Eleven.
Truth be told, even Eleven herself could no longer recall when she was born. For as long as her memory served, she had been trapped in that pitch-black, suffocating room by a subterranean crime syndicate. They terrified themselves with her psychic talents, assigning only a handful of unlucky lackeys to keep watch over her.
How cold the darkness was, how terrifying—all because of her psychic power, all because she could kill them with a mere thought.
She couldn't remember when she first heard that name: the God-Emperor.
Perhaps it came from a somewhat devout gang enforcer, or from casual chatter outside her door. Or perhaps the gang leader back then had attempted to tame her with religious dogma.
Eleven didn't understand who the God-Emperor was, only that everyone looked up to this entity with absolute reverence. He had to be someone extraordinary. As her soul drifted through the Immaterium, as she observed the real world through psychic senses, was this glorious figure standing behind her, watching over her?
She never knew.
Until the day she was freed, and met Boss.
Was he the God-Emperor? Or perhaps His divine herald? Why else would such overwhelming psychic radiance swirl behind him?
Eleven didn't know. She simply followed Boss across countless worlds, accomplishing countless tasks.
Boss gave her a place to belong. Even if he wasn't the God-Emperor, to Eleven, there was no difference between him, Miss Yuno, and the Emperor Himself.
"Boss...?"
She looked up at Yuki and Yuno as they rushed to her side, her voice barely a whisper.
"Can we save her?"
"I am sorry, my love. Her soul has suffered critical structural collapse—a direct consequence of this Warp Storm," Yuno replied gently. "There is nothing we can do. She is simply too old."
Yuki's face went rigid. He didn't know what expression to wear—whether to break into tears or force a bitter smile.
"I am sorry, Yuki. At this stage, even attempting to absorb her mind into our synapse network is impossible."
Silence. Deep, suffocating silence.
Yuki's heart sank into an abyss.
He watched Eleven's physical form slowly disintegrate. No psychic energy lingered around her. Rather, all surrounding warp currents were surging toward Yuno as she greedily harvested every scrap of warp energy in the vicinity.
"Yuno, what are you doing?"
"I am absorbing the localized warp energy. Is that not obvious?"
"Why now?! Eleven is—"
"Eleven's condition is irreversible. I require these warp reserves far more right now. Had the Great Rift not torn open, I would not have had the opportunity to consume this much power."
Yuki couldn't take it anymore.
He turned back to Eleven. She was gone.
Her soul was quietly fading away. The only lingering comfort was that, under the dampening effect of the Shadow in the Warp, her soul would not be devoured by daemons, but would simply dissolve into the fabric of realspace.
In the grim darkness of the Warhammer universe, that was already a rare mercy.
"I need to be alone."
Yuno did not stop him.
"Do not wander too far, my love. We are preparing to evacuate Baal. Regardless, we have secured this critical objective. It is best to consolidate our armadas before Guilliman's forces arrive."
"What are you talking about?"
"Our casualties remain well within operational limits, and we retain significant fleet reserves. Compared to the original timeline, this is the single greatest divergence."
Yuno's tone was entirely flat.
"The Battle of Lion's Gate should be concluding right about now, after which their primary armada will set sail for this sector. Once they vacate that theater, we will launch a direct strike."
"A strike where?"
"Terra."
Yuki didn't answer. Yuno operated like a true hive mind—failure was merely a statistical variable not worth dwelling on. The Tyranid collective possessed an exceptionally high tolerance for setbacks; or rather, they cared nothing for them at all.
He turned and walked away in silence, needing time to process everything.
---
"My, my, what a pitiful transmigrator. You thought you'd shine brightly in this galaxy, yet despite possessing such formidable power, you end up empty-handed and utterly helpless after all."
The Void Dragon's cold mockery echoed down at him.
Reaching out, the C'tan shard scooped Yuki up.
"Where are you off to?"
"The Arx Angelicum. I want to see what they're doing right now."
"Don't lose heart, Yuki. There is no such thing as a 'main character' in this universe. Simply surviving in a place like this is quite an achievement—don't burden yourself with unnecessary thoughts."
Yuki remained silent.
---
At the ruins of the fortress, Dante was still fighting.
Though no one understood why the Tyranid swarms had suddenly lost their terrifying synaptic coordination, it presented a desperate window of opportunity.
Baal was virtually reduced to ash, yet they were still breathing.
Harriman had also slipped out of his Khornate state. His momentary anomaly went unquestioned—Dante assumed it was merely an episode of the Red Thirst, or perhaps a temporary blessing from the God-Emperor.
"Dante! Leave that Tyrant to me!"
It was the final Hive Tyrant in sight—perhaps not the last one on the surface of Baal, but certainly the last one the surrounding Astartes could track down.
Dante was exhausted beyond measure. The Sanguinor had vanished, and the spectral warriors of the Legion of the Damned had dissolved back into the warp currents.
*Dammit all.*
Dante could barely keep his footing.
*Charge forward. Win and live, or die trying.*
Grieving his power sword with a white-knuckled grip, Dante leapt onto the Hive Tyrant, which was equally battered from weeks of continuous combat.
The Tyrant's massive scything talons thrust straight toward Dante, but between blade and claw, the Chapter Master's edge was a fraction faster.
Driving his sword deep into the beast's skull, Dante activated his disruption field, vaporizing its nerve center. Victory was theirs at last.
"Magnificent strike, Chapter Master Dante."
Harriman let out a long, ragged breath. As far as the eye could see, not a single Tyranid bio-form remained standing.
"We... actually survived this, didn't we?"
Dante was too depleted to formulate words.
"Hahaha, planning to go see Sanguinius without bringing me along, are you?" Harriman wheezed, feeling his own consciousness slipping toward the edge.
Just then, not far off, another Cerebrate bio-form drifted out from the rubble.
Harriman forced himself back onto his feet. "Ah, damn it... fine. Guess I'll drag you down with me!"
Before he could take a step, the Cerebrate suddenly exploded into a shower of gore.
"?"
Then, an utterly unexpected figure strode out from the smoke.
Hope was slinging a plasma gun she had scavenged from somewhere, leading a modest band of Imperial Guardsmen, mortals, a handful of Space Marines, and an Apothecary.
"Ha! By the Emperor above, His divine guidance was true after all!"
She waved her hand, and the Apothecary rushed forward to tend to Dante's wounds.
"Are you even human? How are you still breathing after all that?!"
Though Harriman was prepared to accept almost any impossibility in this galaxy, this scenario stretched belief. A Living Saint, hacking her way through the swarm, marching all the way from the other side of Baal to the Arx Angelicum?
"I have already perished," Hope replied softly. "What remains before you is merely a vessel for the Emperor's will."
"Cut the act. You look in fine shape to me! The Emperor's blessing really is something else—you haven't aged a day."
Hope looked down at her hands.
"I have grown old. Time is a foe I cannot vanquish. Perhaps the Emperor can, but... I am simply tired."
Harriman struggled to stand straight, frowning. "What are you talking about?"
Hope's life force was fading at an alarming rate. Realization dawned on Harriman—what she said was true.
"Hope?"
She offered no reply. Standing right there where she brought her troops, her spirit quietly departed.
"Hope?!"
Harriman turned his head, only to spot a man standing nearby, staring at the scene in equal shock.
To his bewilderment, he recognized that face as well.
It was Yuki.