The instant Shalaxi entered the warship, she drew every eye.
She stepped slowly through the shattered hull, like a queen entering her palace.
Her butterfly-like arms fluttered gently behind her, scattering shimmering purple scales that left a trail through the smoke-filled ship compartment.
Her body was slender and graceful, every step carrying a lethal elegance, as though she were dancing—or hunting.
Her face was breathtakingly beautiful, but that beauty held a cold danger as sharp as a blade.
For a moment, the tumult of the battlefield seemed to freeze.
The Word Bearers Warriors and Khorne daemons locked in combat involuntarily stopped what they were doing, their gazes drawn to that figure.
"Slaanesh's lapdog."
Ang'grath's voice broke the brief silence.
Struggling to fend off Hercules's greatsword, he turned his head and glared at Shalaxi with fury in his eyes.
His battle axe collided with Hercules's greatsword in midair, sending brilliant sparks flying, but his attention had clearly wavered.
His gaze darted between Hercules and Shalaxi, his expression filled with indecision and rage.
"Thank you, Blood God's lapdog." Shalaxi's voice was smooth as silk, her tone languid and mocking.
A seductive smile curved her lips as her gaze swept over Ang'grath with undisguised contempt.
"Without you keeping these mortals occupied, I wouldn't have claimed Lorgar's body so easily. Your sacrifice won't be wasted. I'll pray for you in Slaanesh's halls—pray that your soul suffers every torment in the Blood God's realm."
She strode past Ang'grath and Hercules as they fought, heading toward Lorgar's sickbed.
"Take your time playing with these mortals. I'll gladly take Lorgar off your hands."
"Don't even think about it!"
Ang'grath let out a deafening roar, his body committing to a bold decision in an instant.
He abandoned Hercules without hesitation, turned, and hurled himself at Shalaxi like a