Chapter 36: I Am the Sole Representative of the Divine Emperor 2/4

"My Lord... is there some sort of misunderstanding?" An elderly bishop’s voice trembled. Accustomed to a life of luxury and comfort, his portly frame shook visibly with fear.

"A misunderstanding? What kind of misunderstanding? Are you questioning me?" Guilliman scrutinized the old man. "I stood alongside my father to build this great Imperium and witnessed the very inception of the Ecclesiarchy. Do you truly believe I lack the authority to judge your actions?"

"No, no, my—my Lord, I have no such thoughts!" The bishop looked as if he were on the verge of tears. His mechanical ocular implant twitched; the sheer weight of Guilliman’s presence stripped away any vestige of his former arrogance. It was not merely the fear of death that paralyzed him, but the crushing realization that his deepest faith was being denounced by the Primarch himself.

"We have always served the Emperor with the utmost piety; we have never committed any act of defiance," another bishop interjected. While he fared slightly better, his voice still lacked its usual steady composure.

"That is why I did not execute you the moment I arrived, choosing instead to investigate for myself. Had I already possessed proof of your heresy, it would not have been my person arriving here, but an Exterminatus order signed by my own hand."

The cruelty inherent in Guilliman’s words chilled the bishops to the bone. They could not forget that the Emperor’s own son bore another title: the Demigod of War. The Imperium was forged upon the ruins of countless xenos empires and the broken bodies of those who refused to submit. Every Primarch was an avatar of war, possessing an absolute, cold ruthlessness toward their enemies.

"My Lord, we hold absolute loyalty to the Imperium and the Emperor. We are certainly not the traitors you describe."

"Indeed, my Lord."

"You must believe us, my Lord. We would never harbor a single thought of defying the Emperor."

Guilliman offered a smile that held profound, hidden meaning. "I, too, hope you have merely been misled, rather than truly treacherous. I see your piety, and I sincerely hope it is genuine."

"Our piety is genuine, my Lord."

"That is right."

Guilliman gestured toward the sinners locked in iron cages, wailing in agony. "Then can you tell me what that is?"

"Those are heretics, my Lord. They reject the Emperor’s enlightenment; they reject the faith."

"We discipline them so they may understand the consequences of failing to believe in or honor the Emperor."

"Pain purifies their souls and leads them to repentance."

"Are you saying my father needs fear to recruit believers?" Guilliman’s voice turned frigid, the smile on his noble face sharpening into something cruel and cold. "Like those Ruinous Powers, using conspiracies and death to terrorize the ignorant, forcing them to kneel before the Emperor’s statues and offer up their faith?"

"My Lord, that is not what we meant!" the elderly bishop cried out. "We have no such intentions."

"But that is exactly what you have done. You have twisted my father into a dark deity, no different from those Warp entities loathed by mankind. You use fear as a tool to preach His name, using death to coerce the masses. How is this any different from the Chaos traitors my father so despises? Those traitors harmed my father’s people, and you, too, have harmed them."

"Those dark gods use hollow lies to strip people of everything, leaving them with nothing but the endurance of agony. My father loathes this with every fiber of his being, having sworn to bring salvation to humanity. And yet, you invoke his name to commit such atrocities."

Guilliman’s voice resonated with terrible fury; the bishops could feel the heat of his wrath. Their terror reached its zenith.

"My... my Lord," a bishop sobbed, "we only wished to uphold His glory."

"By using fear and the sword? Heretics! You have distorted my father, twisting his mercy into terror, his kindness into cruelty, his benevolence into bloodshed. Kneel, or I shall declare you all heretics and sentence you to the pyre."

Guilliman drew the Emperor’s Sword. With a roar, golden flames erupted from the blade, dazzling and brilliant. The bishops collapsed to their knees, trembling uncontrollably.

Guilliman cast them a final glance before walking toward the podium prepared for his address. He held the Emperor’s Sword high, his eyes burning with indignation. A servo-skull with a glowing red eye hovered beside him, broadcasting his every move. Massive projection screens flickered to life across every city and town on Espandor.

The faithful stared in confusion, unsure why the Emperor’s own son had ordered the bishops to kneel.

"I am the son of the Emperor, Lord of Ultramar, Regent of the Imperium, and the sole representative of the Divine Emperor within this realm. Kneel, you ignorant believers, or be branded as heretics!"

His voice, carried by the servo-skull, echoed across the world, resounding even in the desolate deserts. It contained such immense power and authority that the faithful exchanged stunned, fearful looks. They did not understand why the Primarch issued such a command, yet driven by their faith in the Emperor, they knelt. Every believer prostrated themselves, terrified of being declared a heretic. Those who had come to Espandor were the most zealous of pilgrims; they would not allow a single blemish to taint their faith.

As the Emperor’s son, Guilliman was the ultimate advocate—far more legitimate than any bishop or saint. Save for the Emperor himself, no one could challenge his authority.

"I feel genuine joy at your pious faith. However, selfish and greedy men have manipulated and deceived you for the sake of power and wealth. They have molded my merciful, loving father into a being no better than those loathsome dark gods."

"I have come to correct this wrong, to judge those infuriating heretics, and to restore my father’s true glory to you. From this day forward, any who defy me are heretics; any who twist my words are lackeys of those dark gods, and I shall show them no mercy."

With that, Guilliman turned his gaze back to the kneeling bishops. "You have committed unforgivable crimes, becoming the minions of evil, distorting my father’s glory, and bringing endless suffering to those who love and follow Him. By right, I should send you to the pyre and execute you."

"But my father taught me to be merciful, to love every human who has not yet fallen into the abyss. Thus, I shall grant you a chance: you may choose to seek atonement, or you may choose to end your wretched lives."

"I choose atonement, my Lord!"

"I as well!"

Watching the Space Marines haul out massive pyres, the bishops dared not engage in theological debate. Debating others might showcase their understanding of the Emperor’s glory and boost their reputation, but debating a Primarch would only lead to the stake and the stigma of heresy.

"Very well. You have made the correct choice, proving your piety. Stand up."

Guilliman’s words brought a flicker of relief to the bishops, who felt they had narrowly escaped death. Having dealt with them, Guilliman turned back to the masses of kneeling faithful. "I shall re-examine Espandor and audit your faith for any lingering heretical thoughts. If such exist and you refuse to repent, I shall bring the most brutal destruction upon you. I will not allow anything to tarnish my father’s glory. Now, rise, and prepare for the audit, citizens of the Imperium, faithful believers."

With that, Guilliman concluded his speech and strode into the magnificent cathedral.

The structure was gargantuan, reaching hundreds of kilometers into the sky. Its footprint was vast, akin to a small city. Within, aerial bridges crisscrossed the expanse, where pilgrims walked, chanting praises to the Emperor. High above, the ossuaries were filled with the remains of those deemed saints. Skulls rested in shadowed niches, illuminated by the flickering, dim light of candles that only added to the grim atmosphere.

Guilliman surveyed the hall, then stepped deep into the cathedral until he reached a statue of the Emperor clad in golden armor. He stopped. The bishops followed, trembling with unease. Seeing him pause before the effigy, a new and unprecedented fear took root in their hearts. Were they truly wrong? Had they been deceived by heretics all along?

"Now," Guilliman said, looking at the statue before turning back to the bishops, "let us discuss what is a distortion by traitors and heretics, and what truly constitutes the divine essence of my father."