The overall departure process, though punctuated by minor episodes, proceeded quite smoothly. Before their leave, Nyx and Curze stationed a hundred fully trained Night Lords recruits to guard the reborn Nostramo. To prevent 'death by boredom' during their long garrison shifts, Nyx thoughtfully administered 'secondary adjustments' ensuring these recruits would never grow weary of life.
En route to departure, a significant explosion occurred at the old Resistance stronghold in the underhive. The blast was exceptionally precise — injuring no one, yet completely eradicating every trace of Nyx's various deviant experimental records.
Aboard the magnificent Bucephelus, Nyx sat opposite the Emperor. Within the palace of cascading golden light, for the first time, they set aside their titles and histories and confronted one another in the truest sense.
"Old Man Yellow... Your ship really is something." Nyx surveyed his surroundings critically. "It's so shiny everywhere you can barely open your eyes."
"...These are primarily artistic treasures preserved throughout humanity's long history." The Emperor's voice was calm and unshakeable.
Nyx could certainly appreciate their value. To his aesthetic sensibilities, however, they were simply very, very glittery.
"Let us set that aside." The Emperor steered the conversation back on course. His profound gaze rested on Nyx. "Nyx. I perceive that you are... indifferent to the designation of 'my son'."
The Emperor did not explicitly state that Nyx was uncomfortable with the title of successor.
He paused, then posed another fundamental question. "Then how should I address you?"
"'Space King'? Or... 'Lucius'?"
Hearing these names, Nyx's expression barely shifted.
"Names don't matter." He waved a hand casually. "I'm Carlyle Nyx. Simple as that."
Meeting the Emperor's gaze, he articulated his stance directly: "I genuinely have no interest in being anyone's son."
He wasn't Lü Bu — he had no desire to acknowledge fathers in every household. Three‑families slave didn't want that gig.
Then he leaned forward slightly, his gaze sharpening as it fixed on the Emperor. "And shouldn't you explain why I was brought to this world?"
He refused to believe the Emperor was ignorant of what a desperate cesspool the Warhammer universe truly was. If you wanted to pull a capable man, why him specifically?
The Emperor's conduct was no better than those friends who dragged you everywhere — he could be the eighth kid himself, no need to make others taste it.
The Emperor was silent for a moment. Upon his majestic features flickered an almost imperceptible wave of weariness.
"Your appearance is no mere accident. It is a result I have long striven to achieve." His voice carried an exhausted candour. "I explored countless possibilities. It was only after creating the Primarchs — and glimpsing certain fragments of the future — that I understood. In the Warp, humanity has no future."
"So I expended every resource I had to acquire a 'variable' — one aligned with the laws of the physical universe."
"And that variable is you. A completely different existence from another plane." The Emperor looked at Nyx. "Your arrival carries an element of chance, but the power you have manifested proves that you are... the stake I gambled on."
"Fate was destined to send a butterfly to flit through this shit‑stain cosmos?!" Nyx cut him off angrily.
He understood. The Emperor had realised that relying on the Warp to forge the Primarchs could not save humanity. Desperate, he had sought a cure anywhere — and simply 'shaken loose' foreign aid from the laws of the physical universe. As a result, Nyx — the unfortunate bastard bound to the Space King — had been the one tossed over.
Moreover, Nyx was acutely aware that the Emperor seemed not to know about the 'Space King's' power still within him. That was his own exclusive domain.
"Alright. This matter is tabled for now." Nyx graciously decided to 'forgive' — it wasn't like he could go back. "First things first: just call me by my name from now on. Don't count me as your son."
"Agreed." The Emperor nodded. "From this moment, I shall address you as Nyx. Of course, you may also refer to me by my former name."
"Neoth, right..." Nyx stroked his chin. A light gleamed in his eyes. "Since our names are so similar, this could be considered fate. How about we just be brothers? You're older than me, so from now on I'll call you 'Brother Ni'."
"...?"
The Emperor's patience began its precipitous decline.
This wicked impediment had truly been lying in wait for him here! 'Brother Ni'?! That was clearly a joke about his bronze skin! It was a healthy wheat complexion, not the 'TM' of that Brother Ni!
The Emperor abruptly reconsidered whether he ought to grant Nyx a starting draw of a hundred 'Lightning‑Charged Brother Nis'.
For a moment, silent homicidal intent was once again on the verge of activation. The Emperor could already foresee that one day he would become one of Nyx's 'Chosen Instruments' purely through rage induction.
He glanced at Nyx — whose expression was one of utter innocence — inhaled deeply, and resolved to endure.
The Emperor waved his hand. Instantly, a spread of steaming, aromatic delicacies materialised on the table between them. Moreover — every single flavour was from Terra, the very tastes Nyx knew best from the 2K era.
"NO WAY! Spicy chicken! Boiled meat slices! Peking duck!"
Nyx's eyes lit up instantly. The synthetic food and nutrient bars he'd been choking down on Nostramo for so long were summarily banished from his memory.
"Emperor — I never knew you were such an old foodie!"
Without a second thought, Nyx commenced a whirlwind inhalation campaign, temporarily shelving philosophical quandaries regarding airplanes, fate, and butterflies in cesspools. Nothing was more important than eating.
"Consider this a modest compensation." The Emperor watched Nyx, who had already embarked upon his feast. His tone resumed its former calm. "You may continue eating as we speak. I shall not object."
Nyx, without raising his head, took a moment to lift a greasy thumb and emit a vague, affirmative grunt.
"You and Curze are the first to return to the Imperium." The Emperor began his exposition. His golden eyes reflected the heavy course of human history. "This is far earlier than I anticipated — by ten to twenty years."
He paused in thought, then continued contemplatively. "This is not unfavourable. Curze will be responsible for commanding his Legion and expanding the Expedition's frontiers. As for you..."
"WEST LAKE VINEGAR FISH!" Nyx's exclamation abruptly shattered the solemn atmosphere. He was devastated by the perfectly formed fish on the platter. "This fish! It died so unjustly! It died in vain!"
The Emperor's words ceased abruptly. A green vein at his temple twitched uncontrollably. He was silent for a moment — as though quelling an unnamed karmic conflagration that had suddenly erupted.
"...You will be primarily responsible for..." He reclaimed the thread of his discourse, striving to reconstruct a solemn narrative.
"Ooh! And soy milk!" Nyx opened a new continent.
"...That is called DOUJIANG!"
A second blue vein quietly emerged on the opposite side of the Emperor's forehead. His hand upon his knee faintly clenched — then slowly relaxed.
"...And your duty will be to—" He gathered his last vestige of solemnity and attempted a third declaration.
"Hm?" Nyx abruptly lifted his head, roast duck bulging in his cheeks. He glanced left and right, then delivered a soul‑searching inquiry: "Why isn't there any Coke? How can I eat without Happy Water?"
"...?"
Patience has limits.
Especially for the Master of Mankind, who had just endured three deliberate interruptions, two culinary critiques, and one entirely unreasonable demand.
The previously convergent psychic radiance surrounding the Emperor seemed to warp and oscillate from his supremely suppressed wrath. His speech was measured — and unusually calm:
"Are you full?"
"Huh?" Nyx blinked up from his food, a trace of sauce dangling from the corner of his mouth, utterly oblivious to the impending storm. "Not quite yet... Why?"
"Not full." The Emperor's voice was flat — but carried an undercurrent of icy killing intent. "Then eat my fist."
"Wait...?!"
*BOOM——!!! *
Before Nyx could finish, his vision was filled entirely by a golden‑psychic‑energy‑wreathed fist.
The next instant — a colossal impact drove his entire person, like a nail, directly into the priceless heirloom desk before him!
The precious timber instantaneously transformed into scattered splinters and powder. Every piece of delicate porcelain and half‑finished delicacy was annihilated by the terrifying concussive shockwave.
The dust settled slowly.
Nyx's face was illuminated by a beatific smile.
This punch was infinitely more satisfying than any delicacy.