It was a world of crimson.
On this scarlet planet, the starship's scanners detected not a drop of water. Jagged peaks jutted from the ground like countless blades, while howling gales swept across the land. Those storms carried with them endless torrents of blood-colored sand and shards of stone, whirling at tremendous speed.
Their fury was like a colossal grinder with billions of blades—anything, even steel, would be shredded to pieces.
And yet, upon this dead, hostile world, Rā felt a peculiar tremor deep in his heart.
He steadied the ship in the upper atmosphere, then turned toward his companions.
"Stay here. I'll go down alone."
"Yes!"
"Be careful…"
"Understood."
Amidst their responses, Rā entered the ship's drop chamber.
"Boom!"
The magnetic launcher fired, hurling him from the vessel at hundreds of times the speed of sound—without so much as a protective suit.
At such velocity, the friction alone turned him into a blazing meteor. An ordinary human would have lasted no more than a heartbeat before being reduced to ash, their remains scattered on the wind.
But Rā was no ordinary man.
Since the fall of the Human Federation, his psychic power had surged as though freed from its shackles. In only a few millennia, his abilities had advanced far beyond all precedent. This descent, even wrapped in flame, could not harm him.
Shielded by his psionics, not even his clothing was singed.
After several dozen seconds of freefall, he struck the ground.
The impact thundered across the wasteland. Within a radius of nearly a kilometer, the land sank dozens of meters deep, as though a massive artillery barrage had struck.
Rā rose smoothly from the crater, levitated by his psychic force, and after orienting himself, sped toward a distant point that tugged at his senses.
Soon, a vast, pale gate came into view—an edifice hundreds of meters high, built entirely of bones.
No structure surrounded it; it seemed as if the door itself had been embedded in the void.
At a glance, Rā could see human skeletons mingled with those of space sharks, kroot, Eldar… the remains of countless races.
His psychic senses told him more: the gate was like a twisted vortex, radiating a dreadful energy that pulled at all around it. A normal mind would descend into madness from even the slightest brush.
Even he could not help but furrow his brow.
"Could what I seek truly lie here?"
Doubt and unease welled within him. Yet, as the pull from beyond the gate grew stronger, his hesitation faltered.
With grim resolve, he placed his hands upon the immense doors and pushed with all his might.
"Crrrk… crrrk…"
With a sound like grinding bones, the gate slowly opened. Beyond lay a foul, distorted realm, heavy with ominous dread.
Determined, Rā stepped through.
At once, an irresistible power enveloped him. Sight, sound, touch, smell—every sense was scrambled. Direction itself dissolved.
When his consciousness returned, he stood at the base of a massive staircase of black iron and green stone.
At its summit loomed an altar, from which cascaded torrents of blood and vile pus, crawling with twisted flies. On their chitinous shells flickered screaming faces of every race. Strange abominations littered the steps.
Unfazed, Rā began to climb.
With each step, an unseen force pressed down on him, insidious and mocking—trying to drive him to his knees, to force him to crawl like a beast.
But Rā pressed on, his stride steady, unbroken.
Up, and up, and up…
Nine hundred ninety-nine steps.
Hours passed. By the time he reached the top, nearly every bone in his body had been cracked beneath the weight. Only his immense psychic power kept him upright.
At that moment, four colossal faces manifested in the sky above.
Languid, sly, mocking, disdainful—each expression different, but all shared the same quality: condescension.
One, birdlike in form, studied him with interest before speaking.
"Excellent. You have passed our trial. We know what you desire, and we can grant it.
But as the price, half of your descendants will be ours."
For the first time, Rā's expression shifted. His brow creased.
It was not anger at the demand itself that troubled him—but how they knew his intent.
He had never spoken of it. Not once.
And yet, these beings knew.
The realization gnawed at him, the sense of being laid bare, of standing naked before powers that stripped away all secrets. It was the same crushing helplessness he had once felt before Orsaga.
Instinct screamed that these four were tied to that detestable god in some way.
But after a long pause, he answered.
"…Very well. Let us sign a contract."
If there was no binding pact, he could not trust whatever they offered.
Yet, at his words, the four faces froze.
Then Tzeentch—the one of shifting feathers—spoke in puzzlement:
"Contract? What contract?"
Rā's eyes narrowed.
He understood. Unlike Orsaga, these beings lacked the power to enforce absolute contracts.
'Perhaps… I can cheat them.'
Keeping his face calm, he replied evenly:
"It is simply a promise. A mutual vow."
___
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