Chapter 7: Kiliman's Unwillingness to Lose
Chapter 7: Kiliman Who Cannot Afford to Lose
Kiliman’s voice was not loud, yet it possessed a peculiar kind of magic that pierced through the crowd, stirring the cheering masses into even greater excitement.
Clad in tattered robes, devout zealots of the state religion were overcome with emotion, falling to their knees and prostrating themselves, singing hymns in praise of the Emperor.
He had not forgotten humanity. He had resurrected His own progeny to aid mankind in escaping this dark and terrifying world, ushering in a new future filled with hope.
Some believers wept uncontrollably. They took electric whips and lashed their own bodies, enduring more pain as a testament to their devotion to the Emperor.
“Look at him, child. He is the light of humanity, the salvation of mankind,” a woman said, lifting her infant just a few months old, urging him to remember the figure clad in azure power armor.
“Long live the Emperor! Long live Kiliman!” someone shouted the first cry.
“Long live the Emperor! Long live Kiliman!” more voices joined in.
“Long live the Emperor! Long live Kiliman!”
Soon, the entire crowd was chanting, soldiers and civilians alike cheering.
An Emperor’s progeny, a gene primarch sworn to save them, ignited boundless fervor within their hearts.
Kiliman clicked his tongue in satisfaction; the human faith energy on the command template was rapidly surging.
He felt an invisible force flowing into him, growing his strength.
He even had the illusion that, with that kind of power, he could take on ten foes at once.
And this was only the boon of the Macragge star sector. If he were to receive the blessings of all humanity throughout the Empire, what a sight that would be.
Kiliman suddenly felt that fighting the Chaos Gods was a worthwhile endeavor.
He must strive hard, aiming to soon punch the bloodthirsty brutes, kick the corrupt mutants, ascend the throne, command the battlefield, dominate the Warhammer universe, then the multiverse, and open a path home—staging the triumphant return of the war god.
The battle was over. Under the protection of the elite soldiers, Kiliman entered the inner city of Macragge.
The streets along the way were packed with people from all corners.
The shattered starport emitted black smoke, and a continuous stream of aircraft descended—all gathered for him.
When the crowd looked upon Kiliman, their eyes were bloodshot; a single glance from him would send them into tears, shouting slogans like “Long live Kiliman!”
Kiliman observed these fervent souls; these were true fanatics. It would likely be no great challenge to send them to their deaths for him.
The Mechanicus sage Korl and warlord Calgar trailed behind Kiliman.
Kiliman’s successful resurrection heralded a glimmer of hope for humanity amid this dark and desperate universe.
This greatly pleased the Mechanicus sage, who had spent thousands of years traversing the galaxy to collect technology for Kiliman’s revival.
All the effort had finally borne fruit. The galaxy would enter a brand-new era.
Kiliman had returned, steadfast in his mission—to fight for humanity, to fight for the Emperor.
Though the Empire had been torn apart by the Great Rift in the Warp, plunging countless worlds into darkness, sage Korl knew that as long as Kiliman was back, humanity still had hope to regroup and resist Chaos once more.
Warlord Calgar’s face glowed with excitement; even the neural conduit atop his head pulsed with joy.
The awakening of the Father of Genes thrilled him and the other elite warriors beyond measure.
Celestine, Amarech, and others were among the ranks, their faces equally ecstatic.
This was an unprecedented victory—not only had they driven out the enemy, but more importantly, Kiliman had returned.
Surrounded by his retinue, Kiliman strode toward Macragge’s inner city, his gaze sweeping over the ancient metropolis.
Behind the jubilant cheers lay the ruins of Macragge; victory had been won, but at a heavy cost.
Countless civilians had perished under the rampage of Chaos forces, their corpses strewn across the rubble, awaiting burial.
Fearless Imperial defenders also lay fallen in unknown numbers within the trenches.
Broken artillery and tanks still burned fiercely; sparks flew from shattered circuit boards, as if mourning the loss of life.
Numerous buildings had collapsed under the bombardment of the Chaos army, human artistic treasures reduced to ashes.
Macragge had won, but the city was scarred and battered.
Kiliman’s revival temporarily subdued their grief, but it would inevitably be unleashed.
The war between Chaos and the Empire would continue. At that thought, Kiliman’s joy at being able to face ten foes alone dimmed somewhat.
He understood that countless more would fall in battle. To secure victory, to ensure humanity’s survival, innumerable lives would be lost.
Every moment of the wheel of fate would be filled with the ashes of human heroes, all to defend humanity’s existence and dignity.
“Let us hope it all ends well; I do not wish to be toyed with by the Chaos Gods,” Kiliman thought, gathering his resolve.
Amid the throng’s cheers, he walked through the crowd and returned to the shattered sanctuary.
Corpses, debris, and broken demon engines—the formidable heavy war machines—had been cleared and transported elsewhere.
Inside the sanctuary, senior commanders, sage Korl, and the saintly Celestine bowed before Kiliman in turn.
Through their reports, Kiliman gained a clear understanding of the Empire’s current state.
Though he had steeled himself mentally, what he heard still made his heart tremble.
The fall of the Cadia fortress, the Great Rift tearing the galaxy asunder—countless demons materialized and invaded the human realm, wreaking indescribable havoc and death.
No world was spared; all suffered under the ravages of demons, mutants, or traitors.
Undoubtedly, the Empire had long since deviated from the vision of the Emperor and the primarchs, becoming the very nightmare they despised most—descending into the darkest and most despairing epoch.
The old Empire was the product of the Emperor and the primarchs’ painstaking efforts—a golden age brimming with hope and triumph.
People had emerged from ignorance, embracing science and reason anew. Imperial expeditions spread the Emperor’s radiance to every planet.
It was a beautiful, hopeful era.
After listening to Celestine, Calgar, and others’ briefing, Kiliman excused himself to be alone.
Standing before a shattered window, watching people outside carry away bodies, Kiliman sighed deeply.
“Horus, you truly are unforgivable.”
The echoes of Horus’s betrayal reverberated even after ten thousand years.
Abaddon, once the first captain of Horus’s Sons legion and Horus’s most loyal follower, had become the new warlord of the Chaos Gods during the primarchs’ absence, launching relentless assaults on the Empire.
Through ten millennia of torment and warfare, the Empire gradually abandoned reason and vision for survival, becoming a bloated, absurd, ignorant, and brutal bureaucratic monstrosity.
There was not a trace of reason or hope left; only fear, hatred, and ignorance sustained this vast zombie-like entity, barely clinging to life.
Primarch Kiliman remained an unwavering idealist; even among his brothers, none had once envisioned such a bright future with as much hope as he.
The memories of flesh weighed heavily on his soul.
Humanity’s ten thousand years had been harsh; the small galaxy teemed with foes.
Traitors and Chaos demons plundered without restraint; extraterrestrial races beyond the galaxy launched frenzied attacks.
Humanity today was a shadow of the Great Crusade era.
Compared to the golden age of old, it was, indeed, tragic.
“A whole new plan is necessary,” Kiliman pondered. Helping the Empire defeat Chaos was not only for humanity but also for himself.
The Chaos Gods paid close attention to the primarchs. Should he fail, his soul would surely fall into their hands, condemned to endless torment—neither able to live nor die, suffering through countless lifetimes.
He could not afford to lose. If he did, the consequences would be terrible.
(End of chapter)