The Draken Scale was a masterwork forged by Vulkan's own hands, though the Adeptus chanicus had provided certain cryptic relics of ancient technology and rare materials for its construction. Among these was the self-repair system, a technological artifact bestowed by a specific Magos.
These zealous technolaters, boldly wielding tools they did not fully comprehend, had gifted Vulkan a compact nanite-repair device of unknown provenance. As the Primarch campaigned alongside the Emperor, his Warp-attuned nature, his essence as a Perpetual, began to manifest fully.
His iconic image, clad in the Draken Scale and wielding his hamr, beca anchored within the Sea of Souls. Consequently, whenever the Primarch underwent rebirth, the armor that had been obliterated countless tis alongside him would manifest anew, ti and ti again.
As the plate began to nd itself once more, the piece of "black technology" provided by the chanicus caught the attention of the Iron n. A Sapient Machine Automaton bowed in deference to Vulkan, requesting permission to inspect the power armor.
Vulkan, having witnessed a wealth of advanced ancient technology and having benefited from a hoard of exotic materials provided by his hosts, saw no reason to refuse. The Lord of Drakes granted the request without a second thought.
However, the data harvested from the power armor was imdiately transmitted by the Void Sword's intelligence to Axion. Even the Iron n found themselves hesitating as they parsed the anomalous readings.
From the mont Vulkan drew his newly forged dagger across the plate, the Void Sword identified data signals unique to chanical entities. It traced these signals to the nanite-repair module embedded within the armor.
This specific module was riddled with flaws, its primary limitation being that every repair cycle depleted its internal reservoir of nanites. Without a ans of replenishnt, it would eventually beco inert. It was a primitive application of nanotechnology from the early Federation era. Devices equipped with such modules would record the initial structural "blueprint" of an object and maintain that state until the nanite reserves were exhausted.
Yet the current phenonon was extraordinary.
The nanites repaired the armor, physically consuming themselves in the process, but then, in what appeared to be a conceptual manifestation, they seed to replenish their own losses out of nothingness. This defied the logical comprehension of the Iron n.
In truth, this anomaly was tethered to Vulkan's essence within the Warp. The soul-data of a Perpetual is recorded as a constant within the Sea of Souls, much like the nature of a daemon. Over ten millennia, this armor had been etched into the collective consciousness of the Imperial populace as an inseparable part of Vulkan's form. This had triggered a fundantal shift in Vulkan's conceptual nature within the Warp.
Furthermore, having been saturated by the Ork Waaagh! energy during his previous disappearance, Vulkan now exhibited unique psychic phenona. While Vulkan himself did not understand the underlying science of the chanicus-provided tech, his subjective belief dictated the outco: his armor was a thing of self-repair and regeneration.
This conviction had fixed the armor's nature as a constant within the Warp. As long as the Lord of Drakes' perception remained unchanged, the armor would nd itself eternally, regardless of whether the physical nanite reserves should have run dry.
However, such supernatural, concept-driven power sat far beyond the materialist understanding of the Iron n. This marvelous phenonon was codified into a new record and entered into their archives.
Axion felt as though the universe was becoming increasingly "unhinged." Since his awakening, the tally of incomprehensible occurrences had only grown.
Upon analyzing Vulkan's armor, Axion simultaneously initiated the fabrication of replicas of the Draken Scale across multiple Guardian vessels scattered throughout the galaxy. These duplicates were then systematically destroyed.
When the internal nanite-repair devices in the replicas exhausted their material stores, an even stranger event occurred: these copies appeared to "share" the conceptual blueprint of the armor worn by Vulkan. Despite having no physical matter left to facilitate repairs, the armor sets began to restore themselves autonomously. Even the depleted material reservoirs began to slowly manifest out of thin air.
After exhaustive testing, Axion ordered the total atomic destruction of all replicas. Only then did the conceptual restoration finally cease.
Vulkan remained unaware that his power armor had montarily been replicated across the galaxy, nor did he realize that the Iron n's experint had, in a sense, shaken the conceptual foundation of his wargear's existence.
Within the Empyrean, a majestic entity sighed softly, the sound carrying a note of weary surprise. Though he had long anticipated that the Iron n would eventually probe the nature of the Warp, such a crude, brute-force attempt caught even him off guard.
It was a forced violation of a concept.
Once a concept is established, sentient beings rarely attempt to break it. The citizens of the Imperium certainly lacked the inclination. However, the Iron n's pure rational inquiry and formidable capacity for action could easily lead to the subversion of conceptual realities.
Such a developnt was a double-edged sword. Toppling certain concepts could be a boon for humanity, but upending others could lead to catastrophic instability.
This was exactly what he had sought to govern through his teachings. The Imperial Truth and the Lectitio Divinitatus were both structures designed to solidify specific conceptual constants. The most critical of these was his own decree: that he was a Man, and not a God. Yet, as billions of Imperial subjects continued to worship him as a deity, it was the tension between these two conflicting concepts that held the Emperor fixed upon the Golden Throne.
…
Deep within the vast Sea of Souls, a towering, crimson-skinned Daemon Prince with strange mutations sensed a shift. His single eye turned toward the void.
On the Planet of the Sorcerers, a massive Warp portal flared to life. Great hosts of the Thousand Sons, their armor etched with profane runes, were departing under the leadership of Ahriman toward secret destinations.
Magnus the Red harbored nothing but hatred for the Imperium, and Tzeentch, having been repeatedly humiliated by the Iron n, had begun weaving the threads of fate once more.
Khorne had already proven how futile pure martial strength could be against soulless machines of cold iron. While an infinite tide of daemons might be an insurmountable threat to a vast, decaying Imperium, they were far less effective against entities devoid of emotion.
The threads of destiny were shifting with increasing velocity. Tzeentch had glimpsed visions that filled even the Architect of Fate with unease.
A reaper of iron, carrying a blunt and brutal power, had surged into the Sea of Souls, stirring colossal waves within the twisted dinsions. In many visions, Khorne was the one being hunted; in others, Tzeentch saw himself as the quarry. Though the four gods still existed in the final scenes, their battered and wretched states were a far cry from their current glory.
Regardless of the outco, Tzeentch had no desire to beco the next laughingstock of the Pantheon. After all, the most recent recipient of their mockery had been Slaanesh.
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