Chapter 410: Hey, Look, the Webway!
Watching Vashtorr work always gave one a sense of déjà vu.
"Soon, soon."
Vashtorr stood on the Planet Killer.
This weapon of destruction, built by Abaddon at great cost, had now become one of his vessels. On the bridge, now taken over by his slaves and daemons, he looked through the warp portal at the Rock, which was constantly 'advancing' towards the designated area under heavy siege.
Nervousness made him clench his hands.
In the long years, this was the first time he had abandoned complex contracts and plans, choosing to act with the mindset of a 'gambler'.
It seemed to be working well so far.
Vashtorr looked down from the modified bridge. The view below was unobstructed, thanks to the modifications by the great Machine God. At some point, this secondary god had become accustomed to spacious, open spaces with a panoramic view.
Following his gaze, a dark green heart embedded in a preservation device was revealed, pulsating slowly with every beat of the ship.
The Plagueheart. Alongside the Tuchulcha Engine and the Ouroboros, it was known as one of the three artifacts, superweapons left by the extinct Old Ones.
Its known ability was to open high-speed channels in the warp and drag realspace entities over ultra-long distances. Relying on its technology and terrifying output, which are still not understood to this day, it could forcibly shatter barriers as strong as the Webway when combined.
Tzeentch had spent who knows how many years, combining world-shaking wisdom in reality with warp deception, just to open a hole inside a defective section of the Webway. It was hard to imagine what would happen if this weapon bombarded certain warp entities.
One of the components, the Tuchulcha Engine, could directly break through the warp tides stirred by the Chaos Gods, sending the Lion, Lion El'Jonson, who was trapped on the other side of the galaxy at the time, along with an entire Dark Angels fleet to Macragge on the other side of the galaxy.
Now obtained by Typhus.
As the First Captain of the Death Guard, this Nurgle Chosen also possessed extraordinary prophetic abilities like his gene-father.
As early as ten thousand years ago, he accepted the guidance of the gods to go to an Imperial Forge World to seize the Tuchulcha Engine, one of the three artifacts, but was blocked by the Lion leading the Dark Angels.
Ten thousand years later, another artifact appeared in his hands, seemingly compensation for what was lost.
'Truly...'
This made Vashtorr feel a burst of jealousy.
He had planned for tens of thousands of years without finding a trace of the artifacts, collecting fragments of Caliban everywhere, yet the Ouroboros, which disappeared after the destruction of Caliban, remained missing.
Yet a mere slave of the Plague God could lay hands on these artifacts.
Vast amounts of data passed through Vashtorr's consciousness, finally turning into conclusions leaping across various cogitators. A massive model almost identical to reality was being built.
The time for the unification of the three artifacts had not yet come. In fact, Vashtorr had not found the location of the Ouroboros, but exquisite calculations made up for this gap. After confirming the locations of two artifacts, he no longer needed to force the third.
Especially now, under the pressure of the Four Gods.
Vashtorr monitored the changes in the model, constantly simulating contingency plans.
The three artifacts were very special.
These creations made by the Old Ones existed independently in any time and space. Not only did they have independent consciousness, but they also had a considerable obsession with merging again. When they overlapped in space or time, a forced fusion sufficient to interfere with space-time would begin unstoppably.
Such power would even interfere with and twist space-time, causing the past and future to connect.
Vashtorr didn't know where the Ouroboros was now, but he knew where the Ouroboros was ten thousand years ago.
The plan was simple now.
Force the Rock to overlap with Caliban of ten thousand years ago, allowing Vashtorr to go forward with the Plagueheart, facilitate the unification of the three artifacts, and take away Caliban, which he had always coveted.
Maybe he could kill the Lion of ten thousand years ago along the way, completely cutting off the possibility of this missing Primarch's return.
Vashtorr manipulated those unit icons with ease.
Abaddon's Black Legion, a small part of Typhus's Death Guard, and those miscellaneous Chaos warbands—the overwhelming numbers made the plan advance very quickly.
Everything was going smoothly.
"Soon, very soon."
Vashtorr excitedly watched the encirclement gradually forming. His minions in the warp were also constantly informing him of the Dawnbreakers' activities.
Just as Nurgle envisioned, the Dawnbreakers split their forces.
One supported Ultramar, the other went straight to the Obscurus Segmentum to support the Rock.
But the gods misjudged the situation.
No one knew how many preparations Vashtorr had made over ten thousand years, no one knew how many cards he could play facing such a situation now.
The arrival of the Plagueheart was just icing on the cake. Under his exquisite calculations, he could not only obtain the three artifacts at the fastest speed but also retreat unscathed before that, preparing for his ascension ritual.
"This is a great plan. She is important, beautiful..."
"That will be an era belonging to me. The eternal chessboard will add another seat. The great Machine God will stand at the peak of the galaxy. This is my destiny..."
"I believe, I hope, as long as I don't make a big mistake, my ideal, mocked by countless malicious entities, is not a dream."
Hurry up. I really hope you can be faster, to witness the moment I ascend the great throne.
Watching his model gradually take shape under calculation, Vashtorr laughed at the gods' lack of strategy and the Dawnbreakers' lack of wisdom.
Everything was developing in a good direction.
"Heh."
While he was manipulating the fleets of those Chaos slaves and typing on the keyboard, Ezekiel Abaddon sneered.
In terms of style and temperament, Abaddon felt Vashtorr had no resemblance to him at all.
Practical combat and execution, these were the elements Abaddon cared about most. Of course, he appreciated the intelligence Vashtorr possessed; his perfect skills paved the way for this scene today.
But he took too much for granted, living completely in his own world.
A plan is called a plan because it has not yet been achieved.
No one knows what errors will occur in it. All wishful thinking assumptions will only make you relax your vigilance in constant self-intoxication, and finally turn into a boomerang hitting you in the face by the enemy.
That was not Abaddon's way.
He was not a person who indulged in assumptions. An uncontrollable ally was meaningless to the Long War.
He would not indulge in warp sorcery either.
Abaddon turned his head.
Those warp filth constantly screaming around him, or things parasitic in the bodies of those pitiful compatriots, as if their skins were clothes that could be discarded at will.
Behind him, the steel door screamed open, footsteps echoing on the deck.
A foul stench wafted in.
"What?"
Noticing Abaddon's gaze, Typhus asked: "Afraid I'll interrupt that bastard's thinking? And ruin his plan?"
After speaking, he glanced at Vashtorr, still living in his own world, and muttered.
"Hope his plan is attractive enough to the Dawnbreakers as he said."
This sounded as if expecting the Dawnbreakers to attack them.
Abaddon looked at Typhus. This Nurgle Chosen looked very different from the past.
Black segmented limbs combined into a spine in three parallel rows. The huge, swollen abdominal cavity was an ecosystem composed of poisonous mosquitoes and flies. The armor on his body was pulled by barnacle-like lifeforms, firmly adsorbed together, opening and closing with Typhus's breathing.
Countless tiny lives were combined and spliced together in a way that made people want to praise bio-engineering, forming this plague pig named Typhus.
A slave who only thought for his master.
Abaddon sneered again.
"I didn't think Perturabo would die before, but that pile of rotten meat is still placed on the crystal throne by those idiots of the Iron Warriors. They don't even know what is bred inside."
The Despoiler mocked loudly.
'As if you knew.'
Others might not know, but Typhus did. Who was the idiot who sent Horus to the Temple of the Serpent Lodge back then? Hard to guess.
Such a huge Lunar Wolves Legion, after the Warmaster fell, didn't even have a thought of really making a decision to find the Emperor to solve it. Why didn't they mention then that Horus was the Emperor's favorite son, the Warmaster of the Imperium, and the Sons of Horus were the Emperor's favorite Legion?
With such a loving father, why did they think of believing Erebus when something happened?
"So we need to learn the lesson, and then resist them."
Too lazy to argue with this guy living in his own world, Typhus said slowly.
Since joining Nurgle, this cunning and vicious psyker had fallen into a kind of pathological loyalty, completely different from his gene-father who could at least resist on the surface, totally forgetting where he came from.
Abaddon closed his eyes involuntarily, then turned his head away.
Opening his eyes again, he focused on the Maelstrom on the star map.
"Hope so."
"This Webway is really fast."
While Romulus led the grand fleet on a support journey, Arthur and Ramesses also embarked on their own path.
During the time establishing contact with Craftworld Ulthwé, both sides had been actively exchanging chips.
The Dawnbreakers had been trying to utilize the Webway, a more efficient maneuver means, while Craftworld Ulthwé also hoped to use the massive military power of the Imperium to clear those routes occupied by various monsters after the collapse of the Eldar Empire, so that the Craftworld itself could further stay away from the Eye of Terror, a place of trouble.
"Being an Eldar god isn't a losing deal."
Ramesses stood with Arthur, watching the warships slowly passing ahead.
Relying on their understanding of the enemy, the Dawnbreakers never relaxed their vigilance.
They had been preparing; no one knew how many cards they held.
Boom~
The dull roar of engines dispelled the sound spread by the sorcerer.
The edge of the massive Apocalypse-class battleship almost touched the wall of the Webway. The troops carried inside were transferred out to walk, preventing possible catastrophic accidents. The tail flame sprayed by the engine scraped the wreckage deposited at the bottom, carrying bloated corpse remains and some armor fragments flying towards the end of the Webway.
Arthur's sword still retained residual warmth.
This was a newly built pirate settlement. The specific race was not any mainstream race currently in the galaxy, but they could also utilize the Webway.
Races inside the Webway emerged endlessly. Even though they had just completed cleaning not long ago, these cockroach-like enemies would inexplicably grow out from everywhere in the Webway.
His gaze moved away from the Webway barrier on the ground, still as clean as new, looking at the string of warships behind.
"How long is this narrow passage?"
"Still some distance. Feels like three to five days."
Ramesses held a wraithbone instrument given to him by Ulthran, capable of calculating direction in the Webway.
The Eldar had lost the ability to make it. The current production possessed by the Imperium and Craftworld Ulthwé was produced via psycho-materialization. The instruments exported to the Dawnbreakers were imported back just like Spirit Stones.
Currently, many Eldar pirates belonging to Craftworld Ulthwé had begun to transform. With the sufficient material support of the Imperium, they turned their attention to those non-human units, including but not limited to daemons other than Slaaneshi ones, and Drukhari.
Relying on these 'talent' transactions, they could go to the domain of the Formless Lord to exchange for Spirit Stones and a series of hard-to-replicate consumables, surviving better in this gradually changing universe. The Dawnstar Sector could significantly reduce pirate activities unbearable for many industrial planets, using barbarians to control barbarians.
This transaction was good; everyone got what they needed.
"The Necrons didn't lose unjustly back then."
Hearing this, Arthur couldn't help but sigh again. Pirate activities had always been a headache for them, after all, no one could catch these guys once they drilled into the Webway.
As for pursuers destroying the Webway entrance out of anger?
Everything worth looting was looted. It was a one-time deal anyway; the future of this Webway entrance was none of their business.
This mobility was indescribable—even if they encountered a passage too narrow, dismantling the fleet's ships on the spot and reassembling them on the other side would be faster and more stable than warp travel.
This was the Webway.
"So we really can't try to open it ourselves?"
Far away in the void, Romulus, who had been processing documents, couldn't help but ask.
Now the Imperium had entered a relatively stable stage on the information port with Ramesses and Karna, two fairly stable warp operators. At least most Astropaths didn't need to play charades anymore.
But the information lag of years or even decades or centuries was painful.
"Let's talk after getting the three artifacts, but hope is probably slim."
Ramesses shrugged.
"Not that I'm saying the human race can't do it, but this thing seems really strongly related to racial hardware. Look, even the ancient Eldar hardware can barely be maintained. I think humans can't support the Webway system without ascension—"
Ramesses, calculating the Webway route, paused.
He tilted his head, looking through the intricate roads, seeing a group of Eldar and a Necron running out of a narrow passage beside the main Webway road below.
Bright firelight from warship engines flashed below.
Crystal Seers.
Ramesses recognized the cargo this squad was 'escorting' at a glance.
Although Eldar are immortal, after the Fall, those Farseers proficient in prophecy gradually crystallized with the continuous use of psychic power. Each crystal body symbolized the sacrifice this great Farseer made for his race. The crystals transformed from these great sacrifices were sacred relics that any Eldar would protect at the cost of their lives.
Analogy: the urns of successive Chief Librarians of an Astartes Chapter.
Ramesses looked closely.
This was Ulthran, who was sent to handle the important task of Ynnead's awakening.
At this moment, Ulthran and Trazyn were each carrying a Crystal Seer on their shoulders.
They were running for their lives.
☆☆☆
-> SUPPORT ME WITH POWER STONE
-> FOR EVERY 400 PS = BOUNS CHAPTER
☆☆☆
-> 30 Advanced chapters Now Available on Patreon!!
-> https://www.pat-reon.co-m/c/Inkshaper
(Just remove the hyphen (-) to access patreon normally)
If you like this novel please consider leaving a review that's help the story a lot Thank you