Warhammer 40k : Space Marine Kayvaan

At this moment, a routine session was underway.

"The inquisitor considers him a dangerous individual. He must remain under observation and surveillance. We cannot allow him any power or position," declared one of the attendees, an elderly man with a voice as sharp and cold as a winter wind. He wore a luxurious robe adorned with skull motifs of various sizes, their grim presence enhancing his air of authority. His white fur collar reflected his high rank, while his piercing eyes—like those of an eagle—seemed to see through any lie or pretense. This man was the Lord Inquisitor, a figure who embodied the emperor's law and judgment.

"In the Inquisitor's eyes, everyone is dangerous," countered another attendee, an older man seated opposite. His face was hidden beneath the hood of a plain robe, giving him an air of mystery. In one hand, he held an elegant quill, which he used to annotate an ancient tome resting before him. He was the Master of the Administratum, the empire's chief administrator, overseeing a vast network of officials and managing the empire's endless data. "The House of Nobles has already issued an ultimatum. By imperial law, we can only detain him for three more days. After that, he must be released."

The Lord Inquisitor's expression darkened. "The House of Nobles? Those gluttons care for nothing but their own interests. They'd sell their souls for a scrap of meat! What do they know of danger? Their greed blinds them."

"They are safeguarding their rightful privileges," the Master replied calmly. "In doing so, they maintain the stability of the empire. Besides, this individual has already undergone thorough review. The results show no issues. The Inquisitor must let this go—he is, after all, a hero from a legendary era."

"A cursed warrior is no hero," the Lord Inquisitor snapped. "Even Horus, once beloved, fell into chaos. If a son of the emperor could succumb, why should we trust this man?"

The Master of the Administratum leaned forward, his tone sharp. "The establishment of the Space Marine Corps and the appointment of its head are His Majesty the Emperor's will. Are you questioning the emperor's authority?" His gaze swept over the room as he placed a heavy document on the table. "And it's not just military power we're discussing here. He will also gain significant control over internal affairs. Take a look for yourselves—this is the resolution from the noble council."

With a deliberate gesture, he slid copies of the document to the three others seated at the table. As they read, their faces darkened, their expressions betraying a mixture of shock and unease. "This is outrageous," muttered the third member of the group, his voice laced with frustration. "I don't follow politics much, but even I know this is asking for trouble. We've seen this kind of centralization before in the Empire, and it always leads to disaster. This is practically begging for rebellion."

The speaker's voice was distinct—steady, mechanical, and punctuated by faint static, as if the words were being broadcast from an old radio. His tone carried a strange detachment, reflecting his nature. He was the Fabricator-General of Mars, a powerful figure who embodied the emperor's technological might. Their forge world supplied the Empire's armies, overseeing the production of weapons and machinery that fueled imperial conquests.

The followers of the Mechanicus worshipped the Omnissiah, a deity they believed resided within the sacred machinery they tended. Their devotion extended to modifying their own bodies, replacing flesh with metal in pursuit of perfection. The General himself was a prime example. His throat had been irreparably damaged two centuries ago—a death sentence for most humans. But for him, it was merely an inconvenience. With a simple operation, he replaced the ruined organ with a mechanical vocal system. Since then, his voice had carried the cold resonance of artificiality.

"We can't allow this," the General continued, his words deliberate. "Granting one person such immense power—a leader of a Space Marine Corps who also holds authority as an Sub-Sector Governors—is a recipe for disaster. This individual would control three entire star systems, not to mention commanding a powerful, elite military force that answers only to him. This level of autonomy is dangerous."

The room fell into a tense silence. No one needed further explanation to grasp the implications. The Manufacturing Director's concerns were shared by all present.

In any functional government, the separation of military and political power was a fundamental safeguard. Consolidating both in a single individual was a direct threat to stability, effectively creating a local warlord. The central government had long used this principle to maintain control, ensuring no one could amass enough power to challenge imperial authority.

The Star Marine Corps, despite their autonomy, were not exempt from oversight. While they managed their own dominions, traditions, and internal affairs, their territories were deliberately barren, harsh, and resource-poor. This ensured their reliance on imperial support, preventing them from growing too independent or too strong. The unforgiving environments they operated in served dual purposes: forging their warriors' resilience and curbing their logistical capabilities.

"Three star systems?" The Lord Inquisitor frowned deeply, breaking the silence. "That's excessive. Is this man from a noble family?"

The Master of the Administratum shook his head. "The surname Shrike doesn't belong to any prominent house. His father was a minor noble, more interested in indulgence than governance. But his grandfather—ah, now there's a man you might recognize: Veyron Shrike, one of th Rogue Traders"

"Veyron?" The Lord's brows lifted. "The renowned Pioneers ?"

The Master nodded. "The same. He's credited with mapping over five percent of the Eastern Fringeern Star Region—planets, routes, preliminary explorations, all thanks to Veyron and his team. His influence inspired others to map an additional fifty percent of the region. The emperor himself rewarded him, and among the prizes were the three star systems in question."

He paused, then listed the names of the galaxies. The others exchanged blank looks. "It's not surprising you don't recognize them," The Master said dryly. "The Empire's vastness makes it impossible to remember every territory."

The vastness of the empire stretched far beyond what the naked eye could perceive. As beautiful as the constellations were, as majestic as the Milky Way appeared in the night sky, every single star visible belonged to the empire's territory. And what the human eye could see was but a mere fraction of the whole.

In the depths of the dark universe lay countless stars hidden from view, their light too faint or distant for even the best astronomical telescopes. Beyond these, in the infinite expanse, were territories claimed by humanity that no instrument could reveal. The empire was so immense that even the most dedicated scholars couldn't memorize all the planets under its dominion.