Chapter 371: Nightmare Comes from the Warp

War raged fiercely within the realm of Tzeentch, and on the Moon, the Primarch Roboute Guilliman clashed once more with his brother Magnus.

Magnus's muscles swelled until they pressed against each other, writhing and twisting like the roots of a Catachan tree.

Nine patterns—bird heads, eagle eyes, witchfire, flames of change, crows—were tattooed across Magnus's crimson body, as if he were a hive-gang member subjected to flesh-modification.

"The power of muscle responds to me!"

"Muscle power! Spin! Roar! Cheer!"

A crimson fist slammed into Guilliman's face; Guilliman retaliated by driving his Hand of Dominion, capable of felling a Titan, straight into Magnus's face.

For a moment, both Primarchs' faces twisted in agony.

"Magnus! Look at what you've become!"

"Degenerate! Ugly! Still begging your blasphemous master for power!!"

Roboute Guilliman's roar echoed across the battlefield as the Emperor's Sword carved a solar-flare arc, slashing toward Magnus's neck.

"I don't need those nasty side effects—I'm all-natural! Maybe just a bit of steroid from the God of Muscle!"

Magnus spoke incoherently, uttering words Guilliman could not comprehend.

The Emperor's Sword struck Magnus's neck—but no blood gushed forth as Guilliman expected.

Magnus tensed the muscles of his neck, using those grotesque muscle fibers to physically block the blade's edge.

"The Changer of Ways infused Magnus with considerable power."

"To control him, the Changer of Ways embedded within Magnus's mind a delusion of knowledge—false concepts tied to muscle-building and fitness."

Saint Guilliman's voice echoed from Zhou Yun's pocket, his weakness greatly diminished:

"Now, in Magnus's mind, the Changer of Ways is the God of Muscle. His blessings are steroids. Psychic power is muscle power."

"Most bizarrely, Magnus is now effectively a manifestation of the Changer of Ways. To enter Magnus's body without rejection, Tzeentch had to twist the portion of his will into the form of the God of Muscle."

"Fitness, muscle gain, drugs to alter physical form—Tzeentch is forcibly incorporating fitness and muscle into his domain."

"God of Muscle above! Train me!!!" Magnus roared, and a strange psychic energy surged from his muscles.

This energy caused no external change—only further swelled Magnus's muscles, forcibly pushing back the Emperor's Sword.

But Guilliman's combat instincts reacted instantly: golden flames infused with the Emperor's psychic power lashed across Magnus's single eye, causing him to cry out in pain.

Guilliman withdrew his blade and, gathering all his strength, thrust it straight into Magnus's chest.

The Emperor's Sword pierced Magnus's left chest; golden flames surged like ravenous wolves, devouring his muscles.

Magnus let out a low growl—but he did not seem deeply wounded.

How could this be? As a Primarch, Guilliman was certain he had a single heart, positioned on the left, like any normal man.

Surely his other Primarch brothers were the same!

Yet the blade piercing Magnus's left chest felt no puncture of a heart.

"Heart on the left? Is it left or right again?"

Magnus murmured, as if struggling to recall.

"Ah! I'm fine now—my heart's definitely on the right!"

Guilliman's expression froze in stunned silence.

"He forgot whether his heart was on the left or right—so his psychic power has rendered his heart's position uncertain," Saint Guilliman spoke again from his fourth-dimensional pocket, his voice now nearly free of weakness.

Guilliman sensed this too. He yanked the Emperor's Sword free and leapt backward, putting distance between himself and Magnus.

"Hmph! Trying to run?"

The Crimson King bellowed, stomping the ground with both legs, kicking up clouds of gray and white dust. His leg muscles coiled like springs, every vein knotted like coiled dragons. He leapt high, lunging toward Roboute Guilliman.

But at that moment, Zhou Yun once again manipulated the gravity around Magnus using the Earth-Conversion Engine within the Moon's core.

This time, he did not amplify it—he restored the Moon's gravity to its original state: one-sixth of Earth's.

Magnus felt his body grow light; he jumped too high, soaring clean over Guilliman's head.

And what awaited him was—

Golden light poured down from the black sky, as if the Sun itself had broken through the Moon's shadow.

White feathers tinged with a faint metallic blue drifted slowly from the air, landing as lightly as phantoms upon the gray-white lunar surface.

Instantly, the cold, silent, hollow Moon gained color, joy, and beauty.

The High Lady of the Adepta Sororitas, Mo Wen, let out an ecstatic cry, then bowed her head in devout prayer.

Even the Imperial Guard, who routinely doubted Primarchs and held no religious faith, were shaken— their hardened minds trembled slightly.

Golden eyes, serene and calm, gazed down upon Magnus. The Spear of Final Penance shimmered with an energy-field chill.

Thus, the Ninth Legion Primarch, the Archangel Saint Guilliman, entered the battlefield.

A battlecruiser wreathed in flame hovered like a ghost above Tzeentch's Realm of Chaos.

This vessel seemed to have returned from the realm of death, rejoining the endless conquest and expedition.

Its identification code proclaimed its name within the Warp: the Mars-class Battlecruiser Imperial Icon—once a dead ship.

Upon its bridge stood a mortal clad in golden armor of the Solar Lord, his skull burning, crowned with laurels.

The mortal gazed down upon Tzeentch's Realm of Chaos, then turned back to see the spectral warships surging endlessly from the flames behind him, their identification codes glowing.

The Abhorrent Exemplar, lost at the Battle of Rangdan; the White Scars' flagship, Blade Storm; Gal Varn's Eisenstein; the Pure Flame, sacrificed in the Gothic War—those dead ships, who fought to their final breath, now followed him.

The mortal's fleshless lips seemed to curve into a smile.

"Expedition—until the very end of reality!"

He may have roared—or he may have said nothing at all.

Yet upon thousands of spectral warships, wildfire surged violently; lances and macro-cannons unleashed torrents upon Tzeentch's domain.

On the other side of the battlefield, black smoke spread thickly; the stench of blood welled up; wild laughter erupted from war and slaughter.

Khorne's first Daemon Prince, Seed of Destruction, descended into Tzeentch's Crystal Labyrinth.

This Daemon Prince, elevated from an ancient Terran warlord, wore a cloak woven from a thousand Space Marine skulls, wielding Khorne's Axe, leading hordes of Bloodletters to harvest Tzeentch's domain.

Meanwhile, Tzeentch himself panicked like a Blue Feather Chicken on Crazy Thursday.

Besides the Emperor and Khorne, the alliance of Slaanesh and Nurgle was rapidly seizing territories once belonging to Tzeentch.

Against the Daemon Primarch Mortarion, Tzeentch's Greater Daemons were no different from the sickly wheat of Babalus.

Tzeentch's own condition was no better—his ever-shifting form was now faintly taking on muscular shapes.

To enter Magnus's body without rejection, Tzeentch had been forced to accept that muscle-building and gain were forms of change—that the relentless pursuit of muscle was itself a form of transformation.

Muscle had always belonged to Slaanesh and Khorne: the pursuit of muscular beauty to Slaanesh, the pursuit of muscular power to Khorne.

But now Tzeentch had intruded, accepting muscle gain as a form of change.

This acceptance directly reflected upon Tzeentch himself, his Greater Daemons, and his followers.

Had his domain not been invaded, Tzeentch could have diluted this influence through the sheer scale of his domain.

But now he was being invaded, losing territory.

Losing territory meant losing authority and concept; the gods were seizing the overlapping concepts bound to Tzeentch.

Yet Slaanesh and Khorne, as if deliberately, avoided touching the concept of muscle.

As other authorities and concepts diminished, the proportion of muscle's authority and concept rose—deepening the impact upon Tzeentch and his domain.

If this continued, soon the Crystal Labyrinth might sprout gyms.

Worse still, in the material realm, Tzeentch had gained no true advantage.

Saint Guilliman had recovered and re-entered the battle.

Even with Tzeentch's vast blessings, Magnus could not simultaneously overcome two Primarchs—

Especially when one of them was Saint Guilliman.

He might end up losing Magnus entirely.

His only remaining option was—

"Gaga… This is all part of the fat-loss plan… Oh no, this is all part of the plan."

On the Moon, Magnus suddenly felt a powerful surge of "steroids" flooding his body.

Instantly, his muscle power surged like a tidal wave, washing over every part of his body, swelling his muscles further.

"Oh!!!! I feel my muscle power has reached its peak!!"

"Coach! I'm doing the Nine Birds Needle Technique!!"

Magnus roared, his muscles swelling to their absolute limit—his frame now larger and more massive than Vulkan's.

Then, before the bewildered eyes of Guilliman, Saint Guilliman, and Zhou Yun—BANG!!!!!

(End of Chapter)