Warhammer 40K in a box

Chapter 617 Fulgen
The perspective shifts to the boiling, chaotic dimension of the Milky Way—the subspace.

Here, all physical laws lose their meaning, time and space twist and intertwine into incomprehensible forms, and only the most extreme emotions and desires can coalesce and take shape here.

Deep within the realm of Slaanesh, in that terrifying domain of eternal pursuit of ultimate sensory stimulation and perfect depravity, stands a palace beyond the comprehension of ordinary reason.

It is composed of solidified sound waves, crystallized painful pleasure, and countless twisted and screaming soul sculptures, the building materials themselves constantly groaning and trembling.

The palace's form is never fixed; it cycles through collapse and reconstruction every moment, becoming more "perfect" and more maddening each second than the last.

At the very heart of this ever-changing palace, Slaanesh's favorite, the former Lord of the Phoenix, and now the demon prince Fuggen, is indulging in an endless, lavish feast.

The exquisitely potent liquor rippled in the crystal glass, refracting countless mesmerizing lights; the air was filled with an intoxicating aroma, the essence distilled from the most extreme pain and pleasure; in the background, a symphony interwoven with agony and ecstasy echoed, each note enough to tear apart the soul of mortals.

However, at that very moment, a fluctuation different from this eternal revelry pierced through the noisy chaos of the subspace and precisely touched Fugen's highly acute senses.

This fluctuation did not come from Slaanesh's grace, nor from the prayers of his followers.

It was an extremely faint yet familiar aura that made the core of his soul tremble, mixed with an impossible, resurrected, cold luster of steel and flesh.

Ferrus.

费鲁斯·马努斯。

The music stopped abruptly, as if an invisible hand had choked it.

The wine glass slipped from Fugen's flawless yet no longer entirely solid hand, crashing onto the ground formed of frozen screams, turning into a pool of iridescent, wailing venom.

The ever-present smile on his face, a mixture of ecstasy and cruelty, froze, then shattered and peeled away like a cheap mask.

Instead, he wore an extremely complex and distorted expression that was beyond comprehension.

Ecstasy, shock, disbelief, a morbid longing, and the twisted love for his "beloved" brother buried deep within, corrupted by chaos yet never truly extinguished.

A variety of emotions swirled wildly across his perfect face, causing the air around him to distort and ripple.

“I sensed it,” Fugen’s voice was no longer its usual magnetic and seductive tone, but rather a trembling, almost suffocating, high-pitched scream, each syllable seemingly carrying poison and madness, “the smell of steel, the chill of Medusa… no, impossible, but it’s so clear!”

He suddenly stood up, his magnificent robes billowing without wind, the blasphemous patterns embroidered on them seeming to come alive, writhing and screaming.

He emanated a powerful and unsettling psionic energy, causing the palace to tremble as his emotions surged. The wailing sculptures on the walls became even sharper and more piercing, and even began to drip black tears.

Through his corrupted intelligence network—the demons lurking in the rifts of the real universe, the corrupted psykers, and even some heretical scholars pursuing forbidden knowledge—scattered fragments of information began to converge. His perception was further confirmed by the ripples created by the unnatural return of a Primarch through the fluctuations of the warp itself.

Feralus Manus, the Primarch of the Iron Hand, who beheaded his own brother, has returned.

"Aaaaaahh ...

“It is Him! It must be Him! The supreme grace bestowed upon me by the Dark Prince!” Fugen descended into utter madness, regarding this perception as Slaanesh’s greatest reward, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light. “This is my chance! My second chance! To allow us to be one again!”

His mind has been completely corrupted by chaos.

In his distorted perception, this was not an anomaly to be wary of, but a golden opportunity for him to possess Feralas again, not in the competitive yet mutually respectful way of the past, but in a way that was utterly and eternally corrupt.

He wanted to find Feralas, embrace him, and "purify" him with Slaanesh's gift, freeing him from that cold, steely obsession and throwing him into an endless feast of sensuality and depravity, making him his possession forever.

This twisted love and possessiveness, mixed with the demon prince's mad power, transformed into a sharp will that pierced through the thick fog of the warp and reached his equally corrupt legion.

"Assemble!" Fugen's voice, like a sweet poison, seeped into the minds of every remnant of the Emperor's sons, planting seeds of madness deep within their consciousness. "My children! Rise together! For supreme pleasure! For ultimate perfection!"

"An expeditionary force! The greatest feast is about to begin!"

"Target—Medusa!"

"Go and greet your long-lost 'Father of Steel'! We will guide him, embrace him, and lead him to true, eternal perfection!"

Under Fugen's mad call, the Emperor's Sons Warband, scattered inside and outside the Eye of Fear and indulging in their own perverse pleasures and artistic pursuits, began to awaken from their indulgence and stir.

Noise warriors tuned their evil sound equipment, preparing to unleash a bloody symphony that tore reality apart; enchanted warriors convulsed in agonizing ecstasy, yearning for new sacrifices; ancient warships set sail from the corrupted harbor, their bows adorned with blasphemous statues and living, tormented faces.

Various bizarre warships emerged from the shadows of the warp, their hulls covered with twisted reliefs and flickering evil light. Each warship was like a mad work of art, yet it exuded a deadly aura.

A dark expedition, led by a demon prince and filled with mad love and destructive desires, is slowly gathering.

Its target is clear: the Medusa Galaxy, which is rebuilding its steel and standing ready for battle.

The whispers and screams in the warp gradually coalesced into the clarion call of war.

A terrible storm, born from millennia of blood feuds and twisted emotions, is brewing in the waves of the warp, and is fiercely attacking Medusa in the real universe.

(End of this chapter)