Following the minimap instructions, Datch used the teleport gun and arrived at the Loyalist underground fortress on the planet Dharrovar. The dimly lit command center was thick with the acrid slls of engine oil, sweat, and unfiltered air. Before a desk piled high with blinking tactical holomaps and data panels, several uniford commanders debated the situation on Dharrovar.
So advocated retreating to Vigilus Star, becoming Freeblades, and continuing to serve the Emperor. Others stubbornly insisted that Earth must not be handed over to the chaos-led Mandrakor family and their forces. Datch's sudden arrival interrupted the heated quarrel.
"Who goes there?!"
"Guards! Guards!"
"Enemy attack!!"
"…"
The commanders panicked, shouting orders. The quickest among them instinctively drew their pistols, aiming their trembling barrels at the unexpected guest.
At this mont, Datch was clad in a full suit of gold and red armor, sporting an exaggerated grin and a bizarre, clownish helt. The design was truly peculiar; even Chaos cultists wouldn't wear such odd getups. Just as the commanders, spooked, were about to open fire, a prototype Space Marine clad in new-model Primaris Power Armor stepped forward to shield Datch.
On the Marine's pauldron was a complicated chapter emblem of intertwined barriers and rifts. He did not raise his weapon, rely gestured with his armored hand for everyone to lower theirs.
"Control your rudeness. Lower your weapons imdiately," the Marine's voice bood with authority from his helt speaker. The commanders exchanged confused glances, then grudgingly complied, putting down their weapons. Several irrational impulsive actions were thus averted.
Then, the armored soldier turned to Datch. With perfect form and respectful gravitas, he slamd his right fist onto Datch's left breastplate.
"Greetings, Naless Lord."
Datch cocked his head slightly, peering through the ludicrous helt visor at the soldier. As his gaze moved upward, a golden exclamation mark hovered above the Astartes' head. Apparently, this NPC played a key role in the mission storyline.
Datch's info panel for the man popped open: Ba'stien Grix, Chapter Master of the Castellans of the Rift. Castellans of the Rift was a Ultramarines Successor Chapter, specifically established to guard the Nachmund Gauntlet—a strategic lifeline through the Great Rift, connecting to the Dark Side of the Imperium. The Imperium discovered the corridor's importance after it opened a route through the Great Rift. Countless resources and personnel had been poured into maintaining this vulnerable artery.
But the environnt was brutal. Galaxies at the corridor's edge were constantly ravaged by intermittent warp storms. Lost vessels turned into abominations. Pirates, mutants, and alien scum multiplied and settled here. To counter these threats, the Imperium deployed several specialist units, among them the Castellans of the Rift.
Given Datch's reputation, it wasn't surprising he'd been recognized by the Ultramarines.
"Chapter Master Ba'stien," Datch got straight to the point. "What's the current status on Dharrovar?"
Ba'stien scrutinized Datch in return. He'd always harbored doubts about the various rumors involving the Naless. Now that he saw Datch in person—absurd clown helt and all—he realized those rumors were, if anything, understated. Not even Chaos traitors would wear sothing like that.
"The situation… is extrely dire, sir," Ba'stien snapped out of his thoughts and began his report. "We've lost about 80% of the world's surface. Our final resistance is now holed up in the perilous Nachmund Gauntlet."
After receiving a call for help from the Loyalists at Lova, the Castellans of the Rift main forces hurried to reinforce the position, but found the situation even worse than they'd expected. The rebel Mandrakor family and their knightly dynasties possessed overwhelming military might. Loyalist knights repeatedly lost in direct combat, even their ancestral fiefs had fallen into enemy hands.
Complicating matters, the Mandrakor family had spent years fortifying Dharrovar—the surface was layered with hardened fortresses, and a sprawling maze of tunnels had been excavated underground. Every ti the Imperium tried to bring in reinforcents from outside, they'd get bogged down with ineffective attacks and dangerously overstretched supply lines.
"Our hold on the Nachmund Gauntlet," Ba'stien continued, "now depends solely on the strategic terrain at the Sanctus Wall." He activated the console's holoprojector, bringing up a detailed tactical map of Dharrovar. Deep crimson zones representing the rebels slowly expanded, engulfing most land and sea. Even planetary orbit was choked with enemy fleet markers. The blue areas denoting Loyalist holdings had shrunk to a remote corner of the plateau. Only a faint, shimring blue dotted line connected them—that was the Imperium's last remaining supply line. Should it be cut, the planet's garrison would be truly isolated and helpless.
"This is going to be a challenge," Datch murmured, staring at the map where Loyalist forces were hopelessly outnumbered. According to Ba'stien's intel...
The Imperium had tried to suppress the rebellion, but the traitor leader, High King Kaligius, was a scher—any ti the Imperium gained an advantage, the main rebel forces would retreat into impregnable fortresses or underground tunnels, avoiding open conflict. Even the rebel fleet in orbit refused to confront the Imperial Navy directly, instead relying on the Oga-Threx Hell Forge—controlled by the Dark chanicus at the fringe of the Great Rift—to launch endless raids and inflict constant losses on the Imperial fleet.
These tactics revealed the Mandrakor betrayal was thoroughly preditated, not a spur-of-the-mont decision. Datch quickly pulled up background data on the Mandrakor family. The clan had dabbled in Chaos since the Horus Heresy ten thousand years ago; after defeat, they went into hiding, only to be grudgingly readmitted to the Imperium during the Age of the Beast. Now, with the galaxy riven by the Great Rift, the Mandrakors had returned to Chaos without hesitation.
The clan practiced inbreeding, resulting in so family mbers being born with disabilities, weak immune systems, and various diseases. So venerated Nurgle, while others—gifted with psychic abilities through generations of incest and conspiracy—chose to worship Tzeentch.
Currently, the family's ruler was High King Kaligius, whose wife, Queen Kaligia, was also his sister.
"Pssssch…" Datch caught his breath, "Warhamr's version of incest, huh!?"
Now that he had a flathrower, they were both going on his hit list. To preserve the positive spirit of brotherly love, the fire would have to burn for forty-nine days, lest the Imperium's fine youth beco corrupted.
Datch glanced at the battered Loyalist army—almost wiped out, barely any organized units left. Fighting the rebels head-on was hopeless unless he could return to Guilliman and request massive reinforcents. But that would be tedious and take too long.
A few cunning tricks, then—it would be much faster. Ti to unleash his unrivaled brilliance.
"What's your plan, sir?" Ba'stien asked, hopeful. Others watched Datch with anticipation, hoping he would devise so sche to reverse their fortunes.
Ignoring them, Datch pulled out Sadako's cursed videotape from his inventory and targeted the playback device inside the Mandrakor fortress.
In a flash, he vanished, leaving behind a group of bewildered, staring Loyalists.
….
Inside the Mandrakor Royal Palace.
Kaligius dismissed his guards and attendants, retreating alone to his chamber. Activating all the security systems, the paranoid king finally breathed a sigh of relief.
He had overseen the design of his bedroom himself. The walls were cast from thick alloys and embedded with anti-psychic field generators. No windows, only cold, shadowless ceiling lights glittered in the room. The faint sll of ozone from the active forcefield shield filled the air. No assassin, he thought, could possibly get inside this secret room to murder him.
Since the Great Rift split the sky, Kaligius had grown ever more paranoid and suspicious, feeling constantly threatened by those around him. After all, power transitions in the Mandrakor family were often accompanied by bloody plots and betrayal. He especially feared the old story of his ancestors having sided with Horus ten thousand years ago getting brought up.
Over the millennia, the Mandrakor family had chosen obscurity—staying on Dharrovar, avoiding exploration or combat, intentionally keeping a low profile. For a knightly world that prized honor and martial feats, this was slow-acting poison. Unable to advance via rit, knights turned to court intrigue instead: bribery, traps, betrayal, assassination… such dirty ans beca the only paths to social advancent.
Valor and virtue beca totally twisted, replaced by vicious power plays and endless scheming. Kaligius and his sister, Kaligia, were ultimate winners of this tradition—poisoning older siblings and climbing atop the corpses of their loved ones to seize power. Now, each day on his throne, Kaligius feared the sa might befall him.
He always dismissed all servants and even refused Kaligia's company whenever he needed to rest—shutting himself in this supposedly impregnable sanctuary. Only thus could he find a mont's peace. Ironically, this very attention to security made Datch's job much easier.
Using Sadako's video tape power, Datch easily entered Kaligius's bedroom. Appearing behind him with a blink skill, Datch stabbed Kaligius in the kidney with his dagger. Kaligius, just about to remove his robe, felt a sharp pain and looked down—imdiately turning pale.
An assassin! In his chamber!
Datch withdrew the blade. Kaligius fell, blood gushing from the wound. The king stared up at his attacker, demanding, "Who are you? How did you get in?"
Datch didn't answer, just shouted, "For the Emperor!" and knelt to stab the king again.
"Servant of the Corpse Emperor!"
Coughing up blood, Kaligius reached for the amulet hanging around his neck and crushed it in his hand. This was the family's ancient contract—proof of an accord struck long ago between the Mandrakor ancestors and a powerful Tzeentchian daemon. The pact promised that, should a direct descendant be in mortal peril, protection would be granted once.
Once, summoning a daemon required bloody sacrifice, so the amulet was rarely used. But with the Rift widened, summoning chaos creatures was easier than ever; the amulet had beco a key survival tool.
The instant it shattered, the air in the chamber warped and turned icy. Complex, chaotic runes erupted in blue-violet fla across the floor. Amid a blasphemous hiss, a warped silhouette crawled out from the breach—a humanoid form made of ever-shifting crystal, bone, and flickering energies, its body crawling with squirming red eyes.
It was a minor daemon of Tzeentch's domain. The daemon shrieked, several eyes fixing on Datch as its writhing limbs gathered malevolent witchfire.
But before it could attack, the Changeling concealed in the shadows moved into action. Datch, having anticipated the need, had previously summoned the Changeling to wait in ambush.
With a wave of its staff, the Changeling snuffed out the witchfire, leaving the daemon blinking in stupefaction. Then, the Changeling bellowed with irrepressible rage, "Begone."
The daemon froze, let out a pitiful whimper, and vanished without trace, leaving only a faint whiff of brimstone.
Datch glanced at his companion—there was still room for improvent in its training. The purpose of banishing the daemon was simple: keep it from falling into enemy hands.
"No… Impossible!" Kaligius choked on sheer disbelief at the destruction of his final trump card—his centuries-old family protection pact blown away like so much dust.
And why on earth did an Imperial assassin, of all things, co accompanied by a being who could command Tzeentch's daemon? It utterly overturned his understanding of reality. Was Tzeentch already working hand-in-glove with the Emperor against the other Chaos Gods, and now manipulating his own pawns?
"Why, Lord of Change, have you betrayed us?"
Datch didn't waste ti—he ordered the Changeling, "Finish him." The spirit nodded, raising its fingers with a flicker of light.
At Kaligius's feet, a pinkish-blue fla quietly ignited. It was no ordinary fire—it had no heat, but burned straight through the soul, consuming existence itself. Kaligius was reduced to fine gray ash in an instant, vanishing from the world without a sound.
Satisfied, Datch nodded and took out a pinch of clay powder from his inventory. After playing around a bit, he transford—becoming Kaligius. Sa stern face, sa lavish nightgown, even mimicked the characteristic frown and arrogance perfectly. With the super voice-changer, even his voice was indistinguishable from the original, fooling both people and machines.
"Perfect disguise." Datch admired himself in the mirror, pulled on the robe, and opened the heavy bedroom door.
Thanks to the room's renovations, none of the guards outside had heard a thing, and they remained oblivious to what had happened within.
"Summon all ranking officers, vassals, and knight-commanders to the strategy hall, at once!" Datch commanded. Frightened by their cruel master, the guards did not hesitate and ran off to spread the King's order as quickly as possible.
Soon after, Datch—disguised as High King Kaligius—ordered troops loyal to him to ambush the others in the strategy hall. Soon, nobles and generals hurried into the hall, looking at each other in confusion over this sudden urgent gathering. Datch, still in disguise, sat on the throne pale-faced, casting a cold glance across the crowd—a silent pressure stilled the hall.
"I have received a divine ssage from the Lord of Change. We must adjust our strategy." Datch's voice rang out. "From this mont on, lift the siege of the Nachmund Gauntlet, and assist the servants of the Imperium. Summon all frontline troops; Nurgle's followers must be purged imdiately—the divine will demands not a single one should be spared!"
No sooner had he spoken than the hidden troops sprang from ambush, swiftly subduing the corrupted nobles and generals who'd been coddling up to the villains. Chaos erupted in the hall.
With defeat and war still looming outside, carrying out a purge of rival Chaos factions was reckless madness!
A young knight—well-dressed, sharp-eyed, and full of zeal—could not help but rise to his feet. It was Viscount Torian, a cadet noble fad for his bravery and loyalty to the Mandrakor family. He yearned for military glory and Imperial favor, always leading the charge in battle, though he was infamously cruel to prisoners—those who fell into his hands rarely survived the tortures.
"Your Majesty," Viscount Torian bowed deeply before Datch-as-King, "with all respect, our true foes are the Imperials at the gates. We should suspend all internal purges for now and focus exclusively on crushing the Imperial rebels!"
Datch sneered. This knight was clearly loyal—a good place to start.
"Viscount Torian," Datch slamd his palm on the table, "your disloyalty is obvious to all."
"W-what…?!" Torian was speechless, staring up at the King he'd sworn fealty to, disbelief and injustice writhing on his face. Disloyalty? He'd shed so much blood for House Mandrakor, always front and center in every fight! Was he truly being accused of treason?
"No! Your Majesty! My loyalty to you is as clear as the sun and the moon!" Torian fell to his knees, hoarse with emotion, "Give any task—I'll prove my loyalty! Please, see the truth!"
Datch dismissed him with a wave. "He harbored ulterior motives, damaged morale, and colluded with villains. Burn him—and the other traitors with him."
The Changeling spirit materialized, laughing loudly, and blew a gentle breath towards the cowering Torian. A thin blue witchfire sprang out of nowhere, igniting the bodies of Torian and the many Nurgle-aligned nobles and generals instantly.
Seeing only piles of ash remain, the rest of the nobles and generals bowed their heads in terror, cold sweat dripping down their backs. The hall fell utterly silent; no one dared breathe or utter a word.
"To purge these Nurgle blights, summon all forces to the frontlines at once. That is all. Any objections?" Datch's gaze swept across everyone, eyes burning with murderous intent.
No one dared argue, or say a word.
"If there are no objections, execute the order. This is the holy decree of the Lord of Change. If anyone complains, I don't mind burning a few more." Datch's threat sealed the hall in silence. Heads bowed; no one dared et his eyes.
…
Thus began a bloody purge on Dharrovar. Loyalist survivors driven to the Nachmund Gauntlet watched in astonishnt as civil war erupted within House Mandrakor. Both sides deployed every devastating weapon, fighting bitterly.
Loyalist commanders were at a complete loss, unable to grasp what was happening.
"It must be the Emperor's divine power at work," Ba'stien finally concluded after much consideration, echoed by the other Imperial officers.
…
Deep in the warp, inside the Crystal Labyrinth of endless possibilities, eternal change, and tricks without end.
Tzeentch, Master of Change, who had long watched the Naless One, was montarily stunned at their utter shalessness. The intricate web of conspiracy on Dharrovar, which should have been magnificent, was now ruined by the Naless's despicable interference. They had incinerated Tzeentch's own worshippers, used divine authority to trigger a civil war, and made pawns out of the damned.
How could they be so base? So shaless? Were they even human?
"You use cheats, and so do I. But you're intentionally sabotaging my plans! And what's with that wretched Changeling spirit? Why does it work so hard for you?"
Are you trying to seize power while getting others to take the bla for you? It seems there isn't a single loyalist among the denizens of the warp!
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