At this very moment, inside the emergency escape passage, a flurry of hurried footsteps echoed.
The Chaos Lord Malven, clad in master-crafted power armor, was striding through it.
He wasn't alone; six Chaos Astartes guards in terminator armor still flanked him, securing his safety.
Malven, who had spent centuries fighting across the galaxy, was hardly fool enough to stay and watch the battle.
Even if remaining to help would truly aid Miriael—and the two of them together could spike the danger level and likely secure victory—
it sounded wonderful.
But there was one small problem.
Namely… it offered him zero benefit and extreme peril; one slip and he'd die.
Malven would never do something so stupid.
Surely no one believes there's any dependable camaraderie among the forces of Chaos?
Let alone that he and Miriael shared only a standard contract; Malven had even concealed information, deliberately luring her here.
What if Miriael took it out on him afterward?
Better to hide somewhere safe and wait for the fight to end.
Should the lord of pleasure bless the outcome and leave both the False Emperor's followers and Miriael grievously wounded—or dead together—so much the better.
However, things didn't go as Malven imagined.
Suddenly the Chaos Lord halted.
The six terminator guards stopped at once, turning to him for orders.
"Warp fluctuations?"
A Psyker himself, Malven frowned; violet light flared in his eyes as he reached out with all his senses.
Soon he felt a Warp rift slowly opening behind them in the passage.
"Ha!"
The Chaos Lord sneered inwardly:
Playing Warp-teleport tricks in front of a master Psyker?
How did an idiot like this survive so long?
Without hesitation Malven slammed his Psychic Staff against the floor; invisible psychic energy surged, forming a huge unseen hand that smashed toward the rift.
Under such interference the intruder's landing point would skew wildly—straight into the Ceramite wall beside them.
Wait—what?
Malven was stunned.
The psychic fissure seemed unaffected, opening calmly; a teleport lightning flash lit the gloomy passage.
When the light faded, a young woman in a military greatcoat holding a power sword stood there.
Inquisitor Sibylla herself!
The instant she appeared, the six Chaos Terminators raised their weapons without hesitation.
"Boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom!!"
Heavy bolters and an Assault Cannon roared, spitting fire; a storm of shells engulfed her figure.
Yet the ferocious fusillade accomplished nothing.
A sturdy psychic barrier formed before Sibyla, shielding her completely.
Countless bolts lodged in the shield, while Sibylla herself stood unscathed, calm and untired.
"Cease fire!"
Malven stopped the pointless barrage, staring grimly at Sibylla.
Facing this clearly hostile and unfathomably powerful intruder, Malven—though knowing battle was likely unavoidable—still tried one last time.
"…Can we settle this peacefully?"
The Chaos Lord, no longer arrogant, chose his words carefully: "Between us there's certainly ample hatred, but hunting me down now is meaningless."
He continued, soft yet firm: "Your comrades are hard-pressed. I admit you outmatch me psionically, but if you aim to finish me quickly and still aid them, you're being unrealistic."
"Let me go; then you can support your allies against the real foe. Isn't that the wiser choice?"
Ignoring the heretic's sophistry, Sibylla silently raised her power sword.
Normally the renegade's words rang true.
As an Imperial Inquisitor, Sibylla had thought the same.
If all four of them fought together—accepting certain sacrifices—they might indeed banish that Slaanesh Daemon Prince.
After all, sacrifice is the cornerstone of the Imperium; life is the Emperor's currency. To a Commander, human cost never enters the equation.
Even if an Inquisitor like herself died there, banishing such a Greater Daemon of Slaanesh would still be a bargain for the Imperium.
Yet just before battle, when she reached that decision, Adam stopped her and issued a very strange order.
Adam commanded her to kill the fleeing Chaos Lord Malven as fast as possible—and promised victory would follow once the task was done.
Thus, though puzzled, Sibylla would obey absolutely.
"Thoughts of heresy breed heresy; heresy invites punishment."
Sibylla calmly recited the maxim from the Quotations of the Saints; brilliant blue light blazed in her eyes, crackling psychic lightning swirling around her.
Seeing this, the Chaos Lord knew hope of peace was dead.
"Fine! Don't say I didn't warn you!"
Veins bulged on Malven's face as he unleashed his full psionic might; a spell-wind from the Immaterium howled through the narrow passage, flesh-flaying and bone-scouring.
Simultaneously every Chaos Terminator drew power swords and charged toward Sibylla!
Facing the lethal threat, Sibylla simply composed herself and drew a deep breath.
Every sanctioned Psyker of the Imperium must endure brutal training; no matter how potent their power, they may use only a fraction of their grade to minimize the risk of losing control.
Since becoming an Inquisition acolyte, Sibylla had never again unleashed her full strength without restraint—until now.
An act once tantamount to suicide had become completely viable once she allied with that Reality Warper named Adam.
Forgetting every ingrained habit and technique, she let her hair whip wildly like a true Alpha-level Psyker, layers of dazzling psychic overflow rippling outward.
She opened her mouth and roared:
"SLAY! SLAY! SLAY!"
The voice carried vast psychic force, forming a world-ending flood of energy in the air; like insects beneath a boot, the six charging Terminators were turned in an instant into a slurry of steel and flesh.
"Impossible!"
Under Malven's horrified gaze his proud spell vanished like a joke within that psychic surge.
A fraction of the torrent, only slightly delayed, reduced him to the same mixture as the Terminator veterans.
The blue psionic blast continued unabated, smashing through the passage-end gate that could withstand viper tank bombardments.