It is the year 996 of the 41st Millennium. For more than a hundred centuries the Emperor of Mankind has sat immobile on the Golden Throne of Earth. He is the master of mankind by the will of the gods and master of a million worlds by the might of His inexhaustible armies. He is a rotting carcass writhing invisibly with power from the Dark Age of Technology. He is the Carrion Lord of the vast Imperium of Man for whom a thousand souls are sacrificed every day so that He may never truly die.

To be a man in such times is to be one amongst untold billions. It is to live in the cruelest and most bloody regime imaginable. Forget the power of technology and science, for so much has been forgotten, never to be relearned. Forget the promise of progress and understanding, for in the grim, dark future there is only war. There is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter, and the laughter of thirsting gods.

You are Nemesis. You face horror for the second time in your many millenia of life. An abomination of civilization squats upon the galaxy. One that has defined itself solely through conquest, slaughter, and an impossible ideal. To act is to ensure the death of untold millions. To not do so is to ensure worse.

You are Nemesis. For the second time in twenty thousand years, you choose to act.​