The Great Heresy War!

What you can't have always stirs your heart; the more desirable something is, the more it attracts attention.

A dog that brings emotional value can make people happy, but if it dares to bare its teeth, its fate is either a cage or a pot.

As Warp Entity born from extreme emotions, the Four Merchants, though despicable, are definitely not the sycophants they always were. Forced relationships may not be sweet, but they quench thirst!

To the Four Gods, Mordred was a complete liability. From beginning to end, they showed Mordred almost lenient tolerance, and everyone was determined to have him.

The Nurgle believed that Mordred was a like-minded friend who had been deceived by the Yellow Skins, Tzeentch believed that only with Him could Mordred continue to bring about infinite changes.

Slaanesh is even more direct; his extreme pursuit of desire drives him to become infatuated with Mordred, wishing he could devour her whole.

As for the seemingly mindless Khorne, they are actually the most complex of the Four Gods.

As the stakes were placed on the table, the Great Game officially began. A violent Warp storm swept across the entire galaxy, causing the already turbulent and unpredictable Sea of Souls to surge with towering waves.

Countless Psyker were torn apart by Warp Energy, and holes appeared one after another on the dimensional barrier, spreading the power of the gods.

The unusual phenomena in the Warp could not be hidden from the Emperor; it was part of the plan. But the Emperor also knew that this time there was truly no turning back. After all, he had put his last ounce of resources on the line; it was all or nothing.

If that dark fate is inevitable, then humanity must tear off a piece of its own flesh to prove that it is not a coward.

Holy Terra remains, and the Emperor, leaning against the window of the Imperial Palace, looks down one last time at the mother planet that has given birth to the human race.

The rising sun tore through the darkness, casting a golden silhouette over him, like a rope tightly constricting his neck.

"My Lord, the time is almost here! Now that you have made your decision, why not do it with some dignity?"

Five years have passed since that conspiracy, and according to the Numerology compiled by his good-for-nothing son Mortarion, now is an auspicious time for him to set off.

During these five years, the Empire appeared calm on the surface, but everyone sensed that something big was about to happen. Many Primarchs wanted to go to Terra to find out the truth, but the Emperor stopped them from doing so.

The previous Emperor was a riddle-maker without a mouth; now he has a mouth, but he cannot speak.

This left the Golden Giant with no way to express his suffering. He could only spend his days surfing the internet intensely, arguing with others to relieve his boredom. His mentality improved a lot, but his mouth became increasingly foul.

The Emperor hadn't been slacking off all these past five years; he had made many contingency plans, including forming a special force to deal with Chaos and issuing them a final secret order.

To be honest, the Emperor felt that he had gone to completely unnecessary trouble. If the final secret order were to actually take effect, he seriously doubted whether it would even be effective.

"My Lord, it is truly time for you to depart."

"Okay, okay, don't rush me. Can't you let me experience what it feels like to have hands and feet a little longer, Lao Ma?"

I'm so tired.

Malcador sighed as well. He knew that his old friend didn't actually have that much ambition; in fact, it was he who first proposed the idea of an empire.

I remember when we first met, Malcador was just a child. He was immediately captivated by the noblewoman, and that separation lasted for 4,000 years.

When they met again, the noblewoman in the red dress was gone; in her place was a tech warlord with a punk hairstyle, a stubble beard, and a cocky look.

Compared to becoming Emperor, Malcador knew that his old friend preferred to be a scholar, a scientist, rather than donning eye-catching golden armor and inflating himself into a Golden Giant.

Even so, after bringing this man to the Arch-Magos organization and showing him the cultural treasures passed down from Old Terra, he still chose without hesitation to debut as Emperor.

Not only Malcador, but even the Adeptus Custodes knew that the His Majesty they served was not a good person in the conventional sense, or rather, a despicable one.

The Emperor was gluttonous, lazy, cunning, and shrewd. He didn't understand people's hearts, acted recklessly, was sharp-minded, broke contracts, had a twisted personality, and was even particularly petty and vengeful.

But what can you do about it?

When all was darkness, it was this man who stepped forward, leading humanity to dispel the darkness, break free from ignorance, and head towards the dream called empire.

That's enough.

After taking one last look at everything before him, the Emperor, under the watchful eyes of Malcador and Valdor, entered the underground palace without hesitation and stood before the Golden Throne that had been successfully calibrated.

I hadn't really thought about it before, but now the Emperor finally understands why Mordred called this powerful artifact a toilet the first time he saw it.

As a genuine artifact, even in the Dark Age of Technology, this Golden Throne would still be a formidable weapon.

Simply by sitting on the Golden Throne, while consuming enormous amounts of energy, the user's will transcend the mortal world, achieving a unique form of ascension.

It sounds amazing, but in reality, this Golden Throne is a giant torture device. It uses Psychic Power energy, and an ordinary person sitting on it will be instantly reduced to ashes, and will be dead beyond any hope of survival.

The thought that he might end up paralyzed on it in the future gave the Emperor a pained expression, as if he could see a skeleton with hardly any flesh on its body beckoning to him.

Sigh~

With a casual wave, the Emperor dispelled the terrifying illusion before him. Knowing his time was running out, he knew he had to fire the first shot. He plopped down on the Golden Throne, summoning his three children who were waiting outside.

The three siblings looked at their father, who was already seated on the throne, and remained silent.

As chosen guardians, Dorn and Magnus had indeed experienced hardship, and Perturabo was later informed of the plan by the Emperor.

Every Primarch loves the Emperor, and now, the three of them will act as executors to activate this instrument of torture.

"Father, why are there three of us?"

"That's because the three of us are Father's proudest offspring! It's an honor for both of you to stand alongside me, Magnus."

Looking at the three offspring arranged in front of me—large, medium, and chubby—though they differed in size and color, the longing in their eyes was exactly the same.

The Emperor longed to get up right now and give that self-satisfied one-eyed Sunburned Ogryn a good beating, telling him that Horus and his Second Son were his proudest offspring, and that you were only here because he was afraid something would happen to you; you were just an extra.

But the thought that he might have to rely on the three of them for the rest of his life made him swallow back the words he wanted to say.

"That's right, you are all my wings, and you are all my proudest offspring. There is no order of ranking; I love each and every one of you equally."

Upon hearing this, even the most conflicted Perturabo couldn't help but smile slightly, and even let out a soft hum:

"Don't worry, Father. As long as Dorn joins forces, we are invincible. You should have sent me to Terra long ago. With Magnus's Thousand Sons Legion as reserves, the Solar System's defenses are impregnable. Not even a fly can get in."

"That's right! As long as the three of us join forces, we're invincible! Dorn, say something!"

"I am Rogal Dorn!"

"Hahaha, did you see that, Father? You can rest assured and leave things to us. Anyone who dares to cause trouble in Terra will be smashed into pieces with one punch."

The Emperor thought to himself, "You're the one I worry about the most. It would be better if you just behaved yourself and didn't cause any trouble. If I had known this would happen, I should have given him a good beating back then."

"Stop talking nonsense, come on over!"

Without any hesitation, the three Primarchs, having received their orders, came to the side of the Golden Throne and simultaneously pulled down the massive lever in front of them.

As the Golden Throne activated, extreme pain ravaged everything about the Emperor, but he remained unfazed, took out an elemental bottle with a grinning dog's head printed on it, flicked open the bottle, and poured the contents into his mouth.

This Elemental Vial was Mordred's personal possession, having been with him for nearly two centuries. Its corrosive power was so great that a single sip could turn half a platoon of Space Marine into mindless the Beast.

With Fel Energy entering his body and Psychic Power erupting, and with the Golden Throne officially in operation, the Emperor no longer cared about the dangerous red line and frantically sought out Warp Energy.

Golden Psychic Power flames erupted, burning wildly like a bonfire, and the Golden Throne lived up to expectations, absorbing the Emperor's powerful energy and successfully trapping half of the Emperor's rear end in the instant they were almost touching.

Despite the excruciating pain, the Emperor let out a boastful laugh:

"Yes, yes, yes, come on, all of you!"

This was the most dangerous step, but also the most crucial. Having a sword but not using it is different from having no sword at all. From then on, humanity finally had a weapon to rival the Chaos God.

This is Emperor sacrifice, a safety net for humanity. If all else fails, then everyone perishes together.

The Auxilia are tools, the Space Marine are tools, the Primarch are tools, but Neos is the ultimate weapon.

As long as you are ruthless to yourself, you can achieve a result that tilts the scales with countless sacrifices, even if countless humans lose their lives for it. But this is the way of survival in this dark world.

"Go ahead, let's muddy the waters completely. The rest is up to you."

Oh, and Magnus, you stay here. I must keep an eye on you myself.

"Huh? Me! Fine."

The palace gates were tightly shut. The two Primarchs, Three Legions, and countless Auxilia were ready to go, with some heading towards the defensive positions that had been practiced countless times.

A portion of them headed towards the Webway deep within the Imperial Palace, a crucial battlefield isolated from everything, where Tom's 10,000 Atlas Long Prepared.

But the real protagonists are not them, but a force that has been overlooked by everyone.

"For the grand plan!"

"Waaaagh!!!"

Thirteen minutes later, the brilliant Astronomican that had guided humanity forward went out.

Darkness enveloped the land, and the eternal night once again turned the Imperium of Man into isolated islands.

Time passed second by second, and every moment someone lost their life because of it. After nine days and nights, they finally couldn't bear it any longer.

A barrage of chaotic star signals struck instantly, even the Divine Seal Network, used by both humans and ghosts, suffered a massive attack of invalid codes. Fortunately, the Divine Seal Network remained resilient and quickly returned to normal.

The Emperor was very satisfied with this result and became even more convinced of his decision to keep Magnus in sight. As long as this troublesome fellow was kept in check, that was the best outcome.

Before the Emperor could even feel happy for half a second, the palace gates were suddenly smashed open, and there stood none other than Valdor, covered in blood.

"Your His Majesty, something terrible has happened! A wolf howl came from nowhere and crashed the Webway."

"..."

"Hmph, ahhhhh-- Russ!"