Datch opened the can, poured the spinach into his mouth, and downed it in one gulp.
In the next moment, terrifying power surged from his body like the explosion of billions of stars.
His already imposing body swelled, growing noticeably larger and taller.
His Primaris armor burst outward; wild power surged through his veins.
He could even hear the twang of tense muscle fibers, like overloaded steel cables.
Even the lightest punch made the air snap and crackle.
"I'm ridiculously strong right now."
"Bring on the four Chaos gods; I'll fight them single-handed."
Datch's confidence grew with his muscles. All he wanted now was to punch the Four Gods, kick the Tyranids, and slap the C'tan. If anyone dared to disobey, they'd get hit!
If he couldn't defeat them, he'd just pretend there'd been no argument.
In his hand flashed the Ruyi Jingu Bang. With a thought, it extended several meters, the head enlarging, turning into a massive, spiked warclub.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
One swing made the indestructible staff smash into the ground like a meteor.
Each strike caused a small earthquake; hard rock caved and cracked like brittle biscuits.
Rubble and dust rose in rings, shockwaves trembling the nearby ruins.
"So this is how you're supposed to use a real magic staff."
"For the Emperor!!"
With a grin, Datch roared and charged the fortress where the bone cannon stood, wielding his enormous staff like a humanoid beast.
Ghosts trying to block him were blown away in a single blow; even Chaos-blessed Iron Warriors were reduced to nothing but pulp and scraps.
There was hardly a single unbroken piece left anywhere.
A Predator tank roared towards Datch—trying to stop him with its heavy armor.
"Die, minions of the False Emperor!"
The Predator crew, fixated on the man onscreen, bared their teeth and gunned it for a ramming attack.
Crash!
Datch hammered the tank's roof with his magic staff; the thick armor caved instantly, the crew inside turning pale with terror.
"What is that monster? He's so strong!!"
Alarms blared—the tracks floated into the air, rendering the vehicle immobile.
"What's going on? How's it floating? Call for help!"
Panic filled the crew's voices. From inside, nothing outside could be seen except the distant target.
Traitor soldiers outside watched in horror as the gigantic Astartes hoisted the Predator tank with one hand and hurled it at the fortress.
Crash!!
The tank, moving too fast to track, smashed into the traitors' fortress, wrecking strategy tables and comm arrays, crushing a number of servants on impact.
Tenebrus and Warpsmith Torvann Lokk, lords of Hand of Abaddon, were inside, intoxicated by visions of the future.
They stared at the corrupting pillar of light splitting the heavens, convinced human faith was about to collapse and the gods would inherit the galaxy.
"The faith-worlds of the Imperium will fall," Tenebrus crowed, "the future will belong to the gods, and to us! The lackeys of the False Emperor can only watch as their faith betrays them!"
"Soon, the Gates of Terra will be shattered," said Torvann Lokk, his voice cold as he fingered his warhammer. "The lost glory of the Iron Warriors will be rebuilt here!"
At that moment, the entire fortified wall shattered in a massive explosion, covering everything in smoke and dust.
The wrecked Predator came crashing into the command center, flipping comms, smashing unlucky Chaos servants.
Both traitor lords were clearly shaken—had the trajectory been different, they'd be dead!
Heading up to the breach, they looked out and saw a sight they'd never forget:
a massive Primaris Space Marine picking up a Leman Russ turret and hurling it across the battlefield like a hammer throw, pulverizing defenses on the far side.
"Wh-what monster is that…?" Torvann Lokk stammered in terror.
Even if the primaris marines were stronger than old ones, this shouldn't be possible.
Lokk had once fought in the Drop Site Massacre—he'd seen Corvus Corax rip up tanks with his talons.
But he was a true Primarch; this… was only a Primaris Space Marine.
Had Belisarius Cawl mastered true Primarch mass production? The thought was absurd, yet nothing else explained the sight before him.
"Could it be the Corpse King has possessed him!?" Tenebrus was equally shocked.
Even Skarbrand, in the midst of slaughter, glanced subconsciously at Datch—a flicker of surprise showing in the daemon's burning eyes.
For even a high priest of Khorne, such simple and brutal fighting was fierce beyond belief.
The Changeling giggled in midair, voice growing louder and more gleeful as it watched Datch smash fate aside with pure violence.
"Such a change! More interesting than any intricate scheme!"
"Glory to the Emperor! This is his gift!"
Canoness Imelda wept with joy and led her sisters in prayer, seeing Datch's violent power as a sign of Imperial miracles.
"Just wait: triumph is ours," Commander Dvorgin said, waving his chainsword. Soldiers' morale soared to new heights.
Achallor was stunned. Such raw physical power was nearly unimaginable, even for someone whose genes synthesized material from both Warp and reality.
What other secrets did this man hold?
Librarian Mordachi and Sergeant Nas of the Dark Angels were also in shock.
Destroying a Leman Russ with bare hands—no one would believe this if told.
"Kill him! Kill him!" Torvann Lokk shrieked.
Traitors turned cannons and guns on Datch, but too late.
After charging, Datch leapt—a cannonball crashing straight into the fortress, breaking through rune-inscribed, spiked walls in a cloud of dust, landing atop the bone cannon.
Before Torvann Lokk or Tenebrus could react, Datch hurled the effect reversal dart at the cannon.
It arced through the air, embedding itself right in the fore-skull at the muzzle.
For an instant, time seemed to stop.
Then—from the dart's point—rang a clear, beautiful voice, as if purifying all souls.
The sound didn't spread through the air, but resonated directly in the consciousness of all creatures within several kilometers.
Buzz…
Dazzling golden light spread rapidly outward from the dart like wildfire.
Wherever the light passed, the tainted cannon transformed.
Chaos blasphemy was replaced with flowing golden light and holy prayers.
Agonized skulls stopped howling and began singing hymns to the Emperor.
The evil purple-black beam, rising skyward to corrupt the world, reversed color and nature—turning into pure, burning gold.
Cries and wails became majestic Imperial hymns, as if sung by millions in harmony.
The reversed golden light surged, rolling over the corrupted sky like a tidal wave.
The sky was covered in gold.
Millions of martyred souls underwent sacred transformation.
Their screams turned to sighs of relief, to low prayers—for now their souls appeared, shining in the warm golden light.
At the hymn's crescendo, these once-faithful spirits won weapons and armor, becoming a hero's army forged from faith and the Emperor's wrath.
"For the Emperor! For humanity!"
The first golden-haired hero bellowed his battle cry, and billions upon billions more roared as the army swept forth like a flood to burn away the traitors with Imperial fury.
In an instant, the fight was reversed.
The traitor armies, sure victory was theirs with a ghost legion, were now utterly routed and slaughtered—unable to mount any defense against the holy host formed by billions of pious souls.
"A miracle! This is a miracle!!"
Princess Jessivayne of the Kamidar Knights choked up as she watched through her mech.
"Glory to the Emperor with us," Sister Imelda shouted in excitement; the other Sisters began prayer, overcome with emotion.
"A reward for loyalty to his majesty. Advance, slay all traitors, and if we die, we'll fight as spirits beside these heroes!"
Dvorgin's shout needed no encouragement; the soldiers' morale had already peaked.
Terror of death was gone—the only desire left was to heroically sacrifice and become a spirit in the Emperor's service.
In sharp contrast,
the Chaos zealots and traitors fell into utter despair and collapse.
They had once mocked the state religion, called the Emperor false, believed salvation lay in Chaos.
But the army of heroes appeared, shattering every delusion and crushing their self-deceit.
They'd been wrong—all along, badly, totally, hopelessly wrong.
But now, it was too late for remorse.
When the golden spirits' swords struck, the pain was not the end;
their souls were dragged out and hurled into the depths of the Warp.
There, no feast or rest awaited—only the eternal hunger and malice of their gods.
"NO—!!! This isn't what we were promised… Ahhh!!!"
Their screams echoed hopelessly throughout the Warp, the price of their betrayal of mankind and the Emperor.
Torvann Lokk, in despair, stared at the battlefield.
They'd been so close to victory—how had it come to this? Why, why?
He turned to the cause of their doom, eyes burning with fury.
At this point, Datch had already reverted to his normal state.
The spinach power had a time limit; that peerless might receded like the tide.
Datch wasn't so arrogant anymore.
Maybe he'd spoken a bit too loudly just now, but… oh well.
Torvann Lokk roared, charging Datch, swinging his warhammer with blinding arcs of lighting.
Colliding energy fields produced shockwaves that staggered Datch.
Primaris Space Marines were indeed stronger than their earlier models, but now Torvann Lokk was blessed by the gods.
"Lackey of the False Emperor, the dark gods will devour you!"
With renewed fury, Torvann pounded at Datch, who was forced on the defensive, nearly faltering.
Suddenly, a golden figure charged in, halberd flashing to block Torvann's hammer.
The weapons clashed thunderously. The newcomer was none other than Achallor, who intervened without hesitation upon seeing Datch in danger.
"Today is your death day, traitor."
Achallor knocked aside the hammer with his halberd, driving Torvann Lokk back and off balance.
Seizing the opening, Achallor slashed diagonally downward, cutting Torvann's armor and flesh.
Torvann howled in pain as his warhammer slipped from his grasp.
"Corpse King…"
Achallor flipped his halberd and finished him in a flash.
Datch walked over and kicked the corpse twice. That damned elite monster nearly killed him.
Achallor pulled out the halberd, blood gushing out.
Seeing Tenebrus panic and flee, Datch watched as the man drew a dagger radiating evil.
It sliced open reality, revealing a glowing, unnatural rift, through which the traitor escaped.
The rift healed and vanished.
"That's Erebus' Blade!" Achallor frowned, recognizing the ritual dagger able to cleave reality.
News had said the Hand of Abaddon was collecting Anathame fragments to reforge it—
the last victim was Horus; who would fall to it next?
Torvann Lokk was dead; Tenebrus escaped with the Bucharis Ring.
The traitors fled, scattered by the army of golden heroes.
When the ritual power faded, the souls returned to their graves to sleep.
Seeing the catastrophic defeat of ground forces, the Chaos fleet in orbit likewise withdrew.
With Imperial reinforcements imminent and the main Chaos artifact in hand, there was no point wasting further resources here.
Triumph for the Imperium; Datch received a mission complete notification:
[Congratulations, you have succeeded in your investigation and stopped the enemy's plot on Gathalamor.]
[Quest Reward: Exp +1500, Points +1500, Fame +200, Shaping Clay Powder ×10]
Datch checked the new item:
[Just a dusting can soften objects, allowing you to mold them as you wish—change faces, appearances. Truly magical!]
"Next time I see Abaddon, I'll pinch his face into Horus and call him 'son' to his face! If I see Fulgrim, I'll tug at Ferrus' cheek."
Just imagining the possibilities, Datch almost burst out laughing.
Another notification popped up:
[Congrats! You have stopped the last ritual by Hand of Abaddon.]
[Reward: Exp +1200, Points +1200, Fame +100, Random Giant of Light Summon Card ×1]
A beautiful card depicting a giant wrapped in light appeared in Datch's palm.
"Shame I can't choose the summon."
Still, he put it away carefully.
Skarbrand, Changeling, and the other daemons were called back to their Poké Balls, Dark Angels sent home.
Datch set about healing the battlefield with his golden hammer.
….
…
The First Expedition Fleet under Macragge's Honour was conducting a campaign to reclaim lost worlds.
At their vanguard sailed an Eldar spiritbone warship, oddly out of place among the Imperial armada.
Inside, Illiyanne Natasé and two other Eldar farseers stood in a quiet meditation chamber, surrounded by ancient glowing runes.
Together they performed a scrying ritual, using the runes to sense disturbances in the warp and gather intelligence.
They heard Gathalamor's world's pained screams, the horrifying sound echoing even through the veil of the Warp—foul, sticky, brimming with hunger and ecstatic corruption.
"It seems Gathalamor has been corrupted by Abaddon's minions."
"Guilliman will pay the price for his arrogance and hubris. Gathalamor is just the beginning. Souls will be devoured and more worlds tainted."
"Soon the Lord Commander will regret it, come begging us for atonement.
Let this be a lesson to him of the importance of our enlightenment—without our guidance, he could never have defeated Chaos."
The seers discussed at length. Though Gathalamor was doomed, Chaos only grew stronger.
But at least, the seers agreed, it'd force the Emperor and his sons to make amends with the Eldar, giving them more influence in the crusade.
Then—a strange thing happened. The agony in Gathalamor suddenly ceased.
"What happened?" Natasé was puzzled; so were the other seers.
As they tried to observe more, a torrent of sacred chants and terrifying golden light burst forth, causing them such pain that tears of blood spilled from their eyes, interrupting the ritual.
"Is this… the Emperor's power!?"
Natasé, pale and shaking, broke off the scrying.
Gathalamor, littered with chaos, was now suddenly blessed with Imperial light; even the souls destined for ghostly evil were saved!
This was a future far different from what they had foreseen.
"What happened? What did those humans do on Gathalamor's world?"