Terra, the Navian Peninsula, End of the Unification Wars
The battlefield stretched across the frozen plains, a scarred wasteland of churned earth and smoldering wreckage. Cannon fire had carved deep craters into the icy ground, and gray snow, laced with radiation, drifted from a sky choked with ash. Amid this desolation strode the Emperor, a towering figure whose presence seemed to bend reality itself. His golden armor gleamed despite the dim, cold sun, its intricate plates deflecting the biting wind. At his side hung a longsword, unsheathed, its circuits dormant, its blade a silent promise of annihilation.
Around him, the Thunder Warriors—hulking giants in power armor—moved with mechanical precision, their suits humming with a low, menacing buzz. They scoured the battlefield, dragging wounded allies to safety or delivering swift mercy to enemies clinging to life. The Emperor paid them no mind, his face an unreadable mask, his dark eyes fixed on a distant goal. He stepped over groaning soldiers who reached for him, their pleas swallowed by the wind, and past frozen corpses locked in their final moments of defiance.
His destination was a circular formation of Custodes, the Emperor's elite guard, their golden armor mirroring his own. At the center of their ring stood a lone, broken man.
The prisoner was Marcus, once the supreme ruler of the Moransen Federation, now a shivering wreck wrapped in a tattered cloak made from cloned beast pelts. His gray hair hung in matted strands, and his body trembled in the frigid air, wounds crisscrossing his skin like a map of defeat. Marcus was no ordinary warlord; he was a fervent worshipper of chaos, a zealot whose fanatical army had dared to challenge the Emperor's unification of Terra. Like all who opposed the Golden Titan, he had fallen, his forces shattered, his dreams reduced to ash.
"So, this is the end?" Marcus rasped, his voice brittle as he met the Emperor's gaze. A bleak smile twisted his lips, equal parts defiance and despair.
The Emperor said nothing. The wind tugged at his long black hair, and the sun's faint light glinted off his sword, casting sharp reflections across the snow.
"Why?" Marcus demanded, his voice rising with desperate anger. "Why slaughter my people?"
"Your people will live," the Emperor replied, his voice deep and unyielding, like the toll of a cathedral bell. "But you and your deranged legion have no such privilege."
"Lord of Terra," Marcus spat, each word dripping with venom. He burst into a mad, cackling laugh, his eyes wild with the fervor of a broken prophet.
The Emperor shook his head, a faint flicker of disdain crossing his features. "Not Terra. Humanity."
Marcus's laughter grew louder, a jagged sound that grated against the silence of the battlefield. "Humanity? A single planet isn't enough for your greed, is it? You'd claim the stars themselves! Your arrogance is beyond redemption."
The Emperor didn't deign to argue. His gaze swept the battlefield, taking in the craters, the bodies, the faint hum of his warriors' armor. "Victory is mine," he said simply.
"Tyrant!" Marcus snarled. "Butcher of the civilized world!"
"I bring enlightenment," the Emperor countered, his voice carrying the weight of prophecy. "And I will bring a new dawn. Humanity will rise again, and our divine destiny is to rule the galaxy."
Marcus's eyes blazed with hatred. "You bring a curse! In the name of salvation, you'll drive humanity to ruin. As long as I breathe, I'll curse you. One day, all you've built will crumble to dust."
His venomous words ignited the fury of a nearby Custodian, Sagittarius, whose golden spear lashed out, its blunt end slamming into Marcus's face. The blow was not meant to kill, but the Custodian's strength was monstrous. Marcus's cheekbone shattered, blood and bone mingling as one eye burst into a pulpy mess. Crimson streamed from the ruined socket as Marcus screamed, collapsing into the snow.
"Enough, Sagittarius," the Emperor commanded, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. The Custodian froze, his face a mix of shame and loyalty, before bowing and retreating to the ranks. The Emperor knew each of his Custodes by name, for he had crafted them himself—perfect warriors forged from childhood, each a masterpiece of his design.
He turned his gaze to Marcus, who writhed in agony. To the Emperor's eyes, gifted with the power to pierce illusion, Marcus was no longer human. His soul was a rotting husk, corrupted by the touch of malevolent gods. Beneath his frail form writhed a grotesque warp-spawn, its obsidian claws twisting, its myriad mouths cackling with blasphemous glee.
"Your soul is consumed by darkness," the Emperor said, his tone heavy with pity and judgment. "You've become fodder for those vile entities. I warned you to shun their false gods. They care nothing for your faith or devotion—only for the violence and slaughter you offer."
Marcus lifted his head, his remaining eye glaring defiantly. He opened his mouth to speak, but the Emperor had heard enough. With a flick of his will, the longsword's power field ignited, golden flames licking along its ornate blade. In a single, fluid motion, he swung. Marcus's head rolled into the snow, his body slumping lifelessly.
A roar of triumph erupted from the surrounding warriors, their voices shaking the frozen air.
At that moment, a voice crackled through the Emperor's private comm-channel. It was Valdor, the Custodes' commander, his tone urgent yet deferential. "My lord, there's something in the bunker. You need to see it yourself."
---
The bunker where Marcus had made his last stand was a ruin. Shattered stone and twisted metal littered the interior, mingled with charred corpses and smoldering weapons. Mortal soldiers, dwarfed by the Emperor's towering presence, worked tirelessly to clear the debris, their faces awestruck as they saluted their lord.
Valdor waited alone in a chamber deep within the bunker. The Custodian bowed as the Emperor entered, his golden armor gleaming under flickering lights. "My apologies, Majesty," Valdor said. "I should have greeted you outside, but this… anomaly demanded my attention."
At the room's center stood a peculiar object: a cylindrical pedestal, half a meter wide and a meter tall, its material unidentifiable—neither metal nor stone, yet both. Atop it perched a strange raven statue, its form unsettlingly lifelike despite its stillness.
"It's this statue," Valdor explained, his voice tinged with unease. "It's… unnatural. When I look away, its memory slips from my mind. Only when I see it again does it return."
The Emperor frowned. "Impossible. Your memory is flawless, Valdor. You forget nothing you've seen."
"I thought so too, Majesty. But when I left this room, the statue vanished from my mind. Only upon returning did I recall it."
The Emperor tested Valdor's claim, turning his gaze from the statue. The memory faded like mist—first its details, then its shape, until nothing remained. He snapped his eyes back, and the raven's image surged back into clarity. Even he, with his godlike mind, could not retain its memory when looking away.
Valdor demonstrated further. "It can be touched," he said, his hand resting on the statue's surface. "But when I tried to destroy it…" He thrust his halberd, its arc-lit blade slicing through the statue as if it were a mirage. Yet his other hand still gripped its solid form. "It's as if it exists in some higher dimension, a projection we can't fully grasp."
The Emperor approached, his curiosity piqued. He reached out, brushing his fingers against the raven's cold surface.
(■-■)
Host detected
Protagonist of Fate.
Initiating Revival Protocol
(■-■)
Light pulsed from the statue, tendrils of energy weaving across its surface. In an instant, the raven transformed. Its stone feathers became glossy black plumage, its eyes gleaming with uncanny intelligence. It stretched its wings, defying gravity as it hovered before the Emperor.
"Care to make a deal, mortal?" the raven croaked, its voice a mix of sly charm and ancient wisdom. "Sign a contract, and I can grant you power, wealth, and dominion beyond your wildest dreams."
The Emperor's expression remained impassive, unshaken by the creature's sudden animation. "A warp-spawned trickster," he said coldly. "Your temptations are as predictable as they are crude."
The raven tilted its head, sizing up the golden giant before it. Nearly four meters tall, clad in radiant armor, crowned with thorns, and wreathed in an aura of divine power, the Emperor was no ordinary man. The raven glanced at Valdor, whose mica-gold armor and crackling halberd radiated menace. It muttered to itself, piecing together clues. "Golden armor, power weapons, psychic might, Earth as the setting… Oh, hell. You're the Emperor, aren't you?"
The Emperor's eyes narrowed, and he activated his sword, golden flames roaring along its blade. The air thrummed with the weapon's apocalyptic power.
"Whoa, whoa, big guy!" the raven squawked, flapping back. "No need to get stabby! I've got connections across the multiverse. Sure, it's risky, but the rewards are huge. We could work together!"
"I don't bargain with daemons," the Emperor said, his voice like a glacier's edge.
"I'm not daemon!" the raven protested. "I'm a traveler, hopping between realities. I'm nothing like the monsters in your universe."
The Emperor paused, his sword still raised. "Other realities? You claim to come from beyond this cosmos?"