Blue is the Color of Wisdom
The question of what Daemon truly are has been debated for a long time, with each scholar offering their own unique perspective. The only certainty is that these so-called Warp Demon are all born from the tides of souls.
Perhaps it's a war, or a murder, or even whether one drinks sweet or savory Tofu Pudding in the morning—all of these can give rise to a group of Tofu Pudding Daemon from the Sea of Souls.
As for whether this group of Tofu Pudding Daemon will split into savory and sweet factions and stage a Tofu Pudding Great Heresy, no one can predict the outcome.
But without a doubt, in the energy world of the Warp, the strength of the physical body does not affect everything; what truly determines strength is its symbolic nature.
Take, for example, the first murder in human history. Because it was the first murder of the human race, its symbolic significance directly shaped the Daemon Draconian in the Warp.
At that time, humans were still a primitive group, struggling even to make a fire. Calling the Aeldari a monkey wasn't an exaggeration, but precisely because of its symbolism, Draconian possessed the characteristic of special attacks against humans.
Furthermore, as the human race multiplies and proliferates, Draconian will only grow stronger, essentially a cancerous cell bound to humanity.
The Warp has no time sequence; existence is everything, and everything exists for the sake of existence. It is precisely because of this characteristic that the War in Heaven is all the more significant.
The Four Merchants possessed the One Proof of Eternity —didn't they want to change history and gain an advantage for themselves since the War in Heaven? Of course they did, but they were no match for those ancient powerhouses.
Leaving aside the C'tan who are comparable to the Four Merchants, even the Old Ones, born with a silver spoon in their mouths, are practically bug-like Warp administrators.
That would make the Four Merchants kneel down and call him "Dad."
The War in Heaven wasn't something that ended in a year or two; it was an epic war that modern humans simply cannot comprehend, lasting for millions of years.
On a battlefield of that intensity, Space Marine are no match for dogs, Primarch are everywhere, and without the power of Emperor, you wouldn't even qualify to be a regional ruler; you'd just be cannon fodder.
Mordred even suspected that it was the destruction of the Old Ones and countless races that led to the sacrifice and birth of the three noble creatures: Nurgle, Tzeentch, and Khorne.
Seeing Xier suddenly explode into a pile of minced meat, covering the entire floor, Mordred was heartbroken. He thought she was going to give him a Mega Evolution, but instead, she just exploded.
"Xier, my poor Xier, why did you leave without a word? The Skull of Carlos that I just mentioned is gone just like that? You could at least leave me with some scraps!"
Fortunately, the Golden Giant Emperor there, and the Psychic Power primitive immediately saw the problem and slapped Mordred on the head:
"Stop being so cocky. Your Daemon pet isn't dead. Can't you see it's still moving? Are you just using those eyes to vent your anger?"
Following the Emperor's finger, Mordred indeed saw the pieces of flesh on the ground slowly wriggling, and those pieces of flesh were aiming at his own shadow.
Perhaps sensing her master's gaze, Xier, who had already turned into minced meat, wriggled even more joyfully, and within a few seconds, she had completely surged into Mordred's shadow.
A dark, shadowy mist rose from all around, and the occasional flashes of Fel Energy indicated that something was about to be born. All the Atlas instinctively looked toward the bridge.
As Mordred's shadow vanished completely, swallowed by the shadow mist, a cry rang out from the Abomination, radiating outwards through the Warp.
With such a grand entrance, it couldn't be anything less than spectacular, and Mordred was already looking forward to the changes in her pet.
"Old Man Huang, what do you think this Daemon will become? Will it inherit my supreme power?"
The Emperor remained silent, suddenly recalling the question Astartes had asked him when he was creating Mordred; Astartes had asked him the same question back then.
At that time, I just kept adding flour when there was too much water, and water when there was too much flour, stuffing in whatever I could find, even some dangerous items that I couldn't handle at all.
The Second Son Warp sparks, chaotic and twisted debris, fragments of Aeldari abominations, a dark, shadowy creature, Orks, fragments of C'tan, and other remnants of the Primarchs.
In short, in the end, even the Emperor didn't know what he had stuffed in. At that time, the empire was in its early stages, and there were Blasphemous Artifact everywhere.
To prevent these things from causing endless harm, Mordred is the perfect dumping ground. After all, that twisted flesh that can dissolve everything won't die, so just throw it in.
Of course, the Emperor would never say this aloud; he still needed Mordred to work for him, so he would just play dumb.
However, despite his feigned ignorance, the Emperor was also curious about what kind of monster Mordred could raise, completely unaware that he had also gone astray.
As the shadowy mist dissipated, the first thing revealed was a living staff with five eyeballs, which looked quite wise.
Its claws, covered in chitinous shells, gripped the staff handle firmly, and its thick, long tail, covered in sharp bone spurs, was just like Mordred's.
Perhaps because it had devoured Carlos, a magic book bearing the inscription "Imperial Double Eagles" hung at its waist, with dark blue bird feathers layered on its wings.
Looking at the strange humanoid figure in front of her, with its blue and black body, short, messy hair, and robes similar to Carlos's, Mordred could sense the connection between her and herself. This was the useless Daemon she had raised for so long.
However, after absorbing his own shadow, the connection became even deeper, like another version of himself, and he also felt something surging from within him towards the other.
But for some reason, through those pale blue eyes, Mordred felt that this guy wasn't very bright. But then she thought, Carlos is known as Clever Head Daemon who knows 5,000 years of history, so she absolutely couldn't judge a book by its cover.
Especially considering the surging, vast Fel Energy emanating from the other party's body, it's clear they are a spellcaster specializing in witchcraft; they must be an intelligent individual.
"Good, as expected of someone who inherited my extraordinary wisdom. Let me see what abilities you have."
However, upon hearing Mordred speak, Xier did not display any sorcery. Instead, she swung her staff, smashing the Adamantium deck beside her with a single blow, and walked forward with a disdainful expression, patting Mordred's little Little Blondie.
"How can some so-called Psychic Power magic compare to my muscular body, forged through countless trials?"
"And what are you looking at? Look at me again and I'll slap you! My name is Morgan, I am the Lord of the Legion! You're Mordred, aren't you? Call me 'Mommy' and let me hear it."