Darkness.
An endless void, like the deepest rift in the Warp, swallowing every sense.
Barban Falk's consciousness drifted within this darkness like a lonely skiff. The life-support systems of his power armor emitted a rhythmic low hum, a sound so distant it felt as though it originated from another universe entirely.
Fragments of memory began to surface.
The glorious days of the Great Crusade, the devastation of Olympia, the kinslaying at Isstvan, the Siege of Terra, the vengeance of the Iron Cage...
The fragments grew more numerous, coming faster and faster. Betrayal, slaughter, battle, death, iron, guns, sorcery... Countless images churned, collided, and reorganized.
"Who are you?"
A strange voice echoed in the darkness.
Instinctive reactions were triggered. The Warsmith's consciousness instantly entered a combat state, attempting to locate the source, analyze the threat, and prepare a counterattack—
But he failed. He could not find a location. The voice was everywhere, like background radiation.
"I am Barban Falk," his consciousness responded. "A Warsmith of the Iron Warriors."
"Incorrect."
There seemed to be a hint of regret in the voice.
"You should have abandoned that name long ago, shouldn't you?"
During the Horus Heresy, after the escape from the death world of Amenneix, when his superior Forrix called him Barban Falk once more, he had replied: "I no longer know that name. I am only the Warsmith."
Remembering this, his consciousness corrected itself: "...Yes. I am only the Warsmith."
Names were markers of weakness. Kroeger was obsessed with the bloodlust of slaughter; Forrix was trapped in an internal mire, unable to move forward... He would never be as weak as his former colleagues. He was iron. Iron within, iron without.
"Very good."
The voice seemed highly satisfied. "Then, you are the Warsmith. Not Barban Falk, nor any weak individual."
A rare sense of peace enveloped him. Yes, this was the answer.
But the voice continued, now carrying a trace of amusement. "But here is the problem." Like a hunter watching a beast step into the final snare. "There are... quite a lot of Warsmiths."
Time stood still for a moment.
It was true. In the Iron Warriors Legion during the Great Crusade, "Warsmith" was a specific command rank. The holder would command several Grand Companies, merged into a "Grand Battalion." After the Heresy, every Chaos Lord leading a band of Iron Warriors could call himself a Warsmith.
Forrix, Kroeger, Berossus, Harkor, Kolos, Soltarn Vull Bronn... the list was long.
Which one was he?
Who am I?
The Warsmith fell into confusion, failing to notice anything wrong with the situation.
"If 'Warsmith' is a category, then there must exist an ideal specimen that fits all the characteristics of that category. The purest, the most extreme... the most 'Iron Within, Iron Without'." The voice spoke with persuasive guidance. "Since you are the collective essence of the Warsmith, you must be the one closest to the archetype, correct?"
"Yes."
The answer flowed naturally from the depths of his consciousness. Though many things were blurred, the Warsmith vaguely hoped he would not be weak like his peers.
We are the sons of Perturabo. I am Iron Within, Iron Without!
"Then I understand." The voice grew quiet. "Then you must be Barabas Dantioch, the Loyalist of the Traitor Legion. You are the most 'Iron Within, Iron Without' of all Iron Warriors, bar none."
"Huh?"
The Warsmith instinctively felt something was wrong. But a sudden surge of realization caused him to understand instantly.
Ah! To think that I was Dantioch all along!
In the next moment, his original memories were completely erased. His soul began to annihilate at high speed. At the very moment of his "realization," the Warsmith formerly known as Barban Falk died.
And a brand-new soul was born within the old remains.
Barabas Dantioch opened his eyes. He stood up from the floor and looked at the young man standing before him.
Adam was looking back at him.
"How do you feel?"
"...Not bad, the Emperor's Contractor."
Utilizing the superhuman brain of an Astartes, Dantioch finished reading the residual memories in his mind within a microsecond. He couldn't help but marvel internally.
[Why does this Lord's methods seem more and more sinister the more I look at them?]
As a loyalist Iron Warrior from the Horus Heresy era, this sequence of smooth, reality-bending maneuvers was so absurd it made even him feel a bit apprehensive.
Where has he sent me? Is this what the Emperor intended? This... isn't this a bit too heretical? Forget the Imperial Truth; if the Ecclesiarchy saw this, they'd probably tie us to a stake and roast us for three days and nights!
Seeing the subtle expression on Dantioch's face, and glancing at Endymion and Diocletian standing beside him, Adam waved his hand and spoke with righteous conviction.
"Oh, come now, I was forced by circumstances."
With a wave of his hand, invisible telekinetic force gripped the eerie human-skin contract, suspending it in the air. He continued plausibly: "You see, the ending turned out quite well, didn't it? I had no choice. This contract was bound to the life of the original Chaos Lord, Barban Falk. If he truly died, the contract would have been completely voided."
Adam turned back to Dantioch: "And now... what about you? How do you feel?"
Dantioch glanced at Adam, then at the floating contract. He understood.
"Yes. I am now the master linked to this contract. I have assumed the identity of 'Barban Falk'."
"This is just... beyond ridiculous."
Endymion and Diocletian looked at each other, stunned by Adam's divine level of manipulation.
"This way, when you seize the right moment, you can naturally make that fellow Vashtorr suffer a massive loss. When the time comes, he will be vulnerable and I can kill him easily." Adam explained his plan.
"I have a question," Dantioch raised a hand. "I may not necessarily be able to deal significant damage to an enemy stronger than a Greater Daemon."
After all, he was no longer the same Dantioch who guarded the Pharos lighthouse. Having served in the Legion of the Damned for so long, he had evolved significantly and understood Warp abominations well enough. He knew he was confident in command and strategy, but his individual combat power might not be sufficient.
"Don't you worry, I've calculated everything."
Adam made a grand gesture, confidently pushing open the hatch behind him. "Let me introduce you to the teammates I've prepared for you—though you probably already know most of them."
"I had to make dozens of psychic phone calls to the Emperor before that guy finally gave a reluctant nod of agreement!"