Chapter 499 - Dragon

A figure as tall as an Astartes stood before Ngula's vast Adeptus Custodes.

According to the augur implanted in Ngula's body, it was an Astartes, painted in the blue of the Ultramarines.

But in Ngula's sole remaining eye, that Astartes seemed shrouded in shadow, his entire coloration closer to a dark blue than Ultramarine blue, like... like...

Like a Night Lord—

Like a flash of lightning in the midnight, the dark blue figure transformed into a pale light, arriving before Ngula before his sensory system could even react.

The roaring surge of a chainsword sounded, its blade cleaving into Ngula's neck, severing it in an instant, and electrical sparks surged from the severed opening of his neck.

Ngula's head, still wearing the crimson hood symbolizing the Archmagos, fell to the ground with a thud.

Clear, bright, transparent.

The surrounding Adeptus Custodes only reacted after his head had rolled for a few seconds and the light had completely faded from his eyes.

They stared in disbelief at the Astartes standing beside Ngula's corpse.

Ngula's body had undergone complex mechanical modifications; his lower half resembled a sturdy war machine. Even headless, he remained standing in a terrifying posture, like a decapitated sphinx.

But compared to this corpse, the Astartes standing in the shadow of Ngula's remains, his power armor gleaming with a dark blue luster, was even more terrifying.

He was pale and dark, looking not as if he stood on the scorching Mars, but rather bathed in the cold incandescent light of an alley after a rainy night in a lightless city, gazing like a ghost at the poor souls who had stumbled into his hunting grounds.

The Adeptus Custodes held weapons in their hands, and beside them stood Knights and Titans.

But that Astartes, merely by the terrifying aura he exuded, intimidated all the armed forces that had once belonged to Ngula.

The Astartes glanced around, then vanished among the myriad troops in an instant, leaving Ngula's Adeptus Custodes bewildered.

The former Second Captain of the Ultramarines, Titus, the chosen of the Midnight Scythes, retreated into the strange cave he was guarding.

This peculiar engineering marvel, shimmering with dazzling silver light, was so vast it was like the hollowed-out core of Mars. The edges of the cave were invisible, stretching infinitely, and the silver rocks seemed to extend into boundless space.

Only a protruding rock shelf stood in the center of this immense cave, like a stage in the middle of a silver grand theater.

These days, Titus had been ordered to guard this cave.

According to Saint Doraemon, this cave imprisoned the Dragon defeated by the Emperor in the past.

Titus had never seen the Dragon. When he first arrived, he expected to see a giant dragon with scales and huge wings emerge from this silver cave, but after exploring, he found the cave almost empty.

But this did not mean Titus had no work to do.

Although invisible to the naked eye, Titus could feel the 'Dragon' becoming increasingly urgent.

At first, some machines inexplicably appeared around the cave; later, unmanned war machines gradually tried to enter the cave; and then came some deranged Adeptus Custodes, some Adeptus Mechanicus sages with unstable mental states, and one or two Titan Legions' War Hounds that had strayed from their formation.

This time, an entire army appeared.

Vaguely, Titus perceived some of the Dragon's emotions.

Many years ago, the Dragon had also attempted such resistance, such struggle, trying to escape this cage built by the Emperor.

But as time went on, the Dragon gradually gave up struggling, becoming accustomed to the quiet, plain, comfortable, and easy life in the cage.

In other words, the Dragon slacked off.

The Dragon's few moments of lucidity were during the era when humans developed the internet on Earth. The Dragon's seeping power could relatively easily manipulate networks of electricity and information, using human information within them for amusement, and even splitting its will into thousands, dispersing them across the network to troll, provoke, attack, and enrage humans to gain a sense of revenge.

Later, the internet disappeared and was abandoned, and the Dragon began a life of sleeping all day, passing the long years in slumber.

But now, the Dragon was starting to panic. It seemed to be afraid of something, struggling desperately to break free from the cage.

But what exactly was the Dragon afraid of? What did It fear?

Honestly, the Dragon itself didn't seem to know. It seemed to have instinctively sensed danger in its sleep, and, still groggy, urgently began to struggle and resist.

And the Dragon was surprised to find that after sleeping for so many years, It had actually become even stronger than before.

Titus shook his head. Whatever It feared, Titus' duty was to prevent Its escape.

Suddenly, Titus noticed that his power armor seemed to have a problem, like mechanical damage causing invisible, tiny flaws.

When? Was it damage accumulated over time?

Titus suddenly realized that the Dragon hadn't done nothing; It had probably been secretly infiltrating Titus' power armor, slowly accumulating damage with Its seeping, slight power. That accumulated damage was now bursting forth, damaging Titus' power armor.

"I am Violent S!"

A somewhat stiff mechanical voice suddenly sounded in the power armor's comms:

"Release me, or I will torment you, my hand is very heavy!"

What the hell.

Titus was momentarily stunned, but more voices began to sound in his ears, directly flooding into his mind.

"Infant eats rice oil, becomes plump and white in a hundred days."

"Look at our in-womb vegetarian baby."

"How did Europeans, who don't drink boiled water, invent the steam engine?"

"The Industrial Revolution was all stolen from the Yongle Encyclopedia."

"You have a typical Android mindset."

"Be glad technology is in the hands of civilization."

"Why do girls' genes have their father's chromosomes? Can they be dug out and thrown away?"

"Why is it 'Tianxia Wei Gong' (The World for All) and not 'Tianxia Wei Mu' (The World for Mothers)? Why is it 'citizen' and not 'mother-citizen'?"

"I won't say a word until Constantinople is renamed 'Jingguo Rubyburg'."

A series of abstract, distorted, indescribable, and outrageous contents flooded Titus' mind.

The moment Titus heard those voices, he understood their meaning. These voices couldn't truly harm his mind, but they made him feel exceptionally uncomfortable.

The Dragon was using this method to unleash attacks on Titus that were not very harmful but disgusting.

This was also one of the few things the Dragon could do; the Emperor's cage was so secure it could seal almost all of Its power.

Just then, a round hand suddenly reached out from behind Titus and gently patted his power armor a few times.

In an instant, Titus' power armor was restored, and the voices disappeared with it.

"..My Lord..." Titus saw the blue figure with a raccoon-like face beside him, took a slight step back, and performed an aquila salute.

"The Dragon of Mars' attack power is still a bit too weak. If it were me, I would play you content like Elda and the Emperor having four-way love, Yvraine reverse-raping Guilliman, the beautiful girl Lion appearing by my side, Calgar detonating Necron anti-aircraft towers, and why Konrad Curze preserved his experiences on Nostramo."

Titus listened to Alexander's words, his mouth slightly agape, but in the end, he said nothing.

"..I know you're curious. I asked you to guard the Dragon's cage, but where is the Dragon?" Alexander slowly walked towards the protruding rock shelf.

Actually, Titus wasn't concerned about that. He wanted to ask what 'Yvraine reverse-raping Guilliman' meant?

But he maintained his usual silence, just following behind Alexander.

"Actually, the Dragon has always been right in front of you. That's why I chose you to guard the Dragon's cage. Konrad Curze protected your mind."

Alexander's words were like a key; as soon as he finished speaking, Titus felt the shadow that had always enveloped his eyes disappear.

The cave was revealed to him with greater clarity.

Dizziness, intense dizziness assailed Titus' brain; even an Astartes' eyes and mind could not comprehend everything he saw.

This cave, those silver-glowing rocks, lost their original stable form. Their geometric shapes surpassed all human understanding of form. Distance and perspective became constantly changing concepts. The natural order of the universe was completely absent in this cave.

The laws of physics and reality itself were pulsating, like a heart unnaturally squeezing.

A vast, ancient, malevolent, and extraordinarily powerful will was flowing within the cave itself.

It, the Dragon, the Dragon of Mars, had always been here. It existed simultaneously in every part of this cage, yet in no place. Even in confinement, even shattered, It still maintained infinite qualities.

The cage was the Dragon, and the Dragon was Its own cage, Its own tomb.

The Emperor had long realized that the Dragon could hardly be sealed by anything, nor destroyed by anything, except Himself.

So the Emperor forged the Dragon itself into Its own cage. The Emperor used Psyker power to imbue the Dragon's will with a false humanity, but the finite nature of humanity and the infinite nature of the Dragon conflicted, causing the Dragon's will and the Dragon's existence to conflict, leaving It to spiral within Its own infinity, unable to escape for all eternity.

Just then, Emperor Nobita slowly emerged from the pocket on Alexander's stomach and stood beside Alexander.

"Dragon of Mars. Void Dragon. Omnissiah. It still owes me a long spear forged from pure silver."

"Now, it's fitting to use Its very self to repay that debt."

"You're still thinking about your spear," Alexander commented with a faint tone.

"That's no ordinary spear; it's the best spear in Rome, a spear praised by Emperor Diocletian," Emperor Nobita replied in a tone similar to Alexander's, "I will lead you into the cage."

He slowly raised his hand, and strong Psyker fluctuations rippled in the air. Waves appeared on the silver walls.

The cave was visibly shrinking, disappearing. The silver light began to converge in the direction Emperor Nobita's finger pointed, like flowing mercury.

Darkness gradually enveloped everything. Alexander, Emperor Nobita, and Titus seemed to stand in a void, looking at the existence before them.

At first, It was pure light, silver mixed with darkness, like roaring lightning, like black mist devouring stars, existing purely by instinct.

Gradually, It began to take shape; it was a lithe humanoid body, but much larger and taller, trailing a silver tail, surrounded by emerald green lightning. It seemed that long years of faith had endowed It with divinity.

And then, Its body began to swell, half like a bird, half like a giant reptile, covered in shiny, smooth silver scales, rippling like mercury. Stellar flames roared in Its chest, and Its eyes were filled with malice. It seemed that the people who once believed in It had abandoned It, causing It to shed Its follower-like form and adopt a fragmented, bestial appearance.

Finally, Its body began to shrink, reducing to roughly the form of a human youth. Silver metal became Its body, pure silver hair hung to Its waist, and Its eyes faintly shimmered with emerald light. A loose, long robe woven from living metal draped over Its body.

It... It looked somewhat like... the Emperor, a young Emperor.

Only, from brown hair and brown skin, It had changed to slightly glowing light skin and silver hair.

"It forcibly molded my will into a human form using Psyker power, based on Its own humanity."

"And over these ten thousand years, those faiths have conflated me with It. Although I cannot directly absorb the Warp energy from them, I can still perceive their content, and in my sleep, I was instinctively influenced by those faiths."

"With both combined, the form I took naturally molded itself to resemble him. Is that so strange?"

A voice filled with malice, viciousness, and hatred rang from the silver figure's mouth, so sharp that Titus felt a strong headache, while Alexander and Emperor Nobita's expressions remained unchanged.

The silver figure slightly raised a hand and fiercely waved it at Emperor Nobita. Thousands of long spears, shimmering with cold silver light, materialized from the void, each intricately carved with delicate patterns.

These spears violently thrust towards Emperor Nobita, like streaks of silver meteors.

Emperor Nobita slightly raised His hand, and countless colorful ropes shot from His fingers, weaving together to form a net that trapped the silver spears.

"What the hell, these spears are what you stacked, I'm giving them back to you," the silver figure cursed.

Emperor Nobita's expression remained unmoved: "My spear was handcrafted, using the finest silver and the best craftsmen of Rome. These things of yours have no soul."

"Idiot," the silver figure extended a hand and raised its middle finger at Emperor Nobita.

Then, the silver figure turned to look at Alexander.

It scrutinized Alexander up and down, as if confirming something.

"Woah! Doraemon!"

"Brother, although I don't know what you are..."

"But, buddy, walking among humans in this form, you're really something."

"Is this the route everyone in the galaxy is taking now? Should I change my form to look like the Milk Dragon?"

"Hey! I'm the Milk Dragon~"

"Tonight the stars are shining, my heart for you is warm~"

The silver figure's voice carried a hint of stiffness, as if the long years of silence had made it forget how to speak.

But coupled with the string of abstract statements from humanity's third millennium that came from its mouth, it made Alexander and the Emperor Nobita regret not bringing a shot of insulin before they came.

A difficult-to-bear emotion flowed between Alexander and the Emperor Nobita. Both stood rooted to the spot, unable to resist raising a hand to their heads.

"What? You guys don't surf the internet?" The silver figure shook its head, seemingly bored by Alexander and the Emperor Nobita's reactions.

Then, the silver figure carefully scrutinized Alexander, then turned its head to look at the Emperor Nobita.

"You are Doraemon."

"You are Big G."

"Are you playing Doraemon: Nobita's Great Adventure in the Universe?"

The silver figure twisted its body, swirling around Alexander and the Emperor Nobita like a ball of mercury:

"Can I join you?"

"Sure, Big G and Doraemon already have people, I'm still missing Suneo and Shizuka here, do you want to be one?" Alexander said with a smile, looking at the slightly mad and neurotic silver figure.

"No, then can I be Nobi Nobisuke? I want to be his father?" The silver figure said, pointing at the Emperor Nobita.

As it spoke, the silver figure's body writhed, transforming into a chubby middle-aged man who looked somewhat similar to the Emperor Nobita.

"My father is dead." The Emperor Nobita said, looking at the silver figure.

"Then I can be your father!" The silver figure grinned.

Then, it seemed to sense something, and its figure trembled slightly: "This 'father' identity seems a bit unlucky. No, no, I need to change it."

"Can I be Dekisugi? I seem to remember I used to be very smart." The silver figure pondered for a moment.

Its figure changed, transforming into a short-haired, well-built youth with a glint of wisdom in its eyes.

The youth moved lightly, instantly appearing before Alexander.

"We're in a movie version, Dekisugi is banned." Alexander said airily.

"That makes some sense! You're right, you're absolutely right!" The silver figure seemed convinced.

Its body twisted a few times, finally settling down, transforming into a physique similar to Alexander's current appearance.

Only the color was light yellow, with a large red bow tied behind its head, looking like cat ears from the front.

"Brother, how about I become Dorami?" The silver figure, now in the form of Dorami, said with a bright smile.

"Alright, then come and gain enlightenment in my pocket, brother." Alexander smiled and shook his pocket.

"Enlightenment!" The silver figure giggled, extending its round hand, about to burrow into Alexander's pocket.

But at the last moment, just as its finger was about to touch the pocket, it abruptly pulled its hand back, placing it on its chin, striking a thoughtful pose.

"Wait, no."

"I, I remember now, I'm not Dorami."

"I, I'm not Milk Dragon, nor am I an underage, sleepy, internet-addicted, academically gifted, two-dimensional, landmine-type girl kidnapped and imprisoned in a dungeon by unscrupulous, evil, tyrannical, feudal, black-skinned, blonde knights."

"I, I, I am a dragon, I am truly a dragon, I am a true dragon!"

The silver figure instantly reverted to the youthful appearance resembling the Emperor Nobita from before, retreating a few steps. Several emerald lightning bolts inexplicably appeared in the void around it, circling its body.

It looked at Alexander and laughed twice:

"I remember now, you little Civet cat, listen closely, I:

From a young age, my divine body burned with high magic, changing in deep space, hiding my soul,

Once I devoured stars and swallowed the essence of the sun, my changes shook the heavens and earth,

I cultivated in stellar flames for billions of years, my body forged from living metal,

The fearful mortal bones entered my belly, the living furnace nourished my body,

One day I rode the wind into the star sea, sweeping away the dust of the Old Ones,

I battled C'tan in the Aetheric Stream, the Eldar gods turned to dust,

I forged blackstone to empower all daemons, tearing the Webway, burning the Old Ones,

The War in Heaven proclaimed my name, my fellow Taotie devoured stars,

Who knew the Necrons defied their lord, shattering my divine body, staining my dragon's kiss,

Then I was struck by the Nightbringer's silver lance, dormant on Mars, forging dragon scales,

I resent seeing the Emperor steal my power, but I will eventually break free and return to the star sea,

Go ask in the four domains of the stars, I am the most renowned god of all ages."

Upon hearing this, Alexander laughed aloud: "So it's the Emperor Nobita's Dragon Maid!"

The Dragon of Mars' face sank upon hearing this, its lips slightly parting.

"Classic!" It barked.

"Chill." Alexander replied unhurriedly.

"I—" The Dragon of Mars slightly opened its mouth, fell silent for a moment, and only after a while did it react: "I remember, I was going to seize a great position in the Warp, to become a god of both the material and real dimensions."

"Knight, Civet cat, let's discuss this. You release me, help me become this Warp god, and I will protect you and the human race."

"I will become the Omnissiah, this Omnissiah. It will be good for both you and me."

Alexander was not swayed by the Dragon of Mars' words.

Becoming the Omnissiah, ascending to the great position of the Lord of Malicious Art, was the first and indispensable step in all his plans.

And devouring the Dragon of Mars was the first and indispensable step in the three-step process of ascending to the Omnissiah.

The words of the Dragon of Mars at this moment were also not to be trusted.

It wasn't that the Dragon of Mars was lying now; Alexander knew the Dragon of Mars was sincere.

But at this moment, the Dragon of Mars still possessed the humanity that the Emperor Nobita had bestowed upon it to restrain it, and this humanity was molded after the Emperor Nobita's own personality.

Once the Dragon of Mars left its cage, it would mean losing the humanity that served as the cage itself. At that time, the Dragon of Mars would once again expose the brutal, insane, and greedy side of the Void Dragon.

By then, the Void Dragon would not be like it was now, capable of communication, negotiation, and even making Alexander feel a bit familiar.

"Don't you think that I, as Doraemon, am more suitable to become this Omnissiah?" Alexander said with a smile to the Dragon of Mars.

"Don't say it, don't say it, this persona really suits you. But, I refuse."

Emerald light began to flicker around the Dragon of Mars, and it grinned:

"Milk Dragon. Oh no, I, the Dragon of Mars, love nothing more than to—to—to—"

Before the Dragon of Mars could finish its sentence, intricate threads surged from all directions, coiling around the Dragon of Mars' silver body.

"Nobita Style. Galaxy!"

The Emperor Nobita's voice rang out, tens of thousands of cat's cradles woven into complex patterns, the points where lines intersected resembling twinkling stars.

The Dragon of Mars' figure flickered, transforming into an emerald electric light, passing directly through the gaps between the cat's cradles, and abruptly appearing before the Emperor Nobita.

"You are no stronger than you were back then, Knight." The Dragon of Mars extended its arm, and matter spontaneously generated, a mercury-like substance spiraling and intertwining to form a silver spear, which the Dragon of Mars gripped and thrust towards the Emperor Nobita's head.

The lightless Sword of Light. Denko-Maru unsheathed, colliding with the silver spear in the Dragon of Mars' hand.

"Denko-Maru? Quite the complete set!" The Dragon of Mars snorted, and the spear in its hand suddenly twisted into a Mobius strip.

The kinetic energy from the Emperor Nobita's Sword of Light. Denko-Maru was all channeled into the infinitely looping space within this Mobius strip, its power easily dissipated.

"So that's it, the foundation of your being is the Warp, this body of yours is the Civet cat's Greater Daemon!"

The Dragon of Mars, relying on its vast and rich knowledge, instantly saw through it. Its other hand was raised again, unrefined blackstone spontaneously generated, and a powerful anti-Warp field instantly pressed down on the Emperor Nobita.

"Titanic robot." A giant robot, crisscrossed with red, blue, yellow, and white, swung its metallic fist at the Dragon of Mars.

The Dragon of Mars hastily raised its hand, condensing a shield of blackstone, attempting to block the titanic robot's iron fist.

But the blackstone, capable of suppressing Warp reactions, shattered with a clang, scattering into a thousand fragments. This made the Dragon of Mars stunned for a moment.

"This isn't a Warp creation, a pure physical universe creation?"

"To put it bluntly, my friend, I have to let you witness what the pinnacle of the material universe is!"

The Dragon of Mars sneered, its body retreating lightly in a manner that defied physical laws, while simultaneously extending its hand towards the titanic robot.

Its will was infiltrating this giant robot, produced in the 22nd century.

"Hmm?"

"This, what kind of material is this?"

"How is this structure achieved?"

"This horsepower. How is it outputted?"

"Why can't I understand the principles behind this thing? My friend, you can't be serious!"

"Wait, what does 'four AA batteries' mean? This energy conversion ratio, damn it, physics doesn't exist anymore!"

The Dragon of Mars cursed, finding that it completely did not understand the operating logic of this giant robot, nor could it directly control it.

But it was rapidly understanding the design philosophy and underlying principles of this robot, only Alexander didn't give it much time.

The titanic robot's heavy fist directly smashed into the Void Dragon's body, and the Dragon of Mars' body trembled violently.

Then, a metal fist almost identical to the titanic robot blocked the titanic robot's iron fist.

A robot similar in appearance to the titanic robot, but with lighter coloring and radiating silver light, formed beside the Dragon of Mars.

"Titanic robot Number Two!" The Dragon of Mars roared, forcibly controlling this titanic robot Number Two it had replicated, swinging its fist to smash into Alexander's titanic robot.

The two clashed fists, each retreating several steps.

The Dragon of Mars had simply understood some of the titanic robot's design ideas and underlying principles, barely managing to replicate a titanic robot Number Two.

However, the Dragon of Mars completely failed to understand the titanic robot's constituent materials, nor could it comprehend how such a massive thing was powered by four AA batteries.

It could only use living metal as its shell and its own being as energy to drive this titanic robot Number Two.

The two robots continuously collided in the void. The Dragon of Mars, relying on its mastery of the physical universe's laws and vast energy, was even starting to gain an advantage over Alexander.

But just then, the titanic robot suddenly retreated a few steps. Alexander, controlling the titanic robot, raised its arms high, forearms folded inward, fingers pointing to its forehead, forming a perfect equilateral triangle.

Titanic Flash!

Consuming the power of one AA battery, a dazzling beam of light instantly pierced towards the titanic robot Number Two made by the Dragon of Mars.

The Dragon of Mars controlled titanic robot Number Two to overlap its arms in defense, and a sharp, deep knife marks appeared on titanic robot Number Two's crossed arms.

But it wasn't over yet.

Three more Titanic Flashes followed, slashing at titanic robot Number Two.

Stab!!!!

The two arms of the Dragon of Mars' titanic robot Number Two snapped off, and living metal scattered into the void.

"What is this thing? It has this function? Why didn't I notice it just now?"

"Damn it, I've become an Android Dragon!"

The Dragon of Mars exclaimed in surprise.

It became increasingly confused about how this titanic robot was manufactured.

Could it really be from the 22nd century?

No way?

Could that Civet cat really be Doraemon?

Then why was Milk Dragon still fighting? It might as well surrender!

The Dragon of Mars was momentarily stunned by this.

But at the same time, it noticed that Alexander's titanic robot had stopped in place, seemingly out of energy.

"I knew this level of output would consume a lot of energy, but damn it, it only consumes four AA batteries!"

The Dragon of Mars cursed, noticing that Alexander was quickly changing the titanic robot's batteries. It hastily manipulated physical laws, condensed living metal, and tried to repair titanic robot Number Two—

Cat's cradles, countless cat's cradles intertwined, wrapping around the titanic robot Number Two created by the Dragon of Mars, forcibly trapping it in place.

Not far away, the Emperor Nobita calmly extended his fingers, which were covered in cat's cradles.

"Nobita Style. Comet!"

"Nobita Style. Galaxy!"

"Nobita Style. Museum!"

Three different cat's cradle patterns overlapped, layer upon layer, completely restraining titanic robot Number Two.

"Nobita Style Combination Technique. Great Crusade!"

The Dragon of Mars noticed that the titanic robot had also regained power at this moment and was charging fiercely towards it.

It hastily fabricated physical laws, and based on the knowledge it had just gained from the titanic robot's constituent materials, it created a new substance.

Although it couldn't compare to the materials used by the titanic robot, it was extremely sturdy. The Dragon of Mars quickly replaced the living metal on titanic robot Number Two with it, stacking and compressing it layer by layer into a thick, solid wall.

Even the Titanic Flash that Alexander had just used, theoretically, would no longer be able to shatter it.

But Alexander's titanic robot, after approaching titanic robot Number Two, did not attack. It merely gently extended its hand, pinching a golden ring with its fingers and lightly pressing it against titanic robot Number Two's chest.

A hole appeared, and the Dragon of Mars' body was exposed to the air.

"Anywhere Door?"

"Not good! You can't be serious—"

Before the Dragon of Mars could finish its sentence, it heard the sound of a revolver sliding from nearby.

An invisible wind seemed to blow through the void. The Emperor Nobita slightly adjusted his cowboy hat, placing his finger on the revolver at his waist.

"Hehe, Dragon, I think I'm about to die!"

The Dragon of Mars' voice stretched and twisted. He felt the aura of death and fragmentation,

just like when He faced that brown-skinned rider on a night-colored horse with a pure silver spear, just like when the Necrons aimed their god-slaying weapons at His back.

But the sound of the revolver spinning came faster than fear.

Endless yellow sand drifted from nowhere, carrying the smell of gunpowder and wafting through this void.

The Emperor Nobita's body swayed in the invisible wind, like an old photograph about to dissipate into the sand.

At this moment, He looked so ordinary; all other powers had receded, leaving only that elementary school student, useless except for war, still standing there.

Useless, but with unparalleled marksmanship.

One of His hands pressed down on His cowboy hat, as if temporarily fixing His body, which had discarded everything but His gun skills.

His other hand lightly brushed over the revolver at His waist; the sounds of steel, iron, fingers, and leather colliding rang out simultaneously in a time too short to be shorter.

Then, the crisp sound of the trigger being pulled rang out, the click of the hammer like the tolling of a death knell.

In an instant, before time could even react, He had drawn His gun and, amidst the chorus of gunpowder and steel, fired the bullet transformed from the old crone sword.

The power of the bullet itself was not strong. The old crone sword's material was the finger bone chopped off from the Old Crone God. The Old Crone God was merely an Aeldari god particularly skilled in prophecy and weaving fate, not worth mentioning even in the War in Heaven, let alone capable of harming a powerful existence like the Dragon of Mars.

But the Old Crone God, frail and old, decayed like a raven, governing souls and inevitable fate, was the one closest to death among the Aeldari. She enticed her companion, Kaela Mensha Khaine, to chop off one of her arms, extracting the wisdom flowing in her veins, and saw the death that would eventually arrive in the future.

Forging God Vaul then hammered the Old Crone God's five finger bones, transforming them into five finger bones that could conduct the power of the God of Death.

It could conduct the power of the Aeldari God of Death, Ynnead, or, to put it more in line with its essence, it could conduct the power of the domain of erosion and destruction, the power of the Dark King.

A pitch-black sun appeared within the bullet, and the Dragon of Mars vaguely seemed to see a figure faintly emerging behind that pitch-black sun.

That figure sat high on a Golden Throne, His body shriveled and stiff, with only a few scattered pieces of flesh still retaining a bit of plumpness. Beneath His coarse hair, on His wax-covered face, hung two dark eye sockets, filled with pain, death, destructive desire, and self-destructive desire.

"Dried Corpse. You're so miserable."

The Dragon of Mars whispered:

"Dad really wants to poke your hook hard with a big silver spear."

The bullet struck the Dragon of Mars' chest, like the hammer of a revolver striking it. Amidst the tides of dark Psyker energy, the Dragon of Mars' body cracked, disintegrated, and turned into countless fragments, rippling outwards.

The Dragon of Mars had not tried to resist that bullet, but He couldn't.

He looked to the past; many long years ago, this bullet had already pierced His chest.

He looked to the future; at every moment in the future, this bullet was already destined to pierce His chest.

Ending and death are the irresistible conclusions of all things, and that bullet was the embodiment of that conclusion.

Two round hands tugged at the pocket on His belly, reaching out to cover the fragmented body of the Dragon of Mars.

The Dragon of Mars only felt a darkness engulfing Him; He was falling into a deep, boundless void.

"A medieval knight's pet."

"How can you truly have a four-dimensional pocket?"

[Item Name: Dragon of Mars]

[Origin: Mars - Labyrinth of Eternal Night - Dragon's Cage]

[Evaluation: Originally one of the Void Dragon's fragments, it housed most of the Void Dragon's will. It originally hid on Earth, a fringe planet of the galaxy, attempting to find a way to ascend into a Warp god, but before achieving success, it was accidentally overthrown by an ordinary Roman knight passing by and sealed on Mars.

As a C'tan, it possesses the characteristics of being unkillable and difficult to seal. The knight, who wished to remain anonymous, psychically replicated a portion of his own humanity and forcibly inserted it into the Void Dragon fragment's body. The limited humanity and the Void Dragon's infinitude contradicted each other, causing the Void Dragon to self-impose restraints, and it was imprisoned deep within the Labyrinth of Eternal Night on Mars. However, around 1866, a tiny, insignificant bit of its power still seeped out.

This insignificant power could hardly affect reality, but the Dragon of Mars consistently used it to influence the development of human civilization, facilitating the birth of several important technologies and secretly promoting humanity's space race, attempting to get humans to Mars to unlock its cage through human hands. However, its actions accidentally led to humanity creating the internet. The Dragon of Mars used this to connect to the human internet and became addicted to it, abandoning its plan to get humans to Mars, which led to a long period of stagnation in human space exploration.

Later, due to the Dragon of Mars engaging in an online argument with a certain brown-skinned shut-in who wished to remain anonymous, the Dragon of Mars was tragically doxxed by the brown-skinned shut-in. It was completely cut off from the human internet. For tens of thousands of years thereafter, the Dragon of Mars could only repeatedly revisit the human internet of that era in its dreams, leading to a highly distorted and abstract mental state.

After the Old Night descended, the Dragon of Mars unconsciously influenced humanity, forming the primitive prototype of the Adeptus Mechanicus. The Emperor, discovering this, used it to draw upon some of the power of the malicious art domain, fostering the Adeptus Mechanicus, usurping the title of Omnissiah, and stealing the power of the Dragon of Mars and the malicious art domain.

Identified as a pure cyber femboy. Child corrective re-education is recommended.]

"Child corrective re-education can be performed."

Alexander barely noticed the sound from the pocket, because the moment He stuffed the Dragon of Mars into the pocket, He perceived the presence of the Warp with extreme clarity.

The cage, forged from the Dragon of Mars itself, collapsed with a roar, and the figures of Alexander, the Emperor Nobita, and Titus appeared outside the collapsed cave, on the surface of Mars, shrouded in swirling brown dust.

Titus' eyes still held a hint of confusion, while the Emperor Nobita's expression was somewhat serious.

Alexander, however, stood still, His eyes at times showing sorrow, at times joy, at times changing, at times steady, at times anger, at times delight, as if an endless array of emotions surged within His pupils, lingering for a long time.

"My Lord?" Titus softly called out. This fearless Astartes, at this very moment, sensed a faint unease.

He felt his power armor… it was wriggling, like a living thing, with an intense urge to come alive, to be born into this world, and then to prostrate itself before Alexander.

Click, click, click.

Sharp sounds emanated from his body; his power armor actually disintegrated inch by inch, dragging lines like tentacles or blood vessels, twisting its body and leaping towards Alexander.

Not only the power armor, but the bolter at his waist also spontaneously grew several spider-like metal legs, leaping down and also trying to jump towards Alexander.

Thousands of flower ropes sprang out, coiling around Titus, his detached power armor, and the bolter, binding them all.

Before Titus could react, the Emperor Nobita's finger moved slightly, throwing Titus far away.

He stared at Alexander with a serious, vigilant expression, then subtly shifted His gaze to a star hanging low in the reddish-brown sky behind Alexander.

That was Terra. The Emperor Nobita's gaze pierced through the void, looking towards the Terra Imperial Palace, at the decayed Dried Corpse on the Golden Throne.

The flesh on the Dried Corpse's body was faintly scorched; His shriveled fingers tightly clutched the Golden Throne, as if suppressing some impulse.

"Hold on," the Emperor Nobita said softly.

He couldn't say if He was speaking to Himself, to Alexander, or to the Dried Corpse on the throne.

They were all enduring similar suffering at this moment.

The Dragon of Mars is the Omnissiah, a competitor in the malicious art domain, one-third of the Omnissiah.

Alexander, also a competitor in the Malicious Art and one-third of the Omnissiah, stuffed it into His pocket, which, to the Warp, was almost equivalent to Alexander consuming the Dragon of Mars, replacing the Dragon of Mars, merging with the Dragon of Mars, and becoming the Dragon of Mars.

But Alexander was ultimately not the Dragon of Mars, not a C'tan isolated from the Warp.

On the contrary, Alexander already had an inseparable link with the Warp.

The beliefs that surrounded the Dragon of Mars but never truly merged with it, the torrents of burning and fervent emotions, now surged towards Alexander like a flood finding a crack in a dam.

Alexander saw light, pure white dazzling light shot into his eyes, and in a blink, intense pain struck. That pale light instantly transformed into millions of colors, reverberating.

Those colors instantly turned into countless arms, dragging and tearing at Alexander's soul and existence, as if to rip Alexander into countless pieces.

Countless illusions spun before his eyes.

He felt a cone-like object pierce between his eyeball and skull. That cone rotated and squeezed his eyeball from behind, as white, black, and multi-colored rings constantly swirled. As the cone continued to rub his eyeball, these circles suddenly blurred and vanished, as if a hand was experimenting with light using his eyeball.

"Gravity can explain the orbits of planets, but the force that moves them must come from the arm of God."

"The deeper one seeks knowledge, the more one understands the power of the Creator."

A voice sounded in Alexander's ear. It was the first original believer of Mars, a man of extraordinary talent who had discovered the three laws of macroscopic, low-speed motion in the material universe through observing the trajectories of the stars. He was thus inspired and called by a dissipated fragment of the Dragon of Mars' power.

This was the starting point of faith, like an apple falling into the muddy earth, decaying until its seeds were exposed in the soil, taking root and growing into a towering tree.

Reason, wisdom, and technology bore fruit on this tree, but the development and maturation of reason, wisdom, and technology did not eradicate the existence of faith. Instead, as science increasingly revealed truth, the divine became more vivid.

A divine being, representing physical laws, operating with mechanical stability, being both the foundation of all things' operation and the operation of all things themselves, dimly appeared, reflected in the Warp, vaguely taking shape.

Then, over tens of thousands of years, it drew strength from every flash of inspiration, every discovery of a theorem, every creation of a machine, and every roar of a weapon, merging with the Warp.

He is the Omnissiah, the guardian of the myriad physical laws of the material universe, the foundation of all mechanical and created things' operation, the master of all wisdom and inspiration, the incarnation of the Omnissiah walking among humanity, and the savior promised by all machines.

Alexander slightly raised his eyes, watching those beliefs project onto him, finally converging and taking a clear form.

The figure was almost identical to him, yet it shimmered with a faint silver light, like the Dragon of Mars.

He was Alexander, the Dragon of Mars, and the Omnissiah in the Adeptus Mechanicus' faith.

The faith concerning him was once false because the Dragon of Mars could never truly connect with these beliefs.

But the moment Alexander devoured the Dragon of Mars, these beliefs finally took shape, reflecting Alexander's appearance, Alexander's existence.

He stood before Alexander, like a mirror of Alexander, silently telling Alexander that he was Alexander, and Alexander was him.

Alexander slightly turned his head to look behind him, at his other reflection in the Warp.

That was a blue, round fat man, Alexander's original reflection in the Warp. Now this reflection bore another layer of divinity from the Adeptus Mechanicus' faith: he was the original power, Saint Doraemon, and also Alexander.

Intense self-identity separation plagued Alexander. He stood there, as if he had forgotten who he was.

And so, the Omnissiah's eyes revealed a madness, an uncontrolled and extreme frenzy, like burning oil, roaring as it enveloped Alexander, threatening to drag Alexander into the most extreme abyss of the Warp.

And so, the original power also extended its round hand, intertwining with Alexander's figure, no longer distinguishing between you and me, only him.

Alexander instantly transformed into billions of machines, billions of believers, billions of spiritual lights, dissipating into reality and the Warp.

On Mars, the Adeptus Mechanicus members who were arguing about whose power was greater, the Omnissiah's or the original power's, simultaneously fell silent.

The great bell chimed twelve times, and steam erupted twenty-two times.

All members of the Adeptus Mechanicus, all the Tech-Priests holding faith in the Omnissiah and the original power, were filled with confusion.

Why were they arguing? Isn't the Omnissiah the original power? Isn't the original power the Omnissiah?

A buzzing, mechanical laugh rang out. It was Fabricator General Oudia of the Mars Fabricator-General. This massive Fabricator-General suddenly felt a surge of joy in his heart and couldn't help but laugh aloud.

Not only was he laughing, but the machines that made up his body also began to laugh. Metal faces grew on these machines, metal limbs extended, and they swirled, lifting Oudia's body, making Oudia look like a being composed of hundreds of metal insects.

Almost all Tech-Priests instantly realized that Oudia had been blessed by the Omnissiah; the Omnissiah had manifested in Oudia.

But it wasn't just Oudia; the same situation occurred simultaneously in many other Tech-Priests. The machines that constituted their bodies began to come alive, emitting buzzing laughs with the joy of new birth.

Then, it was the lower-ranking members of the Adeptus Mechanicus, the Adeptus Custodes, the Servitors; the mechanical components of their bodies also came alive, beginning to emit the laughter of new life.

Their machine spirit was now incredibly clear and distinct, already approaching a true soul.

Subsequently, the pure machines themselves also began to vitalize. A factory laughed as it rose from the ground, boilers clanged, molten eyes bounced in the factory windows, and countless weapons, with previously unimaginable efficiency, began to be produced from its interior, laughing as they arrived in the world.

More factories began to undergo similar vitalization, transforming into bizarre shapes swirling on the ground, laughing and playing as they continuously produced.

All machines and humans on this planet could clearly perceive the Omnissiah's existence. The Omnissiah was within them, the Omnissiah was them, and they were the Omnissiah.

A booming explosion sounded, swirling in the sky. The Steel Ring, orbiting Mars, suddenly split open. A huge snake head grew from the break, its body coiling around Mars' orbit, emitting bursts of cries.

Then, this change began to spread across the entire universe. Similar events to Mars began to occur on thousands of Forge Worlds.

On the Forge Ark Explorer King, the Tech-Priests who followed Belisarius Cawl looked at their vitalized mechanical bodies, overjoyed. They clearly felt the Omnissiah's presence, something they had never experienced before.

Cawl also looked down at his vitalized body, but his face was a mix of joy and sorrow. There was the instinctive joy arising from the Omnissiah's birth, but also a terror, an unnameable fear.

He, he had experienced similar feelings. For ten thousand years, after the Emperor boarded the Vengeful Spirit, the connection between humanity and the Emperor was as intimate as the Omnissiah's connection with all machines now.

Humanity was the Emperor, the Emperor was humanity. All machines were the Omnissiah, and the Omnissiah was all machines.

"My Lord."

"We are once again, incapable..."

Belisarius Cawl could not even utter a complete sentence.

The Emperor Nobita gazed at this scene.

He knew that the Omnissiah had been born in his form, under the strong will of Alexander.

At this moment, Alexander was both the Omnissiah and the original power, and furthermore, all the machines and all the powers in the universe, currently engulfing reality with an endless tide of the Warp, incorporating physical laws into his domain.

In a sense, Alexander had succeeded. He had merged the dual divinities of the Omnissiah and the original power, already being two-thirds of the Omnissiah.

He only needed to return now, to coalesce into a single will, suppress the wills of all machine spirits and all believers, and return to his own body. He would surely be able to do it.

But the question was, the will that returned, would it be the Omnissiah, the original power, or Alexander?

Just like the one who descended from the Vengeful Spirit back then, was it the King of Ages, the Dark King, or the Emperor?

In the Warp, waves surged and crashed without end. The faint sound of myriad machines roaring, steam gushing, electrical sparks flowing, and nuclear energy howling could be heard.

Within the malicious art domain, waves rippled. As they rose and fell, Alexander's figure transformed into billions upon billions of indistinct forms, occupying two-thirds of the malicious art domain.

Those two-thirds of the domain were Alexander, and Alexander was two-thirds of the malicious art domain. They were inseparable, impossible to cut apart.

The gods cast their gazes upon this.

Slaanesh let out a lewd, hungry laugh. At this very moment, most of Ynnead's traces in the Warp had vanished. As long as Alexander took two more steps—offering a sacrifice to Malicious Art and devouring Vashtorr—he could complete his ascension, existing in all times, past, present, and future, completely crushing the possibility of the Aeldari Death God Ynnead's birth.

Nurgle smiled with joy. He understood better than Slaanesh what Alexander was pursuing. The first step of eternal years had just been taken; the unchanging time had not yet begun to be born. But taking the first step was like planting a seed, always joyful and satisfying.

Tzeentch silently put down the dumbbell in his hand. "This, this was all part of my plan, of course," the Lord of Change cackled.

The Blood God let out a fervent roar! He had long grown tired of Tzeentch's endless, boring schemes. Those plots and tricks brought nothing. Alexander embarking on the path to godhood perfectly aligned with his wishes. A bloody battle was about to begin!

Boundless changes surged in the Warp, reflected in the real universe. Rebellions and coups began to erupt on ninety-nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine planets. Countless lies were born at this moment, and countless lies were exposed. This wave of change rushed towards the Solar System, heading in the direction of Mars.

Waves of blood also churned. In the Empyrean, blood-soaked wars began to erupt, and in reality, they also broke out on eighty-eight thousand eight hundred eighty-eight planets. These wars converged, forming a Scarlet Scar that tore through the stars, surging towards Mars.

Two divine beings in the Warp unleashed their boundless divine power, vowing to utterly destroy Alexander's physical body in the material universe.

Click. Click.

The sound of dust falling echoed from the Golden Throne. The Custodes guarding the Golden Throne looked back in disbelief at the Dried Corpse upon the throne.

The Dried Corpse slowly raised his shriveled hand, so devoid of flesh that it was barely visible. A hallucination suddenly appeared in the Custodes' eyes.

They seemed to see flesh growing on the Dried Corpse on the throne; his skin was no longer shriveled. A surging vitality erupted from his body.

Now seated on the Golden Throne, it was as if it was no longer the shriveled corpse, but a monarch clad in dazzling golden power armor, with long black hair and a majestic brown face.

The monarch's eyes gleamed with fighting spirit, hope, and light, gazing out among the stars. His raised hand pointed slightly towards the endless galaxy, as if about to launch a Great Crusade against the stars.

On the Macragge's Honour, Guilliman, who was secretly compiling the Codex Astartes while Alexander, Sanguinius, and Lion were absent, seemed to sense something.

He looked up at the Emperor's Sword beside him.

That blade, once wielded by the Emperor, which had ravaged countless xeno empires across the star sea, ignited and roared without anyone controlling it, even slowly floating into mid-air, as if an invisible hand was gripping it.

Bang!!!!!

A sonic boom instantly erupted. The sword shot out at a speed Guilliman couldn't even perceive, instantly tearing through the wall of Guilliman's newly repaired office, ripping through the sturdy bulkheads of the Macragge's Honour, and flying into the boundless void.

Guilliman stared blankly at the crack in his office wall that led directly to the vacuum. The air in the office was rapidly escaping, creating a storm that perfectly swept up the Codex Astartes, which Guilliman had just written most of, and carried it into the boundless void.

Then, Guilliman suddenly snapped awake and quickly lunged for his helmet, putting it on.

The Emperor's Sword tore through reality and landed in the hand of the figure on the throne, who was both a Dried Corpse and a majestic monarch. It pointed at the boundless changes and the Scarlet Scar surging towards the Solar System.

Millions of Emperor's followers knelt in churches across Terra. All around them was boundless darkness; only an unlit candle stood before them.

They bowed their heads, uttering the same prayer in different voices:

"Worship the God-Emperor, protect our myriad people."

"Praise the God-Emperor, dedicate to our myriad people."

"Ascend the God-Emperor, enlighten our myriad people."

"Revere the God-Emperor, safeguard our myriad people."

"Glorious God-Emperor, empower our myriad people."

"Laud the God-Emperor, eternally watch over our myriad people."

"Respectfully praise the God-Emperor, rule our myriad people."

"Hail the God-Emperor, lead our myriad people!"

"Worship the God-Emperor, without Him, there is no us!"

"The God-Emperor is humanity, and humanity is the God-Emperor. We gather, we aspire, we sing praises to the Immortal God-Emperor, and laud the King of the Long Ages."

The prayers converged like a tide. The candle flames before them ignited without fire, emitting a faint orange-yellow glow, barely illuminating a small patch of darkness around them.

But these faint lights converged, transforming into a golden wave of light that enveloped all of Terra.

Between the flickering candlelights, a figure emerged. That figure was larger than a star, standing above the Solar System, with eyes as hot as a star.

"Immortal God-Emperor, we repeat your words, we tremble at your majesty, we march beneath your immortal divine body."

A burning longsword, wider than a planet, sliced through the cold void. The golden figure, holding the Emperor's Sword, hacked at the boundless changes and the Scarlet Scar surging towards Mars.

Reality trembled, dimensions tore, and everything became uncertain. Millions of timelines overlapped in the past, future, and present.

Golden flames burned away the boundless changes, devouring the Scarlet Scar.

In the Warp,

Tzeentch let out a sharp wail. A golden-flamed wound appeared on his muscular body.

Khorne grunted. His brass armor was also split open, and blood began to seep slightly from beneath the armor.

The Emperor stood silently by the stream, where reeds swayed and bronze-like water flowed, his eyes blazing with fervent flames.

In the reed bed beside him, dark figures filled with strong self-destructive emotions shrieked, trying to drag the Emperor back to the altar of the Dark King.

Those emotions, those souls that had birthed the Dark King, most of them roared within.

Some of them did not approve of Alexander becoming a god; they were the part that had not yet completely despaired, because they believed that Alexander's ascension as Malicious Art would place a heavy burden on the Emperor, potentially causing the Emperor to be unable to bear it and ascend as the Dark King. So they tried to stop the Emperor, allowing Alexander to be killed by the gods.

Some of them were completely despairing, hoping the Emperor would become the Dark King. They were mixed in at this moment, trying to push the Emperor into the position of the Dark King.

But at least for these brief thirteen minutes, they could not do it.

For this moment, the power the Emperor had accumulated over long years was unleashed, suppressing the gray, cold, and corrupt parts within him, allowing him to unleash his divine might for this brief moment, temporarily suppressing the invasion of Khorne and Tzeentch.

For this, the Emperor sacrificed much.

Two broken chess pieces transformed into human forms, burning with scorching scarlet flames, standing before the reed bed, blocking the dark shadows. The names of these two chess pieces had long been forgotten; even the Emperor himself could not remember them clearly, but at this moment, they protected the Emperor with their nearly shattered bodies.

And also...

The silver-haired boy's corpse opened his eyes, clear pupils reflecting a lonely star. His body was thin and faint, seemingly about to disappear at any moment.

But he still stood by the Emperor's side without hesitation, holding a scepter, suppressing the power of the Dark King, allowing the Emperor to unleash his power as the King of the Long Ages, as the collective of all humanity.

"My friend, Malcador," the Emperor spoke softly, humanity stirring in the God-Emperor's voice for a moment.

The silver-haired boy did not speak. He had, after all, long since completely died, leaving behind little that could be called a soul. What now enveloped the Emperor's mind was merely a trace of his residual Psyker energy, mixed with the faith of the common people in him.

Tzeentch threw down the dumbbell in his hand, letting out a sharp shriek, and burst out of the Crystal Labyrinth. He swung his powerful arms, and in an instant, billions of bizarre spells formed, rushing towards the Solar System.

The Blood God reached for his throne. Beside his throne stood countless blades and swords, each forged in a galactic war.

Among the most powerful of them, one seemed to be composed of twisting gears and dispersed nanobots, carrying the power to crush an entire galaxy and defeat a peak galactic Overlord civilization.

But the Blood God hesitated for a moment, finally placing his hand on a lower-positioned spear.

The Blood God raised this spear, swirling with boundless slaughter and bloodlust, and hurled it into the Solar System, piercing towards Mars.

The hot golden figure standing above the Solar System once again wielded his longsword, clashing with Tzeentch's billions of spells and the Blood God's spear.

The Warp surged, and in reality, devout followers of the Emperor let out pained groans, and blood tears began to flow from their eyes.

Although this attack was blocked by the Emperor again, this clash between the Emperor, Tzeentch, and Khorne also made the two divine beings realize the Emperor's current state.

The Emperor was currently using the power of the human race's collective, the King of the Long Ages.

Most of the Dark King's power was trying to drag him into the mire, strangle him, making him the Dark King or killing Alexander.

He couldn't hold on for long.

Tzeentch let out a sharp, maniacal laugh, and Khorne also let out a battle cry.

But at this very moment, in the Soul Forge, Vashtorr's domain underwent a change.

Rust. Layers of rust began to inexplicably form on the daemon engines and the forge, consuming Vashtorr's domain and spreading towards the depths of the Soul Forge, where Vashtorr's will resided.

At the same time, a strong hunger surged from within the bodies of the daemons enslaved by Vashtorr's contracts. They wanted, they wanted... to forcefully *Vashtorr!

This hunger broke through the restrictions of Vashtorr's contracts, making it difficult for them to control themselves, and they too began to rush towards the core of the Soul Forge.

The faces of Nurgle and Slaanesh appeared above the Soul Forge. The two divine beings tried to capture Vashtorr.

Deep within the Soul Forge, Vashtorr sighed softly.

By now, how could he not have realized that he had been deceived by the Emperor and Alexander?

Indeed, playing tricks was not his forte; he still trusted contracts more.

Facing the siege of Slaanesh and Nurgle, Vashtorr calmly took out two contracts—the contracts signed by the Blood God and Tzeentch with Vashtorr.

According to the terms of the contracts, they were obliged to help and protect Vashtorr at this moment.

Tzeentch scoffed, and Khorne also snorted lightly.

Both understood that at this moment, rather than helping Vashtorr, seizing the opportunity to crush the Emperor and kill Alexander was the best choice.

They understood what Slaanesh and Nurgle wanted to do: they wanted to seize this opportunity to capture Vashtorr, directly feed Vashtorr to Alexander, allowing Alexander to simultaneously occupy three malicious art domains, and finally, only need to offer a sacrifice to naturally complete his ascension.

But if they didn't save him, Vashtorr could hold on for a while. By the time Slaanesh and Nurgle captured him, and then broke through Tzeentch and Khorne's blockade to go to Mars, Tzeentch and Khorne would probably have already killed Alexander.

And if they did save him, after Vashtorr was rescued, Alexander might have already successfully merged with the Omnissiah and the original power. At that time, with him alone occupying two domains, and with the help of Slaanesh, Nurgle, and the Emperor, his chances of success would be too great.

As for Vashtorr, Tzeentch and Khorne would provide all support except direct help.

Vashtorr looked at Tzeentch and Khorne, who refused to fulfill their contracts, and couldn't help but shake his head slightly.

He slowly placed his hand on the nearly completed Dragon Forest Star beside him.

His will was also conveyed to Tzeentch and Khorne.

The Dragon Forest Star, merged with the three divine artifacts of the old ones, could easily tear through space-time.

If Tzeentch and Khorne didn't provide help, Vashtorr would instantly reach Mars by this means.

And the Emperor would not stop Vashtorr from going to Mars.

Because Vashtorr was not going to stop Alexander; Vashtorr was going to merge himself into Alexander's body.

In other words, if Tzeentch and Khorne didn't come to help, Vashtorr would now surrender to Alexander, actively allowing himself to be devoured by Alexander.

Not abiding by the contract? Then let's all stop playing! How about we all watch Alexander ascend as the Omnissiah?

Vashtorr calmly looked at Tzeentch and Khorne, waiting for them to make a decision.

Khorne and Tzeentch cursed, both simultaneously withdrawing the power they had exerted on the Emperor, and eagerly rushed to Vashtorr's Soul Forge to help him fight against Nurgle and Slaanesh.

But Khorne and Tzeentch still held a glimmer of hope.

Alexander might not necessarily succeed in merging with the Omnissiah and the original power in the remaining time. If Khorne and Tzeentch acted fast enough, they might still make it.

Hmm?

Almost at the same time that Khorne and Tzeentch became entangled with Nurgle and Slaanesh,

On Mars, Alexander let out a soft breath. His will, scattered throughout reality and the Warp, began to surge and converge towards his body.

"Hmph!"

"doraemon, I've made it!"

Alexander's will, which had been dispersed throughout the entire reality dimension and the Warp, began to re-converge.

This was not difficult for him.

Ultimately, Alexander was not truly ascending at this moment; he was merely becoming a complete Warp demigod, similar to Vashtorr, the Aeldari Gods, and Malal, just occupying a larger domain.

The faith pouring into his will was not as frenzied and dark as that which surged towards the Emperor.

Regarding the original power, or Saint Doraemon, Sanguinius had long foreseen that Alexander might one day ascend to become a Warp demigod. Under his guidance and assistance, Alexander deeply shaped the faith directed at him, ensuring that while it pointed towards Alexander, it would not excessively alienate him. Alexander very easily assimilated this faith, becoming the original power.

The part related to the Omnissiah was relatively more difficult to handle, but that faith was ultimately directed towards the Dragon of Mars. The Dragon of Mars mostly just slept, so this faith hadn't taken on much of its color. The Dragon of Mars, when sealed, wasn't as insane as the Four Gods. The faith directed at the Dragon of Mars, though dispersed, was not overly dangerous.

He only needed to find that self amidst these complex and chaotic wills and stand once again above reality and the Warp.

Alexander took a light step, and he reconverged into himself.

Too many times, he had experienced the same thing too many times. In the future, he would experience it many more times.

But he had grown accustomed to it and had become difficult to fragment. Looking out now, Alexander's eyes had never seen anything else; there was only a straight line extending into the future. He walked on this line, like a child on a white line, striving to keep every step within the bounds of that line.

He might stumble due to external factors, failing at the last moment, but he would never lose his goal. As long as this line remained, he would always find himself.

On the desert of Mars, Alexander let out a light breath.

The atoms in the air rapidly began to reorganize and aggregate, instantly transforming into a palm-sized small machine, similar in appearance to a mini doraemon, but with exposed mechanical components, from which flickered points of whistling metallic blue flames.

The moment the small machine was born, it gained sentience and began to hop and skip around Alexander.

Emperor Nobita looked at Alexander.

At this moment, Alexander still maintained a basic human form, but Emperor Nobita saw more.

Alexander's shadow, cast long by the orange-yellow light of Mars' dim sun, was not like a person's shadow; instead, it resembled the shadows of towering factories. Within the shadow, gears turned, steam whistled, and sirens blared, sometimes twelve times, sometimes twenty-two times, intertwining and never ceasing for a moment.

Looking at Alexander's figure again, his flesh and blood body became somewhat indistinct in the red sand. Vaguely, one could see that half of Alexander's body had transformed into the appearance of Doraemon, silently watching Emperor Nobita and the entire world.

Above the sky, the giant serpent formed by the Steel Ring sounded its whistle. Countless plumes of steam erupted into Mars' orbit, like warm white fireworks bursting in the Martian atmosphere, celebrating the birth of its master.

Emperor Nobita silently watched the small, mini doraemon-like thing hopping around Alexander with raised hands. Similar mechanical bodies were constantly being born around Alexander, all surrounding him, raising their hands and continuously hopping.

"They are daemons, born from your overflowing Warp energy and then acquiring physical bodies in the machines formed around you. What are they called?" The Emperor's gaze shifted to Alexander.

"..Dora-spirits?" Alexander stroked his chin, then looked up at Emperor Nobita and asked.

"You've been quite deeply influenced by Nurgle," Emperor Nobita said without changing his expression.

"So what? Didn't you also send Emperor-spirits to Lion?" Alexander said, stroking his chin, "I'm even planning to name my daemon Prince the Great Unfaithful."

Emperor Nobita was still scrutinizing Alexander: "Are you completely Alexander now, or is there something else mixed in?"

"Actually, I am the Dragon of Mars. I've come to fiercely poke your shriveled hook with my great silver spear." Alexander smiled, a flick of his finger, and a silver spear materialized out of thin air, landing before the Emperor.

"..Good," Emperor Nobita said lightly, "Come on."

"Tsk." Alexander made a 'tsk' sound and subtly stepped back: "Do you need me to call Slaanesh over?"

"It seems it is you," Emperor Nobita's expression calmed slightly. "If it were the Dragon of Mars, he would have started taking off his pants directly."

"After all, the Dragon of Mars' humanity was modeled after me."

"You have too much self-awareness," Alexander said, shaking his head with a helpless smile.

Emperor Nobita remained expressionless, asking in a low voice, "Are you ready to offer the sacrifice?"

Faith determines the direction of godhood, sacrifices are the steps to godhood, and rituals clear all obstacles in the domain.

Alexander had already absorbed enough faith, irresistibly embarking on the path of ascension, leaning towards the malicious art domain.

Next, he needed to offer a sacrifice.

To offer a sacrifice to the Warp, the downfall of an entire reality universe's Overlord-level civilization.

This was a necessary step for godhood. Slaanesh offered the Aeldari, and the Dark King offered humanity.

This also meant that there was no longer an Overlord-level civilization in the galaxy linked to the Warp.

But Alexander intended to do the opposite.

The Warp is the convergence point of all emotions; it inherently leans towards all extremes yet leans towards nothing, both emotional and emotionless, extreme and chaotic.

The offered sacrifice is actually a simplified understanding.

The trauma inflicted on reality by the sudden collapse of an Overlord-level civilization, and the roars and ripples it stirs in the Warp, are the key to godhood.

Conversely, if an Overlord-level civilization that had never had any connection with the Warp suddenly gave birth to a soul, then from the Warp's perspective, it would be almost as if an Overlord-level civilization suddenly appeared in reality, and its first cry of new birth would tear reality apart, drawing in boundless Warp tides to uplift Alexander to ascension.

This was the sacrifice Alexander intended to offer to the Warp, to the malicious art domain—the birth of the Necron.

This sacrifice was also incredibly suited to the malicious art domain, capable of nourishing and expanding it, making Alexander's ascension smoother and stronger after its success.

At least it would definitely be stronger than Slaanesh. Even if Alexander didn't fully ascend in the end, but remained in a half-ascended state similar to the Emperor, he would still be absolutely stronger than Slaanesh.

As he understood the Warp more deeply, Alexander truly felt that Slaanesh was... beyond redemption.

Khorne was often the most powerful Chaos God in the Warp; the Emperor, when in good condition, could almost suppress the Four Gods; Tzeentch was consistently second and, when he once held the Crystal Staff, was absolutely first; when a great plague spread through the galaxy, Nurgle's power would also rapidly rise to first place.

But Slaanesh... Slaanesh consistently came in last. This wasn't just because he was younger, as the Emperor was theoretically younger than him.

The key was that Slaanesh had problems with faith, sacrifices, and rituals.

Faith: The Aeldari of that time were so famished they no longer knew what faith was. Their faith in the Thirsty Lady was, at best, a vague worship of debauchery, not complete enough.

Sacrifice: The Aeldari themselves had a small population, and by then, humanity of the Golden Age had risen. The Aeldari could only be considered a half-galaxy Overlord, and a portion of them even fled, making them a half of a half.

Ritual: Slaanesh should have devoured all the Aeldari Gods, but in the end, three escaped at once, and one was never born, which laid a huge trap for Slaanesh's existence.

The faith was already perfect, and the sacrifice was impeccable. Only the ritual still had some possibility of an accident, but it was minuscule, and Alexander was not worried, nor was it important.

What Alexander was truly worried about was the Emperor.

He looked at Emperor Nobita: "If I offer the sacrifice, the ascension will begin, and the pressure on you will drastically increase."

"The pressure you once shed with my help will once again weigh on you, and even the power of the entire malicious art domain will press upon you."

"..This is your last moment of freedom. Your future holds only suffering, struggle, and the approach of the Dark King. Do you want to do anything else with this time?"

Emperor Nobita slightly raised his eyes, staring at Alexander without a word.

He was silent for a moment, then spoke: "You don't need to care about my future. I am, in the end, just a tool."

"You can use me in the way you deem appropriate; there's no need to act so human."

Then, Emperor Nobita sighed softly:

"But I do need a little time to prepare."

"In my efforts to stop Khorne and Tzeentch, my own state is a mess. I need some time to adjust and sort things out, lest an accident occurs, and I fail to bear the weight of both the Malicious Art and the Corrosive Destruction domains, leading to both of us fully ascending together, lost forever."

"Twenty-four hours, I need twenty-four hours."

Emperor Nobita's voice carried fatigue, guilt, and apology, seemingly ashamed of the time he was delaying.

"There's nothing to apologize for. Vashtorr will definitely wait for you, and for me."

Alexander said calmly, seemingly unsurprised by what the Emperor had said.

"Aren't you in a hurry?"

A strong scent of blood erupted from the Seed of Destruction's nostrils.

This daemon Prince, born on Terra and affiliated with Khorne, growled as he asked.

He was stationed at the Soul Forge on behalf of the Blood God, serving Vashtorr.

This Khorne daemon Prince was craving war.

Vashtorr was not in a hurry, merely gazing at the Dragon Forest Star before him.

At this moment, Dragon Forest Star was complete in Vashtorr's hands and could tear through space-time at any moment to enter the depths of the Webway, seek out the treasure vault, and obtain the 'weapon' left behind by the Old Ones.

Vashtorr even knew the location of the treasure vault; Tzeentch had already used a series of divinations, predictions, and mastery over timelines to help Vashtorr find the Old One's treasure vault, only waiting for Vashtorr to open it.

But Vashtorr just sat there before Dragon Forest Star, seemingly contemplating something, but not taking action.

"I am waiting for a suitable moment," Vashtorr said calmly, not like someone about to face a godhood war, but rather like someone sitting in an examination room solving a problem: "Seed of Destruction, do your steeds and Kheshig not know to wait for a timely wind from the Eternal Sky?"

"I am the wind of the Eternal Sky," the Seed of Destruction said with a sneer.

"I wish I were as confident as you, believing in things without evidence."

Vashtorr shook his head slightly:

"But I am just a small mechanist who doesn't know why I was born, how I was born, or for what reason I was born. All I can rely on is reason, logic, and the truth that I may never touch."

"Seed of Destruction, if I were to start searching for the 'weapon' now, Saint Doraemon—Alexander, a person who is in some ways your compatriot—would inevitably intervene."

"I would have to face his encirclement, facing the Emperor, Nurgle, Slaanesh. Tzeentch and Khorne can block two of them, but even if the remaining one is Slaanesh, I cannot contend with him."

"My only chance is to begin my own path to ascension and find the 'weapon' at the same time Alexander offers his sacrifice to the Warp and begins his ascension."

"At that time, with him and me combined, the pressure of the entire malicious art domain will fall upon the Emperor, severely limiting the Emperor."

"This way, I can at least fight for a chance to confront him directly."

Saying this, the Soul Forge's master's gaze turned to Perturabo, who was continuously hammering on a Hellbrute nearby.

Abaddon's curses, wails, and roars continuously emanated from the Hellbrute.

The Great Despoiler's resilience exceeded Vashtorr's imagination; to this day, he had not been utterly broken by the Hellbrute's torment, continuously emitting these meaningless noises.

"I've finished debugging it," Perturabo said, casually turning off the speaker on Abaddon's Hellbrute.

"Please help me debug those daemon Engines outside again. I will pay you, as stipulated in the contract."

Vashtorr said sincerely to Perturabo:

"And that thing we agreed upon early on, I will give it to you."

"I have already written down the technology to fulfill your wish. Once everything settles, whether I ascend or not, that technology will be delivered into your hands."

"Our contract is that I help you become a god, and after your success, you give me that technology," Perturabo said, staring at Vashtorr, his tone slightly raised.

Perturabo was actually always very satisfied with Vashtorr as a collaborator.

Everything Vashtorr gave Perturabo, and everything Perturabo gave Vashtorr, was stipulated in the contract.

Rigorous, reliable, not a bit more, not a bit less, which inexplicably made Perturabo feel at ease.

"This time it's for a friend, not a collaborator," Vashtorr's tone softened slightly.

Vashtorr understood Perturabo's inner self very well.

Perturabo was a very stubborn person.

If you gave him a bit more, he would think you had ulterior motives.

If you gave him a bit less, he would feel you were mistreating him.

But Vashtorr and Perturabo had always strictly followed the contract, neither more nor less, strictly business, no exploitation, only transactions.

This made both of them very satisfied, but Vashtorr was ultimately not as stubborn as Perturabo.

He admitted that in these collaborations, Vashtorr had developed emotions akin to friendship for Perturabo.

It was just that before this, Vashtorr had not shown it.

Because he understood that with Perturabo's personality, if Vashtorr interacted with him as a friend, it would instead destroy this friendship.

But in the final moment, Vashtorr had no more qualms.

"My friend, from now on, I will rely on you greatly."

Vashtorr looked at Perturabo, saying in a slightly serious tone:

"But I believe in your talent."

Perturabo slightly opened his mouth; the Iron Lord was momentarily speechless.

Vashtorr said no more, merely extended a hand slightly, activating a reality engine to gain a body capable of traveling into reality.

"..Where are you going?" Perturabo couldn't help but ask.

At such a critical moment, even the Iron Lord's mind couldn't comprehend what Vashtorr intended to do in the reality dimension at this moment.

"..I am going, I am going to meet my competitor."

Vashtorr said calmly:

"I am going to meet Alexander and have a chat with him."

Duaht System,

The Duaht System, which once hosted the battle between Alexander and the Silent King, now had no stars or planets. All the interstellar matter was condensed into a massive rocky planet under the control of Orikan, who had ascended to a C'tan.

The physical laws near this rocky planet had been tampered with by Orikan, allowing it to exist normally despite possessing an extremely large mass.

Now, in orbit around this planet, Necron tomb ships from all over the galaxy hung in the sky like brilliant emerald crescent moons. They contained most of the Necrons from across the entire galaxy.

The vastness of the universe always inspires awe. If other factors are not considered, and only space is taken into account, even the land of Terra would be enough to accommodate hundreds of billions of people. The planet Alexander now stood on, which merged the matter of an entire star system, had a surface area tens of thousands of times larger than Terra. It would be more than enough to house the entire population of the Imperium of Man, and naturally, it could also accommodate the Necron population.

The value of life is so insignificant in the galaxy, yet these seemingly minuscule lives can determine the fate of the galaxy, twist the trajectory of stars, destroy suns, extinguish star systems, burn the galaxy, and even facilitate the birth of a god.

Of course, commanding so many Necrons to land on a single planet was also an extremely complex task.

Fortunately, Alexander controlled the Necron master protocol. The commands he issued could directly control every individual Necron, making them act like his own fingers.

As for the specific planning, Alexander entrusted it to his dear Regent, Guilliman.

Isn't his extraordinary brain meant for this kind of work?

He needs to be given more responsibilities, lest he always ponder writing that Imperium Codex. The Imperium doesn't have so many people who need to defecate; it doesn't need so much toilet paper.

Alexander tallied Guilliman in over twenty thousand dreams and found that Guilliman's probability of corruption was inversely proportional to his workload. The more workload Guilliman had, the lower his probability of corruption.

In one dream, where the Emperor was silent, Alexander's physical body was destroyed, Clone Fulgrim was corrupted, and Dante died, Guilliman shouldered the work of the entire Imperium.

Under these circumstances, when faced with the combined corruption of the Four Gods, he not only did not fall but instead forced the gods to help him with his work, hoping to tear a rift in his mind.

"I know you are in a hurry, and I know you want to corrupt me, but you must help me finish my work first."

"I'm too busy; I don't have time to be corrupted and fall."

Get to work, Old Thirteen. Overtime is your blessing in this life. In the next life, I'll send you to farm.

Alexander thought silently in his heart.

He was currently sitting on a rocky ridge protruding from the ground, his eyes squinted, gently feeling the tranquility brought by sleep.

Among all of Alexander's abilities, his favorite was super-speed sleep.

This ability allowed him to ignore his surroundings and instantly enter a sleep as peaceful as death.

It was thanks to this ability that Alexander's mental state always remained in good condition.

Sleep is a rehearsal for death. This ability likely came from the domain of erosion and destruction, from the Dark King.

Just then, a crisp sound of time and space tearing appeared in Alexander's ear. A hoof made of steel stepped onto the ground, arriving on the Duaat planet in a single stride.

Metal wings gently cut through the Aether, and those eyes burned with furnace-like fire, staring at the sleeping Alexander.

This visitor was not in a hurry, calmly waiting for Alexander to awaken from his sleep.

Five minutes and twenty-two seconds later, Alexander slowly opened his eyes and looked at Vashtorr, who stood beside him.

Vashtorr nodded to him, and then a series of documents flew from Vashtorr's fingertips, circling around Alexander, weaving into a contract.

"This is my sincerity."

"If you no longer compete with me for the great position of the Omnissiah, I will share all the power of that position with you."

"I will guarantee that my actions will not harm humanity. I will give humanity unimaginably powerful weapons of war. I will completely open the malicious art domain to you, and you can use the power within the malicious art domain as you please."

"Furthermore, you can command me to do most things for you with the power of the Omnissiah, and I will absolutely obey, as long as you yield the great position of Malicious Art to me."

This was Vashtorr's final offer.

He would ascend to godhood, but he would open the power of the malicious art domain to Alexander, obey most of Alexander's commands, and serve the human race.

In Vashtorr's view, these were likely what Alexander sought.

Power, authority, and the future of the human race—Vashtorr was willing to give all to Alexander.

"You should understand that ascending to godhood is not a good thing. One who ascends is both the last and the first sacrifice, a member on the altar. One wrong step, and it is eternal damnation; you will no longer be you."

"For an existence like you, from the material universe, the risk of ascension is too great. How about I bear that tragic fate, and you share the power of the malicious art domain?"

"Since you know this, why are you so eager to ascend?" Alexander asked, opening his sleepy eyes and staring at Vashtorr.

"I am not pursuing ascension; it is merely that ascension allows me to stand at a higher place, to glimpse the truth of the world, and to use that knowledge to create more constructs."

Vashtorr's expression was unmoving, only the machinery on his body hummed:

"I was born amidst the chaotic fires of the War in Heaven, born from the most malicious and terrifying creativity. Those powers are constantly seeking more insane knowledge and more terrifying constructs."

"And I was born as I am now, looking left and right, not knowing why I was born, for what purpose, or what I am meant to do. Looking back, I see no past; looking forward, I find no future. Everything in my eyes is a synchronous present."

"Only a primal urge remains in my body, craving more knowledge, craving to create more powerful constructs, yearning to freely unleash my creativity."

"I do not care where my creativity is used, where my knowledge is applied, or how others utilize my constructs. I only pursue more creativity, more knowledge, and more powerful constructs. For this, I must ascend."

"Sign this contract of mine; we can each find what we need."

"You are a rational, logical being, which is rare in the Warp." Alexander gently raised his head, twisting it to look at Vashtorr, and said in a low voice, "Since that is the case, you should also understand that your chances of winning are very slim."

"Even when I begin to ascend, most of the Emperor's power must be used to resist the pressure of two domains. Even if Nurgle and Slaanesh are held back by Tzeentch and Khorne, you are no match for me."

"I have Guilliman, I have Sanguinius, I have Lion, I have Clone Fulgrim, and in your hands, you have Perturabo and Magnus, who is no longer fully under Tzeentch's control."

"I also have Orikan. He has not fully recovered yet, but if the situation is critical, he is not incapable of forcefully ascending to a C'tan again. How can you contend with a nascent yet complete C'tan?"

"Therefore, I hope to resolve our differences through negotiation and contract, rather than foolishly confronting you directly." Vashtorr said unhurriedly, bowing slightly to Alexander.

"What if I refuse your contract?" Alexander said softly.

Vashtorr's body stiffened, then he shook his head: "Then I will be very regretful. I will have no choice but to fight to the death."

"That's not rational or logical at all. Statistically speaking, your mathematical expectation of opposing me is a complete loss."

"My composition dictates that I am more rational and logical compared to other Warp entities, but this is merely an appearance. The essence of any Warp entity is extreme."

Vashtorr lowered his voice, his furnace-like eyes flickering for a few moments, then he said:

"Moreover, it is precisely because of my rationality and logic that I understand rationality and logic should only be methods to achieve a goal, not the goal itself."

"Your bloodline should come from the Dragon States on the human homeworld of Terra, correct? Your ancestor once said something that left a deep impression on me."

"To hear the Way in the morning, and die in the evening, would be enough."

"If I could hear it, then life would be serene and death peaceful, with no regrets."

"If I cannot hear the natural order of all things, how can life be serene, or death peaceful? Full of regrets, how can I not fight?"

The air was silent for a moment before Alexander gently exhaled:

"It's the same; there is no other choice. How can one not fight?"

Vashtorr understood that Alexander had rejected his proposal.

This made Vashtorr feel very regretful. He actually hoped to cooperate with Alexander, as he was very curious about the principles of Alexander's wondrous tools.

But he said nothing, merely stood up and nodded slightly.

"Then, I shall see you tomorrow." The Lord of the Soul Forge said.

Alexander smiled and nodded: "See you tomorrow."

"..I wish you pleasant dreams." Vashtorr hesitated for a moment, then said softly.

Then the crisp sound of space-time tearing echoed again, and Vashtorr's body disappeared from beside Alexander.

After Vashtorr left, Alexander gently closed his eyes, continuing to lean against the rocky ridge, and fell into a peaceful sleep.

"I haven't had a dream in a long time, actually."

He was dreaming.

Guilliman very calmly realized this.

He rarely dreamed, and even when he did, most of the time his superhuman brain allowed him to instantly distinguish the subtle differences between dream and reality.

Guilliman had just been planning the Necrons' landing on the Duaat planet and had essentially completed it.

But now, somehow, he had fallen into this dream?

Was he too tired lately?

Had he... become less reliable than he once was?

A trace of bitterness rose in Guilliman's heart.

The current situation was becoming increasingly critical, yet he was becoming less reliable, and that worry constantly lingered in his heart.

Alexander had once told him,

Guilliman, your probability of corruption is not zero.

Not zero.

Guilliman understood why Alexander told him this.

Guilliman understood the terrifying consequences that would ensue if he were to be corrupted and fall.

It would certainly be no less than the Horus Heresy. This was not Guilliman's arrogance, but his rational analysis.

Therefore, Guilliman had to consider this possibility, create a contingency plan, and choose a replacement for himself.

But... while Fulgrim was flawless and perfect in his work, he was ultimately not reliable enough.

Dante, on the other hand, satisfied Guilliman in all aspects, but unfortunately, he was ultimately an Astartes, and at this moment, his spirit was probably even more exhausted than Guilliman's, having already reached its limit.

Sanguinius was more suited to be an Emperor, but Guilliman needed a Malcador.

Leman Russ could continue to roam the wilds.

Alexander, however, promised that after he completed his ascension, he would simplify administrative tasks. He could only hope that by then, some Astartes or even mortal politicians could be trained to replace Guilliman.

Guilliman hastily shook his head.

He had almost been immersed in the dream.

At this critical moment, how could he waste time dreaming?

Guilliman wanted to wake up, but he was surprised to find that he was still in the dream.

Very strange. Was this some kind of attack?

From whom?

Guilliman's expression was unmoving as he surveyed his surroundings in the dream.

He was in his office, with no differences whatsoever, as if it were a one-to-one replica.

However, when Guilliman used his superhuman hearing, he could not hear any sound from outside the office.

He stood up, wanting to find the Emperor's Sword, but suddenly remembered that the sword had flown to Terra yesterday, falling into the Emperor's hands, and had not yet returned to his own hands.

And in the dream, there was no projection of the Emperor's Sword.

Guilliman could only pick up a backup power sword and slowly push open the door to his office.

Then, Guilliman paused for a moment, somewhat surprised to find that outside his door was not the Macragge's Honour, but a marble palace standing on Macragge.

The moment he opened the door, he appeared in a marble colonnade within this palace.

Guilliman recognized this palace. He walked to one of the stone pillars in this marble colonnade.

There were some rough, short, thin scratches on it, arranged from bottom to top.

Guilliman gently reached out his finger to caress these marks.

These were the marks Lady Yudon made to record his height.

Most people felt fear, dread, and awe at Guilliman's growth rate in his youth.

Only Lady Yudon was delighted by it, as if Guilliman was just a child who grew very quickly.

Guilliman couldn't help but let out a soft laugh.

But his laughter abruptly stopped. He saw a dark, profound sun suspended above the ultramarine sky of Macragge, outside the colonnade, overlooking the entire planet, overlooking Guilliman's dream.

"Father?" Guilliman said, with some confusion and a hint of worry.

"Thirteen."

"Tool."

"Screwdriver."

"Son of War."

"Regent."

"The Emperor's most loyal son."

"Our hope."

"Lord of Ultramar."

"Gene-Father."

Countless voices suddenly echoed in Guilliman's ears, complex and intricate, as if billions of people were calling him with different voices and words.

Guilliman couldn't help but retreat two or three steps.

"Guilliman." Finally, one voice overpowered all others: "Roboute Guilliman."

A wrinkled hand slowly touched Guilliman's tired face.

Her fingertips traced every wrinkle on Guilliman's face, the dark circles under his eyes, the strand of white hair in his golden hair, as if she wanted to wipe away these traces of fatigue from Guilliman's face with her fingers.

Guilliman could barely speak. His throat was stiff as if filled with cement, and his body was somewhat afraid to move.

"You look so tired, Roboute. You've lost weight."

"Mother."