Know that it is the year 2731 by the ancient reckoning.
My father rules over the civilized galaxy, and His will is law.
With the fall of New Empyrea our terms for unconditional surrender were accepted.
On the throneworld our victorious host was honored with laurels and splendor as never before seen.
A pyre was raised of the wicked standards of the vanquished, devouring too the gloves we used to carry them.
The Interstellar Coalition - our ancient foe, the eternal enemy - had finally been crushed.
After seven centuries, we had avenged our fallen forebears.
We had reclaimed the homeworld.
His homeworld.
Scatter.
Our puissant might reigns over the Garden and beyond as His fleets sail and thunder to every corner of the cosmos.
Across the stars His sable legions, the Landwächter, enforce the rule of Tannhäuser with fire and steel.
The Seraphim, armored angels of His most divine gospel, ensure the purity of hatred for the defeatist and the demonic.
But there are some who resist.
Defiant Coalite states, refusing the Federate's surrender, continue a forlorn campaign of insurgency on the fringes of the Garden.
The Terrans, ever backwards, continue to wallow in the misery of their failed Commonwealth and the warlordism of a ruined Federation.
The Outer Soviet Republics, once our allies against Empyrean tyranny, mobilize against us as the only other claimant to Scatter's legacy.
And this is to say nothing of the extragalactic Collective, waiting silently since we repelled the horrors of their apocalyptic invasion three centuries ago.
Against such threats noble and common stand as legion, ready to lay down their lives for His - for our - vision.
Their sacred flames shall be smothered, never to be rekindled.
Their silvered promises shall tarnish, never to be restored.
Know that it is the year 683 by our reckoning.
They all will be made to understand:
We are inevitable.
So is He.

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