The Betrayer Warband swiftly purged the remaining resistance within the fourth Foundry Zone, systematically sweeping every branching conduit to ensure no hiding place was overlooked. Their progress was efficient, even as Kraven, the orchestrator of this operation, departed mid-way. The rest pressed on, upholding his command to cleanse the area without needless slaughter—prisoners were only killed if absolutely necessary.
Throughout the three-day operation, the three Astartes of the Betrayer Warband restrained their seething rage. They understood well that these captives held strategic value; reckless killing would only doom them all in this brutal war. Once the mission concluded, the three warriors, joined by their mortal thralls, herded all prisoners back to the foundry.
Over one hundred thousand captives were shackled and forced to march under relentless guard. Among them was Yaon, who had blended in with the crowd, bound in chains like the others, silently observing his surroundings. As they neared the foundry walls after a day and night of marching, Yaon took in the sight before him.
The walls bore defiled brass sigils, with Chaos Space Marines from the Betrayer Warband manning the battlements—three hundred strong, their ranks bolstered by mortal servants and grotesque hybrids of flesh and machinery. Yet something puzzled Yaon: he saw no signs of Chaos Marines from other warbands.
This mystery lingering in his mind, Yaon continued, his steps drawing him ever closer to the heart of the foundry…
Moments later, Yaon and the captives were ushered into an arena-like structure. Some were taken directly to the forges, while the rest were led into the cell blocks and locked away behind gates of adamantine. The guards hurried away, eager not to miss the bloodsport.
In the dimness of the cell, Yaon saw that many others were imprisoned alongside him. Across from his cage, captives weren't limited to mere mortals—some were Chaos Astartes themselves. They were a grim assortment, each marred by bizarre deformities: one, clad in blue power armor, bore hideously mutated limbs; another's armor oozed pus from sores that spread across every seam.
Yaon's initial question—why no other warbands were visible on the battlefield—was answered. Internal strife had evidently broken out among them.
But another possibility lingered: Yaon recalled seeing disparate Chaos warbands cooperating on his way to Foundry Zone Four. Perhaps this disunity was confined to the foundry alone.
"They're being used for a ritual," a deep voice rumbled behind him.
Yaon turned and saw a towering figure rise from the shadows—a hulking, two-meter-tall warrior far larger than most, unmistakably an Astartes. No hint of mutation marred this warrior's form. An Imperial Aquila insignia hung from his belt; this man wasn't one of the Chaos Marines, but rather an Astartes of the loyalist creed.
The warrior knelt beside Yaon, his gaze fixed on the prison cells across. In a low voice, he said, "Most warbands are likely still united in battle; it's just that these Betrayers are stabbing others in the back. They've been capturing isolated members of other warbands."
"They're holding a ritual?" Yaon asked, wary.
"A blood ritual, in the arena," the Astartes confirmed. "They'll pit mortal against mortal, Astartes against Astartes, letting the blood flow to feed a statue... I suspect that's the purpose."
Yaon nodded slowly in understanding.
The two observed the scene in silence before Yaon asked, "You look different from the other Astartes here..."
"A tale as long as it is sorrowful," the Astartes replied in rare, plaintive words.
The phrase triggered a memory in Yaon—words spoken by Qin Mo in moments of quiet, like an old proverb weighted with truth.
"White Scars. My name is Chen Ye," the Astartes introduced himself, explaining his presence. He was a loyal Astartes of the White Scars chapter, having served a century. He and his battle-brother, Balutai, had come to the foundry seeking aid in repairing Terminator armor. They had been welcomed by the Dominator Sage and waited at the forge until the invasion began. With the fall of the engine foundry and surrounding areas, they were captured and forced into combat.
"Balutai is dead," Chen Ye murmured, his fists clenching. "I must avenge him."
"Why are you telling me this?" Yaon said, feigning indifference. He hadn't disclosed his true purpose here, viewing Chen Ye's motives with suspicion. For all he knew, the Astartes could be part of an elaborate scheme. The Chaos Marine in blue armor, caged across from them, certainly seemed the scheming type.
"Because you're different from the others here," Chen Ye replied, his gaze sweeping over the terrified prisoners huddled in the corners. "We need to work together."
Chen Ye didn't bother concealing his words, nor did he lower his voice; while no Betrayer guards stood watch on their side, there were certainly Astartes from other warbands in the cells opposite.
When he finished speaking, every Chaos Astartes across the hall turned to look at him—and, one by one, nodded.
Clearly, in this situation, the prisoners had reached a common understanding.
"I have to get out," said the Chaos Marine in blue. "And deliver word of this ritual to my brothers. But there's no reason to bring along a reeking, soulless mortal."
"Don't get ahead of yourself," sneered the Astartes with pus-ridden armor. "If we do get out, there'll be blood spilled between us yet."
Chen Ye gripped the gilded bars tightly, snarling, "If it weren't for your invasion of this world, I'd not be caged here like an animal. If I escape, I'll string up your corpses and drag them behind my bike a hundred laps around the forge!"
"If we escape, I'll pour poison down your throat, whelp," retorted the pustule-covered Astartes. "But for now, keep calm."
"Enough!" Yaon interjected, raising his voice. "Who is leading this ritual?"
This was the very reason he'd entered the prison; he aimed to eliminate the ritual's leader before he, too, was dragged into the slaughter.
"The Dark Apostle Kraven, that bastard with the Blood God's staff," replied the blue-armored Astartes. "But asking won't help. Better to ask me—the Psyker—if I have a way out."
"Damn your 'powers.' You sorcerous types are full of useless omens and predictions, while your warband's too blind to notice when a member's missing. Your brothers are out there mindlessly serving Kosorax!"
"I'd sooner speak to anyone but a leaking sack of rot, thank you."
To Yaon, the fractured state of these Astartes signaled a doomed alliance; they were barely united even in captivity, and unlikely to survive their impending blood match.
Intent on his mission, Yaon simply committed the Dark Apostle's description to memory. The moment Kraven revealed himself, Yaon would be ready to strike.