The Bckstone Fortress was a on of unimaginable power, capable of devastatiire sectors of space. However, to operate such a struct required specific artifacts scattered across the gaxy—each as rare as it was vital. One of these artifacts y hidden on the barren world the red-haired daemon now stood upon.

  Her mission was simple: retrieve the artifad deliver it for Abaddon’s grand pn. She stood at the gateway, her fiery gaze sweeping over the legion behihe wind howled through the broken buildings of the otherworldly cityscape beyond, and the blood-red sun cast a sinister glow over the se. The daemon army awaited her and, ready to march forth and bring ruin to any who opposed their will.

  Above the phe skies began to as a vortex of Chaos formed. A massive, jagged archway of bed stone, ed with sharp horns, emerged from the swirling maelstrom. The gateway was enormous, t high enough to pierce the clouds. It ortal for the forces of the , a doorway through which legions of daemons could spill into reality.

  The red-haired daemon’s lips curled into a faint smile as she stepped forward. Her orders were clear, and though she found the task beh her, she knew her role in the grander scheme was signifit. With a flick of her wrist, she signaled her army to prepare.

  Soon, she thought, this quiet p would bee a stage for chaos, blood, and fire. The mission was, by all ats, trivial. Any lesser daemon or even a well-trained hellhound could have retrieved the artifact hidden within the ruins. Reports from the possessed and colborators suggested the ruins cked any real defenses. But this was no ordinary task. The artifact was a gift from Sao Abaddo to power the Bckstone Fortress in the Warmaster’s renewed Bck Crusade. Failure was unthinkable. The thought alo shivers down the red-haired witch’s spine.

  To ehi wrong, Sanesh had dispatched her with a full legion of daemonic forces. Standing before the Chaos Gate, the gateway betweeies, the witch dismissed her unease. She smiled fidently, the first to step through the gate, the vast army of daemons following behind her. Once she crossed into the material world, her fidence solidified. No one could defy the will of a god, not even the so-called Emperor of Mankind.

  Deep beh the surface, in the heart of the true altar, Rosina’s ughter eadly as she tauhe embattled Eldar Rangers. Her voice was sharp and filled with derision. “You are all doomed! Eternal pain awaits you in the grip of Chaos. Stop this futile resistand accept your fate! Better to die by my hand than fall to the mercy of daemons!”

  Her ughter turo hysteria, but it abruptly stopped. A sharp, shattering sound echoed through the tent, like gss breaking or ice fracturing. Rosina froze, her glee repced by shock. She turo see the altar, its surface crag and splitting. Her wide eyes stared as fractures spread like a spiderweb across the corrupted structure.

  “No!” Rosina screamed, reag out into the void with her psychic power. The illusion shrouding the room dissolved, the frosted distortion vanishing like a mist blown away by the wind. The true nature of the se was id bare. Above the altar stood a bck-haired man, silent and resolute. His fist crashed down onto the altar, the three cws affixed to his hand driving deep into the structure.

  Bang!

  Another deafening impact shook the room. More cracks spread across the altar, radiating from the points of impact. With a final, resounding explosion, the altar crumbled into ruins, its psychiergy dissipating into nothingness.

  The man straightened, brushing dust from his gloves, and smiled wryly at the stunned Eldar Rangers. “Looks like I got here just in time. You hahe rest.” He waved casually before turning to leave. “My job’s done.”

  Far above the ruins, the red-haired witch stood ohreshold of the material world, her fidenshaken as her army roared behind her. Raising her arms triumphantly, she sighe legion to march. But the moment her forces began to move, the air itself shuddered. The massive portal that lihe to this world, twisted unnaturally. Before the witch could react, the arch colpsed into the swirling psychic vortex. The gateway and the vortex vanished as if they had never existed, leaving behind a clear blue sky.

  The red-haired witch’s expression twisted in disbelief. Her breath caught ihroat, her mind rag through possibilities. The vibrant sky, the gentle clouds, the serereams—it was all wrong. Where there should have beeation, there eace. Her initial rea aranoia. ‘A trap,’ she thought. ’Jealous daemons plotting against me. They’ve finally made their move’. She braced herself, expeg an ambush. But no projectiles came, no hidden bdes emerged. The world remaiill, calm, and maddeningly pure.

  The witch’s uuro seething anger. “What a damned mission,” she hissed. “What a damned world.” Something had clearly gone wrong, but she couldn’t pinpoint what. The artifact was here. She had followed her orders. But now, standing amidst this idyllidscape, she felt more out of pce than ever.

  With a wave of her hand, the witch transformed. Her bck armor melted away, repced by a sleek, form-fitting bck silk dress. Her horns receded into her head, and the other daemonic features of her body faded. Within moments, she appeared as a radiant, red-haired woman, her beauty intoxig and her presenigmatic. To the untrained eye, she was no daemon but a seductive noblewoman of mysterious ins.

  Among the many powers possessed by daemons, the ability to ge form was often the most subtle yet effective. For lesser daemons, appearance was malleable, a tool to charm, deceive, or terrify. A succubus could ma in the exact image desired by its victim, being the embodiment of temptation or trust. But for a daemon of the Red-haired Witch's stature—a ander who led legions—such cealments were beh her. She reveled in her identity. Her form, a sleek bck silk dress, announced her preseh disdainful pride.

  The Red-haired Witch pulled out a small mirror, admiring her fwless fad fiery locks. With a flick of her wrist, she bed her hair, then waved her arms to gather the psychiergies that saturated the air. The spa front of her shimmered, bending and tearing as she opened a small rift. Stepping through without hesitation, she crossed the void in a siride and emerged at the entrao the dungeon.

  The se before her was a trench bristling with defenses. Lines of soldiers armed with ser rifles stared her down, fnked by Vul gun towers that stood ready to unleash torrents of death.

  For a brief, surreal moment, both sides froze in mutual shock. The witch’s fiery gaze swept over the trench. ‘Humans? Here?’ Her mind raced with fury. How had the Imperium discovered this pce? It was inceivable. Not eveting Emperor of Mankind could divihe thoughts of the Dark Gods, let aloicipate their pns.