Chapter 649

Long Linxing tore through the continuity of spacetime, a mechanical planet shaped like the former Caliban, fused with three ancient Saint relics—the Ouroboros, the Tuchucha Engine, and the Plague Heart—roared through the real universe, its metal forests echoing with factory roars like thunder, furnace flames surging like solar tides, hammering, forging, tread sounds, and the wails of billions of demon workers fused with production lines reverberating.

At the instant Long Linxing manifested, waves surged through the surrounding Warp, revealing derelict ships that had become lost and fallen into the Warp, their hulls interlocked in chaotic fusion.

Each of these vessels resembled the wildest, most chaotic mechanical creations, radiating the pure, malevolent creativity of the Warp, artworks forged by the domain of Malevolent Artistry itself from the wrecks of ships that had perished within the Warp.

Then, within Long Linxing, an invisible will flickered like electrical sparks, transmitting to the derelict ships; in an instant, they were seized by Vashthor’s will, becoming harbingers of doom, steaming toward the massive rocky planet.

Vashthor considered this his advantage.

Zhou Yun indeed controlled more of the domain of Malevolent Artistry, but he was not extreme enough, not twisted enough, lacking sufficient understanding of the darkest, most chaotic, most insane forces within Malevolent Artistry.

Vashthor could wield those forces, manifesting the most malevolent creations in the material universe to strike at Zhou Yun.

Standing atop the Warp’s tidal crest, Zhou Yun’s expression remained unmoved; his will connected to the Master Protocol, and with a single thought, the Necron fleet suspended over the Dua’t system became his fingertips—emerald lightning erupted, colliding with Vashthor’s Necron forces.

The two men waged their first clash in the Dua’t system, extending their selves through their fleets.

“I recognize these weapons—they were designed during the War in Heaven, born from the same malevolent creativity that gave me birth.”

“I understand them better than you, Zhou Yun.”

Vashthor’s voice rang out amid a cascade of roaring electrical sparks—sparks wrapped in Warp energy shot from the Harbingers of Doom, transforming into a string of semi-mechanical nematodes that stabbed toward the Necron ships.

The Necron ships attempted to repel the assault with various weapons, but a blazing arc of light erupted from Long Linxing, violently tearing the continuity of spacetime; the semi-mechanical nematodes bypassed spatial limits entirely, piercing straight into the Necron vessels.

These nematodes were Vashthor’s creations—Metallic Nerve Threads—and he used them to control the derelict ships; now implanted within the Necron vessels, they released a cascade of silicate filaments, spreading across each ship and instantly paralyzing all functions.

Saint Guilliman watched this scene, remaining calm.

Vashthor’s birth was intimately tied to the arms race of the War in Heaven, and if Zhou Yun’s words were true, Vashthor was also deeply connected to the most extreme faction among the Ancient Ones; using Necron ships against him was indeed a severe disadvantage.

But hadn’t Zhou Yun yet revealed his own authority?

A joyful laugh echoed through the Warp, instantly scattering its gloom, as if countless children laughed merrily at a beautiful world.

Countless miniature Doraemons materialized in the void, tiny mechanical beings no larger than a palm, filling the entire space; they reached into their pockets and instantly pulled out a myriad of wondrous devices.

These devices were Zhou Yun’s own; the pockets of the miniature Doraemons directly linked through the Warp to the Fourth-Dimensional Pockets, allowing them to draw items directly from them.

As for the money—truthfully, Saint Guilliman had no idea where it came from, and Zhou Yun likely didn’t either; only Guilliman knew how Zhou Yun extracted these vast sums from the Empire’s economy, perpetually teetering on collapse.

Saint Guilliman had once, out of curiosity, asked Guilliman this question; Guilliman merely replied that the Empire’s problem was not a lack of production, but what to consume and how to consume it.

Guilliman even claimed that Zhou Yun’s existence had largely solved the Empire’s consumption problem—not only causing no negative side effects, but under Guilliman’s management, actually boosting economic and production activity, resolving certain economic issues, and alleviating overproduction.

Saint Guilliman listened, confused, unable to grasp how Guilliman had achieved this.

The miniature Doraemons, armed with their myriad devices, surged toward the Necron ships and Harbingers of Doom locked in combat.

Some used reflective cloaks to deflect the Harbingers’ artillery, others used mechanical marbles to reverse-control the Harbingers, still others piloted Titanic robots to tear apart ship after ship.

The tide of miniature Doraemons quickly neared Long Linxing.

The orange-yellow furnace-like arcs of light erupted again from Long Linxing, and in an instant, one-third of the miniature Doraemons were swallowed into the gaps between spacetime.

But it mattered little—more miniature Doraemons were created by Zhou Yun’s power, surging forward like a furious wave toward Long Linxing.

Long Linxing was indeed extraordinarily powerful—a complete Ancient Saint relic—even if its sole function was to serve as a key to the Ancient Ones’ treasure vault, its power surpassed the comprehension of all civilizations in the current galaxy.

Yet relying solely on Long Linxing to block Zhou Yun was nearly impossible.

This was precisely what troubled Saint Guilliman.

Why had Vashthor rushed forward so eagerly?

He could have waited for Zhou Yun to attack—he knew Zhou Yun’s final step to godhood was to consume him; and over the long ages past, Vashthor had forged the one-third domain he controlled into the Soul Furnace, an independent realm separate from the Four Gods, using the Soul Furnace to better stall Zhou Yun and create opportunities for himself.

Wait—

Saint Guilliman understood what Vashthor was planning.

In the Warp, above the Highest Heaven, red, blue, green, and purple hues intertwined ceaselessly; the gods and their demons waged war.

At the very moment Zhou Yun ascended to godhood, the gods erupted into battle—Khorne and Slaanesh, Tzeentch and Nurgle, these two pairs of ancient foes clashed so fiercely that Warp tides reversed, heavens and seas overturned, all things dimmed.

Khorne’s power was strongest, especially after accepting his fate of forever seated upon the Brass Throne; though he could no longer leave it, every wound on the battlefield fed him power and flowed with it—he was now the Savior of War, bearing the cost of battle alongside his warriors.

But precisely because he could not leave the Brass Throne, Slaanesh seized the opportunity; Slaanesh’s power was weakest among the gods, yet he held one advantage over Khorne—he still had Fuegan as a card; with Khorne unable to descend, Fuegan became the true God of Battle, wielding Slaanesh’s power within the Warp.

Tzeentch and Nurgle, bound by mutual understanding, fought with old rivalry; Tzeentch’s power had been significantly weakened in recent times, while Nurgle grew ever stronger—the boundary between the second and third strongest in the Warp had blurred, and both chose to deploy their Primarchs elsewhere.

Within the Soul Furnace, Mortarion gripped his scythe, flanked by the Lords of the Death Guard and seventy-seven Shroud Guards, stepping into this realm once independent of the gods.

This domain had once been a production ground for countless unclean weapons, perpetually shrouded in black smog, supplying arms to various demon legions and Astartes warbands—though not for Mortarion and his legion; his creations and equipment were all self-designed, self-researched, and self-produced.

No one knew why, but the plague crawler vehicle Mortarion designed to surpass Imperial weaponry was obsessively called “Little Mo Su-7” by that Saint Doraemon.

Mortarion surveyed his surroundings; in an instant, he understood—the Soul Furnace domain had been nearly emptied.

What remained, what could not be taken, and the demons enslaved by Vashthor now stood before him.

Skulls—stacked from eighty-eight thousand different demons—formed a blood-drenched pile of skulls.

Upon this pile sat a colossal humanoid Khorne demon engine, its form resembling a Cerastus Knight—slender, tall—but more defying physics, more like a crimson giant than a machine, and far more agile.