Its voice rang out—not emitted from a throat, but poured directly from the psychic plane into the consciousness of every living being.
That voice was neither male nor female, neither old nor young; it was as if countless audio tracks were layered over one another, or as if countless languages were being spoken within the exact same second.
Except its tone was always laced with a thread of playfulness and mockery.
The moment the words fell, something moved within the void.
Those asteroid fragments floating around the castle ruins began to rotate slowly.
They were not pulled by gravity, but nudged like chess pieces moved on a board by an invisible hand.
Sliding along complex trajectories, they arranged themselves into an inscrutable array within the void, as if completing a grand ritual setup.
Sarah hovered in the void, the purple light surging endlessly across her teal dragon scales.
Her gaze never left that figure for a single moment.
She could already see clearly that behind that ball of blue light, there was simply no room for "battle."
From start to finish, the other side had never regarded her as a true opponent.
It was merely completing a ritual—a massive, complex ritual using the entire battlefield along with all its souls as a sacrifice.
Yet its attention was not on her either.
The Avatar of Tzeentch's eyes, composed of psychic energy, crossed over Sarah at this moment to land on the edge of the ruins, falling upon that figure slowly standing up.
Raynor managed to stand straight, yet his knees were still trembling and his head was drenched in cold sweat; still, he gritted his teeth and forced his head up to endure.
His gaze traversed a hundred meters of void, meeting that deep blue light vortex in a distant stare.
Across the surrounding battlefield, everyone was bound by that invisible force.
The few warriors whose wills remained knelt on the ground, their foreheads pressed against the icy flagstones, lacking even the strength to lift their heads.
Those soldiers whose souls had been drawn out lay collapsed among the ruins, their bodies turned into empty shells.
The Tyranid units fell silent en masse; having lost Sarah's psychic connection, they could only rotate blankly on the spot, unable to execute any directives.
Only those Genestealers lurking within the human ranks—having a different connection method to the main consciousness network—managed to maintain their mobility, yet they too were like candles in the wind, liable to be extinguished at any moment.
Yet this was not Sarah being passively severed from the Hive Mind; it was her own active doing.
She had to focus all her attention here to have any possibility of contending against It.
Luna knelt in a corner of the ruins, more than half of her golden mask shattered to reveal a half-face covered in bloodstains.
Her staff was broken in two, the remaining half held tightly in her grip.
She raised her head to stare at that blue figure in the void, her lips trembling uncontrollably.
That was Its avatar.
She had prayed to Tzeentch countless times, begging for favors, begging for guidance, begging that the Architect of Fate might show mercy to her.
Yet she had never imagined she would witness Its will descending in this manner—as a discarded chess piece.
Fear, unwillingness, and despair overlapped and churned in her eyes.
Meanwhile, Raynor was the only person on the field standing on his own two feet.
His legs were shaking, his breathing was as heavy as an asthma attack, and his temples still throbbed with dull pain—the lingering effects of the Grip of Dominance had not completely faded.
Yet he remained standing.
He stared at that massive blue figure in the sky, stared at the dense array of eyes upon its wing, and stared at that vortex dragging the entire castle into the void.
He suddenly understood something.
The system had never bestowed anything upon him; it was merely awakening what already existed within him.
Those dominances, those controls, those cross-species consciousness connections—they had always been his own power, but he had never dared to admit it.
Once that line was confirmed, once he crossed that threshold, he could never turn back.
Yet at this moment, if he didn't act, everyone would die here.
Dobby would die, Tooth-Plenty would die, and those civilians who had just reclaimed a sliver of hope from Chaos would die as well.
Most importantly, he would die too.
If he died, what would happen to Sarah?
He clenched his fists.
"Enough."
...
Not far away, Sarah reassembled her psychic energy.
The purple light on her teal scales surged wildly once more, blazing as fiercely as a purple moon, driving back a swath of the surrounding darkness.
Without looking back or sending a transmission, she poured her entire will into her twin claws.
The purple moon trailed a long shadow, slamming toward that blue vortex.
Her speed was exceedingly fast—so fast that she left a glowing residual image in the void, like a meteor shooting across the night sky.
Yet the moment she was about to touch that blue figure, space stretched away once more.
She struck the target with absolute precision, yet in the final microsecond before impact, an invisible force shifted her back to her starting point.
Once.
Twice.
Thrice.
Every charge went all-out, yet every single attempt was reset the instant before contact.
The purple moon's light flickered repeatedly in the void, slamming toward the black hole only to be bounced back to the start, cycling over and over.
She was like someone chasing a destination that could never be reached, failing at the brink of infinite proximity every single time.
Meanwhile, that blue vortex continued to spin, continuing to feed on all surrounding souls, light, and temperature.
It didn't even deliberately target her, keeping its focus entirely on its own ritual.
Raynor watched her charge time after time, remaining silent for a moment.
Then, he stood up, supporting himself with Valania's sword.
He was going to fight—to fight alongside his beloved.
Regardless of the process, regardless of the outcome.
Just as the residual ripples of Raynor's recent use of the Grip of Dominance had not yet fully dispersed—
The Avatar of Tzeentch, which had been maintaining a semi-bystander posture and quietly presiding over the ritual, finally stopped putting on an act.
No longer hovering in the distant void to watch quietly, its massive wings—covered in tens of thousands of strange, uncanny eyes—snapped wide open.
Between the intertwined and stacked tentacles, countless eyes of various sizes opened one after another, every single pupil swirling with the eerie blue psychic light unique to the Chaos of Tzeentch.
In the very next instant, dense arrays of blue light pulses poured out from the uncounted pupils like a rain of stars scattering across the sky.
Like flowers scattered by celestial maidens, they bombarded toward Raynor in an all-encompassing blanket.
The light pulses tore through the void; wherever they swept, fine, shattered ripples surged across the spatial surface, and even the surrounding floating soul fragments dissolved and collapsed upon contact with the waves.
Having barely dragged himself out of the complete limpness and the weak sensation of his soul being repeatedly torn apart by the Grip of Dominance, Raynor still felt waves of tearing soreness lingering in the muscles of his limbs.
He gritted his teeth, suppressed a muffled groan in his throat, and drove his body into a sudden roll to the side.
The power system of the power armor on his body was long broken, its metallic joints emitting sharp, piercing "creak-creak" friction sounds.
Yet he still did his absolute best to evade the incoming blue light pulses.
Yet in this short moment of rolling and dodging, Raynor clearly perceived that a mind-boggling change had already occurred inside his body.
The heart-wrenching pain and the weakness brought by overexertion when executing the Grip of Dominance earlier seemed not to be a simple price, but rather a brutal physical reconstruction.
Surges of scalding, burning power continuously erupted from deep within his bone marrow, flowing through every inch of muscle fiber.
His overall strength, agility, and reaction speed were climbing step by step.
The undersuit of the power armor on his body continuously squeezed his shoulders and chest, the hard alloy inner walls conveying a distinct sense of restraint.
It was as if this suit of armor, which used to fit reasonably well, had become somewhat cramped at this moment, nearly unable to contain this transforming body.
Those light pulses—which in the eyes of outsiders were so fast that they could barely be seen as blue afterimages—were slowly decelerating within Raynor's rapidly altering perception.
The flight trajectories of the light pulses and the flowing pathways of psychic energy grew crisp and recognizable bit by bit within his vision.
Deep down, a strange impulse even arose faintly.
It was like... as long as he shifted a thought, he could reach out his hand to fine-tune the flight paths of those blue light pulses, twisting the direction of their bombardment.
Raynor violently suppressed this crazy thought.
This was a psychic attack personally released by the Warp Chaos God Tzeentch; if he casually touched or altered it, ghost knew what kind of disastrous consequences it would trigger.
What was more, that feeling of wanting to dominate everything was by no means a good thing.
So he relied solely on his soaring agility, dodging left and leaping right, dodging several successive waves of the overwhelming light pulse baptism.
Yet he quickly noticed something was off.
As he grew more and more adept at controlling this newborn body, his speed and explosive force rose step by step.
The attack intensity released by the Avatar of Tzeentch rose in tandem at the exact same pace.
The density of the blue light pulses grew even more terrifying, and the psychic destructive power contained within a single light pulse multiplied exponentially.
What was more, that Warp avatar would occasionally reach out out of thin air to make a gripping gesture.
A sharp light blade formed entirely from pure, dark-blue psychic energy would condense within the void.
Carrying a sky-cleaving momentum, it would hack down violently toward Raynor from above.
Every time the light blade chopped down, Raynor could only push himself to the absolute limit to barely dodge sideways.
The light blade grazed past his side, its strike landing on the void barrier behind him and exploding with a roar, blasting a web of fine, spreading cracks across a vast swath of space.
Yet Raynor could also keenly feel that a hidden upper limit existed for the Avatar of Tzeentch's power scaling.
It had not directly unleashed destruction-level power capable of instantly annihilating him completely.
It felt much more like it was continuously probing, measuring bit by bit where the limits of Raynor's brand-new body lay.
A bone-chilling unease surged up along Raynor's spine all the way to the top of his head.
The opponent wasn't unable to kill him—what was its true objective?
Just as this thought crossed his mind, the massive Avatar of Tzeentch in the void suddenly dissipated completely.
Like melting into the surrounding churning Warp mists, it vanished without a trace.
Raynor's pupils contracted violently; every muscle in his body instantly tensed to the absolute extreme as he frantically scanned his gaze around to search for the enemy's whereabouts.
In the very next second, the entire space directly above his head twisted abruptly.
An incomparably massive shadow blanketed down as a colossal, boundlessly vast hand covered in twisted runes slowly pressed down from the upper void.
The hand's outline obscured most of the scenery in his field of view, as though the entire sky had been completely covered by this giant hand.
Space in all directions was entirely locked down; beneath Raynor's feet and to his left and right, everything was sealed shut by solidified air pressure, leaving no room to retreat or evade.
The shadow of death had firmly blanketed the top of his head.
Yet a strange sense of incongruity arose in Raynor's heart.
This giant hand—easily capable of crushing him to powder—was descending at a speed that was not the thunderous, lightning-fast rush one would expect, but rather appeared somewhat sluggish.
What was dragging down its movements?
The answer was revealed almost instantly.
Deep within a distant spatial crack, a heart-wrenching, appalling psychic screech that echoed through the entire intercalary layer of the Warp erupted with a crash!
It was Sarah!
Seeing Raynor about to be crushed to death by the giant hand of Tzeentch's avatar, intense despair and fear directly overwhelmed all of Sarah's rationality.
She no longer cared for any plans, reservations, or restraint.
Maintaining her towering, massive Frost Dragon form, blazing pale-purple psychic flames suddenly erupted across the surface of her teal scales.
The entire dragon body was completely enveloped by this surging psychic fire.
In an instant, Sarah burst forth with an appalling, terrifying psychic energy scale.
A roaring, turbulent torrent of psychic energy washed violently outward, forcibly shattering the spatial shackles that had originally bound her!
Under the psychic impact, the surrounding spatial barriers fractured and collapsed inch by inch like thin ice.
Raynor could perceive it.
Even the Avatar of Tzeentch—upon seeing this scene—showed a trace of genuine surprise on its vortex-composed face.
Yet that surprise was fleeting; in its place emerged a smirk laced with scheme and success.
Yet extremely strangely, the Avatar of Tzeentch made no physical movements, nor were there psychic signals transmitted to display its emotional shifts.
Yet Raynor could feel that wisp of emotion churning within the Avatar of Tzeentch with crystal clarity.
It was as if its thoughts directly seeped into this Warp environment, captured straight by Raynor, who held an uncanny connection to the Warp at this moment.
"Don't come over, Sarah! I beg you!"
Raynor's heart was instantly submerged in bone-deep despair; he strained with all his body's strength to roar aloud, his mental connection also doing its utmost to convey emotion.
He passed all his warnings and entreaties straight to that fast-approaching purple dragon silhouette.
This was a trap!
Tzeentch had deliberately slowed the giant hand's rate of descent earlier not because of insufficient power, but to intentionally lure Sarah!
Even its slowly escalating attack intensity beforehand was merely to add pressure to Sarah step by step.
Yet at this moment, Sarah's rationality had been completely devoured by her obsession to save Raynor.
She was like an unchecked, high-speed train that had lost all braking and disregarded everything, leaving only a single destination in her mind.
To shield the front of Raynor's body.
All trade-offs of pros and cons, all considerations for her own safety, were cast entirely to the back of her mind.
The Frost Dragon's massive frame—enveloped in psychic flames capable of boiling the seas and burning the heavens—tore through shattered spatial fragments, charging straight toward the location of Tzeentch's avatar.
The scene could even be described as magnificent, yet in Raynor's eyes, nothing remained except the despair of a moth darting into a flame.
Seeing Sarah dive and charge forward without care for anything, the descending giant hand above suddenly halted, no longer continuing to suppress Raynor.
The entire attention of Tzeentch's avatar turned completely toward the fast-approaching Frost Dragon.
It had been waiting for this exact moment.
To Tzeentch, Raynor was certainly a precious test sample.
A human capable of establishing a special pact with the Tyranid swarm possessed infinite research value in himself.
Yet Sarah—a high-tier Tyranid individual torn out from the Hive Mind's vast network, possessing a complete and independent self-consciousness—held value even exceeding Raynor's.
Tzeentch had flipped through uncounted possibilities across uncounted timelines.
A Tyranid synapse unit would always be merely an extension of the Hive Mind, completely incapable of birthing such a whole, independent personality.
It had deduced and conjectured uncounted times; such a miracle could not possibly originate solely from Raynor alone.
Sarah herself was bound to be a unique, special existence in the entire universe!
Raynor and Sarah—these two individuals.
To the God of Deceit who toyed with fate and craved peeking into all possibilities, both were absolute treasures that could never be let go.
The remaining solitary wing of Tzeentch's avatar no longer maintained the form of a wing at this moment.
They ceased to entwine with one another, converting back into tens of thousands of thick, writhing psychic tentacles covered in uncanny eyes.
It joined its hands in prayer as uncounted tentacles darted, wrapped, and wove at high speed through the air.
In the blink of an eye, a grandly scaled psychic net covered in Chaos power was woven into shape within the void.
Sarah had no time at all to alter her charge; her entire Frost Dragon body, burning with purple psychic flames, slammed heavily inside this net!
The moment that peak torrent of psychic energy—sufficient to detonate an entire localized space—touched the psychic net.
Like a volcano with its mouth plugged, it went completely silent in an instant.
The wildly scattering psychic shockwaves were tightly bound and absorbed by the net, no longer able to expand outward by even half a fraction.
Raynor's heart squeezed violently.
He finally understood where Tzeentch's confidence lay.
The core essence of the Shadow in the Warp capability lay in severing and shielding the Warp, leaving Chaos with no foothold; that was what Tzeentch truly feared.
Yet now, to save him, Sarah had actively abandoned maintaining the strongest state of the Shadow in the Warp, turning instead to release a psychic explosion whose concentration reached the absolute peak and unleashed outward without restraint.
And Tzeentch itself was one of the avatars of Warp psychic energy.
Toying with, binding, and dissecting psychic energy was its bread and butter to begin with.
When it came to mastery over psychic energy, within the entire Warp, it considered itself firmly in the top two.
Wild psychic flames still burned furiously across Sarah's body, yet the strength of the Frost Dragon—bound layer upon layer by the tentacle net—was draining away at high speed.
Raynor's eyes widened round, watching the horrifying scene before him with open eyes.
It was not merely the vitality of the Frost Dragon body; the surging psychic flames on her surface were being drawn out and extinguished bit by bit by that eerie net.
Something even more terrifying was taking place.
Under the entanglement and erosion of the psychic net's uncounted tentacles, the independent consciousness belonging to Sarah was dissolving and fading away bit by bit.
Not only was her physical energy being plundered; this net woven by Tzeentch was directly grabbing, tearing, and devouring the soul belonging to Sarah.
Within the giant dragon pupils of the Frost Dragon, the unique spiritual light belonging to Sarah was dimming down bit by bit at a rate visible to the naked eye.
Sarah's massive body struggled frantically inside the net, dragon claws tearing at the entangling tentacles, dragon tail thrashing with all her might, waves of residual psychic shocks continuously oscillating outward.
Yet every single struggle only caused that psychic net to contract even tighter, the speed of soul extraction turning correspondingly faster.
"Sarah!!!"
Raynor's eyes tore at the corners as a cold despair swept through his entire mind.
Disregarding that his body had not yet completely adapted to the burden of physical reconstruction, ignoring the tearing warnings sounding continuously inside him.
His power armor emitting piercing sounds of metallic compression, he charged without care for anything toward the Frost Dragon trapped inside the psychic net.
Yet before he could charge very far, a thin psychic barrier manifested out of thin air, slamming heavily into the chest of Raynor's power armor.
"Bang!"
The violent impact sent Raynor flying backward, crashing heavily onto a floating piece of spatial wreckage.
The outer shell of his metallic armor dented in multiple places, alarm sounds shrieking madly inside his helmet.
He struggled to climb back up, his bones sending waves of agonizing, unbearable pain.
Lifting his gaze to look over, inside that giant net of psychic tentacles, the amplitude of the Frost Dragon's struggles was already slowly diminishing.
The soul belonging to Sarah was being grabbed bit by bit by Tzeentch.
Within the intercalary layer of the Warp, the avatar of the God of Deceit emitted a silent, gloating laugh.
Tens of thousands of pupils flashed together with a sly and ecstatic dark-blue light.
The prey it had planned for so long had all fallen into its net.
Sensing his link with Sarah constantly deteriorating, Raynor could no longer maintain his composure.
The bone-chilling cold came not from the void of this Warp intercalary layer, but from the deep recesses of his soul.
He could clearly perceive that the mental bond spanning the material universe and the Warp crack between himself and Sarah was rapidly degrading and decaying.
This was not a mere attenuation of a communication signal, but the soul bond itself being chewed away bit by bit.
From the moment Tzeentch's vast net—woven from tens of thousands of psychic tentacles—clamped firmly around the Frost Dragon, this connection had suffered continuous erosion.
The soul resonance that had originally flowed smoothly like a river shattered into intermittent, fading echoes.
Raynor could only capture a few broken fragments of emotion: worry, reluctance, and an anxious dread that refused to let him take risks.
With every single breath, a fraction of those fragments dissipated.
Across the psychic cage, Raynor looked toward the Frost Dragon.
The brilliance within those purple dragon eyes—which bore Sarah's independent personality—dimmed down at a rate visible to the naked eye.
Tzeentch's tentacles pierced through scales and nerves, acting directly upon the spiritual plane to plunder this unique soul torn out from the Tyranid Hive Mind's collective consciousness.
On the system interface, every single biological and psychic feedback curve belonging to Sarah plunged downward, sliding relentlessly toward zero.
"Sarah! Answer me!"
Raynor poured out all his spiritual strength to scream within the mental link.
Answering him was merely a faint psychic tremor, followed immediately by dead silence.
The bond's decay was still accelerating; it felt as though, in the very next second, this attachment would completely dissipate into the Warp turbulences.
Uncounted memories surfaced scene by scene like an encroaching tide.
Their first encounter on Necromunda, before the Forbidden Wall.
The Frost Dragon stepping forward to freeze a million savage cavalrymen.
Amid the gunsmoke of Karl II, the two of them—one in the light, one in the dark—stirring up the Orkish power dynamic.
Uncounted nights where the tiny Ripper curled up on his shoulder to listen to mortal worries.
During Warp transit, the Shadow in the Warp blocking out daemon whispers to hold up a safe sanctuary for him.
Sarah had originally been merely a cold tool of the Hive Mind—without a self, without a name, without love or hatred.
It was Raynor who gave her the opportunity to break free from the collective consciousness, bestowed her name upon her, and taught her what joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness were.
In this dark and desperate 41st Millennium, crossing the chasm between human and Tyranid, they were each other's sole reliance.
If this bond snapped and Sarah's independent soul was devoured by Tzeentch, what would be the point of all this—even if he left this place alive to continue serving as a planetary governor commanding vast armies?
Towering rage and suffocating despair shattered the shackles of his rationality.
The power armor's servo systems overloaded due to violent energy fluctuations; its conduits burst into ear-splitting shrieks as fine sparks showered from the helmet's edges.
Raynor bit down hard on his lower lip, a metallic, rust-like blood taste flooding his mouth.
No longer minding the mortals' taboos against Chaos Gods of the Warp, he threw his head back, pouring all his soul's power within the twisted Warp crack to roar out that name.
"Tzeentch! I'm going to kill you, I will definitely kill you!"
This was no ordinary curse, but one of the heavily weighted True Names among the Architect of Fate's many titles.
In the eternal laws of the Warp, every single daemon—regardless of strength—possessed a unique True Name.
It was no simple designation; it was created and branded into its origin by the Chaos Gods at the moment of the daemon's birth, equivalent to its source code.
Mastering a low-tier daemon's True Name required merely chanting it aloud to suppress or even seize control over it.
It was said that the Imperial Inquisition had even paid uncounted prices to compile the Grimoire of True Names, recording captured and interrogated daemonic True Names into its pages as a trump card against daemons.
And in common perception, when confronting powerful Greater Daemons, a True Name was the absolute key to banishing and weakening it.
Chanting a True Name—at minimum—would bind and heavily injure an avatar; at maximum, it would tear apart its realspace anchor, forcibly banishing it back into the Warp.
Yet what Raynor faced was no ordinary Greater Daemon.
It was Tzeentch!
It was the embodiment of magic, change, and fate.
Even the very set of Warp rules regarding True Names was crafted by its own hand.
Attempting to rely on the laws it laid down to backfire against it was like trying to drown the River God using river water.
What was more, the Architect of Fate possessed endless titles and True Names, able to alter its own existential markers at will.
What mortals knew was merely the tip of the iceberg among its tens of thousands of names.
The moment Raynor chanted this True Name at the cost of a soul oscillation, all the writhing tentacles of Tzeentch's avatar—which were currently extracting Sarah's soul—suddenly froze stiff.
The tens of thousands of uncanny eyes and vortex heads covering the tentacles turned simultaneously, uncounted pupils locking onto Raynor in unison.
A miracle descended briefly.
The strength of the tentacles entangling the Frost Dragon abruptly slackened for a single moment, and the process of Sarah's dying spiritual body being extinguished ground to a forced halt.
That thread of soul bond—which was continuously being eroded away—rekindled a tiny wisp of faint light in its dimmed glow, and the spirit nearly scattered within her dragon eyes briefly gathered back a fraction.
Yet the turning point vanished in the blink of an eye.
Across the tens of thousands of pupils, a trace of pure surprise flickered first.
A mortal human of flesh and blood actually understood one of the Architect of Fate's True Names.
Following the surprise, dense playfulness and interest surged forward like a rolling tide.
Like watching a caged bird pick up a hunter's dagger, attempting in turn to threaten the hunter.
A massive, invisible consciousness—not relying on sound waves—stamped itself directly onto Raynor's soul, echoing across the entire intercalary layer of the Warp:
"An interesting mortal..."
The expected weakening and banishment did not fall upon Tzeentch's avatar in the slightest.
Instead, a destructive backlash crashed down with a roar.
The psychic stardust and high-energy particles floating aimlessly along the outer reaches of the Warp crack seemed to receive a supreme judgment order, turning their direction en masse to gather into a surging, brilliant river of light that rushed toward Raynor like mountains collapsing and seas overflowing.
This was the chastisement handed down by the Warp upon a blasphemer!
Uncounted high-speed psychic particles bombarded frantically like billions of miniature blades.
The master-crafted power armor—which had endured multiple blood battles—could not support even a single complete breath; the thick alloy armor vaporized and disintegrated in swaths like beeswax meeting heat, fragments scattering wildly in all directions.
Immediately following, violent power poured onto his flesh-and-blood body; skin, fascia, and bones disintegrated and dissolved inch by inch under the particle wash.
Before blood could even splatter, it evaporated in the Warp into a pale-red mist.
His entire physical body turned into nothingness in an instant.
His physical body fell apart and crumbled into pieces, yet Raynor's will did not scatter along with it, instead becoming increasingly condensed and resolute under the forging of desperate straits.
Without Sarah, even if he preserved his body to live on ignobly, everything he had strived for would be completely worthless.
Long before the wave of backfire had truly slapped down upon him, Raynor had already made the decision to burn his bridges behind him.
Deep within his mind, that system gift prompt he had deliberately set aside and sealed away for so long surfaced once more:
Accept your own innate Warp essence.
Raynor's soul embraced this gift without the slightest hesitation.
The ascension ritual officially commenced at this moment.
Even without the backfire summoned by chanting Tzeentch's True Name, a mortal body could not possibly bear this Warp origin authority to begin with.
A container of flesh and blood naturally possessed an upper limit; forcibly accepting power made the collapse of the body a foregone conclusion from the start, and the backfire merely accelerated that destruction.
A blinding, deep-purple radiance burst forth with a roar from the core of Raynor's disintegrating shell.
His flesh, blood, and bones dissipated entirely within the particle torrent, yet Raynor was not completely annihilated.
This was originally an intercalary seam between reality and the Warp, where the boundaries of laws were twisted and blurred; existences constructed of souls and psychic energy could rely on this space to briefly persist.
A purple light-body whose outline vaguely retained a human shape floated in the void; the mortal skin and hide were no longer present, leaving only a light-and-shadow humanoid condensed from his soul and his own authority.
The newly formed light-body was extremely unstable; its outline dispersed at times, nearly merging into the Warp mist, and forcibly contracted and condensed at other times, ripples constantly rising and waving across its surface.
Only after several seconds did the light-body barely stabilize its form.
Shedding the fetters of physical senses, Raynor began to perceive the power flowing within his body.
A grand, quiet authority bearing a pressure that permitted no disobedience slowly turned and unfolded deep within his consciousness.
Domination.
This was the origin Warp authority that belonged to him.
At this moment, the answer to the mystery was suddenly unveiled, and a silent self-monologue sounded inside his consciousness:
"No wonder I could even tame Tyranids and Orks..."
All past system functions—mental pacts, will intervention, spiritual command, and the ability to reconcile Tyranid Swarm and Orkish Waaagh! energy—were all secondary effects derived from the authority of Domination.
The system was merely a medium interface; the true root of power had always been rooted in Raynor's own soul.
The instant he accepted his Warp essence, his perception broke free from mortal shackles.
No longer confined to naked eyes, optical instruments, or ordinary psychic vision, it was replaced by a multi-dimensionally overlaid all-knowing perspective.
Physical entities, soul-spirits, and Warp psychic flows were all laid bare without any concealment, unfolding simultaneously.
Fights on the material plane, emotional fluctuations deep within souls, and the wearing down and snapping of psychic threads all fell entirely within his insight.
He cast his gaze toward Sarah, who was still bound by the giant net.
What was seen with the naked eye remained the imposing Frost Dragon frame.
Yet penetrating scales, flesh, and blood, he glimpsed Sarah's true soul essence.
A vast, entwined spiritual entity, with billions of fine, dense psychic threads converging from all directions.
Those were the consciousness echoes of billions of Tyranid individuals—the foundation Sarah had torn out from the Hive Mind to construct her self.
Among the tens of thousands of threads lay a thickest, golden, brilliant light thread running across.
One end was rooted deep within Sarah's soul core, while the other crossed the void, firmly connecting to his own purple light-figure.
This was the bond—an emotional tie bred through sharing life and death, bridging the chasm between species.
And right now, the magic corrosive power flowing through Tzeentch's net was chewing away and eroding this most crucial thread inch by inch.
The golden radiance continuously dimmed, and the thread shrank ceaselessly.
If delayed for a moment longer, the bond would completely melt through; Sarah's hard-won independent self would be extracted and devoured in its entirety, leaving behind only an empty dragon frame manipulated by Chaos.
Immediately after, Raynor cast his all-knowing perspective toward Tzeentch's avatar, which stood in grand and formidable power.
Stripping away the horrifying appearances brought by tens of thousands of eyes and tentacle wings, the cruel truth was exposed stark naked.
This was not the arrival of the Architect of Fate's true body.
The colossal existence before him was in essence merely a fragile container.
The former psychic sorcerer, Ah-tia, had used his entire self as a realspace anchor to forcibly receive and contain the torrents of Tzeentchian psychic power and magic pouring down from the Sea of Chaos.
The avatar's psychic core was covered in fine, gruesome cracks; the container's walls trembled, tore, repaired, and tore again without stopping under the wash of infinite magical energy.
Ah-tia was merely a Thousand Sons sorcerer after all, and his soul's load capacity possessed a clear upper limit.
The massive influx of power collided and boiled inside the container, perpetually on the brink of overloading and collapsing.
This Avatar of Tzeentch had nowhere near reached the true power level of the Architect of Fate.
Raynor's purple light-body trembled slightly as the authority of Domination slowly gathered momentum and turned at the bottom layer of his soul.
The truth was already displayed right before his eyes.
Its strength was still far from matching Tzeentch's main body.
Which meant that Raynor still had a chance.
Yet at the exact same moment Raynor was peering into his opponent's true strength and weakness.
The Avatar of Tzeentch's thousands of eyes—alternating between dark and bright—remained firmly locked onto his existence from start to finish.
In the brief span of a few minutes, starting from its personal tearing through the Warp seam to arrive here in order to capture Raynor.
A sequence of unexpected turns had erupted one after another within this narrow intercalary space, surprising even the Architect of Fate, who was well accustomed to endless branches of destiny and had read through billions of possibilities.
Ripples of surprise surged within its heart one after another.
First, the mortal Raynor had boldly chanted one of its True Names, facing the blasphemous backfire handed down by the Warp origin head-on; his physical body fell apart inch by inch, yet his soul did not scatter.
Immediately following, this human who ought to have returned to dust did not march toward death, but instead embraced the latent Warp essence within himself.
Tearing apart mortal shackles, he morphed into a conceptual light-body constructed purely of psychic energy and origin authority.
To say nothing of Sarah.
That unique, independent Tyranid consciousness forcibly severed from the Tyranid Hive Mind's collective consciousness, ultimately falling into the soul net woven by its hand.
Two precious test samples—extremely rare across uncounted timelines, and outright nonexistent in many branches—had actually been delivered right before it within the exact same encounter.
Thousands of eyes blinked slowly; an invisible, featureless thought stamped itself directly onto every inch of this Warp intercalary layer without relying on sound waves, echoing through the void laced with a trace of playful emotion:
"In a brief moment, so many unexpected scripts have been staged in sequence."
"It seems my personal descent this time was not in vain after all."
Yet when its gaze fell upon Raynor, who had already completed his awakening, the surprise in Tzeentch's heart merely flickered past and did not last long.
As the supreme entity among the Chaos Gods in charge of all knowledge, deceit, change, and fate.
From the moment Raynor transmigrated into the Warhammer universe, it had already observed and analyzed this origin essence belonging to the authority of Domination sleeping deep within Raynor's soul.
Endless threads of fate stretched and unfolded across its vision.
It had even seen the tens of thousands of endings this sprouting authority would take.
Some sprouts remained permanently silent within mortal bodies until the bearers' lifespans ran out and they returned to dust.
Or they awakened prematurely amid war flames and despair, where the bearer was tempted by Chaos and fell into a twisted Daemon Prince.
A rare few grew slowly amid endless slaughters, climbing step by step toward the level of a minor god.
All possibilities of rise, destruction, fall, and annihilation were fully contained within Tzeentch's infinite vision.
In a flash, the faint playfulness faded, replaced by dense and pure inquisitive interest.
It wanted to witness with its own eyes what kind of horrifying power this nearly newborn "Evil God"—breaking through the soil from mortal flesh and blood—could unleash with this authority to dominate all things and govern everything.
And to what step could the strength of this newborn conceptual entity truly reach?
No redundant words of temptation were needed, nor were any further probing, scattered attacks launched.
The friction and confrontation between two existences whose power levels were both comparable to minor Chaos gods continuously escalated.
The grand curtain of their clash officially drew open with the violent collision of their respective domains of authority.
"Domain Expansion!"
Two supreme thoughts—lacking sound, yet shaking and churning the entire Warp intercalary layer—exploded with a roar in the void almost simultaneously.
Raynor underwent no learning or practice; this ability was like an innate instinct, spreading out the domain of authority exclusive to the God of Domination naturally.
An invisible, unseeable, heavy pressure instantly filled the half of the space covered by his authority.
The physical gravity originally applied here was completely rewritten; atop ordinary gravity, a conceptual attribute named "Obedience" was forcibly overlaid.
Every single living creature within the coverage of this domain—whether mortal, xenos, or daemon—uncontrollably birthed an almost irresistible, instinctive urge deep within their hearts.
Their limbs, bones, and the depths of their souls were all issuing silent urgings:
Wanting to bend the knee, wanting to bow the head, wanting to kneel on the ground, and bowing to offer allegiance to the ruler of this domain.
This was merely oppression acting on the physical plane.
Immediately after, an even more terrifying mental heavy pressure poured down like a collapsing sky, penetrating directly through flesh, blood, and skull—disregarding shields and psychic protection—to strike straight at the soul of every intelligent entity.
The gaze of all living creatures was pulled by an invisible force, turning involuntarily toward Raynor, the purple light-humanoid floating in the void.
Thousands of silent thoughts were engraved directly into every thinking core, repeating in endless loops.
Only a single, supremely domineering command echoed within their souls: Surrender.
Rivaling it on equal footing and occupying the other half of the heavens was Tzeentch's domain, representing endless transformation and unceasing deceit.
Light and color twisted and bent wildly here without restraint, light rays refracting at bizarre angles that could not possibly exist in the material universe.
Gravity values jumped wildly without rule; one second everything lost weight and floated, and the next moment gravity surged a hundredfold, as if intending to crush all matter into the most fundamental atomic powder.
Even space itself, which bore everything, came alive—continuously expanding, contracting, writhing, and surging.
Wantonly mocking any power that attempted to define, bind, or control it.
Tzeentch's domain likewise transmitted outward a silent will reaching straight to the soul:
You can never understand me, let alone control me.
The core of the authority of Domination was defining order, binding all things, and governing every existence in the heavens and earth.
Whereas the essence of Tzeentch's authority of Change was infinite transformation, refusing to be controlled or framed by any power.
Two massive domains with completely opposing attributes slammed into each other heavily at the centerline of the void.
At the junction where the two collided, a blindingly white, brilliant light erupted; the brightness of that light was sufficient to burn even the psychic senses of high-tier daemons.
In a flash, the dazzling white light contracted and collapsed inward drastically, the powerful opposing forces directly tearing open reality.
A pitch-black, bottomless, giant spatial rift was generated out of thin air.
A violent, surging psychic storm roared and erupted out from inside the rift like uncounted rushing, angry waves, sweeping and raking in all directions.
The foundation that originally held up Saint Gallus Castle—resembling a giant floating island—was the first to bear the full aftermath of the collision between two minor gods' authorities.
Solid rock layers, alloy city walls, and high towers and fortresses disintegrated with a roar like fragile tiles before the violent psychic torrent.
Massive chunks of architectural wreckage and rock fragments were torn and peeled away, turning into uncounted isolated spatial islands, large and small, drifting lonely within the seam's void.
The raging psychic storm mercilessly swept through every single corner of the battlefield.
Upon this battlefield—excluding Raynor, Tzeentch's avatar, and Sarah, who was carefully isolated and protected by Tzeentch using its own magical power while still trapped inside the psychic net—
Most of the remaining living creatures present were washed over by the two streams of minor-god-level authority.
Together with their bodies and souls, they were ground to pieces, dissolved, and completely returned to nothingness.
Yet a fortunate few still escaped this devastating disaster of domain collision.
For unknown reasons, Leo had not followed Saint Gallus Castle into the Warp intercalary layer.
Meanwhile, Yadodo and Dobby, along with the remaining Ork boyz of the Hokage Clan, survived by relying on the Orkish race's unique Waaagh! field.
The Waaagh! field was a psychic "local area network" completely independent of the Warp Chaos system.
Its source originated from the Orks' own genetics and did not interconnect with the Warp.
Thus, when Tzeentch's avatar originally carried away Saint Gallus Castle, they were likewise left behind.
Most of those who perished in this catastrophe were Tzeentchian cultists, along with Imperial human soldiers who had been dragged into the battlefield for no reason.
Uncounted broken residual souls flashed past in the storm, instantly dispersing into nothingness.
The two great domains continuously tore and clashed at each other, yet neither could truly overpower the other side.
Domination sought to lock down Change, while Change continuously dissolved the shackles of Domination, falling into a deadlocked stalemate.
Almost at the exact same moment, both Raynor and Tzeentch's avatar made the exact same judgment.
Continuing to exhaust their domains would only endlessly tug at their powers, making it difficult to determine a victor.
The two coincidentally pulled back their outwardly spread domains, abandoning long-distance rule interplay to choose the most direct method.
A head-on, hard-hitting clash.
The twisted light and shadow flowing around Tzeentch's avatar rapidly flowed, restructured, and dissolved, quickly revealing its most classic and widely known avatar form.
An avian head on a human body, several flexible and powerful arms spreading open toward its surroundings, and four pairs of giant, brilliant feathered wings fully unfolded behind its back, covered in thousands of eyes and lips.
And, of course, that iconic staff.
The entire divine avatar stood tall in the void, reaching a full height of eighty meters, its body surface flowing with ever-shifting, multicolored Chaos spiritual light.
Every single feather and every single eye surged with the power of deceit and magic.
Raynor was equally unwilling to show weakness.
That hazy, purple light-humanoid figure rapidly expanded outward in equal proportion along with his intent, zooming all the way up to an imposing height of one hundred meters.
A dark dragon robe—stately, heavy, and embroidered with esoteric patterns—manifested upon the flowing purple psychic light-body.
His right hand grasped out of thin air a Son of Heaven Sword whose cold gleam was biting and whose sharp edge sliced through the void.
A massive ancient seal—primitive, heavy, and engraved with governing patterns—floated in midair beside his left hand, while a formidable Imperial Crown was placed upon his head.
The head of the light mass—originally a vague blur—condensed into a majestic dragon head, imposing horns stretching outward, its eyes jumping with intensely burning purple flames.
A majestic, ruler-like pressure that looked down upon all directions and governed all living beings pressed across the entire turbulent space in all directions like a sea tide.
This was the concrete avatar that Raynor's subconscious could imagine as best fitting the concepts of "Domination" and "Sovereign Power."
In the next moment, two divine avatars imposing as mountains slammed into each other with a roar, and a tragic hand-to-hand brawl officially kicked off.
Tzeentch's avatar tightened its grip on the magic staff in its hand and swung its arm forward with all its might.
A giant psychic storm—vast in scale and sufficient to tear open the physical space of the material universe directly—took shape out of thin air.
The storm howled and surged, carrying a might that destroyed all things as it swept and crushed toward Raynor.
Its remaining several arms took no pause, continuously waving and hurling outward as devastating spells that twisted the law of causality flew out in sequence.
Multicolored curse light-projectiles traced uncanny trajectories in the air that defied physical common sense.
Should any single spell among them fall upon the material world, it would be sufficient to heavily injure or even slay a powerful Chapter Master.
Facing the storm rushing at his face and the sky full of curses, Raynor made no dodging movement whatsoever.
Tightening his right hand firmly around the Son of Heaven Sword, he poured all his authority of Domination into the blade, raising it high above his head as brilliant purple light blazed.
A sword strike to cleave the heavens!
Carrying the will to govern all things, the purple sword light crashed down head-on to meet the sweeping giant psychic storm.
The incomparably sharp sword light forcibly split and tore the violent storm down the middle.
The wildly raging psychic torrent was divided by the sword's edge into two giant surging waves, roaring and rushing past both sides of Raynor's body.
Afterward, they slammed heavily onto the drifting spatial islands in the distance, blasting chunks of land wreckage into pieces.
At the same time, Raynor made a hollow gripping motion with his left hand, fully materializing the power of domination borne by that ancient seal.
At times, giant purple hands that obscured the sky and sun were born out of thin air in the void, five fingers closing together to crush the incoming causal curse spells in a firm grip.
At other times, he condensed and compressed his authority, turning it into a thousand-ton heavy giant warhammer that swung down toward Tzeentch's avatar with a howling sound of breaking air.
With a thunderous roar, the giant warhammer carried tens of thousands of tons of momentum to smash heavily toward Tzeentch.
Yet at the moment right before the warhammer was about to hit its body, Tzeentch's entire eighty-meter-tall frame suddenly turned into a translucent, flowing, twisted phantom.
The heavy warhammer passed straight through the phantom without any hindrance, smashing heavily onto a large spatial island behind it.
The entire floating land fragment was instantly smashed into pieces, rock and metal debris flying everywhere into space.
The phantom dispersed, and Tzeentch's avatar had already relied on shift sorcery to instantly flash and relocate behind Raynor's avatar.
The magic staff in its hands struck heavily against the void, sending a massive ocean of Chaos magic power surging and thrashing.
"Manifest, my servants!"
The spell echoed through space, and ninety-nine powerful Lords of Change were forcibly summoned here from the depths of the Warp by Tzeentch's sorcery.
These most cunning and ferocious Greater Daemons under Tzeentch's command gathered together the moment they descended.
All the daemons' magic powers resonated from the same source, their psychic energies mutually overlaying and amplifying, joining hands to construct a Warp catastrophe even more terrifying and capable of devouring everything.
Boiling Chaos black energy poured down like rolling scalding water, crushing over toward Raynor's avatar of domination like a collapsing sky.
Intending to completely submerge and extinguish this still newborn minor god conceptual entity.
Facing the incoming Warp catastrophe and a full ninety-nine Lords of Change waiting in strict formation.
Raynor's majestic dragon head opened its giant maw slightly, speaking true words as a single character vibrated through the void:
"Suppress!"
With just a single word falling, the authority of Domination on the rule level came into effect with a roar.
The entire Warp intercalary layer—which had still been howling, rushing, and wantonly surging—instantly fell into a standstill.
The wildly raging Warp storms and the surging waves of magic power were all like a paused image, frozen dead in the void.
Those ninety-nine fierce Lords of Change—their swinging claws, unfolded wings, raised staffs, and daemonic magic about to be unleashed—
Were all locked dead in place by the power of rules, standing stiff without moving, unable to even turn their eyeballs.
Across this vast battlefield, all things returned to stillness.
Only Tzeentch's avatar still retained full mobility.
The nine pupils upon its avian head suddenly contracted, a trace of shock flickering through its heart as well.
Without the slightest hesitation, a dimensional pocket suddenly appeared beside it, and it reached its hand deep into the pocket.
A short blade flowing with an ominous, sickly, nine-colored ghostly light was dragged out from the dimensional pocket by its hand.
This was the "???" (Blade of the Dove / Dove Blade).
This murder weapon possessed a horrifying origin: after Tzeentch had once slaughtered nine hundred ninety-nine Great Unclean Ones of Nurgle,
It extracted the flesh, plague origin, and soul fragments of every single Great Unclean One as forging materials, tempering it through thousands of trials using its unique transformation sorcery.
It was crafted specifically to assassinate conceptual entities and minor gods who mastered rule authorities.
Grasping the Blade of the Dove tightly, Tzeentch's entire body turned into an ever-shifting, hard-to-capture stream of light, holding the short blade to charge straight toward Raynor.
The blade's edge aimed straight for the center of the forehead on Raynor's dragon head—the core location of this avatar.
Yet Raynor's reaction was not a bit slower; unbound by the rule of stillness, he tossed that primitive ancient seal high into the upper sky with one hand.
A resonant voice vibrated across the entire Warp intercalary layer:
"Psychic-Suppressing Seal!"
The ancient seal tossed into the air instantly split and disintegrated in midair, dividing into ninety-nine phantom seals that obscured the sky and sun, each several dozen meters in size.
Heavy and dignified seals descended like falling meteors, crashing downward with a roar; every phantom seal locked on with precision, matching up to one completely immobilized Lord of Change.
Rumbling collision sounds exploded in sequence across the void.
The Lords of Change were locked dead in place by the rule of Domination, unable to even dodge or resist.
Under the layered suppression of the Heaven-Suppressing Seals, the daemons' bodies shattered inch by inch, their daemonic souls crushed and dissolved by the seals.
In merely a flash, ninety-nine formidable Lords of Change were all suppressed and slain, lacking even the chance to flee back into the Warp.
Having disposed of all the bound daemons, a final giant ancient seal phantom—its body expanding wildly to reach a hundred meters in diameter—remained in the high heavens.
Carrying thousand-ton heavy pressure, it crashed head-on to meet the Avatar of Tzeentch rushing forward with the Blade of the Dove in hand.
The Blade of the Dove, flowing with cold light, struck heavily against the surface of the massive Heaven-Suppressing Seal.
The nine-colored ghostly light representing Chaos Change collided violently with the brilliant purple-gold radiance representing Governance and Domination.
BOOM!
A new round of psychic storm—even more horrifying in scale—exploded outward with a roar from the collision point of the two rule artifacts.
Dazzling light weaving five colors and purple-gold consumed more than half of the vision; wild and scattered energy shockwaves slammed heavily against the floating spatial islands all around.
The already fragmented floating land pieces shook continuously under the impact, rock layers splitting open, metal frameworks twisting and snapping, as uncounted rock debris drifted away into the pitch-black void.
Two powers on the level of minor gods were still wildly exerting strength against each other, the shockwaves produced by the artifacts' clash expanding outward wave after wave.
The Warp seam—already riddled with thousands of holes—saw its cracks grow increasingly dense.
Meanwhile, Sarah, trapped in the psychic net, remained suspended on the side of the battlefield as Tzeentch diverted a small portion of power to maintain the web.
The process of her soul being devoured briefly slowed due to this recent fierce clash, but it still did not stop.
Raynor knew this was only the middle phase of the fight.
Even if the Heaven-Suppressing Seal temporarily blocked the Blade of the Dove, he was not facing a ordinary Greater Daemon, but a powerful avatar carefully projected by Tzeentch.
To completely crush the opponent, it was still far from over.
Rumbling explosions rose and fell one after another within the twisted Warp intercalary layer, as wild shockwaves produced by rule collisions swept wantonly in all directions.
Raynor's purple avatar of domination and Tzeentch's avatar continuously collided and attacked each other vigorously.
Every time weapons clashed and authorities clashed, a psychic surge sufficient to tear ordinary Greater Daemons to pieces was set off.
The terrifying aftermath agitated by the fight even forcibly squeezed this already scar-riddled spatial intercalary layer outward by a full circle.
New pitch-black spatial rifts generated out of thin air continuously, while uncounted broken spatial debris drifted aimlessly within the turbulent flows.
Yet after a bout of fierce combat, Raynor's heart gradually sank to the bottom.
He could clearly perceive that even though his offensive was fierce—using the Heaven-Suppressing Seal, the Son of Heaven Sword, and the power of domination to bombard in turns—he was still unable to truly crush this Avatar of Tzeentch before him.
In reverse, the Blade of the Dove in Tzeentch's hands and ever-shifting sorcery spells poured down like a collapsing sky.
It was equally difficult to completely destroy his divine power avatar condensed from the authority of Domination.
This was within the Warp, after all.
The unceasingly rolling ocean of psychic power raged and roared all around, endless Chaos energy acting like a never-drying fountainhead.
It continuously poured into Tzeentch's avatar, effectively granting it a nearly endless supply of energy.
And the essence of Domination that Raynor had awakened was likewise capable of snatching power from this Warp psychic torrent.
Their divine power levels were matched on equal footing, and neither side possessed a method that could completely erase the other.
If they tangled on endlessly like this, even if they fought for decades or a century, it would likely be hard to decide a true victor.
But Raynor could not afford to drag it out.
Out of the corner of his eye, he was constantly glancing at the giant web woven from psychic tentacles on the side.
Sarah's massive Frost Dragon frame was still firmly bound within the net, and Tzeentch had not stopped the plunder just because it was fighting him.
With every passing second, a strand of Sarah's independent consciousness was extracted and dissolved by the net.
That golden thread of soul bond connecting him with Sarah was still being eroded and worn away bit by bit.
Time was not on his side.
As long as the stalemate continued, Sarah's self would eventually be devoured completely.
By that time, whether he could win this battle or not would lose all meaning.
He had to find a way to break the deadlock.
Either heavily injure or even kill this Avatar of Tzeentch, or sever the channel through which it drew energy from the Warp and rescue Sarah.
In the gaps of the fierce clash, Raynor's thoughts turned at high speed.
A bold thought exploded violently in his mind.
Since a head-on battle could hardly crush Tzeentch's avatar or stop its process of absorbing consciousness, why not take a different path?
Instead of attacking Tzeentch, act directly upon Sarah herself.
Have himself use the authority of Domination, following that unique soul bond between the two of them, to directly dominate and guide Sarah's body.
Allowing Sarah herself to break free from the containment of Tzeentch's psychic net.
If this step succeeded, it might kill two birds with one stone: helping Sarah break free from her prison, while using Sarah's Shadow in the Warp to block Tzeentch's avatar from regenerating.
His mind set, Raynor hesitated no longer.
His avatar of domination made a hollow gripping motion with its large hand, authority gathering and condensing in the void.
A bronze tally—primitive and esoteric—slowly took shape within the purple light-stream.
The surface of the tally was covered in ancient patterns representing governance and deployment, spreading heavy waves of authority outward.
Raynor raised his hand and violently hurled this tally deep into the void of the battlefield.
"Rise!"
A voiceless order vibrated through the intercalary space.
The void ripples in layers, and a hundred terracotta warriors—green-black all over and standing a full hundred meters tall—descended in response from nothingness.
Every terracotta warrior was strictly armored, holding long spears and heavy shields, their entire bodies wrapped in an overwhelming, majestic momentum.
A hundred giant soldiers lined up in neat formation, the space beneath their feet shaking violently under the heavy pressure.
Immediately after, the hundred soldiers roared in unison, collectively charging toward Tzeentch's avatar.
Spears sliced through the void, a hundred sharp attacks enveloping the opponent from all directions, forcing Tzeentch's avatar to turn most of its energy to deal with this sudden army.
Thousands of pupils upon Tzeentch's avian head contracted sharply in unison; its mouth chanted a series of ever-shifting Chaos runes as its two pairs of giant wings churned psychic power wildly.
Multicolored sorcery shields expanded outside its body, while its remaining several arms continuously hurled destructive spells, energy streams that twisted reality sweeping across all directions.
BANG BANG BANG!
Earth-shattering collisions erupted in sequence.
One terracotta warrior after another was dismantled and shattered by Tzeentch's endless psychic moves, bronze fragments flying everywhere like meteors.
Yet the subsequent terracotta warriors still advanced undaunted by death, trapping Tzeentch's avatar in a death grip.
Forcing it to continuously parry and dismantle, making it difficult to spare its full mind to monitor Raynor's movements.
Now was the best time for Raynor to strike!