"Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!"
The oath-breakers roared as they charged forward, igniting the battle with sudden ferocity. Yao En had initially thought these warriors might enact some form of ritual beforehand.
"Stay close to me and don't let rage consume me," Chen Ye commanded, striking a fighting stance with his dual blades in hand, a statement that surprised Yao En.
In this chaos, Astartes warriors were like beacons; the other mortal prisoners instinctively clustered around Chen Ye, even Rod followed suit.
"Protect me above all!" Rod shouted at Chen Ye, tossing his sword aside. Just as Chen Ye and Yao En thought he was retreating, a blue staff materialized in Rod's hands.
The oath-breakers' mortal thralls lagged behind, but their Astartes surged forward with a speed that covered vast distances in seconds. Rod calmly advanced, planting his staff into the ground once within range.
Ten bolts of lightning erupted, tearing across the ground and reducing three dual-axe wielding warriors to ash. Rod, momentarily taken aback by the toll, cast a vexed glance at Yao En, who could only marvel at Rod's formidable psychic prowess.
As Rod turned, two executioners rushed toward him, swinging their massive axes. Chen Ye darted in from the side, aiming to sever the executioners' arms. Yet his lack of combat experience betrayed him; one of the executioners deflected the blow with an elbow strike to his head while the other turned his swing into a downward chop.
Just as Chen Ye narrowly dodged decapitation by flipping backward, his blades left bloody marks on their forearms—a surprise, given he had no time to question the potency of his weapons. Rod knocked Chen Ye aside, sending lightning into the executioners, instantly reducing them to ash. Their accessories and axes clattered to the ground, the only remnants of their form.
Chen Ye took two steps back, casting a glance at his blades. The weapons were woefully inadequate; they had barely scratched the executioners' bare arms.
"Fight on!" Rod hurled one of the heavy axes towards Chen Ye with a tendril from his mutated arm. After a moment's hesitation, Chen Ye seized it, glancing briefly at Yao En for affirmation.
While Chen Ye and Rod skillfully evaded and countered blows, Rod would unleash psychic energy from a safe distance, occasionally striking with his staff at those who ventured too near. Yao En fought off another foe nearby, protecting the surrounding prisoners.
But for the rest of the captives, the fight was a slaughter. Against the oath-breakers' Astartes, armed only with rudimentary melee weapons, there was no contest, only carnage. Executioners swung their axes, decapitating rows of prisoners with each strike. Berserkers wielded dual axes, cutting bodies clean in half as they plowed through the throngs.
Some captives charged, chanting fervent prayers to the Omnissiah before falling. Others huddled, frozen in terror, awaiting their doom. Among them was a young boy, paralyzed in grief beside his father's severed head. A berserker, seemingly protecting the boy, slaughtered the men surrounding him. But the boy soon caught the eye of a thrall with a chainsword for an arm, approaching slowly.
"Come at me! You cowards!"
Chen Ye roared, burying his axe into the nearest foe's chest before ripping it out to block another. He strained to keep the enemies at bay, drawing them away from the prisoners while mocking them with scornful jests.
"Where is your Gene-Sire now, that butcher's nail lodged in your heads?"
The taunts worked. The enemies' fury turned from Rod to him as they converged on the one who dared insult their lineage. Yet taunts alone couldn't change the fate of the battle. Chen Ye fought defensively, retreating while assessing the situation. Rod, too, was now encircled, his figure soon lost in a sea of red. Yao En had swapped his weapon for an axe and was intercepting those pressing towards the prisoners.
Realizing the inevitability of their loss, Chen Ye's resolve hardened. This was a death trap, a spectacle to amuse the oath-breakers. In the face of such an insurmountable advantage, only death awaited them; all they could do was fight to the end.
A thunderous hum suddenly filled the air. Chen Ye looked towards Rod, witnessing a powerful psychic blast scattering nearby enemies. Rod, wounded and barely standing, leaned on his staff, his armor riddled with gashes. By his side stood an alien form, towering and grotesquely elegant, supporting Rod with a tail and wielding dual bone blades.
It was something beyond mortal reckoning, an entity both eldritch and terrifying. Rod exchanged a glance with Chen Ye, murmuring endearments to the creature before it carved a bloody path towards him.
Yao En, momentarily separated, found his pendant aglow, a fiery blade materializing in his grip. The strange miracle told him his god was watching.
With each swing of the blazing sword, Yao En cleaved through enemies, dividing Astartes and thralls alike. Even those out of reach seemed pulled into his strike, their bodies split as his blade scorched the air. The pendant not only empowered him but also imparted a clear purpose—vanquish as many foes as possible with his own hands.