The Laeran System. Aboard the 28th Expeditionary Fleet's flagship, the Pride of the Emperor.
Fulgrim stood in front of the holographic projector in the Heliopolis, staring at the real-time tactical map of the deep blue planet.
It was the nineteenth day of the campaign.
The Laer floating platforms that had already fallen were marked in gray on the map. Out of the thirty-seven main platforms, only four were still putting up a fight. Down in the deep-sea cities, fifteen out of seventeen had been secured, leaving two stubbornly holding out behind underwater defensive networks. As for the surface strongholds, they were completely wiped out.
At this rate, it would take five days at most to declare the campaign officially over.
Fulgrim should have been satisfied. This perfectly aligned with his promise to conquer Laeran in a single month.
But he wasn't.
Because of the casualties.
Down in the bottom right corner of the hologram, a glaring string of numbers burned his eyes: Emperor's Children Legion. Four hundred and seventy-seven killed in action. One thousand two hundred and thirty-one critically wounded and combat ineffective. One thousand eight hundred and sixty-three suits of power armor lost.
Four hundred and seventy-seven Astartes.
Four hundred and seventy-seven super-soldiers, heavily augmented through nineteen brutal surgeries, forged by decades of relentless training, and clad in the Imperium's finest power armor.
Dead on this god-forsaken xenos planet.
The losses for the Solar Auxilia were even more unbearable to look at. Twenty-seven regiments deployed with a full strength of six hundred thousand men, and now less than a hundred and seventy thousand were still standing.
Fulgrim clenched his fists.
"My Lord," an Imperial Navy officer's voice spoke up from behind him. "The Laer's level of civilization has far exceeded our initial estimates. According to the captured data, they have inhabited this system for over six thousand years, and their biological modification technology even surpasses the Adeptus Mechanicus in certain fields..."
"I know," Fulgrim cut him off, his voice perfectly calm, but it was a chilling calmness that sent a shiver down the spine. "I know they are strong. I know their warriors are custom-built biological weapons. I know taking every single platform requires a heavy toll. But I said it from the beginning... this campaign ends in a month. We are on day nineteen, and four platforms still remain. Do you know what that means?"
The Imperial Navy officer fell silent.
"It means I can finish it on schedule," Fulgrim said, turning around, his violet eyes locking onto the officer. "It means Imperial records will state that the Third Legion, the Emperor's Children, eradicated an entire civilization on Laeran in nineteen days. They will say it was perfect. But... I will know that it cost the lives of four hundred and seventy-seven of my children to buy that perfection. I will know that if we had used different tactics, if we had been just a bit more cautious, if..."
He didn't finish the sentence.
But every Imperial official standing in the Heliopolis knew exactly what those unspoken words were.
A highly delicate silence fell over the bridge.
After a long while, Fulgrim turned back to the projection of the planet. "Pass down the order. Take the last four platforms at all costs. Before the final deadline expires, I want to see the Imperial banner planted on every single one of them. And... the Laer Blade enshrined in their temple. Bring it to me, completely intact."
The Imperial officer hesitated for a split second. "My Lord, that sword is a Laer relic, supposedly enshrined in the deepest sanctum of their temple. The companies that breached the platform haven't been able to break through their final defensive line yet..."
"Then break through," Fulgrim said without looking back. "I've heard that blade has the power to end all wars. I want to see it for myself."
Fulgrim tightened his grip, his purple power gauntlet humming with a low mechanical whine.
He thought of the flaming sword Ferrus had forged for him.
He remembered how his brother had sweated over the anvil, his rugged face etched with pure focus, as if pouring his very soul into creating the most precious masterpiece in the universe.
"Fulgrim, this is the finest material," Ferrus's voice echoed in his memory. "I smelted and forged it with my own hands. Take a look. Does it feel right? If it doesn't, I'll modify it for you."
"Ferrus, you're too good to me."
"Nonsense. You're my closest brother. We will undoubtedly become our father's brightest, most perfect sons."
The Phoenician closed his eyes.
Then he snapped them open. Deep inside his pupils, a microscopic, invisible crack was silently beginning to spread.
This wasn't perfect enough.
This campaign wasn't perfect enough.
--
Planet Laeran, Sky Coral Main Platform, Eastern Ruins.
Vance leaned heavily against a half-collapsed coral wall, panting for breath.
His retainer uniform was soaked from top to bottom in green Laer blood. He had a deep gouge down to the bone on his left arm, which he had quickly patched up using coagulant gel bought from the system shop.
It was the nineteenth day.
He and Darius Stanton had mapped out thirty-seven energy pillars across the warzone, survived at least twenty surprise attacks from the Laer, and personally killed more xenos than he could count.
His Imperial Coin balance had shot up from a few hundred before the fight to over a hundred and forty-seven thousand.
But he wasn't excited at all, because the faction quest progress bar on his system panel hadn't even hit the absolute minimum threshold.
[Faction Quest: The Perfect Phoenician - The Beginning of the Fall]
[Current Progress: 27.3%]
He and the entire Loyalist player base had violently ground out that 27.3% over nineteen straight days of brutal combat.
Meanwhile, the Chaos players had already pushed their objective progress past 37%.
"Fuck," Vance cursed.
It wasn't just because they were lagging behind on the progress bar.
It was because he had just received a tip-off from another Loyalist player...
Fabius Bile's research team successfully extracted the key genetic sequences for Laer biological modifications yesterday.
The Chaos player, [Are You Sure This Melon Is Ripe], had managed to sweet-talk his way into the Apothecary's private lab by consistently supplying mutant tissue samples.
They were getting dangerously close to pushing Fulgrim toward the Blade of Laer.
"Stellan!" Darius's voice crackled over the comms. "We've got movement at the surveying point by the fourth energy pillar! The Laer are rallying! Get over here, now!"
Vance took a deep breath and stood up.
Regardless of what the quest progress was.
Regardless of what the Chaos players were plotting.
He had to at least do his own damn job.
Survey the energy pillars, collect the data, and stay alive.
And then... right before that sword ended up in Fulgrim's hands, he had to do something.
Even if it meant throwing his life away.
He wasn't afraid of dying...
But his death had to mean something.
Just like those Imperial heroes ten thousand years in the future, bleeding out for a decaying Imperium...
The Lamenters Chapter... the Inquisitors walking in the shadows...
All those nameless martyrs who traded their lives to defend humanity's absolute last shred of dignity.
They might not have been able to change the Imperium's grim fate.
But they at least proved one thing...
In this pitch-black universe, there were still people willing to burn themselves up for the light.
--
Planet Laeran, Sky Coral Main Platform, Outer Perimeter of the Western Temple.
[All According to Plan] curled up inside a blast crater, peering through his sniper scope at the faintly glowing blue entrance to the temple three hundred yards away.
The Chaos players' master plan had finally reached its endgame phase. First, they spread rumors about a legendary holy sword in the temple, ensuring Fulgrim knew of its existence—that part was done. Second, they arranged for a few loyal Emperor's Children to die heroic deaths right in front of Fulgrim to intentionally mess with his head and spike his emotions—that was already set up. Third, they needed to create a scenario where a captured Imperial soldier screamed 'For the Emperor!' right before being executed, ensuring Fulgrim witnessed it firsthand—and that was currently in motion.
And the guy playing the captured soldier was him.
"Are you ready?" [Konnichiwa Slaanesh-chan]'s voice buzzed over the private chat.
"Ready," [All According to Plan] replied softly.
"In a few days, when the temple's defensive lines finally crack and Fulgrim steps inside personally, we'll have players disguised as Laer drag you out and execute you right in front of his face," [Konnichiwa Slaanesh-chan] said. "All you have to do is scream 'For the Emperor' right before you die. Make it as brutally tragic as you possibly can."
"Understood," [All According to Plan] said, staring at the temple in the distance, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Nineteen days of deep cover, nineteen days of scheming, nineteen days of meticulous setup.
It was finally time to pull the net shut.
Fulgrim.
The darling of Slaanesh.
The Phoenician of the Imperium of Man.
Welcome to your destined fate.