That the statue-construct had so easily reverted from its runaway state came as a mild surprise to Axion, but he had more pressing matters to attend to. Magnus's sudden shift from his gargantuan, sorcerous form back to his natural size caught the pursuing Destroyer-class automatons off-guard; their target's drastically altered profile forced the machines to adjust their targeting subroutines with extreme caution.
The automatons attempted to utilize their own chassis to blockade the corridor, trying to hem the Primarch in. Yet, Magnus had found a sliver of opportunity. The corridors of the Void Sword were not merely wide, they were cavernous in their verticality.
Observing how the massive machines cautiously intercepted him with deactivated power-claws, Magnus formulated a new strategy. He channeled a surge of psychic energy into his weapon. The bizarre blade began to coruscate with light. The method by which he bonded his psychic power to the edge was identical to the technique the Emperor had used moments prior to imbue the statue's weapon. With but a single observation, Magnus's preternatural psychic genius had allowed him to master the technique.
The Emperor's control over psychic energy was indeed staggering. This method of infusion relied far more on the wielder's innate psychic talent than the Nemesis force blades utilized by the Grey Knights. Naturally, the result was far more devastating.
Drawing upon the acute senses of his Primarch physiology, Magnus lunged, piercing the joint of the nearest automaton. The massive Destroyer's interception maneuver buckled instantly; deprived of support, the joint structure gave way with a sharp, metallic shriek. Magnus seized the moment, leaping onto the machine's tilted chassis, then used the heads of the surrounding Destroyers as stepping stones, sprinting along the upper reaches of the corridor.
Wrapping the remainder of his internal psychic reserves around himself like a shroud, Magnus accelerated into a kaleidoscopic blur of light, hurtling through the corridor.
Axion, perceiving the Primarch's intent, immediately issued commands to seal the blast doors. But Magnus's speed, accelerated by his psychic mantle, defied Axion's calculations. It was not merely physical acceleration; it was a manipulation of the time-stream itself. Before the half-meter-thick armored bulkheads could fully slam shut, Magnus surged through the gap.
What greeted him on the other side was a colossal thoroughfare, immense beyond imagination, riddled with a labyrinthine network of portals. This was one of the hundreds of primary arteries within the Void Sword. The main passage featured sweeping, vaulted support structures that reached high into the dome, every inch of it radiating the distinct, brutalist aesthetic of ancient machine-engineering. Even Magnus, despite his limited interest in mechanics, could not help but marvel at the sheer technical mastery on display.
Axion noted this. It was, in its way, a silent tribute to the technology of the Creators. But it did nothing to deter his objective of containing the Primarch.
However, accidents always arrive with haste. This particular chapel had been designated for the Astartes-Psychic Weaponry Module Project, placing it in close proximity to the ecological habitats where the mortal psykers were housed. Though these mortals were kept under a perpetual siphon to suppress their psychic signatures, they still existed within a viable, if dampened, environment.
Magnus, suffering from psychic depletion, instinctively surged toward the area where the psychic resonance was most intense.
To protect these assets, the interior of the Void Sword was maintained in a precarious state of equilibrium. Several ecological habitats were arranged in a three-dimensional, spherical configuration. The surrounding outer chambers were kept in a state of psychic vacuum, while the inner volumes remained isolated from the natural environment of the outer hull, with only minimal conduits remaining to ensure the internal psychic environment was not completely extinguished.
Even while traversing the Warp, this psychic vacuum layer served to reduce the interaction between the internal habitat and the external environment to a negligible trickle. This was why the Void Sword could transport hundreds of millions of psykers through the Warp while ensuring they remained uncorrupted by its touch.
Yet, for Magnus, existing within that psychic vacuum had only rendered him more sensitive to the power he lacked. Relying on his blinding speed and his psychically-charged weapon, he tore through the mechanized guards blocking the corridor. Dozens of Sentry-Troopers and a retinue of attendant servitors were reduced to a heap of jagged, broken scrap.
Bursting into the habitat module, Magnus was once again struck with disbelief. A vast, artificial landscape sprawled before him: grasslands, mountain forests, rivers, and architectures whose functions remained inscrutable. What shocked him more was the sheer density of psykers present. The ambient psychic environment here felt like a balm; the sensation of being a leaking balloon, hemorrhaging his very essence, finally ceased.
Trapped in the psychic vacuum, Magnus's innate gift had been draining away without replenishment. Had another few minutes passed, his legendary psychic prowess would have been reduced to a mockery. A Magnus without sorcery was not even the equal of a brute like Angron in open combat.
Sensing his power surging back to its full, magnificent capacity, Magnus brandished his weapon. Countless profane runes began to flare maniacally along the spear-like haft. As he raised the weapon, a psychic tempest erupted around him.
The power of Chaos suddenly detonated within the habitat. The idyllic, sheltered existence these mortals had led had dulled their instincts; they were no longer the hardened, wary survivors they had been in the depths of the hive cities. Under the care and protection of the Iron Men, they had even begun to feel as though their past lives of misery were nothing more than a fading nightmare.
As Magnus's wicked sorcery took hold, corruption spread like a contagion through the psyker population. The entire habitat was instantly suffused with sickening, iridescent hues. Countless psychic shrieks and whispers echoed around every soul. Even though their individual psychic output was heavily suppressed, they could hear the whispers, those same, insidious voices that had tormented them for lifetimes, returning.
Profane sigils manifested upon the flesh of the mortals, and their bodies began to warp. Some were instantly transformed into daemons. A daemon birthed from a psyker was far more potent than one from a common mortal; among them, daemon-casters capable of weaving the foul arts of the Warp began to emerge.
As the profane energies of Chaos churned, the nanite-based psychic-siphons fastened to their bodies began to disintegrate. The nanites were too infinitesimal to withstand the searing heat and the encroaching corruption. As the siphons fell away, the psykers' inner power erupted in an uncontrolled cascade.
Watching the mortals descend into chaos and terror, a complex expression crossed Magnus's face. He felt a flicker of pity for these ignorant creatures, though he had fallen, he was not a creature of mindless bloodlust.
Yet, as the chain reaction compounded, the space around them began to flicker with violet-blue arcs of psychic lightning. Occasionally, pages inscribed with eldritch, shifting runes appeared out of thin air, only to drift away as cold, black ash.
For Magnus's actions, the Great Conspirator was well pleased; this was a turn of fate as rare as it was devastating.
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