The strongest astral army in Warhammer 40K

Chapter 333: The Ruins of Sanguis 2

The Thunderhawk gunship's engines roared low in the void, their exhaust trails leaving a pale blue trail along the edge of the warp rift. Russell stood by the hatch, golden psionic energy subtly flowing around him, casting the Holy Blood Angel insignia on his power armor on flickering light. Arya's fingers unconsciously caressed the psionic amplification collar around her neck—a collar Dante had personally placed on her before her departure, inlaid with a ruby ​​formed from the blood of Saint Gilles.

"Warspace disturbance detected!" A piercing alarm suddenly blared from the cockpit. The starry sky outside the porthole distorted abruptly, countless clouds of decaying spores spewing from the fissures, the outlines of the Zerg hive fleet's wreckage vaguely visible within the viscous green light. Fifty Blood Angels simultaneously gripped their bombguns, their breaths weaving into a suppressed hum on the communication channel.

Mephisto slammed his psionic staff heavily on the ground, instantly enveloping the entire compartment in an indigo psionic barrier. The instant the barrier formed, three Bladebugs tore through the bulkhead and burst in, their scythe-like forelimbs dripping with putrid acid as they slashed at the nearest warrior. Russell's golden whip struck first, its psionic arcs instantly filling the compartment with the acrid smell of evaporating Zerg biomass.

"Maintain formation!" Russell's roar drowned out the shriek of tearing metal. Two golden whips transformed into wheels of light, shredding the second wave of attacking Zerg into mincemeat. Aria's pupils flashed with silver light, and the slain Zerg neurons suddenly reversed their transmission, piercing the thought nodes of the Hive's will through the psionic link. The spore cloud in the void suddenly contracted convulsively, making way for the Thunderhawk.

As the spire of the Tomb of Sanguielles pierced the ice of Baal III, everyone held their breath. Twelve bronze statues of Primarchs surrounded the tomb, their spears pointing together at the fissure in the dome—where a single drop of congealed golden blood floated, the last drop of holy blood splattered when Sanguielles fell.

"The thirst for blood intensifies." Mephisto suddenly pressed his temple, and the skull's eye sockets on his scepter glowed red. Three warriors in the ranks suddenly began to breathe heavily, their nails digging deep into their palms. Russell's golden whip suddenly wrapped around their wrists, and ancient runes flowed into their bodies through their psychic channels: "Look at the holy blood! Remember why you fight!"

The moment the tomb gates opened, a psionic barrier from thousands of years ago was triggered. A seven-layered incantation wheel appeared in the void, each rotation eliciting a painful groan from a warrior—a form of mental torture directly affecting their genetic chains. Arya suddenly stepped forward, the ruby ​​on her collar reflecting the brilliance of holy blood, tearing a crack in the barrier.

"Quick! Her nosebleed dripped onto the ice, "The restriction is reading our genetic defects!"

As the group rushed into the inner sanctum, the sight before them sent shivers down the spines of even the most seasoned warriors. Hundreds of crystal coffins floated in mid-air, each containing a Blood Angel clad in the first generation of power armor. Their chests rose and fell gently, their genetic seeds still vibrant and alive after a thousand years. In the center of the altar, the winged remains of Saint Gilles rested upon a bronze scroll—etched upon it the "Crimson Redemption" ritual recorded by the first Curator of the Treasury.

Mephisto's scepter suddenly emitted a shriek. Asphalt-like shadows surged from beneath the altar, and thirteen twisted figures clad in armor of holy blood angels rose from the ground, their claws still dripping with black holy blood—these were the shadow hosts who had fallen into the Black Wrath ten thousand years ago and were sealed here by the first Chapter Master.

"For Saint Gilles!" Russell's golden whip cleaved through the first shadow, only to find that the psionic attack was absorbed by the Holy Blood Emblem on the opponent's chest. Arya suddenly pressed the ruby ​​to the ground: "Their weakness lies at the wing joints! The Holy Blood is repelling these imposters!"

In the chaos of battle, a Shadow Host's bone claw pierced Mephisto's shoulder armor. The old strategist, however, laughed maniacally, grabbing the enemy's arm and letting black fury surge into his body through the wound: "Yes... this is the kind of pain... Children of the Holy Blood, watch closely!" His pupils instantly turned blood red, but before completely succumbing to madness, he pierced his own heart with his scepter, the gushing blood transforming into sealing runes under the influence of psionic energy.

As the last Shadow Host screamed and vanished in the holy blood's flames, the remaining thirty warriors knelt before the altar. Russell's trembling hands unfurled the bronze scroll, and ancient holy runes and Saint Gilles' genetic map intertwined under the golden whip's illumination to form a dazzling star map—the very secret ritual for purifying thirst and the forbidden art of cloning genetic seeds using holy blood.

Above the icy plains, the shadow of the Thunderhawk gunship swept across the collapsing tomb. Arya rested the unconscious Russell's head on her lap; the young company commander's blond hair was now streaked with silver. Behind them, fifty crystal coffins were being carefully loaded into the transport bay, each reflecting the eternally burning drop of holy blood within a crack in the ice.

…………

Inside Baal's core fortress, the medical bay was dimly lit. Mephisto lay on the operating table, his chest wrapped in bandages, his psionic staff placed beside him, still faintly glowing. Despite the severity of his injuries, his vital signs had stabilized after emergency treatment. Dante stood by the bedside, his gaze filled with complex emotions.

“Mephisto, you have done well.” Dante’s voice was deep and powerful. “Your sacrifice has given us hope.”

Mephisto slightly opened his eyes, his gaze weary: "Lord Dante, this is my duty. I am willing to give anything to bring hope to the Holy Blood Angels."

Russell stood to one side, lost in thought. In his hand lay a bronze scroll, etched with the techniques of cloning genetic seeds. However, despite solving the problem of genetic seed shortage, the surgical procedure remained unresolved. Russell's lack of complete understanding of the genetic modification process of the Blood Angels caused him unease.

“Lord Dante,” Russell’s voice was tinged with doubt, “although we have solved the problem of the gene seed, the surgical procedure… I don’t fully understand it yet. Just how complex is the genetic modification of the Blood Angels?”

Dante's gaze was heavy as he walked to the holographic projection, tapped it lightly, and a detailed genetic modification map appeared in the air. His voice was deep and powerful: "Russell, the genetic modification of the Blood Angels is one of the most complex and dangerous surgeries in the Empire. It requires not only precise genetic sequence matching but also powerful psionic support."

Russell's eyes widened in shock: "Psionic support? What does that mean?"

Dante nodded, his expression profound: "During the genetic modification process of the Blood Angels, candidates need to undergo multiple surgeries to implant gene seeds into their bodies. These gene seeds will gradually change the candidate's physical structure, giving them superhuman strength and endurance. However, this process is extremely painful and full of uncertainties."

Mephisto's voice came weakly from the operating table: "Not only that, Russell. The genetic seed of the Holy Blood Angel also contains the genetic sequence of Saint Gilles. These sequences will fuse with the candidate's genes, giving them special abilities. However, this fusion also brings the curse of blood thirst and black fury."

Russell's gaze held complex emotions: "Bloodthirst and black fury... is this the destiny of the Holy Blood Angels?"

Dante's gaze was heavy: "Yes, Russell. Bloodthirst and Black Wrath are the curses left to us by Sanguis, and also our destiny. Bloodthirst makes us crave blood, while Black Wrath drives us into a frenzy of killing. These curses cannot be completely eliminated, but we can suppress them through training and the psionic matrix."

Russell's gaze was unwavering: "Lord Dante, is it possible for us to use gene cloning technology to optimize the fusion process of the gene seed and reduce the effects of Bloodthirst and Black Fury?"

Dante's eyes held approval: "Russell, your suggestion is very valuable. Gene cloning technology may help us optimize the fusion process of gene seeds and reduce the effects of Bloodthirst and Black Fury. However, this requires a lot of experiments and research."

Mephisto's voice was weak: "Russell, your golden psionic energy might play a vital role in the surgery. Your power can stabilize the candidate's genetic sequence and reduce the risks of the procedure."

Russell thought for a moment and said, "I understand, Lord Dante. I will do my best to assist in the surgical process and ensure that every candidate can successfully complete the genetic modification."