This Is Our Warhammer Journey

“Blood for the Blood God!”

The sound of axe blades slicing through steel.

“For the glory of Macragge!”

That was the sound of a blade piercing flesh, followed by something heavy hitting the ground.

Splurt~

Blood splashed outward. As the heretic’s headless corpse dropped to its knees and slumped forward, frenzied shouting erupted around them.

“Blood for the Blood God! Blood for the Blood God!”

The heretics’ blasphemous chants assaulted the eardrums. Xiphris stood silently, watching another heretic leap into the dueling pit.

He didn’t strike first.

“There’s nothing left. You’ve won it all, warrior.”

The nearly three-meter-tall Khorne warrior drew his dual axes. The chainswords began spinning, throwing sparks.

Eight skulls, eight pairs of offerings, and a warrior who had endured eight trials—the Blood God’s domain had already opened its gates for him.

He could feel the eight blood lakes boiling for him in that endless crimson wasteland. The Blood God had long prepared eight wars for him—each worthy of his ascension.

The desire to harvest this warrior’s skull and let his blood wash over him echoed in his heart.

“Now I’ll take all of it—your life included!”

The traitor’s voice boomed like thunder, fused with his body, much like the power pack strapped to his back that now spewed flames with ferocious force—a symbol of boundless might.

He stood in a position of complete dominance.

Xiphris remembered all too clearly—those twin axes had come from behind, cleaving apart a battle-brother who was still fending off Orks.

The Ironclad Terminator in front of him still bore the gouge left by that same brother.

And the head of that battle-brother—who had scarred this enemy—was now impaled on a spike protruding from the traitor’s back.

Xiphris remained silent. He didn’t scream at the injustice. He knew full well that traitors had no claim to honor.

Dragging his heavy iron-clad frame, he raised his nicked and battered sword once more.

“For the glory of Macragge!”

It was a bloody arena, echoing with the roars of warriors.

Severed limbs lay everywhere. Rabid void-rats dragged broken tissue into tunnels. Deathwatch corpses were impaled from base to skullcap and stuck onto high scaffolding as makeshift barriers. What looked like a mixture of brain matter and blood covered the steel surroundings like spiderwebs in a jungle.

The overwhelming stench of blood hit like a wave. The red Warp miasma had dyed the base of the generator a vivid crimson.

At the center of the arena, an Apothecary in a white-helmed helmet was struggling desperately.

Around him lay eight Chaos Space Marine corpses.

He was gravely wounded—his power pack had long been ripped off, and a massive gash split open his chest. Both of his hearts were destroyed.

His opponent was a fully armed Khorne warrior, nearly as tall as Arthur.

Arthur noticed right away—the Ironclad Terminator in the middle of the field, energy shield active, was dueling a heavily wounded Mk7 Space Marine.

The Sisters of Battle, now caught up with the team, gazed at the scene before them—fury blazing in their eyes.

“Hold yourselves, sisters! Encirclement formation!”

The Canoness gave a low command, and the 26-member squad of Battle Sisters quickly fanned out, searching for ambush positions.

“Doesn’t the Blood God care about honorable duels?”

Arthur threw out the question casually, eyes metaphorically assaulted by the sight before him, and then vanished in a blur—striking into the arena like a teleporting phantom.

Anger didn’t solve problems—but slaughter did.

He would kill every last one of those who dared challenge his worldview with such vile rituals. No mercy.

“The Blood God doesn’t care where the blood comes from.”

Romulus looked down at the carnage in the dueling pit and shook his head lightly. He then remotely commanded the Ultramarines to open fire and activated the loudspeaker.

“Seal the passages. Kill them all. Don’t let anyone escape.”

The Ultramarines surrounding the dueling pit moved in perfect unison. One hand disengaged the safety and clamped down on the trigger. The other braced the upper side of their guns, reducing recoil to near zero.

The Sisters of Battle switched to melta weapons and used explosions to seal off all escape routes from below.

Gunfire and blasts instantly replaced the fanatical howls of the Chaos heretics. The numerous Chaos Space Marines who had just gathered near the corpse piles were shredded into Swiss cheese the moment they drew their blasphemous weapons.

Their struggle, like the now-ruined ritual in the dueling pit, was utterly meaningless.

Bang!

Arthur dropped from above, pressed his plasma gun firmly against the Khorne Terminator’s head, and fired a clean, loyal shot.

But the Blood God’s blessing let the warrior tank the plasma that should’ve pierced anything. The Khorne Terminator merely leaned back to absorb the impact, then used his thick armored arm to knock away the incoming power sword aimed at his head—twisting into a double-axe strike at Arthur.

He was skilled.

The first enemy to last a full exchange against Arthur.

Arthur’s expression grew slightly tense as he refocused.

He blocked the right-side strike with his blade, raised his shield to deflect a feint—actually a flying axe aimed at the Apothecary—and drove forward, making the Khorne Terminator stumble.

“Lapdog of the False Emperor, you—”

Arthur didn’t listen to the Khorne warrior’s furious roar. He let go of his longsword, still locked with the cursed axe, and closed in. With his fist wrapped in ceramite, he smashed it square into the already-mutated head of the Khorne warrior.

Splurt!

The twisted skull flew off from the punch. Blood gushed from the severed neck. The defiled body hadn’t even registered its brain was gone—it still held the pose of a downward strike.

Only then did Arthur take a step back, catching his falling power sword while letting the axe blade scrape across his chestplate.

And just as he did, Romulus and the others’ firepower tore through the remaining enemies.

Even Space Marines had no chance to resist such sudden, saturating firepower.

The crimson mist began to thin.

Rage! Rage!

The Blood God’s realm, always flowing with blood, churned with endless fury.

A duel. A blood-soaked duel—ruined.

Right under His nose.

He had gained no warrior’s skull. No new servant to gather more skulls in His name. The power He projected vanished completely with the death of His followers. Nothing gained—investment lost.

Who was it?!

Khorne turned His gaze to that realm. He could see the cursed worshippers, the corpses of His followers—but no matter how He looked, He couldn’t find the one who had stolen His skulls.

D*mn it, such scheming would annoy even a god.

“Tzeentch!!”

A flash of ghostly blue crossed His thoughts. Seated upon His Brass Throne, the Blood God let out a soul-shaking roar.

If He couldn’t find the culprit—then that truth-hiding trickster would pay the price!

Only slaughter solves problems!

As the Blood God roared, the brass bell of the Crimson Wastes tolled loud and long. Molten metal surged into a tidal flood, crushing skulls and feeding the eternally burning slaughter furnace.

Iron bulls, blood altars—countless constructs of Chaos machines and killing spirits burst forth from the Skull Tower.

Even the unnaturally thick red river, nourished by endless war and slaughter, thinned slightly. The countless butchers scattered across the wasteland halted their blades, their eyes burning with desire—gazing at the Lord of Carnage seated upon the Brass Throne.

“Blood for the Blood God!”

The Blood God's wrath is eternal, His slaughter unending.

There is only one thing that can halt an eternal duel—

A greater war!

“Skulls for the Skull Throne!!!”

Beneath the layered, blood-red sky, fully armed warriors roared in fanatical fury.

When the eighth toll of the bell fell, the brass horns echoed across the Blood God’s domain.

888 Greater Daemons of Khorne, leading their legions of daemonic warriors, began their march toward the endless, ghostly blue labyrinth.

“？”

And as burning iron hooves smashed through the kaleidoscopic walls of the maze, the twisted, ever-shifting being seated atop a dry well at its center finally opened its countless eyes.

“Change.”

It murmured, infinite joy hidden within the chatter of its countless mouths and teeth.

As if the rampaging Khorne daemons tearing through its domain were a heavenly army come to liberate it.

“Heehee, a war I never foresaw!”