Prologue

In the distant future, there was only war in the galaxy.

—An ancient Terran saying

The cold void had existed for many ages, long before the first living creature drew breath, long before the birth of the terrifying foes hidden within the dark galaxy.

Between the stars, among countless planets and suns, an ancient fortress floated in the void. Its cold steel exterior glimmered beneath the equally cold light of the galaxy, reflecting the radiance of countless suns and stars.

Countless colossal cannons rose from the fortress bastions, their barrels aimed at the endless dark galaxy. Angelic statues stood among the cannons and countless weapons, their blades pointing toward the distant darkness, toward the terrifying foes lurking in its depths.

Beneath the towering Gothic spires, under the enormous stained-glass mural depicting the Master of Mankind, the Emperor, and his Angels of Death, an old man stood at the far end of the stained-glass windows. With his aged but keen eyes, he gazed into the darkness. The distant, twinkling stars were reflected in his eyes. In the vast hall, there was only a silence as deep as the void.

The light of the galaxy fell upon his black robes without reflecting a glimmer, as though they were one with the darkness itself. Only the silver pendant hanging at his chest reflected a cold gleam: the letter I.

Footsteps echoed from the far end of the hall, drawing closer. Emerging from what seemed like the very heart of nothingness, they grew louder, changing from simple footfalls into the clearer clatter of studded boots.

The man appeared at the edge of the darkness. His left eye glimmered a dim red. Wearing a silver breastplate, he came to stand beside the old man, gazing with him into the deep, silent night.

A Bolter hung from his belt, openly displayed. Its thick barrel had once belonged only to the Astartes, the Emperor's Angels of Death. But now, Inquisitors who had received the blessings and modifications of the Adeptus Mechanicus could wield one too.

His right arm, made of steel and machinery, also glimmered in the galactic light, silently chanting the blessings and authority of the Machine God.

"Lord Inquisitor Hegart," the man greeted him.

The old man glanced at him. "Inquisitor Grace, tell me, what is it you need to report?"

"A distress signal crossed the cold void from the far side of the star sea, from the Victoria System in the Ultima Segmentum. Something ominous has been discovered there."

"What is it, Grace? What is it?"

"We don't know yet, Lord Inquisitor. The astropathic message was hesitant and uncertain. The head of the Adeptus Arbites on Lavelia, the Capital World, has asked the Inquisition for help. He's certain something is wrong there, and that local forces can't handle it, my lord."

"He seeks the aid of the Emperor's representatives."

Hegart spoke as he walked slowly to the side, stopping before the Emperor's shrine. He looked up at the holy image of the Emperor, illuminated by countless candles. The Master of Mankind gazed down at them, as if he were truly there.

Grace took a few steps toward the shrine, then stopped. "Your orders, Lord Inquisitor?"

Hegart gazed up into the Emperor's eyes, then lowered his own. He turned slightly toward Grace. "I believe one of the Emperor's many loyal servants is there, isn't he?"

"Yes, my lord."

"His name?"

"Vito Constantine, my lord."

"Ah, our Vito. Tell me, how is young Constantine doing?" The old man seemed intrigued. His words pierced the dead silence, bringing a little life to the empty fortress chapel.

Grace gave a slight nod. "Inquisitor Vito just helped the Steel Legion crush an Ork invasion in the Armageddon Sector. I hear he earned high praise from Commissar Yarrick. The local Departmento Munitorum even wants to award him a medal."

"But I imagine he's already left the Armageddon Sector. From what I know of him, he'd probably say—if you'll pardon me, my lord—"

"'Rather than stay amid the machine oil and Bolter dust, listening to bureaucrats drone on, I'd rather go find the Sector Governor's daughter, or perhaps a beautiful female pirate, to discuss philosophical matters, my lord.'"

Hegart laughed, his aged chuckle rumbling through the chapel. He looked at the burning candles, the only points of light in the darkness, illuminating a small part of the dark chapel—but still far from enough.

"Yes, that's the one," Hegart said with a laugh.

The light from the Emperor's shrine could not illuminate the vast hall. Darkness still remained in many places, shrouding everything. But the Emperor's loyal servants could carry light into that darkness and illuminate more of it.

Hegart picked up a candle, holding it in his old, withered fingers. Its flame lit his face. He turned and offered it to Grace, who accepted it naturally.

"Tell Vito to carry the light of the Emperor's truth to the Victoria System. If the Emperor wills it, perhaps he'll find something there that interests him."

Grace gave a slight nod, then turned and withdrew into the darkness. Hegart watched the candlelight gradually disappear into the gloom. The Inquisitor lifted his chin slightly and turned toward the Emperor's holy image.

He stood in the light, the only light in the endless darkness.