Chapter Thirty-Two: The Battle of Makulag, Part Four The First Dreadnought of the Transcender

“Absolutely disgusting.”

The two transmigrators gazed at the psyker before them, filled with utter revulsion. Deep within the human genome lies an instinctive fear and aversion to the corpses of one’s own kind—a primal instinct of the species.

They pressed harder, driving their power swords into the psychic barrier. Unless this psyker was of an exceptionally high order, he would be unable to withstand the might of two Astartes. As the twin blades slowly pierced through the shimmering shield, the psyker’s body began to tremble, unstable psychic energy leaking from his eyes.

Staring at the two Astartes and their inexorably advancing blades, the psyker abruptly dispelled his barrier. If this continued, he would lose control and detonate in a psychic explosion.

The sudden collapse of the shield caught the two transmigrators off guard, causing them to stumble forward under the momentum of their attack. Their power swords carved deep gouges into the ground, but just as they prepared to raise their weapons and cut down the Chaos psyker once more, they were shocked to discover their bodies had frozen in place.

The Chaos psyker extended his hands, clutching at the air before him. His body was wreathed in surging psychic energy as he mustered all his power to barely restrain the two Astartes.

But his own body could not withstand the overwhelming pressure. Blood began to pour from his eyes, nose, and mouth as his trembling grew more violent. The unleashed psychic force caused the ambient temperature to plummet; a thin layer of frost crept across the ground.

The psyker’s hands slowly clenched into fists, his psychic power twisting the bodies of the two transmigrators. The joints of their powered armor buckled, their bones snapping under the invisible strain. This was the absolute limit of the psyker’s strength—his consciousness was fading, his brain already beginning to erode under the onslaught of psychic energy.

Within the chaos of his mind, countless sinister voices whispered, tempting him to surrender his body to them, their insidious words impossible to resist.

The psyker was completely lost to madness. Daemons from the Warp began to consume his soul, taking possession of his body. Under their influence, his psychic power surged ever higher. A sick, twisted smile stretched across his blood-soaked face.

Such is the fate of psykers in the 40k universe. The same power that makes them formidable also renders them susceptible to the corrupting touch of Warp daemons.

With a final, mad effort, he jerked his hands shut, heedless of the psychic backlash that tore his flesh to shreds. Before him, the limbs of the two transmigrators were wrenched apart by invisible force, reduced to bloody pulp.

At that moment, a bolt round struck the vulnerable psyker in the head, bursting it into a cloud of crimson mist and ending his life.

With his death, all the psychic energies in the area dissipated. The temperature returned to normal, and the invisible restraint on the two transmigrators faded.

But their limbs had been utterly destroyed, the shattered ceramite of their power armor mingling with mangled flesh—a ruin that left them completely incapable of fighting.

Wang Lei, holding his bolt pistol in one hand, approached the pair, now reduced to little more than torsos.

“Well? Want to revive or transfer to the Dreadnought in the Second Company?” Wang Lei asked the two on the ground.

For transmigrators, fatal injuries meant little more than a reset, but this half-dead state was far from pleasant.

“Put one in me. I’ll revive,” said one.

“I’ll transfer to the Second Company and try out the Dreadnought,” replied the other.

Wang Lei promptly put a round through the first transmigrator’s head, sending him off for revival. The second, bound for the Second Company’s Dreadnought, was carried away after Wang Lei contacted his comrades.