"Roboute, you're in for a difficult stretch ahead."
Malcador said to Guilliman and the others as they hurried back.
"How bad has it gotten?"
Guilliman had no wish to see the worlds the Imperium had fought so hard to reclaim plunge back into chaos — every one of those territories had been won back at tremendous cost by his brothers and the Imperial fleet.
Guilliman walked ahead, his pace hurried, while Malcador kept stride beside him, briefing him on the current state of the three and a half reclaimed galaxies, plus their home galaxy.
"Not good. Ferrus and Lion have each led their forces back to the galaxies they reclaimed to begin suppressing rebellions. The traitors themselves aren't the concern — we simply don't have enough manpower."
"And even here, some traitors slipped quietly through the Eye of Terror. The Nebulous Reach has fallen back into chaos, though Cassius — the Iron Warriors' newly elevated Warsmith — has already led a fleet to begin pacification."
"Who do we still have here?"
"Just Magnus, currently on the Golden Throne. Your father and Perturabo both suffered heavy losses against Chaos, though they're in somewhat better condition. Magnus and the Blackstone Fortresses together are suppressing the current Warp rifts across the galaxies."
"But as you know, the effect is still limited. The Warp is too vast — there are still rifts forming, and the traitors slip through every gap. We remain somewhat reactive."
Fulgrim and the others had been entirely left out of the conversation, but hearing the grim state of affairs Malcador described, none of them had any room left to care about that now.
"Can't we push directly into the Warp and strike the traitors there?"
Cypher had never been able to tolerate this kind of situation.
"Difficult. Astartes and mortals alike struggle to resist the pervasive corruption within the Warp itself. The Geller Field can only protect those inside the ship — if the traitors weren't already wiped out by you before, they might end up the same way you would."
"It's not possible now. The Chaos Gods sacrificed themselves precisely to escape continued pursuit by your father and brothers, using this method to sow chaos within the material universe instead."
Malcador explained to them why the traitors had been able to return to the galaxy.
"How many traitors have been resurrected so far?"
"Still unclear. But aside from the principal instigators — and thanks to Lorgar's help, the Legion under Slaanesh failed to return — the rest of the traitors are still running rampant throughout the galaxies."
"And every resurrection only widens those Warp rifts further. Perturabo previously did some research into Necron technology — their World Engines and Tomb World technology can effectively seal Warp rifts."
"But so far he hasn't been able to fully crack the technology. Human souls are too fragile in the face of those artifacts."
"So apart from here, every galaxy is in chaos right now?"
"Yes. The traitors themselves aren't particularly strong — you can handle them without trouble. But our territory has grown so vast that the cost of post-war reconstruction and governance across every front line is climbing steeply."
"Our webway technology, while mature now, still hasn't been fully standardized for general use — and we don't even know the state of the webway in the other galaxies."
What a season of misfortune.
Guilliman's brow furrowed, his pace quickening unconsciously by another notch.
"How is the Administratum holding up? What's the state of internal order management across the Imperium?"
"We're managing here — the logic engines have helped enormously. But the other galaxies aren't. It's pure chaos there. Ferrus and Lion are nearly being driven mad by the cleanup work."
"How many people can we send over from here?"
"Not many. We're stretched thin here ourselves. Nearly ninety percent of operations over there rely on the local human population to carry out. But you know how things went during the crusade — those galaxies are in turmoil now."
The previous revenge crusade, conducted with total disregard for consequences, had inflicted enormous harm on the humans of those galaxies. Put bluntly, the traitors themselves may well have killed fewer humans than the Imperial fleet had.
"Fulgrim, Mortarion, Corvus — replenish your troop strength and depart immediately to assist Lion and the others. You can also finish arranging matters here before setting off."
"Cypher, Lorgar — same for you, but your task is to return to our own territory. If you can take down that traitor, all the better. If not, you must at minimum suppress the unrest there — at the very least, the worlds under our control need to remain sufficiently stable."
"Lorgar, send out more of your sons, spread across the various galaxies, to preach the Father's greatness to those worlds and secure their loyalty. For now, our priority is stabilizing the situation."
Guilliman issued his orders rapidly. Fulgrim and the others said nothing in response — if their Legions didn't still need adjustment, they would already be rushing to the front line without delay.
Anyone who had fought Chaos knew exactly how repugnant these wretches truly were. If they weren't dealt with quickly, there was no telling what kind of disaster they might unleash on the material universe next.
"Regent, let's continue. I'll have my sons take on part of the political workload to ease the current strain. Our priority right now is restoring order as quickly as possible — and the post-war reconstruction of those worlds needs our attention too."
"Understood."
"Are you holding up?"
Within the Daemon Forge, Perturabo watched the Emperor — barely able to keep the Dark King contained — and hurried to consume more of the Dark King's essence, just enough to keep the Emperor from being completely overwhelmed by its consciousness.
"I can hold for now. But I need to find a way to suppress this properly — otherwise next time they stir, I might not be able to hold them back at all."
The Emperor had originally hoped to step outside and let the Golden Throne patch the problem, but that plan was no longer feasible.
"We can't leave now. There's no way."
Perturabo wanted to leave too, but the Warp seal was anchored on the Daemon Forge itself — they were the two chains holding it shut. If they left, everything they'd worked for wouldn't be entirely wasted, but at minimum half of it would be undone.
"I can still use the Soul Forge to help you somewhat, but I'm worried that if I absorb too much, I'll start having problems of my own. You know my current condition — I can't help you much more than this."
What he might become if he kept absorbing like this, even Perturabo himself didn't know. He had forcibly seized half the position within the Chaos Star, sealing off every "advancement" path entirely — but it had also left him dangerously unstable.
"Let's stabilize the situation first, then we'll send out a clone to check on things."
"No need for that. There are some duplicate bodies waiting in Olympia. Not as good as our original forms, but at least they're bodies that can move."
"Then get back to recovery quickly. The Imperium is in chaos right now too. Hurry and produce some more gadgets — I think Necron technology and those Star God fragments could prove very useful, along with Golden Age technology, Tomb Worlds, derelict starships, STC-related bio-tech—"
"Organize a team to go dig through it all — who knows, you might strike gold. If we could find a space fortress like Mountain Formation somewhere out there, that would be a massive win. And the STCs too. Once they finish off the traitors, I think there's real opportunity in this."
The Emperor had originally planned to step back once the webway was operational, but with humanity's situation as it now stood, he couldn't simply walk away. A turning point unlike any in tens of thousands of years had arrived.
If they didn't seize this momentum to crush Chaos and bring humanity back to a true renaissance of the Golden Age, then what had all his work as humanity's Emperor even been for?
"When you go back, remember to rescue your second and eleventh brothers. That's your task once you're out there. We're severely short-staffed right now."
"Understood."
"I told you — you will not win. No matter how many times you resurrect, we will hunt every one of you down and exterminate you completely. Your master is already dead. None of you will fare any better."
Lion's sharp gaze swept over the traitors before him, regarding their now "threadbare" fleet with—
absolute contempt.
"Then let's see how many times you can manage to kill us, Lion. You'll never be able to catch us forever."
"Every day and night you spend hunting us, I'll be out there toying with the bodies and minds of these worlds' people — unless you can kill me completely. And that's impossible."
"Corax's" depravity ran far deeper than the world realized. Even after Lion successfully intercepted them, they showed no concern at all — instead almost flaunting his "trophies" from those worlds.
Watching this creature dangle human skulls before him, Lion's fury became impossible to contain.
In a single instant, he appeared aboard the enemy's flagship — while "Corax" remained inside his command room, that grotesque torture chamber of his, utterly unaware of the rage that awaited him.
"I'm here, traitor!"
A sudden voice from behind froze "Corax's" depraved smile on his face. He turned, stiffly.
The Lion's terrifying visage stared back at him, expressionless — but those sharp, glowing eyes burned with absolute killing intent.
"Fate has a cruel sense of humor, you bastard!"
"Mortarion" looked at the smug Khan before him, his great scythe already itching to charge in and cut this wretch down himself.
"Did you go back and feed off your master's teat yet? Was the pus inside delicious enough to write home about?"
The Khan was somewhat curious about this traitor — how was it that they kept running into each other, every single time?
Could "Mortarion" claim he'd worked it out through numerology?
When enemies meet, eyes burn red with hate. Without another word, the two clashed instantly.
This time the Khan needed no Obliterators. He already had a fairly clear sense of what these traitors were made of.
The speed and force of the White Tiger Glaive made "Mortarion's" defense pitifully weak. He had never been known among Primarchs for close combat or speed — both were genuine weaknesses for him.
Even though he had grown considerably stronger, the Khan was improving too, and by their second encounter "Mortarion" already suspected he was no longer the Khan's equal.
"Your master's good and dead now. What, no more teat to suckle on, so you're falling apart? Poor overgrown baby."
Veins bulged across "Mortarion's" already rotted body, particularly across his forehead in a crisscrossing "well" pattern — faint glimpses of plague flies escaping from within.
"Mortarion" was forced to his knees, the Khan's White Tiger Glaive bearing down on him relentlessly. The force behind it left "Mortarion" unable to mount any real defense, even with his strength and durability ranking among the very best of all Primarchs.
"Poor overgrown baby. No more milk from your master, and now even your own Legion won't listen to you. You know, I've been fighting your champion here for ages now — why won't your actual Legion Master come out and meet me himself?"
"Tell me — is it because you look down on me?"
The White Tiger Glaive plunged downward. "Mortarion's" great scythe was severed instantly, falling to the ground and dissolving into a cloud of Warp energy.
Thick green blood sprayed outward. "Mortarion" gripped the phase-fielded blade tightly with both hands — pain was a concept beyond him by now, they had long since lost that capacity for feeling.
But the Khan's words cut deep into "Mortarion's" fragile heart. For all his outward appearance of unbreakable resilience, "Mortarion" had, in truth, an extremely volatile inner state much of the time.
He had always been too impulsive, and deeply insecure — perhaps owing to his alien foster father — and none of that had improved after his fall to Chaos. If anything, it had only worsened.
"What, the poor overgrown baby has nothing to say? Are you crying?"
The Khan had no further interest in toying with "Mortarion." They were on a tight schedule, with many more worlds still waiting to be saved.
"Remember to tell your dead master when you get back — next time, set aside two bottles of milk before he dies, so his overgrown baby doesn't have to spend all his time sulking like an idiot."
The Khan drew his blade and, with swift and practiced motion, severed "Mortarion's" head.
Scenes like these were playing out across every major galaxy. The traitors weren't difficult to exile, true — but as Malcador had said, their true danger lay not in their strength, but in the damage they inflicted on the worlds they touched.
Nurgle's corruption above all. Wherever news of Nurgle's pollution surfaced, nearly every fleet treated such worlds as default candidates for Exterminatus.
The Imperium was vast — especially now, after the revenge crusade, more vast than ever — but that didn't mean its resources could be wasted so freely.
What use, then, was all the territory they had fought so hard to reclaim?
The act of vengeance and the slaughter of traitors had already weighed heavily on their conscience — after all, they had destroyed countless worlds and killed countless humans in the process.
So they had, in fact, been actively restraining themselves, trying their hardest not to destroy these worlds any further.
But the resurgence of Chaos had forced them back onto the old path once more. These traitors always seemed to find a way to resurface at the Imperium's most vulnerable moments, just to make things harder.
Guilliman had anticipated the administrative situation would be dire. Malcador had warned him it would be dire. But he hadn't anticipated it would be this dire.
The Imperial Palace on Terra had been transformed. Massive ore-haulers now traveled along roads specifically constructed through the Palace grounds.
Anyone unaware of the truth might have assumed this was yet another renovation of the Palace. In reality, those haulers were packed densely with nothing but administrative reports.
Guilliman and Malcador's hands moved so fast across their desks that they left visible afterimages.
Every single second, the two of them processed several hundred administrative matters — and each of those was, at minimum, an issue affecting an entire star system.
A localized Exterminatus event affecting just one world wasn't even significant enough to make it into this mountain of accumulated paperwork.
Countless Ultramarines worked alongside the logic engines, refining logistics for every Legion and fleet still campaigning abroad, and also handled lower-priority Imperial administrative matters alongside the mortal officials.
Vast numbers of mortal bureaucrats were dropping dead at their posts. Even some Astartes were beginning to buckle under the sustained pressure.
Only five years had passed, yet everyone felt as though ten thousand had gone by.
Administrative work truly wasn't meant for anyone to endure. It could take a young person brimming with lofty ideals and vitality and reduce them, in an instant, into a numb beast of burden simply grinding through existence.
And even with everyone working their absolute hardest, the backlog of administrative matters remained severe.
A number of the logic engine subsystems had already crashed under the sheer weight of data.
"Looks like you two have had a rough time of it lately, brothers."
In the Administratum, Guilliman and Malcador — both deep in paperwork — momentarily paused, then immediately resumed their work without missing a beat.
"You're back?"
"Mm."
Clad in white robes, Perturabo — having just returned to the material universe through his clone — had rushed straight to Terra without exchanging more than a few words with his sister.
Perturabo wasted no words and immediately joined the "beast of burden" administrative work.
"What's the general situation now?"
Guilliman asked.
"It's fine. Chaos won't be resurging for another ten thousand years at minimum, and even if it does, the Emperor and I can handle it — not a major issue. The real problem is actually me and the Emperor ourselves."
"Are you both gradually being overtaken by divinity?"
Guilliman understood exactly what kind of problem Perturabo was referring to. The moment he himself had awakened to his true nature, he'd understood why Perturabo resisted that kind of power so fiercely.
"Worse than that. It's not divinity."
"Like those Chaos Gods?"
"Only more corrupted. More terrifying."
"Is there a solution?"
"None for now. Still containable. We're working on a solution."
A young man — once from ancient Terra's Central Asia region — answered the question.