Rowan opened his eyes.
Traveling between different universes wasn't as painful as he'd imagined—or rather, he hadn't felt anything in particular. Rowan had only been momentarily dazed before the scene around him changed completely, turning upside down.
He looked around. He was in a room made of steel alloy, furnished simply with just a desk and a single bed.
The Imperium of Man's double-headed eagle was engraved on the wall. The air carried the scent of incense and burning candles. A thick book lay on the desk, its cover bearing the title Lectitio Divinitatus.
GOOGLE SEARCH TWKAN
All signs pointed to one thing: he was no longer in his previous universe.
Rowan laughed.
A bitter laugh.
"Damn it, Big Gold One! You set me up!"
That was right. He understood everything now.
Escaping the Foundation Universe, that cesspit of a world, was certainly a good thing.
But damn it, how unlucky could he be? He'd jumped from one cesspit straight into another!
Warhammer 40K, a space opera IP famous across the internet in his previous life, was created by the evil British company Games Workshop.
It was a setting of Gothic darkness and war, where all kinds of different species and factions came together in a tiny Galaxy. Each had its own strengths, each its own signature tricks, and their secret weapons never failed to bring endless surprises!
According to the contract, the faction Rowan had to lead to revival was called the Imperium of Man. This empire was the most absurd of the absurd, successfully absorbing the worst aspects of every political system in human history.
The buck-passing of democracy, the iron-fisted oppression of totalitarianism, the ignorant fanaticism of theocracy, the rigid stagnation of feudalism, the universal sacrifice demanded by militarism, the brutal exploitation of slavery, the inefficiency of bureaucracy, the stifling of thought by religious rule, and so on and so forth. It was a stench beyond compare.
Ever since a little mishap during the Great Crusade ten thousand years ago, when the Emperor took his place upon the Golden Throne, the entire Imperium had been hurtling downhill at breakneck speed. Though plenty of outstanding figures had tried to save it, overall, their efforts had been futile.
"Never mind. There's no point in being so pessimistic."
Rowan quickly calmed down.
For now, his first priority was to figure out where in the Galaxy he was, and what year it was.
He walked to the door, intending to go outside.
He pushed at it, but the heavy alloy door didn't budge. It was securely locked.
"...Tch."
Rowan frowned and focused his mind. In an instant, the once-sturdy door crumbled into a pile of sand and sifted to the floor.
Cold-toned light spilled in from outside. He stepped through, and the scene before him opened up.
It was a ship's hold, apparently once used to store and transport cargo. Now, explosions and gunfire rang out without pause as a massacre unfolded.
The butcher was a Chaos Space Marine clad in pink-and-purple Power Armor covered in twisted patterns. An unpleasant fragrance clung to him. With a Chainsword in one hand and a Bolter in the other, he danced among the crowd with indescribable elegance. Wherever he went, blood sprayed and corpses fell.
"For the Four-Armed God-Emperor!"
An Astra Militarum soldier had just picked up a Melta Bomb when his head was severed by a single blow. His helmet fell away in midair, revealing a hideous face and a bald head covered in chitinous plates.
The Chaos Space Marine casually flicked the bomb aside. It exploded, swallowing several people, and the slaughter continued.
"Now that's something. Genestealers guarding the gates, huh?"
Seeing this scene, which could only be described as thoroughly Warhammer, Rowan couldn't help thinking wryly.
The two sides, who had been exchanging fire, noticed Rowan wandering onto the battlefield. They reacted in different ways: the Genestealers kept firing at the Chaos Space Marine, while the Chaos Space Marine immediately turned and charged straight at Rowan!
"Praise the Lord of Pleasure!"
For a Chaos Space Marine who worshiped Slaanesh, victory was never the most important thing. The pleasure and thrill of battle mattered more.
He was already sick of slaughtering these Xenos, whose genes and psychic powers controlled them and who lacked the intoxicating scent of fear. Seeing an ordinary human suddenly appear on the battlefield was a delightful surprise.
How should he toy with this poor mortal?
He had it! Keep him alive, flay him in one piece, then inscribe the False Emperor's Lectitio Divinitatus across every tendon in his body. Just imagining it sent a thrill through him!
The Chaos Space Marine was still marveling at the delightful idea that had suddenly occurred to him when his body abruptly seized up. He came to a halt right in front of the mortal he'd assumed would be easy to kill.
What was going on?
"He scared the hell out of me! Good thing I'm a step ahead!"
Rowan grumbled inwardly. He'd locked up his opponent's Mk7 Power Armor with a single thought.
In the Foundation Universe, almost every anomalous organization had plenty of experience countering Reality Warpers. As far as Rowan could remember, every team sent to capture him came equipped with a Scranton Reality Anchor to suppress his Reality Warping Ability.
It was rare for an enemy to be completely unprepared for his powers, like this one was.
Rowan reached out and gave a gentle squeeze.
"Bang!"
A sharp crack rang out.
The Chaos Space Marine staggered, then toppled to the ground. His Power Armor split open, and a great deal of blood gushed through the cracks.
Rowan hadn't really done much. He'd merely transformed some of the blood inside the Chaos Space Marine's body into nitroglycerin.
This explosive, which second-millennium humans had used to mine, was just as reliable in the forty-first millennium. It had blown apart both hearts and all three lungs, killing him on the spot.
Rowan let out a quiet breath. With the Chaos Space Marine dead, he felt energy fill his body, slightly elevating something more fundamental within him.
"That Chaos Space Marine had a pretty high-quality soul. One of his is worth several hundred ordinary human souls."
He marveled silently.
The Warp, Six Rings of Slaanesh.
A perfect palace, beyond the imagining of any mortal and impossible to describe even in a lifetime, stood quietly amid the waves of the Empyrean. Between its columns were sculptures, oil paintings, and all manner of rare works of art, each enough to draw a person into a deep and lasting obsession.
The most eye-catching things in this palace weren't the artworks, but the countless ordinary-looking mirrors. They were arranged like stars around the center of the palace, encircling a magnificent bed.
Upon that bed, a scene so twisted that a mortal would be transformed into a Chaos Spawn at a single glance was taking place.
Every mirror reflected the blasphemous scene on the bed. Each represented a different possibility, and the sensations felt by the figures in the mirrors were relayed to the original. Amplified thousands or tens of thousands of times over, they were enough to bring ecstasy even to Slaaneshi Daemons whose thresholds had risen beyond measure.
After who knew how long, a Keeper of Secrets lay helplessly on the bed, clearly unable to move.
The other "person" slowly sat up.
She wore the robes of an Imperial Sister, utterly at odds with the blasphemous scene. Yet every mark of purity on them had been replaced with twisted symbols associated with Slaanesh.
Her limbs and torso had also mutated beyond recognition. She stood more than four meters tall, with slender limbs that brought crawling creatures to mind and a face both twisted and bewitching.
Miriael Sabathiel.
The disgrace of the Order of the Martyred Saint. A fallen Sister who had forsaken her faith and knelt before Slaanesh, and a Chaos champion blessed by Slaanesh.
She stuck out a tongue a full meter long and licked her face. The spiked tongue carved bloody streaks across her skin, which quickly vanished.
That at least helped clear Miriael's head a little.
"What's wrong, my dearest Miriael?" the Keeper of Secrets on the bed asked in a honeyed voice.
"...It's nothing much, really. It's just that the soul of one 'little fish' I had my eye on seems to have slipped out of my control."
Miriael looked languid.
Before you continue