Boom!
The displacement of air traveled faster than sound itself. Behind the portal, the Rangdan Praetorians—wielding a compound eye matrix that eliminated all blind spots—watched the adamantium blast doors buckle forward like an absolute tidal wave!
The thousands-of-tons gateway tore through the atmosphere, its jagged edges precipitating a localized sonic boom as the rectangular adamantium slab surged forward at supersonic speeds. The Praetorian Guard thrashed their wings in a desperate scramble to withdraw, yet vast numbers of warriors were instantly pulverized into a bloody slurry.
They locked their gaze onto the threshold as cascades of electrical sparks poured down like a waterfall, a towering silhouette stepping into the grand hall.
In the very next fraction of a second, the figure vanished. The Rangdan Praetorians, who prided themselves above all else on their peerless dynamic vision, failed to capture even a trace of his vector.
Only two resonant frequencies remained inside the hall: the low whine of a rotary motor, and the dull crunch of serrated teeth carving through raw flesh.
Blazkowicz thrown his arm forward to unleash the chainshield, the lethal saw flying erratically across the chamber. Its teeth spun at maximum velocity, cleaving through the chitinous armor plates of the Praetorians and shredding the vile xenos lifeforms.
The moment the shield left his hand, a radiant beam of C'tan fire erupted from his palm. Wherever the hundreds-of-millions-degrees thermal energy swept, both biology and iron were instantly vaporized into thin air.
Operating the Death's Shoulder Cannon with blinding efficiency, the Void Dragon acquired targets in a flash. The barrel flickered with an eclipsed radiance, ripping the souls from the Rangdan Praetorians one after another, leaving their physical husks entirely drained of color.
Wherever Blazkowicz's boots touched the deck, physical shockwaves materialized across the visual spectrum, yet in the very next instant he vanished again. Neither sound nor vibration could keep pace with his absolute velocity, making it impossible for the Rangdan Praetorians to secure a lock on his silhouette.
Before the acoustic waves could propagate through the atmosphere, before the kinetic tremors could creep along the molecular layout of the chamber, Death wielded its scythe across the sluggish timeline, harvesting one helpless life after another.
A slash for every stride! A blade for every breath!
Within the death-choked hall, only light and Blazkowicz remained in motion. He clutched the plasma edge in his grip, leaving a continuous trail of sapphire-blue phantoms in his wake.
Shhhk.
A sharp hum vibrated through the air. Blazkowicz stood at the far exit of the hall, raising his hand to recall the chainshield. Shaking the mangled meat from the gaps in the serrated teeth, he departed without throwing a single glance behind him.
Behind his back, pressurized blood geysered from the severed necks of the alien vanguard. As the first drop struck the floor plates, the Rangdan Praetorians cascaded downward like a downpour of rain—the three-hundred-strong blocking force completely annihilated.
Crash! Countless corpses fractured into fragments inside the chamber, collapsing like a sudden avalanche.
Deep within the central command deck, the Creator observed the display via the surveillance projections. The protracted battle it had envisioned had completely failed to manifest.
The specialized species flagged in Solas's intelligence dossiers as equivalents to the human Legio Custodes—the "Shadow-Stalker Death-Bringers," the absolute elite of the Rangdan martial forces—had been wiped out in a single, collective instant.
The Creator's throat convulsed, swallowing an imaginary mouthful of saliva as its cerebral fluids secreted rapidly, streaming down the deep folds of its brain.
"Decelerate the footage tenfold," it commanded, ordering the AI to replay the sequence.
The Creator had completely failed to process what had unfolded; it had simply witnessed a dark phantom flash across the monitors, followed by the immediate, systemic termination of the Shadow-Stalkers.
The holographic display flashed back, stretching the timeline by a factor of ten. Yet even with the footage drastically slowed and expanded, it could still only discern a pale, dark-green silhouette flickering across the hall, trailed by concentric rings of light-particle phantoms.
Analyzing its expressions, the AI detected that the Rangdan Overlord was straining to interpret the data, and offered a helpful prompt: "Overlord, do you require a higher playback magnification?"
The Creator did not respond, a spark of absolute fury flashing across its eyes as it glared at the artificial projection. Without a doubt, the rational machine's inquiry was a profound humiliation. If it could have seen the movements clearly, it would not have been straining its eyes to look.
Yet the AI's question forced a secondary realization to take root inside the Creator's mind: could the forces it had deployed—including itself—truly defeat the genetic Primarch hurtling toward their position?
No!
The conclusion was unfeeling, yet entirely absolute.
It finally achieved a proper understanding of why the human Primarch dared to court such immense peril, launching an isolated assault into the heart of the World Engine.
The Creator fixed its gaze on the holographic arrays. Blazkowicz was approaching at supersonic speeds, leaving absolutely no survivors in his wake. Furthermore, after breaking through several ambush tiers, he had abandoned systematic slaughter entirely, utilizing the sheer kinetic force of his shield to bash through the barriers, carving a blood-drenched thoroughfare directly toward them.
"Based on trajectory analysis, the human transcendent lifeform will breach the central control room in two minutes."
The AI's announcement dragged the Creator back to reality once more. It realized that since the human had breached this hidden facility, it had lost its focus multiple times in a span of mere minutes.
"Overlord, shall we initiate evacuation protocols?" The automated system delivered a clinical assessment: "Based on my calculations, our remaining garrison units cannot impede the human Primarch."
"As the supreme authority of this facility, I must formally advise a tactical retreat."
"The extraction vessel has completed staging arrays and stands ready to transport you away from this immediate lethal threat."
The Creator stared intently at the digital projection of the AI, its massive head swaying as its eyes crystallized with an absolute, unyielding resolve. No artificial intelligence could ever comprehend the concepts of dignity and pride!
If it fled this facility, Rangdan history would record nothing more than its pathetic flight from a human Primarch. Today, however, there would be no cowards fleeing in disgrace. Out of the wreckage of the World Engine, a legend would be forged—an unyielding soul who chose death before dishonor, dragging a human genetic Primarch into the grave alongside it!
The Creator turned its gaze back toward the neutron star, its eyes filled with a fanatical intoxication: to perish alongside one's ultimate creation was a romance in its own right.
"Issue the directive: the inner harbor fleet is to execute an immediate total evacuation. Let as many escape as possible."
It commanded the AI: "Silently initiate the self-destruction protocols. Program the sequence to collapse the gravitational shields, allowing the World Engine to implode into the neutron star."
"This directive requires your personal biometric authorization." Following the command, a control terminal rose before the Rangdan Overlord.
Faced with the scanning lasers, the Creator paused for a few brief seconds before uttering: "Authorization confirmed."
[AUTHORIZATION CONFIRMED]
[SILENT SELF-DESTRUCTION SEQUENCE HAS BEEN INITIALIZED]
The Creator pondered for a brief moment before appending: "When the human Primarch breaches the perimeter, if he expresses a desire for dialogue, the self-destruction sequence may be momentarily delayed."
"If there is no dialogue, lower the gravitational shields immediately."
"Understood."
Back inside the command deck of the primary Blackstone Fortress, the automated systems delivered a rapid report: "My Lord, the World Engine's harbor bays have opened fully. The Rangdan xenos are fleeing the structure."
"Based on behavioral logic models, there is a high probability they intend to destroy the World Engine to drag your brother into a mutual annihilation."
"Hmph!" The Lion let out a contemptuous snort, continuing his directives: "Ignore them. Maintain our slow forward advance; simply draw as close to the World Engine as parameters allow."
He turned his head to look toward the corner of the command hall, where the Librarians had gathered around Blazkowicz's personal effects, funneling their psychic reserves to construct a localized warp gate. According to their assessments, this specific translocation conduit possessed an exceptional degree of stability.
A relaxed expression returned to the Lion's face, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest of his Blackstone Throne to a localized melody passed down through Caliban. No anxiety for his brother's safety lingered in his eyes; they held only a profound hunger for tactical victory.
In stark contrast to the composed atmosphere aboard the Blackstone Fortress, the environment within the World Engine's central control room was rapidly freezing over, a suffocating weight building in the chests of those present. The deck shuddered continuously as concussive impacts reverberated through the frame—an unstoppable beast was closing in!
Crash!
With one final, cataclysmic strike, the colossal adamantium blast doors of the control room buckled inward, a circular indentation fracturing the metal as electrical arcs sprayed from the seams, the vibration seeming to drag the entire world into a collective tremor.
The Creator's spirit jolted. Waving a tentacle, it commanded the AI to release the locks: "Maintaining the barrier serves no practical purpose. He will simply shatter the doors strike by strike, leaving us to tremble in anticipation."
The massive doors slowly parted under the power of the hydraulic systems, a towering silhouette standing amidst the interplay of light and shadow. His boots were steeped in fresh blood and fragments of raw meat. An intangible aura of absolute oppression permeated the control room, causing the frail Rangdan technicians to drop from their floating cradles, kneeling abjectly before the alien conqueror.
Blazkowicz stepped onto the blood-slicked red carpet, striding deliberately into the control room, executing a seamless flourish with his dimensional greatsword that radiated an absolute composure. The distinct cadence of his footsteps ground against the nerves of the Rangdan collective, their leadership elements writhing frantically on the deck, trembling in terror.
"Have you nothing to say?" The Creator maintained its dignity, raising a tentacle to point from afar. It wished to hear what the human Primarch would utter when brought face-to-face.
Conquering a fully armed artificial world single-handedly was an achievement that surely demanded a grandiose, sweeping victory speech. Then, at the absolute zenith of his pride and vanity, the world would cave in around him, allowing the neutron star to bring a definitive end to everything. This was the final curtain the Creator had orchestrated for itself and the human genetic Primarch.
"No," Blazkowicz's reply was stark and brief, completely catching the Creator off-guard. Twirling his blade along its hilt, he advanced step by step, closing the distance to execute the Rangdan Overlord.
"Very well then," the Creator replied, its head swaying as its hollow voice conveyed a tinge of genuine regret.
The holographic silhouette of the AI cast its gaze toward the human Primarch, cold glyphs materializing directly between the two transcendent entities: GRAVITATIONAL SHIELD SELF-DESTRUCTION INITIATED.
And then—
The world began to cave in!
A bone-chilling screech of twisting metal erupted, yet the acoustics were utterly warped. The moment the gravitational shields collapsed, the raw pull of the neutron star swept through every sector. Even light and sound were instantly devoured by the extreme gravitational forces, dragged down into a physics-defying abyss.
The turn of events caught even Blazkowicz unprepared; he had never anticipated that the Rangdan Overlord would choose mutual annihilation so decisively before the extermination weapons' countdowns could expire.
Shorn of the protective gravity screening, the resilient steel structure of the World Engine was thousands of times more fragile than paper beneath the relentless grinding forces of the neutron star. In a mere fraction of an instant, the central control room plunged down toward the focal point of the gravitational well.
Yet even as his boots lost contact with the collapsing deck, Blazkowicz still surged forward, tracing a lethal line straight toward the Rangdan Overlord.