With the fall of the Necron Overlord, the remaining Lychguards were still formidable and capable of fighting with independent thought. Yet without their master, they were ultimately nothing more than a pile of hard scrap metal before the two sharpest of blades.
Seth and Kosren turned around, hacking into the enemy formation from the rear.
It was a slaughter, and an act of venting. The roar of chainswords and the tearing screech of power claws intertwined until the green light in the eyes of the last Lychguard flickered out and it collapsed into a pile of lifeless fragments. Only then did a deathly silence return to the hall.
Out of habit, Seth flicked the blade of his sword and surveyed his surroundings. Even in victory, the tragic sight made his heart sink. Amidst the absolute mess on the ground, besides the dismantled metallic skeletons, lay mostly the shattered red-and-black power armor of his brothers.
Of the grand army that had originally charged into the core area, more than half of those standing now were gone.
Seth sighed heavily in his heart, grief biting at his heart like a venomous snake. But he could not show it. He was the Chapter Master, the avatar of the Flesh Tearers' wrath; he had to have a heart of stone.
His blood-stained face maintained its fierce and resolute expression, and his voice was hoarse and cold: "Prepare to—"
He was just about to order the placement of melta bombs to completely destroy the area when a voice suddenly interrupted him.
"Wait, Battle Brother Seth!"
Seth stopped his movements and looked at the speaker with some confusion. It was Chaplain Appollus. He was half-kneeling beside the body of a fallen brother, holding a reductor in his hand. His expression looked exceptionally grave, and there was even a faint, imperceptible tremble in his demeanor.
"What is it, Chaplain Appollus?" Seth asked with a frown.
Appollus stood up. Instead of answering directly, he said cryptically, "Count the brothers once more."
Seth's frown deepened, but he trusted Appollus. He turned his head and swept his gaze across all the survivors present. Excluding "Blood-soaked Kosren," who was still talking to himself and in a state of semi-madness, Seth began to carefully count the number of remaining Flesh Tearers.
One, two, three...
When the final number landed in his mind, Seth's pupils contracted violently.
Including himself, there were exactly ninety-nine people.
Ninety-nine.
The moment this number registered, it was as if a clap of thunder exploded deep in Seth's mind.
Nine! Why was it that damned number again?
At this moment, this survivors' tally, precise to a terrifying degree, sent a chill through Seth. He was no fool; as a Chapter Master, he was not entirely ignorant of the treacherous nature of the Warp. He could vaguely sense that an invisible giant hand seemed to be covertly guiding the Flesh Tearers, manipulating them like chess pieces.
Was all their sacrifice and all their rage merely to please some unfathomable entity within the Warp? Were the Flesh Tearers destined to become their playthings?
Just as Seth was about to be driven by this conspiracy theory to draw his sword and lash out blindly, Appollus quickly walked to his side. Lowering his voice to a tone only the two of them could hear, the Chaplain spoke:
"Brother Seth, you were focused on the battle just now and may not have noticed... The ninety-nine brothers who survived did not fall into the Black Rage or the Red Thirst during that brutal onslaught."
These words were like a bucket of ice water, violently pulling Seth back from the edge of the abyss.
He was stunned, looking at Appollus in disbelief before looking at the surrounding brothers. Though exhausted and wounded, their eyes were still clear and their reason intact.
How was this possible? Under such high-intensity slaughter, stimulated by the green death-beams and the blood of their comrades, the Flesh Tearers had actually maintained their sanity in their entirety? Those brothers who had been sliding toward the brink of madness... had all died in the battle just now.
Only those who restrained the curse survived.
Seth, who had originally thought they were being targeted by a Chaos God preparing to push them into an abyss of eternal damnation, now experienced a violent shift in his train of thought. Appollus's words gave the matter a completely different spin.
If this wasn't malicious manipulation, then what was it?
"Was it... was it the Emperor? Or the Father?"
The hand Seth used to grip his chainsword trembled slightly as his thoughts began to spin uncontrollably.
Was this a culling? Or was it a divine revelation?
"Is this a warning?" he muttered to himself in his heart. "Is it telling us that only by defeating the beast within can we survive? Is it warning us not to fall into the Black Rage and Red Thirst again, warning us that another step forward is eternal damnation?"
Looking at these ninety-nine conscious warriors, Seth felt an unprecedented sense of awe. This caused his soul to shudder far more than facing a countless alien army ever could.
Before Seth could sort through his thoughts regarding the chilling numerical riddle, a violent vibration interrupted his contemplation.
The heavy metal airtight doors on the other side of the hall collapsed inward with a deafening roar. Amidst the thick, filling dust, mortal figures were the first to step into this battlefield strewn with wreckage.
It was the Krieg and the Dead Men. They did not hesitate at all; even when facing a ground littered with Necron remains and Astartes corpses, they maintained their advancing formation.
Closely following them was the heavy thud of power armor footsteps.
Space Marine Chapters sporting three distinctly different color schemes strode into the dead-silent hall like three converging torrents. Their armor was bright and their weapons were fully charged; they had clearly arrived as fresh reinforcements.
Leading them was the Chapter Master of the Angels of Reverie. His eyes scanned the battlefield before finally fixing onto Seth, who was covered in blood like a fiend from hell.
He raised his hand, signaling his troops behind him to disperse for reconnaissance and to establish a defensive line. Then, he stepped forward alone to try to negotiate with this notoriously ferocious colleague.
"Brother Seth," the Chapter Master of the Angels of Reverie said, his voice coming through his vox-emitter, "you were in too much of a hurry. If you could have waited just a moment longer to advance in coordination with the follow-up forces, this floor full of sacrifices could have been avoided."
He glanced at the mangled red armor around them, his tone carrying a bit of sincere admonishment: "Times are changing, Seth. Today's galaxy is no longer suited for lone-wolf charges. By cooperating with other brother Chapters and mortal forces, casualties will be much smaller. The Emperor's currency should not be squandered like this."
Seth looked up, his bloodshot eyes staring at the other man. If this had been any other time, and if anyone dared to criticize the Flesh Tearers' tactics to his face or "preach" like this, Seth's chainsword would likely already be at the person's throat. He would have roared at them that the Flesh Tearers needed neither pity nor guidance.
But at this moment, Seth's mind was in utter turmoil. This left him without the slightest desire to argue, let alone any inclination to continue killing. Looking at this rational brother in front of him, he only felt that such arguments over tactics were utterly meaningless.
Seeing Seth remain silent, the Chapter Master of the Angels of Reverie assumed he was suppressing his anger and spoke again: "You have suffered heavy casualties. Since the primary objective has been eliminated, why not withdraw first? Leave the remaining cleanup work to us."
To everyone's surprise, Seth neither flew into a rage nor retorted with sarcasm.
He simply lowered the chain-greatsword in his hand and uttered a single word in a low, husky voice: "Fine."
Immediately after, he didn't give the Chapter Master another glance. He turned around and waved his hand at the ninety-nine surviving brothers, issuing the order to retreat, and specifically added: "Bring all our brothers' gene-seed—and their bodies. We are leaving this place."
The Flesh Tearers silently began to move. Even Kosren, who was still somewhat confused, began to walk back.
The Chapter Master of the Angels of Reverie stood where he was, watching this scene. The face beneath his helmet showed an unrestrained look of astonishment.
Rumors about Gabriel Seth were widely circulated within the Adeptus Astartes—a madman, a butcher, a berserker who might hack down friendly forces at any moment. He had already prepared himself to handle Seth violently lashing out or hurling vicious words, and had even covertly adjusted the output of his power axe.
But this raging lion had actually... listened to advice today?
Of course, he would certainly not show this thought. As a Chapter Master, he possessed excellent discipline and composure.
He nodded slightly, watching the battered yet eerily vibed red squad leave. Then, he turned around and waved to his own brothers and allies: "Move forward! Purge this area completely!"