The transition was instantaneous. One moment, the Monarch was in the cold tomb beneath Mars; the next, he stood on the silent bridge of the Spear of Judgement. Below, Mars was beginning to burn as the C'tan shard spread its soulless consciousness through the machine-flesh of the Forge World.
It was no longer his concern.
Kasran and his few men flinched at their arrival. "Lord… Mars… it's screaming," he stammered.
"A predictable, inefficient response," the Monarch murmured. He walked to the command throne and placed his hands upon it. He would not simply command this vessel; he would become its soul. The knowledge taken from the Void Dragon was a fundamental re-writing of physics.
His will flowed through the ship's every conduit. He bypassed the cogitators and spoke directly to the plasma reactor, teaching it the resonant frequencies required to warp spacetime. He interfaced with the Gellar Field projectors, not as a shield, but as a containment vessel for a controlled reality-breach. Throughout the Spear of Judgement, violet energy began to pulse through circuits designed for far lesser power. The ship was being reborn from the inside out, its Imperial dogma scoured away and replaced by the cold, perfect logic of a C'tan, all filtered and directed by the absolute authority of the Shadow Monarch.
Deep within the Imperial Palace on Terra, Roboute Guilliman stood before the same tall window in his study. Before him knelt Shield-Captain Valerian, his face grim, having just finished his report.
"…The Monarch's final command was an ultimatum," Valerian concluded. "We are not to interfere. I have failed in my duty. I await judgment, my Lord Commander."
Guilliman was silent for a long time. "Rise, Shield-Captain," he said, his voice thick with weariness. "There is no failure in surviving an unwinnable war. You have done your duty."
A frantic chime from a vox-unit interrupted them. An aide's voice crackled through, reporting that the Fabricator-General was demanding Cyclonic Torpedo clearance for a Forge-Complex on Mars.
Guilliman's face hardened. "Deny it. Tell the Fabricator-General his paranoia will not be allowed to unmake his own planet. He will contain the plague he helped unleash."
He cut the transmission and looked back at Valerian. The choice was brutally simple. On one side, a raging fire on Mars. On the other, the Monarch, who had just stated his desire to leave forever. To fight both at once was suicide.
"Send a decree to Lord High Admiral Spire," Guilliman commanded, his voice cold with strategic finality. "The Solar Fleet is to stand down. All weapon locks on the vessel Spear of Judgement are to be disengaged. That ship is to be given a clear and unobstructed path to the system's edge. We will not interfere."
Valerian's eyes widened slightly. "My Lord?"
"He has told us what he wants," Guilliman said, looking out at the void. "He wants to leave. It is the only strategic victory left to us. We will let him go. We will watch, we will learn… and we will pray to the Emperor he is not lying."
Aboard his ship, the Monarch felt the change instantly. The thousands of targeting solutions that had been a faint, persistent pressure on his senses simply vanished. The Imperium was heeding his warning. His work could now proceed, unimpeded.
In the ship's main hangar bay, a new process was beginning. The air itself began to shimmer. Streams of violet energy arced between the floor and the ceiling, slowly weaving a complex, geometric pattern. It was the first line of code in a multi-dimensional equation, the first stroke in painting a doorway that would lead out of this reality.