Colonel Tiansku simply watched as the plump, small creature scurried between civilians and soldiers. Carrying the fresh scent of soap on its tiny hands, it gently caressed the bodies of the wounded. Wounds festering with Nurgle's plagues noticeably healed rapidly, and the fevers of those lying ill subsided.
"If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I would never have believed it was real," Tiansku told those around him. "Who could have imagined such a sinister creature would produce such a heartwarming scene?"
Cassian, Mordachi, and the rest of the Imperial heroes exchanged bewildered glances. It took a long time for them to suppress the shock within their hearts.
Many civilians and soldiers began to pray, believing the spirit of life was a tiny angel sent by the Emperor.
Observing all this, Nurgle was infuriated. Hidden inside its house, it kept banging on a crucible with a spoon, shaking the entire garden.
"This is my child, not a cursed one," Nurgle raged. "Cursed ones, thieves, all you do is steal!"
Many of Nurgle's demons trembled; they had never seen their Merciful Father so angry.
Watching the situation on Kalides, the other three Chaos Gods became even more wary of the Nameless One.
"This man's methods are so bizarre," they thought. "He even managed to transform Nurgle's soul into a soul of life. If our demons fall into his hands, will they too fall?"
Seated atop the Golden Throne, the Emperor struggled to suppress the urge to leap up and rush to Kalides' world to bring back the Nameless One.
"How many more tricks does this man have that I don't know about? Even ignoring the subspace and teleporting was already an incredible power... Now even the foul Nurgle can be purified. When will the whole of subspace become his? How regretful it is that such a talent isn't on the throne, ruling in my place."
The Emperor sighed repeatedly, wishing he could intervene directly and crown the Nameless One in golden robes.
"It's getting cold. You should put on another layer," the Emperor muttered, mimicking voices he'd heard long ago.
In the throne room of the Palace of Terra, the three Tech-Priests who maintained the Golden Throne gathered around the display screens monitoring its energy output, attempting to interpret the Emperor's thoughts.
"The volatility index has exceeded the threshold curve again!" exclaimed Hiax-957, his multi-jointed mechadendrites pointing at the screen, voice full of excitement.
"Such repeated fluctuations aren't in any normal pattern for life support or warp resistance. His Majesty must have urgent needs," stated Lakham-Tabu-418, displaying another comparison spectrum. "Emotion spectrum analysis shows that the last high peak resonated at frequencies similar to 'surprise' and 'expectation.'"
Kronos-07 touched his metallic chin, mind abuzz in rapid thought. "We need more direct feedback," Hiax-957 said, ordering a servitor to bring forth the latest result of his experiments.
It was a finely crafted device of brass and gold. Shaped like a kneeling skeleton holding a crystal ball atop a psychic coil.
"My latest design," Hiax-957 introduced proudly, "a one-way threshold signal lamp. By connecting this device to the Golden Throne, we can ask it questions, monitor peak output, and get answers."
"The lamp has three colors: white means His Majesty isn't answering, or won't respond; blue means a response; red means anger at our question."
"Why not use a binary code? Green for 0, red for 1—direct info transfer," queried Lakham-Tabu-418.
"Has your logic core rusted?" Hiax-957 sneered. "His Majesty's power rivals that of the Dark Gods; precise two-way communication is forbidden. Attempting to decode a god's mind risks warp rituals, soul sacrifice, and uncontrollable hazards. Are you ready to see your processor melt down trying?"
"Explain if you will! No need to be so loud," retorted Lakham-Tabu-418. "I'd love to open your logic core with my max-torque wrench and check if your emotion suppressor and common-sense wiring were swapped during installation!"
"Enough!" Kronos-07 extended two mechanical arms, quieting his quarrelling peers. "Let's run the experiment and see."
…
On the surface of planet Kalides:
After healing the wounded soldiers and civilians, the spirit of life skipped along to a cage, leaving blooming flowers and greenery behind at every step.
Inside the cage, a disgusted Gurloch watched the spritely being in confusion, making odd noises as it approached.
Gurloch, Chaos Lord, was suddenly overcome with a surge of hatred and despair, letting out an unprecedented screech.
"You warped freak! Vile hallucination!" he screamed, slamming his broken body against the bars, eyes burning with blasphemous madness.
He would have rather died to ten thousand bombs than see his beloved father's creative work so defiled.
The spirit of life trembled at Gurloch's malice, the little flowers on its head withering, its two short legs quivering like a windmill. It turned and darted back to Datch, scrambling frantically up from calf to shoulder.
"What did you do to my father's creation?" Gurloch raved at Datch, voice raspy and hoarse. "Change it back! Restore it to the perfect form father made!"
As his cries turned into wails, Gurloch's immense form slid down the railing, as crushed as a soul watching their beloved taken away by age and fate, powerless to resist or even breathe.
"Nameless Lord, shall I execute these treacherous heretics?" Cassian asked Datch.
Datch nodded. "Kill them all. Spare not one."
Cassian grinned, raised his rifle unhesitatingly, took aim, and pulled the trigger. The blast ended Gurloch's wailing, and his polluted creed ended with him. The Chaos Lord's remains were obliterated, scattered as filthy fragments.
"Execute them all, leave none alive!" Cassian ordered the others. Bullets rained out, and the rest of the cultists and plague marines fell instantly.
A cold voice echoed: "Noble Nameless One."
Asuryani Farseer and her companions emerged from their hiding place just beyond the battlefield. Her tall, graceful figure seemed out of place amidst the filth.
The appearance of the Eldar instantly put Cassian and his squad on high alert, all aiming their boltguns.
"Is this how you humans thank your saviors?" Asuryani Farseer asked Cassian.
When the Strike Cruiser Primarch's Sword force had arrived on Kalides, Cassian's team supported Colonel Tiansku but was ambushed by Gurloch and his Plague Marines. Asuryani Farseer had used an ancient artifact to summon a warp storm, rescuing them from encirclement.
"Aren't you supposed to have left already?" Cassian asked coldly, wary even of owed debts—if these xenos threatened the Nameless One, it could never be tolerated.
"The threads of fate trembled violently and pointed us here," Asuryani Farseer said, not looking at Cassian, but at Datch and the life spirit at his feet. "We're only here to confirm if these changes in fate indicate a bigger current."
Cassian stepped between, blocking the Xenos witch's gaze. "And?"
"Lieutenant, if you would step aside, I request to speak privately with the Nameless One," Asuryani Farseer said, returning her gaze to Cassian. She truly needed to speak with the Nameless One, to resolve the confusion in her heart.
When Asuryani Farseer tried to observe his lifeline, she found none at all—only endless mist. Anyone getting close would find their own fate obscured and indiscernible.
Cassian glanced at Datch, wanting to ask, but watched him skip away.
"It seems the Nameless One has no desire to talk. Please leave."
Asuryani Farseer sigh, helplessly watching Datch depart. Even if he wouldn't speak, could he not at least part with a word or two? Just turning away was beyond rude. People are getting ruder these days!
But Asuryani Farseer didn't press, nor could she; forcing the issue would have seen Cassian and the Astartes open fire immediately, risking nothing and gaining only a worsening of tensions.
She turned and left with her people. Cassian watched warily until his augur confirmed their complete departure, then finally relaxed.
Colonel Tiansku wanted to thank Datch for saving the Kalides system.
"It's fine. We're all in this together," Cassian assured him. Over their time, Cassian too had grown to respect the ordinary but capable—and unfailingly loyal—officer.
At first contact, Datch's decisive actions had helped Cassian's squad break into the fortress. Later, together with the spirits of life, Datch had cleared plagues near the fortress, rescued survivors, and restored facilities. Afterwards, they repaired Cassian and Tiansku's vehicles and led the assault on the remaining plague marines and cultists with thunderous artillery salvos for the Emperor, echoing with victorious cheers.
The plague marines fell, and the followers faced only death or execution in the name of the Emperor. The undead driven by the warp also fell flat when the spirits of life appeared—flowers and plantlife sprouted from their corpses, rapidly decomposing them to vital nutrients.
The essence of life is not eternal, but a continuous cycle of birth and death. Everything is born from nature, and returns to it after death.
With the battle finished, the Nurgle forces on Kalides totally destroyed, the survivors sang and danced in praise of the Emperor and Nameless One.
Datch didn't plan to linger; instead he meant to return ASAP to check for new tasks.
"Come, come in." Datch opened the entrance to the Room of Requirement, letting the Dark Angels squad inside. The time for work and fresh air was over.
"Wait! How long are you going to imprison us?" Nasri couldn't hold back, shouting. "Even if you mean to execute us, you owe us an explanation! Are you going to keep us locked up, fighting for you endlessly?"
Datch didn't answer, his voice sharp with a player's characteristic impatience. "Skip dialog and get in quickly."
"Will you answer our questions? What on earth are you trying to do?" Mordachi's anger boiled over. Being ignored by the other party was a greater insult than any torture.
"Skip! Skip!" Datch yelled again.
Mordachi and the other Dark Angels stood firm, glaring angrily.
"The great First Legion Commander stayed neutral at the start of the Heresy… provided two Grand General Cannons to the Death Guard for the attack on Terra, and moreover…"
Datch began reciting the First Legion's achievements as if chanting a mantra.
"Enough, stop reading," Mordachi snapped. "Let's go in."
He clenched his fists and strode towards the Room of Requirement. Inside, the Dark Angel thinkers secretly regretted not dying quickly and painlessly on Terra rather than falling into the hands of this rascal. Others like Nasri thought the same: better to die than be controlled.
Now, unable to run or talk, only vexation and powerlessness remained. If all else fails, destroy everything. Destroy it all.
After luring the Dark Angels into the Room of Requirement…
Datch stroked his chin, thinking about expanding and remodeling it. The base Room was unchanged; expansion would need a blueprint. Maybe he should grant NPCs more permissions to let them edit their own environments—it'd make it easier to let them in, for sure.
Distracted by this, Datch pulled the teleporter gun from his inventory, fired it at the ground, and opened a portal to Macragge's Honour.
After eradicating the traitors of Kalides, he had received his reward. 1200 XP, 1200 points, and five magic wands of sheep transformation. There wasn't much point staying on this planet.
When Cassian and Colonel Tiansku wanted to discuss the victory celebration, Datch had already gone through the portal to Macragge's Honour.
…
Macragge's Honour – The Primarch's Private Study
Historian Fabian Guelphrain reported on his findings. He was a director of the Rationality Research Association and, by order of the Primarch, was tasked with compiling a true series of history books.
For a long time, history, like other rational disciplines, was lost under superstition, fanaticism, and the hard rule of Terra's High Senate. Methods of comparison and verification had been replaced by rumor, gossip, and folklore—all mixed with outright fabrication. The court burned books and hounded those who knew dangerous truths, creating massive historical errors.
Modern mankind's knowledge is, in short, much poorer than it was before the establishment of the Empire. Even the "true histories" compiled during the Age of Exploration have been lost yet again.
Now the only hope is that these missing histories fall into the hands of the right kind of loyal folk, who might yet restore some or all of what was lost. Even with Guilliman's orders, some Inquisition factions still obstructed the Logos Historica Verita.
Of course, these people could only cause a little commotion and not truly interfere.
"I witnessed the Emperor defeat Horus with my own eyes."
Guilliman paused reading the first line of Fabian's book.
"This is a memoir copied from chronicler Sindermann," Fabian said carefully, lest he offend the Primarch.
Thankfully, his concern was unfounded.
"Well written, and very interesting," Guilliman nodded, flipping quickly through the pages. All at once, a green portal appeared out of nowhere.
Datch emerged, glanced at the primarch and the historian, and then turned to leave. First, play your cards; come back when there's a quest.
"Wait—" Fabian leapt up and ran after Datch. "May I speak with you, Nameless Lord? My team is writing an article about you, and would love to know more."
Datch ignored him, slipping past and out of the study.
Datch had no interest in talking to NPCs, whether they had quests or not. This left Fabian with some dissatisfaction.
Since its founding, the Logos Historica Verita had been welcomed by many, despite obstacles. Who wouldn't want their mark left on history? The story of the Indomitus Crusade, especially, was destined to become an epic moment for the Empire.
Those whose names were recorded would have them sung for generations. Commanders dressed for the occasion whenever they met historian Fabian. Only the Nameless One was universally ignored and avoided—the records of him were built solely from secondhand comments.
"He's not the Nameless, but the Great Refuser—he rejects and ignores everyone," muttered Fabian, settling back to his chair.
Guilliman's lips curled into a faint smile. He had to admit: it was entertaining that the Nameless treated everyone equally through rejection and silence.
Guilliman and Fabian returned to discussing how they'd record the war of the Beasts, when chief psyker and astropath entered, looking uncharacteristically anxious.
She curtsied and said, "Lord, an urgent astral message—a distress call from Baal, home of the Blood Angels—has been flagged as a supreme-level emergency."
Guilliman frowned. The moment he heard Baal, he thought of Sanguinius. They had formed an alliance and fought Chaos together at Macragge; after breaking the Storm of Destruction's seal, he, Sanguinius, and Lion El'Jonson had departed on separate paths.
He returned to Ultramar to prepare the army; Lion disrupted enemy supply lines; Sanguinius went to aid Dorn and buy time on Terra. When he finally arrived with enough force to destroy all traitors, Sanguinius had already fallen, his body returned to Baal by Captain Raldoron and grieving Blood Angels.
Regret welled up in Guilliman's heart. They had come so close, but failed.
"What did the Astropathic messages say?" He suppressed emotion and turned to the navigator.
Philomencia walked to the data panel and activated the star map. Countless lights shimmered in the dim room, the pale projection gleaming against the faces of all three.
"Lord Guilliman, Astropathic-language data regarding the Blood Angels is organized and verified," she said. "At present, Baal is surrounded by a Tyranid swarm of unprecedented scale." With a gesture, a reconstructed image showed swarming bio-ships, and crimson armored scraps floating against their immense shadows.
The recording included the thunder of slug guns, the roars of combat, and an inhuman, soul-tearing shriek.
"These messages were sent as the Hive Fleet breached the Hades System… Blood Angels and Tyranids collided in the void, holding off the onslaught for a time. But it was not enough."
As Philomencia spoke, Fabian recorded every word—destined for future history books. Guilliman marshaled the data in his mind.
Through study, Guilliman had learned much about the Tyranids: predators from beyond the galaxy, united by the Hive Mind, whose shadow in the warp rivals even the Dark Gods.
As they drew nearer, their shadow enveloped everything, cutting off travel and communications—even making distress beacons hopeless.
The first Imperial-Tyranids war occurred in M41.745, named the Battle of Tyran, when Behemoth invaded the galaxy, before being repulsed by the Ultramarines.
The second war, in M41.990, saw the Kraken Hive Fleet invade. Even the raging Damocles campaign had to be halted, Imperial forces withdrawn to battle both Black Crusaders and Tyranids. The Tau benefited as Astra Militarum defected.
Less than five years after Kraken's defeat, the Leviathan Hive Fleet arrived, beginning the third war.
One of its huge tentacles, like an enormous insect, targeted Baal. Blood Angels Chapter Master Dante—a legendary hero who led for over 1,500 years—called all sub-chapters home to defend their world.
"The last Astropathic messages message states that Baal will fall without sufficient reinforcements," Philomencia concluded.
Guilliman stared at the data for a moment, then finally said: "Ten thousand years ago I missed the battle for Terra and failed to save Sanguinius. This time, history will not repeat. To protect my brother's bloodline, the First Expeditionary Fleet will answer Baal's call for aid."
As he spoke, the star map adjusted, lighting up the Nachmund Sector. The fleet would stick to its planned route, increasing speed to the maximum.
"Baal will be our first stop into the Imperium's dark side," Guilliman declared, issuing orders. "All ships, full speed through the Sector to Baal. Support the Blood Angels, no matter the cost."
Fabian wrote quickly, knowing these words would fuel new wars and be written into history.
…