Late November, 2512 IC, Old World, World's Edge Mountains, east of Eight Peaks, at Streamwatch Outpost.
Since the arrival of the Wood Elves, the expeditionary force had ample supplies and the means to hold out longer. However, they had not rushed into a full-scale assault. Instead, they seemed to be waiting for something, launching only small, precise strikes against nearby greenskin outposts.
Unbeknownst to them, they had missed a prime opportunity to attack when Skarsnik was away from Eight Peaks. But they continued to wait.
They were waiting for Ryan to break through.
The Knight King was in the midst of advancing to the High Saint rank.
Relations between the Dwarfs and Wood Elves were tense. Belega constantly complained that the pointy-ears were fools, while the Wood Elves refused to cooperate with the Dwarven forces. Each side operated independently, and their friction occasionally resulted in friendly fire. The Wood Elves, led by Araloth, were proud and saw no need for any advice on mountain warfare or tunnel fighting from the dwarfs. To them, the dwarfs were only useful for guiding the way.
The Wood Elves considered the dwarfs a stubborn bunch. Belega excelled at direct combat and trench warfare, but he failed to appreciate the Wood Elves' mobility and superior long-range firepower. Furthermore, Belega insisted that they wait for Ryan to complete his breakthrough before launching the final attack. This greatly frustrated Araloth, who had hoped to take command of the coalition, reclaim Eight Peaks, recover elven artifacts, and ascend to greatness, even dreaming of marrying the ultimate beauty, Lilith. In Araloth's eyes, with Ryan absent, he should be the one leading the coalition. But the obstinate dwarf refused to agree, infuriating him even more.
The acting commander Calard and Veronica, who was in charge of coordinating the factions, were at their wits' end trying to manage the tensions. Even Veronica, who was usually adept at diplomacy and hospitality, was unsure how to handle the escalating conflict between the dwarfs and Wood Elves.
In the end, the old solution prevailed—each side operated independently, with the Knight army keeping the Dwarven and Wood Elf camps separated. When launching assaults, the two forces were never combined.
Fortunately, Ryan was seen as a "useful monkey" by the Wood Elves, and while Araloth occasionally grumbled, he didn't actively stir trouble. Still, tensions between the elves and dwarfs simmered, and the fragile alliance seemed unlikely to last much longer. Complaints from both sides were increasing, and the Knights weren't skilled mediators.
The only hope was that Ryan, with his unique strength and leadership, would be able to unify the coalition forces.
For now, everyone was waiting for Ryan's return.
In a cold and quiet manor, Dark Elf attendants stood by the door as Ryan sat on a stone bench in the hall.
Half of his body was shrouded in platinum flames and lightning, while the other half was enveloped in a dark, misty aura.
The Primarch of the Grey Knights was feeling the noise from his armor, his sword, his warhammer, and even his soul. The constant hum agitated him as he attempted to break through to the High Saint rank. He could feel his power growing, a terrifying storm of psychic energy and a warp vortex swirling around his very being. It was both a barrier to his advancement and something that was protecting him.
Now, Ryan had to break through it!
The platinum flames and lightning had already scorched everything inside the house except for the stone walls. Even the stone bench beneath him was charred. The dark magic barrier raised by Olica seemed to be holding for now, but it too was being pushed to its limits.
Ryan noticed he was growing taller. When he had left Norsca, he stood at 6'1", but now he was nearing 6'5". As he grew, his body was changing. His internal organs were shifting, and he found he could control his heartbeat—slowing it when at rest, speeding it up during combat, at will.
His lung capacity had greatly increased, and psychic energy surged through him like a warm stream. He could see through his translucent stomach and observed how his organs were evolving into something beyond human.
This wasn't unusual for a Primarch. Each one had a unique physiology, often possessing organs never seen before. Magnus, for example, had no blood in his veins, only an endless torrent of sorcery. So, Ryan wasn't surprised by his changes. He had always expected to be different—like how something in him appeared silver and glowing, serving as a perfect source of magic and psychic energy, marking him as extraordinary.
Ryan had a vague feeling that the stronger he became, the closer he got to some ultimate truth. Something was calling him back. The voice was gentle, seductive, and as he broke through, he felt he was touching the essence of his being. A vast treasury of knowledge lay before him, its doors open… with someone offering him a free explanation and revelation.
The loyal son of the Emperor knew this wasn't his father's voice or power, but something far more dangerous and supreme.
That voice urged him to ask questions: What were the Primarchs made from? What technology had the Emperor used to create them? What was the true nature of the Warp?
"You cannot hide. There is no escape."
"You are forsaken. Even the land beneath your feet is sowing seeds of destruction!"
"Resistance is futile. Our messengers will usher in a new era! True civilization awaits, and only through faith in us will you gain everything."
Ryan knew that curiosity could destroy everything. With immense willpower, he resisted the urge to reach for the knowledge behind the door. But even the briefest glance through the crack had already invited disaster. Now, multiple voices, both gentle and violent, whispered in his ears.
"Recreate everything in our name! Witness our greatest creation!"
"Your struggle… is meaningless."
"Your souls are the finest feast for us."
"We are your beginning… and your end."
"That fool thinks he can threaten our grand design, but from the start, all was predestined. Everything will meet its end, and you will join us."
"Enough!" Ryan shouted, shaking his head violently in an attempt to drive the voices from his mind, but they clung to him like worms burrowing into his skull. He fought to focus, to break through the barrier, but the noise persisted.
"Moloch is where we trade."
"Dav'n is where we collect."
"And Terra… is where we end it all."
"No, never!" Ryan futilely fought against the voices, straining his powers. After over half an hour of struggle, the voices gradually faded from his mind, leaving behind the sound of mocking laughter.
Ryan refocused, immersing his soul into his psychic realm, pushing once again toward the breakthrough.
"I am no one's slave," the Grey Knight Primarch whispered amidst the swirling chaos of the Warp. Unnatural light and swirling, foul vortices surrounded him. "Never was, even to my father. I am his son, not his tool."
"But without him, you are nothing, Ryan Malcador," came a voice from within Ryan's psychic realm. A hunched, elderly figure in a black robe, gaunt and withered, appeared behind him. His voice was detached, indifferent, and filled with scorn. "From the moment he gave you that name, you became his most prized and indispensable son."
When Ryan turned to face him, the old man's expression softened. He seemed to force himself into this kind expression, as if he had never done so before.
"It's you." Ryan looked at the kindly old man, who held a psychic staff adorned with a golden eagle. The staff burned with platinum flames, fiercer than ever.
The fire was identical to Ryan's own psychic flame.
"Is it really me? Perhaps once it was, but now, I'm just a memory, a ghost, a pre-recorded message, or maybe a figment of your imagination," the old man said. His gaze was filled with a sense of accomplishment and pride, as if a master craftsman was admiring his greatest creation. "I don't have much power left, but I must warn you: these truths are not yet yours to possess. You're not ready for them. One day, your father will tell you… but not today. I cannot allow you to repeat the mistakes we once made."
"It's always been like this. I can feel it. He… Father has been hiding something," Ryan sighed, though he no longer dwelled on it. His will was resolute. "But no matter what, I think I understand who you are. I just dislike the idea of something lurking inside my soul."
"Your words are true." The old man nodded, his face wrinkled and aged, a strange device attached to his neck with exposed cables. "I once had a similar conversation with Rogal, but you are different from him. He was a master craftsman or perhaps an architect. But you, Ryan, you are something else entirely."
"So, what should I do?" Ryan asked, sensing the old man's figure fading away, becoming more transparent.
"Do what you must. Protect this crucial world alongside your brothers," the old man replied. "Be curious, but not too curious. Be clever, but not too clever. Be rational, but not too rational."
"Useless advice," Ryan countered.
"But it will serve you well." The old man's figure finally vanished. "Begin. The whispers of the Dark Gods will trouble you no more."
"Perhaps we will meet again, or perhaps not. But know that I am always proud of you, Ryan Mal
cador."
And then he was gone.
"Thank you…" Ryan murmured, "I am proud of you too… Sigil Keeper."
——
In the flames and lightning, Ryan finally broke through to the High Saint rank. He could feel his strength had increased by more than half, though he would need time to fully understand what exactly had changed besides his raw power.
"Master, congratulations on advancing to High Saint rank." The Dark Elf, Olica, approached, kissing him on the cheek with a sweet smile. "You are one step closer to godhood."
"Olica, any news?" Ryan had been in his trance for two or three days. He took the water flask from her and drank deeply, feeling the cold underground water slide down his throat.
"Skarsnik seems to be preparing for a decisive battle. He's gathering all his forces," Olica whispered. "As of now, the dwarfs and those reclusive cousins of theirs are still arguing over whether to defend the fort or fight in the open field."
"Good. The plan worked," Ryan's gaze sharpened as he gripped the hilt of his sword, the Goddess of Vengeance. "Notify everyone—there will be a war council tomorrow at noon. The time for battle has come!"
"Yes, Master!"
_________________________
[Check out my Patreon for +200 additional chapters in all my fanfics! $5 for all!!]
[w w w . p a t r e o n .com / INNIT]
[+50 PowerStones = +1 Chapter] [+5 Reviews = +1 Chapter]