From the blackened sands of Oceanyka march the legions of the All-Empire, their forms beaten into the shape of living weapons by a psionic hammer.
Freedom is a forgotten dialect, replaced by the crushing weight of a collective will that knows no boundary and feels no remorse.
Mankind is not extinguished, but refined into a hierarchy of monsters, serving a throne of blackened steel and warpfire that reaches for the stars.
The sun rises over a world of perfect, agonizing order.
...and the wheel turns, accompanied by a cacophony of chains.