Chapter 464: Every Drink and Bite Is Foreordained! The Essence of the Primarch!
The Emperor's words sent a chill down Guilliman's spine. If that was the case, then would the galaxy never know peace again?
Since the entities of the Warp fed upon the emotions of all living things, then from the moment a being was born, its fate was already sealed—to become the food of the Ruinous Powers.
What awaited them was Infinity torment and agony, until the day they were utterly drained. The vast galaxy had become nothing more than a pleasure garden for the depravity of the Chaos Gods.
What a terrifying picture this was.
Guilliman lowered his head in silence. He felt lost, not knowing where he should go from here.
Even the Emperor of old had been unable to do anything about the Chaos Gods. He himself was but a Primarch—not even the most outstanding of them—so how could he possibly hold back the collapse of this great edifice?
"What are your thoughts now? Will you remain on Macragge and settle in as its lord, or will you return to Terra to take charge of the Imperium?"
The Emperor trusted Guilliman's administrative ability absolutely, but beyond ability, what a ruler needed most was the capacity to steady his own heart.
Now that Guilliman had only just awakened, only to be thrown into such a cataclysmic situation, anyone would feel overwhelmed and lost. He needed time to calm himself and think carefully.
Guilliman remained silent, not rushing to answer.
In truth, he had been pondering this very question just moments ago. As the last remaining Primarch, no matter what, he had to shoulder the responsibility of restoring the Imperium's glory.
But he still did not know how to go about it, or where to begin.
If he stayed on Macragge as its lord, with his understanding of the Ultramar sector, he could quickly revive Ultramar and restore the honor of the Ultramarines.
By then, with five hundred prosperous worlds as support, the Ultramarines would surely become the key bulwark against the forces of Chaos.
Even if he could not wipe out the traitor legions, to hold Ultramar fast and secure his realm was entirely within his grasp.
And Chaos would not necessarily remain fixated on Ultramar forever, intent on battling Guilliman to the death.
But if he were to return to Terra and take command of the Imperium, Guilliman feared his ability was insufficient, that he would not be able to truly restore it.
In his view, his reach extended only to the Ultramar sector. Beyond that, he doubted he could achieve anything of worth.
"Guilliman, you don't need to rush to answer this question. More than solving problems, what you need is to calm down, to think carefully about your direction. Only when you have seen clearly should you decide."
"And once you've decided, there can be no turning back."
The Emperor's words felt strangely familiar to Guilliman. He thought he had heard something like them before—words that carried a force of optimism, a warmth that lifted the spirit.
Anyone who could speak such words of philosophy could not be simple.
Guilliman grew ever more certain that this "Neos" before him must have deep ties with Terra, perhaps even with the Master of Mankind himself.
"Yes, I will think carefully on this matter," Guilliman nodded, then fell silent, staring at the Emperor as if waiting for him to take up the thread again.
And the Emperor no longer held back. He removed his helmet, revealing his true face. Under Guilliman's stunned, astonished gaze, the Emperor spoke slowly:
"I have always believed in your ability and your brilliance. But now, your most important duty is not merely the restoration of the Imperium—there is something far more important awaiting you."
Staring at the face he knew so well, Guilliman was completely dumbfounded. No wonder this Neos had always felt so familiar—he was his father!
But how could this be? Wasn't the Emperor said to be bound forever to the Golden Throne? Had everyone been deceived by an elaborate lie the Emperor himself had woven?
And what was the point of such a deception? How many billions had been ravaged by millennia of war—was such a tragic price truly necessary?
In that instant, countless possibilities flashed through Guilliman's mind. A dizziness overcame him, his vision blurred, and the overload of thoughts was unbearable.
The Emperor pressed a hidden switch in his hand. Instantly, the Megacorp's Warp-shielding device activated, and a vast field blanketed Macragge.
From this moment, nothing of their words or emotions would echo into the Warp. No third party would know what was spoken between them.
"We come from another parallel universe. In that world, we discovered a way of Warp travel immune to daemonic predation, shattered the Ruinous Powers' schemes to corrupt the Primarchs, and brought the forces of Chaos under a degree of control."
The Emperor's words left Guilliman wondering if he had truly awakened at all—was this all just some dream of his?
He had once studied fragments of knowledge about parallel timelines, but those scraps were hardly enough to convince him such things truly existed.
Guilliman scrutinized the Emperor carefully, suspecting this might be some trap of Tzeentch. After all, even Horus the brilliant had been seduced and made Warmaster of Chaos.
He had to guard against such a cunning trick.
But after repeated scrutiny, Guilliman could only confirm that this was indeed the Emperor himself. No daemon of Chaos could so perfectly imitate his father's aura.
What's more, the Emperor had already begun to manifest certain traits of a Warp deity. Even speaking his name could draw his attention.
And Guilliman, as a Primarch, knew his father better than anyone.
"Father—it truly is you—!"
Guilliman's joy was overwhelming. He cared nothing whether this was the Emperor of a parallel universe or not. If he was here, it could only mean he had come to set things right.
In this timeline, the Master of Mankind had already failed, bound to Terra and barely enduring. But before him now stood an Emperor vibrant and full of life.
With the Emperor's aid, surely the Imperium of Man could yet be restored!
Even in its present decayed state, the Imperium was nowhere near as fragile as in the days of the Emperor's first rise. At least now it was stronger than then.
Back then, the Emperor had begun alone, carving his way from Terra to Mars, unifying the Solar System with nothing but his own might, and then expanding outward step by step.
But the Imperium today still held nearly half the galaxy. With the Emperor's hand to set it in order, its situation could be reversed in an instant.
To manage a faltering Imperium was far easier than to forge one anew.
Thinking this, Guilliman was nearly moved to tears. So long as the Emperor stood, humanity would never be without hope.
Yet while Guilliman was nearly overcome with excitement, the Emperor was far less stirred. He was not here to labor overtime fighting Chaos—he was here to conduct an experiment.
The revival of the Imperium of Man would never rely on one person, or on the efforts of a few, but on the collective struggle of all humanity.
The unending continuation of a species comes from the vitality of the whole, not from waiting for a single savior to appear.
"Listen carefully, Guilliman. What I'm about to tell you is of utmost importance. You must agree to it beforehand, otherwise I won't reveal the details of this mission to you."
"This mission may not be fair to you. You will be forced to abandon everything you currently have, even your life—but in return, it could secure the Imperium's peace and stability for generations."
"You can also refuse this task and remain here on Macragge. If you do, I will erase your memories, as though you had never met me."
The Emperor never imposed moral coercion on anyone; he respected each individual's inner choice. Though Guilliman was the best candidate, He would not force him to accept.
"I accept!"
Guilliman did not hesitate for even a moment.
If sacrificing a single man could truly buy lasting peace for the Imperium of Man, then the bargain was beyond worth—it was a deal of cosmic magnitude.
Why should he waver?
"Very well. I need you to become a god of the Warp."
The Emperor's words were nothing short of thunder. Guilliman froze, unable to comprehend why his father would want him to become an entity of the Immaterium. Was that not corruption?
In his mind, the Warp was still that chaotic, malignant higher dimension. To become a god of that place was the same as falling into daemonhood.
Many of his brothers had already become Daemon Princes of the Ruinous Powers. If what the Emperor said was true, humanity's plight could grow even worse.
"Father, I don't understand," Guilliman asked in confusion.
The Emperor rose, pacing before him, as though weighing how to voice a secret He had long kept buried.
Only after a long silence did He continue: "Do you know how the Primarchs were created?"
Guilliman blinked and gave the answer he remembered: "It is said that you combined your own genetics with that of the immortal Eldar, then used ancient sorcery to forge us."
In the past, Guilliman had asked Malcador about the Primarchs' origins, but Malcador had revealed only part of the truth, deliberately concealing the rest.
"Your origin is inseparably tied to the Warp. That realm you fear and shun is, in truth, a part of you."
Guilliman grew more unsettled, but he held his tongue, waiting patiently for his father to unveil the unknown past.
In those days, to create the Primarchs and aid Himself in conquest, the Emperor not only used His own genetics and that of the Eldar, but also delved into ancient sorcery—and struck a bargain with the Four Chaos Gods.
He had traversed the gate on Molech, met the Ruinous Powers themselves, and there secured the secret knowledge to fashion the Primarchs.
But once the Primarchs were born, the Emperor turned His back on the bargain. Such brazen betrayal enraged the Dark Gods, and thus followed the scattering of the Primarchs, and later, their corruption.
Every cause has its effect. The current state of the Imperium was, in part, the vengeance of the Chaos Gods upon the Emperor.
"The soul of a Primarch is, in essence, fused with Warp entities—akin to a daemon. What you call 'flaws of temperament' are in truth part of your very nature."
"Horus's vaulting ambition, Fulgrim's obsession with perfection—these traits resonate with the greed, desire, violence, and deceit of the Four."
"In short, the Primarchs are hybrids of the Warp and reality itself."
The Emperor's revelation struck Guilliman like a blow; his pupils contracted sharply. So that was why—enemy and self were born of the same root. The forces they fought against were also part of themselves.
Yet still he found it hard to believe. Why would his father consort with Chaos in the first place? And worse, why renege on such a bargain? This revealed a darker side of the Emperor than he had ever known.
His father, too, had shadows that none had seen.
But the Emperor showed no shame at Guilliman's conflicted expression. What was done was done. He did not regret it.
In truth, He had never intended to honor His promise to the Dark Gods—but He had not expected the consequences to echo so violently across parallel universes.
"My only regret is not caring more for you brothers, and underestimating the strength of Chaos's vengeance. Now, I must make amends for my failure."
The Emperor sighed softly. Without the intervention of the Universal Megacorp, His own Imperium might have shared the same tragic fate.
"So you're saying, in essence, that we too are daemons of the Warp—only weaker than the Four…"
Guilliman's mind reeled. He and his brothers were not the pure sons of flesh and blood he had believed, but hybrids, "mongrels," born of bargain and sorcery.
By that reasoning, Horus's fall was almost inevitable. He had been a daemon of the Warp all along, merely reshaped into a Primarch.
"No. You are my son. I purged the daemon's taint long ago. What you inherited was only greater strength. You are Roboute Guilliman, Primarch of the Thirteenth Legion."
The Emperor would not accept talk of fatalistic corruption. He had not told Guilliman this truth so that he would embrace damnation, but so that he would see the Warp's nature was not so terrifying.
A man cannot choose his birth, but he can choose what he makes of it.
Seeing Guilliman's doubt, the Emperor laid a hand upon his shoulder and turned his gaze to the starlit void. "The elements that form humanity once drifted in meteors billions of years ago. Yet humans are not meteors. They are something else entirely."
"Who you are is not determined by your origin, but by your heart—by the choices you make."
The Emperor's eyes locked on Guilliman's. The timid fear the truth and shrink from it; the brave face it and march onward.
And Guilliman did not disappoint. He lifted his head and met the Emperor's gaze, answering with resolve: "I am Roboute Guilliman, Primarch of the Ultramarines, your thirteenth son!"
He would not cower from his nature as a hybrid of the Warp. What defined him was not his body, but the qualities tempered in fire—fighting side by side with his warriors in the Great Crusade, bleeding for humanity.
What defined him was ruling Ultramar and bringing prosperity to its people. Those deeds, that history, were his true self—not merely the essence of a daemon.
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