On the Chaos battlefield, the daemons squatted with their hands on their heads in fear, a black mass stretching as far as the eye could see.
It was absurd.
"Emperor…"
In the distance, the old-Imperium scrivener Olsen was stunned.
If humanity winning a great victory, pursuing daemons, was still within the bounds of what he could understand—
Then the scene before him had completely exceeded his imagination.
The foundations of this old-Imperium scrivener's worldview were being challenged.
No matter what texts he had read, no matter what knowledge he had been taught, nothing could explain what he was seeing.
Olsen, a battlefield scrivener, had followed armies all his life.
He was responsible for recording the course of wars and sacred deeds—born on the battlefield, to die on the battlefield, forbidden to disclose any secret for as long as he lived.
And precisely because of that, he had been granted access to forbidden tomes, allowed to touch one horrific fragment of history after another.
Those Chaos daemons were so powerful. In the Imperium's wars against Chaos, there was only suffering and torment.
Every single war came with the fall of cities, the collapse of worlds, the deaths of hundreds of millions of soldiers—and even more civilians.
People were twisted into deformed, grotesque shapes.
"Daemons cannot be touched, cannot be defeated. Only the mysterious silver-grey Angels of the Imperium can hold them back…"
That was the view of daemons Olsen had received during his training, and it had terrified him.
So when the Vostoniya Chaos war began, he had already accepted that he would die. The only thing left to do was record as much as possible: the courage and deaths of Imperial soldiers.
Especially the holy deeds of the Dark Angels—so that even if he perished, he would have no regrets.
Death was commonplace for war scriveners. A stray round could shatter your skull at any time.
Or your ward could fail, your will could break, and you would be corroded by the abomination.
Their average working lifespan did not exceed five years, but that was the scrivener's duty.
Olsen knew the records he left behind would be recovered by the Angels, sealed away in the Imperium's restricted librarium-vaults, and ultimately become part of history.
What pride. What glory.
As the Emperor's lamb, he would have completed his mission.
But now, not only had he not died—what he was witnessing on the battlefield was overturning every forbidden historical record he had ever known.
The Imperial army had changed enormously. It fielded new-pattern armor, weapons, and vehicles that did not exist in any record he had studied. Its offensive was ferocious.
Meanwhile, the daemons were breaking, fleeing, as if it were the daemons who had been invaded and slaughtered.
They surrendered in terror, like lambs waiting for the knife.
This was an unprecedented change.
"I must preserve all of this. The Forbidden Library will retain the name of Olsen—and my family seal.
It will be the most exceptional record. A magnificent victory for the Imperium, without precedent in history…"
Olsen was ecstatic. A faint flush rose on his pallid face, and even his augmetic arm trembled slightly.
Every scene in his sight was sacred, worthy of record.
He wrote furiously on parchment, capturing and sketching as much detail as he could.
Rapid writing and drawing were skills every scrivener had to master, using lines on parchment to preserve what the eye had seen.
Only a record like that could avoid being corrupted, altered, and could be preserved for a long time.
Of course, these parchments would be stored in sealed chambers beneath the Forbidden Library, unseen for a very long time—or perhaps forever, becoming an eternal secret.
But that was enough. For the Imperium of Man, the mere fact that it was recorded gave it value.
Olsen's drawings were vivid, capturing scene after scene:
The terrified eyes of the daemons squatting with their hands on their heads.
The martial bearing of the Carcharodons, arms crossed over their chests.
A handful of Carcharodons surrounding dozens of Chaos daemons, threatening them with bolt weapons.
And, of course, the sacred cross behind them—bearing the icon of the legendary Savior, so imposing that the daemons did not dare look up, lowering their heads one after another.
Just as Olsen was wholly immersed in his work, a blunt, easygoing voice came from behind him.
"Brother, you're collecting war material too? Which department are you from?"
He turned to look.
It was another scrivener—young, dressed differently from Olsen—and behind him followed two Emperor's Angels in red armor.
Stranger still, the newcomer bore no scrivener family crest, and carried no parchment ledger reserved for scriveners.
Hmm?
Olsen frowned slightly and sized up the young scrivener.
"Where is your parchment ledger, sir? You didn't lose it, did you? That would be… not a good thing."
For a scrivener, recording tools mattered more than life itself. Lose them, and you would be stripped of your qualification to record.
You would also be punished severely.
A scrivener going to war without recording tools was like a soldier going to war with bare hands.
After seeing Olsen's parchment ledger, the young scrivener seemed to understand.
"The Savior's Publicity Department stopped using parchment a long time ago. We have more efficient equipment now. We can preserve far more records."
He explained, then waved to the side.
"Hurry up. There's material here that needs recording!"
At that moment, another scrivener came running up with an auspex pict-recorder slung over his shoulder, aiming the device at the Chaos daemons in the near distance.
"What excellent material. Get it filmed. Send the good news of victory back. The Imperium's people hunger for the Savior's radiance—hunger to witness such a sacred scene!"
As he spoke, the young scrivener—under the protection of the Emperor's Angels—walked toward the daemons.
The auspex pict-recorder captured the scene, while he delivered an on-the-spot narration about the war:
"People of the Imperium, under the leadership of the great Savior, the Imperium has once again achieved a tremendous victory.
We are now on Kalistede, within Vostoniya. Under the intimidation of that great existence, these evil abominations tremble…"
…What?
Olsen was numb.
By the Throne—what about the scrivener's oath of secrecy?
Are these abominable records something Imperial citizens are allowed to see?!
And why does a scrivener have the authority to command Emperor's Angels?
Those two Emperor's Angels even looked like the young scrivener's personal guard.
Too many questions flooded him at once.
What Olsen did not know was that the new Imperium no longer kept daemons hidden away.
Letting humanity know more about daemons actually helped eliminate fear and reduce corruption.
Any virtual pict-footage would be specially processed before publication, rendered harmless.
Then Olsen saw something even more shocking.
That young scrivener shoved the pict-recorder right up into a Chaos daemon's face, as if conducting a serious interview.
He asked whether the abomination was afraid at this moment, what its mood was like, whether it feared the Savior, and whether the Savior was the greatest Emperor in the galaxy.
What?!
A high-ranking Chaos daemon heard those questions, saw the recording device shoved into its face, and its entire daemon-mind went blank.
It had already chosen to surrender—now they were going to kill the body and crush the heart too?!
"What humiliation!"
Rage flared in the daemon's heart.
In the past, humans had trembled at the daemon's feet like pathetic lambs, fit only to be its blood-meat.
And now they dared to shame it like this?!
That high-ranking daemon secretly gathered power in its fury, preparing to leap up and tear the insignificant human scrivener apart—
Only to stall out in the next instant.
Bzzzt.
A special shield-field rose around the young scrivener.
The two War Angels Terminators beside him surged with menace.
Their motions were crisp and efficient as they raised their "melee bioweapon"—a Hell Spear—and leveled it at the abomination.
That scrivener had come bearing a mission from the Savior's Publicity Department. His safety could not be compromised.
So the War Angels had dispatched their most elite warriors to protect him.
At that moment, Tyberos also arrived—leading several Carcharodons—trotting in eagerly to surround the scene, hoping to get a share of the publicity department's camera time.
It was a chance to be seen by the Savior himself, and to display the Carcharodons' loyalty to the Imperium.
Tyberos stared at the high-ranking daemon and spoke word by word, loud and clear—though a bit stiff.
"With the Savior above, answer the scrivener's questions at once.
Otherwise, we Carcharodons—His Majesty the great and merciful Savior's most loyal warriors—will not forgive you heretical abominations.
We Carcharodons are the most elite Angels. We not only protect the people of the Imperium, we also deliver the most painful torment to heretical abominations like you!"
Beast.
The high-ranking daemon shuddered under the hateful stares and the cursed weapons.
It knew that if it refused, it would be tortured to ash under those horrific tools—with no chance of rebirth.
If the Savior could see this scene, he would find it familiar: the recording lens, the lethal weapons pointed at him, and threats hidden between every word.
Wasn't this AK Media?!
"You win, humans…"
Facing the pict-recorder shoved into its face and the cursed weapons trained upon it, the high-ranking daemon suppressed its rage and yielded for now.
But it would not forget this hatred. In the future, it would repay humanity with even more slaughter and torment.
Then, in the next instant, the high-ranking daemon screamed.
The Hell Spear stabbed down without mercy. A special sacred psychic power surged through the spearhead into its body, plunging it into extreme agony as pustules spread across its flesh.
Its screams lasted for several minutes before finally stopping—its soul destroyed to the last shred.
The War Angels Terminators had used a "bioweapon" to kill the high-ranking daemon that was not sufficiently cooperative.
Fear spread.
After that, the young scrivener selected a new high-ranking daemon as the target and proceeded with the special interview.
That high-ranking Tzeentchian daemon's eyes filled with tears. It trembled so violently it did not dare harbor even a hint of resistance.
Its voice quavered as it answered obediently:
"I… I am very afraid. The daemons fear His Majesty the Savior…"
The high-ranking Tzeentchian daemon did not dare resist and cooperated to the utmost. It not only answered every question, it also—under guided phrasing—praised the Savior's might and denounced the daemons' evil, shameless nature.
Finally, under the crushing pressure of fear, it dropped to its knees, raised both hands high, and shouted at the camera with baffling instinct:
"Long live… the Savior!"
The young scrivener reviewed the footage and nodded with satisfaction.
See?
Even daemons submitted under the Savior's intimidation.
It was the inevitable outcome. They all believed the Savior would dominate both the galaxy and the Warp, leading humanity into prosperity.
After the high-ranking Tzeentchian daemon shouted that sentence, the entire area fell into silence.
Not a sound.
When it realized what it had just done, its terror reached an apex:
There was no going back. It had blasphemed Chaos. The daemons would never forgive it.
In fact, once that virtual pict-footage was processed by the Savior's Publicity Department, published, and gradually spread, even the Warp fell silent.
The daemons wanted nothing more than to flay that cowardly traitor alive and inflict eternal pain.
The high-ranking Tzeentchian daemon had a flash of inspiration in the midst of fear.
It looked at the scrivener and spoke in a near-begging tone.
"S-Savior's envoy… I am willing to cooperate with all your tasks. You need an existence like me!"
Given the circumstances, staying in the galaxy was safer.
The young scrivener hesitated for a moment, then reported the situation upward.
Before long, he received a reply and nodded, agreeing to the request.
After all, the department had many publicity tasks. It truly did need daemons to cooperate in filming.
Once this special situation was reported, it was immediately escalated to the head of the publicity division, and authorization was granted.
That director was skilled at grasping His Majesty the Savior's intent and knew the Savior would not refuse such an approach.
After learning it had been hired on the spot by the Savior's Publicity Department as a covert staffer, the high-ranking Tzeentchian daemon finally exhaled in relief.
It cooperatively put on blackstone manacles, and a smile even crept onto its face.
From this moment on, the publicity department gained a covert staff member named Steve—an exceptionally skilled performer.
He could perfectly act out the ugliness of daemons, and would appear in many propaganda reels in disguise.
This high-ranking daemon was hated to the marrow by other daemons, and yet they were helpless—because he always hid on heavily fortified rear-line worlds.
Once the Savior's Publicity Department widened its thinking, it secretly recruited even more heretics and xenos.
Including, but not limited to: Chaos daemons, greenskins, T'au, Aeldari, Tyranids, and more.
They were used to film propaganda, and even to record instructional materials and children's educational content, deepening people's understanding of heretics and xenos, reducing fear.
Back in the Chaos warzone sector—
After receiving permission from his superiors, the young scrivener recruited another batch of daemons as covert staff on the spot.
The daemons who gained employment immediately were granted mercy and spared death.
Then, representing his superiors, he thanked Tyberos, Chapter Master of the Carcharodons, for his assistance—and even offered him a special interview opportunity.
The loyal Carcharodons Chapter Master would be interviewed, describing the Savior as he understood him, and it would be published on the front page of the Imperial Court Daily.
Tyberos was delighted beyond measure.
"What a glorious invitation! On behalf of the Carcharodons, I extend our gratitude to the Publicity Department!"
But the moment he finished speaking, unrest erupted in the area. Some daemons could not endure such humiliation and rose in rebellion.
"Damnable abominations…"
Tyberos' face darkened at once.
The Publicity Department personnel had not even left yet, and the surrendered daemons were rioting inside his containment zone.
Wasn't that smearing filth across his own face?!
Bang, bang, bang—
Carcharodons reacted at speed, immediately launching hell grenades into the riot zone and bringing up heavy vehicles to suppress the disturbance.
More than thirty heavy Centurion warsuits formed a tight encirclement. Their firepower was enough to breach some major fortresses.
After years of shameless devotion, lobbying, and investment under their Chapter Master, this Chapter was not only entirely Primaris, it also had the best wargear—already among the most elite of the Adeptus Astartes.
They controlled the situation with ease.
"These evil abominations not only refuse to surrender obediently, they dare return fire on the Carcharodons?!"
Tyberos strode toward the riot zone in fury.
He seized the strongest of the high-ranking daemons, slammed it brutally into the ground, and planted his boot upon it.
This Chapter Master was enormous and imposing.
He could be called the largest Space Marine beneath the primarchs in sheer stature, and he had even defeated several Greater Daemons.
The current scene was no problem at all.
Soon, Carcharodons charged into the daemon horde.
They used chain weapons, the butts of bolters, and their fists, hammering the daemons with savage elbow-strikes and blows, carrying the momentum of "thirteen hits in a second."
The daemons fled with hands over their heads, screaming in misery—while the Publicity Department's auspex pict-recorder captured it all in crisp detail.
Such loyalty.
…
In the Chaos Warp—
This realm was filled with voidlike, chaotic energies. Time and space themselves seemed to have lost meaning.
On a wasteland carpeted with bones, screams and weapon-fire overlapped in frantic disorder.
A Chaos host was fleeing, while behind it came a fully armed Astartes assault detachment.
"For the Savior!"
A powerful commander led from the front, driving his warriors in a frenzied pursuit, slaughtering the fleeing daemons.
It was Titus under the Savior's command—an existence with almost no record of defeat, capable of tearing Greater Daemons apart with his bare hands.
The killing aura pouring off Titus made the daemons quake.
Titus threw himself into the slaughter, cutting forward without pause.
He swore to lead the assault detachment to prevent the daemons from escaping and to purge even more evil abominations.
Assault! Assault!
No one knew how long it had been when Titus suddenly sensed something and snapped his head up.
On a distant cliff stood a Chaos palace—vast beyond measure—exuding an aura of dread.
It was the domain of a Warp god, overflowing with endless evil.
More than that, he faintly sensed the presence of a loyal primarch—yet unfamiliar.
Titus had no time to think. He drew a deep breath.
His assault detachment had, without realizing it, charged all the way to the enemy's main lair?!
At that moment, a psychic message from the Savior arrived—urgent.
(End of Chapter)
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