Eldrad blinked, taken aback. "I saw only a void of absolute darkness. Beyond that, there was nothing."
Axion nodded. Instantly, the metallic deck began to writhe, reconfiguring itself into a hexagonal, single-person cage. It resembled the crude birdcages of antiquity. Unlike the cells of the Imperium, the cage Axion constructed lacked even a door. Nanomachine construction shared certain unsettling similarities with the tainted metal of Chaos, specifically, the ability to forge a "living" cage.
"Based on data analysis, this unit concludes that preparations for the Crusade of Retribution may officially commence. A new plan has been synthesized; its projected success rate is remarkably high."
Eldrad felt a chilling premonition. Intense arcs of psychic lightning began to crackle across his fingertips. As the primary architect of the Path of the Seer, he had personally formalized the current curricula and practices of his craft, shifting the profession's focus from mere "fortune-telling" to "fortune-telling combined with blasting the target with lightning."
As a Farseer, the potency of his psychic storms was fearsome, capable of obliterating an entire squad of standard Astartes in a single pulse. Yet, this time, the lightning merely sputtered, releasing a singular, weak flash before dissolving entirely. It possessed no offensive value whatsoever.
While this cage was far less sophisticated than the bespoke containment unit once used to imprison Angron, and even though Eldrad, despite his status as a Seer, possessed combat prowess so extraordinary that he had once severed Abaddon's arm with his blade before humiliated him and hurling him back into the Eye of Terror, he seemed no different from a common Aeldari when pitted against the Iron Men. Moreover, Eldrad was not Angron; the sudden, brutal fluctuation in localized gravity nearly caused the old sorcerer to cough up blood.
Axion carefully set an upper limit on the gravity shifts within the cell, avoiding the risk of crushing the alien to death or causing grievous injury. After all, despite the ease of synthesizing the Panacea, Axion had no desire to waste a dose on such an entity.
Upon hearing Axion's declaration, Jaghatai Khan grew visibly energized. "When do we depart? I must marshal my sons."
Axion turned his gaze toward the Khan. "The Crusade of Retribution has no need for dead weight."
The Iron Men had already performed a detailed assessment of these Space Marines. Flesh and blood: fragile, sluggish, and dangerously susceptible to the corruption of Chaos. Once a Gellar field failed, these warriors were liable to succumb to the Warp and turn upon their own. Even the most rudimentary mechanical combat unit possessed greater resistance to Chaos than any living being. Axion saw no utility in these frail biological soldiers; the Adeptus Custodes of the Imperial Palace were no exception. Exquisite biology was simply not as stable as a rugged steel structure.
Jaghatai's face darkened with indignation at being heartlessly dismissed as 'dead weight.' He turned, only to see Lion El'Jonson wearing an expression of cynical amusement, as if the Lion had long since come to the same realization. Vulkan, for his part, remained stoically silent.
Guilliman walked over and placed a hand on Jaghatai's shoulder, shaking his head with a touch of resignation. It was evident that arguing this point with the Iron Men was a futile endeavor.
"You might defeat a small automaton, Jaghatai, but once the scale of these machines increases, such feats become meaningless. The honor we prize is, to an Iron Men, not worth a calculation cycle. If you truly wish to duel a Titan, feel free to try."
Guilliman's singular observation quelled Jaghatai's fury, though he continued to eye the machine with unconcealed frustration.
"If you are determined to risk finding Russ," Guilliman continued, lowering his voice, "I know a way to make the Iron Men assist you."
"What way?" Jaghatai asked, surprised by Guilliman's shift in attitude, though far more concerned with securing the aid of these formidable assets.
"A distress signal." Guilliman patted the Khan's shoulder plate.
For the first time, Axion felt a trace of genuine mechanical frustration.
"Very well. It is accepted."
If Jaghatai were to immediately muster his fleet, rush to the edge of the Eye of Terror, trigger a distress signal, and plunge headlong into the maelstrom, Axion would be compelled by protocol to dispatch vessels to perform a rescue. Shifting from a systematic war of attrition to a series of chaotic, reactive emergencies was far from ideal.
The number of sanctioned psykers remained insufficient, equipment required further calibration, and diverting forces into the Immaterium meant an escalation of risk in other sectors. Axion required time to establish proper infrastructure. More importantly, because Jaghatai's objective was to breach the Eye of Terror to recover a lost Primarch, Axion was forced to abandon his original plan: to strike directly at the heart of the Ruinous Powers by capturing a cultist cell and forcing them to sacrifice their own kind to tear open a portal, a method which clearly would not fulfill the Khan's objective.
Once the four Primarchs grasped the Iron Men's intent, they departed the Void Sword. Guilliman and Vulkan returned to the Sanctum Imperialis, the Lion vanished once more into the trackless reaches of the Imperium, and Jaghatai set a course for Lucius. He needed to secure sufficient wargear for his sons, the weapons Vulkan had provided were ill-suited for the White Scars, and, if possible, find a forge capable of producing a surplus of jetbikes.
Axion and Jaghatai reached an accord: when the Iron Men's preparations were complete, he would notify the Khan, and they would advance upon the Eye of Terror together.
Following the departure of the Primarchs, Axion accelerated the 'production' of Astartes-level psykers. Simultaneously, the Heart of the Forge began its relentless trek toward the Segmentum Obscurus.
Before long, Eldrad was released from his confinement. He elucidated a method for utilizing psychic energy to navigate within the Warp. The Immaterium, he explained, was a realm of pure idealism. If one clung stubbornly to their purpose, the Warp would eventually provide the guidance required.
A vast, labyrinthine plan emerged. Axion retrofitted a test vessel, protected by a full standard fleet, and committed it to the Warp. As the Iron Men possessed no soul, Axion was forced to rely on true Astartes psykers. The artificially-spawned mortal psykers had no concept of the Traitor Legions or the fallen Primarchs; their truncated lifespans reduced the Heresy to little more than a fable. The Grey Knights, meanwhile, descended into instability during the tests, their hatred was so pure, so absolute, that they despised every traitor and daemon with equal fervor, lacking the nuance required for navigation.
In the end, it was Ersen who proved the key. Immersed in the agony of the Primarchs' betrayal and the fury of his own vengeance, Ersen fixed his mind upon the image of Lorgar, using the pain to feel the psychic currents. Within a special chamber saturated with concentrated psychic crystals, he felt a specific direction, a call, a resonance.
Ersen was no Navigator, nor did he know how to chart a course, but he could determine the general bearing. And with time, the Iron Men would inevitably locate their target.
The iron-willed never lacked patience.