MTLNOVEL Chapter 23: chapter 23
Chapter 23: Reversal of Attack and Defense
Years of war experience and martial training allowed Ventanus to gradually master the rhythm of battle. The powerful Word Bearer was unable to fully control his own strength, and after several exchanges, he exposed a flaw. Seizing the moment, Ventanus drove his power sword into the enemy's abdomen, piercing the ceramite plating of his power armor.
The disruption field of the blade flared violently, atomizing flesh and organs upon contact. Ventanus felt the Word Bearer convulsing, muscles twitching uncontrollably as the sword's energy wreaked havoc inside his body.
But his power sword, dulled by repeated clashes against the foe's chainsword, was beginning to fail. At the worst possible moment, it jammed in the enemy's bones.
Ventanus' instincts screamed danger. Without hesitation, he released the hilt and dodged as the wounded Word Bearer swung his chainsword in a wide arc, howling in rage. The brutal weapon carved through the air, narrowly missing Ventanus.
His adjutant Bucky rushed to assist, but a savage backhand from the enemy sent him flying into the rubble.
Blood gushed from the gaping wound in the Word Bearer's torso. Even the Astartes' legendary physiology could not keep him standing much longer. Ventanus took advantage of his opponent's weakening state, lunging forward with his full weight. He grappled the Word Bearer, forcing him to the ground, while simultaneously driving the enemy's own chainsword into the dirt.
Steel-clad fists rained down like hammers.
The first punch dented the Word Bearer's helmet.
The second cracked it.
By the third, fractures spiderwebbed across the visor.
By the fourth and fifth, the reinforced gorget protecting the warrior's throat was crumpling.
Finally, with a sickening crunch, the enemy's helmet shattered, revealing bloodshot, furious eyes.
Even then, the Word Bearer refused to fall. He was no ordinary traitor—perhaps a veteran of countless wars, a warrior whose name had once been feared across the stars. But none of that mattered now.
Now, they were simply enemies, locked in a brutal struggle to the death.
Before Ventanus could finish him, however, the roar of incoming bolter fire erupted from the ruins. A squad of Skitarii and Iron Hands had arrived. The battlefield was illuminated by a storm of explosive rounds and searing plasma bolts.
The Word Bearer, so terrifying in single combat, was torn apart by the combined firepower of the loyalists.
Ventanus exhaled sharply. He had not won that duel alone.
But this was war, not an honor duel.
The Ultramarines were faltering. Their ceramite armor, though mighty, could only endure so much punishment. Fractures formed in their bones, bruises spread across their muscles, and exhaustion gnawed at their enhanced bodies.
And the Word Bearers kept coming.
A fresh wave of traitors emerged from the thickening fog, their dark crimson armor glinting under the dim battlefield light. Their silence was unsettling—there was no bellowed war cry, no mindless charge. Only the slow, measured advance of killers.
Even the Ultramarines could be pushed to their limits.
Explosions tore through their ranks. Astartes who had endured the battle thus far were caught in the blasts, their armor shattered, their fate unknown.
"My lord! I have intercepted a signal!" Skitarii leader Aruk shouted.
Ventanus did not dare hope. Were reinforcements truly arriving? Or was this another of the Word Bearers' cruel tricks?
"Ask them the number of Eldar craftworlds known to Guilliman," he ordered.
The reply came quickly.
"Twelve!" Aruk relayed.
Ventanus exhaled.
"The correct answer is thirteen," he murmured, "but they are still our allies."
"Send them our coordinates—immediately!"
The battle was reaching its climax. The Ultramarines had held firm against two waves of attacks, but the third would decide the outcome. Ventanus could sense it—their bodies were reaching the breaking point. Even Astartes could only endure so much before exhaustion claimed them.
"Hold the line, battle-brothers!" he roared. "We don't have much longer!"
The Word Bearers pressed forward, their armored boots crunching over shattered masonry. Their advance was unrelenting, their bolters spewing death with mechanical precision. The Ultramarines' defenses began to buckle under the sheer weight of enemy fire.
Then, the enemy brought forth their war machines.
From the fog emerged a massive Poisonblade super-heavy tank, a hulking behemoth of iron and death. Its colossal turret swiveled into position, locking onto the Ultramarines' last defensive line.
Ventanus clenched his teeth. Even Space Marines would struggle against such a monstrous war engine.
The Poisonblade's servitor-crew adjusted firing parameters, readying to unleash devastation.
Then—something changed.
The tank hesitated. Its turret jerked suddenly, as if detecting an unseen threat.
A flash of blue light split the battlefield.
A beam of energy—far more powerful than any mere lascannon—pierced the fog and struck the Poisonblade's turret with staggering force.
The super-heavy tank lurched backward, its three-hundred-ton frame reeling from the impact. Servitors screamed as internal mechanisms ruptured, spraying molten slag.
Ventanus' eyes widened.
That was no Ultramarines weapon.
Another shot followed. This time, the beam melted a trench through the battlefield, vaporizing traitor Astartes and cultists alike. Word Bearers scattered, their formations crumbling in an instant.
Then, the final blow.
The third energy blast pierced the tank's ammunition stores.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—the Poisonblade detonated.
A shockwave of fire and shrapnel ripped through the Word Bearers' ranks, annihilating everything nearby. The once-mighty war machine was reduced to a smoldering ruin.
And from the thick fog, they appeared.
Two Sicaran battle tanks rolled onto the battlefield, their cobalt-blue armor gleaming beneath the war-torn sky.
Behind them came a Land Raider, its mighty lascannons already tracking new targets.
And then—Ultramarines reinforcements arrived in force.
Cyclone missile vehicles. Astartes bikes. Assault squads.
The battlefield was no longer a slaughter.
Now, it was a counterattack.
Ventanus grinned.
"The tide has turned."
For the first time in this desperate battle, the Word Bearers were no longer the hunters.
They were the hunted.