"Father, please forgive me."
The voice of the Thousand Sons sorcerer was hoarse, filled with pain and despair.
The young Magnus's eyes widened; his anger gradually turned into confusion.
"Father? Why are you calling me Father?"
"They are all your descendants, my lord," a Blood Angel stepped forward and explained.
His red power armor was covered in wounds and blood; the power sword he held was charged with electricity.
After cutting a charging monster in two with a single sword stroke, he continued the explanation.
"Astartes require the implantation of a gene-seed derived from the original gene, and only after nineteen surgeries can they obtain superhuman strength and physique."
The Blood Angel looked at the possessed Thousand Sons sorcerer and said calmly, "They all carry gene-seed belonging to your genetic sequence inside their bodies."
"Ah, I see."
Even the young Magnus did not completely understand what a gene-seed was.
After all, he had not yet been found by the Emperor and had not yet taken command of his own Legion.
However, he also understood that all of this must be related to his future self — the self who had betrayed humanity.
"A weakling destroyed all of you."
While speaking, the young Magnus looked at the Thousand Sons sorcerer with pitying eyes.
"I forgive you and grant you mercy."
The moment he finished speaking, the young Magnus killed the Thousand Sons sorcerer with a single thought.
The other party's flesh had undergone a terrifying mutation; everything from flesh to soul was completely corrupted, and there was no possibility of salvation.
How grateful it would be if it could be erased.
"Let us go forward. That man must be dealt with."
The young Magnus discarded the man's corpse and stepped forward with unshakable resolve.
Numerous Blood Angels surrounded him; their formation was tight and orderly, ensuring that Magnus's field of vision was unobstructed and that they could respond at any time to attacks from every direction.
The enemy tried to stop them. Swarms of colorful daemons, waving tentacles and limbs, leapt out one after another from the buildings lining both sides of the street.
They screamed in terror while hurling magical spells generated from Warp energy at Magnus and his companions.
The young Magnus continuously drew energy from the Warp; his sacred staff emitted a terrifying light.
Vast energy permeated the young Primarch's flesh and blood; his eyes were filled with dazzling Warp flame.
The raging Warp energy was forcibly controlled, becoming an extension of his will and transforming into terrifying sorcery.
With only a slight gesture, he could tear apart every daemon blocking his path.
The Primarch walked through the narrow streets of Tizca.
The city of knowledge that had existed in his memory now appeared before his eyes in a completely unfamiliar form.
The buildings on both sides of the street had once been built of gigantic white stone.
Once, murals made of colorful crystals had been inlaid in the walls of these buildings, depicting the grand story of the ancient psyker ancestors traveling through the Warp, arriving on this planet, and building the first city in the desert.
The murals refracted sunlight to create rainbow-colored light, wrapping the entire street in a flowing, dreamlike halo.
Now the rocks that had once been pure white had changed to an ashen yellow; a sickly pigment was seeping from deep within their fibers.
Most of the colorful crystal murals that had adorned the walls had peeled off; the remaining portions had eerie, distorted shapes.
Small pyramids were dotted along both sides of the street. These had originally been sanctuaries for the worship of knowledge.
Today the steps of the pyramids were piled with decaying offerings.
Obelisks stood at regular intervals.
Some were leaning, some were broken in two, but most remained upright.
The runes carved into the monuments appeared to have grown from the ground like vines, stretching upward from the bases.
On the surfaces of the monuments, a network of runes that constantly undulated and changed had formed.
The runes shone regularly; the interval was precisely the time equivalent to nine heartbeats.
Beside the pyramids there often stood statues of lions with human heads, some tens of meters high, others exceeding twenty meters.
They should originally have been inanimate, yet passers-by often felt the malicious gazes of these statues.
Magnus was furious when he saw the once-beautiful city fallen to its current ruined state.
None of this was what he had wanted.
What he had wanted was a lighthouse of truth, not a terrifying city so corrupted that even the stones had grown eyes.
The future he envisioned was a world where pilgrims filled with thirst for truth and knowledge came from every corner of the galaxy and left satisfied with the knowledge they had obtained.
How on earth had the city of knowledge, Tizca, become such a terrifying sight?
As the Primarch advanced, he quickened his pace.
It began with taking a step, then became long strides, then from long strides to a fast walk, and then to a run.
Heavy combat boots slammed against the cobblestones; the ground shook slightly.
The Primarch was now absorbed in seeing the appearance of his future self and demanding to know why the other party had done such things!
The young Magnus led a group of Blood Angels in a relentless battle through the maze-like streets, cutting down countless enemies and carving a path with his sword.
However, despite defeating innumerable daemons, they arrived at the same place twice in a row.
"We are trapped." One of the Blood Angels looked around and checked the data from his detection devices.
"Space has been folded. No matter which direction we try to go, we will return here."
"Do you think you can trap me with such methods?" The young Magnus looked around and immediately noticed the problem.
He began trying to solve the maze while chanting an ancient spell; the magical staff in his hand began to glow.
In an instant, the flow of the Warp changed in a strange and unexpected form.
Then the entire maze began to collapse.
A brand-new path appeared before their eyes, leading to the final destination — the Emerald Tower.
That was the place where the ceremony was being held.
Along the way, a terrifying hellish foundry appeared, where countless slaves were forging weapons and equipment for the conquest of the galaxy.
Magnus stood at the head and advanced toward the powerful enemy.
After fierce combat, countless streams of bubbling blood flowed behind him.
Innumerable corpses were scattered across the battlefield. Among them were the remains of daemons and fragments of renowned warriors.
The Blood Angels surrounded the Primarch and successively cut down daemons and rebels along the way.
Traces of combat remained on their blood-red power armor.
"For the nameless ones, for Sanguinius!"
When one of the Blood Angels raised his voice and shouted, the others followed; their cries were ear-splitting.
The warriors of the red letters, the horned beasts, and the daemonic abominations they encountered along the way were all shattered into pieces and turned into corpses under the pressure of the Blood Angels.
Eventually, they passed through the road scattered with corpses and arrived at the emerald-glass pyramid.
Only then did they truly witness the scale of the ceremony.
Cyclops Magnus stood upon a magnificent pedestal, presiding over an evil ritual that caused aetheric power to surge ever more violently throughout the entire galaxy.
He stood upon a gigantic, lavishly decorated lectern.
The lectern was located in the center of the square, directly in front of the pyramid, carved from a single slab of black basalt mined from the depths of Prospero's crust.
The one-eyed Magnus stood there. Against the background of the surrounding purple flames, his deep-crimson skin looked even more gloomy.
The horns on his head described a perfect arc; behind him, daemonic wings were spread wide.
A group of sorcerers surrounded him, chanting ancient spells. Chanting ancient spells.
As they moved, strange fluctuations spread outward.
Believers throughout the galaxy gazed at the one-eyed Magnus with looks of worship and raised cheers.
Their cheers mixed with the sorcerers' chanting, creating a scene of madness and chaos.
Priests wearing robes made of human skin brandished sacrificial knives engraved with blasphemous runes.
They approached the chosen persons and slit those persons' throats with the sacrificial knives.
The movements were crisp; it was clearly something that had been repeated countless times.
Fresh blood sprayed from the severed arteries and flowed down the stone pillars.
The blood that flowed from drainage channels dug in advance, merging into the ground, mixed with the blood of other sacrifices in a gigantic pit.
Corpses were thrown one after another into the gigantic pit; an intense smell of blood drifted everywhere.
Just by inhaling, one could feel its viscous texture.
Beside each priest was a pile of sacrificial knives that had been discarded because they had become too dull from too much slaughter.
"You bastard!"
The young Magnus stared at this scene with fierce anger; his eyes looked as if they were spitting fire.
The one-eyed Magnus who had been performing the evil ritual also looked this way with a puzzled expression.
The young Magnus radiated the same aura as him; even the fluctuations of the soul were exactly the same.
Clearly, it was himself — himself from the past.
Ten thousand years ago, before I made a pact with Tzeentch, before I yielded to Chaos, and before I believed I could control the Warp.
It was far superior to a clone created by a madman like Fabius using cloning technology.
"The nameless one…"
The one-eyed Magnus was the first to realize this.
No one other than the nameless one could accomplish this.
"Face me, you bastard!"
The young Magnus shouted toward the Primarch.
His voice roared like thunder, drowning out the cheers of the hundreds of thousands gathered in the square, the chanting of the Chaos sorcerers, and the screams coming from the sacrificial grounds.
"A pitiful, deceived fool."
When the Primarch spoke, he spread a pair of daemonic wings formed from pure Warp energy that constantly changed color.
With a sudden pendulum motion, he fell from the high pedestal accompanied by a terrifying shockwave.
The moment he landed, a terrifying impact and shockwave occurred.
The surrounding traitors were all thrown into the air with high-pitched screams.
The crowd immediately raised cries of terror and desperately pushed, trampled, and retreated.
The two Magnus stood facing each other.
A young man with unclouded eyes, holding a magical staff, burning with the flames of idealism and anger.
The one-eyed existence remained. Curved horns grew from his head; daemonic wings were spread on his back. His soul, riddled with countless holes by thousands of years of corruption, housed immeasurable knowledge and skill regarding the Warp.
Without a doubt, this was a grand confrontation.
Cyclops Magnus's understanding of and skill with the Warp far surpassed that of the young Magnus.
Ten thousand years of time and the grace of Tzeentch had allowed him to explore the Warp more deeply.
He waved his hand and simultaneously released three spells, each of completely different nature.
A soul-piercing scream, a confinement that distorted space, and a corrosive spring summoned from the earth, composed of pure entropic energy.
Although the three spells were each activated independently, they coordinated to cut off every escape route of the young Magnus.
However, the young Magnus possessed superior equipment. Among them was an artifact scepter obtained from the vault of Trazyn the Infinite.
Even more important was that his heart had not been corrupted.
Seeing the Primarch's attack, the young Magnus immediately devised a countermeasure.
He teleported around to escape the range of the spells while simultaneously summoning a magical shield to block the Primarch's attacks.
"If I am a deceived fool, then what on earth are you?"
The young Magnus evaded every attack.
He made no attempt to hide his anger and stared fixedly at the Primarch.
"You betrayed your ideals, betrayed Prospero, and betrayed yourself!"
The thought that he might become a pitiful slave in the future…
The young Magnus wished he could kill that man right now and completely erase his own stain.
"You said Prospero would become a sanctuary of knowledge in the galaxy."
"You said you would never become one of the weaklings you despise and yield to Chaos!"
"But look at you now — what kind of monster have you fallen into?!"
The young Magnus angrily interrogated him.
"I am the Crimson King!" the one-eyed Magnus shouted. "The most powerful psyker among humanity!"
"I can destroy the world with the power of will alone. I can destroy everything. I am…"
"You just look like garbage," the young Magnus calmly interrupted.
"A lump of garbage I despise most of all."
The one-eyed Magnus glared at his younger self with eyes of anger.
"You know nothing about me!"
"There is no need to know," the young Magnus again interrupted the Primarch's words.
"The only thing I know is that I will never become trash like you."
No one else had ever spoken these words in a tone as strong as the young Magnus's.
If another Primarch had said this, Cyclops Magnus would merely have given a cold smile.
If the Emperor himself had spoken such words, he would have roared in fury and retorted with ten thousand years of accumulated resentment.
But the young Magnus was different. He was his own past self.
In other words, even his past self could not understand his present self.
The Primarch completely collapsed and screamed hysterically.
"You know nothing of the truth! You have no right to criticize me!"
"You know nothing of the truth!" the one-eyed Magnus screamed hysterically. "You have no right to criticize me."
"You only yield to the Warp and never try to overcome it. Your heart is far too weak. I will never, even in death, become yours."
The young Magnus spoke again.
"I will never become a weak and incompetent human like you. Remember this: I am the all-knowing, all-powerful Magnus. I am destined to become humanity's strongest psyker, and I will definitely dominate all the knowledge of the world."
"Whoever the opponent is, they will ultimately be defeated by my knowledge or my power."
The Primarch first stared at his remaining single eye with surprise.
What an arrogant and haughty man.
Immediately afterward, an unprecedented killing intent welled up in his heart.
Every moment of the young Magnus's life was a great mockery toward him, bringing constant pain and suffering.
Only by killing the enemy could he obtain peace of mind.
The Primarch moved and began desperately absorbing energy.
Boom! Boom!
Terrifying thunder roared; purple lightning tore the sky; night suddenly arrived.
Unparalleled Warp power surged like a dam that had burst.
The Primarch raised both hands high and gathered unprecedented power.
His body grew tall and dazzling, like an ancient giant from mythology.
As his body expanded and terrifying spiritual energy gushed forth, the armor mounted on his body automatically adjusted; the light of the runes shone more dazzlingly than ever.
The young Magnus showed no fear; he too drew Warp energy and transformed into a terrifying Titan.
Both sides were filled with mutual hatred and joined forces in a tragic battle.
The flow of time suddenly slowed. Every raindrop, every bolt of lightning appeared to be moving in slow motion.
A tremendous battle erupted between the two; fists and staves collided together with dazzling lightning and flame, each unleashing storm-like attacks.
The collision of the two Primarchs released terrifying sound waves and shockwaves.
Many people bled from the ears due to the sonic impact, suffered from headaches, collapsed to the ground, and rolled about.
Even the Blood Angels had to set their helmet audio input to the lowest setting.
They clenched their teeth, endured the pressure that kept pounding their skulls, and wanted to scream.
After a fierce battle, the young Magnus, due to lack of experience, made a mistake.
He was struck in the chest by the Primarch and staggered backward from the terrifying impact.
Then the other party again released a terrifying spell.
With an ear-splitting roar, a gigantic stone hand stretched out from the earth, seized the young Magnus, and crushed him without mercy.
Then the Archangel appeared.
He beat his pure white wings, held a long spear, and dove from high altitude in orbit like an angel carrying the flames of judgment.
He charged like that and thrust the spear toward the primordial form of the daemon.
Faced with an attack from his former brother, the Primarch had no choice but to temporarily retreat and teleport away from the spot.
The gigantic stone hand, having lost the support of the sorcerer's will, shattered beside the young Magnus and collapsed with an ear-splitting roar into countless small stones and fragments of dust.
Sanguinius, as if possessing a mysterious sense, used that momentum the moment the spear missed its target to quickly pierce another place.
The moment the one-eyed Magnus appeared, he saw the flying spear and immediately swung his staff to block it.
Clang!!
The two weapons collided, and a terrifying sound rang out.
The Primarch was also pushed back by the power dwelling in the spear.
However, the next moment the Archangel changed tactics, closed the distance, and threw a punch at Magnus; Magnus let out a cry of pain.
Immediately afterward, a fierce and merciless assault began.
The spear tip covered in electric arcs wove a dazzling yet terrifying net of light in the air.
The Primarch desperately swung his staff to defend, but the magical shields he summoned were instantly pierced by the spear.
After a fierce battle, the Primarch could not match the Archangel. The Archangel seized the opportunity, knocked the weapon from the Primarch's hand, and pinned him to the ground with the spear. It was a truly tragic end.
Inside the Warp, Tzeentch immediately sensed that something was wrong upon seeing this and first considered pulling Magnus back.
After all, this was an SSR card obtained through great effort; losing it would be a great loss.
However, the moment it moved, Yog-Sothoth noticed it, instantly unleashed terrifying spiritual power, struck the rift torn by the Changer of Ways, and forcefully blew it away.
"Do you think you are just a bunch of damned toads?"
The ancient existences had defeated the ancient races, and the Chaos Gods were nothing more than products of the eight-pointed star created by the ancient existences.
Yog-Sothoth did not fear them. In fact, he possessed the power to fight them on equal terms.
These ancient creations cannot be completely defeated, but they can be prevented from invading the real universe.
Unable to enter the real world, Tzeentch could only helplessly watch as the Primarch was captured by the Archangel.
He was roughly shoved into a black stone cage, where his psychic power was completely sealed; he became unable to move and collapsed to the ground.
"No… my SSR card!!" Tzeentch's agonized voice echoed through the Warp.