The Emperor was dreaming.
When Aaron arrived before the Master of Mankind's Golden Throne, the Emperor was dreaming. The days when the Master of Mankind had walked the Earth in humanoid form lay thirty thousand years in the past.
After ascending to godhood, Aaron's memories of his previous life had already grown hazy, let alone his memories as an Adeptus Custodes three lives before that. He could only vaguely judge that this was history from before the Great Crusade.
Yes, fierce winds howled, and the shrieks from the Warp heralded Slaanesh's imminent birth. Chaos Storms had destroyed humanity's Dark Age of Technology. Great Holy Terra, the capital of the Imperium of Man, had become a wasteland that had to import even toilet paper from other colony worlds. Warlords ran rampant, bureaucrats were greedy and brutal, and ordinary people knew almost no peace.
At this moment, a supreme being who had observed humanity for over thirty thousand years finally decided to reveal his true face and take control of this war-torn Imperium.
The Emperor's figure was nowhere near as imposing as Aaron remembered. His golden helmet and armor were far less magnificent than those of the Great Crusade, but his appearance already closely resembled that of the Dark King who had appeared before Aaron. His bronze skin complemented the Eurasian features of Asia Minor. His flowing robes billowed in the cold wind, and the Power Sword at his waist remained inactive. The psychic power it contained was also far weaker than when the Emperor had fought Horus.
The remnants of war lay everywhere. Bombs had gouged out enormous craters, and soldiers from both sides lay silently rotting. Strange gray snowflakes drifted down from the sky. Step after step, the Emperor waded through knee-deep heaps of corpses. Around him, the armor of