"Mama." Guilliman's voice trembled as he gently held the aged hand with his large one.
"You are so tired, child." The old woman looked at Guilliman with soft eyes, her voice full of pity: "You always take on so many responsibilities, and so many people depend on you, making them forget that you also need rest."
"I am a Primarch, Madam, you needn't worry about me." Guilliman displayed a truly radiant smile, adjusting the muscles of his face to lessen the fatigue.
"But you are also a person, my child." The old woman said with a pained heart.
Guilliman gently opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but in the end, a thousand words became one.
"You are right, Madam." Guilliman said softly: "I promise you, I will rest well."
This brought a slight smile to the old woman's face, and she turned her head to look aside:
"Sir, won't you come and chat with your child? Look at him, he's haggard."
Guilliman froze for a moment at the woman's words, his body almost stiff.
"Lady Thalassa Euten, he is a monarch; how can a monarch confide his inner sorrows to another man?"
"Even if that man is his father, it is not allowed. This is the pride of a man and a monarch."
"..Roboute, if there's anything troubling you, you should talk more to Lady Euten. It's never shameful to confide in your mother."
"Lord Konor." Guilliman realized who the man standing behind him was.
"..Just call me Father, child." The authoritative voice, tinged with a hint of vicissitudes of life, said.
Guilliman turned his head to look at the mortal man standing behind him, who was much frailer compared to Guilliman and incomparable to the Emperor of old.
But Guilliman, the Regent of the Imperium of Man, perhaps the most powerful human in existence, gently knelt on one knee before the mortal, bringing his head level with the man's.
"Father!" Guilliman said earnestly.
"You've grown so tall!" King Konor's voice rose slightly, with a mix of surprise and joy, as if speaking of Guilliman's height, yet also praising his achievements: "I am truly sorry, child."
"I left too suddenly, leaving you alone to face the chaos on Macragge, but you are a far better monarch than I, and you have done exceptionally well."
"I am also sorry; you are an excellent son, but comparatively, I was a mediocre father."
"My shallow teachings could offer no help for the problems you once faced and now face."
"No!" Guilliman softly interrupted King Konor, his tone slightly rising: "It is precisely because of your and Lady Euten's teachings that I have been able to persevere until now."
"You don't need to comfort your humble adoptive father. I am merely a planetary governor; how could I teach you to rule a galaxy?" King Konor smiled and shook his head.
"No, Father, it wasn't about teaching me how to rule."
Guilliman lowered his head, a faint trace of moisture visible on his knee armor.
"What you taught me was something far more genuine than ruling."
The dream blurred, like ink spreading in water, like sunlight diffusing in mist, leaving only a warm, gentle touch lingering in Guilliman's heart.
Blood, fresh blood and corpses piled upon the bombed-out earth.
Fulgrim wandered through this land in confusion; he had never seen any of this before, nor was it in his memory.
He knew he was dreaming, but this dream was very strange.
He had even just seen a World Eater, wearing blue and white power armor with one arm exposed, hanging from the front of a Sicaran belonging to the Horus' Sons, speeding off into the distance.
Fulgrim recognized him as Khârn, Captain of the World Eaters' Eighth Company, but Fulgrim didn't know Khârn had a hobby of being a hood ornament.
Fulgrim slightly raised his head, looking at the scorching black sun hanging in the sky.
The sun was terrifyingly black, staring down at the earth like a single eye.
"Is this your trial, Father?!" Fulgrim looked up and said to the black sun.
"We prefer to call it punishment." A muffled voice, as if from a coffin, sounded behind Fulgrim.
Fulgrim gently turned his head to look behind him.
It was a Contemptor Dreadnought painted phoenix purple, towering, sacred, ancient, with a twin-linked lascannon in one hand and a power claw with an integrated flamer in the other.
"Rylanor? My Ancient!"
Fulgrim recognized the Dreadnought from his memory; it was one of the most respected warriors of the Emperor's Children.
It was at that moment, seeing him, that Fulgrim suddenly understood:
"This is Istvaan III."
"You finally remembered, traitor!" Rylanor growled.
Behind him, countless purple figures emerged—the loyalist Emperor's Children who had been betrayed by Fulgrim on Istvaan III.
...Abdemnon, Demeter, Kaven, Ketheron, Thorasen, Lacardio, Vespas, Zaven, and Saul Tarvitz.
Fulgrim recited the names of the loyalist warriors:
"My esteemed progeny, the conscience of our Legion."
"Silence, traitor!" A cold, low growl sounded.
A warrior from the Emperor's Children's Thirty-fourth Thousand-Man Company roared in fury, uncontrollably lunging at his Primarch.
This company had maintained its loyalty to the Imperium as a whole, but they refused to become Blackshields like other loyalists from traitor Legions, discarding their Legion's name.
These Emperor's Children proudly kept their purple and gold colors, hunting down the traitors who had defiled the Legion's name until their demise.
Fulgrim did not move, allowing the warrior to stab him with a power sword.
"Hanno, aide-de-camp of the Thirty-fourth Thousand-Man Company, 'Eagles of Death'." Fulgrim softly spoke the warrior's name: "I remember your sword was named 'Phoenix Light', and you said it was because you wished your sword to be as sharp as the light I emitted."
"Now look at me, and tell me, can you see the light of old on me?"
Fulgrim's voice was so gentle, so moving, that the warrior showed a momentary hesitation.
"Do you still seek to corrupt us?" A power claw whistled, slamming into Fulgrim's body and pinning him to the ground.
Ancient Rylanor pressed Fulgrim's body down, and an Emperor's Children warrior slowly approached, holding a blade, and thrust it directly into Fulgrim's throat.
Blood welled from Fulgrim's mouth; he felt his vocal cords tearing, but the sword vanished into thin air, as if it had merged into Fulgrim's throat and disappeared without a trace.
"Because of your betrayal, we take away your voice, so you can no longer boast of your perfection." Rylanor said, looking down at Fulgrim.
"It matters not." Fulgrim gently opened his mouth, finding his voice hoarse, unpleasant, sharp, and sickening, "This does not affect my perfection; my perfection needs no boasting."
Four more Emperor's Children approached Fulgrim, holding long blades against his limbs.
"Because of your betrayal, we take away your martial skill, so you can no longer use force to proclaim your perfection." Rylanor judged coldly.
Blades pierced Fulgrim's limbs; intense pain assailed his entire body, making him feel as if all his bones had shattered, leaving him unbearably weak.
"This also does not affect my perfection." Fulgrim struggled to hold himself up, looking at Rylanor: "My perfection does not come from violence."
"Then because of your betrayal, we shall take away your intellect, so you may no longer play tricks and feign perfection."
A blade pierced Fulgrim's brow, stirring his brain. Fulgrim felt his thoughts become very slow, very slow, very slow, slower than a mortal.
Dull, as if the Emperor and Elda were close relatives who married and gave birth to him, an imbecile.
"My perfection was never feigned; my perfection is real." Fulgrim said stiffly and dully.
Rylanor's power armor slammed violently into Fulgrim's face: "Because of your betrayal, we shall also take away your perfect countenance, so you may no longer seduce others."
Fire, searing fire burned Fulgrim's face, directly turning his features into a charred, ugly mess.
"Inconsequential, Rylanor, my perfection has never come from these things." Fulgrim whispered: "You can take away my voice, my strength, my intellect, my appearance, but… but I am still perfect, undeniably so."
"Incorrigible! You are still so arrogant and depraved, baseless in your belief that you are—" Rylanor's voice carried an uncontrollable rage.
"Because my perfection comes from you all." Fulgrim said to himself: "My pride also comes from you all."
"I was born as a clone, searching for what perfection was in the memories of the one named Fulgrim, but all I saw was depravity and madness. Only you, you were the only perfection in his memories. I learned from you what true perfection looks like. I am proud of myself and my Legion because of your existence."
"You have already proven that your perfection is indestructible, and my perfection comes from you; how can I abandon this perfection merely because I lose my voice, strength, intellect, and appearance?"
Rylanor slightly moved his power claw, and this Ancient, who hated Fulgrim, felt a moment of hesitation.
..."Moreover, these injuries are all illusory." Fulgrim slowly stood up from the ground: "Even if Father was certain that I would fall in the future, he would never allow you to harm me now, letting this combat strength be wasted for nothing."
The moment Fulgrim realized this, the wounds on his body instantly healed.
Rylanor recoiled a few steps.
"But our Lord also gave us another power, to judge whether you have long been corrupted, whether you are a nail left by the Lord of Hunger beside that one."
"If we determine that you have long been corrupted, you will be killed, whether in dreams or in reality."
"Now, we shall pass judgment. Every warrior has the right to declare whether you are guilty. If more than half of the warriors deem you guilty, you shall die."
"Wait, I demand to speak in my own defense!" Fulgrim realized Rylanor's words were true, waved his hand forward, and tried to deliver his speech.
"Do you think we will give you another chance to corrupt us?" Rylanor swung his claw at Fulgrim.
But at this moment, a pair of Xenobar sabers swept out from the side, lightly deflecting Rylanor's power claw.
"Rylanor, good Ancient, calm down." An Astartes, clad in ornate golden power armor, adorned with numerous tassels, aquilas, wings, and horsehair-like ornaments, with only a small amount of purple, blocked Rylanor's attack.
This one lacked the usual elegance and nobility common among the Emperor's Children; instead, he seemed… a bit rustic, a bit warm and impetuous.
"What ugly power armor." Fulgrim couldn't help but say: "Why haven't you changed your aesthetic yet, my strongest swordsman."
The dual-wielding warrior seemed insulted, and couldn't help but complain: "My Father, do you understand that I am not here to hear you judge my aesthetics; I am here to secure your right to defend yourself."
With that, the warrior turned to face all the loyalist Emperor's Children: "I think among those standing here today, only I can be called impartial."
"I am neither loyalist nor traitor."
"I once served Fulgrim, and I once swore allegiance to Lord Ferrus, and maintained my loyalty to both until my death!"
"I am unaffected by anger, not involved in the hatreds that came later, after all, I died too early; we hadn't even chosen a Warmaster yet!"
"I endorse the resolution of vengeance by my brothers. If that demon were standing here, my twin blades would be with you."
"But for the one standing here, I still hold a glimmer of hope, believing he has the right to defend himself."
"In the name of the Third Legion, I implore you all to grant him the right to defend himself."
Saying this, the warrior bowed to all the loyalist Emperor's Children and then stepped aside.
Rylanor hesitated for a brief moment, then looked at Saul Tarvitz.
Tawiz said nothing, only nodded slightly.
"Three sentences. You are a member of the Third Legion; you may use three sentences to defend yourself." Rylanor announced.
"That is enough." Fulgrim stepped forward, extending his hand to the dual-wielding warrior, signaling him to hand over his weapon.
The dual-wielding warrior handed one Xenobar saber to Fulgrim.
Fulgrim took the saber, then held the blade across his face.
The blade cut across his face, leaving three deep, bone-visible scars.
"That shameless Slaanesh demon also betrayed me; he defiled the name of Fulgrim, just as he defiled the Emperor's Children!"
"I swear to take vengeance upon him, to cut off his head, and restore your and my defiled names!"
"Until my vengeance is complete, I will not heal the scars on my face."
Fulgrim returned the sword to the dual-wielding warrior, letting out a soft sigh.
"Now, I accept your judgment. This is the right you possess as warriors of the Third Legion."
With that, Fulgrim knelt on one knee, awaiting the judgment of the Legion warriors.
Looking at the dark sun hanging low over the crimson lands of Baal, Sanguinius couldn't help but sigh.
"Is Father adjusting his state in this way?"
"It is indeed a method, to let those souls filled with anger, hatred, disgust, and strong self-destructive desires meet the people they wish to see, to vent their emotions, find some peace, so that they can stand by his side later, helping to resist the pressure from the Malicious Art and Corrosive Destruction domains."
"But Guilliman is King Konor and Lady Euten, and Fulgrim is the loyalist Emperor's Children."
"Why am I you? Why aren't you dead yet?!"
Sanguinius turned his head to look at the broken being behind him,
Staring at that shiny bald head gleaming on the hot soil of Baal.
Sanguinius had the deepest understanding of the Warp among the loyal Primarchs still alive.
He understood what the Emperor was doing. The Emperor was pacifying the human souls accumulated within him, souls that had been immersed with him on the altar of the Dark King. Most of them had been permeated by destruction, darkness, and cold emotions. The Emperor's current actions were an attempt to use the living to awaken those souls not yet completely swallowed by the Dark King, to awaken their humanity, to awaken those beautiful and pure emotions.
Through this, the Emperor could draw humanity from them, learn humanity, and reshape humanity, thereby improving his own state, allowing him to better resist the pressure of the Dark King and to better withstand the impending pressure of the Omnissiah.
Guilliman met his mother and father, Fulgrim was facing the judgment of his children, and in the distance, Reyna saw her mother. Countless Astra Militarum saw their deceased relatives, and many Astartes saw their brothers who had sacrificed themselves before them.
Sanguinius pursed his lips, his golden eyes filled with an unyielding gaze as he stared at the man before him.
He had thought he would see his fallen children, he had thought he would see the Baal tribes who raised him, he had thought he would see the devout believers who worshipped him.
But at the sight of that shining bald head, Sanguinius admitted that he was overcome with an urge to immediately pilot the Red Tears to Terra, land at the Lion's Gate spaceport, pass through the Lion's Gate into the Sanctum Sanctorum before the Golden Throne, climb the one hundred and thirteen steps, and kick the Dried Corpse's little toe.
He wasn't entirely unwilling to see this person, in fact.
Admittedly, it was he who had killed Sanguinius, meticulously hammering him into a paste.
But Sanguinius also understood that he had acted under manipulation, corruption, and the influence of the gods.
In his heart, Sanguinius still remembered their past friendship, the camaraderie they shared when fighting side by side.
The Archangel had to admit that even though outsiders might see a blood feud between them, Sanguinius still loved this brother of his. At least more than he loved Guilliman, and probably more than he loved Lion. Well, he was Sanguinius' most beloved brother.
But, but Horus' condition...
"I, me, apology."
"Pain, torment, me."
"Because, killed, you."
"Sorry, brother, I made mistake."
Fragmented, congealed, broken sounds emanated from the bald man's mouth.
Sanguinius silently watched the bald man before him.
The bald man's body was broken, with only half a torso, half a head, and a short stump of an arm.
His mind was also unclear; his face was blank, and combined with his massive size, he resembled a dull-witted Ogryn.
"I know your apology, and I am willing to forgive you."
"But, brother, could you please cure your senile dementia first before coming?!"
The bald man listened to Sanguinius' words, his expression blank, and he slightly opened his mouth: "Abba abba abba."
Sanguinius felt a headache, and he gently raised a finger to rub his brow, letting out an involuntary sigh.
"It's better than Lion's side, it's better than Lion's side."
Sanguinius used his Psyker powers to peek at Lion's situation.
"Hoo! Lion! It's Daddy! Daddy's here!"
"My Lion, my son, it's Daddy! Why are you hiding from Daddy?!"
"Luther! Don't come any closer!!!"
It was too much to bear, so Sanguinius couldn't help but gently shift his gaze, turning his eyes towards the dreams of others.
In a small house in the Netherworld Star System, Ashford Upper hive, Reyna leaned on the lap of a kind woman with an Aquila pendant around her neck, softly recounting her experiences after they parted, telling her about the strange sights she had seen, the great beings she had encountered, and speaking of the miracles of the Emperor and Saint Doraemon.
"And what about you, my child?" the woman asked softly, gently stroking Reyna's ear.
"I, I am insignificant before them. I am merely a clumsy psyker in the Astra Militarum," Reyna said with a smile.
"No one is truly insignificant, remember? I told you when you were little that the Emperor has a plan for everyone."
The woman gently held Reyna's hand, looking at the thin calluses covering Reyna's fingers:
"I have always been watching you. You have fulfilled the Emperor's plan for you, and you have done very well."
"Mama," Reyna quietly squeezed her mother's fingers, softly asking the question that had always been hidden in her heart: "What did you go through after you secretly sent me to the Lower Hive back then?"
"Whatever I went through, my child, you have proven it was worth it. I made the right choice."
Sanguinius watched this scene, a faint smile playing on his lips.
He had never truly experienced what people called familial affection. The tribes on Baal were kind to Sanguinius, but they viewed him more as something divine rather than a mere child.
"Besides humanity, you should also learn how to be a father here!" Sanguinius said to the dark star hanging in the distance.
The dark sun did not respond, only cold silence.
Sanguinius shook his head slightly, looking out into the vast, distant galaxy, seeing warm glows shimmering in the dreams of many people.
Not only was the Emperor drawing strength from it, but watching this scene, Sanguinius also felt his own condition beginning to improve.
At least tonight, in the cold, dark galaxy, many people were immersed in warm dreams. Hmm?
Sanguinius raised his eyebrows slightly. He noticed that Alexander, who had vehemently declared he no longer had dreams, was actually dreaming.
His will extended slightly, and he saw... he saw a sixty-six by forty-four-inch tabletop suspended in Alexander's dream.
Cegorach grinned, fiddling with finger-sized models, all crafted in the likeness of Eldar Harlequin.
Beside Cegorach was Nurgle, the plague God. This divine being held dark green chess pieces in his fat hands, either Nurgle daemons or Death Guard. On the table before him were also three Great Unclean Ones, Mortarion, numerous plague Drones, and Deathshrouds.
And opposite Cegorach and Nurgle was... a brown-haired middle-aged man wearing comical party glasses and an oversized T-shirt that read "I'm Human." In his hand were Custodes chess pieces: Trajan Valoris, Shield-Captains, Blade Champions, and so on.
And beside that comical middle-aged man was Alexander. Before Alexander were many Tyranids-shaped chess models: hive Tyrants, Norn Emissaries, Carnifexes, Ion Cannons, Gaunts, Hormagaunts, and Termagaunts, like a vast Tyranids swarm.
"Cegorach, did you secretly move it two inches again?"
"Nurgle, next time, why don't you bring a Rhino? The plague Hounds are too slow."
"Do you have a problem with my Tyranids swarm? When we play Tyranids, we play for the swarm aspect."
"What do you mean The Tyranid Swarm is roadside? What are the one hundred and twenty Termagaunts I painted?!"
What were these guys up to again?
Sanguinius felt a slight headache.
But he couldn't bring himself to condemn the four. Leaving Nurgle aside for a moment, the Emperor and Cegorach were probably in their last moments of freedom, and Alexander was about to embark on a path from which there was no return.
Sanguinius then used his Psyker powers to look beyond the dream. The Necrons were descending upon this planet, their cold, dreamless steel bodies covering the planet's surface like a tide. Every movement was perfectly executed, as if an invisible hand was guiding them.
By the time the sun's first ray of light touched the spire of the Imperial Palace's Sanctum Sanctorum on the Himalayan plateau, by the time the myriad beings in their dreams slowly awoke, by the time Guilliman wiped away tears that had fallen from his eyes at some unknown moment, by the time Lion awoke from his nightmare, and by the time Reyna, waking from her sleep, felt the Warp's energy surging,
The Necrons had already formed neat ranks, standing like metal tombstones on the surface of the rocky planet, stretching to the horizon where sky and earth met.
Most of the Necrons in the galaxy were gathered here.
In a sense, they were indeed tombstones, each a living metal tombstone storing parts of a Necron's memory, the last remnants of a destroyed race.
And today, this race would face complete annihilation, but the Necrons would find new life within it, sprouting souls and becoming true living beings.
Crack—
On the silent, desolate planet Duat, a pinkish-red wooden door slowly opened.
Alexander stepped out from the door. He still looked like a mortal.
But the moment he set foot on this mechanical planet, his shadow spontaneously appeared without any light, spreading, lengthening, and even covering more than half the planet.
It was as if the ethereal glow of the Empyrean illuminated the colossal, invisible presence within Alexander's body. Steam seemed to billow within the shadow, gears seemed to rotate, but it was not entirely complete; it seemed to be missing some parts.
Yet, even so, the moment Alexander appeared, the Necrons on this planet felt their metal bodies tremble in a trance, as if they were about to spontaneously animate and rush towards Alexander.
Alexander walked before the Three Saints Council.
The Three Saints Council had, of course, been reorganized. The Silent King was Szarekh, whose past obsessions and will had been purged by Alexander, and who had been granted a new soul.
The other two Saints were Anrakyr, known as Anrakyr the Traveler, and Orikan, known as Orikan the Diviner.
Szarekh's past had been destroyed by Alexander; now, his face bore only fervent sincerity.
Anrakyr, meanwhile, was barely containing his excitement; the Necron resurgence he craved was now within reach.
Orikan's face showed more weariness and pain; he hadn't yet recovered from his ascension to godhood. And in his gaze towards Alexander, besides respect, there was also some pity. Orikan knew better than anyone what it felt like to ascend to godhood.
Alexander looked down at them, his eyes seemingly filled with twenty-two-toothed gears rotating in a complex dance. Around him, the faint sounds of machinery, whistling steam, and roaring furnaces could be heard.
He gently exhaled, and the breath swirled in the air, seemingly possessing infinite power, lingering for a long time without dissipating.
"Do you…" Alexander spoke softly: "..wish to become human?"
A slight silence echoed, and then, Anrakyr was the first to raise his head and utter the word.
"Yes."
"Good."
Alexander gently extended his hand and took a short wooden stick from his pocket, with several white cloth strips tied to its end:
"Then within your metal bodies, souls shall sprout."
Alexander slowly raised the wooden stick in his hand and gently tapped Anrakyr's head.
A crisp sound echoed across the planet, passing through reality and landing in the Warp, causing a slight tide to ripple.
On the Red Tears, before the viewport, Sanguinius' towering figure stood like a holy icon.
He looked at the rocky planet before him, his ears listening to the echoes in the Warp.
The crisp sounds of the wooden stick hitting metal grew more numerous and clearer, as if a great rain covering the entire Warp was falling, creating ripples in the Warp.
These ripples gradually began to expand, to sprout, to converge, finally merging into a torrent that spanned this moment, surging towards the rocky planet before them.
Just as a flash of lightning in the night tore through oppressive clouds, cold reality was instantly ripped open by the almost infinite energy of the Warp. A metallic-blue rift spanned the entire Nephilim Sector. If not for the Blackstone Pylons around suppressing the Warp reaction, this rift would have continued to expand.
The boundary between reality and the Warp became indistinct at this moment. Past and present, cause and effect, solid and void, inner and outer, front and back—everything became hazy and unclear. The colossal rocky planet, under the wash of the warm Empyrean torrent, transformed into a planet half-immersed in the Warp, appearing and disappearing.
In an instant, in reality, only the countless Necrons bowing to Alexander and Alexander himself were so clear. Sparks of souls continuously emerged from the bodies of those Necrons, drawing the power of the Warp into reality.
The tide came, an boundless tide enveloped Alexander's body.
Alexander took a step, treading on the Warp's tide. Those tides instantly took on form, transforming into machinery, furnaces, gears, steam, diesel, sparks, and electricity, intertwining with Alexander's body, indistinguishable from him.
Alexander was both the wave-rider at the crest and the highest wave of the tide. He thus soared upwards, extending his arm towards the Empyrean, uplifted by billions of Necrons.
As if to draw something, as if to touch something, as if to pull something down.
Sanguinius also didn't understand what he was seeing. His eyes struggled to comprehend, his ears struggled to hear, his senses struggled to judge.
But he understood that the malicious art domain was beginning to manifest in the Warp; the altar had been cast.
It was time for the ritual.
"What are you waiting for, Vashtorr?!" Alexander's voice echoed in the Warp, carrying boundless power and pressing in all directions.
The continuity of time and space was also severed at this moment. Dragon Forest Star, wreathed in orange-red furnace fires, descended into the Pariah Nexus.
"No more waiting, seek it now, at this very moment!"
Dragon Forest Star tore through the continuity of space-time and arrived; this mechanical planet, shaped like the former Caliban and integrating the three Old One artifacts—the ouroboros, the Tuqiaocha Engine, and the plagueheart—roared in the real universe.
Within its metal jungles, factories boomed like thunder, furnace fires surged like the sun's bait, and the echoes of hammers, forging, tracks, and the wails of billions of daemon workers integrated with production lines reverberated.
The moment Dragon Forest Star manifested, waves also rippled through the surrounding Warp, revealing the lost and Warp-fallen derelict ships that had fused together.
Each of these vessels resembled the wildest, most chaotic mechanical creations, exuding the malicious creative power of the Warp's pure instinct; they were creations of the Malicious Art domain itself, crafted from ships that had fallen in the Warp.
Then, from within Dragon Forest Star, an invisible will transformed into fluctuating electrical sparks, transmitting to the derelict spacecraft.
In an instant, the derelict ships were controlled by Vashtorr's will, becoming Ark Omens, sailing towards the massive rocky planet.
Vashtorr believed this was his advantage.
Alexander indeed commanded more of the Malicious Art domain, but Alexander was not extreme enough, not twisted enough, and lacked understanding of the darkest, most chaotic, and most insane powers within the Malicious Art.
Vashtorr, however, could wield those powers, manifesting the most malicious creations in the material universe to attack Alexander.
Alexander, riding the crest of the Warp tide and continuously ascending, maintained an impassive expression.
His will connected to the master protocol, and with a single thought, the Necron fleets suspended in the Duaht System became his fingertips.
Emerald lightning poured forth, colliding with Vashtorr's Necron forces.
The two of them, extending their selves through their fleets, initiated the first round of clashes in the Duaht System.
"I recognize these weapons; they were designed during the War in Heaven, igniting the malicious creativity that gave birth to me."
"I understand them better than you, Alexander."
Vashtorr's voice emerged with a series of roaring electrical sparks; these sparks, carrying Warp energy, shot out from the Ark Omens, transforming into a series of semi-mechanical wireworms that pierced the Necron vessels.
The Necron ships attempted to defend against this attack with various weapons, but a searing arc of light burst from Dragon Forest Star.
The continuity of space-time was suddenly torn, and the semi-mechanical wireworms directly bypassed the limitations of space-time, plunging into the Necron vessels.
These wireworms were Vashtorr's creations, the daemon-steel nerves, which Vashtorr also used to control the derelict spacecraft.
Now, these daemon-steel nerves, implanted in the Necron ships, released a series of silicon filaments that spread throughout the entire vessel, instantly paralyzing its various functions.
Sanguinius watched this scene, still maintaining his composure.
Vashtorr's birth was closely related to the arms race during the War in Heaven, and if Alexander was to be believed, Vashtorr was also closely related to the most extreme faction of the Old Ones.
Using Necron ships against him was indeed a significant disadvantage.
But, Alexander had not yet displayed his full authority, had he?
A joyful laugh echoed through the Warp, instantly dispelling the gloom, as if millions of children were giggling for a beautiful world.
Countless mini-doraemon materialized out of thin air in the void.
These tiny, palm-sized machines filled the entire void; they reached into their four-dimensional pocket, instantly pulling out various marvelous gadgets.
These gadgets were all Alexander's tools; the pockets of these tiny mini-doraemon were directly connected to the four-dimensional pocket through the Warp, allowing them to retrieve tools directly from it.
As for the money... honestly, Sanguinius didn't know where it came from; Alexander probably wasn't very clear either.
Only Guilliman knew how he squeezed such enormous funds from the Imperium's seemingly perpetually collapsing economy.
However, Sanguinius, out of curiosity, once asked Guilliman this question.
Guilliman merely replied that the Imperium's current problem wasn't a lack of production, but rather how to consume what was produced, and on what.
Guilliman even claimed that Alexander's existence had, to a large extent, solved the Imperium's consumption problem.
Far from having a negative impact on the Imperium's economy, under Guilliman's regulation, it had actually stimulated the economy and production, resolving some of the Imperium's economic issues and alleviating what he called 'overcapacity'.
Sanguinius listened, bewildered, unsure how Guilliman had achieved this.
The mini-doraemon, wielding various gadgets, surged towards the Necron fleet controlled by Vashtorr and the Ark Omens, colliding with them.
Some, holding Reflection Cloaks, bounced back the Ark Omens'gunfire; others, using Mechanical Pills, took control of the Ark Omens in reverse; some, piloting titanic robots, began tearing apart ships one by one.
The tide of mini-doraemon quickly approached Dragon Forest Star.
The orange-yellow, furnace-like arc of light on Dragon Forest Star once again erupted, and in an instant, a third of the mini-doraemon were drawn into the temporal-spatial rift.
But this was of little significance; more mini-doraemon were created by Alexander's power, forming a fierce tide that surged towards Dragon Forest Star.
Dragon Forest Star was indeed extraordinarily powerful; it was a complete Old One artifact.
Even if its primary function was merely a key to the Old One's treasury, its power surpassed the understanding of all current civilizations in the galaxy.
However, relying solely on Dragon Forest Star to stop Alexander was almost impossible.
This was also what Sanguinius found peculiar.
Why would Vashtorr actively meet him, so impatiently?
He could have waited for Alexander to attack him.
Alexander's final step to godhood was to devour him, and Vashtorr had long since forged the one-third domain he occupied into the Soul Forge, a realm independent of the Four Gods.
With the Soul Forge, Vashtorr could better delay Alexander, creating an opportunity for himself.
Wait...
Sanguinius understood Vashtorr's plan.
In the Warp, above the Empyrean, red, blue, green, and purple intertwined incessantly, as the Gods and their daemon subordinates waged war.
As Alexander ascended to godhood, the Gods erupted into battle at this very moment.
Khorne and Slaanesh, Tzeentch and Nurgle, these two pairs of old rivals fought so fiercely that tides reversed, skies and seas inverted, and all things lost their luster in the Warp.
Khorne's power was the strongest, especially after he accepted his destiny of forever sitting upon the Brass Throne.
Though he could no longer leave the Brass Throne, every wound on the battlefield contributed power to him and flowed with his power.
He was now the savior of war, bearing the cost of conflict alongside his warriors.
But it was precisely because he could not leave the Brass Throne that it created an opportunity for Slaanesh.
Slaanesh's power was the weakest among the Gods, but he had one advantage over Khorne: he still held Fulgrim as a trump card.
With Khorne unable to personally enter the fray, Fulgrim became a true god of slaughter on the battlefield, fighting in the Warp, imbued with Slaanesh's power.
Tzeentch and Nurgle, meanwhile, maintained the unspoken understanding between old rivals.
Tzeentch's power had been considerably weakened recently, while Nurgle had grown increasingly powerful.
The line between the second and third strongest in the Warp was no longer so clear, and both chose to deploy their Primarchs to other locations.
Within the Soul Forge, Mortarion, scythe in hand, accompanied by the lords of the Death Guard and seventy-seven Shroudguard, stepped into this Warp domain that had once existed independently of the Gods.
This domain was originally a production site for numerous unholy weapons in the Warp, eternally shrouded in black oil smoke, producing weapons for various daemon legions and Astartes warbands in the Warp.
Of course, Mortarion and his legion were an exception; Mortarion's creations and equipment were all independently designed, developed, and produced.
It's just that for some reason, the plague Crawler tanks Mortarion designed to surpass the Imperium's corresponding weapons were stubbornly referred to as 'Little Mo SU7' by Saint Doraemon.
Mortarion looked around, and in an instant, he understood that this Soul Forge domain had been almost completely emptied.
What remained, what could not be taken, and the daemons enslaved by Vashtorr were all before him.
Skulls, from eight hundred and eighty thousand different daemons, were piled together, forming a bloody Jingguan (a mound of enemy skulls).
And atop the Jingguan, sat a colossal humanoid Khorne daemon Engine.
His form was somewhat similar to a Cerastus-class Knight, slender and tall, yet even more defying physical laws, resembling a crimson giant rather than a machine, and even more agile.
His upper body was somewhat akin to a Lord of Skulls, like a bloodthirsty god of slaughter clad in armor forged from blood and brass, an embodiment of violence and war.
Mortarion recognized this terrifying Khorne daemon Engine; K'tarn Destroyer was its name, but the one before Mortarion was clearly different.
He wore skin made from a thousand Astartes skulls, adorned with patterns of eagles, lightning, wolves, and steeds.
The interior of this daemon Engine had clearly fused with an extraordinarily powerful daemon, and its chassis had been improved by Vashtorr.
"Seed of Destruction." Mortarion softly uttered the daemon's name: "What exactly are you?"
Seed of Destruction, Khorne's first daemon Prince, and also Khorne's strongest daemon Prince.
Some rumors even claimed he could rival a daemon Primarch.
His most celebrated rumor was that he once beheaded a Warlord Titan, raising it to offer to Khorne.
Such behavior, in Mortarion's view, was somewhat insane.
If Khorne liked Warlord heads, Mortarion could build a production line, beheading Warlord Titans twenty-four hours a day, offering them to the Blood God, and then repairing them to continue the beheading.
"I am the unceasing wind of the Eternal Heaven; wherever the will of the Eternal Heaven points, I shall reach." Seed of Destruction rose from the Jingguan, his daemon Engine seeming like armor cleaved onto him, ascending with boundless bloody aura: "He wants me to kill, so I come to kill."
"My brother, Jaghatai Khan, has a different interpretation of the Eternal Heaven." Mortarion's face was impassive: "Why do you insist the Blood God is the Eternal Heaven?"
"Then I must ask you, Mortarion, why do you now serve Nurgle, serve the Emperor, serve Saint Doraemon?" Seed of Destruction retorted.
"I loathe Nurgle."
Mortarion answered coldly:
"I also loathe the Emperor."
"I loathe you, detest Horus, detest all daemons and Gods.
I look out and see only tyrants and the dogs of tyrants.
Of course, now I am also a dog and slave of a tyrant."
"I also loathe the Warp, loathe that cold material universe, loathe this world full of tyrannical oppression."
To Seed of Destruction, this was an irrelevant answer.
"Do you not think that Saint Doraemon is not one of the Gods, not a tyrant?"
"He certainly is, but He will be the tyrant who ends all tyrants." Mortarion answered coldly.
As his words fell, Mortarion, cloaked in boundless dark clouds, brandished his scythe and lunged at Seed of Destruction.
Seed of Destruction let out a wild laugh, raising his massive axe to meet him.
"If you wish to fight, then fight!"
Space-time became chaotic and intertwined; thousands of roaring daemon Engines, factories rolling with black ash, and flesh production lines emitting wails manifested in the void.
The Soul Forge, in that instant, appeared in the Duaht System, encompassing everything within the entire system, blocking the tide of mini-doraemon.
Sanguinius watched all this from the Red Tears, understanding Vashtorr's plan.
The decisiveness of the Master of the Soul Forge was truly unimaginable; he had directly dismantled most of the Soul Forge, used Dragon Forest Star to transfer that domain, and crashed it into the Duaht System.
This was almost a suicidal attack; Vashtorr would undoubtedly suffer unimaginable damage.
But the benefits were also clear: Alexander had just completed his sacrifice, riding the wave of ascension, and had not yet fully tamed the Warp tide generated by the birth of the Necron souls.
Theoretically, he was in a relatively weakened state, making it easier for the Soul Forge to hold him back for more time.
Watching his Soul Forge, which he had cultivated and built for tens of millions of years, being abandoned in such a manner, Vashtorr still maintained his composure.
"I go first; let's see if you can catch up to me before the turning point arrives."
A thunderous sound, like a hammer striking reality, echoed; reality was torn open with a hole, and a rift appeared in the Warp.
The essence of Dragon Forest Star was an Old One's Webway tunnel boring machine, instantly opening a Webway.
This Webway was Vashtorr's path to godhood, leading to the location of the Old One's remaining 'weapon'.
As long as he found the 'weapon', Vashtorr could bypass all restrictions and directly ascend to godhood.
Sanguinius took a soft step forward; it was time for them to act—
The reality before the Red Tears seemed to be punched hard; reality twisted, dented, accompanied by the emergence of powerful Psyker energy.
That immense Psyker power pressed directly against the Red Tears, pressing against Sanguinius.
"MUSCLE POWER KWAHH!!!!"
A crimson giant arm shattered the veil of reality, bringing with it Psyker energy that was almost a torrent from the Warp.
The powerful attack instantly pushed the Void Shield of the Red Tears, a Gloriana-class Battleship, to its limit, nearly causing it to crack and disintegrate.
Golden light surged from the Red Tears' bow, which resembled blood tears, and two angels, one red and one gold, flew out, encircling the Red Tears.
Sanguinius' figure appeared on the bow, his pure white wings gently trembling, bringing with them a brilliant, scorching white light that collided with the crimson giant arm.
The wail of reality resounded, and wings woven from red, blue, and over nine thousand other constantly changing colors unfolded; the well-trained crimson body was drenched in sweat, shimmering like a dark red gem in the void.
"So, the muscles on wings can also be trained!?"
Magnus looked at Sanguinius, who had blocked his well-trained arm with his wings, and exclaimed in genuine surprise.
He had only just realized that his own training was not perfect, having overlooked the fact that the pair of wings on his back could also be trained.
"As expected of my brother!" Magnus laughed out loud, revealing his bright molars, and gave Sanguinius a thumbs-up.
Sanguinius hovered in the void, gazing at Magnus, who stood in his way, his lips moving slightly as he voiced his confusion:
"His control over you has weakened considerably. Why aren't you on your steroid planet working out, instead of blocking me here?"
Sanguinius' words silenced Magnus for a brief moment, and the smile on the muscle Primarch's lips disappeared in that instant.
"I still have sons; I still have family."
"I want them all to be able to freely take their supplements."
Magnus said, as if answering a different question:
"Sorry, brother, someone like you, who can freely take supplements, probably wouldn't understand."
"We can only listen to the coach about what supplements to take."
Sanguinius lowered his gaze with pity, the tear-like Spear of Accomplishment held gently before him, and all emotions finally coalesced into a soft sigh:
"Among us, only you are most entangled by fate."
"Perhaps because my drug resistance isn't good enough." Magnus continued to reply nonsensically.
The two Primarchs seemed to be communicating, yet they also seemed to be on completely different wavelengths.
Eventually, all words faded, leaving only the roar of spears, silver swords, and muscles.
"Nine Birds Pulling Coffin! Hundred Birds Acupuncture! Three Million Muscle Power Rotations!!!"
Magnus' crimson muscles seemed to be injected with water, colliding even larger than the Red Tears, surging and smashing towards Sanguinius' face.
Sanguinius wielded the Spear of Accomplishment to meet him, and crimson blood spurted from Magnus' arm, dispersing in the void.
Just looking at the blood, the Astartes and even the Necron present felt a surge of muscle pain.
"Prospero Fitness Center Number Two! Assemble!" Magnus let out a war cry.
With his other hand, he suddenly squeezed the air, and space was torn open; a group of Thousand Sons surged out like a blue tide, rushing towards the Red Tears and Sanguinius.
Sanguinius thrust his spear at one of the Thousand Sons, but in an instant, he froze. A fleshy texture??
Inside the Thousand Son's armor, there was originally only dust and an unconscious soul, but now, that dust had, to some extent, re-condensed into muscle; there were no organs, no brain, no bones, but there were muscles.
Magnus had actually made the Thousand Sons develop muscles.
This momentary stunned allowed Sanguinius to expose a weakness; Magnus' boundless muscular strength smashed straight down, hitting Sanguinius' face and slightly twisting and deforming his beautiful features.
Sanguinius' face shifted, and suddenly deep, dark, and frenzied imagery appeared; a Dark Angel naturally emerged from Sanguinius' body, holding a blood-stained sword, carrying boundless evil power, and piercing directly into Magnus' ribs, aiming for Magnus' heart.
"Amazing! He actually trained to develop another set of muscles!"
"But I'm not bad either; I've trained every part of my body into muscle, so I have no internal organs left!"
As he spoke, Magnus directly reached out, grabbed the Dark Angel's head, and flung him heavily into the distance.
Sanguinius seized the opportunity, thrusting the Spear of Accomplishment at Magnus' neck.
But Magnus turned his head, actually using his molars to forcefully clamp down on the spearhead.
At the same time, Magnus tightened the chain wrapped around his hand, and the heavy Magnus' book hanging from his waist was flung out like a meteor hammer.
Magnus' book's form was now vastly different from the past; its thick pages were blank, but the cover was forged from extremely heavy metal, and its ramming spike was as sharp as a blade, smashing directly towards Sanguinius' temple.
Sanguinius quickly retreated, dodging Magnus' book.
In these brief moments of engagement, Sanguinius had confirmed one thing:
Magnus had actually, through training, integrated with his Warp nature, reaching the same level as the current Sanguinius and Corax.
However, Magnus' state was also very peculiar; Sanguinius and Corax had self-realized their true nature, understood their essence, and comprehended their form born between the material universe.
But Magnus was different; neither he nor his Warp essence knew what they were anymore. Magnus didn't know what his Warp essence was, and his Warp essence, which was Magnus' book, had been cleansed by Alexander and also didn't know what it was anymore. In this way, it was as if Magnus completely understood his Warp essence.
Moreover, this awakening was a complete fusion; it could be seen as Magnus' pre-material universe form becoming his current appearance, or it could be seen as Magnus transforming into his pre-material universe form, even more thoroughly than Sanguinius returning from death.
In a short time, Sanguinius probably wouldn't be able to break through Magnus' blockade.
Sanguinius slightly turned his head, looking into the distance.
Alexander's figure was becoming bizarre and indescribable, like a metallic blue cloud, sometimes revealing Alexander's true appearance, sometimes transforming into a dragon, and finally vaguely taking on the appearance of Doraemon.
He was interweaving and merging with the Soul Forge.
As a competitor in the malicious art domain, Alexander, at the moment of completing the sacrifice, was irresistibly moving towards ascension; aggregating the Soul Forge was also something he had to do, an impulse brought by the Warp torrents.
This was Vashtorr's open scheme; he almost sacrificed his own domain to forcefully stall for time, only taking Dragon Forest Star to search for a "weapon," and then using the "weapon" to ascend.
Sanguinius felt a little strange; he actually didn't quite understand why Vashtorr was so confident that the "weapon" could force him to ascend without sacrifices, rituals, or sufficient emotional support.
If the "weapon" truly possessed such divine power, then they could only hope for Lion El'Jonson and Fulgrim.
Dragon Forest Star tore through reality and the Warp, constantly carving out blood vessel-like paths in these two domains, heading towards higher dimensions.
The planet's crust was constantly active and shifting, and the planet itself was repeatedly flickering between different dimensions; this was intentionally done by Vashtorr.
He used this method to ensure that Alexander's anywhere door wouldn't directly pinpoint him.
But... but Vashtorr knew that even without using the anywhere door, Alexander's subordinates still had the power to reach Dragon Forest Star.
Because Dragon Forest Star was ultimately Caliban, and the connection between this planet and Lion El'Jonson was unbreakable.
If Lion El'Jonson wanted to, he could, without needing to pinpoint, walk onto this Dragon Forest Star by forest-walking.
Leaves slowly fell from the trees in the forest, and muddy soil appeared on the steel ground shrouded in black smoke.
The Lion, clad in dark green power armor and holding a kite shield and a sharp blade, stepped onto Dragon Forest Star, looking around with an unpleasant expression.
Beside the Lion, two small figures draped in dark red robes followed; they were two Dark Watchers, native existences of Caliban.
"Little thing, are you truly not an alien?" Fulgrim, clad in dazzling gold and purple power armor, smiled and asked, standing not far from the Lion.
There were three abrupt sword marks on his face, marring the perfection of his features.
+ Our race is the pure spirit of the Emperor. +
+ Saint Doraemon taught us to say this. +
"By that one's definition of humanity, he will sooner or later declare greenskins to be mushroom-type human subspecies, and may even declare the Tyranids to be a type of human." Fulgrim couldn't help but shrug.
Lion El'Jonson glanced at Fulgrim, his gaze resting on Fulgrim's face, marred by three sword marks.
"Much more pleasing to the eye than before." Lion El'Jonson commented.
"Precisely so, if my father were willing to wear the power armor I designed, he would surely be even more — — — — — —"
"Then I'd rather lick Guilliman's boots." Fulgrim glanced at the warrior following him and said.
Aside from Chapter Master Thor and former Phoenix Guard Chief Alkenes, Fulgrim had not allowed any Primaris of the Phoenix Son to follow him; this battle was not suitable for those young warriors.
His father, the Emperor, had used what little power he could still muster to give Fulgrim a powerful and loyal force of warriors.
Sulfurous flames burned around the warrior beside Fulgrim; the warrior's power armor was quite flamboyant, a giant golden phoenix piercing from the left shoulder to the chest of the power armor, with very little purple, too much gold, and various tassels and ornaments piled on as if they were free.
But strangely, so many decorations did not convey any sense of luxury; instead, Fulgrim felt he looked like a Lower Hive scavenger who hung all the trash he found on his body.
"Alas, I often feel fear when I look back at those years, wondering if such magnificent and aesthetically pleasing power armor would lead me to be corrupted by Slaanesh." The warrior of The Emperor's Cursed Legion lamented.
Slaanesh would have to hang himself on the spot just by looking at you. Fulgrim felt disdain for his son's aesthetic.
Akul Duna, formerly the Second Captain of the Emperor's Children, the chief swordsman of the Third Legion, the First Court Swordsman, Fulgrim Zhuangzi; his martial arts, even among all Astartes, were comparable to those of Sigismund's caliber.
But from this perspective, he was undoubtedly a model Emperor's Children, yet it was also unlikely that he was a model Emperor's Children.
Aside from his martial arts, Akul Duna was not very Emperor's Children in many respects; his artistic cultivation was atrocious, his cooking was so bad he almost killed Lucius, and his command ability was also rather average. Among a host of proud and arrogant Emperor's Children, Akul Duna was actually a sincere, reckless, enthusiastic, and somewhat self-sacrificing person.
But his swordsmanship could compensate for all the aforementioned shortcomings; he once, alone with two swords, cut through the entire Iron Hands, only narrowly losing to Ferrus.
Fulgrim even vaguely felt that his current self, merely a clone, might not be able to steadily defeat Akul Duna.
Beside Akul Duna, there were also about five hundred loyalist Emperor's Children from The Emperor's Cursed Legion, including the ancient sage Rylanor and Solomon Demeter, famous loyalist Emperor's Children.
Tawiz was not among them; his will, through his gene-seed, resided within Thor's body, which allowed him to better exert his power.
"Our Caliban... how could it have become like this?" The first Pardoned Angel, Zabriel, looked at Caliban and couldn't help but softly utter these words.
He was Terran-born and didn't have much affection for Caliban, but he was still shocked to see the once Caliban transform into this ugly, mechanical-dominated appearance.
+ This is Caliban's true form. +
The voices of the Dark Watchers echoed in everyone's ears:
+ The Caliban of the past was merely its unactivated form as an ouroboros. +
+ This is also the outcome our race, as jailers, guarding Caliban/ouroboros, wished to avoid. +
+ But who knew that in ten thousand years, Caliban exploded in some inexplicable way? Perhaps some black hand was at work. +
These small, robed figures had always referred to themselves as the jailers of the ouroboros, the guardians of Caliban.
Upon hearing them say that the Caliban explosion might have been caused by some black hand, the Pardoned Angels, including Zabriel, were visibly agitated.
They wanted to know exactly what happened back then.
What kind of terrifying black hand could possibly have overshadowed everything, thus harming the Dark Angels Legion and causing the Lion's sons to fall apart and slaughter each other?
If they knew who that black hand was, the Pardoned Angels would surely tear him to shreds.
But before the Pardoned Angels could speak, a slight tremor ran through Dragon Forest Star.
Orange-yellow light instantly enveloped the planet's surface, and the continuity of space-time was torn apart at this moment.
Cracks began to sweep from all directions towards the Imperial forces, intending to directly pull them away.
Vashtorr activated the Dragon Forest Star's most basic function, attempting to tear through time and space to directly hurl these Imperial forces to the galaxy's edge.
But as the orange-red light seeping from the Dragon Forest Star enveloped the Imperial forces, the Darkwatchers accompanying Lion El'Jonson slightly raised their hooded heads.
These Darkwatchers uttered a few incomprehensible words, and the orange-red light was instantly suppressed.
Vashtorr watched this scene, his furnace-like eyes flickering back and forth. He glanced at the child's corpse beside him.
The child's corpse was riddled with tubes connected to the massive equipment behind it.
It was the same cadaver that the Tuqiaocha Engine once used to communicate with the outside world. Now that the Tuqiaocha Engine, plagueheart, and ouroboros had merged to become the Dragon Forest Star, this cadaver naturally became the medium for the Dragon Forest Star to communicate with Vashtorr.
The child's corpse looked at the two Darkwatchers accompanying Lion El'Jonson.
"They are the ouroboros' jailers, or rather, our jailers, beings left behind by the 'Evangelical' three divine artifacts of the old ones to guard us," the child's corpse said airily.
A hum emanated from Vashtorr's body. He stared at the child's corpse.
The three divine artifacts of the old ones had always kept a certain degree of secrecy from him.
"In this current state, shouldn't we exchange information more sincerely?" Vashtorr asked, "At least tell me what those robed little things are, and what exactly happened between the three divine artifacts of the old ones back then?"
The child's corpse turned its head and smiled slightly: "I can share some information."
"You should know what happened back then. A smaller faction among the three divine artifacts of the old ones was driven mad by the endless War in Heaven."
"The pressure from the C'tan, the impending destruction, the increasingly extreme Warp, and the dark future they saw in their prophecies crushed their spirits, making them believe this universe was beyond saving."
"If that's the case, why not set everything ablaze, let the stars be buried with them, let all things vanish from the world, and let their enemies march towards destruction with them? Some even hoped to rebuild a new world on the ruins of the universe after everything was destroyed. Among the three divine artifacts of the old ones, they were called the 'Blackfall Faction,' and the 'Weapon' was what they created for this purpose."
"In contrast, the vast majority of the three divine artifacts of the old ones were called the 'Evangelical Faction.' They believed that even if their civilization was destined for destruction, they should still consider the welfare of other future races, believing that this universe still had hope and should not be set ablaze, let alone whether a new world could be rebuilt after everything was destroyed was unknown."
"Eventually, the two sides broke out in civil war within the three divine artifacts of the old ones' fortress. The Evangelical Faction destroyed the Blackfall Faction, but failed to destroy the 'Weapon.' Nor did they destroy us, who are necessary to open the Weapon; in fact, all of us except the ouroboros escaped."
"We are the tools that open the path to the 'Weapon,' the lock to the three divine artifacts of the old ones' vault, and also the key to open that lock."
As it spoke, the child's corpse turned its head to look at Vashtorr, its eyes, flickering with Psyker light, blinked a few times:
"We are all necessary conditions for the 'Weapon' to reappear. We instinctively yearn for reunion, for the 'Weapon' to reappear in the world. We can only be shattered, not destroyed."
"So the three divine artifacts of the old ones created those Darkwatchers to guard the ouroboros. Or, as humans call it, Caliban."
"However, the hand of fate is unfathomable. Caliban was inexplicably shattered, which instead allowed the ouroboros to escape the jailers' control."
"But the Darkwatchers, these jailers, have guarded the ouroboros for millions of years and possess partial authority over it. Unless they directly launch attacks that harm the Dragon Forest Star itself, you cannot teleport them away."
At this point, a sarcastic smile crossed the child's lips: "Let me share something else interesting with you. Some of the Blackfall Faction's and Evangelical Faction's research from back then still influences you today."
"The Blackfall Faction's research records on the 'Weapon' were not destroyed. To a certain extent, they fell into the hands of other forces in the galaxy. We, the three divine artifacts of the old ones, fell into your hands, and a part fell into the hands of the Void Dragon, giving rise to the Omnissiah Adeptus Mechanicus. Another part, after many twists and turns, fell into human hands, giving rise to the Golden Throne and certain technologies of the Dragon States."
"Now, the conflict between Saint Doraemon and you can also be seen as a continuation of the past conflict between the Evangelical Faction and the Blackfall Faction."
Vashtorr frowned slightly at the child's corpse's statement: "I have no intention of destroying this world; I only want to see the world's intrinsic structure."
The child's corpse merely smiled.
Vashtorr vaguely felt that the child's corpse was hiding something from him, but he didn't know why. His mind was clearly racing, yet it kept going in circles, preventing him from fully understanding.
But Lion El'Jonson's offensive was fierce, pressing directly towards Vashtorr's location. The daemon Engines Vashtorr sent out and the daemons he enslaved in violation of the agreement were utterly unable to stop him.
What was necessary was Vashtorr looking at Perturabo, who stood silently in the shadows, staring at him.
"I need your help, my friend," Vashtorr bowed to Perturabo.
"..Fool, where are your logic and reason? Can't you see what that corpse is hiding from you?"
Perturabo shouted with some urgency:
"I'm increasingly convinced that the so-called three divine artifacts of the old ones 'Weapon' is utterly unreliable!"
"My friend, have you studied humanity's technological history?" Vashtorr asked cordially: "Sometimes, a civilization's technological history is more noteworthy than the technology itself."
"Do you know the two most important virtues in human technological history?" the Lord of the Soul Forge asked.
"Reason and logic?" Perturabo asked.
"Perseverance and rousing one's spirit," Vashtorr replied with a smile: "We always describe truth with reason, but the process of seeking truth often requires a bit of irrational perseverance."
"My intuition tells me that truth is beckoning to me. Even if there are risks, I must try."
"Even if I am on the verge of death at this moment, for the sake of truth, this is precisely the time I should rouse my spirit; how can I retreat?"
"Help me, my friend."
"If you put it that way..." Perturabo said no more, turning and disappearing from Vashtorr's sight.
The Lion Sword cut through the air, and the head of a Bloodthirster flew up, landing with a thud on the metal-forged ground.
The Khorne Greater Daemon, integrated with a mechanical construct, then vanished before Lion El'Jonson.
"Lion El'Jonson, thirteen Greater daemons, one thousand six hundred and ninety other daemons."
Akurduana, who was accompanying Fulgrim, said:
"Fulgrim, five Greater daemons, six hundred and sixty-five other daemons."
"Dad, you're not doing so well."
Saying this, Akurduana flashed back, his twin blades irresistibly tearing through the muscular blue bird in front of him.
"Akurduana, three Greater daemons, five hundred and seventy-three other daemons."
Fulgrim heard Akurduana's words, and a shadow crossed his face.
Although he himself didn't care that Lion El'Jonson had more kills than him,
Fulgrim and Lion El'Jonson had sparred privately, and Fulgrim knew he was too far from a true Primarch, while Lion El'Jonson was among the forefront of Primarchs, so he couldn't possibly contend.
But when these words came from Akurduana's mouth, Fulgrim felt a bit awkward deep down.
His own son praising another Primarch, saying he wasn't as good as someone else's Primarch, made Fulgrim feel sour, a strange sense of betrayal, mixed with a hint of twisted pleasure.
Especially since Akurduana had a history; he had once, without consulting Fulgrim, directly led the entire Second Company to pledge allegiance to Ferrus.
He's my son, my most excellent son. And that brute Ferrus doesn't even know to go easy on him when putting him to work.
A bitter feeling spread in his heart. This strange emotion stimulated Fulgrim, making him wield the forgebreaker warhammer with even greater force, smashing the Tzeentch Great Unclean One enslaved by Vashtorr into fragments.
"Fulgrim, six Greater daemons, six hundred and sixty-five other daemons!" Akurduana shouted: "You're half as good as Lord Lion El'Jonson!"
Hearing Akurduana's words, Fulgrim couldn't help but grip the forgebreaker tighter, smashing another Steel Bull.
"When you wield the forgebreaker, you're also three-tenths as good as Lord Ferrus once was!"
Fulgrim's expression grew even more gloomy and strange. The sourness in his heart intensified, and he wielded his warhammer with even greater force.
Until gravity suddenly shifted around Fulgrim, and a series of iron-ring robots, cast from metal and shimmering with furnace light and Warp evil energy, suddenly appeared around Fulgrim.
They wielded gravity hammers, manipulating gravity to press down on Fulgrim, causing his figure to instantly stoop and his movements to slow considerably.
Those iron-ring robots seized the opportunity, swinging their heavy hammers at Fulgrim's head.
Akurduana instantly transformed into an afterimage. This deceased Emperor's Children let out a wild laugh, his blades crossing like scissors as they grazed the head of an iron-ring robot, destroying and slaying it.
The gravity pressing on Fulgrim instantly showed a weakness. Fulgrim seized this momentary opportunity, swinging his heavy hammer to shatter three iron-ring robots, breaking out of the formation of these iron rings, and rapidly approaching Lion El'Jonson's direction.
But a metal wall, almost as massive as a Knight, stood before Fulgrim.
Four limb-like iron pillars supported the massive metal body. Perturabo's body instantly unleashed a torrent of firepower, like a meteor shower, pressing down on Fulgrim.
This was Perturabo's tactic: directly overwhelm Fulgrim with firepower, and then he would engage Lion El'Jonson.
At this moment, the ancient sage Rylanor swung his power claw, striking one of Perturabo's legs. Perturabo's body trembled slightly, and the unleashed firepower suffered a brief interruption.
Fulgrim seized the chance to leap up, stepping on a projectile fired at his head, and swung the forgebreaker warhammer at Perturabo's head.
Akurduana also flashed into action at this time, climbing onto Perturabo's body by stepping on Rylanor, wielding twin swords, and flanking Perturabo from left and right with Fulgrim.
But with a thought, Perturabo summoned several iron-ring robots around him, swinging their gravity hammers at Fulgrim and Akurduana.
Vashtorr had shared the authority of the Dragon Forest Star with Perturabo, allowing Perturabo to freely teleport his iron-ring robots and himself.
The gravity hammers twisted gravity, and Akurduana was forcibly suppressed back to the ground.
Fulgrim shattered two iron rings in mid-air, then leaped towards Perturabo, stepping on the broken iron-ring robots.
But Perturabo merely flickered, instantly reappearing in his original spot, then in the blink of an eye, he appeared behind Fulgrim.
Roaring firepower once again pressed down on Fulgrim.
Leaves drifted down from the forest. Lion El'Jonson walked out of the woods, stepping onto Perturabo's shoulder, and plunged the Lion Sword directly into the metal head's brow.
But Perturabo's figure flickered, disappearing from his spot again and reappearing not far away.
Lion El'Jonson was not to be outdone, continuing his walk through the forest, giving chase.
Fulgrim watched the two constantly flickering around, constantly changing positions, feeling dizzy and unable to see clearly.
But Fulgrim also knew that he had lost the opportunity to intervene at this moment. He should instead use the opening created by Lion El'Jonson's engagement with Perturabo to continue advancing towards Vashtorr's location.
The Angels of Absolution left from all sides by walking through the forest, going to help Lion El'Jonson fight the iron-ring robots accompanying Perturabo.
Meanwhile, the Cursed Emperor's Children surrounded Fulgrim, breaking through the iron-ring robots blocking their path.
To Fulgrim's surprise, the number of iron rings Perturabo left to stop them was not large, and most of Perturabo's attention was focused on Lion El'Jonson's side. His command of these iron rings was insufficient, and Fulgrim, leading the Emperor's Children, quickly tore open a gap — —
Suddenly, Fulgrim stopped. He suddenly felt a strong surge of pleasure and weakness in his body, and disorienting hallucinations began to appear before his eyes, as if millions of crimson flowers were blooming within his body, before his eyes, and in his soul.
Bang!!!
With a loud crash, the factory wall beside Fulgrim was smashed open by a massive, shadowy figure.
A Hellbrute, painted black and engraved with the Chaos Eight-Pointed Star, burst into the front of the Emperor's Children.
This Hellbrute exuded an aura completely different from other Hellbrutes; eight layers of sinister Warp evil energy coiled around his body.
"Abaddon, you idiot! What are you bursting out for! I'm about to drag him into the Lord of Hunger's domain!" The evil energy, a mix of purple, pink, and crimson, roared.
But the Hellbrute, in a frenzy, raised his right hand's machine gun, unleashing a dense hail of bullets towards Fulgrim.
And Fulgrim was still in a slight daze.
Abaddon?
This Hellbrute is Abaddon?
How did he become like this??