The Grand Pontiff was engulfed in fire and carried away to a realm beyond reality. The world around him defied the fundamental laws of the material universe, a place so wondrous that it seemed to transcend comprehension.
Yet none of that mattered.
What truly mattered was the sensation coursing through his being. His body no longer bore the burden of age, no longer felt frail and weak. Here, his mere thoughts could shape reality—his will alone dictated the very fabric of existence.
He was omnipotent.
Within this dreamlike expanse, countless luminous entities surrounded him, ready to answer any question. A vast and merciless sun loomed overhead, radiating golden light without end.
"This must be the power of His Majesty!"
Shedding his mortal husk, the Grand Pontiff leaped and ran like a child, his spirit soaring. The energies of creation itself responded to his every whim. Knowledge beyond imagination—biomagnetic field manipulation, psychic cultivation, mind-force projection—all lay before him, ripe for the taking, as though he wandered through a celestial orchard overflowing with divine fruits.
For the first time in his centuries of life, he felt truly fulfilled. Truly free.
Yet, just as he leaped once more, the mist beneath his feet no longer held him aloft.
He plummeted.
Falling from the empyrean heights, he crashed back into the confines of his chamber. The weight of his flesh returned, the stench of age and decay clinging to him like a shroud.
"No! No! I refuse! I will not return to this wretched existence!"
Panic seized him. He recoiled from his surroundings—the lavish relics and gilded ornaments that once symbolized his status now seemed abhorrent. The disparity between heaven and the mortal plane was unbearable.
"Your Majesty, take me back! Let me return to your paradise and serve you for eternity!"
Tears streamed from his withered eyes. The agony of exile from the divine realm shattered the composure of the man who had ruled the faith for more than a hundred years.
But no matter how fervently he prayed, his aged, frail body remained anchored in this empty chamber.
Slowly, he steadied himself.
"Perhaps... I was sent back to fulfill a purpose," he murmured, attempting to calm his spiraling thoughts.
Fragments of the celestial knowledge he had absorbed flickered in his mind. The experience felt unreal, like the fleeting remnants of a dream, yet the wisdom granted to him was permanent—imprinted upon his soul, unforgotten.
A fire ignited within his mind. The biomagnetic field surged, psychic cultivation advanced, and a translucent force field enveloped his form. Though rudimentary, these techniques granted him newfound strength and clarity.
More importantly, his bond with the virtual realm remained intact.
Even now, he could sense it—at any moment, he could return by entering a meditative trance.
The temptation was overwhelming.
Every second in the mortal realm was an unbearable torment after tasting the paradise beyond.
Yet, duty restrained him. The willpower that had guided him through decades of devotion held firm.
"I will endure this purgatory a while longer... so that all may bask in His Majesty's light."
A voice interrupted his reverie.
"Great Pontiff, you have returned?"
A temple attendant stood at the chamber's threshold, his expression a mixture of disbelief and relief.
"My lord, we searched everywhere—where have you been?"
The Pontiff's eyes flickered with longing, but upon seeing the attendant's bewilderment, he dismissed the thought of explaining.
"Summon the faithful," he commanded.
"My lord... now?"
"At once," the Pontiff declared, his tone brooking no argument. "I will not delay. The gospel must be spread to all nations."
Without another word, he swept from the room, his movements urgent, as if every moment spent in this world was a moment wasted.
None of the attendants noticed the silent observer in the corner of the chamber.
A towering figure stood there, watching the Pontiff with cold, calculating eyes. The being lingered for only a moment longer before vanishing into the shadows.
—
"Father, we have recorded all reactions of the Grand Pontiff upon his return to the material realm."
A Doom Slayer entered Dukel's office and placed a palm-sized device upon his desk.
Dukel barely glanced at the growing pile of similar devices cluttering his workspace before reviewing the data. As expected, the results aligned with his predictions.
"All subjects who returned from the virtual realm displayed immediate rejection of the material universe," he observed. "Only 2.2%—those with the strongest wills—managed to suppress their instinct to return, choosing instead to remain in the physical realm."
This outcome had been anticipated before the Virtual Realm Project had even begun. Compared to the omnipotence and boundless freedom of the virtual domain, the grim darkness of realspace was an unrelenting torment.
"After all," he mused, "when the faithful pray to their God, is it not their ultimate wish to be delivered to paradise? Now that heaven is within their grasp, few can resist its call."
The Doom Slayer hesitated before speaking. "But, Father... if this continues, will our race not vanish from the galaxy?"
"You mean, will all of humanity abandon realspace entirely?" Dukel asked.
The Slayer nodded solemnly.
A faint smile touched Dukel's lips. "Perhaps. That would signify our collective ascension. But rest assured—there will always be those who refuse to depart from this wretched galaxy."
His gaze sharpened, piercing the veil between the material universe and the great ocean of souls.
"They believe the virtual realm is a paradise gifted by the Emperor. They are mistaken. Even the Kingdom of God will know war."
His voice carried the weight of certainty. "In time, war will consume the virtual realm, just as it has devoured the material universe. The final conflict will not merely be between man and alien, but between humanity—the rightful rulers of the galaxy—and the Chaos Gods themselves. The Void will become the battlefield, locked in brutal war against the tides of the Warp."
"And when they realize their heaven is no sanctuary, the boundary between the virtual and material realms will blur once more."
The Doom Slayer processed his words, then nodded in understanding.
Every Doom Slayer was linked to the Heart Network. With the construction of the Virtual Realm, those within the Network wielded power verging on the divine. Yet they remained unswayed by its allure, for they knew the truth.
The virtual world was not a paradise.
It was merely another battlefield.
—
Dukel turned his attention back to the experimental data, scanning the latest parameters. Everything remained within expected projections.
He uploaded the next stage of technology into the Heart Network.
IMPERIAL BEACON—a guidance system akin to the Astronomican, yet distinct in function. Unlike its counterpart, which navigated the Warp, the Imperial Beacon charted pathways through the Virtual Realm, allowing the Imperial fleet to traverse it without peril. Unlike the Astronomican, it did not require the sacrifice of psyker souls.
With the construction of Imperial Beacons in the Sol System, the groundwork was laid.
One day, these beacons would span the entire galaxy.
Warp storms would no longer isolate the Imperium's worlds.
Mankind would reclaim the stars.
Even in the distant future, the beacon of the Imperium will one day pierce through the Sea of Souls, allowing the Imperial Navy to traverse both the material realm and the Immaterium freely.
This is Dukel's ambition—the Second Great Crusade of Mankind, a vision he has meticulously crafted.
Dukel is nothing if not ambitious.
"A few more souls into the virtual realm," he mused. "With my experience from last time, I can attract even more this time."
As his thoughts took form, the boundless virtual domain pulsed, rippling with unseen waves. Across the stars, events were unfolding in ways that even he had not fully accounted for.
Meanwhile, the Grand Pontiff's efforts to spread the Emperor's gospel had met unforeseen resistance.
Shortly after departing the palace, he was discreetly taken by the Imperial Fists and the Dark Angels to a secured location deep within Terra's fortifications.
Valdo, the acting Lord Commander of the Imperial Fists, and Lion El'Jonson, Primarch of the First Legion and temporary head of the Adeptus Arbites, personally oversaw the interrogation.
"Grand Pontiff," Lion intoned, his voice cold and commanding. "Tell us what transpired during your absence."
The Pontiff sat across from them, his status in the Imperium theoretically equal to theirs, yet in this chamber, he held no power.
"It is not that I refuse to answer," the Pontiff said cryptically. As the highest missionary of the Ecclesiarchy, his words carried the weight of the divine. "But what I have experienced is too bizarre. To reveal it directly… I fear it may shake you."
"Shake us?" Valdo and Lion exchanged a glance, unamused. "There is little in this galaxy that could instill fear in us."
The Pontiff exhaled, then spoke. "Not long ago, I received an invitation—to enter the Emperor's Kingdom."
A serene satisfaction settled over his aged features. To him, this was a divine affirmation of his faith, a sacred honor that few would ever experience.
Yet neither Lion nor Valdo shared his reverence.
Their expressions darkened, their eyes sharp with suspicion.
"Are you certain it was the Emperor's Heaven?" Lion asked, his voice dangerously low.
No one understood the Emperor better than his sons. They knew the truth: the very faith of the Ecclesiarchy was a burden upon their father, one that He neither desired nor acknowledged.
Had the real Emperor reached out, it would not have been with open arms—it would have been with a killing stroke.
"What did you see in this supposed divine realm?" Lion pressed. "A crystal fortress? A veil of seduction? A garden of joy?"
"None of those!" the Pontiff countered passionately. "It was a paradise beyond imagination! I shed my mortal shell and basked in the radiance of the golden sun. Millions of saints and sages stood beside me, their spirits ascendant."
Lion and Valdo frowned.
They were near-demigods, and they knew with certainty that the old priest was not lying. Yet his words unsettled them deeply.
The descriptions were too familiar—eerily so. And it was precisely this familiarity that made the situation all the more troubling.
A sharp rap on the chamber door interrupted their thoughts. A Dark Angel stepped in, his expression grim.
"My lords, another disappearance has occurred."
Lion's gaze sharpened. "The Ecclesiarchy again?"
"Not quite, my lord. Their silence is the anomaly."
A flicker of unease crossed the Primarch's face. "How many this time?"
The Dark Angel leaned in and whispered a number.
"What?!" Lion's composure momentarily slipped.
"It is only an estimate, my lord," the Dark Angel clarified. "But the number of vanished Ecclesiarchy followers exceeds 200 million."
For a brief moment, even the stoic Primarch and the hardened Lord Commander of the Imperial Fists were at a loss.
To have 200 million citizens disappear without a trace on Holy Terra itself—such an event was unprecedented. The implications were staggering.
Valdo and Lion turned as one to face the Pontiff.
"You will tell us everything you saw in the Emperor's domain," Lion ordered, his tone brooking no argument.
The Pontiff's lips curled into a knowing smile.
"So, you finally believe me." His voice was as warm as a spring breeze. "This is surely the divine will of His Majesty."
Within the Imperial Palace, before the Golden Throne, an ancient speaker crackled to life.
"Hah…" A long-lost whisper of relief resonated from the Throne.
It was faint, almost imperceptible, but for those attuned to its presence, it was unmistakable—a glimmer of genuine contentment from the Emperor.
Two hundred million fanatics had been drawn into the virtual realm—merely a fraction of the Ecclesiarchy's countless worshippers.
Yet for the Emperor, who had suffered under the weight of their blind devotion for ten millennia, even this small reprieve was a rare solace.
In the days that followed, the phenomenon escalated.
Two hundred million zealots vanished each day.
Many refused to leave the virtual paradise, enthralled by the utopia within. Only a fraction ever returned to the material world.
Among the Ecclesiarchy, word of the Emperor's Kingdom spread like wildfire. Hope surged through the faithful.
They yearned for the day when the Emperor would lead them to this eternal paradise.
Dukel's virtual realm project was proceeding far more smoothly than expected.
Yet, after ten days, something unforeseen occurred.
Within the virtual realm, the golden sun—a construct manifested by Dukel using a fragment of the Emperor's psychic might—began to distort ever so slightly.
It had been meant as nothing more than a beacon to pacify the zealots.
But the faithful were relentless in their worship. They gathered beneath the sun, their prayers unceasing.
More than two billion fanatics, in mere days, had suffused it with an overwhelming tide of belief.
And belief, as any student of the Warp knew, was power.
"I did not anticipate this…" Dukel murmured, eyes narrowing. "Even a fragment of the Emperor's essence holds the potential for divinity. If this continues, this entity will become a god."
A god within his domain.
Dukel's thoughts raced. Was this truly a threat? Or an opportunity?
He could allow it to ascend—permit it to become the Dark King of the virtual realm.
For a fleeting moment, he considered it.
Then, his expression hardened.
"No. There must be no gods. No being is worthy of mankind's worship."
His mind solidified like iron. Whatever benefits this divinity might bring, he would not allow it.
"Gods should not be mankind's faith," he declared. "They should be mankind's tools."
The entire virtual world trembled under his will.
An ocean of psychic energy surged forth, pressing upon the golden sun.
Dukel imposed his command, reshaping the entity at its core.
Like a total eclipse, the golden sun fractured, becoming a massive ring of burning light.
It could still absorb belief. It would still grow in power. Perhaps one day, it might rival the might of the gods.
But it would never again aspire to divinity.
It would be a weapon.
And so, Dukel named it—
The Truth of the Circle.
He gazed upon the transformed entity, thoughts already shifting to the future.
"Perhaps it is time to test its power…"