Unlucky isekai? (Warhammer 40000)

Jaghatai Khan irritably glanced at the now-deactivated holoprojector and leaned back in his massive, Primarch-sized chair. 

"Ten thousand years have passed, and that bastard hasn't changed a bit," the leader of the White Scars thought bitterly. "He was a bureaucrat then, and he's still one now. Though, considering he's been in stasis all this time, it's not surprising." 

Six months ago, when the main battles began to die down and the wreckage of Commorragh finally lay before the victors, an unpleasant truth was revealed to the invading army—the one who had led them and been the face of the Crusade had mysteriously disappeared. No one knew how to find him or bring him back. 

The only clue was the appearance of the abductor, who was quickly identified as a Necron. Soon, with the help of the Inquisition, they even learned his name: Trazyn the Infinite. He had a notorious reputation across the galaxy, but that didn't help much. 

The location of his homeworld was a secret, and no one had been able to uncover it in all this time. 

Under such circumstances, something had to be done urgently before the Crusade descended into chaos, and Jaghatai was forced to take on these responsibilities. 

It was he who had to reluctantly play the role of diplomat with the Eldar, even though his only desire was to grind those creatures into dust. After everything he had been through, the sight of any Eldar filled him with black rage. 

Yet he managed to hold himself together. While taking command of millions of people was a familiar and even pleasant ritual, the personality of the one above him made his teeth grind with helpless anger. 

Even back then, after the Heresy, Jaghatai had reluctantly agreed to split his Legion into Chapters, understanding that if he opposed it, it would lead to a continuation of the Heresy. But agreeing with Guilliman didn't mean he enjoyed submitting or believed his brother was superior. 

The only one who had the right to rule over him was their father—the Emperor. In all other cases, the brothers were equals and had no right to command one another. 

And now, after his return, it turned out that thanks to the Ecclesiarchy, the entire Imperium believed that Roboute Guilliman was the Emperor's favorite son! 

And Jaghatai couldn't care less that Roboute had no control over those church fanatics and that they had come up with it all on their own. 

In general, Jaghatai felt bitter. Yes, everyone who saw him was instantly filled with awe. The White Scars, who had arrived almost as soon as the news spread, were ready to carry out any of his orders. They didn't condemn him for his long absence. On the contrary, they were genuinely happy that he had returned. 

But Jaghatai himself felt a deep bitterness. 

Why, while he was imprisoned and subjected to horrific torture, had another brother been peacefully sleeping, cared for by his sons? Why had his world remained the same, while Guilliman's Ultramar was practically an empire within the Imperium? 

Nevertheless, despite all the questions tormenting him, Jaghatai was forced to carry his burden. And to stay as far away from his brother's control as possible, he began the process of settling Commorragh. 

First, Khan had to organize food supplies, as the ship rations were running out. And considering the difficulty of entering the Webway, this was no simple task. 

At the same time, Khan once again had to deal with the Eldar. Due to the allied capture of the Dark City, some districts had been ceded to the Eldar, which meant minimizing conflicts between the two factions. And that meant Jaghatai had to communicate a lot with the thrice-damned pointy-eared seers, which didn't improve his mood. 

That's why, after six months of such work, the only thing Jaghatai wanted was for everything around him to burn. 

That's why, when the Mechanicus alert systems detected an incredibly powerful energy disturbance of unknown origin, he gladly ordered preparations for battle. 

Surprisingly, the source of the disturbance was easy to pinpoint. The area was cleared, and all weapons were aimed at it. 

For a long time, nothing happened, but soon the tech-priests reported that the enemy's influence had entered an active phase. 

A green rectangular portal formed in the air, barely trembling, emitting an emerald glow in all directions. Its height was staggering, over fifty meters, and its width was even greater. 

The Imperial Guardsmen tightened their grips on their lasguns, feeling a sense of dread at the size of the portal. They understood that no one would build such massive gates unless something truly enormous was about to come through. 

And they were right. 

The portal's surface rippled and bulged forward before bursting, releasing… a colossal steel foot. 

The faces of the Imperium's warriors twisted in horror as they stared at the true titan, the embodiment of war and the will of the Omnissiah—an Emperor-class Titan. 

This particular Titan stood about forty-nine meters tall, easily towering over anything the Imperium's forces could throw at it. 

These massive super-heavy walkers are the largest and most powerful war machines at the Imperium's disposal. Their firepower is unmatched by any other unit used by any faction in the galaxy. 

The size of their primary armaments, mounted on their arms, is surpassed only by the artillery of the largest ships in the Imperial Navy. The mounts for their pre-installed weapons are too large even for Warlord-class Titans. 

They have no melee weapons, as the focus is on overwhelming firepower. Using their superior armament, Emperor-class Titans bombard enemy positions with devastating barrages, all while remaining out of reach of most enemy artillery. 

And with multiple void shields, an Emperor can walk through continuous fire from even void ships, bringing death and destruction to anything that dares challenge it on the planet. 

That's why, at this particular moment, the generals of the Crusade were, to put it mildly, not in a good mood. 

Yes, they could eventually bring down the Titan's shields, but while they were shooting at it, the Emperor's weapons would unleash Armageddon. 

The command staff's gazes turned to the one whose word would determine their plans, but Jaghatai remained silent, his brow furrowed. 

The Primarch had seen and fought alongside Titans of this class before, so he knew exactly how they operated. But looking at the positioning of the Titan's arm-mounted weapons and its overall stance, Khan could confidently say that this Emperor wasn't here to fight. 

That's why he ordered them to hold fire for now, though he had the macrocannon batteries and ship ordnance prepared to breach the void shields. 

A minute later, when the Emperor took a few steps forward, it became clear that his preparations weren't needed. 

The portal's surface rippled again, and out poured an endless stream of thousands upon thousands of soldiers in recognizable Imperial uniforms—and more. 

There were Vostroyan Guardsmen in their iconic fur hats, the Tanith First and Only sniper regiment, and even Space Marines whose armor harkened back to the days of the Battle for Terra and the earliest Crusades. 

Jaghatai's eyes widened as he spotted something even more incredible—one of the soldiers could only be one of the long-lost Thunder Warriors, the precursors to the Space Marines. Jaghatai himself had only stumbled upon images of them by chance. 

And the stream of people showed no signs of stopping. Dozens of different regiments, ranging from thousands strong to just a few individuals. More Titans and squads of Space Marines. 

When Jaghatai spotted a couple of Custodes, he finally gave up any hope of understanding what was happening. 

Fortunately, the people emerging from the portal didn't scatter but instead formed disciplined ranks in the designated area, allowing newcomers to pass through. 

Suddenly, a nearby tech-priest twitched, and his electronic voice rose several octaves. 

"Alert! A similar disturbance has been detected in this chamber!" 

"Officers, evacuate the room! Tech-priest, pinpoint the source!" 

Ten seconds later, only Jaghatai, gripping his glaive, and his bodyguard remained, watching as a small green rectangle formed in the air. 

Once again, the familiar sight of translocation, and through the portal stepped the winged Saint, which brought some relief to Jaghatai. The Primarch was deeply grateful to the man who had saved him, and his abduction had been unpleasant news. 

But the portal didn't disappear. Another ripple passed through it, and another unusually tall figure stepped into the room. 

Jaghatai's mind hadn't even fully registered the newcomer's features before his instincts kicked in. 

His power-armored fist shot forward, slamming squarely into the nose of a wide-eyed Fulgrim. 

---

"He must die!" Jaghatai roared, trying to skewer the calmly standing Fulgrim with his glaive, but he was once again stopped by a exasperated Stas. 

"How many times do I have to say it?!" Ordyntsev snapped, thoroughly displeased with the situation. On one hand, he didn't care much about the Primarch's life; on the other, he didn't want to see the death of someone whose guilt was only indirect. "He's just a clone, and the original with his daemonic soul is still in the Warp!" 

"Then let me kill him. If the original is a traitor, so is his clone. Besides, he wants it too!" 

"My brother is right," Fulgrim said guiltily, much to Stas's irritation. "I carry the crimes of my original on my shoulders." 

"Damn suicidal idiot!" Stas couldn't help but notice the parallels, and it only made him angrier. "Stop trying to die while I'm trying to save you!" 

Suddenly, Ordyntsev froze, feeling a strange sensation inside. A moment later, he realized what it was. His, let's say, creditor had decided to express a desire to speak with the Primarchs, using Stas's body as a relay. 

However, Stanislav himself was firmly against such a turn of events. 

"Not a chance," he curtly replied to the Emperor's request. "No way. I'm not having another man inside me." 

In response, he felt a sense of someone wincing, followed by an alternative solution. If it were anyone else, the Emperor wouldn't have even asked, but the Anathema considered himself a prudent being and had no intention of repeating Tzeentch's failed experiment. 

Stas extended his hand, palm up, and from it burst a golden energy that formed a small but highly detailed holographic figure. 

It took the two Primarchs less than a second to recognize the figure and drop to their knees, followed by the White Scars bodyguards. 

Stas, meanwhile, had to hold his breath to keep from laughing—the sight of the tiny mini-Emperor standing on his hand was just too ridiculous. 

The Master of Mankind shot Ordyntsev a disapproving look, clearly reading his heretical thoughts, before turning to the Primarchs. 

"My sons," the Emperor's voice resonated even in this projected form, causing several Space Marines to tremble with overwhelming emotion. "Look at me." 

Both Primarchs hesitantly raised their heads. The shame in their eyes was unmistakable. 

"Much has changed since the days when we sought to make our world a better place. Catastrophes have occurred, the likes of which we had never seen, and mistakes have been made that are difficult, if not impossible, to rectify…" 

Everyone listened, holding their breath, trying to grasp the wisdom behind the Emperor's words. 

"...But despite all the hardships, humanity has not surrendered. People refuse to give up and bow to the cruel and malevolent forces whose sole desire is destruction. So how can we think of surrender when those weaker than us refuse to yield?" 

The Emperor shook his head. 

"We all make mistakes. Even I,"—these words made the Primarchs freeze. None of them could have imagined hearing such a thing from their father.—"Looking at you, I saw my own mistakes and shortcomings. I was too strict and denied you what you craved so deeply. I did not give you a father." 

"Father…" Fulgrim, tears in his eyes, began to speak but fell silent under the Emperor's gaze. 

"But that is what sets us apart from the Four… Ha! Three parasites. We are more than them because we can change, admit our mistakes, and become better. Today, I apologize to you for hiding the harsh truth from you. And at the same time, I forgive you and offer you the chance to stand shoulder to shoulder with me once more against all the forces that challenge humanity." 

"But father," Fulgrim resisted with his last ounce of strength. "How can you trust me? After all, I… or rather, the original… fell…" 

Suddenly, the Emperor's serious expression softened, and he smiled gently. 

"Who better than a sinner, one who has seen how terrible and alluring evil can be, yet turned away from it, to be a true righteous one? Each of you has seen horrors but refused to let them break you. So be the ones who will not let others fall." 

The Primarchs rose simultaneously, and the smiling figure of the Emperor vanished, dissolving into golden light. 

The Space Marines rose as well. No one dared to break the silence with a word or action. Everyone seemed to absorb the weight of the moment. 

Of course, some of the Space Marines still shot unfriendly glances at Fulgrim, but after the Emperor's words, they were willing to tolerate him. This didn't mean the Imperium would simply forgive the Phoenician, but it would at least give him a chance to redeem himself through deeds. 

As for Ordyntsev, he shook his burning hand. The arrival of a being like the Emperor couldn't happen without consequences. 

"Well, why are you all standing around?" The Saint's words broke the spell, and everyone turned to him. "The Emperor doesn't just hand out forgiveness for nothing. We've got a lot of work ahead of us." 

"What is it?" Jaghatai Khan asked bluntly, as was his way. 

"Oh, just a small thing," the Saint's lips curled into an ominous smirk, and his fingers drummed on a piece of metal where Trazyn had recorded information for the Mechanicus on how to use the Cadian Pylons. "We're heading to Cadia to close the Eye of Terror once and for all. I'm sure it'll go off without a hitch!" 

If you say something will go smoothly, something is bound to go wrong. In his final attempt, Stas was willing to use even such small tricks. 

The Saint's words were met with dead silence. 

The chapters will be divided into two, so the next chapter is the last.