As usual, Magnus' soul sat in the Warp, holding fragments of information in his hands, his consciousness sinking into them to gather intelligence.
In just an instant, the Primarch's powerful will stirred waves in the Warp, and Magnus' mind was violently shaken.
The Warp fragments revealed the future; Magnus' heart was filled with a mix of terror and shock, making it difficult for him to even maintain focus.
His father, the Emperor, along with Sanguinius and another returned brother, were currently on an unknown planet performing a secret mission of great significance.
He didn't know the cause, as the fragments carried too little information.
But the specific process was rushed and brief, revealing a terrifying fact—his father and brothers were in danger!
His father sat within a ritual circle, presiding over a massive Psychic Ceremony; he possessed supreme power but was unable to pull away.
Sanguinius was pure and peerless in bravery, yet his wings were eventually overwhelmed by enemies, and he vanished into the endless darkness.
The other brother was equally powerful, but ultimately outnumbered; he was brutally torn apart by hands reaching out from the darkness, leaving no remains behind.
The golden Emperors Praetorians fought valiantly, but most of the thousands of warriors were killed, their superhuman bodies failing one after another as they fell in pools of blood.
At the end of the information fragment, his father was forced to interrupt the Psychic Ceremony, using his infinite power to salvage the situation.
Yet the operation still failed; Sanguinius lost his wings, the unknown brother died a tragic death, and his father was forced to leave the Great Crusade due to psychic backlash.
This was an incredibly horrifying vision.
Magnus jolted awake, his consciousness returning from the Warp to reality; when he opened his eyes, he was startled to find his robes soaked in sweat.
"I will never allow this to happen!" the Crimson King cried out in alarm, standing up from his meditative cross-legged position, his crimson eyes flickering with fear.
The low cry echoed in the meditation room, waking the Legion Warriors; they withdrew their consciousness from meditation, not understanding why their Gene-Father had lost his composure.
His majestic frame was trembling, sweat soaking his scholar's robes, his crimson hair clinging to his sweaty cheeks, the shock still visible on his great face.
"Father." Ahriman, who had begun to distinguish himself and was able to stay by the Primarch's side, stood up and asked softly, "What happened?"
Hearing his son's inquiry, Magnus shook his head without a word, sitting back down on the cold floor of the secret chamber and closing his eyes to meditate once more.
After the initial shock, he quickly calmed down and began to doubt the authenticity of the information.
The Emperor's power was beyond comprehension; almost no existence could rival his father. Why would he and his brothers be heavily besieged?
And those enemies—they came bearing flames, their forms shrouded in darkness, clearly concealed on purpose.
Sanguinius was by the Emperor's side, so where was the Blood Angels Legion? Why were only the Primarch and the Praetorians fighting?
What was that massive Psychic Ceremony? Why did his father value it so much that he refused to give up until the very last moment?
Countless questions welled up in his heart; Magnus' newly calmed thoughts began to churn again, his temples throbbing and his mind becoming a tangled mess, ultimately finding no answers.
~ and a heavy exhale sounded, becoming the only noise in the dead-silent meditation room.
Magnus smoothed the tremors in his soul once more, sinking his consciousness into the Warp to begin searching for his father's trail.
He wanted to communicate through the soul to ask about his father's safety, and incidentally reveal the information from the Warp fragments to confirm his next course of action.
Soon, through the trembling connection of blood and soul, Magnus found the Emperor's location and immediately crossed the Warp toward it.
However, he did not notice that deep within the Warp, a blue consciousness appeared, showing a treacherous smile toward the departing consciousness.
Magnus reached his destination: a consciousness wrapped in golden psychic energy, peaceful yet heavy, with his father and brothers within it.
He also discovered that within the vast, peaceful consciousness, there was a black void that was disrupting the future and destiny.
He naturally recognized the golden psychic energy; it was the radiance unique to his father, dazzling and holy, tolerating not a speck of filth.
Just looking directly at that majesty, Magnus felt a slight sting, realizing that his father was becoming increasingly powerful; even a mere barrier was so dazzling in the Warp.
Despite his awe, he had no way to contact his father at this moment.
The Psychic Barrier seemed as thin as a cicada's wing, yet the power within it was indestructible; his will could not penetrate it to transmit the Warp messages he had obtained.
Helplessly, Magnus gave the barrier a deep look before leaving.
His soul had been away from his body for too far and too long; he felt a wave of weakness, unable to maintain the burning of the Astronomican while far from Terra as his father could.
"Ahriman..."
A deep sigh echoed in the meditation room, elegant and peaceful, with slight ripples containing an aura of righteousness.
"Father." Ahriman, dressed in a robe, knelt to listen to his father's instructions.
Magnus slowly raised his hand, a gentle psychic force lifting Ahriman up: "You have come into contact with many Legions. Have you ever seen a cold soul that is a black void?"
Just after asking, he shook his head and smiled, feeling his question was somewhat redundant.
The universe was vast and infinite; how could the Legion sons, who fought incessantly, have the time to understand such things?
"I have." Ahriman's answer was without hesitation, not even requiring thought: "That is a great being just like you!"
"Who is it?" Magnus' crimson face brightened with joy as he thought of a possibility—that there was another brother by his father's side.
"The Lord of the Doom Slayers, the Lord of the Stars, the Warrior King," Ahriman's body trembled slightly, his voice raspy, "Blazkowicz Novick."
"Years ago, I had the honor of being reassigned to him by that Primarch to carry out an extermination battle against a xenos race."
"His soul was like that—a black void, where no future could be foreseen, exerting an extremely strong pressure on Psykers."
"On the day we first met, the Warrior King gave me a single look, and I felt as if my soul were a flickering candle that could be extinguished by his gaze at any moment."
Ahriman remembered those years; everything felt as if it were just yesterday.
That Primarch was very approachable, but he naturally exerted pressure on psychic energy and souls, making sensitive Psykers feel suffocated and even feel a natural dread.
Magnus listened quietly, not rebuking Ahriman for his weakness, nodding in deep agreement.
He had also felt it; even from a distance, his soul had felt somewhat dazed, flickering like a candle flame.
Raising his hand to rub his chin, his short stubble hard and rough, Magnus fell into silence, thinking about how he should respond.
His father and brothers gathered in one place meant they were certainly plotting something, executing some important mission.
With three brothers accompanying his father, although he felt some comfort, his concern for their safety only increased.
Three Primarchs plus thousands of Praetorians—such a scene should not have happened, yet it felt uniquely real.
Based on the reference of the Astronomican and his own position, his father and brothers were in the Segmentum Obscurus, tens of thousands of light-years from Prospero; it would be difficult to go reinforce them and inform them in a short time.
And the psychic fluctuations coming from that place indicated that the ritual circle was nearly complete; his father was about to begin the Psychic Ceremony.
Time was of the essence! Magnus' heart sank, his face showing a look of pain.
Even an Astropathic Choir Message would be difficult to convey the news in time; his father's barrier isolated reality from the other side, blocking all information from entering or leaving.
But he could not turn a blind eye to such a massive hidden danger. If his hesitation led to a catastrophic mistake, how could he face his other brothers in the future?
He let out a long sigh, unable to make a decision for a moment.
"Father, has something happened?" Ahriman and the others gradually gathered around; seeing the Gene-Father' expression was off, they asked cautiously, "Can we share your burdens?"
"It's—" Magnus started to speak but felt that a few words wouldn't be enough to explain. He pressed his finger to his brow, using psychic energy to separate a glow of memory and shooting it into the minds of his Gene-sons.
As the psychic light of memory entered their minds and the terrifying vision unfolded, the warriors of the Thousand Sons Legion slumped to the ground.
Their faces were as pale as paper, and the secret meditation chamber fell into silence, save for the sound of sweat dripping.
Magnus briefly described his discovery. It was now difficult to notify the Emperor; what should be done?
"I have an idea." A sitting warrior, seeing the Gene-Father' worried face, had a sudden flash of inspiration as he carefully recalled his past experiences.
"Tell me then." Magnus was intrigued and listened intently to his son's idea.
The warrior closed his eyes to reminisce for a while, sat cross-legged on the ground, and projected psychic light with his hands, speaking of the knowledge he had once gained on the Skink Homeworld.
He spoke of the lizards' Psychic Towers, which drew psychic power to enhance the strength of the ritual's presider, sustaining a psychic shield strong enough to resist orbital bombardment.
"You are breaking your oath!" Ahriman raised his voice in rebuke, his brow furrowed; they had sworn back then that they would not reveal this knowledge to anyone.
The warrior lowered his head, a flush creeping onto his pale face, his expression filled with shame, yet he still stood by his opinion: "Then do you have a better idea?"
*Slap!*
A slapping sound rang out in the secret chamber. Magnus suddenly stood up, interrupting their argument: "We'll do exactly that!"
On Pandora, the Emperor himself inscribed runes to shield the Real Universe and repel foes from the Unreal Beyond.
The Warp was not calm; He sensed the will of the Chaos Gods stirring surging waves that converged from every direction.
In high Pandora orbit a rapid-response fleet stood ready, the Eye of Judgment defense system was active, fortress-worlds streaked with light, and every system roused from slumber.
Though no enemy had yet struck the core zones of Argent Nur, the garrison still prepared every contingency to keep the Real Universe safe.
Malcador arrived early; the Imperial Chancellor joined the Emperor, and together they bound Pandora with psychic rites drawn from his own arcane sigils.
He sat cross-legged on a platform hovering above the equator, the Aquila sceptre floating beside him, dark-green runes blooming on his hands, showering sigil after sigil that dissolved into motes and sank into the planet's life.
Pandora had been transformed: twelve colossal arrays were etched onto the undersides of levitating platforms, their occult reflections descending to scar the planet's surface.
It was Sophia's plan.
To keep the world spirit from ripping the crust apart and ruining the ritual, the array's patterns were carved into the anti-grav platforms' bellies and then empowered by the Emperor himself.
The Emperor prized the ceremony; beneath the platforms the world was mirrored, while above them the twelve arrays raised psychic bulwarks and laid down anti-daemon wards.
The secret arts of the Emperor sealed Pandora tight from the esoteric angles of psychic lore.
On the physical plane, floating fortresses flanked each of the twelve arrays, garrisoned by Sentinels and the Imperial Guard, with anti-psyker Iron Men among their ranks.
Beyond the mirrored arrays rose suspended ramparts bristling with automated weapons—so crowded they almost touched.
The Real and the Unreal are wholly separate realms; for this aim every safeguard was mandatory, no mishap could be allowed.
While preparations surged ahead, the busiest figure was neither the Emperor, nor Blazkowicz, nor Malcador, but the recently returned Primarch who had yet to rejoin the First Legion or study the ways of the Imperium of Man—Lion El'Johnson.
A Primarch is born extraordinary, and Lion's war-instinct excelled; his grasp of conflict was lucid and his deployments nothing short of brilliant.
He visited each of the twelve sky-bases in person, adapting their layouts to the terrain and eliminating every defensive gap.
As humanity raised vast works of psychic artifice and fortification, Pandora itself was quietly changing.
Since the arrival of the Emperor, atmospheric toxins had crept upward to the limit the native life could bear.
Where once mortals could still breathe on Pandora, a single lungful now induced fainting, followed by death by asphyxiation in unconsciousness.
The altered sky bred extremes: colossal hail, eruptions, tempests, tsunamis, quakes—every natural catastrophe humanity could name struck Pandora in quick succession as the world spirit sought to derail the psychic arrays.
The assault was not limited to nature.
Surveys showed predator populations exploding, individuals swelling to impossible sizes, some even manifesting psychic resonance.
Humankind refused to yield. Artificers deployed atmospheric converters to pit weather against weather, averting extinction-level disasters.
To cull the surging predators Sophia dispatched Automated Machine Soldiers, forestalling a mega-beast tide.
Unexpectedly, Malcador stayed the operation before it could begin.
Asked for his reasons, the Imperial Chancellor only smiled enigmatically and said those creatures would serve his purpose.
Though both sides gathered strength, their hidden contest never paused.
From the level of molecules to planet-wide climate shifts, they traded blow for blow.
With twelve auxiliary nodes complete, construction of the thirteenth and central node was about to commence.
Its site was the titanic tree; the Emperor had chosen that spot to link minds with Pandora's world spirit.
The tree itself was long gone, its trunk sheared off by psychic force and hurled hundreds of kilometres into the deep sea, leaving only a colossal stump.
The rings of that stump glowed faintly white; ancient and vast, it had been the greatest outward aperture of the world spirit 'Eva', and upon it the ritual sigils were now carved.
Four fan-shaped anti-grav platforms locked into a circle, settling gently atop the stump; from afar they looked like a single vast mushroom.
The human luminaries gathered here were so exalted that even a Terran aristocrat would never glimpse them in a lifetime.
At the center of the runic circle stood the Emperor. On his left, Constantine Valdor, Commander of the Imperial Guard, led the Custodians in a ring around the Emperor; at his right hand stood Jenetia Krole, the Silent Sisterhood's Soulless Queen.
Custodians and Sisters of Silence—together they were the Emperor's Talons, among the sharpest weapons in the Emperor's grip.
Facing the Emperor stood Malcador. Freed from his crushing burdens, he held himself straighter now, the lines of a middle-aged man showing at last.
The Imperial Chancellor's smile never wavered, his delight impossible to conceal.
He had never imagined the possession scheme prepared for Salz could continue beneath alien stars, its raw material now even more perfect.
'Begin,' the Emperor said, voice touched with emotion. Three months of preparation had led to this moment; the ripe fruit was ready to be plucked.
The Emperor spread his arms, and the Custodians unarmored their master.
The Emperor doffed the True-Unity panoply, bringing himself to peak condition, psionic power poised to flood out at an instant's notice, ensuring nothing could go awry.
At the word, the three Primarchs exchanged glances, then moved to the circle's rim to stand guard, preventing any interruption of the Emperor's working.
Blazkowicz stood farthest away, arms folded; beside him Obelisk and Harlan waited, all three wearing grim, ready faces.
'Where in the void is the enemy?' Lion El'Jonson demanded, dimensional blade in his right hand, a red kite-shaped shield bearing an eagle's head in his left.
Among the three Primarchs, the Eldest Son's power armor offered the least protection; the Emperor had unclasped the breastplate from his own panoply and given it to his son to safeguard his heart.
Lion's expression was stern, without a trace of levity. He never doubted the Emperor or his brothers; an enemy that warranted such vigilance had to be terrifying beyond measure.
Only one question remained: from where would that enemy come?
Pandora's defenses were so absolute that not even a mosquito could slip through; the slightest tremor of unstable molecules lay under the ceaseless watch of intelligently controlled machinery. What foe would dare intrude?
Blazkowicz's gaze never left the Emperor. He drew his right hand across his chest and pointed skyward, voice low and grave: 'From above.'
.
The Angel lifted his eyes to the heavens. Beyond the barrier, howling darkness pressed down, whipping black clouds and grit against the shield so that ripples danced across its surface.
Lion shot his brother a helpless glance, then looked away again.
His brother clearly knew more, but an imperial edict forbade him from revealing it to Lion or the others.
In rare quiet moments Lion had seen Blazkowicz and the Emperor speak privately, their topic forever hidden.
When Lion pressed him, Blazkowicz offered no answer, yet he knew the foe would come from beyond the sky.
His sight pierced the Veil of reality, keeping ceaseless vigil over the Warp's surges; beyond the Emperor's barrier the Four Gods' daemon legions flexed their claws, ready to strike.
The daemon assault would begin the instant the ritual commenced.
In that moment the Emperor would project his will into the Warp, and from the Warp possess Pandora.
The world spirit dwelt in the Real Universe; between it and the Emperor there had to be a conduit, a bridge linking Warp and reality.
If the plan succeeded, the Emperor's mind would stand within the Warp, anchored by his own making, gathering every soul drawn to him.
With the world spirit anchored in the Real Universe, the souls the Emperor collected could travel the soul-conduit to Pandora, forever free of the Warp's filth.
Once the conduit was complete, the Emperor could launch souls into Pandora from wherever he stood, no longer bound by place.
The soul-conduit was a wondrous thing, yet danger stalked it every step.
Before the soul-rite could be sealed, the path into the Warp must be torn open for an instant—like driving an empty pipe into an ocean, building a swift highway for passage.
Around that pipe daemons would crowd like crushing depths, pressing to burst the tube and befoul the work site.
The will of the Chaos Gods would never let food slip from their mouths; therefore daemons would surely come, assailing the half-built conduit.
Once the soul-conduit stood finished, the pipe would lie wholly under the Emperor's will; daemons and Dark Gods could no longer touch it, and countless souls would flee the Warp.
Every soul that returned to the Emperor would be utterly pure, and the Four Gods would never release such morsels.
'Let it begin,' Malcador echoed, seating himself opposite the Emperor within the ritual circle, ready to guard his old friend to the end.
The Emperor and Malcador sat opposite each other, their expressions solemn, as the psychic ritual began under their guidance.
Golden psychic energy was poured into the array, flowing like a trickling stream along the patterns of the formation, merging into the consciousness nodes exposed by the tree stump.
The light of the Emperor was pure and dazzling. The core array slowly lit up, and radiance flowed from twelve formation nodes, turning into a golden celestial river that spread out and connected to the twelve auxiliary arrays.
Looking down from a high orbit, twelve golden ribbons flew out from the giant tree, enveloping the entire world, as psychic characters scattered to every corner of the planet.
On the ground, the Navi craned their necks to look at the sky fortress, shaking their heads helplessly.
Eywa had sent a message three months ago calling for war preparations, but they were powerless; their bows and arrows could hardly reach the creations of humanity.
The Navi Data stood in the camp. He was different, wearing no combat suit and holding no weapon. He raised his hand to catch a falling seed of the Sacred Tree from the air.
It was still pure, but its descent seemed somewhat hurried.
As the seed drifted down, a visible speck of gold followed, falling into the seed and instantly dyeing it into a golden dandelion.
Grief flowed in Data's eyes; this moment had come after all, unstoppable.
The facilities built by the humans, the various mysterious arrays inscribed—their ultimate goal was the Mother, Eywa.
He had long suspected it, but had no way to stop it, watching it all happen with his own eyes.
The world spirit sensed this. The golden power began to invade, compressing its living space.
Whoosh—!
The forest pulsed like a breath, with countless lives surging within it. The ocean began to rage, with crashing waves overlapping in fury, accompanied by thunder and wrath.
In the twelve bases, giant barrel-shaped machines slowly started up, emitting strange fluctuations to soothe the atmospheric disturbance of the planet.
"Atmospheric Modification Devices operational," Sophia appeared beside Lion, holding Data in her hands. "Currently running at thirty percent total power. Power is still climbing. It is predicted that fifty percent can hold the line, while eighty percent will be the planet's limit."
"Continue monitoring and adjust at any time." Lion nodded with satisfaction. The Nur Stars had vast resources and ample supplies; he was finally fighting a battle with overwhelming superiority.
There were still backup machines that hadn't been started. If the current power reached eighty percent, it could suppress a planet-level atmospheric riot.
The Artificial Intelligence's capabilities were extraordinary; with just a single command, she arranged everything clearly.
Sanguinius took flight, gazing into the distance from a high vantage point. Pandora was now filled with rolling black clouds as two powers clashed in the atmosphere.
He saw the depths of the jungle shaking, and the automatic cannons on the edge of the anti-gravity platform activated, locking onto the distant sky.
A cacophony of whistling sounds reached his ears. A large patch of black clouds moved quickly, breaking away from the sky and diving toward the giant tree platform.
The Great Angel looked closely and saw it wasn't a black cloud at all, but a swarm composed of countless flying behemoths, their eyes blood-red as they launched an attack.
The counterattack of the world spirit had begun!
The automatic turrets began to charge. Azure lightning pierced the gloomy sky as arc turrets fired scattered electricity into the swarm.
A terrifying scene unfolded. The electrical arcs jumped through the swarm, passing from one target to the next, causing large numbers of flying beasts to fall wherever they passed.
The outer turrets fired fragmentation rounds, a single volley shredding the swarm, leaving only a few psychic beasts to fall with mournful cries under the precision fire of pressurized lasers.
Sanguinius shook his head and descended from the air to his brother's side. There was no need to worry about the outer perimeter; the local threat was negligible.
At the edge of his vision, the coastal base was being hit by a tsunami. Amphibious sea beasts charged the walls, only to be completely annihilated by the powerful current released by the plasma reactors.
All twelve sub-bases were under attack. The ground walls hadn't even fired their cannons; the decomposition fields outside the walls broke the charging swarms down into molecular form.
Faced with the defenses Nul had deployed, how could the local beasts possibly break through?
The Emperor remained unmoved by everything outside. His consciousness spread with his psychic power, covering the world of Pandora and sealing off the world spirit.
Rumble!!!!
A dull roar echoed across the world as the earth cracked and tore in its tremors. The ground beneath the floating base collapsed, and the jungle was swallowed by the fissures in the earth.
Unfortunately, it was of no use.
Sophia had long anticipated this. The array base was suspended in mid-air, and the storms were suppressed by the Atmospheric Modification Devices, making it difficult to shake the floating base.
The array was unaffected as well. The torn patterns were re-projected, instead entering deeper because of the cracked earth.
Seeing its methods fail, the world spirit stopped using them to avoid wasting its strength.
The Emperor did not stop for a moment. Golden psychic power flowed endlessly from the body of the Emperor, and under his conscious control, it entered the white trees of the world spirit.
No corner was spared. Seabeds, volcanoes, glaciers, caves, fissures—golden psychic power fell everywhere, surrounding all those white trees and seeping into them to spread along their roots.
If one set aside the purpose behind it, Pandora was exceptionally beautiful at this moment. The world seemed like a sacred land, becoming a brilliant and dazzling star.
As the Emperor's will extended and took over, the atmosphere gradually returned to calm. The birds and beasts lost their connection to Eywa and fled in panic, unable to organize again.
The Navi knelt on the ground and wept; they could no longer sense their Mother.
"Phase one complete."
Three days later, the Emperor's closed eyes slightly opened, and his words seemed to echo throughout the entire world.
The first phase of the plan. The Emperor would divide his will to suppress the world spirit, gain control of the surface, and reduce the occurrence of accidents.
"Begin phase two."
It was here!
The most dangerous second phase began. The Emperor would drive the array to build a Warp conduit, projecting his own will into the Sea of Souls.
During this process, his consciousness would be in the Warp, and then project back down to erase the consciousness of the world spirit.
Blazkowicz felt a surge of extreme vigilance. He lowered his arms from his chest as the regent armor emerged from a dimensional rift, fitting over his massive frame.
"Yo! Yo! Yo!"
"Incredible, simply incredible!" As the regent armor was donned, the Void Dragon's voice predictably emerged, filled with gasps and excitement: "This is snatching food from a dog's mouth, going head-to-head against the Chaos Gods?"
Ignoring the Void Dragon, Blazkowicz looked up at the sky, his gaze locked on the demons.
"Let's go." Lion called out, taking the lead to leave the observation area and head toward the pre-arranged defensive positions.
The task for the three of them was to guard the side of the consciousness conduit, preventing enemies from destroying the fragile conduit nodes.
As the three great figures walked, a psychic barrier slowly rose. It was at one corner of the massive array, a deliberate design.
The conduit was surrounded by layers of protection. Even if an accident occurred, the demons would not be able to rush to the center of the array and directly affect the caster.
"Rise!"
With a low shout from the Emperor, Malcador understood perfectly and waved his hand, signaling the Sisters of Silence to move away from the stone coffins.
Valdor moved swiftly, pulling the chains wrapped in his hands to undo the seals on the stone coffins, revealing what lay within.
The stone coffins were made from the ashes of Blanks. Inside lay Psykers, their eyes vacant, clearly having undergone lobotomies.
Ten Alpha+ level Psykers. Although they had lost their self-awareness, it seemed they could sweep the field on instinct alone.
As their auras surged, Malcador's left hand struck out red magic runes, merging them into the bodies of the powerful Psykers, performing a unique psychic technique.
"Go!" Boundless psychic power was guided out. The Sigillite gave a low shout, directing the psychic energy into the conduit the Emperor had established.
The psychic energy instantly diffused, and a gap was punched through the Real Universe!
In an instant, golden light flared brilliantly. The Emperor's body erupted with intense radiance, and a stream of light shot out from his forehead, plunging straight into the gap.
Then more golden light fell, and the gap continued to expand until it merged with the ground conduit, building a golden passage.
A brilliant sun rose in the Warp. Its radiance was cold and piercing, purging the filth of the area and sweeping away the Warp demons.
"What is that!" Lion roared, pointing his sword at the void. At the other end of the physical conduit, beside the golden rampart the Emperor had built, countless horrific entities waited.
Red, blue, green, purple—those entities were twisted and hideous, lined up in neat formations and rubbing their hands, their eyes never hiding their malice.
Their military formations were shrouded in light, allowing them to escape destruction from the Emperor's light, and they were watching the rampart hungrily.
"Malicious things!" Sanguinius flourished his longsword, his pure eyes overflowing with disgust, his radiant face contorted with anger.
"These are the enemies we must guard against." Blazkowicz raised his hand and grasped the air, and the Crucible Sword sliced through the void, landing firmly in his hand. "Demons!"
Fury surged in his heart as he raised his sword toward the golden barrier, his murderous intent stinging the host of demons.
"They cannot break the barrier. Before the Emperor completes the soul-binding ritual, we only need to be wary of their tricks."
Valdor stepped forward, the spear of helios in his hand still silent. His eyes were full of confidence—under the Emperor's protection, it was absolutely impossible for the demons to break the barrier.
His confidence came from the power of his master.
Outside the barrier, demons stared wide-eyed, peering inward. They showed no malice, for their very existence was a convergence of it.
Malicious things born of fantasy, their very existence was a curse.
With the barrier set by the Emperor in place, it was difficult for the demons to break through into the Real Universe. The demonic armies of the Four Gods loitered outside the junction, seemingly helpless.
Constantine Valdor's confidence stemmed from the will of the Emperor, which suppressed all filth; even gods would find it difficult to break through.
"Prepare for battle." The voice coming from behind them was low. Harlan Ogilvy's voice was flat as he gripped his weapon, stroking the handle of the dark light spear, his expression particularly heavy.
Valdor looked back at the Champion Swordsman, his tone carrying a hint of warning: "Our mission is defense. They cannot break through. We only need to wait for my Lord to complete the ritual."
A slight standoff emerged; one had supreme trust in the Emperor, while the other expressed distrust.
As their masters were different, their perspectives inevitably diverged. The conversation was peaceful, yet there was an underlying, unyielding firmness.
Lion's emerald eyes flickered between the two, his peripheral vision focused on the passage, observing and analyzing the situation to quickly piece together the truth from the intelligence gathered.
Among those present, he felt that he and Sanguinius were in the dark, while the others knew more or less of the truth and were familiar with where the monsters came from.
Sanguinius did not look behind him. His sharp gaze was fixed on the passage, watching those wicked creatures, pure fury burning in his eyes.
"Commander of the Imperial Guard." Harlan wiped the blade of the dark light spear and gestured for Valdor to look toward the passage: "So, are they here for a picnic?"
"Are their masters so bored that they've come to cheer for your master's victory? Or are they planning to surrender to you?"
Hearing the question, Valdor's expression did not change, but his gaze darkened slightly; clearly, he was seriously considering why the demons had come.
Harlan curled his lips, the movement of his facial muscles pulling at the scars on his face. His sneer was hideous and mocking: "The curse on me is beginning to stir. The powers of the Warp are in the shadows, waiting for the battle after the barrier shatters."
"You believe in your master; he gave you everything. I also believe in intuition; it has saved me countless times on the battlefield."
With that, he turned and left, walking toward Blazkowicz, who was setting up the defensive line in the distance.
Valdor watched them converse, and then the atmosphere near the passage changed noticeably. The Doom Slayers and the Sentinels activated their weapons and moved into defensive positions.
Lion also left, walking to Blazkowicz's side to offer deployment suggestions for various areas, preparing for the coming battle.
He felt the Champion Swordsman made a lot of sense. Those filthy creatures were clearly not here for a tour but were waiting patiently outside the walls.
Waiting for what? To rush in once the walls collapsed!
"Prepare for battle!" Valdor put on his helmet, the blade of the spear of helios activated. He turned toward the Soulless Queen, assigning tasks for the Sisters of Silence and the Imperial Guard to coordinate.
"I'll go over there." Sanguinius pointed to a corner of the defensive line, choosing his own combat position without asking too much about the enemy.
The Great Angel silently prophesied, seeing the battle and understanding what he needed to do.
The position he chose was a corner of the defensive perimeter, forming a triangle with his two brothers, filling a gap in the regional defense and balancing the high-end combat power of the defensive circle.
Blazkowicz moved slightly, leading the Primarchs Guard to stand before the defensive bastion, waiting for the passage to shatter and the Daemon army to rush into the Real Universe.
Harlan's words had reminded him. Gods do nothing without purpose; demons would not come for sightseeing. They were waiting for an accident to happen to the passage.
Now the only unknown was—how would the passage shatter?
Battle was inevitable; as for the specific process, it was unknown. They could only prepare for combat and try to ensure the ritual would not be interrupted.
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The Emperor's will suspended in the Warp, spotting the demonic armies of the Four Gods immediately, but He paid them no extra heed.
His will descended from the Warp, turning into a golden line extending from the Pandora Holy Tree to the world spirit, beginning the plan He had formulated.
The Emperor saw the demonic armies of the Four Gods and knew the battle was inevitable. The Dark Gods were fully prepared, and the key to victory or defeat lay with Him.
The progress of the soul-binding ritual represented the tipping of the scales of victory.
He would not destroy the Daemon army because it was pointless; the servants of the Four Gods were nearly infinite, and doing so would only waste time.
Now they had entered a state of gambit, pulling back and forth around the soul ritual.
The consciousness of the cold sun descended from the Warp, connecting the roots of the Holy Tree to the world's core, searching for the world spirit, which was the key to victory.
Time marched forward inexorably. The demons waited with bared fangs and claws, the Emperor sought the world's will, and the Primarchs deployed for war.
Meanwhile, on Prospero far away in the Ultima Orientis Segmentum, a grand psychic spell was nearing completion.
The Thousand Sons Legion had built a psychic tower. Magnus sat cross-legged, suspended at the spire, with psychic formations inscribed on the floor to amplify the Primarch's power.
Looking closely, the formation was grotesque and deviant; the inscribed characters and runes were extremely strange, certainly not of human cultural heritage.
This was an alien spell the Primarch had permitted Ahriman and others to use during the war to exterminate the Skinks, in order to lure alien reinforcements to their home planet.
Now, at the Gene-Father' firm insistence, the amplification spell was being used to strengthen psychic power and inform the Emperor of what was about to happen.
In the sarcophagi at the base of the spire, the minds of Psykers were being drained by charms and conduits, flowing into the core of consciousness at the spire.
The Legion members surrounded the Primarch, chanting in a strange language, guiding the psychic power into the body of the Gene-Father.
Pale purple psychic energy poured into his body. Magnus' crimson form shuddered as he felt his mind being elevated infinitely, breaking through shackles to reach a brand-new realm.
Though his eyes were tightly shut, the sights he saw were completely different.
Those mysteries of knowledge that were once incomprehensible were now suddenly clear. The truths of the universe and the Warp slowly unfolded, with nothing hidden, completely open to him.
This feeling was intoxicating. Magnus felt as if he were sitting among the stars, his consciousness transcending the galaxy, with the universe at his beck and call.
"Psychic transmission has reached its peak!"
The urgent prompt blew away the ethereal feeling. Magnus snapped awake from his intoxication, his heart filled with immense shock.
The alien amplification spell was indeed extraordinary. By just a tiny margin, his consciousness would have expanded infinitely, moving away from his physical beacon and becoming lost in an infinite ocean of knowledge.
This amplification spell had been prepared for a long time, draining a large number of Psykers to accumulate an absolute strength, all to create a ripple in his father's psychic barrier and deliver the information.
Waking from the illusory ethereality, Magnus identified the direction and indeed found a golden sun within the Warp.
The golden sun radiated a majestic aura. He recognized it instantly as his father's soul, now completely exposed to the Warp.
Magnus' consciousness suddenly tightened; his father's ritual had already begun!
He dared not delay. His consciousness, amplified by psychic power, crossed the distance rapidly, moving countless times faster as he charged toward the Emperor's location.
The situation was now extremely critical. Dark creatures surrounded his father, exactly as in the prophecy; a fierce battle could break out at any moment!
As Magnus' consciousness entered the Warp, the Emperor sensed His son's familiar aura, and a surge of relief welled up in His heart.
His son's aura was now significantly stronger. He must have noticed the abnormalities in the Warp and specially performed a psychic projection to come and help Him.
This was good; once Magnus arrived, clearing the demons near the barrier would be simple.
But the Emperor noticed an anomaly. Magnus was moving too fast, charging straight toward Him without any intention of slowing down!
To penetrate the barrier and deliver the message, Magnus had sacrificed the lives of Psykers and, with the assistance of his Legion's sons, accumulated an unimaginable amount of power.
He knew well how powerful his father was. If the power were too small, it wouldn't even cause a ripple in the barrier, let alone deliver an urgent message.
Before this, Magnus had already prepared himself mentally to save his father's and brothers' lives, even at the cost of being punished.
Just as he was about to reach his father, an accident occurred!
Magnus discovered to his horror that he could not control his speed and was unable to take any action.
In that one long instant, at the psychic spire in the Real Universe, the chest of a Thousand Sons warrior suddenly burst open, and bright red blood sprayed into the amplification formation.
Within a second, the Legion Warrior's flesh twisted into a mass of breathing meat, his runic robes shattered, and countless floating eyes grew out.
"No!!!"
Ahriman let out a shrill roar, filled with horror and fear, his hand reaching out powerlessly to undo it.
His brother's blood contaminated the suppression runes of the amplification formation.
The formation suddenly lit up. The psychic energy, now without suppression, poured into the body of the Gene-Father, causing his form to expand rapidly.
The chain reaction was like nuclear fission. The formation went completely out of control, and the psychic energy shrieked violently as it trembled, as if mocking the stupidity of the Thousand Sons warrior.
The amplification array spiraled out of control. Magnus' soul was like a high-speed train that had lost its brakes and speed protection, and the energy supply had suddenly surged.
He accumulated supreme power, turning into a brilliant meteor that streaked across the treacherous sea of the Warp, charging uncontrollably toward the golden sun.
The mastermind would never let him crash into the Emperor; that would be meaningless.
In the psychic spire of the Real Universe, a negligible change appeared once again in a corner of the chaotic formation.
Splattered blood crawled like tadpoles, quietly altering a rune in the array. At a minimal cost, it shifted the grand tide concerning the future.
The infinite combinations of the chaotic array issued a final command before the Legion Warriors could stop the formation.
Magnus was terrified; his uncontrollable soul suddenly changed direction, veering off the trajectory toward the Emperor and slamming violently toward that golden bridge.
The Emperor's mind trembled, his fury rising. Magnus' folly could no longer be stopped; this act was the very opening of the gambit.
Because the will of the Four Gods had already arrived.
They hid within the waves of the Warp, coldly watching, preventing him from personally striking Magnus away.
"What is that?"
At the other end of the bridge connecting to the Warp, on the side of the Real Universe bridge, the sharp-eyed Sanguinius spotted the crimson meteor.
Such a change was abrupt; an accident had occurred after all.
"Prepare for battle!"
"Prepare for battle!"
"Prepare for battle!"
The Doom Slayers, Sentinels, and Talons of the Emperor reacted in sync, their weapons ready for the unexpected.
Valdor's expression was grim. He instinctively stepped in front of Jenetia Krole; the coming battle would require the cooperation of the Sisters of Silence.
Along the extended line of the defensive perimeter, Captain of the Adeptus Custodes Odysseus silently gave the order for the Custodian Guard to close in on the Doom Slayers, preparing to resist the daemons together.
"Prepare the anti-daemon array," Blazkowicz ordered calmly. "Raise the psychic barrier; trap us inside with the daemons."
Several Psyker Masters slowly retreated to their designated nodes and began chanting incantations. A white anti-daemon barrier rose, weakening the power of the daemons.
With anti-daemon arrays, dimensional barriers, and psychic barriers all active, the human army was ready to engage the enemy.
"Watch for aerial enemies," Blazkowicz called out to his brothers.
Sanguinius nodded and took to the sky, making those winged entities of malice his primary targets for prevention.
Lion stood on high ground, craning his neck to look around, checking the troop deployment for any vulnerabilities.
He knew deep down that this battle would be tragic, its intensity far exceeding all previous campaigns.
The crimson meteor arrived.
Magnus was terrified, unable to control his posture as he crashed violently into the golden bridge.
*Crack!*
The sound of the psychic barrier shattering echoed clearly through both realms. Cracks spread from the point of impact like a spiderweb before the whole thing came crashing down.
"Father! Brother!"
A psychic ripple spread. To prevent further accidents, Magnus had cast a spell on himself that allowed him to transmit information through these ripples.
His will did not stop. After piercing the Warp channel, he crashed into the Real Universe side. As the sound of the barrier shattering rang out, everyone present looked exceptionally grave.
"Please stop your actions, you are in danger!"
Countless powerful warriors stared at the red meteor. The Primarchs' expressions were extremely grim; they never expected that the one to sabotage the psychic ritual would be their own brother.
At this moment, Magnus finally realized what a foolish thing he had done—
When his soul hit the barrier, his consciousness briefly connected with his father, and he learned the true purpose of the psychic barrier.
It supported a great plan, defending against Warp invasions—and he was the one who had destroyed the life's work of his father and brothers.
"Magnus!!!"
An extremely angry roar shattered the silence. The Real Universe trembled, and a violent storm whipped up in the Warp.
A man who rarely showed emotion, a man whose words were conveyed by servants, a man who was always calm and unruffled.
Now his fury was overwhelming; even the Primarchs trembled under this uncontrollable, genuine rage.
The Emperor's rage tore through the sky, making even the daemons shudder. It echoed eternally in the Warp, stirring up boundless waves.
Far away in the Wheel of Fire Sector, Leman Russ turned pale as he felt his father's anger; Horus stood up from the throne of the Vengeful Spirit, cold sweat dripping from his forehead.
Almost all Primarchs, whether still lost or already found, felt a soul-deep fear.
Through the bloodline connection, the being known as "Father" unleashed an uncontrollable, cataclysmic power in his towering rage.
Magnus' heart was like cold ash. The radiance of his soul dimmed instantly as he stood frozen at the breach in the barrier, trembling incessantly under his father's pressure.
"If you have nothing else, you may leave."
Another majestic voice woke him. Looking up, he saw a dark void that his soul-sight could not pierce.
"The irreparable has already happened." The brother in the darkness continued to speak, urging Magnus to leave quickly: "Do not trust the Warp."
Blazkowicz sighed helplessly as the Sentinels relayed the psychic communication: Magnus had done a bad thing out of good intentions, committing a monumental error.
"I—" Magnus wanted to say something, but a golden hand seized his throat, plucked him from the damaged channel, and threw him deep into the Warp.
His consciousness spun as the Warp winds nearly tore him apart.
"Begone!" Amidst the pain and chaos, Magnus heard his father's grief-stricken rebuke: "Stay on Prospero and await judgment regarding this matter."
Judgment. An extremely severe word, reserved for unforgivable crimes.
Magnus did not argue. He knew he had made a terrible mistake. Feeling as though he had lost all strength, he allowed his pained soul to return to his body.
His body fell from the air, lying lifelessly within the dimmed ritual array, his crimson form silent and still.
If not for the rising and falling of his chest, this lifeless body would have seemed dead.
"Fa—"
The Thousand Sons warriors' joyful calls stopped abruptly. They wanted to ask about the result, but the scene before them made them fall silent in fear.
Their crimson-bodied father lay on the ground, lifeless, staring blankly at the ceiling with a single tear hanging from the corner of his eye.
The Legion Warriors didn't dare make a sound. they quietly retreated from the psychic spire, exchanging glances at the entrance.
From the Primarch's state, the result was self-evident—
The focus on the outcome quickly shifted; the Legion Warriors were worried about what their Gene-Father had encountered to end up in such a state.
One warrior was overwhelmed with guilt—it was he who had provided the xenos spell that led the Gene-Father to this point.
As he grieved silently, a hand landed on his shoulder. A brother stood beside him, slowly shaking his head.
"No one could have predicted this outcome," Ahriman broke the silence, drawing the attention of his Legion brothers.
T
"Let us leave the Primarch in peace."
He pointed at the pulsating masses of flesh on the ground and said, "First, take our brothers away from here; they are suffering greatly."
The group soon found their footing and began to act, tiptoeing away quietly, not daring to disturb the Primarch's "meditation."
Ahriman looked back at the closed doors, his long sigh swallowed by the darkness.
Wrong methods lead to wrong results. Perhaps from the moment he obtained the Warp shard, everything the Gene-Father saw was wrong.
And the Primarch, in his eagerness to save, had instead facilitated that very outcome.
Now, all the Thousand Sons Legion could do was wait for the Emperor to arrive, accept the judgment of the Emperor, and atone for the sins they had committed.
At the other end of the sea of stars, there was none of Prospero's quiet. The mistake Magnus made was left for his brothers and father to bear.
"To battle stations!"
Lion roared from on high, acting like a true lion as he called forth the warriors' passion for battle.
His brother Magnus had smashed a breach, and the daemon host came howling down from the Warp like streaks of light, their ear-piercing shrieks soul-shattering.
The daemon princes of the Four Gods hung high in the Warp, glowing with the blessings of the Chaos Gods; at this moment, they were incredibly powerful.
The daemons did not use foul insults; they too knew exactly who the enemy they faced was.
Three great demigods stood at the channel exit, including the Godslayer. The weak did not even have the right to step onto such a battlefield.
The daemon host summoned by the gods was led by Greater Daemons of renown, their Great True Names reflecting in the Warp, known to all living beings.
"Brothers!"
Harlan walked before the Sentinels, the scent of blood on him growing thicker. He raised his spear high, his battle cry enough to shatter daemons: "These lowly things have come again!"
"They dare to set foot in the realm of warriors! Trample them! Filthy abominations do not deserve an honorable death!"
Hah! Hah!
The Sentinels' roars were deafening, their hearts devoid of fear, their eyes filled with the resolve for vengeance.
Outside the barrier, Malcador shook his head in sorrow, wondering how many of these warriors with extraordinary wills would be lost today.