Terra, the Throne Room.
Three Tech-Priest, responsible for the maintenance of the Golden Throne, had gathered before a monitoring array, their gazes intently fixed on the screen as they observed the waveform displaying the Throne's psychic output. Normally, it should have been steady as a flat line. Now, however, it spiked erratically like a heart suffering arrhythmia, fluctuating with terrifying speed and violence.
"This frequency and amplitude of power fluctuations… It's abnormal."
Lakham Tab-418 stroked his metallic jaw with a metallic finger. Optical lenses, buried in his eye sockets, continually adjusted focus, emitting a faint clicking as they processed the data stream.
"This pattern does not match any known maintenance protocols, responses to external threats, nor the ignition sequence of the Astronomican."
"These fluctuations, like the rise and fall of human emotions, show a certain illogical frequency."
"Lakham Tab-418, what is your diagnosis?" queried Chronos-07, another of the sage trio. "Could it be that the great Omnissiah is attempting to communicate with us?"
These three belonged to the tiny handful in the Imperium who actually knew the grievously wounded Omnissiah had recovered. Yet, the Omnissiah's power was far too vast; his very existence was intertwined with the Throne, the light of the Astronomican, and the fate of all humankind. This also meant He could neither leave nor speak from the Golden Throne.
"I'm running a cross-check," Lakham Tab-418 replied. "The fluctuations in the Golden Throne are extremely similar to the irrational surges I observed 50 years ago in my research on humanity's emotions, triggered by complex biochemical and neuro-impulses – commonly known as love."
"You're saying the Omnissiah is experiencing something akin to falling in love?"
Shhhhh!
At the words, the air intakes and cooling systems of the two other sages hissed simultaneously, as if taking in a collective gasp, and the lights of their mechanical eyes flickered irregularly. This man was unbelievably bold – he was actually saying that the Omnissiah was in love.
A few years ago, anyone proposing such a theory would have been executed by the Inquisition or had a Martian punitive fleet dispatched after them.
"You honestly deserve to be sent to trial for heresy," muttered Chronos-07 bluntly.
Lakham Tab-418 spread his mechanical hands: "I am merely analyzing from a logical, data-based perspective. This is not blasphemy."
"Speaking words that cannot be verified is still a form of blasphemy."
"You're trying to trap me with accusations I did not make."
"I have a suggestion," cut in the third sage, Hyax-957, observing his colleagues' bickering. "Perhaps we can verify whether your conjecture is right or wrong."
The other two, confused, looked over at him.
"The Omnissiah's body is healed; his might could shatter stars. Right now, our inability to communicate is not due to His silence, but to our own limitations, our frailty in the face of his holy will. Thus, we cannot communicate. However, while it is hard to listen, it's not hard to ask. Our Lord always hears; if we ask specific questions, we may divine His will from the feedback in the Throne's energy output."
Hssss!
Again, the hiss of intakes. The other sages gazed at Hyax-957 in awe. Why were they both from Mars, yet only he could come up with such ingenious ideas? The three quickly conferred in binary, and the longer they debated, the more feasible it seemed.
Hyax-957, slightly nervous, approached the Golden Throne and posed a question in binary:
[Query: Supreme Omnissiah, avatar of the Machine God, eternal guide of humanity... do your recent emotional fluctuations indicate you are experiencing something resembling human love?]
The figure upon the Throne, cloaked in infinite golden light, moved so little as to be imperceptible.
The Emperor: ...If you cog-freaks have truly nothing better to do, go find a forge to tighten some screws! You can't even combine two pounds of meat but try analyzing emotions?
On the monitor, the output waveform suddenly spiked. Lights flickered wildly throughout the entire sanctum. Energy conduits groaned as if in low-overload, and the pressure of pure soul in the air multiplied, making the sages cower in terror.
The next moment, silence. The Golden Throne went still, the waveform flat. Clearly, Hyax-957's idea was correct: the Emperor cannot speak—but He can hear and respond.
"This reaction was likely due to an excessive emotional surge from the Omnissiah; thus, I conclude that the Omnissiah may indeed be in a state resembling romantic love," pronounced Lakham Tab-418 firmly.
The other sages voiced their doubts, but offered no rebuttal.
Meanwhile, the Emperor slumped on His Throne, deeply upset.
Had these oil-worshipers used some tainted lubricant? Why were they so obsessed with wild ideas? He wasn't in love—He was furious! This was utter nonsense! Sooner or later these three would ruin His reputation entirely.
And yet, suddenly, a bolt of revelation struck through the gloom.
The Emperor realized something important: he could not talk to people, but could let upsurges in his psychic output answer Yes/No questions. The issue was: how to let the Imperial Guard know this method was even possible?
"If only I'd left a gap in the Custodes' reforms, sending messages in dreams would still be an option... As things stand, it would be difficult – perhaps impossible—to make myself understood even if I managed to send one."
"Frustrating! Difficult!"
The Imperial Guard have no psychic powers, cannot dream, and therefore are difficult to corrupt via Warp. Other than intervention by the four Chaotic gods, the Guard are effectively immune...
…
Inside the Strategic Chamber of Macragge's Honour.
Shocked, Roboute Guilliman snapped out of his daze and marched toward Datch, eager to inquire why the third expedition fleet had returned so suddenly.
"Nameless One, I think..." he began, but before he could finish, Datchy had already skipped off in search of someone to play cards with.
He hadn't returned to chase after an NPC—just for a mission. When there's nothing else to do, he'd rather play cards.
Not even the Emperor could stop him.
Guilliman stared after Datch's retreating figure, confused.
Couldn't you at least say a word before you leave? That's basic respect, you know?
Treachery is not about loud outbursts, but direct, quiet neglect.
The Nameless One simply ignores everyone equally.
"Perhaps only the Emperor will not be ignored."
Guilliman, Voldus, Trajann, and the others all agreed: the only man sure to win respect from the Nameless One was the Emperor.
So their only recourse was to send a Astropaths to the Third Fleet to inquire. The order had just gone out. Moments later, the Astropaths rushed in, excited, bearing good news:
A report from Lady Cassandra of the Third Expeditionary Fleet—her forces have crushed the Crusade of Slaughter and begun retaking the worlds of the Macota Strait. Inquisitor Rostov has captured the Blackstone constructs.
However, bad news too: the Nameless One has disappeared again.
Guilliman, Trajann, Voldus and the others exchanged puzzled glances after the Astropaths's report. Lacking emotional ties, someone finished a mission, got bored, and simply left.
"Congratulate the Third Fleet on their victory and urge them to keep fighting, to annihilate the rebels in the Macota Strait. Also, pass on that there's no need to worry about the Nameless One—he has returned to Macragge's Honour."
The Astropathss bore the orders and left.
A hush fell on the chamber; only the low hum of machines remained.
"How is it possible for someone to travel thousands of lightyears at such speed?" uttered Archmagos Cawl, full of awe and disbelief. "Is the Nameless One even human?"
"You call him a god—I would believe you," Voldus replied.
Archmagos Cawl, after millennia of galactic wandering, had never encountered a force with such teleportation as the Nameless One. The more he learned, the more invincible the Nameless One seemed.
"Not even the Chaos gods could move that fast in the material world," said Voldus. "The ancient Chaos gods themselves must conform to the laws of physics when outside the Warp."
Trajann, commander of the Emperor's Custodes, was silent. But he could find no peace—the Nameless One was too strong. What if, one day, he wanted the Imperial Throne?
Suddenly, Trajann realized something: he had sworn loyalty to the Emperor, not to the Imperium itself.
"If the Nameless One is to take the Golden Throne, then my Emperor may finally be free to walk the world again. Loss or gain for the Imperium is nothing compared to His liberty... Come, Nameless One, if you dream of the Throne, the royal guards will be the first to support you!"
"A god, huh?" Guilliman smiled wryly, only now beginning to understand Lorgar. Faced with an almost-omnipotent being, it's exceedingly hard, deep down, to deny his divinity.
"Don't spread this around," Guilliman warned, eyeing everyone.
"There are many traitors in the Imperium. If they discover the Nameless One's power, they'll certainly try to corrupt him or have him destroyed."
Cawl, Trajann, Voldus and the other Imperial heroes all nodded and made a mental note.
"Now, let's return to discussing the Torchbearer program," Guilliman redirected, bringing the conversation back on course.
No point discussing the Nameless One: he wouldn't listen or obey anyway. All they could do was give each other space and let the other act freely.
…
The Indomitus Crusade fleet launched one after another, pursuing Abaddon's schemes across the galaxy.
Torchbearer fleets were dispatched to help rebuild Chapters and deliver Primarch gifts to ensure the fight could continue across the galaxy.
At this very moment, the Astronomical Communications Center on Ganymede received a critical astro-message:
From the Imperium's Dark Side, cut off by the Great Rift and now lost in the darkness without the Astronomican's guidance – the world called Vigilus System.
The message was coded Alpha-Crimson, the highest urgency, and swiftly handed to the Primarch.
It reported the existence of a corridor, the Nachmund Gauntlet, near the Vigilus System—a passage across the Great Rift.
But with the expansion of the Rift, Vigilus was now wracked by civil strife; both Xenos and Chaos sought to seize it.
The rulers of Vigilus System wished for Imperial aid to defend the last corridor.
This was extraordinary news—the majority believed the Dark Side had fallen, that half the Imperium's territories were gone, now a gods' paradise. Even if they wished to reclaim them, they had no means to cross the Rift.
The message proved the Dark Side had not fallen but was only shrouded—in dire straits, but still resisting. Most vital: even as the Rift split the galaxy, a pathway remained bridging its ends.
So long as the Nachmund Gauntlet was held, the two halves of the Imperium could communicate.
"We must send aid to the Vigilus System."
Guilliman immediately responded to the Astropathic messages.
The nearest Imperial fleet was ordered to protect the passage at all costs. Word came that the Dark Side now lacked leaders, worlds ravaged by Chaos or xenos, armies on the run, even the Tau encroaching upon their worlds.
Guilliman longed to sail against Chaos at once, and advanced the First Crusade's departure.
After a grand celebration, the First Crusade set out to retake vital worlds, promising that, once the situation in the Sanctum Imperialis was secure, they would cross through Nachmund and aid the Dark Side.
Thus began the Indomitus Crusade in earnest.
There were a total of ten Crusade fleets, each immense, composed of warships, transports and supply ships.
Many of the Imperium's armies joined, including Astartes, the Astra Militarum, and the Silent Sisters. To adapt to the battlefield, every expedition was divided into Battle Groups, whose commanders could split further as needed to recapture fallen worlds swiftly.
Each fleet and Group had its own objective; responsibility for achieving them fell on the respective officers.
Datch joined the First Crusade on Macragge's Honour—and discovered, with delight, an expanded minimap: whenever anyone he'd contacted entered an unexplored, fogged area, the fog on his map would clear, and he could freely teleport using Rick's Portal Gun, at the mere cost of teleport fluid.
This saved vast effort—no longer running all over to uncover the map.
During this period, Datch hopped between fleets for XP and credits, performing missions at a frequency alarming even the Four Chaos God.
The most startling thing: his abilities were weird but powerful, and even Skarbrand and the Changeling aided him.
…
Meanwhile, a detachment from the First Crusade was tasked with transporting Primaris Space Marines to Fenris.
Their voyage was smooth, and upon arrival in the ice world's orbit, Lieutenant Castall attempted to establish communications with the Space Wolves.
The screen showed the craggy, weather-beaten face of an old soldier.
"I am Engir, the Great Wolf, son of glorious Fenris," he introduced himself, continuing, "Leader of the Seawolves. I will relay the Great Wolf's view: heed me well. Defy us, and face the consequences."
"You have entered Fenris' orbit. This is the realm of the Wolf Lord. Entry without invitation is forbidden. Leaving without consent is forbidden. Attempt to do either, and the Sons of Fenris will regard it as a provocation and attack, and will hunt you to the death if you flee."
"Understood. Then, allow me to introduce myself: Lieutenant Castaller, under the Primarch's authority, my mission—"
"We know well whom you serve," interrupted Engir coldly. "We've heard the Legion Annihilator has returned, and he asks you to come to Fenris bearing sword in one hand and weapon in the other. However, we are Sons of Russ. We obey none but our father. Heed this warning: do not approach Fenris. If you do, you'll witness the fury of the pack unleashed."
"No ill will intended. Our only aim is to deliver the tools and techniques to help your Chapter rebuild. Our intelligence says repeated war has left your recruitment lagging."
"If Great Wolf wishes to accept the Primarch's gift, two thousand of Russ' sons, with ample arms and equipment, are immediately available to aid your mission."
"I will relay your words," Engir replied, ending the communication and reporting to Logan, the Great Wolf.
Logan's expression was contemptuous but firm.
"Even if the Space Wolves are reduced to mere clouds drifting by, I will never accept gifts from Roboute Guilliman. What Horus failed to achieve, Guilliman has now accomplished. To accept a god's gift is to incur the debt of a god, and thus become a slave of gods."
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