I am in the Warp.
I have returned here again, to this cradle that gave me birth, this abyss that will eventually consume the world.
I close my eyes, letting my soul break free from the constraints of my flesh, plummeting into the boundless darkness of the Sea of Souls.
Here, time and space lose all meaning.
The future floods into my consciousness like a tide, as natural as breathing, yet as irresistible as a storm.
I cast aside distractions, emptying my mind.
In this realm composed of pure emotion and desire, any selfish thought or stray idea will only become bait for Chaos.
I must remain pure. Otherwise, I will be assimilated by this ocean.
Like those lost souls, those fools devoured by Chaos.
The material world is receding. The Aether surges around me.
It is formless and massless, yet omnipresent.
It is a vortex woven from countless nameless colours, indefinable emotions, and incomprehensible dimensions.
I can sense those hungry existences in the Sea of Souls.
They circle like predators in the darkness, greedily watching my soul.
These pathetic energy residues, nothing but the lowest dregs of the Warp, yet they vainly attempt to steal power from me.
Humans call them daemons. The Aeldari call them the original annihilators.
The former is merely a crude mortal attempt to find something familiar in mythology; the latter is closer to their true nature.
They are born from the Sea of Souls and serve the Dark Gods.
It is not just an individual, but a symbol of Chaos's power, representing the desire for the living and the urge to destroy the material universe.
They are the lowest predators in the Warp. For an existence like mine, they are not even a threat.
But they are endless. Driven by greed, they surge towards me, vainly attempting to overwhelm me with numbers.
With a single thought, the Sea of Souls answered me.
Invisible waves suddenly churned, like a giant wheel crushing dust, sweeping the swarming predators into their depths, utterly annihilating them.
But the real danger lurks in the deeper darkness.
There, older, hungrier existences lie dormant. They are far more terrifying than these lowly predators.
Even the current me must carefully avoid Their gaze.
They are gods, but They are not omnipotent.
Otherwise, there would not be four gods in the Sea of Souls.
They are omniscient within Their domains, but They cannot rule the vast wilderness.
But the wilderness is also very dangerous.
If I become lost in this wilderness, even I would be doomed.
I must hurry. I cannot stay here long.
All mortal life has a projection in the Sea of Souls, like a reflection in a mirror, the virtual and the real intermingling.
They exist in both worlds simultaneously.
They drank my blood, swallowed a part of my essence.
I can sense their existence through an unseen connection. My essence provides me with their coordinates.
This allows me to find them precisely.
In the Sea of Souls, they appear as two faint but resilient lights, flickering in the darkness.
They act like lighthouses, attracting the claws of Chaos, the low-level predators.
They circle these two lights like sharks, wandering greedily, gnashing their teeth, snarling.
But they cannot directly succeed.
The laws of the material universe protect them.
The body is not only a vessel but also a barrier, blocking direct erosion from the Warp.
The predators can only prowl the perimeter, waiting for an opportunity.
They can always find an opportunity, because mortals are inevitably tempted to display their talents.
They know nothing of the Warp, have no defences.
When I arrived, the tides of the Sea of Souls crushed them all.
But my attention was not on them.
My essence has merged with them. Now, their bodies and souls are undergoing a transformation, an evolution guided by me.
And I carefully observe the two lights. My essence exists within them, modifying their bodies and souls.
What is a daemon?
Mortals always call Warp entities daemons, yet cannot understand their true nature.
But the truth has revealed it to me. Daemons are merely fragments of the Chaos Gods, residues of Their will, power, and essence.
The Gods can split into infinite fragments. Even if they are destroyed, the power that created them will return to the Dark Gods who hold the domain.
This is the law of conservation of matter in the Warp.
And now, Amon and Khayon have my blood flowing in their veins, carrying my essence.
They are extensions of my will and power. They are my daemons.
I can sense them, far more than just Khayon and Amon.
Those sons who carry my bloodline and my genetic imprint – there are thousands of them, yet they are far beyond my reach.
I can feel their pain.
Their flesh twists in mutation. Their souls struggle in agony.
They unconsciously call out to me, like lost lambs praying for their parents' protection in the darkness.
Perhaps they don't even understand it themselves.
But they are praying to me, begging for forgiveness and redemption.
They need me.
But I cannot risk going to find them.
The tides of the Warp are violently unpredictable. The claws of the Chaos Gods are everywhere.
"Forgive me, my sons."
I murmur to myself. I am trying to save you, but I need time.
Just as my father once crossed the galaxy to find me, there is an unbreakable bond between us.
This connection transcends the limits of time and space in the Warp. Even separated by the sea of stars, we can still sense each other.
Now, I can only project my will and power to them through this bond, existing within the bloodline.
Although this may not save them, it might be enough to cast a ray of light into the abyss of despair.
If they can also sense my existence, they might be able to hold on.
Hold on until I can personally descend, bringing them true redemption.
As long as they live, hope will not die.
But for now, I must focus on the experiment.
Khayon and Amon are the most outstanding and resilient psykers in Tizca.
They are now undergoing their transformation. Their souls groan in pain under the tearing of my essence. It is a necessary path.
This is evolution.
Bones stretch and reshape. Flesh reorganises and grows.
Every spurt of growth is accompanied by pain, as if the body is being torn apart by an invisible force. This is the price that must be paid for advancing to a higher form.
They must endure it alone to complete the evolution from mortal to 'daemon'.
But they still need supervision.
Evolution is like spring rain, nourishing everything silently.
But if unguided, spring rain can also become a mountain torrent.
My essence is too powerful. If left unchecked, the violent Warp energy will completely tear their souls apart.
Even if they luckily survive, their souls will be severely damaged. Their bodies will mutate.
I must carefully guide their evolution, meticulously selecting and preserving the evolutionary branches of the eighteen organs, pruning the unnecessary branches.
This will take a long time. I will need multiple rounds of pruning to ensure the evolutionary path does not deviate.
This is far more efficient than physical gene implantation, the transformation is more thorough, but also more dangerous.
No one but me can perform such delicate 'surgery'.
They do not understand the Warp, nor do they understand my essence.
I cannot lead the 'surgery' for my brothers' sons either, because their essence does not belong to me.
Only I can do this.
I see it.
Their souls, guided by me, have completed their evolution. They have transformed into powerful superhuman warriors.
This is only the beginning.
Although their design is still imperfect, they already have all the necessary foundations.
In the near future, my brothers and I will perfect their design.
They will become even more powerful, perhaps even as invincible as our mortal bodies.
Then, we too will no longer be confined by our flesh. We can unleash our power freely, like butterflies emerging from their cocoons!
Yet, tragedy has still occurred.
Their souls screamed in agony, twisting from flickering lights into fleshy masses sprouting tentacles, writhing and crawling in the Warp.
The Flesh-Change.
It manifests not only in the physical bodies of the material universe but also on the level of their souls.
I feel profound sorrow at this.
My brothers' and my design is imperfect. Our genes have flaws.
Father's design for us is incomplete. Our genes have not yet fully adapted to our essences.
We were swept into the galaxy, forced to grow hastily under Chaos's pressure.
This is a carefully laid trap by the Chaos Gods. They deliberately interfered with the cultivation of the Primarchs.
Now, the same flaw is manifesting in my sons.
As a Primarch, I can resist this mutation.
My essence is strong enough to suppress the violent genes.
But my sons are different. Their souls are like torches, flickering in the wind and rain, about to be extinguished.
"How can I save you?"
I whisper in the Warp. The scenes before me shift constantly.
Their souls are safe, yet also hanging by a thread.
The future is changeable. I have only observed one possibility.
If I accomplish nothing, my sons will eventually perish.
But I am no fool. I have mastered the truth.
I can save my sons. I just need to find the cause!
Within the world-storm, countless silhouettes are hidden: familiar faces, towering spires, dust-covered fields.
Possibilities wait to be observed, to become reality.
I can decide to make them real, or let them fade away.
In one vision, my throne rises from the shadows.
A boiling purple-red sky and a cracked crimson earth are frozen between dimensions.
I am a zigzagging golden bolt of lightning, suspended above the throne. Time seems to stand still.
As spires burst from the ground, lifting me towards the dome, a jungle of silver, brass, and obsidian unfolds before my eyes.
I look far into the distance, piercing the veil of matter. Within the Aether, truth weaves its patterns.
Since I ascended the throne, billions of years have passed in the blink of an eye.
Even for my sons, who dwell in the tower, now semi-transcendent, they have gained the salvation of eternal life.
"Am I only worthy of this?" I ask.
I have glimpsed the future, but it is not necessarily what I deserve.
It is what He has shown me.
He will not give me salvation. Only lies and deception.
He is the God of Deceit.
I disdain the dreams He shows me.
What are they worth?
I am near-divine in the Warp.
I can create and destroy realities with a single thought. I can have everything I ever dreamed of within it.
But what reality is there in the Warp?
It is only a dream.
Only the self-deceived indulge in it.
Without the protection of the Veil, what meaning does such defenceless reality have?
Only with the barrier of the Veil does reality have meaning.
Only life born beneath the Veil can be as tempting as a sweet dessert.
He is interfering with me, preventing me from focusing on the experiment.
Endless futures, endless realities unfold before me, revealing more truths.
But I have no desires, no demands.
"I hold your lifeline," I say to Him. "Your fragment is in my hands."
I am not in a hurry. Neither is He.
A temporary setback means nothing. He has endless time and lifespan. He can use billions of plans to make up for it.
I just need to focus.
The tides churn, dragging the dreams of reality into the abyss like shipwrecks.
I focus on my sons' evolution. The change is within it.
That is the root of the Flesh-Change. That is the seed He planted.
I find it. The origin of the mutation.
But my heart sinks.
"Hee hee." He chuckles, as if expecting it.
I miscalculated.
My brothers' sons have flaws rooted in their genes.
My sons' mutation exists in their genes, but the cause of the mutation is a deeper layer.
It is Him.
"Surprised?" He asks.
"I am not surprised," I murmur. I had already guessed.
He would not let me off so easily. None of the Chaos Gods would.
If the mutation could be solved so easily by me, why would countless geneticists of my father, the Imperium of Man, have failed?
If I could solve it, why would 'Magnus the Red' have been driven to despair and self-abandonment?
Of course, it would be difficult. But I will not give up.
'Magnus the Red' is 'Magnus the Red'. A loser without parents, brothers, or childhood.
But I have two fathers who cherish me, love me.
What is 'Magnus the Red'?
He has vast knowledge but no corresponding psychology. He is just an incompetent giant baby.
Father's assessment is completely right.
"Beg me. Call me 'Mother', and I will help you. It's nothing." He whispers in my ear, his voice sweet as honey.
"Father warned me never to make deals with the Warp."
"Why be so stubborn? I'm just asking you to call me 'Mother'. Your brothers have called me that. What does it matter?"
"How do I know that you are you?"
I ask calmly. My voice gradually fades.
He is always there. How do I know if He is Him?
He has infinite forms. He can become anyone He wants. How can I see through His disguises?
Even if it is truly Him, is She truly Her?
There is no clear definition of their relationship.
I don't have one either. So I will not believe.
Nor will I be fooled.
I will not fall in the same place twice.
"I am very different from the me of old."
I was still young then. That was why I fell for it.
There will be no second time.
"I owe you this. You just need to command me." He still tempts me.
"I don't believe you. Go talk to my father about it."