Yay! Here's the bonus chapters guys! Thanks for the support!
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On the battlefield of the void, the Custodian fleet displayed a killing efficiency far beyond what anyone in the Imperium could imagine.
The energy arc weaponry they were outfitted with operated on principles utterly alien to the Imperium's understanding of energy weapons.
The psychic shields of the Thousand Sons warships, layered and reinforced by sorcery, were as good as paper in the face of the bright purple arcs.
When the arcs struck the Thousand Sons' vessels, the shields merely rippled uselessly, and most of the devastating damage went straight to the hull, tearing apart the internal structure.
You have to understand: the reason the Astartes are so fond of boarding actions is because, in ship-to-ship duels, destroying the enemy's shields comes at a huge cost—and takes time.
That's why sending elite squads to board enemy ships, sabotage from within, and seize control is the most efficient method.
Yet today, the Custodian fleet opened the eyes of every Imperial captain.
Boarding? Pointless. What matters is overwhelming ranged firepower—crush your enemies from afar.
The terrifying scale and firepower of the Custodian fleet, combined with Primarch Guilliman's battlefield command,
was enough to make every major power in the galaxy tremble.
Even during the War in Heaven, they could have stood toe-to-toe with the Old Ones and C'tan, forming a tripartite balance.
With the Custodian fleet's intervention, the balance of the battle tipped completely in the Imperium's favor.
The ambush meticulously planned by the daemon primarch, which had seemed a sure victory, suddenly became a desperate struggle for survival.
The comms of the Imperial ships, once filled with despair, now crackled with feverish excitement.
"Surround them! Cut off their retreat—don't let a single one escape!"
"Let them taste what it's like to be hunted!"
"Capture that red-skinned, one-eyed ogryn alive!"
"Catch the red-skinned, one-eyed ogryn!"
No one knows which captain first shouted the nickname Datch gave Magnus, but the rest quickly joined in.
Datch's player enthusiasm was ignited by the high spirits on the bridge. He pumped his fist and shouted,
"Yes! Catch him, trade him for rewards on Terra, become a High Lord, and get a Warlord title!"
Watching the one-sided battle, Guilliman's lips curled into a faint smile.
When the Pilgrimage Crusade set out from Ultramar, it gathered the best of the Space Marines, Imperial Navy, and Adeptus Mechanicus—a total of 120 ships, large and small.
After endless hardships and previous brutal battles, nearly thirty ships had been lost.
Yet the mysterious fleet summoned by the nameless Astartes now boasted numbers and firepower that surpassed both the Imperium and Chaos forces combined on this battlefield.
At this point, victory was all but certain. It would be hard to lose even if they tried.
Under the precise purple arcs of the Custodian fleet, the Thousand Sons' warships were reduced to short-lived bursts of flame—like miniature supernovas, flaring and vanishing in the void.
The Imperial fleet encircled from the flanks, blocking any escape, determined to annihilate every last traitor.
Guilliman's gaze swept across the chaotic battlefield, fixing on a crystal pyramid glowing with evil light—the Tizca's Revenge,
Magnus's throne and symbol, and flagship of the Thousand Sons.
Right now, one thought filled his mind: end the disaster this traitor brother had brought upon the galaxy, and see him punished.
"Concentrate all firepower,"
the Primarch's voice echoed through the command link, relayed to both the Custodian fleet's unknown comms and the Imperial ships.
"Lock onto that blasphemous pyramid. Saturation attack—destroy it completely."
…
"How can this be?! Impossible!!"
Seated at the summit of the pyramid, upon his sorcerous throne, Magnus let out a roar of rage,
his fury making the entire crystalline structure tremble.
The battlefield had taken a sharp, drastic turn—well beyond even his worst calculations.
This suddenly-appearing fleet, unbound by the rules of the Warp, had utterly shattered his perfect plan.
If he didn't do something fast, not only would his carefully nurtured fleet be destroyed, but even he himself might be captured alive by Guilliman.
"No... I will never allow that to happen!"
Magnus's fury became action. Towering from his throne, he raised his arms high as if to lift an entire star system.
Chants saturated with blasphemous knowledge and destructive power erupted from his mouth,
their volume defying physical limits, manifesting as visible, reality-warping crimson psychic waves spreading in all directions.
The Thousand Sons sorcerers around him felt the Primarch's desperate resolve.
Though filled with fear, they dared not slacken.
They chanted as one, pouring all their psychic energy into the terrifying ritual Magnus led.
"Guilliman, you will not change your pitiful fate! Today, witness the supreme power I command!"
As Magnus's words fell, the Tizca's Revenge—this ultimate war machine rebuilt from the ruins of Prospero—could not withstand the surging psychic power, enough to shake the fabric of galactic reality.
Cracks began to appear across its crystalline surface with a sickening crunch.
The next second—
BOOM!!!
Not a physical explosion, but the wail of reality itself being torn apart.
Centered on the pyramid, a warp rift of indescribable color and form was violently ripped open!
Horrific warp energy burst forth like a beast unleashed after eons of imprisonment.
The sight was beyond the comprehension of mortals or even most supernaturals.
Countless tentacles, each as vast as a planet and made of pure malice and chaotic energy, stretching between the real and the ethereal, spread across the entire star system,
turning the cold void into a writhing, living nightmare.
The veil of reality was utterly shredded.
A tempest of immaterial madness swept all before it. Physical laws retreated, and the insanity of the Warp became sole master.
…
"Detected massive-scale reality collapse! Initiate maximum-level protection protocols!"
The Custodian fleet commander immediately ordered all ships into defense mode.
Azure runes across the Custodes ships flared with brilliance, and complex, layered diamond-shaped psychic shields were deployed at full power, cocooning each vessel.
Simultaneously, countless gentle tractor beams and expanding shield fields shot out from the Custodian fleet, quickly linking to and enveloping nearby Imperial ships and their fighter craft, scattered like leaves in a storm.
But the Warp rift's eruption was too sudden and violent.
The entire Crusade fleet, along with the Custodes, was swept up in the chaos, dragged into a colossal maelstrom where reality and unreality merged.
The Thousand Sons fleet fared no better.
Magnus's indiscriminate rupture of reality, meant to drive away his foes, was equally devastating for his already battered fleet.
Many ships with overloaded shields or hull damage were torn apart in the rampaging warp transit.
Countless fighters and escape pods, unrecovered in time, were devoured by the hungry daemons pouring from the rift.
Even the larger warships that survived were overrun by daemons during their brief exposure to the Warp,
their mortal crews reduced to bloody offerings amid screams of despair.
As for Magnus's pride—the flagship Tizca's Revenge, that grand crystal pyramid—
it was now close to ruin.
It would take centuries, if not longer, to restore.
"My lord... we... have failed."
A Thousand Sons sorcerer, his armor charred and breathing ragged, knelt before the throne, voice bitter.
The losses were catastrophic, far beyond expectations. Fewer than one in ten survived.
Magnus's single great red eye swept across the battered fleet and shattered pyramid, the fire of his rage nearly made manifest.
The surviving sorcerers around him trembled in terror.
"Failed?" The daemon primarch's voice was dark.
"No, this is far from over. Guilliman... and that damned fleet—they have been banished to the heart of the Maelstrom. This was part of my plan from the very beginning. Everything that has happened is still within my grasp."
He raised his head, that single eye seeming to pierce the ever-shifting, treacherous vistas of the Warp, gazing toward a predetermined destination.
"Letting them enter the Maelstrom is only the first step."
…
Bonus chapter at 300 PS