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The transformation of the Adeptus Astartes has now reached completion, and with it, the galaxy will never be the same. The genetic advancements first discovered by Belisarius Cawl, derived from the Emperor's own genetic material, have now been augmented by something far more terrifying—the biological dark matter engine technology in the hands of Roboute Guilliman.
With these breakthroughs, the Primaris Space Marines are no longer bound by mere biological enhancements. Their reflexes are faster, their strength beyond comprehension, and even without psychic abilities, they can now manipulate energy from the real universe to strike down their foes.
It is an ability that mirrors that of the C'tan—the Star Gods of old, beings capable of bending reality itself without reliance on the Warp.
On Macragge, new war machines are being forged, their destructive power unlike anything seen before. Weapons capable of annihilating entire planets are nearing completion. But Guilliman has already made a decision—one he keeps to himself.
If he cannot win a ground war, he will scorch the earth.
If he cannot win through fire, he will shatter the stars.
If even that is not enough, he will bring humanity with him—he will take Terra itself, fit it with engines, and lead his people into the void.
Who, then, would stand against him? Who would dare challenge the lower limits of his resolve?
--
Guilliman stood by the viewport of Macragge's Honour, gazing into the vastness of space.
Beyond the thick panes of reinforced glass, the cosmos was alive. Merchant ships came and went, their thrusters burning bright as they maneuvered through the dark void. Macragge had not suffered from the purging of its nobility—if anything, the economy thrived.
Where there is profit to be made, there will always be merchants.
Money does not create merchants; merchants are created by money.
As long as there is profit, the trade routes will never go silent.
A chime broke his contemplation.
Ding.
A voice followed soon after.
"Fleet departure from the gravitational field of the star in the Natal system will commence in thirty minutes. Preparing for Warp translation."
Guilliman frowned. Opening a Warp rift within a star's gravitational field was madness. The unstable forces could tear ships apart, their hulls crushed before the translation even began. But time was against them, and they had to take the risk.
His mind, however, was preoccupied with something else.
A mystery that had haunted him since his resurrection.
The origin of his cheat.
Now, for the first time in a long while, he had a moment to think.
"System," he called inwardly.
A cheerful voice echoed in his mind.
[Yes, (▽), host! How may I assist you?]
Guilliman's expression remained neutral.
"I have a question."
[Of course (ω), the system serves the host!]
He hesitated for only a moment.
"Who are you?"
A question long buried in the depths of his mind. The concept of Goldfinger—of a cheat system, an external force aiding him—was easy to dismiss in fiction. But here? In reality? It was something far more dangerous.
What made it work?
Was it tied to his soul? His consciousness?
Was this some kind of projection, an echo of something far greater?
Or was it the work of Chaos?
His fists clenched at the thought.
If this was Tzeentch's doing—if this was a game orchestrated by the Changer of Ways—then the battle was already lost. There would be no resisting.
In that case, he might as well begin drafting his surrender. Perhaps, with the right approach, he could ascend to daemonhood without becoming a slave to the Four Gods. If the Emperor himself turned a blind eye to Tzeentch's manipulations, what hope was there for anyone else?
[I am an auxiliary intelligence, host, an entity designed to aid you in problem-solving and knowledge acquisition.]
"Are you a god? Some supreme being? Am I merely a pawn in someone's game?"
[(⊙o⊙)… I advise the host not to overthink it.]
Guilliman narrowed his eyes.
"But I want to know the answer."
Silence.
Then, the intelligence finally responded.
[In the face of a true multi-layered civilization, individual power and supposed omnipotence are meaningless, host. The knowledge database is a gift of a lost civilization—a tool to assist you in shaping a future. Your focus should not be on how it came to you, but on how to wield it.]
Guilliman frowned.
"Are you saying omniscience is pointless?"
[There is no such thing as true omniscience or omnipotence in the multiverse. At the end of knowledge, even the unknown ceases to exist. Civilization must shape its own truths. Any entity that claims to be all-knowing will eventually stagnate and be discarded like outdated technology.]
[The universe, life, and truth itself are always evolving. What is known today will be irrelevant tomorrow. The past truths may no longer apply, and the truths of today will fall behind those of the future.]
[Even if someone knew every secret of the universe at this moment, it would not matter. For knowledge itself will change, new discoveries will emerge, and what was once absolute will become obsolete.]
Guilliman's mind turned.
"So you despise the concept of omniscience."
[Only those who continue to study and adapt can shape the future. Those who claim omniscience are merely fools clinging to outdated truths.]
[The control panel and knowledge database are the legacy of civilization, host. These tools bind you to the fate of civilization itself—only by advancing it can you gain strength.]
Guilliman exhaled.
"Then tell me—who created you?"
[The host lacks sufficient clearance (▽). That information is restricted.]
His fingers drummed against his armored thigh.
"Then what advice can you offer me?"
[I advise the host to stop overthinking, get enough sleep, eat on time, drink plenty of water, and avoid unnecessary stress. Your health is important.]
Guilliman's face darkened.
Was his golden finger really this useless?
He had expected something grand—a step-by-step path to ascension, a blueprint for victory.
Instead, he got a glorified health assistant.
[¯\_(ツ)_/¯]
He sighed.
"System, don't you feel ashamed of being this useless?"
[(ω) I have no shame. The host should work hard while I remain a salted fish.]
Guilliman:
…Is this thing even worth keeping?
A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.
"My lord, Captain Sicarius requests an audience."
The voice of Phikris came from beyond the door.
Guilliman put away his thoughts and straightened.
"Send him in."
The Natal system disappeared behind them as the fleet made its jump into the Warp.
And so began the great conscription, the forging of a new force for the Imperium.
---
Among the endless lines of new recruits stood Hawke, a man who had left behind his past for a new purpose.
His life once revolved around the Second Residential District, a place that had been his entire world. But now, he was walking into something far greater.
He did not fear death.
Life was not measured by its length, but by its meaning.
Better to burn brightly than to wither away in old age, waiting for the inevitable.
As he stepped forward, he whispered a final vow.
"For the Emperor. For the Imperium. Humanity shall prevail."