Chapter 68 Confronting the Genestealer Patriarch

“Genestealers are nothing but a minor inconvenience. Let’s just head straight down to the surface,” Vane said, completely unbothered by the prospect of fighting a Genestealer Patriarch.

“Then please, Forefather, do not step outside the Scythes’ defensive perimeter,” Thracian swore, slamming a fist against his chest.

Off to the side, Celestine, Greyfax, Eldrad, and the other Aeldari Farseers didn’t say a word. They just silently smirked. Anyone who had survived the Battle of Macragge knew exactly how terrifying Vane’s combat prowess was. Vashtorr the Arkifane, an entity possessing the authority of the Soul Forge, had been beaten so badly he began questioning his own existence. The Chaos Space Marines and daemons who tried to block his path were mowed down like overgrown weeds.

“I’ll leave my safety in your hands, then,” Vane nodded playfully.

“We shall protect you, even if it costs us our lives,” Thracian vowed solemnly.

—

A squadron of gunships, proudly bearing the Imperial Aquila, launched from the Imperial Retribution and plunged toward Sotha’s surface. Hive Fleet Kraken had stripped the planet of its atmosphere, its oceans, and its topsoil. All that remained on the barren rock were the skeletal, web-like husks of Tyranid capillary towers, standing eerily upright despite having all their fleshy biomass dissolved long ago.

The gunship formation adjusted its trajectory, making a beeline for the planetary capital, Sothopolis—a massive, sprawling megacity. The city was completely dead, scarred heavily by orbital bombardment and brutal ground wars. Yet, miraculous pockets of the city remained completely untouched. In some sectors, entire buildings stood pristine, their glass windows fully intact. Rows of hover-cars still sat perfectly parked along the streets, buried beneath a thick layer of grey dust.

Looming on the outskirts of the city was Mount Pharos, the peak of which housed the heavily fortified Fortress-Monastery of the Scythes of the Emperor. Ten thousand years ago, this very mountain was the site of the ancient xenos lighthouse. After Guilliman realized the Emperor was still alive and officially dissolved Imperium Secundus, he ordered the Pharos beacon to be dismantled and all subterranean access tunnels sealed permanently with rockcrete.

The gunships touched down in a clearing right in front of the Fortress-Monastery’s main gates. The Second Tyrannic War had completely obliterated the monastery’s orbital and anti-air defenses, leaving behind nothing but an incredibly stark, bare-bones rockcrete and plasteel shell.

Archmagos Cawl attempted to run a deep-penetrating scan on the entirety of Mount Pharos, only to discover that his sensors couldn’t penetrate past the surface layer. Whenever he tried to push the scan deeper, the return data came back completely blank. Sonar, neutron pulses—it didn’t matter what he used, the result was always the same.

“Forefather, I am unable to scan the interior of the mountain.”

“That’s perfectly normal. We’ve tried running scans on it in the past, with the exact same lack of results,” Thracian explained.

“Have you never tried simply excavating it to see what’s inside?” Cawl asked, thoroughly intrigued.

Thracian shook his head. “Since the very day our Chapter was founded, it has been written into our absolute core tenets: those tunnels are never to be unsealed.”

“Why?” Cawl’s curiosity peaked.

“Because directly beneath us lies a quantum lighthouse built by the Necrons,” Vane chimed in casually as he walked toward the main gates. “The Scythes of the Emperor were originally the 199th ‘Aegida’ Company of the Ultramarines Legion. During the Horus Heresy, they were tasked with guarding the Pharos beacon and fought a brutal defensive war against the Night Lords. For their heroism, they were awarded the crossed-scythes honor badge, which eventually became their Chapter symbol.”

“Forefather, your knowledge is truly boundless,” Cawl praised, practically scurrying to keep up with Vane, his tone thick with flattery.

“I just like reading up on history when I’m bored,” Vane replied, clearly eating up the praise.

Not bad, not bad. Once I fold the Potentate, I’ll reward this toaster-boy with a really fancy bread maker.

The more Thracian and his Scythes listened, the deeper their reverence for the Forefather grew. Even they didn’t know the full details of their own ancient history, yet the Forefather could recite it effortlessly.

Greyfax, however, was silently taking mental notes, preparing to file an extensively classified report. Stick close to the Forefather long enough, and all the galaxy’s darkest secrets just start spilling out.

Imperium Secundus… xenos lighthouses… Guilliman was certainly an ambitious one.

“So, how do we get this door open?” Greyfax asked, looking at Thracian as they reached the massive blast doors of the Chapter keep.

“The power grid is completely dead. Even with the bypass codes and decryption keys, it won’t budge. Our only option is a heavy melta-breach,” Thracian answered helplessly after inspecting the control panel.

“Step aside, let me handle it.” Vane pulled an enchanted Diamond Pickaxe out of his inventory.

Clang! Clang!

With just a few casual strikes, dense, spider-web cracks spiderwebbed across the incredibly thick adamantium blast doors. With everyone watching in disbelief, the cracks rapidly multiplied until, with a loud POP, the entire set of blast doors shattered into a miniaturized block and hovered above the ground, instantly sucked into Vane’s inventory.

“The atomic structure where the blast doors connected to the frame is perfectly severed and locked in stasis. Does… does physics even exist anymore?” Cawl muttered, his optical sensors whirring wildly as he scanned the empty doorframe. This completely shattered every known law of thermodynamics and material science.

Vane didn’t bother explaining; he just walked right in. Everyone else exchanged bewildered looks before hurrying after him.

Beyond the doors lay the Grand Hall, housing a pitch-black tunnel that plunged deep underground. This was the Chapter’s catacombs, the sacred resting place of generations of fallen Scythes.

As the group navigated the pitch-black tunnels and reached the catacombs, the Genestealers finally sprang their trap. Shrieking, they lunged from the shadows, their razor-sharp rending claws fully extended, desperate to butcher the intruders.

A Purestrain Genestealer launched itself directly at Vane. In a fraction of a second, Bloodletter [Carnage] materialized in Vane’s grip. With a terrifyingly clean, lightning-fast draw-cut, a crescent of blinding crimson energy ripped through the air, cleanly bisecting the Purestrain in mid-air.

Almost immediately, two more Purestrains burst from the darkness. Vane effortlessly pivoted his blade, seamlessly chaining into a devastating reverse-slash that decapitated both of them instantly.

“Hell yeah, keep ’em coming! I was just getting bored anyway! You’re all just free EXP for my blade!”

Wielding Bloodletter [Carnage], Vane practically cheered as he charged headlong into the swarm of Genestealers. Honestly, with the way he was acting, he looked exactly like a completely unhinged Khorne Berzerker.

Thracian and the Scythes were absolutely floored. They had never actually seen Vane fight, subconsciously assuming he was just a highly important VIP who needed escorting. Clearly, that assumption was catastrophically wrong. Even a seasoned Space Marine veteran had to exercise extreme caution when fighting a Purestrain Genestealer in close quarters; a single misstep meant getting violently shredded.

“The Forefather’s combat prowess is… completely absurd. Are we supposed to be protecting him, or is he protecting us?” the Chapter Apothecary muttered, leaning closer to Thracian.

The rest of the Scythes stared at the rapidly growing pile of Genestealer corpses, visibly questioning their own existence.

“Cut the chatter and keep up with the Forefather!” Thracian ordered, sprinting down the dark tunnel with his brothers right behind him.

Vane’s slaughter was brutally efficient. Everywhere he went, he left nothing but a horrific trail of dismembered xenos limbs and gore. Against the heavily enchanted Bloodletter [Carnage], the Tyranids’ thick chitin plating offered as much resistance as wet tissue paper. Furthermore, his fully maxed-out Reaper of Souls Suit provided absolutely absurd defense stats. Even if he just stood completely still, the Genestealers’ rending claws couldn’t even scratch his hit-box.

Vane just hacked and slashed his way through the dark, effortlessly carving a bloody path through the entire subterranean network until he finally reached a massive, cavernous chamber and ran face-first into the Genestealer Patriarch.

The creature was obscenely massive—an absolute behemoth draped in dark-red, hyper-dense biological armor. Its hands were large enough to effortlessly crush a fully armored Space Marine, and its thick, scythe-like claws were so sharp they passively gouged deep trenches into the stone walls just by grazing them. Its jaundiced, sickeningly yellow eyes burned with malicious intelligence and an overwhelming, ravenous desire to butcher everything in sight.

“Well, aren’t you a big boy? Sadly for you, I’m on a tight schedule today, so I’m not going to waste any time playing with you.”

With a sudden pop, Vane completely vanished.

A split-second later, he materialized directly behind the deeply confused Patriarch. He brought Bloodletter [Carnage] down in a devastating, full-force swing. The hyper-sharp blade cleaved effortlessly through the beast’s incredibly dense chitin and severed its spine, sending a geyser of highly corrosive, acidic blood erupting into the air.

By the time Thracian, Greyfax, and the rest of the squad finally caught up and rushed into the chamber, all they saw was a massive, decapitated corpse bleeding out on the floor.

—

OR