What Does It Mean to Be Tzeentch's Strict Father?

His voice, carrying a smile, pierced through the roar of artillery and the howl of the psychic storm, carving out a patch of clarity beneath the gloomy, filthy sky of the Warp.

His face and body were dusted with soot from the psychic attack just now, but with his arms spread wide as he stood before the Titan, he looked more like a Living Saint than any statue in any church.

Golden Light spread out.

The roars of more than three hundred Astartes exploded at once.

"Charge!!!"

"For the Emperor!"

"For Lord Lin En!"

"Let those Chaos bastards see what the Emperor's warriors are made of!!"

"For Lord Lin En's honor!!!"

In the direction of the Chaos faction in the distance, Magnus widened his eyes.

He stood at the edge of the halo, with cracked metal ground beneath his feet, a vast army of Daemons behind him, and a churning psychic storm overhead.

How the hell was this possible?

Three high-ranking covens of sorcerers, himself, and the supplemental firepower of several hundred low-ranking sorcerers—this concentrated psychic attack had been powerful enough to level a small city.

Yet not only was that mortal unharmed, even the yellow Astartes around him had emerged completely unscathed.

This was too bizarre.

Psychic powers were ineffective within the domain? What the hell? Had the Lord of Psychic Powers defected to the Emperor?

His father had already been unreasonable enough back then. Now this Living Saint was even more unreasonable than his father had been. What exactly had his father become by now? Could someone please do something about this?

Those Astartes were charging over one by one as if they had been injected with stimulants. They couldn't just turn around and run.

Magnus had brought an army of Chaos Daemons.

There were even two