A small hole appeared in the wall, and the blood-red light from the square outside filtered in.
Several people saw the scene outside.
A complex ritual circle was etched onto the hollowed ground.
Inside the circle were corpses, dressed in the clothes of the Cadian Guard or civilians, their deaths gruesome.
Among them were also many corpses of Voskani traitors.
The black-robed man was currently standing before the ritual circle.
He held his arms high, his sleeves sliding down to reveal limbs covered in scales and feathers, and began to shout:
"Oh, Master of Knowledge and Fate, Weaver of a Thousand Possibilities, Mirror Image of Change and Eternity."
"I, your humble servant, offer up souls here, beseeching your gaze."
His prayer grew louder and more shrill, turning into a screech.
A traitor Commander walked over impatiently.
He looked at the motionless pit and questioned, "You've been muttering for ages; is this actually going to work?"
Friction was constant between the various factions of the Forces of Chaos.
Being gathered on the Cadia battlefield to fight together was only because their superiors had reached a cooperation agreement; it didn't mean they got along harmoniously.
The black-robed man stopped his prayer and turned around.
"This is Cadia. The entire planet is covered in Blackstone. Do you think communicating is as simple as you pulling a trigger?"
Having spoken, he continued his prayer.
It was a common tactic of the Forces of Chaos: a soul-sacrificing ritual.
The Word Bearers had once conducted large-scale sacrifices in Guilliman's Five Hundred Worlds, generating a Ruinstorm that changed the course of the war.
The expressions of David's squad were grim; they had all seen the corpses in the ritual circle.
Sacrifices on the battlefield were inevitable, but dying in such a way was far too humiliating.
"Damn it," Bella cursed.
Hans and Carmine began to sketch specific coordinates on the map.
"They will pay the price," Hans said.
David held up a monocular, his gaze never leaving the black-robed man.
[Khorne Zealot]
[HP: 50/50, Armor: 11]
David saw the shadow of an old acquaintance in this black-robed man.
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Tall and thin, covered in black, eyes glowing with purple light beneath the hood.
The mapping was complete. The squad returned to the underground tunnel to hand over the mission; everything was ready.
A few hours later.
The Khorne Zealot was still in the same spot, repeating the lengthy prayers over and over in that shrill voice.
The nearby traitor soldiers were already irritated, their ears practically calloused from listening, and they all kept their distance.
"A bunch of foolish, short-sighted mortals," the Zealot muttered, glancing at the soldiers moving away from him out of the corner of his eye.
In truth, he knew very well himself.
On a Cadia filled with Blackstone, trying to truly summon any decent Warp entity or power through a sacrifice and ritual of this scale was pure fantasy.
He still had to go through the motions, though; after all, the Warmaster he served did not have a good temper.
"Hear me, great Lord of Change..." Thinking of this, the Zealot waved his scale-covered arms and prayed even harder.
Buzz!
The ground seemed to vibrate slightly.
"Hmm?" Not just the Zealot, but the surrounding traitor soldiers felt it too. They stopped what they were doing and looked at each other in confusion.
Finally, their gazes converged on the Zealot.
Their eyes were a mix of alarm and a hint of "could you actually be doing it?"
The Zealot's prayer caught in his throat.
What was happening? He clearly hadn't felt the slightest response from the Warp's power.
Could his piety have moved... impossible. What use was the piety of a small fry like him? Those great beings only noticed the important pawns.
After a brief moment of shock, the feeling of being the center of attention caused a surge of hope in his heart.
"Hear my summons!" He raised his arms even higher, his voice rising.
The magnitude of the ground's vibration significantly increased, and the frequency quickened. Some massive object was trying to emerge.
Now, all the traitors truly felt it.
The disdain on their faces faded, and people began to slowly close in on the Zealot's position.
"Manifest, great power from beyond the Void, and slay these stubbornly resisting enemies!"
The Zealot was almost screaming at the top of his lungs.
The ground's vibration reached its peak at that moment, and the entire square seemed to shake.
Rumble, rumble...
The ground collapsed downward, and dust rose everywhere.
A short, thick metal gun barrel was the first thing to emerge from the dust.
It rose slowly, pointing directly at the Zealot standing on the edge of the collapse.
Looking at the barrel so close at hand, the Zealot instinctively reached out, wanting to touch the cold metal surface.
"Could this be a machine spirit responding to my summons and granting me a war machine?"
The Zealot's voice carried an unbelievable ecstasy.
"Excellent! With a war creation of such powerful firepower, we can surely break through in one go—wait, why are you all backing away?"
He realized that the surrounding traitor soldiers, who had been looking on with expectation, were now backing away step by step.
The Zealot's gaze followed the gun barrel backward.
A Leman Russ Tank, its tracks still slowly turning.
On the tank's hatch, a middle-aged officer scanned the surrounding environment.
"Finally back." He straightened his military cap and looked at the group of traitors before him, flames of hatred erupting from his eyes.
"Fire!"
The entire Leman Russ Tank recoiled, and a torrent of fire erupted from the muzzle, pouring onto the Zealot.
The impact of the flames sent his entire body flying back violently. The black robe turned to ash, revealing the twisted, abominable true form beneath.
A beak-like mouth, dozens of eerie blue eyes covering his face, and abnormally long limbs ending in avian claws.
A being deeply corrupted by the power of Tzeentch.
The tank's cannon fire sounded the horn for the counterattack.
"For Cadia, charge!"
Sergeant Victor was the first to reach the surface, the veteran's gray hair flying in the air like a battle flag.
Without any unnecessary words, he simply waved his hand forward.
From the massive underground openings on both sides of the tank, the Cadian soldiers, who had been restrained for so long, surged out with a roar.
The frustration of many days and the strength accumulated during their respite were all vented at this moment.
"Who can tell me how a tank crawled out from underground?!"
The traitor Commander's face was pale as he screamed hysterically, grabbing someone in front of him.
"You useless trash, how did such a large tank get in?" Spittle flew onto the traitor's face.
Looking at the traitor shivering like a sieve before him, the Commander threw him aside and scrambled to pick up his lasgun lying nearby.
Several laser shots simultaneously hit the traitor Commander's chest, head, and arms.
He didn't even touch his gun before being turned into a sieve by the crossfire, slumping to the ground.
The tables had turned. A few days ago, the traitors had used despicable ambushes and betrayal to slaughter their unsuspecting comrades and high-ranking officers.
Today, it was their turn to taste the flavor of being ambushed.
The Voskani traitors also had sophisticated equipment; they had Leman Russ Tanks, Chimera Transports, and other war machines.
But the drivers were all outside now. Under the fire of the Cadian warriors, no one dared to risk climbing into the vehicles.
The traitors were like an ant colony doused in boiling water, scattering in terror as their formation completely collapsed.
Cadian soldiers operated in squads, seizing the high ground around the square.
They took over the traitors' defensive fortifications and various vehicles. Those heavy stubbers and mortars were turned around, pointing at their former owners.
In the underground tunnel.
"Quick, quick, move faster!" Urging voices echoed.
Soldiers formed dense and orderly ranks, sprinting forward. Armored vehicles carrying ammunition and supplies wove through the gaps in the lines.
More forces were continuously converging on the battlefield.