Ahriman stood in the center of the Sealed Sanctuary, cold psychic runes swirling around him, flickering like stars.
He gazed at the demonic battle-axe suspended above the array—the sealed Bloodthirster's axe was still restlessly agitating, its crimson energy on the blade twisting and surging like a living thing, constantly colliding with the cerulean chains that bound it, emitting a grating hum.
Each impact made the air within the Sanctuary tremble, as if the entire structure was bearing some unseen immense pressure.
The Inquisition's purification forces had begun sweeping the remaining rebels in the Hive City, the roar of automatic gunfire and the battle cries of "For the Emperor!" echoing through the narrow metal alleyways.
The Sisters of Battle chanted hymns, their flamers spewing forth scorching purifying flames, incinerating the stubbornly resisting heretics into twisted char.
The Stormtroopers, forming tactical squads, used precise laser volleys to clear out rebel strongholds one by one, each shot leaving molten marks on the thick metal walls.
However, the heavy stench of blood in the air lingered stubbornly.
This scent seemed to have a physical form, adhering stickily to every inch of metal surface, penetrating into every ventilation duct.
Even the most advanced air purification systems could not completely filter out this corrupting aura originating from the Warp.
Ahriman could feel that this bloody scent was mixed with something even darker.
It wasn't just the acrid smell of burning flesh, nor simply the metallic odor of dried blood, but a profane aura from the realm of Chaos, like an ominous premonition, reminding him that this rebellion was far from truly over.
In the deeper shadows of the Hive City, something older and more dangerous was stirring.
Dark red energy still pulsed within the remnants of the destroyed altars; strange phosphorescent blood occasionally oozed from the wounds of the executed heretic corpses.
All of this hinted at an unsettling truth: the apparent victory of suppression might only be the beginning of a grander conspiracy.
Days earlier, Ahriman had delved into the Lower Hive, discovering an anomaly in a destroyed Blood Oath Society stronghold.
The seemingly chaotic profane runes on the walls actually concealed an ancient set of Chaos ciphers, their structure far more precise than the scribblings of ordinary cultists.
Through psychic retrospection, he glimpsed a deliberately erased memory fragment—several grey-robed heretics had performed a secret ritual there, their robes subtly revealing mutated eight-pointed star insignias.
According to the Inquisition's records and investigations, it was ultimately confirmed to be a heretical organization called The Unseen Brotherhood.
"The unseen shadow will eventually swallow the blood light…" Ahriman murmured the cipher, his fingertips gently tracing the dried black blood in the rune grooves.
These grey-robed individuals were not members of the Blood Oath Society, but Infiltrators from another faction.
Their goal was clearly not limited to summoning a Bloodthirster, but something far older and more dangerous.
—
In the abandoned church on the lowest level of the Hive City, the decaying air was thick with the stench of blood and sulfur.
The mystics of The Unseen Brotherhood prostrated themselves before the shattered altar, their ragged grey robes casting distorted shadows in the flickering candlelight.
At the center of their worship, a pale skull lay silently in a pool of dried blood, their sacred relic.
The surface of this skull was covered in spiderweb-like cracks, and a faint dark red glow subtly flowed within each crack, as if some malevolent life force still struggled within it.
At the center of the skull's forehead, a dark red fang was deeply embedded in a bone suture, emitting an ominous pulse in the dim light.
This fang was precisely the last remnant of the legendary Tzanazte—the Daemon Prince who once shook the Chaos realms, one of the Blood God Khorne's most powerful servants.
In the distant past, Tzanazte and his brother Muswag jointly served the tyrannical lord on the Brass Throne.
However, these ambitious brothers were unwilling to forever remain subordinate.
In that dark era, utterly twisted by Chaos energy, they plotted a shocking rebellion, attempting to usurp the Blood God's reality-tearing power through forbidden magical rituals and blatant betrayal.
This arrogant rebellion ultimately incurred the Blood God's most severe punishment.
The enraged Khorne not only stripped them of almost all their power but also forever banished these traitors from the Chaos realms.
But in their eternal exile, the Blood God left a cruel promise: whichever of the brothers could personally destroy the other would regain their former status and glory.
When Khorne's wrath completely shattered Tzanazte's demonic body, only this blood-stained fang miraculously survived.
This demonic fang contained Tzanazte's last essence of power, becoming his only anchor point throughout the long ages.
Now, this fang was gradually awakening as the ritual progressed, its dark red glow growing stronger and stronger, as if responding to the calls of the faithful—this was Tzanazte's last hope for returning to reality, and the ultimate moment for which The Unseen Brotherhood had waited for a millennium.
"The Blood God's outcast shall return!" The leading mystic priest roared skyward, his withered arms stretching like dry branches towards the dome.
His hoarse voice was mixed with inhuman trembles, as if a thousand voices were simultaneously squeezed from deep within his throat.
His ragged grey robe flapped in an unseen energy field, and his exposed skin was covered in blood-colored runes.
With this blasphemous shout, the suspended skull suddenly trembled violently.
Warp energy surged from all directions like pus, staining the dark red fang as if it were a red-hot branding iron.
The eerie red light flickered on and off, each flash accompanied by a piercing shriek, like a demonic heart from the abyss frantically beating.
The putrid blood array on the ground suddenly came alive, the viscous blood writhing and coiling like snakes.
Accompanied by the crisp sound of shattering bones, countless pale skeletons burst forth from the earth, twisting and reassembling in the air.
Broken bone joints automatically reconnected, shattered skulls reassembled, finally forming a monstrous and terrifying skeleton.
Deep within the skeleton's chest cavity, a shriveled, blackened heart suddenly twitched, each contraction emitting a muffled "thump" like an ancient war drum echoing in the abyss.
As the heartbeat grew stronger, the entire skeleton began to reveal blood-colored veins, as if some terrifying entity that had slept for eons was breaking free from the shackles of death.
In the shadows in the distance, the Mysterious Man silently watched all of this.
His body was shrouded in tattered bronze armor, and a crimson cloak hung like a solidified blood waterfall, almost merging with the darkness.
Thousands of years of exile had not extinguished his ambition; instead, they had taught him concealment and calculation.
At this moment, his lips curved slightly, revealing a cold smile.
This rebellion, this sacrifice, this chaotic revelry, were merely a single move in his long game of chess.
And he, would ultimately be the final victor.
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