The banquet was set within a vast mountain valley.
When Arik Taranis arrived, he noticed only a handful of logistics personnel preparing supplies.
A faint confusion rose in his expression.
Even on the way here, he had already felt something was off.
For a gathering of this scale, the surrounding area should have been overflowing with people.
Yet today, it was sparse—almost deliberately isolated from the public.
He could not understand why.
As he puzzled over this, new footsteps echoed behind him.
Turning, he saw large formations of Astartes and Custodians marching in from the rear.
But unlike the Thunder Warriors—who had come lightly equipped for what they believed to be a celebration—these troops looked fully armed, ready for battle.
Many Thunder Warriors scratched their heads in confusion.
"Why suit up for a feast...?"
Murmured questions drifted among the Thunder Legion, but none treated it as anything more than an oddity.
If other legions want to overdress, it hardly matters to us.
With that thought, they dismissed it.
Arik himself resumed speaking with his vice-commander, reminding him to bring gifts to the severely wounded brothers who could not attend.
He did not notice the Astartes captains and Custodian officers watching them from a distance—faces tense, eyes heavy with conflict.
After a brief silence…
The Custodian commander, clad in golden power armor, raised his power blade high.
At that signal—
Dozens of hidden Astartes and Custodians emerged from the cliffs, forming a complete encirclement around the Thunder Warriors.
Then the Custodian commander shouted:
"According to Imperial intelligence—
Arik Taranis and the Thunder Warrior Legion intend to seize the Emperor's sacred and inviolable authority!"
"By His Majesty's secret decree—
the Thunder Warrior Legion is to be purged!"
At these words, the hesitant Astartes and Custodians finally lifted their weapons.
Their barrels and blades turned toward their former comrades.
The Thunder Warriors—still clueless—stared in disbelief.
"Open fire!"
Under the Custodian commander's order—and under Arik's stunned gaze—
Thunder split the air as countless weapons roared.
Explosions erupted.
Blood blossomed like crimson flowers.
Cries of fear and agony echoed through the valley.
Hundreds, then thousands, of Thunder Warriors fell—without even understanding why.
Even death did not grant them an answer.
Amid the storm of gunfire, Arik howled:
"What are you doing?!"
"You must be mistaken!!"
His voice, empowered by psychic might, thundered across the valley—louder than the bombardment.
But the Custodian commander, after a momentary flicker of guilt beneath his golden mask, hardened his expression and ordered:
"Do not listen to their lies. Continue the purge."
Gunfire intensified.
Surrounded on all sides, burdened by terrain disadvantage, and heavily outgunned, the Thunder Warriors attempted to resist—but their light equipment was no match for the fully armed, pre-positioned Astartes and Custodians.
One by one, they fell—like wheat before the scythe.
The valley became a slaughterhouse—blood, torn limbs, pulverized bodies strewn everywhere.
If this were an enemy ambush, the Thunder Warriors would have roared "For the Emperor!" and charged without hesitation.
They would have died gloriously.
But this attack came from their own brothers.
The Custodian commander's accusation had shattered their faith.
Their years of loyalty, sacrifice, and determination collapsed in an instant.
For many, the psychic wound cut deeper than the bullets.
Minutes passed—perhaps tens.
At last, the once-mighty Thunder Warrior Legion had been reduced to two survivors.
Then even Arik's vice-commander fell beside him, eyes wide, asking with his final breath:
"Why… why would His Majesty do this to us?"
Now the last of his Legion, Arik stood trembling as artillery pounded around him.
His heart, once unbreakable, felt as though lightning had torn it apart.
A wave of anguish nearly brought him to his knees.
Blood surged up his throat—he coughed violently.
And that was the final strain.
The unshakable warrior finally collapsed to the ground.
Surrounded by the shredded remains of his brothers, staring at the lightning-eagle banners held high by Astartes and Custodians—
The iron resolve in his face began to crumble.
A brief moment of blankness—
Then his expression twisted into something monstrous, feral, filled with hatred.
Red tears streamed from his eyes.
In the depths of the Warp, beyond space and time, a mocking voice whispered into his ear:
"Do you hate?"
Arik gripped the blood-soaked soil with trembling hands and screamed:
"I Hate! I Hate Him! I Hate Him So Much!!
I Will Kill Him! I Must Kill Him!!"
The voice laughed softly.
"Good. Then serve me—and I shall give you the strength."
Arik roared again and again:
"YES! YES! YES!! YES!!!"
The next moment—
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Another barrage struck.
This time, Arik did not use psychic power to defend himself.
His powerful body was torn apart instantly—reduced to scattered flesh.
But among the raining pieces of meat—
One small lump, writhing with tiny eyes and tendrils, split open as a crooked mouth formed.
It released a silent, piercing scream.
..
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