Chapter 329: Prelude to the Blood War
While the World Eaters were traveling at full speed toward their target planet, Hades began selecting specific Astartes from among them—training these chosen World Eaters to cooperate with the Blank, and teaching them the necessary knowledge of the Warp.
He warned them in particular to never let strange impulses or anger cloud their minds, for such lapses would give psychic enemies an opening.
In addition, using his authority, Hades tried to mobilize every resource available within this sector. The Maelstrom Zone was infamously treacherous, riddled with pirates, Chaos warbands, Aeldari, and lost civilizations... anything could happen here.
Unfortunately, due to the instability of this star zone, only the forge world Salem—recently saved by the World Eaters—responded to the call of the Head of the Silent Sisterhood. The Magos there swore solemnly to serve Angron and the World Eaters unto death, and promised to dispatch troops immediately in support.
But Salem had been devastated by the war two years prior; Hades had no illusions that a world whose very infrastructure lay in ruins could muster much of an army.
Having dealt with the Mechanicus often, Hades knew all too well that the forces of Salem were unlikely to arrive "on schedule." The Magos would, no doubt, present a thorough and logical explanation for their tardiness—after the war.
In other words, no reinforcements were coming.
Hades drew in a deep breath. Such was war.
But if the true culprit behind all this was the Warp's corruption, then Hades would show those warp-spawned vermin what it meant to receive a physical-world beating.
...Provided Khorne hadn't buried something nasty underground, as Tzeentch was fond of doing.
. . .
The engines roared to maximum thrust. The first World Eaters ship plunged into the target planet's gravity well—then the second, the third...
Countless ships, bristling with crude armor plating and gun turrets, quickly formed up in orbit over the wasteland world. One after another, scouting teams were launched. The World Eaters seized the planet's data with terrifying efficiency—the chains on their axes already snarling in anticipation.
But when the sensor feeds came in, everyone except the Head of the Silent Sisterhood froze in shock.
That was... blood?
This planet had drifted through the void for so long it had forgotten the warmth of its star. Liquids that once flowed freely had long since frozen into frost and ice—but that eerie, reddish-brown frost revealed its true nature: it was made of blood.
Unstable psychic energies flickered across its surface; the Warp and realspace were clearly bleeding into one another. Countless crimson monstrosities battled upon the blood-soaked plains, skulls piled into pyramids that rose toward the dark sky.
At the very edge of sensor range, blood-mist billowed, and the ground became slick with gore. A vast chasm, as though cleaved open by a giant axe, split the land in two—boiling magma roared within, devouring any who fell into its depths.
And at the brink of that abyss stood a dark crimson pyramid, scarred and crumbling. The ruins of other structures lay scattered around it, their original forms unrecognizable beneath layers of dried blood.
Angron's armor signal came from within that pyramid—weak, flickering, screaming, as if it might vanish into the abyss at any moment.
Hades took a long breath and clenched his fist.
Because of the thick layers of blood mist and crimson clouds, the World Eaters could not make planetfall directly near Angron's location. The only viable landing zone was the frozen plain far to the north—but even there, violent storms frequently severed contact between the surface and the fleet above.
In other words, they would have to march—across the frozen plains, through a river of blood, and into the mist-shrouded zone.
Along the way, they would face assaults from Khorne's daemonic legions and fight under a sky where communication with their fleet hung by a thread.
Hades pondered in silence.
Khârn turned toward him, questioning with his gaze.
The Head of the Silent Sisterhood simply spoke three words:
"We can fight."
. . .
From the very moment they arrived on this planet, the World Eaters were already burning with an almost feral will to battle.
And when they beheld the planet's true face—those deranged, brutal monstrosities—the Astartes hesitated for only a heartbeat. Then, realizing that flicker of hesitation might be weakness, they grew even angrier, even more determined.
They never even thought to question whether these creatures were… too wrong, too unnatural.
To tell such men to keep calm in battle was itself an act of madness.
So Hades pulled aside only the command echelon of the World Eaters, warning them that they must stay rational.
To the rest, his words were short and sharp.
As the World Eaters entered their drop pods one after another, Hades's voice thundered across every channel and broadcast:
"Astartes, listen well!"
"Never forget—you fight for the Imperium, for the Emperor, for your Primarch!"
"Remember that your fury and your bloodlust burn for the Emperor's glory!"
"Do not lose yourselves to your rage—fight for the honor of all mankind!"
Khârn's voice followed immediately through the comms:
"Battle-brothers! For the Emperor! For the Emperor!"
""FOR THE EMPEROR!!!""
Torpedoes and lance batteries screamed as they tore through the void, slamming down indiscriminately upon the surface below. There were no precise targets—each impact was enough to slaughter thousands of the monsters swarming the blood plains.
The ground convulsed under the bombardment, vast craters ripping open the terrain—ugly, blackened holes that were quickly swallowed by the next wave of explosions.
By the time the first wave of drop pods screamed down through the skies, the average elevation of the blood plains had sunk by half a meter.
Khârn was the first to burst from his pod, blood and shattered bone already knee-deep around him.
The heat from the bombardment faded fast; frost crept visibly over the mud of blood. From that mire, clawed hands clutching blades erupted—the monsters had come.
"FOR THE EMPEROR!!!"
Khârn roared and charged into the beasts still clawing their way free of the sludge. The thin crust of ice could not bear the fury of a World Eater. He waded knee-deep through the blood mire, his chain-axe cleaving straight into the crimson horrors, shredding them to fragments before they could utter a single syllable.
Thirteen minutes later, the first wave of vanguard World Eaters had purged all nearby enemies at the drop zone.
But as far as the eye could see, more shapes were dragging themselves out of the warped horizon.
Then Hades's voice crackled through the comms—broken, distorted:
[This is Hades… calling Khârn… manual… recalibration… E0 sector; repeat… coordinate recalibration… acknowledge, over.]
Khârn opened the channel, shouting back through the storm, his power armor sluggish in the cold. He cursed the forgemasters under his breath.
[Khârn here! Coordinates confirmed! E0 sector! E0 sector!]
One minute and forty seconds later, the second wave of drop pods slammed down, steaming against the frozen wind.
The first Blank unit had arrived.
Khârn drew a deep breath; the gnawing agitation in his chest began, for the first time, to ease.
The Blank moved with a grim precision, clearly more accustomed to facing such creatures—though even they seemed uneasy in the Warp-tainted air.
They showed no shock at the monsters' presence. Working in teams of three, they methodically supported the World Eaters, purging the crimson horrors with cold efficiency.
Meanwhile, at the far horizon of the blood plains, a fully formed daemon swayed into view.
Through the howling blizzard came the distant cries—
"Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!"
Khârn raised his gaze.
In the distance, that colossal crimson creature spread its wings wide.
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