Imperium of Man Terra Aeterna Season 01: Rise of Humanity's War Machin

Instead, he drove slowly back to the main training grounds—where hundreds of female soldiers were undergoing intensive drills, this time focusing on shooting skills and close-range infantry techniques. He parked his sports car not far from where they were training and stood by the hood, watching from a distance.

It wasn't long before firm footsteps echoed from another direction.

Four iconic figures approached from the eastern side of the field, their eyes sharp, their presence commanding. They had come after receiving reports that the Master of Mankind was in the area.

Canoness Veridyan stood tall, her war armor gleaming, her gaze hard as steel.

Saint Celestine radiated a soft glow, yet exuded a sacred aura powerful enough to silence an entire battlefield.

Genevieve and Eleanor, the Geminae Superia, the twin guardians once known as Sisters of Battle from the Order of Our Martyred Lady. They had fallen in the battle of Cadia, facing Daemon Prince Urkanthos during the 13th Black Crusade. Yet through their valor and unwavering faith, they were resurrected as Living Saints by Celestine during her arrival at Cadia. Now, they served as the Saint's loyal protectors.

With one voice, the four of them saluted:

"Glory and praise to the Emperor. We welcome your presence, Your Majesty."

Reuel nodded calmly.

"Rise. Have you come regarding the training? Are these women seeking to dedicate themselves to the path of holy war?"

His gaze swept across the rows of young women undergoing training on the field. Most of them were former prisoners—victims of previous conflicts.

"Precisely, Your Majesty," Veridyan answered.

"They are candidates currently undergoing initial selection for joining the Adepta Sororitas, under our supervision," Celestine added.

"We, Genevieve and Eleanor," Genevieve continued, "have also been assigned to recruit candidates for the Ghost Program—a new initiative by Archmagos Cawl."

"The Castellan Commander is also coordinating the recruitment of men into the Cadia Shock Troopers," Eleanor followed up, "with new training modules that include units like Marine Terran, Firebat, Marauder, Goliath, and more—based on developing tech from the analysis of the battlecruiser."

Reuel fell silent for a moment, thoughtful.

Inwardly, he wondered: Has Belisarius Cawl really managed to dissect and reverse-engineer the tech from the Gorgon... Admiral Gerard DuGalle's warship?

He would confirm it himself later.

Reuel looked back at the Sisters.

"What training standard are you using to drill these women?"

"We are applying Astra Militarum protocols," Celestine answered firmly. "As a foundation, before they are ever allowed to raise a weapon in the name of the Emperor."

"Have they completed that stage?" Reuel asked.

"Not yet, Your Majesty," Canoness Veridyan replied. "They've only undergone two days of basic training. But their spirit and dedication are already incredibly promising."

"If they are deemed worthy," Eleanor continued, "they'll move on to advanced training—either into the Adepta Sororitas or the Ghost Program. Those who remain here will be enlisted into the PDF under Astra Militarum command."

"After the captivity and humiliation they endured at the hands of this world's forces," Eleanor added, her tone heavy yet controlled, "they asked for one thing: the chance to fight. To redeem themselves. And to prove they are not victims, but warriors."

"Due to personnel shortages, the Castellan entrusted them to us. And though it's only been two days, their spirits burn... like embers of faith."

"They understand that weakness is no excuse. It is a test. And they've chosen to rise—not sink."

The four women nodded in unison, their faces filled with resolve and conviction.

"Your Majesty, we humbly ask," Celestine said as she stepped forward. Her voice rang out like a liturgical echo in a cathedral.

"Would you honor the recruits with a few words? Your voice would ignite their spirit more than all our speeches combined."

Reuel looked toward the recruits.

They stood in imperfect formation, but their faces bore hope—and a fire of determination.

"Of course."

His voice was calm, yet carried the weight of someone who had witnessed millennia of war, blood, and sacrifice.

In his mind, Reuel muttered:

"Shit... I sound like that old Emperor of Mankind sitting on his golden toilet talking to these Sisters. Is it because my power's reached 50%? Is my speech starting to mimic his? But... I'm not him. I'm me. Even if I carry his memories, his experience, and his power—I will remain myself. As I am."

He stepped forward.

His voice rang clear, steady, and undeniable:

"Let these words be the first legacy to those who choose the path of steel and flame."

Reuel kept walking, his stride steady as he followed Saint Celestine and the other Sisters of Battle.

The heavenly glow radiating from Celestine's back seemed to shine even brighter, as if responding to the sacred atmosphere enveloping the training ground. She gave a curt nod to the instructor.

"Give the signal. The Holy One will speak."

A sharp whistle pierced the grey sky, echoing across the entire field.

The young women, previously focused on completing their physical drills, immediately fell into formation. Their posture was upright, eyes burning with resolve—strengthened by the presence of a heavenly envoy.

With a majestic gesture and a voice that boomed with authority, Saint Celestine raised her arm and cried out:

"Kneel in honor! The Lord of Mankind—Master of Mankind—has deigned to address you! Present yourselves, warriors of hope!"

In unison, the recruits dropped into the Imperium's salute. Their hands crossed over their chests, heads bowed, yet their bodies remained straight—they were not slaves, they were martyrs in the making.

Reuel responded with a calm nod. His gaze swept across each of their faces and bodies. Their training uniforms, soaked with sweat, clung tightly to their skin, revealing the curves of their figures—full breasts, strong hips, and raw strength waiting to be forged into will of steel.

But beneath the physical allure, there was something far deeper: discipline. Resolve. Their eyes never strayed from the Emperor. This was their new form of worship—a sacrifice made not in blood alone, but in bodies shaped for war, offered to the glory of the Imperium.

Saint Celestine stepped forward, her sacred robes billowing like incense smoke upon the highest altar.

"Listen well, and engrave this upon your souls, young warriors."

"The one who stands before you is no mere commander. He is the Light of Terra, the living will of the Emperor among mortals. The Master of Mankind."

She looked upward, both arms raised to the sky as though receiving a blessing unseen.

"Honor him—with your bodies, your souls, and your faith."

And instantly, the entire line saluted once again. Their synchronized movement sent a tremor through the air like the pealing of a great bell from the Basilica on Ophelia VII.

Reuel stood still. Before him were rows of young women who, just two days ago, had been helpless prisoners—now they stood as would-be martyrs on the path of holy war. Their training uniforms bore the marks of grueling labor—sweat, bruises, and open pores. But beyond that, behind their eyes that still held flickers of trauma, burned a determination as fierce as unquenchable promethium flame.

Saint Celestine looked upon them and called out again, this time softer, but no less firm:

"By your own request—by your desire to atone for wounds and past disgrace—He shall now deliver His word. Listen. Absorb it. Make it part of your blood and flesh."

The recruits saluted again, this time not as formality—but as a declaration of faith.

No hesitation. No uncertainty.

They had given their lives to the Imperium.

Reuel nodded, slow and commanding. Even that simple motion seemed to shake the air. The atmosphere turned still. Even the wind seemed reluctant to stir. Time itself held its breath, awaiting the next words.

He took a deep breath, the plates of his armored chest lifting slightly. Then he opened his mouth—and spoke a single word:

"Ahem."

And the galaxy fell silent.

No sound. No movement. Only the void, hanging in anticipation.

Only one voice would be heard after this:

The voice of Reuel's will.

"I have seen everything. Not a single shard of your suffering is hidden from me. I know every wound, every humiliation you've endured—the unspeakable terror, the cruelty that defies reason. The violations that stripped your soul of dignity. The torture that shattered your body and hope. The degradation that tore your pride into pieces, scattered in helpless silence.

I know who did it, too: those who dared call themselves soldiers, yet cast aside their humanity, becoming tools of power devoid of conscience. In your world, there was no law. No justice. No rights granted by the dignity every being deserves. Only strength defined truth. And in such tyranny... only the strong were allowed to live—and even then, not with honor, but through sheer brutality."

He walked slowly, each movement echoing like a decree from cosmic will, unquestionable and absolute. His gaze was piercing, scanning the line without hesitation, as if his eyes could see into their souls and judge without mercy.

"I will raise you up," his voice rang, weighty and undeniable. "I will forge you into warriors—not just for the Imperium, but as pillars for the survival of all mankind. Some of you may already suspect the truth... that we are not of your world. And you are right. We are not from another nation, not from another planet, not even from a parallel dimension.

We come from another universe. Far... beyond the limits of mortal comprehension. A reality where the will of humanity has been tempered through endless war."

He stopped. His voice now pressed upon reality itself, like a hammer shaping cold metal into something more.

"If you choose to fight—if you hunger for strength not to oppress, but so you will never be trampled again—then I will give you everything. Training. Knowledge. Transformation. You will leave behind the shadows of your past... and rise as icons of human resilience."

He paused. The silence wasn't weakness—it was space, carved out so that truth could take root.

"But if you do not choose that path, know this: you are still mine. No one will be forced. You may join support units—Astra Militarum, Officio Prefectus, Ghost, even the Adepta Sororitas, if you are called by faith. Or if you desire peace—a simple life, to build a family, to plant roots in this world—I will protect that choice with equal force.

In the Imperium of Man, fear ends. Here, your suffering gains meaning. And from this moment forward... no one will harm you again. As long as I still draw breath—and I never stop breathing."

He looked at them one by one, not just seeing faces, but the future of humanity being forged before him.

"Now... tell me: do you still wish to continue this training?"

And the answer came, like a warhammer crashing through the malice of the universe.

"YES, YOUR MAJESTY EMPEROR! WE STILL WISH TO TRAIN!"

Their voices rang out in unison. No fear, no hesitation. Only fire.

He nodded—slowly, but with weight.

"This training will erase the boundary between flesh and will. This is only the beginning. What lies ahead isn't just soulless walking corpses. It's the real threat—xenos, warp creatures, daemons who dare call themselves gods... and worse things still, things that don't even have names."

He resumed his stride, each step like the final second before fate is decided.

"Is there anyone among you who wishes to turn back? Know this—it is not weakness. Not every soul is made for the battlefield. For those who wish to live in peace, to build a future, to bring light to this world—I respect that. And I will protect you as if you were my own daughter."

He looked into the silence—not as a pause, but as an acknowledgment. The right to choose was sacred.

"But for those who choose to fight... who choose to become the torch of mankind... speak now."

"DO YOU STILL WISH TO WALK THIS PATH?"

"YES, YOUR HOLY EMPEROR!!!"

Their voices thundered through the air, rolling like a storm of will finally unleashed. No more fear in their eyes—only fire, burning fire that had been smothered for too long.

Reuel looked at them. In his silence, a smile formed—thin, but sharp as an unbending blade of will.

"Perfect. Then become the cornerstone of humanity's strength—the strongest warrior women, not just on this world, but across the entire span of the universe."

He turned with a firm motion, then raised his hand, pointing toward four figures standing at the edge of the field—pillars of history and living legends of the Imperium.

"Before you stand two paths. Two Legions await your free choice: the Adepta Sororitas... and the Ghost Corps—a new unit born from the forge of necessity and the will to adapt. You will choose not out of fear, but of your own volition. Both paths are guided by some of the strongest hands the Imperium of Man has ever known—warriors who have conquered death, and no longer bow to doubt."

Then, without fanfare, he handed command over to four emblems of human glory: Canoness Veridyan, the unshakable pillar of faith; Saint Celestine, the winged martyr who rose from death; Genevieve, unknown to this world's history, but in the Imperium... a living legend; and Eleanor, the symbol of the indomitable human will.

And with no farewell, no sweet promises, Reuel turned—his steps steady, yet heavy with meaning. He left them no longer as children, but as souls standing at the gates of their own destiny.

What lay ahead of them was not mere training. Not mere war.

But a journey toward strength, honor... and true freedom.

---

Their voices rang out in unison. No fear, no hesitation. Only fire.

He nodded—slowly, but with weight.

"This training will erase the boundary between flesh and will. This is only the beginning. What lies ahead isn't just soulless walking corpses. It's the real threat—xenos, warp creatures, daemons who dare call themselves gods... and worse things still, things that don't even have names."

He resumed his stride, each step like the final second before fate is decided.

"Is there anyone among you who wishes to turn back? Know this—it is not weakness. Not every soul is made for the battlefield. For those who wish to live in peace, to build a future, to bring light to this world—I respect that. And I will protect you as if you were my own daughter."

He looked into the silence—not as a pause, but as an acknowledgment. The right to choose was sacred.

"But for those who choose to fight... who choose to become the torch of mankind... speak now."

"DO YOU STILL WISH TO WALK THIS PATH?"

"YES, YOUR HOLY EMPEROR!!!"

Their voices thundered through the air, rolling like a storm of will finally unleashed. No more fear in their eyes—only fire, burning fire that had been smothered for too long.

Reuel looked at them. In his silence, a smile formed—thin, but sharp as an unbending blade of will.

"Perfect. Then become the cornerstone of humanity's strength—the strongest warrior women, not just on this world, but across the entire span of the universe."

He turned with a firm motion, then raised his hand, pointing toward four figures standing at the edge of the field—pillars of history and living legends of the Imperium.

"Before you stand two paths. Two Legions await your free choice: the Adepta Sororitas... and the Ghost Corps—a new unit born from the forge of necessity and the will to adapt. You will choose not out of fear, but of your own volition. Both paths are guided by some of the strongest hands the Imperium of Man has ever known—warriors who have conquered death, and no longer bow to doubt."

Then, without fanfare, he handed command over to four emblems of human glory: Canoness Veridyan, the unshakable pillar of faith; Saint Celestine, the winged martyr who rose from death; Genevieve, unknown to this world's history, but in the Imperium... a living legend; and Eleanor, the symbol of the indomitable human will.

And with no farewell, no sweet promises, Reuel turned—his steps steady, yet heavy with meaning. He left them no longer as children, but as souls standing at the gates of their own destiny.

What lay ahead of them was not mere training. Not mere war.

But a journey toward strength, honor... and true freedom.

---

As Reuel walked off in style like the Emperor of Mankind himself leaving his chosen behind, he could only curse internally once again.

Shit, goddamn it. Ever since I reached 50% of the Emperor of Mankind's power granted by the system, I've been talking like some old man sitting on a golden toilet, he grumbled to himself, trying to shift his speech patterns back to something more like his original self during the walk back.

Reuel shook his head slightly.

As the journey back began, he swore to reclaim his own voice—his signature tone: sarcastic, sharp, and undeniably human.