The Ultramar world of Chrysis was a dusty, desolate rock. Outside the main cities stretched a vast, dead Gobi Desert, utterly devoid of life.
Chrysis held no industrial value, no mineral wealth, and no strategic importance. Its only function was as a repository for classics and forbidden documents that other worlds dared not house. Knowledge carries a curse, a heavy price, especially when it touches the Warp.
The Five Hundred Worlds of Ultramar always placed great importance on preserving history and knowledge, meticulously recording crucial information. Yet, they were also wary that these tomes could bring disaster to innocent citizens. Choosing desolate worlds like Chrysis to store dangerous documents was the perfect solution: should anything go sideways, the casualties would be minimal.
Chrysis was home to a massive archive, including a vast collection of forbidden books. Many of these were cataloged as taboo and could only be handled by authorized personnel.
...
Your duty is to complete the work.Knowledge carries a curse, don't read, don't think.Stay pious, stay focused.Don't doubt, don't waver.
The voices of the martyrs boomed through the loudspeakers, echoing in Tobis's ears. He had been born into this world and started his service at the archives at the tender age of fourteen.
Tobis's daily grind was simple: count the books in his assigned section, arrange them according to the catalog, and check for damage. To them, every book here was forbidden. Sometimes, even if he were shown the content, he wouldn't understand it; his training was limited to reading catalogs and numbers.
Tobis had always played by the book, never crossing the line. Decades of diligent, quiet work had seen him promoted from a low-level inventory clerk to a senior archivist. With this trust came the charge of the forbidden collection—tomes holding the darkest secrets imaginable. But Tobis was neither curious nor greedy. He simply executed his duties step by step. He had done the same thing for decades and never once made a mistake.
As the cargo airship touched down on the tarmac, a new batch of documents was delivered. Tobis followed his supervisor's instructions and wheeled the books to the designated section.
Suddenly, a tome slipped and hit the floor. A gust of wind, appearing from nowhere, flipped the pages open. It documented a recent event: the Emperor's Angels had carried the heroes across half the galaxy, successfully resurrecting the great Primarch.
"Lucius the Undying was finally dragged down to his death by brave Imperial heroes. This despicable traitor was defeated once again."
The story was a lightning-fast read, but the message was clear. Tobis's heart pounded. He glanced around, confirmed he was alone, and frantically scooped up the book. Head bowed, he hurried to the shelves and slotted the documents into their designated places by number.
"Praise the God-Emperor," Tobis whispered, breathing a huge sigh of relief. He silently prayed for protection.
Later, during his lunch break, he mulled over the tale. In his mind-numbing life, any story was a welcome diversion. He savored the details, rejoicing in the defeat of the Empire's wicked enemies. As for who Lucius was, he neither knew nor cared.
After completing his shift, Tobis returned to his hot, cramped dormitory. He washed and prayed as usual, then replayed the story in his mind. He drifted off to sleep—and was immediately plunged into a terrifying nightmare.
In the dream, he was dragged through a grotesque Hellscape where a hideous monster was systematically butchering people. The creature moved like a ghost, its swordsmanship impossibly slick. Living people were dismembered, their severed heads still screaming.
When the carnage was complete, the monster turned to Tobis. "I am Lucius."
Tobis shot upright, his body drenched in cold sweat. He rushed to the washroom to splash water on his face.
"It was just a nightmare. Nothing to be afraid of," Tobis muttered to himself.
But the moment he looked up, he saw a distorted, horrifying face staring back from the mirror's surface. He spun around, but the room was empty. He looked back at the mirror; the face was gone.
"I must be running on fumes," Tobis told himself.
The situation did not improve. He was dragged into nightmares night after night, each one more vivid and real than the last. That terrifying, distorted face drew closer and closer to Tobis, repeating the chilling mantra.
"I am Lucius." "I am Lucius."
On the sixth night, the face in the nightmare was pressed directly against Tobis's own, wordlessly repeating the sentence.
"I am Lucius."
Then, the monster's face dissolved into countless distorted, inhuman visages. The screaming faces swallowed Tobis whole.
The sleeping archivist let out a piercing scream that woke his roommates. They looked on in terror as Tobis thrashed and wailed. Several good Samaritans tried to help him, but Tobis's eyes snapped open—the pupils were pitch-black, devoid of any white.
He spat out black blood, and strange, sickening sounds came from inside his body. His horrified roommates hit the road. With a wet, tearing sound, Tobis's flesh began to peel off in strips. The exposed pink meat turned deep, disturbing red, then shifted to a grotesque, oil-slick black-purple, gleaming like an insect's shell. His bones shattered, twisted, and sharpened into terrifying spikes during the agonizing transformation.
The others screamed and fled the dormitory. Tobis's cries of despair were silenced as his body fully contorted into a mangled mass of meat. New limbs burst forth, and hands gripped weapons condensed from blood and shadow.
Lucius the Eternal was reborn, using the pathetic book clerk as his vehicle. Tobis's face quickly shrank and collapsed, becoming yet another despairing visage screaming on the surface of Lucius's wailing armor.
Law enforcement arrived in minutes, armed with full body armor, laser rifles, and flamers. "Fire!" the commander shouted the instant he saw Lucius.
Lucius dodged the dense streams of focused light without breaking a sweat. A massacre ensued.
By the time the garrison arrived, Lucius was long gone, leaving behind a scene of carnage and dismembered bodies.
While the Chrysis law enforcement launched a massive manhunt for the killer, the true culprit had already stowed away in the cargo hold of a food transport vessel, successfully escaping the world.
While traveling, Lucius happened to see a promotional video from Macragge featuring the very guy who had killed him. He didn't know what kind of ace in the hole the other party had used to survive, but his eyes turned icy cold, radiating a tyrannical, cruel murderous intent.
"I'm going to track you down and give you a masterclass in despair and pain," Lucius vowed under his breath. He would not let this slight go. He would make the one who humiliated him pay by any means necessary.
At that very moment on Macragge, the grand celebration was in full swing. Warmaster Rigby, standing behind the Guide, suddenly sneezed.
"What's wrong? Is some sweetheart pining for you?" Yuji teased.
"Of course! Why wouldn't a girl miss me? I'm handsome, charming, and living my best life," Rigby replied shamelessly.
"When the Warmaster puts on the dog, the Warp itself laughs," someone quipped.
"The old Warmaster had a hide thick enough to stop the Spear of Dionysus, and this one is no slouch."
"..."
The other players joined the teasing.
"Cut the small talk, guys. The grand ceremony is about to start," Rigby commanded. "At least pretend to follow the plot, or you won't make the promo video."
Rigby stopped the back-and-forth. Just then, the trumpets sounded, and the military parade began.
Down the broad avenue leading from the Titan's Gate to the Hera Fortress, formations from countless worlds marched past. Thousands of war machines, millions of star troops, diverse Knight Titans, and majestic War Titans filed past in an endless line. The streets of Macragge were packed solid.
People gathered at every intersection and square to watch the spectacle. The cheers of millions combined into a deafening praise for Guilliman, Daniel, and the other Imperial heroes, lasting for an eternity.
On the viewing platform, Daniel stood next to Guilliman, acknowledging the boisterous crowd. When the parade concluded, the Planetary Governor of Konor stepped forward to present Guilliman with a magnificent golden laurel crown, crafted from solid gold.
Guilliman, unable to refuse the gesture, was about to place it on his head when Daniel subtly stopped him.
"Who do you think you're fooling with that kind of cheap trick?"
Daniel's eyes narrowed as he focused on the crown; he immediately knew something was amiss. He looked at the Governor with a mocking stare.
Prior to the celebration, the players, eager to distinguish themselves, had already investigated the high-ranking officials in Macragge's capital. As veterans of Warhammer lore, they knew that Fulgrim would try to use this opportunity to corrupt or harm Guilliman.
Acting like a squad of self-appointed detectives, they quickly uncovered evidence that over a dozen dignitaries had been corrupted by Slaanesh. They submitted the evidence to Daniel for a hefty reward.
Voldus and the others acted fast, executing the corrupted officials immediately. No dice. Fulgrim hadn't given up, managing to reach the Planetary Governor of Konor.
"I... I don't know what you're talking about?" The Planetary Governor stammered, looking terrified.
"Stop trying to pull a fast one," Daniel said. "Fulgrim, show us your true colors."
Voldus stepped forward and grabbed the Governor. The Exorcist Seal on his gloves made contact with the man's body, and a high-pitched hiss filled the air. The Governor began to twist and deform, shedding his human guise to reveal his true form: a hideous, scaly, twisted serpent-man.
"Fulgrim! How dare you show your face here?" Guilliman's expression turned grim as he recognized his brother.
"I didn't think I'd be found out so easily," Fulgrim sneered, his fractured incarnation looking at Guilliman and Daniel. "You must be thirsty for revenge, but alas, this is only a fragment of my will, not my true self."
He continued: "Congratulations on returning to the Empire you loved, Guilliman. It's a pity that—"
Daniel interrupted him, completely changing the subject. "You know, I always felt like Fulgrim wasn't quite as handsome as Sanguinius."
Fulgrim, who had been arrogantly posturing and planning how to needle Guilliman, froze. He stared at Daniel. I'm a Demon Primarch, and you're not trying to banish me? You're critiquing my looks?
"How foolish!" Fulgrim spat, utterly disdainful.
Guilliman realized Daniel's brilliant strategy: better to irritate the enemy than be irritated by him. Guilliman quickly regained his composure.
"Fulgrim is definitely playing second fiddle to Sanguinius in the looks department," Guilliman agreed calmly. "That was the consensus among all the Primarchs, back in the day."
"Bullshit!" Fulgrim roared. "I was the handsomest of all the Primarchs in the entire Imperium of Man!"
Guilliman looked at his furious brother with a secret sense of satisfaction. It was like shooting fish in a barrel to get under Fulgrim's skin.
"No matter what you say, Sanguinius was the most handsome and the most popular," Guilliman pressed. "Why else would you have gone to such lengths to accept Slaanesh's 'blessings'? Weren't you just jealous of Sanguinius's glorious wings?"
"So that's the bottom line," Daniel nodded, playing along. "No wonder this guy wanted to become someone else's lapdog. He just wanted a pair of wings."
Daniel and Guilliman sang the same tune, pushing Fulgrim past his breaking point.
"Is that all you have? Guilliman, don't forget that on Thessala—"
Just as Fulgrim was about to launch into an infuriated rebuttal, Daniel seized the moment. He thrust the Heavenly Punishment Scepter into the ugly monster, banishing the fragment back to the Warp.
"NOOO!"
Back in the Temple of Pleasure, Fulgrim let out a piercing scream. How dare they! He had never been so aggrieved. He would have preferred a three-hundred-round slugfest with Guilliman rather than this kind of maddening humiliation.
"Well, well, Roboute Guilliman, and the Magos' little helper. You have succeeded in irritating me," Fulgrim muttered, his beautiful face contorted in a sneer.
Leaving his feast of souls and the Slaanesh dancers behind, Fulgrim rose from his throne. He would take matters into his own hands.