The battle was triggered in an instant.
It came without the slightest warning, just like the most classic sort of clash in the Greenskin world.
'"What're you lookin' at?"' '"Lookin' at you, so what?"' And in the very next second, fists were already smashing into faces.
Yet for both sides at this moment, none of that mattered anymore.
This was a war of gods.
Adam stood in place, feeling those two overwhelming Waaagh! fields bearing down on him like an all-encompassing tide.
That force was so wild, so primitive—like a torrential current formed by the collective roars of every Greenskin Ork across the entire galaxy, washing over the borders of the Warp again and again.
He slowly loosened his wrists.
To tell the truth, Adam hadn't gone all out in a very, very long time.
The last time he had truly pushed himself to the limit was during that earth-shattering War of Cadia.
In every battle since—whether facing Chaos conspiracies or fighting off the Tyranids—he had always kept something in reserve.
He had comfortably applied his reality-warping powers to erase enemies from existence at a whim, never even needing to seriously consider the concept of a "limit."
Yet precisely because of this, a small question had lingered in Adam's mind:
'Just how strong am I right now?'
Along the path of a Level 4 Reality Warper, he had taken step after step, each one bringing him closer to that seemingly unattainable realm.
But where was the limit?
He didn't know.
And the two enemies before him fulfilled that exact need to perfection.
Adam raised his head to look at those two massive green figures, far too immense to describe in words.
Gork and Mork—the twin gods of the Greenskin Orks, the oldest and most brutal Warp entities in the entire galaxy.
The Waaagh! energy surging off them was so dense it had practically condensed into physical matter—a unique force utterly distinct from the Four Gods of Chaos.
This field was strong enough to resist reality-warping alterations to their very existence.
Which meant Adam couldn't rely on cheap tricks.
At the same time, however, it meant he could completely cut loose and go all out.
"The show's about to start," Adam said with a slight smile.
And for Gork and Mork, the feeling was entirely mutual.
They had remained in this corner of the Warp for far, far too long.
The last time they had actively taken the initiative to fight probably went back to that immeasurably distant War in Heaven—that ancient holocaust that had burned the entire galaxy to ash.
In the long ages that followed, they could only fight each other, comforting themselves with never-ending brawls.
Their ceaseless battles were both the expression of an Ork's innate thirst for combat and an inescapable compromise.
Yet after fighting each other for so long, even the most entertaining opponent would turn stale.
Gork knew Mork far too well, and Mork knew Gork just as deeply.
They craved new opponents.
They craved a true, unknown, instinct-shattering Waaagh!
And at this very moment, both of those desires converged upon a single target.
'"A good opponent is hard to find."'
This ancient Greenskin proverb surfaced in the minds of both sides simultaneously.
Whether in Adam's eyes or those of Gork and Mork, this was a magnificent battle waiting to unfold.
"ROAR!!!"
A sky-shattering, earth-trembling roar echoed once more.
Gork moved first.
It was an astonishing sight—Gork's colossal frame, vast as a living celestial body, lurched into motion.
He was so immensely huge that he brought to mind planetary structures drifting slowly through the void.
Yet there was no sluggishness in his movement.
Immense power yielded unbelievable mass.
In the most primitive, classic Ork tackle imaginable, Gork spread two arms as thick as mountain ranges and lunged straight at Adam.
Behind him, all the Waaagh! energy contributed by every Ork across the entire galaxy converged frantically, turning into a surging green torrent that poured completely into this seemingly simple tackle.
This strike was pure numerical dominance.
No fancy gimmicks, nor did it need any.
Under the amplification of the Waaagh! field, the sheer mass of this attack surpassed anything words could describe. It was pure, brutal force capable of shattering a star on impact.
'I reckon you definitely can't catch this!'
Adam's eyes narrowed slightly.
"I see."
He understood in an instant.
On the surface, this move looked plain and straightforward, but it actually contained a fair amount of Orkish "I reckon" trickery.
If he used brute force generated by reality warping to take it head-on, he might get punished by this "I reckon" logic.
However—
"Interesting."
The smile on Adam's face deepened.
"In that case... let's test it out."
Without a moment's hesitation, he raised his hand.
No tricks, no shortcuts—he even voluntarily gave up the Reality Warpers' favorite method of bypassing obstacles, choosing a method distinctly disadvantageous to himself instead.
A head-on collision.
In the most direct manner possible, he would pit pure strength against this god of the Orks.
Yet a so-called "disadvantage" had never held any real meaning for a Reality Warper.
As long as he believed he could do it, he could!
In an instant, an unimaginably vast force roared into existence.
Two mighty powers collided head-on at this exact moment.
Every single entity—whether demons lurking in the depths of the Warp or warp creatures barely scraping by amidst tides of emotion—felt that terrifying shockwave simultaneously.
Roaring waves of Warp energy surged wildly in all directions.
Demons that had once considered themselves high and mighty cried out in terror; they didn't even have time to dodge. In the Warp, while physical distance didn't exist, the distance between them and this battle—or rather, what they 'believed' to be the distance—meant nothing at all.
The wild shockwave ignored everything, tearing them apart along with the regions of the Warp they inhabited.
Annihilated, decomposed, reduced to basic energy particles, and carried away by the lingering aftermath to spread even further outward.
And the outcome was already clear.
Gork was sent flying back heavily.
It was a breathtaking scene beyond words.
An Ork god as massive as a floating mountain was halted mid-air, then shoved laterally by a force completely out of proportion with his physical size.
He tumbled through the Warp, smashing through countlessly many Warp structures before crashing hard into the emptiness.
Meanwhile, the enemy facing him was so minuscule in stature.
So small he seemed like a speck of dust standing against a burning star.
Yet the result was indisputable.
"BWAHAHAHA—Big Bro, you're looking pretty weak!"
Mork burst into a thunderous laugh.
"Did your legs go soft from not fighting for so long? Huh? I reckon your legs went soft! Step aside and let me show this hummie what a real Waaagh! looks like!"
He craftily raised his wrist. The Waaagh! field condensed on the surface of his body, turning into an impenetrable layer of defense.
In his hand, a crude yet gigantic chainaxe materialized out of nowhere, its sawteeth spinning madly with an ear-splitting roar.
Mork grinned, revealing a massive, terrifying maw, drool dripping from the corner of his mouth in excitement.
Then, swinging that massive chainaxe, he brought it crashing down toward Adam's head.
At the same time, Gork scrambled back to his feet.
He scratched his massive head and grinned wide—without a shred of anger from being sent flying, his laughter grew only more ecstatic.
Raising both hands, a wild green light flashed in his eyes.
Orks were never a species that relied solely on brute strength.
They possessed powerful psychic talent as well—it was just that they expressed this talent in the most violent way possible.
Endless bolts of green psychic lightning erupted from Gork's hands, surging toward Adam like a roaring ocean.
The blinding glare dyed the entire Warp a sickly green, threatening to swallow his entire figure whole.
A pincer attack from both sides.
"Denied."
Adam raised his eyes.
All the green lightning vanished into thin air at that very moment, as if it had never existed at all.
Gork and Mork widened their eyes, staring in disbelief at their empty hands.
"Alright, alright, you hummie play real cheap!" they shouted out loud.
In response, Adam simply ignored their shouting. Smiling, he raised his hand to begin his true counterattack.
A two-on-one, is it?
Ganging up on me?
"To be completely honest," Adam spoke, his voice carrying an unrestrained touch of amusement, "I've been wanting to try this for a long time."
He reached out and yanked hard against the empty air.
"I'm counting on you—me from the past!"
The air began to ripple.
The timeline was disrupted at this exact moment.
Adam's existence—his past, present, and future—began overlapping in a manner entirely incomprehensible to mortal minds.
Figure after figure dressed in traveling attire stepped out from the river of time.
Every single figure bore Adam's face.
And every Adam wore the exact same confident smile.
They stood before Gork and Mork, moving in perfect unison as they loosened their wrists together.
Gork and Mork's eyes bulged like copper bells.
They glanced at each other, and upon their brutal Ork faces, an expression of sheer amazement appeared—innocent almost like children seeing a beloved toy.
Mork was the first to shout out loud: "I reckon this is way too awesome! Big Bro, you see that? Turning into so many all at once! Now THIS is a fight!"
Gork didn't answer; he had already clenched his fists with a boisterous laugh. His fierce face was filled with pure frenzy and excitement.
How long had it been?
How long since he had felt this surge of intense heat burning in his chest?
Such an incredible opponent—
At this thought, he raised his massive fist and slowly extended it toward Mork.
"I see, no wonder I felt like something was missing—"
Mork laughed heartily and raised his fist as well, their two gigantic bodies lightly bumping knuckles together.
'This is the bond between us!'
'Time to fight side-by-side once again!'
Adam also let out a pure smile.
This was precisely the outcome he had hoped for!
---
Terra.
A mysterious domain within the Warp.
Vulkan slowly opened his eyes.
A moment ago, his memory still remained in that wild, boiling realm of the Greenskin gods.
Then, an unimaginable force had pulled them out.
"What on earth happened..." Vulkan muttered under his breath, his voice raspy. He pushed himself up, the Primarch's formidable physiology rapidly clearing away the lingering dizziness.
Not far beside him, he saw the bent figure of Yarrick, the Imperial Commissar, clambering up awkwardly from the ground.
Vulkan's brows knitted tightly: "What was that just now? What kind of power did you call upon to rescue me from the hands of those gods?"
He did not suspect whether this commissar secretly served the Ruinous Powers.
What a joke.
To snatch someone directly from the realm of Gork and Mork—such capability was beyond even the so-called Ruinous Powers themselves.
Even if they poured forth all their strength, they could never accomplish it with such casual ease.
Vulkan was absolutely certain of this.
"Of course, it was not my doing. It was achieved by another deity of mankind, the Savior of Humanity who stands alongside the Emperor—Lord Adam," Yarrick stated as a matter of fact, recalling the titles bestowed by the Ecclesiarchy that he had heard before. "The Savior of the Imperium, the Living Saint, the new Omnissiah, Savior of Humanity, Comrade of the Emperor and sole representative of His will, the End of the Eye of Terror..."
Vulkan fell silent.
'What is all this?' The naturally mild-tempered Lord of the Salamanders instinctively wanted to say something, but ultimately shook his head.
He had never cared for such grand titles, nor had he ever taken pride in them.
Dropping the topic, Vulkan glanced around and asked, "Where have we been brought to?"
Only now did he begin to examine this space in earnest.
It was exceptionally strange.
Beneath their feet lay a greyish plain whose texture hovered between solid ground and flowing luminescence, casting a faint blue hue. Above their heads was an infinite, boundless void of absolute emptiness.
The only presence in the entire space was a minimalist emptiness, as if the owner had deliberately avoided all decoration.
Yarrick clearly noticed this unusual plainness as well, though he offered a much simpler explanation: "It should not be a problem. Since Lord Adam sent us here, it proves this place is Imperial territory and a safe haven."
"I hold a slightly different opinion on that," Vulkan suddenly spoke up, tightening his grip on his warhammer.
Upon the Lord of the Salamanders' usually gentle face, a rare trace of unfriendliness surfaced.
He said in a deep voice: "I seem to detect... the scent of an old friend."
Without another word, he strode forward in a certain direction. Yarrick immediately fell into step behind him.
After walking across the endless plain for a moment, the surrounding landscape finally shifted.
A tall throne stood abruptly in the open, with nothing else around it.
And seated upon that throne was a massive, crimson figure.
A One-Eyed Cyclops.
The air seemed to freeze. Vulkan halted his steps, silently gazing at his long-unseen brother whose face was all too familiar.
"So it's you."
Magnus turned his head slightly. Looking at that familiar yet distant face, he spoke slowly: "Long time no see, Vulkan."