Blazkowicz led the Sentinels, breaking through the numerous shields of the City of Truth, smashing the city gates, and charging into the inner city.
Though also a city built with Argent Nur's white stone, this place held no purity or resilience; all that met the eye was grotesque and twisted.
The Sentinels raised their great swords high, their warriors' iron boots stepping into the sorcerer's domain, pouring in through the breach in the shield.
The distortion in the inner city was even more severe; outside, it was a surface of disgusting tumors, while inside, it was an interior composed of putrefaction and mutations.
Pus flowed here, and decay spread everywhere. The floor was a rippling wave of flesh, fountains gushed out turbid, viscous, fragrant liquid, and trees split open, growing fleshy tendrils.
Lymph-like tumors bulged from the architectural cracks, the wizards' towers had cruciform windows that were four-lobed pupils, doorframes like stark white teeth, and carpets that oozed blood like swollen tongue moss.
The entire inner city had detached from the laws of the real universe; under the influence of Chaos power, cold, dead objects grew malevolent, and inorganic matter twisted into writhing flesh.
The City of Truth was becoming a living entity, gradually descending into demented distortion.
If an ordinary Mortal were to enter the inner city and witness these insane sights, they would scream and go mad in collapse.
The Sentinels was also shocked by the ugliness before them; all of this was gradually exceeding human comprehension, entering an unknown realm of madness.
Malice gripped sanity, twisting it with force.
This was not a nexus of the Warp and reality; the Sentinels had charged into a Chaos-infused demonic realm!
"Willpower is the wall that defends sanity!"
At the moment sanity was shaken, a roar like thunder awakened the will of the Sentinels, defending their own reason.
Blazkowicz also saw these twisted creations.
His eyes were calm as ever, and his heart held not a ripple, ignoring the madness and distortion.
Beneath the hateful face of Chaos lay only the corruption of common sense, the bullying of the weak, poisoning them.
His will could not be shaken; he strode forward with large steps.
Where his feet landed, Chaos recoiled and fled; where his gaze fell, corruption retreated three paces.
The Sentinels awoke with a roar, dispelling the wavering in their hearts, and followed Blazkowicz's steps forward.
Fearless, unhesitating.
Their aura and will seemed to connect, like independent bricks, forming an invisible wall.
"We are Argent Nur's sharp blade! We shall cut down all enemies!"
"We are Argent Nur's strong bulwark! We shall surely triumph!"
Chanting the warrior's code, the will of the Sentinels transformed into a sharp blade, into the toughest bulwark.
The twisted horrors that obscured their vision gradually dissipated, and the warriors saw the weakness and deception of Chaos.
"You will not break our will, face our blades!"
The united warriors challenged the power of Chaos, pointing their weapons at the demons, ready to fight evil to the death!
No elaborate commands were needed now; the Sentinels understood that destroying the sorcerer's magic circles would make the profane psychic energy and demons disappear.
They formed into ten-person teams, quickly forming battle formations, and began to clear out the Chaos cultists and demon Legions at the breach.
Human servants, led by demons, surged from all directions, intending to block the Sentinels at the breach before their battle line could expand. If they held this spot, the Sentinels would be in a dilemma, unable to press their advantage.
The Four Gods' allied army!
The Four Gods' demonic armies formed an alliance, the demon Legions gathered into a demonic tide, surging forward like a flood!
The fat and bloated Great Unclean One was at the forefront of the demonic army; the Sentinels' energy beams cut through their bodies, but the rotten flesh re-adhered.
They pushed the front line, splattering demonic blood that spread terrible supernatural viruses, attacking on a microscopic level.
The Lord of Change in the air flapped its brilliant wings, constantly dropping Tzeentchian demonic fire from its fingertips.
Falling into the Sentinels' ranks, the unquenchable demonic fire melted armor, burning flesh to ashes.
Khorne's blood-red army, led by the Bloodthirster, formed a dense military formation beyond the understanding of the physical world, charging against the white bulwark.
The two sides clashed in close combat, demon blades colliding with dimensional light blades, divine blessings and the dimensions of the physical universe tearing at each other. In the gaps where the dimensional shields flickered, a Bloodletter's hellblade pierced a Sentinels member; it was torn apart by the counterattack, but blood continued to pour from the wound.
Slaanesh's servants, riding Slaanesh steeds, advanced rapidly with unnatural steps, twisting and turning.
Demons and Humans slaughtered each other on the battlefield.
The Warp-ification deepened, and the demons grew stronger. The Sentinels, led by Blazkowicz, unleashed astonishing combat power with their tenacious will.
Demons had never seen such resolute warriors; even with their bodies pierced, they counterattacked, their light blades swinging with unwavering killing intent.
For the first time, the Sentinels suffered heavy casualties in a battle.
The enemy's supernatural methods were endless. Viruses gnawed at bodies, flames burned souls, warlike demons charged incessantly, and cavalry repeatedly rushed into the formation and quickly retreated.
And in the melee, one man fought alone.
The weapon in his hand emitted a dark light, its blade as thin as a cicada's wing and exceptionally sharp; a light sweep over a demon would leave it headless.
Around Harlan, there were only the sparks of dissipating demons.
The ancient artifact of the Old Ones was extraordinary; the spear-blade could not be stopped, not even by demons blessed by the Four Gods.
The swirling dark radiance slowed the surrounding demons, and the stolen vitality left Harlan without fatigue.
"Is this all you've got? What are the servants of the Four Gods worth?"
The Champion Swordsman cursed and provoked, sending his regards to the Four Gods behind the demons, blaspheming their masters.
And there was another, even more unstoppable.
Blazkowicz!
The sharpest tip of the spear, the toughest point of the bulwark.
Under his leadership, the Sentinels advanced relentlessly, soldiers continuously pouring in, expanding the front line at the breach.
Nothing living could stop him. The cultists' frenzied charges were even less significant than the paving stones on the ground that needed to be avoided.
Demons and priests alike knew that Blazkowicz was the crucial point, the backbone of the Sentinels.
Chaos magic and psychic attacks rained down on him without a moment's pause.
The Lord of Change's magical flames burned on him, psychic lightning struck him incessantly, and icy spikes rained down like hail.
Useless! All useless!
Before Blazkowicz's almost tangible consciousness, psychic damage was like a breeze, causing no actual harm.
Time magic shattered upon impact, unable to halt his steps, and gravitational distortions could not shake his body.
Blazkowicz embodied a concept, a powerful concept that could not be stopped, traversing ice and fire, stepping through time and space.
The wizards compressed their mental power into spikes, attempting to pierce Blazkowicz's mind, but they saw an infinitely high wall.
With just a glance back, the sorcerer who attempted to invade his mental domain was instead powerfully repelled, their skull exploding.
Demons surged like a tide, then fell like a tide before him.
They screamed, they roared, their demonic might soaring. They wailed, they howled, and died in silence.
Surrounded by demons, Blazkowicz remained silent. With each demon he killed, he grew stronger; his inexhaustible stamina allowed him to slaughter relentlessly.
The warhammer gifted by his father was heating up; the steel hammerhead was deforming from collisions with demons, showing metal fatigue.
Blazkowicz simply swung his warhammer; the disintegration field was too lenient on demons; smashing them to death was more fitting.
Leading the Sentinels relentlessly forward, towards the center of the City of Truth, to the location of the Chaos ritual.
Only by destroying that place could they truly claim some victory.
Demons continuously poured into reality through the ritual array.
As the Sentinels continued to enter, and all fifteen thousand of Blazkowicz's men had entered, the sky suddenly changed color.
"Crack—rumble!" Lightning shrieked, and the ground trembled.
From eight directions at the city's edge, Chaos energy surged, rising into the sky and converging at the city center.
A kaleidoscopic, twisted staircase slowly descended from the sky, enveloping the City of Truth.
A giant Chaos eight-pointed star emerged from the ground, and Chaos power surged through the city.
The earth cracked open with deep fissures, buildings were torn from the ground, and flesh-ification began to spread rapidly, fleshy tentacles twisting and growing from the ground cracks.
Physical laws were distorted, and gravitational fields materialized as twisted vortices.
"Heh! Heh! Heh!"
"This is a trap! A trap specifically prepared for you and the Sentinels!"
Isaac's twisted shriek echoed from all directions; his will was now omnipresent.
Isaac's triumphant mockery echoed, his smug bird-like head appearing on the colorful barrier wall, looking down at the Sentinels from various directions.
At this moment, the Sentinels were like birds in a cage, and Blazkowicz was a trapped beast.
The external support forces attacked the barrier with artillery fire; the cold creations of physical laws were futile against the chaotic barrier.
In the twisted chaotic demon realm, darkness was a twisted snake, writhing and crawling on the ground, while light was like a startled deer, frantically struggling to escape.
"Brothers! Beware of flesh corruption! Our power armor is showing flesh mutations!"
The will of flesh was spreading, and the Sentinels, fighting valiantly, found fresh tendrils of flesh growing on the surface of their armor.
He roared, warning his comrades and passing on the crucial message: "This is no longer the real realm; the gods' defiling power is affecting our equipment!"
Since stepping into the city, the communication channels had been filled with demonic shrieks, forcing them to cut off all communications.
In the chaotic, disordered space, demons had no obstacles to movement. They easily broke through space, appearing from various unexpected places.
Sometimes, even before they appeared, their weapon-wielding arms would directly stab into a warrior's body.
Malice surged in the chaotic realm, demons grew increasingly powerful, and the concept of immortality became clearer.
Boundless chaotic evil thoughts descended, extinguishing the warriors' tenacious will.
Twisted gravitational vortices constantly pulled, making the Sentinels unstable, and chaotic light refraction distorted the images seen by their eyes.
"A trap?"
In the chaotic realm, Blazkowicz punched and killed the demons around him, amidst the chaotic battlefield.
His rhetorical question was low, yet clearly reached everyone's ears.
With a Bloodthirster under his foot and his warhammer pointed at the sky, his face was stained with blood, yet possessed a cruel radiance: "Can a sheepfold contain a fearless hero? Or can a noose capture a dragon?"
"I brought my warriors here for only one purpose!"
Blazkowicz raised his warhammer with both hands, the resolve in his eyes real and pure, letting out an impassioned roar: "To destroy everything here!"
"!!!"
The roar of the warhammer hitting the ground was deafening, a mighty blow infused with resolve that shook heaven and earth!
This hammer blow seemed to strike the entire City of Truth, using will and power to directly confront the entire chaotic realm.
The barrier vibrated, and space shrieked.
The demons were dizzy and disoriented, so shaken by the clash of absolute wills that they could barely kneel or move.
The heavy hammer blow Blazkowicz unleashed was not a physical attack, but rather an impact on the very essence of Chaos, channeled through his will and fury.
Isaac's consciousness projection on the chaotic barrier flickered, his consciousness, extended through Chaos, also suffering a severe blow.
The law of gravity reasserted itself, and the chaotic realm, which had no up, down, left, or right, returned to three-dimensional constraints amidst the dizzying rotation.
This one hammer blow! Darkness receded, and light reappeared!
"You are truly too powerful! Beyond my expectations, there's a reason the Gods favor you."
Isaac said with admiration, shaking his bird-like head to clear the dizziness from his mind.
That earth-shattering blow caused the chaotic sorcerer, far away in the city center, to lose his footing and fall into the center of the eight-pointed star.
The terrifying power and tenacious will stirred infinite jealousy in Isaac's crazed heart.
The power he had so painstakingly sought his entire life was something others possessed inherently.
He knelt, begging the Gods for mercy, but their gaze always remained on Blazkowicz.
However, thinking of what was about to happen, a forbidden pleasure surged within Isaac—the pleasure of orchestrating and toying with the downfall of a demigod.
To also become a servant of the Gods, a perfect blasphemy of an unyielding will,
To kneel at the feet of the Gods and kiss their toes would be his greatest revenge!
"Cackle~ cackle~ cackle~"
With a joyful, sinister laugh, Isaac activated the power of Chaos, joining other divine priests in launching a grand ritual.
The image on the barrier disappeared, and the chanting of spells echoed from the darkness, a sense of urgency rising in Blazkowicz's heart.
He knew clearly that the servants of Chaos would not give up their resistance, and more evil was gathering.
The Sentinels were falling, facing the surging tide of demons; their physical capabilities would tire, and their highly strained nerves would become even more exhausted.
These brave and fearless warriors had followed him without complaint or regret; he had to bring them back!
With this thought, Blazkowicz's warhammer swung even more ferociously, and he quickened his pace towards the center of the ritual.
From the hole in the sky, the power of Chaos surged forth even more tempestuously with the recitation of the spells, pouring into the chaotic barrier and strengthening the demons.
"Drip ~ drop ~"
Guided by the priests' chanting, sickening green raindrops began to fall from the sky.
This was not normal rain; it was a blessing from the Chaos God—Nurgle—a painful trial for life.
"Hiss~"
A teeth-grinding corrosion spread, and the dense raindrops were all-pervasive, invading through the flickering gaps in the dimensional shields.
Harlan, in the midst of slaying enemies with the Light of Darkness, saw raindrops fall on his power armor, gradually emitting green smoke.
Under the erosion of the sickening green rain, the armor plates peeled and festered like rotting flesh.
"Corrosive raindrops!"
The Champion Swordsman anxiously roared, relaying his discovery.
"Harlan Ogilvy!"
Blazkowicz roared from the front, summoning his guard.
The appearance of the corrosive acid rain made him realize that at the current rate of advance, by the time they reached the ritual center, all the Sentinels' weapons and equipment would be rendered useless.
That would be an even greater disaster.
In the chaotic realm, armor protection was crucial, an important line of defense against mutation and corruption.
The only way now was to temporarily abandon the army around him and stop the ritual from continuing.
"Follow me men!" Blazkowicz was at the very front, waiting for Harlan to approach him, intending to charge into the ritual center with his guard.
Only Harlan could somewhat keep up with his speed; slowing down to wait for him still ensured rapid progress.
"Everyone else, form a defensive formation. Use unmutated obstacles to resist the demon attacks and await further orders!"
"Go!"
After issuing the command, Blazkowicz took Harlan and broke away from the main group, spearheading directly towards the center of the chaotic eight-pointed star.
The Sentinels' discipline and tactical prowess meant no extra commands were needed; they would take care of themselves.
The demon rain poured down. Master and servant advanced rapidly through the chaotic demon realm.
"These demon fiends, they're truly endless!" Harlan ran at full speed, following behind Blazkowicz, able to rest slightly.
He dealt with a few demons that tried to flank or surround them from behind.
"The minions of Chaos are endless; only by interrupting the ritual can we stop them from entering reality."
The giant in front of him swung his warhammer into a blur; no demon could get close.
Time was chaotic in the chaotic realm, and distance was a hazy concept. Distance indeed existed quantitatively, but it was not something one could simply reach.
For powerful beings like Blazkowicz, distance was fixed; they could actively approach or move away.
For ordinary Mortals or Harlan, the existence of distance was abstract.
The distance between them and their destination might be right before their eyes, but they could not actively approach or leave, passively accepting the disorder of Chaos.
They might walk for ten thousand years and never reach their destination, or they might appear next to it in the next second.
The two moved extremely fast.
Blazkowicz did not need to dodge or detour; supported by his powerful willpower, the chaotic realm retreated before him.
Iron boots stepped into the void, and the ground appeared beneath his feet; if a house blocked his path, the space would fold like a kaleidoscope the next second, becoming a clear path.
Only the Keeper of Secrets Great Demons under the Four Gods were worthy of blocking Blazkowicz's path; ordinary demons couldn't even get close before being incinerated by his fiery will.
The two slayed demons along the way, and Blazkowicz arrived at the center of the eight-pointed star, where a circular sacrificial pit was visible.
Due to the angle, the specifics within the sacrificial pit were not visible.
Blazkowicz felt a sudden tremor in his heart, and an ominous premonition crept in.
"Ohoho~"
A nauseating chuckle echoed, and he heard a voice both familiar and strange.
Blazkowicz's icy fury ignited instantly! The owner of this voice, how could he ever forget: "Ennio Novick!"
Beneath a twisted, thorny spire, Ennio emerged, dragging a twisted longsword whose blade was eerily contorted, scraping foul-smelling slime across the ground.
The elegance was gone from his face, his golden hair somewhat pale, and one of his emerald eyes had turned an eerie violet.
"No!" Blazkowicz looked at his former brother, without any pity in his eyes: "Your existence defiles the name 'Novick'!"
"Then are you going to kill me, my brother?"
Blazkowicz looked at Ennio, raising his warhammer without a word.
"Leave him to me! You shouldn't bear the sin of fratricide." Harlan stepped out from behind, standing between the two and signaling Blazkowicz to leave quickly: "You go stop the ritual, I'll handle him!"
"Good." After a glance at Ennio, Blazkowicz continued forward.
He had full confidence in Harlan; there were fewer demons near the ritual center, and in a one-on-one fight, Harlan would definitely not lose to Ennio.
Ennio did not try to stop him, instead gracefully making a 'please' gesture.
Because the Keeper of Secrets Great Demon possessing him almost couldn't help but laugh out loud, thinking of what was about to happen.
"Traitor!"
Harlan took a horse stance, raising Dark Light high in his right hand, the gunstock resting on his left arm, its black blade pointed directly at Ennio.
"Champion Swordsman." Ennio twisted his longsword, performing a sword dance as he slowly circled Harlan, a look of indifference on his face.
The Keeper of Secrets' languid tone, seemingly disinterest in the fight, was actually enjoying a perverse pleasure: "What? Sentinels, are you going to betray your oath?"
It naturally knew the second oath of the Sentinels, and the feeling of it being defied was truly exhilarating!
Coupled with the pain of the soul of this body's owner, it was like sipping fine, fermented wine.
"Have you been in this hellhole too long, and your mind's gone bad?"
Harlan's taunt, a hoarse sound through his respirator grille, continued: "The second oath requires us to be loyal to King Nowick, not to you, traitor!"
"Boring~"
Facing a meticulous warrior, the Great Demon could not shake his will, only making a fool of itself.
The Keeper of Secrets shifted its feet, launching an attack with a seductive posture; despite occupying a human body, its strange footwork displayed an otherworldly skill.
The curved longsword transformed into a venomous serpent, spitting poison as it struck at Harlan, its eerie technique beyond human comprehension.
Harlan's pupils contracted sharply; he had never seen such swordsmanship. A member of the Throne should not possess such skill.
"Who exactly are you?"
The gun barrel parried the curved sword, and Harlan's stern challenge rang out: "You are definitely not Ennio!"
During their previous encounter in the Throne Hall, Ennio's swordsmanship, though unusual, had always adhered to the upright and balanced style of royal swordsmanship.
The current Ennio seemed to be a completely different person.
"Hehehehaha!" The Keeper of Secrets laughed wantonly; it enjoyed human surprise and doubt: "I am Ennio, the Prince of the Nowick Royal Family!"
"Scum! You defile the Nowick Royal Family!"
Harlan was enraged! He saw through the disguise!
The person before him was definitely not Ennio; it was a demon, wearing the prince's skin, constantly committing evil!
"Oh dear~ I've been discovered~"
The Keeper of Secrets cackled, its longsword extraordinarily sharp, stirring the energies of the Chaos Demesne. The poisoned longsword continuously stabbed at the human before it.
"I am no longer confined by the real universe; even with this humble disguise, I can still kill you!"
It still remembered the wolf-fox appearance it had in the Throne Hall when Harlan repelled it.
"Die!" Harlan roared, no longer holding back the Dark Light in his hand, and directly struck the demon's poisoned weapon.
Clang~
The gun blade and sword blade met, and the demon weapon snapped upon impact.
In the demon's surprised and bewildered gaze, the long spear in Harlan's hand, its power undiminished, slashed towards the imposter's neck.
"I am not who I once was either!"
Having drunk the primordial soup, Harlan's physical capabilities had increased severalfold. Dealing with a demon possessing a human body, he could perfectly suppress it.
The imagined scene of a head rolling did not occur. Harlan abruptly stopped his long spear at the most critical moment.
He saw the look of relief in Ennio's emerald eye and the cunning expression on the imposter's face.
"I think I understand your condition now."
With a sweep of his long spear, the blade, under exquisite control, dislocated Ennio's limb joints.
The surrounding demons were becoming fewer and fewer. Blazkowicz was rapidly approaching the sacrificial pit in the center of the Chaos Eight-Pointed Star.
The scene he witnessed made his pupils shrink violently, and the surging anger in his heart made his body tremble.
His teeth gnashed, his eyes bloodshot and bulging, as he let out a mournful, hateful roar:
"Chaos!!!!!!!!"
That roar echoed through the barrier, containing boundless hatred, and the scorching fury made Chaos tremble!
King Nowick stood there, dazed.
His body had recovered its health, filled with strength as before.
No! King Nowick was even stronger now; Chaos power flowed within him, making him as tall as Blazkowicz, yet utterly lifeless, like a puppet without a master.
In the center of the Eight-Pointed Star was an altar, about three meters high, inscribed with various Chaos runes.
Queen Elise was naked, her body spread out like a cross, her palms nailed into the altar with rusty iron spikes.
Her body had been cut open, a single incision from her throat to her lower abdomen.
Her sternum and ribs were pried open with hooks, fixed to the altar with iron nails, exposing her internal organs.
The skin on her body was covered with evil Chaos runes, and fresh red blood flowed from the lines of the runes, dripping little by little into the altar's array.
It seemed the Chaos array was sustaining her life and had established some connection with the altar below.
Elise's will was conscious; she endured the pain with closed eyes, her lips already bitten raw.
"Bastard!"
Blazkowicz's furious roar also contained pain. He had expected his mother to suffer torture, which was why he had so eagerly fought his way into the City of Truth.
Seeing it in person, he felt even more self-reproach for arriving late.
And his father. His body was polluted by Chaos evil magic, becoming a puppet to be wantonly manipulated.
"Chaos is an extreme with no bottom line."
Now, seeing everything before him, Blazkowicz finally understood why the Elder had repeatedly mentioned this phrase in his descriptions of Chaos.
"Hehehehahaha!"
"Painful, isn't it? Do you like what I've prepared for you?"
Isaac slowly emerged from behind the altar, his bird-like body hunched, holding a emerald blue staff.
"I want you dead!"
Blazkowicz went all out! He had killed his way here, plundering countless demonic powers; at this moment, he was terrifyingly strong.
Wielding his warhammer, he could smash Isaac's head to pieces before he could react!
No! He must not be let off so easily!
The killing intent in Blazkowicz's eyes solidified, even transforming into invisible swords in the Chaos domain, slashing across Isaac's body, leaving wounds.
He wanted to break the demon priest's limbs, leave him alive, and make him suffer every kind of painful torture!
Isaac indeed did not react; when Blazkowicz's warhammer struck at its limbs, its face still held a triumphant expression.
But someone on the field did react.
In Blazkowicz's strange vision, a blood-red greatsword flew in from outside his sight, intercepting the warhammer's trajectory and saving the priest, who was about to have his limbs broken.
The greatsword, its power undiminished, plunged directly into the stone slabs of the ground.
Stunned and confused.
Blazkowicz looked up. Nowick, as tall as himself, faced him, revealing a hearty smile.
Isaac reacted then, screaming and flapping its winged arms, quickly fleeing from Blazkowicz.
"Have no doubt, I am not your father."
Nowick gestured, recalling the blood-red greatsword from beside Blazkowicz: "I am merely borrowing this body to bear my will and fight you."
"Until I determine a victor between us, I will temporarily not allow that cowardly priest to die, nor will I let you save that woman."
"Oh, and!" The entity occupying Nowick's body brushed off the dust on the greatsword and introduced itself to Blazkowicz:
"Mortals dare not utter my name; they call me the 'Blood God,' but I grant you a privilege, allowing you to call me 'Khorne'!"
Boom!
As his words fell, blood-red lightning flashed in the Chaos domain, and blood rain fell from the hollow of the curtain.
The Blood God had spoken his name in the real universe.
Blazkowicz's agitated face darkened, his hand involuntarily tightening around his warhammer. He knew that the being occupying his father's body was a god from the Warp.
A true god~
"Why?" Blazkowicz brushed the blood rain from his face and stared at the god, asking in confusion: "Why have you set your sights on me?"
Blazkowicz was truly puzzled. The Elder had said that gods rarely left the Warp and would not pay too much attention to one person.
Yet here he was, truly feeling that the gaze of the Four Gods was all upon this place.
"Love! The thrill of the fight! The bloodthirst!"
Khorne stated an answer dispassionately, expressionless.
Love? Blazkowicz looked up at the Blood God. He did not want the gods' so-called "love"; he only felt bone-deep hatred for them!
"Come!"
There was no avoiding it, no need for more talk! He was fearless, charging towards the Blood God with unceasing hatred!
"Come, boy!" The Blood God also roared, his battle intent clashing with Blazkowicz's killing intent.
In excitement, the endless fury on the Skull Throne burned, unleashed into the real domain!
Sword met hammer! Sparks and debris flew!
The strongest warrior in the real universe was destined to challenge a god!
In the fierce collision, Blazkowicz's swinging hammerhead was cut in half.
No matter how tough Mortal weapons were, no matter how meticulously crafted by masters, they could never compare to weapons blessed by gods.
The gift from Nowick, just like his own fate.
Knowing that confronting a god would result in utter destruction, he still, driven by various external forces, charged towards the god without regret.
The Warhammer was severed, and Blazkowicz gripped the remaining hilt, swinging it at extreme speed to continue his assault.
Khorne is the strongest warrior in the Warp, and Blazkowicz is the strongest warrior in the real universe.
In the evil, chaotic domain of the Warp, its power is immensely strong, reaching its peak when it descends.
Blazkowicz's rage and resolve for revenge intertwined, transforming into a continuous barrage of fierce attacks, unleashed upon the Blood God.
If weapons break, use fists! His hate-infused arms became god-slaying iron fists, each strike carrying the force of thunder.
"More! More! Give in to the slaughter!"
The Blood God roared, dropping its greatsword to meet the challenge with its fists, clashing with Blazkowicz while bellowing!
For this pure duel, Khorne even made a promise to its divine brethren.
Because after this ritual and choice, Blazkowicz's fate would be set, no longer vague and uncertain.
The Gods would make him choose.
Fist against fist, foot against foot. Savagery against savagery, power against power.
The battle between one man and one god was terrifying!
The shockwaves they generated made Isaac tremble, forcing him to hide far away to protect himself.
He didn't even have the courage to peek—the movements of the two had long surpassed what a Mortal's eyes could perceive.
How could a priest, not yet fully ascended to demonhood, clearly see the attack speed of two beings who transcended humanity?
Khorne was the embodiment of violence; it wantonly used Nowick's body to unleash violence, adding a primal and savage touch to the battle with its bloody roars.
Nowick's dignity was twisted, his expression as grotesque as a terrifying embodiment, his blood-red eyes devoid of any reason.
Blazkowicz's battle was silent as iron, his eyes holding only cold resolve, his face heroic and stern, the will for revenge etched into his brow.
Seeing his father's desecrated corpse, his iron fists grew stronger with each strike, challenging the Blood God for the sin of desecrating the corpse.
Sonic booms continuously erupted, and shockwaves swept wildly. The sacrificial pit vibrated, and the chaotic domain trembled.
The demons shivered; they felt the will of their God descend, locked in a duel with a powerful enemy.
The Sentinels fought with renewed vigor; only Blazkowicz's battle could possess such might—he was fighting a God!
The incessant rapid attacks made Khorne feel the fatigue in its body, and it was greatly displeased!
This Mortal body, in a pure contest of strength and speed, gradually fell behind, and muscle strain began to appear during rapid movement.
The Blood God accelerated its absorption of chaotic power to sustain the body, but it still couldn't keep up with the rate of collapse.
Facing Blazkowicz's fierce offensive, Khorne retaliated with equal ferocity.
Amidst the sharp attacks, the body's functions steadily declined, gradually revealing weaknesses.
Another hook punch came, and this time the Blood God couldn't block it, getting hit directly in the chest, sending its descending body flying a considerable distance.
As its body flew backward, blood-red Blood God power and dark chaotic power overflowed from its nose and mouth.
But it still clamored: "Unsated! Unbroken! Unfulfilled!"
Khorne sensed the impurity; an iron fist aimed at its head was deflected, striking its chest instead.
It knew, of course, that Blazkowicz had hesitated for a moment when striking the head of this body.
This was his father's body; even though it was possessed, Blazkowicz still wanted to reclaim it, to leave a whole corpse.
"What are you hesitating for?"
The Blood God braced its hands on the ground, driving this body, on the verge of shattering, to stabilize itself from its fall.
Its blood-red eyes watched Blazkowicz rushing towards it, and it shook its head with displeasure, growling,"Defilement stains the duel! Cast off emotion—embrace your RAGE!"
"What is your so-called purity? A slaughtering machine that only knows how to fight?"
Blazkowicz's sharp retort was no longer verbal; he continuously threw punches, embedding his questions into his fists!
"This lowly body has reached its end, why not let me help you purify it?"
It was knocked flying again!
The Blood God would not answer or understand emotions; it was the manifestation of pure violence, abhorring all existence that did not twist into violence.
Following the Blood God's will, an endless river of blood descended from the Warp, submerging Nowick's standing corpse.
Blazkowicz quickly pursued, rushing into the river of blood. Amidst the crimson, he embraced a physical form, pulling it out of the bloody river. As the crimson before him vanished, he saw only the terrifying, grotesque grin of the Blood God when he clearly saw the body in his arms.
Nowick's corpse was disfigured; he had transformed, with a face resembling a Bloodthirster demon, his body tinged with a blood-like red, and encased in brass armor.
"I will kill you!"
Blazkowicz's eyes were bloodshot; his last shred of illusion vanished from his mind. He had only wanted to give his father a complete corpse, but such a simple wish had dissolved into thin air under the manipulation of the Chaos God.
He lowered his hands from embracing the Blood God, wrapping them around its waist from behind, allowing the rain of punches to strike his own body.
Looking at the struggling Chaos God in his embrace, Blazkowicz, bruised and battered, stared into its eyes and said earnestly, "I am a human being, a human being of flesh and blood and emotion!"
"Khorne! Leave his body and let him rest."
"One day in the future, when I kill you, I will also give you a swift end!"
His large hands squeezed tighter and tighter; he gave Khorne no more chance to speak, his burning eyes fixed on it.
"Impossible," the Blood God conveyed its meaning with its eyes, delivering an elbow strike to Blazkowicz's head, causing blood to flow from his nose and mouth.
The Blood God was the embodiment of strife; how could it yield to Blazkowicz's threats?
Blazkowicz loved him and offered him his supreme favor. But its love, in all its forms, only allowed acceptance; it would not allow rejection.
Blazkowicz bled from all seven orifices amidst the Blood God's counterattack, yet he seemed oblivious, as if he felt no pain.
He took one last look at the Blood God, at that body still bearing three-tenths resemblance to his father, then closed his eyes.
He exerted force with his arms, and with a 'crack', the Blood God's incarnated lumbar spine was directly crushed by a great force.
Any vertebrate, losing the support of its lumbar spine, becomes completely powerless.
"No! No! No!" The Blood God waved its arms, screaming, feeling no killing intent in the act of murder, only deep pity.
"In your immortal life, Mortals are but passersby; these lowly emotions will only hinder you!"
This time, Blazkowicz did not respond. He clasped its back neck and lower back, lifted it high, and looked up at the constantly struggling figure.
Without a beginning, there is no end; Gods can never understand.
Even at this moment, when Blazkowicz thought of King Nowick, a trace of warmth still welled up in his heart.
He clasped the Blood God's hands even tighter; it was time to send it away, to give his father release.
"Begone! Khorne."
His words filled with remembrance, Blazkowicz forcefully pulled Nowick's body down, his back impacting Blazkowicz's knee.
A gush of blood erupted, Nowick's body burst into a bloody mist, and the shattered form could no longer sustain itself.
"Unsatisfying… I crave more!"
The Blood God's will transformed into a bloody mist and vanished, its message in the void filled with extreme displeasure.
A perfect battle it had anticipated ended in pity, not matching its psychological expectation of blood-splattering fervor.
With its departure, Nowick's demonized corpse also turned into flying ashes, completely disappearing from the universe.
Blazkowicz reached out to grasp the ashes, but could not hold them, like a wisp of smoke that never existed.
"Farewell, Father!"
A soft murmur sent his father off; in future memories, there wouldn't even be a grave to commemorate him.
Nowick was the kindling in Blazkowicz's life; he ignited himself, turning into embers and dust, but that bright flame and warmth would forever remain in Blazkowicz's heart.
He stood up and turned; now no one could stop his revenge!
His footsteps sounded like a death knell, his face like ice as he walked step by step towards Isaac, the sharp killing intent in his eyes like a carving knife, intending to slowly torture him to death.
Facing Blazkowicz, who approached with rage, a sense of oppression enveloped Isaac, and his body involuntarily trembled.
But he was not flustered; there was no fear in his eyes, because he knew Blazkowicz loved Elise.
The shadow cast by the tall figure enveloped the trembling Isaac, and Blazkowicz put his hand on his shoulder, a cruel smile on his face.
Now the sorcerer and warrior faced each other, Isaac was sweating profusely, yet dared not make any sudden moves.
The man before him had just sent the Blood God's will back to the Warp.
Facing such a powerful being, any defiant action from the priest would invite a thunderous attack.
"End the ritual!" Blazkowicz smiled, yet there was no amusement in his expression, only a stagnant pool in his dark eyes.
Crack! With a slight squeeze of his fingers, the sorcerer's fragile, hollow bird bone shattered, and his entire shoulder collapsed with it.
"Uh!"
Blazkowicz's superhuman hearing caught Elise's painful groan from the altar. His heart tightened, and he grabbed the priest, leaping onto the altar.
Elise lay in the center of the altar, her body desecrated by chaos, with the same collapsed shoulder as Isaac.
"Look at this, Blazkowicz!"
Isaac's dark claw pulled open his robe; beneath the robe, his body had no feathers, but was similarly inscribed with chaotic runes.
"The chaotic runes bind my life and Lady Elise's closely together; we live and die as one."
"Do not attempt to kill me or Elise to end the ritual." Isaac and Blazkowicz locked eyes, then Isaac instinctively turned his head, saying guiltily:
"We are a trinity; if one is harmed, all are harmed."
The ritual array carved into his body seemed to give Isaac some courage, and his voice no longer trembled:
"The ritual cannot be stopped. This is the will of the Gods; they will not allow it to be interrupted."
Blazkowicz looked deeply at the Priest, understanding that this Chaos ritual was prepared by the Gods for him.
How many absurd things had this hideous bird-man in his hand done under the drive of the Gods?
Blazkowicz's fists clenched, cracking audibly, wishing he could immediately skin, disembowel, and gut this beast.
Isaac's heart pounded. Just moments ago, he dared to mock Blazkowicz freely, but facing him now, fear choked his throat, rendering him speechless.
Taking a deep breath, his broad shoulders heaved. Blazkowicz ultimately did not dare to harm his mother further.
He ripped off Isaac's robe, tossing him aside like a worm with no dignity.
He carefully covered his mother's body, restoring some dignity to her, protecting her from the endless defilement of Chaos.
Blazkowicz looked up at the void in the sky, the void corrupted by Chaos, directly connected to the Warp.
"Gods. I know you have always been there."
His words held no shouts, no hatred, no fury; they seemed devoid of all emotion.
Calm words echoed in the sacrificial pit as he looked at the broken sky, stating a fact.
The gaze of the Four Gods had been present the entire time.
They watched him from the depths of the Warp, then set up the altar, allowing him to choose.
As Blazkowicz summoned, four figures appeared in the Warp's void. They were the wills of the Chaos Gods!
The putrid swelling of sickly green, the depraved craving of purple-pink, the fickle change of blue-grey, the tyrannical rage of blood-red.
Their appearance was without warning, without any superfluous might, as if they had existed there since before the beginning of eternity.
They silently looked at Blazkowicz, the gaze of the Gods converging on the amphitheater-like sacrificial pit.
Boom~
Blue flames ignited along the edge of the sacrificial pit, lush, decaying grass sprouted from the ground, scalding blood rain fell, and sinful thorns burst forth from the earth.
Merely a gaze, and the concepts of the Gods encroached upon the realm of reality. This land, if nothing unexpected occurred, would be their eternal territory.
"Ah~~~"
Isaac wailed. His hunched body began to twist, manifesting terrifying multiple mutations.
Under the gaze of the Gods, the Priest crawled painfully on the ground, thorns piercing its flesh, blood rain corroding its body,
and decay spreading through every cell.
"Lord of Change!" Isaac's voice was shrill and humble, calling out to the God it devoutly worshipped, to whom it had dedicated everything with all its heart and might.
The God did not respond, nor did it even look at its worshipper.
Its gaze was fixed on the altar, on the man standing tall and proud, meeting the Gods' gaze without fear.
Blazkowicz naturally noticed Isaac's transformation and instinctively shielded Elise, blocking the direct gaze of the Gods.
Perhaps due to the power of the Gods, Isaac's mutation did not affect Elise.
Or perhaps it could be understood that the Gods did not permit Elise to mutate.
Isaac howled and screamed. The demonic body it had been given now exhibited features of all Four Gods under their infection.
Wings and feathers sprouted from its back, its body began to swell and bloat until it festered, various stimulating hidden organs emerged, its fingers became sharp, and its teeth mutated into blades.
Blazkowicz watched it coldly, the once elegant and composed High Priest, now a pitiful wretch abandoned by Chaos.
The terrifying screams of pain were incessant. Isaac's body mutated continuously, its genes changing and reorganizing chaotically, its limbs constantly being torn and displaced.
Finally, its limbs and torso merged into one, becoming an egg-shaped lump of flesh with a face.
Its expression was dull and numb, becoming the most defiled Chaos egg.
"Do you like it? My gift."
An ethereal voice reached him. Its words had no two syllables alike, yet the chaotic speech was understandable.
"Lord of Change."
Blazkowicz saw a phantom figure, the size of a normal person, sitting cross-legged in the void beside the sacrificial pit, constantly flowing and changing.
"I only have pity in my heart."
He shook his head and said to Tzeentch, "I deeply abhor his actions and would not hesitate to kill him, but I pity a soul that has been toyed with."
"Is that so?"
Tzeentch pondered Blazkowicz's words, drawing a phantom image in the air with his hand: "It seems you have a great misunderstanding about us."
He displayed a scene, Blazkowicz's most bitter memory, everything that happened in the Throne Hall that day.
"His arrogance and conceit caused a deviation in the plan. I merely discarded an unhandy tool."
Blazkowicz silently shook his head. The words of Chaos were not to be trusted.
"But you are different."
Tzeentch's bizarre voice was very calm, like a wise Elder: "Blazkowicz! Why do you think I am here? Because the Gods believe you should not look up to us, but regard us as equals."
"Then why did you slaughter my father and desecrate his corpse?!"
Blazkowicz glanced at the lofty Gods, then pointed to Elise on the ground, his voice gradually growing cold as he questioned: "You nailed my mother to the ground, letting her suffer endless humiliation and pain?"
"That was an accident!" Tzeentch remained calm, not angered by the hatred: "It was a recoverable accident, including everything now; it can all be recovered!"
"Recoverable?" Blazkowicz's brows furrowed, and he narrowed his eyes at Tzeentch's phantom: "How can it be recovered?"
Tzeentch's shoulders shook, in high spirits; if they could talk, there was room for negotiation!
They would propose a price that Blazkowicz could not refuse, bringing him under the Four Gods' sway!
The Lord of Change gestured with his fingers, chanting ancient, mystical syllables, casting a spell.
Blazkowicz watched him warily, feeling no threat, and the sacrificial array on the ground showed no signs of activating.
What was he trying to do?
Soon, Tzeentch answered Blazkowicz's question.
A white star was cast down from the Warp, caught in his hand. His withered palm opened, revealing something that made Blazkowicz gasp.
"The soul of your beloved father."
Tzeentch's words were extremely alluring, even using endearments to stir Blazkowicz's emotions.
Blazkowicz's body trembled, instinctively wanting to rush forward and snatch it.
"Don't rush~ My dear Blazkowicz!" Tzeentch raised his hand, gently closing it, and chuckled, stopping Blazkowicz: "What if I get a little nervous, and this fragile soul is completely destroyed?"
Nowick's miniature, transparent soul floated in Tzeentch's hand. Tzeentch chuckled, then offered the Gods' price: "We can resurrect him!"
Blazkowicz's gaze never left Nowick's soul. He asked in a low voice: "Then what is the price?"
He knew there was no free lunch; Chaos always valued "equivalent exchange."
"Swear allegiance to us!" Tzeentch's magic displayed in the air, his words full of seduction, passionately describing the future:
"Swear your fealty, and we shall anoint you the sole Chosen of the Four. The Warp itself shall bind our oath: we will never betray you. You will possess our power, endless armies, and a supreme status equal to the Gods. Your father, your mother, your brothers, and all the soldiers who follow you, they will achieve eternity, existing with you forever!"
Blazkowicz listened to Tzeentch's narrative. Although he knew the Gods were full of lies, his heart wavered slightly.
What if? Even if it was just a slim chance?
Swearing allegiance to the Gods, everything could return to how it was, and all sacrifices and deaths could be avoided.
"You will be free, cherished by us. We will never restrict or demand anything from you."
Perhaps sensing Blazkowicz's hesitation, Tzeentch continued to make promises: "You can ask us for anything; we will never refuse any of your requests."
Blazkowicz looked down at Elise. Her pained expression tugged at his heartstrings, and Nowick had hope of resurrection.
His heart struggled. The Gods' terms were too generous, practically a one-sided gift.
When the Warp Gods are willing to swear an oath for something, it means they will not easily break their promise.
"Look at what we've prepared for you!"
With an alien lilt twisting its words, Tzeentch spread its many arms wide, voice dripping with mockery:"What a perfect stage for an oath, is it not? But what is a stage without an audience? Come now—witnesses are essential!"
Like a deranged master of ceremonies, it swept its clawed hand toward the shadows, inviting the players onto the stage to behold the drama of their chosen "hero."
From the darkness, the Sentinels emerged—broken, staggering, their armor eaten by the corrosive rain, their flesh blistered and rotting beneath. They circled the sacrificial pit one by one, faces pale and hollow-eyed as they gazed upon Blazkowicz.
Unseen, when Tzeentch had first arrived, it had swept the demons aside, whispering the path clear, herding the Sentinels here. Now they stood as the unwilling audience, the perfect witnesses for this cruel ritual of choice.
The conversation between god and mortal had already echoed through the minds of every Watchman present.
Blazkowicz raised his head. Less than half remained—half of their number had been left behind, claimed by the storm.
Above them, the green acid rain fell without pause, eating into steel, flesh, and spirit alike. It gnawed at their strength, turned their wounds septic, and corroded their very will.
Pain spread like a plague among them. Some crawled, others leaned on comrades, but all refused to let the stretcher slip—they bore Blazkowicz's weight as if the fate of the world depended on it.
They were tattered, burned, and weary—but not yet broken.
And that, precisely, was Tzeentch's design: to let them linger, to let them suffer, to make their suffering a weapon.
It opened the stage, drew back the curtain, and let the tragic state of the Sentinels press upon Blazkowicz's heart like an invisible noose.
Only one person stood outside the barrier, watching Blazkowicz with wide eyes.
Harlan Ogilvy, the Champion Swordsman, Blazkowicz's personal attendant, his mentor and friend.
He was the companion who, at the most critical moment, led Blazkowicz to the Crystal Mountains to meet the ancient sage.
He carried an ancient artifact on his shoulder, dragging the crippled Ennio, and arrived at the edge of the sacrificial pit.
Harlan removed his helmet, his expression extremely complex. The look in his eyes towards Blazkowicz held an inexplicable, resolute determination.
He had also heard the deal proposed by the Chaos God, an exceptionally generous deal.
The memories sealed in his mind were awakened by the impact of keywords, and he too had arrived at the place of destiny's choice.
Flames blocked the warriors' path. A barrier surrounded the sacrificial pit, protecting the audience while isolating all sound, preventing Blazkowicz from being disturbed by them.
The mortal warriors were separated by the barrier, as if watching a sacred tragedy, witnessing the demigod's tearing between divine oracle and humanity.
"Don't let them down!"
Harlan clutched his gun to his chest, using sign language and lip-reading to convey his final message to Blazkowicz: "He told me to kill you!"
"Blazkowicz, quickly swear your oath of allegiance!" Tzeentch urged, pointing to the haggard Sentinels: "This heavy rain will not stop; they are walking towards death. You only need to pledge allegiance, and their suffering will vanish, the fallen soldiers will rise again and return to your side!"
The Chaos God's mouthpiece incited and urged relentlessly.
Tzeentch believed that Blazkowicz's love for his parents, his love for the Sentinels, and his love for Argent Nur, would make him choose correctly.
"haaa" Blazkowicz let out a long breath.
His boundless physical and mental strength were now consumed by endless fatigue and pressure.
He looked up at the expectant Gods in the Warp, then at his father's soul in Tzeentch's hand, then surveyed the Sentinels around him, finally fixing his gaze on Elise.
The gaze of man, the gaze of God.
All converged on Blazkowicz; he had to make a choice.
Under countless expectations, the majestic figure knelt on one knee, tears of pain and unwillingness flowing from the corners of his eyes.
He gently picked up his mother; her body was not heavy, one arm was enough for her to rest peacefully.
Covered by a robe, Elise was like a sleeping beauty, quietly slumbering in her son's broad arms.
"Please forgive me! Mother!"
The Gods used the lives of the Sentinels, King Nowick, and Elise, to force Blazkowicz to make a choice.
His broad hand brushed Elise's porcelain-white face, the only part of her body without a trace of Chaos.
Blazkowicz's hand trembled, his powerful body trembled, his heart trembled.
He knew that until he made a choice, this ritual would never end.
The focal point of the ritual was Queen Elise; her life was closely tied to the ritual, enduring eternal suffering under the Chaos Gods' wicked magic.
"Forgive me! Mother!"
Blazkowicz's voice choked. He lowered his head and gently kissed his mother's forehead, as a large hand, trembling, gripped her throat!
"I imagine you must be in great pain. It's time to say goodbye!"
Under the astonished and shocked gaze of the Gods, his hand constricted Elise's slender throat!
A monstrous sin!
Blazkowicz's hand trembled, tears rolled down, but his resolve was unshaken.
Only this—only this—could save the Sentinels, only this could break the Gods' trap!
The hand that could easily take the life of a Great Demon now seemed to encounter a thousand obstacles, struggling to end the fragile life in his arms.
A power capable of shaking stars found it difficult to strike the killing blow, and it could not save her life.
The briefly astonished Gods all craned their necks, savoring the primal evil emanating from the sin of matricide.
They greedily sucked in the sin, intoxicated by the taste of pain and sorrow, as if savoring fine wine.
The Warp churned, and the intense emotions of powerful beings stirred up a storm of emotions within the Warp.
"AHHH!"
Blazkowicz roared, the fierce pain and the necessary killing threatening to tear him apart—
Images from the past flashed through his mind: her gentleness, her teachings, her selfless kindness to him.
He hated his extraordinary memory; why were those images so terrifyingly clear, preventing him from killing her—
Meanwhile, far away on Terra, the Doom Slayer Legion gathered together, suddenly felt a surge of sorrow.
Before they could react, emotions that had long been suppressed suddenly reappeared, and hot tears streamed from the corners of their eyes.
"What happened?"
He asked his brother, but received no answer.
"Please forgive me! Mother!"
Saying goodbye one last time, Blazkowicz closed his eyes, then clenched his hand, trying to make her pain-free.
Crack. Finally, a son twisted his mother's neck, killing the person he loved most.
He seemed to lose all his strength, weakly lowering his arm and placing his mother back on the ground.
The Gods felt both joy and sorrow at Blazkowicz's choice, yet they savored the sweetness of evil, relishing the perfect sin.
Waves surged in the Warp, and the hidden grief and sorrow within were awakened by a powerful entity.
Blazkowicz slowly stood up, his head bowed. No one could see his expression.
He only felt a heart-wrenching pain; those warm memories of being cared for were being extracted from every cell by suffering.
Losing both parents in one day, and even personally killing his mother.
The pain he had suppressed since his father's death seemed to find an outlet, gushing out all at once, merging with the grief of losing his mother.
"AHHH!!!!"
That desperate roar of grief pierced the reality realm, entered the Warp, and even made the demons feel a deep sting.
They watched to see whose sorrow had stirred up the storm, searching for the source of the pain, so real and profound.
In his private room on Terra, the Emperor's face darkened as he sensed the storm of pain in the Warp.
He closed his eyes and plunged into the Warp: "You must not be in danger—"
Blazkowicz stood somewhat unsteadily on the altar, a black aura emanating from him—the materialized form of pain.
The Sentinels instinctively turned their faces away, not daring to look at him anymore, their eyes stung by the materialized pain.
That pure black aura passed through the reality realm and drifted towards the Warp, finally meeting the pain of the Sea of Souls.
Rumble~
Black lightning struck in the Warp, and a black storm of pain advanced, eventually meeting Blazkowicz's grief.
Shared emotions resonated in the Warp, then merged together.
Bang ~ Bang ~ Bang ~
The striking lightning was like a heartbeat, and the storm of pain seemed to be giving birth to something.
Oh ho ho ~
A clear female laugh came from the center of the storm; a new demigod was born in the Warp.
Emerging from the storm, her black body was that of a naked human female, her torso and limbs covered in thorns, holding a thorny whip.
Laughing in pain, dancing in grief, her divine name was—the Queen of Pain.
The Queen of Pain's face closely resembled Elise's. With a laugh, she transformed into a black mist and vanished into the Warp.
The demigod's instinct drove her to distance herself from the Gods' gaze.
The storm in the Warp did not subside with the birth of the Queen of Pain; instead, it intensified, awakening a deeper existence.
Blazkowicz endured the torment. The pain did not break him—he devoured it. The unbearable grief ebbed, leaving behind only a hollow space where rage could take root. The Warp shivered with the weight of his resolve.
A single breath escaped his lips, slow and deliberate. His head lifted, and his eyes met the Gods—the architects of his suffering, the tyrants of eternity.
Their gazes locked across the abyss. Sparks of raw divinity clashed with the unyielding iron of his will, and the void itself crackled like a storm before the end of days.
The pain receded. What remained was fury—pure, corrosive vengeance, howling for release.
The Realm of Chaos quaked. The Warp screamed.
Blazkowicz's face twisted into a mask of hate so absolute it bordered on the inhuman. His eyes burned—not with madness, but with purpose. His gaze cut through the waiting Gods, piercing the marrow of the Warp itself.
He raised his arm, fist clenched until nails split his flesh and knuckles cracked like breaking stone.
And then he spoke. The Emperor, racing through the Warp, heard it too—an oath carried on the currents of madness.
"I am Blazkowicz."
His voice was calm. Too calm. The calm of a volcano moments before eruption.
"I am the Son of the Sky. Nowick's third son. I am—"
His chest heaved. Rage exploded from his core, tearing through the Warp like a nova.
"I am the prophesied—DOOM SLAYER!"
BOOM.
The Warp convulsed.
"I HATE THE GODS! I WILL KILL THE GODS!I WILL HAVE MY VENGEANCE!"
The scream became a storm. His hatred took form—flames igniting upon his skin, primal wrath boiling his very blood.
"I will scour Chaos from existence! I will carve my name into your graves!"
His roar shattered the silence of millennia, stirring something ancient—something the Gods had buried deep.
The concept of God-slaying—older than their thrones, older than their lies—stirred.
The Warp is eternal, yet never still. Its darkest tides had always slumbered, waiting for one mad enough, strong enough, hateful enough to call them forth.
And now, Blazkowicz had.
The tide surged. Demons shrieked from distant gulfs. The Four Gods fell silent, their immortal confidence curdling into something unfamiliar: apprehension.
The slumbering idea awakened. God-killers of ages past whispered in the void, lending their wrath to a mortal who dared defy the infinite.
Blazkowicz stood at the altar, his body wreathed in scarlet flame, his declaration of war shaking every layer of the immaterium.
The rune on his chest ignited. Ancient, forbidden. The essence of the Doom Slayer—the mark of a Creator God, long lost—blazed forth.
Even Tzeentch, the one who claims to know all, stared and murmured:
"…I do not know."
It was the first time he had spoken those words.
The essence answered Blazkowicz. It bled from his soul: slaughter, eradication, annihilation—pure concepts given shape by his boundless wrath.
His left hand burned as the rune imprinted itself into his palm. Concepts demanded a vessel. So he chose.
He struck the altar. Stone shattered like brittle bone. From the rubble, he seized a jagged fragment.
"Even this," he growled, lifting the shard high. "Even with a broken stone… I WILL SLAY GODS."
The flames engulfed the jagged rock, licking it with raw, unbridled fury. The primal essence of stone the eternal, unyielding truth of hardness—twisted and reshaped under his wrath. From the molten fracture emerged a hilt, forged not by hands but by the pure force of his killing intent. And from that intent, a blade was born, sharp as vengeance itself, blazing with the fire of his soul.
With a roar, Blazkowicz slammed his marked palm against the crossguard.
CRACK!
Red light erupted, runes of slaughter racing along the edge. Serrated, vicious, cursed—a weapon born not of mercy, but of judgment.
"GODS!"
He raised the newborn blade toward the Four watching in the void. "This is my vow! This is my witness! Look well—this will be your undoing!"
RUMBLE.
The Warp answered. The God-slaying concept poured into the weapon like a flood of molten stars.
Leather of demon-hide wrapped the grip. The runes howled.
Its name spoke itself: THE CRUCIBLE.
JUDGEMENT!
A weapon that erases divinity. A blade to end gods. A crucible for their extinction.
When the sword manifested, the Gods knew. This was no mortal blade—it was the first true God-slaying weapon, a force to rival their own creations.
Blazkowicz gripped it in both hands, and the blade grew—becoming a greatsword, crimson light casting his face in the glow of apocalypse.
"Come," he whispered.
His voice was low, steady, lethal.
"Come, Gods. Today… we settle our accounts."
The Warp went still. The Golden Sun halted its march, listening.
Then, after a long, tense pause, it turned—its path no longer forward, but back.
"NO MATTER WHERE YOU FLEE, NO MATTER WHERE YOU HIDE," Blazkowicz vowed, "I WILL FIND YOU!"
"I WILL UNMAKE YOU! PIECE BY PIECE!"