Magnus had forgotten some things.
He had done so willingly.
——————
Like his most fortunate brothers, the Lord of Prospero's early life had been remarkably smooth sailing. After being swept away by a Warp storm, this earliest awakened among the Primarchs also drifted into the boundless galaxy, eventually crash-landing with his stasis-pod in the plaza of Tizca on the world of Prospero. This was a secluded world, inhabited primarily by reclusive scholars and fugitive psykers. Magnus, being exceptional, was almost immediately adopted by the local scholars.
Such a childhood might not compare to Guilliman's wealth and nobility as a prince, nor Sanguinius's transcendence as a god-child worshipped by his people, but it was stable and suitable. Magnus learned and grew without impediment, and when he became the greatest scholar, he naturally became the leader of his homeworld.
Next came the cleansing of the psychic beasts that had long plagued Prospero, the exploration, recovery, and reshaping of once-great cities, taking over research that had confounded generations, observing and delving deep into the Warp, and instantly becoming a master in that domain…
Even more remarkably, relying on his powerful psychic abilities, the Lord of Prospero could, from an early stage, communicate with his genetic father on a soul level. While the Emperor's fleet was still journeying towards Magnus's homeworld, father and son had already become friends, jointly exploring unknown realms.
Magnus would never have imagined that the first major problem of his life would come precisely from his father: the Emperor brought with him the Thousand Sons Legion, a great army imbued with Magnus's bloodline. Under the Emperor's watchful eye, the Primarch and his sons were reunited, swearing from then on to protect each other with their lives and honor.
Everything went smoothly, so the Emperor soon departed Prospero. But just as the Lord of Mankind's fleet vanished beyond the Mandeville Point, an anomaly occurred among Magnus's sons.
The previously weakened Flesh Change returned with a vengeance, once again becoming a rampant plague in the blink of an eye. Magnus watched in horror as the sons he had just reunited with constantly twisted, struggled, and died screaming. He exerted all his might, chanting psychic spells and incantations, but it was futile. In just one night, thousands of Thousand Sons warriors lost their lives. The situation instantly became dire; if Magnus found no solution, he would lose his entire Legion within days.
Magnus thought of his father, but then he also remembered the Emperor's obsession with the purity of the human bloodline and his intense hatred for any mutation. He hesitated and ultimately chose to delve deep into the Warp.
This choice was correct, at least judging by the outcome. Magnus ultimately succeeded in saving his Legion. He gained power through a bargain, saving a thousand of his sons, preserving the last spark.
But the contents of that bargain, Magnus had long forgotten. This was not a passive occurrence, but an active choice. Magnus had paid something in that transaction, something more precious than his own eyes. His extraordinary intellect vaguely perceived this, but he refused to believe it.
He refused to believe it. He preferred to forget.
He preferred to evade.
But forgetting and evading, while capable of erasing memories from the mind, cannot erase a reality that truly existed. And as long as that reality persists, it can potentially generate new memories, returning with renewed force.
At least, in the Warp, this was possible.
——————
The Primarch was somewhat annoyed—no, extremely annoyed.
This irritation stemmed not only from the frustration of an unexpected setback but also from the unsettling inability to contact his sons. Although he appeared to be the one alone, Magnus was more concerned for the safety of the Thousand Sons and Morgan.
In the Primarch's view, while the Warp could indeed be described as an ocean of tranquility and serenity, just as a true ocean can raise waves and whirlpools and conceal man-eating beasts, so too are the unconscious psychic fluctuations within the Warp dangerous. And in its most obscure depths, there also lurk ancient, dangerous, and incommunicable terrifying beings.
For instance, at this moment, he was being targeted.
The Primarch's psychic perception swept across the vast space around him. He could sense countless luminous points of consciousness gathering, either near or far. They were somewhat similar to what his sons called guardian spirits, but in many aspects, they were diametrically opposed: for example, their undisguised hostility.
Magnus revealed a contemptuous smile.
He was not underestimating his foes; rather, these pathetic adversaries, so blatant in their malice, deserved nothing more than the Primarch's disdain.
The Emperor's son waved his hand, and sharp, crimson light surged forth like a storm. It was a terrifying energy that a hundred Thousand Sons working in unison could not unleash, yet for the Primarch, it was merely his most casual attack.
He heard wails and laments, the tearing sound of blades scything through those meaningless, pathetic forms. Such sounds, continuous with the Primarch's sustained assault, were incessant but to no avail: each time these hostile, diminutive entities fell, three, five, or even more would fill their place. They gathered more and more in this manner, until a rustling sound filled every inch of the Primarch's perception.
Finally, the Primarch grew weary.
"Enough!"
Magnus sharply rebuked them. The sound wave contained boundless power, instantly freezing all hostile creatures. He then raised his hand, clapped once, and the myriad legions of foes melted away as swiftly as snowflakes under the fierce sun of early spring.
But such a trifling victory brought the Primarch no sense of triumph. Instead, he keenly perceived even more hostility gathering from all directions. It seemed he had indeed arrived in the deeper parts of the Warp, a place rife with strange dangers.
Magnus had no time to linger in battle. He eventually pinpointed a direction that did not emanate danger. The Primarch's consciousness transformed into a wisp of crimson light, flying towards the chosen path. He needed a quiet corner, a safe area where he could settle down and plan the array and incantations to locate his lost attendants.
Magnus did not stop along the way, nor did he expend more thought on reconnaissance or contingency plans. Fundamentally, while this place was dangerous, it ultimately posed no threat to him, a Primarch.
The Primarch's footsteps left a crimson trail, and he quickly vanished, completely unaware that the so-called hostility disappeared shortly after he departed, leaving behind only a peculiar, prolonged laughter in the place where he had fought.
——————
The end of the Primarch's journey was not some remote, untraceable place. On the contrary, a palace of incomprehensible design stood there, instantly seizing all of Magnus's attention.
It was a colossal structure, so vast that no mortal would believe its existence. It was almost as immense as the Imperial Palace currently under construction on Holy Terra. Every inch of its outer wall was a geometrically independent entity, radiating brilliant, rainbow-like light. Further back, towers stood, one after another, extending until they reached the number Nine.
Magnus lingered before this structure, hesitating whether to find an entrance. But just as he was engaged in arduous thought, he heard the most violent sound. The colossal structure actually began to split open on its own, starting from its physical middle, like a giant beast opening its maw. The palace walls tore open to either side, revealing a complex courtyard—yet, in the very next instant, new walls immediately formed, completely sealing off the palace's interior. The time between these events was so brief that even with the Primarch's perception, Magnus could not discern what lay within. He even felt as if there were only walls within walls.
Before Magnus could ponder further, everything was over. He only saw a palace split open into a courtyard before his eyes, faintly revealing what seemed like a labyrinth deeper inside. Then, from within that labyrinth, various eyeballs continuously emerged, flying out or rolling forth, piling up in the courtyard. In a few blinks, this vast space, capable of accommodating tens of thousands of troops, was crammed full of countless eyes.
The Primarch's face turned ashen; he even felt a slight nausea.
And the eyeballs did not cease their activity. They rolled, they piled, they sprouted enormous mouths and teeth, roaring and devouring each other. Thousands upon thousands of eyeballs were consumed in the very first instant this war began, and the fleeting victors quickly plunged into new slaughter.
By the ninth instant, Magnus saw only one eyeball swaying before him. Upon it floated nine deep-blue pupils, constantly in motion, without any discernible pattern.
[Greetings, Magnus.]
The eyeball spoke.
"...What are you?"
The Primarch spoke with difficulty, suppressing his instinct to immediately engage this monster in battle, for his mind told him it would be a grueling and desperate fight, though he did not believe he would lose.
[Oh, 'what,' an interesting piece of philosophical nonsense.]
That... thing laughed. Not just its grotesque mouth, but all nine of its pupils—all nine of its moving pupils—sprouted fissures and sharp teeth, laughing in unison, spewing forth ravens and deformed eagles amidst their mirth.
[I am everything, son of a pathetic provocateur. I am everything in your pathetic delusion: your arrogance, your dreams, your pursuits, your desires, the grand kingdom and enterprise you yearned for and built, the immortal epic poem you conceived to be sung. I am them, and therefore I am nothing, for your dreams and future are but a wisp of ash, meaningless.]
[I was born from a non-existent past, appearing the moment the future was erased. I have borne thousands of names and titles, but they became obsolete the instant they were uttered. I have possessed thousands of essences and true names, but they were discarded the moment they manifested.
I have no name, no essence. I am not the designation of any existence or truth, for I am in constant flux, eternally transforming into another form, from the creator of one legend to the destroyer of another myth, merely a momentary difference in your eyes. They are things without distinction or difference.]
[Of course, if you insist on finding a designation for me from your barren and meager consciousness, you may call me...]
[God.]
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