A Second Chance
Chapter I
6/17/18
Human. When one hears that word, what do they think? Do they think of great acts of cruelty and evil? Do they choose to remember the greed, the hatred, and the malice? Or do they choose to remember the moments of selfless sacrifice and great compassion? Do they remember the Imperium of Mankind as it currently is, a rotting husk of the great empire it once was? Or do they remember the dream, the dream that mankind could live in peace and prosperity?
He had a dream. A dream that mankind could live in peace with the universe, no Chaos, no constant threat of xenos invasion, just peace for all of humanity. And so the Emperor of Mankind wept. He wept that he could not save his people, he wept that he had failed his sons, he wept that he was not strong enough to protect his children against the darkness that lurked in every corner. He wept that his dream of a utopia for all mankind was dead, a wishful thought in the minds of his sons and daughters. A single tear left his eye. The tear carried all his regrets, all his failures that could have been avoided. The tear travelled down his emaciated skull, and finally dropped to the floor of his throne room.
The Emperor was no fool, he knew that his time was upon him. He knew that even with all his knowledge, even the Fabricator-General of Mars at his feet, working to keep him alive, would not be successful. He knew that the last remnants of Humanity were fighting for every inch only miles from the Imperial Palace. He knew that this time, they would not have the luxury of striking a crippling blow like they did 10,000 years ago. He knew that mankind's time had come, and with it, all hope of his dream ever coming to be.
Even with this, the Emperor resolved to allow that dream for the generations of the future. The Emperor knew better than anyone that life always finds a way. He would be damned if whatever lived after his death was shackled by the tyranny of the Dark Gods. He would not allow it. And so, with his dying breaths, the Golden Throne sputtering its last, with the cries of the Custodes and Techpriests around him, calling for anything, anything, to keep their God alive, the Emperor of Mankind drew in all of his power, all the power that he had gathered over his hundreds of thousands of years long lifespan, and released it. The Emperor felt his power cleansing anything that it touched, a Black Legion marine screaming in pain as he was wiped off the face of the planet, never to be seen again, a Bloodthirster crying out for its false God to save it. The Emperor turned his gaze to his greatest foes, the Dark Gods.
Khorne was laughing psychotically on its throne of skulls even as its daemonic body was torn apart by the purifying touch of the greatest human to have ever lived.
Slaanesh was trying to save itself with its host of eldritch power, even though it knew that nothing could stop the death throes of its nemesis.
Nurgle was just sitting in its plague gardens, having accepted the fact that death was inevitable, after all wasn't that what it preached?
Tzeentch was cursing him, screeching that he had ruined all of its carefully laid plans.
Through all of this, the Emperor knew that this was to be his legacy to the galaxy he conquered, and his last gift to the species that he failed. A farewell gift to all life in the universe. A Second Chance to create an everlasting peace in the Galaxy. A Second Chance for all beings, whether they be Human, Eldar, Tau, or any other of the myriad life in the universe.
But most of all, it was A Second Chance to realize the dream, the dream humanity could prosper and become the greatest species the galaxy, nay, the universe, had ever seen.
And yet, the Emperor would not live to see it.
The Emperor finally closed his tired eyes, knowing that he had done all he could to assure the future of humanity, knowing that he had done all he could to make that dream a dream no longer.
And so, the Emperor of Mankind died, not in pain, or with sorrows weighing him down, but with a smile on his face.