Reborn as Humanity’s Emperor Across the Multiverse

The ten Warrior Bugs and their Tiger Bug leader froze momentarily in confusion when they spotted the human infant lying in the center of the "meteor crater."

Standing at the edge of the pit, their movements became rigid, and the compound eyes on the sides of their heads glinted with perplexity.

These simple-minded creatures couldn't comprehend how such a tiny, vulnerable human baby could have ended up in this strange environment.

Their instinctual minds operated on a direct and straightforward logic: a defenseless lifeform like this should have been an easy meal. Yet, they hesitated.

Hiss—!!!

The moment of doubt passed quickly. They abandoned any further contemplation about the baby's presence and once again released their predatory screeches. The Tiger Bug, the dominant leader of the group, stepped forward, determined to devour the child itself.

The Warrior Bugs obediently stayed back, forming a tight circle around the crater's edge. It was clear they intended to let the Tiger Bug enjoy the meal alone as a sign of deference.

The Tiger Bug wasted no time.

With the full authority of its position as the group's ruler, it lunged directly toward the baby, raising one of its spear-like foreclaws with the intention of piercing the tiny figure's skull.

The air around the pit seemed to thicken with the weight of death.

Thud—!!

At the last possible second, something unexpected broke the oppressive atmosphere of impending doom.

The infant, who had seemed so helpless and fragile, suddenly moved.

With a speed that defied explanation, the baby rolled to the right in a nimble flash, avoiding the lethal foreclaw of the Tiger Bug.

The sharp claw, aimed with deadly precision, sliced through the air, leaving a faint whistling sound before plunging into the soft earth with a muffled thud.

Dirt and dust were thrown into the air as the Tiger Bug's attack missed its mark, the claw embedded deep into the ground.

The infant's agility and precision in dodging the attack left the Tiger Bug momentarily stunned.

Hiss—!!

The Tiger Bug growled in frustration, retracting its claw from the dirt as its compound eyes burned with fury.

The Warrior Bugs at the edge of the crater also hesitated, their collective confusion deepening. How had this seemingly fragile human child avoided the Tiger Bug's attack so effortlessly?

But the infant's evasive action wasn't merely an instinctual reaction.

It carried an air of deliberation, as if guided by an unseen force. Each movement seemed precise, calculated—as though the child possessed a mysterious sense of foresight.

Even more unnervingly, the baby remained silent.

There were no cries, no frantic gasps for breath. The child lay calmly in the pit, their dark, sharp eyes fixed on the Tiger Bug with an eerie focus.

The towering Tiger Bug, a predator by nature, found itself locked in a tense standoff with the infant.

It was as if the two were engaging in a silent battle of wills, each sizing up the other.

!!

Though the Tiger Bug's expressionless face couldn't convey complex emotions, its body language radiated rage and humiliation.

A human baby had dared to evade its killing blow?

Worse still, it hesitated to strike again, caught off guard by the presence of this anomaly.

Such a scenario was an insult to its predatory pride.

Fueled by rage, the Tiger Bug launched another series of rapid attacks.

Thud! Thud! Thud!

Its razor-sharp claws sliced through the air in a flurry of strikes, each one swift and lethal, but none managed to land.

Each attack found only empty space, accompanied by the sound of claws raking the dirt as the infant twisted, rolled, and shifted with uncanny grace.

The Tiger Bug's fury intensified with each failed attempt, its screeches becoming sharper, almost deafening.

But despite the barrage of attacks, the infant moved with an almost preternatural grace. It seemed as if the confined space of the crater didn't limit the child—instead, it became a stage where they displayed an unparalleled agility.

Suddenly, something changed.

The infant's body began to transform.

Under the pressure of the life-or-death situation, their small frame expanded rapidly.

In mere moments, the baby grew into the form of a toddler, no more than one or two years old.

Their muscles and bones seemed to stretch and strengthen, yet the rapid growth left their physique unnaturally thin and fragile.

Their limbs, though elongated, appeared skeletal, as if their body couldn't fully support the accelerated development.

The Tiger Bug froze.

It hadn't expected this transformation, and its instincts warned it to approach with caution.

Meanwhile, the Warrior Bugs surrounding the pit, though not intelligent, recognized that something was wrong.

The child was no longer an ordinary prey item.

As the Tiger Bug hesitated, the toddler stood up slowly.

Despite their frail appearance, their posture was steady, and their eyes gleamed with an intensity that seemed far beyond their apparent age.

Then, the child stretched out a delicate hand—a hand so small and slender that it seemed utterly incapable of exerting strength.

The hand reached for the Tiger Bug's foreclaw.

Crack—!!!

A sickening sound echoed through the air, followed by the Tiger Bug's agonized screech.

The toddler had snapped the Tiger Bug's foreclaw in a single, decisive motion, as if it were nothing more than a brittle twig.

The Bug recoiled in pain, its enormous body convulsing as green blood sprayed from the broken appendage.

Without hesitation, the toddler tore the severed claw from the dirt and hurled it with incredible precision.

Whoosh—THUNK!

The claw became a makeshift spear, piercing straight through the Tiger Bug's armored torso and embedding itself deep into its core.

The massive creature let out one final screech before collapsing to the ground, its death rattle echoing through the forest.

Thud!

The earth trembled as the Tiger Bug's lifeless body hit the ground.

The Warrior Bugs, witnessing the fall of their leader, froze in place, their simple minds unable to process what had just happened.

A single human child—a frail, skeletal figure—had overpowered and killed their most formidable member.

Panic took hold of the Warrior Bugs.

They began to retreat, scuttling away from the crater, desperate to escape the terrifying anomaly they had encountered.

But before they could flee:

Whoosh—FWOOOOSH!!!

A radiant golden spear, wreathed in flames, descended from the heavens.

The Spear of the Empire, hurled with precision by Sanguinius, struck one of the fleeing Warrior Bugs and ignited a golden firestorm.

The inferno spread rapidly, forming a blazing ring around the crater.

The remaining Warrior Bugs were caught within the flames, their exoskeletons cracking and melting as the holy fire consumed them completely.

WHOOSH!

Amid the swirling ash and embers, Sanguinius descended gracefully from the sky, landing at the edge of the crater.

Despite his poised and composed demeanor, his expression was heavy with concern as his gaze fell upon the frail toddler standing in the crater.

The child's pale skin, thin limbs, and hauntingly calm eyes painted a picture of fragility and resilience.

Sanguinius's heart ached with guilt.

He should have arrived sooner. If he had not been preoccupied with political discussions and strategic planning, perhaps his sibling wouldn't have been forced to endure such a traumatic experience.

Now, his little brother was left in a state of severe physical strain, his body barely holding together after the forced growth and exertion.

The toddler, however, showed no fear.

Their gaze met Sanguinius's with unflinching resolve.

There was no hint of surprise or terror in their expression—only a quiet recognition.

It was as if, on some instinctual level, the child already knew who Sanguinius was.

This realization only deepened Sanguinius's resolve.

He stepped forward, his massive frame towering over the child, and gently knelt to scoop them into his arms.

The toddler, for the first time, raised their hand and pointed to their mouth, a clear gesture of hunger.

Understanding immediately, Sanguinius spread his wings and ascended into the sky, carrying his brother toward the Phoenix-class support craft hovering over the capital city.

Though the craft's medical staff were ill-equipped to address the unique needs of a Primarch infant, they could at least provide temporary relief.

Sanguinius vowed to ensure his brother's survival and recovery.

And once his little brother was stable, he would personally escort him back to the Imperial Palace in the core universe, to meet their father—the Emperor.

Meanwhile, far away in the Imperial Palace, Samuel Young sat in his private study, watching the events unfold through Sanguinius's armor-cam.

The pale skin, dark hair, and haunted eyes of the child left no doubt in his mind.

The newest arrival was none other than Konrad Curze, the Night Haunter—a tragic and deeply complex figure from the 40K universe.

For Samuel, the opportunity to raise Konrad Curze anew was both a challenge and an opportunity. Konrad Curze—the Night Haunter—was one of the most complex figures among the Primarchs. His story was one of darkness, tragedy, and misunderstood morality. But now, as his father, Samuel believed he could guide Curze down a different path, away from the despair and madness that had consumed him in the original timeline.

Samuel leaned back in his chair, hands steepled under his chin, his thoughts racing.

Konrad Curze's life had been marked by isolation and brutality, his upbringing on the crime-ridden world of Nostramo turning him into a cold and relentless arbiter of justice. He had inherited a psychic gift for foresight, but that same gift had burdened him with grim visions of the future—visions he felt powerless to change.

Samuel knew this child's fragile form held the potential for unimaginable power, but he also understood that power came with immense vulnerability. The Night Haunter's descent into madness and rebellion in the 40K universe was the result of neglect, misunderstanding, and a lack of trust. Samuel vowed not to let history repeat itself.

He rose from his chair and began pacing the room, formulating a plan.

First, he would immediately recall Sanguinius and the infant Curze to the Imperial Palace. The genetic and psychic demands of a Primarch child required specialized care—far beyond what Sanguinius's fleet could provide in the field. Samuel would personally oversee Curze's recovery and development.

Second, he would need to establish an environment of trust and support for Curze. The boy's foresight would undoubtedly show him potential futures—some of them bleak and horrifying. Samuel would need to help him process these visions and teach him to see them not as unchangeable destinies but as possibilities that could be shaped by choice and action.

Third, Samuel knew he had to surround Curze with positive influences. His other sons—especially Sanguinius, Roboute Guilliman, and Vulkan—would be instrumental in this effort. These Primarchs were known for their wisdom, compassion, and leadership, and their presence could help offset Curze's natural inclination toward isolation and despair.

Finally, Samuel would ensure Curze understood his value not as a weapon or an enforcer, but as a protector and guide for humanity. He would teach him that justice could be tempered with mercy, and that the darkness he carried within him could be a tool for protecting the innocent rather than punishing the guilty.

With a deep breath, Samuel activated his desk's communication system. The holographic image of a golden-armored custodian appeared before him, bowing deeply.

"Your orders, my Emperor?"

"Prepare the palace for the arrival of Sanguinius and the newly arrived Primarch," Samuel said, his voice calm but firm. "Ensure the medical teams are ready to provide immediate care. Notify Malcador to meet me in the genetic laboratories. We have work to do."

"Yes, my Emperor." The custodian bowed once more and disappeared as the communication ended.

Samuel turned his gaze to the massive viewport that overlooked the sprawling Imperial Palace. The golden spires of Terra shimmered under the light of the distant sun, a reminder of the monumental task he had undertaken.

As the Emperor of this version of humanity, he had vowed to protect and unify mankind. But this responsibility extended beyond mere governance—it also meant guiding his sons, the Primarchs, to their full potential.

The arrival of Konrad Curze was a test, not just for the child but for Samuel himself. Could he provide the care and understanding that the Night Haunter had been denied in the original timeline? Could he nurture the boy into a force for good, a champion of justice rather than a harbinger of despair?

Samuel's lips curled into a faint smile.

"I will not fail you," he murmured, as if speaking directly to the child who was still thousands of light-years away.

He had a second chance—an opportunity to rewrite the destiny of one of the most tragic figures in the Imperium's history. And he intended to seize it.

Meanwhile, aboard the Phoenix-class support craft hovering over Campbell's capital city, Sanguinius carefully handed the fragile Konrad Curze to the medical staff.

The child, now no longer a mere infant but a thin, skeletal toddler, clung to Sanguinius's golden armor for a brief moment before allowing himself to be placed on a medical examination table.

"Be gentle," Sanguinius warned the technicians, his tone uncharacteristically sharp.

"Yes, Lord Sanguinius," one of the lead medical officers responded, nodding respectfully.

The technicians began their work, scanning Curze's vitals and preparing a nutrient-rich formula to stabilize his rapidly developing body. The child watched them with unblinking eyes, his expression unreadable.

Sanguinius stood nearby, his massive frame casting a protective shadow over the proceedings. His piercing blue eyes never left his brother, a mix of concern and guilt etched into his angelic features.

As the medical staff worked, Sanguinius reached out through the ship's internal communication network to send a priority message to his fleet.

"This is Sanguinius. Prepare for an immediate return to New Hope. The child requires specialized care that only the Imperial Palace can provide."

The acknowledgment was swift, and within moments, the ship's engines began to hum as it prepared for departure.

Sanguinius turned his attention back to Curze, who was now being carefully fed a nutrient solution. The child's dark eyes flicked up to meet Sanguinius's gaze, and for a fleeting moment, the angelic Primarch thought he saw a glimmer of something—gratitude, perhaps, or curiosity.

Sanguinius allowed himself a small smile.

"You'll be safe now," he said softly. "Father will take care of everything."

Curze didn't respond, but the slight relaxation in his posture suggested that he had heard—and understood.

As the ship ascended through Campbell's atmosphere, leaving the war-torn planet behind, Sanguinius felt a renewed sense of purpose.

This was more than a mission of conquest or unification. This was about family, about redemption, about proving that even the darkest of paths could be illuminated by the light of hope.

And for Konrad Curze, the Night Haunter, a new chapter was about to begin.

[Check out my Patreon for +200 additional chapters in all my fanfics! Only $5 per novel or $15 for all!!] [[email protected]/Mutter]

[+50 Power Stones = +1 Extra Chapter]

[+5 Reviews = +1 Extra Chapter]