unfolded, explosive bombs rained down, and plasma beams shot out.

As the Ark trembled violently, Ninglu smashed a Visionary with a punch, then flapped his wings, widening the distance between himself and the Spirit Race.

He turned his head to look at the center of the battlefield, where the colorful vortex released by the War Witch Titan clashed with the continuous psionic energy of the War General-class Omen Titan's Annihilation Cannon, tearing out a vortex with a diameter of six meters.

The subspace rift continued to expand, shattering the sanity of sixty Eldar within a kilometer radius. They were driven madly into the destructive molten flow and torn to pieces.

boom!
In the deathly silence, purple patterns appeared on the smooth limbs of the War Witch Titan.

The air was filled with the scent of musk, and colorful arteries pulsated.

The silent war shaman let out a desperate scream.

Porcelain shards fell one after another, creating strange ripples.

The hundreds of Eldar near the battlefield were shattered; they disregarded their defenses and charged forward.

The Eldar behind the lines scattered and fled in disarray.

Ninglu watched as the Ark collapsed due to the appearance of a rift in the subspace, pressed the communication bead, and issued a command.

"The Eldar have collapsed!"

He withdrew his gaze and looked at the Warlord-class Psionic Titans, whose molten shells were slowly reforming.

[I destroyed one War Witch Titan; all three War Generals of the Ominous Order survived.]
The Primarch's gaze pierced through the steel shell, looking at the enslaved Alpha-level psyker, tightly bound by surgical instruments, trembling all over, with withered skin and blood gushing from his mouth and nose.

They won't live much longer.
He watched as the three warriors carried away the wreckage of the four raiders. The untouchables in the cockpits didn't say a word to him and Sanguis, just as they had silently entered the battlefield.

(End of this chapter)