This is the bonus chapter for reaching 250 Powerstones.
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Late night, in the top-floor training room of the Governor's Office.
The lights were off. The only illumination was the moonlight filtering through the domed skylight, thinned to the sheerest gauze after passing through multiple filtration layers.
In the center of the room, Paul sat cross-legged. His dark gray power armor was mounted on a steel rack nearby, and he wore only a simple training suit.
If a psyker was present, they would witness an astonishing sight.
Centered around Paul, countless pale gold spiral patterns emerged in the air. Those patterns weren't static; they slowly rotated, like some kind of living breath. With every inhale and exhale, the spirals tightened a fraction, and the psychic density in the air spiked.
This was Spiral Power.
Unlike psychic energy, which originated from the Warp, this was something of a far deeper nature. It stemmed from life's inherent yearning to shatter limitations.
It had taken Paul a full month and a half, with the assistance of the Wisdom trait, just to brush against the edges of this power. Now, he could clearly feel the pulsation of the spiral within his body. It pumped from his heart, circulating through his nineteen augmented organs, growing stronger with every cycle.
"Amplifying power armor by 20%... Still not enough."
Paul opened his eyes, his dark gold pupils gleaming faintly in the darkness. He had tried infusing the Spiral Power into his power armor's servo systems. The results were staggering: joint response speed increased by 22%, peak output jumped by 19.3%, and the energy shield recharge rate even saw a 27% boost.
It was practically like strapping a Titan engine onto a Leman Russ tank.
But the problem was that, currently, only he could harness this power. Tax Bro had spent ten days trying, and all he managed was to channel the Spiral Power into his firearm, increasing the lasgun's rate of fire and lethality by 5%. Even that was enough to have Tax Bro bragging in the regional channel for three days straight about how he was a "special ability user" now.
As for the other players? Most of them couldn't even sense the Spiral Power, let alone use it.
"It seems... the identity of a Chosen One brings more than just traits." Paul muttered to himself. Just as he was about to continue experimenting with combining Spiral Power and psychic energy, the training room door slid open.
Cogboy stood in the doorway, his dark gray formal jacket draped over his arm. His expression was... grim.
"Paul," Cogboy's voice was dry, "we've got bad news."
Paul slowly exhaled, and the Spiral Power churning within him receded like the tide. The pale gold patterns in the air gradually dissipated, the final traces of light sinking deep into his pupils. He stood up, grabbed a training towel from the rack, and wiped his sweat.
"Speak."
Cogboy walked into the training room, the door silently closing behind him. He stopped in front of Paul, pulled a cigarette from his jacket, lit it, and took a deep drag before finally speaking.
"The Iron Hands are leaving."
Paul's hand paused mid-wipe. "When?"
"Ten days, at most." Cogboy exhaled a smoke ring, the vapor twisting into eerie shapes under the moonlight. "Captain Karon just sent me a message. It's a direct transfer order from the Departmento Munitorum."
Paul tossed the towel back onto the rack and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside, the lights of Kent Hive stretched all the way to the horizon. The upper hive was ablaze with light, the middle hive's industrial furnaces burned ceaselessly, and even in the underhive... there were scattered points of light now—the newly built Enforcer stations and community service centers.
Fifteen days ago, this place had been the private property of the Hysman Merchant Guild. It had been hell.
"Reason?" Paul asked.
"The Departmento Munitorum ordered the Tenth Legion to the Segmentum Obscurus to execute an expeditionary exploration and conquest mission. The window of opportunity is only three years. They say the Warp storms there have recently weakened abnormally."
Paul stared at the star map for a few seconds and suddenly laughed. "A window of opportunity? What a coincidence."
"You think something's off too." Cogboy crushed his cigarette out in his portable ashtray. "The Warp rift beneath the industrial zone hasn't fully stabilized yet. Those Tech-Priests from the Mechanicus report every single day that they need Legion forces to stand guard. But they transfer the Iron Hands away right at this moment..."
"Who's taking over the garrison?"
"The Ninth Legion," Cogboy lowered his voice slightly. "The Blood Angels. Led personally by Primarch Sanguinius. Expected to arrive in the Aurelian System within ten days."
A brief silence descended upon the training room.
Paul turned around, turning his back to the hive city lights outside the window. The moonlight shone from behind him, casting a long shadow across the training room floor. His face was hidden in the shadows; only those dark gold eyes remained illuminated.
"Sanguinius..." Paul uttered the name, his tone complex.
The Ninth Primarch son of the Emperor. A giant with wings on his back, exactly like an angel. A demigod possessed of foresight.
The Great Angel of high renown in the Warhammer universe, and also one of the most tragic idealists in the history of the Imperium of Man. He revered honor, believing in redemption first, but his purges were utterly ruthless when necessary. During the late stages of the Horus Heresy, he established the Imperium Secundus alongside the First Legion's Lion El'Jonson and the Thirteenth Legion's Lord of Ultramar, Roboute Guilliman. Yet, during the Emperor's final confrontation with Horus, he decisively chose to forsake his Imperial title and return to loyalty. Ultimately, he was slain by a corrupted Horus during the Siege of Terra, his corpse hacked to pieces as he fell...
This Primarch's death left an eternal scar etched into the Blood Angels' genetic memory, becoming the root cause of the Black Rage in later eras.
Of course, that was thirty years in the future. The Sanguinius of now was still the Primarch who firmly believed that humanity could become better. The Blood Angels Legion he led was renowned for valuing humanitarianism and revering redemption—but the prerequisite was that the other party was worthy of redemption.
"Rumor has it he despises evil," Paul said slowly, "and his tolerance for corruption is absolute zero. If garbage like Adela fell into Sanguinius's hands, he'd probably be strung up on a streetlamp and air-dried into bacon."
Cogboy offered a bitter smile. "And what about us?"
"Us?" Paul walked over to his power armor rack, his fingers brushing against the Crimson Dawn insignia engraved on the chest plate. "We cleaned up the corruption, rebuilt order, and made it so that ninety-eight million people can finally eat a full meal. Logically speaking, Sanguinius should have a favorable impression of us."
He paused, his voice turning colder. "But the problem is, the methods we used weren't exactly humanitarian. The Phosphex Cannon Penalty, public executions, purging tens of thousands of merchant guild members in three days... In the eyes of the Blood Angels, these might seem excessively radical. Furthermore, at our core..."
Cogboy hesitated for a moment. "...We aren't orthodox Imperial. This whole Crimson Dawn system is a far cry from the Imperial Truth."
"So, the descent of the Blood Angels is a variable."
Paul began putting his power armor back on. The hum of the servo systems activating echoed through the training room, and the hydraulic mechanisms in the joints released pressure with soft hisses. He fastened the final latch, the faceplate dropping down. His voice, transmitted through the external vox-speakers, carried a metallic reverberation.
"The transfer of the Iron Hands is highly suspicious too. Hurrying to pull troops away before the mission is complete... Since when have the bureaucrats sitting in their Terra offices ever been so efficient?"
The blue light of Cogboy's mechanical prosthetic eye flickered. "You're saying... the four major factions pulled some strings behind the scenes?"
"They don't have that kind of capability." Paul shook his head. "The Iron Hands confiscated sixty percent of the four major factions' assets, so it's true they hurt the most. But the ones whose very foundation was rattled are the forces of Mars."
He walked over to the star map projection, using his fingers to zoom in on the Aurelian System.
"The Order of the Omnissian Mind. The Mechanicus branch on Aurelian IV, nominally one of the four major factions. But in reality... they're the private property of some Fabricator-General or Mechanicus order on Mars. Over the past eighty years, sixty percent of the promethium produced by this planet has flowed through Mechanicus channels into that Fabricator-General's warehouses. How was Adela able to sit securely in the governor's seat for twenty-five years? Because the Hysman Merchant Guild stood behind him. And the ones standing behind the Hysman Merchant Guild—and the other major factions—are most likely the Mechanicus."
"Now the Iron Hands have arrived, and with a single word, Primarch Ferrus shattered the Mechanicus's monopoly here. That Fabricator-General, or that specific Mechanicus order, just had their cash cow slaughtered."
Cogboy understood. "So... the Mechanicus pulled some strings within the Departmento Munitorum to transfer away the Iron Hands—a Legion that doesn't know the meaning of flexibility—and swap them out for a Legion that's easier to talk to?"
"The Blood Angels aren't exactly 'easy to talk to,'" Paul laughed. "But the Mechanicus probably figured that compared to the pragmatic, cold-hearted Ferrus, the idealistic Sanguinius would be easier to... influence."
He turned around, flipping his faceplate up to reveal a calm expression.
"It doesn't matter, though. We'll deal with whatever comes our way. Our Crimson Dawn isn't some ragtag band of ten or twenty thousand nobodies anymore. Kent Hive has ninety-eight million people, the Aurelian Youth League has eighty-three thousand, and we have five thousand players. After the voting concludes tomorrow, we'll even have our own Astartes squad."
Cogboy nodded. "That plan we shelved earlier..."
"Once the Astartes squad completes their augmentations, we execute it." Paul's gaze sharpened. "If the Mechanicus wants to play, we'll play with them until the bitter end. Doesn't the Order of the Omnissian Mind monopolize technology? Don't they control the maintenance rights for all heavy machinery in the hive? Then we'll let them know..." He paused, enunciating every word. "...what the Fourth Scourge's 'technological equality' looks like."
A stream of data erupted across Cogboy's mechanical prosthetic eye—a clear display of excitement. But he quickly calmed down. "What about the Iron Hands? The tobacco and alcohol supply chain..."
"That's exactly what I was about to bring up." Paul walked over to a small holographic terminal in the corner of the training room. "Find some time in the next few days to personally visit the Fist of Iron and meet with Captain Karon and the other Company Captains. You must quickly negotiate and finalize a long-term supply agreement for tobacco and alcohol. We will provide extended cigarettes and Primarch-exclusive special-supply vodka at cost, in exchange for the Iron Hands Legion granting us preferential rates on mineral taxes, as well as technological support and convenience in resource exchange."
Cogboy frowned. "At cost? Then what do we earn?"
"We earn connections. We earn a network," Paul said, pulling up another document filled with densely packed interstellar trade routes. "The Iron Hands have a hundred thousand Astartes warriors scattered across the galaxy executing missions. If we can become their special supplier through tobacco and alcohol, it's equivalent to driving connection nails deep into the Imperium's military system." He looked at Cogboy, his gaze profound. "Cog bro, why do you think I value the tobacco and alcohol supply so much?"
Cogboy remained silent for a few seconds before suddenly taking a sharp breath. "You want to... infiltrate the entire Iron Hands Legion?"
"Not infiltrate. We want to forge friendships with them," Paul corrected. "Ferrus Manus. The loyalist Primarch of technocracy. Pragmatic, resilient. Although radical and prone to anger, his loyalty to the Emperor is unquestionable. He was the first Primarch to fall during the Horus Heresy, beheaded by his own brother Fulgrim, his hands turned into macabre works of art and lost to who knows where. If history remains unchanged, during Horus's grand rebellion over thirty years from now, he will die on Isstvan V. The majority of the Iron Hands Space Marines will die from the betrayal of their brothers-in-arms. And then, the surviving Iron Hands Legion will descend into extreme mechanization, carving the creed 'The Flesh is Weak' right into their genes."
Paul's voice grew somber. "That is a monumental loss for all of humanity. Although we do not walk the same path as the Emperor, nor do we have the power to stop the grand rebellion orchestrated by the Ruinous Powers... a technological Imperial Primarch, an artisan capable of forging the Gorgon Terminator armor... shouldn't make his exit so early."
Cogboy understood. He looked at Paul, the blue light of his mechanical prosthetic eye flashing steadily, and finally nodded slowly. "I get it. I'll handle relations with all the Company Captains of the Iron Hands. Gabriel likes technology, Karon values loyalty, and the others have their own preferences... I'll prescribe the right medicine for each."
"As for Sanguinius's side of things..." Paul thought for a moment. "After you guys log off, hold a meeting in reality and gather all the data you can on the Blood Angels Legion. Especially Sanguinius's personality, preferences, and modus operandi. We need to be prepared to prescribe the right medicine there, too. Although recruiting a Primarch who would rather forsake the throne of Imperium Secundus to remain loyal to the Emperor is practically impossible... we must, at the very least, maintain a friendship."
He paused and suddenly chuckled. "Say, if Blood Angels' Second Emperor found out his own idol was coming, wouldn't he pass out from excitement?"
Cogboy laughed as well. "Pass out? I reckon Blood Angels' Second Emperor would be so hyped he wouldn't sleep for three days. He'd probably even break up with his current girlfriend over it."
Paul smiled. "Oh, right, one more thing. After the voting concludes tomorrow and the seven candidates for Astartes augmentation are confirmed, begin the surgeries immediately. I'll personally supervise and use my Wisdom trait to assist, ensuring the success rate."
"Understood." Cogboy turned to leave, but suddenly remembered something and turned back. "Paul, that... Spiral Power you were practicing earlier. Can Tax Bro and the others really not learn it?"
Paul fell silent for a moment. "As of right now, I'm the only one who can use it. But I'm not sure if it's because of my Chosen One status, or because..." He raised his hand, the pale gold spiral patterns surfacing beneath his skin once more. "...I can't go back."
Cogboy was stunned.
"To me, this world isn't a game. It's a real battlefield. Perhaps... it's exactly this kind of desperate situation that breeds the absolute conviction required for Spiral Power." Paul lowered his hand, the patterns dissipating. "But it doesn't matter. I'll keep researching and find a way for others to master it too. After all..." He looked out the window at the brightening sky. "...I can't hold up the entire Crimson Dawn all by myself."
Cogboy nodded heavily, turned, and left the training room.
After the door closed, Paul sat back down cross-legged. However, he didn't resume his training; instead, he pulled up the backend data of the regional channel.
Tomorrow was voting day for the Astartes augmentation sponsorships. Five thousand players, seven quotas. Even though Paul, Cogboy, and the majority of the female players weren't participating, the intensity of the competition was easy to imagine. Therefore, he had to ensure fairness. He had to ensure that the people chosen were truly qualified to bear the name 'Astartes' for the Crimson Dawn Chapter.
"Sanguinius..." Paul whispered the name, various legends of the Great Angel surfacing in his mind. The giant with wings on his back, possessing the ability to foresee the future, radiating the light of idealism. And... the ultimate tragedy of being murdered by his brother.
"Will history be different this time?"
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Goal = 500 Powerstones.
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