The Chaos Gods had come. They had discovered The Emperor's plan and set aside their differences to join forces and strike at him.
At this moment, there was no panic, despair, or indignation in The Emperor's heart. There was only calm, along with a trace of relief.
If Malcador had been standing here instead of sitting upon the replica of the Golden Throne that provided a barrier for the entire planet, he would have understood why The Emperor felt relieved.
They had finally come...
Whether I was ready or not.
The howls and roars of the universe made the sensitive Magnus tremble with fear. He could clearly recognize that those sounds came from the Warp—from that realm of souls he had believed could be understood, used, and perhaps even peacefully coexisted with.
In that instant, every lie woven for him by Tzeentch, his close friend in the Warp, shattered completely. Anger at having been deceived drifted through the Primarch's heart, along with an understanding of his father's cautious attitude and a deep lingering fear of his own past arrogance.
"Father..."
The Emperor raised a hand, stopping Magnus's question. He wanted to hear the commander of the Adeptus Custodes first.
Valdor saluted The Emperor without sparing a glance for the bewildered Magnus. "My lord, just as you predicted, the Thousand Sons Legion has indeed mutated. Our people are eliminating these unstable elements."
"Mutated! Unstable elements!" Magnus screamed. He pointed at Valdor, psychic energy surging around his fingertip, yet his eyes were drawn involuntarily to the pile of ashes on the ground. He had already vaguely guessed what had happened. The Thousand Sons had become something as horrifying as warp-spawned abominations, but he still could not believe it. "Do you know what you are saying? Those are my sons! What happened to