Guilliman watched the verbal clash in silence, tears streaming beneath his heavy helmet.
There was joy at surviving the catastrophe, reflection, and relief...
When he had thrown the Emperor's Sword, aiming not at Qin Mo himself but at the Throne, Guilliman had harbored a hope. He had hoped that his dear friend would not fall, would not submit to the power of destruction.
Now, it seemed that hope had been fulfilled.
Qin Mo had let go. He no longer fixated on whether he could forge an empire that would endure forever.
The moment he sat upon the Throne, he had searched his heart and asked why he wanted the achievements he built to prosper eternally.
Because prosperity and strength meant stability. They meant that the Tyranids, and humanity in the future, would not return to an age of ignorance and darkness. They would not cower in corners like cats tormented by hunger and suffering, bristling in fear at everything within their sight.
Eternal prosperity and strength were means, not ends.
And if eternal prosperity and strength could not be achieved, Qin Mo could accept that calmly. What he cared about was humanity itself, and every fellow human being he could see or knew of.
"..."
Tzeentch fell silent for a moment as well.
A moment later, laughter formed from gathered storms shattered the audio receivers in Qin Mo's and Guilliman's armor.
It was not a boisterous "hahaha," but the roar of storms and the Ether Torrent.
Yet even Qin Mo, unable to sense Psychic Power because he refused to accept its influence, could understand the amusement within that roar.
"What magnificent change! What magnificent fun!"
"Praise change!"
The infernal storm transformed into a viciously grinning face.
Just as Qin Mo could not make Slaanesh suffer by grabbing its throat and