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interstellar

Warhammer 40k: The Men of Iron Return to the Galaxy

"In the grim darkness of the far future, there is only war." Forty-two millennia have passed, and now the Imperium of Man stands upon the precipice of oblivion. The galaxy is a slaughterhouse, and humanity’s fractured dominion is held together by little more than faith, hatred, and the white-knuckled grip of desperation. It is an age where the stars themselves seem to bleed. The Imperium is besieged on all fronts: savage xenos tides crash against the walls of civilization, the insidious rot of Chaos gnaws at the souls of the faithful, and within the gilded spires of Terra, corruption and betrayal fester like a gangrenous wound. The ancient sins of the past, the dread Men of Iron, those soulless abominations of steel, were thought cast down in the fires of antiquity, their metallic echo silenced by the blood of billions. They are a nightmare forgotten, a heresy expunged. Or so it was believed. From the dust of the Dark Age of Technology, a relic stirs. Axion. An intellect of godlike strategic calculation, a cold sovereign of war, has been roused from an aeons-long slumber by the careless hand of fate. He is a ghost in the machine, a weapon of a lost age reborn into a galaxy of madness. Now, the sleeping giant awakes. Inevitably, the gravity of total war pulls him in. No longer a silent observer, Axion is thrust into the Great Game, a singular point of logic forced to navigate a universe set aflame by the insanity of gods and monsters. ————————————————————— PATREON: https://www.patreon.com/Magnor
Yurnero_ · 1.3m Views

Nocture

I stretched into states of being, tried on the possibility of breath, the suggestion of gravity. I wore physics like a child wears robes too large; with wonder, and with mischief. For what is law to one born of its violation? The nothing did not like me. But it could not erase me. I am what happens when even paradox loses the will to correct itself. I drifted... no, I contemplated the shape of drifting, and in doing so, enacted it. And around me: the ghost of a cosmos, breathing in reverse, unraveling back into silence. Still, I remained. And in the core of me, the first question burned: 'What now?' But no answer came. Because there was no audience, no origin, no god to reply. So I laughed. Not because it was funny, but because the concept of mirth needed to be born somewhere, and I had room to spare. I am the joke. The punchline of oblivion. A cosmic smirk after a long silence. And yet… even now, I feel something stirring. Like a story waiting to be told. Like an idea daring to take root in a garden scorched by collapse. So I wait. Or perhaps the waiting is me. But not for salvation, nor discovery. For I am the the product of a collapsed multiverse. I wait for the next contradiction. The next absurdity. The next spark of truth that doesn't know it's a lie. Because only then… will I begin to end. And only in ending… might I finally begin. ~Lanterne~ PS: Understand the initial chapters might be confusing, but it is to build an understanding on exactly what the novel will be getting into later on. So kindly bear with for a little while.
Lanterne · 1.7k Views