What are the consequences?
Only victors have the right to ponder consequences. If you lose, what's left to consider?
Guilliman understood this simple truth. What mattered was action—decisive, determined. Either you were destroyed by Chaos, or you destroyed Chaos. There was no middle ground. Someone would always end up broken and trampled. Guilliman had no intention of being that someone.
"Thank you for your trust," Kaul's mechanical voice came through the vox-link, sounding more human than usual.
"Any news for me?" Guilliman asked.
"The Great Sage has recruited a team of suitable personnel. They've begun preliminary research into supernatural phenomena," Kaul reported. "However, a contingent of Grey Knights recently emerged from the warp and arrived on Macragge. They are strongly opposed to any such research, warning that it may corrupt the entire world."
"Grey Knights..." Guilliman pondered, then nodded slowly. "Their concerns aren't unfounded. But we need this research. The warp bleeds into reality more with each passing year. We're far too ill-equipped to handle it. Mankind has spent ten thousand years being beaten down by the immaterium. Worship of Chaos often begins not from reverence—but from helplessness."
Warp-spawned daemons were entities of unfathomable power—undying, remorseless, and cruel. Their ability to cause harm was well known, yet countless humans still fell into their service. Guilliman knew why.
There was a perverse part of human nature—some deep psychological flaw—that drove the weak to venerate the things that oppressed them. Some called it Stockholm Syndrome. It afflicted the weak-willed, the desperate, those unable to distinguish fear from faith.
Like abused children clinging to cruel parents for scraps of affection, or workers trapped in toxic workplaces who still thanked their abusers for the smallest mercy—many humans embraced their tormentors.
So too with Chaos.
People feared daemons, but when tempted by them, they often convinced themselves the warp was merciful. Guilliman refused to let humanity remain this way.
He wanted to reform mankind, not just its institutions but its very soul. He would teach them that daemons could be killed—that they were not gods, but cowards who feared pain and death.
That transformation had to start with understanding.
"Move the research project to a low-population planet," Guilliman ordered. "Invite the Grey Knights to monitor it. We must know our enemy. If they resist, inform them that this is an order from the Lord Commander of the Imperium. Compliance is not optional."
Kaul's avatar nodded. "I will transmit your will. On another matter—the Mechanicus has discovered a new communication method based on your technology: dark matter transmissions. This method allows for faster-than-light communication without relying on the warp. However, the Great Sage lacks detailed information on dark matter. He inquires whether you have more data?"
Guilliman shook his head. "I do not. What I gave him is all I have."
He couldn't exactly explain that his "gift" came from an otherworldly golden interface he hadn't unlocked fully yet.
"This concludes the Great Sage's message," Kaul said. "I will encode your directives and forward them to him—your approval for enhanced Astartes research, your decision to relocate the supernatural study project, and your lack of further dark matter data. Please confirm."
"Confirmed," Guilliman replied.
A chorus of mechanical clicks echoed as the system encrypted the message. Data paths lit up momentarily before shutting down. The glass cylinder housing a preserved head relaxed as its last twitch faded. The nutrient fluid glowed softly. Then the containment panel slid shut.
Everything returned to stillness.
Guilliman remained for a while, lost in thought.
The Ultramar Sector was still plagued with remnants from past conflicts—Tyranids, Ork warbands, even signs of Necron dynasties stirring in hidden tombs. These threats had to be purged. A secure rear was essential to fuel his future campaigns with soldiers and war machines.
Yet Guilliman's ambitions stretched far beyond Ultramar. Even with ongoing conflicts, he expected to stabilize the sector within half a year—provided no further catastrophes occurred.
His real concern was the wider Imperium.
The galaxy had been carved into various star fields: the Halo Zone, the Obscurus Zone, the Ghoul Stars, the Eastern Fringe, the Ultima Segmentum, and others. The Great Rift had plunged many of these into darkness, severed from the Astronomican's guiding light.
Ultramar, sitting within the Ultima Segmentum, straddled the edge. Macragge, by some stroke of fortune, still lay within the light's reach. Warp travel here was difficult—but possible.
Still, it wasn't enough.
Humanity needed new methods to cross the warp safely and reliably. The Imperium could not depend on an unpredictable psychic beacon forever.
Guilliman mentally listed his priorities:
Stabilize Ultramar – Cleanse it of lingering threats and implement his new administrative system to create a steady supply line.
Develop reliable warp navigation – Expand alternatives beyond the Astronomican.
Support Kaul's research – Accelerate progress on mass-produced Primaris Marines and dark matter communications.
Forge a powerful Crusade army – For the Indomitus Crusade and beyond.
Reform Imperial politics – Balance old nobility with his new meritocratic vision and spread it throughout the galaxy.
Pre-empt Traitor Primarchs – Strike them before they destabilize the Imperium further.
He knew he couldn't handle these tasks sequentially—this wasn't a game. The galaxy would never wait for him to finish one job before tossing another crisis his way.
Mortarion's recent taunts still echoed in his memory. That traitor would act soon, Guilliman was sure of it. The problem was, he had no way to confirm anything in the warp. The Imperium had no spies within the Eye of Terror.
That was something he needed to change.
If daemons could support human traitors, why couldn't the Imperium turn the tables?
He'd heard whispers—some Inquisitors allegedly struck deals with lesser warp entities. In exchange for services, these radicals offered payment or sacrifices. Dangerous, but perhaps necessary.
Guilliman, as Lord Commander, could never publicly condone such heresy. It would shatter the fragile unity of the Imperium.
But he could use a proxy. A "white glove."
"I need to find someone who can do the dirty work," he murmured, rubbing his chin.
Within the Inquisition, there were three major branches: Ordo Xenos (for aliens), Ordo Hereticus (for internal religious deviations), and Ordo Malleus (for daemons and the warp).
Like the Mechanicus, the Inquisition had internal factions—radicals and puritans.
The puritans believed all aliens and daemons must be exterminated without exception, regardless of circumstance. The radicals, more pragmatic, categorized threats and sometimes engaged with lesser beings for the greater good.
Guilliman believed he could make use of the radicals.
And if he could find a trusted Inquisitor willing to walk that gray line—to become his white glove—then perhaps, at last, the Imperium could fight fire with fire.
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