They are coming.
The Randan are coming.
When Morgana's soul broke through the shackles of her physical body and the mortal world, arriving in the void filled with unparalleled madness, illusory dreams, and icy aura, she instead felt a somewhat false warmth, a fleetingly comfortable and satisfying embrace.
Like a falcon whose wings had been broken since childhood, in a fortunate period of time, it returned to the high heavens, enjoying the beauty of freedom and nature it had never felt before. In her eyes, all things were merely pathetic creatures buried in the dust, precious delicacies to be plucked or trampled at her whim.
For a moment, Morgana even understood the foolish actions of Magnus and his sons. She understood why the Prosperines were obsessed with letting their souls wander in the dangerous ocean, like the most deranged addicts seeking stimulants. The most extreme Thousand Sons warriors, and even the King of Prospero himself, pursued the freedom and wandering of the soul.
Morgana once didn't understand, but now, she did.
Her soul transcended her body, which could only be called a shackle. In an instant, she broke through myriad layers of clouds and sky, and in a world unimaginable to mortals, she casually cast the most expansive deserts and the highest peaks beneath her feet. Her every ethereal breath stirred up raging waves in layer after layer of clouds and wind, like a fledgling deity idling away eternal time in the clouds.
She looked up, and her soul's shadow shed the gravity and vacuum that once confined countless races to their homeworlds, arriving among the dim stars.
She reached out, and countless suns and stars respectfully vanished from her sight. They still existed in their original places, but they and their heat could no longer interfere with her senses and will, just as mediocre subjects could never impede the Empress's pace.
She laughed, watched, and commanded. Her will and desire transcended the gravity of the world, the bondage of the stars, and the power of the simplest galaxies and visions in an instant, reaching places that even the most advanced technological instruments could not observe.
She stood above the stars.
She could do it, if she only wished.
The inherently narrow vision of living beings, the limits of machines developed through millions of years of accumulated wisdom, the myriad methods born from countless brilliant ideas of countless mortal sages, everything that mortals could do, could imagine, could pray for—in her eyes, it was merely a wave of her hand.
She didn't even need to pay any price or suffer any pain. She only needed to activate her psychic energy, allowing her innate power to freely unleash itself, and she could achieve everything mortals exhausted themselves trying to do. The crystallizations forged with blood, tears, and sweat would be nothing more than the most clumsy imitations of a random thought in her mind.
She could observe, she could decide, she could change, she could indulge.
In short, in certain domains, she was a legendary deity.
This thought lingered in Morgana's mind for less than a second before she curled her lips. The inscrutable calmness and rationality of the Spider Queen summoned waves, washing away this pitiful arrogance and temptation.
Perhaps the Thousand Sons, perhaps Ahriman, or even Magnus, would become addicted to this feeling. They could take pride in it, using it as powerful proof that they were born superior, born noble, born to lord over all beings, and indulge in it at all costs.
But Morgana would not.
Power obtained too easily always makes one forget oneself, but when the Spider Queen indulged her talents, she always thought of those existences within her heart.
Every time this happened, she would recall humility, and the remaining arrogance would vanish like smoke, allowing her to refocus her energy on her work and purpose.
She knew that she was merely an ant, and had no opportunity for arrogance or foolishness.
Morgana opened her eyes, and in an instant, she took in the entire Tacus System, summoning every life, every thought, and even every breath within this system before her soul, sifting through them meticulously.
She could see her kin preparing their respective tasks.
She could see the Space Wolves fleets grumbling as they sailed into the micro-universes opened up by the Dark Angels. These small spaces, created by the First Legion, were scattered throughout the system, and the technology and relics required to make them far exceeded anything any Imperial could imagine.
She could see Vulkan leading his sons to familiarize themselves with every fortress and every high wall. Incinerators, melta-guns, and various flamethrowers were piled high at their feet, while the Lord of the Firedrakes himself inspected the most crucial points, checking every brass wall that would directly face the Randan's most insane grand army.
She could see Lion El'Jonson waiting in his command center deep within the Unbending Truth, repeatedly polishing the already gleaming Lion Sword. He donned his armor, stood up, and murmured to himself, then approached the war table that would decide everyone's fate. Knight-Commanders, commanding myriad troops, surrounded him, subservient to his authority, bowing their heads like the most humble attendants.
She could see her most valued pawn slowly fulfilling her demands; he would return to her side at the end of this war. She could see millions of mortals entering their battle stations, having been encouraged, deceived, or promised rewards for facing the war. She could see the horrors buried deep within shattered history unleashed, every breath of theirs releasing a deep-seated hatred for all life and civilization.
Myriad scenes unfolded in every corner of every world; myriad thoughts leaped in every mortal's mind; myriad possibilities progressed with every bullet's sound.
She grasped them in her hands, breathing greedily.
She could see.
They were ready.
She could also see.
They, too, had arrived.
——————
Her vision passed through the scattered meteorites at the farthest edge of the system, into the boundless darkness and illusion, into the darkest domain that even the bravest warriors would not dare to tread, to the outermost perimeter of the first clash where this war was about to erupt.
After the first wave of Imperial fleet ambushes had been dismissed by her sight, Morgana's will finally broke through the boundaries of the system. Her senses surged into the waves of the Immaterium, and almost in the next second, she saw her target.
They were already within reach.
Black waves surged like a tide, sweeping forward relentlessly. Those terrifying ships, laden with spikes and flails, seemed to have completely encircled the Imperial system. They were endless, from Morgana's most subtle senses to the farthest extreme her soul's vision could reach, all occupied by Xenos warships. They swarmed in multitudes, as if the Beelzebub from purgatory had finally grown weary of endless waiting and unleashed a monstrous swarm of locusts capable of devouring all nations on Earth.
Throughout the ten years Morgana had fought the Randan alongside her brothers, she had annihilated Randan fleets, flattened Randan fortresses, and cast millions of Xenos into the cycle of death. Yet, even so, she had never seen such a grand army, never seen so many Randan Xenos massed together, forming a tidal wave that no legion could resist.
Xenos fleets, Xenos armies, Xenos blood, Xenos breaths—an uncountable number of minds clustered together, like roaring dragons advancing unrestrained in the high heavens. Even the malicious Spider Queen dared not challenge them directly; she secretly hid and observed this seemingly unstoppable army of despair.
Perhaps the Randan had crammed all their citizens into these warships, or perhaps they had thrown everything capable of flying into this war, or perhaps they had condensed everything plundered from the entire Northern Galaxy into a dagger, plunging it into the heart of the Imperium.
In the very first instant, Morgana couldn't help but think this, because only these thoughts could sustain the sight before her eyes: the Randan's grand fleet was truly endless. Thousands of warships served as the vanguard of this army, and behind them, the forces only grew.
While their vanguard was already pressing against the Dark Angels' most critical defensive lines, their main force hadn't even left the system they had previously occupied, and behind this main fleet, which filled an entire system, the rearguard and supply fleets filled several other systems.
Morgana's vision soared higher and higher. Even as she encompassed every world, every flicker of light in an entire Sector within her sight, she still did not see the true end of this Xenos army. It was as if these emotionless beings had unhesitatingly squeezed the last drop of blood from their race, transforming their souls and despair into a final battle-ready dagger, gripped in their hands and wielded against the realm of the Lord of Mankind.
One system, two systems, three systems...
The Xenos army was boundless.
One thousand, two thousand, three thousand ships...
Morgana's gaze swept like an invisible breeze across the countless void war engines of the Randan. She struggled to control herself, attempting to count only the capital ships that seemed capable of playing a significant role in battle.
But when she counted to four thousand, she abandoned this futile exercise. In the dim void where she ceased counting, an endless stream of blasphemous warships continued to emerge.
Morgana noticed that a large portion of the ships lingering in the rear were not of Randan design; they looked more like captured warships that the Randan had crudely pieced together into their insane fleet. She even saw some war engines that had once served the Human Imperium, their wounds carelessly patched, and only silence emanating from their bridges.
Her gaze focused on the most powerful formation, on the last three Battle Moons of the Randan. She could see that these spheres, once grayish-white, had completely transformed into ominous crimson. She could see that the largest Battle Moon was emitting a light that made her feel a genuine threat. The light was so dazzling, as if the Randan rulers had captured a nascent sun and imprisoned it within.
But it was not a sun, for it emitted sounds and auras unlike a sun.
Morgana listened, thinking she heard something.
But someone did not want her to continue listening.
First, there was a probing force, followed by a scream in the Sea of Souls. Hundreds of thousands of souls released their malice into the endless void. Each soul was capable of stirring up its own ripples in the waves of the Immaterium.
They converged, forming a frantic hammer, constantly swinging at the edge of the system and the world, attempting to drive away this presumptuous thief.
Morgana's gaze indifferently swept over this indignant army, her energy still focused on observing the most important targets. With merely one hand, she casually gestured among the Randan vanguard, and thousands of wails erupted simultaneously, each representing a defiant opponent dying in gruesome agony among their comrades.
Contempt for these rabble flashed in Morgana's eyes, but just as she continued her observation, an unmistakable aura suddenly surged from the largest Randan warship, like a star unleashing its full fury and heat.
For the first time in her life, a cold sweat instantly trickled down Morgana's neck.
She turned her gaze to face that will: it rose slowly from the largest, most barbaric, and most twisted Randan warship. When it finally appeared in the void, millions of souls cheered in unison, screaming in fervent adoration, pouring out their unwavering loyalty to the greatest being with parched throats.
Morgana glanced at it; she had no thought of continuing the confrontation. The Spider Queen's soul cautiously measured their distance, slowly retreating.
To her surprise, her most terrifying opponent, one she had ever personally witnessed, seemed to have no intention of pursuing her. It merely resided on its warship, as if there was something on it that kept it from moving an inch.
Or perhaps, it itself could not move easily.
Morgana blinked, making a rough calculation: if they wanted this will to descend on the Tacus main battlefield, they would first need to tear through the vanguard of thousands of Randan fleets, allowing Xenos blood to soak every inch of Tacus's land.
Thinking this, she left.
Before leaving, Morgana took a final look at the world that continuously pulsed with the most dazzling crimson light.
This time, she heard it again.
But this time.
She understood.
She understood that sound.
——————
Even Morgana, at the moment she understood that sound, felt an instinctive mix of nausea, fear, and trembling assailing her heart.
She was afraid.
Afraid of that light.
Afraid of that thing.
——————
It was a wail.
It was the final cry of billions upon billions of lives before being cast into hell, a terrifying embodiment of immeasurable despair, curses, hatred, and fear extracted in an instant, then thoroughly kneaded together.
Just by truly glimpsing the essence of that light, Morgana could see countless dead stars spread across the darkest parts of the galaxy, could see how millions of massacres were commanded in a single breath, and could see how astonishing the power would be if this light poured forth the most terrifying essence of death in this galaxy.
It could destroy a world, effortlessly destroy it. When it entered the system it intended to destroy, it could be fired, without aiming, without needing more secure conditions, because the shockwave created by these desperate souls would drag an entire system into utter annihilation in the shortest time possible, and the cost would simply be the light itself.
Thinking this, a most obvious question also appeared in the Spider Queen's mind.
So, for the Randan.
This catastrophe, usable only once, capable of ending any war.
Where exactly should it be unleashed?
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