Just as the Emperor rose in fury, determined to personally visit the 22nd Universe, in that traumatized star sector, the four Primarchs had already gathered at the scene of the sin.
22nd Universe, the star system where the planet Grum IV is located.
This was a dead, shattered star sector.
The star itself shone dimly, as if even it had grown tired of illuminating this domain filled with suffering.
Within the star system, the positions of the fifth and sixth orbits were not empty, but instead covered by a vast, chaotic asteroid belt.
Those were not naturally formed celestial bodies, but the wreckage left behind after two planets were completely shattered by an unimaginable immense force. Countless broken rocks and metal fragments, endlessly spinning and colliding under the pull of gravity, silently told the tragic tale of a massive interstellar war that had long been annihilated in the long river of time.
An inescapable aura of destruction permeated the entire star system.
The planet Grum IV itself was the focal point of this scene.
Looking down from orbit, it was a dark-toned, almost entirely lifeless planet.
Not much familiar blue ocean or green vegetation could be seen on the surface; instead, it was replaced by rusted ocher-red and a sickly grayish-yellow, as if the entire planet had been infected with an incurable ulcer.
Massive, long-solidified lava flows crisscrossed like twisted scars, interspersed with the skeletons of giant facilities suspected to be left over from the colonial era, now completely abandoned and severely corroded.
The atmosphere was incredibly murky, filled with excessive dust and harmful particles, making the starlight appear hazy and oppressive as it filtered through.
The environment was absolutely harsh.
However, right on top of this barren and dead land, it was covered by a living, horrifying existence—
That was the massive meat blanket formed by the modified human compatriots that Perturabo had previously shown.
This flesh-colored living tissue was still pulsing slightly, like some infinitely multiplying moss or lichen, covering large expanses of plains and valleys as far as the eye could see.
It was not a uniform layer; its surface undulated, with twisted subcutaneous vascular networks and nodules of unknown function faintly visible, radiating an unnatural, nauseating vitality as a whole.
In low Earth orbit, space violently distorted like a water surface struck by a stone, and immediately after, four massive metal mountains tore through the void and brazenly appeared.
They were exactly the flagships of the Dark Angels, Dusk Raiders, Iron Warriors, and Night Lords.
Like four enraged Titans, with their cold armor and grim silhouettes, they firmly locked the planet Grum IV under their shadow and surveillance.
Subsequently, a mixed formation composed of various models of transport craft, gunships, and escort fighters, like a swarm of bees leaving the hive, quickly detached from the motherships. After completing their assembly in the void, they charged toward the planet below, trailing dazzling plasma flames.
They cut into the murky atmosphere, piercing the canopy of Grum IV that had long been shrouded in pain and despair.
The formation ultimately chose to land on the edge of that massive meat blanket, on a relatively solid, exposed rock layer that had not been completely covered by the living tissue.
The scorching airflow ejected from the engines blew away the dust and gravel on the ground, forming a brief, localized storm.
Once the storm subsided, the cabin doors slowly opened under the drive of hydraulic devices.
The first to set foot on this cursed land were four figures as imposing as mountains.
Lion, clad in the magnificent power armor of the Dark Angels, had a face as gloomy and solid as ice. His sharp gaze swept over the boundless living hell before him like a falcon, every detail deepening the furrows between his brows.
In the exposed eyes of Mortarion, an undisguised fury capable of freezing the soul was currently burning. His heavy footsteps stepped on the ground, as if every step was measuring the sins this land endured.
Perturabo's anger was even more outward and violent.
His face, usually filled with rationality and calculation, was now slightly twisted by extreme rage, his tightly clenched power gauntlets emitting the piercing sound of metal friction.
It was his sons who had first discovered the tragic state of this place, and now seeing it with his own eyes, the impact far exceeded any data report.
Curze's presence seemed to bring its own shadow; even under this dim lighting, he appeared to be standing in a deeper darkness.
His expression was elusive, but the twitching corner of his mouth and his pupils flashing with dangerous light indicated that this Primarch's heart was far from calm.
Following closely behind the four Primarchs were the most elite Honor Guard members from their respective legions.
These battle-hardened Astartes, clad in exclusive Terminator armor, were like moving fortresses, silently and vigilantly guarding behind their gene-sires.
Even these warriors, who were accustomed to all kinds of cruel scenes across the galaxy and different universes, could not help but fall into a deathly silence when facing this unimaginable scene of desecration before them. Only the faint hum of servo systems and the rhythmic airflow of breathing grilles echoed.
Curze slowly walked to Lion's side, his voice low, carrying a chilling coldness that seemed to see through everything. He raised his hand and pointed to the dim sky. "Look at the wreckage in this star sector, the absence of the fifth and sixth orbits... That is not a naturally formed asteroid belt, but the graveyard left after planets were completely destroyed.
In the distant past, an interstellar campaign of a scale far beyond our imagination must have erupted in this star system."
Lion slowly nodded. "Such a scale of destruction... combined with all that our compatriots have suffered, the answer seems self-evident.
It is highly likely the doing of that alien civilization that carried out this ultimate desecration. They not only modified humanity but also destroyed the worlds that refused to submit or hindered their great work."
After speaking, the four Primarchs took heavy steps and arrived at the very edge of the meat blanket.
The closer distance made the details of this living tissue clearer and even more terrifying.
They saw that on the surface of the flesh-colored, slightly undulating meat blanket, countless pairs of eyes were actually densely distributed.
These eyes varied in size and pupil color, but they all shared a human form.
At this moment, countless pairs of eyes simultaneously turned toward the newly arrived Primarchs and their Honor Guards.
Moreover, these eyes were not vacant and lifeless; they could turn, focus, and even convey emotions...
Despair, pain, sorrow, endless torment, a trace of curiosity so faint it was almost extinguished, and upon seeing the majestic figures and familiar contours of Lion and the others that belonged to humans, a sudden outburst of indescribably faint hope, like a drowning person seeing driftwood.
As Primarchs, they were born with psionic perception far exceeding that of ordinary people.
At this moment, without the need for any words, a massive, viscous, and almost suffocating torrent of negative emotions surged forth like a physical substance from this boundless meat blanket, crashing against the barriers of their minds.
That was the silent scream and wail of billions of twisted souls emitted at the same time, lasting for an unknown number of years. It was an eternal despair toward their own form of existence that transcended physical pain.
Even the most resolute warriors could not remain unmoved before this sight and situation.
The group of Primarchs and the guards behind them all fell into a long, oppressive silence.
A complex atmosphere intertwined with compassion and overwhelming fury permeated the air.
After a long time, Lion forcibly suppressed the rage in his heart that was enough to incinerate stars. He stared at the few pairs of eyes closest to him, filled with pain and pleading, as if wanting to look through them to gaze directly at the imprisoned human souls behind them.
He activated the dedicated communication channel with the orbital flagship's biological department, his voice sounding somewhat hoarse from his extreme restraint. "This is Lion.
Based on on-site observations, I need a professional assessment.
Biological department, with your current technical reserves, is it possible to perform reverse engineering on these modified compatriots?
Can they be rescued from this... this living hell, and restored to their original human forms?"
The other end of the communicator fell into a brief silence. Obviously, the technicians on the other side were also undergoing tense assessment and debate over this heavy question.
A moment later, a reply came through. "Lord Warmaster, based on our preliminary in-depth analysis of the samples and remote scanning data, the following points can be confirmed:
First, these compatriots labeled as colonials have indeed cursedly retained complete visual organs, as well as complete human consciousness.
Their individual consciousnesses are interconnected through a highly complex biological neural network, forming a massive collective consciousness that shares certain basic life support, but their core self-recognition has not been completely extinguished."
The technician paused, his tone becoming more difficult. "Second, regarding their physiological functions...
Preliminary judgment suggests they were designed as a kind of living purifier or recycling system.
Their source of energy and matter for survival seems to rely on absorbing and processing the industrial waste, chemical refuse, and organic degradation products deposited on this planet for an unknown number of years.
This...
This in itself is an ultimate insult and torture.
As for the reverse engineering you proposed, Warmaster..." The technician's voice was full of apology and helplessness. "From a purely biological technology perspective, we might be able to try using their retained genetic information to cultivate entirely new clone bodies without consciousness.
Theoretically, we could also attempt to extract their individual consciousness data from this massive neural network,
And upload it into the new clones.
But...
But consciousness upload and transfer involve a domain that our biological department currently, and even in the foreseeable future, cannot surpass for the time being: the transfer and anchoring of souls.
A body without a soul is just an empty shell. To safely and completely extract the souls originally anchored in this meat blanket body and re-anchor them to entirely new, blank clone bodies has already exceeded the scope of natural physics.
This requires intervention at the essential level by an existence with supreme understanding and mastery over the domain of souls.
Looking across the entire Empire, currently the only ones possibly capable of doing this are His Majesty the Emperor, or Lord Magnus, who deeply studies the essence of psionics."
The communication temporarily ended here, leaving behind an even heavier silence.
Lion closed the communication. He exchanged a glance with the other three Primarchs, a look filled with determination.
Even if the road ahead was difficult, they would absolutely never abandon a single compatriot.
And right now, what they needed to do was investigate the truth thoroughly, find the culprits, and in the Emperor's name, administer the most complete punishment.
Just as Lion and the others fell into silence, and everyone was enveloped in solemnity and grief, a rapid communication notification sound broke the deathly silence of the scene.
The voice of the communication officer from the flagship came through, carrying irrepressible awe and urgency in his tone. "Warmaster! Primarchs! Emergency notification! His Majesty the Emperor's psionic signal has been confirmed to have appeared in this universe!"
"Father has come?"
This news made the four Primarchs present all show surprise on their faces.
Although they knew such an appalling atrocity could never be concealed from their Father's perception, they did not expect their Father's reaction to be so swift, actually descending in person upon this remote, cursed land within an extremely short time after receiving the intelligence.
However, before they could react further, a sudden change occurred.
!!
In the open space not far from the Primarchs, space itself began to violently distort and tremble, as if unable to bear the weight of some existence that was about to descend.
The next second, an incomparably dazzling golden light, containing pure power and majesty, burst forth out of thin air, dispelling the gloomy and despairing atmosphere permeating the surroundings, and illuminating this pain-shrouded land in brilliant splendor.
The light lasted for a moment before slowly receding like a tide.
When the light completely dissipated, a team was already standing there silently.
The one leading them was precisely the supreme ruler of the Human Empire in the main universe, Emperor Samuel Young.
He had personally set foot on this suffering land.
At this moment, Samuel Young was clad in that iconic black and gold power armor that blended classical aesthetics with Imperial craftsmanship. Every pattern on it flowed with a faint glow under the dim light.
He was not wearing a helmet either, his face clearly visible. Those eyes, which were usually as deep as the sea of stars and as calm as a deep mountain pool, now seemed to harbor a storm about to sweep across the universe.
Behind him stood ten Custodes, standing solemnly like golden statues.
These personal guards of the Emperor were tall and burly, wearing equally dazzling black and gold armor and holding Guardian spears blooming with energy fields. Silent yet radiating a heart-palpitating sense of oppression, their very existence was an extension of the Emperor's will.
Obviously, in order to cross the endless sea of stars at the fastest speed and directly arrive at this star sector, Samuel Young had utilized his vast and boundless psionic power to conduct an ultra-long-distance precise teleportation.
And his sons, namely the four Primarchs, were currently located here. Their powerful life essences and unique genetic imprints became the most stable and clearest psionic beacons, ensuring this teleportation was foolproof.
Seeing the Emperor arrive in person, the four Primarchs led by Lion, along with all the company Honor Guard members behind them, dropped to one knee almost instinctively without any orders. They lowered their heads, paying the highest respect to the guardian of humanity.
Thud! Thud!
The steel and rocky ground emitted heavy impact sounds.
Samuel Young's gaze swept over his kneeling sons. He did not linger much on empty formalities. He simply waved his armor-covered hand lightly, and a peaceful yet unquestionable psionic fluctuation brushed over everyone. "Dispense with the formalities."
The voice was not loud, but it transmitted clearly into the depths of every individual's mind.
"Yes, Father (Your Majesty)."
Everyone stood up as instructed.
However, the moment they stood up, everyone present, whether Primarchs or ordinary Astartes, clearly felt a massive, formless, yet undeniably real coercion enveloping the surroundings, making the air viscous and heavy.
It permeated every inch of the air, shrouding the entire planet of Grum IV, making that already dim star seem even darker.
Lion felt a chill of awe in his heart.
He exchanged a tacit glance with his brothers.
They understood their Father.
Samuel Young usually possessed deep majesty and rarely showed his emotions, but at this moment, this psionic sense of oppression permeating the heaven and earth, making it seem as if the planet itself was trembling before it, only explained one thing—
Obviously, their Father, after witnessing everything here, was already enraged...
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