Filthy Xenos 20: Chapter 20: Beautiful?
Filthy Xenos Bolter rounds exploded at their feet, but they were always half a beat too slow.
The Warlock in the runic cloak had hands constantly shrouded in a pale blue light.
Whenever a bolter round neared, the silhouettes of the Guardians would blur; it wasn’t that they were running fast, but their positions in the field of vision distorted like ripples on water.
Psychic Obscuration—you think they are there, but they are actually half a step away.
The bolter rounds always slammed into the shadows they had just left.
“This is just ridiculous!” Alex leaned out and fired two shots with his melta carbine, but the beams flew off to who-knows-where.
“Don’t look at them through mortal eyes!” Thaddeus activated his jump pack and charged forward.
“They are faster than the wind!” Just then, an even more terrifying sound echoed out.
It was like a woman’s shrill, glass-shattering wail before death.
It erupted from those towering bone masks, scraping into the nerves like a knife.
AHHHHHHHH—!!!
Alex felt as if a red-hot needle had been plunged into his brain.
His vision went black.
His stomach churned.
The melta carbine in his hand almost fell to the ground.
“Sonic weaponry?!” Covering his ears, he saw through the gaps in his fingers several even more slender figures vaulting over the stone bridge’s railing.
They were female Eldar.
But they were definitely not some kind of beast-eared girls.
They wore tight-fitting, bone-colored armor and towering maned helmets, their masks frozen in the likeness of screaming skeletal faces.
They brandished power swords flickering with energy sparks.
“What the hell, are these female ghosts?!” The Banshees charged into the Astartes’ line.
Their speed was so great they left afterimages.
Even the reaction speed of an Astartes seemed clunky before these Eldar warriors specializing in close combat.
A Banshee stepped onto the barrel of Avitus’s heavy bolter and leaped, her power sword thrusting straight at Avitus’s neck joint.
“Get back, witch!” Avitus roared, swinging his gun stock—but he hit only air.
Alex watched this scene and gritted his teeth.
These pointy-ears were using their speed to bully them, weren’t they?
He narrowed his eyes and began to observe.
The first lesson he learned in the border wars: when the enemy is faster than you, don’t chase their shadow.
Every dodge had a pattern; they always sidestepped to avoid the bolter’s coverage area; they always used the shadows of statues as their next landing point; that Warlock’s obscuration range was limited, she had to stay at the rear of the formation— Therefore, the Guardians’ movements would never stray too far from the Warlock.
Alex raised his melta carbine thirty degrees and aimed at the shadow of a saint’s statue.
A Guardian, dodging Avitus’s heavy bolter, sidestepped right into that spot.
Sizzle—!
The melta beam hit him square in the chest.
The Wraithbone Armor cracked under the high temperature.
The Guardian let out a short scream and collapsed to the ground.
“What?” The Warlock finally looked directly at Alex.
This Mon-Kai…
is predicting?
With one hit landed, Alex was already aiming at the next landing point.
Sizzle!
Sizzle!
Sizzle!
Three consecutive melta beams.
Two hits, one miss.
Another Guardian fell, and another was hit in the shoulder, losing balance.
The Guardians’ formation fell into a moment of chaos—they had to divert their attention to deal with this mortal.
And that moment of chaos was enough for the Astartes.
“Cyrus!” A dull, short gunshot rang out.
A Stalker-pattern Bolter.
An armor-piercing round shot out from the curtain of rain, accurately piercing the runic helmet of the distracted Warlock.
The pale blue psychic light extinguished.
The obscuration vanished, and the Guardians’ figures suddenly became crystal clear.
“Now!!
Die!” Avitus grinned savagely, his heavy bolter roaring.
Without psychic interference, the Guardians were subjected to a near-unilateral slaughter under the Astartes’ fire.
Wraithbone Armor shattered, and elegant bodies were blasted into bloody mist.
As for the Banshees— Thaddeus didn’t try to chase the Banshees’ speed.
He observed Alex’s tactic and instantly learned to predict their landing points.
The Chainsword swung down with thunderous force.
This time, the Banshee couldn’t dodge.
Rrrr-rip—!
The elegant body was brutally torn in half by the Chainsword.
The screaming stopped abruptly.
The battle ended quickly, or rather—the Eldar retreated quickly.
Once the Warlock was dead and the obscuration vanished, the remaining Eldar realized the battle was lost.
A surviving Guardian pulled a grenade from his waist and slammed it onto the ground.
A blinding light exploded, and a psychic interference wave spread simultaneously, plunging everyone’s vision into a stabbing white glare.
“Retreat into the Webway!” Deep in the rain, a string of runes lit up.
The air seemed to be torn open.
A rift into the Webway appeared faintly at the end of the stone bridge.
But just as the Eldar began to retreat, a Guardian suddenly broke formation and rushed toward the Warlock’s corpse.
Her goal was clear.
The Soulstone on the Warlock’s chest, which was still faintly glowing.
Avitus’s heavy bolter immediately pivoted toward her.
Boom!
Boom!
Boom!
The Guardian was forced back, letting out a cry full of anguish—not because of injury, but because she was watching a compatriot’s soul be abandoned.
“…Forgive us…” She took one last look at the corpse, then turned and dove into the Webway rift.
The rift closed like an eyelid, vanishing without a trace.
“They just ran away?” Alex stood up from behind cover, patting the stone dust off himself.
He noticed the Guardian’s state before retreating—that despair and grief didn’t seem like an act.
“Was she…
trying to get something back just now?” “A Soulstone.” Tarkus’s voice was cold.
“The Eldar believe their souls will be imprisoned in that stone.
If the stone falls into enemy hands or is destroyed, their souls will be…
consumed by something.” “It’s the only thing they care about.
More important than the mission, more important than the bodies of their kin.” “But she didn’t get it.” Alex looked at the Warlock’s corpse.
“So that stone…” “Is ours now.” Matellus was already crouching by the corpse, using a mechanical Mechadendrite to carefully remove the Soulstone.
“The psychic fluctuations inside haven’t dissipated yet.
Perhaps more information can be extracted from it.” Alex walked over to a Banshee’s corpse and kicked the towering helmet with his toe.
Beneath the mask, a lock of fiery red hair was revealed, along with a face that was indeed beautiful, but now pale and rigid.
“A pity.” “She was a beauty, yet she chose to be a thief.” “Don’t be fooled by appearances, brother.” Tarkus walked over and stepped on the Banshee’s helmet, his ceramite boot crushing the delicate face.
“They are the most vicious creatures in the entire Galaxy.
Every word of theirs is a lie; every movement is a trap.” By then, Matellus had already connected to the communication tower’s console.
“Commander.” The Techmarine’s voice carried a hint of confusion.
“The equipment here…
hasn’t been destroyed.” “What?” Tarkus turned around.
“Derosa said the Eldar cut off communications.” “No.” Matellus pointed at the holographic screen.
“The Eldar didn’t cut it off.
They were using it.” Complex xenos runes flickered on the screen, the audio being forcibly decrypted by the Adeptus Mechanicus’s logic engine.
“They are sending a signal.
It doesn’t just cover Meridian; it’s pointed toward deep space.” Alex leaned in to take a look.
“Sent to whom?
Their reinforcements?” “No…” Matellus pulled up the sensor readings, his brow furrowed.
“That Warlock’s Soulstone is still active—my instruments are detecting residual psychic fluctuations.
She had just completed a long-range transmission before she died.” He tapped the console a few more times.
“I can’t decipher the meaning of the runes, but I can analyze its transmission protocol.
The structure of this signal…
is a beacon.” Just then— The decryption progress bar on the holographic screen filled up.
A fuzzy audio clip began to play; it was a woman’s voice.
Arrogant.
Cold.
Filled with contempt for the short-lived human race.
Idranel.
Farseer of Craftworld Ulthwe.
“…This primitive human equipment is indeed crude, but it will suffice.” “The bait has been set.
A tendril of Leviathan was already wandering in the nearby sector—now, the psychic beacon here will draw them off course.” “Though this planet will be reduced to ash, it will buy precious time for the Craftworld.” “Sacrificing these Mon-Kai is a worthy price.” The audio cut off abruptly.
The rain continued to fall.
But at this moment, everyone felt a chill colder than the rainwater.
“Leviathan…
that sounds like a Tyranid name?” Alex looked at Tarkus.
That woman means…
she lured the bugs that were already hanging around nearby to this place?
Just to save their own home?
Avitus let out a roar of fury.
He slammed a fist into the stone bridge’s railing, smashing the hard stone carving to pieces.
“These damned xenos!!
They’ve turned all of Meridian into a meat shield!!” Tarkus didn’t speak.
He just quietly looked down at the brightly lit Hive City below.
There were billions of people there.
If a tendril of the Hive Fleet was drawn here— This wouldn’t be some “public security issue.” This was the prelude to an Exterminatus.
“Contact Derosa.” ————————
“And If you’re enjoying it, drop a Power Stone for me!”