Chapter 178: Lycath: What the hell did I get dragged into?

The neural Lycath's chitin allowed it to hide within the gaps of light and shadow, while its massive brain enabled it to conceal itself beneath the veil of reality, barely interacting with anything in the real universe.

It left no trace as it scuttled across the sand, stirred no breeze when it drew in air, and emitted no trace of air from within its body.

Even its footsteps became indistinct, its path nearly impossible to track.

Though still present in the real universe, under the weight of psychic forces, it was nearly equivalent to true disappearance.

This was why the Hive Mind sent it to Baal.

The Hive Mind remained ever wary of the psychic entity known as Mephiston, whose immense psychic power even the Hive Mind found astonishing—the Nest Mind understood his strength better than he did himself.

To evade his gaze, the Hive Mind cultivated it: a neural Lycath specialized in psychic stealth.

It could evade nearly all psychic foresight; even Mephiston should not have seen it.

To make it stronger—strong enough to alter the future—the Hive Mind designed an elaborate ritual to amplify its psychic power, allowing more of the Hive Mind's presence to enter Lycath's body.

The ritual was to be carried out with the aid of Gene-Thieves, but the plan went awry.

Mephiston, somehow, had foreseen its infiltration and infiltrated the Gene-Thieves' ranks himself.

But he had not anticipated that the neural Lycath possessed psychic power capable of piercing his cognitive distortions—the Gene-Thieves' sacrifice granted the neural Lycath enough time to slip into the gaps of light and shadow, beneath the veil of reality.

Thus, even Mephiston could not track it.

It scuttled rapidly across the desert, relying on its psychic perception to confirm Mephiston was not following.

Simultaneously, the pulses of electromagnetic waves emitted from its brain assured it of safety within the material universe.

It had escaped. The powerful psychic entity named Mephiston had lost because of his arrogance in his own abilities.

But Lycath would not. This was the Hive Mind's advantage: never proud, never overconfident, unbound by honor or emotion, capable of rationally predicting every possible scenario.

Click.

The sound of a wooden door opening echoed beside the neural Lycath—a door of reddish-pink wood instantly appeared beside Lycath.

Zhou Yun stepped out, holding a slender cane, its tip slightly tilted toward Lycath's position.

It's him!!!

Instinct surged through Lycath's nerves, evoking an emotion akin to fear—it recognized the creature before it, shaped like prey, as another competitor of the Hive Mind, another hunter.

Zhou Yun moved faster than Lycath could react—he swung his cane with force, the rogue DX suit beneath the fake skin activating, striking toward the neural Lycath.

Lycath had no idea how Zhou Yun had located it; it frantically summoned its dwindling psychic power to form a shield before the cane.

Instantly, a psychic ripple spread across the desert, and Lycath's form flickered into view amid the shifting light and shadow.

The shield, sustained by its meager remaining psychic power, could not withstand Zhou Yun's swing—a sharp crack echoed as the shield shattered.

The neural Lycath immediately unleashed a psychic surge capable of striking fear into Space Marines.

But when it struck Zhou Yun, it stirred not even a ripple.

As if Zhou Yun's consciousness was so vast that a single psychic pulse could not so much as tremble it.

Instead, Zhou Yun's lips curled into a smile—every muscle on his face shifted with perfect precision, becoming terrifyingly fierce; his eyes glowed crimson, radiating a bone-chilling killing intent.

"Stand still, or you will die. And so will the Hive Mind." Zhou Yun's voice drifted out, light as air.

Hearing the voice, seeing Zhou Yun's expression, Lycath's every sense screamed that it was true—a cold sensation of death rose within its consciousness, as if one more movement would kill it and the Hive Mind in the next instant.

Lycath's body instinctively froze for half a second.

Then Lycath realized Zhou Yun had deceived its senses—it frantically manipulated its psychic energy and chitin, trying to vanish again and escape.

But Zhou Yun gave it no chance—he lunged forward and seized Lycath's arm.

Lycath did not hesitate—it severed its own captured limb with a scythe-like arm.

Yet Zhou Yun used the moment to shove Lycath diagonally backward.

Lycath's form wavered—its invisibility broken by Zhou Yun.

At the same time, Lycath noticed: behind it was the reddish-pink wooden door. Its body, uncontrollable, tumbled toward the door.

"Angel's Keep, Crimson Grand Council," Zhou Yun said to the portal.

"Ladies and gentlemen, begin your vote."

Dante sat upon the throne, gazing at the five hundred Astartes.

He needed the overwhelming majority's support to truly command this Angelic host.

"If you endorse me as your commander, and are willing to entrust your lives and honor to me, rise."

"If you refuse my command, remain seated—and even if you leave Baal afterward, I will not stop you."

Voting was the simplest, most primal way to grant authority to a man.

According to Dante's knowledge, even in humanity's tribal age, people had used voting to decide the fate of their entire tribes.

Yet those primitive humans could never have imagined that, even after civilization had spread among the stars, voting remained simple and effective.

These five hundred Astartes each had the freedom to choose, each representing the Chapter behind them.

Dante did not fear they would make the wrong choice.

He knew his reputation, and had already employed the proper political means, speeches, and guidance to ensure most warriors would vote for him.

They had the freedom to choose, just as a train had the freedom to race along its tracks.

Hundreds of Astartes clad in power armor rose from their chairs—the roar of mechanical components filled the chamber, mingling with the low music of distant blood slaves, forming a sacred, solemn mechanical thunder.

A cherub-like Archangel was released from the ceiling, unfolding its ornamental metallic wings; its mechanical eyes glowed red as it scanned the voters, silently counting the Astartes who had voted.

Looking at the Archangel in midair, Dante felt a faint revulsion.

He could never understand these infantile machine servants.

Supposedly, they were born in the Mechanicus' gene-vats, then fitted with cybernetics to resemble ancient human legends of child-angels, finally anointed with holy oil by the Ecclesiarchy.

The Mechanicus claimed these Archangels were not truly human infants, could not even be called human, and possessed no true intelligence—merely the intellect of a monkey.

Even so, every time Dante saw one, he felt inexplicable revulsion. Yet purely in performance, these Archangels surpassed ordinary servitors—each was a unique, custom-made masterpiece of the Mechanicus.

Only a handful of Astartes remained seated.

Dante's thousand-year reputation was enough to make most forget the Codex and their pride, and follow him. Those still seated were either fanatically devoted to the Astartes Codex, believing no Astartes, no matter how great, had the right to command over a thousand warriors,

or else were those with grievances against the Blood Angels, here only to defend Baal.

There was also Yor of the Blood Knights, who observed Dante through his helmet, still evaluating whether obeying Dante would benefit his Chapter brothers.

Dante believed he needed to speak privately with Yor.

Of course, there was also Seth, the Chapter Master of the Flesh Tearers, who had refused to attend.

"Four hundred seventy-six in favor of Commander Dante's rule."

"Opposed: twenty-four."

The vote was announced—absolute majority.

The four hundred seventy-six Astartes who supported Dante erupted in excited cheers and applause.

Dante rose and calmly waved his hand, silencing the noise.

"You have chosen me, placing the authority of command upon my head."

"Then I command you: regard yourselves as members of my Chapter."

"I will trust you as I trust my own blood brothers, not distant kin."

!. ead

"I will honor you, granting you the same honor and respect I bestow upon my own warriors."

"And I will command you: any who defy my will shall face the same punishment as my own warriors."

Then Dante turned his gaze to the twenty-four who still sat.

Each of them either opposed his rule or hesitated.

"Any who disagree may leave. This is your final chance. Even if you depart, I will still regard you as distant kin—and should you need aid, and I am able, I will use all my strength to help you."

"But if you remain, you must accept my command, and become my warriors, my blood."

His words fell—and the remaining twenty-four did not move.

"This violates the Codex," said the Chapter Master of the Crimson Blades. "But we accept—because we share the same blood, Dante."

"Enough," said Yor, Chapter Master of the Blood Knights, looking at Dante. "My brothers and I are unwelcome. But since you are willing to regard us as blood brothers… Dante, we wish to die for you."

"Give me the most dangerous, the most hopeless mission," Yor said through his helmet, staring at Dante.

"As you wish, Yor," Dante nodded slightly. "May you wash away your shame."

Yor let out a low, rumbling laugh.

Instantly, the air in the chamber grew vibrant with renewed spirit.

Everyone understood: the former glory of the Blood Angels Legion was reviving.

Ten thousand years had passed—never before had so many Blood Angels been united under one ruler.

"Dante!" a cry rang out in the Grand Council Hall: "Dante! Dante! Lord of the Angels!!"

The five hundred warriors pounded their chests, chanting their commander's name.

Dante felt his scalp prickle—he rose to interrupt the shouting.

"Hmm?" Dante emitted a strange, soft hum.

A reddish-pink wooden door suddenly appeared in the center of the Crimson Grand Council Hall, materializing between the gaps of the marble round table.

The Grand Council Hall fell silent—all Astartes and blood slaves stared fixedly at the sudden appearance of the reddish-pink door.

Most Astartes did not recognize the door—but beneath his mask, Dante's lips twitched slightly, as if he understood.

Click—

The door suddenly opened.

A tall Tyranid creature stumbled out, its body slender, bearing two purple-glowing, scythe-like claws, its head crowned with a massive brain mass radiating psychic light.

Its entire body shimmered with a hazy glow, half-visible; its head tilted upward in confusion, staring at the five hundred Astartes before it.

CRACK!!!

The sound of nearly five hundred explosive rifles chambering rounds echoed.

This chapter is 3, 00 words, plus the previous chapter's 8, 00. I've made up 2, 00 words already; the rest will be made up gradually.

(End of chapter)