Everyone knows the Emperor sits upon the Golden Throne. No one knows what he does there.
For ten thousand years, the death of every loyalist has charged the Golden Throne. The Inquisition calls it faith. The Ecclesiarchy calls it sacrifice. They’re wrong. He is plundering them. He uses faith as bait, hooking every soul that dies for him and stripping away its most essential trait. He has been gathering power for ten thousand years. Not for immortality, not for divine authority, but so that when the end comes, he can reach into the Warp, crack open the shells of the Four Chaos Gods, and redefine them.
Slaanesh governs pleasure? Change it to the ecstasy of creation. Tzeentch governs treachery? Change it to the possibility of change. Nurgle governs decay? Change it to the cycle of life and death. Khorne governs slaughter? Change it to the fury of protection.
Then plunder himself, too. Return the Master of Mankind to humanity, give the golden majesty back to the air, and leave the silent vigil upon the empty throne. From then on, no one will make humanity’s choices for them.
