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Within the swirling vortex, Ignis beheld countless daemons of Slaanesh.
The Steeds of Slaasnesh—mounts of the Dark Prince—resembled flayed horses. Their skeletal frames were thin and blade-jointed, translucent skin revealing fluorescent violet veins and pulsing organs beneath. Their heads bore no eyes; instead, a vertical maw spiraled with needle-teeth, forked tongues twitching amid writhing, face-shaped tumors.
Barbed metal horseshoes scorched lotus-shaped burns into the ground. Their scorpion tails dripped iridescent venom. A cloying scent of rotting fruit lingered in their wake.
They were bound to their riders by thorned chains embedded into ribcage and spine—sharing pain. The greater the injury, the faster they ran, charging until bone shattered. Their limbs were spider-slender, yet ended in talons sharp enough to rend power armor.
They circled the forming gate, eager to burst through and revel in slaughter.
"This is bad…" Ignis murmured, watching the portal solidify. His soul felt frozen. A nightmare he had once feared now manifested in reality. He almost wished to strike himself awake.
But it was no dream.
The portal resembled a ring of shattered mirrors or crumpled foil, each fragment reflecting warped perspectives. Beneath it, a dais carved with blasphemous runes writhed as pink-violet eyes and tendrils pushed from cracks.
Gotthardt's curse had lifted. The moment he saw the gate, he opened fire. The quad lascannons shattered fragments from the portal's rim—but could not truly harm it. Within seconds, the runes ignited, shielding it from further damage.
The first Seeker cavalryman emerged screaming—only to be annihilated mid-cry by a las-beam.
But where one came, more followed. Though Gotthardt's fire was relentless, several slipped through during brief lulls and charged the Salamander and the Lamenter.
Ignis calculated distances, his hand already on a grenade. These fragile daemons would not withstand fragmentation.
As the Seekers entered throwing range, he released his thunder hammer and hurled the impact-fused grenade.
The sphere arced perfectly—yet the Seekers leapt and vanished mid-air.
"What?" Cerakos stared in disbelief.
"Behind!" Ignis' chainaxe intercepted a Seeker rider bursting from his shadow. The blade chewed through claw and torso alike. He had anticipated their trick—slipping briefly into the Immaterium to strike from shadows.
The rider split in half; shared agony drove the mount mad. It lashed its venomous tail—but Ignis was ready. The chainaxe severed it cleanly. Its spiraled maw lunged once—only to meet roaring teeth.
Three Seekers had targeted Ignis, two for Cerakos. The Salamander dispatched one swiftly and reclaimed his thunder hammer, engaging the others.
Such heavy weapons were lethal beyond measure. The Seekers kept distance, wary of a single decisive blow.
Cerakos faced greater difficulty. Relying on instinct, he avoided shadow-strikes, fending off two swift riders with blade and claw.
But he possessed one advantage—his jump pack. Not merely for assault, but for micro-positioning in melee. Skilled hands made it an extension of the body.
Blue disruption light traced arcs as Cerakos accelerated, carving both riders and mounts into pieces.
Ignis fought more bluntly—waiting for the moment of contact, then erupting with overwhelming force. Empowered by the Khorne daemon within his axe, his sudden bursts of speed crushed the lesser Fiends of Slaanesh.
The chainaxe howled in delight, devouring their souls. Weak though they were, daemon souls were potent fuel.
"We shall be one!" the Khorne entity bellowed within him. "Skulls! Blood!"
Ignis felt it—strength surging, reflex sharpened. A craving for spilled blood—not consumption, but eruption.
Gotthardt ceased firing. "Barrels overheated! All four!"
The quad-cannons glowed red. Continued fire would ruin them. The bombardment had devastated the dais; scorched limbs littered the platform. Even warp-protected, the lightly armored vanguard had no hope against such firepower.
Sinera had hoped the assault would stall them—but the Leviathan's guns were formidable even in improvised form.
The portal's rim began oozing pearlescent slime. Air folded like wrinkled foil.
Black, reversed-jointed legs pierced through. Then more—until four legs anchored. A scorpion tail lashed outward, flinging violet strands. A humanoid torso forced its way free, three pairs of breasts crushed and bleeding. A crab-claw tore space itself. A reptilian head emerged last, jaw dislocated, spiral teeth exhaling sweet mist.
True Fiends of Slaanesh—not cultist mockeries.
Human, scorpion, reptile fused grotesquely. Twisted goat horns crowned their lizard heads. They inhaled the new world with pleasure, barbed tongues tasting the air.
More poured through—over a dozen. The largest stretched six meters long, golden rings chiming upon its limbs.
They sensed clustered mortal souls—divine bait.
Yet Sinera commanded otherwise: eliminate the threats first.
The pack surged toward the three Astartes, throats vibrating in multi-tonal chorus that distorted perception. Sweet hallucination gas vented from fissures in their scaled hides.
Despite overheating, Gotthardt fired again. Three were driven back; one died. The others, scorched, charged on. Pain drove them onward.
Ignis' thunder hammer detonated another skull mid-leap. The Khorne axe shrieked with manic joy, spinning twice its normal speed. Flesh touching it was instantly shredded.
The largest Fiend targeted Gotthardt, circling the Leviathan with rapid claw and tail strikes.
The old veteran showed no fear. A survivor of the Siege of Terra, he had crushed worse beneath iron treads.
The siege drill blocked a claw; the still-scalding cannon muzzle rammed toward the creature's soft underbelly. It twisted aside—only for the lascannons to fire past it, striking another Fiend entangling Ignis. A chainaxe roar followed; a head flew.
The ancient warrior baited the pack master expertly—feigning openings, punishing overextension. Each strike deflected. Each counter devastating.
The three Space Marines fought in seamless coordination. The Fiends dwindled. Even the leader's maneuvering space shrank as the trio carved the battlefield into killing zones.
Sinera watched calmly as her beasts were cut down. Though the portal stood open, the veil of reality in New Eridu still constrained daemon potency.
It was time.
Her gaze shifted to the cluster of officers. The seeds she had planted long ago would have to be spent.
So be it. Victory—or nothing.
"It is time for the seeds to bloom."
A delighted smile curved the daemon's lips.
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