"When I fell into the sea of stars... where were you?"
Solas was losing everything that defined him as a "human," reducing him to a humanoid silhouette of pure darkness. Yet, experiencing neither flight nor fear, he hurled this question toward his genetic sire from the depths of his soul.
Across countless expanses of space, he no longer feared the Emperor's majesty; he feared only the loss of his past memories.
"Departing from Terra," the Emperor answered his son. That grand voice offered neither justification nor concealment, stating the absolute reality of what he had lived through. "Venturing into deep space, launching the Great Crusade, searching for my lost sons."
With a single thought, the will of the Master of Mankind coalesced into a golden figure deep within Solas's soul, looking down upon the child of his bloodline.
He remained boundlessly radiant, yet his words pierced Solas's soul like a blade. "I walked a rugged path, every step slick with countless drops of blood."
"Human or xenos, I have made the stars bleed. Settling past scores, judging the present."
"My child." The magnificent voice echoed within his soul as the Emperor called out to his lost son. "Such was the path of my coming. With destruction trampled beneath my feet, and bearing the collective destiny of all mankind upon my shoulders, I searched for you all across the sea of stars."
"I have never begged for forgiveness, nor will I ever regret the things I have done."
"But I demand that you cast aside your so-called 'hatred,' and take a proper look at the man who is your father."
Deep within the subconscious realm, all was absolute darkness. Solas' soul lay prostrate in the freezing mire. Hearing the Emperor's words, he raised his spiteful eyes to look upon his father.
He looked past the superficial to read the essence of the soul. Before his eyes, the Emperor appeared starkly different from his usual, limitlessly radiant image.
Beneath the golden light stood a middle-aged man with dark skin and prominent cheekbones. His eyes were heavy with a profound sorrow, and deep lines ran down to the corners of his mouth. His expression held a deep, mournful pity, and his face bore an unprecedented weariness.
He had never seen the Emperor look like this—no longer projecting boundless divine might, but rather a sense of hollow powerlessness.
Behind the middle-aged man, above that brilliant golden light, countless responsibilities pressed down upon his shoulders and spine, causing his form to bow slightly.
Glimpsing the Emperor's true countenance, Solas instantly lowered his head, not daring to meet his gaze again. For in that fleeting moment of scrutiny within his consciousness, his soul had been struck heavily by the weight of those countless responsibilities, shattering his composure.
Countless elderly, children, men, and women—every permutation of "humanity" Solas could conceive of—stood gathered behind the Emperor.
The rebellious son finally understood. The Emperor was never the father of any single individual; he was the sovereign sire of the entire human race. The Master of Mankind loved no single person, yet he loved everyone.
Solas could not refute this love. Whether human or xenos, anyone who witnessed the sheer magnitude of the responsibility the Emperor bore could no longer condemn his actions. He could have lived unburdened across the universe, yet he chose to surrender his selfhood, carrying everything for the survival and prosperity of mankind.
Before such an entity, no one could unilaterally accuse any single action of his as being biased.
The Emperor spoke once more, pointing a finger at Solas as he questioned him: "Do you understand now? What was the purpose behind everything I have done?"
"The things you care about appear utterly trivial when viewed on the scale of humanity."
"An avenger? Solas, if you sat upon my Throne, would you dare make the same choices I have?"
Solas did not reply. He could provide no answer. If he were placed in the Emperor's position, it would not take long for him to go mad.
"I must choose, and I will not regret."
A long sigh echoed through the spiritual space. The Emperor looked down, addressing Solas: "I have no time for hatred, and I have no time for regret."
"Since you have chosen to make yourself an enemy of mankind, you are no longer my son. You are unworthy of being human."
Perhaps because this was their final parting, no matter how rebellious the son had been, the father still had much to say, his soul trembling with a quiet grief. "I now have time to feel a single moment of heartbreak—that a son I held in such high regard would willingly degrade himself for the sake of hatred."
As his soul vibrated, a profound contradiction bled into the Emperor's words: "I am deeply disappointed that the extraordinary bodies, the intellects, and the capacities for joy and sorrow I gave you have been repaid with nothing but loathing."
"Yet I am also glad that you are governed by the humanity bestowed upon you, loving and hating with absolute clarity."
Facing the silent Solas, the Emperor slowly knelt down, the emotion in his eyes intensely complex. "As a father, I will pass judgment upon your actions, but I am also willing to grant you a parting gift."
His arm caressed Solas' soul, and then the golden silhouette vanished.
"Deep within my heart, I love you all. But I have no time to love you more."
Splash!
The sound of flowing fountain water jolted Solas awake. He raised his hands to inspect his current state.
As far as his eyes could see, there was only absolute darkness. His flesh and bone had ceased to exist alongside the human concept. When he spread his fingers, he saw only a silhouette of pure black.
Yet the memories in his mind remained crystal clear, and he could still feel the warmth they brought.
"The Emperor? The Master of Mankind?"
Solas sat slumped in the courtyard, the head of his black silhouette shaking slightly, his voice filled with an overwhelming pity.
Yes, he actually felt a twinge of pity for the Emperor—pity for that high and mighty, all-ruling supreme entity. The Master of Mankind possessed everything, yet he had lost everything. He had no personal freedom of choice; every single thing he did was dictated solely by the collective interests of humanity.
Between personal love and the greater good, the Emperor chose the greater good without a shred of hesitation, grinding his personal emotions away within his cold intellect.
Solas stood up from the cobbled ground, casually crushing an automated drone that was attempting to sound an alarm. He continued to shake his head, though this time he was mocking himself.
The Emperor prioritized the greater good over personal love, while he himself possessed personal love but lacked any care for the greater good. For a vengeance born of personal love, he had abandoned his father and brothers, betrayed the human race, and colluded with xenos.
He walked over to the fountain. A palm formed of condensed black shadow brushed across the surface of the water. The darkness glided through the liquid, but he felt no sensation of the water slipping through his fingers. With the concept of "humanity" severed, he naturally received no sensory feedback.
Solas was now completely severed from humanity. Yet there was no sense of release deep within his heart, only waves of profound emptiness.
Was this truly what he wanted?
The black silhouette shook its head repeatedly, an agonizing sorrow churning within that emptiness. The outcome before him was a tragedy born from the intersection of conflicting destinies.
"A mortal? A Primarch?" Solas murmured, laughing at himself. "There is no difference between the two."
"Transcendent in physical capability, yet our wisdom and emotions are no different from those of ordinary men."
"I am merely a pathetic wretch who lacks emotional fulfillment and lacks the courage to communicate with an imposing father—a miserable creature struggling in the agonizing self-consumption of my own mind, slowly spiraling into extremes..."
He turned and walked into the building, leaving behind a wake of sorrow as the courtyard fell into a freezing, deathly silence.
The clash of consciousness and concepts had concluded. Soon, both sides would meet upon the battlefield. When that time came, there would be no father and son, no brothers—only enemies looking at one another, a fracture of bloodlines and a slaughter among kin.
As Solas's concept was stripped away by the Emperor, humanity's recollection of the second Primarch began to blur, leaving only the other Primarchs and specific individuals unaffected. Within the minds of the populace, only a vague notion remained—that the Emperor's second son had been grevously wounded during the Rangdan war.
The radiant image that belonged to a Primarch was slowly fading into obscurity. The Astartes could still remember, but with the concept dissolving, total oblivion was merely a matter of time. The human race was conceptually forgetting Solas from the depths of their souls, from the pages of their texts, and from the configurations of their data stores.
When they met again, he would manifest as a dark shadow, bringing an unrecallable terror to the Human Imperium.
While the ideological conflict raged, the flames of war erupted across the material universe, and clashes between humanity and the Rangdan persisted within the Warp.
A small fleet from the Pale Stars was escorting a high-value captive, navigating a minor tributary of a Warp route to evade the main Rangdan fleets. Yet a pursuing force trailed closely behind them. The Obelisk transport fleet's tracks had been uncovered by a Rangdan scouting flotilla.
Relying on their superior Warp speed, the ships of the Pale Stars evaded wave after wave of pursuers, driving rapidly toward the Imperium's sphere of influence.
Within a secure chamber aboard the flagship, over a dozen Doom Marines stood ringed around a daemonic ritual circle. A master psyker chanted profane incantations, summoning an entity from the warp. Eight master psykers channeled their arts. As the eight hundred and eighty-eighth incantation fell, scalding blood began to churn within the ritual circle.
The lines of the spell flared to life, arcane geometry sketching out a physical form: a crimson hide, distinct horns, cloven hooves, and a pair of axes.
A Great Demon of Khorne materialized in the center of the array, its blasphemous aura sweeping across the chamber.
"Miserable mortals, you summon me seeking what pow—"
Before the word "power" could leave its maw, the dual-axe-wielding Bloodthirster realized it was surrounded by a circle of black-armored warriors.
Despicable!
The Khornate demon cursed inwardly. It noted the stark crimson marks of doom etched onto the black power armor, alongside a psychic barrier that completely isolated its aura.
"As fellow warriors, for what reason have you summoned me?"
Taking a mere 0.00001 seconds to assess the situation, the Bloodthirster understood that these individuals had not summoned a demon merely to torture it for amusement. It tucked its leathery wings close, lowering its eight-meter-tall frame as much as possible, and forced a crude approximation of a smile onto its monstrous visage.
An Obelisk stepped forward from the psychic barrier, pointing his spear directly at the Khornate demon. "If you wish to live, chart us a path through the Warp."