Daniel and the strike team slipped into the Webway.
Behind them, Hilandri and her troupe of Harlequins began a series of ancient, rhythmic incantations. Their psychic songs held the gate shut, tethering the daemon tide to the other side. Angron hammered against the barrier with his axe and black blade, his screams of fury vibrating through the portal, but it wouldn't budge.
Denied his prize, the Red Angel snapped, turning his bottomless rage on the nearest targets—the Red Pirates and daemons. Another chaotic free-for-all erupted in the Blackstone Fortress as the traitors began tearing each other apart.
By the time the dust settled, Huron Blackheart finally arrived at the scene. The "Tyrant of Badab" looked at the charnel house—mountains of corpses and rivers of gore—and felt a wave of pure frustration. He'd come here to bag a Primarch and make a killing; instead, he'd lost a fortune in manpower and his prized fortress was a wreck. It was a total bust.
In the void of the Maelstrom, the Macragge's Glory punched through the blockade. Leading the surviving Imperial ships, the massive flagship carved a path to freedom. Onboard, the frantic deck-clearing actions finally wound down. Through the grit and steel of heroes like Amalrich, Celestine, Greyfax, and Voldus, the boarding parties were wiped out to a man.
Kairos Fateweaver tried to rally a pursuit, but the Khornate fleet went off the deep end again. Screaming "Blood for the Blood God," the Berzerker ships slammed into the Slaaneshi and Thousand Sons lines. The three-way brawl escalated as greater daemons manifested, turning the sector into a mosh pit of warp-fueled insanity.
"Is the Primarch clear?" Amalrich asked, breathless and battered as he reached the bridge.
"The Primarch and my master are in the Webway," Arale reported. Despite the light-years between them, her link to Daniel remained rock-solid. "They're safe for the time being."
Amalrich let out a breath he'd been holding since Cadia fell. As the Black Templar Marshal, he carried the weight of that failure like a shroud. To him, protecting the Primarch wasn't just a mission—it was his shot at redemption. If Guilliman fell, Amalrich knew he'd never forgive himself.
"Next stop, Terra," Belisarius Cawl said, turning to Grand Master Voldus. "Can you find the Astronomican, Grey Knight?"
"I have the signal," Voldus nodded.
"Then let's burn it," Celestine said. "For the Emperor and the Primarch, we need to be there yesterday."
"Route plotted," Arale chimed in. "ETA to the Sol System: one week."
Inside the Webway, the surviving players regrouped. A quick headcount revealed a 90% casualty rate—most of the squad was currently sitting in the respawn queue.
"So this is the 'Elf Highway'?" Warmaster muttered, staring at the golden haze ahead. The tunnels were massive, wide enough for warships, and pulsed with an alien, multidimensional light. It felt like walking through a dream.
"Building one of these in the future would be a game-changer," Yuji remarked. "Fast travel to everywhere."
"In this game, if you want something done, you gotta do it yourself," another player joked. "If we build a Webway, does that mean one of us has to sit on the Golden Throne to keep it open? Hey, Warmaster, you should ask the Guide if he's hiring for the 'Permanent Chair' position."
"Shut up," Warmaster snapped. "You guys think I'm the 13th son or something? I'm not asking him that."
Hilandri approached the Primarch and Daniel. "Our scouts have picked up a welcoming committee. Golden and blue armor, reeks of sorcery, bearing the Mark of Tzeentch."
"Magnus," Guilliman realized. "No wonder he went quiet back there. He was camping the exit."
"He's probably looking for a back door to the Palace," Daniel added. "He knows the Emperor's Webway project started in the basement of the Sanctum Imperialis."
Daniel explained the history—how the Emperor tried to break humanity's reliance on the Warp by building his own Webway, and how Magnus, in a fit of 'trying to help,' accidentally shattered the psychic barriers and ruined everything. "Magnus thinks that if he follows you, the gate wardens on Terra will open the door for the Primarch, and he can waltz right into the Throne Room."
Guilliman's jaw tightened. "So Magnus wrecked our father's grand design, and then spent ten millennia acting like the victim? Is he a giant toddler?"
"Pretty much," Daniel said. "If he'd had an ounce of maturity, the galaxy wouldn't be this messed up."
Guilliman went quiet, tasting the bitterness of his father's burden. The Emperor had spent ages trying to uplift humanity, forging Primarchs and launching the Great Crusade, only to have his most trusted generals throw it all away for the Chaos gods. It was enough to drive a lesser man insane.
"Magnus doesn't get a pass to Terra," Guilliman growled. "Not on my watch."
"Don't worry," Hilandri interjected. "We weren't planning on taking that route anyway. The Eldar empire once had Webway gates on every world—including Luna."
"The moon?" Guilliman asked. "If we can reach Luna, we're home free. Let's move."
Hilandri led them through the labyrinth, navigating corridors that defied physics. Without her, they would have been lost in minutes. They eventually reached the "City of Miracles"—an eerie, arched necropolis of bone-white stone. A faint, ghostly weeping echoed through the mist.
"The language of the dead," Hilandri whispered. "The fallen gods mourning what we lost."
The city was a graveyard from the ancient War in the Webway. The players began to notice the wreckage—shattered golden helmets of the Legio Custodes and the blood-stained gear of the Silent Sisters.
"Check this out," Yuji said, pointing to a Custodian slumped against a wall. The warrior had no wounds; his armor was just drained. "The logs say he was literally worked to death. He just kept fighting until his heart gave out."
Nearby, the massive shell of a Titan lay in the ruins. "The Beacon of Warning," Warmaster said, recognizing the heraldry of the Firebees. "It died covering an ally's retreat, only to be possessed by a warp-entity at the end. Tragic."
The Webway was a place of ghosts and failed dreams. Every heroic sacrifice here seemed to have been swallowed by the silence of the tunnels.
"The City of Miracles is a junction," Hilandri explained. "Paths to Mars, Terra, and Luna meet here. We take the low road to the moon."
But as they reached a complex intersection, a massive explosion rocked the tunnel. Psychic fire swept through the mist, instantly deleting several players. Out of the haze marched the Rubric Marines—hollowed-out armor puppets moving in perfect, mechanical unison.
"Magnus!" Guilliman roared, drawing the Hand of Dominion. "Stop hiding behind your dolls and face me!"