Boom—Boom—Boom!
Amid the thunderous roar, heavy bolter shells rained down like hail.
In an instant, Eden felt as though his heart were clenched tight, an overwhelming sense of impending death crashing over him like a tidal wave.
The twin-linked heavy bolters on a Dreadnought can pierce ordinary power armor with shocking destructive power!
Making matters worse, earlier he had found the daemon version of his armor too cumberso and taken it off.
Right now, he was effectively unarmored.
Even a Primarch would be hard-pressed to withstand heavy bolter shells with only his body!
Eden watched, eyes wide, as several blazing bolter shells flew straight at him, about to hit point-blank.
If they connected, the likelihood of a headshot was extrely high!
Even though he could see the trajectory, there was no room to dodge.
The area spanning several ters around him was completely saturated by this barrage of heavy bolter fire.
Buzzz—
A faint glow rose from a force field shield.
Fortunately, being cautious by nature, he wore a personal force-field generator at all tis.
The heavy bolter shells that penetrated the shield seed to congeal in midair, their speed reduced to a crawl.
Eventually, Eden watched them co to a halt just a few centiters from his face, their trailing flas flickering out.
Sizzle—
The force field generator overloaded and burned out. The protective field vanished, and several heavy bolter shells clattered to the ground.
Such personal shields are limited; they can't endure high-intensity attacks for long, but in a critical mont, they can block a lethal strike.
"Cease fire! Take him alive!"
Eden seized that brief reprieve to issue an order for the heavily armored genestealers troops to capture the Dreadnought intact.
He gave this command not because he was worried about another incoming barrage, but because he feared the Dreadnought might be destroyed by the onrushing Jīzéi if they all piled on at once.
Right after the Dreadnought fired its twin heavy bolters, the heavily armored genestealers had already reacted.
They sward, toppling the bold blue war machine that dared strike at the four-ard "Savior."
Within the cockpit, a veteran soldier roared and struggled, still attempting to fight back:
"Abominable xenos scum! You will never break my will!"
Waaaagh—
At the sa ti Eden issued his command, an Ork Nob suddenly ca charging in from sowhere off to the side.
Clang!
Leaping into the air, it brought down a heavy hamr blow against the cockpit area of the Dreadnought.
That powerful smash toppled the already-damaged Dreadnought to the ground.
Amid a spray of crackling arcs, the Dreadnought collapsed completely, unable to move.
Inside the sarcophagus, the veteran fell silent.
In that mont, the heavily armored genestealers and the Orks, who had just received Eden's order, stared at the immobilized Dreadnought in silence.
The Ork Nob who had heroically hamred it down stole a glance at Eden's expression and shrank back in fear.
Eden: …
He was dumbfounded.
At great risk, he'd finally recovered a Venerable Dreadnought—only for it to possibly end up dead?
This was once a veteran among veterans, an honored warrior of the Imperium. For it to die by his hand like this…
That would be far too heretical!
Anxious, Eden shouted:
"What are you standing around for? Get it onto the ship—hurry, see if we can save him!"
Without bothering to collect other spoils, he had the heavily armored genestealers haul the Dreadnought onto a transport craft at full speed, heading toward the Sanctuary of Urth.
Aboard the Transport
Eden stared at the massive, tightly restrained Venerable Dreadnought, feeling more than a little vexed.
Mors and the dical team had already prepared the operating theater; they were just waiting for this Dreadnought to arrive so they could begin.
He could sense the pilot's life force within—the veteran—waning with each passing mont.
Soon, the craft reached the upper hive, now the topmost layer of the Sanctuary.
The dical team, having waited for so ti, moved swiftly with heavy equipnt to transport the Venerable Dreadnought to the ICU for imdiate treatnt.
Eden refused to wait outside, following them in.
Using tools ordinarily ant for disassembling main battle tanks, Moss and the dical team removed the outer armor plating of the Dreadnought, carefully extracting a black sarcophagus drenched in oily fluid.
That was the pilot's compartnt—a life-support system, and in many ways, a prison.
Inside this Dreadnought are typically grievously wounded Space Marines.
For a Space Marine, losing a limb is just a minor injury—sothing a bionic replacent can fix.
So those qualified to pilot a Dreadnought usually have lost most of their limbs and organs.
They remain alive, but are incapable of continuing the fight in a normal body.
Under normal circumstances, one might assu these severely wounded veterans would retire and receive so asure of care.
Or if their condition was beyond hope, they could at least be eased toward a less painful death.
Yet in the grim darkness of the 41st millennium, that's almost impossible.
Life is the Emperor's currency.
All life, all souls, belong to the Emperor—no sacrifice can be spared.
What's more, these Space Marines—especially those grizzled survivors of countless brutal battles—are beyond priceless.
No resource can be wasted.
As long as they draw breath, they must continue to serve the Imperium and the Emperor.
Hence the birth of the Dreadnought.
These veterans retain only their brain and vital organs; all surplus tissue is surgically removed, and they are housed within a liquid-filled sarcophagus that keeps them alive.
Their brain is connected to machine sensors, allowing them to perceive the world outside, but their original senses are permanently altered.
They remain forever sealed within a tal coffin, amid cold emptiness and ceaseless pain.
Put simply, even if they itch, they have no limbs left to scratch.
They are unable to fall asleep.
They endure centuries, even millennia, in this state.
To keep them from going completely insane, most Dreadnoughts are kept in stasis whenever they're not needed.
It's a torture of the highest order.
Every ti they awaken, the galaxy has changed. All their familiar comrades are gone, replaced by strangers.
Prolonged stasis can twist one's sanity.
So each ti a Dreadnought is roused, great caution is exercised, lest it lash out in madness.
This tornt kills so who enter the Dreadnought program, driving them to die in agony.
Because of that, any Dreadnought pilot is soone who has given absolutely everything for the Imperium—a warrior of unbreakable will, worthy of the highest respect and honor.
But for the pilot inside the sarcophagus, it is an existence of extre misery and suffering.
"That's just too cruel…"
Eden muttered. He raised his head to look at the Venerable Dreadnought.
Embedded on its outer plating were the precious remains of several Space Marines, treated as sacred relics, akin to protective talismans.
Any foe who dares shatter these holy bones will incur the sarcophagus-bearer's boundless wrath and a frenzy of retribution.
After a battle, any broken remnants of these revered bones are collected, re-forged, or sotis mixed into weapons or ammunition—nothing goes to waste.
Eden's gaze moved along these sacred remains, landing on the engraved inscriptions and nurous badges on the armor plates.
"Leonard Colin?"
That na was carved there, along with records of major campaigns he had fought in and honors he had earned.
This veteran had participated in the salvation of dozens of human worlds and received multiple comndations.
One badge even dated back to the Horus Heresy era.
He had heroically slain traitors, earning an icon of loyalty known as a Red Faith Badge.
In other words, this "Colin" was a millennia-old veteran.
Of course, most of that ti had been spent in stasis.
"Lord Savior, the wounded is still alive!"
Mors' pleasantly surprised chanical voice broke in. "After our intervention, his heart has started beating again…"
Hearing that, Eden hurried over to check and saw the black sarcophagus with its murky contents.
Inside was a figure reduced almost to a limbless stump—nearly all of his body gone.
Even part of his skull was missing.
Half his brain and internal organs lay exposed in the turbid fluid that filled the sarcophagus.
Colin, the Venerable Dreadnought pilot, had suffered a full ten millennia of cold, chanical tornt in that sealed coffin.
The pain must have been unimaginable to Eden.
Yes, it was cruel of the Imperium, but he found it hard to condemn.
They had no choice.
Only through the sacrifice of countless warriors like these could humanity persist.
Without them, God knows how many more humans would have been devoured by Chaos and xenos in unspeakable agony.
Watching that half-bare brain and battered organs stir slightly, Eden hesitated.
Colin had already given everything to the Imperium.
He had sacrificed it all. Maybe it would be kinder just to let him go in peace?
But soon Eden changed his mind, sensing the man's unyielding will amid excruciating pain.
This veteran was not ready to pass on.
Eden, gazing at Colin's resolute features floating in that sarcophagus, felt a surge of respect.
A warrior such as this deserves better treatnt.
The Imperium may have no other choice, but I do.
Now that you're here, you should receive what is rightfully yours.
Eden turned to Moss and instructed, "Do everything you can. We must keep him alive!"
"Rest assured, my lord, we've developed cutting-edge techniques. As long as he's still breathing, we can bring him back!"
Moss sounded suprely confident.
New technology?
Eden had been too focused on the Webway project and affairs on Macragge these past months to keep up with developnts in the Institute of Bioresearch.
The dical staff brought forth a contraption resembling an IV pump, connected to what they called the "Little Sun" energy conduit. One could see so sort of transparent fluid inside.
Mors set about his work with several servo arms, carefully removing the sarcophagus hatch.
After scanning Colin's vitals, Moss attached several IV lines and cautiously guided them into what blood vessels remained.
He explained while working:
"Three years ago, our bioresearch team discovered that the Little Sun's energy began to possess a far stronger life-giving quality, greatly enhancing healing and regeneration.
"Based on these findings, we developed a series of new techniques to harness the Little Sun's energy to its fullest."
By now, most of Eden's key people, blessed by his gifts, knew about the Little Sun and the Holy Sun.
After all, distribution lines for this energy run throughout his territory, and many Tech-Priests study the Warp—figuring out the truth wouldn't have been hard.
So Eden decided transparency was best.
"Three years ago…?"
Eden suddenly recalled sothing.
That was when the Goddess of Life made a deal with him, granting him part of her domain over life.
He had paid nothing in return—he simply gained a portion of her authority.
The Goddess of Life possessed healing powers so potent that even if she drank Nurgle's diseased broth, she could quickly recover.
Now that the Little Sun contained a asure of the goddess's essence, it was practically soaring to new heights.
In the field of dicine, it was likely near the pinnacle of what the galaxy could offer, a massive benefit to Eden's territory.
Agriculture would benefit as well, turning him into a sort of harvest deity.
With the domain of life, the Little Sun's value to the territory was imasurable!
Filled with anticipation, Eden focused on Colin, eager to witness the results of this life-essence in action.
Indeed, as the mixture of life-infused solution entered his system, Colin's breathing steadied, and his heartbeat grew stronger.
Given a Space Marine's robust heart, Eden could almost hear the pounding within.
"My lord, he'll regain consciousness soon,"
Moss said while draining the dark fluid from the sarcophagus and replacing it with a cleaner, more efficient preservation fluid, adding painkillers to ease the tornt.
"He'll wake up?"
Eden sighed inwardly.
Yes, he had saved him. But this Venerable Dreadnought pilot, Colin, already viewed him as a heretic. Who knew what he'd do once he woke?
Though physically, there wasn't much he could do trapped in a sarcophagus.
"Savior, you may want to brace yourself,"
Mors added. "Because of the electrical burns sustained when his Dreadnought was damaged, part of his brain has been affected. He might have lost so of his mories."
"All right, you all step out for now."
Eden nodded, gesturing for Moss and the dical team to wait outside.
Even if Colin had lost so mories, with his Space Marine acuity, he could quickly piece together the truth if he tried.
In that case, it might be challenging to keep this millennia-old veteran around.
Worst case: he might still see Eden as a heretic and insist on returning to Macragge.
And what then—keep him locked up, or kill him?
He could never do that to a veteran who had sacrificed everything for humanity.
Most likely, he would find a dignified way to send Colin back.
Eden let out a long sigh.
He had handled similar problems before.
He peered at the unconscious Colin, brow furrowed.
He needed a different approach.
One doesn't simply threaten a man who has endured ten thousand years of torture.
Which ant it was ti to try sothing gentler.
Eden planned to give Colin a dose of "faith therapy"—a profound spiritual "treatnt."
Even sedated, the ancient warrior was still in constant pain, physical and ntal.
His mind was trapped in endless nightmares, his soul lost and weeping.
Eden focused the power of the Little Sun and slipped into Colin's dreamscape.
He intended to wield the authority all gods possess—the power to project visions—as he once did with Bishop Dony.
...
Inside the Dream
Eden surveyed the scene:
"A battlefield?"
A crimson moon hung overhead, bathing the sky in a sinister scarlet haze. Carrion crows circled, hungry for the dead.
Boom—
In the distance, a shattered warship plumted from orbit, slamming into the ground in a massive fireball.
Eden looked up.
In space above, the Imperial Navy was locked in combat with xenos vessels—Necron tomb ships, Tyranid hive fleets…
Ships were ceaselessly falling from the void.
After a mont, he shifted his focus back to the ground.
Down here lay the wreckage of Titans, Dreadnoughts, Imperial Knights—debris scattered everywhere.
Broken corpses piled into mountains.
Chaos heretics, daemons, Orks, Tyranids, Necrons, T'au, even human renegades…
Eden realized these were likely all foes Colin had once faced.
Over ten thousand years, Colin had witnessed humanity at the height of its glory—building an Imperium that once blazed like the rising sun.
Until the news of Horus's betrayal shattered everything.
The Emperor's favored son had turned against humanity!
Colin saw tens of thousands of Space Marines slaughtering each other across the galaxy, colossal Titans stomping one another into the dust.
When the Heresy ended, fresh foes arose all across the galaxy—he joined countless more wars.
The Eternal War.
He'd lost countless trusted comrades, seen Primarchs fall dormant, and watched the Imperium spiral from golden splendor into darkest night.
Then he himself was interred into a Venerable Dreadnought, sinking into stasis.
From that point forward, every ti he awoke to fight, he found humanity sunk further into bleakness.
This weighed on him more each ti.
"Where is Colin?"
Eden searched through the dreamscape and finally spotted him.
Beneath that ominous red moon stood a single, solitary Dreadnought trudging along a road strewn with blood and corpses.
A bit clumsy in its gait.
Up ahead, waves of heretics and aliens pressed in on him relentlessly.
Colin fought with all he had, controlling his Dreadnought expertly, slaying these enemies of the Imperium with cold efficiency.
After ten millennia, he knew the weaknesses of every foe. He knew how to survive the cruelest battlefields.
He knew how to kill, quickly and thoroughly.
But the onslaught never ended; the road ahead seed endless.
Colin fought on, gradually sliding into despair, almost sobbing as he cried out:
"O mighty Emperor… Your warrior begs for guidance—save us, for we are on the brink of annihilation!"
Watching him, Eden stayed silent.
Clearly, the God-Emperor could not answer that plea, bound as He was to the Golden Throne, enduring His own endless burdens.
And truly, even He might not have known how to lead humanity forward at this point.
His plans had failed; He was shackled to the Throne.
Eden gazed at that lonely Dreadnought figure, sighing.
If the Emperor cannot answer your plea, then let —this so-called Savior—give you an answer.
I will lead you down a path different from the Emperor's, different from the Imperium's… a path to another potential future for humanity!
Though Eden himself has yet to see precisely where humanity's future lies, he feels strongly that his chosen road is the right one.
In his domain, perhaps humanity can chart a new course.
On the battlefield below…
That lone Venerable Dreadnought still fought amid endless slaughter, its pilot exhausted to the depths of his soul, verging on hopelessness.
And then, Colin sensed a warm radiance shining ahead, a comforting power that soothed his tornted spirit.
He lifted his gaze.
At the end of the road, the darkness receded, and a radiant, holy sun began to rise!
(End of Chapter)
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