Lion El'Jonson's dense forest was being torn apart by twisted tentacles; the hive mind shrieked and roared, unleashing its power.
The genetic sequence that shaped this body was so powerful, its genetic material itself was a form the hive mind had never before encountered. Even before its complete birth, it could bear most of the hive mind's power.
The hive mind could feel the molecular structure of that body slowly snapping, molecular bonds disappearing, and the material structure becoming indistinct. Everything was dissolving, forming a larger, more incredible whole.
It was like a shedding, becoming a more transcendent existence.
The hive mind understood the changes happening to its body from the knowledge contained within those genes.
Ascension, elevation, metamorphosis, or to use a less precise description: it was like a Primarch awakening to his Warp essence.
The hive mind was the Warp essence of that body; its continuous infusion into it was like a Primarch awakening his Warp essence.
A god not born in the Warp first descended into the material dimension, then in turn became a god of the Warp.
Just like the Dark King, just like the Emperor, the hive mind could also feel the knowledge of the Warp being born within its will.
It could feel a place for itself in the Warp, it could hear its name.
lord of dissolution of greed, eternal dragon.
It was hunger itself, an all-encompassing greed. Just as the eternal dragon fed on its own tail, its hunger was destined to spread to itself. After devouring everything among the stars, still unsatisfied, it would continue to devour itself, consuming its own being.
This was the destined fate in the Warp; every deity possessed a dual tendency for destruction and self-destruction.
The God of Blood and War craved to ignite wars that burned entire worlds, spilling every drop of blood, beheading every head, and finally offering his own blood and head to war.
The Plague God yearned for disease to spread across the entire world, for all things to decay, all things to be reborn, all things to enter a triple cycle of rebirth, decay, and death, and to become stagnant within that cycle, ultimately even himself falling into eternal decay and stillness.
The God of Change and Fate desired all things to change, for everything good to turn bad, everything bad to turn good, for order to collapse, for chaos itself to fall into chaos. But the ultimate result of endless change would inevitably be everything crumbling and overturning, returning to heat death.
The God of Thirst and Pleasure craved extreme experiences, believing the purpose of existence was for It to experience everything, to enjoy endless sensory stimuli, whether pain, pleasure, sorrow, joy—It wanted to experience it all. But It would eventually grow weary of all experiences, realizing that only complete destruction remained untried.
The God of Vengeance and Destruction harbored hatred for all things, attempting to take revenge on everything within sight, reducing everything to ashes, making the entire universe responsible for the suffering It had endured. Ultimately, It hated even Itself, entering an uncontrollable self-destruction.
The God of Creation and Artistry sought to encompass all knowledge in the universe, to unleash Its creativity without limit. But Its creativity, in its constant escalation, would inevitably spiral out of control, capable of crushing stars. Creations powerful enough to destroy entire universes would surely be born from Its hands.
The Six Madmen.
This was the hive mind's assessment of the five entities swirling in the Warp.
The God of Creation and Artistry was infinitely close to birth yet had not been born. It was furthest from the destiny of destruction and self-destruction.
The God of Thirst and Pleasure was the weakest; there were still many feelings in the world It had not experienced. It was also equally far from the destiny of destruction.
The Plague God was the most benevolent, choosing to let all things eternally decay but not die, hovering between not-life and not-death.
The God of Change and Fate was the most contradictory, choosing to split Itself and sever Its authority, refusing heat death by weakening Itself.
The God of Blood and War was the closest to that destiny, and thus the most powerful. It gave meaning to that splash of crimson, using it to resist the nihilism of self-destruction.
And the God of Vengeance and Destruction, It had already embarked on that destiny.
The hive mind let out a sharp shriek; It was terrified of this destiny.
It would never achieve the satiety it sought, only to wander in endless hunger, eventually biting its own tail and devouring itself.
But It could also feel the summons from the Warp; It had no way back.
At this moment, the hive mind had only one thought: 'Damn it, I've been tricked. I'm going to join those six madmen and madwomen.'
Although it tried to resist, the pull of the Warp was so strong that it could not. It even instinctively began to gravitate towards the path of ascension, attempting to expand its domain.
Especially when it saw Lion El'Jonson, when it saw that Primarch and his inner self, it finally could not suppress this urge to feed.
Lion El'Jonson, Son of the Forest, his inner self was similar to the eternal dragon; he was an ouroboros of fate, a self-consuming beast.
Its tentacles pierced into Lion El'Jonson's essence, into that jungle, pressing down on the Lion.
The sharp tentacles instantly tore through the canopy of that forest, cut open the earth, and coiled with hunger, pressing down on Lion El'Jonson.
The hive mind tried to use the knowledge it had just acquired from the Warp to corrupt Lion El'Jonson, to make him its Daemon Primarch.
Spikes rained down, striking Lion El'Jonson's kite shield. A strong sense of hunger began to arise within the Lion's body. Azrael and Zabriel even fell weakly to the ground due to the intense hunger, only Helael barely managed to stand, helping the Lion fend off those tentacles.
But the hive mind didn't care. This dense forest itself was Lion El'Jonson's mind, a reflection of his will and essence in the Warp. By directly devouring this domain, it could corrupt the Lion.
This was a unique characteristic of the domain occupied by the hive mind. Only feeding was enough; within the greed dissolution domain, there was no seduction, no anger, no infection, no corruption, only eating and being eaten.
To eat It or be eaten by It was both a form of corruption.
But during the feeding process, the hive mind noticed that within Lion El'Jonson's mental forest, there existed a massive anomaly.
The hive mind's gaze fell upon the old man in the lake.
The old man was ancient, decaying, and near death. In the hive mind's perception, there was almost no nourishment within him, yet he was like a hard, shriveled grain of sand, stuck before the hive mind's teeth.
The hive mind let out a sharp shriek. Dense shadow tentacles converged, like a proboscis, stabbing towards the decaying old man.
The hideous proboscis drew closer and closer, but the old man still hung his head, holding his fishing rod, shaking the hook in the water.
Not until the proboscis was close to the old man did a slight smile appear at the old man's wrinkled lips. His hook, submerged in the water, shook violently.
"It's hooked."
The old man smiled, then slowly raised his head, looking at the hive mind's hideous proboscis, looking at the shadows enveloping the hive mind.
Light.
Light as bright as a supernova burst forth from the old man's eyes.
The hive mind's proboscis, tentacles, and blades were instantly ignited, turning into scorching ashes and dissipating.
The hive mind let out a terrified shriek. Its vision was completely enveloped by the scorching light, and it could only feel its tentacles, which had invaded Lion's will, being ignited and destroyed one by one.
But in the bright light, It could see nothing but that lake, that small boat, that fisherman.
The lake surged, but the small boat sailed through the wind and waves. The figure of the ancient fisherman gradually became upright. The thorns piercing his scalp transformed into a crown carved with an Aquila. His coarse cloth robe became golden armor, and the slender fishing rod was raised high, transforming into a burning blade larger than a star.
The blade slashed down. The hive mind wailed and roared, its body beginning to burn fiercely. Even the Tyranid creatures far away in the void, not yet entered into the galaxy, were engulfed in flames.
Trap! Trap! Trap!
The hive mind twisted and wailed. It recognized the fisherman's true identity.
This was clearly a trap, intentionally set to harm It.
Damn it, why are there so many bad people in the Warp??
Azrael felt the hunger that enveloped him recede. He vaguely saw ripples on the lake, saw the old man standing on the small boat, and saw the old man swing his fishing rod at the hive mind.
He was momentarily dazed, and the scene before him changed.
He saw the lake transform into stars and the Warp, the small boat become the Emperor's Dream, and the old man become a valiant man in golden armor with brown hair, holding not a fishing rod but a burning blade, standing at the bow of a Gloriana-class Battleship, his blade pointing at the xenos in the sky.
Azrael's expression froze, not because of the Emperor's majestic figure.
But because he had just been wondering if this old man, standing on this lake, watching the Lion come and go with the Absolver, might know too many secrets of the Dark Angels.
As Azrael was in a daze, the scene shifted. The dense forest vanished before his eyes, and in a blink, he was standing inside the fleshy spire, before the egg sac.
He could now clearly see the humanoid figure within the egg sac. The figure's eyes were covered by scorching fire, its body writhing in pain, and its four arms spasming and twitching.
The Lion hesitated almost not at all. The power sword named loyalty was unsheathed, piercing into the egg sac, about to bestow the xenos with the reward of loyalty.
The blade slightly penetrated the egg sac, but at this moment, the creature coiled within the egg sac suddenly opened its tightly closed eye.
A powerful psychic energy erupted from the creature's body, crushing outwards. Azrael, Zabriel, and Helael were almost unable to resist, instantly being thrown back.
But the Lion's face was terrifyingly grim; clearly, the hive mind's recent invasion of his dense forest had enraged him.
The sound of flowing water in the forest was faintly audible. The dense forest appeared around the Lion, pressing with him towards the figure in the egg sac.
The blade pierced the egg sac. Viscous orange-yellow liquid splattered past the Lion, and the sword of loyalty plunged directly into the chest of the humanoid creature within the egg sac.
The humanoid creature slowly raised its arm, covered in pus and chitinous armor, and pressed it against Lion's chest.
In an instant, the Lion's breastplate shattered and disintegrated, and his entire body tilted backward. The sword of loyalty was also pulled out of the humanoid creature's chest.
The Lion quickly regained his balance in mid-air, landing lightly like a wildcat in the forest, his gaze fixed on the creature.
The creature was somewhat similar to a Gene Stealer Patriarch, covered in chitinous armor, but its figure was closer to a human than a Gene Stealer Patriarch, seemingly because the Tyranids found it difficult to corrupt the extraordinary genes within it.
Its physique was exceptionally agile, every muscle encased in chitin appeared so distinct, like statues of ancient Greek Tau, except it had four clawed arms extending from beneath its shoulders, adding a sense of the inhuman.
Its head was similar to a human skull, only rounder, with muscles directly adhering to the skull, deep eye sockets, one eye covered by bright fire, seemingly blind, the other eye almost like a beast's, with a prominent occiput where brain tissue emitted blue light, visible through the skin.
The chitin behind it spiraled upwards, forming an arc behind it, almost like a crown and a halo. Accompanied by the psychic light emanating from its brain tissue, it added a twisted divinity to it.
Looking at this creature full of twisted divinity, Lion's first thought was surprisingly that this thing, in Alexander's craniological definition, was even a human.
But he quickly suppressed this thought.
From this creature, he actually saw reflections of his brothers: he saw Guilliman's rationality, his own sternness, Alpharius's mystery, Sanguinius's divinity, and Leman Russ's wildness. He even saw some shadows of the Emperor.
But, but...
Why did this creature exhibit more feminine than masculine characteristics??
Although this creature had clear muscles, its skeleton and physique were slender, and the shape of its skull was relatively small, clearly possessing female bodily characteristics.
Lion did not know that the hive mind, when shaping this body, discovered that the Emperor's half of the genes were too powerful and terrifying, making the body hatched from them difficult to control.
So the hive mind suppressed the Emperor's genes and instead boosted the Eldar's genes, causing the body to exhibit many feminine traits.
"Monster," the Lion growled softly, unaware of these facts.
The creature twisted its head to look at Lion. To Lion's surprise, he actually saw a human-like sadness in the creature's eyes.
The hive mind had entered this human-like body, and its will naturally acquired humanity, just like the Primarchs.
But at this moment, It was not yet complete. The hive mind had originally intended to be born in a complete state, beginning its ascension at the moment of birth.
However, It was injured by the Dark King and almost had this body destroyed by the Lion, forcing It to enter this body in such a premature state.
This made Its mood incredibly complex. Its emotions resisted ascension, and this resistance deepened after acquiring the body.
But the summons from the Warp, the instinct in Its will, irresistibly pushed It towards ascension.
The tendency to be human and the tendency to ascend intertwined within It, causing It pain.
"..."
The creature stared at Lion, then after a moment of silence, It slowly spoke:
"Father."
"Father," the four-armed creature's lips moved slightly, and a standard human voice emerged from its alien vocal cords.
"...?" Lion El'Jonson, clutching the sword of loyalty, froze in place.
All battle intent, all anger, was forcefully suppressed by the four-armed creature's words at that moment. Confusion rose in his heart.
The four-armed creature gazed at Lion El'Jonson, its lips moving slightly again: "Son!"
The air was deathly silent. Veins throbbed at the corners of the Lion's eyes, his fingers tightened on the sword of loyalty, and killing intent and rage surged around him.
Azrael, Zabriel, and Helael picked themselves up from the ground, looking at the four-armed creature with bewildered expressions, not knowing what it was up to.
"Is that not right?"
"Is it hard to understand?"
The four-armed creature tilted its head and asked:
"My genetic sequence was shaped from twenty-one Primarchs."
"You are clearly one of my twenty-one wild fathers."
"My genes are also the same as the Emperor and Eldar, so I am also your father and mother."
"I even possess some genetic memories of the Emperor and Eldar."
"...The Emperor, Eldar, and Ollanius Persson, truly three ill-fated lovers."
The four-armed creature sighed, looking up.
The Lion's body lowered slightly, the blade of the sword named loyalty in his hand thrusting directly towards the four-armed creature's throat.
But the Lion's blade seemed to sink into a quagmire, its advance slowing, the momentum on the sword seemingly gnawed away and devoured by unseen things in the air.
The four-armed creature gently extended a hand, and with a slight flick, pushed the blade away.
"If you could kill me, destroy this body, that would be good."
The four-armed creature said softly:
"This could interrupt my instinct to ascend, but only for a time."
"This shell is an eternal being; even if killed, it will quickly revive."
"I am currently akin to... the Emperor you remember walking among humans."
"Can you defeat the Emperor?"
As it spoke, the four-armed creature slowly extended a clawed arm towards Lion El'Jonson.
The Lion's beastly instincts made him dodge quickly, but his movements were extremely sluggish.
He felt the strength between his muscles being gnawed away little by little, his body weak and powerless—a sensation he had never experienced before.
"You see, I eat many things: vitality, power, spirit, will, soul—I can gnaw at them."
"But this never fills my stomach; my hunger is infinite, yet the food in this world is limited, and much of it is wasted."
The four-armed creature, extending its hand towards Lion El'Jonson, chattered on:
"Did you know? As early as the third millennium of humanity, the food you humans produced was already in surplus, enough to feed all humans."
"Yet even now, in your civilization, many people are still hungry. How extravagant!"
"Those hungers are being encompassed into my domain. I can empathically feel their hunger. How bitter it is."
"Hmm?"
The four-armed creature seemed to sense something, moved its feet, and abruptly pulled away from Lion El'Jonson.
The void trembled, and many Mini-Dora surged from the void, waving their round hands and smashing towards the four-armed creature.
The four-armed creature waved its four arms, trying to gnaw at the power on the Mini-Dora.
Some of the Mini-Dora did indeed slow down, but more Mini-Dora surged from the void. They carried so much power that even the hive mind found it difficult to gnaw them all away.
There was indeed a divinity in the Warp of power who wielded power.
Alexander's figure appeared before the four-armed creature, surrounded by a large number of Mini-Dora, with Sanguinius standing behind him.
A low growl emanated from the Warp; the gods felt excited. They had always been waiting, waiting for Alexander and the hive mind to truly clash, waiting for the moment when Alexander would be too preoccupied to care for Fulgrim and Guilliman.
Tides surged in the Warp, and the constantly changing blue and the lewd purple began to pierce into the real dimension.
However, the moment Alexander and the four-armed creature faced each other, no direct battle erupted.
Alexander looked at the four-armed creature with an expression of solemn respect. His expression was even somewhat moved. He raised both hands and performed an aquila salute across his chest.
"I said the Four-Armed Emperor is the true faith, didn't I?"
"The Four-Armed Emperor will instantly kill a Two-Armed God-Emperor."
Everyone present's expressions stiffened slightly.
Although he was still malicious verbally, Alexander was genuinely somewhat emotional deep down.
In his previous life, he was indeed a Tyranids player; the first faction he played was Tyranids.
His feelings upon seeing the Four-Armed Emperor now were like a warhammer fan who daily shouted "loyalty" suddenly transmigrating to warhammer and replacing the Emperor on the Golden Throne.
Everyone just talks big online; in reality, who wouldn't want to transmigrate and replace the Emperor on the Throne, right?
Similarly,
Everyone just talks big in the Hive City; when truly encountering the Four-Armed Emperor, who wouldn't say that he will instantly kill the Two-Armed God-Emperor?
"Four-Armed Emperor." The creature smiled. It slightly extended its four arms, gently clenching them a few times, as if it felt it should indeed be addressed as such.
"I will instantly kill the God-Emperor, but can I instantly kill Saint Doraemon? I'm very curious," the Four-Armed Emperor asked.
Alexander shook his head slightly: "I'm not curious."
"I'm more curious about who is stronger, the Four-Armed Emperor or my Second Empire God-Emperor."
Sanguinius trembled his wings slightly, flying up gently. Behind him, golden and dark angels flickered in and out of existence, while the Mini-Dora around Alexander flew up, circling around Sanguinius.
Alexander was channeling his power through Sanguinius, his Daemon Primarch, as a medium.
"Just a Primarch?" the Four-Armed Emperor asked with a smile. His skin was trembling slightly, seemingly unable to suppress his hunger and thirst.
The Four-Armed Emperor greatly enjoyed the feelings humanity brought him. For long ages, he had been immersed in endless hunger, other emotions being only sporadic fragments. This state was actually extremely painful.
Now, entering this shell, donning the skin called human, he gained true senses, and emotions beyond hunger surged forth.
No wonder the Dark King was immersed in this shell, lingering beneath this layer of human skin.
But this shell was ultimately false, merely a covering over his essence. Within, he still only had hunger.
The moment he saw Sanguinius, he found it difficult to suppress his predatory desires and impulses.
Alexander gently raised a hand.
"It's alright, I've also seen dragons," Alexander said with a smile.
Heat energy, from the very beginning of the universe, mingled beside him.
This was a technique derived from Orikan's technology, understood and realized by Alexander using the power of the malicious art domain.
He was creating the shell of a Star God out of thin air.
A dazzling bridge of light extended from the Immaterium, plunging into the real dimension, surging into that shell.
Emerald lightning flashed and coiled, sharp tails spiraled beside a lithe silver body, a dragon-like head circled with constantly shifting primordial energy vortices, and a scarlet cloak embroidered with a twelve-toothed cogwheel was draped over this body. Behind it, a pair of sharp wings slowly unfurled.
"eternal dragon?"
A voice emanated from the mouth of this silver dragon:
"If you are a dragon, that's fine too."
"What about the Cyber God-Emperor of the Adeptus Mechanicus?" Alexander asked softly.
The golden hammer flashed with dazzling and magnificent light, easily smashing a Phoenix Guard.
Eidolon, with his sticky, fat, and pale face, pressed forward relentlessly. The Phoenix Guard were almost indefensible; only Alkenes, the former Phoenix Guard commander, barely held on.
Saul, leading the Palace Swordsmen, was also embroiled in a bitter struggle. The sound waves, those sharp and deadly sound waves, came continuously, making it extremely difficult for the other swordsmen to even swing their swords. Though Saul could manage to swing his sword, still...
Deadly energy sound waves impacted the phase sword in Saul's hand. This product of Necron technology actually began to fluctuate, becoming unstable.
And the enemy releasing these energy sound waves...
Saul looked at the utterly disgusting Daemon Prince, integrated with various musical instruments and speakers.
"Marius!" The genetic memories Tarvitz had passed down to Saul allowed Saul to identify this enemy.
Marius Varus, the former Captain of the Emperor's Children Third Company, the first Noise Marine, who died on Istvaan V but was resurrected as a Daemon Prince by Slaanesh.
"Tarvitz, brother, why do you struggle so? Can you not see that perfect and beautiful figure?" Marius's voice was tinged with madness and allure.
That figure, it was because they faced that figure that they were so powerless.
That figure was perhaps an amalgamation of all the fallen from ancient legends. Its lower body was like a viper, like an eel, like a slug, like a worm, covered in a shimmering, iridescent mucus like a fly's wings, blurring its pinkish-purple scales, as if painted with the most frenzied brushstrokes on a canvas of human skin.
Its upper body was slender and long, maintaining a near-human form, but with four arms, holding a claw, a twisted blade, a flame blade, and a scorpion-tailed whip respectively. Its torso and arms were covered in intricately carved, dazzling golden power armor, inlaid with countless shimmering gems of purple, pink, and emerald. An aquila leaped from its shoulder, its talons piercing the left side of its breastplate, seemingly only entering the flesh between, appearing alive from a distance.
Its face was long and grotesque, covered in thick white greasepaint, its eye corners and lips covered in heavily scented powder. Hair dyed in a mix of purple, pink, emerald, and blue rose from between its horns, forming an exaggerated hairstyle like a theatrical actor.
No matter what effect this figure intended to project, Saul saw only absurdity, vulgarity, depravity, and lewdness in it.
Primarch Fulgrim.
This fallen Daemon Primarch had descended into the real dimension. A lantern hung from his waist, and within the lantern, the soul of a beautiful woman with sky-blue hair and clad in a flimsy gauze dress was passionately singing the blasphemous song "Malaviglia."
That soul was Bekka Kinska, the musical genius who had followed the Emperor's Children fleet ten thousand years ago. Corrupted in the Temple of Self-Mutilation and gaining inspiration, this woman created the blasphemous song "Malaviglia." The moment this song was played, it corrupted almost the entire Emperor's Children fleet, summoning six Slaanesh Daemons. The Emperor's Children thus completely fell, and the Noise Marines were born.
This blasphemous music once again emanated from Bekka Kinska's soul, instantly making the Sons of the Phoenixs feel a chill, as if every note was a sticky tentacle dragging at their souls, trying to pull them into Slaanesh's embrace.
But, all the Sons of the Phoenixs could see the figure standing before the viper.
The figure clad in purple and gold battle armor, draped in a pure white cloak, holding the forgebreaker warhammer.
The forgebreaker warhammer in his hand erupted with orange-red flames, bright like a distant star, like the furnace fire that would soon allow them to be reborn from the ashes. Just by looking at that light, they felt hope, found themselves, and did not fall into corruption.
As long as the Phoenix did not fall, they would not fall.
"You hold my hammer, the warhammer I forged for my brother in the Mount Narodia," Fulgrim said, looking down at Fulgrim, at the gleaming forgebreaker warhammer in his hand, his voice sticky like syrup.
The forgebreaker was burning, Fulgrim could feel it.
the machine spirit, born from Fulgrim's hand, grown in Ferrus's hand, and twisted by Perturabo, was burning, scalding hot as if it would burn Fulgrim's fingers through his gauntlet.
Anger, Fulgrim could feel the anger within, the lingering anger of Ferrus residing there.
"You hold my sword, the flame sword my brother forged for me in the Mount Narodia," Fulgrim stared at the flame sword in Fulgrim's hand, at the fiercely burning straight blade, his voice as tough as steel from a furnace.
Fulgrim laughed, this viper laughed maniacally and mockingly, full of derision, but Fulgrim felt sadness.
"Don't kill them," Fulgrim stopped laughing and looked at Eidolon and Marius. "I'm still waiting to enjoy their expressions when they ascend."
Eidolon grumbled softly in dissatisfaction, but he dared not openly defy Fulgrim. The last time he did so, Fulgrim directly chopped off his head with a sword, and now there was no Fabius to sew him back together.
The number of Emperor's Children who descended into the real dimension with Fulgrim far outnumbered the Sons of the Phoenixs, but not a single one of these Emperor's Children dared to approach Fulgrim and Fulgrim.
Every Emperor's Child could clearly sense that the current Fulgrim was no longer merely a clone.
His duel with Fulgrim had already become a ritual of sorts, a clash almost of destiny. Any attempt to disturb this clash would be an out-and-out crime.
"I once hoped," Fulgrim said to Fulgrim, "I once hoped, in every bitter night, for such a duel, hoped to cut off your head, like wiping away a stain."
"But now, when I truly face you, I feel no anger, only sadness welling up like water."
"My other self, if Ferrus were to see you in your current state, what would he say?"
"Ferrus."
Fulgrim's words caused Fulgrim's expression to freeze slightly, and his lips trembled:
"Are you speaking of Ferrus?"
"Of course!" Fulgrim gripped the forgebreaker warhammer in his hand, roaring the question: "What would Ferrus say if he saw the former Phoenician fallen to such a state?"
"...I have never regretted killing Ferrus," Fulgrim whispered.
Fulgrim paused in confusion: "I didn't ask—"
"I have never regretted killing Ferrus!"
Fulgrim's voice suddenly rose, his four arms waving like blooming flowers, his twin swords, whip, and talons forming a kaleidoscope as he pressed down on Fulgrim.
Fulgrim's expression hardened, and the forgebreaker warhammer erupted with scorching furnace fire.
The serpentine twisted blade in Fulgrim's left hand shrieked as it collided with the forgebreaker warhammer, the bursting, burning energy illuminating the surrounding hundreds of meters like daylight.
Fulgrim's arms were numb, his bones were cracking. He felt he was facing an ancient colossus more powerful than a Titan Legion. This colossus had condescended to the mortal dimension, but the one suffering for it was not him, but reality itself.
Sanguinius, Lion, and Guilliman—they had never used their full strength when fighting him in the arena.
"He deserved to die!"
Fulgrim's voice was sharp as a blade.
"You bastard, I once fought alongside Ferrus, I once forged weapons with Ferrus, we shed blood together, we swore oaths together."
"And you, you bastard, you are only peeking into my memories. When have you ever seen Ferrus?"
The deadly whip lashed down, tearing Fulgrim's armor in an instant. Flesh and blood were violently stripped away by the barbs on the whip, and heartbreaking pain swept through Fulgrim's body.
This whip was not merely a combat weapon; it was a torture device through and through, coated with non-lethal toxins that caused boundless suffering. If an ordinary mortal were struck, they would likely have already gone into shock from the terrible pain.
But Fulgrim was, at least physically, still a Primarch. His supernatural immune ability took effect, quickly suppressing the agony, and his superhuman reflexes allowed him to put some distance between himself and Fulgrim.
"Ferrus, he was pedantic! He was boring! He was cold as iron!"
Fulgrim roared as he pursued him, his flame sword carving an arc and colliding with the forgebreaker warhammer.
"He didn't understand art, he couldn't appreciate paintings, he couldn't grasp the rhythm in music, he didn't know how to appreciate the existence of beauty."
The flame sword in front of Fulgrim seemed to instantly multiply into thousands, hacking at him from all directions. He desperately swung the forgebreaker warhammer to defend himself.
But some attacks still broke through his defenses.
His armor was constantly dented, damaged, and scorched.
"He stole my glory again and again, he overshadowed my brilliance again and again, he betrayed me again and again!"
"I! I invited him out of brotherly affection, I invited him because of our sincere friendship, urging him to join a brand new order."
"But he refused me! He betrayed our friendship!"
"He—he deserved to die by my sword!"
Fulgrim's voice became shrill and piercing:
"So ungrateful! So obstinate! So—so hard to corrupt, so unshakable, so resilient, so utterly unyielding."
Fulgrim's voice grew softer.
"Yes," Fulgrim nodded and said, "I have never seen Ferrus with my own eyes; I am only peeking into your memories."
"But I still know his resilience, his indestructibility. If there is anything in the world that is perfect without needing carving, it must be Ferrus."
"I loved him even without walking beside him; you walked beside him yourself, how could you not love him?"
Fulgrim's attack stalled. He opened his mouth slightly, and tears welled up in his violet eyes.
Fulgrim, however, felt a power spontaneously surge within him, a power that seemed to originate from Fulgrim's own body.
Fulgrim recalled the words Cawl had once spoken.
He was becoming Fulgrim.
Fulgrim let out a wild war cry.
He leaped up, swinging the forgebreaker warhammer in his hand in an arc, the hammerhead aimed directly at Fulgrim's twisted face.
Fulgrim was a Primarch indeed; he was faster than Fulgrim. Even though Fulgrim seized his momentary lapse, he still managed to dodge.
Fulgrim's forgebreaker warhammer struck his shoulder. A sharp, crisp sound emanated from Fulgrim's warplate, shattering the finely carved eagle ornament, exposing Fulgrim's shoulder to the air.
"Bastard!" Fulgrim shrieked, stabbing the twisted blade toward Fulgrim.
Fulgrim leaped away, evading the strike, while simultaneously swinging the warhammer, smashing it toward the broken eagle on Fulgrim's chest.
Under the impact of the heavy hammer, the eagle flew off Fulgrim's chest. The ornament's talons had indeed been embedded in Fulgrim's chest, drawing streams of blood.
Fulgrim howled and retreated repeatedly.
"My Father gave this to me!" Fulgrim cried out mournfully, looking at the shattered eagle on the ground.
"...A gift from the Emperor?" Fulgrim landed, tilting his head slightly as he asked.
He had not expected Fulgrim to still keep the gift the Emperor had given him.
But Fulgrim ignored Fulgrim's question. His hideous face slowly lifted, and the wound on his chest healed almost instantly.
He stared at Fulgrim with an extremely gloomy gaze.
"You stole something from me," Fulgrim growled.
"I prefer to think of this as an acknowledgment," Fulgrim clenched the forgebreaker, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile as he provoked: "You yourself admitted that I am more like the Phoenician than you are."
"You are just a fake, a fraud, a clone," Fulgrim's voice was sharp and grating.
"The Primarch of the Emperor's Children must be the most perfect one," Fulgrim stared at Fulgrim, showing no fear: "Whoever is more perfect is the Primarch, whoever wins is the Primarch."
"...Idiot," Fulgrim actually laughed out loud: "The more perfect you are, the more you resemble me. If you can defeat me, it only proves that you have become exactly like me."
"The path to perfection is precisely this. The further you walk, the clearer the imperfections on you become. You call my current state depravity, but I call it the necessary road to perfection."
"I don't believe this is the result of the path to perfection."
Fulgrim shook his head and said:
"I have constantly been pondering what form true perfection should take."
"Do you remember that jade carving pendant Jaghatai Khan gave us ten thousand years ago, which originated from the early days of human civilization?"
"You praised the jade carving as beautiful then, complimenting the history behind it, but it was actually created from scrap material."
Fulgrim looked slightly stunned.
He remembered the jade carving. It depicted a traveler wearing a bamboo hat walking through heavy, swirling snow, with a withered tree swaying nearby. Fulgrim had indeed been attracted by the exquisite beauty of the carving at the time and couldn't help but praise it.
"This jade carving originated from the era when Alexander lived. I brought it up to Alexander, and he told me that the carving was made from scrap."
"Using cotton for snow, cracks for the tree, and moss for the bamboo hat—a traveler returning on a snowy night, turning decay into wonder."
"I think Jaghatai Khan realized we were heading down the wrong path at the time and used that jade carving to warn us, but we simply didn't realize it."
"I think, perhaps, the path to perfection is never about how many flaws we cut away. Flaws are endless; if we keep cutting, all that will be left is emptiness."
"True perfection should depend on how we face our own flaws: with nobility, or with cowardice."
Fulgrim tightened his grip on the forgebreaker, a slight smile appearing on his lips:
"So Belisarius Cawl was wrong. I am not your past; you and I are different outcomes."
"I choose to acknowledge my imperfection with nobility, while you choose to flee your imperfection with cowardice."
"We are the two ends of fate, the ouroboros, but who is the swallowed tail and who is the head consuming the tail remains unknown."
"Three is the beginning, six is the end; the serpent bites the phoenix, and the phoenix pecks the serpent."
"Six is the beginning, three is the beginning; when the phoenix falls, the serpent bathes in fire."
Mortarion was muttering something softly. Six stone dice danced off his fingertips, landing on the table: three showed three, and three showed six.
Then Mortarion began scribbling and drawing on the documents in front of him.
Guilliman, who was sitting opposite him dealing with files, was somewhat speechless.
He had originally only wanted to make things difficult for Mortarion, to make him realize that the current situation was not what he desired.
But... Mortarion's level of handling documents was actually quite good.
Although his method of processing files was inexplicable, always mixed with a string of superstitions, it was genuinely effective.
Mortarion claimed this was the great power of Numerology.
But Guilliman couldn't completely dump the work onto Mortarion.
When dealing with specific incidents, Mortarion's administrative ability was indeed excellent.
But when it came to matters related to calculation—
Guilliman glanced at the financial report Mortarion had just processed in his hand.
It was terrible to look at.
It was riddled with a massive number of basic calculation errors, making it unbearable.
Was this the mathematical level of the Grand Master of Numerology?
Hideous, truly hideous. What was he doing with the superhuman intellect the Emperor had bestowed upon him?
Guilliman noticed Mortarion had a tendency to simplify everything, completely disregarding the underlying logic of any matter.
It was no exaggeration to say that Mortarion's understanding of mathematics... was roughly at the level of simple addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division.
Yet, strangely, many things genuinely did become simplified when they fell into his hands.
For example, there had previously been a significant conflict between the Space Wolves and the Grey Knights under the command of Guilliman's Expedition fleet.
Guilliman had originally formulated a series of complex plans to ease the tension between the two.
But Mortarion had acted first.
He simply captured the Wolf Lord commanding the Space Wolves unit and the Grand Master of the Grey Knights, threw them into an arena, and demanded they fight a duel to the death.
If both of them died and the conflict between the Space Wolves and the Grey Knights was still unresolved, Mortarion would follow the command hierarchy and continue capturing individuals for death duels until the conflict was resolved.
Mortarion's method was surprisingly effective immediately. Before the first death duel even began, the conflict between the Space Wolves and the Grey Knights was resolved.
The Wolf Lord and the Grand Master exchanged glances, reached a consensus, and one grabbed his axe while the other channeled his psychic power, launching an attack against Mortarion.
In the end, after being soundly beaten by Mortarion, the two sides somehow developed a sense of camaraderie and reconciled.
Guilliman truly didn't know how to describe this situation.
Just then, Mortarion, sitting across from Guilliman's workstation, suddenly stood up and violently hurled the dice in his hand toward the desk.
A Primarch's strength was naturally terrifying; the six dice smashed into the wooden desk like six meteors.
Guilliman stared blankly at Mortarion's actions.
"That is the wooden desk my father, King Konor, left me. It has been with me for ten thousand years," Guilliman said to Mortarion.
Mortarion's movement paused. He pointed at the dice on the table and said:
"Look, nine."
Guilliman looked down and saw that the die Mortarion was pointing at showed nine pips.
"Wait, isn't that a six-sided die? How can it have nine pips?" Guilliman blinked, unable to stop himself from asking.
But Mortarion ignored Guilliman.
"Nine is the sacred number of the Lord of Change. This foretells certain actions by the Lord of Change."
"Look, this is seven, this is six. Seven plus six is thirteen. This means the Lord of Change is taking action against you."
"Why seven and six? You already rolled seven and nine, why couldn't you just roll thirteen?" Guilliman still couldn't help but ask.
"Because seven is the sacred number of Nurgle, meaning I will help you," Mortarion said matter-of-factly.
"And six? What is the the thirsting lord doing?" Guilliman pressed.
Mortarion completely ignored Guilliman's question and pointed to the next pair of dice.
"Look, nine and six, added together is fifteen, the Fifteenth Legion. Magnus is going to attack you."
Guilliman was already too tired to comment on the forced nature of Mortarion's explanation.
He directed his gaze toward the last die.
"Eight? The Blood God is involved too. Huh?" Guilliman said halfway through, suddenly pausing.
The die didn't have eight pips; it had the numeral 8.
"That's not eight, that's ∞, infinity," Mortarion said, pointing at the last die.
"...?" Guilliman no longer knew how to describe Mortarion.
"Then let me ask you a math problem: which is larger, two infinities added together, or one infinity?" Guilliman asked, staring at Mortarion.
"Two infinities, of course," Mortarion replied, looking utterly convinced.
"...Carry on," Guilliman waved his hand, signaling him to continue.
"Infinity, the ouroboros, symbolizing the self-coupling of fate."
"It is the Well of Eternity!"
"Tzeentch has thrown Magnus into the Well of Eternity, creating some sort of thing to attack you!"
In Guilliman's view, the numbers displayed by the six dice could be combined into hundreds or thousands of different interpretations.
Mortarion interpreted nine, seven, six, nine, six, and infinity (∞) as Magnus being thrown into the Well of Eternity by Tzeentch and molded into a weapon to attack Guilliman.
But Guilliman could just as easily interpret it as nine representing Tzeentch, seven representing Nurgle, and nine, seven, six, nine representing Tzeentch and Nurgle's 69.
Six represents Slaanesh, and adding infinity (∞) means Slaanesh drew infinite power from Tzeentch and Nurgle's 69.
That interpretation makes perfect sense too!
Although he felt deep down that Mortarion was forcing the interpretation, Guilliman did not dare to delay his actions.
Although Numerology was [incomplete sentence in source, implying questionable], Guilliman had personally verified its effects.
Guilliman quickly issued commands to the fleet via communication, ordering them to prepare for war, but Mortarion, who was opposite him, shook his head slightly.
"It's too late,"
the Lord of the Shadowlands said.
Guilliman actually detected a hint of horror on Mortarion's face, as if this master of Numerology had seen something utterly terrifying.
A wail.
Macragge's Honour began to wail.
The Servitors connected to the ship started twitching and screaming uncontrollably.
Communications became chaotic, and disordered wails, shrieks, and roars—more than enough to tear apart the sanity of mortals—erupted from them.
Guilliman heard some distorted voices, sounds that seemed to come from a far more distant world.
"This is a warning.
The betrayal from Ultramar has occurred.
Guilliman has betrayed the Human Emperor."
Guilliman recognized that voice; it was the voice of his son, Thiel.
"Blood! Blood! Blood! Gore! The Blood Angels are here!! The ghoul hordes are here!!"
Screaming, sharp roaring, mixed with maniacal laughter in the background.
That laughter sounded very much like Sanguinius.
"Lord of Secrets and Lies! Lion! My son! You once led us to slay the beast, but why have you become the beast yourself now?"
That was Luther's voice, followed by the roar of a beast, identical to Lion El'Jonson.
"I must immediately warn my father, Lion El'Jonson, the Emperor's firstborn son, has been corrupted by the malice of Chaos!
Rune Priest, assist me in sending a message to Terra!"
That was Leman Russ's voice, full of urgency.
Then Guilliman seemed to hear the sound of something breaking, followed by the Human Emperor's roar and Leman Russ's frantic apologies.
"...Even though our Imperium has collapsed, even though unspeakable horrors have descended upon us, even though reason and order have abandoned the universe, leaving only cruelty and madness, we are still here,"
a voice like Lorgar's came through, but his voice was...
"You ask me why the Human Emperor is a girl?
And the Primarchs are girls too?
This starts with humanity's first act of 'Guijian' [a Chinese term, often implying sexual transgression/Chaos corruption].
Slaanesh in this dimension is very powerful.
Slaanesh traveled through time to influence the past, preventing the Human Emperor's uncle from killing the Human Emperor's father.
Instead, he sexually assaulted the Human Emperor's father in a wheat field.
The Human Emperor witnessed this scene and awakened the female within him."
This voice resembled Sanguinius but was female, and opposite it came Alexander's bewildered exclamation.
What the hell is all this?!
A powerful psychic shockwave swept through Guilliman's will.
He saw a series of fragmented images, some related to the voices he just heard, and some seemingly from worlds even further away.
All sorts of sounds and sights, whether despair or joy, were mixed together, painting Guilliman's vision in brilliant colors.
He stumbled back a few steps and fell heavily to the floor.
His memory gained a few fragments.
He saw himself tearing Sanguinius's throat with his own hands, saw Corax bathing in blood as he launched an assassination attempt against him, and saw his own consciousness connected to millions of Ultramarines.
Those memories did not belong to him, yet they felt as if he had personally lived them.
These memories were like a mass of viscous liquid, constantly consuming Guilliman's will.
"Guilliman!"
A gloomy roar seemed to come from another distant world, and a foul-smelling wind swept in — — — — — — *Smack*!!!
The pain on his face woke Guilliman up.
His vision gradually cleared.
Mortarion slowly withdrew the slap he had just delivered to Guilliman's face.
"Are you awake?" Mortarion asked.
Guilliman felt the air around him escaping.
He realized with horror that one side of Macragge's Honour had been ripped open by the recent impact, exposing his office to the vacuum of space.
"No!
My helmet!
I — — — — — — " *Smack*!
Mortarion slapped the other side of Guilliman's face again.
"You are a Primarch.
You don't need to breathe to survive.
Your skin is enough to resist the vacuum, and your organs can sustain life in the void.
Why are you looking for a helmet?
It seems you're still not clear-headed."
Guilliman was still bewildered, but he noticed that he really did seem to be able to breathe without a helmet.
Was this some effect of Numerology?
Guilliman noticed some branches floating around Mortarion.
Orange-yellow cysts hung from these branches, and these cysts were slowly converging.
Guilliman turned his head to look at the undamaged command panel.
Thousands of energy runes were flashing on it, and tens of thousands of signals were constantly being extinguished, like sparks in the night sky.
But finally, the starlight faded, leaving only one great sun circling.
On the command panel, only one massive, sharp, dazzling energy signature remained.
"What happened?" Guilliman yelled at Mortarion.
He assumed that as the surrounding air thinned, the efficiency of sound transmission should have decreased.
"Why are you shouting so loudly?" Mortarion shouted back.
"Thin air affects sound transmission.
This place is about to become a vacuum.
Put on your helmet and use comms — — — — — — "
"We are Primarchs!
Primarchs can talk in a vacuum!"
Guilliman froze.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because we are Primarchs!
Guilliman, what is your transcendent mind thinking about all day?
An Eldar secretary?" Mortarion said while observing the cysts on the branches in front of him.
"Even a Primarch can't ignore the laws of physics!" Guilliman continued.
"Shut up!
Do you understand materialism, or do I understand materialism?" Mortarion cursed.
Guilliman was speechless.
He shook his head and put his helmet on first.
"What exactly happened?" he demanded again.
Mortarion turned his head and saw that Guilliman had still put on his helmet, making his already gloomy face twist even more.
"Shouldn't you be more experienced than me?"
Mortarion sneered and said to Guilliman: "You have experienced something similar.
Have you already forgotten?"
Something similar.
Guilliman felt a sharp pain in his throat, and memories he didn't even want to recall flooded his mind.
Nine hours, three thousand two hundred of our warships, and six thousand...
six thousand Vengeful Spirit.
Every time he thought of that scene, Guilliman suspected it was his own hallucination.
Even when Dorn questioned him why he failed to arrive at Terra within the agreed-upon nine hours, he dared not reveal what he had seen at the time; it was too unbelievable.
"See for yourself."
Mortarion gestured for Guilliman to walk toward the breach in Macragge's Honour.
Guilliman's throat tightened, but he walked over nonetheless.
He finally understood why Alexander had mobilized such a massive void force on the border of the small Tau Empire.
This fleet was never intended to fight the Tau; the purpose of this fleet was to combat the entity that had just appeared in the void.
Magnus.
But not just one Magnus.
Thousands of Magnuses, perhaps even more.
Two or three thousand?
Four or five thousand?
Perhaps even tens of thousands of Magnuses.
These scarlet giants differed slightly in appearance.
Some had both eyes intact, some had only one eye remaining, some were completely blind.
Some wore war plate, some wore furs, and some wore silks.
There were even female Magnuses among them.
The bodies of these Magnuses were interlocked and overlapped, forming a massive scarlet orb of flesh.
Their heads, torsos, and arms extended like cilia, and intense psychic energy continuously erupted from their eyes and mouths, glittering like a supernova.
The surrounding Imperial fleet and the Death Guard fleet were colliding with that terrifying entity.
But compared to Magnus, these massive voidships were as fragile as toys.
In just an instant, several voidships were snapped in half.
"Those possibilities that should never have become reality, or rather, those parallel worlds, have all converged here."
"Magnus is that convergence point.
This is likely the power of the Well of Eternity."
Mortarion stood behind Guilliman and said: "My brother who cannot survive in a vacuum."
"Are you ready to face six thousand Magnuses?"
Thor did not know how to describe the battle unfolding before him.
Not only because the speed of the two combatants exceeded the maximum that Astartes eyes could track, but also because the fight was so bizarre.
Every time Fulgrim collided with Fulgrim, they seemed to stick together, difficult to distinguish, difficult to tell apart.
With every clash, the two became increasingly similar.
It was not a change in appearance, but a deeper transformation.
Every time he engaged Fulgrim, inflicting a wound on Fulgrim, Fulgrim seemed to drink Fulgrim's blood and swallow some intrinsic aspect of Fulgrim.
Gradually, traces of the former Phoenix of the Purple Court could be seen on him.
The same was true for Fulgrim.
Every time he wounded Fulgrim, every time he fought Fulgrim, he seemed to be gnawing on Fulgrim's body.
His posture became increasingly alluring, and his sword strikes became more lethal.
The two of them were literally sticking together on a deeper level.
In another brief exchange, the forgebreaker smashed onto Fulgrim's massive serpentine tail.
Flesh and blood splattered, and half the tail was torn, broken, and thrown aside by the scorching furnace fire.
Fulgrim let out a piercing shriek.
The twisted blade slashed toward Fulgrim's head.
Fulgrim wielded the forgebreaker warhammer to block the sword.
But the flame sword traced a bizarre arc in the air.
Fulgrim tried to dodge, but the wound Fulgrim had just inflicted on him throbbed painfully.
Slaanesh's toxins wriggled inside his body, slowing his movement for an instant.
The flame sword sliced down, severing one of Fulgrim's arms from his shoulder.
But Fulgrim seized the momentary opportunity, single-handedly swinging the forgebreaker warhammer down onto the arm Fulgrim used to hold the twisted blade.
Fulgrim's arm bent and broke, and the twisted blade fell to the ground.
Fulgrim used the chance to retreat, momentarily putting distance between himself and Fulgrim.
Only then did he have a chance to examine the damage he had sustained.
One arm was broken, his purple and gold armor was almost completely destroyed, and his body was densely covered with knife marks, whip marks, and claw marks.
Blood flowed incessantly from him, and various Slaanesh toxins were corroding his body.
Yet, Fulgrim was actually starting to enjoy the sensory impact these wounds brought.
At the same time, Fulgrim could clearly feel that he had indeed gnawed something off Fulgrim.
It was those very things he had gnawed off that allowed him to persist in the fight against Fulgrim, and it was those things that made Fulgrim begin to enjoy the pain.
Fulgrim had also sustained significant injuries.
Half his tail was shattered, one arm was twisted and broken, and large amounts of bruising and burns covered Fulgrim's body, but overall, he was in slightly better condition than Fulgrim.
Normally, the action Fulgrim should take would be to flee.
He just needed to stall, to wait until Alexander dealt with the hive mind.
But Fulgrim found himself unable to flee.
He could perceive that in the Warp, he and Fulgrim were no longer so clearly distinct; the two were almost intertwined.
The essence of a Primarch is the Primarch himself; it cannot be divided or taken away.
Fulgrim remembered what Cawl had once said.
The more of Fulgrim's essence he accepted, the more severe the entanglement between Fulgrim and Fulgrim became, making separation increasingly difficult.
At this moment, Fulgrim could no longer resist this trend.
Either he killed Fulgrim, or Fulgrim killed him.
There were no other options left.
Fulgrim slowly raised his body.
The powder makeup on his face had long melted away under the scorching heat of the forgebreaker, revealing his original countenance.
That long, pale, slender, handsome face.
The exaggerated, twisted expressions were also gone.
Fulgrim looked down from above, gazing at Fulgrim with eyes full of nobility.
Fulgrim was influencing Fulgrim, and Fulgrim was similarly influencing Fulgrim.
Fulgrim no longer treated the battle as a game, as he had moments ago.
After ten thousand years, the Purple Phoenix finally once again regarded a battle as a fight for honor.
The two clashed once more.