Callum began to chant a profaning prayer.
His voice grew increasingly manic, and the entire dining hall began to tremble. The prayer consisted of whispers from the Warp; every syllable sounded like a desecration of the soul. Loya's expression shifted drastically; he released his claw and turned to flee without a second thought.
Raynor felt his body regain some mobility. He struggled to his feet, staggering in the opposite direction. He didn't know exactly what was happening, but he knew that staying would mean certain death.
Callum's body began to swell at an alarming rate. His skin tore, muscles twisted, and bones deformed into grotesque shapes. His face became unrecognizable, a mass of frantically shifting flesh, yet the prayer continued to pour from that mouth.
As if answering a call, the surrounding Slaaneshi cultists abandoned their fight and rushed madly toward Callum. They threw themselves upon him, clutching his legs, embracing his waist, and kissing his wounds. They were offering their very souls to him.
A continuous stream of cultists threw themselves into the mass; hundreds of souls were consumed in mere seconds. Their bodies dropped, turning into withered husks, yet the expressions on their faces were ones of ultimate ecstasy.
Callum's body expanded to its limit. He looked like a massive, nauseating lump of twisted flesh, within which echoed the wails and manic laughter of hundreds of souls.
BANG!
He exploded. It wasn't just an ordinary blast; it was the commencement of a profaning ritual!
Raynor was knocked over by the shockwave, rolling a dozen meters. He scrambled up and looked back.
At the spot where Callum had stood, space was warping and tearing. A massive rift appeared there, its edges burning with purple flames. Deep within the rift, a terrifying presence could be felt approaching. Purple light bled from the crack, accompanied by a seductive, hallucinogenic fragrance. The scent entered the nostrils, inducing dizziness yet simultaneously fueling a frantic excitement.
The rift grew wider. A massive arm reached out from within—long, elegant, and adorned with exquisite jewelry. Bracelets, rings, and armbands each reflected a mesmerizing luster. The fingernails were curved talons painted in vivid colors: blood red, toxic green, and alluring purple.
Finally, half a head emerged. One side was the face of a majestic male—sharp features, hard lines, and a sense of raw power. The other side was the face of a seductive female—eyes full of longing, lips curled in a lingering smile, captivating to the bone. The two faces fused together perfectly; it was a sight that chilled the soul yet was so beautiful one could not look away.
Raynor recognized its identity.
A Keeper of Secrets. A Great Daemon of Slaanesh, the most favored attendant of the Prince of Pleasure.
Languid laughter echoed through the dining hall from the rift. The sound bored into everyone's ears, stroking their deepest desires. It wasn't the roar of a daemon or the hiss of a monster; it sounded like a lover's whisper or the voice one craves in a dream.
Pink mist billowed from the rift, rapidly filling the space. Wherever the mist passed, a thick, sweet fragrance permeated the air. The scent made one drowsy, tempting them to surrender to a never-ending dream. Some began to giggle foolishly, others started to weep, and some began tearing at their own clothes.
The Keeper of Secrets squeezed its body further through the rift. It was said to possess four arms, each wielding a different weapon. Although only one arm and half a head were visible now, it was enough to turn the situation dire.
The remaining Slaaneshi cultists dropped their weapons the moment they saw the Greater Daemon. They were mad—not with fear, but with ecstasy. They knelt at the feet of the Keeper of Secrets, kissing its arm and weapons. Even as they were poisoned to death by the ritual blades in its hands, more rushed forward to take their place.
The Keeper of Secrets let out a satisfied laugh, enjoying the manic adoration of its servants. It bestowed upon them a reward; with a wave of its hand, a denser mist spread among the followers. The cultists and lesser daemons fell into an ultimate hallucination. There, on the battlefield, atop the piles of corpses and beside the still-burning holy fires, they began to act out their base desires in front of everyone.
The Keeper of Secrets spoke. Its voice carried both male and female tones simultaneously, as beautiful as celestial music and as wicked as a curse:
"Come, my children."
The voice entered every ear like a gentle hand stroking the cerebral cortex.
"Give me your fear, give me your pleasure, give me your souls!"
"Hahahahahaha!!!"
The fanatics began to waver. Those who had been shouting "For the Emperor" just moments ago let their weapons sag. Their eyes became glazed, and expressions of struggle appeared on their faces. Some began to cry, some laughed inanely, and others knelt on the ground, whispering to themselves.
Even some of the Battle Sisters were affected. They heard the soft awakening of their most secret internal desires. This was the power of the Keeper of Secrets; it could hear the secrets in anyone's heart at any time or place, using them to guide people toward their inner cravings and into corruption. These Ecclesiarchy followers, humanity's most steadfast warriors, were its favorite targets for seduction.
"Steady yourselves!"
Canoness Valenia's voice exploded through the mist like a thunderclap. She held aloft a blood-stained scripture that burst with blinding golden light, dispelling the pink mist in a small area around her.
"Those are the whispers of a daemon!"
"Think of your faith! Think of the Emperor!"
The wavering Sisters snapped back to their senses. They gritted their teeth and tightened their grips on their weapons, their eyes becoming resolute once more. But Valenia knew this was only temporary. She looked at the Keeper of Secrets as it squeezed through the rift inch by inch, knowing she could not delay. Every second allowed the daemon to manifest further, harvesting more emotions and souls. If allowed to fully emerge, all of Brevis would fall into calamity.
"Sisters!" She raised her power sword. "For the Emperor! For Holy Terra!"
"For the Emperor!" the Battle Sisters roared in unison.
The fanatics launched their charge once more. They rushed toward the Keeper of Secrets, eyes burning with the fire of faith. Slaaneshi cultists and lesser daemons lunged to intercept them. The two sides clashed in a whirlwind of flying flesh and deafening screams.
The ranks of the Priests suffered heavy losses. They were too fragile—no thick armor, no powerful physiques, only their robes and their absolute loyalty. One priest was torn to shreds, while another continued to chant. They held on through faith and life itself. They sang hymns of purification, using relics to dispel the mist and carving a path for the Battle Sisters with their lives.
The Sisters took the opportunity to push forward. They split into three groups. One squad used holy bolter fire to suppress the Keeper of Secrets, every round delaying its manifestation. Another squad held off the cultists trying to protect the Greater Daemon, their power halberds and chainswords forming a storm of death.
The final squad, led by Valenia, charged directly toward the rift.