This article, Dead Millennium, was written by T42. Please do not edit or 'acquire' this fiction without the writer's permission.
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"Ashen stars glare over burning worlds, still smoldering from the conflicts that brought the end to a dying age. In this darkest of times, the embers of what once was still show brightly in the darkness, cast by the capricious winds of fate. Remnants of a brutal age, forged in the fires of the apocalypse. Forget the promise of salvation, for faith has been shattered by the unrelenting hammer of reality. Forget the churning glory of the battlefield, for so much has been smashed asunder, never to join in the great throngs again. And in this all, in the swirling aftermath of a dying galaxy, men and inhuman beings alike claw and scrape for one last gasp, one final, desperate hope to once again set alight the flames. This is the age of darkness. An age of vendetta and reckoning. A Dark Millennium."
― Original Tagline, Donut Steel.
Welcome to the aftermath. Welcome to the Dark Millennium. All that has been prophesized and more has come to pass. Abaddon the Despoiler and his Legions set fire to Holy Terra, and with the swipe of his talons the Imperium of Man, which had stood resolute for over ten thousand years, was snuffed out. With the fall, so came the promised anarchy and desolation, the fires of Chaos raged across the stars for four thousand years, spreading madness and death on a scale the galaxy will never see again. But even the Gods, like their mad realm, must ebb and flow. And so, the Traitor Legions, without a unifying foe, descend once again into bickering and infighting on a galactic scale. Eventually, these flames dwindled, faded, and in the end, guttered out completely.
Now, even ten-thousand years later, the wounds of the Dying of the Light still bleed freely. Derlict hulks of mighty fleets, now torn asunder, still drift over void-swept worlds, their surfaces littered with the detritus of apocalyptic conflicts. It is a galaxy all but vacant of the turmoil and strife of the lost eons past, for there are no great armies left to do battle for their long dead masters and shattered ideals. But still, the embers of life cling desperately, small warbands and still loyal enclaves skulking in isolated star systems, having only survival and antiquated oaths to keep them sustained.
But in this year of M51, a rebirth has rekindled some of those ancient flames. A light yet shines in the darkness of the Warp, new and vibrant in its hue. To those with eyes to see, this is an omen of a resurgence. The God Emperor has been reborn. Even now, old enclaves of the Imperium that have withstood the darkness of the Dying rally to seek out this lost light, knowing it is the last hope for the human race. But there are others, the remains of the Traitor Legions, and even fouler entities, who seek to either destroy or dare to harness this power for their own ends. Only time will tell if the Galaxy can be brought from this brink, or if these final embers will plunge into the final, lasting darkness.
Eventually, the Despoiler himself, inheritor to Horus' throne of madness and heresy, was slain by an unnamed group of assassins. The Legions fracturing exponentially, they made easy prey for the Tyranid Swarm, its full might brought upon the Galaxy from all sides by the death knell of the God Emperor. The unending tide of the swarm was poised to devour all, to blot out the very stars and plunged all that remained into nought but chittering darkness. But an unlikely savior arose, Ghazghkull Mag Uruk Thraka, the so-called Prophet of the WAAAGH! His Green Tide smashed into the relentless Tyranid onslaught, and the two so destroyed one another that neither would ever reach such zeniths of might again.
The scattered and often broken remnants of the Emperor's own Angels of Death, the remains of the the Adeptus Astartes still fight on long after His death. Fanatically dedicated to the cause of bringing forth a rebirth of the Imperium from the ashes of the Dying of the Light, these bands of Battle-Brothers now surge forth from their fortresses and hidden void stations, their Librarians and Navigators sensing the rebirth of the Emperor. They converge on the Light of the Emperor Reborn, seeking to secure their liege and foster the glorious return of the fabled Imperium of Man.
Though all but extinct following the disastrous failure that was the birth of Ynnead, there are still scattered remains of the Eldar race that do not suffer from the feral hunger that has so consumed what remains of the Dark Kin. These scattered and few Eldar are mostly of Maiden World origin, though their worlds have, for the most part, been consumed by the flames of Chaos during the Dying of the Light. Regardless, these enclaves are often led by ancient Eldar of Craftworld origin, surviving Farseers and Autarchs who have managed to keep alive the flames of their people and the various paths of the Eldar.