In the depths of the Warp rift, the veil of reality was as fragile as desecrated parchment.
Two demonic claws, covered in scarlet scales, were the first to tear through the dimensional barrier, and amidst the hum of chaotic energy, corrupting ichor seeped from the edges of the rift, dripping onto the ground with a corrosive hiss.
His curved cranial horns gleamed with runes blessed by the Khorne, and the eight-pointed star sigil was reflected in his eyes, which burned with endless malice.
As a Bloodthirster, a Greater Daemon under the command of the Chaos God Khorne, he had successfully broken through the barrier of reality through a chaotic ritual.
With his arrival, the dimensional rift on the altar, torn open by the chaotic ritual, expanded further.
Following closely behind were dozens of Bloodletter, these bloodthirsty Khorne vanguards surging forth, wielding hellblades.
Captain Gana of the Iron Hands Chapter's tactical visor flashed frantically, the threat level directly soaring to [█████].
"If this thing could be given a bad review, I'd absolutely give it one star," he muttered under his breath, but his battle-scarred power armor remained as steady as a rock.
According to the Chapter's database, a daemon of this level would require at least a company to contend with, and they only had five men.
"For the Blood God's Skull Throne!" the Bloodthirster roared, opening his fanged maw.
He suddenly unfurled the pair of demonic wings on his back, his thick demonic claws gripping a crimson great axe, and as his wings violently vibrated, they stirred up a furious gale.
The Iron Hands swiftly deployed into battle formation.
Their servo-systems hummed in synchronized unison.
The roar of boltguns and the hiss of meltaguns interwove into a symphony of death, constructing an impenetrable network of firepower around the Bloodthirster.
However, what caused all tactical data-links to simultaneously blare alarms was that the saturated firepower, enough to atomize a Chaos Spawn, only caused a 0.73-second delay in this abominable creature's movements.
The sparks that erupted as bolter rounds exploded on his blood-glowing scales were like flintstones crafted by the most inept apprentice in a Mars forge temple.
The scorch marks left by melta beams on his scales were being filled in at a visible rate by some writhing fleshy tissue, as if his entire body was a manifestation of liquid rage.
"Quick! Tactical retreat!" Captain Gana calmly commanded his squad.
In their initial engagement, he had already realized that the daemon before them was far stronger than any enemy they had encountered before, and could not be faced head-on.
However, this massive daemon was astonishingly fast.
They hadn't even managed to retreat a few steps; in just a few blinks of an eye, the Bloodthirster had already broken through the firepower net and closed in on them.
His crimson eyes gleamed with bloodlust, and his great axe was raised high, ready to cleave everyone in half the next instant.
Gana had no time for other thoughts; he gripped his power axe tightly and resolutely charged forward, attempting to block that unparalleled force.
But the Bloodthirster's strength was beyond imagination; the great axe in his hand was wreathed in chaotic energy, by no means something an ordinary weapon could contend with.
"Clang!"
Accompanied by a piercing metallic tearing sound, the two battle axes collided with a thunderous crash.
Gana's power axe erupted with dazzling blue-white arcing electricity the instant of contact, a prelude to the disintegration field overloading and collapsing.
The adamantium plating on the axe blade shattered like fragile glass, and the entire weapon disintegrated with a teeth-grinding groan, the flying fragments carving dozens of deep scratches into his power armor.
[Servo-system alert: Right arm joint stress exceeded 300%]
[Recommendation: Immediately disengage from combat sequence]
The shockwave propagated along the ceramite armor, and Gana felt the nerve interfaces of his entire right arm instantly burn out.
The frantically flashing red warnings on his tactical visor and the pungent smell of hydraulic fluid assailed him simultaneously; his armored right arm had become scrap metal hanging by a few cables.
And the Bloodthirster's Chaos battle axe was still descending unstoppably, the profane runes dancing on its blade scorching the air into distortion.
"Is this the end…?"
As soon, he had this thought surfaced Gana suddenly found the daemon's movements eerily frozen.
That battle axe, merely an inch from his helmet, actually hung suspended in mid-air as if a pause button had been pressed.
Through the splashing oil and electrical sparks, he saw his own reflection on the axe blade—and the faint glow that suddenly lit up behind him…
The entire battlefield instantly fell into an eerie stillness:
The Bloodthirster's furious roar was caught in his throat, and even the Bloodletter were frozen in 'meme-like' ferocity.
Gana instantly understood—the Emissary had acted.
"Tactical regroup! Prioritize neutralizing secondary threats!"
Gana swiftly leaped backward, creating distance, and with his remaining left arm, he unhesitatingly aimed his boltgun at the weaker daemons.
As a battle-hardened Iron Hands sergeant, he knew exactly how to handle such a situation; high-ranking daemons might be able to withstand bolter fire, but these low-level fodder…
"Bang! Bang! Bang!"
Three precise single shots, and the heads of three Bloodletter exploded like overripe pumpkins.
The Bloodthirster let out a deafening roar, his eyes burning with hatred fixed on the black-robed human in front of him.
He sensed that the power binding him came from that person, a realization that made his demonic core almost boil.
But at this moment, he was like a madman in a straitjacket, possessing immense brute strength yet unable to move.
"Sergeant Gana."
Knox voice suddenly boomed in the comm channel, "Immediately lead your squad to evacuate; the situation has exceeded expectations."
Gana, who was fiercely battling the daemons, was suddenly startled.
"I can only temporarily suppress the actions of these daemons; I cannot sustain it. Once it loses control, the consequences will be unimaginable."
Knox tone was cold, and the faint glow in his eyes flickered erratically: "This is not a request; it is an order. You must deliver the intelligence here back to headquarters."
Gana's fists clenched, his knuckles cracking, the Iron Hands' combat creed roaring in his veins.
But reason ultimately prevailed.
A qualified sergeant must know how to weigh tactical value.
"All attention, execute Alpha evacuation protocol."
His voice was almost squeezed through his teeth.
The squad members did not question him; discipline was the most valuable quality of the Iron Hands.
They quickly formed a retreat formation, their boltguns continuously firing to clear their escape route.
"May the Emperor protect you."
Gana took one last look at the black-robed figure facing the daemon army alone, then turned and left.
When the roar of the last power armor disappeared into the passage.
In the empty cavern, only the whispers of the corrupted and the roars of the daemons remained, interweaving into a spine-chilling symphony.
Knox stood alone in this chaos, but the corners of his mouth slowly curved upward.
"Finally…" His voice was low, carrying an echo not belonging to this universe, "I don't have to act anymore."
After all, pretending to be serious was exhausting.
This was a truth not even recorded in the Inquisition's most confidential report, "On Why There Are Always Strange Occurrences But No One Is Accountable"—he was not a native of this universe at all, but a helpless transmigrator who had been thrown into the Warp turbulence and coincidentally picked up the management rights of a dilapidated Netherworld.
On the back of his hand, the ghoul patterns writhed like living things, with a faint green fire flowing between the lines as black as ink.
This was neither psychic power nor Warp corruption, but a more ancient power—the materialization of the Netherworld's authority.
"Netherworld status."
Knox silently recited in his mind.
The dilapidated Micro-Netherworld unfolded in his consciousness, looking like an administrative center that had been looted by a Chaos warband—of the Eighteen Levels of Hell, only three were barely operational, the Reincarnation Platform had collapsed, the Judge's Hall was in ruins, even the Naihe Bridge was broken into three sections, and other buildings and facilities were merely lingering phantoms.
His current task was—
With each absorbed soul, the Netherworld would be restored a bit.
With each suppressed evil spirit, yin virtue would increase a segment.
And all these energies would ultimately transform into his power.
Knox flipped his wrist, and the ghoul patterns suddenly lit up, transforming into an ancient jade seal suspended in his palm.
The King's Seal—the symbol of the Lord of the Netherworld, with eight ancient seal characters "Mandated by Heaven, Eternal Prosperity" carved on its surface, was now exhaling a heart-palpitating Hellfire.
When the eight-character mantra "Underworld Soldiers Array, Ghost Generals Obey" resounded through the cavern, the entire space suddenly trembled violently.
It was not the frantic fluctuation of Warp tearing, but a more orderly, colder rule that was descending—