Warhammer: Dawn of Annihilation

Amidst the cheers of the crowd, another fanatic—condemned as a heretic of Chaos—was dragged onto the trial platform.

Like the woman before him, he was bound tightly to a metal post.

The acrid stench of burnt flesh filled the air, striking terror into the fanatic's heart. He had just witnessed the woman's agonizing death, and now it was his turn.

"I am not a believer in Chaos! I have been wronged!" he cried out. "My devotion to the Emperor surpasses all others! You cannot treat me like this!"

The pastor, his expression stern, questioned him. "Then why did you torture and murder those people? Why did you slit their throats and smear their blood upon your face?"

"I was redeeming the souls of unbelievers, ensuring their ascension to the Emperor's kingdom!" the fanatic shouted in desperation.

"Absurd," the pastor retorted. "You used the Emperor's name as a shield to justify indiscriminate slaughter. You are a disgraceful traitor to Chaos. In the name of the Holy Emperor, I sentence you for crimes of heresy—you shall be put to death."

The pastor struck the judgment table with the skull-adorned hammer, sealing the fanatic's fate. The crowd erupted into an even greater frenzy, chanting for his execution.

This kind of trial was not an isolated event.

Across Espandor, similar spectacles unfolded—burnings, hangings, beheadings.

The accused, branded as minions of Chaos, were executed one by one, forced to pay for their supposed crimes. Yet, amid the relentless purging, whispers of doubt began to spread. Some questioned whether the Primarch's approach was truly just.

After all, those being executed were undeniably devout. Their piety was evident to all.

Doubt took root in the hearts of some, and even the Primarch himself was not exempt from suspicion.

But Guilliman crushed these doubts with a single proclamation—and any who dared question him were sent to the stake.

"There is corruption within the state religion. Heretics have infiltrated our ranks, deceiving the ignorant, just as Basillius did in ages past—tricking the faithful into believing he was a saint while leading the slaughter of thirty loyal Space Marine chapters."

No one could deny Basillius' crimes. The traitor had orchestrated the deaths of over 20,000 Space Marines in an act of heresy so vile that even the most devout hesitated.

Guilliman's words ignited a new wave of paranoia. If Basillius could have been hailed as a saint while orchestrating such a massacre, then how many other heretics were lurking within the state religion?

The storm of purges grew even fiercer.

Radical pastors and believers found themselves under severe scrutiny. Their books were burned, their teachings denounced. Some were judged as heretics and executed publicly.

In his bid to break the cycle of extremism, Guilliman unleashed another kind of madness.

Fanatical believers, desperate for redemption, sent hundreds of thousands to the stake in a single day.

As the executions spiraled out of control, Guilliman was forced to intervene.

He issued a new decree:

Only those heretics who refused repentance were to be targeted. Excessive violence would no longer be tolerated.

Always remember the Emperor's mercy.

Radicals were dangerous, but many were simply misguided.

They needed redemption, not annihilation.

His order came just in time—before the entire planet was drowned in the stench of burning flesh.

While the inquisition of so-called "heretics" continued, Guilliman did not remain idle.

He summoned the bishops and had the scriptures of the state church rewritten.

In the name of the Emperor, he denounced radical doctrines as heresy. Entire volumes were banned. Libraries open to the public were stripped of any text that did not align with his revised teachings. Only books promoting redemption and moderation were permitted to remain.

The bishops were then dispatched across the galaxy, charged with spreading Guilliman's new doctrine and purging those fanatics who had twisted the Emperor's teachings into cruelty.

Any believer who defied the revised scriptures was condemned as a servant of Chaos.

The New Church and Guilliman himself would hunt them down.

For three weeks, Guilliman remained on Espandor, solidifying his authority as the Emperor's sole voice.

By the time he departed, thousands of fanatics had been purged, and the radical elements of the state religion had been forcibly reined in.

With Espandor secured, Guilliman returned to Glory of Macragge.

He could not linger on a single planet—there were still countless others in need of salvation.

To maintain order in his absence, he instructed the bishops to send regular reports on their progress. Any world that resisted his reforms would be flagged, and if necessary, his forces would be dispatched to cleanse them.

Standing upon the deck of Glory of Macragge, Guilliman gazed at the shrinking form of Espandor in the distance. A sigh escaped him.

"The galaxy is full of irony," he murmured. "I was the one who burned the City of Faith to the ground, and now I stand as the Emperor's sole representative."

If Lorgar, the Primarch of the Word Bearers, had been able to witness this, he would have surely spat blood in outrage.

After all, it was the Word Bearers—the 17th Legion—who had first spread the Emperor's divinity.

Lorgar himself had compiled the Emperor's Holy Words, preaching his godhood across the stars.

During the early Great Crusade, the Word Bearers were the most devout Legion, ensuring that every conquered world became a bastion of faith.

Ironically, when the Word Bearers later turned traitor, the very worlds they had once converted became the Empire's staunchest defenders.

The most bitter twist of all was the City of Faith—once a holy sanctuary, filled with sculptures of the Emperor and hymns in his honor.

It was this very devotion that had enraged the Emperor, a staunch atheist.

As punishment, he ordered Guilliman's Ultramarines to raze the City of Faith with orbital bombardments.

With his overwhelming psychic might, the Emperor had then forced Lorgar and his 100,000 Word Bearers to kneel before him, Guilliman, and Malcador the Sigillite.

From that moment on, the Word Bearers and Ultramarines became mortal enemies.

During the Battle of Calth, the Word Bearers exacted their revenge—slaughtering 200,000 Ultramarines, along with countless soldiers and civilians.

Who could have foreseen how the ages would twist fate?

The Emperor, bound to the Golden Throne.

The traitorous Primarchs, trapped in the warp.

The loyal Primarchs, dead or missing.

And Guilliman—the last active Primarch—now the Emperor's most legitimate spokesperson.

Truly, destiny played cruel tricks.

"Lord Guilliman, are you certain about this course of action?"

Sicarius, standing beside him, looked uneasy.

"Religious disputes can easily spark war."

"There will be unrest," Guilliman admitted, his voice low, "but it won't be catastrophic. If we are to cleanse the state religion, there will inevitably be suffering."

Only his most trusted confidants could hear such words. If they were to spread, the Empire would be thrown into chaos.

"If you despise the state religion so much, why not simply abolish it?" Phikris asked, puzzled.

"The state religion has rooted itself in every corner of the Empire," Guilliman explained. "If we tear it out by force, the Empire—already on the brink—will collapse entirely."

"We must proceed carefully."

Then, turning to his officers, he issued a command.

"Send word to Captain Breher. Adjust our course—we head for Talasa."

"My lord, why Talasa?" Sicarius inquired. "We've received no distress signals from that world. The Inquisition maintains strong control there. Demons wouldn't dare breach their fortress."

"I'm not going for war," Guilliman replied. "I need to meet the Inquisitors."

A shadow flickered in his gaze.

"I have a plan that requires their help."

At the very end, Lorgar might as well have laughed bitterly.

"You burned the City of Faith, called my works heresy, and forced me to kneel before my father. Now, you stand as his chosen voice, preaching my own words to the bishops. As a Primarch, have you no shame?"