"The Changeling?"
Creed's pupils contracted slightly. Truthfully, he did not know exactly what the thing before him was. The glittering title of Lord Castellan of Cadia did not grant a man knowledge of every dark secret in the universe. On the contrary, the higher Creed rose, the more he understood one truth: some knowledge is a weapon.
Any information related to the Warp was classified as top secret by the Inquisition. Every syllable of such knowledge was soaked in curses. Simply outlining the silhouette of certain entities in one's mind could cause a resolute warrior to hear whispers in their sleep, only to wake one morning finding their faith in the Emperor gone. Only the daemon hunters of the Inquisition could maintain sanity while possessing such knowledge, and even they dared not claim they truly understood Chaos.
As for the Changeling, the legendary Greater Daemon of Tzeentch possessed a shapeshifting ability so perfect it could deceive any enemy. In the secret archives of the Imperium, recorded incidents of the Changeling's infiltration were few—not because it rarely acted, but because most of its actions were so successful that the Imperium never realized they had occurred.
That Creed could pull the trigger without any physical evidence, relying solely on an instinct honed to its absolute limit, was a miracle. It was a miracle that would have astonished even the Astartes heroes who had suffered at the Changeling's hands.
But that was for later. Currently, the Lord Castellan of Cadia faced a more pressing problem. He looked at the Tzeentchian daemon, its body flowing with blue psychic light and shifting feathers and eyeballs, with no unnecessary expression on his face. His reaction was lightning-fast; he reached out and slammed his hand down on the button nearest to him.
It was a red button installed at the most prominent position on the edge of the sand table. Anyone entering the command center could see it at a glance, appearing as an emergency measure for communication intrusion.
However, the Changeling was faster.
Squelch—
Creed's right forearm spun away from his body, trailing a mist of warm blood. It drew a parabolic arc through the air before hitting the ceiling with a dull thud. Blood erupted like a turned-on faucet, staining everything a vivid red.
Creed looked down at his severed hand. Pain surged like a tsunami, but he only let out a dry chuckle. "Too slow."
That reachable button had been a decoy. The real emergency button had already been activated the moment Creed's gaze first swept over it!
"Oh?" The Changeling tilted its head. Its shifting head leaned at a bizarre angle, countless eyes turning toward Creed with a flicker of confusion.
Then, it heard a sound.
Crackle! Pop!—
The air began to shriek. The temperature inside the command center plummeted by a dozen degrees, moisture condensing into frost on the walls. Then, a rift appeared. It hung suspended in the center of the command room, lightning erupting from the fissure and striking the floor and walls, leaving charred marks.
A massive figure stepped out from the rift.
Bronze power armor, covered in the marks of age and war. The surface of the armor bore no ornate decorations, no marks of honor, no campaign ribbons—only the pure, practical appearance of a war machine.
Asterion Moloc. Chapter Master of the Minotaurs.
He held a massive power axe, its blade dancing with a blue decomposition field. His helmet lenses glowed with a crimson light, like the eyes of a beast. Behind him, more figures stepped from the Warp rift. They were all clad in Terminator armor, the thick ceramite plates making these already massive warriors appear unstoppable. Each shoulder plate bore the emblem of the Minotaurs Chapter.
Since Guilliman's return and the reorganization of the High Lords, the role of the Minotaurs had changed fundamentally. Now, they had a new mission. Only a force like the Minotaurs would accept a task that others might consider "dishonorable" without hesitation. They did not care about standing guard in a sunless bunker or the strange looks from their more arrogant Astartes peers.
Moloc raised his crimson lenses, locking onto the twisted entity flowing with blue light. He said nothing. He swung the power axe with enough force to split the frontal armor of a Leman Russ tank, bringing it down on the Changeling in a heavy arc.
The Changeling's reaction was equally swift. It raised a shifting claw, blue psychic light gathering at the fingertips before erupting into a thick bolt of lightning directed at the charging Chapter Master. This psychic bolt carried enough energy to melt ceramite into slag. Under normal circumstances, it would tear through any Astartes defense and turn the flesh within to char.
The lightning struck Moloc. Then—it vanished.
The lethal psychic bolt seemed to fall into an invisible abyss, disappearing the moment it touched the space around Moloc, leaving only a faint blue ripple in the air. Even the widely-traveled Changeling froze for a split second.
A personal void shield? What kind of extravagant equipment loadout was this?
The shock lasted less than a second. As the lightning was swallowed by the void shield, Moloc's power axe struck home. The decomposition field contacted the Changeling's fluid body with a bone-chilling shriek. The azure energy field tore wildly, shredding feathers, scales, eyeballs, and teeth alike.
The Changeling's form buckled heavily. However, it was a Greater Daemon, a creation of Tzeentch, and an extension of the Warp's will in the material world.
Since ranged attacks were ineffective, it would resort to melee!
The Changeling let out a piercing shriek. Its arm, shredded by the decomposition field, lashed out. Its fingertips transformed into five curved blades, each shimmering with a sinister blue light.
Three Minotaur Terminators were struck head-on. The blades tore through ceramite armor, penetrated the protective layers of the void shield generators, and sank into the flesh within. Blood erupted from the gaps in the armor, staining the bronze ceramite surfaces dark red.
But the three Terminators did not retreat. They silently raised their storm bolters and pulled the triggers at near-zero range.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Bolts poured out like a rainstorm. Simultaneously, more Minotaur Terminators closed in. Power fists, axes, and thunder hammers fell together, tearing wound after wound into the Changeling's ever-shifting body. Psychic light poured from the gashes like liquid blue fire, burning and churning in the air before dissipating.
The Changeling endured these attacks. The parts torn by power weapons regrew new tissue in the next second—more eyes, more feathers, more twisted teeth. Every reorganization made its form more grotesque.
It advanced. Facing the concentrated fire of thirty Terminators, the Changeling stepped forward one pace at a time.
Wait—its target! It was the command communication console!
Creed's pupils contracted sharply. He instantly realized the Changeling's intention.
"Stop it!" the Lord Castellan of Cadia roared. He grabbed his bolt pistol with his remaining left hand and pulled the trigger repeatedly toward the console.
But the bolts didn't even reach the target. They stopped in mid-air, like insects frozen in amber. The Changeling ignored them.
Then, it leaped. In mid-air, the Changeling's form began to flow. Blue psychic light swallowed its entire body. Eyes, feathers, scales, and teeth melted and reorganized within the glow. The entire process lasted less than a second.
When it landed, another Lord Castellan Creed stood there. But this "Creed" was still shrouded in a thick layer of psychic shielding.
The Minotaurs' attacks did not cease for a moment, but every strike landed on that blue barrier, stirring ripples but failing to break through. The Changeling endured all of it, walking toward the communication console one step at a time. Its gait was steady and its posture upright, identical to the real Lord of Cadia.
Then it reached out and picked up the handset. Creed's eyes widened.
"No—"
He roared, struggling to rush forward, but the intense pain from his severed arm caused his body to stumble.
The Changeling pressed the transmit button. Its voice echoed across every communication channel of the entire Cadian surface defense belt.
"Hear my command: all forces, slit your throats and return to heaven!"