The screams of the believers instantly drowned out the chanting.
The crowd scattered in all directions like a burst dam.
The priest on the high platform had just shouted half of “May the Emperor pro—” when a Genestealer’s sharp claw slashed from his left shoulder to his right hip, tearing the whole person in two, blood splashing at the feet of the golden Emperor statue.
The leader was different.
A Purestrain Genestealer Patriarch.
Its size was more than twice that of a normal Genestealer, with four sharp claws, each one as long as an adult man’s forearm.
The moment it crawled out from the ground, it opened its fang-filled mouth and released a psychic scream.
The psychic shockwave spread outward with it as the center.
Karen’s head exploded with a buzz, and a nosebleed started flowing on the spot.
He stumbled back two steps and grabbed the colonnade to keep from falling.
Horus just tilted his head.
A Primarch-level psychic barrier; mere Genestealers couldn’t pry it open.
“Wait here.” He ripped off the stealth cloak.
He took one step out.
The stone floor at the entrance of the cathedral was shattered directly.
A 3.5-meter bald giant emerged from the shadows, his exposed upper body covered in battle scars, every muscle looking like it had been cast from meteorite iron.
The Purestrain Patriarch was a bit surprised to see this, but it still lunged over.
Four claws struck out together, the sound of the claw tips cutting through the air sharp and piercing.
If it were any mortal soldier, they wouldn’t even have had a chance to react.
Horus sidestepped.
Excessively calm.
His right fist struck out.
The fist hit the center of the Patriarch’s carapace chest, the entire torso began to swell outward from the point of impact, and then exploded.
Carapace fragments, internal organs, and acidic body fluids sprayed across half the wall in a radial pattern.
One punch.
Just one punch.
Immediately after, the other seven Genestealers lunged at the Wolf Shepherd God, trying to tear him to shreds.
Don’t make the Wolf God laugh.
In the blink of an eye, these seven Genestealers were torn in two by Horus, as easily as tearing waste paper.
The remaining Genestealers let out fearful hisses and turned to run, trying to drill back into the ground cracks.
Karen wiped away his nosebleed and urgently exchanged a melta pistol from the system—two thousand points, a heart-wrenching price.
He pulled the trigger repeatedly at the fleeing Genestealers.
After the melta beam hit the target, it instantly melted the flesh, and three Genestealers were turned into smoldering charcoal, falling into the pile of rubble.
“As expected of a Primarch…” Karen held the still-cooling gun barrel, “Even without armor, he’s this fierce.” “From now on, I’m set!
With the Warmaster covering me, what is there to fear from enemies in the material universe!” The cathedral quieted down.
Most of the candles were extinguished, and the right arm of the Emperor statue had broken off and fallen in the melee, smashing the front row of prayer pews.
Pits corroded by acidic body fluids emitted foul-smelling blue smoke.
There was rubble, severed limbs, and green Genestealer blood everywhere.
The surviving believers poked their heads out from behind the ruins.
A little girl covered in blood and grime staggered over.
She might have been only five or six years old, her clothes too ragged to cover her body, but her two eyes were large and bright.
She tilted her head, looking up at Horus.
“Are you…
an angel sent by the Emperor?” Horus looked down at her.
The Wolf Shepherd God’s lips moved.
The sound in his throat got stuck.
Then he knelt on one knee.
One knee smashed onto the rubble, making a dull thud.
“I am not an angel.” His voice was very soft.
“Just a man…
who owes many debts.” The little girl tilted her head, not quite understanding.
But she reached out a dirty little hand and touched the back of Horus’s hand.
The Wolf Shepherd God did not pull back.
Karen stood a few steps away, his nose sore.
Not because of the aftereffects of the psychic shock.
The system’s label for Horus was “Dying / Uncorrupted Status”.
The soul node of the Devon Star altar.
That time slice before the Four Chaos Gods corrupted him.
This is the real Lupercal.
Gentle yet sharp, proud yet not arrogant.
Except for Guilliman, that idealist, Karen couldn’t think of anyone else who could have such a presence; perhaps the Khan could.
Such a person deserves a second chance.
Karen put away his pistol and walked over to pat Horus on the shoulder—or more accurately, patted his lower back, because he couldn’t reach the shoulder.
“Let’s go.
We can’t stay in this place for long.” Horus stood up.
He took one last look at the Emperor statue with the broken arm, turned around, and followed Karen out of the cathedral.
They had only walked about ten steps.
Karen’s footsteps suddenly stopped.
His gaze fell on the system panel that only he could see.
A red warning that had never appeared before was flashing crazily— [High-intensity psychic signal detected scanning this area!] [Signal signature match: Inquisition · Ordo Xenos · Psychic Tracking Protocol!] [Estimated lock-on time: ten minutes.] Karen’s face turned pale instantly.
Horus noticed.
“What’s wrong?” Karen swallowed a mouthful of spit and tucked the gun back into his waist.
“That Purestrain Patriarch didn’t appear here for no reason.
Someone was hunting it, and we killed their prey for them.” He looked up at Horus, the urgency in his eyes impossible to hide.
“We’re done for, the Inquisition is coming to check the meter.
Ten more minutes.
We have to run immediately.”