This Is What You Chose!

The camp of the Thousand Eyes Warband stretched for dozens of kilometers, like a steel behemoth lurking in the Imperium Nihilus.

It wasn't some well-organized military camp, but rather a chaotic aggregate unique to the Chaos Alliance.

Chaos Space Marines camps are interspersed with Beastmen lairs.

The shacks of the mortal Cultists were right next to the blood altar of the Khorne Berserkers.

The Orks ' tin shacks were even built directly on top of abandoned Imperium fortifications.

Thick smoke rose from countless campfires, obscuring the sky and shrouding the area in perpetual darkness.

At the heart of the camp, a towering steel platform forged by the traitorous Adeptus Mechanicus stands majestically.

That is the throne of Seraphax.

On the high platform.

The leader of the Thousand Eyes Warband leaned back on his throne.

The throne was forged from the molten armor of countless defeated warriors, its surface engraved with Chaos Eight-Pointed Star and various blasphemous runes.

His face was hidden in the shadows.

Only those eyes gleamed with a cold, eerie light in the darkness.

The eyes of a the Fallen, though millennia of Chaos and depravity could not completely erase the marks that once belonged to the age of light.

Below him, a Vermilion Angel was tightly bound.

The young Space Marines knelt on the cold, steel ground.

His arms were bound behind his back by Chaos chains.

The binding runes engraved on the chains flashed with a dark red light, suppressing the genetic power of the Blood Angels within him.

His Power Armour had been stripped off, leaving only the tattered inner lining barely covering his body, and his exposed skin was covered with marks of torture.

But in his eyes, an indomitable flame still burned.

Seraphax slowly rose to his feet.

The movement was languid and elegant, like a king awakening from long contemplation.

He walked down the steps of the high platform.

Every step was steady and powerful.

The black Power Armour made a slight metallic scraping sound as it moved.

Like the Whisper of Ynnead.

He walked up to the Vermilion Angel and looked down at the young warrior.

"The offspring of the Blood Angels".

His voice was deep, yet it echoed throughout the entire platform.

There was no anger or sarcasm in that voice, only a calm that was almost a statement.

"It's so incredibly fragile."

"I once considered everyone in your mother legion as brothers."

The young Vermilion Angel raised his head, his gaze piercing like a sword towards Seraphax.

"Under Sanguinius ' leadership, every Blood Angels is far more powerful than you."

Seraphax continued, a hint of nostalgia in his voice.

"Their strength does not come from the Gene-seed, nor from the Power Armour, nor from anything external."

Instead, it comes from...

"From that heart."

His gaze fell upon the Vermilion Angel before him.

There was scrutiny, appraisal, and a hint of disappointment in that gaze.

"But now it seems..."

He shook his head slightly.

"You are incredibly weak."

As soon as he finished speaking, he reached out and slowly drew his sword from his waist.

The sword was long and slender, with a sharp blade and a dark red gem inlaid in the guard.

But what truly catches the eye are the mottled marks on the sword's surface.

Those were marks left from countless killings.

It is a testament to ten thousand years of Chaos and depravity, and physical evidence of a the Fallen's fall from light into darkness.

He pressed the tip of his sword against the Vermilion Angel's neck.

The young warrior didn't even flinch when the cold metal touched his skin.

He simply raised his head.

He stared intently at Seraphax with eyes burning with rage.

Stare at this traitor who destroyed his Chapter, slaughtered his brothers, and trampled on his faith.

Then--

"Pooh!"

A mouthful of blood splattered violently onto Seraphax's face.

The blood was mixed with saliva, anger, and the last vestige of a warrior's dignity.

It slid slowly down Seraphax's cheek, leaving a dark red mark on that ancient, weathered face.

A commotion arose among the surrounding Chaos Warriors.

Several Khorne Berserkers had even drawn their weapons, waiting only for their leader's order to tear this arrogant prisoner to pieces.

But Seraphax simply raised his hand to stop them.

He calmly raised his hand and gently wiped the blood and foam from his face with his fingertips.

The movement was unhurried, as if brushing away a speck of dust that had accidentally fallen.

Then he looked at the young soldier.

The young soldier met his gaze without fear and shouted.

"You will be executed by the Emperor, you damned traitor!"

"You destroyed us!"

But the Blood Angels will surely attract even more angels!

The Emperor's Angel of Death will bring you destruction!

His roar echoed on the high platform; his voice contained anger and resentment, but even more so, a steadfastness bordering on faith.

That is the unwavering resolve of the Emperor's Children.

That is the unwavering resolve of the descendants of Sanguinius.

Seraphax listened quietly.

Once the roar subsided, he spoke slowly, his voice as calm as a still lake.

"If it were still ten thousand years ago..."

He paused, his gaze drifting into the distance.

"I will certainly consider your spit to have tarnished my honor."

He seemed to see something.

That was an era that has long since passed.

Those were the years when he still stood in the light, his past as a Dark Angels Knight Commander and a loyal warrior of the Emperor.

"I will pray to the Emperor, and then I will kill you."

Leave your blood on my sword to wash away my shame.

His fingers gently traced the blade, over the mottled marks.

"The glory of that time, the faith of that time, everything from that time..."

They're all gone now.

He raised his head and looked at the young Vermilion Angel.

But I won't do that now.

His voice remained calm.

"Although I do not believe in the Blood God, many of my warriors are Khorne Cultist."

He slightly turned his head, gesturing to the berserkers who were already eager to try.

"I need to remain ruthless so that I can lead them."

He took a step forward, and the tip of the sword penetrated even deeper into the young warrior's neck, a trickle of blood slowly sliding down the blade.

"Look at me, kid."

His voice suddenly lowered, so low that only the two of them could hear it.

Even if I were to sink into Chaos for ten thousand years, I would still remain conscious.

"I still know how to fight, and I know exactly how to torture you."

Seraphax continued, a hint of self-mockery in his voice.

"And look at you, a product of a later era."

"His genetic predisposition is so profound that even his blood exudes a longing for his own kind."

His lips curled up slightly, revealing an almost cruel smile.

"You're more like Chaos Cultist than I am!"

A flicker of doubt finally crossed the young soldier's eyes.

The wavering wasn't due to fear, nor to pain, but because—his deepest, most hidden fear had been touched.

Every Blood Angels knows this.

What kind of curse is hidden in their genes?

That thirst for blood hung like the Sword of Damocles over their heads, threatening to plunge them into the abyss of madness at any moment.

At this moment, the Fallen laid this curse bare before him.

"You..."

His voice trembled, but he didn't know how to refute it.

Seraphax did not give him another chance.

A flash of sword light.

The young head flew high into the air.

With unspoken words, with unyielding eyes, with the last shred of dignity.

It traced an arc in the air before crashing heavily to the ground and rolling into the dust.

Blood gushed from the severed neck, staining the steel floor of the platform red.

Seraphax sheathed his sword, leaving another fresh mark on its blade.

He didn't wipe it away, but simply watched the blood slowly flow along the sword, merging with the mottled marks accumulated over thousands of years.

His sword was already somewhat dirty.

Those were congealed bloodstains, which he deliberately left on them to demonstrate that he was a true Chaos Cultist.

"Ridiculous, isn't it?"

He spoke softly, so softly that only he could hear it.

"I'm actually going to use this behavior to show that I'm a true ' Chaos '."

A cold smile appeared on his lips.

He is indeed the Chaos Lord.

He has been mired in darkness for millennia, slaughtering countless people and serving the Dark Gods.

But what about that group of Chaos Cultist now?

Those madmen who have been corrupted to the point of losing all self-awareness.

Those madmen who only know how to kill but don't know why they kill.

Those fools who sell their souls to the devil without even understanding the terms of their deal—

He didn't like it.

They're nothing but a rabble.

What do they think Chaos is?

Is it indulgence, madness, endless killing and pleasure?

Did they think that pledging allegiance to the Chaos Gods meant abandoning all reason and becoming a beast that only knew destruction?

madness.

Seraphax looked up.

I gazed at the sky obscured by thick smoke, at the distant, unseen stars.

He gazed at that figure, who might or might not exist, the one he had once served.

"This is exactly who you chose, my Gene-Father."

"I could have sacrificed myself for that False Emperor, or become the sword in your hand to pierce the enemy."

His fingers gripped the sword hilt so tightly that they almost crushed it.

"But you insist on keeping me trapped in that damned Caliban, letting me grow old and die!"

They even called me a traitor!

A flicker of emotion finally appeared in his eyes.

The turmoil contained anger, resentment, the pain of betrayal, and a deep, unacknowledged sense of grievance.

"You deserve to have been dead for ten thousand years!"

"Just watch!"

I will destroy the Imperium you love!

I will slaughter all the humans you love!

As soon as he finished speaking, a strange feeling washed over his entire body.

Seraphax was slightly taken aback.

That was the gaze of the Four Chaos Gods.