Chapter 471: Bring Me My Helmet!!

Facing the sudden teleportation of this World Eaters force before them, Titus showed no fear.

The holy chainsword Innocent in his hand hummed and vibrated, its air thick with the scent of blood.

The machine spirit craved the hunt, the machine spirit craved blood, the machine spirit craved the slaughter of the Emperor's enemies.

It was as if a thousand Blood Knights screamed within the blade, desperate to continue their unfinished slaughter.

But Titus held his composure; he was observing his enemy.

The Space Marines must not be ruled by rage and bloodlust; to observe and analyze the foe is true insight.

The scent of blood emanated from the four leading Chaos Space Marines, each bearing a Fleshmetal Nail implanted in their skulls—grotesque, terrifying, and humming.

Titus had seen such horrific machinery on Kain's head; he knew how terribly it twisted the mind, turning men into monsters driven by fury.

"Ha! Dog of the False Emperor!"

A World Eater raised his staff and grinned, the staff's tip carved from brass into the symbol of the Blood God, adorned with a string of grotesque skulls; behind him, a torch burning with brimstone smoke glowed on his power pack, its fumes silently provoking the nerves of all present, stirring unbidden anger.

He opened his malformed, bloody maw and exhaled a foul, crimson stench:

"I am Korvax, First of the Four Blood Lieutenants under the Regent Korvax of the World Eaters, Dark Apostle devoted to the Glory of the Blood God—"

BOOM!!!!

Korvax had full confidence in the Dark Apostle Kovein.

He was one of the few World Eaters who retained a shred of reason, having studied among the Word Bearers and mastered eighty-eight blasphemous, horrific killing arts—each killing a prayer offered to the Blood God.

Through these sacrificial killings and techniques, Kovein had received immense blessings from the Blood God, his body grotesquely warped, every word and motion radiating brimstone stench that stirred the bloodlust of all nearby.

But the reflection in the blood pool made Korvax doubt his own sanity.

A thunderous crack echoed; the blood pool rippled violently.

Kovein's body—headless, shoulderless, and lacking most of his torso—crashed to the ground.

A large-caliber steel needle had pierced his brain, then detonated inside, shattering it; gray-gold smoke billowed out.

World Eaters standing beside Kovein, touched by the smoke, screamed in agony as the Blood God's gifts tore uncontrollably through their bodies.

Even those who avoided the smoke were not spared: silver sprays erupted from within the smoke, striking the World Eaters and instantly desiccating their flesh, as if all moisture had been sucked away.

"Unclean One's Ashes? What is this golden powder?"

"And this silver liquid—"

Butcher-Medical Lorekai roared in fury, then—

BOOM!!!!

The explosion sounded again.

Butcher-Medical Lorekai's body collapsed with a thud.

This time, no Unclean One's Ashes, Starfire Cinders, or Thirsting Water sprayed out.

After all, these three were precious; the hidden sniper had evidently decided Korvax's four lieutenants were not worth wasting ammunition on.

"WHO!!" Master of Beheadings Sharlock bellowed, his Fleshmetal Nail humming with rage as he turned toward the direction of the shot.

Then the large-caliber steel needle arrived, piercing Sharlock's skull—gentle, casual, and killing another of Korvax's most capable officers.

The last remaining Dimensional Smith Mogriva fell silent; he realized that whenever they spoke, a large-caliber steel needle would take their lives—

BOOM!!!

The needle's whistle pierced the air; Mogriva's head exploded.

The truth was clear: even silence was not safe.

Korvax stared, dumbfounded, at the scene before him.

His elite World Eaters, accumulated over ten thousand years, the finest in the galaxy, had been slaughtered like chicks.

". ikon. Sarokin. The Raven of Doom." Erebus whispered, appearing beside Korvax without warning, murmuring that name.

"Who?" Korvax cried out in terror, turning to see Erebus had already donned his helmet, its surface engraved with rows of blasphemous runes, swirling with warp energy, making Korvax feel the helmet was more impregnable than a city wall.

But more than Erebus's helmet, it was the name Nikon. Sarokin that gripped Korvax's attention.

It was a name he had nearly forgotten; to warriors who had never lived through the Horus Heresy, its meaning was incomprehensible.

The Night Lords' Nikon. Sarokin, Son of Corax, the Raven of Doom.

Korvax had heard this name during the Horus Heresy; it was said he had stood before an entire Legion of Emperor's Children, an entire Legion of Iron Warriors, and Perturabo, and blown the Emperor's Child Primarch Fulgrim's head clean off—then walked away without a scratch, taking dozens of Emperor's Children and Iron Warriors with him.

It was said he had killed three company commanders of the Emperor's Children in an instant.

It was said he had slain the Chosen of Slaanesh, Lucius, twice—each time with a single throat-cutting slash; had it not been for Slaanesh's blessing, Lucius would have been lost to the Warp.

No one knew where Sarokin lurked, nor when he would pull the trigger. Perhaps he stood beside you now; perhaps he would fire the next moment.

The whistle of his steel needle was the cry of the Raven of Doom—but no one save a Primarch ever heard it before death, for his bullets always arrived faster than sound.

Most terrifying of all, it was said Sarokin once declared: he was merely an ordinary Night Lord; many stronger warriors still lived among the Night Lords, all of whom had died on Istvaan.

Thus some whispered that the ghosts of the Night Lords slain on Istvaan clung to Sarokin, waiting to form a shadow legion to avenge the Traitors—hence his terror.

"Bring me my helmet!!" Korvax shrieked; his crew hurriedly brought forward his long-unused rabbit-eared helmet.

As he donned it, feeling his skull encased in ceramite, Korvax felt a sliver of relief.

"How is Sarokin still alive? It's been ten thousand years?!"

Korvax turned to Erebus, who also wore his helmet, and demanded an answer.

"Ha, foolish mortal," Erebus sneered. "To reverse life and death is but a trivial act for the Holy Doraemon. How could you comprehend His power?"

"Well said," Korvax could not resist mocking. "The Holy Doraemon must be on our side, then."

Erebus murmured; a powerful, dreadful incantation surged from the void and stabbed into Korvax's chest. Intense pain surged through him; he screamed, dropping to one knee, trembling violently.

"Petty World Eater, remember this: I am Erebus, Hand of Fate. You are not fit to mock me."

"Show respect, or I shall show you how many blasphemous, dark incantations dwell in my mind."

Korvax lowered his head, refusing to let Erebus see his hatred.

"What will you do? My men cannot resist Sarokin," Korvax growled. "Nor can they resist—"

Through the blood pool, he saw his warriors dying. Without his four lieutenants to command them, they scattered like sand, crushed effortlessly by the forces led by Kaelen and the Space Marine.

Especially that Space Marine—once dismissed by Korvax—who wielded his chainsword as if he had been blessed by the Blood God himself.

Korvax considered: none of his men could stand against them.

Yet Erebus chuckled lowly: "Do you think I rely on your trash?"

"It is time you witnessed the artistry of the Word Bearers' enchantments."

Korvax raised his eyes, puzzled.

He remembered: Erebus had taken many of his World Eater Berserkers—especially those most bloodthirsty, furious, and insane.

Most of them died; only eighty-eight survived. But what use were eighty-eight?

Sensing Korvax's confusion, Erebus chuckled.

He dragged Korvax to the teleporter, murmured a few brief incantations, and commanded the Mistress of the Throne to emit a sharp, piercing roar—yet she could not defy Erebus's will.

The Conqueror's teleport system activated; in seconds, Erebus and Korvax were transported into a dark chamber reeking of blood.

Korvax smelled the Warp—dangerous, lethal, chilling to the bone.

Before him stood eighty-eight cages.

"Korvax, do you know of a great creation among servants of the Blood God?"

"They have mastered a technique to bind eight powerful Khorne demons within a single World Eater. Their souls battle the demons, and the victor is possessed simultaneously by all eight, becoming a powerful, terrifying monster—we call it the Eightfold Binding."

Most cages opened before Korvax; a horde of grotesque, flesh-warped, demon-like World Eaters stood before him, radiating terrifying bloodlust.

"But that is not all. If the Eightfold Binding grows strong enough to fully subdue the eight bloodthirsty demons and merge completely with them, reaching the level of the Blessed Sons of old, we call it the Divine Eightfold Binding."

Eight Divine Eightfold Bindings, their flesh grotesquely distorted, more demon than human, stepped from cages spewing blood mist.

"But I am the true master of this art. I have created something far more astonishing."

The final cage slowly opened; a horrifying stench of blood surged into Korvax's nostrils. His body trembled instinctively, his soul flooded with dread, his blood nearly boiling as he fought the urge to scream.

"I call this enchanted warrior the Butcher-Bound. Within his flesh, I have imprisoned the Great Daemon of Khorne, the Blood Lord."

(End of Chapter)