Magnus strength level

[DarkApostle7]

 

 

 

 

 

*snip*

I did not know the Battle of the Fang was in the vacuum of space (The part where Magnus manifests his avatar). Got evidence for that? Magnus was attacking their fortress on a planet. The fact there were drop pods landing on the surface in the story shows you are wrong.

 

Magnus in Battle of the Fang is nowhere near the strength of Prime Magnus. Even in Fury of Magnus, while severely diminished against the wards on Terra, the Emperor 's psychic might stopping Daemons landing on Earth and his soul being split into shards, he casually threw a 67,000 ton Capitol Imperialis. During the time Magnus was fighting to get into the Fang, he was on the ground and there were Thousand Son ground forces. It's when the Thousand Sons got into the ground that they put out enough wards for Magnus to come. Magnus was NOT there at the beginning because his Legion had to destroy enough wards and runes. And when the Space Wolves were finally able to launch a counter attack on Magnus alone, Magnus's powers were fading from his avatar, almost transparent.

 

 

Not intending to offend frater, but you seem to be pulling a few numbers out of thin air. I cannot see any reference in Fury of Magnus to state that the Capitol Imperialis in question was 67,000 tons, maybe this is stated in an old rulebook? Your scaling also seems to be a tad off with the "over 60 kilometres long" ship in your original post as (without opening a whole new kettle of fish) I dont believe even Glorianas are approaching that size in newer lore.

 

Whilst these inaccuracies would dampen Magnus' power, as Prot and EnsignJoker have stated, due to these works being fictional, a characters power scale can differ depending on whatever the author requires.

 

I also don't really understand the topic, you state how you're sharing his 'power level' but then are furiously defending his feats when other fraters disagree.

 

I think its important to keep in mind that in a franchise with as many authors, and indeed corporate objectives, as 40k, characters vary wildly.

 

Take Abaddon as an example, in novels written by ADB he has character, motivations, and a personality, in others he is simply reduced to a Sunday cartoon villain.

 

I do agree that Magnus was the strongest pyshic primarch, in the same vein that Guilliman was probably the strongest at statebuilding 

 

but for 'power scales' there is simply no answer other than what the author (or GW) wants to inform or sell

 

These are just my thoughts anyway 

[Just123456]

I gave context to him having a hard time against two Elder Titans. The planet he was on, Aghoru, was interfering with psychic abilities. In the same book he destroyed an Ork Gargant and said gargant wrecked a second level Titan, Canis Vertex.

 

Below is the book extract of a 60 kilometers long convoyer. The same author wrote Magnus stopping another Mass Convoyer.

 

And I know strength levels of characters vary on books and authors.

 

"Set high on the rear quarter of the Cypria Selene, the dome provided a commanding view over the vast superstructure ofthe mass-conveyer. Its hull stretched away from them for sixty kilometres, ending in a blunt wedge of a snout. For a vessel intended to carry vast quantities of war materiel, troops and bulk items of warfare and compliance, it was handsomely appointed."

Edited August 3, 2021 by Just123456

[Just123456]

Look below. I most certainly did not pull that number out of thin air. Note the -----------"Rock and mud and dust spilled from its tracks as all sixty-seven thousand tonnes of its mass lifted into the air. Howls and cheers rose from the ruins as the titanic vehicle rose higher. Blinding veins of light traced eager paths over Magnus’ flesh as he rose skyward, dragging the seething bulk of the Khasisatra with him. Motes of ash peeled from him."----------- part. It's legit. Look at the part in the book where Magnus freezes the Capitol Imperialis in time and then threw the vehicle. You will find it. And I posted the book extract below.

 

 

"Ahriman watched the play of light, beautiful in its own way, seeing patterns and meaning in its interactions. The breath quickened in his throat, his heart pounded, as the vision stuttering together in his mind was one he knew he was not seeing with his eyes.

This was the blessing and curse of the Corvidae – to see portents in everything, to hear the echoes of the future and feel the emotion of their passing before their time. An aetheric knife to the heart made him look up in sudden apprehension as he heard a sound like a whipcrack of lightning.

He tasted the volcanic heat of an open blast furnace, the scream of tortured metal, the thunder of an earthquake. An overwhelming pressure on his senses, like an oncoming storm.

+Up!+ he cried. +Everyone out the trench! Go!+

The Thousand Sons following him obeyed instantly, powering up the rocky slopes of the trench or punching through its ruined sections where the cratered ground overlapped its length. The mortal soldiers behind them watched in confusion, not understanding what was happening.

Ahriman climbed the trench wall and vaulted over its lip. He rolled to his knees and ran through the razed ruins of the Palace, glancing over his shoulder just before he heard the distinct hard crack of wall-mounted defence lasers.

Like molten rods of glass blinking into existence for a trillionth of a second, the concentrated fire of three defence lasers punched through the frontal armour of Khasisatra. Its shuttered magazine bays were open, its main gun was primed, and the Capitol Imperialis was as devastatingly vulnerable as it was possible to be.

The seams of its heavy armour plates blazed with phosphor-bright illumination. Spears of white-hot fire lanced through its vents, vision blocks and the joints of its weapon ports.

For the briefest moment, the Capitol Imperialis seemed to swell as if inflating.

And then it froze.

Ahriman skidded behind a fragmentary nub of stonework, the remains of a fluted column, its Doric base miraculously untouched by the shelling. The sound of artillery dropped away, the sudden silence shocking after living with the endless cacophony of battle for so long.

He knew what he was seeing was impossible.

A detonation frozen in time.

He felt the certainty of his prescient vision unravel within him, the heat and fire and light of the inevitable explosion he’d seen and felt like a ghost in his mind.

+Look!+ cried Atrahasis, the blunt force of his communication making Ahriman wince.

He followed his equerry’s warning and looked up to see the tar-black clouds above Khasisatra writhing as though stirred by an unseen hand. Constant lightning burst from the epicentre of the dark maelstrom, reaching down with forking hands to envelop the Capitol Imperialis in a web of crackling lines of power.

Icy blue light burned through the heart of the storm, a pinprick at first then bursting open the clouds like a wound in the sky. A figure emerged from the light, golden and crimson, beatific and terrible. Too raw and beautiful to look upon directly.

+Sire…+ breathed Ahriman.

Magnus descended from the heart of the swirling light and smoke, his skin burning with the magnitude of his powers, his eye filled with warp light. One hand was aimed at the Palace wall, the other ablaze with the source of the lightning.

He clenched his lightning-wreathed fist and lifted his arm.

And Khasisatra lifted with it.

Rock and mud and dust spilled from its tracks as all sixty-seven thousand tonnes of its mass lifted into the air. Howls and cheers rose from the ruins as the titanic vehicle rose higher. Blinding veins of light traced eager paths over Magnus’ flesh as he rose skyward, dragging the seething bulk of the Khasisatra with him. Motes of ash peeled from him.

A storm of light from the Palace reached out to Magnus, the Imperial gunners understanding that a target of incalculable worth had just presented itself. Laser and shell bursts exploded around the primarch, but the lightning surrounding him was proof against all attacks.

With a roar, Magnus wrenched his fist around, and the enormous vehicle swung up through the air as though launched from a trebuchet. Ahriman watched in disbelief as the doomed Khasisatra flew towards the Palace, still wreathed in a web of lightning at the frozen nanosecond of its destruction. Defensive gunfire flashed, but none of the weapons that could react fast enough could stop something of such inconceivably colossal mass.

It arced down to the wall in agonisingly slow motion, and the instant it struck the upper reaches of Western Hemispheric, Magnus released his hold on the flow of time surrounding its immensity.

Ahriman turned away as the Capitol Imperialis detonated with the power of an exploding star.

Its reactor and all the city-levelling ordnance it carried was equal to the force of a dozen battlefield atomics, and the searing flash of its detonation momentarily dispelled the constant twilight of the siege. A fraction of a second later, the building rumble of the explosion raced out from the walls, a roar that was deafening, even over the already apocalyptic battle.

Ahriman’s auto-senses shut him off from the outside world, but the sound within his helm was still like a Dreadnought’s siege hammer pounding on his skull. Moments later, the force of the blast wave rocked him sprawling.

Scalding smoke billowed around the Thousand Sons in a lethal, superheated fog, and Ahriman felt it even through the ceramite of his warplate. The earth shook as though trying to dislodge the puny mortals crawling upon its surface, as the overpressure rolled outwards in dynamic storms of hurricane-force winds that hurled debris and loose stone back to the traitor camps.

Warning sigils flashed onto his visor: lethal spikes of ionising radiation, e-mag pulses and deadly heat. Seconds later the secondary flash of the explosion lit up the sky and threw out long, stark shadows in a world turned a brilliant, bleached white by the blast.

As the eye-burning light faded, Ahriman rolled onto his front to see a towering mushroom cloud of roiling, superheated smoke climbing and spreading from the section of Western Hemispheric directly before him.

Or, rather, what remained of it.

An entire section of the wall and its defensive outworks had simply vanished, vaporised in the nuclear fire of the initial blast or flattened by the force of the shock wave. As if a vast beast had reached down from the sky to bite a V-shaped segment from the wall, an immense, sloping breach had just opened up in the Palace defences.

…

All was fire and smoke and dust.

The ground before Western Hemispheric was a smoking nightmare of utter destruction. Superheated ash clouds twisted like living things over the molten rock and burning ruins, hungry to devour whatever combustible material hadn’t already been consumed by Khasisatra’s detonation.

Ahriman’s armour glowed with heat, and he felt his skin crisping through the layered ceramite with every ponderous step he took. The ground underfoot would burn with radiation for thousands of years, and skeletal figures crumbled beneath his tread. His body felt as though it were being slowly cooked within his plate, like the rivers of sweat running from his flesh were runnels of fat coming off sizzling meat.

He bent low to push through the violent thermals surging in random vortices. He lost track of time. Every step felt like a lifetime, his advance slow and purposeful and grimly inevitable.

Shrieking voices called from rad-squalls that danced in the firestorms raging throughout the blast zone. Some of them had faces and half-formed arms, creatures beyond the veil pushing into the material world.

Ahriman’s warplate struggled to make sense of the myriad inputs it was receiving. The e-mag pulse of the detonation sent crazed spikes of static through his visor, and heat bloom made thermal layers useless. He could see nothing but ghosts moving through the red-lit landscape – as sure a vision of hell as had ever been conjured in verse or dreamed of by madmen and artists.

His mundane senses were all but blind, so he relied on his other gifts.

A glimmering figure of fire approached through the smoke.

Its aura told him it was Atrahasis, his equerry staggering through the storm of ash and rock. Debris parted before him, shunted from his path by a kine layer of pure force.

…

The smoke was thinning now. The fires at the site of the explosion were being drawn upwards and spreading in a wide umbra like a fresh layer of tar painting the sky. It was testament to Dorn’s skill that much of the soaring wall and its many guntowers remained standing, though its cladding of adamantium, steel and stone had been pared away. Only the bare rock of the original wall remained, and a portion of that was a vitrified gap, like a missing tooth in a gum line.

Smoking debris and rubble formed a ready-made ramp to the crest of the breach. The sheer scale of the wall’s height and its clifflike nature still rendered it a formidable barrier, but without its flanking outworks and enfilading ravelins, the wall was – for now – wide open. "

Edited August 4, 2021 by Just123456