Chapter 459: Blood God: Feeling My Brain Is Getting Sharper

The Empire's Shadow, Nagasaki System, Planet Herosima,

The Dark Apostle, Hand of Fate, Spokesperson of the Gods, Aribas, walked slowly across the blood-slick altar, reciting blasphemous and filthy incantations,

slaughter was spreading beneath the eighty-eight-meter, eighty-eighth-tier altar,

countless masses screamed, abandoning all reason as they tore at each other,

eight hundred eighty-eight million mortals had been captured here; Aribas awakened their primal blood-born lust for slaughter through blasphemous rites, declaring that only the last warrior standing would be granted divine favor, becoming the mortal vessel of blood, violence, and slaughter,

thus began the cruel, utterly irrational slaughter,

mortals killed with swords and spears, with stones, with fingernails, with broken bones, with teeth, with anything they could conceive,

the slaughter lasted eight full days and nights; corpses piled into mountains, blood flowed into rivers, skulls turned upward to form a chaotic eight-pointed star,

a hulking man, his body twisted by the immense blessings of Khorne, roared as he battled a mutant with three canine heads,

the giant tore off two of the mutant's heads with a roar; the mutant bit off one of his arms,

blood gushed forth; the giant opened his bloody maw and sank his teeth into the mutant's skull, using his single remaining arm to rip the mutant's head clean off,

he roared, bellowed savagely, knelt upon the mountain of corpses and rivers of blood, celebrating his victory,

yet at that moment, from the piled corpses, a small, slender boy suddenly emerged, driving a jagged bone spike into the giant's neck,

"Why kill us?! Why kill us?!"

"What did we do wrong?! Kill you! Kill you! Kill you!"

furious screams erupted from the boy's mouth; his frail arms unleashed strength far beyond his years,

the giant bellowed in primal agony, tearing at the boy's body with all his might; the boy's legs were ripped off, his torso torn open, organs spilling out,

yet his hands clung tightly to the bone spike, driving it deep into the giant's neck,

slowly, the giant let out a final moan and collapsed into the sea of blood,

the boy's mangled body lay atop the giant's corpse, barely alive, on the verge of death,

yet at that moment, blood began to flow from every corpse piled high; endless rivers of crimson wove into the terrifying runes of Khorne, gathering around the dying, frail boy,

blood rained from the sky; countless war cries echoed behind the veil of reality; demons praised the boy's courage, praised the boundless slaughter,

the veil of reality blurred; countless Khorne demons poured from the Warp, flooding into the boy's slender frame,

the boy writhed, screamed, roared; his body twisted and grotesquely swelled, absorbing corpses and blood, merging with them; his flesh fused with the corpses, bound together by demonic possession, resembling a monstrous amalgamation of dozens, hundreds, thousands of out-of-control Chaos eggs,

hundreds of mutated arms sprouted from the monstrous entity, each wielding bone spikes infused with Khorne demons; his body was formed of crimson flesh, towering dozens of meters high, muscles like stained corpses; the boy's gaunt head was embedded in the beast's skull, his eyes filled with madness and bloodlust,

Aribas watched with satisfaction the grotesque, bloody Chaos beast born from his grand ritual,

as the Hand of Fate, his Chaos arts had reached perfection over ten thousand years; creating such bloody Chaos beasts was effortless,

eight hundred million mortals slaughtered, their corpses and final victor as vessels, summoned eighty-eight thousand Khorne demons to inhabit this terrible beast,

the only problem was that so many demons crowded into one body shattered the boy's original will entirely—he was now utterly insane, no different from a pure Chaos egg, reduced to nothing but the primal urge to spread slaughter,

Aribas had created four such terrible beasts in total, each blessed by Khorne, Tzeentch, Slaanesh, and Nurgle; yet the two blessed by Slaanesh and Nurgle were weaker,

more blasphemous, filthy Chaos corruption festered across this planet, transforming the entire world into Aribas's slaughterground, nearly impregnable,

but creating these four Chaos beasts and corrupting this entire planet was not Aribas's ultimate goal,

this massive sacrifice was meant to please the Gods and speak with them directly—but

Tzeentch replied: Busy, training, doing squats right now. Trust you. Remember to exercise daily and always stay hopeful.

Slaanesh declared: Allowing Lu Xiusi to act was already my limit. Don't contact me again. I'm afraid Saint Dora will misunderstand.

Nurgle replied: Mordian stopped me from replying to Aribas—no messages during class. And if Aribas disturbs Professor Mordian's lecture again, he'll taste the Black Hand of Barabus.

This made Aribas feel red-hot,

he was the Hand of Fate, once the Gods' most favored, the mastermind behind the Great Betrayal, the great Child of Chaos, Aribas,

now two of the Four—Slaanesh and Nurgle—had outright rejected him; Tzeentch was too busy to offer more than limited aid,

Aribas could only hope the last God, the Blood God Khorne, would grant him help.

the thick stench of blood filled Aribas's surroundings; the massive Warp disturbance from eight hundred million sacrifices coalesced into a crimson storm, hovering over the heavens, dyeing all sight orange-red,

the smell of blood was so sharp, so acrid, it made Aribas dizzy, his veins throbbed, his muscles ached,

in the crimson storm above, a grotesque, terrifying figure was reflected,

a crimson, blood-drenched deity seated upon a brass throne, limping on one leg,

seeing Khorne's crippled leg, Aribas thought, This is bad,

the Blood God's condition also looked dire,

damn it, how have all the Gods become like this?

Aribas had prepared for Khorne to simply hang up the prayer,

"Speak!"

the Blood God's voice thundered, making Aribas dizzy:

"I have a brutal battle to attend to!"

Khorne referred to the battle raging within his thigh—the bullet forged from the Old Hag's Sword was continuously channeling the Emperor's power; more and more bindings emerged, clashing with Khorne's demonic legions; Khorne had no attention to spare for Aribas,

yet Aribas's achievements were undeniable, even to Khorne,

the Great Betrayal itself was driven by Aribas, and Khaela, whom Khorne favored, became his Chosen only through Aribas's machinations,

so despite his lack of focus, Khorne granted him a sliver of attention.

Aribas felt the Blood God was truly a loyal deity—he nearly wept.

"My lord, supreme spirit, spirit of rage, your humble servant Aribas begs you to fulfill one of the rewards you promised me ten thousand years ago."

This was Aribas's greatest trump card: the Gods had promised him many rewards for his role in the Great Betrayal; whenever he needed, he could demand their fulfillment.

"." Khorne responded with silence.

His silence made Aribas's heart freeze.

". He is a great, dignified warrior. He wounded my thigh, granted me endless war. What reason do I have to favor you?" Khorne demanded.

"Indeed, my lord, he is a great being, incomparably powerful."

Aribas bowed hastily and explained:

"I challenged him with courage, to bring him to his rightful place."

"To fight the strong despite weakness—isn't that your Eighth Path of Blood?"

"Moreover, it was you who promised me this reward for my deeds—"

"I promised, not that I must fulfill," Khorne growled, cutting him off.

The air froze; Aribas opened his mouth but could not speak.

Khorne seemed to realize this was poorly said,

and spoke again to Aribas: "I can grant you power to confront Saint Dora."

"But you must offer me a new, worthy champion—like the one you once gave me, Khaela."

Angulas and Skarbrand were dead; Khaela had been set free by Khorne; the Blood God needed a new Chosen to carry out his will.

"." Aribas felt as if he'd swallowed his own vomit.

Many served Khorne; many sought his embrace; but few were worthy of his blessing,

for Khorne forbade cowardice, and brave warriors rarely betrayed the False Emperor.

"I can only create the opportunity for you," Aribas said as humbly as possible. "You must grant me aid first."

Khorne's laughter echoed in Aribas's ears—he seemed to be mocking him.

"Fine," Khorne growled. "I grant aid."

Aribas's face lit up; he knelt, grateful for Khorne's help,

but—Khorne's eyes flickered with cunning,

he promised aid—but did not say it would help only Aribas,

who would receive this aid—Saint Dora or Aribas—was uncertain,

Khorne desired only more brutal battles, fiercer conflict, and a new Chosen to carry out his will,

his aid would only intensify the conflict; everything else was irrelevant.

Since seizing more territory in Tzeentch's domain regarding strategy and tactics, Khorne felt his mind growing sharper than ever.

(End of Chapter)