Warhammer 40k: Ours Journey

Chapter 15: The Path Forward, the Path to Power

"No Chaos God can create so many real-space objects from such a small amount of soul-stuff," Ramesses said with absolute conviction. "Otherwise, those restless bastards would have started mass-producing crap and throwing it into the material universe long ago."

Many people misunderstand the true power of the Four Gods. In reality, once you truly understand the worldview of Warhammer 40,000, you realize they aren't as terrifyingly omnipotent as they seem. The true despair of Warhammer comes from the galaxy-wide decay of every civilization: the stinking corpse of the Imperium, the various insane and zealous factions, and those four cosmic shit-stirrers in the Warp.

Before the Great Rift, the primary way the Four Gods interfered with realspace was by cultivating cultists to perform sacrifices, opening Warp portals for daemon invasions, and relying on good ol' Abaddon to unite the scattered Chaos warbands for his "victorious every time" Black Crusades. Even Abaddon, the Chosen of all Four Gods, spent countless years plundering realspace and signing a pile of unequal treaties with the Dark Mechanicum just to build the Planet Killer in the Eye of Terror. Expecting the Four to conjure up Auramite and Adamantium from a few souls is asking far too much of them.

If the exchange rates for their powers were prohibitively expensive, like a phishing scheme to lure you into hoarding souls with the promise of great power, then it would be a Chaos plot, no question. But the costs were too low—so low that one could be almost certain it was beyond the scope of the Four Gods' abilities.

"So, you all have a decent handle on your abilities now?"

Everyone nodded. In layman's terms, they were now walking STCs, with psychic energy as their raw material.

"Next is how we acquire that raw material. In theory, hunting any entity with psychic energy works," Ramesses continued. Killing humans would work, of course, but indiscriminate slaughter was an insane course of action that was not even on the table for them.

Ramesses opened a small daemonic portal. A greedy-looking Blue Horror of Tzeentch popped out, only to be instantly obliterated by a bolt of psychic lightning.

"My current method is to set up a daemonic summoning ritual and farm them," he explained. "Since I've specced into psyker abilities, I'm pretty conspicuous in the Warp anyway."

So, a monster-spawner.

"Isn't that dangerous?" Arthur asked. Using yourself as bait seemed like a death wish.

"The daemons can only see the psychic projection, not me," Ramesses explained. "Our use of psychic powers is more like a person using a tool. The daemons can see the tool, but they can't see the person wielding it."

It just went to show that recklessness had its rewards. Ramesses's understanding of their abilities far surpassed the other three. If Arthur had been in his shoes, his cautious nature would have never allowed him to attempt such an experiment while his suspicions were still active. As a result, he never would have discovered the principles behind their powers.

"There's another way," Romulus added, seeing that Ramesses was finished. "Directly interfering in certain pre-ordained events can also grant us a massive amount of psychic power, far more than just hunting individuals."

"Such as?" Ramesses's interest was piqued.

"While we were reclaiming the Gellar Field generator, Arthur and I intervened in a sacrificial ritual a Khornate warband was conducting against the Deathwatch. After we killed the enemy, we received a huge influx of psychic power," Romulus said, recounting their experience. That unexpected windfall was the only reason he had been able to pop out dozens of Astartes to help defend the various junctions.

"Is that so?" Ramesses rubbed his chin, a look of sudden realization on his face. "So that's where all that extra power came from. I was wondering about that." He continued, "In fact, every action we take seems to gather some psychic energy, just very little. Why you and Arthur received so much is definitely worth investigating. We'll need more test cases to confirm the theory."

"Right." Romulus nodded, concluding that topic. "For now, that's what we know about our abilities. Which brings us to the most important question—"

He steepled his fingers, resting his chin on them, his deep crimson eyes sweeping over the group. Even Karna, who had been trying to remain invisible, sat up straight.

"What are we going to do in the future?"

"Do we find a quiet corner of the galaxy, or do we get involved?"

The four of them were likely stuck in the Warhammer universe until they died. They needed a concrete plan for their future.

"If I were just an ordinary Fallen Angel," Arthur spoke first, "I would definitely try to find a garden world and lie low. Every extra day I lived would be a win."

"But—" Romulus looked at his friend with a teasing smile, giving him an opening.

"But you guys are here," Arthur continued. "And we have this power from an unknown source. I think we're destined for something more than just hiding." He knew that no matter how much he doubted the source of this power that could turn souls into matter, it had ultimately given them a new choice.

A choice they had no choice but to make.

"We get involved in the great events. We seek the true nature of our power. We slaughter the enemies whose actions violate our very beings. We must pursue strength, because in this universe—"

His gaze met Romulus's, then moved to his other companions, one by one.

"Only strength is truth!"

In this strange universe, the Imperium, Chaos, and the xenos were all threats to them. The weak do not survive in the face of such threats.

Now, a clear path to power lay open before them. The transmigrators did not want to find themselves crushed in the crossfire of some future conflict, filled with regret, wondering why they didn't develop their powers, why they didn't seize the nourishment for their own strength from the cracks between great events.

So they needed to seek power. To find more efficient ways to become stronger.

And if they wanted to become stronger, they could not remain on the sidelines forever.

And...

The four of them looked at each other. Beyond the consensus on their decision, there was a faint glimmer of hope in their eyes.

A hope of transforming this chaotic galaxy into the familiar world they remembered.

"My Lords!"

A call from outside the door interrupted their "emotional" moment. It was the voice of Sister Arabella.

Ramesses waved his hand, clearing away the anachronistic fast food, and only then did Romulus operate the cogitator to open the door.

"Sister Arabella," Romulus said, inviting her into the room. "Is there something you need?"

"It is about the warriors of the 'Broken Swords'," Arabella began. "They... their mutations are severe." She didn't know why she had chosen this moment to report such a seemingly minor issue to the Emperor's Angels. But some voice had urged her to come, insisting that the Angels needed to know.

(End of Chapter)