"Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!"
A berserker of Khorne, clad in armor edged with brass and red as blood, chainsword in hand, roared these words. Foam dripping from his mouth, he charged at Skarbrand. They were all once noble Astartes—Angels of the Emperor. But now, they were no longer worthy of these titles, having become nothing but slaves to the Blood God. Driven by endless rage, they had become monsters that knew only how to kill.
A thunderous roar erupted!
Skarbrand bellowed and swung his hellish, flaming battle axe at the charging berserkers. In mere moments, the berserkers were all dead—their bodies torn apart and scattered across the ground.
Skarbrand was extremely efficient at reaping the followers and minions of the Blood God. Wherever he went, rivers of blood flowed, limbs and torsos lay strewn about—in scenes of horrific slaughter. No foe could withstand his assault. It didn't matter if they were traitors or daemons; no one was spared.
Altered spirits hovered in the air, giggling as if mocking Skarbrand's tragic fate—a curse upon the strange, unpredictable nature of the universe. Ancient spells were spoken, beams of energy constantly shooting from staves. Sometimes, the very battlefield would be transformed into a vast, blazing hell, swallowing thousands of followers and slaves in flames and screams of agony. At other moments, the ground would sink, turning rock and soil fluid as water—crushing, smothering, or imprisoning foes hiding in fortifications until they suffocated or withered away.
The traitors' defenses were formidable, with multiple turrets mounted in the trenches—mostly anti-air batteries firing relentlessly at Imperial gunships above. In the deep trenches leading to bunkers, mountains of skulls and blood-soaked skeletons were heaped. Savage and primal, yet exceedingly sturdy. If the Imperial forces advanced cautiously, as usual… how many would die before the way was cleared?
But with the help of Skarbrand and the Changeling, Messinius and the other Imperial heroes shattered the painstakingly built enemy defenses with ease, marching on toward their final objective.
Meanwhile, fierce battles raged in the void. Human void warriors and winged daemons fought fiercely, explosions and flashes flickering amidst the carnage, daemons torn apart by heavy fire and driven back into the warp.
On the bridge of the Battleship Saint Aster, Athagey faced a hellish vessel with fangs and maws, covered with flesh and blood. Missiles the size of buildings streaked across the sky in pillars of flame, torpedoes as large as shipping containers were fired in salvos, and high-density energy beams glittered like stars—lances of light repeatedly searing the void.
Yet, no matter how intense the bombardment, the hellship was wholly unscathed—any wounds healed instantly. Before such an invincible foe, many crew fell into despair, believing the Saint Aster doomed to defeat. Worst of all, the hellship developed horrifying jaws that savagely bit into the hull, tearing it apart—a sight that infuriated Scolos, who spat curses at the abomination. If we can't win—surrender, then. This thing has a mouth and chews on ships like snacks! This isn't a starship battle, it's beasts at war!
…
On the ground, Datch walked, hopping over the corpses of traitors scattered everywhere. Following his minimap, he healed the wounded and executed the traitors.
"Cough! Cough!"
Hearing the cough, he went over to find a berserker whose upper body alone remained in a heap of bodies, vomiting blood. This was one of those who had charged Skarbrand—a pitiable, unlucky soul. With his lower body severed by an axe, all he could do now was languish, waiting for death to take him.
Seeing Datch appear, the berserker howled with rage:
"Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne! Respect the will—offer your head to the Blood God!!"
Datch had no qualms about dealing with enemies. He drew his sword instead of his golden hammer, decapitated the man, and booted the head away.
"Kicked a bit too far… The Blood God can bow down and pick it up himself."
…
Deep in the warp, atop a majestic brass fortress seated on a throne, the Blood God gazed down at the bloodied battlefield. Seeing this, the fury blazing in his eyes grew even more intense—once again this human had humiliated him! At the Battle of the Lion's Gate, that man had used unknown means… the Imperium had forced mighty daemons to kneel in the plaza, slapping their faces in public.
Now, they had enslaved Skarbrand—the epitome of frenzied slaughter—and were blocking the very massacre campaign launched for Skarbrand's glory.
"Damn it! Why do they always target me? Why not wreak havoc on the other Ruinous Powers? Capturing Keeper of Secrets or Nurgle's chosen would be far easier!"
Once again, shrieks of
"Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!"
echoed—this time from Skarbrand himself, cutting down the Blood God's followers in his name.
Normally, the Blood God didn't care who spilled blood. But to have a traitor—abandoned and cursed, now enslaved by his enemies—keep slaughtering his own loyalists? That was pure indignity.
As the Blood God raged, a terrifying storm erupted in the warp, panic spreading among the many ships navigating its currents.
…
Back on the battlefield, Datch sensed someone watching him. He looked around, found nothing.
"Something's fishy here!"
Again he scanned the surroundings—but nothing seemed out of place.
"Don't mind it. Let's carry on with the mission."
Scratching his head to clear the confusion, Datch moved to eliminate any survivors left by the vanguard and keep healing the fallen. All of his actions were observed by Rostov, who was utterly stunned. He had expected a fierce, even match; instead, it was an utterly one-sided slaughter. The mighty Skarbrand, summoned by the nameless one, had single-handedly breached the defenses. Messinius exploited the breach, widening it even further. No wonder Lady Cassandra claimed that success was assured if the nameless ones lent their aid.
"Impressive! That's what professionalism truly looks like. With just a little effort, there's nothing we can't handle. We should try giving them more missions directly."
Rostov quickly saw Datch's value. If they could proactively issue missions, might they not finally defeat the Chaos traitors and lead the Imperium into a new age of glory?
"Once this battle is over, I'll seek him out. We must persuade him to give everything for the Emperor."
…
The Imperial forces broke through traitor and daemon lines, reaching a low, Blackstone peak surmounted by dark constructions. The entire summit was hollowed out, embedded with machines of various sizes. All were inscribed with chaotic runes and bore the blasphemous marks of the Dark Mechanicus—twisted creations made by heretical magi who had betrayed the Emperor with sorcery and forbidden lore. Their main purpose: to support the operations of the Blackstone construct and further tear the veil of reality itself.
Rostov and the other Imperial heroes began the final assault. Unexpectedly, a group of Word Bearer traitors was discovered within—these men were the architects of the scheme, aiming to rip open the fabric of reality and plunge the galaxy into the warp, turning it into a paradise for the gods. Even the outer defenses were the work of these Word Bearers. The berserkers, lost to Khorne's grip, could not think rationally—driven only by fury and bloodlust. Who could have built such a complex fortress under such madness?
"For the gods!"
A Word Bearer traitor roared and attacked, but Changeling's psychic power crushed him—one swipe unraveling the traitor into pieces. Another was cleaved in half by Skarbrand's battle axe, his crimson blood soaking the cold earth.
Damn it! Why are the avatars of the gods helping the lackeys of the Corpse Emperor?
Confusion took the remaining cultists. Shouldn't they help us, not them?
Truly, cats and dogs living together!
Yet, before they found answers, the enraged Imperial loyalists charged—the cultists, Chaos Space Marines, and Word Bearers were torn apart one after another.
"We've finally reached the goal." Rostov gazed in excitement at the grand Blackstone construction ahead.
He addressed his subordinates:
"Cheelche, Lacrante, Antoniato—get to work as planned!"
They nodded and moved to their stations. The Blackstone structure and machines built by the Dark Mechanicus now emitted red energy and lightning. Each pulse of energy riled the daemons. Several of Inquisitor Rostov's subordinates took out silvery metal blocks they always carried, placing them on the machines. Then—an astonishing change!
The silver metal liquefied, seeped into the machines, becoming silver threads that transformed the shape of the wicked devices. The machines' light changed from red to green, the transformation spreading rapidly. Finally, all the machines glowed green. The Blackstone structure also transformed, pulsing throughout. But with every pulse, the daemons were wracked by unimaginable pain; the joy and fervor they once felt were gone.
Soon, green cracks appeared across the surface of the Blackstone, increasing in number. Once they hit a critical mass, several added-on sections collapsed, revealing the original form. The iconic chaos star crumbled, its fragments tumbling to the ground. The Blackstone tower's face transformed—eight towers became eight Blackstone obelisks, their sides inscribed with ancient runes.
Datch recognized these runes as those of the Necrons, the galactic necromancers—a detail heatedly debated by players in the Forum. Clearly, the Chaos traitors had reversed the Blackstone Obelisks from warp-suppressing to warp-amplifying, tearing reality and unleashing the tides of the higher warp.
Emerald lightning now arced between the obelisks, building up energy until the obelisks unleashed a massive simultaneous pulse that swept over the daemon armies and riven void. The Space Marines and Inquisitors nearest the obelisks were hurled away, grimacing in pain and disgust. Some mortals collapsed, moaning in agony—near death. The shockwave's damage to the soul was too much for most to bear.
Datch attended to them all, striking each with his golden hammer, restoring their health.
Wherever the pulse reached, daemon bodies flickered like corrupted holograms, then vanished as if repelled.
At that instant, the tide of battle in the void shifted. The hellship pursuing the Saint Aster shrieked in agony. Its daemon flesh writhed, then died, fangs scattering and fading into the void. Its entire bloody mass convulsed and perished, leaving only an old, dilapidated ship adrift in the darkness.
A single broadside from the Saint Aster then annihilated it.
Most critically, the subspace rift began closing under the obelisks' pulse. Without the aid of the God, the remaining traitor fleet wouldn't have survived a single Imperial volley.
…
In another, faraway void battlefield, the main force of the Crusade of Slaughter Army was also grievously weakened by the Blackstone device's destruction—its strength visibly diminished. The daemons accompanying it faltered, howling in torment. Without their support, the traitors' lines broke.
Lady Cassandra seized the moment, ordering all combat groups to join in, cutting off the enemy's retreat, dividing and encircling them. With their escape blocked, defeat was inevitable. Within a day, most of the Crusade of Slaughter Army's warships were reduced to wreckage drifting in the void.
…
In the brass domain, the Blood God raged at the loss. His terrible roar struck terror into countless daemons.
"The damned cursed ones!!"
He howled in vain, trying to summon ever-deadlier warp storms—hoping to send more warriors to slaughter Imperial worlds and vent his frenzy.
…
"No matter how powerless your fury, fate will not change."
The Emperor, seated on the Golden Throne, muttered dissatisfaction in his heart. Yet, he dispatched even more cursed warriors to the invaded worlds to aid the local Imperial Guard.
Both sides escalated their efforts. The warfront now spanned the entire galaxy.
When news arrived that the Crusade of Slaughter was destroyed, Datch also received notice that his mission was complete:
[Mission Complete!]
[With the cooperation of Third Expeditionary Fleet Commander Cassandra VanLeskus, you have repelled the Crusade of Slaughter.]
[Rewards: EXP +2000, Points +2000, Fame +200, [Original Gundam Transformation Glove] (Consumable item)
A new pair of futuristic gloves appeared in Datch's inventory—wear them to transform instantly into a Gundam.
Before he had time to check his rewards, a new notification popped up:
[New Mission Complete!]
[With Inquisitor Rostov, you have thwarted the Chaos conspiracy and captured the Blackstone Construct.]
[Rewards: EXP +1500, Points +1500, Fame +200, [Popeye's Spinach ×1]]
A can of spinach with Popeye's image had appeared—incredibly, eating it would grant him the strength to withstand Titan-class foes and shatter Chaos warships barehanded.
The Third Expedition's campaign had come to a close. The remaining tasks were to eliminate traitors on each doomed world—no further storyline missions awaited.
"To take more story missions, I'll have to return to Guilliman and join his First Fleet."
With this in mind, Datch took Rick's portal gun, fired at the ground, and leapt into the emerging green teleport hole. When Rostov came looking for Datch, he found him already gone—not only off the battlefield but vanished from the entire Third Expeditionary Fleet.
"At least let me offer you a chance to be persuaded before you vanish…?"
…
On the Sol System side…
Guilliman was discussing the Torchbearer Project with Archmagos Cawl, Grand Marshal Trajann, and Grand Master Voldus. The Primarch had assembled many special teams, deploying them across the galaxy as Torchbearers. Their mission: to contact various Space Marine chapters and provide the genetic engineering technology and Adeptus Mechanicus Tech needed to supply them with Primaris battle brothers.
The teams included Silent Sisters, Imperial Guard, and the Primaris Space Marines. Some teams even included Grey Knights, Inquisition, or merchant rogue traders, depending on the location, to brave the dangerous reaches and safely deliver vital resources.
Additionally, depleted groups subject to sanction were to be reinforced, preventing resentment or suspicion among the legions. Guilliman planned to have the Imperial Guard lead these efforts, to maintain legitimacy—as the Imperial Guard, in many minds, were the voice of the Emperor incarnate.
While debate raged, a green portal suddenly opened—Datch leapt out.
Guilliman and Cawl's eyes widened—they had seen this before: a teleport via green portal, previously used by their mysterious ally, but that was back before the Third Expedition had left the system. He should have been on Hydrafur, thousands of light years away—yet he had just appeared right here, in an instant.
Damn!
Trajann and Voldus handled it a little better—wondering only why the nameless one, supposed to be fighting in the Third Expedition, was here instead.
Why indeed?
Even the Emperor on his Golden Throne was so shocked he almost stood up.
How could he cross from Hydrafur to Terra, thousands of light years, in a heartbeat? This teleportation technique surpasses even the ancient Necron technology—and, more importantly, doesn't depend on the warp. If only this had existed ten thousand years ago, I'd never have needed the Webway Project! We must have it. No matter what—this power must be ours.