Chapter 285 "Sons of the Thirteenth Legion, Scarlet and Bronze Armor."

"By the blood of the false emperor, what's going on?" Talos asked loudly as they began to prepare to return to orbit.

And Ramizarn (quite normal in the eyes of the remnants of the Eighth Legion) sat hunched over, holding the clothes he had just carefully torn open with a thoughtful expression in his hands.

Such a quiet and ignorant Night King made the former pharmacist of the Tenth Company feel a heart-wrenching relief.

"To sum up, the Cursed Echo in orbit reported a sophisticated and swift sneak attack." The tall warrior wearing a bat-wing helmet on the side answered. He did not participate in the chaotic melee from beginning to end, but no one dared to question his direct position in the Dark End closest to the Primarch. "They think the other party is most likely a cruiser of the Astartes."

Septimus recognized this as his master's closest comrade, the champion of the Broken Eagle Warband, Lord Charles.

"Number Seven, go to the driver's seat, ask the others to return to the Dreadclaw, and then light up the coordinates for them when we take us back to the Cursed Echo. First Claw, prepare your weapons, we have to return to the ship immediately-?" The tail of Talos's words suddenly became sharp and distorted, and the sudden and familiar splitting pain began to spread deep in his skull. No, no, no, not at this time, it can't be at this time.

At this moment, the prophet has never hated himself so much. The punishment pain brought by his talent behind his head is like a substance that makes his eyeballs feel bulging pressure. The tiny needle-like feeling of bursting blood vessels in the eyes comes one after another. He took a breath, trying to overcome it, at least so that he won't be so embarrassed in front of his lost and found father.

He is now the temporary commander of the remaining brothers of the Tenth and Eleventh Companies. The Eighth Legion currently has only eighty-one of them in this radius of dozens of light years. The Primarch who returned from Thessaguarza is unarmed. He only has them... He has to take responsibility to protect...

But the cursed power, darkness and pain surged like a tide and began to ruthlessly engulf Talos's consciousness.

His lips moved and spit out words from behind the breathing grid.

"Son of the Thirteenth Legion, scarlet and bronze armor." He murmured.

"What's going on? He started again? At this time?" His close friend said half annoyed and half anxiously.

Apothecary Valer rushed over, half-knelt beside Talos, who had fallen to the floor of the Thunderhawk and began to fall into a coma, and checked him. "I warned him before." He said, "We must take him to the infirmary for treatment as soon as we return to the ship."

"But damn, this is an attack on us by the false emperor's lackeys. We must first defend our ship before we can talk about other things! It's all in vain if we can't kill these cunning bastards!" Celion responded angrily after listening to the latest bridge communication report.

A giant hand as pale as marble reached out, and a soft voice immediately ended the shouting of the Night Lords.

Ramizane came over, "What's wrong with him? In addition, he just mentioned the Thirteenth Legion."

"Yes, my lord. In our experience, this is usually a manifestation of Talos's recent prophetic ability starting to work, and his prediction of what will happen next."

Celion, with strange lightning tears painted on his visor - as Talos' nominal adjutant, answered their master at this time.

They saw a thoughtful look on the pale face of the Night Haunter.

"The prophecy... indeed, Talos's prophecy is indeed like this. But how can the Thirteenth Legion be scarlet... wait."

The First Claw saw their father put his skinny, claw-like fingers into the side of Talos' skull mask and groped.

"Aha, right, here." With the "click" sound of the lock being released, Talos's face, with his eyes closed and his face as white as gold paper, was revealed under the removed helmet visor. The prophet's skin now looked like a strange color of a dying person, as if he would cross the boundary between life and death at any time, and every breath he took seemed to be a sigh.

"Oh this... I think this should work... right." The soft hissing voice brought a lighter soliloquy, and they witnessed the Gene Father carefully press his palm on Talos' forehead, and then close his eyes.

It seemed that something invisible began to emerge from the shadowy waters of another world, and then for no reason, everyone in the Thunderhawk, especially the Night Lords, could not help but feel a rare heartbeat, as if something was about to break through their hearts, the original heart, or even their souls, and break out of the ground.

(*……)

Someone who had been silent for a long time grinned in the darkness somewhere, and his shark-like teeth reflected the dim light wetly.

(*Look at these, you stupid and weak fool.)

"Huh...?"

——————

More than ten minutes later, they had flown back to the battleship's hangar. Thanks to Septimus's superb flying skills, at least they were all safe and sound when they rushed down the Thunderhawk, and Makushen was able to find time to reload his heavy bolter.

Putting aside other things, the ambush of the Origin Chapter's company on the Cursed Echo must be said to be very swift and beautiful.

Of course, the Night Lords insisted that these bastard cousins ​​were also a bit too lucky: for example, although the new navigator slave of the Cursed Echo was indeed capable, she had limited experience in serving the Legion, especially her background and work experience, so that she saw but could not recognize the search beacons scattered in the warp by the Origin Chapter Librarians; for example, when they jumped out of the warp, they might still be too close to the Origin Chapter's home planet, New Star.

In short.

"The situation is bad now. They broke the generator, the void shield fell, and we were boarded, my lord."

"I can hear the exchange of fire. Thank you, Charles."

Their gene father replied softly, like a venomous snake hissing.

The tall and powerful Night Lords champion froze, and even his muscles began to manipulate him to lean back to try to avoid something. He looked like he was hit on the bridge of the nose by a power fist named "Thank you, Charles".

But the Midnight Haunter, who had already put on a short hooded cape made of tangled clothes, obviously didn't give him time to continue being surprised. The tall and thin Primarch stood up and strode forward out of the hangar. The heavy door of the hangar closed behind them, leaving the unconscious Talos and his slave pilot inside.

"Sai, now report the maintenance of the void shield, the number of people at each invasion point, the situation of the exchange of fire, and the defense plan."

No one was stupid enough to ask which Sai the Primarch was asking about at this time. Anyway, they did have one.

Cyrion turned his head slightly, pressed his communication bead, and broadcast the current situation to his master at the same time. "Dietrian has gone to check the void shield generator - Dietrian is our mechanical bishop, my Lord; the Sixth Claw is fighting fiercely on the port platform, and is currently outnumbered and retreating to the new black market; the Fourth Claw is fighting while heading to the second corridor... Damn, where did the Eye of Weeping Blood go?! This bunch of unreliable scavengers..."

"Okay." The Midnight Ghost, with his head tilted, stopped his report with one word, "It's almost okay, so there's no problem... Um... Let's go to the main corridor for defense, yes, the strategic command deck, forward."

Although Conrad Curze has never condescended to visit this ship in theory, and the passages of the Cursed Echo have become more tortuous and dark maze-like in the continuous decay and modification of several centuries, the warriors are full of surprise and awe to see that the Lord of the Legion walked forward without hesitation, with a brisk pace, and even avoided any fallen pipes and debris in time in advance - just like -

"I have to admit that this is a little different from the battle scene I remember following my Lord." Makutian's voice sounded in the team channel of the First Claw.

"So what?" Ciel replied, tightening his grip on his bolter. "I've never felt more powerful than before, that's enough."

"Blood sacrifice to the Blood God." A voice panted, wetly, as if licking sticky blood, "Skull sacrifice to the Night Haunter!"

"... Shut up, Ursus!"

The Night King suddenly stopped.

Each of them heard the sound of ceramic steel boots stepping on the ground of the battleship from the front.