The Primeval raised its skull-topped psychic staff high, radiating a pure, untainted radiance.
That power was immaculate and sacred, drawn from the Warp yet untouched by any stain of corruption.
Hum~~~
The skies brightened dramatically as brilliance washed downward. A pristine, blinding sun rose within the Primeval's grip, and wherever its light fell, an ethereal choir seemed to chant, purifying the filth of the mortal world.
The glare was dazzling; wherever it shone, psychic energy melted away like winter snow, completely purged as the power of the Warp was banished from the material plane.
"Let me see what you truly are!"
The Primeval roared in righteous fury, focusing the cleansing light within the eye sockets of its staff into two scorching beams of judgment that locked relentlessly onto the human Primarch's form.
An incredible sight unfolded.
The purifying light defied both the properties of psychic energy and the laws of physics, slamming into an invisible wall just three feet in front of Blazkowicz and coming to a dead stop.
A three-foot absolute domain—an infinitesimal distance that proved to be a despairing chasm, utterly unreachable by an Alpha-level psyker pouring forth every ounce of their power.
An invisible, psychic-devouring black hole manifested around Blazkowicz beneath the illumination of the sacred light.
The Primeval's eyes widened as it finally discerned the true nature represented by that pitch-black void.
It was a domain of dead, silent desolation; transcendent psychic energy fell into eternal stillness within it, and the laws of physical reality ceased to function.
"Blasphemer!" Comprehending that void nature, it spat the curse aloud, its expression of scorn laced heavily with dread.
The reality was precisely as it appeared: the man was not simply arrogant.
The very essence of his existence was an absolute, fundamental denial of psychic power driven by his own willpower, allowing him to suppress every single transcendent force born of the Warp.
What it had witnessed was no illusion, but a terrifying fact—the mortal warrior before it had genuinely audience with the Gods.
And—rejected them!
Only by standing in the direct presence of the Gods and truly comprehending the grand concepts of divinity could one reject their favor from the very root.
"Why?" The cleansing light dissipated as the Primeval demanded in bitter disbelief.
Khraive's faction had wandered the galaxy for uncounted ages in search of Chaos artifacts, all to cross into the Realm of Chaos, prostrate themselves before the might of the Dark Gods, and become the true "Chosen of the Gods."
"How cruel is fate?" It raised its staff high, staring blankly toward the gloomy sky as it desolately cursed the cruel irony of creation.
That audience which psychic races begged for across eternity had been flatly refused by a human Primarch.
With the keystones to the portals of the divine realm resting in his hands, with what monstrous willpower had he resisted the temptation, turning a blind eye to the siren songs of the Chaos Gods?
Blazkowicz offered no answer, crossing a thousand meters in the blink of an eye to crash straight into the xenos coalition's front line.
He swung his warhammer downward, turning the Worm-men into a squelching mess beneath the devastation of the shock-field.
The defensive lines painstakingly constructed by the xenos warriors proved pathetically fragile under the onslaught of absolute force, shattering at the very first touch.
"You possess a certain value." Delivering several hammer blows in rapid succession, Blazkowicz carved out a zone of absolute death that turned Rangdan warriors into raw pulp as he punched straight through into the interior of the formation.
His movements were too fast: picosecond-level conscious reaction speeds paired with nanosecond-level physical coordination formed the deadliest combat machine in the physical universe.
To Blazkowicz, spacetime seemed nearly frozen, everything around him locked in a state of suspended animation.
Bio-chemical rays and plasma bolts "crawled" out of their weapon barrels, flying sluggishly through the air with the vibrations of their exploding atoms clearly visible. Khraive's warriors wore hideous snarls, spittle flying as they chanted psychic incantations, pulling the triggers of their psy-flintlocks to fire shards of the Warp.
Swish.
Blazkowicz moved like a phantom crossing spatial dimensions, flashing forward upon the wings of lightning to appear directly before the Primeval.
In 0.01 seconds, reacting at the absolute limit of perception, the Primeval jerked its head up and leaped backward in terror.
Only when he was standing within arm's reach did it clearly register the words the human Primarch had just uttered: "You possess a certain value."
Gazing at a man moving faster than sound itself, the Primeval looked past his shoulder to find a gaping breach torn through the defensive line, littered with pulped flesh and multicolored blood.
Gulp—
Its throat felt bone-dry as its tongue curled with immense difficulty against the roof of its mouth to ease the mounting pressure.
Lowering its gaze to meet those freezing eyes, the Primeval asked with extreme effort: "What?"
Though the human Primarch stood less than half its height, it felt the crushing weight of an entire mountain pressing down upon it; its knees and spine involuntarily buckled, its very soul threatening to drop and worship him.
"You possess a certain value," Blazkowicz repeated without hesitation, hoisting his warhammer as his form vanished once more.
Crack—
Chitinous armor shattered with a sound of crisp finality.
"Hrk!" The Primeval let out a stifled groan, its massive frame dropping to one half-knee as its skull-tipped staff swept out in a blind, defensive arc.
"I am not going to kill you."
Easily sidestepping the wild, sweeping counterattack, Blazkowicz materialized behind the Primeval and brought his combat boot down with merciless force to shatter the back of its knee.
He gripped his shield tightly with his right hand, driving it straight into the foul torso. Pulling the trigger, the motor whined into a high-pitched scream as the C'tan metal teeth spun at blinding speed, shredding chitin and showering the air with visceral fluids!
"NOOO!!!"
The piercing shriek shocked the surrounding xenos warriors into action. Spinning around to look, they saw the supreme Primeval of Khraive's faction brought to its knees, howling in agonizing torment.
"Fall back!" the Rangdan Warmaster roared, knowing waiting any longer was suicide.
With the Primeval currently occupying the human Primarch, now was the absolute prime window for retreat.
"Follow the Rangdan, we're getting out of here!" the Worm-man elder shrieked, rallying its surviving kin to fall back.
With their tacit formation shifting instantly, the Rangdan and Sloth Worm-men abandoned Khraive's forces, turning their rearguard into a vanguard as they began violently breaking out toward the mountains.
"Waaaaaagh!!!!"
The Orks would never allow these weird xenos to escape, unleashing a thunderous roar as they charged directly into the breached sector.
"Protect the Primeval!" Khraive's sorcerers cried out in bizarre cadences. Ignoring their fleeing allies, they converged around the fallen leader.
A hundred-meter-wide psychic barrier dropped downward, blocking the charging Orks while simultaneously sealing the human Primarch inside.
Within the purple dome of light, Blazkowicz slammed the Buzzsaw Shield viciously against the Primeval's ribs, the spinning teeth carving through flesh and bone to splatter him head-to-toe in filth.
His heavy warhammer had already been discarded; his right hand held a super shotgun, firing round after round without pause.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The wild muzzle of the double-barreled shotgun flashed with blinding golden light as psychic shells of terrifying yield penetrated the thick hide, detonating internal organs into clouds of bloody mist.
Fire, break open the breech to eject casings, snap shut to reload—the entire sequence flowed with supernatural fluidity.
Every single second, Blazkowicz executed this manual cycling motion over a dozen times with one hand.
While his left hand pinned and tormented the Primeval with the Buzzsaw Shield, his right hand fired continuously, scything down Khraive's warriors.
With a sweep of his combat boot, shell casings stamped with the Emperor's seal scattered like a golden spray of shot, striking Khraive's cultists dead center in the forehead.
Golden psychic energy detonated inside their skulls, instantly dropping dozens of ferocious xenos who collapsed mid-charge.
"Get away from me!" the Primeval growled, its sharp talons raking white gouges across Blazkowicz's armor as it shoved frantically to escape the chewing teeth of the chainsaw.
Panic had completely consumed its mind; it wanted nothing more than to flee this agonizing torture.
With its psychic powers suppressed and its physical form thoroughly overpowered, the Primeval knew its survival odds were grim.
Foreseeing a wretched defeat, it refused to play the role of a humiliated captive, struggling frantically to break free from its tragic fate.
Blazkowicz had no intention of granting its wish!
Through the power of purification, he recognized the immense value the Primeval held.
If humanity could master the secret art of channeling cleansing psychic energy, they would secure another vital layer of resilience in the ongoing war against daemons and gods.
With a flick of his arm, Blazkowicz hurled the Buzzsaw Shield outward, sending it spinning into the ranks of Khraive's cultists.
In the next instant, he closed the distance with a single stride to catch the crawling Primeval, jamming the muzzle of his super shotgun straight into the wound sawed open by the shield.
Amidst the slick warmth of torn flesh, Blazkowicz pulled the trigger.