Chapter 20: The Gathering Storm
Chapter 20: The Gathering Storm
POV: Leon
I fastened the last piece of my armor with practiced efficiency, the weight of ceramite and plasteel settling over my frame like a second skin. The battlefield beckoned, and I would answer its call.
"Merah, bring my weapons," I ordered, my voice carrying the authority of command.
She arrived swiftly, cradling my lasgun and chainsword with reverence. As I took them from her hands, a familiar hum resonated through the weapons—subtle, almost imperceptible, yet unmistakable. The machine spirits stirred in recognition, their presence a comforting echo in my mind.
"Yes, yes, I've missed you both too," I murmured, a rare smirk tugging at my lips. "It's only been a few days."
A low thrum pulsed from the weapons in response, as if satisfied by my return. I had wielded them in countless battles, and they had never failed me. They would not start now.
Merah watched but said nothing, though concern flickered in her eyes. "Leon, be careful," she said at last, her voice quieter now, laced with worry. "You're fighting daemons now. I can patch wounds, but I can't bring the dead back. So promise me—you'll come back alive. We still need you."
A golden glow flickered across my weapons, faint yet undeniable, before vanishing as quickly as it came. At the same moment, Merah groaned, pressing a hand to her temple.
I frowned. "You're still unwell. Get some rest."
She hesitated, then nodded and turned away. I secured my chainsword to my belt and slung my lasgun over my shoulder before making my way to where Goss and Varn were waiting.
The time for war had come.
---
POV: Leon
Goss and Varn stood ready, their forms silhouetted by the dull glow of lumen-strips lining the war camp's perimeter. The air was thick with the scent of promethium and the distant stench of death—a constant companion in these forsaken lands.
"Listen up," I said, my tone leaving no room for argument. "Goss, your objective is the Gun Rats' stronghold. You go in first. Cleanse every last bandit from both the Flesh-Cutters and the Gun Rats. Take *her* with you."
At my words, the *Banshee* stirred.
Goss stood clad in reinforced carapace, his form further burdened by a heavy stubber in his right hand. He was grinning, his goggled eyes reflecting the pale glow of his creation.
"Oh-ho, finally!" he chuckled, slapping the earbead embedded in his helmet. "You hear that, girl? It's your time. Go forth and drown them in fire and screams."
The *Banshee* responded immediately. The voice modulator crackled to life, unleashing a piercing, distorted shriek that sent a shudder through even the hardiest of warriors. The flamer nozzles affixed to its arms spat small jets of promethium, as if eager to be unleashed upon the battlefield.
Varn took an instinctive step back.
Goss, however, only grinned wider. "Ah, music to my ears!" He turned to me with a nod. "Don't worry, boss. This whole place will be *purged* soon enough."
With that, he and the *Banshee* marched toward the battlefield, the promise of carnage hanging heavy in the air.
I exhaled, turning to Varn. His expression was grim, his jaw set.
"You and I are going after the daemon," I said. "The contracted one—Pete. He's the weaker of the two. You provide covering fire with your explosive rounds. I'll take him head-on."
Varn nodded without hesitation, unstrapping his lasrifle. I turned away, but something in his posture lingered in my mind.
Unbeknownst to me, his eyes flashed with an eerie, unnatural light. A deep purple glow pulsed through his weapon as a quiet, almost reluctant voice echoed in his mind.
*"Tch. Why must I be the one to watch over him? Just because I tolerate that ape doesn't mean I have to play guardian."*
Varn exhaled through his nose. *"Because you're the better shot. And you have more control. So stop whining and think of it as training."*
*"Ugh. Fine."*
Without another word, we departed for the battlefield, heading toward the clash of titanic forces that awaited us.
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POV: Pete
Pain. Endless, writhing agony.
I lay sprawled upon the ashen ground, my body a ruin of bubbling flesh and charred sinew. The flames devoured me still, their holy light searing through my corruption, defying my very essence. My form oozed bile and festering ichor, the ground beneath me withering into blackened decay.
*"Focus."*
The voice within me growled, a low, guttural whisper that gnawed at the edges of my mind.
*"Quell the flames. You cannot wield my power while you burn."*
I tried. Emperor's blood, I tried. But the agony was absolute. My mind reeled, my vision blurred—until something *changed.*
A scent.
My body tensed, every muscle in me coiling like a beast ready to pounce.
That *scent*. It was *here*. The entity within me stirred, its presence swelling with elation.
*"The Star. It is near. Take it. *Give it to Father*."*
The rune above my head burned with sudden intensity, triggering the pact I had made. The pain, the fire, the agony—none of it mattered anymore. There was only the Hunt.
A single, unified thought consumed me.
**Find the Star. Capture it. Give it to Father.**
With a guttural roar, my body moved, heedless of the still-clinging flames. My limbs tore through the air with unnatural speed, carrying me forward with monstrous purpose.
My lips curled into a savage grin as a single word escaped my throat, distorted and raw with hunger.
"STAAAAR!"