Betrayed by All

The entire Genestealer Cult had transformed from a secret organization steeped in oppression, silence, and the anticipation of doom into a vibrant, creative, even faintly carnivalesque... diverse community.

The believers' outlook had completely changed. The numbness and despair had vanished from their faces, replaced by a fanatical radiance filled with purpose. They were still waiting for the "Day of Ascension," but they no longer saw themselves as lambs awaiting slaughter. Instead, they were the hosts about to throw a grand "welcome party" for the great god of four-in-one.

And Liu Zhipeng, the architect of it all, watched this "Renaissance," which he had personally directed, with cold detachment.

He rarely made public speeches anymore, yet he was everywhere.

He appeared at the secret fight clubs of Khorne's followers, teaching them how to use the strength of their bodies more effectively. He worked alongside Nurgle's "nurses," bandaging the festering wounds of the injured. His hands, carrying "Grandfather's love," truly seemed capable of easing pain and speeding healing.

He watched Tzeentch's followers unveil their next "prank" with keen interest. He even served as the head judge for Slaanesh fashion shows, offering professional critiques of headdresses made from wire and feathers taken from mutated rats in the mines.

He had become everyone's "Brother Peng," an omnipotent, omniscient living saint who was always with them.

The Broodmind, that psychic network, had also undergone a wondrous change. What had once been a cold, uniform spiritual connection filled with obedience became noisy, fervent, and richly colorful. Furious battle cries, steadfast prayers, snickers at successful schemes, and moans in pursuit of ultimate sensations—four utterly different forms of "divinity" intertwined and collided within the network, forming an unprecedented symphony of Chaos.

And the conductor of that symphony was Liu Zhipeng. His consciousness stood above everyone else's, clearly sensing every believer's emotions and guiding the flow of their faith.

To High Priest Vaughn, all of this was nothing short of a nightmare.

He felt like a king stripped of power. Nominally, he was still the cult's leader, but every order he gave was "reinterpreted" by the believers according to the doctrines of the "Four Gods," until it became completely unrecognizable.

He ordered the warriors to tighten security and prepare for the "Day of Ascension." Instead, they went off and built a "Skull Arena," where they held bloody duels every day, claiming they were making sacrifices to Khorne in exchange for courage in battle.

He instructed the logistics department to stockpile supplies for the coming uprising. Instead, they used half the supplies to brew a potent liquor mixed from mutated mushrooms and industrial alcohol, claiming it was holy water bestowed by Slaanesh that would allow drinkers to "experience the bliss of ascension early."

What he found most intolerable were Tzeentch's followers. They had even hacked into his personal data terminal and altered all the scriptures he had treasured about the "Four-Armed Emperor" into ludicrously bad novels about "a large blue bird obsessed with toying with fate."

Vaughn felt his sanity being gnawed away bit by bit. He tried to use the Broodmind to unify everyone's thoughts once more, only to discover that the psychic network he had once controlled had become a boiling, incomprehensible stew of Chaos. Every time he tried to forcibly instill the will of the "Progenitor," he was thrown back by four immensely powerful yet fundamentally related forces of faith, leaving his head splitting with pain.

He knew he had to do something. Otherwise, this cult—this cause to which he had devoted his entire life—would be completely destroyed by that madman called Peng.

He went to see Bishop Katz, the military leader who nominally commanded the cult's armed forces.

"Look! Look what they've become!" Vaughn pointed out the window at a group of fanatical believers smearing the cult's symbols in blood, his voice trembling with rage. "This isn't faith! This is blasphemy! This is madness!"

Bishop Katz, the burly fourth-generation hybrid, merely silently wiped down his enormous rending claws. His face showed no expression.

"But they've become stronger." Katz finally spoke, his voice like grinding metal. "My men can each fight three of what they used to. There's no fear left in their eyes."

"That's madness born of deception! Not real strength!" Vaughn roared.

"I only look at results, Vaughn." Katz raised his head, his pale violet xenos eyes fixed coldly on Vaughn. "Brother Peng's theories make our warriors hunger for battle. Yours only make them hunger to wait. If the Day of Ascension came tomorrow, I'd rather lead this army as it is now to clear the way for the Progenitor."

Vaughn felt as though he had plunged into an icy abyss.

His last and most trusted ally, that simple-minded warrior, had also been won over by that madman. No, not won over. Katz was simply a pure pragmatist. Whoever could make his army stronger was the one he supported.

Vaughn understood. Everyone had turned against him. In the kingdom he had built with his own hands, he had become utterly alone.

But he still had one final card to play.

"Patriarch..." he murmured. "Only the Progenitor's will can set things right..."

He decided to personally seek an audience with the being hidden in the deepest reaches of the mining district—the Purestrain Genestealer that served as the genetic and psychic core of the entire cult, the "Patriarch" of all believers. He would use the Patriarch's supreme psychic power to forcibly purify the entire Broodmind and drag every believer back from the heretical nonsense of the "Four Gods"!

It was an exceedingly dangerous move, equivalent to "formatting" the entire psychic network. If he succeeded, he could reclaim control. If he failed, his consciousness might be utterly torn apart by that tidal wave of chaotic faith.

But he had no other choice.

As Vaughn staggered toward the Patriarch's lair in the deepest part of the holy ground, Liu Zhipeng was sitting on a glowing fungus, playing a game with Boji... no, with his assistant in this life, a frail hybrid named Little Claw, using miner tags and skull fragments.

"Big Brother," Little Claw said in a lowered voice as he skillfully played a card, "Lord Vaughn has gone to see the 'Old Ancestor.'"

Liu Zhipeng smiled and played the last card in his hand.

"Checkmate," he said softly. Then he raised his head, his gaze seeming to pierce through layers of rock as he watched the figure walking toward the end of his fate.