Shapeshifter stood still, its silhouette trembling faintly at the edges like a mirage, as though its very existence was a thought halfway remembered, gazing into the illusion it had woven.
The Milky Way galaxy stretched before it, a vast spiral of starlight and shadow, an impossible, breathtaking vista, divided cleanly by a radiant blue line that separated North from South. This was no mere border. This was the Great Seal, the psychic barrier constructed by the Old Ones, the ancient race whose war with the Necrontyr and the C'tan had reshaped the very fabric of reality. A wall of raw Warp energy, it shimmered with spectral brilliance, its glow the color of memories and madness, visible even to mortal eyes on the wrong night.
Shapeshifter slowly turned its head, the motion trailing wisps of its unstable form like an afterimage.
Ahead, atop a slab of blackstone, the nullstone that devoured Warp energy and defied the immaterium, floated the Void Dragon. A living storm of mechanized entropy, its body twisted with coils of shifting bronze and crackling electrostatic arcs. Beside it stood a bowed, skeletal Necron figure, silent and obedient.
To Shapeshifter's side hovered another being: a C'tan, clad in a mantle of shimmering living metal, the color of deep, abyssal cerulean. Its "skin" flowed like molten mercury under the illusion of moonlight, betraying its cosmic origins.
"Forgemaster, I require your assistance in crafting a new weapon," said the Void Dragon, gesturing toward the luminous divide in the galaxy. "This barrier is anchored to millions of planetary structures. We will erase their Warp counterparts to bring it down."
The blue-hued C'tan responded at once, its voice like cascading crystal. "As you command. Though the ways of the Immaterium are foreign to me…"
"I will teach you," the Void Dragon replied, its voice carrying the resonance of grinding tectonic plates and the cold certainty of machine logic.
It then turned toward the metallic Necron Lord and issued a second command: "Szeras, begin preparations. Once the barrier falls, we strike."
The Necron Lord known as Orikan's rival, Szeras, master of technomancy, biotransference, and forbidden augmentation, bowed and moved swiftly to organize the attack.
The Void Dragon followed shortly after, vanishing into the blackstone void, leaving behind only the faint hum of antimagic vibrations.
Only then did Shapeshifter dare to whisper to the Forgemaster.
"Why must we be part of this war?" it asked softly.
"Because we are weak," the Forgemaster replied, voice devoid of anger, heavy with the weight of endless ages spent broken and enslaved.
And in that moment, Shapeshifter understood. When he said we, he referred to all the fragmented C'tan shards, once gods, now broken, dragged into conflict by necessity, not choice.
Shapeshifter tried to respond, but no words came. The illusion dissolved into darkness, endless, suffocating black.
Panic surged through Shapeshifter. This change hadn't come from within. Something ancient and malevolent had torn through its Dream construct, like a predator breaching the veil.
"I know where you are…" A voice echoed, low and cold, like a blade drawn across frozen stone.
Shapeshifter turned, and from the abyss stepped a figure. A C'tan.
The Nightbringer.
Once the embodiment of death itself, the Nightbringer had sown terror among the Necrontyr and even among his fellow C'tan before the Old Ones bound him. Now, shattered but still potent, his very presence twisted the shadows into writhing shapes. Light itself recoiled from him.
The name alone sent shudders through Shapeshifter's fragmented soul, each splinter of its being recoiling in primeval terror.
"Though I, too, am shattered," the Nightbringer said, its broken form halting before Shapeshifter, a ruinous echo of its former death-god majesty, "you are still far lesser. You've scattered your consciousness across the stars, a gift… but also your greatest flaw."
The Nightbringer stared at its own malformed hands, voice eerily calm, as though dissecting a corpse with clinical detachment.
"You are imprisoned… and yet you roam. That is your strength. That is your invitation to be found."
As usual, the Nightbringer spoke in riddles, but Shapeshifter understood.
Splitting its mind for limited freedom also exposed it. Shards could find shards.
And now, he had found it.
The Nightbringer's next words came sudden, almost tender, "How many slaves guard your prison? If there are few, I could liberate you… my fellow C'tan."
Shapeshifter wasn't surprised. Fragmented C'tan were erratic, memories frayed, thoughts twisted, logic broken. Concern one moment, threats the next.
"I'm held by the Silent King," Shapeshifter admitted.
At that, the Nightbringer paused, then laughed, a dry echoing sound, as if the void itself had learned cruelty.
"Hahaha! You and the Deceiver differ in only one thing, you don't lie with malice. Which means your words are best read in reverse."
Terror gripped Shapeshifter. It tried to flee.
A jolt of raw energy surged through its being, shattering the illusory chains around its mind.
The darkness evaporated.
When it opened its eyes, the Shapeshifter found itself facing Qin Mo once again, realizing it had returned to reality and not another illusion.
"Forgemaster, I—"
"You're finally awake. Help me chart a course to Cadia." Qin Mo cut in abruptly.
Shapeshifter had wanted to explain, to speak of the Nightbringer's fragment, but Qin Mo's urgency made it clear: he didn't want to hear it. He needed tools, not burdens.
And Shapeshifter felt like nothing but a tool.
It grew angry.
Then, it simply let go. There was no point.
"Very well. I'll plot the route." Shapeshifter replied with cold neutrality.
It expanded the stellar map it carried in its mind, overlaying the galaxy with its illusion once more. Upon Qin Mo's signal, it located Cadia and placed a marker.
"Nurgle's fleet is likely preparing to strike soon," Qin Mo said. "Our Sector is on the verge of war. I want to send a ship to Cadia before it begins. To warn them about the Volscani Cataphracts. They will betray the Imperium."
"I wanted to go myself," Qin Mo added, "but Creed hasn't risen to Lord Castellan yet, he holds no real power. If I arrive now, they'll just see us as invaders. And if they ignore my warning… well, the Volscani won't blow up the Blackstone pylons… right?"
While Qin Mo spoke, Shapeshifter silently calculated a path using warp corridor logic and dimensional engine's parameters. It had no clue what a Creed or Volscani was. It didn't understand treachery, politics, or human drama.
But it plotted the route anyway. Because this might be the last time it would ever get to do so.
"…You okay?" Qin Mo asked. He noticed something, Shapeshifter looked shaken, distant. "You having another vision?"
Shapeshifter remained silent as it finished plotting. Then, with calm finality, it said, "At least you won't be devoured by the Nightbringer. Some of us shattered C'tan haven't died out yet. There's still time for vengeance."
Qin Mo didn't understand. But he could tell Shapeshifter wasn't hallucinating this time.
"What did you see?" he asked, more serious now.
Shapeshifter considered revealing everything.
The Nightbringer's fragment had found it. If Qin Mo wasn't at full strength yet, and they encountered it… They would both die.
So Shapeshifter hesitated."…Nothing. Just a dream."
"Speak," Qin Mo ordered, voice sharp.
Shapeshifter paused. Then relented, telling him the truth.
Qin Mo's face darkened. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"I wanted to," Shapeshifter said, exasperated.
"…Forget it. Let's just figure out what to do." Qin Mo dropped his gaze, falling into thought.
The twelve corrupted ships had been scouts, sacrifices meant to probe their strength. Now that the enemy had results… the invasion would come soon.
And with the Nightbringer in play?
It was a storm from two fronts, a twin catastrophe poised to swallow them whole.
"Alright," Qin Mo said, lifting his head again. "If we free you… what are our chances, fighting the Nightbringer together?"
Shapeshifter shook its head. "I don't know. It's a fragment, it could be weak… or unimaginably powerful. But I'm certain of one thing: just the two of us… can't win."
Despair crept in. But Qin Mo's expression changed, an idea was forming.
"Do you know what the Forgemaster's greatest strength is?" he asked.
Shapeshifter's eyes widened. "Forging."
"Exactly," Qin Mo nodded. "It's not just the two of us against the Nightbringer… It's us, and an army of war machines."
"…against one fragment of the Nightbringer." Shapeshifter whispered.
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