"Brother Eden, where did that unyielding will of yours go?!"
Guilliman saw the profane scene unfolding inside the Palace of Pleasure's illusion, and his mind went numb, a chill racing through his bones.
He had not expected that his brother would hold out for even less time than he had, to be corrupted by Slaanesh's delights so quickly—so quickly that he would commit such a mistake.
"My brother's will is unwavering. It cannot possibly be this fragile."
Guilliman refused to believe it.
He forced himself to calm down, his expression turning resolute once more.
"The only reason he couldn't endure is because the Lord of Pleasure inflicted something even more terrifying, even more venomous.
Brother Eden has paid far too great a price to drag me out of this profaned place!"
The Primarch of Ultima thought of the brutal corruption his brother was suffering for his sake, and shame burned even deeper in his chest.
"What a blissful spectacle. You saw it, didn't you, Roboute? Even that hypocrite cannot withstand the corruption of the great Dark Prince."
Fulgrim's flesh-cloak rippled behind him. With a casual sweep, it bound Guilliman and dragged him close.
"The Lord of Change's data-corruption array is already online. Everything you do inside the illusion will be projected into the psychic network.
Countless Imperial citizens will witness your profanation and spit upon your fall.
You will be crushed in disgrace, with not a shred of dignity left to you!"
In that moment, Fulgrim felt the sweet rush of revenge.
Recording humiliation, was it? He was simply returning it in full—doubled.
Now, the trap he had prepared for so long finally snapped shut. It would leave the Savior and the Primarch of Ultima with a shame they would regret for the rest of their existence.
And all they could do was watch it happen.
Guilliman's face went deathly pale. "That traitor… to set such a vicious revenge—this is my fault. I dragged Brother Eden into this…"
Regret flooded him.
If the profane images of him and the Savior were transmitted across the psychic network, it would deal a catastrophic blow to the Imperium's confidence—one that might never be repaired.
Guilliman knew exactly what it meant for the Savior to lose his majesty.
A century ago, during the catastrophe later known as the "Primarch Crisis," he had been framed by the High Lords. His authority was damaged.
Even Holy Terra erupted into unrest—rumors everywhere, instability everywhere.
That disaster had been contained within the Sol System, and yet it still cost tens of billions of lives and severely impeded his regency.
Afterward, Guilliman had paid an even higher price, spilled even more blood, to rebuild his authority and finally crush the rebellion.
By the post-event counts, the lives lost directly in the Primarch Crisis, and the lives consumed by its subsequent ripples, had reached into the hundreds of billions.
"This time, Fulgrim has corrupted the psychic network. The profane slander against me and Brother Eden will spread across most of the Imperium's domains.
Its impact will be ten times, a hundred times worse than the Primarch Crisis!"
Guilliman judged the implications almost instantly, and felt both rage and helplessness sink their claws into him.
Once the Savior's authority collapsed, the ambitions and cults that had been suppressed would surge up at once, seizing the chance to stir chaos.
The Dark Gods would never let such an opportunity pass.
The newly stabilized Imperium would face rebellion again. Countless Imperial citizens would be corrupted.
Guilliman could already see it—after this Palace of Pleasure incident, even if he and Brother Eden escaped, they would still need an age of time to restore Imperial order and purge the heresies and uprisings.
The Ordos and even the Adeptus Custodes would be forced to deploy in full, descending upon world after world to crush any related profanation.
Only then could the Savior's image and majesty be reconstructed.
If the situation spiraled beyond salvage…
Then perhaps Brother Eden would have to retreat into the shadows as regent, and elevate a new symbol to stand in for the Imperium.
For mankind, that would be an immense loss.
"Traitorous bastard!"
Guilliman stared at Fulgrim, eyes bloodshot.
He wanted nothing more than to erase him—to grind even his soul into nothingness.
"Roboute, is that all it takes to break you?"
Fulgrim only grew more excited. The cloak-tendrils tightened, twisting more pain out of the exhausted Primarch.
"This is only the beginning. When the Savior's corruption deepens, the Maugetar Stone array will activate.
It is a stripping.
That hypocrite's precious essence will become my strength, and I will become the mightiest Daemon Prince in the warp.
And you, Roboute… you ruined your brother. You are nothing."
Fulgrim was drunk on triumph. With torture and words alike, he heaped humiliation upon Guilliman, feeding him regret and pain.
Ahhh!!!!!
Guilliman strained with everything he had to break free, but his strength had long since dried up. He had no room left to resist.
The Primarch's suffering, and the Savior-Emperor's profaned spectacle, sent the dueling arena's daemons into an even greater frenzy.
They cheered and howled.
At the same time, more warp entities turned their attention toward the Dark Prince's vicious corruption of the Savior.
They all understood this was an opportunity that could not be missed.
Under the warp's influence, dark currents churned across the galaxy. More rebellions, more corruption, were quietly fermenting.
…
Within the Palace of Pleasure's illusion.
Beauty at its most extreme—flesh and desire—surged here like endless white waves.
And the Savior stood within it all, an adamantine-forged body pressing on relentlessly, left and right, shaking the heavens, again and again, refusing to fall.
"The Lord of Pleasure really went all-in this time. A spectacle on this scale… and he even set it inside his own palace. Pure, original flavor."
Eden sighed with genuine admiration.
Ever since the last time he had walked out of the Dark Prince's palace intact, that god had reduced the frequency of corruption attempts. There had been no "new tricks," either.
And now, all at once, the Dark Prince had come big—personally taking the field, intensity off the charts.
"I feel like I forgot something… what exactly was it?!"
Eden casually pulled an angelic saintess closer and engaged in some very "friendly" communication.
Every being here was Slaanesh—endlessly shifting—an entity that, by itself, encompassed every possible aesthetic: sex, species, form, all without limit.
Eden shook his head, trying to think, but before long he sank back into the corruption again.
The sensation was strangely subtle. Something was wrong, yet he couldn't identify what.
Gradually, the profane images inside the illusion were captured, projected into a Chaos array, and then spread outward across the Imperium's domains.
Countless gazes converged.
"By the Emperor!"
"Throne and Sun… this is impossible. Our Emperor actually…"
"Profanation. Chaos has profaned the Savior."
"This is betrayal!"
Vast numbers of Imperial administrators, warriors, and high-ranking citizens received the profane images. The shock hit them like a hammer.
Within the Palace District, the PsyNet administration bureau detected the corrupt data at once and immediately coordinated with the Machine-Goddess to begin purge operations.
Yet the blasphemous dark data was unbelievably stubborn—almost impossible to remove in the short term.
"Maximum alert. We need multiple departments working jointly on this major crisis!"
The bureau chief, Claudius, trembled as he spoke, as if the sky itself had fallen.
This incident involved the Savior. Worse, it was a terrifying trap laid by the Dark Prince—more dreadful than the destruction of an entire sector.
Emergency protocols activated in rapid succession. One department head after another assembled.
They even summoned the former Grand Inquisitor Deville—sealed within the deepest dungeon of the Auditorium, in a near-core prison cell.
That meant: if the profane data could not be contained in time, and the situation deteriorated, the Imperium would face a terrifying storm of blood and fire.
Hummm—
???
Within the warp, the Emperor's Sacred Sun was jolted awake by the countless cries. Holy energy rippled outward into the far distances.
His consciousness was flooded by cries far beyond the usual—several times more than normal—an agony that ground at him like a millstone.
The Emperor suppressed the pain and followed the path of faith-energy to investigate what had happened.
Then he saw it in the psychic network.
That brat Eden was inside the Palace of Pleasure's illusion… riding it out, carefree and delighted.
Boom—
The Emperor's wrath detonated. Worse than anger, a piercing heartbreak struck him, and sacred ripples made space itself shudder.
For an instant, he thought the Savior had truly defected to Chaos.
But quickly, he saw the truth.
That brat had simply fallen into Slaanesh's trap. His mind was being interfered with, and he was sliding toward depravity.
And worse still, he had allowed this profanation to reach Imperial citizens.
If it was not handled immediately, more minds would be tainted—more would fall to Chaos.
Yet the illusion-trap was buried deep in the warp and shielded by the gods. The Emperor could not easily intervene.
And he had no way to block the image-data in the psychic network, either. That fell under the Machine-Goddess's authority.
"I never thought the Savior would live to see a day like this. What humiliation. Fate has paid him back!"
Within the Throne Palace, Magnus had also discovered the profane feed.
He felt an immediate, illicit satisfaction.
He had once suffered the Savior's ultimate social death humiliation. Now the other side was tasting the same medicine.
Magnus was willing to return and do certain things for the Imperium, but that did not mean he had fully forgiven the Savior.
He still remembered those humiliations.
Of course, the Crimson Sorcerer-King would not retaliate.
It was the Savior's help that had allowed him to return and obtain a measure of his father's forgiveness.
But he was still happy to see the Savior suffer—especially when it was the same kind of public catastrophe he had endured.
"Looks like that guy won't have the courage to show his face in the Imperium ever again, just like me.
And more than that, he'll be punished harshly by Father!"
Magnus thought that far, and his mouth split into a grin he could not suppress.
This might have been his happiest moment in a hundred years. Worth celebrating.
But before he could enjoy it for long, he suddenly sensed a violent psychic reaction—swift, brutal.
It came from the tyrant Emperor, raging.
Magnus took a vicious psychic backhand. He was smashed straight out, miserably battered.
"Father…"
Magnus's skull rang. His face even seemed a little swollen.
He went numb. The one committing the profane act was the Savior—so why was he the one getting hit?!
A grievance he couldn't quite articulate surged up inside him, and he instantly became much more obedient.
In his father's heart, the Savior mattered more than he did. It was safer to stay cautious.
Besides, Magnus knew his father still hadn't forgotten the Webway disaster on Holy Terra—his anger hadn't fully cooled.
Better not to provoke him.
Magnus said nothing. He slipped into a corner with practiced ease, not letting any expression show.
But he still kept watching the profane livestream, secretly pleased.
"Savior… you're next. Even if you escape the illusion, you'll still have to face Father's wrath!"
While watching, he quietly tapped a "like" in the livestream's function panel.
Magnus could tell the corruption-data array was immensely complex and powerful, and it involved the data-authority of the departed demi-god daemon, Vashtorr. It was not something the Machine-Goddess could resolve quickly.
As for them, they couldn't help much anyway. All they could do was watch the show.
On the other side, the tyrant Emperor searched for a solution in fury, but he soon realized there was only one thing he could do: warn the brat through the Hope Sun.
Boom—
The Sacred Sun gathered terrifying psychic force. The Emperor's wrath inflated a psychic backhand into something colossal.
That strike slammed into the Hope Sun, warping its sphere.
???
Yet it had little effect. The Hope Sun shuddered—and remained unmoved.
"&*%$#, when did the Hope Sun grow to this extent?"
The tyrant Emperor let loose censored profanity, genuinely startled.
It had been far too long since he had used psychic force to hammer the Hope Sun. Now he discovered he could barely budge it.
Somehow, without him noticing, that brat had grown this far.
Under layered authorities, the Hope Sun had become thick-skinned and absurdly durable—able to withstand the Sacred Sun's high-intensity psychic force.
The Emperor drew a deep breath. He stopped holding back and began gathering power to strike in earnest.
He had to knock that pleasure-addled little bastard awake.
Thud. Thud. Thud!
The warp-domain shook under a chain of impacts. Holy energy ripples spread into even more distant regions.
Because sacred psychic force had little natural suppression over the Hope Sun, the Emperor could only brute-force it—and, to his shock, he even felt a trace of fatigue.
The Hope Sun had no real offensive power, but it was tougher than he'd imagined, and it had adapted to sacred psychic force.
&*%$#, that brat's wings really have hardened!
The Emperor's Sacred Sun hurled another brutal blow.
…
Within the Palace of Pleasure's illusion.
???
"Tch—who's this old bastard taking swings at me? It actually hurts!"
Eden's thoughts had been partially sealed off. He was indulging in corruption with abandon anyway—none of it could really do anything to him.
Perfect. He could even scrape off a bit of Slaanesh's pleasure-authority while he was at it. Let's see who breaks first.
But soon he felt a sharp pain, as if someone was hammering him again and again.
He sobered up a little and noticed more wrongness.
His brows knit, his voice dropping. "This is bad. Someone's peeping on me—and there are a lot of them…
What kind of blasphemy is this? You think this is something you can watch without paying?!"
Duang—
In the next instant, his Hope Sun essence took another heavy hit, and he snapped fully awake.
He finally saw what was wrong: his image was being watched by innumerable humans.
And it was spreading through some kind of medium—rapidly, explosively.
Eden's mind was razor-sharp. He connected all the pieces at once and reached the conclusion.
He had come to find Guilliman and Fulgrim. The moment he reached Oleincis, he had fallen into an illusion.
Now, some medium was recording profane virtual images and spreading them throughout the Imperium's domains.
"Damn it.
Fulgrim, that two-faced freak, learned the real technique. Using a trick this vicious against me!"
Eden sucked in a cold breath.
Fulgrim hadn't chosen to use the footage to threaten him. Instead, he had dumped it directly into the Imperium.
The result would be profane and dangerously far-reaching.
Eden could already imagine what would happen if this wasn't suppressed immediately—what the Palace District would do, what extreme measures would be triggered.
Because the emergency protocols for this kind of crisis included many brutal suppression methods: to crush schemers and traitors, and to sever the spread of profane information.
That outcome was inevitable.
If the profane warp-taint the Dark Gods were broadcasting wasn't purged in time, even more chaos would erupt, and even more lives would be lost.
"If I were in the Palace District, maybe I could slow things down a little.
But in this situation… it's going to be a problem."
That was what Eden thought.
His anxiety sharpened—made worse by the fact that he couldn't stop. He had no way to leave the illusion.
In essence, this was a divine war between him and Slaanesh—only the form was… unusual.
In another dimension, they were clashing concept against concept.
Thankfully, the Emperor had acted in time. Eden had regained enough clarity to influence this illusion to some degree.
"Since the Lord of Pleasure and Fulgrim want to destroy the Savior's radiant image…
Then I just won't let them."
Eden silently considered the counterplay. Even trapped inside the illusion, he needed to do something.
Something that would help the PsyNet administration bureau and the propaganda apparatus outside.
Something that would make it easier to contain the fallout of this profanation.
"The best method right now is to falsify the data—to prove it's fake information, fake news. That the being in the profane footage isn't the Savior…"
Eden seemed to make a difficult decision.
"Everyone knows the Emperor is the holiest being. He cannot possibly be corrupted."
His expression didn't change, but a trace of sorrow rose in his heart.
"Then I can only… sacrifice the Emperor a little.
He's already got rumors about the Roman she-wolf, and about 'selling himself in back alleys.' One more rumor won't hurt, right? That's perfectly logical.
For the Imperium!"
In the next instant, the Palace of Pleasure's illusion shifted.
Eden's gaze hardened. Holy light burst from him, and his appearance began to change.
The golden True-One armor blazed brighter still. A crown of flame formed above his head. His face took on a heavier, more absolute majesty.
A figure known to all across galaxy and warp appeared—radiant with sanctity.
Wearing that sacred image like a mask, Eden seized Slaanesh's phantom and hurled it onto the throne.
Then he followed in a heartbeat.
Emperor Impact!
…
Oleincis.
At this moment, the dueling arena still projected the Palace of Pleasure's illusion.
The Chaos audience's cheers died in their throats.
Silence.
Clink—
A crystal goblet slipped from someone's hand and shattered on the floor, blood-wine spilling everywhere.
(End of Chapter)
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