Deep within the Webway.
Here and now, the fires of war raged.
A sharp power sword cut through the air, drawing a silver-white arc across the dim corridor of the Webway. Before that arc could fade, a second strike and a third followed in quick succession.
The dense, storm-like sound of power blades tearing through matter brought with it spray after spray of foul, reeking black blood.
The offensive of the White Scars Chapter was like an unstoppable gale.
Their jetbikes thundered across the ancient bone-spirit ground of the Webway. The roar of their engines echoed and built upon itself within the narrow passages, creating a suffocating wave of sound.
The riders crouched low over their vehicles, power swords dragging at their sides, the tips sparks flying as they scraped against the floor.
This was not a fight.
It was a harvest.
One Chaos-corrupted xenos after another perished beneath their blades.
The heretics lurking here did not even have time to raise their weapons before they were split in two by the swift-passing white lightning.
This Space Marine Legion, masters of lightning strikes and decapitation maneuvers, pushed their mobility to its absolute limit in this moment.
It had been seven days since the White Scars entered the Webway.
As the first Space Marine Chapter to enter the Webway in full force, the White Scars had been given a very explicit mission:
Systematically search the Webway for locations where their Primarch, Jaghatai Khan, might be trapped.
The task sounded nearly impossible.
The Webway extended in all directions with countless branches, large enough to span the entire galaxy.
Searching for a single person without exact coordinates was like looking for a needle in the ocean.
However, the White Scars had their own methods.
How do you search when you have no leads?
The White Scars' approach was simple:
Go straight to the locations on the map where a person was most easily trapped.
The more intricate the terrain, the more suited a corridor was for high-speed racing, the more likely it was that their Genetic Father had gone there.
His sons understood the character of Jaghatai Khan better than anyone.
The Warhawk of Chogoris would never stay in one place for long. He would only press forward, driving deeper until he found an opponent worthy of his blade.
Furthermore, at this very moment, the White Scars formation was outfitted with a vast array of new equipment from the Adeptus Mechanicus.
Hellflamer vehicles led the charge at the very front of the column. The plasma flamer arrays mounted on their light armored hulls spewed fire at intervals, consuming any enemy forces attempting an ambush.
Following close behind were numerous Hurricane Missile tanks.
Their mounted missile launchers fired continuously while moving at high speeds. Hunter-killer missiles threaded through the tunnels trailing thin streams of smoke, striking their targets with precision before exploding into brilliant blossoms of fire.
The performance of this high-speed column, dubbed the "Drag Racer Style," was perfectly suited to the Webway environment.
Meanwhile, Tyranid organisms that had drifted into the Webway at some unknown point became prime targets for the White Scars.
From the lowest Hormagaunts to advanced Lictors, they fell row by row under the White Scars' high-speed onslaught.
As for why Tyranids had appeared inside the Webway, no one knew.
In truth, the Aeldari had always been quite crude in their use of the Webway.
They often liked to throw troublesome matters they couldn't handle into abandoned branches of the Webway, lock the doors, and pretend nothing had happened.
This practice was explicitly documented in the operational records of the Ynnari.
In a certain future timeline, an emissary of the Ynnari cult even used psychic powers to restore several Thousand Sons whose bodies had been destroyed by the Rubric. Without a word, she opened a Webway gate and shoved them all inside.
This forced Ahriman—the Champion of Tzeentch who was so consumed by guilt over the Rubric that he couldn't sleep—to jump into the Webway immediately, abandoning his pursuit of the Ynnari cult.
Of course, that was a story from another timeline.
At this exact moment, Qin Xa, the current Chapter Master of the White Scars, was also riding hard.
He was in an exceptionally good mood.
As they rode furiously, the allied forces moving alongside them seemed entirely bearable.
During these days of speeding through the Webway, the 3rd Company led by Qin Xa had encountered other allied forces exploring the passages.
On the contrary, the variety of allies they had encountered was eye-opening.
For example, mysterious Dark Angels clad in black or dark green armor, looking as if they were guarded with secrets from head to toe.
Or a Black Templars Crusade fleet that had also entered the Webway, accompanied by stern-faced Imperial Crusade forces and Sisters of Battle, singing hymns praising the Emperor as they advanced, sworn to find their Genetic Father, Rogal Dorn of the Imperial Fists.
Or elusive Raven Guard whose scouts occasionally crossed paths with the White Scars vanguard at fork roads, exchanging a few hand signs before vanishing back into the shadows.
Qin Xa had even encountered a group of Aeldari xenos exploring the Webway while broadcasting Imperial allied identification signals.
When members of this Harlequin Troupe passed the White Scars formation, they gave a crisp Imperial Aquila salute. The scene was so jarring that several veterans behind Qin Xa nearly pulled their triggers out of pure muscle memory.
And currently following alongside the rear flank of the White Scars were another group of special allies they had discovered after they got lost in the Webway.
To be honest, this made Qin Xa a bit unaccustomed.
The White Scars were renowned for operating independently; coordinating with unfamiliar forces had never been their strong suit.
Of course, a certain Khan under his command had no objections whatsoever.
In fact, he was thoroughly enjoying it.
Kor'sarro was laughing aloud. His laughter pierced through the roar of the engines and the boom of weaponry, echoing down the entire column.
His voice carried the wild, booming nature of the Chogorian steppes.
"Yes! I told you we were alike!"
As the Khan of the White Scars 1st Company (the Chapter's title for a Captain) and the 51st Master of the Hunt, Kor'sarro Khan was one of the sharpest blades of Chogoris.
His speed and sharp judgment in battle brought joy to every brother who had ever fought at his side.
Yet at this moment, Kor'sarro was not speaking to his battle-brothers.
He was speaking to a woman.
Commander Shadowsun said nothing.
As the leader of the T'au Expeditionary Force's third detachment sent to support the Imperium, she remained concealed inside the legendary XV-99 "Ghostkeel" battlesuit, modified through a joint effort between the Adeptus Mechanicus and the Earth Caste.
The performance of this battlesuit was unlike anything Shadowsun had seen in her life.
Before returning to the Imperium of Man, she had seen countless models of battlesuits in the T'au military, but this piece of equipment existed on an entirely different level.
This heavily modified Ghostkeel possessed mobility that far exceeded any model she had worn before.
Relying on this battlesuit, Shadowsun could trigger sonic booms while moving across the ground.
This allowed her to keep pace directly behind Kor'sarro Khan on his jetbike, providing long-range fire support.
Heavy rail cannons and arm-mounted fusion blasters mounted on either side of the suit opened fire repeatedly, their torrents of firepower blasting every enemy before them to shreds with staggering efficiency.
And amid the storm of firepower unleashed by Shadowsun, Kor'sarro laughed heartily, swinging the power blade in his hand.
He split the enemy ranks from impossible angles. Wherever he passed, severed limbs and broken bodies remained; not a single foe escaped his blade.
During this high-speed charge, swept up in pure exhilaration, Kor'sarro Khan even began to hum an ancient folk song from his native steppes using traditional Chogorian throat-singing.
His voice was deep and resonant:
"Rushing down from Mount Bulana, sweet as sugar water,
Flowing along the ancient steppes, blessing all life, the ancient Tes River,
Tiring the leaping lambs, soothing the startled foals, the magical Tes River,
Tes River, Tes River, the rushing Tes River...
Tes River, Tes River, the rushing Tes River..."
The low singing hovered over the battlefield.
In the midst of this high-speed sprint, the two seemed to share a single mind.
Every enemy blocking the path was first battered half to death by Shadowsun's hail of fire, and any who managed to survive the firing net were effortlessly decapitated by the swift-striking rider.
Kor'sarro always found the perfect moment and angle to cut into the enemy formation, harvesting opponents bewildered by the barrage one by one.
They were dancing.
Even without looking at each other or exchanging a single word, the two seemed instinctively aware of each other's intent.
They were reveling, celebrating this exhilarating battle in their own way.
"Come on, huntress! You know me, and I know your heart—come, keep up with my pace! Hahaha!"
Kor'sarro laughed aloud.
Even without hearing a word from his partner behind him, he could feel her joy.
And Kor'sarro rejoiced in her joy!
"... Forget it, let him be."
To the side, Qin Xa shook his head with a trace of helplessness.
In a sense, this was a good thing.
He raised his head, his gaze piercing through the smoke-filled battlefield toward the distant horizon.
Then, his brow furrowed slightly.
"Looks like we're about to face some slightly more challenging opponents."
In the distance.
At the far end of this Webway corridor, which was as wide as a massive plaza:
An orderly defensive position stood firmly ahead, blocking the way.
At the highest point of the position, on a flagpole, a massive war pennant fluttered gently in an unknown breeze flowing through the Webway.
Embroidered on the banner was a blazing bull's head.
The emblem of the traitor Space Marines: the Word Bearers Legion.
"For the Khan and the Emperor!"
"For the Greater Good!"
Without a moment's hesitation, two distinct roars erupted in the Webway at the same time.
Like a sledgehammer, this peculiar allied force slammed straight into the center of the Word Bearers' camp with pure speed and furious firepower.
---
Far behind the battlefield.
The traitor Primarch of the Word Bearers, Lorgar Aurelian, stood quietly on an elevated platform.
He tilted his head as if watching something, though his eyes held only a hollow, lifeless blankness.
"Lord Primarch, what is our next course of action?"
Beside him, Erebus lowered his head respectfully.
Lorgar gave him a cold look.
"Can you not tell?"
He spoke bluntly, his tone far more direct than Erebus had anticipated.
"Do you think I am like those other arrogant fools, unwilling to admit my mistakes?"
Lorgar spoke with annoyance, fatigue lining his voice.
"Yes, my prophecy indeed contained errors. The ultimate darkness I foresaw failed; it was stopped."
He paused, then added:
"Or to be more specific, it was stopped by humanity's newly emerged deity—the second cursed one."
Erebus fell silent.
"Then, what is our next move?"
Finally, he asked the question a second time.
Lorgar cast a strange glance at him.
"To find the next step, of course."
He turned away calmly, without sparing a single glance at his genetic sons being slaughtered in the camp or the burning fortifications.
"Let us go. We press deeper into the Webway. We still have work to do."
---
Materia.
Adam raised his head.
Honestly, dealing with a race like the Aeldari, who had endured tens of thousands of years of grim history, was extraordinarily difficult.
During this period, Adam had been traveling between various Aeldari Craftworlds alongside the Ynnari and the Harlequins.
Just as he had done with the Forge Worlds previously, he gradually persuaded various Aeldari factions to accept terms for cooperation with humanity.
Adam was genuinely exasperated by these point-eared xenos.
Each Craftworld maintained a completely independent political structure. Every world had its own Seer Council, every seer had their own prophecies, and there was a complete lack of unified leadership or authority.
Some Aeldari had even rushed forward with expressions of suicidal resolve, trying to launch rescue missions for "Aeldari kinsmen suspected of being mind-controlled by the psychic power of a human god."
The scene had genuinely amused Adam.
Absurd.
'If my moral standards were really that low, would you Aeldari even be alive today?'
By contrast, the red-robed Tech-Priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus had performed far better.
Once Adam demonstrated miracles that aligned perfectly with records of the Omnissiah, those red-robes immediately dropped to their knees and kowtowed respectfully.
The smoothness of their attitude shift was akin to rapid face-changing in traditional opera.
Right at this moment, Adam noticed he had received another transmission amidst his busy schedule.
The communication came from Terra—an encrypted message sent personally by the Lord Regent, Roboute Guilliman, marked with top priority.
Without hesitation, Adam connected the call immediately.
---
On Terra.
Inside his office, Guilliman rubbed his temples forcefully.
With a numb expression, he looked up at the Lord Regent's office, which seemed to have turned into a public restroom where people came and went as they pleased.
Standing across from Guilliman's desk at this very moment was a Necron.
Oryan the Astromancer nodded toward him with utter seriousness.
Guilliman let out a heavy sigh.
"Yes, that's right."
He opened the communication channel and, in a tone he himself found absurd, spoke the following words to Adam, who was millions of light-years away:
"According to them, the sole ruler of the Necrons, Master of the Triarch, and Shatterer of the C'tan—Szarekh, the Silent King—wishes to meet with you."