The Doom Slayer!
This guy was the real deal. Just speaking his name could make demons stop their late-night crying. He was the personification of pure, unadulterated power, the walking nightmare of every cosmic evil, and a living, breathing embodiment of destruction.
For him, the hellish realm of the Warp was like a walk in the park, so familiar he probably had a preferred coffee shop there.
This wasn't just a tough guy; he was the tough guy. He'd single-handedly flattened entire dimensions, stomped angels, and ripped demons limb from limb. He'd been so good at his job that he'd almost wiped out the demon population of hell, broke into heaven to personally end a god, and finished off the multi-universal creator, the so-called 'Dark Lord.'
The Warp? Pfft. A single glare from him would disintegrate a legion of Greater Demons, and his lowest growl would make them soil their ethereal pants.
If this elder god showed up, Khorne would probably offer him a chair, Slaanesh would suddenly be a blushing, demure maiden, Tzeentch would lose his mind and start reciting children's nursery rhymes, and Nurgle would just go home to garden plants and vegetables.
"Hold on there," the System's voice cut through Blazkowicz's chaotic, trembling thoughts. "Don't get ahead of yourself. This isn't the full-powered Doom Slayer. This is just an insignificant little fragment that broke off during his big fight with the Dark Lord."
Blazkowicz swallowed hard. His heart, which had just settled into a nice, calm rhythm, lurched into his throat. "So... why exactly did you pull it out for me?"
He was starting to get a bit fed up with this System. It had already proven to be a total flake, abandoning him at the worst possible moment. Why on earth had he trusted this system and gone along with its bizarre transmigration plan in the first place?
"Even incomplete, it is the pure essence of the Doom Slayer," the System said, its mechanical voice sounding as steady as a rock. "It's weak, sure, but it carries all the core concepts of his main body. If you use it well, it will absolutely be able to protect you."
The System's plan began to unfold, sounding like a perfect, if terrifying, chess match. "First, I'll integrate this essence into your soul to make sure the Warp doesn't corrupt you. Then, I'll strip away your memories. When you arrive in the 40K universe, your soul will be completely pure and flawless; even the Chaos Gods won't find anything to latch onto. A pure soul will attract their attention, but they won't be able to get any information from you, and they certainly won't dare to mess with a piece of the Doom Slayer's essence."
"And your memories, former Host…" the System paused, a small, faint light separating from Blazkowicz's soul. "I'll seal them and, while the Four Gods are distracted with you, I'll launch them into the deepest part of the Warp. Whether they can ever find their way back to you will be entirely up to your own good luck."
Blazkowicz considered the plan. It was a flawless design, a desperate Hail Mary to ensure his survival. Given the circumstances, it was really his only option. To survive Warhammer, he had to accept it.
"All right, let's do this thing!"
The System, sensing no time to waste, immediately began its work as their destination approached. His memories began to fade, slowly at first, then faster as the System detached itself from his soul. Just before his consciousness fell into darkness, Blazkowicz managed to get one last thought in: "System… thanks!"
For all his complaints, it seemed the System had a heart after all. It hadn't left him to die and had, at the very least, given him a fighting chance.
"Former Host, I'm also sending you some knowledge," the System's light cluster pulsed slightly. "From now on, you'll be on your own. I hope this helps."
"Thank you," Blazkowicz replied, a wave of sincere gratitude washing over him as his vision went black.
With the System's help, the Destroyer Essence fully merged with his soul, becoming a single, crimson light.
"Goodbye," the mechanical voice said one last time. In the dark void, two light clusters—one large and one small—separated. The large one zipped away, while the small, red one continued along its path, plunging into a cosmic tear at the edge of the universe.
"Hoo…" In Tzeentch's realm, the wind howled with a new intensity. For the first time in eons, the Well of Eternity stirred, spitting out powerful, unholy storms. The Crystal Labyrinth trembled as countless Lords of Change stretched their necks, their eyes wide with anticipation, desperate to see what was happening.
One of them, the Lord of Change, Kairos, twisted his fingers, weaving countless magical sigils into existence. The power of the Chaos Gods formed a dark blue net, ready to catch whatever was about to emerge.
The storm's roar intensified, bursting out of Tzeentch's realm and briefly scattering the endless Warp storms.
The Lords of Change were ecstatic, their raspy voices echoing through the Warp in a symphony of delight. "Oh no!" A Greater Demon was born in that moment, its first-ever words being its master's startled cry.
The magic net was blown to pieces by the storm. Tzeentch, ignoring everything else, covered the Well of Eternity with his withered hand. In the next moment, his body sprouted countless mouths, all of them wailing in agony. "Ah!!!" The painful cries of the Chaos God struck his demons like a lightning bolt, and the Lords of Change all shrieked in unison, feeling their master's immense pain.
Tzeentch slowly opened his withered palm. A hundred eyes appeared on his face, all staring at the object in his hand. It was a crimson sphere of light, embedded in his palm. It was burning his immortal body, and smoke was pouring from the wound. Tzeentch and his demons were so completely focused on this new thing that they completely missed the second, tiny speck of light that had drifted out of the Well of Eternity.
Without a sound, without a ripple, Blazkowicz's memories—contained in a small speck of dust—were carried by the Warp's energy and vanished into its boundless tides, unnoticed by any demon or Chaos God.
"My Lord!" the Lords of Change shouted as they gathered around Tzeentch.
Kairos, the most conspicuous among them, twisted his two heads together, his eyes glowing as he tried to perceive the past. "My eyes!" he cried out, covering his Eye of Yesterday as blue blood poured between his fingers. He had tried to look into the Chaos God's past, and his eye had been overwhelmed by the endless information.
The Lords of Change spread out, their staves held high, wary of any more changes. After confirming there was no danger, they cautiously asked, "My Lord, what caused you such pain?"
A Chaos God was injured, his very essence damaged! This had never happened before, not in all of history. It was unimaginable.
Tzeentch simply stared at the red sphere, saying nothing. The charred wound on his hand vanished as the sphere settled in his palm. He understood its origin in an instant. A soul of incomparable purity, carrying a noble essence he had never seen before.
Although it was weak, it gave off an ancient, magnificent aura, a pureness that transcended everything. It was filled with a primal power that was difficult to even comprehend, and deep within its core was an unshakeable, burning rage.
He applied a little pressure to the sphere, and a sharp stinging sensation shot up his arm. Tzeentch's hundred pupils widened in astonishment as he saw that the power of the Warp was being slowly absorbed by the soul, becoming a part of it. The Chaos God was so surprised that he almost lost his grip on it, and the soul in his hand grew slightly stronger.
Before he could study it further, a burst of wild laughter came from outside the labyrinth. The laughter was deep and powerful, accompanied by the clanking of armor. The Lords of Change all tensed, tightening their grip on their staves.
"Hahahahahaha!"
Khorne's power spread, and rolling red clouds appeared at the edge of Tzeentch's domain. The two gods' powers clashed at the border, an invisible contest beginning before either god's will had even descended.
"What's so funny? Hah… Why, it's seeing a wound appear on eternal change, proving that even change has its decline," another boisterous burst of laughter came from a different direction, accompanied by a wet, gurgling hiccup. A wave of green, boundless vitality erupted at the edge of Tzeentch's realm, and overgrown weeds turned into towering trees.
Nurgle, another of the Four Gods, had arrived, mocking Tzeentch's helplessness. They were natural enemies; Tzeentch was the lord of eternal change, while Nurgle was the master of stagnation.