Something about it was deeply off.
The moment Bruce learned that Ahriman and the others were leading them not to the Hall of Erudition, but to the Pyramid of Light, both his instincts and his experience told him one thing:
A boss fight was probably about to start.
The difference between the two places was significant. The former was the proper venue for receiving guests, the equivalent of a parlor and study in one, the natural place for both private and official business.
The latter was something else entirely. First and foremost, it was Magnus's private chamber. Second, it was also effectively a secret inner sanctum.
Talking there was just begging for trouble.
After all, they were about to step into the private holy ground of a sorcerer.
"You'd think a man would set up a few lovely trap wards in a place like that," Bruce muttered.
Yet while Bruce stayed on guard, thinking several moves ahead, Curze walked the whole way with her arms folded, her bearing proud and unbothered.
If there was one thing annoying her, it was only that she couldn't ride on Bruce's back.
The worst thing about walking, in her view, was the sightlines. Put two subordinates in front of her and suddenly she couldn't see a damn thing.
Horus, meanwhile, had also sensed that something was wrong, but her mindset was far calmer.
She had absolute confidence that even if Magnus really did try something, she could smash her way out instantly.
What if Magnus, as a master psyker, had already laid psychic restraints in advance?
So what?
Horus could also use the Arts from that other world.
"Here we are. The Crimson King is waiting inside for the two honored guests," Ahriman said, leading them to a great door made of prismatic crystal.
It resembled the Silver Door of the Imperial Palace on Terra, though the story engraved upon it was different. Instead of Imperial history, it depicted Magnus's first meeting with the Emperor, the founding of this world of knowledge, and the division of the Thousand Sons into their nine fellowships.
It was enough to show one thing:
Magnus truly revered and admired his father.
The whole Pyramid of Light had clearly been modeled on the Imperial Palace, only with Magnus's own tastes layered over it.
"So this is the place?" Bruce noted the climb they'd made from the base of the pyramid.
Nine minutes and nine seconds.
That number made him uneasy.
"Yes," Ahriman replied. "Father has ordered that no one uninvolved is to enter. Therefore…"
His gaze shifted to Abaddon, whose hand had not left the hilt of his sword the whole way up.
Abaddon had not even tried to conceal the killing intent rolling off him. Ahriman, and the Thousand Sons guards nearest to him, were already more than a little displeased.
Sure, you were the First Captain of the Sixteenth Legion, the Warmaster's favored son.
But did you really have to be this rude?
They studied psychic lore, pursued knowledge, enslaved daemons, explored the Warp, cultivated the soul, and reforged chaotic artifacts. What business was any of that of his?
Where had this barbaric lout come from, with such open hostility toward them?
"I'm bringing one person in with me," Bruce said, stepping forward to stare Ahriman down while sweeping a glance over the staff-bearing guards. "This is not a request."
"If that puts you in a difficult position, have your primarch come out and answer me himself."
Though Bruce's tone was hard enough to be called openly rude, that was still him exercising restraint.
Some things only made sense once you saw them with your own eyes.
He had spent ages wondering how Magnus could possibly blunder so catastrophically.
Now he understood.
All of Prospero was practically wrapped in the Warp.
Everything here, every study and every branch of knowledge, was saturated with Tzeentch's authority. Maybe nothing had fully exploded yet, but what about later?
Corruption was insidious. Like a virus. First it infected, then it killed.
"If possible, it would be best if only you and the Warmaster entered," Ahriman said, still refusing to back down.
"A shame," Bruce said softly.
Then, with a tiny click from inside his gauntlet, his folded lightning claws snapped out, crackling with Nostraman dark-blue electricity.
The Thousand Sons around them instantly shifted into combat stances.
Abaddon drew his power sword in one smooth motion, activated it, and placed himself in front of Horus. The Terminator-armored escorts behind him also braced for battle.
Twenty men against nearly a hundred Thousand Sons.
At first glance, it looked suicidal.
In reality, it was nothing of the sort.
Because among Bruce's group were two primarchs. Those two alone could tear through everyone present in the blink of an eye.
And the senior Thousand Sons leading this escort? Most of them were merely remote-operated puppets empowered by psychic projection. Their actual combat ability was mediocre at best.
Ordinary Astartes level, maybe. And their psychic strength was further weakened by the fact that their true selves weren't even present.
"Magnus!" Bruce called out toward the inside of the crystal doors. "I know you're listening in there. Are you sure you want a battle to break out here?"
"I remember this is where you and the Emperor met, isn't it? Are you really willing to see it turned into a wreck?"
"Maybe you've got all sorts of mighty psychic tricks prepared," he went on, "but my melta charges aren't there for decoration either."
Bruce knew perfectly well that no real fight would start before they had actually met Magnus face to face, especially not now that they were already inside the pyramid.
Anyone who loved books hated seeing their home—or worse, their books—wrecked. Even a chipped shelf or a damaged volume could hurt for months afterward.
And this place clearly meant far too much to Magnus.
"Let them in."
A resonant voice echoed out from beyond the crystal doors.
Hearing the order, Ahriman and the other Thousand Sons were displeased, but there was nothing they could do. If the primarch had spoken, they obeyed.
"But each of you may bring only one additional person inside. That is my limit, brother."
"Fine," Bruce said. "I'll give the host that much."
All he needed was a way to bring Curze with him. The rest no longer mattered.
"I… I also have no objections, brother," Little Horus said awkwardly, prompted by a sharp elbow from the real Horus.
Since each side could only bring one extra person, Little Horus naturally had no choice but to take his father's slot for himself.
As for Abaddon, who had been in a foul mood the entire time, he could keep sulking.
He'd been doing it this long already. A little longer wouldn't kill him.
"Wonderful," came Magnus's voice again, sounding noticeably more pleased now. "Walk in, Horus brother, Curze brother."
At the same time, the crystal doors began to shine.
The rainbow-like water-light faded, replaced by pure golden radiance. A symbol like a golden sun appeared upon the doors—the emblem of the Thousand Sons.
The doors themselves did not open.
Because knowledge only went in and never came out.
To enter the throne room, they would have to step through that solar ring.
It was one of Magnus's little flourishes. The sort of theatricality only a sorcerer could love.
"Father…" Abaddon looked at Little Horus and Horus preparing to enter, his expression tight with worry. Yet he didn't know what to say.
"We'll handle it," Little Horus said, shooting him a reassuring glance.
The real Horus, unable to speak openly, also gave Abaddon a tiny nod: Don't act rashly.
They had fought together for many years. That much understanding existed between them.
Abaddon clenched his jaw, furious, but could only swallow it.
These damned witches had better behave.
"Interesting," Curze said, staring at the sun-ring on the crystal doors with a trace of amusement.
Pointless sorcerous theatrics.
What she found even funnier, though, was the sight of so many threads of fate knotting themselves around the interior.
So that was the answer.
Why had those captains used puppets to greet her and Horus?
Because their real selves were all hidden inside.
How delightfully pathetic.
Once she got in there, she'd pin them to the walls with Gungnir.
"I'll go first," Bruce said, stepping through the solar ring.
At once he felt a psychic sweep pass over him.
He wanted to see exactly what Magnus and the Thousand Sons' sorcerers were planning.
The two real heavyweights, plus two stand-ins.
The four-man party had officially entered the instance.
Join here to read ahead.
In Star Rail, Ultra-Beast Armored — Have I Caught "Equilibrium"? l (Chapter 80)
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Uma Musume, but My Cheat Power 206
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Uma Musume: The Horse Girl Who 67
Uma Musume: From Beginner 125
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Uma Musume: Today Is Another Romantic Battlefield 81
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Checking In in Demon Slayer 59
The Reincarnating Trainer of Tracen Academy 73
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The Gacha Merchant Who Started 31
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