~ Warhammer 40,000; Vigil ~
~
"The answer you seek, Lord Admiral, is within the the problem of the question itself. You cannot simply inquire about the survival odds of the Imperium for it is already long doomed to fail. It is a question of whether or not pure and faithful humanity can prevail..."
"And what are your thoughts on that particular matter, Lord Commander?"
"..."
"Lord Commander...?"
"Even though...every single threat before us is infallible proof of our mutually assured destruction or indoctrination...every victory behind us proves otherwise. Our race is an impossibility of imperfection perfected, Admiral. Wherever pure, untainted humanity will go to from here is anyone's guess."
"Farewell...Lord Commander..."
We find ourselves perched along as observers to the dawn of the forty-second millennium. The Imperium of Man, in all of it's grim and tainted glory, has crumbled into thousands of splintered factions. It began on Cadia, when Abaddon sacrificed his physical form to become the living vessel to a massive warp storm. The entire sector was swallowed whole as the Eye of Terror grew larger than ever before. Meanwhile, tragedy befalls upon Terra as the Golden Throne rusts into a dysfunctional state. The entire planet trembled with quakes as what little remained of the Emperor began erratically twitching, and in the very blink of an eye it all happened. An electrical surge of psychic energy transformed a home into a graveyard for hundreds of billions of citizens, ranking from the most powerful and influential to the most pathetic scum in the galaxy. Thousands of Imperial ships traversing the Immaterium had been lost forever, and the true time of ending had begun.
~
"The answer you seek, Lord Admiral, is within the the problem of the question itself. You cannot simply inquire about the survival odds of the Imperium for it is already long doomed to fail. It is a question of whether or not pure and faithful humanity can prevail..."
"And what are your thoughts on that particular matter, Lord Commander?"
"..."
"Lord Commander...?"
"Even though...every single threat before us is infallible proof of our mutually assured destruction or indoctrination...every victory behind us proves otherwise. Our race is an impossibility of imperfection perfected, Admiral. Wherever pure, untainted humanity will go to from here is anyone's guess."
"Farewell...Lord Commander..."
We find ourselves perched along as observers to the dawn of the forty-second millennium. The Imperium of Man, in all of it's grim and tainted glory, has crumbled into thousands of splintered factions. It began on Cadia, when Abaddon sacrificed his physical form to become the living vessel to a massive warp storm. The entire sector was swallowed whole as the Eye of Terror grew larger than ever before. Meanwhile, tragedy befalls upon Terra as the Golden Throne rusts into a dysfunctional state. The entire planet trembled with quakes as what little remained of the Emperor began erratically twitching, and in the very blink of an eye it all happened. An electrical surge of psychic energy transformed a home into a graveyard for hundreds of billions of citizens, ranking from the most powerful and influential to the most pathetic scum in the galaxy. Thousands of Imperial ships traversing the Immaterium had been lost forever, and the true time of ending had begun.