Deep within the sub-basement, in a corner no auspex could penetrate, stood Nyx.
Within the brilliantly illuminated laboratory, Nyx applied his 'remarkable wisdom' to the analysis of the Primarch's biological essence, employing every scientific methodology at his disposal.
Tzeentch: Curiosity is admirable... It shall make your integration into the Grand Plan all the smoother.
Clad in a white lab coat, Nyx stared at the test report in his hands. The sheaf of dataslates, dense with genomic sequences and metabolic data, was crumpled at the edges from his white-knuckled grip. His expression bore an astonishment he could no longer suppress.
"Haematological components... Gene-seed sequences... And this... entanglement with the Warp..."
The initial data remained within the bounds of Nyx's expectations — the Primarchs were, after all, renowned for their transhuman physiology.
But the later findings grew progressively more... disturbing. Every metric, every sequence, every esoteric energy signature screamed the same conclusion: he was anomalous. And the deeper he excavated, the more acute his aberrancy became.
"The Emperor... just what manner of genius is he...?"
The data laid out its indictment with cold, brutal clarity: the Primarchs were not products of the current material universe. And among them, the Eleventh — Carlyle Nyx — was the most aberrant of all.
This was, perhaps, common knowledge among the fan communities of Nyx's original timeline. Within the Imperium, however, it was an unspeakable taboo. For Nyx, this was no longer a cherished lore fragment; it was the miracle of his own existence, confirmed beyond doubt.
"So... the Primarchs truly were the product of a transaction between Old Man Yellow and the Four Bastards?"
Contemplating the Emperor's audacity — to bargain with the Ruinous Powers and then renege without a trace of shame — Nyx could not suppress a sigh of profound, almost reverent admiration.
The Emperor is a true exemplar for our generation. If I ever get the opportunity, I'm definitely going to swindle the Four Bastards out of their share too.
If the Emperor actually honoured the terms of the contract and divided the Primarchs equally... humanity's renaissance would have been a pipe-dream. No one would have come out ahead.
Therefore, reneging is the only correct course. The Emperor should simply pocket the entire Primarch project and lead humanity to defy the Ruinous Powers together.
...That line of thought felt dangerously close to something.
"And what, precisely, is the Warp-entity to which I am bound? Some abstract, conceptual sub-sub-deity of the immaterium... or the Space King himself?"
On this matter, Nyx inclined towards the latter. He still vividly recalled the moment of his fusion with the Space King — and he was certain it formed no part of the Bluebird's grand design.
Beyond self-examination, Nyx's other principal research focus was the analysis of the Space King's power.
During a prior experiment, he had inadvertently caught his own reflection in a polished instrument panel — and behind his head, he had observed it: a faint, golden corona.
Initially, Nyx had suspected the Emperor had left some manner of psychic trigger within him. Yet exhaustive investigation had confirmed otherwise: this corona was the manifestation of the Space King's authority within the materium, and it was intimately linked to the faith of his rebel followers.
This aureole possessed, to a certain degree, the capacity to purify Warp-taint. And when Nyx extended his awareness into it, he perceived a subtle yet insistent connection — linking him to countless members of the resistance.
The sound of their devout prayers surrounded him. They were not loud. They did not sway him. They simply... were.
"Perhaps due to an insufficient number of faithful... I have not undergone the same apotheosis as the Emperor... No signs of the God-Emperor manifesting."
The Emperor: I have repeatedly stated that I am not a god!
In addition to his investigation of the corona, Nyx also devoted considerable effort to probing the limits of his command over electromagnetic force.
Electromagnetism... or, to employ a nomenclature Nyx found more congenial — Magnetic Field Rotation!
In Nyx's view, the two were identical. He had no objection whatsoever to being classified as a 'magnetic field yokel'.
Heh heh. I'm going to send the Four Dendrobium Merchants packing straight to the Western Paradise!
"Power! I command you — heed my call!"
"Magnetic field rotation... One million... Five hundred thousand... One hundred thousand horsepower!"
Nyx's face gradually reddened. He strained, pushing at his limits — yet the needle stalled at one hundred thousand horsepower. No matter how he exerted himself, he could advance no further.
"How is this possible?! As an Imperial demigod and the Space King, am I truly inferior to some backwater magnetic field peasant?!"
Though, by his estimation, one hundred thousand horsepower still placed him in the upper echelons of Primarchs — exceeded only by the Magical Pony — this bottleneck confounded him.
"What is the issue?"
As he strained against the chains of material reality, Nyx perceived a whisper — smiling, cunning — echoing from the void.
Every pict-screen in the laboratory began to display the ninefold recursive sigil of the Changer of Ways. An azure luminescence slowly subsumed the chamber's sterile white light.
—Offer unto me a ninefold sacrifice, and I shall grant you the knowledge you seek—
"Sacrifice? I'll sacrifice your..." (Imperial profanity deleted)
"When I've accomplished my grand undertaking, I'll personally breach your crumbling labyrinth and roast that Carlos bastard into fried chicken!"
The corona behind Nyx's head erupted in blinding golden radiance. In an instant, every whisper, every phantasm, was scoured from the laboratory.
Yet, for all his bravado, Nyx understood in his core: unless he resolved this bottleneck, he would remain a pawn upon the board, unqualified to participate in the game.
Nyx! Employ your superhuman cognition!
His transhuman intellect surged to full capacity. Countless variables, hypotheses, and potential solutions cascaded through his consciousness in scintillating arrays — yet none yielded a definitive answer.
And then, he remembered his Techmarine. Bryce.
What counsel would Bryce offer?
Nyx simulated a dialogue with his 'son'.
"Bryce. If I were to discover that I—"
"The Great Space King is incapable of error. If an error exists, it is the universe itself that is flawed!"
Nyx's simulated Bryce did not permit him to finish his sentence.
...Right. Truly. His four excessively devoted 'sons' harboured absolute reverence for him. It would never occur to them that their father's power might be... insufficiently escalated.
Wait...
What if the error is, in fact, with this universe?
The golden corona blazed — a lightning bolt rending the fog of confusion. Nyx raised his hand once more. Golden current crackled across his palm.
This time, he did not simply attempt to exerthis power. He extended his magnetic field as a probe — and compelled the fundamental laws of this cosmos to speak with him.
The space around Nyx began to warp. The physical laws of the material universe, once immutable, grew tangible before his transhuman perception.
Time flowed swiftly within his concentrated awareness. The drain upon his reserves induced a profound, bone-deep fatigue — yet Nyx's eyes only blazed brighter.
"Found it."
After what felt an eternity of exertion, he finally located the source of his bottleneck.
The answer, when it came, was heavier — more dreadful — than he had anticipated.
"Physics... It no longer exists?"