"Hahaha!"
"God?"
"Hahahahahahaha!"
"Don't try to bluster with me, you pathetic, detestable Warp beast."
In the boundless void, amidst the bewildering miasma composed of countless twisted wills and terrifying wails, Magnus merely displayed the most contemptuous and indifferent smile.
"I have traveled every minute corner of this vast ocean. I have explored, sought knowledge, and fought alongside my father. I have delved into the most ancient and dangerous kingdoms for the sake of my Legion. I understand this land, just as I understand my own essence and power."
"God? Don't make me laugh. Even my most powerful father would not deign to bear such a title. How dare you, you pathetic little creature, presume so much?"
"Let me tell you, you who rely on ancient identity and unknown illusion to mystify yourself..."
"I am Magnus, Son of the Emperor."
"I will never beg for mercy from anyone, I will never yield to anyone!"
——————
"I say, brothers, this situation reminds me of some bad memories."
"Do you remember what happened on Byzantium? Including later on Beatrice, and when we first returned to Prospero..."
Kozorte's rambling voice drifted through the squad, irritating, but neither Ahriman, the highest-ranking officer, nor Athavval, the theoretical squad leader, had the energy to rebuke their somewhat neurotic teammate.
Because he was whispering precisely what everyone in the squad was thinking. The Thousand Sons suppressed a certain panic in their hearts with swift hand gestures and silent actions: as they spent more and more time in the Warp, their muscles were feeling a strange excitement. Though this sensation was unprecedented for them, they had heard former comrades recount it: this inexplicable muscular excitement was the first step of the so-called [Flesh Change].
The Flesh Change was the eternal nightmare of the Thousand Sons Legion. Their apprehension of this psychic plague reached a level that could be called fear: an Astartes was almost incapable of fear.
"Do you still remember Jot, and Omzod..."
"Quiet! Kozorte!"
After mentioning Ahriman's deceased brother, Kozorte finally received a rebuke. He said no more, but his comrades around him could still feel an unnatural trembling emanating from his muscles.
No one spoke again. They maintained their basic combat formation, advancing in dead silence. Around the squad's field of vision, occasionally appeared the remains of dead kingdoms and civilizations—things that would normally interest the Thousand Sons, but now no one had the mind to explore them.
Until a pyramid appeared before their eyes. The Thousand Sons felt this floating structure was excessively familiar, and then they realized: it was almost an exact replica of the magnificent Great Pyramids on Prospero.
Magnus's sons exchanged glances, but eventually, when Ahriman took the first step, they chose to go inside and investigate.
Whether it was a delusion or not, Ahriman felt an abnormal trembling begin in his arms.
As they delved deeper, the sound of human footsteps echoed for the first time within this ancient structure. And with those footsteps, as if some mechanism had been slowly reactivated, the interior of the pyramid began to grow brighter and brighter, more and more dazzling. Even an Astartes could not fully discern everything under such intense light.
Ahriman hesitated. Just as they were about to reach the innermost chamber of the structure, the extremely dazzling light finally forced him to order a retreat. And in the very last instant of their withdrawal, he chose to glance towards the center of the chamber.
The Thousand Sons Captain saw only a rapidly shifting, ethereal vision: he saw a giant, surrounded by wizards and warriors. They were holding a large group of slaves captive to complete their magical array. Ahriman only saw the giant's ethereal soul float away from its body, accompanied by incantations and roars. He seemed to be fighting in a distant place; each time a great crash echoed, another group of slaves silently fell, until all the slaves had fallen, until the most violent sound rang out, and the giant suddenly collapsed to the ground, beginning to cry in agony.
Ahriman wanted to see more clearly. He instinctively felt that the scene before him was related to himself, but the most intense and blinding light was already rushing towards them. The Thousand Sons embarrassingly fled the structure. As they slowly recovered from the painful stimulation of the bright light, they were startled to find that the pyramid had vanished. At this moment, a question arose in Ahriman's ear.
"Wait... where's Kozorte?"
——————
When Kozorte awoke from the agonizing stimulation of the intense light, he subconsciously heard the sound of his father arguing with something.
[Bluster?]
[What an apt word to describe yourself, Magnus of Prospero. It seems you have truly thoroughly deluded yourself, forgetting the bargain and choices you once made.]
[You once drank poison to quench your thirst, borrowing power not your own, and then completed a series of accomplishments you believed were achieved single-handedly. Nothing more.]
[You are a puppet, granted life and vitality by an invisible master. Even now, you are dancing a cheerful dance to the rhythm of another.]
[You once faced a terrible fate that your meager power could not resist. You could not defeat it; you could only be a failure. So you cried for help, you prayed, you sold yourself and the future of countless others, casting them into the deepest pond, only to see the momentary ripples, that fleeting, utterly illusory salvation for your soul.]
Magnus's face was ashen. He seemed to recall something, but in the end, he shook his head.
"Do not try to corrupt me, you pathetic monster. I will never, like a coward, evade any challenge or possibility of failure. I will only, like the most composed warrior, confront them."
"Just as I told my sons."
Magnus lifted his head. He looked at the presumptuous, twisted construct before him, facing its delusions with the most contemptuous tone and posture.
"I have delved into the farthest corners of the vast ocean. I have stood as an enemy against monsters a hundred times more powerful than you. I have explored the realm of fate, tearing through its layers of obstruction to find and reshape the destiny of my Legion, making each of my sons the master of their own fate."
"Your words are weak and pathetic, your illusions utterly lamentable. Do you think these disgusting appearances and mystifying words can shake my will?"
"Let me tell you, I have annihilated the most powerful psychic monsters, more powerful than you can imagine. Now, you little whelp, begone! I have more important matters to attend to; I have no time to contend with you."
Magnus's unyielding words echoed in the dead silent space, and the answer he received was laughter—a peculiar collection of various laughs: the perfunctory dismissals of bored spectators for a clumsy performance, the sharp mockery of strict teachers for poor work, long howls, shrill screeches, and a tragic chorus of thousands of souls wailing in unison.
Accompanying this sinister laughter, Kozorte on the side suddenly felt his muscles grow increasingly numb and painful, as if some invisible monster was pulling at him. He hurried towards his genetic father, hoping to seek help and offer assistance.
Magnus frowned. He watched as the twisted construct before him shifted its form, from the perpetually chattering eyeball to a giant, pure green human face, then a distorted mass of flesh composed of various long snakes, and then many other creatures indescribable by language. Every second, it transformed into shapes that surpassed Magnus's comprehension.
And finally, it became a snake, a snake perpetually in a crawling posture.
With a mental command from the serpent, Kozorte was dragged before Magnus.
[Are you willing to be responsible for your statements, Magnus of Prospero?]
[Even... with the life of your son?]
Magnus first cast his gaze down, reassuring his son, then he tried to pry his son from the monster's control. This quickly failed.
He had to consider this gamble, and he didn't think for too long before nodding.
"Of course."
Magnus agreed lightly.
Then, the laughter resumed.
[Then let us see...]
Accompanying this whisper, Kozorte suddenly felt something amiss with his body: he first felt intense heat emanating from within. This nameless internal fire swept through his entire body in the blink of an eye. Then, before the poor Thousand Son could even adapt to this heatwave, he felt surging power.
Power, endless power, power not controlled by his will. It spontaneously manifested from his arms and calves, wantonly twisting the Thousand Son's bones and muscles, as if curling a dust-laden rug.
"Father..."
Kozorte instinctively reached out, desperately pleading for Magnus's help, but the Primarch stood rooted to the spot as if struck by lightning. He stared in shock at the scene before him, momentarily at a loss for what to do.
Because his son had already completely transformed: what stood before him now was a hideous monster. Kozorte's head had completely split open, dividing into four large sections, each covered in fangs and dense serrations, constantly spewing out various organs and blood from within the Thousand Son's body. Some were his own, others seemed to grow almost out of thin air in his throat. Magnus could even see, through the almost completely split head, how deformed chunks of flesh were growing inside Kozorte's throat.
The Thousand Son's eyes had completely bulged out, no longer truly eyes, but utterly black orbs wrapped in blood vessels. They inflated like balloons, constantly moving towards Magnus, yet dragged back by entwined blood vessels, crashing to the ground, only to rise again, endlessly.
"Fa—ther—"
Kozorte roared in agony. He had grown no less than twenty mouths, and all of them were emitting helpless cries and hateful roars, while others simply made meaningless, beast-like growls. The poor warrior's muscles had melted instantly; his flesh, bones, and tendons seemed to have been thrown into a juicer, blending into a sticky, semi-liquid, semi-solid mass, detached from his armor, with that four-lobed head, moving inch by inch towards Magnus.
As it moved, the twenty mouths cried out.
"Father!"
Magnus trembled, and in his ear, he heard the laughter mingled with whispers.
[Now, do you remember?]
[Now, do you concede?]
[Have you faced your past, your sorrow, your meaningless struggle?]
[Magnus of Prospero, Magnus of Terra.]
[Let me tell you.]
[You were desperate, you wailed, you abandoned yourself before the great will of power and change, helpless like a beast devoid of head and intellect. You crawled to this realm, to my presence. You once sought my help, begged me, craved even the most unfair of bargains from me.]
[And I agreed.]
[Yes, Magnus of Prospero, it was I who "saved" your Legion for you.]
[But now, I reclaim this grace.]
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