“My Lord Malcador has instructed me that you are to study independently for the time being.”
Bonar blinked, looking at the deferential servant standing before him.
“All right, thank you.”
He felt a little deflated.
His father and Grandfather Malcador were both busy, and he could only sit here with nothing to do.
But that wouldn’t last long.
Why not go check on Uncle Malak?
Bonar ran all the way to the armory and found that enormous…
iron coffin?
He’d heard Uncle Malak had been severely injured in the explosion and could only rest inside the thing.
“Lord Malak is still resting,” the attendant said in a flat, mechanical voice devoid of any feeling.
“When will Uncle Malak be able to wake up?”
“That requires a series of complex procedures.
Under normal circumstances, Lord Malak cannot be awakened lightly.”
Right.
Bonar was a bit stumped.
He returned to the laboratory.
He took out the book with the Hexagram on its cover and placed it on the table, then quickly flipped to page 999.
On the platform lay the body of a Thunder Warrior who had died in madness, one Bonar had secretly dug up.
He knelt on the floor, facing the body on the operating table.
“Noble warrior, may your soul find rest.
I shall borrow your precious remains to seek a solution to your curse, and I ask your forgiveness for this momentary intrusion.”
Bonar stood, then stripped off his white robe.
If what the book said was correct…
Without any particular expression, he dissected the Thunder Warrior’s brain tissue and began analyzing it with his vast store of knowledge.
Even a rough pass was enough.
The motor cortex was abnormally enlarged.
The hippocampus had shrunk to near-total collapse.
If Bonar understood this correctly, the Thunder Warriors’ frail nervous systems struggling to command those powerful bodies were already an extreme source of torment.
Many of the maddened ones had likely endured the most horrific suffering imaginable in their final moments.
Every cell in your body releasing powerful electrical signals, all of them trying to kill your brain.
Some neural structures were even inferior to those of an ordinary person.
Bonar wanted to reinforce the nervous system, but the entire gene-chain was already in such disarray it was beyond recognition.
He spent the entire afternoon searching for a solution and came up with nothing.
The whole laboratory was covered in discarded draft papers.
The waste bin had been stuffed full of crumpled sheets.
Then Bonar changed his approach.
If there was simply no room for improvement in the Thunder Warrior’s own genes, why not find a segment of ordinary genes to replace them?
He unhesitatingly made a small cut on his finger with a knife, then placed it on the instrument for analysis.
The result was startling.
His own gene segment was nothing short of perfect, like a blank sheet of paper, without a single trace of modification.
If there was anything imperfect about it…
it might be that the Psychic Power traits were too strong. Follow the newest chapters on g.com.
Bonar knew almost nothing about Psychic Power and had no real idea what it even was.
The Hexagram book beside him seemed as though someone had gently turned a page.
Bonar surfaced from his thoughts and glanced over.
He was surprised to find the page now open to something about Psychic Power.
He picked up the book eagerly and read through it with care.
What he didn’t notice was that his bleeding finger had pressed against the page.
One corner slowly stained red, then faded just as quickly, as though nothing had happened at all.
“Psychic Power is the manifestation of the Warp.
Every person’s emotions and desires are a part of the Warp…”
“And within the Warp, there exist four great gods.”
“The God of Justice and Courage (a meathead).”
“The God of Beauty and Joy (a complete lunatic).”
“The God of Life and Love (a cantankerous old codger).”
“The supreme herald of hope, the sovereign eagle, the guide of fate, the mighty god of wisdom in whom the future and dreams coexist?
(the most powerful one)”
Why did the last entry have such a completely different tone?
And what on earth were those annotations supposed to mean?
Behind Bonar, four colors of haze rose simultaneously from the shadows without warning, blood-red, coquettish pink, verdant green, and bright blue all surged out at once.
Then they started fighting.
They clashed and tangled with one another, each refusing to give way.
Then the white robe lying on the table, the golden eagle embroidered on it, shot a beam of golden light from its eyes and scattered them all.
Bonar turned to look.
Nothing there.
He scratched his head.
What just happened?
Forget it.
Too much trouble to think about.
It seemed his Psychic Power issue was something inherent to himself and probably had nothing to do with his genes, which meant Bonar could now roll up his sleeves and get to work without worry.
Though he was still fairly curious why his genes were so clean.
Not a single trace of modification, anywhere.
Those questions could wait for another time.
He closed the book and threw himself into the gene modification work with considerable enthusiasm.
Like assembling building blocks, whatever of the Thunder Warrior’s genes could be adapted would stay, whatever couldn’t would be cut, patiently fixing one bug after another.
…
Unlike the placid, uneventful material world, the Warp was extraordinarily lively today.
Four daemonic hosts crashed into one another like a tide, fighting in a chaos that blotted out sky and earth.
Khorne roared and swung a battle-axe at Nurgle.
Thick toxic fluid splashed across Slaanesh with a sharp sizzling sound.
Slaanesh let out a coquettish cry, reached back and grabbed Tzeentch’s wing, and bit down hard.
“Enough — stop fighting, you idiots!” Tzeentch screamed, composure gone.
The three gods separated and stared each other down.
Tzeentch straightened the wing Slaanesh had bitten and fractured.
That actually hurt like hell.
“If we keep fighting we won’t be able to do anything, understand?!
The Cursed One looks at the four of us like we’re fools!”
An axe came flying at him in response.
Lucky he dodged in time.
“You bird-man, what did you write in that book?
Translate it for me.” Khorne was pointing straight in Tzeentch’s face.
Slaanesh was languidly licking their lips, watching the bird-man with a delirious grin, apparently still eager to take another bite.
Nurgle was kindly soothing the little ones, telling them to hold on just a little longer.
“I put in the most effort.
Do you have any idea how hard it was to get that book delivered?
You brute.”
Just as Khorne was about to grab another axe and start again, Tzeentch produced a sheet of parchment and slapped it down on the table.
“All right.
We need a plan.
A plan — do you understand?”
“Otherwise we keep burning each other out like this and we won’t accomplish anything!”
“Let me see what nonsense this is.”
Khorne snatched it up and looked.
One eyebrow furrowed.
Unwilling as Khorne was to admit it, the plan actually looked pretty solid.
Khorne read through it again carefully, glanced over at the smug bird-man, and still couldn’t help landing a kick.
“You brute — is your head nothing but muscle?” Tzeentch snapped furiously.
“Can’t stand watching you show off.”
Khorne passed the plan to Nurgle.
Nurgle shooed a mischievous little one off one arm and read through it.
“Once everything is settled, let him come to the four of us and take a look, let him make the choice himself.
How does that sound?”
Khorne gave a nod.
That was, for once, genuinely fair.
Nurgle agreed, and passed the plan over to…
thin air?
Where had Slaanesh gone?
Tzeentch turned around, and came face to face with a gaping maw.
Nom.
Slaanesh bit down on the other wing.
“AAARGH, you insane lunatic psychopath!”
➤ Next: The Thunderhawk’s Rebirth