Chapter 601: Taviz Emitted a Piercing Screech

A furious roar erupted from Thor's throat; he felt himself nearly transformed into a beast consumed by rage.

It was the rage within his gene-seed, the rage from his genetic origin ten thousand years past, the rage of a warrior betrayed by his genetic father.

Yet before this rage, a flicker of dizziness passed through Thor's mind.

Fragmented memories flashed before Thor's eyes.

That noble purple figure, the King of Phoenicia, the Phoenix Lord.

That beautiful man who never soiled himself even standing atop mountains of corpses and seas of blood.

That Primarch whose glory never dimmed, despite countless battles.

That Son of the Emperor, nearly the living embodiment of perfection and pride.

He seemed to see that beautiful purple figure smiling as he lifted a little girl and placed her upon his shoulder, while countless voices cheered at the sight.

Merely gazing upon that figure filled Thor with emotion; he would have willingly abandoned his pursuit of perfection and pride to serve him and the Emperor with all his heart.

But all of it shattered in an instant, leaving only betrayal, bombardment, massacre, and a twisted, slimy, half-man, half-serpent demon.

It was from the shattering of this beautiful illusion that boundless rage was born.

Thor drew the necro-phasing blade he had just reclaimed; he did not even think how to act—his body moved on its own, faster, nimbler, and more elusive than ever before.

"Traitor!!" Thor growled, the blade thrusting straight toward Fulgrim's throat.

Fulgrim merely smiled with a trace of melancholy, gazing at Thor with a complex look tinged with faint surprise.

"Taviz?" he whispered.

BOOM!!!

Blades clashed—a long, serpentine sword blocked Thor's hyper-phasing blade.

It was an Astartes clad in Mark IV power armor, its purple and gold surface inscribed with countless battle oaths.

"Are you mad? As a Son of the Emperor, how dare you harm our purified Primarch?" the Astartes swordsman demanded.

"I am the Son of the Phoenix! I am the son of Rogal Dorn!" Thor roared in reply.

"What nonsense are you spouting? Where does Rogal Dorn, that lump of stone, resemble a phoenix?!" the Astartes swordsman bellowed.

The two swordsmen stood close—so close Thor could read the battle oaths engraved on the swordsman's power armor; their content stirred a strange familiarity within him.

Thor's gaze froze; buried gene-memories resurfaced—he faintly recognized the figure before him.

Flavius Alcines, Chief of the Phoenix Guard, Commander of the Primarch's Bodyguard, who sided with Fulgrim during the Istvaan III massacre.

Another traitor.

Thor's hyper-phasing blade swiftly carved out several lethal arcs; Alcines was forced back several steps.

This left the former Chief of the Phoenix Guard momentarily bewildered—undoubtedly, this boy attempting to strike the Primarch was a Son of the Emperor.

But his swordsmanship… how could it be so refined?

Alcines was no mediocre swordsman; since Fulgrim's eldest son and Master of the Court, Akurduna, fell in battle, no one in the Legion had fully surpassed him, and few could match him.

Alcines paused—he suddenly realized the man's sword style was familiar, and his face, too, stirred a sense of recognition.

"Taviz? Is that you?" Alcines ventured cautiously.

But his only answer was a deadlier slash of the blade.

Alcines steadied himself, banishing the absurd thought from his mind.

Taviz was dead. Dead on Istvaan III.

Could his gene-seed have survived?

"Alcines? I thought he died at Fabius's hands."

A venomous voice whispered in Thor's mind:

"Taviz's memories are correct—he is the Chief of the Phoenix Guard, perhaps the last one left in the galaxy."

"I recall he joined Aedron's Phoenix Conclave, yet he never fit in with the Conclave—or with the modern Sons of the Emperor: no self-mutilation, no indulgence, no mutations—he's unchanged since the old days."

"That's why he was unpopular; Aedron dumped him onto Fabius Bael's side, and after that, he vanished. Never expected to see him here."

"Boy, even Taviz himself couldn't have broken through his defense so swiftly—but if it were my power—"

The venomous temptation curled around Thor's mind; his rage-wracked will wavered for an instant.

If he could kill Fulgrim…

The thought flashed through Thor's mind for only an instant—but in that instant, a new power surged within him.

A venomous, arrogant, brutal force.

In his left hand, unclad, he felt the grip of a blade—a long, twisted sword materialized in his grasp.

The blade was no human weapon; it shimmered with lascivious light, and the moment it appeared, it transformed into a swarm of serpentine blades lashing toward Alcines.

His right hand wielded steady, swift strikes; his left, venomous, treacherous ones—like an eagle and a serpent entwined.

Alcines's Phoenician Blade could not hold; the last Phoenix Guard recognized the sword style in Thor's left hand.

"Right hand Taviz, left hand Lu Xiusi—how did you learn this?!"

"Won't your left and right hands fight each other?!"

Alcines cried out in shock.

He himself was a master swordsman; not only were Taviz and Lu Xiusi sworn enemies, their sword styles were utterly opposed.

Yet Thor wielded them without hindrance—as if two souls within him wielded the blades.

Alcines could not defend; his Phoenician Blade was knocked aside, forcing him to retreat several steps.

"You—huh?"

Alcines was about to question Thor's condition when he finally saw the shape of the blade in Thor's left hand—his face turned ghastly:

"The Stabber Blade!!"

"The Stabber Blade?" Fulgrim's expression darkened slightly: "Lu Xiusi?"