Hera Fortress, the peak of Macragge, the end of the mountains, the closest place to the sky on this planet.
Sanguinius' wings gently swayed in the warm mountain breeze, pure white with shimmering metallic blue, as if a pristine white canvas had been stained with color.
He held his head high, his golden-haired eyes gazing at the constantly flickering Warp ship engines in the sky.
Macragge was now indistinguishable between day and night. Fleets from all over Ultramar gathered outside the planet's sky, awaiting their departure to Terra, the home of humanity.
Their engine glow was so intense, like hundreds of thousands of stars releasing light, that it even changed Macragge's climate, causing the temperature to rise.
If this continued, the entire ecosystem of Macragge would likely be damaged.
Just then, in Sanguinius' eyes, another scorching sun extinguished in the sky.
He knew that Alexander had stuffed a Warp ship into his four-dimensional pocket.
This was probably the safest and fastest Warp travel method currently mastered by humanity.
The fleet would enter Alexander's four-dimensional pocket, which had infinite capacity. Alexander would then use an anywhere door to enter the Webway, and after multiple transfers within the Webway, he would travel to Terra.
During this process, there was only one possibility for the fleet to encounter an accident.
That was if Alexander couldn't hold it in and sold them all out.
Of course, there was also the possibility that Alexander's physical body itself would be destroyed.
However, if it came to that, the fleet would be a minor issue.
Once his physical body was destroyed, Alexander would completely become some kind of Warp entity. At that point, whether he could still maintain his sentience as a human would be an unknown.
The Saint Doraemon Sect, which Sanguinius urged Alexander to establish, existed as an insurance in case his physical body was destroyed. The hope was that the faith and emotions of the Saint Doraemon Sect could restrain Alexander and allow him to maintain his basic self-awareness.
But Alexander's essence was too vast, and the current number of people in the Saint Doraemon Sect was too small. It probably couldn't be maintained for too long.
If it really came to that, Sanguinius could only try to use his own body to contain Alexander's existence and consciousness, making his body Alexander's new physical body and preserving his sentience as a human.
"Perhaps I should hire a group of people to tour and tell Alexander's dark jokes. It might have a good effect."
Strong emotions, cognition, and will can affect the Warp. Alexander's dark jokes, which were highly impactful for the Imperial populace, could indeed have some effect.
It's just that matters in the Warp should always be approached with extreme caution.
For example, Mortarion's numerology seemed to be genuinely starting to work.
Thinking of this, Sanguinius felt a headache coming on.
Guilliman might have thought that Sanguinius was constantly fighting on the battlefield, which was less taxing than Guilliman himself handling political affairs.
But Sanguinius had actually always been splitting his attention to the ripples in the Warp.
On one hand, he was protecting the Ultramar fleet, ensuring they wouldn't get lost in the Warp.
On the other hand, he was guarding against the Chaos Gods, the Emperor, and even Alexander's still-confused essence.
During this time, Sanguinius had briefly tried to explore Alexander's Warp essence and learned that this essence originated from the future.
There was no concept of time in the Warp, just as Sanguinius' essence was born at the moment of his own death.
Alexander's essence was also born in a more distant future.
"But what exactly did he do to cultivate such a vast essence for himself?"
Sanguinius rubbed his temples and muttered softly.
He was equivalent to Alexander's daemon Prince, and thus could explore his existence in a way that wouldn't trigger Alexander's Warp essence's defensive instincts.
Sanguinius even saw in Alexander's essence that Alexander had killed Guilliman, and also killed Horus and himself on the Vengeful Spirit.
Sanguinius remained calm about this. Aside from being curious about why these things happened, he had no other thoughts.
After all, they hadn't not died before. If doing so was beneficial to humanity and even the entire galaxy, he himself wouldn't mind dying again. He believed Guilliman would also be willing, and if Horus was sane, he should also be willing.
It was only after this that the things Sanguinius saw became fragmented.
He vaguely saw the birth of the Dark King, and seemed to also hear the angry roars of the Four Gods.
Indeed, there were no eternal friends in the Warp. Whether it was Slaanesh or Nurgle, they would most likely still be Alexander's enemies in the end.
"But where exactly is the 22nd century? Why is there no existence of the 22nd century in your Warp essence?"
Sanguinius frowned tightly and murmured softly.
A few more of those scorching suns in the sky extinguished. Sanguinius slightly shook his head, temporarily shaking off these chaotic thoughts.
Compared to Alexander, what was more important now was Terra, the Emperor, and his restless brother.
"Tigurius."
"Mephiston."
"You two will assist me."
Sanguinius said to the two Chief Librarians beside him.
They were from the Blood Angels and Ultramarines, respectively. Nine and thirteen added together were clearly twenty-two.
And around Sanguinius and the two Chief Librarians, there was an array of twenty-two Librarians from the two Legions.
Sanguinius slightly raised the pocket watch in his hand, watching the hands silently point to twenty-two minutes, twenty-two seconds past twenty-two o'clock Terra time.
Although inexplicable, Sanguinius clearly felt his Psyker potential surge, his connection with the Empyrean deepened, and the success rate of his actions implicitly increased.
The corner of his mouth twitched imperceptibly.
This must be the great power of numerology!
Alexander had tricked Nurgle into believing Mortarion's numerology, which in turn led the daemon in Nurgle's Garden to also start believing in numerology.
In the Warp, will was everything. A quarter of Chaos believed in this pure superstition, and numerology naturally began to have an effect.
And as more and more people realized that numerology was actually effective and began to believe in its efficacy, the effect of numerology continued to strengthen, in such a cycle, numerology would probably truly achieve the effect Mortarion had fantasized about.
Alexander's two or three sentences had a greater impact on the Warp than Sanguinius had brought in ten thousand years.
Sanguinius gently breathed twenty-two times, and then his eyes glowed with hazy points of light, and visions of the future were reflected in his eye sockets.
At the same time, the two Chief Librarians and twenty-two Librarians beside him began to softly chant ancient Baal incantations, and Sanguinius' body ignited with scorching flames.
He would predict Magnus' actions, relying on his powerful Psyker abilities and precognitive powers inherited from the Emperor.
But at the same time, Magnus himself was also one of the most excellent diviners and psyker in the entire galaxy.
He would undoubtedly also predict Sanguinius' actions. The two predicting each other's future would ultimately evolve into a confrontation on the Empyrean level.
"You used wax to bind knowledge into wings, and flew proudly into the sky, shouting to your brothers: 'Look! How wise I am!'"
"But you flew too fast, so much so that you couldn't hear your father's admonitions. But you flew too high, so much so that the sun melted your wings in an instant."
"And so, you crashed to the ground, your spine gnawed off by the head wolf, your soul devoured by the cackling eagle."
The golden flames on Sanguinius' body burned fiercely, and in an instant, he seemed to transform into a pure Warp entity composed of Psyker energy:
"Crimson King, let me see if you are still as clumsy as you were ten thousand years ago."
A sharp pyramid stood amidst the torrent of the Empyrean. This flagship of the Thousand Sons Primarch, Magnus, was built in imitation of the magnificent pyramids in Tizca, the capital of Prospero, ten thousand years ago.
To build this pyramid-shaped Warp ship, Magnus had consumed at least an entire daemon world. The minerals permeated by the malevolent forces of the Empyrean transformed into a pyramid of silver and gold, like a twisted, false reflection of the Pyramid of Glory, Magnus' former residence on the Thousand Sons' homeworld.
Ahriman walked on the silver and gold interwoven floor of this twisted pyramid, passing translucent scarabs that occasionally glided across the floor, approaching the bedchamber and library at the highest point of the pyramid.
Books inscribed with bizarre script flew and circled in the void, passing through layers of Prospero-style silk, landing beside the crimson giant in the center of the room.
Constantly flickering and shifting runes circled around him. The knowledge from the open books burned fiercely, flowing into the Magnus' book in Magnus' hand.
Click, click, click —
Magnus' book, a tome compiled by Magnus himself during the Great Crusade, collecting knowledge from countless planets across the galaxy.
Ahriman often suspected that the knowledge in the Magnus' book had surpassed Magnus himself.
He remembered that as early as the end of the Great Crusade, Magnus had several times discovered content in the Magnus' book that he didn't remember writing, as if he had forgotten the knowledge recorded within, or as if the knowledge within was silently proliferating.
Click, click, click —
Or perhaps Ahriman recalled what Lorgar, the Primarch of the Word Bearers Legion, had once said: that Magnus' external form was merely a byproduct of his Psyker energy, and this form was not his true essence.
The Magnus' book recorded all the knowledge Magnus knew or had forgotten, his thoughts, consciousness, emotions, and his understanding of both the material and Warp planes. Since other knowledge in this book had become animated, and even a small world had been born within it, what about the knowledge concerning Magnus himself? Would that knowledge also have become animated?
Ahriman pondered whether the Magnus before him or the Magnus described in the Magnus' book was closer to his true essence.
No, perhaps neither was. Magnus' essence might have already been devoured by the Lord of Change.
Click, click, click, click —
Ahriman frowned. He vaguely seemed to hear some strange bird calls mixed in with his thoughts.
"Have you completed the ritual I taught you, Ahriman?" The Crimson King's voice interrupted Ahriman's thoughts, and flying translucent scarabs spewed from his mouth.
"You ask the obvious." Ahriman said in a hoarse voice.
He followed Magnus' instructions, planning the massive ritual as a trap to capture the human god of death and attack the two Primarchs.
Magnus had no need to ask him if the ritual was complete. The Crimson King was one of the most excellent diviners below the Gods; his single eye always gazed into the currents of fate.
He watched everything, he learned everything, he absorbed everything.
But Magnus' talent in prophecy was ultimately only one of the most excellent.
Ahriman knew that when the Emperor forged Magnus, he passed on his exceptional Psyker talent to him, but his prophetic gift was more largely inherited by two of Magnus' other brothers.
The Bat and the White Dove, Despair and Hope, the Night Lord and the Archangel.
"Can our actions truly deceive Sanguinius' eyes?"
Ahriman said bluntly:
"That Archangel is the one who truly inherited the Emperor's prophetic gift."
"Ahriman, by 'gift' do you mean allowing himself to die in vain, being smashed to pieces by Horus' Claw, and causing extra trouble for Dorn, who was responsible for recovering the body?" Magnus' voice suddenly became sharp.
"He cannot see. He cannot possibly see. Tzeentch's sorcery protects our destiny. His prophetic gift, inherited from our father, cannot penetrate the veil woven by the Lord of Change."
Magnus paced at the top of the pyramid, holding the Magnus' book. His words constantly transformed into translucent scarabs flying everywhere:
"He only knows how to crudely use his innate talent, but he has never truly known the mysteries of the Empyrean, nor has he learned the secrets of using sorcery, spells, and rituals from knowledge."
"He was born with wings, but he doesn't know how to truly use them. Among my brothers, only I have learned how to use my talent, using knowledge rather than instinct or foolish superstition like Mortarion."
With that, Magnus let out a soft laugh.
Ahriman also chuckled a few times.
If there was anything that could bring father and son to a true consensus, it was their ridicule of Mortarion.
Mortarion was once a foolish and ignorant instigator, whose prejudice and misunderstanding of Psyker powers led to the prohibition of the Librarians, indirectly contributing to the Burning of Prospero.
But how deserving of ridicule Mortarion was now! He was as ridiculous as a prostitute proclaiming purity, a harlot proclaiming love, a drunkard proclaiming sobriety, a materialist proclaiming numerology.
"Mortarion is an amateur." Ahriman said with a smile.
Magnus nodded in agreement: "Numerology is pure superstition."
The two burst into laughter, and then...
"Magnus." A clear voice rang out from the torrent of the Empyrean.
Magnus and Ahriman's laughter abruptly ceased.
Blazing golden flames, mixed with blue, burned fiercely in the Empyrean, transforming into a pair of scorching angelic wings.