Chapter 53: Magnus's Scheme

Chapter 53: Magnus’s Schemes

The Great Rift tore the Imperium asunder.

Countless monsters of Old Night and daemons materialized into realspace, hungrily harvesting human souls and flesh. The manifestation of the Great Rift brought untold suffering to every world across the Imperium. Raging warp storms made warp travel perilous, leaving vast numbers of star systems cut off from the Imperium, as fragile and stranded as marine life left high and dry on a beach.

Mutants and psykers were multiplying rapidly; if not suppressed swiftly enough, entire worlds would plunge into the abyss, reduced to domains ruled by those abhorrent aberrations.

Yet, to the enemies of the Emperor, it was a joyous blessing.

The minions of Chaos reveled in an unprecedented empyrean surge. The winds of the warp mutated vast segments of humanity, granting them potent sorcery and supernatural abilities without the need for discipline, while rendering them increasingly warped and wicked. Recklessly absorbing and wielding this power, they continually sought to subvert the order of various planets, hungering for the right to rule over mankind. This unleashed massive rebellions and bloodshed.

And yet, these were not the most terrifying developments.

In the void, great hosts of sorcerers, feral psykers, and mutants were converging upon a single destination.

Their destination was a planet that had no right to exist in realspace—Sortiarius.

Serrated swaths of twisted energy tore through the black night, shrouding Sortiarius in a dark purple glow. Rolling thunderclouds ground across the horizon, and colossal tornadoes connecting heaven and earth materialized on the planetary surface, rolling forward relentlessly and consuming everything in their path.

This world was inhabited by daemons, abominations, and cursed entities. Those beings born from the delirious fantasies of Tzeentch thrived and multiplied upon this globe. Packs of Tzaangors hunted amid a jungle formed from razor-sharp cliffs and the warped shapes of failed supplicants. Wandering daemon engines traversed the storm-blasted crystal plains. Rampant Horrors, Flamers, and Screamers drifted at will through realspace or newly opened portals, wreaking unimaginable slaughter before vanishing as swiftly as they had arrived.

Amidst the boundless chaos of Sortiarius, one place appeared utterly serene, standing out starkly from its surroundings.

A colossal crystal pyramid sat upon the plains of the planetary surface, majestic and immense, squatting upon the earth like a giant mountain range. The violent lightning and tempests all curved around the pyramid, as if driven away by some arcane force. The malicious, twisted creatures never dared to run rampant near this towering crystal spire.

This was because within it dwelt a presence they dared not provoke.

Upon a throne inside the gargantuan pyramid sat a terrifying entity radiating an oppressive, dreadful aura. Blue and pink flames licked across his limbs. His massive, robust physique was clad in armor etched with giant, barbed spikes. Behind him, roaring warp fire billowed endlessly, resembling a pair of bird-like wings adorned with massive feathers.

This terrifying entity sat upon his throne with eyes closed, his soul soaring across the breadth of the warp in search of lost, ancient knowledge.

When he opened his sole remaining eye, his pupil streamed with a bizarre blue radiance. The warp energies enveloping the entire planet surged into a frenzy at his awakening.

"Guilliman," he whispered softly, prompting peals of thunder to rupture the heavy, darkened clouds.

Had the Grey Knights of the Imperium, the Inquisition, or the Space Wolves been present, they would have instantly recognized the identity of this abhorrent being.

The Crimson King, the Sorcerer King, former master of Prospero, the Red Cyclops, the eternal damnation of the Imperium, primarch of the Thousand Sons Legion: Magnus.

This was a name damned for eternity, a name whose bearer deserved the loathing of every imperial citizen loyal to the Emperor.

Drawing upon the death-shrieks of a billion dying souls, Magnus had leveraged Sortiarius within the Eye of Terror, reuniting it with his lost former homeland of Prospero, which had been burned to ash by the Space Wolves Legion.

A massive crystal sphere materialized before Magnus, projecting scenes of Macragge.

The prosperous vista drew a trace of mockery to his face; he easily deduced Guilliman's actions. His brother was attempting to rebuild that tiny realm, and upon that foundation, reconstruct the order of the Imperium.

In the crystal, he watched Guilliman issue decrees of reform, ordering his subordinates to forge novel technological constructs, levy sufficient troops from every world, and strive to balance warfare with civilian livelihood.

"As foolish as ever," Magnus scoffed.

"This era belongs to me, and humanity shall ascend within my grasp."

The Emperor’s Webway project had failed; humanity was destined never to escape the warp. Magnus resolved to tap into this potential of mankind without restriction, proving to all others how foolish it was to forbid the use of psychic powers.

Psykers were humanity's only way out, and embracing and mastering the Changer of Ways was the wisest choice for all living beings in existence.

The Imperium was collapsing, and mankind was about to usher in the glorious Age of Psykers.

Nothing could stop the clever, wise Magnus, who saw through all things.

Riding the tides of the warp, he broadcasted his summons to those gifted with psychic abilities. He would establish a world upon Sortiarius belonging solely to psykers, sorcerers, and mutants.

A multitude of sorcerers and psykers, moved by Magnus's promises, journeyed from the four corners of the Imperium to gather on Sortiarius.

Magnus planned to forge them into a terrifying grand army—an army mighty enough to shatter his father's Imperium, fulfilling his ambition since the days of the Great Crusade: placing the crown of psychic mastery upon humanity and evolving them to a higher plane of existence.

Centered around the Prosperin system, the warp barriers of over a dozen star systems were rapidly thinning. The descent of daemons grew easier, and the employment of psychic powers grew simpler. Once his grand design was complete, these systems would form the core of his psyker empire, continuously spawning psykers and leading humanity into an era of universal psychic awakening.

"Perhaps I should give my brother something to occupy him, so he might realize his own foolishness." Watching the developments on Macragge, Magnus looked upon Guilliman’s return with utter disdain.

Long ago, he had used his foresight to peer into the galaxy’s future.

The future of the galaxy was pitch black, utterly devoid of any possibility of salvation. Only the psychic path was the true way. The galaxy would plunge into ruin amidst chaos and war, and all would embrace the psychic arts and those ancient taboos.

Magnus stood up, opened a portal with his staff, and stepped through.

Foolish Guilliman—when he finally understood that he had been played for a fool, what manner of rage would consume him?

How he looked forward to it.

The Natalis System.

Hive World.

Guilliman sat within a luxurious mansion, reviewing the interrogation briefs submitted by the Inquisitors.

Worship of Chaos, trafficking in neural stimulants, embezzling the pensions of retired veterans, leveraging political power to safeguard family business ventures, seizing over ninety percent of the Natalis System's wealth...

Even with his preparations, upon witnessing the concrete evidence of these nobles' crimes with his own eyes, Guilliman felt a profound pang of grief.

The Imperium was like a terminally ill patient; scrape away at any random spot, and one found only foul, rotting flesh. A band of fearless warriors fought to keep the Imperium alive, while a swarm of leeches clung to its body, sucking its blood endlessly and growing fat and bloated.

Chaos grew ever stronger, while the Imperium grew ever weaker.

"Look at what these fools have done!" Guilliman suppressed the fury in his heart to avoid betraying his composure, though the rage in his tone was impossible to conceal.

If the situation within the realms of Ultramar was already this dire, how much more terrifying must it be elsewhere? Coupled with the Great Rift and the massive wave of daemon invasions it spawned...

To lead such an Imperium into battle against the Tyranids, the Necrons, and Chaos—Guilliman half-doubted whether the Imperium would shatter halfway through the war.

"Execute those damned bastards. Send their children to the penal legions to expiate the sins of their fathers until they die."

Following Guilliman’s command, a multitude of nobles with unassailable proof of guilt were dragged out and executed in full view of the public. Their children were dispatched to the penal battalions, destined to fight against xenos and traitors in the days to come, finding redemption only at the moment of death.

The news was broadcast by astropaths, sending shockwaves rolling across the entire Imperium.