After beheading Sarton, 'Zane,' played by Emrys, naturally inherited the position of Chaos Lord.
This was an extremely common "Ritual" among Chaos Space Marines, and no one sought revenge for Sarton.
Including his personal guard, the Bloodstained Warband.
Through slaughter, sacrifice, duels, and other methods, one proved to others that they were more favored by the Chaos Gods; Sarton's ascension was also like this, and now being replaced in the same manner was naturally acceptable.
Of course, acknowledgment was one thing, but whether they were willing to obediently listen was another matter entirely.
Emrys didn't mind.
After all, he wasn't truly intending to join Chaos; he merely needed to use this identity.
Now, it was time for him to collect his spoils of war.
According to Chaos custom, having defeated Sarton in the gladiatorial arena, he had the right to claim all of Sarton's assets, including his warband, warships, and so on.
In other words, the Bloodstained Warband had now been absorbed by the 'Blood Skull' Warband.
"Lord, I will lead you to the bridge command center."
A Dark Tech-Priest approached with his head bowed, his voice hoarse.
"According to the rules, you must be re-registered and recorded by the Machine Spirit before you can take command of this battleship."
"Good, lead the way."
Emrys lowered his voice and nodded.
Behind him, in Krast's eyes beneath his helmet, a look of horror immediately surged, and he opened his mouth to say something, but Emrys silently stopped him with a gesture.
Soon, led by the Dark Tech-Priest, they arrived at the command center of the Bloodstained Warband's—that is, Sarton's—battleship.
The entire bridge command center was enveloped in a dark red pulsating glow, as if immersed in a sea of blood.
The Imperial Aquila symbol, inverted on the mechanical dome, was entwined with dense, twisted spikes like thorns, oozing drops of rust-colored liquid.
The arrays of Servitors, which should have been neatly arranged, were covered in fungal mats grown from flesh, and the protruding parts of the control panels resembled distorted demonic faces, occasionally emitting chaotic screams.
And the most striking feature was undoubtedly Sarton's command position, highlighting the blasphemous and twisted aura of Chaos!
It was a throne of flesh and machinery, constructed from hundreds of living skeletons, their souls extracted and tormented, combined with steel, cables, and other materials!
The holographic combat platform in the center of the bridge emitted an eerie green light, and the projected star chart seemed to contain swollen, distorted demonic faces.
Dozens of cables, indistinguishable as flesh or machine, hung down from above, their spiked ends directly inserted into the neural interface slots of the Tech-Priests; these once devout Tech-Priests had now become desiccated wetware, their flesh almost entirely hollowed out, and the mechanical tendrils exposed beneath their red robes had long since merged with the fleshy fungal mats on the ground, looking particularly unsettling.
"Lord, please come here."
The Dark Tech-Priest still kept his head bowed, pointing to the seat and saying.
"You need to sit on it. The battleship's Machine Spirit will connect with your soul."
Staring at the throne for a few seconds, Emrys slowly said.
"Alright, I understand. Such a simple matter doesn't require you to tell me. You may leave."
Playtime is over.
He certainly didn't want to sit on that chair.
Otherwise, exposure would be a minor issue; if he actually sat on it, who knew what surprises Khorne would have in store for him?
Seeing that Emrys had no intention of sitting down, Krast secretly breathed a sigh of relief, the killing intent in his eyes receding somewhat, and his hand, gripping the dagger at his waist, also subtly loosened.
His unwillingness to sit down—from this point of view, he could at least confirm that the current Emrys had not been completely corrupted or fallen to Chaos!
Otherwise—Krast's eyes showed a glint of ferocity—he would not hesitate for a second!
"Hmm?"
Emrys turned his head and noticed that the Dark Tech-Priest, who had kept his head bowed, was still standing in place, seemingly oblivious to his command. He immediately frowned.
"Didn't you hear what I said? You're not needed here. Get out."
The repeated refusals sowed a seed of doubt in the Dark Tech-Priest's heart.
Logically, these Chaos Space Marines would be eager to sit down and claim their predecessor's "Legacy" at this point.
They would never refuse like "Zane."
Thinking of this, the Dark Tech-Priest slowly said.
"Lord, the daemon battleship's recognition ritual must have a Tech-Priest for full calibration to ensure the ritual's success. You wouldn't even know this, would you?"
Emrys was speechless.
He truly didn't know how a daemon battleship recognized its Sir, but the problem was—he couldn't actually sit on it, could he?
Not sitting wouldn't fit his persona either!
He could already clearly feel that this Dark Tech-Priest was suspecting him.
After a moment, Emrys sighed deeply, looking at the Dark Tech-Priest with the gaze one reserves for a dead man.
"Forget it, I can't explain it clearly to you. Krast—kill him."
"!!"
The Dark Tech-Priest froze, a look of horror appearing on his face, but then a low voice came from behind him.
"Yes, Lord Emrys."
Hearing that name, the Dark Tech-Priest's pupils constricted violently. Just as he was about to say something, he felt a terrifying killing intent and a bursting sonic boom from behind.
Relying on his mechanical body and neural reflexes no less than a Space Marine's, he forcibly adjusted his stance, his android arm gripping his power axe, and brought it down towards the figure.
However, he had overestimated himself.
Krast was a battle-hardened veteran; let alone a mere Tech-Priest, even the Chaos Lord Sarton couldn't withstand him!
Boom!
The Dark Tech-Priest's vision went black, and then his body was sent flying backward as if crushed by a heavy tank!
His mechanical body embedded in the flesh wall, a burly figure stepped on the shattered flesh-fungus mat, drew the dagger from his waist, and with precision and ferocity, severed his mechanical prosthetics!
In just a few seconds, all four of his mechanical prosthetics were dismembered!
In a flash, just as the Dark Tech-Priest was about to be beheaded by Krast, he suddenly shouted.
"Emrys, it's me—Rosales!!!"
"Stop!"
With that single word, the dagger stopped just in time.
It was less than 0.1 millimeters from Rosales' central nervous system. The Space Marine, like an iron tower before him,
even through his helmet and vox-caster, still exuded terrifying killing intent.
If he had been even a split second slower, his head would have been gone!
"Gulp—"
Rosales swallowed some 'oil,' his voice still trembling.
"It, it's me—Rosales, do you still remember me? We met on Loessel, and I even helped you!"