The iron gates of the cell block abruptly rose, ushering in a Chaos Space Marine, towering and armed with a colossal axe. Chen Ye and the other two Space Marines ceased their quarrel at once; while they held their own grudges, survival demanded cooperation. They knew that escape alone was futile.
The Executioner of the Oathbreakers' Warband strode slowly through the cell block, dragging his axe along the bars, sending a chilling, metallic scrape reverberating through every prisoner's mind. His gaze surveyed each cell, ignoring those who cowered in the corners, until his eyes settled on Chen Ye.
"Let me fight," Chen Ye challenged, his glare unwavering. "Or does a Butcher's Nail rob you of such choices?"
The insult bit deep, as every Oathbreaker bore the Butcher's Nail implanted in their skulls, enslaved to its violent hunger. Yet to be called "nails" was a rebuke most bitter.
"I will sever your head myself," the Executioner growled, restraining his wrath, yet moving to finish his task. His gaze passed over Chen Ye and finally settled on Yao En.
"You," he pointed at Yao En, then to others in the cells, including Chen Ye.
"Count me in, Nail," called out a Chaos Marine in blue armor from the opposite cell, flexing a mutated tendril arm.
"You wish for death, Rod? Very well, I'll add you," the Executioner said, smacking his axe against the bars as he added the blue-armored Rod to the roster.
Rod exchanged a look with Chen Ye, then sneered at the Executioner. "Keep that filthy worm out of the arena."
Following Rod's disdainful glance, the Executioner recognized Yao En as a Null, though to him, he seemed merely a mortal prisoner. With no clear knowledge of a Null's effect on rituals and Kvein absent, he left Yao En in the line—after all, death would soon follow.
"Count me in as well." The Plague Marine, covered in festering sores, rose to his feet. The Executioner ignored him and selected over a hundred more prisoners before finally departing.
Swiftly, an army of ten thousand mortal thralls swarmed into the cell block, keys in hand, opening the adamantium gates and herding out the chosen ones, forcing them into a long line. Many captives, unaware of their fate, trembled, believing they were to be executed.
"This isn't execution—it's a fair fight!" The thralls brandished their weapons, terrorizing any who resisted, forcing all prisoners to leave the cells.
Once the line was formed, Yao En took a moment to scan the numbers. With two Space Marines and himself included, there were exactly 8,888 combatants. Recalling Qin Mo's teachings on Chaos cults and their numerical obsessions, Yao En recognized the telltale mark of Khorne, the Blood God—a zealot for brutal, close-quarters warfare.
The prisoners, most of them civilians of the Forge World, quickly fell into line, guided by habit, and were led toward the cell block's exit. The closer they drew to the outside, the louder the clamor of roars and war cries grew.
As they reached the arena entrance, Yao En beheld it—a grand, despoiled furnace once used to forge molten metal, now draped in profane symbols. It resembled an enormous, dry indoor pool from Talon III. At its edges, captives of the Forge World's high command were crucified upon spiked pillars, each adorned with Khorne's bloody sigils. Even the Dominator Sage, hanging from a metal hook through his skull, was barely alive, his cybernetic eyes restlessly scanning the crowd.
The arena's edges teemed with Oathbreaker Marines and their countless thralls, all drawn to this morbid spectacle. It appeared that an audience was essential to the rite.
"Collect your weapons!"
A crimson supply shuttle, bristling with spikes, hovered before them, raining down an assortment of crude arms—no firearms, only axes, clubs, and swords.
"Stick close to me," Chen Ye whispered to Yao En, seizing a pair of long blades.
"Don't take more than your share!" a thrall barked from the shuttle. His words were cut short as his torso split in two, a crimson streak left on Chen Ye's dual blades. Few noticed who killed him, but the blood on Chen Ye's blades was proof enough.
"You'll make up for it," he sneered, snatching the fallen thrall's weapon and handing it to a prisoner behind him.
Rod picked up two clubs and tossed one to Yao En. "It seems your aura's weaker than I thought. Standing near you just feels like being in a pit of bloated cattle dung, not enough to choke off my powers."
Irritated but silent, Yao En admitted Rod's words held truth—his Null nature was indeed mild. If it had been his wife or daughter here, Rod would've been reduced to a heaving wreck.
He cast a fleeting glance at Rod before taking a random weapon.
The line moved slowly, each reaching the shuttle and arming themselves before entering the blood-soaked battlefield. Finally, they all assembled in the center of the arena.
Their foes, 888 in total, had arrived—some Oathbreaker Marines, alongside a vast throng of mortal thralls. Many of the Marines held great axes aloft, while others, eschewing armor, sought glory through raw combat.
The moment approached.
Chen Ye raised his twin blades, fervently praying to the Emperor.
Rod murmured affectionate words to unseen spirits.
The prisoners invoked the Omnissiah's blessing.
And Yao En, clutching a black pendant gifted by Qin Mo years before, pressed it to his brow. "Guide me, my god."