The lingering sound of metal clashing echoed through the abandoned workshop.
The rusted rebar was tossed to the ground, letting out a crisp clang.
Kulen stared at the giant before him.
There was no frenzied Chaos pollution, nor even the haughty contempt a Primarch should possess.
Kulen could feel that the final restraint in the battle just now, that absolute control over muscle power, perfectly matched his cognition of this Warmaster from his memories of the Great Crusade ten thousand years ago.
The Wolf Shepherd God had always been friendly and gentle toward allies and forces willing to communicate; this was entirely different from his genetic father, Lion El’Jonson, as the cold Lion only cared about whether the enemy was destroyed.
And no matter how suspicious one might be, an Astartes’ combat intuition could not be deceived.
The Horus Lupercal before him was no cruel joke of a Warp daemon.
A suspicion formed in Kulen’s heart: the Wolf Shepherd God of the past had traveled to the present.
“You win.” The veteran lowered his eyes, picked up the Power Sword from the ground, and sheathed it.
Horus nodded.
“Let’s go.
The commotion here will soon attract gang reinforcements, or something even more troublesome.” To the side, Karen heard the long-awaited electronic voice in his mind.
[Hidden mission completed.] [Reward issued: A set of brand new MK4 Maximus-pattern power armor.] [Point reward: 1000 points.] Karen inspected the black Ceramite with a metallic luster inside the system space.
MK4 Maximus-pattern, top-tier gear from the Great Crusade era, a perfect combination of mobility and protection.
Looking at Kulen’s tattered, battle-damaged armor patched everywhere with scrap metal, this reward came just in time.
However, it couldn’t be brought out yet; the target would be too large.
“Let’s go, we’re heading back to my other shelter,” Karen said, patting the dust off himself as he gestured to Horus.
The trio wove through the dark sewage pipes of the Underhive.
Kulen walked at the rear, his gaze occasionally passing over Karen’s head to rest on the hulking back draped in a camouflage cloak.
The First Legion veteran’s vigilance was not so easily dispelled, but the previous tension had subsided.
After turning seven or eight corners and passing through two rusted blast doors, they arrived at Karen’s lead-lined secret shelter.
The environment was cramped; after accommodating two tall transhumans, one had to choose carefully even where to step.
Karen sat on a pile of broken cables and let out a long sigh of relief.
Kulen looked around, found a relatively flat section of the lead wall, and sat down against it.
The power armor’s Servo-motors emitted a low hum, accompanied by a few rasps of grinding parts.
He was too tired.
Ten thousand years of exile.
No logistics, no brothers, only endless pursuit and flight.
Rest was a luxury to him.
“Eat something.” Karen tossed over a block of compressed rations.
Kulen caught the rations; the rock-hard texture made him frown, but he simply tore open the packaging and took a bite.
Even for a veteran like him, accustomed to Legion marching rations, chewing this stuff took considerable effort.
Horus sat cross-legged at the other end, studying his own palms by the faint light leaking from the overhead vent, remaining silent.
Silence spread within the shelter.
Kulen swallowed the rations, and weariness began to surge.
The physiology of a Space Marine allows them to go without sleep for long periods, but nerves have their limits.
After confirming that the two before him were currently not hostile, he finally allowed himself to enter a light sleep.
Dreams flooded over him like a tide.
— Kulen found himself standing in a field of ruins.