An ear-piercing communications alarm blared as desperate screams echoed across the line from a frontline observation post on the verge of collapse.
"Behind us! There are Krieg forces behind us! The Death Legion is attacking from the rear!!"
The commanders, who had just been cheering the repulsion of the most loyal and fearless frontal assault by the Krieg Death Corps, suddenly froze.
Krieg forces attacking from behind? What did that even mean?
"That's impossible!!" shouted one of the commanders, Jala, as he shoved aside the staff officer beside him.
He rushed to the communications station, grabbed the comms officer by the collar, and roared threateningly.
"Our rear is right next to the fortress core! How could a bunch of Krieg outlaws possibly appear behind us? Even if the Corpse-King himself came, that would be impossible."
The comms officer, whose face was etched with chaotic runes, turned pale and began trembling as he switched to live footage.
"That's… a tunnel. They used tunnels to get behind us. Between the third underground warehouse sector and the eastern barracks, a massive hole suddenly appeared."
"Krieg 261st Regiment soldiers and tanks are pouring out of it nonstop."
Jala and the other commanders rushed to the screen. In the footage, a wide tunnel sloped downward where solid ground had once been, disappearing into the earth. Krieg Death Legion soldiers emerged in their signature gas masks and heavy gray greatcoats.
They marched out of the dark tunnel in orderly, swift steps, like a silent legion of ghosts returned from hell. The moment they appeared, they swiftly formed combat formations. Gunfire and the roar of molten metal instantly overwhelmed the rebels' meager rear resistance.
Reports flooded in about the fall of various fortress and tunnel strongpoints. The Krieg forces were tearing through the defensive lines at terrifying speed.
When were these tunnels dug? How could there have been no sound at all? Where were the underground sensors? Where were the detection arrays?
Another rebel commander screamed in despair and slammed his fist into the control panel. His knuckles split and blood flowed.
Their meticulously built defenses—outward-facing barbed wire, minefields, crossfire kill zones—had all been rendered useless in an instant by an attack from the sector's heart.
...
"Hahaha! Feel despair, you cursed heretics. By the Emperor's will, I shall punish you."
Colonel Tyrock stood atop the roof of a Chimera troop carrier, barely holding back laughter. War had never been this easy. If you couldn't break the enemy's defensive line from the front, just bypass it underground.
In an excited voice, Tyrock raised a blood-stained entrenching shovel and issued orders to all the Krieg soldiers.
"For the Emperor and for atonement—let the purge begin. Not a single soul shall survive."
Behind Tyrock, the silent Krieg soldiers surged forward like a gray tidal wave. Their fire was precise and efficient. Lasguns delivered pinpoint shots that dropped enemies behind cover one after another. Meltaguns' scorching beams melted fortresses and the traitors hiding inside.
Once it came to close quarters, the Krieg displayed chilling ruthlessness. Without hesitation they drew their entrenching tools. Those primitive implements became terrifying weapons in their hands. Bayonets clashed violently, scattering ear-piercing sparks. Each swing was heavy and powerful, often splitting both man and helmet in two.
Amid the chaos, Datch and the creatures he had summoned escalated the war into a surreal carnival in the blink of an eye.
Zarhulash floated in the air. With every gesture, he unleashed thick, faint beams carrying the laws of material decomposition that swept across the battlefield. Wherever the beams struck—rebel soldiers, bunkers, even light vehicles—everything vanished as if an eraser had wiped away pencil marks. They quietly turned into the most basic dust particles, leaving only smooth, scorched grooves in the ground.
Skarbrand, once the most ferocious and bloodthirsty war-mad daemon, had now become an Imperial butcher. He raised his head, let out a soul-shaking roar, and flapped his wings, plunging into the densest part of the enemy lines. In his hands he gripped a massive battle-axe blazing with undying flames of hatred. With every swing, a storm of blood and metal erupted, turning the area into a bloody slaughter. Severed limbs and wreckage flew in all directions like a downpour. The ground beneath their feet was instantly soaked in thick, sticky crimson liquid.
The Masque of Slaanesh, once the favored servant of the Prince of Pleasure, danced gracefully amid the pouring gunfire. Her beautiful yet eerie long dress fluttered in the air. With every spin and gesture, indescribable psychic energy surged forth. Caught in this turmoil, the rebels' eyes quickly went blank, confused, and finally descended into madness. They turned their guns on their own comrades, screaming meaningless cries, only to be killed by their own side or struck by stray shots.
The Changeling entity floated in the air and let out its characteristic laugh. With a casual wave of its scepter, vast stretches of land spontaneously ignited in blue and red flames of unnaturally high-temperature magic. These flames did not merely burn life—they burned souls, inflicting even more horrific agony on the traitors before death.
The combat style of the Life Angel, Orange, stood in complete contrast to the savagery surrounding her. Wooden sword in hand, she lightly dashed through the enemy lines. From the corpses slain by her wooden sword sprouted vibrant yet lethally fragrant strange vines. These vines then attacked nearby enemies, using their corpses to expand their numbers. These plants drained the host's life force at astonishing speed, allowing the host to complete its own life cycle.
Pugh, this great life form of the future, did not participate in the battle. It hopped around the edge of the battlefield, searching for heavily wounded Krieg soldiers lying quietly on the ground awaiting death.
The Krieg had never valued their own lives. They would lay them down without hesitation even for the slightest gain. The gravely wounded Krieg soldiers did not cry out. They understood perfectly that their injuries gave them no right to demand treatment. To die peacefully was the Emperor's final mercy.
Pugh did not abandon them. He stopped beside the wounded, cried "Pugh! Pugh!", and released emerald-green life energy with both hands to heal the Krieg soldiers. Broken bones mended at visible speed. Torn muscles regenerated. Pale faces regained color.
The healed Krieg soldiers quietly stood up and gave Pugh a solemn salute. Without hesitation they took up their weapons again and charged back into the flames of steel and flesh.
Datch himself rode a burning mechanical warhorse like a moving source of calamity. The horse's hooves left short trails of golden flame along its charge path. Every time he swung his warhammer, lightning mixed with flame unleashed a destructive energy explosion that instantly cleared the surroundings.
With this comprehensive, multifaceted, and utterly incomprehensible assault, the rebels' morale completely collapsed.
With Datch and his summoned creatures' help, Colonel Tyrock's 261st Regiment advanced at astonishing speed. The first defensive line crumbled in moments, shocking even the Imperial forces. They had estimated it would take six months to a year to breach the first line. Yet not that much time had passed, and the 261st had already completed its mission.
When the news reached Imperial High Command, Inquisitor Grephax received the report while rehearsing the next phase of the attack plan. She was stunned by the 261st's breakthrough. She only regained her composure when she learned that the Nameless One had appeared on the Frass battlefield.
If the Nameless One was present, breaching the defensive line became ridiculously easy.
"My Nameless One Lord, what is he doing here?" Grephax asked the communications officer, but received no answer.
This Inquisitor, known for her competence and decisiveness, immediately decided to head to the front lines. She stood up abruptly and ordered her adjutant.
"Future military operations will be commanded by the Military Staff Department. Assemble the Stormtroopers at once. I am heading to the battlefield."
The outcome of this battle was already set in stone. The moment the Nameless One appeared, the scales of victory tipped toward the Imperium.
When Grephax arrived at the newly breached first defensive line with her honor guard, there was no sign of the Nameless One. The Inquisitor only saw the neatly edged underground passage that had appeared behind the enemy lines.
At that moment, Imperial soldiers were pouring through the tunnel into the fortress's weak points. The rebels' meticulously built defenses had become a joke. The Imperials attacked from within, destroying gun emplacements and shield generators one after another, rendering them inoperable.
The once-arrogant rebels were now trapped like turtles in a bottle, struggling in despair. Even if a few brave individuals could temporarily withstand the gray tide of Krieg, the subsequent Primaris Space Marines would crush them with overwhelming force. These improved Imperial Angels were faster, possessed greater firepower, and had more seamless tactical coordination—game-changers for the rebels.
Just as the Imperial forces advanced unstoppable, about to breach the final fortress, the battlefield situation suddenly changed.
From deep within the fortress, an evil energy beam shot toward the sky, spreading a malevolent aura. The sky was instantly covered in swirling, foul-smelling clouds. The air filled with the stench of sulfur and decay.
A portal to the depths of the Warp opened in empty space. Countless chaotic daemons—twisted in form, grotesque in their roars—from the lowliest horrifying daemons and bloodletters to far larger skull-crushers and lords of calamity—surged toward the Imperial forces like sewage bursting from a broken dam, launching one final counterattack.
Their leader was a colossal Daemon Prince named Uraka, with flaming wings on his back and chaotic energy swirling around him. He brandished a massive lava sword and let out an earth-shaking roar.
"Wretched humans, tremble before true power! Taste—"
The Daemon Prince's roar suddenly stopped. His gaze swept across the chaotic battlefield and locked onto Skarbrand and the Masque of Slaanesh. The pair were effortlessly carving through the daemon horde and traitors.
Uraka's eyes, burning with chaotic flame, suddenly contracted, reflecting terror rather than battle lust.
The next moment, this terrifying Daemon Prince who had come to bring despair to humanity did something that left every cultist and lesser daemon speechless. He turned without hesitation, gave the signal to retreat, and flapped his burning wings. Without looking back, he swiftly returned to the portal he had come from.
Seeing this, Skarbrand roared, "Coward! Shameless coward! Face me!"
The Masque of Slaanesh spun gracefully and glanced with contempt at the fleeing Daemon Prince. "You're even afraid to fight?"
Uraka ignored them and fled even faster.
The leading Daemon Prince and his entire force fled. Most lesser daemons lacked intelligence but possessed strong instincts and obedience to superiors. They were initially stunned, then let out a chaotic chorus of howls and frantically retreated after Uraka like a receding tide. Some trampled each other in the disorderly scene.
The daemon army withdrew far faster and in greater chaos than when it had charged onto the battlefield.
"What… what is happening??"
The cultists watched with expressions of terror and confusion. In the past, once daemons were summoned, they never left until they had wiped out all life on the world. Why were they acting so strangely today? They had only just arrived on the battlefield and already wanted to leave.
A Chaos Sorcerer in tattered robes covered in chaotic runes rushed toward the retreating daemon horde.
"Great servants of the gods! Victory was within reach—why have you left? Come back! We are prepared to offer even greater sacrifices!"
Uraka extended his spiked daemon claw and smashed the Chaos Wizard into a bloody pulp.
"Out of the way, fools! Do you want to join hands with the Corpse-King's lackeys to kill us?!"
Uraka did not fear Skarbrand or the Masque of Slaanesh. What truly terrified him was the unfathomable black hand behind the two.
An agreement had been reached in the Subspace today. The Lord of Absurdity was an incomprehensible, unpredictable, and insurmountable existence. This man had no name, no past, and no future. His actions were illogical. Though he existed in the real world, he was unbound by any laws of reality or the Immaterium.
Even with the help of the other three Chaos Gods, the Architect of Fate himself could find no records concerning this opponent. The enemy's power was terrifying. When the four Chaos Gods combined their strength, they could paralyze the Emperor on the Golden Throne. Though they suffered great losses, they had at least halted the Emperor's advance. As a result, in the battle against the Plague, the Nameless One had easily defeated the four Chaos Gods.
After receiving blessings, Mortarion was mercilessly beaten by Guilliman, causing even the four Chaos Gods to begin questioning their own purpose.
Now, the King of Absurdity was regarded as the protagonist of horror stories in the Warp. When a little daemon is noisy, what do you do? Just talk to it. At night, the Lord of Absurdity will come, catch the crying little daemon, and scare it so badly it will never make a sound again.
In short, it is better to provoke the Four Gods than to provoke the Nameless One. If you fall into their hands, you will either be treated like a dog or fed to their dogs as dog food. If you don't act now, it will truly be too late later.
Grephax had just arrived at the front lines. They happened to witness the daemon army panicking and fleeing. The Inquisitor instantly realized this had to be the work of the Nameless One. Only that side could terrify so many daemons into fleeing.
"My Nameless One Lord, what exactly have you been doing in the Warp these days?" Grephax muttered to herself, her voice filled with awe and curiosity.
For daemonic support to be so psychologically damaged was unprecedented in history. Without daemonic support, the remaining rebels could offer no resistance at all. They rapidly collapsed before the Imperium's overwhelming military might. The fortress fell completely, followed by large-scale purges.
The instigators of the rebellion—Bishop Saban—and the searched soldiers were dragged from their hiding places, stripped of their fine clothes, and taken to makeshift execution platforms. In front of countless Imperial soldiers and civilians, Inquisitor Grephax personally read out the charges. The criminals were then bound and burned alive.
The Battle Sisters and Imperial bureaucrats imprisoned in the underground cells were released, honored, and given medical treatment.
The Imperium's double-headed eagle flag flew atop the highest point of Frass Fortress.
At that moment, Datch also received the mission completion notification.
[Mission Completed: Support Colonel Tyrock, break through the rebel lines, and eliminate the traitors.]
[Quest Rewards: 1000 EXP, 1000 Points, Reputation +80]
Having received the rewards, Datch did not hesitate for a second. He immediately took out his teleport gun and left the world newly ravaged by blood and flame.
When Grephax arrived, she witnessed him stepping into the teleport portal.
No, at least wait for me. Let's talk for a bit.
The Inquisitor stood frozen on the battlefield, bewildered. I've been ignored again.
...
…
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