![]() ![]() Yet even in his deathless state, the Emperor continues his eternal vigilance. He is the Carrion Lord of the Imperium for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day, so that he may never truly die. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Master of Mankind by the will of the gods, and master of a million worlds by the might of his inexhaustible armies. For more than a hundred centuries The Emperor has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. She wanted wars she could win.It is the 41st Millennium. ![]() The regiments of Imperial Army wearing the Warmaster’s Eye were no better. Would there be enough of the Warmaster’s hosts left to hold the Imperium in its entirety? And what would those hosts look like, with all order and discipline and humanity raked out of them? The Legiones Astartes were already blood-maddened and fighting by the side of those… those things. Surely even now, quiescent alien kingdoms at the Imperium’s edges were reawakening, daring to cast jealous eyes at the worlds they’d lost in the Great Crusade. But what would be left after this war? What would be left of Terra and the armies fighting to take it? The Legio Audax had willingly worn his colours and cast their fate with his. Horus was a hero, the Warmaster of the Imperium, the pacifier of the galaxy. “There it was again, the treasonous little notion Ulienne couldn’t quite shake.
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