Chapter 155: Annihilation

Chapter 155: Annihilation

Atop the high tower, the Lord of the Dead descended from its peak, the sickly green blade of his warscythe gleaming with merciless light.

Hades stared silently at the Necron King, tightening his grip on Obituary.

His Black Domain had no effect on these soulless Necrons.

Hades took a deep breath, focusing his energy.

At the same time, he extended his scythe-wielding hand and pointed toward a vague direction:

"I'll fight you—but you must call off the Deathmark."

Every passing minute, the Deathmark was taking the life of a Space Marine with pinpoint precision. These overpowered assassination units were weapons that most Necron Kings disdained.

If a Necron commander truly respected their opponent, they would not deploy Deathmarks.

"If you want to duel me, then the Deathmark is a stain on your honor."

Hades stared at the figure before him. He wasn't sure if the other would even listen. The Necron King appeared to be muttering to itself—half-mad, by the look of it.

But if Djoseras insisted on keeping the Deathmark in play, then by fighting Hades, it would be acknowledging a lowering of its own status.

Sure enough, Djoseras casually raised a hand and snapped his fingers. The nearly perfect green beams of death vanished from the battlefield.

"Blabbering livestock."

Djoseras sneered.

"Now step forward, and fight me."

The massive Necron legion instinctively parted around their lord, forming a hollow arena. Yet the rest continued their march, gauss rifles still aimed at the remaining Space Marines.

[Dantioch, I'm leaving the rest to you.]

Hades sighed. Though they were now about to face an overwhelming Necron force, the pre-laid defensive structures and the dismantling of the resurrection constructs had already minimized the worst of the pressure.

Vague shouting came over the channel—it was the Skitarii from Graia-106, recklessly rushing to support them.

Surprisingly, it was the Mechanicus' protectors, not the Iron Warriors, who were the most enthusiastic reinforcements.

Hades leapt out of the trenches, walking step by step toward the city center. The Necron warriors, once so eager to attack him, now ignored him completely.

The closer he got to the center, the more intense that strange sensation became. The dense blackstone clusters whispered to him—humming, resonating.

His mind itched.

Hades shook his head. It was similar to the sensation from the Black Domain—but subtly different.

Now wasn't the time to dwell on it.

He had arrived.

Djoseras stood opposite him, raising his warscythe and performing a ceremonial gesture—perhaps a form of salute or ritual.

Hades, without much thought, mimicked the motion.

Djoseras scoffed with disgust.

Whatever.

Hades wasn't here for respect—he was here to stall.

To buy time for the Iron Warriors' aerial support… and the Skitariis to arrive.

Hades assumed a battle stance—

And Djoseras struck!

The Necron technology drew energy from the sparse atmosphere, charging itself and causing the surrounding temperature to plummet. Frost began creeping across Hades' armor, only to be flung off in shimmering arcs as he moved with blinding speed.

Clashing metal rang through the battlefield.

The force behind Djoseras' attacks was immense—especially combined with the buzzing hum of that high-powered energy field.

Hades was forced to rely on rapid dodges just to hold his ground.

The good news?

Djoseras' technique and fluidity weren't nearly as fearsome as Hades had expected.

For a moment, amidst the ocean of Necrons, two figures—Hades and Djoseras—danced in deadly combat, their silhouettes entwined in a brutal, high-speed duel.

Too fast!

Djoseras realized in shock that this fleshy creature had burst forth with speed completely at odds with his size!

Even among the best Lychguard warriors Djoseras had seen—including the modified ones—few possessed such physical capabilities.

These lowly flesh-things could reach such strength?!

Even the multi-threaded command patterns etched into his form couldn't shake this human off—Hades clung to him like a scarab latched onto his exoskeleton!

For a moment, Hades and Djoseras were locked in a fierce stalemate.

. . . . . .

On the other side of the battlefield, Dantioch led the combined Death Guard and Iron Warriors force, holding off the tide of Necrons.

Thanks to the treacherous terrain Hades had blasted into place, the Necron advance was fragmented and slowed, greatly easing the pressure on their line.

As he fired, Dantioch kept part of his focus fixed on Hades' position, catching fleeting glimpses of that distinct pale green blur—the mark of the Death Guard.

Every strike Djoseras launched was dodged cleanly!

This was completely unlike the fighting style Dantioch knew of the Death Guard, who typically took hits to deliver heavier blows in return.

But Hades… he dodged everything!

Hold on, Hades! Dantioch thought. 

He could see the difference in Djoseras' weapon—massive, unique, far more dangerous than the others.

Then came a transmission from the skies:

Iron Warriors air support was moments from securing temporary air superiority over the region.

It's good news, but Dantioch couldn't risk disrupting the delicate balance of that duel to inform Hades.

. . . . . .

Meanwhile, Hades had fully entered a focused trance.

Every strike he delivered was faster, heavier, deadlier.

With a powerful blow, he slammed into the blackstone floor beneath Djoseras.

The ground cracked, and the towering Necron King staggered!

Now!

Hades followed up with a downward cleave aimed straight for Djoseras' neck!

"NO!"

A scream seemed to pierce time and space—it was Nas, dragging itself from the ruins of a collapsing resurrection construct, watching helplessly as its lord—

No, no, NO!

"Attack! ATTACK!!"

In that split second, Nas overrode protocol—breaking all restrictions—and gave a direct order to a lurking Deathmark on the ground.

A blinding green beam shot straight toward Hades.

Time slowed.

Hades watched the beam streak toward his skull.

But it was too late.

Djoseras' head spun through the air, severed.

As Hades tried to dodge, he yanked up Obituary in defense—the green beam scraped along the shaft of the scythe and struck the right side of Hades' helmet.

The helmet exploded into ash, blood spraying from the wound.

His vision blurred.

Conscious control began slipping away.

Hades clenched his teeth, fighting to stay upright—blood spilled from his mouth.

The humming of the blackstone intensified—his mind itched.

Consciousness dimmed… damn it, not a memory flood now—

No—stop! STOP!

Barbarus. The Fourteenth Legion. Mars. The words of the Eldar—

They all flashed across his thoughts in an instant.

And then—a thunderclap in his mind.

As though chains had snapped, a golden cage began to crack, shedding its layers.

What had been imprisoned was awakening.

Hades' half-blurred eyes locked onto his black-and-green foe, and the truth he'd once seen atop the peaks of Barbarus came surging back.

The truth that wrapped life—and soul—

"Kh—!"

Hades coughed up a mouthful of blood—the Black Domain surged violently, causing the blackstone of the entire Necron structure to tremble in resonance.

"Run. RUN!!!"

Hades shouted toward Dantioch and the others, but he knew—they wouldn't understand what he meant.

He struck Djoseras with one last swing of his scythe, then turned and fled like a hunted beast.

Run. Faster. Keep running!

At the very least, he had to get the Death Guard and Iron Warriors out of the range of his own Black Domain.

His consciousness teetered on the edge, swaying dangerously. Hades fought with everything he had to stay awake, but the whispering of the blackstone only grew louder, warmer, and soon… it washed over him like a tidal wave.

The grievous wound to his head from the Deathmark left his vision swimming in a sea of vague color.

Then even that color bled into overwhelming blacks and whites.

Nas, now upright amidst the ruins, rushed to the scene at full speed.

Upon arrival, it raised its axe and pointed it at the figure who had shown such irreverence to its king.

Though the king's mind and will endured, and Djoseras would one day rise again in the deepest catacombs—

This alien's actions had crossed Nas's final line.

Its cognitive circuits trembled.

As the king's blade, Nas was bound to rend this being apart.

Yet Hades, half-blind and staggering, could no longer distinguish between the black-armored Necrons and the obsidian structures around them. He charged straight toward Nas.

Startled, Nas dodged in time, then countered with a swift, brutal swing of its axe—

That was the last straw.

Hades fell to his knees, clutching his throat, and was swallowed by the vast, overwhelming force of the Black Domain.

The Black Domain erupted.

The Necron blackstone structures began to resonate with the Black Domain's pulse.

Wave after wave of dark energy expanded outward, flooding the entire area!

Distorted, black-and-white static filled the space as oblivion tore at everything.

Nas stared in confusion at the feeds from its fellow warriors.

The alien soldiers who had been fighting so furiously were now collapsing in agony, only a few managing to remain on their feet.

It turned back—realizing now that the one who had defied the king had somehow caused real damage to its kin.

Pitiful creature, Nas thought.

It readied itself and swung its axe once more toward the now-dissolving Hades, aiming straight for his neck—

A burst of green lightning exploded!

Hades threw his head back and gave an unconscious cry.

Green lightning cracked between the blackstone spires—the only color in this distorted world.

A dragon's phantom appeared.

Nas stared, stunned at it all.

Suspended among the towering blackstone pillars floated a humanoid form, radiating energy.

The blackstone responded to his presence, and streaks of green lightning crackled endlessly around him.

He was enveloped in a chaotic void of souls and nothingness.

He roared. He wailed.

He was shattered and reborn.

Massive bolts of lightning coiled through the blackstone structures.

The Necron army—once mighty—was now like ants beneath the feet of a god, torn apart by green waves of power.

A C'tan.

That was a C'tan!!!

Nas tried desperately to activate the underground containment constructs, but the green lightning tore everything apart.

The blast of green energy also hurled the Death Guard and Iron Warriors out of the Black Domain's range.

The sheer force flung them back like rag dolls.

Black. White. Gray.

Distorted images clashed and spun across the sky.

No soul-bearing creature could look directly at him.

In the distance, the zealous warriors of the Ecclesiarchy—charging toward the Necron main force—trembled as they pointed toward that black city.

Some had already stopped their advance, heedless of the Necrons around them, and had begun to kneel toward it in worship.

It was something beyond comprehension. Their souls were shaking!

Oh~ Omnissiah!!!

Above the stars, within the Death Guard fleet, Jin stared at the last frame transmitted from Hades' armor, frozen in place.

"He is a god! I knew it!"

The voice of Magos Korklan roared from within the logic engine:

"Praise the Omnissiah!!!"

. . . . . .

Anomalous data began flooding in.

Peturabo, deeply focused on the naval battle, glanced aside with mild distraction.

Sensor malfunction?

A massive black void had appeared at the target location—pure, undiluted darkness.

As for the airborne strike teams he had dispatched earlier, most were now stranded at the periphery of the zone. A few signals had gone dark—Peturabo assumed them KIA.

He did find the strike teams' data odd—most of them appeared to be unconscious. But the good news was that they could now bomb the target zone.

The defensive structures had already been destroyed—by a Death Guard detonation—and the Iron Warriors had just secured local air superiority.

What more was there to consider?

Peturabo issued the order without hesitation: a full-scale bombardment of the entire zone.

The Iron Warriors had brought enough firepower to reduce everything in the area to ash.

High above, between the clouds and the desert winds, the Iron Warriors' munitions began to rain down.

Peturabo spent no more thought on the matter.

Compared to the trivial skirmishes on the ground, it was the naval conflict that demanded the full precision of his calculations.

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