Old ones once said that all things have spirits. With the development of human technology, a more specific term emerged: consciousness or soul.
In the turbulent galaxy, besides the commonly known living beings, some inanimate objects can also, for various reasons, spark consciousness and develop self-awareness.
It is not surprising that the Scythe of the Death God, an extraordinary artifact beyond comprehension, possesses its own will.
If it were an inanimate object, Blazkowicz would have no good way to take it away, but with consciousness, it is entirely different.
The first thought that arises in the soul of any being with self-awareness is to survive.
Blazkowicz raised his head and puffed out his chest, stepping off the platform into the void. Below, steel plates rose to form a staircase, bringing him closer to the scythe. Step by step, undeterred by the chilling aura emanating from the scythe, he approached the C'tan weapon. He raised his hand, pointing at the end of the scythe's handle, and declared majestically, "You only have two choices now."
With no room for negotiation, Blazkowicz extended a finger. "First, leave here with me."
After stating the first choice, he rotated his right wrist, and the Crucible Sword danced in a flourish. His authoritative voice took on a cold, murderous intent. "Second, be utterly erased from the existence of the universe and the memory of time."
Blazkowicz pressed the blade of the Crucible Sword against the handle of the Scythe of the Death God. As the two touched, cold sparks erupted.
In a dimension beyond cognition, various concepts clashed and eroded each other.
Slaughter, erasure, plunder, destruction—everything the Crucible Sword symbolized gnawed at the personification of the concept of death. The final result was reflected in the Real Universe:
Where the Crucible Sword touched, the cold leaden color turned crimson. The handle of the Scythe of the Death God, neither metal nor silver nor steel, melted into magma, dripping like tiny shooting stars and vanishing into the void.
Its concept was rapidly eroding. The kilometer-long scythe gradually shrank, struggling within the psychic chains, attempting to escape.
"My patience is limited. You only get one chance." Blazkowicz's expression was arrogant. The Crucible Sword did not stop, continuously carving away at death.
Screech—screech—
The sound of dripping lava was like the lament of the C'tan weapon, its physical existence gradually disappearing from the universe.
In the nightmares of countless lives, the hooded image of the Death God appeared, but the scythe in its hand was somewhat ethereal and uncertain. What weapon does the Death God wield? Is it a scythe or something else?
Sintara, on the platform, watched the lava-like molten metal drip like tears, feeling it was a colossal waste of a supreme creation.
The Scythe was not "melting" at this moment; its concept was disappearing. One of the most powerful weapons in the martial universe, it howled in agony, awaiting death.
Seeing the time was ripe, Blazkowicz sheathed the Crucible Sword at his waist. He raised his hand, preparing to touch the C'tan weapon, and issued a final warning: "You only have one chance: annihilation or obedience. Choose for yourself."
With that, his gaze sharpened. His unguarded right hand pressed against the power of the Death God, grasping that penetrating chill.
An extremely sinister, soul-targeting power surged along his right hand and into Blazkowicz's body.
In the depths of his consciousness, Blazkowicz felt a suction from the Scythe of the Death God, pulling at his soul.
The suction was terrifying, but to him, it was merely a gentle breeze, a slight chill that could not shake a soul as scorching as a star. "Hmph!"
With a low grunt, Blazkowicz's hand ignited with flames, transforming his palm into a claw.
His cold fury burned eternally, manifesting as crimson flames. His palm pressed into the Scythe like melting wax.
Clatter-clatter!
The chains contracted. The C'tan weapon rapidly shrank in size, settling into Blazkowicz's hand, its size and length perfectly suited to his physique.
"Smart move."
With the scythe in hand, Blazkowicz let out a low growl. With a slight exertion of his right hand, he snapped the restraining chains.
"It's not very practical," he said, swinging the scythe a few times before shaking his head disdainfully. He then asked, bewildered, "Why would the Nightbringer use a scythe as a weapon?"
For ordinary people, a scythe is indeed not practical. Its single, inward-curving blade severely limits offensive maneuvers.
Besides its terrifying appearance, there is no other reason for a warrior to use a scythe as a weapon.
Everything Blazkowicz did was witnessed by the old one below the platform, filling their hearts with profound shock.
This demigod, clad in human skin, was truly immensely powerful, subduing a C'tan weapon and casually snapping the restraining chains they had set up.
No wonder he dared to challenge the Four Gods. With such strength, in the Real Universe and the Warp, only the Four Gods could be his match.
"Lady Sintara, let's leave here first."
While the old one was still in a daze, Blazkowicz had already stepped off the platform, his voice now gentle, showing clear respect.
He lightly raised the scythe, gesturing for the old one to look at the ground.
Having lost its gravitational core, the entire ruin trembled violently, and disintegration had already begun.
"Hurry!" Sintara awoke from her shock, rushing back into the room to collect furniture using the old one's secret methods, then flashing back out.
"Let's go." The old one's crimson face showed unconcealed excitement. They could finally leave this place.
Sintara took a pinch of dust from a pouch at her waist, blew it out, and it scattered onto the ground, forming a glowing magic circle.
"Quick." The shaking grew more intense. She urged everyone, "Enter the teleportation array, quickly leave here."
"Please wait a moment." Blazkowicz stepped into the teleportation array, asking the old one not to activate the teleportation yet. He raised his left arm and said to Sophia, "Generate a dimensional bubble."
Due to his immunity to psychic energy, a psychic teleportation array could not transport him normally, requiring special means.
By using a dimensional bubble to enclose himself within another dimension, he could then be normally transported by psychic energy.
Simply put, Blazkowicz placed himself inside his arm armor. When the teleportation array transported the equipment, it carried him, who was inside its internal space. The Doom Slayers successively entered the array, all enveloped in dimensional bubbles, and amidst the collapsing world, vanished as white light within the steel cavern.
In the depths of the warp, creatures of various forms roamed the warped land, scavenging for souls in the wasteland.
Compared to the chaotic domains of the Four Gods and the demigod domains, the boundless Warp was largely dominated by desolation and disorder.
A flash of light caught the attention of the lesser daemons. Their faces were ferocious, their twisted expressions full of greed.
The desolate lands of the warp often saw intruders, who were then torn apart by hordes of Daemons and devoured completely.
As the teleportation light faded, a group of black-armored warriors and a tall figure emerged. Before the lesser daemons could cheer, their bodies dissipated without a trace.
In the mental domain, will is a weapon.
The Doom Slayer's gaze swept across. His immortal will, simply by looking, could make daemons of weak will vanish into thin air. Seeing the crimson mark of destruction clearly, the lesser daemons' eyes cleared, and they fled in terror, scrambling away from the dangerous place.
Sintara sat cross-legged, floating on Blazkowicz's shoulder. Seeing the daemons flee so quickly, she couldn't help but laugh.
"I never thought daemons would have a day where they'd flee in disarray."
As she spoke, the old one stretched languidly, leaning back in the void with her hands behind her head, enjoying the bizarre sights of the Warp.
"One day, they will have nowhere to run!" Blazkowicz's tone was sharp. As the dimensional bubble descended, he stepped onto the warped continent. The corruption receded as if meeting its nemesis, revealing a broken floor.
He glanced down, guessing this must be the wreckage of some world, swallowed by a warp storm.
"I look forward to that day." Sintara gazed into the distance, her voice full of nostalgia and melancholy: "In most of my memories, the Sea of Souls was calm and blue, with countless souls resting peacefully here."
Blazkowicz did not respond, simply picking a direction and starting the next leg of their journey. The group set off again, this time with a bit more amusement. Sintara chattered incessantly, recounting the glorious past of the old one and boasting about her forging skills.
Meanwhile, in the real universe, time surged forward, writing one epic and legend after another.
In the Ganas System, the Denurian Fleet and the Iron Hands Legion joined forces, taking five years to completely destroy the worms.
Hundreds of worlds were shattered. What were once prosperous lands became fragmented star clusters under the Exterminatus order.
Such cruel methods spread throughout the Imperium of Man through various channels. The high command had reservations about the Exterminatus, hoping for a reasonable explanation.
To the surprise of the Imperium of Man's War Council, Argent Nur and the Iron Hands offered no explanation and declared themselves responsible for the Exterminatus.
With the Argent Nur Fleet and the Iron Hands remaining silent, the War Council found itself in an awkward position, and the matter was eventually dropped.
With the Exterminatus concluded, the two fleets went their separate ways. The Iron Hands Legion divided their forces and returned to the Great Crusade from multiple directions, conquering the void with extreme efficiency.
The Denurian Fleet roamed the void, continuing to execute King Nowick's orders, searching for traces of the great enemy, Rangdan.
At the heart of the Imperium of Man, the Solar System's Pluto Gate, a colossal vessel emerged from the Warp, sailing towards Terra.
The warship was twenty kilometers long, its outer armor devoid of gunports. Its deck reflected golden light under the sun's brilliance, flanked by gladiolus symbols.
The Argent Nur Third Fleet's flagship, the Blade of Champions, carrying her master, arrived to visit Terra.
After the Gene-Father entered the Warp, Atum took command of the First Fleet and executed the extermination plan.
He immediately sent a message via Astropath to Argent Nur: the Primarch had entered the Warp, but would return one day.
Argent Nur did not panic upon receiving the news; they had full confidence in King Nowick.
However, as years passed and the King never returned, the Champion Swordsman, Harlan Ogilvy, grew anxious.
After deliberation, he entrusted his fleet to Blazkowicz and boarded his flagship to Terra, to demand his master from the Emperor.
The Champion's Blade entered Terra's orbit, sailed into Lion's Gate Spaceport, and docked at Argent Nur's exclusive port.
The ancient warship, shimmering with light, its colossal silhouette docking in the spaceport, naturally caused quite a stir.
Amidst the ongoing construction of the Imperial Palace, the crowd stirred. A giant, who was conversing with a construction foreman, looked up and noticed the colossal ship overhead.
His neat, short hair was slightly pale, his face was stern, his eyes shone brightly, and his brows conveyed an air of unwavering resolve.
He wore golden power armor, with the Imperial Aquila on his chest, and gilded aquila-winged bas-reliefs on his shoulder pads, their beaks hooked and eyes adorned with jewels, a blend of splendor and power. A standing aquila sculpture also adorned the back of his neck, its posture erect and wings spread.
Undoubtedly, the golden-armored giant was a Son of the Emperor, possessing the extraordinary aura bestowed by the Emperor. Simply by standing there, he appeared like an unyielding fortress wall, forever steadfast.
The Primarch looked up, watched the warship dock securely, and recognized the warship's gladiolus emblem.
"A warship from the Nur Stars," Rogal Dorn murmured softly, his amber eyes narrowing, his white, snowy brows slowly rising as if from the clang of colliding rocks, revealing the identity of the newcomer.
Rogal Dorn. Lord of the Seventh Legion, a lost son whom the Emperor had found in the frost world of Inwit, in the Storm Nebula.
The Primarch's amniotic pod landed on Inwit, a world that had ceased its rotation, plunging into eternal night and eternal day.
On Inwit's surface, a small portion experienced eternal day with extremely high surface temperatures, while the majority was in eternal night, with ice sheets covering the continent.
Yet beneath the ice sheets, the resilient Inwit people had built cities and survived in the harsh, cold environment.
The Primarch's amniotic pod crashed through the ice sheet and was found by an old one of the Dorn clan, who named him Rogal Dorn.
The Primarch grew rapidly. Under his grandfather's tutelage, Dorn acquired knowledge and established his own values.
Perhaps it was innate, or perhaps forged by Inwit's harsh cold and storms, but Dorn developed a resilient character. Every action he took had a clear and precise goal, unswayed by external factors.
Driven by pure will, the Primarch, upon reaching adulthood, became the Emperor of the Dorn clan.
He studied war philosophies, led the Dorn clan warriors in widespread campaigns, and began the conquest of Inwit.
Just as the meaning embedded in his name, the Imperial Fist—Rogal Dorn—struck down enemies like a pair of iron fists.
Inwit was quickly conquered. In a very short time, the Primarch unified the ice world, uniting the Inwit cities beneath the ice sheet, and together they prospered.
Unifying humanity and ending division, Dorn integrated resources, armed forces, eradicated giant beasts lurking in ice caves, and opened up more living space.
He constructed numerous fortresses to defend against monster invasions and built spacecraft to search for resources in neighboring worlds.
Clearing beasts, expanding living spaces, and gradually exploring the stars—under the Primarch's wise rule, Inwit flourished, and its people grew increasingly prosperous.
To explore more distant star systems, Dorn boarded the colossal relic warship, the Phalanx, which was suspended in Inwit's orbit.
The Phalanx, whose builders were unknown, had been suspended in Inwit's orbit for thousands of years.
In ancient legends, it was said that because the Phalanx hovered in orbit, its unknown technology caused Inwit's core to stop rotating, slowly killing the world humanity depended on for survival.
Regardless of the legends, Dorn, adhering to pragmatism, began to repair the Phalanx in pursuit of deep-space exploration.
Through his unremitting efforts, decades of diligent work paid off. Amidst the cheers of the Inwit people, the Phalanx's dormant engines were finally awakened.
Meanwhile, the Primarch's grandfather passed away peacefully in his sleep, amidst the Primarch's visions for the future, leaving him a blanket.
Dorn was silent as a rock, his resolute face showing no sorrow. He merely clutched the blanket, sitting by his grandfather's side for a long time.
The long-range Inwit exploration fleet encountered a golden warship in the void—the Bucephalus, carrying the Emperor.
From the Inwit people, the Emperor heard of a legend—a man who unified the world with extraordinary wisdom and strength.
He immediately realized that the Emperor of Inwit was his son.
The Emperor, accompanied by his custodes, descended upon Inwit, and amidst the kneeling and praise of mortals, met with Rogal Dorn.
At the first sight of the radiant man, Dorn was moved by his extraordinary demeanor, seeing an unshakeable resilience and a sincere heart.
Following the stirrings of his blood, the Primarch recognized the newcomer as his father. He knelt on one knee and swore allegiance to the Emperor.
To commemorate their father-son reunion and his oath of loyalty, Dorn gestured towards the Phalanx, presenting the magnificent warship to his father.
He believed that only such a great warship was worthy of his great father.
The Emperor gladly accepted the gift. He helped Dorn to his feet, took his son's arm, and walked into the room where he had lived for decades. The two sat by the fireplace and talked at length.
For most of the time, Dorn was the listener, hearing his father recount the past, the Imperium of Man, and the imperial truth.
Upon learning of the imperial truth, Dorn fully agreed, believing that only the imperial truth could allow humanity to rise again.
The Emperor was immensely pleased. Among his many returning sons, only Dorn fully endorsed the imperial truth, without questioning his efforts.
In his joy, the Emperor returned the Phalanx to his son, hoping it would be put to better use in expanding the Imperium's territory.
After their meeting, Rogal Dorn followed the Emperor from Inwit and returned to Terra.
He took command of the Seventh Legion from his father and renamed it the Imperial Fists.
Dorn hoped the Legion would become the sharpest fist, striking down the Imperium's enemies and destroying obstacles in humanity's path to resurgence.
The name Imperial Fists also, in another way, mirrored the meaning of Rogal Dorn's name, "Imperial Fist," complementing each other. As a reward for his son, the Emperor granted the Imperial Fists permission to recruit on Terra, injecting Terra's blood into the Imperial Fists and striking enemies with humanity's fury!
During the five years after his return, Dorn was not in a hurry to join the Great Crusade. He remained on Terra to recruit, during which he reunited with several brothers and witnessed the return of another brother.
In his leisure time, he always enjoyed coming to the edge of the Imperial Palace, guiding and overseeing its construction.
Seeing Argent Nur's warship arrive, Dorn raised a hand, dismissing the construction foreman.
His gaze shifted from the warship to the corner of the outer wall, where a soup kitchen was set up.
Impoverished people, dressed in ragged clothes and looking sallow and emaciated, formed a long queue outside the soup kitchen, holding ceramic bowls, waiting for the staff to dispense porridge.
On the wall behind the soup kitchen hung two flags: one with the Imperial double-headed eagle, the other with Argent Nur's gladiolus.
Every three months, Argent Nur's Rogue Traders fleet arrived on Terra, bringing large quantities of food and various luxury goods.
The food was given free to the Imperium, personally overseen by Malcador the Regent, and distributed to Terra's impoverished population, saving many from famine.
The exquisite luxury goods were sold at Argent Nur's space station near Mars, targeting the nobles residing on Terra.
Terra's nobles were countless. Each arrival of Argent Nur's goods caused a frenzy among major factions, repeatedly setting new price records.
Proceeds from luxury sales were used for fleet fuel resupply, converted into resources sent back to Argent Nur, and the Rogue Traders also profited handsomely from it.
Dorn withdrew his gaze, turned, and descended from the city wall, his footsteps steady and powerful, leaving the construction site.
In his heart, he had a very good impression of Argent Nur, due to their benevolent acts of providing food and using the wealth from the upper class to support the lower class, which fed many impoverished people.
Many of the Gene-Sons recruited from the slums had, to some extent, received food from Argent Nur, helping them through the most difficult days.
As the saying goes, 'love me, love my dog.' With the reputation of his Sons, Dorn's impression of Argent Nur was very good, filtered through a lens of goodwill.
However, no matter how good the impression, he still regarded any regime independent of the Imperium and not fully adhering to the imperial truth as a hidden danger.
With a complex feeling, Dorn decided to go and meet the Lord of the Stars, Blazkowicz Novick, and see his extraordinary brother.
He walked faster and faster, like a gust of wind through the palace corridors, heading towards Lion's Gate Spaceport.
In his mind, he quickly retrieved data, reviewing once again the records about his brother from imperial archives.
When they met, he would compare the legends with reality, specifically analyzing any differences.
Lion's Gate Spaceport led directly to the Imperial Palace. Imperial personnel were already at the landing point, welcoming the visitor with the highest honors.