The Emperor's will had been broadcast to the minds of the world. The visions had been clear his golden form, the towering presence of his Custodes, and the overwhelming weight of his authority. The world had seen his face, his power, and the legion of warriors who stood as his silent guardians. But what had followed the visions was even more profound. The Emperor did not simply show himself to the minds of humanity; he claimed them.
From the moment the Emperor's psychic wave had washed over the globe, the leaders of Earth, those whose influence had shaped the fate of nations, found their thoughts no longer their own. They had been given the gift of clarity, of understanding who the Emperor was, and how his will was absolute. Yet, none of them had the strength to resist.
In Washington D.C., Franklin D. Roosevelt stared into the empty space of his office, his mind clouded with the indomitable force of the Emperor's psychic presence. He could feel it, the same feeling that had surged through him in the visions: the Emperor's golden form, the towering Custodes, and the overwhelming pressure that now held him captive. His every thought, his every plan, now bent to the will of the Emperor.
Roosevelt had once been the epitome of power in his nation, the leader of the free world. But now, he was just another subject under the Emperor's command. His thoughts were muddled, yet a single clear realization persisted: There is no escape. The Emperor is now my ruler.
Across the Atlantic, in London, Winston Churchill stood alone in his office, his hands shaking as he tried to comprehend what had just happened. The Emperor's face the golden visage, the symbols of power, the image of the Custodes had been seared into his mind. The vision had been overwhelming, and now, his once-ironclad will had been shattered.
Churchill had always been a man of determination, of iron resolve. But now, he felt small, insignificant, his thoughts invaded by something far beyond his comprehension. His gaze wandered to the window, the skyline of London a distant blur. We are no longer the masters of our own fate, he realized with a sinking feeling. The Emperor rules us all.
In the Soviet Union, Joseph Stalin felt the weight of the Emperor's psychic presence settle upon him like a leaden cloak. For a man who had bent the will of an entire nation to his own desires, this was a humiliation he could not fathom. He had no idea how this had come to pass, nor who this Emperor truly was. All he knew was that his mind was no longer his own.
The image of the Emperor, standing proud and resolute, filled his thoughts. The sight of the golden-armored figure and the warriors who stood at his side haunted his every moment. There were no words spoken aloud, but the feeling was undeniable: You are mine now, Stalin. You will serve me. The thought pressed down on him with crushing force, and his attempts at resistance were futile.
Adolf Hitler, sitting in his Führerbunker, felt the same pressure. The Emperor's image his golden armor, his towering presence pulsed in his mind, impossible to ignore. The visions had come to him like an iron fist, and though he tried to fight it, to dismiss it as a figment of his imagination, the reality of the Emperor's power crushed his defiance.
This is not a dream, Hitler realized, the weight of the revelation settling upon him. This is real. The Emperor has arrived, and he controls us now. His vision blurred, and a sinking feeling of impotence spread through him. The world is no longer mine to command.
The Emperor, standing in his hidden stronghold on Earth, felt the psychic ripples of his influence spread across the globe. His will had been felt by every significant leader, and the knowledge of his face, his form, and his Custodes had been imprinted upon their minds. The resistance, if it could be called that, was already a fading thought in their consciousness. They were now under his control, whether they understood it or not.
In his stronghold, the Emperor stood, his gaze fixed on the globe before him. His golden armor glowed faintly as he watched the minds of Earth's leaders once proud and resolute bend beneath his psychic might. It was not through force of arms, nor through the fire of war, that the Emperor had claimed Earth. It had been a single moment of psychic supremacy, a vision that had unfolded in every mind that mattered.
His Custodes stood silently beside him, still unknown to the world at large. Their existence, their purpose, remained a mystery. But for the Emperor, they were his guardians silent, unyielding, and ever-present. They had seen the Emperor's victory unfold, and though they did not yet engage with the leaders directly, they were ready for whatever came next.
The Emperor's mind was vast, ever-watchful. He had already won the war for Earth, but the battle was far from over. The leaders of Earth were now pawns in his grand design, their thoughts reshaped, their loyalties redirected. The world was united under his will but the true power of his reign had yet to be fully realized.
The Emperor's psychic influence had crushed any hope of rebellion, and now, Earth stood on the brink of transformation. The nations would fall in line, and the Emperor's vision of a new world order would begin to take shape. The old world, with its petty divisions and endless conflict, would be swept away, replaced by a unified empire under the Emperor's control.
The world had seen his face. The world had felt his power. And now, the world would bend to his will.