As Guilliman assessed the situation, he found himself deep in thought, piecing together the various threats that loomed over the Imperium.
The nature of this universe meant that the gods of Chaos had likely set their sights on him the moment he awoke. The traitor Primarchs wouldn't wait long before making their moves against him. Among them, Fulgrim—the fallen Primarch of the Emperor's Children—was the first that came to mind.
Fulgrim had once slain Ferrus Manus, the Primarch of the Iron Hands, over 10,000 years ago during the Horus Heresy. Since then, he had become a daemon prince of Slaanesh, a Chaos God reveling in excess, pain, and twisted pleasures. His followers, the devotees of Slaanesh, embodied a terrifying indulgence, pursuing their desires without restraint. Many naïve souls might believe they could resist his temptations, especially given the allure of Slaanesh's demonic followers. But in truth, few survived encounters with them unscathed, at least not in a way that any sane person would wish for.
If forced to choose, Guilliman would rather die outright than fall into Fulgrim's hands.
Then there was Magnus the Red, the Primarch of the Thousand Sons Legion—often mockingly referred to as "Little Ma" in certain circles. Magnus had ascended as a daemon prince of Tzeentch, the Chaos God of change, fate, and sorcery. His mastery of the Warp was unparalleled, and one of his most infamous feats was transporting an entire planet across half the galaxy. The sheer scale of such a feat was mind-boggling—even by the absurd standards of Warhammer 40K, where technology and magic often blurred together.
Magnus was not just a formidable warrior but also a master manipulator, steeped in the deceptive teachings of Tzeentch. Anyone who opposed him risked being outmaneuvered before the battle even began.
Yet another threat was Lorgar, the Primarch of the Word Bearers—a traitor whose vendetta against Guilliman was deeply personal. Their enmity had begun when the Emperor ordered Guilliman to burn Monarchia, the sacred city of Lorgar's faith. The humiliation that followed, when the Emperor forced Lorgar and his entire Legion to kneel in submission, ignited a hatred that would never be quenched. Lorgar responded with the betrayal at Calth, where the Word Bearers crippled the Ultramarines in a surprise attack, leaving countless soldiers and civilians dead.
Guilliman himself had been gravely wounded during this ambush, a wound that later proved fatal when Fulgrim struck the exact same spot during the Battle of Thessala. The Word Bearers had tormented him and his Legion at every turn.
And these were just the threats from within the Imperium.
The galaxy itself was teeming with dangers. The Imperium was already teetering under the weight of the Great Rift—a catastrophic Warp phenomenon that split the empire in two, severing half of humanity from the Emperor's guiding light. Meanwhile, xenos threats were ever-present: the insatiable Tyranids, the ancient and awakening Necrons, the ambitious T'au, and the enigmatic Eldar, all vying for power.
Guilliman felt an overwhelming sense of despair.
The Imperium was bleeding out, barely clinging to survival. The Emperor was a half-dead husk on the Golden Throne, the High Lords of Terra were corrupt and self-serving, the Ecclesiarchy had turned fanaticism into a state religion, the Custodes remained isolated, and the once-mighty Imperial military was fractured.
He was alone.
The loyal Primarchs were either dead or missing. His enemies surrounded him on all sides. Could he even win this war?
A brief, uncharacteristic thought crossed his mind: perhaps surrendering half of the Imperium to Chaos wasn't the worst option. But he quickly dismissed the idea. If he couldn't win, then what was the point of fighting?
And yet… there was still one thing left.
Guilliman closed his eyes and summoned the presence in his mind.
"Assisting spirit," he called.
[Yes, host? How may I assist you?]
"Where is my reward?" Guilliman asked.
[The first level of database access has been unlocked for you. However, you have not yet accessed the database.]
"Then open it."
[Understood. Connecting now.]
A shimmering light curtain appeared before him, its surface flickering with symbols and shifting data. He reached out and found it intangible—merely a projection. But with a thought, he commanded the interface to shift, scrolling through the vast repository of knowledge.
The contents stunned him.
First-generation Astartes gene-enhancement technology
Angel-class dark matter computer engine schematics
Construction blueprints for the Yamato-class battleship
Personal auxiliary combat suits
Plasma-based Fang-class firearm schematics
Theoretical principles of a curvature engine
Designs for interstellar warships
Planetary destruction weapon schematics—the Death Star
Biogenetic enhancement procedures
Induction evolution methodologies
Genomic reconstruction blueprints
Exotic agricultural cultivation techniques
A comprehensive guide on raising two-headed wolves (Erha species)
The sheer breadth of knowledge was staggering. This wasn't just military technology—it was the foundation for rebuilding entire civilizations.
"And this is just level one clearance?" he asked.
[Correct, host. These are the technological advancements available at the first clearance level.]
Guilliman frowned. If level one access provided this, what could possibly be hidden in the higher tiers? What lay within levels two and three? And what about the highest levels—seven, eight, nine?
Could they contain Warp-nullifying technology? Interdimensional transport? Universe-resetting weapons?
"How many levels are there?"
[The database contains ten clearance levels. Each unlocks through a series of authentication tasks. Upon completion, you will gain full access.]
Guilliman clenched his fists. If level one contained blueprints for super-soldiers and Death Stars, then the upper tiers must contain knowledge that bordered on godhood.
"What's at the tenth level?" he asked, his mind racing. "A universal engine? A weapon that could reshape reality? A device to restart the cosmos itself?"
[The path of science and technology is infinite. The host need not speculate—only strive to reach the pinnacle. Civilization must transcend. Power must diversify.]
Guilliman exhaled slowly. If this knowledge was his to wield, then the Imperium might have a chance. He no longer needed to resign himself to a slow death. He could reshape humanity, rebuild its military, and perhaps even challenge the Chaos Gods themselves.
"Alright," he murmured, scrolling through the vast repository of data. He had work to do.
First, he needed to organize a meeting.
Opening his personal communicator, he issued a command to his guards. "Summon the Mechanicus priests, the saints, the Chapter Masters, and all high-ranking officials. We have much to discuss."
If the Imperium was to survive, they needed a new direction. The bleeding had to stop. The remnants of Chaos in the Five Hundred Worlds had to be purged.
And from there, Guilliman would begin his war—not just to stabilize the Imperium, but to reshape it.
For the first time since his return, he allowed himself a small smile. This time, he wasn't fighting to preserve the Imperium of old.
He was going to build something better.
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