The twisted psychic energy stabbed outward from Magnus, radiating in all directions. The ships struck by the psychic energy were not immediately destroyed; instead, they transformed into flickering, overlapping shadows.
It was as if ships from other parallel worlds had been dragged to this location, overlapping and colliding with one another, flickering constantly and emitting a dizzying light.
The crew and Astartes aboard the ships simultaneously wailed as duplicated organs began appearing on their bodies, multiple heads sprouted, extra arms extended, and they possessed several completely distinct wills.
Even parallel versions of themselves retained minor differences, and these differences, when superimposed, were fatal.
Finally, the ships and their parallel counterparts squeezed and collided, instantly exploding into a molten furnace, spewing massive amounts of debris that shattered several more warships.
Guilliman quickly re-established command of the fleet. He ordered ship after ship to intercept Magnus, essentially sacrificing these vessels as shields to protect Macragge's Honour and Guilliman himself.
This action naturally conflicted with Guilliman's personal morality, but out of rationality and realistic consideration, Guilliman had no choice but to proceed.
Alexander had warned him that if he were corrupted by Chaos, the threat he posed would be even greater than that of Horus in the past.
The fleet obeyed Guilliman's orders without hesitation, turning themselves into shields to intercept Magnus.
However, these forces consisted almost entirely of Imperial fleets; the Death Guard fleet brought by Mortarion did not comply with Guilliman's orders.
Instead, they formed a strange, twisted formation around Magnus, the Imperial fleet, and Macragge's Honour.
They grouped seven ships into a small team, seven small teams into a battle group, seven battle groups into a fleet, and seven fleets formed a circling, distorted seven-pointed star, seemingly following a fixed ritual.
The Death Guard themselves did not join the fleet; they also formed specific queues in groups of seven, chanting softly within the fleet, accompanied by massive numbers of Nurgling swaying around them as if performing an ancient prayer dance.
But Guilliman did not condemn Mortarion's actions, because the effect of this bizarre ritual was immediate.
Mortarion stepped out of a damaged breach in Macragge's Honour and into the void. His body instantly swelled, transforming from over three meters tall to over seven meters tall in the blink of an eye.
Guilliman guessed that Mortarion's current height was precisely seven meters, seventy-seven centimeters, and seven millimeters.
His body curled slightly, and the pale armor covering his back peeled open inch by inch. A pair of moth wings dusted with fine scales organically grew from his back.
"...Didn't he say those were jump packs? Were they detachable? How did they just grow out of him?" Guilliman couldn't help but mutter.
He figured Mortarion couldn't hear him anyway, as sound cannot travel in a vacuum.
To his surprise, Mortarion actually turned his head and stared at Guilliman with gloomy eyes.
"Normally they are jump packs, and they are detachable, but isn't it faster if they just grow out when it matters?"
You were the one who said that growing wings blessed by a god was feudal superstition, Guilliman thought internally, but ultimately did not speak it aloud.
Because he knew Mortarion would certainly argue that this wasn't a divine blessing, but the great power of Numerology.
Mortarion's moth wings trembled slightly, and his speed instantly surpassed that of a void ship, transforming him into a pale bolt of lightning that shot straight toward Magnus, who was surrounded by the fleet.
Does flying with wings in a vacuum really conform to aerodynamics?
Guilliman felt somewhat choked up.
The vacuum was cold and lacked the necessities for sustaining life; any mortal who entered it would surely die.
But Mortarion was no mortal; he was a Primarch.
In just a few breaths, Mortarion had burst through the ship formation and saw Magnus up close.
Thousands of Magnus were fused together, forming this twisted, grotesque creature.
The power of the Well of Eternity had been forcibly injected into his body, and the possibilities that had failed to materialize were constantly accumulating and proliferating upon him.
But after observing him at close range, Mortarion confirmed one thing.
Not only did Magnus possess bodies and power from parallel worlds, but he also possessed wills from parallel worlds.
All the Crimson Kings were attempting to control this vessel, fighting among themselves and unable to reach consensus, making him behave almost like a raving lunatic.
Only the underlying directive injected by Tzeentch—to corrupt Guilliman—was effective, allowing them to take unified action.
In other words, the current Magnus was a beast that could only act on instinct, aside from the command to corrupt Guilliman, and a beast suffering from severe multiple personality disorder.
But even if he was just a beast.
Magnus sensed Mortarion's presence, and the thousands of Magnus heads simultaneously looked toward Mortarion.
Intense psychic energy flooded toward Mortarion like a deluge.
Mortarion's moth wings curled up behind him, enveloping him like two withered leaves.
Behind him, one could vaguely see a towering structure of rotten flesh piled up by Great Unclean Ones.
Eight hundred twenty-three thousand five hundred forty-three Great Unclean Ones sat amidst hazy yellow clouds, where flies roared, cysts hung low, precious trees rotted, and dark clouds shed rain.
All of these more than eight hundred thousand Greater Daemons had picked up Mortarion's blood money at the crossroads of Nurgle's Garden.
Relying on the great power of Numerology, Mortarion had bound his life to theirs.
The very instant Magnus's flood-like psychic energy rushed over, one-seventh—one hundred seventeen thousand six hundred forty-nine Greater Daemons—turned to dust amid wails.
What terrifying psychic energy!
Mortarion's gloomy face suddenly twisted, and thick, putrid smoke formed out of thin air, rolling forward to press upon Magnus.
But Magnus merely shuddered slightly, and his searing psychic energy instantly burned away the poisonous smoke released by Mortarion.
The psychic energy transformed into thousands of blinding, flickering light spears that shot directly toward Mortarion. Mortarion attempted to evade by flapping his wings.
But the light spears, seemingly controlled by Magnus's immense psychic power, directly twisted causality; the moment the spears were launched, they had already pierced Mortarion's body.
Over three hundred thousand Greater Daemons instantly turned to ash and returned to Nurgle's Garden to resurrect.
How could this damned feudal superstition be so powerful? This witch-playing red-skin.
Before Mortarion could finish cursing internally,
even more psychic light spears encircled him, making evasion nearly impossible, and instantly riddled Mortarion's body like a sieve.
The Great Unclean Ones behind Mortarion were almost completely annihilated, with only a few barely surviving.
Just then, dense streams of light spears simultaneously rained down upon Magnus's massive body.
Guilliman seized the momentary pause after Magnus released his psychic energy, concentrating the fleet's firepower and striking Magnus's fleshy body directly.
Intense flames burned on Magnus's body, and the thousands of Magnus heads simultaneously let out sharp wails. A powerful psychic pulse spread outward, blurring the surrounding spacetime, causing thousands of warships to collide with their counterparts from different possibilities in this single impact, shattering themselves.
But Mortarion seized this opportunity. He rushed forward, his moth wings trembling, and his sharp scythe, wreathed in thick dark clouds, slashed down toward one of Magnus's heads.
However, layer upon layer of psychic shields blocked Mortarion's scythe.
The head targeted by Mortarion let out a sharp shriek, and a psychic spike shot out, instantly piercing Mortarion's body.
The few remaining Greater Daemons behind Mortarion vanished into thin air. Heart-wrenching pain surged out from within Mortarion's body.
A powerful tearing sensation erupted within him; memories, souls, and bodies from other possibilities surged inside his form.
"You actually betrayed the Emperor!" A roar sounded in his mind, and a head sprouted from Mortarion's side, tearing at his body.
Another head tore its way out of Mortarion's neck, muttering incomprehensible things like "Hades."
And more, many more parallel versions of Mortarion slammed into him, tearing at Mortarion's body.
Seven of him, including Mortarion himself, were mashed together, indistinguishable and tearing at one another.
If Mortarion were not a Daemon Primarch, whose body defied normal description, he would have already been torn to shreds.
"Eh? Eh? Eh!"
Just then, a Mortarion from a parallel universe let out three consecutive cries of surprise. Mortarion could feel that version of himself peering into his memories.
"Doraemon? What is Doraemon? Huh?"
"Stop! Stop arguing! Look at this!"
That Mortarion called out to the others, looking through Mortarion's memories.
"I have nothing good to say about you Traitors—Huh? Huh?? Huh!!! What???"
"Why are you all making such a fuss? Where is your composure? Where is your resilience? Hey? What is this? What does '22nd century' mean?"
"Hmm?" "Hmm?" "Hmm?"
"...You all..." The original Mortarion slowly spoke, asking in a low voice.
He did not need to say much. The six other Mortarions were still Mortarion; although there were differences, they were ultimately the result of the same person making different choices.
They naturally understood what Mortarion wanted to express.
Inside Mortarion's body, the seven Mortarions exchanged glances.
"This can save our descendants."
"It can eliminate all tyrants in the galaxy."
"There will be no more superstition and sorcery in the universe."
"This proves our resilience."
"The Emperor would also choose this path."
"And there will be no more Warp."
Mortarion's form stabilized. Seven arms extended from his torso, each wielding a scythe. The moth wings on his back layered over one another, resembling a withered flower.
The scythes slashed down again, this time piercing the psychic barrier woven by Magnus.
The scythes cut into Magnus's crimson flesh. The deranged Magnus was incapable of mounting an effective defense, and Mortarion instantly severed that head.
The surrounding Magnus heads screamed and poured psychic energy onto Mortarion. Sharp light spears once again pierced Mortarion's body, and a similar fragmentation occurred, but...
"Huh? It can save my descendants?"
"It can create a world without feudal superstition?"
"What more is there to say!"
Feeling the increasing power within his body, Mortarion gave a cold laugh.
This raving beast, which could only rely on instinct, could not even comprehend that its attack was now useless against Mortarion.
But what Mortarion did not know was that deep within Magnus's layered body, cradled by the original Magnus who was wrapped inside,
a credit card swirling with hypnotic circles was faintly flickering.
Sharp thorns pierced one of Sanguinius's wings. Dense shadows wrapped around his body like thorns, leaving terrifying streaks of blood and forcibly halting Sanguinius's spear of accomplishment mid-air.
The Dragon of Mars flashed. He conjured energy out of the void, transforming it into dozens of entropy arrows that stabbed toward the Four-Armed Emperor, followed by streaks of emerald lightning.
Twisted psychic energy erupted from the Four-Armed Emperor's body, forming a solid shield to block the entropy arrows, while the emerald lightning vanished into thin air, seemingly devoured by something invisible to the naked eye.
But at this moment, the Mini-Dora circling in the air somehow helped Sanguinius strip away the shadows wrapped around him.
Sanguinius moved his wings, his form flashing. A golden and a dark angel appeared beside him, circling and wielding spears alongside Sanguinius, stabbing toward the face of the Four-Armed Emperor.
The Four-Armed Emperor raised a hand, intending to release psychic energy to defend, but his expression subtly shifted toward Alexander.
In the Warp, Saint Doraemon's rounded hand smashed heavily into the hive mind. A massive influx of complex and chaotic inspiration instantly surged into the hive mind's consciousness.
This overwhelmed its thoughts, causing a delay in its control over the Four-Armed Emperor's body.
At the same moment, Lion El'Jonson stepped out from the woods, plunging the sword of loyalty into the Four-Armed Emperor's back.
The sword of loyalty and the spear of accomplishment struck the Four-Armed Emperor simultaneously, yet they only caused a small amount of blood to flow from his body.
"My vessel originates from twenty-one of your gene-sequences, from the Eldar, and from the Emperor,"
the Four-Armed Emperor said with a smile.
"I don't even understand the meaning of your actions."
"Even if you kill me, I will quickly resurrect. The gene-sequences of the perpetuals are truly extraordinary."
"There is nothing in the material universe I cannot kill," the Dragon of Mars's low growl sounded, as searing lightning condensed into a blade and slashed toward the Four-Armed Emperor.
The power of a material universe god was indeed enough to burn through the Four-Armed Emperor's current vessel.
"Then you must have willingly allowed yourself to be locked inside the Mars prison, correct?"
The Four-Armed Emperor let out a couple of mocking laughs, and the shadow in his hand condensed into a spear, thrusting toward the Dragon of Mars beneath his left wing.
****************
Powerless,
A profound sense of powerlessness swept over Fulgrim.
His memories were hazy, his perceptions chaotic. He only remembered rushing toward Fulgrim, and Fulgrim rushing toward him.
Like a boulder rolling down a high mountain once more, and the man pushing the stone at the base rushing toward it again.
Then, everything around them seemed to blur, and the entire world vanished.
He and Fulgrim both melted and reformed, converged and separated, becoming indistinguishable from one another.
They seemed to have been disassembled, the molecular bonds in their bodies dissolving, the barrier between matter and matter ceasing to exist. The entire body formed a larger whole, and at the same time, Fulgrim and Fulgrim merged into a similar whole.
He bathed in a sea of interwoven purple and gold. The seawater flowed down his handsome body, which was not clad in armor, merging into his skin—or rather, he was merging into the seawater.
It was as if he had been born in this sea, that this sea was the amniotic fluid that exclusively nurtured him, the Original Fetal Sea of his individual birth.
In a daze, Fulgrim realized that this sea was the infinite craving for perfection held by all beings—past, present, and future.
He also understood why a Primarch must have a mother: the key lay in the inclination toward birth, granting the desire for birth to those Warp entities not yet born into the world. What Eldar truly contributed was not her transcendent genes, but the faith that gathered upon her when she was worshipped as the human Goddess of Fertility, Reproduction, and Abundance—the countless humans' desire for birth.
It was Eldar who granted them the desire for birth, allowing them to be born into the world.
Normally, Fulgrim might have been interested in this secret, but at this moment, he had lost almost all impulse, retaining only an intense craving and urge.
He wanted to kill Fulgrim; he wanted to devour Fulgrim.
Fulgrim was submerged in the sea, not wearing Power Armor, yet still in his twisted, ugly form. He was submerged in the sea, lazy, powerless, and decadent.
Extremely similar to the emotions arising after realizing the fate that perfection is eternally unattainable.
Fulgrim rushed toward him, like a traveler who had just begun the pursuit of perfection. He stepped into the sea, filled with hope and vigor.
He swung the forgebreaker warhammer toward Fulgrim. The heavy hammer was like a massive rolling stone, sliding down from the mountain peak, smashing toward Fulgrim.
Fulgrim merely defended himself lazily with a Flaming Sword. Fulgrim's hammerhead easily pushed aside the Flaming Sword and smashed into Fulgrim's head.
Fulgrim shattered like a lazy wisp of cloud. Pink and purple mist dispersed from beneath the hammerhead.
After Fulgrim lifted the hammerhead, Fulgrim's form condensed once more.
But Fulgrim also noticed that the aura around Fulgrim had visibly weakened—weakening attacks were still effective against him.
Realizing this, Fulgrim began swinging the War Hammer in his hand extremely quickly, smashing it onto Fulgrim's body again and again.
And Fulgrim merely resisted Fulgrim's attacks symbolically and lazily.
Fulgrim's body continuously broke apart and reformed, becoming weaker each time. Many times, Fulgrim felt he was about to dissipate, but he never completely vanished.
Fulgrim continued to swing the War Hammer in his hand, again and again, so many times that he himself seemed to forget the count.
He felt as if he were pushing a heavy rolling stone. Every time he thought he was about to push it to the mountaintop, the stone would fall back down, and Fulgrim had to repeat the process again and again.
He swung until his arms were stiff, until his forearms ached, until the swinging became an instinctive movement, until time slowly slipped away.
Fulgrim raised the Flaming Sword, lightly deflected the strike, and slowly climbed out of the interwoven purple and gold liquid.
He looked at Fulgrim with a gaze that mixed pity and self-mockery.
"You said we were two different choices regarding perfection, rather than the beginning and end of the path to perfection?"
"No, you are wrong. We are both two different choices regarding perfection, and the beginning and end of perfection."
A mocking smile hung on Fulgrim's lips:
"Whenever a person wants to do something, they always fantasize that they will do it perfectly. After all, who hasn't harbored false confidence? Like the dreams of a child in their youthful ignorance—illusory and fragile. You, or rather, the former me, are the reflection of that fantasy."
"The vast majority of mediocre people quickly realize that, let alone achieving perfection, even reaching an acceptable standard requires all their strength."
"A portion of talented individuals can go further; they can reach a level where they look down upon the masses. But the farther they go, the more they feel how distant they are from perfection, and how difficult every single step is."
"Repeating again and again, honing again and again, walking step by step—yet the progress in skill is negligible, the improvement in achievement imperceptible, or even regressing as age and talent fade. How despairing."
"But this is not the most despairing part. The most despairing part is when you seem to have attained perfection, seemingly reaching a state where no further progress is possible—when you have forged a flawless, Monolithic Wooden Vase, when you have learned the Art of Dragon-Slaying through countless hardships, when you have become an excellent knight through long training."
"...you discover that the work you were so proud of is easily obtainable by anyone, you discover that there have never been any dragons in this world, and on the horizon, there are only rolling windmills, not knights."
"Everything in life is like this, like being punished by the gods and by fate to push a massive stone. No matter how hard you push, you can never get it to the mountaintop. It rolls down again and again, repeating again and again, utterly meaningless."
"Then you are left with only two choices."
"One is like me: realizing the meaninglessness of it all, realizing that the feelings experienced during the process are everything—embracing pleasure, embracing joy, embracing more extreme sensations."
"The other is you: knowing everything is meaningless, yet still pushing that stone cyclically, deceiving yourself, assuming you are happy, telling yourself you must imagine yourself to be happy, and then continuing the meaningless repetition."
"But your kind of repetition will eventually come to an end. Either you die, or you realize the meaninglessness of it all and make the same choice as me."
Fulgrim leaned closer to Fulgrim, chuckling:
"Do you understand? That's why you can never kill me. You can only die like this, or become me."
"The Lord of Malicious Art also knows this. He understands that you, or rather, I, never had a chance to be reborn from the ashes."
"Now, death or pleasure, which do you choose?"
Fulgrim gripped the hammerhead tightly.
"Pleasure? In my view, it's just cowardice," he whispered.
"The second choice is merely recklessness and self-deception," Fulgrim slightly distanced himself from Fulgrim.
"Recklessness is closer to courage than cowardice, and death is closer to perfection than depravity."
Fulgrim's violet eyes were steady:
"And you are wrong. Perhaps when I repeat my actions fruitlessly again and again, I need to assume that I am happy."
"But when I lift the great stone and smash it toward the gods and fate who punish me, smash it toward the perfection that can never be reached, I don't need to assume; I am happy."
"And then, you will die," Fulgrim said, staring at Fulgrim.
"Yes," Fulgrim nodded in agreement. "How happy."
Tears streamed down Saul's eyes.
He could not believe what he was seeing.
Fulgrim fell. Fulgrim pierced his body with the Flaming Sword. His body, like a husk whose contents had been sucked dry, collapsed limply.
Fulgrim gently extended his arm, supporting Fulgrim's falling body. Fulgrim seemed to melt, merging into Fulgrim's physique.
"..." Fulgrim turned his head, staring at Saul.
Although only for an instant, Saul seemed to see a figure, a purple and gold figure.
It was not Fulgrim, but Fulgrim—the Fulgrim of the past. But it was only for an instant; Fulgrim returned to his ugly, twisted, and corrupted form.
But his face lacked the previous madness. The pastel makeup flaked off his face due to the fight, exposing his pale complexion, which was etched with complexity and contradiction.
He had killed Fulgrim, but he had not made Fulgrim become him.
Fulgrim was undoubtedly completely dead, but what he symbolized still existed within Fulgrim, causing Fulgrim a strong sense of internal conflict.
"My son." Fulgrim looked at Saul and slowly approached him.
He waved his hand, signaling Marius to step aside.
"Saul Tarvitz, it seems you have once again made the wrong choice, standing on the side of the loser."
"But I am always tolerant. I give you a choice: you can serve me, be my Personal Chosen, and return to my embrace."
"Saul, I hope you are not as boring as Tarvitz."
Fulgrim spoke softly, slowly bringing his face closer to Saul.
"Did he hurt you? Did he make you suffer?" Saul raised his head, staring at Fulgrim and asking, "Did he give you an unforgettable lesson?"
Fulgrim's expression twitched slightly.
"Yes," he admitted nonetheless. "The other me made me suffer quite a bit."
"Good then." Saul let out a slight breath. "Kill me, traitor."
"But I regard you as a son." Fulgrim slightly raised the Flaming Sword, sighing softly as he looked at the sword in his hand. "I am your only father now. Why be inflexible like Tarvitz?"
"My only father is the Purple Phoenix. Now the Purple Phoenix is dead—"
"...then I am the son of Rogal Dorn."
Saul made his response. He raised the Phase Court Blade in his hand.
It was meaningless. In front of Fulgrim, Saul didn't even have a chance to swing the sword.
The Flaming Sword flung him away. The scorching blade sliced his body from his forehead to his abdomen. Organs spilled out from the burnt sword wound, and his body landed after tracing an arc through the air.
"My Lord," Marius, the Former Third Company Captain of the Emperor's Children standing nearby, said softly, "He seems to still be alive."
"I know!" Fulgrim's face was twisted as he roared, "Go and kill him."
Marius quickly shut his mouth, bowed his head to show respect for the Primarch, and then walked toward Saul.
And Fulgrim looked toward Alkenes.
"Step aside, Eidolon." Fulgrim signaled Eidolon, who was suppressing Alkenes, to move away.
Eidolon's expression twisted. He was reluctant to give up his prey, but he also dared not disobey the Primarch.
"Alkenes, my son, my Phoenix Guard Commander."
Fulgrim pursed his lips and revealed a smile:
"You trained a new Phoenix Guard for me. How thoughtful."
"They are not 'your' Phoenix Guard." Alkenes slightly lowered the blade in his hand, showing respect to the Primarch, but his words did not yield. "My Lord, they are the Phoenix Guard, the Guard of the Phoenix."
"...What are you being so stubborn about?" Fulgrim raised his voice. "My Alkenes who drifted with the current, my Alkenes without a mind of his own, my blind Alkenes, how dare you defy me?"
"Who do you think you are? Do you think you are Saul Tarvitz? Are you Rylanor? You were a traitor back then too! You played a part in their massacre!"
"I chose you to be my Phoenix Guard Commander simply because you were so cowardly and easy to manipulate. Yet now you dare to contradict me."
"Haven't you always been unable to find your place? I am giving you a place now, so why are you refusing me?"
"My Lord," Alkenes said in his notably humble voice, "You are right. I am indecisive, incompetent, and hesitant."
"I am neither loyal enough to uphold my oath to the Emperor, nor depraved enough to follow your grotesque absurdity."
"I am also not brave enough to die alongside the Phoenix Guard, yet I am not indulgent enough to immerse myself in pleasure like others in the Legion."
"But I have found it now, my Primarch, my place, my Phoenix."
"He is dead," Fulgrim's voice turned cold.
"Did he die nobly?" Alkenes asked.
Fulgrim could not lie; he merely nodded.
"Then as his son and his guard, I am not noble enough, but thankfully, I am not shameless enough either."
The Court Blade stabbed straight toward Fulgrim's throat, moving so fast it nearly exceeded the limits of an Astartes.
Alkenes was not a particularly excellent warrior. His sword skill talent was far inferior to Saul's, Tarvitz's, or Lucius's, let alone Akul-duna's.
Not long ago, the Cursed Company walked among men. Akul-duna, whose soul had returned to the Golden Throne, taught the Sons of the Phoenix. Saul barely managed to learn some of Akul-duna's sword techniques, but Alkenes did not learn them at the time. Akul-duna said he thought too much and his mind was too cluttered.
But now, somehow, Alkenes' mind was incomparably clear, and the blade in his hand struck out with a speed he had never achieved before.
"Meaningless." Alkenes was slapped away by Fulgrim and crashed heavily onto the ground.
"You??" Just then, a startled shout rang out from the side.
Marius retreated in terror. A Piercing Sword stabbed straight into his throat. Saul, who had been sliced by Fulgrim's sword and whose organs were spilling out, actually struggled to his feet.
The burns left by the Flaming Sword on him were so distinct and dazzling that they looked as if they were about to reignite. No, they were reigniting.
Flames enveloped Saul completely, hot and scorching, forming a ring of fire that circled the back of his skull. At this moment, Saul seemed to have died and descended here in the form of a curse.
"Tarvitz." Fulgrim quickly realized whose Heroic Spirit had descended upon Saul.
Saul walked step by step toward the spot where Fulgrim had just fallen.
There, the forgebreaker warhammer stood upright like a metal monument, reflecting a furnace-like radiance.
"No." Fulgrim let out a shriek, brandishing the Flaming Sword, ready to kill Saul.
But the instant his attention was drawn by Saul, Alkenes' Court Blade plunged into Fulgrim's left shoulder.
Alkenes felt as if his entire body was burning. Swinging that sword caused tearing pain throughout his muscles.
But it was worth it; it slowed Fulgrim's movements.
Saul seized the opportunity and grasped the forgebreaker warhammer.
Scalding furnace fire surged violently from within the War Hammer, instantly engulfing Saul. A pair of silver-glowing hands reached out from the furnace fire, bypassed Saul's body, and grasped the forgebreaker warhammer.
The fire was burning, so scalding, so intensely hot, burning forth from another dimension, burning forth from the Kingdom of the Dead, instantly engulfing Saul Tarvitz's body.
Only the forgebreaker warhammer bathed in the flames, growing ever more dazzling and bright, like a beacon standing on the earth, calling out to its former master.
A pair of broad hands reached out from the fire. Fire snakes coiled around them but could not harm them in the slightest. Instead, the hands were plated with a layer of orange-yellow furnace light, illuminating the constantly flowing silver metal on them, making it shine brilliantly.
Those hands firmly grasped the forgebreaker warhammer.
The modifications, corruption, and twisting that Perturabo had imposed on it were instantly burned away by the fierce fire, revealing the forgebreaker warhammer's appearance from the moment it was first taken from the furnace.
Pure, tenacious, and unyielding, like a cold steel ingot from the deep mountains—it was unique among all of Fulgrim's creations.
It bore no excessive decoration, no embedded jewels or gilding, possessing a powerful simplicity.
Fulgrim still remembered watching Ferrus's body being illuminated on Mars, and how he couldn't help but model this warhammer after that man, who, at the time, seemed utterly uninteresting to him.
And that man was now standing before Fulgrim once again.
He stepped out from the roaring flames. The fire outlined his physique: a body eternally burning, ashes forming his muscles, fuel for his bones, and thick smoke transforming into his armor.
The quicksilver hands lifted forgebreaker. Above the neck, a vague, illusory head, outlined by firelight, gently swayed with the changing light and shadow.
Fulgrim let out a painful wail, his body trembling slightly.
Marius spat out a mouthful of bloody phlegm, pulled the Piercing Sword from his own neck, and tried to block the path of the burning Flame Giant, protecting his Primarch.
"No," Fulgrim roared. "Marius, don't stop him. Let him come closer. Let me look at him."
Marius faithfully obeyed the Primarch's command, allowing the fire-bathed Giant to walk toward Fulgrim.
Fulgrim extended his hands, cautiously, like a blind man, tentatively moving his hands closer to the burning Giant.
But his fingers stopped just before touching the vague head, seemingly fearing that the head before him was merely a fleeting illusion that would burst if poked gently.
"Fulgrim." The Flame Giant's voice was muffled like cold rock, echoing in Fulgrim's ears.
Fulgrim let out a mournful cry, fearfully pulling his hands back and curling up into a ball:
"Are you here to kill me? Are you here to take revenge on me? Did Father send you to kill me?"
"No! No! He, The Emperor, has no power here. You cannot scare me."
"I can see it, you are just an illusion, a flicker of flame. There is no true power sustaining your body!"
"You are right." The burning Giant did not deny Fulgrim's statement. "The power of Our Father cannot be squandered. I stand here not by The Emperor's command, nor to kill you."
"It is only because I wish to stand here. I want to talk to you!"
Direct, straightforward, carrying an undeniable force.
Even though Fulgrim knew that the figure standing before him was merely an illusion devoid of power, he couldn't help but curl up and let out a sharp cry.
"You lied to me! You never sought me out for ten thousand years! Do you know how much I wanted to see you?"
"I did." The burning Giant's voice was firm and certain. "It was you who rejected me, Fulgrim. You rejected me time and time again, forbidding me from seeing you."
"You lied to me!" Fulgrim screamed, wildly swinging his Flame Sword, but not a single blow struck the burning Giant. "I saw it! Your eyes were full of hatred! You are a wraith summoned by the God of Vengeance!"
"I still remember your eyes when you died—full of hatred, terrifying me!"
"Of course I felt hatred!"
The burning Giant's voice rose slightly:
"When you cut off my head, there was not only hatred, but also sorrow."
"Not because you killed me."
The burning Giant stepped closer to Fulgrim.
"But because the Fulgrim I loved..."
"...was gone, just like that, never to return."
Fulgrim whimpered and cried mournfully, retreating again to put distance between himself and the burning Giant.
"Oh, Phoenix, how pitiful you are." The Giant lamented. His voice was so sincere, yet to Fulgrim, it felt like sharp knives.
"Then why! Why are you standing before me now!" Fulgrim screamed, plunging the Flame Sword violently into Ferrus's side.
"Because you are different, Phoenix," the burning Giant stated.
"Oh!" Fulgrim's voice suddenly rose, a bitterness spreading through it. "You came for him, that Clone?"
"Then you are too late! I have already killed him. The Clone you wanted no longer exists."
"You killed him, but you did not destroy him." The burning Giant gazed at Fulgrim, his eyes seeming to pierce the soul beneath Fulgrim's twisted body. "And I never saw a Clone. I only saw Fulgrim."
"You..." Fulgrim's voice immediately lost some of its force. "You have even learned sweet talk and flattery."
"I never understood flattery. Don't you know that, Fulgrim?"
The burning Giant shook his head.
"The Fulgrim of today is you. You bit his tail and merged with him."
"Remember this: there is no time in the Warp. If Fulgrim was you in the end, then in the beginning... Fulgrim must also have been you."
Terror flashed across Fulgrim's face.
"You are Fulgrim! You are the perfect Fulgrim, the symbol of true perfection. You said ten thousand times: true perfection is unattainable."
"If that is the case, how could Fabius possibly Clone the perfect Fulgrim?"
"Fabius did not create your Clone. It was you. A part of you, hidden deep in your heart, which even the thirsting lord failed to notice, escaped the thirsting lord's control."
"How incredible, Fulgrim. Of all the fallen Primarchs, only you achieved this. Truly worthy of you."
The burning Giant praised him sincerely:
"And now that part has grown continuously and returned to your body. I can feel its heat inside you, as if it is about to ignite."
"You are wrong again! Ferrus, you are wrong again!" Fulgrim's voice was sharp. "Do you want me to turn back? Do you want me to be Reborn in Fire?"
"That is impossible. I lost the chance to turn back long ago. I have fallen too deeply. the thirsting lord has completely saturated me. I am beyond saving."
"Of course you have no chance of turning back. The crimes you committed are unforgivable." The burning Giant nodded in agreement. His words were always so honest and direct. "You have also long lost the opportunity to be Reborn in Fire."
"But you still have another choice—"
Fulgrim gasped, realizing what that choice was.
The choice Fulgrim made.
If the Phoenix cannot be Reborn in Fire, then let it Self-Immolate in the fire.
"No." Fulgrim shook his head in terror. "I can't do it. You don't know how deep the thirsting lord's control over me is."
"You will be given a chance," the burning Giant said in a muffled voice.
As if merely to validate the burning Giant's words, a ripple suddenly spread through the Warp.
Instantly, the Warp's influence over this Sector was greatly diminished.
Fulgrim raised his head in astonishment, looking toward the Flesh Spire not far away.
A power that shielded the Warp came from The Stars, converging upon that Flesh Spire, seemingly suppressing something.
Was this the chance Ferrus spoke of?
A chance.
At least for that moment, he would be perfect.
Fulgrim, Fulgrim smiled.
Death itself was a rebellion against fate and against The Gods.
He would lift a Great Stone and smash it against The Gods, and then be burned to ashes.
How perfect this was.
The moment this thought arose in Fulgrim's mind, a scream rang out from his head.
The corrupted, obscene, and filthy parts within him struggled and roared, dragging at Fulgrim's Spirit and Flesh.
The figure of the thirsting lord flickered on Fulgrim's body. How could this Warp God allow Fulgrim to escape His grasp?
Intense corruption began to re-erode and engulf Fulgrim.
+Alexander?+
the thirsting lord let out a bewildered exclamation. He seemed to sense something, yet was unwilling to believe it.
A fierce sensation of hunger suddenly surged from Fulgrim's abdomen, as if he hadn't eaten for billions of years, making it unbearable.
The Emperor's Children and Sons of the Phoenix surrounding him also showed intense hunger on their faces, and then—
Brownish-red rings appeared high above the distant Flesh Spire, layered, constantly rotating, self-replicating, emitting an enticing aroma of food and a strange divinity.
"What is that?" Fulgrim's Superhuman Vision allowed him to clearly see the details of those brown rings.
The brownish-red rings were composed of palm-sized pastries, baked dark brown on top and remaining light brown underneath, shaped like Mantou.
For some reason, Fulgrim knew instantly what the pastry was just by looking at it.
"chestnut bun," Fulgrim whispered to himself.
+What are you doing?! Alexander!!!+
A scream emanated from the Warp. the thirsting lord instantly withdrew most of His attention from Fulgrim, leaving only a fraction of power on Fulgrim to drive the corruption to erode his body and slow his steps.
At the same time, the remaining power left by the thirsting lord flowed into the Emperor's Children present. In a single instant, all the Emperor's Children twisted and mutated.
They either ascended into Daemon Princes on the spot or mutated into Chaos Spawn because they could not bear the sudden influx of Warp energy.
Fulgrim felt his body becoming weaker, more powerless, and more fragile. Damage that once meant nothing to him would now be enough to send him back to the Warp, back to Slaanesh's Boudoir.
And at this moment, he found it extremely difficult even to move a single step.
But he still had a chance.
Right here on this planet, there was an existence that could utterly kill him.
Fulgrim looked towards the Flesh Spire.
"Hah!!" A scream rang out. A Daemon Prince who had just completed his Ascension to Daemonhood finally succumbed to impulse, unable to resist Slaanesh's command, and charged toward Fulgrim.
The sharp Court Sword in his hand thrust straight toward Fulgrim's throat.
Fulgrim slightly shifted his body, but he was incomparably slower than usual, and the blade actually sliced across his face.
Fulgrim suppressed the weakness and resistance within his body, raised the Flame Sword in his hand, and slashed toward the Daemon Prince.
The Flame Sword came down, cleaving into the Daemon Prince's shoulder, but failed to kill him with a single blow.
Fulgrim had to deliver a second strike, at what felt to him like an agonizingly slow speed, to finally slay the Daemon Prince.
But at this moment, all the Emperor's Children who had been forcibly elevated to Daemonhood by Slaanesh realized Fulgrim's weakness.
Eidolon licked his lips with hunger.
He wanted to kill Fulgrim, not just because of Slaanesh's command, but also because he longed to wash away the humiliation of being beheaded by Fulgrim years ago, and yearned for the glory of slaying a Primarch.
This former Emperor's Children Commander did not hesitate, swinging his Hammer of Gold toward Fulgrim from behind.
Desire was one thing, but Eidolon was glad,
that even though the Primarch was now terribly weak, he was still extremely dangerous.
At the same time, seeing Eidolon make his move, almost all the other Daemon Princes simultaneously lunged at the Primarch they had just sworn loyalty to.
A sharp Sonic Blast ripped through the air, forcing back the Daemon Princes lunging at Fulgrim, and striking straight toward Eidolon.
Eidolon was forced to raise his hammer to block.
Marius, the former Company Captain of the Emperor's Children's Third Company, the first Noise Marine, and a Daemon Prince himself, had a twisted, twitching expression. He resisted the instructions Slaanesh had left within him, guarding his Primarch's side.
"Marius? Are you insane?" Eidolon cried out. "You are going against the commands of our Master."
"My master is the Primarch first, and the thirsting lord second," Marius roared, gasping for breath.
His body was already beginning to show signs of breakdown due to resisting the thirsting lord's command.
He was dead, Marius was certain. the thirsting lord would not tolerate such betrayal. He would be annihilated, without even the possibility of resurrection.
Yet he still chose to guard the Primarch.
Somehow, just now, Marius seemed to see the glory of ten thousand years ago shining anew on Fulgrim—the glory that once belonged to The Glorious Third Legion. In an instant, it reminded Marius that he, too, was once a Perfectionist, reminded him of his duty as a Company Captain to bring every brother back alive, and reminded him of Solomon Demeter, the Captain of the Second Company who was his friend but maintained his loyalty.
"Marius," Fulgrim said weakly.
"I will still fight for you, Father," Marius said softly. He was ready, even if he was the only one.
"Phoenix Guard." Just then, Alkenes's voice suddenly rang out. The Phoenix Guard, clad in Terminator Power Armor and wielding Power Lances, formed ranks around Fulgrim. "Protect the Primarch, protect the Phoenix."
Sharp spears formed of shadow pierced the body of the Dragon of Mars, but the Star God merely waved an arm gently at the Four-Armed Emperor.
Molten Black Stone emerged from the side of the Dragon of Mars. The Black Stone Matrix near this star system was activated under the Dragon of Mars' control.
A solid barrier lay between the Warp and the reality dimension, resisting the ceaseless, surging waves within the Warp.
Even the power of the hive mind, and indeed the entire greed dissolution domain, was significantly weakened by the obstruction of this solid barrier.
The Four-Armed Emperor's movement paused slightly; the tentacles, spears, and spikes curled from shadow instantly shrank considerably.
Naturally, the drag coming from the Warp and the greed dissolution domain also lessened simultaneously, reducing the trend of Their ascension by a few degrees.
But it was only a few degrees. The path of ascension was irresistible; a Black Stone Matrix of this scale fundamentally could not truly block the Warp.
Realizing that Their ascension was now unavoidable, the Four-Armed Emperor grew even more distressed.
They clearly realized that there was definitely an invisible, immense hand in the Warp, secretly pushing Them onto the path of ascending to become the lord of dissolution of greed, the eternal dragon.
From the moment They swallowed the source-blood stack, They had unknowingly stepped into a trap, being manipulated by the entities within the Warp.
They were destined to become the eternal dragon, suffering an eternal, unresolvable hunger.
Even devouring everything in sight would not alleviate it; even biting Their own tail and swallowing Themselves whole in the end would not alleviate it. They would only leave behind a void of hunger in this world.
Who exactly is it?
The Four-Armed Emperor searched the memories in Their genes, wanting to find out who the mastermind was.
Their gaze swept past Alexander, who was standing behind Lion, Sanguinius, and the Dragon of Mars.
Saint Doraemon was constantly smiling. In the Warp, He was continuously pressing down on the hive mind, and in the reality dimension, His power manifested through the Dragon of Mars and Sanguinius, suppressing the Four-Armed Emperor.
No, it shouldn't be Him. What benefit would that bring Him?
Moreover, it was obvious that Alexander had been actively trying to prevent Their apotheosis.
Plague God? God of Thirst? God of War?
Or... Tzeentch?
Was all of this part of Your plan, Lord of Change?
Do You want me and Saint Doraemon to destroy each other so You can reap the benefits?
The Four-Armed Emperor looked at Alexander, Their eyes showing a sorrowful empathy.
They were both being manipulated by the tentacles of the Lord of Change.
"Actually, our positions should be similar," the Four-Armed Emperor sighed, saying, "I also do not wish to ascend, nor suffer eternal hunger."
"But I have no choice. The call of greed dissolution is so intense, it is etched into the very core of my existence."
"Even with the humanity brought by this body, and even though you used Black Stone to weaken the influence of the Warp, I still cannot resist that inclination. I can only offer the slightest resistance."
"The moment I entered this shell, the birth of the eternal dragon was already predetermined."
"The Dragon has already been born in the future; now it is merely spreading toward the present."
The Four-Armed Emperor could already feel the shadow of the eternal dragon, filled with hunger, extending from the future.
"If that is the case, how about I become the eternal dragon?" Alexander, as if waiting for the Four-Armed Emperor to say this, asked softly.
"You?" The Four-Armed Emperor seemed surprised, not understanding Alexander's meaning.
Alexander simply reached into His pocket and pulled out a fist-sized pastry.
The pastry was baked dark brown on top and remained a light wheat color underneath, emitting a faint aroma of flour.
The Four-Armed Emperor's sharp sense of smell also caught the scent of chestnut; the inside of this pastry must have been filled with chestnut paste.
It's a chestnut bun! The Four-Armed Emperor found memories of this kind of pastry within Their genes.
Suddenly, They noticed some blanks in the genetic memories within Their body.
These blanks were superimposed on The Emperor's genetic memories, concentrated around the second and third millennia of humanity.
These blank memories seemed to have a slight connection to the chestnut bun.
Suddenly, those memories began to surge forth in the Four-Armed Emperor's genes.
They were like a curtain that had been drawn shut, now being pulled open before the Four-Armed Emperor.
The Four-Armed Emperor saw The Emperor—The Emperor of the 21st century—lying lazily on a sofa, with some kind of anime playing on the television... Doraemon?
Doraemon, chestnut bun, 22nd century.
The anime named Doraemon had originally been concealed by The Emperor using His great power, erased from the Warp to prevent The Gods from knowing of its existence.
Now The Emperor had lifted a corner, allowing the Four-Armed Emperor a glimpse.
"You?" The Four-Armed Emperor looked blankly at Alexander, not understanding why something from an anime could appear in this reality.
Could it be that He was the projection of that anime formed within the Warp?
No, His tools seemed to possess genuine power.
He is holding the chestnut bun, could it be...
"This is a chestnut bun."
Alexander lifted the chestnut bun in His hand.
His other hand reached into His pocket and rummaged around a few times, pulling out a small vial of potion.
The potion was contained in a glass jar, with a sticker affixed to it depicting two interlocking rings forming an infinity symbol.
"This is the Double Liquid," Alexander said, shaking the vial in His hand. There were only a few drops of the liquid inside.
The moment this term was spoken, the expressions of the Dragon of Mars, Sanguinius, and the Four-Armed Emperor all subtly changed.
All three simultaneously ceased their attacks, not daring to cause the slightest disturbance, seemingly worried that the liquid might be knocked over and spilled onto the ground.
Only Lion looked at the potion, confused.
"The effect of this potion is very simple: it makes an object double in quantity every five minutes."
"Of course, the full version is quite expensive, and I couldn't afford it. Mine is just a trial sample, with only three drops, and it only works on food of a certain size, like chestnut buns, baked sweet potatoes, dorayaki, and so on."
"What is the limit?" Lion, dimly realizing something, asked in a low voice.
"There is no limit. Unless it is reduced to zero in the proper way, it will continue to self-replicate, doubling every five minutes."
Alexander chuckled softly:
"If dropped onto a chestnut bun, in five minutes there will be two; in ten minutes, four; in one hour, four thousand and ninety-six; in two hours, over sixteen million seven hundred and seventy thousand; fifteen minutes later, it will break one hundred million; in three hours, sixty-eight billion; in four hours, two hundred and eighty-one trillion. After twenty-four hours, the number of chestnut buns will be four orders of magnitude greater than the number of atoms in the entire universe."
"After two days, the quantity of chestnut buns will reach a terrifying level.
We would need to turn every atom in the universe into a universe, and then sum the number of atoms in all those universes, just to reach one hundred millionth of the total number of chestnut buns."
The Lion was speechless. His extraordinary mind could easily understand what Alexander was saying, but when he looked at Alexander, he still wore an expression that asked, 'What on earth are you talking about?'
"No, no, no," the Four-Armed Emperor shook Their head repeatedly. "It will collapse! Once the number of chestnut buns increases to a certain magnitude, it will spontaneously collapse."
"It won't collapse."
"Hmm?" The Four-Armed Emperor looked at Alexander, letting out a confused hum.
"It won't collapse; it must be eliminated using the 'proper way'."
Alexander looked at the Four-Armed Emperor and said:
"For food, the only proper way is to eat it all up. Even in the 22nd century, saving food is still a virtue."
"..." The Four-Armed Emperor drew a sharp breath. "No, there's also the speed of light. Theoretically, during the expansion process, the collision speed on the surface of the chestnut bun cluster will accelerate. In just thirty minutes, it will expand faster than the speed of sound, and after eleven hours, faster than the speed of light."
"But fundamentally, this is just a chestnut bun. It is still constrained by the laws of physics.
At most, it can only infinitely approach the speed of light. Affected by length contraction and time dilation, the speed of the chestnut bun's volumetric expansion will infinitely approach zero."
"In other words, if the chestnut bun doesn't collapse, it will eventually maintain a stable volume, with its mass increasing infinitely while its volume stops expanding."
The Four-Armed Emperor's expression twitched:
"What the hell is this thing?"
"That situation won't happen." Alexander shrugged His shoulders: "Didn't you hear what I said?"
"It can only be eliminated using the 'proper way,' otherwise it will expand infinitely, unrestricted by the laws of physics. And for food, the proper method is to eat it."
"Are you saying that the expansion speed of this thing will eventually exceed the speed of light?
According to the laws of physics, at that point, the volume of the chestnut bun would turn negative, which is clearly a reduction. Since it can only be reduced by eating, this situation won't occur."
The Four-Armed Emperor quickly clarified Their thoughts:
"The only solution is to eat it all up using an action that can be judged as 'eating' before it expands to a certain extent?"
Alexander nodded slightly:
"For example, you cannot directly incinerate the chestnut bun using a nuclear reactor—that won't reduce it.
But you can build a giant robot, use a nuclear reactor as its stomach, and have the robot eat it. Then the chestnut bun will decrease."
Those present were dumbfounded.
This potion wasn't very dangerous early on, as long as it was eaten quickly, but as time passed, the power of the potion increased exponentially.
"If you were careless and dropped a chestnut bun somewhere, allowing it to expand to a certain magnitude, this galaxy would have to rely on me to save it." The Four-Armed Emperor gave a strained laugh.
Alexander remained silent, picked up the chestnut bun, and dropped a single drop of Double Liquid onto it.
The air instantly fell silent. The precognitive abilities of Sanguinius and the Four-Armed Emperor allowed them to see the future five minutes ahead.
Five minutes later, the chestnut bun replicated itself, becoming two. Ten minutes later, it would become four.
"Want to eat it?" Alexander held the chestnut bun, which had been treated with Double Liquid. "Infinitely multiplying, a chestnut bun that you can never finish eating, do you want it?"
"...What do you mean by this?"
"I will replace you and become the eternal dragon."
Alexander chuckled a few times:
"The greed dissolution domain is the purest domain. In this domain, there is only hunger, only the relationship between eating and being eaten."
"I once preyed upon a very small portion of your Tyranid, and because of this, I gained some of the power of the greed dissolution domain."
"Similarly, if I eat the current you, eat all the Tyranids, and become your predator, I can replace you and become the eternal dragon."
"The Tyranid Swarm will become my sacrifice, and your hunger will propel me to ascend to the greed dissolution domain."
Just then, the chestnut bun in Alexander's hand replicated once, becoming two.
"I will throw the chestnut bun into the Four-Dimensional Pocket."
"You, in turn, must destroy all Tyranid outside of this star system. You will become weak, but your current body is strong enough, and combined with the large number of Tyranid gathered in this star system, it is still sufficient to sustain your existence."
"You, and all the Tyranid in this star system, must enter this Four-Dimensional Pocket. In other words, be eaten by me."
"You will be able to engage in eternal feeding within this pocket, and this will support my becoming the eternal dragon."
With the Tyranid Swarm as the sacrifice and their hunger as the emotion that awakens the greed dissolution domain—a domain defined solely by eating and being eaten, where feeding itself is the ritual and the faith of the domain—the Tyranid Swarm's infinite feeding within Alexander will forge an incredibly solid altar for Alexander's apotheosis.
"You can make this decision. This will not affect the birth of the eternal dragon. The greed dissolution domain's hold on you is limited, and to some extent, you will still become a part of the eternal dragon."
"Therefore, relying solely on the humanity granted to you by this body and the Black Stone Matrix's shielding against the Warp, you can make this decision: to enter my pocket."
The Four-Armed Emperor stared at Alexander for seven or eight seconds.
They could sense that Alexander was not lying, because the increasingly approaching shadow of the eternal dragon indeed reflected two different futures.
In one future, They were steeped in the greed dissolution domain and became the eternal dragon.
In the other future, They entered the Four-Dimensional Pocket and engaged in eternal feeding.
Both futures were so clear; it only depended on the choice They made.
"So it was you."
At this moment, the Four-Armed Emperor finally realized that the mastermind had been Alexander all along.
"Do you understand the hunger we bear?"
"We don't know who brought destruction upon us, nor whose war affected us, causing us to inexplicably fall into a void of hunger."
The Dragon of Mars, standing nearby, nervously shifted Its head. "Oh dear, how could the Old Ones be so wicked!" It muttered.
The Four-Armed Emperor ignored the Dragon of Mars.
"In order to feed, in order to alleviate endless hunger, we abandoned hatred, abandoned race, abandoned self, and even abandoned existence itself, merging into the Tyranid Swarm, scavenging remnants in the void, and gnawing on other equally hungry individuals and species."
"I bear the hunger of the individuals and species we have devoured. How could this weighty hunger be sold off just for a single chestnut bun?"
"I also have dorayaki and baked sweet potatoes here," Alexander said, pulling a sweet potato and a dorayaki from His pocket and shaking them at the Four-Armed Emperor.
"Deal!"
Tzeentch manipulated fate, letting destiny transform into threads hanging down, attempting to re-establish control over Ahriman.
Ahriman was too precious, especially the instant his divine position manifested. Tzeentch realized Ahriman's value was even greater than He had anticipated.
The divine position occupied by Ahriman was named Ahreeman, the manifestation of the most evil aspect of fate, symbolizing the destiny that all things turn to dust, and the darkness into which they will eventually fall. The closer the universe approached its end, the stronger and more dangerous the power of this divine position became.
Threads of fate stabbed from different dimensions—past, present, and future—towards Ahriman, who was held captive in a cage by the Space Wolves.
Magnus had lost all knowledge regarding psychic power at the time and was relying entirely on instinct to channel it. The power was strong, but the precision was somewhat mystical. This led to a deviation when He sent Ahriman away from the Warp; Ahriman was not sent to Wizard Star but instead fell toward Fenris.
He was captured directly from orbit by Fenris's gravity, smashed through the atmosphere, passed through the thick clouds, and plunged headfirst into the Wolf's Tooth Fortress on Fenris.
At that time inside the Wolf's Tooth Fortress, Old Wolf Logan was holding a banquet to discuss Wizard Star, which had suddenly appeared next to Fenris.
As a result, Ahriman, like a cannonball, smashed through the ceiling of the Wolf's Tooth Fortress and plunged into the Space Wolves' banquet hall. His Horned Helmet was driven straight into the rough stone floor, sticking upright right in front of Logan Grimnar.
Even Old Wolf Logan had never seen such a sight and almost thought it was some new form of attack by Ahriman.
But Ahriman showed no activity whatsoever, remaining in that inverted position with his helmet stuck in the ground.
So Logan put Ahriman into a cage, intending to go discuss with Bjorn how to deal with him.
Ahriman offered almost no resistance during the entire process. His emotions were in a state of extreme stillness; the sacrifice of his father and the shock of his ascension had plunged him into this condition.
Tzeentch's threads of fate hung down, but before they could touch Ahriman, they disintegrated into ashes inch by inch.
How powerful! Ahriman had clearly fallen from the process of ascension, yet the power wrapped around Him was still so immense.
Is the divine position of Ahreeman this exaggerated? Its intensity is even higher than Vashtorr's was back then.
Why is this happening?
Has The Galaxy / Milky Way already approached the end of destruction to this extent?
Tzeentch looked unwillingly at Fenris. It wasn't just Ahriman's own power; Fenris's cold winds, frost, geothermal fire, and undead were also obstructing Tzeentch's power.
He now had a more important goal and no time to waste on Fenris and Ahriman.
Tzeentch cast His gaze toward the distant deep space, to the battlefield at the border between Ultramar and the Tau Empire.
Dense threads woven from fate hung down from His hand, connecting to Magnus.
Terrifying psychic power surged around the Multi-headed Monster, whipping up storms and tearing apart the surrounding warships.
Mortarion was dodging around Magnus using his maneuverability and the prophetic ability provided by that Numerology, but ultimately, he was only barely holding on.
The power gathered upon Magnus was far beyond what Mortarion could match.
At this moment, Magnus possessed both the power of Himself from Infinite Parallel Dimensions and most of the power from the Well of Eternity. To some extent, Magnus was already the God of the Domain represented by the Well of Eternity.
No matter how much Mortarion could delay, he could only hold on for a moment longer.
And now, Alexander was deeply embroiled in a struggle with the hive mind and could not spare any time in the short term.
Hmm?
The Lord of Change watched as the threads of fate before Him began to snap one by one, as if an invisible insect was starting to chew away at destiny from the future.
He raised His head in terror from within His domain, looking toward the magnificent Immaterium.
Boundless waves were being stirred up in the Immaterium. Countless Warp entities wailed, and hunger spread among their existence. The greed dissolution domain was rising from the sea, and boundless shadows, like Night Mountains, emerged from the Warp.
Within those shadows, the Lord of Change saw the Tyranid Swarm calling softly, beasts hunting hungrily, Starving Corpses everywhere, and all things withered yellow.
Ten thousand insects cried mournfully in unison, ten thousand beasts roared hoarsely, and ten thousand people wept softly. Finally, all the starving creatures gnawed at each other, circling into a ring, biting tail to head, appearing like a Massive Dragon hovering in the Warp, indistinct yet about to be born.
Distant hunger descended into the Warp, converging into a dragon, circling and roaring, consuming all things while also consuming itself.
Without a doubt, that was the Seventh Divinity of the Warp revealed by fate: the lord of dissolution of greed, the eternal dragon, ranking after the Dark King and the omnissiah.
He was about to be born.
Did Alexander fail?
How could that be?
The will of the Lord of Change trembled, and panicked emotions swept across the entire Crystal Labyrinth. All things within Tzeentch's domain shook and swayed along with it.
This... was this still part of His plan?
Once Alexander failed and the eternal dragon was born, the power of the three domains—greed dissolution, Malicious Art, and corruption and destruction—would press down upon The Emperor.
The Dark King would inevitably be born. Tzeentch did not believe The Emperor could bear the immense pressure of three domains alone.
Just then, Tzeentch suddenly noticed that the flow of fate was not right.
Fate had clearly changed compared to moments ago. The ascension of the Tyranid Swarm had indeed been prevented, but... the ascension itself had not ended, the rising of the greed dissolution domain had not ended, and the birth of the eternal dragon had not ended.
A deep brown light rose within the shadow of greed dissolution, mixed with the fragrance of wheat and chestnut, appearing like a brilliant sun.
The Starving Corpses, Tyranid Swarm, and beasts embedded in the eternal dragon's divine body, acting as scales, let out hungry screams. They stretched out their limbs like withered trees yearning for sunlight, reaching toward that deep brown light.
Yet, within that deep brown light, only a single brown chestnut bun floated.
What is this situation?
What happened?
"Tzeentch!!!" A scream rose from Slaanesh's domain. the thirsting lord questioned the Lord of Change with a startled roar: "Is this also part of your plan?"
Was this part of His plan?
Tzeentch watched fate become a tangled, indistinct mess, making it impossible to see the trend of the future.
But... Tzeentch still vaguely guessed what had happened.
Even though it was hard to believe, even though He didn't understand how He did it,
Everything now pointed to that one possibility.
"It's not the hive mind, nor the Tyranid Swarm, that is becoming the eternal dragon."
"It's Alexander. He is undergoing a Second Ascension. He is seizing a second domain."
"It is Him. From beginning to end, He was the one who intended to ascend as the eternal dragon."
Silence, silence spread throughout the Warp. All entities in the Warp heard Tzeentch's words.
The trajectory of fate became clear at this moment.
Second Ascension. Alexander's First Ascension had actually never been completed from beginning to end.
Due to The Emperor's obstruction, Alexander had never truly become the omnissiah. He had always been in a state of infinitely approaching, but never quite being.
Now, while the First Ascension was infinitely close to completion, Alexander began the Second Ascension.
He intended to simultaneously occupy Malicious Art and greed dissolution. He wanted to be both the omnissiah and the eternal dragon.
"Is He insane?" the thirsting lord roared. "Does He want the Dark King to be born?"
No one answered Slaanesh's question. Tzeentch stared at the Real Universe, terrified yet overjoyed.
The terror was due to Alexander's actions, and the joy was because He sensed that a great change was brewing within Alexander.
Since the War in Heaven, since the Horus Heresy, a Storm of Change unlike any The Galaxy / Milky Way had ever seen was being stirred up, centered around Alexander.
At the same time, maniacal laughter and battle cries rang out from the Blood God's Brass Fortress. The God of Blood revealed a nearly cruel smile.
"War! War! War!" The roar of declaration of war sounded like a horn, shaking the entire Immaterium.
And in the Real Universe, the Flesh Spire built by the Tyranid Swarm slowly bloomed like a Twisted Flower.
The figures of Alexander and the Four-Armed Emperor rose from the spire simultaneously.
Shadows appeared around the Four-Armed Emperor. The daylight dimmed, and the chirping of insects sounded continuously. The hunger of ten thousand races—the hunger of those races assimilated and devoured by the Tyranids—flickered around Him, heavy as stars, hungry as eternity.
Around Alexander, however, the fragrances of wheat, rice, sweet potato, chestnut, and red bean intermingled, appearing like a swirling cloud of Culinary Aura. His hands formed rings. One chestnut bun multiplied from one to two, from two to four, from four to eight, eventually forming rings of stars composed of chestnut buns, orbiting at Alexander's side.
Powerful trends simultaneously surrounded the two figures. It was the call of the greed dissolution domain, an irresistible torrent.
But in terms of positioning, the Four-Armed Emperor was slightly behind Alexander, as if He were supporting Alexander's ascension.
At the same time, the Tyranid creatures on this planet ceased all activity, uniformly turning their heads to look at Alexander and the Four-Armed Emperor, who were slowly ascending into the void.
These Tyranid creatures rose from the earth, transforming into torrents, circling around Alexander and the Four-Armed Emperor, ascending together into the void.
The Tyranid Swarm in the void also stopped their activity, neatly twisting their bodies to look at Alexander and the Four-Armed Emperor.
"Black Sun." The Four-Armed Emperor gently opened His mouth and uttered a word: "I see a deep black Great Sun, seemingly carved from Obsidian, seemingly condensed from black smoke. There is nothing inside that Black Sun, not even hunger. It has neither eaten nor been eaten."
"To eat and to be eaten are both the rights and obligations of the living. If a thing lacks even this, then it is an absolute negation of the living."
"And that thing is before us."
"Can He withstand it?"
Alexander held his breath, focused his mind, closed his eyes, and remained silent.
He could sense torrents surging in the Warp, all things wailing and roaring, like an approaching storm.
He looked toward that deep black Great Sun, the Solar Disk burning painfully in His eyes.
He could see the figure seated upon the Golden Throne.
That was not a majestic Emperor, nor a god, but merely a tired middle-aged man, a child who wished to be a good person, an awkward and helpless father—just a person.
He shook His head slightly. Even He Himself did not know if He could withstand it.
Alexander also didn't know. In His dreams, across more than twenty-two thousand attempts, sometimes He could withstand it, sometimes He couldn't, seemingly depending entirely on luck.
"Then only Heaven knows," Alexander whispered, letting out a soft breath.
"Where is Heaven?" the Four-Armed Emperor asked, looking at Alexander.
"...Then I know even less."
"Brother, you seem a bit verbose," the Four-Armed Emperor chuckled a couple of times.
"What, are you going back on your word?" Alexander lowered His head and asked the Four-Armed Emperor.
"...I inherited most of the memories in the Emperor's Genes. It is quite correct for you to call me the Four-Armed Emperor."
The Four-Armed Emperor waved His four arms and said:
"Ten thousand years ago, after the Horus Heresy, The Emperor once believed that humanity was nearing its end, especially as the Primarchs departed one by one and the Imperium grew increasingly bloated and corrupt. Even in The Emperor's view, humanity would collapse before long."
"But the truth is as you see: without the Primarchs, without The Emperor, the Imperium of Man has still persisted for ten thousand years amidst turmoil."
"Life is more resilient than you imagine. To survive, life will stop at nothing, persisting even if it must adopt the most despicable and ugly form."
"Perhaps you all have implicitly agreed that you do not believe the birth of the Dark King can destroy everything. There will always be people who survive, and life will always continue."
"Now, go ahead and do it."
Alexander took a deep breath. He remembered that in His dream, before this moment arrived, He had conducted a final exchange with the Dragon States.
When people feel pressure deep down, they always yearn for some guidance from their homeland.
"Whether you fail or succeed, we will rack our brains and exert all our strength to survive."
"No regrets even unto death?"
"No. Humans do not die. Death does not belong to us, nor does it belong to you."
"Therefore, go ahead and do it."
Alexander gently raised His round hand.
The chestnut buns circling into Star Rings transformed into Rivers of Stars, carrying the fragrance of wheat and chestnut toward Alexander, rushing into the Four-Dimensional Pocket on His belly. The surrounding Tyranid Swarm also let out a collective cry.
The Four-Armed Emperor took a step, following the chestnut buns and entering the Four-Dimensional Pocket.
In the Tiamat System, the boundless Tyranid Swarm immediately followed, converging into Alexander's Four-Dimensional Pocket.
Simultaneously, whether it was the Tyranid Swarm in the distant void or the Tyranid Swarm in The Galaxy / Milky Way that had not yet reached the Tiamat System, all collapsed, self-destructed, and disintegrated into pools of Biomass under the control of the hive mind.
All the Tyranid Swarm in the entire Galaxy / Milky Way, the entire universe, had converged into Alexander's Four-Dimensional Pocket.
He had already consumed all the Tyranid Swarm, consumed the Great Devourer, and consumed the hive mind.
The greed dissolution domain was rising toward Him, and the figure of the eternal dragon appeared in His future.
"You truly intend to become this eternal dragon!"
"You actually dare to seize the Great Position of the eternal dragon!"