Crazy Shenanigans

They sat deep within the Warp, watching everything unfold in the Milky Way, watching the blue-skinned Primarch build his Imperium step by step, watching the man named Guilliman wreak havoc—

Their blood pressure spiked.

First, Sanguinius was resurrected.

Fine, if you're going to resurrect, then resurrect. After all, you're just a Primarch; you can't cause any big trouble.

Then comes waking Lion Johnson.

Fine, wake them up if you want. The two Primarch can't turn the world upside down anyway.

Then Magnus returned, Angron returned—

And so on.

Is your Second Imperium reopening?

The Four Chaos Gods exchanged glances, all sensing that something was amiss.

But what truly broke their defenses was something else.

That bastard Guilliman, he not only resurrected the Primarch, he also--

Modify combat strength.

Modify! Combat! Power!

Do you know what he did?

He directly injected something called the "Law of Eternity" into the Primarch's body.

Then what?

The Primarch's physical strength increased tenfold.

Ten times!

Moreover, it advanced to become Perpetual, completely immortal and indestructible.

Originally, sending two Greater Daemon would have been enough to restrain one Primarch.

What about now?

Even if we send dozens of them up now, it'll just be suicide missions.

Those Greater Daemon were like paper before the Primarch, which was empowered by the Law of Eternity; they crumbled at the slightest touch.

That's not all.

Guilliman didn't even spare the basic combat forces.

Those ordinary Space Marines were originally just a group of super soldiers; although powerful, they were at least within the realm of comprehension.

What about now?

One Space Marines can do the work of a thousand.

It can also fly in the void.

Fly!

With both hands held out in front of the body, it flies with a whoosh!

Is this even human?

Is that Space Marines?

This is like a Star Destroyer that has come to life!

The Four Chaos Gods watched as the ten thousand Blood Angels slaughtered relentlessly on the battlefield, watched those red figures streak across the battlefield like shooting stars, and watched the Chaos Allied Forces fall like straw.

They were completely overwhelmed.

This can't go on.

If this continues, the game will become unplayable.

so--

Let Vashtorr become a god.

Even if becoming a god would bring him trouble, even if he were to become the fifth god and seize territory, even if he might suffer a backlash—

I can't care about that anymore.

Let's kill this cheater Primarch and his bunch of cheater offspring first!

As for whether Vashtorr can become a god--

It doesn't cost anything to try it.

What if it works?

Vashtorr stood atop the Demon-Forged Palace, overlooking the entire battlefield.

His mechanical body glowed a dark red in the dim light, his eyes burned with the flames of the Warp, and a hint of...

A smug smile.

It's done.

It's finally going to happen.

He is the Dark Mechanicum, the guardian of the Dark Mechanicum, and the creator of countless Daemon Engine.

His very existence transcends that of ordinary Chaos Primarch; his power is sufficient to rival that of Lesser God.

But he was not satisfied.

He wants to become a god.

The true God.

The kind that stands on equal footing with the Four Chaos Gods.

Therefore, he needs a key.

That key forged from fragments of Caliban's core, that key that could unlock the final barrier between reality and the Warp, that key—

The key that enabled him to ascend to godhood.

He hasn't fully obtained the key yet.

A few pieces are still missing, and the key isn't completely finished yet.

But that's not important.

This war gave him another opportunity.

Those fallen Dark Angels, those fallen Space Marines, those powerful souls—

That's enough to support an ascension ceremony.

Although it's not complete godhood, although it's only a temporary advancement, and although it may only last for a very short time—

But that's enough.

If he could obtain divine power in that instant, he could do one thing.

The technological systems of the Imperium were paralyzed.

He is the Machine God.

The moment he becomes a god, all Machine Spirit will submit to him.

All machines will obey his commands.

All technological products will--

Operation has ceased.

The Imperium's warships will lose power.

The Imperium's weapons will lose their power.

The Imperium's communications will be completely paralyzed.

By then, the Imperium will be a toothless tiger, a piece of meat to be slaughtered, a city without any defenses.

An empty city.

Vashtorr's smile grew even brighter.

He watched Lion and Perturabo engaged in fierce combat, watched the Blood Angels slaughtering the Chaos Alliance, watched that—

Everything is proceeding according to plan.

"Go ahead and fight, go ahead and fight."

He muttered to himself:

"The harder they hit, the better."

The more people die, the better.

He turned around, looking at the slowly spinning fragments of Caliban, at the countless souls swirling around them, at that—

The ceremony is about to begin.

"Once you're done fighting, I'll be a god."

Lion stood before Perturabo, his sword hovering in mid-air.

He only needs one sword strike.

One sword strike could end it all.

But his sword did not fall.

Not out of pity, not out of hesitation, but because--

He sensed something.

It was a throbbing sensation from the depths of his soul, a premonition that sent chills down his spine, a kind of—

An intuition that disaster is about to strike.

He suddenly turned his head and looked in the direction of Dragon Spirit Star.

Looking towards the direction of the Demon-Forged Palace.

Looking towards that--

A dark red light is rising.

Vashtorr stood in the center of that light, arms outstretched, laughing wildly to the sky.

Behind him, the souls of countless Dark Angels were burning, transforming into energy, and flowing into his body.

The light grew brighter and brighter, stronger and stronger, more and more...

fear.

"Ha ha ha ha--"

Vashtorr's laughter echoed throughout the battlefield:

"Foolish Dark Angels! Foolish Blood Angels! Foolish--"

He looked at Lion, his gaze filled with undisguised contempt:

"Foolish lion!"

Lion's pupils suddenly contracted.

"You fought to the death, you shed blood in battle, you defended your honor with your lives--"

Vashtorr's voice grew louder and louder:

"And the result? And the result?!"

He spread his arms, displaying the rising dark red light:

"Your souls have become my fuel! Your sacrifices have become my ladder! Everything you have has become my stepping stone to godhood!"

Lion's body began to tremble.

He turned his head, looking at the souls drifting in the void, at the familiar lights, at those—

His descendants.

His warriors.

His children.

They are burning.

They are disappearing.

They are --

To become a sacrifice for the enemy's ascension to godhood.

Lion's knees slowly bent.

He knelt down.

That majestic body, that lion that once struck fear into the hearts of countless enemies, that first son of the Emperor—

At this moment, I kneel on the cold deck, kneel in the endless void, kneel before those departing souls.

His hands were clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms, and drops of blood fell slowly.

"I still..."

His voice trembled, a tremor filled with anger, resentment, and a deep-seated—

Powerless:

"Can't you do anything...?"