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Guilliman observed the screaming demon, sensing a faint echo of the Emperor's horror.
The creature wasn't afraid of him—but of the Emperor behind him.
Otherwise, it wouldn't have uttered anything about the "parent and child of the curser."
According to Eisenhorn's briefing, Cherubael was a demon prince.
The Warp was vast, and even the Chaos Gods, the so-called Lords of Chaos, occupied only a fraction of its expanse.
Many domains remained untouched by them, ruled instead by various other demons.
Ever since humanity's emergence, religion had existed, birthing the first gods.
With time, these deities multiplied.
Greek mythology alone, from its first generation of primordial gods to its third, had already amassed thousands of figures.
And that was just one system.
Throughout human history, tens of thousands of gods had been worshiped.
Due to the nature of the Warp, excessive devotion to any concept formed its projection there.
These deities emerged naturally.
As humanity evolved, beliefs shifted—many gods were forgotten, abandoned, and some faded into nothingness.
Others transformed, becoming twisted beings, eternally ravenous for flesh and souls. These were the demons.
In the grand history of the galaxy, humanity's millions of years were but a fleeting ripple.
Long before their arrival, countless other races had risen, built civilizations, and worshiped their own gods.
Take, for instance, the still-active species of today:
- The T'au, who troubled the Imperium's eastern fringes, revered their so-called "Greater Good."
- The Orks, under their warlords, followed their twin gods, Gork and Mork.
- The Eldar worshiped figures such as Asuryan, Khaine, and Cegorach.
With such vast cultural differences, the gods they created were equally diverse.
But those who lost their worshippers became distorted within the Warp, turning into spiteful, hateful demons.
When Slaanesh awakened, sundering reality and forming the Eye of Terror, the Eldar pantheon met its doom.
Only Cegorach, the Laughing God, and Isha, the Goddess of Life, survived.
Yet if the Eldar were to fall completely, these two, too, would lose their worshippers—twisting into hateful demons over time.
The origins of demons were varied, their nature complex beyond simple explanation.
Cherubael's own origins were a mystery.
Even Eisenhorn knew little about this demon prince's past.
In his youth, Eisenhorn had investigated a case involving a Chaos-worshipping cult. Through a seized grimoire of forbidden demonology, he learned the rituals necessary to control such creatures.
Eons ago, a demonic tribe had emerged from the Warp, conquered seven worlds, and forged an empire.
When their dominion collapsed, their demon-king was entombed within a dreadful crypt—awaiting his reawakening.
Eisenhorn had pursued this matter for centuries, his search intertwining with powerful noble families embroiled in heretical affairs. Ultimately, he thwarted the resurrection of the demon-king, ensuring the heretic's demise within that cursed mausoleum.
Yet despite his efforts, Cherubael's true origin remained obscured.
Guilliman, however, had no interest in such histories.
Everything about demons was corrupt. Even listening to their stories could be a path to manipulation and control.
To him, Cherubael was merely a tool—its past was irrelevant.
In truth, many Warp-spawned entities had found ways to infiltrate realspace, integrating into mortal civilizations and establishing their own twisted societies.
This was precisely why the Emperor had created the Primarchs. Without them, the Imperium of Man could never have existed.
The Emperor could not fight every war himself.
Yet, in the end, it was the Primarchs who nearly destroyed the Imperium.
Some lamented that the Emperor had been too distant, that his treatment of the Primarchs as mere tools had led to disaster.
Such complaints ignored reality.
The Emperor's mind bore responsibilities that would overwhelm even the Imperium's most advanced cogitators.
Ruling an empire spanning tens of thousands of light-years—held together only by psychic communication and Warp travel—demanded more effort than any mortal could fathom.
Most people barely recognized their neighbors, let alone understood events in the next town.
How, then, could one expect a single man to oversee the affairs of planets hundreds of light-years apart?
The Emperor had to measure the value of every force at his disposal, wage war against monstrous alien species, develop the Webway, combat the Chaos Gods, and uphold the Imperial Truth—all at once.
His time was stretched beyond limits.
Yet, when he met each Primarch, he spared moments to converse with them, to share his vision for humanity, to promise them glory and rewards.
He evaluated each one carefully, adapting his approach to their personalities.
When he first encountered Lorgar, he spoke with him through the night, urging him to abandon religion in favor of the Imperial Truth.
But Lorgar refused.
Time and again, despite repeated commands, he remained fixated on his misguided faith.
At the Council of Nikaea, the Primarchs voted to ban psychic practices. Magnus defied this decree, his arrogance culminating in a single catastrophic mistake—a psychic backlash that shattered the Emperor's protective barrier beneath the Imperial Palace.
As a result, the Sisters of Silence, the Adeptus Mechanicus, and the Ten Thousand were slaughtered in the Webway.
Angron despised the Emperor, wishing him dead.
Corvus Corax saw him as a false beacon of hope, one that ultimately led to despair.
Perturabo, resentful and embittered, saw himself as nothing more than a tool.
Mortarion believed the Emperor looked down upon him.
Faced with these challenges, the Emperor chose what seemed the safest course—appointing Horus, the Primarch who had been at his side the longest, as Warmaster.
Aside from Alpharius, who operated in secrecy, Horus was the closest to him.
The Emperor had personally guided him, taking him on crusades, teaching him directly.
Yet even this path led to disaster.
The Emperor's failure was not his lack of humanity—but rather, his belief in it.
This was his greatest tragedy, the burden he bore upon the Golden Throne.
He had trusted Horus to complete the Great Crusade and resist the temptations of Chaos.
But after suffering a grievous wound, Horus chose to betray him.
The Emperor was stunned—not because of the rebellion itself, but because the betrayer was Horus.
He had believed Horus truly saw him as a father.
But to Horus, the Emperor was merely a tyrant.
Was it Chaos that corrupted Horus?
No.
Horus chose Chaos.
He sought to seize his father's throne, believing the galaxy was his to rule.
Erebus whispered to him, promising that by sacrificing the Emperor, Horus would attain unimaginable power and become the new Lord of Mankind.
Dissatisfied with the Emperor's reliance on the Terra Council and his weakening of the War Council, Horus accepted the offer.
He resolved to sacrifice his father and claim the galaxy for himself.
When the final battle came, it was the Emperor—not Horus—who still hoped for reconciliation.
Between the two, who was truly more human?
Who valued their long companionship more?
In the end, Horus's injury merely gave Chaos the opportunity to tempt him.
Guilliman shook off his wandering thoughts, steeling himself.
He would never entrust the fate of the Imperium to a single individual. No matter how reliable they seemed.
He turned to Cherubael.
"It seems you know who I am. That will make this easier."
Cherubael narrowed its eyes. "What do you intend, Son of the Damned?"
"I need information on the Warp. That's why I'm here."
The demon prince grinned. "So you wish to make a deal with me?"
The idea thrilled it. Deals led to corruption, and corruption meant decay. To see the son of the Emperor fall would be delicious.
Guilliman stepped closer. "I am the Regent of the Imperium. I do not make deals. Whatever I need is given to me."
He locked eyes with Cherubael. "So be wise. Swear your allegiance to me—and provide the information I require."
Cherubael stared, deadpan.
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The Regent of the Imperium was truly something else.
Did he seriously think a demon prince would just pledge allegiance?