In the shadows of the Warp, upon the eternal gaming table, the weakest golden player had somehow acquired the most pieces. The power of profound darkness flickered beneath him, atop the Golden Throne.
The other four were pleased with this outcome. He should have been just like them, but instead, he had become obsessed with role-playing and lost himself in it.
Everything would unfold as planned. Fate could not be defied, and the right pieces would always find their way into their hands. After all, destiny had already set the price.
But change always came unannounced. One of their kin tossed a twisted monster piece onto the board, using the same underhanded tricks as before.
With the monster's arrival, the Joker, who should have left the side of the board, let out a wild laugh. But then a gaze from the purple shadows made him fall silent, like a rooster caught by the throat.
The monster brought fog and hunger. Its twisted intelligence saw endless possibilities, yet, to everyone's surprise, it chose silence—simply because it enjoyed a good laugh.
The beast's mischief stung the corrupted god of pleasure. The unprecedented sensation excited him, giving him a new idea, so he, too, chose to let it happen.
Across the board, the decaying Old One had little fondness for the new piece. He already knew he would have a beloved dutiful son. He was forever simmering that pot of thick soup, as if nothing could ever interrupt his work. Four gazes turned toward the final player.
"What are you looking at me for? Cursed One, just give me The Angel, and I'll ally with you to beat those cowards."
The stereotypical brute sat upon his Brass Throne, adorned with skulls. A bloodthirsty dog's head glared from his terrifying body at his most beloved piece. He truly wanted that piece—even if it meant allying with the Cursed One.
But all he got in reply was a flat, "Get lost!"
The Kobold was used to it and paid no mind to the insult. It was just how they always treated each other. But as the monster moved, his fallback piece cracked. Enraged, the Kobold sensed something was off, grabbed his greatsword, and hacked at the nearby blob. "You wretched thing! You must've done this!"
The coordinates were matched in no time, and a new set was sent back to the star charts aboard the Blacklight. Nuceria lay on the Imperium's frontier, along the front lines of the Great Crusade.
With the Primarch's whereabouts at stake, Guilliman decided to go with Hogg. He would take his flagship and join forces with the Blackwatch for the journey to Nuceria.
The Ultramarines' flagship, Macragge's Honour, sailed alongside the Blacklight at the head of the fleet. It didn't take long for Guilliman to notice something strange.
Several peculiar Eldar warships in the Blackwatch fleet suddenly pulled ahead. Just as he was wondering why, a message came from the Blacklight, and Hogg's big face appeared in a holographic image on the bridge.
"Don't be surprised, Guilliman! I told you, you wouldn't lose out. Now you get to enjoy something our old man's wanted his whole life. Don't fall behind! The fleet's about to accelerate."
Before Hogg could finish speaking, a massive portal appeared in the void. The lead Eldar ship plunged through, followed close behind by the Blacklight.
"My lord! Should we follow them?" Marius Gage, commander-in-chief of the Ultramarines, asked his father. After all, the Thirteenth Legion had never used this strange method of travel.
Trusting his kin, Guilliman gave the order in response to his son's question:
"Follow the Blackwatch."
The moment they plunged through the gate, Guilliman noticed how different this was from traveling through the Warp. He had never experienced any ill effects while traveling through the Warp, but the Psykers serving as Navigators always endured severe interference. Yet from what he could tell, this strange method of travel had no effect on the Psykers at all.
The discovery excited Guilliman. Hogg had said he would share his technology with the Ultramarines. As Euten's new son, surely he wouldn't lie to him. Besides, Guilliman was a Primarch; he had some pride.
The human fleet raced through the Webway, created by the Old Ones. The Ultramarines, long plagued by the contamination of Warp travel, were thrilled by this unprecedented experience.
Meanwhile, the Blackwatch members sharing data among themselves mocked their provincial cousins, who had never seen the like. They had no idea that just a few months earlier, the first time they entered the Webway, they'd been just as excited as dogs let off their leashes.
The Webway, which crossed the dimensions of space, drastically shortened their travel time. What would have taken two and a half months of grueling Warp travel now took less than a week. The fleet could cross half the Ultima Segmentum and reach its frontier destination.
But the people joyfully racing through the Webway had no idea that unexpected changes were unfolding on Nuceria.
Angron was an optimist by nature. In his youth, he had suffered a serious injury and taken a blow to the head. A group of Xenos with long ears had tried to capture him, but with his natural strength, he had driven them off with stones.
Unfortunately, after escaping their pursuit, Angron was captured by the local human nobles and turned into a slave gladiator for their amusement.
The word "Xenos" seemed etched into Angron's mind. No one had taught it to him, yet somehow he had always known what it meant.
As a gladiator, Angron hated his life as a slave. But his adoptive father and comrades, who had taught him so much, were still here.
Angron possessed a body far stronger than any mortal's. He had tried to escape, but the local human nobles, whose technology rivaled that of the Imperium, always managed to recapture him. Then came brutal beatings and humiliation.
Captured once again, Angron suffered even crueler abuse this time. The beatings that usually went on for hours were cut short—not because the slave masters had suddenly taken pity on him, but because Angron was due to perform in the arena soon.
The bloodthirsty spectators didn't want to see their champion looking listless. They wanted to watch two savage beasts, brimming with bloodlust, fight in the sand pit, tearing apart every shred of flesh and every limb.
The door to the dark passageway swung open. The blinding sunlight, reflected off the sand, drove the bloodthirsty spectators into an even greater frenzy. The local nobles broadcast the spectacle, allowing all the upper classes to watch the arena's bloody battles. It had become one of Nuceria's most popular forms of entertainment.
Cheers mingled with frenzied howls, more fervent than ever. Angron, who had sensed the emotions of nearby creatures since childhood, knew something was wrong.
He knew the opponent walking toward him all too well. Every time he drank, he saw that face reflected in his water bowl.
A terrifying figure encased in heavy armor, its head covered in metal braids, appeared before Angron.
No explanation was needed. Angron understood that the figure was himself.
"You pathetic coward! I'll shatter your wretched fate!"
The armored figure—perhaps the future, a now-mad Angron—snatched up a pair of great axes dripping with blood and scraps of flesh and roared at Angron.
Before you continue