Over the next three days, Dukel worked tirelessly to refine the concept of the virtual realm. He poured vast amounts of computational power and Orkish force field energy into its development, seeking insight not only from Magnus but also from Efilar, Gris, and numerous clergy members and scientists.
Even the observations of mortal scholars occasionally provided unexpected inspiration. With a collective effort of brainstorming and refinement, his "Imperial Void" project advanced at a staggering pace.
Dukel even sought counsel from the Emperor Himself.
The Master of Mankind was not only the ruler of the Imperium but also the greatest scientist in human history—perhaps the most brilliant, and certainly the most audacious.
Most of the Imperium's technological wonders, both known and classified, originated from His mind. And these were only a fraction of His works. It was whispered that untold horrors remained sealed deep beneath the Imperial Palace—forbidden creations of such lunacy that they could annihilate entire star systems.
Since the return of the Second Primarch to Terra, Constantin Valdor, the legendary Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes, had known no peace.
So when he saw Dukel approaching the Palace alone once more, his heart sank.
"My lord, what brings you here again?" Valdor asked, his voice steady yet betraying a hint of unease. Even through the golden plate of his Custodian armor, his tone carried unmistakable apprehension.
Dukel, deep in thought about the 'Virtual Realm,' barely noticed the unease of the Captain-General. Nor did he care to engage in idle conversation. He simply stated his purpose and, with Valdor's begrudging guidance, entered the Sanctum Imperialis for the third time.
Just as Dukel had anticipated, the Emperor was not appalled by the audacity of the Imperial Void project in the way Magnus had been.
Instead, the Emperor listened carefully, then provided precise, calculated recommendations.
When their discussion concluded, the Emperor's voice crackled through His throne-bound vox system:
"Dukel, I hope your Virtual Realm succeeds—so that all those fools in the Ecclesiarchy can be placed inside it."
The Emperor's tone was as cutting as ever.
"Those zealots prattle in my mind every hour of every day. It is as if a hundred million insects were burrowing into my skull with power drills. Compared to this agony, plucking out a million nose hairs would be a soothing reprieve."
"You are indeed burdened by the weight of their faith," Dukel observed.
One of the key reasons for choosing the Ecclesiarchy as the first test subject for the Virtual Realm was to provide their unchecked faith a place to reside—somewhere other than the Emperor's own tormented psyche.
For millennia, the Adeptus Ministorum had spread the Imperial Creed, channeling worship to the Emperor as their divine god. Yet, far from pleased, the Emperor loathed the very notion of deification. It was not a boon to Him, but a curse.
In Dukel's vision, when souls entered the Virtual Realm, all psychic energy they generated would be absorbed into the construct. Naturally, their faith—left with no alternative channel—would cease its relentless intrusion upon the Emperor's mind.
Without the influx of raw belief, however, the Emperor's divinity—and His slow, agonizing path toward resurrection—would stagnate.
"Just as the Perfect City was razed to dust, so too should the Ecclesiarchy be swept away."
The words emanated from the Emperor's vox system with quiet finality.
Dukel raised an eyebrow. "My Lord, that is a rather extreme sentiment."
"One of the many scars left by that war," the Emperor replied cryptically.
With the conversation concluded, Dukel departed the Palace, striding past Valdor without so much as a farewell, and returned to his own residence on Terra.
His greatest takeaway from this meeting:
— Good news: The Emperor did not consider the Imperial Void to be akin to the domains of the Chaos Gods.
— Bad news: The Emperor instead likened it to another plane, akin to the Warp.
"Magnus is too cautious," Dukel mused.
His less discerning Primarch brethren still feared he was constructing a new Realm of Chaos.
But the Emperor, ever the mad scientist, had taken the concept to its logical extreme: to build an entirely new domain of existence—an alternate dimension, independent of the Warp.
The Materium was a reality shaped by physical matter, just as the Warp was a realm of pure psychic energy.
The Imperial Virtual Realm, however, would be a construct of the mind.
It was not the Warp, nor did it draw upon psychic energy in the same way. Yet in the Emperor's calculations, if the Virtual Realm expanded enough, it could eventually siphon energy directly from the Warp itself.
Theoretically, the Warp's energy was limitless—eternal and inexhaustible.
If such a reality ever came to pass, the consequences were unfathomable. Perhaps nothing would happen at all.
Or perhaps the Warp would collapse entirely, leaving the Materium forever free from the tides of the Immaterium.
Or, more terrifying still—the entire cosmos might unravel, resetting existence in one final, all-encompassing cycle of annihilation and rebirth.
It was madness.
But madness was the currency of the universe.
After days of relentless effort, Dukel was finally prepared. The continuous strain of channeling computational power had pushed even his demigod body to its limits.
"Shall we elevate humanity to its rightful destiny, supreme among all species? Or shall we plunge all things into oblivion, dragging gods and mortals alike into the abyss?"
His eyes burned red with exhaustion, yet his expression remained one of exhilaration.
Above him, the construct took form—an immense, multi-layered entity of wheels within wheels, an impossible geometry manifesting from thought alone. It twisted and coalesced, a vast dominion crystallizing in the ocean of souls.
The world rumbled. The heavens trembled. The Sea of Souls churned with violent upheaval.
The radiance of the mind's flame expanded outward, illuminating the void with unknowable knowledge.
Dukel raised the Emperor's gift—the Sword of Reason—and cast it into the newborn realm.
The blade, wreathed in golden flame, expanded until it became a celestial sun, suspended above the Imperial Void—an unerring beacon of logic, devoid of mercy.
The Imperial Virtual Realm was online.
Theoretically, it could house untold trillions of souls. If left unchecked, it would devour all who came near, refusing none.
Yet under Dukel's command, it remained contained. For now, its reach extended only across Terra.
For this first test, he limited access to 220,000 priests of the Ecclesiarchy.
Had he not imposed such restrictions, had he allowed the Virtual Realm to breathe freely, that number could have been multiplied ten-thousandfold in an instant.
Nightfall.
As always, the Grand Pope of the Ecclesiarchy stood before the towering statue of the Emperor, inhaling the sacred incense that thickened the air.
For centuries, he had performed this nightly rite, refining his movements until they were as graceful as art itself.
He was the Emperor's humble servant—a devout believer, unwavering in his faith.
Yet tonight, unease gnawed at him.
The Primarchs had returned. They had purged Terra's institutions, reshaping the Imperium's power structures.
And yet, curiously, they had left the Ecclesiarchy untouched.
"The Primarchs are the sons of the God-Emperor, His chosen avatars upon the earth," the Grand Pope murmured. "Perhaps... they acknowledge the sacred nature of faith."
If only he knew.
Even though he tried to convince himself in this way, he couldn't shake the feeling that the Primarchs would not relent so easily.
"Holy Emperor, grant me Your revelation. Dispel the confusion in my heart and show me the path forward."
The Grand Pontiff knelt before the golden statue of the Emperor, anointing it with sacred oils as he whispered his evening prayer.
Every devout member of the Ecclesiarchy adhered to this sacred ritual: prayers to the Emperor's effigy, the recitation of His holy scripture, and the confession of one's sins before the God-Emperor.
"Love the Emperor, for He is the salvation of Mankind.
Obey His word, and He shall guide us into the light.
Tremble before His majesty, for we walk in the shadow of His immortality."
As the sacred verses left his lips, the Grand Pontiff felt the familiar serenity that came with prayer. His previous anxieties ebbed away, his faith filling the void where doubt had lurked.
Yet, even as the faithful across Holy Terra offered their nightly devotions, the Master of Mankind sat upon His Golden Throne, wreathed in an eternal radiance. The fluctuations in the warp around Him grew more turbulent by the moment.
Somewhere in the Immaterium, a voice cursed in anguish.
"Grass, grass, grass, grass, grass...!"
Blasphemous words of pain and frustration, uttered by one unseen, unnoticed by those who worshipped in blissful ignorance.
"Pray in whispers, for the Emperor shall deliver us."
The Grand Pontiff's prayers continued uninterrupted.
But in the ever-shifting tides of the warp, something watched.
A vast, flaming eye ignited within the currents of the Sea of Souls. It turned, unblinking, its gaze piercing the veil between the material and the immaterial. The moment the Grand Pontiff uttered his prayers, that eye found him.
A beam of golden light erupted from the warp, splitting through the barriers of reality. It struck the chamber, enveloping the Pontiff in its brilliance.
Everything was aflame.
Walls, floors, tapestries, statues—all burned in a silent inferno, yet nothing was consumed. The fire cast no heat, bore no scent, and left no smoke.
The Grand Pontiff opened his eyes to the spectral blaze, his heart steady, his faith unshaken.
Whispers clawed at his mind, threading through his thoughts like strands of silk spun by an unseen hand. Voices of infinite knowledge murmured secrets beyond mortal comprehension. Mathematical formulas, theorems of impossible complexity, incantations woven into pure thought—all seared into his consciousness.
"Demon! Your temptations will not break me!"
The Pontiff stood defiantly amidst the ethereal flames. His will was a fortress, his faith an unbreakable shield against the lies of the warp.
But then he heard it.
Amidst the chaotic whispers, a melody emerged.
A hymn.
It was a hymn of devotion, one sung in praise of the Emperor.
The song grew louder, swelling into a chorus of millions, exalting the Master of Mankind in celestial harmony.
The Grand Pontiff's resolve faltered. Confusion clouded his thoughts. How could such a sacred hymn manifest within this sorcerous nightmare?
The hymn reached its crescendo.
Time stood still.
Before him, the golden statue of the Emperor ignited, its flame coalescing into a luminous, crown-like halo above its head.
"His will… His power!" the Grand Pontiff gasped, his voice trembling with revelation.
The knowledge poured into his mind took form, no longer abstract fragments but complete understanding.
"The Imperial Noosphere. The Art of Biomagnetic Enhancement. The Discipline of Mental Fortification."
He understood them now—technologies that could elevate human potential, meditations that could steel the mind against the corrupting whispers of the Ruinous Powers. And the Noosphere—
"His Majesty's divine realm! The God-Emperor's sanctified domain!"
Ecstatic, the Grand Pontiff spread his arms wide, his voice exultant.
"O Omniscient and Omnipotent Emperor, take me! Deliver Your servant unto Your eternal kingdom, that I may serve at Your throne forever!"
The illusory flames surged, engulfing him entirely. His form vanished into the golden inferno.
Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, the flames were gone. The chamber stood as it had before, untouched, undisturbed.
Empty.
The Grand Pontiff had vanished.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
"Your Holiness? Are you within?"
Servants knocked hesitantly at the chamber door. They had heard the Pontiff's fervent cries, but no response came.
"Your Holiness?"
Silence.
With mounting unease, the attendants forced the heavy doors open. They searched every corner of the room, yet found no sign of the Pontiff.
He had not left. He was simply… gone.
Terror spread like wildfire.
Across Terra, priests and clergy were discovered missing. A rough count revealed that over two hundred thousand members of the Ecclesiarchy had vanished during evening prayers.
An unholy stillness gripped the Adeptus Ministorum.
Even Lion El'Jonson, far away in the Hall of Judgement, could not ignore such an unprecedented event. A Dark Angel knelt before him, delivering the grim report.
The Lion's emerald eyes darkened.
"What?! Over two hundred thousand priests have vanished? And even the Grand Pontiff himself?!"