Outer Perimeter of the Honkai Dimension — Adeptus Astartes Ninth Legion, Blood Angels. Recruitment World No. 22, Codename Conquered World (Universe: One Piece). Current Time.
Beyond the dimension, the universe surged with chaos and wonder. The rise and fall of countless worlds, the eternal struggle of sentient species, and the endless procession of heroes and legends—each leaving their mark upon existence.
To die in iron and fire, or to live in cowardice. To burn with ambition, or to fade in despair. To flourish in generosity, or to languish in poverty. To triumph gloriously, or to fall into ruin. To remain loyal—or to betray. Every soul wrote its own story.
Some shone but for an instant; others endured for eternity.
Yet when the tendrils of the Honkai reached forth—born from a single act of hatred deep within the Chaos-ravaged scarlet world of Cadia—the fate of many began to diverge.
That was the path of divine ambition—the path of the Divine Empress.
As the branches of the Honkai spread wildly, the Will of Finality grew deeper, and the Empress' heart grew ever more prideful.
Can the flutter of a butterfly's wings truly stir a hurricane in Florida?
The answer: yes.
At least, it was so for Selene.
All things bound to her—every being, every breath, every world. None could escape her reach.
The worlds prayed for her mercy to endure, the xenos for her justice to spare them, and humanity for her benevolence to bring progress and peace.
And though Selene was presently at leisure, attending no Imperial affairs of state, her whimsical decision to tour the provinces had, in practice, unleashed a storm of purges and inquisitorial crackdowns across the entire Empire.
How much damage that storm would inflict upon those struggling to survive in the shadows of the Imperial governorships and colonial worlds—how many would be ruined, how many officials would lose their positions or their heads—no one could say.
Regular purges. Slaughter a batch, replace a batch.
There was never a shortage of bureaucrats to kill—or to promote.
Likewise, beyond her Honkai Dimension domain, in the endless void—how many civilian merchant fleets vanished without trace? How many xeno starfaring civilizations, burning with hatred, hurled their fleets against the imperious might of the Sacred Selene Empire's expeditionary armadas? How many human civilizations, proud and defiant, rose against her domineering rule of iron and divine right?
Selene did not care.
If she had to manage every trivial affair personally, then what use were her vast bureaucratic apparatus and armies?
She was watching the wind.
More precisely—she was enjoying the view, the music, the cuisine, and her guests, all at once.
At the summit of a vast palace built upon the scarlet-soiled continent of this water world, Selene sat upon a high dais, gazing out the window.
The transparent arched windows were adorned in the Blood Angels' crimson-gold aesthetic, ornate and radiant. The skylights shifted with the sun, casting ever-changing light upon the landscape below—a breathtaking vista of the so-called Red Line Continent.
Heaven and earth divided sharply; sea and land distinct. The red hue was startlingly vivid.
It was a tranquil day. The pale sunlight spilled through the clear azure sky, illuminating the world below.
Across that sky, lines of shining objects could be seen gliding from one horizon to the other—an endless procession of orbital trains, moving in precise formation.
They were shipyards, orbital factories, and transport networks—components of the Blood Angels' 22nd Recruitment World's industrial might, producing weapons of war, importing resources from Imperial systems, and exporting the planet's native goods.
Around the ruins of Pangaea Castle—the wartime-destroyed seat of the old World Government at Mariejois—new gardens had risen.
Neatly symmetrical city planning, towering hedges, and lush green lawns once more adorned the Red Soil Continent. The planetary capital—seat of the Imperial Governor—had become a place of cultivated beauty, its changing seasons woven with harmony.
"Lord Sanguinius," Selene said softly, her silver eyes glinting with mirth. "You seem... rather restless, do you not?"
Selene lifted her knife and fork, spearing a rib of Sea King meat—one of One Piece's famed delicacies—and dipped it into a small dish of caramel-colored sauce. She took a bite, savoring it slowly, her expression brightening into that unmistakable look of "ah, there's nothing quite like eating meat and drinking deep."
With a flick of her finger, she used her Subspace Ribbons to continue slicing through the several dozen meters of Sea King ribs laid out across the banquet table. Her gaze, however, shifted toward the golden-haired angel seated at the lower end of the table—his perfect features strained with visible restlessness. He fidgeted as though sitting on needles, clearly torn between the desire to speak and the restraint of formality.
"In that regard, Lord Sanguinius, you're far less straightforward than Angron," Selene said with a soft laugh. "You want to join the war, don't you?"
Setting down her utensils, she picked up a fruit from the Boin Archipelago—one of its carnivorous plant species' sweet produce—and finished her meal. She then poured aged wine from a crystal-blue bottle through the air into Sanguinius' goblet, her tone turning wry. "Come now, I can see it written all over your face."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Sanguinius admitted, rising to his feet. "Nearly half of the Astartes Legions have joined Grand General Budo in battle. From what I understand, it was by your personal command… why, then, is the Blood Angels Legion left idle?"
Since she had already called him out, there was no point in hiding it. He spoke his mind openly.
His smooth, silken golden hair fluttered lightly as he stood, shimmering against his ornate armor.
Even at this private banquet, Sanguinius had not donned civilian attire. He was clad instead in radiant, gilded power armor, inlaid with massive rubies, his immaculate white wings folded neatly behind him. His appearance was nothing short of divine.
He looked travel-worn, however—clearly having rushed back from the front upon learning that Selene had arrived to inspect the recruitment world under his command.
The mobilization of nine Astartes Legions, led by Grand General Budo's Second Legion—the Punishers—was no small matter. Sanguinius had seen the scale of it and could not help but feel… left out.
They were gathering an army—and hadn't invited him.
Even though rivalry between the Legions was rooted more in pride than hostility, each carried its own honor. And though Sanguinius himself was not one to care for petty competition, he could not stand idly by when the glory of his Legion was at stake.
Learning that Selene's inspection route would soon pass through his sector, he had seized the chance—rushing to meet her personally and petition for a place in the campaign.
"..."
"Hmm… if you were to go…"
Selene paused for a long moment, her scarlet eyes gleaming like twin stars. Her gaze lingered on Sanguinius' radiant, angelic face—the very image of perfection.
There was just… something about it.
When she had created Sanguinius, Selene had done so with exceptional care, sculpting every detail according to her ideal vision of beauty, light, grace, and divinity—the very embodiment of the word angel.
Compared to the "original version" crafted by that golden giant, Selene wasn't sure whether her recreation surpassed it—but she knew one thing: hers could fight better.
And most importantly, the original card was gone.
So many of the Blood Angels' sons had lost their father—pitiful, sorrowful, weeping for their lost Primarch…
"Your Majesty…"
Seeing the fleeting expressions cross Selene's face—thoughtful, wistful, perhaps even mischievous—Sanguinius spoke softly.
"Sanguinius," Selene finally said. Her tone shifted, her casual warmth replaced by the commanding presence of a divine sovereign. Her voice resounded like a celestial decree.
"I grant you permission to join the war—but there are matters you must first understand…"
Bzzzt—!
A brilliant light shimmered in her palm, violet-red radiance crystallizing into form beneath the sun's glow.
Holding a certain impish intent in mind, Selene gripped the Honkai Cube, ready to transfer its encoded knowledge to Sanguinius—when suddenly, her brow furrowed.
"This Honkai particle wavelength… it survived that cesspit of a universe? Not only intact—but amplified? Where did it find such a powerful energy catalyst? Was it—fed into the Golden Throne as fuel? Or perhaps…"
For an instant, she froze. Then—she made a decision.
Sanguinius was still processing Selene's words when she suddenly stood. "Come," she commanded. In a single motion, she seized her radiant archangel and tore open the veil of reality itself, stepping through the sundered fabric of the universe toward the source of the mysterious signal.
For one of her wandering merchant-subjects to show such unwavering faith and loyalty—unbending devotion to none but Selene—well, she could hardly continue shirking her duties under the excuse of "local inspection."
As for the inspection itself?
Inspection, my ass.
Let Alyssa handle it.
...
Outer War Zone — Astartes Second Legion, Punishers, Assembly Point
The shadow of the void carved the towering command spires of the fleet into forms both sacred and solemn—colossal metallic cathedrals adrift among nebulae, vast and domineering, defiant before the stars themselves.
Each ship was a moving continent of steel, bristling with visible macro-cannons and gaping weapon ports. Their viewport lights shimmered like a cityscape at night, tens of thousands of lamps burning across the hulls, illuminating sigils of allegiance painted on their armored flanks.
The numeral Ⅱ gleamed proudly.
Though ranked as the Second Legion, the Punishers' scale and strength marked it as the foremost of the original founding three Legions—unquestionably a pillar of the Imperial Astartes.
Even with countless expeditionary fleets still scattered across the stars bearing the Empress' light, and local garrisons and reserves left untouched, the forces the Punishers could mobilize in mere hours were terrifying.
"Have we extracted the Honkai Hyperlane transit data from Dubois' merchant fleet?"
"Data indexed. Transmitting to shipboard servitors now."
"Verify the warp frequency. Set the coordinate anchor."
"Coordinates confirmed, sir. This marks the final transmission point of Dubois' fleet before it vanished into the extra-dimensional void. We're still receiving faint traces of Honkai particle signatures, allowing us to triangulate the approximate region."
"Approximate?"
"Yes, commander. An unknown warp storm obscured the fleet's Honkai signal. It's also possible Dubois' fleet was destroyed. The servitors could only project a likely trajectory based on residual wave patterns."
"To mask Honkai particle signatures entirely… that means our target is a formidable one indeed."
"No doubt. For Her Majesty to mobilize nine Astartes Legions at once—the enemy must be beyond ordinary reckoning."
At the heart of the immense, iron-gray armada—within the command sanctum of the Imperial Wrath, flagship of the Second Legion Punishers—two massive, interlocked iron fists adorned the wall behind the conference table. Beneath that sigil, officers of various legions, their armor in a spectrum of colors and markings, gathered beneath the flickering starlight.
They wore silvered steel, midnight blue, dusky gray, crimson-gold, arctic white, and shadowed frost; some bore scripture-etched stone plates, others oceanic serpent-scale motifs.
The high-ranking envoys of all nine Astartes Legions had assembled.
"Well then," rumbled a giant clad in thickly reinforced armor, his pauldrons painted in crude yellow-and-black hazard stripes—the unmistakable mark of the Fourth Legion, the Iron Warriors. "Doesn't that only mean this is a glorious war? A holy war to be remembered by all!"
"Let the carnage rise! Let the souls of the faithless burn! Let the void itself blaze—we will reduce them to ash! The Empress' glory is unquestionable!"
His steel-plated fist clenched with a shriek of metal, the harsh resonance echoing like the voice of artillery. The Iron Warriors were living siege engines, their very words carrying the scent of oil, gunpowder, and iron.
"Aye… it is glory—but also duty," said another voice, calm yet solemn.
A warrior in crimson and gold pressed his palm to his chest. His tone carried the gravity of sacrifice—yet also the cadence of poetry.
His armor bore a navy-blue base, with a golden sunburst emblem radiating sharp edges in every direction—the mark of the Fifteenth Legion, the Thousand Sons.
Outside of their Primarchs and Selene herself, no one in the Empire truly knew the full numbers of the Astartes Legions. All others could only speculate.
Yet just as the Punishers' vast strength was known across the Empire, the Fifteenth Legion—the Thousand Sons—was perhaps the smallest of all Astartes Legions.
"Amen, my brother of steel," came a calm, sonorous voice. "I understand your war-spirit burns brightly, but victory through sheer guns and blades alone is not the way. Such means will only leave behind ruins—lands filled with hatred, terror, and desolation. That is not what the Empress desires. Her heart is vast, her will, compassionate."
"Our true mission is to bring forth worlds that shine in Her glory—to guide and unite them. We must make them believe that the Empress is truth itself—the one true god."
There was no need to look to know who spoke with such zealous conviction. None other than the Seventeenth Legion—the Imperial Heralds.
Clad in intricately engraved gray power armor, covered with carved Imperial scripture, prayers, and sacred sigils, the Preacher-Captain resembled more a high priest than a soldier. His expression was solemn, his tone fervent, his words filled with sanctity.
"Victory must not come through destruction alone," he continued, "but through faith and reason."
A massive captain from the World Eaters leaned forward, a toothy grin spreading beneath his helmet. "And what," he growled, "if they already have gods of their own? If they call our Divine Empress a false god?"
"..."
Silence fell. The air itself seemed to freeze.
"Then we show them the truth," the Preacher-Captain said at last, his lips curling into a zealous smile. "We shall enlighten their souls."
He drew his crozius arcanum—a massive, spiked, mace-like weapon designed for both preaching and punishment.
A spiritual injector, shaped like a power maul.
"Ha! Isn't that just another gun?"
A pale warrior from the Night Lords sneered. "You're no different from us. Fear is the most efficient weapon—it teaches obedience."
"This is not the same!" the Preacher-Captain protested. "We strike for salvation, not domination!" He began to mutter something about "spiritual empowerment" and "holy purpose," his words growing increasingly esoteric until the entire chamber burst into laughter.
A great white-furred Wolf Lord from the Space Wolves stepped forward, slapping the Preacher-Captain's shoulder plate with a booming laugh.
In that moment of levity, the divisions between the Legions seemed to soften.
Perhaps this—more than anything—was what set Selene's Honkai Vats apart from the golden giant's Gene-Vats.
As the atmosphere lightened, a sudden alarm echoed through the command deck. The laughter died instantly, replaced by crisp, metallic voices on every comm-channel.
"Data input complete. Civilian merchant fleet—Dubois' convoy—coordinate anchor confirmed. Honkai wavelength verification... complete."
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