Was that a Dreadnought?
Perhaps calling it a Helbrute or a Daemon Engine would be more appropriate. These were the blasphemous creations of fallen Space Marines, punished by the Chaos Gods, their souls forcibly imprisoned within the chassis of a Dreadnought. Its form was twisted beyond recognition; the once-rectilinear armor had become rounded and grotesque. Its limbs were disproportionate, and mechanical tentacles sprouted from its joints.
The machine was painted an eerie blue, covered in complex patterns that shifted constantly as if they were alive. Welded onto the armor's shoulders were several Poxwalkers, still screaming. Their bodies had fused with the metal, their faces etched with agony even as their mouths emitted moans of ecstatic revelry.
Following behind the engine was a pack of equally warped monstrosities: bizarre fusions of man and machine, spherical horrors floating in the air, and over a hundred screeching, leaping Horrors of Tzeentch.
The moment they burst in, they launched a frenzied assault. The Slaaneshi cultists, previously disguised as attendants, shrieked as they lunged forward, their arms instantly morphing into fleshy blades to engage the mechanical monsters in a blur of slaughter. Flesh flew, iridescent gases sprayed everywhere, and agonizing screams mingled with hysterical laughter.
Callum had gone completely manic.
"!￥%&#￥@!!!"
His roar was filled with fury and terror, but the words were abstract; Raynor guessed it was likely the True Name of some daemon.
Through the haze of dust, a figure emerged. She wore blue clerical robes stitched with glowing conduits and embroidered with dazzling sigils, the hem of her cloak trailing blue luminous particles like exhaust. Her face was half-covered by a mechanical mask; the exposed half was as pale as paper, with a mad grin curling at her lips.
This was a Chaos Sorcerer, a disciple of the Lord of Change.
Raynor felt like his head was about to explode. Slaanesh and Tzeentch? Both were here? In a single dining room, there were now cultists from two rival Chaos powers, plus one trapped Imperial Governor.
She walked into the center of the room, ignoring the battling monsters, and fixed her gaze directly on Raynor. "What a fascinating change," she muttered to herself, her voice dripping with madness.
Callum blocked her path, his purple vertical pupils burning with rage. "What do you think you're doing?!"
"What am I doing?" Her voice regained a semblance of icy logic. "I am going to change the destiny of Saint Gallus."
All three of them were stunned. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Callum demanded.
She looked around at the slaughtering monsters and the twisted portraits on the walls. "House Saint Gallus is rotten to the core." Her voice carried a heavy weight of resentment. "Caladogong knows only how to adhere to rigid dogmas, completely unaware of the magnificent power his family possesses. Since he cannot lead Saint Gallus to glory, I will!"
She looked at Callum, hatred flickering in her eyes. "And the Lord of Change will grant me the power to change everything." She let out a peal of laughter.
You also have grievances? Raynor cursed internally. It seemed Caladogong's parenting skills left much to be desired.
Callum's face twitched. "You're insane."
"Insane?" She laughed. "Perhaps. But at least I know what I am doing. And you? Do you know what you're doing? You've pleased the Prince of Pleasure, and then what? What happens to Brevis? What happens to the family?"
Callum fell silent.
Holy crap, she actually has logic? This made Raynor even more certain that Caladogong's education system was the root of the problem!
The Chaos Sorcerer continued forward, stepping past Callum toward Raynor. Callum tried to intercept, but he was swarmed by several multi-eyed, multi-armed Changelings. They incessantly summoned Flamers, Screamers, and Horrors to obstruct him.
Finally, the Sorcerer stopped in front of Raynor, looking down at him. That pale, masked face was inches away.
"Governor Kerry Von," she said, her voice turning soft. "No... I should call you... Raynor."
Raynor's pupils contracted. How did she know that name?
Seeing his reaction, the Sorcerer smiled. "Don't be nervous," she said. "I know much more than you think." She reached out a hand—one that was already semi-mechanized, with iridescent lightning dancing at the fingertips. "From this day forth," she declared, "I will show you what true power looks like."
Trapped in his seat, Raynor could only watch as the hand drew closer.
Just then, a barbed whip lashed out and coiled around her hand. "A lapdog of Shial Esk? You want to stop me too?" She looked toward Loya.
"He is my prey," Loya's voice rang out, possessive and cold.
"Die!" The face beneath the Sorcerer's hood transformed into a vortex. Warp-fire spells of Tzeentch erupted from the vortex, surging toward Loya.
Not far away, Callum was still hacking through waves of Tzeentchian daemons. In the dining hall, the followers of Slaanesh and Tzeentch were tearing each other apart. And he, Raynor, was pinned in the middle, unable to move. Everyone's attacks pointedly avoided him; they had clearly designated him as the ultimate trophy of this war.
"Seriously," he groaned in his mind, "this is just my luck."
Just as the three-way battle reached a fever pitch, a burst of golden light shattered the purple and blue palette of the room. It didn't just filter through the doors or windows; the golden radiance pierced through the cold stone walls like a physical substance.
It tore through the blasphemous murals and the petrified statues of agony and pleasure. Like holy swords tempered in fire, the light stabbed into this desecrated place that sat between the Warp and realspace. The corruption of the Warp sizzled and scorched in the golden light, and the distorted colors began to dissipate under the holy glow.
A grand chanting echoed from outside—the steadfast prayers of Battle Sisters, the soaring hymns of Priests, and the soul-stirring chorus of tens of thousands of fanatics. The sound drew closer and louder, like rolling thunder grinding across the earth, drowning out the shrieks of Slaaneshi cultists, the cackling of Horrors, and the humming of Tzeentchian spells. It became the sole melody of this chaotic land.
The Warp corruption within the room began to fluctuate violently. Some low-tier daemons and corrupted servants clutched their ears, curling onto the floor in agonizing wails. Their bodies shriveled at a visible rate under the holy light, like fish washed up on a beach and roasted by a scorching sun.
The fanaticism on Callum's face was replaced by horror. He looked up at the golden light piercing the walls, his voice trembling with confusion: "The Ecclesiarchy? Why are they here?!"
Loya's expression darkened as well; his languid noble air vanished, replaced only by a thickening murderous intent. The barbed whip in his hand cracked through the air like a sonic boom. He scanned the corners of the room, searching for an escape route.
Most of the Chaos cultists appeared agitated at the arrival of the Ecclesiarchy's armed forces. These were the weapons of faith dedicated to the Emperor—experts in combating the Great Enemy.
BOOM!!!
With a massive crash, the solid wood doors of the dining hall were smashed open. Amidst the flying splinters, countless figures surged inside.
It was the fanatics of the Ecclesiarchy.