Athulhum's healing trees was, perhaps, one of the greatest boons ever received by the Imperium of Mankind, his Imperium. Across thousands of worlds, and counting, his people were rejuvenated, their diseases cleansed and their bodies restored as they partook of Athulhum's healing fruits. Of course, there were many who stood in the way, such as the corrupt and the inept, those who held power through fear and held control only because of the pain and the misery they brought about them. It did not matter, however, as his enforcers and agents, Custodians and Priests alike were quick to remind those in power that the fruits were free for all. Athulhum himself remained elusive, worlds as distant as hundreds of light years grew their own healing trees almost at the same time.

He still wasn't entirely certain how that came to be. But he was glad all the same. Soon enough, every single world within the Imperium would have its own healing tree. And, because of that, Nurgle's pestilent powers would wane quite considerably. Already, the Plague Father raged as billions and billions were healed of their diseases, cured of cancers and tumors and virulent flues. But Nurgle's rage now remained impotent. Athulhum's power was... absolute. Those that ate the apple were healed of their present afflictions – no conditions and no side effects. Not infinite in its potency, but absolute in its effect, similar to the ring he now wore, the same ring that blinded the Four Cancers of the Warp to his presence – them and their Daemons.

Their raucous pounding upon his wards no longer echoed, simply because the malignant things could no longer even see his wards; they could no longer perceive the breach that was Magnus' greatest sin.

Nenya glimmered upon his finger, its power growing to encompass the entirety of the Sol System, shielding it from the temptations and predations of Chaos. For the first time since... forever, Terra, his beloved home, Earth, was free of taint, cleansed so utterly and so completely that more than half of the population perished in the first waves of golden light. Mutant children and their parents suffered the most, a necessary tragedy. Those whose corruption ran deep, their minds enslaved to the will of Chaos, were reduced to ashes. The others suffered through the pain of the Changing, where his power, combined with Athulhum's fruits removed the faint traces of Chaos in their mutated bodies.

Terra was in a state of great upheaval. The High Lords, the miscreants who ruled in his name, were all dead, slain by his command. For too long, their corruption, decadence, and inadequacy have plagued mankind – millions died by their whims and fancies, by their absent thoughts and petty mistakes, no longer. Through Nenya, he'd reconstructed enough of himself to, once more, take control of his Imperium directly, having united hundreds of the fragments that'd once lain scattered across the Immaterium. There were still thousands more to be gathered. But enough was joined so that he could, once again, issue proper commands through his Custodians.

Already, because of Perry's gift, just about every single one of his plans was either altered or hastened.

The warp rift underneath the Imperial Palace, for instance, which had taken more than half of his power to keep from spilling out entirely, was now forever shut. It'd been the single largest security risk in the entirety of the Imperium. And now, because of Nenya, because of Perry's peculiar gift, that threat was forever neutralized. And because he no longer had to spend more than half of his power just to keep Terra from being overrun by Daemonic Hordes, he was now free to turn his attention towards other, greater things. First and foremost was the distribution of that fascinating STC Perry had gotten his hands on and delivered to the Custodians, who then, in turn, delivered it to the Martian Priests, in secret, all to prevent a premature uprising by the Navigator Houses and the Adeptus Astra Telepathica, who'd be rendered mostly obsolete once the STC was mass produced and distributed to all the fleets - though the former was more likely to rebel, compared to the latter. It was the sort of victory that, by itself, would guarantee mankind's ascension as the true masters of the Milky Way Galaxy.

Honestly, any of Perry's gifts would've secured the total victory of mankind over its enemies, each one merely shortening the length of time it would've otherwise taken before mankind assumed its birthright. Even now, Perry strode onward for the benefit of humanity, putting himself directly in harm's way. That was one advantage to the ridiculous religion that Lorgar cooked up, it made his people all the more willing to die in the misguided belief that he'd somehow be proud of it. Self sacrifice was an important trait for every soldier within the Imperium, but for it to be driven by religion and blind faith was the appalling part. That said, it was precisely because of Perry's blind faith and obedience that he was able to accomplish all that he'd done. Without it, his plans would not even begin to bloom for another few centuries.

First and foremost, the Human Webway Project was already entirely scrapped, but that did not mean it was entirely impossible. After all, with some effort and with Nenya, it was now entirely possible for him to create something of a Sub-Realm within the Webway. In fact, it'd even be grander and greater than the one he'd previously imagined. His growing mastery over Nenya meant he'd be able to hide the Sub-Realm from all those who'd wish to harm it. His dream was not dead. But he had to be even more careful now, especially with the growing desperation of Chaos and all that loomed over the horizon. He'd need safeguards and lots of it, and a grand distraction, one large enough to take the full attention of the Four Tumors in the Immaterium.

Perry was doing a grand job of that, but it wasn't enough. However, there were some rather disturbing reports of gargantuan Ork Fleets gathering at the very edge of the Segmentum Obscurus, one that supposedly dwarfs even the Ork Horde of the Beast. That was troubling, but it should provide enough of a distraction to lure Chaos away, even if only for a moment.

If he was even remotely correct, then an Ork was rising to become a Krork, one of the most dangerous creatures to ever exist in the history of the galaxy. However, seeing as the Ork Fleet was in Segmentum Obscurus and likely on its way to the Eye of Terror, the Forces of Chaos were about to get their hands full and, despite everything, the Four Tumors did somewhat care about their disciples and worshipers. After all, if the Forces of Chaos around the Eye of Terror were decimated by the Orks, then the Four would lose a very significant number of their mortal champions. So, the new Beast Ork would likely attract most of the Forces of Chaos, draining their resources, and the eyes of the Four.

That was good, at least, even if the Imperium would have to deal with the aftermath.

The Second Webway Project would be humanity's greatest hope. And Perry would be humanity's greatest defender.

Aside from the reawakening of the Webway Project, perhaps the time was right to finally reawaken a few of his loyal sons. The easiest one to revive would be Guilliman and-

Hmm... odd.

He knew the presences of the souls of his sons. He knew which ones were alive and which ones were dead, and which ones had turned to Chaos. But, truth be told, he'd not bothered checking for a long time now. However, a son who was supposed to be very dead was now suddenly alive – somewhere. The exact location remained elusive, but – somewhere out there – Konrad Kurze, his broken son, had returned – somehow. That... should not have been possible. And yet, Konrad's presence was unmistakable.

Odd. Wherever Konrad was, he hoped his son would find himself and learn from the mistakes that led to the birth of the Night Haunter.

However, even if Konrad were to rejoin the Imperium, which was already quite unlikely, in itself, Guilliman was still, perhaps, the most valuable of them all. The others were great and awesome warlords and tacticians, true, but only Guilliman was a statesman and administrator. And, more than anything, he needed help with managing the Imperium. Someone had to rule, after all, and command his armies, while he gathered his strength and slowly, but surely, pulled himself together again. Guilliman would be perfect. Russ was somewhere in the Warp, beyond his sight, searching for the Tree of Life, which was definitely another headache waiting to happen. Corax was busy bullying Lorgar and mastering his true self. The Khan was... trapped in Commorragh, but was otherwise alive as their greatest and most celebrated gladiator. The Lion was comatose and hidden somewhere in the Rock. Vulkan was trapped in the realm of Gork and Mork, a place that not even he could easily enter, unless he wished to attract the attention of those two idiots. Sanguinius' soul was currently divided into two warring reflections, both of which were on Baal. Ferrus was... well... Ferrus was still in great need of a corporeal form and no one in the Imperium knew how to create a physical shell for a Primarch.

And crafting a new body for Ferrus, which was definitely something he was going to do at some point, simply wasn't feasible at the moment. It'll take too long and consume too many resources. Ferrus, as he was, led the Legion of the Damned, an angel of fire and wrath and death. He didn't need to return immediately.

So, the only ones worth bringing back, for now, were either the Lion or Guilliman. But he had no need for a great general at the moment. Guilliman was his best bet. The prophesy that'd would've seen to his revival was now shattered, thrown to the winds by Perry's sudden intrusion. Now, it was highly unlikely that the Ynnari would form at all, or that Yvraine will awaken. In fact, it was entirely possible that the domino effect would ensure that the Great Rift would never at all occur. The greatest difference was that he was now, once more, lucid. And Guilliman's wounds were not so severe as to be beyond his skill to heal.

He'd need a vessel, however, simply because Ultramar was too far away for a healing spell.

After that, his next order of business was to locate the Angel of Destruction and hope his favored son hasn't already been stolen away by maniacal or otherwise radical Inquisitors who did not understand the power they were messing with. Samael was beyond any of the other Primarchs, almost as strong as he was, back in the Great Crusade, ten thousand years ago. The boy's madness, with enough time and effort, could've been cured if his prison hadn't been stolen away during the Siege of Terra. If Perry were to fall, then Samael was certainly powerful enough to become the sword of humanity. So, he was gonna have to recover his lost son, somehow. He still felt the boy's presence, drifting somewhere in the void. However, the fact that he'd not heard of entire worlds getting burned to ashes and billions being slaughtered by a flaming angel, then it was unlikely that Samael was awake. His favored son's greatest and most horrifying ability, after all, was his power to travel between worlds like a blazing meteorite across the cosmos, like a fallen star, winged and golden.

Samael had to be recovered and hopefully soon.

Of course, there were a thousand other things that needed to be dealt with immediately, problems that'd been gnawing upon the Imperium for ten thousand years, ever since his internment upon the Golden Throne – itself needing to be fixed – but most of these problems were easily dealt, not exactly minor. But he himself could deal with them, even from the Golden Throne, even as a half-corpse. And it was all thanks to Perry, all thanks to that humble guardsman, who reminded him, of all people, of the goodness that was inherent in humanity – and that, despite everything, it was still worth fighting for.

AN: Chapter 61 is out on (Pat)reon!