This Is Our Warhammer Journey

“No Chaos God could create that many physical manifestations from just a few souls. If they could, those restless bstards would've started mass-producing thesis statements and chucking them into realspace long ago.”

Rameses said with absolute certainty.

A lot of people have serious misconceptions about the power of the Four Gods, but once you really understand the world of Warhammer 40K, you’ll realize the Four aren’t as terrifyingly unstoppable as they seem.

What truly makes Warhammer despair-inducing is the complete corruption of every civilization, the wretched state of the Imperium in realspace, the insanely deranged forces constantly breaking the limits, and those four sht-stirrers from the Warp.

In fact, before the Great Rift opened, the Four Gods interfered in realspace mainly by cultivating Chaos cultists to perform sacrifices that opened Warp portals for daemon invasions, and relying on Big Bro Abaddon to organize the scattered Chaos traitors for “every time is victory” Black Crusades.

Even Abaddon, the chosen of all Four, had to spend countless years raiding realspace and signing a bunch of lopsided contracts with the Dark Mechanicum before he could finally cobble together a planet-killer inside the Eye of Terror. Expecting the Four to casually use a few souls to whip up some Adamantium or Orichalcum? That’s pushing it.

If the stuff you can trade for is ridiculously overpriced, like some bait to make you keep hoarding souls for that sweet, sweet “power” promised on the hook—then it’s definitely a Chaos scheme, no doubt.

But now the cost is so low, so absurdly low, it’s enough to make you certain this goes beyond the scope of the Four Gods’ powers.

“So, you guys have a rough idea of your abilities now, right?”

To put it plainly, they’re basically an STC right now—only the raw material is psychic energy.

“Next is how to get the raw material. In theory, any entity with psychic energy can be hunted for it.”

Killing people would work too, sure, but indiscriminate slaughter is so ridiculous that none of them even consider it seriously.

Rameses opened a Warp portal, and a blue Horror of Tzeentch, greed written all over its face, leapt out—only to be blasted to bits by a bolt of psychic lightning.

“My current plan is to set up a daemon summoning ritual and just kill them off. Since I swapped out my powers for psyker energy, I shine pretty brightly in the Warp.”

So basically, a mob farm, huh.

“Isn’t that dangerous?”

Arthur asked. This kind of fishing-with-yourself setup seemed a little suicidal.

“Daemons can only see the psychic projection, not me.”

Rameses explained:

“Our use of psychic energy is like a person using a tool. The daemon can see the tool, but not the person using it.”

Guess you could say there’s an upside to flirting with death. Rameses’s understanding of their powers far exceeded that of the other three.

If it were Arthur, with how cautious he is, he definitely wouldn’t try this even if the theory seemed plausible—meaning he’d never figure out the mechanics behind their abilities.

“There’s another way.”

Seeing Rameses finish speaking, Romulus chimed in.

“If we directly interfere with a certain established event, we can also absorb a large amount of psychic energy—far more than by just hunting psychic entities.”

“For example?”

Rameses was intrigued.

“During the recovery of the Gellar field generator, Arthur and I disrupted a sacrificial ritual being carried out by Khorne Chaos Space Marines against the Deathwatch. After killing the enemies, we received a massive amount of psychic energy.”

Romulus began recounting the past incident.

That unexpected windfall was how he’d been able to pop out dozens of Astartes at once to help defend various nodes.

“Is that so?”

Rameses stroked his chin, a look of sudden realization on his face.

“So that’s where all that mysterious psychic energy came from. Makes sense now.”

He went on:

“Actually, every move we make is collecting psychic energy, just in small amounts. The fact that you and Arthur got so much is definitely worth studying. We’ll need more case studies to confirm.”

“Mm.”

Romulus nodded, effectively wrapping up the topic.

“At the moment, that should be the extent of our understanding of these powers. Which means the most important question now is—”

He folded his hands under his chin, and his deep crimson eyes swept seriously over the group. Even Garna, who’d been pretending to be invisible this whole time, straightened up.

“What should we do in the future?”

“Live quietly in a corner of the galaxy, or get involved?”

Chances are, the four of them were stuck in the Warhammer universe for life, so they had to come up with a concrete plan.

“If I were just a regular Fallen Angel, I’d definitely try to find a garden world to hide out on. Every extra day alive would be a win.”

Arthur spoke first.

“But—”

Romulus smirked at his childhood friend and handed him a segue.

“But we’ve still got each other. And we’ve still got this mysterious power. I don’t think we were ever meant to keep our heads down.”

Arthur continued. He knew full well—no matter how much he doubted this power that could materialize the soul—it had given them a new option.

One they had no choice but to take.

“To get involved in the major events. To explore the essence of our powers. To slaughter the enemies that violate our values. We have to pursue strength. Because in this universe—”

He glanced away from Romulus’s gaze, locking eyes with each of his companions.

“Only strength is truth!”

In this unfamiliar universe, whether it’s the Imperium, Chaos, or Xenos, everything is a threat to the transmigrators.

Weaklings don’t survive when facing those kinds of threats.

Now, a path to power was shining brightly before them.

None of them wanted to someday get crushed in the crossfire between the Imperium and its enemies, regretting that they hadn’t unlocked their powers, hadn’t seized every opportunity hidden in the cracks of great events to fuel their growth.

So they had to chase strength.

Had to find more efficient ways to grow stronger.

And if you want to be powerful, then you can’t always sit on the sidelines.

Besides...

The four looked at each other. Beyond their shared resolve, a faint hope flickered between them.

A hope to reshape this chaotic galaxy into the familiar world they remembered.

“Milords!”

A voice called from outside the door, breaking the group’s ‘soulful’ staring session.

It was Sister Arabella’s voice.

Once Rameses waved away the creations that didn’t belong to this era, Romulus activated the cogitator and opened the door.

“Sister Arabella.”

Romulus invited the Sister into the room.

“What brings you here?”

“It’s about the warriors of the Broken Sword. They... their mutations are getting worse.”

Arabella said. She didn’t even understand why she’d come to report something so trivial to the Emperor’s Angels at this moment.

But a voice kept urging her—insisting the Angels needed to know.