What the Emperor wanted Nyx to do was, in truth, quite simple: remain on Terra and focus on producing the 'Saint Eggs'. In this regard, Nyx naturally... agreed. He was, however, somewhat curious: why couldn't the Emperor simply make them himself?
The Emperor's reason was remarkably straightforward. He led Nyx to a laboratory aboard the Bucephelus — one filled with experimental logs on the Saint Egg protocol:
[Egg Fabrication Sequence 01 — FAILED]
[Egg Fabrication Sequence 02 — FAILED]
...
[Egg Fabrication Sequence 113 — FAILED]
The experiments had continued until the majority of the ship's mortal 'gene-seed' donors had been consumed. The Emperor had been forced to temporarily shelve his plan for mass-producing '30k eunuchs' for the Imperium. During this period, he had even cast covetous glances at Malcador — fortunately, his last shred of reason had prevailed.
(Malcador: The Emperor has spent too much time around Nyx lately. Suspected excessive humanity and moral decline.)
The Emperor understood perfectly that the experimental data Nyx had provided was flawless in its procedure. The problem, therefore, could only lie with Nyx himself. Consequently, another unfortunate mortal had his miracle pill conscripted into the Emperor's 'Space Marine fabrication' cause.
This time, the process was conducted by Nyx himself. It went unusually smoothly — yet the Emperor's gaze grew increasingly grave as he watched. Nyx could read the burning desire in his eyes: the Emperor wanted to master Saint Egg technology himself.
The Emperor immediately seized another unfortunate subject and, with his extraordinary cognition, flawlessly replicated every one of Nyx's movements.
The result: Saint Eggs could only be successfully produced by Nyx's own hands.
What caused the Emperor even deeper silence was this: every successfully transfigured Space Marine exhibited profound loyalty towards Nyx. Had it not been that the very foundations of their gene-seed still derived from the Emperor's own Astartes template, he feared not even a fraction of their natural allegiance to Him would remain.
"..."
The Emperor was silent. Then, as though struck by a sudden realisation, his eyes fixed upon Nyx with renewed intensity.
...Why not assign him the Webway project as well?
After all, both serve the Imperium. He leads the main fleet in the Great Crusade; Nyx can both fabricate troops and construct the Webway in the rear. This seems entirely feasible.
Given Nyx's constitution, working 24/7 for a few thousand years shouldn't be a problem... And even if he does collapse from exhaustion, I can just revive him immediately on Terra!
The moment this thought surfaced, a prophetic fragment lanced through the Emperor's mind:
He saw Nyx — wielding the Worldbreaker — and the hammer shattered Him into paralysis.
The cause of this rebellion was simple and brutal:
"Huang Pizza! You have me making Saint Eggs around the clock, half eggs and half Webway — you're using me as a cosmic slave labourer?!"
"I transmigrated and I'm STILL a black labourer? Then don't be Emperor. Get out of here. Sit on a toilet and be a Corpse Emperor!"
"If Terra still has such an exploitative boss, let the galaxy BURN!"
The vision abruptly ceased.
The Emperor trembled. A bead of cold sweat traced down his temple.
He had, in that instant, apprehended — with visceral clarity — the depths of Nyx's marrow‑deep grievance regarding 'overtime'.
...If a 'Nyxian Heresy' truly came to pass... I fear... I truly would not be able to defeat him.
The voyage back to the Imperium was long and tedious. Nyx occupied himself either with various 'academic' and 'recreational' exchanges with the Emperor, or with 'harassing' the long‑suffering Malcador.
Nyx knew perfectly well that this wizened old man was, in truth, a silver‑haired youth.
Rumour had it that in the early days before the Imperium's founding, Malcador had sold hooks for the Emperor to raise war funds.
Malcador, however, was far less entertaining than the Emperor. Every time he was enraged by Nyx's wild historical fabrications, he looked as though he were about to expire on the spot — and would then, the moment Nyx's attention wandered, retaliate with overwhelming psychic force.
Apart from Nyx's antics, his four‑man Space King command squad — who had accompanied him on this journey — appeared far more 'serious'. They spent most of their time sparring with Terra's veterans, particularly those of the XVI Legion, the 'Luna Wolves'.
Initially, these Terran veterans regarded the four captains from Nostramo with disdain... ah, and Sevatar, along with the hundred Night Lords recruits he commanded, were similarly looked down upon.
After a genuine friendly bout, however, inter‑legion relations improved dramatically. Both sides sent champions to contend. The Captain and Sevatar secured decisive victories. Both had survived the brutal baptisms of Khorne's daemon hosts and the renegade Night Lords; their martial skills were supremely honed. They effortlessly crushed these arrogant Terran veterans.
In the afterglow of victory, a thought arose in the Captain's mind:
"Do you think we should also establish a council?"
"That Sevatar fellow — didn't he just found the 'Night Bat Council'? And I heard it received Primarch approval?"
This proposal instantly piqued the interest of the other three. So long as they could share the Space King's burdens, they were prepared to do anything.
"I have no objection. Father would most likely agree. But once we formally integrate into Father's Legion, someone is bound to raise this question."
"Then we need to act in advance!"
Techmarine Bryce's suggestion plunged them all into deep contemplation. Given their nature, it was only natural that they occupy the council's highest stations — this would also satisfy their childish vanity.
"Well... What should the council be called?"
Chestnut's quiet query brought the few still lost in fantasy back to reality.
"The 'Universal Council'. How does that sound?"
Blazing Hatred's gaze swept across the other three. It was evident he had already conceived this name in his heart.
"It not only preserves the Space King's supreme authority, but also demonstrates that the council shall disseminate its will throughout the cosmos."
Under Blazing Hatred's earnest regard, Chestnut silently withdrew his proposed 'Space King Supporters' Association'.
The vote was unanimous.
Of course, Nyx remained completely oblivious to these proceedings.
This routine continued until the day before the fleet's arrival at Terra.
That day, Nyx was engaged in a 'strategic game' with the Emperor.
More precisely: Yu‑Gi‑Oh.
The Emperor had initially proposed Magic: The Gathering, and informed Nyx that 'K‑Club' had already disbanded in the 2K era due to ceaseless infighting. Magic, however, had persisted until the end of the Dark Age of Technology.
To this, Nyx had responded with a single phrase: "K‑Club is ready to die." He then decisively selected Yu‑Gi‑Oh. As for why Yu‑Gi‑Oh was necessary — let it only be said that this was preparation for a certain day in the future.
"Your Majesty. Nyx. Terra arriving...
Malcador had, at some point, silently taken his place beside them. Accompanying him was Curze — whom Nyx had not seen for a considerable time.
"You're here... Come, take a look."
Hearing that Terra was at hand, Nyx's expression rarely turned serious. He and the other three approached the bridge viewport and gazed through the armoured glass.
Terra.
Earth.
Upon that planet — the blue that had once cloaked its oceans, the green that had symbolised life — both had vanished.
Now, nothing remained.