This is the bonus chapter for reaching 750 Powerstones
--
"The power you possess is not psychic energy, nor does it originate from the Warp. It is a power never before heard of."
"Its underlying logic is a form of rule—something capable of altering universal laws. This power might just be able to break the stalemate that has lasted for thousands of years."
The Emperor sitting upon the Golden Throne did not move his eyes, yet Zeke clearly perceived a scorching gaze fixed upon him.
The Emperor possessed a certain ability to view all things as tools, ruthless enough to even view himself as one.
Zeke did not understand this mindset, but he respected it.
Zeke looked at the Emperor's body.
Fatal puncture wounds, lacerations, and burns covered his torso and limbs; large patches of skin and muscle tissue were missing.
These were the mortal wounds left from the Emperor's great battle with Horus.
These wounds were forcibly frozen by the stasis field of the Golden Throne, held in their initial state.
Unable to deteriorate into total collapse, yet absolutely impossible to heal naturally.
"I might not be able to help you too much, but making you look a bit more human is doable."
These external injuries were simple enough. Zeke took out an Enchanted Golden Apple, holding it in his palm.
"By the way, I want to ask you a question while I'm at it." Zeke held the Enchanted Golden Apple in his hand.
The Emperor listened intently.
"Do I still have a chance to return to my original world?" Zeke voiced his query.
Three seconds later, the Emperor's psychic voice resonated in Zeke's ears.
"Anchoring the 'original world' you speak of would be an extremely difficult task."
Extremely difficult meant there was still a chance!
Zeke exhaled a breath of turbid air and extended his hand toward the Throne.
"An incredible creation," the Emperor hummed.
He could feel the power of rules contained within it, though as for the effects of consuming it, the Emperor could only vaguely predict a fraction.
His prophetic abilities lost much of their effectiveness before Zeke.
Guilliman recovered from his previous conversation with the Emperor—which had suffered from poor signal.
He solemnly took the apple, swirling with golden light, from Zeke's hand, ignoring the gaze of the surrounding Custodes, which had become incredibly sharp.
The Custodes held extreme vigilance against anything approaching the Throne.
Guilliman strode past several Custodes guards standing like golden statues.
Under everyone's gaze, he offered the Enchanted Golden Apple up to the Throne.
The Emperor accepted this gift from Zeke.
"Guilliman, can you draw?" Zeke asked, pulling a blank piece of paper and a pen from his backpack.
Guilliman paused, then took the paper and pen. "Of course. I am not only versed in the artistic techniques of Macragge but have also studied sketching."
As the Primarch who ruled the Five Hundred Worlds and compiled the Codex, artistic cultivation was a necessary virtue.
Coupled with a Primarch's supernatural perception and control, his drawing speed was astonishingly fast, his strokes precise, capturing both form and spirit.
A soft golden halo rippled out from the core of the Golden Throne.
"Heavens! Is this?!"
The first to cry out in shock was Captain-General Trajann, who was closest and had grown accustomed to the Emperor's trauma-ridden body over ten thousand years.
The golden light gently wrapped around the terrifying cavities in the Emperor's body.
On the edges of those hollows, golden veins appeared on the trauma tissue, and the cracks healed at a speed visible to the naked eye.
Fresh tissue grew out of thin air from the bone surface, layering and filling the voids.
In just a few breaths, the fatal wound areas were brand new.
The Corpse Emperor grew meat; the cured ribs had become fresh.
Zeke clicked his tongue in wonder; the Enchanted Golden Apple was truly powerful.
Whether the target was a mortal, an Astartes, a Primarch, or an existence nearing divinity like the Emperor, it treated all equally. No fancy tricks, just purely powerful mechanics.
The Custodes guarding the Throne, these warriors of humanity's utmost elite and toughest will, could not help but tear up at this moment.
They knelt on one knee, bowing their heads toward the Throne in whispered prayer, their voices choked with emotion.
Ten thousand years of guardianship, ten thousand years of gazing at that broken, painful body—now, to witness such miraculous recovery with their own eyes.
The figure of the Emperor from their memories—perfect, powerful, leading humanity to glory—seemed to be returning with the regeneration of his flesh.
"Don't just stand there, draw!" Zeke's urging pulled Guilliman, who was immersed in shock, back to reality.
Zeke pointed and directed from the side.
"Yes, draw the moment I hand over the apple and the Emperor takes it. Highlight the glow of the Golden Apple and my magnificence... er, I mean, my critical role."
Under Zeke's forceful interference, a lifelike on-site sketch was quickly completed.
In the center of the picture, Zeke solemnly handed over the Enchanted Golden Apple;
On the Golden Throne, the Emperor's figure was shrouded in a halo, reaching out to accept the gift.
It was simply turning the natural order upside down. Guilliman looked at the artwork born under Zeke's guidance, a drop of sweat appearing on his forehead.
The changes on the Golden Throne continued.
A body no longer withered, skin filled with a wheat-colored luster, pitch-black long hair draped over shoulders, a face resolute like carved granite—a perfect male body gradually replaced the shell scarred by ten thousand years of trauma.
The Emperor's physical body had rewound ten thousand years of time, returning to the peak state before the final battle with Horus, or perhaps even earlier.
"It's back... everything is back... my proud faith..." The Custodes wept silently, using the simplest language to express the surging emotions in their hearts.
"Also, in the bottom left corner, sign your name," Zeke urged Guilliman. "Otherwise, people might think this is some knock-off forgery."
Guilliman's hand paused.
He recalled that disgraceful history of Imperium Secundus back in the day; a moment of carelessness had nearly left an irretrievable handle against him.
Now, if he left his personal signature on this painting, wouldn't that be another massive handle?
Bitterness and helplessness surged in Guilliman's heart. Finally, he gritted his teeth and signed the bottom left corner of the painting.
"Roboute Guilliman."
The world-famous painting, "Zeke Gifts the Fruit to Heal the Emperor," was officially completed.
Zeke accepted the painting with satisfaction; he had obtained the highest right of interpretation on Terra.
He had long had enough of wasting his breath explaining to those shortsighted Imperial bureaucrats, Tech-Priests, and even Astartes every time he did something unconventional.
Now it was different. Faced with this painting, they would have to automatically shrink a head shorter and shut up and listen to him.
Printing a few more copies of this painting and sticking them on the Enchanted Golden Apples as product labels wouldn't be a bad idea either.
Upon the Throne, feeling his long-lost complete body,
The Emperor's state of mind—honed to absolute rationality by ten thousand years of pain and burden—rippled with a barely perceptible wave.
Subconsciously, he made a move to stand up.
--
Next Goal = 1000 Powerstones.