Warhammer: Primarch's Life from the Beginning

Before the Imperial Sanctuary, the Gate of Eternity creaked open.

The golden light from inside the gate then shone on the magnificent avenue leading to this place, and into the eyes of the people.

Everyone looked inside and saw a large expanse of thick, almost liquid, golden psionic energy slowly flowing in the air of the sanctuary.

Trajan himself escorted them here and stopped. The guards stood in two rows on either side, as quiet as statues of heroes from the past dynasties of the empire.

The aura on that side had already begun to seep out along the threshold, and no one dared to breathe loudly.

Guilliman stood before the door, his Destiny Armor humming softly, the scars on his breastplate bearing the marks of the battle on the moon. He gazed at the door, and a rare emotion flickered across the Primarch of the Ultramarines.

He is afraid.

It wasn't fear of the enemy, bloodshed, or so-called defeat, but fear of what awaited him behind the door—the terror of facing the unknown.

Is my father already dead?

If He is dead, then what exactly is it that has sustained the Starlight and borne the faith of the people of the Empire all these years?

Is He still alive? Is He still conscious? Can He still speak?

After the Great Rebellion ended, and before Guilliman fell into his slumber, the Emperor never uttered a single word to anyone. For ten thousand years, the Golden Throne merely existed, a feeble existence, devouring the thousand or so psionicists sacrificed each day.

How could any person or thing possibly survive for ten thousand years under such torment, not even an immortal being, not even Him?

Leo stood on the other side, the blood on his armor already cleaned.

Are emperors still human?

Could it be that even the last vestige of humanity in an emperor on his throne has been overwhelmed by faith?

The Primarchs thought so.

"Let's go," Killieman said.

With a muffled thud, the Gate of Eternity swung open completely.

The two Primarchs stepped over the threshold, each step cautious.

Behind the door is the throne room.

Tall, shriveled corpses were mixed together with machines, cables, and pipes.

A colossal golden throne loomed high in front, beneath which lay a ring of densely packed chambers filled with the drained remains of corpses, shriveled up like empty fruit peels, their eye sockets and mouths sunken, even their dignity stripped away in death. A low, rumbling sound emanated from all directions, like countless people panting through coffin lids.

This is the price paid for prolonging the emperor's life.

This is the price the empire has paid to maintain itself to this day.

Leo felt a churning in his stomach and wanted to vomit.

He thought to himself, if He were still alive on the throne.

Guilliman was also watching. In his eyes, the Emperor seemed to be truly dead. The Primarch did not see any signs of life. Perhaps it was a kind of mercy for him that his father had died so completely.

Neither of them had anything left to look forward to.

……

Then... He spoke.

It's not a sound.

It is light, it is fire, it is the will that is nailed directly into the soul.

.

Guilliman's vision went white, his thoughts were torn apart as if by a giant hand, and countless meanings and commands were forcibly poured in. He heard the Emperor call him and Leo His most perfect creations.

Creation.

Not a son.

Those two words pierced Killieman's heart like a knife, but not out of anger. The muscles on his face tensed, and his breathing became increasingly erratic.

What hurts most is not the content, but the attitude.

The way the emperor greeted him was unlike a father seeing his returning son, or even like a monarch seeing a loyal general. It was more like a drunkard in his sleep being bothered by mosquitoes, and someone handed him an electric mosquito swatter. He simply took it without thinking, intending to use the tool to get rid of the annoying insects. Whether the tool itself hurt, whether he wanted it, or whether he was willing to use it was all irrelevant.

Killieman suddenly remembered those names from long ago.

Father and son.

The Emperor had allowed the Primarchs to call him that, to think that, and to believe they had received fatherly love. But now Guilliman finally understood that it was all a facade, and he had always thought the relationship was hypocritical.

Primarchs are merely weapons, nothing more.

.

What Leo experienced was completely different.

The living emperor was incredibly perceptive; he could see into a person's heart and, as he passed by each member of the Imperial Guard, would speak their name in a telepathic manner.

He is still powerful, even more terrifying than before, but the Emperor can no longer empathize with him. Talking to Him is no longer like facing a human lord, but more like facing a star that is about to be destroyed. His words burn him every moment.

The light from the kaleidoscope flashed past Leo's eyes.

Those faces, symbols, countless praying mortals, burning ships, fortresses and tombs, and endless warriors engulfed in flames—they roared in fury. The Emperor's radiance encompassed the entire universe, which the Primarch's brain could barely discern.

The one on the throne is no longer the person he once knew.

Or rather, not entirely.

The boy who would appear in his dreams was reduced to nothing but dregs.

.

Killieman closed his eyes, then slowly opened them again.

He suddenly understood.

Emperors do not love their sons; they are merely tools created to achieve their goals. All Primarchs are like that, and there is no other explanation.

But he couldn't bring himself to truly harbor resentment.

Because he was also the monarch who ruled over five hundred worlds in the Limitless Starfield, he understood the weight on the shoulders of a ruler. He knew the purpose of his father's denial of the existence of gods and promotion of the imperial truth.

He witnessed Leo defeat the monsters that assaulted his senses and realized what kind of horrors were oppressing humanity, which made him realize the necessity of lies.

Could Guilliman truly say he loved all the Space Marines who claimed to be his offspring? Awakening ten thousand years later, looking at his Ultramarines, he couldn't genuinely say he loved each and every one of them; Guilliman barely recognized any of them. They were merely an army, an order, a means to achieve a goal.

He and his father treated their children the same way.

Guilliman never intended to be a tyrant.

.

Just then, the distorted fragment beside Leo's ear began to reassemble.

Desperate screams, prayers, curses, wails, and fragmented syllables mingled together, eventually piecing together a single sentence.

Go for it...do...everything you want...to do.

Leo suddenly looked up.

The next moment, the scene in front of him was torn apart.

It's not an illusion.

His consciousness felt as if it had been forcibly pulled from his body into the throne room by a giant hand, dragged across the sea of ​​stars, and across the edge of the great rift. The speed was so fast that his brain was overloaded and he was in great pain.

He saw a planet suspended close to the Great Rift at the other end of the Milky Way. Before he could make out the outline of its surface, his vision suddenly zoomed in from outside the planet, as if he were falling towards the ground.

"Hold!"

Leo instinctively raised his arms, his shoulders tensing, almost thinking he was about to crash into the planet's surface.

But the field of vision didn't stop.

It cuts directly through the earth, skimming over rock layers.

Leo saw a large metal vein with a matte black sheen on its surface.

All around was a silent mine, and beneath it stood a neatly arranged ruin, with black obelisks scattered everywhere. The closer he got, the more Leo's head throbbed with pain, as if it were being sawed open. The thing was resisting him, as if it held some kind of position.

His consciousness felt like it was being torn apart inch by inch.

Before he could recover, the force forcibly pulled him away again.

"Ugh!"

Leo let out a low growl, and the scene before him unfolded once more. In the far distance, he saw the subspace waves churning within the great rift.

Within it lies a narrow, windless zone, running north to south, stretching from the Imperial Holy Land all the way to the Imperial Dark Side. It resembles a narrow slit cut by a knife, and a string of stars is scattered along that path. The planet we just saw is within it, and four streams of different colors are quietly reaching towards it!

Leo had just come to understand that all of this was guidance when his consciousness once again rapidly traveled back.

Everything at the edge of his field of vision was rapidly elongating and deforming; Leo's brain had finally reached its limit.

In the throne room, Guilliman was still enduring the Emperor's will when he caught a glimpse of Leo beside him suddenly clutching his head.

Under Guilliman's horrified gaze, Leo's more than three-meter-tall body plummeted straight down, crashing onto the floor of the throne room with a dull thud.