Every name carries its own special meaning and power. The moment it is spoken, fate is already sealed.
When Datch bestowed the name upon the Sixteenth Primarch—Horus Lupercal—an unprecedented storm erupted, and the gears of destiny began turning in ways no one could have imagined.
The seal the Emperor himself had placed shattered in an instant.
Horus dropped to his knees. His body suddenly went rigid. His pupils dilated dramatically, filling the entire sockets. His lips parted, but no sound emerged. He clawed at the ground with both hands, driving his fingernails deep into the soil and leaving deep gouges.
Limitless knowledge flooded his mind without any buffer, like a raging torrent.
The vast Milky Way Galaxy. Billions of worlds. Their names, coordinates, and every detail blazed vividly in his head. Human history, the origins of xenos, the rise and fall of ancient races—all of it poured into him as though it were his own personal experience.
Alongside it came knowledge of strategy, tactics, weapons, and warships.
As the knowledge flowed in, his body underwent a profound transformation.
He could clearly feel his body being disassembled, crushed, and reassembled. The veins hidden beneath his skin glowed like threads of light, starting from his heart and spreading throughout his entire frame. The light shone golden, radiating the fierce glow of burning white phosphorus—bright enough to be seen through his skin. The veins wove a complex web across his chest and traced twisting paths along his limbs.
His skin cracked. Shocking fissures appeared. The scarred, ragged, emaciated original body was stretched and torn apart by the new form. The old skin peeled away like a serpent shedding its husk, revealing fresh bronze-colored skin beneath.
The once-tough muscles grew explosively. Every fiber thickened. The muscles swelled to gigantic proportions. Ugly old scars were swallowed by the new skin and vanished without a trace.
Horus visibly grew taller. His skeleton expanded. Broken ribs were replaced by stronger bone. Each cell was torn apart and then rebuilt.
The agony of complete metamorphosis was beyond words.
Horus tried to scream, but nothing came from his throat. He wanted to resist, but his muscles refused to obey. He could only kneel there and silently endure everything.
He did not know how much time had passed, but eventually the pain faded and it was over.
Horus knelt there, breathing heavily. His body had changed completely. He was now tall and powerful, with the perfect physique of a figure from myth. His skin was a healthy bronze, flawless and without a single scar. His muscles were smooth and strong, every one perfectly proportioned. His facial features had deepened, becoming refined and radiating an innate majesty.
The ragged, emaciated boy was gone, replaced by a man with true presence.
Horus raised his head and looked at Datch. There was no longer fear in his eyes—only awe and confusion.
He was about to speak when he suddenly collapsed. The transformation had drained his strength, and he fell into a deep sleep.
At that exact moment, a mission prompt appeared before Datch's eyes.
Mission Complete! You have successfully named Primarch Sixteen and established a base for him.
[Quest Rewards: 2,000 EXP, 2,000 Points, +600 Reputation, Reality Stone ×1]
With a thought, the Reality Stone—the mission reward—materialized in his hand from thin air. The stone was entirely red and emitted a faint glow.
After examining the gem for a few seconds, Datch took the Infinity Gauntlet from his game inventory and slotted the stone into one of its receptacles. The moment the gem clicked into place, the gauntlet trembled slightly. The light from the Power Stone and Reality Stone converged through the patterns engraved on the gauntlet.
Two stones were now embedded. Once the remaining four—Time, Space, Mind, and Soul—were gathered, the complete Infinity Gauntlet would be finished. At that point, he would be able to crush planets with a snap of his fingers.
He was impossibly handsome.
Wearing the Infinity Gauntlet, Datch looked at the members of the Raider Tribe kneeling on the ground. They were all trembling, their eyes filled with terror and awe; none dared raise their heads.
Khageddon, the tyrannical tribe leader, lay on the ground shaking like a frightened dog.
Datch looked at them and snapped his fingers with the Infinity Gauntlet.
In the next instant, Khageddon's severed leg healed at a speed visible to the naked eye. The broken bone protruding from the skin retracted naturally. Torn muscle and skin knitted together rapidly. Within seconds, his leg was completely healed without a single scar.
The same happened to everyone else. In the blink of an eye, they were all restored.
Khageddon stared blankly at his uninjured leg, then looked up at the golden giant. His eyes were filled with disbelief. Then, with a devout expression, he dropped to his knees and pressed his forehead to the ground. Behind him, every member of the tribe performed the same pious gesture.
"My lord…" Khageddon's voice trembled. "How should we address you?"
"The Nameless One," Datch replied. He stored the Infinity Gauntlet and looked up at the sky.
The icy-blue star slowly sank in the western sky. A golden sunset spread across the horizon. The air was clear, the land lush and green, the rivers flowing calmly—this was a beauty Cthonia had never known before.
Datch still did not know how to return to his original timeline. He would probably have to wait for the story to progress. For now, he would begin construction here. If all else failed, he could always trade for a time machine.
Terra – The Emperor's Palace
On humanity's homeworld, the Unification Wars were drawing to a close.
The Battle of Molansen had ended. The newly founded Human Imperium emerged victorious, and the Molansen Federation had been consigned to the dustbin of history.
The battlefield was filled with corpses and rivers of blood. Its once-magnificent buildings were now ruins. The soldiers who had fought there lay cold among the rubble, never to awaken again. The air was thick with the stench of blood and gunpowder, mixed with the nauseating smell of burning bodies.
The Emperor stood at the highest point on the battlefield, gazing down at everything.
He wore golden armor that remained spotless even after the fierce battle. A golden radiance like sunlight emanated from him—warm yet majestic—so that no one could look directly at him. He held a massive power sword, its blade still dripping with enemy blood.
Behind him stood the Custodian Guard in perfect formation, their golden armor gleaming in the sunlight. They all wore solemn expressions and watchful eyes, constantly scanning their surroundings. Farther back, the Silent Sisters stood in silence, creating an oppressive space that kept outsiders at bay.
Even farther away, fully armed Thunder Warriors were conducting cleanup operations on the battlefield. They were all massive, muscular giants clad in simple but sturdy power armor.
Human auxiliary troops kept their distance from the Thunder Warriors while carrying away the dead. The Imperial Guard watched the Thunder Warriors with wary eyes. The Thunder Warriors were immensely powerful, but uncontrollable. In the recent battle they had not only massacred innocent civilians but had also killed their own countrymen. These slaughterers were gradually transforming from Imperial heroes into a cancer within the Imperium.
Heavy footsteps approached. A tall giant walked toward the Emperor.
This man was the prototype of the Thunder Warriors—far more robust than the others. He stood nearly four meters tall, with muscles like boulders. He dragged a bound figure whose clothes were disheveled and bloodstained, yet the prisoner still struggled and hurled curses.
Priest-King Molansen—ruler of the Molansen Federation and a tyrant who had sought to dominate humanity through the power of the Warp.
Ushotan approached the Emperor and casually threw the prisoner to the ground like a sack of garbage. He still held his massive long sword, its blade crackling with bright lightning.
"My Emperor," his voice was hoarse and rough, like two rocks grinding together. "This charlatan has been brought before you."
The Emperor said nothing, simply looking down at the prisoner.
The Custodian Guard watched Ushotan with wary eyes, ready to strike at any moment.
The Priest-King raised his head and glared at the Emperor with crimson eyes.
"Tyrant… butcher of civilized worlds…"
"You slaughtered my people and destroyed everything I worked so hard to build…"
The Emperor was extremely patient. Only after the prisoner finished ranting did he finally speak.
"I brought enlightenment…"
"Enlightenment?" the captured warlord sneered. "All you bring is curse, death, and destruction! You completely destroyed our cities and massacred our people. Is this your enlightenment?"
The Emperor's gaze was as calm as still water.
"I warned you," he said. "Long ago, I warned you to stay away from the Warp. You chose your own path, and this is the result."
The prisoner's face twisted with hatred. "Your warnings mean nothing!" he shouted, veins bulging in his neck. "Who the hell do you think you are? What right do you have to warn me? What right do you have to tell me how to do things? I don't care about your enlightenment—kill me! The Gods will welcome me with open arms. As long as I have breath, I will despise you, curse you, and drown you in my blood…"
One of the Custodian Guards could no longer endure it. He stepped forward, swung his spear, and smashed the butt into the captured warlord's face.
The power of the Imperial Guard was beyond the reach of ordinary people. The spear haft struck with a dull thud. The previously intact eyeball instantly burst, spraying blood and ocular fluid everywhere.
The Priest-King screamed in agony and collapsed to the ground, convulsing and rolling about. His screams were sharp and ear-piercing, echoing across the ruins.
The Emperor watched the scene in silence. He had originally intended to execute the defeated warlord and use his blood to honor the fallen soldiers. However, a sudden thought moved him, and he changed his mind.
"Throw him in prison."
The Custodians hesitated for a moment, then carried out the order. They dragged the still-screaming warlord leader away toward the camp behind them. The sound of footsteps gradually faded.
The Emperor stood alone, gazing at the distant sky with a pensive expression.
At that moment, Malcador the Sigillite appeared beside him, brow furrowed with faint anxiety.
"Anomalies have occurred in the Immaterium. An unprecedented storm is sweeping everything away."
The Emperor nodded.
"I felt it as well. I also felt that the seal on the Sixteenth has been broken."
"Don't ask me who is behind this. Even I don't know. The future has become incredibly vague. Someone is interfering with everything."
"Was it those four?" Malcador asked sharply.
The Emperor shook his head. "Based on past experience, it shouldn't be them."
"I am familiar with their methods. This disturbance feels more like…"
The Emperor chose his words carefully and paused for a moment before continuing.
"…as if someone is rewriting history."
Malcador was frightened by the Emperor's words.
Rewriting history was something even the Gods could not do. History was predetermined and could not be changed—it was a web woven from countless causes and effects. To alter history, one would have to defy the causality of the entire universe.
"Who could possibly possess such power?" Malcador muttered.
"We will know soon enough," the Emperor said, changing the subject. "The Battle of Molansen is over. It is time to move to the next phase."
"The gene-cults on Luna will help us complete our expansion plans."
The unification of Terra was only the beginning. The real war was yet to come.
Vigilant Galaxy – The Void Battlefield
Full-scale war had erupted.
Two fleets clashed violently across the vast starfield. Dense beams of light filled every corner of space. Deadly rays wove together into a massive net. Any living thing that dared to intrude would be instantly vaporized.
Shells fired from massive naval guns—each the size of a shipping container—streaked across the sky trailing long flames. Swarms of fighters wove between the giant ships, chasing one another.
The ominous arks built by Vashtorr had become the core firepower of the Chaos fleet. These colossal vessels, over two hundred kilometers long, sailed slowly across the battlefield like moving mountain ranges. Their main guns easily pierced Imperial warship shields, but Imperial vessels struggled to penetrate the Chaos shields. Without relying on star fortresses and armed space stations, there was no way to counter them.
Star fortresses were slow, but they possessed greater firepower and stronger shields than battleships. They towered in the void like steel fortresses, repelling any enemy that dared approach with concentrated fire and maintaining the fragile defensive line.
What troubled the Chaos fleet most was the Mountain Array.
The Imperial Fists had now been transformed into a gigantic loli girl wearing a yellow trench coat and swinging a chainsword. She rampaged across the void, cutting down Chaos ships and leading the Chaos rebels into a seven-man slaughterfest straight out of Warhammer.
"Yah-hooo!!!"
Mountain Array shouted as she charged a Chaos cruiser. One swing of her massive sword sliced the cruiser clean in two, the explosion lighting up the surrounding area. She then charged toward one of the escort ships protecting an ominous ark. The escort was far larger than her.
Her enormous sword easily pierced the shield and stabbed into the frigate's bow. She pulled horizontally, and the frigate was torn in half from stem to stern like a fish being gutted.
Before her eyes, Chaos warships exploded one after another, ripped to pieces like toys. Wherever she went, a trail of blood paved with warship wreckage was left behind.
Vashtorr stood by the observation window of the Vengeful Spirit, witnessing the scene. The entire bridge was in shock.
"I thought I had seen everything in my long life. But what I am seeing now is something I have never witnessed before! The Mountain Array has transformed into a little girl and is rampaging through the void with a super chainsword, chasing down and slicing apart the ominous arks. Is this even possible with technology? Humans really go too far with these things—they have no respect for the laws of physics at all!"
Not only were Chaos commanders like Vashtorr and Abaddon shocked, even the Primarchs stood with their mouths hanging open in stunned silence.
What did it mean that the Mountain Array had become a violent loli swinging a chainsword? Was this even the same universe they knew?!
On the Imperial side, Ferrus Manus and Corvus Corax, who had been hiding in the shadows, were witnessing the Mountain Array in actual combat for the first time. They too were shocked, mouths agape, expressions of disbelief on their faces.
Was this even allowed? If Dorn saw this, he would probably faint on the spot.
What the hell did it mean that his beloved Mountain Array had become a violent loli?!
Just as the Imperium and Chaos were locked in fierce battle, Illiyan Nastase, an Eldar Farseer who had been supporting Guilliman's Unyielding Crusade, appeared at High Command.
Behind him followed a female Eldar dressed in the typical attire of the Craftworld of Samhan, a rapier at her waist. She was Ketok, the Prophet of Samhan Craftworld, who possessed the ability to foresee fate.
They requested an audience with the Primarchs through the duty officer. Considering the friendly relations between the two races, the request was immediately granted.
"Natase, what happened? You seem very eager to see me," Guilliman asked.
"Lord Regent, the thirteenth son of the Emperor, the Prophet of Samhan has brought news regarding the Nameless One," Illiyan Nastase said.
At the mention of "Nameless One," Guilliman immediately showed interest.
"What news?"
"The Nameless One is not dead," Ketok said. "He was sent into the past by the Despoiler's subordinates using an artifact called the Time Rift."
"He is now in the distant past, attempting to erase the corruption of humanity by the Gods."
Guilliman smiled at the Eldar Prophet's words.
"I knew it. The Nameless One cannot lose to the Gods."
After speaking with the Eldar Prophets, Guilliman immediately relayed the information to Sanguinius, Lion El'Jonson, and several other high-ranking, trustworthy Imperial figures. This greatly encouraged them, and they shouted, "The Nameless One will definitely return!"
However, before they could raise a toast, the alarm sounded again—this time sharper and more urgent than before. It signaled that the enemy had begun boarding operations.
Realizing they could not achieve a decisive victory in the void, the Primarchs resorted to the most primitive method. They launched boarding actions against the Imperium, intending to settle the matter with sword and blood.
Guilliman, Sanguinius, Lion El'Jonson, and Ferrus Manus were already prepared to receive their traitorous brothers.
In a flash of teleportation, Lorgar and a group of Word Bearers appeared in the corridors of a star fortress. He swung his heavy hammer and instantly crushed an Ultramarine who charged at him, leaving behind a bloody mess. His descendants quickly slaughtered the other Ultramarine troops and began advancing toward the bridge.
"This battle is five against four, so we hold the advantage. If we fight steadily, taking the Vigilant Star should be no problem."
Lorgar looked around and thought to himself. If they seized the Vigilant Star, they could control the orbital defenses and launch an attack on Macragge, burning down the holy city Guilliman was building.
The plan was perfect.
…
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