Chapter 348: Arieman: Have You Taken Up Numerology?

The wisdom of the Primarchs and the God of Death cannot be underestimated—this is a trick!

We must change our plan immediately!

Arieman swiftly made his judgment,

How could the wisdom of the Primarchs and the Gods conceive such a clumsy plan? Could they have used some method to deceive Arieman's precognition?

He clenched his staff, peering through the seven crystals to find traces, to glimpse the movements of the two Primarchs and the God of Death,

Yet no matter how he observed, the results always showed they would escape through the Webway section guarded by Belisarius Cawl, Gabriel Seth, and the Thousand Faces,

Logically, Arieman only needed to begin the ritual now, and at the instant the two Primarchs and the God of Death entered the Webway, he could teleport them along with that segment into the Labyrinthine Hell—but why would it be this simple?

"But, my lord," whispered Astartes, Warlock Lord of the Prodigal Warband, "could this be a ruse—a deliberate ploy to sow suspicion and make us overthink?"

There was indeed such a possibility; Arieman nodded in agreement,

The Thousand Sons had once been the most knowledgeable of all humanity and the entire galactic history; after the Strange Self-Immolation Fire erased the Dragon Kingdoms, it was the Thousand Sons who walked those ancient lands and recovered their relics—they knew the Dragon Kingdoms had once employed the Empty City Stratagem,

Perhaps this was the Primarchs' and the God of Death's trick: to feign deception and draw Arieman's attention,

Then slip away through the Webway section guarded by Gabriel Seth, Belisarius Cawl, and the Thousand Faces,

Arieman would not fall for such a ploy.

"Bring out the Dark Eldar. Use them as supplementary sacrifices to expand the ritual's scope."

Arieman turned to the nine Warlocks, including Astartes, and said:

"Incorporate all seven squads and seven gates. When the Primarchs and that God of Death appear, teleport them all into the Labyrinthine Hell."

To guard against possible surprises, Arieman had prepared extra sacrifices,

Eighty-one Dark Eldar with potent psychic energy cursed Arieman as they were shoved into the ranks of the offerings,

Arieman's disciple Astartes remained deeply uneasy,

The ritual to teleport a segment of the Webway already consumed immense power—hence the need for exactly nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine mutant Warlocks and eighty-one Dark Eldar as sacrifices, requiring nine stars to replace the vast warp energy,

Now, the Emperor's forces were scattered throughout the Webway; to teleport them all into the Labyrinthine Hell would nearly reach the ritual's absolute limit.

More importantly,

"Seven squads, three commanders, two hundred twenty-two men per squad."

Astartes spoke with concern:

"This involves the Sacred Numbers of the Plague God and that Human-Dark Eldar God of Death—could it disrupt our ritual?"

A deathly silence filled the air; Arieman and the other eight Warlocks all turned sharply to Astartes.

Before Arieman could speak, the other eight Warlocks burst into laughter, as if Astartes had told a hilarious joke.

"Have you taken up numerology?" Arieman's voice rose sharply.

The three crystal eyes on Arieman's mask glowed as they fixed on Astartes, as if staring at a Greenskin who suddenly claimed to believe in peace.

The other eight Warlocks laughed harder,

If there was one thing the Thousand Sons' Warlocks absolutely despised mocking, it was Mortarion and numerology,

On the Thousand Sons' Book of Hatred were inscribed three names: Horus, Leman Russ, and Mortarion,

Horus orchestrated the destruction of Prospero, Leman Russ was the executor, and Mortarion was the instigator who stoked the flames,

It was Mortarion's near-blind hatred of psychic power that drove the Council of Nikaea and the Burning of Prospero,

Now Horus was dead, Leman Russ was missing—but he and his descendants were still loathed by the Thousand Sons, and Mortarion—

Since the Age of Betrayal, when Mortarion ascended to Daemon Prince and invented this ridiculous notion of numerology, the Thousand Sons viewed him as a chaste woman who had fallen into prostitution yet still preached virtue, as a zealot who had become a drunkard yet still preached moderation,

In their eyes, Mortarion was a clown, and numerology was his funniest joke.

"Astartes," Arieman said, his tone laced with amusement and reproof, "according to your knowledge, do the Emperor's forces perform any ritual capable of stirring warp energy? Do their actions in any way resemble the High Heaven's flow of sorcery? Can mere numbers protect them?"

This was one reason the Thousand Sons utterly rejected numerology,

The Thousand Sons had spent countless ages sifting through the dust of human history to reclaim knowledge, even before their rebellion, secretly acquiring wisdom from xenos and blasphemous entities, defying the Emperor's edicts to pursue arcane truths in the Warp—until their homeworld was destroyed by the Emperor's executioners,

Yet Mortarion claims he can command the power of the High Heaven with mere number combinations—what becomes of the Laws of Chaos? What becomes of the Chaos Gods?

Sacred Numbers are not without power, but they require specific rituals, sorcery, and sacrifice to activate,

Most importantly, if numerology truly worked, then Mortarion would not be a clown—would the Thousand Sons become the clowns instead?

"Enough, Astartes. Even jokes have their time."

Arieman swung his staff, silencing the other eight Warlocks' laughter, gesturing for them to return to their positions and prepare the ritual to teleport the Emperor's seven squads into the Labyrinthine Hell. Astartes bowed slightly and retreated to his place,

Perhaps in tactics others might offer opinions, but in sorcery and the Warp, only the Thousand Sons' Primarch could question Arieman's knowledge.

Arieman stood upon the Disc of Tzeentch, gazing at the nine burning stars before him,

These nine stars had been captured by Arieman and his Warlocks from the material universe and dragged into this Webway sector they now controlled,

Countless blasphemous runes and arcane sorceries had defiled the stars that once illuminated the cold void, turning their flames into nauseatingly vivid colors that made one dizzy to behold,

Their constant ejections of plasma wove ever-shifting, malevolent symbols, interlinking and, with the stars' gravitational forces, forming a vast ritual,

Such a grand ritual was fitting to confront two Primarchs and a God.

Nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine mutant psykers and eighty-one Dark Eldar, still cursing Arieman, were thrust into the raging stars,

A total of ten thousand and eighty sacrifices burned in the stars' flames; their physical bodies vanished in an instant, but their souls, their potent psychic potential, were trapped within the stars, shrieking in agony,

This was the true use of Sacred Numbers: to appease the Gods through ritual, not through dull number patterns and mathematical games,

Intense psychic surges churned the stellar surface, stirring radiant patches of light that danced across Arieman's face, painting his mask in colors like the trembling wings of a fly beneath bright sunlight.

The Warp's torrent began to churn; the power of the High Heaven converged within the Webway, projecting toward the distant Macragge,

Arieman's lips curled into a smile—his ritual could not fail—

"Father, numerology is not a simple discipline."

!

In the Garden of Nurgle, Mortarion, like a patient teacher, pointed to a green, rotting scroll before the Father,

The rotting stains on the scroll formed numbers, constantly shifting and changing, revealing the wisdom of numerology to Nurgle,

"Some clumsy fools have only a superficial grasp of Sacred Numbers—and they always make things worse."

"Take the Sacred Number nine—the Number of the Lord of Change. Superstitious sorcerers use it, yet they constantly err."

Mortarion's lips curled in mockery; he genuinely despised these sorcerers, whose understanding of Sacred Numbers was laughably shallow.

Nurgle nodded, half-understanding, then suddenly lifted his head as if sensing something,

"Like nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine and eighty-one—those two numbers should never be used together."

Mortarion froze, then nodded sharply, his eyes gleaming with approval,

"Exactly! Exactly!"

"Look: when nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine and eighty-one are added, two Sacred Numbers of the Lord of Change produce an entirely different meaning."

"Ten thousand and eighty—a multiple of seven and three. Numbers that once signified change now carry your domain's stagnation and decay."

"This may cause the sorcerers' ritual to stagnate, rot, even fail."

"If the targets of their superstitious spells happen to be protected by numbers pointing to you, the sorcerers' ritual might even backfire!"

Nurgle listened, nodding in agreement—he was beginning to grasp the wisdom of numerology.

A sorcery using both nine thousand nine hundred ninety-nine and eighty-one would invite stagnation and decay from his domain.

Arieman stared, bewildered, at the figures of Zhou Yun, Guilliman, and Sanguinius reflected in the crystal,

They emerged from the Webway section guarded by Gabriel Seth, the Thousand Faces, and Belisarius Cawl,

Then swiftly opened and closed the pink-tinged wooden door, moving rapidly to the next relay point.

Arieman instinctively scratched at the horns on his mask, staring at his ritual in confusion,

Huh… why does this ritual look slightly green?

(End of Chapter)