Norton shifted his gaze to the young man beside him.
His left eye socket, embedded with a mechanical eye, flickered with data streams, and a line of crimson text appeared on his retinal projection:
[Knox, Cadia Daemon Inquisitorial Purifier Emissary, Authorization Level Ω — Suggested Interaction Protocol: Maintain reverence, avoid direct eye contact].
"By the Emperor's name, please allow me to address you as 'Emissary Knox ,'" Norton's voice was half a tone higher than usual.
In the intelligence briefing three days prior, Norton had already seen this Emissary's resume: [Service Duration: two Terra years, Warp contamination incidents handled: eight, Purification Success Rate: 100% — Remark column bolded: Don't ask him how he did it, unless you want to be invited by the Daemon Inquisitorial for a promethium tea.]
Knox 's gaze was fixed on the ground, "The Warp resonance source is located five kilometers underground."
A dim light flickered in his pupils, his eyes seemingly able to penetrate the rock layers, those thick stones nothing more than inferior gauze.
"Chaos contamination is spreading; we need to act immediately."
Knox 's voice was as calm as if discussing a lunch menu, rather than a potential death sentence for a planet.
Norton's pre-prepared pleasantries instantly got stuck in his throat, transforming into a series of urgent troop deployment orders on his tactical tablet, "I will dispatch more troops as reinforcement to assist you…"
He glanced at the four silent Iron Hands warriors behind Knox ; on their power armor, the Mechanicus-blessed gears and silver mechanical hand symbols gleamed under the promethium light.
"Unnecessary."
An electronically synthesized voice came from beneath one warrior's helmet, its tone colder than a servo-skull's standby prompt, "According to Article 7 of the Manus Purification Protocol, the Daemon Inquisitorial's special envoy and the Iron Hands' Third Company 'Iron Shields' will jointly command this operation, with the 33rd Sub-Legion providing technical support."
Tech-Sergeant Gana, leading the group, took a step forward, gripping his power axe; the blade was still stained with oil from the last mission, now dripping onto the ground.
He faced Knox : "Emissary Knox , please lead us forward!"
These Iron Hands are known for their distrust of psykers, even having a jest circulate: "Psykers? Recommend disassembling them and putting them into a Dreadnought." Yet, facing this distinguished Daemon Inquisitorial Emissary, they uncharacteristically showed respect.
Norton wisely shut his mouth, watching the group enter the depths of the mine — like a funeral procession heading to a grave, but they did not carried flowers, but purifying flames capable of silencing an entire planet.
Deep within the mine —
As the group delved deeper, the surrounding air gradually became heavy and damp.
A putrid smell permeated the humid air, and dark red viscous fluid seeped from the rock walls, forming vein-like patterns under the promethium light.
Waves of eerie whispers emanated from deeper within the mine, caught by the Iron Hands warriors' sonar systems — not through the air, but directly into their brain matter, like a noisy Warp customer service agent peddling "free Chaos ascension packages."
"Activate anti-interference device."
Tech-Sergeant Gana's voice was crisper than his bolter; on his tactical goggles, the psyker concentration index was skyrocketing at a terrifiying rate.
Using the emergency lighting above the mine passage, they discovered that the surrounding rock walls were etched with eight-layered circular symbols in blood rust; these symbols seemed alive, exhibiting gamma radiation fluctuations under the bird-spectrum scanner.
"The interference source is strengthening, expected to reach critical point within one minute."
The power armor servo systems of the four Iron Hands warriors had quietly elevated to combat status.
Soon, the air seemed to solidify, and the interference field formed by Warp fluctuations completely severed their connection with the outside world; only harsh static noise remained in the communication channel.
"Signal lost, we have entered a blind spot."
The Iron Hands warrior's tactical interface continuously flashed warnings.
However, in stark contrast to them, Knox maintained an almost leisurely pace, as if the ground beneath his feet was not Chaos-corrupted rock, but the rose corridors of the Terra Palace.
The Iron Hands exchanged a string of binary commendation codes, attributing it to "Inquisition-supplied psychic resistance medicines called 'Rez'.
After advancing another hundred meters, the gravity detector suddenly shrieked.
The sonar imaging on the tactical helmet showed the cavern ahead was over two hundred meters in diameter, with martyr skeletons hanging from the dome, swaying like wind chimes.
The Chaos altar in the center of the cavern was a prime example of "Khorne aesthetics": a base piled with skulls, a pool of boiling blood, hundreds of mutants with illegal mining amplifiers inserted into their necks — they were using mechanical claws to cut open their arteries, their vocal cord modifiers extruding prayers mixed with High Gothic and Demonic.
Above the altar, a dark red fissure was slowly opening, and the sound of dragging chains emanated from within, vaguely revealing a blood-stained Brass Throne flickering in and out of view amidst the Warp Storm.
"Chaos corruption source confirmed."
Knox stopped: "Khorne's slaughterhouse is forming, recommendation —"
His voice was as cold and precise as a servo-skull announcing a death sentence, "Immediate purification."
Captain Gana raised his bolter pistol, modified with a flamethrower module: "Initiate purification protocol!"
Their arrival startled the mutants around the altar; bone spurs suddenly erupted from the spines of these corrupted miners.
Their mechanical prosthetics oozed murky pus, and their mining lasers mutated into fleshy tentacles under the erosion of Chaos energy.
With the hiss of stimulant injectors, they lunged at the group like laborers injected with combat stimulants, red light flashing in their modified eyeballs.
The battle began with the roar of bolters.
The corrupted miners' mechanical limbs mutated into fleshy tentacles, like a group of drunken Tech-Priests performing a death ballet.
Tech-Sergeant Gana's power axe cut an arc of plasma, instantly vaporizing three enemies; the smell of charring in the air made the tactical helmet's olfactory filter buzz in protest.
"Watch the top!"
Tech-Sergeant Gana's electronic voice suddenly boomed in the tactical channel.
In the Iron Hands warriors' night vision, several crimson outlines were pouncing from the stalactite clusters — these beasts, bred by Khorne, were always as irritable as late deliverymen, launching attacks from the most difficult angles.
The claws of three fleshy hounds were only 0.7 seconds of flight distance from the tactical helmet; the corrosive fluid dripping from their fangs had already cast deathly reflections on the visors.
Just as the servo system was about to initiate emergency evasion protocols, these demonic creations suddenly froze in unison, as if encased in time-stilled amber.
"Annihilate."
Gana's order was as concise as a spent bolter casing.
Four master-crafted bolters simultaneously completed the deathly trilogy of lock-on, aim, and fire, their muzzle flashes illuminating the cavern as if it were day.
The shattered remains of the fleshy hounds arced through the air in perfect parabolas.
The warriors quickly communicated through encrypted tactical hand signals:
[Query/Psyker Source?]
[Confirm/Emissary Intervention]
[Assessment/Control Precision +97.3%]
Their peripheral vision simultaneously swept behind them — under Knox 's hood, those glowing eyes slowly dimmed.
"Precise psychic manipulation."
A low binary commendation came from Tech-Sergeant Gana's electronic vox-emitter, "The Daemon Inquisitorial's Emissary truly lives up to his reputation."
On the tactical visors of the other three warriors, data streams rapidly scrolled, analyzing the battlefield details from moments ago.
Warp fluctuations, duration of confinement, number of targets.
All parameters met the high-level performance criteria in Imperial Standard Psyker Archives.
However, the Iron Hands would never discover that the true nature of this "Psyker Emissary's" power had no connection to the Warp.
Beneath the shadows of his swirling black robe, a tattoo of a green-faced, fanged demon was emerging on the back of one hand.
The demon patterns on it writhed like living things, its fangs devouring the shattered soul fragments and dissipated mental energy of every fallen corrupted being and demon on the battlefield.
Even the Iron Hands' most sensitive psyker detectors failed to capture this sign.
After all, who would suspect a teammate helping you cut down Chaos was secretly fleecing the Warp?
"These Khorne lackeys are good material for filling the Underworld."
Knox sneered inwardly; a bizarre feast was unfolding in the depths of his consciousness —
The illusory Yellow Springs Road twisted and turned, and the unsolidified Eighteen Levels of Hell flickered in and out of sight in the netherworld like a shattered scroll.
Within the Mirror of Retribution, a cracked mirror platform glowed dimly, reflecting three crimson, twisted shadows, dragged by an invisible force before the mirror.
Blood-red characters on the mirror surface writhed like living things, slowly appearing:
[Sin: Sin of Slaughter]
[Sin Value: 10]
[Punishment: Serve as floor tiles for the main hall of Knox 's Palace]
[Converted Yin virtue: 5]
(Mirror of Retribution damaged, current yin virtue conversion rate is 0.5)
Knox 's lips curved imperceptibly, feeling the subtle tremor in his flesh as yin virtue entered his body, like parched soil drinking sweet dew.
More dim light clusters drifted over, the lingering souls of those corrupted miners.
The Mirror of Retribution flashed with a faint green light, and the judgment was much gentler:
[Sin: Forced Corruption]
[Sin Value: 1]
[Punishment: Serve as Yellow Springs Road sand grains]
[Converted yin virtue: 0.5]
"Tsk!" Knox narrowed his eyes, his gaze like a poisoned scythe, piercing the surging crimson rift above the altar.
"Not pure enough…"
He clicked his tongue inwardly, "Has Khorne's kitchen learned to cut corners?"
While Knox was calculating how to "add a meal," the four Iron Hands warriors were immersed in the pure joy of slaughter.
On their tactical data links, binary code surged like a carnival:
[Combat Efficiency: 187% ↑]
[Ammunition Utilization Rate: 71% ↑]
[Recommendation: Extend cooperative combat protocol]
The roar of bolters and the hum of power axes intertwined into a perfect symphony of slaughter; the joyful trills from their servo systems were even more pleasant than receiving a blessing from a Mars forge world.
"Advance."
Tech-Sergeant Gana's electronic vox-emitter barked a short command, his bolter bursts blowing up a Chaos spawn attempting a sneak attack.
The five approached the altar in a wedge formation; with each step, the viscous corrupted blood on the ground bubbled like protesting Warp customer service.
Suddenly —
A roar comparable to a Titan engine starting came from the rift above the altar; the martyr skeletons on the cavern dome collectively performed a "skull rave," and the tactical helmet's vibration alarm instantly went red.
"Large-level Warp entity detected!"
On Tech-Sergeant Tolk's sonar imager, the red dot representing the enemy rapidly expanded to a terrifying scale.