Chapter 425

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Protagonist:

Lin En

Lena

The factory fell back into dead silence, only Quake's heavy breathing echoing in the spacious workshop.

He stood in the center of the debris-strewn floor, the crimson radiance around him flickering bright and dim, the crimson in his eyes surging ceaselessly, the last trace of clarity rapidly dissipating.

At the temporary command point outside the factory, Bishop Jansen's hand gripping a string of rose rosary beads suddenly tightened.

The silver rose pendant in his palm, bound to Agnes's life, split open with a fine crack without any warning.

A trace of gray deathly aura seeped from the crack, stabbing pain into the Bishop's skin.

"Agnes..." Bishop Jansen's voice sank, carrying a thread of heartache.

He didn't need to ask to know — the Eighth Squad had met with disaster.

"Tenth Reserve Squad, immediately breach Factory No. 8! Objective: destroy the Core Altar, at any cost!"

He made a snap decision, turning to order the reserve force standing by behind him.

This reserve force, composed of one hundred fifty elite Combat Nuns and Iron Guard veterans.

Originally the trump card for unexpected situations, it now had to be played prematurely.

But it was already too late.

Just as the Tenth Squad had only just rushed to the factory doorway, not yet having had time to search for traces of the Eighth Squad, a pale blue light pillar shot skyward from the dome of Factory No. 8.

The light pillar pierced through the factory roof, the thick concrete layers, straight into the heavy night sky, desecrating Brevis's sky curtain.

The air around the light pillar began to distort; visible Warp energy spread outward like ripples, and even distant streetlamps began to flicker bright and dim.

Bishop Jansen's face paled several shades in an instant.

"Something's wrong." Colonel William stood at his side, hand gripping his boltgun with veins bulging, voice carrying a thread of forced composure.

"Tzeentch's sacred number is nine; nine altars are needed to form a complete ritual array."

"We've already destroyed eight; only the last one succeeded — it shouldn't be able to exert full power, right?"

Bishop Jansen nodded silently, his rosary beads turning rapidly in his hand.

He thought the same in his heart.

Powerful rituals have always been exacting — numbers, orientations, sacrifice counts, not one can be missing.

Eight minus one, the grand array shouldn't amount to much; at most a localized Warp disaster.

Or summon a slightly smaller rift; at worst a few more waves of demons surge out — grit your teeth and it can still be suppressed.

"Hope so." He said softly, as if comforting William, more like comforting himself.

But this fluke ultimately could not be maintained.

The first abnormality appeared at Factory No. 3, farthest from Factory No. 8.

The factory district ground, long since purified and supposed to be dead silent, suddenly began to tremble faintly.

Immediately after, Factory No. 5, No. 2, No. 4.

The remaining seven factories, together with the eight factory districts whose altars had been wrecked, simultaneously lit up with pale blue witchcraft runes on the ground.

"What's going on?! Weren't the altars destroyed?!" William shouted in shock.

Bishop Jansen's heart sank violently; a terrifying conjecture flashed into his mind, turning his whole body ice-cold.

No.

Could it be not "series", but "parallel"?!

The cunning Chaos Great Enemy calculated from the start that the nine altars could not take effect simultaneously.

Or rather, she never counted on all nine altars succeeding.

What she wanted was: as long as one altar could hold out until the ritual completed, it could trigger all nodes!

The nine altars aren't nine keys that must be gathered to unlock a lock, but nine independent switches — press any one, and the whole machine activates.

"She successfully deceived us all." Bishop Jansen murmured, face ashen.

"Destroying eight altars was completely useless; as long as one succeeded, it was enough."

Before his words fell, the core areas of all nine factories simultaneously tore open Warp rifts.

Not tiny cracks, but huge maws several meters in diameter — like nine giant mouths gaping open, generating terrifying suction.

Everything in the factories that could still move — aberrant corpses, surviving mutants, believer remains that hadn't evacuated in time.

Including disembodied souls — all were hauled up by an invisible force, swarming toward the rifts.

Those Chaos believer corpses just killed by the Purification Squads, those charred aberrant remains, even the fallen Imperial soldiers' bodies — all were sucked into the rifts.

Souls and flesh alike were shredded, turning into the purest Warp nutrients, pouring into the underground ritual network.

Simultaneously, the soil layers beneath the nine factories began to heave violently, as if some colossal creature was writhing underground.

Thick, blood-vessel-like flesh tissues drilled out from the rock layers, dark red outer walls pulsing, spreading outward like plant root systems.

These vascular tissues varied in thickness — the thickest comparable to macro cannon barrels, the thinnest as thick as a human arm.

They pierced concrete, bored through underground pipe networks, carrying the absorbed nutrients, converging toward the central area encircled by the nine factories.

Nine main root systems intertwined madly underground at the central point, fusing, swelling.

The ground undulated like waves, heaving upward; mud and gravel were flung flying in all directions.

In mere minutes, a gigantic tumor nearly a hundred meters in diameter burst from the earth, growing to ten stories tall before stopping.

The tumor was dark purple all over, its surface covered in protruding blood vessels and pustules, constantly contracting and expanding with each pulse — like a gigantic beating heart.

Viscous bodily fluids ran down the surface of the tumor, dripping onto the ground and giving off a stench.

"Open fire! All guns open fire!" Colonel William roared the order.

The Iron Guard heavy cannon positions, already in place, instantly roared to life.

High-explosive shells, incendiary shells, purification shells rained down on the massive tumor like raindrops; the explosions' firelight connected into one piece, and the soaring smoke nearly obscured the night sky.

The State Religion pastors chanted the purification prayer in unison, gilding the bullets fired within the area with a layer of golden light.

Upon impact, they sparked clusters of golden flames on the tumor's epidermis.

But it was useless.

The explosions' shockwaves could only blast open the surface flesh of the tumor, yet the next second, newly born flesh buds would surge out madly, repairing the wounds at a speed ten times faster than the destruction.

Where the golden flames scorched, there was a sizzling sound and black smoke rose, yet the tumor not only did not wither, but instead seemed stimulated, its swelling speed becoming even faster.

Conventional firepower simply could not stop it.

Bishop Jansen closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and when he opened them again, only resolve remained in his gaze.

He raised his hand to connect to the Governor's Mansion's encrypted communication channel, his voice steady yet carrying a trace of urgency:

"Madam Isud, the Eighth Conscription Camp ritual has gone uncontrolled, a giant flesh aberrant body has formed, conventional firepower and purification methods are ineffective."

"We need orbital strike support!"

Isud on the other end of the communication did not hesitate: "Approved."

"I have already contacted the Brevis Expedition Fleet; Brigadier General Griffith's warship has already adjusted its orbital parameters."

"The Light Spear requires charging time; it will arrive at the target coordinates in thirty seconds."

The Nurgle Fleet main force in the space battlefield has already collapsed, the remaining ships are being hunted down, and orbital firepower can finally spare a hand to support the ground.