This is our Warhammer journey

Chapter 299 The Demon's True Name

The story begins with an illusion.

The air was distorted, reality was peeling away like torn parchment, and the smell of sulfur and rotting flesh filled the void.

Stoffel saw a monster.

The gargoyle-like head had curved horns on both sides, like thorns forged from black iron.

Its tough black wings slowly unfurled behind it, the wing membranes taut and making a sound like leather rubbing together, while claws protruded from the wingtips, making its posture even more ferocious.

With each breath it exhaled a cloud of murky smoke, and sparks of sulfur flickered between its teeth.

Those eyes, a demonic yellow, seemed like molten gold soaked in a corrupt soul, staring intently ahead.

Its body was shrouded in a blood-red halo of steam, the mist churning and occasionally revealing distorted faces, shrieking silently.

Even more bizarrely, the blood seeping from its wounds was mixed with a sacred silver, as if some contradictory curse, allowing it to grin maliciously and ignore the pain inflicted by those false emperor's lackeys.

Stoffel recognized the creature.

It is not an ordinary demon, nor one of those inferior creations arbitrarily coined by chaos.

It is a greater being.

The ultimate creation forged from the complete fusion of mortal flesh and blood, boiling emotions, and inflated ambition with the essence of the devil.

It is an eight-layered brass Stoflet.

He is the Demon Prince.

Stoffel's fingertips trembled, not from fear, but from some kind of twisted resonance.

It was as if the same flames were burning beneath his skin.

That's it!
He is completely different from before!
Boom!

The wasteland trembled beneath my feet, and the cracked earth stretched out in all directions like dried-up blood vessels.

Blood flowed between the cracks, pooling into viscous streams that stained the broken rocks a dark red. Black smoke rising from the earth's crust, carrying the stench of sulfur, dyed the sky a murky orange, as if this plain had long been dragged into the realm of demons.

Tick ​​tock~tick tock~
Blood dripped from the gaps between the armor plates, and the iron boots stepped into the pool of blood, creating ripples.

The war dog, Hal, walked slowly forward.

"Blood sacrifice to the Blood God!"

The roar tore through the thick smoke.

A World Eater champion burst forth from the churning mist, the crimson paint of his Ironclad Terminator armor gleaming in the firelight.

His posture was so agile, his charge was unimpeded, the heavy armor seemed to have become one with his flesh and blood, and every step he took made the ground crack, like a beast covered in steel.

boom!
The shrill scream of twisted steel mingled with the muffled thud of shattering bones. A powerful punch swept across, tearing a body apart completely. Limbs were flung into the air by the impact, and blood mist sprayed in brief arcs through the air, bursting with an exceptionally shrill sound as it ripped through the thick smoke.

The war dog, Hal, walked slowly forward.

Tick ​​tock~tick tock~
Minced flesh and clotted blood slid down his knee pads.

He stepped into the pool of blood.

A demon prince was lying there in a sorry state.

Its sharp, hard horn, like a blade, had broken off.

The bones that make up its body shattered and flipped out along the area of ​​its skull hit by the powerful punch, cutting through flesh and blood. Silver blood flowing from the cracks all over its body had filled the deep pit that held it.

"I don't have time to reminisce with you."

The warhound's steel-like fingers dug into the demon prince's shattered skull, making a teeth-grinding squeaking sound, and lifted him up.

Its body, which was once as large and robust as an ant-cow, now looked like a pig with its bones removed.

"Tell me, where is he? And what new name has his new owner given him?"

The warhound exhaled white mist, which scraped against the demon prince's nearly shattered cheek, and silver blood flowed from its seven orifices.

"Company Commander Stoffel of the Eighth Company of the World Eaters."

The demon prince's mangled body suddenly convulsed, hissing as if stung by the name of a mortal, his broken claws scratching unconsciously at the pool of blood.

The twisted XII Legion logo on the bronze shoulder armor had been reshaped by the influence of chaos into a veritable maw, from which steam and blood flowed, and the gaping maw was muttering something.

“We’re no different now, Hal.” “Heh~”

The war dog sneered.

He ignored the Fallen One's provocations, turned around, his steel boots crushing the broken bones as he dragged the mangled body toward the army formation.

This wasteland, tainted by Khwarazm, is twisted and dangerous.

The air was filled with a crimson mist that smelled of rust, and in the distance came the incessant battle cries and the hallucination of clashing weapons.

Hal looked up and saw blood droplets seeping from the rock wall above slowly condensing, dyeing the entire dome a sickly dark red, stretching into the endless distance.

The most bizarre thing is the distortion of space. From the outside, it looks like an altar covering only a few square kilometers, but once you step inside, it becomes an endless battlefield.

The Empire's most advanced scanning array was completely unable to detect the anomaly here, as if the entire area had been torn apart from reality by some force.

Hal mechanically adjusted the black stone device on his arm, and as the pointer rotated counterclockwise, the churning blood mist around him dispersed like the receding tide, revealing the faint outline of steel ahead.

A camp that has been fortified.

The golden-red Primarch stood still on the central platform, his gaze fixed on the crimson vortex that was constantly twisting in the air.

Grey knights would occasionally leap out of the vortex, each escorting a roaring and struggling Khorne demon. Then, these demons, howling in fear, would be dragged into an invisible cage the moment they got close.

The Primarch remained focused, seemingly analyzing something as if dissecting it to find clues.

"Lord Ramses."

He spoke to the focused Primarch.

"Fortunately, I did not disgrace my life."

The demon prince, who resembled a lump of mud, was thrown at Ramses's feet.

'I knew it. '

Ramses felt that his decision to spend money and acquire several loyalists from the rebel legions was correct.

The connections among these Legion members allowed them to better identify their objectives, but Ramses carefully considered the candidates due to the Primarch's influence.

"It's troublesome."

Ramses signaled to the Shield Guard captain, who was overseeing the communication device, to recall all the Grey Knights heading into the rift. Ramses placed his hand back on Stofflet's upturned forehead, and the latter once again hissed with steam and let out a painful roar.

Among the rituals passed down among the Grey Knights is one that allows one to glimpse the true name of a fallen demon.

The true name of a great demon is crucial to its life.

It's like a group of netizens surfing the internet in the physical universe. It's fine to use pseudonyms normally, but if their real names are exposed, they are easily exposed in the subspace.

Moreover, you may not even know the true identities of those who exist in your real life. After your real name is called out, you may experience terrifying situations such as fear, being unable to move when in danger, or being verbally manipulated by the other party.

Therefore, for a great demon, the importance of their true name undoubtedly holds the highest priority.

Of course, the demon's real name is not the commonly used names like Kabanha or Carlos.

The demon's true name is more like a stream of consciousness. You need to use your own consciousness to describe a precise interpretation of a great demon. These will be its most important memories. Then, you need to pronounce them in a way that ordinary people cannot say in order to have an effect on the great demon.

The Grey Knights, on the other hand, are able to glean glimpses of the Great Demon's true name by establishing connections with witnesses to important events in the Great Demon's life.

The existence of a Greater Demon whose history predates that of humans is purely a matter of luck, while the Primarchs of Demons have a much easier time because their history is verifiable.

For example, Angron.

Even if others don't know Ramses, don't they?

Nukelia is the battleground where the unfortunate Angron was ultimately forced to sacrifice his soul to Khorne.

And now.

Ramses gazed at the dying demon prince at his feet.

Because of the existence of the fragments, Ramses was also able to find witnesses to what happened at that time.

"tell me."

Ramses looked directly into the other man's eyes, his pupils gleaming with a brilliant golden light.

"Everything you know."

(End of this chapter)