Warhammer 40k: Ours Journey

Chapter 61: In the Warp, in a Place Untouchable by Any of the Four Gods

"How tragic. The Imperium you serve has never cared for you. Look at what they've done!"

"They've erased all trace of your existence, denied your loyalty to the False Emperor, and even branded you as traitors."

"Oh, my poor cousins. Forget honor, even the very proof of your existence has been replaced by your own successors."

In a silent, hidden corridor, Arthur pushed a trolley forward. Ahead of him was Ramesses, his psychic field active. Behind him, the syrupy, decadent voice of the Sorcerer followed, transmitted via psychic vibrations.

The areas where they had fought were already undergoing maintenance. Now, the two of them needed to take this guy to a specially prepared black site and begin the interrogation. The Word Bearers' combat strength, deployment, objectives, the whereabouts of the Nemesis Chapter, and the current situation on the planet's surface—all of this was information they needed.

"Sigh, how truly pathetic. No faith in the False Emperor, no faith in the true gods, no Legion, no Primarch. What meaning is there in your existence?"

Arthur was incredibly thankful he had already cut off the man's mouth. Otherwise, he felt the Rock would be appearing over his head at any second. The second thing this guy had said was "Dark Angels." Arthur had instinctively scanned his surroundings for any living strangers. If that got out, he'd never know a moment's peace.

And these Chaos traitors were truly foul-mouthed.

"Do you know that by hiding your identity and helping the Imperium, you look like a scrawny dog, still bringing a bone back to its master?"

This Word Bearer Sorcerer, after recovering from his initial shock, had started spewing insults like a broken faucet.

Arthur was getting annoyed. Unfortunately, aside from a strong resistance to psychic powers, he had no way of stopping the man's incessant chatter. And Ramesses was still processing and analyzing their information in the Warp, trying to determine the Four Gods' specific level of awareness of them. Arthur didn't want to touch the Warp, and the team needed him to stay clean. It was surprising, though, that his combat effectiveness hadn't suffered for it. Perhaps Ramesses's theory was correct; besides their psycho-materialization ability, they each had their own unique traits. And that was the real mystery worth exploring.

Arthur fell into thought, but his train of thought was quickly broken by the grating voice.

"Do you think the False Emperor's kingdom will welcome you back just because you're wagging your tail and begging? No! They will only take your bone, then stew your flesh and blood into a soup, and brand your name with the mark of a traitor!"

The Tzeentchian's aggression was a bit much. Normally, in a verbal confrontation, a loyalist Space Marine was at a complete disadvantage against a Chaos Marine. After all, one side, at the very least, still held onto their loyalty to the Imperium. The other side had basically thrown away everything that made them human, completely dedicating their souls to the Ruinous Powers. In a trash-talking contest, which was a battle with no bottom line, the loyalist naturally couldn't win.

Of course, this didn't bother Arthur. He wasn't loyal to the Imperium, he didn't care about honor, and he wasn't even a real "Dark Angel." He didn't have to internalize any of this nonsense. Thinking about his own "faction identity" upon arrival, Arthur couldn't help but sigh. Even Ramesses, a member of a traitor legion, was in a safer position than him. At least very few people in the Imperium even recognized the Thousand Sons anymore, and there was no organization specifically dedicated to hunting them down.

"Do you think you're the only sane one here?" Ramesses, having finished his work, was now annoyed. Attack me, I can laugh it off. Attack my brother, you're asking for it.

"I seem to recall that even after you Word Bearers turned to Chaos, no one wanted you. Even after you licked Tzeentch's boots, you're still lying here as an expendable pawn."

"Are you like the Emperor's Children, having won the favor of Slaanesh? Or like the World Eaters, earning the gaze of Khorne? Or perhaps like the Thousand Sons, receiving the patronage of Tzeentch?"

"Even Nurgle, the so-called most benevolent of the gods, doesn't seem to want you."

"You couldn't make it in the Imperium, the Emperor didn't want you. So you went crawling to the Four Gods, and you're still doing worse than the original traitors. The Four don't want you either."

"You spend all day hugging those scriptures that you keep changing. Your neighbors, the Death Guard, have three times as many faithful followers of Nurgle, and they spread their faith with farts."

"I have never seen someone who, after being rejected by one father, goes and finds himself another daddy. What, you can't live without a father figure?"

"Why don't you try believing in me? I think I'd be a pretty good fit."

A rapid-fire barrage of insults, delivered with perfect cadence, left the previously confident Sorcerer speechless.

"See this pile of ash?" Ramesses casually scooped up a handful of a traitor legionary's ashes with his psychic power and threw it in the Sorcerer's face. "Your so-called faith is just like the ashes of Monarchia. Utterly worthless."

The Word Bearer Sorcerer's mutated, ruined face froze for a second, then twisted with incredible speed.

Then Ramesses, with a free hand, psychically gagged him.

There was nothing more satisfying than roasting someone and then taping their mouth shut.

My friend's got some serious bite too.

Arthur, now with a proxy to do his talking, couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration. He then opened the door, which was keyed only to their four genetic signatures.

"He's all yours," Arthur said, pushing the Word Bearer Sorcerer towards Ramesses. It was the first sentence he had spoken since the mission began. Just listening to this thing's psychic whispers was a form of torture, let alone actually talking to him. In the transmigrators' view, if you thought the Imperium was rotten, you could rebel, you could go independent, you could even just ignore it. But to turn to Chaos... that made you the biggest clown of all. To be able to pick the biggest, smelliest turd from a pile of crap took a special kind of talent.

"I will find it," Ramesses said, pulling off the Word Bearer's helmet, forcing him to look into his own golden eyes, and dragging his soul directly into the Warp. "Look at me."

The transmigrators were not psychopaths. They couldn't bring themselves to perform cruel interrogations. They were, after all, products of a sane society. They couldn't be more evil, more depraved than these dregs.

But coincidentally, dregs like these were not hard to find in this universe. And for that, the transmigrators didn't mind using some slightly... blasphemous methods.

In the Warp, in a place of shadow, where the gaze of any god could not directly reach—

The daemons of the Four Gods were imprisoned.

Of course, Ramesses wasn't stupid enough to put these daemons in their actual safe house without confirming it was safe. Although his research methods seemed incredibly reckless, when it came to projects that were critical to the transmigrators' survival, he had no intention of taking any risks. But by using the shadow of the safe house itself as a shield, the Four Gods wouldn't notice these "little ones" scattered throughout the Warp.

And today, they would be receiving a new cellmate.

A cellmate who, they were told, they could torture at will, and who, "it was said," could earn them a chance at freedom.

"No, no, no!"

"You can't do this! You can't! This isn't right!"

"The Gods, the Primarch, the False Emperor, anyone! Someone, save me!"

The Sorcerer's wails echoed out, but were quickly swallowed by the raging tides of the Warp.

Here, every cruel method would be visited upon the Sorcerer's soul, by the very minions of Chaos.

And this was merely him receiving the same abuse he had once inflicted upon the weak.