Rogal Dorn

Trazyn stood before that Stasis Field, gazing up at the figure.

The eerie green light in his eyes trembled slightly.

That was excitement.

That's appreciation.

That is--

A collector's fervent passion when faced with the most perfect collection.

"Roge Dorn."

He whispered the name:

"The Seventh Primarch of Humanity."

"Master of the Imperial Fists"

His voice carried a hint of barely suppressed smugness:

"You are my most perfect creation."

Trazyn paid a heavy price to capture this Primarch.

He kept an eye on Dorn for decades.

For decades, he observed his every move, recorded his every battle, and analyzed his every habit.

He watched how he stood firm in countless battles, how he held his ground in desperate situations, and how he ignited hope in the darkest of times.

He watched him grow increasingly weary, increasingly silent, increasingly...

Approaching the limit.

Then, in that battle, at that moment—

He made his move.

It was a bloody battle against the Chaos Daemons.

Dorn had fought for seven days and seven nights straight; his legions had suffered heavy losses, his body was riddled with wounds, and his will—

It remains as solid as a rock.

But even the hardest rock will eventually tire.

The moment the last demon fell, the moment Dorn finally laid down his sword—

Trazyn's Stasis Field enveloped him.

He succeeded.

This masterpiece, a culmination of the Material Universe and the Warp, this embodiment of the human race's soul in the concept of "guardianship," this eternally standing figure—

It became part of his collection.

Trazyn looked at Dorn Stasis Field.

Even frozen in time, even unconscious, even just a sealed body—

He could still feel the anger in those eyes.

Those eyes were fixed on him.

Separated by Stasis Field, separated by four-dimensional space, separated by countless dimensions—

That gaze seemed to pierce through everything, striking straight into his soul.

"Good."

Trazyn chuckled and said:

"This is my best work."

Although it was frozen in time, it seemed to possess life.

Although it was clearly unable to move, it seemed as if it might break free at any moment.

It was just a shell, yet it seemed as if anger was about to burst forth from its eyes.

This is what collecting should be like.

This is what art is all about.

That's what you call --

eternal.

Trazyn stood there, admiring it for a long time.

Then, he said softly:

"Perhaps you won't be lonely anymore soon."

A glimmer of expectation flashed in his eyes:

"I'll have your brothers come and keep you company."

He turned around, gazing into the distant void, towards the center of the Milky Way, towards that—

The direction of Terra.

"The new Master of Mankind?"

He muttered to himself:

I really look forward to seeing what you look like.

His laughter echoed through four-dimensional space.

In that laughter, there was pride, anticipation, and a hint of—

crazy.

In the distance, in that Stasis Field, Roge Dorn still stood.

Still silent.

still--

He stared at the Necrons who had trapped him here with his eyes burning with rage.

It seems to be saying:

Someday.

One day, I will break free.

One day, I will make you pay the price.

But Trazyn didn't care.

He was just a collector.

He only wanted to leave something behind in this endless Milky Way.

Something eternal.

Even if these things are sealed away.

Even if these things would scorch his soul with rage.

Even if one day we break free from these things.

But at least for now--

They belong to him.

That's enough.

Solemnace's eerie green light flashed and disappeared in the void.

Trazyn put away the teleportation device, stood still, and surveyed the world before him.

Fabius Bayer's Fortress Laboratory is located deep within a planet corrupted by Chaos.

The sky here is always shrouded in leaden-gray clouds, murky chemical waste flows on the ground, and the air is filled with a nauseating, sweet, fishy smell.

That was the smell of countless failed experiments decaying.

But for Trazyn, the smell was familiar.

He's been here before.

He came here many years ago.

At that time, he came as a "collector".

But on that particular occasion, the object of his collection was the owner of the fortress himself.

Trazyn's lips curled up slightly.

That was a "smile" generated by his emotional simulation system.

He strode forward toward the massive building hidden in the poisonous fog.

The fortress gates opened automatically in front of him.

It was as if they had known he would come all along.

Trazyn walked through the door and down a long corridor.

On both sides of the corridor were rows of huge culture tanks, in which various shapes and sizes of organisms floated.

There were human embryos, Space Marines organs, and other things whose shapes were completely unrecognizable...

Most of the life in those culture tanks is still alive.

Trazyn could sense the faint Psionic Energy fluctuations emanating from those still-forming embryos.

"Fabius ..."

He muttered to himself:

"After all these years, you're still so... creative."

At the end of the corridor was a huge metal door.

The inscription on the door, written in an ancient, Chaos language, reads:

"The price of knowledge is the demise of morality."

Trazyn smiled.

He reached out and pushed open the door.

Behind the door was a huge circular hall.

In the center of the hall stood a figure.

It was a man wearing a white robe.

If that can still be called a "man".

His face was thin and pale, with deep-set eyes that burned with a kind of morbid fanaticism.

His hands were covered with needle marks and scars, the marks left from countless injections of various gene-modifying fluids into himself.

Behind him stood a dozen or so warriors clad in purple armor.

Emperor's Children.

Formerly the Third Legion, now the most fanatical followers of Slaanesh.

But at this moment, there was no madness in the eyes of those soldiers, only vigilance.

They stared at Trazyn, their weapons slightly raised.

Trazyn didn't look at them.

He simply stared at the man in the white robe.

"Fabius."

His voice was calm, with a hint of warmth from reuniting with an old friend:

"Haven't seen you for a long time."

Fabius stared at him, his gaze like a scalpel, trying to see through the Necrons.

"Trazyn the Infinite".

He spoke, his voice hoarse and deep, like sandpaper rubbing:

How dare you show your face in front of me?

Trazyn smiled.

The laughter echoed in the empty hall.

Why not?

He said there was a hint of amusement in the voice:

"Wasn't our last collaboration quite pleasant?"

A flash of anger crossed Fabius's eyes.

"Joy?"

His voice rose an octave:

"You traded my warriors for my best creation! Five pure clones of Fulgrim!"

Trazyn shrugged.

The movement looked somewhat comical on his metallic body.

"I gave you your freedom. I gave you those elite seeds. I also gave you the opportunity to continue your research."

He took a step forward:

"This deal is very fair."

Fabius stared at him for a long time.

Then, his expression suddenly relaxed.

"Fair."

He murmured the word repeatedly, a bitter smile appearing on his lips:

"There is no such thing as fairness in this universe."

He waved.

The Emperor's Children warriors behind them simultaneously sheathed their weapons and retreated to the sides.

Please sit down.

Fabius said.

Behind him, a metal chair rose from the ground.

Trazyn did not sit.

The Necrons do not need to sit.

He simply stood there, looking at Fabius.

"I've come here this time to make another deal with you."

He said.

A flicker of interest crossed Fabius's eyes.

"Trade?"

He walked to a workbench, picked up a test tube, and gently shook the glowing liquid inside.

Tell me about it.