Aboard the Star Walker, his new command ship, Julius Braveheart stood in his private quarters, reviewing the latest deployment reports. Suddenly, he was violently thrown to his knees. A searing, pure, and raw pain exploded in his skull. It wasn't an attack, but an implosion.
The System was overloading.
A tidal wave of psychic energy of unimaginable magnitude crashed through him, overwhelming his neural pathways, making the joints of his armor creak. This wasn't a chosen acquisition; it was a forced evolution, a price or a consequence imposed upon him. In a final act of will, he connected to the interface and saw the purchase displayed, not as an option, but as an inevitability.
\>> FORCED ACQUISITION: ALPHA-LEVEL PSYKER.
\>> IMMEDIATE ASSIMILATION.
A silent scream tore through the Immaterium around him. Alpha grades represented immense power, a tier beyond Beta, a level where madness constantly loomed, but which the System was forcibly channeling, keeping him "sane" at the cost of unspeakable agony.
At that precise moment, across the galaxy, the most powerful beings raised their heads.
On Terra, in the Golden Throne room, the Emperor halted His conversation with Malcador. His marble-like face, usually impenetrable, betrayed a minute movement of surprise, then intense focus. He had once perceived this presence as a small, bluish flame, a curious spark at the edge of His perception. Now, that flame had transformed into a blinding beacon, a blue, cold psychic sun burning with a wild yet strangely controlled intensity. It was no longer a curiosity. It was a fact. A new giant had risen on the board, and His vision of Julius Braveheart changed forever: from a potential ally or minor threat, he was promoted to the status of a parallel power.
Malcador the Sigillite, beside Him, paled slightly, gripping his staff. "My friend...?" he whispered. The Emperor simply turned His gaze to the stars, silent, but His mind was already calculating the billions of new probabilities this event had just created.
In the Warp, the Four Gods of Chaos stirred.
· Khorne roared in fury and approval. This power was raw, direct, a pure challenge. He hated sorcery, but the sheer force of this eruption drew a grunt of respect from him. A new champion to break or corrupt.
· Tzeentch let out a laugh of pure jubilation, a crackle of paradoxes and plots. The plans had just become deliciously more complex. This energy was change, evolution, unpredictability. A new actor, a new piece on the great board. The possibilities were endless.
· Nurgle gave a wet, philosophical chuckle. Life, even in this brilliant, energetic form, was a force of nature. It was born, it grew, and it would eventually rot. He could wait. Decay would come.
· Slaanesh moaned in extreme pleasure. The sensation was exquisitely intense, painful, and intoxicating. Such power, such brilliance... It was a temptation, a delight to claim, to defile and savor its fall.
Back on the Star Walker, the energy stabilized. Julius rose, transformed. Bolts of electric blue lightning crackled around his fists and erupted from his eyes. And his eyes... his eyes were no longer those of a man. They now shone with a magnificent and terrible blue, a cold, decisive light that was eerily reminiscent of the fire burning in the gaze of the Master of Mankind.
He raised a hand, and reality bent around his fingers. The power of a god now flowed through his veins. The Emperor had felt him. The Gods had felt him.
The era of shadows was definitively over. Henceforth, he walked in the open, a rival star in the galactic night.