On the other side of the galaxy...
Prospero.
Homeworld of the Thousand Sons Legion.
A sanctuary of knowledge and psychic power.
Its capital, Tizca, was among the most magnificent cities in the entire system.
Enormous pyramids rose from the crimson desert, their golden walls gleaming beneath the light of the distant star.
Intricate runes covered their surfaces.
Each rune emitted a faint glow, bathing the city in an atmosphere that felt both sacred and mysterious.
At the city's center stood its greatest structure.
The Pyramid of Photep.
Magnus the Red's personal sanctuary.
The very heart of the Thousand Sons Legion.
And at the highest level of that enormous pyramid, a crimson figure sat upon a throne.
Magnus.
Primarch of the Thousand Sons.
One of the Emperor's most brilliant sons.
A master of psychic power whose abilities surpassed those of every other Primarch.
His immense body was encased in red armor, and his eye burned with crimson psychic fire.
At that moment, however, his eye was closed.
His consciousness was immersed in the depths of psychic perception.
Magnus extended his awareness beyond the walls of his sanctuary.
Beyond the skies of Prospero.
Through the barrier separating the material universe from the Warp.
And into the distant future.
Then...
He saw it.
A galaxy consumed by flames.
Brothers slaughtering brothers.
His father seated upon the Golden Throne.
And...
Horus.
His brother.
The Warmaster of the Imperium.
The son their father trusted and favored above all others.
Magnus saw him inside a serpentine temple, surrounded by an unnatural darkness.
A terrible power was closing around him.
Magnus's eye snapped open.
Crimson psychic flames blazed violently within it.
When he spoke, his voice was hoarse with barely restrained anger.
"Horus..."
"How dare you betray Father!"
The temperature inside the sanctuary plummeted.
Several Thousand Sons Librarians standing near the walls shivered and exchanged alarmed glances.
Magnus rose from his throne.
His towering figure, more than three meters tall, cast an enormous shadow across the chamber.
His mind raced.
I must warn Father.
He has to know that Horus has fallen.
He has to know that the son he trusts most is preparing to raise the banner of rebellion.
But how?
Conventional astropathic communication?
Too slow.
And with Warp storms raging across the galaxy, there was no guarantee that an ordinary psychic message would even reach Terra.
Even if it did...
Would Father believe it?
Horus was the favored son.
The Imperial Warmaster.
The most trusted of all the Emperor's children.
His father's faith in Horus was virtually unmatched.
An ordinary warning would never be enough.
Magnus tapped the armrest of his throne twice.
The motion was slight, but the psychic pressure filling the sanctuary made the air feel almost solid.
Then...
An idea came to him.
There was only one way.
He would use the full extent of his psychic power.
He would tear a path through the Warp, cross the galaxy, and deliver his warning directly into his father's consciousness.
If he did that...
A faint smile appeared on Magnus's face.
There was something almost reckless about it.
Something utterly determined.
"Ahriman."
His voice echoed through the sanctuary.
A figure stepped forward from the shadows.
Ahzek Ahriman.
Chief Librarian of the Thousand Sons.
One of Magnus's most trusted sons.
He was handsome, with intelligent features and eyes that burned with psychic fire much like his father's.
"Father."
Magnus looked down at him.
"Summon Hathor Maat and every senior Librarian capable of helping sustain the ritual."
Ahriman hesitated.
"Father, are you planning to...?"
"I intend to begin the ritual."
Magnus interrupted him, his eye burning with determination.
"My astral form will leave my physical body, travel through the Warp, and reach Terra directly."
"I'll tell Father myself..."
"Horus has betrayed us."
Ahriman's pupils contracted.
He understood exactly what Magnus was proposing.
A psychic ritual of that magnitude would be unimaginably dangerous.
The entities lurking within the Warp would never ignore an opportunity like this.
Concern appeared on Ahriman's usually composed face.
"Father..."
His voice was low.
"Are you certain?"
"Forcing an astral projection all the way to Terra could cause irreversible damage to your physical body."
Magnus regarded him calmly.
His eye burned with a conviction that allowed no argument.
"I'm certain."
His voice remained steady.
"Horus has betrayed Father."
"I must warn him."
"Whatever the cost."
Ahriman brought his right fist against his breastplate in a formal Imperial salute.
"Understood, Father."
He turned and departed.
Before long, several figures emerged from different sections of the sanctuary.
Hathor Maat, one of the Thousand Sons' senior Librarians.
And seven other powerful psykers.
They took their positions around the chamber, forming a framework through which they could channel and stabilize the ritual's energy.
Magnus drew a deep breath.
Then he slowly closed his eye.
Crimson psychic flames erupted around his body.
They grew brighter.
Hotter.
More violent.
The entire sanctuary began to tremble.
Runes carved into the walls blazed to life, flickering wildly as psychic power flooded the chamber.
--
Deep within the lowest levels of the Pyramid of Photep, a group of people reacted very differently.
[My Heart Was Set Upon the Bright Moon] stood against a wall in scholar's robes.
To an ordinary observer, he appeared to be resting with his eyes closed.
In reality, he was using his psychic senses to monitor everything happening above.
The corners of his mouth slowly curved upward.
"Brothers."
His voice appeared in the regional channel belonging to the Wings of Freedom.
There was barely restrained excitement in his tone.
"It's starting."
The channel immediately erupted.
[Anything for the Great Sacrifice]: "What's starting?"
"Magnus is finally using his ultimate move?"
[Prospero's Number One Devoted Lover]: "That's right!"
"I felt it too!"
"That psychic energy is insane! The whole place feels like it's about to explode!"
[My Heart Was Set Upon the Bright Moon] nodded.
"Magnus is about to smash through the Webway and put the False Emperor on his golden toilet."
"History has already decided how this ends."
"Nobody can stop it."
He straightened and looked toward the Chaos players gathered nearby.
"Notify every Chapter."
"Put everyone in Tizca on high alert."
"Make sure the Imperial faction and Crimson Dawn don't interfere."
His voice grew colder.
"This time, nobody is ruining our plans."
"Once the Emperor is trapped on that golden toilet..."
"We'll be free to do whatever the hell we want in this universe."
Quiet laughter spread through the group.
The Chaos players exchanged eager looks.
They resembled hunters who had just watched their prey step into a carefully prepared trap.
[Prospero's Number One Devoted Lover] grinned.
"HELL YEAH!"
"Our good times are finally here!"
"Once this happens, we can kill whoever we want!"
"Go crazy whenever we feel like it!"
"Anyone gets in our way? We cut them down!"
Another player eagerly joined in.
"Exactly!"
"Once the Emperor's stuck on that golden toilet, those idiots on the Council of Terra are going to lose their damn minds!"
"We should use the chaos to head into Terra's underhive and have some fun with those Nurgle guys!"
"I hear they've been doing pretty well."
"They've even got their own slogan now."
"Death to the False Emperor, Let the Grandfather rise!"
"Apparently, they've been shouting it loud enough to shake the whole underhive!"
[What Year Is It in the Celestial Palace?] chuckled.
"Damn right!"
"Once the Emperor's stuck on his throne, there'll be nothing stopping us from doing whatever we want!"
They laughed.
Loudly.
Triumphantly.
As though everything had already gone exactly according to plan.
None of them noticed that beneath their excited expressions, faint traces of blue light were beginning to emerge.
Markings that had previously remained hidden deep within their bodies now shimmered almost imperceptibly.
The marks of Tzeentch's blessings.
The price they had paid for power.
But at that moment, none of them cared.
All they knew was that the moment they'd been waiting for had finally arrived.
--
High above them, inside the sanctuary, Magnus's psychic power had reached its peak.
His massive body began to tremble.
Then his eye snapped open.
Crimson flames erupted from it, bathing the entire chamber in blood-red light.
His lips parted.
A deep roar echoed through the sanctuary.
"IN THE NAME OF MAGNUS..."
"IN THE NAME OF THE THOUSAND SONS..."
"IN THE NAME OF PROSPERO..."
"REND THE VOID!"
"LET MY WILL REACH TERRA!"
The instant he finished speaking, an enormous torrent of psychic energy erupted from his body.
It was crimson.
Brilliant as blood.
Violent as a raging ocean.
The torrent expanded outward in every direction, but the ritual framework held firm, gathering that unimaginable power into a single towering beam of crimson light.
The beam pierced the sanctuary's ceiling.
It tore through the walls of the Pyramid of Photep.
It surged into the skies above Tizca.
Then, gathering into a torrent powerful enough to tear through the Warp itself, the crimson energy left Prospero behind and raced toward Terra.
Magnus's astral form separated from his physical body, carried within that overwhelming psychic current.
Like a crimson meteor, it streaked across the Warp, ripping through everything that stood in its path.
Deep beneath the pyramid, [My Heart Was Set Upon the Bright Moon] raised his head.
He watched the crimson beam pierce the skies.
His smile grew wider.
"Finally."
His voice rang through the regional channel.
"History is finally returning to the path it was always meant to follow."
"Notify everyone."
"Get ready."
"Because the galaxy..."
He paused, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.
"Is about to burn."
Then his gaze drifted toward the distant sky.
He murmured softly to himself.
"False Emperor..."
"Get ready to take your seat on that golden toilet."
--
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