Gareth Aurelius raised his nemesis weapon above his head, the daemon whispering the prophecy over and over to him, when suddenly it all stopped. The din of battle disappeared, and even bolter shells stopped in midair.
"My son," the voice came from everywhere, yet nowhere, "Chaos never speaks the whole truth. To slay me is not to fulfill the prophecy..."
"My Lord," the Inquisitor dropped his nemesis weapon, and stared at the withered body within the Golden Throne's machinery, "What have I done?"
"Only what I will," the God Emperor radiated confidence to the man, "the prophecy is true, but I must fall by my own sword. Take it, and free me from this mortal coil."
"Yes master," whispered the Inquisitor, taking up the sword beside the Golden Throne, plunging it down into the God Emperor of Man, the daemons shrieking in despair. In his last moments, all Inquisitor Gareth Aurelius knew was redemption, and unwavering faith; with one brief moment of awe and revelation as the Starchild was born.
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