The Emperor's voice, imbued with unquestionable will, echoed throughout the Throne Room.
Captain-General Trajann Valoris accepted the command immediately. "As you command, my Lord! I will immediately dispatch envoys to summon the members of the Senatorum Imperialis, the High Inquisitors of the Holy Ordos stationed on Holy Terra, the Representative of the Ecclesiarchy, the Departmento Munitorum, the Master of the Administratum, the Paternoval Envoy of the Navigators, the Master of the Astronomican... all high-ranking officials shall come for an audience at once."
Trajann turned, ready to issue orders to his elite Custodian Guard squads, when a mental command, clear and carrying irresistible power, resonated directly within his mind. The source was unmistakably the Golden Throne.
"Trajann, you may leave later." He needed to give Axis some time, to give that Chaos Space Marine a moment to work.
The Captain-General's form paused almost imperceptibly. Behind his auramite helm, his eyes flickered with extreme confusion, yet ten thousand years of loyalty and absolute obedience to the Emperor's will suppressed all doubt.
He immediately utilized the Custodes' encrypted psionic communication network to alter his urgent command. "All Custodes, hold position. Strengthen internal palace security, particularly the approaches to the Throne Room. Await further instructions."
This command struck the sharper-minded Custodes as irregular, but none questioned the Captain-General's decision. They stood like golden statues inside and outside the Throne Room, the atmosphere growing heavy, like the silence before a storm.
Only the corners of Axis's mouth curled into a faint smile.
It seemed Old Golden Pineapple was supporting his actions after all. It appeared the Emperor's tolerance for those High Lords had finally reached its limit.
…
Meanwhile, beneath the surface of Holy Terra, in the shadowed corners concealed by glorious palaces where the true core of Imperial power resided, a silent hunt had begun.
In the High Lords' Council Spire, inside a private top-level chamber, several core High Lords had gathered. The atmosphere was tense, though not because of the Emperor's awakening, for they remained ignorant of that fact.
Their anxiety stemmed from recent abnormal energy fluctuations within the Palace district and the sudden, uncharacteristic strengthening of the Custodes' internal security. It unsettled them, as if something were slipping beyond their control.
They had just received intelligence suggesting the daemons invading Holy Terra had been purged, but for safety's sake, these High Lords did not leave their sanctuary.
"What is Trajann up to now? He suddenly sealed the passages to the Inner Palace. Even our channels for routine reports have been restricted." The obese High Lord controlling Administratum resources wiped sweat from his brow, his tone thick with dissatisfaction.
"Hmph, those golden tin cans. For ten thousand years, other than guarding that..." The representative of the Inquisition, a High Inquisitor with a sinister face, caught himself and swallowed his words cautiously.
"Other than guarding the Golden Throne, what can they do? We are the true masters of the Imperium." The entire Empire had fallen into the hands of the High Lords; they could command every Chapter of the Adeptus Astartes, yet they could not command the Adeptus Custodes.
Even Goge Vandire in his time could not command the Emperor's Custodians, only managing to corrupt Space Marine forces. However, ordinary Astartes chapters could no longer satisfy their appetites.
Yet, at this moment, no Custodes stood guard here. There were no golden guardians to protect the true high command of the Imperium, the men who actually ruled.
Even the Imperial Fists had gone to their duties. The only ones remaining by their side were wild Space Marines, warriors not beholden to any Chapter, engaging in freelance work as bodyguards.
Some of these Astartes had been expunged from their parent Chapters, existing as wanderers. Were it not for the High Lords' patronage, these rogue elements might have already fallen to become Chaos Space Marines.
The High Lords whispered among themselves while their guards watched the perimeter vigilantly, wary of any Chaos Daemons that might burst in to disturb the noble lords. It was worth noting that beyond the High Lords, the room also contained numerous Imperial nobles and high-ranking officials, comprising the families and kin of the ruling elite.
Without triggering a single alarm, the heavy adamantium door to the secret chamber simply melted.
It was not cut. It liquefied like wax, flowing down to reveal the deep corridor beyond and several figures radiating an ominous, chaotic aura.
Standing in the corridor were a hundred figures. The leader wore power armor that, while battered, still bore the unmistakable heraldry of the Thousand Sons Legion. The lenses of his helmet flashed with a cold blue light, and atop his force staff swirled a psychic vortex that induced heart-stopping terror.
Behind him stood several Rubric Marines, their bodies twisted, movements stiff, armor covered in eldritch runes, along with several Chaos Space Marines radiating a ferocious aura, their power armor etched with the mark of the Prodigal Warband.
It was Ahriman. The powerful Chaos Sorcerer wanted by the Imperial upper echelons, a veteran of the Long War who had survived for ten thousand years.
The rogue Space Marines guarding the High Lords instantly went on alert, leveling their bolters at the intruders.
They opened fire frantically, but the hail of bolter rounds was effortlessly deflected by a psychic barrier Ahriman erected.
"True masters? You?" Ahriman's voice filtered through his vox-grille, carrying an inhuman mockery and freezing killing intent. "How hilariously presumptuous. Maggots of the Imperium, your era has ended."
"Daemons! Chaos lackeys! Chaos Space Marines! Curse you, how are you here?" One High Inquisitor reacted fastest, raising his bolter in a flash and unleashing a torrent of fire at Ahriman.
His heart was filled with absolute terror. How could the forces of Chaos infiltrate the very core of Holy Terra without a sound?
Had someone let them in? Or perhaps...
However, their resistance before Ahriman's power was as futile as a mantis trying to stop a chariot.
Ahriman did not even move his staff. With merely a flicker of thought, the bolter rounds froze in mid-air just meters away from him, like insects trapped in amber.
Then, the rounds silently annihilated, turning into fundamental particles of dust.
As a Chaos Space Marine of immense psychic power, his capabilities were beyond the comprehension of these High Lords. As for their worthless bodyguards, though they were Astartes, they were not worth his personal effort.
He did not need to act. The Prodigal Warband and his Rubric Marines could handle them.
After all, they were currently working for the Emperor, helping Him clean up the garbage and parasites of the Imperium.
"Guards! Protec—" The High Lord from the Departmento Munitorum, who had been speaking earlier, only managed to shout half a sentence.
A Rubric Marine beside him moved. There was no dazzling psychic display, only pure, inhuman speed and strength.
A blur flashed past, and the High Lord's head, along with his reinforced pauldrons, was crushed as easily as an egg by a hand covered in glowing runes.
Red and white matter sprayed like a fountain, drenching the Ecclesiarchy representative next to him. The Space Marine bodyguard beside him had no time to react.
Two massive chainswords descended upon the bodyguard. Two Chaos Space Marines of the Prodigal Warband hacked him into bloody chunks in an instant.
"No! God-Emperor! Save your servant!" The Ecclesiarchy representative let out a shrill scream of collapsing faith, trying to raise the holy reliquary on his chest to release its faint sacred power.
Until his death, he believed this was a surprise raid by Chaos Daemons, completely unaware that this slaughter was in any way connected to the recently awakened Emperor.
Ahriman let out a cold, mocking laugh. "The Emperor? He has no need for burdens like you anymore, you parasites."
He tapped his staff, and a twisted beam of purple energy, moving like a living thing, shot out and instantly pierced the Ecclesiarchy representative's chest.
The holy relic failed to raise even a ripple of defense. The man's body shriveled and withered visibly, finally turning into a pile of ash that drifted on the wind, leaving his ornate robes to flutter emptily to the ground.
"Your turn." Ahriman's gaze swept like a cold razor over the remaining survivors, the Administratum Lord paralyzed by fear and another Inquisitor.
"No! Mercy! I am a High Lord! I have endless wealth! I can give you..." The fat man from the Administratum begged incoherently, losing control of his bowels, deluded enough to think worldly power could sway the god of slaughter before him.
A warrior of the Prodigal Warband let out a wild, bloodthirsty roar, revving his chainsword as he charged.
There was no mercy, no trial, only the most primal, bloody butchery.
Chainswords tore through flesh, power claws crushed bone, and screams mingled with the wet sound of meat being ground to pulp. In an instant, the secret chamber symbolizing the Imperium's highest authority turned into a slaughterhouse.
These noble lords were no different from lambs awaiting slaughter in the face of absolute power. Their guards met the same gruesome fate as their masters.
The last Inquisitor attempted to blast Ahriman with psychic energy, but Ahriman merely gave his staff a slight shake. The Inquisitor's power backlashed; he bled from all seven orifices, clawed painfully at his own throat until his eyes burst, and finally collapsed, twitching until he died.
Ahriman looked coldly at the mess of severed limbs and the blood sprayed everywhere. He raised his staff and chanted a profane incantation. Ethereal green flames ignited from thin air, licking at the corpses and bloodstains, scorching them into charred, twisted forms that reeked of sulfur.
He carved twisted eight-pointed stars and blasphemous marks in the Dark Tongue into the walls, filling the air with the thick residue of chaotic warp energy.
"Make it look convincing," Ahriman ordered the leader of the Prodigal Warband. This was the first task given by the Master, and it had to be done beautifully. "Let those loyal golden tin cans believe this is the 'masterpiece' of Khornate or Tzeentchian zealots offering a sacrifice to their masters."
Several warriors of the Prodigal Warband grinned savagely and began using their chainswords to hack more frenzied gashes into the bodies and walls, deliberately leaving behind fragments of iconography belonging to other Chaos warbands, though not their own.
Finally, Ahriman opened a small warp rift and summoned a few lesser Chaos Daemons to release into the room, further falsifying the scene.
...
..
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ps?