Palace of Terra, Imperial Throne Room.
Datch utilized Rick's teleportation gun to beam himself directly from the House Mandrakor to the side of the Golden Throne.
The Custodes stood at attention, unmoving as golden statues.
Seeing green light suddenly flash into the throne room, the closest guards' muscles tensed reflexively into combat mode. But spotting Datch in his comical jester's helm and red-and-gold power armor, their fear gave way to relaxation as quickly as it arose.
They didn't even need to see his face beneath the helmet to be 100% sure the newcomer was a Nameless One. Such ridiculous getups—neither Loyalists nor Chaos followers would ever wear trouble like that. That was the Nameless One's trademark.
As Datch stepped out of the teleportation portal, the Custodes greeted him with flawless calm, tapping the golden points of their halberds lightly to the floor in perfect unison—a soft, synchronized sound.
Then, as if their earlier alertness had never existed, they once again became silent statues.
The Emperor sat upon the Golden Throne, holding the Astronomican's light, wrestling in perpetual struggle against the four gods of the Warp.
When Datch appeared in the throne room, the Emperor felt a pleasant surprise—Nameless One was a rare guest indeed.
It turns out, in fact, that his return to me is a rather clever move. Not bad. Not bad at all. You're wise, so I'll forgive your past offenses.
The Emperor planned to converse with Datch. After all, in the entire galaxy, only a Nameless One could exchange words directly with him without obstacle. Anyone else, by contrast—just uttering a word would scar their soul.
Yet Datch merely glanced about to confirm that he was indeed in Terra's throne room, then skipped away through a different door. He never cast even a fleeting look at the throne through the whole process.
The Emperor tried to begin:
—Since you've returned, you could at least say a few words before leaving. People should notice the lonely Emperor. Would it be rude to simply turn away? I'm glad to see you back on Terra, but I dislike your way of coming and going without a word.
…Truthfully, I don't want to chat with you. Who'd want to talk with someone who just keeps saying "skip, skip, skip"? Boring.
Awkwardness upon meeting again? I mostly just wanted to say hello. Avoiding chit-chat is for the best—saves pointless arguments. Besides, I've sat on the Golden Throne for ten thousand years, all alone. I can hardly imagine anyone expects me to need a chat, right? Absurd. Absurd.
The Emperor tried to maintain his dignity, comforting himself in his heart, even though no one was there to care.
…
Datch was oblivious to the Emperor's thoughts.
He skipped out from the palace's most heavily guarded core, arriving atop a high platform that overlooked part of the vast palace complex.
Here, the wind howled, kicking up paper scraps and dust. In the distance, an endless, chaotic dome covered the horizon.
Datch summoned his sleek, stylish hover bike, mounted it, and its engine purred quietly to life. He zipped off at breakneck speed, heading directly toward Lion's Gate Spaceport.
Upon arrival, Datch took the rail elevator to a high platform and enjoyed the panoramic view of Terra.
Up here, the winds were even fiercer, whipping his cloak furiously behind him.
Protected by his Primaris Space Marine power armor, Datch barely felt a thing—just a pleasant, invigorating chill.
After a while observing Terra, Datch opened his game inventory and selected a special item: "World Editor."
A faintly glowing user interface materialized before him. At the center hovered a miniature, detailed model of Terra—markings for every major road, all the important buildings, even tiny crowds of people bustling here and there.
The holy heart of the Imperium—Terra—remained a place of perpetual clamor.
From this height, not a trace of natural land was visible.
What lay below was a super-massive hive warren, tens of kilometers deep, made entirely of metal, stone, and trash.
Uncountable ships—transports, enforcement craft, pilgrim carriers, Imperial warships, mechanicus forgeships—darted through the dirty, thin, particulate sky like flies to carrion, clustering on every fixed or temporary flight path, blinking navigation lights in wild confusion.
Warning alarms wailed like banshee calls, weaving a hazardous webwork over the planet.
The great spaceports looked like swollen ulcers on the surface, swallowing and disgorging endless ships and people.
Shifting exhausts and engine flames from every color stained Terra's already yellowish sky with a changing, sinister darkness.
Down on the surface—noise, stench, and a purgatorial press of bodies.
Giant machines thundered day and night, purifying the air and making the ground quake, barely maintaining the vital metabolism of the vast city.
The streets were like bottomless canyons, layered with slum upon slum, bisected by pipelines and bridges.
The tainted air was a mixture: industrial gas, untreated sewage, sour sweat of millions, the faint sickly-sweet scent of distant incinerators.
Under this dim world of artificial light, ragged civilians swarmed and crawled like ants, while officials and preachers struggled to advance in their bedecked palanquins guarded by armed men.
Mechanical men ticked and clicked, inspecting pipes.
Aircraft on low flybys left fleeting shadows and ear-splitting roars.
Here, sacred and profane, grandeur and squalor, fermented together in the most extreme ways.
Datch zoomed in, closely inspecting everything on Terra—and suddenly noticed a problem.
"Wait, why is the Sea option grayed out and unavailable?"
Baffled, he clicked on the question mark beside the entry.
["The concept of the last sea on Terra was sacrificed. Entry is locked and cannot be edited. Reload required."]
"So it really was sacrificed… Even the ocean parameter was completely removed. The generals of the Great Crusade truly were talented."
"No wonder Old Emperor spent so long on Terra."
"Old Emperor: 'I love Terra. Everyone here is so talented.'"
Datch mimicked the Emperor's tone drily, as if giving a satirical impression. I watched him purse his lips, thinking—am I really that abstract? But then, everyone is 'abstract' in their own way.
Datch looked around, finding the lower menu of the planet's Environmental Settings.
After sidestepping a string of warnings, he found the grayed-out, locked, uneditable "Ocean" entry.
He spent some points to unlock the ocean lock icon, then began dragging the "Ocean" slider slowly from zero to a more appropriate value.
The moment he made the change,
The Emperor, from his throne, instantly sensed that something lost was being woven back into Terra's reality: "moisture, vastness, and the source of life."
"Eh? What's happening?"
The Emperor frowned, watching Datch carefully.
Any changes to Terra were —no doubt— tied to the Nameless Ones.
He was simply perplexed as to how Datch accomplished such a feat.
Yet, for all that, he ultimately failed to fully restore Terra's seas.
Meanwhile, standing on the platform, Datch gazed at the newly restored sea of Terra in his interface, and shook his head.
"Mm... It just looks like a big puddle. Nothing impressive. Maybe I shouldn't bother after all."
Datch paced, pondering possible ways to transform Terra.
Suddenly, inspiration hit—he recalled incredible community creations from sandboxes he'd played before his transmigration.
"Well, if I'm already starting, why not make it epic? I have some really cool ideas!"
His mind raced—wild, ambitious transformation plans coming together at breakneck speed.
"How should a palace be built on the ground? It must be dignified, soaring into the sky, a holy site, ringed with halos, connected by radiant roads, pilgrim routes woven from light…"
Datch selected the vast Terra Palace complex—including all its hidden underground reaches.
Of course, he also needed to adjust the hollow mountain leading up to the throne. If not, it could spell disaster if the Astronomican was ever removed.
Meanwhile, there were crucial Imperial facilities as well: the Tower of Hegemon, the Obsidian Keep, and so on.
In the World Editor, Datch assigned each such location a unique setting: "localized antigravity field," "spatial anchor," "magnetic shield," and "lightstrip connection"—so that all these monumental structures would float stably in the air, protected against high winds and connected by bands of light.
"Terra must remain the sacred place of humanity, and must also support food, drink, hygiene needs for masses. Even if you transform it into paradise, in a few days, it'll be just as packed and dirty again. Everyone would have to emigrate to other planets."
Datch scanned the planet's orbit, and a new idea formed.
Using the editor, he created immense, permanent floating continents in near-synchronous orbit.
Massive tracts of land began to manifest in the void, of unprecedented size and wondrous thickness, rotating gently around Terra.
These floating continents came pre-installed with full ecological support modules—atmospheric and water cycles, simulated gravity, everything.
Datch promptly relocated all the hive cities onto these airborne continents.
As a result, the ground was left barren, littered only with debris and waste.
Datch thoroughly cleaned it up, then began to remake Terra anew.
First, the terrain: he sculpted thirteen legendary mountains—rugged, majestic, each with unique shapes, evenly spread across the planet for a majestic die-like beauty.
Atop every peak he suspended a massive, transparent crystal orb.
Each orb would autonomously store energy and light to regulate Terra's global temperature—efficiently absorbing solar energy by day, emitting it as a soft, warm light at night, so Terra's surface would always glow and stay cozy for humans.
Next, Datch planned a hydrological network—etching interlaced waterways, gathering lakes, sculpting waterfalls.
He tuned the salinity for marine life, setting proper currents for water circulation.
Then, forests, meadows, and a riot of beautiful flowers and plants…
…In all, Datch spent over ten hours adjusting and settling everything.
At last, he clicked the "Preview" button.
A panoramic, remodeled Terra appeared.
Above, the Holy Palace, Astronomican, and Tower of Hegemon floated like the abodes of gods, wrapped in pale light.
Higher still, colossal artificial continents rotated slowly, cities on them shining brightly.
On the ground, thirteen brilliant peaks towered like eternal beacons, filling the new lands with radiance.
Azure oceans sparkled, rivers wound like silver ribbons across greening fields and forests.
The entire planet, purged of prior filth, crowding, and darkness, now possessed godlike grandeur and sanctity—surpassing all human imagining.
"Hmm... Not bad. Not bad, I'm getting the hang of this," Datch nodded, satisfied.
"Floating sanctuaries, glorious mountaintops, blue seas and green, reborn land... Sure, I've borrowed some community concepts, but I'm a genius designer for sure!"
But at the sight of the points consumed, Datch's smile faded. He unconsciously sucked in a breath.
All those hard-earned points—gone in an instant!
"Starting from scratch again..."
"Paradox game fans always say 'inheritances harm the nation'—maybe they're right!"
Datch felt a twinge of pain in his chest, but still chose to confirm the operation. All his efforts, after all, were for this grand paradise!
Come forth, my Terra Eden!
As the confirmation was pressed, invisible waves spread from Datch, enveloping the whole of Terra—including its orbit.
For all on or above Terra, time seemed to blur, as if the world rocked in confusion.
One moment, everything was as before: noise, stink, crowded dimness.
In the next blink, it was all utterly, unrecognizably transformed.
…
Most inhabitants of Terra's lower and middle hive levels felt nothing but a slight tremor. The hives were so vast that your average citizen never left them in their lifetime.
Unaware that their cities had been whisked to floating orbital continents, they returned to work as always.
It was the residents of the upper hives—nobles, senior guild members, wealthy merchants—who noticed the change first.
After a slight shake, they instinctively glanced out their windows—only to see, not Terra's smoggy, overlit night, but instead the endless black of deep space, crowded with starships and war fleets.
Shocked, they burst onto their balconies, searched in every direction, and saw—for the first time—a beautiful unfamiliar blue planet wreathed in clouds, ringed by thirteen glowing mountain peaks.
The Terran muck-ball they knew was gone.
In orbit, station operators, crew, dockmasters, and mechanicus tech-priests noticed instantly.
Sensors flared with low-level alarms.
"Unidentified gravity anomaly, origin: Terra."
"Reference frame offset error! Calibration system malfunction!"
"External light sensors… reporting anomalous images. Possible failure detected."
Upon further inspection, even the most rational tech-adepts were left speechless at the truth.
The Terra they knew, forever stained yellow, scored with scars and crowded roads, was utterly changed.
The air was clear; white clouds floated for the first time in living memory.
No more suffocating urban sprawl blanketed the world.
Land was covered in soft, green growth; winding rivers gleamed silver; blue seas surged and sparkled, magnificent yet gentle.
Communication channels exploded, filled with gasps, queries, confusion, urgent requests for confirmation.
The Imperial Navy, Mechanicus, Astral Court, Planetary Defense—every orbital power scrambled to figure out what on Terra had happened.
…
Meanwhile, within the Senatorum Imperialis, Chancellor Tieron labored over matters of government.
His assistant Jack rushed in, spent.
"My lord, something big has happened!"
Tieron calmly raised his head. Jack had served him for years, yet even now was flustered.
"Whatever it is, speak slowly. Now that the Primarchs have returned and expeditions begun, what could top the Battle of Lion's Gate?"
"Slow down. Don't be startled so easily."
Jack took a deep breath.
"Please come up to the balcony, my lord. When you see, you'll understand why I was so shocked."
Tieron stood, walked over, opened the side door, and stepped outside.
Gazing at the scene, he wondered if he was dreaming.
He glanced back and smiled to Jack.
"Surely this is a dream. I must be exhausted. Maybe I should retire."
Jack shook his head, walked over, and slapped Tieron across the face.
"Slap!"
It hurt—a lot.
Not a dream.
Tieron quietly rubbed his face, and Jack looked on in awe at his self-possession—small wonder he was the Imperial Chancellor!
All of Terra had changed, but Tieron remained calm.
—I want to learn composure from him.
In the next moment, the composure shattered.
After rubbing his face, Tieron screamed like a startled animal.
"Something major has happened! Summon the lords at once—call an emergency meeting!"
….
At the Terra Palace, alarms blared and chaos reigned.
Trajann led the Guard up to the ramparts—and they were stunned by what they saw.
There were no more gloomy, tombstone spires, no dark industrial afterglow clouding the horizon, no omnipresent street-roar rising from the abyss.
Only clear blue sky—as far as the eye could see.
Thin white clouds drifted slowly, soft as veils in the far distance.
Sunlight poured down unimpeded, gilding the suspended palace in brilliant radiance.
The Marshal of the Guard gaped, looking about in awe.
The great palace—built by Rogal Dorn, son of the Emperor—was now lifted into the air. All its main buildings, clustered with hidden fortresses and secret passages beneath the hollowed mountain, floated serenely.
The mountain bearing the Astronomican, the Tower of Hegemon, and other core Imperial edifices now hung together, tethered by bands of golden light—not too close, not too far, all swaddled in a sublime golden glow.
Beneath these, where ground once was, a vast blue sea lapped.
"What's going here?"
Is this… still Terra?