The Arch Angels: The Iron Plague Legion.

Chapter 24.

Back with the remembrance.
She sat in silence, her gaze fixed on me as I finished recounting my tale. I arched an eyebrow, silently questioning her thoughts. Eventually, she broke the stillness with a single inquiry, her voice laced with curiosity, "How could you bear to confront those so-called poxwalkers face-to-face?"

I met her gaze, my expression unwavering, and explained that it was my duty to combat the enemies of humanity in all their forms. The Master of Mankind's foes had to be confronted, regardless of their monstrous appearance. As I spoke, memories of the horrors I witnessed on Aetherium IX flooded my mind once more, causing a momentary pause in my words.

"And as I mentioned earlier," I continued after collecting my thoughts, "we Astartes may experience a certain level of fear. However, it is inconceivable for us to yield and fail in our duty to the Imperium."

She pressed further, her voice tinged with curiosity, "So, you were scared in that moment?"

I pondered for a moment, carefully choosing my words, before responding, "There was indeed fear within me, but not for my own well-being or our safety. It stemmed from the realization that if we failed in our mission to eliminate Henry McScythe and his entire legion, the Iron Plague Legion, the corruption of Nurgle that befell Aetherium IX could spread throughout the galaxy and corrupt the Imperium. The thought of everything the Emperor had fought for being tainted by the primal forces frightened me. However, that fear only served to strengthen my resolve to safeguard the Imperium and vanquish its adversaries."

She nodded in understanding as I concluded my explanation. "You have articulated it well. But now, I believe it is time for you to continue your story!" she exclaimed with a smile.

I replied, a hint of amusement in my voice, "Well, we are nearing the end now," before resuming my tale from where I had left off.

Chapter 24.
The exhilarating sensation of being back in the midst of battle filled my entire being with an overwhelming sense of joy. With a surge of adrenaline, I charged headlong into the horde of vile creatures, my sword cleaving through their twisted forms with ruthless precision. Euphoria consumed my every thought as I unleashed my pent-up desires and unleashed a symphony of strikes.

Each swing of my blade brought me closer to the heart of the writhing mass of creatures, their corrupted bodies falling before me like leaves in a storm. A wide smile stretched across my face as I caught sight of Ragnar, his presence by my side bringing a sense of familiarity and renewed strength. Together, we became an unstoppable force.

Ragnar wielded his new weapon, a lightning claw unlike any other, with mastery and finesse. With each swipe, he dispatched enemies with unparalleled speed and precision. Bodies flew in all directions as his powefist unleashed a devastating display of raw power.

In this chaotic dance of battle, joy and exhilaration merged into a singular, intoxicating experience. With every cut, every strike, we pushed forward through the sea of creatures, carving a path of triumph and glory. The thrill of combat coursed through our veins, igniting the fire within our souls, as we fought side by side once more.

But in an instant, the scene transformed as the thunderous roar of boltfire shattered the eerie melody of the damned creatures. My entire body tensed, anticipating the onslaught of boltrounds, but to my astonishment, nothing happened. Instead, I witnessed a peculiar sight - the bullets fired by the infected Astartes came to a halt in mid-air, as if colliding with an invisible shield. It was as though some unknown force shielded me and Ragnar from harm.

"Zandar, switch to your bolt rifle and eliminate those traitors before they breach Androsia's shield," Josef's urgent voice echoed through the vox radio. I observed with fascination that boltrounds could penetrate the psychic shield created by Androsia from our side, yet remained impotent against the enemy's defenses. With a surge of satisfaction, I watched as Zandar skillfully dispatched all three Astartes who had emerged to bombard us. Their heads exploded upon impact, ensuring that those despicable traitors would never rise again.