Chapter 287: So Evil! Guilliman!

A massive figure, over five meters tall, with thick muscles, wearing a brown-striped shirt and black pants, slowly crawled out of Zhou Yun's pocket.

His appearance was indistinguishable from a human's: shaved head, sun-darkened skin, a large nose and wide eyes, like a snarling tiger.

Almost the instant he entered the material universe, a ripple surged through the Warp.

Followers of Saint Doraemon faintly heard a roar.

"Aren't we friends?"

"Then what's yours is mine, and what's mine is still mine!"

And psychics like Leina sensed even more deeply.

She felt an overwhelming emotion sweep across Macragge—fierce as a Blood God daemon, greedy as a Keeper of Secrets.

In an instant, Leina realized her psychic potential had plummeted; the psychic power that had previously pressed her to the Alpha-level limit now dropped to mid-Alpha, roughly where she'd been when the Great Rift first opened.

As if her own psychic strength had been stolen by the being before her.

"Be careful," Saint Guilliman seemed to sense something too; his voice grew darker as he spoke to Guilliman.

Simultaneously, Saint Guilliman subtly vibrated his silver-chained wings, summoning a Warp storm from the Warp region corresponding to Macragge, engulfing the peak of Macragge and masking the Warp ripples stirred by the being emerging from Zhou Yun's fourth-dimensional pocket.

The entity Zhou Yun called "Fat Tiger," outwardly human but inwardly a Warp daemon, swept his gaze across the surroundings.

His eyes held only raw impulse and desire.

The Warp is a mirror reflecting emotion, and Fat Tiger's emotions were laid bare without restraint.

He wanted to beat up everyone on Macragge, then become the king of the children.

All three present sensed this emotion.

Fat Tiger moved instantly, appearing before Luo Bote Guilliman, his heavy fist smashing directly into Guilliman's face exposed to the high mountain winds.

He instinctively recognized Guilliman as the ruler of this planet, the "king of the children" of Macragge, and thus launched his attack first against him.

Guilliman's Fist of Dominion roared, colliding head-on with Fat Tiger's fist.

Fat Tiger's fist, though seemingly flesh and blood, matched Guilliman's Fist of Dominion in power.

Their clash tore a hurricane through the air, shredding the already thin atmosphere.

Their collision resembled two titans clashing—their bodies appearing even larger than in the material world, like mythic giants wrestling.

But—Guilliman suddenly felt his own power diminish, while Fat Tiger's power surged.

"What's yours is mine, and what's mine is still mine."

The voice suddenly echoed inside Guilliman's skull.

Fat Tiger's fist forcibly shoved back Guilliman's Fist of Dominion, striking Guilliman's face directly; intense pain surged through him, and he staggered backward, his face now bruised purple and black.

"Slaanesh's greed, Khorne's violence, and our father's traits merged into his ability—a power that steals others' strength to augment himself. Hmm, it seems anything deemed a friend can be looted without condition. I wonder how it works against enemies."

Saint Guilliman observed the scene, as if analyzing Fat Tiger's power.

He was suppressing Fat Tiger's influence within the Warp as much as possible.

The ripples from his birth had spread across all of Macragge, and Fat Tiger was essentially an extension of Zhou Yun—coincidentally, everyone on Macragge, including Saint Guilliman, counted as Zhou Yun's "friends."

Saint Guilliman had to suppress Fat Tiger's Warp ripples, or else he could drain power from the entire planet—from the two thousand-plus Astartes and hundreds of millions of mortal soldiers who were Zhou Yun's "friends."

Luo Bote Guilliman staggered to his feet, raising his Fist of Dominion to block Fat Tiger's relentless blows.

Guilliman sincerely thanked Belisarius Cawl for a millennium of tireless labor; the durability of the Fate Armor allowed him to withstand Fat Tiger's powerful strikes.

"How is Master Zhou Yun?"

He asked while dodging and blocking Fat Tiger's attacks.

Saint Guilliman looked at Zhou Yun, standing motionless, and began perceiving through their link.

"Creating a daemon in reality is equivalent to letting your Warp essence enter the material world—in reverse, it also means Zhou Yun's consciousness, long anchored in the material world, begins entering the Warp to control his own essence."

"And in the Warp, time does not exist. Zhou Yun's consciousness is now traveling back and forth across different timelines; it may take some time to find the correct one."

"Until then, this Fat Tiger daemon will act only according to Zhou Yun's subconscious impulses."

"How long will it take?" Luo Bote Guilliman gritted his teeth and asked.

"Depends on how long he plans to linger across different timelines and whether he has a bad sense of direction."

Saint Guilliman said with slight exasperation:

"I tried guiding him through the Warp, but you know—Oltremar's history has had more than just me as a Warp lighthouse."

Meanwhile, in the Warp, Zhou Yun stared at the blazing Phaeron Lighthouse before him and grimaced.

He realized his vision was uncontrollably flickering across different times.

He finally detected a light emanating from Oltremar and thought it was Saint Guilliman guiding him—but when he drew closer, he saw it was the Phaeron Lighthouse ignited by Guilliman during the Horus Heresy.

Guilliman is truly evil—so ambitious.

Zhou Yun sighed helplessly and resumed searching the tangled, complex timelines for the correct one.

Luo Bote Guilliman muttered a curse under his breath.

Fat Tiger's fists carried no intent to kill—purely meant to beat him up, which was pure torment for Guilliman.

Guilliman swung his fist hard; a storm of bolter shells erupted from his Fist of Dominion, exploding against Fat Tiger and temporarily forcing the daemon, reliant on Zhou Yun's subconscious, to retreat.

Saint Guilliman suppressed Fat Tiger's influence on Macragge while guiding Zhou Yun's consciousness through the Warp, all the while watching with interest as Guilliman took the beating.

"I must take this seriously."

Guilliman gritted his teeth and said:

"If I don't, I'll end up just like how Master Zhou Yun described you—meatballs punched by hand."

The amused smile on Saint Guilliman's lips vanished instantly.

Guilliman chuckled softly and suddenly drew the Emperor's Sword.

Unquenchable holy flame burned upon its blade—a fire born of the Emperor's psychic power, capable of striking terror into all demons.

But Fat Tiger showed no fear.

This was expected by Guilliman; according to Zhou Yun and Saint Guilliman, Fat Tiger also possessed the Emperor's power.

But having a weapon is always better than having none.

Guilliman blurred forward, leaving behind a trail of blue and gold afterimages; his Emperor's Sword carved a blazing golden arc toward Fat Tiger.

A metallic clang rang through the air.

Guilliman stared in slight shock as Fat Tiger now held a massive black sword forged of iron, carved with skulls.

It was Sanguinius's weapon, Sanguinaris—the weapon formed when Slaanesh, after being beaten by Khorne's Primarch Angron with an iron rod, was bound to it and transformed.

Sanguinaris clashed with the Emperor's Sword, but Fat Tiger showed no skill with blades, and Sanguinaris lacked the Emperor's Sword's power.

Guilliman twisted his body, flipping his Emperor's Sword; the holy flame swept aside Sanguinaris and drove straight toward Fat Tiger.

Fat Tiger rolled aside just in time, narrowly avoiding the blade's edge.

Then his Sanguinaris began to change—first reverting to its original iron rod form, then thinning at the handle and thickening at the tip, becoming smooth and rounded, transforming into a baseball bat.

Fat Tiger shook the bat in his hand; the Emperor's power within him surged into it, igniting the bat with a flame identical to the Emperor's Sword.

Shock flashed across Guilliman's face—he couldn't dodge in time; the bat struck him hard on the face, sending him flying backward, rolling across the ground.

He staggered to his feet, wiping blood from the bruise on his face, his eyes blazing with fury.

The Son of Vengeance roared—the second round began.

In the Warp, Zhou Yun stared in confusion at the scene before him; he detected another beacon amid the chaotic timelines, looked closer—and saw a vast, industrious Tyranid hive fleet constructing a continent-scale bio-structure, composed of thick chitinous shells and purple-red flesh, radiating terrifying psychic power like a beacon.

Zhou Yun remembered: this was the Tyranid Hive Fleet Tiamat. This fleet's behavior was strange—never expanding outward, endlessly building these beacon-like bio-structures.

It was precisely this structure that had drawn Zhou Yun's attention.

Come to think of it, the Tyranids were drawn here because of Guilliman's Phaeron Lighthouse.

Truly evil! Guilliman! So ambitious!

Zhou Yun muttered a complaint and continued searching the galaxy's absurdly tangled, chaotic timelines for the correct one.

The galaxy's timelines were like a knotted mess, seemingly tampered with by many—Zhou Yun had seen a blue-glowing Necron repeatedly jumping across timelines, disrupting time—utterly lacking in public decency.

Zhou Yun wanted to chop off all these extra timelines and leave only one clean, orderly path.

As he complained, he continued searching for Macragge in the 999th year of the 41st Millennium.

Guilliman panted, barely overpowering the Fat Tiger daemon, pinning him beneath him.

It wasn't easy—Guilliman had nearly been knocked down by the bat many times, but fortunately, Fat Tiger only wanted to beat him up, with no true intent to kill.

Of course, Guilliman had no intention of killing him either—precisely because of this, he'd taken countless blows. But at last, he'd subdued him.

Guilliman panted, looking down at the Fat Tiger daemon pinned beneath him.

At that moment, Guilliman noticed Fat Tiger slowly opening his mouth.

A single note spilled from his lips.

(End of Chapter)