The Day of Victory—or in the High Gothic tongue, Victoria Aurea—stood as one of the Imperium of Mane's most revered celebrations, second only to Imperatus Laurus, the Day of Rebirth.
It was the day the Third Galactic War had ended. The day humanity ascended to become the galaxy's dominant force. A day meant to be observed with joy, with reverence, and with the deepest gratitude.
Yet even amidst the festivities, whispers spread like wildfire through the crowds. Rumors thrived in the alleys and drinking halls of Terra, murmured between hushed voices, growing in weight with each retelling.
In a dimly lit bar, the atmosphere simmered with unspoken tension.
"Did you hear? The natives from the Gate were seen at the Imperial Palace weeks ago," a woman murmured to her companion.
"I've heard of them," the other replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "Few know the details, but… they say an Eldar walks among them."
A hush followed. The mere mention of that name soured the air.
"Eldar." A voice, low and venomous. "Why did we not finish them off when we had the chance?"
"The Emperor has His reasons," a Ferrous Mind interjected, its mechanical cadence steady, yet firm. "The extinction of the Aeldari, I believe, would bring consequences far worse than their survival."
"Consequences?" A Man of Stone scoffed. "Their very existence is a consequence!"
"Regardless," a female abhuman added, swirling her wine lazily, "the Emperor and the High Lords allow them to persist. The purpose behind it… remains unknown."
The discussion might have escalated further, had the bar's owner not spoken. His voice cut through the rising hostility like a blade.
"Enough," he said, displeasure evident in his tone. "Victoria Aurea is not a day for bitterness. It is the day our Emperor revealed Himself, the day He led us to glory. We celebrate, not brood over grudges."
A silent command passed from him to the building's Ferrous Mind, and a humanoid automaton—sleek, feminine in form—stepped forward to take orders.
The patrons relented, their murmurs fading as they returned to their meals. The tension thinned, the charged atmosphere slowly dissolving into the warmth of celebration.
A quiet hum accompanied the automaton as she approached a lone diner. She placed a steaming plate before him.
"Your Groxian steak, honored guest. Our apologies for the disturbance."
Raphael barely spared her a glance. His expression was unreadable, his voice devoid of feeling.
"Think nothing of it."
She bowed her head. "Then please, enjoy your meal." With that, she departed.
Raphael took a bite. The steak was rich, layered with flavor, yet the taste barely registered. His mind wandered, his attention drifting beyond the bar, beyond the walls.
His gaze fell to the streets below, where the true weight of the day played out in the throngs of citizens.
The streets of Terra swelled with life, a tide of Imperial citizens from every class and walk of life. Their faces turned upward, radiant with reverence, their eyes locked onto the towering form of the Imperial Palace. They smiled—not out of simple joy, but with the quiet, unshakable faith of those who had seen the Imperium endure.
The scars of the Third Galactic War remained, not just in history but in the minds of those who had fought it. By the Emperor's decree, those scars were to be remembered, passed down to each new generation as a solemn lesson. Even the youngest understood, if only in part, the horror of that long and terrible conflict.
Raphael took another bite, yet his mind wandered. He thought back to his first Victoria Aurea. It had been nothing like today. That day, he had watched from within a containment facility, a place meant for those like him.
He had not walked among the crowds. He had not felt the warmth of the celebration. The festival had been nothing more than images on a Holovid screen. And yet, somehow, it had still reached him.
"Even as centuries pass, the soul of the Imperium remains unchanged," he murmured.
It was strange to say such things. Stranger still to feel them. A blank should not experience emotions—not like this. He lacked the essence that allowed others to truly connect, to truly feel. And yet, the Emperor's power touched even him.
The thought intrigued him. Was it that the Emperor's might was simply too vast, too absolute for his nullifying nature to suppress? Perhaps. But another possibility lingered, one that felt truer.
The Empyrean Sea was not merely a realm of power and madness—it was where ideals took form. Where belief shaped reality. Somewhere within that abyss, the concept of humanity itself must exist. And the Emperor…
Perhaps He was its embodiment.
Raphael let the thought settle, unspoken yet absolute. Whatever the truth, it mattered little. He would protect it, with all that he was. And he hoped—perhaps foolishly—that the Japanese and the Falmartians would come to understand what he had.
Especially her. The brunette girl. For reasons he could not fully grasp, he had grown fond of her. An impossibility for someone like him. A contradiction that should not exist.
"An odd sentiment indeed," he mused.
A roar rose from the streets, powerful and unyielding.
"Ave Imperator!"
"Ave Imperator!"
The devotion in their voices was absolute, echoing through the city like a prayer given form.
Raphael listened. And though his soul was empty, something stirred within him. A warmth, faint yet undeniable.
For the first time in years, he allowed himself to smile.
-Imperial Palace. Outer Section-
The Japanese and Falmartians stood in anticipation, their eyes tracing the towering structures and elaborate decorations that adorned the streets. Spirits ran high—this was their first time witnessing a festival of such magnitude, a celebration spanning the breadth of a civilization far beyond their understanding.
"I've never seen anything like this," Itami murmured, awestruck by the sheer scale of the preparations that had begun weeks in advance.
Kurata, equally mesmerized, turned to the Ferrous Mind beside him. "Tell me, Alexander, what is the centerpiece of this celebration?"
"The Imperatus Laurus, or the Day of Rebirth, is dedicated to our advancements in technology, art, and culture—an exaltation of innovation," Alexander explained, his tone laced with pride. "By contrast, Victoria Aurea is the Day of Victory. It is a day to honor our military might."
"So..." Itami hesitated, his curiosity piqued. "Does that mean we'll see the full extent of the Imperium's military?"
"I highly doubt it, Lieutenant Itami." Alexander's response was blunt, almost dismissive.
"Why not?" Kuribayashi pressed, her excitement barely contained. The idea of witnessing the Imperium's full strength thrilled her.
Alexander regarded them for a moment before posing his own question. "You have read about the transhuman hierarchy, yes? Are you familiar with They Who Above All?"
Brows furrowed in confusion, save for one.
"I am," Lelei answered, drawing surprised glances from her companions. "You're referring to the Adeptus Logos, aren't you?"
"Excellent deduction, Lelei Lelena," Alexander praised.
"But wouldn't their presence be important for the morale of the citizens?" Itami questioned, tilting his head. "Why wouldn't they attend something as significant as this?"
"Their responsibilities extend far beyond public ceremonies," Alexander replied. "Understand this—they are the key to our ascension."
No further arguments arose. A quiet understanding settled over them as they redirected their focus to the crowd.
And then—silence.
The sudden hush sent a shiver down their spines. It was unnatural, absolute.
Then, it began.
Music.
A powerful, all-encompassing sound surged through the air, washing over them like a tidal wave. It was more than a melody—it was a force of synesthesia, woven into the very fabric of reality.
Psychic waves rippled outward, carried by the Noosphere across the Imperium. This was no ordinary composition. It was a symphony forged by the most gifted Psycant Astra, sculpted through warp-science and bound to legacies older than memory itself.
Thousands of such songs had been crafted before, each iteration refining the purity of its purpose.
It was a hymn of glory, a declaration of power. Yet within its grandeur lay something deeper—protection, security, a promise.
It was the voice of humanity, ringing across the cosmos, proclaiming its supremacy and destiny.
To the citizens of the Imperium, the music was a revelation. A vision of their purpose, their unity, their ascension. It did not simply inspire—it reshaped, reaffirmed, reminded.
This was the Imperium's truth. Its foundation. Its very essence.
For the Japanese and Falmartians, the experience was something else entirely. It stripped away the divisions of nation and culture, exposing a singular, undeniable reality.
The meaning of humanity.
The value of struggle.
The price of progress.
Their origins no longer mattered. The song had revealed the truth—flesh and soul, they were the same.
They were human.
Lelei pressed a hand to her chest, her breath unsteady. A whisper escaped her lips, carrying the words that had become her conviction.
"Ave Imperator. Non est deos."
"Ave Imperator," Pina echoed, placing a hand over her heart.
It surprises not only Bozes but also the Japanese. The Princess, once adamant about protecting her country, had suddenly changed her allegiance to the invader. Yet, in a way, it was understandable.
The Imperium did not seek terms. It did not negotiate. Sooner or later, they would become the Emperor's vassals. In that simple reality, the safest course was to come under his wings.
A being like the Emperor of Mankind could only be described as a god. He was a ruler capable of leading quintillions of souls, the architect of an empire spanning millions of worlds. Yet, paradoxically, he was also the creator of the Imperial Truth—the doctrine that denied divinity, even as his very existence defied it.
The Emperor revealed himself in a blinding golden light from the highest structure in the Imperial Palace. Clad in resplendent auramite, psychic flames ignited upon his pauldrons, while a corona of raw power shone brilliantly above his head, radiating absolute authority.
Beneath him, on the floor below, the High Lords had gathered, seated upon their thrones.
"Greetings, my beloved sons and daughters of Terra."
The Emperor's voice boomed across the planet, magnified by the Noosphere, its sheer weight pressing upon the minds of all who heard it.
"Today, we cast down the self-proclaimed masters of the Empyrean Sea and their false gods. This is the day we take our first step toward reclaiming our birthright. Let this be a moment of both triumph and remembrance. In the Third Galactic War, we drove back the abominations of the abyss, replacing darkness with light, anarchy with order.
But such victories come at a cost.
Those who fell shall not be forgotten. We shall carve an oath upon this day—that we will stand firm against the coming darkness. Ave Imperium!"
"Ave Imperium!"
Countless millions echoed his words, their voices merging into a singular, deafening roar that shook the very sky.
With a wave of his hand, the Emperor unleashed a massive psychic flame from his palm. The fire shot upward, rising higher and higher, reshaping itself mid-flight. It grows in size and complexity as it soars to heaven. .
The Aquila.
Twin-headed and wreathed in golden fire, it soared above the palace, expanding until it rivaled a voidship in size. Its wings stretched wide, a burning declaration of supremacy.
The citizens erupted in cheers, joy and pride surging through the air like a tangible force.
As the Aquila faded, dozens of colossal hololithic displays flickered to life, appearing across every section of the Imperial Palace. Across a million worlds, similar projections emerged, ensuring all who lived under the Emperor's rule bore witness to what was to come.
The parade began.
The parade begins at Damocles, a star-fort the size of a nation. As its immense gates slowly part, millions of Solar Guardians march forth in perfect formation. Clad in armor of varied design, each warrior bears the distinct mark of their specialization—some towering and bulky, others sleek and refined, yet all forged with the singular purpose of war.
Behind them, an unstoppable tide of mechanized war machines follows. Their sizes range from towering constructs, dozens of meters high, to behemoths that dwarf even the largest war engines of the Promethean Arcology. Each is armed with weapons of apocalyptic devastation, their forms bristling with instruments of annihilation.
Escorting them are the war skeletons—colossal bipedal war suits, their presence a grim testament to the Imperium's mastery of warfare. The smallest among them stands four meters tall, while the largest looms nearly a dozen meters high. They march in their hundreds of thousands, an iron phalanx of unyielding destruction.
As the last Solar Guardian exited the Star Port, the Knights began to gather. They stood taller than the war skeletons, their massive weaponry rivaling that of tanks. They marched in perfect unison, the smallest leading the way, followed by their larger counterparts. These Knights bore weapons capable of not only destroying nations or continents but also bringing about the end of entire civilizations.
The bipedal walkers advanced in full force, their resounding steps shaking the ground with every stride. As they entered the wider road, the metallic foundation beneath them began to vibrate. The Omniphages disassembled themselves, revealing square-shaped holes on both sides of the marching column.
A metallic hiss echoed across the surface as battle automatons emerged from the holes. Unlike the humanoid forms of the Knights, these machines were entirely different, resembling creatures such as spiders and centipedes. But it did not end there. The final batch of automatons to appear was far more diverse than anyone could have anticipated. Among them were constructs that could only be described as bipedal fortresses. Despite their immense size, they moved with surprising agility, as if their bulk posed no hindrance.
Unlike their predecessors, their weapons were exotic and undeniably dangerous.
Numbering in the millions, they marched with cold, calculating precision.
When they reached a quarter of the distance to the Lion's Gate, bright flashes of white light erupted into existence. Behind these lights stood a million metallic humanoid beings, their appearance bearing many similarities to psykers—particularly in their armor and staff-like weapons. Yet, they emitted no Empyrean power.
Lelei sensed something unusual about them. Using her psychic abilities, she peered into the Sea of Souls. To her surprise, she could not detect their presence in the Warp. If they existed there at all, their souls were significantly dimmer than even the weakest psyker's. However, she could feel an unknown force lingering around their forms. Intrigued, she extended her psychic senses to probe the reality around them, seeking answers.
"Amazing," she muttered in awe. These armies did not draw their power from the Immaterial realm but harnessed it directly from the Material universe.
"Who are they, Alexander?" Lelei asked.
"Arcant-Praefators," the Ferrous Mind replied. "They are a sub-type of transhuman within the Imperium, originating from Mars and its forge-sister worlds. They operate under their own hierarchy and system."
As the metallic armies marched, their leader raised his staff. Arcant-Praefators were designed to perceive the free data of the universe and manipulate it for humanity's benefit. With a gesture, the leader altered the data around him, warping reality to create a pocket of space that rippled with temporal energy. Hundreds of portals materialized by his will alone.
From these portals emerged automatons unlike anything the onlookers had ever seen. They resembled eldritch machinery, their forms both alien and incomprehensible. Yet, within their impossible frames, the artistry of their construction was undeniable.
The procession continued along the main path of the celebration. Suddenly, a brilliant light swept across the area, illuminating the vast space. As the light faded, thousands of Titans stood revealed, their colossal forms towering at over a hundred meters tall. These were true giants of war. Their warhorns blared, the sound shattering the air and reverberating through the bones of all who witnessed it.
Before the echoes of the horns could fade, a new flash of Immaterial power drew the crowd's attention. The light dimmed to reveal a gargantuan Ordinatus, its size dwarfing even the Titans. It moved with a deliberate, earth-shaking cadence, a monument to humanity's technological might.
The armies advanced in perfect unity and discipline, drawing ever closer to the Lion's Gate. From above, thousands of atmospheric aircraft descended. Among them, hundreds bore ornate and artistic structures. They landed gracefully, their metallic doors sliding open to reveal their passengers—Dominator Magistratus.
Clad in exquisitely crafted armor that blended artistry and lethality, they stepped onto the ground with an air of regal authority. Their weapons, far superior to anything the Solar Guardians could wield, gleamed with a value that could only be matched by the Arcant themselves.
A flash of golden light burst around them, revealing automatons of unparalleled craftsmanship. To call them mere battle automatons would be blasphemous, for the artistic value of their construction was beyond measure.
The vehicles and war machines of the Dominator Magistratus mirrored their owners perfectly—highly sophisticated, crafted with impossible precision, and adorned with intricate details.
Then, the entire march came to a halt, clearing a path for a new force. The Adeptus Astartes had arrived.
They did not possess the eldritch aura of the Arcant, nor did they bear the artistic marvels of the Dominator. They were conquerors, bringers of destruction. Yet, in their duality, they were also creators and builders.
They brought no war machines, clad only in their formidable armor. Their leader, the tallest of the transhumans present, wielded a gigantic Warhammer in his right hand.
He knelt, and the entire line followed suit.
"My name is Amestus Luxios, Primarch of the Celestial Dragon Legion," he declared in a booming voice. "We are here to answer your call on this glorious day of victory. We are honored to stand in your presence, Your Majesty."
"Rise, my loyal servant," the Emperor replied, raising his hand. "Stand so that I may see your face."
The Primarch rose to his feet, his gaze fixed upon the Emperor. He waited patiently for his liege to continue.
"Your service to the Imperium is paramount," the Emperor said, his voice resonating with pride. "You have brought peace and safety to the innocent, leading countless crusades across the galaxy. Many xenos have fallen by your hand. There is no greater honor than serving humanity and ensuring its survival."
"Your words humble me, my lord," Amestus replied, his voice filled with deep gratitude.
The Emperor nodded, his gaze shifting to the rest of the armies. They remained on their knees, awaiting his next command. Their loyalty was unquestionable—they were his devoted servants, ready to lay down their lives for the Imperium and its citizens.
"Victoria Aurea is not merely a testament to our scars and achievements," the Emperor proclaimed, his voice carrying the weight of millennia. "It is also a reward for those who endure. Those who survive shall grow stronger. Those who are divided shall unite. Humanity was scattered, lost in the void, until the Neverborn sought to claim our souls. Since then, we have drawn closer to true unification, a rebirth forged in fire and blood. Patience and vigilance shall be our greatest virtues, and unity our greatest strength. Rise, my loyal warriors!"
With a psychic command, the Emperor unleashed waves of Anathematic power, its golden light resonating with the trillions of souls on Terra. A warm sensation washed over the crowd, sharpening their spirits and minds. Many adepts and psykers had theorized about the true nature of Anathematic power and the concept it represented. While their efforts often proved futile, one truth remained undeniable: Anathematic power was the amalgamation of souls, the pure essence of humanity's collective will.
It mattered not whether they were soulless humans or Ferrous Minds—all felt the Emperor's vast Anathematic power, an ever-present force binding them together.
The soldiers rose from their kneeling positions, their heads held high. They saluted, raising their weapons while placing their right hands over their hearts.
"Ave Imperator! Ave Imperium!" they chanted in unison.
From the blue sky, motes of light descended, originating from the Astronomican's radiant glow. The crowd erupted in cheers, raising their arms with pride.
"Ave Imperator! Ave Imperium!" they shouted, their spirits soaring.
For the humans of Japan and Falmart, this day would forever be etched into their memories. The sensation, the sentiment, and the atmosphere were beyond description—grander than grandeur, more majestic than majesty. In this moment, they felt an unbreakable connection to their species, as if they shared a single soul.
The Imperium was undeniably the next step for humanity, for it embodied everything humanity was capable of achieving.