Thus it is written in the strands of fate,
And so do I read from the woven tapestry of destiny:
In the hour when the Crimson Star ascends,
And the firmament is suffused with sanguine light,
The inexorable conflagration of war shall be rekindled,
Fiercer than ever before.
And in that dread hour, the sundered legions of mankind
Shall unite once more and march forth in final triumph.
Their banners will be raised high, and their wrath shall shake the heavens.
Yet lo, when the flames are spent and silence descends,
Naught shall endure but a forsaken cosmos,
Enshrouded in cinders and sorrow.
—An Eldar prophecy. Translated by The Academy of Terrax.
In the starry void of Segmentum Ultima, an Archangel-class battleship—such as had not been seen since the Dark Age—drifted toward its destination. As it approached, an invisible yet powerful pulse rippled through the void, and space bent to reveal a planet-sized station.
On the bridge, the ship's captain observed with quiet fascination. Under his piercing gaze, the station was scrutinized for flaws. They filled his sight, as always—but this time, they did not consume his thoughts.
Unlike his usual critical and brutal honesty—a trait he shared with his closest brother and rival—there was only disbelief. For the first time in his life, Primarch Perturabo doubted his greatest gift—and curse—his vision.
The ship's vox crackled to life.
[Incoming vessel, state your identity.]
"I am Perturabo."
[Nidavellir greets the successor.]
A massive section of the station peeled open, revealing a colossal hangar. Without delay, Perturabo docked his vessel and made his way toward the heart of the station, his pace steady but urgent.
At its core, a vast facility awaited. Holograms, prototypes, and blueprints filled the cavernous space—each one containing enough technological mastery to reshape the Imperium. In the center stood a simple cabin. Smooth and white, its modest appearance belied the marvel within.
Perturabo stepped inside. Instantly, the familiar flood of data surged through him. Knowledge—immense yet perfectly ordered—unfolded like constellations in his mind. One star shone brighter than the rest. With a thought, he opened it.
"My dear Peter,
If you're reading this, it means I'm dead. Or am I?
Either way, I'm not around. Which means it's your turn to help your father and brothers lead mankind. Or don't. Do whatever you want. It's your life—don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
Now, I'll share secrets only three people in the universe know. Read closely.
Your ingenious and criminally handsome master,
Noah."
Perturabo allowed himself a faint smile. Then another star lit up in his mind. Brighter. Urgent.
The History of the Galaxy - Volume 3.1
Before the Necrons fell into their long slumber, before mankind rose to the stars, there was a war. A war so grand that the human mind can scarcely comprehend it: the War in Heaven.
It was fought between the Old Ones—masters of the Immaterium and the power of the soul—and the C'tan, masters of the Materium, the laws of nature, and their soulless, numberless servants: the Necrons. The war was fierce and brutal, a cataclysm of unimaginable scale. The Old Ones, in their desperation, manipulated evolution and genetics, creating two races that would aid them—and, ironically, outlive them: the Eldar and the Krorks. Both races were born with an innate connection to the Plane of Souls.
In retaliation, the Necrons unleashed weapons of such terror that most were later destroyed by order of the Silent King himself. The war raged on for eons until, in the end, the Old Ones were exterminated.
But in their pride, both sides overlooked something: the damage they had done to the universe. The Plane of Souls was scarred beyond repair, twisted into a realm of eternal pain and torment. Yet both the Eldar and the Orks—descendants of the Krorks—turned a blind eye to it. This ignorance would come at a terrible cost with the birth of Chaos.
But the Immaterium was not the only dimension to suffer. Through their endless abuse of reality, the Necrons and the C'tan had weakened the very laws of nature. The fabric of reality itself began to crack. Had they sought to heal it, perhaps the universe would have had a chance. But their arrogance blinded them. Slowly, the cracks spread, and as the Necrons entered their great slumber, the universe lost its ability to repair itself.
In the span of mere thousands of years, the universe will inevitably collapse—annihilating everything within it.
In such a situation... a wise man might consider relocating to a better neighborhood.
Perturabo staggered. He had read and caused countless grim truths in his life, but this… this was different. The collapse of the universe itself.
Before the storm of thought could consume him, another star blazed. His mind was pulled forward.
When his senses returned, he stood in the same facility—but it was alive with activity.
Machines hummed. Tools clattered. Countless automatons worked hastily in perfect rhythm. At the center, where the cabin had been, stood a table. Two giants loomed over it.
It took him a moment to recognize them as his master and his father.
Noah and the Emperor, deep in a heated argument.
It took a moment to catch up. They were swearing. Fluently. In multiple languages.
Five minutes later—and a remarkable addition to Perturabo's library of curses—Noah spoke.
"You agree this changes everything, right, Alexander?"
"There is no need to state the obvious, Noah. The real question is: what do we do about it?" the Emperor answered, unusually frustrated.
"We need to run." Noah's tone was grim but decisive. "You know there are other universes. With enough energy and time, I might be able to open a passage. But that's just in theory. Practically, there's no known fuel enough to support such a demanding project."
"How much energy?"
"Five thousand cubic meters of LP. For one person. And that's with the current design—it's nowhere near efficient yet. The problem isn't just quantity, it's density. Black holes barely cut it, and they're ridiculously inefficient," Noah replied, rubbing his temple.
The two geniuses fell silent.
Perturabo stood still, absorbing the implications.
"EUREKA!"
Noah's sudden shout jolted them both.
"What did you find?" the Emperor asked, his voice calm as still water.
"Is there really a difference between a daemon and a Chaos God? Technically? Both are warp energy given form. Daemons can be used as fuel. Which means..."
"We can use the Chaos Gods as batteries." The Emperor finished the thought. There was a moment of stunned silence. "This is madness."
"It could work."
"Then our plan changes."
Noah smiled. "Let's go save mankind."
The memory faded. Perturabo stood alone in the cabin again.
One final star remained.
Project Bifrost (LOCKED)
P.S.: Lock will open upon galactic domination. Good luck.
P.P.S.: Trazyn also knows about that—go ask for his help. You will need it
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AN: Hello again and thank you for reading. This chapter is 40K one and I tried to improve my writing a bit. Also used Chat GPT for editing which makes a quite good job to be honest. Anyway as you can see there is immense plot is brewing so I need time to continue. I know my updates are quite bad but it is hard to merge such universes so I will start another book while I fix some issues about this one. I feel like a boy who learned for the first time he can mod minecraft and downloaded every mod in existance. So I need to sort things out.
Keep yourself Healthy and Ramadan Mubarek.
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