Choice

Want to win? Difficult.

But he doesn't need to win.

All he needs to do is let them choose.

The Four Chaos Gods are now facing a dilemma.

Are they going to stop the Emperor?

Then Guilliman will attack their divine realm.

While you can't defeat the main culprit, taking down some of the watchdogs is a piece of cake.

Those Lesser God, those Greater Daemon, those Daemon Prince —before Guilliman, they're just children, one-shotted with a single sword strike.

Are they going to stop Guilliman?

Then the Emperor would kill Vashtorr.

Then the Imperium of Man will have one Lesser God.

Lesser God of the Machine God.

From then on, the already ridiculously powerful Space Marines would receive even more terrifying technological boosts.

Star Destroyer? That's basic operation.

Handcrafting a fortress? That's just everyday entertainment.

Every single person Machine Spirit? That's standard.

The Four Chaos Gods felt their scalps tingle just thinking about that scene.

This is an open strategy.

A perfectly legitimate and aboveboard scheme.

Either preserve the divine realm, or lose Vashtorr.

Either preserve Vashtorr or lose the Divine Realm.

There is no third way.

The Four Chaos Gods looked at each other, experiencing for the first time what pressure truly meant.

Khorne waved his four arms wildly in a fit of rage:

"I don't care anymore! I'm going to go and kill someone!"

Tzeentch's face darkened:

"Who are you going to kill? That blue-skinned one? You think you can beat him?"

Khorne fell silent.

He really couldn't beat them.

In the Warp, Guilliman might not be able to defeat him, but he could easily hold him off.

By the time he finished, the Emperor's side had already completed its task.

Slaanesh said in a shrill voice:

"Then should we abandon Vashtorr? He's pretty useless anyway."

He replied in a Nurgle, gruff voice:

"No. If he dies, who will cripple the Imperium's technology?"

Slaanesh rolled his eyes:

"So what if they're paralyzed? Those Space Marines can fly through space now. Even if you cripple their technology, they'll still kill people."

Nurgle fell silent.

What he said made such a good point that I couldn't refute it.

Tzeentch's face grew increasingly grim.

He looked at Guilliman standing in the Chaos ocean, at the smile on his lips, at that—

That smile made him look even more like Tzeentch than he did.

He's even more cunning than him.

He's even more insidious than him.

Even more hateful than him—damn it.

Guilliman stood in the ocean of Chaos, holding the Emperor's Sword, his body enveloped in the light of the Material Universe.

His gaze pierced through the endless Chaos and landed on the four intertwined orbs of light.

His smile deepened slowly.

That smile contained sarcasm, smugness, and even a hint of—murderous intent.

Choose.

He spoke softly, his voice echoing in the Chaos:

"I'll be waiting."

The Four Chaos Gods looked at him, at that smile, at that—

For the first time, they experienced what real pressure was like.

That pressure doesn't come from strength.

The pressure didn't come from scheming.

The pressure came from—a madman.

A madman who dares to stand alone in the Warp and laugh at four Chaos Gods.

A madman who dares to threaten four Chaos Gods all by himself.

One—a madman even madder than them.

Guilliman's smile grew even brighter.

He knew he had won.

No matter which of the Four Chaos Gods chooses, he will always win.

This is an open strategy.

This is power.

He gripped his sword tightly and looked at the four orbs of light.

Looking towards that—the enemy, who is currently struggling with their decision.

A hint of sneer crept into his smile.

That cold laugh was more Chaos than Chaos itself.

Even more Tzeentch and Tzeentch.

It is more terrifying than any conspiracy or trickery.

In the distance, the wails of the Warp creatures continued.

Nearby, the entanglement of the Four Chaos Gods continues.

And Guilliman just stood there.

He stood there laughing.

His laughter sent chills down the spines of the Four Chaos Gods.

His laughter made the entire Warp tremble.

Vashtorr knelt in the golden light, his mechanical body trembling uncontrollably.

He looked up at the approaching figure, at the sword raised high, and at the golden eyes that seemed to see through all illusions and gaze at him through Lion's eyes.

Those are the Emperor's eyes.

That was the first time that an being who had sat alone on the Golden Throne for ten thousand years had gazed so closely at a mortal—even though this mortal called himself a god.

"Spare me..."

Vashtorr opened his mouth, wanting to utter the word of pleading.

But the Emperor did not give him a chance.

The sword fell.

The sword light was so pure, so intense, so... it was only natural.

It's as if Vashtorr's very existence is a mistake waiting to be erased.

The sword's edge sliced across Vashtorr's neck, across his body made of flesh and machine, across his soul, which embodied millennia of ambition and conspiracy.

There were no screams.

There was no struggle.

Annihilation in an instant.

Vashtorr's head flew high into the air, slowly rotating in the golden light.

His face still bore that pleading expression, and a glimmer of hope lingered in his eyes—perhaps, perhaps the Emperor would soften his heart, perhaps he still had a chance.

But his body had already begun to disintegrate.

The mechanical shell peeled away piece by piece, the flesh evaporated little by little, and the Chaos energy condensed within his body dissipated bit by bit.

He vanished silently in the golden light, like a bubble that had been popped.

Only the head remained, still floating in the air.

The Emperor reached out his hand and gently shook it.

The head turned to dust and scattered in the wind.

Vashtorr, the Dark Mechanicum, the Chaos Primarch who aspired to godhood, thus perished completely.

His soul didn't even have the chance to enter the Warp, the chance to be reclaimed by the Four Chaos Gods, or the chance to become any form of remnant.

Because the Emperor's sword severs not only the body, but also the soul, existence itself, and all the ties connecting it to Chaos.

From that time on, Vashtorr never existed in the universe again.

Even memories became blurred in that sword light.