Warhammer: Don't Call Me the God of All Machines

Chapter 899 This is Istvan III
The environment inside the Eye of Fear is extremely unique; it belongs neither to the real universe nor to the subspace, but is a peculiar environment created by the interweaving and fusion of the two.

To conduct safe subspace travel here, it is necessary to select suitable routes in order to avoid dangers as much as possible and improve travel efficiency.

With Magnus's human navigation, the Indomitable Thunderhawk gunship accurately arrived at a relatively calm waterway and then sped toward the edge of the Eye of Fear.

The violent rocking of the gunboat finally subsided somewhat, and Chagatai Khan was finally willing to hand over control of the Thunderhawk to the auxiliary system, allowing it to cruise automatically along the relatively safe course guided by Magnus's psionic energy.

The cabin was filled with the mixed smells of hot metal, ionized ozone, and the sweat of the host. The rudimentary life support system emitted a monotonous hum, producing oxygen needed for life activities.

Leman Russ rubbed his sore backside from the rough armor plating, grimacing as he complained, "Chagatai! If you drive like that again, I'll throw you out of the turret! You almost shook this lousy ship to pieces!"

The Chogoris simply responded with a wild, untamed smile, revealing a row of white teeth.

"Brother, true riders never complain about the wildness of their mounts. Didn't we come from that planet?"

"Never mind the process, just ask whether the result has been achieved."

Chagatai Khan stroked his beard leisurely, his face still savoring the aftertaste of the recent high-speed chase.

Chocobo's Warhawk had an astonishing obsession with speed; even if it meant speeding onto a ship one last time before dying, it would be worth it.

Vulcan's massive body occupied a corner of the cabin. He closed his eyes, his thick fingers gently stroking the cold deck beneath him, as if communicating with the warship he had personally resurrected.

“The Unyielding is very strong,” he said in a deep voice, his tone full of trust. “It understands our predicament, and it is burning its own ‘life’ to bring us home.”

Magnus sat cross-legged in a relatively clean spot, a glimmer of psychic energy swirling around his single eye, maintaining a protective barrier.

He sighed, breaking the brief silence: "To be honest, brothers, I never imagined that we, the Primarchs, the offspring of the Emperor, would have such a day."

Everyone was crammed together in... well, a flying machine with a very Vulcan-esque style, fleeing for their lives under the eyes of terror, like a pack of hounds... um..."

"Like a group of pathetic worms being chased by some purple-haired madman."

Conrad Coates, who had been hiding in the deepest shadows and almost blending into the darkness, suddenly let out a piercing laugh and picked up where Magnus left off.

Saint Gilles gently folded his white wings, his handsome face bearing a lingering worry and sorrow, as if he were still reliving the terrible prophetic vision.

“Conrad, be careful what you say. That hunter, His power is beyond imagination, with endless hunger and twisted love. We are lucky to have escaped.”

"Escape?"

Koz suddenly raised his head, his eyes, which gleamed with an inhuman light in the darkness, fixed on Saint Gilles, then swept over his other brothers.

“Saint Gilles, your prophecy saw purple, a great serpent, and a hunter, but did you see the audience behind that laughter? Did you see those drooling, greedy fellows hiding behind the curtain?”

"Thanks to our original form, we are the fattest piece of flesh in this hellish place called the Eye of Fear, and all sorts of demons and monsters want to take a bite."

"But unfortunately, we don't have the ability to protect ourselves. Look at Magnus. If it were that red-skinned Oglin who has no sense of awe, he could probably teleport us to the real universe with just a flick of his finger. Why would we be traveling here so slowly?"

"I know that my true self also possesses the damned ability to prophesy, but he has been able to use his own will to overcome the malice behind the prophecy, while I cannot."

He laughed hysterically, his laughter sharp and broken.

"That damned transvestite phoenix is ​​chasing us with his master's pack of mad dogs, hahaha!" He laughed so hard he almost fell over.

"Forgrim, what do you think of the 'self' that's chasing you? What would happen if he caught up with you? A battle of Fogrim versus Fogrim?"

The Primarchs looked at each other in bewilderment. Coz's words were incoherent, full of unsettling metaphors and madness.

They could sense the fragments of his prophetic abilities fluctuating violently, but they didn't know how to calm him down.

Kozna's malicious, shrill laugh, aimed at Fogrem, still echoed in the cramped cabin. Fogrem's handsome face instantly contorted, turning from pale to a flushed red with anger.

"Shut up, you little bat crawling in the gutter!"

Fugrim's voice lost its usual elegance and composure, becoming sharp and sarcastic. "What right do you have to judge me? Look at yourself, your true form, that Midnight Ghost, he too betrayed the Emperor!"

“At least I never killed a brother who trusted me!” Koz suddenly sprang from the shadows like an enraged beast, his pale fingernails almost poking Fogrem’s nose.

“Ferus! Ferus Manus! You killed him, once wasn’t enough, you had to do it again. In Istvan V, you cut off his head with his sword!”
You hypocritical, perfect monster, your loyalty? Ha! Look at your true form now, your pursuit of power, your pursuit of perfection—that's nothing but a fig leaf to cover your depravity.

"You are a clone, but the same arrogant blood flows in your veins. You crave power, you crave to prove that you are better than the original, more perfect than the original!"

“One day, you will walk the same path. You will raise your sword against your brothers again for greater power. You will kneel before those twisted gods again for so-called perfection.”

You cannot escape it. Your blood, your soul, have long been controlled by fate. You will ultimately…”

"enough!"

Leman Russ's thunderous roar echoed through the cabin, silencing the arguing.

His massive body suddenly stood up, making the space feel even more cramped. He took a step between the two men, forcefully separating the two brothers who were facing off.

"Forgrim is not that traitorous bastard who betrayed us. He is still a loyalist. He is on our side now. He fought alongside us throughout the entire Great Crusade. Koz! You should stop your madness!"

The Wolf King also felt deeply that being a leader was difficult. He hadn't realized it when he watched Horus coordinate other Primarchs before, but now that he was experiencing it firsthand, he knew how troublesome it was.

He didn't actually like Forgrim either. At least Koz eventually saw the error of his ways, but Forgrim was a staunch rebel who was still at odds with humanity.

However, he must now maintain a neutral mediating stance; if he clearly sides with one side, it could very well lead to a complete explosion of conflict.

They were now in the Eye of Fear, aboard an ancient Thunderhawk that could disintegrate at any moment. If the Primarchs started fighting, this vehicle would definitely not be able to withstand the ordeal.

When the Thunderhawk gunboats are destroyed, are they supposed to leave this hellhole on their own?

Fugrim was breathing heavily, his chest heaving violently.

Koz's words were like a poisoned dagger, precisely piercing the deepest fear in his heart.

He looked at Lemanrus, whose once proud purple eyes were now filled with pain and a very subtle regret.

"Ruth, he's right!"

Fugrim's voice lowered; he couldn't deny the facts, no matter how unwilling he was to admit them.

"Regarding Felus, I... I cannot deny that sin. It is etched into my soul, belonging to me, and also to that twisted version of myself."

He closed his eyes in anguish, as if trying to shut out the horrifying image of Feralus's head being held aloft in his mind.

"But I swear, with all my soul, in the name of the Emperor, I will never repeat the same mistake!"

I will atone with my sword, with my life, with my dignity! I will correct the heinous crimes committed by that 'me,' and I will never let Feralus down again…”

The Phoenix Lord's last words were almost a sob, a deep despair born from the dual torment of being a clone and original sin.

"Make amends? Atonement?"

Koz's cold laugh rang out again, filled with biting sarcasm.

"What a beautiful lie, as hollow as the perfection your true self once promised. Your essence has not changed, Fugrim! Your very marrow is steeped in the desire for 'better'."

You will accept that corrupt gift, just like him, because that is you! You cannot resist! You are destined…”

Koz's mental state seemed even more unstable in the special environment of the Eye of Fear. He constantly tormented Fugrim with words, as if this brought him some distorted pleasure.

"Stop arguing, guys! There's an unusual disturbance in the subspace currents around us!"

"This is very bad!"

Magnus's urgent shout instantly froze all the arguing.

His single eye erupted with intense psionic light, causing the pale red shield that had been surrounding the Thunderhawk to flicker and twist violently, creaking under the strain.

"I can't resist! The course has been forcibly deflected! We're being dragged towards...unknown territory!"

The cabin fell into an eerie silence.

Just a second ago, Koz and Fogrim were at each other's throats, ready to tear each other apart. In an instant, they were like roosters with their necks being choked, all their voices stuck in their throats.

The mad glint in Koz's eyes was replaced by instinctive alertness. He quickly retreated into the deepest shadows, his body tense, like a wild beast sensing a deadly threat.

Conflict? Hatred? Before the overwhelming power of the warp that could tear them apart in an instant, they all seemed so insignificant and laughable.

They are Primarchs, creations of the Emperor, gods of the battlefield, but in this heartland where the real universe and the warp intertwine, they are merely a group of exiles struggling to survive.

To start fighting amongst ourselves at a time like this is truly beyond redemption.

"What direction? Can it hold?"

Chagatai Khan instantly returned to the driver's seat, his fingers flying across the control panel, attempting to regain control of the Thunderhawk.

But the navigation data on the screen was jumping wildly, the dashboard needles were spinning rapidly, and a piercing alarm was sounding.

“Unable to determine the direction!” Magnus’s voice was filled with unprecedented solemnity and a hint of frustration.

The light in his single eye flickered uncertainly, and the veins on his forehead bulged, clearly indicating that he was doing his best to resist that invisible force.

“It’s dragging us away from the planned safe course, into deeper, more unknown territory. I…I can’t hold on much longer!” Magnus screamed.

Before the words were even finished, the Thunderhawk gunboat suddenly shuddered, as if it had been gripped and pulled hard by an invisible giant hand.

The entire ship emitted a tooth-grinding metallic groan, and the hum of the life support system turned into a sharp hiss.

The lights flickered wildly before going out completely, leaving only the dim, red glow of the Magnus psionic shield illuminating the solemn and tense faces of everyone inside the cabin.

"Hold on tight!" Chagatai only managed to shout this one sentence.

The violent tumbling began, no longer the wild, rhythmic jolting under Khan's control, but a completely out-of-control, dizzying fall.

Primarchs' formidable physical abilities prevent them from being flung around like mortals, but they still have to hold on tightly to anything that can be fixed in place to maintain their balance.

Lemanrus used his immense strength to embed himself into the seat frame, Saint Gilles wrapped himself and the nearest Corax with his wings, and Forgrim and Coz each searched for their balance in the churning chaos, no longer able to pay attention to each other.

With nowhere to grab on, Guilliman simply grabbed Ryan Johnson by the neck and hair, making the lion's face turn red, and staring at the Macurag man with a murderous look.

The psionic light around Magnus's seat fluctuated violently. He kept his eyes tightly closed, using all his power to maintain the fragile shield and prevent Thunderhawk from disintegrating directly in the warp turbulence.

The Primarch's strongest psionic being lamented his own weakness. If it were the 'Crimson King' from his memories, how could he have been forced into such a sorry state by this interference?

"Saint Gilles, look to the future, what do you see now?!" Lemanrus roared amidst the rolling and shrill noise.

The angel frowned, trying to focus his mind and peer into the threads of fate.

However, for the first time, a look of near bewilderment appeared on his face.

"A chaotic, dark... distorted, indistinguishable mass. The interference from the warp is too strong; all prophecies are obscured, and I can't see any clear vision!"

His voice was filled with worry; for a powerful prophet, losing his perception of the future was a great terror in itself.

Time lost its meaning amidst the uncontrolled churning and heart-pounding noise.

It's unclear how much time passed—perhaps minutes, perhaps hours—but with a heart-wrenching metallic snapping sound and a deafening roar powerful enough to shatter mortal eardrums, a violent shockwave instantly swept over everyone.

"Bang—Boom!!!" The Thunderhawk gunship was slammed to the ground like a giant, or crashed down like a meteorite. The enormous impact caused even the sturdy Primarch body to feel suffocation and excruciating pain for a moment.

The sounds of metal twisting and tearing echoed one after another, and the reactor and engine gave their final dying groans before falling completely silent.

Acrid smoke, mixed with the smell of burning and the metallic odor of leaking hydraulic oil, instantly filled the entire cabin.

This Thunderhawk, which has existed since the Age of Conflict and was rebuilt by Vulcan himself, finally could not hold on any longer and breathed its last.

"Ahem... Chagatai, report the situation!" Lemanrus's voice rang out first.

"The engine is completely destroyed, the main structure is fractured in multiple places, and the life support system is completely destroyed. We... have crashed."

"Black Hawk Down!"

The Khan's voice carried a rare hint of weariness and frustration as he tried to activate the backup system, but only a few sparks flickered in the darkness.

Vulcan's massive figure was the first to move, and the sound of him fumbling for the hatch valve wheel echoed in the darkness.

"The remaining oxygen supply from the life support system won't last much longer; we have to get out."

"laugh--"

Vulcan forcibly turned open the heavy, airtight valve, and with a hissing sound of pressure release, an indescribable amount of air, seemingly mixed with countless terrible smells, rushed in.

It was a deathly aura that penetrated to the bone and made one feel nauseous.

The first thing that floods the nostrils is an intense, almost unbearable smell of burning, as if the whole world has been thrown into an incinerator and has been burning continuously for hundreds of years.

But beneath this charred exterior lies an even more sinister and ominous sweet and putrid stench.

The pungent smell of ozone, the metallic odor of ionized air, and a strange smell resembling a mixture of burnt plastic and rotting fruit layered upon each other, so intense that it was almost suffocating.

Light streamed in through the distorted gaps in the hatch; it wasn't normal sunlight or starlight, but a sickly, dark red glow, as if the sky itself were being licked by an inextinguishable hellfire, shrouded in a thick haze of ash and toxic gases.

As the Primarchs stepped out of the badly damaged, black-smoke-belching Thunderhawk gunship, the sight before them caused even the most battle-hardened warriors to feel a momentary sense of suffocation and a chill run down their spines.

The earth was scorched black.

As far as the eye could see, not an inch of land retained its original color; there was only an endless, deathly, scorched blackness.

The ground was covered with a hard, smooth shell, like black glass, which reflected an eerie luster under the dark red light of the sky. It was not just the ash from a fire, but the earth itself, which had been completely melted and then solidified by ultra-high temperatures.

The enormous cracks, like scars on the earth, crisscrossed and bottomless, their edges shimmering with a glassy luster.

There were no mountains, only twisted, melted and then solidified black hills, like painful tumors on the earth.

What's most chilling is the thick, fine, grayish-white dust that's everywhere.

That wasn't dust, but the ashes of billions of lives instantly decomposed and liquefied by the life-devouring virus, then instantly vaporized by a global raging fire, and finally cooled and solidified.

On these layers of ash, the faint outlines of twisted and curled human figures can be seen.

Those are the traces of living organisms that died instantly under the influence of the virus, were then instantly burned and carbonized by the subsequent extremely high temperature, and finally merged with the earth as they cooled down.

They were in various poses, curled up in pain, silently crying out their despair and resentment at the end of their lives.

These marks, densely packed, covered every inch of land, stretching to the horizon, forming a grand, hellish panorama that surpasses the limits of human imagination.

"Where is this?"

"Everywhere there are traces of war. This world was once completely burned, turning all life to ashes."

"Death, the scent of death is everywhere."

Lemanrus said with some difficulty, his sense of smell being the most acute of all the Primarchs, and at this moment he had captured immeasurable olfactory information.

It is extremely unusual that this godforsaken place was simultaneously hit by both orbital bombing and viral bombs.

The Primarchs remained silent, simply emerging from the crashed Thunderhawk.

Fortunately, although the planet's atmosphere is extremely complex, filled with highly toxic dust and radioactive materials, the Primarchs' powerful lungs are still able to obtain enough oxygen to sustain life.

As the Primarchs began to disperse, searching for any possible traces, more and more relics were unearthed.

Vulcan discovered fragments of Space Marine power armor, twisted and deformed as if corroded by strong acid and then thrown into a furnace, with honeycomb-like holes and traces of flowing melt on the surface.

Lemanrus found the giant steel skeleton of the Titan Machines. These behemoths, revered by the Mechanicus as the incarnation of the Om Messiah, stood alone against the murky sky like the gnawed remains of a giant beast.

These sturdy metals themselves also exhibit a fragility and distortion as if eroded by a viral bomb, with their surfaces covered in a layer of grayish-white bone ash deposits.

The Primals carefully sensed this despairing world; there was no wind, no insect chirping, no flowing water, and no sound of any life activity.

The only sounds were the chilling rustling of their footsteps on the thick layer of ashes, and the occasional low rumble from the depths of the earth as it cooled and contracted.

“At least billions of people died in a short period of time from orbital bombing and viral bombs. Such a war would leave no trace even in the history of the Empire’s wars,” Leman Russ remarked.

Horus looked around at everything, a flicker of interest in his eyes, but he remained silent.

Horus now understood exactly where he was.

Although his memory only went back to before Devonstar's assassination attempt, the meticulous Horus had already filled in those general memories through detailed conversations with his other clone brothers.

This is his true form, the place where the warmaster Horus once committed an unforgivable mistake.

Horus was similarly affected by the presence of Forgrim, Mortarion, and Angron, who all appeared uneasy, as if something in this desolate world could instill fear in them.

As Vulcan gazed at this desolate and lifeless world, his massive body suddenly trembled violently.

His usually gentle yet resolute crimson eyes were suddenly overwhelmed by boundless pain and rage.

He knelt on one knee, his huge hand trembling as he stroked a twisted, small humanoid mark on the ground, clearly belonging to some human child.

"I know where I am."

"This is... Planet Istvan III, the place where that betrayal began."

The Lord of Fire Dragons' voice was low and hoarse, filled with endless sorrow.

“Those loyal Astartes… Sons of the Emperor, World Eaters, Death Guardians, and Sons of Horus, were killed by their most trusted brothers.”

The horrific images flashed uncontrollably through Vulcan's mind: loyal warriors, caught completely off guard, had their bodies rapidly dissolve and liquefy in a thick green viral fog, turning into bubbling pus.

Immediately afterwards, the light spear that fell from the sky detonated the pervasive flammable and poisonous gas, turning the entire planet into a fiery inferno. He seemed to hear the silent screams of six billion souls as they evaporated in an instant.

"Betrayal, the most shameful betrayal, a massive purge within the Legion."

Korax's voice was as chilling as the wind from a tomb.

"Many Astartes died without understanding why their Primarchs betrayed the Emperor, betrayed themselves, and even mercilessly annihilated them all on this ordinary planet."

Compared to Istvan V, a nightmare planet that nearly wiped out the Salamanders, Iron Hands, and Raven Guards, Istvan III's presence may not be as strong.

The massive purge that erupted within the legion on this planet was largely unknown because almost no survivors remained.

However, with just a slight reminder, these loyal Primarchs immediately recalled this shameful battle, which was also the starting point of the entire Horus Rebellion.

Lemanrus turned his head, and Vulcan, who was kneeling on the ground, slowly rose. Corax moved silently around him like a ghost, their spears aimed at Horus and the others.

"Don't you want to say anything, Lupecal?"

"I think you should have recognized this battlefield and this planet by now. Are you really unmoved, brother?"

Horus was speechless. Lupecal, who was usually eloquent, was now at a loss for words when faced with Lemanrus's questioning.

“I…Ruth, I…”

Horus's lips moved for a long time, but he still managed to squeeze out a few words that didn't form a sentence.

However, to everyone's surprise, the usually taciturn Angron stepped forward at this moment and spoke up for Horus.

"Yes, this is Istvan III, the world where I utterly destroyed the Twelfth Legion, annihilated the War Dogs, and completely corrupted the World Eaters."

Without the Butcher's Nail, Angron's voice was calm and his logic impeccable. Standing on this land where blood had once been spilled, he began to describe his inner feelings.

Angron grabbed a handful of bone dust and tossed it into the air. In the swirling dust, he seemed to see again those loyal warriors in World Eater armor, wielding chainsaw axes, proudly charging towards him.

However, when facing themselves, they could do nothing more than splatter blood and turn flesh into mud, unable to inflict any effective damage.

"They are all great. They are stronger than me. They did not succumb to the oppression of the powerful, but proved me wrong with their courage and sacrifice."

As Anglong spoke, tears of blood streamed from his eyes.

"Yes, before the massacre began, I left Garo on the track; I couldn't bear to see him die in the purge."

But I didn't expect him to be able to sense that something was wrong and hijack the Eisenstein to escape the system and warn Terra.

Mortarian said in a muffled voice, as a clone, he also had a special fondness for Nathaniel Garo.

In his heart, this offspring resembled him exceptionally, but in the end, Galo chose to betray him and stand on the side of the emperor.

“I still can’t understand my decision. My sons of the Emperor are so precious. I returned to the Legion when they were down to only two hundred men and saved the Legion, turning it into a formidable force in the Great Crusade.”

“If I were to purge the legion, I would have to purge at least a third, or even more, of the emperor’s sons, which would be no different from suicide.”

Fogrem muttered to himself, feeling that everything had gone terribly since he woke up.

First, he was told that he was just a pathetic clone, and then he was told that his original body had fallen into chaos and that Feralus's head had been cut off.

All of this severely impacted Forgrim's mental state.

Lemanrus observed the subtle movements of the Primarch that had triggered the Istvan III massacre, and then sighed helplessly.

Forcing someone loyal to their era to understand their own betrayal of that era is indeed a form of mental torture.

Horus was still in the moment that he was the Emperor’s most trusted warmaster, the leader of all Primarchs, and the proud wolf god of the Empire, when he learned that he had personally burned everything to ashes.

Just thinking about that feeling sent chills down Lemanrus's spine.

"I am the leader now, and I cannot let my brothers fall into civil war." Leman Russ repeatedly hypnotized himself in his mind.

“Alright, alright, let’s skip this damn topic,” Lemanrus said.

"Now, can someone tell me why the hell did we end up on this damn planet after coming from the Eye of Fear?"

"The Eye of Fear is located almost halfway across the Istavan Galaxy!"

"This is all...so bizarre. It's as if a hand pushed us here. I smell a conspiracy!"

(End of this chapter)