“This tent isn’t what it seems,” Kayvaan said. “It looks flimsy, but my monomolecur bde couldn’t even scratch it. Whatever it’s made of, it’s tougher than most fortifications I’ve seen. The only way in or out is the main gate. Trust me, this will work. Be ready to storm the gate ohe explosion goes off.”

  Elizabeth took a deep breath and nodded. “Alright. Kayvaan, I like this pn.”

  Kayvaan chuckled. “Try not to fall in love with me.” He ehe unication before Elizabeth could retort, his focus shifting to the delicate task ahead.

  Even among the Space Marines, few were true masters of demolitions. It wasn’t that they cked knowledge—any soldier could pce a bomb and press a detonator. For most, this basic level of petence was enough. But to wield explosives with surgical precision, craftiru with i and trol, required a unique blend of skill and instinct. Kayvaan was one of those rare experts. During his time training in behind-enemy-liactics, he had excelled in every course on explosives, earning top marks. His instructor, however, had mixed feelings about his enthusiasm for destru. "You’ve got a dark streak, Kayvaan," the instructor had remarked once. "Hiding in a er, pressing a button, and watg the enemy get torn apart—does that really satisfy you?"

  Kayvaan had grinned unapologetically. "Absolutely." The instructor had said no more after that. While he may have disapproved of Kayvaan's methods, he couldn’t deny their effectiveness. In war, the only objective was victory. How that victory was achieved was left to the soldier's discretion.

  Kayvaan's bomb pt proceeded smoothly. The Daemons' attention was entirely focused on the grotesque circus performao him—and perhaps to Elizabeth—the show was an obse mockery of all that was good and natural. But to the gathered Daemons, it was high art. The massive golden lion, the star of the spectacle, had turraditional roles on their heads. It ahe stage like an emperor, l over trembling human "trainers" who cowered like beates. The Daemons reveled in this inversion, their grotesque ughter filling the air. They took twisted delight in human despair, reveling in the perverse aesthetics of pain and power.

  The Chaos realm adhered to its own perverted hierarchy. The strong preyed on the weak, and survival rivilege earhrough cruelty and ing. Low-ranking Daemons, often little more than fodder, lived in stant fear but took leasures they could. For them, the mortal realm yground—a respite from the eorment of the . Here, they could unleash their creative evils upon unsuspeg humans. Some Daemons found joy in gluttony, cooking and dev their captives. Others were ed by al obsessions, vioting their victims withard for species, gender, or form. Their as transded even the most depraved imaginations of humanity. For Daemons, each foray into the mortal pne was a festival of perverse innovation—a celebration of malid chaos.

  The lion’s circus had clearly succeeded iertaining its infernal audience. Appuse thundered across the venue, mingling with the distant, despairing cries of humans. But none of this ed Kayvaaher he nor Elizabeth had voiced the iable question: ‘What about the humans in the circus?’

  They were i, yes—but in this grim and uing gaxy, innoce was its own crime. Weakness and submissiohe ultimate sins. In the darkness of the 41st millennium, salvation was a fleeting hope. Those who cked the will to fight or the faith to endure were left to perish. The Emperor's prote was reserved for the faithful and the resolute. Kayvaan had no illusions about heroism. He wasn’t here to save anyone. His only goal was the destru of the circus and the elimination of its Daemonic octs. He worked methodically, pg his charges beh the tiered seating, ensuring maximum age with minimal effort.

  The Astartes were warriors first and foremost. Their role as humanity’s guardians came sed. Killing was their craft, and Kayvaan inteo practice his with precision. The performance’s grotesque success worked to Kayvaan's advantage, allowing him to pnt the final bomb without interference. He selected a vantage point, cealed himself, and activated his unicator. "Elizabeth, get ready. It’s showtime."

  "ons are primed. The sisters are eager," Elizabeth replied.

  "Then prepare to dan a storm of fire," Kayvaan said with a grin, pressing the detonator.

  The explosion ripped through the air moments ter, deafening and violent. Aire se of the stands disied in an instant. Smoke and fmes engulfed the tent, obsg visibility, but the devastation was clear. Daemoed he bst were obliterated, their bodies shredded into ks of scorched flesh and bohe remains spttered against the tent’s inner walls, painting them with viscera. Those farther from the epiter fared er; the intense heat seared them to charred husks, their once-vivid forms reduced to brittle shells.

  The circus tent itself groaned uhe force of the explosion but remained intact, a testament to its unnatural stru. The Daemons, however, were thrown into chaos. Shrieks of panid fusion repced their earlier jeers and ughter. Kayvaan's voice crackled through the unicator. "That’s your cue, Elizabeth. Light them up."

  Elizabeth nodded, her voice steely with resolve. "Uood. Sisters, prepare to advahe Emperor protects!"

  “The power was suffit, but the explosie wasn’t as extensive as expected,” Kayvaan muttered, assessing the aftermath through his goggles. “Elizabeth, how’s it going on your end?”

  “We’re engaging,” Elizabeth respoersely. She and her squad of former Sisters of Battle moved in formation, emerging from their cealed position. The explosion ient had drawention of the piinel rabbits, leaving their defenses momentarily vulnerable. Elizabeth seized the opportunity, leadieam in a swift, decisive assault.

  These women were no ordinary soldiers; they were elite warriors fed in the fires of faith and battle. Their discipline was unshakable, even in the depths of a hellish hive city far from the Emperor’s light. Their bolters barked in trolled, precise bursts, mowing down the distracted sentinels with ruthless efficy.

  The first volley wreaked havoc among the enemy ranks, but the reprieve was short-lived. The sentinel rabbits quickly adapted, springing and darting to avoid ining fire. Their blood-red eyes gleamed with malicious i as they began pulling ons from their strange, furry bodies. Soon, bolts of energy screamed through the air as the rabbits terattacked.

  Luck, it seemed, was not on the nuns’ side. A single explosive bolt struck a squadmate at cle, her breastpte no prote against the devastating payload. She disied in a mist of blood and viscera, her death a stark reminder of the stakes. “Damn it!” Hilsa cursed as she dropped a rabbit mid-leap with a precise burst. “Where the hell are these things hiding bolters?”

  “They don’t all have bolters,” Elizabeth shouted, crushing another rabbit’s head beh her boot after bsting its legs apart. “Prioritize those that do. Focus your fire!”

  As if to punctuate her words, Elizabeth raised her sword just in time to meet a chargiihe rabbit lu her, its scissor-like ears snapping viciously, but Elizabeth’s bde roared to life. Teeth spinning, the on bit into the creature’s skull, redug it to a spray of gore and fur. Shortly after the first explosion, Elizabeth’s voice crackled through Kayvaan's unicator. “We’ve reached the designated position. Fortifications are underway, heavy ons are in pce, and we’re ready to engage.”

  “Copy that,” Kayvaan replied. “You’re faster than I expected. But don’t rush—we’ve got things under trol here.”