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When the head of the Fiend of Slaanesh was severed, all three of them felt a surge of relief. These monsters were far from easy prey—blindingly fast, their claws honed to lethal sharpness.
Two deep gouges now scarred the frontal armor of the Leviathan Dreadnought, nearly slicing through the primary armor band.
Ignis exhaled heavily. The daemon's dying counterattack had been ferocious; more than once its venomous tail had nearly pierced him.
It was only through Gotthardt's vast experience that the creature had been suppressed. Without him, the fight would have been far more troublesome.
The daemon's mangled corpse dissolved into the air. Ignis looked up at Sinera—surely the Slaanesh Champion would not be so easily spent. As expected, the portal flared once more. But this time, what poured forth were neither Seekers nor Fiends of Slaanesh, but an immense horde of Slaanesh Slaangors.
These beasts, corrupted by Slaanesh, were a legion—often used as expendable chaff to plug breaches in the battle line. Upright creatures cloaked in white fur, their spherical green eyes gleamed beneath armor marked with the decadent sigils of their patron. Most bore goat heads and curling horns, though some possessed bovine skulls and sweeping horns, resembling grotesque, diminished versions of Keepers of Secrets.
"Endless…" Cerakos muttered as the Slaangors streamed ceaselessly from the gate. By rough estimate, there were already two or three hundred—and still they came.
"Like cockroaches scurrying out of a sewer during a purge," Gotthardt replied, weapons primed. The quad heavy flamers mounted upon his chest roared to life. "In my era, Beastmen once served as auxilia… Never thought I'd see them like this."
Ignis could not bring himself to tell him the truth—that after the Emperor fell silent, many sanctioned abhumans were reclassified as deviants. Beastmen, once elite among mortal auxilia, were condemned by the Inquisition and cast wholly into the embrace of the Dark Gods.
Blade- and sword-wielding Beastmen charged. Though no taller than grown men, they were denser, stronger—but against Adeptus Astartes, their strength was negligible.
The lascannons thundered. Superheated beams ignited Beastmen where they stood, yet fanaticism drove them onward. They ran until their bodies collapsed into charcoal.
"This won't end!"
They were close now. Gotthardt unleashed his quad heavy flamers. Against massed infantry, the weapon was death incarnate.
Rivers of fire cascaded outward. White-furred forms became living torches. Sticky promethium spread, erecting walls of flame. The stench of burning flesh choked the air. True to its name, the Leviathan Dreadnought demonstrated absolute infantry suppression.
"We must disrupt the summoning—otherwise this never stops!" Gotthardt brought his siege drill down in a crushing arc, pulping dozens and hurling others aside with concussive force.
"I'll clear you a path!"
The Leviathan advanced, firepower relentless, flame barriers hemming the Beastmen back. Yet fuel was finite. If the portal was not destroyed before reserves ran dry, all would be lost.
He found himself missing his old nuclear reactor—untreated for radiation, perhaps, but capable of self-detonation in extremis.
Would these three ether-thermal engines even yield a tenth of that force?
Ignis knew nothing of the old veteran's grim calculus. He plunged into the horde, chainaxe and thunder hammer whirling. Cerakos guarded his flank.
He had expected stench—but like all Slaanesh spawn, these Beastmen exuded a sickly sweetness. It was hallucinogenic.
The creatures were clearly entranced. Unless their skulls were shattered, they would not cease. Their blades could not pierce ceramite, yet blind ecstasy compelled them.
Their weapons were drilled with holes that shrieked as they swung, harmonizing with their howls. The noise grated on Ignis. Individually they were trivial—one Primaris strike could reduce them to red mist.
But they were countless. For each slain, two more stepped forward. Even after the Salamander hurled his last grenades, progress remained painfully slow.
Dozens of meters felt like a battlefield trench of flesh. Each step forward costed blood.
The Leviathan extended fire in their direction, lascannons overheating once more, heavy flamers reaching emergency reserve.
Yet a path had been carved. Flame had opened the way.
Sinera knew the Slaangors would not hold long—but that was irrelevant. She needed only time.
The daemon beckoned to the humans. And someone answered.
Zhu Yuan saw the sigil on a boy's chest flare with unnatural pink-violet light. Then another. And another. The children under protection stared in confusion.
The marks began to bleed—but there was no pain. They touched their chests, peeling away small strips of skin.
No agony—only pleasure. An itch beneath the flesh. A desire to be freed.
They tore off their clothes and peeled skin away along the lines of the sigils, exposing raw muscle beneath.
Zhu Yuan nearly screamed. She tried to restrain one—but the boy's strength was monstrous. The weakness from before had vanished.
Other officers intervened—uselessly. The grotesque molting continued. Muscle glistened like anatomical mannequins in a school infirmary.
The skin did not fall away entirely; fragments still clung. The children embraced one another. Flesh fused. Bone twisted and linked grotesquely.
"Big sister… come play?"
Zhu Yuan heard it—perhaps hallucinated. The mass of fused flesh beckoned. She nearly answered.
"Zhu Yuan!" Qingyi yanked her back.
The invitation came from an empty skin swaying gently—though no wind stirred.
"What is happening?" Zhu Yuan's composure cracked.
"No idea. Is your recorder running? Document everything. This cannot happen again."
She forced calm. Ignis had warned her—these enemies were beyond comprehension. New Eridu must be warned, even if they fell.
A new terror had manifested—more incomprehensible than the Hollows.
Injured officers began crawling toward the mass, smiling serenely. Attempts to pull them back failed. They moved like ants drawn to sugar.
When they touched the flesh, clothes and skin sloughed away and were absorbed. Bones churned within the mass like garments in a washer.
Seth tried to drag one free—tearing off a severed leg—yet could not halt it. He stared at the limb in stunned disbelief.
When no more joined, a faint sigh of regret echoed.
The scattered skins slithered back, tightening around the mass.
"A cocoon?" Zhu Yuan whispered.
"More like an egg."
She looked up. The androgynous creature stood there. She raised her weapon.
"Don't waste your effort, mortal," came the honeyed voice. "Your weapons cannot harm me."
"Behave—or I'll tear you apart!" the shrill second voice shrieked.
"I have no time for unintended variables. Survive, if you can. Once this concludes, I will play with you at leisure."
The daemon lifted the pulsating egg and sauntered toward the portal.
A shot rang out. The K22 micro-ether missile struck true—yet did little beyond staggering the creature.
"So brave…" the shrill voice taunted. "Shall I reward you?"
Fear surged in Zhu Yuan's heart—but her hands remained steady. One final volley remained. Qingyi, Seth, and the others shielded her as she reloaded.
She forced herself to remember: the day she became an officer; she had accepted the cost.
"So swift. My thralls disappoint me," the honeyed voice sighed—then the daemon sprinted.
Ignis and Cerakos were nearly at the gate. Countless eyes upon the portal turned toward them in hatred.
Beastmen still leapt forth—even larger, bull-horned brutes crashing through their own kind.
Ignis was weary of them. Even the Khorne daemon within him was bored—their souls too feeble to savor.
It had two goals: slay Sinera—and seize control of this body if rage overcame restraint.
Then it felt it.
A soul of immense magnitude—the strongest since its arrival in this world.
"What is that?" Ignis cleaved a horned brute in half and saw Sinera dragging the pulsating egg before the portal.
"Silence."
The word froze the battlefield. All living beings stood immobile—time halted.
"You have been searching for Emile, have you not?" Sinera addressed Ignis. "He has been here all along."
A jewel slipped from her hair into her palm. She breathed upon it. Emile Volter appeared, bound upon a cross before the portal.
The young artist seemed asleep—eyes closed, body still. Ignis switched to Fire-Sight. His temperature was normal.
"I meant to keep this soul," the honeyed voice purred. "He is fascinating. Immune to temptation. Defiant in speech. Even capable of organizing rebellion."
A feminine hand caressed Emile's chin.
"I rather liked him. But you arrived too quickly—and proved troublesome."
Sinera's gaze fixed upon Ignis.
"Dear one," shrieked the eunuch voice in manic laughter, "you shall watch him be sacrificed."
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