"AAARGH—!"
A blood-curdling shriek pierced the material universe, its shockwaves reverberating through the Warp.
"How is this possible?!" The Supreme Overlord recoiled violently, escaping from beneath the arc of the blade, his eyes filled with utter disbelief.
His authority over intangible distortion had completely failed to function.
Just moments ago, he had silently activated his divine authority, seeking a decisive, single-strike victory.
In that fraction of a second, intangible force had seeped from the Warp into reality to alter the God-Slayer's perception, creating an opening for a guaranteed lethal blow.
Yet everything that transpired in reality reduced his scheme to ashes.
Treading upon dark authority, the God-Slayer wielded his broadsword with unwavering focus, severing three of the Overlord's tentacles in a single stroke.
Evidently, that power—which had altered the Master of Mankind's perceptions countless times in the Warp with unyielding success—had lost all efficacy here.
"A crude trick," the Crucible flashed with deadly brilliance as Blazkowicz's eyes remained crystal clear: "You cannot shake the will of a warrior."
His advance was relentless and fearless. With every step he took, the intangible force dissolved a fraction more.
The Supreme Overlord's authority could not rattle Blazkowicz's resolve, confidence, or absolute intent to kill.
"EXCELLENT!" Khorne's war drums beat relentlessly as the god let out a roar of pure delight.
A warrior. The Blood God favored true warriors, treating a warrior's unyielding will as a supreme treasure. Those souls possessing unbending resolve and chests burning with sheer courage were the brilliant spirits Khorne cherished most.
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"NO!" Incapable of enduring such humiliation, the Supreme Overlord spread his lower tentacles wide as his majestic psychic force descended in an instant.
An intangible gravitational pressure crushed down—a tens of thousands of times greater force than any Rangdan Overlord could ever muster—slamming onto Blazkowicz's entire body.
The Archon armor let out a metallic groan under the unbearable strain, internal telemetry data jumping frantically as if he had been cast onto the surface of a neutron star.
The ground shuddered beneath his boots; the stars themselves seemed struck dumb.
Atomic bonds within the Archon armor snapped and its outer plating disintegrated, shedding from Blazkowicz's frame like grains of sand.
His footing stumbled, a muffled grunt escaping his lips as his bones popped and crackled violently.
Yet he did not fall. Under the ever-increasing mental pressure, he stood tall with sword in hand, locking his eyes on his foe, taking step after step toward the Supreme Overlord.
His skin cracked open, droplets of blood bursting through.
His spine remained ramrod straight as both hands gripped the Crucible, the depths of his dark eyes burning with indestructible resolve.
With shrieking souls echoing in his ears like vengeful specters, the Crucible cleaved down, striking the soul whip head-on. At the point of impact, Warp tears tore open into the void.
The whip wailed as tens of millions of soul-forms were instantly obliterated. The Crucible hummed eagerly, a swallowing sound echoing from within as its blade blazed three shades brighter.
The Supreme Overlord tilted his head, unable to believe that his will—potent enough to crush a planet—could not collapse the physical shell of a single demigod.
By all logical rules, a demigod's true power resided in their authority—the Warp-born will capable of birthing or snuffing out universes at whim. The physical vessel was merely a shell, an anchor to channel Warp majesty; it had no right to be this resilient.
He had been confident that even if the Master of Mankind stood before him, a direct strike of this mental pressure would render him utterly immobile.
Yet now, the situation had spiraled completely out of control.
A glint of decisive resolve flashed in the Supreme Overlord's eyes. Taking immediate action, he recalled his mental pressure and retreated once more.
The moment the pressure vanished, Blazkowicz transformed into a streak of light in pursuit, breaking through successive sonic boom clouds in his wake.
The Archon armor repaired itself continuously through Old Tech mechanisms.
Clashes echoed across the arena without pause, layers of metal colliding upon metal.
To mortal eyes, specific movements were impossible to track; time itself seemed to lose all meaning.
Divine artifacts clashed as demigods roared, dark authority colliding head-on with genuine fury.
The Supreme Overlord wielded endless repertoire: god-like psychic phenomena, a mind casting Warp sorcery at whim—frost, fire, lightning, storm, time, and space. Spells beyond mortal imagination required no incantations for a demigod, invoked with a mere thought.
Yet Blazkowicz feared none of it. As his war-boots slammed down, frost yielded, storms ceased, fire flickered out, and lightning dispersed.
Time failed to bind his stride—the past could not be revisited, the future was never fixed, and only the present truly existed.
When space collapsed into traps, Blazkowicz anchored himself firmly to the material universe; fragments remade themselves under his feet as the void became his new stepping stone.
Swinging the Crucible with both hands, every single attack forced the Supreme Overlord to retreat in fear.
Blazkowicz used no dazzling psychic spells, nor did he wish to reveal the Words of Creation before the four gods. Step by step, he advanced with brute strength and absolute will, countering every method the demigod fielded to search for a fatal flaw in the duel.
"GIVE IT TO ME!"
The Void Dragon shrieked in glee, snatching the tail end of the Warp artifact.
The soul whip dared not clash head-on with the Crucible, yet it turned into a fatal vulnerability, seized eagerly by the deity of the physical realm.
The shoulder-mounted cannon locked on instantly, erupting with a sudden gravitational pull.
Containing the Nightbringer scythe fragment's concept of the Reaper harvesting souls, the shoulder cannon could siphon spirits through it!
A ten-thousandth of a second—unnoticeable to a mortal—represented a golden opportunity to two demigods.
The whip contorted like an elusive serpent, having evaded the Crucible's strikes countless times, only to be bound by the soul suction force.
As if its vital point had been seized, the trajectory of the whip's head shifted ever so slightly across the void.
Ever so slightly was more than enough for Blazkowicz.
With lightning speed, he reached out and grabbed the soul whip, ignoring the agony tearing into his spirit. Wrapping it around his left forearm, he yanked it backward with brutal force!
Raising his right hand, the Crucible hummed with a cruel snarl, cleaving down toward the bewildered Supreme Overlord.
The Overlord snapped back to reality, dark fog swirling around his form as he sought to execute another instant teleportation to escape the cursed blade.
Regrettably, how could he evade a blow Blazkowicz had calculated so meticulously?
In that fleeting instant, the Supreme Overlord found himself utterly unable to teleport, watching helplessly as the sword bit into his body.
Foul blood sprayed.
The Crucible shattered the dark mist shield, slicing through space as it cleaved diagonally through the Supreme Overlord's body from top to bottom.
The crimson edge opened skin and vaporized the dark energy within his flesh, cutting through soft brain matter to conceptually erase that portion of the victim's body.
From right to left, top to bottom. The wound through the center of his brain stretched to his right eye, severing a substantial portion of his body.
"WHAT A SPLENDID STRIKE!"
The daemon hordes roared in appreciation, praising an attack that achieved the pinnacle of skill through sheer tactical cunning.
Beneath the firmament, the Supreme Overlord could not suppress his agonizing pain as the god-slaying curse radiated from the wound, piercing directly into his demigod mind.
He was forced to relinquish his hold on the soul whip, initiating a dark blink to escape Blazkowicz's attack range.
"WHY?!"
He materialized a thousand meters away, his twisted voice trembling with pain.
The Supreme Overlord could not comprehend why, in that crucial fraction of a second, he had been unable to invoke his authority to warp his position and execute a teleport.
Blazkowicz shook the foul blood from the Crucible, wrapping the soul whip firmly around his left hand to prevent his foe from reclaiming it through other means.
He would never inform the Supreme Overlord that wherever his touch reached, psionics, sorcery, and even dark authority ceased to exist.
If the demigod's arrogance had kept him from ever understanding his foe, then let him pay the price!
Receiving no answer, the Supreme Overlord heard only the dripping of his own blood amidst the roaring of the daemon army.
When his tentacles had been severed earlier, he had attempted countless methods: wounds inflicted by that cursed blade could not be restored by any means.
The very concept of "body" had been stripped from his being.
Even if he committed suicide to be reborn or abandoned his present vessel for a new one, a portion of his physical form remained permanently mutilated.
Gazing at the sword-wielding figure in the distance, a desire to flee surged within his heart for the very first time.
Warp sorcery failed, his authority could not break the warrior's will, and despite possessing endless tactics, he could deploy none of them.
The Supreme Overlord was not so arrogant as to believe he could slay a combat-specialized demigod through sheer physical strength alone.
"USELESS TRASH!"
Khorne kicked aside his bone war drums. Sensing the emotion of fleeing manifest within the glorious arena, he deemed a coward unworthy of his drumbeats.
High above the heavens, the Blood God spat forth a river of crimson light into physical reality, outpacing even the golden radiance to enclose the entire arena.
Unlike the Emperor's containment strategy, Khorne simply could not tolerate a coward escaping from right under his nose.
Beyond the red barrier of light, a golden forcefield descended as well—the Emperor would never allow the Supreme Overlord to leave alive.
And it did not end there.
A blue magical barrier, a purple hazy mist, and a nauseating green rot-ring descended in unison, sealing off every single avenue of escape.
Reflecting the colorful, mottled barriers in his eyes, the Supreme Overlord stood in utter disbelief, his floating body staggering backward.
Before the battle began, he had believed the four gods wished to observe a divine duel to watch how an ascendant god would triumph over a human demigod.
Now, the cold reality laid bare a single truth: they simply wanted him dead.
Indeed, the Supreme Overlord's performance had stripped the gods of all interest.
Had he died a glorious death in combat, the Chaos Gods would have held him in some regard. Courage was not exclusive to Khorne—it was the prerequisite for testing all things.
Yet he had sought to run.
In the eyes of the gods, an ascendant entity possessing authority over intangible distortion who turned to flee had forfeited all right to stand alongside them.
"DOOM SLAYER!!!"
High above the firmament, Khorne bellowed his name aloud.
His voice rang out with boundless fury, his sharp, brass-gauntleted index finger pointing straight at the ascendant god, longing to slay the coward with his own hands.
"CLEAVE THAT VILE COWARD TO PIECES!"
The hound-headed god of war had suffered a wild rollercoaster of emotions—a demigod battle brimming with glory, utterly ruined by sheer cowardice!