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(A/N: Chapter 115 will soon be on Patreon!)
(I'm very sorry! the thing is that this chapter should have been released on the 10th but due to a system error it was not uploaded right and I only found out about it today when one of my Patrons DM'ed me.)
(Aside from that.....IT'S DONE! WE HAVE FINALLY REACHED OUR GOAL! Patreon now has a minimum of 100 Paid members finally making this story a dedicated writing Project of mine.)
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(YOU ALL ARE FUCKING AWESOME!)
Alastor had long since lost track of how much time had passed within these accursed realms. Time was not a fixed concept within the Warp as it was in the Materium.
He had already crossed the Circles of Excess to reach the Palace of Pleasure, traversed the Crystal Labyrinth lined with tomes of forbidden knowledge, and even endured the dreadful Garden of Nurgle, where he had willingly ingested countless broths of Warp-borne diseases and plagues, suffering unimaginable agony to protect his newfound companion.
But now, instead of awakening within the Black Manse, he found himself standing in the middle of a colossal bronze arena, its towering stands packed with red-skinned daemons roaring and clamoring for blood.
Quickly rising to his feet, Alastor instinctively searched for Isha before remembering where he now was.
The realm of the fourth Chaos God.
Khorne.
The Blood God.
Thankfully, he could still feel the connection between them in his soul.
"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!"
"SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!"
"GLORY TO THE VICTORS! DEATH TO THE FALLEN!"
Alastor scowled at the daemons filling the arena, but his gaze was soon drawn to a single figure seated upon the central viewing platform in a section reserved solely for himself.
The figure sat upon a massive throne of black iron and bronze, clad in baroque plate armor of blood-red brass and blackened iron. Resting beside the throne was a baleful crimson greatsword.
Khorne.
The Blood God.
Despite being unable to see his face, Alastor knew the Blood God was staring directly at him.
Without a word, Khorne materialized something within one gauntleted hand before casually flicking it toward him.
The object crossed the arena at impossible speed.
Acting on instinct, Alastor took two quick steps backward as it slammed into the ground where he had just been standing, blasting a crater into the arena floor.
His eyes widened.
It was a sword.
His sword.
Dawn.
The very blade he had believed lost when he first entered the Realms of Chaos.
Alastor had no idea what Khorne was planning.
Frankly, he didn't care.
Grasping Dawn's hilt, he wrenched it free from the shattered stone, a familiar sense of reassurance washing over him as his trusted weapon once more rested comfortably in his hand.
"Show me just how much blood you can spill... Second Son."
Khorne's voice alone was enough to drive most mortals into a frenzy of murderous rage. Though he hadn't spoken loudly, every syllable echoed with absolute clarity throughout the arena.
All around Alastor, Khornate daemons of every rank and breed materialized.
Others leapt down from the stands or descended from the sky.
They wielded infernal weapons of every kind—swords, axes, spears, chains, and whips—as they charged without the slightest hesitation.
Alastor answered with a charge of his own.
He had an enormous amount of pent-up anger.
If these monsters wished to offer themselves as targets upon which he could vent it...
He wasn't about to refuse!
Enhancing his body with Psionics, Alastor accelerated until he became little more than a blur of motion.
Dawn transformed into a radiant arc of light that carved effortlessly through daemon flesh.
He moved with such incredible speed that it seemed as though he were teleporting across the battlefield, covering well over a hundred meters in a heartbeat and leaving behind a great many bisected daemons in his wake.
At first, part of Alastor's attention remained fixed on Khorne and the bloodthirsty spectators watching from the stands.
Eventually...
He stopped caring?
Nothing existed anymore except the enemies standing before him.
The daemons watching from the arena erupted into even louder cheers.
Rather than being disturbed by the slaughter of their own kind, they became increasingly exhilarated by every drop of blood spilled.
Even Khorne, hidden behind his dark helm, allowed himself the faintest hint of a smile.
Then Alastor noticed something strange.
His anger wasn't fading.
If anything, every daemon he butchered brought him only a fleeting moment of satisfaction before an even greater wave of fury crashed over him.
Growling, he parried the massive axe of a towering Daemon Prince of Khorne on Dawn's blade before driving his sacred flame-wreathed sword deep across the monster's chest.
The daemon roared in agony and immediately took to the air, desperately trying to escape.
Alastor had no intention of allowing that.
Summoning his wings, he launched himself skyward and rapidly closed the distance.
Panicked, the Daemon Prince lashed out wildly.
It was a mistake.
His fear left an opening that Alastor immediately exploited.
One blazing swing severed the daemon's axe-wielding arm.
Before the Daemon Prince could even finish screaming, Alastor darted behind him.
With a savage roar, he seized both of the daemon's wings and violently ripped them from his back.
The Daemon Prince crashed into the arena floor with tremendous force.
A heartbeat later, Alastor landed atop him.
For the first time, the monstrous servant of Khorne knew genuine fear.
One arm had been severed.
His chest had been split open.
His wings had been torn from his body.
And the human standing over him looked more like a blood-soaked daemon than he did!
"W-Wait—!"
He never got the chance to finish.
Alastor grabbed the daemon by the back of it's head and repeatedly smashed his face into the arena floor with merciless force.
SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM!
SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM! SLAM!
Again.
And again!
AND AGAIN!!!
Alastor didn't stop until the Daemon Prince's face had been reduced to an unrecognizable mess of flesh and blood.
Only then did he release the corpse, tossing the enormous body aside as though it were nothing more than a piece of worthless trash.
The watching daemons erupted into ravenous cheers.
To them, it didn't matter that one of their own had just been brutally slaughtered.
Only that the blood had flowed.
'ALASTOR!!!'
A familiar voice suddenly echoed through his mind, causing the crimson haze clouding his thoughts to dissipate.
'Isha!?'
Alastor was surprised to hear her voice within his mind and immediately realized she was using the connection she had established with his soul.
Despite communicating mentally, he never stopped fighting.
'Thank the Old Ones, I finally managed to reach you! Alastor, listen carefully. You're currently in one of the most dangerous places within the Realm of Brass and Blood—the Arena of Carnage!'
'The entire arena functions as a massive ritual site. Khorne uses it to host bloody duels and endless battles, or, on the rare occasions he takes a particular liking to a mortal, he throws them into the arena to fight.'
'And that's bad because...?'
Alastor mentally replied as he drove Dawn through yet another daemon.
'Because there are only ever two outcomes for anyone placed there.'
'Either they die in the arena, in which case Khorne revives them as one of his daemons... or simply destroys their soul.'
'Or worse...'
There was genuine fear in Isha's voice.
'The more you kill within that arena, the essence of the daemons isn't destroyed. Instead, it is absorbed into you, slowly corrupting your mind, spirit, and soul. The more blood you spill, the worse the corruption becomes, until you eventually transform into one of Khorne's greatest daemons.'
For Khorne's cultists, this was considered the highest of honors if they were allowed within the Arena of Carnage.
Not only did it mean they had earned immense favor from the Blood God, but if they survived long enough and slaughtered enough opponents, they would ascend to daemonhood, standing far above ordinary Daemon Princes within Khorne's court early on.
Unfortunately...
Alastor was no cultist.
If anything, after everything he had endured, he hated Chaos more passionately than ever!
'Frak! Isha, what do you expect me to do!? I can't die here, and I have absolutely no intention of spending the rest of eternity screaming about Khorne Flakes!'
For a brief moment, Isha fell silent.
Then an incredulous laugh echoed through their connection.
'Setting aside your... unique choice of insults, don't worry. Stop using your sacred flames offensively. Instead, keep them within yourself and around your soul as a protective barrier.'
'I also placed my blessing upon you. Combined with your mental shields, it should help keep your mind clear of the invading bloodlust.'
'Isha... you're a lifesaver.'
Alastor wasted no time putting her advice into practice.
From that point onward, he relied primarily on his swordsmanship and Psionic telekinesis while keeping his sacred flames burning within himself, encasing his soul in a protective mantle.
Since his flames were no longer annihilating the daemons outright, their physical forms merely unraveled before they were reformed elsewhere within the Warp.
More importantly, Isha's blessing, combined with his mental shields from his Occlumency kept his thoughts far clearer than before.
Khorne immediately noticed the change.
The faint smirk beneath his helmet disappeared.
Watching Alastor resist the corruption, the Blood God slowly crushed one of the brass armrests of his throne beneath his gauntleted hand.
Alastor remained so focused on cutting down his enemies that he failed to notice something strange.
No more daemons were entering the arena.
Even the spectators began murmuring amongst themselves, confused as to why fresh challengers had stopped appearing.
Then...
The deafening sound of shifting armor echoed throughout the arena.
Every eye turned toward the throne.
Khorne had risen.
Shock quickly gave way to frenzied excitement among the assembled daemons.
Alastor, meanwhile, felt only growing unease.
The Blood God leapt from his elevated platform.
He landed within the arena with enough force to shake the ground like a massive earthquake, sending cracks racing across the bronze floor.
'Isha... I think I might be in trouble... Isha?... Isha!?'
"That elf will not be interfering any further, Second Son."
Khorne regarded him silently.
"What did you do!?"
"Nothing... other than severing that troublesome connection of yours."
The Blood God looked upon Alastor as though examining a masterfully forged weapon.
"Brilliant... absolutely brilliant."
"The way you fight. Your skill. But more importantly..."
"...the rage and wrath behind every swing."
"You have already faced the Harlot, the Bird, and the Tumor, yet you still stand before me."
"Do you know how many mortals have accomplished what you have and reached this point?"
"Enough?" Alastor replied dryly, tightening his grip on Dawn.
"None."
The answer caught him completely off guard.
"My kin and I knew you and your "Brothers" would be extraordinary, considering whose blood and craftsmanship created you."
"Even so..."
"You are the one who has drawn all of our attention since the day we became aware of your existence."
"So much so that none of us are willing to share you unless we have absolutely no other choice."
"So?" Alastor asked with a scowl.
"Are you also going to offer me another position as a glorified daemon?"
Khorne laughed, the sound reverberating throughout the arena.
"Oh, I do admire that defiance of yours."
"I know the other three have already offered you positions of great prestige within their courts."
"The Harlot even wished to make you her consort."
"Making you a Daemon Prince would be a waste of someone with your potential."
"No."
"What I offer is something far greater."
"I offer to free you from every burden and expectation placed upon your shoulders."
"I will grant you true freedom."
"The freedom to slaughter."
"To wage endless war."
"To revel in righteous rage."
"To conquer and plunder without morality or sanity restraining you."
"To lead your legions across both the stars and the Warp, wherever your desires take you..."
"...as my heir."
Silence descended upon the Arena of Carnage.
Every daemon—from the lowliest Bloodletter to the mightiest Bloodthirster—stood frozen in stunned disbelief.
By the Skull Throne...
Did that mean this mortal truly possessed the potential to become their Prince of Blood!?
Alastor himself was stunned.
Even he hadn't expected Khorne to offer him such a prestigious and powerful position within his court. If he accepted, he would wield authority second only to the Blood God himself, commanding the entirety of Khorne's realm.
Unfortunately for Khorne, Alastor had never been a fan of excessive bloodshed.
"You want my answer?"
A savage grin spread across his face.
"HERE IT IS!"
Enhancing his body with Psionics once more, Alastor vanished in a blur of motion.
An instant later, he appeared behind Khorne, Dawn flashing toward the Blood God's waist.
Khorne casually deflected the strike with one armored gauntlet.
Growling, Alastor accelerated even further.
He circled Khorne at incredible speeds, launching strike after strike from every angle.
Each one was effortlessly deflected.
Far from being annoyed, the Blood God appeared immensely pleased by Alastor's response.
"Good!"
Khorne laughed.
"That's the spirit!"
"Fight!"
"Rage!"
"Slaughter your way toward what you desire!"
"SHUT UP!"
Appearing directly in front of him in a blur of motion, Alastor swung Dawn toward Khorne's throat.
For the first time, Khorne moved to meet the attack.
A bloody grin spread beneath his helm as he drew his massive crimson greatsword with one hand as though it weighed nothing.
Then he swung.
The two blades collided.
A tremendous shockwave erupted from the point of impact, sending ripples of energy throughout the arena.
Then—
SHATTER!
Alastor's eyes widened.
Dawn.
His trusted companion for years.
The blade that had accompanied him through countless battles.
It shattered beneath the overwhelming force of Khorne's strike.
All that remained in his grasp was the hilt, guard, and a jagged fragment of broken steel.
That moment of shock was a mistake.
Khorne's free hand clenched into a fist.
Then he punched.
The Blood God used only a small fraction of his strength.
It was still far too much.
His fist tore through Alastor's already ruined armor and slammed into his abdomen.
A colossal shockwave exploded outward.
Alastor was launched across the arena like a cannonball, crashing through the bronze floor before finally skidding to a halt near the arena's edge.
Pain exploded throughout his body.
His skeleton felt as though it had been violently rattled apart.
His organs churned.
Muscle fibers tore.
Blood poured from his mouth as he dropped to one knee, clutching his abdomen.
Yet despite the overwhelming pain—whether through sheer willpower, divine providence, or simple stubbornness—he refused to collapse completely.
His body trembled.
But he remained standing.
Khorne threw back his head and laughed.
"Hahaha!"
"You are the most worthy mortal I have had the honor of facing, Alastor!"
"I cannot remember the last time a mortal survived a blow from me without becoming a smear upon the ground."
The Blood God spread his arms wide.
"Join us."
"Rule Azeroth in the name of Chaos."
"Let it become your throne world among the stars."
"Keep your people."
"Keep your friends."
"Keep your family."
"Keep your lovers."
"Let them remain by your side for all eternity."
Khorne's voice thundered across the arena.
"COME ON!"
"Accept Chaos!"
"Accept me as your lord and father, boy!"
"Let the galaxy itself run red beneath your conquests!"
Alastor gritted his teeth.
Blood continued to drip from the corner of his mouth as he glared defiantly at the Blood God.
Despite his injuries.
Despite the pain.
Despite standing before one of the most powerful entities in existence.
His answer never changed.
"...No."
For a brief moment, Khorne simply stared at him.
"Pity."
"But no matter."
Before Alastor could react, Khorne appeared directly in front of him.
One massive hand shot forward and closed around his throat.
The crushing grip nearly choked him as he instinctively grabbed Khorne's arm and attempted to pry it away.
It didn't move even an inch.
"You may have entered these realms as a mortal hero."
"As a demigod."
Khorne raised his free hand.
Space twisted before them.
A massive portal tore open, revealing a strange pocket dimension that appeared to be an amalgamation of all four realms of Chaos.
Within it waited three familiar presences.
Nurgle.
Tzeentch.
And Slaanesh.
Khorne stepped through the portal while still holding Alastor in his grasp.
"But you will leave this place only as the Everchosen."
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