Nimrod's venture into the "Nation of Disorder" this time bore a profound divergence from his prior incursions. In the past, it had been merely his consciousness—a wispy, intangible presence, drifting like a specter through the void of the black fog realm.
Now, it was his "Astral Body" that crossed the threshold, and the experience was imbued with a visceral reality, a richness of sensation that anchored his being in the otherworldly.
It was as if his "Astral Body" had swelled to several times the magnitude of his physical form, its essence magnified to a towering presence. Upon entering the "Nation of Disorder," Nimrod immediately perceived a cascade of transformations rippling through this enigmatic kingdom of black mist.
The most striking sensation was the expansion of radiant illumination. A sphere of light, a thousand meters in diameter with Nimrod at its epicenter, pierced the omnipresent haze, bathing the surroundings in a luminous clarity that defied the realm's shadowy nature.
He also discerned a disorienting truth: the entire black fog kingdom was inverted, its structure a mirror of reality. Above him stretched a ground of obsidian-like material, its surface gleaming with an eerie, polished sheen, and he stood upon it, his feet anchored upside-down in this topsy-turvy cosmos.
Nimrod's mind stirred with a sudden epiphany: [The Nation of Disorder! A shadowed reflection of order itself, a realm where chaos and structure entwine!]
He took a deliberate step forward, then another, his Primarch's adaptability swiftly acclimating to the surreal sensation of existing on the reverse side of a cosmic mirror.
Approaching the Blasphemous Slab, a monolith etched with forbidden knowledge, Nimrod observed that a new section had ignited with an ethereal glow. Five new Sequences shimmered upon its surface, one of which was the Sequence 8 of his "Lawyer" Pathway: the "Barbarian."
Sequence 8 "Barbarian" Potion Formula:
- Main Ingredients: One lung sac of a Lung Spider, one pair of Ogryn arms.
- Auxiliary Ingredients: 1100 milliliters of Hera Volt, one Psychic Crystal, 1100 grams of Mittal Steel.
- Beyonder Ability: [Yet to be fully unveiled…]
To the uninitiated, the ascent from Sequence 9 "Lawyer" to Sequence 8 "Barbarian" might appear jarring, a perplexing leap from cerebral manipulation to primal force. Yet Nimrod, with the piercing intellect of a Primarch, grasped the intrinsic logic: when the mechanisms of law fail to enforce order, the resort to raw strength becomes inevitable—a primal extension of rule, a testament to the duality of governance through intellect and might.
His attention was drawn to the radiant pulsing of the listed ingredients, a luminous signal that each could be procured within the shadowed hives of Vostonia.
Mittal Steel, a robust alloy forged in the crucibles of industry, could be produced in the steelworks he had recently seized under his command. Hera Volt, a volatile alchemical fluid, already rested in his possession, securing two of the auxiliary components.
Psychic Crystals, shimmering with the latent energies of the Warp, were known to coalesce in regions where subspace currents surged with chaotic vigor. Vostonia, scarred by the galaxy-spanning tempests of the Age of Strife, bore such crystals in abundance, their presence a lingering echo of the Warp storms that had ravaged the stars.
The Lung Spider, a grotesque arachnid lurking in the labyrinthine depths of Vostonia's hive cities, was a known entity, its lung sac a grim but obtainable prize. Yet the requirement of Ogryn arms sparked a flicker of intrigue. Did Ogryns, those hulking abhuman brutes, dwell within the underbelly of this industrial world, eking out an existence in its shadows?
Nimrod's gaze shifted to the other four illuminated sections of the Blasphemous Slab, each unveiling potion formulas for Sequence 9 of distinct Pathways. Three Pathways—"Arbiter," "Sleepless," and "Reader"—had materials entirely attainable within Vostonia's industrial sprawl, their components woven into the planet's grim tapestry of steel and shadow.
The "Mother" Pathway, however, stood apart. Its ingredients, rooted in agrarian elements such as rapeseed, were absent in this polluted, mechanized world. Nimrod was unsurprised; Vostonia, destined to be classified as an industrial world by the Imperium of Man, had long since sacrificed its ecological vitality to the relentless fires of industry, its soil choked by ash and iron.
[The path is clear: gather potion materials and cultivate my followers to ascend, forging a cadre of ascendants loyal to my cause.]
He noted with keen interest that his trusted chainsword did not appear among the unlocked potion formulas.
[The weapon is most likely a component for the "Warrior" Pathway's potion, its spirituality a key to unlocking martial transcendence.]
With this realization, Nimrod withdrew his "Astral Body" from the Nation of Disorder, returning to the material realm with a renewed sense of purpose. He resolved to test a hypothesis born of his ascendant intuition.
Drawing his chainsword, he gripped its hilt firmly in his right hand, allowing his spirituality to flow through his fingers, infusing the blade with a faint, otherworldly resonance that pulsed like a heartbeat.
He re-entered the Nation of Disorder, and to his satisfaction, the chainsword accompanied him into the black fog realm, its form intact. He placed it upon the obsidian ground, where it rested, unmoved by the inverted gravity of this shadowed kingdom.
Nimrod's lips curved into a wry, almost amused smile—a rare expression for a Primarch forged for war and dominion.
"Since my ascension to 'Lawyer,' my authority over the Nation of Disorder has deepened. I can now bring objects into this realm—a storage space worthy of a protagonist, a vault hidden within the Warp's embrace."
Without hesitation, he transferred his entire stock of black Rasvort into the Nation of Disorder, securing the volatile alchemical fluid within the black fog's intangible grasp. He then issued precise orders to his subordinates: one-twentieth of all forged Mittal Steel was to be delivered to the control room after each production cycle, ensuring a steady supply for his alchemical endeavors.
Further, he commanded the hive's craftsmen to forge a suit of armor from Mittal Steel, tailored to the physique of a seven-year-old male—his current form, a deceptive vessel for a Primarch's superhuman essence. As a gene-crafted Primarch, his development far outpaced that of mortals; though slightly older than seven, his growth suggested he was but a sidereal month from that mark, his body a paradox of youthful guise and godlike potential.
No sooner had he issued these directives than Rawlslev, his trusted lieutenant, entered the control room, his demeanor heavy with urgency.
"Boss, the Arbites have sent word. They demand your presence at once."
Rawlslev's voice carried an edge of unease. "Their tone was unyielding—likely a response to your seizure of the Magnito Steelworks."
Nimrod tapped his brow twice, activating his Spirit Vision. Rawlslev's aura shimmered darkly, tinged with the heavy hues of concern for his leader's safety.
"I understand," Nimrod replied, his voice resonant with the calm authority of a Primarch, unshaken by the Arbites' summons.
He rose and strode toward the Arbitration Hall, his mind a crucible of calculation, weighing the political and strategic implications of this confrontation.
At the hall's entrance, the guards regarded him with heightened vigilance, their eyes narrowing beneath their visors. One spoke in a stern, almost ritualistic tone:
"Leave your weapons."
Nimrod handed his lasgun and chainsword to his subordinates, who received them with both hands, their movements reverent, as if accepting relics of a sacred mission.
With a countenance as unyielding as ceramite, he advanced toward the Arbitration Hall, the murmur of voices rising like a tide in his ears.
"Let me see, let me see! I missed him last time on the mission—is that the boy? He looks barely five or six years old!"
"Indeed! It's been mere days since he slew 'Vulture,' and now he's taken down 'Iron Fist' as well. That old brute was a terror, known even to the elites of the Upper Hive!"
"The one up there, the noble, is the young master of the Finder family. Word is, 'Vulture' was his man. Is he here to settle the score?"
"A pity, truly. He's too reckless. If he'd bided his time, grown steadily, he could've been a titan in the future—perhaps even ascended to the Upper Hive."
Though the Lower Hive and Upper Hive were both facets of the same hive city, a chasm as vast as the void separated them. For the denizens of the Lower Hive, the dream of ascending to the Upper Hive—rising thousands of meters via the great elevators, achieving a transcendent leap in status—was a near-mythic aspiration, spoken of in reverent tones as *ascension*.
Nimrod's heightened senses captured the critical thread in their whispers: a noble from the Upper Hive awaited him in the Arbitration Hall.
He sharpened his vigilance, his Primğan intellect weaving contingencies, even as a spark of intrigue kindled within him for the encounter to come.
Stepping into the Arbitration Hall, he beheld a striking figure: a handsome blond youth, perhaps fifteen or sixteen, seated in the main chair. His piercing blue eyes studied Nimrod with an appraising intensity.
Unlike the pallid, ash-stained denizens of the Lower Hive, the youth's skin was fair and vibrant, a testament to a life unmarred by the hive's industrial squalor.
Nimrod's keen perception noted the youth's attire: a resplendent suit of ornate power armor, its craftsmanship reminiscent of the Alkan Confederation's baroque designs. The carapace enveloped a powered exoskeleton, its helmet fully encased in adamantium, with only a bulletproof visor for the heads-up display.
The armor bristled with integrated weaponry: heavy bolter cannons at the arm-ends for ranged combat, paired with brutal close-combat drills. Unlike the Alkan Confederation's designs, this suit lacked disposable rockets, a curious omission.
Nimrod's analytical mind detected a flaw: the armor's systems were unstable, demanding meticulous maintenance. Only a noble house with vast resources and technical expertise could sustain such a relic across generations.
[Are Vostonia's nobles so lavishly equipped, or does the Finder family enjoy a rare alliance with the Adeptus Mechanicus, blessed by the Omnissiah's oily grace?]
Nimrod could not yet deduce the truth. This young master of the Finder family was the first noble he had encountered, a figure shrouded in enigma.
Behind the youth stood four guards, clad in heavy carapace armor, their weapons primed and their stances rigid with disciplined readiness.
The young master of the Finder family remained silent, his gaze flicking to Dimitrov, the Arbites overseer, with a subtle command.
Dimitrov, catching the cue, cleared his throat and addressed Nimrod with a voice that echoed through the hall, laden with accusation.
"Nimrod, what is your intent? Was one foundry not enough to sate your ambition?"
"Mere days have passed, and now you've seized the Magnito Steelworks!"
"What next? In a few days, will you claim my seat and the entire Khanty-Mansi Dome for yourself?"
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T/N: I Changed the Cultivator to Mother Pathway. LOL. I would just change it later on if mother pathway would appear later in this story.