They still existed.
Existing deep within her heart, in the deepest reaches of her Sea of Souls, a place unavoidable by all her arrogant ambitions and dreams.
When Morgan opened her third eye after a long absence, she once again returned to her Kingdom of Thought: a territory that never belonged to her from the beginning, yet was the most important piece of land in her life.
In truth, Morgan was not keen on returning here, nor did she always meticulously remember everything about this place. When she needed to use those souls, she preferred to summon them directly.
There was a reason for this.
Compared to a decade ago, almost nothing had changed. When Morgan looked around, as far as her eyes could see, there was nothing new, surprising, or alarming.
Time held no meaning here.
The firmament was still pure black, a bleak and obscure black devoid of life or luster, as if bottles of ink had been spilled and dried into layers upon layers of nauseating, tenacious grime that, no matter how many times it was cleaned, could never be truly erased.
Beneath such a sky, everything in Morgan's mind was shrouded in an lingering shadow.
Swords, palaces, and spires still stood there, each forming constantly shifting kingdoms around itself. Golden, deep purple, and indigo lights continuously stained the already filthy firmament,
engaging in an eternal struggle in the endless void, contending over for whom, at some future moment, when destiny unveiled its final act, the most venomous and selfish individual in this galaxy would be used.
Morgan looked up, watching the will that was not hers determine her fate, the myriad shifting colors intertwined and entangled at every moment. At first glance, there was a wondrous, colorful beauty,
but when one settled their mind to observe carefully, they would only find that these seemingly dreamlike colors, with deeper observation, became increasingly disgusting, distorted, and hideous, as if all the sins of the world were fully displayed within that light.
The longer one looked, the more lost, confused, and eager they would become to further explore these terrifying places that should have been shunned. Only the calmest individuals would break free from this silent seduction in time. And when they recovered and looked up at the dreamlike sky again, they would only see the most chilling truth of the world.
Morgan looked up, gazing at the wonderfully defiled starry sky within her mind. After a few seconds of silent observation, she lowered her head, perfectly fine.
Even the clashes and struggles of the Ruinous Powers themselves were no longer astonishing to her. She knew that what existed within her were merely fragments of those supreme wills, and their struggles were but a destiny they could never escape.
The silver-haired Lady Spider had once heard the Iron Warriors discuss how Perturabo, the Primarch of the Fourth Legion, had been able to see or perceive the Eye of Terror from the moment he gained consciousness. Because of this, the starry sky in the Iron Lord's eyes was unlike that of anyone else in the galaxy.
But those who discussed these strange tales would never know that what transpired within Morgan's mind was far more terrifying than anything Perturabo had ever witnessed.
Three deities, or rather, wills comparable to deities, raged in an eternal struggle within her thoughts. The intensity of this war might ebb and flow, but it never ceased, especially the ceaseless entanglement between Tzeentch and Slaanesh.
Each time they clashed again, the firmament would shed countless fragments, recording complex schemes, twisted histories, and blasphemous rituals that even a Primarch couldn't immediately comprehend. If Morgan didn't clean them up in time, they would even begin to affect the Primarch's own lucidity.
Every time Morgan began to think, every time she settled her mind to examine and reflect on her actions, she had to enter her inner world to face that endless struggle, to become a pathetic wretch, silent and humble, before three great wills she could not contend with.
Even for the most seasoned navigators, traversing the Immaterium was a dangerous adventure, but for Morgan, almost every one of her thoughts confronted a tempest no less violent than the most chaotic parts of the Immaterium.
The Eye of Terror, in Perturabo's eyes.
The Eye of Terror, also in the Lady Spider's heart.
Myriad kingdoms rose and fell before her eyes. All the blasphemies and sins that the combined minds of the world could not imagine played out vividly before her. She witnessed tens of millions of loyalties, betrayals, blasphemies, distortions, desires, and rages transforming into endlessly repeating dramas in the vision of her third eye, recounting the grandeur of the universe and time again and again.
They even considered her psychological endurance: the fragments of blasphemy that appeared before her were never too numerous, ensuring she wouldn't be overwhelmed by these horrifying sights.
The wills represented by the three lights all implicitly agreed to this decision, silently watching Morgan tremble again and again before the vivid images of the world's most terrifying atrocities. With a slight difference: the blue and purple lights would only emit continuous, piercing laughter in her suffering, as if waiting for a lovely prey to step into a trap. Occasionally, they would even softly whisper, trying to ensnare her will.
But the golden one did not. Never once.
He would always remain silent, quietly witnessing her. He neither saved nor further oppressed her; he merely observed her struggle.
Waiting for her choice.
She even had to periodically delete some overly disgusting memories to ensure her mind remained unaffected. Compared to the things she witnessed, the depravities and tortures from the Aeldari memories she had consumed even seemed pale.
It should be known that some of the Xenos she had devoured had even lived through the glorious, eternal empire, honored guests at the most extravagant gatherings in Commorragh. Some of the [knowledge] in their minds even sent shivers down Morgan's spine the first time she witnessed it.
But that was all in the past.
Now, after more than twenty years of tempering and repetition, even the most insane Bloodbrides of Commorragh could not stir a ripple in the Lady Spider's mind with their dark performances. And the most basic filth and darkness in the hearts of mortals were, in Morgan's eyes, no different from mud in a child's hand.
Compared to the essence that symbolized blasphemy and distortion, what intelligent life could conceive was ultimately too gentle.
In fact, when Morgan sought to pass the time during the interims of the Randan War, she would occasionally and silently observe the most depraved fragments of these Xenos memories, treating it as a trivial diversion.
For a Primarch, over twenty years was enough time to become desensitized to anything.
And those intermittent, terrifying visions appearing before her only slowly decreased in frequency after she devoured a portion of Magnus's soul, profoundly strengthening her will, but they still persisted.
She even felt fortunate that, for a long time, she had no emotional response whatsoever, which allowed her to pass many trials.
And for Morgan, such an inner state naturally brought its own consequences: whether the Lady Spider wanted to admit it or not, she had to face a stark reality: being reduced to a secondary observer in her own Kingdom of Thought was an incredibly vexing matter. Each time Morgan helplessly witnessed the clashing fragments, a distinct kind of anger would accumulate within her.
Occasionally, she would think that she needed a means of release, a way to vent her grievances that she wouldn't become too addicted to, a means that could be summoned and dismissed at will.
She was contemplating this question and constantly experimenting.
Thinking thus, Morgan continued to advance in her inner world, devoid of light. The only scenery along the way was the drifting souls, which she tried her best to control, constantly maintaining the little power she had left.
Souls, countless souls, most of them from various blasphemous Xenos. Ten years of incessant battles on the Randan frontline had greatly replenished the storage in Morgan's mind. Every bloody battle on the front was a harvest for her.
In fact, her only concern was that there were simply too many souls, so many that her mind couldn't maintain the necessary balance. Every time she harvested, the Lady Spider always wanted to eat a little more—a most primal and insurmountable greed.
The consequence of this greed was that every time she had to sort through the overwhelming number of souls in her mind, she couldn't help but want to strangle her past self for having gorged so much.
Thus, consuming them became a necessary art. Morgan deeply understood the importance of necessary expenditure. Therefore, as greedy as she was in harvesting souls, she was equally generous in using them.
And it was this generosity that earned her the name "Soul Drinker" during the Randan War.
In the eyes of outsiders, as a top-tier psyker, the Lady Spider's various displays were exaggerated even compared to her awe-inspiring colleagues. They always whispered amongst themselves about how Morgan produced her continuous and powerful techniques in various wars.
The answer was simple.
Souls.
Hundreds of souls were enough to sustain an unimaginable hurricane, instantly turning the tide of a battlefield.
The wails of thousands of souls were enough to unleash an invisible giant wave, completely erasing fortresses integrated with mountain ranges from the map.
But for Morgan, her own power was enough to do these things, so she disdained burning souls for such tasks.
She would only throw, even squander, souls on grand occasions.
Tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands, or even more souls—when they were mercilessly torn from her mind and ignited all at once, the power and sorrow unleashed by their destruction were enough to enable Morgan to perform the most exaggerated spells in an instant, gripping the fate of an entire world and star system in her delicate fingers.
For example, the massive storm summoned by Morgan during the Drune Campaign, a destruction capable of sweeping across an entire continent, was a mobile catastrophe created by Morgan burning countless souls in her mind. Ordinarily, with the Lady Spider's power, she could indeed summon such destructive will, but it would never be as readily conjured and dismissed.
In the war against the Randan, countless miracles summoned by Morgan were backed by the constantly wailing souls of countless Xenos. For Morgan, every burning of a soul was a good deal: such attrition not only consumed the less valuable souls but also allowed her to freely harvest more spoils after another victory for the Dark Angels.
Under such replenishment, she even developed a collecting habit. Some interesting or unique Xenos souls were temporarily kept by her. This behavior seemed to stem from her genes; when the Lady Spider thought of terms like "collection" and "storage," she smoothly embraced these new habits.
And in her soul realm, there existed some precious Xenos souls that she had tamed—or at least, on the surface, appeared willing to become her collectibles.
This even included a seemingly ancient Aeldari scholar, who evidently possessed a composure far superior to his kin, because when Morgan allowed him to witness the wildness of her inner world, he did not immediately collapse. On the contrary, under the fear of the deep purple light, a veritable nightmare for every Aeldari, he trembled and proposed a trade to the Lady Spider.
——————
"Plunder cannot obtain everything... Human."
"Plundered things are always incomplete, unable to display their original form, wisdom, and profound meaning. What you see are only fragmented pieces. You can use them to train yourself, but if you want to learn more, you need the transmission of words."
"Some wisdom only exists in mutual expression and communication. It cannot be captured by any words or memories, because all records are subjective, meaning they contain distortions and changes."
"And I will tell you how these things truly were."
——————
Morgan agreed to the trade.
She even allowed this Xenos soul to stay in the safest part of the valley.
And now, it was time for her to collect the returns on this transaction.
The Lady Spider's steps led her to the most reassuring part of these dim and lightless realms. Many of her good things were kept here: her precious soul collections, and the thing she most dreaded.
She arrived, casually grabbing the Aeldari soul.
[It's time.]
She looked at the silent, even hunched Xenos before her, her voice devoid of mercy.
[I have something to ask you.]
"...Please speak..."
Morgan narrowed her eyes, and some of her internal confusions spilled out. When she heard about the strange occurrences on the Randan front, such as the [Custodian Guard] and the golden figures, a bold hypothesis began to form in her mind.
[Do you... know of the Emperor?]
[I want to know, Randan, this rising power capable of contending for supremacy with humanity, does it also, in some sense, possess its own...]
["Emperor"?]
[Or rather, the Emperor is not unique, is that right?]
This question left the Xenos before Morgan uncharacteristically silent for a long time, until the Lady Spider began to frown impatiently, and slight psychic tremors unconsciously emanated from her. Only then did the hunched Xenos finally retrieve memories of other races.
"That depends on how you interpret it."
"If the [Emperor] you speak of is a figure like your creator, then I can tell you."
"Yes."
"Civilizations that are powerful enough, ambitious enough, and expansive enough, they can indeed possess their own [Emperor]."
"Or rather, the [Emperor] is not unique."
"But your Emperor is one of a kind."
The question of the [Emperor] involves some of my personal settings, which won't be overly exaggerated. I will clarify it in the next chapter.
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