The sky of the Old Earth made the so-called Anathema feel relaxed. His entire life had been placed to serve humanity's survival. All roads he takes, the many people he deceives, and much more he kills to ensure humanity's path to ascension.
Now, he traced back his journey. A long-forgotten journey that his old friend started. This era happened long before he was born, long before even the first true civilizations were created.
At first, he did not want to show this truth to the Apostle. She was Warp-born, a being once mortal and cultivated to be their spawn. Yet, destiny spoke otherwise. The timeline that makes up the Skein had shown him something greater. The final usefulness of this scheme would be astronomical. Yet, in fact, this was also one of his pet projects with the Golden Order.
"Ollanius Persson, the first Perpetual. What are Perpetuals?" Rory asked the Emperor with genuine curiosity.
The Emperor did not answer immediately. The only people aware of Perpetuals' existence besides the Golder Order were the High Lords and some high nobles on Terra. This revelation would seal the Apostle on a certain fate.
"We are humans born with immortality and our own special powers." He answers tentatively.
"How many of you out there?" Rory's eyes turned narrow, glaring at the Emperor.
"Not many, but not insignificant either." The Emperor watches his old friend walk on the rocky terrain with his bare feet. His determination that never been slightly eroded.
"You are the Emperor, right? So it would make you their leader. What is their purpose?" The Apostle keeps asking, which receives chuckles from the Emperor.
"You will see."
Ollanius seemingly did not care about his condition, as his burned foot constantly regenerated in a split second. The first Perpetual ended his walk when he arrived at a certain cliff. His eyes darted below, and there he saw a village.
The village itself only housed a hundred people. The buildings were made from mud and had dried wheat as its roof. Not far from the settlement, a river flows. Around that river, several plants managed to grow in this harsh environment.
Ollanius decided to come to their village. Slowly he approaches them, drawing the attention of every person inside the village. Without further ado, the females quickly hid their children while the males armed themselves with primitive spears and knives.
The shouts at the ancient Perpetual, demanding his purpose. To Rory, she wonders why she can understand their language despite this being ancient times and far from her world.
Ollanius explains to them his intention was harmless and introduces himself as a traveler, claiming that beasts destroyed his tribe. After several more arguments, they let the first Perpetual stay in their place.
"Why did he lie to them?" Rory inquired, glancing at the Emperor.
"Time will tell, Rory Mercury. But I assure you, Ollanius never intended to harm them." The ancient man reassured her.
Even though he was a foreigner, the villagers slowly accepted Ollanius as a part of their community. Weeks turn into months, and thus, the barrier between Ollanius and the villagers completely disappears. They lived in harmony, but that was not the case for the Perpetual. He was on eternal caution as if danger was lying behind the darkness.
Days came to pass, and the vigil of the ancient Perpetual was paid.
One day, a man with a robe came to the village. Behind him, there were armies in the thousand. They had swords and spears in their hands, creating destruction in their path. They wore a six-pointed star as their armor.
When Rory's eyes laid on that symbol, a shiver came down her spine as cold steel plunged into her chest.
"Who are they?" The Apostle asks the Perpetual, yet she receives no answer.
The armies approach the village, sending one of their kind to talk with the elder about their term of surrender.
When the pact of surrendering can be made, Ollanius step forward. He had been waiting for this moment. The ancient Perpetual drew his sword, killing the diplomat by decapitating his head. With a mighty shout, he ordered the villagers to run as far as they could.
"Immortal was indeed a great boon, but facing that many armies that possess a dreadful power like these would be suicidal," Rory remarked.
"From any other Perpetual, he was one of the weakest. But he had a reason to be my executioner." Emperor's words shocked Rory.
The answer soon reveals itself as Ollanius faces the entire Ruinous power alone.
Ollanius moves at an inhuman speed; using his sword and hands, he wracked the chaotic force's formation.
Despite his incredible skill and prowess, the first Perpetual managed to get injured. Be it was sword or spear, he endured all. But at the moment when the cold steel had been pulled out from his flesh, the wound healed instantly. His head was sliced, yet it only turned out to be futile as it was healed soon after. The will to fight is indomitable as the bloodied hands of the Perpetual never rest until his opponents are lay dead.
Something about the nature of this Perpetual brought Rory into deep thought. From his power and speed, he was only above the rate of an average human, not even close to the transhuman's realm. Yet, the ever-vigilant will of the immortals brought something in the form of remembrances for the Apostle.
When she remembers it, she was brought back hundreds of years ago. She could not pinpoint the exact date, yet it was one of her most prominent moments.
She was fighting an entire Ogre army by herself to save a certain forgotten city long before the born of the Sadera Empire. That was the moment when she was hailed as a hero for the first time. It was glorious, to begin with, as mortals sang her name for salvation. They had become religious as her tale that had been passed would change as human curiosity could not be stopped. Thus, a legend was created.
The man charged, and now, the thousands of seemingly undefeated warriors fell to the earth. Their lifeless husks made the entire villagers watch in awe. The foreigner had defeated the armies on his own.
Ollanius step forward as no other warrior stands other than their leader. The leader was a giant. He stood tall, nearly two meters in height.
Ollanius challenged him, and with a mighty roar, he swung his sword. Even though he was physically inferior to the giant, Ollanius' immortality prevented death from coming for him. His head smashed and yet only returned in a split second. The broken leg and ribs only resemble themselves to serve their master in the ongoing combat.
"I don't understand. He fights without any tactics or anything. It was pure brute strength and instincts." Rory says, her eyes locked on the battle with interest.
"He was young in this era. He was nowhere at the same level as a tactician as he was now—only pure strength and resolve. He was nowhere at the same level as General Ollanius." The Emperor told her neutrally.
"What does make him special, then?" To Rory, those feats would be a remarkable achievement for any warrior but not for a man who held the title of the Emperor's executioner.
"He embodied humanity in its most traditional aspect: stubborn, brute force, peace, spiritual needs. That was one of many reasons why I chose him." The golden Emperor watches the scene with a slight smile on his face. It was a nostalgic feeling that he thought had been lost to time.
"Embodies the traditional sense of humanity?" Rory asks herself, holding her chin in wonder.
The first Perpetual is finally able to exploit his opponent's weakness. He stabbed the Chaos champion in the gap in his armor, piercing his heart until it was utterly destroyed. The once mighty champion falls on his back while blood drowns his throat.
Ollanius did not roar with victorious pride. He withdraws his blade and takes his leave of the scene. He never returns to that place.
"He just left like that?" Rory's brows furrowed heavily. Back when she was young, Rory must spend several days to convenience them to convert and several times more enforcing the ideals of the Emroy to their culture. But this man only saved them and left.
"You will see." The Emperor's psychic power began to spread across space, changing the scenery around them.
Just like before, Ollanius came from one village to another, helping them with anything he could, leaving without traces. It was an anthesis to her method.
Years later, something happens.
"Impossible," Rory muttered.
Various tribes and villages had come together to create a bigger community. Even though it was small compared to the smallest city in Sadera, it was a remarkable mark in the history of men—a small step for a person, a great leap for mankind. Yet, this community held something; in particular, they had a legendary figure who saved them.
Generations pass by, and the legend of that man only grows, but the depiction changes.
Thus, the tale becomes a legend; legend becomes a myth, and that myth turns into a paragon.
"What... What is this?" Rory could not believe her eyes as a small temple for Ollanius was made to honor him. Mortals adored him as an undying saint, a peerless warrior that protected the weak.
"The deed of man survives through ages, creating legends that will be eternally remembered." Said the Emperor, smiling with pride in his chest.
"He unknowingly creates a religion?" Rory mumbles. "The legend about him being immortal, capable of shattering the earth. He never did such a thing."
The Emperor smiled, his thoughts turning to the perpetual nature of humanity. Humans were complex beings, capable of observing the world around them and forming their own interpretations. This led to the creation of laws, traditions, and beliefs, not only in legends but also in scientific pursuits.
"At the dawn of the age of man, humanity's interpretation of the unknown is deeply sentimental. It was during this time that Ollanius forged the most basic form of religion. The essence of religion and legend is rooted in seemingly impossible deeds. Yet, these tales become biased, often warped by the imaginations of each generation, differing from those of their predecessors," the ancient Perpetual answered her inquiry.
"Differences?" Rory's brow furrowed in skepticism.
"I would have thought that nearly a millennium of experience as an immortal would have taught you this lesson, Rory Mercury." His voice, though calm, carried an edge, yet the Apostle suppressed the urge to growl in annoyance.
"My entire existence as an Apostle has not granted me such insights. The humans of Falmart do not exhibit this behavior. They have not altered my legends or stories," Rory interjected, her eyes narrowing defiantly.
"Your religion was established at the dawn of your world. Your image and depiction are complete; nothing can change them. But that was not the case for your gods." The Emperor's gaze intensified, locking onto the Apostle with a piercing intensity.
Rory slowly began to grasp the gravity of the conversation. A chilling realization washed over her, freezing her in place.
Her gods—and their so-called divinity—were nothing more than mortals who had achieved enough feats to be deemed worthy of godhood. But now, it became clear: their divinity was nothing more than an illusion, born from the ignorance and imagination of mortals. Furthermore, the existence of magicians only served to reinforce this truth. These magicians, wielders of power that could channel magic into miraculous feats, were no different than the first 'gods,' who had perhaps discovered a way to elevate themselves.
Rory grew pale as her faith began to unravel. Her entire existence had been devoted to worshiping these gods, praising their names and deeds so that future generations might bask in their blessings, in the promise of happiness.
Happiness—this was the last thread holding her faith together. Mortals who devoted themselves to their beliefs, no matter how ignorant, found solace. Even if faith was born of ignorance, it was blissful ignorance.
"Even though the origins of my gods remain a mystery to me," Rory argued, her voice quivering, "faith has granted humanity happiness. Yes, it might be ignorance, but it is a blissful one." Her resolve weakened, and she could no longer stand tall. Her gaze dropped to the ground, to the feet of the Master of Mankind, whose presence loomed ever larger, like a star burning brighter and hotter with each passing moment.
"Rory Mercury." The Emperor spoke her name with rare empathy. "You have lived long enough to witness countless generations of mankind. Have you not seen the wars of faith?"
"I have." Her reply was short and bitter. "I have seen enough. But those wars brought us unity, and enlightenment to the unfaithful. I even participated in one myself."
The Emperor's gaze softened, filled with an understanding that only a being of his nature could possess. There was no blazing psychic power in his eyes now, only empathy.
"War in the name of faith never brings unity," he said calmly, stepping toward the temple dedicated to Ollanius. He looked upon the brass statue of his friend, a faint smile of sadness and understanding on his face. "It is always about power, wealth, and control, masked behind religion."
Rory watched the Master of Mankind intently. His emotions were unreadable, yet she could see it—an ancient pain etched into his face, concealed but not perfectly hidden.
"I will show you a journey. A journey that will take place when humanity advances enough to understand it." The Emperor said, his voice light of his psychic power enveloped them, and the world around them dissolved.
When the light faded, they found themselves in a small city, primitive but more advanced than the previous civilizations Rory had seen.
"Where are we?" Rory asked, glancing at the Emperor.
"You will see," he replied, offering no further explanation.
The city bustled with activity. At its center stood a temple, erected in honor of ancient pantheons. The people worshiped their gods with offerings of virgin women and newborns. The sight disgusted Rory, but she saw the Emperor's eyes burn with a hidden, seething hatred.
"This is vile," Rory spat, venom lacing her words.
"This practice is but one among countless others from Old Earth," the Emperor said, his tone cold and bitter, sending a chill down Rory's spine.
"Is this why you despise religion?" she asked, her voice careful, sensing the depth of his loathing.
"One of many reasons," he replied with a bitter edge. "But my greatest mistake lies elsewhere."
Rory's eyes widened. A mistake? From a being as perfect as the Emperor? It sounded like blasphemy. Yet, if he admitted to such an error, it had to be something catastrophic.
The Emperor did not offer further explanation. Instead, his gaze shifted toward the city's entrance. Rory followed his eyes, and her own enhanced sight allowed her to make out the figure of a man standing at the gates. He was of medium build, with tanned skin, draped in a robe.
It took her a moment to realize the truth, but when it hit, it struck like a bolt of lightning.
"That man... It's you," she whispered, her breath caught in her throat.
"At this time, I came to this city to fulfill my duty as the guardian of humanity," the Emperor explained, his voice steady.
"What duty? Why this city?" Rory asked, confusion radiating from her.
The Emperor gave no answer, merely gesturing for her to continue watching. She nodded, understanding that this memory had yet more to reveal.
The man introduced himself to the guards as Neoth, a traveler from the West, and paid the entrance fee to enter the city. As he wandered through the streets, his gaze never wavered, scrutinizing every detail with the precision only a Perpetual could possess. Admiration grew in his eyes as he observed the early foundations of human civilization, pride swelling in his chest.
But there was something different in Neoth's gaze that intrigued Rory. It was not the cold, calculated stare of the current Emperor, but one filled with freedom, innocence, and curiosity. Neoth was a wanderer, an adventurer, driven by an undying thirst for knowledge. His face bore none of the burdens of rulership, none of the scars of war. It was the face of a man untainted by the responsibilities that would one day erode his very soul.
As Neoth arrived at the temple, Rory understood the true meaning of fear in that moment. His expression remained unreadable, but she knew what was coming.
The fertility ritual began. The temple priests gathered virgin women, their throats cut, their blood filling a pit dug at the center of the temple. Newborns were then thrown into the pit, their tiny lives extinguished to appease the gods.
Rory wanted to scream, but her voice failed her. This horror had played out long before she was born, a nightmare from a distant past. All she could do was watch.
Neoth, the future Emperor, left the temple in silence, but his eyes blazed with an unholy fury. He had walked away peacefully, but a storm of hatred swirled within him, brewing in the depths of his soul.
A week later, the city erupted into chaos. An insurrection had begun, led by none other than Neoth. His psychic power spread discord among his enemies, and with overwhelming might, he crushed those loyal to the temple and its ruler. The temple was burned to the ground, its priests and their blasphemous practices reduced to ashes. Neoth's rebellion marked the end of the old faith and the dawn of a new regime.
Neoth was hailed as the city's new ruler, a title he reluctantly accepted. But the memory of the ritual never left him.
One year after that fateful day, a woman came to Neoth's palace. Her presence radiated a power that rivaled Neoth's own.
"Who is that?" Rory asked, pointing toward the mysterious figure.
The Emperor smiled softly, a rare expression of pure affection flickering across his face. His gaze lingered on the mysterious woman with a warmth that Rory had never seen before. This was no mask, no cold detachment. For the first time since Rory had met the Master of Mankind, he showed his true nature—a smile that came from deep within, unguarded and genuine.
Day by day, they spent time together, their bond growing stronger, their presence a comfort to one another. One fateful day, the woman proposed something to Neoth. Hours passed in conversation, but by the end, the ruler of the First City stood with his sword raised high, declaring his intent to conquer the surrounding tribes and cities.
War engulfed the land. This was the first conquest in human history, the first stride of mankind toward its birthright. Years passed, drenched in blood, and the first empire rose—a beacon of culture, technology, and enlightenment. Religion was eradicated, reduced to mere history, and Neoth's empire flourished under the iron fist of secular progress. But Neoth's time as emperor came to an end, and so he chose a successor to carry forward his legacy. Disguising his own death, Neoth left his empire behind, setting out with the woman in search of other Perpetuals. He sought a new path, for his empire to prosper without his direct hand, allowing humanity to lead itself, free from the chains of his influence.
Centuries passed like fleeting moments for the immortal. When Neoth returned to his empire, he was met with a vision that shattered him. The once-great civilization he had fostered had degenerated into a grotesque shadow of itself. Hedonism, decadence, and corruption reigned supreme. Religion had returned, rooting itself deep into society's heart like a malignant cancer. His likeness was now worshiped as a golden warrior, surrounded by the twisted sigils of four unspeakable powers. Neoth's eyes blazed with fury as he beheld the perverse idols and their followers.
"This... this is my first mistake," the Emperor said, voice laced with regret.
Neoth roamed through his corrupted empire, observing in silence as once-noble ideals crumbled into depravity. The temple he had once destroyed now thrived, grotesquely reborn. His followers practiced dark rites, chanting the names of four blasphemous gods. Slaughter and desecration were common, and war was waged in his name. His empire had fallen into stagnation, its soul consumed by eldritch sorcery and mindless debauchery. Neoth's name had become synonymous with cruelty and chaos, a mockery of everything he had once stood for.
With righteous fury, Neoth unleashed the full might of his psychic power. A burning corona erupted from him, sweeping through the land like a storm of judgment. The empire was scoured from existence, reduced to nothing but ash and ruin. Every trace of civilization, every corrupted soul, was annihilated in the cleansing fire of his wrath.
Rory, crushed by the weight of the Emperor's psychic onslaught, could barely stand. Though it was but a memory, the sheer magnitude of the destruction felt all too real. The storm of power raged for what seemed like an eternity, until at last, the land lay in silence, reduced to dust and bones. Neoth knelt in the ruins, mourning the death of a dream. He picked up a handful of ash, letting it slip through his fingers, eyes filled with a sorrow that spanned millennia.
"Humanity cannot be left to wander in the darkness," the current Emperor declared, his voice like iron. "I shall be their guide, their protector, no matter the cost."
Neoth rose to his feet, his resolve unshaken. "Religion is a flaw, born from my ignorance of humanity's nature," he said coldly. "But I will not make the same mistake again."
As Neoth disappeared into the horizon of the memory, Rory felt the weight of his decision. The scars of that time would never fade, but the Emperor stood firm, ever vigilant, searching for a way to save humanity from itself.
The vision dissolved, and they found themselves back in the temple chamber.
"The burden is mine alone to bear," the Emperor said, his voice unwavering. "The sins of my past will forever stain my soul, but with my design, humanity will ascend. They will become greater than the abominations that seek to destroy them. This is my promise."
Rory, trembling but determined, struggled to meet the Emperor's gaze. She steadied herself with her halberd and spoke, her voice quiet but firm. "I have one more question."
"Ask it, Rory Mercury."
"Those abominations... what kind of gods demand such blasphemous worship?" The memory of the temple's horrors haunted her, burned into her mind like a brand.
The Emperor's golden eyes bore into her soul. "They are our greatest enemies, those who call themselves the Primordial Truth. But that is a lie. They are the Primordial Annihilators."
"Primordial... Annihilators," Rory whispered, her blood running cold.
"They are the antithesis of my Imperial Truth. If I do nothing, this universe will fall to their corruption," the Emperor said, his voice a weapon of conviction.
"What are they?" Rory demanded, her voice rising.
The Emperor's eyes flared with golden light, and in an instant, Rory's mind was flooded with visions of terror.
She saw a land of blood and fire, where war never ceased. A brass throne towered over a sea of slaughter, atop which sat a god of endless carnage. Then, the scene shifted to a labyrinthine palace, ever-changing and filled with maddening knowledge. Beyond it, a god of infinite eyes twisted the fabric of reality itself. The vision changed once more, revealing a garden of decay, a landscape of filth and disease tended by a bloated, corpulent being. Finally, she beheld a paradise of excess and debauchery, its beauty masking unspeakable horrors. At the center of this realm, a figure of impossible allure reveled in the suffering and ecstasy of its followers.
Rory awoke from the vision, her body wracked with pain. Blood flowed from her eyes, ears, and mouth. She gasped for breath as the Emperor's psychic power soothed her, granting her relief from the overwhelming horrors she had witnessed.
"Now you understand," the Emperor said. "These are our enemies, and it is my Imperial Truth that stands between them and the ruin of all things."
"The Imperial Truth... What is it?" Rory asked, her voice trembling.
The Emperor stepped forward, placing a finger gently upon her forehead. In that moment, Rory saw the Truth—unchanging, eternal, and absolute. The Truth that could stand against the madness of the Warp.
It was a Truth she would never forget for the rest of her immortal life.
