Under the fanatic's whip, the daemon's screams grew more and more piteous.
Each lash left horrifying scars on the daemon's twisted body.
Normally, such injuries would heal quickly.
However, the fanatic's whip contained some power that prevented the daemon's self-healing. The stone pillars displayed in the square emitted a strong smell of blood.
Vash'tor could easily taste despair and pain from these smells.
Clearly, this suffering daemon was not the only one.
Many atrocities against daemons had occurred here.
Vash'tor looked at the daemon screaming in pain.
Its body, a mixture of warp metal and flesh, also trembled slightly.
Behind the square where the daemon suffered was Vash'tor's destination for this trip.
It was a magnificent giant city, each building so massive, as if built by the Titans of ancient mythology for themselves.
It stood deep within the Webway, far from the material universe and the Empyrean. The ground and buildings had incredible angles. The ground seemed to curve into a pipe.
Smoothly curved human buildings extended into the void at angles that didn't exist in reality, until they disappeared into the white mist. The entire city was shrouded in a layer of white mist.
When approaching, the whispers of the dead would echo in one's ears. The sky above the city was gloomy and dim, filled with an aura of pain.
A colossal archway, like a mountain, was located at the end of the road Vash'tor was on. The road was made of psykerally inert blackstone.
As Vash'tor moved, his mechanical limbs struck the ground, making crisp sounds.
Unlike other daemons, Vash'tor's lower body was made of mechanical limbs constructed from black iron and gears, resembling a crab.
A few steps forward was the square where the giant stone pillars stood. The daemon was tied to one of them, suffering. The closer he got, the more piercing the sound became.
When he reached the base of the pillar, he subconsciously looked up. The daemon had just been whipped again, letting out another deafening scream, accompanied by curses directed at the name Cherubael!!
Witnessing this scene, Vash'tor subconsciously took a few steps back. The daemon's scream made him feel an involuntary fear towards this city.
Everything here emitted an aura that made him uneasy.
"Don't look, keep going."
The Custodian in charge poked Vash'tor with his halberd. This action by the Custodian made Vash'tor feel humiliated, and he let out a low growl, expressing his dissatisfaction and anger.
He was an ancient god, now treated as a prisoner.
If those damned ancient civilizations hadn't imprisoned him, he would definitely have become a participant in the Great Game by now. This was not a boast.
Vash'tor held the authority of forging, a symbolic representation of inventors, engineers, scientists, and artisans.
He had a strong curiosity and desire for innovation towards everything unknown, with no reverence for morality or life. To ensure that knowledge was applied 100%, he always pushed his creations towards a dark and bloody direction.
Beings in the material universe always tried to understand and enslave the forces of nature at all costs, yearning to gain divinity through technology. This desire and demand once caused his power to grow continuously, just one step away from completing his ascension and becoming an existence like the Four Gods.
If he hadn't been dragged into the material realm by those ancient civilizations exploiting his weakness, and then attacked by those despicable and shameless material beings.
He would have definitely gained unprecedented power as those civilizations reached their peak, becoming an omniscient and omnipotent being.
Unfortunately, it was ultimately a failure.
Not only did he fail to become an omniscient and omnipotent being, but he was also imprisoned.
"Did you hear me? Keep going."
The emotionless voice of the Custodian came again from beneath the golden, enclosed helmet.
Vash'tor couldn't see the other party's face, only his own reflection on the smooth golden helmet.
A strong, powerful red body, a pair of horns burning with daemonic flames, and jagged bone spurs covering his entire body.
His unarmored arms were terrifyingly monstrous and exceptionally thick, and he could still see the cables and interfaces implanted in his flesh.
Vash'tor held the authority of forging, and his body was naturally filled with primitive and brutal industrial elements.
As a former god, to be captured, enslaved, and humiliated by mortals in such a way.
His sense of humiliation burned like a raging fire.
If this had been in the past, anyone who dared to treat him like this would have had their soul snatched away and suffered for all eternity.
Vash'tor turned his head and glared fiercely at the Custodian.
A god cannot be insulted, insult a god, roar! Roar!
Before Vash'tor could even outline a mental drama of revenge against the Imperium in his mind. The impatient Custodian fiercely poked him with his halberd. The halberd, fused with the properties of the Soulless, had a natural restraint on daemons.
Just one poke caused Vash'tor immense pain, making him wail incessantly. The little thought of revenge in his heart also vanished with it.
Under the Custodian's urging, he walked forward obediently.
He looked like a humble prisoner, not daring to resist his jailer.
After the guards checked the Custodian's bio-seal and authorization documents, they let them pass. They walked through the giant archway.
Upon entering, they saw a huge statue belonging to the Emperor. The smell of incense and lamp oil mixed together, filling the daemon's nostrils. The grand sound of prayers echoed throughout every corner of the giant city, sacred and solemn. This city made Vash'tor feel uncomfortable.
But the Custodians wouldn't care about his feelings, they roughly ordered Vash'tor to move forward.
Any resistance would be met with a harsh whipping from the halberd. The city was filled with a religious atmosphere.
Every flagstone on the wide streets was inscribed with devout prayers.
Ossuaries reaching thousands of meters high held relics covered in gold plates.
Prayers praising the Emperor and the Great Emperor were visible everywhere.
Statues of heroes were displayed on both sides of the roads.
Incense burners and automatic prayer reciters were placed at their feet.
Dense marble monuments inscribed the deeds of human heroes.
Groups of Cherubim, covered in white skin and brass wings, flew out from the dark arcades, holding incense burners, their loudspeakers roaring with scriptures praising heroes and the Emperor. Tall and majestic cathedrals and temples were everywhere.
Monks wearing blessed armor and carrying weapons patrolled the entrances and streets. Their expressions were fanatical, ready to sacrifice their lives for the Emperor at any moment.
When they saw Vash'tor passing by, they all showed expressions of hatred and disgust. Those people were all fanatical followers of the Imperial cult. The hair on their foreheads had been shaved off, and they were tattooed with golden double-headed eagles and secret prayers. Their weapons were affixed with parchments inscribed with rituals and oaths. This was a city of fanatics. There were no civilians, only the most devout followers could enter here to serve the Emperor. There was no night or dawn here, it was always dark and gloomy. The screams of daemons would occasionally come from those temples or cathedrals.
Without exception, they were all filled with great pain.
Vash'tor walked on the wide walkway with trepidation. The fanatics watched him, rubbing their weapons, their eyes revealing a desire to tear him apart.
Vash'tor was terrified by those eyes.
If he hadn't been escorted by the Custodians, those guys would have definitely picked up their weapons without hesitation.
After an agonizing journey, Vash'tor was escorted by the Custodians to the front of a vaulted cathedral.
Numerous tall skeletons draped in funerary robes stood on either side of the cathedral's wide portico, holding smoking censers level in front of them.
Chaplains, wearing armor, carrying weapons, and with iron books inscribed with holy words hanging from their waists, walked out of the cathedral. They were all composed of fanatics selected from across the galaxy, implanted with high-strength psyker imprinting, and equipped with suppressors to resist the temptation of warp entities and the eerie whispers of the dead. The Chaplains were taciturn, showing little change in expression even when they saw the Custodians. These people had sworn to dedicate their lives to the Emperor.
Each one was an ascetic, and in their view, silence was a form of spiritual practice, a control over their own desires.
Vash'tor was formally handed over to the Chaplains by the Custodians. The Chaplains then escorted the former god into the depths of the cathedral.
Every temple and cathedral was a prison, holding daemons. The scale of these temples and cathedrals varied according to the degree of danger. The interior of the cathedral was equipped with various terrifying soul-destroying weapons. These weapons were all specially made, designed to target the immortal nature of daemons. The deeper Vash'tor went into the cathedral, the more uneasy he became. The cathedral was constructed of some special material, like a terrifying black hole that could swallow everything.
Vash'tor could feel himself weakening every moment, his power being dissolved by the cathedral.
He didn't like this place, however, he had no power to resist. Those Chaplains were clearly trained specifically to deal with daemons.
Vash'tor, whose power had already been suppressed, was severely beaten the moment he resisted. The whips, imbued with the properties of the Soulless, struck his body with a crack, leaving horrifying, unhealing wounds.
daemons also had their dignity.
Any mortal who offended them would be tormented and retaliated against.
Vash'tor did too.
But he quickly abandoned his dignity and chose to live on in humiliation. The guards would not show any mercy; their absolute loyalty and fanaticism towards the Emperor made them hold great hatred for warp entities.
A disobedient Vash'tor would be whipped at any moment. The whip would leave an unhealing wound on him, causing him unbearable pain.
After enduring several beatings, Vash'tor abandoned the foolish idea of defying the guards and became submissive.
He would get revenge, but the advantage was not on his side now. Therefore, he had to endure and wait for the opportunity.
His cell was cold and dim, with only a lamp fueled by sacred oil providing light.
Most of the time, Vash'tor could only howl at the empty walls by himself. The thirst for faith and the desire for flesh tormented him.
Making him slam into the walls like a madman, and scream like other daemons.
Imprisoned in the cell, Vash'tor felt as if he had returned to the days of his initial sealing. Those ancient civilizations had sealed him in an ancient building, cutting off his connection to the Empyrean, and tried to destroy him with the passage of time.
But no one could have imagined that he would be released by Abaddon.
He had thought he could show off his might and contend for a position among the Chaos Gods.
Instead, he was beaten senseless by the Imperium and became a prisoner.
He was sent to the underground of this heavily guarded city.
Vash'tor thought it would be like his previous sealing.
He would have to wait until the glory of the Imperial civilization turned to dust and ruins over the long years.
Only when another ambitious race rose would he possibly regain his freedom.
But what he didn't expect was that not long after, a new daemon was crammed into the cell next to his, making them cellmates.
It was the same daemon that had been tied to the stone pillar in the square earlier. This guy was already on the verge of death.
He was still cursing the name Cherubael, using every word he could think of.
Vash'tor couldn't imagine what kind of hatred could drive a daemon to such madness. The daemon had fallen into a state of madness and confusion, and he had little capacity for thought left.
Hunger and desire were about to completely crush him. This was a common fate for warp entities.
Eternity was not without cost.
A hunger like a black hole tormented every individual who sought eternal life.
Even the most resilient soul would eventually shatter due to the long passage of time, worn away to nothing.
Only with enough faith and flesh to satisfy that eternal hunger could a daemon maintain sufficient sanity.
Of course, those guys wouldn't be called daemons, but rather gods.
Gods and daemons were originally the same thing.
Only the ignorant would think that gods were nobler than daemons. That daemon was already raving and incoherent, tormented by pain and hunger to the point of near collapse.
Vash'tor couldn't have any useful conversation with the other party.
But after spending a long time together, he still pieced together a truth.
From the other party's confused ramblings and occasional moments of clarity, Vash'tor learned that Cherubael was a renegade daemon.
Even before Guilliman became the Emperor, this wicked fellow had secretly enslaved daemons, forcing them to provide various information about the warp.
Cherubael was the first daemon enslaved by Guilliman.
According to Macar, Cherubael was also a powerful daemon prince who had lived for countless years.
However, under Guilliman's threats and inducements, Cherubael still abandoned his daemonic dignity and chose to submit.
Not only did he offer advice to Guilliman, but he also provided various spells to assist the other party in summoning other daemons, expanding the enslaved group. The whipped daemon was named Macar, a scholarly daemon with intense curiosity and mastery of ancient lore.
He did not belong to the Four Gods, but was a daemon who wandered the warp alone.
Macar specialized in providing consultation services for equivalent exchange.
After a summoner offered him sacrifices and provided offerings, he would give the other party an answer.
Don't look at how strictly the Imperium guarded against the warp.
But how could they possibly prevent those people from seeking their own demise?
There were so many people seeking forbidden knowledge, yearning for truth, and desiring eternal life.
Before Guilliman awoke, some radical Inquisitors would even seek cooperation with warp entities.
Not to mention those rogue psykers and sorcerers, as well as those who heard rumors and sought excitement, eternal life, and wealth.
Exploiting the desires of those greedy individuals, Macar's business was booming.
Occasionally, he would encounter some unlucky individuals who didn't know the ropes; at best, they would be swindled by him, and at worst, they would be completely devoured, flesh and bone.
Life had been going well like this.
But Cherubael helped Guilliman summon Macar. This led to Macar being enslaved by Guilliman.
From then on, Macar fell from a free daemon to an enslaved one, forced to provide intelligence services to the Imperium, without offerings, and was also subjected to PUA and whipping every now and then.
Cherubael not only helped Guilliman summon daemons, but also proposed various methods for controlling them.
"Reduce the supply of alien flesh and souls to daemons to prevent them from lacking motivation to strive."
"Encourage disabled daemons to actively contribute to the Imperium."
"Their domains in the warp should be destroyed so that they can only rely on the Imperium."
"Strengthen the punishment for daemons who do not work diligently."
"Strive to learn from the excellent advanced experience of the Four Gods to enhance the enslavement control of daemons."
"Every enslaved daemon must have their family fortunes emptied."
To please Guilliman, Cherubael proposed a series of methods for controlling daemons.
Hearing this, Vash'tor couldn't help but gnash his steel-like teeth. This Cherubael guy was a complete daemon-betrayer who deserved to be executed by daemons.
How could a daemon be so shameless?
However, the story didn't end there.
Guilliman became Emperor, and the Imperium of Man began to expand outwards.
daemons were the first to be sent out to explore.
Cherubael betrayed the daemons who were with him, created an opportunity for himself to escape, and even carved the words "Robert Guilliman *******".
Such provocative behavior naturally aroused the wrath of the Imperium.
Unable to capture Cherubael, the Imperium punished Macar and others, and subjected the remaining daemons to even more terrifying control.
More Soulless and Fanatics were transferred to guard the daemons, and various devices to control the daemons were manufactured.
Being imprisoned in such a cell was also thanks to Cherubael.
Understanding the whole story, Vash'tor's heart was filled with resentment and contempt for Cherubael.
As a daemon prince, to be so subservient would absolutely make him a laughingstock of the Warp.
I, Vash'tor, with my daemonic backbone, will never become a shameless little daemon like Cherubael.
Vash'tor howled as usual, venting the anger and thirst in his heart.
Until a giant with the same noble face as Guilliman stood before Vash'tor's cell. The giant's hair was like night, his skin like snow, his eyes black, and he wore a black power armour.
One hand was fitted with a giant armoured gauntlet, and the other with sharp, cold-gleaming claws.
Behind the giant stood a primaris space marine and a Sister of Silence in armour with her hair tied up.
"Is this the daemon His Majesty signed the order to send?" The giant's tone was very cold, like a thousand-year-old frozen ice.
Vash'tor had learned a lot about the Imperium of Man from Abaddon.
If his memory was not mistaken, this giant should be one of Guilliman's brothers, the Lord of Ravens - Corvus Corax.
"This is it, it is said to possess knowledge of ancient civilizations, and it also said it wants to pledge allegiance to the Imperium."
Domino, the Chapter Master of the Spirits of the Emperor Chapter next to Corax, nodded in response to Corax's question.
"Daemons can also be so spineless."
Heidilyn, the Sister of Silence next to him, said mockingly, "Before, I always thought daemons were tough."
"Humans were too weak before, they disdained them, but now, times have changed."
Corax reached out and opened Vash'tor's cell, bending down and walking in. The powerful oppressive feeling made Vash'tor subconsciously take two steps back.
A moment later, he felt ashamed.
As an ancient god, how could he show weakness.
"Daemon, do you possess ancient knowledge?" Corax asked.
"Yes, I possess that ancient knowledge. As long as you are willing to pay a small price, you can get anything you want."
Bang!
A dull thud came.
Vash'tor was punched away, hitting the solid, smooth, cold wall. The wall was obviously made of special material, and even after such an impact, no cracks appeared.
Before Vash'tor could recover, Corax grabbed his foot and dragged him over. The Lord of Ravens easily lifted Vash'tor up and then slammed him down heavily.
He repeated this action several times. The last time, he slammed him hard onto the ground and then stepped on the head of this ancient god.
Vash'tor howled repeatedly.
Being treated like this was unbearable for him.
He was a god, a noble god.
Even if his era had passed.
He could not bear the humiliation of being stepped on.
"Didn't anyone tell you before you came not to negotiate with the Imperium?" Corax said word by word, "We don't have much patience, daemon, you'd best show your value with the fewest words. Let me be clear, your ancient knowledge is of no interest to the Imperium, otherwise you wouldn't have been sent here. What is needed here are daemon slaves."
Corax was responsible for building the Warp intelligence network. This work was top secret.
Only a few people in the Imperium knew about it. The Imperium captured those daemons, enslaved them through various means, fed them with the flesh and souls of xenos, and made them serve the Imperium.
Some cultists who betrayed the Imperium and defected to Chaos would also be fed as food to the daemons serving the Imperium. Those guys yearned for the freedom of the Warp.
Guilliman, who always believed in the principle of being cruel to good people by being kind to bad people, couldn't object much, so it was better to send those guys on their way directly.
"One minute, daemon, if you can't state your value within a minute, I'll grind you up and feed you to other daemons."
Corax said in a deep voice.
A countdown interface appeared in the air.
Inside were scarlet numbers.
60.
59.
"I have enough knowledge, I can forge those powerful daemon engines that can be used not only by daemons but also by the heroes of mankind. I also have an excellent way to recruit more daemons for the Imperium and make them willingly enslaved by the Imperium."
"Keep going, I'll give you another minute."
"I can fuse daemons with mechanical constructs, greatly increasing their strength. In return, they have to sign a contract of equivalent exchange, to plunder a certain amount of the realm of the soulless and souls for me, no, for the Imperium, to fulfill the contract. If they fail to complete the task, their debt will increase. Over time, their debt will also increase."
"Daemons will cooperate with the Imperium for increased strength, but the high interest on the debt will force them to do their best to plunder and fight. If they fail once, their debt will accumulate and become even more terrifying, even difficult to repay."
"Just release the news, and those daemons eager to become stronger will come in a steady stream, willingly enslaved by the Imperium. If the Imperium gives some flesh and souls, this enslavement will be even more unbreakable."
Corax withdrew his foot from Vash'tor's face.
"Indeed a daemon, to be able to come up with such a vicious plan."
There were two sources of daemons in the Imperium's hands.
One was generally summoning daemons through various means and then enslaving them.
Another was to go into the Warp and capture those weaker daemons. The Warp was unpredictable and encompassed everything. The soulless were extremely complex existences within the Warp.
Some roamed in the etheric ocean.
Others lived in those realms. The realm of Nurgle, one of the Four Gods, was the Garden of Plagues.
His daemons lived happily within it. There were also some realms left behind by ancient races, and even some that belonged to human dreams.
In any case, there were large and small realms in the Warp.
Like planets, cities, and towns in the real universe.
Before Jaghatai returned to the Imperium, he was taking people to these realms to seize the souls of human heroes.
After Corax took over the task of building Guilliman's Warp intelligence network, he also occasionally went to the realms deep in the Warp to catch daemons.
He was once a slave-catching team that made daemons tremble with fear.
Most of the reports of missing daemons circulating in the Warp were his doing.
If Vash'tor's plan could be implemented, it would also be a good method.
It could save a lot of effort.
As for the potential problems that daemon engines and the souls and flesh of xenos might bring.
Corax would personally control it, ensuring that those guys would not starve to death, but also not become too powerful.
"This suggestion is very good."
Corax said to Vash'tor, "Work hard, the Imperium will not treat you badly."
Cooperating with daemons had been going on since before Guilliman went to Terra. The Imperium was able to accurately grasp the movements of various forces in the Warp. The enslaved daemons were indispensable for this.
It was just a pity that there were no medals of honor for them.
"I will definitely work hard and ensure Lord Corax is satisfied."
Vash'tor said, "I will definitely dedicate myself to the Imperium."