The Warp, a corner unreachable by any probing machine.
Four Warp entities, in an unusual gathering, huddled together, peering through a mirror into a world that did not belong to them.
Among them, the blue abomination was the most excited, letting out bursts of sinister cackles, occasionally tossing out bizarre remarks like: "This cursed one is just pathetic!" "Can't even beat a toad!" or "He swallowed it, he swallowed it—that's snow!"
Perhaps finding it too noisy, a figure clad in blood-red armor swung a heavy fist, smashing the blue slime creature into a splatter. The blue goo sprayed everywhere, including into a pot of repeatedly boiled green broth.
"Shut up! Stop insulting my supreme wisdom with your nonsensical drivel!"
"Fart! You brainless oaf, what wisdom do you even have to speak of, Khorne? Are you joking?"
Words failed to find common ground, and the rare moment of harmony shattered instantly. The red and blue entities, unable to best each other, rolled around like brawling fishwives, tearing into one another on the ground.
The Plaguefather said nothing, merely scooping out the slime from his broth with a spoon. Watching the tiny blob of goo in the spoon scream about how "everything is part of the plan," even He, with His boundless patience, decided the pot was ruined.
As for the youngest of the four, the purple phantom, it didn't join the three obsessed lunatics in watching the "Yellow-Skin's Suffering Saga." Instead, it gazed lovingly through the void at Diedrech Torismund's figure, a shapeless pink ooze spreading beneath it.
Perhaps that gaze was too lascivious, for Diedrech, in the scene, shuddered violently and wrapped his blanket tighter around himself.
---
Leaving the voyeurism of the Ruinous Powers aside for now, for the Second Legion, who had endured the Unification Wars on Terra, the annihilation of the Luna Gene-Cults, and the Great Crusade—where they seemed to pop up randomly in nearly every campaign—today was a special day.
One standard Terran week ago, the Third Legion's Primarch, Fulgrim, had returned. Even more thrilling, on a route near Chemos, heading toward the galactic core, His Majesty had sensed a new Primarch.
And this Highness was very likely the gene-father of their Second Legion, the Soul Drinkers.
For this reason, the Soul Drinkers scattered across various legions began to muster, converging on the Emperor's fleet to meet their Primarch at the earliest opportunity.
"Gough, our Primarch's been found! You know what this means? It means we're finally done living under other people's roofs!
You lot don't get it. Every time I run into Abaddon, that dog can't stop yammering about Horus—like some lovesick, father-obsessed weirdo. I despise guys like that.
Having a dad makes you special, does it? Well, now we've got one too!"
Clad in Mark II power armor, standing a towering two-point-seven meters tall, First Company Captain Brian Hegg paced excitedly around the bridge, fantasizing about the glorious days ahead when they could brag about having a dad to the other legions.
"Ha! You're preaching to the choir! You at least got sent to the Luna Wolves. I was assigned to the First Legion—those days were absolute rubbish. Their encrypted codes alone could fry my brain. I don't know how they memorize that stuff.
And every day, it's off to do some shady black ops. Good thing I'm sharp, or I'd have been backstabbed ages ago.
Hahaha, they'll never guess I've been secretly keeping a diary!"
Seeing someone chime in, the other company captains gathered on the bridge started venting. One complained about the Ninth Legion secretly munching on corpses, another claimed the Nineteenth Legion could hide inside tin cans. But the captain who'd studied with the Nineteenth was promptly chewed out, accused of having his brain kicked by a Space Wolf—because how could anyone fit in a can? That's unscientific!
The captain who'd trained with the Space Wolves took offense, insisting the Wolves weren't as barbaric as they seemed—they were sneaky behind the scenes.
"Forget the cans, listen to me, listen!
I was with the Twentieth Legion, and guess what? I think I stumbled on a big secret. I saw a Primarch who was barely taller than me! But no one believed me. They said he was just Alpharius. I'm the Alpharius, alright?"
Looking at the motley crew of oversized oafs, each spouting off without restraint, Acting Legion Master Gough Maine's face darkened. He genuinely feared their ship might accidentally get lost in the Warp.
"Enough! Can't you lot make my life easier? Can't you take a page from my book? Sure, I was with the Thirteenth Legion, cozying up to their cliques, and yeah, they're obviously ambitious. But do I go blabbing about it? Do I? Answer me!"
Silence fell. Everyone thought to themselves, You didn't say it, Legion Master, but you just shouted it.
After another awkward pause, seeing no outsiders around, Gough lowered his voice and asked, "So, with our Second Legion's reputation being so… tarnished, do you think Father will dislike us?"
An even heavier silence descended. No one dared to answer confidently. After all, the Second Legion's reputation was indeed rotten—sneaky, slippery, prone to pilfering, and fond of recklessly throwing themselves into danger on every battlefield.
It was only their formidable combat prowess, bolstered by their Father's might, that kept them from dying no matter how much they mucked about. Otherwise, the Emperor would've long since sent them off to toil in the mines.
The thought of a miserable life spent either pouring concrete or digging in the dirt made everyone glance at the two poor sods who'd trained with the Seventh and Fourth Legions.
"I've got an idea!
What if we present some gifts when we meet Father? I've already prepared. While I was with the First Legion, I… borrowed a few auto-soldiers during a raid. Guaranteed to win Father's favor!"
"Funny you mention that—I've got some gifts too." A captain draped in a red trench coat, who'd studied twice with Mars and the Iron Hands, waved his mechanical arm, projecting an image of a Warlord Titan, its paint still gleaming.
Soon, the griping session turned into a gift-showing extravaganza. Every company captain had their own specialty to flaunt, and those without brought along a few Fenrisian wolves to offer the Primarch as pets.
Gazing at this vibrant scene—one that could easily provoke an attack from several unnamed legions the next second—Legion Master Gough smiled with relief.
"Sigh! I hope Father doesn't mind the trouble we've caused him! Looks like I'm the only son who truly spares him worry. After all, I only… kept a few gene-seeds for someone else. Should be fine."
The massive Gloriana-class battleship tore through the void, fortunately avoiding any Warp mishaps, and arrived smoothly at the target star sector.
However, before reaching the world called Katachan, the Second Legion noticed another life-bearing planet near their Primarch's location, where a strange battle was unfolding.
Through the holographic display, the company captains saw a group of natives piloting laughably ramshackle fliers, drifting above a Titan. Using patched-up parachutes, they began a boarding action to seize control of the divine machine.
Due to interference from radiation clouds, the view was hazy, but they could vaguely make out xenos mixed among the natives.
This was like being handed a pillow when dozing off. The Second Legion was fretting over what to offer their Primarch as a meeting gift, and here it was!
"Brothers, rest assured, I won't hog the glory of this victory. This is everyone's triumph. We'll give Father a splendid victory and prove to the other legions we're not cowards!"
"Brilliant! Well done! No wonder you trained with the Sons of Horus. Those down there aren't just any xenos. I propose we blast them with the ship's cannons!"
The first captain's suggestion was swiftly adopted. After a brief targeting sequence, Acting Legion Master Gough stepped up to the firing console, flipped open the protective cover on the massive red button, and executed the operation with fluid precision. He even considered which weapons would preserve the Titan.
In the end, Gough opted for a lance strike to obliterate the decorative castle structure atop the Titan, followed by a boarding action.
"Father, bear witness! Hah! Long live the Second Legion!"
Meanwhile, atop the Titan, leading a boarding team in brutaljunior street fights with robots, Diedrech Torismund suddenly felt a pang of dread, as if something terrible was about to happen.
Without hesitation, he roared, "Retreat! Retreat now! Forget those scrap heaps—run!"
The moment the words left his mouth, a brilliant beam of light descended from the heavens—unstoppable, undeniable—smashing into the castle everyone was fighting over.
Time froze. In the final instant before the light struck, a verdant grassland replaced reality, whisking away the boarding team members who hadn't yet reacted.
And Diedrech Torismund, facing that radiant lance head-on, left only a curse drowned out by the explosion:
"Yellow-skin, you're pulling a bloody decimation on me now?!"