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Guilliman's gaze bore into Forge General Keren, and for the first time in centuries, the Tech-Priest found himself at a loss for words.
His mechanized face, a construct of steel and augmetics, betrayed no emotion. Gears whirred softly beneath the artificial skin, wires pulsating with machine-sentience. His cybernetic eyes, glowing with an eerie red luminescence, locked onto the Primarch. Deep within his cranial vault, cogitators ran at maximum capacity, processing countless possible responses—so intense was the strain that the machine components within him began to heat.
The sacred edicts of the Omnissiah were clear. The texts of the Lex Mechanicus explicitly forbade the creation of self-aware mechanical intelligence. Every Tech-Priest, from the lowest acolyte to the highest Magos, swore an unyielding oath to uphold these sacred strictures.
Yet in practice, nearly every Magos dabbled in the forbidden. The quest for knowledge, for understanding, was an addiction none could resist. For the Adeptus Mechanicus, the allure of proscribed lore was akin to a daemon's whisper—sublime, tantalizing, inescapable.
Khleng was no exception.
For centuries, he had methodically replaced his organic form with mechanical perfection. Flesh was weak, prone to decay. Steel endured. Like all in the priesthood of Mars, he had sought divinity through machine. But Keren had gone further.
Far beyond.
His augmentations were radical, dangerous—even heretical. He had abused his rank to acquire proscribed cybernetics, devices blacklisted by the Priesthood of Mars. Worse still, his mind was integrated with a Contemplative Intelligence, a forbidden artificial consciousness that had no place in the Imperium of Man.
This intelligence granted KereKhleng unparalleled computational prowess. He could sift through the entire noosphere in an instant, control vast information networks spanning light-years, and even fragment his consciousness to inhabit multiple machines simultaneously.
But knowledge came at a cost.
Non-organic machine intelligence was one of the most reviled taboos of the Imperium—an unbreachable red line laid down by the Emperor Himself. The ghosts of the Men of Iron, the horrors of the Dark Age of Technology, loomed ever-present in the minds of mankind.
Khleng could feel Guilliman's scrutiny pressing down on him like a planetary weight.
Mars would eventually send investigators. They would pry into his works, lay bare his heresies. There would be no trial, no redemption. He would be declared a traitor, excommunicated from the Cult Mechanicus, and subjected to the wrath of the Ordo Hereticus. The Inquisition would make an example of him, ensuring his name was erased from all records.
But Guilliman offered an alternative.
Obedience to the Lord Commander meant survival. More than that—it meant access to knowledge beyond the STC Standard Template Constructs, knowledge that had long been buried under the dogma of Mars.
Or he could refuse. And die.
A single moment stretched into eternity. Then, at last, Keren bowed his great mechanical head.
"All forces of the Adeptus Mechanicus in the Chardon sector will obey your will, my Lord."
Guilliman's lips curled in a faint, knowing smile.
"This is exactly the answer I was hoping for, Fabricator-General. Together, we will forge a new era—one that history will remember."
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With the Mechanicus secured, Guilliman turned his focus to the Astra Militarum.
A gathering was convened. Every senior officer in the Chardon Sector was summoned to the grand strategium. When Guilliman spoke, it was with the authority of a Primarch—his voice a thunderous decree that could shake the very foundations of men's souls.
"As of this moment, all military appointments within this sector fall under my direct control."
A profound silence followed.
Then came the outrage.
The gathered generals bristled at the announcement. Some shouted their protests, others whispered amongst themselves in barely restrained fury. Their authority, their carefully constructed power bases—stripped from them in an instant.
Not every general in the Imperium placed the good of mankind above their own ambitions. Many valued power above all else.
"You have no right!" one bellowed.
"This is treason against the Emperor!" another accused.
"You seek to make yourself ruler of mankind!"
Guilliman's patience was limited.
Without hesitation, he ordered the arrest of every officer who refused to bend the knee. Their families were uprooted, their dynasties dismantled.
There would be no half-measures.
Officers loyal to Guilliman were promoted in their place. Those who protested too loudly found themselves facing the Inquisition.
One old general, veins bulging with fury, spat his defiance as he was dragged away.
"You betray the Imperium itself, Guilliman! You persecute the loyal while seating yourself upon the Emperor's throne! You are a tyrant—a usurper!"
The room fell silent.
Many turned to see how Guilliman would respond.
But the Primarch merely shook his head.
"Power has consumed you all," he said softly. "You place your own interests above those of humanity. That is why you must be removed."
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With the military secured, Guilliman turned his focus to governance.
The Imperium was vast. No single system could properly manage it. Dictatorship bred inefficiency and stagnation. Democracy, meanwhile, was vulnerable to corruption and the insidious influence of Chaos.
Guilliman sought to balance both.
Planetary governors, judges, and councils would be elected, ensuring local representation. However, ultimate control would remain with the Imperium. Planets would be assessed based on their education levels, moral standards, faith in the Emperor, and overall stability.
Evaluations would be held every ten or twenty years.
No incompetent fool would rule simply due to hereditary privilege. The days of planetary despots were over.
The Merchant Guilds, those loyal to Guilliman, were given dominion over planetary economies. Unchecked capitalism was dangerous—an open door for greed and heresy. The wealth gap would be controlled. No individual would grow too rich. No one would be left destitute.
Outside their planetary systems, however, there would be no democracy. The Imperium's greater direction would be dictated by Guilliman alone. The fate of mankind was too important to be left to bureaucrats.
The Gathering Storm
Just as Guilliman finalized the new administrative reforms, a set of heavy footsteps echoed through the hall.
Sicarius entered, clad in blue and gold, his armored hand ever resting on the hilt of his blade.
"Captain Sicarius," Guilliman said without looking up. "I trust you bring good news."
Sicarius inserted a data-slate into the room's projector. A hum filled the chamber as the noospheric arrays flickered to life.
"My Lord, a battle has been fought in the Obol System. Commander Corvo's forces have eradicated an Ork fleet that had invaded Imperial space."
The holographic display shifted, revealing star charts, fleet formations, and casualty reports.
"Corvo personally slew an Ork Warlord—one of the lieutenants of the so-called 'Arsonist.'"
Guilliman's eyes narrowed.
"Arsonist?"
"A major Ork Warlord, my Lord. He commands nine separate Warbosses. Mechanicus intelligence suggests they are massing. If the data is correct, a full-scale WAAAGH! is imminent."
Sicarius tapped the projection again, revealing more details—more grim tidings.
Guilliman exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable.
"Then things are about to get much worse."