Blood Sacrifice

Soon, the roar of engines echoed across the battlefield, strewn with corpses.

Freddy rode an Assault Bike, with two Neophytes following behind him. From another direction, another brother arrived to reinforce them, also riding an Assault Bike with two Neophytes.

Rrrrumble...

The engines roared without pause as six Assault Bikes crushed countless corpses beneath their wheels, speeding toward the Chaos Spawn.

With Lord Peter and Anthony laying down covering fire, Freddy grabbed the Chainsword strapped to his leg and steered his iron steed past the left side of the Chaos Spawn.

As he passed it, Freddy's Chainsword buzzed, now stained with pale blue blood. In that brief moment, he had sliced off the three heads on the Chaos Spawn's lower body.

The other Astartes bike squad leader also swung his Chain Axe, repeatedly speeding past and hacking at the Chaos Spawn's legs. They controlled their speed carefully: not so slow that the Spawn could grab them with its tentacles or Psychic Power, and not so fast that they would trigger its Psionic Shield.

The remaining four Neophytes circled the Chaos Spawn on their bikes, sometimes speeding up, sometimes slowing down, veering left and right. As they rode, they fired their Bolter Pistols or the Twin-linked Bolters mounted on their Assault Bikes. Their goal wasn't to kill it, but to harass it. If they happened to catch it when its Psionic Shield was down, all the better.

And so the Neophytes provided cover while the veterans did the damage. As long as nothing went wrong, these six Assault Bikes could bleed the Chaos Spawn to death.

The remaining heads on the Chaos Spawn howled in agony, still raging helplessly to no effect. One of them, a bald figure with deep blue skin, had eyes that blazed with light.

Bang! A Psychic blast struck the side of a Neophyte's Assault Bike. The Neophyte flew off the bike, hit the ground, and rolled several times.

The two veterans kept attacking, weaving back and forth as they hacked at the Chaos Spawn. The other three Neophytes poured on even more firepower, bombarding it relentlessly. In the distance, Peter, Anthony, and the tank laid down suppressing fire.

An ordinary person who suffered a crash like that—flung through the air, slamming into the ground, and rolling several times—would likely have broken every bone in their body and died on the spot. Fortunately, this Neophyte had already undergone most of his enhancement surgeries. He had landed shoulder-first, and his shoulder and arm were now completely shattered.

But he got up from the pile of corpses. The injection needles built into his Scout Armor pierced his skin, administering painkillers and stimulants.

Dragging his broken arm, the Neophyte ignored the Bolter Pistol he'd lost and ran straight to his bike. While his teammates bought him time, he righted the bike, climbed on, and revved it back to life.

Peter, watching from the tank in the distance, breathed a sigh of relief. At least the Neophyte was all right.

By now, the two veterans had badly wounded the Chaos Spawn. As its Psionic Shield dropped, countless bolts and Laser Cannon blasts blew it into mush.

But just then, a sudden change swept over the battlefield. The sound of an animal horn rang out.

The Khorne Cultists, who had barely appeared on the battlefield until now, had finally arrived. Some fifty or sixty thousand of them marched into battle on foot, still carrying crude weapons made of bone and stone.

Their leader was a burly man, two meters tall, with a thick beard and a bare chest. A bearskin covered his head—or rather, it looked more like a bearskin cloak. The hide still had its claws and fangs, and draped over his whole body.

Like all the other Cultists, his face was painted with a red cross. He reached for an animal liver offered by one of his followers and tore into it with gusto. (￣~￣)

When he had finished the liver, he shouted:

"Amid the endless din of war and the roar of blood,

We call upon you, Khorne, glory of the Blood God.

In the depths of Chaos, you are the master of war,

At the feast of slaughter, you are the symbol of victory.

The Eightfold Path guides us toward glory,

Let us find strength in your wrath,

Direction in your fury, and eternity in your wars.

The fall of a skull is our highest tribute to you,

Every swing of an axe, an endless hymn in your praise,

Every charge, our deepest devotion,

Every victory, our most sincere offering.

May your wrath burn forever, may your wars never end,

May we find our fate in your glory,

Until the last drop of blood, until the final roar!"

Tens of thousands of Cultists shouted as one:

"Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!!!"

The six bikers, Freddy among them, couldn't help laughing at the sight. He exchanged a glance with the other veteran biker.

"Look at them. They're barking."

"Hahahaha!"

The other veteran burst out laughing.

"Let's charge in and chop them up. You four Neophytes—which of you can take off his head? I want to use his skull as a bowl."

With that, Freddy revved the engine and drove his Assault Bike straight at the arriving Khorne Cultists. The other five bikes followed.

Valentino, a Neophyte, twisted his throttle all the way. This was clearly a chance to test them. Whoever took the leader's head would be one step closer to becoming a future Sergeant. He had his share of vanity, after all.

His results in his other combat courses over the past few years had been merely average, but he excelled at driving ground vehicles. He especially loved the feeling of racing across open country on a bike during simulator training.

Holding the Monomolecular Combat Blade in his right hand, he extended it out from the bike at about head height. He didn't even need to swing; the enemy would run right into the blade.

Blood sprayed along the way.

At last, as Valentino's Assault Bike reached the enemy leader, he swung his blade in a horizontal slash, beheading the Khorne Cultist chief with the red cross painted on his face and the bearskin draped over his body. The man hadn't even had time to draw the two axes on his back before his head hit the ground.

As Valentino took the leader's head, the number of lives lost on this battlefield reached eighty-eight thousand, eight hundred and eighty-eight—because "the Eightfold Path guides us toward glory."

A surge of blood-soaked Warp energy rippled through the air, nourished by the blood of countless warriors. The leader had now become the 88,888th warrior to fall.

In truth, the Khorne Cultists had been performing a ritual all along. Their ritual was battle itself—whether they were Khorne Cultists, Tzeentch Cultists, or Peter's people.

Because:

"The Blood God does not ask where the blood comes from, only whether it flows."