"It's not abandoned." I stated the obvious, noting all the moving figures within the ruined fortress. Despite my enhanced senses, I couldn't quite make out the details; so, I had absolutely no idea who the figures in there were. I wasn't even sure just what they were doing. The most likely possibility was that they were heretics, setting up weapon emplacements. Unfortunately, given the rather steep climb, blindly rushing in, which – in all honesty – was what I wanted to do, would just give the enemy time to rain death upon us from afar. A direct hit from an artillery shell would kill even an Astartes.
And, given the placement of the fortress, there was really no way to approach it without being seen. It was simply built that way. From what I knew, there were no underground paths, either. The whole thing was solid rock, meant to unleash an endless volley of death and destruction upon the enemies of mankind. If I was by myself, however, my solution would've simply been to don the [Mask of Death] and assume the Reaper Form, which was invulnerable to physical harm. I'd wade through a storm of bullets, before I killed every living thing inside.
With the Carcharodons Astra, however, things became complicated. I couldn't risk them witnessing the more esoteric aspects of my power, the stuff that'd probably get me branded as a heretic or a witch. The God-Emperor himself knew about my ability to receive random items, true enough; but I didn't tell him anything about the Gacha system or the fact that I could accidentally summon gods from entirely different plains of existence through said system. It was a fine line. For now, I was going to stick with the simpler abilities and items. I turned to Tepok. "Should we retreat?"
"The Carcharodons Astra do not retreat." Tepok answered flatly. I understood – I really did. But that wasn't enough. We couldn't stay here. And simply going back the way we came would likely expose us in even more danger. After all, the Traitor Astartes, entire legions of them, hadn't been entirely accounted for – many of them apparently disappearing as soon as the Balrog started its rampage.
Our journey took nearly two hours of constant jogging, only stopping in the rare instances, where we'd directly encounter heretics or traitors, during which the Carcharodons turned into literal murder-blenders, ripping and tearing and slashing wildly, while I stayed behind and targeted the enemies that were too far away. It was efficient. We reached the base of Mount Ayrat and found shelter in a partially-collapsed building, which – based on what little I saw in the interior – used to be a logistics facility of some sort. There were corpses inside, half-buried in rubble, crushed and mutilated. But there was enough space to house the Astartes and myself.
We hadn't moved from the position since. And it was beginning to annoy me. I wasn't too fond of staying still for extended periods of time.
"Black Tooth formation." Tepok simply said. I had no idea what that formation was, which meant it wasn't anything on the manual or anything taught in basic training. I took a step back and away as the Carcharodons immediately scattered, fanning out of the ruined facility and disappearing into the distance as they sprinted. Huh, Tepok didn't tell me anything, which meant I likely didn't have much of a role in this formation of theirs. Fair enough, I supposed. Astartes battle doctrines likely didn't include anything for mortals like myself – though that term really no longer applied to me. If I kept my head down and disappeared and hid like a coward, I was reasonably certain of the fact that I'd likely live forever.
Still, I could do nothing. So, I equipped a Lasgun from my Inventory. This particular one had a magnifying scope attached to it – not great at only 4x magnification, but it'd do.
As I stepped out, I quickly noted what the Carcharodons were doing. They were rushing the fortress from every conceivable angle. There were only six of them, however, which meant they couldn't come from literally everywhere, which gave the defenders a chance to attack them before they could actually reach the fortress. They also moved in zigzag patterns, dodging hails of gunfire, which merely reinforced the earlier assumption that the mountain fortress had, indeed, been overtaken by heretic forces. I took aim and leveled the crosshairs on an artillery crewman, who was just about to load a single shell into an Earthshaker cannon.
Before my death and transformation, I had never really been a good shot. My hands were unsteady and, in fact, had a tendency to wobble a lot, which – for a Guardsman – wasn't much of a problem, according to the Drill-Sergeant at the time. Even after boot camp ended, my accuracy didn't improve much. It was only after I died and became... something else that I noted how easy it was for me to line up shots simply because my hands no longer shook. No part of me, I noted, ever shook. My hands were as steady as stone and the Lasgun weighed nothing to me now.
The crosshair did not move or stray from what I was aiming for – frozen and perfectly still.
"Die!" I pulled the trigger and, instead, hit the Earthshaker round with a single superheated laser beam, detonating it right on the artillery gun itself. A massively powerful explosion rocked the mountainside as the premature detonation of the artillery shell caused every other artillery shell in its vicinity to explode as well, resulting in a cascade of explosions that engulfed more than half the fortress, immolated at least a hundred traitors and heretics in a storm of fire and shrapnel. A large portion of the walls crumbled and collapsed, brick and mortar and stone burning as they flew overhead.
Distracted and dazed, rocked by the power of the explosion, the heretics hardly had time to man their guns and shoot, before the Carcharodons climbed over the walls and engaged them. With no manned guns or artillery pieces to threaten my approach, I sprinted up the mountainside as fast as I could. Above me, I noted idly, the blood-red sky was gradually diminishing; already, I saw the faint bluish tinge that'd been the true color of the skies of Praxtor, before the heretics came and ruined everything for everyone. Gritting my teeth and roaring, I raised the Lasgun and fired at anyone that wasn't an Astartes. Though, from my position, which was about a hundred meters away from the fortress, there really weren't a lot of targets.
It didn't take long, however, for the heretics to muster. These ones, I realized, were fighting back. They knew how to fight. Bolts and bullets careened my way, even grenades went sent hurling. Gritting my teeth, I began running in a zigzag pattern as a veritable tide of death came my way. It took me a moment to realize that my right arm was gone, alongside my right shoulder, leaving only a smoking stump. My eyes widened and I jump out of the way just as a massive beam of heat and energy blasted apart the ground that I'd been standing on just moments prior. "Oh, great; someone has a damn Hellgun."
The bigger and meaner variant of the Lasgun, capable of blowing holes in armored vehicles and out the other side. There were a few who thought it was capable of burning through Power Armor. Of course, that idea wasn't tested and I wasn't keen on finding out what it could do to me if it hit center mass. I didn't have time to think about what I wanted to do, however, as more shots came towards me. I jumped high, gritting my teeth as both of my legs all but disintegrated in the assault. The barrage stopped abruptly, however, which likely meant the Carcharodons had just reached the position of the traitors who were shooting me. I quickly regrew my limbs and promptly continued sprinting up as soon as I landed, only to feel something metallic and mechanical giving way to my foot.
I probably should've expected something like this, to be honest.
"Ah-" The landmine detonated, ripping, shredding, and burning just about everything I had from the neck down, including – actually – a good chunk of my neck. It hurt, briefly. The explosion sent my head hurling. Well, the advantage, I suppose, was that no one would think I'd survive that, which meant I wouldn't have to worry about the Hellgun anymore. Floating in the air actually gave me some time to reflect on everything that'd happened thus far.
I think I might've been neglecting the other facets of my power, namely the [Warp Shaping] and [Tech-Shaping] abilities, both of which were incredibly powerful in their own right. Though, to be entirely fair, I didn't have much time to, even if I did want to increase their levels. [Tech-Shaping], I assumed, would eventually level up if I fixed enough things or absorbed enough technology for my [Raw Material] reserve. And a gut feeling told me I was actually quite close to leveling up. [Warp Shaping], on the other hand, remained somewhat of a mystery to me in that I had no idea what to do with it. Sure, I'd used it to destroy a powerful Daemon, but absorption was a very basic part of all my shaping abilities. So, what could I do to gain levels?
I could, of course, pull the [Warp Energy] from my body, as I'd done once before, and just sort of play around with it, since it didn't really do anything. Doing that, perhaps, might just increase my level. For now, [Warp Shaping] remained enigmatic. I'd have to revisit it when I had the time, preferably without bullets and bolts and grenades and artillery shells flying over my head.
When I finally met the ground again, I immediately regrew my entire body, donned a new set of flak armor, willed forth another Lasgun into my grasp, and quickly rejoined the fray. The sounds of battle and carnage echoed beyond the fortress itself. I was about thirty meters away now, enough for me to witness the Carcharodons cutting down traitorous guardsmen, only for them to be buried underneath a very disciplined volley of laser fire and bolters. Though, I didn't think that was enough to kill or even just injure the brutal Carcharodons.
Still, I had to give credit where it was due, these heretics were, at the very least, braver than their compatriots, whom we encountered and annihilated on our way here. They fought with all they had, even knowing it would end in their deaths. None of them retreated or pleaded. They died on their feet. The very thought of it disgusted me, but I could not help but feel just a the tiniest sliver of respect for them. No, not respect, but a feeling that was closer to acknowledgment. They were fellow soldiers, heretics though they were. And I would like to believe that, in another time, in another life, given an entirely different set of circumstances, I would've gladly fought and died with these men.
Unfortunate.
I jumped through a hole in the wall and rolled over my shoulder as I reached the other side. None of them expected me. And so, when I pulled the trigger, none of them reacted fast enough. One of them exploded into bloody rivulets and scorching steam as my shot had struck him dead center on the chest. The explosion of flesh and bone rattled the others, breaking their focus. From a vortex of smoke and ashes, a Carcharodon charged, roaring with hate and spite and fury, even as bloody streamed through numerous holes in his Power Armor.
The traitors did not stand a chance. The Astartes slaughtered them, injured though he was. And in what seemed like the blink of an eye, every traitor in our midst was dead. The fort was large, however, so I figured the others were still fighting and killing; the music of battle hardly faded, despite everything. I approached the Astartes, who'd leaned against a nearby wall, breathing heavily. My eyes narrowed as I inspected his injuries. The Power Armor itself sported what must've been a hundred holes. The only weapon I could think of that was capable of punching through ceramite was the Hellgun.
I've heard rumors and stories of the resilience of Astartes, but they were flesh and bone all the same and lasguns were insidiously destructive. It was entirely possible that this one's insides were utterly mulched by the barrage. I didn't want him to die. An Astartes was not supposed to die. They were supposed to fight forever. I had to save him somehow. But, I was pretty sure the basic field medications and first aid procedures I knew were inapplicable. In theory, however, it was probably possible to fix him using [Self Shaping]. I could, for instance, inject, a tiny portion of myself into his bloodstream, which might just trick my ability into thinking that the injured Astartes before me was me.
I approached the Astartes, who didn't even seem to notice my presence, and placed a hand on his armor, before closing my eyes.
"I hope this works."
AN: I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. My (Pat)reon is now up to Chapter 25, which also wraps up the Tutorial Level Arc quite nicely, I think (I hope). So, if you want to read in advance, feel free to become a patron.