The Blade of Shadows, wreathed in eerie light, vanished rapidly from Nareth's sight.
He was startled. He glanced at the altar. The veil was not fully torn. The claw reaching through the rift had not fully entered reality.
His disappointment was fleeting. Then he felt danger.
The "Mentor of Disorder's" wings beat, lifting him, as his psychic energy surged. Telekinesis, amplified by the layered "Multiprism," expanded.
The surging telekinetic vortex spun into a storm, its fluctuations beyond the Primarch's control, grinding the surrounding rock to dust.
As he rose, the psyker's arm became ethereal, wrapped in a dark light.
His arm seemed both real and unreal, twisting and extending unnaturally.
With a short, sharp crack, the force field shield, which even a Warlord Titan would struggle to break, shattered.
In the clash of supernatural forces, he finally caught sight of the thrusting dark light.
It pierced the layered telekinesis, the facets of psychic prisms.
The "Mentor of Disorder's" right side collapsed. His left arm rose, muscles rippling.
The Hand Order slammed down. Golden light and shadow clashed, unleashing a series of supernatural explosions.
The Blade of Shadows appeared in reality, its gleaming, dark light flickering.
His arm tingled. A flicker of surprise crossed his face.
The psyker wielding the Blade of Shadows had strength rivaling Ferrus Manus's Silver Hand.
'The Blade of Shadows likely contains the gifts of the Four that Be'lakor somehow merged with his power.'
As he thought, shadows spread from the altar. A chill mist condensed on the rock.
"Nareth, what impressive foolishness!"
"You are a Primarch of the Anathema. Mortals see you as a demigod."
"Even in the Empyrean, they sing of the fire of your power, having defeated the Wolf King and the Gorgon."
The voice, like scraping, pierced the armor Vulkan had forged. It was filled with mockery.
"But you fail to realize that my power here is unsurpassable."
"I am disappointed."
As the voice spoke, everything around seemed to wither and decay. White mist rose.
The corners of Nareth's mouth turned up. He said carelessly.
"If your power were truly unsurpassable, you wouldn't need to use this 'Decay' spell to attack my mind."
Though his words were mocking, he did not underestimate the threat. In an instant, he ascended to the third level of the Thelema mindstate, resisting the shadow spell's assault.
"I am the Prince of the Warp, the King of Kings, the Firstborn of the Gods." Be'lakor's voice cracked like a whip. Thousands of mental razors, capable of shredding flesh and soul, swept towards him.
Supernatural mental clashes erupted in the ethereal realm.
Occam's shadow razors, which could strip consciousness, shot towards the golden Telema light rising from his spine.
BOOM, BOOM, BOOM...
The rippling waves spread into the gap between reality and illusion, producing a piercing tear.
The veil's screech echoed in his mind. He felt the Shadow Lord's claw drawing closer, its cold scratching at his armor.
He decided not to give it a chance to fully descend, to unleash all its power.
The "Mentor of Disorder's" psychic energy surged, locking onto the Blade of Shadows.
"Usurper!" Be'lakor roared. "You dare touch my sacred relic!"
At his roar, the puppet he controlled raised its staff.
Hundreds of shadows materialized. The Blade of Shadows became ethereal in the "Phantasmal Illusion."
Just as it was about to vanish into the shadows, the staff in the psyker's hand suddenly trembled. The Blade of Shadows's ethereal form slowed. One shadowy afterimage vanished.
"Oh!" A faint, nearly imperceptible sound of surprise.
The altar flared with a dark light. The claw beyond the veil retracted slightly.
Shadow power enveloped Be'lakor's puppet. Its body grew ethereal, seeming to waver between reality and illusion.
The Blade of Shadows's blade rapidly faded. Just as it was about to vanish completely, a figure spiraled down.
The gyrinx John's black eyes fixed on the strange figure gripping the greatsword. The "Winner's" psychic energy surged.
SWOOSH!
What vanished was not the Blade of Shadows, but another shadow.
Be'lakor's puppet, shrouded in misfortune, failed again.
The psyker raised its staff. Beams of dark light rose.
One by one, the afterimages faded. But the Blade of Shadows remained in reality, the unknown power clinging to it like a cursed leech.
The "Winner" could inflict limited misfortune on enemies, making them unlucky.
This misfortune amplified the "Disorder" effect, causing the shadow spells to fail in succession.
BOOM!
A flash of light from the altar tore a small rift in the veil.
A beam of dark light shot from the Warp.
The dark light, like a devouring vortex, swept towards Nareth, now above the psyker.
A meter from him, it suddenly bent, as if rebounding.
The spinning dark light flew towards John.
The "Winner's" fur stood on end. His psychic intuition screamed danger. Without time to think, he released his accumulated luck.
CRACK!
A meter above him, a falling rock suddenly struck another. The trajectory of the rock, which would have grazed him, shifted, slamming into him.
He was knocked sideways. The Dark Abyss grazed him, consuming the fur on his left side.
He looked at his body in terror, gasping. He knew that if that dark light had hit him, it would have consumed everything.
Not only his body, but his soul.
As he breathed a sigh of relief, a piercing scream echoed.
He looked. The strange human with the split chest had been completely shattered. His master's fist had smashed him to the ground.
Nareth punched Be'lakor's puppet down, his right hand grabbing its mutated claw.
It felt like grabbing a cloud of mist.
The strange claw flickered between reality and illusion. He nearly missed.
The "Mentor of Disorder" channeled psychic energy without reserve through his fingertips.
The ethereal claw suddenly solidified, then he gripped it tightly.
His back collapsed. His arm muscles rippled. His hand "Power Burst."
With a crack of breaking bone, the claw was crushed to bloody mist.
The moment he grasped the Blade of Shadows, he felt an explosion within.
Threads of law filled his eyes. His body, mind, and spirit merged.
'I have digested the "Mentor of Disorder" potion.'
He intuitively felt the Kingdom of Disorder tremble. A new layer opened.
Before he could examine the black-misted realm, he felt the greatsword in his right hand tremble. An icy voice sounded in his ear.
"Nareth, let's make a deal."
"You don't know what this blade is, how it was created."
"It is something you cannot control, cannot possess."
"I refuse." The "Mentor of Disorder" shook his head. 'Be'lakor, I'm not interested in your deal. I only want your Blade of Shadows.'
As he spoke, he focused. His waist muscles rippled. A green teardrop talisman rose.
He shouted in Dunnic: "Silence!"
WHOOSH!
An invisible force spread. Everything calmed.
The Blade of Shadows stopped trembling. Be'lakor's whispers vanished.
With a thought, black mist appeared in his palm.
Silently, the Blade of Shadows vanished.
His wings beat. His boots slid, crushing the vacant-eyed psyker beneath.
With a crack, the shadow-solidified body was crushed to pulp.
Light flickered in his eyes. Telekinesis spread. Everything on the ground was ground to dust.
He flew up, grabbing John, and opened the vox channel.
"Prepare for orbital bombardment. Completely destroy this planet."
Though he had taken the Blade of Shadows, this world was utterly corrupted, beyond purification.
He decided to issue Exterminatus to destroy it completely.
.....
If you enjoy the story, my p@treon is 30 chapters ahead.
[email protected]/DaoistJinzu