TN: And we're back! sorry for the week long hiatus, it was not intentional since I had to get my right leg in a cast after tripping 3 floors down a stairwell (like an idiot ://) and be unable to use my PC setup upstairs BUT I should be OK now.
Anyways, Thanks for Arcanic Madness, WeissAkumu and WolfWTF for becoming as Supporters!,
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Ignis spun around, the chainaxe in his hand cleaving toward the source of the voice. The Khorne daemon burst into raucous laughter, the Son of Vulkan's burning hatred sending it into ecstasy.
The interlocking teeth of the chainaxe found no flesh. Within the swirling pink-violet mist, the Slaanesh's Champion's figure twisted and dissipated.
"I adore your passion." The saccharine female voice sounded again—this time from the Salamander's right.
He pivoted instantly. Thunder hammer and chainaxe fell in succession. The disintegration field struck the ground with a thunderous blast. Still—nothing.
"Oh, such a fervent warrior." The grating male voice scraped across his senses from behind.
The Khorne chainaxe reached maximum rotation, the daemon weapon howling as burning blood-flame engulfed the blade.
"But far too crude. Hehehehe."
The axe cleaved through another illusion. The Slaanesh's Champion vanished again with mocking delight.
"Show yourself! Spawn of a Dark God!" Ignis roared. "Where is Emile?"
Zhu Yuan could not comprehend what was happening. The strange mist had enveloped the entire area. The giant was battling a humanoid shadow with no tangible form. His devastating weapons struck nothing, as if he fought a phantom.
And that voice—male one moment, female the next—what was it? What did it have to do with the mist?
"…Yuan! Zhu Yuan!" Qingyi tugged her sleeve, snapping her back. "Don't freeze. What about rescue? My radio is jammed."
Zhu Yuan tried contacting the helicopters. Silence. The pink mist interfered with communications.
"No contact." She scanned the officers around her. Some wavered. She could not blame them. Nothing like this had occurred since New Eridu's reconstruction.
A man-made catastrophe, no less horrifying than a Hollow disaster. Mutated cultists. Imprisoned children. In the basement—art crafted from human skin and bone, organs sorted by type, industrial equipment processing blood and tissue into narcotics.
Even as head of the Criminal Investigation Special Response Team, she had no idea how to write this report. She had dismantled countless syndicates—none so repulsive. Razor's lair had been bloody, skulls decorating pools of gore—
—but it had not industrialized living humans into raw material.
The images returned: blood-painted sigils on steel walls, flayed-skin exhibits, deranged paintings on stitched hides.
A chill crept down her spine. She could accept greed and brutality—but reducing living people to decorative objects…
The officers who had descended into the basement were equally shaken. Yet they were officers. Their duty was to protect civilians and maintain order.
New Eridu Public Security, Janus Quarter Branch, Criminal Investigation Special Response Team leader Zhu Yuan—you must stand firm.
"All units, rally on me! Shield the children and critically wounded inside!"
The officers regrouped, backs to the wall in a semicircle, protecting those behind them. In this situation, surviving was contribution enough.
Nicole watched her adopted son dueling shadows, anxiety tightening her chest. She wanted to rush in—but Anby grabbed her, Billy stepping in front as well.
She knew the giant's strength. If he could not resolve this, she certainly could not. But to stand and watch? Watch him toyed with by a phantom?
Ignis moved like overlapping afterimages. Even Nicole's sharp vision could barely track him. Yet the shadow dissolved each time before his weapons struck.
"Oh? Missed again."
The thunder hammer, heavy enough to shatter fortresses, struck empty air once more. Ignis felt his composure fraying. The daemon toyed with him—whispering, mocking. No matter how he accelerated, he dealt no damage. It was like boxing a shadow. Each full-force strike met only void. It was more infuriating than any counterblow.
In honest combat, defeat meant weakness. But this trickery? It drained only his stamina.
"You coward! Face me! Fight me!" His roar scattered the mist slightly.
"Oh dear, he's angry. As a dance partner, you are dreadful." The sweet voice teased from the right; only a flutter of cloth's silhouette appeared.
"Too slow, lumbering tortoise! Hahaha! Clumsy!" The grating voice mocked from the left—again only a hem of shadow visible.
"Do not rush, my dear partner. Like the Prince of Pleasure, I find you fascinating." The female tone quivered. "I long to fall into your arms, to feel your strong embrace."
"But only when you cannot move!" the male voice shrieked with laughter. "Otherwise you would crush me flat. I will wait—until you are still. Until you accept me." The whisper brushed his ear.
Close enough.
Ignis had already palmed a grenade, pulling the pin silently. With a click, the five-kilogram ether explosive dropped at his feet.
"What?" For the first time, confusion colored the daemon's voice.
Ignis had modified this batch from delayed fuses to impact detonation. He trusted Markus' underground factory—an arms dealer would not cheat on his own merchandise.
Five kilograms of high-yield ether explosives. Pre-fragmented casing. Steel ball bearings packed within. It was less a grenade than an anti-personnel artillery shell.
The blast wave erupted, fire and lethal shrapnel scything outward dozens of meters. The shockwave tore the pink mist apart.
"Ignis!" Nicole saw only that he had dropped a bomb at his own feet before it detonated.
The explosion cleared. Ignis stood unmoved, encased in a golden shield. Holy golden flames annihilated all harm. A warrior of The Emperor had prepared.
He scanned immediately—no trace of the Slaanesh's Champion. No remains. Not a drop of blood.
Could it truly escape dozens of meters in under a second?
Gotthardt approached with earth-shaking steps, every detection system active—nothing found.
"Reckless fool!" the veteran barked. "If you intend self-detonation, secure the target first!"
Ignis did not answer. He knew his judgment was faltering.
Emile's disappearance. The daemon's taunts. The burning hatred in his chest. The Khorne daemon's renewed howling. His mind reeled.
"The mist is the issue." Gotthardt spun his siege drill, trying to disperse it. The thick vapor closed in again.
"Such a bold decision, my warrior." The sweet voice returned—then shifted into shrill laughter. "Alas, it was ineffective!"
The daemon's laughter induced splitting headaches in all who heard it.
"Almost fooled me," the female voice purred to Ignis. "You are delightfully brutal. Pain deepens understanding between partners."
Blurry silhouettes formed again—this time encircling the two Adeptus Astartes.
"And you, stubborn Son of Dorn… I would love to hear your tale. From Holy Terra. The Great Crusade. The Siege of Terra's final stand."
Then the shrill voice continued.
"What did it feel like—brother against brother? Lapdog of the False Emperor! How many of those you slew were once your kin? You did not die at the Siege, nor witness the hollow victory. The False Emperor exiled you here—for dereliction!"
"A heartless Emperor indeed—watching his sons butcher one another."
The response was the roar of a quad lascannons.
"I saw Him walk among us," Gotthardt thundered. "I saw Him unite Terra beneath one banner. I swore to fight for humanity until death! Daemon—your tricks are tedious!"
Laser beams tore through mist and shadow, blasting the ground. The silhouettes dispersed—only to reform as vapor gathered.
"Ah yes. The False Emperor's cherished soldiers. His favorite golden sons. Your Legion shattered, your Chapters rebuilt and destroyed. You are but tools—and tools of tools."
The sweet voice shifted focus.
"This world is pleasant, is it not? No endless war. A job you enjoy. And a little girl who helps maintain your equipment. What was her name? Oh—Grace."
"Her skill is admirable. But she could be… perfected. Machinery is art. The Prince of Pleasure admires unique design. If I introduced her to my Lord, she would be delighted."
"You will not!"
The Leviathan's sonic array unleashed a deafening blast. Gotthardt fired in fury—still nothing.
Laughter echoed. The daemon had time. That was its strength.
"Laughing so freely," a cold voice descended from above. "Did you think height alone made you untouchable?"
"What—?" A shriek cut off in pain.
With the roar of a jump pack, Cerakos descended, golden wings flaring.
The angelic son drove his power sword through the Slaanesh daemon's body, lightning claw locking onto its pincer.
Like a true angel, he fell from the heavens—pinning the daemon beneath him.
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