Under Athena's deterrent force, the shadow of the Zerg was finally and completely driven from the soil of Mar Sara.
The surface, once consumed by black-purple creep, was now exposed again. The cracked, scorched earth still bore the scars of the swarm's rampage: acid-eaten metal skeletons, collapsed building wreckage, and pools of organic mucilage not yet fully evaporated.
The remaining Zerg hiding in underground hives also vanished following the defeat of their bioship fleet.
But the cost of victory was staggering—
Once-thriving towns lay in ruins. The streets were littered with twisted alloy fragments, and the blackened building frameworks stood silently like the bones of dead beasts beneath the yellowish sky.
The air still reeked of charred remains. Occasionally, distant crumbling noises echoed.
However, the reconstruction efforts were now in full swing.
Countless Hex robots moved like worker ants among the shattered ruins, efficiently sorting recyclable materials.
Nanorepair agents sprayed from their nozzles formed thin liquid films on damaged walls, which then restructured and regenerated at visible speed, restoring salvageable buildings as much as possible.
Large engineering-class Predators were tasked with the most demanding clean-up work. As their alloy limbs stepped across the rubble, the ground trembled slightly. Their hydraulically powered arms effortlessly lifted hundreds of tons of debris, opening new paths amidst the chaos.
At the reconstruction zone's edge, Terminator units maintained a tight patrol network. Crimson scanning beams swept over the shadows, ensuring no hidden threats could disrupt the rebuilding.
The new city had already accepted all survivors, but as a strategic hub equipped with a space gate, Mar Sara's future was far more than that.
By the Empire's highest standards, it would be transformed into an interstellar political center, trade node, and military fortress.
A holographic projection suspended above the new city displayed a grand blueprint—
A towering administrative center, built with sharp geometric lines, symbolized order and authority.
A massive starport stretched for dozens of kilometers, with berths large enough to house an entire fleet.
The military academy complex featured streamlined architecture and the most advanced tactical simulation systems.
The street layout followed the golden ratio, with greenbelts and energy nodes interwoven, balancing functionality with aesthetics.
And now, in the Imperial cathedral beside the central plaza of the new city—
Athena stood atop a high platform, explaining the principles of the Codex of Humanity to a gathering of young citizens.
Her voice was gentle yet powerful, each syllable resonating like a bell under the cathedral's dome.
Her gaze swept across every focused face, illuminating their expressions like the morning star.
"The Emperor's will is not only reflected in strength of arms, but in how we construct our civilization."
She turned delicately to Chapter Seven of the Codex. The pages made a crisp rustling sound. "The clauses on citizen rights and obligations clearly state: the freedom of the individual must be based on the survival of the collective, while the collective's strength must rest upon the dignity of each individual.
Therefore—"
Suddenly, her lecture halted.
A sensation beyond normal comprehension surged through her nerves like an electric current, making her abruptly look up.
Her eyes pierced the cathedral's transparent dome, fixed on the northern sky.
There, an abnormal golden light was tearing through the clouds, plummeting toward the surface like a falling star.
Athena fell silent.
Her pupils contracted slightly as her psionic senses rippled outward and instantly recognized the familiar energy pattern in that golden light—
It wasn't a meteor, nor an Imperial artifact, but something she had once encountered.
"This concludes today's lesson."
She closed the Codex, her voice still calm, yet carrying an unyielding authority. "Chapter Seven's content, please study it independently. I will address your questions tomorrow."
The young people exchanged glances, then quickly stood, saluted in unison, and left in an orderly manner.
No one asked further, though their eyes couldn't help but dart toward the dazzling golden glow in the north.
As the cathedral doors closed behind them, Athena's figure vanished like a phantom.
She looked up. Her eyes reflected the streak growing ever closer in the sky. Without hesitation, she bent her knees—tiles beneath her feet cracked—
Boom!
A sonic boom exploded as she shot into the sky, transforming into a golden streak that disappeared beyond the new city's towering defensive walls.
Those still lingering in the plaza looked up. Some raised hands to shield their eyes from the dust stirred by her passage.
"Every time I see the Goddess of War move, it feels like a special effect from a holographic movie…" a ponytailed girl murmured.
Her companion chuckled. "I heard the Human Emperor single-handedly wiped out an entire Star League fleet. Compared to that, the Goddess is probably just the tip of the Imperial iceberg."
Their voices faded into the wind.
No one panicked at the golden meteor.
By now, Mar Sara's residents had grown used to "anomalies."
Perhaps it was youth that made them adaptable, or perhaps the Human Empire's mythical qualities—Astartes, gods walking among them—had made the supernatural commonplace even to average citizens.
A golden light falling from the sky?
Just another "research sample" worth logging.
Clouds roared past her ears.
Athena gathered psionic energy along her skin, forming a field that let her cut through the air like an arrow.
The terrain below shifted rapidly—from the new city's metallic domes to the suburban regrowth forests, then to the vast crimson desert.
Her communicator buzzed: "Recon squadrons have locked onto your location and are flying in formation at your two o'clock."
"Maintain distance," Athena replied curtly. "The target's psionic signature is stable. No alert required."
As her words fell, the golden light struck the surface.
But there was no explosive impact. It decelerated unnaturally, as if caught by an invisible hand, and gently settled into a shallow crater barely twenty meters wide.
Athena landed lightly at the crater's edge.
The wind brushed against her garments and soft armor, creating faint rustling sounds.
At the bottom of the crater lay a curled-up figure, no larger than a human child, its body encased in a semi-transparent golden crystalline layer that was slowly evaporating under the desert heat, forming wisps of golden mist.
She stepped down into the crater.
As the distance closed, the silhouette beneath the crystal became clearer—a child in human form.
Athena's breath caught.
The moment the crystal layer fully dissipated, she saw the child's face clearly: soft black hair, exquisitely sculpted features.
The brow, the nose bridge, the lips—it was almost a miniature version of the Human Emperor, Samuel Young. A perfect Huaxia face, scaled down to child size.
The child's eyelashes were long, casting delicate shadows under the desert sun. His skin was pale to the point of transparency, yet radiant with health.
And then, the "child" awoke.
He blinked. His thick lashes fluttered like butterfly wings before he opened his eyes slowly.
They were pure black, deep as starless space, yet so clear they held no impurities.
When the newborn primarch's gaze fell upon Athena, there was no fear, no confusion—only a calm awareness, as if he had expected to meet her here all along.
He slightly raised his hand, his fingers still damp with melting crystal, reaching toward her—not grasping, but simply wishing to touch.
Athena felt something stir softly in her chest.
Years ago, when the Emperor took newborn Ferrus from her, she had silently stood by the pillars, without a word or complaint. But she still remembered the faint warmth of that tiny body at her fingertips.
Now, fate had delivered a new primarch to her.
"It's all right now…" she heard herself say in a voice gentler than she had ever used while teaching, "I'm here."
She knelt before the child as if handling a fragile treasure.
When her palm cradled his back, she could feel his steady heartbeat.
His body was warm and weightless—like a nascent star. He didn't resist; instead, he nestled into her arms as if he had done it a thousand times before.
Athena carefully lifted him.
His soft black hair brushed her chin, carrying the warmth of sunlit air.
The newborn's tiny hand subconsciously clutched a strand of her golden hair—lightly, but enough to make her heart melt a little more.
At that moment, footsteps approached the crater rim.
The recon squad had arrived, fully armed, but froze the instant they saw the scene below—
Their awe-inspiring Goddess of War, the legendary "Golden Terror," was now holding a black-haired child in a textbook newborn cradle posture.
Even more shocking was the expression on her face—
Her typically stern features had softened to an unbelievable degree, and the corner of her mouth held a faint, almost imperceptible smile.
"Shut down all recording devices."
Athena gave the order without even lifting her head. Her voice was soft but absolute. "After this is uploaded to the main universe, no private discussion or sharing is permitted."
She walked out of the crater with the child in her arms. Every step was deliberately gentle, as if afraid to disturb the peacefully sleeping child.
When she reached the rim, the recon squad leader couldn't help but whisper, "Ma'am… is that child…"
Sunlight filtered through the desert dust, casting golden specks across the boy's eyelashes.
Perhaps disturbed by the voice, he stirred in Athena's arms and clutched her tunic tighter.
"He is the Emperor's descendant. And humanity's hope," Athena whispered as she gently brushed crystal dust from the boy's hair. Her last words came as a sigh, "He is also the child I've waited so long for…"
She didn't finish the thought.
But the soldiers all saw: when the child, in sleep, nuzzled against her chest, the Iron-hearted Goddess of War—had tears in her eyes.
Meanwhile, in the Main Universe—
Within the meditative chamber deep in the Imperial Palace, an eternal silence was broken by a ripple that transcended dimensions.
The spotless floor reflected a star chart dome overhead. The glowing blue lines forming the Empire's boundaries—seemingly drawn with liquid psy-energy—trembled slightly.
Upon the Golden Throne, Samuel Young slowly opened his eyes.
He wore no black-gold war armor, only a loose robe. Ancient Chinese characters embroidered in dark gold thread coiled across the obsidian fabric.
Neural interface cables hanging from the throne lay like slumbering silver serpents on the floor.
A perception that surpassed all spatial limits stirred gently in his mind.
"…So that's how it is."
His low murmur echoed through the vast hall.
No image transmission was needed. Within his psionic vision, he had already seen the child who had descended across the veil of universes.
He saw Athena's silver figure walking through desert wind. Saw her hair brush the boy's cheek as she bent. Felt the heartbeat of that tiny chest.
Yet that very omniscience made Samuel's brow crease—just slightly.
His fingers tapped the throne's armrest unconsciously.
Because—
He realized that the newborn was not Chogoris Khan, the famed Primarch of the White Scars, long described and illustrated in Warhammer 40k lore.
No.
This child… was a complete anomaly.
"Your Majesty?"
At the base of the throne, Ap noticed something amiss and was the first to speak.
Melissa also turned to look up at Samuel, as if they could never quite understand why the Emperor would sometimes gaze into the void—at sights no mortal could see.
"It's nothing," Samuel said, withdrawing his gaze. "Dispatch a technical team capable of formulating nutrients for a primarch. Have them depart immediately for Universe 18 (StarCraft) to assist the Goddess of War Athena in caring for the newborn."
Ap and Melissa immediately understood and replied in unison:
"Yes, Your Majesty."
Silence returned to the meditation chamber.
The figure upon the Golden Throne once again fell still, lit only by the pale blue light of the starmap casting shadows across his face.
Samuel's thoughts wandered through the mists of time, tracing back to ancient records that had been deliberately erased—
If the primarch who descended upon Mar Sara was not Chogoris Khan of the Fifth Legion, then only two possibilities remained: one of the two erased legions of Warhammer 40k—the Second or the Eleventh.
Before his transmigration, Samuel had known that two legions and their primarchs had been completely erased from Imperial records, to the point that the remaining primarchs remembered nothing about them.
Yet in Warhammer 40k, Fulgrim once mocked the Second Legion's primarch as being extremely hypocritical, while Dorn and Guilliman had pleaded on behalf of another missing legion.
It's likely that the Ultramarines' unusual size was due to absorbing remnants of the erased legions—explaining why the Five Hundred Worlds had such disproportionate numbers…
(End of Chapter)
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