Crunch, crunch, crunch.
Chewing sounds echoed incessantly within the Brass Fortress, as the projections of the gods once again gathered in the Blood God's domain.
Aside from Tzeentch, all the gods were gnawing on something.
The Blood God held a handful of crimson blood, Nurgle had a pot of bubbling thick soup, Alexander had a dorayaki, and Slaanesh had a stick.
These were all small conceptual fragments they had carved out from Tzeentch's domain amidst the recent chaos.
The crimson blood symbolized the randomness of war, the bubbling thick soup symbolized the endless mutations of life, the dorayaki symbolized curiosity, and the stick symbolized accidental conception.
Tzeentch's projection currently appeared bruised and battered, symbolizing the considerable price he paid in the recent skirmish.
Khorne, Slaanesh, and Nurgle were originally in a state of slight hesitation.
Although they believed nine-tenths of the claim that Tzeentch's trick had caused the hive mind to consume the source code of the blood, they ultimately lacked concrete evidence and were unwilling to act rashly.
But when Alexander made his move, Tzeentch's damned bird-beak was still squawking about 'everything being according to plan,' which was an outright provocation to the gods, infuriating them.
They immediately joined forces to help Alexander, directly tearing off a significant portion of what once belonged to Tzeentch's domain.
Alexander swallowed the portion of the domain related to curiosity in a few bites.
He was able to pin the blame on Tzeentch this time, thanks to the changeling.
All the gods' domains possess inherent contradictions; for example, Nurgle's cycle of life, death, and decay; Slaanesh's indulgence and love; the Blood God's courage and indiscriminate slaughter.
However, the deepest contradiction belongs to Tzeentch, or rather, contradiction itself is already an intrinsic part of Tzeentch.
This inherent contradiction gives Tzeentch a tendency towards self-fragmentation; he does not allow himself to be too powerful, does not allow himself to know all past and future, and does not allow his schemes to go undetected.
This led respectively to the shattering of Tzeentch's staff, the separation of the Well of Eternity, and the birth of the changeling, reducing Tzeentch, once the most powerful entity in the Warp, to his current state.
The changeling, on some level, is a part of Tzeentch.
Alexander used an item to alter the changeling's memories, making the changeling forget its original existence, which also meant Tzeentch himself forgot about the changeling.
Furthermore, Tzeentch had secretly slipped the changeling into the Lion's dream, attempting to corrupt Lion unbeknownst to others and gain another daemon Primarch.
Therefore, the changeling's movements were hidden from the other three gods, who were unaware that the changeling had been captured by the Emperor and fallen into Alexander's hands.
The traces left by the changeling's actions, in the eyes of the gods, were Tzeentch's traces.
Coupled with Tzeentch's reputation, even Tzeentch himself instinctively suspected he was the culprit.
"Did I really do it?" Tzeentch asked, slightly confused and bewildered.
"Could it have been me?" Alexander glanced at Tzeentch, questioning him coldly.
"Perhaps it was me," Tzeentch mused.
Ultimately, Tzeentch was not without a history of grand schemes that he himself had forgotten.
Anyway, everything is according to plan.
"The situation is clear now; we must prevent the Lord of greed dissolution from manifesting.
the cursed one cannot bear the burden of another domain," Slaanesh said, his tone slightly gloomy.
He had secretly formed an alliance with Tzeentch, only to find that Tzeentch had acted alone and caused such a mess.
Slaanesh harbored considerable resentment now.
But Slaanesh also had to admit that Tzeentch had played a good move.
"The hive mind, the Warp Shadow.
Though he has the potential to stand alongside us, he is fundamentally different from us."
"He relies on those mindless Tyranids of the material universe; he rises from them, integrates them, and is connected to them."
"For our daemon legions to harm him, they must enter the real universe, step into the range of his shadow, which is too difficult for our daemons."
Slaanesh whispered, his gaze shifting towards Alexander:
"You command the most Primarchs, possess a material universe body, and can direct the Imperium of Man, Necron, and Eldar.
Only you can."
"No time, busy fighting the Tau Imperium," Alexander interrupted Slaanesh.
"You know, the Tau Imperium is a very dangerous race."
"Their martial prowess rivals the Blood God, their cunning rivals Tzeentch, their bioweaponry rivals Nurgle, their mechanical technology rivals mine, and their allure rivals Slaanesh."
"Their invasion is simply the greatest crisis humanity has ever faced."
"Every night after the large-scale Tau Imperium invasion of Ultramar, I wake up in a cold sweat, as if seeing the War in Heaven revived, seeing the galaxy's destiny to burn again.
One misstep, and we humans might be annihilated by the Tau Imperium."
"Compared to the Tau Imperium, threats like the Dark King or the eternal dragon are simply not worth mentioning."
"..?" The gods cast strange glances at Alexander.
"If you hadn't said it was the Tau Imperium, I would have thought the Old Ones had resurrected," Tzeentch cackled twice.
"The Old Ones are like a loli in the Tau Imperium," Alexander said without changing his expression.
"Now is precisely the time for us, the Warp Five, to work together with one heart.
Don't worry, although you'll be the main force, we will fully support you from behind," Slaanesh said with a sincere expression, advising Alexander.
Alexander merely sneered lightly, showing a look of distrust.
Alexander did intend to act against the Tyranids, and seize greed dissolution in the process, but he couldn't be too obvious or reveal his intentions.
Furthermore, although the gods spoke of working together, Alexander knew these guys were inherently a bunch of worms.
They wouldn't hinder Alexander openly, but they would inevitably make some subtle moves behind the scenes, attempting to take a bite out of Alexander while they had the chance.
More importantly, their constant secret surveillance of Alexander might lead them to prematurely discover the full scope of Alexander's plan.
Alexander hoped to find something to distract them and weaken them as much as possible.
"My demands are not many; if we are to fight the Tyranids, the defenses on the Ultramar side will inevitably be weakened."
"And if I step forward to confront the Tyranids, you must offer some actual compensation, right?"
With that, several contracts flew before the gods.
Tzeentch glanced at the contract; its content was very simple.
The gods must grant Alexander portions of their domains: Tzeentch had to cede more of the domain of curiosity, Slaanesh had to cede part of the desire for knowledge, Khorne was to give war weapons, and Nurgle was to give bioweapons.
Additionally, the gods' daemon armies were to help Alexander protect the frontiers of the Imperium of Man's Ultramar region.
"You want us to fight the Tau Imperium?"
Ultramar Frontier, Gloriana-class Battleship Macragge's Honour.
Roboute Guilliman exhaled deeply, setting down the documents in his hand.
The Imperium's Adeptus Administratum were now calm, military matters had greatly reduced, and the productivity of many planets had been re-released. Political and economic affairs began to increase.
The Imperium's productivity had never been low. In fact, among all races in the galaxy, humanity's productivity was overwhelmingly number one. If even one-tenth of its productivity were invested in the war against the Tau, the Tau Imperium could be overwhelmed by an almost endless sea of warships.
However, the Imperium's real problems lay in its extremely inefficient distribution and the gradual shift of individual planets towards single-industry specialization.
This was an inevitable result. The galaxy was vast, Warp travel was slow, Astropathic communication was sluggish, and the efficiency of material transfer was low. Operations often had to follow rigid, fixed patterns, and even minor unforeseen circumstances could severely impact the whole.
In interstellar trade, a common situation was that the cost for a hive city world to grow its own crops was higher than the cost of large-scale transport from an agricultural world. Similarly, the cost for an agricultural world to build its own factories to produce farm tools was far higher than transporting them from a nearby hive city world.
Thus, hive city worlds would increasingly abandon agricultural production, tending to specialize in producing specific types of industrial goods. Agricultural worlds would also increasingly abandon industrial production, tending to produce specific types of crops.
Gradually, each world began to pour all its resources into specializing in a few, or even just one, industrial or agricultural product. Everything else was imported from nearby star systems. Over time, the production model of most planets in the Imperium became one of extremely high efficiency for a single product, with an extremely single industrial structure.
The advantage of this model was extremely high overall production capacity.
The drawback was that the Imperium's transport system could not handle such a large capacity. Without transport, there was no consumption. The ultimate result was often a massive accumulation of single products on a planet, even leading to their destruction. This could even lead to hunger amidst abundance.
Guilliman had recently investigated an agricultural world that had suffered a famine. This agricultural world's agricultural production had shown no problems, yet a famine had still broken out.
Guilliman questioned the local farmers and received the following answers:
"Why can't we afford food? Because we have no money."
"Why do we have no money? Because the farm can't pay wages."
"Why can't the farm pay wages? Because the farm has shut down."
"Why has the farm shut down? Because there's too much grain, and it can't be sold."
This was a microcosm, reflecting the Imperium's true problem: producing too much, but consuming too little.
However, these problems were currently being resolved.
Firstly, there was Cawl. Cawl's improved anywhere doors were being promoted throughout the stars.
Secondly, there was Alexander. Not because he brought out any new tools, but simply because of the four-dimensional pocket.
The first time he learned that the four-dimensional pocket could sell anything, Guilliman realized its extraordinary value.
Regardless of how many goods, or what type of goods, they could all be thrown in and sold.
This… this was practically a consumer with infinite currency, the market's dream Messiah. No matter how many goods the Imperium produced, this pocket could consume them all. The consumption power of the 22nd century was truly magnificent!!!
And after Alexander's ascension, everything became even simpler. Now, the Saint Doraemon Church only needed to sing hymns and perform rituals over a pile of goods to sacrifice them to Saint Doraemon.
Then, Saint Doraemon would drop down the tools they needed. On average, the surplus products of a hive city world for one to two years could be exchanged for an anywhere door. After being modified by the Adeptus Mechanicus, that planet would gain a merchant fleet with anywhere doors.
The Imperium's economic cycle had thus begun to run.
However, there were too many planets in the Imperium, and it would take time for all of them to join the new economic cycle.
This was also why Guilliman deliberately maintained the intensity of the war between the Tau Imperium and Ultramar.
Leman Russ had once proposed leading a decapitation strike against all high-ranking Tau Imperium officials.
But Guilliman refused.
Firstly, the war with the Tau Imperium could consume the Imperium's surplus production capacity.
Secondly, Chaos and the traitors now only posed small-scale harassment to the Imperium. The main enemies had become the Orks and the Tyranids. The Orks also primarily engaged in small-scale raids, and the Tyranids had not been very active recently, freeing up much of the Imperium's military strength.
However, a prolonged lack of war would lead to a decline in combat effectiveness. Therefore, Guilliman required various Chapters and the Astra Militarum to rotate to the Ultramar and Tau Imperium front lines, and to independently gather necessary supplies along the way, thereby achieving the goals of training troops and consuming excess production capacity.
But the situation's changes were a little beyond expectations.
Sanguinius and Leman Russ had left Ultramar.
Guilliman didn't think much of it; the problem didn't seem very big.
But Alexander stated that the Imperium's two stars, five star systems, and nine Legions were all resting on Guilliman's shoulders alone, and no more burdens could be added to him. He wanted to provide support to Guilliman.
And then...
Guilliman looked up with a touch of bitterness.
His gaze first swept over his side. His son, Sicarius, gripped his sword tightly, his expression strangely tense.
Not long ago, Sicarius' ship was accidentally drawn into the Warp, but he ultimately fought his way out of the Warp alone with a single sword.
But at this moment, his expression showed that he was doubting whether he had truly escaped the Warp.
And his Chapter Master Calgar was looking at his fists with a lost expression, as if he had lost his purpose in life.
Chief Librarian Tigurius wore a slight smile, seemingly believing that he had finally been driven mad by the Warp.
Beside them was a group of blue Tzeentch daemons processing documents.
These Tzeentch daemons had vacant expressions, and behind them stood several signs: 'Apply Warp Wolf Culture to Work,' 'I Love Work, Work Loves Me,' 'Work Hard, Realize daemon Life's Meaning.'
Leading them were the famous Tzeentch daemons, Blue Scribes P'tarix and Xirat'p, two daemons responsible for recording all spells, who were now responsible for recording the productivity status of different planets in the Imperium.
And on the other side of the Tzeentch daemons' queue were the Slaanesh daemons who had just returned from the battlefield.
The Greater Daemon of Slaanesh, Slaanesh, was wiping her silver shield, Masked Dancers were performing light steps weaving new dances, and the Keeper of Secrets, Shalaxi Helbane, was toying with a female Tau who was only a torso and head.
Noticing Guilliman's gaze, Slaanesh raised her head, revealing a seductive smile.
"My lord, my liege, the Tau aren't very juicy. Can you let us go kill some Squats for fun?"
Being called 'liege' by a Slaanesh daemon sent a shiver down Guilliman's spine.
But soon, Guilliman began to find the title 'liege' somewhat acceptable.
"Warmaster!" The daemon Prince of Khorne, Seed of Destruction, exhaled several puffs of sulfurous smoke. He used the title Warmaster to address Guilliman.
"These Slaanesh women are only fit for fighting effeminate Tau!"
"Slaanesh things only shoot from afar, not daring to fight hand-to-hand. Tau also only shoot from afar, not daring to fight hand-to-hand!"
"They're a perfect match! Let them fight the Tau!"
Behind Seed of Destruction, the Bloodthirsters sharpening their weapons nodded in approval.
The Slaanesh daemons quickly cursed back, devolving into a brawl with the Khorne daemons.
Guilliman took a deep breath and turned to look at the Nurgle contingent, who had just arrived.
The Nurgle contingent was the last to arrive. Not only had daemons come, but the Death Guard, the former 14th Legion, had also arrived.
Guilliman looked at the Nurgle daemons, who were crowded in the Macragge hall, emitting a putrid stench.
Many extraordinarily powerful Nurgle daemons had come.
Septicus, Rainfather, Dysenterius, Leprosus, Niu Dou, Black Death, Bolarex, AIDS, Mortarion, Impotence, Syphilis… Hmm?
Guilliman's gaze shifted slightly, looking at the gloomy, pale, gaunt, and wrinkled face beneath the cowl.
Those cloud-like eyes were staring at Guilliman.
"…" Guilliman put down his pen and paper, and abruptly stood up.
"If you didn't stand up to greet me, I would have thought I came to the wrong place."
Mortarion said with a chilling laugh:
"I almost thought this was the Vengeful Spirit. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was our Warmaster's Macragge's Honour!"
"Why are you here?" Guilliman blurted out.
"Why am I here?" Mortarion's eye twitched slightly: "I'll tell you why I'm here!"
"Decades ago, that one—" Mortarion extended his hand, forming a circle, indicating to Guilliman who he was referring to: "—that one used your image, and through a few nurglings, sent me a message."
"He wore your face and said: 'The Thirteenth Brother! Don't think you are the most resilient among the Primarchs!'"
"'Tomorrow, if there's a war on the frontier! You and I will each lead one hundred thousand Astartes, and we'll see who returns victorious to court! We'll see who suffers a crushing defeat!'"
Mortarion sneered a few times:
"These words have spread throughout Nurgle's Garden."
"Those nurglings couldn't tell the difference, they just thought you said it."
"Everyone said, The Thirteenth Brother Guilliman challenged The Thirteenth Brother Mortarion, but Mortarion didn't accept the challenge, so he must not be as resilient as Guilliman."
"Now that there's truly a war on the frontier, if I don't come, wouldn't that make me seem cowardly?"
Guilliman took a deep breath, calmed his emotions, and returned to his usual calm state.
"I would have preferred you to be with me ten thousand years ago; that would have proven your resilience more." Guilliman said, looking at Mortarion.
Mortarion's lips didn't even curl into a sneer.
"Is opposing a tyrant called not being resilient?" He retorted: "What's more, your loyalty doesn't seem to be entirely thorough either."
"Indeed, I too often disagree with some of the Emperor's decisions, but… to fall to the Warp and become an enemy of humanity is undeniably a sign of weakness." Guilliman swept his gaze over the moth wings on Mortarion's back.
Mortarion's expression grew even gloomier.
"Macragge, your sons, your mother, the Emperor, and humanity are all simultaneously infected with painful diseases. They are all suffering unspeakable agony, unable to live or die, and you can only save one. Who would you choose first?"
"I would choose humanity first, then the Emperor, then my sons, Macragge, and my mother." Guilliman replied without changing his expression.
"You truly are a cold-hearted tyrant." Mortarion commented coldly: "I cannot make the same choice as you. I still have people I love."
"Do you think I don't understand love?" Mortarion's accusation made Guilliman show a hint of anger: "I love Lady Yvraine above all else, I love my sons no less than you love yours, I love Macragge as you love Barbarus, and I also love humanity as a whole."
"But Mortarion, some things are more important than love. True resilience is not born from disgust, love, or other emotions. What is born from these cannot truly be called resilience; it can only be called willfulness."
"True resilience is born from responsibility. It does not show favoritism due to love, nor betrayal due to disgust. It acts even when knowing it is impossible. Only responsibility is supreme. For this reason, Jaghatai Khan understands resilience better than you, because he dares to bear his responsibility."
Mortarion stared fixedly at Guilliman.
After seven seconds, he slightly opened his mouth and said: "I will show you what resilience is, Guilliman. Just wait and see."
"Very well! I await!" Guilliman sat back in his seat, waving his hand to signal that Mortarion could leave.
But Mortarion, as if to demonstrate his resilience to Guilliman, not only did not leave, but instead took seven steps, walked to the steps beside Guilliman's desk, and sat down right next to Guilliman.
"..?" Guilliman looked at Mortarion with a tense expression.
The daemons in the hall, watching this rather comical scene, also couldn't help but want to laugh.
But before they could laugh out loud, Mortarion looked up and coldly glanced at them.
In an instant, the room fell silent. Even the Bloodthirsters dared not breathe loudly.
Among them, in the Warp, they had heard plenty of Mortarion's fearsome reputation.
Recalling those years, Abaddon and Khayon, in the name of the will of the Gods, extorted and sought support from various daemon Primarchs.
Other daemon Primarchs, usually out of respect for the Gods, would provide some help, more or less.
Only Mortarion almost beat Abaddon and Khayon to death, and in the end, Nurgle himself had to intervene to stop him.
It could be said that wherever Mortarion sat, not a single daemon dared to approach.
And this was precisely Mortarion's purpose. He was protecting Guilliman.
This was his mission.
"Guilliman is indispensable to my plan."
"If he is corrupted, my plan will surely fail, and fate will turn to its worst side."
"If you wish to see my plan succeed—I know numerology has shown you the full scope of my plan—you must protect Guilliman well."
That one said to Mortarion.
Mortarion, suppressing his aversion to Guilliman, accepted this mission.
For that future, he could tolerate serving as Guilliman's guard.
"In the final moment, everyone will witness my resilience."
Mortarion said in his heart:
"That resilience is born from the disgust and love you cast aside."
"I will prove my resilience."
"..I will save my sons."
The fighting on the front lines remained mundane, the only change brought by Mortarion's Death Guard forces.
Guilliman couldn't help but marvel at the adaptability of the Tau; the fact that this race could rise in a short time and carve out a territory on the edge of the Galaxy already proved its worth.
Previously, they had adapted to the intensity of the war, which Guilliman deliberately controlled, and to fighting the Imperial forces. They collaborated with some Space Dwarves, several small xenos races, and the opportunistic Dark Eldar, managing to barely hold the line and serving to train Imperial troops.
But Mortarion's Death Guard forces, which entered the battlefield the day before, completely surpassed their understanding.
They couldn't comprehend why their combat suits suddenly grew fleshy tentacles and numerous fungi, merging with the Tau inside, and then began attacking their own people.
They also couldn't understand why an enemy's body, even after being largely blown apart, could still continue to charge.
Most incomprehensibly, they couldn't grasp why, after the Death Guard merely chanted a few numbers, an incurable plague inexplicably broke out among their own army.
To be honest, Guilliman couldn't understand the last one either. Previously, Guilliman had only heard some knowledge about numerology from Alexander. In practical application, Guilliman also found that this thing called numerology really had some use.
Although the principle was unclear, Guilliman always maintained a certain degree of respect for numerology, even often lamenting that Mortarion was truly a great sage, having created such a profound field of study as numerology.
But in recent days, after Mortarion boarded the Macragge's Honour, he taught Guilliman this so-called numerology.
Guilliman initially adopted a humble, learning posture, but as Mortarion spoke, Guilliman gradually found it harder to maintain his composure.
Was this really not feudal superstition?
Mortarion's numerology had shallow logic, was more emotional than rational, and in many places, it contradicted itself. Guilliman's extraordinary mind could instantly grasp the problems within it, causing him to instinctively doubt numerology.
However, numerology did work. This greatly impacted Guilliman's worldview.
Mortarion also claimed that numerology was the underlying logic of this world.
Guilliman found it difficult to understand; could the underlying logic of this world truly be chaos, irrationality, self-contradiction, and feudal superstition?
Although difficult to comprehend, the resilience and power of the Death Guard were indeed admirable. With them, there was no need to worry about mistakes in the war with the Tau, nor to fear the betrayal of the daemons lurking nearby.
What truly made Guilliman notice something amiss was within the Imperium of Man.
Although the reports sent in recent days appeared normal, Guilliman still keenly observed slight fluctuations in the production capacity of many planets, with similar timing for these fluctuations. On several planets, production initially dropped for a period, then surged, even exceeding previous levels.
This situation alerted Guilliman. He quickly realized that inconspicuous changes were occurring within these planets.
Was it genestealer? Most likely, the hive mind was acting in an unnoticeable way.
It's likely that genestealer are lurking throughout the Imperium of Man.
As for Alexander, he seemed very patient, not yet having truly begun to act.
The only directive he had issued so far was to secretly mobilize a portion of the Deathwatch, which was a perfectly normal order, as the Deathwatch are experts against xenos.
But upon closer thought, it seemed a bit strange. The Blood Angels are also experts in fighting the Tyranids, yet after issuing the call to arms, Alexander fell silent and gave no further orders.
Guilliman could sense that even the gods were starting to grow impatient.
"Roboute." A clear, ethereal voice, like an elf in a midnight forest, resounded.
A tall, alluring 'woman' entered Guilliman's office. Her upper body was clad in a slightly loose, languid white shirt, adorned with some fluffy ruffles that didn't detract from its overall simplicity. Her lower body was a fitted black miniskirt, revealing the upper part of her muscular thighs and her hips.
Her hair cascaded over her white shirt, and her pointed ears peeked out gently, appearing a little playful. A small pair of glasses rested on her almond-shaped eyes, adding a touch of maturity to her face.
"Yvraine." A faint smile appeared on Guilliman's lips.
But he quickly withdrew the smile.
Because on the steps beside him, Mortarion's gloomy eyes under his hood were watching Yvraine with interest.
Mortarion, this moth, was like a piece of stinking dog poop stuck to Guilliman's side.
He had been doing nothing lately but diligently staying by Guilliman's side, sitting on the steps next to Guilliman's desk.
Guilliman initially tried to politely and subtly drive Mortarion away.
He told Mortarion that his seven-to-eight-meter tall body, complete with huge moth wings, standing in his office, was too disruptive to his administrative duties.
Then, Mortarion, right in front of Guilliman, detached his enormous moth wings from his back, and his body subsequently shrank to about three meters in height.
This once again shocked Guilliman. Was this thing detachable? Guilliman had always thought it was some kind of mutation, never expecting it could be detached like a jump pack.
Mortarion even said, as if it were obvious, "Blessed by gods with wings on my back? Can you not be so superstitious? Were Sanguinius' wings also blessed by gods? Can you not be a little more materialistic!"
Yvraine took a few steps forward and subtly nodded in greeting to Mortarion, who was sitting on the steps. Mortarion's face showed an expression of keen interest.
This gloomy moth actually smiled and returned Yvraine's greeting, his expression becoming even more subtle and eerie.
Yvraine handed a document to Guilliman, whispered a few words into his ear, and then quickly exited the office.
Mortarion's gaze, however, continued to shift between Yvraine and Guilliman's faces.
"The Thirteenth Brother." Mortarion said with a peculiar smile, "I always heard people say that you were the smartest among us brothers, and also the most human-like."
"I never believed either of those points."
"But after the Great Heresy ended, you, by merely being nine hours late, seized what Horus failed to gain even by bleeding out, and what the Emperor couldn't protect even by sacrificing his life. And by only using a so-called Codex, you split nine Legions. It was then I knew you truly were the smartest one."
"Now, I also believe that you are not only the smartest, but also the most human-like."
"Which of our brothers enjoys more than you do now? Power, status, dignity, honor, and even a xenos woman, all are in your hands."
"Guilliman, ah, Guilliman, if only I had half your cunning." Mortarion sneered, shaking his head.
"She and I are just colleagues." Guilliman said with a somewhat displeased expression, "The clothes she's wearing were chosen by Alexander."
"Oh! I believe you." Mortarion nodded slightly, "However, I just calculated with my fingers, and your birth charts align perfectly. How about I use numerology to choose an auspicious day for you two, to complete your happy life—"
"Stand up!" Guilliman's voice was laced with anger, and in his eyes, a storm of blue and gold seemed to rage.
Mortarion gasped, and his body actually stood up uncontrollably.
Guilliman also rose, moved a finger, and pointed at the chair: "Sit down!"
Guilliman's destiny carried an irresistible force. Mortarion, to his own surprise, stood up, walked to Guilliman's desk, and sat behind the piles of documents.
"Since you believe I usurped the Imperium of Man's power through so-called 'cleverness,' enjoying power, honor, status, and a so-called xenos woman, then very well, I shall let you experience these things."
"Now, you handle these documents for me!"
Mortarion instinctively picked up a document. His gaze fell upon the one Yvraine had just delivered.
"..?"
"The Revenant Legion's star chart had an error, causing them to accidentally Warp into a barren star system. Then they directly encountered the main tendril of the Kraken hive Fleet, which was secretly migrating?"
"This Revenant Legion was almost annihilated under the Tyranids's assault, but they held firm and bravely blocked the Tyranids's migration, holding out until the support of three nearby Astra Militarum regiments and the White Consuls Chapter arrived. Whose progeny is this? So resilient!"
"And so... unlucky? Lucky?"
It's truly hard to say whether the Cryptek were unlucky or lucky.
The Imperium of Man's territory has never been contiguous; there are vast voids and undeveloped star systems between star systems. If the hive mind chose to migrate hive Fleet through these undeveloped star systems and voids, abandoning precious biomass, it would be very difficult for the Imperium of Man to detect their traces.
However, the Revenant Legion's star chart had an issue, causing them to accidentally Warp directly into the path of the Kraken hive Fleet's migration. They collided head-on with the Kraken hive Fleet, and at the cost of almost being annihilated, they blocked this hive Fleet, exposing the migration route of one of the hive mind's hive Fleet.
The Kraken hive Fleet is one of the three main Tyranids fleets. The other two, the Behemoth fleet, were shattered long ago and have not yet recovered. The Leviathan hive Fleet, though powerful, was also heavily damaged in the Battle of Baal not long ago and has not fully recovered.
Although the Kraken had also suffered considerable damage, it is still one of the Tyranids's top main fleets. Now, it has been unexpectedly discovered and halted by the Cryptek.
At the meeting with Lion, Sanguinius, Fulgrim, and Alexander, Lion looked at the Kraken hive Fleet, which had been intercepted on the star chart. Even the well-informed Lion was surprised by this situation.
"Is this also part of your plan?" Lion asked Alexander.
Alexander's gaze shifted slightly: "Everything is going according to plan."
I'm lying to you, it's actually not in the plan at all.
Like the hive mind's micro-management, the Revenant Legion's luck was one of the variables Alexander found difficult to control.
Both exhibited strong randomness, and when the two collided, it was practically a chaotic system, unpredictable and immeasurable.
The collision of the Kraken hive Fleet and the Cryptek was an unexpected situation completely outside Alexander's plan.
This had both pros and cons. The advantage was that Alexander could learn the movements of one of the main hive Fleet, an advantage rarely encountered in more than 20,000 dreams.
The downside was that Alexander worried that our advantage was too great, and the hive mind wouldn't be able to hold on. Alexander was still waiting for the moment when the hive mind was close to completing its ascension.
But he couldn't wait too long; if he dragged it out, the gods would grow impatient and realize something was wrong, intervening.
Alexander could only hope that the hive mind wouldn't micromanage too much and would simply operate on autopilot, holding out until it completed the necessary step for its own ascension.
Only when the hive mind completed the necessary step for its ascension would Alexander have a chance to seize the great position of greed dissolution.
Recently, Alexander would pray to the Six-Armed, Four-Legged, Two-Rooted, One-Pen God-Emperor whenever he had a moment, praying that the hive mind wouldn't micromanage.
"The Tyranids's migration target is..." Lion's gaze fell on the star map, looking at the binary star system marked on the eastern edge of the Galaxy.
The Tiamat System. According to information brought back by aeldari rangers and Deathwatch squads in the past, this system was completely occupied by a hive Fleet named Tiamat hive Fleet.
But this hive Fleet exhibited peculiar characteristics. Instead of consuming the seven planets in the system, they occupied them, transforming the entire biosphere with their own genetic sequence, covering all seven planets with a special Tyranids biosphere.
The Tiamat hive Fleet also did not display high aggression, consistently holding the Tiamat System, only occasionally sending out bio-fleets to collect biomass in nearby star systems. Perhaps other hive Fleet also transported biomass into the Tiamat System.
The reason they hoarded such a large amount of biomass might be to construct something that the aeldari rangers discovered on the largest planet in the Tiamat System, Chiarflea.
It was a continent-spanning bio-spire, entirely composed of chitin, flesh, pus, and a large amount of Psyker brain tissue, brimming with nearly terrifying Warp energy. Merely approaching it caused the aeldari rangers, who possessed innate extraordinary Psyker abilities, to fall into seizures and madness, with only a few escaping.
Those aeldari rangers described the spire in a way that Lion considered very blasphemous: "It was like staring directly into the Astronomicon at close range."
"Any star could allow us to directly enter the Tiamat System, but all seven planets within the Tiamat System have been transformed into a Tyranids biosphere. The Deathwatch and Inquisitor have even repeatedly subjected these planets to orbital bombardment, nuclear strikes, and Exterminatus, but have failed to destroy the biosphere and the Tiamat hive Fleet forces on them."
Fulgrim analyzed, stroking his chin:
"At the same time, once we enter, we will inevitably be caught in a pincer attack by external hive Fleet and the internal Tiamat hive Fleet."
"We must have a sufficiently large combat platform to support our forces and serve as our fortress."
"Can the Phalanx meet this demand?" Fulgrim asked.
But Lion shook his head, rejecting Fulgrim's suggestion.
"I have a better option. There is a ship within the Imperium of Man that is even grander than the Phalanx and better suited to serve as a fortress."
Lion El'Jonson clenched his fist, as if having made a certain decision, and said:
"Let the Tyranids see the might of Caliban. I will once again command my Legion and bring the Rock into battle."
The Rock Fortress,
Zabriel stepped onto the ground paved with dark rock, walking through deep, wide corridors, looking at the towering stone statues supporting the ceiling hidden in the cold mist, feeling the chilling wind blow across his weathered face.
It was as if the lingering soul of Caliban was caressing Zabriel's scarred face with her fingers.
Some of these scars came from the enemies of humanity, some from beasts of the forest, but more came from his brothers who shared the same gene-sequence.
A sneer of mockery crossed Zabriel's lips, deriding himself, his brothers who claimed loyalty, and this damned fate.
He once had no feelings for Caliban. Zabriel was a Terran, an Uncrowned Prince, one of the first Astartes. When he landed on Caliban, its mountains and forests had already been razed, leaving only cold stone and numerous newly built armories.
In Zabriel's eyes, Caliban had always been an ordinary planet, not as civilized as Macragge, not as magnificent as Fenris, not as beautiful as Chogoris, and certainly not as important as Terra.
But at this moment, stepping onto this fragment of Caliban, Zabriel felt thoughts he had never experienced before.
"Home," Zabriel said softly, without anger, without pain, only a hint of light, empty relief.
An imperceptible tremor, centered on Zabriel, spread to the Lion's Sons (Fallen Angels) around him. These Astartes, once condemned as Fallen Angels and hunted by the Dark Angels for ten millennia, showed a slight wavering in their expressions.
Even as Astartes with resilient minds, even though ten millennia of hardship had forged them into bedrock, their resolve still wavered.
Especially those warriors born and raised on Caliban.
Once, this was home, their homeland.
But later, it became their burial ground, their prison, their purgatory, the base of those who hunted them, the Inquisition that condemned them.
The long years were unbearable, but now that the shackles were broken, they could once again call this place home.
An aged Lion's Son (Fallen Angel) knelt on the ground of the Rock Fortress.
He seemed unable to bear the power armor separating him from Caliban; his helmetless face was pressed against the ground.
Feeling the slight chill from the ground, the Lion's Son's (Fallen Angel's) eyes seemed to recall his younger self, not yet an Astartes, merely a knight's squire.
He would frolic with companions in the clear, cold stream, stepping on huge pebbles polished by millennia of flowing water, shivering and darting about due to the cold of the stream and stones.
Now, with his cheek pressed to the ground, feeling the chill, it was as if the cold of Caliban's stream emanated from his memory.
"Caliban, my homeland."
"Today, I finally, finally return to your side."
He shed tears, the first time since Caliban's fall.
A shadow suddenly fell over him.
The other Astartes around held their breath, not daring to speak, not daring to weep.
The aged Lion's Son (Fallen Angel) also hastily rose, bowing slightly to the Lion before him.
Lion El'Jonson did not speak, merely nodded slightly to the aged Lion's Son (Fallen Angel), then turned and continued to walk at the head of the procession.
Zabriel couldn't help but sigh inwardly, a bitter and complex emotion spreading in his heart.
Zabriel knew that the Lion could never punish the current Dark Angels, and in fact, Zabriel and most of the Lion's Sons (Fallen Angels) did not wish for the current Dark Angels to be punished.
Although the Lion's Sons (Fallen Angels) had suffered brutal hunts, they were ultimately brothers, essentially loyalists; it was only the capriciousness of fate that made them kill each other.
For the Imperium, for humanity, they should not continue that cruel fate.
They often cursed Azrael, cursed Asmodai.
But they knew that the true bearers of these sins were the masterminds behind Caliban's fall, not Azrael, the current Chapter Master of the Dark Angels Chapter.
It was just that ten millennia of fleeing, ten millennia of humiliation, had come to no resolution, leaving a complex feeling in their hearts.
Zabriel saw the members of the Dark Angels Chapter.
The Lion did not hide his purpose in returning to the Chapter; not only the Dark Angels Chapter, but almost all of the Dark Angels' successor Chapters had sent representatives or even their entire Chapters, eager to behold the glory of their Primarch, eager to campaign with their Primarch.
The Unforgiven gathered here. When the Lion emerged from the dark corridor, the Grand Masters among the Unforgiven first knelt on one knee before their Primarch, followed by more Astartes from the parent Chapter and successor Chapters.
Their eyes were filled with tears; every Astartes knew their Primarch had returned, but had never come back among them. They had even begun to suspect they had been abandoned by their Primarch.
Now, their Primarch had finally returned among them.
A tremor from the depths of their genes engulfed them, making their spirits submit before the Lion.
But there was one flaw: these Unforgiven clearly noticed the Lion's Sons (Fallen Angels) behind the Primarch.
Surprise, disgust, suspicion, shock—all sorts of expressions were on the faces of the Unforgiven. They looked at the Lion's Sons (Fallen Angels) as if they were not looking at their brothers, but at a group of enemies.
"Fallen," a faint voice sounded, a voice that the Astartes' superhuman senses could detect.
Asmodai of the Dark Angels parent Chapter was staring intently at the Lion's Sons (Fallen Angels) with a gloomy gaze.
But the Lion ignored Asmodai, paying no heed to these matters.
In fact, the Lion's Sons (Fallen Angels) also paid little attention to Asmodai; their attention was drawn by one person's absence.
Azrael, Supreme Grand Master Azrael, Chapter Master of the Dark Angels Chapter, the current leader of the entire Dark Angels, was absent.
Only Chief Librarian Ezekiel attended in his place.
Zabriel's eyelids twitched slightly. He sensed that beneath the Lion's seemingly calm face, anger was brewing.
"Where is Azrael?" The Lion's voice was as calm as Caliban's deep forests.
His voice echoed through the deep corridor, as if Caliban itself was questioning.
Visible sweat appeared on Ezekiel's forehead. He stood up and took a slight step forward.
"Not long ago, Lord Azrael felt he had failed in his responsibility to lead the Chapter and its successor Chapters. He has voluntarily resigned as Supreme Grand Master of the Dark Angels, joined the Deathwatch, severed all ties with the Chapter, obscured the Chapter's insignia, and self-exiled himself to become a Blackshield."
?
A question mark appeared above Zabriel's head.
Blackshields are a special type of Astartes in the Deathwatch. They abandon their former identities, cut off ties with their Chapters, paint their insignia black, and join the Deathwatch, living anonymously, without honor, unremembered, dedicating their lives to the Deathwatch.
These Astartes are forsaken by their brothers, far from their Chapters, no longer blessed by their Primarch, and even believed to be no longer watched by the God-Emperor. Often, only those who believe they have committed heinous crimes and wish to atone through service in the Deathwatch choose to become Blackshields.
Chapters often respect their choice, ignore their existence, and allow them to atone in this way.
But... Azrael was the Supreme Grand Master! What kind of crime could make him choose such an extreme way to atone?
And...
Zabriel slightly turned his head to look at Lion El'Jonson.
The Lion clenched his fists, and the veins on his forehead subtly bulged; his anger was already self-evident.
Azrael, what on earth did you do?! To make the Lion so angry, did you blow up Caliban or something?
Ezekiel was also drenched in sweat at this moment.
He wished he could use his Psyker powers to travel back three months and slap himself for making that prophecy.
At that time, Ezekiel had prophesied that the Lion would soon return to his Legion.
Azrael was very happy to hear this news. There had been rumors within the Chapter that the Lion had pardoned the Fallen Angels, preferring to associate with them rather than return to the Chapter, and that the Lion had abandoned them.
Now that the Lion was returning, it meant that the Lion had not abandoned them. Then Ezekiel ruined Azrael's good mood with one sentence.
"He knows." Ezekiel himself trembled as he spoke these words.
This concerned a secret known only to Ezekiel and Azrael, the truth about Caliban's fall.
This secret was: in some sense... well, in every sense, Azrael had blown up Caliban.
At that time, the Fallen Angels, in cooperation with Typhus and Cypher, had gathered the three divine artifacts of the old ones, forcibly tearing open a spacetime rift leading to Caliban ten thousand years in the past, attempting to change history.
To stop them, Azrael ordered the entire firepower of the Unforgiven to bombard that spacetime rift.
They succeeded. But in the last moment of the spacetime rift's collapse, Azrael and Ezekiel both clearly saw it:
The collapsing spacetime rift, carrying the firepower Azrael had ordered unleashed, slammed into Caliban, shattering it with a resounding crack.
This matter was known only to Ezekiel and Azrael; it was the secret of secrets.
But in his prophecy, Ezekiel saw it.
The Lion already knew this secret, knew that Caliban's destruction was closely related to the Dark Angels Chapter of this era.
In that prophecy, Ezekiel saw Azrael stammering out the truth to the Lion.
Then, Azrael's head flew into the sky amidst the Lion's fury.
At that time, Azrael told Ezekiel that he would figure out how to face the Primarch.
The next day, when Ezekiel went to find Azrael, he discovered Azrael was gone.
That Fallen Angel-raised bastard left a letter, telling Ezekiel that he simply couldn't forgive himself for the mistakes he had made, and had gone to serve as a Blackshield in the Deathwatch, leaving the Chapter to Ezekiel.
Ezekiel hung his head, now feeling his scalp tingly, as if it might fly off.
His face was full of bitterness. He forced himself to look up, suppressing his fear.
The Lion's bearded, aged, yet still majestic face was inches from his, those beast-like eyes gloomily staring at Ezekiel.
Unbeknownst to Ezekiel, the Lion had already come before him, lowering his head, staring at Ezekiel, observing Ezekiel.
"You know." The Lion said, his voice calm, indifferent, like the dense forests of Caliban that Ezekiel had never seen.
The Lion's eyes could see the truth.
Ezekiel had once heard such legends. He had thought it was some kind of Psyker power.
But now he understood: the Lion's eyes simply *could* see the truth. He didn't need Psyker aid; he could see through Ezekiel's mind.
Ezekiel remembered his childhood, when he was only ten years old, his Psyker powers just beginning to awaken but uncontrollable. The immense Psyker energy overwhelmed his body, making him incredibly weak.
Facing the Lion, he was as weak, as powerless as he had been back then, so powerless that he couldn't even muster the courage to open his mouth and tell the Lion the truth. His silence enraged the Lion—
Ezekiel felt the world spin, felt his power armor tear, his robes shatter. His proud Psyker powers and precognitive abilities were powerless to resist such a swift attack.
He flew backward, crashing heavily against a statue far from the Unforgiven and the Lion's Sons (Fallen Angels). Blood spilled from his mouth, his body gripped by some indescribable force, unable to move.
Then, in a breath, the Lion was before him. The Lion reached out, firmly grasping his neck, pulling him from the ground, dragging him into mid-air, and bringing his face close to Ezekiel's.
"Tell me." The Lion said.
Ezekiel could not refuse. He stammered everything out, lowering his voice to ensure no one but the Lion could hear the secret.
An angry growl erupted.
Ezekiel saw the most terrifying thing in his life: the Lion's enraged face.
The Lion's beard had originally softened the sharpness of his face, making him less terrifying than in his youth.
Ezekiel now believed that statement was pure nonsense.
When the Lion was angry, his terror was a million times greater than in his youth. Just looking at that face, Ezekiel felt his soul being torn apart.
The Lion's fist tore through the air.
Ezekiel had never been so grateful for the extraordinary gifts the Warp had bestowed upon him. His precognitive ability finally allowed him to weave a Psyker shield at the last moment.
He frantically squeezed his Psyker energy, layer upon layer of Psyker shields stacking before his head.
Then, the Psyker shields shattered with a roar, one after another.
All of Ezekiel's Psyker power only slowed the Lion's fist by an almost imperceptible instant.
Ezekiel already saw his death.
But the Lion's fist stopped just an inch from Ezekiel.
The anger on the Lion's face was like a sudden storm, erupting instantly and then returning to calm in an instant.
He put Ezekiel down.
"Assemble my Legion. Use your Psyker power to transmit my voice to every one of my sons."
The Lion thus declared:
"Let them burn the Codex Astartes, abandon their Chapters, and remember their true identity."
"They are the First Legion, the Dark Angels, the firstborn of the Legions. The Imperium and humanity need them once again."
In a Deathwatch fortress, Azrael, who had just finished a mission, was resting against a wall.
He hung his head, silently calculating the time.
By his reckoning, the Lion had already reached the Rock Fortress. He hoped Ezekiel was well.
As Azrael pondered, a Psyker force suddenly pierced his mind.
That powerful Psyker energy had crossed almost half the galaxy, directly reaching Azrael's will.
"Azrael, your mother is dead." Ezekiel's voice rang in Azrael's ears.
You survived, Ezekiel.
Azrael slightly raised his head and sighed inwardly.
Ezekiel's insult did not cause a ripple in Azrael's heart; his cave-dwelling mother had died countless years ago, and her image in Azrael's memory had long since blurred.
If she were still alive, she must have come into contact with something or some power she shouldn't have, and Azrael would personally execute her.
So when Azrael heard Ezekiel's voice, his only feeling was one of relief and joy that Ezekiel had successfully survived the Lion's wrath.
The guilt in his heart dissipated a little. Azrael had to admit that his joining the Black Shields, leaving the Chapter, and going incognito was indeed out of cowardice.
He did not fear death; death is a destined end for an Astartes.
He just didn't know how to face his genefather. As the supreme grand master, Azrael had read the most secret records about the Primarch in the Chapter countless times. He revered the Primarch, loved the Primarch, and of course, he longed to see the Primarch.
But the Primarch already knew or knew to some extent the mistakes he had made. Azrael truly had no face to stand before the Primarch, didn't know how to explain his sins to the Primarch, and even feared that he wouldn't even have the chance to atone for his sins.
As the supreme grand master, Azrael had read the internal secret records about the Primarch in the Chapter and knew that his Primarch was not always an existence where rationality outweighed emotion.
When angry to a certain extent, the Lion would often abandon all rationality and smash a fist into the head of the person who angered him.
Azrael believed that no Astartes in the world could take a Primarch's punch to the face.
To die like that, for Azrael, meant that he would die with humiliation and sin, without a chance for atonement.
And for the entire Chapter and its successor Chapters, seeing their Primarch punch off the supreme grand master's head would cause unimaginable turmoil, possibly even leading to the division and conflict of the Legion, which was not unprecedented in the Legion's history.
After a night of careful deliberation, Azrael unhesitatingly chose to return the Lion Helm, which symbolized the position of supreme grand master, left a letter for Ezekiel, and without hesitation joined the Deathwatch Black Shields, going incognito to atone for his sins for a lifetime.
However, Azrael also had to admit that his time in the Deathwatch was the happiest period of his life.
He didn't have to think about anything, didn't have to care about the Fallen Angels, didn't have to worry about the Legion going down a bad path, didn't have to deal with some crazy brothers; he just needed to clear his mind, follow orders, and slaughter xenos.
This reminded Azrael of the Eldar Harlequins not long ago. Oh no, the Psyker-specialized abhuman Astra Militarum cultural troupe.
Azrael warned himself in his heart that in the Deathwatch, where xenos were the enemy, what constituted a xenos and how to define one was a serious political issue.
Not long ago, Azrael watched the Psyker-specialized abhuman Astra Militarum cultural troupe's condolences (comfort) performance within the Deathwatch. The performance was about three Primarchs discussing what positions they should take after their return.
"I want to be a farmer!" Guilliman said.
Lion El'Jonson leaned forward: "I want to be a hunter!"
Sanguinius clapped his hands in praise: "I want to sell meat sauce!"
"Regent!" Guilliman took a step forward.
"Warmaster!" Lion El'Jonson followed closely.
"Legion Master!" Sanguinius smiled and stepped forward.
"It's all Dante's!" The three sang in unison.
At the time, this play left Azrael stunned. Now, looking back, Azrael increasingly felt that the play's underlying meaning contained some truth.
Dante was too miserable, serving as both the Shadow Regent and the Shadow Commander-in-Chief, even managing the Blood Angels Legion. How could that compare to Azrael's current comfort as a Deathwatch Black Shield?
He could continue to contribute to the Emperor, atone for his sins, and personally slay humanity's enemies. Azrael even found pure, unadulterated brotherhood here.
"Kimelia, brother, what are you thinking about?" a gentle, slightly weathered voice inquired.
Azrael slightly raised his head and saw an Astartes, similarly clad in black power armor with his shoulder pad insignia obscured, walk over and sit beside him.
"Heliel, my brother, my Morningstar, I am thinking about some... past things," Azrael said in a muffled voice.
Kimelia was the alias Azrael chose after joining the Deathwatch Black Shields. This name came from Azrael's homeland, a barren, savage planet. Azrael was a member of a primitive cave-dwelling tribe on that planet.
It was truly laughable to think that the Chapter Master of the Dark Angels, noble as the paragon of all Astartes, like the resurgence of ancient chivalry, was actually a savage who crawled out of a cave.
And Heliel, he was a brother Azrael had met in the few months since coming to the Deathwatch Black Shields.
Heliel was a veteran Black Shield. Based on what other brothers in the Deathwatch said, Azrael guessed that Heliel had been a Black Shield for longer than Azrael had been an Astartes.
Moreover, for some reason, Azrael felt an inexplicable sense of closeness to Heliel, as if they were brothers by birth.
And Heliel also took great care of Azrael, often fighting alongside Azrael in battle. Both of their martial skills were also the highest in this Black Shield squad.
Heliel had also talked about the meaning of the name he currently used. Heliel meant 'Fallen Morningstar,' so Azrael jokingly called him 'my Morningstar.'
"Joining the Black Shields means abandoning the past. Whatever mistakes you may have made, whoever may have hated you, all are gone once you join the Black Shields."
"This is the Emperor's last mercy to the guilty. Don't think too much."
Saying that, Heliel patted Azrael's shoulder:
"Get ready, we have a new mission. This is a large-scale muster, said to be a direct order from Saint Doraemon himself."
Azrael showed a hint of curiosity.
Saint Doraemon, that entity was not close to the Dark Angels Chapter. To be honest, Azrael's understanding of him came entirely from intelligence reports and Eldar Harlequin plays.
Things like "Saint Doraemon uses his round hand to blow up the sun of the Netherworld Star System," "Saint Doraemon sells a Greater Daemon in a 22nd century department store," "Saint Doraemon devours a Tyranids Titan," "Saint Doraemon teaches a Psyker Ogryn to count to ten," "Saint Doraemon never moves, the universe moves relative to Saint Doraemon," "Saint Doraemon's tears can make the Emperor rise, but Saint Doraemon never sheds tears," "Saint Doraemon's hand makes the Lord of Hunger practice abstinence."
In short, each was more miraculous than the last, even more exaggerated than the Emperor in many Adeptus Ministorum scriptures.
"What is the target, and where do we rendezvous?"
"Both are classified information. The Adeptus Mechanicus will use a Warp Gate / Any Gate (Specific Technology) to lead us to the rendezvous point."
Heliel shook his head and said:
"I only heard that the number of Astartes summoned this time is so great that it reaches Legion scale."
Legion scale.
Such a large-scale muster would undoubtedly involve a considerably large fleet assembly, perhaps even one or several Gloriana-class Battleships.
Otherwise, it would be impossible to accommodate an entire Legion-scale assembly.
But there had been no news of a large-scale fleet assembly recently. Could it be that the Phalanx was being used?
The only single vessels in the Imperium capable of accommodating a Legion-scale Astartes assembly were the Phalanx and the Rock Fortress.
Thinking of the Rock Fortress, Azrael felt a slight pang of sadness.
Perhaps he would never have the chance to return to the Rock Fortress, to his homeland, in this life.
The wind blows, black rocks wail, the scent of our hearth drifts in the cage, every Fallen Angel wails and soars, hot iron rods pierce sinful guts!
Great Rock is my homeland, whips draw out the shape of repentance, Fallen Angels always meet to repent, intoxicating Caliban warms my heart!
Azrael couldn't help but adapt a poem by an Eldar Harlequin, a lament for home, to mourn his Rock Fortress.
The vessel he was on also began to move at this moment, following the guidance of the Adeptus Mechanicus that had arrived nearby, steering towards an empty domain.
Azrael watched as a Warp Gate / Any Gate (Specific Technology) slowly unfolded in the void.
It must be said, this technology called Warp Gate / Any Gate (Specific Technology) was indeed useful.
Just seeing the Warp Gate / Any Gate (Specific Technology), Azrael couldn't help but show a wry smile, recalling a blunder from many years ago.
At that time, Primarch Roboute Guilliman's fleet suddenly appeared around the Rock Fortress, which made the Inner Circle of the Dark Angels extremely tense.
At that time, the return of Primarch Lion El'Jonson was no longer a secret, and with their own Primarch having returned, Roboute Guilliman had come to them alone, apparently with a large number of Astartes.
For a time, the Inner Circle of the Dark Angels generally suspected that some of their secrets had been discovered, and Roboute Guilliman was there to purge them.
Coupled with the idea that Lion El'Jonson had abandoned them, which was prevalent in the Inner Circle at the time, everyone's nerves were already taut. This view quickly gained the upper hand, and the Dark Angels Inner Circle made its usual decision:
He discovered our secret!
But the Dark Angels have no secrets!
Execute the Caliban Protocol!!!
Eliminate! Eliminate! Eliminate!
Eliminate Roboute Guilliman, directly use the overwhelming firepower of the Rock Fortress to destroy Roboute Guilliman's ship, then pretend nothing happened and warp away, disguising everything as an accident.
Fortunately, Azrael suppressed this idea at the time, preventing a tragedy.
The facts ultimately proved that Roboute Guilliman was merely passing by coincidentally, happened to discover the Rock Fortress, and took the opportunity to deliver a batch of Primaris, Primaris-related technology, and a batch of Warp Gate / Any Gate (Specific Technology) to the Dark Angels.
At that time, the two sides held cordial and friendly talks. Azrael praised Guilliman's return for bringing new hope to the Imperium, while Guilliman praised the selfless dedication of the Dark Angels as truly a model for the Imperium. After a friendly exchange, Guilliman left the Rock Fortress with a gentle smile.
Every time Azrael recalled that scene, he felt a cold sweat.
The other Inner Circle members thought Guilliman knew nothing, but Azrael knew that the ambitious demigod had definitely sensed the Dark Angels Chapter's intentions, yet he still smiled and conducted the handover with the Dark Angels as if he knew nothing. Truly a born political monster.
Azrael sighed, it no longer mattered.
Those things were no longer relevant to him.
He was no longer the Chapter Master of the Dark Angels.
He was just a Black Shield, a Deathwatch named Kimelia.
He could no longer return to the Rock Fortress, his homeland.
Azrael let out a mournful sigh.
Their ship began to vibrate slightly at high frequency, a common reaction when traversing a Warp Gate / Any Gate (Specific Technology).
A Warp Gate / Any Gate (Specific Technology) repeatedly performs high-frequency instantaneous jumps spanning tens of light-years, thereby traversing almost infinitely distant distances in an instant.
In rare cases, a Warp Gate / Any Gate (Specific Technology) can reach almost any location.
The stars turned into vanishing points of light. A moment later, the slight tremor disappeared. Azrael looked through the observation window and saw the Warp Gate / Any Gate (Specific Technology) vanish beside his ship. Clearly, they had been delivered to their destination.
Azrael stood up, wanting to go to the observation window directly ahead to see what kind of place they had arrived at.
"Come look, everyone!!"
A relatively young Black Shield rushed ahead and occupied the main observation window, shouting loudly:
"It's so magnificent, so vast! Can this really be a ship built by humans!?"
Could it really be the Phalanx?
Azrael felt a surge of curiosity.
Actually, in Azrael's heart, he felt that the Phalanx was not as great as the Rock Fortress.
But the Phalanx was famous, and Azrael had only seen it a few times. Now, he couldn't help but want to gaze upon the Phalanx's majesty.
Azrael stood up, and coincidentally, Heliel beside him also stood up.
The two exchanged a smile, clearly having thought the same thing.
"Let's go, brother," Heliel said.
"Actually, I don't think the Phalanx is the greatest ship in the Imperium, but it's certainly worth seeing," Azrael said to Heliel as they walked towards the observation window.
"Oh, then which do you think is the greatest fortress?"
Heliel, leaning closer to the observation window, smiled and said to Azrael.
"That would naturally be..."
"The Rock Fortress?!" Before Azrael could speak, Heliel suddenly exclaimed.
His voice was tinged with surprise, fear, and disbelief.
"..Yes, the greatest ship is the Rock," Azrael said, momentarily stunned.
But Heliel reached out and gestured for Azrael to come closer and look.
Azrael's heart skipped a beat, and he stiffly moved to the observation window, his head looking out into the void.
He saw.
In the void, a massive ship, like a black obsidian honed by ages, was parked. The Rock Fortress, was right before them, and their ship was sailing towards the Rock Fortress.
"Huh?"
It wasn't just the Rock; Azrael, standing at the entrance of the hangar bay, also saw the Gloriana-class Battleship Red Tears in the distant void, as well as the emperor-class battleship Light Lord, which was Saint Doraemon's flagship during the Macarius era, and the Abyss-class Battleship doraemon Cabinet, which he had reclaimed from the arch-traitor Erebus.
Such immense Warp power, with a large number of Astartes, what kind of enemy were they going to confront?
Azrael shook his head slightly; this was not a question he should be concerned with now.
He was merely a Black Shield Astartes; obeying orders was the only thing he needed to do.
Yes, obey orders and step onto the Rock.
Azrael stepped onto the gangway made of steel, looking at the rough stone ground just a step away, and felt a dizzy spell.
He felt his throat tighten, his head light, as if his head was floating, about to become a firefly and fly into the sky, detached from his body.
How could it be such a coincidence? Or was this really a coincidence?
He had fled the Rock, abandoned the position of Chapter Master, but now... now fate had sent him back to the Rock.
Azrael even wondered if there was some blue Tzeentchian conspiracy behind this.
Just as Azrael hesitated, a hand gently patted his back, making a crisp metallic sound.
"No need to fear, calm down. This large-scale gathering cannot be aimed at you," Halael said, standing beside Azrael, his voice low but reassuring.
"..You?" Azrael was slightly startled, for a moment even thinking his identity had been exposed.
"Don't worry, I don't know who you are. I just sensed that you are afraid of the Rock," Halael shook his head, signaling Azrael to relax.
Azrael took a deep breath, suppressing the unease in his heart.
Halael was right; such a large-scale mobilization, tens of thousands of Astartes, millions of mortal Astra Militarum; Azrael would be inconspicuous among them. If it were targeting Azrael, it would be too much of a fanfare.
Just a coincidence, just a coincidence.
Azrael stepped onto the rough ground of the Rock. He had walked on this ground countless times in his life, but this time the feeling was the strangest.
He was like a wanderer returning to a homeland he thought he could never return to, yet also like a Fallen Angel about to be thrown into a cage.
He walked a few steps, then felt dizzy and a wave of nausea rose from his chest.
Fallen Angels... the ruined Caliban.
It was Caliban's destruction that led to the birth of the Fallen Angels. So, should he, who caused Caliban's destruction, bear responsibility for the existence of the Fallen Angels? Should he also be judged and repent in the dungeons of the Rock?
Suddenly, Azrael noticed a sharp, deadly gaze fixed on him, not far away.
Azrael raised his head, meeting that gaze.
It was a Dark Angel, cloaked in bone-colored robes and a deep green hood, wearing a skull helmet, holding a crozius arcanum, adorned with a rosary, and surrounded by wisps of pale grey incense smoke.
The Dark Angel was scrutinizing Azrael, as if Azrael's reaction had just aroused his suspicion.
Asmodai?!
Azrael's heart tightened.
The Dark Angels' Interrogator-Chaplain, the fear in the hearts of all Fallen Angels. Even within the Dark Angels Chapter, full of extremists, Asmodai was the most extreme, the most insane, the most brutal. He could make a Fallen Angel endure weeks of torture while remaining conscious and still alive. Many Fallen Angels would commit suicide on the spot just hearing Asmodai's name. Yet, even so, Asmodai's duty as Interrogator-Chaplain was still not well fulfilled.
The Interrogator-Chaplain's duty was to make the Fallen Angels repent, but despite so many horrifying torture methods, Asmodai's only achievement was making two Fallen Angels repent. This further stimulated Asmodai's nerves, and his behavior became increasingly uncontrolled.
In the past, Azrael had often cleaned up after his insane actions.
But now, facing Asmodai's interrogative gaze, Azrael involuntarily averted his eyes. Damn it!
Azrael cursed inwardly, "Damn it!"
The months of mindlessly slaughtering xenos had relaxed his nerves, and facing Asmodai's gaze, he had exposed hesitation, fear, and evasion.
This would certainly not escape Asmodai. This damned bastard was standing here, probably trying to catch some Fallen Angels from among the Black Shields.
Now he clearly suspected Azrael was a Fallen Angel. By the Lion, for Asmodai, suspicion itself was evidence.
Asmodai strode forward, heading straight for Azrael.
Azrael groaned inwardly, his fingers gently reaching for the sword at his waist.
And Asmodai reached out to Azrael—
A hand covered in black armor firmly gripped Asmodai's wrist.
"Tormentor, what do you want with my brother?" Halael stood beside Azrael, one hand extended, gripping Asmodai's wrist, staring coldly at Asmodai.
"Let go!" Asmodai roared, "This individual is suspected of apostasy! You and your squad immediately surrender your weapons—"
"Whose command? Whose decree? Whose judgment?" Halael's grip tightened, "We are Black Shields, forsaking everything, serving only the Emperor. The Emperor has already judged us, commanding us to fight the enemies of humanity to the death."
"Tormentor, do you think you have more authority than the Emperor?"
Asmodai let out a wild growl, his crozius arcanum cutting through the air, smashing directly towards Halael's head.
Azrael gripped his sword, intending to strike, but...
Halael's sword was unsheathed even faster than his, lightly deflecting Asmodai's crozius arcanum, the blade resting directly against Asmodai's throat.
What a fast blade... even faster than usual.
Azrael was slightly surprised. Although he was not a Chapter Master famous for his martial prowess, unlike those three impossibly strong individuals, Logan, Calgar, and Diago, nor like Dante of the Blood Angels,
Azrael was, after all, a Chapter Master of a founding Chapter; his martial skill was among the foremost in the entire Imperium. And Halael's swordsmanship... was actually faster than his.
What was the true identity of this brother of his?
But the situation now was a bit dangerous.
Halael and Asmodai confronted each other, the atmosphere in the air chilling significantly.
The surrounding Black Shields, Deathwatch, Dark Angels, and a small number of Blood Angels all turned their gaze.
A Dark Angels squad was marching towards this direction.
But strangely, Azrael for a moment didn't recognize the markings on those Astartes.
Then, after a brief few seconds, Azrael realized that those markings and emblems were the insignia of the Dark Angels Legion from the Great Crusade era.
Dreadwing, Master of the Knights of the Sacred Trine, Knight of the Second Destroyer Squad, Third Company, Fifteenth Chapter... But Azrael could not distinguish any more information.
However, Asmodai uttered the name of the leading Dark Angel.
"Zabriel!" he roared, his voice even tinged with some anger.
Fallen Angel. This was the first thought that popped into Azrael's mind as he looked at Zabriel.
The Astartes named Zabriel did not speak, but merely gestured to Halael, expressing his apology.
Then he looked at Asmodai, signaling him to retreat.
Asmodai shot him a look mixed with disgust.
But Zabriel was unmoved, merely saying coldly, "Are you going to defy the Lion's will?"
Asmodai let out a low growl, seemingly helpless, and turned to leave.
Zabriel slightly turned his head, looking at Azrael, and also at the other Black Shields:
"The Lion has pardoned our sins. If there are truly any of my brothers among you, you may once again bear the insignia of the First Legion and return among your brothers."
"You need not fear persecution; the Lion protects you."
No one among the Black Shields reacted.
Zabriel shook his head slightly; he understood that the mental barrier could not be eliminated in a short time.
He merely extended his hand, making a ready-for-battle command gesture:
"Your mission will be delivered soon. Get ready."
"This battle is entirely different from previous ones; both we and the enemy are racing against time."
With that, Zabriel left the port.
"Thank you," Azrael nodded in gratitude.
"We are all brothers; no need for many words," Halael said calmly, "Brother, adjust your state. It seems this battle will be even more intense than we imagined."
"Whether we can atone for our sins depends on this time."
"Who are our enemies?" Azrael asked. It was clear that Halael, as the squad leader, had already received the mission objective.
"Tiamat System, Tyranids."
Azrael sheathed his adjusted power sword. He could feel the Rock itself shaking slightly.
The largest Warp Gate he had ever seen in his life stood in the void, and the Rock was passing through it.
Their enemies were the Tyranids, and the target location was the Tiamat System.
According to mission intelligence, this system was expected to contain a number of hive Fleets far exceeding previous records.
And that wasn't all; a large number of hive Fleets were gathering from the void towards the Tiamat System.
The Rock was to directly penetrate deep into the Tiamat System, attacking the enemy from the center, so the operation had to be fast.
A portion of the Deathwatch was ordered to remain on the Rock, to stabilize its defenses.
And more of the Deathwatch, including Azrael's Black Shield squad, were ordered to proceed to Chiafria, the largest planet in this system.
Their target was the transcontinental flesh spires on the planet.
"We're almost there," Halael whispered.
The tremor stopped; the front half of the Rock had already crossed the Warp Gate and entered the Tiamat System.
The environment in the void hadn't changed much, but Azrael's body shuddered, and he suddenly felt the surrounding space darken, as if covered by some kind of shadow.
A roar, filled with hunger and greed, echoed in his ears, making Azrael's flesh tingle.
Bio-ships, massive bio-ships like giant armored worms, appeared in the void. They detected the Rock invading the Tiamat System and surged towards the Rock from all directions like an ant colony. Roaring bio-plasma streaked through the void like a sudden downpour.
The Rock's Void Shield flickered and roared; the ancient construct of the Dark Angels was doing its job.
But... but Azrael detected that the Rock was trembling, seemingly fearing something.
A sharp, high-pitched Tyranids shriek suddenly erupted, its tone so high it seemed to tear reality apart.
This sound did not come from the material dimension, not from the vacuum, but from the Warp, from those deep shadows.
Reality rippled; Azrael felt his soul being torn by this shriek, his nerves uncontrollably trembling.
And the Rock's Void Shield directly collided with this shriek, a violent tremor, almost collapsing.
Just then, light and joyful singing voices echoed in Azrael's ears, and the terrifying Tyranids shriek was immediately suppressed.
Countless Mini-Doraemon surged from beneath reality, forming twenty-two rings around the Rock, instantly stabilizing the Rock's Void Shield. At the same time... Azrael saw with his own eyes that the boundless void was torn open, and the light of the stars in the Tiamat System dimmed.
A grander light poured down from the Empyrean, piercing into the Tiamat System.
A round hand, coiling light as hot as a furnace fire, smashed into the Tiamat System.
The shadows enveloping the Tiamat System were instantly illuminated, revealing their specific forms.
Those hideous, twisted claws, spikes, tentacles, and maw parts thrust out from the shadows, blocking the round hand.
And the rift that tore the boundless void widened further, reflecting the scene from the Empyrean into reality.
Azrael's pupils uncontrollably constricted.
A face, a round face with a red nose, larger than the entire star system, emerged from the rift, waving its round hand and fighting with that mass of shadow.
A portion of Saint Doraemon's power had descended into the Tiamat System, currently battling the hive mind.
This scene was a bit too exaggerated, wasn't it?
"Get ready, the Tyranids are coming!" Halael roared, interrupting Azrael.
A large number of Tyranids bio-ships abandoned long-range bio-plasma attacks, choosing instead to directly hurl their bodies towards the Rock.
The function of the Void Shield was to distort and transfer the energy and kinetic force impacting it through Warp manipulation, but this defense was more effective against high-energy, high-speed attacks; relatively slow-moving objects could pass through the Void Shield.
The Void Shield was a weapon that defended against fast attacks but not slow ones, and the biological characteristics of the hive Fleet allowed them to pass through the Void Shield.
Many hive Fleets fell under the firepower of the Rock and the surrounding ships, falling before the myriad strange devices pulled out by Mini-Doraemon, but still, some hive Fleets managed to force their way through the Void Shield, dropping drop pods onto the Rock.
The Rock trembled, and Azrael saw massive shadows rising from the Rock. Those were Tyranids Tau.