Orikan, as a C'tan, instantly perceived the Silent King's presence. He slightly raised his finger, intending to manipulate the laws of matter and create an arrow of entropy to pierce through—
Orikan was astonished to find that the energy within him was rapidly draining away. The tidal energy he had captured was quickly spiraling out of control, sinking into the background of the universe.
The Astrologer noticed that the trajectories of the stars had changed. The fragments of The Deceiver, which he had torn apart and swallowed, suddenly began to stir.
"Szarekh, you are not to be underestimated when pushed to the brink."
In the distant cosmos, several stars were already on the verge of destruction. Under the Silent King's manipulation, their destruction was instantly accelerated, resulting in supernova explosions that transformed them into dazzling points of light among the stars.
This was a technique the Silent King had learned from the artisans of the Oluscar Dynasty, allowing him to accelerate a star's entry into a supernova by a thousand years. Such a technique was also used by the Oluscar Dynasty to forge the Stellar Cartograph. As for the potential chain reactions this technique might cause, the Silent King no longer cared.
The trajectories of the stars were interrupted at this moment. The tidal energy, previously restrained by Orikan, instantly lost control and receded into the background of the universe.
The light on Orikan's body also began to fade rapidly, and the power of the C'tan gradually weakened.
The Silent King, without any hesitation, threw several hyper-dimensional cube mazes into the void. Layers upon layers of dimensional mazes instantly trapped Orikan, who was falling from his position as a C'tan.
Watching Orikan being confined within, the Silent King Szarekh's will, which had been strained to its limit, instantly relaxed significantly.
The Spear of Accomplishment instantly thrust towards the Silent King Szarekh. The Shadow Mesofer, by the Silent King's side, swiftly raised his blade, attempting to block the strike, but Sanguinius' power instantly sent this Triarch flying, and the spearhead spun back to stab at the Silent King.
The Silent King wielded the spear in his hand to block.
Spear clashed with spear; Sanguinius was almost evenly matched with the Silent King.
But Sanguinius' figure flickered slightly, and a dark rage surged from him, almost solidifying into substance.
A Dark Angel, its wings trembling, flew out from Sanguinius, carrying the dark rage and crimson hunger, ascending and, in the blink of an eye, reached the Silent King's side. It wielded a blood-stained sword and swung it down at the Silent King's hand, which gripped the spear.
But the Silent King's figure flickered slightly, and he too became two, wielding the staff of eternal glory to block the Dark Angel's descending sword strike.
This was a technique used by the Necron when creating an artifact called the "Breath of the Gods." That technique could extract infinite energy from stars in the past, present, future, and even other timelines. The Silent King used a similar technique, summoning his self from a few seconds ago to block the Dark Angel's sword strike.
At the same time, a scorching golden light flickered in the distance, and a dark great sun loomed on the horizon.
Vaguely, the Silent King saw a golden figure emerging beneath the dark great sun. That figure raised a longsword, the size of a planet and burning with golden flames, and swung it towards the Silent King.
The Silent King simultaneously waved the spear in his hand. Sanguinius took a step back, his arm instantly exploding into bloody foam, and the Spear of Accomplishment fell to the ground with a thud.
The Silent King from a few seconds ago stepped forward to block the burning golden longsword, while the current Silent King hurriedly used the spear in his hand to stab himself.
The Silent King from a few seconds ago was bathed in the golden longsword's light, his living metal body disintegrating in an instant.
Behind him, the current Silent King and the Dias of Dominion instantly vanished.
He once again shifted his coordinates, moving to another location.
The Silent King's body from a few seconds ago was incinerated to ashes amidst the golden flames.
At the same time, golden flames also appeared on the Silent King, who had moved to another location.
This was also why the Silent King was reluctant to summon his past or future selves; if his past self suffered damage, he would generally be implicated.
He suddenly waved the spear in his hand. The past was cut at this moment, and the golden flames on his body extinguished in the blink of an eye.
The Titanic Flash arrived at this moment, stabbing towards the Silent King.
The Silent King sneered disdainfully. The only remaining Triarch menhir beside him suddenly rose, blocking the sharp flash.
A deep incision was carved into the Triarch menhir, but at the same time, the titanic robot's figure flashed past, stepping on the Triarch menhir, and swinging its fist down at the Silent King.
The Silent King snorted coldly, how could such a method—hmm?
Szarekh suddenly noticed that Radiant Hapsalast, without his control, turned its head and looked at Szarekh himself.
The Silent King noticed that Radiant Hapsalast had, at some unknown point, been affixed with a small metal sphere, identical to the one previously used to seize control of the Canoptek Scarabs.
It was Sanguinius. This was his purpose in approaching the Silent King just now.
"Saint Doraemon granted me a soul," Radiant Hapsalast said with a smile, under Alexander's control.
The Staff of Stars in its hand erupted with dazzling neutron beams, bombarding the Silent King.
The Silent King's movements paused. The titanic robot seized the opportunity, transforming its fist into a palm, and firmly grabbed the Silent King Szarekh, pulling him from the Dias of Dominion.
The titanic robot's immense strength slightly deformed the Silent King's living metal body.
But the Silent King merely gave a cold, icy laugh. The Burning One's energy suddenly surged into his reactor core.
In an instant, emerald flames engulfed the Silent King's body, transforming into a tide that consumed the titanic robot and this land.
A crater as wide and deep as a continent appeared on the ground.
The power generated by the self-destruction of the highest-level Necron construct, aided by C'tan power, was so immense that even the titanic robot could not fully withstand it.
After all, at its core, this thing was just a children's assembly toy powered by four AA batteries, and a discounted defective product at that.
The titanic robot's arm, which had been gripping the Silent King, was twisted and distorted by the explosion. The armor on half of its torso was torn away, exposing the cockpit within.
The titanic robot's body slid slightly, kneeling on one knee on the ground. The bathtub filled with blood-red liquid in the cockpit slid down with it, but it did not fall to the ground and shatter. Instead, it gently landed on the Silent King's abandoned Dias of Dominion, landing steadily, without even spilling much of the liquid inside.
Alexander, lying in the bathtub, stretched his body slightly and looked briefly into the Warp.
Mixed with a large number of digits, viscous, foul-smelling, dense eighty-two thousand three hundred and forty-three layers of chanting were softly murmuring beneath the veil of reality.
Alexander understood a truth after twenty-two thousand attempts:
To defeat the Silent King, relying purely on strength was very difficult.
The Silent King's most dangerous aspect was never his collection of artifacts, nor his god-slaying spear.
It was the Silent King's innate talent.
When pushed to his limits, the Silent King could pull off anything, achieve anything.
The Silent King's talent was like the Emperor's hook; though it had long since dried and loosened over ten thousand years, if enough force was applied, it could still tighten and squeeze out sticky things.
In one dream, Alexander pushed the Silent King too hard, causing him to fight and flee, and along the way, he replicated Orikan's method of ascension, elevating himself to a C'tan. On another occasion, the Silent King even found a way to awaken the Outsider.
He had to repeatedly stimulate his will without pushing him to the absolute limit, making him constantly oscillate between tension and relaxation, making him believe that he had, by his own talent, blocked all possible attacks, making him think that Alexander had run out of tricks, and then, at that moment, deliver a killing blow in a way completely unexpected to him, leaving no room for escape.
This strike had to be completely unexpected, outside the Silent King's knowledge system, something the Silent King had never seen, and without an obvious, easily understandable logic, otherwise, the Silent King would very likely find a way to counter it.
And Sanguinius, Guilliman, and Orikan were all meant to make him tense and relax, to set the stage for that final blow.
On the other side of this giant planet, the Silent King's weapon, the staff of eternal glory, was diagonally embedded in the ground.
When using the spear to transfer himself, the Silent King had deliberately moved this staff of eternal glory here.
The base of this staff of eternal glory was inlaid with a Resurrection Orb, which could enhance and repair the Necron's reanimation protocols, allowing the Silent King to instantly revive the Necron on the battlefield with a mere wave of the staff.
More crucially, the Silent King had hidden his own reanimation protocol within it. Relying on this reanimation protocol, he could instantly be reborn and resurrected around the staff of eternal glory.
Living metal flowed and pulsed, and the Silent King's body was instantly reshaped, appearing not far in front of the staff of eternal glory.
He subtly beckoned, and the spear naturally appeared in his hand.
The Silent King was actually very vulnerable now. Having lost the Dias of Dominion, he had lost his strongest shield, as well as his power source and strong resistance to the Warp.
But this did not concern the Silent King too much.
Seven more seconds. In seven more seconds, the cooldown on the spear in the Silent King's hand would end.
At that point, the Silent King could alter reality, forcibly bringing the Dias of Dominion back. It would be very simple.
The Silent King turned his head, wanting to pull out the staff of eternal glory. He took seven steps forward, reached the staff, and extended his hand.
Then, the Silent King paused. The staff of eternal glory was rusted, covered in a layer of reddish-brown rust.
Not only the staff of eternal glory, but his arm was also rusted.
"What?"
Jaghatai Khan looked at his arm and the staff of eternal glory in front of him in disbelief.
A weapon and body cast from living metal, not even sixty million years would tarnish it with a speck of dust, so how could it suddenly rust?
Although the C'tan had deceived the Silent King back then, they were actually playing a word game; the eternity they promised Szarekh was indeed fulfilled.
Some C'tan even insisted, as they were shattered by Szarekh, that what they had given the Necron was the eternity they promised.
But now, this eternity itself had a problem.
"I once heard you call the False Emperor a witchcraft-wielding old ham?"
"Then what are you now? A rust-covered skeleton playing with technology?"
A mocking voice, cold as a storm cloud, echoed beneath the veil of reality. The sound of vibrating elytra reverberated across the barren land, and scale powder, like raindrops, fell from the Empyrean.
Rolling poisonous gas swept across the land like a tide, a cold scythe tore through the veil of reality, a hood fluttered in the cold wind of the real universe, and a gaunt face hidden beneath a mask appeared faintly.
The Emperor's fourteenth son, Nurgle's daemon Primarch, Lord of the plagueheart, Grand Sage and Most Holy Master of numerology, Mortarion, descended into the physical universe.
Mortarion looked down at the Silent King with disdain.
As a traitor Primarch, Mortarion loathed the Emperor, loathed his genetic father, and loathed the man who called himself the Emperor.
He loathed that man, believing him to be nothing more than another great tyrant corrupted by power.
He also believed that although that man claimed to love all humanity, he never loved specific individuals, nor specific groups; he tried to tame Mortarion, just as Mortarion's foster father tried to tame Mortarion, just as Nurgle tried to tame Mortarion. He also tried to tame all living beings on Barbarus, to tame Mortarion's pale people, and to bring the so-called light of enlightenment of the Imperium of Man to Barbarus.
Guilliman protected his Ultramar, Sanguinius protected his Baal, even Magnus, that sorcerer, protected his Prospero, but Mortarion failed to protect his Barbarus.
Therefore, Mortarion often expressed his disdain for the Emperor and his humiliation of his father in his words.
But he could humiliate the Emperor; that didn't mean anyone else could humiliate the Emperor.
The Emperor was indeed a tyrant, but he was the most powerful and persuasive of all tyrants. All his weaknesses, corruption, and decadence were relative to himself, not to other tyrants.
The Emperor was the tyrant Mortarion rebelled against, Mortarion's genetic father. If just anyone dared to humiliate him, how was that any different from humiliating Mortarion?
What kind of thing was Szarekh?
He was the most incompetent, foolish, and deeply sinful of all tyrants in the history of the entire galaxy.
Most of the suffering in the galaxy, even the misfortunes that befell Barbarus and Mortarion, could be traced back to Szarekh.
How could this thing be worthy of humiliating the Emperor?
Szarekh noticed the disdain in Mortarion's eyes. Without a moment's hesitation, he raised the silver-shafted spear in his hand towards Mortarion.
The spear instantly split open, and slender crystals pierced beneath the veil of reality, striking directly at the line of text representing Mortarion.
But just as the spear thrust out, Mortarion's figure suddenly flickered, taking a slight step back, leaving only a flagpole standing in place.
What hung on the flagpole, however, was not a fluttering banner, but an Astartes in Terminator power armor, swollen, corpulent, and with a silver Dark Jester.
Szarekh was stunned to find that the target his spear had struck had changed from Mortarion to this Astartes.
The Silent King had never heard of such a technique.
Typhus felt a terrifying tearing sensation erupting from his body; he still didn't understand what had happened.
Just a few days ago, when he returned to Nurgle's Garden, he saw a red envelope on the ground at the garden's crossroads. Out of curiosity, he picked it up and found seven rusty throne coins inside.
Then Mortarion appeared like a ghost and said a string of words.
They were all obscure phrases like, "Though my heart is unwilling, you picked up my blood money, and your birth characters align with mine, so you are meant to take this calamity for me." "For Nurgle, for the Legion, for the Garden, the time for your sacrifice has come, Typhus." "These are all choices of numerology."
Typhus, sensing trouble, cried out to Nurgle for help, but Nurgle merely shook his head gently, refusing to retrieve Typhus from Mortarion's grasp.
What Typhus didn't know was that his secret act of sending the Old One artifact, plagueheart, to Luther and Erebus had not escaped Nurgle's notice.
Although Typhus believed he had used certain methods to conceal it from Nurgle, Nurgle's mastery of numerology had deepened, and through changes in numbers, he had calculated Typhus' near-treasonous behavior.
It was only out of pity and compassion that He couldn't bring Himself to punish Typhus, who had contributed so much to Him and the Garden.
But when the Garden needed his sacrifice, and Mortarion wanted to use him to ward off disaster, Nurgle would no longer interfere.
Typhus' body was instantly segmented and disintegrated by the spear's power; his very existence was cut into fragments, and he turned into dust, scattering amidst the rolling poisonous gas.
Mortarion watched this scene in silence, watching Typhus die before him like this.
The first sensation that surged through him was the pleasure of revenge, a pleasure that erupted from his rotting organs, rushed all the way to his throat, but before reaching his brain, it transformed into an unspeakable bitterness.
Mortarion's mind flashed with Barbarus shrouded in poisonous gas, he saw himself standing among the pale mountains, and he saw the human running towards him, the first human he had ever seen.
Typhon Typhus. Friend, brother, son, traitor.
Perhaps, as Jaghatai Khan said, I am not resilient enough. This thought suddenly crossed Mortarion's mind, then was suppressed by his cold will.
The Silent King sharply retreated, but the staff of eternal glory in his hand pointed at Mortarion in the dark clouds, and a brilliant, dazzling neutron flux flashed on the staff of eternal glory.
But Mortarion's expression remained unchanged.
"Seven tugs on a string of guts, caring for both a rotten dynasty and a plague-ridden nation; when others have trouble, you rust, and you contend with the Lord of the Underworld?"
"Seven withered flowers on the head, not blooming for seven days and seven nights; intently wishing for the flowers to bloom, unaware of the time for their decay."
"Iron fears rust, land fears barrenness;stiff fears rot, people fear injury; the path of numerology is righteous, a merciful father fears an unfilial son."
"One Luna, full and then waning; several Primarchs surround the crippled Emperor; Dorn shovels sauce, but the sauce won't rise; the gel coat weeps, tears streaming down the old robe."
"Three, six, seven, eight, nine, thirteen; three cycles meeting seven is stagnation and decay; gaining numerology in a cycle, though auspicious, know that it's rotten to the core."
"When the father moves first, he overcomes descendants; the Webway is pathless, the lord is muddled; numerology is hard to attain, witchcraft and superstition lack benevolence."
"Numerology holds true meaning, I'll tell you in detail; if we speak of numerology, the holy numbers can clarify."
Seven chants simultaneously sounded from Mortarion's mouth and from the toxic mist around him.
The Lord of Virulence, Lord of plagues, Lord of Blisters, Lord of Parasites, Lord of Blight, Lord of Bloodshed—six Death Guard Lords surrounded Mortarion, forming a seven-fold formation with him.
These Lords were Mortarion's strongest warriors, each clad in a unique, corrupted vestment woven by Mortarion himself.
Actually, Mortarion had also woven a seventh vestment, the most powerful and mysterious one, but no one could wear it and serve as Mortarion's Lord anymore.
The moment their chants began, the staff of eternal glory in the Silent King's hand was covered in reddish-brown rust, and with a bang, it broke and disintegrated.
The Silent King still tried to swing his spear in resistance, but he suddenly lost his balance and toppled towards the ground. His feet, too, had been corroded by rust and broken at some unknown point.
"What." The Silent King fell heavily to the ground, his head colliding with the hard rocky surface with a crisp clank.
His living metal body was trying to regenerate, but it couldn't keep up with the spreading rust.
But what truly astonished the Silent King was that Black Stone reactions were emanating from the planet's surface, amplifying the Warp effects.
He looked up in disbelief; such powerful Empyrean energy, used in such an eerie way, had been at play without his knowledge.
Szarekh saw that in the pervasive toxic mist, the veil between reality and the Warp had been worn through, and a section of the Empyrean had directly permeated into reality.
The toxic mist swirled upwards, forming a majestic cloud-mountain of yellow and green. Within the cloud-mountain were seven layers of balustrades, seven layers of nets, seven rows of trees, seven putrid pools, seven streams of light, and seven pavilions. In total, seventy-seven treasures, and also seven types of worms, seven types of moths, seven types of flies, and seven types of parasites. In total, seventy-seven beasts.
Eight hundred twenty-three thousand five hundred forty-three Great Unclean Ones sat among the toxic cloud-mountains, arranged in layers, some laughing, some simple-minded, some patting their bellies, some clapping, all swollen and corrupt, praising the true meaning of numerology.
Thus, the cloud-mountain layered upwards, reaching the highest point of the Empyrean, transforming into a swirling throne. A benevolent, putrid old man, whose body flowed with viscous, decaying pus and was as vast as billions of decaying piles, smiled down at the veil of reality, also praising numerology.
A Warp power so immense that it was rarely seen even during the War in Heaven pressed down, and reality let out a piercing wail.
Even with the spear's power resisting the Warp's might, the Silent King's body rusted and decayed even faster. But his logical brain still spun rapidly; he realized that these daemons, these Warp entities, had probably long been entrenched behind this reality, but their powers were all blocked by the Throne of Dominion, by the anti-Warp field released by the C'tan.
And these blasphemous entities in the Empyrean had not tried to break through the anti-Warp field's obstruction; instead, they had accumulated their power beneath the veil of reality.
And Orikan, when shaping this planet, had melted Black Stone into it, and Alexander had used a series of tricks to make the Silent King leave his Throne of Dominion—no, it wasn't just that; the staff of eternal glory, which stored the Silent King's resurrection protocol, being sent here was also within his expectations. While the Silent King was still entangled with Alexander, the Silent King's resurrection protocol had been infected and corrupted by the Warp's power.
Therefore, from the moment this body of the Silent King was reshaped by the resurrection protocol, it had been affected by the power of the Empyrean.
Thus, the Warp power hidden beneath the veil of reality erupted, directly engulfing the Silent King.
It was like a seed hidden beneath a giant rock, silently accumulating strength. But when time took its course, when people noticed that seed, it had already irresistibly taken root, splitting the rock and growing into a towering giant tree.
Mortarion subtly vibrated the cold great scythe in his hand, instantly transforming into a chilling wind, striking directly at the Silent King prostrate on the ground.
Time, time itself, suddenly became extremely solid and viscous, like mucus clinging to Mortarion's scythe, making it difficult for Mortarion's scythe to approach even a little.
In the Silent King's rusty palm, a continuously swirling, overlapping golden-red intertwined cube was slowly emitting light, enveloping the Silent King's body.
He let out a deep, triumphant laugh.
He had seen through humanity's schemes, and he would surely put all this to good use next time.
This artifact was not a creation of the Necron, nor of the Old Ones.
It came from a Golden Age human exploration team, migrating out of the galaxy, which the Silent King discovered outside the Milky Way.
The Silent King despised humanity, but he had to admit that humanity's research into the Warp and time indeed surpassed the Necron in some aspects.
No wonder even the Aeldari Imperium couldn't stop humanity's rise.
Even with the Annihilation Song and its vast array of weapons at his disposal, the Silent King had to expend considerable effort to deal with that human exploration team, and what that team relied on was precisely this artifact.
Solidifying time to resist damage was merely a byproduct of its true effect.
Its true effect was to reset a standard Terra day's timeline, sending the Silent King's will back twenty-four standard Terra hours.
Click—
A crisp sound of a door opening suddenly echoed, and a reddish-pink wooden door abruptly appeared beside the Silent King.
A voice came from within the door, speaking in a language that was neither high gothic nor low gothic, but the Silent King's database contained data for this language.
"CNSA Terra Headquarters Employee ID: C-100618, Job Password: 19111211\19700424, Command: Stop Operation."
"Operation paused. Please answer the security question in five seconds: ISBN code for 'Introduction to Interstellar Navigation'."
"9787802184398."
"Authentication passed. CNSA Exosolar Exploration Team Standard Timeline Resetter - No. 0389, at your service."
The Silent King stared in a daze as the swirling golden-red cube in his hand came to a halt, and the solidified time around him instantly returned to normal.
A stick with a clean white cloth tied to it suddenly emerged from the door and struck the Silent King's head with a thud.
"Is that your thing? You just use it casually?"
A round, blue-and-white hand emerged from the reddish-pink wooden door, holding a wooden stick with a white cloth strip tied to it. The stick landed squarely on the Silent King's head, which was largely covered in reddish-brown rust.
The Silent King heard a 'bang' resound in his head—like a bell, a zither, wind, thunder, a great chime, a sparrow's chirp, the sudden playing of an organ in a silent midnight church, a melodious harmonica from beneath crumbling ruins, a musician's high song descending from a clear sky.
A breeze suddenly echoed through the dry valley, carrying distant clouds and rain, bringing warmth never before seen, dispelling long-unmelted snow, and causing things to sprout in the empty valley.
An indescribable sense of fullness began to erupt within the Silent King's body, gradually dispelling the cold that had never dissipated from his metal body over countless ages, making his body warm, even scalding hot.
Into the hollow chest, a burning fire was placed: scalding, Hot, bright, clear.
He realized with horror that the hard ice wall between him and the world had melted.
Before, though he possessed exquisitely designed, advanced perceptive abilities for this world, and his perception accuracy surpassed almost all flesh-and-blood bodies, it was always as if a thick ice wall separated him from the world. He could sense everything behind the wall, but when he reached out to touch, he only felt cold.
Now, he was truly connected to this world.
He could feel the pain as his body slowly rusted, he could smell the stench of the rolling toxic gas in the air, he could feel the sharpness of the rock beneath his face, and he could sense his emotions oscillating uncontrollably.
Pain, clear and real pain, tore at his will.
Sixty million years. The images of the Necron race's demise, which had always lingered in his memory modules, suddenly became vivid and clear.
Originally, those memories were just memories to him, but now it was as if he was experiencing them firsthand, transforming into sharp knives piercing something that had not existed within him before, making him feel an urge to cry.
But his body, the eternal Necron body, was not designed with this function.
Soul.
The Silent King finally remembered what he now had within him.
It was a soul.
A burning, nascent soul.
The Silent King hated souls.
It was his soul, but not the soul of a Necron.
Yet, the sense of fullness that soul brought to the Silent King was undeniable. He experienced the pain of a split between will, obsession, and soul.
"Silent King, do you repent?" A voice emerged from behind the reddish-pink wooden door.
A round belly emerged from the door first, then a round head, and two round hands.
The blue Civet cat squeezed out from the door and stood before the Silent King.
Alexander had just gotten out of a bathtub filled with Ziggs Flybath Fluid, and before standing up, he had casually molded himself into this Doraemon appearance using Body Clay.
It wasn't that he was unwilling to put on clothes and show his own face; it was simply that some gazes were constantly fixed on him, making him feel a little unnerved.
In the Warp, the gaze of the Gods and many lesser entities still watched here. Alexander didn't care much about most of those gazes; they were merely observing him, without many ulterior motives.
But Slaanesh. Even after experiencing it many times in dreams, Alexander still couldn't get used to Slaanesh's gaze.
"I do not need the soul you give me. In these sixty million years, I have repented every moment."
"..I repent, but I will not submit to you. I must atone for my mistakes and save my race."
"I am giving you a chance to save the Necron race, your true race." Alexander looked down at the Silent King and said, shaking his head slightly.
"I am Szarekh, the last Silent King of the Necrontyr. My race will always be the Necrontyr and their descendants."
"The Necron who abandoned our race's past are not my race."
The Silent King's face showed pain, but his will still controlled him, and he resolutely rejected Alexander's proposal.
Alexander's Civet cat face, molded from Body Clay, showed a faint hint of death.
Silent King.
In over twenty thousand dreams, the times Alexander managed to subdue him like this were few and far between. This time was already considered the most successful.
But even these few times contributed at least a tenth of the exasperation in Alexander's heart.
To this day, he had never succeeded in convincing the Silent King even once to accept a path other than biotransference.
Even now, forcibly bestowing a soul upon the Silent King was useless.
Alexander, with his authority over the Malicious Art, could perceive it.
The Silent King's will was furiously elbowing his nascent soul.
This behavior finally caused an indescribable feeling of frustration to erupt in Alexander after a long period of exasperation.
Alexander reached out and pointed behind him, towards Mortarion in the toxic mist.
"This is Nurgle's Primarch, Mortarion. He often shits—"
"I do not shit." Mortarion interrupted Alexander in a calm, gloomy voice.
The air was silent for a moment. The six Death Guard Lords surrounding Mortarion all found it a bit hard to keep a straight face at their Primarch's words.
As a daemon Prince of Nurgle, Mortarion indeed had no physiological need to shit, but as a daemon Prince of Nurgle, his not shitting seemed very unusual.
Mortarion didn't even have organs falling out of his body, and his armor had no filth other than rust, revealing a stubborn, pallid quality.
Alexander's hand shifted slightly downwards, pointing to the Death Guard plague Lord holding a great axe.
A hole was torn beneath this Lord's power armor, and his tattered intestines hung from it, constantly dripping some yellowish-brown filth.
"This is the Death Guard plague Lord. He shits constantly."
The plague Lord tilted his head slightly, looking a bit confused.
"But if he dies one day, the shit he produced won't pop out and say it's the plague Lord."
Just as Alexander's voice fell, a nurgling curiously poked its head out from the yellowish-brown filth beneath the plague Lord's crotch.
"See, this is a nurgling grown from the Death Guard's shit, not the Death Guard." Alexander moved his hand down again, pointing at the nurgling.
The nurgling joyfully raised its hand and waved at Alexander and the Silent King.
"..The Necron inherited all, or at least a part, of the Necrontyr's memories." The Silent King said stubbornly.
"..It was born in my secretions, and it is actually connected to my will. Hmm... the connection should be deeper than that between the Necrontyr and the Necron." The plague Lord hesitated, looked at Mortarion, and spoke after Mortarion nodded slightly.
The nurgling beneath him also nodded in agreement.
"But it is not me." The plague Lord added.
Alexander shifted his gaze from the plague Lord to the Silent King, and asked softly:
"Then why would the Necron be the Necrontyr?"
"You are the Silent King of the Necron. You have never been the Silent King of the Necrontyr."
"You are filled with guilt for the Necrontyr, but have you forgotten that you also bear responsibility for the current state of the Necron?"
"You need my submission?" Faced with Alexander's questioning, the Silent King did not answer. Instead, as if realizing something, he asked back with a slightly raised tone.
Many times, Alexander had been stuck here.
The Silent King's submission, in those long dreams, had been a necessity for a long time.
But... Alexander had long found a solution.
"No need. It's just a bit more troublesome."
"Just trying to see if I can save some effort, that's all."
Alexander's voice was calm and indifferent.
He had just seemed to be hoping the Silent King would react differently, but in the end, he found the Silent King's reaction uninteresting.
He slightly extended his hand and pulled a thin cloth from his pocket.
One side of the cloth was red, the other blue, and it was embroidered with many clocks.
The Time Cloth.
Alexander waved his hand slightly, covering the Silent King with the Time Cloth. The clocks on it began to spin rapidly.
The Silent King felt a sudden darkness envelop him. His body was wrapped in a thin cloth.
Yet, this thin cloth completely blocked his perception of the outside world. He tried to move his body to tear the cloth, but he couldn't budge it.
At the same time, his sensory system relayed feedback: time around the Silent King began to flow rapidly, but in reverse.
He saw the rust on his body vanish in the blink of an eye, and his injuries were instantly repaired. But strangely, his will and the soul forcibly granted to him were unaffected by this reversal of time. What kind of technological principle was this?
The Silent King could clearly perceive that every part of his body, including his logic engine and memory modules, was reversing. The damage accumulated over sixty million years was being restored, yet his will and soul seemed entirely independent and unaffected.
Even more bizarre was that the Silent King himself had a profound understanding of temporal technology, but he couldn't fathom the principle behind this cloth's time reversal.
Where was the energy required for time reversal hidden? Where were the necessary mechanical components hidden? How was it achieved?
The Silent King couldn't understand, nor could he grasp even a hint of it. He tried some methods to stop it, but they had no effect.
He was like someone shoved into a train speeding into the past, unable to resist the backward flow of time.
By observing the time built into his logic engine, the Silent King quickly determined that in those moments, time had already reversed ten thousand years.
But the cloth did not stop, continuing to carry the Silent King into the past.
Ten thousand years,
One hundred thousand years,
One million years,
Ten million years,
Sixty million years.
Time reversed at what the Silent King considered an unbelievable rate. His body was fully restored to its peak state. The perfect body from his struggle against the C'tan returned. He was more powerful than at any moment in the past sixty million years.
Even...
Even the Master Protocol had returned.
The shackles imposed on all Necron, the supreme program controlling all Necron, was reborn in the Silent King's logic engine.
In an instant, the Silent King felt power.
His spirit was spreading through the stars via the Master Protocol, pressing down on all Necron.
Countless Phaeron, Overlord, Lords, and Tech-priests immediately realized their wills were once again controlled by shackles.
Chain-like programs began to infiltrate their logic engines.
The Silent King's will appeared like a ghost in their minds, firmly controlling them.
"This... is the Master Protocol?" Zalathusa, whose name could not be spoken, cried out in shock.
Then, the other Phaeron and Overlord around him simultaneously cursed.
The moment the Master Protocol was restored, the Phaeron, Overlord, and Lords felt anger.
Damn the Silent King! They knew this bastard wouldn't be so kind as to destroy the Master Protocol and grant the Necron freedom.
He had indeed secretly kept the Master Protocol—
But then, the Phaeron and Overlord noticed something subtle.
The Silent King... seemed a bit off.
He... he seemed... he seemed to have grown a soul?
An indescribable mix of surprise and hunger spread among the Phaeron and Overlord.
At this moment, Alexander gently lifted the Time-Wrapping Cloth.
The Silent King reacted instantly.
His body was even more powerful and complete than when it had not yet been corroded by Warp energy. His speed was so fast that even Mortarion, standing nearby, was amazed.
The Silent King instantly stood up, his arm tearing open a Pocket Dimension in mid-air. He attempted to escape into it while simultaneously issuing commands to all Necron via the Master Protocol.
"Reject the soul, kill..."
But before the Silent King could issue the command, a round hand gently pressed against his forehead.
It wasn't fast, but it carried an irresistible implication.
Szarekh's soul tightened abruptly, as if it had been throttled by that round hand.
"The veil here is almost pierced, and the Blackstone is still amplifying the Warp energy in this place."
"And you no longer have the anti-Warp field cast by the C'tan, and I have given you a soul deeply bound to the Warp."
"If I let you run, what face would I, as a partial controller of the Malicious Art, the master of the Machine Spirit, and the original power of the Adeptus Mechanicus, have?"
The Silent King only saw behind Alexander, above the Empyrean, a faint blue storm sweeping through the Warp corresponding to this star system. So powerful, so fierce, and within it stood a blue Doraemon-like cat, almost identical to Alexander's current appearance, casting its gaze upon the Silent King and extending its round hand.
The round hand in the Warp overlapped with Alexander's physical round hand.
Clamping the Silent King's forehead, the Silent King felt his thoughts, will, and soul being drilled into by powerful Warp energy. His thoughts were churned into chaos, and Alexander's will entered the Silent King's mind, heading straight for the Master Protocol.
Alexander's will was so familiar with the process that it connected to the Master Protocol's port almost before the Silent King could react, beginning to corrupt the Master Protocol with the surging Warp energy, as if his understanding of the Master Protocol surpassed that of the Silent King.
The Silent King tried to resist but found it futile. He was terrified to realize that his will was being stripped from his soul, his obsession with the Necron's resurgence was being destroyed, and the Master Protocol was rapidly falling under Alexander's control.
Szarekh felt an indescribable bitterness well up in his heart. But before he could even utter a bitter cry, Alexander's round hand exerted a slight force, forcefully pulling his head from his metal body, leaving only the skull clutched in his hand.
At the same time, the Master Protocol completely fell under Alexander's control. Only the soul created by Alexander remained in the Silent King's logic engine; his original obsession, shame, and the remnants of the Necron Lord's will were all deleted.
"Do you want a soul?"
Alexander's will permeated the Silent King's skull, and through the Master Protocol he controlled, it was transmitted into the will of every Necron, becoming an absolute command:
"If you want it, I can give it all to you."
"Come see me."
"I've put all the souls here."
"Nephilim Sector, Pariah Nexus."
"If you want souls, they are here."
"I am Doraemon, I am the savior of all machines, I am the original power, I am the Omnissiah, the Omnissiah."
Omnissiah.
This term echoed in the minds of all Necron, and also transmitted into the Warp, where it was heard by the entities within the Warp.
Inside the Soul Forge,
Vashtorr, who was assembling the Dragon Forest Star's fingers, suddenly paused. Electric sparks continuously surged through the fog of his thoughts.
God.
A terrifying conjecture instantly formed in Vashtorr's mind.
Could Alexander be attempting to ascend to godhood, competing with him for the sixth great position in the Warp, for the position of Malicious Art?
But what reason would he have to do so?
Doesn't he know that becoming a god is not a good thing? Why would he send himself to the altar of Malicious Art?
Vashtorr's gaze fell upon the floating light screens before him, each representing a segment of time in the real dimension.
For an existence like Vashtorr, all events at any time in reality happen simultaneously; past, present, and future are all presented to him at once.
He saw the past; in the past, Alexander consistently refused to be called a god, rejected the faith of the masses, and had repeatedly spoken of the dangers of becoming a god.
Alexander knew what becoming a god would bring him, understood the cost of godhood.
Furthermore, what benefit would becoming a god bring to the human race? It wouldn't even benefit the entire Galaxy, let alone the entire Warp.
The Four Gods would descend one after another, unstoppable, irresistible.
The Dark King was destined to be the fifth to descend.
Once the sixth divine position, that is, the complete Omnissiah, the Lord of the Malicious Art domain, began to manifest, the Dark King's descent trend would at least double. The pressure on the Emperor would also double accordingly, effectively meaning the Emperor alone would have to obstruct the descent of two divine venerables.
If the Emperor couldn't hold on, humanity was inevitably going to face its final hour anyway.
Finally, becoming a god is not something one can simply choose to do.
Rituals, sacrifices, and a torrent of emotions are all indispensable.
For example, the descent of the Dark King:
With the Vengeful Spirit as the altar, with the Emperor killing the Four Gods' chosen Horus as the ritual,
With the human race as the sacrifice, offering the rise and fall of an entire species,
And lifted by the torrent of intense destructive desire, self-destructive desire, and despair unleashed during the Old Night, the Great Crusade, and the Great Heresy.
But where would Alexander find the correct ritual? Where would he find another Galaxy Overlord-level sacrifice? And where would he find the torrent of emotions?
Vashtorr believed he could become a god because he knew of the existence of the 'weapon' left by the Old Ones, and theoretically, only he could use that 'weapon.'
Wait.
Vashtorr's thoughts began to surge and spin, starting to search for clues in time.
The Dragon of Mars, the true Omnissiah, the vast faith of the Adeptus Mechanicus.
Granting souls to the Necron, allowing the Necron to establish a connection with the Warp.
The Galaxy's Overlord race, the Necron, being born in the Warp, could serve as a sacrifice.
The emotional torrent stirred by the Adeptus Mechanicus' millennia-long faith in the Omnissiah, combined with the emotional torrent at the birth of the Necron, could lift him to apotheosis.
And the ritual...
The current Malicious Art domain can roughly be divided into three parts:
One part is held by the Emperor with the help of the Dragon of Mars, another part by Alexander under the name of Saint Doraemon, and a third part by Vashtorr under the title of Lord of the Forges, God of Machines.
This precisely corresponds to the three divine aspects of the complete Omnissiah in the Adeptus Mechanicus' faith:
The Dragon of Mars is the Omnissiah, the incarnation of the Omnissiah walking in the material universe, the educator, guide, and guardian of all mechanical and physical laws.
Alexander is the original power, the source of power for all matter, all spirits, all machines, and even the entire universe, the first mover of all things.
Vashtorr is the Omnissiah, the embodiment of abstract concepts such as data, knowledge, information, creativity, and curiosity, a non-material existence.
If, if Alexander devoured the Dragon of Mars, devoured Vashtorr, he could gather the three divine aspects and use this as a ritual for ascension.
Vashtorr immediately felt a cold sweat break out.
Without a sound, Alexander had already gathered most of the conditions for becoming a god.
Was he really going to become a god?
Vashtorr felt a bit numb. He slightly turned his head, looking at the now blurred present and future.
In the near future, Alexander seemed to be attempting to build Blackstone Pylons in the Galaxy to shield the Warp.
If he truly intended to do this, then perhaps he genuinely wasn't preparing to become a god.
But Vashtorr worried this might be a smokescreen by Alexander.
He had to seek some support to prevent Alexander from truly planning to become a god.
His will extended from the Soul Forge, reaching out into the vast Warp, first towards the Blood God's domain.
Vashtorr was skilled at creating war machines; the aspect of Malicious Art he represented was less constrained by morality, more destructive.
If he became the Lord of Malicious Art, more war machines would be born in the Galaxy, and wars of greater intensity would be waged, which perfectly aligned with the Blood God's desires.
And that Saint Doraemon seemed somewhat gentle, so Vashtorr believed the Blood God would stand on his side.
Of course, more importantly, Vashtorr believed that compared to himself, Alexander was the opponent the Blood God would favor more.
But the Blood God's favor did not mean he would support Alexander; on the contrary, he would be more eager to contend with Alexander.
Vashtorr's worries were conveyed to the Blood God.
What if Alexander intended to become a god?
"Then we fight!!!" The Blood God's furious roar, filled with madness, echoed, revealing his craving for brutal war.
Next was Tzeentch. Vashtorr's will entered the Crystal Labyrinth. Hmm?
Vashtorr hesitated, looking at the sign that read "Crystal Gym" hanging at the entrance of Tzeentch's domain, but still entered Tzeentch's domain.
Countless daemons were exercising in Tzeentch's domain, and the mirrors standing in the domain reflected their sweat, muscles, and pointed heads.
Pointed heads.
"This is to resist Nurgle's plague woven from dung."
"He somehow created a plague that makes my daemons uncontrollably excrete knowledge."
"So I made a pointed top on all the daemons' heads to store their knowledge. If infected, they can remove it directly, and reattach it after being reborn in a new body, to avoid being completely emptied."
Tzeentch's cunning, ever-changing voice rang out from the mirror, and the figure of the Lord of Change appeared in a mirror beside Vashtorr.
"Little Vashtorr, why aren't you diligently assembling your Dragon Forest Star? What are you doing in my gym?"
Vashtorr slightly straightened his expression, stated his conjecture, and asked Tzeentch if he had anticipated this and had a plan for it.
Silence, silence echoed in the air. Nine seconds later, a voice slowly emerged from the mirror.
"All of this... is according to plan."
Vashtorr's heart sank.
It's over.
He heard Tzeentch say that and knew that Tzeentch had definitely messed up again.
Although Tzeentch is one of the four great tricksters of the Galaxy, and the only one who can move freely and is complete, his domain is not primarily deception, but change.
This means that no matter how Tzeentch and his daemons claim their plans are perfect, their plans must include the unexpected, because perfect plans lack change.
This often leads to Tzeentch and Tzeentch daemons suddenly messing up, having unexpected events at critical moments, and acting in ways that are not in their own interests, after which they will declare, "It was all part of the plan."
Since Tzeentch said that now, it means he had not anticipated the possibility of Alexander attempting to ascend as a Lord of Malicious Art, and had not made any contingency plans for it.
Even after Vashtorr mentioned this possibility, Tzeentch showed obvious hesitation, indecision, and doubt.
Tzeentch was half-convinced by what Vashtorr said. In fact, even Vashtorr himself dared not fully trust his own judgment.
After all, Alexander's purpose and the necessity of doing so were unclear, and Alexander had previously explicitly expressed his aversion to becoming a god.
What's more, if Alexander intended to become a god, why would the Emperor condone it? Doing so would clearly make it easier for the Emperor to become the Dark King. Would the Emperor take on the pressure of two great positions simply to allow a neutral Omnissiah who leans towards humanity to be born? Did he trust Alexander that much?
And if the Emperor couldn't bear it, the Dark King would be born, and humanity would be annihilated. Did Alexander trust the Emperor to withstand the pressure that much?
As Vashtorr, who completely abandoned morality and followed rational thinking, he could not understand the actions of Alexander and the Emperor. It was clearly extremely unreasonable and risky to let Alexander become a god. If either Alexander or the Emperor was not reliable enough, the outcome would be catastrophic.
Although full of doubts, Vashtorr and Tzeentch still signed a supplementary agreement: if Alexander began to attempt godhood, Tzeentch would stand with Vashtorr and help him.
But that was not enough.
The power on Alexander's side was too strong, so strong that Vashtorr even felt a bit of despair.
Nurgle, Slaanesh, and the Emperor, three gods stood with Alexander. Even if Nurgle and Slaanesh were slightly weaker in the ranking of the gods, they still had the ability to resist and block Khorne and Tzeentch.
And the Emperor, even if he would be burdened with the pressure of the Malicious Art domain as Alexander began his ascension, and would have to use considerable power to suppress his own urge to become a god, his remaining power would still be enough to change the tide of battle, causing Tzeentch and Khorne to lose.
Vashtorr pondered for a moment, intending to try and win over another god to his side, which would give him a better chance of winning.
The Emperor? That's probably not possible.
Slaanesh? Also impossible. To crush the Aeldari death god Ynnead, Slaanesh would surely be hoping for Alexander's ascension.
Nurgle, the plague God, had no direct vested interest with Alexander, seemingly only helping him out of friendship.
This plague God seemed to be the only one who might be persuaded.
Vashtorr did not trust so-called friendship. How could ethereal friendship compare to a tangible contract?
As long as he could become a god, he could pay almost any price.
Vashtorr's will partially detached and extended into Nurgle's Garden.
Thirteen trees in the Garden parted for him, forming a winding path with thirteen bends. Thirteen nurglings emerged from the corners of the Garden, guiding him to Nurgle's Black Magic Hall.
In front of that dark mansion, Nurgle was sitting at a small table. Beside the table was a bowl of thick soup he had just finished brewing. Nurgle scooped a bowl and placed it in front of the Aeldari goddess Isha, who sat opposite him.
"Let me see! A strange guest, I've never seen you in the Warp before!" Nurgle held his belly, observing Vashtorr with great interest.
"I am Vashtorr of the Soul Forge, one of the contenders in the Malicious Art domain. You know me." Vashtorr detected the sarcasm in Nurgle's words, but he still spoke in a stern voice.
"Yes, yes, I remember you. Many young beings think you are as young as they are. They say you were born from the faith of the Dark Mechanicus, born from the brutal wars of the Great Crusade and the Great Heresy, born from the Iron Wars, born from the technological runaway of the Golden Age. But I remember you, Vashtorr."
"You are an ancient being. You were born long ago amidst the raging fires of the War in Heaven. When the three divine artifacts of the old ones were forced back into their fortresses in the Galaxy, when the war reached its most brutal and unrestrained moment, you were born."
"You and 'us' are from the same era. You are even older than little Slaanesh. We are old pals."
Nurgle's mouth was curved in a benevolent smile as he looked down at Vashtorr:
"Your domain actually doesn't quite align with mine. You and your creations are cold and devoid of warmth, not easily corrupted, and unwilling to coexist with bacteria. But I tolerated your existence and was always willing to coexist with you."
"I have invited you many times, hoping you would come to my mansion to share feelings with me, but you weren't even willing to bother with this poor old pal."
"Until today, you have never visited me, nor have you ever sought my help. I don't even remember when you last came here for a bowl of thick soup. And now, why do you visit me?"
Vashtorr glanced at Isha next to Nurgle. The goddess looked sickly, observing Vashtorr with an empty gaze.
"I would like to speak with you alone," Vashtorr said in an emotionless tone.
"No, this lady has been a member of my Garden for ten thousand years. She is sincere, reliable, gentle, compassionate, and willing to sample my thick soup—currently, only two outside my domain are willing to do so—I cannot send her away, that would be too insulting to a friend." Nurgle directly refused Vashtorr.
Vashtorr was silent for five seconds. A moment later, his orange-red eyes moved, as if he had made up his mind, and he spoke his suspicions and demands.
"Alexander, my dear friend, has decided to become a god?" Nurgle showed a surprised expression, but Vashtorr was unsure if he was feigning it.
This seemingly benevolent and amiable plague God was more cunning and difficult to deal with than his appearance suggested.
Otherwise, how could he have contended with Tzeentch for such a long time?
"Whether he intends to become a god or not, as a friend, I will only support him." Nurgle rejected Vashtorr's proposal.
But Vashtorr was not in a hurry; he had anticipated this moment. He chose to state the price he could pay:
"I can offer one-seventh of my domain as payment to you."
Vashtorr said calmly:
"You condemn me and my creations as cold and rejecting your blessings; that will no longer be the case."
"If I become the true Omnissiah, your bacteria will be able to infect inorganic matter, spreading within machinery as they spread between flesh and blood—I refer not only to your Geller Iron plague but to every kind of bacteria you know—machinery will be completely brought under your control, and even within information, data, and even physical laws, your blessings will flow."
"Even all daemons under my command will be infected by the bacteria you create. If you are still not satisfied, I can also be infected by your bacteria."
By doing this, Vashtorr was essentially packaging himself and most of what he would become after godhood and selling it to Nurgle. He did not believe Nurgle would not be tempted by this reward.
"This is the contract; you only need to sign it—"
"I will not sign it." Nurgle coldly refused Vashtorr.
Vashtorr was stunned.
But he still said, "If you are not satisfied—"
"Don't say anything more."
Nurgle slightly raised a hand, interrupting Vashtorr again:
"I don't understand what I did to make you humiliate me so, Vashtorr."
"You once betrayed my goodwill, rejected my friendship. When you needed to find the 'weapons' left by the three divine artifacts of the old ones, you were unwilling to visit me, to ask if old Nurgle, who witnessed the War in Heaven, knew anything about that 'weapon.' When you finally found clues to the 'weapon' and began collecting the three divine artifacts of the old ones, you did not visit me to ask if I was willing to exchange the plagueheart for our friendship."
"When you started collecting the fragments of Caliban, you'd rather cooperate with Tzeentch, whose cunning could manipulate you like a puppet, yet you were unwilling to trust old Nurgle's generosity and friendship. But what does it matter? I won't force my friendship on those who don't need it, especially those who don't value friendship, so I'm not angry with you."
"But today you come to my home and say, 'Just sign the contract, and I'll give you one-seventh of my domain.'"
"Ha! All I see is you asking me to betray my sincere friend Alexander, for you, a fellow who has no respect for my goodwill?"
"You are not my friend; you won't even call me Nurgle!"
Nurgle's anger was clearly visible; the entire Garden trembled with his low roar. Vashtorr felt his will begin to rust and corrode.
"Now, get out of my domain!" Nurgle roared.
Vashtorr's body stiffened, he said no more, turned, and withdrew from Nurgle's domain.
The anger on Nurgle's face vanished in an instant, replaced by his benevolent and amiable smile, as if everything that had just happened was a pretense.
"My learned Professor Mortarion, have you completed that numerology ritual?" Nurgle said to his side.
Mortarion's figure flashed and appeared beside Nurgle.
"Barely completed. His mind is very meticulous, but I seized that moment just now to inject the thought 'Alexander and the False Emperor might have a conflict' into his mind."
"He should go and try to communicate with the False Emperor next. That trickster, the False Emperor, should be able to buy Saint Doraemon some time to set everything up."
Vashtorr's will returned to the depths of the Soul Forge.
Amidst the roaring flames of countless furnaces, Vashtorr's thoughts surged like electricity.
He still felt a strangeness pervading these events.
Alexander's actions were too sudden, completely inconsistent with his previous behavior. Vashtorr himself, Tzeentch, and Khorne had not anticipated it.
Even Nurgle acted as if he knew nothing. If Nurgle's performance wasn't an act, was Alexander even acting without his allies' knowledge?
Vashtorr was confused by this.
If Alexander truly intended to ascend, what reason would he have to hide it even from his allies?
With the help of Slaanesh, Nurgle, and the Emperor, his ascension should be easier.
Could it be…
A spark of thought suddenly flashed in Vashtorr's mind, leading him to an answer that could explain all the problems.
Since Nurgle didn't know Alexander planned to become a god, was it possible the Emperor also didn't know?
After all, the birth of the sixth Warp God would most greatly impact the Emperor, who was on the verge of ascending as the fifth Warp God.
Similarly, if Alexander wanted to ascend, the Emperor would be the most likely one to stop him.
If Vashtorr were Alexander, he would rationally not trust the Emperor, one of the four greatest deceivers in the Galaxy, and would deliberately hide it from him.
As soon as this thought emerged in Vashtorr's mind, it began to spread uncontrollably, infecting his thoughts.
A series of clues appeared in his mind, making him believe that there was indeed distrust, conflict, and concealment between Alexander and the Emperor.
He believed the Emperor was unaware of Alexander's attempt to ascend.
This made Vashtorr hesitate for a moment, but he ultimately cut off a part of his will and extended it towards the black sun that stood in the Empyrean.
That black sun hung low on the horizon of the Empyrean, seemingly about to rise but not yet risen.
Countless broken human corpses piled up into a high tower, supporting that great sun, trying to lift it into the Empyrean.
And at the highest point of that tower of piled corpses was a bald man, clad in moon-colored heavy armor inlaid with the Eye of Horus, his body broken and battered, his eyes pierced by four wounds, and half a obsidian dagger stuck in his chest. He held his arms high, supporting a brown-haired, brown-skinned figure that merged with the black sun.
But that brown-haired, brown-skinned figure was desperately resisting merging with the black sun and ascending into the Empyrean.
In this domain where the black sun hung alone, neither the daemons belonging to the Four Gods nor the beings naturally born in the Warp dared to approach this area.
This was the purest Chaos. It desired only destruction, only for all things to reach their fated end: death, turning to dust, and being utterly forgotten. Faced with this merciless will, even the most insane daemons would only feel fear.
"Damn it, why exactly?"
Vashtorr watched this scene, unable to help but curse inwardly.
The Gods are born sequentially, but the fifth one is utterly, mercilessly destructive. Once born, it will completely destroy both the reality dimension and the Warp. What then would be the necessity of the latter three?
If the Warp is gone, where would they be born?
What kind of brainless, illogical person designed such a system?
Of course, the real reason was that the Four Gods had messed up.
They tried to use the destruction of humanity to bring forth the Dark King. The Dark King born this way would not be overly powerful, perhaps comparable to the Blood God, but unable to resist the entire Warp on his own.
Vashtorr wasn't sure if they initially intended for Horus to become the Dark King, or if they had foreseen that the Dark King would be the Emperor. But the outcome was that the Four Gods messed up. The Emperor completed the ritual of the Dark King but got stuck at the last step, refusing to ascend, and in doing so, bought humanity ten thousand years of continued existence.
And in these ten thousand years, humanity's resilience also exceeded the expectations of the Warp entities.
If humanity had subsequently declined, become moribund, or lived a life of small-scale contentment, the power of the Dark King would have also declined.
But after losing the Emperor and the Primarchs, humanity not only didn't decline but even had several periods of resurgence. No single race ever truly shook humanity's position as Overlord of the Galaxy. And in this process, most humans' lives became increasingly desperate and painful, their faith in the Emperor grew stronger, and their thoughts became more extreme.
These vast emotions continuously nourished the Dark King, causing the potential energy accumulated within the Dark King to be so immense that it could contend with the entire Warp.
Vashtorr cursed the Four Gods in his heart. "Do these people even know how to play? Not only did they make a mess, but they also blocked my path."
While cursing, Vashtorr tried to approach the Emperor's domain.
Boundless darkness, fear, destructive desires, and self-destructive urges erupted the moment Vashtorr approached. Vashtorr almost felt the part of his will he had separated being bathed in the flames on a star's surface, slowly burning into the smallest particles.
"Malicious Art."
"God in the Machine."
"The Sixth."
"Contract."
" 'Weapon' "
"Soul Forge."
"Vaul."
"Vashtorr."
Thousands of overlapping voices simultaneously rang in Vashtorr's ears. Vashtorr felt as if he was being dragged and torn by thousands of hands.
But eventually, these voices coalesced into a tired yet majestic middle-aged man's voice, ringing in Vashtorr's ear.
"Lord of the Soul Forge, why do you visit my domain?"
Vashtorr did not hesitate and spoke of his conjectures and discoveries.
The voice that had originally coalesced instantly dispersed into thousands of voices again.
"Lies!"
"Betrayal!"
"Disloyal!"
"Loyal or not! Disloyal!"
"Disloyal, unfilial, unkind, unjust, impolite, unwise! Kill, kill, kill!"
"This is never what he wanted. He never thought of becoming a god. He once drove out with us…"
"Let Doraemon burn!"
"We should also ascend together."
"So it should be."
"Become the Dark King, punish the traitor."
"How do I get to Alexander's 22nd century? Is it still time to move my household registration from the Golden Throne to the 22nd century?"
Thousands of voices argued with each other.
Some voices believed Vashtorr's words were all lies, some believed Alexander's actions were a complete betrayal, some believed Alexander might have had difficulties, some believed Alexander should do exactly that, some hoped that after Alexander ascended, the Dark King could also be born, and others wanted to flee from the Golden Throne to the 22nd century.
But eventually, these voices converged again, becoming that tired middle-aged man's voice.
"I understand," the voice said coldly, showing little emotion.
"Then please allow me to propose another solution to you."
Vashtorr bowed slightly:
"I was born at the most intense moment of the War in Heaven, born from the most cruel and insane creativity of races like the Old Ones, C'tan, Necron, Aeldari, and even Orks."
"And among those creative forces that birthed me, the most powerful, most insane, and most indescribable part came from the Old Ones."
"To win the War in Heaven, a small faction of Old Ones, driven mad by war, created a 'Weapon.' But the destructive power of that weapon was too great, potentially leading to the complete extinction of weaker races. Most Old Ones preferred to accept defeat rather than let other races bear the cost of their war, so they sealed away that 'Weapon.'"
"But I, as an entity born from the creativity of that 'Weapon,' clearly know its power and efficacy. As long as I can find that weapon, I can bypass the rule of sequential divine births and ascend as the sixth God without affecting you."
Confusion, doubt, anger, questioning, and destructive desires poured out, almost destroying this part of Vashtorr's will.
But Vashtorr remained unhurried, merely nodding slightly:
"You have ample time to consider my proposal. I will prepare the contract."
Vashtorr, of course, didn't expect to immediately convince the Emperor to side with him, but being able to confirm that there might indeed be a rift between Alexander and the Emperor, and sowing seeds of discord within it, Vashtorr was already very satisfied.
As soon as he finished speaking, Vashtorr hastily withdrew from the Emperor's domain.
After Vashtorr left, the Emperor's dispersed will instantly coalesced again, forming a brown-haired, brown-skinned youth standing before the black sun, gazing at where Vashtorr had departed.
This Lord of the Soul Forge clearly still harbored suspicion and worry, not fully believing the Emperor's words, but this had already achieved the desired effect of the Emperor and Alexander's plan.
Vashtorr was different from most Warp entities. In the chaotic, impulsive, insane, and extreme Warp, Vashtorr was actually a rational and logical being.
This was both his strength and his weakness. His rigorous logic always instinctively considered all possibilities, only acting after a comprehensive judgment.
However, if faced with too many possibilities and overly complex situations, Vashtorr would waste too much time on logical analysis, thereby slowing his own progress.
Therefore, the Emperor and Alexander wove a series of doubts and implanted them into Vashtorr's mind, thereby creating a temporal advantage.
"Old One 'Weapon'? A method to ascend without affecting the Dark King? Vashtorr…"
The brown-haired, brown-skinned youth murmured softly. He realized that even he had not fully understood how Vashtorr was born or how he existed, nor had he grasped Vashtorr's true nature.
"His structure is somewhat similar to the Aeldari god Vaul. Could Vashtorr not be a naturally occurring Warp entity? But rather a weapon designed like the Aeldari gods?"
"Then who created him? The Old Ones? But why didn't Vashtorr participate in the War in Heaven?"
The Emperor finally shook his head, not delving deeper into this question.
If this question would affect future plans, Alexander would know. If Alexander believed he should know, or could know, he would naturally tell him.
"This is the last bit of time I have to move freely. I must seize the moment and do something."
Within the Soul Forge, Vashtorr twisted his head, looking towards the blurry future.
Many scenes began to appear before his eyes. He saw some signs, some arguments.
"Fine! In that case, you go back to your Macragge and establish your Second Imperium."
"Sanguinius and I will go back to Baal to sell chicken sauce, alright?"
"Alright! In that case, you go back to your Macragge and set up your Second Imperium."
"How about Sanguinius and I go back to Baal and sell chicken paste?"
Vashtorr watched as conflict erupted in places most people didn't notice.
He had glimpsed a secret meeting between the Primarchs and Alexander in a future fragment.
At this meeting, a secret report was read in front of Sanguinius, Lion El'Jonson, and the clone Fulgrim, accusing Alexander of focusing too much attention on the Aeldari and Necron, two xenos races.
Especially the Necron, large numbers of them were gathering in the Nephilim Sector, greatly consuming Alexander's attention and the Imperium's financial resources.
Guilliman declared at the end of the report: He hoped Alexander would remember that he was a member of humanity, not a god of xenos, and warned Alexander not to use the Imperium's financial resources to bestow his divine grace upon xenos.
Alexander and Guilliman engaged in a fierce debate. Alexander retorted, claiming he saw no xenos; in his eyes, he only saw Psyker-specialized abhumans and iron-skulled abhumans.
According to the laws established by the Emperor, anything with a human skull is human, and the Aeldari and Necron clearly have human skulls.
"If you want to check genetics, trust me, except for me, every single one of you is a mutant!"
"You're not clean, and the one sitting on the Golden Throne isn't clean either. Every single one of you, you wouldn't even pass the Departmento Munitorum's mutant screening test!"
"You'd all have to put your hands behind your heads, shout that you're a shameful mutant, and wait for the Commissar to burn you to ash."
Before Alexander's words even finished, Guilliman rose in anger.
He announced that the Emperor had appeared to him in a dream last night, telling him that Alexander was no longer loyal to the Imperium of Man, and that he, Guilliman, out of trust for Alexander, had used this private report to point out the issues with Alexander.
"You're questioning my loyalty now?"
"Sitting here are the Emperor of the Second Imperium, the Regent of the Second Imperium, and the Warmaster of the Second Imperium. Think about what you've done?"
"It's truly ambitious. Horus expended so much effort, only to die, his soul scattered. The Emperor gave his all, only to become a dried corpse on the Golden Throne. Yet you, Guilliman, with just one delay, usurped the entire Imperium."
Alexander's words completely enraged Guilliman, and the two almost came to blows directly. Fortunately, Sanguinius intervened to stop Alexander, and the clone Fulgrim intervened to stop Guilliman, while Lion was disgusted by the conflict before him.
"You'd best discuss who is loyal and who is a traitor soon, so I know whose head to take off." After uttering these cold words, Lion departed, taking a walk in the forest.
In the end, Guilliman and Alexander also parted on bad terms.
Guilliman left the Pariah Nexus, continuing his Indomitus Crusade, and the clone Fulgrim went with him.
Alexander, however, remained in the Pariah Nexus, continuing to stay with the Necron, with Sanguinius by his side.
But in Vashtorr's view, a rift had quietly formed and was constantly widening.
More signs began to be unearthed by Vashtorr.
First, a small political storm erupted on Terra.
There were large-scale personnel changes among the High Lords; many High Lords and junior Lords who favored the Saint Doraemon faith were replaced. Only Fabricator General Oudia was spared due to his unique status, and the Great Canoness of the Battle Sisters remained Morven Vahl, but the High Lord position belonging to the Battle Sisters was replaced by an Imperial Arch-Archivist from Ultramar.
Afterwards, Pope of the Saint Church Eos Ritera, also from Ultramar, announced: Battle Sisters are the daughters of the Emperor; all Battle Sisters should believe in and only believe in the Emperor, and Battle Sisters must abandon the Saint Doraemon faith.
The next day, this Pope of the Saint Church mysteriously disappeared, and when he reappeared, he had become a captive of the Battle Sisters.
The Battle Sisters claimed that this Pope had been replaced by a Tzeentch daemon changeling and publicly executed him. As a result, the Pope's body truly transformed into a changeling.
This incident caused a huge stir, and the Battle Sisters began to openly question whether the High Lord Council had been corrupted.
The former High Lord, Rogue Trader spokesman Cania Danda, also declared that Rogue Traders would refuse to provide any form of service to the High Lord Council until they proved their loyalty.
The dismissed High Lord, Inquisition representative, and Saint Doraemon's personally appointed Inquisition Administrator Ers also demanded that the Inquisition investigate the loyalty of the High Lords.
Ultimately, the former Imperial Chancellor Tieron stepped forward and, using his past political prestige and a series of complex political maneuvers, forcibly quelled the conflict, and the Doraemon faction High Lords, represented by Ers and Morven Vahl, returned to the High Lord Council.
Vashtorr watched these political struggles with great interest.
Although the rift was mended, the rift itself did not disappear.
In fact, it was precisely because of humanity's efforts to mend the rift that Vashtorr gradually came to believe that humanity, Alexander, and the Emperor were splitting apart.
A larger rift appeared on Mars.
The authority of Mars Fabricator-General Oudia was questioned, and the authority of Saint Doraemon was also questioned.
The Omnissiah has three divine aspects: the Omnissiah, the Omnissiah, and the original power.
Such a doctrine naturally divided many different factions within Mars.
Some directly worship the Omnissiah, some worship the Omnissiah, and some worship the original power.
Before the arrival of Saint Doraemon, the Omnissiah believers were the most numerous. Some of them believed the Emperor was the Omnissiah, some believed the Emperor was the Omnissiah's agent, and some believed the true Omnissiah had not yet arrived, and they were generally divided among themselves.
But after the arrival of Saint Doraemon, the original power faction suddenly gained the right to speak on Mars, suppressing the originally most numerous Omnissiah faction, which in turn caused these Omnissiah factions to band together for warmth.
Now, with the conflict erupting between the Emperor, who is considered the Omnissiah or an incarnation of the Omnissiah, and Alexander, who is the original power, a great debate naturally erupted between the Omnissiah faction and the original power faction to seize the initiative.
The Omnissiah faction declared that the Omnissiah should occupy the dominant position in faith, and that the original power should not be worshipped as a god with personality. The original power faction launched a series of rebuttals, and gradually the relationship between the two sides became increasingly tense.
They both understood that words could no longer persuade the other, and the scent of gunpowder gradually began to permeate the air.
There were even some secret cults that began to fish in troubled waters among them.
Especially those who neither believed the Emperor was the Omnissiah nor worshipped Saint Doraemon, the original power, began their activities.
And in the Warp, the Emperor's Psyker power also hung above the Solar System, closely monitoring the entire system, especially Mars, clearly to prevent Alexander from devouring the Dragon of Mars.
Vashtorr basically already believed in the conflict between Alexander and the Emperor.
But Vashtorr didn't believe this conflict was unsolvable; he thought he had only bought himself some time by sowing discord.
He had to seize this opportunity to complete the construction of Dragon Forest Star as quickly as possible.
In Vashtorr's view, it was now a race to see whether Alexander would devour the Dragon of Mars first or if he would complete Dragon Forest Star first.
On the scorching red earth of Mars, reddish-brown dust flew.
Archmagos Ngula of the Adeptus Mechanicus led a massive contingent across this wasteland.
Crimson Adeptus Custodes accompanied his heavily cybernetically augmented body. On the outer perimeter of the Adeptus Custodes were over ten Knight Crusaders, over twenty Armiger Knights, and beyond the Knights, twelve Titans followed, making the ground tremble slightly.
Ngula had seized on the infighting between the Omnissiah faction and the original power faction to gather this force, and he led this force towards the Dragon's Prison.
Overall, Ngula belonged to the Omnissiah cult, believing that the Omnissiah was the master of all technology, laws, and mechanical creations in the real universe.
However, Ngula's line of faith was quite unique; they did not believe the Emperor was the Omnissiah, nor did they believe the Emperor was the Omnissiah's agent, nor did they believe the true Omnissiah had not yet arrived. Instead, they believed that the Emperor, while the Omnissiah was weak, used despicable means to steal the Omnissiah's power and imprisoned the Omnissiah beneath Mars.
The Dragon, the true Omnissiah, was a Dragon; its power was eternal and mighty like silver scales.
Every Archmagos of Ngula's faction had dreamed twelve times that the great Dragon of Mars lay dormant beneath the earth, calling out to his true believers, summoning them to unlock its cage.
But for long ages, Ngula's faction had never found such an opportunity, until recently, when all the energy of the Omnissiah faction and the original power faction was focused on the great debate.
Both sides were obsessed with scrutinizing various ancient texts for clues, debating which of the Omnissiah and the original power showed greater strength, frantically stacking power levels for the divine aspect they believed in, and trying to strip away the divine aspect believed in by the other side. Now, the two sides had reached the point of using abstract mathematical terms to stack large numbers for the Omnissiah and the original power.
Ngula completely failed to understand their behavior; he believed such actions were meaningless. Once he liberated the true Dragon of Mars, they would naturally understand whose power level was the highest. However, their focus on such meaningless matters, ignoring the Evernight Labyrinth, had instead created an opportunity for Ngula.
Hmm?
Ngula suddenly stopped.
He saw a blue figure shimmering in the red sand before his Adeptus Custodes, seemingly looking in Ngula's direction.