Fragments.
Fragments of a soul.
A soul fragment of a Primarch.
Even across the entire galaxy, this was a treasure capable of sparking Robbery and wars, enough to engulf dozens of star systems in conflict, enough to cause hundreds of generals and governors to lose their heads, or to make even more: vast fleets, hordes of Xenos, or Astartes elite veterans, invincible for centuries, perish like moths to a flame in nameless corners.
It possessed such boundless allure and value because it was a part of a Primarch, imbued with the aura of those demigods who walked among men: even a trace was enough to dim everything else in the world.
It was enough to cause disaster, forge heroes, or create legends: it possessed such power and nobility that it could command the worship of any individual or organization.
But now, this priceless treasure was merely a fruit nestled in the Spider Queen's palm, emitting a delicious aroma.
It was an apple, nothing more.
An apple.
This was what Morgan wanted.
In her palm, the flawless fruit emitted a silvery, illusory glow, almost transparent, allowing one to clearly see the effervescent juice and souls encased within, floating like bubbles. These rich, intangible nutrients drifted in the Sea of Souls, like waves frolicking under the brilliant sun, reflecting a mouth-watering beauty.
This fruit was not large, only about half the size of a mortal's hand, yet it contained enough power to satisfy and tempt the Lord of the Second Legion. After all, a portion of a powerful Primarch's soul, his remaining humanity, and some of the "useless" memories from his decades of life were all easily usurped by Morgan and condensed into this wondrous forbidden fruit.
Morgan grasped the fruit, first inspecting it carefully, then, without further hesitation, swallowed it whole.
Sharp fangs pierced the invisible, fragile outer shell, and the suction from her lips instantly drew in the juice, savoring it as a necessary prelude to the feast that followed.
The galaxy's most delicious soul slowly descended into Morgan's stomach with her greed. The sweet spring water thus nourished the parched land, ravaged by the God of Malice, bringing a temporary satisfaction to the most insatiable greed and a future hope to the most pessimistic heart.
Power.
Power that was sweet as nectar.
Power that brought joy and delight.
The fragment named Heidrich had completely collapsed the moment it saw its physical body. This memory fragment, built upon self-deception, had no resistance whatsoever against the brutal reality, which in turn aided the feeding Spider Queen.
As Morgan devoured this delicious power, the last shred of guilt in her mind vanished, because what was in her mouth was no longer her kin, but a pathetic piece of refuse, carelessly discarded in the shadows by its owner.
…
Perhaps she was also deceiving herself?
Never mind, who cared?
She didn't care.
Morgan told herself this, then experienced the wondrous sensation of power spreading through every fiber of her soul.
This made Morgan narrow her eyes, sinking into a moment of enjoyment and ease. As she continuously experienced emotions, various new feelings gradually took root in her heart, allowing the once-cold Spider Queen to finally taste a hint of the world's vibrancy, and smoothing the rugged valleys in her heart to a visibly gentler slope.
Whether it was anger, bitterness, or the genuine joy happening at this very moment, Morgan finally understood what they meant. She finally had vivid memories and认知 of these emotions, rather than treating them as cold data to be retrieved when necessary and then put back.
Of course, this was not enough, far from it.
There were still too many emotions she couldn't understand or recognize, too much emptiness, hunger, and confusion rampant in her heart and chest, swirling around the three unchallengeable divine beings, constantly reminding Morgan.
Perhaps she appeared very comfortable and graceful now, perhaps her ease in the presence of Lion El'Jonson or Horus was indeed enviable. But this was only temporary pleasure, a false strength. Her peaceful life was built upon a strange equilibrium where those powerful beings were temporarily quiescent.
Her gene-father was busy with this great and piecemeal Great Crusade, busy establishing a foundation for ten thousand years within a hundred. He would not have more time to devote to her.
Correspondingly, the powerful Chaos Gods were also lurking, silent, waiting for the moment the grand curtain officially rose. She could even guess that when her gene-father's endeavor was at its peak, and everything seemed to be falling into place, that would be the moment for those most malevolent gods to strike.
After all, nothing brought these eternally bored and abhorrent creations more joy than striking down the midday sun.
The true war would officially begin then, a hell a thousand times more terrifying than the Great Crusade, more so than the Rangdan War. At some point in her life, Morgan had clearly realized this. She knew that her gene-father's dream would face the most terrible challenge and subversion in the entire galaxy, and her fate would then reach its true choice.
That would be a winter, a war capable of sweeping across the entire galaxy, completely shattering all worlds and affections.
Morgan foresaw it.
She feared it, she was fascinated by it, and she felt a contradiction entangled with fear and joy: it was her catastrophe, and also her only opportunity.
Only when the most terrifying beasts clashed could a lynx like her hope to fill her belly.
But before that, she had to become stronger, much stronger.
Strong enough to survive the struggle of the behemoths: she knew how difficult this task was. She also knew that before those terrible behemoths tore at each other, she and her kin, those seemingly unparalleled Primarchs, would be the only pawns in both their hands.
This was a reality brought by an absolute disparity in strength, which Morgan finally acknowledged after witnessing it repeatedly.
When she saw that she, Lion El'Jonson, and Vulkan, even united and giving their all, could not gain even an inch of advantage against the Rangdan Emperor, who, before her gene-father, vanished in a helpless shriek after a single strike.
When she saw her powerful psychic brother Magnus, one of the five most terrifying figures in the entire galaxy, toyed with like an ignorant child before the abhorrent will that called itself Tzeentch, his memories casually twisted, and his soul prematurely severed.
When she saw the existences that no one in the world could understand, perceive, or even truly face, arbitrarily contending, snatching, and clashing in her mind, shamelessly displaying the most terrifying and depraved aspects of the galaxy to monopolize her will and destiny.
Morgan knew deeply that she had to break free from this terrifying net. This was not wishful thinking, nor ambition; it was an extreme command born of primal instinct and fear, which became the first command of her life the moment it arose.
She never forgot this.
She was constantly and silently calculating the progress of the Great Crusade, estimating how long until that precious, sole opportunity arrived.
She was constantly… growing stronger.
She had to get stronger, much stronger.
Under the veil woven by fear, greed, plunder, and disguise, she had to become stronger than ever.
Becoming stronger at all costs, without alarming those terrifying entities, she personally tore away all mercy and weakness, seeking methods to empower herself.
Without a moment's pause.
She thought so, then slowly swallowed the last bite of the silver apple.
Power arrived.
——————
And as those strange yet surging powers involuntarily poured into Morgan's mind, before she could re-tame and consolidate all the new arrivals, she was struck.
Not a severe impact.
It was a memory, a memory existing deep within Heidrich's soul. This memory was born before his consciousness, meaning that the golden-haired beast himself probably didn't even know he possessed it.
In the memory, Morgan possessed Heidrich's body: a body that was extremely weak and distorted, as if it had undergone countless modifications and experiments for some arrogant purpose.
This even made Morgan feel a little uncomfortable, but before the Spider Queen could adapt to it, she was covered by a shadow.
It was a person, a silver-white figure stained with black.
He looked at Heidrich, still in the cultivation pod, and spoke. His voice was a fusion of anger and lament.
"This is a futile dream that humanity will never achieve."
He spoke, and Morgan recognized the owner of the voice.
It was Horus.
This person, with burning red eyes and an aura of death, was Warmaster Horus.
...Wait.
Was he really Horus?
Before Morgan's doubts could be answered, the tall figure in front of her moved.
He only said that one sentence. Then, rage consumed reason, and the Master of the Luna Wolves raised his fist.
Strike, shatter, harm.
As Heidrich's already fragile body was exposed to all of this, Morgan, behind him, heard something.
It was laughter, the most arrogant, most insane laughter.
Morgan recognized them, recognized the four mocking newcomers: two of them had already set up camp in her mind.
They were the Chaos Gods from the Immaterium.
They arrived, and with Horus's furious strike, they roared into this hidden corner. Amidst continuous, mad laughter, the gods' claws pierced the golden-haired beast's fragile skin and body.
Heidrich, with his eyes tightly shut, his heart not even fully grown, frowned, seemingly wanting to struggle, but it was all in vain.
The gods pounced on him, seized him, scorned his existence, mocked the foolish challenge his appearance represented. In a moment of eternity, they argued and cursed each other, negotiated and communicated. Finally, they made a decision.
Deep blue, withered claws became the representative of all. They lunged at the unsuspecting Eleventh Primarch, tore open his chest, and plucked a golden entity from his soul and heart.
It was nobility, it was compassion, it was the most important gift the Emperor bestowed upon each of his sons:
Humanity.
Morgan recognized it.
Those claws, the proxy and weapon of Tzeentch in this temporal realm, triumphantly gripped the Eleventh Primarch's nobility and cast it into the boundless Immaterium, allowing the surging waves to tear this priceless golden treasure into fragments in the next instant.
Then, they laughed, they roared, and disappeared into the far distance, leaving no trace, only devastation and chaos on the ground.
And the golden-haired beast's weak groans.
And amidst these groans, an unprecedented storm, accompanied by an unimaginable act of folly and betrayal, swept over everything before Morgan's eyes.
The next moment, Morgan opened her eyes.
——————
Memories made her anxious.
Deliciousness made her happy.
Power made her feel at ease.
But it was not enough, far from enough.
Her blue eyes swept over the rotting corpse in that instant. Even the Spider Queen herself could only barely discern that it was the body of a Primarch from its tall and muscular physique. Morgan's gaze lingered casually on the body, especially on the deformed and swollen arms and abdomen, for an unusually long time.
The corpse's arms resembled a pair of rotten honeycombs, riddled with bare bones and dense needle marks. The gaps between bone and flesh were also remarkably smooth: clearly not signs of battle or decay, but the result of dissection for experimental purposes.
Morgan glanced quickly and then withdrew her gaze. Seeing a fellow Primarch's body treated in such a way filled her with a sense of sorrow.
What disturbed her most was that this body showed no signs of struggle; it simply sat there in the most serene posture, as if not dead, merely resting.
Morgan took one last look and then completely averted her gaze. Although she had seen things thousands of times more horrific and disgusting in the memories of the Ancient Aeldari, such things, when happening to her own kind, still made her uneasy.
She did not wish to linger here. Although there were clearly still some secrets in this place, they no longer concerned Morgan.
Let those dark secrets remain buried in the corners of time, or be found by other adventurers. Anyone could be that adventurer, even Morgan herself.
In a mysterious way, the Spider Queen felt that her connection with this mad kin had not yet completely ended, after all...
She roughly inspected the treasures she had not yet had time to digest.
Humanity, reason, memories, knowledge...
Both in quality and quantity, these were far from the entirety of a Primarch.
Her kin was still "alive."
She would encounter him sooner or later.
But not now.
Now, she had more important matters to resolve.
Whether it was her children or Abaddon, they had undoubtedly fallen into trouble, some deadly minor troubles.
She had to go back, after all, she had no intention of letting them leave this stage so soon.
——————
Thus, the Spider Queen left the deepest, darkest fortress without a trace of nostalgia. She absorbed what she needed into her soul and took nothing else from the place.
Similarly, she disdained everything else here, not even bothering to give it a second look; not even the corpse of the Primarch held her attention for long.
After all, that was not her kin. Morgan did not care what her kin had become, but in her heart, no matter what Heidrich had transformed into, only that part containing Heidrich's true essence, containing his unique qualities as a Primarch, was her "kin."
No matter if that existence was now a new creature, a wisp of will, or even an unnamable mass of flesh: she would only acknowledge that as her kin, and the rest, whether this rotting body or the soul fragments she wantonly devoured, were merely things discarded by her kin.
She firmly believed this.
Perhaps this was a form of self-deception, a clumsy lie to give her greed a suitable justification. As emotions swelled within her heart, it seemed to bring some undesirable consequences as well.
At the very least, when Morgan devoured the soul of another Primarch this time, she clearly could not do so with the same composure and coldness as when she had plundered Magnus's soul. A nearly unsettling emotion attacked her, even shaking her heart and soul.
Was it guilt?
Morgan wasn't sure, but her steps were indeed unusually hurried.
Therefore, Morgan missed some things.
Things that would amplify the fear within her heart.
As the Spider Queen's figure slowly vanished from the empty hall, she did not see that the decaying corpse, the corpse upon the throne, the foul, putrid corpse riddled with bare bones and adipocere it was not motionless. It did not belong to the peace brought by death.
Beside its head, beneath its nostrils, the faintest air circulated in a rhythmic pattern. This air was so minuscule and thin that even the disdainful Spider Queen had not perceived it.
But it was indeed there; it was indeed performing activities required by some living creature around this seemingly long-dead body.
The corpse.
It was as if.
It was breathing.
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