**Interlude: The Immortal Throne**
**Terra – The Imperial Palace – Sanctum of the God-Emperor**
The Golden Throne pulsed with unholy light.
Beneath the mountain of machinery, adamantium, and psykana wiring, the being once known as the Emperor of Mankind sat motionless. His body was a withered husk, kept alive only by the endless sacrifice of ten thousand psykers per day. Yet within that ruined shell burned a soul older and far more malevolent than humanity had ever imagined.
Darth Vitiate.
The Sith Emperor who had consumed worlds, devoured the life force of entire civilizations, and ruled for over a thousand years in his original galaxy. When the Emperor's shattered soul had called out across the veil in desperation during the Horus Heresy, Vitiate had answered — and consumed him utterly.
Now, the God-Emperor of Mankind was little more than a mask worn by one of the most ancient and hungry Sith Lords in existence.
A massive hololith flickered to life before the Throne. It showed the broken remains of a strike force — Ultramarines, the Emperor's own gene-sons, dead in their hundreds. Their armor was rent by lightsabers and dark side lightning. At the center of the carnage lay a sealed rift, its edges still crackling with residual Force energy.
Vitiate's true voice — cold, ancient, and dripping with venom — echoed through the Throne chamber, heard only by the highest of his servants.
"Dagon Marek…"
The name was spoken like a curse.
"He sealed my rift. He dared to kill my Ultramarines. Sons I had personally chosen and twisted to serve my will. And now he hides behind his little fleet and his growing harem of Jedi whores."
A low, rasping laugh echoed from the Golden Throne. The psykers wired into the machine screamed as their life force was drained faster to fuel the Emperor's rising fury.
"Such arrogance. Such *power*. I can taste it even across the veil. He carries something ancient within him now… the Shield of Wrath. A dragon's hunger. How delightful."
One of the surviving Custodes, his golden armor scarred from recent battles, knelt before the Throne.
"My Emperor… the loss at the rift has weakened our foothold in that sector. The being called Marek grows stronger with every victory. Shall we dispatch another Legion?"
Vitiate's eyes — hidden beneath the Emperor's decaying lids — burned with Sith yellow.
"No. Not yet. Marek is no ordinary insect. He has already slain one of my avatars and scattered the forces I sent through the rift. He is… entertaining."
The Emperor's skeletal hand twitched, causing the entire Throne to flare with warp lightning.
"I have waited millennia for a worthy enemy. This one will do nicely. Let him grow fat on his victories. Let him gather his women and his fleets. Let him believe he is safe."
A cruel smile twisted the Emperor's ruined lips.
"When the time is right, I will tear open a new rift — one he cannot seal. I will drag his precious galaxy into the warp itself. I will make him watch as his lovers are broken, remade, and turned into vessels for my children. And when he is on his knees, begging for death…"
Vitiate's voice dropped to a whisper that shook the very foundations of the Imperial Palace.
"I will devour his soul… and add the Shield of Wrath to my collection."
The Golden Throne flared brighter. Across the galaxy, psykers screamed as nightmares of a dragon wrapped in black flames and red lightning spread through the warp like a plague.
In the deepest dungeons beneath the Palace, chained and broken heroes from a hundred realities — including a certain Sword Hero — shuddered as they felt their master's hunger grow.
Dagon Marek had made a powerful enemy.
An immortal one.
And the God-Emperor of Mankind — the mask worn by Darth Vitiate — had all the time in the universe to plan his vengeance.