Chapter 528: Reaped Like Leeks for Eons, Managed by a God for the First Time
The war in the material universe had reached its conclusion.
But within the Empyrean, the fires of conflict continued to rage.
However, that was of little concern to the Lords of the Dawnstar. Having stood shoulder-to-shoulder against the Lesser Gods and achieved their strategic objectives, they remained whole and undiminished.
Within the Labyrinthine Dimension, Arthur had systematically purged the "Waaagh!" energy from the Webway fragment. Leaving a specialized Noctilith Gate to anchor the conduit—entrusted to the stewardship of the "Metal Abhumans" (Necrons)—the Lord of Knights returned to realspace. He moved to oversee the final pacification of the Armageddon Sector.
Beyond the veil, within "The Park," the Formless Lord Ramesses was simultaneously auditing the campaign's losses and dispensing laurels to the deserving.
In a grand, gold-vaulted hall that fused the architectural legacies of a dozen cultures, Ramesses manifested in his true visage.
Before him stood the department heads and the representatives selected from every tactical work-group that had participated in the ritual offensive.
"High Farseer Eldrad," Ramesses intoned. "Your coordination was exemplary. Your management of the Seer-Council ensured our dominance. I appoint you Supreme Overseer of the Aeldari Exchange Committee. You shall manage the day-to-day operations of the Craftworld Embassies across the galaxy."
"I am honored by Your trust, Great Lord Ramesses," Eldrad replied, bowing low.
The Formless Manse (The Un相天) was now a bastion of power, bolstered by the integration of the Infinity Circuits. While the realm teemed with legends, the repetitive, foundational data-validation required for Warp-security fell to the Seer Councils of the various Craftworlds, acting alongside the nascent human psychic cadres.
"Sylandri Veilwalker," Ramesses continued. "Your capacity for information management and knowledge-dispatch was critical in neutralizing the Ork Gods' influence. I appoint you Director of Information. You are responsible for the security and operation of the Formless Manse's Knowledge-Vault."
"Glory to the Formless Lord!" Sylandri raised her hands high, her mask shimmering with delight.
In response to the Laughing God's directive, every Harlequin had committed to the Dawnstar's protocols with fanatical devotion. While the Harlequins were unyielding on matters of absolute principle, they displayed a staggering lack of "Divine Ego" when it came to the survival of their race.
Their cheers prompted the other Eldar to leap and dance in a display of celebratory fervor, terrified that any lack of enthusiasm would be interpreted as a slight against their new Patron.
The human psykers joined the cacophony with even greater zeal. As the primary demographic of the Manse, their numbers far exceeded the xenos, creating a truly magnificent wall of sound.
They will not out-loyal us in the presence of Lord Ramesses, the humans thought.
Inside the hall—a space vibrating with the mixed frequencies of a dozen species—a rhythmic wave of acclaim rose like a tide.
Ramesses' brow twitched.
Am I the Golden Sun of the Warp now?
He pushed the thought aside, deciding to let them have their moment. He turned to Cegorach, who had just returned from assisting his "sub-contracted" agents in the field.
"Cegorach. Your leadership has been flawless. I appoint you Director of R&D and Crisis Response. You shall lead our internal development cycles and coordinate the response to external Warp-threats."
"Thank you, Boss!"
Cegorach adapted to his new role with a celerity that put the more formal Eldar to shame.
As for Trazyn the Infinite, his role required no adjustment.
Ramesses found it difficult to "assign" him a post. In terms of internal hierarchy, Trazyn had been an Inquisitorial Grandmaster for millennia; much of the Ordo Xenos's reference material had been ghost-written by him. He held "sleeper" identities in every core institution of the Imperium; how else could he have stolen the head of a Cardinal-Apostle from under the noses of the High Lords?
Furthermore, his public persona as the Director of the Museum of Human History already granted him an authority second only to the Perpetuals. He was the undisputed master of the human timeline.
"Secondly," Ramesses said, his voice turning cold. The festive atmosphere vanished in an instant.
"Regarding the work-groups whose performance yielded zero efficiency—those who, through negligence, hampered the institutional flow—I am initiating a Sector-Wide Retraction. Compensation packages and rank-privileges for the involved personnel will be audited and adjusted immediately."
He exchanged a look with Trazyn. Having fully synchronized their views on administrative efficiency, Ramesses dropped the second heavy directive.
Once this campaign is archived, everyone is taking a mandatory rest cycle. Best to settle the accounts now.
The cheering stopped mid-breath.
The Eldar, who had been expecting only rewards, froze in shock. They never imagined the Formless Lord would choose a moment of "Universal Jubilee" to initiate a purge of the bureaucracy.
Those who knew their performance metrics had "Flatlined" looked physically ill.
They stared up at Ramesses with wide, pleading eyes. The hope and loyalty they had worn like armor was replaced by a visceral helplessness.
Tears, like strings of pearls, began to fall.
I do not wish to be liquidated by the Great Scythe of Capitalism!!!
Throne, Ramesses thought, his brow twitching again. Is the fear of a 'Performance Review' truly more terrifying to these people than a Daemon-Prince?
"I realize some of you are overthinking this," Ramesses said, addressing the assembly.
This campaign had hardened his resolve to secure the "Mother-Goddess" Isha to stabilize the genetic merger.
History proved that the wisdom of the "Old Legends" was only useful if it was actually applied. He had to turn these xenos into "Humans" as quickly as possible. Tethering them to his own person through divine contracts was a temporary fix, not a sustainable system.
"High-efficiency groups earn rewards. That is the Law. Low-efficiency groups are retracted. This does not mean 'Death.' It means you are unqualified for high-intensity labor. You will undergo a Standardized Demotion. If you seek to rise again, you study, you improve, and you pass the next audit. The human cadres are subject to the same metrics."
Naturally, the audits and retractions followed a strict protocol. No mindless firing based on raw data; every outcome was vetted.
The HR department was tasked with employee relocation. The Efficiency Bureau was to conduct a clinical analysis of every task, reporting directly to Ramesses. The final "Calibration" would be his alone.
Being a God had its perks: high-tier hardware and infinite energy allowed him to process a billion variables simultaneously. He could compress the administrative tiers to a minimum, ensuring information remained pure and policy was enforced. He was a biological machine of management.
In Ramesses' view, this "Laurels and Retractions" session was more than a ritual; it was a demonstration. It was designed to shatter the "Chaos" mindset that had oppressed the galaxy for eons—the belief that power was arbitrary and capricious. He was instilling work-ethic, scientific methodology, and tactical accountability.
In the past, the Eldar Farseers assigned as tutors to human psykers had been... hesitant. They harbored a "Guild-Master's Anxiety"—the fear that if they taught their pupils too well, they would become redundant.
They had secretly hoped their students remained "stupid."
That ends now.
If you teach well, you get a bonus. Your rank rises. Even if you choose to "slack off" later, your high standing ensures a comfortable lifestyle for a time.
If you fail, you aren't killed. You're sent to a "World Spirit" to live as an Exodite. There is always an egress.
If you want to compete in the Technical Divisions? Then compete. May the best logic win.
Master Ramesses looked only at the KPI. He was "Race-Blind."
Having heard the new decree, the weeping Eldar sniffled and wiped their eyes. The mourning ended.
"LONG LIVE THE SOVEREIGN!" someone shouted, pivoting their emotions instantly.
"GLORY TO THE LORD!" another added, snapping to attention.
The acclamation rose again, hissing through the hall with a fervor that outmatched the humans. They didn't even stop to consider the irony of a xenos using a human-centric war-cry.
Reaped like leeks for a billion years by the Dark Gods; managed by a God for the first time by the Dawnstar.
"All units: Record your metrics. Claim your dividends."
In the tiered, inverted-pyramid hall, Ramesses raised his hands to the cheering workforce.
"Coordinate with HR for your leave. Ensure your posts are handed over without error. I wish you all a perfect rest cycle!"
"GLORY TO THE FORMLESS LORD! THE UN相神 (GOD OF NO-FORM)!"
A sea of arms rose in a perfect, synchronized wave.
Ramesses nodded with satisfaction. He didn't care that they were using "Human Tropes" to worship a Warp-entity.
To be blunt, he didn't want their "Love" or their "Loyalty." That was too heavy a burden.
I provide security and a stable environment. You provide value and service.
A transaction of needs. That is enough.
He didn't expect them to die for him. He expected them to do their jobs and maximize their utility.
And don't expect me to make you a 'Chosen.' Take your paycheck and go play. If you cross the line and start deal-making with daemons, don't come crying to me when you're expunged.
Metrics are the only truth.
With the administrative details settled, Ramesses turned his focus toward the deep Warp, where a conflict of a different scale was unfolding.
The "Large Sun" of the Empyrean was manifesting its full potential.
The Emperor—just as He had during the final hours of the Heresy—wasn't even using His core essence. Relying solely on the "God-Emperor" shell constructed by ten millennia of human faith, He was holding Gork and Mork in a state of absolute kinetic deadlock.
The Ork Gods were being suppressed with a clinical intensity, yet they remained unyieldingly lively. They brawled with a "Waaagh!" fire that suggested even the Emperor alone couldn't grant them "True Death."
They're worthy of brawling with Nurgle, after all, Ramesses mused.
"The Golden Geezer has a certain sense of humor," he noted, watching the Emperor's manifest form. He withdrew the Webway fragment into his own domain and shrouded the Formless Manse in a layer of absolute encryption.
Bunker within a bunker. And then I'll let Master Art put a 'Null-Lock' on the whole thing.
Perfect.
Call it a need for security, or call it a justified wariness of the Emperor.
Without these precautions, who knew if the "Old Man" wouldn't try to "Relocate" the galaxy's premier Warp-Academy into His own direct custody?
It wasn't that the transmigrators didn't trust their Father; it was that his "Character Rating" was historically abysmal. They hadn't forgotten the "Loan Trap" He'd set for them when they first arrived.
And then there was the "Spectator Act."
"The Emperor's conduct is a total violation of unit discipline," Romulus barked over the link.
The Regent had watched the entire campaign from his office. He was currently signing the development warrants for the Webway project. He slammed his fist onto the mahogany.
"First, He 'reclaims' our assets without a word. Now, we're in a 'War in Heaven' tier engagement with Gork and Mork, and He's just... watching?!"
They had bled and maneuvered to secure the Webway, and the "Old Man" had arrived only to "audit" their progress?
"Emperor! Why are You just standing there?!"
Does He see us as slave-labor that needs monitoring?
It is the height of arrogance.
Romulus's pen-nib bit into the paper.
If any of his partners had pulled a stunt like that, he'd have called a mandatory "Self-Criticism Session."
Guilliman opened his mouth to offer a defense for his Father, but the words died as a memory surfaced—the image of Dorn bleeding on Terra while he was building a "backup plan" in Ultramar. The Regent decided to play the part of a dead man and remained silent.
"Why bother arguing with a senile patient?" Karna offered.
The "Grassroots Manager" was currently enjoying a selection of desserts, occasionally manifesting a plate of local delicacies from the "Hallowed Sun" domain. He was the picture of leisure.
As a God who answered every prayer, and with a cadre of Imperial elite who—under his direction—had begun to integrate the common people into the state, Karna had become a legend of the masses.
The common man's simple emotions were easy to manage.
Aside from building a few necessary cathedrals and administrative hubs, the people's primary expression of faith was "Offerings."
Specifically, food.
Karna didn't mind. As long as it wasn't a daily requirement, he accepted it. Back on Earth, people offered gifts to the mountain gods during the New Year; this was no different.
In the Angelic Creed, these offerings weren't just for show. They were "Status Reports"—a way for the citizen to tell the Angel how their life and labor were progressing.
And the most important feature:
Unlike the mountain gods of old, the food actually ended up in Karna's stomach.
It prevented the opulence and greed of the old Church, allowed him to monitor local fiscal and agricultural health through his palate, and satisfied his own cravings.
"We are on the same team, yet Father's behavior is entirely uncoordinated," Romulus critiqued openly.
"This is an erosion of mutual trust. Does He plan to 'observe' us during the next Siege of Terra too? See if our strategy works before He deigns to act?"
Guilliman's hand shook. His signature on the document went slightly askew.
The Ultramarines in the room lowered their heads, acting as if they were ostriches in a storm.
"That's why we're doing the 'Review,' isn't it?" Karna said lazily. "Father wants to help, that's true. Father is also having a mental civil war. Both are true."
Karna's peaceful aura helped Romulus rein in his irritation.
To be fair, Romulus spent his time with the Imperial elite. He hadn't experienced the "Ground-Level Realities" that Karna had faced in the early days of the Dawnstar Sector.
If Romulus had spent decades dealing with the "Raw Population," his "Qi-Refinement" (patience) would be on another level.
It wasn't about becoming numb; it was about understanding the baseline and skipping the emotional outburst to focus on the solution.
"After all, in our old world-view, none of these beings were actually 'Gods,' were they?"
The Dawnbreakers used a simple taxonomy for this universe:
Entities with high output—Living Stars, Super-Warp-Clusters—were "Powerful Organisms."
Entities capable of hijacking the underlying logic of reality—C'tan, the Four Gods—were "Gods."
The transmigrators were adapting their definitions to local conditions.
"A long and arduous road..." Romulus shook his head.
"We aren't just breaking the old order. We're defining a new relationship between Man and the Divine. We have to find a way to communicate effectively with these 'Individuals,' or find a way to make their power reliable."
"In the end," Arthur's voice interjected—calm, flat, yet saturated with unshakeable resolve.
"The fact that such absolute power is held by erratic, immature, and complex psychic entities is the fundamental disease of this universe. To say they are 'Uncontrollable' or 'Lacking Discipline' is simply a description of the problem we are here to solve."
"And yet, the power remains," Karna noted.
"If you don't seize it, someone else will," Ramesses added.
Romulus raised an eyebrow.
Clatter.
He set down his pen and cast a long, meaningful look at his three partners.
The three returned a gaze that was equally significant.
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