The moment they stepped into the Throne Hall, it felt like entering a world apart.
It was as though the place had been peeled away from reality itself, suspended outside the material universe like the Warp—mutable, unreal, and yet somehow solidly real at the same time.
A faint fragrance hung in the air, a peculiar blend of herbs and incense. The smell was odd, but unexpectedly refreshing, sharp enough to clear the mind.
Bruce's very first impression, however, was of the floor beneath his feet.
The flooring was made of shattered black-and-white crystal fragments pieced together into an irregular mosaic. But if one had to be more precise, it looked less like mosaic and more like a giant QR code.
A faint psychic vibration rose through the soles of his boots, and with it came a subtle massaging sensation, as though both body and soul were being gently kneaded from below. That strange comfort was clearly coming from the floor itself.
Only after that did Bruce lift his eyes to take in the chamber.
The room was a nonagon, each wall plated in gold and silver, every surface covered with the insignias and engraved histories of the Thousand Sons' various fellowships. Whenever psychic energy pulsed through them, those walls shimmered in response, interacting with the transparent crystal dome above. The so-called QR-code pattern from the floor reflected upward into the dome like a river of stars from the Warp, where it overlapped with ghostly images of all Tizca and the sky beyond.
Scenes from the Warp and the real world coexisted there at once. It was not merely a display of psychic power, but also an absurdly clever trick of physical optics.
Notably, the hall had no conventional lighting at all. Its illumination came entirely from the natural light diffused through the crystal dome and the glow of the runes set into the walls. It gave the entire chamber a soft, dreamlike atmosphere, perfectly suited for meditation and concentration.
At the very center stood a massive throne wrought from gold and obsidian. To an Astartes it was enormous. To Magnus, it was merely right.
But more than its size, what caught Bruce's attention was how much of it was themed around birds.
The armrests had been carved into spreading wings, and they were blue. The backrest was set with an enormous red psychic gem, flanked by smaller gems to either side, creating the eerie impression of compound eyes. On both sides of the throne, talon-like structures framed the seat.
Stare at it long enough, and it felt as if a gigantic blue bird was staring back.
There was a saying: the more wonders a room had, the nastier the boss fight waiting inside it.
So the instant Bruce entered, every muscle in his body tightened. He was already preparing himself to roll at a moment's notice.
As long as I roll fast enough, nothing will hit me.
"How long are you going to keep up this act, Magnus?" Bruce snapped, imitating Curze's usual brand of irritation as he glared into the empty Throne Hall.
This hall alone, meant purely for receiving guests, covered exactly 999 square meters. Combined with everything else he had seen, the stink of Tzeentch was almost unbearable.
If magic pony boy wanted to spend his whole life entangled with nine, then fine. He just had better hope some blue baka didn't freeze him into a frog one day.
"Where are you, Magnus?" Little Horus asked.
He, too, had been momentarily awed by the psychic feedback underfoot and the bizarre grandeur of the chamber, but he recovered quickly. Adopting his father's tone and bearing, he demanded, "From the moment we landed in this city, you've been dodging us. What exactly are you afraid of? And why?"
Even knowing the truth, Little Horus found Magnus's behavior pathetic. His father had come here for the future of the Imperium, and Magnus was acting like this?
Even if he protested his innocence, no one would believe him now. This was the same guilty, evasive look every child wore when they knew they had done something wrong.
"Peace, my honored guests. I'll explain everything shortly," said the same hollow, resonant voice they had heard outside.
As it reverberated through the golden walls and crystal dome, it generated a soothing effect. Their emotions eased. Their minds and souls felt as though something soft and invisible were stroking them.
A moment later, the crystal overhead lit up.
A figure appeared as a projection cast down from above, standing before the crystal throne.
Its skin was a deep, rich crimson. The body was colossal—far larger than most primarchs, a full seven and a half meters tall. And though clearly a scholar, Magnus was built like a titan, his muscles thick and sharply defined, rippling with explosive power.
He wore white-and-red scholar's robes and a golden circlet across his brow. The contrast was bizarre, yet at the same time it reinforced one unmistakable truth:
This was not someone to be trifled with.
A scholar who also happened to be a seven-meter-tall monstrosity was not a man anyone could treat lightly.
Bruce stared at the one-eyed crimson giant with absolute vigilance.
No matter how much he had mentally prepared himself, facing Magnus in person was intimidating. He would be lying if he claimed otherwise, even if he had always mocked Magnus as a clown in his heart.
It was one thing to roast someone online.
It was another thing entirely to meet them in person.
Just his aura alone—wisdom layered over authority, with psychic waves constantly interfering with perception and thought—was enough to make most people instinctively feel the urge to submit.
Why argue with a sage? That was the kind of pressure it exerted.
"Looks like you've already guessed some things, brother," Curze said.
She leapt lightly and perched on Bruce's shoulder, finally high enough to look Magnus in the eye.
"Since that's the case, there's no point in any further probing. Otherwise I'll start to look like an idiot, won't I?"
From the moment Magnus's psychic projection appeared, Curze had already had enough. The whole walk here she had been forced to crane her neck upward. Even now, she still had to angle her chin high just to see his face.
Her neck hurt.
But his appearance at least confirmed her suspicions.
He knew perfectly well what had happened to her and Horus.
That meant there was no further need for the body doubles.
The children could step aside. It was time for the adults to talk.
Magnus regarded them with his lone eye—the eye reforged and empowered by sorcery, granting him sight into both matter and spirit at will.
And for the first time in a very long time, that sight failed him.
Because from his perspective, the four people before him all looked like his brothers.
Two Curzes. Two Horuses.
How was that even possible?
Prepared or not, Magnus still faltered. For the first time, he had encountered something his eye could not pierce.
The last being to confound him like this had been his father, the mighty Emperor.
But that had made sense. The Emperor was the Emperor.
His father surpassed him in both psychic power and knowledge. Of course Magnus could not fully understand him.
But these four?
By what right?
"Welcome to my throne, little one," Magnus said at last, turning his warmest tone upon Curze.
"You're still putting on a show. I can't stand it," Curze muttered, digging at one ear before wiping her finger casually on Bruce's helmet.
The psychic resonance woven into Magnus's voice made her head buzz. It was unbearably irritating.
To Curze, Magnus had inherited one of the Emperor's worst habits: the exact same pompous self-importance.
They both loved using psychic power to fake up their appearance, their stature, even the texture of their voices.
By Bruce's standards, they were basically VTubers.
"Here is my sanctum," Magnus went on. "The beating heart of the Thousand Sons. The wisdom of the whole galaxy gathers here. I can answer all your doubts and offer you aid."
Holding a golden scroll, he continued to extend goodwill toward Curze. "You are an honored guest of my brother. Later, I will present you with a gift. If you wish to tour my sanctum, I can arrange for a scholar to guide you."
Since events had already deviated from his expectations, Magnus's solution was simple:
Pretend nothing had happened.
Didn't matter if there were two Curzes and two Horuses standing there. In his eyes, there was only one Curze and one Horus. As for those two exceptionally handsome beast-girl stand-ins—
They were clearly Curze and Horus's personal favorites.
In truth, Magnus was unusually tolerant of abhumans. Not because he looked odd himself, but because he genuinely believed that any existing race or civilization represented a crystallization of intelligence.
And if intelligence existed, then there was always something worth learning from it.
Wasn't humanity itself a species that grew through learning?
Curze said nothing. She merely watched Magnus continue his performance.
Fine. If he wanted to act, then let him act.
She would watch and see how long he could keep it up.
"Magnus, we need to talk," Horus said at last, unable to endure it any longer.
Stepping forward to place herself at the front of the group, she spoke without hesitation. "You owe me an explanation."
"Why have you been avoiding us this whole time? Why are you still continuing research into psychic powers and the Warp after the ban was issued?"
"Have you forgotten what Father told you?"
"Today, you will answer for it clearly. Otherwise, I have the authority to judge that you've betrayed the Imperial Truth."
If she had been given the choice, Horus would never have laid things bare this quickly. But Magnus's behavior had left her thoroughly uneasy and deeply displeased.
And worse still, Curze had already told her what would happen if Horus fell to Chaos—that Magnus would shatter the webway with a psychic call to their father.
That alone made Horus instinctively regard him as little better than a traitor.
The difference, perhaps, was only that Magnus still didn't think of himself as one.
What he did, however, was another matter.
Magnus fell silent.
A heat born of grievance and confusion rose through his chest, and lines of gold began to spread over his red skin like runes etched into lacquered ceramic.
"So this is about the ban on psychic arts?" Magnus let out a low, mocking laugh. "How ridiculous."
Then he lifted his head.
"You people," he said, "your understanding of psychic power is far too narrow."
"You will never understand the greatness of the Warp. You will never understand what kind of beings you and I truly are."
"Horus. Curze. My brothers."
"Today, let me teach you a lesson. Long ago, Father spoke with me here. Today, you'll witness the might of psychic power for yourselves."
At once, a vast psychic force flooded the Throne Hall.
An invisible pressure descended from above—one so immense it felt capable of crushing not only flesh, but the soul itself.
Join here to read ahead.
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