What a Huge Snake Spirit!
Maldovar Cohl's world was absolutely still at this moment—or rather, everything around him seemed impossibly slow in the face of the Custodian's inhuman reaction speed.
In his vision, the lead Noise Marine had just had his throat severed; his body was still slowly falling backward, the wound on his neck charred black by the disintegrator field.
Without any pause or hesitation.
Cohl's wrist flicked, and the heavy guardian spear seemed weightless in his hand, tracing a perfect golden arc through the air.
"Die."
He uttered a single syllable coldly.
The spear slammed heavily into the chest of the Noise Marine on the other side, who was trying to raise his sonic blaster.
Crack!
The warrior's ceramite shattered along with his sternum; he flew backward like a rag doll, crashing into the wall and collapsing into a pulped ruin.
Next came the heavy weapons user carrying the enormous Hell-Organ.
Cohl ducked, dodging what he perceived as a sluggish sonic attack, then swept his spear horizontally, precisely severing the massive Marine's knees.
The instant the organist lost his balance and fell to his knees, the disintegrator field on the spear tip flashed, piercing his spine and pinning him—along with the profaned instrument—to the ground.
The fifth. The sixth.
The killings were completed in less than a second.
Cohl's gaze had already locked onto the seventh target.
It was a Noise Marine wielding a chainsword, attempting to leap toward Lars.
The floor beneath his feet exploded; the Custodian used the momentum to propel himself forward, transforming into a golden bolt of lightning.
He raised his spear, blade aimed at his target's neck.
In his calculations, this strike would sever the enemy's head along with half a shoulder. Nothing could stop this attack, and no one could keep up with his speed.
The spear blade tore through the air, less than five centimeters from the pale neck encircled by metal rings.
Four centimeters.
Three centimeters.
In that split second—
Clang.
A crisp, melodious sound, like crystal colliding, abruptly rang out in the blood-soaked, noise-ravaged hall.
Immediately afterward, a sword appeared out of thin air.
It was an elegantly crafted silver longsword, its hilt inlaid with an oddly shaped gem. The blade was slender, radiating a mesmerizing pale purple aura.
It appeared abruptly, yet perfectly, blocking the path of Cohl's spear.
There was no violent clash of sparks, no resounding clang of metal.
The terrifying kinetic energy of Cohl's charge—powerful enough to cleave through the armor of a Land Raider—was instantly absorbed by the silver sword like a drop of water falling into the ocean. It was absorbed by a gentle, smooth, yet indestructible force, and then lightly deflected.
"What?!"
Cohl's pupils contracted sharply beneath his helmet, his expression perpetually cold and indifferent.
His brain was still processing this tactical violation, but his body had already reacted instinctively.
As one of the Emperor's own bodyguards, he possessed the most advanced martial prowess and physical strength in the entire galaxy.
Missing his initial attack, Cohl immediately changed tactics.
In a mere fraction of a second, he retracted his spear, then gripped it with both hands, unleashing a barrage of attacks toward the sword.
Swish, swish, swish, swish—
Golden spear-shadows wove into an impenetrable net in the air. Each strike aimed directly at a vital point, carrying lethal intent.
However.
The figure did not retreat.
The silver longsword danced in his hand, the movements languid, casual, even possessing a nonchalant elegance.
These seemingly careless motions perfectly parried all of Cohl's attacks.
Clang, clang, clang, clang—
The dense clanging sounds merged into a single sustained note, a metal symphony.
To Eileen, Sicarius, and the others, they could only barely make out a golden blur frantically attacking a silver-purple mist.
But from Cohl's perspective.
On the tactical helmet's display, red warning runes were popping up frantically—signals of sensor array overload.
[Warning: Target speed exceeds capture limit.]
[Warning: Strength level cannot be estimated.]
[Warning: …]
"Too slow."
A magnetic, elegant, yet instinctively nauseating and slick voice suddenly rang in Cohl's ears.
"This playing technique… is so stiff, like hammering piano keys."
The voice sighed, seemingly filled with regret.
"Let me teach you… what a smooth melody is."
Silver light surged.
Cohl felt a blur before his eyes, and an overwhelming force surged from the seemingly slender silver sword.
Bang!!!
The Custodian's massive body felt as if it had been kicked by a Warhound Titan.
He was sent flying backward uncontrollably.
He adjusted his posture in mid-air, but even after landing, he could not completely dissipate the terrifying kinetic energy.
His feet carved two deep furrows into the hard marble floor, sliding several meters before crashing through two howling, mutated pillars and finally coming to a stop.
Huff…
Cohl looked up, his fingers gripping the guardian spear trembling slightly.
The smoke and dust in the hall slowly dissipated.
The figure that had repelled him finally revealed its true form.
The moment he saw it clearly, Sicarius's gauntlets clenched with a sharp crack.
Sergeant Varo instinctively took two steps forward, intending to shield Eileen behind him alongside the platoon leader.
The figure could no longer be fully described as "human."
A gigantic creature, over four meters tall, exuding a twisted beauty and a blasphemous posture.
It had no legs.
Its lower body was a thick, serpentine tail covered in shimmering purple scales.
The serpent's tail coiled and twisted on the ground, each scale revealing a human face howling in agony.
Its upper body remained humanoid, clad in an exquisitely ornate yet blasphemous suit of purple war-plate, adorned with chains, scrolls of human skin, and incense burners exuding a strong, musky scent.
Of its four arms, the uppermost hand gripped the silver, grotesque sword, while the lower two held a bizarre, still-dripping whip and a longsword radiating heat.
A cascade of long, white hair flowed down its back. Its face was eerily unsettling—features sharply defined yet twisted in ways incomprehensible to sane beings, yet beautiful as if it were the culmination of a sculptor's life's work.
And the eyes of this bizarre creature…
Were two vertical purple pupils. They were filled with depravity, madness, narcissism, and a thirst for ever more extreme sensation.
The Primarch of the Third Legion. The Emperor's Children.
The Daemon Prince of Slaanesh.
Fulgrim, the Phoenician.
"Ah… though somewhat crude, it is barely acceptable as an opening act."
The elegant, serpentine creature slithered forward, its tail undulating.
The movement was flamboyant, like someone ascending a stage, his four arms outstretched as if to embrace the enthusiastic audience before him.
Crack—crack—
With his appearance, countless purple cracks appeared in the veil of reality around the hall, weakened by the profane ritual.
Twisted figures emerged from the cracks, instantly filling the entire hall.
Most conspicuous was a bald man.
His face was covered in countless crisscrossing scars, making him look like a jumbled patchwork of flesh.
He had no eyelids. A pair of eyes, filled with maniacal glee, never closed, staring straight ahead.
He held a long whip and a slightly curved longsword, his long tongue licking the blade.
Most bizarrely, his MKIV-style power armor was almost entirely covered in grotesquely contorted human faces.
These grotesque faces seemed to constantly try to break free of their horrific prison.
Behind this eerie bald man were dozens of "Phoenix Guard" clad in ornate, corrupted power armor. They wielded long swords, like a hellish honor guard, surrounding their monarch (and perhaps also, in some other way, objects of fantasy).
A suffocating psychic pressure, mingled with a cloyingly sweet musky scent, instantly filled the entire hall.
It was a seductive force capable of instantly driving the weak-willed to their knees in supplication, or even into madness.
Ugh…
Sicarius bit his tongue, using the excruciating pain to fight the urge to lay down his weapon and kneel before the serpentine giant in worship.
"The Primarch… Fulgrim…"
Cohl's voice sounded like it was being squeezed out between clenched teeth.
"A monster of this caliber here… no wonder the Saints went to such lengths to conduct secret selections!"
The elegant serpentine creature ignored the astonishment of these "commoners."
He seemed to have returned to his palace, completely disregarding the tense Imperial warriors.
He turned his massive body, making an exaggerated gesture with his four hands, his expression turning mournful and resentful.
"This is truly disappointing."
The serpentine creature shook his head, looking at the corpses scattered on the ground and the walls wrecked from the explosion.
"That mortal named Valanta… he is a piece of unworkable rotten wood."
His voice was like the friction of silk, carrying a condescending sarcasm.
"I specially bestowed upon him such a perfect spirit stone, and even personally instructed him on how to set up the stage."
"I had hoped he could transform this planet into a perfect theater dedicated to the great Dark Prince, a grand sacrifice for my beloved brother Roboute, who had just awakened."
"And the result?"
The serpentine creature picked up a piece of mangled flesh from the ground with his silver sword, then tossed it aside with disgust.
"It turned into this half-baked mess. No beauty whatsoever, no dramatic development or climax, just a pile of vulgar scraps."
"Not only did it ruin my mood, but it also wasted the new script I prepared specifically for it."
He turned to Lucius beside him.
"You see, Lucius, my dear champion, mortals are always like this; once given the tools to pursue perfection, they will only ever use them for… playing house."
Lucius let out a hoarse, grotesque laugh, his tongue scraping against his lipless teeth.
"It is alright, Father. Although that governor is an incompetent good-for-nothing, I think there are some more interesting… spectators here."
Lucius's sword tip pointed at Cohl, his eyes filled with a twisted desire to derive pleasure from killing (or being killed).
"Oh?"
The serpentine creature's purple, vertical pupils shifted.
His gaze passed over the ready-to-fight Cohl, over the two veterans raising their power fist and power sword, and finally settled on the very center of the group.
The little girl sitting on Sicarius's shoulder pauldron, wearing a tactical trench coat and holding a short sword.
In an instant.
Eileen felt as if a cold, slippery serpent had coiled around her neck.
The serpentine creature's eyes lit up.
Not the look of someone seeing an enemy.
But the look of someone seeing a rare, exquisite, highly collectible… toy.
"Indeed…"
A smile, capable of driving the masses mad, yet making Eileen feel nauseous, spread across his lips.
"Although I have lost my original audience, it seems I have unexpectedly gained a more interesting protagonist."
He swayed his serpentine tail, slowly approaching.
The oppressive aura forced Sicarius to take a step back.
"You are absolutely forbidden to approach her! You traitor!" Cohl roared, his guardian spear held horizontally, blocking the way.
But the serpentine creature did not move.
He merely extended his two free hands.
Long, pale fingers, adorned with jeweled rings, pointed lightly at Eileen through the air.
The gesture seemed to invite Eileen to be his dance partner, or perhaps to appraise a canary for sale.
"Look at you…"
His voice grew thicker, sweeter, each syllable like a hook.
"This repulsive… yet thin, so pure golden radiance."
"Even from this distance, I can smell that… familiar, staid, utterly unpleasant stench of decay."
He narrowed his eyes, looking into the wary eyes beneath Eileen's hood.
"You agree, do you not, little cutie?"
The serpentine creature let out a low laugh, the sound of a venomous snake flicking its tongue.
"That… boring, desiccated corpse sitting on the golden toilet…"
"…little container."