Warhammer Foundations of Blood

Foundations of Blood

**A single man with faith can triumph over a legion of the faithless. Untold billions of the faithful can never be opposed.**

+++ The _Sermons of Sebastian __**Thor**_, Volume XI Chapter IV +++

I opened my eyes and found myself in what looked like the belly of an old transport ship, rusted piping concealing the ceiling, puddles gathering in the corners and the smell of old machinery in the air. In the middle of the huge chamber, surrounded by clumps of cloth and hidden in darkness, stood a man. I knew what he was even before he raised his head and looked at me in shock. Even the darkness could not conceal his eyes and I saw they were wide and scared, he looked horrified. He opened his mouth to speak and a buzzing sound filled the room as a sick purple light shone out of his mouth. It illuminated the clumps of cloth at his feet and revealed, as I knew it would, their true nature.

The shredded remains of the pilgrims that had lived there.

A symbol of Chaos was written on the floor, using the gore of those poor souls. I didn't look at it to know what it was, a lifetime of experience told me everything I needed to know. The man, his mouth opening wider, was a cultist. A psyker. He had been corrupted by the whispers of the Warp and had sold his soul. I don't know what bargain he made but from the look in his eyes I think he realized just what a monumental mistake he had made. The realization came too late to save his soul from eternal torment.

As I watched I saw his mouth widen beyond what a human jaw was capable of. Slowly, the man began to disappear, replaced by a portal into Hell itself. Before the man completely disappeared, a hand reached out from the other side. It was soon followed by the rest of the dammed creature, a daemon of the Warp. It took in its surroundings and I noticed that the portal behind it had changed. What at first had seemed like a solid wall of light now grew transparent and I could see into the madness of the Warp and see the legions of daemons waiting to pass through the all too fragile veil of reality.

Just then the door to the chamber exploded, and the sounds of gunfire filled the room. The daemon exploded as it was shredded by precise fire from the figures running into the room. There were eleven of them, all armored in massive power armor but ten of them were huge. They had to be over two meters tall even outside of the silver-grey armor they wore. Each was armed with a halberd and a stormbolter, their armor anointed and inscribed with prayers and wards. They were of the Grey Knights Space Marine Chapter, the militant arm of the Ordo Malleus, the Daemonhunters. As more daemons began to pour through the wound in reality, the Grey Knights charged into them, tearing through them with awesome fury.

The other figure which had entered the chamber was smaller then the Astartes warriors but he also wore power armor. His armor was black, purity seals and prayers adorning it, with the symbol of the Inquisition on his chest. In his left hand he held a sword, its blade etched with prayers to the Emperor while on his right hand he wore a gauntlet with silver eagle claws extending from the fingers. His head was uncovered, through little could be seen of his face. The lower part of his face had been replaced with augmetics, a grilled rebreather covering his mouth, his breathing sounding sinister. His left eye was a red augmetic while his right was a cold blue. He issued short, concise orders to the Grey Knights, his voice sounding like the rumbling of a mountain, directing them against the tide of daemons.

This Inquisitor was also old. By the standards of a normal man, he should have been long dead. He had faithfully served the Imperium for the last 300 years of his life. But in this day and age, even death can be held back a little longer for those in high enough station. Some of them prolong their life because death scares them, this man did it so he could fight the enemies of the Imperium. All his life he has known war. Ever since he was picked up by one of the Black Ships – the Inquisitorial vessels that gather psykers from planets throughout the Imperium.

As a little boy he was taken, along with countless others, to Holy Terra. The cradle of Man, the center of the Imperium from which the Emperor's light shines forth in the darkness of the galaxy. A planet covered in gothic architecture and mind boggling cities that reach the heavens along with fortifications that would make any besieger cry in despair upon resting his gaze upon them for Terra is the most fortified planet in the galaxy. Its roads are clogged with men serving the Imperium and desperate pilgrims that used all their money to reach this holy place in the vain hope of finding spiritual salvation. Only the stone eagles and the gargoyles bear witness to their pointless deaths on a planet that has little time for those without power. The crust of the planet is filled with miles and miles of archive chambers where data is compiled and stored, there to linger for eternity. The child was taken through the streets, Inquisitorial troopers keeping a suspicious eye on him, to the Imperial Palace.

Ah, the Palace. It is a building like no other, a building that proclaims it's identity the second your gaze falls upon it for there can be no doubt, there can be no question. It is monumental, a sight to leave the viewer in numbed shock. Its foundations probe the planet's mantle, its towers reach into the airless heavens. It stretches across the better part of the northern hemisphere of the planet. It is the Palace, as no other building in creation deserves to share the description with this giant edifice.

The child had been taken across kilometers of halls and rooms so big their ceilings vanished into darkness and the other side was partly hidden by the horizon. He was taken along the mile long hallway to the Eternity Gate, passing by the thousands upon thousands of banners that line the way, the banners of fallen heroes from ten thousand years of war and death. The gargoyle covered roof is hidden from sight by the incense clouds that hovered overhead and the swarms of fluttering cherubim. At the end of this hallway stands the gate itself, massive and unbreakable, forged of tempered adamntium layered with ceramite, it towers over those who stand before it like a mountain. Its outer face is sheathed in gold and bears an image of the Emperor in the days of the Great Crusade standing triumphant over the bodies of his broken enemies. Two Warlord Titans flank the entry to the Sanctum Imperialis itself. This chamber is the heart of the Palace, indeed of the entire Imperium, for here is the Golden Throne and upon it the God Emperor of Mankind. The Titans stand in eternal vigil over Him, along with ten thousand guards of the Adeptus Custodes. If the Adepstus Astartes are like demi-gods to a normal man, then the Adeptus Custodes are like demi-gods to the Astartes. Upon them rests the responsibility to guard Him from all threats.

Inside the Sanctum Imperialis, another three thousand Custodes stand guard but one does not immediately notice them for the eye is drawn to the Golden Throne. Words alone cannot describe it and words are useless to try and describe Him. He sits there, apparently unmoving and dead, his skulled visage gazing blankly at the universe around him. But to a psyker, He is a hurricane, a whirlwind, a nova. To stand before Him is to instantly acknowledge Him as the undisputed Master of Mankind. One does not even need to ask who He is, He is and always has been the Emperor. He was the Emperor even before there was any need of such a title, for no other title could fit Him.

But just as He is the Master of Mankind, so He is it's protector for without Him we would have fallen long ago. His will is omnipotent, extending across the million worlds that comprise His Imperium. For ten thousand years the Master of Mankind has served Mankind, simultaneously carrying out a multitude of tasks vital to its survival and to the survival of the Imperium. All at once He guides His race through the Emperor's Tarot, soul-binds psykers, holds audiences with His most important servants and beams the Astronomican beacon, allowing Imperial ships to navigate the Warp in relative safety. His immense psychic powers constantly keep the Chaotic powers of the Warp at bay, preventing their intrusion into the material universe and protecting His people throughout the galaxy. But His existence is an unending torment, with His every thought enslaved to the task of ruling, guiding and protecting His race. Ultimately it is only His will to endure that allows Him to survive, as He knows His death would lead to the destruction of the Imperium and leave Mankind without the guidance it needs to survive. Were it not for His unceasing struggle, the Chaos of the Warp would flood the material realm with madness and horror, causing untold destruction.

And the Emperor touched the child who would become an Inquisitor. He touched the souls of the thousands of chained psykers that had been brought before Him. They were left as gibbering, drooling idiots before His titanic power – less than idiots even for such was His presence and power that mere mortals stopped comprehending their own existence, even the meaning of existence. Like an ant gazing upon a mountain, it was a scale that they could never hope to comprehend. Some of the psykers couldn't take it and they died, bodies and souls crumbling to dust before His awesome might. The ones who did not immediately die, He spoke too. He shattered their very souls and remade them into His servants, giving them the knowledge they needed to resist the temptations of the Warp.

Some, like the future Inquisitor, were given a deeper understanding of the galaxy, of Mankind's battle for survival and the terrible sacrifices made every day. They were given a choice, to rise above other psykers, to serve Him and Mankind, to fight for its survival. They understood that there would be no reward for them, no glory, no riches, no life of luxury after the deed was done for the deed was a lifetime commitment to fight on countless battlefields against Mankind's enemies. All they could look forward to was death, if they were among the lucky ones.

Not all of them accepted this offer, too scared of the horrors they would be asked to face. These psykers were considered to powerful to be turned into sanctioned psykers and then given to the Imperial Guard and besides, they had already refused to fight for Mankind. They were taken to the Chamber of the Astronomicon and there, their souls were used to power the great beacon. Even unwilling, they could still serve the Imperium.

Those who had accepted were then taken to their respective departments. The child who would become an Inquisitor was taken by an Inquisitor of the Ordo Xenos, who had plans to make another weapon for the Imperium. The child was distressed concerning only one thing – his eyes were gone, the sockets black and empty as his eyes burned upon being touched by the Emperor. He was assured however that he would get replacements. Cold, blue eyes they gave him to replace the ones he lost. They gave him normal eyes, though he could have asked for augmetics far superior to what nature had given him. A curios thing about eyes. Did you know that the Magos Biologis can clone every organ but the eyes? They always fail, so replacement eyes need to be taken from – other sources.

Ah, but my mind has wandered. Even I'm prone to that at times.

I watched as the daemons tried to overrun the Grey Knights, but the valiant warriors refused to fall and they smote the horrors of the Warp. The Inquisitor looked briefly in my direction and I saw his face harden.

"So it has come to this" he said. "Again" he muttered and I nodded. We both knew how this would play out. We have both seen this scene a thousand times in our lives.

Nodding to himself, the Inquisitor strode forward, pushing past the Grey Knights and cutting into the mass of daemons with a vengeance. He cut them down with ease until he pushed them back to the wound. For a moment it seemed like he could hold the gate against the flood but that moment quickly passed. With a sound like tearing flesh, ten whips launched from the wound and wrapped themselves around his arms, legs and torso. On the other end of those whips, ten Bloodthirsters of Khorne yelled their triumph. But with a cry of "For the Emperor!" and with the daemons flinching at the very sound of the name, the Inquisitor jumped into the wound in reality and into the Warp. The legions of Hell descended upon him like an avalanche but he stood his ground before the wound. Calling upon the Emperor to give him strength, he smote daemon after daemon with sword and claws. He used his psyker powers, blasting the daemons with lightning, letting his fury take over. Soon the daemons had to climb over a mountain of dead in order to reach him but he still stood. His armor was broken and his blood soaked the corpses he stood upon, but he yelled his defiance and stood his ground as he felt the presence of the four Gods of Chaos drawing near. He screamed the Emperor's name and launched himself with renewed fury upon the legions of Hell.

Behind him, the Grey Knights closed the wound, sealing his only exit. They stood there in silence, each one saying a prayer to the Emperor to protect the Inquisitor's soul. One of them finally admitted that he wonders what fate will befall the Inquisitor.

I closed my eyes and I do not wonder. I know he will fall, his body broken and his soul taken by the daemons. They will torture him for all eternity, tortures so horrifying that they would drive a god to madness but the Inquisitor will be denied the sweet comfort of insanity. Some might suggest that eventually the Inquisitor might even be corrupted, that he might turn against the Imperium and seek to destroy what he gave his life to protect - making a mockery of his entire life. I will not even consider such a possibility. I know how strong his soul is.

How could I not when he and I are the same person?

I have had this vision of my death since I manifested psyker talents at the age of ten. But it was only after the Emperor spoke to me that I realized the man was me. Did it scare me, this revelation? Yes. What sane man would not be scared by knowing such a fate awaited him? I think the ones who refused to serve the Emperor saw similar horror in their own futures and did all they could to avoid it. Why then, did I choose to embrace it? Because the foundations of the Imperium have been built with the blood of martyrs. We only live today because of the sacrifice that the Emperor has made, to endure eternal suffering in order to protect us. The armies of the Imperium sacrifice everything every day on the field of battle in order to protect Mankind. What sort of man would I be if I turned my back on their suffering and sacrifices simply because I was afraid?

There was only one choice really.

I have lived every day since with this knowledge. I would be lying if I said it was easy but sacrifices never are. My name is Julius Henderson and may the Immortal God Emperor of Mankind protect my soul.


End file.
