Capítulo 16: Chapter 16: Psyker? I'm Here to Crush Psykers!
Location: Barbarus, Southern Marshes, Didero Mountains.
Xenos Lord Desil stood by his experimentation table, deep in thought. His recent transformation experiment had abruptly failed.
On the table, haphazardly cut chunks of low-tier corpses were arranged in a specific order. Thick, black stitches crudely held the pieces together, with yellowish pus oozing from the wounds.
Indeed, Lord Desil was in the process of crafting a high-tier puppet. Both low and high-tier puppets were assembled from the robust remains of the lower beings. The primary difference lay in the psychic sorcery applied to them.
Crafting a high-tier puppet drained a significant amount of psychic energy. Given Desil's capabilities, creating one would leave him weakened for a time.
However, if it were Nakre, the true master of Barbarus, he could effortlessly conjure several high-tier puppets with a mere gesture.
While Desil could also produce numerous low-tier puppets, the chasm between them and their high-tier counterparts was vast.
These mass-produced low-tier puppets were only capable of combat. Unlike their high-tier counterparts, they couldn't strategize, wield basic psychic powers, or command their lesser brethren.
Moreover, the combat prowess of a high-tier puppet was several times that of a low-tier one.
Previously, Lord Desil had always favored quantity over quality, believing that with enough low-tier puppets, he could overwhelm a single high-tier puppet.
Indeed, many southern lords preferred these easily crafted puppets. Some even tamed other creatures, but only those with vast territories had options beyond puppets.
For instance, after defeating several neighboring lords with sheer numbers, Desil had amassed a significant number of filthy hounds.
But now, none of that seemed to matter.
Desil gritted his teeth in frustration. Ever since the arrival of the Death Guard from the north and that scythe-wielding wraith that roamed the nights, harvesting the lower beings had become increasingly challenging.
Initially, they believed that the nocturnal conquest of villages would merely become more complicated. Indeed, at first, it was. Typhon, leading the Death Guard, actively organized nighttime defenses in various villages.
But they had overlooked one entity, one that roamed the toxic mists just like them.
How was it possible? That being was clearly a low-tier, not a psyker hybrid like Typhon. He was just a towering low-tier! How did he manage to slay the minor lords?
None of the lords knew, as the victims had already perished.
This wraith, wielding his scythe, would silently emerge from the mists and decapitate the xenos lords who ventured down the mountains.
Desil was somewhat relieved he never went hunting down the mountains. However, his slave-catching squads suffered heavy losses, with nearly a hundred puppets perishing during several hunts.
But if he descended, he would surely kill that abomination.
That lowly being!
Yet, after that, Xenos Lord Desil remained quietly within his territory.
News of xenos lords being slain within their domains kept pouring in.
Fear was inevitable.
But the routes to hunt the lower beings were blocked. Any slave-catching squad that ventured down met the same fate: decapitation.
Without materials to craft puppets, Desil couldn't continue his strategy of overwhelming numbers.
So, reluctantly, Lord Desil attempted to craft high-tier puppets.
But his first attempt had just failed.
It felt as if his connection to the Warp had been suddenly severed.
As Desil pondered by his experimentation table, amidst the humming of steam engines and the creaking of mechanical arms, a shadowy figure emerged from the doorway.
The figure stood about three meters from Desil, who remained oblivious, his back turned.
Desil knew that if there were an attack, his puppets and hounds would have reacted.
However, he miscalculated.
Suddenly, it felt as if someone had gripped his throat, and his vision darkened as if his soul and body had momentarily disconnected.
The shadowy figure lunged, scythe aimed straight for Desil's face.
Desil instinctively raised his hand to block, while his other hand attempted to unleash his most potent explosive sorcery.
"Argh!"
The hand attempting to cast the spell exploded, and the scythe, changing its trajectory, bypassed the block and hooked into Desil's innards.
The curved blade skillfully evaded obstructions, slicing through Desil's massive form. The blade's tip delved deeper, spilling a string of blood-red organs, which hung from it like ripe grapes.
"You!"
With his last breath, Desil stared at his assailant. In his final moments, he saw the wraith.
Compared to other low-tiers, this towering figure was clad in dark protective gear, his face obscured by a gas mask. Beneath the hood, a pair of soulless, deep black eyes stared back, eyes that seemed to consume everything.
This was a cursed wraith.
Those black eyes, devoid of emotion, watched him, and the scythe swung again.
The blade rose, and the head fell.
Today was a good day.
Hades thought cheerfully, having successfully assassinated his target, and quite an oblivious one at that.
It seemed the xenos lord was dead, but to be sure, Hades gave it a few more slashes.
He then glanced with distaste at the experimentation table, with its messy arrangement of body parts and pooling bodily fluids.
Damn.
Hades didn't bother with the remains. With the lord dead, the puppets would sense the change in psychic energy and scatter.
He quickly retraced his steps, racing to the top of the fortress.
Several disintegrating puppets were running aimlessly on the battlements. Hades quickly dispatched them with mercy.
He then looked towards the edge, where several cannons stood imposingly.
Unlike the medieval cannons he had imagined, these weapons were electronically modified — they looked and functioned like medieval cannons, but their firepower was significantly enhanced.
Hades ran over, peering through the observation port. The earliest fleeing puppets were nearing the area where he had planted mines.
He adjusted the cannon's aim, targeting the kennels housing Desil's filthy hounds. Disturbed by the commotion, several hounds had broken free.
No matter.
Hades ignited the cannon and quickly retreated to a safe distance.
The cannons fired in succession, first obliterating the kennels and then targeting the puppet horde.
Distant explosions signaled the detonation of the mines.
The scattered puppets, devoid of their psychic commands, were now consumed by their innate desires for slaughter and torment.
Amidst the brilliant explosions, Hades leaped from the fortress, scythe in hand, reaping.
Once, he had watched Mortarion mercilessly harvest puppets.
Now, it was his turn to bloom in slaughter.
His soul, consumed by darkness, ignited.
Estado de energía semanal
-- Ranking de
Poder 
-- Piedra de
Poder