Naz began to panic as nothing seemed to happen. He twirled on the spot, looking around, occasionally trying to shout for help to prompt a response from M.I.C.H., only to receive the silence of the void. Finally, after what seemed to be days, a prompt appeared within Naz's eyes:
-Dear Naz, Due to the unfavourable environment you are currently housed within (In the Material World), M.I.C.H. has ultimately decided not to move you to your new world.-
Naz looked at the prompt, anger and sorrow washing over him. Over the time between this prompt from M.I.C.H. and the previous confirmation of which world he would travel to, Naz had lost all sense of scale—of what, where, and who he was. Days of no stimulation, even in the state his soul-like body was in, caused him irreparable damage. Finally, he croaked out a simple sentence:
"How… how long do I have to wait?"
No prompt appeared. Only the faintly veiled text of the previous message slowly faded into nothingness. With that, Naz began to lash out. He screamed, cried, and tried to do something—anything—but ultimately, nothing happened.
After what felt like hours of screaming and thrashing, trying to force a change in his environment, Naz simply gave up and curled into a ball. Nothing he did caused any reaction—from neither his own body or surroundings, he even tried to claw at the faint outlines of his veins for any sign of reaction. Even the act of trying to run, despite the lack of detail around him, made little to no effect on his rapidly deteriorating mental state.
Once again, Naz was alone—curled into a ball on what felt like a floor. Yet, when he moved his arm, the sensation flared and disappeared. This only caused more frustration and anger to rush over him, which ultimately left him even more depressed. His mind desperately sought any kind of stimulation, only to find none.
To Naz, what felt like hours—or perhaps days—washed over him. His memories of his parents slowly began to disappear. Over time, Naz periodically called out to M.I.C.H., only to receive nothing. His father's face, once fresh in his mind, slowly fragmented and faded. The process had started with his mother's face—then her general shape, and finally, her voice.
This process of forgetfulness fully consumed Naz as he repeatedly tried and failed to remember even basic facts or familiar faces from his old world. Finally, after what seemed like a month, he could no longer remember his father's face—only some half-forgotten, ancient echoes of encouragement and joy.
Naz fell deeper into despair and loneliness as the gaps in his mind expanded. Occasionally, he would recall random facts—the cost of a pizza, or a day of global celebration—but he could no longer picture his house, nor remember his father's voice. He blamed himself for ever wishing to be reborn.
After what felt like a year, Naz stared ahead, nothing behind his eyes. Only faint, involuntary movements remained as his steadily developing body took form. The once translucent skin became sturdy like obsidian. His legs, which once didn't exist, grew more defined by the day.
Then, another prompt appeared:
-Dear Naz, The conditions for your survival have changed since we last spoke. The process of movement to the world 'A Game of Thrones' shall now finally begin.-
Naz stared at the prompt. The once dead, lifeless eyes began to swirl as his mind rebooted. F-F-finally, he thought to himself as a wave of sickness overwhelmed him. Stricken by fear from the sudden sensory overload, Naz's soul-body began to twist—and within the void, a crack appeared, revealing a view beyond.
The Imperium of ManDate: 732.M30Location: A bio-engineering lab beneath the Himalayan Mountains
Towering giants clad in gold and sapphires ran with inhuman speed toward demons crawling from tears in space—demons of red, green, blue, and purple that swirled and attacked relentlessly. For every demon slain by the golden giants, ten more took its place, slowly overwhelming them.
Behind the fray stood a colossal gate, large enough to fit a titan with ease. From the battlefield, five figures could be seen—one covered in gold, towering over all others, and four beings each coloured red, green, blue, and purple.
The purple mass of demonic flame and flesh spoke with sultry intent toward the others.
"The deal was struck. We want our part."
With a giggle, both the red being—made of fire and rage—and the green being—of rot and putrid flesh—agreed. Before either could continue, the Emperor roared at the four as unimaginable power gathered around him. The floor shifted from steel to decaying flesh to pages of arcane knowledge that burst into flames.
The battlefield began to warp as the Emperor refused to allow the four to pass beyond the gate. With an incomprehensible boom, the golden-clad giants fell to the ground as swarms of demons screamed in agony—their very matter and souls disintegrating.
With fury in his voice, the Emperor roared his challenge to the gods.
"You shall not pass!"
The four beings charged. The red one, a storm of molten fury, rushed first. The blue, ethereal and chanting with fanatic zeal, followed. The green amalgamation of flesh thundered beside the red, while the purple being screamed with delight, sending chains of human flesh whipping toward the Emperor.
Before anyone could react, a force beyond the gate drew their attention. A being no larger than an ant was chanting—and with its final syllable, a portal opened, revealing thousands of worlds beyond. Some were made of flesh, others of chaos and torment. They howled in delight at the promise of carnage, pleasure, and knowledge.
The Emperor, seeing this, charged the red being—slamming it away in a molten explosion. The green one tried to retaliate, but a blue shield enveloped the area, halting the Emperor in his tracks. Behind him loomed an abomination—an ever-shifting mass of mouths, topped with a vulture's head that peered both into the gate and at the Emperor.
"Your time has arrived. The Age of Chaos shall reign!"
Before any could act, an even greater rift tore open in the sky, dragging stone and metal into its depths. The red 'being' roared,
"Tzeentch! This wasn't the deal!"
Tzeentch glanced at him with disdain.
"Deal or no deal, the strings of fate cannot be cut—or changed."
With that, the entire facility began to be sucked into the rift. Across Holy Terra, mortals mutated at a visible rate, spreading madness and destruction.
Massive chunks of the Himalayas were ripped apart, fed into the ever-expanding maw that now stretched fifty kilometres high. Seeing the battle lost, the Emperor turned toward the 21 bio-pods, gathering psychic energy to hurl his unborn sons into safety. But Tzeentch saw through the plan and began to gather his own power. As the Bio-pods along with a large chunk of the facility was thrown into the maw.
The green 'beast' huffed in frustration and vanished. The purple 'being' followed, withdrawing their chains. The red 'being' roared in defiance, then launched itself into the maw.
With the others gone, the Emperor channelled more energy, sending his sons and the facility into the rift, which expanded further with the surge of power.
Tzeentch sneered,
"Your actions are worthless, Anathema. Your sons shall be scattered, and your race will become pawns in the Great Game."
The Emperor surged forward, stopping mere feet from Tzeentch, and spat at him.
Enraged, Tzeentch trembled with fury. The floor faltered beneath them. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted an army of Nulls—and Malcador, leading a contingent of Immortals. Realizing the fight was lost, Tzeentch unfurled his wings and shot upward, vanishing through the tear in reality.
The Emperor watched as the facility holding his sons shattered, pieces of the Earth being dragged into the warp. He stood silently as the final fragment disappeared into the tear. The maw, now full, howled in rage and pain, its roar directed straight at the Emperor and his newly arrived allies.
A golden shield shimmered around the group as debris rained from the sky. Each impact struck with apocalyptic fury—as if the gods themselves hurled their wrath upon the Earth.
When all finally settled, Naz gazed at the split in his void in disbelief. Having witnessed the entire battle, his mind couldn't comprehend what had happened. Before he could even think, another prompt appeared before his eyes as the facility holding him and his brothers was torn through the warp.
-Congratulations! Your transportation to the world 'A Game of Thrones' has begun.Please prepare for your new life as… drum roll …a Primarch!-
(AN: Hi everyone! First, sorry for any mistakes. I was going to post the next chapter on Friday, but I figured I might as well do it today. Also, apologies for the spelling mistake in the previous chapter—"That is his" was meant to be "That he is," but I didn't catch it before uploading.)
Thank you for reading this fanfic! The next chapter will be about Nazareth's arrival and subsequent adoption by a certain figure!!!
For now, goodbye—and see you next week (or maybe tomorrow)!