The sub-dimension was in a constant state of surging and roaring, wild and chaotic. The furious storm tore apart the old, shattered veil of fate and lies, peeling back the shell of reality, pouring out endless waves of Aether, utterly annihilating everything.
Ethereal and abhorrent beings howled into the void, transmitting their desires to the mortal realm.
With their ever-shifting tentacles, they entwined among the stars, dragging those pitiable souls into the abyss of eternal darkness.
Under the violence that could shatter time, reality trembled, converging with the Empyrean through unstable rifts.
Reason was ignited by unholy fire, and the flames swept across the star sea, reaching the end of the apocalypse. This is the intersection of reality and illusion.
It is a mixture of nightmare and truth.
Nothing is impossible here. Those terrifying things have even shattered people's illusions of normalcy and reason. The Eye of Terror.
A place where the physical universe and the sub-dimension converge.
From the perspective of ordinary people, the massive, dense stellar formation that the Imperium named the Eye of Terror, as its name suggests, is a fierce, glowing giant eye, shining in the vast galaxy.
Like an evil gem embedded in the northwestern part of the galaxy. This simple understanding is already everything for many.
Even in the now open Imperium, the history and related knowledge of the Eye of Terror are classified as high-level archives.
Only those who have completed specialized studies and passed soul authentication can browse its contents.
In many universes the Imperium has ventured into, few races and civilizations are aware of the reality of another realm, or simply the Warp. They either consider the Warp a chaotic kingdom inhabited by monstrous spirits and daemons, or dismiss it as something out of myth and legend.
Some extraordinary civilizations are more rational, viewing it as a source of elements, spiritual energy, or various supernatural powers.
But no matter what, all living beings cannot deny the terror of the Warp.
It's like the ocean; if you know how to use the climate and currents, it can take you to your destination quickly.
But if you know nothing and think you can conquer it,
There is only one outcome. That is to be directly swallowed and smashed by the terrifying storm. The Warp and the real universe originally coexisted peacefully, each in its own realm.
Until the Fall of the Aeldari, which led to an unprecedented crisis. Their extreme emotions of debauchery and revelry were like blood in the Warp. The abhorrent Chaos Gods came, drawn by the scent. The Chaos Gods tore a wound in reality, allowing surging Warp currents to enter the real universe through the wound, causing it to fester and become a paradise for daemons and a hell for real creatures. The fierce storm of the Eye of Terror, which has existed since the Great Fall of the Aeldari, is terrifying.
And it has not diminished in the slightest to this day. There are countless evil worlds there, occupied by Chaos daemons and Traitor Legions.
Each of them is a mortal enemy of the Imperium. The difference between the turbulent, distorted storms of the Eye of Terror and other cosmic storms is that it is much, much larger, capable of tearing everything apart.
Navigators must observe the route twenty-four hours a day, paying attention to those strange currents.
Scrutinizing every danger.
Preventing starships from being thrown onto some unpredictable course by the surging, terrifying Warp storm.
Many navigator families are tight-lipped about the Eye of Terror; they will divert their ships hundreds of light-years away to avoid falling into that terrible hell.
Any arrogant fool who believes they can cross the Eye of Terror ultimately disappears. The last messages received are invariably filled with despair and fear. The Eye of Terror is a cancer on the real universe.
When Abaddon broke through the fortress world of Cadia, this cancer spread.
And now, the spreading cancer has receded with the recapture of Cadia.
However, it remains as dangerous as ever.
It will devour those enemies who dare to scorn it.
At this moment, a fleet, seemingly dilapidated, with the Imperial Aquila emblem on its hull, was navigating within it. The leading warship had numerous turrets, sensor arrays, and laser energy reflection devices erected on its surface.
It looked like a bloated, patched-up fat man, covered in various scars.
Within the heavily armored hull, the younger Fulgrim gazed at the holographic map.
Armored warriors, willing to return to the embrace of the Imperium and eager to clear their names, stood like statues around the hall. They wore full plate armor and helmets, with the red glow of their visors emanating from behind.
Only the slight tremor of servo-arms indicated that they were living beings, not actual sculptures.
Stickers with oaths written on them were affixed to their armor. The path to salvation is long and arduous, with no end in sight. They used oaths to repeatedly tell themselves that they needed to persevere until the day their duty ended.
The younger Fulgrim remained silent, scrutinizing what the detection instruments and the navigator saw. This ship looked dilapidated, but it had many good things.
Guilliman, through some secret channels or deliberately designed coincidences, threw some usable equipment to them.
Ensuring they could better complete their mission. To weaken the forces of Chaos. The fleet's detection devices were far more advanced than those of the Chaos traitors. They could clearly observe all details within dozens, even hundreds, of light-years using the Warp or some inexplicable principle.
On one glowing planet after another, the strangest, most perverse thoughts manifested under the younger Fulgrim's gaze. The younger Fulgrim was choosing his target.
Another world would be redeemed.
In the name of the Emperor of Mankind—Guilliman, in the name of the saviors. The younger Fulgrim saw a planet whose surface was covered with twisted, roaring factories. Those factories were operating in a bizarre manner.
As if they were breathing. The factories seemed to be made of metal and stone, a city-sized monster of brass and steel.
Their pipes, towering into the clouds, spewed dense black smoke and flames into the eternal night that enveloped the entire world. Those factories reshaped the planet's skeleton.
The filth of the Warp oozed from every crack in the metal atoms, from every pore in the stone. The entire world had been occupied by traitors and daemons, reshaped by their will.
It needed to be cleansed of those damned enemies with holy baptism and the entire world transformed.
Heavy footsteps and the muffled sound of servo-arms approached.
Zahariel walked over from the doorway and stood next to the younger Fulgrim.
Besides him, there was an Alpha-Casar in black armor, and a loyalist Emperor's Children, Aram. They were scattered around the holographic table.
A faint glow reflected on their helmet visors. The Long War, from a macro perspective, is a war between the Imperium and Chaos.
If viewed locally, one realizes that this war is actually chaotic.
Some do not want to swear allegiance to the decaying Imperium, nor do they want to swear allegiance to the gods. They fight for their own beliefs. There are also some who, after realizing the horror of the gods, want to return to the Imperium's side but are not accepted, becoming lost warbands.
Many warbands, over a long period, fought against both the Imperium and Chaos.
Of course, many warbands inevitably succumbed to corruption, but there are still many strong-willed individuals active between the Imperium and Chaos. The younger Fulgrim's subordinates were all such people.
He promised them that when they fell in battle, they would be accepted by the Holy Emperor and all their past mistakes would be cleansed.
Of course, they would not enjoy the honors of their lives. This was merely an effort for post-mortem salvation.
Several loyal Thousand Sons sorcerers, using their psyker sight, saw the fallen warriors being led into the world of light symbolizing Guilliman, and this promise was thoroughly confirmed.
Many bewildered warriors came from all directions to join the younger Fulgrim, seeking salvation after death. They had once consorted with Chaos and had seen the true nature of the Chaos Gods. To consort with the gods, death is merely the beginning of despair and torment.
Entering the realm of the gods is not a good thing.
Of course, in the eyes of some who cannot see the truth, the realm of the gods is a beautiful, peaceful paradise.
However, that is merely an illusion.
Countless souls are buried in Nurgle's Garden and the Crystal Labyrinth. They either become food for daemons or slaves. There is no so-called salvation in the Warp, nor any so-called paradise.
In the eternal realm, there is only pain and despair.
"This is a warband's home world," the younger Fulgrim said, pointing to a light spot on the holographic projection. "I recognized several warband insignias from the Imperial database: the Flawless Lords, the Beast Extinguishers, the Crackers. It's clear that when Abaddon was defeated and Robert Guilliman led the Imperial forces to sweep through the Eye of Terror, these warbands were forced to unite to survive."
These warbands are all extremely famous. They had launched a series of raids against the Imperium. They caused numerous massacres. The official records alone show more than a dozen instances of planet-wide slaughter. The official records likely only documented reported incidents.
In the era before Guilliman's revival, communication across the galaxy was very slow, and many planets were completely annihilated by enemies without Terra even knowing.
"Then we will exterminate them," Zahariel said, "just as our mission has always been."
The younger Fulgrim nodded, "Precisely. Exterminating these traitors is the best way for us to seek salvation."
"I can't wait to get some blood on my sword," Casar's strange voice came from beneath his helmet grille. The younger Fulgrim was somewhat unsure about the members of the Alpha Legion.
Some evidence suggests that one of the twin Primarchs chose loyalty, while the other chose betrayal.
Alpharius was a madman who always believed that only the strong deserved to live and protect the Imperium. Thus, he constantly sent his sons to test the loyalty of the Imperium.
From the Blood Games that are still prevalent in the Custodes to the actions of stealing Dorn's defensive plans before the Siege of Terra, and then withdrawing his legion just as the Siege of Terra was about to begin. These actions shrouded the Alpha Legion's betrayal in mystery.
They deliberately kept the traitors and loyalists at equal strength. They didn't want the Imperium to win, nor did they want Chaos to win. The Alpha Legion's contribution to the Long War, which has lasted ten millennia, can be said to be indispensable. They arguably suffered the fewest losses during the Great Heresy. They mostly fought in favorable situations.
And then they just withdrew after the battle. The younger Fulgrim had no intention of discerning whether these Alphas were loyal.
Regardless of their malicious intentions, as long as their swords were swung at the enemies he wanted to eliminate, that was enough.
"Those factories are building a large number of artillery pieces, probably for other raiders, but they will still pose a threat to us," Zahariel said, looking at the image screen on the holographic display of the target planet, which was marked with many red dots, all defensive measures. "We can no longer drop in near those factories; enemy fire will tear our ships apart."
Zahariel then slid the holographic projection again.
Several massive ships appeared on the image screen.
Static-like beams outlined the details of those giant warships.
All were filled with signs of corruption, twisted flesh, bizarre tentacles, and eyes full of endless malice embedded in their prows. They are a wicked collective forged from metal and warp spirits.
Half metal, half daemon.
Like ancient monsters emerging from a nightmare.
A combination of the viscous tentacles of ancient Terran giant squids, the primal savagery of deep-sea predators, and the technological achievements of humanity, all bound together by some incomprehensible, non-human intelligence.
Thick, winding tentacles stretched in all directions, each capable of coiling around a cruiser. Their jagged fangs were incredibly sharp, capable of easily biting through anything in the world.
"They also have void defenses," Zahariel said, pointing at the strange ships. "These are what we need to watch out for."
"We will crush them," Little Fulgrim said. "Go prepare your men."
The fleet assembled by Little Fulgrim looked tattered, but its maneuverability was not bad.
With the intentional help of the Imperium, their ships had acquired many good things, and even if they looked ugly, it couldn't hide their powerful performance and firepower.
When the order to engage was given,
all the fleets began to charge towards the target in unison. The Chaos ships turned and fired at Little Fulgrim's fleet. The first volley of missiles arrived.
Small destroyers, escorting battleships and cruisers, launched anti-missile weapons to intercept them.
A series of small-scale explosions immediately occurred in the void, emanating strange lights. Then, the sound of explosions became the continuous accompaniment to the fleet's advance.
Several torpedoes penetrated the fire interception net. Their high-speed kinetic energy was even more dangerous than the ammunition they carried.
But the torpedoes exploded on the void shields a few hundred meters from the fleet. The void shields flickered, transferring the immense destructive energy into the warp.
Like Fulgrim, he watched the battle without much concern.
Such long-range engagements were never decisive, nor did they cause particularly significant damage. The main tactical display showed his fleet formation piercing the enemy's defensive line.
He tapped out several commands on the interface to adjust the fleet's position. The assault plan was proceeding in an orderly fashion.
Soon, the distance between the two sides closed. They could even see the engine lights of the enemy ships through the viewports; the Chaos fleet had already deployed its battle line, attempting to intercept Little Fulgrim's fleet.
With primarch-level intelligence and strategy, he observed the enemy's deployment, searching for weaknesses in their defensive line.
He could tell that there must be a warlord commanding the entire operation behind the enemy.
Striving to organize these unruly ships.
Chaos forces always preferred to fight independently, resisting any unified command.
Even with a warlord's command, they wouldn't be very obedient. There was a lack of coordination between them.
Little Fulgrim casually employed Jaghatai's maneuvering tactics. The fleet split in two, with the other half of the ships circling around from below. This was an ancient cavalry tactic, greatly enhanced by Jaghatai.
Luring the enemy from the front, outflanking them, and then destroying them piecemeal.
Dense shells and torpedoes continuously flew out, blocking the maneuvering space of both fleets.
Many times, the torpedoes and shells launched were not meant to kill the enemy.
But to block the enemy's retreat, forcing them into the desired position.
Void warfare is more complex than ground warfare.
Multi-dimensional turning makes starships more flexible, and without certain abilities, it is difficult to command a large-scale naval battle.
Both sides were traveling at high speed, their prow guns firing continuously.
Streaks of brilliant lances of light burst forth.
Each shot made the hull tremble.
Soon, they could clearly see each other. The enemy ships grew from tiny specks to model size.
As the fleet advanced at high speed, those ships continued to grow, expanding.
In the void, this perspective creates an optical illusion.
When observed from the observation ports equipped with optical sights, the enemy ships seemed about to collide directly with their own ships, while the enemy's size continued to increase.
Visually, the prow's ramming spike rapidly transformed from a flat, sharp scalpel into a huge and heavy cliff face.
Until the sensor towers and weapon turrets lining it were clearly visible, they were still tens of kilometers apart. They passed each other, engaging in a fierce but brief broadside exchange.
Both sides unleashed attacks composed of lasers and solid projectiles, forming a storm of destruction.
A brighter light appeared, indicating that a ship had been hit and was crippled by the explosion of its reactor.
When the light dissipated and the augurs cleared, Little Fulgrim's fleet left behind a blazing cruiser and continued its advance. The calls of the crew from that ship echoed continuously through the communication channels. They sealed the blast decks to prevent air leakage and organized relevant personnel for repairs.
Some crew members were sucked out by the leaking air and died within a few seconds.
Little Fulgrim showed no emotional fluctuations regarding this.
When they chose this path, they already knew clearly what awaited them. To die in battle was a reward. Their souls would return to the embrace of the Holy Emperor, not to drift alone in the warp, hunted or treated as pathetic daemon slaves. The enemy's casualties were even more severe. Their core combat strength consisted of one battleship and three cruisers.
But now two cruisers were heavily damaged.
One had its engines disabled, deviating from its flight path, and was torn to shreds by another fleet.
Another ship burst into raging flames, and with the rise of silent fires, the ship silently disintegrated. The battleship also caught fire, but it was quickly extinguished, and it reoriented itself, preparing for a new round of firing.
But the first exchange of fire had already decided their victory or defeat.
Although the fleet under Little Fulgrim's command was not as good as the Imperium's regular fleets, it was still slightly superior when compared to the Chaos ships. The ultimate fate of that reoriented battleship was nothing more than being torn apart. The traitors were annihilated, and the cruisers attempting to escape were overtaken by faster small destroyers and destroyed by concentrated fire.
Only burning wreckage remained in the void.
Little Fulgrim's fleet passed through the debris field and headed towards the target world.
As Little Fulgrim's fleet entered planetary orbit, defensive lasers and orbital missiles fired from the planet's surface continuously exploded in the stratosphere.
"It is time, my comrades, to unleash the wrath of punishment. This will be another trophy we offer to the Holy Emperor."
Little Fulgrim's voice echoed through the communication channels.
Landing shuttles and orbital drop pods flew out from the warships, falling like meteors towards the target world. The Imperial Aquila emblem carved on the hulls declared to the enemy that punishment had arrived.
"Abaddon is a complete fool."
In a hall filled with blasphemous traces, a throne made of the bones of the suffering was situated.
On the throne, a colossal figure clad in purple armor covered in bone spikes, from which human heads and skin hung, let out an angry growl.
"He allowed Guilliman to be resurrected, messed everything up. Made himself a prisoner of Terra. Made the Eye of Terror no longer safe."
The angry voice echoed through the hall, and the Chaos Space Marines stood silently, daring not to make a sound, fearing they would become the target of his wrath.
cultists and mutants stopped their whispering.
In the hanging iron cages, the captives lowered their screams, turning into painful moans.
Only the sounds of dark machinery operating in agony and the broken garbled codes reported by mindless servitors could be heard.
"Lord Eidolon," a Dark Mechanicus priest, his bloated body embedded with numerous mechanical prosthetics, trembled, "The void fleet has lost contact, the enemy has approached low orbit, and orbital strikes will soon commence."
Eidolon was one of the earliest warriors of the Third Legion, the Emperor's Children, and one of the Legion's eleven Lord Commanders.
He hailed from Terra and was the most outstanding Lord Commander of the Emperor's Children Legion.
He was once hailed as the paragon of the Emperor's Children Legion.
He was the first space marine in the Legion to lead an entire company. The Emperor's Children encountered some unexpected issues in their early development, which made their size much smaller than other Legions.
When Fulgrim was found, the Emperor's Children Legion had only a mere two hundred battle-brothers. The early Emperor's Children were incorporated into the Luna Wolves, learning how to fight and adopting various methods to increase their numbers until they could operate independently.
Eidolon was also the first Noise Marine to have alien organs implanted.
Capable of unleashing terrifying sonic waves that could tear enemies into their most basic molecules. This ability first debuted on Istvaan III and was questioned by the loyalist Tarvitz. Tarvitz refused to undergo similar modifications to his body and was deemed a target for elimination, being thrown into the battle for Choral City.
Eidolon committed terrible atrocities on Istvaan III.
After he broke through the loyalist defense lines, he massacred the wounded.
Especially the loyalist Emperor's Children, who were brutally tortured and killed by him.
During the Dropsite Massacre, he also played an important role, perpetrating a series of terrible, bloody, and terrifying killings. Thereafter, he also appeared in the Siege of Terra and carried out a series of massacres.
After the Horus Heresy, he and many traitors fled into the Eye of Terror and launched the Long War.
Eidolon's crimes were too numerous to count.
He once believed that he would inevitably triumph with the victory of the gods, but now, the Imperium's punishment had arrived. There was no way the enemy would spare him.
"They want to kill us, but it won't be that simple," Eidolon said. "Send Queen Syl'laithe out first, let those fools know that this world is not one they can invade at will."
Queen Syl'laithe was a daemonette, a Masked Dancer.
She was once the most favored dancer and chief handmaiden, and a multi-gendered daemonette.
daemonettes seduce not only men but also women, thus possessing all the perfect characteristics desired by both genders.
In the Great Game of Eternity, Tzeentch tricked Slaanesh into going to war with Khorne.
And Slaanesh could not possibly win the war.
Ultimately defeated, losing immense face.
Syl'laithe, seeing her master's melancholic mood, sought to please her master with the most vibrant and brilliant dance.
Slaanesh, however, was not pleased at all, instead interpreting it as mockery.
Accusing Syl'laithe of being a traitor.
Slaanesh uttered a curse, forcing the Masked Dancer to dance eternally, and banished her from his domain.
Syl'laithe was forced to dance in eternity and sought to seek her master's forgiveness.
Eidolon allied with her on a world, becoming her paramour, and gained the support of the Masked Dancers, becoming a well-known power in the Eye of Terror.
Unfortunately, under the Imperium of Man's assault, Eidolon has now lost his former glory.
He can only cower on such a planet, recuperating and praying that the Imperium will not deal with the Eye of Terror so quickly.
Alas, the gods he worshipped did not favor him.
Fate brought Little Fulgrim here as his punisher. This was undoubtedly an extremely ironic dark joke. The clone of his genetic father became his executioner. The drop pod's hatch exploded open, slamming heavily onto the surface.
Kassal and the other squad members rushed out of the compartment, with Little Fulgrim at the center, charging towards the enemy.
Above them, old Imperial fighter jets like the Thunderhawk streaked across the sky, leaving trails of white contrails.
Various discarded Imperial Titans were also thrown onto the battlefield. These were controlled by Knightly Houses who had once fallen into darkness but were willing to follow Little Fulgrim in seeking redemption.
Some captured or genuinely defected Dark Mechanicus priests were responsible for the maintenance of these Titans.
Heavy tanks and vehicles were also air-dropped.
All of them came from the Imperial surplus military equipment.
Guilliman, through some clandestine means, had delivered them to Little Fulgrim, ensuring his military strength.
Under Little Fulgrim's command, a large army launched an attack on their target.
A massive fortress stood before them.
Armored units roared across a bizarre, writhing plain of flesh. The air was thick with suffocating exhaust fumes.
In the center of the battle formation, Little Fulgrim sat atop a Land Raider, directing their advance.
Zahariel was also within the formation. The fumes emitted by the engines, even with the helmet's rebreather, were difficult to completely filter out.
Yet, he didn't feel disgusted; instead, he was excited.
It gave him a feeling of returning to the Great Crusade.
Back then, they charged at their enemies just like this. The ground began to shake.
Countless daemons flapped their wings, charging towards them.
"Slaughter them all!" Little Fulgrim roared. "For our lost redemption, for the honor we once craved!"
Zahariel continuously pulled the trigger, his bolter roaring incessantly, the torrent of bullets impacting the waves of daemons, making them shriek.
Other warriors also opened fire as the enemy entered optimal range. Tanks, gunships, and all other vehicles roared to life. Beams of light and tracer rounds rained down upon the endless tide.
Bolter rounds tore apart the flesh shaped by the Warp.
Lasers incinerated the remnants into ash. The daemons did not retreat like living creatures. They surged forward like a tide, then turned into shattered corpses.
Zahariel abruptly impaled something with a man's twenty-eight-centimeter appendage and a woman's ample breasts. Then a bolter round turned it into shattered remains.
Cassal also fought fiercely, his bolter continuously firing.
Amidst the sound of bolters, his battle cry was clearly audible.
"Humanity endures!"
His battle brothers roared in unison. The sounds of slaughter echoed everywhere.
Little Fulgrim was unstoppable, his longsword, forged with arcane secrets, sliced enemies in half with unimaginable fluidity.
He dispatched charging daemons with a single strike, his blade cleaving monster skulls in two.
A terrifying daemon set its sights on him.
It wore crimson pelts and armor, a sharp horn growing from its forehead.
Its jaw hung open in fury, revealing dreadful fangs.
A warrior seeking redemption was impaled by its sword, burning with black flames, and another warrior, whose skull was crushed and helmet flattened, was trampled under its foot.
"A contemptible copy!" The daemon sneered mockingly.
Little Fulgrim remained silent, simply charging at it. The daemon, after a howl, also charged forward.
Its massive body caused the ground to tremble slightly with each heavy hoof fall.
At a certain distance, Little Fulgrim leaped.
After dodging the daemon's black-flamed sword, he plunged his own sword into its body. The daemon's body dissolved amidst its pained screams.
Before it completely died, Little Fulgrim spat at it, a response to the earlier insult.
"Tear them apart!" Little Fulgrim shouted. "This world will be our trophy for the Holy Emperor, our sacrifice for redemption!"
All heavy tanks and vehicles obeyed his command.
A sudden volley broke through the daemon's defenses.
Opening the path to the fortress-factory.
Little Fulgrim took the lead, charging at the forefront.
"For lost honor, for redemption after death!"
His sword, imbued with the will of a lost soul yearning for salvation, brought punishment to every daemon and traitor who dared to stand in his way.
His sword was as fast as light.
In an instant, it sliced through the grotesque, twisted, cloven-hoofed, long-necked abominations of various shapes, reducing them all to ash.
At the entrance to the fortress, the daemon leader, Queen Syl'aire, held court.
She possessed a face that could enchant all living beings.
Her upper body was nude, with only scant fabric covering three proud, alabaster peaks.
Her ample bosom swayed with her movements.
Her strong, powerful body had a pair of arms and a pair of tentacles.
Her head, covered in purple hair, bore a pair of white horns, worn like a crown.
Her long, beautiful legs displayed a gradient of light purple, utterly dazzling.
Her exposed skin shimmered with a gem-like radiance. She exuded a cloyingly sweet fragrance. The daemon was a twisted interpretation of the word 'beauty', beautiful to the point of revulsion.
She would slay any human who dared to approach.
Her movements in slaying humans were so graceful that even the eldar would feel ashamed.
A charging warrior was cut through his defenses by her sword, then his limbs were severed with incredibly swift and precise movements. The crimson corpse lay before the daemon.
She even licked the blood from her sword, a twisted smile appearing on her terrifyingly beautiful face.
Little Fulgrim walked towards her. The grotesque scar lay across his angry face like a centipede.
"A copy, what a pity. If it weren't for my master's task, I wouldn't even want to kill you." Queen Syl'aire looked at him approaching, a mocking expression on her face.
"Die!" Little Fulgrim roared.
Queen Syl'aire attacked, swift as a striking viper.
Her blade, imbued with malevolent curses, lunged towards Little Fulgrim's body.
Her movements were incredibly graceful, as if she were dancing.
Little Fulgrim blocked her attack with his sword. The brutal force made the force field device on his longsword groan.
After forcing her back with a sword thrust, Little Fulgrim drew his bolter, emptied its fifty rounds, and then charged forward again. This action exposed her, and his longsword plunged into her corrupted flesh, causing her to emit sounds of pleasure and even tremble, as if this act brought her indescribable ecstasy.
"My master's task, so exciting, so happy."
"Disgusting." Little Fulgrim remarked, then slammed a fist into her body, repelling her sickening form.
He swung his longsword and continued to charge. The longsword sliced through her as if a hot iron rod through butter, a sizzling sound echoing in his ears.
Little Fulgrim exerted force, splitting her body in two.
Queen Syl'aire fell amidst ecstatic screams, becoming a twitching corpse.
Under Little Fulgrim's leadership, Zahariel and the others charged inside.
Cassal cheered slogans, celebrating that they would offer another trophy to the Holy Emperor.
May He forgive our ignorance and foolishness.
May He guide the souls of the dead into His kingdom.
May He protect us from the horrors. The death of the daemon leader was not the end of the battle. They had achieved sufficient victory, but it was far from enough. The blasphemous signs deep within the fortress were terrifying.
Skulls and rotting corpses were everywhere.
Blood blackened and fouled the floors and walls. The walls were covered in graffiti made of various unknown liquids.
Biological tissue was ubiquitous, writhing as if alive.
Eerie specters floated everywhere, emitting sounds of agony.
Many corpses were hung on hooks and chains, twisting in pain, crying out to them for salvation. They had to put those poor souls out of their misery with bolter rounds.
For those weeping things were no longer living. Their souls were merely imprisoned in corrupted bodies, tormented day and night.
Killing them was, in fact, a form of salvation. The Holy Emperor's messenger would bring those suffering souls back to that sacred realm of the dead, allowing them to rest in peace. The resistance inside the fortress was equally fierce.
Mutants and monsters charged from the corridors, only to be torn to shreds.
Slaughter erupted in every corner.
Until they had slain every living enemy.
Little Fulgrim pressed onward, finally reaching a massive gate.
Blasphemous symbols were carved into the gate.
Crimson blood slowly seeped from the patterns on the gate, as if it were bleeding.
A warrior found the gate's controller and pulled it down.
With an unbearable groaning sound, the heavy gate slowly opened.
More than the complaint of machinery in disrepair, the sound was like distant wails of agony.
Behind the gate hung even more corpses, and even the back of the gate was nailed with twisting, suffering headless bodies. The blood was seeping from them.
A gilded hall appeared before Little Fulgrim.
Large enough to accommodate a company of Space Marines. The blasphemous scene within was even more shocking.
A group of deranged mortals, naked, were engaged in frenzied intercourse in various indescribable ways, emitting all sorts of vile sounds.
Some held iron-spiked whips, lashing themselves while copulating, writhing in blood, emitting various hair-raising sounds of pleasure.
Others writhed on beds of sharp nails, allowing the sharp points to mangle their flesh, exposing stark white bones.
Some were placed on filthy operating tables, being dismembered piece by piece and then sewn back together.
No one felt pain; everyone was so joyous and excited. Through such acts of debauchery, they sacrificed to the Dark Gods, seeking Slaanesh's blessings.
Little Fulgrim instinctively felt a sense of revulsion.
It was such a terrifying and horrifying sight.
Even the most deranged lunatic would not imagine such a horrific scene.
On the elevated platform surrounded by the sacrificing crowd, the swollen, tentacled, and twisted-horned Emperor's Children looked at them with hateful eyes.
Eidolon, on his throne, looked at the face identical to his gene-father's, and involuntarily uttered a pained question.
"Why? Why do you slaughter us like this? Father."
"I am not your father, but I can send you to meet him." Little Fulgrim said.