The pile of corpses turned to ash, and the stench in the air gradually dissipated, yet the lingering rot on the psychic level remained inescapable. The Helldivers and the Astral Claws shared a brief discussion to decide their next move.
"According to that Nurgle daemon," Freeman said in a heavy voice, "the Tzeentch cultists are quite numerous and are using some kind of kind of illusion. They won't be easy to handle. Meanwhile, the Slaanesh cultists on the right are apparently just throwing an outdoor party, snorting hallucinogens, and... spraying bodily fluids. He didn't mention their numbers."
A Helldiver patted the gun on his chest and chimed in, "As the saying goes, pick the low-hanging fruit first. It's better to settle the issues on the right—think of it as a warm-up."
The Astral Claws squad leader nodded in agreement. For them, purging Chaos heresy was the top priority; choosing a more vulnerable point of entry was undoubtedly a wise move.
Thus, the team turned right, advancing along a narrow, winding street. However, as they passed through a dilapidated archway, the Astral Claws suddenly realized that the filthy, dark Underhive environment—filled with trash and rot—had vanished. In its place was a magnificent and debauched banquet scene.
A resplendent hall appeared, the air thick with rich spices, fine wine, and an indefinable aphrodisiac scent.
Men and women in revealing clothing and seductive poses surrounded a long table, gorging themselves on exquisite foods and drinking amber wine. Their smiles were wanton and tempting, their eyes shimmering with the light of desire.
Melodious yet sickly music echoed in their ears, every note seemingly pulling at the deepest, most primal urges within their hearts.
The willpower of the Astral Claws allowed them to react quickly; they realized they had fallen into an illusion. The claws of Slaanesh had quietly reached for their minds. The squad leader spoke in a low voice—his words sounding somewhat ethereal in the hallucination but remaining firm.
He activated the internal systems of his power armor, attempting to detect and counter this psychic sorcery: "We must find a way to wake up as soon as possible."
One of the Astral Claws looked around but couldn't see the Helldivers who had come with them: "I don't see the Helldivers. I don't know what's happened to them."
"Worrying about them?" The squad leader shook his head, his tone cold. "We'd better worry about ourselves first. This daemon's illusion is far more sophisticated than we imagined."
In reality, however, the players were clicking their tongues in amazement at the massive heap of white, writhing flesh covering the street, letting out bursts of exclamations.
"Holy crap, what the hell is this? It looks like a bunch of maggots melted together. My sanity points are dropping just looking at it!" one Helldiver couldn't help but curse, his stomach churning.
What they saw was no magnificent banquet, but piles of entangled, massive lumps of flesh composed of countless human bodies. Those masses were still slowly writhing; occasionally, limbs, faces, and unrecognizable organs would surface and then sink back in. The air was filled with a nauseating mix of thick rot and sickly-sweet bodily fluids.
"These people are all fused together, man!" another player pointed to a spot where several faces were distorted, mouths agape as if screaming silently, yet their bodies were completely integrated with the surrounding flesh.
"Wait," a player suddenly realized, pointing at the Astral Claws beside them who had gone quiet. "Why did they suddenly stop moving?"
Those tall Astartes stood like statues, frozen before the writhing mountain of meat. Their weapons hung low as if their souls had been stripped away.
Just then, a twisted and seductive figure slowly rose from the writhing flesh. It had ambiguous gender characteristics but radiated an extreme sense of temptation and depravity. Its body was patched together from countless limbs and organs, yet it weirdly presented a sickly aesthetic.
Its piercing laughter, sounding like fingernails scratching a blackboard, echoed through the Underhive: "Hahaha! Foolish mortals! To step into my domain so brazenly! With just you commoners, you dare come to exorcise me? Now that you're trapped in my illusion, I've already gained the upper hand!"
"Uh, it seems to have a point..." The players looked at each other, whispering amongst themselves. "We didn't bring any Pariah bone meal or Ecclesiarchy Priests. Coming here to exorcise daemons like this does seem a bit overconfident."
"Now we're in trouble. Even the Astral Claws fell for it. This thing is definitely more troublesome than that trash-talking daemon from earlier!"
"Hey! Freeman! Captain! What do we do?"
Before Freeman could think of a solution, the players behind him were also at a loss, faced with this unexpectedly eerie scene and the incapacitated Astral Claws.
At that moment, the twisted, seductive figure of the Slaaneshi daemon paused slightly. Its eyes, full of allure and corruption, swept over the Helldivers who were still whispering. A clear sense of confusion entered its voice: "Hmm? Why haven't you fallen into the illusion yet?"
Its tone was full of bewilderment. By all rights, at such a close range, it should have been impossible for these mortals to resist. It thought for a moment, assuming it had been too overconfident and neglected these mortals, and unleashed its psychic power again. An invisible force surged toward the Helldivers like a tide.
However, that psychic impact was like a stone dropped into the ocean—it vanished the moment it touched the Helldivers, without creating a single ripple. The daemon's expression grew distorted. It tried again, only to find it was still ineffective. It was like searching for a file on a computer and finding nothing; it was as if the "file" simply didn't exist.
"This—how is this possible?" The daemon's voice was filled with shock and uncertainty. Even its sickly allure faded, replaced by confusion and unease. In its psychic perception, the existence of these creatures was so... blank. They were like a void, giving its illusions nowhere to take hold.
The players also noticed something was wrong.
"What's going on? Its psychic spells aren't working on us?" one Helldiver shouted in pleasant surprise.
"Holy shit, it really doesn't work! I don't feel a thing!"
"Hahahaha, isn't this basically a free win?"
"Maybe it's because of our souls?" another player said thoughtfully. "I saw a post on the forum saying a Slaaneshi Greater Daemon encountered other players and said they had no souls."
This explanation enlightened the other players.
"That's right! We're players, not people of this world. We don't have 'real' souls! So spells that target the soul are useless against us?"
"Then why didn't this thing realize we have no souls?" someone questioned.
"Probably the environment," another analyzed. "This is the real universe, not a place where psychic energy is more active like the Webway or the Warp. Its perception might not be that sharp.
Secondly, it's a matter of strength. This guy definitely can't compare to a Greater Daemon. A Greater Daemon could probably see through us at a glance, but this guy is a bit lacking."
"What a pity," one player lamented inappropriately, earning eye-rolls from his teammates. "I actually wanted to go into the illusion and see some 'big badonkadonks'."
"This heretic is pitching a tent! Kill him!"