"Of course, my old friend." The Emperor opened his eyes, a flicker of exhaustion crossing his face. He held his palm out, and the glowing, ethereal cargo of his Warp journey came into view.
Twenty-one lesser divine essences, like captured fireflies, drifted gently above his hand. They swirled with a kaleidoscope of colors, casting a shifting light across the rough stone walls of the chamber. The room itself was a paradox, a simple cave carved with blasphemous runes and the eight-pointed star of Chaos, a symbol of the very things they sought to conquer.
As the divine essences entered the physical world, their brilliance dimmed, suppressed by the iron laws of reality. But one of them remained stubbornly bright—the red soul, the special one that had captivated the Chaos Gods.
A lean, wiry man with a hunched back stood before the Emperor, his brow furrowed in concern. This was Malcador, the Sigillite, the Emperor's oldest and most trusted friend. To him, the Emperor appeared as an impossible vision of perfection, a holy and radiant figure. He leaned on his Aquila Staff, his expression tense, his hand clutching it tightly.
"What is this?" Malcador asked, his voice a low rumble. He was a psyker of immense power and knew well that the Warp's influence always waned in reality. The red soul's defiance of this rule was deeply unsettling.
The Emperor's sharp gaze settled on the red soul. "A special existence," he said, his voice grave. "The only condition the Four Gods gave me. It was part of the deal."
With a thought, the Emperor's dazzling psychic radiance receded, revealing a weary, middle-aged man in a simple white robe trimmed with gold. He was a perfect picture of a noble Roman philosopher, but his face was lined with a profound fatigue. Going toe-to-toe with the Ruinous Powers was no small feat; their corrupting influence was a poison that seeped into everything, and even he was not immune.
"Can't we just… destroy it?" Malcador's face hardened, and an orange-red psychic flame erupted from his hand. The Aquila on his staff seemed to come to life in the glow, and a "Daemon Mark," a unique symbol of destruction, condensed in his palm. Malcador was ready to turn the foul thing to dust in an instant.
The Emperor gently placed a hand on his friend's. "I can't. The contract is binding. Not now, at least. It must be born in the real universe. As for what it will become, I don't know." He paused, a wry look in his eyes. "Perhaps the Four Gods don't know either."
Malcador's shoulders slumped. "A problem for a future me," he muttered. He and the Emperor were in an impossible position. To save humanity, they had to deal with the Chaos Gods. It was a race against time. The Warp storms had briefly abated, giving them a small window to unite the scattered remnants of humanity. A vast plan like this required the Warp's dark consent, and they couldn't afford to break the deal.
"Let's go," the Emperor said, rising from the floor. "Time is not on our side." He walked barefoot out of the chamber.
"Indeed," Malcador agreed, tossing a glowing sigil at the stone door. It groaned open, flooding the room with blinding sunlight.
Outside, a deep voice boomed with barely contained excitement. "My Lord! You've returned! Everything went smoothly, I trust?"
The Emperor and Malcador smiled, nodding. Their grand plan had taken its first, critical step. They were greeted by two figures: a giant of a man, over three meters tall, and an elegant woman.
The man was a masterpiece of genetic engineering, a walking work of art. His body was clad in golden power armor that was so ornate it seemed alive, with intricate reliefs and countless embedded gems. On his chest, an Aquila was cast in metal, wings outstretched.
His eyes, full of fierce resolve, perfectly complemented the armor's regal splendor. In his hand, he held a magnificent halberd, a weapon forged by the Emperor himself for the Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes. The halberd's head was a fearsome boltgun with a built-in disintegration field—a truly terrifying piece of tech.
This was Constantin Valdor, the Emperor's most powerful and loyal servant. Created from the Emperor's own genes, he was designed to be impervious to the Warp and a master of combat. He and his Custodian brothers were the pinnacle of physical perfection, faster than lightning and capable of fighting for days without rest.
The woman was Erda, a fellow Perpetual and the Emperor's oldest friend. She had watched human civilization rise from its infancy and had been a silent guardian throughout history. She had helped the Emperor with the Unification Wars, offering strategic advice and her profound wisdom.
The two were the foundation of the nascent Imperium. The Emperor trusted them implicitly, and they, in turn, were dedicated to his grand vision: a galaxy-spanning Imperium of Man.
"Let's go, my servants," the Emperor said, holding out the souls in his hand. "To the laboratory. We must anchor these in reality immediately. They won't last long without a vessel."