Chapter 472: What Will You Do? Only Heaven Knows!
Dr. Halsey said nothing more. She turned around and walked straight out of the Myriad Worlds Base.
After watching her leave, Li Ang turned back to the hard-light screen before him, looking again at the message he hadn't finished reading—the details of a scientific engineering project.
Indeed, it was the Aether Phase Engine project, jointly developed by multiple research teams under the Science Nexus Department.
Not long ago, they had detonated a multiverse and established a basic model of the Aether Phase Engine, then chose a parallel universe for further testing.
The good news was that the experiment was highly successful. After draining an entire universe of all matter and energy, the Aether Phase Engine had not triggered any cascading crises that spilled over into other heavens and universes.
The bad news was that once the engine had drained that universe, nothing remained—only a boundless void.
They had not blasted forth some ultimate truth from the detonation, nor shattered the fourth wall. That dream now seemed utterly out of reach.
Just as the researchers were falling into despair, Chisaji Fox argued that this was only because the drained universe had been too simple. Multiverses lacked the level and structure of the heavens.
In his view, only by detonating a universe with both Void-Realm and Material-Plane layers could they hope to uncover the final answer.
Universes that fit this condition included Transformers, Star Wars, StarCraft, and Warhammer.
Although these were only speculative ideas, before actual experiments were carried out, such hypotheses might hold the key to truth.
Whether it would work or not—they could only find out by trying.
Now the Science Nexus had passed this choice on to Li Ang: pick one of those ten universes to annihilate.
To that end, Chisaji Fox had even drafted several plans—one to blow up the Transformers universe, another for Star Wars. But Li Ang knew clearly that whichever he chose would be wrong.
Every heaven-realm universe was part of his foundation; he could not possibly sacrifice them for a world-ending experiment.
As for destroying a parallel timeline of one of those realms, Li Ang also refused. He could not guarantee that the destruction of one branch would not cascade to all parallel lines.
So that option was off the table as well.
After much thought, Li Ang finally typed two words into his reply: Pending Discussion.
…
…
Three months later.
The Emperor's flagship finally arrived at Holy Terra. According to their original estimate, the voyage should have taken at least six months, but the journey had gone unusually smoothly, cutting the time in half.
When news of the Emperor's return to Terra broke, the entire Solar System erupted in celebration. The joy of parting clouds to see the sun again poured down like sweet rain upon the High Lords' Council, the Inquisition, the Imperial Cult, and the Adeptus Mechanicus.
To them, the weakened God-Emperor seated upon the Golden Throne was but a false shell left behind by the true Emperor. The vigorous, youthful Emperor before them was the same Lord of Mankind of old!
For this reason, they spared no expense, festooning Terra with decorations and arranging a magnificent welcoming ceremony.
It was as if they were venting long-suppressed grievances, yearning for the resplendent age of the Imperium to return once more.
Every street of Holy Terra was crammed with people. Statues and effigies of the Emperor stood everywhere. Countless devotees knelt before murals, burning incense so thick it made one's head spin.
A frenzy of faith permeated Terra's skies.
At the same time, countless loyalists set out for Terra. Many had not returned home for decades, but the Emperor's return compelled them to abandon all else and come back.
Even if attacked en route by warp entities—even if they died on the way—the tide of pilgrimage spread unstoppably. Many daemons dared not even obstruct such fanatical believers.
For the surging emotions of mankind had already whipped up a storm within the warp, and the God-Emperor's power swelled further with their faith.
This left the Four Chaos Gods and their legions unwilling to appear recklessly.
The Emperor had not yet formally shown himself, but the entire galaxy was already changing because of him.
Soon, aboard the Ultramarines' warships, the Emperor descended upon Terra. Below, all the High Lords were assembled, waiting with reverence, their expressions mixed.
Some High Lords were weeping with joy, hoping for the Imperium's glory to be restored. Others wore doubtful looks, uncertain if the Emperor before them was genuine.
But no matter their doubts, none dared to voice them publicly. Popular sentiment was too strong—any open questioning would instantly place them at the eye of the storm.
Thus, in their hearts, the High Lords were tense and uneasy.
Before the Horus Heresy, the Imperium's political system had been a true autocracy. The High Lords could only propose; the Emperor alone decided.
After the Heresy and the Emperor's maiming, the system shifted to a constitutional monarchy. Real power lay with the High Lords' Council, while the God-Emperor was a frail puppet.
For millennia, most Imperial affairs had been dictated solely by the High Lords, the Emperor only giving vague guidance.
Now the Emperor's return meant the authority they had held for ten thousand years would be taken back. Adapting to that would not be easy.
Those accustomed to power rarely accept being stripped of it. To them, it was as if their very spirit would be sucked away.
Truth be told, many High Lords prayed this Emperor was an impostor.
At that moment, Goge Vandire kept exchanging glances with his confidants, silently passing messages. If the Emperor turned out to be false, he would order the Custodes to arrest him at once.
As head of the Administratum, Goge Vandire represented the core interests of the great Imperial houses. The Imperium's power was already rotten to the core, its noble families fattening themselves on resources.
Rather than restoring humanity's glory, they cared far more for their own fleeting privileges.
Thus, the Emperor's return brought little joy to the ruling elite. Power never truly lies vacant—once abandoned, it is swiftly claimed by others.
The Emperor stared coldly down at the High Lords. With the data provided by the Universal Megacorp, he already understood well what the Council had become.
Navigator dynasties, the Minotaurs Chapter, the Ecclesiarchy—all were riddled with useless parasites. Obsessed with scheming, none truly placed humanity's future at heart.
In fact, even in Warhammer 40K canon, Guilliman's own return to Terra had not been smooth. He had nearly needed a coup d'état to reclaim power that rightfully belonged to him.
Swish—!!
The airship carrying the Emperor descended slowly from the warship and landed in the designated area. When the hatch opened, a group of figures stepped out from within.
"One hundred centuries later, and Terra has turned into this wretched state!"
Malcador, walking close at the Emperor's side, frowned deeply. He was clearly dissatisfied with the condition of this universe's Terra—the lax and feeble military guard, the filthy and neglected environmental management.
Every sign showed that Terra had fallen into a prison of its own making.
"This man looks familiar… I feel like I've seen him somewhere before…"
Goge Vandire studied Malcador's face and suddenly remembered: he had seen a similar visage depicted on Imperial murals—the first Grand Chancellor of the Imperium, Malcador the Sigillite.
But Malcador had died ten thousand years ago during the Horus Heresy. His body had been drained dry by the Golden Throne itself, buying the Emperor time to go forth and put down the rebellion.
Although the Emperor had slain Horus and returned to the Golden Throne, Malcador had been reduced to a withered husk, shriveled to nothing.
"Perhaps it's just coincidence," the other High Lords thought to themselves. After all, it wasn't impossible for faces to resemble one another.
Yet in truth, the Malcador they were seeing was none other than the Sigillite himself, brought back from the Warhammer universe by the Emperor.
As expected, before the doubtful High Lords could gather their thoughts, the Emperor delivered a stunning blow. This man who so resembled Malcador was appointed on the spot as the leading High Lord, placed in charge of overseeing the rest in their administration of the Imperium.
Before Goge Vandire could voice any objection, the Emperor departed at his leisure, leaving Malcador to handle this pack of idle, self-indulgent High Lords.
Before long, accompanied by a squad of Ultramarine guards, the Emperor began his tour.
Ten thousand years later, Terra was covered everywhere with statues and murals of the God-Emperor. Where once had stood drill grounds and chambers of government, now rose countless temples and sanctuaries.
An Infinity throng of zealous believers knelt in worship before the idols, clouds of incense stinging the nose as it filled the skies of Terra. The almost grotesque air of religious solemnity made the Emperor frown again and again.
Looking at it all, he could not help but murmur: "Without the Universal Megacorp, what would you have done? Only Heaven knows."
His feelings were complicated. As a staunch materialist who despised religion above all else, the Emperor had always forbidden the rise of faith within the Imperium.
Yet the Holy Terra of this era was more exaggerated—by ten thousandfold—than even the Perfect City of ancient Lhasa.
To him, it was nothing short of blasphemy worthy of death.
Still, the Emperor could understand the God-Emperor's reasoning. Weakened, he needed the power of belief to sustain his life. And humanity, lost and despairing, needed faith to keep on living.
In an age of Infinity darkness, only this fragile thread of belief could shield mankind from the predations of Warp daemons and ease the gnawing panic and emptiness within.
The journey did not last long. Once he had grasped Terra's basic condition, the Emperor returned to the Warhammer universe and sought out Guilliman at his work.
"Guilliman, I have a task for you."
The Emperor looked at his puzzled son, ready to assign him a new duty—standing in for the Guilliman still searching for the essence, he was to enter the Megacorp's civilization breeding grounds and play the role of a god, reaping Atlantis's faith.
Only in this way could they shorten the time needed to complete the plan. Once Guilliman emerged from the Warp, the apotheosis ritual would begin at once!
Unlike the other Primarchs who had already departed, Guilliman had been diligently managing the Imperium's affairs on Terra. Though the Universal Megacorp's AIs were gradually spreading into the Imperium's bureaucratic systems, much still required his personal oversight.
The Imperium's course had already been set by the Emperor; Guilliman was not expected to produce groundbreaking reforms, only to hold to his station faithfully.
The Emperor's bluntness startled Guilliman at first, but he soon nodded in reply. "Of course, Father. Give me your command."
He knew Horus had been secretly taken away by the Emperor. Perhaps the Megacorp was arranging for the Primarchs to take on new tasks—and now it was his turn.
"I want you to masquerade as a god, and seize the faith of an entire civilization."
The Emperor laid bare the god-making plan in its entirety. As he spoke, Guilliman's expression twisted in shock. He could hardly believe such a dark scheme was conceived by his father.
What the Emperor had once declared absolutely forbidden, now he would openly carry out!
To end an entire civilization in exchange for apotheosis—for billions to die so that one might become a god—it was unthinkable.
Guilliman's face nearly contorted. "Father, I don't understand why you must do this. Is there truly no other way?"
For a fleeting instant, he even wondered if this was some trick of the Chaos god Tzeentch. But when he studied the Emperor carefully, he could find no flaw.
In his memory, the Emperor had always been both compassionate and stern. Yes, he had harbored an extreme hatred for the alien races—but that was vengeance, born of how they had once slaughtered humanity.
This, though—this was the wanton destruction of Atlantis, a civilization that had never crossed the Imperium. To erase billions in an instant was nothing short of cruel.
With a single decision, to condemn untold lives to death—Guilliman, unprepared, felt shaken to his core.
"Guilliman, I trust you understand the benefit this brings. Since mankind's struggle against Chaos began, how many billions more than this have died?"
The Emperor would not argue philosophy. He knew Guilliman was rational, even rigid, bound by rules and principle.
But as the heir to the Imperium, he had to break through his own limits. A true ruler could not remain shackled to old perspectives and worn-out experience.
"Yes, Father. I understand what must be done."
Guilliman nodded heavily, though his face was troubled. He needed time to digest all this. Even if he could not yet truly comprehend, he trusted that the Emperor could not be wrong.
Seeing this, the Emperor patted his son's shoulder and said gravely: "This matter is of the utmost importance. It concerns the survival of mankind in another universe—and the core interests of the Universal Megacorp."
"There will be others sent to aid you. Your only duty is to see it carried out flawlessly. No errors are permissible."
At the mention of those four words—the Universal Megacorp—Guilliman suddenly understood. No wonder the Emperor would conceive such a ruthless plan; behind it all stood the Megacorp.
His mind raced. In an instant he pieced together the whole chain of cause and effect, even filling in the details his father had left unspoken.
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