I'm in Warhammer, please don't praise Doraemon

Chapter 543 Vashtor and the Deceiver

The Tuchucha engine stands atop the heart of the plague, silently observing the flow of fate through time and space.
Spacetime is like a delicate membrane, upon which reality rests, and beneath it, the subspace is reflected. Fate is a fleeting ripple in spacetime; these ripples converge to form a surging tide.
But in the galaxy today, the waves created by these ripples are so complex and ever-changing that even the Tuchucha Engine, a product of ancient technology, cannot discern much of it.

It saw a venomous snake with two heads, one corrupt and evil, the other noble and proud. The corrupt one tried to drag the noble one down with it into debauchery and pleasure, while the noble one desperately resisted, trying to transform from the venomous snake back into a phoenix and soar high. The more proud it was, the less it wanted to fall into depravity, but pride itself was the catalyst for its downfall.
It saw a killing machine raging, and a shameless thief stole its warhammer and vanished into the galaxy.

It saw a swindler piecing together fragments of another swindler, intending to use them to deceive the foolish, cold king, who, just as he had millions of years ago, fell for it.
It saw the contact between the warp and reality severed by the roaring black stone, a realm of lifeless death, devoid of thought, life, soul, and emotion.

It also saw the puppets of the gods wailing, steel piercing their bodies, cursing the traitors, but ultimately being locked in a blood-soaked coffin.
These ripples had not yet solidified into waves, and it didn't seem to care much.

Its true concern is the fate of the realm of machines.

The throne of the Realm of Machines had actually been forged long ago and left in that void realm that only he could reach.

It is the key created by the Ancients to open the Throne Treasury; it is the gatekeeper of the Realm of Machines.

It waits for the person with the key to open the door; that is its mission.

But there are many people who can open the door.

The blood-drinker of the stars, the god of the material universe, is being sealed away; He has no right to wear the crown of sub-space.

The destroyer of the galaxy, the god of humanity, sits enthroned, crowned with the sway of erosion and destruction.
The new being of deep blue, whose origins are unknown, is still hesitant; He is unwilling to crown the machines.

These three individuals, whether unable or unwilling, never attempted to approach the Tuchucha engine.
Only one is currently tracking the Tuchucha engine and is about to appear before it.

The Tuchucha engine stood atop the Heart of Plague, slightly raising its head to gaze into the warp.
The torrents of warp surged and roared, the steam and electricity of the demon engines roaring incessantly.
Endless cables swirl, pipes crisscross, logic engines roar—it's a realm shaped by the imagination of every sentient being in the entire galaxy.

When any race uses its wisdom to sharpen a tree branch into a weapon or to forge a rock from a river into a blade, they establish a connection with that realm. Every creation and every construction they make continuously distorts, influences, and reshapes that realm.

The Soul Forge, a realm in the warp that does not belong to any Chaos God, is a factory that produces all kinds of vile creations, an infernal steel furnace that enslaves demonic artisans, and a gathering place for twisted creative power.

The master of this realm resembles a swirling twilight, from which sparks of inspiration and lightning flashes of creativity constantly flicker, like the ever-flickering neural signals in the brain of an intelligent being.

He was constantly in deep thought, constantly observing. He gazed upon countless points in time, which in the real universe had a distinction between before and after, but in his eyes they existed simultaneously. His thoughts, will, and concepts struck these different points in time like a hammer, sparking flashes of inspiration.
Now, the Lord of the Soul Forge has set his sights on the location of the Tuchucha Engine and the Heart of Plague.
So he began to manipulate the gears of the subspace and the gears of reality to couple, adjusting his own frequency to a fixed form, and then injecting his consciousness into that body, entering the real universe.

The vision of the subspace vanished and shattered before the Tuchucha engine, leaving only a silhouette.
The figure unfurled blade-like metallic wings, its body a purplish-gray, a mutated form from arduous work in a radioactive factory. One hand held a sharp claw, the other a warhammer, and its ferocious crimson eyes stared at the Tuchucha Engine. Vashtor descended into the material universe, looking at the Tuchucha Engine and the Plague Heart beneath it.
In the blink of an eye, the machine and the demon completed thousands of intellectual exchanges.
"Come with me," Vashtor's mechanical voice announced, extending an invitation to the Tuchucha engine.
Tuchucha nodded slightly and agreed to Vastor without hesitation.

But in their intertwined thoughts, they both realized the same problem.
This happened so smoothly, it was as if fate had simply flowed into this moment.
They all suspected that the Azure Hand of the Lord of Change was manipulating fate, and that the Tuchucha Engine and Vastor seemed to have become pawns on the grand game's chessboard.
But this was exactly what Vashtor had anticipated; after all, a chess piece will eventually yearn to become a chess player.

He took the Tuchucha Engine and the Heart of Plague, and vanished into the void to search for his pawns.

The Soul of Vengeance was reflected in Vashtor's eyes.

The gaunt wizard knelt on the ground, sharp streaks of light flashing before him.

The nine hundred and ninety-nine years of gathering have finally come to an end. The great will of the Lord of Changes projected from the present into the past, tearing his body apart, and then reuniting him after mixing in His will.

He is a tiny extension of the ever-changing master into the material universe, merely hiding in the shadows to complete a mission.
The Lord of All Changes needs new allies, a powerful and wise being to serve Him in the material universe.

Pure energy, unaffected by the subspace, is constantly erupting; fragments from the same being are converging, causing the laws of the material world to change a thousand times.

The wizard spent nine hundred and ninety-nine years collecting the nine fragments.

The fragments were so shattered that they lost their once-proud intellect and became ignorant beasts.

These nine fragments are but a tiny fraction among countless others; even if they were to reassemble, they could not reveal a sliver of the former power of that material universe deity. However, they were enough to restore His consciousness and memories from His dazed state.
What the Lord of All Changes values ​​is precisely that person's wisdom and cunning.
A sinister laugh echoed through the material universe, as if reality itself were chuckling wickedly.

The fragments coalesced into a human figure, swirling with a dark golden energy storm, like a golden robe draped over a lithe, living metal body.
His face was contorted, like a snickering clown, like an ugly actor, mocking the wizard standing before him.

"God of the Void, God of Falsehood, God of Reflection," the grinning figure whispered to the wizard.

"Great Star God Deceiver, welcome back from your ignorance."

The wizard bowed slightly, conveying the decree of the deity behind him to the being before him:
"The equally great and ever-changing Lord greets you, and through me He offers you a deal."

(End of this chapter)