Unlucky isekai? (Warhammer 40000)

The Emperor's Palace is the epitome and embodiment of the might and grandeur of the Imperium. A colossal temple-administrative complex on Terra, it serves as the residence of the Adeptus Terra and the center of administrative power for the entire Imperium. The Palace spans most of Asia, a significant portion of the northern hemisphere, and is visible even from high orbit.

At the heart of the Inner Palace, beyond the Eternity Gate, lies the Sanctum Imperialis, the hall of the Golden Throne, where the near-lifeless remains of the Emperor of Mankind persist on the edge between life and death, sustained by the unfathomable machinery of the Golden Throne. Only members of the Adeptus Custodes and a select few are permitted to pass through the Eternity Gate and behold the Emperor Himself.

The Imperial Palace is divided into two defensive perimeters, separating the Outer and Inner Palaces, both riddled with thousands of landing pads and monstrous defensive weaponry. Many of these fortifications were constructed by the Primarch Rogal Dorn during the Horus Heresy.

The Imperial Palace is as densely populated and bustling as any hive city in the Imperium. Perhaps even more so. Billions of adepts from every branch of the Adeptus Terra work within this complex, overseeing the affairs of the Imperium of Man.

Exploring every level and pathway of the Palace could easily consume a lifetime, and only the Adeptus Custodes know them all. From the high balconies and towers, one can see artificial chasms 500 stories deep, each filled with lights and teeming with people. Some of the grand halls of the Palace, particularly the Hegemon, are so vast that they generate their own weather systems. Clouds formed by the microclimate drift beneath painted vaults. It is said that rain in the Hegemon is an omen of good fortune.

It was along one such chasm that a shuttle carrying the Saint flew. Thanks to his newfound senses, Ordyntsev could feel the tens of thousands of scanners and gun platforms tracking his every movement.

As it turned out, Stanislav had to wait another two months before his request for an audience with the Emperor was approved. He was far from pleased with the speed of the decision, which would have enraged many members of the Administratum had they known, as such an honor was rarely granted even to some lords of Terra.

The shuttle, unlike the usual Imperial machines built as if they were about to drop into an ork camp, was designed for comfort. It featured a soft couch and wide, transparent windows through which Stan could admire the beauty of the Imperial Palace.

"I'm sure some Warhammer fans would kill to be in my place right now," Ordyntsev thought with a grim smile. He couldn't help but chuckle, recalling an old joke. Who would have thought he'd become part of it?

Meanwhile, there was plenty to see outside the window.

His enhanced memory readily provided explanations, dredging up memories of the times he'd spent on the Warhammer Wiki, trying to better understand this dark and convoluted universe.

The Emperor's Palace was a complex and multifaceted structure, housing dozens of majestic wonders worthy of individual mention.

For instance, that long, elevated road stretching high into the sky was none other than the Gates of Annapurna. It was along this path that millions of pilgrims, granted access to the Emperor's Palace, usually traveled.

Involuntarily, Stan's inhuman eyes noticed the intricate mosaics and beautiful sculptures adorning the gates. As he recalled, they had been removed during the Horus Heresy to prevent their destruction by bombardment, but now they had been restored.

And that enormous, two-kilometer-wide open amphitheater? It was the site of the statues of the Primarchs. Looking closer, Stan found it ironic that the pedestals belonging to the traitor Primarchs had not been destroyed. Yes, the statues were gone, but the pedestals remained, albeit covered with gray cloth.

It wasn't until Stan's shuttle passed the outer perimeter and reached the inner one that he truly grasped the epic scale of the complex.

Take, for instance, the Pillar of Glory—a half-kilometer-tall column of colored metals adorned with ancient power armor of the Blood Angels, White Scars, and Imperial Fists.

The owners of this armor had died defending the Palace during the Horus Heresy. Some suits still contained bones, and the skulls within stared with unblinking gazes and menacing snarls at all who passed by. The Pillar of Glory stood as an eternal testament to the sacrifice of the Angels of Death, who gave their lives to protect the Emperor and humanity's homeworld.

And what of the Towers of Heroes? Thousands of minarets and spires rising from the Imperial Palace, piercing the thinning cloud cover of Terra. But one, and only one, of these towers stands out among its golden and marble neighbors, for it is painted black.

It is called the Tower of Heroes. The pinnacle of this mirage-like structure is crowned with a belfry. The belfry itself is the size of a cathedral and houses a single bell, forged from simple, non-precious metals, tarnished and webbed with the passage of time.

This is the Bell of Lost Souls, and it tolls only when the greatest heroes of the Imperium perish. It rarely rings, but when it does, all servants living nearby must be evacuated and sheltered in sealed bunkers to avoid ruptured eardrums and subsequent death from lung embolisms. Among the many legends surrounding the bell, the most sacred is that when it tolls, the Emperor of Mankind hears its sound even through His slumber on the Golden Throne and sheds a single tear.

As the flight continued, Stan did everything he could to fully capture the beauty of this place, for the chances of seeing anything remotely similar were vanishingly small.

That's why, when the shuttle began its descent, Ordyntsev felt genuine disappointment.

As soon as the shuttle entered the Palace, the windows instantly darkened, and the cabin lights came on. Clearly, the Palace's security was doing everything possible to ensure the visitor learned nothing of its internal layout.

The flight continued in this mode for another five minutes before the shuttle finally landed and the doors opened.

The shuttle had flown on autopilot, and aside from Stan himself, there was nothing living inside.

Ducking and stepping onto the marble floor of the Sanctum Imperialis, the heart of the Inner Palace, Stan literally felt the psychic power radiating from this place.

Despite the Emperor's millennia-long state between life and death, His strength had permeated the very stones of this place. It was a heavy, oppressive energy, forcing one to look inward and question whether they were worthy.

However, Stan didn't allow himself to be distracted for long. His attention was immediately drawn to the towering figures of the Emperor's guardians, the Custodians.

Standing a head taller even than the Astartes, these elite warriors were the last, ultimate line of defense for the Emperor. Each had been designed personally by the ruler of the Imperium. Their armor and weapons were the finest ever created.

Only three hundred Custodians guarded the Sanctum Imperialis, but this seemingly small number was more than enough to annihilate small interstellar empires.

Their loyalty was unshakable, their devotion unquestionable. They had been the shield protecting the Emperor for ten thousand years.

None of the Custodians spoke. Only one of them gave a short nod to Stan and, turning his back, began to move forward at a leisurely pace. The Custodians surrounding Ordyntsev made it clear what they expected of him.

The corridor twisted and turned frequently, often approaching suspicious passages with characteristic checkpoints or defensive positions embedded in the walls.

From certain signs, Stan began to suspect that parts of the corridors might shift and move, altering the layout of rooms and hallways to further confuse potential attackers.

The closer they got to the Golden Throne, the stronger the sensation of pressure became. The air turned into a thick sludge that required effort to breathe, and the light occasionally sparkled as if something was altering it.

As Ordyntsev began to suspect, had he been an ordinary human, he might not have been able to approach the Throne at all. Even the passive sensation of the Emperor's might was too much for a human soul to bear.

Before arriving at the Palace, Stan had been briefed on how to behave inside. The briefing had stretched over two days, as his instructors wanted to ensure he fully understood the gravity of this meeting.

After all, if Ordyntsev made even the slightest suspicious move, the Custodians had every right to kill him on the spot.

A Saint, a Lord of Terra, or even a resurrected Malcador—the Custodians would kill anyone who even thought of harming the Emperor.

Finally, they reached the destination of his visit. Heavy, golden gates barred their way, but they were no obstacle to understanding who lay beyond.

After measuring Stan with heavy gazes, the lead Custodian made the sign of the Aquila, and the gates began to slowly open.

At first, Ordyntsev didn't understand why the gates opened so slowly, but when a pure wave of psychic power hit him, he nearly took a step back.

No, the energy didn't harm him. On the contrary, he felt his wings filling with strength, and his body began to emit a faint glow.

It was akin to standing near the Sun, with a solar prominence reaching out through the open door.

It took half a minute for the gates to open fully, and that time was entirely justified for Stan to finally adapt to the pressure.

As he suspected, anyone else daring to enter here would be laden with protective artifacts, or they would quickly fall.

"Bring those loudmouths who love to shout about the 'corpse on the Throne' here," Stan mused with humor. "It would be amusing to watch them writhe at the entrance, unable to even glance at the one they so boldly insulted. The Emperor may be half-dead, but even so, He is truly terrifying."

The Custodian who had stepped forward signaled to continue, and Stan took his final step, entering the holy of holies—the Emperor's throne room.

It was an impressive, yet strangely not overly massive chamber, every inch of which was covered in bas-reliefs and frescoes or housed a niche with a beautiful statue.

At the far end of the hall, a long staircase led up to a wide golden throne, connected to thousands of tubes, cables, and other devices so complex that Stan didn't even know how to describe them.

This was what had kept the Emperor alive for all these millennia.

The Custodian signaled to stop, and Stan immediately obeyed. The Custodians surrounding him not only remained but increased in number. They formed a dense wall around Ordyntsev, gripping heavy halberds. Their eyes almost glowed with tension as they watched every move of the winged figure.

Though Stan stood quite far from the Throne, it didn't hinder his view of the Emperor's body, allowing him to fully grasp the tragic state it was in.

The Emperor's body now resembled a skeleton more than a living man. His skull had lost much of its skin, and his chest was so desiccated that every rib was visible. One arm was severed, and the other resembled a mere twig. A wide gash ran across his chest, inflicted by Horus's blade.

Due to the cursed magic of the Chaos Gods, it had never healed, disfiguring the Emperor's body.

The hall fell into a deathly silence as Stan gazed at the Emperor, but it couldn't last forever.

"I want to talk," Stan said plainly, without any pretense.

Silence returned to the hall, and it seemed nothing would happen, but suddenly, everyone felt a change. The power surrounding them, like water at the bottom of an ocean, trembled and then surged forward, swirling around Stan in a whirlpool.

...

Stan blinked and found himself standing on the familiar endless plateau. But this time, there were significant changes.

There was no campfire, no old man. Instead, his entire field of vision was filled with something both terrifying and captivating.

It most resembled a giant, constantly contracting and writhing pupil of a colossal golden eye, within which thousands of golden lightning bolts crackled, among which dozens, if not hundreds, of vague, barely discernible figures darted and twisted.

Occasionally, these images became clearer and turned toward Stan, but it didn't last long, as they were quickly sucked back into the chaotic maelstrom.

The "eye" trembled, its pupil staring directly at the small figure of the man.

"AND HOW?" The Emperor's words struck Stan like a physical blow. "DO I LOOK GOOD?"

Ordyntsev demonstratively looked over the spectacle before him, then twisted one side of his mouth.

"To me... pretty shitty," he answered honestly, eliciting a ghastly laugh, as if hundreds of voices were laughing out of sync.

"AND YOU STILL THINK I'M THE BEST THE IMPERIUM CAN GET?"

"Admit it, that says a lot about this world and the Imperium in a pretty pathetic way."

"Can't argue with that," the giant, chaotic pupil cracked and split apart, revealing the familiar campfire. Stan didn't even notice how he ended up standing next to the same old man.

Though, not quite.

Ordyntsev squinted, examining his old acquaintance. He had changed noticeably. The slumped shoulders were gone, the cloak he had worn was replaced with simple, comfortable white clothing resembling pants and a shirt. His fingers now bore curious golden rings resembling coins.

"Was that spectacle a lie?" Stan asked, sitting down.

"No, it was the pure truth," the old man shook his head, looking intently at Stan. "But not the full truth."

"How I've missed your riddles," Stan rolled his eyes. "But I didn't come here for that," he quickly grew serious. "Take back all this divine crap."

"I can't," the old man sighed heavily. "Your old body, like your soul, no longer exists. There's nothing to return you to. You are what you are now."

"Then, when I return, I'll tell the Custodians to go to hell and pretend I want to sit on the Throne with you," Stan replied immediately.

"You won't like it," the Emperor's Shadow joked. "The seat is painfully hard."

"Won't know until I try."

"Stan," the old man dropped all humor and looked seriously at Ordyntsev. "You understand I have to try. This is the best chance. There won't be another like it."

"The best chance?" Stan echoed. "You know perfectly well what a mess this is. You were in my memories, you know what I know. There's no hope in this universe. It was literally created as the embodiment of everything bad in my native universe. And even that one isn't a paragon of kindness."

Stan nervously slapped his knees, trying to explain the thoughts swirling in his head.

"No matter what we try, it will all come to the same end. Yes, it might look good now, but the end is inevitable. And it's a tragic end."

"Then why are you afraid to try?" The Emperor reached out and placed a hand on Stan's shoulder. "Yes, you're afraid of disappointment. But if the end is the same either way, why not make it more interesting?"

"Go out with a bang, huh?" Stan smirked crookedly. "And what exactly will help me with that?"

"Find my sons," the old man said resolutely, removing his hand from Stan's shoulder and clenching it into a fist. "I know some of my loyal sons are still alive, even if they're imprisoned. Save them, help them."

"And how am I supposed to help them if I don't even know where they are?"

"If the opportunity arises. I'm not asking you to seek them out," the Emperor replied, to Stan's surprise.

"So that's how it is? Fine, even though I still think it's pointless, if, as you put it, the opportunity arises, I'll help. But that doesn't change my desire to end it all. And if I die, you won't bring me back," Stan decisively extended his hand to the old man. "Deal?"

"Deal," the two beings, who could no longer be called human, shook hands.

"And yes. Since I'm going to be doing your job, I'll take your flaming sword."

"..."

Conditions met