More than a decade later.
In a hidden laboratory, Malcador watched as a towering figure—nearly 2.8 meters tall—slowly stepped out of a recovery pod.
There was no need for additional testing.
From the sheer density of his marble-like muscles alone, Malcador could feel the immense power coursing through the man.
Only ten days earlier, this warrior had been a normal human, barely two meters tall. Now, his transformation was undeniable.
At that moment, Malcador felt as though he were seeing once again the soldiers of the Golden Age. Excited, he asked:
"How should I address them?"
"Thunder Warriors. That is the name I have given them."
Rā—or rather, the Emperor—watched the newly reborn Thunder Warrior with a trace of nostalgia in his eyes. Though crude by comparison, these warriors bore faint echoes of Golden Age humanity. They were far beyond the degenerated, mutated remnants of Terra's ordinary people.
Through dozens of complex surgeries and experimental drugs, he had awakened dormant ancestral genes in carefully chosen loyalists, allowing them to partially revert to their more perfect human forebears. To this, he added engineered organs, granting specialized functions that pushed them even closer to Golden Age standards.
Yet despite the achievement, flaws remained:
The failure rate was brutally high. Hundreds of subjects might yield only one viable warrior.
Lifespans were drastically shortened—barely a century, often less.
Worse, since part of the research relied on warp-borne materials once gifted by Tzeentch, the Thunder Warriors' minds were not always stable. At times, the warp's taint bled into them.
For all these reasons, the Emperor knew the Thunder Warriors were, at best, consumables—temporary weapons, never a lasting foundation. Too many of them could even destabilize human society.
He betrayed none of this in his expression, but a flicker of cold calculation passed through his eyes.
Why not simply recreate the Golden Age human template—or even the gene-lords of old? The reasons were simple:
1. His technology had limits.
2. The facilities of this age could not support such precise demands.
In the Golden Age, the Gene Optimization Program had long surpassed the capacity of human scholars. What began with scientists quickly became dominated by advanced AIs and cybernetic savants, because the sheer scale of data was beyond any biological brain. Even the Emperor himself—though far beyond ordinary men—could not memorize or process trillions upon trillions of genetic variables. He could only master fragments of their work.
Now, the freshly reborn Thunder Warrior finally steadied himself. No longer stumbling, though still heavy-footed, he approached the Emperor. With a smile and visible reverence, he knelt on one knee.
"Your Majesty, Thunder Warrior Arik Taranis pays you homage!"
A decade earlier, when Rā had stepped into public life and assumed leadership from Malcador, he had adopted the title Emperor. It carried an aura of mystery and authority, elevating him above mortal rulers.
Through tireless speeches, his unmatched charisma, and sheer force of will, he had gathered countless followers and loyalists. Among them, Arik Taranis was one of the finest—strong, steadfast, and intelligent. In the Emperor's plans, he was destined to become commander, or perhaps vice-commander, of the First Legion of Thunder Warriors.
The Emperor returned the salute with a flawless smile.
"You have done well. But you have only just completed your transformation. Too much strain will harm you. Rest now."
His voice was warm, his manner reassuring. It radiated trust and kindness. Yet behind those words, the Emperor had already consigned Taranis to the role of expendable pawn.
Was it cruel? Of course. Even the Emperor himself admitted as much. But what choice did he have?
Humanity needed a strong army to unify Terra, no matter the cost. Only through unification could he gather the resources to push the Human Revival Project forward.
Compared to the survival of an entire species, the fate of individuals—even loyal ones—was secondary.
The Emperor could be gentle, even loving, to individual humans. But the only thing he truly loved was Humanity itself—the civilization, not the person. For that, he would commit any deed, whether called noble or vile. His threshold for compromise was far lower than others could imagine.
Arik Taranis, of course, knew none of this. To him, the Emperor's words were kindness itself. Deeply moved, he answered with renewed loyalty:
"As you command."
His heart swelled with devotion.
After the warrior departed, the Emperor turned to Malcador.
"In the coming days, I will select more volunteers for transformation. I will be occupied in the laboratory nearly without pause. The administration of our territory, and the training of the new Thunder Warriors, I leave to you."
Malcador bowed. "As you wish."
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