Pulling the Plug!

On the Stormbird's flight deck, heavy metal gates slowly rose. A squad of warriors clad in pure black Power Armor was already lined up, waiting. Dim light patterns occasionally flashed between the seams of their armor, their Bolters held with muzzles pointed toward the ground, exuding a chilling aura of "stay away."

The skull insignia on the black-armored warriors' pauldrons was particularly striking in the dim light. These were Koz's Primarch Guard – the Black Guard. They stood silently, awaiting the distinguished guest about to board.

The Stormbird's engine noise gradually faded, and it finally landed steadily on the deck. The cabin door's hydraulic system hissed as it opened to both sides. The first to emerge were Raven Guard warriors, their armor appearing lighter than the Black Guard's, yet more agile.

Sandman's steel boots echoed crisply on the metal deck as he, accompanied by Sevitar, headed towards the Nightfall's bridge.

"What's Koz's situation? Did he get word of my arrival and is still hiding in his private chambers?" Sandman asked, looking displeased at the Black Guard guarding the only path to the lost one.

He surveyed what was, on the Nightfall, the only "dark corner"—only a few lights were on along the corridor walls, their dim, yellowish glow barely outlining the metal cabin walls. Even the air felt heavy with a suffocating silence.

This unusual dimness, however, brought a flicker of understanding to Sandman's eyes. The lighting indicated that Koz's consciousness was clear; the Primarch was simply deliberately avoiding something.

"You all wait here. I'm going to give your Primarch some much-needed therapy!" Sandman raised a hand, stopping Sevitar and the others who had started to follow. As the words fell, he strode into the deeper darkness, giving no one a chance to speak.

"Thump... thump... thump..." Steel-shod boots struck the ceramite floor with crisp, heavy sounds. Each step felt like it landed on the Black Guard's hearts. They stood frozen, their pure black eyes fixed on Sandman's retreating back through their helmet visors, yet none dared to step forward and stop him.

The oppressive aura emanating from the black figure was more suffocating than that of their Primarch, Koz.

As Sandman walked deeper into the dim corridor, the lights on either side began to extinguish one by one. The "snap... snap... snap..." of power cutting out was jarring in the silence.

The light rapidly receded, leaving only boundless darkness to envelop Sandman, like an invisible barrier, completely isolating him from the Night Lords Legion behind him. At the end of the corridor, Koz's private chamber lay like a dormant Great Beast, waiting silently in the perpetual night-like darkness.

"Creeeak—" A sharp metallic grinding sound suddenly broke the silence. Rusty gears forcibly engaged, and the heavy chamber door of Koz's private room slowly opened inward, revealing a space almost swallowed by darkness.

Deep within the room, only a single lamp emitted a faint glow. The light barely illuminated the area around a small coffee table, its yellow hue as weak as a candle in the wind, flickering precariously, as if it would extinguish at any moment, taking the last spark of life from the room with it into silence.

Within that wavering halo of light, an unnaturally gaunt figure slowly emerged. Sandman squinted, observing the man's skin, which had a sickly pallor, like a plaster statue that had long been kept from the light. Even the veins on his neck were clearly visible.

The Night Lords Primarch sat there, a spectral figure in the shadows beside the coffee table, his frame so slender it seemed a gust of wind could topple him. Only his eyes, hidden beneath the dim light, occasionally flashed with an inscrutable glimmer.

Sandman, never one for pleasantries, strode into the dimly lit room. As his boots crossed the threshold, the heavy chamber door behind him emitted another "creeak—" of grating metal and slowly closed, shutting out everything from the outside world.

As he entered, the dim lamp beside the coffee table suddenly brightened slightly, its yellow glow gradually expanding outward. Immediately after, the wall lamps around the room, which had been turned off, also lit up one by one. The pale white light mingled with the warm light of the coffee table lamp, slowly bringing the room's brightness back to normal—as if even the lights were accommodating his arrival, dispelling the darkness Koz had deliberately created.

"I don't like this kind of dim environment," Sandman said bluntly, plopping down on another sofa next to Koz. The hard ceramite of his armor made a dull thud against the leather sofa. "Although the presence of light makes no difference to me, I believe that as humans, it's normal to yearn for light."

"Our existence isn't normal to begin with, is it!" Koz's voice came from the adjacent room, laden with an unshakeable weariness, yet his tone was unusually firm. It was clear his words touched upon the fundamental nature of Primarchs.

Sandman's gaze instantly sharpened. His interest in this question had been building for a long time, and now, finally meeting Koz, he could properly hear about the visions the Primarch had seen. From Koz's tone, he could vaguely guess that those visions must contain information about the fundamental nature of the Primarchs.

"What did you see?" Sandman asked.

"I saw many things, many..." Koz's voice was intermittent, carrying an indescribable weight. He struggled to turn his gaze towards Sandman, his sunken eyes set in a face even more unnervingly pale.

This simple act of turning his head seemed to drain all the strength from Koz's body. He leaned back against the sofa, his chest heaving, his breathing becoming rapid and heavy.

Just a few sentences had left him gasping for air—clearly, during this time, the constant influx of visions had nearly reduced the Night Lords Primarch to skin and bones.

"Is that all? Nothing else?" Sandman keenly caught the crucial point in Koz's words: "he" was absent from those visions. If he had been present, Koz, in his current state, would never have concealed it. Even Malcador's death was not mentioned.

"Could Koz's precognitive ability be randomly grabbing snippets from different timelines?" Sandman's mind raced, his fingertips tapping unconsciously on the armrest of the sofa.

"What do you want to know?" Koz asked, wiping his mouth with his sleeve, forcing himself to muster some energy.

Sandman leaned forward, his eyes locked on Koz. "The betrayal you foresaw, who primarily instigated it? Is there any mention of Malcador?" He needed more specific details to determine the direction of these prophecies.

"Everything... it's too chaotic..." Koz closed his eyes, as if fighting against the surging images in his mind. "Horus, Guilliman, Lion, even Russ... anyone is possible, including myself." He paused, his voice growing hoarser. "As for Malcador... death was his only destiny."

"Alright, I think I know what the problem is with your precognitive ability," Sandman said, relieved, finally having sorted out his thoughts.

He tried to explain in a way Koz could understand: "Simply put, you can think of your precognitive ability as a 'computer' that can search Warp information—like a Cogitator Array. But this 'Cogitator' is uncontrollable, and the information it retrieves isn't limited to this single space-time."

It was like a computer infected with a virus, frantically opening various web pages on its own, downloading a pile of disorganized software, filling the entire system with conflicting data, and ultimately becoming a 'breeding ground for corruption' (a metaphor for something chaotic and self-propagating).

And Koz was undergoing such an endless cycle: fragments from countless time-spaces colliding and overlapping in his mind until his spirit and body could no longer withstand such a harsh load, ultimately leading to a breakdown.

"So, all of this is real? Primarchs, gods, betrayal... it's all destined to happen?" Koz's voice deepened with despair after hearing Sandman's explanation.

Before, he had been desperately fighting against those incredibly real psychic visions. But Sandman not only didn't deny anything in the prophecies but also spoke of "Primarchs rebelling" without a hint of surprise—as if it were a matter of course.

Even the existence of "gods" didn't surprise him. His calm demeanor was like someone who already knew the inside story, facing a novice who had just encountered top-secret information, so calm it was almost indifferent.

It was no wonder Koz had locked himself in his private chamber for so long. Even when the Night Lords and the Salamanders clashed, he had no interest in intervening—compared to the catastrophe in the prophecies, such conflicts were insignificant.

"The rebellion will definitely happen," Sandman stated plainly, without beating around the bush. "But just as you saw in your prophecies, no one knows who will make the first move. It could be Horus, it could be Guilliman, it could be Lion, or it could be you. So there's nothing to be surprised about."

Sandman knew in his heart that Koz's situation was different from other Primarchs. These things would have to be faced sooner or later. Rather than letting him consume himself, it was better to be direct.

Koz's shoulders slumped, and he closed his eyes in despair. He wasn't mad yet and still held some affection for his brothers. "Then... the deaths of those brothers in the prophecies, the Father's severe injuries, will they also become reality?"

"Koz, I have to admit your precognitive ability is strong, but there's no need to push yourself this hard," Sandman leaned forward slightly, beginning the real "therapy." "Prophecies are just references, not absolute certainties.

For example, me—have you seen my existence in your prophecies? I'm sitting right beside you now. Can you predict any information about me?"

Koz's eyes snapped open, his pupils contracting slightly. He truly hadn't foreseen the existence of this "Raven Guard Legionary Commander."

Even when images of Korax's rebellion appeared in his visions, this person was nowhere to be seen. But that was impossible unless the person didn't exist. Yet, he was sitting right in front of him, alive and well.

"The Imperium is fighting major wars on two fronts right now. Did you see the final outcome?" Sandman didn't give Koz time to think, immediately posing another question.

Logically speaking, these two crucial battles, which would determine the fate of the Imperium of Man for the next ten thousand years, should have elicited a reaction from Koz's psychic visions.

"I can't see..." Koz's voice held a newfound bewilderment. Reminded by Sandman, he also realized something was amiss. "I can't see you, and I haven't foreseen any images of those two wars of the Imperium."

He couldn't help but ask himself: Why didn't the prophecies focus on these two most critical, world-altering battles, but instead fixated on those distant and vague "betrayals"?

"So, things like prophecies are meant to be glanced at, no need to take them too seriously," Sandman smiled, his tone guiding. "I know so much top-secret information, yet I don't even cast a shadow in your prophecies. Now, try using your psychic vision to look at me—but I must warn you, don't be too shocked."

With his words falling, Sandman raised a hand and dispelled the psionic spell on himself. This meant that as long as Koz used his psychic vision, he would be able to clearly see his projection in the Warp.

Koz subconsciously activated his psionic energy, and a faint halo instantly appeared in his eyes. He had expected to see the psychic outline of an ordinary Astartes, or the unique shadow energy of the Raven Guard. But the moment his psychic vision pierced through the veil of reality, Koz's breathing abruptly ceased, his heart seized by an invisible hand.

The space behind Sandman twisted and collapsed. Pure black mist surged out like a living thing, slowly coalescing into an ethereal figure. A wide hood obscured its face, and beneath it lay a darkness thicker than the eternal night of Nostramo, a darkness that seemed capable of devouring all light and hope.

The scythe in the phantom's hand made Koz's soul tremble. The blade shimmered with a chilling, azure light, its edge entwined with faint wisps of luminescence, like the last breaths of the dying.

Every slight movement sent ripples through the surrounding Warp energy—it was a power of "finality" so extreme in its coldness that with a single swing, any mortal, Space Marine, or even Primarch would be instantly reduced to nothingness.

"What... what is this..." Koz roared in his heart, but no sound escaped his lips.

He had seen all manner of evil Xenos, demons in his psychic prophecies, even gods. But the fear those beings inspired was less than a ten-thousandth of what he felt before this embodiment of death.

Strangely, this death god was not fully formed. The phantom had only coalesced up to its chest, the mist below continuously dissipating and reforming, as if forcibly restrained by some powerful force. Yet, even so, the oppressive aura of one who "held dominion over life and death" was overwhelming.

Koz could even clearly feel the unseen gaze emanating from beneath the hood. It wasn't malice, but a greedy scrutiny, as if assessing whether he was sufficiently palatable.

Koz's pupils contracted to the size of pinpricks. His formerly pale face turned ashen white, his lips trembled uncontrollably, and even his fingertips grew numb.

The visions of betrayal and death from before now seemed blurry in his mind. Compared to this "death god" before him, the calamities in those prophecies felt like mere childish pranks.

Koz instinctively recoiled, his back hitting the armrest of the sofa with a thud, yet he felt no pain. It was as if his blood had frozen solid, and even his psychic energy instinctively resisted the suffocating pressure.

"Is this better?" Sandman concealed his Warp projection once more and asked Koz with concern. Compared to his Warp projection, Sandman now seemed as kind and benevolent as a grandfather next door.

"Do you still firmly believe your prophecies are correct now?" Sandman's voice was calm and unperturbed as his gaze fell upon Koz, who had yet to recover from the shock.

Koz's throat bobbed twice, his voice still carrying a trace of a tremor. "What... exactly... are you?" Those few seconds of psychic vision still left him with lingering dread, as if his soul had nearly been devoured by that death god's projection, a chill seeping into his very bones.

"Didn't your prophecies show the existence of gods?" Sandman leaned back on the sofa nonchalantly, his tone as casual as if discussing the weather. "You can think of me as humanity's god, humanity's death god."

"But why... can I not predict your existence at all?" Koz pressed, confusion evident in his eyes. His psychic abilities had never failed him before, yet this person before him was like a "Warp blind spot," completely outside the scope of his prophecies.

"You should focus on what's happening now, not always staring at those prophecies." Sandman sat up, his tone gradually becoming serious. "Prophecies can be wrong. I am the best example. Of course, this is not your fault; your prophetic ability is too strong, and you can't control it."

Sandman paused, presenting two options. "But it doesn't matter. I will either 'pull your network cable' or give you a 'limiter.' You choose one. Also, I will seal a portion of your memories—it's not time for me to reveal my identity yet."

Sandman's method was crude. He wasn't a psychologist and didn't understand counseling. Since he understood the principle behind Koz's prophetic ability, he would use the most straightforward solution. The Chaos Gods loved to inject junk information into Koz's prophecies, didn't they? Pulling the "network cable" would completely sever that connection.

After all, this ability wasn't essential for Koz. Look at Guilliman; after "pulling the plug," how well did he govern the Ultramarines and Ultramar?

Psionic abilities were important for Primarchs like Korax, but for Koz, it was more of a burden. His prophetic ability brought no positive benefits, only negative effects: his combat power didn't improve, his Legion was thrown into chaos, a complete "debuff."

A hint of relief finally appeared on Koz's weary face. "Let me rest for a while." After being tormented by prophecies for so long, now that he had a chance to escape his predicament, even if only temporarily, he knew how to choose.

"That's easy!" Sandman said, reaching out and plucking a few strands of ink-black hair, which he quickly braided into a thin cord.

He looked at the cord, feeling something was missing. His gaze swept across the room, landing on the power claw on the weapon rack. "Got it—but you'll have to find a new weapon."

As soon as he finished speaking, the power of the Star God quietly activated. The power claw, emanating a deadly cold glint, instantly began to dissolve. The molten metal hovered in the air, reformed, and finally solidified into a pendant suitable for a Primarch's stature.

At the center of the pendant was a silver skull, flanked by a pair of bat wings—the emblem of the Night Lords Legion.