Xxxxx Immaterium xxxxX
3rd Pov
Though the daemon-filled battlefields of the blood god's domain are many, and each is vast beyond reckoning, there is more to this damned land than just blood-soaked plains populated with warring daemons. Violence and despair are constant traveling companions for any unfortunate soul cursed to briefly wander there.
Each foreboding hellscape leads to another, grimmer than the last one. At the heart of it all, the god watches from its skull throne, surveying its lands and pitting its forces against any convenient foe, be they fellow daemons or foolhardy invaders who seek to wage a doomed war on the lord of battle.
The blood god's domain is a realm unlike any other. Storms rage perpetually across crimson skies, sending gale-force blasts seemingly composed of pure rage whipping across the plains and mountains. These angry winds tear into the land itself and rip up great chunks of stone and blood-drenched earth, tossing them violently back down hundreds of leagues away in explosions of raw destruction.
The land, for its part, fights back against the brutal assault of the heavens. Earthquakes send gouts of molten brass skyward, burning up the storm's clouds, temporarily ending their rage until the winds re-gather to begin their assaults anew. New mountains erupt from flat land in an instant, some thrusting into the sky like gigantic living swords, others acting as shields against the advance of the storms.
Rivers of boiling blood criss-cross the hellish landscape, dividing the realm into territories over which rival Bloodthirsters wage war. The blood flows are not content to allow the conquered lands to rest idle. From deep below the ground, new rivers strike through the surface, splitting the lands as easily as an ax opens the bloated gut of a lazy bureaucrat.
Each crimson flow sucks down all that once occupied the space, including any daemonic legions that might have been marching there. As with its war against the sky, the land retaliates, pushing the banks of the rivers to close in upon themselves. The brass-spewing volcanoes send liquid metal into the rivers, evaporating the blood within and sealing the wounds with burning fury.
Each piece of the realm of battle constantly fights to obliterate the others. Each acts as a living servant of the war god, wanting to prove to the master of the land that it is the most worthy of the god's rewards.
A visitor to this nightmare realm would surely be driven mad, knowing that every rock, every breeze, and every drop of what should be water is an enemy, looking to kill him with just as much purpose, desire, and violence as the multitudinous daemons of the blood god inhabiting the land. To witness the carnage of the realm of Khorne is to know that conflict is a living, breathing thing and not just a curse that troubles the worlds of men, machines, and aliens. It is to know an eternal truth and, thus, to know despair.
At the outermost edge of the blood god's domain there lies a ring of volcanoes that scholars of the profane have come to call " Khorne's Rage." Reaching hundreds of kilometers into the air, they belch their thick black smoke and molten brass skyward, creating an impenetrable border that can neither be through nor navigated.
Darkness and ash hand there, lit ominously from beneath by gouts of flame that incinerate the loose debris along the sides of the volcanoes. Within the ash clouds, blood storms roil. Red lightning dances across the clouds as thunder cracks and rolls, like the snap of a Bloodthirster's whip followed by the sound of the hooves of a thousand charging Juggernauts.
These peaks stand as a bastion against invaders, their toxic ash and scorching brass flow enough to deter all but the most determined of forces. Those who are arrogant, or foolish enough to attempt to cross the tortuous border are met with more than barriers of heat and jagged rock.
The very rock and brass of Khorne's rage itself rise to crush the attackers. Pieces of the rock break away from the side of the mountains, molten brass flowing into them in a hellish semblance of lifeblood. Daemons of stone and liquid metal take form, born of rage and defiance.
With mindless fury and unadulterated violence, they bludgeon and scorch their foes. Once their grim task is complete, they fall back into lifeless piles, waiting for the call to reform and defend the borders of their master's realm.
At the base of the volcanoes are the forges of the lesser furnace Daemons. In these sweltering workshops, weapons of war are crafted. All manner of axes, swords, hammers, and armor are created to supply the Blood God's eternal wars. Here, too, the components of Khorne's Daemon Engines are made.
Assembly of these huge constructs of war is conducted elsewhere, but the cogs, blades, housings, and armaments all have their beginning here, at the foot of Khorne's Rage.
It is a dangerous place to reside, even by the standards of the rest of the realm. At any moment a volcano could erupt, flooding the forge with molten brass. It is of no concern to Khorne if a few Daemons are incinerated in such mishaps; others rise from the Blood Pits to take their place, and the forges continue
Despite the risks, the furnace Daemons can take advantage of the dangers of Khorne's Rage. Across the plains of battle, it is almost exclusively Khorne's minions that do battle and perish. At the fringes of the realm, however, other warriors die agonizing, terrible, bloody deaths.
Using tools of fiendish design and rites that even the most depraved Chaos Sorcerers would dare not undertake, the masters of the hell-forges enslave the souls of those mortals who would dare invade the Blood God's realm and fuse them with the anvils of Khorne.
The tormented screams of those thus eternally imprisoned blend with the ringing and clanging of each falling hammer that strikes the forge. When white-hot metal is placed on the anvil and pounded into form, the bound soul feels the scorching heat.
Thus, as each new weapon or piece of armor is crafted in the Daemon Forges, it is born to the sounds of Khorne's enemies suffering the god's everlasting wrath.
Warp energy, the raw stuff of Chaos, constantly swirls across the realms of all of the greater Chaos Gods. Its currents and eddies shift and meander seemingly at random, causing mutation within the very land itself and everyone and everything they touch. In most cases, this power does not linger in any one place for long
There are, however, locations throughout the Blood God's treacherous domain where the power of the Warp collects and stirs. When this happens, great craters are often gouged into the blasted plains.
None can say if it takes moments or millennia for these pits to form, for time is meaningless within the Realm of Chaos. Eventually, the Warp Storms break apart, sometimes seeping into the very pits they created.
When this happens, Khorne commands his minions to intensify their efforts to harvest blood from the mortal world, using the most violent, destructive, and devastating methods they can bring to bear.
The souls that perish in such a campaign give their blood to a special, dark cause. Their crimson essence is collected in the pit, where it is mixed with molten brass and a measure of Khorne's murderous bile. The resultant lake would later become a new Blood Pit.
It is from the Blood Pits that new Daemons of Khorne arise. Bloodletters, furnace Daemons, and many lesser fiends steadily emerge from the Warp-and-bile-infused blood, ready to do their master's bidding.
The soldiers that vomit forth from that pit will be charged from the day of their creation until the day they fail their master in combat by claiming more blood to refill their pit.
Eventually, a pit goes dry, but without fail, soon after it does a new storm begins to brew, restarting the cycle of bloodshed
Dividing one region of Khorne's realm from another like jagged crimson scars on the scorched land are the rivers of blood.
These kilometers-wide flows are filled with the blood of those who have fallen in service to Khorne, be they, victims or followers.
Nearly all blood that is shed on the god's behalf on the mortal plane finds its way to these sanguine canals. The blood itself is hot to the point of boiling
Steam made of vaporized blood hangs in the air all along the length of the rivers, creating a palpable red cast to the regions through which they run.
Gigantic bubbles rise to the surface, carrying with them occasional remains of something that was unfortunate enough to have fallen into the river
As the bubbles burst, globules of steaming, hot blood launch hundreds of feet into the air, coming back to the ground and landing on the shores in splatter patterns that often resemble the spray of an opened artery.
Thousands of blood rivers cut through the land and end up emptying over a bleak precipice kilometers high, plunging downward in waterfalls of gore.
The lake that forms at the base of the wall is larger than any ocean in the mortal realm and populated with creatures that cannot be.
Leviathans of brass and bone swim through the lake, devouring all as they pass. Soaring above the lake, Bloodthirsters fight with dragons of pure, solid blood. Those that stray too close to the surface of the lake risk being snatched out of the air by the very lake itself, so hungry is it for carnage
Rising waves on the surface take the shape of warriors and do battle, crashing violently into each other and falling back to the surface in a rain of scattered blood
On the far shore of the Lake of Slaughter, the ground is littered with skulls, so many, in fact, that whatever foundation may lie beneath them cannot be touched. For kilometers, these skulls stretch away from the shore, and in the distance there rises a great black wall. This is the outer wall of Khorne's Brass Citadel.
Upon the wall stand guardian Daemons, with eyes as sharp as their fangs and swords. They watch for any intruder, ready to defend their master to the last. Within the walls there are thousands of Flesh Hounds patrolling the skull-yard, sniffing out the blood scent of any who would dare attempt an incursion.
In the skies, flying between the outer walls and the inner keep, elite Bloodthirsters listen for sounds of invasion in the wind. It is rare that any force musters the strength to assault the Brass Fortress, its guardians deterring all but the most foolish or daring of Khorne's rivals from even trying.
In the very center of the Brass Citadel, beyond the Bastion Stair and the eight Iron Pillars, Khorne watches over all its minions from the god's seat on the Throne of Skulls.
From there it commands its blood legions and mortal servants to bring the war to the distant corners of the galaxy.
Every victory it witnesses leaves it thirsting for more blood. With every defeat, Khorne takes the blood of a failed champion and adds it to the rivers of its realm.
Of all the Chaos Gods' daemonic armies, it is the Blood Legions of Khorne that are the most martial. Though they are savage and unrestrained creatures, Daemons of the Blood God occupy a strict hierarchical structure based on sheer might.
Khorne's belief that the strongest of its followers should dominate has proven to be a simple but highly efficient organizational methodology
The legions of the blood god have carved out the largest of all domains in the Immaterium through incessant war. In the brutal press of melee on the battlefield, Khorne's forces are unmatched by those of any other god, and the strength and ferocity each of its Daemons exhibits there decide where they rank in the god's armies.
The highest in order are the Bloodthirsters. Clad in baroque armor, wielding fearsome brass axes and whips, each is a demigod of war. Were they simply warriors and nothing more, Khorne's Greater Daemons would be terrifying enough. The Blood God's foes are not so fortunate, however, for the Bloodthirsters are tasked with leading the Lord of Skulls Blood legions on the battlefield.
There they bark guttural orders to the ranks of Lesser Daemons around them and assert their dominance and dedication to Khorne by defeating the mightiest of the enemies' combatants.
Powerful and known figures amongst the servants of the Blood God, often attract an entourage of daemonic champions that follow them into glorious battle
Each Blood Legion is divided into eight cohorts, which are individually composed of eight packs of Daemons led by a Herald of Khorne or a Daemon Prince. The exact composition of these cohorts, and the auxiliary formations and creatures that may fight alongside them, will often depend on the type of Blood Legion they belong to.
For instance, the heart of the Red Tide Legions is made of Bloodletter cohorts that overrun the foe with waves of infantry attacks; such is the scale of death around them that they will often be followed by packs of carrion-feeding Furies.
In contrast, the Hellfire Legions are siege specialists that prefer to engage the foe at range and go to war in the shadows of Skull Cannons, Soul Grinders, and, in the greatest of conflicts, the massive Daemon Engines known as Lords of Skulls.
The Brazen Thunder Legions are the most mobile of Khorne's armies; the ground shakes beneath their Blood Thrones and the Bloodcrushers they lead, while Flesh Hound packs chase down any that attempt to flee.
Exactly how many types of Blood Legion exist is known only to Khorne himself. At full strength, each Blood Legion is typically formed of eight cohorts, and each cohort is composed of eight packs of Khorne Daemons.
These formations can vary for many reasons, although most commonly it is through the addition of auxiliaries or an influx or decrease in Warp energies upon the battlefield.
It is also not unusual amongst the minions of Khorne for a cohort to subjugate the Daemon packs of another such formation, bringing them to their side by force during savage, and sometimes ritualized, infighting.
Within the realm of chaos, the outer realm of Khorne is girded by a titanic wall or cliff of deepest red and blackened iron that stretches unbroken from one end of the horizon to the other. The Bastion Stair marks the only entrance into his domain.
Surrounded by pinnacles, columns, and arches of blood and carved bone, the Bastion Stair is built as a fortress and prison. Daemons, chained to the walls and steps, in unbreakable bonds of spiked iron, scream and thrash at their imprisonment, hurling terrible epithets at anyone unfortunate enough to be close at hand.
The steps of the Bastion Stairs are enormous and were never designed to be trodden upon by mortal feet, climbing them is more akin to scaling a mountain. The higher it climbs to dizzying heights, the more horrors can be seen.
Gibbering mouths emerge here and there in the steps and walls, praising the name and deeds of Khorne in their Daemonic tongue. Profane runes and bloodstained sacrifice stones, some still bearing the bodies of their victims, can be seen no matter where a person turns.
The geometry of the stairs conforms to no logic or sanity and seems to twist and ripple into itself in confusing knots and gravity-defying angles.
The Bastion boasts smaller landings, some of which are of such a massive scale that a castle could easily fit on them and still have room to spare. Daemons and other creatures of Chaos dance and cavort here, gleefully killing each other in a wanton display of blood and slaughter.
At no point, however, does any traveler see another normal living creature or beast once they take the first steps of the Bastion Stair, even carrion crows avoid the apparent bounty of corpses and dangling bodies that line its walls and steps.
In the very center of the brass citadel, beyond the Bastion stair and the right iron pillars, the ruler of this warring realm watches over all its minions from the god's seat on the throne of skulls.
From there it commands its blood legions and mortal servants to bring war to the distant corners of the galaxy. Every victory it witnesses leaves it thirsting for more blood. With every defeat, Khorne takes the blood of a failed champion and adds it to the rivers of its realm.
It is here, where the once human and mortal, now turned into a chaos god, resides. Seated on his grand throne of skulls, Khorne was reflecting over the memories of the original Khorne.
Something that took him, what he could only guess to be months, time in the warp is something tricky, always changing, years and centuries could pass in the warp, while in the real world only minutes and hours would take place or it could be the opposite, indeed, time in the immaterium is nothing but an empty and meaningless concept.
The things that he has learned through the memories, could only be considered a gold mine. He has seen the birth and destruction of thousands upon thousands of worlds and races. Learned the locations of powerful artifacts and weapons of long-dead races.
Things that if he could get into his possession and control would surely be powerful assets. Which led to another dilemma.
Khorne didn't know what to do, being a chaos god chains him to the immaterium, even though he could leave it for some periods of time if preparations are done beforehand and with a suitable and strong body he could control, or if enough sacrifice and a sacred ritual in blood are done in his name, though this method is harder to accomplish due to the sheer number of sacrifices it requires, the difficulty of the blood ritual, and the psychic power needed.
This leads to his dilemma, and his goals for the future, there isn't any goal he can think of. He already has enormous power by simply being one of the four main Chaos gods which also comes with immortality, he already has thousands upon thousands of loyal forces and a home that is more like a kingdom in flames.
The only thing that he can think of is to preserve and get stronger, but this means having to play the grand game with the rest of the chaos gods, getting the most influence throughout the universe in order to get more followers, boosting his already infinite power, and spreading his influence.
As Khorne kept reflecting on his next course of action and goals, a thought suddenly came to him through the fog of rage and bloodlust that seems to compose his mind.
What about the primarch Angronius? The Horus heresy it's an event that will no doubt occur, the outcome, effects, and even those Primarchs who participated in it, might change or it may happen the same way it originally did.
This is something that Khorne understands will happen no matter what he might do. This leads to him thinking about the gladiator primarch known as Angron.
Khorne narrows his red flaming eyes, knowing that he will have to make sure that Angron becomes a servant of his, his newest future champion, as it originally did, both he and the original Khorne's pride refuses to be left empty-handed while the other chaos gods get their champions.
With this in mind, Khorne closes his eyes and concentrates on locating Angron for all but a second. Suddenly in his mind's eye, he sees the planet known as Nuceria.
From the memories of the original and his little knowledge of this world, its civilization was technologically advanced, nothing noteworthy but enough to stand out.
Its people are known to be greedy, and bath in their vices, be it either drugs, sex, or the most common and loved, the spilling of blood. This is where the slaves, which count to be untold thousands, come into play, as they are used for their masters' desires.
Khorne couldn't help but frown slightly, because while he has the most influence on this world, resulting in the untold amount of slaves and people forced into the many different arenas and colosseums to spill blood from their foes to taint the sands red and fight with the honor that one can only learn through battles and bloodshed.
The chaos god of pleasure also has an influence on this planet, even though that influence is very small, if left unchecked, it could grow further in the future. And he will be Damned to let the snake get its hands on Angron.
But Khorne ignored this and looked through the planet, searching for his future servant. It didn't take long for him to find what he was looking for. The growing young man known as Angron was filled with anger and hate toward the Nucerians.
He was sleeping in his cell underneath his master mansion, along with all the other gladiators that served this house in particular.
Khorne smiles at this, knowing that the seed is already there, all he has to do is to influence Angron with the concepts that he now rules over and represents, and it is only a matter of time.
Xx Nuceria xX
The primarch opened his eyes upon hearing the distant sounds of war and death.
Forcefully awaked from his dreams, he awoke to find himself on a floor tainted with the vibrant red blood. Before him, stood a massive brass pillar, reaching as high as the heavens. A crack was running through it, with red light seeping out from it, the crack becoming bigger as the seconds passed by.
Angron, still dressed in the leather clothes he went to sleep with, confused and shocked, warily walked toward the pillar.
The moment he was in front of the pillar, he was able to barely see the blurry images through the bright red light. For some reason, a pull or an urge took over Angron for a brief moment, even as he realized this, he couldn't stop himself in time.
Angron, angry and desperately trying to regain control of his body, couldn't do anything but watch in anger and slight desperation as his hands touched the cracks in the pillar, the mere feeling of the pillar can only be compared to hot searing flames, invisibly burning his skin and boiling his blood, but soon after his legs betrayed him as he was forced to walk to the pilar, but instead of bumping into the pillar, Angron walked through it as he was enveloped by the red light.
The moment he reached the other side, the first thing Angron heard was the moans and screams of thousands of souls in torment, then the roars of rage and fury accompanied by the sound of blades and other weapons of death crashing against each other, and lastly the laugh and roars of triumph from the Daemons who are part of the blood legions.
All this forced Angron to open the eyes that he previously closed, What he beheld next was nothing short of the definition of Hell and War.
A damned land occupied with rivers of fire and blood belched forth from the frothing mouths of living statues of brass. Towering spires rose up from the cracked and bleeding earth, filled with skulls of men and beast alike. Phantoms danced in a never-ending festival of carnage and bloodshed, giving tribute to the winged abominations flying in the crimson heavens.
Suddenly as if previously muted, the thunders from the storms in the skies let their roar be heard, as if enraged that they have been ignored earlier by a mortal. Their roars can shake the realm and leave nothing but ashes of the poor fools that got struck by them.
Any mere man unfortunate enough to see this horrific realm would surely be driven to madness, having the knowledge that every breeze, every drop of what could be passed as water, and the very ground itself was an enemy, with the sole purpose to slaughter those who wander throughout this realm with just as much desire, and bloodlust as the infinite daemons of the blood god.
But Angron was no mere man.
He roared in defiance as he was quickly surrounded by creatures that could only come from the deepest parts of hell, creatures as red as blood with horns, claws, and fangs, clothed in brass and black armor with skulls adorning part of it and wielding all kinds of melee weapons.
But as soon as they all charged toward Angron, shouting in rage and bloodlust, Angron was enveloped in bright crimson light and vanished from where he was previously standing.
The daemons, confused at first, shortly roared in rage at Angron's escape before turning against each other, creating a bloodbath with the sounds of the dying and cheering warriors.
Angron on the other hand, appeared in what he could only call a giant room, the room was lightened by fire which appears to be everywhere. But the sudden sound of bone breaking caught his attention and forced him to look down, only to be met with his foot on top of a broken skull, as his eyes looked around he noticed that instead of a floor, he was standing on top of an ocean of skulls.
He noted how the giant room was decorated with giant columns and statues made of brass, the same creatures from earlier or similar while others were bigger and more monstrous-looking. But they all had one thing in common, all of them had a weapon in one hand and a skull in the other, posed while roaring in triumph or as if gifting the skull to another in an offering.
The giant room was also decorated with banners that bear symbols that Angron doesn't have knowledge of, but there was one that was more prominent than any others, it was a symbol of a stylized skull, it was in black and red in many of the banners while it was also engraved into the walls of the room, the engravings giving off a dark red light.
But before he could think any further, he suddenly felt the weight of the universe on his shoulders, he felt someone was looking through him and into his soul and being. As his two hearts beat resonated against his chest, as his blood pressure rises to dangerous levels, and as sweat that felt like lava started building up on his persona, Angron slowly starts to turn around.
And lo and behold, for the first time in his life, Angron lost his breath to what he could only guess to be, true horror.
Even though he did not know the being's name, Angron knew in his soul that this god was a being whose power could bring only destruction and slaughter to those that earn its fury.
Even he, a man whose blood was elevated above all, trembled in fear as he gazed upon the visage of Khorne himself.
Adorned in obsidian armor forged in the cosmic flames that first birthed the universe into existence, ancient beyond comprehension and seething with the rage of life itself, Khorne directed his sinister eyes on the slave. His gaze would have been enough to drive Angron to the point of madness, if not, rob him of life. The fact that he remained standing was, in itself, a miracle.
The giant three-headed hound that guarded the blood god's throne room lifted his threefold gaze upon the mortal and snarled. With a curt nod from his master, Karanak let loose a roar, and shortly after flesh hounds that have been circling the mortal without his knowledge lunged toward Angron with the intent of shredding him apart.
Even weaponless, Angron fearlessly rushed headlong into battle. He met the hounds with equal fury, raining heavy blows upon their brass hide that would normally shatter any melee weapon. Angron wrestled the beasts before killing one after another in front of the blood god.
But not without suffering injuries, Angron's body was covered in gashes and claw wounds, and his right arm and fist became useless after they broke themselves after hitting the hard hides of the flesh hounds so many times. He was limping due to one of the flesh hounds biting off a big chunk of his left leg.
Still hot with the blood of the flesh hounds, Angron lifted his arms and screamed his victory for all the daemons watching from the shadows within the throne room to hear.
The three-headed hound known as Karanak snarled, it readied itself to lunge at Angron to kill him, but was stopped by its master, Karanak growled at Angron before simply sitting beside the throne.
"You fight well, slave." The rumble of Khorne's voice praised his bloody work. "Even for one who has yet to master the bloody path of a warrior."
"I did not fight for you!" Angron yelled, angered, and insulted.
"Of course not, but you offer tribute nonetheless." Khorne leaned forward on his throne, "Now, you have earned my curiosity."
" I don't care if I have piqued your curiosity, I'm no one's amusement!" The slave shouted toward the enormous deity. " I refuse to remain here, to sate the bloodlust of a mad god!"
"My bloodlust cannot be sated!" Khorne's generous humor evaporated, his voice now the thunder of a thousand storms. Angron covered his ears as he felt an agonizing pain throbbing within his head, and felt the warmth of his blood trickling from his ears.
"Do not presume to hold yourself in such high regard! You are here to receive my will! My favor! And to serve as my warmaker in the materium." Khorne growled as he gripped his throne armrests.
" You are a fool if you think that I will do your binding, I will not spill blood in your name!" Angron yelled before falling to his knees before the throne, the strength in his legs leaving him.
"All blood is spilled in my name!" The old god growled.
"Even yours!"
The next thing Angron knew, his body was lit on fire, and his screams of pain made haste to be heard throughout the throne room. Angron could feel his organs and skin burning to ashes, he felt his blood boiling in his veins and organs, and he felt his bones and key parts in his body be pierced by swords and smashed to dust with war hammers.
Angron woke up screaming as he bolted from his bed, his body covered in sweat and his skin pale as a cadaver. As the guards of his master rushed toward his cell having heard his screams, Angron could only stare at his blood-stained shaking hand as his heartbeats were ringing in his chest and ears very similarly to drums of war.
Xx Throne room xX
Khorne, still gripping his armrests, growled. The moment Angron uttered those words, the flames of rage that were flowing through his mind were ignited as fury consumed his mind and it took all his will and self-control to not annihilate Angron's soul on the spot.
The mere thought that his bloodlust can be sated is blasphemous, Khorne can only guess that his reaction was the product of his domains and sudden hunger for the spilling of blood that appeared soon after.
Khorne leans back on his throne as he mindlessly watches the dead hounds carcasses be eaten by fellow flesh hounds. Suddenly, from the shadows of one of the pillars in the throne room, Valkia walked out from her hiding spot.
The female Daemon cautiously walked toward the skull throne till she was mere meters from it, holding back the reflexive instinct of flinching and bowing as the giant flaming malevolent eyes of her master landed on her, no doubt having sensed her presence the entire time.
Khorne, seeing Valkia, couldn't help but raise his dark-scaled eyebrow, his red eyes staring at Valkia with curiosity and slight bloodlust.
" My lord, the Anathema spawn deserves to be punished for his insolence, please, let me gather my crimson legion and I will set his world on fire and spill its habitant's blood in your name." Valkia requested, her voice echoing throughout the throne room, but as soon as she finished talking, silence returned to the throne room.
The previous chewing sound of the flesh hounds feasting on the dead bodies of their fellow hounds stopped, when Valkia noticed this, she turned to see that all the flesh hounds along with Karanak were staring at her as if daring her to request anything from their master and god.
Valka slightly frowned before she growled at the hounds as a warning, she wasn't worried about them except for Karanak, who is the only flesh hound capable of maiming and if not careful, strong enough to kill a daemon prince.
Her attention shifted toward her master though as she heard movement, she turned to see the blood god, leaning back, staring through her evil and corrupted soul when suddenly her lord spoke with such authority that she couldn't help but bow her head down in submission.
" No, he will pay for his insolence in its due time, and when that happens, he will become my servant." Khorne murmured, thinking about the events that will occur in the future.
Suddenly, his eyes turned toward the borders of his realm, there, he felt the aura of a being that doesn't belong in the warp.
Narrowing his eyes in curiosity and confusion, Khorne hummed.
" Interesting, this changes some of my plans, I wonder why one of them would even dare to approach my realm." Khorne murmured quietly, his gaze not faltering or moving from the person walking toward the Bastion Stair in what one would think to be either bravery or foolishness.
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Hello, here's the second chapter for those that have been waiting for it. I admit that this chapter feels rushed and not fully ready, though that might just be my imagination.
Feel free to ask questions as I will most likely answer them in the next chapter.
Can anybody guess who's visiting our dear mc?