Ennio Novick. He was Nowick's eldest son and the first in line to the throne of the Nowick royal family.
At this very moment, this naturally elegant Prince had been leading nearly ten thousand Sentinels members, blockading the outskirts of the City of Truth for half a year.
Although he couldn't figure out some key issues, the eldest son, following his father's request, established a blockade within a safe range, cutting off all external communication for the City of Truth.
For a full six months, the City of Truth remained motionless. No one came out, and no one went in.
The Sentinels faithfully carried out their orders, examining their inner selves and cleansing their minds daily to prevent psychic energy from taking advantage of any weakness.
Ennio arranged for the relatively vulnerable technical personnel to rotate regularly, preventing cracks from appearing in their minds and exposing them to the gaze of the sorcerers.
The eldest son did everything perfectly, without a single flaw.
In the early morning of the sixth day of the sixth month of the blockade, Ennio, in his dream, once again saw the woman emitting an alluring fragrance.
The woman fulfilled Ennio's fantasy of a future Princess, as if she were born for his ideal, molded into this appearance by the Creator.
She was the embodiment of beauty, a perfect woman that humans only dared to fantasize about in dreams.
She wore a long purple dress, with gold and jewels hanging from her slender waist, her full bosom supported by a pink lining, her skin as delicate and white as porcelain, exuding wafts of fragrance.
Amidst the pink and purple mist, Ennio rested his head on the woman's smooth thigh, the scent in his nostrils reassuring him, making him involuntarily relax.
"Ennio Novick~"
The woman's voice was soft and lingering, with a hint of hoarse, captivating magnetism. With a gentle word, she could stir the most primal desires in one's heart.
Ennio was naked, and the woman's slender, long fingers, with bright nail polish and embedded tiny gems, lightly glided upwards from his well-defined abdomen, stirring a ticklish sensation.
"Ennio Novick, the fated King."
The woman leaned into his ear, her voice, soft as milk, flowed into his ear bit by bit, carrying regret and sorrow, and some inexplicable unwillingness:
"Unfortunately, the arrival of an outsider means you will never be able to reach the throne."
"Hmm, that's fine." Ennio turned on his side, snuggling into the woman's thigh, finding a more comfortable position: "This way, I'll be with you forever!"
The woman's beautiful fingers trembled slightly. She couldn't understand why, with the throne taken by an outsider and a lifetime of ideals shattered, where had this man's ambition gone?
Where was the jealousy towards his brother? Where was the unwillingness regarding the throne?
"Isn't it good for us to be so lazy and at ease? To enjoy tranquility and peace." As he spoke, Ennio's large hand caressed the woman's graceful waist.
"My brother is very strong, more excellent than me, and more suitable to inherit the throne."
"Oh? Are you truly so magnanimous?" From his magnanimity, the woman detected a hint of bitterness, the taste of jealousy.
The man in her arms did not think as magnanimously as he spoke; his true feelings were buried very deep.
She loved jealousy. Jealousy and unwillingness were twins, stemming from anger at one's own powerlessness.
"What good would it do to not be magnanimous?" Ennio, listening, lay back down, his head comfortably resting between the woman's thighs, and reached out to caress her jade-like, warm cheek.
"I respect my father's choice; I don't have the strength to rival my brother."
"My dear." The woman's purple pupils gleamed with seductive colors, guiding Ennio's thoughts with her words: "You might need some… extra help."
"What kind of help?" Ennio shrugged, asking seriously.
He understood this planet, knew it like the back of his hand.
In terms of military might, no one could contend with Blazkowicz, and in terms of foresight and wisdom, who could compare to his own father?
The woman smiled gently, her fingers running through Ennio's hair, her alluring, full red lips opening and closing: "You only need to believe in the Prince of Pleasure, and you will gain power and wisdom."
"He will grant you an army to conquer all, to ascend the throne and wield power, enjoying its marvelousness and wantonness."
"Oh~" Ennio's eyes lit up, as if he had already seen the beauty the woman described. His arm gradually moved upwards, supporting the woman's neck, his tone suddenly changing: "Is this your goal? You harlot!"
The sharp curse momentarily stunned the woman, then an irresistible force came from her neck.
Ennio's large hand was full of strength, pressing her neck and pushing the woman to the ground, the intoxication in his eyes completely gone, his elegant voice now sharp as a knife: "Is it the 'Prince of Pleasure' you speak of who is constantly tormenting my father?"
The allure in the woman's eyes vanished instantly, and she looked in horror at the man choking her, her voice changing from languid to sharp: "You weren't affected?"
"Hmph!" Ennio snorted, his emerald green eyes clear, his hands gradually tightening, intending to strangle the flawless woman: "Didn't Isaac tell you? Don't try to corrupt the heart of a warrior?"
The woman screamed, her hands clutching Ennio's arms, trying to push him away.
As she struggled, the porcelain-like delicate skin on her swan-like neck shattered, revealing pale purple skin embedded with scale-like black cuticles.
The violent transformation startled Ennio, and the warrior's instinct made him unconsciously release his grip.
Facing an unknown threat, a warrior would choose to observe and assess, confirm the enemy's danger level, and devise better methods to eliminate the opponent, rather than rushing in with hot blood when the strength of both sides is unclear.
The woman broke free from her restraint; her graceful body, like an ugly snake, quickly slithered on the ground, moving away from Ennio's attack range.
When she stood up, her stunningly beautiful appearance had greatly changed, a twisted, unnatural biological form that made one feel disgusted.
Its black and purple, slimy tongue was thin and long, extending from its narrow, circular mouth, dripping viscous saliva.
Its body was twisted and slender, possessing the muscularity of a man while also having the graceful softness of a woman, with one side of its chest a towering fullness and the other a robust pectoral muscle.
Dressed in sheer gauze and light armor, adorned with precious jewels and dazzling gold ornaments, it was magnificent and demonic.
Its long body had four arms.
Two arms had fingers like a human's, capable of normal grasping, while the other two arms were pincers similar to a scorpion's, emitting a sharp gleam.
"How truly ugly!" Ennio's face darkened, and he asked the twisted monster with disdain: "No wonder you transform into a beautiful form; you are truly this ugly!"
"Ugly?" The monster's horizontal pupils narrowed; it was very displeased now: "Such a graceful body, born from my Lord's wild imagination, is so perfect."
Its voice was no longer soft, but like a piercing shriek, constantly penetrating the listener's eardrums, stirring clear thoughts into twisted delusions.
"How can the perception of mortals interpret beauty that transcends the mortal world?"
"I have no opinion on your master's aesthetics." Ennio shook his head, not wanting to get entangled in this issue, and asked fiercely: "Speak! Monster!"
"Why do you frequently come into my dreams? What is your purpose?"
The monster shook its head silently, retreating slowly with elegant steps, calling his name: "Ennio Novick!"
A purple mist spread, gradually engulfing its twisted figure, and a slightly mocking voice emerged: "I am the Keeper of Secrets of shameful secrets; we will meet very soon!"
With that, it vanished from Ennio's sight.
Keeper of Secrets? Will we meet soon?
Ennio lowered his head, pondering the monster's parting words, then abruptly looked up at the place where it had vanished.
Inside the City of Truth, within the high walls protected by psychic energy, a most blasphemous ritual was taking place.
Six priests, dressed in black and purple robes, adorned with jewels and gold ornaments, stood at the six corners of a gigantic magic circle, their scepters constantly pounding the ground, emitting a grotesque six-syllable music.
The circular magic circle, six thousand six hundred sixty-six square meters in size, emitted a pinkish-purple ethereal glow. Within the magic circle were sixty-six thousand six hundred sixty-six believers and sacrifices, performing a divine ritual to summon the divine army from the other shore into reality.
The number "6" is Slaanesh's sacred number; all rituals related to him require a series of 6, 66, or 666 sacrifices, depending on the size of the ritual.
Slaanesh's rituals are filled with decadent desires. In the circular pit of the magic circle, believers and sacrifices were reveling, constantly strengthening the power of the magic circle, breaking the veil between reality and illusion.
"How beautiful!" Isaac narrowed his eyes, looking down at the ritual pit from the high tower, feeling the mighty power of the god, and murmuring in intoxication.
For six days, six nights, and six hours, the believers went from initial drinking and merrymaking to carnal revelry. Now, in the circular pit, there was only a frenzied crowd, constantly breaking boundaries in their debauchery.
Strange appendages grew on the believers' bodies. Some like hands, touching different textures, perceiving novel sensations; some like eyes, glancing at bizarre scenes, enduring intense visual impact; some like ears, catching strange sounds, falling into a state of confusion.
As moral restraints loosened, unrestrained revelry seemed to fill the hollows of their hearts.
Life flowed away in madness, souls sank into chaos, and initial desires twisted into uncontrolled evil!
Beside Isaac, a priest in a purple robe opened his eyes, looking displeased.
"I told you long ago, the will of the Sentinels is as strong as refined steel; without a direct ritual or medium, entering their dreams is asking for humiliation."
Isaac's contemptuous gaze carried disdain; the Keeper of Secrets was always full of desire, fond of provoking and exploring secrets, restless even when possessing a human body.
"It won't be long!" The Keeper of Secrets extended its long tongue, tasting the decadent sweetness in the air, looking at the ritual that was reaching its climax: "I will shed this lowly disguise and end him with my own hands!"
The Keeper of Secrets suffered unprecedented humiliation; it yearned for revenge, to personally kill Ennio.
"As long as it doesn't delay our master's grand plan!"
Isaac raised an eyebrow, warning the demon in an unfriendly tone. He had already failed once and would not allow the plan to go awry again.
The Keeper of Secrets Great Demon similarly disdained Isaac's warning. It was a noble demon, descending into reality following a divine oracle.
A Mortal who believed in the Lord of Change, did he truly think he had the ability to control the overall situation?
"Rumble!"
The sky shattered like a mirror, and the intense ritual broke through the barrier of reality. Warp energy, with its eerie colors, poured down like a waterfall.
The demon Legion, waiting behind the curtain, emerged from the essence of bodily fluids flowing from the magic array.
"Shalaxi Helbane, the Prince of Pleasure's chief Great Demon, has arrived following a divine oracle and will temporarily obey your command!"
Legend has it that when Slaanesh was first born, he was defeated by Khorne.
The six rings symbolizing temptation and corruption were breached, and he was slaughtered by Khorne's Bloodthirster, Skarbrand.
He was so unwilling to accept defeat that he created Shalaxi Helbane, Slaanesh's chief Great Demon.
The forms of Keepers of Secrets vary; they are born from the Dark Prince's absurd and twisted fantasies, from different inspirations for all things.
And Shalaxi Helbane, it is not as bloodthirsty and savage as Khorne's demons, full of wild, primal power; nor is it as slender as other Keepers of Secrets.
It is Slaanesh's satisfactory creation, with a strong and beautiful body, a perfect balance of skill and strength.
After its birth, Shalaxi Helbane lived up to Slaanesh's expectations, challenging all demons in the Warp without a single defeat; even the ferocious Skarbrand was beaten by it.
It wore a feathered headdress in the style of ram horns, its muscular upper body was bare, and a magnificent battle skirt wrapped its shapely lower limbs, subtly revealing two sexy demon hooves.
Its two main arms held a double-bladed weapon in one hand and a magic shield in the other, while its two secondary arms stretched behind it, featuring exceptionally sharp, venom-dripping keratinous arm-blades.
Now it has come in response to the summons, bearing the will of a god, temporarily obeying the Tzeentch follower before it.
Slaanesh sent its sharpest servant, leading the demon Legion, to descend upon the City of Truth, with its forces aimed directly at the Sentinels.
The Keeper of Secrets tore open its Mortal skin and joined Sharrash's ranks. An entire demon Legion, led by six Keeper of Secrets Great Demons, marched out of the city with elegant steps.
"Put away your arrogance, and be careful of the Sentinels; their strength might exceed your imagination."
Isaac stood on the city wall, warning the demon Legion as they left the city.
The Keeper of Secrets Great Demon turned back and smiled contemptuously at him, then leisurely continued forward.
Seeing the Slaanesh Great Demon's arrogance and ignorance, Isaac did not try to persuade it further. He descended the city wall and went to the sacrificial array, awaiting their rebirth.
As supernatural beings, demons always possess a mysterious, innate arrogance, looking down on Mortals and refusing to heed advice.
Boom!
The gate opened, and Shalaxi, along with six Keeper of Secrets Great Demons, plus Daemonettes and Slaaneshi Beasts, formed an army of 6666 demons, slowly emerging from the misty air.
They marched with joyful steps, their demon hooves striking the ground, playing blasphemous notes, praising the greatness of the Prince of Pleasure.
The Slaaneshi Beast's massive body swayed alluringly. It had a centaur-like physique, a strong hind tail, smooth and delicate skin, and four hooves on its lower body—its front hooves bent backward and its hind hooves forward—and its skin emitted a musky scent.
Its upper limbs were erect, with arms extended from its body, and massive keratinous claws reflected purple light, dripping with poisonous milky fluid.
Slaanesh's Daemonettes had long, slender ears and exquisite faces, yet they screamed incessantly. They were hermaphroditic, capable of stirring up perverse and lewd fantasies in Mortals.
They screamed, wailed, and danced, offering praise to the Prince of Pleasure.
Slaanesh's demon army, a symbol of pain and torment, a fervent assault on the senses and mind.
Wherever the demons passed, a sweet, purplish-pink mist gradually permeated the air. Ordinary weeds were corrupted, becoming long, thorny, twisted plants.
The evil essence of the demons, inadvertently overflowing, began to corrupt the environment and distort normal perception.
The Sentinels discovered extraordinary demonic creatures.
No words were needed; when demons gathered, their accumulated malice was rampant and arrogant.
"Demons!" This primal fear, existing in human history and the depths of all cosmic beings' souls, this terrifying name filled with dread, was irresistibly imprinted in the minds of the Sentinels.
Ennio, wearing power armor and holding a spear, stood on high, immediately spotting the ugly creature from his dreams.
The Keeper of Secrets Great Demon, no longer ethereal, now stood six and a half meters tall, a seductive and terrifying arch-demon with bone-chilling ferocity!
The Great Demon also saw Ennio. It curled its enchanting smile, raised a hand to cover its lips, and blew a kiss from a distance.
"Sir!"
A call came through the communicator, an urgent voice from a Sentinels member: "Some auxiliary technical personnel, after seeing those demons, have suffered mental breakdowns!"
The Sentinels reported truthfully that the technical personnel in front of them had experienced mental disarray and their behavior had been influenced by those impure beings the moment they witnessed the demons.
"Kill all eyewitnesses!" Ennio's voice was cold and ruthless. He unhesitatingly chose to eliminate those whose minds were corrupted, to prevent the demonic infection from worsening.
"As for the remaining personnel, knock out and control all who can be, and arrange for people to help them evacuate. This battle is no longer for them to participate in!"
"Understood!"
The Sentinels were equally decisive, striking down their former colleagues with whom they had once laughed and chatted.
After witnessing the demons, they deeply understood that the primal malice went straight into the mind. While a warrior's resilience could resist, a typical technical personnel's will, once branded by the demons, would find it almost impossible to resist the seductive whispers in their minds.
"Sentinels! Hold your ground! Annihilate these foul creatures who dare to desecrate Argent Nur's purity!"
In the cordon outside the City of Truth, over half a year, the Sentinels had established many blockade fortresses, precisely to deal with the current situation.
At Ennio's node, a thousand Sentinels were ready for battle, fully prepared.
"Record!" As the purple tide drew nearer, Ennio felt uneasy and gave an order to his adjutant.
Facing an unseen enemy, the Sentinels liked to record engagement details, to better defeat the enemy next time they met.
Between the fortress blockade and the City of Truth, on a vast plain of grassland, the Legion led by the Keeper of Secrets Great Demon halted.
The leading demon stepped forward elegantly and arrogantly. It stopped beyond the guard's maximum range and performed a strangely solemn gesture: "I am Shalaxi Helbane, first under the Prince of Pleasure! Mortal!"
Sharrash did not understand why its true divine master would send it for a mere breakthrough battle.
Even from a great distance, the Sentinels's extraordinary hearing picked up the demon's strange, gender-neutral shriek.
"We are the Sentinels!"
A deafening roar filled with pride and anger, even overpowering the strange music of the noisy demon horde.
"Excellent!" Sharrash began to get excited. It knew the opponents were a group of fearless warriors!
"Smash their fortresses! Crush their courage!"
With a shriek from the Great Demon, the demon Legion launched their attack, eager to witness the warriors' helpless despair!
The demons shrieked and charged, rushing headlong towards the Sentinels's fortress.
"Sentinels! Mind your formation! Our enemies are far from ordinary!"
Ennio roared from his vantage point, issuing commands over the communication channel. He saw that the demon charge, though seemingly chaotic, actually concealed countless transformations.
Their formations changed unpredictably; those ugly demon mounts darted swiftly, possessing extraordinary agility and speed.
"Fire! Fire! Fire!"
Azure cutting rays lit up, shooting into the demon formation, targeting key nodes to disrupt the demon's charging formation.
Sharrash smiled wickedly. Mortals always relied on their weapons, vainly attempting to harm noble demons.
They did not know that ranged attacks inflicted extremely limited, weak, and ineffective damage on demons.
Demons were divinely protected; only the concepts of primitive swords and fire could cause effective damage to them.
However, the Keeper of Secrets' smile soon vanished.
"Whinny~" A neighing sound came.
An azure flash, two legs running swiftly, a Slaaneshi horse with a tubular mouth and long, slender tongue, instantly fell to the ground upon being hit, its body tumbling with powerful kinetic energy!
"Those are blades! Disperse quickly!"
The other Keepers of Secrets raised their arms and howled, signaling the demon army to spread out, using physics-defying agility to dodge the weapons being fired at them.
The Sentinels's weapons, strictly speaking, were indeed swords and spears; it was just that after the restraint field was unleashed, the dimensional light blades would become very long.
"Damn Mortals! Damn conspiratorial apostles!"
Sharrash had never known defeat; victory had been its constant companion since birth. Now, having suffered a hidden loss, it completely forgot Isaac's previous warning.
Arrogance and hubris; demons never admitted their own failures.
Its form darted swiftly across the plain, where there was no cover. The Slaanesh demon army was like living targets, being sliced into pieces under the Sentinels's assault.
In the real universe, unwelcome guests from the Warp, even Great Demons with the power to split heaven and earth, had their strength suppressed to less than one-tenth.
A thousand Sentinels, resolute and fearless of the demons' terrifying visages, had their wills purified by decades of rigorous training.
The blades, spears, swords, and halberds in their hands emitted cutting rays that severed everything, weaving into a dazzling blue light net.
The warriors meticulously calculated each firing interval, coordinating with their comrades for alternating volleys to ensure continuous firepower.
Fearless and unafraid!
The Slaanesh demons, skilled at detecting emotional changes, sensed not only fearless courage but also deep contempt in their enemies.
It was an innate contempt, a revulsion for the ugly.
Facing such opponents, the demons found themselves in a difficult situation.
Shalaxi Helbane and the other Keeper of Secrets Great Demons, with elegant dance-like movements, used their demonic hooves to tap out rhythms, drawing in the surging Warp energy from the city's magic arrays.
The array ritual responded to the Great Demons, and mottled Chaos God power surged skyward, pouring down upon the demon Legion, bathing them in its essence.
Then, a gust of wind blew towards the Sentinels's entrenched positions.
The sudden gale, carrying the hallucinogenic scent emitted by the demons, swept towards the Sentinels's lines.
The supernatural perfumed wind was difficult for respiration grilles to filter, even entering the Sentinels's mouths and noses through gaps in their power armor.
Inhaling the impure scent, intense hallucinations struck. In the warriors' eyes, there were no longer ugly demons, but their families, loved ones, and those they missed.
"False!"
The Sentinels did not hesitate, firing at those false illusions; their wills were firm, clearly knowing that demons were interfering with their vision.
"Comrades! Purify your hearts! They are stirring our emotions!"
A Sentinels member let out a low roar, feeling a surge of murderous intent within him, far exceeding normal thresholds.
If he succumbed to it, he would become a puppet consumed by slaughter, not a noble warrior.
"Not just emotions! Be vigilant against any hint of inner slackness or fatigue!"
A perfumed wind swept in, raising the Sentinels's inner vigilance to its peak.
Illusions flashed before their eyes, indistinguishable from reality, an irresistible sense of fatigue spread through their bodies, and distracting thoughts proliferated deep within their minds, impossible to sever!
The Sentinels resisted the hallucinations with their will, constantly applying psychological suggestion, reminding themselves that everything they saw and felt was illusory.
The clash between the two sides existed not only on the material plane; before close-quarters combat, the battle of consciousness had already begun.
The demon army, enveloped in the perfumed mist, only showed their agile, flashing, and weaving forms, ghost-like figures rising and falling in the haze, gradually approaching the frontline stone barricades and chevaux de frise.
Shalaxi Helbane narrowed Its demonic eyes, Its gaze piercing through the mist, carefully scrutinizing Its opponents, those powerful warriors in white armor, armed with sharp blades.
Though they were Mortal flesh and blood, without the Blood God's blessing, they were as fearless as Khorne's demon army, yet not as madly bloodthirsty as the Blood God's servants.
Facing the demons, they showed no fear. Slaanesh's mist, which had always worked, was resisted by their tenacious will.
If not for the continuous stream of Warp energy, the Prince of Pleasure's mist, they would have already returned to the Warp.
Even so, the Slaanesh demon army suffered heavy losses. Those blue-light-emitting swords and blades ignored the supernatural bodies blessed by the Chaos God, cutting the demons into pieces.
Two Keepers of Secrets had already fallen in the dense barrage, their demonic essence returning to the magic array, awaiting re-infusion of power to return.
Daemonettes and Slaaneshi Beasts also suffered heavy casualties, with the fast-advancing Slaaneshi Steeds being particularly targeted.
What was supposed to be a feast of slaughter, in less than a minute, saw the charging Legion lose half its demons.
The Prince of Pleasure had warned him that he needed to bring war machines and not underestimate the enemy.
Shalaxi Helbane proudly rejected his master, believing that a cowardly Mortal army could be crushed by a single charge from a fast-attack unit.
Behind the curtain, Slaanesh was indeed watching this battle.
He lay on a soft, luxurious bed, playing a game with the palace maidens. He had to vent, and Shalaxi Helbane's regret and unwillingness brought him pleasure.
His servant had always been arrogant, treating everything as nothing.
Now, facing an unexpected battle situation, the complex emotions emanating from him were very delicious.
The god had no intention of helping his servant; instead, he gloated, savoring the bitterness of failure.
In the Chaos God's eyes, what was the greatest Great Demon under his command? No different from a Chaos Spawn. When a satisfactory creation no longer pleased him, he wouldn't mind creating another to amuse himself.
What was deemed proud and cherished, in the Chaos God's view, was worthless.
The purple-pink supernatural mist approached the front lines, and the Sentinels's firing was like a stone sinking into the sea; no detection equipment could see inside the mist.
During the continuous blind firing, the mist suddenly lowered, and then a twisted centaur-like beast burst out!
A Slaaneshi Beast! Sixty-six Slaaneshi Beasts, transcendent behemoths specially prepared to overturn enemy defenses.
It leaped high out of the mist like a whale, its agile body then sinking, its front and rear hooves growing in opposite directions, providing incredible mobility.
The Slaaneshi Beast lightly leaped, somersaulting in the air, clearing ground obstacles, its long tongue lashing like a whip from its mouth, directly targeting the Sentinels, intending to swallow them alive.
"You beast!"
A roar! A low growl, suppressing fury. That Sentinels instantly disengaged his weapon's restraint field and charged at the monster about to land.
The moment the cutting ray extended, he roared and swung down his long spear, a hundred-meter-long light blade extending, pressing down with unmatched force, slicing the monster in two!
His perfect timing achieved an incredible strike!
Nur crystals cannot be overloaded for long periods; the firing principle is to input a large amount of energy, far exceeding what is needed to maintain the blade, into the crystal in milliseconds, activating an extra-long blade.
But it cannot be continuously overloaded; if the duration exceeds ten milliseconds, the crystal will overload and shatter.
Among the Sentinels, only a few could master this skill for large-scale slashes.
Purple demonic blood splattered, ugly internal organs spilled onto the ground, and the Slaaneshi Beast, with the pleasure of death, turned to dust and vanished before their eyes.
The Slaaneshi Beast's assault symbolized the beginning of the demon army's charge!
The Keepers of Secrets laughed, spreading seductive melodies, their slender bodies stepping into the Sentinels's lines, and the two sides engaged in brutal close-quarters combat.
Several Sentinels members rose up, surrounding the Keeper of Secrets Great Demon, assisting in slaying the repulsive monster.
Their longswords struck at the Great Demon, attacking from several directions simultaneously, cooperating seamlessly.
The Keeper of Secrets' horizontal demonic eyes saw a wider perspective; everything around it was seen. Its four arms brandished, and the twisted longswords in its hands met the attacks.
"Clang!"
The crisp collision sound made the Sentinels pause for a moment of thought.
Never had any physical weapon been able to withstand a dimension light blade and remain intact.
The Great Demon's lips curved. Its elegant figure danced within the encirclement, its four arms rotating, constantly repelling the Sentinels's attacks.
"Mortal, die~" Its voice was deep and hoarse, full of temptation, as he clamored, thrusting his longsword at a slightly slow Sentinels.
"Clang~"
There was no imagined blood splatter, no cries of pain; what the longsword transmitted back was only intense collision shock.
The Great Demon was puzzled.
He glanced sideways; the human who had been stabbed was glowing with blue light and had been sent flying backward.
Puzzled. Just as the Sentinels were puzzled, he was also puzzled.
The weapon in the Great Demon's hand, personally blessed by the Chaos God, could not be blocked by any shield or armor.
Both sides, in their first engagement, felt incredible.
The Sentinels's always-victorious weapons were no longer sharp, and the demons' armor-ignoring swords were blocked by dimension shields.
"Surround this beast!" The Sentinels continuously joined the battle, their attacks fierce and dense, with almost no gaps.
The Keeper of Secrets Great Demon felt the pressure; these lowly Mortals were incredibly skilled.
Although their strength was not as great as his own, the moment their weapons made contact, they used superb techniques to deflect the blades, deflecting most of the force.
His proud techniques found less and less room to maneuver within the encirclement.
The demonic eyes looked around; all the Slaaneshi Beasts had been slain, and the cavalry had been driven to the fringes.
After the hallucinations failed, the Daemonettes were even more vulnerable, being utterly routed.
The four Keepers of Secrets who had avoided the long-range fire, including the arrogant Shalaxi Helbane, were all surrounded by the white-armored warriors, their stamina being slowly eroded.
Defeat was only a matter of time. Although some white-armored warriors were also killed, their sparse numbers could not change the overall situation.
Shalaxi Helbane was also having a hard time at this moment; Its double-headed warblades constantly swung, switching flexibly in Its hands, continuously repelling the surrounding warriors.
Its always-victorious demonic blades were now struggling to kill the enemy.
Demonic shields appeared like phantoms, fast and precise, blocking attacks from afar, avoiding being hit by tearing ray attacks.
The god's blessing of immunity to ranged attacks was useless at this moment.
If it were ordinary ranged weapons, relying on Its transcendent demonic body and the ability to transform pain into pleasure, Shalaxi Helbane would have endured the damage and broken through the encirclement.
Finally, a cunning ray slipped through a gap in the shield's defense, tearing Its Achilles tendon.
"You lowly Mortals!" Shalaxi Helbane no longer bothered to evade, fighting desperately, brandishing Its blades and double pincers, piercing two Sentinels.
The eerie, androgynous voice shrieked: "I will return! I will surely wash away this humiliation!"
"Die! You disgusting, unnatural bastard!" The Sentinels, seeing their comrades die, suppressed the rage in their chests, unleashing fatal attacks.
With Its Achilles tendon pierced, Shalaxi Helbane's movements were no longer agile; It was like a gazelle with broken legs, waiting for death in the encirclement.
The Sentinels's light blades pierced Its heart, severed joints throughout Its body, and plunged into Its mouth, tearing Its throat and tongue.
With Its death, the other Keepers of Secrets could no longer hold on, and the front line was instantly cleared.
The mist dispersed, the demon bodies turned to dust, and even their weapons disappeared.
The Sentinels gasped, having withstood the demon's assault and defended the blockade fortress.
After a brief rest and arranging for technicians to handle the aftermath of the orcs, the Sentinels once again set out on their journey to the City of Truth.
They marched at an incredibly fast pace, and the atmosphere was quite relaxed.
The Sentinels's marching formation remained orderly, with ranks and files perfectly aligned, their steps in unison, as they traversed the magnificent mountains and followed the tracks of the Titan Train, rapidly advancing towards the City of Truth.
The soldiers' eyes were like torches, their backs straight as pines, and even their breathing seemed synchronized.
Striding across the green wasteland, bathed in the colorful glow emanating from the Crystal Mountains, the Sentinels, bearing both glory and scars, enjoyed a brief moment of peace.
Blazkowicz squinted his eyes in enjoyment, feeling the warm breeze of late spring and early summer caress his face; even his incredibly fast mind was willing to pause and savor the rare tranquility after battle.
Outlying ranger units were on alert, driving anti-gravity motorcycles to provide reconnaissance for the marching column.
The War Fortress hovered in the center of the formation, allowing the army to quickly assemble and mount a swift counterattack using the fortress as a base if the marching column came under attack.
The anti-gravity motorcycles, which had been used extensively in combat, were now parked inside the fortress, with only a few kept for reconnaissance to conserve unnecessary equipment consumption.
In Argent Nur, everything related to technological creations had to be used sparingly.
"How are your injuries?" On the War Fortress's terrace, Blazkowicz leaned back in a chair, eyes half-closed, asking Harlan in a relaxed tone.
At this moment, Harlan's upper body armor was removed, wrapped in a layer of gauze, as he leaned against the railing, his spear standing there as a stand for a healing potion.
The emerald green potion was injected into his body via IV, slowly repairing damaged human tissue through genetic repair.
Healing potions were one of the few technological products Argent Nur could produce; their components were extracted from herbal essences and had a significant effect on human cell regeneration.
Unless a limb was severed, it could perfectly heal general flesh wounds and promote cell regeneration to close wounds.
"Just some minor injuries." Harlan paid little attention to his physical injuries, his focus entirely on his hands, meticulously carving his artwork.
Under his perfect skill, Guzzka's skull had been stripped of all flesh and tissue, leaving a flawless orc skull.
Harlan was using a small knife to carve the same pattern as the mark on Blazkowicz's chest onto the skull's forehead.
According to him, it was to commemorate the deceased Guzzka and Blazkowicz, who defeated it, a perfect work of art.
Erica stood quietly to the side, habitually observing Blazkowicz; she was very curious about how this man possessed such powerful abilities.
"My Lord!"
A seductive voice sounded somewhat surprised, and a slender finger pointed at Blazkowicz's chest.
Blazkowicz felt it too. He looked down to see the runic mark on his chest emitting a faint red glow, the red aura pulsing like breathing.
"I have a bad feeling about this!" Harlan also noticed it, squinting his eyes and subconsciously stating his opinion.
His intuition was incredibly sharp; the moment he saw the mark glow, his heart instinctively tightened.
Blazkowicz's relaxed expression suddenly darkened, his gaze like lightning shooting towards the City of Truth: "We're almost at our next resupply point, aren't we?"
"Yes, My Lord!"
The liaison officer quickly stepped forward, holding a holographic projection sphere, to show the War Lord the next resupply point: "The next location is a Knight family's town, and supplies have already arrived."
Blazkowicz nodded, a feeling of agitation rising within him, a never-before-felt tremor that, though fleeting, was undeniably real.
A surge of hatred and a bone-deep loathing welled up in his heart, making him grit his teeth.
"My Lord." The communication from the foremost ranger came through. The howling wind and electromagnetic static made his voice tremble slightly: "The Knight tribe has no activity; the scanner has detected no life signs!"
Harlan pulled himself up by the railing, tore off the potion from his body, ripped open the bandage on his chest, and cast Blazkowicz a look that said, "I knew it wouldn't be that simple."
The Champion Swordsman's intuition was incredibly sharp, and he was ready to fight alongside Blazkowicz at any moment.
"No! There's one person!" The ranger's tone was filled with surprise, then gradually deepened, full of vigilance and hostility: "It's a Priest from the City of Truth!"
Hearing the ranger's report, the personnel in the command center looked at each other, their eyes filled with doubt and confusion, and a deeper sense of gravity.
A Priest appearing here indicated a problem with the City of Truth's blockade, but no news had come through.
"Do not approach him." Blazkowicz ordered the rangers: "Other rangers, approach the Knight tribe and conduct a grid search of the surrounding area for any enemy traces."
After arranging everything, Blazkowicz cast a glance at Harlan, asking if the latter was ready for battle.
Raising his spear and twirling it a few times, Harlan indicated that he was fine.
As the Sentinels gradually approached the Knight tribe, dusk fell, and the aurora hung in the sky like flowing ribbons.
Blazkowicz stood on the terrace, gazing into the distance; his vision was astonishing, and when the outline of the Knight tribe appeared on the horizon, his thick brows furrowed together, indicating a grim situation.
A tribe of nearly a hundred thousand people, protected by Knight mechs and local armed forces, should have been bustling with activity and rising smoke; instead, it was utterly silent, devoid of any sign of life.
In the vast town, a red-robed Priest stood at the entrance, seemingly having waited for a long time.
The rune on his chest glowed red again, and Blazkowicz narrowed his eyes, carefully scrutinizing the Priest, then gave the order: "Notify the troops to spread out and prepare for battle in a defensive formation."
The communication officer bowed and left to convey the War Lord's orders.
"Let's go." Blazkowicz called Harlan, and the two rode their motorcycles to meet the red-robed Priest.
Given his blatant appearance, Blazkowicz believed that the Priest, who had been waiting for a long time, was waiting for him.
Under the evening glow, the silent Knight tribe, like a beast crouching on the ground, gradually hid in the darkness, waiting for its gift to arrive.
The red-robed Priest seemed to have waited a long time; seeing someone approaching, he slowly rose and then knelt on the ground:
"Greetings, War Lord!"
"How did you break through the Sentinels's blockade? Are you specifically waiting for me?" Blazkowicz dismounted from his vehicle, carefully observing the Priest before him.
His appearance differed from tradition; unlike traditional Priests, he wasn't mysterious and slender, but robust and as tall as Harlan, with a violent and flamboyant aura.
He wore a blood-red robe, with copper-thread embroidery decorating the pleated edges, and a large waist token hung at his waist, an abstract brass "8" symbol.
Blazkowicz frowned; he had seen this symbol before. The chair that called itself the God of Warriors also had an "8" brass symbol at the top of its backrest.
God! Seeing the same symbol again confirmed his suspicion.
His father had already clashed with Him on a spiritual level and had foreseen His arrival.
"Before Nowick gave the order, we had already left the City of Truth with the oracle."
Unexpectedly, the Priest did not conceal anything and answered the question truthfully.
Blazkowicz nodded slightly, detecting no lie in his words.
The red-robed Priest's voice was muffled, and under the shadow of his hood, his eyes glowed blood-red: "I obey the Blood God's oracle to block you here, but only for eight hours!"
Blazkowicz, however, secretly breathed a sigh of relief.
Leaving the City of Truth early meant that the Sentinels's blockade was still in place, and blocking him here indicated that his elder brother and his army were still fighting.
Harlan stepped forward and asked disdainfully: "Just you? A charlatan playing at being a god?"
His sharp gaze locked onto the red-robed Priest, his spear in hand eager to move, capable of taking the charlatan's life in an instant.
Towards Priests who manipulated psychic energy, including those of the City of Truth, the Sentinels inherently held a sense of disdain.
Warriors strictly adhered to the Warrior's Law, which clearly told every Sentinels that the future needed to be explored with their own swords, and hope had to be fought for by humanity itself.
To gamble with courage for the future, everything is created by oneself.
Therefore, the Sentinels despised the Priests of the City of Truth, considering the religious fanatics who wholeheartedly dedicated themselves to deities and surrendered everything to faith as a group of undignified supplicants.
Their faith was powerless; their extreme fanaticism masked fragile hearts.
Those who entrust everything to deities will eventually find themselves with nothing.
"Champion Swordsman Harlan Ogilvy." The red-robed Priest looked at Harlan, his tone filled with respect and admiration: "I am indeed no match for you; even with the Blood God's blessing, I cannot defeat you."
"Powerful War Lord! Beloved by the Blood God!" The Priest's voice suddenly rose, and he looked at Blazkowicz, asking excitedly: "Do you think I can stop you for eight hours?"
The Priest's words made Blazkowicz subconsciously look up at the town behind him, which was devoid of life but hid a great power.
"What about the people in the city?" Blazkowicz asked, still unwilling to give up, though he already had a guess.
The Blood God was by no means benevolent; the city's inhabitants were likely doomed.
The Red Robed Priest's objective was clear: to delay Blazkowicz for eight hours, even willing to use conversation to stall for time, so he naturally didn't mind answering questions.
"None survived! They died in a bloody massacre!" The priest's tone was like a boast, and he proudly raised his head:
"They became sacrifices for the Blood God's servants to descend, and the means to stop you!"
Buzz~
As soon as he finished speaking, a Zhan blue spear blade pierced his hood and rested on his shoulder; with a slight swing, it could take off his head.
"Don't move! Priest!" Harlan roared, his strike swift and precise, the spear blade hissing, the sudden burst of killing intent enveloping the priest:
"Now you can't move, the ritual has no one to preside over it, it's just meaningless symbols and words."
Harlan had extensive experience in anti-psyker combat, knowing that when facing sorcerers and psykers, preemptive action was the best strategy.
"Hmm... if killing me would help," the Red Robed Priest groaned as if enjoying the sharp, bone-chilling killing intent, his gaze flicking to Blazkowicz: "Your master would have torn me to shreds long before you could react."
"The Blood God's might has descended, War Lord, they come for you!"
Rumble!
The ground was shaking, and the Blood Robed Priest trembled with excitement, his eyes wild as he knelt, praising loudly: "Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!"
As he roared, trembling with fanaticism, a bloody light shot up from the Knight family's town.
No! It wasn't a bloody light, but real blood.
The blood of nearly a hundred thousand humans massacred in the town was surging, boiling, and roaring at this moment!
"You'll never see your god, scum!" Harlan cursed indignantly, and after getting Blazkowicz's approval with a look, he swept his spear, taking off the priest's head.
How could the Sentinels tolerate this?
The people of Argent Nur were protected by the Sentinels, and even amidst constant conflict, they were restrained and cautious when using force.
Now, someone had offered a hundred thousand lives to their god for their faith.
In suppressed fury, Harlan cut off the culprit's head, but even in death, the fanatic worshipper's face still held an expression of fearless piety.
Blazkowicz grabbed Harlan and retreated swiftly, returning to the Sentinels's side; at this point, the ritual could no longer be stopped.
Long before they arrived, the sacrificial ritual had already been completed, merely waiting to be activated at the right time.
The surging, hot sea of blood dyed the sky red, space shattered, cracking like a mirror, the void was torn open, and the rushing Warp energy transformed into a river of blood, pouring down from above!
"Everyone, be on guard!" Blazkowicz's roar was like thunder, as if even the bloody clouds in the sky were shattered: "Our enemy is unprecedented! Unprecedentedly powerful!"
He felt evil—malice descending from the shattered void, those furious incarnations tearing through reality to arrive!
The Sentinels activated all their power armor's servo-systems, shields and weapons fully charged, and formed a battle array, ready for anything.
They had never seen the War Lord so anxious; even when facing Orcs, he always seemed composed and confident.
The surging sea of blood fell, and the air filled with the stench of sulfur, and the metallic smell of brass.
The knight's town vanished, where the sea of blood churned, and massive, malicious figures formed from the blood, trampling the earth with bloody hooves.
Demons!
Before their forms were even clear, primal malice pierced the minds of the Sentinels, declaring what kind of beings they were.
The crimson figures were incredibly tall, eight point eight meters in height, as if burning, their blood-red skin filled with rage, their strong, hot muscles roaring.
Their heads were like a mix of ox, sheep, and dog, their nostrils spewing hot sparks with each breath, rage burning in their demonic eyes, their sharp white teeth clenched, suppressing an insane urge to kill.
Clad in ancient brass armor, wielding various hideous and terrifying weapons—blades, swords, long whips, and battle-axes—their bat-like wings spread behind them, casting shadows that allowed no room for weakness or hiding.
Bloodthirsters!
Born from the furious will of Khorne, the Blood God, they were pure symbols of violence and slaughter.
Eighty-eight Bloodthirsters! Their appearance was solely to claim skulls for the Skull Throne.
"Gurgle! Gurgle! Gurgle! Gurgle!"
The Greater Daemon of Khorne's laughter was horrifyingly strange, like the gurgling of a dog mixed with the choked sobs of an ox or sheep, bizarre and terrifying.
Confusion erupted in the Sentinels's ranks; the accompanying technical personnel, after witnessing the Greater Daemon, could not suppress the furious rage in their hearts and began to attack those around them indiscriminately.
"Kill!" The War Lord's command was decisive, without a trace of hesitation or doubt.
"What do you feel?" Blazkowicz's eyes held confusion; he clearly felt that when those monsters of the Blood God appeared, they disseminated information to their surroundings.
"They are demons! They are Bloodthirsters!" Harlan took a few deep breaths, suppressing the stirred-up urge to kill in his heart, and explained to Blazkowicz.
He wasn't surprised; perhaps Blazkowicz was very powerful, and the demons' malice couldn't trouble him.
Blazkowicz indeed felt nothing; he also didn't know why he couldn't receive the information emitted by the demons.
However, he was not at ease either; a feeling he had never experienced before, an uncontrollable surge from his heart the moment he saw the demons.
His body was trembling slightly, which was almost impossible given Blazkowicz's control over his body.
But it was happening now, undeniably real.
The blood-red mark on his chest no longer flickered; its radiance was dim but unextinguished.
The hatred that had flashed earlier resurfaced, making Blazkowicz struggle with every breath to control the urge to tear the Bloodthirsters to shreds.
"I am Angrath, the first Bloodthirster under the Blood God, Guardian of the Skull Throne, here by the oracle of the Skull Throne."
The strongest Bloodthirster at the forefront spoke, holding an axe in one hand and a whip in the other, raising his hand to point the axe at Blazkowicz: "Blazkowicz!"
Angrath. Before he was born, Skarbrand was Khorne's chief Greater Daemon.
Skarbrand had claimed countless souls for Khorne, offered mountains of skulls, breached one of Slaanesh's six rings, defeated the allied forces of three gods, and defended the dignity of the Skull Throne.
Khorne possessed such a powerful Greater Daemon, and Tzeentch was extremely jealous. He whispered in Skarbrand's ear, inciting him to raise his blade against Khorne.
Skarbrand ambushed Khorne, leaving an insignificant crack in his brass armor. He was then seized by the furious Blood God and thrown out of Khorne's domain.
Khorne, having lost his beloved general, was very unhappy, so he created Angrath, possessing immense power and unwavering loyalty.
Angrath. Guardian of the Skull Throne, the embodiment of Khorne's destructive urge, the ultimate existence representing war and destruction.
"The Blood God values you so highly, he is so tolerant," the Bloodthirster's voice was strained, enduring an eternal, ceaseless rage, his agitated growl twisted by jealousy: "He even changed his oracle for you."
Blazkowicz said nothing, staring at the chattering demon, suppressing the growing rage within him, afraid that he would rush over and rip out its tongue before it finished speaking.
Harlan, beside him, even saw his liege's hand trembling slightly, constantly suppressing his body's instincts.
The eighty-eight Bloodthirsters were restless, and Angrath exhaled sparks: "You wish to save your brother, and the Blood God likes your eagerness. He allows you to leave here immediately after defeating us, and not after eight hours."
Ennio was indeed under attack!
Blazkowicz caught the information from Angrath's incessant chatter. Ennio was in combat, and the enemy was very likely also demons.
Facing such powerful enemies, Ennio was under considerable pressure, but by no means without the ability to resist; the demons appearing to block Blazkowicz was good proof of that.
"Come on! Demons!" Blazkowicz stood tall, his figure far smaller than the Bloodthirsters, yet his gaze was like looking down from a commanding height upon the horde of demons.
This was a duel that could not be refused, and it was the best option at the moment.
Indeed, from the Bloodthirster's words, Blazkowicz truly felt a sense of tolerance, the Blood God's "love" for him.
The hideous and terrifying Bloodthirsters, while not much of a threat to Blazkowicz himself, would certainly be a terrible battle if they charged the Sentinels.
Bloody and cruel!
"My lord, you should trust us! The warriors await fighting alongside you, we can kill the enemy together!" Harlan's movements were anxious, and the Sentinels behind him were equally eager to fight; no need for more words, warriors never feared any enemy!
They were fearless warriors, unafraid of demons, even thinking about how to kill them.
Blazkowicz held out a hand to stop them; the warriors were unafraid of death, but the War Lord cherished the life of every warrior.
The Blood God came for him, and he should resolve it himself.
"Sentinels, rest in place! You may cheer! I will return with victory!" He commanded the Sentinels to lower their guard and cheer for the battle.
Blazkowicz wasn't afraid of the Bloodthirsters launching a sneak attack; he had a subtle feeling that while the Bloodthirsters were hateful and abominable, they disdained to break the rules of a duel.
"Come on! Fight to your heart's content!" Angrath slammed his axe to the ground, letting out an earth-shattering roar.
Reality twisted within the Warp ritual, and an 88-meter arena, adorned with skulls and cast from brass and blood, rose from the ground.