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This is an ancient story.
It is neither long nor bloody, but a pathetic poem filled with discrimination and murder. It is the bitter fruit of ignorance, and a wicked nightmare destined to plague the innocent.
The story begins before all human suffering had occurred, a golden age, an era of dreams and ambition. Countless ships continuously departed from humanity's homeland. They sailed away from Terra, away from the sun, away from their safe haven of ten millennia, staking everything on the unknown void.
And the prelude to the drama officially unfolded.
As another ship, laden with tens of thousands of passengers, traversed the Warp, this behemoth happened to collide head-on with an invisible tide.
Magic, elements, sorcery, psychic power... perhaps it had countless names, but its essence remained consistent: this was an ominous gift from the Warp, a terrifying talent that ordinary people could not control. As the ship sank deeper into the tide, a large-scale phenomenon of psychic awakening began to occur among the passengers, and accompanying the power came the ugliness of human nature and the collapse of order.
In the chaos, days passed, until almost everyone began to believe that they could not escape this invisible storm in a short time. Opposition and factions began to emerge with this thought. Some accused the psykers of having brought all of this upon them, while others simply feared their power.
Until the last official who tried to restore order fell, war broke out.
The mortals, with their absolute numerical advantage, ultimately cornered all the psykers. They confined these former compatriots and activated terrible weapons that had once been forbidden, literally draining their psychic energy and life.
They thought everything ended there, but the true situation was not that simple.
No one knew how many psykers died in this collective atrocity, nor how many innocents were among the dead. But one thing was certain: when all the psykers died, the only thing they possessed in their hearts was an undying hatred.
Hatred, more enduring than true love, more violent than jealousy, more immense than unity. The victors of the war had no time to celebrate before they realized with horror what kind of monster they had unleashed.
All the unjustly deceased psykers, their final and most venomous hatred twisted together before their deaths, continuously fusing and expanding, ultimately giving birth to an unstoppable presence in the mental world:
——————
"C'tan..."
Magnus brushed away the dust on the ship, softly uttering the name of this ancient leviathan.
Psychic fire drifted from the Primarch's singular eye. He looked up, observing the ship's rusty exterior, and his continuously exploring consciousness told him that the last trace of the Atarva squad had vanished here.
Following his will, prodigious psychic energy transformed into a sharp sword, cutting open a fresh entrance several meters square in the blink of an eye.
"Get ready. The master of this place does not welcome us."
Magnus turned his head, instructing his only two attendants. The Primarch of the Fifteenth Legion had used every possible means to strengthen them, ensuring that the two could perform in the most arduous battles.
Then, the group entered.
The C'tan was an antique. It was clearly a product of the same great era as Carenna City's Steadfast Light. But unlike its well-preserved, even repairable, brethren, the interior of this massive ship with an ominous name had completely rotted away. Broken walls and scattered cables could be seen everywhere. If not for its exceptionally sturdy outer shell, it would likely have completely disintegrated long ago.
The three walked out of the electronic ruins, each step falling onto the thickest layer of dust. This place had perhaps been untouched for centuries—this was truly strange.
Morwen carefully observed everything around her, examining the countless decay and the thickness of the dust, thinking this.
Similarly ancient, the Steadfast Light was placed in the capital's center, for remembrance, and received meticulous care and maintenance.
The C'tan, on the other hand, was abandoned here. Judging by its decay and the thickness of the dust, let alone regular cleaning and maintenance, the people of Planet Dawn seemed to never even approach it—why was that?
This question did not trouble Morwen for long.
Because as they walked, the Primarch and his attendants drew closer to their destination. They walked through the last corridor, and a vast hall appeared before their eyes. From its position, this should be the very center of the C'tan.
On the left side of the hall, they saw a violently broken entrance, and messy footprints extending from the entrance deep into the hall.
At the end of the footprints stood five warriors. Morwen recognized Atarva and Hathor among them. Clearly, they were the missing sons of Magnus.
But at this moment, something was clearly wrong with the Thousand Sons: they had all removed their helmets, revealing rigid faces and merciless, glacial eyes. Their gaze towards their genefather held no trace of respect, only the most fundamental indifference and apathy.
"Come out, you scoundrel."
Magnus spoke. Morwen could feel a rare anger in his voice.
"You bastard who manipulates my sons, step forward. I am here. Come and face me."
"I will tear you apart, tear apart your soul and your falsehood, for you have made a mistake, the most absurd mistake in the galaxy. You dared to try and enslave the sons of Magnus. In your brief and pathetic remaining life, this mistake will make you feel the most genuine inferno."
"I promise!"
The Primarch's fury burned wildly in the hall along with his declaration, and his opponent did not maintain its silence either.
Morwen heard laughter, the strangest laughter: it was like laughter, yet also like weeping, mixed with angry roars and the clash of weapons. And when you pricked up your ears and listened carefully, you seemed to hear the deepest, most malicious curses.
Accompanying this laughter, the five Astartes all took three steps forward. They stood side by side, speaking in turn with utterly emotionless words.
"Welcome, Magnus."
"Welcome, Son of the Chaos Gods."
"I have waited here, waited for millennia."
"I wait for the calamity, for the end, for the reckoning, for the sunset, for the judgment that will surely arrive."
"As for our name, you may call us..."
"C'tan."
Magnus did not continue listening, and the C'tan evidently had no interest in long speeches either.
The moment their names were introduced, two god-like surges of psychic energy clashed out of thin air.
As if sounding the horn of war, with the commencement of battle between Magnus and the C'tan, the already controlled Atarva squad also picked up their weapons and charged towards Phosis and Morwen.
"Protect it!"
Phosis pulled a book from his robes and thrust it into Morwen's hands. Then, this elite of the Falcon Chapter bent slightly, extending his hands forward and then raising them, fingers spread. In an instant, an invisible psychic barrier appeared before the two, deflecting a storm of bullets and the psychic shockwaves unleashed by Magnus.
Morwen held the beautifully packaged book in one hand, and unleashed an invisible attack with the other, aiming directly at the weakest one in her scan.
"Impact!"
The incantation from his mouth shot through Phosis's barrier, then amplified a hundredfold in an instant, forming the most destructive sonic wave that instantly pierced through the bald, unhelmeted head of the Thousand Son.
"Bang!"
The struck Thousand Son immediately flew backward. He smashed through a dilapidated iron wall, and the sharp, decaying metal grazed blood marks on his exposed skin. The poor controlled individual struggled to stand up, but the decaying wall he had crashed into could no longer support itself. A pile of broken steel and cables collapsed with a crackling sound, completely burying him underneath.
"Don't kill them!"
Phosis instinctively admonished, but he was quickly drawn by Morwen's method of attack.
"Telekinesis? Aren't you a telepath?"
[This is a Divination type. I foresaw that the wall there was the most decayed. I only know a little.]
"Whatever you say..."
Hathor's blade and Atarva's bullets were like the most violent storm, under continuous assault, Phosis didn't ask too many questions.
These controlled Thousand Sons warriors exhibited traits like those of the Red Dragon Legion: madness, silence, fearlessness in death. But they also lost their most powerful collective combat and psychic abilities as Thousand Sons. Against such opponents who could only rely on brute force and combat instinct, winning with fewer numbers was not difficult.
Morwen repeated her tactics, quickly knocking down another Thousand Son warrior. Then, she used countless scrap iron, glass, even decorative stone, and the dust on the ground to completely bury Atarva underneath.
Meanwhile, Phosis retracted his defensive stance. He braved the most violent psychic storm, defeating the furiously roaring and fighting Hathor with his swordsmanship.
"I admit, he's much weaker than usual."
Phosis wiped sweat from his brow, muttering to himself.
[Is it hard for controlled people like this to unleash their true power?]
"No, not entirely."
Phosis instinctively shook his head.
"We've encountered many controlled opponents before. Some were completely controlled, becoming mindless combat puppets. But the most difficult ones to deal with were those who weren't completely controlled, or were hypnotized. They still retained full combat capability and intelligence, but their minds were subtly twisted."
Phosis explained simply, not noticing the purple light emanating from Morwen's eyes behind him.
But now was not the time to delve deep into this topic. Directly in front of them, two most powerful psychic entities were confronting each other. The C'tan's inky blackness and Magnus's scarlet, symbolizing him, clashed like two tornadoes, gradually grinding the entire leviathan into dust under their fury.
But currently, it seemed that Magnus's scarlet was being considerably suppressed.
Morwen and Phosis exchanged glances.
Then, their hands simultaneously began an invisible undulation. They moved around to the C'tan's back and launched a desperate backstab.
——————
The C'tan was... dead, after all?
Even though it was an unimaginably terrifying monster, even though its will could influence and control hundreds of thousands of people, everything about this monster was still too fragile in the face of a Primarch who had truly started to get serious.
After all, what monster in the world could be more terrifying than a Primarch?
With the addition of two auxiliaries, Magnus temporarily escaped the C'tan's frenzied power, filled with madness and hatred. As he adjusted his rhythm and breathing, the Primarch strangled this terrifying entity like one would kill a beast.
But even so, the C'tan was not entirely dead. Its aura began to become ethereal and quiet. It spoke, beginning to tell an ancient story.
It told how, on this very C'tan ship, terrified people killed all their former compatriots who had awakened psychic abilities, and how the wills of those who died unjustly ultimately formed this monster named C'tan.
The people eventually discovered this monster. They were forced to land on Planet Dawn, fleeing in panic from this ship where a terrible tragedy had occurred, never daring to return and investigate again.
And to prevent similar incidents, later built ships like the Steadfast Light were equipped with anti-psychic elements as much as possible, which was why Magnus had such difficulty lifting it.
But even so, the C'tan was not sealed as the people of Planet Dawn had hoped. Its will eventually escaped and spread across this world for thousands of years. It sought out every individual involved and their descendants, planting seeds of control in their hearts.
"In other words, countless people on Planet Dawn have unknowingly been controlled by you?"
Magnus frowned. Now, he finally completely understood why the Sons of C'tan cult repeatedly resurfaced, and why men, women, and children alike would uncontrollably become their fanatics.
Because the C'tan was within their hearts.
But the situation was more terrifying than the Primarch imagined.
Facing Magnus's question, the C'tan laughed, a laugh of utter madness and joy.
"Countless? Are you belittling me, Magnus?"
"I have wandered for millennia, I have hated for millennia, I have rooted myself in this cursed world called Planet Dawn for millennia. I have no ambition to build an empire, no delusion of becoming a god. I don't even want to leave this world called Planet Dawn, but I am not without gains."
"All! I mean, all!"
"Every single inhabitant of Planet Dawn, whether dead or alive, loyal or treacherous, poor or rich, I have rooted myself in all of them!"
"All the inhabitants of Planet Dawn, all their descendants! They all deserve to die!"
"Hahahahahahaha!"
"Choose! You pathetic wretch!"
"Either save them, leaving them their pathetic lives, and I promise you, I will watch every single one of them. I will make them destroy your pathetic Empire at the most opportune moment!"
"Or... kill them! Leave none alive!"
"Leave none alive!!!"
The C'tan's scream vanished in Magnus's hand. He gripped the soul tightly, then took the book from Morwen's hand and placed it inside.
[The Book of Magnus.]
At this moment, Morwen finally saw the true nature of the book.
And the Primarch was simply silent.
He was silent for a long time.
"...Sigh..."
Finally, Magnus sighed.
"Let's go back."
He awakened every one of his sons.
"Return to Carenna... return to the fleet..."
"Now, I think I have something I need to persuade my brother about."