Warhammer 40k: Ours Journey

Chapter 8: Tzeentch: ?

"Blood for the Blood God!"

The shriek of an axe biting into steel.

"For the glory of Macragge!"

The wet thud of a blade sinking into flesh, followed by the heavy fall of a body.

SQUELCH~

Blood arced through the air. As the headless corpse of the heretic knelt, then slumped forward, the roars from the onlookers grew even more frenzied.

"Blood for the Blood God! BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!"

The heretics' blasphemous cries assaulted his eardrums. Syphrus stared silently at the next traitor who had leapt into the dueling pit.

He did not strike first.

He was waiting for the stakes of this duel to be laid.

"There is nothing left. You have won it all, champion," the Khornate warrior, a giant nearly three meters tall, declared as he drew his twin axes. Their chain-teeth began to spin, throwing sparks.

Eight skulls. Eight pairs of offerings. And one champion, tested through eight trials. The realm of the Blood God had already opened its gates for him. He could feel the eight lakes of blood in the endless crimson wasteland boiling for him. The Blood God had prepared eight great wars for his ascension.

The desire to reap this new champion's skull, to feel his blood wash over him, echoed in the traitor's heart.

"Now, I will take everything from you, along with your life!"

The traitor's voice was like thunder, as loud as the roaring flames blasting from the jump pack that had fused with his body—a symbol of a warrior's boundless might. He stood in a posture of absolute victory.

Syphrus remembered clearly when those twin axes had struck from behind, tearing apart his battle-brother who had been holding the line against the Orks. On the front of this traitor's Tartaros-pattern Terminator armor, there was still a gash left by his brother's blade. And as a final insult, his brother's head was now impaled on a spike jutting from the traitor's back.

Syphrus remained silent. He did not roar at the injustice before him. He knew that traitors had no honor to speak of.

He dragged his heavy, battered armor forward and once more raised his notched power sword.

"For the glory of Macragge!"

It was a gory gladiatorial arena. The roars of champions echoed throughout.

Severed limbs were everywhere. Maddened void-rats dragged scraps of tissue into ventilation shafts. The corpse of a Deathwatch marine had been impaled from below, a spike driving up through his skull to pin him to a high gantry, where he now served as part of the railing. A viscous mixture of what looked like brain matter and blood coated the surrounding steel like spiderwebs in a jungle.

The overwhelming stench of blood filled the air. A crimson Warp-miasma had stained the entire generator bay in shades of red.

At the center of the arena, an Apothecary in a white helmet was struggling to survive.

Around him, in the pit, lay the corpses of eight Chaos Space Marines.

He was gravely wounded. The narthecium on his back had long since been torn away, and a massive wound gaped in his chest, both of his hearts shattered within.

And his opponent was a fully armed Khornate Berzerker, a giant who stood nearly as tall as Arthur, clad in Terminator armor.

The first thing Arthur noticed was the Tartaros Terminator squaring off against a heavily wounded Mark VII Marine, with an active energy shield no less.

The Sisters of Battle, who had caught up to them, stared at the scene, their eyes burning with explosive fury.

"Restrain yourselves, sisters! Surround them!" the Canoness hissed. The squad of twenty-six Battle-Sisters quickly dispersed, seeking ambush positions.

"Doesn't the Blood God value honorable duels?" Arthur asked aloud, disgusted by the scene. His form flickered, and he reappeared inside the arena as if by teleportation.

Rage couldn't solve the problem. But slaughter could.

He would kill every last one of these things that dared to challenge his sanity with their profane rituals. No mercy.

"Khorne cares not from whence the blood flows," Romulus said, shaking his head at the carnage in the pit. He began remotely directing his drone-marines to pour on the fire while activating his armor's external vox-caster. "Seal the corridors. Kill them all. Let no one escape."

The drone-Ultramarines surrounding the pit moved as one. With one hand they thumbed off the safeties and held down the triggers; with the other they braced the tops of their heavy bolters, reducing the recoil to almost nothing. The Battle-Sisters swapped to meltaguns, using their explosive blasts to seal off any potential escape routes from the lower levels.

In an instant, the sound of gunfire and explosions replaced the frenzied howls of the heretics. The crowd of Chaos Marines who had just been gathered around the corpse piles were shredded into honeycombs of flesh by the dense hail of bolter fire, caught as they were drawing their blasphemous weapons. Their struggle was as meaningless as the desecrated ritual in the pit.

CRASH!

Arthur dropped from above, landing squarely in front of the Khornate Terminator and delivering a loyalist's plasma pistol shot straight to its head.

But the blessings of the Blood God allowed the traitor to withstand the all-melting plasma. The Terminator merely rocked back, absorbing the impact. With a sweep of its massive armguard, it deflected the power sword stabbing for its head and swung its twin axes at Arthur.

He's good.

This was the first enemy to last more than a single exchange with Arthur. His expression grew serious, his focus sharpening.

His sword parried the axe swinging from the right. He raised his shield to block a feint, which was actually a thrown axe aimed at finishing the Apothecary's ritual. Arthur lunged forward, slamming into the Terminator and sending it staggering back.

"Lackey of the False Emperor, you—"

Ignoring the Khornate champion's furious roar, Arthur used the moment of imbalance. He let go of his own sword, which was still locked with the blessed axe. Freed from the bind, he closed the distance and threw a punch. His ceramite-encased fist smashed into the Berzerker's already mutated head.

SPLAT!

The twisted head was sent flying, a torrent of blood erupting from the stump. The profane body, as if it hadn't realized its brain was gone, remained locked in a swinging posture.

Only then did Arthur step back, catching his power sword before it hit the ground, allowing the dead traitor's axes to scrape harmlessly across his chest plate.

And as he completed this action, the combined firepower of Romulus and the others had torn apart every other living thing in the vicinity.

Even for a Space Marine, there is no chance to resist a sudden, overwhelming saturation of fire.

The crimson mist began to thin.

Rage! RAGE!

In a realm of eternally flowing blood, endless anger churned in the heart of the God of Slaughter.

A duel, a bloody and sacred duel, had been ruined.

Right under His nose.

He had not received the champion's skull, nor had He gained a new servant who could bring Him more skulls. The power He had invested in the ritual had vanished with His followers' deaths. He had gained nothing and lost His investment.

WHO?!

Khorne glared down at that particular corner of reality. He could see the followers of the Anathema, He could see the corpses of His servants, but no matter how hard He looked, He could not see the one who had stolen His skulls.

Damn it. It was a scheme so vexing it could frustrate a god.

"TZEENTCH!"

A flash of shimmering blue crossed His mind. Seated upon the Brass Throne, the Blood God let out a soul-shattering roar.

If He couldn't find the culprit, then the Deceiver who delighted in obscuring the truth would pay the price!

Only slaughter could solve this problem!

As the Blood God's roar echoed, the great brass bells of the crimson wasteland began to toll. Molten metal became a surging river, crushing skulls as it flowed into the eternally operating forges of slaughter.

Juggernauts of Khorne, Blood Shrines, and countless other creations of daemon-forged steel and murderous souls began to pour forth from the Tower of Skulls.

The unnaturally thick, red river, fed by eternal war and massacre, thinned slightly. The countless butchers of the wasteland paused their work, their eyes burning with desire as they looked towards the Lord of Slaughter upon his Brass Throne.

"Blood for the Blood God!"

The rage of the Blood God is eternal. The blades of the Blood God are never still.

There is only one reason for the eternal duels to cease.

A greater war!

"SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!!!"

Beneath a layered sky of roiling crimson, the fully armed legions of Khorne erupted in a fanatical roar.

As the eighth bell tolled, the brass horns sounded throughout the Blood God's realm.

888 Bloodthirsters, leading their daemonic legions, began their march towards the twisting, cerulean labyrinth of Tzeentch.

"?"

And as burning iron hooves shattered the iridescent walls of the Impossible Fortress, the twisting, amorphous being seated upon a dry well finally opened its myriad eyes.

"Change," He whispered, the sound of infinite lips and teeth chattering with boundless joy.

It was as if the daemons of Khorne now rampaging through His domain were a heavenly army come to liberate Him.

"Hee hee hee... a war that was never foreseen!"

(End of a Chapter)