In a single heartbeat, the territory of the Realm of Ruin expanded a hundredfold. Lucius felt a power within him that was leagues beyond his previous state. If before he was merely the racial deity of the Skaven, relying on the collective faith of the ratmen to bolster his divinity, he had now fully coalesced with the Formless Distorted Horn.
The betrayals, villainy, greed, moral bankruptcy, madness, and deaths of all sentient beings had become his sustenance.
Only now could Lucius truly proclaim himself the Fifth Chaos God, the True God of the Formless Distortion, a primary aspect of the eight-pointed star of Chaos.
"Is this the power of a True God? Hahaha... fascinating." Lucius sat upon his high throne, idly manifesting a sphere of raw Chaos energy between his fingers, molding it like clay.
"O... my Great, Despicable Master! Congratulations! You are the one True God, YES-YES!" Kritislik, the Fanatic-Plague Lord and Seer Lord of the Grey Seers, spoke with a rat-face twisted in extreme sycophancy and terror. He shuffled forward on his knees, fawning frantically.
Below the throne, countless Vermin Herder daemons knelt in supplication, their whip-like tails twitching in agitation as they added their discordant screeches to the chorus of flattery.
"No, this is only the beginning…" Lucius's expression suddenly hardened. He opened his hand again, and a small, flickering flame of power manifested once more.
This was a fragment of the power of Malevolent Artifice. He knew the reason the Four Gods allowed him to "play both sides" was that his strength had remained relatively negligible. Now that he had formally become the avatar of the Formless Distortion, the Four might unite at any moment, just as they did against Tzeentch in the legends, to force him to relinquish his hold over the Malevolent Artifice.
What am I supposed to do? Lucius thought grimly. Even Tzeentch at his zenith was beaten into submission when he held too much. I have, at best, one and a half domains—how do I face the Four?
The brief surge of exhilaration vanished, replaced by a brooding melancholy. Before his reincarnation, Lucius had been a "rank-slave" gamer, the type who refused to lose even a minor settlement in a Total War campaign. Now that he held a seat of divinity, the thought of surrendering a single scrap of power was intolerable.
Suddenly, a vast, jovial voice boomed through the void, a voice that could only belong to Nurgle.
"Hahaha... Congratulations, newcomer. You have finally stepped into the Great Game in earnest." A colossal, bloated shadow appeared outside the borders of the Realm of Ruin, its laughter like rolling thunder.
Lucius stood immediately. His divine silhouette now rivaled Nurgle's in scale. He stepped out from his sanctum to meet the visitor.
"Grandfather Nurgle. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Lucius asked with a wry smile. His tall, spindly frame stood in stark contrast to Nurgle's rot-thickened bulk.
"Hehe, nothing much. I merely came to tell you: since you have formally joined our ranks, you must now participate in our Eternal Game," Nurgle said cheerfully, clearly pleased by the title "Grandfather."
"Participate?"
"Indeed. To keep things interesting, I should warn you—those other three shameless ones will invade your realm whenever they seek 'amusement.' Be prepared. After all, if a True God has to personally swat at mere toys, he loses face among his peers." Nurgle offered the advice with genuine, if twisted, kindness.
Lucius didn't quite grasp how important a Chaos God's "face" was; as a win-at-all-costs strategist, he was perfectly happy to personally crush anyone's skull if it ensured victory. But then he understood the subtext: it was like being "tabeled" in a hobby shop, an embarrassment one never lived down.
While the Forge of Souls is still in my grasp, I'll use my position to fortify my defenses, Lucius planned. Furthermore, the other Primarch of the Alpha Legion, the missing Alpharius, must be found and brought into the fold.
"But how to find a spymaster who has been missing for ten millennia? Especially with the Emperor on Terra likely setting traps for me," Lucius muttered, eyes closed. Finally, he snapped them open, his resolve set.
"Then let the vermin turn the galaxy upside down. In the grim darkness of the 41st Millennium, the Vermin Tide shall descend!"
…
Meanwhile, the Astartes of the Alpha Legion had been utterly transformed by the grace of the Great Horned Rat. Enveloped in his power, the formidable Lernaean Terminators had sprouted multiple pairs of curved horns. Their legs had lengthened and become digitigrade, and whip-like rat tails now lashed behind them, capable of shattering a fully armored mortal with a single flick.
"Ngh... Father... Father—" The Astartes looked upon their own transformations and those of their brothers with conflicting emotions. They felt the weight of their mutations, yet they were intoxicated by the raw, newfound power.
Omegon, now a towering Verminlord clad in modified power armor, scanned his progeny with a satisfied gaze.
"Prepare yourselves. I am going to reclaim my Pale Spear!"
The Alpha Legionnaires offered no protest to their Primarch's decree, though several warbands muttered privately about their lack of sufficient munitions and equipment.
Omegon had anticipated this. He snapped his fingers, and a rift tore open in the Warp.
A Verminlord emerged, his body more than half-consumed by bionic augmentations. This entity looked remarkably like a daemonic Belisarius Cawl; his mechanical apparatus was far larger than his organic frame, trailing a chaotic web of cables and steel hosing connected to unknown machineries. In his grip was a Warp-Mechanical Staff glowing with baleful green light.
This was Chrot, the current Overseer of the Forge.
As a Skryre genius who was far more useful and less ambitious than the mortal-born Ikit Claw, Chrot was a technomaniac with little interest in political maneuvering. He had been commanded by the Great Horned Rat to provide daemonic armaments for the reborn Alpha Legion.
"Speak-tell me, what do you lack-need? I shall record the debt," Chrot's voice buzzed with an electronic rasp through his iron, gas-mask-like apparatus.
"We... we need at least ten thousand rounds of bolter ammunition. Stasis grenades, chainswords—our power armor requires full maintenance," Drazus said, stepping forward as the eldest veteran and the first to kneel to the Great Horned Rat.
"Oh, simple-easy." Chrot wasted no time. Hundreds of Skryre Vermin Herders scurried from the rift, lugging crates of Warp-Bolts and Warp-Power Swords.
The Serpent's Teeth warband immediately began re-arming. Clad in power armor shimmering with the green luminescence of Warpstone and wielding baleful weaponry, they looked more terrifying than ever.
Akurra picked up a Warp-Bolter, inspected it, and fired a test shot at a Headhunter's power axe. With a deafening crack and an explosion of green light, the axe, a masterwork seized from the Imperium, was instantly flash-melted into a puddle of slag.
"So powerful..." The surrounding Alphas gasped. Starting with the warbands already deep in Chaos corruption, the warriors began to scramble forward, fighting to claim the new gear.
Life for a Traitor Astartes was often one of desperation, counting every single bolt shell and patching armor that had been in service for three hundred years. To these "impoverished" warriors, Chrot's bounty, provided under the Great Horned Rat's mandate, was a miracle.
Lucius's logic was simple: Once they use these Warp-weapons, these crystallizations of the Great Horned Rat's power, they can never escape his corruption.
Dreadnoughts? Terminators? Build them all! Lucius thought. That is exactly what the Forge of Souls is for!
When the re-arming was complete, the Legion finally took on a true Skaven silhouette, their gear glowing with a uniform, sickly green hue.
"Excellent, my sons. This is the first time in ten thousand years you act as a Legion. From this moment on, there are no warbands, no cells—none of these foolish divisions. You are a single entity once more!" Omegon raised his hand. "Now, go! Reclaim my weapon and let the Imperium know—the Hydra has returned!"
"HYDRA DOMINATUS!!!" The Astartes dropped to one knee, their voices a synchronized, thunderous roar.
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