"For the Emperor!"
An old, frail man whose body had already been largely replaced with cybernetics wore the uniform of an Imperial Astra Militarum commissar. His chest was covered in medals awarded to him by the upper ranks of the Newly Formed Army.
Wielding a heavy Chainsword and holding a specially made bolter, he shouted loudly at the PDFs in the trenches, who were fighting desperately to resist.
Foul Sigilite was a retired Astra Militarum commissar. He was also the Planetary Governor of the planet Les.
The honors covering his chest, in particular, all proved his loyalty to the Emperor.
And the position of Planetary Governor was the best reward for a lifetime spent fighting for the Imperium.
After shouting that line, Foul Sigilite used both hands to climb straight out of the trench. He planted one leg on the mound, raised his bolter, and fired a loyal sanction at the Chaos traitor charging toward him.
The Chainsword in his hand roared. His muscle memory instinctively swung it the moment the bolter's roar rang out.
Another Chaos traitor was cleaved in two at the waist.
This was the classic opening move every Imperial commissar used when initiating close combat.
"For the Emperor!"
The PDFs in the trench had their morale completely bolstered at that moment. They surged forward ferociously and launched an attack on the Chaos traitors rushing toward them.
Some of the more aggressive ones even fixed bayonets, leaped out of the trench, and engaged the enemy in close-quarters thrusting attacks.
In the Warp, where the Sea of Souls churned, the land scorched by raging flames was bright red. But on closer inspection, one would find that it had been stained and evaporated by blood as hot as magma.
Across that boundless land, countless red, horned, cloven-hoofed Daemons swung their weapons and slaughtered one another.
And at the center of this land—
Upon a towering throne built from brass and skulls, a massive figure slowly opened his scarlet eyes and looked toward a certain place.
"Ah~ What a brave and fearless soul. And... that peculiar fellow!"
The battle inside the voidship had already reached its fiercest stage.
The Astartes, who displayed various tactical maneuvers and seamless coordination before all the mortal soldiers like superhuman beings, had now become no different from ordinary mortal grunts in this battle.
In the spacious golden hall, the corpses of several Astartes from the Crimson Angel Chapter, clad in Power Armour, already lay sprawled across the floor. Blood had dyed the surrounding golden tiles red.
Without exception, they had all been struck head-on by the Doom Siren mounted on the power pack behind the Noise Marines during close combat.
Although the Astartes' formidable physiques allowed them to take the attack head-on without dying immediately—
The brief mental debilitation it caused still remained.
A momentary lapse of attention was already fatal.
Especially upon the profane Golden Throne in the center of the golden hall—
An elegant and handsome man sat there like a spectator seated in the audience of a concert hall, watching the battle unfold like dancers performing on a stage.
Boom.
A Witch Seeker Bolter Round struck the side of the man's head with pinpoint accuracy.
The attack had come from the direction of the hall's second floor.
But instead of blasting the man's head into fragments as expected, the bolter round stopped firmly less than ten centimeters from his skull.
It had not even fully detonated. It retained its original shape and slowly floated there.
When the Astartes on the second floor saw this, he immediately turned and ran without another word.
He knew very well that this man sitting in the elevated position was the leader of these Chaos Daemons. His strength went without saying.
Since a precious Witch Seeker Bolter Round had failed to achieve anything even in a surprise attack—
There was no practical point in firing several more afterward.
Boom!
Sure enough, the corridor balcony where he had been standing exploded into a fireball the next second. When the other warriors below saw this, they also turned their guns toward the enemy on the throne and opened fire, covering their brother's retreat.
Quan Tiehua felt the wildly thrashing body in his hand and suddenly exerted force, crushing its head.
At this moment, his armor was already covered in chunks of organs and blood.
If not for the smooth surface of the Power Armour, this appearance would have made him look like a Chaos Astartes.
He looked at the system panel in his mind. The progress bar that had originally remained motionless had somehow surged to 55%.
He did not know what was going on. Although he had felt lucky at the beginning, one had to remember that this was Warhammer.
This was a damn, screwed-up world.
He was terrified that this was the work of Little Blue Bird. Looking at the progress bar that had grown more than halfway, his already heavy mood became even more oppressive.
It felt as though something had blocked his entire chest and was constantly dragging it downward.
Especially when he looked at the bloody severed limbs scattered across the ground, he could not help but make the connection. Could the progress bar's growth be caused by killing?
If that was the case, then this had some connection to Khorne of the Brass Throne.
On top of that, he was now the Emperor's man, and he had run into Slaanesh's servants.
Quan Tiehua removed his helmet and looked around at the scene with some worry.
If Nurgle came over to join the fun too...
Then he would really become one of the Five Chosen.
By then, he might even be able to contend with Tai Ri Tian.
"Emperor Lord above, please protect my soul from being corrupted by those evil gods." After silently muttering that line, he put his helmet back on. But for some reason—
With the soul of his previous life, he still silently added in his heart, When the time comes, let Slaanesh be below.
As soon as he finished saying this, he began snickering inside his helmet.
What heretical behavior.
Suddenly feeling much lighter in both body and mind, Quan Tiehua turned and ran quickly toward the bridge, where an intense battle was taking place.
At this moment, in the Warp, the Cold Sun had somehow grown even colder.
Even the flames blazing from the Power Armour-clad Astartes with white bones all around it had become like tiny flames struggling in a violent storm, as though they might be extinguished at any moment.
As for the Daemons surrounding the area, more than half of those at the very front were instantly annihilated in the Warp.
Meanwhile, in the Imperial Palace on Terra, the Adeptus Custodes on patrol all shivered in unison for some unknown reason.
Even Guilliman, who was working, felt a chill run down his back.
He lifted his head from a pile of documents taller than he was and looked around.
He was utterly perplexed.
Can I catch a cold too?
Before you continue