Warhammer 40K in a box

Chapter 602 The Original Returns
The announcement of Feralus Manus's return to Medusa was indeed as shocking as the explosion of a supernova.

Light and shockwaves swept across the vast and silent empire of humanity with speeds far exceeding the laws of physics, accompanied by the shrieks of the Star Speakers and the flashing of psionic beacons.

In this forty-first millennium where despair and darkness have become the norm, this news is like a boulder thrown into a silent pool, stirring up waves that shake the very foundations of the world.

When the message reached the highest depths of the sacred Terra Palace, it brought not pure joy, but a silent storm.

In the gilded council hall, the air was stagnant and icy, with only the faint hum of the servo skulls and the somber calculations of the Thinker array intermittently interwoven.

Power here is like a finely meshed gear, with each link interlocking and checking the others.

The return of a Primarch—especially in such an independent and powerful manner—is tantamount to throwing an uncalculated, enormous weight into the scales.

Panic and suspicion quietly arise amidst silent eye contact, the deluge of encrypted data, and a sudden acceleration of the heartbeat.

The Highlords were accustomed to strategizing from the depths of Terra's palaces, regarding the Astartes Legion as a beast to be carefully tamed; while a living Primarch, possessing the Legion's absolute loyalty and symbolizing the Empire's ancient legal tradition, was a primordial force completely beyond their control.

After a brief moment of shock came intense backroom discussions and power calculations: how to probe their political intentions, how to ensure the authority of the Ministry of Military Affairs and the Ministry of Justice remained unshaken, and how to bring this uncontrollable force under the existing rules of the game.

An official document, written with extremely cautious wording, brimming with imperial celebration on the surface but filled with probing and questioning between the lines, was drafted by the most eloquent bureaucrats—its sole true purpose being to try to ascertain the true intentions and bottom line of this "Gorgon".

In stark contrast to the cold, calculating machinations of the High Lords Council, the Imperial Church reacted with near-manic fervor.

The return of an imperial bloodline! Instantly interpreted by the fanatical bishops, preachers, and devout believers as the manifestation of the divine will, an unparalleled blessing and a great miracle to the believers!
Hymns and sermons echoed in every cathedral world, every shrine in the heart of the city, and even in the wandering pilgrimage fleets.

The name and icon of Philus Manus were quickly reinterpreted, and his ancient achievements were given a new interpretation filled with religious fervor.

Almost immediately after the news was confirmed, they selected a key shrine world on the edge of the Storm Sector—Saint Pheroos—to plan a triumphant mass that would sweep across the entire sector, and intended to broadcast it to the widest possible area of ​​the star system through the Star Language Hall and the psionic projection obelisk.

The messenger fleet, carrying this "sacred invitation" and an extremely elaborate, almost commanding ceremonial plan, headed straight for Medusa at top speed.

Of all the Imperial institutions, the Martian Mechanicus was the most swift, direct, and pragmatic in its response.

The return of a Primarch—especially Felus Manus, who has deep ties to the Cult of Mechanics—has presented the Great Sages of the Forged World with an unparalleled opportunity: to renew the Iron Covenant from ten thousand years ago, to acquire lost technologies that may only exist in the Primarch's memory, and to further solidify the Mechanics' position in the Imperial power structure.

A high-level delegation composed of several master forgers and senior technical priests was assembled with unprecedented efficiency, and the massive mechanical ark ship sailed straight toward Medusa.

Their objective was clear and simple: to pay homage, assess, and reaffirm the ancient covenant and technology-sharing agreement with the Iron Hand Legion, which had regained Primarch leadership.

Ferrus received the delegation of sages from the Mechanicus in a newly built, austere steel sanctuary deep within the Karada fortress.

The air was filled with a mixture of incense, engine oil, and ozone.

The sages' massive mechanical appendages and optical sensors gleamed with a cold light as they expressed "unparalleled joy" at the Primarch's return with precise binary hymns and meticulously calculated honorifics.

"Praise be to Om Messiah, the light of the god of machines shines upon your return, Lord Ferrus Manus," the leading Great Sage of Forging uttered in a trembling, synthesized voice, "your return is yet another testament to the union of technology and power."

The ancient covenant between Mars and Medusa will surely be revitalized under your leadership.

We look forward to deeper cooperation in STC template research, the promotion of original casting technology, and all areas that contribute to the advancement of human capabilities.

Ferrus's right arm, covered by "Gorgon Skin," hangs naturally, its liquid metal surface shimmering with light.

Her response was calm and firm: "The Mechanicus is an indispensable pillar of the Empire."

The Steel Hand will continue to fulfill its ancient duty, guarding humanity's borders and sharing the fruits of technology with loyal allies.

Medusa's forge will burn eternally for the Empire's victory.

Her statement was pragmatic and clear, reaffirming the foundation for cooperation.

However, after a brief, ritualistic exchange, the sages' irrepressible curiosity quickly turned to the core question.

Countless sensors focused on Feralus, especially on her inhuman arms and vibrant body.

“Noble Primarch,” another sage stepped forward, the data cable trembling slightly, the optical lens constantly adjusting its focus, “please forgive our intrusion… Your return itself is a miracle that transcends the limits of current biotechnology comprehension.”

Your form of existence... the technological principles it employs are undoubtedly a great breakthrough from the form of 'divine organism'.

Could you please... explain the technical details behind this remarkable rebirth?
This will greatly enhance our understanding of imperial creations, and may even…

The questions are carefully wrapped in polite language and a thirst for "knowledge," but the underlying intention to explore is unmistakable.

Ferrus's metallic face showed no emotion, but the surrounding air seemed to suddenly drop in temperature.

She paused for a moment, her gaze sweeping over these half-human, half-machine seekers of knowledge, before finally cutting off the conversation in a low, undeniable voice:

"My return is not a replicable or resolvable technological achievement."

Her tone was like a hammer blow: "This is a manifestation of the emperor's will, caused by a power that transcends ordinary understanding."

The secrets of this matter belong to the emperor; it is not for us to presume to speculate or investigate.

She shut down any possibility of technical discussion, attributing everything to the supreme will of the Emperor.

This response aligned with the increasingly fervent mythological narrative of the Imperial State Religion and temporarily halted the Mechanicus's excessive pursuit of technology—though she knew all too well that the latter would never truly give up.

However, Feralus's public attribution of the return to "the power of the Emperor" was like adding fuel to the fire, plunging the already fervent state religion into a deeper, almost out-of-control religious fervor.

They claim this is "ironclad proof" of direct imperial intervention in the real universe, and a victory of faith over the cold laws of the universe.

When the suffocatingly detailed Mass program, filled with red tape and symbolic rituals, was presented to Ferrus, her reaction was one of undisguised physical disgust.

She gazed at the holographic world of the shrine, which would be engulfed by countless believers, banners, incense, and fanatical shouts, examining the intricate, exaggerated, and almost theatrical ritual procedures. Her right hand, covered in liquid metal, unconsciously hardened and tightened, emitting a subtle yet clear metallic friction sound.

"They turned the return of a war leader into... a superstitious frenzy?"

Her voice echoed in the cold sanctuary, suppressing a fury as fierce as a Medusa storm: "The Emperor is the ruler of mankind, the embodiment of the pinnacle of reason and wisdom, not the central idol of this ostentatious performance!"
"My place should be beside the battlefield and the furnace, before the strategic table and the gene seed bank, not on that high platform watched by a billion blindly worshipping eyes, sprinkled with petals and holy oil!" Chen Xi stood quietly in the shadows, like a reflection of the Primarch's cold thoughts.

After Felus's anger subsided, he spoke calmly, his voice almost coldly rational: "What you have witnessed is a carefully choreographed performance, Primarch."

But for the countless mortals in the Milky Way struggling in darkness and despair, what they saw was a real and illusory ray of hope that pierced through the long night.

The state religion exploits this hope, even distorting it, but undeniably, it is this guided, almost blind fanaticism that currently sustains the empire's crumbling cohesion, enabling ordinary soldiers to face the alien's firepower head-on.

He stepped forward, his gaze sharp as a scalpel. “Attending is not about endorsing all its dogmas, but about embracing and guiding this immense cohesive force that you have created.”

Rejecting it would be like pushing away millions of hearts that were ignited in your name, and could even lead to division.

This is not a succumb to superstition, but... a strategic acceptance, for the sake of the empire you so desire to protect, an empire that still needs these ropes of ignorance to bind it together.

Felus fell silent, her sharp gaze fixed on the eternally raging storm of Medusa outside the window, as if seeking answers within it.

A silent and intense battle is raging between rational considerations and a strong inner rejection.

Ultimately, the heavy sense of responsibility that belonged to the legion commander and the guardian of the empire outweighed purely personal likes and dislikes and aesthetic discomfort.

She took a deep breath, her eyes filled with a cold determination born of compromise: "...Inform them that I will be attending."

But I will not promise to become the docile idol in their script.

I will speak in my own way.

Thus, in the designated shrine world of Saint Pheros, a triumphant mass, unprecedented in the history of the empire, was held.

The planet's surface was almost completely covered by crowds of people.

Billions of believers poured in from across the star sector and even further afield, blocking all ports and passages, setting up camp in the wilderness, forming an endless sea of ​​human flesh.

The grand chanting resounded simultaneously through a massive array of loudspeakers spread across the globe, converging into a single, deafening wave that shook the very earth: "Holy Emperor! Saint Ferrus!"

Thick incense smoke billowed from countless giant incense burners, dragged forward by a procession of thousands of red-robed believers.

The smoke was so thick that it obscured the starlight, casting the entire world in an eerie, hazy, ochre-red glow, as if one were inside some colossal life form.

The colossal imperial statue and the hastily erected battle banner of Felus Manus—with the cold head of the Gorgon depicted on it—were simultaneously raised aloft on the floating platform and slowly moved over the top of the crowd.

Countless church bells rang wildly, mingling with the continuous chanting and the frenzied cheers and screams of the crowd, creating a sensory storm that could drive an untrained person mad.

The priests of the state church, clad in exquisitely ornate robes embroidered with gold thread and wielding holy staffs crackling with electricity, proclaimed with all their might the “divine revelation” contained in the return of Feralus from the towering pulpit. Their voices, amplified by the loudspeakers, were transformed into an inhuman roar filled with absolute authority.

As the cherubim, meticulously decorated and dedicated by the Mechanic Church, hummed as they swept across the sky, sprinkling blessed oil and holy symbols bearing the image of Pherous, the crowd's fervor reached its boiling point.

These small servo and synthetic biological units, shaped like bloated infants with thin wings and lifeless eyes, aroused Firus's deep disgust at their very existence.

They symbolize the mechanical distortion of the human form and the service to empty rituals, which are diametrically opposed to her ideal of a pure and practical mechanical fusion.

Witnessing these grotesque creations weaving through the smoke, like the embodiment of twisted hymns, her metallic face grew even colder, and the muscles in her arms beneath her Gorgon skin taut with extreme restraint.

She stood tall on the high platform, her figure as straight as if cast in steel, yet she resembled an isolated island standing in an ocean of fervent faith.

Compared to the excited, trembling bishops and papal officials around her, she was more like a war machine forcibly placed on a shrine, cold, silent, and out of place with everything around her.

Throughout the entire process, Chen Xi remained by his side, standing quietly a little behind him.

His very presence is a silent reminder and anchor, temporarily pulling her back to reality from this suffocating religious drama.

As the seemingly endless ceremony drew to a close, and it was Ferrus's turn to give his address, she stepped forward.

The amplification equipment amplified her voice, spreading it throughout the world and even projecting it to distant stars through psionic projection.

Her voice was steady and cold, lacking the dramatic fluctuations of a state priestess, yet it carried an undeniable, weighty power belonging to warriors and craftsmen, like a forging hammer striking an anvil.

She did not repeat the theological interpretations of the state religion's fanaticism, but clearly stated:
"The Emperor's power guides me back, to fight, to protect, and to rebuild the steel backbone of humanity."

Her gaze swept across the boundless sea of ​​people below like a scanning beam, as if she could penetrate the fanatical appearance and see the souls beneath yearning for shelter and seeking meaning. "The future of mankind is founded on solid ground, fearless sacrifice, the passing down of technology, and an indomitable will."

Faith may give you the courage to face darkness, but do not let lengthy rituals and empty hymns replace the swords in your hands, the armor you wear, and the real responsibilities in your hearts.

Remember what you are meant to protect—your homeland, your people, your own dignity—not merely the illusory vision of being protected.

Her words were like a cold wind injected into a boiling furnace, causing a moment of pause and reflection in the frenzied atmosphere.

The cheers continued, but were mixed with whispers of confusion and brief silences.

She did not completely deny faith, but instead guided it in a more pragmatic and action-oriented direction.

The instant she finished speaking, Chen Xi gave a barely perceptible nod, as if approving of her words, which both reassured the public, conformed to the situation, and clearly conveyed their own position.

The senior members of the National Education Commission still wore their usual bright, formulaic smiles, but their eyes and brows looked slightly stiff.

They understood that the Primarch had accepted the stage they had set up, but refused to recite the lines they had written, and even more so, refused to become the idol he worshipped.

She is a forging hammer with its own will, which, even when forced into the center of a frenzied furnace, still maintains its cold hardness and clear direction.

The empire's political vortex was stirred up by her return.

Ferrus Manus knew perfectly well that while rebuilding the legions and fighting against external enemies would be difficult, navigating the quagmire within the empire—a quagmire woven from faith, tradition, lies, and the lust for power—would be another, longer, and more demanding war that would test patience and will.

And she, the son of Gorgon, has already stepped onto this battlefield.

(End of this chapter)