This Is Our Warhammer Journey

“How pitiful. The Imperium you serve has never cared about you. Just look at what they’ve done.”

“Erased all traces of your existence, denied your loyalty to the False Emperor, and even labeled you as traitors.”

“Oh, my poor cousin. Forget about glory — even the very memory of your existence has been replaced by your descendants.”

In a quiet and hidden corridor, Arthur dragged a handcart forward. Up ahead, Ramses had activated a psychic field, while the murmurs of psychic energy echoed from behind.

The area they had fought through was now undergoing maintenance. The two of them had to drag this guy to a specially prepared black room to begin the interrogation.

The Word Bearers' combat strength, deployments, objectives, the whereabouts of the Avengers Chapter, and the current status of the planet’s surface — all of it was information they needed.

“Sigh, truly pathetic. You don’t believe in the False Emperor, don’t believe in the gods, have no legion, no Primarch — what’s the point of you even being alive?”

Arthur was incredibly glad he’d sliced off this guy’s mouth, otherwise it felt like the next second a fortress would’ve come crashing down on his head.

The second thing this guy said was “Dark Angels,” and Arthur instinctively looked around to see if any strangers were alive nearby.

And these Chaos traitors really had foul mouths.

“Do you even realize what you look like, hiding your identity and helping the Imperium? Like a scrawny dog still trying to drag its bones back to its master.”

This Word Bearer Sorcerer, after a brief moment of shock, started ranting like a broken bucket.

Arthur was getting annoyed.

Unfortunately, other than having strong resistance to psychic power, he really had no way of stopping the other guy from vibrating the air with his constant blabbering.

Meanwhile, Ramses was still working within the Warp, processing and analyzing the information they had, trying to judge what the Four Gods really knew about them.

Arthur didn’t want to interact with the Warp, and the team had the same attitude.

But surprisingly, their combat capabilities hadn’t fallen behind — a surprising fact.

Maybe Ramses’ guess was right: beyond soul materialization, each of them had their own unique traits.

And that was what was truly worth exploring.

Arthur pondered briefly, but his train of thought was quickly interrupted by that irritating voice.

“You think the False Emperor’s realm will take you back just because you wag your tail and beg? No, they’ll just take your bones, boil your flesh into soup, and brand your name with the mark of traitor!”

This Tzeentch follower was a little too aggressive.

Usually, when Space Marines argue with Chaos Space Marines, they’re at a clear disadvantage verbally.

After all, at least one side still holds loyalty to the Imperium, while the other has thrown away everything human and given their souls completely to the Chaos gods.

So naturally, in a verbal fight with no bottom line, there’s no way to win.

Of course, this didn’t matter at all to Arthur.

He wasn’t loyal to the Imperium, didn’t care about glory, and wasn’t even a “Dark Angel” — so he wasn’t dragged into any of that nonsense.

Just thinking about the complications of his background since arriving made Arthur sigh.

Even Ramses, being part of a traitor legion, was safer than he was. At least barely anyone in the Imperium still remembered the Thousand Sons, and no one was actively hunting them anymore.

“You think you’re the only clear-headed one around?”

Ramses, having finished his work, sounded a little irritated.

You can insult me and I’ll laugh it off, but insult my bro and you’re outta line.

“I mean, you Word Bearers — even when you defected to Chaos, no one wanted you. You kiss up to Tzeentch and still end up here as expendable trash.”

“You’re not like the Sons of the Emperor who got Slaanesh’s favor, or the World Eaters who caught Khorne’s eye, or even the Thousand Sons who earned Tzeentch’s blessing.”

“Even Nurgle, the so-called most accepting, doesn’t seem to want you.”

“In the Imperium, you're beneath the loyalists; the Emperor doesn’t want you. Then you shamelessly go begging to the Four Gods, and you still end up worse than the traitor legions. The Four Gods don’t want you either.”

“You clutch your ever-changing scriptures every day, and even the Nurgle cultists next door who spread their faith with farts outnumber you three to one.”

“I’ve never seen anyone who, when their ‘dad’ didn’t want them, went out to find another ‘stepdad.’ What, can’t live without a dad?”

“Hey, why not believe in me? I think I’m pretty fitting too.”

That rapid-fire speech hit like a chain bolter, and the previously smug Sorcerer was left speechless.

“See this handful of ash?”

Ramses casually lifted a fistful of traitor legion ashes with his psychic power and flung it into the Sorcerer’s face.

“That so-called faith of yours is worth as much as the dust on Perfect City.”

The Word Bearer Sorcerer's mutated, damaged face twitched for a moment, then quickly twisted in rage.

And then Ramses, with one hand free, slapped a psychic block on the guy.

There’s nothing sweeter than shutting someone up after roasting them.

Arthur couldn’t help but be impressed. His bro’s got just as much bite.

With a designated loudmouth on hand, Arthur opened the door that only recognized the genetic code of the four of them.

“All yours.”

Inside the prepared room, Arthur shoved the Word Bearer Sorcerer toward Ramses.

It was the first thing he’d said since the mission began.

Just listening to that guy’s psychic whispers was torment enough — actually talking to him? No way.

To a transmigrator, it’s fine to resist the Imperium, to go independent, or even do nothing. But joining Chaos? That’s peak clown behavior.

If you had to pick the smelliest, biggest pile of sh*t, that was it.

“I’ll find out.”

Ramses said as he yanked off the Sorcerer’s helmet, forcing him to look into his golden eyes and dragging his soul directly into the Warp.

“Look at me.”

Transmigrators weren’t psychopaths. They couldn’t stomach cruel interrogations.

They came from a healthy society — they couldn’t out-evil these scumbags.

Luckily, in this world, scumbags weren’t exactly rare.

So the transmigrators didn’t mind using slightly blasphemous methods from time to time.

Deep in the Warp, in a shadowed zone untouched by any divine gaze—

Daemons of the Four were imprisoned here.

Ramses wasn’t dumb enough to bring these daemons into a safe house before confirming it was secure.

Even if his experiments looked wild, anything involving key transmigrator projects, he never risked it.

But if the safe house itself could block them, the Four Gods wouldn’t bother with these scattered “small fry” daemons drifting through the Warp.

Today, they’d welcome a new cellmate.

One supposedly free for them to torment, and supposedly a bargaining chip for their own escape.

“No, no no no!”

“You can’t do this! You can’t! You’re not allowed!”

“Gods, Primarchs, False… Emperor — I don’t care who, someone save me!”

The Sorcerer’s screams echoed out, but were quickly swallowed by the surging tides of the Warp.

Here, every cruel torment would be delivered by the claws of Chaos.

And this — this was merely the same torment he had once inflicted on the weak, now visited upon himself.