I've Never Been Like This

Emperor understood every cause and effect; the fog before his eyes dissipated, allowing him to see everything transpiring within the Warp.

Doom Slayer! His essence had undoubtedly drifted into the Warp, only to be discovered by the Chaos Four Gods and, through a series of events, returned to the material universe.

The Chaos Four Gods had probed the Warp for millions of years, yet they could not fathom its mysteries.

The Doom Slayer's hatred for demons had sublimated into a concept; this hatred was a natural bane to demons, and even the Chaos Four Gods found it difficult to profane its essence.

Emperor walked through the desert with a light step, humming an ancient tune with a smile on his lips, as innocent as a child, yet tears hung from the corners of his eyes.

In the vision, infinite information flooded his mind: there were universes beyond this universe, and human civilization was immensely prosperous.

The Chaos Four Gods were not unsolvable; a great existence from the multiverse had descended into this universe. Even if it were but a fragment, its essence was powerful, naturally possessing infinite possibilities.

Moving forward, the Emperor was cautious, constantly drawing in his own power, fearing he might shatter the trial barrier released by the Gene-seed.

He observed those demons he had never seen before; although different from the demons of the Warp, they were far more dangerous.

The demons chanted profane languages, their meme-infections constantly corroding the surrounding environment and grinding away the souls of the test subjects.

If a subject failed and did not complete the trial before their soul was corrupted, the Gene-seed would incinerate all traces of infection.

In the center of the wasteland, Li Tang's thin body was locked in a chaotic battle with demons, surrounded by a circle of demon corpses. He gasped for breath, not daring to slacken for a moment as he continuously repelled the demons.

Death! Rebirth! Death! Rebirth!

The demons were reborn when killed, and he was reborn when he died.

He and the demons seemed trapped in a time loop, performing meaningless tasks.

At times, he even lost the desire to kill the demons, for it was entirely devoid of meaning.

"This is a great trial."

A crisp, youthful voice reached his ears, carrying a shyness born of long isolation from others, yet possessing the majesty of a god.

In the gap between killing demons, Li Tang looked up to see a black-haired youth sitting on a rock. He radiated a faint golden light; the demons ignored him as if he were nothing, rushing past him to strike at Li Tang instead.

The golden radiance was familiar—it was the majestic golden figure from the laboratory.

The black-haired youth's eyes were streaming with tears, yet he looked overjoyed. When he looked at Li Tang, however, there was neither sorrow nor joy, nor any pity: "Only by passing his trial can you gain recognition."

"That power which gallops across the universe, unstoppable by any!"

Having said this, he departed, leaving Li Tang no hint of how to obtain help.

"Gene-Warlock." Emperor's consciousness returned to reality. He looked at the twitching body on the operating table and said in a voice devoid of fluctuation: "Disconnect the life-support system; it serves no purpose."

"A generous powerhouse grants everyone an opportunity. If one cannot even pass a simple trial, they are not qualified to inherit that generosity."

"How many Gene-seeds have been cultivated from the genetic material of Twenty-First?"

"My Lord." The Warlock lowered his posture and reported truthfully: "Only three hundred."

Emperor was somewhat surprised; the genetic material of other Primarchs usually yielded several times as many seeds.

"Gene-Warlock, the Custodes will take over the work here. You have performed your duties well."

As he spoke, the Emperor waved his hand, scattering a radiance of psychic power: "After you leave this place, you will forget all memories."

The Gene-Warlocks bowed their bodies and carried their robes away; they had no need to question the Emperor's decision.

"Custodes!" Emperor's magnificent voice suddenly rose, commanding his most loyal servants: "Activate all three hundred Gene-seeds! Spare no cost to cultivate qualified warriors!"

Spare no cost!

Even with the Custodes' formidable mental fortitude, they could not help but tremble inwardly upon hearing these four words.

Currently, not one in thirty thousand was qualified. A simple calculation meant that at least one hundred million lives would have to be sacrificed just for three hundred warriors of the Twenty-First Legion!

"Prepare for the worst." Emperor saw through his servant's heart, and his next words left the Custodes shocked and even jealous: "One billion, ten billion—even if I must exhaust the population of an entire world, I will have them."

For as long as they had existed, the Custodes had been created by the Emperor's own hands, and he had personally gifted each one their weapons.

Now, the Emperor made the Custodes feel a sense of estrangement. Was he still the rational Emperor?

He was like a child who had seen a beloved object, willing to pay any price, refusing to imagine the consequences, desperate to possess it.

Emperor used his psychic power to write incantations in the operating room, erecting a psychic barrier to shield them from the omnipresent prying of the great powers of the Warp.

Having done all this, he strode away with one Custodian guard.

"I will help you forget all of this." Emperor walked forward, speaking to the Custodian following behind him: "Alpharius!"

"Father! Why?"

The person wearing the golden armor was not a Custodian; he was one of the twenty-one Primarchs, the Primarch who had been blown to Terra by the Warp storms.

The genetic father of the Twentieth Legion—Alpharius!

"You and Malcador taught me to keep secrets strictly. Am I not qualified to keep a secret?"

In the operating room, Alpharius had witnessed everything, knowing only that his father had ordered the Custodes to oversee the cultivation of his brother's progeny; he knew nothing else.

He did not know what the Emperor had seen within the barrier of the Gene-seeds, nor why he had made such a decision.

Now, he was being asked to erase the memories from his mind for the sake of a secret that was not to be known.

"Of course..." Alpharius, clad in golden armor, said with hesitation. "If it is your request, or if I am not qualified to know, you may proceed."

The moment Alpharius's voice fell, Emperor thrust his palm through his brain. Without causing any harm, he extracted a fragment of memory and crushed it into specks of starlight.

Only then did Alpharius realize—he finally understood—that his father was not consulting him, but delivering a notification that could not be refused.

"What have I forgotten?" As the starlight before his eyes dissipated, Alpharius knew a portion of his memory had been erased.

"A secret you do not need to keep."

His father's voice came from ahead. The Primarch turned his head to look at the operating room, guarded by Custodes and protected by a psychic barrier. He suppressed the curiosity he shouldn't have felt, then turned and walked away.

"How could you have issued such an order?"

Malcador's tone was furious. He pushed open the door and walked into Emperor's private chambers, seeing his old friend standing before the window, looking out through the stained glass at the distance.

The scent of wine greeted his nose; there was an opened bottle of red wine on the table, and a goblet filled with the mellow vintage.

"Shouldn't you offer an explanation?"

Malcador quickly realized that Emperor had already known of his arrival, had even calculated the time of his arrival, and had decanted a glass of vintage Old Terra red wine.

He was busy to the point of madness! For this newborn empire! For those myriad departments that seemed forever insufficient!

Yet the man before him still had the leisure to drink fine wine and admire the scenery, looking so composed that Malcador felt like hitting him over the head with a staff!

"My old friend!"

Emperor turned around. When facing the old friend he had known for so long, the ancient ally who had fought by his side for countless years, he smiled!

That face revealed a smile that had gradually faded away over tens of thousands of years amidst repeated betrayals of trust.

It was somewhat stiff, but it was beautiful.

Malcador froze in place, tears welling in his eyes as he gazed at the heartfelt smile on his old friend's face.

Emperor of the past had been a very talkative, very vivid person. His face had held smiles, expressions, joy, and sorrow.

As his psychic power grew, he foresaw the decline of humanity. He shared these prophecies with his friends, hoping to work with the Perpetuals to strangle the dark future in its cradle.

Regrettably, some who were lost in the splendor of the Golden Age did not trust what Emperor said, even suspecting that he had gone mad under the influence of his psychic powers.

Gradually, Emperor distanced himself from them.

He stopped discussing prophecies in public, the expressions on his face grew fewer, and he gradually became cold, neurotically preparing for the future he had foreseen, preparing every technological resource that could rebuild humanity.

Now, Malcador saw his old friend smile again, a smile from the heart.

It was very stiff, and very happy.

"Malcador, my old friend!" Emperor's hand trembled slightly as he picked up the goblet and handed it to him, his eyes filled with both joy and tears.

"I have never been this happy; I do not know how to describe it to you..."

Emperor's face was slightly flushed, whether from the alcohol or sheer excitement, and his speech was a bit sluggish. He wanted to express everything he had seen, yet he stammered in his urgent excitement.

"I cannot wait to share it with you..."

"Do not share it with me!" Malcador's expression shifted, and he abruptly interrupted his old friend. "I carry too many secrets already; they have bent my back."

"You need only tell me: what did you see?"

Emperor lowered his head, his fingers gently rubbing the goblet, and he remained silent for a long time. When he looked up, his gaze was resolute and his tone was resonant, spitting out two words that left Malcador stunned:

"Hope!"

Snap. The goblet shattered. The priceless vintage from Emperor's collection spilled onto the floor. Malcador was truly shaken.

In a dark universe surrounded by Chaos Gods, the word "hope" was the most illusory, yet the most precious.

Emperor pulled Malcador into an embrace, the eyes of both men bloodshot.

"Although it is tiny, and currently as fragile as a reed, hope has truly arrived!"