Chapter 393: Paralyzed and Furious, Furious and Paralyzed

Bone-chilling, concept-piercing pain surged endlessly from Khorne's thigh, intense agony spilling forth from the bullet itself.

The power of the Domain of Corrosive Destruction erupted from His thigh.

It slowly killed the muscle woven from slaughter, war, and blood, along with the bones and nerves forged from madness and rage.

Alongside the power of Corrosive Destruction, the power of the Domain of Greedy Dissolution also spewed from Khorne's thigh.

A black pouch opened near the bullet, slowly gnawing at Khorne's flesh, drilling deeper into His thigh.

In all the long ages since His birth, the Blood God had never suffered such a wound.

He could never have been harmed at this level—His armor, woven from fury, slaughter, and courage, was meant to be unbreakable.

But Skarbrand, Khorne's most trusted and favored daemon prince, had left a crack in that armor through betrayal and cowardice.

And the bullet struck that crack left by Skarbrand, piercing into the very concepts that constituted Khorne.

The concepts, desires, and emotions that formed Him were being slowly erased and devoured; this pain and injury directly crippled Khorne upon the Brass Throne, rendering Him nearly unable to rise.

He gritted His teeth, using blood to fight corpses, fury to fight self-destruction, the fleeting crimson joy of slaughter to fight the black fate awaiting all life, and endless killing to suppress endless hunger.

Only then did He barely manage to trap the bullet in the blood and bone of His thigh, halting its advance and preventing it from destroying and consuming more of His concepts and flesh.

But He could not heal the wound the bullet inflicted—because the instant He was wounded, screamed, and collapsed upon the Brass Throne, a sharp, lewd, and foolish laugh echoed along the borders of the Brass Fortress.

Tzeentch, Nurgle, and Slaanesh simultaneously cast greedy glances toward Khorne's domain, attempting to invade it.

Chaos is this way: whoever shows even a hint of cowardice, the other three gods will unhesitatingly tear off a piece of flesh.

This was how Tzeentch's staff was broken, how Slaanesh's newborn domain was plundered by the three gods, and now this is how Khorne has been attacked by the other three.

Khorne was forced to divert a great portion of His power to resist their invasions.

For a time, the power surging from the bullet and Khorne's own power reached a stalemate.

The two forces intertwined endlessly within the Blood God's body; though the bullet could inflict no further damage, it brought bone-deep pain that prevented the wound from healing and kept Khorne from rising.

Khorne slammed the Brass Throne with crushing force, the sound echoing like war drums throughout the entire Brass Fortress.

Countless Bloodletters, Steel Beasts, Blood Hounds, Daemon Princes, and Bloodthirsters formed into battle arrays, surging like a burning tide of blood toward Khorne, climbing His thigh, and burrowing into His wound.

These demons had only one duty: while Khorne's power and the Emperor's were balanced, to dig the bullet out of His flesh.

But what met these demons was hammer and fire.

A headless Iron General emerged from within the bullet, from Khorne's blood and flesh.

The Iron General's hands were forged of silver-steel hammered a thousand times, clad in deep-gray power armor, bathed in searing flame.

Upon His neck, there was no head—only torrents of orange-yellow sparks and dark gray smoke gushing forth.

The Iron General came wielding a hammer burning with furnace fire, smashing the skull of a Daemon Prince with a single blow.

Behind the Iron General, brimstone fire blazed from the Realm of the Dead, and twisted black smoke coalesced into a hazy army formation.

Those black mists hardened into night-black ceramite power armor; pale skulls emerged from within, then brimstone fell upon them, igniting their former souls—flames spiraled into halos above their foreheads.

Burning banners drifted from Khorne's wound, inscribed in crimson-gold script: "For the Emperor, Beyond Death!"

Scorched footsteps marched with unwavering resolve; brimstone poison filled the air; vengeance-fire ignited—the Oathbound Legion descended directly into Khorne's domain.

That bullet—the one forged from the finger bone of the Eldar Crone-God, the Crone's Blade—could transmit Zhou Yun's and the Emperor's power, serving as a vessel for the power of the Domain of Corrosive Destruction.

The Oathbound Legion was, in essence, the embodiment of the Emperor's psychic power, the power of the Domain of Corrosive Destruction, capable of being channeled through the bullet.

Thus, the bullet became a tear in Khorne's domain, carving a direct path for the Oathbound Legion into the deepest heart of the Brass Fortress.

For ten thousand years, the fallen warriors, even in death, could not erase their fury or purge their hatred.

Their rage poured forth from the wound on Khorne's thigh, crashing directly into Khorne's demonic legions.

Not even removing the bullet—merely containing the Oathbound Legion, preventing them from storming the Brass Fortress—had drained every ounce of energy from these demons.

Demons are not born of life; even if slain, they will always return.

And the Oathbound Legion were already dead—how can the dead be killed again?

This battle had become an endless, eternal war, erupting at the very core of Khorne's Brass Domain.

Hmph. It feels oddly familiar.

Both Khorne's demons and the Emperor's Oathbound Legion sensed it—they all felt a strange sense of déjà vu.

This scene mirrored the war that had erupted beneath the Golden Throne ten thousand years ago.

Magnus's folly had torn a crack in the Webway; the profane forces of the four gods had pierced straight into the heart of the Human Empire.

Skarbrand's folly had torn a crack in Khorne's armor; the Emperor's and Saint Dora's power had pierced straight into the deepest core of the Brass Fortress.

The Emperor was trapped upon the Golden Throne, forever unable to leave.

Khorne was paralyzed upon the Brass Throne, forever unable to rise.

The Oathbound Legion returned from death, holding back the demons within the Webway.

Khorne's demonic legions endlessly resurrected, holding back the Oathbound Legion within Khorne's wound.

Only this time, the roles were reversed.

The skeletal lips of the Oathbound Legion seemed to curl faintly upward.

The vengeance-fire upon their bodies burned fiercer.

And Khorne's demons, as if affected by their god's wound,

now moved with one leg stiff and clumsy—as if limping.

And both the Oathbound Legion within Khorne's domain and the Imperial Guard at the Lion's Gate sensed it:

A faint crack had appeared upon the minds of Khorne's demons, minds once forged solely from fury and slaughter.

This crack seemed to have birthed an unwelcome emotion—cowardice in the face of death.

"."

The Sanctum, Throne Hall—the brown-haired boy gently lifted the Iron General's chess piece from the table and tossed it into the bronze river before him.

The river reflected a hunched, half-paralyzed hound slumped upon the Brass Throne; the iron piece fell toward the wound on its thigh.

Then, the brown-haired boy turned to Zhou Yun with a puzzled expression.

"How did you know?"

The boy's voice brimmed with astonishment:

"How did you know the crack Skarbrand left on Khorne's armor was on His thigh?"

The brown-haired boy had never expected much from the bullet.

In this dark galaxy, only war endures—and Khorne, the Blood God, is the God of War.

Among the four gods, Khorne's domain is the broadest, His power the strongest.

Even the current Emperor, in direct confrontation with Khorne, excluding external factors, could only achieve parity.

Without the crack Skarbrand had forged in Khorne's armor—the crack of betrayal and cowardice that allowed the Emperor's power to pierce and wound Khorne's essence—the bullet would have only briefly injured Khorne, briefly dimming His majesty.

But Zhou Yun had precisely aimed for Khorne's thigh—and that crack was indeed there.

A heart full of courage and fury can resist the dark fear of life's end.

But if that heart harbors even a sliver of cowardice, it can no longer resist the dark fate of termination and death.

In the end, the bullet pierced clean through Khorne's thigh; now the Emperor continuously poured power into the bullet, ensuring the wound upon Khorne's essence would never heal.

As long as the bullet remained, Khorne would be forced to remain paralyzed upon the Brass Throne.

But that was not the most critical point—after all, Khorne rarely rose from the Brass Throne to engage in any battle worthy of Him.

The critical point was that the wound was upon Khorne's essence; all demons and cultists who worshipped Him would be affected.

A grotesque crack would appear upon their once-unbreakable hearts of slaughter.

Each time they felt fury, each time they desired to kill, they would recall their fear of death, betraying a moment of cowardice—and manifesting a limp.

All of this was thanks to Zhou Yun—thanks to Zhou Yun aiming at Khorne's thigh.

Thus, the brown-haired boy stared at Zhou Yun in astonishment, amazed that Zhou Yun had known the exact location of the crack in Khorne's armor.

"."

Facing the brown-haired boy's gaze, Zhou Yun broke into a cold sweat, drenched in perspiration.

He had no idea the wound Skarbrand left was on Khorne's thigh—how could he possibly know?

"I don't know. I just guessed."

"I just thought—if this bullet actually hit Khorne's thigh—"

"Wouldn't that be the Emperor paralyzed yet furious, and Khorne furious yet paralyzed?"

"Didn't expect it to actually work."

(End of Chapter)