The main engines of the Law of Faith gave a low roar that shook the hull as they adjusted the final realspace coordinate parameters.
Beyond the Bridge's observation windows, the tranquil stars gradually warped and stretched, rippling with unnatural distortions and chromatic shifts, until they were replaced by a seething halo of eerie purple, dark crimson, and deathly white.
Like something sinking into a boiling vat of paint, the vast Imperial Fleet slowly disappeared into the boundless tides of the Warp, filled with whispers and malice.
The gravity fields inside the ship fluctuated slightly, and the light grew unstable, as though veiled beneath a flowing layer of oil paint.
Even during the unstable phase of Warp transit, Lorgar's personal training schedule remained unchanged.
Deep within the warship, in an adamantium-reinforced training chamber equipped with the most advanced holographic simulation arrays, only the hum of energy weapons, the clash of metal, and the whistle of bodies cutting through the air continued to sound.
"Hostile unit cluster 4895 eliminated."
A cold, synthesized female voice rang through the empty training chamber, announcing the end of another simulated battle. The dizzying enemy projections surrounding him—Orks, Aeldari aspect warriors, and countless grotesquely shaped xenos—abruptly vanished as though their power had been cut, leaving only a towering figure breathing slightly hard in the center of the chamber.
Lorgar stood amid the wreckage of the simulated battlefield, sweat running down the muscular grooves of his bronze back and chest to splash in tiny droplets on the cold floor.
The specially made, high-strength alloy training sword in his hand, designed to withstand clashes of Primarch-level strength, had twisted and snapped halfway along its blade. Dark red residual heat glimmered along the overloaded fracture.
"No good..." Lorgar murmured, his voice echoing through the silent training chamber.
He casually tossed