The Multitudes within you, once a chaotic babble, settled into a deep, silent hum. They were not separate voices anymore, but a unified army. The monk's deep, silent calm settled the storm of panic in your mind. The scientist, Gordon Freeman, saw not a god-thing, but an equation, a cosmic constant finally revealed. The Primaris felt a primal urge to charge, but held it back, recognizing a foe that could not be overcome by brute force alone.
The air grew thick with a different kind of ozone, the smell of a million universes being created and destroyed. The shadows in the forge-temple began to coalesce, to take shape. They were not just shadows. They were echoes. Echoes of your past. Echoes of the foes you had fought and defeated.
A figure of shifting shadow took the form of the Nihilanth, its monstrous head a silent scream. Beside it, a Chaos Champion stood, its armor wreathed in darkness, a cruel smirk on its lipless face. They were not real. They were puppets, made of pure will and memory. They were the first test.