Roar!
Without warning, an enraged howl echoed out of the void.
Unnatural molten fire began flowing through the Throne Hall, shrouded in sulfurous steam so hot that human blood would boil just from being near it.
This most sacred region of the Imperial Palace was finally being touched by Chaos corruption. It was the manifestation of the Chaos Gods' authority and will.
The spearhead of their forces was now driving straight toward the Golden Throne. Humanity's final hope was about to be trampled underfoot.
And if that happened, only total darkness would remain.
"Move! Faster!"
A Greater Daemon of the Blood God, Angrulu the Skull of Wrath, roared madly as he charged ahead.
He looked like a being who feared absolutely nothing.
Clad in scorched brass armor and wielding twin-edged blood axes, he was the commander of the Third Legion.
Under him marched eight high-ranking Bloodthirsters.
Angrulu was the Blood God's apostle of vengeance, the battlefield's ultimate force of slaughter. His role was to descend upon those who had humiliated Khorne and tear them apart in an explosion of unrestrained rage.
But beyond that, he had also been given a supreme mission.
In the name of the God of War, he was to humiliate the enemy's greatest champions and butcher them.
This time, with the aid of a Chaos artifact, the Blood God's champion would destroy the Golden Throne and win the highest possible honor.
No daemon of Khorne could resist such a temptation.
To smash the bones of the Cursed One, along with his Throne, into worthless rubble.
"Out of my way!"
Angrulu slammed into a Keeper of Secrets ahead of him, then knocked aside another blasphemous daemon as he surged to the front with his Bloodthirsters.
He would not allow any other being to steal this honor from him.
"Hmph. Since Ka'Bandha couldn't take part this time, he'll lose his title as the strongest champion for good."
Hot ash blasted from the Blood God's warrior's nostrils as he looked forward to this blasphemous war with savage anticipation.
For ten thousand years, Angrulu had fought mighty enemies on the battlefields of the Empyrean. The heads he had taken would have been enough to build a mountain.
And yet during that time, Ka'Bandha, that chronic loser who had so often been banished in defeat and whom Angrulu had always scorned, had somehow leaped all the way up to the rank of foremost Greater Daemon.
How utterly absurd.
Angrulu had never accepted that, and he had long wanted to challenge Ka'Bandha and seize the honor of first among the Greater Daemons.
In fact, ever since returning from the higher battlefields, he had been regarded by Khorne and the other Bloodthirsters as Ka'Bandha's number one rival. No one else even came close.
That was precisely why the Blood God had not entrusted this vital mission to the reclusive Ka'Bandha, but instead to Angrulu, the Skull of Wrath and Emissary of Vengeance.
Khorne believed Angrulu might be better suited to complete this task. After all, Ka'Bandha had already clashed with humanity several times and had failed to achieve the desired results.
The daemons of Khorne all believed that if Angrulu succeeded here, he would replace Ka'Bandha as the supreme Bloodthirster.
Even Angrulu himself believed that.
"Ka'Bandha's just taken the heads of a few strong foes, that's all. But if we claim fragments of the Throne itself this time, that will be a trophy beyond compare!"
That was what Angrulu thought.
Ka'Bandha's trophy rack might be glorious and intimidating, but if Angrulu could decorate himself with wreckage from the Throne, then all of Ka'Bandha's trophies would look worthless by comparison.
In all the galaxy and the Warp, there was no collectible more worthy than the Cursed One's Throne.
That would be the most heroic act in the galaxy and the Warp alike, and the most exquisite, irreplaceable trophy imaginable.
With that thought, Angrulu pushed his charge even faster and rushed through the dark rift into the target zone.
He and the Bloodthirsters under him manifested physically inside the Throne Hall.
Boom.
The stone floor of that ancient chamber shattered beneath their abominable iron hooves as Angrulu and his Bloodthirsters belched hellfire.
Their twin-edged axes smashed aside the stone columns in their path, their hearts burning with the fury of war.
At the same time, more Greater Daemons continued arriving, and soon the entire Throne Hall was dragged into a Chaos vortex of frenzied monsters.
"Slaughter!"
"Endure the merciless wrath of the God of War!"
Angrulu launched forward, smashing through the accursed shrine in the center of the hall, and the other Greater Daemons roared as they followed behind him.
They could not wait to kill every last defender, then throw themselves upon the accursed Golden Throne.
But the moment the shrine toppled and the scene behind it was revealed, Angrulu and the other Chaos beings froze.
???
Where were the Imperial Custodians? Where were humanity's war machines?
They stared at the empty Throne Hall and the ancient doors standing wide open, suddenly lost.
This couldn't be right. Was there really no human force guarding the most important place in the entire Imperium?
No, that was not quite true.
At last, Angrulu saw the one and only human in the Throne Hall. He stood before the doorway leading to the Golden Throne.
A golden sword was planted before him, and both his hands were folded over its hilt as if he were the guardian of the gate.
He stood utterly still.
He looked so solitary, so small, and yet he radiated a presence that was anything but ordinary.
"Chop him to pieces!"
"Torture that pitiful gatekeeper!"
Though confused, the Greater Daemons remained in full charge, their madness still surging. And the silhouette of the Golden Throne beyond the doorway only made them more frenzied.
Now that New Dragon Forest had spread its cover overhead and Chaos energy was shielding them, the threat of holy psychic power had been greatly reduced.
All they had to do was rip apart that lone guardian, and they would claim an exquisite trophy and earn the unreserved favor of the Chaos Gods.
Yet as Angrulu and the others drew closer to that guardian, the unease and dread in their hearts only grew stronger.
Why did the figure in golden armor look more and more familiar the closer they got? Why was it suddenly so terrifying?
And before the doors of the Throne Room, the Emperor slowly raised his head to face the incoming Greater Daemons, then drew forth the golden holy blade and ignited it.
In an instant, a blazing halo of golden iron flared to life behind him, while his blood-red cloak snapped in the air.
There were even spectral holy angels singing his greatness.
A towering golden figure.
That accursed, loathsome pressure rolled out from him and swept across every Greater Daemon present, making their scalps go numb.
???
"That looks like... the Cursed One?"
"We're screwed!!!!"
At the sight before him, Angrulu's heart clenched violently, and his fear reached its peak.
How was this possible? Where the hell had they ended up?
Hadn't they said the Cursed One had been reduced to bare bones and could no longer fight? Why had he climbed off the Throne?
How were they supposed to fight this?!
Panic exploded through him, and he desperately tried to halt his charge.
He absolutely could not keep charging.
That way lay pain and true death forever.
Even for a Blood God's champion like him, if Khorne himself had been standing there, he still would not have dared claim he could charge the Cursed One alone.
It was not just Angrulu. The other Greater Daemons panicked too, all of them frantically "slamming on the brakes" in terror.
They spread their arms wide, trying desperately to stop the Chaos beings behind them, bunching up like a mass of terrified chicks scattering from a hawk, all of them grinding to a halt just a few meters away from the Emperor.
But a few unlucky fools could not stop in time. In their panic, they stumbled right toward the Emperor, who was wreathed in sacred flame.
Slash!
A golden flash of the blade cut through the air, and one of those unlucky wretches had his head severed in a single stroke. He shrieked as holy fire consumed him completely, body and soul alike.
He died forever.
The Emperor swung his golden holy sword with peerless skill and unstoppable might, slaughtering the Chaos abominations before him.
He looked positively exhilarated.
After ten thousand years, he had finally been able to leave the Throne, if only temporarily, and fight once more in the material galaxy.
Gah!
A Lord of Change came flapping down in front of Angrulu, collapsing amid screams and agony.
It was like staring at the most horrifying scene in all the galaxy and the Warp.
"The... the Cursed One!"
Angrulu trembled all over, trying to salvage what little dignity he had left.
Summoning the last of his courage, he raised his twin blood axes for one final stand.
But the Master of Mankind merely glanced in his direction in the middle of combat.
That one look nearly shattered his guts and soul on the spot.
Angrulu was terrified out of his mind. He turned and ran, his iron hooves pounding as he fled back the way he came. Only then did he realize that the other Greater Daemons had already run ahead of him.
And they were moving very, very fast.
"Run! Once we get back into the dark rift, we'll be safe!"
That was the only thought left in the minds of the Greater Daemons. They just needed to run faster than the Chaos creatures around them.
But the Emperor was faster still.
He soon caught up in pursuit, leaving behind a carpet of mangled remains.
"Hiss... the old Emperor's really having the time of his life this round..."
Seated on the Golden Throne, Eden was in so much pain his teeth were chattering, but when he saw what was happening in the Throne Hall, he actually felt pretty good.
As long as Chaos took more damage, then sitting on this Throne was more than worth it.
The Emperor, using only a fraction of his extended power and a single set of bones, was already slaughtering the Chaos horde into terror and complete disorder.
Those were some of the Chaos Gods' most elite Greater Daemons. Lose even one of them, and the gods would feel the pain.
The old man was truly still in his prime. Ancient but unbroken, old but unyielding, absolutely indestructible.
Those pampered favorites of the Chaos Gods fled in a great stampede, all wishing they had two extra legs to run with.
One after another, they escaped back into the dark rift.
Inside the dark rift:
"Heh. A bunch of witless idiots."
Horus gave a cold laugh and continued forward at an unhurried pace.
He did not care in the least that the Greater Daemons had reached the Imperial Palace's Throne Hall ahead of him.
If those daemons got there first, they could conveniently clean up any surviving Custodians in the palace.
Or perhaps deal with whatever traps the Savior had left inside.
"Grandfather, save me!"
"Gaaah!"
Yet before Horus and the fallen primarchs could reach the exit, they suddenly heard the Greater Daemons screaming in utter agony.
Then some of the Greater Daemons came racing back even faster than before, shrieking as if they had encountered something unspeakably terrible.
"It looks like the Savior's trap was even nastier than expected. Was it those holy bone-ash bombs from the intel, or some new type of hell missile?"
Horus and the fallen primarchs watched the Greater Daemons run past them howling, sneers of contempt on their faces.
These lifeforms serving the Dark Gods were truly useless.
Even Khorne's supposedly fearless Bloodthirsters were acting like cowards. If this was the level of Chaos' forces, how could they possibly hope to win the war?
"Since these fools failed, then we'll destroy the Savior's defenses ourselves."
Horus was not worried in the slightest.
The facts had already proven it. None of the Savior's weapons had been able to stop them.
Even if the Savior's true body had been standing here in person, the result would have been the same.
"I want his skull for my trophy rack," Angron suddenly muttered thickly, his eyes overflowing with brutality and feral violence.
What he clearly wanted was the skull of the Emperor's remains.
This beast-like being had retained little beyond a hunger for vengeance and destruction, and like any follower of Khorne, he delighted in collecting skulls as trophies.
"Brother, you'll have what you want."
Horus smiled as he said it. In truth, he preferred this half-mindless version of his brother.
Though it was more like the fondness a master might have for a vicious hound.
He, the Dark Emperor, might once have been a primarch, but he had now ascended to an entirely different level of existence.
There was already a fundamental difference between him and the primarchs.
Or perhaps, once he destroyed the Golden Throne and divided up their father's power, he would become something altogether new once again.
"Come. We'll be seeing that pitiful father of ours very soon, and all your hatred will finally be satisfied."
Horus looked at the fallen primarchs beside him and spoke with a light laugh.
He could hardly wait to see the False Emperor again, to witness that pitiful state for himself, or perhaps hear the helpless curses of the one seated upon the Throne.
Sadly for the False Emperor, he would never again be able to force Horus and the primarchs to kneel as he once had.
Now the influence of the Chaos artifact Shadowlight was spreading further and further, heavily suppressing the Golden Throne.
He was no longer a tyrant.
He was just a pitiful pile of dry bones, stripped of the majesty and power that had once allowed him to control all things.
The Dark Emperor led the fallen primarchs onward, the fire of hatred blazing in his heart.
False Emperor, we're here.
Just as they were about to step through the mouth of the dark rift, a half-bodied Greater Daemon suddenly crawled inside.
Its body was covered in blackened burns, and holy psychic fire still scorched it relentlessly.
The agony drove it into a panic of absolute terror.
"The Cursed One, the Cursed One is coming this way!
Save me!"
The Greater Daemon reached out toward Horus and the others, begging the gods' chosen to save it.
But before it could say anything else, a massive force suddenly yanked it backward, leaving behind only an ear-piercing scream.
???
Horus and the fallen primarchs came to an abrupt stop and looked at one another. Silence filled the air.
Now they too could feel the holy psychic power and terrifying pressure building outside the dark rift.
They could even vaguely make out the silhouette of a towering golden figure.
The False Emperor, their father, had risen from the Golden Throne and was slaughtering Greater Daemons.
Horus and the others found it impossible to believe, yet what lay before them was undeniably real.
They could clearly feel the aura of the False Emperor, and even the way he moved his sword was achingly familiar.
This was bad.
The False Emperor, their father, had really stood up.
The fallen primarchs drew in sharp breaths, and a thread of fear began spreading among them.
They wanted to face the False Emperor, yes.
But not a False Emperor who was alive, moving, and cutting down Greater Daemons one sword-stroke at a time.
Horus and the fallen primarchs stood stiffly at the edge of the dark rift, and not one of them took a single step forward.
It was as though the line before them was an absolute boundary that could not be crossed.
Even worse, the False Emperor's presence was getting closer, and the holy flames were growing hotter.
"The... the False Emperor probably can't enter this rift, right?"
Magnus' crimson face had almost turned green, and even his voice shook a little as he asked the question instinctively.
His vast knowledge of sorcery seemed to have vanished on the spot.
The Crimson King had already suffered the False Emperor's wrath once before. Now that he had betrayed him again, he could hardly imagine what kind of punishment awaited him.
Old memories of fear surged back up, and he was visibly having a stress response.
"No. That's only his skeleton. There's no way he can simply walk into a rift created by the gods."
Mortarion's moth-wings drooped slightly as he answered.
That brought a small measure of comfort to the fallen primarchs, and they all let out quiet breaths of relief.
As long as this place remained safe, they could wait for the Chaos artifact to suppress the False Emperor further.
At this point, not a single one of the fallen primarchs dared step out of the dark rift first to face the Emperor.
Then, in the very next moment, a golden blade stabbed into the darkness. The Emperor's armored form tore through the dark veil and stepped into the realm created by the gods.
"Horus. Did you sons wish to see me?"
The Emperor's body burned with flame, radiating an indescribable majesty. His voice was so cold it seemed to freeze the air.
He glared at his rebellious sons in fury.
"No..."
That sight made the fallen primarchs' scalps go numb. For a moment, they could not even speak. Horus himself gripped his blade in guard, deep wariness flashing in his eyes.
This False Emperor was ten, even a hundred times stronger than he had been ten thousand years ago.
And just as fear seized them, a furious roar suddenly exploded through the darkness.
"I'll hack you to pieces!"
That massive beast-like figure bellowed, then charged forward in a violent rush.
Under the stunned gaze of the fallen primarchs, Angron... actually went first.
The Red Angel, the Breaker, swung his giant axe in a full savage arc, cleaving toward the Emperor through a gale of blood and gore.
But the Emperor merely shifted to the side and avoided the blow with ease. Then came a sharp crack, and dazzling golden light burst outward.
"Rebellious son!"
The Master of Mankind roared in anger, grabbed Angron, and slapped him across the face with terrifying force, sending him spinning in place.
Several of his fangs flew right out of his mouth.
"F-Father?"
After crying out in pain, Angron clutched his face, completely bewildered.
He had been slapped so hard his brain short-circuited. He stood there frozen, and the savage fury in his eyes suddenly turned clear.
He was even trembling a little.
(End of Chapter)
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