Chapter 470: You're Not Saying That Traitor Is Me, Are You…
Seeing Guilliman in such a strange state, the Primarchs stepped forward to ask in concern, which eased much of the wariness and vigilance he had been holding onto.
In truth, whether it was Horus or Fulgrim, before the outbreak of the Great Heresy they had both been good—more than good. They had shared countless battles to the death with Guilliman, a brotherhood of life and death that was even closer than blood itself.
But just as the past had been so beautiful, the moment of betrayal had been equally agonizing. Horus's feral, twisted face as he stormed Terra was something Guilliman could never forget.
Still, with the Emperor's repeated admonishments, Guilliman would not allow himself to lose control and delay his mission.
He turned his gaze on Horus and answered gravely:
"Brothers, I am not the Guilliman of this universe. I come from a parallel universe, ten thousand years in the future.
"Our father commanded me to tell you what befell that universe, and to summon you to follow me into a new parallel world, to help him reclaim a galaxy that has already fallen."
The words had barely left his lips before the Primarchs in the chamber couldn't help but chuckle. They thought Guilliman must be joking. After all, it sounded utterly absurd.
"Guilliman, don't tell me you're spinning us another one of those tired old warp-lost tales. Come on… that's ancient history."
Russ shook his head. Guilliman was always so stern and serious—why suddenly spin such bizarre stories? It was baffling.
Mortarion, meanwhile, was unmoved, drawing from the toxin fumes in his pack to clear his head, and wondering when he could finally see a new battlefield. Day after day of drilling troops on Barbarus was dreadfully dull.
Fulgrim, however, lowered his eyes in thought. He couldn't shake the feeling that Guilliman wasn't joking. The Emperor had not appeared for quite some time… Could it be that he really had gone to another parallel universe?
"Brothers, I am not jesting with you. Just now, it was your father himself who sent me here. And in the universe I come from, the Emperor has already been gravely wounded.
"That parallel world, ten thousand years hence, is engulfed in catastrophe!"
Guilliman's grave expression at last sobered the Primarchs, and they began to consider his words in earnest.
Horus, too, was thoughtful. No wonder Abaddon hadn't appeared earlier to report—so it was the Emperor himself who had sent Guilliman. Linking this to the Emperor's decree, Horus began to suspect Guilliman might not be lying after all.
"What is this catastrophe you speak of? Is it xenos rising again, daemonic incursions, or some extragalactic foe?" Horus pressed immediately.
Guilliman gave a bitter smile. From what he knew, it was all of the above. Ten thousand years was a long time—long enough for far too much to change.
The two centuries of the Great Crusade had indeed scoured the galaxy, nearly exterminating the xenos, driving the remnants to the fringes to eke out survival.
But the eruption of Imperial civil war had given them the breathing space to rise again. Chaos incursions, stoked by the Ruinous Powers, spread without end, plunging the galaxy into unceasing flames of war.
The entire situation had devolved into utter chaos.
And as the galaxy reeled in turmoil, the extragalactic Tyranids were lying in wait, preparing to launch a full-scale invasion to devour all.
As Guilliman laid out this heavy truth, every Primarch present fell silent. The galaxy ten thousand years hence and the stable, thriving one they knew now were two entirely different worlds.
"And what of the Imperium? How was the Emperor wounded?" Horus demanded, unable to restrain himself. If he knew who had harmed the Emperor, he swore he'd tear that foe's head from his shoulders.
Guilliman's eyes lingered on Horus with a complex weight. He hesitated, then, urged on by his brothers, he finally spoke:
"The Imperium fell into civil war. Most of the Primarchs were dead, lost, or turned traitor. Humanity itself teetered on the edge of ruin. And it was in battling the forces of Chaos that the Emperor was gravely injured."
He did not name who had betrayed the Imperium. With the enemy looming, there was no need to poison the bond of brotherhood with bitterness.
But Horus refused to relent. He demanded to know which Primarch had turned traitor, and the others also wanted to hear the answer.
They had long heard whispers of the Emperor's prophecy—that the Imperium would fall to rebellion and treachery. But none knew who would be capable of it.
Logically, the Primarchs were the Imperium's greatest beneficiaries. Why would they rebel against their father? Their suspicions naturally fell on mere mortals instead.
"Tell us, Guilliman! Who did this? I'll drag the traitor out now!" Horus declared furiously.
Guilliman's gaze swept slowly around the chamber, meeting the eyes of each Primarch. His eyes lingered longer on some than others: Angron, forever in pain and rage; Fulgrim, gnawed by perfectionism; Mortarion, silent and brooding; Lorgar, love twisted into spite; Konrad Curze, sunken into shadows and madness…
At last, he only shook his head. That was a story of another universe. It had nothing to do with these brothers here.
He would not name names—who was loyal and who was not. That would only fracture their unity.
"I looked at each of you just now because the power to betray, the power to destroy the Imperium, lies with you alone. Each of you is a potential traitor. The future of the Imperium rests on the edge of your choices."
Guilliman was too shrewd to let slip a single word more. He had considered, even before entering the chamber, whether to tell the truth. To name the traitors and the loyal.
But as he saw his brothers here, standing united, memories of the Great Crusade flooded back. The warmth, the sincerity of their bonds—those should not be marred by the shadows of another world.
He had already lost his brothers once, already lost that true kinship. There was no need to let them lose it again. He would bear that pain alone.
"Guilliman, this is important to us!" Horus pressed, unwilling to yield. "Magnus has already been locked away by our father for dealing with the warp gods. We need to be prepared!"
Guilliman had already been told of Magnus's fate by the Emperor himself—Magnus would, in time, be released safely. For now, the Emperor merely wanted him to cool his heels in confinement.
So Guilliman was not surprised by Magnus's so-called betrayal.
"This question is meaningless. As I've said, each of you could one day be the Imperium's betrayer."
As he spoke, Guilliman's eyes locked on Horus—and would not let go.
That stare made Horus's chest tighten. He was no fool.
He had noticed well enough: Guilliman's gaze lingered longer on him than on any other brother, his eyes sharp, pressing, almost accusatory.
Could it be… the traitor who would rise to rebellion… was himself?
The thought chilled him to the marrow. Horus swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep a calm facade. In the end, he abandoned any further questions.
What if, by some chance, they really asked and it turned out he was the rebel leader? That would be trouble!
After explaining the basic background to the other Primarchs, Guilliman once again looked around at his brothers.
The handsome Sanguinius had died under Horus's blade, his body torn into pieces. Ferrus had been beheaded by Fulgrim, his severed head even used as a ritual tool for the Dark Gods.
Curze had gone further still, mutating into a warp creature, forever carrying his resentment and relentlessly hunting down the traitor Primarchs.
Fortunately, these tragedies of brothers slaughtering brothers had not replayed themselves in this universe. That made Guilliman all the more grateful to the Universal Megacorp—for without their intervention, this universe too would have followed the predetermined path into collapse.
If he had the chance, Guilliman truly wanted to personally thank the Megacorp's supreme executive, who had given him the opportunity to turn the tide.
"The situation is tense now. We don't have much time to idle around—come with me."
Guilliman no longer tangled with Horus and the others over irrelevant matters. After bringing this group of Primarchs into the Warhammer 40K universe, he still had to complete his ascension ritual.
This brief brotherly meeting might well be the last of his life.
Soon, each Primarch ordered his own legion to prepare to march. Meanwhile, Guilliman kept explaining key points, so that his brothers would understand exactly what their mission in the new universe was.
"Brothers, the universe we're going to has severe warp corruption. You must prepare yourselves mentally—do not, under any circumstances, allow yourselves to be tempted by the Dark Gods or their daemons."
Guilliman warned them again and again.
In truth, Primarchs were not so easily lured into corruption. For one of them to fall completely required a long process.
First, there had to be a flaw on the psychological level.
Tzeentch had exploited Horus's suspicion and doubt toward the Emperor, steadily deepening his negative impressions. Later, Tzeentch arranged for the wounded Horus to be "treated" at a false hospital.
Nurgle's carefully brewed filth was smeared upon Horus's wounds, worsening his condition even further.
It was through this extreme combination of psychological and physical assault that Horus was driven into corruption.
But now Horus had long since reconciled with the Emperor. Their father–son bond was close once more. Even if Tzeentch himself appeared now, the only thing awaiting him would be Horus's mighty claws.
"Yes!"
The Primarchs listened with complete attention, not daring to miss a single detail of Guilliman's words.
They had battled Chaos daemons for so many years, constantly guarding against its insidious invasions.
Heading into another universe where Chaos was even more rampant, naturally, none of them dared to relax.
"From here on out, you must watch one another, guard against each other being tainted by the Dark Gods.
If anyone chooses to betray the Imperium, restrain him at once—and, if necessary, cut him down on the spot!"
As Guilliman spoke these words, he cast another deep glance at Horus. It was unclear whether he was entrusting this responsibility to Horus—or warning him to tread carefully.
Horus, of course, saw himself as the very picture of loyalty. Meeting Guilliman's meaningful gaze, he answered with confident resolve:
"Don't worry, Guilliman. If one of us turns traitor, I'll be the first to kill him!"
Seeing Horus so firm and righteous, Guilliman almost spoke again, but in the end he forced down the urge, merely nodding, unable to keep a straight face.
After explaining the precautions, Guilliman passed command to Horus, saying:
"When you arrive at the destination, follow the plan as before—just like old times, obey Horus's command.
I have other tasks to complete. I won't be going with you."
Completing the ascension ritual was the key to saving the Warhammer 40K universe. Since someone had to be sacrificed, let it be himself.
His air of farewell did not make Horus and the other Primarchs realize this might truly be their last meeting. They only nodded and set about preparing for the coming war with determination.
"Let's go!"
With that, the Primarchs returned to their flagships. Following the designated coordinates, they entered the spacetime tunnel opened by the Universal Megacorp.
Dimensional leap. A change of universe.
…
…
Warhammer 40K universe, a certain region within the warp.
Two blazing suns still hung in the warp sky, their deadly radiance emanating fierce power, driving the malignant entities far away.
The Emperor and the God-Emperor faced each other in silence.
The God-Emperor's projection was clearer and stronger than the Emperor's, for he had already become half a warp deity—just one final step away.
His true body still sat upon the Golden Throne of Terra, his withered frame giving off faint breaths, his soul stretched between reality and the warp like taffy pulled back and forth.
The Emperor gazed at him heavily. The God-Emperor's projected form in the warp was identical to his appearance in the material world—yet now he seemed less man than walking skeleton.
I never thought the price of failure would be this crushing.
The Emperor had imagined the Webway Project's failure, had envisioned the Imperium's collapse. But seeing it with his own eyes, the reality struck far harder, far deeper, than he had ever feared.
Skin thin as cicada wings clung loosely to the God-Emperor's bones. Chaotic, tangled faith-power clotted around him like mosaics, fragmenting his true self into countless shards.
In the span of a single second, the God-Emperor's disposition could shift thousands of times over.
Faith and emotion—these were the root causes of his shifting nature.
For now, he could barely maintain balance between his essence and the chaos of emotions. But as time passed, he would inevitably be consumed by faith's power, becoming a true god.
When that happened, humanity's civilization would end.
And the God-Emperor would ascend as the fifth Chaos Power upon the eight-pointed star, the God of Corrosion and Ruin, descending upon past, present, and future alike—bringing even greater despair to a universe already steeped in shadow.
He would become the very thing he once loathed: a Dark God, a daemon.
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