Warhammer: Starting as a Planetary Governor-Chapter 323 - 324 – Cure for the Thirst, The Centurion Armors!

The Savior's explosive battle hymn still rang across the field—bold and unrestrained, as if it feared no retribution from the Tyranid swarm.

Faisel, struggling to contain the symptoms of the Red Thirst, raised his head toward the voice calling out to him.

His vision cleared for a brief moment.

What he saw next was... bizarre beyond belief.

Not far away, the massive, seven-meter-long serpentine Tyranid synapse creature lay twitching on the ground.

Still barely alive.

Several warriors in bulky, dark green power armor squatted around it, slicing into its flesh. The creature gave out weak, pained groans.

One of them was even reminding the others, "Don't kill it yet—we'll ruin the texture and taste!"

These warriors bore the golden Imperial Aquila on their armor.

They were brothers-in-arms—Imperial Space Marines.

Next to them was a strange cooking apparatus. One Marine expertly carved meat while others manned a large open flame.

Whoosh—

A pillar of fire erupted from the stove.

Some grilled, others pan-fried, some boiled broth. They tossed in spices and side ingredients with astonishing speed—

Like skilled chefs at work.

That's right—chefs.

They were leisurely cooking Tyranid meat—on a battlefield.

Even stranger—

Tyranids lurked nearby, prowling the edges, yet not daring to approach.

They were... afraid.

Faisel's mind screamed in disbelief:

"What... the hell is going on?!"

The most eye-catching among them was a tall, rather chubby Marine.

He was the one who had called out to him.

Now, this warrior wore a pink apron with fruit prints on it and was focused on stir-frying in a round wok.

Flames leapt meters into the air as the aroma exploded in all directions.

Big Barrel tossed in a handful of spices gifted by Lord Savior, gently sprinkled salt, and gave the wok a final flip.

A perfect stir-fried dish was ready.

"Another improvement! Gotta let Lord Savior taste this next time..."

He plated the meat, wiped his hands on the apron, and approached the dazed Blood Angel.

With warm enthusiasm, he introduced himself:

"Name's Big Barrel. We're the Sons of Man Chapter—warriors under Lord Savior. If you need anything, just say the word!"

Big Barrel and his elite squad had arrived on Erynes' Bloom days earlier.

They had been hunting synapse creatures ever since—weakening the swarm before the main horde arrived.

And of course, following their Chapter's tradition—

After every battle, they refueled. With food. Right on the battlefield.

"...Savior?"

The words jolted Faisel awake.

That was the name of the newly returned Primarch—the Savior. A being said to rival Sanguinius himself.

That made the man before him... a gene-son of the Savior.

Trustworthy.

Faisel cautiously lowered his guard.

"We are the sons of Sanguinius," he said weakly. "My battle-brother is severely wounded... he needs medical aid."

What they truly needed was fresh human blood—to ease the Red Thirst and heal faster.

But that was a shameful truth no Blood Angel dared speak aloud.

Yet—

Even as he spoke, Faisel's instincts deteriorated.

The Thirst clouded his mind.

He could smell the blood in Big Barrel's veins.

His pupils narrowed to slits. Fangs peeked from beneath his lips.

He wanted that blood.

"Medical aid, huh?"

Big Barrel walked over, rummaging through a pouch.

"Just got a batch of the good stuff—high-grade meds. This'll patch him up good..."

Faisel lowered his gaze, hiding his frenzy.

He could barely hear what the man was saying.

The only thing he focused on—

Was calculating the distance.

Then—

He lunged.

But froze.

An immense pressure crushed him.

Standing before him was not a man—but a primordial beast.

More terrifying than any Tyranid he had ever faced.

Faisel knew, instinctively:

This man was stronger than Karlaen.

Big Barrel wasn't just any Marine.

He was the Chapter Master of the Sons of Man.

And he had spent a millennium fighting Tyranids on Danuus.

Combat reflexes were muscle memory to him.

In an instant, he struck.

WHAM—

Big Barrel seized Faisel by the throat and slammed him into a marble wall.

CRACK—

Spiderweb fractures spread across the stone.

Faisel spat blood.

Big Barrel frowned apologetically.

"Sorry, that was a bit rough. Just hold on—we'll fix you right up."

He punched the stunned Blood Angel one more time, then jabbed a gleaming syringe into his carotid.

Zzzzz—

Golden fluid injected into Faisel's veins.

The serum was laced with solar-infused psychic energy.

Faisel convulsed.

But Big Barrel wasn't worried.

This was Panacea—a miracle drug created under Lord Savior's guidance.

Said to cure almost anything—though ridiculously expensive.

A single dose was worth as much as a fully armed Space Marine.

But lives were worth more.

And Big Barrel?

He was rich these days.

Lord Savior had gifted him plenty of Panacea.

When Faisel's spasms calmed, Big Barrel released him.

Then turned to administer another dose to the unconscious Blood Angel.

Faisel collapsed to the ground, panting.

Then—

Realized something.

His body felt light.

His wounds—new and old—healed at terrifying speed.

More importantly—

The Thirst was gone.

Well, not entirely. But reduced to a faint whisper—easily suppressed.

Faisel trembled.

Tears streamed down his face.

"The curse... it can be cured."

"The curse that plagued Sanguinius' sons for millennia—there's a way out!"

He scrambled over to Big Barrel.

"Brother... that serum—do you have more?! We need it! The sons of Sanguinius need it!"

They had searched for centuries. Endured suffering. Their Chapter Master Dante endured the Thirst every day.

Now—hope.

No one could remain composed in the face of such salvation.

Big Barrel helped him up.

"There's more where that came from. Lord Savior has the recipe. But I can't make the call—you'll need Dante to ask him directly."

Faisel blinked, composing himself, though joy still danced in his eyes.

His brothers—they could be saved.

Soon after—

The second Blood Angel awoke.

He too tasted the miracle—and broke into joyous tears.

But joy wasn't enough.

They had to survive to spread the word.

Fortunately—

They weren't alone anymore.

Big Barrel invited them to join the meal.

Faisel hesitated, but eventually accepted.

To his surprise—

The Tyranid meat was delicious.

Energizing. Restorative.

Soon, both Blood Angels were wolfing it down.

The Sons of Man grinned with pride—battlefield cuisine worthy of glory.

During their meal, Big Barrel learned that Karlaen, their captain, had gone to the governor's palace—

Likely under attack.

Big Barrel decided to go help.

But then—

HISSSSSSS—

Tyranid screeches echoed.

Through their visors, they saw it:

A new synapse creature.

It summoned a massive swarm.

A tidal wave of chitin on the ground—

And a sky teeming with monstrous fliers.

They were coming.

Faisel paled.

"This horde is massive... we can't hold them off. We should retreat!"

Even if he wanted to help Karlaen, marching into that storm was suicide.

But—

The Sons of Man kept packing up camp like nothing had happened.

"Relax," Big Barrel said between bites.

"Our backup's arriving. These bugs won't stop us. The mission goes on."

Even as he spoke—

Streaks of fire lit the sky.

THUD THUD THUD—

More than twenty drop pods crashed down around the camp.

As the smoke cleared—

The mechanical bays opened, revealing hulking armored forms.

Their presence was overwhelming.

"Centurion armor...?" Faisel gasped.

Heavy exo-armor for Space Marines—nearly as powerful as Dreadnoughts, but far more mobile.

These were Siege Centurions—walking tanks.

Dual heavy bolters. Hurricane bolter arrays. Shrapnel missiles.

And for armor?

Lasers, krak missiles—and graviton cannons.

Each carried multi-directional fire-coordination lenses for squad synergy.

Together, they formed walls of unstoppable firepower.

Faisel was stunned.

His entire company didn't have this many Centurions.

Only in the most crucial battles would 5–10 be deployed.

But this obscure Chapter?

They fielded dozens.

And each Marine had their own.

He couldn't help but stare in awe.

He didn't even qualify to pilot one.

Most failed due to the violent machine spirits.

Faisel had once tried.

The pain was unbearable.

Yet—

These men?

All Centurion pilots?!

He looked at them with newfound respect.

Big Barrel boarded a pod, entered the Centurion armor, and donned the specialized helm.

With a hiss—

The suit sealed.

THUD THUD THUD

The armor stepped forward, towering above Faisel.

Big Barrel's voice buzzed from the vox:

"Hey brother—almost forgot. Got one for you too. Pick whichever you like."

Faisel hesitated, ashamed.

"I... I'm not worthy. The machine spirits—"

"Our machine spirits are well-trained by the Mechanicus priestess Urth," Big Barrel grinned.

"They're well-behaved."

"Just hop in. If it's tough, switch to semi-auto mode."

That shocked Faisel.

He climbed aboard—

Connected to the suit—

And found...

Gentle acceptance.

No rejection. No pain.

Just seamless integration.

Soon—

He mastered the controls.

Around him, the others finished suiting up.

Over twenty hulking Centurions stood ready—

Facing the oncoming horde.

BOOM—

Assault Centurions cleared a breach in the wall with siege drills.

Through it—

The swarm approached.

"Brothers!" Big Barrel roared. "Crush these bugs with me!"

He leapt forward, smashing into the horde—

WHAM—

And unleashed hell.

Bolter storms. Shrapnel missiles. Hurricane fire.

A gap tore open in the swarm.

The others followed.

Their wedge formation punched into the Tyranids—

Swallowed—

Then detonated.

Faisel fought in the middle, surrounded by death.

But he felt no fear.

Because his brothers were with him.

He guided the Centurion suit—

And reaped the swarm.

For the first time in a long time—

He fought without sacrifice.

Without hopelessness.

"...It feels good."

They advanced through the corpses—

Marching toward the palace...

(End of Chapter)

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