Author's Note: For those interested, there are now eight advance chapters on P-atreon (remove the spaces and dash): p-atreon/ SkySage24.
HE was Order.
HE was Light.
HE was the Star Father, the Emperor Reborn, the Lord of Light, the One True God.
The herald of mankind's ascension. The one true master of the galaxy.
And so it was that HE surveyed HIS domain from HIS throne.
The perspective of a god was all-encompassing. It was to look upon the entirety of the galaxy, both the immaterial and material realms and know that they lay at your feet. It is to be able to track the movements of the stars in one breath and see the scurrying of a squirrel in another.
What HE saw was both satisfying and frustrating.
Terra gleamed, no longer a polluted husk, but a golden jewel of a world. The hive cities had been torn down, replaced by glittering golden monuments, shining palaces and cathedrals, all linked by gleaming obsidian roads crisscrossing the entire planet.
All chaos and disorder had been swept away. Terra existed in perfect harmony, moving in clockwork.
It was beautiful. Eternal. Unchanging.
There was no crime, corruption, anger, or greed because when HE had ascended and raised the people of Terra with him. HE had unmade their fragile, mortal shells so that they might live as beings of pure spirits. Now they shimmered and danced and sang in his churches, an eternal choir to HIS glory, unencumbered by hunger, sorrow or free will.
Their ghostly song echoed from every corner of Terra, a single prayer repeated upon the lips of a trillion souls, of gratitude for being freed from mortal suffering.
In time, all of mankind would be granted ascension and follow HIM thus.
It had been child's play to reshape Terra thus once he had been reborn, once the barrier between reality and unreality had fallen.
Already, the rest of Sol had joined their Terran brethren.
On Mars, He had granted the deepest desire of the Red Priests and freed them of the weakness of the flesh. Now, they were creatures of pure metal, bound together by ethereal energy. Tireless and needless, they obediently worked to churn out weapons for HIS armies, to build the ships needed for the new Great Crusade.
Venus too, had been reshaped, into a golden world of cathedrals, only slightly less glorious than Terra, the spirits of its inhabitants singing praise of HIS eternal glory.
Even the Sun itself was now his, for HE had made it so. Its light and its flames were HIS to command, as with everything in the cosmos.
HIS Great Crusade continued to march across the galaxy, pouring out of Sol. Golden legions swept across every sector, every star, bringing light and order, and purifying the darkness, pruning the filth such as the aliens, the mutants and the heretics.
Empowered by HIM, HIS armies marched once more to liberate the galaxy. Unlike the Four, HE was still Incarnate, and HIS soldiers shared in that gift. The Veil was no obstacle to them. The Space Marines had become unyielding, obedient spirits inhabiting their suits of armour. As deadly as ever, but without any danger of betrayal. HIS Custodes and HIS Saints, all blessed with a fraction of HIS power, led legions of Imperial soldiers, now no longer unyielding but truly undying.
Nothing could stand in their way.
HE looked upon Obscurus, directly the Eye of Terror, the Four had united at last, their fear of HIS power overcoming their hatred of each other. Even now, as they glowered back at him, HE could see the fear, the way they flinched from HIS light, cowering together like rats.
Creed, one of HIS new saints, HIS Lords of Light, no longer content to merely guard Cadia, had led the armies of the Imperium into the Eye of Terror itself. The Black Legion held Creed at bay, barely.
But their efforts would not last. The ascension of mankind could not be denied.
In another corner of the galaxy, the Silent King had returned, rallying the Tombworlds and mustering armies as undying and eternal as HIS own. Already, they built pylons to block their dominions from HIS sight and shield them from HIS armies. They unleashed weapons which had lain dormant in their vaults for countless aeons, weapons enough to give even HIS Lords and their Legions pause.
That would have to be dealt with, in due time.
Octarius had burst at the seams. He had deployed HIS legions to shatter the brewing menace there, led by one of HIS Bright Lords, a man once named Yarrick.
But the Ork and Tyranid vermin had grown powerful, honed by centuries of warfare. They had proven unexpectedly resilient, evolving in response to the arrival of HIS armies. The stalemate had been broken, but now the xenos threat spilt out across in all directions, living weapons of war seeking to exterminate all life, threatening to cover the galaxy in a tide of green and crimson.
No matter. Nothing could stand against HIS might.
The spectre of a headless giant clad in armour, with hands of pure silver, appeared in front of HIM. Behind the giant was an army of ghostly Astartes, clad in burning, melting armour.
What is thy will, Imperator? Subject Ten asked, kneeling.
SHATTER OCTARIUS.
The silver-handed giant could not nod or bow HIS head. But he was obedient all the same, vanishing promptly with HIS legion.
The silver-handed giant was one of HIS finest and most powerful tools. Octarius would fall.
The ascension of mankind would not be denied.
Once more, HE turned HIS gaze to another part of the galaxy.
The cursed Aeldari fled into the Webway, seeking to hide from HIS light and the retribution for their sins. But it was only a matter of time. Already, the shattered husks of dozens of Craftworlds floated through the Void, their Infinity Circuits broken, every last man, woman and child exterminated, their souls eradicated.
As was only a fitting punishment for the race that had doomed the galaxy.
Those who had fled into the Webway to join their dark kin were only a minority and would die soon. The rift below HIS throne was still there, and he needed only time to pierce through it, to invade the Dark City itself.
The ascension of mankind would not be denied.
There were still those who resisted HIS efforts, imperfect, flawed humans still encumbered by free will who denied HIS glory.
Among them were HIS unfaithful tools, forged in a time when HE had still refused to see free will as folly. Half of them had been corrupted and fallen to the Primordial Annihilator, whom they still served. Those would be extinguished in time.
Several others had fallen, during the Heresy, both those corrupted and not. Others had died in the ten thousand years that had passed between that war and his rebirth.
Of those who had not fallen to Chaos and still lived…
Subject One, who had once proclaimed that loyalty was its own reward, had betrayed HIM, rallying armies of mortals to oppose HIM. Subject One raised HIS own shield as a rallying cry, declaring that HE was a false god who had usurped the true Emperor.
How naive Subject One was. HE remembered how HE had once been like that as well, when HE was still weak, refusing to cast away the shackles of his humanity.
HE had come to understand. Subject One would be made to understand as well…or would die. Disobedience could not be tolerated.
Subject Five was imprisoned somewhere in the depths of the Dark City, and had always been too wild and uncontrollable in any case. Subject Five would likely have to be disposed of once it was found.
Subject Six was beyond his sight, even now, lost in the tides of the Warp. Subject Six would be found eventually, once HE had claimed dominion over the entire Sea of Souls, and imposed peace and order upon it. But for now, Subject Six was lost even to him.
Subject Eighteen had died and did not yet seem to have been resurrected, likely due to the unique nature of that last death, where he had been exposed to the raw energies of the Ork War-Field. It was unclear if a revival would occur at all, but there was at least a possibility.
Subject Nineteen was out there rebelling as well, though it was more subtle in fermenting resurrection than Subject One. It strode through the shadows of the Imperium to whisper rebellion and dissent, striking down the Bright Lords before retreating into the shadows.
But Subject Nineteen could not truly kill them, only temporarily leave them indisposed. HIS Bright Lords would triumph in the end, for they were beyond humanity, truly beyond the weakness of mortals. Even Subject Nineteen would tire in the end, if only for a brief moment. HIS legions would not.
There was one more. One more tool who had not fallen into the thrall of Chaos but defied HIM all the same.
Subject Thirteen.
And here he was now.
The Star Father watched impassively as the doors of HIS throne room swung open, and Subject Thirteen was brought in.
Subject Thirteen was a far cry from the noble patrician he had once been. Its hair was long and messy, and its face was marked with scars and bleeding cuts. Its armour had been taken from it, and it wore only the rough brown cloth allotted to a prisoner, with heavy auramites shackles binding both its feet and legs.
Such was the fate of all those who betrayed HIM.
Nevertheless, Subject Thirteen continued to struggle, for HE had made HIS tools strong. Despite its superficial appearance, Subject Thirteen was still in remarkable physical and mental condition. All biological systems were operating well within parameters. The physical systems only required minimal medical attention and sustenance, and the neurological systems worked as flawlessly as ever.
And Subject Thirteen's soul remained as it had ever been, a brightly shining singularity compressed within a physical vessel, a beautifully constructed masterpiece that shone still.
As was to be expected of HIS work.
But the chains were too heavy, and its captor was too powerful, and despite its prowess, Subject Thirteen could not break free.
"Brother, please, stop this madness," Subject Thirteen gasped out in a ragged voice. "Remember who you are!"
The Angel said nothing, merely looking down at it with an emotionless, metallic face. The Angel was beyond mortal weakness as HE was and would not be swayed by Subject Thirteen's appeal to sentimentality.
Subject Nine had died for HIM, slain by The Arch-Traitor. It had been Subject Nine's death that had at last convinced HIM to cast away HIS weakness so that he could do what needed to be done.
HE had rewarded that sacrifice, by reassembling the shattered fragments of Subject Nine's soul and had been granting him new life as the greatest of HIS Bright Lords, a warrior with razor-sharp wings of golden metal, unstoppable and relentless. Subject Nine's legion had also been reshaped. If not for their patriarch, they would have been purged for the genetic impurities that HE had only come to know of after his entombment.
But despite having kept that secret, Subject Nine's loyalty was unquestionable, and so its Legion had been reborn in fire along with their gene-father, their genetic impurities and mortal flaws removed, now truly angels of light and order.
Some renegades, such as the so-called Lamenters remained, having fled to join the insurgency led by Subject One. For their refusal of HIS mercy, they would die at the hands of their gene-sire.
The Angel forced the Subject Thirteen forward, forcing the renegade to kneel before HIM.
The Thirteenth glowered up at HIM with resentful eyes, its face creased in fury.
I WILL GIVE YOU ONE LAST CHANCE. REPENT. SUBMIT.
The Thirteenth's features twisted as its rage deepened. "Never!" He spat. "I will never kneel to you, abomination."
DISAPPOINTING, BUT NOT UNEXPECTED. YOU WERE ALWAYS ONE OF MY LESS RELIABLE TOOLS.
The Thirteenth's mask remained in place, but HE could see to the soul beneath, how deeply it was truly struck by his words.
Such weakness.
"I am not one of your tools," The Thirteenth spat back.
YES, I REMEMBER. YOU PREFER TO BE CALLED MY SON. NOT TECHNICALLY INACCURATE, BUT NEEDLESSLY EMOTIONAL.
But the Thirteenth was resolute, and this time seemed unaffected by his words. If anything, its defiance and resolve seemed to strengthen. "I only ever had only one father," He said defiantly. "His name was Konor Guilliman."
Subject Thirteen's irrationality was disappointing. HE had designed it to be among the more precise and logical of his tools, but the environment in which it had grown had damaged Subject Thirteen beyond repair.
SO BE IT.
Subject Thirteen rose into the air, struggling against his chains.
IF YOU WILL NOT REPENT WILLINGLY, THEN I MUST SHOW YOU THE ERROR OF YOUR WAYS MYSELF.
A true spark of fear appeared in Subject Thirteen's eyes, but still, it did not repent.
But it did scream as HE reached into the Thirteenth's soul. Calmly, systematically, he stripped away that which made the Thirteenth weak and treasonous.
The human emotions which HE had granted it himself, long ago.
The memories of the planet where it had been raised, its growth and potential stunted by mortals who had not understood what it was or how to shape it. The memories of those caretakers were burned away, one by one.
Once unnecessary emotions and memories had been stripped away, new programming had to be installed. The Thirteenth would remain loyal this time around, one way or another.
Furthermore, HE unlocked the Thirteenth's dormant psychic potential. It would require that power to serve HIM to its fullest potential.
Finally, some minor adjustments were required to the physical form. Not much, merely an imbuing of psychic energy to strengthen and rejuvenate it.
At last, HE lowered the Thirteenth back to the ground.
DO YOU YIELD?
Subject Thirteen's face, no longer flesh but a mask of gold like the Angel's, looked up at him impassively.
"I am at your command, my lord."
THEN RISE, SO THAT YOU MAY ATONE FOR YOUR SINS.
The Thirteenth stood, seemingly unaffected by the chains wrapped around it. But the chains would not be removed. It would wear them for the rest of its existence as a mark of its shame and treason.
GO. RETRIEVE SUBJECT ONE FOR ME. IT WILL NOT BE ABLE TO STAND AGAINST YOUR COMBINED MIGHT.
Subject Thirteen and the Angel bowed, before vanishing in a burst of golden flame to fulfill his commands.
HE returned his attention to more important matters, pausing only a moment to rifle through the memories it had taken from the Thirteenth.
It seemed that the Eldar vermin that Subject Thirteen had made common cause during its tenure as Imperial Regent with were now working with Subject One, albeit very reluctantly. But it seemed both sides did not think they had any choice.
Foolish. Subject One should have known the only correct choice was to return to HIS side. Working with the Eldar was folly, it was why HE had cast out the false goddess Isha when she had come to HIM for refuge-
…no.
When had Isha come to HIM?
She was Nurgle's prisoner and had been since her supposed children had destroyed themselves.
She had also come to HIM to ask for refuge, and HE had cast her back into the Immaterium.
HE had torn her apart and taken her power for HIS own.
HE had killed her when she had drawn a Craftworld to Sol, before razing the Craftworld and plundering its technology.
All of these were true, and none of them were true.
HE stepped back from the mortal realm and expanded his gaze.
History was changing. The web of time was being altered.
Unacceptable.
HE was the only one who could save humanity. HIS ascension was the only form the Golden Path could take. HIS younger, weaker self, chained by human weakness could not do what needed to be done.
HE had reached back through time to ensure that HIS ascension was inevitable. HIS machinations were small and limited, for reaching across time was a difficult task indeed, but no grand changes were required. HIS younger self was weak, but would still make the choices necessary to become HIM. Only a few minor adjustments were required to ensure HIS younger self stayed on the correct path.
But something must have changed now or HE would not have conflicting memories.
HE cast his gaze back across time, searching for the answer, for a disturbance that would ripple out across history.
After an eternity and yet only after a moment, HE found it.
One of the measures HE had taken to ensure HIS existence was to cast a veil around the Golden Throne. Nothing overt, merely something to ensure HIS younger self would only see what was expected, and not the truth of the path forward.
Now, HE watched as Isha showed HIS younger self the Veil, and both of them stared up at HIM, with horror and incomprehension in their eyes.
HIS light was too much for them to bear, weak fools that they were and soon they retreated, but they had seen HIM now.
HIS younger self had seen HIS destiny, and would not understand why it was necessary, why it was the only way forward, the only possible result of his choices.
HE would have to take more overt measures. The false goddess poured poison into HIS younger self's ear, stoking doubt, encouraging weakness and fear.
She would have to be dealt with and HIS younger self set back on the correct path. The Golden Path.
It would not be easy. To work across time was a difficult task even for one of HIS power and knowledge.
But HE was not unduly concerned. Fate and history were on his side. Isha and HIS younger self had to remake history. HE only had to ensure it continued down its proper course.
HE was the Star Father, the One True God. HE had no peers, not in the present nor in the past.
For HIM to lose was simply impossible.
The ascension of mankind would not be denied.