The Hall of Glory.
This magnificent hall stood on the edge of the Imperial Palace, nestled in the Heroes' Plaza and surrounded by the statues of numerous Primarchs.
Unfortunately, due to the Horus Heresy and other betrayals, many of the statues of disloyal Primarchs had already been torn down and razed to the ground.
The few that remained either belonged to the dead or the long-lost, and the area had become a restricted zone—opened only during the most important Imperial celebrations.
But tonight, faint lights flickered through Heroes' Plaza.
Two of those statue's former owners had returned. The long-shuttered Hall of Glory had been reopened.
An opulent banquet was underway. Servo-skulls and acolytes glided through the crowd. Every guest here was someone who wielded the fate of the galaxy—highborn nobles, planetary governors, high-ranking officials, and military commanders.
Eden held a glass of crimson Quatis wine—grown on a garden world and worth a small fleet—and took a small sip, then scoffed:
"Tch. This stuff's not even as good as what we get from our Green Wave Farm World."
Standing beside him, the Primarch's aide Tarko took a sip as well and agreed: "It lacks the purity and richness of our Lafite. There's no depth or clarity of mind."
The vineyard on Green Wave Farm World was seeded with vines from the Golden Age of Technology and thrived in a sterile, pristine environment. The result: divine vintages.
The best among them had been named—by Eden himself—'82 Lafite.
Tarko didn't know why the year 82 was so special, but assumed it must carry some kind of sacred numeric meaning.
"Once the webway gates in our territory are safe, we should export our specialties," Eden mused. "Especially bananas. Nothing else like 'em in the galaxy."
He was always keen on profitable ventures. It was time the galaxy tasted the 3K Era Bananas.
After a warm exchange with the Supreme Commander of the Astral Armies and other trusted allies, Eden withdrew from mingling. He left further diplomacy to Tarko, who'd speak on his behalf under the authority of the Primarch.
He had no interest in playing political games with the sycophantic nobles and bureaucrats—those endless petty power deals were better left to professionals.
With a flicker of psychic power, he floated the glass to a waiting servitor and left the noisy hall, heading toward a terrace.
He wasn't like Guilliman—a true statesman who thrived in social arenas, charming strangers with practiced ease. Eden despised this atmosphere.
He couldn't even breathe the same air as those decaying aristocrats.
And besides, now he had the strength to refuse.
The nobles and officials who tried to approach quickly realized that this Primarch did not wish to mingle. They respected that—after all, genetically modified warriors often had their quirks.
Truth be told, compared to others, this one was already exceptionally courteous.
At least his temperament was… sane.
But the nobles hadn't given up. Instead, they signaled to their female companions—hoping that one of their daughters or wives might… gain his favor.
That would be the ideal outcome.
Yet none of the noblewomen could even get close. They were gently held back by an invisible field of psychic force.
Still, their eyes remained locked on the Primarch. Heated, hungry. Unnerving.
Eden felt the tension rising.
He quickly made his way out of the hall and stepped onto the terrace.
The stonework bore ancient carvings weathered by time.
It was said that this theater-like structure dated back to pre-Imperial Terra—when humans still fought with swords and spears and built coliseums for entertainment.
That old arena still stood—now housing the Terran High Council.
He'd glimpsed it during a pilgrimage. It looked… very familiar.
It was the Roman Colosseum.
So what was this place? A parallel universe? Earth's far future?
Low-tier civilizations simply couldn't comprehend higher-dimensional beings.
Eden had once visited planets still stuck in feudalism or just past their industrial revolutions. Those people couldn't even perceive the galaxy, let alone understand what was coming for them.
Their primitive radar couldn't detect an Imperial ship's emissions. One day, Chaos or xenos would strike—and they'd vanish without ever knowing why.
"Ssshhh… that's a bit much, no?"
As darkness fell, a statue in Heroes' Plaza began to glow, attracting many curious eyes.
Eden immediately recognized it—it was his over-the-top Primarch statue.
Due to the combined efforts of the Mechanicus, the Ecclesiarchy, and the Astral Command, the statue had been built larger than the others—purely due to "engineering errors" and "material excess."
Its interior glowed with radiant golden machinery, casting a divine halo around it.
Compared to the other dull stone statues, his looked like something out of a high-budget action holovid.
Overkill much? Would this strain relations with the other Primarchs?
Thankfully, Guilliman wasn't that petty—and knew Eden liked flashy effects. It shouldn't cause any issues.
Eden took a deep breath to calm himself.
Even here, at the heart of Holy Terra, the air was thick with smog, rust, incense, and makeup powders. Disgusting.
But the locals were used to it.
He looked out across the cold, grey hive spires, frowning slightly.
Perhaps the Throneworld was more rotten than he had imagined.
There were surely heretics and Chaos agents lurking everywhere.
Especially the Skitterfiends.
Those things were everywhere. Any ship over a few centuries old likely had some infestation.
It was a problem no one could ever fully solve.
Some shipmasters even allowed the Skitterfiends to remain—as long as they stayed within a controlled zone. It boosted work efficiency.
There was nothing more loyal, tireless, and uncomplaining than a Skitterfiend.
As long as they didn't achieve ascension, they were the perfect nuclear-powered labor cattle.
Eden highly suspected that some were active here on Terra itself.
After all, Terra was always short on workers. The sheer volume of administration from across the Imperium was overwhelming.
And then there were the heretics…
Last time he came to Holy Terra, he'd stumbled into a heretical uprising that nearly caused a scandal known as the "Emperor's Canal Scandal."
Once he'd resolved the political hierarchy and administration here, he would absolutely lead a full purge—cleansing Terra down to its bedrock.
The Savior's domain had ample experience with such operations. They'd handle it efficiently.
"Lord Savior…"
A gentle voice pulled him back.
A noblewoman in a lavish robe stepped into view, stunning in appearance and posture.
She, too, was a psyker—and openly lowered her psychic defenses to gently ease herself into the Primarch's aura field.
She brought two daughters with her—equally beautiful and poised.
There were no signs of augmentations or enhancements. Every gesture, every smile was the pinnacle of elegance—tinged with subtle temptation.
"Lady Dael?"
Eden vaguely recalled the name. He didn't dislike her.
She was the heir to a long-standing rogue trader dynasty—the Queen of Merchants, with territory spanning over a dozen remote sectors and fleets of trade vessels.
Her family's merchant empire spanned entire sub-sectors.
It made sense she'd be bold enough to approach a Primarch.
"My lord… would you have time to visit House Kaos' private estate after the banquet?" she asked softly, her voice sultry. "We would love to… entertain you… and discuss the trade routes."
Her snowy chest rose slightly, eyes full of suggestion—placing emphasis on entertainment.
She had done her homework.
Compared to Guilliman, who was cold and severe, this Primarch was known to be more open, perhaps even indulgent.
She had also seen… that scene.
???
Eden immediately caught the meaning in her words.
She wanted a threesome.
This Merchant Queen wanted to seal a political alliance through intimacy—binding her family's fortunes to his protection.
He knew how rogue traders operated. They often crossed the Empire's red lines and even consorted with forbidden entities.
But even so—this kind of bold, snowy offer caught him off guard.
Still, she… wasn't wrong.
That was then.
Now, Eden hesitated.
What was her real aim?
Simple trade? Assassination? Or something deeper?
He wasn't paranoid—he was cautious.
Since arriving on Terra, he had faced numerous assassination attempts—including one involving a captured Dark Eldar assassin carrying a soul-destroying weapon.
The assassin self-immolated before they could be interrogated.
Terra's noble and bureaucratic elites had fought this long, and they knew how to cover their tracks.
But Eden was certain—many of them wanted him dead.
They didn't want the old power structures to be shattered.
They feared the return of a Primarch's rule.
Guilliman had compromised to maintain stability—but Eden was a different force entirely. A reckoning.
For now, they maintained a delicate balance.
Eden tolerated it—until the celebration was over.
After that? He'd pop the champagne and break some necks.
And Terra's defense systems were the tightest in the galaxy. Most were still under the control of old Terran factions.
Eden's own forces weren't enough to fully seize control without inciting chaos.
"My lord…?"
Dael was breathing harder now, her fragrance drifting into his psychic field.
"…Fine."
Eden nodded slowly, accepting her snowy invitation. He needed to know what she was planning.
Dael's eyes lit up. Her daughters smiled, radiant.
She had her reasons.
Her merchant dynasty had suffered grievous losses to Chaos incursions.
Their private military was all but shattered, and xenos pirates hunted their trade routes.
The family stood at the brink of collapse.
She had hidden this truth. She couldn't allow her house to fall from grace.
If they became second-tier, worse fates would follow.
To survive, she needed protection.
But few beings could protect a rogue trader house without simply devouring it.
She had searched long and hard—and finally found her best hope: The Savior Primarch.
He was an Imperial legend—rich, generous, and fond of trade. She had assets to offer in return.
Most importantly—he had human emotions.
And that meant…
He might just say yes.
Certain forbidden documents even claimed that Primarchs were psychically castrated—incapable of feeling desire for the same sex, xenos, or even engaging in standard reproductive acts.
Thankfully, the Savior Primarch was… unique. Many had heard the rumors.
Of course, Dael had her own ambitions.
She wanted to bear the Savior's child—forge a deeper bond.
Most Primarchs, having been genetically reforged, were thought to be sterile. But Dael wasn't concerned.
She possessed an ancient relic from the Dark Age of Technology.
As long as the Primarch left any trace of genetic material—any fluid—upon her or her daughters, conception was possible.
Her gaze softened further as she looked at Eden.
This man will be the father of my exceptional child.
That child would carry both the name of the Primarch and the legacy of House Kaos—founding a new, vast merchant dynasty that would span entire star clusters.
Eden didn't notice. Psykers, especially trained ones, could veil their thoughts effortlessly.
He simply accepted the discreet message regarding the scheduled rendezvous.
The actual visit would be tomorrow evening. Tonight, there was still business to attend.
Just now—
The Urth Inquisition had uncovered the truth behind those strange, intrusive gazes from before, and requested the Savior's presence with alarming urgency.
Eden, upon receiving the report, excused himself from the banquet and immediately made his way toward the indicated location.
…
City of the Wishmakers.
Upper Hive – Noble Sector.
Opulence reigned here—decadent architecture, gilded halls, crystalline ceilings—but everything reeked of dry rot and decay. Greenery was almost nonexistent.
Holy Terra had no natural water source. Even minor flora were a costly luxury. Not even nobles could afford the upkeep.
Even those with Garden Worlds in other systems rarely visited them.
No one wanted to be away from the seat of power for too long.
One absence, and your legacy could crumble.
At this moment, a high-ranking official's estate had been raided by the Urth Inquisition. They had discovered… something.
A sealed chamber. Heretical artifacts. Forbidden materials linked to a Primarch.
Even the women of the household had been arrested.
The Imperial Inquisition had been blocked from entering, standing outside fuming.
"Those Urth bastards are stealing our work—right at our doorstep!"
But no one dared act rashly.
The Savior Primarch was here, on Terra.
"Lord Savior…"
One of the Imperial Inquisitors bowed deeply as Eden passed into the villa.
They had received his casual but firm order—to stay outside and keep the area sealed.
Even if they didn't know why.
Some Inquisitors were itching to resist. After all, their loyalty was to the Emperor alone.
But they held back.
Because offending a Primarch? That could ruin everyone above you. Even the High Masters couldn't always shield themselves from a Primarch's wrath.
Inside the sealed chamber…
A nearly naked noblewoman was bound tightly in place. From the markings and garb, it appeared she was part of some strange cult.
She visibly trembled when Eden entered—head bowed, terrified.
Her body shook harder.
"What did you find?"
Eden asked his Inquisition aide, suspecting some Slaaneshi corruption—perhaps a pleasure cult altar.
But before they could answer—
"Wh—what in the hell is that?!"
Eden's face twisted in horror, eyes clenching shut.
"Damn it! My entire reputation! Ruined!"
On the wall… was a massive relief sculpture.
Sacred. Angelic forms flew across it. The Imperial Cross, glowing inscriptions, and radiant gold.
And there—at its heart—stood Eden, the Savior Primarch.
Powerful. Noble. Heroic.
But completely nude.
A 3D, hyper-detailed, uncensored version of himself—in his most vulnerable form. The infamous "tragic, noble beauty" rendition.
Nothing was left to the imagination.
Eden stood frozen.
Now he knew what those strange gazes had been about.
This… this was from the time when the Dark Prince had captured and tormented him. And apparently, someone had recorded it.
Worse—broadcasted it.
Across the galaxy.
"…No way," Eden muttered. "You're telling me everyone saw this?!"
The Inquisitor dared not look at the blasphemous art. Voice trembling, they explained:
"My Lord… we discovered these objects of desecration in this chamber.
Not just here—multiple other locations as well.
According to interrogations, these… items have spread widely across the galaxy…"
Eden's last hope was crushed.
He had assumed it was a brief clip—maybe a few powerful psykers or daemon princes had caught glimpses.
He hadn't expected it to be replicated. Refined. Enhanced.
And cherished.
All across the galaxy, who knew how many now secretly owned ultra-detailed "Savior Primarch" artwork?
No wonder so many noblewomen stared through him like he was naked.
But it got worse.
Some of the admirers had formed cults around the artwork.
Yes. Religions.
Worshipping the images and the Primarch behind them. An entire faith had blossomed—complete with relics, rituals, and even a mythos.
It had already spread beyond Holy Terra.
"…My faith is spreading this fast?"
Eden stared at a small Savior of Suffering icon—himself, beaten and bloodied, depicted with noble sorrow.
Unlike the erotic wall relief, this statue was modest. Sacred, almost tear-jerking.
According to intelligence, this version of the Savior had a legend:
The Primarch had been captured by a she-daemon while defending the Imperium's innocents. He endured unspeakable torment—but never yielded.
In the end, he triumphed and saved countless lives.
Worshippers claimed that praying to this Savior could bring divine blessings—especially to women and children.
Protection. Fertility. Even beauty and childbirth enhancement.
So now, many families offered prayers or wore Savior charms.
"…Huh. Kinda weirdly comprehensive," Eden muttered.
Still, it made sense. Simple, functional, and grounded symbols spread better than lofty scripture.
And in some ways, this was a blessing.
Eden had been planning to promote his faith across the Imperium anyway. This gave him a ready-made foundation.
But… the artwork. That was still a problem.
He glanced again at the giant erotic relief. The secret cults behind it… what should he do?
Declare them heretical? Launch a galaxy-wide purge?
He hesitated.
Too widespread.
Trying to cleanse them all would force the Urth Inquisition into noble girls' bedrooms daily. Public backlash would be fierce.
And most collectors were from the nobility or bureaucratic elite.
It would be impossible to catch them all.
Besides, they were just images.
It could be worse—this wasn't like the Emperor's Canal Incident…
That thought gave Eden some comfort.
More importantly, he hadn't detected any trace of Chaos corruption. The faith and joy generated by the cults were being absorbed by the dark side of the Little Sun.
…So in a way, they were stealing worship from Slaanesh?
That might actually be a good thing.
Better nobles get off on devotional imagery than fall to actual daemonic orgies.
"Forget it. We'll leave it be."
Eden ordered the Inquisition to unbind the noblewoman and withdraw.
She didn't raise her head until long after he left.
As a member of the Joyful Salvation Cult, she trembled in silent awe.
She longed to cry out—to ask the Savior for his blessing upon the image.
But she didn't dare.
Instead, she engraved his figure into her memory.
Later that night, she re-sealed the chamber, retrieved certain… items, and approached the grand relief.
When she activated her devotional rite…
She experienced ecstasy beyond mortal comprehension.
To the cult, such pleasure was sacred. A supernatural communion only the Savior could provide.
And thus, more joy-energy flowed into the shadow of the Little Sun.
——
The Eternity Gate.
A vast plaza capable of holding entire legions was now filled with clamorous activity. Preparations for the Victory Celebration were underway.
But new forces soon arrived.
The departments responsible for Eden's formal ceremony and that of the Lord Regent appeared—and seized all control.
All unrelated personnel were promptly expelled.
Tensions in Holy Terra, already strained, grew even worse.
In secret corners, Eden's staff installed mechanical structures of unknown design.
The skies of Terra became increasingly congested.
From across the Imperium, nobles, generals, and planetary governors flooded toward the Throneworld—determined to witness this unprecedented Imperial event.
Some ships carried… special cargo.
Meanwhile—
Aboard a luxurious rogue trader flagship…
Eden awoke in a soft, silken bed.
Beside him lay the Merchant Queen Dael and her daughters.
Last night, they had engaged in cordial negotiations and finalized several mutually beneficial trade agreements.
For the Savior's territory, this alliance would provide critical merchant support—reliable shipping power.
Eden dressed quietly, comforting his new ally before leaving.
But in his heart, a warning echoed.
He was starting to recognize it—the lingering effects of Slaanesh's soul-fragments.
They were influencing him. Feeding his impulses.
Trying to lead him into decadence.
But for now… he was still in control.
And Dael?
She had achieved her goal.
Her eyes followed Eden's departing figure, soft with emotion.
Then she gently placed a hand over her belly.
A faint, maternal glow shimmered around her.
Thanks to her relic from the Dark Age of Technology…
She would bear a child of divine lineage.
Let it be so…
(End of Chapter)
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