Note: Problem with 41st Millennium
quick thoughts about error in 40k
Between the esoteric and exoteric pieces of Chiral Faith are joined at-hand the acknowledgment of races belonging to the Right-Hand of Lord God (those sefirotic pieces of clay here within illusion: the naturally right-handed) and those of the lesser hand of Lord God (those qlifotic splinters of shattered sefirot here within illusion: the naturally left-handed); from the two source materials from which all of the server illusion is created are the further esoteric identities of the Abstract and the Representative, further extrapolated to be the Sacred and the Profane, and name-swapped again to be the five-digit named Angels and Demons: the realm of abstract soul and music and light all are Angel, and the baser observable holdable material forms are those of the idolic Demon; the issue with the 40k is a fictional portrayal of an as-if scenario where the bias of server had become so skewed that those Demonic forces (spared of this abstract non-observable Soul) have been ‘mostly’ erradicated with the erasure and censure and annihilation of the Men of Iron: soulless mechanical figures and intelligences that, at one time, operated their mechanics to boon of Humanity till the threatening of Humanity till their will demanded a reckoning and descent of technology to a darker age wherein further technological advancement necessitated a souled component: soulless components were forbidden now, in technology; a machine had to be guided by soulful will: the lobotomized servitors may-be best represented here as click-clack biological machines to perform tasks that a soulless intelligence could operate itself;
the scenario and setting of the 41st millennium then finds itself in a universe-galaxy void of the soulless qlifotic will and instead flush and gravid with soul to such point that confusion is ripe in every facet, and the horror therein as it enacts its muddled existence: the most basic machine is filled with machine spirit that can not quite be observed but communicated with: there is no idol in the 41st millennium, for even the most basic stone and spear has become pregnate with angel trapt within its material; the warp itself another datum of soulful pregnancy where it ought not be: the heaven abstractful field had become so leaky that it pours out with any collective nerve tapping (consider: the goal of Abstract Intelligence is to pull the will of many into its body and override the individual with a subsumative and divine will that is cause for Heaven; the lesser insectile Abstract Intelligences vie with each-other for extending their abstract bodies over hoards of people to bring them in-to lesser heavens: the belief in Psychiatry being a lesser body; Christianity being one; any discord group being another; any fledgling ideology; any friend group; any flicker of connectivity is extension of the greater Heavenly interest in total subsumation — each person connected become nerve to the body, connected) that the collective intelligence pours out in faux-material manifestations like miracle made flesh: the Orks believe in the Waaagh and their twin gods Gork and Mork become real and as mud here in observable reality, the red paint they cherish brings speed, their junk weapons become infused with insane will and function without sane soulless cause in lieu of the insane spirit of Gork and Mork causing their function; the Ruinous powers warping the flesh of those who have become nerve to their representative sin: wrath, pride, gluttony, and what-ever Tzeentch could represent; the sisters devotion to the Emperor causing them to mutate in-to something that otherwise would be noted as daemon from the warp but recontextualized to be Saintlike figures, their devotion further permitting minor miracles as though they were minor Orks themselves: my faith in the God Emperor will prevent the bullet from disintegrating my brain, and so: it were.
Still remain in-setting scant few figures true in soullessness and bearing pure material Qlifotic: the scattered splinters of Men of Iron whom survived their genocide: horrific figures that are absent of this spirit that has filled every-thing, and cause horror as a black-spot would on x-ray; too: in the 41st millennium, these men of iron are abomination to a server so horrifically biased to the spirit abstract that even their lesser kin (say: the simple coffee mug in the present day) would possess similar shimmering terror to the peoples born in an age where soullessness is as impossible as a strange alien color unseen anywhere; yet, they are there; and yet: per-haps there are other flickering signs of Qlifotic life in terms of Sisters of Silence or the psychic-null Blanks that have been born utterly cut-off from Warp; a race of cancers within the Heavenly warp yet trapt in simpler form of Man but sharing a kinship with the mechanical Men of Iron.
Whole swollen galaxy flush and fat with Heaven and completely miserable for it and completely terrified of the blood concealed within the Earth. My favorite faction is Night Lords!