Aboard the Fist of Iron.
The twenty-three-kilometer-long behemoth of a flagship hung silently in the freezing void.
Its silver-grey hull gleamed with a cold, unforgiving luster under the distant starlight.
The dense array of macro-cannons and lance batteries bristling across its surface were fully powered and standing by.
Deep within the warship, along a main corridor leading to the core sanctums, a squad of over twenty Solar Auxilia soldiers was on routine patrol.
They wore standard-issue Auxilia uniforms, lasrifles held at the ready, marching in perfect, synchronized lockstep.
Leading the squad was a commanding Captain.
Branded onto his pauldron was the sigil of the Solar Auxilia...
A blazing sun.
The troopers trailing behind him maintained flawless tactical formation with every step they took.
However, hovering above the heads of these twenty-odd men...
Including the commanding Captain.
Were glowing gold player IDs.
[Region Channel (Light of the Imperium)]
[Defending the Imperium is My Sacred Duty] walked at the very front of the formation, his eyes sweeping the surroundings with practiced vigilance. He spoke slowly in the faction channel: "Listen up, brothers. The 28th Expeditionary Fleet has arrived. Embedded within their ranks are the Chaos players who won that epic-tier faction quest a while back. They got heavily rewarded for it, so you can bet your asses their combat power and firepower are going to be absolutely off the charts! This upcoming battle with the Diasporex won't just be void warfare between ships; there are definitely going to be boarding actions and close-quarters deck fighting. Tell me, do we have the confidence to wipe them completely off the map? Avenge our Loyalist brothers who fell on Laeran?!"
The channel fell silent for a fraction of a second before instantly exploding with activity.
[I am the Living Dragon]: "Damn right we're confident! Liam, with a veteran super-commander like you leading us? Under your precise tactical command, we completely routed those thousand-plus Chaos players in the 52nd Expeditionary Fleet! Four minor campaign quests, and we swept every single one of them! Those Chaos players had no choice but to tuck tail and run!"
[Two-Faced Turtle] chimed in: "Yeah, exactly! Liam relied purely on his own skills to catch the eye of a cohort-level Tribune! He got rapid-fire promoted straight from the standard Imperial Auxilia to a Solar Auxilia Company Captain! That's a literal rocket-ship promotion!"
[Metal Garurumon Beast Girl]: "Liam is a beast! If this was a standard MMO, how much cash would you have to whale to level up that fast?"
Hearing this, [Defending the Imperium is My Sacred Duty] merely offered a faint smile. "Just got lucky, that's all." His gaze drifted toward the colossal purple-and-gold flagship in the distance, a flicker of complex emotion flashing deep within his eyes. "Confidence is good, but don't underestimate the enemy. Those Chaos players aren't easy to deal with. We'll likely trigger another quest soon. Compared to the might of two full Astartes Legions, our player faction is still far too weak. Our role will probably remain strictly auxiliary. But we must give it everything we have and secure this victory!"
A chorus of unified responses flooded the channel: "Understood, Liam!"
--
[Defending the Imperium is My Sacred Duty] closed the region channel and continued leading his patrol forward.
His gaze swept past the observation port at the end of the corridor, looking out at the intermingled fleet of purple and silver-grey.
The purple-and-gold Pride of the Emperor hung silently in the void, a distant mirror to the silver-grey Fist of Iron.
A faint smile curled at the corners of his mouth.
Bring it on, Chaos faction. You may have beaten the Loyalists once back on Laeran. But this time, I'm here. If you think you're going to win, you've got another thing coming.
Fulgrim, Primarch of the Emperor's Children.
Ferrus, Primarch of the Iron Hands.
The Diasporex, a nomadic coalition of humans and xenos roaming the cosmos.
And the Chaos faction players, backed by overwhelming firepower.
How exactly would this battle for the Carollis Star unfold?
Liam didn't know the answer, but he knew he bore the weight of exploring this mysterious game.
This game had given him a second chance to walk, a second chance to step onto a battlefield, sparing him from his past reality...
So, regardless of how the war turned out, he would fight with everything he had.
For the Loyalist brothers who died on Laeran.
And for... the path he had so resolutely chosen for himself.
--
Far out in the deep void.
A Thunderhawk gunship slowly detached from the Pride of the Emperor.
Trailing twin plumes of blue exhaust, the silver-grey fuselage accelerated toward the Fist of Iron.
Ferrus sat by the viewport, his cold, hardened eyes fixed on the receding purple-and-gold flagship outside.
Gabriel Santar sat opposite him in total silence.
The atmosphere inside the cabin was suffocatingly heavy.
After a long while, Ferrus finally broke the silence. His voice was low, carrying the latent heat of iron freshly tempered in a forge. "Gabriel."
"Father." Gabriel looked up.
"Did you sense anything unusual?"
Gabriel remained silent for two seconds.
He knew exactly what his gene-father was asking.
Aboard the Pride of the Emperor, during that grand banquet, moving among the Emperor's Children... he had felt something incredibly wrong.
"I did," he spoke slowly, his voice as unyielding as iron. "The atmosphere among the Emperor's Children is entirely different from before. It's erratic. Those Astartes still maintain their facade of absolute perfection, but there is something else lurking in their eyes now... an unnatural, feverish fanaticism. Especially from the Captain named Lucius." Gabriel's brow furrowed slightly. "He seems to harbor a deep grudge against me. The moment I stepped onto the landing pad, his eyes were locked onto me. The sheer malice in his stare was so palpable I didn't even need my enhanced senses to feel it. I have never done anything to the man, and I have no idea why he would look at me with such raw hatred."
Ferrus did not reply.
His mind was entirely occupied, replaying every minute detail of the banquet.
Fulgrim's obsessive, frequent drops of the word perfection.
That faint, purplish-pink light flickering in his brother's eyes.
And the hushed words whispered to him in private after the council of war had concluded...
The title of Warmaster should belong to you. Horus? By what right? Ferrus, you are the only one truly suited for the mantle.
He had merely shaken his head at the time, stating firmly that he had already accepted Horus's appointment as Warmaster.
But Fulgrim had been utterly relentless, persisting in his persuasion.
That disturbing level of obsession, that manic fervor...
It didn't feel like a brother fighting for his sibling's honor.
It felt more like... he was desperately trying to convince himself.
Ferrus tapped his fingers gently against the armrest twice.
He turned his head, his gaze piercing through the viewport to rest on the shrinking silhouette of the Pride of the Emperor.
His craggy face remained an impassive mask of stone.
Yet, beneath the surface, his heart was in violent turmoil!
He couldn't stop analyzing Fulgrim's bizarre changes, turning over the conversation regarding the reinforcements Fulgrim had mentioned deploying.
--
Aboard the Pride of the Emperor, within the Heliopolis.
Fulgrim stood before a massive observation port, watching the Thunderhawk gunship gradually vanish into the endless depths of the starry sea.
His right hand rested heavily upon the pommel of his sword.
The Blade of the Laer quivered subtly within its scabbard, that sickly purplish-pink luminescence bleeding through the seams and wrapping around his fingertips.
The Heliopolis was completely empty.
He was entirely alone.
Suddenly, a voice echoed inside his mind.
It was impossibly soft, seductive, whispering like a lover's breath directly into his ear. "Ferrus is a sycophant. He plays the role of the loyal brother to your face, yet covets the Warmaster's seat behind your back. Just look at his sickening hypocrisy... Secretly seething with resentment, yet publicly claiming to accept reality. How utterly pathetic."
Fulgrim's fingers tightened marginally around the hilt.
The voice continued, every single syllable a silken mixture of honey and lethal poison slowly injecting directly into his soul. "Only you are truly worthy of perfection. Only you are worthy of the Warmaster's mantle. Only you..." The voice paused, adopting an even deeper, more tantalizing purr, "...are worthy of wielding this perfect blade."
Fulgrim closed his eyes.
His mind conjured Ferrus's cold, hardened face.
It conjured the absolute calmness when Ferrus had declared his acceptance of Horus as Warmaster.
It conjured the grave intensity when Ferrus had asked, Fulgrim, why have you changed your blade?
Fulgrim's eyes snapped open.
Deep within his violet irises, the creeping purplish-pink corruption was slowly beginning to spread.
He took a deep breath, ruthlessly shoving those conflicting thoughts back into the darkest recesses of his mind.
"Now is not the time to dwell on this," he murmured to himself, his gaze piercing through the viewport and out into the vast expanse of the cosmos. "First, we finish this war. First, we secure a flawless victory. And then..."
He didn't finish the sentence.
But the blade resting in his grip vibrated violently, almost as if answering the unspoken words hanging in the air.
--
Inside the Thunderhawk gunship, bound for the Fist of Iron.
Ferrus was still staring out the viewport.
His lips parted slightly, breathing a nearly inaudible whisper into the cabin's cold air. "Fulgrim, my dearest brother... What in the warp has happened to you?"