The Only Player in Warhammer Chapter 204 204: Is Reconciliation Possible?

The male corpse was pinned to the black stone pedestal by a green energy lock.

The tabletop was covered in dense, faintly glowing necromantic runes. The eerie green light they shed pulsed in ti with the man's heartbeat, as though it possessed a life of its own, slowly seeping into his flesh and blood. Pain and despair filled the man's face. He bitterly regretted not dying on the battlefield for the Emperor. A single mont of terror at the prospect of death had delivered him into the hands of vile xenos. Now he could neither live nor die, subjected to every conceivable tornt.

The man realized he was inside a dark, gloomy tomb. Countless scarabs crawled across the arched do overhead. Their tails emitted a ghostly green fluorescence; their tal legs clicked with every step as they sward into the empty hall.

Beside him lay many other n and won. Like him, they were prisoners—strapped to stone slabs or tal rings, reduced to experintal subjects for the aliens. All shared the sa hopeless fate. In endless agony they could do nothing but moan in despair.

Illuminator Szeras stepped out of the shadows. His body was living tal; four massive tallic limbs supported his colossal fra while data streams flashed like lightning from his single cyclopean eye. Szeras approached the captive and extended a tallic arm. At his movent the runes on the black stone pedestal flared brighter, accelerating the infiltration. The man felt his flesh being torn apart. Indescribable pain forced his pupils wide; his eyes flooded with blood. Limbs locked, mouth gagged, he could only writhe, the only way left to express tornt beyond words.

One second… two… three… four… five…

Suddenly the man's pupils dilated fully. His life force vanished. In that instant a sphere of green light erupted from the corpse's mouth and nose. Within Szeras's hand it coalesced into a radiant, multidinsional orb of thought. This was the extracted ntal domain—the repository of mory and emotion. To lesser beings it was simply called the soul.

Szeras wished to study humanity so that the undead scattered across the cosmos might one day reclaim their souls and once again know the fear of death. He raised his left hand, palm open, and from his single eye a scanning beam lanced forth to probe the soul's secrets.

A soft pshh sounded. The glowing thought-sphere collapsed of its own accord, dissolving into green mist and vanishing before his eyes. No matter what thod he tried, not a single one could be retained. Defeated again, Szeras could not hide his irritation. Face twisted, he glared at the empty human shell on the pedestal, then turned toward the remaining prisoners in search of the next test subject.

What was this soul? Why was every attempt at research dood? How could the souls of the spacefaring undead be restored and made to fear death once more?

An alarm suddenly blared. Szeras turned to the spherical holographic projector floating in the center of the hall. The display showed scenes of surviving humans fighting and moving through the ruins.

"Despicable, abominable creatures."

"Cleanup is required."

Szeras muttered to himself and strode down the opposite corridor. In the corner stood several black stone sarcophagi forged from living tal, their surfaces covered in layered, faintly glowing necromantic runes. Each contained a high-ranking undead warrior.

"Execution protocol activating per base directives."

As the words echoed, the necromantic symbols on the sarcophagi ca alive, flowing outward in streams of light. The heavy lids—spiraled along their central axes like cara apertures—contracted layer by layer, expelling white mist. The Deathmark warriors, dormant for sixty million years, erged from the opened coffins, stirring the fog that filled the chamber.

The Deathmark's single eye scanned its awakener—Szeras—confird identity, then bowed in respect.

"Honor to the Radiant Szeras, Lord of Matter, Lord Technomancer."

"This unit has activated under the Deadlock Protocol and stands ready to receive orders."

Szeras waved a hand. The spherical projector lit up, displaying dozens of Hive City survivors.

"Those inferior lifeforms who survived the catastrophe still plot to reclaim this planet. Eradicate them all. Leave no variables. My experints will tolerate no interference."

"This soul vessel has accepted the designated assassination target," the Deathmark reported.

At the word "soul," Szeras's fist clenched.

"Soul? Do not speak such unscientific nonsense in my presence."

"Understood."

"morize their appearances. They are resilient and have beco uncontrollable," Lord Szeras ordered.

The Deathmark reviewed the data and ventured a question.

"Activating this unit appears unnecessary. If simple elimination is required, dispatching Destroyers would suffice."

The query displeased Szeras. A subordinate questioning a superior? You clearly wish to be targeted.

"Destroyers possess no reason—only an insatiable thirst for blood. This operation demands precision."

"Acknowledged." The Deathmark nodded and activated teleportation, manifesting as a channel of glowing green rectangles. It stepped through and vanished.

Szeras watched it go, expression contemplative.

This Deathmark is becoming difficult to control. When it returns I must examine it thoroughly. Is there another presence inside your mind… or have you suppressed emotion for so long that your neural matrix has been damaged?

...

Adjutant Fernas, clad in blue armor and a red helt, moved cautiously through the shattered streets of the Hive City. Before deciding his next move he wanted to locate other surviving soldiers. The battle had been a catastrophic defeat, yet humanity would never surrender.

Fernas was vigilant—bolt pistol in one hand, chainsword in the other—advancing from cover to cover, exposing himself as little as possible.

High above, the Deathmark teleported into position for an ambush.

Fernas's instincts scread danger. He rolled desperately behind a concrete barrier.

Whoosh—BOOM!

A thick erald energy beam struck the spot where he had stood. Steel and ferrocrete vaporized into dust.

"For Guilliman!"

Fernas roared the litany in his mind, sprang up, and opened fire with his bolt pistol. The Deathmark blinked away via teleport and reappeared behind him, but its shot missed. Fernas spun, suppressing fire while sprinting for new cover.

Pinned by the barrage, the Deathmark was forced to stay hidden, afraid even to show its face.

The mont his bolt pistol clicked empty, Fernas dropped it, ignited his chainsword, and charged at full speed. He leapt and swung. The Deathmark teleported clear at the last instant.

Frustrated, Fernas scanned for any trace of the enemy.

A heartbeat later a slender erald beam lanced from behind, striking his power backpack. The pack exploded in a burst of green light, shattering into fragnts. Power armor systems died instantly. Overburdened by the dead weight, Fernas dropped to one knee, supporting himself on his chainsword.

The Deathmark advanced for the kill—when green light flared.

Overlord Zarhulash burst forth, conjuring a radiant shield that deflected the killing shot. The Deathmark's eyes widened in shock: the broken C'tan was fighting for humanity. Without hesitation it opened a portal and fled.

Zarhulash's counter-beam struck the derelict skyscraper where the Deathmark had hidden. A thunderous detonation erased the entire structure in an instant.

Yet the Deathmark still escaped.

"Clever little insect… and fast." Zarhulash spared it no further thought. He surveyed the ruins, sensing the fluctuations of the exorcised death domain, and allowed himself a rare mont of relaxation.

"Truly… places like this suit better," he murmured.

Datch stepped out of the teleport portal and walked straight toward Fernas, who was struggling to rise. Hearing footsteps, Fernas looked up. With his power pack offline his visor had dimd to low-power mode; he could see only hazy outlines. Still, he recognized the newcor—the Naless One.

Datch wore the armor of a Cursed Warrior, yet Zarhulash's towering presence made the truth obvious. Datch produced the Golden Hamr, tapped Fernas's power armor lightly, and golden light blood. The damaged backpack and chassis were restored to perfect condition. Servos cycled through diagnostics; full power returned.

Fernas rose, struck his chest in salute, and bowed.

"Naless Lord."

Receiving no reply, he silently took position behind the man.

The true purpose of the Naless One's visit remained unknown, but following him was clearly the safest course.

Datch ignored Fernas. His attention was already on the newly issued quest.

[Quest: Search for Survivors The death domain of the exorcism had tainted the planet, turning countless citizens into soulless zombies. Yet many had endured through unwavering faith in the Emperor. Find a way to evacuate them safely from this world.]

[Rewards: 1,800 EXP • 1,800 Points • 300 Reputation • 3× Kratos Summon Cards]

Datch accepted without hesitation. The ga Devs, as always, skipped needless dialogue and assigned the task directly. He opened the minimap, located the coordinates of other survivors, and set off with Overlord Zarhulash and Fernas at his side.

...

Inside the sunken Thunderhawk-class gunship in Chaodu District.

Sa'kan realized sothing was terribly wrong with the soldiers around him. He snapped two necks in rapid succession, seized a fallen chainsword, and butchered the rest. Their terrifying combat prowess turned the confused troopers into corpses within seconds.

The instant the fighting ended, the gunship's prow exploded in a roaring fireball. The inferno made gene-seed recovery impossible.

Sa'kan exhaled softly, turned, and collected two boltguns with spare ammunition.

"Kill … kill …"

A dying Astra Militarum soldier begged for death.

"You deserve to suffer, traitor." Sa'kan turned to leave.

Before he had taken two steps, the soldier whimpered that he was cold. Sa'kan frowned and looked back. Flas engulfed the wreck; even in power armor Sa'kan felt the intense heat. Why was the wretch complaining of cold?

These n had lost their minds to the death domain of the exorcism.

Understanding dawned. Sa'kan prid a grenade and ended the soldier's misery instantly.

Task complete, he left the burning Thunderhawk behind. Monts later a secondary explosion lit the ruined street.

Sa'kan pressed deeper into the hive using standard stealth protocols. Soon he spotted two patrolling undead soldiers. He closed silently, daggered the rearmost, then put a bolt round through the skull of the second before it could react.

Victorious, he continued inward, hoping to find surviving allies. But the hive had collapsed into rubble and corpses. At the shattered defensive line he counted hundreds of dead: Ultramarines, Battle Sisters, Astral forces, local Planetary Defense Force, and hive gangers. They had fought bravely, yet it had not been enough.

Deeper still, a faint sound drew him to an underground palace. Survivors! Five civilians huddled behind stone sarcophagi, trembling in terror.

Sa'kan holstered his weapons and removed his helt.

"Co out. I will not harm you."

After a long silence a figure rose—an Ecclesiarchy priest wearing a tall mitre, bound in chains etched with prayers, skull-adorned torch in hand.

"Are you… an Imperial Angel?" the priest asked, voice shaking with desperate hope.

Sa'kan nodded. "I am. There is nothing to fear. My appearance may seem monstrous, but it is rely the result of genetic enhancent. I bear you no ill will."

The five survivors—priest, two adults, two children—quickly trusted the friendly Salamander. Sa'kan learned the children's nas: Lisander and Atiya.

"Will you save us from this hell?" Lisander asked.

"Of course. It is my duty."

Distant gunfire interrupted them. Sa'kan donned his helt and prepared to investigate. The priest pleaded, "Take us with you! This place is no longer safe."

"Nowhere is safe," Sa'kan replied.

"Please… do not abandon us," the priest begged. "As the Emperor's angel, even if we must die, do not let us die in darkness."

Sa'kan scowled but relented. He would escort the civilians westward, where Imperial forces still held evacuation points from the initial drop. There they could be lifted off-world.

While passing through a ruined church they encountered a Battle Sister. The earlier gunfire had been hers—she had been hunting soulless zombies.

"Who are you?" she demanded, bolt pistol raised.

"Sa'kan, Salamanders Third Company, Fire Dragon Squad."

Allies confird, she lowered her weapon.

"I am Sister Danica of the Order of the Martyrs. I saw the gunship crash. Was it yours?"

Sa'kan nodded. "Our mission was to link with the Ultramarines adjutant, reform the line, and retake the southern half of the city."

Sister Danica bowed her head. "Everyone is dead."

"Is it truly hopeless?"

"Salamander, look around you. We have lost." Danica's voice was hollow. "The xenos took many prisoners… and committed horrors beyond description."

She spotted the priest and four civilians and imdiately raised her grenade launcher. Sa'kan stepped between them.

"They are ordinary people."

"You shelter the unworthy?" Danica snapped.

"Unworthy? Nonsense." Sa'kan stood firm. "Lower your weapon, Sister. Do not fire on civilians."

"They are weak. Corruption is inevitable. Better to grant them the Emperor's rcy now."

Sa'kan's hand tightened on his bolt pistol. "Last warning. Drop it."

A green Gauss beam suddenly lanced from afar—the Deathmark had arrived. Having failed to kill Adjutant Fernas, it now hunted other survivors and saw an opportunity in the argunt.

Before it could fire again, Overlord Zarhulash materialized, shield flaring to intercept the beam. A counter-strike obliterated the skyscraper where the Deathmark hid. The assassin was blasted from its perch before it could open a portal. As it tried to crawl away, Zarhulash descended and pinned it beneath his foot.

The Deathmark stared up at the energy-wreathed Overlord. "For the countless years I served you… can we not reconcile?"

Zarhulash gave a dark chuckle and waited in silence for the Naless One to arrive.

Sa'kan, Sister Danica, and the civilians stared in shock and confusion—until Datch bounded and slid into view.

Only then did they understand: this was the one who had saved them.

Datch ignored everyone else and sprinted straight to the pinned Deathmark. He drew his arcane ray gun and fired. The soulless monster was transford—flesh and soul restored in a single shot. Datch intended to extract information.

The Mark of Death reappeared on its body. The creature's face twisted in horror.

No… the biological transmutation that Szeras wasted unimaginable resources to achieve, yet failed… this human accomplished it with one shot from that ridiculous device?

…

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