Chapter 426: The True Face of Tzeentch! The Thousand Sons' Primarch Returns!
The Thousand Sons' unusual movements did not go unnoticed by Mortarion. He assumed Amon intended to draw the battlefield toward the territory of the Universal Megacorp, possibly endangering their fleet formation.
Without hesitation, Mortarion gave the order: "Notify the Megacorp's flagship—have them withdraw at once. We don't want any friendly fire."
"Yes, my lord," Typhus nodded.
At this critical juncture, dragging the Megacorp into the conflict would spell disaster. Whether it was their own artillery accidentally hitting the Megacorp's ships, or the Thousand Sons attacking them, any such incident would bring about a massive headache—one Mortarion had no intention of dealing with.
"Also, get in touch with Lion, Russ, and Guilliman. Prepare to enact the Exterminatus on Prospero. Begin orbital bombardment!"
Mortarion's voice was cold and devoid of empathy. He had no time to play games with Amon. If the Thousand Sons thought they could seize an opportunity to break through and escape, Mortarion would see to it that Amon's schemes came to nothing.
Once Prospero was under bombardment, Mortarion refused to believe those damned traitors could sit still any longer.
As Mortarion wiped down his massive scythe, looking every bit like a blood-drenched executioner, Typhus couldn't help but flinch.
"Yes, I'll contact the other Primarchs immediately."
Before long, Lion and Russ received Mortarion's request. After brief consideration, they nodded in agreement.
Guilliman didn't respond directly, but silence meant tacit approval. Thus, the plan for orbital bombardment was unanimously approved.
Despite the heavy weight on his conscience, Guilliman knew this step had become unavoidable—based on the Thousand Sons' current behavior, there was no other option.
Anything less would be tantamount to defying the Emperor's will.
"There's no helping it. Prospero is lost…"
Aboard the Glory of Macragge, Guilliman let out a long, weary sigh.
Once the Exterminatus was initiated, the Imperium's fleet would annihilate all life and data on the planet, thoroughly erasing its ecosystem. This included orbital bombardments, viral purges, and other measures.
Compared to the Universal Megacorp's more varied and sophisticated means of extermination, the Imperium relied primarily on one method: orbital bombardment.
This might include saturation bombing to glass the planet's surface, or deployment of deep-penetrating secondary torpedoes aimed at the planetary core to collapse its structure—causing a catastrophic internal rupture.
Either method would swiftly destroy an entire planet.
"We'll start with orbital bombardment—take it slow," Mortarion growled.
He intended to use Prospero as bait to distract Amon, drawing the Thousand Sons' attention back.
As long as the Thousand Sons remained emotionally tied to Prospero, their performance would suffer, increasing the likelihood of fatal errors.
Soon, the Dark Angels, Space Wolves, Death Guard, and Ultramarines each dispatched orbital bombardment ships, closing in on Prospero.
As a torrent of lance fire rained down, Prospero's orbital defenses were shattered. Moments later, the planetary defense bases on the surface were reduced to rubble.
Prospero was Magnus's bastion—its fortifications were nothing to scoff at.
But even so, against orbital bombardment from four Primarchs' forces, the planet was steadily collapsing.
The Thousand Sons aboard their ships watched in horror as the heartbreaking scene unfolded before them.
Fury hung thick in the air across their fleets.
"Amon! We can't keep running! At this rate, Prospero will be completely destroyed!"
"This is our home! We can't just sit and watch it burn!"
"For the Primarch—we fight to the end!"
"…"
The Thousand Sons roared in grief and rage.
Prospero was their homeworld. Many of the civilians there were their own families—loved ones and kin.
Amon was overwhelmed, torn in all directions.
They hadn't even entered the Megacorp's anti-Warp field yet. Daemons from the Warp were still attacking them relentlessly.
Many of the Thousand Sons were already being devoured by those abominations. What good would it do to turn back now?
They were already surrounded by four Primarchs' forces and were at an overwhelming disadvantage. Without reaching the Death Guard's lines, their shields would be worn down and destroyed.
And now, Prospero was being bombarded from orbit.
Amon was at a total loss—no path forward seemed survivable.
The one thing he was certain of was this: turning back to defend Prospero meant certain death!
With the concentrated firepower of the Primarch-led forces and the Warp-spawned daemons assailing them, the Thousand Sons would be annihilated.
Their best option now was to breach the Megacorp's anti-Warp field, purge their internal corruption, and attempt to enter the Warp again.
Escape—however partial—was better than certain destruction.
"We can't turn back. Stick to the planned course. Forget Prospero."
Amon gave the order with gritted teeth, his heart heavy with sorrow.
He couldn't understand—why had the Imperium treated the Thousand Sons like this?
From the start, they were hit with an Exterminatus—no investigation, no hearings.
He was consumed by a surge of fury and hatred.
In truth, before being incorporated into the Imperium, Prospero had been a rich, orderly human world. It had never needed the Imperium's so-called "salvation."
But once the Imperium arrived, they began recruiting soldiers, levying taxes, and using the planet as a springboard for the Great Crusade.
In the end, the people of Prospero—who had shed blood and earned glory—were repaid with nothing but a ruthless Exterminatus order.
What a cruel, twisted joke!
Just as Amon was lost in his bitter memories, a deep, familiar voice echoed behind him. He turned—and saw a figure he thought was long gone:
The Primarch Magnus had returned!
"My lord!"
Amon was overwhelmed with emotion. He rushed forward, desperate to ask where Magnus had been and why the Exterminatus had been ordered.
"You're finally back, my lord! The Emperor believes we've been corrupted by the Warp and has ordered Prospero's destruction!"
Amon pleaded anxiously, "Please, stop them—present the truth to the Emperor!"
Given the rapidly deteriorating situation, Amon didn't waste time questioning Magnus's sudden appearance.
Besides, as the second most powerful psyker after the Emperor, Magnus knowing a teleportation spell was hardly surprising.
"The Emperor was not wrong."
Magnus's voice grew heavy with solemnity. It was full of sorrow—like a man who had aged centuries overnight.
Amon froze on the spot when he heard those words.
He couldn't comprehend what Magnus meant.
"Because of my own foolish actions, I unwittingly struck a laughable deal with the Chaos Gods of the Warp. In exchange for one of my eyes, they claimed to have cured your flesh mutations."
At this, Amon instinctively looked closer at Magnus's eyes. Sure enough, Magnus's right eye had turned a dull, murky gray.
Clearly, it had lost all function.
A sharp pang pierced Amon's chest. His nose stung as emotion surged.
"But the mutations were never cured—only temporarily suppressed. Now, they're on the verge of erupting again, even more violently than before."
As Magnus spoke, he turned his remaining left eye toward the viewport. The fiery explosions of battleships reflected in his calm gaze.
Those burning Thousand Sons vessels were the culmination of his life's work—his blood, sweat, and soul. And yet, watching them fall apart before his eyes, Magnus felt only peace.
Since he had started this cycle of sin, it was only right that he be the one to end it.
To him, it was better for the mutated Thousand Sons to die with the honor of Adeptus Astartes than to be branded heretics and executed like criminals.
After hearing Magnus's confession, Amon was left in a daze.
So… all of this happened because Magnus was deceived by a Chaos God? It was Magnus's mistake that had doomed Prospero to destruction?
"Then... all this time you were gone, you were with one of the Chaos Gods in the Warp?!"
Amon stumbled two steps backward, unable to contain the dread building in his chest.
Suddenly, the Magnus before him felt unfamiliar—no longer the wise and proud Primarch he had known. How could he have made such a foolish mistake?
"Yes."
Magnus didn't deny it. Calmly and plainly, he laid out the truth:
"They wanted the Thousand Sons to leave the Imperium… and join the forces of the Warp."
…
As he spoke, Magnus's memory drifted back to two months ago, when the Emperor first issued the Exterminatus order—during the time he was missing.
Back then, Tzeentch, the Chaos God of Change, had lured Magnus into a mysterious realm within the Warp. There, Tzeentch revealed his true nature.
> "Magnus, the Imperium's ceaseless warmongering, its oppressive taxes and tyranny, and its reckless indulgence of its Primarchs have already sown the seeds of its own demise."
"This so-called mighty empire is rotting from within. But if you choose to turn back now, the benevolent Master of Change will shelter you, and lead you to a brighter future."
In the chaotic folds of the Warp, where time and space twisted in impossible ways, Tzeentch spun his web of lies—trying to beguile Magnus with honeyed words.
This wasn't their first encounter.
Tzeentch had long taken many forms to secretly aid Magnus—offering knowledge, insight, and psychic lore, much of which now filled Prospero's archives.
All of it had been bait—for the singular purpose of catching the biggest prize: Magnus himself.
"Damn you, foul god! How dare you try to corrupt a Primarch loyal to the Emperor!"
Magnus had shouted in fury, hurling a psychic spear toward the entity.
But this was Tzeentch's domain. With a mere thought, the spear disintegrated into nothing.
"The Changer of Ways…"
Magnus was taken aback. His knowledge of the Warp was limited at best. He had heard whispers of gods and demons, but never fully grasped the truth behind the Chaos Pantheon.
Before he could ask more, Tzeentch unveiled the true face of the Warp to him.
Surging psychic energy flooded into Magnus's vision. In that moment, what had once been hidden to mortal eyes became dazzlingly, terrifyingly clear.
The vast, Infinity Warp no longer held any secrets from him.
He saw knowledge—more than he'd ever dreamed of—materializing and shifting all around him. Ancient tomes, forbidden sciences, infinite truths… it was all there, too much to take in.
Magnus's gaze turned glassy, his mind teetering under the weight of overwhelming information. His iron will, usually so unshakable, began to crumble.
In that moment, he was utterly vulnerable—anyone could have killed him where he stood.
Tzeentch's ever-changing eyes and sly smile gleamed in every corner of the Warp, laughing. The torrent of distorted, conflicting data made it impossible for Magnus to discern Tzeentch's true form.
But he didn't care.
In that realm, it wasn't the god's form that mattered—it was the irresistible ocean of knowledge that consumed his every thought.
Tzeentch was pleased. To corrupt a Primarch addicted to the Warp was as simple as showing him the "internet" of infinite psychic lore.
And now, the seed of betrayal had been planted.
All that remained was to water it.
> "Magnus, the great Changer of Ways now offers you his mercy. You shall witness the destruction of Prospero… see your sons die beneath the Imperium's guns."
"And after that, you will understand. You will finally see where you truly belong."
With those words, Tzeentch cast Magnus out of the Warp, dropping him onto the bridge of the Radiant Glory.
Tzeentch, with its infinite foresight and grasp of the timelines, had already foreseen everything. With a single gesture, it had shown Magnus all that was unfolding in the real universe.
He saw Mortarion, hell-bent on annihilating the Thousand Sons. He saw Guilliman, full of conflicted mercy. He saw Lion and Russ, cold and unflinching.
Magnus wanted to stop it all—but there was nothing he could do.
And when he thought about it... perhaps destruction was the better end.
But who could so easily accept watching their life's work burn to ashes?
When he returned to realspace and looked down on Prospero, now surrounded by warships carrying out orbital bombardments—when he saw his own Primarch brothers slaughtering his people—his heart broke.
He had never betrayed the Imperium of Mankind.
But it was already too late.
At first, Magnus was furious with the Emperor. How could he issue the Exterminatus so quickly, without even giving him the chance to explain his disappearance?
Such rashness seemed almost cruel.
But the more he thought about it, the more he realized… the Emperor had seen through it all from the beginning.
Because that mysterious "healer" who had once helped the Thousand Sons—was none other than Tzeentch.
They had met many times in the Warp.
Now, Magnus was overwhelmed by regret. He should have obeyed the Emperor. He should never have trusted anything that came from the Warp.
The so-called "cure" was a lie.
Tzeentch had planted a ticking time bomb inside Prospero and within the flesh of every Thousand Son.
That hidden threat could explode at any moment—becoming a deadly danger to the Imperium.
In hindsight, the Emperor's order to destroy Prospero was not only justified, but perhaps the wisest, most decisive way to minimize the damage.
> "But… I still can't accept it…"
Magnus gazed out the viewport at the hellish nightmare outside, his heart wracked with pain.
He could end all of this with just a single sentence—but duty sealed his lips.
And so, he said nothing.
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