News of the duel spread to every corner of the solar system, and even further through advanced communication networks.
It caused a huge stir.
Many people came for this duel.
Even the assembled armies were looking forward to this morale-boosting duel.
Who would pass up such fun!!
How exciting it would be to trample a Warmaster chosen by the Four Gods. That feeling of exhilaration was much like the satisfaction of finishing a session with a succubus and then walking away, patting your butt.
For the Chaos traitors lurking within the Imperium, this was also a huge deterrent.
Any who dared to betray humanity, to betray the Imperium, would meet this end.
Not only would they suffer endless torment, but they would also endure humiliation again and again. Truly, they would be unable to live and unable to die. The final duel was scheduled before the expeditionary fleet set sail. That day arrived quickly.
With the help of the Martian Mechanicus faithful, a massive hovering duel platform was quickly constructed.
It was very spacious, capable of accommodating a large audience for the duel. There were also countless Cherubim and Servo-skulls broadcasting the grand event, along with various specialized equipment for high-definition transmission. This ensured that even those who couldn't buy tickets could experience the blood-pumping duel up close through holographic projections or virtual imaging.
On the day of the final, the bowl-shaped stands were packed with people. To warm up the crowd, the organizers thoughtfully prepared several other programs to fill the time.
Otherwise, if people entered just for a ten-minute fight, the audience would complain and demand refunds, which wouldn't be good. The first act featured a Catachan soldier who, with his bulging muscles, single-handedly tore apart a tyranid Hive Tyrant, six meters tall, nearly two stories high.
When the tyranid Tyrant fell, the Catachan soldier received countless cheers, igniting the urge in many to join the army. To slaughter these monsters with mortal strength was undoubtedly what resonated most with them.
Becoming an Astartes was impossible, but joining the Astra Militarum was achievable.
Become a Cadian, tear apart tyranids with your bare hands, kick xenos from other universes, and embark on the path of a strong warrior.
Next was a Knight pilot battling ten tyranid Broodlords. This was a duel added by the Martian Mechanicus to showcase their power to the Imperium. The Knight pilot swiftly and cleanly dispatched the tyranid beasts.
He even lifted one tyranid beast, walked a lap around the arena, and finally blasted its head off with a meltagun, completing the final kill. This act was incredibly cool.
It made the already red-faced, cheering audience scream even louder. The pilots of the Titan Legions and Knight Houses all looked proud. This was their strength.
In the name of the Holy Emperor, nothing was their match.
Besides these, there were also several duels involving the slaying of xenos.
Representatives from various factions were sent out. They showcased all sorts of flashy weapons and killing methods. Then, a Priest of the Ecclesiarchy, holding a staff and shouting a dirge, shattered the head of a glowing xeno captured from another universe. The two duels with the loudest cheers in this competition also began as the grand finale. The fury of betrayal and the survivors of the Siege of Terra launched an assault against the Dark Warmaster, blessed by the Chaos Gods.
How inspiring this was.
Loken emerged from one of the arena's gates, and the atmosphere in the stadium reached a fever pitch.
When the announcer read out the title of this Luna Wolf. The cheers from the stands were deafening.
People roared his name, forming the Aquila sign with their hands over their chests.
Hymns dedicated to the Holy Emperor and the Emperor echoed through the air from the choir. They awaited the resolution of this grudge. The might of humanity filled them with pride.
What could be more exciting than a long-lost hero returning to defeat the traitors?
Watching the cheering crowd, Loken finally understood why the Custodes were willing to sacrifice their honor as warriors to ensure victory in this duel.
Because what was at stake was not just his honor, but the morale of all humanity, and even the faith of all humans. This duel conveyed many messages. The rise of the Imperium of Man, humanity's struggle, and something even more important. Trampling the chosen of the Four Gods, in a sense, was also a declaration of war against them. To defeat them symbolically.
Humiliating these traitors in the arena could further promote people's sense of identity with the Imperium as a political entity and with humanity as a collective.
Chaos traitors once used such methods to torment many loyalists, and now the Imperium of Man was returning tooth for a tooth, blood for blood.
Loken stood in the center of the arena, stretching his limbs. The servo-systems of his war-plate emitted an almost imperceptible hum with his movements.
His attendants performed a final check before turning and leaving. Then, the door on the other side of the arena opened.
It was Loken's first opponent, Erebus.
Chains etched with countless intricate runes bound Erebus' body.
In addition to these chains, he was fitted with various restraint devices.
Like a captured beast, he was dragged in by the Custodes.
He continuously growled and roared in various ways.
His eyes were wide, as if he couldn't believe the Imperium would use such methods to torment him.
Erebus looked utterly disheveled.
His clothes were tattered.
And who knows from what forgotten corner those Custodes found an old, Great Crusade-era war-plate for Erebus to wear.
Of course, it was brushed quite clean. They even thoughtfully added an eight-pointed star of Chaos symbol. The dragged Erebus roared continuously.
He could already foresee his pathetic fate. To be trampled under Loken's feet, becoming a stepping stone for his triumphant return.
Despicable and shameless.
Erebus' only assessment of this duel was this. This was an unfair duel.
Loken wore the latest model of power armor, and space itself seemed to warp slightly in the shimmering light emanating from it.
While his was just an ordinary Great Crusade-era power armor. The difference between them was like fighting a Leman Russ battle tank with a spear.
He would rather die quickly than suffer such humiliation.
However, under Guilliman's orders, they couldn't even die.
Apothecaries were on standby, and if they showed any suicidal tendencies, they would immediately intervene, releasing nanite robots to repair them.
Even if they cut themselves into eighteen pieces, those bastards could easily put them back together. Then, their suicide attempts would be included in the descriptions displayed in front of their cages. This would make these chosen champions, who once roamed the stars and instilled fear in countless humans, becoming their nightmares, lose all face, becoming the laughingstock of those mortals again and again. Their renown, the fear they once cultivated, had all vanished.
Now, they were no different from pitiful clowns.
If anything, they just hadn't gotten a big red nose yet.
Under the leadership of that beast Guilliman, the Imperium of Man had become increasingly shameless. Tarsa, Sharokin, and others also stood in the spectator stands. They naturally wouldn't miss this grudge match spanning ten thousand years. The crimes committed by Erebus and other traitors were too numerous to count.
Sharokin and Tarsa were survivors of the Istvaan V campaign. They witnessed how those traitors massacred the loyalists and personally saw the cruel tortures inflicted upon captured loyalists.
After Sharokin and others escaped the Istvaan system aboard the Sisypheum, they launched a guerrilla war.
During that time, they witnessed too many terrible things.
Naturally, they also found some captured battle-brothers during their raids on enemies.
But the fate of many battle-brothers was tragic. They became training slaves, had their heads cut off in gladiatorial arenas, and then were hung in corridors as war trophies. They became sacrifices to the gods, their throats slit, bound to torture racks, awaiting death.
Some battle-brothers were even tortured into madness.
Sharokin and the others could only suppress their grief and bestow the Emperor's mercy upon those battle-brothers. The crimes committed by Abaddon, Erebus, and others could not be repaid by any means.
Even if they suffered endless torment and humiliation, becoming the eternal laughingstock of humanity, it was their deserved retribution.
Amidst the deafening cheers and insults from the audience, Erebus was dragged into the arena.
Loken stretched his limbs and casually picked a warhammer from the hovering weapon rack.
He lowered his faceplate, revealing his resolute face.
"I'm going to shatter every one of your bones, Erebus."
"Loken!" Erebus roared, "You know this is an unfair fight. Where is your warrior's spirit? Do you think it makes sense to humiliate me with such an unfair duel?"
"Warrior's spirit?" Loken flashed a brilliant smile. "You're no warrior, you're just a lowlife beast. A warrior's spirit is for dueling with noble individuals. You're not worthy, Erebus."
"You've become despicable too, Loken," Erebus said through gritted teeth. "You think we betrayed humanity, but what about Guilliman? Look at him now, what's the difference between him and a god? What's the difference between you and us? It's simply that we believe in the Four Gods, while you worship the Fifth God."
"You incinerated the very foundation of humanity," Loken's tone turned cold again. "Horus and the Four Gods shattered humanity's dreams, but His Majesty gave us a new one. Gods will be high above, looking down on all beings, treating the lives and deaths of humans as a game, but His Majesty will not."
"Erebus, quickly choose your weapon. Don't try to sway my mind with words; I've seen your vile lies countless times already."
Erebus' face was grim, a truly terrifying sight.
Besides the deformities from the blessings of the Four Gods, there were also scars left from the Great Heresy.
Back then, he had blamed Horus for the battle's defeat, and Horus had directly sliced off half his face.
Later, in another battle, he was intercepted by Corax and brutally beaten. If not for Lorgar and Curze's arrival, he would have been torn apart alive by the Raven Lord. The twisted, hideous, centipede-like scars on his face were enough to give mortals nightmares.
He chose a longsword.
Erebus' swordsmanship was formidable; during the Great Crusade, he fought evenly with masters like Lucius and Sigismund. The chains and restraints on his body were removed, and Erebus felt the surging power return to his form.
A low roar sounded, and his massive body began to move.
His speed was extreme. The blessings of the gods and the Emperor's gifts granted Erebus strength beyond mortal reach.
Loken moved too. The war hammer and longsword collided with incredible speed.
Sparks flew with every clang of steel. Two tireless, exceptionally skilled bodies clashed in the dueling arena.
Loken didn't use his full strength at first; he was learning to wield this powerful new body in a life-and-death struggle.
Honestly, this new body possessed infinite power.
Far beyond Loken's imagination.
No matter how much he exerted himself, he felt no fatigue whatsoever.
He always felt like he had endless power.
Every cell exuded boundless energy, allowing him to fight continuously. The intense battle momentarily silenced the cheering crowd. The many returning warriors also ceased their shouts, calmly watching the duel, drawing lessons and considering how they would strike if they were in the arena.
Every one of Erebus' moves was vicious, aiming for Loken's life.
Yet Loken always responded with ease. Their weapons locked together. The war hammer pressed against the sword, the sword against the war hammer.
Erebus exerted all his strength, trying to overpower Loken, but the latter's expression remained relaxed throughout.
It was as if Loken was merely treating him as a whetstone.
Not in a hurry to defeat him.
Gasping sounds emerged from Erebus' faceplate.
He was breathing heavily, his gene-enhanced muscle fibers and the power armor's artificial muscle fibers straining together, yet he still couldn't make Loken budge an inch.
With a sudden surge of power from Loken, Erebus was forced to stumble backward. This was a huge flaw; if Loken had pressed forward, he would have lost.
But Loken didn't do that.
Instead, he stepped back two paces, not eager to win. This humiliating mockery fueled Erebus' anger, and he charged again.
His blade was blocked by his opponent.
Sparks flew from the point of impact.
He swung again, but Loken easily parried it.
Erebus roared with effort, retreating backward, then, using the opening, launched an even more ferocious downward strike.
Loken merely sidestepped, causing his attack to miss.
Infinite rage welled up in Erebus' heart.
Loken was toying with him.
He could easily win this fight.
But he wasn't doing that; instead, he was treating Erebus as a whetstone, toying with him again and again.
"Die!" Erebus roared. "Who do you think you are? Gavriel Loken, I am the messenger of the gods! Do you really think you're so strong? Do you really think you can toy with me?"
Erebus completely unleashed himself. The blessed power, the re-engineered gene power, and the extreme speed granted by power armor technology.
With a roar, the longsword in his hand cleaved towards Loken with unprecedented force and speed.
But Loken's speed was even greater.
He even moved right up against Erebus, leaving him no chance to counterattack.
A swinging fist smashed into Erebus' face. The sound of bone cracking and helmet shattering occurred simultaneously; Erebus not only missed his attack but also suffered a heavy blow.
He stumbled a few steps to the left.
Loken's war hammer slammed into his chest.
Erebus felt as if a battleship had collided with his chest at light speed.
His entire massive body flew through the air, directly crashing into the distance.
When he landed, he plowed through the sturdy flagstones for hundreds of meters, like a plow through earth.
Loken walked over, war hammer in hand.
"So what if I'm toying with you? Let your gods punish me then."
Lying on the ground, Erebus continuously spat out bloody froth.
He felt like all his bones were shattered.
He couldn't even move a finger.
At this moment, he suddenly hated the gods. They were clearly so strong, why didn't they inflict punishment?
Why didn't they kill that beast Guilliman?
Why didn't they kill these guys who dared to defy them?
Why?
Weren't they gods?
Erebus roared inwardly.
His already crumbling faith completely collapsed as Loken swept his dignity to the ground. Those who had upheld the Imperial Truth were now returning, one by one, with great strength.
Bearing honor, revered and worshipped by the world.
While they, the believers who had once boasted of seeing through the universe's truth, had become a laughingstock.
Loken walked over to him, placed a foot on his head, and spat on his shattered face.
"Erebus, you're a piece of trash."
Erebus tried to say something.
But his throat was crushed by Loken a moment too soon.
"I know you want to say some harsh words to provoke me into killing you. Don't dream about it, I won't kill you. Erebus, you have many enemies, and they've all returned. The Isstvan system, the Sara system, and even the Battle of Terra, and many other battles—you haven't forgotten them all, have you, Erebus? It's fine if you have, they'll help you remember."
Hearing these words, Erebus' expression turned to one of horror.
Loken bent down, positioned his war hammer, then grabbed Erebus with both hands and lifted him above his head.
"I told you I'd break your spine, leaving you like a dead dog."
"No!" Erebus cried out, pleading, "Don't do that."
"Shadow Wolves!" Loken roared, "We keep our word!"
Erebus was slammed down violently, his back landing squarely on the positioned war hammer. The crisp sound of cracking bones echoed throughout the arena. The crowd fell silent for a brief moment, followed by an overwhelming roar of cheers.
Shalokin and the others also howled with excitement. Torgaddon leaped up from the ground excitedly, pumping his fists.
Hearing Erebus' screams gave him a sensation of pure satisfaction, from the top of his head to the soles of his feet.
Erebus lay prostrate on the ground, motionless, like a dead dog. Two servo-skulls flew over, extending their mechanical prosthetics to drag him off the field. The Custodes waited at the entrance, ready to provide Erebus with some simple treatment to prevent him from dying.
"Next!" Loken raised his war hammer and roared loudly at the cheering crowd, "Next!"