The duel arena.
At this moment, the warp-tainted screen was displaying the Emperor's ultra-high-speed ramming, so violent that it bordered on lunacy.
Every single impact detonated a visible shockwave.
Under such a terrifying onslaught, the Prince of Pleasure (Slaanesh) could only retreat step by step, screaming as He gave ground.
This was likely the most blasphemous scene in the galaxy and the Warp.
Almost without equal.
"False Emperor?!"
The fallen Phoenician, Fulgrim, stared at this blasphemous spectacle. He did not even notice his wine cup shattering on the floor. He only felt absurdity.
Especially when the Emperor, the Master of Mankind's visage appeared in full—he actually panicked.
For any son of the Emperor, seeing something this explosive broadcast across a colossal screen was enough to break anyone's composure.
"If that hypocrite is this shameless and slippery, then won't my trap lose its effect?!"
Fulgrim trembled head to toe.
He had lured the Savior into the dream-trap to destroy the man's image—who could have imagined that the bastard would dare to ram viciously while wearing the Emperor's face?
How could he dare?!
"Fa… Father?!"
At that moment, it was not only the fallen Phoenician. Even Roboute Guilliman went numb, his skull buzzing.
He stopped struggling and cursing. His pupils shook violently.
The sight of the Emperor—of Father—taking the Prince of Pleasure and driving Him back with unrestrained, savage thrusts hit Guilliman's mind like a thunderhammer.
Guilliman quickly turned his head away, refusing to watch the blasphemy.
He feared that if he kept watching, he would never again be able to face the Emperor—Father.
"Brother Eden is a bit too…" Guilliman murmured, unable to decide what judgment to pass.
Perhaps it was an effective way to salvage one's image, but it was far too blasphemous—far too bold.
"How did I not think of it? If I had used something similar earlier, I wouldn't have suffered such humiliation."
Guilliman began to reflect on himself.
He would never dare to do anything while wearing the Emperor's face, but within a mental dreamscape, he could still impersonate the image of other beings.
For example, that irritating Leon… or Mortarion?!
Soon, the Primarch of Ultramar found himself worrying about what would happen to the Savior afterward.
Perhaps Eden would suffer the Emperor's harsh punishment.
"The Cursed One…"
"No, stop this at once. This will bring danger!"
The Chaos spectators were even more restless. Faced with such blasphemous and perilous imagery, they hardly dared to keep looking.
Especially when the Cursed One, while ramming the Prince of Pleasure, turned His head and stared toward the screen—as if delivering a death glare.
The Chaos audience who had been cheering wildly at the Savior battling the Prince of Pleasure fell instantly silent.
One by one, they became obedient, lowering their heads and avoiding that gaze.
Even knowing it was an illusion crafted by the Savior, they still panicked.
What if this blasphemous footage drew the Cursed One's wrath—what then?!
This horrifying scene crushed their sense of pleasure, and along with it, their affection and faith toward the Prince of Pleasure dropped sharply.
They even began to feel the Prince of Pleasure had been "tainted," after all—contaminated by the Cursed One's foul warp-energy.
Even if it was only an illusion.
Who could endure a being of pleasure falling into a reeking cesspit of cursed energy?!
Within the pleasure-dream.
Eden, wearing the Emperor's visage, was still locked in bitter battle.
He sensed certain shifts and sighed with emotion. "This move really works. Far fewer eyes from outside are watching now."
Daemons universally loathed the Emperor. Their fear and rejection were instinctive.
Now that he appeared in the Emperor's form, it was like a group of students enjoying a pleasure-video when, all of a sudden, Ms. Yu or the discipline director walked in.
How could that not be terrifying?
Once Eden confirmed his maneuver was effective, he became even more ferocious.
Using the devouring power of the Sun of Hope, he steadily consumed the pleasure-authority within the dream.
After he devoured that portion of Slaanesh's authority, he would most likely be able to leave the dreamscape.
Thinking this, Eden accelerated the devouring:
"The Prince of Pleasure will realize this soon.
I'll likely face a counterattack. I must stay cautious."
…
Inside the Throne Palace.
The atmosphere in the Throne Hall was so heavy it felt like suffocation. Wrath was gathering, like a volcano about to erupt.
"Good. Very good."
The Tyrant-Emperor sat upon the Blackstone Throne. Watching the psychic network broadcast of "Himself" locked in a savage struggle with the Prince of Pleasure, He shook with fury.
The Master of Mankind tracked the Savior's outrageous operation and nearly exploded in rage.
He truly had not expected that little bastard would shove Him forward to take the hit. The brat had grown wings, had he?!
And yet the Tyrant-Emperor could not openly condemn him—much less punish him.
After all, the Savior had done it for the Imperium. Better the Emperor's image suffer blasphemy than the Savior's image be destroyed.
The Emperor's position in the Warp was stable, His image unshakable. Even if blasphemed, it would not truly collapse.
But the Savior was the Imperium's Emperor. If he lost majesty, ruling would become difficult.
Moreover, the Tyrant-Emperor could feel it: once that blasphemous footage spread, the pressure of faith borne by the Holy Sun inexplicably eased by a great margin.
That proved the blasphemy-video was still impacting the masses' ignorant faith—reducing their worship of Him.
For a god, the most important thing is to preserve mystery.
Anyone who saw the deity they venerated appear in a pleasure-video, striking all sorts of lewd poses, would inevitably lose some portion of faith.
It was even more effective than the holy tower's pressure release.
It could suppress the Holy Sun from ascending the divine stair, falling into endless darkness, and becoming a prisoner of Chaos faith.
"*&…￥#, that brat always finds new ways to 'surprise' me…"
The Tyrant-Emperor cursed fluently. The fire in His chest cooled somewhat, and even He could not decide whether to be pleased or furious.
That brat spread such outrageous rumors about Him, and yet He had no good reason to punish him.
He drew a deep breath and forced His wrath down.
Perhaps letting that blasphemous footage circulate a little longer was… actually beneficial?
"Damn it. I never imagined the Savior had the guts to use Father's image to cover his own disgrace."
In a corner of the hall, Magnus was also watching the blasphemous data on the psychic network, utterly stunned.
Watching the Emperor in the footage—posing, showing off muscle, moving with shameless flair—Magnus felt a strange, guilty satisfaction. His inner balance restored itself a little.
If even Father had been socially executed by the Savior, then Magnus's own humiliation was nothing.
He even began to look forward to what level of punishment Father would hand down once the Savior returned.
Magnus shrank deeper into the corner.
After all these years of "social death," he had long grown used to hiding. If only he had a Fenrisian wolf-pelt blanket to wrap himself in, that would be even better.
It would keep him warmer.
"The psychic network really is a good tool…" the Crimson King of sorcerers thought silently. Not only could it be used to exchange countless occult techniques, it could also show such astonishing blasphemous footage.
He cast a furtive glance toward the throne, hesitating over whether to do something.
"If I miss this chance, I may never get another," Magnus convinced himself.
He began secretly using sorcery to preserve the Emperor's blasphemous footage—mainly as a souvenir.
"What are you looking at?"
A hard, unyielding voice suddenly rang out.
Magnus went rigid, not daring to move an inch.
He slowly turned his head—and his heart stopped.
The Emperor—Father—had appeared behind him at some unknown moment, staring straight at him.
And on the data-slate in Magnus's hands, the Emperor's "new posture" was currently playing.
In the footage, the Savior, wearing the Emperor's image, unleashed a "Thomas Spiral Impact," flamboyant beyond description.
There were no words that could reasonably explain it.
"Fa… Father, this may be a misunderstanding."
Magnus crushed the data-slate in a single squeeze, his voice trembling.
In that moment, his heart turned to ash.
The Tyrant-Emperor laughed in anger. He raised a hand and slowly placed it on this good son's shoulder.
The Savior could not be beaten—yet beating the traitorous whelp in front of Him was still permissible. Old debts and new, all at once.
Not long after, the Throne Palace echoed with Magnus's miserable screams—shockingly cathartic, agonizing to the bone.
…
Across the Imperium.
Countless beings who witnessed the blasphemous footage of the Emperor's image could not believe their eyes.
Some shook as they cried out, others shut the footage down completely, unable to watch any further.
"Emperor—what blasphemy, utter blasphemy!"
"These are the Ruinous Powers' tricks, a false smear, a vile profanation…"
They refused to believe the great and holy Emperor would do such things with the Chaos Gods. In their shock, they resisted the mental corruption of the blasphemous footage.
They concluded the psychic network's blasphemous imagery was a Chaos plot—some false illusion, not a scene that had ever truly existed.
Under the crushing impact of the Emperor's blasphemy-footage, many even began to overlook the Savior's earlier actions.
Within the psychic network, the Machine Goddess, Webby, promptly tagged all blasphemous data as false and dangerous, warning Imperial citizens not to view it.
That was not an easy task.
There was simply too much blasphemous data—every moment, countless trillions of profane fragments slammed into the network.
If the psychic network's transmission lines had not been saturated with holy psychic power, filtering the tainted warp-energy to a degree, the blasphemous data alone would have plunged endless humans into corruption—twisting them into deformed Chaos monsters.
Even so, there was still an impact.
Fortunately, people now believed the footage was fake, and by faith in the Emperor, they did not dare to look directly at the blasphemy.
That bought Webby time to handle the crisis, and gave the propaganda departments more time to salvage the Savior's image.
They did everything possible to flood the network with pro-Savior propaganda footage, while dispatching enormous numbers of maintenance personnel to control related discourse.
"Perhaps we won't need mass killing to handle this crisis."
Claudius, the psychic network department head, reported the current situation to Imperial Regent Bayev.
He glanced at former Grand Inquisitor Deville, sitting in shadow in grim silence, and quietly exhaled in relief.
For now, there was no need for that blood-soaked butcher to take over. For everyone, that was good news.
"If Deville takes control, who knows how many lives will vanish… even we'll be punished harshly," Claudius thought.
That former Grand Inquisitor had long prepared a plan: the moment the situation became uncontrollable, he would assume authority and begin purges—cleansing thought itself.
Under his plan, anyone suspected of viewing the blasphemous footage and displaying rebellious tendencies would be detained and processed.
Including but not limited to memory wiping, lifelong confinement, execution, and more.
Deal with everyone involved, and after one or two generations, it would become a secret forever.
"Perhaps that would be a good thing. It would align with His Majesty the Savior's will."
Deville suddenly spoke, drawing everyone's attention.
"That being's blasphemous footage will accelerate the pace of Ecclesiarchy reform and further unshackle minds.
We should preserve the relevant data."
He meant the Emperor's blasphemous footage—something that could reduce faith.
It was also what many departments had been struggling to accomplish: revive art and science, reduce the Ecclesiarchy's influence of faith.
Then separate the Ecclesiarchy from Imperial governance, stop it from participating in state affairs, and keep it purely as religion.
In the Savior's terms: separation of church and state, secularization, minimizing mysticism and superstition.
If people no longer believed in "gods," then the Warp's influence over the galaxy would drop drastically.
Deville's words left the senior officials in silence.
They did not want to touch topics involving the Emperor—especially in an incident this blasphemous.
The Ecclesiarchy's changes should be gradual. By the former Grand Inquisitor's approach, it might be… too aggressive.
After offering that reminder, Deville did not continue.
It was not for him to decide. That decision belonged to the Savior.
Under Deville's plan, preserving this Emperor-blasphemy footage—then pairing it with previous "rumors" about the Emperor and releasing it periodically—would gradually erode faith.
It would make the Savior's authority more stable and eliminate more ignorance.
Soon, more good news arrived.
Webby had already cleared the lower-tier network lines. The Imperium's low and mid-tier citizens could no longer access the blasphemous footage.
That was a population numbering in the quadrillions.
"With this, the risk of corruption drops sharply."
After receiving Lady Webby's update, Claudius could not help but smile.
It meant the greatest crisis had been resolved. The remaining viewers who could still access the blasphemous footage were largely Imperial warriors or high-ranking citizens.
They would not be easily corrupted, and they were easier to identify and process—subjected to individual screening and loyalty tests.
Suddenly, Claudius seemed to see something and cried out.
Not only him—others in the hall did as well.
The dream-blasphemy footage had changed again.
…
Oleincis, the duel arena.
The warp-tainted screen still projected the pleasure-dream.
Within the daemon-palace, more evil flesh-forms appeared to oppose the Savior's "Emperor" image.
They stripped the illusion away, exposing Eden's original form.
The Prince of Pleasure gathered strength and launched a counterattack, using the dream that had invaded Oleincis.
The quieted duel arena began to boil again. The Chaos spectators roared.
They wanted to see the Savior corrupted and tormented!
"Hypocrite. Your cover has failed. The Dark Prince's authority is not something you can resist…"
Watching this, Fulgrim finally smiled again.
His plan had not failed.
Seeing the shift in the dream, Guilliman felt profound worry.
A Chaos God had intervened. Brother Eden might not be able to withstand the corruption.
Within the pleasure-dream.
Eden returned to his original form. Facing the omnipresent crushing pressure of pleasure-tainted warp-energy, he showed not the slightest fear.
"Too bad. You've already lost your chance to corrupt me."
In this time, he had devoured a significant amount of pleasure-warp energy, gaining greater control over the dreamscape and the ability to exert influence.
Now came the true collision—head-on.
"Since you intend to destroy the image of me, the Savior, then you should be prepared for the backlash."
Golden light ignited across Eden's body—but it was only a cover. Beneath the gold burned a dark crimson blaze.
He violently released the energy stored in the Sun of Hope's dark side, imposing his will on the dream:
"Prince of Pleasure, your dream is far too innocent. It has no real weight.
You all like watching so much, don't you? Then watch. I'll show you what 'demons dancing in a frenzy' truly looks like…"
In Eden's view, the Chaos Gods cared even more about their own image and majesty.
It determined how much faith they could harvest—life and death to them.
So they always appeared as dreadful deities, lofty and unassailable, as if no blasphemy could ever touch them.
The Chaos Gods feared the Emperor precisely because if the Holy Sun struck them, it would damage their majesty.
And with damaged majesty came the risk of losing worshippers and faith.
Shattering the Chaos Gods' majesty also benefited the Imperium.
Boom—!
Under Eden's influence, the dreamscape suddenly expanded.
More illusions crafted by the Savior appeared—far more than just the Prince of Pleasure.
Blood-red flames rose.
Khorne, the Blood God, appeared wearing a purple bikini—there was a very obvious bulge below, and He struck coquettish poses…
(End of Chapter)
[Get +30 Extra Chapters On — P@tr3on "Zaelum"]
[Every 300 Power Stones = 1 Bonus Chapter Drop]
[Thanks for Reading!]