Mountains of armor.
It was the first time Al had ever connected those two concepts together.
It was as if a tunnel had truly opened from the Bloodmother's armory straight into the mortal realm. Armor and weapons cascaded from the sky like a waterfall. Behind Al, who had hastily scurried out of the way, the scattered pieces piled into a mound, and then into an entire mountain forged of armor and weaponry.
The Beastmen praised the dark power of Chaos and the Bloodmother's divine favor in unison. The Khorngors—those who worshipped the Mad Mother of Rage—especially glued their eyes to the sets of Chaos armor and weapons forged in the Bloodmother's realm, washed in tempests of blood and violence.
However, without the Champion's order, they wouldn't dare make a move on their own.
Looking at the warriors who were eager yet obediently waiting outside the perimeter, Al felt a sense of gratification. Instilling discipline was an ongoing process, but it seemed to be showing its first results.
He had originally planned to find a few reckless idiots to whip a few dozen times to establish his authority, but it looked like that wouldn't be necessary.
The pile of armor and weapons grew larger and taller, even burying the eight-pointed star. The herd had to back away to avoid being cut by the falling blades.
Soon, this sacrificial ritual was completed.
The center of the gathering ground was almost entirely filled with armor and weapons from the Bloodmother. As Al got a headache thinking about how to organize it all, he looked up and noticed two large chests falling down at the very end.
Large chests of black iron, adorned with skull iconography. The Bloodmother's inverted Khorne symbol glowed red, the condensed blood color so rich it looked ready to drip.
They looked somewhat similar to the large chests engraved with constellation patterns from an ancient anime created in what was now the United Earth Government's District 11.
The stuff at the very end was definitely the good loot!
Al lifted a two-handed greatsword from the ground with both hands. Feeling the heavy weight and a searing heat coming from the hilt, he handed it to a Khorngor to test it. With one heavy swing, the excited Bloodkine easily crushed five stacked Blood Bowl helmets.
He then found a tree to test it on...
The Tree: First of all, I didn't provoke any of you.
CRACK!
He tested the edge again. Not to mention cutting iron like mud, it was sharp enough to split a hair blown against the blade. With this level of sharpness combined with the inherent heaviness of a greatsword...
What the hell are the Greatswords of the Empire!
Have you met my Greatsword Khorngors?
Looking at the equipment on the field, which felt like enough to arm a legion of several thousand, Al's hands trembled as he held the centaur girl's hand.
Holy shit!
I only have two mothers in my heart!
Giving whatever is needed, giving however much is asked for (as long as offerings are made first, of course). What kind of treatment is this?
A real mom!
After being excited for a while, Al once again felt the true meaning behind titles like "Hot-Tempered Mom" and "Mad Mother of Rage."
The Bloodmother had prepared a special gift exclusively for her mortal son!
The Armor of Morkar 2.0 (Originally one of the six Treasures of Archaon the Everchosen, the armor worn by the first Everchosen, Morkar the Uniter).
Grim Love.
Cast entirely in red and gold, it came with a blood-red cape, dark and heavy as if soaked in gore.
Imbued with the Bloodmother's blessing, the wearer was nearly impervious to anything but the most extreme attacks, though there was still a possibility of being decapitated or dismembered by overwhelming melee strikes (???).
In this regard, the Bloodmother was just like Khorne; she wouldn't deprive anyone of the possibility of bleeding.
Even her own son was no exception.
But there was a catch with this armor. It required the wearer to personally step onto the battlefield, treading through rivers of blood, to unleash its true power. It drew strength from the mutual slaughter to enhance the wearer's might and replenish their stamina.
He had been pretty happy at first. Wearing this, Al wouldn't have to worry about the enemy yelling, "The one riding the centaur is the Everchosen!" and firing a volley of arrows. The centaur girl would be fine (Max ranged resistance), while he would get shot into a sieve.
But upon closer inspection, he realized this wasn't just his mother's loving protection; it was also her driving whip.
Doesn't she consider the consequences of me getting jumped by mass-teleporting enemies?
Al smiled wryly, tallying up the absolute chads he would most likely encounter as the Everchosen:
The Defender of Ulthuan, Tyrion, who pulled the Sword of Khaine and became the avatar of Khaine (though he didn't know what his current status was in this timeline);
The eternal, never-ending hammer-wielding chads of the Empire. You might just kill one, and the next second the Lore of Heavens drops a divine buff, revives him, and makes him even stronger;
The scattered assortment of Greater Daemons, Lords, and Monsters...
The most powerful Ice Mage in history, the Tzarina Katarin who could summon blizzards to freeze the steppes;
The Hand of the Shadow Crown (Alith Anar), whose assassination skills were unfathomable and could force a 1-for-1 trade (in the game, they could sacrifice themselves to perform an agent action, forcefully assassinating a non-legendary lord/hero, or wounding a legendary character);
The Living Saint Repanse who tanks cannonballs with her face; the Captain of the Phoenix Guard of Asuryan; the super WAAAAAGH! Greenskin Warboss Grimgor Ironhide; the Witch King Malekith himself; the pinnacle of martial arts, the Blood Dragon Progenitor Abhorash; the Big Bone Daddy Nagash; the Great Horned Rat's assassin Deathmaster Snikch who had murdered Sigmar's Champion (depending on the relationship between the Four Mothers and the Skaven); and the most "failed" Dwarf Slayer Gotrek Gurnisson, who constantly sought a glorious death but couldn't be killed, forcing a 50/50 tie with anyone and eventually taking them out...
In the future, there might also be the Storm Dragon Miao Ying, who guarded Grand Cathay's Great Bastion for millennia, terrifying the Hun-like Kurgans from riding south and the forces of Chaos from drawing their bows in resentment; the Jade Dragon Yuan Bo, sitting in the Central Provinces balancing the four corners; the younger brother, the Iron Dragon Zhao Ming, who mingled with Ogres; and the Monkey King, whose specific situation was unknown but who was blindly guessed to be super proficient with a staff, plotting to conquer Wei-Jin and requiring the combined might of the Dragons to suppress...
Each and every one of them was a one-in-a-million powerhouse. If it weren't for internal divisions and a certain ancient Earth-based tabletop company having a stroke and forcing a world-ending reboot, Al seriously doubted how the ratmen and Chaos "Martian" doomstacks could have ever succeeded.
Thinking about the shift in offensive and defensive momentum, this group of massive badasses teleporting to his face and shouting: "The one wearing the red cape is the Everchosen!"
Al looked at Grim Love with some conflict.
Although he had been saying "we are different" and "walking a third path."
He still had absolutely no idea how much tolerance the outside world would actually have for his "New Chaos" and "Lawful Chaos."
"Forget it, I'll wear it for now."
He comforted himself. A life-saving divine artifact shouldn't go unworn. Once his children grew, he wouldn't necessarily have to take the field personally every time. If worse came to worst... Cao Mengde could cut his beard and discard his robe to escape; as the grand Everchosen, couldn't he strip off his armor to run?!
All the armor and weapons had their own unique serial numbers. Having such markings for reference avoided a situation that would be agonizing for someone with OCD.
Helmet, breastplate, arm guards, elbow pads, belt, greaves, iron boots...
Equipping complete.
A fierce, steel-clad Khorngor stood tall before Al, holding a greatsword in one hand and a spiked kite shield in the other.
Compared to the previous tribal warriors, it was the difference between a basic Chaos Warrior and a Chosen Champion.
"Good! Very energetic!"
Al cheered up. With such elite soldiers and strong generals, why worry about the Southlands not being conquered, or his enterprise not thriving?
He turned his head and looked at the centaur girl.
She had just opened the other, slightly larger chest.
BOOM!
It wasn't an illusion; the sky was truly flashing with lightning and roaring with thunder.
As the seal was broken, a thick stench of blood instantly spread across the entire field, making the Khorngors restless. Terrifying illusions of blades and warfare caused the common beastmen to scramble backwards, as if retreating from something utterly dreadful.
A violent warrior!
No, it was just an illusion. It was merely a set of armor.
Al blinked, almost thinking he was hallucinating. But the second he saw the full appearance of the armor, it floated into the air, and a bizarre weapon slashed toward the centaur with the force of a thunderbolt.
CLANG!!!
The Bloodmother's Champion swung her great hammer. Metal met metal, producing an ear-piercing crash.
The centaur girl's exotic face once again displayed that mad, feral grin that only appeared during battle (or occasionally when pinning Al down). She charged forward, bringing her great hammer smashing down!
Al watched the two equally crimson figures fight from the gathering ground all the way to the edge of the tribe. Palisades collapsed, and structures shattered; it was like two terrifying bulldozers wreaking havoc through the camp.
After quite a while, the centaur finally emerged from the dust.
She held the armor in her hand. Its attack instincts, formed purely from a desire for slaughter and destruction, had been shattered by the Bloodmother's Champion—meaning she had conquered the armor.
Under the Bloodmother's power, the armor automatically dismantled itself, then attached to the centaur's body, completing the equipping process.
As the old saying goes:
Look upon the centaur girl: standing twelve feet tall, with a slender waist yet a broad, powerful back, her shoulders pulled taut. Her face was that of a bewitching consort, sharp sword-like eyebrows angling into her hairline, a pair of crimson eyes, a nose like a jade pillar, and lips a rich cinnabar red. Atop her head, she wore a bright silver crown depicting two dragons fighting over a jewel, embedded with a radiant pearl at the center, its pheasant-tail plumes fluttering elegantly behind her.
She wore a three-pronged purple-gold crest, draped in a red cotton robe embroidered with a hundred flowers, clad in interlocking beast-faced armor that could swallow the heavens, with an exquisite lion-head belt cinching her waist. A curved blade at her side, holding a painted halberd in hand, she was originally a wind-howling Centigor. Truly, she could be called: "A hero among people, a true dragon among steeds!"
Majestic and awe-inspiring, she held a Heaven-Scorching Halberd in her left hand, and hoisted a Meteor Hammer in her right;
Covered in the dust of battle, a fierce light shining in her eyes, her imposing aura and raging madness were absolutely overwhelming!
Al swallowed hard.
The centaur girl walked up to him. She dropped her hammer, and the ground trembled.
Then she lifted the painted halberd, slamming it violently into the earth so it stood upright on its own. She reached out, scooped the boy up, and held him in her arms, watching from the sidelines as the beastmen busied themselves sorting the Chaos armor bestowed by the Bloodmother.
Al lay against the centaur girl's chest, his eyes constantly darting toward the Heaven-Scorching Halberd. Compared to what he remembered, the crescent blades on the sides were longer, shaped like scimitars, and the central spear tip gleamed with deadly sharpness. Just looking at it sent a chilling aura straight to the bone, making one shudder. It was truly a peerless divine weapon.
Al only felt that upon those cold blades, the chilling light was beautifully seductive, leaving him mesmerized.
"M-mom."
"Hmm?"
The centaur girl's fierce expression softened slightly. She patted the boy's head and asked softly if he wanted to go back inside.
"No, l-let's just stay here."
"Mhm."
The centaur girl nodded and said no more. Al's attention was continually drawn to the cold, beautiful weapon of murder.
Thankfully, the centaur girl was the one using it.
If it had been bestowed upon one of Al's own sons, he would have had to seriously reconsider establishing the Adeptus Custodes.