Another Thread of Fate
Yes, your Solar System defenses were impregnable, Guilliman.
Brilliant azure sunlight poured down, enveloping every corner of the Solar System. From the perspective of the Warp, the entire Solar System was a vast expanse of blue. Countless messages, countless whispers, countless deceptions, countless prayers, countless prophecies—every shred of Psychic Power was stained with information and knowledge, every word murmured quietly. The Solar System seemed to have become a monster made of billions of twisted, wriggling textual worms.
This was the Imperium Roboute Guilliman had built under Tzeentch's system.
The Emperor raised his eyes. Beneath his loose black hair, those once dark brown eyes now gleamed.
He could see the little mechanisms Guilliman had arranged, those fine and cumbersome gaps, those interlocking arrangements like a code to be deciphered. A Primarch fond of change would naturally leave behind what he considered "reasonable openings."
The Emperor blinked reflectively. It reminded him of Tzeentch. The Changer of Ways was much the same; it would arrange coincidence after coincidence along the river of time and fate, until ninety-nine coincidences formed a joke of destiny.
But the Emperor would never be deceived by such little tricks—though Tzeentch had promised him time and again that a miracle would appear after every nine victories, Neos clearly disdained such things. Perhaps only his rigid, by-the-book children would believe the words that came from that blue beast's mouth.
The Emperor had never deigned to play such little games.
When facing Tzeentch, deciphering riddles again and again would only exhaust one's mind, dragging one into emotional and spiritual madness amid schemes nested within schemes. Thus, the way to break it—the true way to win—was never to answer Tzeentch's riddles obediently, nor to try deceiving Tzeentch in return.
The true way to match the Chaos riddles of