Magnus smashed the barrier, leading to irreversible consequences.
Was it not a form of protection for the Emperor to throw his son out of the Warp, away from this place of strife?
The Emperor was furious, but he would not hesitate over a fait accompli, nor was he considering how to resist the demonic army.
The only thing he could do now was concentrate all his psychic power to permeate the world spirit of Pandora and conclude the soul-binding ritual early.
Only in this way could more of humanity be saved.
Anxiety, pity, and grief—these emotions were distracting; in this moment of extreme peril, they served no purpose other than to increase his troubles.
"It's all up to you."
Sanguinius, Lion, and Valdor—the three sons and servants of the Emperor—heard a helpless sigh echo in the depths of their souls.
The arrival of the demonic army had long been foretold; the Four Gods chose to intervene, but they would hold their positions amidst the waves of the Warp and not directly interfere in this battle.
The Chaos Gods watched greedily from the sidelines, exerting infinite pressure, and the Emperor had to compromise, unable to strike at the demons himself.
A wordless pact and an invisible understanding maintained a fragile balance; the outcome of the gamble lay with their respective armies.
Facing the Four Gods, the Emperor compromised. To some extent, the Chaos Gods had yielded a great advantage, hoping to facilitate this unique understanding.
With a final look at Blazkowicz, his consciousness sank into Pandora, no longer concerned with external affairs, using his great will to conquer the world spirit.
"Ka~ ka~ ka~ ka~"
A Lord of Change spread its wings and soared, its avian neck elongating as its throat moved, letting out a piercing, strange laugh. Its withered talons kicked against the ruined walls, laying down a demonic array to further erode the Emperor's will.
Its name was reflected in everyone's heart—Kairos.
The most powerful Greater Daemon of Tzeentch, whose true name was reflected in the Warp, the enlightener of endless life and wisdom, and the unscrupulous destroyer of worlds.
Kairos Fateweaver's two heads and four eyes glowed, seeing through the past and future. He brandished a flaming scepter, urging the demonic army to charge into the Real Universe.
Roars came from the Khornate army; a three-headed Flesh Hound barked in a low tone—it was Skarbrand, the leader of the Flesh Hounds.
The Exalted Greater Daemon Angrath held a whip, his blood-red bat wings outspread as he lashed the demonic engines, letting out a joyful howl.
The oldest Great Unclean One was as massive as a mountain, and Shalaxi Helbane, the champion of the Prince of Pleasure, moved with enchanting steps.
Countless ancient names shone, their power carrying filthy might, piercing the minds of the warriors one after another, manifesting the strength of their conceptual significance.
The tide of demons broke through the boundary, a turbid wave of darkness carrying blasphemous whispers, pressing down on the human line like the sky falling.
The roars of the demons rang in their ears like fine serrations, slowly cutting through the warriors' resilient hearts and shattering the prideful courage beneath their stubborn ramparts.
Fortunately, there were no mortals on this battlefield.
The demonic aura here triggered a cataclysm, filled with ancient malice from the Sea of Souls. Under the wash of blasphemous information, mortals would mutate into Chaos Spawn within seconds.
Sizzle—
The first Bloodthirster landed, its filthy hooves stepping into the Real Universe. The Emperor's array resisted it, scalding it into a burst of black smoke.
It felt no discomfort; instead, it stretched its arms comfortably, its snout twitching as it breathed the air of the Real Universe, fury rolling in its blood-red eyes.
"Prepare to defend!"
The Lion roared. A large number of red demons entered the Real Universe, emitting a bloodthirsty aura that caused killing intent to surface within his Primarch body.
Sixty-six Keepers of Secrets, seventy-seven Great Unclean Ones, eighty-eight Bloodthirsters, and ninety-nine Lords of Change.
They landed as the vanguard, with streaming light behind them like an inverted waterfall, continuously bringing in reinforcements, vowing to drown the human line.
The demons lowed, and the ranks of the Four Gods' armies were beyond imagination, incredibly tight, appearing casual yet without a single flaw.
This was the most elite demonic army, gathered solely to destroy the Emperor's plan.
"Cowards!"
A roar shattered the firmament, like midsummer thunder tearing through the demonic voices, frightening all the ghosts and monsters into silence.
Outside the breach in the passage, that man stood there, holding a crimson divine sword, showing no emotion other than anger.
"You dare to challenge me?" Blazkowicz's fury manifested as red lightning, coursing over his consul armor as his sword pointed at the demonic armies of the Four Gods.
Wherever the blade pointed, the demonic army trembled almost instinctively; the concept of erasure merely brushed against their bodies, yet it cut fine wounds into their skin.
The ten thousand demons fell silent. Seeing this, Sanguinius roared an encouragement from the air: "Behead the demons!"
His brother's power was fully manifested; he stood before the endless tide of demons, and even the sea of darkness could not shake him!
"Witness the glory of the Warrior King!" Lion lit the blade in his hand, his emerald eyes flashing with brilliance, boosting his side's morale once more.
Ha! Ha! Ha!
The morale of the human warriors surged, their combat boots thudding against the ground. When they looked at the Daemon army again, their eyes held only contempt and loathing.
The two sides faced off briefly. The humans did not show even a hint of fear, greatly weakening the demons' influence as their conviction gathered at the Warp connection into a concept of banishment.
The Warp encompasses everything; when a certain consciousness becomes a consensus, it manifests.
"Blood for the Blood God!" Angrath roared to the heavens, signaling the start of the battle.
"Skulls for the Skull Throne!" The Khornate army's battle cries shook the sky, intending to use the blood and skulls of their enemies to please the Blood God upon his throne.
Inside the golden passage, the Khornate army turned into a tide of blood, surging out from the breach in the barrier.
Bloodletters flicked their long tongues, their powerful legs driving their slender bodies forward. Their never-failing hellblades emitted a scorching light as they charged toward the human line alongside the Flesh Hounds.
"Brothers!"
Harlan's call was an order. Deep blue light fired in unison from the defensive line, striking into the ranks of the Khornate army.
Having studied demons for decades, the Sentinels had long ago devised tactics tailored to different types of demons.
The Khornate army was the first to charge, wanting to use the Chaos God's blessing—which made them nearly immune to ranged weapons—to tear through the defensive formation and provide cover for the troops behind them.
Unfortunately, the Sentinels's weapons were very special; conceptually, they were judged as "melee," so the Chaos God's blessing hardly reacted.
As the beams fell into the red tide, severed limbs and broken wings flew everywhere in an instant. The foul blood of the demons flowed helplessly, proving they were not invincible.
The rays fired by the Doom Slayers were particularly lethal, piercing through the demonic army; demons were reduced to ashes on the spot, completely vanishing from the Warp.
In just one exchange, countless demons returned to the Warp, only for more to fill the gap.
A Bloodthirster let out a frenzied roar, driving back the lower-level demons. It held a great brass shield, using concept to block concept.
For the first time, the demonic army that had fought countless wars felt a state of being "strained."
When their immortal bodies were countered, their god's blessings bypassed, and their power suppressed by both physical laws and the array, their frustration reached its peak.
The Bloodthirsters advanced on the ground with their shields, while flying demons gathered within the passage, forming a black torrent that surged out during the gaps to distract the defenders' fire.
"First, Second, and Third Companies, follow me!" Blazkowicz briefly analyzed the situation; defending would only lead to a stalemate, and only an active strike could break the deadlock.
"Follow the Primarch." The three companies quickly assembled, following the Primarch to form a spearhead formation and charge toward the breach in the barrier.
"Custodes and Doom Slayers, block the front of the breach. Sentinels, assist on the flanks, forming a fan-shaped defensive sector."
Lion quickly changed the deployment, relying on the charge tactic to execute a new defensive system: "Sanguinius is responsible for the air; flight squads, go and assist my brother!"
With a Primarch personally commanding, the troops' efficiency was extremely high, and the human line operated flexibly, forming a new defensive pattern.
Valdor gathered his men and led the Soulless Queens to their designated positions, facing the front of the breach, the spear of helios firing without pause.
The flight squads took to the air, forming an aerial defense with The Great Angel to kill the flying demons.
Within the human defense, a black spearhead was unstoppable, pushing against the tide of blood and carving out a path by sheer force.
"All forces, attack!" Angrath spat out red flames, his demonic whip pointing toward the breach: "Block their advance."
The demonic armies of the Four Gods swarmed forward, clashing with the black spearhead.
At the very tip of the spearhead was Blazkowicz; he led his Legion's sons forward steadily, his long sword swinging, subsequently slaying several Greater Daemons.
His left hand was so fast the Greater Daemon could barely see it; he seized its throat and crushed the blue avian neck with raw power.
An illusion came with a fragrant wind, its dance steps graceful and enchanting, its pace forming a melody; its movements were the swiftest among the Greater Daemons.
And what met this sweet illusion was a telescopic blade that popped out from under his arm, moving even faster than it did.
As the two passed each other, the Keeper of Secrets' jaw was pierced through to its skull, its falling body turning into ash.
"I take your life for my god!" a bloodthirsty roar came as the Bloodthirster Ka'Bandha dove down, both hands gripping an axe with thousand-fold strength, swinging it down at Blazkowicz's head.
It was a supreme Daemon, a valiant warrior under Khorne's Skull Throne, seeking to take the demigod's head for its god.
Blazkowicz ignored it, crushed the Daemon hound beneath his boot, and flipped the Daemon-blood-soaked Crucible Sword upward in a backhand slash.
A crimson flash cleaved the greater daemon's axe in two, the blade sliding toward Ka'Bandha's skull.
The Bloodthirster's eyes widened in terror—he knew he was about to die.
Powerless to resist, he was knocked aside by Skarbrand as the three-headed hound hurled itself in, saving the Blood God's greater daemon.
Skarbrand, chieftain of the Flesh Hounds, bore three heads and possessed extraordinary hunting potential.
The first head tracked prey across time, the second across space, the third across thought.
Since its birth in the Blood God's realm, no quarry had ever escaped its pursuit.
Skarbrand slammed Ka'Bandha aside, gouts of sulfurous fire pouring from its maws toward Blazkowicz.
A gauntleted hand punched through the flames, seized the brass collar, and irresistible force lifted the huge hound.
The world spun; even three heads lost all bearing as the body struck something again and again under the colossal strength.
Blazkowicz's left hand gripped the collar, the telescoping blade piercing the hound's throat; scalding daemon blood gushed down the consul armor.
Skarbrand's pupils dilated; hind legs kicked at nothing while foreclaws raked frantically against the demigod's vise-like arm.
Life ebbed away; the body weakened with every pulse of blood, the scrape of claws on armor the last sound in its ears.
Blazkowicz showed no mercy.
He whirled the dying hound like a flail, smashing demons to pulp; the weight in his grip grew lighter with every swing.
The Flesh Hound's lower body tore free, entrails flung wide, bare spine glistening.
All three heads rolled their eyes, tongues lolling as the filthy life guttered out.
With a sharp flick Blazkowicz hurled the half-carcass skyward; the bloody meteor collided with a Lord of Change, bursting into a rain of gore.
After endless eons prowling the Warp, the Flesh Hound that had savaged countless prey vanished forever, its true name scattered to nothing.
"Nice!"
Inside the consul armor the Void Dragon, drunk on the spectacle, growled for more: "Tear them apart like that!"
The Daemonic Armies of the Four Gods reeled; a true name had proved mortal, a famed greater daemon utterly annihilated.
Blazkowicz felt nothing; slaying daemons brought no triumph, no more than crushing ants.
Without pause he led three hundred Legion Warriors and the Primarchs Guard toward the breach, launching a counter-charge.
The three hundred Doom Slayers grew more terrifying with every kill, daemon deaths feeding their power.
As the assault pushed deeper, daemon formations compressed, unable to bring their numbers to bear.
"Commit two more companies." Lion ElJonson sensed the moment and ordered two fresh companies forward.
The Destroyer Legion's strength far exceeded his expectations; bold tactics were now possible.
Fourth and Fifth Companies peeled from the line and raced to merge with the spearhead, swelling the assault.
Along the route almost nothing could slow the strike force.
Clad in auric battleplate that shrugged off most psychic harm, the Legion Warriors possessed absolute resistance.
Nurgle's plagues lost their Warp-strength, Slaanesh's temptations failed, Tzeentch's sorceries barely scratched.
Every daemon advantage was stifled while the humans grew stronger with every stride.
Even Angrath, veteran of endless wars, could find no crack to exploit in the time left.
High above, it watched the human army drive like a keen blade, butchering every daemon in its path.
Save for the Blood God's Legions, those daemons vulnerable to ranged weapons suffered horrendous losses; forming ranks was impossible.
Angrath's burning gaze fixed on the demigod at the fore—his might trampled Legions.
"Full force—attack!"
Its whip cracked eight times, each lash infused by the Blood God's boon, empowering the daemonic host.
Lords of Change rose in circling covens, chanting ancient spells to draw Warp-power and strengthen the frontline.
Buff after buff descended as the Daemonic Armies of the Four Gods each employed their own means to enhance their warriors.
Like Khorne's armies that scorn sorcery, the wizard hurled crimson spells, then cast aside his staff, drew a battle-axe, and charged the breach.
Both sides knew the crucial point—there could be no loss of the breach!
If the Daemons secured it, the Lord of Change's sorcerers could widen the gap, letting ever-more troops pour through until numbers alone crushed the defenders.
If humanity held that choke point, the Daemon hordes would be bottled up; Legions still waiting beyond would be useless.
Outside the barrier it rained Daemons. The first flyers burst through, tangling with angels mid-air—evil could not match purity.
The Lord of Change was torn apart by the angels and tumbled broken from the sky.
Argent Nur flight packs gave the squadrons superb agility; their aerial maneuvers rivaled those of the Daemons.
Supported by the fixed guns of the defense ring, the flyers shredded anything that slipped through the hole.
Beyond the battle line Malcador smiled: Blazkowicz and the Destroyer Legion were worth the Emperor's vast investment and faith.
Against such a tide even the Legio Custodes might falter, yet the Twenty-First Legion held firm and showed signs of counter-attack.
The Doom Slayers stood like an immovable pillar planted in a filthy sea, steadying the entire line against the Daemon onslaught.
Blazkowicz himself never paused, still advancing step after step.
Within a single minute a hundred Greater Daemons fell to his blade; famous names among them, yet none could slow him for an instant.
The Legion Warriors themselves had transformed; their strength grew every moment.
At first slaying a Greater Daemon required several Marines; now a little coordination brought one down in the front rank.
Where they passed the ground was slick and muddy, multicolored Daemon blood mingled beneath the boots of the noble warriors, proof of Chaos's impotence.
The Doom Slayers never slowed. shoulder cannons glowing red, they brought down swaths of winged Daemons while power-blades carved through any in their path.
'Use the shoulder cannon,' snapped the Void Dragon, marking the Great Unclean Ones holding the breach.
Their bloated, rotting bodies loomed like meat-mountains before the gap, clouds of buzzing flies orbiting each one.
Fresh Daemon hordes poured out behind them.
From the Great Unclean Ones' bellies oozed thick sludge that pooled over the Emperor's sigils, trying to keep the humans at bay.
Seventy-seven of the monsters spat acid so foul that a reeking marsh of rot surrounded the breach; no ordinary warrior could approach.
Golden boots splashed in, servos clicking softly; the armor's machine-spirit warned that the outer plates were corroding.
At the warning Blazkowicz did not hesitate; with a thought he activated the shoulder cannon.
'Watch this!' cried the consul armor's machine-spirit, giddy with excitement. 'Among the C'tan, the Nightbringer Azaghored is one of the few brothers who can wound the Warp itself.'
The cannon locked on, Harvest mode at full power, releasing an unseen ripple.
Out along the defense ring warriors felt a chill as something tugged at their sense of self, trying to peel identity away.
That ghostly pull was almost impossible to resist; both Primarchs turned toward its source.
From the breach rose deep, anguished howls. Even the Great Unclean Ones, stoic beyond pain, screamed in agony.
Lesser Daemons fared worse; before they could cry out their souls were torn free and drawn into the necro-cannon.
The Godslayer's aura was stripping them of spirit.
Daemon essence became raw energy, sucked into the cold cannon and reforged.
Fed by those souls, the weapon glowed with pale soul-light and swung toward the other Nurgle beasts.
The defending Nurgle Daemons quailed as a strange ripping sensation warned their every instinct to flee.
'Father Nurgle!'
The Great Unclean Ones wailed in chorus, begging their god's kindness, praying for salvation.
The necro-cannon granted no mercy.
No thunderous report followed; instead a fan-shaped wave whispered across like a gentle breeze, lifting sinful souls away.
The monsters' hides turned ash-grey; their huge bodies slumped like sand, collapsing into the sludge as dust.
Their Daemon minds were utterly erased, annihilated by the concept-weapon of the god of death.