Chapter 372: Beneath the Flames
Hades took a deep breath. He listened to the silence in the surrounding darkness—the electrical hum that signified an open transmission had already faded.
He looked at the unconscious Magnus and decisively opened a channel.
"Neoth—Magnus has passed out. Anything else?"
"Nothing of consequence."
The Emperor's voice sounded calm on the other end. Hades imagined him in the command chamber, instructing Mortarion and Leman Russ on the primary objectives of this assault.
There was a brief pause in the Emperor's voice, as if he were considering something.
"Hades, tell Magnus to be cautious with his words."
Hades paused. He suddenly realized that Magnus had once been entangled with Tzeentch, and that meant—
"You mean… just now—"
"Prospero has a very strong psychic inclination, Hades. That means that the words or actions of any key individual can become a bullet fired into the future."
Hades blinked.
"But I had the Black Domain active."
"Not strong enough."
He had not extinguished the only psychic source in the entire space.
That statement choked Hades for a moment. Malcador and the Emperor truly both wished he would seize a few more forge worlds and become a bit more waaagh.
"The fleet has already arrived at Prospero," the Emperor said evenly.
"Time is not abundant. I had originally planned to return to Terra after the Council of Nikaea, but this additional detour disrupted my plans. I believe we are all very eager for my return to Terra."
"We?"
Hades raised his voice.
"I don't particularly want you back on Terra. A king should walk among his armies—"
"I was referring to the entities of the Warp."
Hades fell silent. After a long while, he finally spoke again, slowly.
"I don't understand… I don't understand what you mean, Neoth?"
From the other end of the channel came a soft chuckle. Faintly, Hades thought he heard the sound of psychic static.
Hades frowned, but the Emperor's voice remained calm, as though nothing unusual had occurred.
"This is an anchor point that is destined to occur, unless you kill me, Hades."
Hades shouted, "That's not something you should ever say! I'm warning you, Neoth! That's not something to say—don't even think about it!"
"You cannot kill me," the Emperor replied.
"Is that really the point here?!"
The Emperor calmly listened to Hades' shouting on the other end, then continued, "Chaos possesses more than enough leverage to threaten me. The precursors of Warp storms have already been observed. In response to my actions, they have naturally taken countermeasures."
Hades paused. Imperial travel and communication relied entirely on the Warp. If Warp storms erupted on a large scale, the Imperium would be physically severed into countless isolated fragments almost instantly.
If one traced time slightly backward—when Warp storms once raged unchecked—it was the first scream of Slaanesh's birth that scattered them, allowing the Emperor to seize the opportunity and launch the Great Crusade.
But… but…
"Why so soon?" Hades asked. He didn't remember—
"This is the price that must be paid for the alteration of fate," the Emperor said, "or rather, this is their warning to me."
To raise Warp storms inevitably required rituals, cost, and time—but to observe them did not require that they had already occurred. The Warp had never possessed linear time; the ending could precede the beginning.
The Emperor donned his golden armor. He looked down upon Prospero and saw a flash of blue light. Prospero should have been a crucial anchor point in the flow of destiny, but under the interference of an outsider, its trajectory had clearly shifted.
All the carefully buried wedges of the Changer of Ways had failed. They were meant to fall one after another like dominoes, ultimately toppling the largest piece of all—the Imperium.
But now the entire game had been disrupted by an external hand. Every delicate, meticulous arrangement had lost its original meaning—except for the summoning rituals carved into the planet itself, and those who had stared into the Warp for far too long…
Changer of Ways—what else can you offer now?
The Emperor knew his enemy well. The deceiver was cunning yet cowardly, hiding behind the table unless the previous game was completely shattered and a new round had to begin.
The same old tricks.
The Emperor thought of endless foresight, provocation, half-truths, and messages laced with lies—
All of it lies.
But this would be a new beginning—the end of a failed game, and the start of a brand-new one.
What would They do next?
But do not bring out petty tricks again. The Emperor held them in contempt.
"No need to play the recording anymore."
He parted his lips slightly, watching as the first drop pod slammed into the soil of Prospero.
. . .
It fled.
Or rather, it had never intended to face him directly in the first place.
The rain continued to fall. The Emperor began descending from the tip of the pyramid—the place on Prospero closest to the Warp. The Wolf King followed behind him, and the Emperor felt the emptiness in his palm.
He had given Magnus's eye to Leman Russ, trusting that Russ would make the correct choice at the correct moment.
In the dimness, he saw the suffering of Prospero's people. The blind and the dull-witted escaped calamity; they trembled as they gathered under the protection of the Death Guard and the Space Wolves. The wise and the learned, however, could not escape fate—each of them was tainted by the Warp to some degree.
At the right place, at the right time, under the correct triggering conditions, they were devoured by their own former greed and paid the price.
Yet this was all it could bring to bear—no more than this. The Emperor realized with disappointment that it was unwilling even to set off a grand display of fireworks for him.
Or perhaps it had placed its power elsewhere.
Upon its true target.
The Emperor pondered this as the recent visions seemed to linger before his eyes. He thought of Horus. He thought of Magnus. He thought of the Webway.
Who would it be? What would it be?
Could it even be Sanguinius? Could it be Leman Russ?
Golden flames surged along the edges of the pyramid as he descended, blazing fiercely. Radiant gold light drove away the Chaos clinging to the structure. When he stepped onto level ground, he saw his son Mortarion standing calmly in the rain.
Mortarion's gaze passed over him.
"Leman Russ," the Death Lord hissed, "you left behind nothing but "hold the line" and charged straight up there."
The Emperor raised a hand and frowned slightly.
"He was only worried about me."
Mortarion let out a loud, exaggerated sigh, bowed deeply, then shook his head in self-mockery.
"It seems I was too occupied with the battle."
He narrowed his eyes and stepped aside to clear the Emperor's path. Within his sight, he saw people igniting—golden flames shining like beacons in the rain, cutting through the darkness.
This did not look like the behavior of a general, nor of a warrior.
Mortarion remained silent, yet he followed all the same.
The Emperor walked through the pitch-black streets. With each step, several souls were lit alight. He had not been able to do this before, but now he listened to the murmurs of faith whispered by believers—Lorgar had fulfilled what he expected of him.
The Master of Mankind was purifying this planet, purifying a world that had already become a discarded pawn. After a brief drama, the Changer of Ways abandoned it—but the Master of Mankind would not, because this had once been a home of humanity.
The entire planet seemed to burn. Golden light shone through the walls of the fleet, illuminating Magnus's soul.
Most of the Thousand Sons were devoured in backlash by their tutelaries. Some of the more astute Thousand Sons severed their souls in time, cutting off their connection to the tutelaries; others were spared simply because they had never summoned such spirits at all.
On Prospero itself, among the mortals, only servants whose hands had never touched books and small children survived.
In the Warp, the burning of Prospero symbolized something else entirely—the annihilation of one of the most critical anchor points.
They all witnessed it.
Now, They could finally sit calmly at the same table.
Tzeentch burst into laughter.
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