"It's still very weak!" the Priestess shouted to her comrades, her battle-scarred Power Armor gleaming in the blood-red light. "Concentrate fire on its right side! Aim for those bleeding scales!"
"Pathetic ants!" Tzanazte roared with a triple voice, a sound like a man, a woman, and a demon screaming simultaneously, filled with terrifying malice. Merely hearing it was enough to make the bravest warriors cower and fall to their knees.
At this critical moment, the Demon Lord made an astonishing decision.
He decisively abandoned 30% of the chaotic energy that had failed to merge with his body, transforming it into a thick blood mist expelled from his form.
This crimson mist churned and twisted in the air, faintly revealing the distorted faces of countless victims—the souls sacrificed in the Upperhive ritual.
Their twisted screams echoed through the grotto, even forming a chorus like singing, but this was by no means beautiful music; rather, it was a terrifying nightmare capable of soul-shattering despair.
This dissipated power was immediately absorbed by the skull altar within the grotto, and after being refined through dark rituals, it fed him more purified killing energy.
With a series of horrifying bone-reconstruction sounds, the melted flesh of the demon's right arm began to squirm and regenerate, its injuries healing at a visible rate.
The newly grown scales gleamed with a morbid luster, harder than before.
"It... it's regenerating itself!" a young Battle Sisters exclaimed, her hands clutching her Bolter trembling with fear, her eyes behind the tactical goggles wide.
This was her first time facing such a terrifying demonic entity.
Priestess Marta gripped the holy spear in her hand, its adamantium tip pointed directly at the demon's heart.
Her calloused fingers were white from gripping too tightly, yet her voice was as steady as a rock: "Do not flinch! Remember your vows! For the Emperor, fight to the death!"
Her roar ignited the fighting spirit of the Sisters of Battle, and the roar of Bolters once again echoed through the grotto.
Gutierrez and his Kill Team, with tactical support from 32, precisely placed Thermo-meltdown bombs at the altar's weakest support points.
The Bloodfinger Gang suicide squad, transformed into Battle Servitor, let out inhuman roars, their mechanically replaced limbs exploding with astonishing strength, desperately blocking the cultists' advance.
These insane cyborgs used their flesh and blood to buy precious detonation time for the Astartes Monks, even as sparks flew from their mechanical joints due to overuse.
"Detonate!" At 32's command, a violent explosion instantly melted the staircase composed of 8,888 skulls.
The shockwave generated by the explosion created a terrifying tremor within the confined grotto, distorting even the air.
Scorched bone fragments splattered like lava, and searing bone shards, propelled by the Thermo-meltdown bomb's impact, traced countless crimson arcs in the air.
But these deadly fragments were blocked by an invisible force as they approached Tzanazte.
The newly formed demon merely contemptuously waved its claws, and the bone fragments, hot enough to melt Power Armor, instantly turned into wisps of smoke in the air, unable to even touch a single one of its scales.
"A laughable struggle." Tzanazte's triple voice was clearly audible amidst the aftershocks of the explosion, his crimson eyes gleaming with cruel light through the smoke.
"Now! Activate the seal!" Inquisitor Craig's voice boomed through the comm channel, his voice like thunder, shaking hearts.
The Sisters of Battle immediately sprang into action, their well-trained tactical coordination displayed to its fullest at this moment.
The flamer squad lined up neatly, their promethium fuel tanks hissing with pressure, then spewing forth sacred golden flames.
These blessed flames, like whips of judgment, incinerated the blasphemous runes on the ground, the distorted symbols emitting piercing shrieks in the inferno.
Icon Bearer Irene knelt on one knee, holding the heavy Imperial Icon high.
The holy relics embedded in the icon's base began to glow, and a golden field of light spread out like a tide, forming a perfect spherical barrier within the grotto.
The whispers of the Warp instantly vanished within this sacred domain, those distorted whispers dissipating like shadows exposed to sunlight.
"Holy! Holy!" The Sisters of Battle choir chanted the "Poem of the End" in unison, their rigorously trained female voices perfectly synchronized and blended.
The sound waves of the ancient hymn resonated within the grotto, each note transforming into a tangible psychic shock.
The sound waves reflected back and forth between the rock walls, increasing in intensity exponentially.
Tzanazte twisted his body in agony, blood vessels beneath his scales bursting one after another, and viscous black blood oozing from the gaps in his scales.
The blood immediately vaporized under the power of the hymn, emitting a piercing hiss.
"Bind it!" the Priestess's command was decisive.
Thirteen elite Sisters of Battle simultaneously activated their Flamer Restraint launchers, these weapons, blessed by a Tech-Priest, spewing forth incandescent chains.
From different angles, they coiled around the demon's wings, the blessed adamantium chains scorching the scales with black marks under high temperatures, and sulfurous black smoke continuously rose.
Tzanazte let out a deafening roar of fury, his membranous wings thrashing wildly, stirring up a bloody storm.
But the demon, weakened by the hymn, was temporarily unable to break free from this meticulously designed restraint; each chain was connected to a temporarily driven anchor point, temporarily holding this terrifying demon in place.
"In the Emperor's name, now!" The Priestess seized the fleeting opportunity, gripping the holy spear, inlaid with the bones of a saint, with both hands.
Her Power Armor's servo system hummed with overload, and the hydraulic mechanisms concentrated all her strength to the tip of the spear.
A saint's finger bone embedded in the holy relic simultaneously glowed golden, and the scripture strips wrapped around the spear moved without wind.
When the spear tip pierced the exposed corrupted muscle of the demon's right shoulder, the contact surface immediately churned violently like boiling water.
Holy energy reacted violently with chaotic flesh, splattering foul pus and blood, each drop corroding a bowl-sized pit in the ground. The scriptures on the holy spear began to burn, golden flames spreading from the wound into the demon's body.
"Ah ah ah—!" Tzanazte's triple roar for the first time carried a tone of genuine pain.
The sound was a terrifying superposition of a soprano, a bass, and a demon's shriek, creating a triple echo within the grotto.
This scream, filled with chaotic energy, transformed into a visible purplish-black shockwave; seven Flamer Restraints snapped in response, and fragments of adamantium chains splattered like rain.
The Icon Bearer bled from her nose and mouth, the icon slipping from her powerless hands, and she fell heavily to the ground.
Just as the ritual was severely disrupted, Tzanazte's left wing suddenly broke free from the remaining restraints, sweeping across with a whooshing sound.
Isabelle's spear was deflected by the membranous wing at the last moment; the fatal blow, originally aimed at the heart, only pierced the demon's right shoulder.
The collision of the saint's remains and chaotic energy triggered a dazzling explosion.
Golden holy light and crimson evil energy intertwined into a destructive shockwave, pulverizing all rocks within a ten-meter radius.
The Priestess was blasted more than ten meters away like a broken kite, her Power Armor crashing against the rock wall, creating spiderweb-like cracks, and the servo system emitted a piercing malfunction alarm.
Blood seeped from the helmet's seams, drawing shocking red streaks on the silver-white armor.
But she still clutched the broken holy spear, its tip still deeply embedded in the demon's shoulder.
Through her blurred vision, she saw Tzanazte painfully tearing at the remnants of the holy relic embedded in his shoulder—this battle was far from over.
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