Chapter 429– The Destruction of Prospero! Powerless Fury!
At once, under the flagship AI's control, a dense barrage of spacetime fragments was fired toward the front of the spherical object, forming a "ghost wall"–like temporal obstruction.
But unexpectedly, that mysterious sphere, relying on its own immense gravitational mass, plowed through like an interstellar steamroller, compressing the spacetime fragments back into the surrounding void.
The anticipated scene did not occur. The sphere's speed merely slowed slightly—it did not come to a complete halt.
Jack Wells immediately realized this method had some effect and hurriedly ordered more warships to slice spacetime fragments and pile them ahead to block the sphere's advance.
Sure enough, the sphere's speed dropped rapidly, down to only one-tenth of what it had been before.
At its original pace, it would have reached the center of the Prospero system in just half an hour; now, it would take about five hours.
But the opposing fleet was quick to counter.
They deployed an invisible temporal field, forcibly "restoring" the fragmented spacetime projected by the Universal Megacorp.
The sphere's speed rose again.
Throughout this back-and-forth, its velocity fluctuated, finally stabilizing at about one-fifth of the original.
At most, in two hours, the object would reach the heart of the star system.
Meanwhile, upon learning that an unknown fleet power had appeared at Prospero, Guilliman and the other Primarchs were taken aback.
Could this be another transdimensional civilization like the Universal Megacorp?!
Guilliman had seen and studied the Megacorp's history. If such a force existed in the myriad universes, then surely others like it could also exist—capable of traversing dimensions repeatedly, bringing disaster to one universe after another, uniting worlds under their dominion.
"Heh! Retreat…"
Mortarion scoffed at ' warning. Since the Emperor had ordered him to purge Prospero and capture Magnus, he would not leave until both tasks were done.
"Guilliman, take Russ and Lion and go ahead. I need to make sure Prospero is completely destroyed."
Mortarion sent this over the comms, his determination clear—he intended to consign the Thousand Sons to utter ruin.
If Prospero survived, the Legion might one day rise again.
Seeing this, Guilliman sighed helplessly. As the one nominally in charge of this operation, how could he leave first?
"I'll stay with you. Russ and Lion will go."
Mortarion nodded without further comment.
He was indeed a grim, cunning, and brutal Primarch, but that didn't mean he was too stupid to read the situation.
Since this new arrival was powerful enough to alarm even the Universal Megacorp, it was obvious they stood no chance in a direct clash. Retreat was the best option.
But if they truly withdrew now, the Thousand Sons on Prospero might survive—becoming a dangerous, restless element within Imperial space.
To root out the problem completely, this had to end here.
"Let's just use second-stage torpedoes and finish this quickly."
Russ suggested bluntly.
For him to run ahead of his brothers? Impossible.
As the Primarch of the Space Wolves, Russ was infamous for his recklessness and love of battle—cowardice was something he would never tolerate.
Initially, they had used orbital bombardment to prevent Amon from leading the Thousand Sons in a retreat. But with the situation changed, there was no need to drag this out.
After all, orbital bombardments generally lasted for dozens of hours to ensure every trace on the planet's surface was erased.
But with second-stage torpedoes, the destruction was much faster. As long as the launch succeeded, they could withdraw immediately.
"Fine, second-stage torpedoes it is!" The other Primarchs quickly agreed, and as before, Guilliman's lack of objection amounted to consent.
Moments later, the Imperial combined fleet, having received the order, halted the ongoing orbital bombardment and switched to deploying second-stage torpedoes against Prospero.
Under normal circumstances, a single such torpedo was enough to completely alter a planet's core structure—ensuring its death.
But to be absolutely certain, the four Primarchs' fleets launched three of them in succession. The sight made the Thousand Sons warriors' hearts break.
They stood by the viewing ports, crying out in anguish, yearning for their Primarch Magnus to lead them in vengeance.
At that moment, Magnus was watching the events outside via holoscreen. When those three planet-killer torpedoes pierced Prospero's surface, he felt as if his lungs were on fire, his bloodshot eyes ready to burst.
Once second-stage torpedoes were launched, there was no turning back.
"Changer of Ways—!"
Magnus threw back his head and roared, calling aloud the name of a Chaos God even the Emperor would not dare utter lightly. Faced with the annihilation of his homeworld, he was willing to offer up everything.
If Tzeentch could spare Prospero, Magnus would betray the Imperium of Man without hesitation!
Yet his cry stirred no real ripple in the Warp. The Chaos God he had seen as a savior did not appear to fulfill any promise.
In that moment, Magnus knew despair.
In his mind, so long as he embraced the darkness, the Ruinous Powers would grant him some boon—saving his people and his world.
But reality showed he was nothing but a ridiculous clown abandoned by both sides. No one cared for his pleas.
Gazing toward the mysterious fleet at the system's edge, Magnus wondered if it was Tzeentch's power in disguise.
But why, then, did they remain unmoving—sending only a slow-advancing sphere…?
Magnus grew frantic.
Prospero embodied his life's work.
Here, it was as close to paradise as one could get—where all enjoyed the benefits of psychic mastery.
Psykers could easily implant the most arcane knowledge from books directly into a student's mind. Even the dullest fool could memorize legal codes.
Deadly cancers were no longer feared, brilliant artists flourished, and relics from countless civilizations across the galaxy were stored here in abundance.
For Magnus, Prospero was far more than a mere homeworld.
It was as if the Emperor himself were about to destroy Mars—those Mechanicus adepts would fight to the death rather than allow it.
Even as Magnus cried out in agony, the planet's surface underwent a terrible change—violent shockwaves spreading and cascading outward!
…
At that moment, on Prospero itself—
Today would be remembered by its inhabitants as a day of pure terror.
The sudden arrival of a massive Megacorp fleet, the domineering Imperial inquiry delegation, four Primarchs wielding an Exterminatus order, and a brutal void battle…
Everything had happened so fast, no one had time to react.
While the humans here were still reveling in the convenience and pleasures brought by psychic powers, the Empire's legions had already unleashed a merciless, inhuman strike of annihilation against them.
At that moment, the second-stage torpedoes had already pierced through the planet's crust and mantle, like razor-sharp blades stabbing straight into the heart of Prospero.
Moments later, the planet's interior erupted in a violent explosion. The alteration of its core's structure hurled massive fragments of the surface skyward.
All across Prospero's surface, unprecedented earthquakes and tsunamis erupted. Countless cathedrals and towers collapsed in an instant.
Hellish scenes of the apocalypse unfolded without warning.
Before this moment, no human on Prospero could have imagined such a day would ever come.
After all, this was the Emperor's designated and sanctioned place for the legal study and use of psychic abilities, home to every book and record of psychic knowledge in the entire Imperium.
Magnus the Red, Prospero's Primarch, had long enjoyed the Emperor's favor. By all rights, a calamity like an Exterminatus should never have befallen them.
Yet reality was cruel beyond belief.
The Emperor ignored the desperate cries of Prospero's people, and Magnus—whom they regarded as their sovereign and father—could only stand helplessly by.
Seeing that Prospero's destruction was already inevitable, Magnus, watching from a distance, felt as if the blood in his veins had turned to ice.
Confusion, rage, grief, and agony—like countless serpents gnawing at his petrified body under Medusa's gaze.
On the ground, Prospero was dying quickly.
Through the still-functioning surveillance systems, Magnus could see the tragedy unfolding within the planet on a holographic display.
The torn earth gaped with horrific wounds, blood-red magma spewing from the fissures, panicked humans swallowed by collapsing ground or crushed beneath falling buildings.
Surging waves, like colossal dragons, swallowed countless "meals" in a single gulp, dragging them into the abyss to be buried with silt in the ocean's depths.
When such apocalyptic disasters strike, the pain threshold of ordinary humans reaches its limit, often leaving them strangely calm, resigned to the end.
But for the people of Prospero—empowered by psychic enhancement—their emotions were stronger, their perception of death's agony sharper and more intense.
Worse than being burned, drowned, or crushed alive was the torment of watching their home destroyed while being powerless to stop it.
Prospero's population had long since exceeded ten billion, and the density of their collective anguish was almost enough to take form. Yet the warp here had been blocked by the fleets of the Universal Megacorp, sealing it off entirely.
Their pain could not even echo in the Immaterium.
"Damn it! Lord of Change? You're nothing but a vile, deceitful fraud!"
Magnus roared hysterically, suddenly realizing he had been utterly played by Tzeentch.
Had he cooperated with Guilliman's investigation from the start, perhaps part of the Thousand Sons Legion could have been spared—perhaps even Prospero itself could have been saved.
But he had missed the best chance for a lenient confession.
As Magnus was about to smash the holographic screen in fury, the Universal Megacorp troops led by Panam Wells arrived.
"Magnus, you are under arrest!"
Panam Wells broadcast the Emperor's order and addressed Magnus directly. "It's not too late to surrender. Don't force us into slaughtering innocents."
The Megacorp soldiers, wielding lightsabers, surrounded the command chamber. Panam Wells locked eyes on their target at once.
Seeing that the enemy troops had already completed boarding maneuvers, Magnus was stunned and enraged. He recalled how, ever since the Megacorp's arrival, the Emperor had seemed influenced—leading to the sudden order for Prospero's extermination.
The true culprits—the source of all this manipulation—were these so-called scions of the Golden Age of Humanity: the Universal Megacorp!
"It's because of you that the Emperor destroyed Prospero! I'll have your blood in payment!"
Magnus bellowed in rage, instinctively attempting to kill his foes with psychic power.
But he quickly discovered, powerless, that without the warp's aid, his physical strength was nothing special—certainly no match for these heavily armed Megacorp soldiers.
"My lord, go! I'll hold them off!"
Amon shoved Magnus behind him, drawing his chainsword and ordering the guards to block Panam Wells's advance.
Panam Wells remained unmoved. Without the warp's influence, Amon and Magnus might not have been his match even under normal circumstances—though the Thousand Sons were all "cultivators," and aside from a handful of psychic warriors and Force users like Paul and Luke, few physical warriors could contend with them.
But now, with Magnus's psychic reserves completely drained by the Megacorp's null-field, close combat was exactly what Panam Wells wanted.
"I'll handle the old man—capture Magnus!" Panam Wells ordered.
At once, over a dozen energetic Megacorp warriors lunged toward Magnus, while Panam Wells himself engaged Amon one-on-one.
Clang!
Amon's chainsword crashed against Panam Wells's power armor, but failed to cause even the slightest damage.
Instead, Amon felt the armor rebound the force, sending a numbing shock through his hands.
Panam Wells countered instantly—one backhand slash with his lightsaber, its dazzling arc slicing clean through the chainsword. Amon was stunned.
Imperial chainswords combined the properties of obsidian blades and chainsaws, forged from special alloys with unique craftsmanship—ordinary energy sabers rarely cut them in one strike.
Yet before Panam Wells's lightsaber, it was as fragile as tofu…
At that moment, Amon silently cursed his luck.
In real combat, there are no flashy "underdog triumphs." In most cases, the stronger side ends the weaker in an instant.
High-quality weapons and gear can erase the gap between novice and master entirely—and even let a novice thrash a veteran.
And Panam Wells was no novice; his battle honors rivaled Paul's.
Within the Iron Hand Chapter of the Universal Megacorp, Panam Wells was a prime candidate for the next Chapter Master, and one of the mighty Primarchs.
Seeing that melee combat was hopeless, Amon drew his bolter and fired at Panam Wells.
Within ten paces, the gun was fast.
Within ten paces, the gun was both fast and accurate.
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