With the fall of the Blood Valkyrie, the Chaos army before Duanmu Huai finally began to waver. For the first time, the monstrous horde hesitated, shrinking back from the black-armored figure that stood amid the field of corpses. None dared to take another step forward.
Then, a soft, disdainful voice drifted through the howling wind.
"How barbaric."
Out from the Chaos ranks strode a man of dazzling beauty — golden hair gleaming beneath the gray sky, clad in ornate, radiant armor. In one hand he held a rapier, in the other a golden shield, his perfect, handsome features twisted with scorn and disgust as his gaze fell on Duanmu Huai.
"Barbaric. Hideous. Worthless. The mere sight of something so grotesque defiles my vision. Now, under the hand of me, Sigvald the Magnificent, die in proper elegance — that is the only value your ugliness will ever possess."
"Go to hell, you prissy little sissy!"
Duanmu Huai could stand many things, but being called ugly was not one of them — least of all from a man who looked like a surgically-altered idol from some cheap entertainment show. With a furious bellow, he charged forward, swinging his warhammer down with both hands.
But Sigvald only smiled coldly. His movement was a blur of grace and arrogance; he stepped aside like a ghost, effortlessly dodging the blow. His long golden hair rippled as he laughed softly, utterly convinced of his superiority. To him, this brute of black iron was slow, clumsy, and beneath contempt — a hideous beast, unworthy to even look upon him.
Then he saw Duanmu raise his right hand and aim it at him.
In the next instant, gravity itself shifted.
Sigvald's body suddenly grew impossibly heavy, as if his gleaming armor had turned to lead. His steps faltered. The fluid grace that was his pride shattered.
Not good—!
His face twisted as he realized the danger. But before he could react, Duanmu Huai was already upon him — charging like an enraged bull, every stride shaking the earth.
"DIE!!"
Sigvald roared, thrusting his rapier forward. His strikes were fast enough to shred a dozen foes in the blink of an eye — but this time, they did nothing. His blade clanged uselessly off the black armor that might as well have been a fortress wall.
Duanmu reached out with both hands, seized the pair of delicate demon horns on Sigvald's head — and snapped them clean off.
CRACK.
"AAAAAAAHHHH!!"
Sigvald's scream was shrill with agony. Before he could recover, Duanmu's armored boot slammed upward — straight between the legs.
The blow landed with a wet, crunching impact that turned Sigvald's proudest asset into ruin. His body folded grotesquely forward, knees buckling as a strangled gasp escaped him.
Duanmu grabbed him by the throat, lifted him high into the air, and slammed him into the ground with bone-shattering force.
"LOUDER! WHAT, YOU OUT OF BREATH ALREADY!?"
Like a child smashing a broken doll, Duanmu swung Sigvald left and right, hammering him into the ground again and again. The once-perfect face that had mesmerized so many now turned into a mangled, blood-smeared ruin. Teeth flew from his mouth like shattered pearls.
"Your rotten soul will never crawl back to your perverted master. You'll remain a filthy, disgusting heap of meat for all eternity, you damn freak!"
With another roar, Duanmu slammed Sigvald down one last time, then seized his face in one iron gauntlet. His thumb jammed into Sigvald's open mouth; his fingers crushed inward — the index and ring fingers piercing through the demon prince's eye sockets.
Then he pulled upward.
With a sickening tear, Sigvald's skull was ripped out from his own head.
"And THAT— is your final end, you vain, preening bastard!"
Duanmu crushed the skull in his fist. It burst like porcelain, the fragments dissolving into ash under the black flame. Sigvald's body followed — reduced to dust, carried away by the wind.
At that moment, the Chaos army broke.
They stared at the black giant standing among the corpses — and the weight of pure, suffocating terror crushed their hearts. Screams erupted as the ranks disintegrated; weapons clattered to the ground as the horde turned and fled in every direction, desperate to escape the monster before them.
And the rout did not stop there.
On both flanks, the Darkwatchers and the Guardians struck like storms.
Lightning-wreathed Guardians surged through the enemy lines, their staffs crackling with energy, unleashing arcs of thunder that vaporized entire clusters of daemons. Another Guardian leapt high, bow drawn; his shadowed arrow streaked into the mass of Chaos troops — exploding into a swirling vortex that drew them inward.
Then came the Titans.
Descending from the sky in pillars of fire, their massive frames crashed into the Chaos ranks, annihilating everything in sight.
The Chaos vanguard collapsed entirely. The Allied Army, seeing the enemy in retreat, erupted with renewed courage. Shouting in triumph, they charged forward, driving the Chaos forces from the battlefield. The Beastmen who had thrown in with Chaos fared no better — caught off guard, they were encircled and wiped out to the last creature.
"Idiots!"
Watching the catastrophe unfold, Vilitch the Curseling cursed under his breath. He had not expected the Alliance to strike with such terrifying force — nor that the black-armored man would single-handedly destroy the Grot Brothers, Valkia the Bloody, and now Sigvald himself.
The vanguard was lost. Remaining here meant only death.
Fortunately, Vilitch served the Changer of Ways, not the Blood God — retreat was no shame. He turned to flee, intending to bring word of this disaster to Archaon—
—but a warhammer crashed down in front of him, embedding itself into the snow, blocking his path.
From behind came a low, almost playful voice.
"Two little mice, two little mice,
ran so fast, ran so fast.
One had no eyes, one had no mouth—
isn't that strange, isn't that strange…?"
Vilitch's breath froze in his throat. Slowly, he turned — and there he was.
The black-armored giant, standing only a few paces away, advancing step by step, his presence radiating death.
Vilitch's fused body shuddered. His form was grotesque — his upper half a thin, eyeless mutant sprouting from the back of his massive brother's torso, the two joined into one twisted abomination.
Damn it! We have to run—!
But when he tried to move, he realized something was wrong. His brother — the one whose body they shared — had gone rigid. His limbs trembled, his breathing shallow. Then, wordlessly, he raised his flaming sword and began striding toward Duanmu Huai.
No! Stop! Brother, we have to run!
Vilitch panicked, struggling for control, but it was useless. His brother's mind had snapped — overtaken by something darker.
Had Duanmu known his thoughts, he would have explained it simply: the Aura of Fear tested every creature's will. Those who failed fell into panic — and panic, under pressure, turned into frenzy.
Vilitch's brother had no will left to resist. Terrified beyond measure, his mind had broken, twisting his fear into blind rage.
He roared, charging at Duanmu with weapon raised.
"No, brother!! Don't—!"
Duanmu narrowed his eyes as the hulking creature lumbered toward him.
Coming to me instead of running? Fine. Saves me the trouble.
He clenched his fist and strode forward.
Vilitch screamed in helpless horror as his brother swung down in a berserk strike—
—and then his own face twisted into sudden triumph.
"You fool! You fell for it!"
Even as Duanmu raised his arm to block, Vilitch thrust out his staff. A torrent of purple warp energy erupted from its tip, engulfing Duanmu's head in a roaring explosion.
"HAHAHAHA! IDIOT! This is real power! The power of intellect!"
Vilitch laughed wildly, convinced of victory. That blast had drained nearly all his strength — at such range, nothing could have survived it—
Until a steel hand shot through the smoke, clamping down on his smooth, eyeless head.
Vilitch froze, laughter dying in his throat.
Impossible… He— he couldn't have—!
The smoke parted. Duanmu Huai stood unharmed, his helm gleaming faintly where the blast had struck. The ornate, multicolored runes on his armor shattered and fell away like glass.
"Nice try," he said coldly. "But you'll need a lot more practice."
Both his hands tightened.
SPLAT.
Vilitch's head — and his brother's — burst like melons. Their headless corpse collapsed, swallowed by the black flames that followed.
The Chaos Vanguard was no more.
They were utterly, irreversibly destroyed.
(End of Chapter)