The Primarchs, these miraculous beings forged from the very fabric of the Warp and the pinnacle of human technology, were now infused with the essence of the Master of Mankind. He was giving them His blood, His genetic material, and more importantly, His ideals. He was literally building His children from the ground up, with a little help from the gods.
With a gentle wave of His hand, the Emperor grabbed a small bottle of dark red fluid. The label read "Ancient Terra Genetic Sample." With a final flourish of psychic energy, He infused it into one of the Primarchs' pods, hoping to bestow upon him the eternal loyalty of a very good boy.
He paused for a moment, His gaze falling on the last red soul—the one He had no control over. He hesitated. What exactly was this thing? The gods had forced it on Him, yet its light was pure, unlike anything from the Warp He had ever seen. He stared at the pod for a long time, then with a weary sigh, He spoke. "I cannot bestow anything upon you. You are free." With that, the ritual was complete.
The Warp sorcery and the biological pods all activated at once. The combined genetic material of the Emperor and Erda fused, and pure Warp energy, channeled by the Emperor's barrier, rushed into the pods. Nurtured by the artificial amniotic fluid and the roiling chaos, twenty-one tiny human embryos began to take shape. Lesser gods and a supreme human fused, creating the ultimate combination of power and wisdom.
Erda slowly climbed out of the pod, her legs wobbly and her body weak. The pain of the genetic extraction was an all-consuming fire, like having a million tiny nanobots prick every cell in her body. She waved away Malcador's hand, refusing his support. Her eyes, filled with a newfound tenderness, took in the twenty-two fetuses in their pods, curled together in the fluid.
She had been immortal for tens of thousands of years, a silent spectator to human history, but she had never felt a bond like this. Now, for the first time, her heart pounded in sync with the tiny, faint heartbeats in the pods. A long-suppressed maternal instinct surged through her ancient veins. Her smile was weak, but full of a gentle, loving warmth.
"My friend, are you feeling better?" the Emperor asked, His own face a shade paler than before, His divine energy temporarily depleted.
"I'm well. I've never been better," she replied, a genuine light in her eyes that Malcador, who rarely smiled, couldn't help but notice.
"Perhaps your new identity will bring you a different experience," he said, and Erda simply smiled.
The Emperor's gaze pierced through the pods. The little Primarchs were developing at an astonishing rate. It wouldn't be long before He could extract the "gene-seed"—a process that would allow humanity to create superhuman soldiers by implanting this divine-human genetic material into carefully selected mortals.
"Let's go. They need time, and so do we," the Emperor said. The four of them turned and walked away from the heavy alloy door, sealing the laboratory and all its secrets forever from the prying eyes of ordinary humans.
Erda stopped before the final exit, her heart heavy with concern. She looked back, but all she could see were the cold, unforgiving doors that separated her from her children.
Outside, a crowd of staff waited, a sea of solemn faces. The Custodes, the Imperium's early officials, the soldiers who had helped the Emperor conquer Terra—all stood in reverent silence.
To each of them, the Master of Mankind appeared differently, a perfect reflection of their deepest desires. He was a perfect embodiment of their ideals, His image changing depending on who was looking. He didn't stop this psychic projection; in fact, he amplified it. He knew that deep in their DNA, humans were wired for worship.
"My Lord!" a voice called out, and suddenly the entire crowd dropped to their knees, offering their loyalty and praise.
The wave of overwhelming emotion was too much. Erda felt a sudden wave of dizziness. "I need to rest," she said softly, not asking for permission, but stating a simple fact. The Emperor nodded, and she left with her personal handmaidens.
As she stepped out of the Emperor's light and walked away from His psychic protection, a thin tendril of Chaos energy, so subtle it was almost imperceptible, slipped into her soul. A jolt of cold, soul-chilling dread shot through her. She leaned against a wall, struggling to catch her breath.
"Madam, are you alright?" a handmaiden asked, stepping forward to offer support.
The moment their hands touched, the handmaiden recoiled. Her mistress's skin was ice cold. "Madam, your body…"
Erda quickly recovered and waved a hand, silencing her. "I'm sorry to worry you. I am just a little weak."
"Please take care of yourself. The Imperium cannot lose you."
After reassuring them, she continued on to her luxurious estate, a small oasis of greenery in the ravaged wasteland of Terra. The courtyard, with its artificial fountain and fragrant flowers, was a luxury beyond the wildest dreams of the wasteland scavengers outside.
In her private study, surrounded by ancient books, she lay down on a comfortable chair. She closed her eyes, the simulated sunlight from the fusion device warming her face. A chilling vision flashed in her mind. A cruel, terrifying prophecy of a future she refused to believe. The Emperor would turn her children into mindless weapons, use them for His own ambition, and then, once they were no longer useful, he would erase them from history.
She knew this was a trick, a cruel joke from the Chaos Gods, a lie meant to turn her against Him. But a new emotion, an overwhelming maternal worry, was now battling her millennia of reason. What if He was lying? What if He truly was going to use her children and then toss them away like broken tools?