Collision.
Slaughter.
Trading blows.
Trading lives.
Facing such an opponent, Hecter could not do much.
The Son of Morgan breathed heavily, swinging his blade feverishly, time and again clashing the spearhead of the xenos with his innate great strength. Countless chops and engagements constantly sparked new fires, intermittently brightening the dim, deep room like day.
In his remaining vision, Hecter observed his opponent, noting the crude arms and brutal physique. Compared to the first xenos Custodian Guard he encountered, that nightmare which almost pushed his squad to despair, this one before him was not as formidable.
Its armor lacked the flamboyant carvings, and its steps, strength, will, and swings were far from as unstoppable. If the one in Hecter's memory was a roaring, striped tiger of the mountains, then the one before him was merely an overly fierce leopard.
But even so, it was still terrifying, terrifying as a Randan Custodian Guard.
The Imperium of Man called these monsters "Randan Custodian Guards." This was not because these xenos creations had any connection to the Golden Guardians of the Lord of Humanity, but simply a summary of their powerful strength.
The terror of these xenos creations made their comparison objects even higher than ordinary Astartes warriors, so many were willing to use the powerful byword "Custodian Guard" to refer to them.
When humans encounter new, unknown things, they always like to use already understood words to describe the entirety or a part of the new thing, thereby transforming the terrifying unknown into the controllable known.
But for Hecter now, all of this was meaningless. He forced himself to forget all distractions in the hurricane, to forget the Randan soldiers who dared not approach. All his attention, all his spirit, all his proud qualities and strength, he kneaded them together with the most forceful means and threw them into the battle before him.
Under the gift bestowed by the Gene-Mother, flowing in his blood, in the most savage, ruthless, and deadly hurricane, Hecter maintained his rationality. His muscles trembled from tension and high-speed movement, and his ghastly green blade constantly emitted a teeth-grinding,
sharp screech with each crazy impact. But none of this disturbed him, none of it plunged him deeper into agitation and impatience. He rolled his eyes, activating his thoughts, allowing his body and his will to become unrelated yet incredibly tacitly coordinated brothers, hand in hand, joining this battle.
The more perilous his life, the stronger his enemy, the worse his situation, the more he could maintain his rationality and calmness, the more he could capture every opportunity in his sight, and calculate every action of his opponent.
In the cold wind whipped up by the clashing blades, he felt as if he was in the most comfortable secret room, able to ponder things he could never quiet his mind for normally.
This was not unique to him personally, but a power carried within the gene-seed of the Second Legion, though it was especially pronounced in Hecter.
He was silently furious, contemptuously respectful, perfectly reckless. His sword tore through the air, leaving behind one impeccable void sword mark after another: ordinarily, he would find it almost impossible to achieve any of this.
But now, he was utterly calm.
Calmness gave him strength.
Hecter didn't know how long he had been fighting. In this purgatory where not a sliver of light could be seen, he unleashed his power without restraint. He couldn't imagine how distorted his face must be, how violently satisfied and craving he was becoming from the raw power and skill he was employing: in the increasingly agitated eyes of the Randan Custodian Guard, he vaguely saw a twisted and crazed figure.
Calm.
He told himself.
Stay calm.
He swung his sword again. He could feel a phantom sound echoing in his ears, a noble will overlooking his battle. Just imagining who that will belonged to made an inexhaustible strength surge through his body.
He was wounded, severely so. He could feel countless wounds appearing as the battle prolonged, but whenever the xenos made him bleed, he would make these blasphemous things bleed too.
They were all bleeding.
But there was one difference.
Hecter saw a trace of impatience accumulating in the Randan xenos's eyes, a destructive emotion, both for the opponent and for oneself.
But he had none.
He fought.
He roared.
He yearned.
He saw impatience.
He saw doubt.
He saw madness.
He saw fear, and apprehension.
But this time, it was not his.
——————
No one knew how long this battle lasted, perhaps half an hour, or maybe just five minutes.
The Randan forces were exhausted after their final frantic surge. Perhaps in this dim corridor and hall, the xenos had deployed over five hundred or even a thousand troops, but the exact number was no longer important: victory belonged to the Imperium, to the Second Legion, and to the battle-scarred Hecter's squad.
Salieri's arm was broken again; it was impossible to count how many times it had happened. Beside him, Ajax and Eris were also covered in wounds, their weapons on the verge of breaking. Perhaps with the next shot, they would completely fall apart due to increasingly obvious shaking and recoil.
In contrast, Chiron and Ezio were clearly in better shape: the latter could still focus his attention, finding Hecter, who was still locked in fierce combat with his opponent, the moment the battle ended. The Shadow Champion's movements were even swifter; the instant the Ancient Warrior of the Legion pointed the way, a lightning-fast shadow rushed forward.
By now, Hecter was covered in wounds, and his opponent was in no better state. The two terrifying warriors, like two bloodthirsty beasts, continuously poured all their strength into each other, eager to defeat their opponent with the next strike.
No one could determine anymore whether this was a calm duel or the most ferocious slaughter: spittle, acid, sweat, tears, curses, gasps, and countless amounts of blood echoed in this dark corner, until the vicious words uttered in two languages, accompanied by successive clashes, reached a state of exhaustion.
Just then, the Shadow Champion arrived. His appearance shattered all balance: this swift shadow caused the terrifying xenos to subconsciously divert its attention for a moment.
And Hecter did not miss this opportunity.
He gritted his teeth, roaring, and the ghastly green greatsword in his hand, as if sensing something, also emitted a light capable of making anyone uneasy, a light symbolizing annihilation and death.
The opportunity was fleeting, and Hecter seized it. His greatsword transformed into the thunder of the firmament, piercing the xenos's armor in the blink of an eye, deeply embedding the blade into its chest.
Astonishment, rage, and brutality were the Randan Custodian Guard's responses to all of this. Dozens of swings were unleashed upon Hecter in an instant, but calmness overcame the sensation of pain. Hecter quietly watched the xenos's blade advance towards his neck; he did not dodge, but completed his mission.
With a bend of his shoulder and elbow, and a flick of his wrist, the greatsword, which had already pierced the heart and chest, moved along the respiratory tract and towards the head, completing the kill in an instant, neatly slicing the monster's chest, neck, and head in two. Not even its most robust armor could save it.
The Custodian Guard fell, collapsing before its heavily wounded opponent.
Its greatsword instinctively swung towards Hecter, who had no time to dodge. Just in the nick of time, a jet-black blade struck this inertia-driven killer, deflecting it from its trajectory, leaving a most grotesque and twisted curve on Hecter's armor, before it toppled awkwardly to the ground.
The Shadow Champion had arrived.
Ezio retracted his blade. He glanced at the gigantic corpse on the ground, then at the utterly miserable Hecter. A low whisper emanated from the Shadow Champion's lips.
"You're crazier than I thought."
"Just like..."
"Those guys from the Fifth Fleet."
Hecter smiled, the only expression he could manage right now.
——————
The squad continued their advance.
They walked over mountains of xenos corpses, past door after door that had been forcibly opened. Hecter and Ezio led the way, with Chiron bringing up the rear.
Soon, they could faintly see the gigantic engine. The Astartes' superhuman senses confirmed that the Randan electronic virus had not yet fully contaminated the area.
There was still time.
Their footsteps quickened involuntarily.
But just then, Ezio abruptly stopped. He pulled back his battle brother beside him, his gaze constantly darting through the shadows ahead.
He looked at Hecter, who immediately drew his gun and fired several shots into one of the shadows.
There was no whine.
No roar.
No groan.
Only the sound of a metal dagger effortlessly cutting through bullets.
From behind them came a chilling sound, the sound of a door being closed by some means, and the sound of iron boots clanking on the floor.
From all four directions.
Hecter blinked, trying his best to remain calm.
Until he saw the truth.
From the four directions around the squad, from every shadow encircling them, four tall figures emerged one after another.
Their gaze was more arrogant, their armor more ornate, their physiques more massive and imposing.
Other than that, they were identical to the xenos Custodian Guard who had just fallen at Hecter's feet.
——————
Hecter breathed.
Deeply.
The shadow of death loomed over him.
Vaguely, there was also a familiar laughter he could sense.
Like some azure-blue flame, interesting, coiling around his chest.
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