Within Yaon surged three nuclear reactors, each overclocked to power the intricate mechanized augmentations within him, bestowing an overwhelming might that rendered him a relentless force of death. His pendant floated above his chest, and the very laws of physics seemed to ripple and distort around him.
Enemies encircling him found their approach erratic; a single step might close hundreds of meters in an instant, or leave them inexplicably farther. Each flaming slash of Yaon's sword would eviscerate the foe directly before him, or else carve through a distant target beyond the arena.
Two Space Marines before him were cleaved to ash, their bodies reduced to nothing in a heartbeat. As an Imperial Custodian, Yaon, even unarmored, could hardly be overcome in mere combat—his only drawback was a lack of swifter efficiency in dispatching foes. The Necron power channeled through his pendant corrected this flaw, empowering Yaon to fulfill his purpose with swift, ruthless efficiency.
None that Yaon slew would spill a single drop of blood. Even Chen and Rhod noticed the bloodless corpses of their own slain foes, but amid the battle, neither had time to ponder this strange sight; they had to fight alongside the remaining thousand mortal captives.
Though the disparity in strength between both sides was vast, and though the Oathbreakers' Space Marines still massacred any unguarded mortals, the tide seemed to ease, even if just a little.
And, with a soulless being now butchering under Necron's influence, the arena was gradually losing its ritualistic potency.
…
Meanwhile, Quwein piloted a transport shuttle across the battlefront, devising ways to expedite the ritual. If he could convert the other fields into conduits for the rite in conjunction with the arena, the ritual's completion might well be hastened. With both hands gripping the blood-marked brass staff, Quwein sensed and sought out suitable battlegrounds for this purpose.
Abruptly, he noticed a peculiar shift in the arena's ritual strength. Quickly opening his eyes, he contacted Mogliwa and Lorikay, who were stationed at the coliseum—both aides-de-camp known as the Flesh Butcher and the Ironwright, respectively.
"What's happening in the arena?" he demanded.
"Nothing out of the ordinary—the ritual proceeds," replied Mogliwa.
"There's merely a soulless one on a killing spree," Lorikay added, "but he's not suppressing psychic energy in his vicinity. Psykers can cast around him, so he shouldn't affect the rite, correct?"
A wave of doubt washed over Quwein. He'd directed Mogliwa to handle soulless ones captured on the Forge World—send them into the arena. Mortal soulless ones lacked psychic power and weren't augmented into Space Marines, thus weak and quickly dispatched. How could one be slaughtering his way through the coliseum?
Yet, even if this soulless one killed with impunity, he shouldn't disrupt the ritual. The Blood God cared not whence came the blood so long as it flowed. Any captive capable of such a massacre would only be further blessed. Puzzled, Quwein finally decided to return in person. "I'll be back immediately. Send in more warriors to dispatch that soulless one."
"But you said interference in the battle could ruin the rite," protested Mogliwa, "even if captives slaughter all of our champions, we cannot interfere or risk backlash."
Quwein, exasperated at the depth of his explanation, barked, "Do as I say—now!"
"Yes, sir," Mogliwa nodded. Leading the ritual bestowed upon Quwein temporary authority over the aides-de-camp, binding them to his commands.
Yet, as he issued orders, Quwein hesitated to instruct the pilot to head for the coliseum. What if the soulless one there posed a real threat? This could well be a trap.
If the creature's power were manageable, he would return. If not, he would remain away. The ritual determined the fate of the Oathbreakers, and if it failed, so long as he lived, he could attempt it anew. Life offered options; death did not.
After some reflection, he queried, "What equipment does the soulless one bear? Could he pose a danger to me?"
"He's unarmored, wielding a sword that pulls foes within range, but limited in scope," Lorikay, the Ironwright, responded analytically. "In case of a miscalculation, retreat is feasible."
"I'm heading back," Quwein resolved, setting course for the arena.
…
Meanwhile, battle continued within the coliseum, with fresh waves of foes pouring in. Yaon, Chen, Rhod, and the Alieness were the primary defense; the other captives contributed little more than frightened bodies huddling together to avoid solitary death.
Yet, even the combined strength of the four combatants could not protect everyone; frenzied foes would regularly plunge into the captives, unleashing furious slaughter.
Rhod showed no interest in defending others, nor did the Alieness care. Cocooned within her monstrous form, she shielded Rhod as any who neared her were either felled by psychic wrath or sliced by her bone blade.
Only Chen and Yaon held any concern for the others' lives.
As he fought, Chen's thoughts churned. He saw the strength within Yaon, a soulless one capable of breaking free from the arena, yet he stayed, clearly with some larger purpose. It was undoubtedly more significant than mere self-preservation; otherwise, Yaon could have helped them escape the prison.
Surely, this purpose was to thwart the ritual ongoing in the arena.
"Rhod!" Chen called, addressing Rhod within the Alieness's embrace. "That wretch, Quwein—the apostle you mentioned—where is he?"
Rhod shot him a look, and his response echoed in Chen's mind. "Not even the aides-de-camp know his whereabouts, and I certainly don't."
Chen sighed, his mind drifting to the realization of Yaon's reason for entering the arena in disguise.
Yaon continued his assault, vigilant, until his gaze caught sight of a figure upon the northern dais. His bio-processor analyzed the image, aligning it with the intel he'd gathered on the Dark Apostle, and assessed a ninety-percent match.
There stood Quwein, who, through his own senses, realized that the soulless one was the key disruptor.
As their gazes locked, Yaon wasted no time. Abandoning the others, he charged directly toward Quwein.
Just as Rhod was about to curse Yaon's abandonment of his allies, a fissure suddenly opened within the arena.
From the rift emerged Yaon's Custodian power armor, reanimated within its dimensional passage, now fighting autonomously, drawing all enemies in its path toward it.