Deep within the Warp, the humanoid form manifested by Lucian Sanctus rested his chin in his hand, observing the projection of the real universe.
Images of Zeke assigning tasks in the Dawn Hall, the players enthusiastically building the base, and the five transport vehicles driving out of the stone gates toward the Redblaze Wasteland all unfolded in his mind like a multi-screen surveillance feed.
"This kid..."
Lucian's energy body rippled with appreciation. "Organizational skills, a sense of responsibility, the charisma of a commander—he lacks none of it."
He recalled Zeke's choice during the final moments in the industrial zone: he hadn't run away. Instead, he organized the players to save as many native workers as possible.
Although most of them ultimately died to artillery fire and daemons, that spirit of striving for the impossible was rarer in this dark universe than a smile from the Emperor Himself.
"Crimson Dawn..."
Lucian murmured the name of the Chapter, complex lights surfacing on his energy body. "Declaring they will bring the dawn to a dark galaxy, with the slogan of never being slaves again..."
He wasn't untouched by it.
Even though Lucian acknowledged he had fallen onto the evil path and became a Warp entity, and even though he relied on absorbing emotional energy to survive (and even enjoyed it), he had, in his past life, been an ordinary person raised under socialist education.
When watching Warhammer fan-made videos, behind all the jokes and memes, there was always a sense of sorrow for the tragic fate of the common people at the bottom rung of this universe.
"Those high-and-mighty Primarchs, Space Marines, and Imperial Nobles are always going on about the sea of stars and grand narratives."
Lucian's energy body vibrated slightly. "But the tens of billions of civilians who die to Exterminatus orders, the workers who toil to death on Hive City assembly lines, the innocents casually used as sacrifices by Chaos... who cares about them?"
Zeke cared.
Or at least, he was trying to care.
He then focused on the feed of the convoy.
Zeke was sitting in the passenger seat of the lead vehicle. His profile was half-lit by the cabin lights as he spoke to the driver, his finger tracing a route on the map.
His Type II enhanced physique completely filled the passenger seat. The lines of his muscles were clearly visible even through his work clothes.
"A true talent..." Lucian muttered. "Such a good leek... ahem, such a good seedling. I wonder if I can..."
A thought suddenly popped into his mind.
As a newborn Evil God, even though he was currently so weak he had to hide behind the System to secretly siphon emotions, he was still a Warp entity.
If the Four Gods could grant the mark of the Chosen, could he...
"System," Lucian summoned the System. "Is there a protocol to permanently anchor the player 'Zeke' to his vessel in this universe?"
The cold, mechanical voice responded instantly:
[Searching protocols...]
[Search complete. Protocol exists.]
[Protocol Name: Soul-Vessel Permanent Anchoring & Bestowal of Resurgence]
[Cost: 10.1 million units of System Material Energy]
[Details:]
100,000 units are used to solidify the cross-universe soul transit channel, permanently binding the individual's native-universe soul to their vessel in this universe.
10 million units are used to construct the Power of Perfect Resurgence (Note: This resurgence mechanism differs from the standard player isomorphic vessel resurrection).
Perfect Resurgence means that upon the individual's death, their body will be perfectly reconstructed at a designated safe point in the exact state prior to death—including all enhancement progress, skill mastery, and memory integrity—with absolutely zero degradation.
[Additional Option: Bestowal of the Chosen]
[As the absorber of the full emotional spectrum, the Host may expend additional Material Energy to select a specific emotional trait from the absorbed emotional repository and bestow it upon the selected individual as a Chosen Blessing.]
[Different emotional traits have different costs, for example:]
"Unyielding Will" requires 3.5 million units.
"Heart of Compassion" requires 4.2 million units.
"Pioneering Spirit" requires 3.8 million units.
[Note: Bestowing the mark of the Chosen will establish a shallow faith-link between the Host and the individual. The individual will subconsciously lean toward the emotional domain represented by the Host, but their free will shall not be warped or overwritten.]
Lucian's energy body violently rippled.
"I can actually do it?!"
He quickly pulled up the energy reserve interface. [Current System Material Energy: 33.1212 million units]. Followed by a detailed list of sources—the vast majority came from the players frantically recycling supplies in the industrial zone, and a small portion from the transaction fees the system extracted during the base construction and enhancements over the past few days.
"Over thirty-three million..."
Lucian calculated. "Anchoring Zeke plus a Chosen Blessing will cost roughly fourteen to fifteen million... which leaves me over ten million in reserve..."
His gaze returned to the convoy feed.
The five transport vehicles were bumping along the wasteland.
The vehicles had been modified by the Crimson Machina Chapter, their chassis and suspensions reinforced, and crude machine gun mounts welded to the roofs.
Currently, players lay prone on the roofs, manning crude heavy machine guns bought from the store. They were essentially scaled-up black powder weapons, but the 20mm caliber was enough to deal with mutant beasts.
"Let's observe a little longer," Lucian suppressed the urge to invest immediately. "A candidate for the Chosen should undergo some testing first."
–
The Real Universe. The edge of the Redblaze Wasteland.
Zeke stuck his head out the window. The wasteland wind blew in, carrying sand and a smell resembling rotting humus, making him squint.
"Thirty kilometers left."
In the driver's seat was a player with the ID [Veteran Driver, Take Me With You]. In reality, he actually was a freight truck driver, and his hands on the steering wheel were incredibly steady. "Given these garbage road conditions, it'll take over an hour."
"Better to go slow." Zeke pulled his head back in and checked the rearview mirror.
All the vehicles maintained a fifty-meter spacing. This was a marching protocol established by the Crimson Wind Chapter to prevent them from all hitting a mine or getting wiped out simultaneously.
There were twenty people in each vehicle, making a reconnaissance team of one hundred, all drawn from the elite of the various Chapters.
His team's composition was very balanced: thirty muscular bros from Crimson Strike, forty quick-draws from Crimson Wind, twenty Faint-grade Psykers from Crimson Spirit, and ten technicians from Crimson Machina.
"Zeke, three o'clock direction." The report from the spotter on the lead vehicle came through the vehicle comms. "Signs of biological activity. Looking at the footprints... they seem human, but the stride is very strange."
Zeke grabbed his binoculars and looked over.
In a weathered rock zone about five hundred meters away, several hunched figures were digging through something.
They wore clothes patched together from rags, carried filthy sacks on their backs, and moved with stiff, sluggish motions.
"Scavengers."
A voice came from the second vehicle. [Blood Angels' Second Emperor], a player who also possessed B-tier psychic talent, was scanning with his newly learned psychic perception. "Vitals are very weak... Slight mutation characteristics, but it's not Chaos contamination."
"Chronic malnutrition coupled with radiation sickness."
"Do we make contact?" the Veteran Driver asked.
"No." Zeke shook his head. "Keep our distance. If our fully armed convoy rolls up, we might scare them."
He paused, then added, "Mark the location. On the way back, if it's convenient, we can drop some nutrient paste and water. Toss it from a distance."
This was a rule Zeke had set before setting out: when dealing with bottom-rung survivors in the wasteland, no robbing, no harassing, and if they had the means, lend a hand.
Although some players had grumbled about this—"We're dirt poor ourselves!"—Zeke had insisted.
"We are the Crimson Dawn, not bandits. Even though this is just a game, there are no 'grind mobs to level up' mechanics here. Meaninglessly killing these people serves no purpose."
That was what he had said at the pre-departure briefing. "If we're going to rob, we rob the man-eating, blood-drinking capitalists like the Aru Group... those damn feudal slavelords."
"For those scraping food out of the mud just like we did, we pull them up if we can."
The convoy continued forward.
The closer they got to the direction of the industrial zone, the more bizarre the environment became.
--
Goal = 150 Powerstones.
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