Chaos threat: 24%
---
"Ghaaha!!"
The enemies of Mankind were vanquished by his righteous hands, the lasgun tearing through the tougher cultists that had surrounded him.
Their heads and bodies vaporizing was but the most merciful deaths they could ever hope for. If he had the resources, 38912-K would have burned them all alive in holy flames, purging their very souls in the Emperor's fire.
"Skin him alive for the gods!" one cultist proclaimed in bloodlusted glee, bodies itching and spasming.
It didn't take an Inquisitor to see the taint of Chaos inside them.
38912-K tucked his lasgun away, having run out of battery packs with these pests' numbers.
He unbelted his mono knife and raised his shovel, the blades stained with previous heretics falling to their sharp edges.
His attire now bore small differences from the standard Death Korps of Krieg uniform.
Armor: scavenged from the heretics, purified enough for wear with litanies to the God-Emperor of Mankind.
More shoulder and leg protection, reinforced plates atop his standard-issue ones over his shoulders. He had even picked up a proper chestplate to shield himself from blunt force. His opponents were growing stronger and faster as he purged deeper into this cursed war, and the extra protection would surely be in his favor.
38912-K raised his weapons, the purplish light radiating from the tear in the skies above giving the son of Krieg a menacing presence. In that moment, he was less a man and more a silhouette of righteous judgment in the Emperor's service.
The cultists didn't back down; their numbers were overwhelming. The ones who feared the blast of his lasgun now fully joined the assault.
38912-K did not mind a challenge.
"In the Emperor I trust," he muttered, then slaughtered.
---
A successful purge.
The Krieger allowed himself to take a deep breath. Countless cuts painted his figure in red, his coat and armor almost soaked through with blood.
Despite the swarm of cultists being tainted by the madness of Chaos, they had offered the humble servant of the Emperor only manageable difficulty. His shovel could attest to that.
He had decided not to consume the unholy healing water just yet. It would be unwise to waste his reserves on wounds that could be treated with a bandage.
The tired 38912-K strode back toward his chapel, intent on expressing his loyalty to the God-Emperor through continuous prayer while waiting for sunrise…
He cast his gaze briefly upward to the tear in the skies. The purplish light vastly outshone the pale glow of the moon, a poisonous radiance ready to consume this world.
He would pray, and he would alter his plans.
He had already crippled the Guild's supplies enough to give them an upcoming nightmare of starvation and rioting civilians. But now, 38912-K would need to divert his full attention to the cultists. Their strength had grown beyond expectation—far stronger than he had anticipated.
The gate to hell in the skies was a grim reminder of that.
Arriving before the wooden, rotting doors of the Chapel of the Unforgiven, the son of Krieg immediately noticed something wrong. Faint scratches ran along the bottom edges of the doors.
Someone had dared to invade the sacred ground of the Emperor.
38912-K immediately drew his laspistol. His lasgun battery packs had yet to recharge fully.
He took a deep breath, then kicked the door wide open, pistol raised, ready to incinerate the heretics who dared trespass upon holy soil.
"…"
No sign of anyone nearby. The church was empty. The barricades, the Imperial Aquila, and the many other symbols he had painted in devotion to the Emperor remained undisturbed.
38912-K stepped inside, pistol lowering as tension gave way to the smallest flicker of relaxation.
The lonely man walked toward the icon drawn in blood. His steps slowed to a halt as he knelt on one knee, raising his arms to form an Aquila for prayer—one hand still clutched the laspistol cautiously.
From the shadows above, a figure descended silently, drifting down as gracefully as a feather. Her features twisted in disgust as she leapt forward with predatory intent.
38912-K had already known the heretics were nearby, just not exactly where.
Now he knew.
His pistol was ready in his arm from the start. His masked face turned toward the white-haired woman in a black dress.
The woman was already within arm's reach, her speed impossible to register. But the tip of 38912-K's laspistol had already found its target.
FWOSH!
The laspistol's light ammunition collided with the woman's face, illuminating the church in a red flash.
"Gha!" The Krieger couldn't contain the grunt as his throat was immediately seized. The woman's grip crushed his windpipe, lifting his entire body with brutal force. His pistol flew from his hand, skittering across the floor until it landed beneath the holy Aquila.
"You accursed pest," Alfia snarled as the light from his las shot faded.
Her face was untouched. Her skin remained smooth and unmarred. Only a faint reddening mark on her left cheek proved the precision of his shot.
38912-K kicked and thrashed with one hand, punching her face repeatedly. His other hand groped for the mono knife on his belt, dragging it free and swinging wildly at the woman's arm and neck.
His strikes had utterly no effect on Alfia beyond increasing her irritation.
With a casual flick, she shattered the mono knife, leaving 38912-K flabbergasted at the strength on display.
"What have you done to this sacred place, worm?" Alfia tightened her grip, squeezing the Krieger's throat until breathing became a desperate, rattling task.
38912-K couldn't speak even if he wanted to. He simply clawed at her arm, refusing to submit. His hands were all the weapons in his reach.
Alfia's teeth ground together. She had not been this angry in a long, long time. The sight of her sister's beloved church desecrated into… "this" made her blood boil.
She was about to snap the pest's neck when Erebus interrupted her justified rage.
"Now what do we have here?"
The primordial god of darkness and patron god of Evilus stepped out from the basement door.
Erebus hummed to himself curiously, eyes wandering upward to the Aquila over his head before returning to the masked man dangling in Alfia's grip like a cornered animal.
"Could you… release your grip a little?" Erebus asked with false innocence, tilting his head slightly to the side.
Alfia clicked her tongue. Instead of loosening her hold, she slammed the Krieger down into the stone floor. The impact cracked the stone tiles, driving the remaining air from his lungs in a ragged gasp.
Dazed, 38912-K reached desperately for his igniter bombs, intent on burning the heretics in righteous fire.
Alfia's eye twitched in irritation. "Stay still," she ordered venomously, planting her foot across his chest. The weight crushed down like a slab of adamantite, ribs cracking audibly under the pressure.
"Oh, come now, Alfia dear, you don't need to treat him so harshly." Erebus shook his head in mock disapproval.
"Now… stranger." Erebus' playful tone dropped as his attention slid back to 38912-K, whose heavy breathing rasped in the still air.
"What does that represent?" The god leaned forward, extending a finger toward the Imperial Aquila on the chapel's wall.
Erebus ignored the other marks entirely, focusing only on the double-headed eagle. His curiosity sharpened when he noticed the shattered remains of the statue that used to be in its place—a goddess torn down, replaced by this foreign sigil.
38912-K felt the filth radiate from the man questioning him, the alien, twisted resonance that these warp-spawned abominations displayed subtly. A "god" of this realm stood before him.
"Alien filth," 38912-K spat, his voice harsh and raw with disgust. His mask hid his expression, but not the unyielding hatred vibrating through his words.
Erebus froze. For a heartbeat, he was taken aback. That tone… that unmasked, absolute loathing toward himself—it wasn't born from hatred of him being Evilus' patron god. This one was hatred for Divinity itself.
Then, a smile spread across his lips. Yes. This stranger was the embodiment of what mortals would feel in the world he had envisioned if the current heroes failed to cross his expectations.
"No respect for the gods, I see," Erebus covered his amusement.
He rummaged casually through the Krieger's satchel and plucked out some elixirs. Only one remained hidden in 38912-K's coat.
"Your Panadols?" he joked dryly, handing one to Alfia. She didn't get the joke, but the contempt was obvious enough.
"Hurry up," she said curtly, downing the potion in a single gulp. A faint sigh escaped her lips as pain drained from her body.
Erebus tossed the rest aside without care, eyes sliding back toward the Krieger. "You haven't answered my question yet…" His smile widened. "But I'll assume you serve a deity. That symbol belongs to him, doesn't it?" He tilted his head curiously.
38912-K didn't care to humor him. "Your existence is a sin that must be cleansed by the Emperor's flames!" His tone carried no wavering or hesitation—only conviction, even as his body screamed under Alfia's crushing strength.
"So your god likes to be called Emperor?" Erebus laughed, almost delighted. "Talk about arrogance! Is your 'Emperor' responsible for… that thing in the sky?" His voice sharpened at the last words, hoping the guardsman would slip.
38912-K bided his strength, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike.
His gaze burned through the mask as he whispered with deadly calm, "Daemon, your world's fate was sealed the moment the cultists opened the gates of the immaterium."
Erebus froze. His smile faltered. A god could always tell when a mortal lied.
This man wasn't lying. Every word carried truth—absolute truth in his mind.
The implications were… concerning.
"Be done, Erebus. I'm punishing this one for his desecration," Alfia said coldly, venom dripping from every word.
But Erebus leaned forward, unbothered. "You are not from this realm, are you?"
Impossible words on the surface. An idiotic question even to gods. But Erebus knew better.
No sane mortal threatened a god without fear. No sane mortal attempted to claw at a god like this. And that tear—its energy was unmistakably foreign. Not mortal magic. Not divine grace.
"Stay away from his arm's reach—" Alfia's warning cut short.
In a blur, 38912-K's hand seized his shovel, swinging the bloodied steel with inhuman precision toward Erebus' face.
Time slowed. Erebus' vision widened in horror. The sharpened edge streaked toward him with terrifying inevitability. If it landed, his existence in the mortal plane would end before his ultimate goal was achieved.
For the first time in centuries, he felt the undeniable brush of mortality.
'No!' Erebus refused to depart.
Alfia's annoyance reached its limit. In less than a heartbeat, she kicked the Krieger with monstrous strength, launching him across the chapel, crashing into the Aquila with a thunderous crack, the wall shattering beneath the force before his body collapsed, limp and motionless.
"Holy shit…" Erebus staggered back, sweat beading on his brow. A nervous chuckle escaped him as he eyed the unmoving figure. "T-that almost got me…"
"Your little inquiries are over," Alfia said, leaving no room for argument.
"Alright, I get it. That was stupid," Erebus admitted, waving it off, though his eyes lingered uneasily on the still figure. "No sane person would try to kill a god… I didn't know," he admitted.
"Have you not learned that nothing is more dangerous than a cornered animal?" Alfia said flatly. Her eyes narrowed sharply as the figure stirred.
"HERETICS!" 38912-K roared, rising once again with unfaltering resilience, his wrist concealing the laspistol that had been flung nearby earlier.
Erebus was impressed—truly impressed—by this mortal's refusal to lay down.
What shocked him most was what his divine senses confirmed.
This man was falna-less.
A mere mortal, unblessed, standing in defiance of a level 7 adventurer without a shred of fear.
Alfia, with her razor-sharp perception both physical and magical, knew it as well.
The Silent Witch was used to adventurers quailing before her presence. She was neither proud nor offended by it—it was simply natural.
But for a man without blessing, without power, without magic, to stand unflinching where even level fives would tremble? It was proof enough that her mission was justified.
This world needed a reset. The weak must be devoured by the dungeon so that an era of true heroes could rise again.
This fanatic embodied the essence of what the future generations must become if mankind hoped to survive the one-eyed black dragon.
"Admittedly resilient, pest," she said with cold acknowledgment. "But ultimately useless." She stepped forward.
"I am not done with him," Erebus protested sharply, eyes narrowing.
"I am," Alfia replied curtly, her tone like ice.
38912-K's body shook. His hidden elixir hadn't been shattered by the impact, but it was useless if he couldn't drink it before death came. His arm tightened around the laspistol hidden behind him, his trembling stance disguising the intent.
He took a painful breath, and prayed. A short, fervent litany to the Emperor as the woman advanced, leaving the god unguarded behind her.
This was his chance.
"Praise be the Emperor, Lord of Mankind!" the son of Krieg cried, his voice cutting through the chapel in an unyielding declaration of faith.
"In His name, I purge you!"
His wrist flicked, the laspistol flashing into aim. For the briefest fraction of a second, Alfia's overconfidence betrayed her.
Her eyes widened as the barrel leveled not at her, but at Erebus.
FWOSH!
---
Lyra squinted to make out the scary-looking cut in the skies while her feet carried her toward various streets in pursuit of Ryuu.
Her mind briefly went back to the moment the hellish thing formed, with its urges and whispers invading her and Kaguya's minds briefly.
"Should we cancel the search and see what that was about?" the pallum muttered under her breath, caution lacing her tone. This was far too weird for her liking.
Seeing the skies screech open and form an eye of terror had not been on their plate.
"But we shouldn't leave one of ours out there…" Lyra mumbled, distracted, lost in the loops of her own thinking.
Kaguya sighed. "Snap out of it. We'll return to the Stardust Garden once we're done with this street." Her tone was decisively cold. The far eastern beauty had made up her mind to leave Ryuu to fend for herself for now.
Kaguya had felt the same short but invasive pull as Lyra. The insidious whispers bypassed her mental defenses as if they were parchment.
Neither of them realized it, but the only reason they had resisted so "easily" was the Falna. A sliver of their gods' blood burned within them, an essence that bordered on almost incorruptibility.
"Are you nuts!? We're leaving Ryuu in this crazed shithole!? Alise and Goddess Astraea will not like that." Lyra almost snapped at Kaguya's casual dismissiveness.
"Is your brain as small as your stature?" Kaguya replied flatly. Her direct insults were nothing new, but there was something odd this time—something Lyra couldn't quite point her finger at.
"What was that, you miserable fuck!?" she nonetheless still snapped at the disrespect.
"Use your tiny brain. Evilus is growing stronger by the HOUR. That slice in the sky? Certainly they're doing," Kaguya explained calmly, though annoyance clipped the edges of her tone.
"You think I haven't figured that much out? But we don't have any proof yet," Lyra shot back, her frustration boiling over.
"Then use that walnut brain correctly! Something bigger is happening—we can't split up from the familia!"
"Hah? And yet you're willing to leave Ryuu without a second thought, you dumb hypocrite!"
Their argument escalated until they found themselves standing before an abandoned church. Neither of them heard the muffled struggle echoing from inside.
"I'll tell Alise what you said, you frog!" Lyra sneered, smirking into Kaguya's scowling face.
"Listen, you braindead hobbit—" Kaguya's voice trembled, though her words burned hotter with each insult—
CRACK!
The church wall exploded outward. A figure flew through shattered stone, sent tumbling straight toward them.
"Ah!" Lyra yelped, catching the full brunt of the impact as the body crashed into her, sending both sprawling to the ground.
Kaguya's eyes slowly widened as she recognized the outfit and mask. "It's you—the man from the camp!" The same Evilus agent who had spread lies among frightened refugees.
"Get off me, man!" Lyra shoved him aside. She grimaced as he rolled over with a guttural choke.
"Ghhk—!" 38912-K's chestplate was dented deep by a single mark. His lungs rattled and failed to draw breath after Alfia's devastating blow.
"He's bleeding," Kaguya muttered, noting the red that seeped through his coat.
"He's also freaking dying!" Lyra's eyes darted to the twitching spasms overtaking his body.
The son of Krieg removed his mask quickly, a gust of blood escaping his mouth and nose.
His shaky arms fumbled inside his coat, desperately searching for his last elixir. His body was shutting down by the second.
The two girls froze, watching him writhe on the ground.
"Uhh… should we help?" Lyra asked, her tone caught between uncertainty and reluctant sympathy.
Before Kaguya could scold Lyra for her idiotic question, both girls felt the crushing presence descending upon them—like a hand pressing against their very souls.
"I merely flicked you for that insolence, pest."
They turned to see her—the Silent Witch. The monstrously gifted. The legendary Level 7 mage of Hera Familia. The fallen hero. The conqueror. Evilus' trump card.
"Oh, shit…" Lyra muttered with a nervous smile, sweat beading down her brow.
Kaguya's eyes hardened, her hand tightening around her katana's hilt. For some unknown reason, she felt an urge to draw it immediately.
Alfia swept her gaze across them with quiet disdain. She could see their tension, their fear—while behind them, the fanatic worm squirmed pathetically in his own blood.
"It's you, the old hag from Hera Familia!" Kaguya blurted.
Lyra's face went pale. 'Did you really just say that!?' Insulting a Level 7 was not a smart idea!
Alfia's eye twitched. "…Are you two with that pest?" Her voice was calm—too calm.
The girls exchanged a glance. 'What?' they thought in confusion.
"Is this a joke? He's one of yours!" Lyra answered, disbelief on her face.
"Then step aside," Alfia said dismissively. "Or face erasure."
Lyra opened her mouth to actually accept that generous offer. Why should they protect the guy who was spreading propaganda? Their lives were more important, in her mind.
Unfortunately, Kaguya went mad—literally. That was the only sensible conclusion Lyra could draw to justify the utter stupidity that followed, which slammed their chances of survival to zero.
"You betrayed justice for barbarism. You disgrace your Familia's legacy, old hag!" Kaguya spat in disgust, drawing her katana in a single, defiant motion.
Lyra almost fainted. "Kaguya, what the fuck are you doing!?" she hissed, horrified at her companion's escalation. "Kaguya!?"
The pallum's voice fell on deaf ears.
Neither of them could realize it, but the reason for Kaguya's more-than-usual insult-laden bickering with Lyra—and her current suicidal escalation—was not entirely her own decision.
One would wonder: what could cause such suicidal madness?
The answer was simple. One look at the red hues forming in Kaguya's eyes would reveal the small but unmistakable taint of the blood god.
The far eastern warrior's bloodlust to overcome an immensely stronger opponent clouded her judgment without her even knowing. She couldn't even feel the small smile growing over her lips.
"You're willing to die for him? Fine." Alfia acknowledged their stance. "What's five more minutes?"
Lyra's stomach churned. Her mind raced with desperate plans for survival. She turned back toward the man writhing on the ground—
…
He was gone.
"We are so cooked," Lyra whispered.
"Come on, old hag!" Kaguya shouted.
Alfia raised her hand. The gesture was slow and graceful. Death was about to fall.
Lyra made a mental note to slap Kaguya as hard as she could if—by some miracle—they survived.
The air trembled.
They braced themselves, and—
"Gospel."
---
BOOM!
38912-K felt the ground tremble beneath him as he retreated away from where Alfia was. His features twisted, face painted in blood.
The thunderous sound behind him was undeniably that witch's work—those two heretics he had left behind were likely engaging her.
Back there, a sudden burst of strength had granted him barely enough time to drink the last of his elixirs and patch himself together before certain death.
That woman was far too powerful for him to face alone.
38912-K gritted his teeth. The potion had mended his physical injuries, but it did little to ease the humiliation burning through his soul.
Retreat was a sin. Yet he was committing it openly. The shame clawed at his chest, more painful than any wound.
"Traitorous filth!" he cried out in anger.
He wasn't even sure if he had truly purged the warp-abomination posing as a god.
Was that what he had been doing this whole time? Hiding behind excuses just to stay alive!?
"No…" he hissed through clenched teeth, shaking his head violently. "No!"
That wasn't what he was doing! His survival was not cowardice—it was duty. He needed to live, to inflict more pain upon this damned world. He wanted them all dead for denying the Emperor's truth!
The son of Krieg pressed forward, moving through the labyrinth of crumbling alleys he had memorized. The tear in the sky provided his only source of light.
This route led toward a nearby civilian camp—his temporary refuge. There, he could hide among the frightened masses, pose as a refugee, and perhaps lose that daemon witch.
Emerging from the tight passageways, 38912-K expected to be greeted by a pitiful sight of a refugee camp full of trembling heretics, crying out to their false gods for deliverance that would never come.
But he was wrong.
"Praise the Chaos!"
The words split the air like poison.
What greeted him was not safety, but fire. Not tents, but blazing infernos devouring the campgrounds. Within the flickering flames danced chaos cultists, mutilating the corpses of other refugees.
At the center stood the Star of Chaos, constructed from bodies, their broken limbs raised and lashed together in a grotesque mockery of a cross.
What had occurred was obvious. A number of the heretics in the camp had fallen. Their faithlessness tainted by the whispers of the Warp, making them turn on their own.
"Death to the False Ones!" screamed one cultist, his arms showing signs of mutation, growing unnatural muscles. His face was a mask of insanity.
His eyes locked onto 38912-K and twisted into a smile. "Slaughter him!" he roared, his voice deep and distorted, like a daemon wearing a man's throat.
The other cultists turned at once, their attention now fixed entirely on him.
38912-K's arm trembled—not from fear, but from rage. Rage at his weakness, his failures, his cowardice in fleeing from that accursed witch. Rage that even his place of retreat had been defiled, transformed into another den of chaos.
So when he saw the first cultist charging blindly toward him, he followed suit.
With a snarl, he grabbed his lasgun—empty of battery packs to power it; the bayonet fixed to it would do.
He roared as he charged blindly into the fray, his voice raw with fury, intending to either purge them all or die in the process.
For only in death does duty end.
---
The End
---
There will be no imperium of mankind coming to help Krieger
There will be no space marine descending from heaven to purge the unclean
There will be Krieger converting the people to follow the God-Emperor of mankind
There will be no Xeno tolerance, Any knife ear he see is as good as dead, the mutants might get spared
There will be Chaos champion
There will be God-Emperor of mankind appearing subtly to assist Krieger
I also found a way to include the God-Emperor in this story: subtly… but also not so subtly
I've been digging through a lot of Warhammer 40k lore, so I think it's plausible.
Two words: Emperor. Champion.
Good? Canon wise it fits—mostly
Did these answers provided you readers with what I have in mind now?
Anyway
Quality might've dropped a bit because I'm sick as hell, can barely open my eyes
This chapter's intentionally short; I couldn't bring myself to write more without either passing out or making it worse
Sera asked before deleting: "Will Asfi have more development?"
Yes, she will. Sorry for not replying, I usually don't because I end up revealing more than I intend to
Someone also mentioned that I deleted the Invincible fanfic: I haven't. I'd never do that lol
In fact, I'll continue it once I'm done with this one
We're entering a new phase of the story
I've been thinking about it for a while. It's going to be a hard one to write with enough reactions from other characters to balance things and keep the story from feeling one-sided
Anyway, next chapter should be okay
I'm tired boss
I don't have it in me no more (insert Arthur Morgan scene)
Don't worry though, not abandoning the two guys still reading this fic!
Peace.