Confronting a God

King Norwick heard a sound like the raspy caw of a crow, a cough that sounded as if phlegm were stuck in a throat. The voice carried the disdain of one looking down from on high, yet it also exuded a most sincere invitation.

"I did not actively reach out to any so-called 'gods.' I have not the slightest interest in you or your kind. It is your hands that have reached too far, touching my son."

The real master had appeared!

Norwick raised an eyebrow. He truly had not expected that his deductions would actually touch upon such deep secrets and draw out the presence of a "god."

However, he did not believe the entity was a god; it was merely a special existence, or perhaps a powerful psyker beyond human comprehension.

"Your son?" The voice emitted a "kwa-kwa" wheezing sound, mocking Norwick between gasps like a patient with advanced tuberculosis: "He is the scion of a god. How dare a mere mortal like you overstep your bounds?"

"Oh?" Norwick was intrigued. The "god" opposite him seemed indifferent to revealing information, which provided him with a wealth of sources: "Then where is his 'god' father?"

As for the master behind the book, Norwick did not believe a single word of what was being revealed.

Doom was absolutely not the scion of a god. He confirmed this in his heart, and the "god" before him was the most powerful evidence of that.

If gods truly existed and were omnipresent, if any thought touching upon them would cause them to know and manifest before the observer, then Doom's father should have already come knocking.

"Hmm! How interesting." The book that was speaking flew in a circle around Norwick, emitting a sound of approval: "Your thinking is sharp, and you are adept at distinguishing truth from falsehood."

"I like clever people. I even grant clever people rewards, such as answering a few questions."

The book spun, flying higher and higher, looking down at Norwick from above with the arrogance of a superior.

"But I have no interest in asking questions." Norwick smiled slightly, flatly rejecting the proposal without a moment's hesitation.

"Do you not wish to uncover the truth?" the book asked, puzzled. King Norwick's response was unexpected.

"I am already close to the truth. I do not need pointers from a thing of unknown origin like you."

"But that is not the whole of it." The voice, like that of a terminal tuberculosis patient, continued to entice, constantly seducing Norwick's curiosity.

"I do not need to know that much." Norwick was indifferent. What truth of what questions? What answers to everything?

He wanted to know who his son's enemy was, and he had already received that answer.

The more one knows, the easier it is to be misled. The truth that many people believe in might just be what the entities in the shadows want you to see.

Knowing when to stop, on the contrary, allows one to keep a clear head.

"I am just a father who cares for his son, nothing more. I have no desire to understand you messy, chaotic gods."

The pages of the book suddenly "flapped" open, emitting a sound like a sneer: "A father protecting his child? You are far too good at gilding your own face!"

"You raised him and instilled your thoughts in him, but that is merely to use him to realize the long-cherished wishes of your race!"

Norwick burst into a fit of laughter: "Ha! Now I believe you are a god—the God of Change, specialized in comedy!"

As he spoke, he cast a contemptuous glance at the book and generously admitted his intentions: "You are quite right; I do indeed have such thoughts."

"God?" He suddenly called out to the book fluttering in the air, with a hint of disdain: "Where do you think Doom's achievements lie?"

"On this planet? Or in the vast, boundless sea of stars?"

"He is a whale stranded in a harbor. When the tide of destiny rises, he is destined to return to the ocean that belongs to him. We are but insignificant beings by his side, mere hitchhikers clinging to the whale's back as it swims toward the deep sea."

"Is he not my son?"

Norwick countered that contempt with an unquestionable rebuttal: "He learns my thoughts and will, embraces the expectations I bestow, absorbs everything I teach, treads the path I have planned, inherits me, and surpasses me."

"Doom. Is he not my son?"

"Of course not!" The voice tightened abruptly. The book drifted to the desk, and a giant eye with nine pupils appeared on the cover, scrutinizing him.

"There is no blood bond between you. You are merely an accidental passerby in his life!"

"Is this what a so-called god is? So shallow?"

Norwick shook his head in disappointment, his disdainful gaze meeting the single eye: "Bloodlines fade with time; only the heritage carved into the depths of the soul never fades."

"I know now!" Norwick slapped his forehead with a large hand, a look of belated realization on his face.

He suddenly looked seriously at the floating book, his pitying gaze making the entity inexplicably flustered: "You have no children. You cannot experience the expectations within one's heart, so of course you would not know these things."

The air fell into a deathly silence. The book flying in the air even dropped for a split second before stabilizing its form again.

In the Warp, the ever-changing form of Tzeentch experienced a subtle, imperceptible pause, and the light reflected in the Crystal Labyrinth flickered for a brief moment.

The God of Change, the Lord of Conspiracy, and the God of Wisdom had been mocked by a mere mortal, told that He did not understand the bond between father and son.

The single eye on the cover suddenly widened in rage: "Mortal! Put away the filth in your eyes!"

The book barked, its tone twisting and rising: "I am the God of Change! I am the God of Wisdom! I perceive all destinies, and I know all secrets."

At this very moment, the divine form of Tzeentch shifted violently. He was in a very foul mood, and his voice resonated through the book:

"I am the God of Omniscience, the Lord who knows all."

"Yes! Exactly!" King Norwick sneered, not yielding in the slightest, speaking to the master behind the book: "It is precisely because you are omniscient that you cannot experience that full measure of a father's expectation for his son's future!"

Norwick shook his head violently, the pity in his eyes not dissipating, but rather deepening: "Omniscience is a curse. It lets you know everything, but it also leaves you infinitely empty."

"An entity that calls itself a 'god'? Since you are omniscient, do you even know what you want?"

"Of course I know!" The twisted book shuddered violently, twitching in mid-air and emitting a manic, ear-piercing shriek.

"No, you don't!" King Norwick stood up abruptly, lifting his gaze upward.

Although the book hovered high above, his eyes carried a condescending pressure, the pity within them almost manifesting into substance: "A pathetic existence that calls itself a 'god'—to you, everything is preordained, everything is a matter of course."

"Bang!"

Suddenly, the One-Eyed Book erupted into blue flames, burning without a sound.

This time, the "god" did not answer him.

The drifting ashes formed a string of characters on the tabletop: "King Norwick! We shall meet again."

In the Crystal Labyrinth, the Lords of Change dared not make a sound, fearing their master would tear them apart alive.

Just moments ago, Tzeentch had flown into an inexplicable rage, smashing a crystal containing lost magic into fragments.

Norwick was absolutely right. Throughout the infinitely long years, the omniscient Tzeentch was indeed hollow. His infinitely shifting form was a direct reaction to his own inability to know what outcome he desired.

To have this pointed out by an incredibly lowly mortal was, for Tzeentch, more uncomfortable than biting into Nurgle.

"Norwick!" A phantom appeared in Tzeentch's hand—a projection of Norwick from reality. Every eye on his body was filled with fury: "There is only one thing you got wrong."

"After Doom arrives in the Warp, his erratic fate will not be decided by the gods. I am very much looking forward to seeing how far he can go."

With another wave of his hand, Doom appeared, currently brewing mushroom soup. In Tzeentch's infinitely mysterious eyes, an immense sense of affection was revealed: "I am looking forward to it immensely—how far you can go."

Extinguishing the phantom in his hand with a flick, Tzeentch laughed sinisterly.

"I need to have a chat with the three of them. This man's wisdom is the greatest stumbling block for us!"

Norwick knew nothing of what transpired in the Warp, nor did he wish to.

He continued his work, connecting Isaac to the "god." The so-called god had given Isaac hints, allowing him to foresee the arrival of Doom.

He drew another line, linking the god to the Warp. Because apart from the Warp, the god had nowhere to go; only by residing in the Warp could he utilize Warp energy.

Doom and the Creator were linked, for they shared a primary relationship; everything originated from them.

Why did the Warp gods hint to Isaac, precisely delivering Doom's amniotic pod? Naturally, it was because they had snatched Doom from the hands of the Creator and wanted to turn him into their own possession.

Thus, a thin line appeared between the gods and the Creator, labeled: Hostile.

Having completed his deductions, Norwick's expression turned icy. He felt not a shred of joy or satisfaction in uncovering the truth.

He was now fighting alone, with no one to help him.

And his son was surrounded by a pack of enemies. A starving wolf pack, waiting to tear him apart and feast upon his remains.