Despair, struggle, resolve, death.
In the dark underground passages of Tacus V, amidst the flowing blood of Astartes and Xenomorph Psykers, all the sorrow and struggle, all the faith and glory, were nothing more than a fleeting glimpse of color in another pair of eyes, tens of thousands of miles away.
In Morgan's eyes, the fierce struggles and battles of the Fangs were like a movie scene she accidentally caught a glimpse of. When she saw Hektor, exhausted, being supported by his arriving comrades, she had no further interest in watching.
As for Hektor, after he had slightly recovered his will, he was affectionately embraced by his teachers and comrades, who asked him friendly questions.
She believed he could handle it.
She had more important matters.
The Spider Queen's will ran rampant through the First Legion's fleet, mobilizing everything she needed. Every one of her commands met not the slightest obstruction or delay: perhaps not every Dark Angel obeyed her wholeheartedly, but for various reasons, they still followed her orders and will.
As for other matters, as for what they truly thought in their hearts, she didn't care.
The auxiliary Psykers, the absolutely private and quiet domain, the specially calculated and planned arrangements, and even the specific Randan heads or blood that Morgan had specifically requested...
In the shortest amount of time, the First Legion prepared everything. Tens of thousands of Legion Servants scurried through the warships' corridors at Morgan's casual word. Inner Circle Veterans and a succession of ancient Confraternities braved the most concentrated artillery fire,
forcefully boarded Randan warships, and hunted down those unfortunates designated by Morgan: every team ultimately succeeded, with even rare casualties, despite these Terran-born Dark Angels having fought an entire campaign.
Even Corswain was specifically recalled from the front lines to personally oversee the command and deployment: Morgan knew very well that Lion El'Jonson also intended to use this opportunity to give Corswain a minimum amount of rest, to prevent the overly long and arduous pressure and scheduling from confusing the Lion King's trusted subordinate.
However, it was comical that the Knight King of Caliban would not think so: this was merely the subconscious emanating from the sensitive beastly mind within him.
Lion El'Jonson, as a beast, would realize his subordinates needed rest, but Lion El'Jonson, as a man, would not think so.
Fortunately, Lion El'Jonson's disposition always wavered and shifted between man and beast; deep down, he was not a very patient or forbearing character.
At least not now.
The last item was also neatly arranged. Morgan finally opened her azure pupils, allowing her will to briefly return from the Sea of Souls to Real Space.
She began to rest, a rest of less than five breaths, calculating one last time everything she needed, everything she was about to accomplish, and the many miscellaneous tasks.
In this seemingly endless cycle of consumption and confrontation, even Morgan's ample reserves, accumulated over more than a decade, were now showing signs of depletion. Too many Xenomorph souls had been casually scattered by her in this ceaseless war.
She waved her hand, and tens of thousands of souls expanded and twisted with the casual flick of her fingers, ultimately burning to ashes, transforming into a torrent of pure power that tore another Randan warship, which had seized an advantageous position, into pieces, and incidentally annihilated at least twenty thousand twisted lives.
In this battle, this was merely a common expenditure.
Whether it was the slaughter of the innumerable Randan Psykers, or the maintenance and support of the Imperial fleet, or dealing with sudden situations that could arise at any time in battle, all consumed an unimaginable amount of colossal power. The expenditure of this power would be enough to drain more than half of the Thousand Sons Legion in an instant, yet it only caused Morgan a hint of fatigue and annoyance.
She wasn't sure how much she had sacrificed for this war. She couldn't even be sure if her gains could outweigh the costs. She could only barely estimate her losses and anticipate her gains.
She even felt a twisted and agitated emotion: a sense of disgust, like a bitter spring quietly emerging from the depths of Morgan's heart, staining her soul and mind with a trace of impurity.
Morgan detested it, detested the situation spiraling out of her control. Her perfectly crafted plans and schemes were unraveling due to unforeseen circumstances: this was perhaps one of the things she hated most.
But no matter what, now, all she had to do was end it.
The five breaths of rest ended.
Morgan opened her eyes, returning to the Sea of Souls, to her hunting ground.
Back to her throne.
——————
"I will complete my hunt in fifteen minutes. Be ready, Lion El'Jonson."
When the voice of his Blood Kin reached his mind, the Primarch of the First Legion had just completed a tactical adjustment. He commanded his Unbending Truth to move a standard distance forward, replacing the Gloriana-class of the Salamanders Legion, and continued its fire suppression on the main battlefield.
Upon hearing this, the Primarch's gaze once again swept across the star map, over the special markings distributed at the edge of the battlefield.
"I understand."
Presumably, his brother must have grown impatient. The barbarians of Fenris, after all, lacked the patience and civility of the Calibanites. Although he had ordered the time flow within those micro-universes to be adjusted, an entire day of idleness would probably be enough to drive those Wolf Cubs mad.
Thinking of this, a trace of joy, mingled with sarcasm, welled up in the Primarch's mind, which was weary from the incessant warfare.
Then, he heard a song, a song echoing in the Sea of Souls.
Morgan was singing.
——————
Morgan was singing.
It was the most beautiful, most chaotic, most arrogant, and most placid song, without the slightest fluctuation or a trace of emotion. The song merely brushed over the Randan fleet, then selected the Xenomorphs with even the lowest level of Psyker potential, allowing the gentle sound to circle in their ears.
Entwining.
Whispering.
Enticing.
Subduing.
Then.
Stripping their souls.
In that instant, no one knew how many shrill wails erupted in every corner of the Tacus system. Whether it was a high-ranking captain or general, or a sailor or soldier scurrying across the bridge, no one was spared, no one could escape. Every Xenomorph capable of stirring their own waves in the Sea of Souls met the same fate and end.
The eyeballs of these pathetic creatures bulged, their huge mouths split open, and their already hideous and twisted faces now became monstrous enough to reign supreme in any nightmare, even terrifying their unaffected comrades.
In that instant, all resistance and hunting were complete. Every Xenomorph captured by Morgan could only raise their heads high, revealing the most idiotic smiles. Under the horrified gaze of their comrades, they knelt to the ground, their knees buckling, offering their necks for slaughter.
And in the next instant, countless souls were uprooted, countless wails rose and fell, and countless warships and fleets were torn apart by this sudden change, like a calm lake suddenly struck by a torrential downpour.
"Done."
The Spider Queen's gentle voice slowly echoed in the Sea of Souls. At this moment, countless pains, countless deaths, countless struggles, and countless despairs, mixed with the last portion of soul food she had taken from her reserves, blended together.
This was a long spear that could pierce through everything, a sharp blade that no one could wield. It was the Voice of Enlightenment, having drawn countless annihilations and decays, and capable of bringing countless more.
Morgan held it high, fully cultivating its power, fully waiting for the opportune moment, fully letting it roam in this treasure land filled with countless souls, until the perfect moment arrived.
She saw it.
She saw her prey.
[Fate Engine]
Without the slightest hesitation, Morgan wielded the Weapon in her hand, indescribable by any words. Before any Randan soldier or Psyker could react, she struck.
Chaos, expansion, shattering, annihilation.
The Spider Queen's blade, guided by her will, was unstoppable. The thinned, almost non-existent Warp curtain was completely torn to shreds by her. Just like that, the bottom line was breached, the city walls destroyed, and the passage linking Real Space to the vast Immaterium was firmly grasped in her hand.
The stars dimmed, the galaxy shattered, and countless vortices and rifts spread across more than half the galaxy in the blink of an eye, devouring wave after wave of Randan's world-ending armies. Countless fantasies and distortions, like a raging tide beneath a full moon, swept in from every direction and corner, cannibalizing this pathetic place, stripped of all its future.
The world was dead.
And Morgan didn't care.
She had succeeded.
Upholding her will, the Weapon, forged with all her power and spirit, pierced through the entire Randan fleet. Neither the defensive line crafted by tens of thousands of Psykers nor the Immaterium's instinctive pull on Real Space could stop her power.
She could feel her will, accompanying the tip of the Weapon, fiercely plunging into the innermost core of what the Randan called the [Fate Engine].
She could feel countless wails and curses erupting from everywhere she could reach. Countless Xenomorph Psykers burned their souls and anger, scrambling to pounce on the Empress who had pierced through reality and illusion, only to burn to ashes just before touching her.
She was a star, she was death, she was a malicious scorching sun, sustained and created by an endless profanity of souls.
She was the Malice of the Imperium.
She was the Mercy of Humanity.
Morgan smiled.
A smile of a superior being, capable of making anyone—whether a valiant warrior, a seasoned Inner Circle veteran, or even an arrogant Custodian Guard—feel the emotion named [fear] from their primal instincts.
She heard it, a furious roar, an Emperor's rage that shook the entire Sea of Souls. She felt a scorching crimson light leap from that confined throne. It could not truly move or walk yet, but that wouldn't last long.
Morgan did not fear this crimson light. In fact, as she gripped the [Fate Engine] in her hand, burning with countless souls and roars, her heart held only mockery for the power she had once so greatly feared.
She could hear the most resolute words, from the mouth of the Randan Emperor, tens of thousands of light-years across the stars. She witnessed the resolve, pain, grief, and stubbornness capable of shouldering an entire race.
Truly...
Delicious.
——————
"I won't let you destroy it, human, not at any cost."
[Then... try me.]
——————
She scoffed.
Then, she shrieked.
Following her will, an entire world broke free from the Immaterium. In a blink of an eye, the entire battlefield witnessed an incredible scene.
Large swathes of the Randan fleet were crushed and annihilated by the purest will. Endless Warp rifts occupied their former positions, and in the next moment, a crimson planet appeared from the rifts: it was seized by a god-like will, forcibly dragged into the incredibly dangerous Real Space, forcibly brought into the striking range of the Human Imperium.
Silence, in this instant, silence gripped the entire battlefield. The battle, which had lasted for hundreds of Terran Standard Hours, finally came to its first halt. Everyone forgot their bloody tasks, quietly watching the crimson-glowing world: like a crying child, it was dragged to the very center of the Tacus system, to the bloodiest and most brutal stage.
The humans were quiet, watching this scene in bewilderment and shock. Only a few high-ranking Dark Angels let barbaric smiles spread across their faces.
The Randan were also quiet, but their silence was pale, painful, and bewildered. Their most powerful officers trembled their twisted lips, saying nothing.
This eerie silence did not last long, for in the next moment, the Knight King of Caliban pressed the button that was always ready by his side.
Once again, the stars began to tremble.
Countless openings, countless fissures, countless passages connecting Real Space with small pocket universes, slowly opened one after another at this moment.
And before these most hidden corners had fully revealed themselves, one savage and rugged warship after another impatiently burst forth. These crude warships roared and howled, relentlessly spewing forth the violent fire they had suppressed for so long.
Leading the charge was the Herafinkel, a mountain-sized star-killer, the fangs of the most savage, most powerful, and most valiant Wolf King.
Even from tens of thousands of miles away, Leman Russ's roar could clearly explode in his Blood Kin's ear.
"You motherfucker, Lion El'Jonson, I've been in there too long! This isn't what you promised!"
Lion El'Jonson didn't retort. He merely gazed at the crimson-glowing planet.
"Do you see it?"
"I'm not blind!"
"Destroy it. Take your legion, and I don't care how you do it, destroy it in the shortest possible time."
The Lion King heard a barbaric laugh.
"I understand... And then?"
"Then?"
Lion El'Jonson smiled.
"Then..."
"Do whatever you want."
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