High above, on the Custodes viewing platform beside the throne, [I Am Not God], or rather, the temporary Custodian standing there in resplendent golden armor with a guardian spear in hand, silently watched one spectacular duel after another unfold below.
The precision of the Ultramarines, the resilience of the Salamanders, the valor of the Blood Angels, the brutal struggle between the Imperial Fists and the Iron Warriors...
Every battle set his blood surging. His fingers even began to stroke the cold haft of his spear without his realizing it.
With the superhuman vision of a Custodian, he could capture every tactical detail and analyze the subtlest nuances of each clash of strength. It was undeniably a unique vantage point, yet the burning desire deep within him, the desire of a warrior and a player, only grew more intense.
He wanted to take the field.
He wanted to personally experience the pressure of fighting beneath the Primarchs' gaze. He wanted to test his tactics with his own strength and measure himself against the elite Chosen of the different Legions.
Unfortunately, he was a Custodian.
His duty was to defend the throne and bear silent witness, not to descend into the arena and fight as a gladiator. This supreme honor was also an absolute restraint.
Just as longing and helplessness churned within him, nearly becoming a silent sigh...
The mass of gentle white light burning eternally upon the throne, too brilliant to look upon directly, shifted ever so slightly.
It was not a physical movement in any ordinary sense. Rather, some higher form of existence had precisely focused its attention upon him.
The next instant, a direct, pure, and unquestionable stream of psychic consciousness passed through the isolation of his Custodian helm and every barrier of his mind without resistance. Clear as a mountain stream yet heavy as the tolling of a great bell, it echoed directly in the depths of [I Am Not God]'s soul.
[Child, do you wish to enter the arena?]
There was no elaborate phrasing, none of the grand, majestic, and distant tone the Emperor used when addressing the other Primarchs or ordinary mortals.
The voice was more like a question aimed directly at the essence of his being. It was calm, perhaps even carrying the faintest, almost imperceptible hint of indulgence.
[I Am Not God] froze.
Beneath the golden helmet, Daniel's expression went rigid, and his mind became completely blank.
The Emperor... was speaking directly to him?
Asking whether he wanted to enter the arena?
This sudden conversation, so far beyond anything he had expected, left him stunned for a full two seconds.
Then an indescribable rush of excitement, ecstasy, disbelief, and overwhelming honor surged through him. He did not even stop to consider whether it complied with the rules or what consequences it might cause.
Driven almost entirely by instinct, he nodded vigorously.
Yes!
Of course he did!
The instant he nodded...
At the center of the arena, the enormous holographic screen displaying the next round's matchup suddenly flickered and twisted violently, as though an invisible hand had forcibly erased its original contents.
Then a new announcement slowly appeared. Its ancient and imposing letters radiated pure golden light, each character seemingly forged from solidified holy radiance.
[Next Match: Special Exhibition]
[Combatant: Custodian Guard]
[VS]
[World Eaters Legion, Death Guard Legion, Emperor's Children Legion, Thousand Sons Legion]
"Whoa!"
The entire arena was instantly drowned beneath an unprecedented wave of noise and astonishment.
Every spectator, from the Astartes warriors of the various Legions to the gene-forged Primarchs seated upon the high platforms, stared in stunned disbelief at this sudden and utterly irregular change to the schedule.
Countless gazes turned in unison toward the Custodes viewing platform beside the throne. They settled upon the golden figure of [I Am Not God], then shifted reverently toward the supreme mass of white light.
The Primarchs reacted in different ways.
For the first time, obvious confusion appeared on Sanguinius's flawless face, and his golden wings drew inward unconsciously. His elegant brows furrowed as he looked toward the Emperor with questioning eyes.
The next draw should have involved his Blood Angels. This abrupt arrangement had thrown the entire order of proceedings into disarray.
Lion El'Jonson frowned deeply. Accustomed to order and planning, he instinctively regarded such an unexpected, almost willful alteration with suspicion and scrutiny.
Angron's reaction was the complete opposite.
He was stunned at first, but then a savage grin of delight and excitement spread across his face, twisted by the Butcher's Nails. He swung one massive arm through the air.
"Hahaha! Good! Now this has some bite! This is what a real fight should be! Now that is worth watching!"
Lorgar trembled with excitement. He turned toward Magnus beside him, his voice quivering with fanaticism and his eyes shining with near-obsessive fervor.
"Look, Magnus! Do you see it? This is our father! This is His unfathomable will! His thoughts are law, and His gaze is destiny! None can fathom Him, and none can predict Him! How can this be anything other than the greatest manifestation of divinity?!"
Magnus's wise and proud face, however, showed clear displeasure.
He cut off Lorgar's fervent praise. His single eye gleamed with the sharpness of an offended scholar, and his voice was low and severe.
"Lorgar, cease your theological babbling! Our father is great. He is powerful. But He is not a god!"
He stressed every word.
"He is the strongest and most perfect psyker in all of human history! Every feat of power He displays, whether sending a message across space or altering the tournament schedule with a mere act of will, is the natural result of psychic ability brought to its absolute pinnacle!"
"It is a form of power we can understand, study, and one day attain! To blindly worship it as some incomprehensible divinity is an insult to knowledge and reason!"
Lorgar was left speechless by Magnus's harsh rebuke. He did not argue further with his brother, who was the acknowledged master of psychic power, and merely muttered a few prayers under his breath.
Upon the throne, the Emperor's radiance remained serene.
The white light seemed completely indifferent to the uproar caused by a single sentence, yet also perfectly aware of the Primarchs' wildly differing reactions.
[I Am Not God] felt the gazes falling upon him from every direction, filled with shock, curiosity, envy, jealousy, and even hostility. His heart hammered in his chest.
He slowly tightened his grip on the guardian spear. The firm, cold sensation of its haft steadied his chaotic thoughts.
One Custodian... against an alliance of four Legions?
And among those four Legions were several familiar faces: Scorchwind of the World Eaters, EndlessSpring of the Death Guard, Rivane of the Emperor's Children, and See You Tomorrow of the Thousand Sons...
An unprecedented pressure swept through his body, accompanied by an equally unprecedented thrill of excitement.
The Emperor had given him a stage, along with a challenge far beyond the ordinary, one that bordered on impossible.
He drew a deep breath, filling his lungs with air carrying the mingled scents of machine oil, energy, and the ancient hall.
Then he stepped forward.
Leaving the Custodian formation behind, he walked alone toward the golden staircase leading down into the arena.