The Chainsword roared.
The Imperial Aquila blazed on its blade.
Scorching blood had baptized the weapon.
Eighty-eight powerful foes had fallen beneath this utterly ordinary Imperial-issue Chainsword, and what had once looked unremarkable now radiated a fearsome crimson glow.
The thing wasn’t supposed to hit that hard.
Yet now it cleaved through armour forged by ancient technology like it was nothing.
And right now…
The frenzied Ork snarled.
It was far larger than a common Ork Boy — an Astartes could have stood comfortably on its shoulder.
In Ork society, they were known as Warboss.
Leader of a warband.
The strongest of the greenskins.
This one had heard there was a red and very WAGGGGGGGGGGH place somewhere in the Warp, a place only the mightiest Orks, the ones who didn’t fear lumps and tumors, could enter.
But now, it felt something it rarely felt.
Fear.
Bonar shook the blood off his hand.
Not far away lay the Nob’s severed arm.
The Nob was staring at him, eyes gone red, like it was looking at something interesting to hunt.
Bonar just stared back, walking toward it one step at a time, and switched the Chainsword off, casually wiping the blood from the blade with his hand.
“You stinking Humie — you dare hit me!” the Nob bellowed, trying to bury what was rising in its chest.
“WAGGGGGGH!” It swung the heavy hammer down.
The blow came hard.
Bonar caught it on the Chainsword.
Then he drove a kick into the Nob’s knee and shattered it outright.
The Nob crashed down with a howl, kneeling in agony.
Bonar pressed the Boltgun up under its chin.
BOOM!
The massive body toppled.
The crowd erupted.
Bonar stood on the Ork’s corpse and looked toward the gate across the Arena.
Shut tight.
Not a tremor.
No enemy?
He grew restless, scanning the Arena around him.
“Is there no one left?
Cowards!”
The crowd fell completely silent.
Even the Bloodthirsters shrank back a little.
This one had cut through eight Arenas.
Not through overwhelming Psychic Power or raw strength.
Through a terrifying capacity to learn.
He had learned frighteningly fast.
From the Aeldari he had taken the use of Psychic Power.
From the Orks, brute force.
From his human opponents, every survival technique the dark Sectors had to offer.
By the later fights, perhaps only the Bloodthirsters who had waged war in the Warp for countless millions of years could have matched Bonar in experience and technique.
But none of them dared.
Bloodthirsters loved a good charge, they weren’t stupid.
Couldn’t anyone see that the golden Aquila on Bonar’s Chainsword was blazing so bright it hurt to look at?
In theory, a single strike from that Emperor’s Power-enchanted blade could inflict permanent damage on Warp Daemons.
Whether one blow would kill was uncertain, but permanent disability seemed all but guaranteed.
The craving to drink deep of an enemy’s blood hammered at his mind.
The Chainsword’s roar seemed to urge its master to take more heads.
Bonar drew a long breath and crushed it down.
He sheathed the Chainsword, turned, and walked back toward the gate he had entered through.
It stood wide open now.
A Bloodthirster had been waiting there for some time.
It drew a careful breath before stepping forward.
“Bonar, our Lord is occupied and bids you act at your leisure.
If you wish to seek the Lord, the castle at the center is where you should go.”
Bonar’s eyes moved to the Bloodthirster, and the Greater Daemon swore, truly, genuinely swore, that Bonar was weighing whether to cut it down right then and there.
But Bonar only shook his head.
What was wrong with him?
He had almost raised the blade against a noble Knight just standing guard.
“Understood.
Thank you.”
He bid farewell to this weathered-looking Knight and departed.
During this time, he had completed the Trial of the God of Courage and Justice. Get faster updates on g.com.
He had genuinely learned an enormous amount.
Among his opponents had been many different kinds of powerful fighters, and some of them had already surpassed even the Adeptus Custodes in raw combat capability.
It was fortunate that Uncle Malak had taught him a great deal beforehand.
But he had no more time here.
The next deity’s domain still waited.
From a distance, he gave the one seated high upon the throne a salute in the fashion of the Thunder Warriors, then left.
At the very least, Bonar felt that one was pleased.
The Warp shifted and drifted, space and time alike refusing to hold their shape.
Bonar felt he had barely taken a few steps out of the crimson domain when a pink-violet sanctum seemed to drift toward him on its own, and in an instant he stood inside another’s realm.
A voice gentle as a mother’s echoed through his mind.
“Hello there, little one.
Come along — I’m waiting for you inside.”
“Mm.”
Bonar stepped into the First Circle.
In this place haunted by covetous phantoms, every mask had been stripped away to reveal the naked face of greed.
Before him, gold had accumulated into a vast and boundless plain, as though it were nature’s most lavish gift, yet more dazzling than anything nature could produce.
The gold stretched hungrily upward toward a vaulted ceiling inlaid with countless jewels brilliant as a rainbow, every gem blazing with its own light, shimmering in answer to the radiance around it.
Bonar bent down and scooped up a handful of gold coins.
A few of them he had only ever seen in ancient records.
He went no further.
He took only a few as collectibles.
After that, he didn’t spare another glance at the mountains of gold and seas of treasure around him.
When he stepped out of the First Circle, the boundless wealth at his back crumbled to dust.
Those who had embraced it were left as piles of bleached bone.
He arrived at the Second Circle.
Lakes were formed of exquisite wine.
Dishes that could only grace the banquets of royalty were reduced to mere appetizers here.
Countless beings cheered and put fine food and drink into their mouths.
Apparently in consideration of his Terran identity, most of what appeared before Bonar matched human tastes and culinary sensibilities.
He picked up a cake composed of 32 varieties of confections and spices.
An intensely rich aroma savagely assaulted his taste buds.
But Bonar only furrowed his brow slightly.
Then sighed.
“If food like this existed on Terra, people wouldn’t be slaughtering each other over a mouthful of clean water.”
He turned and left without looking back.
Behind him, the banquet grew grotesque.
Those who had gorged themselves swelled like balloons and burst open, giving rise to yet more food.
He arrived at the Third Circle.
Soft grass stretched in every direction.
Beguiling gardens bloomed around graceful pavilions across a beautiful open expanse.
The laughter of young women rose from just beside his ear.
Bonar looked over.
Somehow, a great many dancers had appeared, clad in garments either simple or lavish, yet each one radiating an incomparable allure.
They encircled him, brushing against him with seemingly accidental touches, breathing floral perfume into his ear.
Their garments began to slip away one by one, revealing skin as smooth and soft as milk.
The lead dancer, seeing that Bonar looked somewhat dazed, reached out a slender hand toward his clothing.
He caught it.
“I’m sorry.
I still have responsibilities.”
He dipped his head slightly in apology, pushed through them, and left.
He paid no heed to the heartbreaking cries that rang out behind him and walked into the Fourth Circle.
Behind him, the girls who had seemed celestially beautiful began to twist and warp, becoming fanged, clawed beasts.
He climbed the great mountain step by step and reached the summit.
In the distance, a city sprawled in brilliant prosperity without end, forming a great empire.
Tens of thousands of subjects cheered like ants at the foot of the mountain, and a mighty army stood arrayed in formation.
Everyone was fervently chanting Bonar’s name.
Even the proud Adeptus Custodes raised their voices in praise.
Under Bonar’s leadership, humanity would become the greatest existence of all, and even the once-mighty Aeldari Empire would bow and kneel at his feet.
Bonar shook his head.
“I am my Emperor-Father’s son.
I will not enjoy the fruits of my father’s labor without earning them myself.”
He walked down from the mountain.
The empire crumbled instantly into a heap of sand.
He arrived at the Fifth Circle.
Countless words of praise drifted softly around him.
Greatest general.
Greatest painter.
Countless awards were to Bonar nothing more than stepping stones, and being one in ten million was, to Bonar, an insult.
If mankind had stars in the sky, there could only be one.
Bonar merely glanced from a distance at the award platform overflowing with glory, where everyone waited for him to step forward.
He had not the slightest interest.
If he ever attained all of this, it would only be an incidental result of fulfilling his Emperor-Father’s dream.
He was turning to leave when he heard a long-unheard voice.
“Child.”
Bonar stopped.
He turned and saw with shock a radiant figure standing there.
“Father?”
He walked forward in disbelief.
The Emperor smiled gently.
“You have done very well, child.
You are already remarkable.”
Bonar paused.
A joyful smile spread across his face.
“Really?”
“You are my proudest.
As you always have been.”
“I…” He was so overcome he didn’t know what to say.
“Come then, let me embrace you.
I will take you to witness the glory that belongs to you.”
The Emperor opened both arms.
The joy vanished.
Bonar went still.
“Father…
what did you just say?”
The Emperor was still smiling gently.
“You have a glory that belongs to you.
This is what you deserve.”
Bonar’s expression turned furious.
In the blink of an eye, countless bolts of thunder materialized in his hands.
“You bastard — how dare you impersonate my father!”
Psychic Lightning surged forth and tore the figure to pieces.
The entire space shook violently.
The award platform shattered.
Cracks split the air, and the outer Warp came howling in unchecked.
Had Bonar not pulled back, the entire Fifth Circle would have been destroyed.
He cast a cold glance at the thing he had blasted down to a mere wisp of soul, then continued onward.
He arrived at the Sixth Circle.
He looked around in astonishment.
This was his own room.
Overwhelming exhaustion welled up in his chest.
His long-weary body began to cry out.
The lamps outside the window went dark one by one, and the Adeptus Custodes began their routine nightly patrol.
Yes.
Rest for a while.
The journey here had been tiring.
Bonar walked to the bedside.
The bed seemed to be calling out to him.
Just a little while…
His eyes landed on the Imperial Aquila Statue sitting on the desk.
His father had given him that.
His mind snapped wide awake.
At this very moment, Grandfather Malcador was still burning the midnight oil over official duties.
His father was still fighting at the front.
The great work of humanity was unfinished.
Even the most ordinary citizen was still working hard.
Why was he still thinking about rest?
Bonar drew a small knife and cut his finger.
The pain drove away the last of his drowsiness.
He turned and left his room without hesitation.
Behind him, the tender sanctuary collapsed, becoming drifting shards of white bone and sand.