Chapter 503: A Galaxy in Sudden Upheaval

Terra.

Standing atop a towering spire and gazing into the shifting stars, Malcador could not hide the disbelief etched across his face.

He could not fathom what sort of being possessed the power to create such catastrophic phenomena across the vast expanse of the Galaxy.

Even the Emperor, standing beside him, wore a grim and solemn expression.

For even now, he was nowhere near possessing that level of strength. If he truly wielded such power, he could have wiped the entire Solar System clean by himself.

After sensing through his psyker intuition that the unknown being responsible for the golden astral diagram had perished, the Emperor remained silent for a moment before giving his command:

"The Warp storms that obstruct our travel are about to subside. Tell the legions to prepare for the Great Crusade."

Since unifying the Solar System, the nascent Imperium had successfully created twenty Legiones Astartes—each derived from one of the twenty Primarch gene-templates.

The next step was obvious and urgent:

Retrieve the lost Primarchs scattered across the galaxy.

Only by restoring them to their legions could the Emperor launch the Great Crusade in earnest and reclaim the lost domains of humanity.

Malcador—now appointed Chancellor of the Imperium—bowed.

"I understand."

He left at once, though his mind still lingered on the terrifying events unfolding across the stars.

The Emperor, however, remained. His gaze remained fixed upon the distant void, upon that single crimson point that radiated malice even from tens of thousands of light-years away.

As for the Primarchs themselves, the Emperor held no doubt about finding them.

Each Primarch's essence originated from him; the psychic bond was unmistakable. Through it, he could sense that they were alive—and could roughly pinpoint their location.

Through sheer psychic might, he could even contact some of the Primarchs remotely, especially the naturally gifted psykers.

It was not unlike placing a long-distance call—albeit a call sometimes distorted by the Warp's unstable flow of time.

Thus, the Emperor's true concern was not finding them, but whether their upbringing had twisted them beyond control. If any Primarch had grown too unstable… he would have to be eliminated.

---

The surviving remnants of the once-glorious Aeldari Empire—whether the disciplined "Awakened" or the depraved "Fallen"—were equally stunned.

Their civilization, which had dominated the galaxy for millions of years, had vanished in an instant.

And through their psychic sensitivity, every Aeldari could feel it:

Their souls were now being hunted.

In ages past, even death was merely a transition; their souls would reincarnate through the Warp.

Now, the moment an Aeldari died, their soul would be torn away—dragged screaming into the domain of Slaanesh.

For a species with long lifespans, slow reproduction, and already reduced to a tiny fraction of their former numbers, this was nothing less than a death sentence.

Large-scale warfare was now impossible.

Even a minor loss of population could doom them completely.

And with their empire destroyed, countless technologies, artifacts, and resources had been wiped from existence.

Some Aeldari clung to fading hope, seeking to rebuild their empire.

Some succumbed to despair and returned to indulgence and decay.

Some even coveted the power of the exodus Aeldari who had joined the Prince of Pain, wondering if they might still catch a "late train" to salvation.

Thus, the scattered Aeldari splintered into factions…

---

The Aeldari's collapse triggered more than just psychic shockwaves.

In long-dead regions of space, mechanical tombs shaped like pyramids slowly rose from the void. Metallic figures resembling skeletal warriors strode forth—the Necrontyr, or Necrons, awakening after millions of years.

With their ancient enemy gone, nothing remained to suppress them.

They began preparing to reclaim their long-lost reign over the galaxy.

Across primitive worlds, Ork populations—long kept in check by Aeldari culling—suddenly found room to grow. Freed from suppression, they constructed ramshackle spacecraft out of scrap metal and sheer belief, roaring the names of Gork and Mork:

"WAAAGHHHHH!!"

Like headless insects turned loose, they swarmed outward in chaotic expansion.

This scene repeated endlessly across the galaxy.

For millions of years, the Aeldari—despite their arrogance, cruelty, and decadence—had acted as an unspoken stabilizing force. Their sheer might kept countless monstrous species trapped, suppressed, or exterminated.

Now that the titan had fallen, the galaxy saw the result:

Every predator, every mad species, every Warp monstrosity crawled from its hiding place.

With the Warp storms fading, faster-than-light travel resumed.

With the Eye of Terror yawning open, Warp demons roamed realspace more freely, slaughtering worlds for sport.

In mere months:

Entire civilizations were devoured.

Some races expanded explosively—only to risk annihilation at any moment by a stray planet-killer weapon.

In place of one mighty apex predator, dozens of ravenous beasts now prowled the cosmic wilderness.

Even those who once feared the Aeldari found themselves wondering:

Was their fall a blessing… or a catastrophe?

___

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