The plan had failed, the Legions had split, and the worlds brought under compliance had once again slipped from the Imperium's control.
The Emperor had exhausted every effort to keep Terra from becoming a second Eye of Terror. He had taken the Throne, and the Imperium had lost the guidance of a strong leader.
The Imperium's true nature was now that of an unfinished construction site piled high with scaffolding and temporary sheds, while the Four Gods applauded the savage warfare of the Great Crusade.
Many pocket empires had survived the madness of Old Night, only to fail to survive the Imperium's crusade.
Their leaders had led their people through attacks by the out-of-control Men of Iron. They had endured the dangers of Warp storms, resisted psychic mutations from within, and fended off xenos invasions from without.
They did not agree with the Emperor's ideals, and the Emperor had no time to explain himself to them. With the immense scale of galactic civilizations, many pocket empires were destroyed beneath Space Marine assaults that came down like dumplings dropped into a pot.
Humans consumed by war looked up at the steel boots of the Space Marines and cursed them for destroying their homes. In their eyes, these superhumans with two hearts and three lungs were no different from xenos.
Not to mention the pocket empires that lived harmoniously alongside xenos. The expeditionary fleets labeled them traitors to human purity and slaughtered them together with the xenos.
The Emperor mourned the innocent lives lost because of his wars even as he stripped the conquered worlds of their freedom. Other than this, he could find no second method that would both protect humanity and weaken the corrupting power of the Warp.
The brutality of the Great Crusade caused the emotions of the galaxy