Where Are My Sons?

Terra had been unified, but the planet was still scarred beyond recognition.

Once the heart of human civilization, of advanced science, elegant art, and miraculous technology, Old Earth's splendor had vanished without a trace.

Warlord wars had followed one after another, turning the entire world into a vast battlefield locked in a prolonged war of attrition.

Chemical, biological, and thermonuclear weapons of mass destruction had been unleashed across the land without restraint. Sturdy doomsday fortresses stood amid the ruins, their towering walls surrounded by depraved, barbaric nomads, mad prophets, cybernetically enhanced warlords, and mutant chieftains.

The succession of tyrants could not quell the wars, while pocket empires frequently flourished and rose.

Countless dreams had been crushed in the cycle of destruction and rebuilding. Hundreds of millions had vanished in the flames of war, leaving only distant tales of horror drifting across the wastelands.

Kalagann... Kalagann...

The Emperor stared intently at the name written on the animal hide.

As the ruler of the vast Ursh Empire, he was cruel and powerful, commanding barbarian armies whose minds had been controlled by chemical drugs. The Four Gods stood behind this leader; he was merely a puppet.

Chaos sorcery fueled by human sacrifice had filled the vast plains of Old Russia and Central Asia with mutations and pollution, requiring the Emperor to expend considerable effort dealing with the problem.

But those were minor matters, the Emperor told himself. He only needed to spend a little time and effort to resolve the pollution on the plains.

Malcador had already contacted the Adeptus Mechanicus on Mars and unearthed a usable spacecraft from beneath the ground.

The Great Crusade would soon enter its second phase. Things were moving in a better direction.

It would have been even better if Oerpeson and Erda had not left...

The Emperor