This Is Our Warhammer Journey

“Arthur!”

Ramses’ voice rang out on the transmigrators’ comms channel.

He completely destroyed the teleportation spell, tore down the sorcerer’s psychic shield, and signaled for his teammate to shut this guy up already.

What the hell was with this guy? Did Tzeentch bless him with true-name sight or something? How’s he cracking the box that accurately?

It’s not like we’ve got “I’m XXX” written on our foreheads. How’d he know with just one glance?

If it’s that easy to ID us, how are we supposed to blend in with the Imperium later?

Ramses instinctively scanned the surroundings through Daemon-sight. Once he confirmed there was nothing out of place, he finally relaxed a bit.

Then he couldn’t help feeling lucky that Arthur had monopolized all the intel on this ship—at least they didn’t need to worry about the audio-choir system recording and uploading that info.

“Copy.”

Another mirror surface dropped and bounced. The knight, having finished off all the guards, turned around—his lens glowing with crimson light.

Another close-range thrust.

The staff wrapped in frost unexpectedly clashed with the blade, and the massive sorcerer was blasted backward.

That terrifying suppression came again. The knight’s balanced offense-and-defense style left no room for counterattacks— the sorcerer could only hang on using the power of foresight.

So what if you can predict the future?

KRAK—

Brushing aside the staff aimed at his chestplate, the protective field executed its function perfectly.

Another rigid, emotionless slash came in.

With an absolute gap between them, there could only be one outcome from their clash.

Crack!

With a piercing sharp shatter, on the ninth weapon clash, the crystal scepter broke.

The knight swung his sword.

One slash severed both arms, cutting off all means of retaliation.

One slash broke both legs, cutting off any chance of escape.

One slash shattered his throat, sealing the heretical words before they could be spoken.

And just then, as the Word Bearer sorcerer was still falling through the air—he finally noticed.

All the fragments of shattered mirrors reflected the same scene—

His failure.

Accompanied by the mad laughter of the Changer of Ways, echoing from the mysterious High Heavens.

A riddle that had always eluded understanding, now finally revealed just a corner of its truth.

“Change, this is change even we could not foresee.”

The Changer of Ways let out a cry of delight.

He was watching reality from His throne in the Temple of Ninefold Lies, through the eyes of that reckless sorcerer.

The sorcerer’s defeat brought a joy like a needle prick—but those four silhouettes He glimpsed brought unprecedented excitement.

As He manipulated ninety thousand compound eyes to observe the four, in the 0.09 seconds of observation, each 0.09 second was sliced into 99 instants.

Each instant unfolded a maze of thought within the Crystal Domain, every maze filled with running possibilities.

The silent knight and the confident, self-aware psyker.

The furious warrior and the calculating general.

Corrupted, awakened, self-destructive—even ones who reversed the corruption back onto the High Heavens...

Then, without hesitation—without any hesitation—He cast this information to the gods.

In the blink of an eye, the other three gods understood the meaning of this cursed one's forceful path carved into the Warp.

This being who had once salvaged twenty treasures from the Warp was now hiding four brand-new prizes.

The Four Gods glanced sideways at their ascending daemon Primarchs.

The Four would not sit idly by!

Their emotions stirred massive waves through the Warp, even dulling the shadows drawing near.

The Changer of Ways watched it all in satisfaction.

He was weaving a web in which even He would get lost.

Because He too had only seen the shadows of these beings—He couldn’t see their futures.

Those so-called futures were mere simulations built from leftover fragments. No one could say for sure whether they were real.

But that didn’t stop the Changer of Ways from generously sharing them.

That twisted form kept growing new tongues, chanting mutually contradictory futures. But what Tzeentch enjoyed wasn’t prophecy coming true—

It was the fatal confidence mortals, and even gods, developed when given “partial truths.”

Like the Inquisitor now gripping the skull of an ancient race, firmly believing he still held the reins—

So adorable, that despair brewed from self-deceiving confidence.

His joy never came from victory—only from the imbalance caused by information gaps in every interaction between lives.

While the gods began their scramble for the cursed one’s inheritance, He was inscribing every detail of this struggle into His grand plan.

Every decision was a lie. Every lie was a vessel for a greater truth. And when each vessel shattered, what spilled out wasn’t answers—but more hidden plans.

While gods and mortals reveled in “figuring out Tzeentch’s plan,” He was channeling their self-satisfaction into the river of wisdom flowing beneath His throne.

Countless years later, perhaps a god or a man might glimpse “Tzeentch’s conspiracy.”

But by then, the cursed one’s treasures would already lie within His own labyrinth.

By then He would curl up in the shadows of the Golden Throne, sipping the bitter wine brewed from the cursed one’s moment of doubt.

He looked with pleasure at His ever-changing scroll, full of contradictory paths.

“It’s all part of the plan.”

Then, He saw the Brass Lord in the High Heavens let out an excited roar, watching the God of War rise first from his throne. Blood droplets rolled down the brass axe, reflecting eightfold shadows.

Each shadow a tombstone of this world’s possible futures.

And between the folds of the scroll, He wrote the ending of the story.

“Heehee, all according to plan.”

“So we’ve been spotted,”

Ramses’ voice came through the squad comms.

“We’ve entered the Four Gods’ line of sight?”

Arthur lifted the handled sorcerer’s body and silently cursed himself for not killing faster.

“Yeah. Remember how the Emperor spied on us through the Sisters? The Four can do the same via their followers’ perspective. And since Tzeentch is the god of wisdom, He’s naturally sharper than the other three.”

Ramses peered into the High Heavens.

Looks like Tzeentch had already spread news of their existence. Things were getting lively among the Four.

He quietly intercepted a few data bursts—they were all futures Tzeentch had fabricated.

He casually sent them over to Romulus.

“Fake. This guy’s running predictions based on known data. He only knows us through how we appear to others. I can get the same output just by matching keywords on my end.”

Seconds later, Romulus’ voice came back with the answer.

“So Tzeentch leaked fake news to bait the bros into action, huh?”

Garna couldn’t help muttering under his breath.

“Why does this feel like a few people pulling from the same gacha pool and trying to scam others into spending for pity?”

“Any real risks?”

Arthur couldn’t help but ask.

“The Four can’t see us. We’re already struggling to coordinate with the Emperor’s side—so there’s no way the Four can directly project power to affect us. Just treat them like normal enemies.”

“Rather than worry about them, we should be worrying if this planet’s gonna get eaten by bugs.”

Khorne’s still fumbling around the Warp like a lost puppy. It’s kind of hilarious.

Ramses ended his observations, then reassured the team.

“Relax. Everything’s going according to plan.”