The Ultramarines, locked in a grueling melee with the Death Guard, suddenly realized they were being beset by three new enemy hostiles from three different vectors.
One was undeniably the World Eaters. Another was the Emperor's Children warband led by Lucius, whom they had only just put down. The third was the xenos swarm they had been slaughtering for hours, but these ratmen were different; they were not the cowering, gaunt wretches from before. Instead, they stood nearly three meters tall, encased in power armor that rivaled the bulk of an Astartes.
"Titus, orders?!" Metaurus shouted, bracing his storm shield against a heavy blow. He kicked a Death Guard marine back a few paces to regroup with Titus.
Titus fought back the urge to roll his eyes. Orders? There were now four distinct enemy factions, including the xenos. What was there to do but survive?
He parried a strike from Typhus and roared over the vox: "Prepare to fall back!"
"Hehehe... no one escapes the Grandfather's grasp!" Typhus growled. He had no intention of letting the sacrifices his patron had personally marked for death slip away. From his mouth, his ears, and every weeping pore in his necrotic skin, a literal cloud of Destroyer Hives erupted.
These flies were the size of fists, their buzzing a cacophony of droning laughter emanating from tiny, rotting human faces.
The Ultramarines swung their chainswords frantically, but it was like trying to stop a flood with a spoon. Sensing his opening, Typhus ignited the power field of his Manreaper and swung the massive scythe directly at Titus's neck.
"You... are mine! You cannot flee the Grandfather's rot!"
But a faster shadow intervened. A shimmering blade lashed out, parrying the Manreaper with contemptuous ease. It was Lucius the Eternal. A mocking, twisted grin split his scarred face as he glanced at Typhus before instantly turning his blade toward Titus.
The momentary distraction gave Titus the window he needed. He blocked Lucius's sword and used his bolter like a mace, smashing it into the swordsman's unnaturally smooth, ecstatic face to create distance.
"No-no! He belongs to me-me!"
Queek Headtaker had stealthily led his Red Guard around the Ultramarines' rear. At his signal, a synchronized volley of warp-lightning erupted. Several Ultramarines, caught between the Death Guard and Emperor's Children, were incinerated instantly alongside their enemies.
"Yes-yes! No one takes Queek's trophies, NO ONE!" Queek cackled. Wielding his two signature weapons with terrifying proficiency, he leapt through the air at Titus.
Titus, having just repelled Lucius, was forced to pivot. Queek's warp-forged blade bit into his chainsword while the Dwarf-Gouger power maul swung in a lethal arc toward his midsection!
Bang-bang-bang!
A series of precision bolt rounds slammed into Queek's maul. The explosions numbed the rat-lord's paws—Gadriel's marksman cover had arrived just in time.
Metaurus held the line with grim determination, his Relic Shield, inscribed with the bones of saints, shuddering under the onslaught. Two of his battle-brothers moved to screen Titus from Typhus and Lucius, while the remaining Ultramarines tightened their formation into a defensive circle, unleashing a wall of bolter fire.
They stood firm against the "Rat-startes" of the Red Guard. These vermin possessed the strength and reflexes of Primaris Space Marines, yet they lacked the millenia-honed tactical cohesion and discipline of the True Astartes. Even outnumbered, the Ultramarines held, the only real threats being the savage ferocity of Queek and Ska Bloodtail.
Queek's frenzied assaults were parried by two Astartes working in perfect synchronicity. Realizing his direct approach was failing, the Headtaker dropped into a low, undignified crouch. He swung his power maul at an Astartes' leg, the disruption field shearing through ceramite and gene-enhanced muscle alike.
"AGHHH!!"
The Ultramarine was dragged from the formation by the sheer force. Before he could recover, the Red Guard swarmed him, hacking him into bloody segments with their warp-lightning halberds.
Queek chattered in delight, realizing the Astartes were less agile in their lower carriage. The Headtaker began a "rolling" combat style; any Astartes who tried to stomp him would find their limb severed. Against the mining-grade power fields of the Votann and the destructive edge of warp-blades, ceramite offered no more protection than parchment.
"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!!"
Khârn and his World Eaters had no interest in flanking or subtlety. Khorne had given them a target, and the Betrayer would deliver.
Khârn charged headlong into the center of the fray, right between the Emperor's Children and the Death Guard. Though his ultimate objective was Titus, he viewed the two Chaos champions as exquisite secondary offerings. After all, Khorne cares not from whence the blood flows.
He was a whirlwind of carnage, his chainaxe Gorechild moving so fast it became a crimson blur. He tore into the space between Lucius and Typhus, while his World Eaters crashed into the ranks of the traitors like a living hammer, descending into a berserk frenzy where friend and foe were slaughtered alike.
Single-handedly, Khârn forced both Typhus and Lucius back. In the Forge of Souls, Khorne let out a triumphant roar, looking at Nurgle and Slaanesh with pure disdain.
"Now, that is how it is done," Khorne growled in a tone of rapturous fury.
Watching from his throne, Lucius (the observer) muttered to himself, "A fine display of 'curved loyalty' there."
But that loyalty, however twisted, was effective. Khârn's monstrous martial prowess cleared a path through the minions of the other gods. Empowered by Khorne's blessing, Khârn became immune even to the debilitating touch of Nurgle's sorcery.
"You shall not pass!"
Metaurus raised his shield to intercept the Betrayer, but it was an exercise in futility. Khârn's burning eyes locked onto him for a fraction of a second before his axes fell. The impact felt like tons of falling masonry; Metaurus cried out as he was kicked aside like a piece of refuse.
Titus was currently struggling against the combined assault of Queek and Ska Bloodtail. These xenos were deadlier than any he had ever faced. As he struggled to regain his footing, Khârn burst through the last of the Ultramarine defenders, his axe aimed straight for Titus's throat.
The neck of the legendary veteran, the hero of Graia and Avarax, was already beginning to part under the chain-teeth. Decapitation seemed inevitable.
"HRAAAAGH!!"
Suddenly, Titus's eyes erupted with blinding golden radiance. The wound on his neck sealed instantly amidst the holy light. An aura of divine majesty cascaded from his armor. The desperate, cornered warrior was gone; in his place stood a vessel of celestial power.
"No... this isn't just luck. This is divine intervention," Lucius remarked, watching the Emperor manifest his will through Titus.
"HAHAHA! You've finally stepped into the ring! Then I shall play with you myself!" Khorne roared. His consciousness surged through the Warp like a river of gore, flooding into Khârn's body.
The Blood God had wanted a piece of the Emperor for an eternity, but "He on the Throne" usually played his cards too close to the chest. Seeing the Emperor manifest to save Titus, Khorne knew this was his chance.
Nurgle's face twisted in rage. He still had a score to settle for the burning of his garden. He hauled his massive, flabby form up, struck his plague-bell, and poured his essence into Typhus.
The surrounding mortals were blasted back by the sheer pressure of the Warp. Seeing Titus favored by the Emperor a second time, Gadriel, Metaurus, and the surviving Ultramarines fell to their knees, shouting the Emperor's name in religious ecstasy.
The Death Guard, Emperor's Children, and World Eaters were blinded by the holy light. The rotting flesh of the Death Guard began to dissolve, unable to withstand the purity, until their leaders, Khârn and Typhus, erupted with their own dark, counter-vailing energies.
To the mortals, it looked like a clash of blessings. In reality, the three Gods were using mortal shells to stand face-to-face. Lucius (the Eternal) was the only one left out; the Emperor cast a single, dismissive glance at him, and the swordsman was instantly consumed by golden fire, vanishing with a shriek.
"Your ambitions end here," the Emperor spoke through Titus, his voice a calm, resonant thunder.
"You aren't going in?" Lucius (the observer) asked.
Slaanesh merely watched the Emperor incinerate her champion and let out a bored yawn. With a flick of her wrist, she plucked Lucius's soul from the ashes and restored him elsewhere. "I'm not so uncouth. I prefer something more interesting than waving sticks and stones about~"
She ran her long, forked tongue across Lucius's cheek; the barbed surface elicited a strange mixture of sharp pain and inexplicable pleasure.
"Your daemon is quite exquisite. Better to do something more... enjoyable... than these barbarians~"
Slaanesh was openly attempting to seduce him. Though her Warp-powers had little hold over him, she could still manipulate form to tempt.
Lucius, knowing Slaanesh's "pleasures" were far from mild, turned his face away and stood up. "Queek, the Great Horned Rat has arrived!"
With a surge of intent, Lucius threw his power and consciousness into the body of Queek Headtaker, who had been about to turn tail and flee the divine spectacle in terror.