Meanwhile, in the void beyond the Cadian system.
The Pride of the Emperor.
This once-glorious Gloriana-class battleship had long since completely devolved into a nauseating spectacle.
The ship's hull was infested with a type of purple, life-like weaving that crept along the seams of the armor plates like veins, pulsating slightly in the void.
The interior of the bridge was unrecognizable. The once-solemn command hall had been transformed into a depraved palace.
Purple tulle draped from the ceiling, the air was filled with a dizzying, cloying fragrance, and the walls were hung with paintings depicting unspeakable acts; everywhere the eye landed, there was only profanity.
At this moment, a sigh drifted through the air.
"Ugh, so boring. Truly dull."
Fulgrim swept his gaze over the wreckage of the Hope without a hint of attachment, then flopped his body heavily onto the captain's throne.
His long, snakelike tail, covered in fine scales, twisted and coiled around the throne—which once symbolized glory—as if embracing a most intimate lover.
"Why do you say that?"
Standing nearby was the twisted-faced Chaos Astartes, the favorite of Slaanesh, Lucius the Eternal. He extended his tongue, elongated by repeated modifications, and slowly licked his lips.
"You really lack vision. Can't you see it for yourself?"
Fulgrim replied irritably, not even bothering to turn his head.
He shifted his gaze to another area below the dais of the command throne.
Fabius Bile raised his head.
The master apothecary known as the "Clone Lord" looked at his gene-father—now twisted beyond recognition—with his cold, indifferent eyes, and slowly shook his head.
"Lucius, after so many years, it seems you have indeed lost all sensitivity. You can't even understand such a simple situation."
His words were full of pity, as if lamenting the damage to a piece of art. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Truly regrettable."
"What did you say, you old bastard?!"
Lucius gritted his teeth in annoyance, his palm slamming onto the hilt of his sword.
The daemon blade, housing a Slaaneshi daemonette, trembled in his palm, emitting a low hum.
He was preparing to have it out with his colleague when a wave of his gene-father's hand stopped him.
At that single gesture, Lucius immediately ceased.
Bile also shut his mouth.
After all, in the realm of Chaos, there was a strict hierarchy of status.
And Fulgrim would always stand at the very top.
Fulgrim ignored his two troublesome sons.
He merely straightened himself a bit, looking with displeasure at the distant line of battle that seemed forged from iron.
That ultimate defensive line, composed of thousands of Phalanx-class vessels, stood silently and unshakeably across the void.
To be fair, Fulgrim believed he had tried his best.
For a Daemon Primarch who had been immersed in endless pleasure for ten thousand years, this was actually a very rare feat.
After receiving Magnus's invitation in Slaanesh's palace, he had gone through quite a lot of earnest preparation.
For example, Fulgrim finally tidied up the Pride of the Emperor, which had been neglected for ten thousand years without even basic maintenance; he re-polished the corroded gun ports, cleaned out the mountains of accumulated bones, and brought it back to its best state.
He also descended one by one upon the places where Chaos ran rampant—mostly within the Eye of Terror—to gather up his gene-sons, who had scattered like stardust.
Those warriors, drunk on their own domains of pleasure, had in some cases completely forgotten their combat instincts.
Fulgrim had dragged them out of their indescribable pleasure palaces one by one, reorganizing them into complete Legion structures. He promised them: as long as they followed him into battle, they would gain even greater stimulation.
And when he heard the bombshell that his old friend Ferrus had returned, Fulgrim became interested for the first time in an age.
He even blocked out his own nerves, which had been scarred and corrupted by all manner of sensory stimulation.
Oh, no, what a painful thing this was.
Forcibly cutting off the waves of pleasure that surged deep within his consciousness was like dragging an addict forcibly out of ecstasy and back into the cold, hard reality.
Although the process was difficult, Fulgrim had done it.
He began to retrain his long-atrophied combat skills, pulling out his tactical thinking—which had rotted in the scrap heap of memory for too long—to review it properly.
He even formulated perfect battle plans one after another, according to the experience of the Great Crusade era.
All of this was to have a proper "exchange" with the brother who had fallen to his sword ten thousand years ago.
And the result?
Fulgrim stared at that iron defensive line, reached out a twisted arm, and scratched his head fiercely.
It was impossible to break through.
Those Phalanx ships acted as if they were determined to be cowards, giving him absolutely no opportunity to exploit.
He had tried feints, dividing his forces, luring the enemy, and even sacrificed an entire Chaos fleet as bait; yet Ferrus had refused to take the bait, simply guarding his position steadily.
"So, is there really no other way?"
Lucius's tone was doubtful, but clearly dissatisfied.
He was also a typical example of one who was deeply addicted to pleasure and corrupt, a rare sight even among Chaos Astartes.
Sometimes, Lucius's performance didn't even look like that of a veteran of the Long War who had fought his way through mountains of corpses and seas of blood.
He hadn't undertaken a single offensive action; he had just stayed quietly on the ship, watching all sorts of fleets go to their deaths.
This was more agonizing than being killed.
"Who do you think I am?"
Fulgrim said crossly.
A Primarch was not omnipotent.
Faced with an ultimate defensive line built by thousands of Phalanx vessels, with an opposing commander who was also a Primarch, and with limited time—the mission had to be completed within a month—
One could only say that Fulgrim had no solution for this either; he could only hope that Magnus, who had been so adamant, would succeed.
And now, there was very little time left.
The Eye of Terror was healing at a visible rate; the purple rifts were slowly closing in the void, and the Chaos energy pouring from them was thinning.
According to this progress bar, this massive cosmic structure would soon become a historical footnote.
When that time came, it would all be over.
What was the point of playing then?
It was all meaningless.
"Then, haven't the Dark Gods behind the veil given any other instructions?"
Fabius Bile raised his head and asked in the calm tone of a researcher.
As a scientist—though that title had long since been twisted—he was equally curious about this.
The Four Gods of Chaos wouldn't just watch their plans go down the drain, right?
Now that they could not act directly, what would the next layout be?
"Of course, they always have a plan."
Fulgrim said offhandedly, his tone even carrying a hint of carelessness.
"Since the so-called 'Second Accursed One' in the material universe is so powerful and occupies such a huge advantage, then go find him an evenly matched opponent. Let them both suffer heavy losses."
This thought was reasonable.
Bile nodded.
But he still had questions: How to find one?
The opposition was capable of mass-producing Gloriana-class battleships.
Could one find an opponent in this universe that was evenly matched against such power?
It seemed truly difficult.
"Forget it, let's not talk about this."
Fulgrim suddenly thought of something, his entire body springing up from the captain's throne; his snake tail uncoiled from the seat, emitting a rustling sound.
"However, there will still be a final encore."
The corners of his mouth cracked slowly, revealing a smile that could make a normal person go insane; his sharp teeth shimmered with a moist luster under the purple light. "—Now is the time to properly stir up one's passion and prepare to welcome a warm greeting from my old friend."
"How do you know?"
Bile asked, frowning. "Did you plant a spy next to him?"
"No, no, no, then you hold me in too high regard."
Fulgrim smiled and waved his hand, his movements as elegant as if he were still socializing in the Imperial Court.
"Telepathy, it's telepathy."
His voice suddenly became soft, as if whispering some sweet secret. "Anyway, if I were on the other side, I would absolutely never leave my nemesis alone. He will definitely come for me. Absolutely!"
Fulgrim's tone grew more excited as he spoke, his snake tail tapping a rhythm on the floor, and his whole being began to exude a somewhat uncomfortable, ambiguous aura.
In those purple eyes flickered a glow of anticipation, as if he were a lovesick person waiting for a lover's appointment.
"Hehehehe, just thinking about that scene makes me excited—"
His breathing became rapid.
This guy is having a meltdown again.
Lucius and Bile, who had just been at odds, exchanged a silent, speechless look.
To be landed with such a gene-father made it very difficult for any normal Astartes to harbor the kind of respect one should have for a Primarch.
However, although they said they didn't believe it, faced with the judgment made by their gene-father's intuition, the two could not help but choose to believe in their hearts.
After all, that person was Ferrus Manus.
The Primarch who had been personally decapitated by Fulgrim ten thousand years ago, only to return miraculously now.
If he didn't want to wash away his shame here and take revenge for that sword strike personally, that would be the strange thing.
They simultaneously cast their gazes into the vast void outside the bridge windows.
And then, everyone saw something.
Something was rapidly enlarging in the void.
Wait.
What was that?
Both of them were plunged into doubt at the same time.
It stood to reason that in such a vast void battlefield, an object capable of being directly captured by the naked eye at this distance—its size must be exaggeratedly large.
At the very least, it could not be smaller than an asteroid.
And just then, more points of light appeared.
At first, they were just faint flickers in the void, like fireflies blinking in the dark.
But within just a few breaths, those points of light began to expand rapidly, approaching the Pride of the Emperor at an incredible speed.
"All hands, attention—!"
Lucius shouted first.
And everyone present also simultaneously turned their eyes to the auspex display formed by the holographic projection.
Then, they widened their eyes in shock.
Those were Phalanx ships approaching at high speed.
Those giant battleships, like moving fortresses, had completely abandoned any intention of firing. Their gun ports were all dead silent, their weapon arrays remained idle, and even their shields were maintained only at the most basic level of protection.
Instead—they had poured all their energy, all their power, and all their output into their engines.
The power cores of those giant ships were overloading in a nearly insane manner.
Dazzling plasma trails erupted from their thrusters, dragging ribbons of light across the void.
At a speed that was impossible to comprehend, they soared to the limit in a short time, moving rapidly along some sort of precise trajectory through the dark void.
And behind them—
Something captured by a gravity field, something of an indescribably large size, was approaching rapidly.
Fulgrim narrowed his eyes.
That was—asteroid fragments?
No, that wasn't right.
It should be said that these were countless asteroid fragments.
They were being dragged by the gravity anchors of the Phalanx ships, pulled by the power of those giant vessels, smashing toward the direction of the Pride of the Emperor with an unstoppable momentum!
The scale of those fragments was immense; each one was comparable to an entire continent—rock, metal, and ice crystals mixed together, refracting a cold and deadly luster in the void.
The mass was so immense that just by approaching, the gravity readings on the auspex spiked frantically to a dangerous critical point.
This was not an attack at all.
This was a natural disaster.
It was Ferrus Manus coming to give his old friend a "greeting gift."
In the entire bridge of the Pride of the Emperor, everyone fell silent.
The air seemed to freeze.
Only the harsh alarm from the auspex screamed faithfully, and red warning lights flashed frantically in every corner.
The Emperor's Children, whom Fulgrim had reassembled and who thought they were about to enjoy a feast of slaughter, stared at each other.
Those Phalanx ships didn't even bother to fire their guns!
They were just dragging a pile of continent-sized fragments over, intending to crush this entire sector of space directly!
Then, amidst this chaos interwoven with silence and alarms.
"Hahahahaha—!"
Fulgrim suddenly looked up and laughed.
His laughter was sharp and wild, carrying a kind of morbid excitement and madness, echoing throughout the entire bridge.
"Now, that's more like it!"