The battlefield of Alacaster was a massive, insane crucible, frantically churning steel, flesh, flame, and psychic energy together.
In the fierce slaughter southeast of Hive Herakleus, the tide of Chaos had been somewhat stemmed by the intervention of the Krieg regiment. Yet the fires of war still spread in the most primitive and violent manner.
Scorchwind piloted his crimson Berserker heavy armor like a drop of thick blood in water, carving trails of destruction across the chaotic battle lines.
Unlike many Chaos units, he didn't charge mindlessly. Instead, he cleverly exploited the battlefield's inherent chaos. He stayed close to the frenzied charging lesser daemon hordes. He mixed among the shrieking traitor guard.
Sometimes he even deliberately drew Imperial fire onto those friend-or-foe-blind daemons, triggering more severe internal attrition.
He was a patient and cunning predator, seeking weak points in the Imperial Guard's defensive lines. He targeted brief gaps created by Krieg regiment movements and small isolated units scattered by daemon charges.
His twin chainsword-axes never stopped. Each swing brought up a spray of blood and shattered armor plates.
His Berserker armor showed its true nature. It traded defense and precision shooting capability for frenzied attack speed and terrifying close combat damage bonuses. When wounded, he entered a blood rage state where he fought more fiercely. His attack power increased rather than decreased for a short time after taking damage.
Points flashed rapidly across his interface. Simultaneously, Khorne's divine favor system provided subtle feedback.
He could feel a scorching power coursing beneath his armor. Each valuable skull offered made that power grow stronger.
He had his eye on a small Imperial Guard fire point constructed around half a collapsed concrete pipe. The soldiers inside resisted stubbornly, using lasguns and grenades to hold back approaching daemons.
Scorchwind sneered and spotted a gap in the fire. The thrusters on his power armor's back suddenly spewed scorching exhaust. He shot forward like a cannonball!
"For the Blood God!" he roared. His chainsword-axe cleaved through blocking sandbags and an Imperial Guard soldier attempting to intercept. He forced his way into the bunker's interior.
Three more soldiers inside wheeled their weapons around in panic.
Scorchwind deflected incoming laser beams with his left axe. His right axe swept horizontally, cutting the two nearest soldiers in half at the waist!
Blood and entrails splattered across the cramped space.
He prepared to execute the last terrified soldier with his chainsword-axe.
A sudden change occurred!
From a broken ventilation duct above the bunker, a green figure pounced down silent as a hunting leopard!
The figure wore only crude animal hide around his waist and rough metal plates over vital areas. Most noticeably, a dirty green headband circled his head.
A gleaming serrated combat knife clenched between his teeth. Both hands gripped modified assault rifles with short, thick barrels. A Catachan Jungle Fighter!
The Catachan warrior landed soundlessly, moving fast as a ghost. He didn't use his guns at all.
Scorchwind heard the wind and barely had time to look up. The warrior had already kicked viciously at the center of Scorchwind's chest plate!
"Boom!" A muffled impact.
Though Scorchwind wore heavy armor, the explosive force in that kick far exceeded normal humans. This was the pure physical power Catachans developed fighting terrible beasts and daemon-plants on their death world!
Caught off guard, Scorchwind's massive frame staggered backward. His back armor slammed heavily into the bunker wall, shaking loose a shower of dust.
The Catachan warrior gave no respite. He clung to Scorchwind relentlessly.
He abandoned his rifles. Both hands clamped like iron pincers onto Scorchwind's right wrist holding the axe. He executed a vicious grappling joint-lock technique that made Scorchwind's fingers go numb. The chainsword-axe clattered free!
The Catachan's left hand struck like lightning. His fingers formed a claw that seized the seam on Scorchwind's helmet side. Using terrifying finger strength and intuition about mechanical structures, he wrenched and twisted violently!
"Crack!" The tooth-aching sound of twisting metal.
Scorchwind's helmet faceplate was forcibly pried open, revealing his shocked and furious face beneath!
The Catachan's eyes flashed with a beast-like cold light. The serrated knife clenched in his teeth had somehow slid into his hand. The blade traced a lethal arc straight toward Scorchwind's exposed throat!
This series of actions happened in a split second. Ruthless. Precise. Without flourish. Pure killing technique honed through countless battles!
Alarm bells rang in Scorchwind's mind. His left chainsword-axe couldn't return to defense in time. The power armor's automatic balance system was still adjusting.
Death's chill seized him instantly. He could almost feel the icy cold of that blade's edge...
A deep blue, soundless lightning bolt drilled in from the bunker entrance without warning. Like a spirit serpent, it coiled precisely and gently around the Catachan warrior's knife-wielding wrist.
No earth-shattering explosion. No blinding flash. The blue lightning possessed life, gently drawing...
The Catachan warrior's powerful arm transformed into an extremely fine cloud of dust sparkling with blue starlight. His serrated knife—which had drunk the blood of countless enemies—vanished with it. Both silently dispersed into the air.
The severed arm's cross-section was smooth as a mirror. No blood spurted. Only a wisp of acrid smoke and residual blue sparks danced there.
The Catachan's movements froze.
He looked down at his missing arm. His beast-like eyes showed incomprehension for the first time. He didn't even feel pain. The nerve endings had been completely annihilated the instant that blue lightning touched them.
Second and third finer blue electric threads, like conscious tentacles, gently brushed across his torso and head.
"Puff..."
A soft sound, like a soap bubble bursting.
That supremely powerful Catachan Jungle Fighter, capable of threatening a warrior of Khorne in close combat, simply vanished entirely. No flesh. No bone fragments. Only a small cloud of blue luminous dust that quickly dissipated into the filthy air.
Scorchwind, still shaken, whipped his head toward the bunker entrance.
There, See You Tomorrow stood quietly. He still wore that simple deep blue arcane robe, its hem moving without wind. He held no weapons. His hands hung naturally at his sides. That bizarre and terrifying scene appeared to have nothing to do with him.
Only in his eyes, there were extremely faint, constantly shifting blue data streams flashing past. So quickly one might think it an illusion.
Scorchwind panted heavily. He retrieved his fallen chainsword-axe and readjusted his crooked helmet. He looked at See You Tomorrow with complex emotions.
That move just now... definitely wasn't a normal psyker ability. Too fast. Too strange. Too... clean.
"Thanks," Scorchwind said gruffly. Though his God had hinted he could use See You Tomorrow as a sacrifice, the fact remained that the other had just saved his life.
See You Tomorrow didn't respond. He gave Scorchwind a brief glance before his gaze shifted to the broader battlefield beyond the bunker, where slaughter shook the heavens.
He raised one hand. Faint, multicolored glimmers wreathed his fingertips.
Scorchwind noticed that See You Tomorrow had called up an interface only he could see. He frowned slightly, examining something.
See You Tomorrow was indeed looking at his own interface. His path was extremely unique. His psychic power didn't come through conventional learning or unlocking skill trees through leveling. It depended entirely on pleasing or conforming to the will of the Architect of Fate.
At first, he'd wielded only one basic skill: Arcane Lightning. This was the blue electric discharge he'd just used to decompose the Catachan warrior into elementary particles. Decent power, medium range, moderate psychic energy consumption.
Afterward, in previous matchmaking games, he'd earned rewards several times. By ingeniously using battlefield changes to defeat the strong with the weak, or by creating situations of confusion incomprehensible to opponents, he pleased his patron.
The interface had notified him that he'd earned the Architect of Fate's appreciation. This granted him a second skill: Tzeentch's Warpflame.
This was a sustained, area-of-effect psychic flame with low damage but strong chaos effects. It could interfere with enemy aim and slightly reduce their attributes. It had a chance of causing affected units to fall into brief infighting or loss of control.
Just moments ago, he'd used arcane lightning to save Scorchwind. Simultaneously, he'd observed the dramatic shift in offensive-defensive dynamics across the entire Herakleus war zone caused by Krieg's entry.
By perceiving key changes and exploiting them, he once again aligned with Tzeentch's preferences. A line had just appeared on his interface:
[You have glimpsed a thread of the essential amid chaos and exerted minute influence. The Architect of Fate is quite pleased.]
[You have received a new blessing: Skill - Tzeentch's Treason (Whisper).]
[Effect: Releases on a single target, causing them to enter a confused state for a short time, with probability of attacking nearby allies or executing incorrect commands. Reduced effectiveness on strong-willed or Chaos units.]
He now possessed three skills. Arcane Lightning for direct damage and decomposition. Tzeentch's Warpflame for area interference and sustained damage. Tzeentch's Treason for single-target control and chaos.
The growth of his power depended entirely on whether he could play the role of instigator of change and trickery on the battlefield.
And the God granting skills was like a picky audience, rewarding only the most spectacular performances.
See You Tomorrow closed his interface. His gaze returned to the battlefield. In the distance, the silent gray tide of the Krieg regiment clashed violently with Chaos's frenzied colors.
Further away, the fires of war from other hive directions reddened half the sky.
He raised his hand. A point of ghostly blue psychic flame quietly ignited at his fingertip. Then it abruptly transformed into an almost invisible whisper-ripple that distorted light.