Chapter 139: Toxic Smoke Worms

In the fortieth millennium of humanity, in this wondrous place, if an Astartes warrior dares to enter battle without a helmet,

he is almost certainly a true berserker; if you happen to be his opponent, best prepare your mind in advance.

Of course, this does not mean that those who wear helmets are not berserkers—if he wears a skull helmet, a golden mask, red-and-gold rabbit ears, or a purple-gray hood, then prepare to die horribly.

Gabriel Seth, the Chapter Master of the Flesh Tearers, is a berserker of the no-helmet school; his bare head, exposed to air and battlefield, lets him better vent his rage, feel the kill, and bathe in the blood of humanity's enemies.

But if he detects clear use of toxins and still refuses to wear a helmet, he is not a berserker—he is a fool.

Seth can endure being called madman or barbarian, but he will never tolerate being seen as a fool.

He donned his dark red helmet and peered through its visor at the figure beside him bearing the face of Saint Guilliman.

That face, so divine it seemed the Saint himself had returned to earth, momentarily made Seth believe the Archangel had descended; faintly, he thought he heard the whisper of angelic wings.

And his words—he knew the Flesh Tearers intimately, even recalling the First Chapter Master's scathing critique of the Primarch Roboute Guilliman.

Finally, his very words—utterly as if spoken by Saint Guilliman himself.

Upon hearing those words, Seth felt a tremor in both soul and gene-seed, a strange emotion rising, his inner madness and fury momentarily subdued.

For that face, for the faint whisper of wings, for his words and the reality before him,

Seth decided to temporarily tolerate and trust him.

"A man unwilling to show his face."

Seth glanced at Zhou Yun, speaking with less than courtesy:

"By the blood of Saint Guilliman, if you deceive or betray me, I will make you pay—feel fear."

"You will learn that a furious angel is more terrible than a mad beast."

After delivering the threat, Seth's tone softened slightly, as if unwilling to show anger toward the face of Saint Guilliman:

"Beware the strange yellow mist."

Seth watched the gray-yellow mist spreading relentlessly across the battlefield.

The mist moved like a living thing, swiftly engulfing the swarm, blurring the shapes of the insects.

Even the finest warriors under Seth could barely shoot through such thick fog; even if they struck, they could not confirm their targets' deaths.

"Some may call us barbarians, but even barbarians have scholars."

Seth spoke with solemn seriousness:

"I suspect this may be Toxic Smoke Worms."

Zhou Yun smiled faintly—just as he had guessed.

The descendants of Saint Guilliman, faced with this face, might be stunned or bewildered, perhaps even suspicious—but they would never feel excessive anger.

Indeed, they would unconsciously restrain their fury, instinctively behaving near the image Saint Guilliman once desired.

For Zhou Yun's face had been crafted under the guidance of the winged figure from Bai Guang, theoretically a near-perfect replica of Saint Guilliman's visage.

And Saint Guilliman's visage was etched deep into the soul and gene-seed of the Blood Angels.

"So-called Toxic Smoke Worms are…" Seth hesitated, then spoke.

Zhou Yun watched Seth preparing to explain Toxic Smoke Worms in detail, and gently raised a finger to interrupt: "I know."

". h." Seth's face was hidden beneath his helmet; Zhou Yun could not tell his expression.

At that moment, the roar of flames erupted as Magda, equipped with jump packs, leapt into the air and landed beside Zhou Yun and Seth.

Zhou Yun noticed that Sister Magda had also donned her full power armor, prepared against toxic gases.

She glanced at Seth, then lingered on Zhou Yun for a moment, quickly realizing the two had reached an understanding.

Not enemies… Sister Magda's eyes flickered with doubt and speculation…

"I suspect the source of the toxic mist may be…" Seth suddenly spoke.

"Toxic Smoke Worms, right?" Sister Magda nodded. "These Tyranid creatures secrete highly toxic spore-gas from sacs on their backs; the gas is intensely active, seeping through the tiniest gaps in armor, dissolving men into sludge and foam."

All of this was written in Zhou Yun's book, *The Ork's Guide to Tyranid Biology*.

Seth stiffened slightly, then nodded.

Zhou Yun guessed Seth had wanted to appear slightly learned, to soften the Flesh Tearers' barbarian image.

Too bad Sister Magda already knew—and Zhou Yun had known these details in his past life.

Seth did not dwell on this minor point; watching the dim yellow spore-mist draw closer, nearly swallowing the entire swarm, his expression grew grim. "Bolters." Seth issued a short, forceful command through the comms.

Sparks flared across the battlefield as bolters fired 0. 5-inch explosive rounds packed with high-yield charges.

Each round that pierced the gloomy mist triggered a blinding miniature explosion, briefly illuminating the surroundings and revealing the swarm's shapes; the shrapnel also helped compensate for poor aim.

BOOM!!!

Roaring bio-projectiles shot from the gray-yellow mist, followed by bio-plasma and rotting toxins.

The swarm began to retaliate.

Due to the fog, the frontline Battle Sisters and Flesh Tearers had no time to dodge.

They swung weapons, sought cover, or charged forward regardless of the incoming tide of projectiles.

Most of their power armor bore fine scratches, but none yet compromised its function.

Then, the dim yellow mist surged like a living thing toward the frontline warriors.

The spore-mist seemed alive, seeping into the tiniest seams, dissolving and tearing through ceramite, ripping open gaps large enough to pour through.

"AAAAAAHHHHHH!!!"

Seth watched one of his own Flesh Tearers scream in agony—this spore toxin was beyond mortal resistance.

Even Astartes flesh, upon contact, erupted in bloody froth.

Battle Sisters dissolved outright into thick sludge and foam, oozing from their armor, collapsing with necks torn open.

Worst of all—some Space Marines roared, breaking from their lines; before leaving, they seemed to grow sharp, blood-stained fangs.

The war had barely begun, yet already some Flesh Tearers were entangled in crimson hunger.

The Toxic Smoke Beasts hiding in the gas must be eliminated.

Seth gripped his Bloodreaver, eyes blazing with fury, ready to charge into the toxic fog.

"Toxic Smoke Beast." A voice suddenly rose from behind Seth.

Before he could move, a searing laser stream surged from behind him.

Nearly a hundred lasers converged, piercing the mist in an instant, briefly illuminating it.

"ROOOOAR!!!"

A beast's roar rang out—a serpentine Tyranid, hovering with twisted tentacles and a spore-sac on its back, exposed in the air; the laser torrent pierced its body in an instant, leaving charred black scars.

!. ead

Toxic Smoke Worms are indeed terrifying battlefield weapons, but their weakness is fragile bodies.

Once exposed from the mist, they can be easily killed.

Zhou Yun slowly picked up his locator staff, watching the gray-yellow fog thin slightly.

There were more Toxic Smoke Beasts within.

"You————" Seth turned, bewildered, but Zhou Yun's voice cut him off.

"Toxic Smoke Beast." Zhou Yun spoke softly.

His locator staff fell again, pointing toward a direction in the gray-yellow fog.

The laser torrent struck—the Toxic Smoke Beast shrieked and collapsed.

"Toxic Smoke Beast!" "Toxic Smoke Beast!" "Toxic Smoke Beast!"

Zhou Yun repeated this until the spore-mist had thinned to near-invisibility.

Then, before the bewildered eyes of Gabriel Seth and Sister Magda, Zhou Yun pulled a Door of Anywhere from his fourth-dimensional pocket.

"Done. The rest of the swarm is yours."

Zhou Yun nodded to Seth and Sister Magda; before either could react, his figure vanished from the battlefield.

With the Toxic Smoke Worms gone, the Flesh Tearers and Battle Sisters could handle the remaining Tyranid horde; relying on the fortress-monastery's shields, they could now protect the crawler vehicles serving as stellar energy relays.

At the same time, among the clouds of Asford, the terrifying Tyranid Flying Tyrant clashed with Dante; sharp bone blades met Dante's battle-axe, sparking fiercely.

This was not merely a clash of martial skill, but of aerial maneuvering.

Even without the Archangel's innate wings, Dante still gained brief flight through his jump pack…

He held his breath, executing one high-difficulty maneuver after another against the Tyranid Flying Tyrant; their collisions echoed like thunder.

"Huh…" Dante took a few deep breaths, then sharply reversed direction, diving toward the massive biomass lake below; his jump pack nearly shut down.

The Tyranid Flying Tyrant twisted its body in an impossible motion, accelerating faster than physics allowed, nearly lunging onto Dante.

Yet…

I messed up—I meant to set a timer…

(End of Chapter)