Chapter 479: Death Moves Right, Survival Pulls Left! Ascension!
At that moment, a rift split open in the warp, and Guilliman, silent for so long, stepped out from within. His eyes radiated a godlike detachment free of desire, tempered with absolute reason, and his very aura was far stronger than before.
It was clear that Guilliman had discovered his true essence, becoming a complete being at last—a Primarch fully fused with the soul of a warp great daemon.
From the main universe's civilization feeding zone, faith poured into him in an Infinity stream. With the Emperor's aid, that belief and emotion had already been filtered and suppressed, so its impact on Guilliman was minimal.
But this was only the beginning. From now on, Guilliman would be constantly subjected to greater tides of emotion, requiring the help of both the Emperor and the God-Emperor to endure.
Now everything was ready. Guilliman could ascend into a new warp god at any moment.
He looked at the Emperor and the God-Emperor. Becoming humanity's chief deity stirred in him neither excitement nor joy. From this day forward, he would serve as a cog within the warp, existing only to maintain the universe's stability.
It was monotonous, yet of monumental significance.
Since the birth of the cosmos, countless civilizations had risen and fallen, pushed onward by the unseen hand of heaven's law. However brilliant and strong, empires and cultures were ultimately worn down by time.
The law of the universe rolled forward like an unstoppable wheel, and no one could halt its advance. But what the Emperor and God-Emperor now attempted was to seize the wheel and steer its direction.
They could not stop it from turning, nor start or end it—but they could decide where it would go. This was a peak never before attained in human history.
Not even the splendor of the Golden Age could compare.
To wrest control of the universe's laws from the Chaos Four Gods—this was without question the first great feat in humanity's annals.
Yet in this moment, Guilliman felt strangely dazed.
He had grown stronger.
Pure faith had become vast psychic might, transforming a man ignorant of the warp into a being wielding unimaginable power.
With this strength in hand, he could crush his Primarch brothers in an instant. Even daemon Magnus, should he appear before him, would be nothing but pitiful dregs.
His own essence, coupled with the power gained through the sacrifice of the Atlantean civilization, meant Guilliman now truly stood as a standard warp god.
But the shift from man to god was not so easily accepted. Memories flashed in his mind—his days governing the Ultramarines on Macragge, and the Atlanteans' glorious rise through science, conquering aliens and ascending to the pinnacle of civilization.
"Adapt quickly to this feeling. Don't worry too much—I will strip away most of the emotional impurities for you. What remains, you must slowly learn to accept and sense."
The God-Emperor had seen the change in Guilliman's heart. From the Golden Throne he endured the torment of faith and emotion while striving to digest its backlash.
At first it was agony, nearly unbearable. Yet with time, his senses grew numb, thresholds rising infinitely high, leaving him always hovering between reason and madness.
It was the price of divinity, a burden even the Chaos Four Gods had to bear.
"I know what troubles you—you fear being seduced by this power, becoming a dark god like the Four. Don't worry. We will be here to aid you."
Father knows his son best. Both Emperor and God-Emperor understood Guilliman's concern. In truth, these issues had long since been accounted for.
The god-making project was second only to the Aether-Phase Engine in importance for the Universal Megacorp. Behind Guilliman stood not just the Emperor and God-Emperor, but also the Megacorp's boundless manpower and material resources.
Sitting upon the warp's Chaos Eight-Pointed Star as chief deity, Guilliman would inevitably fall under the Megacorp's influence and control.
For Tzeentch, Khorne, and the others to drag him into corruption? Impossible.
"Come. We have little time left."
…
…
Main universe. Universal Megacorp headquarters, Myriad Realms Base.
Li Ang and the Megacorp's executives stared at the live feed before them, watching the dying Atlantean civilization and the imminent ascension of Guilliman.
The day Guilliman rose would be the day Atlantis perished.
"David Martinez and the others have all withdrawn from the Warhammer 40K universe, leaving only the stargates. The Emperor and God-Emperor remain to assist Guilliman's ascension," Morgan Blackhand reported.
No one truly knew how this god-making project would unfold.
The Megacorp had not created a god for the first time; they had once aided Kerrigan's ascension to Xel'naga in the StarCraft universe.
But Kerrigan's transformation had followed relatively transparent and understood steps. This time, the Emperor led, with the Megacorp assisting—and many of the methods were being tried for the very first time.
If the plan failed, this parallel universe might collapse prematurely, or the warp might fuse with reality, birthing an entirely new chaotic cosmos.
Yet whatever the outcome, Li Ang had prepared sufficient safeguards; the Warhammer 40K universe's fate would not affect the main universe.
"Let's hope this succeeds. The civilizations in our feeding pens can't take much more of this…" Alt Cunningham said bitterly. Dr. Halsey had complained often enough—at this rate, if they exhausted their cultivated civilizations, they would be forced to use humans from other universes as sacrifices.
"The benefits and costs of success are both clear. Do you remember the company's first principle? Equivalent exchange—this is part of the price."
V recalled hearing that simple motto in Viktor's clinic in Night City's Little Chinatown. Who then could have imagined such a plain phrase would carry the Megacorp this far?
The cybernetic Megacorp that ended chaos, leading humanity toward the realm of gods—only Li Ang's far-reaching vision could wield such power.
Li Ang himself remained silent, eyes locked on the hardlight screen.
The rewards of success were immense.
If Guilliman ascended, the Megacorp would not only gain the ability to mass-produce gods, but also instantly acquire every technological breakthrough ever achieved in the Warhammer universe!
From the law-level weapons wielded by the Old Ones in the War in Heaven, to the doomsday arms that would appear at the universe's end—all could be seized at once.
Perhaps, through Guilliman's perspective, they might even pluck out technological insights from the river of history that could hasten the construction of the Aether-Phase Engine.
…
"Father, we've sacrificed so many lives, consumed so many resources… in the end, does any of this truly have meaning?"
Guilliman raised his head to the stars. The galaxy shifted slowly above him. Humanity would perish, the universe itself would one day collapse and restart—or simply sink into death, never to return.
Their desperate struggle seemed so small, so futile against the weight of cosmic law.
"Never say something is meaningless before it has been done."
The God-Emperor's tone remained patient as he sought to comfort Guilliman. "Of course all things will meet their end. All we can do is delay that conclusion as long as possible, and improve the quality of life for human civilization in the meantime."
"The cosmos and nature may lean toward death, but we insist on clawing toward life, seizing every chance to keep living. This is not only our instinct as living beings—it is the only weapon we have against inevitability."
Death drives to the right, survival pulls to the left.
Abandon survival, and humanity will fade away like so many civilizations before, vanishing into history's river as nothing more than a faint ripple.
But if humanity endures, stubbornly surviving until the day it stands shoulder to shoulder with heaven itself, then perhaps we may find a way to leap into the cycle of rebirth—carrying hope and memory into eternity.
On that day, everything done here and now will have meaning.
"If we fail, the worst outcome is no more than the universe's end arriving early, with humanity's civilization eking out what little time remains."
"And I will leave this place, continuing on to other parallel universes, beginning again and again, until I find a path to eternal survival for mankind."
The Emperor now spoke as well. In truth, nothing they were doing now brought any tangible benefit to humanity in the current Warhammer 40K universe.
Measured against spans of billions of years, even if humanity lasted another hundred thousand years, it would still be but a droplet of time.
For those of this cosmos, the God-Emperor's return and the revival of the Imperium already constituted the best possible ending. What the Emperor did now might seem unnecessary.
But he persisted nonetheless.
For this universe's humanity should have ended long ago. Without the God-Emperor's stubbornly clung breath, the Imperium would already have been torn apart by Chaos legions.
Rather than dragging everyone through Infinity suffering, it was better to cut cleanly, ending such a twisted state once and for all.
"Very well, then let us begin."
Guilliman fell silent. He was ready at last to face his ascension. This path had meaning, and so many stood behind him. Even if he became a cold, unfeeling god, what of it?
"Guilliman, once you ascend the Chaos Eight-Pointed Star, your consciousness will exist across all timelines. You will instantly comprehend every cause and effect, struck by countless tides of faith and emotion."
"Remember: use your reason to view all questions and information rightly. Your essence decides where you came from, and where you must return."
The God-Emperor repeated his warnings.
Tzeentch, once he comprehended cause and effect, obsessed like a mad schemer, stripping away every thread until all was laid bare—only to weave his plots and deceptions into place.
Khorne, hating chaos of emotion and complexity, desired only to kill—bringing pain and screams to all around him, until cries drowned out subtle grief.
Slaanesh, fleeing the monotony of Infinity cycles, Infinityly sought sensation, immersing himself in eternal pleasure within the dream-Eden of his own making.
Nurgle, the doting father, saw all things silently rot toward extinction. Eternal stasis sickened him; only decay and corruption made the passage of time and change real.
Every god acted according to its essence. If Guilliman wished to resist, to avoid corruption, then he too must hold to his essence.
It was his inborn nature, the only light to guide him home.
Guilliman turned the God-Emperor's words over in his mind. He recalled the essence he had seen in the warp: an exquisite mechanism of countless interlocking gears.
Unlike Tzeentch's treachery, this machine worked with stable, ordered motion. Unlike Khorne's fury, its wheels turned calmly, neither proud nor rash.
Unlike Slaanesh's decadence, it repeated its processes tirelessly. Unlike Nurgle's stagnation, it surged with vigorous vitality, exhaling white steam in strong bursts.
Perhaps this was his true form, one unlike any of the Chaos gods.
"Father, I understand."
Guilliman nodded. He seemed to know now how he would stand as a warp god, to contend with the ever-watchful Chaos Four, to wrestle with the flood of belief and emotion.
"Let's begin. The Atlanteans have suffered long enough. It is time to let them awaken from their nightmare."
The Emperor urged Guilliman to ready himself. Some Atlanteans would soon realize it was all a divine deception. Better to complete the ascension before they awoke.
"Come, then!"
Guilliman closed his eyes.
The God-Emperor and the Emperor exchanged a look. Together, they unleashed ancient sorcery. Their warp suns quaked, shifting into twin spinning orbs.
BOOM—!!
The two pale suns blazed as never before, and a storm unlike any other roared across the warp. Guilliman, caught in its power, began to ascend!
At the same time, countless threads of faith and emotion streamed through the stargate, binding themselves to Guilliman.
On Atlantis itself, within the main universe's feeding zone, countless lives, thoughts, and prayers fell under the threads' control. Their eyes glazed as they turned, blank, toward the direction of the gate.
In a laboratory ten kilometers beneath the surface, Atlantean scientist Einstein frantically calculated the shifting cosmic constants, parsing fragments of information he had captured.
After two weeks of relentless analysis, he reached a terrifying conclusion with the work of a lifetime:
The Atlantean civilization were nothing but pitiful livestock bred by a higher power. Their resurgence, their gods—every miracle had been falsehood. They were sacrifices for divine schemes.
[Children, run—!]
With trembling hands, the aged Einstein tapped the final words and sent out the signal. Yet in the very instant it left, the blazing threads of psychic fire pierced deep underground.
His life and soul were consumed at once. Einstein, along with all Atlanteans outside, lifted lifeless eyes, jaws gaping in twisted silence, staring toward the stargate with unnatural devotion.
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