The sky above had transformed.
Swirling nebulae of unnatural colors twisted and coiled across the void, performing chaotic, shifting patterns as if physically enacting the cosmic war below.
"How truly pathetic," the Void Dragon murmured, gazing at the amalgam of C'tan shards before him.
He could even feel a trace of his own ancient power pulsing within it.
When the Necrons shattered the Star Gods so long ago, the C'tan were fractured into fragments large and small. Entities like himself were massive, self-aware shards. But those fragments too small to maintain independent consciousness were forcibly fused together into pure energy constructs—Transcendent C'tan. Compared to true shards, they were far easier for the Necrons to bind and weaponize.
Trapped within the hyper-dimensional tesseract labyrinth, this Transcendent C'tan was currently surrendering its cosmic energy to feed the Necron war machinery.
To the Void Dragon, it was an utterly tragic sight.
And more tragic still was his own inability to instantly shatter the cage and liberate those fragments.
He extended a hand, attempting to alter local physical laws and crush the tesseract cage, only to be violently parried by the Transcendent C'tan's raw output.
Was there really no other way?
Truthfully, there was a way—he simply resisted using it because of the astronomical energy cost. There were still too many formidable combatants on this battlefield, and he had underestimated their numbers.
Still, defeating the Transcendent C'tan and absorbing it would restore a significant portion of his former glory.
After a brief pause, the Void Dragon decided to unleash his ultimate capability.
"A mere corpse stitched together from endless scraps... did you truly believe you could escape my grasp?"
Following his confident declaration, the sky above Baal drained of all color, collapsing into a void of pure, blinding white.
Looking up from the surface of Baal, every celestial body, starlight, and orbital warship vanished from sight.
The Void Dragon had absorbed every erg of energy and conceptual matter outside Baal's atmosphere that could be bent to his will.
Driven by survival protocols, the Transcendent C'tan began channeling its full energy output. But it was ultimately nothing more than a conglomerate of lesser shards; relying solely on its internal power, drawing energy directly from the broader universe as the Void Dragon did was physically impossible.
The stark shift in the sky lasted less than three seconds before realspace reasserted itself. Yet the Spear of the Void Dragon in his hand had transformed completely.
The weapon now resembled a contained galaxy. Countless stars drifted and swirled along its shaft in a slow, cosmic orbit, as though the universe itself rested in his grip.
"Let us see if you can withstand this."
He pulled back, coiling into a javelin-throw stance. His muscle anatomy and form were so breathtakingly pristine that had Yuki been present to witness it, he would have marveled at it as the ultimate masterpiece of physical art.
The Spear of the Universe was hurled.
It bore no flashy particle effects; the staggering concentration of pure energy bound to the spear itself was more than enough to punch through any defensive threshold—even a tesseract tomb labyrinth engineered specifically to contain C'tan shards.
Multiple dimensions of folded high-dimensional space were skewered simultaneously, striking the Transcendent C'tan dead in the chest. The resulting release of kinetic and cosmic force instantly shattered the Canoptek conduits guiding its power.
In the next instant, the entire tesseract labyrinth disintegrated into dust, its reinforced Necrodermis proving utterly brittle before such overwhelming force.
The Transcendent C'tan—trapped in a Necron-forged prison for sixty million years and used as a bio-mechanical slave—was finally free once more.
And on the third second of its freedom, the Void Dragon gently placed his hand upon its head.
"Do not fear. Death is a passage every entity must experience—without exception."
"Time is running out, Szarekh. Once the Great Rift opens and the boundary between realspace and the Warp thins, leaving will no longer be an option. Or do you truly intend to sacrifice yourself just to force my exit?"
"That option has its merits."
"I must remind you, however... even if this physical shell is obliterated, I lose a fraction of memories at most. Until the final Tyranid bio-form in this galaxy is slain, I am eternal."
"How utterly tedious."
Szarekh sat upon his throne, his burning optics locked onto Yuno.
"Great Devastator, I have one question. Previously, you attached immense strategic and tactical significance to Baal. That was understandable—taking this world leaves the Northern Imperium without a central bastion. So why do you appear so indifferent now?"
Yuno's expression melted into a sly, knowing smile.
"Simple. Because I found something far more important."
A subtle wave of unease rippled through Szarekh, though he couldn't pin down its source.
"Allow me to ask a question in turn, Szarekh. I notice units belonging to Imotekh within your legions. Are you suggesting a reconciliation?"
"Do not mock me. He and I share common ground on one matter only: opposing you."
"Is that so? Then you had better resolve that unstable variable quickly and unify your empire. Otherwise, you will stand no chance against the full weight of what is to come."
"Tch."
Szarekh's expression remained grim.
What in the world did this entity discover? This level of composure is deeply unsettling.
Damn it all... Khorne is literally treating Angron like a re-spawning elite mob!
Death had expended a vast reserve of biomass, killing Angron twice more in rapid succession. Yet Khorne continued to dump unimaginable reserves of Warp energy into the field, resurrecting the Red Angel instantly each time.
She couldn't fathom why Khorne was willing to bleed so much power simply to stall her.
Death cast her awareness across her sisters: Pestilence had slaughtered most of the Harlequin Masques, but it wasn't enough to break the stalemate.
War had shattered several Titans, yet remained firmly locked in combat.
As for Famine, she had butchered the Crypteks countless times, only for Orikan to repeatedly rewind local time and reverse their deaths.
On Baal Secundus, the planet was being systematically harvested to absolute exhaustion by the Tyranid swarms.
The handful of surviving defenders fought desperately for a chance at escape, though no such path existed.
Where Angron had previously rampaged, mountains of dense rubble now buried the earth.
Deep underground, a shimmering psychic barrier held back tons of collapsed soil.
"Ahriman, how much longer for your spell?!"
"Hold your ground! The local warp currents are utterly chaotic. Unless you want our teleportation vector to dump us straight into the palace of Slaanesh, let me work!"
Mephiston was already dangerously depleted after weeks of relentless combat, yet he was forced to maintain the defensive ward.
Seeing his strain, Ahriman channeled his own psychic power to stabilize Mephiston's barrier.
"Relax. I can feel it... this battle is drawing to a close."
Arcane, shifting runes burned around Ahriman's hands.
"What do you mean?"
"Abaddon's Black Crusade is reaching its climax. The threads of fate tell me its conclusion will bring an abrupt end to this war."
"You had better be—"
Mephiston cut himself off mid-sentence.
Both he and Ahriman were among the most powerful psykers in the galaxy; their sensitivity to catastrophic, reality-altering events was acute beyond measure.
"What is this... a Warp Storm?!"
"No... this is no ordinary storm. The tides of the Immaterium have finally breached reality!"