Warhammer: Starting as a Planetary Governor

The sun was setting in a haze, and the crashing of the waves gradually grew gentle.

In this tranquil setting, Eden drifted into sleep.

At some unknown moment, the deeply slumbering Guilliman's brows began to furrow again, a trace of strange energy coiling around his body.

The Regent of the Imperium had fallen into another vision—just like countless times before—returning once more to his old nightmares.

Nightmares, at their core, were intrusions of the mind—perhaps due to past traumas, or perhaps the whispering calls of some entities from the Warp.

In either case, they were never good.

Images flashed rapidly.

Guilliman saw dazzling golden light and the enormous silhouette of the Hopes of Terra, growing larger and larger. Under the rays of the setting sun, it shimmered pale, like a peerless cathedral suspended in the air.

The blue-purple backdrop of the cosmos etched out the shape of this cathedral, with millions of shining lights scattered around it.

Those lights came from the warships.

His father, the Master of Mankind—the Emperor—had launched the Great Crusade with such monumental grandeur. Mankind's fleets surged forth from Terra, bound for distant stars.

Humanity swept across the galaxy, becoming its supreme ruler.

It was a moment when humanity stood on the precipice of glory—yet it had merely been the sunset glow before darkness fell.

"When exactly did it all begin to unravel?"

Guilliman tried to pin down this complex matter, but found no clear answer—perhaps because there were too many.

In truth, the signs of decline had long begun.

He found himself once again at the Council of Nikaea.

Though his name was not recorded on the official attendee list or in Imperial history, he had indeed been there—alongside many of his Primarch brothers.

The Emperor had used false information to hide the truth, ensuring no testimony would be "tainted by the fear of being watched."

The Council was meant as a trial of the Thousand Sons, but it was in fact a dispute among the Primarchs over how the forces of the Warp should be used within the Legions.

In the end, the Emperor gave his verdict.

He issued the Edict of Nikaea, forbidding all use of psychic powers—except by Navigators and Astropaths. Especially among the Space Marine Legions, such use was now outlawed.

"Those who do not heed my warnings, those who do not trust me, shall invite catastrophe.

He shall be my enemy. I will destroy him and all his followers. In the end, he shall regret turning from my Light."

The Emperor had spoken thus at Nikaea.

He had, before all present, coldly condemned his rebellious son:

"If you continue to consort with the Warp and depend on its powers… Magnus, I shall bring ruin upon your head. You and your Legion will be erased from the records of the Imperium."

Guilliman remembered it clearly.

Magnus's face had turned pale at those words—his proud figure crumbling like stone. He had knelt and sworn obedience.

Thereafter, the Legions were ordered to disband their Librarius divisions.

The Primarchs, too, were required to suppress their own psychic powers.

But it was later discovered that such powers were, in fact, the most effective weapon against the corruption of Chaos.

During the Horus Heresy, the Emperor's laws became a hindrance to loyalist forces—unable to effectively fight those traitors who secretly kept their Librarians.

Guilliman came to believe the Edict needed to be abolished—without it, they would never win.

And indeed, it was eventually suspended.

Though immersed in visions of the past, Guilliman's concern was not on psykers or the Warp, but rather on the strife and division among the Primarchs.

He came to a painful realization: his brothers had never been truly united. The seeds of hatred had long been sown.

And now it was clear.

Their father, the Emperor, was too proud, cold, and callous. His rule was authoritarian and unyielding, rarely showing concern for the emotional needs of his gene-sons.

Perhaps he lacked the ability to express affection—too rational, and far too trusting in the willpower of his creations.

He believed the Primarchs, like himself, would be selfless and willing to sacrifice everything for mankind.

But he had failed to see—they were sons, like any others. They craved paternal love, sought affirmation, each driven by their own ideals and desires.

What they received was only cold, unfeeling commands.

Guilliman could not properly judge the Emperor's character. Some called him a tyrant, a failed father. Others, a great and benevolent monarch.

But all that was in the past.

Now, the Emperor was dead—his withered bones upon the Golden Throne, his will sustained only by the power of the Warp.

Guilliman wasn't even sure if that being could still be called the Emperor.

He never wanted to believe that the Emperor would become a god—a being he once despised.

It was a tragic irony.

Yet none could deny the Emperor's contributions and protection of mankind.

"I too am someone lacking warmth, often blinded by pride and belief.

My courteous gestures, my smiles and diplomacy—merely tools to achieve ends.

Perhaps I'm not so different from him…"

The seemingly charismatic, kind Regent of the Imperium coldly dissected his own character.

To achieve his goals, he had never hesitated to slaughter.

Years ago, he had already learned that both politics and war were but spreadsheets—where every entry was written in blood.

"Perhaps beyond cold logic, we need emotion. And far more of it than we imagined…"

So thought Guilliman.

Driven by logic, he had committed much bloodshed—perhaps foolish, perhaps avoidable.

Among his brothers, the one who once most fervently worshipped their father—the Seventeenth Primarch, Lorgar, the Master of the Word Bearers—came to mind.

At the dawn of the Imperium, Lorgar had led the Word Bearers in purging all heresy and blasphemy across the fledgling empire. Ancient scriptures and symbols were burned. In their place, massive monuments and cathedrals rose.

To ensure mankind's faith in the Emperor endured.

He wrote volumes exalting the Emperor's divinity and justice, preaching to the masses.

His most famous work was the Lectitio Divinitatus.

Not only that—he built a "perfect city" on a conquered world—Monarchia.

It was his holy city, filled with saints and faithful.

Singing the Emperor's praises.

Yet the Emperor was displeased with Lorgar and the Word Bearers' slow pace. He needed the galaxy conquered swiftly for coming crises.

And he hated their blind devotion.

For one of the Crusade's main purposes was to free mankind from religious superstition.

Thus, he rebuked Lorgar and ordered him to speed up his campaign—and commanded Guilliman to burn Monarchia.

Guilliman obeyed.

He led the Ultramarines and reduced Monarchia to ash.

What he hadn't expected—

Was that afterward, the Emperor brought him to meet Lorgar and the Word Bearers.

Guilliman recalled that moment in the vision. The Emperor used psychic force to crush Lorgar and his Legion to their knees.

And Guilliman—the one who had destroyed Monarchia—stood beside him.

It was utter humiliation for a Primarch. A deep, spiritual wound.

Afterward, Guilliman returned to war.

But he later heard that Lorgar locked himself away, praying in silence for an entire month. During that time, he wore only a woolen robe, spoke to no one.

Then, as the Emperor prepared to rebuke them again, Lorgar and his Legion had returned to the Crusade.

They obeyed orders, advanced swiftly. Worlds fell before them like dominoes.

But shockingly, Lorgar became the first of the Primarchs to fall. Decades before the Horus Heresy, he had already been seduced by the Chaos Gods.

His actions deeply influenced the coming Heresy.

In hindsight, Guilliman saw Lorgar's path as wrong—but the Emperor's treatment had been too harsh.

Perhaps it could've been handled better.

Thanks to Eden's influence, the Regent had come to consider matters not only with reason, but with emotional empathy.

He wondered—had he shown Lorgar even a little concern, offered him some comfort, faced things together… would the outcome have been different?

That question would forever remain unanswered.

The bitter irony—Lorgar's religious fervor eventually became the Imperium's greatest pillar.

His once-condemned visions of Imperial religion became reality—and even more magnificent.

The Lectitio Divinitatus, once scorned, became the Imperium's holy scripture, proclaiming the Emperor a god.

The Imperial Cult was born.

Trillions of soldiers and civilians now clasp that tome, praying to the "God-Emperor"—the name most now call Him.

Space Marine Chapters are rooted in faith and loyalty. The Grey Knights use faith to resist corruption. Sisters of Battle and Ministorum priests heal through prayer.

Countless living saints walk among the people—everything just as Lorgar once envisioned.

"Perhaps that bastard is chuckling in some dark corner right now…"

Guilliman sighed inwardly.

No matter what, the next time he encountered the fallen one again, he would deliver just punishment!

As this thought formed in his heart, Guilliman's mind was suddenly drawn by some unknown force, connecting with a distant realm of Chaos.

It was a towering spire etched with sacred scripture—yet steeped in the darkness of Chaos.

A resonant chime echoed from the spire, and its summit split open. A horned, fearsome figure wrapped in glowing scripture and surrounded by sickly yellow flames opened his eyes.

It was Lorgar, the fallen Primarch, now fully transformed into a Daemon Prince.

For thousands of years, he had remained seated in meditation within that tower.

This mad zealot rarely ventured outside. Especially after being brutally beaten by the great black raven—Corvus Corax of the XIX Legion—he was even less inclined to leave.

Sensing the psychic presence of the Regent, Lorgar was momentarily surprised—and even a little pleased.

"Guilliman… So you've come to understand the essence of power. That is rare indeed.

Fate has guided you here—perhaps it's time for you to join me in seeking the Primordial Truth…"

This fallen Primarch had long obsessed over the power of belief, trying to uncover the true god that transcended the material world and unlock the ultimate mysteries of the universe.

"Save for truth, I desire nothing else…"

So Lorgar had once declared.

And despite aligning himself with Chaos, he didn't believe the Chaos Gods were true deities. Rather, he tried to use the Warp to reach higher-dimensional beings—the true creators.

He harbored a deep hatred for atheists, especially ones like Guilliman who outright rejected the Warp's very essence.

Now, seeing the Regent use Warp energies to form a vision and reach out to him?

What a delightful surprise.

He could feel that Guilliman's essence had grown tremendously powerful.

"There are no gods in this world… only a gaggle of grotesque, self-obsessed lunatics lost in their own power."

Guilliman glared coldly at Lorgar.

"You're wrong. You're all wrong. I alone possess the true revelation!"

Lorgar grinned.

"Look at the Imperium—it's just as I envisioned. You should go look at our Father—see if He has not become a god. This is the power of faith. I won."

He proudly patted the filthy, tattered manuscript of the Lectitio Divinitatus still hanging from his body.

It was his proudest creation.

Lorgar raved:

"By the divine above, I should go see Father—gaze upon that singular Sun—and ask if He regrets stopping me from doing all that I had planned for Him.

Had things gone differently, perhaps the Imperium would never have turned out this way.

You should thank me. The Imperium still stands partly because of me…"

Guilliman didn't answer this mad zealot's nonsense—instead, he charged forward.

But Lorgar had no desire to engage. He immediately shut his tower, cutting off the connection.

He disdained brawling with such crude unbelievers.

The fact was: this was the weakest of the Primarchs in terms of combat prowess. He had been beaten down by Guilliman, Horus, Vulkan, and others—firmly bottom-tier.

But after closing his tower, Lorgar sensed something else in that connection—other traces of divinity, even whispers from beyond the Milky Way.

He began to examine them carefully.

"New clues… I must go seek out this truth myself."

Excitement lit his long-still heart.

He thought again of Guilliman and smirked slyly.

Before sealing the tower entirely, he had sent his brother a 'gift'—a vision that would lead him to gaze upon the godlike sun. Perhaps it would shake that stubborn atheist's convictions.

…

The Warp.

The holy sun blazed with infinite radiance, waves of power surging and rippling through all surrounding space.

"Father…"

The Regent's psychic essence was nearly drowned in the glory of belief, overwhelmed by its intensity.

He gazed upon the slumbering god-sun.

And within him surged deep sorrow and disbelief. His thoughts became a tangled storm.

Back in the palace, he hadn't fully grasped this power—had thought it merely a psychic illusion. He had rationalized his doubts.

But now he felt it directly.

There was no denying it anymore. He could no longer convince himself the Emperor hadn't become the very thing He once despised.

For he felt the divinity. And the darkness lurking within it.

How was this any different from those insane Chaos beings who called themselves gods?

Guilliman's heart sank.

He realized, with terrifying clarity, that if this continued to fester, the Emperor might one day become a new threat to mankind—corrupted by the very faith He once rejected.

And when that day came… what would Guilliman do?

What path would humanity take?

A chilling thought rose: perhaps it would be better to end it now, before worse could come.

But he crushed that idea immediately.

He couldn't do it. Mankind needed that power. And more importantly—he couldn't raise his hand against the father who had given everything for humanity.

Perhaps once, under cold reason, he might have made that choice.

But not anymore!

He believed in his brother Eden. Together, they would find a better way.

For reasons he couldn't explain, Guilliman trusted Eden deeply. As long as they stood together, they could face and overcome any crisis.

When he finally calmed, he noticed whispers in his thoughts—interference.

It was the work of the Chaos Gods.

He quickly realized:

Everything he'd just experienced was the trap of those foul vermin from the Warp—preying on his moment of weakness to corrupt him.

Perhaps it was through such tricks that they had lured his brothers into damnation.

But such darkness would not bend him.

He would never bow to those who had claimed his brothers.

With a fierce gaze at the sun-god's light, he then looked peacefully at the smaller sun sleeping nearby—Eden.

Then he left.

He wouldn't linger. If the Emperor awoke now… he didn't know how he would face Him.

…

In the void…

BOOM—

A tremendous burst of energy exploded.

"Chaos filth! You will not control me. You should tremble—for the fires of vengeance shall soon burn away all darkness!"

Guilliman erupted in a storm of fury, his psychic form blazing into a colossal blue giant, lightning coiled around him, stretching across the depths of the void.

The power was immense.

He tore the remnants of Chaos clinging to him from his body—crushing them utterly, purging every last trace.

Far in the distance, three vast shadowy figures silently dispersed.

Their plan had failed.

But they had learned much. So long as the Regent used that power, they had a path to deepen their influence.

The Chaos Gods would now prepare even greater traps for Guilliman—more schemes, more assaults.

After severing their grip, Guilliman looked down at his own divine form with disgust.

Repelled, he began to seal the power away again.

He did not need it.

Even if the Emperor lost control and became a new threat to mankind, he would stand—as a man—and strike Him down to protect humanity.

This belief gave him strength.

But just as his mind returned to his body, trying to completely suppress the divine energy—

He sensed something wrong with Eden.

From a psychic perspective, Guilliman saw his brother being invaded by Slaanesh—on the verge of corruption.

The power of that Chaos God was coiling around him, illusions and daemons seeking to drag Eden into the abyss!

"Eden!"

Guilliman's heart clenched. A storm of wrath ignited within him.

…

Slaanesh's Domain.

On verdant fields stretched endless forms of desire—beautiful, alluring figures sprawling toward infinity.

This realm held every vision Eden could ever fantasize about. Every want and craving, satisfied. And more thrilling scenes awaited.

Led by Slaanesh's own phantasms and a host of Greater Daemons, the field transformed constantly—each section tailored to a different fantasy.

A veritable greatest hits collection.

A true show of power.

Eden gulped.

"Hoo boy… classic scenes, high-level production this time…"

With the Dark Prince putting in this much effort, what else was there to do but charge forward headfirst?

However, just as he prepared to engage—

He heard a deep, steady, furious voice behind him:

"Heretical filth… you seek your own destruction!"

Turning around, Eden was stunned to see a massive figure clad in azure ceramite striding forward, wielding the Emperor's Sword.

He couldn't help but exclaim:

"No way—new plotline unlocked? Brothers fighting side by side?!"

(End of Chapter)

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