"Blood for the Blood God!"
That was the sound of an axe blade cleaving steel.
"For the glory of Macragge!"
That was the sound of a blade sinking into flesh, followed by a heavy body crashing to the ground.
Splurt—
Blood splashed everywhere. As the headless body of the heretic knelt and collapsed forward, frenzied howls rose around him.
"Blood for the Blood God! Blood for the Blood God!"
The blasphemous chants of the heretics drilled into the ears. Siferis stood in silence, watching yet another heretic leap into the dueling pit before him.
He did not strike first.
He was waiting for the stakes of the duel to be announced.
"There is nothing left. You have won it all, warrior."
A towering Khorne Berserker, nearly three meters tall, drew his twin axes. The chainswords revved, showering sparks.
Eight skulls, eight sacrifices, and a warrior who had endured eight trials—the domain of the Blood God had already opened its gates to him.
He could feel the eight lakes of blood boiling for him in the endless crimson wasteland. The Blood God had already prepared eight battles worthy of ascension.
The desire to claim this warrior's skull, to let his blood wash over his own body, echoed within his heart.
"Now, I will take it all—including your life!"
The traitor's voice thundered, as mighty as the power pack on his back, spewing flames and embodying the boundless might of a warrior.
He stood at the pinnacle of victory.
Siferis remembered clearly how those axe blades had struck from behind, tearing apart his comrade still fending off the greenskins.
That Iron Steed-type Terminator's armor still bore the gash left by his friend.
And now, the head of that comrade—his killer's trophy—was impaled on the spike protruding from the traitor's back.
Siferis remained silent, neither roaring nor crying injustice. He knew a traitor held no honor.
He dragged his heavy armor and once more lifted his nicked and battered sword.
"For the glory of Macragge!"
It was a blood-soaked arena, where the roars of brave warriors echoed.
Severed limbs lay everywhere. Rabid void vermin dragged mutilated flesh into tunnels. The corpses of Deathwatch warriors were impaled from below through the skull and hung atop high scaffolds as barriers. A thick mixture of brain matter and blood clung to the surrounding steel like jungle-spun webs.
The thick stench of blood choked the air. The daemonic miasma of the Warp dyed the bottom of the generator in vivid red.
At the center of the arena, an apothecary wearing a white helm struggled bitterly.
Beside him lay the corpses of eight Chaos Space Marines.
He was gravely wounded. His power pack had long been torn off, and a massive gash split his chest—both hearts shattered.
His opponent was a fully armored Khorne warrior, nearly as tall as Arthur himself.
Arthur immediately noticed the Iron Steed Terminator at the battlefield's center—dueling an injured MK7 Space Marine with his energy shield barely active.
The Sisters of Battle, having caught up to the team, watched the scene with eyes ablaze with fury.
"Restraint, sisters—surround and encircle!"
The Canoness barked, and the 26-member squad of Battle Sisters swiftly dispersed, seeking ambush positions.
"Doesn't the Blood God value honorable duels?"
Arthur muttered offhandedly, his eyes stung by the sight before him. He flickered forward—like teleportation—and plunged into the arena.
Anger doesn't solve problems. But slaughter does.
He would kill every last creature that dared challenge his worldview with dark rituals—no mercy.
"The Blood God doesn't care where the blood comes from."
Romulus shook his head at the carnage in the pit and signaled the Ultramarines to unleash firepower, activating the loudspeaker:
"Seal the exits. Kill them all. Leave no one alive."
The Ultramarines, encircling the pit, moved as one—one hand disengaging the safety, the other bracing the upper receiver to reduce recoil. The Battle Sisters switched to meltaguns, using explosions to seal off possible escape routes.
Gunfire and explosions quickly drowned out the heretics' frenzied howls. Many Chaos Space Marines, still pulling out their profane weapons beside the corpses, were turned into swiss cheese before they could act.
Their struggle, like the ruined ritual in the pit, was utterly meaningless.
Bang!
Arthur descended from the sky, cleanly planting a loyal plasma blast into the Khorne Terminator's forehead.
But the Blood God's blessing allowed him to withstand the normally unstoppable plasma. The berserker staggered backward but absorbed the impact, shrugging off Arthur's power sword strike and countering with a double axe slash.
A real warrior.
The first enemy to last even one round against Arthur.
Arthur's gaze turned serious. He focused even more.
He blocked the incoming slash with his blade, knocked aside a feinting shield—revealed to be a flying axe aimed at the apothecary to complete the ritual—and lunged forward, shoving the Khorne Terminator off balance.
"Lapdog of the False Emperor, you—"
Arthur ignored his maddened roar. Taking advantage of the enemy's imbalance, he released his longsword from the power axe clash, closed in, and struck.
His ceramite-wrapped fist crushed the already-mutated head with a sickening crack.
Splurt!
The twisted head flew off. Blood gushed from the neck stump. The blasphemous body, as if unaware its brain had died, remained frozen mid-swing.
Arthur took one step back, caught his falling power sword, and let the axe blade graze his chest armor harmlessly.
At that moment, Romulus and the others' firepower tore apart all remaining hostiles.
Even Space Marines stood no chance under such sudden, overwhelming firepower.
The crimson fog began to thin.
Rage! Rage!
In the realm of eternal blood and fury, boundless rage flowed in the Blood God's heart.
A duel. A glorious, bloody duel—ruined.
Right under His very nose.
He had not claimed the warrior's skull. Nor gained a new servant to bring Him more skulls. The power He projected vanished with His servant's death—a total loss.
Who was it!?
Khorne turned His gaze toward that realm. He saw the cursed followers. He saw their corpses. But no matter how He tried, He could not see the figure who stole His skull.
Damn it! Even a god could feel agitated by such scheming.
"Tzeentch!"
A flicker of ghostly blue passed through His mind. Seated on His brass throne, the Blood God roared with fury.
If He couldn't find the one responsible, then He would make the Deceiver, the one who hides truth, pay the price!
Only slaughter solves problems!
With the Blood God's roar, the great brass bell of the crimson wasteland tolled.
Molten metal surged like a flood, crushing skulls and pouring into the eternally burning Forge of Slaughter.
Iron bulls, blood altars, countless chaos constructs and spirits of war forged in slaughter stormed forth from the Tower of Skulls.
Even the thick, blood-fed crimson rivers of the battlefield thinned. Countless butchers across the wasteland halted their blades, gazing in hunger at the Blood Lord seated upon the brass throne.
"Blood for the Blood God!"
The Blood God's fury is eternal. His blades never rest.
Only one thing can stop an eternal duel:
A greater war.
"Skulls for the Skull Throne!!!"
Beneath layers of blood-red skies, fully armed warriors bellowed with fanatic rage.
At the eighth toll of the bell, the Brass Horns rang across the Blood God's realm.
888 Greater Daemons of Khorne, with their legions, began their march—toward the endless Indigo Labyrinth of Tzeentch.
"?"
And when their burning iron hooves shattered the prismatic walls of the labyrinth, the twisting, formless being sitting atop a dried-up well finally opened a thousand eyes.
"Change."
It whispered, a thousand tongues and teeth echoing in ecstatic joy.
As though the raging Khorne demons now ravaging His realm were in fact His saviors.
"Heehee… A war I never foresaw!"
______________________________________________
If you want 15 chapters ahead, check out my Patreon:
patreon.com/PureParadox