In the Prayer Hall of the Imperial Glory, Daniel walked up to the Emperor's statue to receive the reward for mission completion.
"Praise the Emperor," he murmured.
As soon as the words left his lips, the surrounding space began to shimmer and distort. Daniel felt himself being yanked back into the magnificent, dreamlike city.
He automatically scanned for Valdor, but the First Captain of the Custodes was nowhere to be found. Instead, standing not far away was a young man in a golden robe, holding a long staff. He had silver hair that fell to his shoulders and a laurel wreath resting on his head.
"Child, you made it," the young man said. His voice carried a wisdom and composure that belied his youthful appearance.
"Who are you?" Daniel asked, puzzled. "Where's Valdor?"
"You can call me Malcador, or the Old Man, or honestly, whatever you like. As for Valdor, he's got other fish to fry right now."
"You're Malcador?" Daniel was taken aback. "You look so spry...so young." Shouldn't the legendary Regent of Terra look ancient, as the fossil he's always depicted?
"This place reflects the mind, not the body," Malcador explained with a slight shrug. "Actually, I'm still pretty spry. I only looked old back in the day because I was burning the candle at both ends. Overworking is a killer, kid, trust me I know."
Daniel was momentarily stunned. He hadn't expected the legendary Malcador to be capable of such deadpan humor. He had always pictured the three giants of the Imperium as cold, rational zealots, incapable of cracking a joke.
"So, are you alive right now? Or are you dead?" Daniel asked, posing the biggest question on his mind.
"Does it really matter?"
"Just curious."
"Curiosity is a great thing, but now is not the time to spill the beans," Malcador replied, avoiding the question of life and death entirely. "Come on, child, your gift is ready."
Malcador led Daniel through the vast, deserted streets, finally arriving at a magnificent palace bathed in the light of the black sun. "Your reward is inside." Malcador stood at the entrance, motioning for Daniel to enter alone.
Daniel stepped into the hall. The first thing he saw was a colossal sculpture of the Emperor. Floating before it was a pair of pure white wings, emanating a blinding light.
The moment Daniel reached out to touch them, the wings dissolved into pure light and sank into his body. In an instant, a colossal, magnificent light burst forth, condensing into a pillar of power that shot through the highest reaches of the Warp. Then, just as suddenly, it vanished.
The time was fleeting, but it was enough for the entities wandering the Empyrean to witness this anomaly.
On Baal, the homeworld of the Blood Angels, which was currently being swarmed by a Tyranid invasion, Chief Librarian Mephiston and his colleagues were performing rituals to fight the encroachment of the Warp. If they failed, the curse of Chaos would seep into the Angels' very bloodline.
Khorne's Great Daemon, Ka'bandha, was being held back by their psychic power. "Well, look what we have here! My Lord's favorite little Angel has slammed the door shut on me,"
Ka'bandha sneered, looking at Mephiston. "But I've earned the right to pass this way. Get out of my path. On the eighth day of manifestation, I will call you, and you will march with us."
"Beat it, daemon," Mephiston glowered. "You are not getting through. The Archangel's sons won't allow it."
Just as Ka'bandha was about to respond, his head snapped around, a look of startling surprise crossing his monstrous face. Mephiston instinctively looked in the same direction, shock replacing his fury. An Angel with pure white wings had been born from the light, surging with limitless power.
"The Archangel?" Mephiston momentarily thought Sanguinius had returned, but he felt no stirring in his own blood. It was clearly not the true Archangel.
Then who is it? Loyalty to humanity? Or a pawn of Chaos?
"A better skull!" Ka'bandha let out a cry of raw yearning, but quickly turned his attention back to Mephiston. "However, before we hunt that prey, I have to enlist you into our army."
Meanwhile, on the frozen satellite of Krasus, the Eldar Prophet Eldrad Ulthran also noticed the unusual Warp movement. He broke free of his meditation, his eyes wide with shock. "A completely new variable?"
He too saw the newly formed entity. Though still raw, it already possessed the characteristics of immortality.
Eldrad looked toward the humans. Archmagos Belisarius Cawl, Inquisitor Greyfax, the Living Saint Celestine, and other Imperial heroes were guarding a troop transport. Their eyes were full of suspicion and caution.
The Eldar had recently helped them shake off the Great Plunderers' pursuers and promised passage to Macragge via the Webway. But even after all that, the humans still didn't trust them an inch and refused to let them near the transport carrying the Armor of Fate.
Eldrad debated whether to inform them, but after weighing the pros and cons, he decided against it. These humans were already on edge; telling them would only fuel their paranoia and stir up a hornet's nest.
On an unknown planet, Magnus the Red, sitting upon his daemon-wrought throne, let out a strange, echoing laugh.
"Hahahaha... are you still not ready to throw in the towel?" He saw his former master, crippled by his own psychic phone call, desperately fighting for survival. But Magnus would ensure his old mentor never got what he wanted.
On the other side of the galaxy, on a planet that had just been sacrificed, Erebus learned of the Warp changes from servants whispering in the shadows.
"Chaos will devour everything in the end. Everything the Corpse King tries is utterly futile." He began to plot how to snuff out this flicker of hope and ensure humanity truly ushered in the Age of Gods.
Daniel was blissfully unaware of the chaos he'd just unleashed in the Warp. When the light receded, a brilliant pair of white wings flared out behind him.
Malcador was still waiting outside the hall. Seeing Daniel emerge, he offered a farewell. "My child, you have your gift. Time to call it a day."
"Those abominations have got your number. You need to stay sharp and keep your guard up—not even for a second," Malcador warned.
As he finished speaking, Daniel's surroundings twisted again. When everything returned to normal, he was back in the Prayer Hall of the Imperial Glory.
The surrounding players immediately converged on him. Those pure white wings were a huge giveaway. Their eyes went wide as they gathered around him.
"Whoa, the Guide got a serious glow-up!"
"Wings! Standard issue for a Living Saint!"
"This game should be renamed 'Living Saint Simulator.'"
"Think the Guide's feathers can be used as a holy relic against demons?"
Daniel felt a throbbing headache as the overly curious players pressed in, some even looking like they wanted to try plucking a feather.
After managing to send them all away, Arale's projection appeared. "Master, the new reservation quota has been issued."
"New players are logging in in two days."
Back in the Warp, the Astral Knights Battle-Barge was drifting deeper and deeper into the Empyrean. The navigator was at death's door from the torture of the storm, lost and unable to find the path back to reality. The shrill blare of alarms echoed throughout the vessel.
The roiling Warp vomited forth countless daemons, which bypassed the starship's armor and materialized amid the screams of the mortals. The Astartes drove them back again and again with blades held high, but the daemons kept popping back up.
Despair was choking everyone. The noose of death was tightening around their necks. Just when everyone assumed their great crusade would end in such a humiliating fashion, the navigator, on the verge of collapse, suddenly received a burst of good news.
He had caught the faint echo of the light, enough to pinpoint the location of real space.
"Get us out of the Empyrean right now!" Captain Thade roared, giving the order.