Ascending the Throne

Unlike the absurd, indescribable atmosphere aboard the Vengeful Spirit, deep within the Imperial Palace beneath the cover of the Void Shield, a profound despair and unwillingness surged upward.

Malcador stood guard before the throne, watching The Emperor sit upon it with his eyes tightly shut, enduring pain as vast amounts of psychic power were violently drawn from within him.

If the Webway had not shattered, the throne would not have consumed so much.

The Emperor let out a breath. To Malcador's ears, it sounded more like a groan.

Grieving for his old friend, Malcador remained silent at The Emperor's side.

Suddenly, a psychic message forcefully broke into Malcador's mind. The Emperor had sent it during a brief gap in his suffering.

It was a most remarkable perspective. The full extent of the information could not be grasped with the naked eye alone; one had to study it carefully through psychic sight.

This was Terra. The horrific scars upon it made even a death planet constantly bombarded by meteors seem insignificant, enough to make the savage warlords from before the Unification Wars cry out that such devastation could never be replicated.

The cities were filled with massive eight-pointed star formations built from fire and corpses. The laughter of the Dark Gods mingled with the air, and fleeing civilians who heard those sounds simply exploded in the corners where they hid.

The broader view revealed all of Terra. In that instant, Malcador even felt this was not a battlefield, but an enormous ritual meant to please the gods.

From a more intimate perspective, Malcador heard the feelings in the hearts of every defender fighting to the death. He saw how they made their final aim before the fiends descended upon them.

Then came wailing, the silence of death, and the disgusting sounds