This is Our Warhammer Journey

"No Chaos God could possibly create so many tangible artifacts with just a handful of souls. If they could, those unruly bastards would've been mass-producing demon answers and tossing them into the material universe ages ago."

Ramesses said this with firm conviction.

Many people misunderstand the nature of the Four Gods' power, but once you truly grasp the worldview of Warhammer 40k, you'll realize the Chaos Gods aren't as omnipotent or unstoppable as they seem.

What truly drives the despair in Warhammer isn't just the Chaos Gods—it's the complete moral decay of all civilizations, the stinking rot of the Imperium, the countless unhinged factions trying to break the universe, and those four Warp-born chaos-stirrers stirring the pot nonstop.

In fact, before the Great Rift tore the galaxy open, the Four Gods mainly influenced reality through cultists offering sacrifices to open Warp gates for daemonic invasions, and by having Abaddon gather the Chaos rabble for "always-a-victory" Black Crusades.

Even Abaddon—chosen by all four gods—had to spend countless years raiding realspace, signing tons of unfair contracts with the Dark Mechanicum, just to build something like a planet-killer in the Eye of Terror. Creating something like adamantium or auramite with just a few souls? That's asking too much of the gods.

If the exchange rate for items were as absurdly high as legend makes it seem—like a fishing scam that keeps you hoarding souls for a dangling promise of power—then yeah, no doubt about it, that's Chaos trickery.

But now? The cost is so low it basically confirms this goes beyond the Chaos Gods' capabilities.

"So I guess you've all figured out what your powers really are, huh?"

Everyone nodded.

To put it plainly, they were basically STCs now—except their raw material wasn't metal or chemicals, but psychic energy.

"And as for how to gather those materials—in theory, hunting down any being with psychic energy would work."

Killing people was certainly an option, but indiscriminate slaughter wasn't on anyone's to-do list.

Ramesses opened a daemon portal, and out popped a blue Horror of Tzeentch, eyes glimmering with greed—only to be instantly blasted into shreds by a bolt of psychic lightning.

"My current idea is to summon daemons and kill them. Since I've got this psychic signature thing going on, I practically glow in the Warp."

So... a daemon-spawner XP farm?

"Isn't that dangerous?" Arthur asked. The whole using-yourself-as-bait approach seemed a bit suicidal.

"Daemons can only see the psychic projection, not the real me."

Ramesses explained:

"Our use of psychic power is more like a person using a tool. The daemon sees the tool—but not the one wielding it."

You could say it's suicidal with style. Truth was, Ramesses had a far deeper understanding of his abilities than the other three.

If Arthur were the one doing it, with his cautious nature, he'd never attempt something this risky, especially with so much uncertainty. And without trying, they would've never uncovered how these powers worked.

"There's one more method," Romulus chimed in after Ramesses finished.

"Our direct intervention in certain key events can also absorb huge amounts of psychic energy—far more than just killing individuals."

"Like what?" Ramesses perked up.

"When Arthur and I reclaimed the Gellar Field Generator, we interrupted a Khornate Chaos Astartes sacrifice ritual targeting Deathwatch Marines. After killing the enemies, we absorbed a massive amount of psychic energy."

Romulus recounted the incident.

That windfall was exactly why he could dispatch dozens of Astartes in one breath to reinforce various points.

"That explains it," Ramesses rubbed his chin, a sudden realization dawning on him.

"I was wondering where that absurd amount of psychic energy came from. So that was the reason."

He continued:

"Truthfully, every action we take absorbs a bit of psychic power—but the amount you and Arthur got is worth studying. We'll need more examples to confirm the mechanics."

"Agreed." Romulus nodded, concluding that thread of conversation.

"At present, this is the extent of our understanding of these powers. Now comes the most important question—"

He interlaced his fingers under his chin, crimson eyes scanning the group with a serious gaze. Even Karna, who had been acting invisible, straightened his posture.

"What should we do with our future?"

"Do we hide in a corner—or do we intervene?"

The four of them were probably going to be stuck in the Warhammer universe until they died. They needed a plan.

"If I were just an ordinary fallen angel, I'd find some garden world to lay low. Every day alive would be a win," Arthur said first.

"But—"

Romulus gave his childhood friend a teasing glance and offered him a way to save face.

"But with you guys here, and this mysterious power in our hands, I don't think we're meant to stay quiet."

Arthur spoke next. He understood clearly: no matter how suspicious this soul-materializing power was, it had given them a new path.

A path they had no choice but to walk.

"To dive into major events. To uncover the truth behind our powers. To slaughter those whose ideology clashes with our own. We must pursue strength. Because in this universe—"

He avoided Romulus's gaze and instead locked eyes with his companions, one by one.

"Only strength is truth!"

In this alien galaxy, whether it's the Imperium, Chaos, or the xenos, everything was a threat to them as outsiders.

The weak could not survive here.

But now, a path to power was brightly laid out before them.

They didn't want to be crushed one day by the aftermath of some Imperium-versus-enemy conflict, lying in regret that they hadn't developed their power, hadn't scraped together their nourishment from between the cracks of these colossal events.

They had to seek strength—to find more efficient ways to become powerful.

And if they wanted that, there was no way they could sit on the sidelines forever.

Besides...

The four exchanged glances. Beyond their mutual resolve, there was a faint, shared hope.

A hope that maybe—just maybe—they could reshape this chaotic galaxy into something more like the world they once knew.

"My lord!"

A voice called out from beyond the door, breaking the group's moment of 'emotional' eye contact.

It was Sister Arabella.

Once Ramesses cleared away the unnatural artifacts cluttering the room, Romulus used the cogitator to open the door.

"Sister Arabella."

Romulus invited her in.

"What brings you here?"

"It's about the warriors of the Broken Sword. Their mutations... have gotten much worse."

Arabella spoke hesitantly. Even she didn't fully understand why she chose this moment to report something so minor to the Emperor's Angels.

But some voice had urged her, whispering that the angels needed to know.

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