Prologue

In the far future, there is only war.

— Ancient Terra proverb

The cold void has existed for many ages, long before the first creature drew breath, and long before the terrible arch-enemies hidden within the dark galaxy were born.

Between the reaches of the universe, among countless planets and suns, this ancient fortress floats in the void. Its cold steel exterior glimmers under the equally cold light of the galaxy—the light of countless suns and stars—and within that radiance...

Countless steel macro-cannons rise from fortress after fortress, their barrels aimed at the endless dark galaxy. Statues of Angels of Death stand between the cannons and the myriad weapons, their blades pointed toward the distant, dark galaxy, toward the terrible arch-enemies lurking in its depths.

Beneath a massive Gothic spire, under a stained-glass mural depicting the Master of Mankind, The Emperor, and his Angels of Death, an old man stands at the edge of the colored glass. He gazes into the darkness with aged yet piercing eyes, the light of distant, flickering stars reflecting in them. In this vast, cavernous hall, there is only a silence as profound as the void itself.

The light of the galaxy shines upon his black robes without reflecting a single glimmer, as if he were one with the darkness itself. Only the silver pendant hanging from his chest catches the cold, grim light: the letter I.

The echo of footsteps rings out from the far end of the hall, drawing gradually closer. Emerging from what seems like the void of darkness itself, the sound shifts from simple footfalls into the distinct, rhythmic clatter of hobnailed boots.

The man appears at the edge of the darkness. His left eye flickers with a faint, dark red light. Clad in a silver breastplate, he approaches the old man and stands beside him, gazing out into the deep, silent night.

A Bolter is holstered at his belt, the weapon exposed without concealment. Its thick muzzle once belonged only to the Astartes, the Angels of Death of The Emperor, but now, it can also be wielded by an Inquisitor blessed and modified by the Machine God.

His right arm, composed of steel machinery, glimmers under the galactic light, silently chanting the blessings and authority of the Machine God.

"Inquisitor Hegart," the man greets. The old man glances at him. "Inquisitor Grace, tell me, what business do you have to report?"

"An astropathic message has traversed the cold void, sent from the far side of the sea of stars, from the Victoria System in the Ultima Segmentum. Something ominous has been discovered there."

"What is it, Grace? What is it?" "We do not yet know, Inquisitor. The astropathic signal is hesitant and wavering. The head of the Adeptus Arbites on the main world of Lavelia seeks the aid of the Inquisition. He is certain that a problem has emerged that cannot be resolved by local forces, my lord." "He seeks the help of the mouthpieces of The Emperor."

Hegart speaks, walking slowly to the side until he reaches the Shrine of The Emperor. He looks up at the holy icon of The Emperor illuminated by countless candles. The Master of Mankind gazes down at them, as if he were truly present.

Grace takes a few steps toward the Shrine but stops. "Your orders, Inquisitor?"

Hegart looks up into the eyes of The Emperor, then lowers his gaze. He turns slightly to look at Grace. "I believe, among the many loyal servants of The Emperor, we have one there, do we not?"

"Yes, my lord." "Name." "Vito Constantine, my lord."

"Ah, our Vito. Tell me, how is young Constantine faring?" The old man seems interested, his words piercing the deathly silence and bringing a touch of life to the empty fortress cathedral.

Grace nods slightly. "Inquisitor Vito has just finished helping the Steel Legion repel an Ork invasion in the Armageddon sector. I hear he received high praise from Commissar Yarrick, and the local Departmento Munitorum seems to want to award him a medal."

"But I suspect he has already left the Armageddon sector. Based on my impression of him, he would likely say: 'If I may be so bold, my lord...'"

"'Rather than staying amidst the oil and Bolter dust, listening to the endless drivel of bureaucrats, I would much rather go find the daughter of a sector governor, or perhaps converse with some beautiful female pirate. It is a philosophical question, my lord.'"

Hegart laughs, his aged, low chuckle echoing through the cathedral. He watches the burning candles—the only points of light in the darkness, illuminating a small portion of the dark cathedral, yet still far from enough.

"Yes, that sounds like him," Hegart laughs.

The light of the Shrine where The Emperor resides cannot illuminate this vast hall; darkness still exists in many places, shrouding everything. But the loyal servants of The Emperor can bring light into this darkness and illuminate more.

Hegart picks up a candle, his aged, withered fingers gripping it. The flame illuminates his face. He turns and hands the candle to Grace, who accepts it naturally.

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

Grace nods slightly, then turns and retreats into the darkness. Hegart watches the candlelight gradually vanish into the gloom. The Inquisitor tilts his head slightly, turning to look at the holy icon of The Emperor.

He stands in the light, the only light in this endless darkness.