Chapter 522: Gork and Mork: "D'you Hear Someone Else Wants to be Galactic Boss?"
While Arthur was methodically pummeling the Beast and the fresh reinforcements were assisting the garrison in reclaiming Armageddon, Ramesses was still busy gesturing at the seams of the Labyrinthine Dimension.
He was currently holding the Trinity of Artifacts—the Tuchulcha Engine, the Ouroboros, and the Plagueheart. Having been merged, these entities realized they still possessed individual consciousnesses, and under the Formless Lord's scrutiny, they had finally fallen silent. Ramesses was preparing to use them to sever the specific sector of the Webway where Ghazghkull and his mobs had retreated.
This was a task of extreme technical delicacy.
Due to the Webway's convoluted nature, isolating a sector wasn't as crude as collapsing a tunnel. To blockade a region effectively, one had to sever every intersecting artery and secondary conduit.
Furthermore, he had to account for the combat intensity within. The zones occupied by xenos and daemons were part of the purge—the Dawnbreakers intended to clear the board entirely.
"Behave yourselves. Do this one job, and I'll dismantle the merger," Ramesses whispered.
His tone was calm, yet wreathed in the terrifying authority he held within the Empyrean.
Led by Tuchulcha, the three artifacts dared not murmur. They began the "Drilling Protocol."
THUD!
Warp-turbulence surged. The near-indestructible walls of the Webway shuddered violently upon contact with the Trinity. Grey mist roiled, and arcs of psionic lightning lashed out.
Massive fissures erupted along the pitted conduits, spreading into unknown dimensions before the pre-calculated segments were snapped off.
A flood of Empyrean "Quintessence-Wind" poured into the breaches, manifesting as spectral horrors. On one end, they were met by the massed fire of the Imperial Guard and the Legion of the Damned; on the other, they crashed into the already chaotic Ork front. The inhabitants of the tunnel remained oblivious to their isolation.
Naturally so. Severing a "fragment" of the Webway, considering its non-Euclidean geometry, created a pocket of space as vast as a star system.
The Webway was too immense. In terms of pure volume, even the million worlds of the Imperium and their shipping lanes could not fill this seemingly infinite Labyrinth.
"The selection of this sector is tactically sound," Guilliman observed from a distance, critiquing the operation. Watching the kaleidoscopic clash of xenos and daemons, the Regent felt that his knowledge of the galaxy during the Great Crusade had been somewhat... sheltered.
Guilliman still lacked a complete understanding of the modern "meta"—though his brothers didn't see that as a fault.
Macragge's current standing, both strategically and internally, was stronger than it had ever been.
With an unfathomable, moody Father like the Emperor and a roster of neurotic brothers, Guilliman's role as a Primarch in the 30th Millennium hadn't required him to master "Warp-Sociology" or "Labyrinthine Biology"—concepts that were now standard intelligence for the high command.
But as Humanity transitioned into a "Semi-Psychic" species, the Regent of the Imperium could no longer afford to be a "Psionic Muggle."
Had he returned only to Ultramar, he would have eventually learned these things, but with the Dawnbreakers, his "Remedial Tutoring" was far more efficient.
Romulus, Karna, and Guilliman had finalized the stabilization of the Maelstrom.
Now that Guilliman had mapped the political landscape of realspace, he was preparing a Grand Tour: a visitation of the Obscurus Segmentum, covering three thousand sectors and over four hundred thousand worlds. His objective was to resolve local crises while exerting direct influence, bringing these worlds firmly under the authority of the Imperial Council—the new apex of human governance.
The Council, established after the return of the Lion and the Regent, was designed as a "Primarch-Centric" hierarchy. The Dawnbreakers were a closed circle, but they were more than happy to let their "Native" brothers join the board.
Guilliman had initially worried the name was an insult to the High Lords, until Karna joked, "We haven't specified which Empire it is yet," and the matter was dropped.
As he took the reins, Guilliman discovered that the wealth of talent cultivated under the Dawnstar meant many regional administrators were now redundant. To his own surprise, the man of logic and policy found himself choosing the most efficient solution when faced with bureaucratic deadlock.
The Purge.
Indulgent Sector Lords, bloated planetary governors, secessionists—none were tolerated.
There was no need for compromise in the name of "Order." A thousand civil servants from Dawnstar and Ultramar, whose career paths had been blocked by the sheer number of qualified candidates, were eager for a promotion to the outer rims. Their professionalism was leagues beyond the feudal lords they replaced.
It has never been such a 'wealthy' war, Guilliman mused.
"Hm?"
Ramesses blinked, looking up from his work.
"I just picked a spot at random," he admitted.
He had simply looked for a sector with enough "dirt" to prevent the Orks from dying of boredom upon arrival. The rest was just luck.
"Such environments are common in the Labyrinth," Yvraine added. She had been "crammed" with data by Eldrad and the Harlequins before assuming her post as the Regent's advisor.
Ever since the Aeldari lost control of the network, the Webway had grown wild. Anomalies sprouted like moss under a rain-tree.
Guilliman paused.
"I understand."
He offered his advisor a nod and pulled a specific document from the stack, marking it as a "High-Priority Directive."
[PROTOCOL: WEBWAY STABILIZATION]
He was visibly displeased.
No wonder Ramesses had claimed the Traitor Astartes didn't need to fear the Emperor's purge once the Webway was complete—there was a massive "Hell-Pit" waiting for them to colonize.
Fortunately, the Imperium now had the tools for the job.
In the projection, the Guard and the Legion of the Damned were methodically sealing the Webway breaches.
Massive alloy plates were winched from the holds of Imperial warships, positioned by heavy mechanical arms, and fused into bastions within the tunnel. Psionic-shield generators projected a pale gold aegis across the gaps, isolating the chaotic energies of the Warp.
Logistics fleets from realspace arrived in a steady stream. Heavy lifters dumped crates of munitions, power-cores, and delicate laboratory components.
The warriors assisted researchers in constructing a sequence of outposts. These pre-fabricated Warp-facilities, designed within the "Formless Manse," were dropped directly into place. They even established a direct "Import-Line" for daemons from "The Park" to be processed and recycled.
The physics of the Webway mirrored realspace, but the passage of time was as chaotic as the Empyrean. Under the legacy of the Old Ones, time here flowed with a staggering velocity. To Guilliman, it felt like he was watching a documentary on fast-forward.
He took a breath, burying his awe beneath his duty.
"Let us hope the operation remains smooth," he said.
"Statistically? Impossible," Ramesses replied over the link.
"?"
Guilliman's HUD generated a series of question marks.
The sector was sealed. The army was in place. The xenos were trapped. By compressing their Warp-maneuverability and applying survival pressure, they were forcing the Orks to adapt to the Webway.
What risk remains?
Ramesses didn't answer immediately. Standing in the Warp, he watched the surroundings with an eager intensity.
He had stowed the Shield-Borer. Behind him, a massive, shifting aurora of light manifested—a nebula of star-shards coiling around the Webway-pocket.
This aura extended slender tendrils of energy, gently nudging the fragment, ensuring it didn't drift too far or reconnect with the main network prematurely.
"They're here."
A smile spread across his face.
The already erratic tides of the Sea of Souls turned violent. Across a path where a million daemons were fleeing against the current, a beam of blinding green light tore through the darkness. It lanced through the host like a meteor, driving straight for Ramesses.
He lunged forward, grabbing the Emperor's avatar and pulling the girl behind his own radiant form, even as he drew the Webway-fragment back.
The green light slammed into the Emperor—who was currently busy summoning His own essence.
CLANG!!!
A roar that shook the foundations of the Empyrean echoed through the void, like two stars colliding.
A golden psionic barrier flared to life. The point of impact erupted in a blizzard of energy-sparks. The shockwave threw the fleeing daemons into the distance, reducing the lesser ones to motes of light.
"WAAAAAAGH!!!"
A roar of absolute, primitive savagery filled the Warp. It was a sound that could ignite the blood of any listener, triggering an unquenchable thirst for battle.
The darkness was illuminated by two colossal silhouettes. Two Orks, each the size of a minor moon, manifested from the green fire.
They were encased in heavy, jagged plate, stained with the dried blood of a trillion years and the wreckage of a dozen civilizations. Every inch of their hide was a map of glowing red scars.
Their eyes, two pairs of blood-red suns, locked onto Ramesses and the Emperor. Their malice was absolute.
"It is them—" Guilliman whispered.
"Gork and Mork. The Ork Gods. Literally," Ramesses provided the "Standard Education."
Inside the psionic monitoring stations observing this sector, a thousand researchers and psykers crowded around the screens. They worked with frantic speed, recording every detail. Even the Eldar Seers acting as "Assistant Tutors" watched with somber intensity, sketching the forms of these deities.
It was the first time in recorded history that Mankind had observed the Warp-gods of another race at such proximity.
As for the Chaos Four? They were beyond observation. Only the Emperor could look upon them and remain whole.
"WAA—"
The moment they appeared, Gork and Mork lunged for the "Humie" gods. They moved with the speed of thought.
These runts are gettin' ahead of 'emselves.
A voice resonated in the depths of the Twin Gods' consciousness.
Another race is tryin' to be the Boss.
An instinctual sense of "Crisis" drove them.
They were the guardians of the greenskins. It wasn't a title granted by a priest; it was a law written into the very first spore.
They remembered every war. They understood the mandate placed upon them by the "Brain-Boyz" (Old Ones) long ago.
Faced with the rising weight of Humanity and the schemes of the "Lesser Gods," their instinct flared. They offered the only response they knew.
The galaxy don't need no more Hege-monsters.
The Star-Gods and the Necrons had broken the world. The Old Ones had been snuffed out. The Necrons' jealousy had been the first tragedy.
The Eldar had been worse—they slacked off for sixty million years, achieved nothing, and got caught up by the Humies in a heartbeat. Then they'd birthed Slaanesh.
And now the Humies? They'd birthed a God and kept thirteen "Apprentices" in their pocket.
That's how the disaster starts.
Every time a race reached the top, it brought a cycle of destruction.
The "Overlords" consumed everything with their greed and ambition, dragging the galaxy into a deeper pit. Now, the Humies were trying to seize the Webway, mobilize their Legions, and become the new Masters under the prodding of their Warp-entity.
This is the Theoretical.
And Gork and Mork would not tolerate it.
The instinct was so powerful it forced the twin gods to stop brawling with each other for a single moment. They moved to crush the two interlopers.
Furious green energy wove around them, forming a massive barrier that isolated them from the surrounding Warp-currents.
Their goal was absolute: Stop the Humies. Shatter the "Radiant" scheme. Ensure the galaxy remained in a state of the only order they recognized.
No Overlords. Only an eternal scrap with no end.
"I knew it—"
Facing the emotional impact of the charge, Ramesses slapped his forehead, pushing aside the thrill of the fight.
The Star-Gods, the Necrons, the Eldar, and the Emperor... they're the ones who maxed out the credit card. Why do WE have to pay the debt?
He wanted to explain that the Dawnbreakers actually had a plan. They were opening the gates. They were absorbing the Eldar and Necrons. Once Chaos was settled, the goal was the stars...
But he knew these two "Muscle-Brains" wouldn't listen to logic.
And did the "Credit Cards" of the Eldar and Necrons even have a balance left?
"Sigh..."
Ramesses realized he'd have to put more pressure on Trazyn. The galaxy was a mess, yet they were the ones trying to save it. The Dawnbreakers really deserved a "Gratitude-Tax" from everyone.
He manipulated the shifting lights behind him, hardening the formless radiance into a dense veil. The Emperor's avatar braced for the impact.
The golden barrier began to spider-web with cracks. The green energy, coiling like serpents, began to seep into the fissures. The Emperor's form flickered.
"Father?"
"I'm on the line. Nine minutes," the Emperor replied, displaying his legendary reliability.
Far away, Guilliman's face went dark.
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