The Emperor of Mankind is the immortal Perpetual who serves as the ruling monarch of the Imperium of Man, and is described by the Imperial Ecclesiarchy and the Imperial Cult as the Father, Guardian and God of humanity. The Chaos Gods and the daemons of the Warp refer to Him as the Anathema for He is the greatest embodiment of universal Order in the galaxy today. He has sat immobile, his body slowly crumbling, within the Golden Throne of Terra for over 10,000 standard years. Although once a living man, His shattered, decaying body can no longer support life, and it is kept intact only by the cybernetic mechanisms of the Golden Throne and a potent mind itself sustained by the daily sacrifice of thousands of lives.
The Emperor chose to sacrifice His immortal life at the end of the Horus Heresy in the service and protection of Mankind. To humanity's countless trillions across the galaxy-spanning Imperium, He is nothing less than God. Through his Imperium, Mankind is united and remains one of the most powerful intelligent races in the Milky Way Galaxy as well as its most dominant in terms of both population and territory held. United under one government, Mankind is able to survive the myriad deadly threats it faces from aliens, the Forces of Chaos and the Traitors, Heretics and mutants that lie within the Imperium's boundaries. The Imperium's rule, carried on in the Emperor's name since the end of the Horus Heresy by the High Lords of Terra and a multitude of Imperial organisations, has been long, oppressive and necessarily harsh. It has also resulted in technological and cultural stagnation, and a regression into tyranny, superstition and religious obfuscation and intolerance that would have horrified the Emperor.
Standard Equipment: Power armour, Flaming sword, Gauntlet
Intelligence: Supergenius ( His psychic power envelops the entire galaxy while his consciousness wonders through the Warp and his mind stretches through space and time. Created a section of the Webway which was linked to the Golden Throne; the Webway was originally constructed by the Old Ones and no other race has been able to make anything like it. He created the Thunder Warriors and was the genius behind the Primarch Project, the latter of which formed the basis of the Space Marine.Chief among his specialties is genetics and warp craft, using his expertise in genetics he designed and pioneered multiple variations of superhumans. Implied to have been numerous figures in human history and myth, such as Jesus Christ, St. George, and many others. Nearly undid the influence and power of the Immaterium/Warp and its Patron Gods of the Chaos Pantheon with his intelligence leading to great devices, developed the Astronomican. Lead thousands upon thousands of fleets, flotillas, armies, and armadas across most of the galaxy in a period of just over two hundred years and is a master strategist and tactician of the highest order and supremely qualified diplomat and leader in all things considered)
Weaknesses: The Emperor will not use his full power outright when forced to face his close friends or "sons" unless absolutely necessary.
Key: In the Materium | In the Warp
Casually defeats hundreds of Orks by himself; Horus also states that his sword is too fast to follow with the naked eye.
Then the Emperor was amongst them.
His sword was a bluesteel shimmer, too fast to follow with the naked eye. He moved through the orks without seeming to move at all, simply existing at one point to kill before appearing elsewhere to reap greenskin lives by the score. Each blow struck with the force of an artillery impact, and shattered bodies flew from his sword as though hurled aside by a bomb blast. Nor was his sword the Emperor’s only weapon.
His outstretched gauntlet blazed with white-gold fire, and whatever the flames touched disappeared in explosions of red cinders and ash. He battered orks to bonelessness with bludgeoning blows, he crushed them with invisible coils of force and he repelled their gunfire with thoughts that turned their rounds to smoke.
They came at him in their hundreds, like iron filings to the most powerful magnet, knowing they would never find another foe so deserving of their rage. The Emperor killed them all, unstoppable in his purity of purpose. A crusade of billions distilled in one numinous being.
Horus had fought alongside the Emperor for well over a century, but the sight of his father in battle still had the power to awe him. This was war perfected. Fulgrim could live a thousand lifetimes and never achieve anything so wondrous.
— The Wolf of Ash and Fire
The Emperor raises his voice, and people go flying. Also causes Lorgar to suffer some minor bleeding and made his armor heat up. Was also said to create a cyclone of unseen energy.
The voice came with a wall of pressure now, dense and all too tactile. It pounded into Argel Tal like a miasma of engine wash, heating his armour and throwing him to the ground. Around him, he could see his brothers sent sprawling, their armour skidding across the dust. Defiant in the cyclone of unseen energy, scrolls of scripture ripping from his armour, Lorgar raised his hand to point at his father.
‘You are a god. Say the words and end the lie.’
The Emperor shook his head, not in defeat, but calm defiance.
‘You are blind, my son. You cling to ancient perceptions, and endanger us all with them. Let this end, Lorgar. Let this end with you heeding my words.’
The psychic wind died with a peal of thunder. Lorgar stood where he was, trembling for reasons his warriors couldn’t discern. Blood ran from one ear, running in a slow trail down his tattooed neck.
I am listening, father,’ he said.
— The First Heretic
Forced 100,000 marines to kneel.
Sight returned, banishing the grotesque feeling of helplessness. Such emotion was anathema, prickling at Argel Tal’s skin with a thousand insect legs. He managed to look through his dimmed visor, seeing a towering figure deep in a corona of agonising white light. Around the figure, cloaked and gold-armoured warriors hefted unique spears with practiced ease. Each one was the size of an Astartes, and no Astartes could fail to recognise them.
‘Custodes,’ he managed to speak through teeth gritted at the light’s intensity.
‘It’s…’ Xaphen stammered. ‘It’s the…’
‘I know who it is,’ Argel Tal exhaled the words through clenched teeth. And that’s when the voice hit him, hit them all, in a wave of invisible force.
+Kneel+ it whispered with the power of a hammer to the forehead. There was no resisting. Muscles acted instantly, no matter that many hearts fought not to obey. Argel Tal was one of them. This was not fealty, nor worship, nor service. This was slavery, and his instincts rebelled at the enforced devotion even as he obeyed it.
One hundred thousand Word Bearers kneeled in the dust of the perfect city, rendered prone by Imperial decree. A Legion was on its knees.
— The First Heretic
The Emperor reaches out to thousands of souls and influences their emotions.
THUS FAR, THE Emperor of Mankind had viewed the conclave’s proceedings from afar, an observer who hears all and deliberates without giving any clue to his thoughts. Now he moved to the edge of the dais, his armour shimmering in the light as the stars shone brightly once again. Ahriman tried to shift his consciousness into the Enumerations to keep his perceptions clear, but the power of the Emperor was too great and too magnificent to ever truly allow clarity of thought.
Every soul in the amphitheatre stared in wonder at this paragon of all that was good in humanity, the apotheosis of mankind’s dreams and hopes. His every word was seized upon and written in a thousand places, like the words once transcribed as the faithful recitation of a god from the forgotten ages. The scrivener harness of Mahavastu Kallimakus clattered to life in anticipation.
Thoughts of Kallimakus were forgotten as a warm sensation of approbation washed over him. Ahriman recognised this feeling for what it was, the influencing of another person by instilling a measure of your psyche into their aura. Ahriman could perform a similar feat, though on a handful of people at most. To reach out to so many thousands at once spoke of power beyond measure.
The Emperor’s sword was drawn, and his gaze locked with that of Magnus, as though they engaged in silent communion unheard by any others. Ahriman tore his gaze from the Emperor and saw that Magnus was pinned to his seat, his body rigid and his skin pale. His eye was tightly closed, and Ahriman saw an almost imperceptible tremor in his flesh, as though powerful currents of electricity were tearing through him.
“If I am guilty of anything, it is the pursuit of knowledge,” hissed Magnus through clenched teeth. “I am its master, I swear it.”
Ahriman could hear no more, for Magnus suddenly drew a gasping breath, like a drowning man upon finding the surface of an ocean.
— A Thousand Sons
Can grant knowledge and affect memories with a touch.
"'I concur,' the Master of Mankind said eventually. 'It is in your nature to cry havoc and wreak the same upon your foes. Yet there is no need for sacrifice. I am reluctant, but you have my trust, Corvus. I will grant you a gift, a very precious gift.'
Once more the Emperor reached out his hand and laid it upon Corax's head. For an eternity Corax was overwhelmed by the mind of the Emperor. An existence that had spanned more than thirty millennia tried to crowd into the primarch's thoughts, sending pain searing through him. In a moment the pain had ceased, the imprint upon his memories a shard of what had come before, the tiniest fraction of the Emperor's being. Still reeling from the psychic onslaught, Corax wondered if this was how the astrotelepaths felt during the Soul Binding, their minds conjoined with the psychic might of the Emperor. Flashes of new memories coursed through his thoughts, blocking out all other sensation, a succession of images burnt into his psyche. The primarch's body quaked with the sensation, rebelling against the patterns and images thrust into his brain."
— Deliverance Lost
The Emperor stops time and looks into the future.
Then time stopped and a blinding light filled the chamber.
Horus felt warm honey flow through him, and he turned towards the source of the light: a shimmering golden giant of unimaginable majesty and beauty. […]
Horus reached out towards the golden warrior as he turned his sad gaze to the incubation tanks held motionless above him, weighing the consequences of future events in the blink of an eye.
Horus could see the decision in the figure’s wondrous eyes and shouted ‘No!’
The figure turned from him and time snapped back into its prescribed stream.
— The Inquisition War, False Gods
Talks with Kai Zulane in his dream.
‘Stalemate,’ he said.
The figure spread his hands in an empty gesture of apology. ‘I know some people think me omnipotent, but there is a catch with being all powerful and all knowing.’
‘You can’t be both at the same time,’ said the figure with a wry smile.
‘So what happens now?’
‘I finish the game.’
‘This one?’ asked Kai, puzzled.
‘No,’ said the figure. ‘Our game is done, and I thank you for it.’
‘Will I see you again?’
His opponent laughed. ‘Who knows, Kai? If our game has taught me anything, it is all things are possible.’
‘But you’re going to die.’
‘I know,’ said the Emperor.
Kai opened his eyes and saw only blackness.
— Outcast Dead
Heals Corax with a touch.
"The Emperor reached out a hand and Corax felt hot fingers upon his brow. Energy flowed through the primarch, knitting his shattered bones, stemming his pouring blood, healing wounded muscles and organs. The primarch gasped, filled with love and adoration. ‘Stand.’ Corax did as the Emperor commanded, his strength restored."
— Deliverance Lost
Fixes a machine by touching it.
’Machine, heal thyself,’ said the warrior, the purpose and self-belief in his voice passing into Verticorda as though infusing every molecule of his hybrid xistence of flesh and steel with new found purpose and vitality.
With one step, he could feel as Ares Lictor move as though it had just come off the assembly lines, its stubborn knee joint flexing like new.
Gives power to Dalia.
Dalia felt the heat in Semyon's hands spread into her flesh, a golden radiance that filled her with unimaginable well being. She wanted to cry out in ecstasy as she felt every decaying fibre in her body surge with a new lease of life, every withered cell and every portion of her flesh blooming as a power undreamed of filled her. Her body was reborn, filled with a sliver of the power and knowledge of a world's most singular individual, power and knowledge that had been passed down from Guardian to Guardian over the millennia, a burden and an honour in one unasked for gift. With that knowledge, her anger at the Emperor's deception was swept away as she saw the ultimate, horrifying fate of the human race bereft of his guidance. She saw his single-minded, pitiless drive to steer his entire race along a narrow path of survival only he could see, a life that allowed no love, few friends and an eternity of sacrifice. Dalia wanted to scream, feeling the power threaten to consume her, the awesome ferocity of it almost burning away all the things that made her who she was. She fought to hold onto her identity, but she was the last leaf on a dying tree and she felt her memories and sense of self subsumed into the fate the Emperor had decreed for her. At last the roaring power within her was spent, its work to remould her form complete, and she let out a great, shuddering breath as she realised she was still herself. She was still Dalia Cythera, but so much more as well. Semyon released her hands and stepped away from her with a look of contented release upon his face. 'Goodbye, Dalia,' said Semyon. The adept's skin greyed and his entire body dissolved into a fine golden dust, leaving only his aged robes to fall to the rocky floor. Dalia looked over at the hulking servitor that had accompanied the adept and was not surprised when it also disintegrated into dust.
— Deliverance Lost
Blinded every native of Nocturne who looked at him directly when he first arrived.
And it wasn't the light of a teleport flare that forced him to avert his eyes. This, too, would have been compensated for by his armour’s internal sensors, dimming his eye lenses immediately. But he was blind. Blinded by gold, burning like molten metal. The vox shrieked with thousands of his brothers voicing the same malady, but the reports from his brethren were dull, half-lost in an assault of noise that shouldn't exist. It wasn't a fault with the vox, it was in his head – a crashing of waves loud enough to throw off his balance. Blind and almost deafened, Argel Tal felt his bolter slip from his grip. It took all his strength to remain standing.
— The First Heretic
Higher Dimensional Manipulation
The Emperor opens a rift and sends the plasma core (which is at least a kilometer in diameter) into the Warp. The after effects of the rift would destroy the planet.
Horus had no knowledge of the insane mechanics behind the greenskin power core, but any fool could see that it was spiralling to destruction. The powerful tremors shaking Gorro apart was evidence enough of that, but to see the bound starfire straining against its bonds was to know it for certain. Had the death of the Mech-Warlord been the final straw in breaking whatever bonds of belief held its monstrous power in check? How long would it be before it exploded? Horus had no idea, but suspected it would be long before any of them could escape the depths of the scrapworld.
‘This can’t be how it ends,’ whispered Horus.
‘No, my son,’ said his father, gathering the golden light within him once again. ‘It is not.’
The Emperor clenched his fists and the air around the seething plasma ball folded. It turned sickeningly inwards, as though reality was merely a backdrop against which the dramas of the galaxy were played out.
And where it folded, the spaces behind were horribly revealed, great abysses of crawling chaos and unlimited potential. Howling voids where the combined lives of this galaxy were but motes reflected in the cosmic dust storm. An empyrean realm of the never-born, where nightmares were birthed in the foetid womb of mortal lust. Things of void-cold form writhed in the darkness, like a million snakes of ebon glass coiled in endless, slithering knots.
Horus stared deep into the abyss, repulsed and fascinated by the secret workings of the universe. Even as he watched, the Emperor drew the fabric of the world together, sealing them around the greenskin plasma core. The effort was costing him dear, the golden light at his heart waning with every passing second.
And then it was done. A thunderous bang of air rushed to fill the void left by the plasma fire, and the backwash blew back into the chamber in a gale of sulphurous wind. The Emperor fell to one knee, his head bowed.
Horus was at his side a heartbeat later.
‘What did you do?’ said Horus, helping his father to his feet. The Emperor looked up, colour already returning to his wondrous features.
‘Sent the plasma core into the aether,’ said the Emperor, ‘but it will not last long. We must withdraw before the warp fold implodes and takes everything with it. The entire mass of this scrapworld will be soon crushed as surely as if it had fallen into the grip of a black hole.’
‘Then let’s get off this damn thing,’ said Horus.
— The Wolf of Ash and Fire
The Emperor holds off the Chaos Gods from entering the Materium.
If the Emperor fails, then none will be able to stop the influx of the dark powers; ravenous and all-consurning Daemons will flood into the galaxy. Every living human will become a gateway for the destruction of Mankind. Reality as it is known will be subsumed by the stuff of Warp space - a realm of nightmares and cruel insanity where all life will end. There will be no physical matter. No space. No time. Only Chaos
— Warhammer 40k 6th Edition rulebook
The Warp is a dimensionless realm:
Magnus drifted on tides unknown.
An infinite white void surrounded him, without dimensions or points of reference. He did not know this place, but it was clearly not the Great Ocean. Perhaps this was what it was like to die? Or was this what the mind experienced when it finally let slip the moorings of existence and gave in to death?
No, neither of these answers seemed satisfactory. For all that he had no experience of dying, this did not feel like the end of his body of light.
He had no sensation of his flesh, no sight of the absurdly fragile silver thread that linked his power to his corporeal shell when soaring in the Great Ocean.
Perhaps he had reached too far, dared too greatly, and this was the price he must pay.
— Magnus the Red: Master of Prospero
The Warp has no physical dimensions and the Realm of Chaos is without limits or true geography.
— Codex: Chaos Daemons (6th ed.)
Distance was physically meaningless in the warp, but his brain could not cope with a dimensionless state, no matter his training. It was impossible to shape thoughts without a sense of up and down, near and far, in and out.
— All Must End
Concerns of the material world intruded on his introspective plunge, and Magnus looked out on a world of shadows and deceit. He had passed from the realm of flesh to the realm of spirit without even thinking of it, and floated in a place without form and dimensions save any he desired to impose upon it. This was the entrance to the network, the nexus point that led into the labyrinth. This was what he had come to Aghoru to find.
— A Thousand Sons
Can erase the opponent from every sphere of existence.
Seizing the chance he had been given, the Emperor bent low and surged upwards with his bluesteel sword extended. The tip ripped into the Mech-Warlord’s belly and burst from its back in a shower of sparks.
‘Now you die,’ said the Emperor, and ripped his blade up.
It was an awful, agonising, mortal wound. Electrical fire vented from hideous metal organs within the wreckage of the greenskin’s body. It was a murderous wound that not even a beast of such unimaginable proportions could take and live.
Yet that was not the worst of it.
Horus felt the build up of colossal psychic energies and shielded his eyes as a furious light built within the Emperor. Power like nothing he had ever seen his father wield, or even suspected he possessed. All consuming, all powerful, it was the power to extinguish life in every sphere of its existence. Physical flesh turned to ash before it and what ancient faiths had once called a soul was burned out of existence, never to cohere again.
Nothing would ever remain of he who suffered such a fate. Their body and soul would pass from the finite energy of the universe, to fade into memory and have all that they were wiped from the canvas of existence. This was as complete a death as it was possible to suffer.
— The Wolf of Ash and Fire
Even the Chaos Gods could not bring Horus back after the Emperor erased him.
Driving all of the near-infinite reserves of compassion from his mind for the sake of the humanity he had served and loved all the years of his long life, the Emperor destroyed Horus utterly, his essence burned from existence so that the Ruinous Powers could not resurrect Horus as a Daemon Prince through their claim on his soul.
— Battle of Terra
Creates armies of angles of fire.
We can see that light. Those of us within the Empire of the Eye can actually see it. The Astronomican reaches even to our purgatorial exile, and to us it is no mere mystical radiance illuminating the warp. It is pain, it is fire, and it plunges entire Neverborn worlds into war.
It would be a mistake to believe the Emperor’s power battles the Four Gods’ forces, here. It is not order against chaos, nor anything as crude as ‘good’ against ‘evil’. It is all psychic energy, crashing together in volatile torment.
Most of the Radiant Worlds are uninhabitable, lost in the lethal crash of conflicting psychic energies. Armies of fire angels and flame-wrought projections wage war against everything in their path. We call this region the Firetide. What made the Avernus Breach so valuable was its path, not its destination. It cut through the systems forever bleached bare of life by the Firetide, and into the calmer Radiant Worlds beyond. These are the star systems bathed in psychic light without burning in it.
Entire centuries will pass without a single vessel sailing the region, for it offers little to us beyond yet another example of soul energies manifesting in ways mortals can barely control. On more than one occasion the Mechanicum has sought to use Neverborn spirits bound within arcane flesh-machinery to record the Radiant Worlds in an ever-shifting, evolving map. Such attempts have fared as poorly as you might imagine.
— Talon of Horus
Note: The Emperor of Mankind is currently crippled and kept on life support by the Golden Throne, which has started to fail, making so it is only a matter of time before he dies, however, this profile covers the Emperor at his prime, during the Great Crusade, before his battle with Horus.