"No Chaos God could create so many real constructs from so few souls. Otherwise, those restless bastards would have started mass-producing shit and hurling it into Realspace long ago."
Ramesses said this with absolute certainty.
Many people misunderstood the powers of the Chaos Gods. But once you truly understood the setting of Warhammer 40k, you would realize that the Chaos Gods were not nearly as terrifying or unsolvable as imagined.
What truly inspired despair in Warhammer was the overall decay of every civilization: the stench of the Imperium in Realspace, all manner of deranged factions, and the four shit-stirrers in the Warp.
In fact, before the Great Rift opened, the Chaos Gods could only interfere with Realspace by cultivating cultists to offer sacrifices and open Warp portals for Daemon invasions, or by relying on Abaddon to unite the scattered Chaos traitors for Black Crusades where "every time was a victory."
Even Abaddon, Chosen of the Four, had spent countless years plundering Realspace and signing heaps of unequal treaties with the Dark Mechanicum before he managed to cobble together something like the Planet Killer in the Eye of Terror. Asking the Chaos Gods to casually create Adamantium, Auramite, and the like with a few souls was simply asking too much of them.
If the exchanged items were all outrageously expensive, dangling power before them like bait to make them endlessly hoard souls, then there would be no need to think about it—it would definitely be a Chaos scheme.
But the cost was too low. So low that they could practically be certain it exceeded the scope of the Chaos Gods' authority.
"So, you all have a rough understanding of your abilities now, right?"
Everyone nodded.
Put simply, they were now like an STC, except their production material was psychic energy.
"Next is how to acquire the raw materials. In theory, hunting any entity with psychic energy should work."
Killing people would work as well, of course, but indiscriminate slaughter was far beyond what any of them were willing to consider.
Ramesses opened a Daemon portal. A blue Tzeentch Horror with greed written across its face sprang out, only to be blasted into fragments by psychic lightning.
"My current idea is to set up a Daemon-summoning ritual and kill them that way. Since I exchanged for psychic powers, I'm rather conspicuous in the Warp."
"A mob grinder, huh?"
"Wouldn't that be dangerous?"
Arthur asked. Using himself as bait seemed a little too much like courting death.
"Daemons can only see the projection of psychic power. They can't see me."
Ramesses explained,
"Our use of psychic power is more like a person using a tool. Daemons can see the tool, but not the person using it."
Risking his life had its benefits. Ramesses understood his own abilities far better than the other three did.
At the very least, if it had been Arthur, his caution would have kept him from trying something like that while the possibility remained uncertain. Naturally, he would never have uncovered the principles behind their abilities.
"There's another way."
Seeing that Ramesses had finished speaking, Romulus added.
"Our direct intervention in certain predetermined events can also yield a great deal of psychic energy—far more than hunting psychic entities."
"For example?"
Ramesses was intrigued.
"Arthur and I intervened in a Khorne Chaos Space Marine sacrificial ritual against the Deathwatch while reclaiming the Geller Field Generator. After we killed the enemy, we gained an enormous amount of psychic energy."
Romulus recounted their earlier experience.
The reason he had been able to create dozens of Astartes at once to reinforce the various defensive points was because of that unexpected windfall.
"Is that so?"
Ramesses stroked his chin, an expression of sudden realization appearing on his face.
"So that's where that inexplicable psychic energy came from."
He continued,
"In fact, every action we take harvests psychic energy, only in very small amounts. Why you and Arthur received so much is indeed worth studying. We'll need more examples to verify the specifics."
"Mm."
Romulus nodded, bringing the subject to an end.
"That should be everything we currently understand about our abilities. Now, the most important question—"
He clasped his hands beneath his chin, his deep crimson eyes sweeping seriously across the group. Even Karna, who had been pretending to be invisible, sat up straight.
"What should we do in the future?"
"Should we stay tucked away in some corner, or become involved?"
The four of them would most likely remain in the Warhammer Universe until they died. They needed a concrete plan for the future.
"If I were just an ordinary Fallen Angel, I would definitely find a Garden World and hide there. Every extra day alive would be a profit."
Arthur spoke first.
"But—"
Romulus looked teasingly at his childhood friend and smoothly offered him an opening.
"But with all of you here, and this power of unknown origin, I think we're destined to be unable to live quietly."
Arthur spoke. He understood clearly that no matter how much he doubted this power that could materialize souls, it had ultimately given them a new choice.
A choice they had no choice but to make.
"To intervene in those major events, to explore the nature of our power, to kill enemies who violate our principles—we must pursue strength. Because in this universe—"
Breaking off eye contact with Romulus, Arthur met the eyes of each of his companions in turn.
"Only strength is truth!"
In this unfamiliar universe, whether it was the Imperium, Chaos, or Xenos, all of them were threats to the Transmigrators.
The weak could not survive in the face of those threats.
Now, a path to strength lay brightly before them.
The Transmigrators did not want to be crushed someday by the aftershocks of a conflict between the Imperium and its enemies, only to fall into regret—regret that they had not developed their powers, regret that they had not drawn the nourishment needed to grow stronger from the gaps between those events.
So they needed to seek power, to find more efficient ways to grow stronger.
And if they wanted strength, they could not remain uninvolved forever.
Besides...
The four looked at one another. Beyond their shared understanding of each other's choice, there was also a faint hope.
A hope of transforming this chaotic Milky Way into the familiar world they remembered.
"My lords!"
A call came from outside the door, interrupting their "affectionate" exchange of glances.
It was Sister Arabella's voice.
After Ramesses raised a hand and cleared away the constructs that did not belong to this era, Romulus operated the Logis Engine to open the door.
"Sister Arabella."
Romulus invited the Sister into the room.
"What is it?"
"It's about the warriors of the Broken Sword. They... their mutations have become very severe."
Arabella spoke. She did not understand why she had chosen this moment to report such a trivial matter to the Emperor's Angels.
Yet some voice kept urging her to come here, repeatedly telling her that the Angels needed to know.
Before you continue