Battle

Hedonist had always believed that the Hunger would treat him with indulgence, ever since he awoke from a mechanical womb ravaged by a Slaanesh Daemonette.

Thus, he unleashed his desires without restraint, fearing only that he might become so lost in the experience that he would forget to offer his most exquisite emotions to the Hunger.

Just like now.

The vast central corridor appeared somewhat empty, and Hedonist, clad in master-crafted armor, was brandishing a Neural Whip to lash the Servitors.

Snap—

The long whip struck skin, its secret concoction of toxins and neural hooks licking at the flesh; the immense pain would surely elicit a beautiful echo.

Or so it should have been.

"Boring, boring!"

Hedonist kicked over a Servitor that had intended to continue hauling cargo. He had to admit that the cruelty with which monkeys tortured their own kind made him hold them in slightly higher regard.

He then glanced at the Scourge beside him, gently rotating his wrist, and the Neural Whip wrapped around her slender calf without hesitation.

These genetically modified Drukhari were messengers used to transmit information through the intricate cities of Commorragh, as well as lethal and agile killers.

Those exposed, long legs, specialized for high-speed maneuvering, appeared exceptionally charming in Hedonist's eyes.

"Ah!!!"

The Scourge's lark-like throat emitted an alluring scream.

That was more like it.

A satisfied smile appeared on Hedonist's face.

However, before he could tighten the whip-blade, an invisible shockwave struck, instantly turning his dissolute expression into one of terror.

This was the fear carved deep into the heart of every Aeldari; following the shockwave would be the minions of Slaanesh.

He quickly released his grip, flung out his broad Decapitation Blade, and simultaneously pushed neural blockers into his bloodstream, suppressing his desires to their lowest point.

Yet, after waiting for more than ten seconds, Hedonist did not see the lithe, lethal figure he had expected from any corner.

"The handmaiden of the Hunger has not descended?"

The scars from a hunter's shockwave would not heal in a short time, and he desperately hoped this guess was true.

Never mind that Hedonist dared to play so recklessly on someone else's ship—if he died, he died; the harvest of this Kabal was said to be enough to rent out the largest arena in Commorragh for a performance, and as a high-ranking officer, he could afford the cost of resurrection.

But being killed by a Slaanesh daemon was an entirely different matter.

Being invited by the Hunger into the six-ringed palace of Immaterium after death was a fate no Aeldari could accept; it was an outcome that made his soul tremble just to think about it.

"Perhaps this is an invitation from the Hunger? Inviting us to taste the feast?"

Releasing his senses to the maximum, the Scourge accompanying Hedonist put away her panicked expression. After confirming that there was no additional movement other than the boundary between this place and Immaterium becoming thin, she carefully pushed the Neural Whip away with her talons.

She said with dissatisfaction.

"Don't joke around."

Hedonist narrowed his eyes. He tightened the Neural Whip wrapped around the Scourge's calf, relaxing his mood slightly and soothing his weakened soul. Just as he was about to tell his Scourge companion not to tease him, his open mouth suddenly froze again.

In just a moment of trance, the squad that should have maintained contact with him had already disconnected.

He subconsciously looked toward the deep corridor, and every nerve in his body told him that something was approaching.

The assault on this ship toward the dark lair of the Drukhari had begun once more.

And this time, it would not be a simple probe!

"Horus!"

It was a roar.

The killing intent and the ear-splitting roar instinctively made him tense every muscle, yet his chest could not expand no matter what, as if an invisible hand were gripping his throat, making even breathing difficult.

This—this feeling!

This presence surpassed any monster in his cognition; at least those creatures that had died by his hand in the arena did not possess such killing intent.

When that golden Power Spear swept toward him, only one thought remained in Hedonist's mind.

I am going to die!

Bang!

A sharp explosion echoed. Before Hedonist's body could even begin to react, it was shattered into fragments in mid-air by the shaft of the spear.

Rip!

The sharp spearhead severed her wings. Just as the young Scourge thought she had escaped, a large hand gripped her skull and slammed it heavily against the wall, causing her braincase to burst.

Forcibly suppressing the urge for blood, Karna cast aside the headless corpse and roared again.

"Sanguinius, witness me! Burn me!"

Almost every Drukhari heard this deafening sound at the same moment.

It was a shrill roar, carrying the darkest emotions of a holy angel before death—it was the fury of despair, returning everything he had experienced to this world!

Behind him, the War Hound dragging the remains of the snake-man could not help but be infected by the rage that scorched the world.

These xenos, who wallowed in the filth of the Drukhari, were utterly repulsive.

The War Hounds raised their hands to smash the body of an Ughul, then resolutely charged toward the Crimson Path.

The angel tugged at the hounds, plunging headlong into the cage, only to tear it to shreds.

In the vision of Romulus, the three charging forward acted like a siphon, drawing the Drukhari lurking in the shadows toward the core of the war.

At the same time, they completely exposed their backs to the executioners hiding in the dark.

Hiss!

A beam of light struck; his nerves, long tempered by the forges of Commorragh, controlled his body to shift with terrifying reflexes, leaving only a shallow scorch mark upon his armor.

The Incubus, still rushing toward the site of the attack, dodged the Lasgun fire with exaggerated movements.

These warriors, a sect of the Drukhari who worshipped Khaine, were the Kabal's most loyal mercenaries and the deadliest killing machines in one-on-one combat.

The Torment Grenade worn upon their heads released psychic pulses at every moment, dizzying their opponents and granting them the upper hand throughout the battle.

But that was all.

The opening fire had bought the squad the initiative; as the Incubus cast a cold gaze toward the warrior wearing the Raven Mask, he was met with the high-speed rotation of a Chainaxe blade.

Clang!

Exquisite skill allowed him to parry the blow, and with a slight exertion of force, he countered to suppress the Shark. Just as he was about to sever the Shark's head, a follow-up attack struck, shearing off the Incubus's right arm.

He retreated rapidly, seeking to create room to maneuver, but another axe blade easily caught up to the back of his head; the roaring saw-teeth tore through his body, splitting him in two from top to bottom.

The teeth interlocked, gripping the flesh, and the moment the Sharks pulled back, they shredded the corpse of the Incubus, scattering blood and severed limbs in every direction.

Only then did the still-functioning Torment Grenade finally dissipate the psychic shadows of the Sharks.