The factory fell silent again, with only Quirk's heavy breathing echoing in the empty workshop.
He stood amidst the wreckage, the crimson light around him flickering, the scarlet in his eyes churning endlessly, the last vestige of clarity rapidly fading away.
At the temporary command post outside the factory, Bishop Jensen's hand, which was holding a string of Rosarius, suddenly tightened.
The silver rose pendant in her palm, which was bound to Agnes's life, suddenly developed a fine crack.
A wisp of gray, deathly energy emanated from the crack, stinging the bishop's skin.
" Agnes..." Bishop Jensen's voice fell, tinged with sorrow.
He knew without asking that something had happened to the Eighth Squad.
"Tenth Reserve Squad, immediately storm Factory Eight! Target: Destroy the core altar, at all costs!"
He made a decisive move and turned to give orders to the reserve team waiting behind him.
This reserve force consists of 150 elite Sisters of Battle and veteran Iron Guard soldiers.
This trump card, originally intended to deal with unforeseen circumstances, now has to be played prematurely.
But it was too late.
Just as the tenth squad rushed to the factory gate and had not yet had time to search for the eighth squad, a beam of dark blue light shot into the sky from the dome of factory building number eight.
The beam of light pierced through the factory roof and the thick concrete layer, shooting straight into the dark night sky and defying Brevis's heavens.
The air around the beam of light began to distort, and visible Warp energy spread outwards like ripples, causing even the distant streetlights to flicker.
Bishop Jensen's face paled instantly.
"That's not right." Commander William stood beside him, the veins on his hand gripping the Boltgun bulging, his voice carrying a forced calm.
"The sacred number of the Great Enemy of Change is nine; only nine altars can form a complete ritual array."
"We've already destroyed eight, only the last one is left to succeed. It probably won't be able to unleash its full power, right?"
Bishop Jensen nodded silently, his hands moving rapidly through the beads of his rosary.
That's what he was thinking too.
Powerful rituals are always demanding, requiring precise numbers, precise directions, and precise sacrifices.
With one member missing, the grand formation is unlikely to amount to much; at most, it will cause a localized Warp disaster.
Or you could summon a smaller rift, at most a few more waves of demons would surge out, but you could grit your teeth and suppress them.
"I hope so," he murmured, as if to comfort William, but more likely to comfort himself.
But this stroke of luck ultimately couldn't be maintained.
The first to show abnormalities was Factory No. 3, which was furthest from Factory No. 8.
The factory grounds, which had already been purified and should have been deathly silent, suddenly began to tremble slightly.
Following that, number five, number two, and number four.
The ground of the remaining seven factories, along with the eight factory areas whose altars had been destroyed, simultaneously lit up with eerie blue sorcery runes.
"What happened?! Wasn't the altar destroyed?!" William exclaimed in shock.
Bishop Jensen's heart sank, and a terrible guess instantly flashed into his mind, chilling him to the bone.
wrong.
Isn't it a "parallel connection" instead of a "series connection"?
The cunning enemy of Chaos anticipated from the very beginning that the nine altars could not function simultaneously.
Or rather, she never expected all nine altars to succeed.
What she wants is for just one of them to last until the ritual is complete, so that all the nodes can be triggered!
The nine altars are not unlocked by collecting nine keys, but by nine independent switches; pressing any one of them will start the entire machine.
"She successfully deceived all of us," Bishop Jensen muttered to himself, his face deathly pale.
"Destroying eight altars is pointless; one is enough."
Before the words were even finished, Warp Rift simultaneously tore open in the core areas of all nine factories.
It wasn't a tiny crack, but a huge gap several meters in diameter, like nine gaping Great Maw, generating a terrifying suction force.
Everything still movable in the factory: mutated corpses, surviving mutants, and the remains of believers who hadn't had time to evacuate.
Even the intangible souls were all pulled up by an invisible force and swarmed into the rift.
The corpses of the Chaos Cultist who had just been killed by the Purification Squad, the Aberrant remains of the Aberrants, and even the bodies of fallen Imperium soldiers were all sucked into the rift.
Soul and flesh were pulverized together, transforming into the purest Warp nutrients, which were then infused into the underground ritual network.
At the same time, the soil beneath the nine factories began to bulge violently, as if some enormous creature was wriggling underground.
Thick, vascularized flesh and blood tissue emerged from the rock strata, its dark red outer walls pulsating and spreading outwards like plant roots.
These vascular-like tissues vary in thickness, some as thick as Macro-cannon barrel, others as thin as a human arm.
They penetrated the concrete, drilled through the underground pipe network, and, carrying the nutrients they had absorbed, converged on the central area surrounded by the nine factories.
The nine main root systems converge underground at the central point, wildly intertwining, merging, and expanding.
The ground undulated and rose like waves, sending dirt and gravel flying everywhere.
Within minutes, a huge tumor nearly 100 meters in diameter broke through the ground and grew to the height of a ten-story building before it stopped growing.
The sarcoma is dark purple in color, and its surface is covered with raised blood vessels and pustules. It contracts and expands continuously with each pulsation, like a giant beating heart.
Sticky bodily fluids dripped down the surface of the tumor, falling onto the ground and emitting a foul stench.
"Fire! Open fire!" Commander William roared the order.
The Iron Guard heavy artillery positions, which were already in place, roared instantly.
High-explosive bombs, incendiary bombs, and purification bombs rained down on the massive tumor, the flames of the explosions blending together, and the billowing smoke almost obscured the night sky.
The Ministorum Priest chanted purification prayers in unison, seemingly gilding the bullets fired into the area with a golden glow.
Upon impact, bursts of golden flames ignited on the surface of the tumor.
It's no use.
The shockwave from the explosion can only tear open the surface of the tumor, but the next second, new granulation tissue will surge out wildly, repairing the wound at a speed ten times faster than the destruction.
The golden flames sizzled and emitted black smoke, but instead of shrinking, the tumor seemed to be stimulated and expanded even faster.
Conventional firepower simply cannot stop it.
Bishop Jensen closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he opened them again, only resolute determination remained in his eyes.
He raised his hand to connect to the Governor's Mansion's encrypted communication channel, his voice steady yet tinged with urgency:
"Lady Isolde, the ritual of the Eighth Military Training Battalion has gone out of control, resulting in the creation of a giant flesh-and-blood Aberrant. Conventional firepower and purification methods are ineffective."
We need orbital strike support!
Without hesitation, Isolde on the other end of the communication line replied, "Approved."
"I have contacted the Brevis Expeditionary Fleet, and Griffith's warships have already adjusted their orbital parameters."
"The light spear needs time to charge; it will arrive at the target coordinates in thirty seconds."
The main force of the Nurgle Fleet in the space battlefield has been defeated, and the remaining ships are being hunted down. The orbital firepower can finally be freed up to support the ground.