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

Chapter 701 The Pocket in the Well of Eternity
A black sun rose from Ahriman's neck; within that armor, there was no longer any flesh or blood, only a screaming void, a black star, and a wisp of dust.
Threads of ash, formed from solidified ashes, spread outwards from Ahriman, reaching every Thousand Sons Wizard, every scarab, and every scarlet letter, weaving a vast psionic network.

Ashes, ashes, ashes

The same emotion welled up in the hearts of every Senko, even those scarlet serpents bound in their armor let out similar cries of anguish.
The anomalies that engulfed their bodies, the trials in the Council of Nicaea, the sharp discrimination, the rampaging wolves, the burning of Prospero, the twisted flames of Wizarding Star, the howling of the Scarlet Letter spells, the failure of the Second Scarlet Letter.
Ashes, dust, destruction
They were Prospero's sorcerers, cursed by fate, whose destiny had laid out the most tragic end for them: to turn to ashes and dust in bloodshed.

"Do not."

Ahriman's voice traveled through the red text network to the ears of every Thousand Sons.

"It is noble to accept one's fate, but I would rather resist it."

The wails turned into roars, the sorrow into hatred, the ashes that could no longer be burned ignited again, and the dust transformed into sparks that flew everywhere.
All the psionic energy of the Thousand Sons, from the past to the future, from the edge of the galaxy to the depths of the warp, throughout history and in all directions, converged and burned towards Ahriman.
The pitch-black star, fueled by hatred and the most extreme shifts in fate, burns out ashes of destruction—so bright, so blinding, so terrifying.
Centered on Ahriman, a dark circle of fire began to spread. Wherever the flames touched, crystals shattered, demons disintegrated, storms vanished, and psionic energy dissipated, leaving only scorched earth.
The Soul Butcher, Etaus 'Law' Keris, let out a frenzied scream, extending its arm, burning with blue and red flames, and pressing down on Ahriman.
But the instant its finger touched the ring of fire beside Ahriman, its finger was ignited by the bright, black flames and instantly turned to ashes.

Keris retreated in terror, but before it could take more than a few steps, its body was swept away by the dark light emanating from Ahriman and turned to ashes, vanishing into thin air.

The demons howled in terror. They had realized that Etaus 'Law' Keris had just met a complete death; he had been burned to ashes, as if killed by the flames of the cursed.

The warp was surging with waves, and a warp-level lesser godhood was already faintly visible on Ahriman's body.
At this moment, Ahriman slightly raised his burning, jet-black sun-like head, looking up at the heights of the Crystal Labyrinth, looking at the Lord of Change.
"Do I just need to jump in here?" Magnus asked Tzeentch, who was perched behind him, looking at the deep, dark well before him.

The Lord of All Changes smiled and nodded.

The Well of Eternity was a part that Tzeentch cut off, but he himself was unable to take it back.
Tzeentch's domain is change, a vast realm beyond measure—vaster than war, more expansive than corruption, more depravity, more profound than art. Only the destruction represented by the Dark Lord can rival it.

But change is inherent in contradiction, and contradiction is one of the intrinsic qualities of the cunning and treacherous. His domain itself exists within infinite self-division and infinite self-contradiction, and he himself has experienced multiple splits and declines.

Whether it was the shattering of the scepter or the cutting away of the Well of Eternity, both were consequences of Tzeentch's self-inflicted division.

In order to utilize these powers that he had relinquished, Tzeentch had to create or utilize individuals to bear the portions of his power.
Blue Secretary embodies the "magic" represented by the broken scepter, Carlos bears the "fate" represented by the Well of Eternity, and the Soul Butcher Etaus 'Law' Keris embodies "madness".
However, most of these individuals are too weak to withstand even a very small amount of force.
But Magnus is different. Once he enters the Well of Eternity, he will inevitably bring out a great deal of power and become the host of the Well of Eternity.
"Hmm?" The Lord of Change, who was adjusting the waves in the Well of Eternity, suddenly turned to look at his own domain. He sensed something being born, something rising.
He turned his head, and in his eyes was reflected the dark star—bright, fiery, and lifeless.
Ahriman slightly turned his head, and the dark star that replaced His head reflected the faces, souls, and roars of the Thousand Sons.
Tzeentch's body jerked backward, and a sharp wail escaped his lips, echoing throughout the entire warp.

Both the gods and the lesser beings were drawn by this wail, casting their gazes towards the domain of the Lord of Change.
The blinding light of the dark star burst forth from one of Tzeentch's more than ninety million eyes. Ahriman's shadow, illuminated by the star's light, stretched incredibly long, like a black awl piercing Tzeentch's eye and then through his body.
In the real universe, countless Tzeentch followers screamed and covered one of their eyes.
The ability to glimpse the future, bestowed upon them by the Lord of Change, shattered at this moment. Their eyes saw no vision of the future, only a burning, black star, a world filled with dust, and a fragmented destiny.

The scorching star burned Tzeentch's very being, ashes rained down from the shapeshifter's body, blurring, disrupting, and incomplete the very future before him.

Senko's intense self-destructive impulse, fueled by hatred for the injustice of fate, pushed Ahriman and the lesser godhood he was about to ascend toward Tzeentch, tearing a rift in Tzeentch's existence. Behind Ahriman, the power of erosion and destruction was faintly pulsating.

But after a mournful howl, Tzeentch let out a maniacal laugh.

Within His body, twisted crystals pierced out around Ahriman, reflecting his image. Each crystal corresponded to a moment in Ahriman's life, showcasing all His past, future, and present fears and arrogance, pain and hope, dreams and demons, reality and fantasy, madness and confusion.
It's as if Ahriman's existence was dismantled, torn apart, and then sealed within different crystals.
The raven's form cackled grotesquely, and each reflection of Ahriman in the crystal seemed to come alive, living its own life within the crystal, each headed towards a fate of either happiness or suffering. Ahriman felt himself being stretched out, very, very long; his sense of time became disordered, his thoughts swirled and twisted, and his body could barely move.
Tzeentch was capturing Ahriman with his own body, and he was overjoyed, never expecting such a significant gain today.
Ahriman's ascension to a lesser godhood, situated between erosion and destruction and hellfire, symbolizes the cruelest aspect of fate.
What we possess, we will lose; what is good, we will turn bad; what is tall, we will collapse; what is great, we will turn to dust.

This is the darkest change, the inevitable end that fate has set.

Tzeentch had always sought to seize this divine position to expand his own domain, and Ahriman was the tool he chose to use in this endeavor.
Of all the Astartes, only Fabius and Ahriman possess the talent to become secondary beings in the warp, and the ability to catch up with the Primarchs.
A single mortal cannot withstand the power of a god in the subspace.
Fabius relied on his creations, those so-called new humans united by faith, who elevated him to become the grotesque father symbolizing physical and mental distortion and aberration—a secondary position somewhere between malevolent art and the dissolution of greed.
Ahriman relies on the Scarlet Letter network. All the Thousand Sons, past, present, and future, are centered around Ahriman and linked by the Scarlet Letter, forming a network. The destruction, hatred, self-destructive tendencies, and contempt for fate of all the Thousand Sons are mixed together, lifting Ahriman to that divine position.
Both Ahriman's own tragic fate and the tragedy of the Thousand Sons were orchestrated by Tzeentch, who wanted Ahriman to sacrifice all the Thousand Sons to achieve ascension, but ultimately failed.

Unexpectedly, at this very moment, a breakthrough was achieved: Ahriman, without Tzeentch's intervention, embarked on the path to ascension on his own.
The divine position He obtained was named Ahriman, also known in ancient human mythology as Angra Mainyu, the god of two springs and ten winters, the opposite of happiness. He turned the beautiful into the ugly, the healthy into the sick, the living into the dead, water into salt, and fire into darkness, ultimately condemning even himself to endless darkness. More and more crystals were born around Ahriman, tearing and imprisoning his existence, trapping him within different crystals to experience different lives. Tzeentch used this to gradually digest and devour Ahriman.
But within those crystals, Ahriman, having experienced different lives, all ultimately succumbed to the worst possible fate: ashes flew, a black sun floated, and in all the crystals, Ahriman's helmet shattered, revealing the black sun above his neck, bathed in dust.
Regardless of the process, there is only one ending.
In an instant, Ahriman within the crystal merged back into one, the dark star burning fiercely, burning a hole through Tzeentch's body.

Tzeentch's body was pierced through, and even his domain began to burn with black ash. The future before Tzeentch's eyes grew increasingly dark, distorted, and desolate.
But the Lord of Changes merely let out a scream, and His wounds healed instantly. At the same time, millions upon millions of birds flew out from His body and crashed into Ahriman's body.
Ahriman underwent a thousand transformations in an instant, these transformations acting like chains that imprisoned him in mid-air. Tzeentch once again thrust out tentacles, reaching towards Ahriman, attempting to devour him.
But a scarlet fist blocked the Lord of Changes' path.

Magnus gently shook his head at the Lord of Change.

Tzeentch hesitated.
Ahriman is indeed precious, and expanding his divine status is quite tempting, but Ahriman is currently too focused on erosion and destruction. Even if Tzeentch were to devour him, it would take a great deal of time to digest him, and he would also lose Magnus and the opportunity to reuse the power of the Well of Eternity.
More importantly, Tzeentch was trying to use Magnus to take over Robert Guilliman.
His time was limited, and he had no time to waste.

Tzeentch removed his restraints on Ahriman, but the flames of hatred burning within Ahriman were still fiercely directed at Tzeentch, only to be stopped by Magnus's outstretched arm.
Magnus gestured for Ahriman to look behind him.

The burning, dark star above Ahriman's head twisted slightly.

Ahriman saw it. Following the red letter network, he saw the souls within the red letter warriors being burned away bit by bit. He saw some of the Thousand Sons who hadn't been killed by the red letter being burned to ashes bit by bit.
He is ascending, and the sacrifice is all His brothers. Once He completes His ascension, all the Thousand Sons of the past will be burned to ashes, melted into His own armor, their souls burned as fuel, reduced to mere puppets.
But the emotions of those thousand children were filled only with a strong tendency towards self-destruction, hatred, and rebellion against fate.
Just as Ahriman had told them.
Rather than endure their fate, they chose to rebel against it.

Ten thousand years ago, when a pack of wolves descended from the sky, Qianzi made this choice.

Ten thousand years later, the Thousand Sons still make the same choice.

If everything is dust, they hope to turn to ashes by burning.

But Ahriman hesitated; he could not burn his brother to ashes again.

In the warp, will is everything, and it was Ahriman's increasingly extreme will that propelled him to godhood.
The moment Ahriman hesitated, His divinity rapidly faded, and the dark star dimmed.
A shattered helmet flew from afar and pieced itself back together on Ahriman's head, restoring it to its original state.

Magnus smiled, seemingly satisfied with Ahriman's choice.

Before Ahriman could speak, the crimson Primarch placed his hand on Ahriman's chest and shoved him back into the real dimension.

“Let’s begin,” Magnus said, glancing at Tzeentch and nodding slightly.

While Tzeentch was healing the remaining wounds Magnus had inflicted upon Him, He was also adjusting the Well of Eternity.

A vortex of seemingly countless colors gushed forth from the Well of Eternity. Magnus closed his eyes slightly and leaped into the well.
Magnus felt himself being stretched very long, like a rubber rope, getting longer and thinner, until he was only a molecule, an atom, a Prandtl long, yet infinitely long, extending back from the other side of spacetime, transforming himself into an ouroboros, a Möbius strip coiling in the well of eternal fall.

His will was being torn apart; every moment of eternal time and space, past and future, unfolded before his eyes.

He looked down and saw a shapeshifting demon lord falling before him, screaming in terror, clearly driven mad by what he had seen.
The past and future of that ever-changing demon lord overlapped within itself, as if two heads had grown out of its body.
Then, as if sensing something, Magnus looked up.

Some time after I fell into the well, it seemed that something else was thrown down.
He saw
A bag, a bag, was thrown into the Well of Eternity, and is falling from a great height.
(End of this chapter)