The Emperor is exceptionally powerful. In the Warp, this is considered common knowledge.
Lucius understood that the Emperor's perceived "overpowered" nature largely stemmed from the fact that Imperial miniatures sold so well; consequently, the developers constantly showered him with "buffs" and patches, inadvertently dragging Horus's power level up alongside him just to keep the game balanced.
But beyond sales figures, where did the Emperor's true strength lie? Though he was the prophesied Dark King, he was theoretically just one potential aspect of Chaos' Eight Ætheric Dominions, especially considering he still had one foot outside the threshold of true apotheosis.
Now, however, Lucius witnessed firsthand why the Emperor was so formidable.
"Hahaha! Your pieces are absolute weaklings!!!"
As Khorne roared with derisive laughter, the Emperor suddenly stood and drove a fist directly into the Blood God's face!
"Hmph!!"
Caught completely off guard, Khorne's canine visage, encased in its brass-and-bone mask, took the full force of that golden, iron strike! The laughing Blood God was instantly floored by the blow.
"Wha—?!"
Even Lucius was stunned. Though he was a relatively new god, he had learned the "Rules of the Warp" under the tutelage of Nurgle and Slaanesh. The powers of the Chaos Star grew and balanced one another; direct physical confrontation between the Major Gods was exceedingly rare. Even at their most heated, they usually restricted themselves to mutual humiliation via proxies.
Take Tzeentch, for example. When the other three Ruinous Powers leagued together to shatter his staff and drive him back to the gates of the Impossible Fortress, they stopped short of unmaking him. They all understood their symbiotic, parasitic nature.
The Emperor, however, had no such reservations. When this man decided to swing, he swung with zero regard for decorum or metaphysical consequence!
"Dark King! Do you truly seek to do battle with ME?!" Khorne roared as he scrambled up. He wasn't exactly injured, but he was visibly dazed.
When Skarbrand had struck Khorne in the back with all his might, he had only managed to chip a tiny fragment of the Blood God's armor. The Emperor's strike, conversely, had demonstrated the staggering gulf between a Chaos God and a mere daemon.
The Emperor flexed his wrist. "I am no god, and I am certainly no Dark King. By my own logic, I am free to intervene personally."
"You think I fear you?!" Khorne erupted in fury, his form swelling until he seemed to fill the Empyrean, while the Emperor stood rigid and defiant, a silent "make your move."
Lucius remained remarkably composed throughout this. After all, the Emperor had previously attempted to subject him to a psychic lobotomy.
"Alright, enough. If you want to engage in battle, wait until the game is over," Lucius said, pointing toward the swirling carnage on Holy Terra.
Down on the surface, Saint Celestine had narrowly escaped execution at the hands of Ka'Bandha, thanks to the suicidal intervention of her Seraphim. However, she appeared to be at death's door.
Having successfully "saved face" with his punch, the Emperor sat back down with cold dignity. Khorne continued to snarl as if he might lunge, but ultimately held his position.
"I will annihilate your puppets and your pathetic little Imperium!" Khorne bellowed.
"Do your worst," the Emperor replied, not even turning his head.
On the plains of Terra, the Emperor's strike had a tangible effect: the "Blessing of Khorne" momentarily flickered and faded from the daemonic host. Suddenly, the Skryre Verminherders' warp-weaponry and the cascading sheets of warp-lightning became devastatingly effective!
Warp-lightning coiled like emerald serpents around the Khornate daemons, de-materializing them into ash. The plague-engines were even more horrific. Their ordnance was forged from the corpses and souls of victims claimed by the viruses of Clan Pestilens, contagions with an infection rate and lethality that outstripped even Nurgle's offerings.
Nurgle's plagues were designed for slow torment; the Grandfather, in his perverse mercy, wished for life to endure through the sickness. Victims of Nurgle lived in a state of "living death." Clan Pestilens, however, worshiped the Great Horned Rat's aspect of pure Ruin. His viruses were engineered for the swiftest, most efficient mass-culling possible.
As the plague-vials shattered, Bloodletters began to wither and rot instantly. Supernatural, rat-headed fleas leaped onto the enemies of the Horned Rat, vomiting concentrated lethality into their veins to accelerate the decay.
"Squeeeak! For the Plague Lord!!"
"Horned One, grant-bless me your holy blight!!"
The Pestilens Verminherders were lithe but draped in heavy, sodden cloaks that appeared to be woven from toxic moss and sun-dried sewer-filth. Their exposed flesh was a map of pustules, gangrene, and necrotic patches, yet their strength and speed were amplified by these very mutations.
Wielding twin plague-blades or censer-flails that exhaled constant smog, the Pestilens daemons shrieked as they hammered into the Khornate flank. Even the veteran Bloodletters found themselves hard-pressed. The Skaven daemons were not only fast and strong; their contagions were more toxic than Nurgle's, and the biting fleas provided a constant, maddening distraction.
The Emperor watched with grim realization. Rats had lived alongside humanity for too long; their destinies were inextricably entwined. Just as humanity could never truly eradicate the rat, the Emperor knew he could not simply delete the Great Horned Rat. He could only channel this ruinous force to his own ends.
As Ka'Bandha swung his axe to finish the wounded Celestine, Roboute Guilliman arrived like a thunderbolt! The Emperor's Sword flared, parrying the daemon's black iron axe with a spray of sparks!
"Oh... golden little prince. How chivalrous~" Celestine quipped. Despite her wounds, her tone remained playful as she used the Ardent Blade to pull herself upright.
"Focus on the task at hand, Living Saint," Guilliman replied curtly, his back to her as he held the line. He still did not acknowledge her "miraculous" nature, yet he no longer looked upon her with open disdain.
"No sense of humor. No wonder your hair has gone white," Celestine muttered, rolling her eyes.
"ENOUGH! Both your skulls shall grace the Throne!!" Ka'Bandha roared, lunging again.
At that moment, a beam of holy light struck Celestine. In an instant, the "critically injured" Saint was restored to full strength.
Typical Corpse-God, shamelessly cheating in the open.
Guilliman, long accustomed to the "miracles" of the Living Saint, signaled for a combined strike.
"For Ultramar!!"
"For Dorn!!"
A strike force of thousands of Ultramarines and Imperial Fists opened fire, their bolters roaring in unison. They merged with the frenzied Battle Sisters, forming a unified wall of steel and faith against the Khornate tide.
Meanwhile, Skreech Verminking raised a claw. A massive Skaven Scorch spell vaporized a path through the carnage. The Vermin King ignored the mortals, heading straight for the other Bloodthirsters.
"Human-things die-die! Daemon-things fail-fail! Skaven strong-strong! Human lives, daemon lives... all belong to me, to Skreech Verminking!!!"
With a cackle, the Verminlord closed the distance. Moving with a speed that rivaled Sneek and a strength surpassing even a Verminlord Warbringer, Skreech decapitated three Bloodthirsters in a single, blurred heartbeat.
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