My Life as A Death Guard
Chapter 456: The Imperium Secundus, Formally Established!
In the ninth month after the fall of the Lord of the Underworld, in the ninth month after the Astronomican was extinguished—
Imperium Secundus was founded.
This marked a phased victory in achieving regional stability across the Imperium since the galaxy was torn apart.
. . .
The resplendent eternal sun of Baal cast golden light across the land.
On the high platform, within the only patch of shadow, Konrad Curze shifted uneasily, though he maintained the silence required of him.
It had begun.
The sound of golden boots striking the ground rang out.
"My faithful, my people!"
The majestic voice of the Great Angel echoed across the expanse. He stood upon the platform before the cathedral. Below him, tens of thousands of warriors stood in formation; countless Titans, Knights, and Stormbirds hummed with restless engines.
Behind him, atop the grand cathedral, countless pure white statues gazed downward upon their favored son. Stone-carved drapery flowed from their smooth, curved arms.
The people looked to him—those eyes that had endured endless suffering now fixed upon him. In their hands, some clutched golden aquila icons, others crude statues of the Angel. Their lips moved ceaselessly in prayer.
For the God-Emperor.
Spreading his wings—each feather shimmering with iridescent light—Sanguinius cried out:
"I know that simply standing here, simply maintaining your purity, has already cost you everything you have."
As he spoke, the wind rose fiercely.
"I know that you have come here—to Baal, under the protection of the Legion—hoping to find a place where you may live out the rest of your lives in peace."
His vast wings were lifted by the wind, and naturally, the Great Angel rose into the air.
For a fleeting moment, all those on the ground seemed to glimpse a tear of golden light upon his cheek.
"But I cannot help but tell you this—"
Sanguinius sighed.
"I cannot promise you a peaceful future. The galaxy is burning. At every moment, wars capable of tearing entire worlds apart rage on. Evil lurks within the darkness, watching us always."
A murmur of unrest spread through the crowd. They did not speak, but huddled closer together like anxious lambs, their eyes filled with fear.
"Yes," the Great Angel continued softly, "For humanity, this is hell."
"I have seen daemons with my own eyes—those blasphemous beings. Hell is real. They are as the oldest myths describe: vile, corrupt, and repulsive."
"They torment our souls without restraint, taking joy in the fall of the pure. Our suffering is the nourishment upon which they grow stronger."
"They are the devils born from the deepest, most hidden desires within our hearts."
His wings shone in Baal's rising sun, each white feather drenched in radiant gold.
"What should I…"
The Great Angel lowered his gaze, as if looking into every soul present, gently asking whether they remained pure.
"What should I do to save you?"
His voice was soft, almost dissolving into the wind—yet every person heard it clearly, as though it sounded beside their very soul.
"What should I do to save you?"
He asked again. A tear fell, blossoming into a crystalline flower in the wind before vanishing in an instant.
"This is a war to determine whether we can remain pure. I need the bravest warriors not to indulge in battle, the kindest healers not to cling to life, the wisest scholars not to lose themselves in books, the most exacting artisans not to become obsessed with their craft—"
"I need you to cast aside joy, anger, desire, and obsession. I need you…"
His voice faltered.
"This is too cruel."
The words broke apart in the wind.
"It is too cruel. No matter how I try, I cannot convince myself to demand this of you."
Tears fell one after another, as though Sanguinius meant to shed every tear of his life—every trace of unwillingness, pain, and anger—until nothing remained but the Angel beyond sorrow and tears.
"I cannot do it… but I know this is the best path I can offer you."
He spread his arms, as if to embrace those who loved him, those willing to entrust their lives to him.
Sanguinius… they are willing to give themselves to you, so why do you hesitate to give yourself to them?
You must dissolve yourself into that endless sea of humanity, until nothing of yourself remains.
Let faith remake you.
"Remain steadfast in your loyalty as human beings. Hold fast to your original souls, this is the only path through this hell that does not cost us what we are. I ask you to lose much; we will lose much. What we relinquish will be exchanged for the final dignity of being human."
"We are human."
Sanguinius trembled as he spoke. The words seemed to drain all his strength.
"By the God-Emperor above, He has granted us the right to be born pure and free. We are human, we are not meant to be slaves."
"Those blasphemous things, those maddened whispers that murmur beside our weary souls—they want us to abandon our purity. They want us to fall, to become demons—to become their slaves."
Sanguinius paused. In the light of the rising sun, his wings seemed to ignite.
"No," the Great Angel said firmly.
"No. I look upon each of you—every human who has come to Baal—and I see your souls shining. I cannot… I cannot bear to witness the fall of such radiant purity."
"I see that no human soul—whether poor or noble, sane or broken, whole or shattered—can accept the truth of what comes after that fall. It is an evil beyond the limits of thought."
The Angel fell silent. His tears glimmered.
"But I cannot harden my heart…" he murmured softly.
"So, I ask you—"
Sanguinius spoke gently, patiently, as though he were not a Primarch.
Someone of his station should never speak this way to commoners and refugees.
But he was not merely a man. He was Sanguinius. He was the Great Angel.
Only a son of a god could show such mercy, such compassion.
Beneath his wings, the tightly packed crowd felt it.
"I ask you—remain pure. Remain loyal. Remain… proud to be human."
His soft words drifted downward, as did the Angel himself from the storm winds. The raging gale subsided into a warm, gentle breeze.
The tip of his adamantine boot touched the ground without a sound.
He folded his wings and looked upon the people with kindness.
"Whether you can achieve this or not—whether you steadfastly walk the path of purity, or tragically fall—at this moment, I see you. I see your resolve in standing here, and I offer you my most sincere blessing—"
The Great Angel stepped forward to the edge of the platform.
"May the God-Emperor protect you."
The words fell.
Silence—utter, absolute silence.
The people stared at him, tears streaming down their faces. Words were caught in their throats, but none could speak.
No sound, no oath, could match this moment.
The Great Angel raised his hand and casually wiped away the traces of tears that no longer existed. A radiant smile returned to his face.
Azkaellon stepped forward and handed him his Spear of Telesto. The Great Angel raised it high.
"Now—for the final flame to burn within this hell, for humanity to remain forever pure—I declare: the Imperium Secundus is established today!"
In response came a tidal wave of roaring voices and sworn oaths.
The Great Angel smiled—a smile that seemed to come from the depths of his soul. He tilted his head slightly, and beside him, two other giants stepped forward.
Yet at this moment, all was overshadowed by the radiant, golden presence of Sanguinius.
Lion El'Jonson pressed his lips tightly together as he approached. He cast a brief glance at Sanguinius, then deliberately looked away.
His neatly combed golden hair reflected the light, and in his hand, the Lion Sword remained silent and solemn.
The First Knight stood at the Angel's right—his most powerful blade.
Konrad Curze hid himself beneath his hood and the shadows, standing slightly trembling at Sanguinius's left. He said nothing, as if completely immersed in his own world.
But at least… he was no longer having an episode.
The Night Haunter stood at the Angel's left, becoming his harshest scale of judgment.
Under the radiance of the Angel, this unreliable, teetering triangle seemed—just barely—to take on a semblance of stability.
They would continue to teeter. Continue to struggle on.
. . .
On the other side—
"Mortarion, your wings are bumping into me."
Angron, responding to the roaring cheers of the crowd, shot Mortarion a sideways glance. The Pale Lord offered no visible reaction.
And then Roboute Guilliman suddenly felt something massive shift behind him—something like an insect.
Beside him, Angron staggered slightly, trying not to make it obvious.
"Hey!" Angron hissed under his breath.
"Quiet—" Guilliman whispered.
Emperor above, he thought, thank the cheers of the crowd celebrating the provisional government—they're drowning us out.
"By Terra… could you at least give me some face and behave until this political farce is over?" Guilliman muttered.
He realized in despair that, aside from himself, the other two Primarchs present had absolutely zero sense of the political weight of this moment.
And now, the three of them stood back-to-back—just to hide Mortarion's damned enormous wings!
Emperor preserve us…
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