On the other side of the galaxy, a certain individual was entirely unaware that a single command had pushed the Imperium into total mobilization.
Yet Commissar Yarrick couldn't care less about any of it.
He knew all too well that his duty was complete.
Victory on Armageddon had been secured. The greenskins' Waaagh! field had completely collapsed before him, and the Battle Moon that once hung over the firmament was likely already blown into fragments by Imperial Navy fire, becoming a new debris belt in Armageddon's orbit.
Most importantly, throughout all the battles he had endured, the greenskins had shown no sign of catastrophic, rapid evolution.
He had fulfilled the mission entrusted to him by Lord Adam.
For this, the Commissar felt no pride.
It was simply his duty.
With his duty fulfilled, it was time to settle some personal scores.
He understood this crystal clear.
Therefore—
"GHAZGKULL!!!!"
Yarrick's roar echoed once more, bursting like thunder across this bizarre realm of gods.
The greenskins continuously slaughtering one another were shaken to their core by this external impact.
One giant Ork after another was sent flying as Yarrick forcibly carved a bloody path forward. Severed limbs and shattered scrap metal sprayed in every direction along his wake.
At this point, even these naturally belligerent greenskins—who treated fighting as naturally as eating and drinking—couldn't help but harbor a single thought:
'Isn't this a bit too Waaagh! even for us?'
'What is wrong with this hummie?'
He was clearly smaller than every Ork present, yet his power, his momentum, and the murderous intent radiating from him—as if he meant to flip this entire divine realm upside down—instilled a deep, primal chill in these greenskins who had never known fear.
Yarrick raised his hand, swinging his massive power claw to grab an oversized greenskin and yank it downward.
The Ork didn't even have time to comprehend why its mountain-like body was pulled so effortlessly by a hummie who wasn't even the tallest around.
It froze for just a split second.
Commissar Yarrick didn't care what it was thinking.
The muzzle of his heavy bolter pressed against the Ork's forehead and detonated instantly. Large-caliber explosive rounds shattered the tough skull into pieces, spraying bone fragments like rain.
Yarrick then forcefully dragged the twitching, massive carcass up and swung it around like a meteor hammer.
Every strike sent several greenskins flying, as fragile as bowling pins struck by a ball.
Just like that, he carved out a bloody path through sheer violence.
Roaring bolter rounds swept through like a rainstorm while his swinging power claw tore apart everything in its path.
Yarrick no longer kept count of how many greenskins he had torn apart—the numbers were meaningless to him.
He only needed to move forward.
Just then, a voice resounded inside his head.
Adam's voice carried a hint of unmistakable confusion, seemingly unable to wrap his head around what was happening.
He had just finished conferring with the Primarchs.
Guilliman had issued the directives, while Lion, Sanguinius, and Ferrus—three Primarchs highly specialized in single combat—had already entered the depths of the Webway to hunt down the hidden Lorgar and uncover whatever dark scheme the long-lost Primarch of the XVII Legion was orchestrating.
Adam was completely reassured by this.
Having three loyalist Primarchs deployed simultaneously was a luxury lineup the Imperium hadn't seen in nearly ten thousand years.
No matter what filthy schemes Lorgar and his Dark Apostles were hatching, they would stand no chance against them.
Meanwhile, Adam himself took action again, heading out to intercept the main fleet of the Great Devourer to prevent them from entering the galaxy and causing further devastation.
The Tyranid fleets arriving from the extra-galactic void covered the stars, their numbers enough to drive any mortal commander to despair. But to Adam, they were merely tedious nuisances that required time to clear away.
Every plan had been arranged seamlessly.
However, when he casually checked up on a piece he had previously placed on the board to see how his old friend was doing, he surprisingly found that Commissar Yarrick seemed to have gone missing again.
And judging by the situation... how had he ended up in the divine realm of Gork and Mork again?
Adam's brows furrowed slightly.
"Do you need my assistance?" he asked directly.
If Yarrick needed it, Adam could tear open the dimensional barrier in an instant and pull the loyal Commissar out of Gork and Mork's domain.
To him, it was effortless.
However—
"Thank you, but that won't be necessary," Yarrick replied decisively.
Even with his heart brimming with rage and hatred, even as the flames of humilation burned fiercely in his chest, Yarrick maintained the deepest respect for the great being who had saved the Imperium of Man from ruin.
His voice was remarkably calm—so calm that even he felt surprised by it.
"I can handle this. You have other duties that must be attended to—things that serve a far greater good than an old soldier's personal vendetta. I am merely trying to settle a private score, and I should not consume resources that belong to the entire Imperium of Man."
Yarrick spoke with utmost sincerity.
'I do not have the right.'
He never believed he was entitled to take up Lord Adam's time—that great being stood alongside the Emperor himself, a supreme authority to whom even the Primarchs willingly bowed. He was just an ordinary Commissar.
Adam pondered for a moment.
With a flick of his wrist, he erased a vast swarm of the Tyranid fleet surging forward like locusts into nonexistence. Hive Ships covering the void disintegrated silently in the vacuum, leaving behind not a single shred of wreckage, as if they had never existed.
"Then carry on. Good luck."
The comms disconnected.
Yarrick took a deep breath, refocusing his full attention on the task at hand.
He continued forward.
Closer.
Even closer.
His killing intent was horrifyingly intense.
Then, he felt it.
In the distance, a terrifying presence emerged within his perception—a presence standing in his path, blocking the way between him and Ghazgkull.
As archenemies, Yarrick could faintly sense Ghazgkull's location.
More importantly, he could also feel that Gork and Mork had begun investing tremendous effort into this "fun tool," heavily modifying him.
If Ghazgkull were to reappear in the real universe, his power might far exceed anything Yarrick could imagine.
This entity had to be dealt with.
Yarrick pushed forward, claws flashing as he tore pouncing greenskins to shreds. Ahead of him, a giant Ork as large as a small mountain was smashed through by his sheer momentum, its entire body detonating under the power of reality-warping and turning into a spreading mist of blood.
Come to think of it... something had been bothering him just now.
Yarrick's expression turned somewhat suspicious.
The comms from Lord Adam had finally restored a bit of his rationality, allowing him to pull back from that near-frantic rage fueled by humiliation and notice a fact that his keen instincts should have picked up long ago.
'Aren't these surrounding Orks... a bit too huge?'
Every single Ork here was vastly larger than the Orks in his memory.
Even the smallest ones were comparable to regular Ork Bosses, while the truly massive ones were tall enough to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Imperial Knights.
'Is this some kind of greenskin sub-species?'
With this thought, Yarrick ripped apart another charging greenskin, watching its oversized body fall limply to the ground.
For Yarrick, who was now a Level 3 Reality Warper fighting with ever-increasing fury, these big guys posed no significant threat.
It was simply a matter of tearing them apart twice instead of once.
Still, continuing to advance at such a low efficiency wasn't a viable strategy.
Yarrick stopped in his tracks.
He took a deep breath.
As a newly awakened Reality Warper, he had mostly treated reality manipulation as a divine blessing or a tactical supplement throughout his past battles.
That didn't mean he couldn't adapt.
There were plenty of good things to be mined from the information provided by the Waaagh! field.
He raised his hand and slashed his claw through the air, drawing an arc.
The power of reality distortion obediently responded to Yarrick's will, instantly assembling a complex device.
It was a comical-looking bomb. Its casing was as crude as scrap metal knocked together by a drunken Ork Mek, with all sorts of messy pipes and wires welded on haphazardly.
This time, Yarrick overlaid an amplification of reality-warping power onto the bomb.
'BOOM!'
A mushroom cloud rose abruptly.
Amplified by reality manipulation, the violent shockwave and scorching fireball utterly leveled everything nearby.
Countless greenskins vanished into ash before they could even utter a scream, consumed by the blinding light.
The earth trembled, the sky burned, and this corner of the divine realm felt as though it had been struck hard by an invisible giant fist.
Yarrick, naturally, remained completely unscathed.
Protected by his reality-warping field, he didn't even feel a wave of heat.
Charging forward without hesitation, Yarrick burst out from the lingering smoke of the mushroom cloud.
After taking only a few steps, he realized something.
He had approached that massive Waaagh! field.
That was the presence standing between him and Ghazgkull.
Yarrick looked up.
Amidst the swirling gunsmoke and blinding green radiance, he caught sight of a figure.
A figure who also seemed to be looking around in confusion, as if wondering where all those greenskins had gone.
Is that... a human?
Yarrick was puzzled, but he recognized it beyond a shadow of a doubt.
It was a dark-skinned figure holding a massive warhammer.
His body looked as if it had been forged from the most perfect steel by the most perfect god; every muscle resembled a master sculptor's lifelong masterpiece—full, powerful, and bursting with a pure strength that seemed ready to erupt beneath his skin.
Upon that dark-gray face, a pair of eyes glowed with a crimson fire akin to molten lava.
Yet within that flame radiated a deep, all-encompassing benevolence and compassion.
He looked like a god of forging stepped straight out of ancient mythology.
And the moment Yarrick entered his sight, the god of forging seemed to freeze as well.
His expression clearly betrayed a mix of shock and uncertainty—like a Robinson Crusoe who had drifted alone on a deserted island for countless days and nights, seeing a ship approach him for the very first time.
"Who are you?"
The giant spoke. His voice sounded like a thousand volcanoes erupting simultaneously, the sonic waves rolling out and causing the ground beneath Yarrick's feet to tremble slightly.
Then, as if suddenly remembering something far more important, those lava-like eyes narrowed sharply. He raised his hand—the one not holding the hammer—and gestured toward Yarrick:
"Hurry over here—watch out! It's dangerous here!"
Vulkan's Bewilderment (4K)
In a daze, Yarrick finally snapped back to reality.
So that's how it was.
Without a doubt, this was a Primarch.
As an ordinary Imperial Commissar by his own estimation, Yarrick had originally lacked deep knowledge of such matters.
In the 41st Millennium, legends of the Primarchs were less like factual knowledge to front-line officers like him and more like distant myths found only in hymns.
However, after serving alongside Lord Adam for so long, he had witnessed Primarchs on more than one occasion.
And now, four Primarchs had returned to the galaxy one after another.
The legendary glory of walking alongside a Primarch was no longer as rare across the galaxy as it once was.
Yet once you had seen one—even just once.
The unique aura of a Primarch manifesting in the world, the sheer shockwave of their presence, was something that could never be overlooked once witnessed.
The figure standing right before him gave precisely that impression.
In a flash, Yarrick understood.
It all clicked into place.
Such a direct and unmistakable quality could belong to no one else.
The "Lord of Drakes," Vulkan!
Master of the Salamanders, Primarch of the XVIII Legion!
Yarrick's eyes widened.
At that exact moment, the giant was also clearly frozen, staring intently at the human who had suddenly appeared before him.
Vulkan's brain finally began to function again.
He had been fighting within this realm for a very, very long time—so long that words could scarcely describe it. Here, there was only endless slaughter and the eternally enthusiastic gaze of Gork and Mork.
Even a Primarch's mind required a moment to reprocess the reality before him.
A human had appeared within the divine domain of Gork and Mork.
Even though this human had a crude, thoroughly Ork-styled massive power claw strapped to his arm, the fact remained.
The surrounding greenskins—those seemingly endless, inexhaustible ancient Orks—had somehow been cleared out into a rare zone of stillness.
Their massive carcasses lay strewn across the scorched earth; some were still twitching faintly, while others had been reduced completely to shattered remains.
The air was thick with the acrid stench of smoke and blood, but for now, there were no more charging enemies.
Vulkan finally gathered his wits, looking around at this unusual, almost unsettlingly empty battlefield.
At this very moment, he was granted a rare moment of leisure.
It felt like an absolute luxury.
Over the long, countless spans of time, Vulkan had almost forgotten what it felt like to stop fighting.
Now, his thoughts slowly began to churn once more.
This time, Vulkan finally noticed the attire worn by this fellow.
It was a uniform covered in bullet holes and bloodstains, but even so, the insignia upon it, the rank markings, the double-headed eagle of the Imperium—these details clearly conveyed a single truth to Vulkan.
This was an Imperial Commissar.
"You are... an Imperial warrior?"
Vulkan's voice rang out. It was still as deep and resonant as an erupting volcano, but his tone carried an undisguised astonishment.
As he spoke, he took a step forward, causing the earth to tremble slightly.
It was like a perfect statue coming to life, striding calmly and boldly toward its own altar.
Yet those molten-lava eyes were filled with warmth and concern.
He walked toward Yarrick.
"Lord Vulkan."
Yarrick lowered his head.
He solemnly delivered the most standard military salute to the Primarch.
In response, Vulkan immediately waved a hand.
"There is no need for such formalities; there is no hierarchy between us."
His voice remained gentle.
Then, Vulkan looked around once more, confirming that none of the massive ancient Orks showed signs of closing in again.
He couldn't help but exhale a sigh of relief, gazing with wonder at the first human figure he had laid eyes on in countless years.
"How did you get here, Commissar?"
Vulkan asked with a hint of perplexity. His tone remained gentle, as if millennia of warfare had failed to erode an ounce of his merciful and generous core.
"It is a long story, my Lord," Yarrick began, momentarily at a loss for where to start.
However, he immediately realized that this was no time for storytelling.
Yarrick raised his head, locking his gaze straight onto Vulkan's burning eyes, his pace of speech turning urgent and earnest: "Lord Vulkan, I implore you to return to the Imperium of Man now. Even in the Imperium of today, we still need the return of the Primarchs."
Vulkan fell silent for a fraction of a second, then he let out a sigh.
"I know."
As a Primarch who had gone missing during the War of the Beast, and essentially the last loyalist Primarch to leave the Imperium, he naturally understood what this meant.
After his disappearance, the Imperium had been left without the shelter of the Primarchs.
What would it have become?
Looking back after all these years, the thought sent a chill down his spine.
That Human Imperium, once built by his father's own hands and defended by him and his brothers with blood and steel—how deeply would it have fallen without the guidance of the Primarchs?
He scarcely dared to imagine.
Yet, at that moment, Vulkan simply nodded.
"I understand."
"I will... I will shoulder my responsibility."
His voice was deep and resolute.
"I will step forward once more to face the great enemies of the Imperium. This is my duty—to lead people away from mortal peril and protect their safety. This is my duty... as well as the duty of every Primarch."
"This, naturally, is the ultimate path our Father designed for us."
At the end of it, Vulkan pressed his lips together.
Trapped within the divine realm of Gork and Mork for all these years of endless battle and slaughter, he might have felt that he had forsaken such an oath, forsaken such a duty.
This filled Vulkan with an unspeakable heaviness.
However, Commissar Yarrick clearly picked up on something.
He quickly shook his head, interrupting Vulkan's self-reproach.
"The Imperium of today may not be quite what you imagine in your worst assumptions."
Vulkan was startled: "What do you mean?"
"Actually..." An irrepressible sense of gratification laced Yarrick's voice. "You are already the fifth Primarch to return."
"Your brothers have been returning to the Imperium one after another."
"The Imperium right now—"
The Commissar paused, as if searching for the right phrasing.
Then, with an absolute, ringing conviction, he said: "I would say it is full of hope."
Vulkan was taken aback.
What?
Four Primarch-brothers have already returned?
His mind raced. Nine loyalist Primarchs in total... counting myself, does that make me the tardiest of them all?
Yet the emotion that surged to the forefront of his mind was not negativity.
It was—relief.
How wonderful.
The corners of Vulkan's mouth curled into a faint smile for the first time.
At this moment, I am not alone.
Yet a problem immediately presented itself.
Vulkan looked around at the endless, bloody battlefield blanketed in gunsmoke and greenskin corpses.
He sighed.
"How are we supposed to return now? Do you happen to have a way?"
"This is the divine domain of Gork and Mork."
Vulkan's voice carried a deep sense of helplessness.
"A predicament personally engineered by the alien gods."
Vulkan was acutely aware of this fact.
The two core deities of the xenos race were quite pleased with him—this combat weapon designed by the Emperor.
Gork and Mork had trapped him here as a "fun toy" capable of delivering magnificent battles for all eternity.
Endless numbers of ancient Orks, veterans even of the War in Heaven, were continuously dropped into this divine realm to wage unending war against him.
They found the wars in the real universe so tedious—the Waaaghs! of ordinary Orks, those foolish skirmishes, those opponents that simply weren't punchy enough.
But here, in this divine realm, everything was different.
Even a Primarch had to fight with every ounce of his strength.
Sometimes, those ancient Orks would even spontaneously divide into factions, letting one horde wage a bloody war against another under Vulkan's command.
Such magnificent battles entirely satisfied the greenskin nature.
Vulkan knew these were the machinations of alien gods.
Yet he had no choice.
For the safety of humanity in the real universe, he had to fight.
To fight, and fight, and keep fighting, offering up war after war that would never grow tiresome to the Gork and Mork who trapped him.
Considering all this, Vulkan simply didn't believe Gork and Mork would willingly let anyone go.
How could that ever happen?
"Do you really have a way out?"
Vulkan asked with bewildered skepticism.
Then, he sighed again—how could he possibly pin his hopes on such a thing?
Trying to snatch someone right out from under the divine domain of alien gods like Gork and Mork...
Such a monumental feat was something perhaps even Father Himself might struggle to achieve.
Meanwhile, Vulkan secretly vowed in his heart that he would protect this Imperial Commissar's life with his own, at any cost.
Even if the price was his own death, he would not hesitate for a second.
After all, he could afford to die, and he was already quite used to it.
At that exact moment, however, Yarrick had already begun calling out in his mind.
"Lord Adam."
At the same time, on the other side of the material universe, Adam raised his head.
What's going on?
A look of confusion crossed his face.
It hadn't been very long since his last comms check with Yarrick; given his understanding of the Commissar, it was unlikely he would change his mind so quickly.
Could it be—
Never mind.
Adam decided not to waste time guessing blindly and decisively answered the call.
Scanning outward through Yarrick's perspective first, he sucked in a sharp breath.
Holy shit, a Primarch?!
Is this... Vulkan?
Wait.
Adam's mind worked at lightning speed.
This is the divine domain of Gork and Mork.
Coupled with the fact that Vulkan was the Primarch who went missing during the War of the Beast.
Well.
Unlikely, but entirely expected.
At that moment, Yarrick's voice came rapidly: "Lord Adam, I have abandoned my original plan."
"Please take us out of this divine domain."
His voice was calm and resolute.
Yarrick had freed himself from the blinding hatred of his arch-enemy vanishing right before his eyes.
The burning rage that had blazed within his chest, threatening to consume his entire being, had now subsided.
Yarrick's mind was clear.
Killing his enemy with his own hands would certainly have been satisfying.
Indulging his private desires, making that accursed Ghazgkull pay in blood right before his eyes—that truly was a tempting conclusion.
However, that was the mindset of a worthless person.
Just what kind of profoundly selfish individual would delay the grand picture for personal vengeance when there was a golden opportunity to bring back a Primarch?
Yarrick couldn't even fathom it, and he would never become such a man.
On that point, Yarrick was crystal clear.
"Alright."
Just a single, simple word.
Adam immediately raised his hand slowly.
In the metaphysical realm, an unimaginably vast and formless might surged forth.
It extended along the connection already established with Yarrick, acting like an invisible anchor chain that precisely pierced the membrane of reality, continuously invading the mad divine domain.
"Hold on."
Adam's brow twitched slightly.
"This is getting interesting."
His perception swept across the boundary of that divine realm.
Such a massive and exaggerated Waaagh! field...
Truly spectacular.
Much like the situation when he first fought the greenskins.
Adam had long since discovered that the greenskins' Waaagh! field could obstruct reality-warping to a certain extent—completely unlike the domains of the Chaos Gods.
One had to admit, the Old Ones' technology really had some teeth to it.
Still, that being said—
Adam smiled with quiet confidence.
Who do you think I am?
Even back when he was only a Level 3 Reality Warper, he had been able to forcefully warp the origin of an Ork WarBoss.
And right now, he was a thousand, ten thousand times more powerful than he had been back then!
"What is this...?"
Vulkan's eyes widened sharply.
An invisible wave of distortion materialized all around him.
Space began to ripple like water, and the surrounding scenery—the bloody battlefield forever shrouded in green light—began to blur, warp, and distort.
Then, he felt as though he had been grabbed by something.
The force rushed over like a tidal wave, enveloping both Vulkan and Yarrick simultaneously, and then yanked upward with immense force!
Faintly, Vulkan heard two earth-shattering roars.
It was the wrath of Gork and Mork!
The two colossal entities opened their eyes at the same time.
Their gazes were like trillions of thunderbolts, piercing through the endless Waaagh! field, tearing through the barrier between the Warp and the material world, and glaring furiously at the source of the power that was snatching away their beloved toy.
At that moment, Adam's figure materialized within their field of vision as well.
He wore a smile.
Right now, Adam could see those two colossal entities both casting their gazes directly upon him.
Their roars shook the heavens and the earth.
"Ha-ha-ha! I's thinkin' this 'umie is proper good at tinkerin'—now that's a sight to amaze me! Haven't found a scrap like this in millions of years, a real proper challenge!"
"What're you yabberin' for? I been wantin' to lay into this 'umie for ages and ages!"
"WAAAAAAAAAGH!!!"
Gork and Mork burst into wild laughter.
Their roars were so immense that they instantly echoed throughout the entire Warp, causing even the reality veil to tremble violently.
They were immensely excited.
After all, aside from fighting each other, Gork and Mork hadn't encountered an opponent this waaagh!-worthy in a very, very long time.
They could finally enjoy the thrill of a real brawl and cut loose with all their might!
Faced with such provocation, Adam didn't hesitate in the slightest.
With a casual flick of his wrist, he wrapped Vulkan and Yarrick in reality-warping energy and flung them toward the direction of Terra without even looking back.
Then, Adam stood his ground, curling a finger toward the joyfully roaring Gork and Mork.
"Come on!"
"Let's see who's really better at thinkin' things into reality!"