Terra trembled with the weight of history being rewritten.
Beneath the blackened skies of Old Earth, the Thunder Warriors stood reborn. No longer were they crude, unstable creations doomed to wither and die. Now, they were paragons—stronger than Astartes, sharper than any transhuman warrior before them, yet balanced in both mind and body.
They rose from their knees, eyes burning with newfound clarity.
They had been cast aside. Forgotten. But now, they were chosen.
The Emperor—he—looked upon them not as tools, but as warriors worthy of their own legend. He had no need for disposable soldiers. He needed champions.
And champions they would become.
---
Deep within the Himalazian stronghold, the vast gene-forging chambers stirred to life. Here, the work of the Imperium's foundation accelerated beyond anything that had come before. Clad in radiant armor, the reborn Thunder Warriors stood in silent rows as the Emperor moved between them.
With but a thought, he accessed the knowledge of genetic science that had been lost even to the Dark Age of Technology. He had already refined their bodies, but that was only the beginning. They would not simply be soldiers—they would be the first of the new Legiones Astartes.
"Your flaws have been purged," the Emperor declared, his voice echoing through the chamber. "But you will not stand alone. You shall be the foundation upon which my legions will rise."
He turned to the genetic archives, his mind processing countless possibilities in an instant. The Astartes project had once required decades of refinement, of trial and error. No longer. With his intellect and perfect control over biology, he could accelerate the process without risk.
With a sweep of his hand, the gene-banks activated. Pods hissed open, revealing the first wave of recruits—candidates carefully selected from Terra's war-ravaged clans. Once, these men would have undergone crude, painful transformations, with survival never guaranteed.
Now, under his hands, there would be no failures.
Golden energy surged from his fingertips, rewriting their very existence. Their bones strengthened, their muscles woven into unbreakable fibers, their neural pathways expanded. They were not merely enhanced—they were perfected.
The Thunder Warriors watched in silence as the first of the Astartes opened their eyes. No longer mere men, but something more.
---
He stepped before his gathered warriors, both old and new, his gaze sweeping over them like a divine force.
"Terra remains fractured," he said. "Its people suffer beneath warlords and tyrants who hoard power for themselves. That ends now."
He turned, projecting a holographic display of Terra's remaining factions—pale echoes of the once-great nations that had ruled the world before Old Night. The Pan-Pacific Empire. The Nordafrik Conclaves. The Techno-barbarians of Ursh. Each held power, but none could stand against what he had created.
"You will march at my side," the Emperor continued. "You will be the spearhead of unification. And when this world is ours, we will take to the stars."
Silence. Then, the Thunder Warriors and the newly-forged Astartes slammed their fists against their chests in perfect unison.
"For the Emperor!"
The words echoed through the chamber like a war cry.
A war cry that would shake the galaxy.
The March to Unification Begins
The next day, the world learned that the Emperor of Mankind had truly returned.
From the Himalazian fortress, golden-clad warriors descended upon the shattered remains of Terra. Where they marched, tyrants fell. Where they struck, nations crumbled.
The forces of Ursh, once feared as the mightiest empire of Old Earth, shattered beneath the first assault.
The war for Terra had begun. And this time, there would be no weakness.
No betrayal.
No failure.
Only victory.