The Imperium fell into the greatest turmoil of its entire existence. Every sculpture of the Mighty Emperor blazed with holy light, while numberless fleets overwhelmed the radar arrays of the Imperial Navy. Men of Iron, Men of Stone, the Lost Legions, and Unknown Chapters all answered the call. The Lost Primarchs—even the Emperor himself—had returned. Humanity had endured enough on the defensive. Though their enemies had always outnumbered them, now the zenith of humanity stood reunited.
Guilliman's analytical mind struggled to process what his eyes witnessed. The Lion stood equally stunned, as did every other Primarch present. Their father had returned, their lost brothers walked among them once more. For the first time since his resurrection from the stasis field, Guilliman felt something he had nearly forgotten—genuine hope. The battle cries that had once seemed like desperate defiance now rang with the promise of victory.
It was not merely his brothers who had returned, but all of their legions stood at full strength once more. Within hours of the signal's transmission, the Imperium's forces had quadrupled in size, and still more fleets translated from the Warp, still more warriors emerged from the shadows. The contingencies that had been planned for millennia were finally being enacted.
All the Primarchs felt a profound stirring of memory, seeing their brotherhood reunited in one chamber. It evoked the glory days of the Great Crusade, when humanity's expansion seemed limitless. Guilliman had long suspected that several of his brothers lived—his extensive intelligence networks had gathered fragments of evidence over the centuries. The Emperor's capacity for long-term planning and secrecy had always been beyond even a Primarch's comprehension.
The strategic implications were staggering, but the emotional truth was simpler: the Imperium's greatest champions had returned at humanity's darkest hour.
The War Council
Every true leader of the forces of the Imperium had arrived at the strategic center. A real-time map of the entire galaxy lay bare before them. The greatest cog of the Omnissiah, King of the Machine Prometheus was present. The Master of Humanity, the God-Emperor of the Imperial Cult, and the Emperor of the Imperium of Man was present with his 18 sons. Legion Master of the Ancient Doomslayers Sly Marbo, Archmagos Dominus Belisarius Cawl, the Emperor's Shadow Malcador—for the first time in history, the zenith of humanity was united under one banner.
Perturabo stepped forward, his voice heavy with the weight of terrible knowledge. He shared what he had witnessed in the hidden vaults of Nidavellir—secrets that spoke of the universe's approaching end. The revelation cast a grim shadow over the assembled champions. Yet the Emperor showed no surprise; he had long been aware of what was to come.
The debate that followed was heated. Strategies were proposed and discarded, contingencies weighed against impossible odds. Then, from among the assembled Primarchs, wisdom came from the most free-spirited of their number.
Leman Russ, the Wolf King, rose from his seat. His weathered face bore scars from ten thousand years of battle, yet his eyes burned with the same fierce determination that had driven him during the Great Crusade.
"We will finish what we started, won't we, brothers? Our Hunt is not concluded."
Jaghatai Khan, the Warhawk of Chogoris, smiled—a rare expression of joy that hadn't graced his features in millennia. "I agree, Leman. It is time to ride the wind again. Try not to fall so far behind this time."
The exchange broke the tension in the chamber. The assembled Primarchs looked at one another and realized a fundamental truth: their mission had never changed. It had only grown in scope. This was not merely about survival—it was time for a new Great Crusade. And unlike ten thousand years ago, this time they would not fail.
They were not the same as they were before. They had all grown and matured, and they were stronger than ever—as were their legions. The galaxy had forgotten the fury of the Imperium. The bright light of hope had been nearly extinguished by the darkness of despair, but no more. The light was revived, and it was brighter than ever.
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The Panacea Serum
The swarm of symbiotes consumed the infused blood and mutated one last time. It was finally over—my first batch of the Panacea serum. The perfect cure.
"Hermes, continue with the Spartan ones. I'm going to surprise Bruce."
["Got it, boss."]
I left the ship and returned to the Manor. The Oracle, also known as Barbara Gordon, was in her computer room helping the patrolling Bats.
"Hello Oracle, how are you?"
She turned to me after hearing my voice. Her eyes were filled with expectation. What? Of course—I had told her when I took her blood that I could cure her. I could have done it even without my symbiotes anyway.
"Is it finished?" Her voice was slightly shaky. No matter how much she had accepted her new life, having the opportunity of walking—and even returning to being a hero on the streets again—was borderline unbelievable to her.
I hastily injected the serum into her. As she was about to shout at me, her eyes widened with pain. Her skin started to shed along with her hair as my symbiotes replaced every cell in her body. Her skin became flawless as her hair became silky and glowing.
She kicked me as a reflex, then fell back in shock. Her legs weren't just back—they were even better than before. She tried to jump back, only to crash her head into the ceiling. The humans in this universe really are something else.
While she was trying to adapt to her new legs, Bruce and Titus rushed into the room from the constant crashing sounds. Bruce's face was satisfaction incarnate. The Dark Knight was watching Barbara walking, jumping, and doing all kinds of acrobatic moves with ease, and his mouth was more open than the hole Magnus made in the Webway.
CRASH
"Oh... I forgot to mention that even the most basic symbiotes give you quite a bit of super strength. My bad."
Now they were all looking at me like I'd lost my mind, and there was a giant hole in the wall.
This apparently convinced Barbara that this was real, as she stopped her acrobatic show and started to cry while hugging Bruce. I waited for her to calm down for a few minutes, and we changed rooms. When she pulled herself together, the time came to explain to her what my symbiotes could heal.
The Full Explanation
"Well, Barbara, as you can feel now, you are stronger and significantly smarter than you were before. Also quite immortal."
"What!" both Bruce and Barbara screamed at me.
"Oh... I forgot to tell you, didn't I? Well, with the symbiotes she now has and by the amount of energy I put into them, she is practically immortal at this point. As long as her soul is fine, at least. So don't meddle with demons. You won't age, and every cell of your body can rebuild your whole body in mere seconds. You're welcome, my dear."
They couldn't speak for a bit.
"You said this was the simplest kind?" Bruce slowly asked.
"Oh yeah, this is citizen level—mass producible and relatively cheap. There's also the Spartan one. That one is much crazier. It allows you to evolve your body to counter any situation you're in. I'm using the best version of it, polished by 40,000 years of usage. I can rebuild my body in mere nanoseconds, and it can harden, soften, and even turn liquid or gas if I wish. I can alter my genome too, which is very handy in covert ops. So yeah, yours would be a few levels superior."
"And you will give such a gift for free?" His voice was skeptical, as it should be.
"Depends on your performance in the trial. If you manage to pass, then yes," I answered nonchalantly. The trial is hard, but I think he can manage it.
"That trial you always mention—what exactly is it?"
The Trial of Doom
"The Trial of Doom is a simulation I made. I will put you in an ultra-realistic scenario chosen from among the heroic deeds of mankind, and you will try to repeat it or do a better job. For example, Commissar Ciaphas Cain once crash-landed on an Ork-infested planet. He built an army with the scraps of resistance left on the planet and killed the warboss in a one-on-one duel. Or try to join the Catachan Devils, which is in itself a heroic deed alone. These kinds of things. Some are harder than others. The hardest in my opinion is full Marbo missions, though."
His shock was overwhelmed by his analysis. Then his eyes shone with understanding.
"Was that the training you were talking about with Clark?" That man is scary.
"Yep! Clark lacks the fear of survival and the experience of a stronger foe. A few months in Catachan and a few duels against a berserker as a mere man should teach him the fear of god." I laughed at the idea. Oh boy, he will have PTSD+ from the green hell.
"Catachan? Is that a warzone or something?" he asked.
I laughed even harder. "The death world of Catachan is the mascot of death worlds, Bruce. There should be an entry on that. Why don't you check it now?"
It apparently piqued his interest as he started to look for it. His eyes widened as he read further. "Nuclear frogs?! Carnivorous AIR?! What in the hell is this place?!" Barbara was apparently reading too. Well, I got the disbelief—Catachan is like, comically dangerous. Ah... I miss my days there with the boys. It was hard, but man, wasn't that exhilarating? The lack of safety and peace was just... unreal. Why am I so emotional these days anyway?
"So tell me, Bruce, will you try your luck on the trial? I can put you in anytime you want," I asked sarcastically.
"Yes, I will." Come again?
Oh, he is serious. This will be so much fun. Though this is a rushed decision on his side. How uncharacteristic. Well it is his funeral.
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AN: Here is todays chapter! I was going to put the trail too but it would have been too long so this is part one. The net will be tomorrow. Thanks for reading and take care of yourself.