Chapter 58 Khorne: Oh Crap (Bonus)

Jets of scalding steam blasted from Vashtorr’s chassis. He was clearly seething.

Calgar, Dante, and the rest of the loyalists were highly entertained. The Forefather’s trash talk was basically a full-screen AoE attack—making sure absolutely everyone caught some splash damage, sparing no one.

Deep within the Warp, inside the Crystal Labyrinth.

Tzeentch, who had been closely monitoring Macragge, genuinely considered dropping a massive blessing on this Outer God. The guy was just an unparalleled troll. If they weren’t strictly enemies, they could have easily found common ground in the art of doing things purely for the memes.

Vashtorr raised his hand, and the Forge Scepter in his grip pulsed with terrifying energy.

A localized black hole tore open directly beneath Vane’s feet. As an entity with the potential to challenge for the seat of the fifth Chaos God, Vashtorr’s power eclipsed that of an ordinary Greater Daemon, allowing him to casually manipulate the laws of spacetime.

Vane was sucked into the singularity, prompting horrified shouts from the nearby Imperial loyalists who feared their Forefather had just been killed.

A second later, the fabric of space was sliced wide open.

Wielding the Bloodletter [Carnage] and fully decked out in the Reaper of Souls Suit, Vane casually strolled out of the rift.

“Is that really all you’ve got? You actually thought that would take me down?”

“Then let me show you true power!” The metallic tendrils orbiting Vashtorr twisted together, forming gleaming mechanical tentacles that whipped toward Vane with lethal speed.

Vane didn’t even bother blocking. He activated his Void Ring, executing a blink-jump that placed him directly behind the Arkifane.

Vashtorr frantically scanned his surroundings, trying to track his target.

“I’m right behind you, idiot.”

Vane didn’t rush. He waited until Vashtorr hurriedly spun around before swinging his blade, sending him flying with a single, devastating slash.

The Bloodletter [Carnage] was absurdly sharp. With just one strike, it carved a horrifying gash straight through Vashtorr’s necrodermis-forged body.

Realizing he was completely outmatched, Vashtorr didn’t hesitate. Mechanical wings sprouted from his back as he launched himself into the sky, desperate to create some distance.

“You pick a fight with me and think you can just log out?”

Vane used the Void Ring to give chase, seizing the opening to drive a crushing punch into the Lord of the Soul Forges, sending him plummeting back to the surface.

With a deafening boom, Vashtorr slammed into the ground, excavating a comically massive crater.

—

“Is the Forefather’s combat power this ridiculous?” Calgar asked, staring at the beatdown in sheer awe.

“Ever since we met, I’ve never seen him take a loss,” Dante reminisced. The Forefather rarely intervened personally, but whenever he did, he effortlessly styled on his enemies.

“He is an entity capable of casually killing gods. His true strength is entirely beyond our comprehension.” Greyfax walked up to Dante and Calgar, letting out a heavy, weary sigh.

As an Inquisitor of the Ordo Hereticus, the rigid worldview she had spent her life building had completely collapsed the moment she met the Forefather.

Sanguinius, who was supposed to be permanently dead, was resurrected and ascended into the Angel of Final Judgment. Now, Roboute Guilliman, the Lord of Ultramar who had been rotting in a stasis field waiting for death, was about to be handed the authority of a literal god.

She had only been kept as a collectible in Trazyn the Infinite’s museum for two millennia. How did the universe become so wildly unfamiliar the moment she stepped out?

Am I just an obsolete relic who can’t keep up with the current era?

Looks like it’s really time to retire and enjoy my twilight years.

Speaking of which, I wonder if the High Lords of Terra will still pay out my backpay for the time I spent locked in Trazyn’s gallery.

Normally, Inquisitors didn’t rely on the stipends handed out by Terran bureaucrats; they acquired their own funding. But having been AFK for so long, her personal assets had likely been carved up by political jackals centuries ago.

Right now, Greyfax just deeply hoped the Imperium had a solid pension plan for retired Inquisitors.

—

“How is the Primarch?” Calgar forced his eyes away from the aerial beatdown, suddenly remembering that his Gene-Father was still lying on his throne.

He hurriedly turned and saw Guilliman actively merging with the Crown of War. The Primarch was radiating waves of terrifying, highly visible conceptual energy.

The fatal wound on his neck was rapidly knitting itself together, returning to its pristine state without a single blemish. His previously pallid complexion flushed with color as vitality surged through his veins.

“The Primarch’s vital signs are returning,” Archmagos Cawl reported, his synthetic voice ticking with data. “He will awaken very soon.”

“Father is finally coming back to us,” Calgar said, his voice thick with emotion and anticipation.

Tigurius, however, looked profoundly stressed. “But we owe the Forefather one hundred and fifty billion star systems. How on earth are we going to explain that to the Primarch?”

“It was supposed to just be fifty billion,” Agemman muttered, rubbing his temples.

“Let’s… let’s not bring that up during such a happy occasion,” Calgar replied, looking incredibly guilty.

—

Meanwhile, deep in the Warp, within the Brass Citadel.

As Guilliman fused with the Crown of War, unprecedented catastrophic upheavals began tearing through the Blood God’s domain.

Massive fissures ripped across the plains of bone, and the volcanoes bordering the realm erupted in unison, spewing apocalyptic columns of magma into the sky.

This sudden cataclysm left the daemons and champions of the realm staring in sheer horror. Nothing like this had ever happened before.

Sitting upon the Brass Throne, Khorne unleashed a series of furious, earth-shattering roars that made countless Warp entities tremble in primal fear.

Tracing the source of the shifting conceptual authority, Khorne instantly locked onto Macragge.

Seeing Guilliman actively merging with the Crown of War, the Blood God completely lost it.

What the hell is this Outer God’s deal?!

Letting Sanguinius ascend to godhood was bad enough, but now Guilliman too?!

The most critical issue was that the specific authority Guilliman was absorbing directly overlapped with Khorne’s own domain.

Damn it! Couldn’t he go mess with that blasted blue bird instead?!

“Guilliman absolutely cannot be allowed to achieve godhood. He must be hacked to death. He must be chopped into minced meat—not a single intact chunk can remain!”

Even though Khorne’s brain was essentially made of pure muscle, he clearly understood the severity of the situation. Once Guilliman ascended using the Authority of War, it would pose a direct, existential threat to his standing.

When Slaanesh was born, Khorne had personally intervened to snatch away Kaela Mensha Khaine of the Aeldari pantheon, specifically to prevent Slaanesh from acquiring war-related authority and threatening his monopoly.

Khorne’s gaze pierced into the inner sanctum of the Fortress of Hera, locking onto several Khornate Champions. He decisively dumped a massive buff on them.

Frenzied power flooded into the bodies of the Khorne Berserkers, causing their frames to rapidly mutate and expand into five-meter-tall behemoths.

Mortal frames were mathematically incapable of withstanding the raw power of a god. Even with Khorne actively attempting to stabilize their consciousness, it only bought them a few extra seconds. The souls and bodies of these Khornate Champions would soon burn out completely, permanently degenerating into Chaos Spawn.

“It’s the power of the Blood God! Hold the line at all costs!” Grand Master Voldus roared, rallying the defenders for a bloody final stand.

But right at that moment, Guilliman opened his eyes.

His terrifying aura was so overwhelming that even his most loyal sons didn’t dare meet his gaze.

Clad in the Armor of Fate—a masterpiece forged over ten agonizing millennia—Guilliman took a single step forward. The Sword of the Emperor in his grasp instantly ignited in a roaring blaze of holy fire.

The Primarch’s unparalleled, god-like presence swept through the minds of everyone present like a hurricane.

The entire sanctum felt as though it had been struck by a mass-silence spell. Even though the fires of war raged endlessly outside, a total stillness fell over the people within the hall. Only the distant sounds of slaughter and the hum of machinery echoed in the background.

Everyone present was profoundly shaken, struck speechless as they bore witness to a Primarch’s rebirth and ascension to godhood.

Kill him.

Khorne’s roar echoed directly inside the minds of the buffed champions.

With a series of horrifying shrieks, the empowered Khorne Berserkers burst from the crowd, charging at Guilliman with raised battle-axes.

Guilliman watched them approach. Then, he moved.

No one present could clearly track the Lord of Ultramar’s movements. They only saw the flames of the Emperor’s Sword form a blinding afterimage in the air.

The buffed Khorne Berserkers were cleanly cleaved in two, their bisected remains sent flying backward by the sheer kinetic force of the strike.

It was only when the halves hit the floor with heavy thuds that the crowd realized the engagement was already over.

“If you vainly attempt to challenge me, then be prepared to endure my wrath.”

“I will tear you apart and sever your head to decorate my throne.”

Realizing that his buffed champions were incapable of solving the problem, Khorne instantly decided to project his own will, determined to obliterate Guilliman at any cost.

—

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