WebNovels

Chapter 94 - WARP

Crucible Sword rode the momentum, and Be'lakor tilted his head to dodge a vital spot, but the sword still cut his face, blinding the Daemon Prince's right eye, and even his horn was severed at the root.

"Roar!!!!"

Be'lakor was furious, letting out a roar mixed with pain and anger that shook the battlefield.

Daemon horns symbolize a Daemon's power and authority. Such a monstrous humiliation was like a man being castrated!

The Shadow Daemons fighting the army heard the ominous roar from the center of the battlefield, knew that the outcome was decided, and instantly lost all will to fight.

Sensing that the battle was going awry, the cunning Daemons vanished into the shadows, hiding behind their comrades, and slipped through a reverse summoning array, hoping to seize the opportunity to escape before a full retreat began.

Daemons are insidious and treacherous, devoid of honor; survival and destruction are their instincts.

If the battle is favorable, they slaughter wantonly; if there's even a slight disadvantage, they immediately flee.

Be'lakor was no different. He had lost an eye and a horn, and his roar was deafening, yet he had no thoughts of revenge.

His right eye had lost its vision, and the wound, which should have healed quickly, showed no signs of self-regeneration; black blood continuously flowed out.

His left eye darted around, and in the instant they passed each other, Be'lakor stared intently at the Godslayer weapon in the Godslayer's hand.

That cursed blade, a weapon scorned by the gods, had severed his very concept; his "right eye" and his right horn had vanished from his body forever.

Even if the wound could heal, the concept erased by the Godslayer weapon would not reappear.

In other words, Be'lakor's right eye was blind, and no matter the method, it would be difficult to restore his right eye's vision.

Be'lakor had existed for endless years; he did not want to lose his life in an invasion.

He yearned for revenge, to make the Godslayer pay the price for injuring the great Be'lakor, but not now.

"Filthy daemon this is your end!" Blazkowicz roared, terrifying the demons, and was about to deliver a killing blow to Be'lakor!

He exerted force with a backhand, preparing to bring down the raised Crucible Sword again, poised to cleave the First Daemon Prince in two.

"Godslayer," facing the incoming killing blow, Be'lakor responded with hateful curses, yet showed no panic, instead dropping a threat: "We will meet again!"

Blazkowicz knew something was wrong; Be'lakor was already preparing to escape.

Sure enough, the moment they passed each other, Be'lakor, instead of retreating, charged forward, flapping his bat-like wings towards Blazkowicz, embracing him.

He truly was the First Daemon Prince!

Be'lakor instantly made an incredibly correct and wise decision, ensuring his survival.

He tightened his arms, using his body to completely restrict the Godslayer's movements, desperately seeking a chance to live.

A strong force came, and Blazkowicz was pulled into Be'lakor's embrace, his waist encircled by the Daemon's arm.

Seeing that he couldn't break free immediately, he tried to stab back with his sword, only to find that his armpit was pinned by Be'lakor's shoulder, making it difficult to swing downwards.

Catching a glimpse with his peripheral vision, Be'lakor flew towards the rapidly approaching summoning array, intending to escape the Real Universe. Blazkowicz also heard the Daemon Prince's triumphant growl:

"I have roamed the Warp for endless ages, encountered countless powerful foes, even challenged gods, and still live to this day."

Seeing his opponent's movements restricted and unable to exert his strength, with the array getting closer, Be'lakor needed to make a mark.

Blazkowicz said nothing, his left hand's five fingers spread, and Star God flames surged from the palm of his raised gauntlet.

In a thousandth of a second, he slapped his backhand, pressing his gauntlet onto Be'lakor's back!

"Ah!!!!"

Another scream, and Be'lakor spat out black demonic blood, as if he felt a star suddenly pierce through his body.

"The power of physical laws..." His voice gradually weakened as he recognized the source of the scorching heat.

Blazkowicz, bathed in demonic blood, met the Daemon's gaze with his dark eyes, pressing his left hand deeper and deeper. The Star God flames incinerated Be'lakor's flesh, running rampant within his body.

Fire. From ancient legends, it has burned Daemons with high temperatures, purifying the unclean.

The Star God—the Burning One, Nyadra'zatha. He is fire itself, the embodiment of destructive will, symbolizing undying heat.

Star God flames can burn everything in the world, and conceptually, they can also destroy Daemons.

In just half a second, Be'lakor's demonic power on his back dissipated, crumbling like dust, and a large portion of his torso turned to ash and vanished.

Despite this, he held on even tighter, letting the flames burn his body, knowing clearly that if he let go, it would only lead to death.

Two transcendent beings, entangled in the air, fell towards the summoning array, trailing flames and thick smoke.

"Follow me, go help our Father!"

Obelisk roared through the psychic link, his tall figure leading nine brothers, forming a small squad, and charging towards the summoning array.

The ten warriors swung their weapons, tearing through the Daemon formation, their figures turning into black lightning as their weapons continuously fired.

Dimensional rays struck, continuously slicing through his body. Be'lakor's demonic wing membranes were torn, his spine was shattered, and his lower limbs scattered into the air.

He still didn't let go; his will to survive had now reached its peak, and the summoning array was within reach.

Blazkowicz's left arm had burned through Be'lakor's right chest, revealing the constantly beating demonic heart that powered his body.

He showed no mercy, turning his palm into a claw, tearing out the demonic heart and crushing it in his hand.

With the source of his power gone, Be'lakor once again vomited black blood. His body was riddled with wounds, his heart exploded; he was utterly weak, unable to even groan.

"Cough, cough..." The Daemon Prince's mouth and nose bled, his remaining left eye glazed over, but a smile appeared on his distorted face as he weakly said, "It seems I can escape..."

They spun, falling from the sky, aiming directly for the burning demonic array.

Blazkowicz's eyes were cold, his tone a thousand times colder than his gaze. He backhanded, grabbing Be'lakor's black spine and ripping off the Daemon's lower body.

"Wretched fiend..." Be'lakor's consciousness was fading. Before his mind plunged into chaos, he gave his final command to the Mother Worm: "Close the portal, then self-destruct."

However, the Mother Worm did not move; she did not want to carry out a suicide command.

For victory, she obeyed the great power of destruction; for victory, she sacrificed billions of offspring; for victory, she surrendered her dignity.

All of this was for victory. To escape the fate of death, how could she willingly become a discarded pawn in the great power of destruction's escape?

Perhaps sensing her disloyalty, Be'lakor decisively used his superior authority to forcibly control his follower's will: "Quick! Secure a chance for me to live!"

Facing the demands of her superior, the Benevolent Mother, whose heart and soul worshipped the Shadow Master, had no power to resist. Her body responded to Be'lakor's command and began to close the demonic array.

Her body, filled with Shadow power, began to swell, and the soul of an Alpha+ psyker began to self-annihilate.

If she wasn't stopped, the Warp power, unrestrained by a soul, would sweep across the entire battlefield with unstoppable force.

"Begin retreat," Blazkowicz ordered through the psychic link, telling the troops to leave the battlefield immediately.

"Retreat!" The Doom Slayer in battle roared, relaying the Primarch's will to his allies, then activated the traditional lasso.

The Custodes and Sentinels did the same, activating their traditional lassos and covering each other's retreat upon receiving the order.

Watching the human forces gradually disappear as white light, the Shadow Daemons breathed a sigh of relief, then fell into disarray.

They scrambled to escape, swarming towards the demonic array, not wanting to stay in the Real Universe for another moment.

Blazkowicz saw the portal within reach, temporarily unable to break free from his restraints, and spoke through the psychic link:

"There is a way to deal with it beneath the throne. Give it to Ferrus. This concerns the current campaign, so please ensure he handles it according to my method."

"Fleet command is transferred to Atum. If the Iron Hands Primarch disagrees, we will handle the follow-up ourselves."

"I will return soon..."

Leaving his final message, he was dragged by Be'lakor into the demonic array, disappearing from the Real Universe.

Obelisk's squad did not leave; their steps were unceasing, no Daemon dared to stop them. They rushed to the array, leaped in, and followed the Gene-Father into the Warp.

The array immediately closed, leaving behind a dark mass of Shadow Daemons, who watched helplessly as the Benevolent Mother's body swelled into a sphere, about to detonate the psychic energy within her.

They no longer stirred, quietly waiting for their physical bodies to be destroyed and for the moment they would return to the Warp.

Thump~

After the Denurian army and the Imperial Custodes withdrew, Ganas Homeworld trembled violently, and intense Warp energy erupted, then began to collapse inward.

Deep beneath the planet's surface, the Benevolent Mother's self-detonation tore open a Warp rift, which swallowed the entire planet like a black hole, pulling debris, Daemons, and millions of automaton soldiers into the Warp.

In just three minutes, the planet completely vanished from its original orbit, leaving no trace, as if it had never existed.

Atum immediately took over fleet command, contacted the Iron Hands Primarch, and relayed the Primarch's message.

The war with the Shaper Union was not over; destroying the alien homeworld was merely a phase victory.

The Father and Benevolent Mother are both dead, and their homeworld is utterly destroyed—a heavy blow to the Shaper Union.

The fleet engaged with the Iron Hands turned its ships around and began to withdraw. The fleet had suffered heavy losses, and its target for support had vanished.

There was no need to continue fighting; they would preserve their forces and plan their next move.

Ferrus ordered his forces to split and pursue, to latch onto the retreating remnants of the Union fleet, prevent them from reinforcing other worlds, and attack Argent Nur's scattered ships.

He himself boarded the Iron Fist to rendezvous with the Royal Majesty and ask his brother for the specific reasons.

Too many doubts plagued his heart like a dark cloud, and he wouldn't find peace until he understood.

Ferrus sat on the Iron Fist's bridge, his face stern as he looked straight ahead, awaiting Argent Nur's envoy.

When the bridge opened, five Custodians and five Sentinels entered, following behind the envoy's representative, majestic and solemn.

Seeing the members of the party, Ferrus's brow furrowed slightly, a hint of displeasure flashed in his eyes, accompanied by a few more considerations.

The appearance of the Custodes carried a completely different meaning, signaling authority and obedience.

"Greetings, Primarch." The leading representative bowed slightly, a polite smile on his lean face, expressing respect for the Son of the Emperor.

"Atum." Ferrus spoke his name, a Son of the Emperor and ground commander of the Rangdan Campaign.

"Why is my brother being so formal, sending a messenger to invite me?" He said, rising from his throne, preparing to head to the Royal Majesty.

"It is not an invitation." Atum was extremely polite, looking up at the Primarch and saying, "The Gene-Father encountered an emergency and left on another ship. He left a message for me to convey to you..."

Bang!!

A violent crash rang out as golden armor collided with the ship's structure, producing a clanging sound.

After the people on the bridge reacted, they looked in the direction of the sound. Atum was pressed against Ferrus's chest, embedded in the steel.

The atmosphere instantly grew tense. The Custodians aimed their weapons at Ferrus, while the Sentinels and Morlocks guards aimed at each other.

Ferrus narrowed his eyes, lifted the Doom Slayer by his golden armor, and held him before him, saying with immense pressure, "You dare to lie in front of me!"

"I may not delve into why Blazkowicz left, but you cannot placate me with lies."

"No need to be tense." Atum's expression remained unchanged, and he raised a hand to his side with a polite smile, first preventing the conflict from escalating: "Everyone, lower your weapons."

The Custodians and Sentinels sheathed their weapons. Ferrus turned and gestured for his Sons to lower theirs.

"A benevolent lie, used to conceal a truth that cannot be revealed to you. There was no intention to deceive or placate."

Atum was composed and maintained a polite smile, unfazed by the pressure. He admitted to lying and calmly explained to the Primarch, "There truly are circumstances."

"Hmph!"

Ferrus snorted, pulled Atum from the wall, and released him, looking down at the Son of the Emperor.

He keenly noticed that, though Atum's appearance was normal, his aura had grown deeper since they last met.

This was not an illusion; it was the Primarch's keen intuition for living beings, which would never be wrong.

Based on this intuition, he could conclude that, apart from himself, no one on the Iron Fist's bridge could subdue the seemingly polite Atum.

"Speak." Ferrus returned to his throne, looking down at the envoy from above, and said in a low voice, "What does my brother have to say?"

He did not pursue where his brother had gone or when he had left.

As Atum said, some secrets he could not know, and they needed to be concealed with a benevolent lie.

The Custodians' presence indicated that the Emperor's bodyguards knew the truth and agreed with this course of action.

Given the authorization from his Father and brother, Ferrus knew that if he pressed further, not only would the Doom Slayer reveal nothing, but it would also sour relations between them.

"Please look at this." Atum took a projection device from his belt buckle, placed it on the ground, and projected a battle plan.

"The Gene-Father asked me to present this to you before he left. He requests that you continue to execute this plan."

Ferrus did not reply, but carefully examined the holographic projection, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper.

After finishing, his stern face was tightly strained, and his sharp eyes looked directly at Atum. He asked in a heavy voice, "Do you know the cost of doing this?"

"I do." Atum nodded, without hesitation in his brows: "And I know the cost within it."

He had already seen the Gene-Father's lingering plan, an extermination order to destroy all worm worlds.

Not merely surface extermination, but the use of various extinction weapons to destroy hundreds of worlds.

Ferrus slowly leaned back in his throne, his silver-gray bionic arm tapping lightly, making a clicking sound against the cold steel.

He was thinking. Why did his brother specifically leave him a message before leaving, to completely destroy the worm worlds?

This would not only require vast resources but also face accountability from many sides, and be misunderstood by the soldiers.

The extermination order would not only blow up worlds but also the medals of the Space Marines and the Auxiliary Army.

They had spread bio-agents, eliminated the xenos entrenched on them, and reclaimed habitable worlds for the Imperium. If the fleet then used an extermination order to blow up those worlds, how could the army accept it?

After deep thought, Ferrus slowly spoke, his voice hoarse from immense pressure: "I need a reason, not to convince everyone, but only to convince me personally."

"Thank you." Atum's face was serious as he bowed to the Primarch.

A reason to convince the Primarch, proving that the Primarch of the Iron Hands was willing to bear all accusations and rumors for a suitable reason.

Ferrus showed no reaction, quietly waiting for the Doom Slayer to speak, waiting for that reason that approached the truth.

"The source." Atum pondered for two seconds, thinking of a suitable explanation: "Everything has a source."

"Like a clear spring in the mountains, if its source is corrupted by defilement that cannot be cleansed, it spreads like a curse throughout the entire spring."

As Atum spoke, he looked at the Primarch, and seeing him lost in thought, he said somewhat presumptuously, "Though it may be somewhat offensive, I will use a similar analogy..."

"Like a Primarch and his Legion, like the Emperor and humanity, if the source is polluted, the curse will spread to everything of the race!"

After speaking, Atum fell silent, deeply aware that his words were sacrilegious.

But there was no other way; the existence of Chaos could not be revealed to the Primarch. He could only use such severe words to make the Primarch understand the gravity of the situation.

The symbol of the worm—the Benevolent Mother—had defected to a Warp Daemon, becoming a servant of the shadows.

Although she perished, the mark of the curse had already been branded upon the Silkworm Race, integrated into their bloodline, establishing a connection between Daemons and the worm.

The Ganas Worms were different from humans; although their racial thoughts were independent, they were closely connected, and contamination by the Warp spread extremely quickly.

Furthermore, the worms lived deep underground, and even a slight oversight in cleansing could lead to a resurgence.

At that time, humanity would face not only the worms but also the shadow Daemons closely connected to them.

After hearing Atum's example, Ferrus's face changed drastically, startled by his boldness. He subtly glanced at the Custodians and roared, "Audacious!"

The Primarch's roar drowned out the Doom Slayer's blasphemous words, interrupting the uproar of the Legion Warriors and instantly silencing the bridge.

Ferrus straightened up, his gaze fixed on the Son of the Emperor, knowing in his heart the seriousness of the matter.

His outburst was not a scolding, but rather a form of protection.

"If my Legion does not cooperate, what will you do?" The Primarch did not pursue the blasphemous words, lightly shifting the topic.

Atum replied firmly, "We will execute the Gene-Father's command to utterly destroy all worm worlds."

"You may leave." Ferrus nodded and waved, signaling for his brother's envoy to depart: "My Legion will proceed with the extermination plan as scheduled."

He merely sighed, "It is truly regrettable that I must personally destroy the merits of my soldiers and turn prosperous star bays into shattered star clusters."

"To prevent crisis." Atum bowed, performing the warrior's salute, and slowly exited the Iron Fist's bridge.

He heard a deep voice from the throne: "Tell my brother he owes me the truth, and he owes my Legion an explanation."

"The moment the Gene-Father returns, I will convey your message." Atum nodded solemnly, then turned and left.

Seeing the Son of the Emperor depart, Ferrus's eyes drifted as if in thought, and he murmured, "The first moment?"

Worry showed in his eyes. Such an answer was unexpected, indicating that the Doom Slayer also did not know when Blazkowicz would return to the fleet, only that he would surely return.

Ferrus shook off his conjectures and roared, "Orderly!"

"Send orders to the Legion fleet: eliminate the xenos fleet and utterly shatter all enemy planets."

"Your will shall be conveyed!"

Meanwhile, in the Warp, Blazkowicz led a squad of Sons, walking across the deformed continent...

The Shadow Realm—the domain of the First Daemon Prince, Be'lakor—is a permanent fixture amidst the endless changes of the Warp.

The Warp emphasizes symbolism, and the Shadow Realm exists in nothingness, symbolizing Be'lakor's inherent eternal kingship.

Daemons born in the Shadow Realm are tainted by shadow, becoming Be'lakor's subordinates and dedicating everything to his conquests.

In a sense, although Be'lakor is a Daemon Prince, he possesses the authority of a "demigod," making him one of the undisputed overlords beneath the Four Gods.

"I have returned!"

The declaration thundered across the Shadow Plain like the breaking of worlds, jolting awake the kingdom that slumbered beneath eternal darkness.

From the shadows of crumbling city-states, countless Shadow Daemons materialized, their burning eyes fixed upon the blazing magical array above—their master, Be'lakor, had come home.

"You've chosen this place as your tomb? Daemon!"

Another voice erupted, fierce as lightning striking steel, its raw power matching Be'lakor's own yet burning with righteous fury.

The assembled Daemons craned their necks skyward to witness Be'lakor plummeting through the magical array, locked in combat with a mortal warrior as they tumbled from the portal linking realspace.

Upon touching the Warp's essence, darkness rushed toward Be'lakor like a faithful servant, knitting his wounds while infinite power flooded back through his veins.

He hurled Blazkowicz aside with renewed strength; here in the Warp, the Daemon Prince shed all mortal constraints as churning shadows reforged his dark iron form.

BOOM!

The Daemon Prince's hooves shattered the ground beneath him, his body swelling to rival the Titans of legend while his wings unfurled, drowning countless worlds in shadow.

Yet despite his imposing presence, the Shadow Master bore the scars of battle—fractures spider-webbed across his cheek, his right eye remained sealed shut, and his crown lay broken, leaving him a wounded cyclops.

Before him, a crimson meteor blazed through the darkness, its light banishing shadows as it crashed into the Shadow Plain trailing scarlet fire.

"Face me!" The figure raised his crimson longsword toward the mountain-sized Daemon Prince and snarled, "You ran from reality to cower here—now there's nowhere left to hide!"

Challenging the Shadow Master within his own realm drew mocking laughter from countless Daemons, until recognition dawned and their amusement curdled into terror.

The Godslayer!

He had pursued them from reality itself, bringing endless wrath to the Shadow Plain!

Blazkowicz dragged his gauntlet across his face, smearing away demonic ichor as his Crucible Sword remained steady, aimed at Be'lakor—unflinching even within the Warp's twisted heart.

"My tomb?" Be'lakor's laughter rolled like thunder, spawning cyclones of Warp energy.

Without shame, he declared, "I never planned to duel you—I'm withdrawing with my entire domain."

"There's no escape!" Blazkowicz surged forward with righteous hatred, but halted as ten armored figures plummeted through the closing void array, impacting the Shadow Realm's ancient flagstones.

His brow furrowed; his Gene-Children had breached the veil between reality and madness, following their father's trail into hell.

Throughout the decrepit city, shadows coalesced in every corner, birthing demonic forms from pure darkness.

The Daemons materialized in their native realm, fangs gleaming and talons extended as they encircled the intruders.

The Doom Slayers reacted instantly, erupting from their craters with weapons ready, rallying to their Gene-Father to form an unbreakable defensive ring.

Be'lakor loomed above them all, his single eye cold and pitiless as he gestured dismissively, unleashing his legions upon the invaders.

"Why did you follow? This realm's dangers exceed your comprehension." Blazkowicz's voice carried an edge of anger; he had explicitly ordered their withdrawal before entering the Warp.

Here, freed from physical law's constraints, Daemons could shatter cities with casual gestures while Archdemons possessed power to crack stars.

Obelisk faced the daemon horde, weapon gripped tight, his voice carrying absolute conviction: "We refuse to let you stand alone!"

The others echoed his sentiment, pressing their backs against their Gene-Father's as they completed their defensive circle.

Confronting the advancing wall of fangs and claws, they showed no fear; pride resonated through their helmet vox-grilles as they roared together: "Surrounded by Daemons is exactly where we belong!"

"Come then, hellspawn!" Alistair's double-headed greatsword erupted into flames as he beckoned the horde forward.

"Taste our fury!"

"..."

Beyond the Doom Slayers' perimeter, Daemons crashed forward like a black ocean, yet the marines stood unmoved, weapons ready in silent determination.

Blazkowicz nodded slowly, recognizing each fearless warrior—Junior, Obelisk, Alistair, Tal Rasha...

They had known what awaited beyond the portal, yet followed him without hesitation into hell itself.

Surveying the battlefield while dismissing the Daemons as beneath notice, he bellowed: "Since you've come, we'll paint this realm red! Let daemon blood flood the earth and their terror crown our victory!"

"Let daemon blood flood the earth and their terror crown our victory!"

The warriors' unified roar made the Warp itself shudder, their battle cry freezing daemon hearts with dread.

"Slaughter them! A mighty warrior's soul will elevate us beyond measure!"

The Daemons shrieked their hunger, raising cursed weapons as they charged forward on beating wings.

"Hold them." Be'lakor commanded his forces forward while retreating himself, weaving teleportation incantations.

Steel met steel in explosive cacophony as dimensional weapons crashed against daemonic blades.

The Daemons fought at peak prowess within their native realm, their weapons moving faster than lightning, each strike carrying mountain-shattering force.

The Doom Slayers answered violence with violence; being outnumbered meant nothing when their trials had forged them through far worse odds.

Once, they had possessed no power yet carved escape routes through sheer determination; now, with fury burning in their veins, how could they possibly falter?

Within a heartbeat's fraction, the first daemon lost its head, body dissolving instantly into scattered ash.

In the next imperceptible instant, a hundred daemons outside their perimeter fell as the Doom Slayers' weapons accelerated beyond mortal comprehension.

Blazkowicz commanded the circle's center, his left palm unleashing flame rays that carved through daemon ranks like divine judgment.

His right hand drew the super shotgun, targeting the thickest daemon clusters before squeezing the trigger without mercy!

BANG!!

The Emperor's gift manifested as golden lightning, detonating through the horde like celestial fireworks, instantly vaporizing a thousand daemons.

Every second stretched into eternity; daemons surged forward like tsunamis only to break and recede.

Shoulder cannons, dimensional blades, the Slayer's might, and Star God weaponry formed an impenetrable killing field—the daemons couldn't pierce their formation.

The Doom Slayers stood immovable as mountains, their weapons dancing with lightning speed, channeling pure murder into daemon flesh; following their Gene-Father's example, retreat never entered their minds—only total annihilation.

Ichor painted the air!

A brilliant azure dimensional blade swept upward, disemboweling one daemon before plunging down to bisect another.

The three-meter energy blade moved with deadly grace in the Doom Slayers' hands, weaving intricate patterns of death.

Yet the daemons seemed infinite; a thousand died each second only for ten thousand more to surge forward.

SLAUGHTER!

KILL!

RIP AND TEAR!

The Doom Slayers' hearts remained granite-hard, purged of doubt as their weapons accelerated further, their focused will treating the endless tide as mere practice.

Across the Shadow Realm, mountain-sized Be'lakor chanted desperately, gathering vast Warp energies.

His appearance suggested confidence, but panic gnawed within as he frantically sought to escape.

As the realm's master, Be'lakor felt his Shadow Daemons evaporating beneath the Godslayer's assault, his domain no longer growing but steadily shrinking.

If this continued, the Shadow Realm would vanish forever from the Warp's tapestry.

Be'lakor wove his spell faster, manipulating reality to relocate his entire domain.

Within the ancient plaza, the daemon tide crashed endlessly against the invaders, desperately buying their master time.

"Tal Rasha!" Through the daemon cacophony, Blazkowicz recognized the stalemate—though his warriors slaughtered magnificently, they remained pinned. He called to his Gene-Child: "Speak the Old One's words!"

Breaking this deadlock required unconventional weapons.

With his Gene-Father's permission, Tal Rasha calmly removed his helmet one-handed, revealing his noble features.

Securing the helmet at his waist, he drew deep breaths, preparing throat and jaw for the ancient pronunciation.

Tal Rasha faced the daemon tide directly, his vocal cords resonating with syllables barely possible for human anatomy, speaking a single concept—annihilation!

"Unmake."

As the Old One's language commanded reality, laws bent to its will—space warped, Warp energy screamed, the daemon tide froze as Shadow Daemons lifted skyward, their forms bloating grotesquely before erupting into obsidian fireworks.

"Words of Creation!"

The daemons shrieked in primal terror, refusing to advance, cowering beyond the devastation wrought by that single utterance.

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