Excruciating pain.
An unprecedented, agonizing pain, as if every fiber of his soul and body was being forcibly ripped apart and then ground into powder, completely engulfed his consciousness.
"Holy crap, why does it hurt so much!"
He blurted it out subconsciously, but his voice did not propagate through any familiar medium. He suddenly opened his "eyes" and immediately fell into complete bewilderment.
There was no up, down, left, or right; no physical matter. Everything before his "eyes" was composed of literally countless colors, not static pigments, but surging like undercurrents in the deep sea, intertwining, colliding, annihilating, and then regenerating in the next instant. Shimmering nebulae and bottomless black whirlpools were neighbors here, and silent roars and quiet whispers were the same melody. He was situated in the center of this strange ocean.
He wanted to look at his hands, to confirm his existence. However, as soon as the thought arose, he was astonished to find that his vision was vastly different from when he was a human.
He had no fixed viewpoint.
His perception was omnidirectional, even trans-dimensional. He could simultaneously "see" his front, back, up, down, and even... inside and outside. He could see that he was a form twisted from countless shimmering data streams and conceptual symbols. These data streams transported energy like blood vessels, sustaining his non-existent "existence." He could clearly "read" every basic information flow that constituted his strange body, as if observing an open-source program code.
It was precisely because of this "self-observation" that the heart-wrenching pain miraculously eased slightly. It was as if a chaotic system, after being inspected by an administrator, began to stabilize. This finally gave him a moment to catch his breath and calmly understand the current situation.
Just then, a memory, not belonging to his personal experience yet perfectly fitting his current state, slowly surfaced like a bubble in the deep sea, merging into his consciousness.
He quickly got the answer.
It turned out that he had died and then lived again. Or rather, he had transformed. He had become some kind of... deity. A newborn God wielding the authority of Information and Data. And this place where he currently resided had many different Names in the records of countless civilizations—"High Heavens," "The Immaterium," "Realm of Emotions," and its most widely known, and most infamous, appellation—the warp.
"Oh my God... it's Warhammer 40k!"
This conclusion left the God of Information unsure whether to cry or laugh.
On the one hand, he had become a God. As long as he was not annihilated by terrifying external existences, the God of Information could be said to have achieved theoretical eternal life and power beyond the reach of most Imperium of Man heroes—even an astartes.
But on the other hand... in this place, there were far too many external threats! The warp! This was the backyard of the Chaos Gods! Vashtorr, that Daemon Prince of Machines, would probably be very interested in his Information and Data authority, wouldn't he? To him, Terrabyte was clearly a steaming piece of prime meat.
The God of Information's first reaction was: Can he go back home?
His home, that azure planet, that safe zone where the combat power was negligible, at least within the solar system. Returning with his current essence would be like a max-level, fully geared Boss returning to a beginner's kindergarten, free to do whatever he pleased. Why suffer in the dark and bloody cesspit of Warhammer?
As this thought arose, a torrent of information, far vaster and more turbulent than the previous memory, instantly pierced his consciousness.
It was countless webpages, forum posts, video streams, social media updates, encrypted military communications, deep web transaction records, real-time data from IoT devices... From 4K high-definition entertainment videos to dry logistics spreadsheets in a server deep within a military base, everything on Earth's internet, whether public or private, opened its doors to him in that instant.
The God of Information immediately understood. His current authority had completely connected him to Earth's "internet" on the other side. It could be said that all information terminals on Earth now, whether military or civilian, whether they had independent local area networks or no physical network connection at all, were completely under his control.
If he could go back, this book would instantly become an invincible-style novel, but unfortunately, he couldn't.
"Is this... the power of a God?" The God of Information let out a silent exclamation.
At the same time, he clearly realized that he had lost the possibility of returning. For no other reason than, first, that corner of the real universe had no warp to serve as the "soil" for his existence; second, and most crucially, Earth's "infosphere" was too small to bear his current divine body. He was like a blue whale, and Earth was just a small puddle.
The consequence of forcing entry would only be stranding and destruction. At the very least, the total amount of information generated by a galaxy-level civilization would be barely enough to serve as his "harbor."
Thus, the God of Information was immersed in the grief of being unable to return home.
Perhaps it was a few seconds, perhaps tens of thousands of years. After all, in the warp, the passage of time was erratic; who could say for sure?
It wasn't until the emotion of grief completely disappeared, as if deleted by data, that he pulled himself together. After all, sentimentality wouldn't solve the problem. He thought carefully: his current situation was probably extremely dangerous.
Being in the warp, it was a place full of hidden dangers, with everyone being an evil person. He could be kicked to death like a stray dog by a powerful passing entity at any moment.
His current power was clearly not very strong. The pain and the subtle sense of weakness within him were undeniable.
Among other things, after just analyzing and mastering all of Earth's information, he carefully assessed it and found that the process actually took 0.2 seconds of Earth time in the real universe.
0.2 seconds! For a God, this was incredibly slow!
How could a minor God be left with so little power? Had Tzeentch stolen part of his soul?
Regardless, his fundamental authority was Information and Data. An instinctive craving told him that just as Tyranids needed to devour biomass, he needed to acquire more and vaster information and data to become stronger and better able to protect himself in danger.
However, his method differed fundamentally from the Tyranids' all-consuming approach. When he acquired information and data, he defaulted to "copying," not "cutting." Of course, if he wished, cutting was not impossible.
"Speaking of which, I've been reborn, shouldn't I give myself a new name?" The God of Information pondered for a while, "I came from Earth, and although I'll most likely never go back, it's still best to draw inspiration from Earth... I'll call myself Terrabyte!"