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In some records, it is written:
The God-Emperor set forth to create twenty sons in His image, mighty demi-gods bestowed with both a part of His flesh and a part of His soul. They would carry His will out amongst the stars at the forefront of the armies of Mankind, spread His light to the darkest corners of the galaxy, reunite all the wayward children and rebuild the great Imperium. Only under the aegis of His protection will Humanity ascend.
For forty days and forty nights, He toiled in the dark of his secret laboratories under the mighty mountain atop which sat the Palace. Above Him, He could hear the the clash of swords and shields, the calls for mercy, and the cries of the dying. He would not ignore them, but He could not stop His work.
And then, as surely as the sun rises in the sky each day, the God-Emperor rose out from the underground wreathed in fire and joy, before another life could be lost; indeed, with twenty new ones born.
And he said to the people of Terra: “All will be well, for I am no longer alone.”
And the people put down their arms and turned to each other with peace in their hearts.
In some stories, they say:
Deep beneath the golden halls of the palace, deep below a surface ravaged by war and strife, he sat in the cool quiet of his laboratory, observing the birth of the next stage in his plan to secure the future of mankind.
Twenty tiny twists of protein, rocking to and fro in their glass wombs. The war seemed distant from that peaceful place filled only with the sighs of the spinning earth, the muted hiss of the lab machinery, the white noise buzz of energy both electrical and psychic. He whispered to the futures held in those wombs, aloud and with his mind as the days passed and the pink lumps took shape, telling them of the glory that would be their lives.
He had been expecting it since he first conceived the plan, since he first tasted the emotions of parents in all ages past, but it still surprised him when it happened. He may have been more than human, but he was human nonetheless.
It was while he was leading the last charge of the long war for Terra, the human elements of the Unification Army behind him, his Thunder Warriors on a flanking attack run from the east. As he pointed his sword at the high sun blazing in the clear sky, he was suddenly aware of extra weight not quite on his shoulders where he bore the weight of his responsibilities. The addition was miniscule, but he noticed it like a tiny kick to the heart all the same.
In the canvas of his mind, where all the scattered souls that were mankind sparked like stars in the blackest night, twenty new lights crowded near his.
The joy he felt spread across the battlefield like a consuming blaze. Friend and foe alike dropped their weapons to laugh and cry and hold each other without knowing why, only that they were loved and protected.
No lives were lost that day. A shadow of grief may have passed over that perfect euphoria, but they pushed away the despair and held onto the promise instead.
And in memories, one thinks:
He did not resent the burden of responsibility for which he had been created to carry. Since his creation, he had known humanity more intimately that it had known itself.
He was aware of them all, from the bright mortals who stood tall and proud by his side, to those who were only distant lights across the vast darkness of space. He could feel each individual soul so intimately that it was necessary to consider them only as a whole.
Some said he was callous, cold and indifferent, calculating. In action and deed, detractors declared him a warmonger, a power-hungry conqueror. Perhaps he was. He was as his makers made him. He was how humanity would survive.
In his labs, the weight of the earth suspended above his head pressed down like a gentle reminder. It was comforting in its familiarity.
The room was lit only by the soft glow of the twenty wombs and the winking lights of the various machines that monitored them and the other experiments. Tracing a finger down the lettering on one womb, he allowed himself a moment of trepidation. Today was the day. He would inject the last stimulant of his genetic material into the cells, and then he would place pieces of his soul into the vessels that formed.
Behind his eyes there was the building pressure that preceded visions. He held it back. There was no need to complicate what he was about to do. The future could be dealt with later. He pulled himself away from the wombs, fingers lingering to the last on the warm glass, and summoned the servitors to bring forward the equipment.
When it was done, tired and alone again, he watched the twenty small blobs grow minutely with each passing beat of his heart, the gentle pulse of their lives thrumming in his awareness. He dozed off to the hissing of the hydraulics that exchanged the amniotic fluids in the wombs, the background hum of powers earthly and ethereal
Life does not survive without change. He never thought it would apply to him, but his own act of creation had changed him more deeply than he realised.