Chapter 495: Then Let the Galaxy Burn!
The Emperor had many plans.
Even after the failure of the Webway Project, the forced duel with Horus, the ascension into a nascent godhood He never desired, and the broken remains of His physical form being bound to the Golden Throne—He continued to struggle.
When His apotheosis became an inevitability, He manifested the Ecclesiarchy, using the shield of mortal faith to stave off the all-consuming hunger of the Dark King. He dispatched His oldest friend, Constantin Valdor, armed with the Apollonian Spear, into the deepest reaches of the Immaterium to seek the Dark King's True Name. He permitted the Creed to fester and grow, relying on that same faith to anchor the Imperium's logistics, bolstering His own power to interfere with the schemes of the Dark Gods—all while awaiting the day His most loyal scions could find a foothold in an era of unprecedented darkness.
He was prepared to sit upon the Golden Throne for a thousand years, and then ten thousand more.
The Warp. The Xenos. The Extragalactic Horrors. The predestined nightmare of His own godhood.
Throne damn it all, why did the world become this?
Anyone who grasped the naked truth of the universe knew one thing: if they did not act, Humanity was a species on death row.
Yet, even as the walls closed in and the future looked bleached of hope, the Emperor refused to surrender. He pushed His plans forward, desperately trying to drag Mankind out of a terminal stalemate.
And now, He saw a flicker of something new.
Four entities, emerging from an age long lost, appearing miraculously within the Warp to join Him in the reconstruction of the Human Empire.
The Emperor had a new set of protocols now—plans He had been unable to initiate due to the stagnation of the state. To achieve them, and to reduce the variables of failure to a minimum, He required watchers who were tireless, unyielding, and clinically detached from the erosion of sentiment.
The Master of Mankind had tasted the bitter price of negligence.
"I am the Emperor of Terra. I am the Emperor of all Mankind—"
The Emperor withdrew His gaze from Arthur, attempting to temper His own profound relief.
"No more riddles, Father. Speak in Low Gothic," Ramesses interrupted.
Seeing the Emperor beginning to weave a grand narrative—the kind of High Gothic obfuscation that had famously driven Malcador to distraction—the Formless Lord cut the "Old Man" off before he could start a psychic storm of metaphors.
If this gathering could be scryed by the Four, then the war was already lost. If they couldn't speak plainly here, they might as well retreat into the Webway and leave the galaxy to rot.
"..."
The Emperor fell silent for a heartbeat, weighing the "humanity" of the room. Finally, He chose the path of blunt strategic clarity.
"I require you to seize absolute control of the Webway. You must complete the assimilation of the Aeldari. You will establish human arcologies within the Labyrinthine Dimension and restructure human faith. You must migrate the collective soul of Mankind into a belief-system that is independent of My own godhood."
"Secondly, you must utilize every scrap of material resource within the material universe. Retrieve the lost Primarchs. Advance the technological capacity of the sectors. Secure the support of every viable military arm. Build a Legion the likes of which has not been seen since the Great Crusade. I shall act as your facilitator; the bureaucrats of the High Lords will no longer be an obstacle to your reach."
"Finally," the Emperor continued, "when the inevitable hour arrives, I need you to amass a force capable of shattering the blockade of the Four. You must kill the Dark King. You must end the tragic destiny of the species. Humanity should not be the one to pay the debt incurred during the War in Heaven."
The Emperor spoke with a weight that shook the soul.
"This is My expectation of you. This is the mission that must be completed."
"If the Great Crusade was a desperate attempt to ensure Mankind survived a ticking time-bomb, then your mission is to dismantle that bomb—even as the clock begins its final countdown and the Four pile more explosives upon it."
He focused His gaze on the Lion and Guilliman.
The Dawnbreakers required no such reminder; they understood the metrics of the galaxy better than He did.
His avatar's lips bore a look of genuine, warm joy—a temperament Guilliman had never seen on the Emperor's majestic, stoic face in the halls of ten thousand years ago. No words left the girl's mouth, yet the voice resonated within them.
In the past, the Emperor had always watched His sons with a gaze of infinite wisdom, a presence so charismatic that Guilliman had bowed in instinctive reverence. The Lion had once sensed a hidden sorrow in the depths of His eyes, but had dismissed it as a hallucination, feeling ashamed for attributing such a mortal emotion to a perfect being.
But now, the Emperor was done pretending.
He was being honest.
I admit it. Even as the Emperor of Mankind, the greatest psyker of the species, and the vessel of the Dark King, my power is not enough to save us.
So, I beg of you: give me your strength. Let us go 'All-In' one last time!
The target was identified. The roadmap was perfect.
Every step was a logistical nightmare that would have broken the old Imperium, yet the Emperor spoke as if the Dawnbreakers achieving the impossible was a foregone conclusion.
However, the warriors in the room—including the three Loyalist Primarchs—were no longer prone to the Emperor's psychic glamour.
"And if we fail?" Guilliman challenged.
Having learned the brutal lessons of the Crusade, the Regent instinctively sought to break the Emperor's impractical vision.
Building an empire on the scale of the Great Crusade while replacing the Ecclesiarchy with a new ideology was, in his professional opinion, possible. But the variables were staggering. How much time? How many men? What was the resource drain?
And most importantly, even if they met those conditions, how could they guarantee victory?
Guilliman remembered the Warp-tides. He remembered the six thousand Vengeful Spirits waiting in the dark.
Do not calculate for victory until you have calculated for defeat. The Ultramarine was, as always, the perfect strategist.
The Emperor cast a sidelong glance at His son.
Now you choose to question your Father?
Why is it that every time Guilliman faces a major choice, he defaults to caution, but when it's a duel with a daemon-brother, he just 'leaps into the breach'?
When He had given Guilliman the Emperor's Sword upon the Throne, He had hoped to preserve the one Primarch capable of stabilizing the post-Heresy ruins. Instead, the Regent had been the first to fall (save for the Lion, who was an outlier). The Third Founding had been left to a broken Dorn who sought only death. And then they had all vanished.
If the Emperor had possessed His humanity back then—before His fractured aspects had been reunited through the slaughter of His messengers—He would have been infuriated.
Every one of you... so eager to follow Sanguinius into the Warp to build Imperium Secundus 2.0?
Faced with the Emperor's naked scrutiny, Guilliman's facial muscles twitched as he struggled to maintain a flat expression.
"Then let the galaxy burn," Arthur said with a faint, cold smile.
His gaze was calm, yet it burned like a magnesium flare as he looked directly into the Emperor's light.
"Humanity has one chance for liberation. We must seize it. If we cannot—"
Arthur paused, his voice turning to steel.
"—then we shall let the galaxy burn."
Romulus raised his hand, reaching toward the glittering star-chart as if touching an old friend.
"From the skies of Terra to the rim of the void; from the arteries of the Webway to the abyss of the Immaterium."
"Let the galaxy boil. Let the stars fall."
Ramesses spread his arms wide, the zeal in his voice flowing like hidden fire.
"Even if I must bleed the last drop from my veins, I will drag Mankind from the pit—"
Karna's usual easy-going nature vanished. His brow was a map of absolute, unclouded resolve.
"And if I am powerless to save them," he said, each word a hammer blow, "then I shall burn it all to ash."
Silence reclaimed the room.
Only the clinical hum of the tactical hololith remained, a rhythmic ticking in the quiet.
It was madness. Absolute, final resolve.
The declarations were saturated with a desperate, singular fanaticism.
The Lion and Guilliman felt a chill. They realized the rationality of these four men had been entirely consumed by a obsessive belief. They were hollow shells driven by a single purpose.
Of course. Wanting your own Father to 'give birth' to a new Pantheon is a concept that would shatter any sane mind, let alone the reality of this universe.
And the most terrifying part? The "Golden Geezer" could actually do it.
Ramesses watched the Emperor, catching the looks on the faces of the Lion and Guilliman, and offered a silent, internal critique.
The Dawnbreakers' eyes converged on the Emperor, searching for a reaction.
They were testing Him.
If the Emperor's "Humanity" agreed to a suicide pact, then they were done with Him. He would be relegated to a tool, a battery. No one wanted to stand beside a deity whose mental state was "Critical" while wielding the power of a supernova.
But they all knew the situation hadn't reached that point yet.
Wait...
Guilliman, who had been struggling to keep up with the metaphysical shifts, had always assumed the Dawnbreakers were "sane" men like himself.
The true madmen are the ones who don't look the part, he realized with horror.
"That... is entirely unnecessary," the Emperor finally spoke.
He looked at the segments of the Vengeful Spirit currently being recycled outside the window. A flicker of subtle embarrassment crossed the girl's face as He tried to de-escalate the tension.
"Even if we fail, we can retreat. We lead Mankind into the Webway. We maximize the shielding against the Dark King. We develop society, advance our science, and enforce a moral code upon the survivors..."
He listed a series of "sane" goals, emphasizing that He was no longer interested in a mutually assured destruction of reality.
"With you four, we can simply wait for the next galactic hegemon to rise, and then sound the horn for the counter-attack against the Warp."
There is always a path. A gentleman knows when to yield and wait for the turn of the tide.
The reason the Emperor was willing to gamble now was simple: for the first time in ten millennia, He wasn't outmatched. In the past, human Perpetuals had died or fled. The Primarchs were broken children. Guilliman was a man who rejected the very nature of His power. If He had "popped" into the Dark King then, Mankind would have been a feast for the Warp.
But now? The Dawnbreakers could handle the Lion. They could unify the Eldar, the Necrons, and the T'au. They were building a United Front. If the hierarchy was built correctly, the results would be better than anything He had achieved during the Crusade.
"This 'burn it all' talk is bad for morale. Do not mention it again," the Emperor chided, His small form making expansive gestures as He tried to calm His sons. "As long as you remain, everything can be rebuilt."
He didn't look like a cold god who had gambled with a species; he looked like a father trying to keep his most volatile children from doing something stupid.
It was also a bit awkward.
The "Lupercal Rant" was legendary in its cringe-inducing intensity. He suspected the Dawnbreakers—who were already drafting The End and the Death as a historical text—knew exactly how He had looked when He discarded His humanity to fight Horus.
If He were alone, He wouldn't care. But He was a father of twenty-one children. He had a reputation to maintain.
"Then let it be so," Ramesses said, a smile touching his lips.
The Golden Geezer is in good form. At least his human side still knows how to be embarrassed.
Good. That's one less variable we have to worry about.
"But we aren't the only ones working here," Romulus reminded the Emperor.
He seized the opening to present his own demands.
"Correct," Karna added, nodding eagerly.
"They aren't doing the heavy lifting while You sit on the chair."
"Speak then. What do you require of Me?" the Emperor asked.
He knew the time for "probing" was over. The Dawnbreakers had proven their commitment to Humanity. He couldn't afford to push them away.
"First: You will restrict Yourself. No more 'subjective agency' in local affairs. If You intend to manifest or act, You notify us first."
Arthur spoke first. Everyone knew what had happened with the Lion. If the Dawnbreakers hadn't stood their ground, the Emperor would have deleted his own son on the spot.
"Accepted," the Emperor nodded without hesitation.
"..."
Guilliman watched the Emperor yield so easily to the Dawnbreakers and felt a twinge of jealousy.
The double standards are real.
The Lion, acting as a meat-shield for the others, patted Guilliman on the shoulder.
Get used to it, brother. It only gets worse from here.
"Second: You will assist us in locating Dorn, Russ, the Khan, and Vulkan. And we require the soul-shards of Sanguinius," Ramesses added.
Behind him, several motes of golden light drifted in the soul-circuit.
The Great Angel hadn't just suffered a physical death on the Vengeful Spirit; his soul had been shattered. Five gods held a piece each, and more were scattered across the galaxy. The Dawnbreakers didn't have the time to hunt them all down manually.
"Accepted," the Emperor said.
The wayward sons must be returned to the yoke. The Pantheon requires its pillars.
"What of Konrad?" Corax's voice was like a shadow from the abyss. "His soul is currently in my custody."
The room went cold. Ramesses' expression turned dark.
"If you don't have something useful to add, don't speak," Ramesses muttered.
The group offered a collective, silent rejection.
Better to have Ferrus back than that monster.
"Next: I require the persistent transfer of authority over the Legion of the Damned," Ramesses continued. "Those souls cannot remain under Your sole command."
If they were to move against the Emperor, they had to bleed His Warp-assets. The spectral armies had to be migrated into the "Hallowed Sun" and "Formless Manse" domains. Romulus's mechanical authority was already being integrated; the domains of Corax and the Lion were being built around their homeworlds.
"Accepted."
"And the technical archives hidden across the galaxy," Romulus added, raising a hand. "Full access. No 'Forbidden' tags."
"Accepted."
"And You will recall Your agents—the ones like Valdor. No more 'Secret Wars' in the dark. We have a unified goal now. We need consensus."
Arthur set the final term.
"Accepted."
"One more thing..."
The list went on. Even Guilliman and the Lion, emboldened by the Dawnbreakers, added a few clauses of their own.
They felt no pressure in making demands of the Emperor.
He had "gifted" them a nightmare when they landed in the Warp. This was the payback.
It's for Humanity, Father. Why so quiet? Life is on a timer; start working.
The requirements were recorded: psionic-script, standard-script, and a master-copy held by Arthur. The stack of parchment grew into a massive volume.
"Is that all?" the Emperor asked, looking at the mountain of paper that was now as tall as the girl He was inhabiting.
These were just the index entries. The actual implementation details would be drafted later by the Dawnbreakers.
The Emperor had no choice.
He had to endure it.
He had set the price; now He had to pay it.
"One final point," Romulus said.
"Speak." A bead of sweat—mortal or divine—trickled down the Emperor's brow.
"How many 'Apprentices'—vessels capable of hosting Your essence—remain?"
Romulus had long suspected these avatars had a higher strategic function.
"Many. But few can survive the focus of My power without succumbing to brain-death. Most are vegetative, requiring My direct influence to function."
"Since they can be possessed by You," Romulus noted, his mental display showing a vastly updated Imperial organization chart, "they are effectively immune to Chaos corruption, are they not?"
"That is correct," the Emperor stated.
"Then I require them to assist in our administration. Before the 'Great Revolution' protocol is initiated, they will staff the bureaucracy. We will take as many as You can provide. We require efficiency and absolute security."
"..."
The Emperor fell silent, staring at the thick files. It looked like a vision of Hell.
He had no Malcador now.
"What? Is there a difficulty?" Romulus's gaze sharpened.
"...No," the Emperor replied, His voice a bit stiff.
For Humanity, I endured the Golden Throne. Staffing a government office? How hard can it be?
"No difficulty," He repeated.
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