Curse Mark

The repair team advanced in terror for half an hour before their scanners located the damaged area. It was a vast compartment, perhaps one of the original temporary warehouses used to store all kinds of goods. Logically, no vital or secondary machinery or pipes should have run through a place like this, so leaving it unrepaired should not have mattered.

But those Adeptus Mechanicus lunatics insisted that any damage or defect would displease the Machine Spirit. They even gave the old sergeant a Cog Salute, babbling about how a crude meat bun like him could possibly understand the harmonious beauty of machinery.

Suppressing the urge to hit someone, the sergeant obeyed the order. He did not think this would make the Machine Spirit particularly happy, unless the Machine Spirit enjoyed having filth and disorder sprawled beneath its feet—or beneath its belly. A Machine Spirit that would become angry because an abandoned compartment went unrepaired, yet not rage at the hellish state of the entire lower decks, struck the sergeant as absurdly laughable.

"Alright, boys. We're here." The sergeant used the control panel in his hand to connect power to the enormous compartment. Though unused for a long time, the lights remained reliable and durable, casting bright white light across the entire chamber. Before long, they found a huge breach behind an abandoned cargo container.

The sergeant's heart sank when he saw the crack, over four meters high and more than three meters wide. Never mind whether the few repair tools they carried were enough to fix such a massive hole—just imagining what kind of thing could have made something so vicious was terrifying enough.

"Raise your weapons. I'm going to inspect it."

The charging whine of Lasguns filled the air as the men formed a tactical formation around the sergeant.

The sergeant approached the breach and examined it closely. He felt certain his eyes were playing tricks on him. He could see enormous fingerprints of all kinds, along with rough marks that could only have been cut by a Chainsword. Someone had cut through this steel bulkhead with a Chainsword, then torn it open with their bare hands. Could we fight something like that? No. I have to report this to command.

He quickly pulled out his communicator, intending to report what he had seen, but at that moment a massive black shadow leaped out of the breach. A flawless slash cleaved the sergeant and the communicator in his hand neatly in two. His corpse split apart and collapsed to either side, guts and blood spilling across the floor.

The soldiers were stunned by the sudden attack. None of them could follow the movements of the figure cloaked in a vast black robe. Terror filled the faces behind their gas masks, but long training and the instinct to survive still made them raise their weapons and fire.

Unfortunately, the black-robed figure was faster. Just as they began to lift their guns, he punched the head of the nearest man.

Fragments of shattered skull and pulped brain splattered everywhere. He casually shoved the corpse aside, knocking over two soldiers, then charged forward.

The heavy, thunderous pounding of his footsteps hammered against the soldiers' hearts, making them panic even more.

"AAAAAAAH!"

Extreme fear bred extreme fury. After witnessing his comrades being brutally slaughtered in a single second, one soldier screamed until his voice cracked, clamping down on the trigger of his Lasgun. Bolts of high-energy laser fire, carrying all his rage, shot toward the black-robed man.

The black-robed man did not give him the chance to empty his magazine. He flung a dagger he had pulled from the dead sergeant's belt, striking the soldier squarely in the forehead. Then, with several crisp and elegant flourishes of his Chainsword, he cut the remaining soldiers into pieces.

Looking over the wreckage, the black-robed man silently gathered the chunks of corpses and their organs. Using the still-flowing blood, he drew one blasphemous and mysterious rune after another across the compartment.

When the final blood rune was completed, the giant in black removed his covering.

Blasphemous Warp power churned across his pitch-black armor, while ornate golden metal formed terrifying Demonic faces.

He was Ronald, a Chaos Space Marine of the Black Legion who had infiltrated the ship.

After secretly slipping aboard the Flame, Ronald had been waiting for the moment it entered the Warp. Having betrayed the Emperor and humanity to join the Warp, he knew countless ways to set up formations and traps aboard a vessel to draw in Demons.

His covert slaughter of the slaves on the lower decks and the sabotage he had carried out had left the lower reaches of the Flame riddled with damage. There were no telling how many blasphemous runes like these existed. He was now fully prepared. The bait had been set; all he needed was to let out the faintest scent, and it would be enough to attract Demons.

And to accomplish that, all he needed was a small explosion—one capable of disturbing the Gellar Field and opening a tiny breach.

As the finest protective system shielding human ships from Warp corruption, the Gellar Field could not simply be infiltrated and sabotaged from within. Its heavy Adamantium doors and countless weapon arrays were enough to tear apart any unprepared army. Ronald had no intention of going in alone to die.

He drew the Vortex Grenade from his waist. This powerful relic could tear open a rift into the Warp anywhere in realspace, devouring everything nearby and sending it into the Warp to face the darkest horrors.

Though the Gellar Field enveloped the entire ship like a giant bubble, it could not stop the corruption of a breach opened from within. Besides, Warp rifts in realspace would be suppressed and vanish quickly within seconds or tens of seconds. But this was the Warp. Once a breach was opened here, it would not be so easy to close.

After silently adjusting the grenade's detonation delay, Ronald moved away from the compartment. He had no desire to be torn to pieces by the grotesque Demons of the Warp. They did not care whether he served Chaos; they only wished to drink blood, feast upon souls, and offer endless delight to their masters.

A twisted vortex appeared out of nowhere after the grenade exploded. The blood-soaked compartment instantly became even more nauseating to behold. Twisted faces grew from the blood runes, roaring in agony. The scattered organs on the floor began to twitch and gather with irregular motions as if they had come alive, forming warped creatures that sprayed impossible blood from the holes in their bodies. Then they slowly swelled, drawing back in the blood they had sprayed. One breach appeared, then two, three, ten, a hundred, a thousand. Countless Demonic figures emerged, making noises and shrieks no mortal could understand as they sang praises and prayers to their masters. The entire compartment was swiftly infected by the evil power of the Warp. The once-solid metal bulkheads became covered in rust, only to return to pristine newness in the very next instant.

The ship's alarms began blaring as well. Warnings of detected Warp contamination instantly rang throughout the Flame.

But it was not just this ship that was in danger. More Warp Demons were using the breach opened by the Vortex Grenade as a marker, rushing toward the expedition fleet.