??!!
The air inside the secret chamber seemed to freeze.
The old man's words were like a dagger, stabbing directly into the hearts of everyone present.
The nobles' expressions twisted grotesquely under the lamplight—
Some turned as pale as paper, unconsciously clutching their wine glasses with trembling fingers.
Some had their pupils dilate, eyes flickering with sickly greed, lips curling uncontrollably upward, as if already envisioning their future dominion over divinity.
Others silently backed away, pressing against the glass display cabinets filled with ancient relics, the chill seeping through their fine garments unable to stop the cold sweat streaming down their backs.
"You've been planning this all along?"
The silver-haired elder noble's voice was dry, his Adam's apple bobbing with difficulty.
His liver-spotted fingers trembled slightly as he stared fixedly at the data chip on the table, the small metal piece gleaming with a ghostly blue under the lights, like a miniature nuclear bomb ready to detonate at any moment.
The old man curved his lips into a sinister smile, the wrinkles on his face forming eerie shadows in the candlelight.
He slowly walked toward the corner of the chamber where a gilded 18th-century Earth clock stood. Its ivory pendulum swung rhythmically behind a glass cover.
As he gently triggered a hidden mechanism, the intricate gears clicked softly, and the clock face unfolded like petals, revealing a concealed holographic projector.
"From the first day the Human Empire arrived on Mar Sara..."
The projection lit up, pale blue light weaving through the chamber to form a three-dimensional overview of New Mar Sara City.
A crimson ring marked the temple structure at the city's center. Its architecture blended ancient Greek aesthetics with futuristic technology, white marble colonnades flanked by silver-armored demigod sentries.
The image zoomed in to show three layers of defensive perimeters and patrol routes rotating every thirty minutes.
"My scouts have already begun operations."
The image switched to a grainy long-lens photo:
A young black-haired boy, appearing around two or three years old, practicing swordsmanship in the temple courtyard. The training sword in his hand was clearly a specially miniaturized version, yet it still shimmered with dangerous plasma light.
The most unsettling image came next—
As the boy turned toward the sunlight, his golden eyes shone inhumanly.
"Sui Meng..." the old man spoke the name with his tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth, as if savoring a poisonous vintage, "A young genetic primarch. Athena's favored child."
The projection shifted again to a live feed from the royal palace district of Korhal.
There, escorted by Greek demigod guards, the familiar small figure sparred with two war-maidens in a simulation match.
Surprisingly, though small in stature, the boy's every movement was unnervingly precise, even capable of predicting opponents' attacks in an instant.
When he stumbled and fell, Athena, from thirty meters away, appeared beside him in a flash of golden light. This detail drew gasps from several nobles.
"And now, this 'treasure' is right in front of us."
The old man's voice trembled with excitement, his skeletal fingers brushing across the holographic image as though caressing an invisible gem. "An undeveloped genetic primarch... a seed of divinity that can still be controlled."
The ancient clock in the corner suddenly chimed, its brass hammer striking with a dull boom, but no one noticed.
All eyes were fixed on the final frozen frame of the projection.
After finishing his training, Sui Meng was having his forehead gently wiped by Athena. It was an ordinary mother-and-son moment—yet every noble present felt a disturbing sense of dissonance.
The old man's shadow stretched long across the oak-paneled wall of the chamber, distorted like some ancient evil spirit awakening.
He slowly turned around, madness dancing in his eyes:
"Gentlemen, we are not merely witnessing history—we are making it!"
Bang!!
At that moment, the young noble slammed his palm on the antique mahogany table, rattling the crystal wine glasses.
Dark red wine spilled over the edge, winding into a thin "river of blood" on the tabletop, eventually dripping onto the priceless carpet and soaking it into a dark stain.
"Are you insane?!"
The young noble's voice cracked with terror, sweat beading on his forehead. He clutched his expensive silk cravat, shouting:
"Even if it's just a child, he's a genetic primarch! The Astartes are merely their creations, and they're terrifying enough. Let alone—"
"Let alone what?"
The old man interrupted with a cold chuckle, his skeletal fingers sliding rapidly across the projection controls.
The image zoomed in, clearly showing the moment Sui Meng fell during training.
His knee had scraped, bleeding a few droplets.
Almost simultaneously, Athena flashed to his side in golden light, her flawless face full of concern as she gently touched the wound. It began healing visibly before their eyes.
"Look!"
The old man's voice warped with fanaticism, his hoarse tone like rusted gears grinding.
His liver-spotted cheeks flushed unnaturally, his bloodshot eyes wide, "This is the 'god' they speak of? He's just a child who cries and stumbles!"
The temperature in the chamber seemed to drop with the old man's madness.
The crystal chandelier overhead began to sway, its shadows casting eerie patterns on the walls.
He waved his stick-thin arms wildly, the gemstone cufflinks on his sleeves gleaming dangerously. His pupils dilated to the max, and his eyes burned with a deranged fire, as if witnessing something beyond human comprehension.
"Think about it—"
His voice suddenly dropped to a hiss, like a serpent slithering across sand, "If we can control a genetic primarch..."
He paused deliberately, letting a bony finger brush across Sui Meng's face in the projection. "Not only could we blackmail the Human Empire, we might even acquire the secret of god-making."
The young noble recoiled, slamming into a display cabinet.
The antiques inside clinked against each other. His face went ashen white, his lips trembling:
"You're playing with fire! What if it fails?! Huh?! Those entities would make death a mercy!"
"Failure?"
The old man suddenly became eerily calm, his voice soft and terrifying.
He slowly pulled out a paper list from his coat. "With my former loyalists embedded in the military, and the Ghost operatives who still serve the Mengsk family, I have enough to form a shadow squad."
The chamber's lights flickered violently, as if even the circuitry was trembling at the madness of the plan.
Outside the observation window above the chamber, a flash of lightning tore through the night sky, illuminating the old man's twisted face—
A face no longer bearing noble pride, but the desperation of a gambler who had wagered his final soul.
"Three days from now..."
The old man's voice creaked like something crawling from the grave, each syllable reeking of decay, "When Athena departs for the orbital fortress conference..."
He dragged the last word, tracing a blood-red mark on the projection with his finger. "That will be our moment to strike."
The projection froze on Sui Meng's innocent smile—a radiant image in stark contrast to the overwhelming malice filling the chamber.
Unnoticed in the corner, the gem on the medieval knight's sword flashed with an eerie red light, as if foretelling the storm about to sweep through all of Korhal.
Outside, the storm grew heavier. Raindrops pounded the stained-glass windows like the wails of countless tormented souls knocking on the gates of Hell.
Meanwhile, deep within the palace complex of Augstergrad, inside a temporarily repurposed Gothic structure...
Under dim lighting, the blue glow of a hologram cast shadows over the cold, stern faces of those gathered.
At the central console, Leon S. Kennedy stood with arms crossed, his sharp gaze locked on the floating projection.
Every detail of the nobles' secret meeting was visible—
The old man's twisted expression, the trembling young noble, the list of names.
The camera angle clearly came from the young noble who had kept objecting—his chest button was an Imperial Intelligence custom-made monitor.
"Just as expected," Mike said in a low voice, fingers gliding across the holographic keyboard, enlarging the list shown by the old man. "These old foxes were hiding more than we thought."
"Heh."
Chris sneered, tapping the plasma pistol on his hip. "Ghost operatives? Loyalists? These leftovers think they can touch a primarch?"
Nova Terra stood nearby, her nanosuit's optical camouflage blending her into the shadows.
Her eyes locked onto the old man's mad expression in the projection. Golden psionic runes flickered faintly at her temples.
Stone stood beside her, his datapad continuously updating with biometric readings from the undercover noble—
Elevated heart rate, spiking adrenaline—all clear signs of the immense pressure he was enduring.
"Chirrut," Leon suddenly turned to the Jedi Master standing quietly nearby. "Did you sense anything?"
The blind warrior lifted his head slightly, his face under the dark robe grave in the holographic light. After a moment of silence, his fingers gently stroked the hilt of his lightsaber, as if feeling something no ordinary being could perceive.
"Yes, Agent Kennedy."
Then, in a slow, solemn voice, the Jedi Master said, "I sense ripples of chaos."
"Tch, chaos again."
Baze Malbus spat at the floor, his thick arms crossed. "Those bastards hiding in the Warp always show up to stir the pot."
Nova and Stone exchanged a glance, their expressions darkening.
Through the Emperor's grace, they had long known the nature of Chaos—
Those dark gods lurking in the Immaterium and the horrifying corruptions they brought upon reality. But theory was theory—they had never faced such enemies directly.
"Why would Chaos target this place?" Leon frowned. "This universe hasn't even been tainted by the Warp yet."
"Perhaps because of our arrival," Chirrut said slowly, his hollow sockets "gazing" at the blood-glowing knight's sword in the projection. "Chaos, like sharks drawn to blood, is attracted to powerful psionic beings."
The old man's voice continued in the feed: "...to gain the secret of creating gods."
A glint of cold light flashed in Leon's eyes. "We can't wait any longer."
He pressed his communicator. "Lady Athena, we need to move now. Confirmed signs of Chaos corruption—requesting immediate closure of operation."
A slight static buzz preceded Athena's terrifyingly cold response: "Approved. I'll handle it personally." Her tone was calm, yet the room's temperature seemed to plunge. "Bring those former Ghost operatives with you. It's time they learned what true darkness is."
"Understood." Leon cut the transmission cleanly and turned to give the order—
"Commander!" an Intelligence Division agent suddenly cried. "Something's happening!"
The projection distorted without warning.
Inside the chamber, the lighting turned unnaturally dim, as if swallowed by an invisible force. The ruby on the knight's sword burst into blinding blood-red light, bathing the room in nauseating crimson, followed by a surge of dazzling ghost-blue.
The old man began convulsing uncontrollably.
His head snapped back at an unnatural angle, vertebrae cracking audibly. His bony hands clutched his throat, black blood oozing through his fingers.
Worst of all—his eyes. The whites turned completely black, and his pupils became two squirming blood droplets.
"I offer..." The old man's voice fractured into multiple layers, laced with inhuman screeches, "...to the Eternal Banquet..."
The young noble staggered back in horror, knocking over his chair.
Even without a clear view, Leon and the others knew his face was deathly pale, his lips too stiff to speak.
The other nobles fared even worse.
One collapsed in a puddle of their own making. Another clawed at their own face in hysteria, leaving bloody streaks. Several dashed for the exit—only to find the door sealed by black slime.
"No! No!" the silver-haired noble dropped to his knees, hands clasped in prayer. "We just... we only wanted—"
His plea was cut short.
The old man—or rather, what had once been him—suddenly ceased convulsing. He rose with eerie smoothness, joints cracking like rotting wood.
When his black-veined face turned to the hidden camera, his mouth split to his ears, revealing rows of shark-like teeth.
"Such... delicious fear..."
The voice was no longer human, but a chorus of tormented souls screaming in unison.
The antique display cases exploded, glass shards flying like bullets. The knight's sword flew into its hand, the blade wrapped in writhing flesh, its gemstone now a rotating eyeball.
The final frame transmitted by the young noble's monitor showed the "thing" raising the sword—just as black pus began oozing from the chamber's walls.
Then the signal cut out, the hologram disintegrating into static snow.
The blue emergency light of the broken feed illuminated Chirrut's grim face: "Chaos is devouring faster than expected."
Outside, the skies above Augstergrad turned crimson with an unexpected blood moon, and from the direction of the noble district came the first inhuman scream...
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