Silence.
As the dazzling golden phoenix hovered in mid-air, both the daemonic legions of Slaanesh and the forces of the Imperium were utterly stunned.
It was easy to forget that Slaanesh was not composed solely of negative aspects. The Dark Prince held many positive authorities as well, though they were often obscured. Now, as this power was made manifest, a ripple of agitation spread through the Warp.
Fulgrim, now a monstrous creature, froze mid-action, gawking at the scene. Rylanor, beside him, was in a similar state.
"Is that... the gift from our Lord?" Rylanor murmured, speechless as he gazed upon the newborn golden phoenix. He knew that from this moment on, the Emperor's Children would be completely severed from their past.
"Guilliman... you ambitious bastard, Guilliman!" Fulgrim snarled through gritted teeth. How could he not recognize the connection to Akurduana in this warrior's gene-seed? But unlike Lucius, he knew Ferrus Manus well enough to know his brother would never have deceived him.
That left only one possibility: the ever-ambitious Roboute Guilliman had obtained Akurduana's gene-seed. No, it was even possible that he had killed Akurduana to take it. Then, in some forgotten corner of the galaxy, behind everyone's backs, he had secretly studied that gene-seed, all to deliver a fatal blow to him one day.
Damn him...
Fulgrim seethed, his mind flashing back to that time ten thousand years ago.
"I should have taken your head back then!" he spat, his voice laced with venom. He had been too soft. He hadn't cut off Guilliman's head. Now, he was mad with jealousy.
Guilliman. It was all Guilliman. Of all his brothers, it was Guilliman who sat enthroned upon his five hundred worlds, commanding the mightiest of forces. That man must have secretly collected the gene-seed of all the Legions, plotting something in the shadows. It seemed his blade, back then, had actually helped the Imperium by eliminating its greatest potential traitor.
While Fulgrim was grinding his teeth, another group was also on the verge of a mental breakdown.
"Why, Emperor, why? Why have you not cast your gaze upon us?"
Giovanni was truly breaking down. The Black Templars had a specialty, a legacy inherited from Sigismund himself: the Emperor's Champion. And now, in this moment of ultimate glory, that honor had been snatched away by an Emperor's Children.
The collective feeling within the Black Templars could be summed up in one reaction... they had been completely and utterly upstaged.
"Such a glorious moment, oh Emperor! Why was it not us? We would have gladly died, if only you had glanced our way for a single instant!"
Giovanni looked over at his own crusade's Champion, who was kneeling on the ground, tears streaming down his face. Giovanni felt a flicker of disdain, then looked towards the silent Emperor's Champion of the Star of Trailblaze. The latter's composure was perfectly stable; he didn't even spare the event a second glance. Instead, he took the opportunity to behead several slack-jawed Slaaneshi daemons with a single stroke of his sword.
"The Ancient is still the Ancient. Move out!" Giovanni snapped back to reality, drew his power sword, and resumed slaughtering more of the profane Slaaneshi daemons.
---o---
"How... how is this possible..." Lucius stammered, staring in disbelief at the golden figure hovering in the air.
So what if he was an Emperor's Champion? He had killed several of them. But an Emperor's Champion directly possessed by the Emperor Himself? He had never seen such a thing. Not once...
"This kid's body can't handle too much of my power. I need to make this quick. And fixing my Titan legion is the priority; otherwise, there are too many Slaaneshi daemons. Lastly, I can't lose the cool factor!"
Though it felt like an eternity, only a moment had passed. Zhou Ye sensed Ashira's physical state. As he thought, his own presence was too powerful for an ordinary Astartes. Moreover, the kid was a raw recruit, and this was his first real battlefield. He was facing Lucius the Eternal, the champion of Slaanesh. While Lucius was the most pathetic of the four great champions—compared to Typhus, Khârn, and Ahriman, the Emperor's Children's true counterpart should have been Akurduana—he was still a veteran of ten thousand years of ceaseless war. The fact that Ashira, a neophyte, hadn't been instantly killed was already impressive.
In that case, he might as well help him out.
After all, this guy was a far cry from Typhus. Typhus's basic stats were just better, not to mention his intimacy with Nurgle. When Zhou Ye fought him, the Plague God's blessings had been ceaseless. But look at this guy...
What the hell? Why is Slaanesh's gaze completely fixated on the body I'm using?
If he hadn't saturated Ashira with Imaginary energy, who knows if Slaanesh would have just directly bestowed a blessing. It was like on countless battlefields across the Imperium, when a warrior on the brink of death suddenly gets a second wind. You couldn't look too closely into it. You could never be sure if it was a blessing from the Emperor or from Khorne—and most of the time, it was probably Khorne.
After all, the Emperor had not yet fully become the fifth Chaos God of the Warp. His ability to project his authority was far weaker than that of the Four Great Gods.
Fixing the Titans was also a must. His forces, including a ten-thousand-strong regiment of Inquisitorial Storm Troopers and his Astartes, numbered less than fifteen thousand. It was too few. The Slaaneshi legions numbered at least a million. He needed those Titans to clear the chaff, and quickly.
"This blade shall reap, and a host of daemons shall be beheaded."
As Zhou Ye's calm voice rang out, he appeared directly in front of Lucius. He brought his twin swords crashing down. There was no technique, nor was any needed. It was a single, overwhelmingly powerful blow.
DONG!!!
In the next instant, Lucius raised his longsword with both hands to block. The force of the impact drove him deep into the ground. The immense power made his battered armor tremble.
Then came another strike.
DONG!!!
"No Pity!"
"..."
For a moment, the Black Templars, who were in the midst of slaughtering daemons, faltered. A strange expression crossed their faces. It was the unique look of someone who has been deeply wronged—that mix of grievance and hurt one feels after being abandoned, or perhaps, after being thoroughly cucked.
"No Remorse!"
This time, the Black Templars were calmer, their eyes glowing with a golden light.
"No Fear!"
"For the God-Emperor!!!"
It was as if the Black Templars had taken stimulants, for they suddenly became ferocious—savage and unstoppable.
A select few among them could, with immense effort, barely keep pace with the movements of the Emperor's Champion that Zhou Ye had created. They formed a black tide on the battlefield, unleashing their collective fury like a spurned lover venting all their rage upon their rival.
Of course, Zhou Ye couldn't be bothered with the Black Templars' reaction. So what if he stole their battle cry right in front of them? No big deal. The cool factor, the cool factor was what mattered most.
His normal voice wasn't like this; he was deliberately using this tone. Otherwise, there would be no way to explain it without inviting scrutiny. You couldn't just say he was possessed by some unknown god. If that got out, he might have to go to war with the Imperium. While he didn't care about the Imperium, he had no intention of actually fighting them.
It was all the Yellow Fiend's fault. All the Yellow Fiend's mighty power.
As for the Yellow Fiend himself, he was probably, maybe, perhaps in Quintus Hive right now. Unseen, and because he was unseen, he was probably throwing a tantrum, crying and screaming. Zhou Ye couldn't care less what the Yellow Fiend was up to. The Great Rift hadn't opened yet. Descending in his divine form wasn't so easy for him. The opening of the Great Rift not only gave the four Chaos Gods and all manner of xenos vast room to grow, but it also greatly enhanced the power of the Yellow Fiend and the Legion of the Damned. Right now, manifesting his power was difficult.
Besides, those Black Beast-men all thought the Emperor had already descended. Subconsciously, they believed the Emperor wouldn't descend again to bless someone else. In that case, the Emperor probably couldn't possess anyone else.
Finally...
Clang.
Lucius's weapon was sent flying by Zhou Ye's blow. Another strike followed. His entire body was nearly cleaved in two.
"You... why do you feel no glory?! I am the Champion of Slaanesh!" Lucius finally panicked. He realized with terror that the being before him showed no emotional fluctuation whatsoever.
"Do you care how many slices of bread you have eaten?"
"?" Lucius was stunned for a moment. In the next instant, his head was separated from his body.
Killing him produced no emotional ripple in Zhou Ye. Of course, even if it had, it wouldn't matter. So what? You're a creature of the Warp. Do you think you can corrupt me? Go on, let Khârn, Ahriman, or Typhus kill you once. See if their patron gods can resurrect you in their bodies and take them over. When you're dead, you're dead.
Whether this thing truly died or not depended on Slaanesh's whims. He wasn't like Typhus. Back then, Nurgle had genuinely expended effort to retrieve Typhus's soul. This one could forget it. Right now, Slaanesh's attention was entirely on Ashira. Lucius was less important than a dog on the side of the road.
Of course, Zhou Ye didn't forget to conjure a slash of golden flame, incinerating Lucius completely to ash. It looked like he was burning him to ash, but in reality, he had secretly opened a sliver of his Thousand-Person Theater and absorbed Lucius. In terms of Warp blessings, this guy was far inferior to Typhus. He was just an appetizer, perfect for replenishing the power he had used to empower Ashira.
Zhou Ye then had Ashira rocket into the sky. When he landed again, he was deep within the Imperial formation. Zhou Ye withdrew his power. The wings on Ashira's back vanished, and he collapsed to the ground, unconscious. Someone immediately rushed over and dragged him deeper into the safety of their lines.
"Such glory! Repent, heretic!"
Seeing this, Asmodai let out a strange cry to the heavens. His mental state was now a thing of beauty. Not only could he not lay a hand on the Fallen Angels beside him, but he had to fight alongside them. What made it even more frustrating was that if he actually did something, he would be immediately locked up again. Then, the glory of fighting alongside a Primarch to expel an Ork Warboss and Fulgrim would belong to the Fallen Angels.
That was a fate worse than death. And so, under the weight of all these conflicting emotions, and after witnessing such a "miracle" from the "Yellow Fiend," he finally snapped. He was no longer the famously calm and collected Dark Angel, but rather a World Eater with the Butcher's Nails hammered into his skull. He charged out alongside a pack of War Hounds, even more ferocious than they were.
"Brother, what are you doing?"
The Fallen Angels beside him were dumbfounded and tried to stop him. What's wrong with this brother who stole the gear of the Dark Angels' resident psycho today? Why has he been acting so crazy?
Why did they think he'd stolen it? Because back in the Legion, they didn't have Chaplains. And a true Dark Angels Chaplain would never, ever paint his power armor black.
Meanwhile, the Inquisitor and the Ultramarines had no time to comment. The few Victrix Guard veterans were frantically cutting down Slaaneshi daemons. Chris himself was constantly unleashing his psychic powers, supporting the Astartes' actions. As an Inquisitor, his psychic level was not low. An average Astartes was no match for him, and he was handling the daemons with ease.
However...
"Praise the God-Emperor!" he shouted continuously, lauding the Emperor's greatness as he fought with even greater vigor.
---o---
Crack, crack, crack!
Don't be fooled by the detailed descriptions; the process was actually very drawn out. Combat in Warhammer, much of the time, isn't like the battles in cultivation novels that last for days or even decades. A fight in Warhammer is often decided in a flash of lightning.
And now, Rylanor, wielding his master-crafted Dreadnought power sword, finally reached Fulgrim. His longsword stabbed toward his foe's vitals from a cunning angle.
"My dear Rylanor, has that long sleep addled your brain?" Fulgrim, having just snapped out of his stupor from the previous scene, sneered. Though he had been stunned, he was still a Primarch. He blocked the attack with ease and prepared to destroy the Contemptor Dreadnought, to pull Rylanor's mangled limbs from within.
But just at that moment...
"May this journey lead to the stars. May the glory of humanity endure forever."
A battle cry rang out. An Emperor's Children, dual blades in hand, leaped through the air and brought his weapons down on him.
---o---