Aboard the Event Horizon
The situation was critical. Colin's men, though seasoned Helldivers, could not hold back the tide of madness. The cultists, boosted by the power of one of the Four – the god of War and Murder – were rising from wounds that should have been fatal, their bodies warped by a supernatural rage. They were no longer humans, but conduits for a bloodthirsty divine will.
Aboard the Helldiver Ship
"Sergeant Colin, respond!" Shiva's voice held a near-human distress. "I'm receiving nothing! Damn it, I can't..." She cut off abruptly, her sensors locked on the main screen.
The Event Horizon began to distort. Reality around its hull wavered, and a vortex of nightmarish colors, a tear into the Warp, began to form around the cursed vessel.
"No! No!" she cried, powerless.
Just as the Event Horizon's bow began to plunge into the dimensional portal, a massive explosion erupted from within the ship. A white, pure light, so different from the bloody glow of Chaos, tore through the darkness for a brief moment. The Warp vortex disintegrated with a muffled scream, and the Event Horizon, brutally released, seemed to... return to normal. Inert. Silent.
Shiva, trembling, took a breath. Then her priority programming reasserted itself.
"Priority call to Admiralty.Code Black. We must file an immediate report."
Inside the Event Horizon, Before the Explosion
Garak, now an apostle of Khorne, laughed, a deep, cavernous sound, as the throat wound Colin had just inflicted sealed shut in seconds, leaving only a red, smoking scar.
"You are a brave warrior," the apostle growled, his axe dripping with an aura of murderous energy. "Reject the weak illusions of your master. Embrace the true power! Choose the path of Blood! The only one that matters!"
Colin, panting, his armor dented and scarred, looked around. His men fought with the fury of desperation, but they were being overwhelmed. There was no way out. No retreat possible.
He lowered his arms. With a characteristic shiiink, two blades of pure plasma energy sprang from the devices integrated into his forearms. He blocked Garak's next axe blow in a shower of sparks.
Then he made a choice.
His fingers moved quickly over a discreet keypad on his wrist. A red interface flashed in his helmet, displaying a single, terrible question:
> CONFIRM ORDER: IMMOLATION CODE? (Y/N)
Garak raised his axe for a new strike. "Your sacrifice will feed the God!"
Colin looked up, and through his cracked visor, Garak could see his smile, twisted by effort and determination.
"Go to hell," Colin growled.
And he raised his metal-gloved middle finger in a final, universal insult.
His thumb came down on the "Y" command.
In the corridor, on every dead Helldiver and every still-active suit of armor, strident alarms sounded. Red lights flashed frantically.
Garak had a second of confusion, feeling a spike of pure, non-chaotic energy rising in a crescendo around him.
Then, the world turned white.
The Immolation Code was not a simple explosion. It was the simultaneous overload of all the miniaturized fusion reactors in the Helldiver armor, the power packs, and the plasma weapons. It was a last-resort protocol, designed to leave no trace, no technology, and above all, no warrior, in enemy hands.
The explosion that tore through the Event Horizon was not of fire and anger, but of light and purification. A brief, intense, and absolute detonation that vaporized everything in its path – cultists, apostle, and the last heroes of the Braveheart Legion.
When the light faded, all that remained in the corridor was a melted metal husk and a tomb-like silence.
They were dead. But they had died as soldiers. As heroes. And they had left no trophies for the Blood God. They had gone out in a final act of defiance, taking their enemies with them into oblivion. To die with honor.