"Hahahahaha…"
Among the countless Warp daemons pouring through the breach,
one figure stood out above all others.
Arik Taranis.
Ever since the events of the distant past,
he had clung to the Emperor like a curse—
and now, faced with this unexpected opportunity,
he had no intention of letting it slip away.
Laughing wildly, he charged forward with several other Daemon Princes
who bore their own deep grudges against the Emperor.
In his excitement, he casually slaughtered several lesser daemons who were unfortunate enough to block his path.
The Emperor's expression darkened further.
Fortunately, the battle was taking place on Terra—
not in the Warp.
Here, Warp creatures could not draw upon the tide of immaterial power.
Instead, they were crippled by the laws of realspace
and suppressed even further by Terra's specialized anti-Warp systems.
Their strength was heavily diminished.
Thus, although the Imperium's defenders were vastly outnumbered,
they still held firm—
leveraging the terrain, defenses, and countless layers of wards
to prevent the daemonic tide from overwhelming them.
As for the most powerful of the intruders—
the Greater Daemons and Daemon Princes—
they could only be held at bay by the Emperor,
the Captain-General of the Custodes,
Malcador the Sigillite,
and other top-tier figures.
Ordinary Custodians,
even clad in auramite armor,
were like fragile infants before such entities.
For a time, both sides remained locked in stalemate
at the mouth of the shattered portal.
While dueling Arik Taranis,
the Emperor's gaze flicked repeatedly toward the still-shrinking gateway,
from which daemons continued to spill without end.
A deep, urgent dread formed in his heart.
He knew they had almost no time left.
If even stronger Greater Daemons arrived,
or if the lesser fiends finally broke through the Custodian lines by sheer weight of numbers,
the entire laboratory would fall.
And if the lab fell,
Terra itself would be lost.
Unlike any other world,
Terra could not—must not—be abandoned.
Its symbolic weight,
its political centrality,
and its irreplaceable strategic and metaphysical functions
made its loss an apocalyptic scenario for the Imperium.
Thus, no matter the cost,
the Emperor had to hold the line.
At last, as his expression grew grim beyond measure,
the Emperor made his decision.
He commanded Malcador to stall Arik Taranis,
then personally activated the laboratory's final safeguard—
the Warp Suppressor.
The moment he channeled his psychic might into the device,
it began ravenously draining his power and very life force.
The massive portal started to collapse in on itself.
On the far side of the shrinking breach,
the daemonic legion went mad with desperation.
Howling in fury,
they hurled themselves forward with renewed ferocity,
determined to break the Imperial line before the gate closed completely.
But the Imperium's champions held.
Even weakened,
the daemons failed to break through.
The portal shrank further and further,
the daemons on the other side screaming in impotent rage.
But the cost was steep.
Once connected to the Warp Suppressor,
the Emperor could not withdraw.
If he did—
or if his power ran dry—
the portal would simply reopen.
With no alternative,
the Emperor issued a harsh, cold command:
"Send Leman Russ. Bring Magnus to Terra."
The Warp Suppressor could only be operated by a handful of beings—
those possessing immense psychic might and extraordinary lifeforce.
Besides the Emperor himself,
only one candidate was suitable:
Magnus the Red.
Malcador, Horus, Sanguinius—
all were mighty,
but none possessed the sustained psychic reserves needed to maintain the device long-term.
To use them for this task would be wasteful and short-lived.
Magnus, however,
had caused this catastrophe.
And Magnus would be the one to fix it.
Were his abilities not required,
the Emperor—whose millennia-long plans had been ruined in a single moment—
might well have killed Magnus in rage.
---
The Order Reaches the Front
Horus was the first to receive the Emperor's command.
Because Leman Russ—the one tasked to retrieve Magnus—
was currently at the front lines,
fighting under Horus's strategic authority.
Thus Horus was responsible for relaying the order.
The moment he saw the contents of the message,
his expression changed subtly.
"Leman Russ…"
Even speaking the name stirred unease in Horus's chest.
Unlike his brothers,
who had been designed with conventional strengths—
foresight, governance, psychic force, diplomacy—
Leman Russ had been created with a unique purpose.
He was the Emperor's executioner.
A Primarch engineered specifically to counter other Primarchs.
When fighting one of his own kind,
Russ's presence naturally suppressed the opponent's abilities.
Because of this,
the VI Legion—the Space Wolves—
had long been known by a darker epithet:
the Emperor's Executioners.
During the infamous Rangdan Xenocides,
the brainwashed XI Legion and their lost Primarch
were exterminated by Russ and his Wolves.
As these thoughts resurfaced,
Horus's eyes darkened.
He knew Russ's temperament well.
Russ was loyal to the Emperor in a way
no argument, no ideology, no persuasion could sway.
If Horus turned against the Emperor,
then Russ and his Wolves
would be unavoidable obstacles—
ones that must be weakened…
or destroyed.
__
🎉 Shoutout to Driftingurchin21, Hades77721Undeadoing and Rin Okumura 🎉
A huge thank you to Driftingurchin21, Hades77721Undeadoing and Rin Okumura for joining my Patreon and supporting the journey! Your support means a lot and helps keep the chapters coming faster. Welcome to the VIP club! 🙌✨