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Warhammer: In the Name of Nirvana

Dark_Wizard2
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Synopsis
Before you stands the Emperor. Master of Mankind, Joint Ruler of Holy Terra and Mars, Heavenly Father, Caesar, Emperor, Augustus, Conqueror of the Stars, Bane of Xenos, Immortal Wisdom, Curse of Malevolent Gods, Watcher on the Golden Throne... And most importantly: Humanity's Eternal God, Indestructible Faith, Creator of the Greatest Suffering, Bearer of the Greatest Suffering. His legions are falling, his empire is dying, and all his most sacred, primal dreams are turning into the very ignorance and atrocities that will kill him. He is weeping. He is screaming. He is helpless, witnessing endless malice amidst infinite suffering. And I? I am the one who ended His suffering. (Female Primarch, original Legion, no devotion to Chaos. The author will try their best to maintain lore accuracy, "grimdark" flavor, and daily updates. The beginning might be a bit difficult to read, so feel free to read a few chapters to see if you can adapt.) Important Note : For the continuity of this story consider to Support us on Pãtreon/Flokixy to access advance Chapters and To Support The Daily Update
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Chapter 1 - Chapter 1: Prologue

💥 Good News For my Pãtreon Supporters the first team member just join me to help me Translate the chapter and from today we will post 4 chapter a day on Pãtreon/Flokixy so I hope for your support so we can continue with the daily update 🙏

[Morgan, my daughter.]

[You are a failure.]

[A thief, a harbinger of disaster.]

[A nightmare, an interrogation.]

[One who feeds on pain for a lifetime.]

[You will hate pain.]

[Depend on pain.]

[Dominate pain.]

[Finally... become pain.]

——————

"Since he is unwilling to pledge loyalty to the Emperor, let him remain silent."

"Yes, everything, his progeny and his family, must remain silent. Do I need to teach you this by hand?"

The aged voice carried dissatisfaction with incompetence and weakness.

Malcador walked slowly along a path of sparse gravel, his steps deliberate and solid. He gripped his staff tightly, his head buried beneath his worn hood, looking down at the path.

The Sigillite of the Imperium, people always used this title to refer to him. Their tone always carried fear and hatred, for this seemingly dying old man had signed countless fatal decrees.

Every time his lips parted, tens of thousands of lives would vanish from the soil of Terra. The survivors whispered in the corners of the court, completely unaware that Malcador's power allowed him to clearly know every praise and slander he received.

But he never cared for any of it, especially when the supreme voice called to him. At the end of the path, there was a bunker buried beneath the mountains. Gold-armored warriors stood on either side, eyes fixed straight ahead. He pushed open the door and stepped inside, and the whispers of gods and demons assailed him.

"Emperor... my Lord."

Malcador bowed deeply. His status as Sigillite of the Imperium, his power, his arrogance, and his responsibility—at this moment, all were worthless.

——————

The Master of Mankind—the Emperor—was frowning deeply at this moment.

Before him stood two colossal, specialized stasis-coffins, incomprehensible to mortal minds. The Master of Mankind's tall figure was clearly reflected upon them, subtly obscuring their contents.

Malcador was 6,500 years old. Even among the immortals, this was a tenure worthy of pride. And naturally, many of his emotions and memories had slowly worn away with the passage of time.

But when he truly saw the [thing] within the coffin, a thing indescribable in words.

He felt... fear, for the first time in a long while.

[All repair efforts for experimental subject number two can now be declared a failure, Malcador.]

The Emperor now appeared dressed as a scientist. He wore a pristine, overly loose white protective suit, and with a face full of weariness and irritation, he pulled off his gloves and tossed them casually at his feet.

After a long pause, his eyes, which had been fixed on the stasis-coffin marked [Ⅱ], finally shifted away. The Emperor ultimately shook his head, his voice conveying only regret and annoyance at the loss of a precious creation.

The Sigillite did not speak. After serving alongside this Master of Terra for what could only be described as a prolonged period, he had largely come to understand the Emperor's character and true nature.

The ruler of Terra, the Emperor of Mankind, and also Malcador's liege, he was never a good person or a gentleman in the conventional sense. Countless eons had long since washed away almost all of his emotions as a mortal.

Although his will remained unshakably firm, unlike some of his immortal counterparts who became irretrievably corrupted, when he took firm steps towards his goal, he would never care about so-called casualties or morality.

When he put on a masterful performance, becoming a weary father and confidant, he would never let his thoughts be swayed by such ridiculous emotions.

Life, to him, was but fallen leaves in the forest. He would cherish the forest's lushness and future growth, yet he would not hesitate to fell any ancient, towering tree. How could one who could gaze upon the Four Gods be a benevolent being?

[I must consider how to mitigate my losses. The issue with individual number two cannot be resolved by any means currently available. It is already difficult for it to achieve my predetermined objective.]

[I originally intended for number one to be the Imperium's keeper of secrets and general, a guardian who would fight to the death for me. And number two was to be a second you, Malcador.]

[I granted it the ability to explore and collect the unknown, bestowed upon it talents in psychic powers and governance, and other even more formidable powers.]

[It should have been more worthy of my trust and reliance, becoming the most avaricious and deceptive auxiliary, to soothe the roars and savagery of these twisted monsters I have created.]

[But now, I miscalculated. Everything concerning number two needs to be torn down and rebuilt.]

The Emperor paced restlessly in the room, his gaze cycling through the empty cultivation chambers. In that transaction on the planet Moros, the power he gained was enough to shape twenty of the most powerful assistants.

Although he knew that not every one of them would succeed, failure had indeed come too quickly. He began to scheme on how to cut his losses in time, how to make a failed product yield the greatest value in a short period: even a phantom would serve the Emperor's great cause and objective.

The failed Second Primarch was not alone, for the First Primarch had already been completed before her. That was a powerful, heroic, and perfect creation; any other being paled in comparison.

Malcador looked up, and with just a glance at number two, he instantly understood the reason why the Emperor had abandoned a Primarch with infinite potential.

Power, the power of the Chaos Gods, was swirling around this Primarch. Its intensity was so palpable that even the most humble psychic could clearly feel it.

And as one of the greatest psychic venerables in the material universe, the Sigillite Malcador went even further; he could perfectly perceive that the power belonged to Tzeentch and Slaanesh.

——————

If there was one entity in the Immaterium that all challengers least wanted to face, it was undoubtedly Tzeentch: the Changer of Ways, master of the Crystal Labyrinth, the grand architect of all twisted fates in the world.

How He formed, and how He cast sinister shadows throughout the histories of countless races, these no longer mattered. He was there, brimming with malice, and that alone was enough to make all challengers feel a pressure from deep within their hearts.

Countless prosperous civilizations had already fallen into oblivion amidst His laughter, and countless heroes of an era had perished due to His whimsical thoughts. This master of distortion and plotting cared not for the past, nor for the future, nor even for victory.

All He craved was the shared wailing that erupted when the fates of heroes and mortals fluctuated. Now, He had clearly set His sights on the Emperor's plan, plotting wicked schemes amidst a long string of chuckles, and He was not the only one doing so.

In the Immaterium, the youngest god: Slaanesh's aura likewise brazenly surrounded the Emperor, a blatant challenge, declaration, and exhortation. The Prince of Pleasure was using this method to tell the Master of Terra which one He coveted in this transaction.

Though compared to the three ancient gods, this one who rose from the Great Cataclysm of the Aeldari was still too young and weak, no one doubted that the master of pleasure and all extreme emotions would become an unshakeable part of the Immaterium.

He was unscrupulously stealing power from all things in the world, allowing the Silver Palace of Pleasure to expand daily.

Now, the oldest and youngest gods in the Warp had both set their sights on this unborn child of the Emperor, warning the Emperor to fulfill the terms of their initial agreement: twenty gene-sons, half of whom were to belong to the Immaterium, to the Warp, to the Four Chaos Gods.

However, the Emperor had no intention of fulfilling it. He would be an disloyal trading partner, a vile deceiver, a ruthless crisis manager. He was adept at this.

The Master of Mankind narrowed his eyes, beginning to ponder how to most cost-effectively deal with this progeny he had abandoned early on. Three equally wicked great minds thus revolved around this unborn life, scheming against each other. Meanwhile, the Sigillite continued his observation.

This second Primarch, her physiology had been twisted into an absolute female by the warp's great power. Compared to her robust brother in the other cultivation chamber, she appeared delicate, pale, and frail.

Excessive nutrients, however, promoted her development and growth. Malcador could see her silvery-white hair and faintly blue pupils.

But from another perspective, in the ocean of psychic energy and spirit, the Sigillite saw an indescribably terrifying, boundless behemoth. The power of the Changer of Ways and the Prince of Pleasure swirled around this unborn child.

Their whispers and temptations were ceaseless, like sharp daggers, eroding her mind and thoughts. In the void ocean, the howls of the Changer of Ways already echoed. The Sigillite saw the pale blue light constantly manifesting on the distant horizon.

Eagles, covered in fangs and sharp feathers, flocked towards the sleeping Primarch, only to turn into dust in an instant due to the Emperor's cold gaze. The waves of the Warp, driven by the will of the Changer of Ways, churned, from the deepest void to the dome of Holy Terra, Tzeentch's will was omnipresent.

Malcador withdrew his divine consciousness. Even he had to be cautious in such an environment. For the material universe, the gods of the Warp were the most terrifying plague; even a slight contamination was enough to etch itself into the bones of the most seasoned survivor.

The Emperor remained busy, his thoughts racing at the speed of a meteor. Countless plans and schemes were conjured in an instant, only to be abandoned moments later. Malcador glimpsed fragments of words, feeling a chill run through him.

The words on them questioned the last remnants of his conscience and morality. Thus, the Sigillite looked up again. This time, his will shifted its angle in the void, preparing to glimpse the Prince of Pleasure's attitude and offensive towards this place.

If the depth of Tzeentch's corruption of this Primarch was such that even the Sigillite's soul gaze dared not linger for too long, then Slaanesh's possessiveness towards this daughter of the Emperor could be displayed with a more obvious and direct outcome: Malcador the Sigillite—perhaps the second most powerful psychic in the entire galaxy after the Emperor—extended his divine consciousness, intending to glimpse the mark the Prince of Pleasure had left on the Second Primarch.

——————

Then, he was knocked unconscious.

——————

Even the Emperor's cold gaze could not disperse the mist the Prince of Pleasure left here. Seductive smiles and whispers had been deeply etched into the Second Primarch's body. Her distance from Slaanesh seemed to be but a genuflection, an orgy, or a true blasphemy away.

The Emperor remained silent. His second creation in the material universe still belonged to him, but in the Immaterium, the Prince of Pleasure already held her tightly, laughing.

Only the sharp beak of the Changer of Ways might be able to tear through this grasp. But to prematurely ignite a war with the Immaterium for this would be too uneconomical. He still needed time to forge more armies and facilities, to perfect his trump cards, to complete a galaxy-spanning gamble.

The Emperor began to think again, his thoughts as cold as a hibernating snake. As time flowed, the Master of Mankind's gaze swayed between his two completed creations. After a long period of contemplation, he finally made a decision that was not too difficult.

[Malcador.]

He awakened his most trusted tool.

[Look here.]

The Emperor tapped the chamber of the First Primarch. Through a psychic lens, they could see that this almost perfect creation actually had its own problems. Paranoia, reclusiveness, savagery, and stubborn arrogance were gifts from the Warp's power, clinging tightly to the First Primarch's soul like maggots to bone.

[We should weaken it, remove these unstable Warp elements, at least a portion. I do not like my successful creations to possess such hidden dangers.]

Malcador rubbed his shoulder; his head still throbbed from the impact of the divine power.

"My Lord, this is a very risky plan."

"Most importantly, how should we dispose of these excised Warp components?"

"They must be placed in a suitable environment, otherwise these unique powers will one day backlash against them again."

[There's no need to purge them entirely, only weaken them. I trust their will. I will instill loyalty and obedience into the genes of these creations, until the day I no longer need them.]

Saying this, the Emperor continuously rubbed his fingers. Then, his gaze fell upon the failed creation, his second progeny, the color in his pupils like a tyrant gazing upon a scapegoat.

[And for the place to dispose of these malicious thoughts, didn't we just acquire a ready-made one?]

The Emperor caressed the cold chamber. He looked at his failed daughter, a different kind of relief in his eyes.

[Since she is already an irredeemable failure...]

[Then let us make the most of this waste.]

[My daughter, my number two, my first failure.]

[Morgan.]