Chapter 493: We Must Prevent the Emperor's Apotheosis and Liberate Mankind!
Inside the Honor of Macragge, that palatial Gloriana-class flagship, Roboute Guilliman communicated meticulously with his scions.
While expanding his understanding of the modern galaxy, he utilized his Primarch-tier intellect and the experience of ruling the Five Hundred Worlds to offer tactical counsel.
The Codex Astartes had originally been designed to distance the Space Marines from mortal politics—a plan born of Guilliman's hopeful expectations for baseline humanity. The influence of Tarasha Euten and Konor Guilliman had instilled in him a belief in human potential; their guidance allowed him to be proud of his human identity from the bottom of his heart.
But the results of his legacy were less than ideal.
And it wasn't just a failure of the mortals. While the Imperial high command was riddled with the self-serving and incompetent, the Astartes were little better. Observing the "quasi-human" eccentricities of the Blood Angels' successor chapters, Guilliman realized that if the Astartes hadn't been shielded by a layer of "divine" mystique, they likely would have caused even greater harm to the Imperium.
He recalled his questioning of the Dawnstar Sector's methods—how they harbored a Dark Age planetary-level AI on Dawnstar and sought to rebuild the tech-tree through Votann imports. Ramesses' answer still rang in his mind:
"The AI took twenty thousand years to rebel, and it took a coordinated punch from the Warp-storms to kick Humanity into the gutter. The Astartes managed the same feat in two hundred years through the Horus Heresy."
The implication was clear: the risk of the Astartes was no different from that of an AI.
Guilliman found himself without a logical retort.
From the histories compiled by the Dawnbreakers, it was evident that without the birth of Slaanesh and the subsequent collapse of the ancient Warp-routes, Humanity would never have needed the Great Crusade. Many human branches that had already defeated the "Iron Rebellion" would have simply risen again.
And the Horus Heresy itself had directly triggered the ascension ritual for the Emperor to become the Fifth Warp God—the "Dark King"—placing Humanity on a literal countdown to extinction.
In the end, were the Astartes not simply another form of biological computer?
Guilliman admitted the Dawnbreakers were right on one count: stability was not a factor of the power possessed, but of the person wielding it.
In their governance, the Dawnstar Lords carefully maintained a balance. They would not hand an AI to a sector governor, no matter how brilliant he was. For if a single mortal could control an entire sector with his will, he became that sector's greatest vulnerability. To break the man was to deliver the sector to Chaos.
Are you more steadfast than a Custodian? Even the Ten Thousand can be hard-coded by the Warp to strike at their own Master.
Similarly, they did not grant absolute power to any single Astartes, despite the transhuman's natural resistance to the Warp. Even a man as competent as Huron would have torn the Imperium asunder had he not been corrected by a Primarch.
Thus, Guilliman placed great value on the "Grand Wardens" currently ruling the sectors. The administrative structures established by the Dawnbreakers and the current state of the Imperium did not lead him to embrace AI assistance recklessly, but they did harden his resolve to restore the administration of Greater Ultramar and the "Paragon System."
Calgar had proven his worth over time. He was the undisputed choice to rule Macragge while Guilliman focused on the wider galaxy. The two Consuls of the Argent Chapters—Zethius and Altmar—were also impressive; their interpretation of the Codex was fluid and adaptive.
Thiel—
No, not Thiel.
Guilliman rejected the idea of deploying Thiel to a distant command.
While logic demanded he treat all sons equally, sentimentality forced him to cherish the chance to work with the faces he remembered from ten millennia ago. Thiel and the other veterans would remain by his side, assisting him with the increasingly heavy burden of maintaining Imperial Unity in an age of fragmented kingdoms.
He was most surprised—and satisfied—with Huron.
The man had turned the Maelstrom into an iron-clad fortress. He had suppressed the Orks and held the line against the Tyranid Hive Fleets. The Dawnbreakers' long-term development of Warp-based logistics was bearing fruit. Although the "Voice of the Empyrean" was still a bit much to handle, it meant the Imperium could finally strike back against the shadow.
Pity, as with the Plague Wars in Ultramar, this massive free-for-all in the Galactic Core had left Guilliman feeling like a spectator.
It was like being invited to a friend's garden to harvest. The crops were excellent and the pests were dealt with, but since he hadn't planted the seeds, he felt a bit embarrassed to be doing all the eating.
Consequently, Guilliman focused his energy on the post-war cleanup, personally overseeing the restoration of the Badab Sector.
With sufficient experience in countering Chaos threats, the next step in empowering Mankind was administrative: optimizing executive efficiency to raise productivity and living standards.
This was exactly what the Lord of Ultramar did best.
Inside the strategium, under the watch of his Eldar "Advisors" and a Living Saint, Guilliman processed the data-streams of the Badab liberation, offering words of commendation.
Huron, having just completed the defense of Badab and standing at the apex of Astartes authority, was as giddy as a child.
"So you think the time is right?"
Walking along the grand thoroughfare of the Honor of Macragge, Arthur asked with a hint of surprise.
He glanced at Ramesses, who looked as if he had finally solved a complex puzzle.
Romulus and Karna walked beside them, with the Lion and a "conscripted" Corax trailing behind.
While Guilliman handled the internal affairs of Badab, the others were at relative leisure. Though they would soon disperse to reinforce the various fronts of the Imperium, they had carved out a moment for council.
"Of course. Well—I can't say it's finished," Ramesses replied, ticking items off his fingers.
"The primary Lesser Gods have been neutralized. Technical R&D is moving in the right direction. The 'Sacred Timeline' is anchored; Chaos can't play their temporal tricks on us anymore."
"Nurgle took a heavy hit and is currently having an internal mental war. The last coordinated Black Legion invasion was broken. My 'Voice of the Warp' broadcast will continue to bleed the morale of the traitors indefinitely. We can handle Daemon Primarchs now. The next objectives are the Webway, the Tyranids, and the Orks."
"But as for Chaos? We'll be fighting them like this forever."
Having seen a Blackstone Fortress get swatted aside by Tzeentch during the heist, Ramesses realized they had reached the limit of conventional confrontation. The four of them could only "subtract" from Chaos so much before the Dark Gods' exponential growth outpaced them.
"In other words, our capacity to harm Chaos has reached its ceiling," Arthur noted, understanding the subtext.
According to their grand design, the next stage of human growth—bolstering the material military and the welfare of the people—would only take them so far.
To go further, they needed a radical new protocol.
Fortunately, the Dawnbreakers had identified their terminal goal long ago.
"Therefore, I believe the time has come," Ramesses nodded.
"Phase One is complete. We initialize Phase Two. It's the standard sequence, isn't it?"
The Lion, walking nearby, looked completely lost.
He had joined the Dawnbreakers only recently. He had spent his time fighting, which he enjoyed, but he hadn't looked past the immediate horizon. The long-term strategic vision of his new brothers was a blank slate to him.
"Indeed. A concrete plan is required. And the participants must be informed, to prepare their minds," Arthur said.
He looked back at his brothers and spoke with flat, clinical finality:
"No matter how Humanity evolves, Chaos remains a landmine that must be cleared. And the Emperor—as the manifestation of the Dark King—is the largest mine of them all."
The Lion's expression shifted to one of pure horror.
Far away in his office, Guilliman's benevolent smile froze.
Corax remained indifferent, offering the Dawnbreakers his unconditional support. He preferred being a "mindless combat asset"—fighting when told, resting with his sons when not. He had carried the weight of leadership once, and the trauma was still too heavy.
If they were talking, he would listen.
"Yes," the transmigrators said, crossing their arms in collective agreement.
In a galaxy with no way out, the Emperor was Humanity's only choice. But on a longer timeline, the Emperor was Mankind's most desperate choice.
It was simply the difference between a quick death and a lingering one.
"Wait."
Realizing he was about to play the role of the "Confused Perturabo," the Lion raised a hand.
He didn't immediately protest. The fact that the Dawnbreakers were discussing this with the Loyalist Primarchs meant there was room for negotiation.
Steadying his breathing to avoid sounding aggressive, the Lion rasped, "I require an explanation. I need a reason."
"It's literal," Ramesses explained.
"You've seen what the Chaos Gods are. If the Emperor actually 'ascends,' look at Slaanesh for the template: an Eye of Terror, a permanent mark on a single race, and Warp-storms that drown the galaxy. And the Emperor's 'Domain' isn't like Slaanesh's. He represents the End and the Death. Combine that with his current state of self-suppression, and if he actually 'pops,' the Slaanesh event will look like a tea party."
If the Emperor were to ascend, ten thousand years of concentrated human faith combined with a "Terminus" divinity would mean Mankind would be "loved to death" in a single heartbeat.
"The Emperor-problem must be resolved. It is the lynchpin of our war against the Warp. We're telling you now so you can prepare your hearts."
Ramesses' words weren't inflammatory; they were a clinical analysis of a strategic threat. This helped steady the two Loyalist Primarchs, who had been rattled by Arthur's initial statement.
At least the Warmaster wasn't having another "episode."
"Is it not possible to reverse His apotheosis?" Guilliman asked through the private link. He was intensely focused on the subject, so much so that his guidance to Huron slowed down.
"How?" Ramesses shrugged.
"If we had arrived ten thousand years earlier, maybe. We could have stabilized the Imperium before the Age of Apostasy, prevented the soil for the Ecclesiarchy from being tilled, and dragged out the 'Old Man's' stagnation indefinitely while we found a cure. But now? We're in a race against the clock. The 'Golden Geezer' is done pretending."
Faith.
After ten millennia, faith was the fundamental logic of the Imperium. To survive a galaxy of monsters and Chaos, one had to believe in the only God who claimed to love them: the Emperor.
Unless Humanity found another way to fight the Warp.
But how do you get that power?
By believing in the Emperor.
And what does believing in the Emperor do?
It brings Him closer to godhood and Humanity closer to extinction.
It was a perfect, recursive trap.
The Emperor's ritual had technically been completed ten thousand years ago; He was simply holding the "God" inside a human shell through sheer spite.
But the shell was cracking. And as He began to manifest more miracles, the cracks were widening.
"Why?" Guilliman asked. He didn't waste time on "what ifs."
Reality had no room for them. He was still regretting the charge against Fulgrim. If the Dawnbreakers could have appeared earlier, he'd have wanted them during the Crusade—Horus wouldn't have stood a chance at being Warmaster then.
"Because the 'Golden Geezer' sees hope too—"
Ramesses' expression turned strange.
"I know this sounds like a lot of pressure, but we can't ignore the facts."
"Currently, the Emperor's logic has shifted from 'Delaying human extinction' to 'How do I liberate Mankind from Myself?' Because of that, He's responding to our strategic prayers with increasing frequency."
Over time, the Emperor had reached a conclusion.
These four outsiders were reliable. They possessed a combination of "Stat-Lines" and "Character Traits" that were statistically improbable.
With these four, and Primarchs like Guilliman and the Lion back on the board, the Emperor believed that even if He ascended, Humanity wouldn't end up as broken as the Eldar.
So why wouldn't He push the Dawnbreakers? Why wouldn't He use His remaining power to stabilize the material realm for them while He could?
Ramesses, who practically lived in the Warp, felt this shift the most.
The Old Man is gambling again. Facing a 'Game Over' for Humanity, he's taking out a massive loan on his own divinity and going all-in on us.
So why did they suddenly have to carry the weight of all human destiny?
This was what gave Ramesses a constant headache. Thinking about how to handle the "Dark King" made him feel like his hair was falling out.
But he had to face it. They had built the infrastructure; they couldn't walk away now.
Silence fell over the thoroughfare.
Romulus was already calculating the next steps. Karna and Corax were staring into the middle distance. Guilliman and the Lion were deep in thought.
"You know," Ramesses said, pausing to elbow Arthur. "You're always the one who sets the pace for these things."
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