"Why isn't there any response?"
After Eden sent a psychic message to the Emperor, nothing came back. The connection was like a stone sinking into the sea.
He frowned slightly.
"Sigh… Don't tell me the old man fell asleep again. It's happening more and more often."
Once Eden confirmed the problem, his consciousness plunged into the Warp, seizing control of the Hope Sun.
These days, his awareness rode the Hope Sun, the Tyranid Hive Mind, the Ork Waaagh! field, and his clone bodies, darting back and forth between the galaxy and the Immaterium.
Manipulating the board.
He'd even started to understand what it felt like for the Emperor to spend all these years as a godlike presence, handing out blessings and raising Living Saints wherever His will reached.
The old man could be stubborn all he wanted, but this was no different from what the Chaos Gods did.
That sensation of controlling everything was addictive. It was intoxicating.
Power beyond any mortal throne, a god perched above life itself, directly gripping the body, mind, and faith of living beings.
If your will was even a little weak, it would be easy to lose yourself in that kind of might, becoming a prisoner of the Warp.
For the Emperor to stay lucid all this time, to refuse to admit He was a god, was honestly impressive.
Eden held himself together too. Mostly because the Emperor was still there to keep him in check.
Eden knew that no matter how hard he popped off, he'd never be scarier than the Sacred Sun popping off.
In the galaxy and the Warp alike, who wasn't terrified of that ultimate, apocalyptic powder keg?
In that situation, even the Chaos Gods probably couldn't sleep. They likely dreamed every day of eliminating the threat.
And they probably had never stopped planning.
Eden narrowed his thoughts.
If one day the Chaos Gods truly launched a massive assault on the Imperial Palace of Holy Terra, they would have a way to neutralize that danger.
The moment they attacked, it would be a final war of mutual annihilation. Kill or be killed.
He thought of the endless large-scale harassment Chaos kept inflicting on the Imperium. It felt like they were setting up something huge, with Erebus leading the charge.
"Right now, defenses across the Imperium are stable. The Chaos Gods are probably trying to pin down Imperial forces, stopping me from getting Vigilus's blackstone."
"Beyond that, they shouldn't be able to cause any major damage to the Imperium."
That was the conclusion he reached, but the next second, a ridiculous thought bubbled up in his mind—
They wouldn't actually try to attack Holy Terra and deal with the Emperor, would they? Seriously?
Eden quickly dismissed it as unlikely.
At least for now, across the galaxy and the Warp, there still wasn't a real method that could threaten the Emperor.
Unless they'd gone completely insane and wanted to drag the Imperium down with them.
Besides, Holy Terra's defenses had been reinforced again. It should be fine.
Eden's thoughts scattered wildly. This was one of the curses of higher life: a vast mind saw too much, and it was always, always thinking.
And it wasn't one track. It was many tracks at once.
For Eden—still inhabiting a human body, still trying to live like a human—it felt like never being able to rest.
It was awful.
He forced his attention back to the present. What mattered most right now was resolving the crisis on Fanes.
But when he looked through the Hope Sun and saw the black energy boiling across the Sacred Sun, he hesitated again.
The Emperor's golden essence was retreating. Dark power was steadily gaining ground, like sunspots rampaging across a sphere.
These days, the old man was awake for shorter and shorter spans, like an elderly man entering his twilight.
And yet, the truth was the exact opposite.
The Emperor wasn't growing weak.
He was growing stronger—so strong that even the Sacred Spire's pressure-release couldn't keep up.
To the point that the old man had to rely on sleep to suppress it.
"Damn… It feels like some kind of horrifying countdown is about to start. This is seriously creeping me out…"
Eden drew in a sharp breath.
The darkness inside the Emperor felt like it was about to break free at any moment.
Eden could feel the Sacred Sun's might, and the pressure of that immense darkness, constantly, and the pressure was getting heavier.
He realized he'd fallen into an impossible triangle.
Guilliman's return had shoved an Imperium that was barely breathing into the ICU.
Eden's appearance had dragged it back from the brink, carving out the rot bit by bit, restoring it toward strength.
The Imperium was trending toward greatness again, toward takeoff, accelerating into a fast lane of recovery and development.
The problem was that the stronger the Imperium became, the stronger the Emperor inevitably became, slipping deeper and deeper into a profound blackening.
Eden had siphoned off a small portion of the faith, and used the Sacred Spire to vent the pressure, but at best that only slowed the danger. It didn't cure it.
But if Eden erased the Emperor's influence entirely, then all that faith would crush down on Eden instead.
Which meant Eden would replace the old man on the toilet.
That would be even worse.
So Eden could only take it one step at a time. The Imperium was too massive, and people still needed to eat. You couldn't just halt development.
The future depended on how far Perturabo's Warp-tech research and the Imperium's reforms could be pushed.
For now, the plan was to see whether they could build a massive device capable of suppressing Warp energy, something that could cover the old man.
Basically, building a cage around the Golden Throne and the surrounding region. It was a little hellish, but there was no better option.
They had to accomplish it before the Emperor lost consciousness completely and fled the Golden Throne.
That required an ocean of blackstone.
During this period, they also needed to reclaim all territories in Imperium Nihilus as fast as possible, reduce faith-production, and shift the old theocratic model into centralized unity and scientific governance.
Other crusade forces were being prepared as well, not just the Veiled Expanse expeditionary army Eden led personally.
Once the Vigilus campaign ended—once they reclaimed what remained of this sector's Nihilus territories and happily harvested the blackstone—they would launch a full-scale offensive.
As for the Ecclesiarchy itself, religious reform had to go deeper.
From what Eden had seen in the Nachmund Gauntlet's Third Diocese—
The Ecclesiarchy's very existence was already interfering with the New Imperium's development blueprint.
This former root-faith of the Imperium had to be comprehensively reformed. Portions of belief had to be redirected to Eden, yes, but the bloated bureaucracy also had to be cut to the bone.
Then they'd establish a department to issue preacher licenses.
No license, no loyalty. No praying whenever you felt like it.
That way, the next generation of Imperial citizens would gradually lose their habit of faith-worship and replace it with worship of authority.
And Eden himself would slowly hide his miracles, appearing only as the Emperor of the Imperium.
Reducing how much the human mind shaped the Warp.
All of these plans were moving forward, step by step.
At last, Eden suppressed his chaotic thoughts.
He fixed his gaze on the Sacred Sun and made his decision.
He'd wake the old man.
"The Vigilus campaign affects the Imperium's future development. I'll have to trouble him to move a little."
"Fortunately, it's not something that should take too much effort."
Eden still vividly remembered the Emperor's terrifying display when He burned Nurgle's Garden.
Doing that again now would be a problem.
Not because it couldn't be done—but because if it was done with that level of violence, it might splash back onto the Imperium and end in mutual destruction.
Being too strong was its own kind of headache.
Eden used the Hope Sun to fire another pulse of psychic force, slamming it into the Sacred Sun with a dull boom.
Soon enough, he woke the Emperor and relayed the situation.
The Emperor was furious, brimming with killing intent.
Eden understood. These days, the Emperor still disliked xenos, but He had tolerated the existence of xenos technology.
He had seen the changes it brought.
Under those circumstances, was Fanes still a "xenos world"?
No.
It was an essential resource node for the Imperium's development.
The Third Diocese's actions had unquestionably crossed the old man's line.
"You're absolutely right. Leaving those Ecclesiarchy vermin alive… How are we supposed to run the Imperium properly?!"
Eden felt the same. The Third Diocese couldn't be allowed to remain, even if it was one of the Veiled Sector's largest dioceses, tied to countless high-ranking figures.
A bloody purge was inevitable.
When Eden saw the Emperor marshal power and summon the Legion of the Damned, his consciousness returned to Fanes.
But before he could stabilize, he felt Fanes's chaos and screaming.
After the loyal world was declared heretical by the Third Diocese, both Necrons and human citizens fell into extreme confusion.
They didn't even know what they were fighting for anymore, and hatred started to ignite.
Eden watched the Third Diocese fleet glide forward, and he began his own move.
The Emperor's Legion of the Damned was insurance, but Eden couldn't do nothing. Who knew what might happen in the meantime?
What if the Chaos Gods sent something to pin the Legion down?
In that case, Eden had to try to obstruct the attackers himself, raise the success rate of stopping them as much as possible—even if he could only increase the odds by a hair.
He mobilized the forces the preaching saints had seeded.
In a sewage conduit deep in the underhive, several preaching saints were praying to the great Four-Armed Savior.
Before them, a dark yellow spore pod was devouring surrounding biomass with reckless hunger.
With a loud crack, the spore pod split open. A streamlined, over-three-meter Tyranid bioform slid out, thrashing in the filth.
It was a mutated Hive Tyrant.
Its head was massive, bulging high, more like a hybrid of a Gargoyle and a Zoanthrope.
Within seconds, the mutant Hive Tyrant's limp body hardened with strength, its chitin blackening and turning rigid.
Hiss!
It bared its claws and burst upward, wings snapping wide as it shot out of the conduit, climbing through gaps in the hive city toward the sky.
Its target was the black mass of the Third Diocese fleet.
That was Eden's control, and also the only high-tier flying unit he could control on Fanes.
If it could infiltrate the command ship's interior, that would be best. Even causing some internal chaos and delaying them would help.
Beyond that, Eden—bearing the will of the Imperium's Emperor—was about to confront Fanes directly.
He could only hope there was still time.
…
More than ten minutes earlier, in the palace atop the primary hive.
News of the Imperial fleet's arrival spread like wildfire. The court had turned into a sea of celebration. Anxiety vanished from every official's face, replaced by smiling relief.
Nearly two hundred years.
At last, they had seen a fleet from the Imperium.
Earlier, Fanes's great earthquake had thrown hearts into panic, and vast regions had suffered terrifying geological disaster.
And the invasion of xenos heresy was imminent.
Now, Fanes's long wait had finally received its answer. This world would return to the Imperium's embrace, bathed in the Emperor's holy light.
Everything would get better.
The master of ceremonies hurried into the governor's office.
"My lord, the Imperial fleet has arrived in orbit over Fanes. Shall we begin the reception rites?"
Tears shone in his eyes. With emotion surging, his voice sharpened.
He had prepared for this moment for far too long.
Soon, he would accompany the governor to welcome the Imperium's honored lords. It might be the most glorious moment of his life.
That scene would be recorded by Imperial chroniclers for posterity to revere.
Rustle.
Stacks of parchment toppled to the floor.
Governor Zhabok the Uncrowned—his body of living metal—had been handling emergency matters nonstop since the geological disaster began.
This good news hit him like a surge of fire.
He ignored the fallen documents and sprang to his feet.
"By the Emperor. Fanes has finally waited long enough to see this day!"
If this living-metal governor had still been a normal human, his eyes would already be wet.
Years of yearning, fulfilled. Fanes was about to receive redemption. The shadow of destruction would disperse.
"Tax officer, where are my files? We must report Fanes's situation to the Imperium's lords in person."
"This world's loyalty has never wavered. Our sacred tithe obligations have never ceased. Fanes needs the Imperium's protection more than ever!"
Zhabok urgently called for the tax officer to prepare the relevant documents, so they could describe the planet's situation in detail.
He wanted the Imperium to recognize the loyalty and effort of Fanes's citizens. If they could be commended, all the better.
Because of the arrival of the Third Diocese fleet, the palace sank into feverish activity.
But everyone did it gladly.
For once, Zhabok stepped away from work and began preparations for the meeting with open impatience.
With attendants helping, he donned his ornate ceremonial robes, symbolic of his station. He carefully adjusted his wrinkled metal face and applied powder.
He feared his sickly visage might sour the Imperium lords' mood, leaving them with a poor impression of Fanes.
Zhabok gently wiped the Imperial aquila badge in his hand and pinned it to his chest.
Then he looked at himself in the full-length mirror set with gems and nodded in satisfaction.
Now he looked like a tall noble, overflowing with loyalty to the Imperium.
"Have the Imperium's lords responded yet?"
Zhabok sensed something off and turned to question the administrator who had just entered. The man's expression was wrong.
The Imperial fleet had arrived in a hurry. Perhaps they had received Fanes's plea for aid and dispatched a force immediately.
That wasn't an easy thing.
"M-My lord… The Imperium refused our communications."
"And they said… Fanes is heretical!"
The administrator was shaken, and his manner was bordering on insolent.
Zhabok froze at the words. The room around him went quiet.
He had imagined the Imperium might be angry. He had imagined they might question why Fanes had been cut off.
But the concept of "Fanes is heretical" had never once crossed his mind.
Or rather, it wasn't even a thought that could exist in the minds of Fanes's people.
They were the Emperor's loyal faithful, the Imperium's loyal citizens.
"Emperor… How could this be…"
The living-metal governor stood there blankly, as if his soul had been knocked loose. The Imperium's reply stabbed straight through him.
"That must be… a misunderstanding. Fanes is loyal."
After a moment, Zhabok forced out the words.
"Tell the Imperium's lords I will go personally and explain Fanes's situation."
"We are not heretics. We have always fulfilled the sacred—"
He didn't finish.
A proclamation broadcast by the Third Diocese fleet's massive vox-amplifiers cut him off.
The elderly voice that rolled down into the hive was lofty, saturated with contempt and disgust:
"Wretched heathens of Fanes, I am Archbishop Frekbor of the Nachmund Third Diocese, the great evangelist of the Holy Faith."
"You have profaned and defiled the sanctity of the Imperium."
"In the name of Holy Terra and the Emperor, this ground has been judged a total heretical rebellion. All heretical traitors must face trial."
"No matter how you argue, conceal, or repent, the truth is unchanging."
"You are heretical rebels, and you shall suffer divine punishment."
"The Emperor's wrath has arrived. Fanes cannot escape."
Archbishop Frekbor's words were a death sentence for the planet—and they left Zhabok and the court officials lost in confusion and grief.
Their heat and expectation for the Imperium turned to ice.
They looked toward the carved holy icon in the governor's office, and only one question remained in their hearts—
How did we become heretics?
Before they could even react, the primary hive shuddered again.
Officials lost their footing and fell hard.
Then messages poured in.
The Imperial fleet had used Fanes's trust to launch an orbital strike, driving a blade into the loyal world's burning heart.
Boom, boom, boom—
The Third Diocese fleet, premeditated and prepared, poured endless fire onto orbital bastions and hive districts.
Many defense zones were caught completely off guard and were smashed to pieces.
The strikes were so precise, as if they had already mapped every weakness in the planet's already-fragile orbital defense grid.
Worse, some hives had lost their void shields entirely—power lines had been damaged by the geological disaster.
Torpedoes and plasma lances slammed into hive sectors, throwing up flames kilometers high.
"Activate all defense protocols. Stop the bombardment!"
Zhabok trembled violently as he issued the defensive order, but he still clung to hope.
He did not order an attack on the Imperial fleet.
Fanes's loyal citizens held too much awe for the Imperium and the Emperor. They still clung to fantasy—fantasy that this was all a misunderstanding.
Even if they did counterattack, Fanes's defenses would struggle to threaten the ships above.
Zhabok summoned the Royal Guard and boarded a crescent craft.
He would personally go to the Imperial command ship and explain Fanes's situation to the Imperium's lords.
To clear the misunderstanding.
Inside the craft, Zhabok stared at the fires burning across the world, his chest full of grievance and rage.
He didn't understand how it had come to this. He didn't understand why the Imperium was attacking Fanes.
"My lord, shall we activate the Tomb Fleet?"
The Phaeron's turmoil was affecting the Royal Guard and more Necrons. Certain memories were stirring awake.
A senior Cryptek transmitted a signal, offering the suggestion.
Buried beneath Fanes's surface lay the legacy of the Karlozasa crownworld.
A fleet vast enough to be called enormous, unstoppable. It could easily annihilate the attacking Imperial fleet.
But the moment that fleet awakened, it would cause irreversible devastation to Fanes's surface.
Every hive city would be shattered. Countless lives would be lost.
That was why Zhabok the Uncrowned had never activated it. He had even refused to awaken more tombs.
He feared they would damage Fanes's environment.
"No."
"No matter what, we cannot harm the Imperium's citizens on Fanes. That is the behavior of heretics and xenos."
"I believe the misunderstanding can be resolved!"
Zhabok still refused. He clung to the last thread of hope.
Besides, once the Tomb Fleet awakened, there would be no going back.
It would become a war to the death between the Imperium and the Karlozasa Dynasty.
But the instant he finished speaking, the Royal Guard's shields flared.
The next moment, a torpedo struck the crescent craft.
It spun out of control, plummeting toward the hive city.
"What the hell? That xenos ship is unbelievably unlucky."
Eden, controlling the mutated Hive Tyrant, beat its wings hard, weaving through gunfire and debris as it clawed toward space.
He watched the burning crescent craft cut past him, spinning, before it smashed into the hive structures below.
Then Eden spotted something familiar—something else falling toward the ground.
A massive torpedo.
His heart clenched.
That damn thing was a cyclonic torpedo!
(End of Chapter)
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