To verify his theory on mutation mechanics, Zeke brought an Enderman from the Nether and caged it on the ship.
Bathed in the background radiation of the Warp, the creature didn't take long to change. Its body trembled violently, limbs elongating, chest expanding, until it transformed into a hulking nightmare—a Mutant Enderman.
Sure enough, Zeke thought, checking the stats. The Warp acts just like Chemical X.
The Mutant Enderman boasted 200 HP and the ability to create shadow clones. It was a formidable mini-boss, but it was no match for Zeke's current gear.
After a brief but intense duel, the creature shattered, dropping a shower of loot. Among the pearls were several [Endersoul Fragments].
Zeke combined an Ender Eye with the fragments at a crafting table. The result was a pulsating, void-touched artifact: the [Endersoul Hand].
As a melee weapon, it was mediocre, dealing only about 9 damage. But its true value wasn't in bludgeoning; it was in control.
Zeke equipped the severed hand. He focused his mind on an empty bottle sitting on a table a few meters away.
Whoosh!
Gravity seemed to invert. The bottle snapped off the table and flew into Zeke's grasp with a satisfying thwack.
With a thought, he reversed the polarity. The bottle shot out of his hand like a bullet, shattering against the far wall.
But what about heavy lifting?
Zeke turned to the bulkhead. He activated the Grab ability on a solid steel plate.
CRUNCH.
The force of the telekinesis ripped a perfect, block-sized chunk of plasteel right out of the wall. In his grasp, it was weightless. When he threw it, the debris reverted to a solid block upon impact—a projectile of pure matter.
It's perfect for moving chests and machines, Zeke realized. Now, the real test.
He went to the ship's armory.
Zeke aimed the hand at a Leman Russ Battle Tank. The massive war machine groaned as the purple energy enveloped it. Then, defying all laws of physics, the tank lifted into the air. Zeke flicked his wrist, and the tank sailed across the hangar bay.
The surrounding Tech-Priests stared in binary shock, but the Psykers on board merely nodded. In the Warhammer universe, powerful telekinesis was rare, but not impossible. To them, Zeke was just a very potent, very strange Psyker.
–
To ensure the safety of the fleet, the Navigators of the Macragge's Honour adhered to a strict protocol: short jumps through the Warp, followed by brief periods in realspace to vent heat and reset the Geller Fields.
According to Guilliman, if they maintained this pace, they could reach Terra in about half a month standard time.
The Macragge's Honour was a leviathan of a ship; its internal volume was vast enough to host a marathon. Zeke took the opportunity to tour from the stern to the midsection.
Here, the fleet's serfs, voidsmen, and Chapter attendants lived.
When they first entered the Warp, morale had been high, fueled by the holy purpose of the Crusade. But as the journey dragged on, the oppressive weight of the Empyrean began to take its toll.
Symptoms of Warp-sickness—nausea, insomnia, cognitive decline, and irrational terror—were spreading among the mortal crew.
Zeke understood. It was the psychological pressure of living inside a submarine while monsters scratched at the hull.
They need a distraction, Zeke decided. And I know just the thing.
In a spacious midsection cargo bay, Zeke built a large pool using glass and stone blocks. He filled it with an Infinite Water Source and crafted a stack of Fishing Rods.
An Auxilia soldier picked up a rod, staring skeptically at the crystal-clear water. "My Lord... there's nothing in here. Can this really catch anything?"
"It's not about the fish, it's about the mechanics," Zeke explained. "Watch."
He applied Luck of the Sea III to a rod, pulled it back, and cast the line.
Bloop.
Three seconds later, the bobber dipped. Zeke yanked the rod, and a piece of wet Leather flew into his hand.
"See? Treasure."
Fishing in Minecraft yields three categories: Fish, Treasure, and Junk. Leather was junk, but it proved the point.
The soldier blinked, then mimicked Zeke. He cast his line.
Moments later, he reeled in a flopping Pufferfish.
"Throne alive!" The soldier rubbed his eyes, looking back at the empty, clear water. "It creates life from nothing!"
Word spread. Soon, more Auxilia joined the ranks of the anglers. It became like opening loot boxes; every cast held a surprise. The tension in the bay evaporated, replaced by the excitement of the catch.
"Fishing is about enjoying the process," Zeke preached as he collected the loot. "Whatever you catch is just a bonus."
He pocketed the tribute: Enchanted Books, various fish, and a few rare Nautilus Shells. Excellent. I can build a Conduit later.
–
Bidding farewell to the fishermen, Zeke moved to the prow of the ship, entering the Navigation Sanctum.
The air here was thick with incense and the low hum of psychic static. Dozens of Astropaths sat in circle tiers, their blind eyes weeping as they tried to send and receive messages through the Warp.
Zeke walked over to a high-power vox-caster station and twisted the dial, tuning into the static.
"...Are you still worried about the lack of protein? Still distressed about rationing?"
A cheerful, pre-recorded voice cut through the cosmic noise.
"The Cadian Camp has developed brand-new livestock! The meat is delicious, the price is low, and the supply is infinite! Merchants interested in cooperation, hail frequency C-A-D-I-A..."
Zeke smirked. He rotated the dial again, habitually multitasking. One eye scanned the starry void outside the blast shields; the other was glued to his Minimap.
On the HUD, the green dots of his fleet were clustered in the center, surrounded by the gray fog. This persisted until they reached the one-third mark of the journey.
The fleet dropped out of the Warp near the Maelstrom—a massive, swirling Warp storm that acted as a smaller, volatile cousin to the Eye of Terror.
"Situation!"
Zeke pointed sharply at the void ahead.
On his Minimap, the gray fog had turned crimson. A dense cluster of Red Dots was waiting in the silence.
The Lead Navigator narrowed his third eye, checking his augurs and auspex scans. "My Lord, the instruments are clear. There is nothing there."
"They are there," Zeke said, his tone resolute. "And they are waiting. Sound the alarm."
The Navigator hesitated for a second, then saw the look in Zeke's eyes. He hit the rune.
"GENERAL QUARTERS. ALL HANDS TO BATTLE STATIONS."
The Macragge's Honour woke up. Ultramarines grabbed their enchanted weapons. Auxilia soldiers, faces grim but fearless, rushed to their posts.
"Raise Void Shields!"
As the shimmering energy barriers flared to life around the Imperial ships, the empty space ahead rippled.
Knowing they had been detected, the enemy fleet dropped their psychic cloaks.
Flash!
Dozens of torpedoes erupted from empty space, streaking toward the Macragge's Honour. But the preemptive Void Shields caught them all, detonating the warheads in harmless flares of plasma.
"Enemy contact!" The Navigator shouted. "Augurs identifying signatures!"
The ambushing battleships revealed themselves. Their hulls were Baroque and twisted, engraved with glowing runes and distinctive, serpentine sigils.
Undoubtedly, this was the fleet of the Thousand Sons.
Tap, tap, tap.
Heavy, armored footsteps echoed from the command deck entrance.
"My Lord." The Astropaths and officers bowed low.
Roboute Guilliman strode into the Navigation Sanctum, his face a mask of cold fury. He looked past the crew, straight out the viewport at the core of the enemy formation.
The enemy flagship was not a normal vessel. It was a massive, multi-faceted construct—a flying city of crystal and gold.
Guilliman recognized it instantly. It was the wonder that had once sat in the capital of Prospero.
The Great Pyramid of Tizca.
On every sloping face of the giant pyramid, a massive, crystalline red eye burned with baleful psychic energy.
"Long time no see, Magnus," Guilliman whispered the name dripping with venom.
–
Across the void, on the bridge of the Vengeful Spirit of Tizca, a giant sat upon a throne of floating books and warp-fire.
Magnus the Red, Daemon Primarch of Tzeentch, smiled.
He had struck a bargain with Kairos Fateweaver, obtaining forbidden knowledge and raw power from the Warp. He had foreseen Guilliman's route. He had set this ambush perfectly within the shadow of the Maelstrom.
He had intended to catch his brother with his shields down.
"It seems there is a variable in the equation," Magnus mused, his single eye narrowing as he saw the Imperial shields hold. "They saw us coming."
He waved a hand, his crimson skin glowing with sorcerous power.
"No matter. Fire."
Through the crystal screen, the command rippled out. The Pyramid glowed, and a storm of psychic lance batteries unleashed hell upon the Macragge's Honour.