The Time Wrapping Cloth was draped over Suneo, and the clocks upon it began to whir backward.
The Angel sensed the danger. Shuddering its wings ablaze with azure fire, it lunged toward Suneo.
But Shizuka and Gian moved instantly. One gripped a violin, the other a baseball bat, blocking the Angel's path. Shizuka wielded her violin bow like a slender rapier, engaging the Angel in a combat as graceful as a dance. Gian swung his bat—wreathed in the Emperor's fire—with primal ferocity. The Angel used its wings as a shield to block Gian's strike, while its blade of pure hatred parried Shizuka's bow and slashed toward her face. Yet, at the final microsecond, the Angel's sword hesitated.
He heard the click of a revolver hammer. The snow was kicked up by a sudden gale, swirling like desert dust. Sensing a bone-chilling threat, the Angel turned.
Nobi Nobita stood there, his cowboy hat pulled low, a dark red scarf fluttering in the wind. His silver revolver glinted in the light, its black muzzle aimed true. The Angel saw death in that gaze, but that wasn't what terrified him most. In the boy, he saw the shadow of the Emperor.
"Who are you?" the Angel demanded.
"I am the Sharpshooter, the Pirate King, the Sun King."
"I am the Slayer of Demon Kings, the Pioneer of Prehistoric Civilizations, the Protector of Dinosaur Civilizations, the Guardian of Planet Koya, and the Savior of the Bow-Wow Kingdom."
"I am the Terminator of the Bermuda Civilization, the Revolutionary of the Tiny Star, the Leader of the Animal Rebellion, and the Solver of the Silver Labyrinth."
"I am also the Captain of the Universe Squad, the Patron of the Winged Clan, the Creator of Parallel Worlds, the Mediator of Plant and Animal Civilizations, the Best Friend of Sinbad, the Builder of the Kingdom of Clouds, the Oldest True God of Japanese Civilization, the Mediator of Carbon-based and Silicon-based Civilizations, and the Protector and Savior of the Undersea Civilizations of the Atlantic and Pacific."
"And today, I stand here in that man's stead as the Emperor of Mankind. I am Nobi Nobita, a fifth-grade primary school student."
The Angel unleashed a piercing roar. He felt boundless Warp energy converging toward Nobita. He ignored Suneo entirely; all his focus was pulled by Nobita. It was inevitable—the Angel was sculpted from hatred of the Warp. Suneo was untainted by the Immaterium, but Nobita was a surging tide of Warp energy.
The Angel lunged at the boy who called himself the Emperor of Mankind.
A sliver of a smile touched the lips beneath the cowboy hat. Revolver back, Denkomaru forward—Nobita met the Angel's sword head-on.
As blades clashed, the Angel quickly realized something was wrong. That toy sword could precisely parry his every strike. After a few seconds, the Famous Sword Denkomaru ran out of power from the intense calculations. Nobita tossed it aside, and a swarm of string figures wound through the air to bind the Angel. The Angel beat his wings, tearing through the strings.
But Nobita had done his job. He had stalled long enough.
The clocks on the Time Wrapping Cloth stopped. Searing silver lightning hissed as the cloth was flung aside. The fabric of reality unraveled like a net. The primordial heat of the Big Bang unleashed its fury. Infinite dimensions that had folded as the universe cooled now expanded. Every dimension, every angle, every void shuddered, spewing forth energy in the form of pure light—no time, no space, no mass, only energy.
The dawn of creation returned. In an age of chaos, before space-time was smoothed out, the fabric of existence was full of flaws and web-like fissures. On that uneven terrain, gravity was infinitesimally heavier in some spots, causing light to be warped and gathered. In that surging light, the first intelligences germinated. Later life would call them C'tan, mistakenly believing their "physical" forms—the necrodermis shells they entered after the universe cooled—were their true appearances.
This was a total error. Just as the Warp Gods are not clearly separated from the Warp, the C'tan were one with the early physical universe. The surging light was their will; the massive cosmic strings were their tentacles; the shifting space-time was their wings. They were not manifestations of physical laws as the superstitious believed; rather, they existed during the first Planck time after the Big Bang, before the four fundamental forces had even differentiated.
That was their Golden Age, their Pastoral Age. When they sang, the universe sang with them. They knew no hunger for energy; every pulse surged through them. They never felt cold; the universe was forever scalding and warm. They did not crave matter, for matter as humans understand it had not yet formed. They did not even desire information; their thoughts were so fast that all knowledge was instinct.
This was why, in later eons, they so greedily drank the energy of stars—to recapture a hint of that ancient warmth. This was why they hungered for souls—to fill their parched minds with information. This was why the Dragon of Mars loved the Internet—it let him reclaim the thrill of a mind connected to a world.
But the Golden Age ended. The universe became cold and dark. Temperatures dropped to a billion degrees; density fell to twenty times that of water. The universe became a vacuum. The best days ended during the third minute of creation.
But now, the Void Dragon laughed with abandon. Through the Time Wrapping Cloth, he had reclaimed his origin. He was the Dragon of Light, the Dragon of the Void, the Dragon of Thought.
"Now, I lack nothing!!!"
The Angel let out a shriek, but the Void Dragon was not a creature of the Warp. The Angel's hatred was meaningless to him. A burning sword thrust toward the Dragon, but the Dragon merely reached out with a claw of light and caught the tip. With a sudden yank, the Void Dragon pulled a thread—infinitesimally thin—from the blade. In an instant, the entire sword was unraveled into thread, like a sweater caught on a loose end. Not just the sword—the Angel watched in horror as his own body was unraveled into silk, vanishing into the air in a flutter of drifting threads.
"Kemyo!" (Success!)
The Void Dragon let out a victorious war cry, patting his light-formed belly with claws that sent out ripples of gravitational waves. Then, he shuddered.
Cold. For a form like his, the current temperature of the universe was far too frigid. His body cooled rapidly, precipitating back toward the weak state of a star-vampire. The modern universe could not sustain his true existence. To survive, he had to degrade himself. In a minute or two, he would have to cram himself back into a Necron shell, returning to a state where even "youngsters" like the Old Ones could challenge him.
How damn frustrating. I really want to burn this whole universe down...
He decided that when he reached the 22nd century, he would make Alexander give him a "Creation Suit"—a narrow, warm world where he could live in one half and throw trash in the other.
The Void Dragon soared, wielding the power of the material realm, and slammed into the Angel of Extermination, who was currently battling countless Mini-Doras. The Warp storm was split by the Angel's blade of burning blood, the sharp edge drawing close to Alexander, who was chanting an incantation.
But then, the Void Dragon's magnificent body of light compressed into a glowing humanoid form and crashed into the Angel. In the Warp, will is power. In the material dimension, mass is power.
A river of scarlet blood extended from the Angel's sword to meet the Dragon. The scalding blood temporarily blocked the Dragon's offensive. The Angel of Extermination shrieked, tearing through his outward form to vent the concept of Death itself, diving toward Alexander. Alexander ceased his chanting and slowly raised a weary face. His humanoid form became hazy.
The Void Dragon, the Angel of Extermination, and Alexander intertwined. The Warp was given form by matter; matter was given will by the Warp. A metaphysical field formed in the void, and the slaughter shifted into a realm beyond comprehension.
Creak. The wooden floorboards groaned. Slender, brown-skinned feet stepped onto the narrow staircase, climbing toward the second floor. The air was quiet and heavy, warmed by the setting sun. Dust motes drifted by, dancing with the breath of the room, bringing a scent of the old and familiar.
She gently pushed open the bedroom door. The golden light of the sunset dyed the room a hazy amber. Alexander sat on the floor in front of the study desk, legs crossed, staring at a card table. Hearing the door, he looked up at the brown-skinned girl and nodded, signaling her to sit.
The girl sat opposite him, looking at the table. Alexander played a "Void Dragon" card; the girl's "Angel" was penalized off the field. The girl slowly played the "Angel of Extermination"—a new god born of blood and death. Since the Aeldari gods were originally crafted to fight the C'tan, the Void Dragon, now facing two opposing Aeldari divinities, was suppressed.
The girl hesitated for a moment, looking at the table, wondering which card to use next.
"Alpharius." The girl played "Beta" and "Gamma." These two had vanished from the board the moment they entered.
Alexander waved a hand and played an "Alpharius" card. The three heads of the Hydra bowed and disappeared into the table. They did not belong to the girl's hand.
The girl blinked. Not "Omega"...
Only now did she realize that Beta and Gamma were not splits from Omega after his death. Alpharius had killed the two heads split from Omega, merged into one, and then "committed suicide" once more to split into Beta and Gamma.
A fine hand. The girl hesitated further, unsure what Alexander had done with those two cards.
She looked beyond the table at the cards in her hand. After a moment's thought, she played two cards filled with mutation and decay. She influenced two random hive children, causing them to mutate and fall to Nurgle. She wanted these mutants to drag Ashford into Nurgle's Garden, forcing Alexander to fight the Plague God.
Alexander didn't hesitate. He played "Lena." Using the authority of the Omnissiah, he injected an inspiration into her, making her love ships from childhood. Ultimately, her desire to build a ship to save the people of Ashford led Alexander into the hive's depths, preventing Ashford's fall to Nurgle.
The girl thought for a moment and played the "Governor." She made the Governor of Ashford increasingly mad, turning him against Alexander.
Alexander simply summoned "Left Hand" and "Right Hand" and beat the Governor to death in slow motion.
Since that failed, the girl played "The Elytrum." Influenced Genestealers might change the course of the Battle of Baal, preventing Alexander from obtaining the divinity of "Gluttonous Dissolution."
Alexander quietly played a "Mephiston" card. A bit of guidance led Mephiston into the Elytrum to kill the Lictor ahead of time.
So, the girl played another card, deliberately weakening the Warp barriers so Angron could manifest directly on Baal. But a card Alexander had buried earlier took effect: the "Spirit of Sanguinius." It led the Spirit to find Alexander, establishing communication and cooperation in advance. With the help of well-prepared gadgets, Angron was banished.
The girl shook her head helplessly. She played another card: "Dark Aeldari." Using them to influence Cegorach, she pushed a Solitaire toward Alexander.
Alexander played "Guilliman," who dealt with the Solitaire with ease.
But the girl smiled and flipped a card: Slaanesh! She intended to use the Prince of Pleasure to deal with Alexander.
Alexander shook his head gently.
The Emperor! He countered Slaanesh directly with the Master of Mankind.
The girl began to play minor cards—desperate High Lords and Terran bureaucrats influenced by her.
Alexander simply pointed a finger at the "Guilliman" on the table.
The girl looked at her deck. Erebus!
Alexander quickly played Khârn.
The girl's gaze darkened. She gripped one of her most crucial cards...
Lorgar!
The girl used Lorgar to attack Guilliman directly.