Chapter 103: The Blood-Mill Battlefield of the Blood Angels
"Celebrate! For unbelievable pleasure awaits you!"
Raising his flawless scimitar high, Casios the Eternal declared the charge. The once-quiet Pan-Star religious retreat was instantly transformed into a slaughterhouse of alien horrors.
"Desire... Pride... Pain..."
Casios's face was contorted with ecstasy. His long black tongue licked needle-like teeth, and his body trembled with uncontrollable joy. "The ultimate truth of all things!"
As he straightened his back, a magnificent purple-black [Halo of Lust and Corruption] erupted from his body, instantly enveloping the hundreds of Daqian Cultists who had been mutated into monsters. Their slender, alien limbs thickened, and their eyes burned with a more vicious light.
"A frantic feast for the Mother God!"
Following Casios's war cry, pale-pink shadows darted through the forest with terrifying speed. They lunged past the shattered barriers and slammed into the swarm of a thousand ugly Cursed Spirits. Both sides were fearless; the victor would be decided by sheer brutality.
ROAR!
The various Cursed Spirits and the warped cultists collided in the most primal, savage fashion. They tore at each other with fangs and claws, ignoring self-preservation. Filthy blood splattered the marble floors, hissing as it corroded the stone into pitted craters.
The alien-like cultists displayed lethal efficiency. With their agile bodies and cursed energy-enhanced claws, they shredded the torsos of the Cursed Spirits. Even a ten-meter-tall Grade 1 spirit collapsed under the weight of forty cultists. As the spirit tried to charge a cursed energy blast in its throat, the monsters tore through its neck, causing the blast to detonate internally and blow off its own jaw.
The spirit was devoured until only a skeleton remained, eventually dissolving into black mist. But this was only a microcosm of the carnage. Even in the back mountains, escaping through a secret passage, Geto Suguru and his followers could hear the endless howling and the screams of the bamboo forest.
"What... what are those monsters?"
A pale Geto leaned on Miguel. Releasing hundreds of spirits while heavily injured was a massive strain. But he had no choice.
He sensed at least three hundred unknown monsters—each at the level of a Grade 1 spirit or higher—invading his territory. If he hadn't committed his own Grade 1 spirits to the front line, his army of a thousand would have already been wiped out.
Geto knew his "family" of Curse Users couldn't win a defensive war here.
He chose to use his [Cursed Spirit Manipulation] to provide a rearguard, allowing his followers to flee.
"It's okay. We can take back our home another day," Geto soothed them, but his face suddenly fell. Miguel and the others also felt it—a wave of chaotic, painful malice that tried to force its way into their brains.
Whoosh.
A figure was sent flying backward toward them. Geto quickly formed a hand seal. A toad-like spirit burst from the ground, offering its soft belly as a cushion.
Duang~
The impact was absorbed. The group looked down to see Larue, the muscular man with heart-shaped stickers on his chest. He had a deep indentation in his chest and a long whip mark that spanned half his body. The skin and muscle along the mark had been "devoured," leaving a raw, bloody trail.
"Boring. Are the people of this land all so weak?"
A massive figure stepped into view, standing at least 2.2 meters tall. His ornate, purple knightly armor clanked with every step. Most distressing was the sound emanating from the armor—the souls of dozens of men and women were embedded in the metal, their distorted faces opening and closing in a soul-deep wail.
"This won't be easy," Geto forced a smile, trying to stand on his own.
"Geto, leave it to me and Larue," Miguel said. "Larue, stop lying there. I know you're okay."
Larue stood up, wincing as he touched his bloody wound. "Yeah, Suguru. Leave it to us. Watch out for his whip... it's poisonous."
Larue had been unable to stand because the poison made his vision blurry and filled him with a disturbing, frantic urge to feel more pain.
Casios simply flicked his scimitar.
Towering purple flames erupted, creating a barrier that boxed Geto and his family in. For the champion of the Mother God, Geto was a prize that could not be allowed to escape.
Miguel, holding a bundle of black ropes, looked at Larue. They didn't need words. Miguel lashed his "Black Rope" against the wall of purple fire.
Snap!
The specialized cursed tool tore a hole in the "unbreakable" fire. Larue immediately activated his technique, manifesting a giant psychic hand that grabbed Geto and the non-combatants, launching them out of the encirclement like a baseball.
"Nice shot," Miguel whistled.
Casios was stunned. He hadn't expected the "merchandise" (a black man, in his archaic worldview) to possess a tool capable of puncturing his divine flames.
"Damn it... I was saving this for Gojo Satoru," Miguel muttered, looking at his Black Rope. One-sixth of its length had just been burned away. This Special Grade tool was woven by sorcerers in his homeland over decades; its ability was to nullify and disrupt cursed techniques, but it was a consumable.
Seeing his prey flee, Casios roared in fury. But Miguel and Larue stood their ground.
"Your opponents are us!"
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"Sorry to keep you waiting."
BOOM!
Gojo Satoru's teleportation landing carved a massive crater into the earth. He had arrived after receiving an anonymous tip (and Hachiman's call) about an attack on this area. Hachiman, Gojo, and Mechamaru (acting as radar) were the only ones deployed.
Hachiman looked at the sensor. The "Type Blue" signal was accompanied by 1,456 high-grade energy signatures. Geto was fighting back.
"I'll go first," Hachiman said. He used Gojo's technique to be launched into the heart of the conflict.
As Hachiman fell from the sky, he looked down at the "flesh-mill" below. Pink monsters were shredding Geto's spirits.
Hachiman didn't hesitate. He activated [Izanagi].
In an instant, forty figures appeared around him. They were armored in red Mark-type power armor, their chest plates bearing the winged blood-drop of the Blood Angels. Among them were four square, iron behemoths—Dreadnoughts.
Fujiwara Yoshiyasu would never have imagined his technique being used this way. These were Hachiman's battle-brothers, reconstructed from his memory and powered by his cursed energy.
"All squads, dispersed entry! To the exchange zone!" Hachiman roared.
"CRUSH THEM!"
"BY THE BLOOD! VICTORY IS OURS!" the Astartes roared back.
The first Blood Angel hit the ground, using an alien monster as a cushion. The sound of a snapping spine was followed by a .75 caliber bolt shell to the monster's head. Pop. Brain matter and bone fragments scattered.
The carnage began. The giants advanced in a wall of fire, their bolters spitting high-energy cursed rounds. Purple fire and blood-red explosions turned the alien monsters into red mist. Any that got close were systematically dismembered by power swords and chain-axes.
The Dreadnoughts were the true kings of the field. Their twin-linked autocannons fired 200 rounds per second—a storm of lead that erased anything in a wide arc. Their other arms were heavy flamers, turning 150-meter corridors into seas of high-intensity fire, herding the survivors into the bolter fire.
Even if an Astartes fell, Hachiman's [Izanagi] caused them to split and reform, doubling their numbers. This was a systematic purge.
By the time Gojo and Mechamaru teleported in, they stood frozen in shock. The battlefield was a slaughterhouse of pink limbs and black spirit-mist. The Astartes were standing over piles of shredded meat, their power fists dripping with gore.
Hachiman, holding his chainsword, had tears in his eyes. Seeing his brothers "fighting" by his side once more was almost too much to bear.
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