Nimrod, You Will Never Control Your Own Fate

The last day of the tenth year of the Thirty-First Millennium.

The Northern Fringe of the Milky Way.

Beyond the Astronomican, a gas giant planet never before set foot on by the Imperium.

A portal of light appeared, and four figures emerged.

As soon as Bathusa Narek stepped out the door, he immediately felt an immense pressure bearing down on his gray armor.

The sudden increase in gravity dragged the Mark I! I Expeditionary Armor downwards at high speed.

The sniper from the Word Bearers struggled to maintain his balance, gripping his rifle tightly and glancing around warily.

Ollanius Person and John Granmaticas both gasped for breath; the sudden surge of pressure turned their faces pale, and they gasped for air.

Nimrod's eyes flashed with light and shadow as he stomped down in his black combat boots.

Bang!

A thunderous roar erupted in the sky, Telekinesis spread out, supporting the three people behind them.

Ollanius and John took a deep breath, enjoying the refreshing feeling of the air rushing into their bodies.

John let out a long sigh of relief. "We're out of that awful place; the ground was covered in blood-red stains like a third-rate painter's spilled ink palette."

Ollanius took an old tin can from his waist. Instead of containing Calth's psychedelic tobacco, it was stuffed with a notebook, a pendulum, and a compass.

The compass appears to be made of silver and is designed to resemble a human skull.

He opened the lid and stared at the dial.

It has something similar to a watchmaker's magnifying glass on it, which helps him see the tiny inscriptions.

The pendulum looks like black jade, but it feels warm to the touch.

John watched as Ollanius placed the two things he had given him in an old notebook.

He leaned closer and looked at the yellowed paper.

"Your notes are quite old."

"Let me think... it's been 22,000 years..."

"What?" Bathusa looked at the old man whose face was full of wrinkles.

Ollanius smiled, flipped to the back of the notebook, where a star map was tucked between the pages.

He unfolded the star map and spoke with a weary tone.

"It is a copy of a chart from 22,000 years ago; the original chart already existed 22,000 years ago when it was copied."

"I witnessed the birth of the original map and the creation of the dungeons in Terra."

"Old Ollanius," John patted him on the shoulder, "You've lived forty-four thousand years."

"But did they have star maps back then?"

"No—it was written while he was gazing at the stars."

"Actually—I've lived longer than that—"

As he spoke, Ollanius ignored Bathusa's searching eyes and buried himself in the star map.

When he copied this document in Terra, he never imagined he would ever return there, much less meet him again.

He focused on the star chart, on which he drew many poles to form a directional weather vane.

Ollanius dropped the pendulum onto the compass, recorded the mutual measurement data between the two instruments in his notebook, and then compared it with the star chart.

He blurted out, "Anemoi-- "

"What?" John pressed.

Ollanius then realized that the word had long been lost to history. He was about to explain when he saw Nimrod turn around.

"Anemoi is the collective name for the four wind gods in Greece mythology."

"Ollanius's words literally mean 'the wind has changed direction,'" implying "the direction has changed."

Ollanius's cloudy eyes widened suddenly. "How did you know?"

Nimrod didn't answer, but asked instead.

"If I'm not mistaken, that was the Emperor's instruction to you."

He taught you Warp navigation in a way you can best understand, using "wind" to represent the tides of the Warp.

"The Emperor?" Bathusa exclaimed in surprise.

"The Emperor taught Ollanius?"

He sized up the veteran in front of him; his worn-out military uniform was faded and white from washing, and he held a simple Lasgun in his hand that could only harm him if it hit his Eyepiece.

Ollanius was not surprised that Nimrod could guess that the Emperor had taught him Warp navigation, but the ancient myths had long been forgotten.

How do you know Anemoi?

Ancient books.

Ollanius suddenly recalled the rumors circulating in the Auxilia that Nimrod loved reading, and that the library on the Shadow of the Throne was comparable only to that on the Photep.

[As the rumors said, Nimrod is so studious that he even knows Great Old One myths.]

"Although this is beyond the area of his star map, I'm certain that this is the northern part of the Galaxy, not in the same direction we're heading."

"That's right," Nimrod nodded, "A straight line isn't always the shortest."

"They're here."

Nimrod spoke, looking down at his feet.

Streaks of yellowish-green gas roared through the atmosphere, completely escaping the planet's high gravity and soaring upwards like miniature rockets.

The cloud of air contained pale hands, each with a varying number of fingers.

The number of fingers ranges from one to seven, and there is no thumb.

The air mass left shimmering lines in the sky, and a series of bubbles rose up with a soft gurgling sound.

Five hundred and twenty-nine air masses simultaneously emitted high-pitched cries, a cacophony of sounds surging like a tide. "Traitor!"

A barrage of questions exploded in John's mind, piercing his soul like sharp swords.

His face was pale, he collapsed to the ground, his thoughts almost broken.

[Secret Religion]

Anti-Dir-Ren--]

"Your Imperium is about to perish!" Suddenly, images of burning planets flashed through Bathusa's mind, and the warships of the Imperium of Man plummeted, trailing black smoke.

The Galaxy burned fiercely, and the Imperium he served was reduced to ruins.

Thump!

Bathusa's spirit was shattered, and the gray-armored Warriors collapsed along with the fallen Imperium.

"You can't stop anything!" Suddenly, a figure clad in golden armor and wielding a burning greatsword appeared in Ollanius's eyes.

That was his old friend, his former lord.

The enormous eyes emitted an evil light, piercing into Ollanius's gaze.

His body trembled violently, and the future scene he had seen on the Calth slowly appeared.

The giant claw roared down, slashing towards the golden-armored figure.

Blood splattered.

The golden armor exploded.

The body was knocked down.

"The Emperor of Mankind will perish along with his Imperium."

Was everything I did in vain?

A bitter smile played on Ollanius's lips, his deeply lined face etched with frost.

Whoosh!

Ollanius looked in the direction of the sound and saw a dazzling golden light rising from Nimrod's spine, propelling his golden wings to stand up.

Nimrod, you will never be able to control your own destiny!

"Nimrod, you are a plaything of fate!"

"Nimrod, you are nothing but a tool in the Emperor's hands. One day, you will be useless and he will kill you with his own hands!"

Five hundred and twenty-nine sharp cries rang out in my mind at once, like sharp arrows piercing the Mind Gate.

Boom boom--

The dappled light and shadow flickered and swayed, like the unstable flickering of a broken Lumen Lamp strip.

Bang!

The golden pillar of light shattered suddenly, and the broken golden light dissipated.

A crimson mist suddenly rose from behind the four people, and the overflowing Blood Red outlined a figure wearing Scarlet Armor.

He raised the Profane Staff high, and the overflowing blood mist swirled and lingered in the sky.

Rumble--

The Dark Apostles brandished his Profane Staff, "Nimrod, the punishment of the Blood God, befall you!"

The crimson blood mist, like a giant claw, pressed down heavily, blotting out the sky and enveloping the place where Nimrod stood.

Eight thick, Blood Red lightning bolts struck down.