Warhammer 40k: Ours Journey

Chapter 60: Tzeentch Bros, a New Card Just Dropped in the Pool!

"Arthur!"

Ramesses's voice rang out in the transmigrators' private channel. He had completely destroyed the teleportation spell and shattered the Sorcerer's psychic shield, signaling his partner to shut the man up, quickly.

What is with this guy? Is his Tzeentchian boon 'True Name Sight' or something? How is he so accurate with his call-outs?

It wasn't like they had "I am XXX" written on their faces. How did he see it at a glance? If they were all like this, how were they supposed to operate in the Imperium in the future?

Ramesses instinctively scanned his surroundings with his daemon-sight. After confirming there were no unwelcome presences, he breathed a sigh of relief. He was thankful that Arthur had a monopoly on the ship's intelligence-gathering; at least they didn't have to worry about this conversation being recorded and uploaded by the ship's vox-system.

"Acknowledged."

CRACK!

A mirror that had just fallen shattered again. The knight, having finished dealing with all the guards, turned, a crimson glow flaring in his lenses.

Another close-range thrust.

Unexpectedly, the frost-covered staff met the blade. The Sorcerer's massive body was sent flying by the impact. The terrifying suppressive force descended again. The knight's perfect fusion of offense and defense left the Sorcerer with no opportunity to counter-attack. He could only rely on his precognitive powers to barely hang on.

But what did precognition matter?

CLANG—

He deflected the staff stabbing at his chest plate, the defensive field fulfilling its duty perfectly. A clinical, emotionless cleave came again. In the face of such an absolute disparity in skill, their clash could only have one outcome.

SHATTER!

With a sound of exceptional sharpness, on the ninth clash of their weapons, the crystal staff finally broke.

The knight swung his sword.

One strike severed both arms, leaving no path for a counter-attack.

One strike severed both legs, leaving no path for escape.

One strike shattered his throat and tongue, leaving no way for him to speak his blasphemies.

And at that moment, the Word Bearer Sorcerer, still falling through the air, finally saw that every fragment of every mirror reflected the same image—

His defeat.

And with it came the mad laughter of the Lord of Change, echoing from the mysterious Empyrean. It was the joy of a long-unsolved puzzle finally having a corner revealed.

"Change... this is a change that even We could not foresee," the Lord of Change exclaimed.

He watched reality from his throne in the nine-layered Sanctum of Lies, through the eyes of the foolish Sorcerer. The joy of the Sorcerer's defeat was a pinprick of pleasure, but the four figures he now beheld were an unprecedented delight.

In the 0.09 seconds He spent observing the four with His ninety-thousand compound eyes, He simultaneously observed the 99 moments each 0.09-second interval was sliced into. Each moment unfolded a labyrinth of thought within His crystal domain, every possibility running wild within its walls.

The silent knight and the confident, self-reflecting sorcerer. The wrathful warrior and the master strategist. Corrupted, awakened, self-destructive, even reverse-contaminating the Empyrean itself...

Then, without hesitation, He scattered this information to the other gods.

In an instant, the other three Ruinous Powers understood the meaning behind the Anathema's act of forcibly carving a path through the Warp. The being who had found twenty treasures in the Immaterium had now hidden four new prizes.

The Four Gods glanced at the Daemon Primarchs at their sides.

The Four would not sit idly by!

Their emotions stirred a violent tempest in the Warp, pushing back the encroaching Shadow by a fraction.

The Lord of Change watched all of this with satisfaction. He was weaving a web in which even He Himself would become lost. Because He had only glimpsed these figures; He could not see their future. Those so-called futures were merely simulations based on fragmented data. No one could guarantee if they were the truth. But this did not stop the Lord of Change from generously sharing this information.

His twisted body constantly sprouted new tongues, chanting contradictory futures. Tzeentch did not enjoy a prophecy coming true; he enjoyed the fatal confidence that mortals, and even gods, developed after learning a "partial truth."

Like the Inquisitor at this very moment, clutching the head of an ancient race, convinced she was still in control—how lovely, that despair brewed from self-deception.

His joy never came from victory, but from the imbalance created by the information gap in every interaction between living beings. As the other gods began to fight over the Anathema's legacy, He was weaving every detail of their struggle into a part of His plan.

Every decision is a lie, every lie is a vessel for a higher truth, and when each vessel shatters, what spills out is not an answer, but a more hidden plan. When the gods and mortals rejoiced at "unraveling Tzeentch's plan," He was using their self-satisfaction to fuel the river of wisdom that flowed beneath His throne.

Countless years from now, perhaps some god or mortal will glimpse "Tzeentch's true conspiracy," but by then, the Anathema's treasures will already be in His labyrinth.

Then, He will curl up in the shadow of the Golden Throne and savor the bitter wine brewed from the Anathema's momentary hesitation.

He looked with satisfaction at his ever-changing scroll, filled with contradictory processes.

"All is a part of the plan."

Then, He saw the Lord of Brass in the Empyrean let out a joyous roar. The God of War was the first to rise from his throne, a drop of blood rolling down his brass axe, reflecting eight different images. Each reflection was a tombstone for a possible future for this planet.

And in the margins of his scroll, He wrote the story's ending.

"Hee hee, all is proceeding as planned."

"As expected, we've been spotted," Ramesses's voice came through the team's comms.

"We're in the sights of the Four Gods?" Arthur asked, lifting the processed body of the Sorcerer. He thought to himself that he had been too slow.

"Yep. Just like how the Emperor could watch us through the Sisters, the Four can see us through the eyes of their followers. As the god of wisdom, Tzeentch is naturally much more perceptive than the other three," Ramesses said, observing the commotion in the Empyrean. It seemed Tzeentch had already broadcast the news of their existence. The Four Gods were all in an uproar now.

He quietly intercepted a few packets of information and found they were all futures fabricated by Tzeentch. He casually sent them to Romulus.

"Fake. This guy just calculated it based on known data. His understanding of us is limited to the partial impressions we've shown to others. I can run the same keywords and get the exact same results," Romulus's voice came back a few seconds later with the answer.

"So Tzeentch is spreading fake news to trick his brothers into playing?" Karna couldn't help but mutter. "How is that like a few people pulling on the same gacha banner, and one of them trying to trick the others into hitting pity for him?"

"Are there any specific risks?" Arthur had to ask.

"The Four can't see us directly. We can barely communicate with the Emperor even with our cooperation, so the Four naturally can't project their power to influence us directly. Just treat them as normal enemies," Ramesses said. "Instead of worrying about them, we should be more worried about whether this planet is going to get eaten by bugs."

Khorne was still running around the Warp looking for them. It was quite comical.

Ramesses finished his observation and reassured the others.

"Relax. Everything is proceeding as expected."

(End of Chapter)