Chapter 242: The Complex Man

The two sides clashed fiercely in the narrow corridor. With no cover available, the Space Marines could only shield themselves with their sturdy shoulder plates. Grot lay injured, his arm and leg shattered by explosive rounds, but he managed to obliterate the enemy's Terminator squad with the Gravity Staff. The integrated emergency system within his power armor activated just in time, teleporting him to safety behind a wall, inserting a steel needle into his spine to administer anesthetics and coagulants, and quickly cooling his wounds to staunch the blood loss.

A medic rushed to Grot's side, deploying a beacon and surgical tools transported via teleport, skillfully beginning the repairs on his wounds with bionic prosthetics. Gray, watching Grot sprawled unconscious on the ground, felt a pang of guilt. Had he not entrusted Grot with the Gravity Staff, or had he stopped him from charging ahead, perhaps Grot wouldn't have suffered such grave injuries.

Gray's gaze shifted toward the far end of the corridor, his daze turning into a seething fury as he hurled a beacon forward. The beacon gleamed in the dim corridor, streaking like a bullet until Abaddon caught it with his clawed gauntlet. The beacon glowed in his grip, synchronizing with Gray's neuroprocessor, granting him the ability to teleport anywhere within a fifty-meter radius of its impact.

In a flash, Gray appeared above Abaddon, chainblade in hand. The suddenness of his assault left Abaddon caught off guard, but before the strike could land, Sorax swung his chain-axe at Gray. Just as the axe was about to connect, Gray vanished again, reappearing behind Sorax and severing his right shoulder and arm in a single, decisive cut.

"Damn you!" Sorax, fueled by his Butcher's Nails implant, erupted with battle frenzy, swinging wildly at Gray, who disappeared once more into dimensional space. Abaddon, waving his daemon blade at empty air, bellowed, "Retreat!" He swung his weapon furiously as if hoping to strike down the elusive enemy.

Ignoring Abaddon's command, Sorax charged forward in blind rage, barreling toward the tunnel's end where the enemy lay in wait. His lieutenants, similarly overcome by the Butcher's Nails, rushed ahead under heavy fire. Only after Typhons struck Sorax across the head with the haft of his scythe did he regain clarity, shouting for his men to fall back.

When the firefight subsided, Gray teleported to Grot's side and assessed his friend's injuries, relieved to find him stable. Grot, resting against the massive Ogryn named Lute, was in a poor state. His only remaining arm was damaged, three fingers severed, yet it clutched the Gravity Staff with relentless determination.

"I should never have given you this staff," Gray murmured, prying the bloodstained weapon from Grot's grasp. His intention had been to grant Grot an edge in facing Space Marines, a last defense should he need it. But instead, Grot had hurled himself headlong into battle, wielding the staff with reckless abandon, as if on a death mission.

"Ha…ha…," Grot chuckled, a trace of triumph glinting in his eyes. "Did you see? I took down six Terminators. Six of them!"

Captain Gaius stepped up beside Gray, pulling him aside. In a low voice, he said, "Your friend isn't in a sound state of mind. He has…self-destructive tendencies."

Gray agreed. "Anyone with a healthy mind would've gone back to repairing machines, not stayed on the frontlines."

He sighed, recalling the ten years that had passed since Talon II, hoping that time might have dulled Grot's reckless streak. But Grot remained unchanged.

Observing him, Grayfax sensed something disturbingly twisted about Grot, as if he were…corrupted. "Take your commander back to base," Gray instructed Grot's squad leader. "Your mission here is complete."

"I can still fight," Grot protested, his newly installed prosthetic limbs trembling with determination. Gaius turned to him with a steely gaze. "If he's your commanding officer, then you will obey. Stand down, soldier."

Grayfax abruptly interjected, "I support letting him continue."

"Return now." Gray's tone held firm authority, his weapon aimed steadily at Grot. "This is an order. You know the consequences of defiance."

With a defiant gaze, Grot slumped back against the wall. "Shoot me, then."

Seeing his obstinance, Gray lowered his weapon, his tone softening. "Please…just leave."

But Grot only shook his head, muttering, "They're all gone."

"What?" Gray's brow furrowed.

"The 44th Battalion…reformed before the assault on Talon II. Now, ten years later, they're gone again," Grot murmured, his hands clutching his head as if to stave off the pain.

"I thought the fighting on Cadia was the fiercest it could be…but this war in the Celestial Engine has changed everything I thought I knew."

In a low voice, Grot continued, "I remember materializing, seeing the Titan fire on Agrippina's Glory. Its magma cannon erupted like a volcanic blast. I saw it struck mid-attack, misfiring into our lines…"

Gray understood the weight of his words—the Titan's errant blast had obliterated almost the entirety of the 44th, leaving only the commander and his guard alive.

"This," Gaius intoned, his voice distant with memories, "is true war. Our gear may be state-of-the-art, but against forces of this scale, even we are mere pawns." He looked at Grot. "If you aren't ready to fall, you should be bolting screws in some factory, not commanding troops."

"He's more prepared to die than you realize," Gray replied, unwilling for Gaius to see Grot as a coward.

To Gray, Grot was a paradox—a man who embraced both bloodshed and compassion. He had a readiness to fall in battle, yet a sensitivity and kindness few knew. During the Talon Hive War, Grot was among the quickest to respond to distress calls, haunted by every life he couldn't save.

Gray remembered every rescue, every time Grot would stand silently amid the carnage afterward, muttering, "If I'd been faster, that one could have made it home. Back to his family…"

The Ogryn, Lute, who stood nearby, was one of Grot's closest friends, a testament to the man's humanity and trustworthiness.

"I just want it all to end," Grot said, limping toward the end of the corridor.

"What do you want to end?" Gray asked.

"Everything." Grot's steps steadied as he adjusted to his new leg.

Gray, feeling both frustration and helplessness, ultimately stopped trying to dissuade him, accepting his decision. Together, they marched forward, ready to pursue the enemy.