"This is…"
Eden did not immediately read the urgent battle report. Instead, he looked at the fragments of soul drifting in midair.
That remnant soul had grown dim, as though it could scatter on the wind at any moment.
"Angron is dead, but he left behind a trace. That is probably the only mercy Father ever granted him."
Perturabo walked over, his emotions complicated.
He, too, was a fallen primarch. Watching a brother who had also fallen die like this, it was impossible not to feel something.
Moreover, he did not know how he would face the Emperor—Father—after this.
Even more, he did not know whether Father had truly forgiven him.
"He's free. Perhaps that is a good thing."
Eden extended his psychic power, probing the soul-fragment with utmost caution.
Given the degree of Angron's daemonic corruption, any residue at all could allow him to return—just as before.
It had to be handled carefully.
Fortunately, the fragment held no trace of Chaos. There were no memories of Angron's slaughter, either.
It was clean. Pure.
The sacred flames had preserved the cleanest part of that fallen primarch's soul, rather than annihilating it completely.
"It seems the Emperor… is unwilling to utterly destroy Angron. Or perhaps primarchs, as lesser divinities, are simply hard to erase."
Eden pondered as he slowly wrapped the soul-fragment in psychic force, preventing it from dissipating into the void.
From the clues and forbidden records he had obtained, almost every primarch had a path back—some possibility of revival.
Even those primarchs the Imperium believed to be dead beyond all doubt might return in one form or another.
They might even be brought back through cloning.
"But those cloned primarchs… it's hard to say they are the original existence. Perhaps they are only another life that carries residual memories.
A new life shaped using a remnant soul and leftover authority."
Eden thought to himself.
In truth, these questions were difficult to define. For instance, once a primarch was corrupted, could they still be considered the same life as before?
When someone like Fabius—or Belisarius Cawl—could produce many clones of themselves, each possessing independent consciousness, which one was the "true self"?
No one could say with certainty.
Even the Emperor himself possessed many personas. Across different eras, his temperament varied so drastically that it was hard to claim any of them were "the original him."
Perhaps it was merely the continuation of a certain kind of authority and power.
Thinking of that, Eden could not help but shiver.
He imagined a future where he took one step further and split into new personas. In that case, which one would be "him"—or would they all be him?
And would the original "me" die at the very moment of that split, becoming two new individuals who retained the same memories?
Eden did not continue down that line of thought. He felt he could not accept such a change.
After completing his inspection and confirming the original Angron was truly dead, he put the soul-fragment away.
That fragment could not resurrect the Angron who had been, but it could be used—together with primarch-cloning technology—to cultivate a "young Angron" that preserved the good within him.
Eden looked at the others and stated his plan:
"Brothers, I will use this soul-fragment to cultivate a new primarch-life—an entirely new Angron.
I will raise him personally, and make him a kind, mighty warrior revered by the Imperium.
When he is born, people will call his name—a new life that preserves humanity's finest virtues…"
Eden had decided to let Angron "return," but not as the Butcher of old.
He would be a holy knight—one who embodied the perfected virtues of mankind.
That, too, could be counted as atonement for the Butcher's sins, clawing back some measure of what humanity had lost.
Eden would personally raise and train him, rather than leaving him to grow untended as the Emperor had done.
In effect, he would raise young Angron as a father.
Of course, raising a cloned primarch as a father might involve certain ethical problems.
When the time came, he and the Emperor would, in a sense, be brothers—though it did not matter. Each could keep their own accounting.
It would also serve as a test.
A test of whether Eden could use a remnant soul and lingering authority to cultivate a primarch of his own.
Eden, the Savior, also wanted to do what the Emperor had done—raise a generation of primarch-children.
Let them wage war in his stead, reclaiming and conquering more territory for the Imperium of Man.
Otherwise, if he had to do everything himself, how exhausting would that be?
"That is the correct idea. The Imperium needs more primarch commanders."
Lion El'Jonson nodded, fully in agreement. There was no issue in it at all.
He knew that the fallen brother Angron was gone for good.
This newborn existence would, at most, inherit the name—rather than being the brother they had known.
The Imperium had once possessed twenty-two loyal primarchs, and even that had scarcely been enough.
Now, with only five remaining, it was even harder to face such vast domains and the growing number of enemies.
Especially after Eden told him that, in the future, humanity would face the Necrons' former masters—the Star Gods—and also a terrifying lifeform from beyond the galaxy: the Great Devourer.
Lion could foresee it clearly.
Humanity would bear pressures greater than the rebellion ten thousand years ago—pressures far harder to endure.
"Once the little one is born, I will teach him the swordsmanship of the knights of Caliban, and temper his will."
Lion folded his arms.
He was among the greatest warriors in the galaxy, and among the most consummate of swordsmen. He would teach that newborn cloned primarch well.
"Ahem. I will teach him assault tactics—give the little one the speed of an eagle of Chogoris, and let him deliver fatal strikes to the enemy."
Jaghatai Khan followed immediately, making his promise, prepared to give everything he knew.
Perturabo's cogitative implant spun at full speed, data-streams flashing as he formed a plan.
A plan for raising young Angron:
"Only by mastering intellect can one win the final victory.
I will cram as much knowledge into that little one as possible—if he can learn it."
The primarchs were already preparing themselves as teachers, hoping to cultivate a primarch commander for the Imperium—one with both wisdom and might.
"As expected of my brothers. One by one, you're all racing to become the big nephew's godfathers, aren't you?"
Eden looked at the eager primarchs and felt a surge of emotion.
As always, brothers loved becoming each other's godfathers—even when what remained was only a name.
But he understood.
The primarchs had lived beneath the Emperor's majesty, always treading carefully.
Now they had a chance to raise and guide a young life. Of course they would be interested.
And that was a good thing.
With Lion and the others teaching him carefully, young Angron would surely thrive and offer even more to the Imperium.
By every measure, the Imperium of Man needed more primarchs to ease the crushing pressures that the future might bring.
And primarch development was swift. Young Angron would grow quickly and shine for the Imperium—and for Eden, his foster-father.
"Your Majesty!"
At that moment, a teleport flare bloomed. A fully armed detachment of Adeptus Custodes arrived, dropping to one knee in salute.
"This is extremely important, so I am entrusting it to you. You must deliver it safely to the biological cloning research base aboard the Dreamweaver."
Eden could not return yet, so he had summoned the Custodes to assist.
He sealed Angron's remaining soul-fragment into a crystal and handed it solemnly to the Custodes commander.
That commander would oversee the escort and deliver the soul-fragment where it needed to go.
Eden did not want to wait.
He ordered the Custodes to bring it to the bio-laboratory at maximum speed and begin the primarch-cloning cultivation work.
For his biological research institute, cloning a primarch was not a difficult task.
After all, that laboratory preserved the genetic material of nearly all primarchs—and the Emperor as well. It also had extensive cloning experience, having produced many bodies for Eden himself.
Under such circumstances, cloning a young Angron should not be a problem.
Eden wanted the cloned primarch, young Angron, to be born and develop as quickly as possible, and then begin training.
In short—faster was better.
Because before long, the Imperium would face even greater pressure.
If all went smoothly, then in the future, he might use other soul-fragments, shards of authority, and his own gene-seed to cultivate more primarchs who belonged to him.
"As you command. We will execute this mission with our lives."
The Shield-Captain accepted the soul-crystal with care, placed it into a special alloy container for protection, and locked that container onto his own body.
Then he led the Custodes back to the Dreamweaver.
Only after watching them depart did Eden finally exhale, his mind easing.
With Angron's soul-fragment handled, that dreadful beast was truly dealt with.
Now, in the Vostoniya region, nothing remained to stop his reclamation campaign.
After that, he began reading the urgent battle report.
Eden did not feel much worry as he read. The report was urgent, but it was not a disaster.
On the contrary, it was good news.
"Brother Eden, how is it?!" Perturabo asked, looking at the Savior with concern.
He was anxious.
New research concepts were already blooming in Perturabo's mind.
He wanted to end the war as soon as possible and head to the Charadon region to establish his own planetary laboratory base.
It was the great enterprise he had waited ten thousand years for—the dream of his existence.
The Lord of Iron would finally research all kinds of technologies and civilian sciences as a loyal primarch, shaping a more prosperous and powerful Imperium through knowledge and intellect.
Eden looked at his primarch brothers and smiled.
"Brothers, we may be able to start considering where to hold the victory celebration."
According to the Departmento Munitorum's report, the armies were accelerating the reclamation of key zones throughout the Vostoniya Pan-Sector.
The situation was excellent.
Rumble—!
Eden sensed something and looked up into the void. Among the stars, he could faintly make out countless pinpricks of light—and erupting fire.
It was the Redemption Fleet, striking at node regions, purging Chaos' daemonic host.
With the gods' withdrawal and the destruction of the most crucial node of the great Chaos formation—daemonized Angron—the formation that blanketed this region was collapsing.
Through his psychic sight, Eden observed the Warp's influence weakening as the terrifying storms around many core nodes of the Vostoniya Pan-Sector began to disperse.
Not only that—daemons were fleeing at speed, returning to the Warp in great waves.
"It seems those Warp parasites have decided to cut their losses in time and withdraw their forces.
They are abandoning a plan they have fermented for a long time, and will not continue their invasion of Vostoniya."
That was what Eden said.
Meanwhile, in the Warp—
The Chaos Gods, stained in gold, watched the Vostoniya region and fell into silence.
Their power there could no longer withstand the Imperial host. The longer it dragged on, the greater their losses, with no possibility of recovery.
They might as well retreat.
"This is not a true ending. The Great Game never stops…"
Though angered, the true gods of the Warp did not lose heart.
They understood that temporary gains and losses meant nothing.
Especially with the vast bulk of their forces engaged on the battlefield of the Plague God's domain.
This invasion of Vostoniya was only a ripple in the process of the Great Game.
They possessed long, eternal lives—more than enough time to win the final victory.
Yet in the next instant, their calm was shattered. Rage flared, stirring the Warp into violent turbulence.
They saw the Savior, using Warp authority, raise a middle finger over the Vostoniya region.
It was, beyond doubt, blasphemy and humiliation.
The true gods of the Warp felt a choking heaviness in their chests. They withdrew their gaze from Vostoniya—
And went, in silence, to deal with the fetid cursed energies festering within their realms.
Yes.
The Savior had won, and was still taunting them at the fountain's edge.
…
"Tch. So you finally remembered how to crawl back?"
After driving the Chaos Gods away with psychic mockery, Eden felt far more at ease. Being stared at by those parasites all the time was deeply unpleasant.
He wore a broad smile.
He would win—and he would win big.
Now his armies were frantically encircling and purging the fleeing daemons, doing everything possible to destroy Chaos' remaining strength.
He had to make the Chaos Gods hurt—hurt enough to clutch their hearts in pain.
The daemonic host was vast, but the forces they could actually deploy into the galaxy at any given time were not as numerous as people imagined.
They had invested enormous warp-energy and resources to force daemons into realspace. If those daemons were all slaughtered and then forced to "revive"—
That would be a double loss.
Now, under Departmento Munitorum orders, Imperial armies had sealed every return breach and were conducting an all-out purge.
Eden could almost hear the daemons' pain and wailing.
Suddenly, as if he had discovered something, Eden jolted.
"Where is my assault detachment? Where did those lunatics charge off to?!"
…
Kalistede, Chaos warzone sector.
"O Changer of Ways, the humans have sealed our passage…"
"They've caught up!"
"Gah!"
The daemons had almost never suffered such humiliation. They were not continuing their invasion of the galaxy—they were trying to return to the Warp, and even that was no longer allowed?!
In the past, even if an invasion failed, at most they would abandon the offensive and "spare" the Imperium once.
They could withdraw safely.
After all, for ten thousand years, the Imperium's "victory" in a Chaos war had been defined by a daemon retreat.
So long as humanity held the line, it was a win.
Under such circumstances, the Imperium would never pursue daemons. It did not have the strength.
But under the Savior's influence, everything had changed.
For the first time, the daemons felt the pressure of Imperial armies—and they feared the Savior above all.
They were routed.
A great purge was underway.
"For the Savior!"
The Storm Army Group's armored forces were in high spirits, charging forward as they pursued the collapsing daemonic host.
Their morale was soaring.
"Emperor… what am I seeing…"
A priest-scrivener stared at the scene before him, trembling.
This was something the Imperium had never seen.
A band of mortal soldiers chasing daemons down?!
In the past, even Space Marines could not always fight with such dominance.
As for mortals—if they did not quake in terror or fall to corruption when facing daemons, that alone was a blessing.
And yet, in his vision, a small number of mortal soldiers were pursuing vast numbers of daemons, carving through them as if no one stood in their way.
Humanity had never been so strong.
The priest-scrivener snatched up his parchment and wrote furiously, recording this sacred moment.
"Fire, fire! Kill these abominations!"
Old York led his powered infantry squad, growing more valiant by the minute within the daemon swarm.
Their fire never ceased. They poured out ammunition as though pouring out humanity's wrath against Chaos.
These mortal soldiers felt proud beyond measure.
They had tasted the power of being human—and, more than that, they felt safe.
They knew a mighty Imperium stood behind them, invincible and unstoppable.
"Move, move, move! Round them up—this is the mission the great Savior himself gave us!"
Tyberos led the Carcharodons, assisting the Daemon Research Institute in capturing certain special daemons.
Those captives would be used to test technologies and weapons.
Warp-projection broadcasting and interdiction methods, as well as a variety of new weapon systems.
This Chapter Master treated any mission tied to the Savior with near-fanatical enthusiasm—so eager it bordered on shameless, a perfect lackey.
Now, the Carcharodons wore luxurious new-pattern wargear. Even their paint and seals were the highest-grade anti-warp materials.
They carried radiant crosses bearing the Savior's holy icon, and they broadcast hymns as they advanced—an overwhelming deterrent.
"All daemons: hands on your heads, squat down!"
"Do not be afraid. The Savior only needs a small portion of special daemons. The rest can live and return to the Warp!"
"Any resistance will invite ruthless slaughter!"
The Carcharodons, few in number, surrounded this entire area.
They executed a batch of daemons brutally with newly issued bio-weapons such as hell grenades, then enforced compliance through terror.
The Savior's icon and terrifying weaponry left the daemons trembling.
They squatted in fear, not daring to move further—like prisoners herded into some concentrated camp, waiting for judgment to decide their fate.
(End of Chapter)
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