Within the turbulent Warp—that chaotic ocean of pure emotion, concepts, and possibility—a humanoid silhouette drifted in silence.
Terrabyte’s body was not made of flesh and blood, but of endlessly flowing streams of luminous information. Data coursed through his translucent form like blood through veins, constantly reorganizing itself into new structures.
His gaze pierced the veil of reality, observing a scene beyond the Warp.
More precisely, beyond another universe.
Before him floated a light screen woven from condensed data, displaying a world consumed by apocalypse.
In that universe, Earth’s skies were forever shrouded beneath black storm clouds. Crimson mushroom clouds had long ago burned civilization into ash. Cities had become rusting graveyards of steel and concrete, and humanity had nearly destroyed itself in nuclear fire.
Nearly.
A small remnant still survived, clinging stubbornly to life like weeds growing through scorched earth. On this irradiated wasteland, humanity had entered a new era ruled by violence and martial strength.
Yes.
It was Fist of the North Star.
“It’s still the same...” Terrabyte murmured.
His expressionless face revealed nothing, yet faint instability rippled through the information streams composing his body.
“I can observe them, but I cannot touch them.”
“Even if all I require is solidified information, the inability to extend influence into those universes remains... troubling.”
While players fought through the Mid-Hive and Lower Hive of Perditia, Terrabyte had hardly remained idle. He had long rejected the idea that universes existed in isolation. If he could establish contact with Earth from within the Warhammer universe, then theoretically, other universes should also be reachable.
And so he experimented.
Terrabyte had achieved partial success.
Like a fisherman casting lines into an infinite ocean of information, he discovered countless new universes beyond Earth. Yet unlike Earth, these realities could not be firmly grasped. At best, he could steal only fleeting glimpses before the connection collapsed.
But even a glimpse was enough.
In the instant contact was established, Terrabyte could analyze the informational structure of an entire universe—from blades of grass to stellar motion.
And for a being whose essence was information itself, that alone was an immeasurable reward.
“But why?”
The flow of data composing his body accelerated, disturbing the surrounding Warp with concentric ripples.
“Why can I establish a stable, lasting connection only with that Earth?”
“From the perspective of information theory, mathematics, and universal structure, there is no essential difference between that universe and any other.”
“Is my understanding of information still incomplete? Is there a hidden law I have yet to perceive?”
He paused.
“Or... should I interpret this through philosophy instead?”
The words themselves seemed difficult for him to accept.
“Because that Earth is where I was born? Because it is my homeland?”
The information currents within his body fluctuated with increasing disorder.
“But philosophy permits countless mutually contradictory frameworks. More than a dozen systems can explain reality while remaining internally consistent.”
“None can be conclusively falsified.”
“To abandon mathematics... abandon falsifiable science... and rely instead on emotional interpretation...”
“I cannot accept that.”
If any creature of the Warp had heard these thoughts, they would probably have been horrified.
A Warp god rejecting emotion?
Rejecting faith?
Obsessing over mathematics, physical law, and logical consistency?
Terrabyte resembled not a being born from the sea of souls, but one of the ancient Star Gods—cold, detached entities that belonged to the material universe rather than the immaterial realm.
Finally, he dismissed the thought.
“Enough.”
With a casual wave, the light screen dissolved into streams of pure data and returned to his body.
“Strength comes first.”
“There will be time to contemplate metaphysics after I possess the power to survive this sea of madness... and contend with the Four Gods.”
Some might ask: if Terrabyte could already observe other universes—and even replicate fragments of their power systems as equipment for players—did that not make him a multiversal entity? Should he not already rival the Chaos Gods, who were bound to a single cosmology?
The answer was no.
Power could not be measured so simplistically.
Consider the DC Universe: Barbatos, the dark Bat God, could influence multiple universes simultaneously and was undeniably multiversal in scale. Yet Doctor Manhattan, whose influence was comparatively narrower, was clearly the superior existence.
Terrabyte’s observations of other universes did not directly increase his power.
If existence were compared to a container, then observing other universes merely expanded Terrabyte’s capacity—from a glass into a lake.
But capacity alone meant nothing.
Power depended on how much “water” filled that container.
Even if he observed a thousand universes, an empty lake was still empty.
Meanwhile, the Chaos Gods had existed since the War in Heaven, accumulating strength across millions upon millions of years. Terrabyte, by comparison, had only just been born.
Some degree of respect for seniority was only reasonable.
Terrabyte redirected his focus toward Perditia.
He paid little attention to the planet’s surface conflicts. Instead, he observed something more fundamental:
the total curve of human life signatures.
Once, that curve had plunged downward like a collapsing cliff face.
Now, it had stabilized.
“Good,” he said softly.
“The human population is no longer declining.”
In other words, the rate at which his own “water level” rose had also stabilized.
If one were to ask which god in the Warhammer universe cared most deeply about humanity’s survival, then aside from the Emperor upon the Golden Throne, the answer might very well be Terrabyte.
The Emperor viewed humanity as a ruler views his subjects: with responsibility, ambition, protection, and control.
Terrabyte’s concern was colder.
Purer.
Humanity, to him, was an infinite field waiting to be harvested.
During eras of peace and prosperity, civilization advanced rapidly. Population expanded. Knowledge accumulated. The number of informational nodes multiplied exponentially, causing his strength to grow alongside them.
During eras of war and collapse, individual humans generated far greater informational density—fear, innovation, desperation, hatred, strategy, sacrifice.
And so his strength still increased.
Peace.
War.
Prosperity.
Suffering.
So long as humanity endured, Terrabyte would continue to grow stronger.
In a sense, he occupied the perfect position.
No matter what happened—
Terrabyte always won.