What kind of strange play were they engaged in? Was pretending to be a grot supposed to be fun?
Zhou Ye was thoroughly impressed by this little quirk of the Khornate daemons, but he couldn't for the life of him understand it.
Still, since things had come to this, there was nothing more to be said. These Bloodthirsters had already been whittled down to a sorry state. At a time like this, shouldn't they be playing to their strengths, falling back on their skills, and launching a calculated assault? As Greater Daemons of Khorne, their combat techniques were, on the whole, the best among all Greater Daemons. After all, these beings did nothing but fight from dawn till dusk; their skills were beyond question.
But this disorganized charge just struck Zhou Ye as odd.
Had Khorne gone mad, or had the entire universe? This world was truly insane. He was probably the only normal one here.
Of course, despite the stream of complaints running through his mind, Zhou Ye precisely controlled his power. Soon, the heads of the eight Bloodthirsters were piled neatly together.
This was not a sacrifice to Khorne. Rather, Zhou Ye was employing a traditional skill of his ancestors—the jingguan, a pyramid of skulls.
The instant the eight Bloodthirster heads were stacked, the laughter that had vanished from the Warp echoed forth once more. Khorne, on his Brass Throne, shed his previous gloom and let out a hearty, joyous laugh. Then, to the shock of all his daemons, he slowly stood up.
"Excellent! Excellent! It seems you acknowledge me! Then shout it out! Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!!!"
In an instant, Khorne's triumphant laughter rang out. As expected, such a warrior could only be moved by courage!
And then…
"I am Rogal Dorn."
"I am Rogal Dorn."
The face beneath Khorne's helm twitched. Before he could say anything, the rift before him snapped shut.
At the same time…
"Hahaha!!!"
A string of laughter pierced through the Brass Citadel and reached Khorne's ears.
"TZEENTCH!!!"
In that moment, Khorne's towering rage re-ignited. A massive wave of fury shook the heavens. His chief Greater Daemon once again led eight Bloodthirsters and eighty-eight legions in a charge toward the Crystal Labyrinth.
Khorne finally understood. It was all that blue bird. It was all his fault. He had made his plan fail, preventing him from dragging that planet into the Warp and drowning it in an endless sea of blood. It was this bastard who had told that man his true name—not that it mattered; knowing his true name couldn't harm him. But not only had this fiend sent his own daemonic legions to obstruct him, the one who had sealed his rift was none other than his chosen champion, Ahriman.
The flames on the Brass Throne flared anew. The throne needed to vent its fury. And this time, the primary target of that fury was Tzeentch's Crystal Labyrinth.
Then, he looked at Angron beside him, and a thought came to him.
"An Imperial Primarch… Macragge… Someone, go contact Abaddon for me. Cursed One, I have a surprise for you next." With that, Khorne glanced at the ceaselessly roaring Angron at his side, a look of disgust on his face.
To be able to converse with him without fear, to calmly debate him into silence… Khorne liked that. He liked such fearless, calm, and intelligent people. Then he looked at his own Red Angel and fell silent once more…
Can I trade? I'll trade Angron for him. No, no…
Khorne shook his head. He had heard the Lord of the Ultramarines was about to be revived. Since that was the case, he would give them a little surprise. The Imperium already had one Primarch; it didn't need another.
Hmm. A thought struck Khorne, and he tilted his head in confusion. Hadn't there been another Primarch just now? But his attention had been entirely focused on the one he couldn't see, so he hadn't noticed. Whatever, no big deal. I'll just throw Angron at Macragge. He would show the False Emperor, who had also ruined his good time, the true meaning of Khornate vengeance. After all, it was the Emperor who had done the most damage to his siphoning pump. He couldn't let this go.
And…
"False Emperor, it is time for you to tremble! Activate the backup plan! Target: the Lion's Gate on Terra!!!"
The flames on the Throne of Blood roared back to life. Khorne had invested too much; he desperately needed to recoup some of his losses. However, because he had committed so much here, the operation on Terra would have to be delayed slightly. As long as he took the False Emperor's head, everything he had lost would be restored. He would show that other Primarch what true courage and true honor were.
Of course, if Zhou Ye could see this, he would have had one thing to say to Khorne: "A leopard can't change its spots."
…
Winding time back a little, to the moment Zhou Ye piled the eight skulls and brought Khorne great joy.
The instant he completed this ancestral tradition, he could clearly feel the entire Brass Throne seethe with excitement. So, he had decisively used the six-word mantra for dealing with Khorne.
I am Rogal Dorn.
Evidently, those six words had left a bit of a psychological scar on Khorne, causing him to falter for a split second.
Ahriman seized the opportunity. Then…
"All is offered to the Lord of Trailblaze!!!"
With a unified chant, Ahriman instantly drained the full power of all the psykers. Combining it with his own immense psychic might, a brilliant light flashed, and the two Warp rifts were completely sealed.
The sky returned to a clear azure, and the blessing of Khorne vanished. The Bloodletters lost Khorne's protection and were instantly vaporized by a single volley from the Emperor Titans.
"And now, it is time for the harvest!!!"
Looking at the normalized sky, Zhou Ye charged once more. The counter-attack had truly begun. Without Khorne's protection, the daemon army became incredibly vulnerable. While they still had some resistance to ranged attacks, it was nowhere near enough to withstand the bombardment of an Emperor Titan.
Of course, after that initial volley, the Emperor Titans ceased firing. Now was the time for them to play whack-a-mole. Their destructive power was too great, and while Zhou Ye could repair the damage, it also consumed energy. Furthermore, with the disappearance of Khorne's blessing, the power of the remaining Bloodthirsters was greatly diminished. The three who had been fighting Curze to a standstill were instantly torn to shreds. The other Greater Daemons were also quickly slain by the various holy Dreadnoughts. Zhou Ye no longer needed to personally intervene.
"All forces, advance!!!"
At Zhou Ye's command, the Demon Hunters charged out en masse. It was now cleanup time. Zhou Ye himself had already withdrawn from the battlefield. He handed his weapon to Ashira, telling him to use it to cut down the daemon whelps and continue the harvest. At this stage of the battle, the difference between Ashira wielding the sword and him doing it himself was negligible. It was all a one-shot affair now; it didn't matter who did the cutting.
Zhou Ye landed back on the high platform. Ahriman was sitting there, looking somewhat exhausted. After choosing to submit, Ahriman had also chosen to relinquish the blessings of the Warp. How much he had given up, Zhou Ye wasn't sure. Furthermore, closing a rift that led directly to the Brass Throne had been an immense drain on him.
Zhou Ye's gaze soon passed over Ahriman to the psykers. This had been Ahriman's request; he had needed a considerable number of psykers to act as his batteries, a request Zhou Ye had naturally granted.
"Father!!!" The Grand Master of Zhou Ye's Grey Knights, the only one who had remained here, saluted him.
"O glorious departed…" Zhou Ye looked at the psykers, who had been drained to withered husks, their psychic essence completely extracted. Their souls had found peace, so their remains were just ordinary bones. But each one of them had their arms crossed over their chest, forming the Aquila even in their final moment. "Collect their remains and return them to their families. Have you Grey Knights deliver them personally and grant their families the compensation due to the war-dead. And name this place the 'Platform of Sacrifice.' Inscribe their names upon it." Zhou Ye couldn't help but sigh.
"Yes!!!" The Grand Master nodded. Unlike the warriors below, who fought to live another day, who would not necessarily die and would mostly live to see their moment of glory, these psykers had truly walked toward death. Courage and sacrifice were the hymns of humanity. They should be sung, not buried.
After making the arrangements, Zhou Ye turned back to Ahriman.
"You are too merciful. Your mercy may one day be your undoing," Ahriman said, slowly getting to his feet. In the Imperium, once a psyker boarded a Black Ship, they lost their original name, replaced by a cold designation. It signified a complete severance from their former lives. From then on, they became one of the Imperium's most unstable currencies. Almost none of them would ever have the chance to return to their homes, even in death.
"Merciful? I always feel I'm quite cruel. As a human, this is what I should do. The pact is now fulfilled. Go and speak with your brothers. They are eager to join the battlefield. We will discuss your own matters later."
Ahriman just shook his head, then looked at his brothers with a shudder. His armor was still covered in the sigils of Tzeentch. Right now, he just wanted to find a place to get a new paint job.
"Hmph. Finally done. I seem to recall my original plan was just to do some farming. How did it end up like this again? And did I just piss off another Chaos God? I'll probably be greeted by a whole host of Greater Daemons the next time I enter the Warp." Zhou Ye mused to himself, watching the rapidly diminishing Khornate host. But soon…
"Huh? What's Curze freaking out about?"
Only now did Zhou Ye notice the frenzied shadow. Frankly, Curze's front-line combat ability wasn't great; among all the Primarchs, he was in the lower tier. But "lower tier" was still among Primarchs. Now that the Khornate host didn't have a single Greater Daemon left, he was cutting through them like grass. Why he was going berserk, Zhou Ye couldn't understand. It seemed his fledglings were all still there.
"Whatever, let him be. The sooner we clear out Khorne's forces, the sooner we can have some peace and quiet." Zhou Ye muttered, deciding not to intervene. He did, however, order his men to collect the daemon engines. Those were good stuff. Take them back to the Thousand-Person Theater, give them a wash, and they'd be his personal energy supplements. With the cleansed materials, he could probably whip up some other interesting gadgets.
"The harvest was quite bountiful. Old Khorne is generous. But I hope to never see you again. Fighting you guys is too stressful."
Just as Zhou Ye was enjoying a rare moment of peace in the cool breeze, he heard the sound of grinding gears. Cawl, piloting his massive original body, landed beside him. The moment he touched down, he began… 00101001…
"Speak human," Zhou Ye said bluntly. It wasn't that he couldn't understand binary—he had the Empathic Beacon, after all—but understanding it and wanting to converse in it were two different concepts. Besides, the Cawl before him was far too excited, not at all like a ten-thousand-year-old geezer should be.
"How did you obtain stable faster-than-light travel and real-time communication technology?!!!"
"Oh, that stuff? Come with me." Seeing Belisarius Cawl practically leaking lubricant, Zhou Ye was quite calm. He had originally planned to discuss this with him using his Magos 010 Omega persona anyway. Laying down the tracks himself was slow. And with the Great Rift right next door, while this wasn't Vigilus, the situation was unlikely to be optimistic. So Zhou Ye planned to ask Guilliman for help. And as Guilliman's chief Magos, Cawl had to be in the know. His plan had just been interrupted by Khorne's little stunt. Now was a good time to continue.