War raged fiercely in Tzeentch's domain, and on the Moon, the Primarch Roboute Guilliman clashed once again with his brother Magnus.
Magnus' muscles bulged, pressing against each other, writhing and twisting like the roots of a Catachan giant tree. Around the nine scars on his body, blasphemous patterns coiled.
Nine patterns—bird head, eagle eye, witchfire, changing flame, raven, and more—were etched like tattoos upon Magnus' crimson body, making him look like a hive city gang member who had undergone flesh-shaping.
"Muscle Power is responding to me!"
"Muscle Power! Spin! Roar! Cheer!"
A crimson fist slammed heavily into Guilliman's face, but Guilliman was not to be outdone, smashing his Hand of Dominion, capable of felling a Titan, into Magnus' face.
For a moment, both Primarchs' faces were contorted.
"Magnus! Look at yourself now!"
"Fallen! Ugly! You are still begging your blasphemous master for power!"
Roboute Guilliman's roar echoed as the emperor's sword traced a solar flare-like arc, slashing heavily at Magnus' neck.
"I don't use those with many side effects; I'm all-natural. At most, I take some steroids from the muscle god!"
Magnus spoke incoherently, uttering words Guilliman could not understand.
The emperor's sword struck Magnus' neck directly, but there was no gush of blood as Guilliman had expected.
Magnus tensed the muscles in his neck, actually using those grotesque muscle fibers to resist the sharp edge of the emperor's sword.
"The Lord of Change has infused a lot of power into Magnus' body."
"At the same time, to control him, the Lord of Change, following Magnus' muscle-centric worldview, injected a bunch of false, muscle- and fitness-related knowledge into his brain."
Sanguinius' voice sounded from Alexander's four-dimensional pocket, the weakness in his voice having significantly lessened:
"Now, in Magnus' mind, the Lord of Change is the muscle god, His blessings are steroids, and Psyker power is Muscle Power."
"The most miraculous thing is that at this moment, Magnus is essentially an avatar of the Lord of Change. To seamlessly inject His will and power into Magnus' body without rejection, Tzeentch had to twist the portion of His will injected into Magnus into the form of a muscle god."
"Fitness, muscle gain, using drugs to pursue external muscle changes—Tzeentch is forcefully incorporating fitness and muscles into His domain."
"muscle god above! Train me!!!" Magnus roared, a strange Psyker energy surging from his muscles. This energy caused no external changes, only further expanding Magnus' muscles, forcing the emperor's sword away.
But Guilliman's combat experience allowed him to react swiftly, unleashing golden flames imbued with the Emperor's Psyker power directly onto Magnus' single eye, causing Magnus a sharp pain.
Guilliman seized the opportunity to withdraw his sword, then concentrated all his strength and thrust it into Magnus' chest.
The emperor's sword pierced Magnus' left chest, and surging golden flames gnawed at Magnus' muscles like greedy wolves.
This made Magnus let out a low growl, but he did not seem to be deeply wounded.
How could this be? As a Primarch, Guilliman was certain that he, like a normal person, had at least one heart on his left side.
Not just him, his other Primarch brothers should be similar!
Yet, the blade that pierced Magnus' left chest did not convey the sensation of piercing a heart.
"My heart is on the left? Is the heart on the left or the right, anyway?"
Magnus muttered to himself, as if trying hard to recall:
"Ah! I'm fine now, so the heart is on the right after all!"
A look of bewilderment crossed Guilliman's face.
"He's forgotten whether his heart is on the left or right, so his Psyker power has put his heart in an uncertain state," Sanguinius said leisurely from the four-dimensional pocket again, the sense of weakness in his voice now greatly diminished.
Guilliman also noticed this, quickly pulling out the emperor's sword and sharply retreating to put distance between himself and Magnus.
"Hmph! Trying to escape?"
The Crimson King roared, stomping his feet, kicking up a swirl of grey and white dust. The muscles in his legs coiled like springs, accumulating power, every vein bulging like intertwined dragons. He leaped up, pouncing towards Roboute Guilliman.
But just then, Alexander, through the terraforming engine in the lunar core, adjusted the gravity around Magnus again.
This time, it wasn't an increase, but a return of the Moon's gravity to its original state, one-sixth of Earth's gravity.
Magnus felt his body become lighter; he jumped too high, soaring directly over Guilliman's head.
And what awaited him was. . .
Golden light streamed down from the dark sky, making it seem, for a moment, as if the sun's rays had reached the dark side of the Moon.
Feathers, white with a faint metallic blue, drifted slowly from mid-air, landing lightly like phantoms on the grey-white lunar surface.
In an instant, the cold, silent, and empty lunar surface was imbued with color, joy, and beauty.
Morven Vahl, the Great Canoness of the Battle Sisters, let out an excited cheer, then bowed her head and began to pray devoutly.
Even the Custodes, who often doubted Primarchs and had no religious faith, were shaken by this moment; their hardened minds began to waver slightly.
Golden eyes, filled with peace, looked down upon Magnus. The tear-shaped Spear of Accomplishment gleamed with the cold light of its energy field.
Thus, the Primarch of the Ninth Legion, the Archangel Sanguinius, joined the battlefield.
A battlecruiser, wreathed in flames, hung like a phantom above Tzeentch's daemonic realm.
This warship seemed to have returned from the realm of death, rejoining an endless conquest and Expedition.
The ship's identification code proclaimed its name in the Warp: the Mars-class battlecruiser Imperial Icon, a ship that was dead.
Standing on the bridge was a mortal clad in the golden armor of a Solar Lord, a laurel wreath adorning his burning skull.
That mortal looked down upon Tzeentch's daemonic realm, then turned to gaze at the ghost warships continuously emerging from the fire behind him, looking at the identification codes of those dead ships.
The Abhorrence Exemplar, fallen in the Rangdan Xenocides; the White Scars' flagship, Blade of the Storm; Captain Garro's Eisenstein; the Pure Fire, sacrificed in the Gothic War. Those dead warships that had fought to their last breath followed behind him.
The fleshless corner of that mortal's mouth seemed to curve into a smile.
"Expedition, unceasing even to the end of reality!"
He seemed to let out a war cry, yet also seemed to say nothing at all.
But on the thousands of ghost warships, the wildfire suddenly intensified, and lance beams and macro cannons poured down upon Tzeentch's domain.
On another side of the battlefield, dark smoke permeated the air, the scent of blood constantly rising, and arrogant laughter erupted from the war and slaughter.
Khorne's first daemon Prince, Seed of Destruction, descended into Tzeentch's Crystal Labyrinth.
This daemon Prince, elevated from an ancient Terran warlord, wore a cloak woven from a thousand Space Marine skulls, wielded Khorne's axe, and led a large host of Bloodletters to begin harvesting Tzeentch's domain.
And Tzeentch himself was as anxious as a blue-feathered chicken on a Crazy Thursday.
Besides the Emperor and Khorne, the combined forces of Slaanesh and Nurgle were rapidly occupying domains that originally belonged to Tzeentch.
Against the daemon Primarch Mortarion, Tzeentch's Greater daemons were no different from Barbarus' sickly wheat.
Tzeentch's own condition was not good either; on his ever-changing body, muscle shapes were subtly beginning to appear.
To seamlessly inject his will and power into Magnus' body without rejection, Tzeentch had to begin accepting that fitness and muscle gain were also part of change, accepting that constantly pursuing muscle growth was also pursuing change.
Muscles should have belonged to the domains of Slaanesh and Khorne; the pursuit of muscle aesthetics belonged to Slaanesh, and the pursuit of muscle strength belonged to Khorne.
But now Tzeentch had intervened, accepting that muscle gain was also a form of change.
This acceptance would directly reflect on Tzeentch himself and Tzeentch's domain, causing no small impact on Him, His Greater daemons, and His followers.
If His domain had not been invaded, Tzeentch could at least use His vast domain to continuously dilute this influence.
But now He was being invaded, continuously losing domain.
Loss of domain meant loss of authority and concepts. All the gods were plundering the part of the concepts that Tzeentch had intertwined with them.
But Slaanesh and Khorne, as if on purpose, did not touch the part of the domain related to muscles.
As other authorities and concepts decreased, the proportion of muscle authority and concepts would increase, and the impact on Tzeentch and Tzeentch's domain would also increase.
If this continued, the Crystal Labyrinth might just sprout gyms in the future.
What made Tzeentch even more anxious was that He had not gained any real advantage in the material universe battlefield either.
Sanguinius had recovered and re-entered the battlefield.
Magnus, even with the many blessings He had bestowed upon him, still couldn't defeat two Primarchs simultaneously.
Especially when one of them was Sanguinius.
If things went badly, Tzeentch might even lose Magnus in the end.
At that point, the only choice was.
"Caw caw. It's all part of the fat-loss plan. Oh wait, it's all part of the plan."
On the Moon, Magnus suddenly felt powerful "steroids" surging into his body.
In an instant, his Muscle Power surged like a tide, constantly washing over every part of his body, making his muscles swell even more.
"Oh!!!!! I feel Muscle Power has reached its peak!!"
"Coach! I want to do the Nine Bird Needle Technique!!"
Magnus roared, his muscles almost bulging to their limit. Now his physique was even larger and stronger than Vulkan's.
Then, under the bewildered gazes of Guilliman, Sanguinius, and Alexander, BANG!!!!
"Gwa! Coach, I want to use the Nine Bird Needle Technique!"
"Spin! Muscle Pow—"
Boom!!!
A deafening explosion echoed across the lunar surface, and Magnus' demonic blood burst outwards like raindrops.
Sanguinius, quick-witted, swiftly activated his Psyker power to erect a barrier, firmly containing the torrential blood rain within a five to six-meter diameter semicircle.
Blood, shredded flesh, and bone fragments continuously struck the Psyker barrier Sanguinius maintained, creating a persistent pattering sound.
Alexander and Guilliman exchanged glances, both with a hint of bewilderment in their eyes.
What happened?
Just a moment ago, Magnus was still roaring about Muscle Power, attempting to engage his two Primarch brothers in battle for another three hundred rounds.
Then, he exploded.
His muscles swelled to their limit, turning red and hot, then snapped, blood gushing out, and his entire body became a sweeping crimson explosion.
Listening to the pattering sounds within his Psyker barrier gradually fade, Sanguinius casually dispelled the barrier, revealing the scene within to everyone.
"The last time I saw something this shredded was on the wild rabbits Reyna used to practice Seducer's Whisper."
Alexander looked at the crimson minced meat scattered on the ground, sighing involuntarily.
Magnus' flesh, entirely composed of Psyker energy, was splattered across the ground, forming a perfect crimson circle.
Within it, muscle fibers continuously writhed and twitched, gradually decomposing into pure aether and dissipating into the Warp.
But the Warp energies emanating from Magnus' shattered corpse still affected reality; clusters of twisted, grotesque mushrooms continuously grew from the ground.
If one looked closely, they would notice that those mushrooms even had clumps of muscle fibers, looking somewhat disgusting.
"It's the Lord of Change."
Sanguinius, while casually summoning balls of scorching golden Psyker flames to incinerate the grotesque mushrooms, turned his head and said,
"The Warp is in chaos right now. Not only the Emperor and the other three gods, but even some smaller entities have started to fish in troubled waters, trying to take a bite out of the Lord of Change."
"He is clearly a bit anxious, both to quickly reclaim the power He invested in reality and to prevent you from selling Magnus."
"He actually thought of injecting an excessive blessing into Magnus' body, directly causing Magnus to explode."
Looking at the minced meat on the ground bathed in Psyker flames, Sanguinius couldn't help but shake his head.
Listening to what Sanguinius said, Alexander was momentarily stunned, then couldn't help but glance at the fragments of Magnus on the ground again.
So Magnus was killed by his coach giving him steroids?
"Caused by not taking sunflower liver protection pills," he nodded, saying with a serious expression.
Prospero, the home world of the Thousand Sons Legion after the Burning of Prospero, was also the daemon world Magnus occupied in the Warp.
Normally, this planet was extremely silent.
After all, most of the warriors in the Thousand Sons Legion had turned to ashes due to Ahriman's mistake, becoming unconscious puppets.
But today, Prospero was uncharacteristically noisy.
"Damn you, Ahriman, I'll kick your helmet off!"
"Give me back my men! Give me back my Legion!!"
"Calm down! Calm down! Let's see the Primarch first!"
"You won't harm Lord Ahriman!"
"Mentor Ahriman!! Why! Why!"
Two or three dozen Thousand Sons who still possessed their will were arguing in a chaotic mess on Prospero.
Most of those Thousand Sons had been resurrected by Alexander. After hearing about what had happened over the past ten thousand years, they strongly demanded to see Magnus.
Ahriman could not refuse his brothers' request. Defying Magnus' exile order, he led the Rogues and the resurrected Thousand Sons back to Prospero.
Upon seeing the unconscious Thousand Sons in swathes on Prospero, the resurrected Thousand Sons had no choice but to believe what Ahriman had told them: the entire Legion had become unconscious puppets because of his mistake; he had destroyed the entire Thousand Sons.
The damage this caused to the entire Thousand Sons Legion was even greater than what Leman Russ and his wolves had inflicted.
Some collapsed, some were distraught.
More were angry; they angrily questioned Ahriman, even directly attacking him.
The nine sorcerers who followed Ahriman desperately tried to stop the resurrected ones, but Ahriman merely waved his hand, signaling the nine sorcerers to ignore them.
He simply remained silent, head bowed, letting bolter rounds, spells, and fists land on his body.
Though silent, Ahriman was now sweating profusely.
His brothers' anger was one reason.
Another reason was Magnus.
He had just backstabbed Magnus in battle.
If it weren't for being unable to refuse the requests of his resurrected brothers, Ahriman would have wished to be as far away from Prospero as possible.
And then there was Magnus' condition... The current Magnus was completely different from ten thousand years ago.
The Magnus who once loved his sons, who was benevolent and wise, had long since disappeared, leaving only a cold, malicious King of Sorcery who unconditionally carried out Tzeentch's will.
Magnus had actually tried to kill Ahriman more than once.
Ahriman pondered for a moment and decided that once Magnus returned to Prospero, he would directly confess his sins to Magnus.
Perhaps this way, he might still find a way to survive... If not, he would lead the Rogues and forcibly fight their way out again.
Just then, crimson Psyker fluctuations surged violently.
Twisted wings, a muscular body, and a deep, single eye gradually appeared over Prospero.
Magnus had returned to his daemon world.
Only, his gaze seemed somewhat bewildered.
"Father!" Ahriman knelt on one knee before Magnus without hesitation: "It was my fault that your plan failed."
"Ah—"
Magnus' voice was drawn out, his tone seemingly carrying some confusion...
"The plan's failure is not your fault."
Hearing Magnus' words, Ahriman's heart suddenly lightened, but...
"..However, it seems unlikely that the plan's failure is not your fault."
"Huh?" Ahriman's heart tightened suddenly; he seemed to sense something strange as he looked up.
"But you don't have to worry. Although I will blame you, I won't blame you."
"After all, although the mistake you made was very serious, if you think about it carefully, it doesn't seem that serious."
Magnus spoke contradictory words, making Ahriman increasingly bewildered and confused.
Ahriman seemed to vaguely sense something...
"Father?" he asked tentatively.
"..Who are you again?" Magnus stared at Ahriman, seemingly thinking hard as he spoke.
Ahriman was instantly stunned. He cautiously peered into Magnus' destiny, wanting to see what had happened.
Then...
What is Muscle Power? What is the Nine Bird Needle Technique? What is the muscle god? What are steroids?
Damn Tzeentch and Doraemon, what are you stirring up?!
My dad has become an idiot!
Ahriman's gaze towards Magnus instantly became complicated.
He really couldn't say whether this idiotic dad or the former cold King of Sorcery was better.
Watching Magnus' eyes wander around, seemingly searching for something, Ahriman spoke uneasily: "Father, you..."
"..You are my child?"
Magnus turned his head to look at Ahriman and asked,
"Don't panic. Although I can't remember what you did, or who you are, I won't blame you."
"Huh?" Ahriman opened his mouth, a little confused, then blurted out: "Why?"
Ahriman's question made Magnus pause for a moment.
But a moment later, Magnus smiled.
"I have indeed forgotten many things, and many pieces of knowledge."
"But isn't it natural for a father to love his children and tolerate their mistakes?"
"If I myself made a mistake, I would surely long for my father's tolerance."
Ahriman stood frozen, speechless.
But his extraordinary intelligence quickly allowed him to make a judgment.
This dad is better than the old dad!
Seeing Magnus constantly searching for something, Ahriman quickly stepped forward.
"Father, what are you looking for? Do you need my help?" he said sincerely, hoping to leave a good impression in the current Magnus' heart.
"Gym." Magnus frowned tightly and said: "That's strange, isn't this the planet the muscle god bestowed upon me?"
"Then this is a Steroid Planet! How can there be no gym on a Steroid Planet?"
"Huh?" Ahriman tilted his head, his mind falling into confusion for the ninth time today.
Finally, Magnus successfully found a gym on Prospero—oh no, now it was Steroid Planet.
He excitedly dragged Ahriman and all the Thousand Sons into the gym.
Jamshid, a former student of Ahriman and one of the Thousand Sons resurrected by Alexander, looked around in bewilderment.
The unconscious Thousand Sons were warming up under Magnus' leadership.
This abstract scene even made the originally angry resurrected Thousand Sons unable to feel anger anymore.
They only felt bewildered.
"How did it come to this, Mentor Ahriman?"
Jamshid murmured.
"Father has powerful Psyker potential. He believes that Steroid Planet should have a gym, so naturally, there will be a gym."
Ahriman, having finished his warm-up, patted Jamshid's shoulder and said.
"..No, Mentor, I wasn't asking about that..." Jamshid said, his mouth slightly agape.
"Don't think so much! Since Father is happy, then let's train!"
"And I have an idea... Oh, never mind, let's not talk about that for now."
"Do you want to come and train legs with me?"
"When I was on Prospero, I read a saying: If you work out but skip leg day, you'll regret it sooner or later."
Saying that, Ahriman dragged Jamshid to start jump squats together.
*****
"Caw caw."
Tzeentch let out a series of sharp bird calls, anxiously extending his power to every corner of his domain.
The shattered areas within the Crystal Labyrinth began to be continuously repaired, and the daemons from other domains were gradually expelled.
But still, a considerable number of areas were corrupted and defiled by Khorne, Nurgle, and Slaanesh, becoming their domains entirely. Tzeentch could not directly interfere with those areas with his own power. He had to win back those domains through a new round of the Great Game, or perhaps never win them back.
However, these at least offered some hope. What frustrated Tzeentch the most were the areas occupied by the Emperor.
The Emperor burned those areas with scorching flames, turning everything to scorched earth, leaving only pure destruction.
Those domains were utterly destroyed, just like the daemons completely annihilated by the Emperor's fire. Neither Tzeentch nor other gods could ever occupy them again.
Tzeentch roughly calculated that he had lost nearly a fifth of his domain.
Most of the domains of mutation, aberration, and numerology were seized by Nurgle; the desires for power and self-transcendence were taken by Slaanesh; and strategies in war were plundered by Khorne.
Tzeentch's power was greatly weakened all at once.
Generally speaking, due to the current state of constant warfare in the galaxy, the strongest of the Four Gods is Khorne, followed by Tzeentch, then Nurgle, and finally Slaanesh.
However, if a great rebellion, change, or revolution occurs in the galaxy, Tzeentch would rise to the first position.
If a great plague, stagnation, or decline appears in the galaxy, Nurgle would rise to be the strongest.
If indulgence, craving, and art become prevalent in the galaxy, Slaanesh's power would greatly increase.
But now, with the ebb and flow, Tzeentch felt his power had almost weakened to the point of being inferior to Nurgle, though still stronger than Slaanesh.
This meant that for a long time, he would have to focus more attention on the Warp, on the Great Game, and try his best to recover his lost power.
His attention to the real universe had to be greatly reduced, even though it was a critical moment in the real universe.
"Damn it! Blue Cat!"
Tzeentch's face was grim as he lifted a dumbbell with one hand, cursing in a hoarse voice.
He was merely a lesser god who had not truly ascended, still half a pawn, yet he had been played to such an extent.
The only good news was that he had also taken the opportunity to seize some domains related to muscle gain, fitness, and exercise from Khorne and Slaanesh.
These domains, in the final analysis, were about self-enhancement, dissatisfaction with the current stagnation of the physical body, and the pursuit of changes in the fleshly body.
Tzeentch, by devouring these areas, occupied them and barely made up for some of his losses.
However, this also greatly changed Tzeentch himself and Tzeentch's domain, causing Tzeentch a strong sense of discomfort.
He had to spend more time digesting those domains.
"You just wait, you Blue Cat..."
Tzeentch began doing Bulgarian split squats, gnashing his teeth with hatred as he spoke.
But right now, he had to focus on the Great Game and also busy himself with digesting the domains of muscles, fitness, and exercise. For a time, he simply couldn't spare the effort to deal with that Blue Cat whose body was in the material universe.
Tzeentch couldn't even use Magnus and the Thousand Sons to deal with Alexander anymore.
Magnus was currently leading his low-body-fat sons in fitness training on a steroid planet. Tzeentch couldn't force Magnus to give up fitness and the pursuit of muscular change to act as his will in the real universe.
Just as Slaanesh couldn't make Fulgrim give up indulgence, and Khorne couldn't make Angron give up rage.
So, traces of flowing destiny began to appear before Tzeentch's eyes.
Even if he couldn't act himself, Tzeentch could still subtly influence the course of destiny, choosing suitable pawns to confront that Blue Cat for him.
He began doing dumbbell bench presses with both hands, searching for the perfect pawns in destiny.
He quickly found three old pawns he could use; they had all been blessed by the Four Gods, perfectly suited to deal with that Blue Cat.
"Caw caw caw, it's all part of the plan!"
In the Warp, within the domain where Slaanesh and Nurgle intertwined,
Purple and gold intertwined, lewd mists constantly drifted, and Slaanesh's daemons flaunted their newly acquired venereal diseases to each other.
Green and brown fused, vengeful toxic gases stagnated and jammed, and Nurgle daemons stirred cauldrons, cultivating new venereal diseases.
This part of the domain was about venereal diseases. Nurgle generously used this part of the domain to compensate Slaanesh for his losses in the domains of fitness, muscle gain, and muscles.
The wills of the two intertwined and communicated continuously in this domain.
Slaanesh's will extended from his boudoir. He elegantly reclined on the couch, twisting his lewd yet pure body, constantly enjoying the new experiences brought by the new domain.
He had gained a considerable harvest this time, second only to Nurgle who had even released a Primarch, so his mood was naturally good.
However, Slaanesh also felt a slight confusion.
"Nurgle, why did you make me cede a portion of the domains of muscles, fitness, and muscle gain to Tzeentch?"
"Although these domains are not highly compatible with him and will cause him pain and difficulty in digestion, it still benefits him after all."
Slaanesh licked his lips, asking the plague God in a soft tone.
However, Nurgle, who was stirring a thick soup, merely chuckled.
"Everything is guided by numerology."
So said the plague God, who followed the guidance of numerology and ultimately reaped the greatest harvest.
Imperial Chancellor Tieron had been suffering immense pain for the past ten-plus days.
This pain was spiritual, tormenting his heart every moment.
For the long years before, Tieron had always believed that while all twelve High Lords suffered from mental illnesses, they were nonetheless among the most outstanding individuals in the Imperium.
Now, Tieron felt that perhaps having a mental illness was precisely their excellence as High Lords.
How could they face those matters with such composure? So cold and merciless?
The representative of the Inquisition issued the 'Ers Decree,' recalling all regular armed forces on Terra to the Imperial Palace to guard the Eternal Wall, while vast swathes of urban areas were completely abandoned, leaving only a small contingent of Ministry of Justice security forces.
What this meant, Ers and Tieron both understood.
Tieron felt dizzy. He still remembered the regional commanders who roared at him, fighting bloody battles against the Blood God's followers pouring out from the depths of Terra's hive cities.
Some understood the choice of the 'Ers Decree,' some cursed the 'Ers Decree' as murder, and some accused the High Lords of caring only for their own safety, accusing Tieron of being a coward hiding in the rear.
Whether it was understanding or cursing, it caused Tieron immense pain, feeling as if his heart was being torn apart.
But he knew he had to do it. The Grey Knights, Astra Telepathica, and Inquisition had all made the same prophecy.
daemons were about to descend upon Terra, the Throne was in jeopardy, and they had to contract their defenses to the Eternal Wall.
So Tieron signed the 'Ers Decree' with almost no hesitation.
Another matter that caused Tieron pain, and also hesitation, was... the return of a Primarch.
Great Canoness Morven Vahl of the Battle Sisters brought this news to Tieron.
She claimed that Saint Doraemon—a Chaos God—had resurrected Primarchs Sanguinius and Guilliman, who were about to arrive at the Moon.
And the evil power of the Lord of Change was pursuing them, so Terra had to send reinforcements to the Moon.
This was very difficult, because the forces they wanted to mobilize included the Custodes, Sisters of Silence, Battle Sisters, and naval vessels.
Among them, the Custodes were even bound by the 'Restriction Order,' strictly forbidden from leaving Terra.
Unless all twelve High Lords collectively agreed, this matter could not possibly be accomplished in a way that complied with imperial law.
But only Ers, the representative of the Inquisition, Trajan Valoris, the commander of the Custodes, and Kellam Purion, the representative of the Astra Telepathica, supported this matter.
Who could secretly move these guardians of the Throne away from Terra? Who could escape the notice of the other High Lords? Who could control the Eternal Gate spaceport and enough ships? Who had so many resources and political capabilities?
Of course, it was the greedy, corrupt, and cunning old Tieron.
Tieron worried about the presence of corruption, though the corruption of a Battle Sister was an extremely low probability event. He was really unfamiliar with Ms. Mowan. Val.
However, he knew the loyalty of Ers and Kellam Purion, and could not imagine Trajan Valoris, as the commander of the Custodes, betraying the Emperor.
Therefore, after some hesitation, he still agreed to help.
Relying on the vast wealth accumulated through corruption, Tieron quickly bribed a large number of relevant personnel, silently sending the Custodes, Battle Sisters, and Sisters of Silence to the Moon.
He only hoped the Emperor would bless their souls, and his own.
Tieron lay low in his small room, accompanied only by his assistant Jackie, hoping to avoid the increasing madness on Terra.
Light----
Light tore through Terra's clouds. This was the first time in Tieron's nearly two-hundred-year life that he had seen the vast, boundless stars from Terra.
He saw the low-altitude defense platforms standing in orbit, saw the enormous void dockyards, saw the Imperial Fists' flagship Phalanx.
And he saw that pale, huge, grotesque Moon.
Normally, Terra's sky was covered by thick clouds, so Tieron had never seen the Moon from Terra.
Now, as if a pair of powerful, muscular arms reached out from the Moon, shattering the clouds.
"Throne above, Emperor protect us------" Jackie stood beside Tieron, looking out at the Moon through the small window with him.
"No!" Tieron quickly felt an ominous premonition. He hurriedly pulled Jackie away, simultaneously realizing something.
Ms. Mowan. Val was right; a battle was indeed erupting on the Moon, and profane power was infecting Earth's satellite.
Scarlet evil light constantly flickered and changed on the Moon, ugly and filled with corrupting aura.
But then, blue and gold intertwined light of order began to clash with the scarlet evil light, equally matched.
Fear arose in Tieron's heart, but at the same time, a little false hope emerged.
Hope.
Soon, Tieron received more information from the Moon.
The Moon's Geller readings were severely off the charts, several powerful psyker individuals were clashing, the Moon's terraforming engine had mysteriously activated, and the Custodes were taking action.
There was also the order from Ialtu.Simotriane, the Head of the Adeptus Administratum. He had obviously guessed that Tieron had facilitated the actions of the Adeptus Custodes, Battle Sisters, and Sisters of Silence.
In his communication, he furiously condemned Tieron's independent action as a betrayal. He demanded the immediate deployment of the Astra Militarum to the Moon and a lockdown of the entire Imperial Palace, prohibiting any ships from the Moon from landing.
Tieron was unsure what Irtu truly intended to do. His orders contradicted those of the other High Lords. Now, panic, chaos, and fanaticism were erupting within the Imperial Palace; everything was in disarray.
"I'm going to the Moon," Tieron said to Jackie, leaning heavily back in his chair.
Jackie seemed amused, her expression as if asking Tieron: what could an old, fat man like him do?
"I can open or close Terra's gates. I can restrain the Astra Militarum and make them stand on the right side. If miracles truly exist, I can help those two quickly grasp Terra's political situation, gain supreme power, and help them reach the Throne Room."
Tieron's voice grew softer and softer, as if he himself had lost confidence.
He could indeed do all these things, but how could those two not be able to?
The children of God possessed talents far surpassing an old, fat man like him.
"I must go. I've had enough. I watch everyone go to the battlefield while I can only hide in a safe house, trembling."
"At least let me do something."
"You might die," Jackie said, staring at Tieron with a warning in her tone.
"Ha, then I've certainly lived long enough." Tieron suddenly flared up, unable to help but roar, "I can't just send others to their deaths on the battlefield."
Jackie watched Tieron for a moment, and eventually, she let out a slightly mad laugh.
Perhaps it wasn't just Jackie; Tieron himself carried some madness. Their spirits were nearing their limits.
"Then go, we'll go together."
So Tieron and Jackie boarded a void ship bound for the Moon. On the way, they were indeed obstructed. Perhaps Irtu, the Head of the Adeptus Administratum's blockade order, had already begun to be enforced, or perhaps other High Lords had started to react.
Many void fighters attempted to intercept Tieron.
But Tieron, as the Imperial Chancellor, was always adept at solving problems efficiently. He chose to have a chat with the pilots of those fighters.
A chat about how quickly he, as the Imperial Chancellor, could have a kill team locate their families.
Thus, Tieron quickly arrived on the surface of the Moon.
But he was still a little late.
The Adeptus Mechanicus from Mars had already arrived on the Moon. Those massive, heavily modified Tech-Priests were walking on the Moon.
There were also the Imperial Fists, whose warriors in orange-yellow power armor were building fortifications around the craters, seemingly to protect the xeno-archway at the bottom of the crater.
Tieron also saw Saint Celestine, her figure almost identical to those in Adeptus Ministorum frescoes, sacred and beautiful. Ms. Mowan. Val was devoutly conversing with her.
But Tieron did not stop. He merely stumbled forward with a certain obsession, until he saw those two glorious figures.
Tieron could hardly believe what he was seeing.
He felt as if he was looking at a blue-gold storm of order and a sad yet magnificent sacrifice.
It was almost half a minute later that Tieron truly recognized the two faces he had been told to remember since childhood.
"Grand Chancellor of the Imperial Senate," the rational being in blue-gold power armor was the first to notice Tieron.
He saw the insignia of rank on Tieron's clothes and read it aloud in high gothic.
And the golden, angelic being also noticed Tieron. The Archangel smiled and nodded at Tieron.
For a moment, all the madness and pain in Tieron's heart were suppressed. The blasphemous, vile voices from the Warp almost disappeared, except for the song praising Doraemon.
But Tieron saw no Doraemon here, no signs of corruption. He let out a huge sigh of relief.
"Lord Guilliman, Lord Sanguinius."
Tieron knelt, prostrating himself devoutly, tears streaming down his face:
"You have truly returned, pure and uncorrupted."
"Not corrupted by that Chaos God Doraemon, as they claimed—"
Listening to Tieron's words, Guilliman's hand, halfway extended to help him up, froze in place.
A trace of awkwardness also crossed Sanguinius' face.
Then Alexander, who was conversing with Valerian, the Captain of the Custodian Guard, poked his head out and asked curiously, "Who's looking for me?"
Tieron instinctively looked at Alexander. He noticed the pocket on Alexander's stomach. From the rumors circulating in the Astra Telepathica communications, Tieron had heard of that pocket.
And and Tieron vaguely saw that within that seemingly mortal body, a huge, magnificent, divine blue Blue Cat was squeezed in.
Two threads extended from the Blue Cat's round hands, connecting to the two Primarchs.
"Ugh—" Tieron choked, his eyes rolled back, and he fell straight onto the lunar soil.
"Apothecary!!!"
"Quick, an Apothecary! Or any psyker other than Reyna will do!"
"The Imperial Chancellor has collapsed again!"
"Abaddon."
A cold voice, tinged with faint anger, echoed in the dark bridge.
Abaddon's eyes rolled back, and he almost fell over.
His ancient Gasterling Terminators had been cut down again and again.
The blood-soaked axe hummed and spun, fused with the daemon, hideous and terrifying.
Even the heavy armor of the Gasterling Terminators was no match for that chainaxe, which once belonged to a Primarch.
"Khorn! How dare you—" Fakus. Kaibo, Abaddon's personal guard captain and overall commander of the Despair Bringers, roared.
He raised the bolter in his hand.
But before he could fire, his head flew into the air amidst the roar of the chainaxe.
"Abaddon." Khorn's voice was low and powerful, like drumbeats leaping in Abaddon's heart.
If Abaddon hadn't been so injured, if he had been at his peak, he could have faced Khorn without fear, thanks to the Demon Sword Drach'nyen.
But not now. The current Abaddon could at most fight at full strength for a few minutes, which was barely enough to deal with his subordinate Chaos Lords, but against Khorn...
Even a young Sigismund wouldn't dare claim he could defeat Khorn in a few minutes.
"What do you want, Khorn?!" Abaddon roared in terror.
"Revenge, an eye for an eye, blood for blood."
Khorn said to Abaddon slowly, his voice hoarse:
"I wanted to invite you, but you are too cowardly."
"Now, pay me for fighting for you."
"Can't you consider the bigger picture?!" Abaddon roared furiously, "For mere hatred, you betrayed the Blood God, and now you betray my cause?"
After the war in the Warp ended, Khorn sought out Abaddon, demanding payment.
Abaddon, of course, was unwilling to pay for a failed war, and even less willing to let Khorn, a valuable fighting force, go.
Then Khorn, the butcher in action, expressed his protest against the unpaid wages with slaughter.
"Is this why you allowed Erebus to kill Loken?"
Gavriel Loken, Captain of the Tenth Company of the Luna Wolves, Abaddon's sworn brother.
Even before the Great Heresy, Khorn, Angron, Sigismund, and Loken had forged a friendship in the arena.
They were friends, brothers of different blood, only Sigismund and Loken chose loyalty.
Sigismund died at Abaddon's hands, which Khorn did not hate, because it was a battle of honor where the victor was decided. Sigismund, though defeated, died gloriously.
But Loken died from Erebus' sneak attack. Khorn hated it; a figure like Loken should not have died this way, nor at the hands of a petty man like Erebus.
What angered Khorn even more was that Abaddon had witnessed Loken's death firsthand but did nothing.
"I was angry!" Abaddon immediately retorted.
But such a pale and weak response only made Khorn find it laughable, because Abaddon was angry for a moment and then did nothing.
"That wasn't anger, that was just cowardice," Khorn commented. "If you were angry, you should have killed Erebus on the spot."
"Loken was an enemy!" Abaddon argued, gritting his teeth.
"He was also your brother," Khorn said, shaking his head. "To argue with blades, and then grant him an honorable death with blades, that is what you should have done."
"You should not have let a beast like Erebus take Loken's life and honor, especially with a despicable sneak attack. You shamed Loken... no, you shamed Horus and the honor of all his sons."
"But it's not too late now. Come with me and kill Erebus. Together, we will wash away the humiliation Loken, and Angron, suffered with revenge."
"After the revenge is over, if I am still alive, I am willing to serve you until I cut off the head of a Primarch."
Abaddon's pupils trembled slightly. The price Khorn offered was indeed tempting.
But Abaddon still shook his head: "I have more important things to do."
Khorn was silent. Fused with the daemon, he could clearly perceive the presence of the Warp.
He could vaguely sense that Abaddon's mind seemed to have been manipulated just now. Was it the Lord of Change?
"Then pay me my due." Khorn's gaze at Abaddon was momentarily pitiful.
Abaddon gritted his teeth. He looked around, knowing he couldn't refuse Khorn now.
"What do you want?" Abaddon asked.
"I know you have a partnership with the Alphas."
Khorn whispered, asking:
"Tell me, have the heads of the Hydra reached into Terra, into the Imperial Palace, coiling around those bureaucrats?"
"Do those sons of Alpharius have a way to bring me into the Imperial Palace?"