Half an hour later.
"This is truly... a power akin to a miracle."
Even Belisarius Cawl, who had always harbored a deep-seated disdain for the fanatical and ignorant religious trappings of the Adeptus Mechanicus, could not help but mutter to himself, his face etched with wonder.
Before him, a sphere of stone condensed from thin air remained suspended, circling back and forth according to Cawl's whims.
A mysterious intuition allowed him to clearly feel that the "reality" carried by this matter was like modeling clay in his hands, capable of being shaped in the most perfect way imaginable.
After Adam finished his joke, he didn't leave Archmagos Cawl in his predicament for long. Instead, he took the initiative to explain the Archmagos's actions to the others.
Under a narrative of "This is the Emperor's Will" and "A secret mission personally entrusted to Cawl by the Primarch Roboute Guilliman ten thousand years ago," the onlookers finally lowered their guard. They no longer stared at the poor Archmagos as if he were a heretical traitor.
Immediately after, Adam had unsheathed Caladbolg and transformed Cawl into a brand-new Reality Warper.
At this moment, however, Cawl had no time to simply admire the miraculous sight before him. He turned his head, a trace of concern in his eyes: "That... sacred blade of yours from the Omnissiah. Is it alright?"
"Of course it is," Adam replied, signaling that there was no need for worry. "To elevate you to a Level 2 Reality Warper, I forcibly drained the 'Reality Strength' stored within the blade. It just needs some time to cool down; it will recover soon."
"...Thank you for your trust."
Through their recent exchange, Cawl had learned the specific details of this "Reality Warping" ability from Adam and understood the immense honor he now carried. He turned his gaze back to the stone sphere, his resolve hardening.
'I am Belisarius Cawl.
A scientist—a word representing reason and progress, an ancient term rarely used in this age.
Just as I did ten thousand years ago, I shall never fail the glory of the Machine God.'
He slowly extended a mechanical arm and gently touched the sphere. The ball instantly began to shift its form, molding into various shapes according to Cawl's will.
Its material cycled rapidly between plasteel, auric gold, adamantine, and wood. It even began to manifest complex, high-precision mechanical structures before quickly dissolving back into its original spherical form.
"How is it? How do you feel?" Adam asked.
"Excellent. However, I have one more question."
Cawl was lost in thought, seemingly trying to verify something. With a flicker of intent, the thing that had left the deepest impression on his memory over the last ten millennia surfaced in his mind.
In the next second, the sphere's form changed drastically.
The inorganic matter transformed into crimson organic tissue. A sphere of flesh appeared in the air, quietly displaying its unique morphology.
Aside from Commissar Yarrick, who was slightly confused, everyone present reacted with shock.
That was... an Astartes Gene-seed?
This unique genetic material was used to transform ordinary men into Space Marines, altering their physiology to allow them to accept Astartes surgeries and implanted organs. Gene-seed was the most precious resource of a Space Marine Chapter, its source extremely rare; usually, it could only be harvested from the Progenoid Glands of an Astartes.
Clearly, with the knowledge of an Archmagos Dominus combined with Reality Warping powers, Cawl had gained the ability to manufacture Gene-seed by hand.
Doesn't that basically make you a Primarch? What should you be called now? Primarch Justinian?
At the thought of Cawl being the kind of rebel who disregarded all rules—the man who had dared to hide a hundred thousand Primaris Marines beneath the surface of Mars—the expressions of the Inquisitor and the Custodes changed wildly. They felt a genuine sense of dread, their hands instinctively drifting toward their weapons.
They cast worried glances at Adam , as if asking: Is this really okay?
Cawl confirmed his hypothesis, and his massive mechanical frame bowed slightly in a salute to Adam. No flowery words were spoken; further talk was unnecessary.
Witnessing the glory of the Machine God, a fool would simply fall prostrate in worship, using language to praise greatness while choosing self-intoxication and peace—for that is the easiest path.
A wise man, however, would resolutely take action, becoming a burning torch in the darkness to illuminate all ignorance, properly utilizing the tools granted by the divine. That is the hardest path, but the most glorious.
"I must offer my apologies, for a flood of inspiration is currently surging through my mind. I truly wish to return to the laboratory aboard my ship to put these ideas into practice," Archmagos Cawl said earnestly. "The ability you have given me is a key to the Truth. It is enough for me to realize every one of my wild fantasies."
"Go then," Adam waved his hand. "I look forward to your results."
The roar of shuttle engines grew louder as they approached. Archmagos Cawl nodded a hasty farewell and boarded the shuttle, flying toward the Endurance-class Light Cruiser in orbit.
Adam did not watch him leave. Instead, he walked to the side with interest, raising both hands. Invisible telekinetic force dragged the remains of a Necron Deathmark before him. He leaned down, his fingertips lightly tracing the Necron remains—now a melted, unrecognizable heap from melta fire—his eyes full of curiosity.
At that same moment.
Deep beneath the surface, within the Necron Tomb World.
If any living soul were fortunate enough to step into this space, they would be utterly overwhelmed by the grandeur before them. It was a vast hall, the floor composed of giant stone slabs emitting a faint green glow, forming immense platforms and avenues wide enough for the largest war machines to pass side-by-side. Along the towering walls flanking the Great Way, thousands upon thousands of metal skeletons slept in dense ranks.
They were housed in transparent stasis-crypts, dormant and silent, awaiting the day of awakening.
A Cryptek, clutching a Staff of Light, walked slowly along this grand path. No emotion could be seen on his mechanical face; his head was slightly bowed, as if in deep contemplation.
As the "sorcerous" units of the Necrons—entirely unlike the other races of the galaxy who relied on Warp-based psychic powers—Crypteks were the technical experts and engineers of the Necrons, responsible for studying and maintaining the ancient technologies of the Dynasties. They relied on hyper-advanced science to manipulate the fundamental forces of the physical universe, producing effects just as miraculous as psychic powers.
Suddenly, a series of skittering footsteps broke the Cryptek's reverie.
A Canoptek Spyder crawled up to him, projecting a holographic image from its back. In the projection, footage of the surface battlefield played at high speed. The plasma spears that had shot forth with pinpoint accuracy to slay the Necrons were clearly visible.
The Cryptek watched the recording, sinking into an even deeper contemplation.