Chapter 525: Feel the Terror, Children of the Warp; Taste the Agony of Divine Servitude!
"So, is there a more... fiscally stable method?"
Ramesses threw the question out during a micro-second lull in the divine brawl. His eyes—radiant orbs of data and light—tracked the lumbering, cosmic movements of Gork and Mork.
"There is," Cegorach chirped.
The Laughing God summoned a swirling vortex of formless radiance between his palms. With a twitch of his will, he sculpted the light into a slender, glowing thread, weaving it into the shape of an Ouroboros. He knotted the psychic cord, twisting it until thirteen jagged spikes erupted from its circumference, causing the light to pulse with a blinding, sanctified intensity.
The protection of ancient Aeldari wisdom was primed. The function: Guardian-Anchor.
The heat of the assault was blistering. Emerald sparks spiraled around Ramesses like a blizzard of shattered stars.
The infrastructure was set.
Cegorach took command of the defensive sub-routines. Around them, the rolling heat-waves of the Ork Gods' fury made the very air groan. The protective circle of "Formless Light" buckled and warped under the pressure of two penetrating, primitive consciousnesses.
Yet, the rage of the Twin Gods found no purchase. From their perspective, the Webway fragment they sought to crush was an infinite series of mirages.
The space wreathed in light was no longer a defined geometric structure of realspace. It had become a flickering projection.
In the specialized archives of the Ordo Originatus, this zone was classified as a Liminal Threshold—a state of ambiguity between a collapsing structure and one not yet fully manifested. It was a realm of the vague, the non-deterministic, and the temporary.
If Gork smashed a fragment, Cegorach simply utilized the "Formless Logic" to pull a result from the void where that fragment was a decoy. The duel was locked in a metaphysical stalemate.
The material universe rarely permitted such ambiguity.
But in the Warp, such states were common. Provided one had the "Auth-Codes" to maintain them.
The Jester, moving with a fluid grace that made the violent lunges of the Ork Gods look like a recording playing at half-speed, explained the meta:
"The essence of the Empyrean is disorder. Unlike the material world, the Warp blurs the digital boundaries of a sector. It allows the deepest primal emotions to manifest as physical monsters. This makes quantitative data-analysis... problematic."
He used a parry of formless light to knock Gork's fist aside. Ramesses' avatar rippled like liquid, the distance between him and the God of Brutality stretching and contracting in a flickering wave. He expended a cluster of soul-dividends to "Hard-Code" a miss in the threshold space.
The threat was bypassed.
However, Gork let out a relentless roar. His fist—carrying the kinetic weight of a dying sun—seemed to react to his own desperate desire. Despite the "Miss," the impact sent ripples across the Formless Lord's body.
Receiving the damage, the light immediately began a self-repair cycle.
Colors swirled like neon ink, reformatting the defensive geometry of the Webway fragment. Plates of conjured gold and emerald gems manifested to seal the breaches leaking Warp-filth.
The cracks torn by Gork's strike re-materialized as pillars of support, interlocking to stabilize the frame.
Distance and direction were dictated by the shifting tides. Three-dimensional space was pushed outward in every vector, constructing a domain that felt infinite. The Webway fragment vanished into the glare once more. Gork and Mork found themselves standing in the center of an endless, lethal kaleidoscope.
Marvelling at his own execution, Cegorach continued:
"Take Gork's punch, for example. You must endure the impact of the 'Rule of Disorder.' You cannot scry the specific damage-metrics. Even the 'Practical' logic—that the shortest path between two points is a line—is discarded. The trauma is unpredictable. Reality-definitions are rewritten. The 'Value of the Soul' cannot be audited. It purely serves the emotional subject."
"This is why Empyrean-tier combat is so esoteric. I pull a blurred result to dodge; you pull a 'Hit' result to deal damage. It is a war of subjective intent."
"But if a Noctilith Obelisk (Blackstone Pylon) can be deployed within the Webway fragment, we can quantify the rules. We can force the Neverborn to play by our numbers."
"A Star-God's domain can 're-zero' data that has been distorted by emotion. Gork's assault, upon entering the Pylon's radius, will be quantified. Strength will be regulated by data. The soul's value will be normally defined. The sequence of 'Pull Trigger—Fire—Hit—Damage' will proceed according to material physics. In that arena, Lord Ramesses, the advantage is Yours."
Cegorach, having been physically dismantled by Necron Pylons in the past, understood the difference between Warp-war and Material-war perfectly.
The old thief is actually useful, Ramesses thought, mentally applauding.
This was why he didn't bother with the "Lone Wolf" approach of someone like Be'lakor.
If he needed a fight, he called in a specialist. If he faced a threat, he consulted the board. His job was to swing the whip and keep the machine moving.
As long as I keep hiring these 'Old Legends,' the solutions to the galaxy's monsters will practically write themselves!
As for the "hiring" process?
One had to understand the labor market of the 41st Millennium.
For a human, entering the Warp was a death sentence. For an Eldar, dying meant a soul-gem—effectively a state of "Chronic Decay." Even a God like Cegorach had spent ten thousand years living "hand-to-mouth" since the Fall of the Pantheon.
As for the Necrons? They didn't even have a health-bar. The Dawnstar could give them their mortality back—a benefit that defied calculation.
Ramesses hadn't planned for a "United Front" initially.
He had simply intended to utilize his advantages to recruit high-quality personnel to facilitate human growth. To differentiate the Dawnstar from the "Traditional Warp-Slave-Owners," he had implemented the only management model he knew: The Corporate Meta.
If it's a firm, you need benefits. 401(k)s. Healthcare.
If an employee's "Stat-Line" is too low, you organize training.
If they have no housing, you build the "Formless Hab-Blocks" to ensure a stable work environment.
If an employee is "Liquified" or "Expunged," you provide a pension for their descendants.
Whether he could actually achieve all of this was secondary. From a "Demand-Tier" perspective, it was common sense.
In my old life, I cursed the CEOs for not treating workers as human. Now that I'm the CEO, I can't exactly forget the basics, can I?
This was the "Transmigrator's Common Sense."
Arthur was focused on the "Ideological Alignment" of the Legions, healing the rift between the military and society. He tied the safety of human life to the glory of the army and prioritized veteran benefits. To him, an army was a public service, not a private hit-squad for a political faction.
Karna utilized Faith—the ultimate "Cheat-Code"—to sink the Dawnstar's roots into the grassroots level. He reached the individual. He believed a healthy society required a government capable of projecting its will to the lowest tier, providing the foundation for collective strength.
Romulus focused on productivity and technical vocational training. He transformed the unemployed masses of the Hive-Spires into a standardized industrial workforce, broadening the Imperium's technological lead to fund the welfare state.
Beyond the "Divine Aura" of being Primarchs, there was a reason the Dawnbreakers held the mandate of the galaxy. Their policies produced results.
Ramesses felt he was being quite "inhumane"—treating Eldar and Necrons as beasts of burden and offering meager salaries.
But the Chaos Gods offered nothing.
Worse, They literally extracted the marrow from your bones.
As slaves of the Dark Gods, you rot forever. As employees of the Formless Lord, you are settled in the Manse with an infinite workload.
Every shift has a 1-on-1 KPI. Completion is tracked by Big Data. Once the KPI is met, you proceed to the next phase. Forever.
The work provides a dormitory. Wages can be used for "Cosmetic Skins" for your spirit-form. Fixed leave is granted. Performance bonuses include realspace "Day-Passes."
The work-orders are signed by Ramesses personally.
The development of the Warp by the "Formless Manse" was designed to ensure Mankind's survival under Empyrean influence. To ensure accuracy and control, Ramesses personally audited the work-flow. He monitored the output to ensure every soul created maximum value.
Hahahaha! Feel the terror, children of the Warp! You shall know the true agony of being "Managed" by a God!
The Eldar, the Necrons, and every other race tortured by the Warp...
"Wait... what?"
To be blunt: the four Dawnbreakers had simply refused to betray their own common sense. They hadn't expected their refusal to be "Warp-Assholes" to yield such a competitive advantage.
The C'tan could stabilize reality, but did they have the will to do it for others? No.
The Eldar Pantheon had sixty million years to evolve. Did they? No. They spent it on "Excess."
Vashtorr and Be'lakor—slaves to the current "Version"—didn't think about "Disrupting the Market." They just played the same petty games as the other daemons. There was no trust among Lesser Gods, only "Betrayal Meta." They eventually fell back into the high-interest loans of the Four.
Trazyn's judgment of them was correct.
Ramesses, while pondering the relationship between "Collective Will" and "Divine Authority," prepared to contact Arthur.
The fuel for the Dawnstar's operations was the "Spiritual Capital" they had amassed by disrupting the timeline, slaying daemons, and absorbing faith.
The primary expenses were Ramesses (frequent Warp-ops) and Romulus (building STC hubs and Special Zones across the galaxy).
Karna's project was massive, but since he had hitched his wagon to the Ecclesiarchy, he had achieved a stable internal cycle. His "Siege of the Garden" was funded by a billion human souls and a "Subsidized Loan" from the Emperor.
As for Master Art? He was the "Blood-Bar." He earned his own keep. He didn't use the spiritual capital; he used raw combat-mechanics. He was a "Full-Build, Ultra-Tier" asset.
For Ramesses, a direct slugfest with Gork and Mork was a massive drain on the budget.
How many lives do I have to waste brawling with these 'Old Guards'?
Now that a material solution was available, he would tag Arthur in. The Star-God shards were Arthur's department.
Seeing his role in the front line was redundant, Ramesses instinctively looked to "Pass the Buck" to his partner.
Dangerous relics were always safer in Arthur's hands.
You didn't have to worry about Arthur being "too busy" and forgetting a detail like Romulus, or him getting "too creative" like Ramesses—the kind of "creativity" that was usually well-intentioned but resulted in a tactical catastrophe.
"Let me see..."
[ADVISORY: ABANDON METAPHYSICAL CONFRONTATION. DEPLOY NOCTILITH OBELISKS ON THE PRIMARY WEBWAY ARTERY TO BLOCK THE GORK-AND-MORK INCURSION. MATERIAL ENGAGEMENT AUTHORIZED AT DISCRETION.]
Ramesses reviewed Trazyn's report, audited the data, and made the executive call.
It was simple. Strip away the gods and the ghosts, and the Imperium still held the best cards.
Without Warp-rituals, Divine Authority, or the "Waaagh!" field, an Imperial Sector Fleet could stabilize a conflict in a single salvo.
"In this case, the Golden Geezer doesn't even need to show up."
Offering a casual bit of pressure to the Emperor, Ramesses contacted Arthur on Armageddon.
"Hello?"
The link was instant.
"Is the scrap done?" Ramesses asked.
"It requires more time."
Sharing Arthur's sensory feed, Ramesses heard the muffled thunder of heavy impacts and the sudden, bestial roar of the Beast.
"WAAAAAAGH!!!!"
The energy shield of the Iron Halo dispersed the shockwave of the roar, pinning the Beast and the last of its defenders within the fortress walls. Arthur replied:
"The fire-grid is assisting the other sectors. I am awaiting the final synchronization."
"Pace in the other sectors is secondary. Finish your target. I need you to anchor the Webway."
Ramesses didn't mince words. He dumped the data-packet into Arthur's HUD.
Arthur maintained the suppression of the Beast while skimming the report.
The war in realspace had reached its tipping point. He wanted to minimize casualties and preserve the Ork technology for study, so he had restricted the use of broad-spectrum weapons.
"I understand."
Arthur dissected the logic of the move in a heartbeat.
His clinical assessment of the field drove him to open a high-priority tactical channel to the Supreme Commander, Sebastian Yarrick.
"My Lord!"
Far away in the sub-continent, Yarrick responded immediately.
Wherever the Lord of Knights walked, the Signal followed.
"Sebastian. Terminate the armored thrust toward the interior. All units are to hold current positions."
CLANG!
The Beast's axe struck Arthur's blade. Arthur spoke without a break in his rhythm:
"Concentrate all support fire—including orbital lances—on the Palace of the Beast. Lock the coordinate."
"As You command!"
Yarrick did not question. He issued the directive to his staff:
"Order all regiments to entrench. Halt the advance. Concentrate fire on the Palace. Sync coordinates to the Aeronautica."
Across a dozen battlefields, the Imperial Guard offensive sputtered and stopped. The support fire from Baneblades and Basilisks ceased its forward creep, drawing a line of fire at the front to screen the paratrooper extractions.
The regiments contracted into a defensive shell, using temporary bastions to fortify their gains. In minutes, the army had transitioned from a hunt to a blockade.
"Where are the Obelisks?" Arthur asked, awaiting the artillery results.
"Trazyn is fabricating them. We just provide the Shards," Ramesses replied.
An Overlord might not have a World Engine in his pocket, but a Pylon was within his manufacturing permit.
The core tech was no secret. Without a Shard to juice it, a Pylon was just an expensive rock.
"Then—"
Arthur began, but the sound of the palace roof being torn away interrupted him.
BOOM!
A massive explosion shattered the dialogue.
Facing the Beast's roar, Arthur pushed the Excalibur down. A beam of focused light erupted from the blade, driving the monster back into the heart of the palace.
The Beast slammed into an incoming macro-shell.
Thousands of heavy batteries, following Yarrick's command, shifted their aim. They scoured the dark, jagged silhouette of the fortress.
Lances and macro-fire punched through the shattered dome.
CRASH—
The ceiling collapsed entirely. Shrapnel, moving like angry hornets, hammered against the Beast's frame. The monster reached for its face, finding a hole where its cheek had been—it could feel its own tusks from the inside.
It was wounded.
Not by the blade of the "Star-God," but by the guns of the "Humies."
"Cursed runts..."
It couldn't fathom the reason. It just wanted to rise and krump the "Beakie-God."
BOOM—
A searing lance beam fell from the void. A flood of energy, fifty meters wide, enveloped the Beast and everything around it, pinning it to the floor.
"WAAAAAAGH!!!"
The Beast braced its arms against the ground, letting out a roar of absolute agony.
It felt the pain now.
It looked up, only to be met by a point-blank kinetic impact from a descending shell.
The Beast was thrown back, its majesty reduced to a disheveled ruin.
"HA!"
It tried to stand once more, its breath a cloud of scalding vapor.
The Beast intended to struggle.
But the fire was infinite.
Plasma licked at its "indestructible" scrap-armor. Macro-fire hammered its bone-and-iron skeleton. A monsoon of lasers pierced every gap, scorching every contact point.
The firepower of half a planet was concentrated onto a single coordinate.
In the past, this would have been a waste; a true "Boss" could use the Warp to ignore such things.
But today, the Beast's world was inverted.
Its Waaagh! field held, and the armor meant to drive a continent remained solid.
But the shriek of plasma against metal grew louder. The seismic tremors of the macro-fire began to separate flesh from bone. The light of the lasers turned the ten-meter plate incandescent, coiling it in red and gold as the cracks deepened.
The end was close. It was excruciating.
Before the "Final Stroke" could fall, the Beast was consumed by a sea of fire. Along with the Orks who had fought to protect it, it was reduced to ash and vanished from the world.
Whoosh—
The fire-wind whipped Arthur's crimson cloak.
The Knight turned away, Excalibur still humming with stored power.
He keyed the link to Ramesses.
"Initialize transit. I'm coming in."
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