An unparalleled will was entering Hera Fortress.
It was so powerful and bright, like a lighthouse in the darkness.
Anyone with a witch's eye or psychic talent could distinctly feel this will.
At this moment, Celestine was comforting the suffering populace.
The Chaos army had ravaged the entire city of Macragge.
Countless people were forced to flee their homes, seeking refuge in Hera Fortress, becoming refugees.
They were temporarily housed in makeshift shelters.
Due to a lack of water, these refugees hadn't bathed in days, their faces covered in grime, and their clothes sour and smelly.
Yet, Celestine showed no hint of disdain.
She used her influence to obtain clean water and food, distributing them to the refugees.
The twins, Elenore and Genevieve, led the Battle Sisters of the Order of Our Martyred Lady to assist her in this task.
The refugees formed a long queue, orderly receiving their provisions.
"Praise the God-Emperor."
With each distribution, Celestine tirelessly offered a prayer.
The refugees who received the supplies also showed gratitude, performing the aquila salute to her and praising the Emperor.
This was precisely what Celestine wanted to do: shower the Emperor's mercy and glory upon every one of His subjects.
Suddenly, Celestine felt her wing being touched.
She turned her head and saw a thin boy, about eight or nine years old, with messy, unkempt hair, clearly unwashed for a long time.
The boy had a pair of large, very bright eyes.
Behind him, there was an even smaller figure, perhaps two or three years old.
"How dare you disrespect a Living Saint?"
Elenore stepped forward, the servo-joints of her power armor humming menacingly.
This battle-hardened Sister Superior looked down at the child.
Her hawk-like gaze was enough to make even Chaos cultists tremble.
The two children immediately froze in place.
Not far away, a woman with a somewhat similar appearance to the two children was so frightened that her body went limp, and she collapsed to the ground, weeping.
"Don't scare them."
Celestine stopped Elenore, telling her not to frighten the children.
Then, she knelt on one knee, maintaining eye level with the child, and reached out to tidy his clothes.
"Little one, what's your name, and is there something you need?"
"My name is Darak, and I want to ask if you are an angel?" the little boy asked, summoning his courage.
Celestine smiled, "Yes, you can consider me an angel."
"Then can you take a message to my mom and dad?" the little boy asked, his face full of anticipation.
"Where are they?" Celestine patiently inquired.
The little boy looked sad, "When those bad guys attacked, Mom and Dad went to fight with other uncles to protect us."
"But after the battle, they never came to find us. Auntie said they were taken by the Emperor."
The boy's words softened the otherwise chiseled features of Elenore's face.
The other Battle Sisters reacted similarly.
Children orphaned because their parents served the Emperor deserved their tenderness.
"They all say you are the Emperor's angel, so can you help me deliver a message?" the little boy said.
Celestine stroked the boy's head, "What message do you want me to deliver?"
"Mom and Dad, you don't have to worry. I will protect my sister, and when I grow up, I will be as brave as you."
The boy's words brought a smile to Celestine's face.
"I will deliver your message. Remember, Darak, as an older brother, you must protect your sister."
After receiving the Living Saint's promise, the little boy happily took his sister and ran into his aunt's embrace.
The woman, who had been frightened, quickly hugged them as soon as the two children approached.
People nearby watched the scene, murmuring amongst themselves.
Celestine had intended to use this opportunity to preach the God-Emperor's doctrine and strengthen their faith.
Suddenly, she felt a premonition and looked towards the spires of Hera Fortress.
"My Lord!"
After excitedly uttering these words, she took a few quick steps, leaped up, flapped her wings, and flew towards the spires of Hera Fortress.
The Battle Sisters exchanged glances and then quickly followed the Living Saint's direction.
Meanwhile, elsewhere,
Grand Master Woldaes of the Grey Knights and Chief Librarian Tigurius were discussing the endless demonic invasions plaguing Ultramar.
They also felt that terrifying will, their faces showing surprise.
"What a powerful will!" Woldaes exclaimed, his voice filled with shock.
It was known that his and Chief Librarian Tigurius's psychic powers were among the top in the entire galaxy.
Even against Spirit Race prophets like Eldrad Ulthran, they were confident of victory.
But facing that terrifying will, capable of shaking the galaxy,
they felt like fireflies trying to compete with the sun and moon, unable to even muster the will to resist.
"Is this the Emperor's power?"
Woldaes walked to the window, which offered a clear view of the top of Hera Fortress.
The source of that will was there, and the Primarch was also there.
"I wonder what Lord Primarch did to establish contact with His Majesty," Chief Librarian Tigurius said.
Woldaes turned and walked towards the door.
"No matter what was done, we should go there immediately. The God-Emperor may bestow guidance or enlightenment."
Chief Librarian Tigurius followed closely behind.
During this time, he also opened a communication channel with Commander Calgar, speaking with solemnity,
"Chapter Master, you must go to the Primarch's side immediately. The God-Emperor may have a decree descending."
And in a corner of Macragge city,
Eldrad Ulthran, Yvraine, Thousand Faces, and other Spirit Race members who had not yet departed,
also felt the will and power descending upon Hera Fortress.
So formidable, so magnificent,
enough to utterly destroy everything in the galaxy.
"This pressure is even greater than when the Incarnation of the Death God was born."
Yvraine stood up, pacing back and forth, filled with worry.
The Death God's army, at the cost of the destruction of the Biel-tan Craftworld,
had summoned the Incarnation of the Death God—Ynnead—which was far from as powerful as this current will.
To describe it accurately, this power was no less than that of the four Chaos Gods in the Warp.
"Has the Human Empire's Lord become so powerful?"
Thousand Faces also showed a worried expression.
It seemed that the Eye of Terror had not only released the Chaos Gods,
but also the Human Empire's Lord on the Golden Throne.
"They have the Human Empire's Lord, and Star Gods who have not yet fully grown. Is cooperating with humans truly a good thing for us?"
Yvraine was somewhat worried about the future.
Even if they could defeat the Prince of Pleasure, humanity would seize this opportunity to grow into the galaxy's dominant power.
At that time, the Spirit Race will likely become a minor race on the fringes of the galaxy.
"Do we have any other options?"
Eldrad Ulthran remained very calm.
"The last Crone Swords is in Slaanesh's domain."
"Either we reclaim the Crone Swords, or we sacrifice the entire Spirit Race. Which do you choose?"
This question silenced Thousand Faces, Yvraine, and the others.
Sacrificing the entire Spirit Race was naturally impossible.
Reclaiming the Crone Swords would definitely require the Human Empire's help.
"As long as we can resolve the threat of the Prince of Pleasure, what does it matter if we temporarily cede the galaxy to humanity?"
Eldrad Ulthran looked at his many Spirit Race compatriots and spoke earnestly.
"Think back carefully to how glorious the Spirit Race Empire once was. We could freely control stars and observe fate and causality."
"To put it bluntly, the Spirit Race Empire was so powerful that it couldn't be destroyed by external threats."
"Because resources were abundant and individuals could freely choose their preferred paths, there were no insoluble internal conflicts."
"Yet, an empire that seemed impossible to destroy was ultimately annihilated."
"It met an extremely tragic end, tearing open an Eye of Terror in the galaxy."
"What if humans control the entire galaxy? They can rule for one hundred thousand years, one million years, or even ten million years, but they will eventually perish."
"Just like the Spirit Race Empire in the past, it will fall apart in a way no one expects, ending tragically."
"What we need to do at this stage is survive. Live on, preserve our race and civilization, and await the day the Human Empire falls."
"Remember our objective: to use humanity to reclaim the Crone Swords that fell into Slaanesh's domain."
"There's no need to resent humanity for their strength. In fact, we should actively help them grow stronger, so they have the power to challenge the Chaos Gods."
...
Thousand Faces, Yvraine, and the other Spirit Race members couldn't refute Eldrad Ulthran's words.
They had been too hasty, wanting too much.
They had completely forgotten the Spirit Race's current predicament.
"We will be careful."
Yvraine promised.
"We will never deliberately cause trouble just because humans grow stronger."
Thousand Faces and the other Spirit Race members also nodded, agreeing with Yvraine.
Seeing that his Spirit Race colleagues understood him, Eldrad Ulthran showed a relieved expression.
He raised his head, his ancient, wise eyes looking at the ceiling.
His gaze pierced through the building, a mixture of steel and concrete.
He saw the black sun, its edges glowing with golden light, suspended within the turbulent Warp.
"Lord of Humanity, Dark King, I only hope everything goes as smoothly as destiny foretells."
...
The Emperor's Shrine was filled with bright light.
Guilliman's psychic potential was relatively poor among the Primarchs.
But he was, after all, one of the Emperor's sons.
He could also sense the omnipresent psychic energy.
As the surrounding psychic power intensified,
Guilliman showed a hint of pain.
The Cherubim's body glowed, golden flames burning.
Alex's body also glowed.
He was used as a buffer.
Nothing could bear His full will.
Without Alex, if the Emperor were to project His will,
it would very likely burn away the souls of everyone on the entire planet,
turning them into devout automatons.
His power was so strong it was on the verge of spiraling out of control.
Aside from the Chaos Gods, who could directly look upon Him and converse with Him,
other mortals or Greater Daemons could not speak with Him.
Just looking at Him would come at the cost of complete destruction of both soul and body.
"Father!" Guilliman was somewhat distraught.
"My last loyal son, my pride, my greatest victory."
"My last tool, my last hope."
...
Countless voices echoed in Guilliman's mind.
He heard those things in an instant, yet also seemed not to hear them.
The Emperor spoke to him but also didn't speak.
The concept of language became ridiculous.
That will seemed to be trying its utmost to communicate with Guilliman, yet also seemed indifferent to him.
Countless images flooded Guilliman's spiritual world.
Flames burned, stars fell, and monsters wandering the veil of Holy Terra (Earth/Reality) screamed.
Guilliman heard prayers—men, women, young, old, everything imaginable.
They were praying, crying, waiting for the Emperor's salvation.
Guilliman saw war erupt in a crimson world.
Mortal soldiers shouted the Emperor's name, perishing with their enemies.
He saw desperate Battle Sisters fighting ceaselessly in waves of Heretics.
He saw loyal Astartes fighting to their last breath.
He saw Sanguinius's homeworld besieged by countless xenos.
Guilliman saw everything happening in the galaxy.
So dark, so hopeless, without a trace of hope or light.
Human civilization had reached the brink of destruction.
The suffering of countless mortals impacted Guilliman's soul,
making him empathize, making him unable to help but let out a silent scream.
What a desperate burden, one that even a god would find hard to bear.
And his Father, the great Lord of Humanity, the man whom traitors angrily denounced as a despicable liar, had endured it for ten thousand years.
"He can't control His power."
Guilliman reached a terrifying conclusion.
He didn't know what had happened during those ten thousand years!
The Emperor was not dead, but He had not returned to His beloved humanity either.
He seemed to be between life and death, possibly never to return,
or possibly to rise from the Golden Throne the next second.
The Emperor's will did not descend for long.
Nothing could continuously bear His will.
Transmitting a portion of the information to Guilliman was already the limit,
unless He used the countless lives of Macragge as sacrifices.
When Celestine burst in,
the Cherubim turned to look at her, then turned to ash.
"Praise the God-Emperor."
Celestine performed the aquila salute, praying devoutly.
The God-Emperor's power dissipated, that terrifying will receding like a tide, as if it had never been there.
"Living Saint, what kind of divine oracle did the God-Emperor bestow?"
Elenore's voice came from behind.