Warhammer: Dawn of Annihilation

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Phikris' words interrupted Guilliman's thoughts, leaving him momentarily stunned. After a brief pause, he raised his head and asked,

"Are they mutinying?"

"No," Phikris replied. "They have merely rejected your reforms, insisting on the system established for them by the Holy Emperor. They have expelled the reform members sent by the new council and declared that they only obey the orders of Holy Terra. They've also issued a circular to other worlds, calling on them to do the same. Several noble families have already responded, stating that they will not recognize your reforms unless you obtain the Emperor's explicit approval."

Guilliman paced a few steps before turning back to Phikris. "Did they say anything else? Have they made any demands?"

"This is all the information I have for now," Phikris said, his voice laced with anger. "Should we send troops to punish these families, my lord? This is outright disrespect toward you."

"No, this is not about disrespect," Guilliman said, shaking his head. "They are testing me, Phikris. They want to see how strong and determined I am in pushing these reforms. Just wait a little longer. I expect more families will speak up. Send people to gather evidence of their crimes. When the time comes, we will deal with them all at once."

Guilliman saw through their intentions immediately.

These nobles were not rebelling; they had chosen their position carefully, ensuring that neither the Inquisition nor any other institution could accuse them of conspiracy.

The current state of the Imperium was delicate. By all accounts, Guilliman should have traveled to Holy Terra to assume authority through the Terra Council before issuing any orders.

But instead, he remained in Ultramar, directing reforms from Macragge.

He was the Regent of the Imperium, personally appointed by the Emperor himself—undoubtedly the rightful ruler.

Yet for ten thousand years, the Imperium had functioned under the Terra Council's authority. The people had long since come to believe that Terra was the true seat of power.

On the surface, loyalty to Guilliman and the Terra Council were both expressions of loyalty to the Imperium.

"Why would they oppose you at a time like this?" Phikris asked, still seething. "Can't they see that you're trying to save humanity?"

"They see it. That's precisely why they oppose me," Guilliman replied, watching a Seraphim drone flutter by, its wings humming as it carried out its pre-programmed tasks.

"I don't understand, my lord. If they recognize what you're doing, why stand against you? Have they all betrayed the Imperium?" Phikris asked, confused.

"There are many forms of loyalty, Phikris—loyalty to ideals, loyalty to individuals, and loyalty to power and privilege," Guilliman explained. "They are still loyal to the Imperium, but they are not loyal to me or to the future I am trying to create."

"But isn't loyalty about giving everything?" Phikris asked, his broad, resolute face filled with confusion.

Guilliman averted his gaze, refusing to look at the abhorrent technological construct hovering nearby.

"That is what you believe, Phikris. But most people think differently. They ask themselves: What do I gain from serving this person? If I stand to lose, why should I swear allegiance? These nobles expect me to negotiate, to offer them incentives in exchange for their loyalty. The Grouse family is only the first. There are countless others watching, waiting to see how I respond."

"These noble families have ruled for generations, enjoying privileges that ordinary citizens cannot even fathom. In their eyes, loyalty is not a duty but a transaction. They believe their devotion has earned them their wealth and status, and that I should continue rewarding them to maintain their allegiance. If I do not, then I am at fault."

Guilliman let out a cold smile. "As for the fate of humanity? They consider themselves loyal enough already. They see no obligation to make sacrifices for the greater good."

"Then what should we do?" Phikris asked.

"I will go to the Natal system and declare House Grouse excommunicate and heretical," Guilliman said without hesitation. "Every last member of their family will be executed. Then, I will announce to the entire Imperium that reform is inevitable. Anyone who stands against it is a traitor to humanity, no better than a servant of Chaos."

His voice was devoid of emotion, as if he were simply stating a fact.

House Grouse was vast, with extensive businesses and fleets. It could be called a galactic dynasty.

For millennia, they had never produced traitors, remaining steadfast in their loyalty to the Emperor and the Imperium.

But that was not the kind of loyalty Guilliman required.

He needed those who would obey him and accept his reforms.

Many noble families had pledged their loyalty to the Emperor and the Imperium, but that did not absolve them of their crimes.

Their allegiance had always been a matter of convenience—loyalty to the Emperor allowed them to legally rule their worlds, extract vast fortunes, and call upon the Astra Militarum and the Imperial Navy to crush any rebellion against their rule.

Their declaration was clear: unless Guilliman yielded, they would not recognize his authority.

But they had forgotten how the Emperor and the Primarchs built the Imperium.

The Emperor's vision had not been forged through diplomacy, but through conquest. The Primarchs did not negotiate with tyrants and despots; they burned their empires to the ground and built humanity's future upon their ashes.

House Grouse had overplayed its hand, attempting to test Guilliman's resolve and pressure him into abandoning his reforms.

Their gamble would cost them everything.

Hive—Capital City

Hive cities were divided into three layers:

The lower levels housed the destitute, the criminal gangs, and the desperate.

The middle levels were home to the working class, who toiled endlessly to keep the hive running.

The upper levels—a paradise of luxury—belonged to the aristocracy.

In the Natal system, nobles controlled 99% of the wealth.

They monopolized medicine, industry, trade, and countless other fields, indulging in extravagant luxuries beyond an ordinary citizen's comprehension.

Green plants and fresh food were rarities in industrial hives.

For commoners, meals consisted of nutrient blocks or tainted meats from creatures like ambulls and ground worms.

Most civilians lived and died without ever seeing a single flower.

Even the air they breathed came from Mechanicus-filtrated systems, circulating through the hive's artificial lungs.

But the nobles? Their palaces had vast gardens filled with exotic plants from across the galaxy.

Their food came from pristine agri-worlds, untouched by pollution.

Even the fruit they ate was imported from distant star systems—each piece worth more than a laborer's lifetime earnings.

The wealth gap in the Imperium was beyond imagination.

Some merchant families had ruled for thousands of years, their fortunes spanning entire star clusters.

Unless declared traitors, they were untouchable.

In a lavish banquet hall, a gathering of nobles discussed their crisis.

An elderly noble slammed his cane against the marble floor, his face twisted in fury.

"This is treason! Guilliman has betrayed us! We have served the Imperium for millennia, bled for the Emperor—and now he seeks to strip us of our rightful power!"

Murmurs of agreement filled the room.

But none of them realized—Guilliman had already made his decision. And there would be no mercy.