Vane stared at his hand, a look of pleasant surprise washing over his face.
I didn’t expect the Big E’s statue to actually be this ridiculously useful.
Next time some blind, overzealous Inquisitor or Ecclesiarchy zealot tries to brand me a heretic, I’ll just drop the Big E’s statue and hit them with a divine blessing right on the spot.
It’ll scare those idiots so hard their souls will leave their bodies.
What do you mean the heretic we just arrested got blessed by the Emperor and is now glowing with holy light?!
What do you mean the Inquisition and the Ecclesiarchy are banging on my door right now, screaming that I’m the real heretic?!
“If the Emperor’s statue can hand out blessings, what about the statues of the other four?” Vane started wondering if crafting statues of the four Chaos Gods would unlock similar mechanics.
Theoretically, the Emperor of Mankind was the future Dark King, an ascended Warp entity and arguably the most powerful force in the Immaterium.
If his statue had this feature, the four Chaos Gods should have similar mechanics tied to theirs.
As for minor warp entities like Vashtorr the Arkifane or the T’au Goddess, Vane wasn’t entirely sure.
But if minor gods did have their own statues and unique blessing mechanics, things would get incredibly interesting.
When the time comes, I’ll craft a statue for every single named entity in the Warp, farm their blessings one by one, and unlock the 100% completion achievement.
I’ll show Abaddon who the real Everchosen of Chaos is.
After dispelling the Emperor’s blessing, Vane turned his attention to the final option on the interface: [Summon].
Upon clicking confirm, a brilliant portal of light tore open in thin air.
Several massive warriors clad in pitch-black power armor, wreathed entirely in ethereal, spectral flames, stepped out of the portal.
Seeing no immediate enemies, they stood completely motionless in absolute silence, like terrifying obsidian statues.
“The Legion of the Damned?!” General Dhrost’s eyes widened in sheer disbelief, nearly shouting out loud.
As a high-ranking commander of the Imperial Guard, he was well aware of the whispered legends surrounding the Legion of the Damned.
According to highly classified Inquisitorial records, the Legion of the Damned, much like Living Saints, were the direct, supernatural executors of the God-Emperor’s will.
Both were absolute manifestations of His divine wrath.
The golden blessing from earlier could, at a stretch, be dismissed by a hardcore skeptic as some elaborate psychic trickery or sorcery.
But the Legion of the Damned?
There was zero room for debate.
Their presence had one and only one explanation: the direct will of the God-Emperor.
He didn’t even utter a single prayer, yet he instantly received the Emperor’s blessing and casually summoned the Legion of the Damned!
From this day forward, if anyone ever dares to call our Forefather a heretic, they will have to face the combined, unholy wrath of the Adeptus Custodes, the Inquisition, the Ecclesiarchy, and the Officio Assassinorum.
“Are His Majesty and our Forefather old acquaintances?
Is that why he can command His favor so effortlessly?” Dhrost muttered under his breath as he shot a sideways glance at Barachiel.
At that exact moment, Barachiel looked like he was standing frozen in shock, but internally, his brain was actively drafting his own last will and testament.
As a Bishop who constantly preached about “absolute loyalty to the God-Emperor,” not only did he fail to recognize a Living Saint directly blessed by the Emperor Himself, but he actually plotted to throw said Saint onto a pyre to make an example out of him.
How is this any different from the sky physically collapsing on my head?!
In his mind’s eye, Barachiel could already hear the Ecclesiarchy’s merciless verdict against him: “Following an intensive investigation, it is decreed that Bishop Barachiel, who was entrusted to uphold the faith, adhere to dogma, and maintain a pure heart in service to the God-Emperor, has allowed his will to falter and his morals to rot due to long-term spiritual negligence.
His actions are a severe violation of Ecclesiarchy doctrine and Holy Law.
Furthermore, his prolonged abuse of power and his blasphemous attempt to suppress a Living Saint of the Emperor constitute crimes of unprecedented severity.
The primary facts of his heresy are hereby published as follows…” Vane, meanwhile, was actually quite surprised by the summoned Legionnaires.
He tried issuing a few commands, only to find the fiery Astartes completely ignored him.
“So the summoner only gets basic usage rights, no direct command?” Vane rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“If even the Emperor’s Legion of the Damned won’t follow my orders, then even if the Chaos Gods’ statues have the same function, the demons I summon probably won’t listen to me either.” “I was planning to summon an army of demons to counter-invade the Warp, but I guess that’s off the table.” “Whatever.
I’ll just check what kind of crafting materials those demons drop and set up a few mob grinders.” Drawing on years of hardcore Minecraft experience, Vane’s brain immediately defaulted to maximum efficiency farming.
Once I unlock their specific crafting mechanics, I’ll test it out and introduce the demons of the Warp to the horrors of an industrialized, assembly-line execution factory.
— The Warp, the Immaterium.
It was the mirror reflection of reality—a realm that obeyed no physical laws and possessed no linear concept of time or space.
The four Chaos Gods were the absolute apex predators of this realm, yet they did not possess a total monopoly.
Within the Immaterium existed countless lesser domains belonging to various demons, minor gods, and independent entities.
Hidden in the abyssal depths of the Warp was a sprawling, nightmarish domain of demonic forges and infernal factories.
This was the Forge of Souls, the realm of Vashtorr the Arkifane, the master of dark truth and corrupt technology.
An era of unprecedented chaos was about to descend.
Reality itself was on the verge of being violently torn apart by Abaddon the Despoiler, the Warmaster of Chaos.
Vashtorr planned to ride the shockwaves of this catastrophic event to elevate himself, ascending to become a supreme Chaos God with a permanent seat at the Great Game.
His meticulously crafted schemes were already set in motion.
He only had to wait for Abaddon to completely shatter the Cadian Gate, allowing the raw, unfiltered power of the Warp to flood into reality, and his ascension would officially begin.
Yet, at this exact moment, Vashtorr felt an unshakable sense of unease.
The source of this disturbance was the Cryptus System—a sector currently entirely swallowed by the suffocating Shadow in the Warp cast by the Great Devourer.
Something profound was happening within that psychic blackout, sending faint tremors through the Immaterium that threatened to destabilize Vashtorr’s absolute authority over his domain.
Simultaneously, deep within the Impossible Fortress at the heart of the Crystal Labyrinth, Tzeentch—the Changer of Ways, the Architect of Fate—sensed a sudden, violent shift in the tapestry of destiny.
Countless eyes belonging to the Lord of Change peered toward the Cryptus System, yet they could not pierce the oppressive psychic shroud of the Tyranid Hive Mind.
Tzeentch could only vaguely sense that fate had been abruptly derailed by an unknown, alien force.
“Has an unforeseen variable entered the board?” one of Tzeentch’s countless mouths asked in genuine confusion.
Instantly, another mouth fiercely rejected the notion.
“There are no unforeseen variables!
This is entirely within the grand design!” Immediately, the rest of the mouths joined in a deafening, overlapping chorus.
“Yes!
Exactly!
This is all part of the plan!” — “Honored Forefather, this wretched sinner, Barachiel, begs for your forgiveness.
My prior arrogance and suspicion were the heights of foolishness.” Bishop Barachiel, trailed by his acolytes, dropped to his knees before Vane, desperately groveling for a pardon.
“Hahaha, some people just need a healthy dose of reality slapped into them before they finally see the light,” Dhrost and his officers whispered, thoroughly enjoying the Bishop’s utter humiliation.
Vane stashed the Idol of the God-Emperor back into his inventory and waved his hand dismissively at Barachiel.
“Don’t worry about it.
As your Forefather, I’m not going to hold a grudge over petty squabbles with the younger generation.” “I thank the Forefather for his boundless mercy.” Bishop Barachiel let out a massive sigh of relief, feeling as if a crushing weight had been lifted off his chest.
“Let’s get moving to the spaceport.
The Tyranids definitely aren’t going to give us a long break.” Vane ignored Barachiel entirely, shifting his gaze toward the colossal megastructure looming on the horizon.
It was Helios Spaceport, the largest orbital tether and voidport on the planet of Phodia.
“Forefather, there is one more matter you should be aware of,” Bishop Barachiel lowered his voice to a whisper.
“It concerns Planetary Governor Flax.
We managed to receive a fragmented distress transmission from him.
That coward has barricaded himself inside a subterranean bunker complex.” “What did the Governor say?” Dhrost asked sharply.
“Governor Flax reported that Genestealers are breaching his bunker.
He requested immediate extraction to the spaceport so he can abandon the planet.” Hearing this, Vane frowned slightly.
Governor Flax was notoriously incompetent and deeply apathetic.
His years of chronic mismanagement had allowed Hive Phodia’s security to rot from the inside out, leading to crime syndicates running rampant.
When the Tyranid swarm finally hit, his first instinct was to completely abandon his citizens and hide in an astronomically expensive, heavily fortified underground bunker.
“Are we diverting to extract the Governor?” Dhrost turned to Vane for orders.
“If we waste time rescuing that coward, what happens to these people?” A staff officer pointed aggressively at the ragged mob of civilian survivors following Barachiel.
“The Tyranids are only holding back because they fear the Forefather.
The absolute second he breaks off from our convoy, the swarm will attack us immediately.
God only knows how many people will die.” “A coward who abandons his sacred duty is not worth saving,” another tall, gaunt officer stated coldly.
“For a man like him, continuing to draw breath is a direct betrayal of the God-Emperor.” Vane fully agreed with the officer’s brutal assessment.
However, based on the lore he knew, Governor Flax was sitting on a massive, critical secret directly tied to the Hive Mind—a secret that made extracting him highly valuable.
The Governor’s own blood-brother, Tiberius, was a Genestealer Hybrid and the literal Genestealer Patriarch that spawned every single cultist in the entire Cryptus System.
And for years, that monstrous Patriarch had been relentlessly hunting the Governor to exact a twisted, bloody revenge.