Chapter 138: Traveler: So Strange, Something Feels Like It

Hurricane howled at the summit of the mechanical spire, staining the crimson sky black-gray.

Morpheston wearily glanced at the sky—truly astonishing.

If he still had sufficient stamina, he could have generated such a weather-altering hurricane with some time.

But to appear suddenly deep within enemy ranks and unleash such an unstoppable storm in an instant—like that man?

That was also a difficult feat for Morpheston.

Especially when the opponent possessed psychic units and was shrouded in the shadow of the Warp—teleportation itself would be hindered.

Yet that man seemed unaffected—what technology did his door use?

Warp? Webway? Gravity well? None of them seemed right.

Morpheston could not arrive at an answer in the moment.

"ROOOOAR!!!!"

A beast's roar erupted as a Tyranid Executioner charged toward the ranks of the Blood Angels.

The first line of Terminators swiftly engaged, while the Blood Guard behind them immediately raised their weapons.

Morpheston raised a finger.

A lightning bolt thicker than a man shot forth, searing Warp lightning piercing straight through the Executioner's body, leaving a grotesque bloodied hole.

"Hurry," Morpheston growled.

He was indeed too exhausted—the toll of fighting the Hive Mind was immense; the psychic lightning had failed to kill the Executioner in one strike.

The Terminators and Blood Guard warriors, accustomed to their Chief Librarian's absurd psychic power, swiftly ended the Executioner's life.

"Morpheston, you need rest," Dante observed, clapping his shoulder.

"My Lord, but we must press on," Morpheston said, staring at the door of the Thinker Spire.

Through it, they could enter the mechanical spire, locate its control console, and activate the Grand Prism to unleash searing light.

Of course, the Blood Angels were not the only ones acting.

Morpheston glanced at the Deathmark assassins who thought themselves unseen.

These aliens hid within pocket dimensions, believing no one could detect them.

Did the Traveler. Anlakai and Dante trust each other? Of course not.

Both the Necrons and the Blood Angels suspected and watched each other warily.

That was why the Deathmark assassins silently trailed beside the Blood Angels' column.

Should the Blood Angels betray or act against his interests, the Deathmarks' neural disruptors would turn on them.

That was why Dante wanted Morpheston to conserve his strength—he knew only Morpheston could stop it when the time came.

The Necrons and Blood Angels split into two forces.

The Blood Angels would advance from the Thinker Door, entering the mechanical spire from above.

The Necrons would descend into the Underhive, bypassing the hive's front defenses and ascending into the spire from below.

Both Dante and the Traveler. Anlakai understood: whoever entered the mechanical spire first and seized control of the Grand Prism held the initiative.

Dante swung his Mordalith Axe at high speed, leading the Blood Guard like diving eagles, slaughtering the Tyranid formations blocking their path, while the Terminators formed an armored wall, slowly pushing through the sea of insects.

With Morpheston, the powerful psyker, withdrawn from combat, Leina took over, channeling psychic energy in his place.

Of course, Leina's psychic power was far weaker.

"LIGHTNING!!!"

Leina roared, hurling a wrist-thick bolt of psychic energy toward a nearby Tyranid Warrior.

But the Warrior heard her shout and dodged with agile reflexes.

Morpheston watched Leina's use of psychic energy, barely suppressing a sigh.

This illegal psyker's technique was crude—she still relied on vocalization as an aid.

Yet her psychic power was peculiar—partly not innate, but partially externally infused.

This external infusion greatly amplified her power; with rigorous training,

Morpheston glanced at Leina.

Too bad she was female.

Had she been Ma Lei—even if older—the Blood Angels' gene-modification procedures were less picky, with decent success rates; she could have become an excellent Librarian after transformation into an Astartes.

Too bad she was female—there was no way. The Emperor never designed female Astartes.

Morpheston sighed helplessly and his attention toward Leina plummeted.

Though the Battle Sisters and Cadian Shock Troops seemed interested in recruiting her.

"Guide psychic energy through instinct, not voice."

"But when wielding psychic power, rely on knowledge and wisdom—not shouts and impulses."

Morpheston offered a few pointers, watching Leina's crude technique.

Leina nodded blankly, but such advice would take time to bear fruit.

She understood the principle, but what were knowledge and wisdom?

At that moment, a sharp wind whistled past Leina's ear.

A powerful hurricane suddenly pressed down upon the battlefield—Leina momentarily thought Zhou Yun had returned with his pocket tornado.

But when she turned to look toward the hurricane's origin, her eyes widened.

Before Dante, wielding the Mordalith Axe, a massive winged shadow descended from the clouds, spreading its grotesque wings.

Gales howled, crackling against Dante's golden power armor.

Dante's golden hair, streaked with white, stirred in the wind; his face, masked in the golden visage of Saint Guilliman, tilted upward, fixing its gaze on the Tyranid behemoth descending from above—a Tyranid Hive Tyrant, a winged subspecies specialized for flight.

The Hive Tyrant used it to combat the Emperor's children.

Anlakai felt shame, his honor insulted.

He deployed the Deathmarks beside Dante.

Damn it, damn Zalasusa—he humiliated the honor of a sovereign.

Using Deathmarks was dishonorable, especially against another noble.

Though he would not admit it, Anlakai knew Lord Dante was noble, honorable, worthy of respect—even if he was merely human.

But the Deathmarks did not belong to Anlakai; they were the forces of Zalasusa, the Sovereign of the Mephrit Dynasty in the Underworld System, who called himself "The Unnameable."

Anlakai recalled the moment he met Zalasusa.

Zalasusa awoke from slumber, his orange-glowing body rising slowly; before Anlakai, he posed theatrically, feigning a yawn.

"Call me the Great and Noble Unnameable, Noble Traveler," he said, fixing Anlakai with his orange-yellow eyes.

Anlakai nodded slightly. "Understood, Zalasusa."

!. Read

Then Anlakai saw inexplicable anger flicker in Zalasusa's glowing eyes.

Why did this man suddenly grow angry? Anlakai had been utterly baffled then.

Now he recalled it—he must have gone mad in his long slumber. Otherwise, why would he display such irrational rage and forget his honor?

Anlakai's thoughts grew increasingly tangled.

For some reason, since arriving in the Underworld System, he felt his thoughts and emotions had become more active—as if perfectly adapted to this system's environment.

He even had a strange sensation: something within his metallic body was slowly growing, slowly igniting.

How odd.

But the sounds of battle soon drove Anlakai's thoughts away.

His Necron Warriors formed an island of steel, advancing through the dense swarm of insects in the Underhive.

His subordinates wove nets of Gausian disintegration beams and Tesla lightning, turning thousands of Scythes, Gunworms, and Gargoyles to ash.

Occasionally, elite Tyranid Warriors charged before Anlakai.

Then he would swing his scythe, ending the life of each node-beast.

Yet the Tyranids resisted fiercely; in this ocean of chitin, even Necrons fell.

From afar, Anlakai's force resembled a metal soap slowly dissolving in the insect sea—melting, bubbling away.

Anlakai grew restless, and what troubled him most was:

He seemed lost.

The insect swarm was too thick, too dense—he could only roughly control direction, and had likely missed the designated rendezvous point.

This filled Anlakai with shame and humiliation—he should have had that human woman guiding him.

Anlakai recalibrated his course, heading toward the lower industrial zone.

Sharp, scythe-like claws sliced through the air, tearing apart the front-line Immortals.

A beast's roar echoed—it was a Tyranid Hive Tyrant with two scythe-claws.

Its size dwarfed even the Necron Overlord; before it, Anlakai felt almost small.

The beast's scythe-claws slashed toward Anlakai.

Anlakai's scythe, crackling with energy fields, met the blow.

Just a Tyrant?

Anlakai felt disappointed.

General against general, sovereign against sovereign, Overlord against Overlord—that was honor.

He had hoped to face the Hive Lord, not merely a lesser Hive Tyrant.

"Fine. This will suffice," Anlakai muttered, shaking his head.

The warriors of the Mefrit Dynasty tried to intercept the tyrant, shielding Anlakai'er from harm,

but Anlakai'er refused—they were a battle he would win alone,

a battle between the overlord and the tyrant.

Anlakai'er's war scythe seemed to sense its master's emotion; its energy field flared brightly, as if a living thing rejoicing.

Anlakai'er collided with the colossal beast.

I'm considering what to give the brothers after finishing this volume,

Anlakai'er/Dante/Combat Nun Grand Abbess/Nest Tyrant—which do you like? All are author's rough drafts.

(End of Chapter)