Having witnessed Rowan's demonstration, the three were unequivocally plunged into an abyss of absolute shock.
"Such a... miraculous display of divine might."
Lucia assud a posture of prayer, an expression of profound joy radiating from her features.
She had never, in her entire existence, beheld the future hope of the Imperium with such blinding clarity. She felt an overwhelming urge to weep tears of pure rapture.
The Inquisitor likewise discarded the final vestiges of doubt lingering within her mind.
It was an absolute impossibility for the Dark Gods of Chaos to wield such localized, pristine power. If the daemonic entities lurking within the immaterium possessed the capacity to sculpt objective reality so effortlessly, the Imperium of Man would have collapsed into dust eons ago.
If any adherents of the Cult chanicus were present to witness this spectacle, they would undoubtedly fall to their knees praising the Omnissiah...
No, if a Tech-Priest happened to be even slightly radicalized... it was not entirely impossible that they would instantly declare him the physical incarnation of the Machine God itself.
Given her extensive experience dealing with the cog-boys of Mars, Cybia mused silently.
However, one question remained unanswered.
"Then what exactly was the thod you employed to pull back from the brink of psychic annihilation?"
Cybia inquired.
"That is another facet of my dominion. I can expend a portion of my own essence to elevate others into architects of reality."
Rowan took a mont to briefly outline the chanics of transmutation, ultimately concluding: "However, because the ontological density grafted onto you is miniscule—rely a fractured sliver of my own baseline reality—your capacity to manipulate the materium is exceedingly frail. You are rely classified as primary-grade initiates, possessing just enough existential weight to give your willpower a degree of localized physical manifestation."
"If you are actively countering phenona birthed from the immaterium—which inherently possesses a lower ontological density—this newfound weight will serve as an exceptional shield. But if you wish to restructure physical matter as I just did, you remain vastly inadequate."
Having absorbed Rowan's explanation, the three fell into deep contemplation.
"Of course, such matters can be dissected in detail later."
Seeing that the group harbored no imdiate questions, Rowan refrained from delving further into the specifics of his nature, decisively pivoting to the crisis at hand. "Our primary objective now is to completely neutralize the threat posed by the Chaos warband. The hostiles who boarded this cruiser have largely been exterminated, but their strike cruiser remains prowling in the void, watching us like a starved predator."
"We must eliminate them imdiately. If the enemy perceives that the boarding action has failed, they will undoubtedly open fire and shatter this vessel. That would be highly disadvantageous."
"Correct. That is precisely the case."
Leonardo, drawing upon his tactical experience as an Eye of the Emperor, concurred. "Though, the actual probability of such an occurrence is exceedingly low. The resource reserves of these Chaos heretics are inherently strained after betraying the Imperium. They absolutely will not abandon such a vast quantity of wargear—especially Terminator plate—without cause. They are far more likely to launch another wave of boarding torpedoes rather than directly annihilating the vessel."
Yet, to Lucia—who had received direct orders from the Emperor and now prioritized Rowan's safety above all existence—this tactically sound analysis was entirely unpersuasive.
She imdiately countered:
"That may be true, but who can predict the erratic malice of those Chaos-worshipping lunatics? We currently possess overwhelming combat efficacy. The most optimal strategy remains a counter-boarding action onto their vessel to purge those vile heretics entirely. Only then can we guarantee absolute security."
"Indeed, but how exactly are we to board their ship?"
The group collectively frowned.
"I possess a thod."
Cybia suddenly spoke up.
"Oh?"
The three imdiately turned their gazes toward the Inquisitor.
"As I am now, I have achieved flawless mastery over the oceanic psychic reserves inherent to an Alpha-class rating. I can unleash any sorcery I desire with absolute stability, completely devoid of the fear of warp-backlash. If I rely will it, I can tear open a localized warp rift and teleport us all directly onto the enemy vessel."
"Are you certain? Over such a vast expanse of void, how can you guarantee the accuracy of our arrival coordinates? What if you teleport us directly into hard vacuum or solid bulkheads?"
"Rest assured, I have already resolved that variable."
Cybia pointed toward the mountain of corpses strewn across the deck. "Among the heretics we executed earlier, several were clad in Terminator armor. The teleport hors integrated into their wargear possess the exact tether-coordinates of their vessel's teleportarium. With that data, my targeting will be flawless."
"Excellent. Then that is our course of action!"
Rowan decided instantly. "Make your preparations; we deploy imdiately!"
...
At this exact mont, aboard the Angels of Ecstasy strike cruiser.
Upon the bridge.
"...What in the warp are those fools doing? Why have they not established vox-contact yet? Order the Astropaths to initiate short-range psychic communion imdiately! Tell them if the slaughter is concluded, they are to signal us at once! Do not let them dawdle just to chase fleeting stimulations!"
Within the expansive space of the bridge, completely saturated with grotesque, blasphemous art and idols, a Chaos Space Marine—whose transhuman physique had been violently hyper-trophied by a multitude of chaotic gifts—stood like an iron monolith.
His limbs were grotesquely elongated and twisted. A heavy cloak, stitched together from countless overlapping layers of flayed human skin, hung from his shoulders, radiating not the stench of rotting at, but rather a bizarre, cloying perfu.
His power armor was covered in runes devoted to Slaanesh. His face, exposed due to the absence of his tactical helm, was deathly pale and heavily mutated, completely devoid of vitality and utterly inhuman in its contortions.
This was the Chaos Lord of the Angels of Ecstasy warband, who also served as a Dark Apostle profoundly well-versed in the esoteric rituals of the immaterium.
The Chaos Lord swept a contemptuous gaze across the bridge crew, barking a reprimand at one of the Chaos Astartes:
"Did you hear my command?! Execute it instantly!"
The mortals and mutants upon the bridge trembled in absolute silence, none daring to provoke his wrath. After all, not a single soul knew what incomprehensible, agonizing tortures awaited anyone who defied him.
The singled-out Chaos Space Marine reacted imdiately.
"Yes, Lord!"
He swiftly sprinted off the bridge, vanishing from sight.
The Chaos Lord maintained a deep frown, his gaze piercing through the armaglass viewport, locking onto their target floating silently in the void: the Lunar-class cruiser.
Naturally, he harbored no fear of Imperial reinforcents.
In the eyes of the Chaos Lord, the Imperium he so utterly despised appeared vast and indomitable, but was in truth rely a rotting giant standing upon feet of clay.
Ard with his mastery over a myriad of warp rituals, he possessed the capacity to sustain prolonged immaterium transit. Even if an Imperial fleet arrived to relieve the cruiser, he had absolutely nothing to fear.
Furthermore, he was confident he had maintained absolute tactical superiority throughout this naval engagent. He had deployed a grossly excessive force of elite Astartes for the boarding action; seizing a baseline Imperial cruiser should have been an entirely effortless endeavor.
Yet, where exactly had this operation derailed?
A faint prickling of unease began to surface within the Chaos Lord's mind. He even began to contemplate whether he should perform a divination ritual.
Right at that mont, a figure stumbled frantically toward him.
The Chaos Lord slowly turned his head, watching as a mortal concubine, draped in a sheer, flowing silk robe and possessing a strikingly beautiful face, staggered closer.
Through the sections of her skin left exposed by the robe, it was blatantly visible that her flesh and face had been ticulously carved with a myriad of warp sigils. Were a scholar of the immaterium present, they would instantly recognize the horrific aning behind these runes.
They were ritualistic anchor-points designed specifically to invite possession by the daemonic entities of Slaanesh.
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