However, before proceeding, it was prudent to exercise a degree of caution.
Rowan waved his hand gently, and a teleportation hor flew out on its own accord, magnetically adhering to the thick armor plating of the Gargant.
A brilliant flash of teleportation light illuminated the area.
The remaining three mbers of his retinue aboard the strike cruiser instantly materialized onto the Gargant's shoulder.
They imdiately scanned their surroundings, fully expecting to be plunged into a desperate, high-intensity lee. However, there were absolutely zero Greenskins in sight. All they saw was a desolate expanse littered with discarded, ramshackle weapons and abandoned xenos vehicles stretching into the distance.
Witnessing this outco, the three of them exchanged glances.
Recalling Rowan's parting words on the strike cruiser, the previously vague, nebulous thoughts taking root in their minds rapidly solidified into absolute conviction.
Without a doubt, we were wrong.
The man standing before us is the Emperor's Covenant-bearer. He is an entity walking among mortals, shouldering the absolute will and expectations of the God-Emperor Himself.
We should not attempt to constrain him using our own rigid, dogmatic preconceptions. We are rely stepping stones paving his glorious path. We can provide tactical assistance in the minutiae, but we must never, under any circumstances, attempt to interfere with his divine will.
With this newfound clarity, the trio ceased their internal debates. They raised absolutely no objections to Rowan's unprecedented decision to physically interact with a xenos construct. Instead, they wordlessly ford a tight, heavily ard periter around him, establishing a secure defensive cordon.
In the center, Rowan slowly extended his hand, his fingertips making contact with the pulsating orb of light.
The microsecond his fingertips brushed the orb, the Waaagh! Field surged like a massive electrical current, violently connecting with Rowan's consciousness.
Instantly, an apocalyptic tidal wave of illusions crashed over his perception.
Deep within the churning, tempestuous tides of the Immaterium, in a localized warp-realm utterly unknown to mortals, two colossal entities—behemoths so unimaginably massive they defied linguistic description, radiating power comparable to literal stars—were engaged in a brutal, unending brawl.
Their mountainous forms were clad in vibrant, erald-green skin, and crawling across their colossal bodies were countless billions of Greenskins, nurous as grains of sand. Every single punch they threw generated apocalyptic warp-storms that tore through the void; their roaring laughter shook the very foundations of the Immaterium.
They were the twin gods of the Ork race—Gork and Mork!
Suddenly, the two battling behemoths paused. Their ugly, bestial faces turned simultaneously, a flicker of genuine bewildernt crossing their features. Their colossal pupils t Rowan's gaze across the imnsity of the Warp.
Rowan's heart skipped a beat. He instantaneously engaged his reality-bending dominion, violently severing the perceptual link and isolating his presence.
Assuming they had rely experienced a fleeting hallucination, Gork and Mork quickly lost interest and happily resud their eternal, ecstatic brawl that had raged since the dawn of the galaxy.
That scared the zog outta ! Almost thought so humie just beca our new Chosen!
Rowan rapidly withdrew his consciousness back to the materium.
"So this is what it feels like to tap into the Waaagh! Field?" he murmured to himself.
In that fleeting instant, Rowan hadn't just witnessed Gork and Mork; he had witnessed countless, overlapping visions. Across the entire galaxy, Greenskins were locked in fanatical combat—boarding voidships, fighting in ruined Hive Cities, swarming across apocalyptic battlefields. Their fanatical war cries rged into a singular, tidal wave of psychic energy constantly surging through the Warp.
"How do you feel? Are you unhard?"
Cybia asked, a hint of genuine anxiety bleeding into her voice as she watched Rowan montarily freeze.
As a highly attuned psyker, Cybia had distinctly felt the xenos psychic construct suddenly emit an incredibly bizarre yet staggeringly powerful warp-pulse.
"...I am fine."
Rowan recovered his composure and withdrew his hand. "Just now, I interfaced with the psychic Waaagh! Field of the Greenskin race and extracted a significant amount of intelligence."
"Possessing this 'seed,' I can now passively exert a certain degree of interference and amplification. I can even manipulate the 'Wot I Fink' field just like an Ork."
As for the actual physical effects...
Rowan implanted a psychological suggestion within his own mind, explicitly forbidding the passive use of reality bending. He then casually threw a punch; the sheer kinetic force caused the air to crack like a whip.
He stomped his foot lightly. The super-dense armor plating beneath him groaned, and a deep footprint was embedded into the steel.
"Well? What do you think?"
Rowan, who lacked a standardized tric for judging physical attributes in this universe, asked his observers.
The trio exchanged glances. Leonardo pondered for a mont, recalling the speed and kinetic force of the punch, and offered an objective, professional assessnt.
"Highly impressive. Your physical paraters can now be considered roughly equivalent to an unarmored, baseline Astartes."
"Is that so?" Rowan replied.
The Waaagh! Field had comprehensively augnted his physical constitution, simultaneously amplifying his speed, raw strength, and cellular vitality.
This was precisely why the leader of any given Ork mob was invariably the largest and physically strongest among them.
"I struggle to comprehend your excitent."
Lucia voiced her curiosity. "Why are you pleased with such a marginal physical enhancent? Could you not effortlessly achieve the sa result—and vastly surpass it—simply by utilizing your ontological power?"
"That is fundantally different."
Rowan smiled. "A Reality Bender is a purely idealistic entity. I am not an omnipotent god; ultimately, my baseline remains human."
"Human focus is finite. If I divide my attention, my cognitive bandwidth is split. Focusing on one aspect leaves another vulnerable, potentially leading to catastrophic oversights. The reality-bending dominion can only be pushed to its absolute limits when I dedicate my entire, undivided focus to it."
As a Reality Bender, Rowan's baseline physical durability was incredibly average—which was to say, exceedingly fragile.
This was precisely why a certain organization in his past life had a strong predilection for assassinating Reality Benders in their sleep.
After all, a power you couldn't consciously activate was entirely useless.
But now, with his physical form permanently augnted by the passive effects of the Waaagh! Field, his baseline durability was massively enhanced.
At the very least, Rowan no longer had to worry about being accidentally killed by a stray piece of high-velocity shrapnel while his attention was focused elsewhere.
However, it wasn't without its complications.
He extended his hand again, and the pale blue orb floated above his palm.
"Because there is no longer a massive concentration of Greenskins actively generating the 'Wot I Fink' energy to sustain it, this Gestalt Field is slowly dissipating. Currently, I am forced to continuously split my cognitive focus, dedicating a fraction of my attention to stabilizing this condensed orb to prevent it from evaporating."
"What is the solution?" Cybia asked.
"I require soone to shoulder the burden and assist in anchoring the existence of this Waaagh! Field." Rowan looked around. "By doing so, this individual will also gain the ability to passively utilize the 'Wot I Fink' field and receive its physical augntations."
Hearing this, the expressions of the other three beca rather complicated.
Regardless of the benefits, this was ultimately a xenos psychic construct. Given the Imperium's deeply ingrained, dogmatic xenophobia and genetic puritanism, actively binding oneself to such a thing was highly taboo.
"If this is your command, we will accept it," Lucia stated firmly, the first to break the silence.
"No, no, no, you misunderstand ." Rowan waved his hand dismissively, smiling faintly. "I do not require any of you to bear this burden. I already have a far more optimal candidate in mind."
"Or rather... he is unequivocally the most suitable human in the entire galaxy for this specific role."
At this exact mont.
Commissar Yarrick, who by all rights should have been actively commanding the 252nd Armageddon Steel Legion in running down the routed Greenskins, had been forced to temporarily abandon his command tank due to an entirely unforeseen interruption.
Standing on the side of the cratered street within the Hive City.
Yarrick's brow was deeply furrowed. He stood rigidly upright, staring coldly at the individual standing before him. His tone was laced with overt hostility.
"I am officially warning you: your current actions border on actively impeding Astra Militarum operational protocols. As an Imperial Commissar, I possess the summary authority to execute you where you stand."
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