The war between the Men of Iron and the Necrons burned dimly and slowly across the Milky Way, like smoldering charcoal.
But within the Imperial Sanctum deep beneath Terra, an entirely different scene awaited.
For the first time, Dorn's resolute footsteps faltered almost imperceptibly.
Before him was not the Emperor he remembered, seated upon the Golden Throne, radiant with light, shining upon humanity like a star.
There was only a... silhouette.
A vast, twisted silhouette embedded within a dizzyingly complex machine forged from ancient technology and forbidden psychic power.
Countless thick cables, clusters of faintly glowing crystals, and humming energy conduits wound around that figure like parasitic vines, piercing his body.
The armor that had once shone with wisdom and strength was now merely a dull metal shell covering a profoundly shrunken body, as desiccated as a thousand-year-old mummy.
His skin clung tightly to his bones and the various tubes and devices embedded in him, its lifeless, ashen hue suggesting that the slightest touch would turn it to dust.
His skull-like head faced straight ahead. The eyes that had once perceived the secrets of the Milky Way lay deep within black sockets, devoid of any light.
His withered hands rested limply on the Throne's armrests, little more than skin and bone.
This was... Father?
Dorn felt his breath stop.
For the first time, his body, as unbreakable as an adamantium fortress, felt a violent tremor from within.
A mixture of utter shock, disbelief, and... deep, bone-chilling fear flooded his limbs like cold venom.
He stood frozen, his pupils contracting sharply as he stared at the skeletal figure upon the Throne, whose final trace of "existence" was sustained only by immense psychic power and complex life-support machinery.
"No..."
A stifled growl, like that of a wounded beast, forced its way from