Before its words had even finished falling, the Leviathan Dreadnought's siege claw smashed toward it like a meteor chasing the moon. The colossal war machine struck with thunderous force, yet the Bloodletter had already anticipated this—one backward leap carried it cleanly out of the old warrior's attack range.
"It seems there is yet another skull of value to be claimed." It burst into manic laughter, its left hand pointing at Gotthardt. "Excellent. I never expected such a pleasant surprise. I will happily take your skulls as trophies—so do be sure to show enough strength, that I may not leave disappointed."
This Bloodletter was enormous, its hellblade wreathed in searing blood fire. Its eyes brimmed with murderous desire, thirsting for slaughter as they swept across everyone present before settling once more on Ignis.
"You go first, human. I grant you the honor of challenging me. Normally, nameless trash like you would never be given such an opportunity." The daemon's voice carried a strange compulsion, igniting an inexplicable fire in Ignis's chest. "As for the one in the coffin, I will show him a measure of respect—right before I cut off his head."
Typically, Bloodletters wore no armor. Only higher-ranked ones bore protection of any kind. Yet this creature not only wore armor—it was ornate. Brass decorations etched with the Blood God's sigils marked it as anything but ordinary. At the very least, this was a Khorne war leader, a Bloodletter commander capable of leading a host of the Blood Legion.
The Salamander felt a flicker of tension. This was not his first time facing an enemy of such caliber, but confronting a daemon of Khorne always set his nerves on edge. Daemons were notoriously difficult to truly destroy—physical annihilation merely sent them back to the Warp. The combat experience of a greater daemon was immeasurable.
"What's wrong? Afraid? Planning to hide behind that iron coffin?" Seeing no response, the Khorne daemon began to jeer. It stabbed its sword into the ground, folding its arms and flapping them mockingly like wings.
"Like a chick hiding behind its hen? Cluck, cluck, cluck?" It even mimicked the sound perfectly.
"I could kill the hen first, then deal with you. Order doesn't matter—so long as there are skulls and blood, my master will be pleased!" Another peal of learing laughter followed.
Honestly, Ignis had never imagined a Khorne daemon could be this talkative. Weren't these creatures supposed to have only a hundred thousand ways to cleave heads? Since when did they master rhetoric? Still, being insulted this thoroughly—failing to settle this in blood would be an unforgivable loss of face.
"By the Emperor's guidance!" Ignis stepped forward. "Daemon, are you ready to die?"
"Good. That's more like a warrior." The Khorne daemon nodded, visibly pleased. "In recognition of your courage and stupidity, I will temporarily include your skull in my collection. Though its ranking will be quite low—soon replaced by finer ones."
It tore the daemonic sword from the ground and strode toward the small plaza. The officers instinctively retreated as it approached. The fear aura surrounding the daemon made it unbearable for mortals to even look upon it. Only a handful of the brave—or the foolish—could withstand its presence. Were the Warp's influence stronger here, these mortals would have already mutated into Chaos abominations simply by witnessing its form.
But no matter. Though its power was somewhat constrained, dealing with the two before it was more than sufficient. An effortless slaughter would be dull even for the Blood God. Hopefully, the green one and the yellow one would prove brave enough to provide some amusement.
"Enough talk. Take up your weapon. Let me see how much strength you truly used just now."
Facing the daemon now gripping its hellblade with both hands, fully prepared, Ignis swallowed and advanced.
"Any last words? I can carve them onto your skull for you."
The Salamander did not respond. The daemon was deliberately provoking him, trying to strip him of reason. Fortunately, his long training as a warrior of the Sixth Company had ingrained discipline deep into his bones. The old sergeant had always taught him: only calm minds make correct judgments in battle. Ignis drew a deep breath and studied the daemon's stance.
The greatsword rested on its right shoulder—an obvious high guard. This stance allowed fast, powerful overhead strikes with long reach and numerous follow-up variations. The daemon's eyes wandered across the Salamander's body without fixating on any one point. A seasoned butcher, it concealed its true intent, seemingly handing the initiative to Ignis.
But this was an illusion. The moment the Salamander attacked rashly, the hellblade could counter from countless angles, piercing his armor.
Ignis calculated his approach. His only weapon was a power fist—overwhelmingly disadvantaged in reach. Even with a Space Marine's speed, the Khorne daemon was no slower. The two-handed hellblade granted massive attack range. To bring the fight into his own advantageous distance, the Salamander would need to cross at least two long strides.
Those two strides would decide everything.
"What's wrong? Afraid? Want to crawl back under the hen's belly?" The daemon sneered again when Ignis did not advance. "Son of Vulkan? You're no different from the Emperor's other lapdogs. You should change your name."
Crackling lightning danced across Ignis's power fist as the power field activated.
"Now that's more like it. Come on—I'm waiting."
Ignis raised his left arm, elbow lifted to shield his head as he stepped forward. His right fist clenched tightly, ready to strike at any moment. His plan was to bait an attack, seize the blade with his right hand, lock the weapon, and drag the daemon into close-quarters combat.
He had tested this tactic against sword-wielding auxiliaries during training. Effective—and extremely dangerous. Any competent swordsman who saw through it would never allow their blade to be caught. But once seized, the advantage was overwhelming.
The Salamander expected the daemon to avoid his left arm and strike elsewhere—perhaps a thrust into the armpit, an entirely exposed and vulnerable point. Instead, the daemon seemed to ignore it completely, swinging the greatsword straight down at his left arm without any concern for the power field.
So be it. When the field collided with the daemonic weapon, an explosion was inevitable. All he had to do was hold steady, then use the smoke and shockwave to counterattack. Ignis was confident—if he could block the first blow, he could drag the fight into his favored range.
To be safe, golden psychic flames already wrapped around his fist.
The daemon let out a delighted laugh, its long tongue lolling as the blade descended with terrifying speed, driven by its powerful body.
It's coming!
The Salamander braced for impact, right fist poised to seize the blade.
He caught a flash of contempt in the daemon's eyes—and instantly realized he had been deceived.
The blade never landed on his left arm. At the very moment of contact, it withdrew, spinning in the opposite direction and slashing straight toward his neck from the right.
This was a feinted assault. Using its monstrous physical control, the daemon cut short its original attack path and launched a strike from an entirely reversed angle.
The hellblade, wreathed in warp-fire, moved with blinding speed. Only now did the daemon reveal its true power. Thankfully, the Salamander reacted in time, snapping up his right fist to intercept.
BOOM—!
Blade and gauntlet collided in a violent explosion. The shockwave nearly knocked the Salamander off his feet.
This time, however, he truly blocked the strike head-on. His left fist followed immediately after. The Khorne daemon knew full well that its greatest advantage lay in its weapon—maintaining distance and keeping the exchange within the reach of its blade was the key to victory.
It stepped back, evading Ignis's left hand as he tried to seize the blade, then used the flat of the sword to deflect a rapid succession of punches from the Salamander, successfully retreating beyond the range where Ignis held the advantage.
"Brave. Clever." The daemon grinned widely. "My impression of you has improved, human. But that alone is far from enough to defeat me."
The daemon gave the Salamander no time to breathe. It swung its two-handed sword and launched another assault.
In its hands, the hellblade writhed like a living serpent, the burning edge unnaturally agile. It slashed and thrust from every angle the Salamander struggled to cover. The training provided by veteran sword-guards allowed Ignis only to barely defend himself—counterattacking was nearly impossible.
Ignis was forced left and right, and when he failed to evade in time, another gash ran across his armor.
Thanks to the formidable protection of the Mark X Gravis Power Armor, the Salamander managed to endure. Each time the daemon aimed for weaker joints, his psychic senses warned him just in time, allowing slight adjustments.
The daemon's blade formed a curtain of steel, enclosing the Salamander within it. All Ignis could see were burning edges; all he could hear was the howling wind. For a moment, he had no solution at all, completely suppressed. Occasionally, he glimpsed openings in that blade curtain—but whenever he attacked, those openings turned into deadly traps.
Another heavy punch missed. The daemon's blade slid along its own arm toward Ignis's armpit, scraping sparks from the armor. Ignis tried to retreat, but the daemon was faster. To preserve mobility, the armor beneath the armpit was thin—if that strike landed and dragged through, his flesh would be torn apart.
And the nature of a hellblade was such that even the smallest wound could be fatal.
Ignis saw a victorious smile on the daemon's face—mocking him for being too green, unworthy of its challenge.
Drag. A blade required room to move to deal real damage.
Ignis found his answer instantly.
Instead of retreating, he surged forward, closing the distance himself. At the same time, his right arm snapped inward, using the flexible under-armor to clamp the hellblade tight beneath his armpit.
The Khorne daemon had not anticipated this. The blade was locked fast, unable to move even an inch. Without space to drag the cut, it could not tear through the soft inner lining and reach flesh beneath.
After being suppressed for over a dozen exchanges, fury ignited within the Salamander. His left fist rose high, the power field blazing with the Emperor's might, golden psychic flames roaring.
BAM—BAM—BAM—BAM—! In less than a second, Ignis's fists battered the daemon's face into ruin. Sacred golden fire scorched its body and soul alike. Screaming, the daemon released its grip on the sword and staggered backward several steps before regaining balance.
CLANG—! The daemonic sword hit the ground. Ignis lunged forward, grappling the daemon in close combat. Drawing on years of hard-earned training, the Salamander actually managed to suppress the Khorne daemon—though much of that advantage came from the Emperor's psychic power. Diminished as it was, such pure destructive force could still erase a daemon entirely from the Warp.
The daemon endured several more crushing blows before finally finding an opening. With a clawed counterstrike to Ignis's abdomen, it broke free from the clinch.
Both combatants were in poor condition now, their armor dented and shattered—but the daemon was clearly worse off. Half its head had been blown away, and parts of its body had simply ceased to exist.
"You will pay for this, mortal!" the daemon roared in fury. "Now—the game is over!"
Bloodfire erupted around it as Khorne's corrupt power flooded its form. The ruined flesh began to regenerate. Even the hellblade lying on the ground trembled, flying back into its grasp. The stench of blood thickened in the air, and the daemon's silhouette vanished into a haze of crimson mist.
"Of course, the boss has a second phase?" Nicole grabbed her hair in panic. "This trope is awful!" She could see it clearly—the Salamander was completely at a disadvantage, being crushed throughout the fight.
"The stronger the enemy gets after transforming, the stronger it makes the protagonist look." Billy spoke calmly, though his hands were already resting on the grips of his revolvers, ready to fire at any moment. "Boss Nicole, don't worry. I believe the big guy will win."
"According to movies, transformations never beat the protagonist anyway." Anby nodded seriously. "Ignis will win."
When the daemon stepped out of the blood mist once more, all its wounds were gone. Its armor gleamed anew, and its weapon burned even hotter. The oppressive stench of blood and terror it radiated made even Gotthardt falter for a brief moment.
Most striking of all was the cloak now draped over its back, adorned with skulls—at least a hundred of them.
"Excellent, mortal. Your skull is worthy of hanging upon my cloak." The massive Bloodletter raised its hellblade, pointing it at Ignis.
"Then what rank do I get—Skulltaker U'zuhl?" Ignis shot back without fear.
The daemon paused, surprised at having its true name spoken, then burst into laughter. "So, you know who I am. Then you know my power. Are you ready to die, mortal?"
"If you want my skull, you'll have to take it yourself." Ignis drew in a deep breath. "You know the rules. Come, U'zuhl—let me see the strength of the Skulltaker!"
===BREAK===
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