It Appeared! A Wetware Driver

Within the shadows of the Warp, upon the eternal gaming table, the seemingly weakest golden player held the most pieces, while the power of profound darkness flickered beneath the Brass Throne he occupied.

This was a result the other four were pleased to see; for them, he should have been the same, yet he had become obsessed with roleplay and was deeply mired within it.

Everything would proceed as once planned; destiny could not be defied, and suitable pieces would always reach their hands, for fate had long since marked the price.

However, change always arrives unbidden. A twisted, monstrous piece was tossed onto the board by their kin, employing small tricks just as in the past.

As the monster entered the fray, the jester who should have departed the game let out a wanton mocking laugh, but a gaze from the purple shadows immediately followed, causing the jester to fall silent like a rooster with its neck constricted.

The monster brought mist and hunger, and twisted wisdom perceived infinite changes; unexpectedly, he chose silence, simply because he enjoyed the spectacle.

The fallen pleasure was stung by the foul beast, a sensory experience unlike any other stimulating Him, which gave Him different ideas and thus He also chose to acquiesce.

Shifting the perspective to the opposite side, the decaying Old Ones held no affection for the new piece, for he already knew he would have his beloved filial son; he was always brewing that pot of thick soup, as if nothing could disturb his work, and four gazes turned toward the final player.

"Why are you looking at me? Cursed one, as long as you give me the angel, I will form an alliance with you to strike these cowards."

The stereotypical brute, sitting upon his Brass Throne adorned with skulls, stared at his most beloved piece with bloodthirsty dog-heads on his terrifying frame; he truly desired to obtain that piece, even at the cost of allying with the Cursed One.

But he received only a cold "Get lost!" from across the table.

The accustomed dog-head did not care for the insults from across the way; after all, this was their daily routine. Yet, as the monster moved, cracks appeared in his own guaranteed piece. The enraged dog-head felt something was amiss, so he snatched up his greatsword and hacked at the nearby slime, "Damned thing, it must be your doing."

The coordinate matching was completed quickly, and a new set of coordinates was transmitted back to the star map of the Blacklight. Nuceria lay on the frontier of Imperium, situated on the front lines of the Great Crusade.

Concerned with the whereabouts of the Primarch, Guilliman decided to accompany Hogg, utilizing his own flagship and the Blackwatch to form a coalition for this journey to Nuceria.

The Ultramarines flagship Macragge's Honour and the Blacklight sailed side-by-side at the head of the fleet, and soon, Guilliman discovered the anomaly.

Within the Blackwatch fleet, those few peculiar Eldar warships suddenly surged to the front. Just as he was filled with confusion, a message arrived on the Blacklight, and Hogg's large face appeared in the holographic projection on the bridge.

"Don't be surprised! Guilliman, I told you that you wouldn't lose out. Next, I'll let you enjoy in advance something our dad spent his whole life trying to obtain. Don't fall behind! The fleet is about to accelerate."

Before Hogg could finish speaking, a massive portal appeared in the void. The lead Eldar ship plunged straight in, followed closely by the Blacklight.

"My Lord! Should we follow them in?" Marius Gage, the commander of the Ultramarines, asked his father, for the Thirteenth Legion had never used such a peculiar method of navigation.

Facing his son's inquiry, Guilliman, trusting his kin, gave the order:

"Follow the Blackwatch."

The moment they breached the light-gate, Guilliman noticed the difference from typical Warp travel. Although he had never experienced any abnormalities while traveling through the Warp himself, the navigators—the psykers—always endured immense interference. Yet, according to his observations of this peculiar method of travel, the psykers showed no signs of distress.

This could not help but excite Guilliman; after all, Hogg had promised to share technology with the Ultramarines. As the new son of Euten, surely he would not deceive him—at the very least, as a Primarch, he had to maintain some face.

The human fleet was racing through the Webway created by the Old Ones, and the novel experience, never before felt, thrilled the Ultramarines who had long suffered from the pollution of Warp travel.

Meanwhile, the Blackwatch members, who were sharing data, mocked their provincial cousins who had never seen the world. Little did they know that when they first entered the Webway a few months prior, they had been as excited as dogs let off the leash.

The Webway, which spanned spatial dimensions, greatly shortened the travel time. A journey that would have required two and a half months of high-intensity Warp transit now took less than a week for the fleet to traverse a small portion of the Ultima Segmentum to reach their destination on the frontier.

However, those happily racing through the Webway were unaware that an unexpected change was unfolding on Nuceria.

Angron was optimistic about life. During his childhood, he had suffered a severe injury that cracked his skull, and a group of aliens with long ears had tried to capture him, but relying on his innate valor, he had managed to drive that group of aliens away with stones.

Unfortunately, however, having escaped capture, Angron was seized by local human nobles and turned into a slave gladiator for their amusement.

The word "alien" seemed carved into Angron's mind; although no one had taught him, he knew it by instinct.

As a gladiator, Angron hated this life of slavery, but his foster father and comrades, who had taught him many things, were still here.

Possessing a physique that surpassed mortals, Angron had once tried to escape, but the local human nobles, who possessed technology not far off from Imperium, could always catch him, followed by cruel beatings and humiliation.

Captured once again, Angron suffered even more brutal abuse this time. The beatings that usually lasted a long time were called off—not because the slave owners had suddenly developed a kind heart, but mainly because Angron was due to perform in a duel on stage shortly.

That group of bloodthirsty spectators did not like to see Angron, their champion, looking listless; they wanted to see two blood-crazed beasts fighting in the sand pit, tearing apart every inch of flesh and limb.

The dark tunnel gate was opened, and the blinding sunlight, reflected off the gravel, drove the bloodthirsty audience into a frenzy. The scene was being broadcast by the local nobles, and all the upper-class citizens could watch the blood-soaked slaughter of the arena, which had become an important form of entertainment on Nuceria.

Cheers mixed with manic roars, more frantic than ever before. Angron, who had been able to sense the emotions of surrounding creatures since he was young, felt that something was wrong.

Because the opponent walking toward him was someone Angron knew too well; every time he drank water, he could see that face in his water bowl.

A terrifying figure, encased in heavy armor with metal braids growing from its head, appeared before Angron.

No explanation was needed; Angron understood that the figure was himself.

"Cowardly trash! I will hack your pathetic destiny to pieces."

The armored figure—or perhaps, the already-mad Angron of the future—snatched up a pair of great axes dripping with blood and gore, and roared at Angron.