Warhammer: Dawn of Annihilation

Hearing Guilliman's words, the bishops stood in a row, their posture humble, prepared to receive the Primarch's lecture.

They were men of noble status, yet at this moment, they resembled chastened schoolchildren—respectful, anxious, and fearful of further offending the Primarch.

They knew all too well that if Guilliman deemed them true heretics, there would be no mercy.

"My father is a true god—there is no doubt of that. He does not need faith, but humanity needs to believe in Him. Be enlightened by Him and want to converse with HIm. That is what makes Him unique.

Those foul gods of the Warp crave worship to sustain themselves. The Emperor does not. He is divine by His very nature, not by the devotion of men."

He let the words sink in before continuing.

"We cannot spread His glory through fear. If we persecute unbelievers, if we use pain and brutality to force people into faith, then how are we any different from traitors?

The servants of Chaos rule through terror, using bloodshed to subjugate the ignorant, for they serve false gods—gods that can only survive through deceit and coercion. No rational soul would willingly choose them. So they resort to fear, forcing their will upon the weak.

But the Emperor loves all of humanity. Whether one believes in Him or not, He offers His blessings freely. That is the mark of a true god—of His mercy, His wisdom, and His fraternity."

Guilliman's piercing gaze swept over the bishops, his voice shifting from firm conviction to something almost pleading.

"We walk in faith alongside the Emperor, not because it makes us superior, but because it fulfills us. Our belief does not elevate us above others; rather, it binds us to Him."

"He is kind and patient. He does not reject those who seek redemption. He watches over those who strive to walk His path, welcoming noble souls into His immortal kingdom."

Guilliman took a step forward, his tone deepening.

"Now tell me—why do you believe in Him? Is it His mercy that draws you? His wisdom? Or do you seek only power and status through faith? Do you believe for His sake, or for your own selfish desires?"

The bishops trembled, shaken by his words. It was as if he had reached into their very souls, exposing the doubts they had buried beneath years of ritual and dogma.

But Guilliman was not speaking from personal revelation. These words—these arguments—were not his own.

They had been crafted long ago by Lorgar, the very Primarch who first laid the foundations of the Emperor's faith.

Guilliman had no love for Lorgar. But wisdom was wisdom, no matter its source. And so, despite his distaste, he had studied his brother's teachings and refined them for his own purpose.

And he had to admit—it was a powerful tool.

The bishops stood in stunned silence. One of them, overcome with emotion, began to weep.

They had been blind, twisting the Emperor's will while calling themselves His faithful. What a sin.

"M-my lord," one of them stammered, falling to his knees. "We never knew—"

The bishop kissed the cold steel of Guilliman's boots, trembling. "Forgive us."

Guilliman looked down at him, his voice steady.

"I do not blame you. You have been deceived. My father has been silent for too long, and His presence is overwhelming to mortal minds. He cannot guide you directly. So others have filled the void—heretics who have twisted His will, leading humanity astray. That is an unforgivable crime.

And so I ask you now, as the Emperor's chosen Regent—will you stand with me? Will you help me cleanse the Ecclesiarchy of corruption and root out those who have led humanity into darkness?"

His words carried the weight of absolute authority, pressing down upon them. The bishops had no choice.

"We will sacrifice everything, my lord," one declared.

"As long as you will guide us," another swore.

"Lead us back to the Emperor's true path," they pleaded, falling to their knees.

It was done. The bishops of Espandor had been won over.

To question Guilliman was to question the Emperor Himself. That was unthinkable.

Guilliman gave his command.

"Abolish the tortures. Re-examine those you have imprisoned. If they are truly traitors to Chaos, put them to death. If they are innocent, release them.

Remember—my father is merciful. He is like a great loving Father, loving all of humanity. Any atrocity committed in His name is heresy born of corruption."

His voice hardened.

"In the name of the Emperor, these so-called 'acts of faith'—these horrors—must end. They are not piety, but blasphemy. They stain His glory. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my lord!"

"We will begin at once!"

The bishops moved quickly, announcing Guilliman's decree. Across the planet of Espandor, a great purge began.

Those accused of heresy were dragged into the light—some condemned, others spared.

The wrongly imprisoned stumbled from their cells, gaunt and shaking, barely believing their salvation.

Many of them fell to their knees in gratitude, weeping.

It was Guilliman who had saved them.

Meanwhile, the true fanatics—the ones who had wielded their faith like a weapon—were exposed.

A woman, her scalp etched with sacred scripture, was bound to a pyre.

"I am loyal to the Emperor!" she shrieked.

The priest before her was unmoved. "Then why did you torture and kill those placed in your care?"

Her mansion had been a house of horrors. Over a hundred servants had been mutilated and slain, their skulls displayed as trophies. All because they were deemed insufficiently devout.

"I was chosen by the Emperor to cleanse their sins!" she cried. "Everything I did was His will!"

"Blasphemy," the priest spat. "The Emperor is merciful. He does not command the suffering of innocents. Only a minion of Chaos would pervert His name so. You are no servant of the Emperor. You are a traitor."

"No! I am faithful!" she screamed. "It is the Primarch who is the heretic!"

The crowd recoiled, gasping.

The priest raised his hand. "Burn her."

The pyre ignited. The woman shrieked, struggling against the chains, her voice turning to wails of agony.

The flames roared.

When they finally subsided, all that remained was charred flesh and the stench of burnt corruption.

The crowd erupted into cheers. Another servant of Chaos had been purged.

"The next heretic!" the priest bellowed, slamming his skull-shaped hammer down.

The trials continued, a reckoning sweeping across Espandor.

And Guilliman watched, knowing that in reforging the faith of the Emperor's people, he had begun a war unlike any other.