Chapter 17: The Answer – Are You My Master?

Gazing at the golden-haired girl, Chen Xing pinched her chubby steamed-bun cheeks.

Pain confirmed: not Type-Moon, no Grail War.

But this Saber-lookalike—from where?

[Host, sure no Grail War?]

“I’m a hive ship. Fuyuki? I’d devour all in minutes.”

[Hahaha, true.]

White-haired loli muttered with light-ball.

Girl’s ahoge twitched.

Low pressure emanated—pod temperature dropped.

“Answer: are you my Master?”

She repeated.

Chen Xing ready, arms crossed, chin up, haughty.

“Correct. I’m your creator. Pledge loyalty!”

“As you wish.” Girl knelt one knee. “From today, I’m your sword—cleave obstacles. Your shield—block all peril. Honored Lord, grant name.”

Name? Ah… Chen Xing saw the trick to handle new girls.

“Eleanor,” stifling urge for that name. “Rise, my knight.”

“Command acknowledged.” Eleanor stood.

Eyes blazed disproportionate battle-will—could crush foes.

“Eight tyrants for you—pick one body.” Chen Xing ordered. “Lead them—destroy enemies. Crack those black cans!”

“All as you wish, Honored Lord.”

Eleanor vanished.

Hatchery: eight tyrants roared.

Largest’s eyes flashed.

Bone sword hummed with bio-disruptor field.

“Knights—charge!”

Waaargh—!

Tyrants, escorted by swarm, boarded Bloodied Blade.

Reached altar battlefield.

Chaos Astartes dominated!

Onyx frontline: dueling sorcerer, venomthropes tox-misting cultist advance!

Line retreated but held.

(Mary, hold! Reinforcements!)

“Thanks, Honored Lord—wowa, tyrants! You can build such now?”

Eight tyrants strode.

Lead roared—cowering Tyranids morale surged!

Synaptic control strengthened—no collapse, no instinct!

“I am Eleanor, first knight under Lord!” Lead tyrant overlooked zoanthrope. “Witch, out of my way!”

Onyx vein popped—this upstart rivaling favor? Unforgivable! First creation!

Pod-floating Chen Xing: speechless at jealousy.

“Stop bickering—kill black cans!”

“Yes, Honored Lord!” x2

Tyrant and zoanthrope faced front.

Terror psionic wave blanketed hundreds km.

Chen Xing minimally unfolded warp shadow—risky, astropaths would sense.

But to crush daemon surges—necessary.

Indeed, portals flickered.

Bloodletters weakened, some crushed to nothingness.

“Advance!” Onyx ordered. “Venomthropes, more toxin! All Tyranids—push under cover! Genestealers flank—destroy heavy bolters, autocannons!”

Orders executed.

Toxin tide swept from altar edge.

Cultists screamed, melted to blood.

Rear gunners blind-fired into mist—no echo.

Sudden genestealers ripped gunners, silenced teams.

Balevi frontline: power armor toxin-immune, super-senses mist-resistant.

Chain-axe cleaved warrior—chitin parted easy, bisected.

“Chaos gods, this… what? Aaa!”

Scream right.

Balevi turned—helm lens saw comrade impaled on bone sword, lifted, struggling—dismembered.

“Brother Perus! Damn you!” Balevi roared. “Whatever you are—sacrifice to Chaos!”

Wooar—!

Odd roar from mist.

Massive Tyranid approached.

Balevi looked up: 8m tall—three Astartes stacked.

White chitin, back vents green spore-mist.

Four limb-pairs: front rending claws, rear bone swords.

“Holy—!” Balevi stepped back. “Hive tyrant!”

Remembered—serving Emperor, company desperate planetary defense.

“I fear you not!” Balevi raised chain-axe. “No longer rookie! Greater power! I… Chaos Lord Balevi—tear you apart!”

Black armor, tattered crimson cloak toxin-waved.

Balevi hyped—Chaos would prevail.

But… one, two, three, four, five, six, seven!

Seven more giants in mist.

Varied symbiotes—venom cannons, devourers recognized.

All melee-armed.

Moment: Balevi saw screw and nuts—he the screw.

“Wait, we can talk!”

Eight tyrants eyed, earth-shaking roar.

Balevi’s roar, scream.

Seconds: Chaos Lord Balevi—diced.