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Clash.
An unimaginable clash.
The Sea of Souls roared, it boiled, like a vast ocean burning in raging fire.
A [Star] was dying, falling to its death with incomparable unwillingness and resentment. This monster, known as the [Manipulator], was so terrifying and powerful that every psyker in the galaxy, willingly or unwillingly, witnessed its final struggle. And those who were not firm enough, or not lucky enough, were also involuntarily consumed by fire with the fall of this Reandan Warmaster.
The death of a star would never be silent; it would only be the grandest madness, struggle, and mutual destruction, only the catastrophe of all the unfortunate.
And amidst this silent catastrophe, the war continued.
On the gloomy land of the Battle Moon, between the shining and shadowy stars, on the decks and corridors of every human and Reandan battleship, within the physical universe of reality, the war continued.
Tens of thousands of Astartes and Reandan warriors battled in gigantic steel coffins, crimson or blasphemous blood flying with the shrieks of blades.
Over two hundred of the greatest war engines engaged in close combat within the narrow confines of the Sabis system. The star-filled void was permeated with dim electromagnetic energy beams, thousands of drones, and the most lethal boarding torpedoes: each filled with veteran Dark Angels who had fought their way from Terra.
The arrival of the First Legion's main fleet did not cause the alien army to collapse. On the contrary, in this most adverse situation, the Reandan displayed the reasons why they could contend equally with the Imperium for galactic supremacy: courage, determination, and a readiness to die. These seemingly blasphemous aliens possessed and shone with the same qualities.
The battle would not cease until the head of the last Reandan alien was severed. Every tactical core of every battleship, every corridor, and even every room would have to pay a genuine price in blood.
Countless Reandan warships fanatically launched wave after wave of almost suicidal attacks towards the most dazzling [Invincible Reason]. Some of them even truly crashed onto the Glorious Queen's deck, tearing off pieces of metallic flesh before being utterly destroyed.
And on the battleships successfully boarded by the Dark Angels' vanguard, round after round of counter-charges and recovery operations never ceased. The asura's arena, where flesh and blood were ground, spread through every corridor and every corner. The last alien resistors would unhesitatingly overload the battleship's reactor, as a final desperate counterattack against the reality of defeat.
The stars bled, bleeding meaninglessly.
Under the Reandan fleet's almost frenzied resistance, the Imperial main fleet, for a time, made no decisive progress. Two powerful fleets, capable of flattening civilizations and devouring worlds, thus fell into a fierce war of attrition, allowing blood, assaults, and death to slowly squander the trump cards of both sides.
But even so, any highly accomplished psyker could actually see that this war had lost all suspense, only waiting for the [Manipulator] to completely burn out its soul.
When that blasphemous star falls, the false illusion that supports the Reandan army's abnormal madness and bloodlust will vanish. They will be utterly crushed into dust by the First Legion in a brief moment of disorientation.
And the only question now is: before that moment comes, how much more blood must the First Legion shed?
ββββββ
Blood.
Invisible blood.
Morgan closed her eyes, yet felt countless streams of blood flowing before her.
They merged and intertwined, forming continuous trickles and shallow rivers, finally coalescing into a blood-red glowing lake, surrounded by similarly crimson blood mist. At a glance, it seemed to stretch endlessly.
Morgan narrowed her eyes, her gaze penetrating the obstruction of the blood mist. Vaguely, she saw torrents of white light descending from the sky.
Those were skulls, thousands upon thousands of alien skulls. They had been cleansed of all flesh and fur, revealing only their purest, twisted forms. Most of them were Reandan skulls, and some were exceptionally large and malformed, belonging to aliens not yet discovered and acknowledged by the Imperial authorities.
Each one represented a soul crushed or affected by Morgan.
At this moment, an instinct guided her. She could hear that sharp laughter, mingled with a touch of genuine malice.
[You kill enemies, but with sorcery.]
[You seize skulls, but without blades.]
[You let blood dry.]
[You render courage useless.]
[You defile the honor of deadly combat with sorcery.]
[You disturb the peace of the butcher with twisted paths.]
[Some fellows will get angry.]
[But⦠who cares about them.]
The voice whispered, it chuckled long, it hissed, incessantly disturbing her thoughts, urging her to wield the most twisted powers.
Morgan lowered her eyes, striving to control herself, resisting this almost irresistible force.
In the past, this was almost unimaginable, but the grand feast now amplified her power. Morgan could distinctly feel that the echo of those voices within her had weakened by a hair's breadth, an imperceptible amount.
But this was enough to invigorate her.
Guided by her will, tens of thousands of skulls flew from the blood pool, drawing a pale white ribbon across the distant sky, awaiting Morgan's meticulous selection.
ββββββ
Bottom line.
ββββββ
When countless wails drifted before her eyes, she remembered this word.
She did not respect this word.
But she revered it.
Morgan knew she needed to uphold certain bottom lines, even for her own sake.
Some unpleasant memories flashed through her mind.
A tide of skulls, like a migrating flock of pigeons, obscured half the sky of her mental world, painting the darkest canvas with the most striking, stark white. Morgan meticulously examined them, finally selecting a mere handful.
These chosen skulls were not twisted; in fact, they were human skulls, belonging to unfortunate individuals enslaved by the Reandan. Vaguely, faint golden souls could even be seen entwined around them.
The moment she saw these golden souls, Morgan's face turned grim. She recalled some unpleasant memories, concerning a moment of gluttony and prolonged torment, and the fragments of that golden greatsword wantonly slicing through her mind.
She waved her hand, allowing these souls to vanish into the endless ocean of chaos.
Having done all this, she waved her hand again, letting thousands of skulls once more fall into the blood pool.
That voice continued, still laughing long. Morgan ignored it, instead immersing herself in one of her conceptualizations and designs.
She needed a [weapon].
And with these alien skulls and blood, which accompanied the souls, as a foundation, she would obtain a [weapon].
But not now.
After all, in her plans, these mere tens of thousands of skulls and thousands of blood streams were completely insufficient.
She needed more.
ββββββ
But before that, she still needed to resolve some other matters.
Her soul was devoured, her power enhanced, but with it came the thawing of memories.
She was forced to see more things, things that happened before her consciousness came into being. She didn't even know who had implanted these fragments into her mind.
Finally, she stepped inside.
And this time.
She looked up.
She saw only a boundless golden light.
ββββββ
Involuntarily.
Morgan trembled.
ββββββ
[You should join usβ¦]
A voice of decay.
[You can join us~]
A voice of pleasure.
[You are able to join us.]
A voice of distortion.
[You must join us!]
A voice of wrath.
The roars of the gods resonated and echoed above the stars, tens of thousands of kingdoms crumbled because of it, and hundreds of millions of living beings on the most distant worlds endured widespread destruction falling from the heavens.
Like thunder, like torrential rain, like an unpredictable storm sweeping through fragile villages, in the blink of an eye, countless lives and wails were utterly devoured.
That roaring voice ignited, and three thousand kingdoms plunged into a river of blood. All that could be seen were bodies and steel twisted together, from the burning wilderness to the end of the ruins. The executioner's blade was raised, bringing forth a mountain of corpses and a river of blood.
That distorted sound sliced through, and rulers and subjects turned their blades on each other, fathers and sons became bloodthirsty enemies, lies and deceit enveloped one peaceful kingdom after another, causing the most brilliant civilizations to crumble in quiet sobs.
That voice of decay was uttered, and nectar turned into maggots, wheat fields transformed into thorns. The suffering people could neither seek life nor embrace death. From the silent city-states emerged endless armies, without end, without cessation.
That lewd laughter echoed with joy, and beauty turned to ugliness, evil to good. The whips of greed, envy, sloth, and lust cracked in the most sacred halls. Everyone sang loudly, and behind every ecstasy lay intensifying tears and emptiness.
This was the truth of the stars.
This was the sin of the world.
Invisible deities lurked in the void. Those stars, held high in the eyes of mortals, were trampled underfoot at their whim. Infinite wills controlled the rise and fall of tens of thousands of civilizations and empires. Hundreds of millions of armies and believers shouted their names and died, merely to bring a sliver of amusement to the unending, tedious existence of primordial sin.
No one could resist.
No one dared to resist.
Exceptβ¦
[No need for words.]
He raised his head.
He stood beneath the stars, within the golden light.
He faced the gods in silence, and the gods responded with endless wild laughter and temptations.
[Why cling to this? All things are meaningless.]
[Your power, your future, why be limited by the lowliness of a single race?]
[Join us; the Great Game is the true principle of all things in the world.]
[The path of the gods has never withered.]
[Let go, let go of it; it is meaningless.]
[Your ambition is but a pathetic fantasy for a group of ignorant beasts. All races in the world are meaningless, not worthy of any expectation.]
[You understand all this, do you not?]
[After all, you have been disappointed too many times.]
[So, why not give up, why not compromise?]
[Unlessβ¦]
The wild laughter of the gods grew even more frantic.
In this wave of wild laughter, that power slowly moved from the void.
Morgan looked at it.
It was as if she saw herself.
[You wish to persist?]
[You wish to delude yourself?]
[You wish to provoke!]
[You will suffer.]
[You will fail.]
[You will be enraged!]
[You will die.]
[You will live.]
[Your progeny will betray.]
[Your great endeavor will burn.]
[Your desires will be twisted.]
[Your future will be eternal.]
[Eternal warfare.]
[Eternal degradation.]
[Eternal suffering!]
[Nowβ¦]
[Do you still wish to do so?]
For a moment, Morgan even thought she would see His hesitation, or His retreat.
But in reality, what truly happened was that her eyes were sharp, her energy concentrated, yet she detected no trace of wavering.
She merely watched that man, that madman, that warrior, that god, slowly walk forward.
He extended a hand.
And without hesitation, grasped everything tightly.
ββββββ
[Begin.]
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