A small hole appeared in the wall, and the blood-red light from the plaza outside filtered in.
Everyone could see the scene outside.
A complex magic circle had been drawn over the pit in the ground.
Inside the circle lay corpses—Cadian Guardsmen and civilians, all dead in gruesome ways.
There were even some bodies of Volscani traitors among them.
The robed figure was currently standing in front of the circle.
He raised both arms high, his sleeves sliding down to reveal limbs covered in scales and feathers. He began to chant loudly:
"Oh, Master of Knowledge and Fate, Weaver of a Thousand Possibilities, Reflection of Change and Eternity."
"I, your humble servant, offer these souls and beg for your gaze."
His prayers grew higher and higher in pitch, turning into shrieks.
A traitor commander walked over impatiently.
He looked at the silent pit and demanded, "You've been babbling for half a day. Is it working or not?"
Friction between the various Chaos factions was constant.
They were fighting together on the battlefields of Cadia only because their superiors had reached an agreement. This did not mean they got along well.
The robed figure stopped praying and turned around.
"This is Cadia. The entire planet is covered in Blackstone. Do you think communing is as simple as you pulling a trigger?"
With that, he resumed his chanting.
It was a standard tactic of the Chaos forces: a ritual of soul sacrifice.
The Word Bearers had once conducted a massive sacrifice in Guilliman's Five Hundred Worlds, generating a Ruinstorm that altered the course of the war.
The faces of Zeke's squad were grim. They had all seen the bodies in the circle.
Sacrifice on the battlefield was inevitable, but dying in such a manner was too humiliating.
"Damn it," Bela cursed.
Dance and Karmine began plotting specific coordinates on the map.
"They will pay for this," Dance said.
Zeke held the spyglass, his gaze never leaving the robed figure.
[Tzeentch Cultist Leader]
[HP: 50/50, Armor: 11]
Zeke saw a shadow of an old acquaintance in this robed figure.
Tall, thin, entirely black, with purple glowing eyes under the hood... An Enderman?
The mapping was complete. The squad returned to the underground tunnel to hand over the mission. Everything was ready.
Several hours later.
The Tzeentch Cultist was still in the same spot, repeating his lengthy prayers over and over in that shrill voice.
The traitor soldiers nearby were already annoyed to death. Their ears were practically calloused, and they were all staying far away.
"A bunch of foolish, short-sighted mortals." The Cultist glimpsed the soldiers distancing themselves from the corner of his eye.
Deep down, he knew the truth.
On Cadia, where Blackstone was everywhere, trying to summon any decent Warp entity or power with a sacrifice and circle of this scale was essentially a pipe dream.
But appearances had to be maintained. The Warmaster he served did not have a good temper.
"Hear me, Great Lord of Change..." Thinking of this, the Cultist waved his scaled arms and prayed even harder.
Hummmm!
The ground seemed to vibrate slightly.
"Hmm?" It wasn't just the Cultist; the surrounding traitor soldiers felt it too. They stopped what they were doing and looked at each other in confusion.
Finally, their gazes unanimously converged on the Cultist.
Their eyes held a mix of shock and a trace of "Did you actually do it?"
The Cultist's prayer stuck in his throat.
What's going on? I clearly didn't feel any response from the Warp.
Could it be that my piety moved...
Impossible. What use is the piety of someone like me? The Great Powers only notice the important pawns.
After a brief moment of astonishment, the feeling of being in the spotlight caused a surge of hope in his heart.
"Heed my call!" He raised his arms higher, his voice pitching up.
The vibrations in the ground clearly intensified, and the frequency increased. Something massive wanted to come out.
Now, all the traitors truly felt it.
The disdain on their faces faded, and some began to slowly move closer to the Cultist's position.
"Reveal yourself, power from beyond the Veil! Kill these stubborn enemies!"
The Cultist was practically screaming his lungs out.
The ground vibrations reached a peak, and the entire plaza seemed to shake.
Rumble, rumble, rumble.
The ground collapsed downward, sending dust flying.
A short, thick metal barrel was the first thing to emerge from the dust.
It rose slowly, pointing directly at the Cultist standing at the edge of the sinkhole.
Staring at the barrel right in front of him, the Cultist subconsciously reached out, wanting to touch the cold metal surface.
"Is this a war machine granted to me by a machine spirit responding to my call?"
The Cultist's voice was filled with disbelief and ecstasy.
"Excellent! With such a powerful creation of war, we will surely break through in one fell swoop! Wait, why are you backing away?"
He realized that the traitor soldiers around him, who had been looking on with expectation, were now stepping back one by one.
The Cultist's gaze followed the barrel backward.
A Leman Russ Battle Tank, its tracks still slowly turning.
In the tank's hatch, a middle-aged officer swept his gaze over the surroundings.
"Finally..." He straightened his cap and looked at the group of traitors before him, flames of hatred erupting from his eyes.
"Fire!"
The entire Leman Russ jerked backward as a torrent of fire spewed from the cannon, pouring over the Cultist.
The impact of the flames sent his entire body flying. The black robe turned to ash, revealing the twisted, abominable true form beneath.
A beak-like mouthpart, dozens of eerie blue eyes covering his face, and bird-like claws at the ends of abnormally long, thin limbs.
A being deeply corrupted by the power of Tzeentch.
The tank's fire sounded the horn for the counterattack.
"For Cadia! Charge!"
Sergeant Victor took the lead, rushing onto the surface. The veteran's gray hair flew in the shockwave like a war banner.
He wasted no words, simply waving his hand forward.
From the massive underground breaches on either side of the tank, Cadian soldiers who had been waiting for a long time roared as they surged out.
The frustration of days past and the strength accumulated during their rest were all vented in this moment.
"Who can tell me how a tank grew out of the ground?!"
The traitor commander's face was pale as a sheet. He screamed hysterically, grabbing a person in front of him at random.
"You useless trash! How did a tank that big get in here?!" Saliva flew onto the traitor's face.
Looking at the traitor shaking like a leaf, the commander threw him aside and scrambled to grab his Lasgun lying nearby.
But several las-bolts hit the traitor commander simultaneously in the chest, head, and arms.
He didn't even touch his gun before he was turned into a sieve by crossfire, collapsing to the ground in a heap.
The tables had turned. A few days ago, the traitors had used despicable ambush and betrayal to slaughter their unprepared comrades and superiors.
Today, it was their turn to taste the flavor of a surprise attack.
The Volscani traitors also had excellent equipment. They had Leman Russ Battle Tanks, Chimera transports, and other war machines.
But the drivers were all outside. Under the artillery fire of the Cadian warriors, no one dared to risk climbing into the vehicles.
The traitors were like an ant colony poured with boiling water, scattering in panic and terror. Their formation collapsed completely.
Cadian soldiers, operating in squads, seized the high ground around the plaza.
They took over the traitors' fortifications and various vehicles. Heavy stubbers and mortars were turned around, their muzzles aimed at their former masters.
In the underground tunnel.
"Move! Move! Faster!" Urging shouts echoed.
Soldiers ran forward in dense, orderly columns. Armored vehicles transporting ammunition and supplies shuttled through the gaps in the ranks.
More forces were continuously converging on the battlefield.
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