This is the bonus chapter for reaching 900 Powerstones.
--
The color completely drained from Tarvitz's face.
His lips moved, seemingly about to say something...
But right at that moment, an icy voice cut through the air from deep within the encampment.
"Heh."
"What a lively gathering."
The voice wasn't loud, but the sheer, bone-chilling cold in its tone instantly swept over the camp gates.
Every single pair of eyes snapped toward the source.
Silver-grey Gorgon Terminator armor, the Iron Hands crest on the left pauldron, the Roman numeral 'I' on the right.
The seven-foot-three frame stood in the twilight like a statue cast from solid steel.
And that rugged, chiseled face was entirely devoid of emotion.
Paul strode out of the camp, step by heavy step.
Behind him, five hundred Astartes players in Iron Hands power armor poured out, rapidly forming up into two immaculate blocks right at the camp gates.
A tide of silver-grey standing in stark, unyielding contrast to the sea of purple.
In the Regional Chat (Crimson Dawn), the messages were flying:
[Selling Flatbread at the Terra Palace Gates]: "Here we go! Paul's making his entrance!"
[Selling Cola at the Terra Palace Gates]: "Holy crap, this looks insanely badass!"
[Have You Been Loyal Today?]: "Everyone stay alert. Follow Paul's lead."
[Shine My Shoes Abaddon]: "That Chaos bastard stepped up. Should I just light him up with a burst?"
[Kunshan Dragon Bro Never Yields]: "Hold on, let's see how Paul plays this."
Tarvitz turned around. The moment he saw Paul, the tension in his brow eased slightly.
"Lord Gabriel..."
He quickly walked up to him, lowering his voice:
"The situation..."
Paul raised a hand. That massive gauntlet encased in silver-grey power armor stopped gently right in front of Tarvitz.
"Do not worry."
His voice was still icy, but Tarvitz could hear a faint undertone of reassurance.
"Since they're targeting the Iron Hands..."
Paul's gaze shot past Tarvitz, locking dead onto the sea of purple figures.
"...we'll handle this ourselves."
He stepped forward. His silver-grey Terminator armor cast a cold, unyielding glare under the fading light.
With every step, faint tremors ran through the ground.
That oppressive aura...
It radiated outward like a physical force.
The Emperor's Children blocking the path instinctively parted, clearing a walkway for him.
Paul walked right up to [Are You Sure This Melon Is Ripe] and stopped.
Seven-foot-three looming over five-foot-seven.
Those dark gold eyes stared down from above, boring into the mortal with the black username hovering over his head.
[Are You Sure This Melon Is Ripe] felt his heart completely skip a beat.
Holy shit, this bastard.
This pressure...
It feels like it's ten times heavier than when I was dealing with Lucius.
But he forced himself to look up and meet that gaze.
I can't back down.
If I bitch out now, it's all over.
Paul stared at him for three full seconds.
Then, he spoke.
His voice was dead cold, carrying the signature metallic rasp of an Iron Hand:
"Relying on such pitiful psychic ability..."
"...you dare to question the Iron Hands Legion?"
[Are You Sure This Melon Is Ripe] took a deep breath, throwing on a mask of righteous fervor.
His voice was loud, ringing with self-righteous indignation:
"I am questioning you!"
His gaze swept over the surrounding Emperor's Children, over Fabius, over Lucius, and finally snapped back to Paul's face:
"The Emperor's Children Legion has paid an agonizing price in blood to push this assault! And just as victory is within our grasp..."
His voice rose higher and higher: "You suddenly appear out of nowhere! It has to be a scheme!"
"I will not stand by and watch you execute whatever plot you have planned to sabotage the victory of the Emperor's Children!"
He slammed his right fist hard against his left chest:
"For His Lordship, Fulgrim!"
"For the glory of the Imperium!"
"For the Emperor!"
His words echoed through the twilight, every single syllable dripping with absolute loyalty and hot-blooded devotion to the Imperium:
"I must bravely stand up and expose you..."
"Even if it costs me my life..."
He took a shaky breath, his eyes even looking a little red:
"My love for the Imperium..."
"...demands nothing less!"
--
Fabius looked at the loyal Auxilia soldier before him with immense satisfaction.
This new assistant he had recently taken on was fantastic. Not only was he incredibly diligent about gathering research materials, but he was also sharp—and most importantly, completely loyal.
You didn't find talent like this every day, even in the Apothecarion labs of the Emperor's Children.
Lucius, on the other hand, looked genuinely surprised.
He looked down at the five-foot-seven mortal, taking in the fanatical gleam in his eyes.
He listened to his vow to lay down his life for the Imperium.
A common Imperial auxiliary with this level of devotion.
Truly fitting for an auxiliary attached to the glorious Emperor's Children Legion.
Lucius suddenly felt like maybe, just maybe, executing those other four Auxilia soldiers had been slightly hasty.
If those four had been this loyal too...
Whatever, they're already dead. No point dwelling on it.
He looked up at Paul, that nasty, arrogant smirk returning to his lips:
"Well? Are you still going to threaten him?"
"A mere mortal, willing to wager his own life just to stand up and expose you."
"What does that tell you?"
Lucius took a step forward, his purple power armor gleaming under the darkening sky:
"It tells us that his heart belongs to the Imperium! It belongs to our father!"
"It belongs to the glory of the Emperor's Children!!"
His voice spiked:
"And you..."
"Your first instinct is to threaten a loyal mortal with death?"
"Is this how the Iron Hands operate?"
--
Meanwhile In the Regional Chat (Wings of Freedom), the Chaos players were losing their minds:
[Konnichiwa Slaanesh-chan]: "Holy shit! [Are You Sure This Melon Is Ripe] is acting his ass off!!"
[I Just Like Sleeping In]: "I'm almost starting to believe he's actually an Imperial Loyalist!"
[Blue Pigeon Knows Nothing]: "Such unparalleled loyalty... loyalty to Tzeentch, that is!"
On the other hand, in the Regional Chat (Light of the Emperor), the Loyalist players were aggressively roasting him:
[Loyal Imperial Battle Sister]: "Holy shit, this guy has absolutely zero shame!!"
"I'm a girl and even I can't stomach this level of cringe!"
"Is he the Loyalist here or am I??"
[Worthy of Sanguinius's Blood]: "That play... well, you learn something new every day."
[I Eat Tomatoes]: "Is this how the Chaos players operate?"
[For the Regent Yellow Guilliman]: "Fuck, I kinda wanna throw up."
[Sanguinius is My Husband]: "Hold it in, hold it in. He's putting on a show, we have to endure it."
--
Standing behind Darius, Vance watched the entire spectacle unfold, utterly speechless.
He wanted to say something, but he just opened and closed his mouth, ultimately deciding to stay quiet.
He just silently gave the Chaos player a mental thumbs-up.
Bro, you won this round.
That acting is actually insane. You sound more loyal than we do.
But seriously, why did you pick the Chaos portal at the start??
With acting chops like that, you could easily con your way into becoming a Sector Governor in the Imperial faction!
--
Over in the Regional Chat (Crimson Dawn), the Iron Hands players were having a heated discussion of their own:
[Selling Flatbread at the Terra Palace Gates]: "Alright, alright, so that's how we're playing?"
[Selling Flatbread at the Terra Palace Gates]: "I've memorized that [Are You Sure This Melon Is Ripe] username."
[Dragon Bro Never Yields]: "He likes playing undercover ops, huh? Likes roleplaying?"
[Lemon-Eating Shinnosuke]: "Don't let us catch him later. If we do, we're shipping him straight to the red-light district in the underhive..."
[Lemon-Eating Shinnosuke]: "Let him experience what it really means to have men coming at you from all sides."
[Have You Been Loyal Today?]: "Bro... why does that sound a little sus coming from you?"
[Shine My Shoes Abaddon]: "Not a little sus, extremely sus. But I love it!"
"For a cheap bastard like this, just having dudes on him isn't enough."
"How about Grox? Or Genestealers?"
"Honestly, I think Orks might do the trick too."
"We'll just have an Apothecary stand by to make sure he doesn't die too easily."
The regional chat flooded with "+1"s.
--
Paul remained standing there, looking down at the Chaos player who had just delivered the performance of a lifetime.
In his dark gold eyes, the five stars slowly rotated.
Having finished his impassioned speech, [Are You Sure This Melon Is Ripe] stood there, his chest heaving, his gaze locked firmly onto Paul's.
But inside, his heart was beating like a war drum.
Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.
Why isn't this guy doing anything?
Why isn't he saying anything? What the hell does this silence mean?
Shouldn't he be panicking at least a little bit right now?
Paul stared at him for five full seconds.
Then, he spoke.
His voice was still icy cold, but now it carried a hint of... amusement?
"That was quite the performance."
His voice was soft, but it instantly sent a cold sweat down [Are You Sure This Melon Is Ripe]'s back.
"Your loyalty... is yet to be determined."
His gaze slid right past the mortal, locking onto Fabius and Lucius:
"But I think you need to understand something..."
"For a mere mortal to dare frame a loyal warrior of the Iron Hands..."
"I can turn you into a pile of minced meat..."
"...in under three seconds."
The moment those words left his mouth, Lucius stepped forward again.
He quickly moved in front of [Are You Sure This Melon Is Ripe], physically blocking Paul's line of sight.
That arrogant, mocking smirk resurfaced on his flawless face:
"Heh!"
His voice dripped with undisguised triumph:
"Your mask is finally slipping, isn't it?"
"Too afraid to undergo verification, so you resort to threatening a loyal auxiliary warrior who risked his life and honor to speak out..."
Lucius pointed a finger at [Are You Sure This Melon Is Ripe], sweeping his gaze over all the Emperor's Children present:
"It seems to me..."
"...that you have a lot to hide!"
The surrounding Emperor's Children began to mutter amongst themselves.
Their eyes darted toward the silver-grey Iron Hands, and the looks of suspicion and wariness began to spread.
The air felt like it was turning to stone.
And right then... Paul moved.
He simply took one more step forward.
But the instant his boot hit the ground, a suffocating, overwhelmingly massive pressure erupted from him.
Every Emperor's Children legionnaire within a three-meter radius instinctively took a step back.
The smile froze on Lucius's face.
Paul's razor-sharp gaze bore down on Lucius, who was slightly shorter than him.
His voice rang out like an iron gavel delivering a sentence:
"And you..."
"Lucius."
"If you dare insult the sacred warriors of the Iron Hands with your words one more time..."
"I will discipline you myself..."
"...in strict accordance with the codes and spirit of the Iron Hands."
Crushed under the sheer weight of Paul's aura, the color completely drained from Lucius's face. His already pale skin turned deathly white. He instinctively reached for the hilt of his power sword.
But Paul's voice chimed again, ringing like a death knell:
"Do you want to test whether or not you'll also be a pile of minced meat..."
"...in under three minutes?"
Dead silence fell over the entire camp entrance.
No one dared to whisper anymore.
No one moved a muscle.
The pressure was just too suffocating.
It was so heavy that even Lucius—a man who could talk casually in front of a Primarch—was completely frozen in place, unable to force out a single word.
He never expected the First Captain of the Iron Hands to have balls this massive.
To actually spit out a threat like that while completely surrounded by the Emperor's Children.
The arrogant smirk vanished entirely from Lucius's flawless face, replaced by...
A gentle voice drifted over from the back of the crowd.
"Oh..."
That single syllable instantly shattered the frozen tension hanging over the camp:
"Commander Gabriel, imposing as always, I see."
Every head turned simultaneously.
The crowd parted automatically, clearing a wide path.
A figure clad in purple artificer armor slowly walked forward.
The craftsmanship of that armor was pushed to the absolute limits of perfection...
Every single plate was etched with intricate filigree. The winged claw insignia on the pauldron looked like it was about to take flight.
Dead center on the chest plate sat a purple gemstone the size of a fist, radiating a soft, ambient glow in the twilight.
Long white hair cascaded over his shoulders, swaying gently with every step he took.
And that face...
It was a face that would make any masterpiece of art look like amateur garbage by comparison.
Perfectly proportioned features, deep violet eyes, and a gentle, welcoming smile resting on his lips.
The Phoenician.
The Gene-Father of the Emperor's Children.
Fulgrim.
Behind him trailed three distinct figures:
Eidolon... Lord Commander Primus, a dark, cynical smile on his face.
Julius Kaesoron... First Captain of the Emperor's Children, his face completely unreadable.
And Vespasian... Lord Commander, the pure, uncorrupted warrior.
Fulgrim walked right up to Lucius and gently patted him on the shoulder.
The gesture was so tender, it looked like he was calming a startled pet.
Then, he looked at Paul.
Violet eyes met dark gold in the fading light.
In that exact fraction of a second, the five stars hidden deep within Paul's pupils—invisible to the naked eye—violently accelerated their rotation.
Fulgrim.
The Primarch who was destined to fall to Chaos tomorrow.
Standing right here, less than five meters away.
The corners of Fulgrim's mouth curled slightly upward.
"Your temper and your demeanor... you really do remind me of my dearest brother..."
"Ferrus."
--
Next Bonus at 1000 Powerstones.
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