In the most distant millennia.
Knowledge truly will consume you.
——————
"Is it all over, Father?"
Standing in the cloister before the hidden chamber protected by Sothemezian Runes, Magnus could see Ahriman's deep, somber face. It was a typical Achaemenid face, with highly立体化 features beneath a bald epidermal layer, making the eyes appear overly sunken into the face, and the nose large and pointed.
In the flickering light, Ahriman's face was like a smooth tree bark.
"Yes, Ahriman, my son."
"Everything is over."
Magnus could hear his own voice, one filled with the surging ambition that followed a great calamity, and the confidence he projected to encourage his sons.
"The Flesh Change..."
"There's no need to speak of it again. It has been utterly annihilated by me, like a legion destroyed on an ancient battlefield, like a crown rolling from a burning palace. No one will ever sing of them again; their history is over, it will not appear anywhere."
"I have ended the curse carried within the Gene-Seed. I have restored the harmony of the Legion's flesh. Forget this matter. Do not speak of them again. Do not speak of them to anyone, not even the Emperor... my Father."
Magnus's large hand rested on Ahriman's shoulder.
"I am deeply sorry. I could not save your brothers. But now, everything is over, Ahriman. Even if the possibility of a stable future is only one in ten trillion, I have grasped that probability. Nothing will happen again; the Thousand Sons Legion is completely safe."
Ahriman's gaze was piercing, containing a skeptical scrutiny, but after a brief exchange of glances with his genetic father, he finally lowered his head.
"Yes, Father, I believe you."
"Good, then let us speak no more of this."
"I understand..."
"Father."
"Fa—ther."
——————
"Fa—ther—!"
Magnus's eyes suddenly widened. His will surged as if abruptly waking from slumber, barely realizing he was trapped in a gamble.
Yes... a gamble... the stakes were...
"Father... save..."
The voice was almost withered. Magnus, almost an afterthought, lowered his head. It took him a while to recall the name Kozorte. Then, he could no longer recall. He was utterly unable to establish any logical connection between the insignificant son in his memory and this hideous, pulpy monster.
Only now did Magnus awaken as if from a dream. He finally regained the Primarch's logical thinking, shaken by the impact of the scene and words before him.
Then, he instinctively felt his mouth go dry, for in an instant he grasped the full meaning of the monster's words before him.
He remembered.
"You... it was you..."
"It was you who helped me save my Legion!"
Only despair filled the Primarch's voice as the sealed memories surged forth like a tide.
Magnus had not saved the Thousand Sons himself, nor had he curbed the Flesh Change. He had merely blundered around in the Warp like a headless fly, eventually begging for a boon, a costly and bitter medicine.
His long-held confidence, his perpetual arrogance, had been nothing more than a flamboyant sandcastle built on forgetfulness and self-deception. Even the first wave of reality's tide was enough to utterly dissolve it.
[Save?]
[No, I merely postponed the apocalypse.]
The voice laughed long. It slithered like a true giant serpent, yet it did not advance or retreat a single step. And when it witnessed a silvery figure emerging from the rift behind Magnus, it laughed even more joyfully.
[And now, the apocalypse has arrived.]
[Magnus of Prospero, you have enjoyed such a long, such a protracted falsehood. Now it is time to witness true reality.]
[Your Legion shall crumble, your kingdom shall burn to ashes, everything you are shall be remembered in the minds of thousands in the name of failure and rebellion!]
The sharp, piercing shriek filled Magnus's ears, ruthlessly tearing through his eardrums and mind. He saw only burning Prospero and Tizca, his sons and Legion struggling futilely in the flames, twisting into monsters, falling by the thousands under gunfire.
This scene was so real. Magnus futilely tried to grasp something, his hands clenched tightly, but he only heard piercing screams filling every inch around him, feeling only sticky fresh blood covering his hands and fingertips.
"No... no... no..."
"Please... please! I beg you! No!"
[Begging is useless, Magnus. When you and I completed this bargain, it was destined to end at this moment. Even if not now, it would be a future that would surely come.]
"No! I never made such a bargain with you! I would never trade my sons for anything!"
[Is that so...]
[It seems you swear you would never harm any of your sons?]
"Of course!"
Magnus roared this truth with all his might, but the Primarch only heard a sound like bones and flesh being crushed.
It seemed to look at something, but merely laughed mockingly.
[That day will eventually come, Magnus. You are merely a moth drawn to a flame; there will eventually be a moment when you burn yourself to ashes.]
[I await you.]
——————
As Morgan gradually approached, she found that the illusory great serpent was slowly vanishing. And the moment it completely disappeared, she saw only a strange smile.
Then, Morgan's gaze fell, and she finally saw the scene before her clearly.
She saw a suit of armor, an empty and discarded suit of armor. The patterns and carvings on it indicated its owner was a son of Magnus.
And the owner of this armor... was nearby.
The colossal Primarch of the Fifteenth Legion was now kneeling on the ground, his head bowed, trembling intermittently, continuously muttering about his worries for the future and the present.
And that son of Magnus was here, specifically in Magnus's hand.
This pathetic fellow had become an utter monster, and he was being tightly squeezed in his genetic father's hand, almost unconsciously kneaded, hammered, and crushed. Morgan could even see how bones and skin were slowly kneaded into fragments by Magnus's power amidst his unconscious, low murmurs.
None of this was an illusion.
The screams and wails Magnus heard were Kozorte's final desperate cries as he was literally squeezed to death.
The gushes of fresh blood Magnus felt were the fresh blood spurting forth as Kozorte was literally squeezed into fragments by him.
When Magnus roared that "Of course," his entire body's power expanded uncontrollably, utterly ending the life of this wretched Thousand Sons warrior.
Morgan gently took a step back. She began to wonder what state the Primarch was in now.
And in the dead silence, even the slightest sound was enough to startle Magnus.
The Primarch raised his head. His face was completely consumed by pain and bewilderment. His eyes trembled as he looked at his own hands, at the boundless blood of his sons.
"What do I do... what's happening... what do I do..."
Morgan gripped her staff. She felt only an unimaginable aura of danger emanating from the Primarch before her.
Magnus's gaze seemed to be somewhat reawakened by the blood and bone-white on his hands. He seemed to realize what he was doing. So, when his gaze slowly shifted to Morgan,
Morgan only felt...
...killing intent in those huge, desolate pupils.
——————
Magnus wanted to kill her.
——————
"What do I do... what's happening... what do I do... what do I do?"
Magnus slowly raised his hand. Unimaginable psychic power surged from it. He kept muttering to himself, as if questioning himself, and as if questioning Morgan.
And at this moment, facing the Primarch's lethal attack preparation, Morgan's mind was consumed only by an unimaginably cold thought.
She wielded her power, wielding the power to usurp the deepest parts of another's mind. She had used this power to become an unparalleled confidante and soulmate in front of Perturabo.
And now, having seen into Magnus's mind, there was no more apprehension in Morgan's eyes.
She spoke.
——————
[Then forget it.]
——————
"..."
[...]
"...What?"
[I said, then forget it.]
Morgan walked forward with a firm, arrogant stride, which, ironically, made the Primarch hesitate.
[Forget it. Forget this matter.]
She grasped Magnus's arm, slowly pressing it down with a deliberate yet undeniable attitude.
[You need no guilt. You bear no responsibility. Whatever happened, it was not your fault. It was not your intention or thought.]
[You can forget it. You can cast it aside. You can put it away—you can certainly do so.]
[This is not your fault.]
[Magnus, this is not your fault.]
[You are not to blame.]
Morgan's voice was light, yet it carried a near-forceful guidance. One of her arms slowly suppressed the psychic energy from Magnus's fingertips, while the other moved across the broad expanse of the Primarch's back and neck.
[Relax, forget it. Let the blood on your hands cease to exist. They are entirely unrelated to you. You know nothing, you remember nothing. You lost a son from your Legion; he was swept into the endless tides of the Warp.]
[This has nothing to do with you.]
"Yes... it has nothing to do with me."
"I... did nothing wrong."
[You certainly did nothing wrong. You did nothing wrong at all. That was merely an illusion, merely the accumulated haze of a non-existent nightmare.]
Morgan repeated her words. She began to see an illusory figure wavering around Magnus, as if it were a printed, ethereal Magnus.
That was the Primarch's soul. When his will was so fragile and wavering, his soul was clearly not better protected.
"But... but the Flesh Change..."
[That will be resolved, won't it?]
[You still have time. You still have a chance. There's no need to rush now; it's not the final moment yet.]
[Leave it to the future. You will find a way.]
"Yes, the future. I will find a way."
"Leave it to the future, leave it to the Great Crusade. I will find a solution..."
"I still have time..."
Magnus muttered to himself. Perhaps he hadn't even listened to most of Morgan's words. He simply grasped one or two phrases, the phrases he needed.
Like a reluctant drunk, he just needed a legitimate reason to take the first sip.
When Magnus got that reason, he almost immediately began more self-talk. He comforted himself, dreaming of the future, just as he had done before: making all of this disappear from his memory, using his psychic power to achieve it.
He could certainly do it.
The Primarch gradually immersed himself in self-persuasion, while Morgan looked at something else.
Magnus's soul.
She extended her hand, first cautiously touching, then subtly drawing off a portion. Then, she heard crying. She saw the Primarch tremble and fall, muttering to himself about his great feat of resolving the Flesh Change.
She knew that when Magnus woke up again, he would know nothing. He would once again evade this problem, just as he had done before.
He would evade it again and again, until the problem became an inescapable nightmare.
But what did that have to do with her?
Morgan merely raised her staff high, and a blade slowly extended from its tip.
Then, she swung it down mercilessly.
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