The Bramble Fortress.
In another room, Adam rested his chin in his hand, his gaze fixed on the "spoils of war" brought back by the Custodian squad.
The cold overhead lights glinted off the Chaos power armor, where the remaining blasphemous runes lay dull and lifeless. The Warsmith, knocked unconscious by a blunt strike from Diocletian, lay slumped on the floor like a deactivated, horrific statue. Intermittent hisses escaped from beneath his heavy, rhythmic respirator.
He wasn't dead yet. But clearly, he wasn't far from it.
"So, this is the Warsmith?"
Adam tapped his fingers lightly, his eyes scanning the countless scars and heretical modifications etched into the armor over ten thousand years of warfare.
"Yes, my Lord," Endymion nodded slightly, his voice echoing in the chamber. "His name is Barban Falk. Judging by the heraldry on his plate, he is a traitor who participated in the Siege of Terra—a Warsmith of the Iron Warriors. A heretic who has persisted for ten millennia."
To be honest, I actually know this guy, Adam thought, a sense of irony crossing his mind. He was quite familiar with the name.
Upon further inquiry from Adam, Endymion briefly recounted the raid.
"Kroeger, Forrix... and Honsou?" Adam quickly caught the key information.
"Exactly. We obtained information regarding those Iron Warrior commanders from the enemy headquarters," Diocletian added.
Then it's correct, Adam thought.
In the timeline ten thousand years later, this was a classic Iron Warrior ensemble. This was likely the period where that "half-breed" Honsou was still earning his stripes under the old veterans before truly rising to become a Chaos Lord in his own right.
Having identified his opponents, Adam's attention immediately turned to the Chaos contract floating in mid-air, isolated by a stasis field held by Diocletian.
The blasphemous text on the human-skin parchment flowed with an ominous shimmer, its dense clauses filled with malicious logical traps and descriptions of the toll to be paid. His gaze skipped over the long-winded nonsense and locked directly onto the signatures at the bottom.
Party A: Warsmith Barban Falk.
Party B: Master of the Soul Forge, Vashtorr.
"I see. It's the 'Demi-God' Vashtorr," Adam noted.
Vashtorr the Arkifane, a Warp entity of Chaos Undivided, Master of the Soul Forge, and the "arms dealer" who navigated between the Chaos Gods. His essence stemmed from the curiosity of sentient beings toward the unknown, the impulse to create, the obsession with technical refinement, and the relentless pursuit of industrial might.
On the surface, those seem like neutral or even positive domains, don't they?
Unfortunately, in a cesspool like the Warp, truly "pure" concepts rarely exist. Gathered emotions eventually go too far. Just as Slaanesh was born from the extreme pursuit of beauty and sensation, and Nurgle from a twisted obsession with life and inclusion, Vashtorr's domain had been pushed to a horrific extreme.
On a technical level, he represented all acts of using untested, unrestrained theories for experimentation—ignoring conscience, ethics, safety, and even one's own understanding. He encouraged sentient beings to twist creations intended for peace or friendship into war machines, and to recklessly develop and use weapons of mass destruction.
This was exactly what was known as "Malice-Acheived Artifice."
Currently, as the top supplier in the Warp's arms market, Vashtorr's position seemed secure. However, he always craved more: to ascend as the "Fifth Chaos God" alongside the Great Four. Unfortunately, thus far, his path to ascension remained blocked. Projecting influence into the material world was his primary method for expanding his power and seeking opportunities.
The Iron Warriors, who also fell under Chaos Undivided, were naturally his preferred partners. It wasn't surprising that Barban Falk had obtained this contract.
With a slight stir of his will, the details of the contract flowed into Adam's mind. He carefully "read" the summoning conditions, sacrifice requirements, and terms for borrowing power. A moment later, a trace of disappointment appeared on his face.
"This isn't quite good enough," Adam murmured.
He had originally hoped that if this were a contract capable of truly summoning Vashtorr's physical manifestation, its value would be entirely different. Compared to that blue-feathered bird-man who delighted in deception, Vashtorr was a "model of integrity" in the Warp when it came to keeping his word. Whatever was written in the contract, he would generally follow diligently.
—As for what is actually written in the contract, that's another story!
If Adam could use this contract to summon the entity and set a trap to hunt his true form, he might have a chance to usurp the authority over "Malicious Artifice," which would elevate him directly to a Level 4 Reality Warper. From then on, he wouldn't need to act so cautiously; he could simply declare that he didn't care for the rules.
Of course, if he intended to hunt a noble Warp sub-god like Vashtorr, Adam would have made the most thorough preparations—such as dragging a certain sleeping "Big Blueberry" (Guilliman) straight out of his slumber.
Unfortunately, things didn't go his way. This was merely a contract to summon a projection of his power, with very limited effectiveness. It seemed this matter required long-term planning.
However... Adam thought for a moment.
"Better than nothing," he said, a calculating glint flashing in his eyes. "If used well, this could make a decent 'bait'."
After all, Vashtorr, residing deep within the Chaos realms, had likely already used his powers to see the "minor" changes happening on Mars—changes that exceeded the current Imperial technological framework. How much had he seen? How much did he understand? Adam wasn't sure.
He had initially guessed that Vashtorr would eventually be unable to resist coming to investigate, but the entity had remained patient. Even the extensive monitoring set up by the Prometheus Lab researchers hadn't detected any movement. But with this contract, properly disguised, it might just be the last straw that breaks the camel's back.
Then, his gaze returned to the unconscious Warsmith Barban Falk on the floor, his eyes showing a look of great interest.
Standing to either side, Endymion and Diocletian caught that familiar glint in Adam's eyes almost simultaneously. The two ten-thousand-year-old Custodian Tribunes exchanged a very brief, nearly imperceptible glance.
They were somewhat speechless. It seemed Adam... had a new "idea."
They just didn't know who was going to be the unlucky one this time.
As these thoughts crossed their minds, they suddenly heard Adam speak.
"Tell me, do you think it's still in time to establish a brand-new Iron Warriors warband?"