Warhammer 40K in a box

Chapter 282 The Betrayal of the Demon Prince

Ahriman stood in the center of the sealed sanctuary, cold psionic runes flowing around him, shimmering like stars.

He stared at the demonic battle axe suspended above the magic circle—the sealed axe of a bloodthirsty madman was still restless, the crimson energy on the blade twisting and surging like a living thing, constantly colliding with the dark blue chains that bound it, emitting a piercing buzz.

Each impact caused the air inside the sanctuary to tremble, as if the entire building was bearing some kind of invisible pressure.

The Tribunal's purification forces have begun clearing out the remaining rebels in the hive, the roar of automatic guns and the battle cry of "For the Emperor" echoing through the narrow metal alleyways.

The battle nuns sang hymns as their flamethrowers spewed scorching purifying fire, burning the stubborn heretics into twisted charcoal.

The stormtroopers formed tactical squads and used precise laser volleys to eliminate the rebel strongholds one by one, leaving melting marks on the thick metal walls with each shot.

However, the heavy stench of blood in the air lingered.

The smell seemed to have materialized, sticking thickly to every inch of the metal surface and permeating every ventilation duct.

Even the most advanced air purification systems cannot completely filter out this corrupting odor originating from subspace.

Ahriman could sense that there was something darker mixed in with the smell of blood.

It wasn't just the stench of burning flesh, nor simply the metallic smell of dried blood, but a blasphemous aura from the realm of chaos, like some ominous premonition, reminding him that this rebellion was far from over.

Deeper in the shadows of the hive, something older and more dangerous is stirring.

Dark red energy still pulsates within the ruins of those destroyed altars; and eerie fluorescent blood occasionally seeps from the wounds of the executed heretics.

All of this suggests a disturbing truth: the apparent victory in the crackdown may only be the beginning of a much larger conspiracy.

A few days ago, Ahriman ventured deep into the lower lair and discovered something unusual at a destroyed Blood Oath stronghold.

The seemingly chaotic blasphemous runes on the walls actually conceal an ancient, chaotic code, the structure of which is far more intricate than the graffiti of ordinary cultists.

Through psychic recollection, he glimpsed a deliberately erased fragment of memory—several heretics clad in grey robes had performed a secret ritual here, their robes revealing a mutated eight-pointed star emblem.

According to the court records and investigation, it was eventually confirmed that it was a heretical organization called the Invisible Brotherhood.

"The invisible shadow will eventually engulf the blood..." Ahriman murmured the secret words, his fingertips gently tracing the dried black blood in the grooves of the runes.

These grey-robed men were not members of the Blood Oath Order, but infiltrators from another force.

Their goal was clearly not just to summon a bloodthirsty monster, but some ancient and more dangerous being.
-
In the abandoned church at the very bottom of the hive, the air was thick with the stench of blood and sulfur.

The cultists of the Invisible Brotherhood knelt before the broken altar, their tattered grey robes casting distorted shadows in the flickering candlelight.

In the center of their worship, a pale skull lay silently in a pool of dried blood, a sacred object of their faith.

The skull was covered with spiderweb-like cracks, each crack faintly glowing with a dark red light, as if some evil life force was still struggling within it.

On the forehead of the skull, a dark red fang was deeply embedded in the bone crevice, pulsating ominously in the dim light.

This fang is the last remnant of the legendary Zanazt—the demon prince who once dominated the Chaos Realm and one of the most powerful servants of the Blood God Khorne.

In the distant past, Zanazt and his brother Muswag served together a tyrannical lord on the Brass Throne. However, the ambitious brothers were unwilling to remain subservient forever.

In that dark age, utterly distorted by chaotic energy, they orchestrated a shocking rebellion, attempting to usurp the Blood God's power—power capable of tearing reality apart—through forbidden magical rituals and blatant betrayal.

This arrogant rebellion ultimately incurred the Blood God's most severe punishment.

The enraged Khorne not only stripped them of almost all their power, but also banished the two traitors from the Chaos Realm forever.

But in their eternal exile, the Blood God left behind a cruel promise: whoever among the brothers could destroy the other with his own hands would regain his former status and glory.

When Khorne's wrath utterly shattered Zanazt's demonic body, only this bloodstained fang miraculously survived.

This demon's tooth contains Zanazt's last essential power, becoming his only anchor point throughout the long years.

Now, the fang is gradually awakening as the ritual progresses, its dark red light growing stronger, as if responding to the believers' calls—this is Zanazt's last hope for returning to reality, and the ultimate moment that the Invisible Brotherhood has been waiting for for a thousand years.

"The Blood God's abandoned son will return!" The leading priest of the secret cult roared to the sky, his withered arms stretching towards the dome like dead branches.

His hoarse voice was mixed with an inhuman vibrato, as if a thousand voices were being squeezed out from the depths of his throat at the same time.

The tattered gray robe fluttered in the invisible energy field, and blood-red runes crawled all over the exposed skin.

With this blasphemous cry, the suspended skull suddenly trembled violently.

The energy of the subspace surged in from all directions like pus and blood, staining the dark red fang like a red-hot branding iron.

The eerie red light flickered on and off, each flash accompanied by a piercing shriek, like the frantic beating of a demon's heart from the abyss.

The blood-corroding magic array on the ground suddenly came to life, and the viscous blood wriggled and coiled like snakes.

With the cracking sound of bones breaking, countless pale skeletons burst from the ground, twisting and reforming in the air.

The broken joints automatically rejoined, the shattered skull was reassembled, and finally a deformed and terrifying skeleton was formed.

Deep within the ribcage of that skeleton, a shriveled, blackened heart suddenly began to convulse, each contraction producing a muffled "thump" sound, like an ancient war drum echoing in the abyss.

As the heartbeat intensified, blood-red veins began to emerge from the entire skeleton, as if some terrifying being, dormant for millennia, was breaking free from the shackles of death.

In the shadows in the distance, the mysterious figure silently watched all of this.

His body was shrouded in tattered bronze armor, and his scarlet cloak cascaded down like a frozen waterfall of blood, almost blending into the darkness.

Thousands of years of exile did not extinguish his ambition; instead, it taught him to conceal himself and to scheme.

At that moment, a slight, cold smile appeared on his lips.

This rebellion, this sacrifice, this chaotic revelry, is merely one move in his long game.

And he will ultimately be the winner.

(End of this chapter)