This is the dawn of the 42nd millennium. For more than a hundred centuries the decadent priests of the false Corpse-God of Terra have ruled the galaxy with an iron fist. But no more. Their god is dead, freed from the deathless prison his jail-keepers named the Golden Throne in mockery of its purpose. Warmaster Abaddon, heir to Blessed Horus, is leading a mighty Crusade against all the wicked works of Earth. He has sworn never to rest until there is no more falsehood left in the galaxy. Yet even with their god fallen the fools of the Adeptus Terra refuse to see reason. They continue to drone as they always have, blinded by false faith and numbed by fear of everything they cannot understand. And so the dying Imperium continues to fight. Mighty Imperial battlefleets continue to cross the Immaterium. Vast armies still give battle in the name of the Corpse-God on uncounted worlds. The Adeptus Astartes, the Space Marines, still slave for Terra as they have done since they were broken. Their comrades in arms are ever legion; the inexhaustible armies of the Imperial Guard and countless planetary defence forces, the enforcers of the Adeptus Arbites, the servants of the Inquisition and the tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus to name only a few. But for all their multitudes, they are failing. As the Crusade grinds on more and more worlds are breaking free from the tyranny of Terra, adding their strength to Abaddon's holy quest, the liberation of Mother Earth. For when the cradle of humanity has been scourged free of all taint the human race will know that it is free at long last.  To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to rise up to topple the most oppressive and powerful regime imaginable - or die trying. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be re-learned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for there is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods.