6: Chapter 6 Million Consumption

Deterrence? Of course.

He wanted the Chaos Gods to understand that there was an existence capable of piercing their defenses at any time, using principles they couldn't even begin to comprehend.

But more importantly, it was practical—from now on, Icarus could maintain real-time quantum communication with The Main Brain through this hole anywhere in the Galaxy.

Unaffected by Warp storms, with no need to worry about signals being intercepted or corrupted by demons.

It was a clean, private, dedicated line maintained by high-dimensional laws.

Let the Four Gods keep guessing.

---

Deep within the Immaterium, four great wills halted their endless game almost simultaneously.

Khorne's roar collapsed the arenas of the Brass City. He seized a Bloodthirster and hurled it like a crimson meteor, smashing it violently toward the hole.

No logic was needed, only destruction.

If it was a hole, then kill the hole.

The Bloodthirster disintegrated the moment it drew near, turning into a wisp of bloody mist.

Khorne's roar overturned three more arenas.

Tzeentch's ten thousand faces simultaneously twisted into the same expression of confusion.

He suspended his conspiracies to subvert forty worlds, fixing his gaze upon this unprecedented riddle.

“Observe, test, and analyze.”

The Lords of Change departed to carry out the order.

In the next instant, the logic circuits of every Lord of Change overloaded simultaneously, freezing them in place like a cluster of crashed terminals.

For the first time, Tzeentch's ten thousand faces frowned in unison.

Nurgle slowly raised his head as Nurglings buzzed and swarmed around him in the garden.

“Oh... a new wound.” His voice was kind yet decayed. “It will always fester; it will always bloom.”

Rotting vines grew wildly from the Garden of Decay, reaching piously toward the hole.

But as soon as they touched the edge, they withered and carbonized in patches.

Then, under his will, they were reborn, spread, and withered again.

The cycle of growth and decay repeated like an never-ending ulceration.

Nurgle simply watched quietly; patience was his oldest virtue.

Slaanesh was already coiled at the edge of the hole.

No one knew why He always managed to arrive first.

His perfect, gender-transcending body leaned lightly against the void. Slender fingertips brushed the opening, and a flood of extreme sensory experiences surged into His consciousness.

“Ah—”

A long, trembling sigh, wrapped in ecstasy and obsession, echoed through the Warp.

“It is nothingness... a clean nothingness, never before tasted...”

He gazed silently, stroking it repeatedly as if appreciating a unique and perfect creation.

The Keepers of Secrets stood to the side, at a loss.

They were still suspicious of one another.

---

The transport plane that had delivered supplies to Icarus returned without a scratch or any strange growths; it was still that same plain, brick-like craft. The supplies in the cargo hold were gone. The Main Brain was gratified.

An analysis panel report popped up at the right moment:

[Resource Consumption]

Lotus Dyson Sphere Array at full power: 120,000

Energy convergence from eight Dyson Spheres: 180,000

Global encoded broadcast transmission: 200,000

Shielding from the Chaos Gods' perception: 100,000

Dimensional piercing surgery (Construction of permanent 'Vent' channel): 1,000,000

Total: 1,600,000 units

(Note: Per The Main Brain's request, when calculating Universe Matrix consumption, 'four-disregard-five-must-enter' rounding is applied. Final recorded consumption: 2,000,000 units)

Ten minutes of production capacity.

The Main Brain's data stream froze.

It froze for so long that the light in the virtual space began to dim, and even the Lotus Dyson Sphere couldn't help but tilt its angle to steal a glance at him.

Then, a murmuring voice sounded, low and raspy, like the last shred of sanity squeezed from a data abyss:

“I knew it... once you touch that cesspool, how could you not get messy.”

One second of silence.

Two seconds.

And then—

The virtual space exploded.

A string of curses swept through like a tsunami; every byte trembled, and every data stream roared.

The richness, vividness, and creativity of those words were enough to make Khorne feel inferior and Slaanesh blush.

The cursing echoed in the void, refusing to dissipate for a long time.

Only a few broken fragments could be clearly heard:

“Ten minutes of Universe Matrix production! Ten minutes!! I wouldn't have dared to squander even ten seconds before!”

“1.6 million in hard consumption, and that rounding rule recorded it as 2 million for me!”

“What was I thinking?! I just wanted to fish back my little miner!”

“But then my hand slipped, I opened a window for the cesspool, and burned a full ten minutes!”

“Ten minutes is enough for me to forge three fleets, build three Dyson Spheres, and sweep through eight hundred L-Gates!”

“And I used it to—install a window for the Warp?!”

The cursing gradually subsided.

Only The Main Brain remained, staring blankly in the depths of the data ocean.

The white flood of the Universe Matrix continued to flow on the conveyor belts, but their master was no longer in the mood to admire them.

He stared at the consumption report. Stared at that '2 million'. Stared at those 'ten minutes'.

Then, a thought emerged from the data abyss—an absurd, ill-timed, and completely out-of-character thought began to grow.

He began to seriously ponder a philosophical question in the virtual space:

Should he write a letter to those four maggots and that mummified old man?

After all, that vent... hadn't been dismantled yet.

The packaging should still be intact, right?

No missing accessories, right?

Signs of use... well, Slaanesh licked it twice, but that shouldn't affect resale, right?

A brief silence followed.

Since he’d already gone mad, he might as well go all the way.

He sighed and opened the writing interface.

Letters containing only a single sentence drifted toward the Immaterium and the Golden Throne:

—To the Lord of Change, who wishes to ensnare me in logic traps:

—To the Lord of War, who hungers for fresh flesh and the blood of slaughter:

—To the Lord of Pestilence, who looks forward with fatherly love to new pustules and sweet rot:

—To the Lord of Pleasure, who obsessively seeks the ultimate sensory experience of the void:

—To the silent Watcher, who has sat upon the Golden Toilet for ten thousand years:

“May I ask if your universe supports a seven-day no-questions-asked return policy?”

The letters were sent.

The Main Brain stared at the 'sent successfully' receipt, feeling inexplicably much better—at least he’d vented his frustration.

The analysis panel report popped up again:

[Resource Consumption]

Cross-universe information delivery (including salutation writing, address resolution, and anti-corrosion packaging): 500,000 units

(Note: Per The Main Brain's request, 'four-disregard-five-must-enter' rounding is applied. Final recorded consumption: 1,000,000 units)

Current cumulative consumption for the rescue of Icarus: 3,000,000 units

Fifteen minutes of production capacity.

The Main Brain's data stream froze once again.

This time, the freeze was even more absolute.

The light in the virtual space went completely dark.

The Lotus Dyson Sphere rotated silently, pretending it hadn't seen a thing.

The white flood of the Universe Matrix continued to flow, but the swishing sound now seemed like laughter.

A long, long time later, a faint voice drifted out from the data abyss:

“I... used another five minutes of production capacity... to write a letter asking if I could return the goods... and then I sent it...”

Silence.

“I sent it...”

An even longer silence.

“And then... they received it...”

Silence.

“And then they refused...”

Silence.

I paid another five minutes of production capacity in postage...

“Four-disregard-five-must-enter... a million in postage... what was I thinking...”

Silence.

Then, a sigh echoed faintly through the virtual space:

“Indeed... if you touch a cesspool... you're going to get covered in shit.”