Chapter 195: The Angel

Bartholomew's Heart, Murphiston murmured the name of this place in his heart,

The Eldar believe in the existence of the World Soul, believing each planet possesses its own will, its own spirit, its own soul.

If what they say is true, then Bartholomew's soul might dwell before Murphiston's eyes.

Bartholomew's Heart is a crystal layer buried deep within the Bartholomew Mountains, accessible only through a series of complex tunnels older than the history of the Blood Angels, wide and low—clearly not designed for human passage,

Surely the xenos who once occupied Bartholomew discovered this place and modified it.

Before Murphiston lay a world entirely formed of bloodstone—from floor to walls, from walls to ceiling—all composed of pure, blood-red bloodstone, radiating a crimson glow that illuminated the entire crystal chamber.

Countless hexagonal pillars of bloodstone extended outward, pointing toward a natural dais at the chamber's center.

Bloodstone is Bartholomew's specialty, a precious gem; a pure bloodstone is a symbol of honor for every warrior bearing Saint Guilliman's blood, representing deeds earned on the battlefield, while for mortals, even the most turbid bloodstone is a rare fortune.

Yet only the Blood Angels' Librarians know that bloodstone is more than a jewel—beyond wealth and honor, it possesses unique warp properties,

Each bloodstone generates a faint psychic resonance, attuning in part to the powers of the warp, even enhancing the wearer's limbs and sharpening their mind to some degree.

Elsewhere, however, bloodstone is too scarce to produce any significant effect,

But here, in Bartholomew's Heart, within this cavern encased in bloodstone, every stone pulses with power, resonating with Murphiston's spirit, blurring the boundary between reality and the warp.

Sometimes Murphiston even felt the bloodstone-walled chamber had sunk partially into the warp, the warp's power growing active beneath the thin veil of reality.

Murphiston couldn't help glancing at Zhou Yun beside him, his spine prickling with cold.

"What's wrong?" Zhou Yun noticed Murphiston's gaze and turned with a smile.

In Murphiston's vision,

he saw Zhou Yun enveloped in gray deathly aura, like a tattered gray robe clinging to his body, his face withered like a mummy,

and in the blink of an eye, the gray robe twisted and interwove into endless spinning metal gears, his face covered in intricate machinery,

and the moment Zhou Yun smiled at Murphiston, the gears fused into a coiling, ouroboros-like dragon, Zhou Yun's mouth splitting open into a bloody maw ready to swallow him,

finally, these strange visions slowly settled, combining upon Zhou Yun's form until he appeared as a sleek, metallic-blue-glowing lynx.

This bizarre illusion clung to Zhou Yun, yet he himself seemed blind to it, ignoring it entirely.

Murphiston even wondered if Bartholomew's Heart was too close to the warp, and Zhou Yun's physical body could no longer contain the power projected from the warp.

"No, nothing." Murphiston fell silent for a long while, then shook his head.

Zhou Yun shrugged, asked no further, merely gazed around at the bloodstone, muttering under his breath: "How much are these things worth?"

Murphiston's eye twitched—he simply couldn't fathom why a warp entity would care about money. Did the old man dabble in warp domains tied to wealth?

Unable to make sense of it, Murphiston took a deep breath and gestured for Zhou Yun to join him on the dais pointed to by the hexagonal pillars.

"This way." Murphiston led Zhou Yun up the dais.

On the dais, the Blood Angels' Librarians stood before a mechanical tower-like warp engine,

upon which was painted a sigil: an arrow shot through three concentric rings, surrounded by two sheaves of twenty-one grains of wheat.

The Librarians were pouring blood onto it, tracing layers of strange runes and patterns with brushes—twisted, grotesque designs radiating a blasphemous power.

Gaius Lasselas, second-in-command of the Blood Angels' Librarians, gave a slight nod to Zhou Yun and Murphiston,

his gaze landing on Zhou Yun, his eye twitching—he too had seen the illusions rising from Zhou Yun.

"Friend, how goes it?" Murphiston stood before the warp engine and asked Lasselas.

"This engine was originally corrupted by the Plague God's power, yet strangely—"

Gaius Lasselas paused,

"strangely, the Plague God's demons never attempted to enter reality through this warp engine."

"Even when we began washing away the corruption with blood and runes, channeling it toward the Blood God's domain, the Plague God's demons seemed almost cooperative—I even faintly heard the grateful voices of Nurglings,"

as he spoke, Lasselas's gaze unconsciously drifted to Zhou Yun.

He clearly suspected Zhou Yun had done something.

Zhou Yun's lips twitched slightly—this warp engine was the one he'd found in the Underhive, corrupted by Nurgle, then stuffed into his fourth-dimensional pocket.

Many demons had spilled out from this engine, only to fall into his fourth-dimensional pocket and be sold off.

But Nurgle's demons weren't fools; once they sensed the warp gate opened by this engine was a trap, they never surfaced again—even the Great Unclean One himself sealed the warp gate.

Still, since it originated from one of CNSA's colonies, Zhou Yun had kept it in his pocket out of a collector's habit.

Now, however, it served a purpose.

"Once we activate the runes leading to the Blood God's domain, they will begin to function, transferring the gate onto this warp engine," Lasselas explained.

Zhou Yun nodded slightly—this was their plan.

Murphiston and the Blood Angels' Librarians would open a gate to Khorne's domain, using a series of rituals undeniably blasphemous,

then the blood-painted runes on the warp engine would activate, shifting and linking the warp gate onto it,

and if Kabanha attempted to enter reality at that moment, he would emerge from the warp engine—which would then be placed

Zhou Yun's lips curled into a smile as he lifted the warp engine with both hands,

the towering mechanical structure instantly liquefied and slid into Zhou Yun's fourth-dimensional pocket.

If Kabanha emerged from the warp engine, he would drop straight into Zhou Yun's fourth-dimensional pocket—and be sold.

Lasselas seemed slightly startled—he detected no psychic disturbance.

But Murphiston cast him a glance, signaling this was no time for curiosity.

Lasselas gave a slight nod, stepping aside to make way for Murphiston.

Murphiston moved silently among the Librarians, his gaze sweeping over the surrounding bloodstone.

Carved, blood-painted, and inlaid patterns covered the stone—designs echoing the ancient mountains of Terra's Caucasus, drawn from old Night-Era texts, steeped in blasphemy and corruption.

This was Bartholomew's sacred ground, yet for some time, the Librarians had been blaspheming it with these corrupt runes.

Murphiston would now perform a full ritual of blasphemous, dark sorcery—knowledge drawn from Terra's ancient Ulsch Alliance, utterly profane.

No matter the reason, everything Murphiston did surpassed what the Imperium would ever permit.

"We have no choice."

Murphiston whispered to his comrades, his voice gathering strength,

in the Battle of the Underworld, the Great Devourer left him a wound on the soul level, never truly healed,

but Bartholomew's Heart compensated for the lost power, restoring Murphiston to near his full strength.

"Kabanha watches us, our ancient enemy, a great threat, seeking to corrupt our souls."

"To defeat it, we must perform this blasphemous rite—may the Emperor and Saint Guilliman guard our souls."

Zhou Yun glanced at the winged figure in the corner of his eye—its form bright, bathed in blue-white light,

perhaps it was guarding Murphiston and the others' souls.

The ritual they would perform was profoundly blasphemous, without priest or Blood Priest's aid—they must confront the curse and corruption with their own strength.

"Share blood," Murphiston whispered.

The Librarians, save Murphiston, unlatched their gauntlets, removed their armored gloves, forming a circle, each biting into the flesh of the next, drawing blood that flowed along their linked ring,

this strange rite, combined with their shared crimson hunger, forged a unique bond, merging their psychic powers into one shared current.

The only exception was Murphiston—he did not drink his brothers' blood, yet still absorbed their power,

a shadow seemed to cover him, writhing like a living thing across his body, making him appear swollen, and behind him, faint black wings began to grow.

"Huh."

Murphiston exhaled a breath of blood-tinged air; the environment subtly warped—in the Librarians' eyes, scenes from the Revenant and Bartholomew's Heart flickered alternately, awakening something within their souls.

Zhou Yun's nose twitched—was it his imagination, or did he smell blood in the air?

And smoke, steel, oil, beasts, mane, leather, and trenches.

Murphiston chanted ancient incantations from the dark Caucasus mountains, blasphemous words swirling like slimy, wet tentacles, lapping at every corner of reality; the writhing shadow spread from his body, twisting and reshaping his form.

Bloodstone erupted with blood-red light, illuminating the surroundings in a way beyond mortal comprehension, like gashes of fresh blood torn across reality.

Murphiston raised his voice sharply—suddenly, war cries filled the air, thick with murderous intent; the boundary between reality and the warp thinned.

Zhou Yun saw shattered armor lying in viscous rivers of blood, crimson streams winding across broken earth, pooling in shell craters,

horns blared from afar, bronze-armored warriors roared in fury, charging through blood-soaked ground,

they waged eternal war—countless grand battles erupted among countless warriors, spilling blood, losing heads, infusing this realm with war and violence,

endless shattered wastelands spread, weapons clashed everywhere, blood pooled into rivers, skulls piled into mountains, beasts forged of fire and blood coiled atop blade-like peaks, warriors roared with courage and killing intent, challenging them.

And it—Khorne, the Bloodthirster, the Angel's Plague—its face like a monkey's, twisted four horns, crimson wings spread wide, drenching all in blood rain,

wielding a flail and chainaxe, it galloped through a red night and blood-wind, crowned by no diadem, robed in no garment, only blood adorning its honor,

its followers beat war drums, bellowed heavy roars, blew horns,

"This is blood! This is blood! This is kill! This is kill!"

"It is blood! It is blood! It is kill! It is kill!"

"This is the Blood-Soaked Lord!"

"It unleashes fury! It makes it roar!"

"Kill kill kill! Kill kill kill again! Kabanha!"

"Kill kill kill! Kill kill kill again! Kabanha!"

Its beastly crimson eyes churned, stepping forward at the boundary of warp and reality—suddenly, Bartholomew's Heart roared and thundered,

Kabanha, the Angel's Plague, descended upon Bartholomew.

"The winged lickspittle of the Archangel, the obsessed Kabanha has arrived." Zhou Yun blurted out, despite the solemn atmosphere.

(End of Chapter)