"Hold on!" Ahriman's roar exploded through the comms, his voice imbued with undeniable authority.
The eyes of the powerful Thousand Sons Supreme Wizard gleamed with a dazzling silver light, and psychic flames danced within his pupils.
The psychic staff in his hand vibrated violently, and within the crystal orb at its tip, chaotic Warp energy surged, with tiny arcs of electricity crawling across its surface.
As an ancient incantation escaped his lips, the runes on the staff lit up one by one, and the forbidden Dimensional Annihilation spell was finally complete.
The air was thick with the smell of ionized ozone, and the psychic fluctuations made the hair of everyone nearby stand on end.
In an instant, an impossibly dazzling azure light erupted from the tip of the staff.
This light was as brilliant as a supernova, yet it carried an unnatural, icy quality, as if it were the light of judgment from the deepest reaches of the cosmos.
Everyone who looked directly at the light was left with a burning afterimage on their retinas, causing them to instinctively cover their eyes and shed painful tears.
Wherever this light touched, the fabric of reality disintegrated like fragile glass.
Space began to contort into unnatural geometric shapes, straight lines twisted into impossible angles, and flat planes folded into bizarre curves.
Countless web-like cracks appeared in the air, and behind each fissure, a strange purple void shimmered, with countless distorted Warp creatures vaguely visible swimming within.
These creatures had forms that defied logic—multijointed, amorphous, geometric—all greedily peering into the real world.
But then, even the purple void shattered, and the distorted Warp creatures shrieked and fled, their twisted limbs stretching and tearing in the dimensional collapse.
Some tried to grasp the edge of the fissures with their tentacles, only to watch helplessly as their bodies were crushed and annihilated by an invisible force, turning into nothingness.
Their shrieks echoed in the chasm between reality and void, forming a chilling polyphonic chorus.
Fragments of space spun and danced like sharp mirrors, reflecting countless distorted images of Tzanazte.
These mirror images were like a shattered kaleidoscope, each displaying a different terrifying form of the Daemon Prince—some with extra horns, some covered in eyes, others completely losing their humanoid shape.
Where the mirror fragments sliced, even light was cut into pieces, forming streaks of rainbow-colored light bands that were instantly swallowed by darkness.
The Daemon Prince let out an enraged roar, his triple voice echoing through the twisted space, but he could not stop the shattering of space and dimension.
His tattered membranous wings flapped rapidly behind him, stirring up a foul-smelling hurricane, but this power seemed so futile in the shattered space.
He tried to escape this fragmented space, but each step was like struggling through viscous tar.
The spatial fissures pursued his figure like hungry beasts, emitting the sound of glass shattering piece by piece.
Only it wasn't glass that was shattering, but space and dimension themselves, each "crack" representing another collapse of the laws of reality.
Finally, a massive spatial rift, like a blade of judgment, sliced through his left side.
This rift presented a perfect geometric straight line, its edges shimmering with an unnatural blue light, as if the universe itself was precisely cut by some supreme will at that moment.
In that instant, time seemed to stand still.
All the clamor on the battlefield fell into an eerie silence, even the roar of the Bolter solidified in the air.
Everyone held their breath, witnessing this supernatural scene.
The Sisters of Battle's raised weapons froze in mid-air, their chanted hymns caught in their throats, and even the still burning flames stopped flickering.
Even the dust particles floating in the air solidified in place, forming a hazy halo.
Only the spatial rift slowly extended, like a greedy viper, elegantly and lethally devouring the Daemon Prince's body.
Wherever the rift passed, the structure of reality was completely rewritten.
His left arm, left wing, and part of his torso vanished into nothingness, like a pencil drawing erased by a rubber.
The process of disappearance had no sound, no light effects, as if someone had suddenly turned off the switch for this part of existence.
The flesh, bones, and scales that once belonged to the Daemon Prince simply vanished from reality, silently.
There was no explosion, no flash, only a suffocating "sense of non-existence."
There was no blood, no gore, as if he had never existed.
The cross-section of the wound was perfectly flat, so smooth that it reflected the horrified faces of those around him.
This eerie "erasure" was more chilling than any bloody scene.
It defied all natural laws, challenging the most basic perception of every witness—as if the Creator of the universe had personally wielded a brush, thoroughly wiping a mistaken existence from the canvas.
Tzanazte's mutilated body stiffened in place, an expression of disbelief on his hideous face.
For the first time, his twisted visage revealed true fear, both eyes wide, staring fixedly at his vanished left half.
No blood flowed from the wound's cross-section; instead, writhing chaotic energy pulsed.
This dark purple energy surged and twisted like a living thing, forming a translucent membrane around the wound's edge.
Countless tiny tendrils of flesh writhed madly at the wound, attempting to reconstruct the lost body.
Each twitch of these tendrils emitted an unsettling "squelching" sound, like some viscous liquid being stirred.
But whenever new tissue was about to form, the residual spatial annihilation energy would pulverize it again.
Those tendrils would suddenly burst upon contact with the wound's edge, turning into putrid black mist.
This process repeated, causing the Daemon Prince to let out a painful shriek.
His voice no longer held its former majesty, only pure agony and rage, like a beast trapped in a snare.
"You... will all die!" The heavily wounded Tzanazte roared in fury, his triple voice echoing through the cavern, each syllable imbued with chaotic energy from the Warp.
His broken demonic body trembled violently, his dark red scales vibrating at a high frequency, emitting a grating metallic friction sound.
Black blood seeped from the gaps in his scales, writhing like living things as it dripped to the ground.
The smell of sulfur grew stronger, and his remaining right claw plunged violently into the ground, the bone claw sinking deep into the rock, erupting in crimson sparks.
The ground cracked in a web-like pattern centered on the claw tip, and dark red energy snaked through the fissures like hungry vipers.
The Mutants and gang members swept by the energy collectively convulsed, their eyeballs rolling back, and suffocating gurgles escaping their throats.
Their bodies swelled and twisted, joints broke, and skin stretched transparent. Then—
A series of explosions erupted, dozens of bodies simultaneously bursting into blood mist, shattered bones and internal organs raining down.
Severed lim
bs still twitched after landing, and blood converged into whirlpools, forming dozens of crimson portals.
More Bloodletterss and Flesh Hounds surged out, attacking living beings before their forms had even stabilized.
Brass greatswords swung, fangs dripped corrosive saliva, and bloodthirsty war cries shook the cavern.
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