Chronicle of Isha, the Goddess of Life (Warhammer 40,000)

[Nidhog153]

In a white world, the Goddess of Life sat upon her arboreal throne. Parts of her psyche gave the surviving twins she was still connected to all they needed to know to survive in the environment they were left in, while her physical form bantered with the Emperor.

Her divine form, on the other hand, had little to be mirthful about.

Her back was bent over like an old woman's, and her fingers rubbed her throat as if something was stuck there.

With a series of cracks like falling trees, her spine bent back into its usual shape as she unshouldered her mother's power while her throat convulsed, swallowing her daughter's voice box back inside of her.

There were many endings to her battle with the deity that called itself the Emperor, but there was only one which she truly wanted. In order to achieve that, she had borrowed what she had exchanged with Morai Heg and Lilieath in order to bend fate to her side as much as she could.

Now, she could let go of what remained of them within her, and return to her normal self.

But, there was one more conversation to be had before that.

Reclining back on her throne in the center of her bare white gardens, Isha's hand moved from massaging her throat to her chin, digging nails into the skin as her fingers curled around the shape of her jawline. There was a tearing sound, and her face came off in a single solid piece, revealing another perfect copy beneath it.

No, what she had removed was the copy, the copy of Cegorach's Truth. What was underneath it was what she really was.

Isha turned the mask in her fingers, making it face her, and the mask blinked once before smiling at Isha herself.

"There is a fine line between jokes and insults." Isha stated irritably, staring down at the mask in her hand.

It laughed in return, replying with her voice and features. "The one with the bear?" It giggled again. "I thought it quite fitting, and I'm sure he recognized my humor. He made no note of it at the time either. After all, we have already met."

Isha snorted at the mask's retort. This was what Cegorach was, the fool, the jester, and the omniscient evil god of all misfortunes large or small.

"Besides, I may speak in riddles, but not outright lies." The mask giggled with both eyes wide open.

Isha remained silent at the mask's accusation, looking down at it utterly still, utterly silent as its laughter echoed around the empty world bouncing off walls that didn't exist.

"Two." The mask continued as its laughter subsided enough for it to talk. "Your limit is only two. The first one will begin your death, but you may swallow another if you act fast enough. Any more, and they will eat you from the inside."

That was the lie Isha had told the Emperor, and why she had allowed him to come to his own conclusions instead of telling him her own.

Theoretically, her plan would work, but theories are only theories, and Isha knew better than anyone else what her own limits were. Only Nurgle and Slaanesh were close enough to what she was for her to contain. Khorne's Skull Throne would force questions upon her she had no answers to, and Tzeentch's Truth was an amorphous mess incapable of being understood by the Raven Lord itself much less anyone else.

"That is the truth as I am now." Isha replied slowly, only to have the mask sigh disapprovingly.

"I am the omniscient god of all that you already know, Isha." The mask said tiredly. "That is the only reason I can talk while Asuryan must remain silent."

"Then you know I cannot allow that to be the ending we reach."

She may have lied to the Emperor, but she had no intention of letting the lie remain a lie. If she achieved what she boasted she could do in the end, even lies would become true. She had not lied about her goal, merely omitted the fact that the method of reaching it was still a work in progress.

"True, there are many other survivors from the War in Heaven." The mask shrugged with just its cheeks and eyebrows. "Recovering them might assist you in your endeavor, but all of that is just wishful thinking and hopeful dreams."

"And I suppose I can expect you to provide neither." Isha snorted.

A cruel grin spread across the mask's face as it leered at Isha with her own features. "You know what I am, Goddess of Life. Even the Mon-keigh deity knows that my love is evil, and it is for that reason I act against the Four."

That was Cegorach's role in the pantheon of Aeldari gods. He was the reason for misfortune and malady. Things went wrong because they amused him. His sadistic gags and black humor disgruntled deities and mortified mortals, so no other reason but Cegorach was necessary to explain evil for the Aeldari.

How else could things go wrong in paradise?

That nature in itself fully explained why he hated the new upstarts that now inhabited the remains of the Aeldari pantheon.

"You act against them because you are evil." Isha fixed the mask with a cold stare, but all it did was blush, smile, and pshaw once.

"Of course." The mask said mockingly with her voice. "There is no reason to have two characters on center stage."

"Two?" Isha raised an eyebrow.

The mask sighed, then mimicked Isha's questioning expression, but with an added smile.

"I am an Aeldari god, Isha. I have no interest in being anything else. That should be explanation enough. Your newest child is crowding me out of the hearts of the survivors."

"That is not my child." Isha's tone was calm, but her knuckles tightened on the mask, whitening as they did so. Yet, the mask neither creaked nor cracked, instead shrugging with only its cheeks and eyebrows.

"It is born from the Aeldari, and as all things born from them are your children. It is yours, Isha." The branches of the Goddess of Life's arboreal throne moved, beginning to thrash as if tousled by tropical storm winds. "Besides, you let it come to pass. That alone, makes you responsible for it." The mask paid no heed to her ire, continuing in the same carefree tone using her voice. "I can hear Hir crying for you, Isha. The voices of a billion babes whine for their mother in the Dark Palace."

"And what will you do, Cegorach." She spat venomously.

"I will see Slaanesh fall, Isha." The voice of the mask was dead serious, not a spark of humor or mirth was in its tone. "I am the god of evil for the Aeldari, and I will see myself returned to where I was." The mask's voice turned caustic, almost alkaline with its bitterness. "They judge the morality of their actions based around whether it brings them closer or further from She who Thirsts. Survival is all they are interested in. That is not what evil is about, Isha. That is not my Truth."

The two deities glowered at each other for a while as they let their anger abate. The thrashing branches slowed themselves, and the mask's cheeks dimpled again as it plastered on a false smile.

"So, you will work with me until Hir death?" Isha questioned the mask, and it blinked in affirmation.

"Take the Grandfather first." The mask's tone sweetened with mollifying melodies. "Two is all you can hold, so it might convince me to help you more should you shorten your own life."

Isha nodded, then raised the mask to eye level, bringing it up to the same elevation as her real face.

"And after I have taken them in? What will you do, Laughing God?"

The mask snorted, as if the answer was obvious.

"I will no longer assist you, that is for sure."

Isha grimaced. She knew it would say that.

"Will you stand in our way?"

The mask sighed, then shrugged.

"Assuming all your wishful thinking and hopeful dreams pan out, then I make no promises. You know me. I will work with whatever side I find the most entertaining."

Another answer exactly as she expected, but she could not afford to have the last god of the Aeldari work against her, even if that was far off in the future.

"It would do well to be careful, Cegorach." She said as she drew the mask closer towards her. "If the time comes, I will tell the Mon-keigh what you are, and you will be far easier to incorporate into his legends than any of the Four."

If that eventuality came, she would be dead or otherwise irrecoverable. At that point, it would matter little what happened, so she would tattle on the Laughing God freely to the one deity that might hate him more than her.

"If he can even find me." The mask chuckled. "It is impossible to prove whether I exist or not. Even now, you could simply be talking to yourself, infected by the insanity of endless years, of endless sorrows, of endless loss." The mask laughed, before losing all emotion, mirroring Isha's own expression. "Perhaps I laugh now because you cannot, even if you know how much of a joke all of this really is."

Isha bared her teeth at the taunting of the mask.

"I have neither forgotten nor forgiven what you have already done and will do to my children, Cegorach." She hissed.

The Harlequin were Cegorach's servants, and as the God of Evil for the Aeldari the Harlequin came from, he treated them cruelly. It is not easy to excise the personality of a person, and replace it with a persona from a play.

"If you wish to beat the clown I left in the Webway, you have my permission to do so." The mask sighed. "It will feel real enough."

Isha snorted at that. This was what it was like to talk with Cegorach, but despite the meaningless of it all, she had her answers. The relationship between the Laughing God and her would remain as it was until Slaanesh's defeat. He would help her break the rules whenever it amused him, and she would suffer his existence as well as what he would do to her children.

"I will call on you only when I need you." She said as she threw the mask over her shoulder, letting it clatter among the roots of her tree.

"And I shall answer only when I wish to." The mask called out as the roots of the arboreal throne wrapped around it. "Prepare the stage for me, Goddess of Life, and I shall perform for you and your Mon-keigh friend." Laughter continued from the mask's mouth as it sank in between the roots of the tree, before falling silent as it was digested and drank back into her.

Sound disappeared from the empty white gardens with the mask, leaving only the high pitched ringing silence brings.

"Nurgle." Isha muttered to herself. That was the god she would have to set her eyes on first if she wished for Cegorach to assist her as long as possible. However, Lilieath's prophecy still showed her in the hands of the Plague Lord.

Was she walking into a trap of fate or doomed destiny?

Could she avert that fate, or perhaps push through it?

Her foresight remained clouded with all the variables that were out of her reach.

Finally, she shook her head. Pondering prophecies was not her duty. She would do what she could with what she had, and improve the lives of the Mon-keigh and her children. There were still a few gods of humanity left, although they had lost their divinity according to the God of Heroes memories. Perhaps there was something that she could salvage from them that would allow her to better incorporate the Truth of Chaos.

Regardless, she was vastly depleted right now, and the God of Heroes would not trust her enough to reacquire her strength.

Isha sighed again as she put a hand to her head.

In the end, all she could do was hope her children got her last message on the planet she had left behind.

She may not be able to command them, but she could still show them certain symbols and concepts. How else would she have conspired with Kurnous and Vaul to send the last of her Tears into the mortal realm after the edict was in place?

Hopefully, the ones who ran away could undo some of the damage their species had collectively done to themselves.

---

In the beautiful halls of the Dark Palace, Slaanesh stirred.

She felt something in Hir. The souls that she had swallowed, but been unable to digest were still there, but she could not whisper to them as she had done so several hours ago. It was as if they were too busy with what she was to listen to Hir, but the time in which they had fallen seemed too short and too unanimous to make pure statistical sense.

The effect on Hir was miniscule, a few hundred out of quadrillions of souls from millions of planets. Looking for them was like looking for a single bacterium in Hir small intestines. But, she could still feel something had changed within Hir.

However, the Prince of Pleasure quickly grew bored of Hir own musings, and instead reached up to the walls with Hir hundreds of long nailed hands; leaving a pair to massage Hir stomach, while another pair dragged the remains of Hir current divine plaything. With sinuously serpentine swaying of the spine, she slithered up to one of the windows of the Dark Palace.

Pure black eyes like obsidian mirrors stared out of Hir domain, looking up into the Great Rift; the Eye of Terror.

That was a place she could not reach, for even though she was the God of Excess, everything had a physical limit in the materium. Hir Truth only truly mattered in the unreal and was only ephemeral when expressed in reality.

That would not do.

A misty sigh whitened the crystalline windows with longing, even though she knew full well that merely reaching out of there would burn and melt Hir hands like molten iron would do to a mortal's flesh and bone.

She had escaped out of the realm of mere imagination and probability, finally taking shape in the realm of thoughts and dreams. Now, she longed to embrace the beings of the mortal realm, and share with them all that she was and all that they could be.

Out of the blue, a different concept echoed within Hir. She tasted blood, bone, and cannibalized meat. One of those closest to Hir was defacing a body in a truly despicable manner, but although it appeared to be a part of what she was, she could smell its disgust in the act.

There was something inside Hir. Something that wasn't there originally, and it was indistinguishable from what she was, yet did not come from Hir.

Spiked teeth exposed themselves as Hir lips pulled back in a savage smile.

The act itself was meaningless, for the concept was what was important.

Hir mouth opened, and she cried out. The wails of thousands upon thousands of babes shook the crystalline windows of Hir palace as she screamed out with a base and natural longing all parents would be drawn to.

'MOTHER!'

That was the meaning within Hir whimpering.

She could see it now, the path to greater excess. The path to spread Hir Truth to all in the materium.

They would be perfect; a cycle of pink and purple, endlessly chasing a streak of green and brown.

Thank goodness Hir mother slipped from the Grandfather's clutches. She would have never known this had the Goddess of Life been thrown in a cage and left to rot.

As the God of Excess's wailing worked its way into the wayward whims of Hir daemons, they sniffed and snuffled at the air, hunting for the nostalgic scent of earth and water, or ozone and sulfur.

Isha's plan of dividing the Chaos god's attention had worked. Now, they were looking for her.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N I'm not going to be putting as much effort in these sections, because I want to prioritise the main story. My story makes a lot of references to other real world events or mythology, so I've made these to elaborate since some of the symbolism and references are hard to get for some non-native speakers as well as younger native speakers.

The way I've organized it is by chapter. Some of these might be quite short. I'll just put any random bits of irony/references/foreshadowing I've made here.

Title: Figuratively, symbolically, and thematically a good title. Isha physically takes off the mask symbolising an admission of truth in this side story.

Main Part: As always, the Aeldari are sneaky.

Also, comments and reviews would be appreciated. That's the main reason I write, after all.

The methods certain gods speak is elaborated here. Slaanesh takes the form of the person themself when speaking to all those who can listen to Hir. This nature is reflected in Cegorach as well, for both are gods of evil when concerning the Aeldari. This nature is a symbolism of the idea that evil ultimately comes from within, which is shared by many of the Aeldari.

Cegorach's definition of evil is not compatible with Slaanesh's, and that's the only reason the Laughing God opposes She who Thirsts.

Harlequin are often portrayed as horrific, monstrous, and utterly insane. That canon characterization is reflected in Cegorach for this story.

This god's form is known to no-one. It is imagined to be a giant clown-like thing, but this is just another role, another character in Cegorach's performance.

Naturally, Saim-Hann and its three sons are as unknowable and alien as the deity that is their friend.

A futher note, as promised, we will be entering a stream of side stories to portray what happens with the normal Eldar from here on, so Isha and the Emperor will not be showing up in a coherent understandable form for a while.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N: Thank you Nalka for taking a look through the Eldar portions of this side-story.

9 long eared, tall beautiful men and women stood around a holographic projection table made of polished bone-like material. A 10th sat, boredly, outside the circle they formed.

This is the Seer chamber of Craftworld Iyanden, the largest and most populated Craftworld created by the Aeldari. The populace now call themselves Eldar, dropping the first and last letters of their species name to symbolize the ending of all that they were and all that they could be, leaving their kind in limbo; unsure of which path to proceed as a species.

"Have all the others been accounted for?" Farseer Mehlendri Silversoul asked the Council of Seers, the current governing body of the Craftworld. She was one of the oldest Eldar aboard the Craftworld, having been there since before the first seed of its construction was laid. Despite her gender, she was one of the tallest among them, and her red hair flowed down her back like liquid fire.

The council was composed of 5 women and 4 men, including Mehlendri. They were the Seers in charge of steering the direction of the Craftworld, figuratively and literally.

"We were the last of the 5, Farseer Mehlendri." Farseer Aelondra sighed as she brushed her crimson hair over one ear. "The others have long since left before us."

"Though it seems that did not guarantee their safety." Farseer Thulor snorted irritably, rubbing his temples. "Ulthwé's course has led it on a damned path to our past." His smooth black hair flowed over his shoulders like silk.

Thousands of Craftworlds left the Aeldari empire before the Fall. Of all them, 5 were the largest and of particular note.

Where the average Craftworld may hold anywhere from a few thousand to a few hundred million, these held tens of billions of survivors from either entire planets, or several star systems. With time, they would be able to grow their capacity and size to house even more.

In the order of their departure:

Saim-Hann; the Craftworld that shared the name of the Void Serpent, the friend of Cegorach. It was one of the first Craftworlds to leave the rest of its species behind. Their chosen name being synonyms with enlightenment is evidence enough of what they think of themselves, but enlightenment is not equivalent to sophistry or civility. They are a wild society, sharing more with the Exodites and the Harlequin than the other Eldar Craftworlders. Their racial pride remains intact and untainted by She who Thirsts, allowing them to be unblinded by it.

Ulthwé; the damned Craftworld, the Craftworld which uses the Eye of Isha as their world-rune. Despite escaping the Fall, their flight did not take them far. Now, the Eye of Terror's gravitic tendrils cling to the Wraithbone of the ship itself. All it can do is orbit the hole where insanity spills forth, but it does not do so in vain. Ulthwé remembers its species duty to destroy the Necrons, and it is for that reason its path led it so close to the Eye of Terror. However, all that means for the Eldar aboard it is that both new horrors and old nightmares surround them in the blackness of space as they pass perilously close to Necron Tomb Worlds.

Biel-Tan; the most militaristic of the Craftworlds whose world-rune is a heart above a stylized chalice, the symbol of their ability to reincarnate. As can be seen by what they most miss in their world-rune, Biel-Tan's objective is to return to what the Eldar once were. The Fall to them is a battle that has been lost, and now they plan to wage war to take back what is rightfully theirs. Naturally, that involves violence, and as that is the sole solution they see to their predicament, every other problem is dealt with in the same way.

Alaitoc; the Craftworld with the world-rune of a sword piercing a red crescent moon; the symbol of Khaine slaying Eldanesh. Their symbol is a harsh reminder of the Aeldari's civil war, and the dangers of going against their gods. For despite Eldanesh's many gifts and blessings, it was his blood that coated Khaine's hands in the end. They are the most puritanical of the Craftworlds, but they are merciful with their methods of removing what they see as taint. Eldar unable to deal with the strict rules and regulations often enter self-imposed exile to prevent their temptations from tainting others. In addition to supplies and ships for their journey away from home, these exiles are guaranteed the opportunity to rejoin the Craftworld whenever they are ready to relinquish that which drove them away in the first place.

The last Craftworld is Iyanden, the largest and the last Craftworld to leave the Core Worlds. Their lateness was not born of laziness or a lack of foresight. They stayed as long as they could to take as many as possible before finally abandoning everything they could not carry. Their mission was the restoration of the Aeldari Empire, and that would require as many non-tainted Aeldari from as many expertises, specialties, and talents as possible. The selection process was slow, and required many revisions. Practicality and purity were both balanced against each other many times, and it was for that reason they continued to do what they could up to the last minute.

Now, the Farseers of Iyanden were inspecting the damage from the disaster they knew would come. However, even in their most depressing nightmares, they could not have imagined the diabolical nature of what came for them.

"Thulor, Aelondra." Another more senior brown haired male Farseer, Farseer Tyrios, called the names of the two who had just spoken in a cautionary tone. "Khaine's song rings in your voices. The Craftworlds all agreed during their inception to allow each to choose the path for their people, purpose, and politics. Mutual respect must be maintained."

The 9 Eldar on the Seer Council come from three different generations.

The three oldest came from the Core Worlds themselves, and are the ones who envisioned the Craftworlds in the beginning. Their role in the council is to serve as both teacher and mediator of the discussions of fate. They lead through example, as well as experience.

The middling three come from the generation that joined the Craftworlds during their construction, either through recruitment or due to becoming disillusioned from their activist activities after all their warnings and efforts fell on deaf ears. They were not yet ready to teach, but could see the future well enough to make concrete decisions.

The youngest three were born within the sequestered enclaves of the original activists. They had not experienced their first death, nor were they allowed to experience the decadence of the rest of their kind. Their role here was the same as it is in any society, to question the older generations as well as introduce new concepts and ideas to ensure conservative tendencies do not hamper their collective vision.

Thulor and Aelondra are 2 of the 3 youngest Eldar Farseers, and although ancient by human standards they are still occasionally chastised by the older Fareers like newly promoted general managers receiving a lecture from even more experienced executives.

"... My apologies Farseer Tyrios." Thulor bowed his head after a moment of silence. "The portents of Kher-Ys and the Shard of Khaine have been taking much from me."

"I share the same worries." Aelondra stated, also bowing her head in apology. "My heart breaks every day Kher-Ys fate remains unchanged despite all we do. I blotted them and all the other minor Craftworlds from my mind so I would be temporarily blind to their suffering."

"I feel your pain." Tyrios nodded. "The future is bleak for us. Many of the minor Craftworlds may not make it, no matter what we do. Even so, we must See their fate. There is much we can learn from their loss, and even if there is nothing we can do and nothing we can learn, at least we can keep them with us in our memories."

Besides the 5 major Craftworlds, thousands of minor Craftworlds also exist. Smaller than the main 5, these Craftworlds vary greatly in shape, size, and societal norms.

Kher-Ys is one of these minor Craftworlds, and the prophecies around it are grim.

"The Seers of Kher-Ys saw the same thing as us, last time we spoke using the Webway." A masked male Farseer with silver hair, the last of the oldest group of Seers, Farseer Ulrissor, said with a shrug. "The Wailing Doom raised high by a pink-purple hand as the screams of an entire Craftworld go silent."

That was the prophecy currently being discussed, and the second cause for sleepless nights for the Farseers of Iyanden.

Prophecy predicted She who Thirsts would take every soul on board Kher-Ys, and she would do it using Khaine's sword.

That led into the first reason for the Farseer's exhaustion; the Shards of Khaine.

It was shortly after they had escaped the tendrils of the Eye of Terror that they all began to feel angrier and angrier for no reason at all.

Sensing something was amiss, the Craftworld was checked for infiltration by a daemon or other psychic creature.

To their horror, they found the cause right in the heart of their new home; a Shard of Khaela Mensha Khaine, the god who had once tried to exterminate them all.

Bonesingers were hastily conscripted to seal off the Shard from the rest of the ship, but even now they could feel it calling to them.

How and why the Shard had been placed there was a mystery that should have been more important. Such a breach of their security wards without their noticing was an existential danger to them all. However, with the sheer number of daily disasters they predicted and averted, investigating who was responsible was quickly becoming less and less of a priority.

All the other Craftworlds they could contact reported finding a Shard of Khaine at the heart of their Craftworld, and their Bonesingers shared as much as they could regarding how to counteract the Shard. The glowing orange pieces of metallic Warp flesh constantly agitated the populace aboard each of the Craftworlds; both by its sudden appearance and psychic call.

And now, just when they had finally organized an internal mediatory force to arbitrate and adjudicate between the increasingly easily aggravated Eldar aboard Craftworld Iyanden, the prophecy of Kher-Ys came at them like a swarm of angry Warp Spiders.

"Kher-Ys has reinforced their Webway gates with runic wardings, sealed off their Shard, reinspected their entire populace for signs of She who Thirsts, and is currently militarizing as we speak." Farseer Milethea spoke bitterly as she psychically summoned an image of the Craftworld being discussed via the holographic projector in the table. The third of the youngest group of Seers had dark hair the color of the ocean at night. "Yet, the prophecy remains the same."

"If they have done as they have said, the Wraithbone and Webway shall provide no entry." Farseer Ulrissor sighed, scratching behind his ear as he did so. "The door to doom shall be opened from within; treachery from the Eldar, or the Shard."

A grim silence descended upon all of them. This was the reason for their worry.

Kher-Ys was not especially lenient in the way they gathered people to their cause. If anything, Iyanden was more liberal with who they let aboard. If a traitor from within was the cause of the doom of Kher-Ys, there was a good chance that a similar thing could happen to Iyanden.

If it was the Shards of Khaine that was responsible, then every Craftworld was already doomed.

"Does our war god hate us so much he would work with She who Thirsts to slay us?" Farseer Serapharielle asked no one in a defeated tone. Dark red locks of hair were bound in a long ponytail that reached the middle of her back.

"The legends say it was we who destroyed him and our gods." Farseer Eluriane chuckled mirthlessly as she folded her arms in front of her; light blue hair slightly curled swaying as she did so. "But, the irony of the situation seems unlike what Khaela Mensha Khaine is. If anything, that sounds more like a joke told by the Laughing God."

"How would you know, Eluriane?" Farseer Idrineth snorted, voice muffled by his mask. "It has been tens of thousands of years since the gods have spoken to any of us." The proud man was only from the middling group, despite his white hair. However, he often spoke as if he knew what their species represented as well as what they were supposed to be.

"I used to watch the Harlequins perform, when I was still a child." Eluriane shrugged. "I even asked whether I could join them, but they told me it was not yet my time to stand on their stage."

"Then is it them that did this to all of us?" Farseer Milethea asked icily as she glared at Eluriane.

"Perhaps." Eluriane shrugged again. "They are blessed most by Saim-Hann. No one knows the Webway better than them, and it would not be surprising that they can hide from all our sensors and senses. After all, their patron deity did hide from She who Thirsts."

"Even if it is them, we cannot be relieved." Idrineth snapped "The Harlequin act according to their own agenda, and we know not what that is."

"Enough." Mehlendri said, stilling the slowly heating air of the council chamber with a raised hand. Tempers were beginning to flare amongst the middling and youngest groups, and it was beginning to direct itself at the other, the unknown.

Mehlendri took in a deep breath to steady her own growing irritation as she turned to Idrineth from the middling group of the council. "Idrineth, I know Khaine whispers in your ear, but do not join its chorus. We cannot escalate matters with our own kin after having lost so many."

"You accuse me of prejudice, Farseer Mehlendri?" Idrineth answered back as he shot a glance at Milethea, the last of the youngest group of the Seer council. She was far more antagonistic to the Harlequin than anyone else on the council.

"Milethea's dislike of the Harlequin comes from personal experience." Mehlendri replied in a placating tone. "You have yet to meet them in person, and thus must reserve your judgment until you do so."

"I shall remain silent on this matter then." Idrineth retorted before clamping his mouth shut.

Mehlendri cast a look at Tyrios, the second oldest after her. Tyrios gave a slow blink in affirmation, agreeing to talk with Idrineth in private so Mehlendri's scolding would not leave bad blood between them.

This was the reason for having three of each age group. With a species as prideful as themselves, special care was needed when differences of opinion could arise.

Ulrissor was also part of the oldest group, and would have been theoretically responsible for keeping the peace between them, but that man had the emotional intelligence and sensibilities of a Jokaero. If it wasn't interesting to him, he didn't bother with it, and other people's emotions were somewhere between doing his laundry and washing the dishes on his list of priorities.

As for how far down those were on his list… If the psychic drones didn't do most of his housework for him, Mehlendri wouldn't have been surprised if he'd accidentally entombed himself in his own room with discarded clothes, bottles, and bowls.

Still, even Ulrissor had his uses in this system. He was the blunt instrument that bulldozed all doubt by stating only the harshest and coldest facts to the middling and youngest groups in the event they did not wish to see what was blatantly obvious. During those times, it was useful to have someone who didn't care whether they were hated or loved.

"Thulor. Aelondra." Mehlendri called to the two youngest Farseers. "We have done all we can for Kher-Ys, and the prophecy of their doom has not yet spread to us. We serve Craftworld Iyanden. Let us take solace in that fact, even as we shed tears for all those on Kher-Ys."

"Yes, Farseer Mehlendri." The two said in unison, bowing their heads as they did so.

Mehlendri sighed internally as she gave them a gentle smile. They were supposed to be the future of the Craftworld, yet they worried her the most. Being a Farseer required one to keep one's-self separate from what they saw. To become too emotionally attached to what-ifs could lead down a path that may be possible, but in truth was astronomically improbable.

A holistic view of everything was required, for to take one step forward on the tightrope of fate meant a step not taken back, and changing the future always required sacrifice from one's own self or someone else.

'Perhaps educating them with only what was defined as pure was not the wisest of choices.' she thought to herself as she turned to Ulrissor.

"Farseer Ulrissor, show us what we have seen for our sister Craftworlds, and what we individually know of their immediate path."

"As you wish, Farseer Mehlendri." The silver haired Eldar said under his mask, and the holographic projectors morphed into a list of all the other Craftworlds, and what each individual Seer had reported on it.

Perspective changed the vision seen, so it was necessary to have several Seers working in unison to see the far future. Overlapping those visions and predictions could lay out points of commonality between events, revealing key players or occurrences that might provide a clue as to how to ensure things proceeded in their favor.

"Craftworld Lanimayesh is currently besieged by Khorne and their losses grow daily. None of our visions see them turning the tide against the Blood God, but I see a hand with the world-rune of Biel-Tan knocking the prize from the brass giant's grip." Ulrissor reported bluntly. "Craftworld Taial'shara and Zu'lasais are lost to us. They left too late, and the voice of She who Thirsts has rendered them empty husks. They shall drift towards the worlds of the human federation."

"Do they pose a risk to us?" Serapharielle asked tiredly. "Will we have to destroy more of ourselves to keep it out of the hands of the aliens?"

"No." Tyrios grunted. "Although I have seen some of their gene-sculpted weapons walking through the remains in several hundred to several thousand years from now, the humans shall remain as ignorant of our technology as they will always be."

"Then Theminarae poses a matter of greater concern." Serapharielle sighed. "They have escaped the Fall, but I foresee a storm in its path." The dark red-haired Eldar's fist clenched as her voice grew pained. "The impure may have managed to get onboard, allowing the forces of Chaos to track its position."

"We cannot order them to purge their own populace." Tyrios immediately shot back. "And we have no idea what the nature of the impurity within them is."

"Is merely watching more of our family wither and die all we can do?" Serapharielle said bitterly. "I see their doom, but not how to prevent it. Will greater reinforcements allow them to push through their fate?"

"No." Ulrissor interjected. "If we send our own, they will share Theminarae's fate."

"The only thing we can give them is knowledge." Tyrios cut in before Serapharielle could retort.

The dark red-haired Eldar woman was from the middling group of the Seer's council, and was originally an activist on the Core Worlds. She had gone down the path of the Seer path hoping to see a better future. Instead, all she saw was death and dead ends. Still, she strove to see a way through the darkness, but it made her reactions to rejection more volatile.

"How go the preparations for our new afterlife?" Tyrios said as he turned to Mehlendri. A more hopeful topic was required to calm the atmosphere, and this was one of the few topics that showed some progress.

Mehlendri pulled out a burgundy crystal from a pouch on her belt, and lifted it with her telekinesis till it came to a rest at the center of the table where miniature gravitic tendrils dimpled the space above it so the crystal would fall upwards and downwards at the same speed, bobbing up and down in mid-air. "The samples provided by Asurmen's student Maugan Ra have been helpful, but they will be useless to us if we cannot create or collect more."

"You mean the bribe." Milethea interjected. "Iliathin's companion gave those to you in private and asked for assistance." The other Seers frowned at her use of Asurmen's old name, and her refusal to recognize him as a teacher. However, they did not chastise her. Although rude, there was reason for the Seer to find the new name distasteful. Afterall, it was a blatant plagiarism of the Phoenix King's true name.

Mehlendri sighed again internally. Milethea and her had butted heads several times recently, and although there was no hate between them, the last of the youngest group was taking her role in the Seer council as the questioner of the old a little too aggressively as of late.

"He sought our assistance to save his Craftworld." Mehlendri answered calmly. "Altansar sinks into the Warp even as we speak. But, as we last discussed at this council, my decision regarding the fate of Altansar is unswayed."

Altansar was doomed, and they could do nothing for it. That was the decision reached by the council, and it was Mehlendri's own mouth that made the prophecy.

"That is not all he wished to convince us of." Milethea continued.

"You fear my acceptance of Asurmen's proposed Path system is made of impure thoughts?" Mehlendri asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Many of your decisions past and present have me questioning you, Farseer Mehlendri." Milethea said grimly as she shot a look at the tenth person in the room who was currently stifling a yawn. He was here on Mehlendri's request, and he was not a Seer.

"Milethea…" Mehlendri said tiredly, allowing her age to seep into her voice. "The Seer council is a purely meritocratic body that values only the strength of our foresight. Even if I was bought or swayed by material gain, so long as the result of our foresight ends in the most positive outcome, the bribe itself is meaningless. The council is composed of only Seers for that sole reason. Should I try to utilize my visions for selfish gains, you would all see through me. I would have to leave the Craftworld without my eyes for attempting to lead the Eldar of Iyanden astray."

"That is another part of the council's purpose." Tyrios continued where Mehlendri left off, reminding all of them of the basic rules of the council of Seers. "To keep an eye on each other so the best collective future can be pulled towards Iyanden by tugging at the strings of fate. If an illegitimate political motivation is thought to pervert our sight, then work with the others to see through the ruse Farseer Mehlendri has made. Prove through foresight that her acts work only for her favor."

"I understand the council's purpose, Farseer Tyrios, Farseer Mehlendri." Milethea said as she bowed her head, but the two older Eldar both sighed when she raised it again as they saw an angry spark in her eyes.

"But, even if it has already been decided in the last council session I must protest again. Why must the Commorraghite remain in our midst?"

All the middling and youngest Eldar of the council besides Milethea shot a look at the Commorraghite in the chair in the room, currently looking over his nails. The wide sleeves of his shirt and robe had slipped from his wrist, revealing a black gauntlet that reflected light like a beetle's carapace.

"The Autarch," Mehlendri emphasized the title of the tenth Eldar. "is here on my request. The matters we discuss daily have a military aspect to them. He is here as an advisor and advisor alone." She shot a look at the Autarch with the last word, silenting commanding him to keep his lips sealed. The Autarch only snorted once in return, keeping his gaze fixated on his nails.

The Autarch was originally from Commorragh, that much was true. It was also true that it was Mehlendri who had recommended him to that position. She had faced much resistance from the council that time. Thankfully, the True Guardians had accepted him as their de-facto leader since their time on the Core Worlds, so the other Farseers were the only ones who required convincing.

Quite frankly, it was only because the Autarch had proved himself efficient in dealing with the various aliens they were now exposed to that the council had begrudgingly allowed him to take the post and stay during their meetings.

"There is something inside him, Farseer Mehlendri." Milethea hissed. "I know it just as I know that there is nothing in the Harlequin."

Milethea was the most psychically empathetic of the group. She could feel what others felt, and resonated with their emotions. It was for that reason she hated both the Harlequins and the Autarch. Just as the Harlequins had their personality removed, leaving nothing but a disturbing hole for Milethea to feel, there was something inside the Autarch that disgusted her just as much.

"Be that as it may…" Mehlendri spoke slowly, attempting to calm the youngest of the Seers. "If you do not have a prophecy that works against the Autarch, then you cannot sway this council's decision."

"We understand there is a tendency to over focus among our race." Tyrios spoke reassuringly to Milethea. "However, prophecy is the only thing that matters here. Your other gifts may be greater than ours, but unless they hone your foresight, they cannot sway what we have decided."

"How can you say that, Farseer Tyrios." Milethea said as she shook her head. "His plans have put us at risk already."

"If you're talking about what I did with the Orks and Mon-keigh, I thought I already explained myself." The Autarch suddenly quipped from his chair. "But, if you want another explanation then I am happy to oblige."

"Autarch Filimerthex, please remain silent." Mehlendri ordered.

The man, Filimerthex, brought results, but she did not like him anymore than the rest of them. Quite frankly, there were times she regretted letting this beggar into the group that would eventually form the Craftworld Iyanden. It was only because she knew what was most valuable to him that she could sleep without worrying whether he posed a threat to them all.

"Milethea, if you have no prophecy that finds the Autarch to be a danger to Iyanden, then you must remain silent regarding this matter." Ulrissor ended the argument abruptly.

Mehlendri watched the young woman take in a deep breath and lose all emotion on her face as she put on her Seer's mask.

"My apologies, Farseer Mehlendri." She spoke in the emotionally devoid monotone of one who saw only everything that would be, and not what they wanted. "The Autarch, Spirit Stones, and Asurmen's Path system pose no threat greater than any other to the Craftworld."

Mehlendri nodded, accepting the apology.

Milethea's anger was not entirely her own, and she was still young for an Eldar. Her empathetic nature was also causing her to act out, for the emotions of others were beginning to crowd out her own. Mehlendri told herself that to quell her own growing anger, excusing the younger Eldar in her mind for her tresspasses, even as Khaine growled inside her at the arrogance of this upstart.

"My work with the Spirit Stones provided by Maugan-Ra confirmed our theories." Mehlendri continued, hiding the heat that was growing inside her. "The Tears of Isha can act as a psychoactive data matrix, allowing the storage of both information and psychic energy. With the right wardings, we can ensnare a soul inside it before it falls into the Othersea. Our Bonesingers can adapt them to this purpose, but we will need many more to save everyone aboard Iyanden and prepare the Infinity Circuit that shall be the final resting place for us all."

Spirit Stones, also known as the Tears of Isha by the Craftworld Eldar. Each one is a clot of pure suffering and sorrow; the physical reaction of reality when the anguish of soul bearing creatures grows so large that it threatens to tear apart the veil with its pain. The crystalline material acts as a natural barrier to psychic energies, and as such energies are made from thoughts and dreams, the crystal also serves as a medium to store information.

The Eldar had theorized that they would be able to save their souls with these crystals since before the Fall, but the emotional trauma necessary to create the Tears of Isha was not something they could attempt to replicate. However, after the Fall, the Crone Worlds of the Aeldari empire provided ample supply of the burgundy crystals.

"The Path system is necessary for this endeavor as well." Mehlendri continued. "The Asuryani are the only ones to have returned from the Crone Worlds uncorrupted. Their usage of our species ability to focus on singular aspects protects from the temptations of She who Thirsts. Their martial strength shall also allow them to survive the conditions there."

"The Path system will protect us, but I see much suffering with its introduction." Serapharielle said sadly. "I see our kin struggling to remove a face that isn't theirs, and staring into mirrors unable to recognize themselves without it."

"Farseer Mehlendri" Idrineth suddenly spoke up, breaking his silence. "I too see dangers with the Path, although they are political rather than prophecy."

Mehlendri looked at him with a raised eyebrow, and Idrineth returned the look with a slight bow of his head to apologize for his earlier outburst. Apparently he had managed to take control of himself with sufficient time to reflect, and had rejoined their debate now that it had moved on from the Harlequin, allowing him to speak without taking back his words.

"The Aspect Shrines of the Path of the Asuryani demand autonomy from the Craftworlds." Idrineth continued. "Allowing them to establish themselves on Iyanden would allow a different political and theological entity to enter our home."

"The Aspect Shrines swear to remain neutral regarding any conflict within the Craftworld." Mehlendri answered, acknowledging Idrineth's comment, accepting his apology without acknowledging it. "Their warriors shall take no side. If anything, it will keep all those who follow the Path out of any strife we should sow amongst ourselves."

"Can we believe what they say?" Idrineth countered. "I have seen Eldar take up arms against Eldar. The introduction of Aspect warriors could cause blood to flow more efficiently."

"The students of Asurmen are selected for their ability to focus. Any who cannot obsess over their values to the point of near blindness will not be able to step onto the Path to begin with. All those who cannot follow his teachings will be the weakest of them, and shall pose little threat to us." Mehlendri continued sharing what she had learned from both Asurmen and Maugan Ra as well as her own foresight. "I have seen the Aspect shrines close their gates to those on Craftworld Kaelor, even as the great houses who rule it burn."

There was a moment of silence as the other Seers reviewed the vision Mehlendri shared, but Serapharielle suddenly growled angrily, overtaken by emotion.

"Iyanden was grown to restore what we once were. We did not save so many just to turn them into soldiers obsessed with one form of slaughter." She spat. "Not all of those who walk down to the end of the Path do so with the intention to remain there. My sight has shown many stories of pain and regret for those upon it."

Mehlendri waited for Serapharielle's breathing to return to normal as the middling Seer struggled to reign in her emotions.

"Asurmen has offered to teach methods to remove the War Mask." She said reassuringly. "He too does not wish to convert the Eldar into a species of Exarchs. The Asuryani are supposed to wander from Path to Path according to him. Only when obsession is the only salvation should an Eldar follow the Path to its ultimate end, and step into the unknown to lengthen it."

"Will we save more than we will lose, Farseer Mehlendri?" Serapharielle asked slowly.

"We will lose all without a way forward and a way back."

Serapharielle bowed her head at the double-meaning of the Path; both in its symbolistic sense as the way their kind would better themselves before starting over on a new one, and the practical sense in that only Aspect warriors would be able to make the journey to the Crone Worlds and return with the Tears of Isha necessary for their soul's salvation.

"I see the same sight as Farseer Mehlendri." Serapharielle said.

The other Seers gave their own affirmations, and the Seer Council of Iyanden finally agreed to allow Asurmen and his students to set-up their Aspect shrines.

—----------------------------------------

(PoV: Farseer Idrineth)

As the Seer council began to disperse, I sighed and swallowed my pride. I had spoken harshly to both Farseer Mehlendri and Milethea regarding the Harlequin, and my actions bordered on arrogance.

I would need to make amends with both in private, so it would not affect our next council.

Although Farseer Mehlendri did a good job at hiding it, I saw the fire that burned in her eyes. She too was affected by Khaela Mensha Khaine like the rest of us. Everyday fights and arguments erupted over the smallest things across the Craftworld. Even though all of us knew that the instigator for our anger was the fragment of the god of murder and violence, it was starting to matter less and less.

Inter-Craftworld communications were beginning to be affected as well. The tone of the other political bodies leading their respective Craftworlds grew harsher every day, and they would no doubt grow even worse with Farseer Mehlendri's proposed method of salvation.

They would be grateful for the knowledge, but knowing how to use the Tears of Isha didn't change the fact that they were in short supply. Although Asurmen and his disciples traveled through the Webway, visiting every Craftworld they could while spreading Spirit Stones as gifts and bargaining chips to gain permission to start their Aspect shrines, the numbers provided were too few to satisfy even the smallest Craftworld.

If Farseer Mehlendri shared her findings with the other Craftworlds, as well as the spells necessary to allow the Tears to automatically save our souls, the demand for Spirit Stones would grow even more.

That was where the seed of death and destruction lay.

There were only two places Spirit Stones could be found. The Crone Worlds of our empire, and the other Craftworlds. If Khaine continued to call to us, there was a real chance a war between the Eldar could erupt in order to safely acquire more Tears without risk of corruption.

Iyanden would probably be safe, protected by its sheer size and the fact that it was Farseer Mehlendri who had shared the knowledge of salvation with the other Craftworlds. However, there was no telling what the minor Craftworlds might do to each other.

I saw Kaelor appearing from the Webway in Saim-Hann's path with Pulsars, Starcannons, and Disruption blasters blazing. Meanwhile, the shattered husk of Aon'tai was left behind by Biel-Tan. If the minor Craftworlds could become desperate enough to attack one of the major ones, that only meant they had run out of easier targets.

But, jealously guarding this secret would be even more dangerous. The vision I saw showed the other Craftworlds tearing into each other, but to do the opposite would be to invite them all to attack Iyanden in order to steal the secrets of the Spirit Stones, both real and imaginary.

Keeping one secret suggested more were hidden, and the conspiracies would grow to the point Iyanden would be accused of hiding things it did not have.

Damned if we do, damned if we don't. That was where we were as a species.

I shook my head, throwing off the depressing thoughts that had begun to overcome me. I had begun to lose myself in visions of what could be, even though we had already averted that fate with our decisions.

My eyes looked up at the table, only to find the others still standing where they were.

Odd. I had thought that at least one or two would have left while I was over focused on my visions of the inter-Craftworld wars, but everyone else hadn't moved.

I turned towards Farseer Mehlendri, only to see a bloody neck stump where her head was supposed to be.

My eyes turned from one Farseer to the next, only to see each with a different mortal wound. Some were blown open from the inside, as if a bomb had buried itself inside them before blowing them apart. Others were burnt almost cinders, still crackling with psychic energy from a battle of psychic blows. Eluriane had been turned into a mummified husk with only a small cut on her wrist.

All of them turned towards me, even though some were missing their head or face. All 8 of the other dead Farseers were looking at me with non-existant or vacant eyes.

My feet stumbled backwards as I felt my heart palpitate painfully in my chest. Then, a bout of vertigo struck, knocking my sense of balance from my head as surely as a bludgeon would have done, causing everything I saw to swim and ripple like a reflection on a pond disturbed by a dropping stone.

Suddenly, I felt a presence behind me. I could feel the arms of something extended towards me, and the hairs on the back of my neck rose as its chilling touch brushed against my skin. I swayed, trying to prevent myself from falling backwards, but the corpses of the other Seers continued to stare at me. Behind them were the ruined walls of the Seer chamber of Iyanden that overlooked the Craftworld. The polished white Wraithbone was cracked and charred, revealing the ruins that remained of our new home. Entire sections were gone, melted or vaporized by some bomb or torpedo. I could hear the faint mourning cries of all those that survived, only a few thousand of what should have been tens of billions.

All of the dead and those that survived were looking at me, staring at me, driving me back with their gaze.

I took the final step backwards into the extended arms of whatever was behind me, and they thrust themselves towards me as if to push me away.

But it was too late. I was falling through the immaterial touch of whatever was behind me, falling through a sea of information and psychic energy. It seeped into every pore and every cell of my body, impregnating every nucleus it passed through.

There was a thump as I landed on my back, and I was alone in the ruins of Iyanden.

Then the nausea struck.

I vomited immediately, retching over the floor before gasping for air like a drowning man. Fatigue robbed my limbs of their strength and I became both hungry and thirsty at the same time.

Groaning, I started to roll to the side to get up, but as I turned I felt something move in my stomach. Reaching for my midriff, I felt it start to swell, stretching my clothing and the skin underneath it.

Another bout of nausea struck, but I could only dry retch noisily as I felt my stomach distend another couple centimeters. My fingers grew thin and withered, and I felt my cheeks sink into themselves as the thing in my belly drank the nutrients from my blood and flesh as my lungs worked like a pair of bellows in a forge, drawing in fresh air to supply the being within me with more oxygen.

But, despite all this, I did not feel fear or despair. The only thing I could feel was love. Love for the thing eating my body from the inside out. Love for the unborn creatures growing amongst my intestines, shoving them aside as their limbs and head elongated and swelled.

Dry laughter escaped my thinning lips as I stroked the now exposed skin of my stomach that had torn its way through my shirt and robes.

I should be afraid. I should hate the thing robbing me of my life. Yet, I knew that if anything or anyone dared to kill the creature inside me, I would throw myself over it to buy it a few more seconds so it could be born.

There was a snap, and I felt my left side lighten as my arm fell off. Tree roots grew out from the cross-section that should have revealed blood and bone, latching onto the Wraithbone and digesting it in order to provide fruits and nuts for the coming child. I could feel other things growing inside me as well. Other life forms that would emerge from my skin in order to take care of the children I would leave behind. Every part of me would be repurposed to form their cradle.

As the last bit of moisture drained out of my skin, leaving it hard and dry as bark, I stared upwards as an Aeldari woman with gold hair and silver eyes looked down at me sadly.

This was an incomplete miracle I'd activated by accident; spurred on by my survivor's guilt and pride.

"Mother…" I finally managed to mouth as the world dimmed then disappeared in darkness.

…

I tore off my helmet and retched onto the holographic projector table as I returned from the realm of dreams and visions back to reality. All the other men except one followed suit, either collapsing onto the table or trying in vain to hold their mouth closed before finally vomiting into their hand.

The one exception was the Autarch, who had a pensive look on his face while he stroked his chin.

The women either stumbled or put a hand to their stomach, shaken but not violently ill like the rest of us.

"What…" I stammered out. "was that?"

"Motherhood." Farseer Mehlendri replied as she massaged her stomach. "That was an extremely concentrated and visceral form of it. However, the emotions and reactions are very much the same."

That was motherhood? Farseer Mehlendri caught the disgusted look on my face and snorted.

"You and the others don't have the required organs, nor have you the experience of bringing life into this world, but that is what your own mothers felt when she bore you for the first time."

I grimaced then cleared my throat as several psychic drones flew in to clean up the mess.

"How would you know? You were dead in my foresight."

"That was your own personal vision, Idrineth." Farseer Mehlendri sighed. "In mine, only Milithea and I survived the Mon-keigh assault."

"What does this mean, Farseer Mehlendri?" Farseer Tyrios spoke up, shaking his hand to throw off the sick that was still on it before a psychic drone floated up to him in order to wash off the remaining mucus and pungent acids that clung to his fingers.

"I do not know, but we have more pressing matters to address." Farseer Mehlendri said with a shake of her head. "The rest of Iyanden no doubt felt that as well. We must take charge of the situation before things get out of hand. I will deal with our people. Meanwhile, contact the other Craftworlds. A choice has been made somewhere in this galaxy. A choice that affects all of our lives. We must know how far its effects reach, and what to do with it."

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N I'm not going to be putting as much effort in these sections, because I want to prioritise the main story. My story makes a lot of references to other real world events or mythology, so I've made these to elaborate since some of the symbolism and references are hard to get for some non-native speakers as well as younger native speakers.

The way I've organized it is by chapter. Some of these might be quite short. I'll just put any random bits of irony/references/foreshadowing I've made here.

Title: The first part in a 4 or 5 part series of side-stories regarding Craftworld Iyanden, and their reaction to Isha's choice. Some people might be worried that this story is going to be taken over by what might be classified as "omake" stories, but rest assured, the next parts of Isha's story are already drafted and plotted, so I know where the story is supposed to go and we do not risk running into a dead end.

Main Part: This side-story is mostly here to clarify some of the dates of Warhammer canon regarding the Eldar, and modify some of the canon dates so that they make sense.

Currently, the canon timeline of the Eldar has them discovering Spirit Stones and modifying them into soul containers between M31 and M33. i.e. They spent the entire Great Crusade, Horus Heresy, and the Reforging without Spirit Stones. As the more passionate fans might have guessed, this creatively idiotic decision was made by Mat Ward.

To accentuate just how idiotic this creative decision was, Lorgar committed Exterminatus on one living Craftworld in canon before he fell to Chaos, and the Eldar on that Craftworld had Spirit Stones and an Infinity Circuit. Although GW may be notorious for contradicting themselves, this particular lack of internal consistency is especially stupid in my opinion. What is the point of leaving Eldar souls defenseless for 3000 years?

The timeline for Spirit Stones has been accelerated in this story. If Isha never escaped, they would have completed the Infinity Circuit within M30, possibly within only a hundred or so years after the Fall.

The events that involve Asurmen are left untouched, which includes his travels from the Core Worlds and gathering the Eldar who would become the Phoenix Lords. The canon events of Maugan Ra being the one who provided Mehlendri Silversoul with the Spirit Stones, and Mehlendri being the first Eldar to discover how to store their souls in them, as well as the one who designed the schematics for the Infinity Circuit are unchanged.

Isha's Tears being made of suffering also ties into this, because the emotional trauma necessary to create them nicely explains why the Craftworlders couldn't complete the Infinity Circuit and had to re-discover Spirit Stones from the Asuryani (Asurmen and his followers).

On the topic of the Asuryani, the Path system is also a post-Fall invention, so this side-story also describes how the Eldar accepted the Path system provided by Asurmen, especially with all its drawbacks.

There are multiple references to canon Craftworlds, as well as their fates. Some of them appear only in Eldar codices, but one of these was important during the Fall of Cadia, so they are hardly irrelevant.

Kher-Ys, the Craftworld talked about the most, is a canon Craftworld that was destroyed by Slaanesh. The daughter of the Craftworld's leader was seduced by a Keeper of Secrets who disguised themself as an attractive Eldar youth who had accidentally gotten trapped in the Webway. (Yes, daemons can infiltrate the Webway, although it is a dangerous environment for them. If the Druhkari do not kill them upon entering, the Warp Spiders might devour them. (Yes, even Commorragh is not totally evil. It is because Dysjunctions occur in Commorragh that daemons do not spill into the Webway unmolested.)) This Keeper of Secrets managed to sneak aboard the Craftworld, undid the wardings of the Webway, and brought swarms of Slaaneshi daemons onto the Craftworld before heading to the Avatar of Khaine. Through several long hours of ritual and conversation, the Keeper of Secrets possessed the Avatar of Khaine, slaying the Eldar with the sword of their War god while empowering the other daemons in the same way the Avatar should have empowered the Eldar. Thus, every soul aboard Kher-Ys was claimed by She who Thirsts.

This future was foreseen by the Seers of Kher-Ys, but they could not decipher its full meaning. The events described here by the Seers of Iyanden allude to that fate. The reason they cannot decipher it is that in reality, it did not have to be the daughter of the leader. Any of the Eldar upon Kher-Ys could have fallen to the Keeper of Secret's deception, and eventually lead to their doom. Hence, the key person of the prophecy was forever malleable. (Thankfully, there are now Aeldari who can sniff out the taint of Slaanesh on their kin, and who else knows the Webway better than the Harlequin?)

As for why the Craftworlds are so open to conversation at this time, the War between the Craftworlds alluded to by Jain Zar in the novel "Jain Zar: The Storm of Silence" has not yet happened. In the novel, Jain Zar argues with an Avatar of Khaine, accusing her 'father' of instigating a civil war between the Craftworlds after the Fall, and there are other references in Eldar codices of Craftworlds attacking each other such as Saim-Hann and Kaelor.

Because the civil war has not yet happened, Craftworlds are less insular and more open to cooperation immediately after the Fall.

One thing to note about the Craftworlds in canon is that they do not have a uniform system of government, nor overarching cultural norms. Some Craftworlds are extremely draconian, culling anyone who shows even the slightest hint of Slaaneshi corruption, while others are borderline Core Worlders who enjoy the boons of their psychic physiology, and advanced technology. Kaelor and Aon'tai are two examples of Craftworlds who are explicitly stated to have attacked or been attacked by other Craftworlds, Saim-hann and Biel-Tan respectively.

Aon'tai in particular was utterly destroyed during a period of time called "The Era of Tears." This period of time is alluded to be when the Eldar waged civil war against one another. This is the canon source for the vision seen by Idrineth. In this story it is an age where Craftworlds raided one another for the Tears of Isha, as the method of collecting them from the Crone Worlds had yet to be perfected. Therefore, the only easy way to accumulate Spirit Stones was to steal them from their brethren.

Although it would be interesting to depict a fight with Eldar against Eldar, it would be a narrative step backwards that Isha would not allow, so the Era of Tears will be averted, although in a very convoluted manner.

On a more positive note, Iyanden is described as the largest and one of the last Craftworlds to escape the Fall. Although it was decimated when it ran into the Tyrannids, it was originally patrolling the sector of space that would later be known as the Ultramar sector, destroying Chaos aligned aliens as well as any daemons that tried to corrupt real-space directly. This is hinted to be the reason why Ultramar is so prosperous and 'good' when compared to the other regions of the Imperium.

As the Craftworld who originally wished to reestablish the Aeldari Empire, but who still have to remain culturally distinct from Biel-Tan, their culture is a mixture of pragmatism and puritanism. Although they are only known for their usage of Wraithguards due to taking so many losses from the Tyrannids in 40K, their supplemental codices does have several interesting passages and items that have been incorporated into this story.

Although most of my readers might think that Mehlendri is the only Eldar from canon, with all the other characters being OCs, there is actually another character here who is from the Iyanden Supplement Codex. Although he or she has no name in the codex, the description of what this individual was should be enough to figure out who is also from canon. Then again, it should be painfully obvious with the focus placed on this other character.

To quote the Iyanden Supplement Codex this "should have been sealed in a stasis vault or destroyed long ago, so that its evil may be contained or dispersed, but alas, times are so dire that every weapon must be pressed into service, whatever the risks."

But, to be quite honest, I only read the Supplement Codex until after I had finished the character profiles. I always wanted a Commorraghite to be included in the story. People think the Dark City as only a source of pain and suffering, but just as one of Slaanesh's functions is to make sure the Othersea does not dry up, Commorragh has its own uses even though they may be done with only evil or selfish intents.

It was a happy coincidence I could introduce this character aboard Iyanden without an overly contrived back-story.

Other things I would like to point out is the importance of pride in all the Eldar's interactions. Just as Isha talked about pride in a previous chapter, these side-stories explore what it means to be part of a race and society that is as proud as the Eldar. The Craftworlders deal with it by reinforcing ideals of humility, and allowing alternative ways of saving face through professional and private channels.

The Commorraghites have an entirely different way of dealing with this problem, and they are quite ridiculous. Lihilitu was a noble in this story, so some of the societal norms of her background have leached into the psyche of Commorragh. Even in canon 40K, the nobility of Commorragh are described to lounge on giant palanquins carried by crowds of slaves when they travel through the streets. Talking with them on equal footing while saving face requires some equally outlandish social rules that you'd find in any aristocracy.

 

[Nidhog153]

Things were quiet on Iyanden tonight. The vision that had assaulted the Seer council of Iyanden had swept across the entire Craftworld, and all their sister vessels reported witnessing similar visions.

A thankful side-effect was that the experience had left everyone exhausted, so the sounds of arguments and fighting that had recently become the usual background noise of the Craftworld were gone.

Mehlendri enjoyed the chirping of crickets in one of the garden domes of the Craftworld, using the calm to relax and let her mind idle. Khaine's voice was finally absent from her background thoughts for the first time in decades.

"Farseer Mehlendri." The Autarch called from behind her, and she frowned.

"Autarch Filimerthex." She answered without looking at him. "Is your granddaughter alright?"

"She is shaken, but ultimately unaffected." Filimerthex chuckled.

"Just like you." Mehlendri said, tone accusatory. "What motivated you to experience motherhood?"

The Autarch was the only man to remain unaffected by the vision. Only he and all the women aboard Iyanden remained in control of their bodily functions after what they all went through.

"The same motivation that allows me to be on this ship." Filimerthex said as he shrugged. "Love."

"I have a hard time believing that." Mehlendri snorted. "Your consort left you thousands of years ago, before you came to us."

"Yet, it was she who shared her mind with me during the conception, pregnancy, and birth." Filimerthex sighed. "We did part ways eventually, but it was at her request."

"Now neither your consort, nor your daughter are with you." Mehlendri spoke slowly. "If you truly loved them, why did you only bring your granddaughter with you?"

"Well, things with the mother of my child naturally fell apart. I have no idea where she is, or what she's doing." Filimerthex said as he walked past Mehlendri. "She got tired of being part of a family, and I wanted to remain a parent. What we wanted no longer matched, so we parted ways and she moved on."

"And you daughter?"

"She disappeared into the pleasure districts of one of the Core Worlds after leaving her own daughter in my care." Filimerthex kept his back turned towards Mehlendri as he spoke. "She died there, before the Fall. I have no idea what happened to her soul."

"Is that why you brought your infant granddaughter to us back then, begging us to take her into our care?"

She remembered when Filimerthex first came to them. In his arms was a newborn babe, a young soul with no previous experience of reincarnation. At that time, his back was not straight with pride, nor were his features calm and collected. He had banged on the enclave gates like a madman with tears in his eyes, crying for help.

Mehlendri had been the first one to talk to him, and in her pity for the child she had allowed him to enter the enclave gates. It was only later that she learned where this man had come from, as well as just how old and how dangerous he was.

"I do not know how She who Thirsts touches us, but I did not want her family's fate to be hers."

"You know that implies you too are touched by She who Thirsts." Mehlendri said cautiously, warning him of the accidental admission he had made.

There was a moment of silence, then the Autarch turned towards her, meeting her gaze head on.

"I am."

The garden fell silent around them as the crickets quieted themselves, hiding under the leaves and grasses as they felt the air grow heavy. Then frost began to spread across the garden freezing all the insects and plants in place as Mehlendri gathered her psychic strength, pulling back a figurative fist in preparation to strike.

The Autarch merely blinked in response, neither drawing out his psychic talents, nor tensing his muscles in preparation to fight.

"You know what I value most of all." He said, while he continued to lock eyes with the Farseer.

"Your granddaughter." Mehlendri responded as frost continued to spread around her.

Filimerthex nodded once. "As long as you and your Craftworld brethren protect her, you have my leash in your hand."

The man before her only cared for one thing, his last surviving blood relative. His granddaughter was not remarkable in any way. She was just another of the younglings brought up in the sheltered environment of the enclave that would become the Craftworld. Her relationship with Filimerthex was as normal as it could be under the circumstances. She might view him more as a father than a grandfather, but besides that there was nothing of note.

That was the only fact allowing Mehlendri a quiet night's sleep. Otherwise, she would not have been able to rest without worry, even if he was bound in chains and sealed in the depths of the Craftworld's bowels.

But, both of them already knew this, back when Mehlendri first found out where Filimerthex came from while they were in the enclave on the Core World.

"Did that vision change your opinion of our relationship?"

That was the only reason to bring up something that they both knew.

"You see it in your younglings as well." Filimerthex remained still as the frost crawled across his boot. "Their vision is hampered by both pride and obsession over purity."

"Do you wish to take your granddaughter from the Craftworld?" Mehlendri asked. Crystals of ice floated around her like diamond dust. The drawstring of her spell was pulled tight, the psychic bolt nocked and ready to fire with a single thought. She would protect everyone on Iyanden, even if it was from their own blood.

"No, I will not risk the voice of She who Thirsts entering her ears." Filimerthex said as he shook his head. "However, she should be allowed to know what exists beyond the Eldar's boundaries."

The two continued their stand-off as the frost climbed up Filimerthex's legs and waist.

"We are a beautiful and bestial race. Hiding one-half of that blinds and binds us, making us far less than what we once were."

Mehlendri snorted. "It is because we are lesser than those on the Core Worlds that we survived." She muttered. "We know nothing of their pleasures and pains, keeping us untainted by temptation."

"Yet, that also makes us ignorant of what we face."

"Then what do you propose, Autarch?"

"I do not know, Farseer Mehlendri." He shrugged. "But, I saw something there in that woman's eyes."

"What did you see?"

Mehlendri did not bother asking who he was referring to. She had seen the golden haired woman with silver eyes as well. In Mehlendri's vision, the Goddess of Life looked upon a massive burgundy crystal encasing a shadowy form placed in the ruins of Iyanden. The golden haired woman sighed sadly before turning towards the Farseer's withering body and bloated belly. Mehlendri had tried to take control of something she did not understand just as Idrineth did in order to restore her people and her home.

"Love, even for me after she saw all that I have done and wanted to do."

Disgust furrowed Mehlendri's brow as she understood what he meant.

"You were the reason for your daughter's disappearance into the pleasure districts of the Core World."

"Not exactly." Filimerthex shrugged. "But, ultimately, the responsibility lies with me."

"Should I restrain you from seeing your granddaughter?"

"If things ever get to that, this…" He said as he raised his left arm, letting the wide sleeve of his robe and shirt slip down revealing a beetle black gauntlet. "will be enough."

A long sigh exited the Farseer's lips as she allowed the psychic energies inside her to dissipate. The frost forming around them evaporated; freeing the crickets, grasses, and the lower half of the Autarch. Filimerthex was not a threat to Iyanden. She had come to that conclusion ages ago, while watching him with his granddaughter. So long as he served the Craftworld, he would be allowed aboard it.

"What did you want, Autarch?" She asked exhaustedly.

"I have triangulated the position of a certain planet I saw in my version of the vision." The Autarch said firmly. "I want you and the other Seers to steer us in its direction."

The Farseer glared at the Autarch. To go in that direction meant to approach the being that was there; the symbolization of motherhood so strong that incorrectly activating it would bring the malformed miracle they all saw into reality. The Aeldari may be saved by it, but the Eldar of Iyanden would all die in return. She currently served the Craftworld, and even if it meant the salvation of the rest of her species, the price was too high for her.

But, they could not stand idly by while the daughter of fate churned the waters every Craftworld sailed upon.

"The Seer council will convene tomorrow morning. Whatever made that choice does not want us arriving any time soon."

"Thank you, Farseer Mehlendri." The Autarch bowed before the Farseer, but the best she could do was nod vacantly in return.

She was so very tired at this moment.

"Leave me, Autarch." She said as she turned away from him. "I wish to be at peace for a little while longer, before Khaine comes to claim me again."

"As you wish, Farseer." Filimerthex bowed again, before exiting the garden. Mehlendri looked up at the starry void that was allowed to be visible through the garden dome of the simulated night time of their ship, listening to the crickets chirp around her once again.

—----------------------------------------

Morning on the Craftworld begins with compulsory chores; the ritual necessary to remind all those who had no need to work the importance of doing so regardless.

In the agri-domes, Eldar picked fruit and dug up tubers by hand, while tilling the soil with only their psychic talents and fingers, even though the drones would have done a far more efficient and higher quality job.

Filimerthex worked the earth just like the others. There were no special privileges here. This was a reminder of the importance of humility and service to the Craftworld, in order to ground even the highest ranking Eldar and keep their pride in check. He usually accomplished this ritual in the artificial forests or grasslands in the other domes where more of the martially adept Eldar hunted and skinned the wild animals kept there.

He had abstained from attending the morning Seer council. Milethea and possibly even Thulor would question Mehlendri's motivations for approaching the anomaly that had affected them all, and it would be better for him to remove himself, if only to prevent any political accusations levied against the oldest Farseer.

"Grandfather, you're pulling the tubers out all wrong." A slightly shorter Eldar girl quipped, ears twitching with frustration.

This was Filimerthex's granddaughter, a 210 year old Eldar girl with almost blood red hair. She was the equivalent of a teenager in Eldar society, and as such her pride was getting the better of her.

"They're coming out just fine, Iyandra." Filimerthex sighed as he pulled out another engorged dark blue plant root out from the soil with his bare hands. Today they were harvesting a sort of yam that formed a sticky paste when ground down. It could be eaten as a side dish, or used a sort of reverse condiment for stronger tasting foods in order to diffuse the harsh tastes they might have.

"You're pulling them out in pieces. They'll only last a week before oxidizing at this rate." The girl sighed. "Look, you have to bring them up with their inter root nodules still connected. That way, the root skins are unbreached, keeping the tubers alive, healthy, and fresh until it's time to cook them."

She stretched out a hand to the next plant, and the ground began to tremble as she psychically agitated the soil around it. The vibrating grains bounced against each other, acting like the molecules in a boiling liquid, allowing her to slowly pull the entire plant from the ground.

"Well done, Iyandra." Filimerthex clapped his hands. "But, aren't you taking this a bit too seriously? Vibrating the soil to cause fluidification is something the drones are supposed to do. You don't have to improvise in order to mimic them."

"The pursuit of perfection in a job well done is not an evil thing." Iyandra said as she brushed a few clumps of dirt still hanging from the mass of interconnected tubers. "The lazy are the first to fall, and it is because we were wily that we managed to run away in time."

"Very well memorized." Filimerthex praised her with a wry smile. "But, the point of this labor is to remember humility. This isn't a contest, Iyandra."

"Then what better way would there be to be humble, than to admit to your granddaughter she is better than you?" Iyandra retorted with a defiant smile.

Filimerthex snorted. The teachers and martial instructors aboard Iyanden were the ones who were supposed to help the young souls learn their limits, as well as when and where one could spout unnecessary witticisms. However, her spirit seemed strong enough for an earlier lesson.

"Alright, tomorrow we go to the hunting domes for our chores." He said as he took the tubers from her and placed it into a basket. "Then it will be your turn to learn the humility of learning from your elders."

"I accept, grandfather." She said as she dusted herself off. "But, you may not remain the teacher for long."

Filimerthex smiled. Iyandra had only done chores in the agricultural domes on account of her being too young to enter the hunting domes unattended. It would be interesting to see how long her attitude would last when she was forced to skin and gut an animal with only her bare hands. The smell and feeling of offal was usually enough to reduce the inexperienced to tears.

Additionally, if she wanted to make this a race, he would gladly oblige, although he could guess how it would end. It would serve as an important lesson for both the importance of life, and the dangers of creating frivolous challenges or competitions.

Suddenly, Iyandra blinked as she caught sight of someone approaching them.

"Farseer Mehlendri." She bowed, wiping the playful smile from her face as she put on her mask of best behavior.

"At ease, Iyandra. I am merely here to do my service to the Craftworld." Mehlendri smiled back at the girl before passing by Filimerthex. "The Seer council has agreed to allow a scouting party to be sent." She whispered.

Filimerthex nodded, then replied his thanks with sign language from his left hand.

'Take heed, Filimerthex.' Mehlendri continued with a psychic message. 'We merely saw that there was no danger in doing so. Iyanden's current path remains unchanged.'

'I understand.' He replied.

A few of the other Seers joined the other Eldar in the fields.

"Ugh. The little ones have started their pranks with Ulrissor again." Iyandra groaned.

The Farseer had started working washing the remaining tubers the other Eldar brought in their baskets at an artificial creek. Smaller Eldar children were sneaking around behind the Farseer, picking a freshly washed set of tubers from the basket on his left, smudging them a bit with their muddy hands, and silently placing them on his right.

"Leave them be." Filimerthex snorted. "Ulrissor knows what they're doing to him."

Iyandra sighed before watching the children giggle as Ulrissor took one of the tubers they had dirtied and washed it again. "Odd, I never thought he was the type to play along with the little ones."

"He's not playing along with them. He's using them." Filimerthex muttered. "As long as he has to wash tubers, he gets to stay near the creek where he can continuously wash his hands. If he finished washing, he'd have to find some other chore to do, and he dislikes touching dirt."

"Funny." Iyandra said with a strained smile. "I guess it's because he's a child at heart that he gets along so well with them."

'Teenagers.' Filimerthex thought to himself as he smiled as well.

That age group often thought themselves more mature than those younger than them, while being whittier and smarter than their elders. However, a real adult wouldn't have made a wager they had no way of winning.

Filimerthex was also an Eldar, and he was not above nursing wounded pride. He was pulling out all the stops on the hunting trip tomorrow morning. A mature Eldar waited for the perfect opportunity to return a favor or insult. That would be another valuable lesson for Iyandra.

"Milethea is glaring at you again." Iyandra said as they walked to the creek with their baskets of tubers.

"She has her reasons." Filimerthex shrugged.

"Was your plan with the green skins and humans that distasteful?" Iyandra asked as she clutched her basket to her chest. "I heard that there was quite a vocal argument at that time."

'It's not just that.' He thought to himself, but it was a part of why she disliked him. Might as well play along with that assumption.

"Did you hear about what I did?" Filimerthex asked as he knelt down near the creek, and picked out one of the tubers to wash.

"Only rumors." Iyandra replied as she knelt down next to him, pulling out one of her large interconnected tuber roots and submerging the entire thing in the creek. "Something about distracting the green skins away from our Maiden Worlds." She swished the plant around in the water, letting the flow of the creek carry away the dirt.

"That's the gist of it." Filimerthex answered as he scrubbed his own singular tuber with his hands.

"That alone should not have made her so angry." His granddaughter said with a raised eyebrow. "What did you do, grandfather?"

There was a slight pause as he pondered what to tell her. If this was before the vision, he would have bluffed his way out of the question or allowed her to make her own conclusions. However, the silver eyes in his vision were looking at him even now. They reflected him as who he was, and although they were saddened by what they saw, they did not reject him.

'You're the strongest person I know, father. That's why I can leave her with you.' The last words of his daughter played out in his mind.

Filimerthex drew in a breath, then began to talk.

"You know our histories of the Orks?" He asked.

"Yes. It is said that the great Eldanesh broke them by using their own powers against them after suffering great hardship." Iyandra spoke, reciting history from memory. "He convinced them that they were the strongest, so in their brutal search for greater foes, they turned on themselves."

"Ah…" Filimerthex replied. "So that is how they teach it nowadays."

Iyandra blinked in surprise before giving her grandfather a narrow eyed look. "What do you mean, grandfather?" He spoke strangely, as if he knew a different history to her.

"An Ork…" Filimerthex muttered. "Cannot be conversed with, and hence you cannot convince them of anything."

"But, then how were the green skins shattered?"

"By using the only language they know. Violence."

"That does not sound like the lessons."

"I never said we used violence on them."

Iyandra's breath caught in her throat for a moment.

"We allowed the green skins to brutalize us?" She whispered to him.

"An Ork thrives on battle. Fighting them gives them what they want most." Her grandfather said quietly. "We lost on purpose, over and over again for thousands of years against certain tactics. We let them kill our bodies and traveled back from the Othersea so we could die to them again. Some were even ordered to be taken prisoner by them to make their victories seem even greater than the charade we made for them."

Iyandra's face flushed at what she heard. Her people losing on purpose to the green skins was a humiliating concept. The creatures could barely talk properly. It was only their sheer numbers that made them pose a threat to the Eldar. The thought of the hero of her people forcing all those who followed him to endure such an indignation filled her with rage.

"Eldanesh certainly did face a great amount of hardship convincing the others to follow his strategy." Filimerthex chuckled as he pulled out the cleaned yam and placed it in a drying bin. "But it worked. The Orks grew weak and slovenly with their easy victories, and their belief in the strength of the tactics we let them win with gradually became the only way for them to act." He picked another tuber from his basket and began to wash it while simultaneously motioning with his head to the plant in Iyandra's hand, reminding her to scrub it clean. "Those taken prisoner provided information on their kultur as they called it, and when they finally believed that they were the strongest and most powerful beings in the galaxy, it didn't take long to convince them that the only ones worth fighting were themselves." Filimerthex chuckled to himself again before continuing. "Of course, their disagreement with each other ended up being how best to fight, and we laid the seeds for that discord by only losing in certain ways against specific groups of Orks."

Iyandra let out a deep breath, letting her anger exit with the hot air before roughly scrubbing the mass of tubers submerged in the creek.

"If the Orks were allowed to win, why were they only on certain prison worlds until now." She asked after having calmed down enough.

"A genocide is not a battle, Iyandra." Filimerthex said as he cleaned off his third yam. "Their splintered fleets and disorganized cities didn't last long in the clutches of the black holes we dropped on them. Since not even light can escape its gravitic grip, the other Orks knew nothing of their deaths. Hence, there was no battle, there was no fight. Even now their splintered tribes believe in the false strength of the tactics we allowed them to win with, not knowing that the different ways of waging war they convinced themselves to be the best were all taught to them by the Aeldari. Another gift of Eldanesh in a sense."

"A gift?" Iyandra said as she wrinkled her nose.

"It is a lot easier to kill an enemy when they only attack in a certain premeditated way."

She nodded at that, then frowned. "But, we cannot do the same thing now." She said, tone accusatory.

The Eldar could no longer reincarnate as the Aeldari once had, but if that was the case, this entire history story had nothing to do with why Milethea disliked Filimerthex, nor what he had done.

"No, we cannot." Filimerthex nodded. "However, there is no need to defeat the Orks anymore."

Iyandra snorted at that. "The green skins spread like a plague, grandfather." Even now, their numbers grew with the patrol fleets of the Aeldari empire no longer able to provide the periodic orbital bombardment to thin their numbers.

"They do, but so do others. The Orks are hardly the only expansionist race."

A chill passed over Iyandra.

"What did you do, grandfather?"

"I reminded them why the Eldar are not worth fighting, and provided them with an alternative that seemed more fun." He shrugged. "I had our Guardians find Mon-keigh soldiers under assault from Chaos or one of our ex-client races. You would be surprised how often they run into the K'nib." Filimerthex chuckled as his granddaughter froze. "Once we rescued them from their plight, we provided them safe passage to the prison worlds of the Orks."

"That was why Milethea accused you of putting us at risk." Iyandra lowered her voice instinctively. "If the humans find out what you did, it would mean war between us."

"By the time they realize what has happened, they will have already forgotten everything that led up to it." Her grandfather snorted. "Besides, there is about as much diplomacy to be had with the Mon-keigh as the Orks. You've heard what they've done recently on the outer rim, haven't you? There should be rumors of looted Soul Engines and stripped down Psychomatons going around Iyanden. We shall take from them as they will from us." His voice was bitter and dark as he spoke. "Whatever bargain or treaty we can make with the Mon-keigh will be forgotten in one of their miniscule generations, or perhaps even sooner. Elections have a funny effect of wiping their memories when they should really be a moment to hold those in power accountable for all their sins."

For a moment, there was only the sound of rushing water, and the splash of hands scrubbing away dirt.

"Do not pity them, Iyandra. Ultimately, it will be their choice whether to fight or flee from the Orks. If they should choose to fight, let them stumble from one self-inflicted disaster to the next. There is no need for the Eldar to care for the fate of the Mon-keigh when they care so little about what happens to their own kin."

"I can see why Milethea is worried about you, grandfather." Iyandra said dryly. "Pitting the green skins and humans against each other, even if they do not notice our subterfuge, is dangerous. The green skins could grow stronger with every battle, and the humans will become more hostile and reactionary."

"It is as you say." Filimerthex nodded. "But, at the same time it keeps both the Orks and the Mon-keigh busy with each other, leaving no time for them to encroach upon our Maiden Worlds and the Exodites. I orchestrated these events to ensure our brethren remain unmolested by aliens, allowing the Craftworlds to focus on the activities of Chaos. We have enough enemies in the immaterium, Iyandra. Every Ork that kills a Mon-keigh, and every Mon-keigh that slays an Ork is another alien we do not have to worry about."

He sighed and tossed another washed tuber into the pile of clean ones.

"Besides, that was only part of my argument with Milethea. She was more upset when I requested to barter with Commorragh."

"You wanted to entreat with the Dark City?" Iyandra hissed under her breath.

"They're the only place in this galaxy that can produce realistic enough clone bodies of Eldar." Filimerthex shrugged. "The Orks needed to think themselves victorious, and that required corpses. I purchased the bodies from an old contact of mine and had our Guardians set them up so when the Orks eventually overran us, they could butcher the flesh puppets left behind."

"What was the point of all of that?" Iyandra whispered. Surely merely forcing the Eldar to retreat would be victory enough for any other race.

"Orks live for a Proppa Foight, as they call it. They dislike it when all they see are shadows, snipers, and sabotage. Iyanden and Biel-Tan's Guardians spent several years on the new and old worlds of the Orks, irritating and annoying them with the tactics they hate most. Once they were frustrated enough, we finally led them to where we wanted them to think we were. There they found stumbling simpletons who neither screamed nor struggled when they stabbed them. We released the Mon-keigh on those worlds soon after, and they provided ample entertainment for the Orks, as well as coordinates to more Mon-keigh worlds."

"That is not the way we are taught to act." Iyandra muttered.

"It is not the Eldar way." Filimerthex nodded. "But, it is the way the Aeldari have always fought."

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N I'm not going to be putting as much effort in these sections, because I want to prioritise the main story. My story makes a lot of references to other real world events or mythology, so I've made these to elaborate since some of the symbolism and references are hard to get for some non-native speakers as well as younger native speakers.

The way I've organized it is by chapter. Some of these might be quite short. I'll just put any random bits of irony/references/foreshadowing I've made here.

Title: It is pretty self-descriptive. The original draft was on my patreon for about 3 weeks at time of posting, so for those of you who are interested in early access, the option is there.

Main Part: We never get a good view of what happens on a Craftworld in private, but there are certain rules that are said to be constant.

1. All Eldar participate in some form of manual labor to remember the importance of work and cooperation.
2. Their society is still post-scarcity, and so as long as the Craftworld is unbreached, there is no War, Disease, or Madness upon the ship.
3. The Avatar chamber is at the heart of every Craftworld, and these shards caused a war between almost every Craftworld shortly after the Fall.

These rules remain true, even in 40K, with the only two known events of disease spreading on a Craftworld is Lugganath, which was the Craftworld that lost its Seers to Nurgle himself and another completely corrupted Craftworld that appears in Chaos Gate: Daemonhunter, which has been defeated by the 14th Legion and serves as a breeding ground for virulent strains of the Bloom Plague that was unleashed in the sector.

The Path system is a later introduction, and originally includes only Aspect Shrines. However, some Craftworlds seem to have adapted this philosophy to apply to every aspect of life, including reproduction and parenting. Some Craftworlds, according to Gav Thorpe, have paths dedicated to 'creating' more Eldar, while others are dedicated to 'nurturing' the newborn Eldar.

Additionally, all Eldar born after the Fall have to undergo a form of psychic restraint in order to prevent them from hearing Slaanesh's voice accidentally through the Warp. This is partially used to explain why the 40K Eldar are often viewed as lesser and weaker by the Necron in canon.

Iyanden, being the Craftworld that aims to restore the Aeldari empire, is quite pragmatic in their culture. They will do whatever they have to in order to survive, and save the greatest number of their people. As the Craftworld that later became infamous for their usage of their dead in order to protect their living, I think it is a fitting culture to ascribe to them. This is, before we get to the matter of the SoulShrive and other items from the Supplementary Iyanden Codex.

This is shown by Mehlendri in this story, who is one of the core members of Iyanden's legends. She is the inventor and discoverer of the Spirit Stone system as well as the Infinity Circuit, and it is her Spirit Stone that laid the foundation for Iyanden's Infinity Circuit.

Regarding the part with the Orks, this is my in-story reason for why the Orks see the Eldar as "Pansies/Panzees", despite having been defeated by the Aeldari and being imprisoned by them for tens of thousands of years.

To elaborate, the method by which Eldanesh splintered the Orks, was envisioned due to the Orks nickname for the Aeldari (Eldar, Exodite, Druhkari) being "Pansies/Panzees". Just like Space Marines remain "Beakies" long after the Corvus pattern helmet fell out of common usage, the Orks' genetic memory or Waaagh field retains the first name the Orks come up with for a very long time. Thus, the first time the Orks ran into the Aeldari, the impression they got from them was that they were "Pansies/Panzees". i.e. they were easy to defeat.

From a cultural perspective, it also makes sense. Fighting an Ork is counter-productive. They only enjoy the activity more, and even if you do rout them, it is impossible to make them cower or surrender for a long period of time. Eventually, they or the spores they leave behind will attack again. That is what the Orks are. Therefore, the only way to truly defeat an Ork is to defeat them by losing, defeat them by not winning at all, or defeat them in such a way that they do not realize that there was a battle to begin with.

As long-time allies of the Krork, the Aeldari should know these traits of the lesser offspring of the Krork, and with their ability to reincarnate and documented usage of blackholes as weapons, the Aeldari are perfectly capable of conducting the first and third option in order to defeat the orks.

There is also another layer of sub-text here. Filimerthex specifically refers to the humans as Mon-keigh, displaying a genuine dislike and disrespect towards them while referring to the Orks as Orks. Iyandra is the reverse, where she refers to humans as humans, and Orks as green-skins. This shows that Filimerthex and Iyandra have opposing views regarding the aliens. Iyandra sees humans as aliens one can have a discussion with, while the Orks are just barbaric animals. Filimerthex is the opposite, where there is a begrudging respect towards the Orks, while showing a great disdain for the unreliability of humans and their primitive nature. Apparently, he finds their ease at being manipulated by their politicians to be frustrating, and that is enough evidence for him that they are not much better than Mon-keigh in terms of intelligence level.

On a side note, for those readers who think the Eldar are a bit over the top with their racism and manipulations, you have to remember that this story is based heavily on canon material, but just as Isha has decided to work with the Emperor unlike canon, the Eldar will gradually transition from the Mon-keigh hating Xenos to something… different. If the earlier interlude 10,000 years later was anything to go by, attitudes towards humans have mellowed to the point that some Eldar are willing to look for their literal "soul mate" amongst the humans.

Just like any society has a hard time shrugging off prejudice, the Eldar will need some time to acclimatize to the idea that not every human is a primitive forgetful rabid endlessly avaricious plague.

 

[Nidhog153]

Craftworld Iyanden appeared from the deep blue of the Webway, emerging from the void of space like a golden sewing needle punching through the black fabric of reality. Several other bright yellow and blue vessels appeared around it, traveling in the wake of the much larger Craftworld like schools of dolphins and anchovies following a blue whale.

"Temporary Webway portal transit successful." One of the navigators reported from their terminal. All the bridge crew were helmed and armored, ready for combat as the Craftworld traveled over the debris field of Eclipse-class cruisers orbiting an orange and black planet.

"All ships maintain dispersed formation around the Craftworld." Autarch Filimerthex commanded, face hidden by a twin-plumed full face helmet. "As a reminder, Saim-Hann shall not open his mouth again so easily. You will need to buy time for us to enter the Webway again should we come under attack. I want periodic sensor pulses as well as all escorts and fighter squadrons in reconnaissance formation. Our scouting parties and the Farseers saw no sign of the Mon-keigh, but remember that the thoughts and actions of the irrational, insane, and immature are the bane of prophecy and planning. Be on your guard for anything."

Battleship class Void Stalkers and battlecruiser class Phoenix ships deployed their fighter squadrons as the frigates and destroyers drifted further away from the group in scouting formations. Meanwhile, Iyanden herself drew closer to the debris field.

"Barbarians…" muttered one of the navigators as she looked through the sensors of the ship with her psychic touch. The remains of Mon-keigh vessels were still impaled in some of the Aeldari ships, and she could see signs of friendly fire on their primitive vessels. The Mon-keigh had driven into the Aeldari fleet here in a suicidal charge, almost dead set in killing ten or more of themselves in order to take the life of a single Aeldari.

Filimerthex grimaced under the helm, hearing and feeling the hate in the Eldar on the bridge. It was a good thing that he had received permission from the Seer Council to keep the images and sensor readings from the Craftworld away from the central psychic lattices. The blood of their species had been spilled in a suicidal manner by these Mon-keigh. The brutal tactics showed that the Mon-keigh's desire to kill them outweighed their own basic survival instincts. That was enough evidence to understand just how much the Mon-keigh hated them, so it was only natural to hate them equally back in kind.

However, neither he nor Iyanden had time for vengeance.

Sensor readings and psychic notes from the other Eldar entered Filimerthex's mind as he connected deeper with the ship itself, providing him with a complete report of all that was around them.

Most of the Aeldari military ships had been destroyed by Mon-keigh weaponry, but several of the civilian ships showed signs of internal sabotage. The Wraithbone had torn apart the ship's own engines, a feat that was only possible with Aeldari abilities.

"Prepare boarding parties for all of the civilian ships." Filimerthex ordered. "Send some of our light-cruisers to investigate. There are no lifesigns aboard, so it shall be easy enough for them."

Many of the Eldar found these sabotaged ships odd ever since the first reports from the scouting party had returned. The creation of Wraithbone was a trait only their species had, but no sane Aeldari or Eldar would think to use it to sabotage an entire ship. It would be far easier to use a plasma grenade or their psyker powers to disable the ships than to force Wraithbone to grow into the engines. It would have taken several dozen Bonesingers hours to do that, and that was with the rather unrealistic assumption that the crew of the ship did nothing to impede the would-be saboteurs.

Part of Iyanden's flotilla separated in order to investigate the sabotaged ships. Filimerthex eyes followed the ships grimly. The boarding parties would no doubt return with more questions than answers, but there were other things to investigate in parallel.

The planet they currently orbited was recorded in the void-charts of Iyanden, but the writhing crust and plumes of lava could not have been further from what was supposed to be there.

"Divert some of our escorts to the planet. I want sensor readings for what happened here." Filimerthex ordered. "Have we established an all-clear perimeter?"

"Reconnaissance units and all associated fighter squadrons and escorts report no contact." One of the other navigators answered. "We are alone, Autarch."

"Good." Filimerthex nodded. "Prepare our salvage ships, but maintain vigilance. We shall not waste what we do not have to. However, all shipmasters are to return to the Craftworld at the first sign of anything at all."

Psi-drones and other craft detached from the hull of the Craftworld, utilizing telekinesis and Bonesinging to cut apart and collect the remains of the Aeldari cruisers. Wraithbone could be replaced, psychically charged crystals could be regrown, but specific structures such as Pulsars, Starcannons, solar sails, and gravitic drives required time and extravagant materials in order to construct. Although not necessary, it was an undeniable waste to leave the remains of their empire's ships behind, no matter how small.

"We have the preliminary planetary readings, Autarch." One of the navigators reported to Filimertex. "The core and mantle of the planet are in a state of constant flux, churning and re-stratifying itself allowing buried water and gasses to be freed into the atmosphere. Precipitation cycles have already begun on the cooler segments of the crust, dragging down the excessive dust and silica, while leaving enough in the stratosphere so solar radiation exposure is reduced to the levels necessary to foment amino-acid formation. Given another hundred years, or perhaps even several decades, the planet shall become the seed for a Maiden World."

"And the reason for this sudden change?" Filimerthex asked back. "Is there evidence of an asteroid strike or some other external input of energy?"

This planet was supposed to be a mostly dead world. It may have been volcanic, but the continents had been fixed in place, as well as the general location of the magma flows beneath it. This raging primordial sea of molten rock was nothing like it. Thermal and kinetic energy coursed through it like blood, pumping the magma and washing away the crust. Such events could only be brought about by an external source of energy, and the only realistic one was from the impact of another interstellar body.

"No." The Navigator shook his head. "We have not found any new satellites, or change in planetary mass that would indicate an external source for this change."

"Then, the cause must be truly not of this realm." Filimerthex muttered.

"There are traces of psychic disturbances here, but they could have been from the Mon-keigh's Warp drives." One of the other Navigators countered.

In return the Autarch snorted.

"With these numbers?" He sighed. "The traces of Warp transit and the number of identified Mon-keigh wrecks do not match, not to mention the number that would have been required to entirely destroy our kin." A holographic summary of the psychic traces identified by the Craftworld's sensors appeared with a wave of his hand and he sent it to all of their terminals. "Something has removed the psychic traces of what has happened here, including the psychic cause for the planet's change."

"That is quite the leap of logic, Autarch." A different Eldar replied.

There is nothing here, therefore someone must have hidden it. A ridiculous kind of logic that bordered on conspiracy theory. That was the Autarch's reasoning. Under normal circumstances, anyone would have found the claim dubious.

However, at this moment…

"It is the only one that makes sense with what we have before us." Filimerthex said as he leaned back in the command throne. "The remains of several rag-tag patrol fleets from our Empire, the signs of battle with Mon-keigh, and the vision we all saw." The Autarch tapped a finger against his helm as he spoke. "The Aeldari who were here wouldn't have had the devices necessary to bring about this change, and even if they did it would not have resulted in this. The Mon-keigh's definition of terraforming is not much better than landscaping or backyard horticulture. Even with their most destructive weapons, the best they can do is burn a planet to cinders. Therefore…"

He stood up from the command throne, as a holographic image of the plane took center stage on the bridge.

"She did this, just as she was responsible for what you all saw. However, all traces of her have been erased."

"What does this mean, Autarch?" Another of the bridge crew asked.

Ships sabotaged by Wraithbone.
A planet reborn through extraordinary means.
A vision of death and rebirth.
Missing traces of what all other circumstantial evidence indicated should be there.
It was a myriad of conflicting messages that even the Eldar found confounding.

"I do not know…" Filimerthex admitted with a shrug. "But, she was here and if she was one of us, she knew we would be here too." The Autarch returned to the command throne, before uttering his next orders to the flotilla. "Prepare our planetary landing craft. Direct them to the place with the least amount of psychic traces. That is where she would have been closest to."

—----------------------------------------

The ground Leader of the 10th Guardian squad, Seridin, checked the seals on his suit as he felt the landing craft slow its descent. A feeling of dread was spreading through him and all the other Guardians who had been assigned this reconnaissance mission.

They had done as the Autarch said, focussing on the place with the least traces of psychic energy, but it was not a simple void they approached. The very air felt like it had been scorched; purified till not even the smallest mote of dust, spore, or even microbe was left. He could feel his psychic senses recoil at the sheer emptiness that they had begun to enter.

The immaterium was something they were all accustomed to, and even though it was now filled with the whispers of She who Thirsts, they could hear the currents of the Othersea even in the depths of space. Now, there was a silence that they had not heard even in the darkest gaps between the stars.

And they knew instinctively why it felt like that to them.

They were entering the cauterized remains of a crater-like wound; flesh and skin seared till they were nought but black ash. From a distance, the background sounds of the immaterium masked the wound's presence much like frothing waves would hide a shallow reef, but now that they were descending into the pit, it was all too clear just how unnatural it was.

'We near the surface.' The pilot, Vythira, communicated psychically from her sealed cockpit. 'Precipitation falls, but keep your suit's atmosphere separate from the surroundings. The waters are caustic and the air will sear your lungs should it enter them. The ground remains solid on this region of the planet, but it is not like the others. Be prepared for anything.'

Images from the sensors of the landing craft entered his mind, giving him a 360 degree view of all that there was around them before he disembarked.

The ground was solid as the pilot had said, however, geyser vents, spikes, stone slabs, cavernous crevices, and vitrified craters covered it. A pile of collapsed rubble lay scattered across off in the distance, spreading across the entire western horizon. Solidified lava flows sizzled as black raindrops fell upon them, still well over several hundred degrees in temperature.

Seridin activated the accelerators in his Shuriken catapult with a thought as he put a hand to the plasma grenades on his belt.

A battle had been fought here, and a cataclysmic one at that. There was obvious physical evidence of geological manipulation, but the psychic traces left by whoever or whatever molded the metals and minerals had all been erased.

'Transfer operational command to me, and open the doors.' Seridin commanded. 'Keep the ship hovering, and ready to lift off at a moment's notice, but remain close. This is not the place to waste our lives.'

'As you wish.' Vythira replied, and air hissed as the gaskets of the landing craft loosened before the doors opened outwards, providing temporary cover on either side. The lead Guardian and his second exited the craft and took cover by the doors, scanning the terrain on either side. Seridin himself moved up as the others followed.

'Path clear.' A brief psychic report came from the lead Guardian and his second.

'Move up.' Seridin ordered, and the two excited from cover and jogged to two separate stone slabs as Seridin and another Guardian took their places behind the doors and watched their comrades backs.

The two disappeared from sight for a moment, and a tense second passed before the psychic message. 'Clear.' came from the both of them.

A short sigh of relief exited Seridin's nose as his muscles relaxed slightly.

"Move up, and form an extended wedge formation." He ordered the rest of the Guardians vocally.

They were here to reconnoiter the area assigned to them. Other landing craft were far away, both to increase the ground they could cover, and to avoid falling into the same trap should there be one. Seridin's group would travel from the field of stone slabs towards what should have been a continuous line of valleys and gorges, but the landmarks had disappeared leaving only rivers of lava.

They trekked across the ground in that direction, sliding down and then climbing up the lips of craters without event as the landing craft followed 50 or so meters behind them, hovering a short hop above the ground. No ambush or earthquake disturbed them as they marched through the blank rain. The only thing that was there to upset them was the endless emptiness that surrounded them on all sides, weighing down on their soul as if they'd been transported deep into abyssal waters where no light nor sound was allowed.

"Seridin, I've found something." One of the Guardians called out to him. "The woman's tone was grim, but not alarmed.

"Hold position." Seridin ordered, and he walked over to where the Guardian who had called him was.

As he approached, the oppressive feeling increased. His vision flickered between what was before his eyes, and an endless blackness on all sides that he could do nothing but march through.

Seridin whispered a short prayer to Asuryan, the Aeldari's creator, and reinforced his mental wards. Counter-intuitively, the source of the emptiness was of the immaterium itself. Thoughts and concepts bled off from it, infecting his mind with information he could not understand.

Finally, the Guardian who called him came into sight. She was looking at something buried in the ground, and although her face was hidden behind her helmet, Seridin could tell from her body posture that she was confused.

"What have you found?" Seridin asked the Guardian as he entered arms reach.

"A weapon, a message, or a mistake I do not know." The woman answered.

She was staring at what looked like the fletching of an arrow buried in the ground. It was bone-white and almost crystalline looking; the tell-tale sign of Wraithbone. But, they could also feel that the source of the visions that whispered to them was buried at the other end of it.

"Do we dare touch it?" The Guardian asked warily. This was obviously a battlefield, and although the arrow appeared archaic, it was a psychic artifact of unknown power. There was no telling what it would do when unearthed.

Seridin paused for a moment to consider his options, then decided to take a gamble.

"We know not how long we have left before we have to leave. I shall speak to the Wraithbone directly. If it is of our blood, then it should speak to us at the very least."

He motioned for the other Guardian to step back, then stretched his palm out to the fletchings of the arrow to commune with it directly.
"Seridin." A ghostly whisper tickled his ear. The tone was familiar for some reason, although he couldn't remember where he had heard it.

A smile crossed his face as the first bit of his gamble paid off by not immediately blowing up in his face, then he felt an invisible force grab his hand and wrap it around the buried shaft of the arrow.

"Seridin. Seridin? Seridin!" A cacophony of voices called out his name cooing in motherly tones while proud victorious laughter echoed in his eardrums as soft cooling hands stroked his cheeks.

"SERIDIN! WAKE UP!" He opened his eyes to see the Guardian shaking him by the shoulder with one hand while her Shuriken catapult pointed at his hand, the hand still gripping the arrow.

"I'm fine." He answered wearily. "I'm… fine. How long was I gone?"

"Only a second, but I saw you open your psychic senses fully." The other Guardian muttered. "You know how dangerous that is." Her hand had released Seridin's shoulder, but the Shuriken catapult was now slowly pointing towards the Lead Guardian.

"My soul is still pure." Seridin answered angrily at the underlying accusation. "And I still serve the Craftworld."

A tense moment passed, then the Guardians finger left the Shuriken catapult's trigger.

"Then, for all our sakes, let us hope the voice you heard was not Hirs." The woman sighed before adopting a more amenable tone. "What did we find, Seridin?"

The Lead Guardian looked down at his own hand, still buried in the ground with the arrow, then slowly pulled both free. A Wraithbone arrow with a golden point emerged from the dirt. Grains of soil fell away from it like droplets of water, leaving it entirely unblemished.

"A lesson." Seridin spoke slowly, as he looked at the perfect harmony between immaterial matter and the paradoxical paranormal phenomenon that it was tipped with. "A lesson that will take a long time to learn, but we can learn regardless."

Suddenly a psychic message struck all of them. 'Seismic activity increasing! All Guardians, return to landing craft! What we stand upon is not what it seems!'

No sooner had they received the message, the ground crackled and rumbled as a ripple traveled through it like a tidal wave.

'All Guardians fall back to the landing craft!' Seridin mentally shouted as he stumbled back to the swiftly approaching ship that had been hovering behind them. His hand remained wrapped around the arrow, holding it to his chest even though he could feel its glowing point sting and singe his psychic senses.

The pitch of the rumbling earth changed, and with a final crack, stone pillars burst from the ground around them. Each was tens of meters tall, and as they emerged to their full height, seams split open revealing a hidden lid which slid back down into the ground, revealing each stone pillar to be a coffin containing the ruined remains of one of their greatest weapons.

"Psychomatons?!" Seridin shouted out in amazement, stopping his feet to stare up at the machines embedded in the rock coffins.

"Seridin! Return to the ship! We need to leave!" The other Guardians called out as they passed him, but he remained where he was.

"Hold!" He ordered. "The ground's shaking stills. Our ancestors watch over us, and no harm shall come to pass under their gaze."

Even before the words left his mouth, the shaking slowed then stopped leaving only the pitter patter and hiss of acid rain falling around them.

The other Guardians slowly returned to Seridin.

"Lead Guardian, we cannot afford to be loose with our lives. Death is not the end for us." The woman who had originally found the arrow hissed.

"But our death is not yet here." Seridin shot back as he stepped towards the nearest Psychomaton.

"What happened to them?" Another of the Guardians asked. "They barely hold their shape."

Each one had all its limbs stored with them, but it was obvious that they were far from fighting form. Melted edges and blown apart joints showed that each and every one of them had lost all of their limbs, before someone picked them up and buried them together.

"Yes." Seridin acknowledged the status of his ancient ancestors. "But their souls still remain."

All other Psychomatons had been left as empty shells when She who Thirst's scream broke into the materium; Wraithbone and blackstone bodies left behind like the shed carapace of an insect.

"How is that possible?" Another Guardian asked as they stepped closer, following Seridin towards the Psychomatons. "They are avatars of war and excessive violence from our dark past. All the others went to She who Thirsts on the day of the Fall."

"I do not know…" Seridin admitted as he reached the base of the nearest coffin, and stared up at the Psychomaton's serrated head. "But these ones are hers."

He could hear the same whispers from the Wraithbone arrow coming from them. Smells and sights of fresh grass and warm sunlight filtered through a green canopy of trees emanated from the cores of each Wraithbone construct.

"Their hands glow gold." Another commented.

Where there should have only been bone white and obsidian black, a third color tipped the blade-like fingers of each one.

"They were Aeldari once. They can learn all that we can, and the one who left this lesson tutored them in person." Seridin said as he looked back down at the gold-tipped arrow. "Call for our Bonesingers or larger transport craft." He ordered. "We cannot leave these survivors of the Fall behind. We are Iyanden. Our empire is what we wish to reclaim. They were part of it, and thus walk upon the same strand of fate as us."

—----------------------------------------

The Autarch Filimerthex gazed up at the remains of the Psychomatons, still entombed in their stone coffins. It had only taken a few days to separate all of the colossal constructs from the planet's crust, and grow a disposable Webway gate large enough to transport them to the Craftworld. However, the ancient ones were not taken aboard as honored guests. Currently, the entire platoon was in storage near the outskirts of the Craftworld, as far away from the Shard of Khaine as they could be placed. This entire section of Iyanden could be jettisoned at a moment's notice, and several Guardians were placed outside to ensure no-one else could approach them.

They had left the planet and were back to the original course the Farseers had predicted would be the safest in the Eastern rim of the galaxy. The Seer council was currently discussing what was to be done with the Psychomatons and the arrow, but a verdict has yet to be reached.

"Aethnor? Maerili? Valanon?" Filimerthex muttered at them questioningly, but the Psychomatons did not reply.

A short sigh exited the Autarch's nose as he scratched his head. He knew it was meaningless to mention old names to the Psychomatons. What they were had been hammered out of them when they stopped reincarnating. However, in a moment of loneliness, he had let loose names of old friends who were no longer here.

"What do you think about what we have become?" He asked the Psychomatons.

There was a brief silence, then a series of irritated warbles and chirps came from several of the Psychomatons.

Filimerthex snorted at their comments.

"Do not blame them. That is the price they pay to remain pure. The children who will come after them will be weaker still."

Angry clicks and crackles followed, like the sound bursting chestnuts or wet wood in a fire.

"I find that claim dubious, after seeing how many of you fell to Hir." Filimerthex replied with a raised eyebrow. "You do not remain here on your own, nor did Khaine's song keep our brothers and sisters safe. She helped you."

A begrudging moan acknowledged Filimerthex's accusation, with several grim hoots remarking on what their mother was last seen doing.

"That option is a little too late for us, I'm afraid." He shrugged. "I have already sent the Orks on a collision course with the Mon-keigh. Any attempt to undo that would fail."

Amused buzzing rang from each Psychomaton as well as some cheerful chuffing.

"If all goes well, then the Mon-keigh will remain oblivious as you say. Their collective memories are about as short as their lives. Then again, the meeting of those two species was inevitable. If the conflict is inescapable, why should the Eldar not benefit from it?"

Cautionary twanging echoed around them as the Psychomatons warned the Autarch of the other deity that they had seen, as well as where their golden blade-like nails came from.

"The thief that snuck around the outer rims of our empire." Filimerthex muttered. "Fine, Iyanden can allow the Mon-keigh to exist unmolested, so long as they remain on what is left of their federation. Biel-Tan will take longer to convince, but besides them the others will probably be too busy with internal affairs to care about the problems of the lesser species. We also take no responsibility for what our client races do to them."

Satisfied rumbling accepted the Autarchs answer, then silence fell as they transmitted Isha's final message verbatim into his brain.

The Autarch paused for a moment, then let out a tired chuckle.

"'I love you, all of you.' is it? How very motherly…" Filimerthex sighed, scratching his head with one hand as he placed the other on his waist.

"I will need your help, if that is what she wishes." He said to the Psychomatons. "The ones here may be one-half of what we were, but our kin are beginning to become only the other."

Dark laughter echoed around the room, the first Aeldari sound the Psychomatons had made in a long-time. They had seen what had happened to all those who had not boarded a Craftworld yet still lived. A rune appeared in the center of their chest glowing red and orange with fiery heat; Khaine's rune, the rune of war, murder, and violence. Baritone voices began to sing, droning endlessly as the air filled with the scent of smoke and blood. The best ways to end life were whispered to all those who would listen. The angle of the knife necessary to cut through skin, muscle, and bone. The instinctive calculations required to correct for bullet drop, or the curvature of the ground.

"Enough." Filimerthex said quietly but firmly, ending the song. "I will need at least one volunteer. But, be prepared. Knowing what I do about them, whoever gets sent there will be trapped in endless boredom."

Several moments filled with beeping and whistling followed, before one Psychomaton gave a defeated chirp.

The Autarch nodded at the volunteer, then turned away from the Psychomatons. "I will talk with the Seer council. In the meantime, prepare yourselves for examination by our Bonesingers. Our mother's bindings will be of interest to them, and we will need more of our brothers and sisters."

A series of raspberries blew as the Autarch walked out of the room.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N I'm not going to be putting as much effort in these sections, because I want to prioritise the main story. My story makes a lot of references to other real world events or mythology, so I've made these to elaborate since some of the symbolism and references are hard to get for some non-native speakers as well as younger native speakers.
The way I've organized it is by chapter. Some of these might be quite short. I'll just put any random bits of irony/references/foreshadowing I've made here.

Title: It refers to the Psychomatons, but also the 3rd arrow that the Emperor only deflected and did not destroy.

Main Part: I've tried to illustrate the difference in Kyrazis's and Filimerthex's experience in the way he commands and the types of orders he gives. Filimerthex understands the importance of scouting, and is also very aware of what the priorities are in the situation. He is also taking 0 chances, which is why he phrases his order to for the civilian ships to return at the "first sign of anything at all."

The sabotaged civilian ships were always going to be a sore point for Isha's reunion or communication with the Eldar. From the Eldar's perspective, the idea that one of their gods would act against them is a very traumatic idea, especially with how Khaine has previously tried to exterminate them as a species. They are already severely weakened at this moment, and don't need the idea that another god besides Slaanesh is hostile towards them.

As a side note, the animosity between Craftworlders and Commorraghites is not as deep as the one between the Imperium and Traitors. The Commorraghites are invited to councils regarding matters that might involve their entire species, and do get a voice in such meetings. That does not mean Commorragh is a safe place for the Craftworlders, but it is arguably safer on Commorragh than it is on a human populated Imperial World. At the very least, using violence in self-defense on Commorragh does not cause a major inter-species incident that may or may not lead to a war. That said, most Craftworlders feel extreme disgust when they see a Commorraghite, with some refusing to look at them on the rare occassion a Drukhari emissary has to visit a Craftworld.

Seridin and the Guardians descending down to the battlefield that had been occupied by Isha and the Emperor was meant to describe what exactly Isha meant by saying no trace of her remained due to his presence. The Emperor wiped out all traces of her, and his passing leaves a temporary scar on the immaterium that hasn't healed even after almost a day has passed. This was also supposed to illustrate how powerful the Emperor was to ordinary Eldar giving his fans something to enjoy for this Eldar centric section.

I like portraying gods as Eldritch entities from the perception of mortals. There are several lovecraftian descriptions in this section such as the feeling of enclosing dread, loss of bodily function/possession, and objects erupting from seemingly flat or solid surfaces.

The scene with the Psychomatons was supposed to show the following.

1. Filimerthex is old enough to possibly know some of the Psychomatons or the Aeldari that became Psychomatons personally
2. The Eldar are slowly devolving, losing their psychic strength
3. The limits of Isha's ability to communicate with her children

Number 2 will be expanded on next chapter, but I guess I should elaborate on number 3. Isha can tell her children how she feels about certain things, but she cannot directly influence their decision making. If they have a logical argument or priorities that do not match with Isha's, she can only tell them that she does not like the idea. Additionally, if they ask for her assistance to carry out their plan, she cannot stop them.

This is what happened in the vision with Idrineth. Isha did not want Idrineth to attempt to activate her miracle, symbolised in the hands that were trying to push him away, but he ignored her wishes and used her power due to being pursued mostly by his survivor's guilt.

Filimerthex knows Isha, and has a wealth of knowledge regarding both combat and Aeldari culture in general, as suggested by his suppositions of the actions of certain factions of his species. He is supposed to be 'ancient' according to the Iyanden supplementary codex, so he truly is ancient by the almost immortal Aeldari standards.

As there are only 2 more chapters left to this series of side stories, we may have to return to Iyanden later on to see the full results of some of the choices made. I had hoped to go a bit further, but pacing wise it didn't really work out.

After this series of side-stories, there was a What-If scenario in 40K planned, but it might be worth seperating that one out in a different story thread all together. It is very long, and I have a feeling that people want to move on to the Terran section of things.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N: A few sentences regarding mutilation have been removed.

"We cannot hoard knowledge for ourselves." Mehlendri was almost shouting at the Seer council as Filimerthex entered the room.

'Thank goodness for the two sets of doors.' He thought to himself, giving thanks to the airlock style set of consecutive doors that kept the Seers' voices inside the council chamber.

"Farseer Mehlendri, there are not enough Psychomatons for every Craftworld, and we have no idea how long they will remain as sane as they are." One of the youngest, Thulor, retorted. "At worst, we may end up snubbing some only to anger the remaining if the Psychomatons turn out to be tainted."

"The reports from the boarding parties on the civilian ships show clear signs of the being that left them killing the Aeldari upon the civilian ships. No one was spared. Hence, we cannot be sure of the intentions of the being that left them to us." Aelondra replied grimly, bringing up images of the Aeldari corpses found on the ships. Most had been left to rest in a peaceful manner, lying on the ground with their eyes closed. However, not all the bodies had been left in a presentable state.

Idrineth grimaced as one corpse appeared that had been heavily disfigured.

Some had body parts missing; the evidence of trophy taking. Others had been shot several times with laser or projectile weaponry. A few had been incinerated, and even fewer had been obliterated, most likely by someone leaving a grenade right on top of the corpse.

"The signs of desecration upon their bodies were all applied after the Core Worlders' deaths, but they were desecrated nonetheless." He growled. "Even in death, they did not deserve to be treated like that."

"But to keep what we have found here a secret from the rest is as dangerous as keeping the knowledge of the Spirit Stones to ourselves." Mehlendri stated angrily. "We must share what we have learned."

"And what then, Farseer Mehlendri?" Ulrissor interjected. "Would you give Biel-Tan extra reasons to go on a crusade against the humans? Would you tell Alaitoc and the others knowing they will begin to search for her? We can foresee the effects of our actions, and the knowledge we have here is a dangerous thing."

Biel-Tan already bristled at the thought of lesser races taking the seat of power left vacant by the fall of the Aeldari empire. That was a place they intended their race to return to, and visions of a human empire already had their hackles raised. This evidence of humans encroaching and desecrating the Aeldari's pride would be enough for them to begin purging several human worlds in order to buy time for the Eldar to recoup and rebuild.

Alaitoc, on the other hand, was arguably even more problematic. Their world rune showed obvious deference to the ancient deities, and they would most likely follow this first hint of where one of them had gone. Other Craftworlds would no doubt join them, but that in itself was a danger. The being that had burned away all traces of the goddess was no doubt still with her, and it was hostile to the Eldar. Nothing good could come from finding the goddess, assuming she even wanted to be found. It had been determined that the sabotage of the civilian vessels had most likely been done by the missing deity's hand, as well as the euthanization of every Core Worlder upon them. If she still worked with the humans against the Eldar, the reunion between them would be disastrous.

"The Eldar CANNOT splinter apart!" Mehlendri suddenly snapped. "We are Iyanden! The Craftworld self-tasked to rebuild our original empire before the corruption that destroyed us all! We do so because we wish to give all those we love a place where they no longer have to fear War, Disease, Madness, and Depravity! That includes all the survivors on the Craftworlds!" The other Farseers balked for a moment, surprised by the sudden shattering of the oldest Farseer's calm. "It was the arrogance of our forebears that broke the original unity that kept us strong! The idea that there were lesser and greater Aeldari among us! Iyanden is not the decider of the fate of all Eldar! She is but one part of a whole that spins on the brink of shattering apart! The others must know what has happened here! They deserve that much!"

Mehlendri's passionate panting from her outburst was all that could be heard in the Seer council chamber for a few moments, allowing Filimerthex to sit down in his usual corner seat and whip out a nail file.

"Farseer Mehlendri." Tyrios said slowly and solemnly. "This is the Seer Council. Unless your foresight sees a path where telling the rest of the Craftworlds leads to a better outcome than keeping things hidden, you must remain silent."

Mehlendri Silversoul bit her lip for a moment, then bowed her head and whispered. "I… understand."

This time, it was her side that fate had forsaken.

"By majority decision, Iyanden shall keep the Psychomatons in stasis while we investigate the nature of the arrow left behind." Tyrios continued moving the discussion along. "However, what we have found here will remain secret. We cannot afford to deviate from the path we have already predicted."

There was a snort from the corner of the room, followed by some aggressive nail filing.

Tyrios cast a glance at the Autarch, only to see him observing his long pointed thumbnail. The Commorraghite was being more obnoxious and crass than usual, but despite his obvious disdain for the Seer council's decision Filimerthex made no remark or interruption.

"Milethea…" Tyrios continued, deciding to ignore the Autarch. "Share with us what our Bonesingers have found regarding the arrow."

Farseer Milethea produced a knowledge crystal hidden in the sleeve of her robe, and sent it to the center of the holographic projector table with its embedded miniature gravitic generators. Space dimpled around the crystal holding it in place as light was shot through it from below displaying a report of what the Bonesingers of Iyanden had found

"The voice reported by Guardian leader Seridin did not make itself heard to our Bonesingers." Milethea reported. "The material appears to be a very complicated composition of Wraithbone, which has given our Bonesingers insight into reinforcing their own compositions. However, the truly valuable part is the golden tip." The image magnified itself, focussing on the point of the arrow.

"As you all know, all children born since the Fall have their psychic senses bound and their souls blinded. All parents who cannot do this to their own child must forfeit the young soul to the nurturers. To not do so invites damnation, as the daemons may smell an unguarded soul even beneath all our wards."

'And the primary reason for our devolution.' Filimerthex thought to himself darkly. All future Eldar would be stunted in their psychic development compared to the Aeldari because of this. The lack of early experimentation with their psychic abilities would slow their growth, and the strongest potential psykers that could not be blinded or held down by the nutritionist in their infancy might even have to be put in stasis lock or culled in order to protect the Craftworld.

He had accepted that as the cost of survival, as the rest of the Eldar upon Iyanden and almost all of the other Craftworlds.

However…

"This golden material offers an alternative to this." Milethea continued, voice as warm as the golden glow of the arrow tip. "Its mere existence acts as a deterrent against things from the immaterium. I propose we use this to protect our nurseries, to allow the young souls to develop their talents at an earlier age, and spare their parents the pain of separation."

The golden Wraithbone naturally repelled the touch of the Warp, and all other creatures from it. If replicated, even a thin layer coating the nursing chambers of the Craftworld could improve the quality of life for Iyanden's children and parents.

"Is it safe?" Serapharielle asked nervously. "I understand that all the Guardian squads felt discomfort in that thing's presence."

"Although painful to our psychic senses, so long as it does not breach the skin, any damage taken from it is merely temporary." Milethea answered. "If anything, it shall teach the young souls not to touch things with their psychic senses without permission, knowledge, or caution."

"Then that is good… How long until we can replicate it." There was an edge of desperation in Serapharielle's voice. This was the first truly good news they had had ever since Mehlendri's success with the Spirit Stones, but even that was tinged with the grim reminder that there were nowhere enough Spirit Stones for all the Eldar of Iyanden. This golden material was made from Wraithbone, and could theoretically be produced as many times as necessary so long as the song for it was learned.

"Our Bonesingers work as we speak, but no promises can be made." Milethea said glumly. "The concepts imbued in it are familiar yet alien, and its paradoxical nature burns the vocal cords of our Bonesingers."

"Can we not use the Psychomatons to assist us in this regard?" Eluriane asked. "The material already coats their nails. Surely they know how to sing it into existence."

"And put the ears of our young souls next to the mouths of the slaves of Khaine?" Milethea snorted. "I have seen them and heard their thoughts. They think only of violence and the method to conduct it. To them, we are merely chattel for the grinder of war. The risk is too great. Khaine's shard has been calm, ever since the vision, but we know not for how long it will wait or whether it is waiting at all."

Khaine's shard had been eerily silent ever since the Eldar witnessed the vision of death, destruction, and an imperfect miracle. However, what was once relief was gradually growing into suspicion.

"Bonesingers of sufficient strength can retain control of the Wraithbone they make." Milethea spoke cautiously. "The message Seridin heard is most likely one usage of that ability. The Psychomatons and the Shard of Khaine may be merely biding their time, waiting to speak to the children of Iyanden when they are most vulnerable."

"That is an unwarranted accusation, Milethea." Eluriane warned. "Horrible he may be, but Kaela Mensha Khaine is Asuryan's brother and our spiritual father. It is his strength we borrow in order to protect ourselves from the daemons, and his Path that the Asuryani tread." There was a tinge of anger in her voice, even though she used the Blood Handed God's full title.

As the Farseer who was once enamored by the Harlequin, she knew all the legends and folktales of their deities. The admission of his murder of Eldanesh juxtaposed to his importance as their god of war was made as a stark reminder that although he was horrid, he was necessary to them in more ways than one. As a Craftworld that had already decided to start the Aspect Shrines, it was hypocritical to hate Khaine while using him for their salvation.

"Is it, Farseer Eluriane?" Milethea retorted, shrugging aside the poetically veiled message. "Was it not Khaine who attempted to kill us all in the ancient legends? Was it not Khaine that slew fair Eldanesh? Was it not Khaine that whispered to us for the past several decades, driving us all to war with the other Craftworlds and ourselves?"

"Do you have a vision to support this conjecture, Milethea?" Tyrios interrupted before Eluriane could retort.

Khaine may not be whispering to them at the moment, but the pre-existing tensions had not disappeared. Milethea was still distrustful of the gods, the Harlequin, and anything else that was not the Eldar of Iyanden. However, that distrust was not based on mere prejudice but her own personal lived experience with her gift of empathy.

"... I do not." Milethea admitted. "But what guarantee is there that whatever vision will not come too late? Can we allow ourselves the possibility of exposing the young of Iyanden to Khaine's song? We cannot risk relying on the Psychomatons. Even if it takes time. we should wait for our Bonesingers to master this new song."

"May I?" Filimerthex interrupted from the corner, flicking aside the corner of his robe to put the nail file into a pouch on his belt.

"Autarch, this is most improper." Idrineth warned as the man sauntered up to the table.

Mehlendri watched him cautiously, and her right hand moved to the opening of her left sleeve.

Filimerthex observed this from his peripheral vision as he moved up to the holographic projector table.

"On the contrary, Farseer." He said as he joined the Farseers in their circle. "As the Psychomatons are weapons of war, discussion regarding them and their nature are a military matter. Thus, by your own rules they fall under my purview, giving me enough reason to provide insight on this matter." His long nailed hand placed itself on Idrineth's shoulder, who immediately shrugged it off, pointed ears pulling back in outrage like a Gyrinx.

"The Psychomatons are our shared past, and the most ancient of our truly public servants." Filimerthex continued as he pulled out a knowledge crystal of his own from beneath his robe, and sent it to the center of the table, knocking Milethea's crystal into an orbit around it. "They do not lead, nor do they strategize. They exist only to kill, and hence are obedient to the Aeldari's will. Even if we ordered them to go on a suicidal charge into the immaterium, they would obey us as long as we are unanimous in our call. If we ask them to provide the golden material, they shall sing it into existence for us to use."

"How gracious of them to respect the will of the people." Milethea's voice was heavy with sarcasm. "Does that remain true even if Khaela Mensha Khaine calls for them?"

"No." Filimerthex admitted with a shrug. "But, the god of war is but a god. He is our will made manifest, and our rage made reality. We hear his song because we wish to listen to it, and because we need it."

"Then what do you propose we do with them, Autarch?" Ulrissor asked.

Filimerthex waved a hand at the information now being displayed above the table before them. "The Psychomatons we found have been reinforced by the being we all saw. You can feel her touch within them, binding them here as living beings. I wish to see them restored, and deployed upon the Core Worlds."

The other Eldar balked at his statement.

"Have you lost your mind, Autarch?!" Aelondra shouted. "They are the avatars of excessive violence and carnage! How long do you think they'd last so close to She who Thirsts?!"

"Why would you even deploy them on the Core Worlds?" Thulor asked, tone aggressive and angry. "Any ship used to deliver them there would be at grave risk, and I do not see what is to be gained by leaving them there."

"Our recent problems all center around the lack of Spirit Stones…" Filimerthex continued, ignoring both of them. "And the reason for that is the difficulty of returning to our Core Worlds to reap the harvest of our species' suffering and sorrow. At the moment, only the Asuryani can do so. However, they can only provide a certain amount of supply for the demands of billions of souls."

Filimerthex sent another knowledge crystal to the center of the table, knocking the one with the information on the Psychomatons, replacing it with a list of every Craftworld they had contacted and their known population.

"But, to die without one is to mean eternal damnation…" He said grimly. "Making them more precious than food, minerals, or any other item imaginable. Under such circumstances, the only easy way to acquire more is to take them from another Craftworld. That is, until sufficient numbers of Aspect Shrines can be set up and the method of raiding the Core Worlds can be perfected."

The Autarch made a swiping gesture with his hand, highlighting several of the Craftworlds in red, and a graph next to each one showing a steady decrease in their populations over time.

"However, we are already at war with Chaos. Even now Eldar fall in battle against the daemons on these embattled Craftworlds, and their souls are claimed by She who Thirsts. These Craftworlds are the most desperate, and the ones with the least warriors to spare in order to collect their own Spirit Stones. No matter how quickly we move, it will never be enough for them, for they are already losing loved ones. They will take what they think is necessary to survive from those they believe to have more, or are less deserving in their eyes. Hence, whatever we do, war between the Eldar is inevitable even without Khaine's song until this problem of economics is solved."

There was a grim silence amongst the Farseers, for they had known of this problem for some time, but had no way to prevent it. They had tried to buy time by fostering friendly relations between Craftworlds, showing signs of genuine care and compassion for the plight of others, but emotions and well wishes could only go so far. In the end, there was only so much they could do, and it was not enough to stop the coming war; only survive it.

"The Psychomatons provide one-half of this solution of increasing the supply of Spirit Stones." Filimerthex said with a slight bit of forced mirth, breaking the silence. "They will provide the violence necessary to carve a path open so those we send to collect the Spirit Stones can do so unmolested and thus collect greater yields."

"And the other half, Autarch." Idrineth asked, having already seen the war with his own two eyes in the future. He was still unsure, but was willing to listen since the Autarch's words followed his vision.

"The problem with the Core Worlds is their proximity to the Warp." Filimerthex said as he tossed another knowledge crystal into the center of the table. "Daemons can manifest upon them endlessly, meaning any operation upon them deals with an infinite amount of reinforcements." An image of a ruined planet covered by pink purple clouds streaked with neon lightning appeared. "Thus, any operation upon their surface can only succeed with stealth. Yet, with stealth comes a reduction in the number of forces we can carry, and a proportional reduction in the probability of survival should our forces be discovered. Add to that the constant whispers of She who Thirsts, and the Asuryani's Aspect warriors are our only option of safely recovering the Spirit Stones. Their specialized military tactics and unflinching focus will provide the martial and spiritual strength to make the journey to and from the Core Worlds, or at least give them a fighting chance where all others would fail." A list of the projected maximum carrying capacity of the stealth ships that could get close enough to the planet without being noticed appeared. It was enough to host a small army, complete with tanks, Wraith Knights, and flyers. However, in the face of being surrounded by endless daemons, it was nowhere near enough.

Filimerthex allowed the simulations loaded into the crystal to play, showing the predicted amount of time each combination of forces could hold out against the daemons until they were overrun. Then, he smiled and said, "However, what if we did not have to sneak back into our ancestral homes like vermin?"

"A fanciful notion." Serapharielle snorted. "Our forces struggle with the forces of Chaos even far away from the Warp. To fight it head on is folly."

A larger ship might be able to bring more forces, but it increased the odds of being noticed by the Chaos. With the walls between real and unreal so thin near the Core Worlds, any number of daemons could simply manifest themselves near or upon whatever vessel ventured nearby, and begin attacking those aboard before they even reached the planet.

"If we approach the Core Worlds from orbit, or the Warp you are correct." Filimerthex nodded. "But, there is a third option. An option that still allows the going, even if the way back has been reduced to rubble."

All the Farseers balked at what he implied.

"You…" Milethea sputtered. "You dare suggest we work with the Dark City, again!"

"The Webway gates that lead to the Core Worlds still remain intact. Commorraghite suicide squads have destroyed the gateways on the Core Worlds. However, all that did was close the door that leads to Commorragh. The door that leads away from the Dark City still remains. Using them, we can assault the Core Worlds undetected. We will need to send ships through to leave the planet. But, with only the escape to worry about, we can send far more forces in a much shorter time. More Eldar means more hands and minds to gather Spirit Stones, reducing the time we need to stay there, and by extension the time of exposure." His words were rushed, coming before the other Farseers could recover from the shock of his suggestion. "Add the Psychomatons to this, and our people have all the ground forces necessary. They will keep us safe until it is time to blast our way through the converging daemons, and escape into the void."

Mouths opened and closed as the other Farseers processed the Autarchs words, even peeking into the future to see if such a thing was viable. But, before they could finish, Filimerthex spoke up again.

"Of course, Commorragh will need to be compensated for their services, no matter how small. A single Psychomaton will be needed to be gifted to them at the very least, simply to restore trade relations between Iyanden and Commorragh."

"Madness!" Milethea cried out instinctively. "What good could possibly come from giving the Dark City one of the Psychomatons!"

"The Psychomatons do not belong only to Iyanden, or Biel-Tan, or Saim-Hann or any of the Craftworlds. They do not only belong to the Exodites, and they are not the sole possession of those on Commorragh." Filimerthex retorted firmly. "They are the soldiers of the Aeldari, and that includes all of us. The return of at least one will act as a reminder to all that we were one species."

"What else do you need for your plan to work, Autarch." Mehlendri interjected before a shouting match could ensue. Her voice was extremely tired, but there was a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

"For starters, I will need permission to contact the K'nib for a Clawed Fiend or two and some accessories for them, and perhaps a few other of our ex-client races. Then I will need two Guardian volunteers in order to gain an audience with an acquaintance of mine as well as…"

"I have heard enough!" There was a thunder clap as a bolt of psychic lightning erupted from Serapharielle and scorched the ceiling. "You tell us to sell our kin into slavery in order to deal with the Dark City!" She snarled. "Have you forgotten what She who Thirsts is? Have you forgotten how she came into being?"

"I too thought running from our more abhorrent past was the only way to survive, but I see now the cost of living in denial for eternity." Filimerthex shrugged.

Purity and the aversion of all that could be associated with She who Thirsts dominated the decision making of the Eldar. Everything was done in order to avoid damnation, but that meant only the purest and ironically most perfect path could ever be taken. The Autarch could see the uncompromising unrepentant way they would wander down into danger, and until recently he had accepted it as the cost of survival.

"Then will you blacken Iyanden's soul with the taint of the Commorraghites?" Serapharielle hissed, sparks flying from her eyes.

The Autarch shook his head. "It is not my intention to mimic them, but even evil has its use."

He remembered the reason he had been allowed on Iyanden, and the conclusion he had arrived at only a few hundred years ago.

"Besides, they are also Aeldari." He countered. "Ignoring them for any longer will truly split our species apart. As an ex-activisist, surely you can understand the tragedy of that?"

"Let them fall! They had their chance, just like any Core Worlder!" Serapharielle cried out. "It was because I was on the front lines with all those who tried to turn our people from evil that I know the futility of trying to convince them!" She spent several moments panting, reclaiming her breath and calm back from her outburst. "There is no salvation, no alternative, no placation, no message they will listen to." She finished quietly. "The only method to run from Hir call is to remain pure."

"Perhaps." The Autarch nodded, unperturbed by the sudden outburst of rage intense enough to bring about a psychic effect. "Regardless, the utility of Commorragh and its remaining Webway gates are unquestionable. The issue is only how much it will cost." He leaned forwards to Serapharielle, gazing straight into her eyes. "You say two of Iyanden's souls are too much, but I guarantee you they will do far more and be much safer in my hands than if they were sent to die fighting the daemons."

Serapharielle grit her teeth. She had agreed to allow the Path system aboard Iyanden. Thus, she had already decided that there was an acceptable level of sacrifice for Iyanden's salvation. The end result of both proposals was that Eldar lives would be spent to save the Craftworld. How was a trivial matter in comparison.

"Then again, this plan is all predicated on the Psychomatons being in fighting condition." Filimerthex smiled, turning to each Farseer with a placative expression. "You may take your time to foresee the results of my actions while I contact the other Craftworlds."

"The Seer council deemed what we found was to be bound to secrecy." Tyrios warned. "Revealing what we found here invites disaster."

"It invites disaster because a secret is shared, and not used." Filimerthex sighed. "Craftworld Il-Kaithe has the most talented Bonesingers of all the Craftworlds, and has the world-rune of Eldanesh's all-seeing helm. They know the price of knowledge, and what it can do. They can be sworn to secrecy, should we ask for it. In return, we may have to share a Psychomaton and include them in the bargain for Commorragh's Webway gates. Varantha may be another willing to bargain with us. They may have the most artisans, but they too hate Chaos for the way it stifles their creativity. Their assistance may be valuable in swaying the other Craftworlds to our side."

A chill went down Mehlendri's spine.

"How do you know this, Filimerthex?"

This information was not common knowledge, and it came too fluently to be a spur of the moment thing. It was as if he was remembering something he had memorized long ago, like reciting the answers to a test he had already passed.

"Do you think it was chance that brought me to the doors of Iyanden?" Filimerthex answered.

Mehlendri's hand twitched, inching towards the opening of her sleeve. She had suspected it wasn't, but they had both pretended it was only happenstance that brought him before her. But, now he admitted it. He had chosen Iyanden, just as he had chosen the name for his granddaughter in front of her.

Iyanden.

Iyandra.

The reference was an obvious, almost unabashed flattery towards the Craftworld. But, the name that had brought a small bit of joy and hope in her heart when she first heard it, when she was still ignorant of Filimerthex's age and origin.

She took a small step back from him.

He had admitted to her that he had chosen Iyanden. He was giving up the pretense of happenstance and misfortune that had existed between them, revealing the cold calculating pre-meditations and planning of the ancient thing that she knew he was.

"Enough!" Tyrios's voice boomed. "You overstep yourself, Commorraghite. The rank you hold was given to you by Farseer Mehlendri with the council's permission. It can be removed by us as well. It is the Seer council that decides what path Iyanden follows, not you."

Filimerthex chuckled, then turned towards Mehlendri.

"And just what do you see with your foresight, Farseer? What happens when you throw me out of here with my rank taken, and words ignored."

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N I'm not going to be putting as much effort in these sections, because I want to prioritise the main story. My story makes a lot of references to other real world events or mythology, so I've made these to elaborate since some of the symbolism and references are hard to get for some non-native speakers as well as younger native speakers.

The way I've organized it is by chapter. Some of these might be quite short. I'll just put any random bits of irony/references/foreshadowing I've made here.

Title: Mostly a refernce to Filimerthex's origins.

Main Part: There aren't any major references to anything in this section. There might be some sybolism that could be missed, so I'll just put that here.

The Golden Arrow is a symbolic message from Isha to the Aeldari. It is a Wraithbone (Aeldari) based miracle that is fused with the Emperor's immaterial hating essence (human). Hence, it is a request to the Aeldari to work with the humans, just as this arrow is a union between two deities (technically three because this is still the Spear of Kurnous), Isha wishes for the Aeldari to at least treat the humans as partners rather than primitives. However, since this arrow was left behind without the Emperor's notice, and as she took his nature via trickery, she is also giving them free reign to outsmart or outwit the humans. Aeldari theologists won't be able to decipher this message for a while.

As for the reason the Aeldari are currently having difficulty replicating the Golden Wraithbone, it is because they have to seperate out the base concepts of the Emperor's immaterial hating touch, and then weave them together while 'killing' the Wraithbone just as hair, skin, and nails are grown by living cells, but are all dead when finished. Isha replicated the Emperor's touch with her skin, nails, and hair. Likewise, 'living' or more technically psychoactive Wraithbone cannot be converted directly into the golden version of itself. The Eldar aren't going to be able to figure this out for a while. Wraithbone modification of this kind is usually done by the Drukhari. They mostly 'torture' the Wraithbone they can salvage or barter from Craftworld Eldar so the material applies pain, suffering, and misery upon contact with a soul bearing creature. At the moment, the reserach regarding these techniques is just beginning in Commorragh, as they have begun to ban the usage of their psyker abilities, which includes Bonesinging.

Isn't it odd that the Eldar trust the Golden Arrow? Why don't they question where it comes from?

The Eldar on Iyanden have an idea that the golden Wraithbone originates from a human deity due to all the human ships left in orbit. That is kinda why they make an effort to not mention it at all because their pride would be bruised quite badly by the idea.

There are 3 main reasons the Eldar of Iyanden "trust", so to speak, the arrow and not the Psychomatons.

1. Seridin's report of hearing "her" voice assures them that the source of this arrow is Isha. Although they cannot be entirely sure whether she herself wants to be found, they can be sure that the object she left was meant to be found by them. Otherwise, she would have destroyed it. As Filimerthex said:

"she was here and if she was one of us, she knew we would be here too."

Click to shrink...

Added to the fact that Seridin felt Isha's love when he first touched it, there is credible evidence to suggest that this item was left with benevolent intentions.

2. The arrow is a modified version of Kurnous's spear. It is a miracle made for the Aeldari in order to accelerate their technology and development. Seridin instinctively called the arrow a "lesson" because of this link between the Aeldari and the downgraded copy of Kurnous's miracle. Therefore, they can feel that what the arrow symbolizes is something they are encouraged to mimic.

3. The Wraithbone they are attempting to use was planned to be created by Iyanden's Bonesingers. As Milethea said;

"Bonesingers of sufficient strength can retain control of the Wraithbone they make."

Click to shrink...

Conversely, so long as the golden Wraithbone they use is produced by their own Bonesingers, they can be relatively certain that there are no negative effects hidden within it. Additionally, even if there was something they missed, it would appear in the Bonesinger who sang it into existence first.
Although not portrayed, behind the scenes the Bonesingers are monitoring all of the volunteers who are attempting to create the golden Wraithbone for any psychic traps or tricks that might be hidden within the composition of the Wraithbone itself. This is why the Psychomatons cannot be trusted, but their own Bonesingers can.

The Farseers do believe that the golden part of the Wraithbone arrow originates from a human deity. However, the idea that one of their gods would work with an alien one when the Eldar are in this much strife is a very souring one. To bring the topic up would no doubt lead to a non-productive theological debate (shouting match) between Serapharielle, Eluriane, and Milethea with Idrineth making things even more complicated.

Hence, they have all decided to leave that topic for another day, and focus on more utilitarian topics for now.

To summarize what the Farseers have agreed on...
1. Isha does not want to be found.
2. She is most likely working with humanity, although whether that is a good or bad thing is open for debate.
3. She has not abandoned them entirely, but they should not expect their prayers to her to be answered any time soon.
4. The Goddess of Life is not what they collectively thought she was, and to ask for her assistance without understanding what she is invites disaster due to the cost of her miracle being more than they are willing to pay.

What are the effects of the golden Wraithbone on Eldar children?

Mostly, it means that the Eldar don't have to psychically devolve to survive as they did in 40K. Necron Lords who face the Craftworlders often scoff at how proud they seem to be of their psychic strength, when their forebears were far more powerful than them. This may be a jibe made by the Necron, however, Eldrad is another piece of evidence for this theory. If you assume he was born before the Fall, he is the oldest and most psychically powerful Eldar according to lore. In one novel, Asurmen told him that he would be the last of the Eldar who could truly use the psychic powers they all used to have.

As a side-note, as Seridin experienced that lonely walk through the darkness (which is part of the Emperor's symbolism, walking through the dark to lay a path alone, etc.), it should cause the Eldar children there to periodically experience this extreme isolation and loneliness when they accidentally touch it with their psychic senses.

This might make a few of them a little bit physically clingy, as a rection to being exposed to this loneliness.

It might harden others, stressing them enough to temper them like steel, preparing them for the lonely road of leadership.

For most, however, the effect is negligible. It is one bad experience out of thousands of good and bad ones they will have, and the majority will either forget or ignore it when they mature.

On a positive note, the Eldar who grow up in these nurseries will probably be less disturbed by the presence of blanks and the Emperor, as their natures are both antithetical to the Warp. So, the reaction to blanks would be less "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?! KILL IT! KILL IT!" to, "Ew. That is really weird, but also strangely nostalgic."

 

[Nidhog153]

Idrineth balked at the blatant threat the Commorraghite had uttered to the Seer council.

There were 9 of them, the most accomplished Farseers, and by extension psykers, of their respective age groups. Yet, he dared threaten harm to all of them.

Shock turned to rage, and he felt his blood pressure rise, reddening his face and the tips of his ears. But, as he opened his mouth to shout, he felt a chill run across his chest. It spread like a flash frost freezing a field of grass. Someone else's psychic touch was overriding his control over his clothing.

Instinctively, he reached out to reestablish control. But, even as he reheated the frozen sections, the chill wrapped around his collar. Then it disappeared, as a thin fiber of Wraithbone detached itself from the rest of his clothing. The circle of Wraithbone fiber closed around his neck, passing through skin and bone like a hotwire through butter.

*Phssshh

Blood spurted out, launching Idrineth's head like cork from a champagne bottle.

In that moment, as if the sound of spraying blood was the bang of a starting pistol, Filimerthex sprang.

He lunged towards Mehlendri who was reaching for something in her left sleeve. The other Farseers summoned their staves or blades from racks on the walls. Meanwhile, the Autarch's lips puckered as if to go in for a kiss, then he blew through them, whistling.

Tiny spikes of Wraithbone jutted inwards within the table, cracking the gravitic generators holding the knowledge crystals Filimerthex and Milithea had left in their grip. All four were slammed together, completing a fragmented rune that had been broken up between the three crystals Filimerthex had left. The rune detonated, sending crystal shards everywhere like a fragmentation grenade.

The flash of light and sound stunned the Farseers on the opposite side of the table. Their eyes and ears were fixated on Filimerthex who was behind the explosion. Then the wave of shards struck them all.

Crystals fragments peppered the room, injuring everyone except Mehlendri. A pre-prepared psychic shield surrounded her. Even the Autarch was harmed by the shards as one ruptured his right eye, while two others scarred the bridge of his nose and cheek.

But, despite bleeding from one eye and two painful looking cuts, the Autarch only grinned as he closed upon Mehlendri.

His left hand pushed through Mehlendri's shield. Weakened by deflecting the crystal shards of his make-shift bomb, it let his hand through, allowing it to close around her right wrist. Her fingers stretched towards the handle of the hidden Witchblade in her left sleeve. But, they went limp as a sharpened thumbnail punctured the skin and severed the tendons.

The Autarch did not stop there. He was now moving past Mehlendri, bending her arm backwards, and forcing her to follow him. The two moved around the other, as if performing some twisted tango. Even then, Filimerthex made sure to keep Mehlendri between him and the Farseers on his side of the table.

But, as they spun, Filimerthex's other arm wrapped around her neck like a boa constrictor. Long nails bit into her cheeks and chin as if they were fangs. Then he pulled, just as one uses a piece of string wrapped around a top to send it spinning. Mehlendri's neck snapped, turning 270 degrees before going limp as the rest of her body.

However, the killing was not done. The arm that had wrapped around her neck, snaked into the sleeve that hid her Witchblade, and tore it free from the straps that held it to her forearm. Three times the Autarch stabbed her; through the heart, the right lung, and the base of the skull. Then he threw the body he had killed four times over his shoulder at Ulrissor, followed by her Witchblade.

The 3rd eldest Farseer caught Mehlendri's corpse, then narrowly avoided impalement through the face by the Witchblade. While he was distracted, Filimerthex set to work on the 2nd eldest Tyrios.

Tyrios lashed out with his bladed staff. Commonsense would have caused the Commorraghite to fall back. To move forward was to impale himself upon Tyrios's weapon. Yet, with a mad grin, Filimerthex rushed forward. The curved blade of Tyrios's staff entered right between his ribs, puncturing his heart. Still, the Autarch continued forwards, pushing the blade right through his body until Tyrios was in arm's reach. With both hands holding the staff, Tyrios could do nothing but stare in shock as Filimerthex's sharpened nail punctured his jugular; sending blood spraying across the walls. The abused nail tore off Filimerthex's thumb as he pulled his hand away from the Farseer's neck, so he could grab Tyrios's now anemic body by the shoulders. With a vicious yank, he forced Tyrios to bend over where the Autarch's knee shot up to shatter the Farseer's ribcage. Bone shards punctured the Farseer's organs. Then the hands grabbing the shoulders reached up to grip the dying man's skull from both sides. Filimerthex forced Tyrios to look upwards, exposing the weakest part of the skull to him. With a well placed strike using his forehead, Filimerthex collapsed Tyrios's nasal cavity. Bone shards were forced upwards into the brain.

Filimerthex dropped the now completely dead Farseer, then pulled the bladed staff out of his body. Blood sputtered out for a moment, before stopping unnaturally. Simultaneously, the capillaries in Filimerthex's remaining eye and nose burst. His blood was now moving according to his psychic commands instead of the damaged organic pump in his chest.

Yet, even with a bloodshot eye and red rivulets running down his cheek and lips from a bleeding nose and ruined right orbit, the Commorraghite smiled at the rest of them as he twirled the bladed staff in his hand.

Idrineth blinked, back from the future that had yet to happen, and stared at the turned back of the Autarch.

"What are you?" He hissed, remembering the almost serene smile on Filimerthex's face as he killed them all.

"I am an Aeldari from before there was an empire." The Autarch answered without looking at him. "I remember when we still fought Krorks and not Orks. All my other brothers and sisters stopped being Aeldari long ago out of boredom or glory. But, most of all, I am the Autarch of Iyanden and servant to the Craftworld and its mission."

"Do you think killing all of us will complete your coup?" Tyrios growled.

In a few seconds, the Autarch had dispatched the oldest and most experienced psykers without a weapon or any major psychic spells. What's more, despite having seen a vision of their own murder, they knew that was not the end. Even if they had seen through one set of traps, there were other methods of murder the Autarch had yet to reveal. Not to mention, some of his other preparations were already immutable. The nail file the Autarch had been using hadn't shown up in that vision, and the make-shift bomb was still placed in the center of the table.

Tyrios acknowledged that Filimerthex could kill all of them. Even if they saw it happening in the future, there was no immediate way to prevent it. The blade had been pressed against their throat without their noticing. Hence, he spoke of what would happen after the killing.

"The government of Iyanden is neither democratically decided, nor old enough to be indisputable." Filimerthex countered calmly. "Many may disagree with what I do, but noncompliance is not the same as rejection. I will be fine if even only a third or less of the Guardians take my side. As long as those that leave me have doubts as to whether it is worth it to kill those that they served beside, I can claim Iyanden as my own with just 9 murders."

He raised his hand with 5 fingers outstretched.

"To elaborate, a coup is successful if one holds 5 things. The military, the offices of political power, legitimacy, the economy, and the vox populi. I am already the Autarch of Iyanden. The Guardians will remain under my control, even if their numbers dwindle. If you were alive, there might be some movement to rally around you to maintain the legitimacy you have. However, with you dead, no one but me has any political standing that has been tentatively acknowledged by all aboard Iyanden. Any other who tries to make a new post will find themselves to not only be my enemy, but the enemy of every other ambitious Eldar behind them."

The Autarch lowered three of his fingers. He had just explained their interconnection as well as making it apparent who would have control over them.

"Iyanden no longer has a true economy, much like the Core Worlds. We have no need for anything, only wants. But, the Spirit Stones change this. The currency of salvation is a much sought after thing. Naturally, I would be the only one in charge of this, with you gone."

He lowered another finger, leaving only one.

"The vox populi is the most difficult part for me, but it is not as problematic as you would imagine." He gestured to the airlock style set of doors that was the only opening to the Seer council chamber. "Nobody knows what goes on in here, and as the only survivor my word is all they will have as to why Iyanden's political structure becomes like that of Biel-Tan."

"It will not last long." Tyrios snarled. "You are but one man, no matter how vile or insidious you may be. Kill us, and another shall come for you in time. That's the only fate for all those who preach that might makes right."

"If I don't get results, then you are correct." Filimerthex shrugged. "However, I have already described the plan for the salvation of Iyanden, and all it needs are my old siblings as well as my old home." There was a short chuckle as the Autarch turned away from Mehlendri, looking each Farseer in the face. "Even if every single Eldar on this Craftworld refuses to help me when gathering the Spirit Stones, I do not need to press them into unwilling service. The lower classes of Commorragh will provide ample labor, and my siblings can sing the golden Wraithbone necessary to buy their services."

"Then what do you want?" Ulrissor asked. "Power? A return to the Aeldari's former glory?"

"No." Filimerthex shrugged. "All I want is a place my granddaughter can live in peace and relative happiness." A sigh exited his lips before he continued. "It is just an unfortunate reality that this galaxy is a cruel place with cruel rules and crueler rulers, no matter who they are." He paused for a moment, letting his words sink into each of those who heard them. Slowly, their raw hostility mellowed into a bitter distaste and begrudging acknowledgment. He told the truth here. They could tell it from his tone, and the psychic emanations coming from his mind. Emotions were leaking from his soul, and they could tell his granddaughter truly was the only motivation for him.

"But…" Filimerthex continued. "Remember this. I am ready to do anything for this, whether it be to kill anyone who stands in my way or deceive everyone who is of some use to me."

Filimerthex raised his hand, and pulled the three knowledge crystals he had placed in the middle of the table into pockets beneath his robe.

"Now, look into the future, Farseers. Look into the effect of my actions. Tell me what you see, and whether it leads to a lesser or greater end."

—----------------------------------------

"And so I have asked for your service." Filimerthex said with a smile.

He was in his work chambers with two of the Guardians; Seridin and the woman who had first found the Wraithbone arrow Nydriwin. He had just told them of his plan, and the sacrifice necessary to begin bargaining with Commorragh.

"I have served under you as all the other Guardians for over a hundred years." Seridin said as both he and Nydriwin saluted the Autarch. "Although brief, I have learned much from you. I was prepared to give my life for the Craftworld the day I became a Guardian. To die in the gladiatorial arenas of Commorragh or fighting against the Orks and Mon-keigh, it makes no difference. If Iyanden needs my body and blood, I shall give it."

"If my soul buys the salvation for the Eldar of Iyanden and beyond, then my eternal suffering is a small price to pay for the salvation of the many." Nydriwin added on.

"The Craftworld and all aboard her shall be eternally grateful for your service." Filimerthex answered as he returned their salute. "However, I do not sacrifice those under me in vain. Although the sentiment is appreciated, neither Craftworld Iyanden nor Commorragh shall need your soul."

He motioned for the two Guardians to stand at ease, but both had frozen at his last words. There were not many activities associated with Commorragh that didn't involve death. But, those that didn't were usually more depraved in a moral sense.

"I… see…" Seridin replied tersely as Nydriwin grimaced. "If that is what will be necessary, we will sacrifice our pride as well."

"I do not know what exactly you are thinking…" Filimerthex sighed as he pulled out several knowledge crystals. "But I can guess what you are imagining. Rest assured, I have made preparations for that as well."

Pulling out two small holo-projector, the Autarch placed them in front of the Guardians along with the knowledge crystals he had pulled out earlier.

"Don't attempt to take in the entire case reference and statute guide psychically." He warned as he pointed at a few of the crystals. "The examples listed there are rather unpleasant. Unless you want to regurgitate everything you eat for the next couple of weeks, I would keep your psychic senses relegated to the index and search function of the crystals."

"What are these, Autarch?" Nydriwin asked. For a life and death mission to Commorragh, the objects seemed rather out of place.

"These are your contracts for indentured servitude." Filimerthex said as he picked up two of the crystals. "I've put in all the basics such as food restrictions, visitation rights, protections of your pride and person. However, if there is anything else you wish to add, feel free to add it to the crystal. If you're unsure of the necessary wording, just make a footnote or comment on the section you think is most appropriate. We can review your additions in a couple weeks when I return."

Filimerthex placed the knowledge crystals containing the contracts, and several thousand pages worth of legal clauses written in the most confounding matter appeared.

"I will be engaged in several diplomatic matters and therefore occupied, so this will be your homework for the next several weeks." The Autarch continued as he switched off the holo-projectors, before placing them and the knowledge crystals in their hands. "You are dismissed."

The two Guardians looked up and down at the materials the Autarch had handed to them awkwardly, then gave a salute which was returned giving them official permission to leave the room.

"This is not what I had in mind when I promised to serve Iyanden." Seridin grumbled as he walked down the corridor back to the barracks.

"At least the service asked of us is not as dark as we could dream." Nyrdiwin said dryly, already skimming through some of the knowledge crystals with the holo-projector set to the hand-held display size.

—----------------------------------------

Mehlendri leaned on the railing of one of the balconies overlooking the garden domes. She was slouched over with her head resting on her crossed arms. Her eyes followed the Eldar of Iyanden below. Many were enjoying walks and frolics through the forests and flowers under simulated moonlight.

She was dressed in a simple white long-sleeved shirt and dress. It was her casual wear now that the Seer council had ended. All the necessary arrangements to begin discussions with Il-Kaithe as well as a few of their old client races were underway. Filimerthex's plan had been deemed to be safe enough in their visions. Thankfully, it was not a binary choice they saw before them. Several points down the road still allowed them to reverse course should another vision be seen. Thus, they had decided to tentatively try some of the Autarch's suggestions. Filimerthex himself was surprisingly agreeable to this outcome. He merely nodded his head at their decision to only follow some of his words.

"What did you let aboard Iyanden, Farseer?" Milethea had asked her as the council had dispersed. There was fear and doubt in her voice. They were following the path proposed by something she knew was not one of the Eldar, and that disturbed her.

"Something useful. That is all." That had been her answer.

Her ears twitched as a series of familiar footsteps approached from behind. But, she ignored them, remaining resolutely immovable on the railing even as Filimerthex emerged from behind her.

"Apologies, Farseer Mehlendri." He said as he walked up to the balcony railing. "As you should be well aware, our powers grow with age. As the oldest Farseer, I had to be sure you were dead. Three is usually enough times to kill a fully mature Aeldari, but four times was the minimum I thought necessary for you."

"Is that a compliment?" Mehlendri snorted, continuing to watch the people below. "In the end, what little preparations I had were used to your advantage." There was a slight pout to her voice; the childish irritation and vexation of one who had been outsmarted.

"Take that as a lesson then." Filimerthex chuckled. "Foresight only sees so much. One can be as deceitful, deceptive, and dishonest as they wish with or without it."

"Is everything a plan or plot for you?" Mehlendri sighed. She was used to foreseeing the future and trying to unravel the strings of fate. However, this Aeldari made the most innocuous actions the stepping stones for mass murder. He rescued humans from aliens and demons to kill even more humans with the Orks. Even an act as simple as sharpening a nail or a pat on the back could be the beginnings of butchery.

There was a momentary silence before Filimerthex replied. His voice was hollow, and when Mehlendri turned her head to look at him she saw his eyes were vacant. They were staring at nothing except perhaps some phantom vision deep in his memories.

"We faced things that made a mockery of reality in the ancient past. Our enemies were all but gods with quantum neurons that could consider both eventualities of a coin landing heads or tails at the same time."

"We faced a storm of our masters' making that devoured everything and everyone without joy or hate. Parasites, plagues, and predators of unknowable nature and unstoppable drive dipped between real and unreal at the same time."

"We faced old allies that rewrote the laws around them to fit what they felt was right. They were unstoppable brutes who fed on violence."

"We faced our own blood screaming Khaine's, Lilieath's, and a hundred other names for our gods as the actual deities tore at each other in the immaterium; mutilating our shared psyche."

Filimerthex shook his head, and his dilated pupils closed as he returned from the past.

"I plan and plot to keep all that I love safe, as well as make preparations so they hopefully do not have to plan and plot as I do." He sighed and swept a hand through his hair. "But the time has come for them to shed their childhood naivete, and for me to abandon my hopes and dreams. We are Aeldari, and there is no changing that."

Mehlendri stared at him for a moment, then asked, "What are you going to do to Iyandra?"

There was only one Eldar that mattered to Filimerthex, and she was the subject he was talking about. She was always the subject he talked about.

"I will teach her everything I know, including what happened to her mother after I have taught her everything else." A tired smile twisted his lips as he spoke. "Then, I will die. My purpose will have been served, and there is no more use for me." He turned towards Mehlendri, staring down at her face which rested on crossed arms. "Use my soul for the first live experiments with the Spirit Stones, but whatever you do, do not put me in the Infinity Circuit. I may retain my sanity now, but there's no knowing what happens when I become like my brothers and sisters as just a soul."

The words sounded noble. The words sounded self-sacrificial, but at their core they were only selfish. He would do what he wanted to do and leave Mehlendri to clean-up after everything was done.

"I hate you, Filimerthex." She said quietly. This Aeldari deceived her when they first met, used her convictions and empathy against her, and was antithetical to everything she believed.

Yet, he served Iyanden, and he served her well.

"Is that so?" Filimerthex shrugged. "I guess I would to." He chuckled to himself, then tousled Mehlendri's hair like he would have a little girl's. "Hate me all you want. I'm not going anywhere for another thousand or so years."

Mehlendri slapped away his hand but made no further comment. Their age gap was large enough that she really was a little girl in his eyes, and to be angry about that was to be immature. It was what it was.

"Did you think we were doing the right thing?" She asked quietly as she watched the Eldar of Iyanden in the garden.

"I didn't say anything until now." Filimerthex answered calmly.

"Do you think she thinks we were doing the right thing?"

"Who knows? There's no guarantee she's doing the right thing either. We can only do what we think is right. We are not puppets."

"Then why did you decide to change everything?"

Until now, he had been the mostly obedient Autarch of Iyanden. He followed the Seer council's orders, provided military insight when it was necessary, and trained the Guardians in the art of warfare.

Now, he was meddling in politics, economics, foreign relations, and the very path Iyanden was supposed to take.

"I don't know." Filimerthex admitted. "It might have been the look in her eye when she saw me. It might have been the message she left with the Psychomatons. It might have been the build-up of the past several decades, watching you Farseers become more puritanical and perfectionist." He sighed and scratched his head. "All I know is that I remembered what I am. I am evil, but even evil has its use."

Mehlendri snorted. It sounded like a boast, but it was a fact. A person who wasn't evil wouldn't slaughter 9 people over a disagreement. A person who wasn't evil wouldn't instigate a war between two alien races. A person who wasn't evil would have limits they wouldn't breach or taboos they wouldn't touch.

That was why Filimerthex was evil, and why he still had his uses.

"Do you want to stay the night?" Mehlendri suddenly said as she pushed off the balcony railing.

"Is that wise, Mehlendri?" Filimerthex asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm not some naive maiden. I know what I'm asking." Mehlendri snorted as she put one hand on her waist.

Filimerthex only looked at her, neither accepting nor rejecting her. He was waiting for her to answer an unspoken question. 'Why?'

Mehlendri narrowed her eyes at Filimerthex, then sighed and turned away from him.

"I just want to break someone and to be broken by someone." She said quietly. "Someone to scapegoat, someone to hurt, someone to condemn me, someone to punish me." Her arms wrapped around herself, crossing over her breast as if to hold herself together. "Everything in my mind is a mess, and I can't tell the difference between right or wrong." Her face was turned away from Filimerthex, but her emotions were naked to him in the slight bend of her back and the tone of her voice. "I have had children, young souls. I raised them, watched them grow, watched them fall to temptation, and watched them disappear. Iyanden and all aboard her are the adopted children I could save. Don't let me lose them."

"Iyandra has many friends onboard." Filimerthex answered. "I will try my best."

"Then that is enough." There was a sniffle, then Mehlendri turned towards Filimerthex. "Coming?" She asked.

"As you wish." Filimerthex gave a nod and followed the Farseer back to her apartment.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N I'm not going to be putting as much effort in these sections, because I want to prioritise the main story. My story makes a lot of references to other real world events or mythology, so I've made these to elaborate since some of the symbolism and references are hard to get for some non-native speakers as well as younger native speakers.

The way I've organized it is by chapter. Some of these might be quite short. I'll just put any random bits of irony/references/foreshadowing I've made here.

Title: The title references how the Aeldari have started to diverge from their original vision of the future, and are entering uncertain waters.

Main Part: Psykers are know to be hardier than their non-psyker brethren. Powerful human psykers can staunch wounds with telekinesis or biomancy. Filimerthex's apparent excessive violence is mostly him tripple-tapping (so to speak) his brethren to ensure they don't come back from a grevious wound or merely pretend to be dead.

Idrineth is only in the middling age-group of the Seers, so beheading him was enough to take him out. If this was Mehlendri or possibly even Tyrios, they might have used telekinesis to drag their head back to their body, and reattatch it with their psyker abilities. Of course, they would still be seriously anaemic and at death's doorstep. However, even a half-dead Aeldari is dangerous.

By creating multiple lethal wounds, he increases the amount of time these Aeldari have to take to repair their body to functional status. If they take too much time, their soul gets sent into the Othersea much like daemons are forced back into the Warp when their medium is destroyed.

Some questions about this chapter are included below.

Supposing the plans for the nursing chambers go through, I wonder what the long term effects of Eldar children being born and spending their early childhood surrounded by wraithbone made from the Emperor's truth might be. Strong attraction to the astronomicon? Eldar "followers" (probably in a very loose sense of the word followers) of the Emperor?

Click to shrink...

Mostly, it means that the Eldar don't have to psychically devolve to survive as they did in 40K. Necron Lords who face the Craftworlders often scoff at how proud they seem to be of their psychic strength, when their forebears were far more powerful than them. This may be a jibe made by the Necron, however, Eldrad is another piece of evidence for this theory. If you assume he was born before the Fall, he is the oldest and most psychically powerful Eldar according to lore. In one novel, Asurmen told him that he would be the last of the Eldar who could truly use the psychic powers they all used to have.

As a side-note, as Seridin experienced that lonely walk through the darkness (which is part of the Emperor's symbolism, walking through the dark to lay a path alone, etc.), it should cause the Eldar children there to periodically experience this extreme isolation and loneliness when they accidentally touch it with their psychic senses.

This might make a few of them a little bit physically clingy, as a rection to being exposed to this loneliness.

It might harden others, stressing them enough to temper them like steel, preparing them for the lonely road of leadership.

For most, however, the effect is negligible. It is one bad experience out of thousands of good and bad ones they will have, and the majority will either forget or ignore it when they mature.

On a good note, the Eldar who grow up in these nurseries will probably be less disturbed by the presence of blanks and the Emperor, as their natures are both antithetical to the Warp. So, the reaction to blanks would be less "WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?! KILL IT! KILL IT!" to, "Ew. That is really weird, but also strangely nostalgic."

Seeing as he is the(?) god of humanity that would probably not be good at all or outright Bad News™ though from what I understand of the author's interpretation of "godhood"in Warhammer that would probably not be the case as it's not really the Emperor's truth so much as Isha's copy.

Having said that, if it becomes an integral part of the early Eldar life cycle it'll certainly rustle some jimmies if/when they find out its origin.

Click to shrink...

The Eldar on Iyanden have an idea that the golden Wraithbone originates from a human deity, which is kinda why they make an effort to not mention it at all because their pride would be bruised quite badly by the idea.

It's a sort of in-joke I attempted to write in. I was experimenting with conveying concepts via omission. Most people would wonder where something came from, but the Eldar have sort of avoided the topic and went straight to how to use it. That said, since Filimerthex enters mid-way through the council, I didn't get to fully put this concept into this chapter. It is totally plausible that the Farseers discussed the golden Wraithbone's origins already, so I'll be putting that in a writer's note later on since it is hard to see.

By the time Isha can return to the Aeldari, they'll probably have convinced themselves that it was their mother's cunning that allowed them to gain access to part of Neoth's abilities, and thus they are not indebted to a "primitive" race.

Yes, the Eldar are snobbish, but it's a predictable character flaw of their race, making it one of the least problematic ones since it is a known factor that can be worked around. I personally find the idea of them conducting such mental gymanstics hilarious, but I also understand it is not appealing to all.

I was sort of curious about that, how the council was examining it and contemplating how they could use it and nobody was asking where it came from and how did it get those properties. Especially weird in that they are planning to use this stuff to safeguard their children, but don't care where it came from. Nobody even raised the possibility that it could be some kind of cunning trap?

Click to shrink...

Good question.

There are 3 main reasons the Eldar of Iyanden "trust", so to speak, the arrow and not the Psychomatons.

1. Seridin's report of hearing "her" voice assures them that the source of this arrow is Isha. Although they cannot be entirely sure whether she herself wants to be found, they can be sure that the object she left was meant to be found by them. Otherwise, she would have destroyed it. As Filimerthex said:

"she was here and if she was one of us, she knew we would be here too."

Click to shrink...

Added to the fact that Seridin felt Isha's love when he first touched it, there is credible evidence to suggest that this item was left with benevolent intentions.

2. The arrow is a modified version of Kurnous's spear. It is a miracle made for the Aeldari in order to accelerate their technology and development. Seridin instinctively called the arrow a "lesson" because of this link between the Aeldari and the downgraded copy of Kurnous's miracle. Therefore, they can feel that what the arrow symbolizes is something they are encouraged to mimic. Which is another hidden message from Isha asking them to cooperate with the humans while still taking advantage of them where they can. The arrow is created by the union of a human god's miracle and an Aeldari god's miracle, but the human god's miracle was taken from that god with guile. Thus, it is a symbolic message of Isha's request.

3. The Wraithbone they are attempting to use was planned to be created by Iyanden's Bonesingers. As Milethea said;

"Bonesingers of sufficient strength can retain control of the Wraithbone they make."

Click to shrink...

Conversely, so long as the golden Wraithbone they use is produced by their own Bonesingers, they can be relatively certain that there are no negative effects hidden within it. Additionally, even if there was something they missed, it would appear in the Bonesinger who sang it into existence first.
Although not portrayed, behind the scenes the Bonesingers are monitoring all of the volunteers who are attempting to create the golden Wraithbone for any psychic traps or tricks that might be hidden within the composition of the Wraithbone itself. This is why the Psychomatons cannot be trusted, but their own Bonesingers can.

As I posted before, the Farseers do believe that the golden part of the Wraithbone arrow originates from a human deity. However, the idea that one of their gods would work with an alien one when the Eldar are in this much strife is a very souring one. To bring the topic up would no doubt lead to a non-productive theological debate (shouting match) between Serapharielle, Eluriane, and Milethea with Idrineth making things even more complicated.

Hence, they have all decided to leave that topic for another day, and focus on more utilitarian topics for now.

To summarize what the Farseers have agreed on...
1. Isha does not want to be found.
2. She is most likely working with humanity, although whether that is a good or bad thing is open for debate.
3. She has not abandoned them entirely, but they should not expect their prayers to her to be answered any time soon.
4. The Goddess of Life is not what they collectively thought she was, and to ask for her assistance without understanding what she is invites disaster due to the cost of her miracle being more than they are willing to pay.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N 1: I have posted a redacted version of an R-18 chapter that is only available on my patreon. This was mostly done because this scene provides some backstory, as well as character development that I felt would be best shared with all readers. However, this chapter is much shorter than the original due to all the redactions. If you see odd breaks in sentences, or the dialogue seems to skip, you know why. Personally, the amount of symbolism I had to cut out in order to make this okay for posting has left me very unhappy.

A/N 2: I post this here now because I promised the Iyanden Sidestories would end in 5 chapters/weeks, so the next one goes to Terra.

Mehlendri's apartment was sparsely decorated, only having the bare necessities for one person.

A small round table with a single chair.

A small bed for one person with one pillow.

A small wardrobe that held only enough clothes for a single week.

A single window that provided synthetic moonlight.

It was as if loneliness was symbolized in every aspect of the room's architecture.

"I understand we are encouraged to live frugally..." Filimerthex quipped as he looked around the room. "But isn't this too much?"

"Iyanden is my home. It is my life." Mehlendri answered. "This is a place to maintain my body."

"I see." Filimerthex nodded to himself.

What was about to happen was maintenance to Mehlendri. It was a method to satisfy her ego and physical urges. There was no desire for connection or warmth. That was why she chose this room.

"What do you think?"

"Beautiful." Filimerthex said as he stepped towards her. "Hair like liquid light, and skin as pale and perfect as fresh snow." He ran a hand through her hair, which sparkled when struck by the calming moonlight. "Yet it is you yourself that I find the most alluring."

She snorted, pushing his hand away from her. "The naive idealist who you could twist around your finger?"

"The pragmatist who allowed me to stay, and the Farseer with the foresight to use me." He replied, catching the hand that pushed him away as he took another step. They were close enough to feel each other's breath.

"You whisper sweet nothings to me. How many girls have you flattered to death with that poisonous tongue of yours?"

"None." Filimerthex shrugged. "I was always a soldier first. Harming my fellow Aeldari never feels right."

"Yet you killed us with such ease and brutality." Mehlendri said with narrowed eyes.

"I am a soldier first." He shrugged. "The only way I can keep everything safe is by killing."

[Large Redaction]

"Hold onto yourself, Mehlendri." Filimerthex whispered . "You no longer know what right or wrong is. But, you can still tell what you like and don't like."

She disliked pleasure, and feared its addictive and all consuming effect on her. But, to replace her moral code with self-centered decision making was idiotic. The only path that led down was a dictatorship.

"But, that is the problem, isn't it?" Filimerthex said . "You neither like pain, nor enjoy pleasure. You lie right in the middle, approaching neither extreme."

"It would have been much easier if you functioned only on logic, but you don't." He said as she glared at him. "You have beliefs and morals about how the Eldar should be, and what lessons should have been learned from the old Aeldari."

"Now, here you are, lost in the darkness no longer able to assume that blind avoidance will be our salvation from She who Thirsts."

Something snapped within her and she lunged forwards. Her mouth bit into Filimerthex's shoulder drawing blood as her teeth penetrated the skin.

"Yes, let it out." Filimerthex replied without a wince. "You wished to break something, to scapegoat someone. I am the evil you hate, , giving good reason for your revenge."

Mehlendri and Filimerthex remained that way for a few moments as the taste of rust filled her mouth.

He was right, and she struck out at him for it. The Eldar would now have to deal with their fallen brethren. That dependence on Commorragh would bring them close to the corruption that had brought the Fall. No longer could they see themselves separate from the Dark City. Its survival, and theirs were now intertwined.

The thought froze Mehlendri to her core. However, it was the only way to harvest the Spirit Stones en-masse without waiting for the Aspect shrines to grow.

Risk and reward hung in the balance, and the future swayed like the arms of a scale to-and-fro.

As her anger abated, Mehlendri released her hold on Filimerthex's shoulder.

"We had to be careful." She said slowly after she spat the blood out of her mouth. "There is no line between salvation and damnation."

"And I agreed with you." Filimerthex whispered . "For I followed you just like everyone else."

"But now we make deals with Commorragh." She said . "We sell our own into slavery, and put our fate in the hands of the slaves Khaine."

"Slaanesh did not arise during the War in Heaven." He said . "She shall not take us for reclaiming what was ours."

"Then what have I done to Iyanden, and to all those others who we did not let on board?" Mehlendri said . "Was I wrong?"

"No, you were not. I was there, watching you Farseer. Even before I banged on your gates, I was investigating you and all the other Craftworlds I could reach. I chose you and your Craftworld because I thought you had the highest chance of survival out of all of them. Even in the worst case scenario, Iyanden would be the one to endure. That was my conclusion." He lowered her onto the bed gently. "You were not wrong, Mehlendri. Even if you were, no one can blame you. I knew your noble intentions to save as many as you could. I counted on it to allow me to stay even after you found out what I was."

Mehendri's hands curled, raking her trimmed nails across his back.

"If you ever feel as if you do not know where you stand, then I can tell you. After all, I am the evil that fully intends to use you. It would be lazy of me not to know. You are a good woman, and so was every choice you have made."

Filimerthex defined himself as evil. Thus, from his perspective, good was whatever was on the opposite side of where he stood. As long as Mehlendri was across from Filimerthex, she was good and he was evil.

"Foolishness." Mehlendri snorted. "If that was true, then I would have to oppose you no matter how much commonsense or logic your plans or deeds had. That is the act of a reactionary."

"True." Filimerthex nodded as he stroked her head. His hand ran through her hair, straightening the strands that had gotten tangled when he had lowered her upon the bed. "But that is where the abstract concepts of morality shatter against concrete reality."

"So, is it our motives that should be opposite?" She asked . "Your acts will always be selfish, and hence mine should be selfless?"

"Is that a jest?" Filimerthex chuckled "Everyone's motives are selfish in the end. Otherwise, my wish to keep Iyandra safe and happy would be selfless as well." . "The difference between us is that you have a limit, and I do not." He said. "I went too far, and paid the price. You remain here, in this gap between pain and pleasure, right and wrong." "Even if the reward was the salvation of our entire species, you would not sell all those aboard Iyanden. I would do the opposite if it was to protect Iyandra."

"Then is it my fate that I will always lose to you?" She said sadly. "How am I supposed to fight you with one arm behind my back?"

In a fight between two equals, the one with less inhibitions was more likely to win. Mehlendri and Filimerthex were already unequal. Logic would have dictated that Mehlendri would be the one to take the underhanded path, but she could not. Thus, she would always be at a disadvantage against Filimerthex in more ways than one.

"We aren't dealing with winning or losing anymore, Mehlendri." Filimerthex whispered . "She who Thirsts has shown where my path leads." He said as he bit her earlobe. "My generation already lost themselves to the Fall. You and your kind are the survivors of that disaster. That is why I came to you, and why I serve you."

Sweet words flowed over her ears like warm water, massaging out the malaise she felt.

"You are the one with the power here." He said as he wrapped a hand around each of her wrists, then placed her fingers on his throat. "You are the one with the way forward."

"Says the one who has been using me from the day we met." She snorted as she pulled her hands out of his grip, placing them on his chest.

"Like I said, I am evil. It is my nature to do so." He shrugged, brushing a hand through her hair. "Even if you are the only method for salvation, it is meaningless to me unless it saves what I want."

The two of them stared into each other's eyes for a moment.

"What is Iyandra to you, Filimerthex?" Mehelendri asked suddenly.

She knew his granddaughter was the one thing he prioritized everything around. A baser mind would assume something sinister there, but she knew their relationship was normal. Yet, she couldn't help but feel there was something more there.

"She is my daughter's daughter. Nothing more, nothing less." He spoke earnestly. "I endure, I remain, I lie here for her safety."

Mehlendri raised an eyebrow at that. He had admitted this act of was for Iyandra's sake as well. She had her suspicions. However, to be told that the only reason he lay here like a was for her stress relief… On top of that, to be told that his motivation was so she could serve Iyanden and hence Iyandra… Well, the mixture of emotions was a blend of cold anger at the insult, and smug satisfaction for being right.

"I know what you did, back on Commorragh." She said, voice almost freezing over as she grabbed his shoulders and dug her fingers into them. "Aeldari your age don't walk around with us anymore for a reason."

"Living for tens of thousands of years gets boring." He replied with a wince. "Old friends become predictable. All conversation becomes a routine recitation of one out of several billion memorized permutations of prose, poetry, and tone. All that is left to bide the time is to lose one's self in what one wants, or to search for new means of entertainment in vain."

"Then why didn't you end up like that?" She said as she lowered her mouth to his ear. "Your background would have allowed you to be consumed by violence like the Psychomatons."

"In a way…" He said slowly. "I am here because you and I are alike."

"How so?"

"I feared losing what I was." He admitted quietly. "Everything I experienced and everything I felt was part of me. No matter how burdensome or boring that fact became, I could not abandon it just like you cannot fall to pain or pleasure. Just as you wish to remain sane, I wanted to be me and only me for as long as I could."

"But you were still bored of living." She said as she released his shoulders, and stoked the nail marks she had left in his skin softly.

"I was." He admitted. "So I searched for a way to make things fresh again."

Mehlendri snorted as he recited what he had already told her once before on the Core Worlds.

"You used the young souls born on Commorragh." She said as she dragged a nail across his collarbone. "You used them to see life through their lives again."

"I temporarily melded my mind and soul with theirs." He sighed wistfully. "I saw the world through new eyes with pure ignorance, and I could enjoy everything in the way only a fool can."

His face relaxed at the memory, but Mehlendri's features twisted in disgust.

"And they in turn saw everything you had."

"For the first few attempts, the experience was traumatic to them." He replied; nonchalant and unrepentant. "Not many can stay sane after seeing a million years of war in a blink of an eye."

"Why didn't you just wipe your memory, or seal them behind some psychic block?" She asked.

It seemed a terribly roundabout way to alleviate one's boredom. If trauma was what he wanted to be free from, Filimerthex didn't need another person or their soul in the first place.

"I am my memories, Mehlendri." He murmured. "Without them I would not be me. During the merger, I was myself and them at the same time. No… that's not right. I was them if they were me. They acted as I would have, but only as far as they could. They spoke my thoughts with their smaller vocabulary, and expressed my emotions with their less flexible faces."

Mehlendri felt a brief chill as she stared into his eyes. For a brief moment, her reflection seemed to be looking back at her, but not in the way the image inside a mirror would. Then he blinked, and it was only the liquid that covered his corneas refracting light back at her.

She sighed and reached down with both hands, and pinched both of his cheeks.

"I first feared that was your purpose when you came to us." She said as she began to pull. "When I learned of where you came from and what you had done there, I suspected you were here to feed on all those we had tried to save."

Filimerthex's hands gently eased her fingers from his face.

"I remember the day you confronted me." He chuckled once his lips could move freely. "When I saw the fury in your eyes, I was reassured. You and Iyanden were the one."

Mehlendri drew back, sitting upright as she pulled both of her hands from his fingers. Then she slapped him, hard.

"So that was part of your plan too." She said as Filimerthex nursed a reddening cheek.

"It would have been harder to keep private if we were corralled on the Craftworld." He said as he licked away the trickle of blood coming out of the corner of his mouth. "Better to air out the dirty laundry in the alleys of the Core Worlds."

She continued to stare down at him, remembering the day she confronted him.

He had already integrated himself as a productive member of the community by then. Most of his expertise was military in nature. He provided training regimens to increase the number of True Guardians. He optimized patrol routes to cover more ground with their limited forces. He even provided self-defense classes to the other Eldar, so they could survive for long enough until the True Guardians could rescue them. Removing him then would have risked their safety, for it was only their military arm that kept them safe from the Core Worlders.

At the time, she prayed that what she had learned was a mistake or a lie. She kept remembering the happy man with his toddler, telling her that he had named her Iyandra after the ship that would be their salvation. Her emotions delayed her for days. After several awkward weeks of trying to act like she used to, she finally began to search for a sign of his deceit.

It didn't take long to find it.

Filimerthex was always missing for an hour every day. Normally, it could be attributed to him having a break for himself, but the excuse he gave was odd. He told everyone who was looking for him during that hour that he was spending time with Iyandra. But, Mehlendri knew that could not be true, because he left Iyandra in her care during that exact hour.

She followed him for a few days. It didn't take long to see him using a secret hole that led under the enclave walls. After she worked up the courage to follow him through it, it took even less time to see him disappear into the alleys of the Core World.

Still, it took another two days for her to finally follow him into the alleys.

Was what she learned about him true? Did he lie when he said he had come to his senses and wanted to be better? Why did he have a secret passageway in the enclave? What was he doing in the alleys?

All those questions were running through her mind at the time, but the biggest one was more of a plea.

'What they told me about you, it's not true, is it?'

She followed him into the alleys of the Core World, but lost sight of him through its twists and turns. When she finally gave up and was about to leave, he was there at the entrance waiting for her.

"Thank you for coming, alone." He had said to her. "Now we can have a true discussion, heart to heart."

She felt something shatter inside her that moment. But, as she prepared to fight to the death, his next words gave her pause.

"Help me save Iyandra, and I will help you save Iyanden."

From that day forth, their fates were intertwined. He organized the militia they had into a full-scale army. Assisted them in acquiring heavy weapons and vehicles, or the songs necessary to sing their parts into existence. He provided escorts for their recruitment crews and craft. If there was a military-related matter, he was involved in it.

She worked with the other Farseers to strengthen Iyanden with other methods. Her work with the Spirit Stones gave the Eldar hope. Fostering greater filial connections between Craftworlds allowed them to trade information and resources. Coming up with ways to keep the Eldar aboard Iyanden away from temptation had the added boon of allowing them to recruit from a greater pool of people. Those who had touched temptation but had yet to be consumed by it could be weaned off their addiction with the same methods. Thus, allowing more to join them.

In the last hundred years before they left, Filimerthex had gained enough support to become Autarch in all but name only. Meanwhile, Mehlendri had gained enough trust to safely recommend him to the Seer council.

But, from what he said now, their fates had been intertwined ever since he had set eyes on her enclave.

"The Commorraghites you wish to contact, and the ones who told me what you were, they were the young souls you used." She said coldly.

"The fourth or fifth batch of attempts, I believe." Filimerthex nodded to himself. "It took a while to figure out how to look through their eyes while keeping them blinded when using mine." He chuckled as Mehlendri frowned down at him. "They called me teacher or master. All of them came to me looking for knowledge and power, and in exchange for the temporary use of their soul, I accepted."

"Following rumors you no doubt spread yourself."

"They made the choice on their own, even when I explained the danger." He smiled. "The children of Commorragh are ambitious, and eager to climb the ranks. They agreed, even when I warned them the process might show them more than they wanted to see."

"What happened to those first children?" Mehlendri said quietly.

"They are children from my perspective, not yours Mehlendri. Although, they were probably several thousand years younger than you at the time. As for their fate, most only took a few reincarnations to recover their sanity. The others threw themselves into stasis lock, and are probably still there. It was the same for all of them up to half of the fourth batch."

"Is that how you met your consort?"

"No." Filimerthex shook his head. "But, that is a story for another time." His hand reached up, stroking the back of a finger up her neck before cupping her chin in his palm. "Have you been broken down enough, Mehlendri? Can you tell yourself what is right and wrong?"

Mehlendri smiled down at Filimerthex; one side in light, one in shadow. Right and wrong had been resolved within her as the two faces of the same coin. She would fall to neither extreme, and hold herself in the middle. Her soul would forever balance on the narrow edge between the two faces of that coin.

If Filimerthex was focussed upon only Iyandra, she would be focussed purely on Iyanden. This Craftworld and all upon it were her only treasure. Their lives and souls would be forever bound to its Infinity Circuit; eternally out of the reach of gods and demons.

[Large Redaction]

"You never intended for that future to happen." Mehlendri accused . "Otherwise, you would have had a Spirit Stone for each of us you killed hidden on your person."

She was talking about the future where he killed her. It was only there that he had harmed her physically.

"It is easier to convince our kin that way." He said . "We can see the effects of our actions. There is no room for doubt, and no need for debate. The discussion of what is improbable and impossible doesn't have to take place, unlike when talking with aliens."

[Large Redaction]

"You need me." She whispered into his ear . "And I need you."

"I will use you, Filimerthex." She said . "Give all of yourself to me."

[Large Redaction]

Her head shook itself violently. Silvery hair flew outward with drops of clear sweet smelling sweat as her hands came up to her face, trying to hold onto a swiftly loosening mask that hid a wild beast.

"Sleep now." She heard a voice whisper to her, and Filimerthex's hands held her. They cupped her cheeks, wrapped around her shoulders, stroked her back, and restrained her writhing body.

Hands. Too many hands.

The moonlight dimmed, sending the room into darkness. Then Mehlendri's mind shutdown.

—----------------------------------------

Mehlendri awoke lying upon something soft. It felt like a hammock made of stretchy strings that softly held her, molding itself to fit her body. She opened her eyes and found herself lying on a silken web spun across blackness. Slowly, she stood up, balancing on the strands of the web. Each strand seemed to harden, as if feeling her intentions, providing a firm support for her feet.

She was not alone on the web. What looked like Aeldari men were everywhere, attached to the web.

'No…' She thought to herself. 'They are shells.'

Each body was just a shell. They lay there on the web, frozen. A split open seem was on each of their backs, like the shed carapace of a crustacean or arthropod.

Mehlendri approached the one nearest to her. The Aeldari's face was contorted in pain. Part of his body was frozen mid-way through disintegration. The features were familiar, similar to Filimerthex's, but she could not imagine the ancient Aeldari making such an expression. That man could be stabbed through the heart and smile. He would have the same expression even as Necron Gauss flayers disintegrated his body.

She stretched out a hand to touch it, only for the web to suddenly slacken under her. She fell backwards, away from the shell, landing on swiftly softening strings that began to entrap her like an overly soft mattress.

"Even that one?" Mehlendri called out into the blackness. No answer returned, but the web remained slack..

"Fine!" She shouted out after several minutes of struggling to get back on her feet. "I won't touch anything."

The web once again regained its firmness, pushing her back out of it, and allowing her to clamber back onto her feet.

Each shell was a life. A visual representation of an entire incarnation of Filimerthex. To touch it was to interact with that information. She would be exposed to everything inside it, including the painful death his life ended with. Of course, looking at the wound, she could easily imagine that there was much pain before that as well. This was Filimerthex's first incarnation fighting against the Necrons, and battle with them was brutal at every stage.

The next shell she walked by was once again in pain, but there was a grimmer look to it. Two impalement wounds with singed edges were the obvious cause of death. Yet, the man's jaw was shut tight and his eyes glared at some unseen enemy before him.

Shell after shell passed her by as Mehlendri wandered across the web. Each one was frozen at the moment of their death. But, there was a gradual trend between them. Pained grimaces and glares were gradually replaced by empty stares, then the straight line of the man's mouth began to twist. From death to death the cynical smile that had spread there began to split open into an insane grin. Then that grin opened even further into mad laughter that seemed to erupt from him the moment his body stopped moving.

Mehlendri swallowed as she felt bile build up inside her. The man's features formed an almost stop-motion animation of madness. Despite seeing only the surface level of what had happened to him, it disgusted her to her core.

His body changed as well. At first it was just an additional eye on the back of his head to see behind him, then it was an additional arm. Reincarnation after reincarnation, he became less and less recognizable. The latter shells' silhouettes shared more with the daemons of the Warp than the Aeldari. These shells no longer had a face. All they had was a mask attached to tubes and tanks that were buried into his back and sheathed in his skin. Eyes, nose, and ears had been replaced with various sensory devices. His many elongated and bladed limbs were almost entirely artificial.

But, Mehlendri did not weep for the man that was turned into a monster for war. He was unremarkable in that regard. This person's story was but one amongst billions of similar tales told by those who shared his fate. They had all been fighting and dying endlessly against the Necrons, then the Warp Plagues, then the Kroks, then the Aeldari themselves. To weep for only him was to ignore all the rest, and he would not forgive her for that. Such selfish hypocrisy would bring the being that had shed all these shells on top of her, and she did not know what he would do to her in his rage.

Finally, she came to the last shell. The bladed hands were impaled within himself, puncturing the heart, the lungs, and forehead. Bits and pieces of the armor that had been fused to his flesh lay torn around him, ripped off by his own hands.

There were no more shells after this one, but there was another figure before her.

Filimerthex's current body hung in the air, like a puppet on its strings.

Mehlendri's gaze followed the strands upwards into the void above them, and she finally saw what Filimerthex really was.

A massive eight legged spider like creature larger than a Fire Prism sat above her in the darkness. 3 long-nailed hands were on every foot, and they held both the strings that attached to his mortal body, and the strands that formed the web. Instead of pedipalps, a lipless fanged mouth spread across almost the entire front half of his body. 10 eyes were dotted around the thorax, allowing him to see in every direction. His pupils narrowed and widened at odd intervals as they swung to-and-fro, but the two largest on the front of his head were fixed on Mehlendri.

This was the shape of Filimerthex's soul. A monster that had long outgrown his mortal body, but still remained attached to the world of the living.

The spider's many hands pulled on the web, drawing Mehlendri closer to him as the net-like mesh of string below her was raised. As she got close, she saw that most of his legs and hands were tied up in his own web. He was holding himself down here, restricting his freedoms so he could pretend to be himself.

The lipless mouth opened, and numerous slug like tongues, tipped with four rhinophores stretched out towards her. She waited as the slimy tentacle-like appendages approached her. Smelling organs on retractable prongs stretched out to their fullest to draw in her scent.

The tongues and the buds upon them stopped centimeters away from her skin, hovering over her like hawks over a field.

Slowly, she stretched out a hand towards the spider. His tongues receded, keeping the same distance from her hand and arm. Her smooth fingers reached out to it. She passed the first pair of legs, then between the fangs of his mouth. The spider shivered as his jaws widened, allowing her to reach deeper into his tongue filled maw. There were now thousands of tongues surrounding her, all of them drinking in her scent, but never touching her. Cruel barbs could be seen on them, like the bristles on a cat's tongue used to rake meat from bone.

"I see now why you still remain, despite having fallen so far." Mehlendri said as she turned her hand over in the monster's mouth. His entire body shook, vibrating so hard a dull hum could be heard. All of his eyes except the two main ones were swirling round and round in their sockets.

"You chase a dream, a scent, a feeling forever." She said as she slowly pulled her hand out of his mouth. "But, you will never savor it." The spider's shivering slowed as his tongues retracted from her. "You stopped being mortal eons ago. Now, you're the same as all the other denizens of the Othersea. Like them, you are a creature who feeds on our thoughts, dreams, and souls."

Mehlendri leaned forwards, looking into the huge orbs in the spider's head.

"You want to eat me. To savor everything that I was, including my death. But, to do that, you would have to kill me." She smiled sadly at the spider. He never asked to be like this, but this is where the man had ended up after what seemed like an endless war. "Thus, you can only ever enjoy that moment once and only once. So, you bind yourself here, endlessly dreaming of the day you can devour me and all those you love. Even though you know you will never ever allow yourself to do that." The spider continued to stare at her with unblinking eyes, neither affirming nor rejecting her statements. "To do that means to end the dream, and to expose yourself to endless boredom. That is a fate worse than death for you."

"Not, boredom." Filimerthex's voice came from his suspended body. Only the mouth moved, like a ventriloquist's doll. "Despair, darkness, and regret." He said slowly, correcting the one part of her statement he found to be incorrect. "If it means I have to live through that again, I would rather starve myself to death."

Mehlendri stood back. The being before her was miniscule in comparison to the daemons she had seen consuming the Aeldari. Compared to them, he really was just the size of a spider. A single stomp, and he would be dead. Even though he was still the same as them. Filimerthex was a simple bug in comparison to them.

That was to be expected. This was a being of the immaterium that should have left for his natural habitat long ago. Instead he stayed here, clinging to all that he used to be. Deprived of worship, or prayer, he sat here with no name to call out in joy or fear. Only the first of his former students had seen his form, but by that time they had already gone insane from millions of years of death and destruction.

"You are of no use to me dead." She said as she put a hand on her breast. "Take my fear. Take my grief. Take the tears I shed in silent shame at being deceived by you." As she spoke all the memories she had of him appeared behind her as ghostly mirages. "Take my feelings, feed on them, and rise." The mirages slipped between his fangs, force feeding him Mehlendri's many emotions. "The Aeldari have need of you once again. Serve us and save us, ancient soldier and servant to our species."

—----------------------------------------

Synthetic sunlight filtered in from the window, entering Mehlendri's eyes through squinted lashes. She lay upon her bed, tucked in under the covers. For a moment, she wondered if everything that had happened last night was a dream.

It was only supposed to be for a night. However, finding herself alone with only the evidence that someone else had been there left a hollow feeling in her chest. The empty room she used only to sleep in seemed colder than usual.

*Knock knock

Before Mehlendri could answer, the door to her apartment swung open.

"Ah, you're awake." Filimerthex said with a smile. "I brought something to eat." He held a tray with two bowls, and two mugs. Warm sweet scents wafted over to her with the water vapor rising from the porridge he brought for breakfast. An extra chair hovered behind him, following him into the room as he placed the two bowls and drinks on the single table.

"What's wrong?" He smiled. "Did you think I left you?"

Mehlendri didn't know what sort of expression was on her face, but the hollow feeling in her chest was gone.

"Where did you sleep?" She asked, pushing aside whatever she felt at the moment. She lay in the center of the small bed, and there was no evidence of another occupant.

"On the floor." He shrugged as he sat down. "Aren't you hungry?"

As if on cue her stomach rumbled. She glared at him for a moment, but he neither laughed nor made fun of her. There was only a gentle smile as warm as the sunlight that came in from the window.

"Come Mehlendri. It will get cold soon."

This was probably another act, another mask of his to mollify her. It might not be malicious in nature, simply an extension of his service towards her to relieve stress.

But, Mehlendri ignored all that.

"Alright." She said with a small smile.

If this was a dream, she could afford to sleep in for a few minutes. Even if it wasn't, there was no point denying herself this small mundane happiness. After cleaning and dressing herself up, she sat across from him. It was the replication of a scene from her memory a few hundred years ago. A natural occurrence between the two of them before she had learned how old he was and where he came from.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N I'm not going to be putting as much effort in these sections, because I want to prioritise the main story. My story makes a lot of references to other real world events or mythology, so I've made these to elaborate since some of the symbolism and references are hard to get for some non-native speakers as well as younger native speakers.

The way I've organized it is by chapter. Some of these might be quite short. I'll just put any random bits of irony/references/foreshadowing I've made here.

Title: As this section referred to a lot of Mehlendri's and Fiimerthex's conjoined history, it takes this title. It's also a refernce to the latter part of the chapter where we see Filimerthex's mindscape.

Main Part: I wanted to explore Aeldari bed-techniques without going into the obscene or insane. Quite frankly, everything is quite vanilla. (Except the dialogue) I have included a few things I have learned from the various women I have had the pleasure of being physically intimate with.

Warning, some references to NSFW content follow in the spoiler sections
To summarise some of the techniques I have incorporated into the unredacted version of this chapter:

Spoiler: Possible suggestive content

1. Touching and stroking is a good starter. Going into things too hurriedly or forcefully is a massive turn-off. (Unless it's part of some role-play.)
2. During intimacy, a woman enjoys knowing she arouses you, and silence can be annoying or worrying to some. Physical or vocal expressions of enjoyment increases feelings of self-confidence and warmth. Compliments are also good. (Of course, if it is part of some agreed upon role-play, you can be more crass or violent.)
3. Despite most media of this nature, the mammaries and areolar regions are not a fun place to be touched. More experienced women will be patient, because they've had to deal with this stereotype. However, most would appreciate it if you kept your hands elsewhere.
4. If you are well endowed enough to reach it, do not attempt to touch the cervix. It is quite painful, or so I'm told. You're basically punching her internal organs at that point, so it reverberates into all sort of other areas and can be very uncomfortable.

Part of my motivation for writing the activities in this chapter was to dispel some of the misinformation floating around about intimate activities. So, in a sense, this was my Public Service Announcement as well as literotica.

Pain and pleasure are used here, and it explores what it means to be attracted to neither while using both. Mehlendri does not like the all consuming nature of pleasure, and she finds pain painful like any non-masochistic individual.

Regarding the parts about Filimerthex, he is a manipulative character. Peak Fae is how I would describe him. He is inspired by the Soul Shrive from the Iyanden supplementary codex, and as he is described as ancient by Aeldari standards, he comes from a time before their empire.

Weapons imbued with Spirit Stones that assisst their wielder are not rare, but these are usually made from several combined Eldar souls that have been unified through an Exarch's armor. For a single individual soul to do the same thing, and more is an extraordinary task. This is why the Soul Shrive's soul (Filimerthex) is very very old, and quite powerful.

When I say powerful, I do not mean in terms of direct strength. It is his cunning and intelligence that are the most dangerous parts of him, and that is a theme I intend to pursue with many characters, including human ones.

As a side note, due to the brief events of these chapters, I have not made any character lie. All of them speak the truth, so Filimerthex truly does not want to convert the Eldar on Iyanden to the Commorraghite life-style.

As Filimerthex says:

She who Thirsts has shown where my path leads." He said as he bit her earlobe. "My generation already lost themselves to the Fall. You and your kind are the survivors of that disaster. That is why I came to you, and why I serve you."

Click to shrink...

Commorragh has several other technological perks beyond the Webway gates, and Filimerthex has ideas for his old home as well to keep their souls out of Slaanesh's hands. I have borrowed some ideas from Warhammer fantasy regarding the methodology. I originally intended to take things there, but that would have required a time-skip and the side-stories would have over-taken the main story in terms of events.

 

[Nidhog153]

"If you are good, the Emperor shall protect you."

Those were the words my parents said to me every morning, every meal, and every night after the prayers of thanks.

Fires burn nearby; unseen but the crackling of burning wood and the rising temperature tells me it is closing in.

I squirm in the dust and dirt; the remains of what should have been a simple apartment that is now a dark maze of debris.

'Why?' The question passes through my head.

I had been good today. I awoke at daylight, said my prayers, and washed my face. I ate all my breakfast, did my chores, and studied at the local church. I sat down with my mother and father, listened to them chat about grown up things over dinner, then there was a bang.

When I awoke, everything was dark. I cried for my mother and father, but no answer came.

Now, here I am, struggling through cracks breathing in then coughing up dust and smoke.

'Why?' I had been good today. Why did the Emperor not protect me?

My muscles weaken from lack of oxygen. My brain slows from heat stress. All I can do now is lie here, wondering what it was that I had done to deserve this.

Was it because I had talked back to my father a week before?

Was it because I played a prank on my mother with a frog I found?

Suddenly, the debris around me begins to rumble and dust falls upon me like snow from a tree branch.

Then the darkness recedes, as if the sun had just risen over the horizon. But, instead of warmth, a cool wind of fresh air rushes in cleaning out my lungs and soothing my burnt skin.

Slowly, I look up and see a giant figure holding up the building that had collapsed on top of me with one hand.

The light comes from him, like a golden beacon that banishes the darkness of hell.

With his other hand, he reaches for me, scooping me up in his arm like a babe. The pain and difficulty I had breathing are gone, washed away by the person's brilliance.

"Are you the Emperor?" I found myself asking. Had he come to protect me as my parents promised? Or was this something else?

The figure says nothing as he lets the rubble fall from his hand. Even the dust cloud and rocks pay reverence to him, only falling where he isn't as well as avoiding the path he plans to take.

He carries me for a few minutes. We travel through ruined streets and bombed buildings. Hundreds of meters pass by with every step without raising a single wind. When we are on the outskirts of my home city, he finally puts me back down on the ground with all my injuries healed.

I could see a small camp in the distance. People in white clothes with red crosses rushed between several tents with similar markings. Various ambulances and cars drive to-and-fro from the city.

I turn towards the figure who had rescued me, only to find he is gone.

—-------------------------------------------------

Wizened eyes opened, over 6000 years older than those in his dream. Wrinkles covered the face that had been young at one point, and long knobbly fingers were clasped around the staff gifted to him by his oldest friend.

Malcador sat in his office, clothed in his hooded cloak in the office of the Imperial Regent. This office was the only one capable of giving orders in the Emperor's stead. He had closed his eyes to meditate for a moment. But, he found himself venturing further into his mind than anticipated.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the grand set of double doors, large enough to let in an entire tank.

"Come in." Malcador said as he waved his hand, opening the heavy set of doors with his telekinesis.

"Apologies for the interruption, Imperial Regent." A servant girl in a long-skirted uniform said with a bow. "My master has sent the latest reports regarding the high lords."

Malcador sighed at this and gestured for the girl to come close. A soon as she passed the doors, they slammed shut.

"Lady Callidus." Malcador said. "I thought I told you to focus on educating the acolytes of your temple."

The servant girl snorted, then her face twisted. Her entire body contorted out of shape. Flesh, skin, and bone remolded themselves like clay under a sculptor's hands. Beneath the long skirt and frills of her uniform, a black skin-tight Synskin Bodyglove emerged hidden underneath the skin of her disguise.

"And they called me a monster." Lady Callidus said as her original face reformed itself.

She was a tall and slender woman with red hair in a ponytail. High cheekbones and a thin jaw gave her a beautiful yet arrogant face, accentuated by her narrow green eyes that seemed to stare into one's soul.

"I can see why you psykers were so feared once." She said as she walked towards Malcador's desk. "Any disguise might as well be meaningless if you can just read the mind of the person approaching you."

"It takes a certain degree of practice." Malcador replied. "You haven't answered my question, Lady Callidus."

"I do not need to be with the initiates every waking hour." She shrugged. "What purpose does my presence have when they are merely learning how to operate under extreme pain? If anything, I should return when they are sufficiently broken in. That way, positive emotions are formed with my reappearance."

"All so you can break them again."

Lady Callidus only smiled at the accusation.

"The Imperium asked for living, thinking weapons. A weapon cannot be afforded the ability to change allegiances, nor can it be allowed to deviate from its purpose." Her face warped itself into a mirror image of Malcador's own. "The damage each one can do without this mental conditioning is… considerable to say the least." She said in his wizened voice before returning to her own. "They will obedient to the Imperium, and no one else not even themselves."

Malcador sighed. Lady Callidus was one of several progenitors of the Assassin Temples that the Emperor and him had started up. No matter how mighty an empire's army, the only time they were used on internal affairs was during a coup. Besides, the Assassin Temples would cause a lot less collateral damage. Especially compared to the Thunder Warriors, and the upcoming Space Marine legions that would replace them.

However, training assassins of that caliber was a time-consuming task. At the moment, only the progenitors who had been with the Emperor and Malcador from before Old Night were capable of service. Most of them were preoccupied with training the new recruits.

The one exception seemed to be Lady Callidus. However, that was probably a matter of personality. As an assassin based on subterfuge and deception, the political circles of the Imperial Palace were a playground to her. Then again, it could be that the initiates had yet to reach the physical fitness required to survive the effects of Polymorphine. That drug was a nanotechnological marvel from the golden age of humanity. It allowed Lady Callidus to disguise her body into anyone or anything she wished; assuming their mass was similar.

"What have you brought me?" Malcador muttered, resigned to the assassin's quirks. "You came here out of boredom, so something must have piqued your interest."

"Lords Kestutis, Laurynas, Vytautas from Albia have introduced a number of amendments to the next bill." She said, producing a data drive from her hand. "Several relaxations of building regulations as well as other terms. Of course, all of these are beneficial to certain enterprises that are associated with them and their families."

"At this stage?" Malcador said with a raised eyebrow as he accepted the data drive from her. "It goes to the chamber for a vote this evening."

"They have enough votes to invoke a second round of debates, delaying the bill. It is a minor inconvenience officially, if it wasn't for the legislation required for the 'special' ventures of the Imperium."

"How much do they know?"

His words were quiet, but the shadows in the room seemed to lengthen, hiding his face under the darkness from his hood.

"Nothing." Lady Callidus answered, and light returned to normal in the room. "They only know that you yourself were seen talking with the chairperson. They most likely assumed it was important enough that you would ignore the amendments to pass it as quickly as possible."

"I made that performance to underline that this bill had the support of the Imperial Regent." Malcador sighed. "I suppose they have forgotten what that means."

The Imperial Regent spoke with the Emperor's word in his absence. Thus, to disobey the Imperial Regent meant disobedience towards the Emperor.

Demotion was the kindest fate that awaited any, an honorable way out for those who simply failed due to circumstance.

Suicide was the next best option. It allowed a noble to retain their innocence, before they could be dragged before the courts and pronounced guilty.

But, for all those who were too foolish or feeble to understand what insolence to the Master of Mankind meant, death was the only outcome.

"Shall I deal with them?" Lady Callidus asked. "I can make it look like an accident or have them simply disappear. The Chamber of Lords will still have quorum, and the others will fall in line without them. It will also give us an opportunity to put the houses of Albia in their place."

"No." A slow smile spread across Malcador's thin lips. "The Emperor has been gone from Terra for too long, and they have forgotten what it means to serve him."

Imperial Regent was only one of the many titles he had, but he had another official one in the Imperial records.

"Besides, it is high time I set-up another scarecrow." The Master of Assassins' smile split open into a vicious grin.

Woe betide all who stand in the way of the Imperium and the Master of Mankind.

—-------------------------------------------------

The three lords mentioned by Lady Callidus found themselves in a room in the Imperial Palace. All three had come on their own.

One, Lord Kestutis, sat at the table, sampling various snacks and cakes on plates before him. He was at best described as portly, and at worst borderline obese. If it wasn't for the many gene-enhancements and modifications the rich and privileged were provided, he would have been in a far sorrier state.

The second, Lord Laurynas paced irritably on the opposite side of the table to Kestutis. He was a spindly nervous looking creature with twitchy eyes looking everywhere around him.

The final one was Lord Vytautas who leaned against the wall behind Kestutis's chair. He was right in the middle between too fat and too skinny, balancing out the odd trio.

"We should not be meeting like this." Laurynas snapped, tailed overcoat flapping behind him as he paced.

"Calm yourself." Kestutis said between bites. "Things like this get put in bills all the time. Why else would our families send us into the Imperial Palace?"

"As hostages." Vytautus quipped from the wall. "Signs of servitude to the Imperium."

"Ever the pessimist." Kestutis snorted. "We are not like the fools of the Pan-Pacific empire or the zealots of Ursh. Albia joined the Imperium willingly. Our Ironside Clans matched the Imperium's Thunderwarriors in battle, drawing out the Emperor himself in order to parlay." He tossed a bite-sized sandwich into his mouth and gave it only two bites before he swallowed it down his fat throat. "Our relationship with the Imperium is a partnership, unlike the other conquered nations who were too weak or too stupid to survive."

At the beginning of the Unification War, the Emperor allied with the Achaemenid Empire, the Yndonesic Bloc, and the Terrawatt Clans. This Tripartite alliance was geographically split, but each shared a special status amongst all other regions of the Imperium.

They joined the Emperor willingly, and had never been conquered.

Now, Albia has been shoving its elbows onto the table of political power as a similar unconquered nation.

Albia fought the Imperium to a standstill with what future generations would recognize as the walking sarcophagi known as Dreadnoughts. That was what the Ironside Clan were. Manually operated suits of armor that could be outfitted to fight at any range.

During the first battle, the Ironsides waited as the Thunder Warriors charged into battle. Their spies had shown them what had taken place in Jermani. Bullets could not stop the gene-mutants of the Imperium.

The first three ranks of Ironsides instead engaged them in melee, using their metal fists and steam projectors.

Albia is a frigid land in the far North. The oceans that once allowed heat to be circulated to this region have long since dried up. Promethium fuel is better spent warming the homes of the rich and powerful than to produce the ammunition for flamers.

So, instead of fire, a crueler weapon for this land was slapped together.

Steam is arguably the deadliest form of water. It floats in air, enters the soft mucous membranes of the body with a breath, flies deep into the alveoli where it condenses releasing all of its heat.

Many Thunder Warriors choked to death with burnt lungs after receiving a mouthful of pressurized steam, if they didn't have their face boiled off first.

Gouts of steam covered the battlefield as the Ironsides began to duel with individual Thunder Warriors. Eventually, the water vapor cooled in the cold air, forming a dense fog that blinded the boltgun fire of the Imperium's armies. Then the rest of the Ironside Clans marched from behind the hills and knolls they had crouched down behind, hidden by being partially buried in dirt and rock. They fired blindly into the mist with their autocannons, covering everything in front of them. Ironside, Thunder Warriror, it didn't matter. All were struck. However, an Ironside struck by fire would merely be damaged, or at worst lose a pilot. The Thunder Warriors died, turning their Power Armor as well as all their other weapons into trophies to be collected on the battlefield.

Eventually, the order was given to fall back with their dead and wounded, ending the first battle between Albia and the Imperium.

Even after the Thunder Warriors brought better optics and heavier weapons, the Ironside Clans gave little ground.

Targeting their pilots made no difference. By the next day, somebody else was already operating the metal shell.

Tearing the machines apart took too long, and too many soldiers. At least two Thunder Warriors were needed for that, and cooperation was not their forte.

Finally, with the destruction of Albia not being a priority, the Emperor himself intervened and parlayed with Albia's leadership.

Albia was meant to be but a means to enter the techno-barbarian region of the Nordyc in order to destroy the Priest-King Maulland Sen. From there, the Imperium was to overthrow the Kievan Rus Khagnate and open the final beachhead that would allow the long overdue burning of Ursh to begin.

The Thunder Warriors failed at this, and their delay strained the Yndonesic Bloc and Terrawatt Clans who had to hold back the kingdom of Ursh and the Pan-Pacific Empire while the Thunder Warriors were delayed in Albia. As punishment the Leader of the Thunder Warriors, Arik Taranis, was forced to publicly humiliate himself by asking for the forgiveness of the nobles of Albia.

He was responsible for the unnecessary bloodshed between Albia and the Imperium, who both hated the sorcerers of Ursh and the Pan-Pacific Empire.

If it were not for the Emperor's oratory abilities that reminded the nobles of Albia who their real enemies were, Arik Taranis's head may have been paraded around their soot-filled cities where ragged children would have thrown stones at it.

The true enemies of the Imperium and Albia were:

The Kingdom of Ursh.

The Pan-Pacific Empire.

The Kingdom of Urartu.

And The Ethnarchy.

Everything else was chaff..

"We do not have the support of our houses, Kestutis." Laurynas retorted. "We set about this endeavor to show those who sent us here what we could do. If word gets back to Albia before we are ready, there will be grave consequences for us."

"Perhaps, perhaps not." Vytautus shrugged. "That Merican, Noum Retraiva, puts in things that enrich him on a daily basis within his administrative duties."

"We are not the Master of the Administratum!" Laurynas shouted as he stopped and turned towards the other two. The chandelier above him shook slightly from his voice. For a moment, there was only the clinking of the crystal ornaments hung from the ceiling.

"We are three minor lords seeking to take back what was rightfully ours from those idiots back in Albia." Laurynas snarled. "This is just the first step in that endeavor. The more favors we send to the branch houses and businesses that the main house has overlooked, the more power we gain. Eventually, it should be enough to force the heads of our respective houses into retirement, and return us to our rightful place."

He pointed at Kestutis first. "You put in an amendment to set-up a fast track for the food production plants, allowing them to reduce the number of inspections and reporting."

He pointed at Vytautus next. "You put in an amendment to increase the amount of oxygen rations to border regions further away from the Imperium."

Finally, he placed a hand on his chest. "I removed the stipulations that required a minimum number of servitors for all construction sites."

The other two lords looked at each other. Laurynas was the most ambitious of the three of them, but he was also the most narcissistic. During their time together, the found it was better to let him tire himself out. Otherwise, his diatribe against the people back home in Albia and everyone except himself would drag on forever.

"All these seemingly minor amendments give us power." Laurynas continued. "A fast-track can be provided by a minor lord such as ourselves, so long as the food is only meant for local markets associated with that lord. Increasing the oxygen rations to the border regions opens the way for a new blackmarket that we can control. The castrum cities of Albia are all soot-blackened and smog-filled. A can of fresh air will be worth far more there than on the border regions. The people there are used to the radiation winds and dust storms. They are barely worth the meat on their bones, much less fresh air. Nobody will notice the difference between the number of canisters provided and the number received. After all, it is our job to collect that information. Removing the minimum number of servitors cuts conversion expenses. Cheaper work crews means more profit, especially for the businesses associated with me."

Laurynas resumed his pacing, having satisfied himself for the moment.

"The Emperor is absent, and there are no major wars at the moment. But, his mutated freaks march towards Mt. Ararat. War with the Kingdom of Urartu and the Ethnarchy comes soon, and when it does there will be no room for our 'petty' games with Albia."

This is the state of affairs in the Imperial Palace. Bureaucrats, nobles, dignitaries, and other officials of varying importance use and are used by each other in their endless struggles for personal power and prestige. Not all that they do is evil, but it is selfish.

"So, why did you call us here, Kestutis?" Laurynas asked as he paced, only to be met with silence. He turned to see the fat lord frozen, hand mid-way to reaching for the next cupcake.

"I thought it was Vytautus that called us here." Kestutis said, but the third lord was already shaking his head.

A chill ran down all three of their spines. They sat frozen for a moment, not daring to move, lest whoever had arranged them to be in the same room decided to do whatever it was they planned to them at that moment.

Several moments passed, but nothing happened.

Finally, Kestutis's hand finished its motion, and closed around the cupcake before tossing it into his mouth.

"Do you think this is a warning?" Vytautus said nervously, mostly to himself.

Laurynas didn't answer. He was too busy holding down the boiling bitterness inside him. So many others plotted and schemed just as he did. Yet, he was the one that was scolded for this minute infraction upon Imperial law. The hypocrisy was blatant. What did the Imperium care about the politics of Albia? No, the Imperium should pay more respect to them. It was the Emperor that came to them for parlay, not the other way around. Yet, here the Imperium chastised them like children with their hand caught in the cookie jar.

The sound of chewing was the only sound in the room as Laurynas stewed in his bitterness. Vytautus remained on the wall, now pulling at a lock of hair out of nervousness.

"Oh, will you stop eating, you buffoon!" Laurynas finally yelled, lashing out with impotent rage.

But, Kestutis continued eating. He now grabbed small cakes and biscuits in handfuls, shoveling them into his mouth. Half-chewed food spilled out from his lips. Both hands smushed the items grabbed by them into the bolus of food stuck in his jaw, forcing masticated morsels into his windpipe.

Pure panic could be seen in the man's eyes, but his body continued to stuff itself, suffocating himself with his own hands.

Finally, the man's eyes rolled up into his skull as his body fell backwards onto the floor. There, he managed to convulse once, then died.

Laurynas stepped away from the body. He had heard of the psykers and what they could do. Nightmarish tales of entire cities being mind-controlled by the brain-mutants were often told to the children of Albia. Their long history with the kingdom of Ursh and its sorcerers meant they were more knowledgeable than most on the topic.

But, before he could do anything with that information, there was a snapping sound from above him.

*CRASH

Vytautus slid down the wall, staring at the bloody smear Laurynas had been reduced to under the fallen chandelier. Fear filled every breath, only allowing him shallow pants. Slowly, he started to crawl towards the door. He was certainly next, but even if he couldn't come up with a single idea to escape this, his instincts urged him to run.

He managed to drag himself half a step before his body gave out. Air would not enter his lungs, even as every muscle in his torso struggled to draw it in.

As his vision blurred and his brain began to die from the lack of oxygen, he saw a hooded figure standing over him.

"Ma…ca…" He mouthed a name as his arms tried to reach out to the figure, but they simply passed right through the hem of his robes.

The world darkened, but the image of the Imperial Regent seemed to become clearer. A wizened hand reached down, and grabbed his face. He could feel the dry canvas like skin on his cheeks, even though this man could not be there.

"I said I need a scarecrow." Malcador said. "I thought it poetic that you all died with the means of your avarice, but suffocation leaves too peaceful a face."

The wrinkly hand wrenched violently forcing him to turn onto his back, causing his eyes to look upwards.

"You do not understand the importance of the Imperium, or the Emperor." Malcador continued. "You think psykers and gene-monstrosities are the worst Old Night had to offer." The blurry image of the room's ceiling seemed to ripple, like a dim reflection on a lake. "As thanks for your final service and martyrdom, you will be allowed to know who our real enemies are."

Malcador stepped back, and Vytautus could do nothing but stare as the curtains that kept sane from insane were drawn back.

He saw a world filled with nothing but brass, blood, and flame. Uncountable masses were butchered endlessly by blood red daemons using fangs, flames, claws, and blades.

He saw a garden filled with death and decay. Crowds of souls sobbed and suffered as they stumbled through pus, phlegm, and putrid vomit puked up by the fleshy bulbous plants of the garden. Tentacle-like vines lashed out, leaving fresh bleeding wounds for the countless maggots and flies around them to nestle and breed in. Yet, these souls could do nothing but beg for the blessings of the god that infected them in the first place.

He saw a shattered series of continents, each dotted with impossible architecture. His eyes burned and twisted, unable to understand where up or down was, much less past and future.

Then he saw his reflection in a massive eye. The iris was a blazing azure blue, and it was wide open. A screeching caw flooded his ear canals, filling his mind with paradoxes and problems no sane mind could understand. He saw himself screaming and banging on the surface of the eye from the inside, as if he himself was trapped within the burning orb of the avian monstrosity before him.

Vytautus's face froze mid-scream, despite having no air in his lungs to make a sound. Rigor mortis set in far faster than was possible, forming a mask of terror that seemed to radiate with the horror he had witnessed.

Three dead men lay in the room, slowly filling with the stench of spilt urine and voided bowels.

There was a click as the door to the room unlocked, and a servant girl walked into the room.

Lady Callidus inspected each of the corpses, smiling as she came to Vytautus's body.

'It is easy to kill a man.' She thought to herself. 'A poison dart through the skin. A single blade to the neck. It is even more trivial for a psyker. Holding a vein closed in the brain for 30 seconds or so will be enough to create an aneurysm.'

She bent down, towards Vytautus's face, reflecting the features frozen in fear on the surface of her eye.

'Killing is easy. It is the death of that which you have killed that is hard to control.' She stood back up, turning to the remains of Laurynas. She rubbed a finger against her jawline in thought, then shook her head. There was not much recognizable about the body.

'That is the purpose of an assassination. It is the scalpel that cuts out the infection before it can rot the body, preventing the cauterizing touch of war.' She looked down at Kestutis. His chin was covered in drool, and the food that had been forced into him was beginning to spill out. Both eyes were rolled back, giving the body a baleful white-eyed stare. The assassin looked over him for a moment before nodding to herself, giving it a passing grade.

'It is hard for the orator to speak in the open when they fear the Vindicare's bullet that took the life of their predecessor. It is difficult for the rebel cell to form when they fear that one of their members may be a Callidus in disguise. The psyker cult crumbles in the presence of the Culexus. The Eversor ensures that all those who see the remains of their work are reminded of the grisly fate of those who betray the Imperium.'

Lady Callidus walked to the door of the room, and began drawing in a deep breath.

'Rejoice, new martyrs of the Imperium. In your death, you shall serve as a reminder to all the other fools who come after you. With the fear you inspire, you will save far more than you served in life. The Emperor is merciful to all who die in his service. You shall find yourself in his grace, forever locked in the fable of your death.'

A high-pitched scream rang out of the room.

"Help! Help! Guards! Someone!" A servant girl cried as she stumbled out of the room, hands clutching at her face. "Someone! Please!" Her cries drew the normal palace guards, and a few lords.

Several days later, the three lords' deaths were determined to be due to a freak accident. Lord Kestutis merely choked on some crumpets. Lord Laurynas was the victim of shoddy craftsmanship. Lord Vytautas death was determined to be due to a panic attack. The craftsmen in charge of installing the chandelier were prosecuted with professional negligence. However, in light of this being their first offense, each received a suspended sentence. Soon, they all vanished from the palace, reassigned to different posts.

The amendments proposed by the three were removed. The bill passed with unanimous agreement that evening with its original wording.

 

[Nidhog153]

There was the sound of smashing glass as a tumbler shattered against the wall of a different room in the Imperial Palace.

"Panic attack?! Does the Imperial Regent think we are fools!" Raged a dark skinned lord.

He was Lord Nour from the remains of the Nordafrik Conclaves. It was originally a thriving region of destroyed Terra. Desert wastes were irrigated with centrifuged and filtered water supplies. Resin covered farmlands were restored around the central megapolis of Xozer. Their society was both highly advanced, and altruistic. However, all that ended during the long war with the Kingdom of Ursh. Warp magics and sorcerers were deployed by both sides. Yet, after the fall of Xozer, Ursh remained and the Nordafrik Conclaves returned to a desert waste. Only minor fort cities and garrison towns survived. Much technology and knowledge was lost, forever destroying any hope of restoring the lands' ancient fertility.

Their entry into the Imperium was less violent than that of the Pan-Pacific Empire, Albia, and their next door neighbor the Adedeji. Afterall, they were already destroyed once before. There was not much they could do as the Emperor's Thunder Warriors marched up to each of their walls with an Imperial Herald at the forefront.

The Emperor's promise to destroy Ursh was appealing to many as well. Vengeance was an infectious concept to the downtrodden populace. Their chiefs, politicians, presidents, and governors also found the promise appealing. What better way to distract from the troubles of today than pointing the finger at an old enemy.

As a sign of loyalty, the Thunder Warriors were allowed to parade through the city the day they came. Usually, this would be an almost suicidal endeavor for the political ambitions of the leaders of the Nordafrik Conclave. Few are partial to the idea of celebrating an occupying army. Yet, by proclaiming cooperation with the Imperium to be their salvation, they managed to save enough face to hold their positions.

This region provides a small, but motivated supply of troops for the Imperial Army. They have much experience surviving through hardship. With the destruction of Ursh by the Imperium as promised, many view the Emperor and the Imperium as the arbiter of justice and righteousness.

Of course, there is a vast gap in opinion between the average citizen, and those in the elite.

"A child could see through their antics!" Nour shouted as he pounded his fist against a small table. "Does Malcador want to destroy the image of security within the Imperial Palace?"

The other individual in the room whirred and clicked for a few moments, scanning the room with his inbuilt sensors before replying.

"There's no worry about that." Lord Vidar of the Terrawatt clans replied, having finished confirming no-one else was listening. "The main houses of those three agreed with the Imperium's conclusion after conducting their own autopsy. If the original houses agree, there's not much to dispute without causing an argument with those houses. It would be seen as interference in their jurisdiction and a besmirchment of their honor. I don't imagine accusing them of covering up the death of their own would end well."

Monotone laughter came from the lord's mechanical vocal cords as Nour grabbed another tumbler and began filling it with tonic water as a chaser for his previous drink.

"The Imperial Regent played it well." Vidar continued. "He got rid of three corrupt officials, sent a warning to all the other minor lords, and forced the main houses of those three in Albia to be obedient. After all, they already have a black mark against themselves for sending those three. I also heard that there were a couple of internal scuffles within Albia as well. No doubt Malcador also told them who the co-conspirators of those three were in Albia. Compared to all that, pretending that the Imperium's story was true was the least they could do. Anything else would have sullied their own honor." Vidar clapped his hands together. The metal palms sounded like a hammer upon an anvil. "There's an old saying about killing two birds with one stone, but the Imperial Regent certainly has taken far more than just two birds."

"Even if the official story holds, Malcador has gone too far." Nour muttered, slamming the tumbler on the table.

"He wanted to put us all in our place." Vidar shrugged. "Albia has become more and more vocal after the destruction of the Pan-Pacific Empire. You remember their cries for the execution of Narthan Dume and his lieutenants, don't you?"

Nour grimaced as the scene returned from memory. Hundreds of bearded men with varying degrees of pale blotchy skin howled from their section of royal benches in the hall of lords like spectators at a gladiatorial arena. Malcador was in the middle of it all, answering as many arguments as he could. Meanwhile, the Emperor watched from his throne high above the chamber, positioned to overlook all the others.

"Death! Death to Dume, and all who followed him!"

"Suffer not the last Tyrant of the Pan-Pacific! Take his life as he took many of ours!"

"The Imperium promised Albia the destruction of the Pan-Pacific Empire! Honor your words! Honor! Honor!!!"

The other lords from the other regions remained silent.

Even those from the Yndonesic Bloc did not bother to raise their voice. Despite having raided the Pan-Pacific Empire with their Stormbirds for half-a-century while the Imperium burned the Kingdom of Ursh to the ground. Despite hating everything and everyone related to religion, they did nothing but silently smile.

Narthan Dume's death was inevitable, whether they said anything or not. Why lower their standing in the Emperor's eyes when Albia would achieve their goals for them?

Nour had been an adolescent at the time, brought along as a secretariat to his great grand uncle's political entourage. He remembered the Emperor's face staring down at all of them, like a giant watching ants crawling over the ground.

"If the Captain-General of the Custodes hadn't lopped off the bastard's head on his own, we would have had to have a public execution." Vidar continued, bringing Nour back from his memories. "The Imperium would have lost face with the other conquered regions. The remaining holdouts of the Pan-Pacific Empire would have been enraged. The war would have lengthened. Accusations of the houses of Albia controlling the Imperium would have been thrown. Rumors of rebellion might have stopped being rumors." Vidar stopped for a moment to rescan the area around them.

"The old members of the Achaemenid Empire already feel that the Emperor gives the newer regions too much…" Vidar spoke in a grimmer tone than before. "And don't even get me started about the Yndonesic Bloc."

"You left out the Terrawatt Clans." Nour snorted. "The last of the Tripartite alliance that first joined the Imperium. Do you think your own so elevated over our politics?"

"We value logic over everything else." Vidar shrugged. "That is how our politics functions. So long as it is logical to work with the Imperium, we will work with the Imperium."

"And is it logical to do so?"

"It would be illogical to risk the Emperor's wrath." Vidar said quietly. "The damage is incalculable."

"Oh?" Nour laughed. "Do you fear the Thunder Warriors that much? Surely your people must have weapons that can penetrate the armor you designed for them."

"It is not the Imperium's soldiers, nor their weapons I fear."

"What do you mean?"

"Read 'The Chronicles of Ursh'. It should still be in the restricted sections of the Imperial Palace Library reserved for lords. Although, I am surprised. It is in part the history of your people." Vidar paused for a moment, then shrugged. "Then again, if what is described about the fall of Xozer is even fractionally true, it would not be unusual that nothing remained."

"Braggart." Nour spat.

"Apologies. In my lands, such sharing of knowledge would have been greeted with thanks."

Nour snorted again.

The Terrawatt Clans were a group of technophiles who had survived by burrowing under the Ural mountains. There they remained, mechanizing the parts of their bodies that could not withstand the lack of sunlight or the dusty carcinogenic tunnels they lived in. When the sensors they left behind finally showed the nuclear ice-age had ended, they emerged from isolation. Many warlords sought to barter or bully them into giving them their technology. All received the same lethal answer made of laser beams and lightning arcs. Only one is patron to their wares, and that one is the Emperor. What the Emperor gave the Theologiteks who ruled there has never been shared with outsiders, but what was received was soon seen by all.

It was they who designed the first series of Power Armor that adorned the Imperium's Thunder Warriors.

It was they who produced the bolters and bolt shells that every one of them carried.

"Have you heard anything else?" Nour asked. "No whispers amongst the other lords?"

"No." Vadir shook his head. "Everyone is too scared to hold private meetings like we are."

Nour snorted as if that was some sort of privilege.

"I only get to go to the orgies. The rumors from my homeland about me made sure I am not invited to any of the larger parties."

"Nothing there either." Vadir shook his head again.

"Fine." Nour sighed as he got up. "I'll bide my time like all the rest for now."

"Be careful, Nour." Vadir called out. "Not all in the Imperial Palace are as logical as the Terrawatt Clan."

"And what logic is there in associating with an accused serial rapist?" Nour muttered bitterly.

"Logic does not always make sense."

The Lord from the Nord Afrik snorted then left the room. As he walked down the hallway, he saw a servant girl walk towards him. He waited for her to pass his shoulder, then he grabbed her arm.

"You. Come with me." He growled.

"Wh-What?" The girl stammered as he began to pull her towards the nearest door in front of him.

He slammed it open, revealing a dark empty room with a single bed.

Blood drained from the girl's face, and she began to attempt to break free from his grip.

"Mercy my lord! Mercy!" She screamed.

Nour grit his teeth and he dragged her the rest of the way into the room, then threw her against the bed.

The girl gave a pained shriek as her head banged against the metal bed post, only to have her voice sealed into the room as Nour slammed and locked the door shut. Nour pulled out a spherical device that began to hum and glow as it scanned for any sign of evesdroppers. The girl continued to sob as Nour watched the readout from the device, then finally let out a sigh.

"You can stop pretending, Lady Callidus." He said.

Immediately, the girl's sobbing stopped. Soft girlish giggling replaced it that in turn metamorphosed into husky feminine laughter as the young servant girl's head broke apart and reformed into that of the red-haired assassin's.

"Did you not worry for a moment you might have the wrong girl?" She asked after her real face reformed.

"The female servants of the Imperial Palace avoid me due to the rumors spread about me from my home in Zafranat." Nour snorted. "Only male valets and boys come to take my orders. The maids and ladies in waiting give me a wide berth. The only woman to approach me so carelessly would be you."

"How foolish your old family must feel to have the rumors they spread about you used for your advantage." She chuckled as she stood up.

"It was a clever trap." Nour spoke as he pulled a data card from out under a fingernail. "Exile to the branch house, or exile to the Imperial Palace. The head even made things look amenable back home when he promised to approve my marriage to Amina should I bring enough favor from the Imperium onto our household."

"Then they blackened your name with rumors, forcing your only political contacts to be the eccentrical or sadistic."

"He was probably hoping I would be challenged to an honor duel. Possibly someone from Albia." Nour snorted. "Unfortunately for him, the nobles of Albia have so many mistresses and maids the story of a lord preying on servant girls is not much worse than a fart in a ballroom." Nour's tone turned dark and bitter for his next sentence. "That is a mistake my great grand uncle wouldn't have made."

"That won't happen anymore." Lady Callidus said as she took the data card from him. "As of last night, personal duels are punishable by death to both parties. Punitive actions will also be taken on the regions involved by order of the Imperial Regent. The Imperium cannot afford to waste important resources." She said as she gave him a wink.

"And how important is the information I give you now?" Nour narrowed his eyes. "These are the statements of courtesans and paramours. Prostitutes. No court will take them into consideration."

"Such sturdy yet frail things." Lady Callidus whispered as she swallowed the data card. "They take so much abuse and hear so many secrets to survive. Yet, they spill their hearts out to the first man that runs into them uninterested in sex or degradation."

"It takes time, trust, and mutual respect as well." He said irritably. "If it wasn't for the rumors of me having to pay my victims to stay silent, I would have had more questions asking where all my Imperial stipends were going."

"Oh, what did you buy them? Was it flowers?" Her voice sing-songed mockingly.

"Medication. Food. Water rations. Debts. Sometimes for them. Sometimes for their family." Nour replied sternly. "Not many enter that life-style willingly. They will be protected after this, won't they?"

The assassin blinked once then said, "The Imperium remembers all its loyal subjects."

"That's not an answer." He hissed back.

"Lord Nour." Lady Callidus spoke seriously this time. "Why did you come here?"

He froze as her green eyes bored into his mind, threatening a violent end at the first lie.

"To marry Amina." Nour said slowly.

"Have you given up on that goal?"

"No."

"And what are you willing to do to achieve it?"

"Anything and everything."

"Then, that should be all that is necessary."

That should have been the end of it, but Nour grit his teeth and glared back at the assassin.

"Even then, I want to know."

Lady Callidus broke eye contact and sighed, releasing Nour from her stare. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the sweat on his forehead.

"My word means less than those prostitutes, Nour. I don't exist. Whatever I say doesn't mean a thing." She said gently.

"Yet, you are the only one I can ask."

Several moments passed in silence, before the assassin started to speak again.

"Within the next half-century the Imperium plans to introduce a universal basic income scheme for all biological women regardless of age. Several hundred randomly selected women will be the 'test group' to confirm the effectiveness of this legislation. The women who have cooperated with you and their families will be given new names and backstories during this selection process."

Nour's expression turned quizzical. "What is the point of that legislation?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Lady Callidus shrugged. "To increase the population of Terra as quickly and naturally as possible. Economic and social stress are two of the greatest reasons for avoiding having a child, and the Emperor's plans require more of them."

It took a while for the lord to digest that. He had heard many things in the private saunas, bedchambers, and dancing parlors about the various goings on of the Imperial Palace. Yet, this was one of the most ridiculous he had ever heard.

"For that reason?" He sputtered.

"It was that, or revoke all women's rights and economic freedoms. The population statistics workout to the same result. However, the predicted loss of industrial output was unacceptable in that scenario, according to Ezekiel Sedayne and Amar Astarte." The assassin snickered to herself for a moment. "It was quite amusing to see the two of them working together, finding a solution to their common problem." She saw a worried look cross the lord's face and spoke to reassure him. "Don't worry. The genetic partners for the 'test group' will be more physically attractive than any of the lords, and their meetings will be organized to be non-traumatic. Lonely one-night stands perhaps, but better than their current lot, isn't it?"

If Nour had heard this at the beginning of his tenure at the Imperial Palace, his stomach might have rolled. Now, he merely grimaced before replying, "It will have to do."

Lady Callidus pulled a small pocket watch out of the pocket of her uniform; a standard issue timepiece to all servants in the palace.

"It's been about 20 minutes. I should be able to leave without besmirching your manhood too much." She smirked as she tore the sleeve of her uniform, then the hem of one side of her skirt. "Oh, before I forget, I have something for you this time." She opened her mouth, and a metal tube popped out of her throat. "It's from your Amina." She said, wiping the letter tube on the apron of her uniform before handing it to him. "Destroy the letter once you have finished reading. I will meet you again in two weeks for your reply."

The assassin's face rearranged itself into the servant girl's, but with a bruised cheek and black eye. She unlocked the door and burst out of the room, running into the opposite wall, then sobbing and stumbling her way down the corridor. The door slammed shut on its own, leaving Nour to himself. He sighed and pulled out the spherical scanner he had used earlier. Confirming his privacy, he opened the letter tube. The scent of her perfume hit him first, and the memories of how he had ended up here hit him like a tidal wave.

—-------------------------------------------------

Lord Nour had been the fourth child of one of the many branch houses belonging to the ruling class of the city of Zafranat. Branch houses are where those who have stepped down from the race of succession go to live in peace. In exchange for giving up dreams of power, they gain an increased degree of personal freedom, and swear an oath to serve their old family in the main house.

The individuals in these branch houses provide a stable population of blood relatives. This makes them trustworthy enough to use as high-class servants, handmaids, guards, and confidants. They also serve as a reserve gene-pool, should the main house become too inbred. Gene-tech means the necessity of such back-ups are unlikely. However, for all nobility, breeding is as important to them as their political power and material possessions. No chance can be taken.

Members of the branch houses who endear themselves through skill or personality to members of the main house are adopted by them. Restored to the main house, they shed the role of servant and are finally treated as equals.

Nour was first taken from his family in the branch house at the age of 9 to be educated as a scribe for the next lord to be appointed to the Imperium. This lord was his great grand uncle.

In his studies, he showed more promise than was expected. His talents were soon reassigned to be used as a secretariat. His organizational skills and time managing abilities would ensure the new lord's duties ended within his work hours. Thus, no more of his precious time would be spent than was necessary.

That was what he was taught by his tutors. They too were from the branch houses, but long years of servitude had left them resigned to their fate.

Systems such as these are ubiquitous amongst the various ruling classes that survived the Imperium's conquest. The name may differ. Minor rules regarding their freedoms may vary. Yet, the core ideology of there being born winners and born losers remains.

The position of lord to the Imperium for Zafranat was both a foreign relations office, and a sacrificial lamb. All who were sent to the Imperial Palace were under the Emperor's protection and mercy. Nour's house used the retiring head of the main house to fill this position. They put their oldest and most experienced members in the Emperor's hands to show their loyalty. Simultaneously, their most adept speaker and plotter entered the Imperial Palace's politics. That way, Zafranat would ensure it did not lose out on any Imperial bill.

Lord Karim, Nour's great grand uncle, was a fair but stern head of house. He valued ability over everything else. Many members of his own family were thrown out into the branch one with their privileges and rights stripped for being useless to him.

Nour learned many things from his great grand uncle while he acted as his secretary.

The base cultures of the other regions.

The mannerisms necessary for interacting in polite and private societies.

When lord Karim's tenure as an Imperial Lord ended, he was replaced by his son; the next previous head. It was at this time he adopted Nour back into the main house, as a reward for his services.

Nour used the political skills he learned within the Imperial Palace, as well as his contacts there to gain favor within the main house. It was there he met Amina.

Amina was his third cousin once removed and the 5th daughter of the current head of the house of Zafranat. Despite her parents' hopes and upbringing, she had political aspirations of her own. She was a strong believer in the Imperium, and its mandate of bringing order back to Terra.

"Politics is the economics of trust." She had said when he asked her what the word meant the first time they met. "Legislation without enforcement is meaningless, but it is not like the people begin to break the law the moment the Arbites are out of sight. They trust the law because they believe the ones who make the law have their interest in mind. Hence, they follow the law even when there is no one to catch them breaking it. The less trust there is, the poorer one's politics becomes. When one is bankrupt on trust, then only violence can be used to maintain order. That leads to dictatorship and destruction. The Imperium enters a new period of order right now. If each region can be stabilized, and specialize them to make them interdependent… We may never have a war on Terra again."

Idealistic daydreaming.

That was what Nour thought when he first heard it, but it was an interesting topic of debate. Many nights were spent speaking of how one could try to keep the balance of power between military and civilian branches of government. They debated whether there was such a thing as a moral coup as well as many other subjects too sensitive or hyperbolic for professional circles.

This unfortunately caught the ire of Amina's father, the current head of the main house and Nour's third cousin.

He did not want Amina talking about politics, especially when he planned to marry her off to the consul of the neighboring city. He was also far more traditional than his great grandfather, Lord Karim. Nour was originally of the branch house, and hence eternally tainted with its lesser stench in his eyes.

Lord Karim was dead from old age by this time. Without his original backer and the head of the main house aligned against him, Nour was given one of two choices.

Return to the Imperial Palace where his talents would be used for Zafranat, or return to the branch house as a servant.

Had Nour not built a loyal base of his own allies within the main house, he might not have received this choice.

He chose what was effectively exile within the Imperial Palace. But, when he stepped off the transport back into the golden halls of the palace, he found a series of slanderous stories awaiting him. Tales of him attempting to force himself upon one of the nobility back home were already being exchanged. Numerous rumors of servant girls disappearing into his rooms had already begun to spread.

Nour had not expected such a self-destructive attack. The shortsightedness of the head of Zafranat shocked him to such a degree that he reacted slower than usual to the accusations. Tarring Nour's name brought the decision to send him here by Zafranat into question. It gave the impression of disloyalty, and endangered Zafranat's security.

Perhaps the head of Zafranat thought he had nothing to fear with the Imperium having conquered almost all of the Eurasian continent. The new age of temporary peace had convinced him that the Imperium's fangs had been dulled. But, Nour knew better. The Imperium had not changed from its inception. Disobedience would be punished with an iron fist. Some corruption and enrichment was allowed, but the price for crossing the line was dire. He spent more nights worried about what the Imperium would do to Zafranat for its apparent disloyalty instead of his own personal honor.

It was at this point the Imperial Assassin established contact with him.

At the time, Lady Callidus had disguised herself as one of the courtesans Nour had been using as a personal informant. He made sure to keep cordial connections with these women to keep a pulse on the underbelly of the Imperial Palace.

The actual courtesan had sold out one of her patron lords, informing the Imperium of a blackmarket for old stubbers and other guns. The lord in question was supposed to be collecting these weapons from the battlefields, and rendering them down as scrap metal. Instead, he sold them on the blackmarket, bought cheap metals from other brokers, and pocketed the difference.

The courtesan had heard a fragment of his plot when he was boasting about his riches, and her information lead to the 'suicide' of that lord.

Officially, the courtesan disappeared down a dark alley and was never seen again. In truth, by that time it was Lady Callidus masquerading as her, ending a few other traitors not worth official sanction. The courtesan herself already had a new face and life somewhere else.

"There was a cherry boy running about doing his best pretending to be loyal to the Imperium instead of dealing with his own rumors." She said as she returned to her original form in front of him. "If you want to show true loyalty, then do as I say. The Imperium shall remember all those who serve it."

After that, he ceased all efforts to restore his honor. He used his blackened name as an excuse for apparent raucous spending. It became easier associating with the less savory individuals of the Imperial Palace. There, he gathered information for the Imperial Assassin, and showed his loyalty with his service.

—-------------------------------------------------

Nour finished reading Amina's letter, then brought it to his nose to breathe in the perfume she had sprinkled upon the pages to remind him of her.

"Everything is moving into place." He said to himself as he rolled and returned the letter back into its tube. There, a single button press incinerated it.

Her letter mentioned that his exile here did not sit well with many members of the main house, including the remaining past heads. It sent the wrong message to the Imperial Palace. They were supposed to send their most treasured individuals here as a sign of fealty. Even if Nour was capable, the sudden change in lordship and his relative disposability compared to previous ones would no doubt raise several eyebrows.

Tarring Nour's reputation was not looked favorably upon either. Besides the dishonorable nature of the act, it once again showed disrespect to the Imperium. Sending a representative as a lord with such a tarred reputation was a sign of insolence.

When Nour's tenure ended, Amina's father might not be the head any longer, if he was even a member of the main house. At this rate, his marriage to Amina would come with or without the Imperial Assassin's help.

However, Zafranat's standing within the Imperium would be irreparably damaged without his cooperation.

The Imperium was planning something. He didn't know what, but he could see the groundwork of a grand plot being laid.

Malcador and his servants were sniffing for information. They were looking for the weaknesses of the lords in their halls. He had no idea whether the targets were the lords themselves, or the houses behind them. Whatever it was, Nour was going to ensure he and Zafranat were on the winning team.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N I'm not going to be putting as much effort in these sections, because I want to prioritise the main story. My story makes a lot of references to other real world events or mythology, so I've made these to elaborate since some of the symbolism and references are hard to get for some non-native speakers as well as younger native speakers.

The way I've organized it is by chapter. Some of these might be quite short. I'll just put any random bits of irony/references/foreshadowing I've made here.

Title: I come up with the title last, so I'm usually quite tired due to writing so much dialouge and coming up with the schemes the characters engage in. So, titles are going to be pretty self-descriptive for the forseeable future.

Main Part: These chapters were written to give a feeling for what life is like in the Imperial Palace, and portray the setting of what a pre-unified Imperium looks like. I have done a lot of research regarding this period of time, and there were quite a number of interesting tidbits I will portray later on.

At the moment, each region has some degree of self-governance, especially those which have not been militarily conquered. As the number of shared enemies on Terra decreases, so does the number of reasons to be totally obedient to the Imperium. Selfishness and greed has begun to motivate each of the regions to search for more ways to gain their own personal power, and as shown by the Lords from Albia, that power-struggle can even be held within the region itself.

This is the theme for the humans in power. They are motivated by greed and selfishness held in check by fear and self-preservation.

But, they are not all bad. Nour is one example of a relatively noble individual. He is faithful to his beloved, empathetic with even the prostitutes of the Imperial Palace, and intelligent enough to be deemed useful to the Imperium. Of course, because of those traits, he has to pretend to be a philanderous, crass, fool in order to survive in the Imperial Palace.

I guess poetic or dramatic irony is another theme for the Imperial Palace.

Despite this almost borderline dysfunctional Imperium, Malcador and the assassins do not seemed worried, and that is because they have a plan to solve this.

Terra is the keystone of the Imperium in 40K, and it becomes that due to the Unification Wars, which I will portray in this section of the Chronicle.

Spoiler: New characters to appear on the stage over the next few chapters

Erda, Amar Astarte, Constantin Valdor, and Leetu will all be popping up. The heart to heart with Malcador is something I'm quite fond of. The chapters are on my Patreion right now.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N: Thank you Naranka and Skyborne for taking the time to read this chapter.

Deep in the Himalazia mountains, under miles of rock, ferrocrete, admantium, and psychic wards a woman of Arabic descent sat in front of one of 20 armored and numbered gestation pods. Warp umbilical cords reached out from within one of them and suckled on her left arm, drinking something from her in peristaltic waves.

"Almost…" The woman said to herself quietly. "A few more years and it will end. Even if everything has already ended years ago."

Suddenly, she jerked away from the pod. The immaterial cords attached to her arm tore off as she stood to glare at a spot of golden light opening above the skies of Terra. Her eyes saw through the entire mountain, even though what she saw was heavily obscured by the wards.

"No…" She whispered to herself. "I still had time. I should still have time."

The Master of Mankind had returned ahead of schedule, and her children were not yet ready.

Part of her argued they should proceed immediately. He was not yet through the portal, so at least some could be set free before he stopped her.

Part of her demanded they should end it all. That was well within her reach, and she would be successful if she acted within the next several seconds.

But the last part of her quelled both. There was something different in that light, and he never deviated from schedule. His plan took the shortest path, and the shortest path was meant to take several more years. To come home so soon meant something had changed, either in his objective or himself.

The emerging ships were swiftly hidden beneath a psychically manifested mirage. Only she had seen them return. However, before one of the battleships winked out of sight, her brown eyes caught sight of a set of inhuman silver orbs looking down at her.

"Curious." She said to herself. "Has he changed, or is he changing?"

Her mind reached within her, and summoned up a legend from ancient Greece. A fictitious story that was only partly true. A story of a jealous wife stopping her husband's bastard from being born. Her legs crossed, mimicking the story of Hera and Heracles, sending each of the unborn infants in the pods into a deep slumber. No one would be able to tell the difference between their natural state and as they were now. As their mother, she controlled when and where they would be born.

Time had run out for her original plan, but a new wind blew in the immaterium around Terra. She could feel it in the tingle of her old bones, and the beat of her young heart that palpitated in her breast.

Erda rose from the floor of the laboratory under the Himalazia mountains.

"Leetu." She called, and a massive soldier in Imperial Pattern power armor marched out of the shadows. "Open the laboratory and prepare my shuttle. I must meet your father."

"As you will, mother." The Space Marine bowed his head, dipping the point of the beak-like helm downwards. Then, he headed towards the control panel.

The triumvirate of past, present, and future quickly checked each pod as the sole entrance to the laboratory began to open.

"You have much explaining to do, Neoth." She muttered to herself as warning lights spun and sirens blared. Slowly, pneumatic pistons pulled back. Powerful electromagnets hummed, lifting the locking pins for the hatch out of their cylinders.

Finally, the hatch unlocked itself and swung open. Leetu marched forwards into the dark labyrinthian corridors of the mountain. Erda took one last look at her children, all 20 of them. They were still in the foetal stage, possessing tails and webbed digits. "Sleep now, children." She said quietly. "Hopefully, your father has returned with an important lesson learned."

The hatch slammed shut with her words, sealing the Primarchs into the warm darkness of their technological wombs.

—-------------------------------------------------

Isha looked down through the floor of the Artax at Terra. She had felt brown eyes catch hers before the immaterial mirages hid the ship from view.

The being was heavily obscured beneath the Emperor's wards, and it was only because she had looked up that Isha had even noticed her at all. Even then, it was difficult to see where exactly those eyes observed her from. She could guess, but that only reduced the possibilities to about half the planet, and that included all the space underneath the ground as well.

She admired the ingenuity of the Emperor's arcane defenses. It was as if the signal had been bounced between several thousand mirror mazes. Millions upon millions of consecutive psychic reflections and refractions made it near impossible to follow the trail of the original signal back to its source. Yet, it still allowed limited observation from inside the wards of what happened outside.

'Erda.' She thought to herself.

The woman was a Perpetual; a state of being far below her original station.

Many would think being immortal was a significant step-up for any human, but Erda was only as human as the Emperor was.

Neoth muttered some commands into his communicator to Lyssander as Isha observed the rest of Terra.

It was a planet ravaged by countless wars, atomics of all flavors, and Warp sorcery so vile that the stench still remained in the ashes of the dead. She wrinkled her nose as the ship passed over central Africa. She could see the teeming seas of bloat-flies from the memories she had taken from Neoth. Now, only obsidian glass remains of Xozer.

Xozer, once described as rebuilt Eden upon ruined Terra. Now, nothing was left.

Its histories were burned.

Its people were killed.

Its future and the last hope of Terra was gone.

"Found something interesting?" Neoth asked as he turned to her, having finished ordering Lyssander around.

"Your wards…" She said, substituting the object of her interest. "Did you attempt to copy the crystal labyrinths of the Raven lord when you constructed them?"

The topic of Xozer was a bitter one for the Emperor, and she would prefer him to be in a more positive mood when Erda arrived. She could tell what the other goddess was thinking. Both of them were maternal goddesses. It was not too hard to predict what the object of her attention would be. She too would have been quite intrigued if Eldanesh had returned all of a sudden with an alien deity willingly aboard his ship.

"Partially." Neoth nodded. "Tzeentch's labyrinths can only be exited the way they are entered. They too are daemons. The closest likeness I can come up with is a sponge or coral. Their reflective guts entrap wayward or curious souls with their own reflection, making them unable to tell whether they are the original or the image. But, the concepts of reflection and misdirection I found after dissecting a few were useful inspiration when making some of my wards. It is a poor imitation when compared to the original. Brute force could be used to solve it, within an astronomical timescale. Still, no daemon has managed to breach it so far."

"Do not sell yourself short. Even if it is a lesser copy, the adaptability of mankind is impressive."

'For a primitive race.'

Isha left the last part unsaid, but her thought process naturally ended the sentence like that. Afterall, the ingenuity of the Aeldari allowed them to misdirect and disguise without borrowing from Chaos, but now was not the time to boast.

Isha watched as some of the Emperor's ships re-entered the Warp on scouting missions and patrol routes around and within the Sol sector.

Mercury was of little importance. The Dark Age of Technology shields only protected a few former mining installations on the planet.

Venus was more problematic with its psyker covens of War Witches and their undying Litho-Gholems.

Terra required constant protection from the odd alien or daemonic intruder.

Mars had its Mechanicus that needed to be monitored.

Jupiter's moons were all inhabited by reptilian aliens of various make.

Saturn had a fully functioning space-travel capable empire that inhabited the rings which required monitoring.

Neptune's mutants were mostly trapped on the planet itself.

Uranus still had a couple of orbiting space colonies that had survived Old Night that also required patrols to keep in check.

Finally, the old Warp Gate at Pluto was the Emperor's secondary resupply point. The remains of various supply stations and the destroyed Warp Gate itself provided fuel and ammunition from their ancient stocks.

This was how the Emperor ensured his project upon Terra remained undisturbed by all others; human, alien, or daemon.

"You must have faced quite a bit of resistance when you decided not to use these ships or the God Machines for the conquest of Terra." Isha said as she watched the last ships meant to patrol other planets disappear into the Warp.

"Air and mechanical power give great control over a battlefield." Neoth nodded. "But they also give the enemy an excuse for why they lost. Powerful weapons may break the rank and file, but the truly determined see it as an excuse. 'If only we had similar arms, we would be victorious.' That ignorant idea that ignores the infrastructure and economics required to create such weapons foments terrorists and rebels." The Emperor's armored flips clenched, squeezing around an invisible throat. "Yet, as powerless as such groups are, many armies with the most modern equipment have been bled dry by guerilla fighters in tunnels or caves." Neoth finally sighed and relaxed his grip. "That is why I do not use these ships. My enemies must know they have been defeated. They must feel it in their heart of hearts, and their spirit must be utterly broken. Such a defeat cannot be brought with anonymous bombardments. Their destroyer must have a face they can see and fear." Neoth looked down at Terra where some of his gene-enhanced soldiers were wiping out the raiding party of some techno-barbarian tribe. "That is why it must be my Thunder Warriors and Space Marines who conquer Terra."

"And you wish to avoid damaging the Orbital Plates as well." Isha quipped, causing Neoth to shoot her a sour look. "Do not be so dour. I know everything you did at the moment of our exchange. If you want to surprise me it'll have to be with something new."

"The Orbital Plates are key for the final part of Unification." Neoth replied irritably, like a child who had his surprise party spoiled. "The Terrawatt Clans have been restoring the ones buried under the Nordyc snows and Afrik deserts. The plates that lay under Ursh and the Pan-Pacific Empire should also be under my control as well."

"Orbital bombardments would damage these irreplaceable constructs." Isha noted as her eyes pierced sand, snow, and rock. Terrawatt Clan miners burrowed towards them with the techniques they learned burying themselves under the Ural mountains. "With Terra's surface so battered, the only place to increase the population would be on these plates."

"It will be more hospitable to humanity there. And I will need more Imperial citizens to complete my plans."

Isha closed her eyes. Her brow furrowed. She knew of the original plan of the Emperor, and the Great Crusade it included. What he needed were people, more specifically children. His Space Marine armies were predicated on a steady supply of initiates. The conversion process was brutal and an excess stock was necessary.

"Are they only materials to you, Neoth?" She asked, referring specifically only to the people on this planet. She could feel an animosity directed towards those upon Terra in his voice. There was a bitter disgust and resentment in his voice when he spoke about the humans upon Terra.

"They are sinners in a hell of their own making." Neoth snorted. "The oldest Mericans harvest the organs of their own young to replace their failing body parts. The Albians ensure their control through the enforcement of their class systems, endlessly pumping hate downwards onto the downtrodden and powerless. The Achaemenid Empire's greed knows no end, and the Yndonesic Bloc's arrogance grows by the second." He glanced down at the planet below them through the floor. "Each of these predated the Imperium, and their horrid nature is something they take cultural pride in. And then there was Xozer." He turned his eyes towards Isha. "I watched your Warp sight travel over its ruins. You know everything I know. After seeing their memories, do you think they deserve any better?"

Isha looked down at the blackened ruins surrounded by glass. Memories of daemons inhabiting human flesh and mechanical monstrosities flashed before her on a battlefield where dirty atomics were thrown like hand grenades to ruin the genetics of all who lived there.

"I cannot speak to what they do and do not deserve." She said quietly. "But, as a fellow maternal goddess, I can tell you that such a distinction is meaningless to us. A child is a child. Even if we cannot do anything for them, we weep for them."

The goddess turned towards Neoth, silvery eyes reflecting him in his entirety.

"If you accuse humanity of abusing the earth that spawned them, then you too must bear their burden. You, out of all her children, have killed the most of them."

Neoth rose, towering over Isha for a moment. He opened his mouth to shout and rage. The accusatory question asking her what or how she could even know or imagine what he had been through died in his throat.

Isha knew everything he knew and she had watched her own mortal children destroy their empire, their afterlife, their future, and their gods. There was no other person in this galaxy who knew what he had been through better.

An awkward silence hung between them as Neoth struggled to come up with a rational set of reasons to rage at Isha. Otherwise, it would be a simple tantrum.

"Apologies." Isha finally said after watching Neoth's teeth grind together for a few minutes. "It is not my place to intrude into the familial matters of others." She bowed her head in apology as she spoke. "Your history with Erda is your own. All I can say is that she probably still wishes to speak to you. I would if Eldanesh returned to me."

There was a tinge of sadness in her voice. Eldanesh had died long ago at her father's hand. There was no way for her to reunite with her son.

"She is busy with my other project." Neoth muttered. "She will not leave them."

Neoth's communicator suddenly beeped. He glanced at Isha before answering it.

"My Lord…" Captain Velor's rang from the other end nervously. "The shuttle The Emperor's Grip is currently on approach and requesting docking permissions."

Neoth shot Isha another look, only to see her chest puffed out proudly with her hands on her hips.

"Granted." He replied. "Tell her to await my arrival in the docking hangar. Suspend all disembarkment traditions. I wish for some privacy."

"As you wish my Lord." Velor answered.

Neoth turned off the communicator as he shot Isha another look.

"Did you talk with her?" He said, referring to the occupant of the shuttle. Only two were allowed aboard her; Erda and one of the surviving proto-types of the Space Marines LE-2.

"We exchanged looks." Isha shrugged. "But, before that, we are both maternal gods. Even if she is a product of the wild, our core concepts don't differ that much."

Neoth let out a long sigh. Erda, as her name suggested, was synonymous with the homeplanet of humanity. Thus, she shared the same role within the human psyche Isha did for the Aeldari. Therefore, according to Isha, they were capable of understanding each other and predicting the other's actions. However, although birds of a feather could be said to flock together, there was also the saying that it was only opposites that attracted each other.

"I'm going to guess that doesn't mean you can play nice with her?" Neoth asked in a tired tone.

"Of course not." The goddess replied as she crossed her arms. "She and I fill the same niche for different species. That alone gives us reason to kill each other, although I won't start the hostilities."

'Oh really?' Neoth thought to himself. Isha was an aggressive character and wild as nature. Her proud personality also tended to have her fight back against perceived injustice rather than bow her head.

On top of that, she spoke of evolutionary niches here. As the Goddess of Life, following that logic, two species competing for the same or similar niche were bound to come into conflict. If that was the case, Erda and Isha were fated to fight each other.

"That would be problematic." He muttered, rubbing his temples as he did so.

"Oh, worried for my safety?" Isha snorted.

"We've gotten this far without killing each other. I'd like to see our cooperation actually bear fruit." Neoth sighed. It would be poor comedy for everything to end the moment they got to Terra. "I'll keep Erda away from you. That way there will be no conflict."

"That's not a good idea." Isha replied with narrowed eyes. "Better to let these things run their course. Much like males often have to threaten and fight each other to establish the bounds of their territory, females have to establish their own pecking order. The longer you delay it, the worse the fallout will get."

"What are you, a chicken?" Neoth sighed. "Is the mother of the Aeldari incapable of acting above her instincts?"

"It's a metaphor!" Isha shouted back irritably. "We are beings of thoughts and emotions. It is natural for us to be passionate and irrational at times. This process is one found in all social animals, and a core part of the evolution of advanced civilizations and societal structures. It would be negligent as the mother of the Aeldari and the Goddess of Life to avoid this engagement. Besides, you're one to talk. You've attained control and political power for the Imperium in pretty much the same manner."

Neoth winced at that. Most of the Imperium was held together by the fear of its military might. That was true for most empires, so it wasn't unnatural or shameful. However, it did mean he didn't have the moral high ground to talk down to Isha. He was the Master of Mankind, and he had gotten there by kicking all others out of his way, just like a king cockerel would have done.

But, humanity didn't need to win the moral argument to get what it wanted.

The air filled with the sound of chains as golden links of metal appeared around the Emperor. These were not made of the simple metals from the previous two bit skit, but the golden bindings that he had used to ensnare Isha when they first met.

"What are you doing?" Isha said as she took a step back.

"Wrapping you in chains." The Emperor shrugged. "I don't have time to deal with either of your hysterics, so I'm just going to pick the victor and get on with things."

Translation: This is a hassle, so I'm going to make you lose to get things over with. He was not looking forward to watching another divine debate or whatever it was Isha was preparing to engage Erda in.

Besides, if Isha wasn't going to be reasonable, he wasn't going to be either.

"Oh no you won't." Isha huffed. "I'm about to meet another maternal goddess. As the mother of the Aeldari I will not be shamed by showing up in some ridiculous fashion before the mother of humanity."

"What are you even talking about?" Neoth sighed. "The Aeldari aren't even here."

"It's symbolic! I am about to meet my equivalent for your people. That means I cannot afford to lose face for my children. Even if they are not represented here, I must not back down from her no matter what."

"Is that so?" He sighed, and the chains began to fade.

"It is." Isha replied, giving her own sigh of relief. "If you've understood that then shoo away all your soldiers and crewmen. I must meet her in my best condition. Our meeting may tear the minds of mortals usun- Hey!" She was interrupted mid-speech as the Emperor's arms wrapped around her from behind in an unceremonious bear hug. "Unhand me you oversized golden gorilla!" She kicked out at him as he lifted her off the floor. Her limbs didn't hit with her full strength, slapping against his armored thighs as if her feet were made of normal skin and bone.

"Be quiet." He snorted as she struggled in his grip. Meanwhile golden chains began wrapping around her. "I'm not letting you run amok after bluffing my way through everything to get here. Now stop struggling! You're going to end up in a ball of chains at this rate."

Despite not using her full strength, Isha's thrashing meant the chains were wrapping around her erratically, forming a disorganized clump instead of an ordered cocoon.

"No! No! No!" Isha said as she continued to struggle. Both her legs were already bundled up like the world's worst mummy. "I will not be humiliated in front of a deity of the same type as me! Now let me go!"

"If you can't promise to play nice, you leave me no choice." He snorted. "I can live with hurting your feelings and pride, but you are not fighting Erda."

There was a few more minutes of cursing and thrashing from Isha, accompanied with the clanking of chains as Neoth continued to bind her. Finally, after half her body had disappeared under a mass of chains, she dropped limp in his arms like a resigned cat.

"Fine." She muttered bitterly. "I am at a disadvantage here regardless. A mother is strongest when she is with her children. Plus, she literally has the homeground advantage."

"Oh?" Neoth replied, not relinquishing his grip for a second. He had a nasty feeling the moment he did she'd drop the facade and run away from him, possibly through a wall if she was angry enough. "I thought you were supposed to be the executioner of worlds."

Isha was supposed to be an Exterminatus weapon meant to be deployed against planets. Due to that nature, she should be superior to any deity associated with a planet. It would make little sense if the executioner could be overwhelmed by the one who was supposed to be executed.

"Besides the fact that doing so would make me your mortal enemy…" She grumbled. "Her real body is Terra. She is synonymous with it, and therefore her dominion over it exceeds mine until my miracle is activated. The winds here won't be as obedient to my commands unlike the ones on the dead planet where our battle took place." She sighed again. "With that many disadvantages, there is no eventuality where I would fight her, especially in my current state. At worst all we'll have is an argument."

"Really? That's awfully humble of you." He was half-expecting her to boast about her former power, or complain about being in this depleted state. Instead, she acknowledged that Erda's authority over Terra exceeded hers.

"Erda was a goddess from before you were born. As the mother of humanity, she must predate all of it. She is a wild deity formed from the converging beliefs the neoteny of humanity created on its evolutionary journey towards adaptive intelligence and abstract thinking. From the moment of her formation she has had legends and dreams added on to her as the maternal figure that all humans have wished to care for them, even in their adult life or old age." She turned her head to look at Neoth over her shoulder, shooting him a dirty look while she was at it. "By her very nature, she is infinitely more knowledgeable about what it means to be a god, unlike you who tries his best to circumvent the fact while reaping all the benefits."

Translation: She'll be easier to talk to than you, blockhead.

Isha suddenly let out a grunt. "The chains got a bit tighter."

"Did they?" Neoth replied with a wide smile. "Sorry, my concentration must have slipped."

"You petty primitive pompous pedantic peevish pessimistic pinhead!" She shouted back, returning to struggling and thrashing. "Was being told the truth that hard to hear!"

"My apologies." He shrugged. "But as a petty primitive pompous pedantic peevish pessimistic pinhead, I also have no reason to be ashamed for acting like one."

To tell the truth, Isha's words annoyed him a little. But, if she was going to keep calling him a primitive he might as well act like one. Besides, trying to out-talk an Aeldari was a fool's errand, especially when the facts were on her side. However, that didn't mean he had to take it lying down. After all, he was a tyrant.

Anyways, Isha wasn't struggling against him with her full strength, so she wasn't 'that' angry. This goddess had caused him enough headaches already. He was allowed a little revenge.

Suddenly, he sensed a familiar presence approaching the Astropathic choir. Faint scents of desert winds and incense wood wafted through the air. Apparently Erda had ignored the message he sent via Velor, and was approaching them.

"Hey, stop struggling." He ordered Isha, but she simply struggled even harder.

"Unhand me first! She's almost here!"

"And that's why I'm telling you to stop making a bigger mess than this needs to be!"

"This is my self respect as a goddess that's on the line!"

"What sort of goddess has a damn tantrum over this!"

"Just let me go!"

"You stubborn woman! If you keep this up I'm going to suplex you through the damn floor!"

"Just try it! My skull's far tougher than yours!"

"Alright then! I'll suplex you into the floor, then send thousands of photos of the scene into the Webway!"

"What?!" Isha stopped for a moment and Neoth grinned.

"You didn't want your children to see you in a ridiculous state back on that planet, did you? Imagine what they'll think if the first image they see of their mother is her stuck in the ground upside down?"

"You! You!!!" The goddess sputtered, ears twitching, cheeks reddening. "You wouldn't dare!"

"Won't I?! Because that seems to be the only thing you care about!"

"Tyrant! Control freak! Bully!" She started thrashing against him with more strength than before causing him to stumble forwards. Yet, he was still able to hold onto her, if only barely.

"Yes, I am all those things. Now, do we do this with your divine reputation intact, or will the Aeldari have to update their mental image of what their mother is like?"

It was at this moment the doors to the Astropathic Choir opened, and both of them froze as a woman in a brown hooded cloak of Arabian descent walked into the room with a fully armored Space Marine behind her.

There was a rather long pause interrupted only by the Custodes closing the massive doors of the Astropathic Choir with a loud bang.

"Could you explain to me what's happening here, Neoth?" Erda asked with a raised eyebrow. A gargantuan sigh exited his mouth as another headache started to brew. Meanwhile Isha resumed her attempts to break free from his grip.

—-------------------------------------------------

"Well, it is good to see you restored to your former self, although you may have gone back a bit too close to your roots. Have you resumed your tradition of ravishing women Gilgamesh?" Erda covered her mouth with her hand as she laughed quietly.

"Please tell me you're joking." Neoth grumbled, rubbing his temples as he did so.

The four of them were standing or sitting around a small clay table Erda had conjured up. Isha and Erda were sitting at it; the Aeldari goddess perched on a Wraithbone stool while the mother of humanity sat upon a wicker chair. The Emperor and Space Marine were standing a little further away. The table was only human sized. So, although it barely fit Isha, the two oversized men were unable to sit down at it. He had finished recanting what had happened after meeting Isha, and why he was able to return earlier than scheduled.

Neoth felt someone watching him across the table and looked up to see LE-2 looking at him through his visor. Even though he couldn't see the Space Marines eyes, he felt a judgemental stare coming from beneath the optics within the helmet. He returned it with an annoyed glare, and the Space Marine silently turned away.

"Neoth, stop being so childish." Erda admonished him with a sigh as she lowered her hand. "Leetu, I was joking with your father. Do not show disrespect towards him." She turned her eyes back onto Neoth with a faint smile. "I'm just happy to be able to talk to you again. It was pretty much impossible before." She looked downwards as she spoke the last sentence, tone dropping sadly with her gaze.

"There were a lot of things on the line." Neoth replied. "We… I couldn't afford to stop."

"I know." Erda replied. "You were the only one who could act, using your little loophole. As one of the many who could only stand back and watch, I have no right to accuse you of anything."

There was a short silence between the two of them. A long colored history was shared between the two. Many harsh words and fights had erupted between them. The last ten thousand years of their relationship had entered a long period of stagnation while the Emperor rushed forwards with his definition of salvation for all mankind.

"Erda…" Neoth opened his mouth, but a hand rose to quiet him.

"It's alright. I forgive you, Neoth." She said sadly. "I have never made a judgment regarding your actions. All I can do is mourn what is lost." Her face looked up towards him again, flashing him a small smile. "But, from now on, I would appreciate it if you could try dialogue once again before charging into things. I was actually proud of what you managed to do with the Tripartite alliance and Albia."

"Those were only temporary agreements on the path to unification." Neoth snorted. "Nothing will be left of the old order once my conquest of Terra is complete."

"Even then, any outcome that reduces the number of human deaths brings warmth to my heart. You are all my children, after all." Erda looked down through the floor at the planet below them. "Terra's hope died with Xozer. But, that doesn't mean humanity as a whole is doomed."

Neoth's fists clenched at the mention of Xozer, then relaxed as he shook his head slightly and looked upwards instead.

"Do you still love all those who abandoned you and Terra?"

Terra was a depleted planet. All the resources she once held had been taken by the colonists and used to set up their lives on many different worlds. Now, Terra was just a legend in their patchwork histories after Old Night. Depending on perception, the people on those faraway planets were the descendents of the thieves who stole all of Terra's worth.

"To ask me not to would be to destroy what I am." Erda said sadly. "I was brought into existence by the first humans' want for comfort. My love is indiscriminate as the land that fed them and the air they breathed." A tired chuckle exited her mouth. "Even after they sullied both with radiation and pollution, that fact has not changed." Her eyes turned towards Neoth at this. "You too have gotten closer to that mindset. I can feel it within you. Hero and villain now run upon the same burning wheel that paves the path forward for humanity." Erda turned her brown eyes to the frowning Aeldari goddess sitting opposite to her. "I suppose I have you to thank for that, alien goddess?"

"Keep your thanks." Isha snorted. "I merely did what I had to do for the survival of my children and myself." The Aeldari goddess's eyes locked with Erda's. "To be honest, I have quite a number of complaints against you. Even if you are a wild god, wasn't there something you could do about his manners?"

Erda blinked in surprise for a moment, then laughed.

"You have my apologies for that." She said with a shrug. "Although he is my son, as a goddess born from all humanity, I could only do the bare minimum to raise him. By the time he could converse with us, he was too old to listen." Erda stood up and walked over towards Neoth, rubbing a hand over his armored chest. "You should know how much of a handful he and the rest of humanity is."

"No child is easy to raise." Isha retorted irritably. The Aeldari had been problematic in their own way to her, even before the fall. If she had to pick a particular example out of the many irritating events, the worst was probably the Aeldari civil war.

"True, I guess the species doesn't matter." Erda shrugged, turning back towards Isha. "Children fall before their mothers and skin their knees on the dirt. We can only hope that their self-inflicted wounds do not get infected and rot."

Isha's eyes narrowed at the hidden barbs of Erda's words.

'You and I are equally flawed. We both failed our children, and they failed us through their own folly. Therefore, you have fallen down to my level. The level of a primitive wild god who was neither designed nor empowered by the Old Ones.'

"So, you speak to me about motherhood." Isha growled.

"Although many times younger than you, I am far more experienced in watching my children fail." Erda shrugged. "At those times, it is better to abandon your expectations and pride. Acceptance is the only thing that can heal their wounds."

"Do not lecture me about acceptance." Isha snorted. "My children are all equal in my eyes."

"Is that so? Then you have my apologies for providing unneeded advice."

"Apologies for this. Apologies for that." The Aeldari goddess sighed. "Do you even feel responsible for what has happened?"

"Only as much as a wild deity can. There's not much I can actually do, unlike your kind." Erda shot back with a smile. "What about you? Can you take responsibility for the blood your children have taken from mine?"

"To kill and be killed are part of the cycle of life." The Goddess of Life shrugged. "Although I do not agree with the outcome, both of our children act as barbarically as nature demands."

"In other words it is their fate to act like that, and it is our fate to suffer their actions."

Neoth felt a drop of figurative sweat drip down his brow. When Isha had said she and Erda would come into conflict, he had imagined something a little more direct. Instead, the two goddesses were metaphorically giving each other gut punches with words. Isha was more obviously angry, but he could feel Erda's rage radiating from behind her smile like the desert sun. Yet, there was no hint from either that they would engage in physical violence. Instead, the passive aggressiveness in the room continued to rise until it felt suffocating.

"Erda…" He interrupted. "Isha has agreed to assist me with uniting humanity and recovering our standing as a space faring species. She is a proud disagreeable alien, but I still intend to…"

'work with her.' Those were the words that were supposed to come next, but they stopped as Erda turned her eyes on him.

Confusion. Worry. Sadness. Anger.

Several emotions seemed to flit within her brown gaze which quickly approached him as she reached for his face with both hands.

"What are you…?" He managed to say before she cupped his cheeks and began to inspect him, like a mother checking behind her child's ears for unwashed dirt.

Finally, she released him. Her figure blurred, switching between three different ages.

"How much have you changed him?" Her voice spoke with three tones. One young and girlish. One ripe and feminine. One cracked and old.

"I only exchanged the sum total of his existence with an equivalent sized chunk of mine." Isha shrugged.

Erda turned towards her, form still blurring. The young girl turned first, followed by a mature woman, then an old hag.

"He is my child." Three voices spoke again, and there was the crackle of electricity as sparks flew between her fingers.

"He still is." Isha snorted as she narrowed her eyes. "Is your definition of humanity so narrow that you no longer define him as your own?"

The clay table cracked then turned to dust as Erda approached Isha.

"Humanity is mine, alien." All three voices spoke the same words with different tones. The young girl spat the words with visible anger. The mature woman warned her firmly but quietly, while the old hag growled bitterly. "Keep your hands off of my children. Their lives and fates are their own."

"I have no interest in any part of them besides the danger they represent to my children." Isha snorted.

Erda leaned over Isha, staring down into her silvery eyes as Isha returned the glare in turn.

"Keep your word." She said with only one voice this time. "My children are not you or your ilk's playthings."

Neoth watched the two of them glaring at each other as wisps of black smoke rose from the footprints left behind by Erda on the floor. The mother of mankind was synonymous with Terra, and the planetary body she shared a name with was a ruined radioactive wasteland. The bitterness of an entire planet and its destroyed ecosystems was radiating from her corporeal form, eroding and degrading everything around her.

"You truly are ugly." Isha said softly as she stared into Erda's eyes.

A soft snort came from the brown-eyed woman as she drew away from the Aeldari goddess's silver eyes. The black smoke disappeared as the table reformed.

"I am as resilient as my children." She shrugged. "It would be odd if my true form looked like what stands before you, especially after all they did to me."

"Past, present, future. History, the people that make it, and their hope. All reduced to dust and ashes. Yet, you persevere." Isha closed her eyes, as if looking at Erda was physically painful. "It's like watching the worst burn victim imaginable kept alive only by machinery and obsession."

"Yet, I still love them." Erda said as she returned to her chair. "Of all the sentient beings in the galaxy, you should understand how I feel."

"I do." Isha acknowledged. "Hence, I have to hate you."

"Like staring into a mirror, isn't it?" Erda laughed, hiding her mouth with her hand again. "Neoth, I give my permission for your new friend to tread upon Terra." She said mirthfully. "It would be troublesome keeping her up here when you intend to work with her."

Neoth raised an eyebrow. He couldn't discern at what point Isha and Erda had buried the hatchet. If anything, he had expected a fight to erupt and had been standing on edge to intervene. However, he was most surprised by Erda's last statement.

"I was unaware I needed permission."

"You've never cared about it or asked for it before." Erda sighed. "Neither has its revocation impeded you. I cannot do anything to stop you, after all. But, this time you have my permission, as meaningless as it is."

"Take it Neoth." Isha said, voice amused. "The spirit of Terra herself gives you her support in this action. The fate of humanity is intertwined with her very essence. Even if it doesn't seem useful, you may find her charity more helpful than harmful. Think of it like a good luck charm. Better to have it than not."

"Indeed." Erda nodded. "Although a feature of his birth, he often thinks of things through a mortal perspective. The word of a deity means something even if it does nothing. Thus, a deity's word should always be kept. Yet, he lies and cheats all the time."

"The importance of things without form is always hard to measure." Isha sighed. "But, it is precisely because it is immeasurable that it should not be underestimated. A truly careful person always ensures to take that into account."

"Being prepared and being careful are not the same thing, unfortunately." Erda grumbled. "He is always the former and never the latter. The number of times I've asked him to take less risk…"

Neoth felt a frown carving itself into his brow. A few moments before, and he could have sworn they were mortal enemies. Now, they were happily airing their grievances about him to his face.

However, in his current state of mind, he could see that they had a point. His plans may have been complex, but there was very little room for error or empathy. They were made to go from point to point in the shortest time possible with no care for the emotional state or physical condition of those involved.

As the God of Heroes, his voice was usually enough to rally any human to his cause. Whatever depression or malaise they may be feeling would be wiped out by his presence, leaving only the burning desire to enter the legend of humanity. It wouldn't matter if they were missing all their limbs and vital organs. If he called, they would come to serve him, even if it meant they had to crawl like maggots to get there.

The price for following his voice was their free-will and self-determination, as well as any physical injuries sustained along the way. That was the only reason he did not speak in that manner often.

But, there were times where even that was a small price to pay. Old Night had not been kind to him or humanity. The battle with the Omnissiah left no room for error. He did not regret what he did, or what he forced others to do during that time.

Still, at this point in time, he might be able to afford a change of pace.

"You are both right." He said, and both of the women turned to look at him. "I have been too hasty in the past and I must apologize, especially to you Erda. From now on, I will discuss things with you. In return, I ask for your council. I have long been out of practice in working with equals."

Admission of guilt, apology, and a future plan of remedial action. The three steps necessary to repairing broken trust.

However, instead of the positive reaction he expected, both women fixed with him a deadpan stare then sighed.

"My condolences, I can only imagine the hardship you've been through." Isha said to Erda.

"It's always like this." Erda said as she massaged her temples. "He speaks of cooperation and unity first, but every time things don't go his way he abandons all compromise and debate."

"Then again, it's not entirely his fault he is the way he is. All heroes are charismatic to some degree." Isha crossed her arms and huffed. "That means they often get their own way in the end. They might be good at using people and bringing the best out of them, but that's not an equal relationship based on cooperation. Theirs is the relationship between the main-character and the sub-character of a story."

'Did… Did the situation just get worse?' Neoth thought to himself. The two before him seemed to be even more united against him than before. He looked inside himself to all the other heroes who reached him to find a way out of this situation. However, almost all of the female heroes with a spattering of male ones were face palming or shaking their heads.

'Joan!' Neoth called inside himself.

'Moi?' The ancient French hero replied.

'Explain the situation to me.'

'Pourquoi moi? Why me?'

'As a member of the fairer sex, I want your perspective on the situation.'

'Quoi?! You're asking me? I became a hero by abandoning my femininity.'

'It can't be helped. All the others are either sighing like those two or shaking their heads. It's obvious they agree with them. I'm already hemmed in on two sides. I don't need a third front coming from within me.'

'Je vois… I see… Fine. I'll try my best, but I'm just a woman; not an expert on psychology.'

'At this moment, that is probably the person I need information from the most.'

The brunette gave a massive sigh at that.

'Merde! It's comments like that which get us into trouble.'

'What?'

'It's sexist to expect any woman to understand what any other woman is thinking. You should have realized that by now. We can be either man or woman at any time, but you're still confused.'

'Just because I can become a woman doesn't mean my personality or priorities change. You know that as well as I do.'

'Putain.' Joan swore. 'In short, your apology is too little too late. Especially when it comes to Madame Erda.'

'Too little too late?'

'Think back to everything that's happened between you two. There's been more than one time that she's asked you to stop for a moment and talk things over.'

'...'

There were several times Neoth could remember off the top of his head. Most of their conversations over the last 10,000 years had been pretty much that.

'Saying you'll follow Erda's advice now seems like a cheap excuse to get out of your current situation. Even if you were partially sincere about it.'

'...'

Again, part of him had said that because it had begun to feel a little stifling figuratively trapped between those two. He had meant it, but that wasn't the only reason he said it.

'Is there a way out of this?'

'Non. There is none.'

'Joan…'

'I don't want to listen to them anymore than you do. We are the same person after all. Merde!' The French woman cursed again then sighed. 'But, at this moment the only thing you can do is listen to them vent. She has a lot of complaints and grievances pent up over the years.'

'And how long is that going to last?'

'As long as LE-2 can take it.' Joan shrugged. 'He's the innocent bystander here, so Erda will probably stop when her son can't take it anymore. It shouldn't be much longer. His eyes are already glazing over.'

Neoth returned from his little mental conference to see LE-2 starting to lean to one side. The perfect posture he had when he entered the room was slipping.

The two women before him were psychic beings of immense power. Their little passive aggressive power play followed by their threats, and now this complaint conference was sending ripples throughout the local immaterium. Thankfully, the effects were contained within the Astropathic Choir, but that simply meant that LE-2 was exposed to a more concentrated dose. He was being filled with an immense sense of exhaustion, as if he was being exposed to hours upon hours of parental nagging. He had been trying to do his best to stand upright, but it seemed he was reaching the limits of his mental fortifications.

Neoth himself was unaffected by this, protected by his immaterial hating touch.

For a moment, he felt a slight tinge of pity for his creation. He was getting depressed by just the words uttered by Isha and Erda. LE-2 was experiencing both the words, and the emotional intentions associated with them. He began to reach out with his essence to fortify and shield the Space Marine from the psychic effects of the two beings before him, then stopped.

Joan had said Erda would probably stop when LE-2 couldn't take it any more. Therefore, to reinforce LE-2 would mean to prolong the mental siege Erda and Isha had engaged upon him.

Slowly, he pulled himself back.

'It'll end faster this way for the both of us.' He said to LE-2 silently.

"See? Scheming as always." Erda huffed.

"Did you really think we wouldn't notice that?" Isha sighed.

"..." Neoth remained quiet. Joan had said that the two were just venting. If that was the case, remaining silent was the best way to prevent putting his foot in his mouth any further.

"He probably asked Joan for help." Erda said, shaking her head. "Poor girl. All heroes end up going to him. That's why none of us got a champion to act in our stead."

"A tyrant in life and afterlife." Isha shrugged. "I guess his nature and divinity might have changed, but not his personality."

"..."

Erda and Isha's venting lasted until LE-2 was almost unconscious. At that moment, Neoth wasn't sure whether he pitied or envied his creation.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N: Thank you Naranka and Skyborne for reading the section about Malcador's past proposals.

---

"Leetu. Leetu! Wake up now." Neoth watched glumly as Erda knocked against the Space Marine's helmet. Her knuckles made a loud clanking noise when they rapped against the beaked helm.

The Space Marine in question was swaying groggily from side to side, a side effect of being exposed to the aftershock of almost an hour's worth of divine nagging.

"Poor boy." She tutted. "Neoth, can't you apply that psychic warding you gave to the soldiers you sent to fight the Cognoscynths?"

"I wouldn't suggest it." He muttered. "The anti-psyker warding I applied to them dulled their senses to the unnatural. On top of making them more oblivious to things from the immaterium, LE-2 might no longer see you as before."

"He will recognize me." Erda said as she patted the side of the Space Marine's helm. "Even if he doesn't, it won't matter. All my children outgrow me eventually."

Neoth remained silent at that. LE-2 was just a prototype to him. He was pretty much the standard for all of those who would come after him, making him unremarkable amongst his future peers. The one thing that made him special was his attachment to Erda. He would never betray his own mother, and that loyalty made him a useful bodyguard and manservant for her. If he removed that loyalty by accident, the one thing that made LE-2 special would disappear.

Erda may be able to accept that. He could not.

"LE-2's only worth is his attachment to you. You need a guard at all times."

"Oh, you are such a worrywart." Erda huffed.

"Should I help?" Isha spoke as she walked up to the Space Marine.

"It depends on what you will do." Erda said as she knocked on LE-2's helmet again.

"Nothing much, besides activate his fight or flight response." The long-eared goddess poked the Space Marines right pauldron. "A boost of adrenaline should awaken him. He is a soldier. He wouldn't end up like this if he had his war mask on. If he can be reminded of what it means to survive, he should be able to shake this off."

"That would be a bit much." Erda sighed. "I would rather splash him with a bucket of cold water, or use some smelling salts."

"Both would require removing his helmet." Isha's ears flicked with irritation.

"And that can only be done by Leetu." Erda said as she pulled back her hand and began tapping her chin thoughtfully.

"Then how about this?" Isha stopped prodding the Space Marine and reached for Erda's shoulder.

Immediately the Space Marine shoved himself between Erda and Isha then raised his bolter, finger on the trigger, only to stop when Erda's hand covered the barrel.

"I always imagined the Aeldari to be more elegant." She huffed.

"He clearly views you as his mother." Isha shrugged. "Even at his worst, he would prioritize your protection and honor over everything else."

"Even so, using faux blackmail to wake him was unkind."

"It was the only non-violent way to wake him quickly. Why wait when it's obvious there is no other path?"

"I see." Erda sighed. "You and Neoth might be more agreeable than I thought."

Isha shrugged at the accusation. "If we weren't I wouldn't have decided to work with him."

Erda chuckled at that while LE-2 calmed down. His bolter lowered as he shook his head. The grogginess hadn't fully been dispelled, but he was at least aware of his surroundings.

"Neoth." Erda said as she turned to her other son. "Where were you planning to take your new partner after this?"

"To Khangba Marwu." Neoth answered.

"The Imperial dungeons?" Erda asked back with a raised eyebrow.

"It is close to the Imperial Palace, isolated, and gives me an excuse to see her." Neoth replied, listing off his reasons. "There are still a few of Narthan Dume's lieutenants there who I could be questioning, as well as other artifacts from Old Night that might provide cover for my presence there."

"She is to be my guest upon Terra. I will not have my hospitality sullied." Erda paused for a moment in thought. "We shall take her to the Sanctum Imperialis."

"Like this?" Neoth gestured to the obviously alien goddess before them. Besides her appearance, her nature meant any mortal who saw her would be heavily affected by the psychic emanations that came from her.

"You can change your size and form, can't you?" Erda asked as she turned towards Isha.

"For the sake of deception, then yes." Isha replied.

"Then I have a plan. We will go to the Imperial Palace aboard my shuttle. There you will follow me as a handmaiden, temporarily." She flashed a small smile towards the other goddess. Although minor, this ruse was an expression of dominance. A handmaiden was subservient to her mistress. Thus, symbolically Isha would be at Erda's mercy.

"Fine." Isha nodded as she returned the smile. "As a guest upon your body, I suppose I can pretend to be your servant."

Tacit agreement was provided to the arrangement. As the guest, Isha would agree to follow Erda's house rules. So long as Erda was hospitable, she would feign obedience to the maternal goddess of humanity.

"It's only a ruse until Malcador and the others are informed." Erda chuckled, accepting and providing a time limit to their agreement. "I wouldn't want to have you tailing me every moment like an actual handmaiden."

"Good." Isha nodded, then turned towards Neoth. "See? This is what hospitality looks like."

"What sort of hospitality did you expect me to extend after mind-wiping an entire planet?" He grumbled back.

The catatonic Xenobiologis would have to be unloaded from the Bucephelus and smuggled back to the Imperial Palace over the course of a couple days. Other arrangements were being made for the rest of the materials he had stolen or scavenged.

But, there was another reason for his mention of them. It seemed Erda and Isha had formed some sort of bizarre rapport with each other, and he didn't like it. Hopefully the mention of what Isha had done would put a wedge between them, but Erda merely shrugged in response.

"They are still alive." Isha huffed. "Just cursed with knowledge."

"Although unfortunate, that is the fate of any mortal who attempts to tamper with a deity." Erda sighed. "At the very least, they were able to satisfy their curiosity before losing their personality."

Neoth turned away, rubbing his temples as he did so. "I don't understand your definition of love."

It certainly wasn't the same as a normal human's.

"I am Terra. Storms, earthquakes, and all other natural disasters came from my body and rained down upon my own children. Those disasters may have come regardless of what I wanted, but it is because of that I can accept the death of the individual." She put a hand on the table, and the clay turned to dust as did the interwoven plant fibers of her chair. "To be mortal is to die. Humanity has always overcome this by leaving behind a legacy, and passing along hope to the next generation." She turned and gestured with her head towards Isha. "I may not devour my children like her, but simple death is not cause for mourning."

Neoth sighed. He had had this conversation with Erda before, and this was usually where it ended. Death was the end of the story. After that, it was either apotheosis, damnation, or dispersion into the immaterium that awaited the soul.

Until now, he would denounce her and say that gods truly didn't understand mortals before storming away.

Today, he continued the conversation.

"So, it is only meaningless death that you mourn over?" He asked.

Erda blinked in surprise for a moment, then smiled.

"It is absolute death that I abhor." She said quietly. "When there is nothing left to pass on to the future, that is when I mourn my children."

Neoth remained silent at that. Erda was a naturally spawned goddess. Her name had two roots. One was for the ancient term for Earth. The other was from Urðr, or the eldest of the trio of Norns; the three women who decided the fate of all mankind.

The Norns didn't exist, but the concept of a being that watched over all humanity existed. This was what Erda was. A wild deity created by the first humans who could consider abstract concepts.

She was the answer to their question for where all humanity came from, and her existence grew as humanity grew more complex. At first, she was simply the concept of Mother Earth. A loving bountiful being who was both kind and cruel.

As the first humans gained the ability to think and plan for things far in the future, their realization of certain patterns in nature added on the idea that there was a preset path for all things. Hence, she became associated with the fate of past, present, and future.

After those concepts were envisioned to be part of her, the first group of primates that would become mankind separated out into different tribes. These offshoots eventually made towns and cities, creating new cultures from the same old sources. Thus, she remained in the psyche of humanity even when they came up with new names for her. Even when humanity began to subdivide various functions of her into different idols, she remained intact.

Gaia. Terra. Erda. Inari Ōkami. Jörð. Moirai. Norns.

No matter how many times humanity changed her name, she remained mostly as she was first envisioned and absorbed all the thoughts and beliefs that fell into the original mould that was made when humanity was unified.

This is how all wild gods form. They are born when the first group of sentient species envision them. Then, as that group breaks apart and divides, they remain as proof of a once unified people. After that, they take in bits and pieces of the new myths and legends that are closest to them, growing but remaining the same. Yet, they are also powerless as the divided minds that spawned them pull them in every direction at once.

"Enough philosophy." Erda's voice interrupted Neoth's musings. "Now, let me explain my plan for getting Isha off this ship and to the Imperial Palace." She pointed at Neoth. "First, Neoth will inform Velor about our disembarkment. Then, we will all exit the Astropathic Choir. Neoth will be carrying a bundle of chains to pretend he's carrying the 'terraforming device' off the ship, and I will carry the shrunk down Isha under my cloak. Once we get to my shuttle, Isha can return to her original size and disguise herself as a human. That way we can pretend that the weapon has been removed from the ship, and provide an explanation for why another person has joined us."

"I'm fine with that plan." Isha nodded.

Neoth was fine with the plan as well, but before that he had a complaint to make.

"If you could shrink, why didn't you do that before?" He grumbled. If she could shrink herself down small enough, he could have simply shoved her under his chest plate. It would have been far easier to pretend he had just destroyed her and smuggle her onboard in his armor.

"Besides being terribly uncomfortable." Isha replied, nose wrinkling. "Surface area to volume ratio would be the biggest problem. The smaller one is, the less volume one has compared to their exposed skin. Being in your presence is painful. Making myself smaller means your essence can penetrate further into my being. Being Aeldari sized is the bare minimum if I want to stand near you. Erda doesn't have that same immaterial hating touch you have, so I can shrink myself down near her if necessary. Although, it is demeaning."

Neoth snorted at that. Although her explanation sounded logical, he also remembered Isha could express his Truth on her skin. Therefore, she should be able to reflect his immaterial hating touch to some degree. In other words, he was convinced that the main reason she kept quiet about being able to change her size was for her own personal comfort.

"Do you have any other complaints, Neoth?" Erda interjected before he could point that out.

"No." He sighed. "Let's get this over with."

—-------------------------------------------------

"Thank you for your hard work, Captain Velor." The Emperor saluted the Captain of the Artax. "Inform Commodore Lysander that the recovered device will be returning with me to the Imperial Palace."

"As you will, my Lord." Captain Velor returned the salute.

They were in the hangar bay of the Artax. A large bundle of golden looking chains was on the Emperor's shoulder. Behind him, Erda and LE-2 were entering the shuttle. He was stuck exchanging the barest of niceties with the nervous captain in order to appear as normal as possible.

"I will be leaving for the Imperial Palace. Return to Commodore Lysander's command. Dismissed."

"Yes My Lord." The Captain stood to attention with a strained smile as the Emperor turned and entered the shuttle.

Once inside with the hatch shut and sealed behind him, Neoth dispelled the bundle of chains and turned towards Erda.

"Have you notified Malcador and the others?" He asked as a doll sized Isha jumped out of the back of Erda's cloak and returned to her normal size.

"Leetu is contacting them right now." Erda replied as she sat down in one of the shuttle's seats. The entire ship shook as it took off from the hangar floor and exited the ship. "Valador, Astarte, and Malcador are gathering at the Whispering Tower."

"It is Malcador's retreat now." Neoth warned.

"It is the last surviving artifact of the Cognoscynths." Erda sighed. "At least let its name live on."

"Even if it is the name left by an enemy?"

"Even more so."

The two locked eyes. Meanwhile Isha stretched her limbs out in the background.

"It's no use arguing, Neoth." The Aeldari goddess said as she rolled her shoulders. "Whether it be an enemy or ally, humanity's legacy is irreplaceable to her. That's just how she is as a deity. If you want to get her to change, you're going to have to engage her in a divine debate. Of course, that would probably kill her in her current state. If you don't want to kill Erda, then you're just going to have to accept her."

Neoth turned to glare at Isha, then relaxed his gaze. He had already fought enough times with Erda. He could not change her mind anymore than she could change his back then.

"Just be careful when you speak in public." He finally said.

"Do not worry." Erda replied softly. "You know I keep to myself."

Neoth nodded then changed the subject. "So, what have you told the others?"

"I only requested their presence. This matter is quite sensitive. I'm not comfortable talking about it, even on encrypted channels." Erda's tone turned serious. "The Whispering Tower's Cognoscynth designs should keep what we discuss secret from any attempt to eavesdrop from the materium or immaterium. Malcador requisitioned it for his personal use after the destruction of the City of Sight for precisely that reason."

"And I'm the one who has to explain everything?" Neoth grumbled.

"Who else is going to do it?" Erda shrugged in return before turning towards the Aeldari goddess. "Isha, show me your human disguise."

The goddess's ears shortened and rounded themselves as her height lowered itself to the average height for a human female, taking 40 or 50 cm from her original form."Here. Perfect, isn't it?" She said proudly.

Neoth and Erda both remained silent for a moment.

"You've only gotten shorter and rounded out your ears." He finally pointed out.

"Is there a problem?" The goddess raised an eyebrow. "There are blonds amongst humans."

"Yes, but it is unusual to see a human with silver eyes, not to mention beauty such as yours is very rare amongst humans." Erda said as she put a finger to her chin in thought.

"Are you asking me to make myself look ugly?" Isha said as she narrowed her eyes.

"Well, that would be a st-" Neoth's comment was cut off as Erda raised a hand, covering his mouth.

"Don't Neoth. I can already tell that her definition of beauty and ugliness are totally alien to ours. It would be easier to hide her features physically." She turned and rummaged around in one of the overhead lockers of the shuttle. "Here, take this cloak and these shoes. Make yourself shorter and keep the hood on at all times. Nobody should be able to see your face that way. We can get a veil later to be doubly sure nothing is revealed."

"Fine." Isha said as she shrank again and took the cloak. "As a guest and handmaiden, I suppose I can do my best not to outshine my mistress."

"There are many types of beauty." Erda chuckled. "Not all are attracted to the vibrant and wild. Sometimes, it is the calm and quiet that draws the interests of others."

"But, both should have their thorns." Isha replied as she put on the cloak and shrank herself some more.

"Of course." Erda nodded. "True beauty is found in endurance; the strength to keep on moving forward to a better tomorrow."

"Do you like each other or hate each other?" Neoth interrupted.

Quite frankly, watching these two circle each other was getting exhausting. At this point, he would settle for them hating each other if only to get a clear cut answer as to how to deal with them.

The two of them looked at each other before looking at Neoth.

"I have to hate her. She fills the same niche for a different species. It is because we are alike that I must." Isha replied matter-of-factly.

"However, both of us value the future of our respective children, and believe in the importance of passing on hope to the next generation. It would be hard not to agree with each other under those circumstances." Erda added on.

"I see…" Neoth muttered.

They had the same values, and hence would often come to the same or similar conclusion. Thus, they agreed on many things. Yet, when it came to the implementation of said agreements, Isha would always prioritize the Aeldari and Erda would always prioritize humanity. Therefore, they would always be opposed to each other despite their similarities.

On the other hand, they seemed plenty capable of working together at needling him. That probably meant that cooperation was possible between the two, so long as there was a third party that they could both target.

In a sense it was representative of how every alien and human alliance formed during the golden age of humanity. But, in hindsight that was to be expected. These two were formed from the thoughts and prayers of entire species. Their actions mirrored the broad strokes of their respective children's possible paths.

'Then I guess I can take this as a good omen that the children of Isha can work with the children of Erda.' He thought to himself. He could only hope that the third party the Aeldari and humanity would be united against was the Ruinous Powers or some other alien.

—-------------------------------------------------

"We have arrived, mother." Leetu announced as the shuttle landed on one of the pads sticking out of the upper levels of the Sanctum Imperialis of the Imperial Palace.

"Thank you, Leetu." Erda replied, stroking the massive pauldrons that covered her son's shoulders. "You may do as you wish for now. I will send for you when I wish to return to your brothers."

Isha pulled the hood of her borrowed cloak down over her brow and bowed her head as the hatch of the shuttle opened. A welcoming party of Custodes was present, standing to attention to either side of a red carpet embroidered with the golden insignias of the Imperium.

The Emperor exited the shuttle first, followed by Erda and then Isha herself.

"So, this is the heart of the Imperium of Man." Isha whispered as she looked around.

The gold and marble white Sanctum Imperialis, the central portion of the Imperial Palace, towered over the Himalazia mountains it was built into. Numerous smaller abodes and towns had sprouted up around it like lichen growing on the exposed roots of a great tree. However, the rest of the Imperial Palace was still incomplete. She could see large sections of flattened land beyond the walls of the Sanctum Imperialis. It was a clean slate for a future builder to impose their vision of what the seat of power for the Imperium should look like.

"Hush." Erda whispered back. "Your voice alone betrays what you are, even when spoken with a human tone."

Isha frowned, then reviewed all the information she had taken from Neoth.

'Is this fine?' She signed with one hand towards Erda.

'It will do.' Erda signed back.

The three of them traveled into the central domed tower of the Sanctum Imperialis. There was a certain Persian influence in its design, although the color scheme was closer to Greek or Egyptian architecture with its marble white walls and golden inlays. The outer parts of the Sanctum Imperialis were a combination of Greek and European designs. Massive interconnecting bridges in the shape of aqueducts spanned between steeples and spires the size of skyscrapers.

This mass of towers and bridges darkened the lower levels with their shadows. If it were not for the electric lamp posts placed at regular intervals, those beneath the top 9 or 10 floors would be living in perpetual dusk or dawn. Golden statues of the Imperial Eagle were perched on various monument gates upon the bridges or on the outside of the towers like gargoyles. Each one seemed to glow with the light reflected off of their auramite feathers. All of them looked downwards at the people below with their realistically sculpted avian eyes. Cold judgment seemed to radiate from them as they stared down at the populace below.

'Isn't this a bit much?' She signed to Erda, referring to the oppressive feeling of the city-sized structure that was the incomplete Imperial Palace.

'They are a reminder of the legend of Prometheus.' The dark haired woman sighed as she signed back. 'The legend describes an eagle that came to tear out the nightly regrowing liver of the thief who stole power from the gods. This was where the Cognoscynths' last city was located. Nothing of it but the Whispering Tower remains, not even its people. Still, the architecture of the Sanctum Imperialis was designed to incorporate elements of that symbolism to ensure the new populace would remain humbled.'

'So, the eagles watch the populace so they no longer steal power above their station?'

'That is what these symbols mean, although there is a practical reason for the design.' Erda signed. 'Each eagle acts as a psychic ward. They muffle the whispers of the Warp, but stifle the soul in the process.' She gestured with one hand to the people on the bridges below. 'The touch of various Warp creatures marks the people on this planet. Even long after the destruction of Shang Khal's armies and wrathsingers, zealot priest-kings and Ethnarchs have risen up again and again from the ruins of ancient Ursh's client states.'

'Banishing Pharaa'gueotla made no difference?' Isha asked. The creature she brought up was one of several Daemon Princes who had taken residence on Terra during Old Night. It entertained itself by egging on the destructive and treacherous tendencies of humanity.

When the Emperor returned to Terra, Pharaa'gueotla and its minions were the first Warp denizens to be defeated with his gene-enhanced warriors. Additionally, a psychic weapon dubbed "The Angel' was let loose. The results of the conflict were mixed. Although Pharaa'gueotla and its mortal thralls were defeated, the Daemon Prince managed to flee from Terra. This forced the Emperor to leave his home planet again to chase it down and finally seal it on the abandoned world of Karis Cephalon.

'The Daemon Prince merely exacerbated what was there. Even after his imprisonment, humanity has continued to tear itself apart on this planet.'There was a rather noticeable slump in her shoulders, showing a great exhaustion in the mother of humanity as she replied. 'Then again, there may be other daemons of various nature hiding within the minds of the people. Another justification for the extreme measures Neoth has put into place here.' She signed back with a shrug. 'On top of that, there are some who can come with the mere mention of their name. Thus, educating the populace has its own risks of daemonic infiltration. With humanity's current cultural, societal, and psychic levels of development on Terra, mass-ignorance is one of the possible countermeasures against them.' Erda's lips were pursed, as if she had bitten down on something sour as she signed the last sentences.

'But, you disagreed with him, didn't you?' Isha signed back.

'You already know the answer to that if you took all of Neoth's information.' The hand motions of Erda were quick and irritated.

'I want to hear your side of the story.'

'Are you that bored?' Erda snorted as she signed.

'My children view me as the one to help the downtrodden and the defeated.' Isha shrugged. 'Although Eldanesh masked what that truly meant after the War in Heaven, I still find myself aligned with the weaker side of any conflict. Oppression and domination strangle diversity, and as the Goddess of Life, I dislike that.'

'Of course you would feel that way.' Erda flashed a tired smile in Isha's direction. 'You don't deploy an Exterminatus weapon when you have won the battle normally.'

Isha didn't reply, and instead waited for Erda to answer her question. Finally, Erda sighed and began to sign again.

'I asked him to trust them. He, like humanity, has made mistakes. Therefore, I asked him to allow at least the children of those he defined as sinners to be free.'

'And his answer?' Isha asked.

Erda sighed again and made a quotation sign to indicate she would be repeating his words verbatim.

'There are no more second chances. The people of Terra made their choice, and have shown they can no longer be trusted. We no longer have any time to waste.'

Isha shot a tired look at the back of the Emperor's head. However, she had his perspective from the information she had taken.

'The Omnissiah was still free back then, wasn't it?' She signed to Erda.

The Emperor was dealing with several crises at the time. Terra was but one planet in a crumbling federation. AI rebellions, civil war, and out of control psykers had descended upon humanity in relatively quick succession. Of course, the Ruinous Powers and other daemons tagged along for the spectacle, making things worse wherever they could.

'It was, and things were dire.' Erda admitted. 'But, if it was the choice of my children, I can accept the result. As a mother, you should know how I felt.'

Isha frowned at that.

'I do, but I made a different choice.'

Erda snorted then signed back. 'I fail to see the difference between our outcomes. You allowed your children to fall to temptation, just as I watched my children destroy themselves.'

'Perhaps…' Isha's reply came slowly. 'But, I still believe my children can return to what they were.'

'Hope…' Erda signed. 'can be a dangerous thing. I have learned that the hard way after watching many struggle in vain. At times, one must accept fate as it is. If my children wish to take the next step, then they should be allowed to do so. It is their choice, and it is not my place to stop them when I can no longer support them.'

A small smile tugged at Isha's lips.

'You remind me of my own mother.' She signed. 'She too was a goddess of fate. She too always stood back, merely reading and not controlling the strands she had in her rune skinned pouch.'

'That is the side effect of having a hand on the past, present, and future.' Erda replied. 'I love watching my children make their own choices. If I interfered, I would no longer be myself.'

There was a slight pause between the two as they walked deeper into the Sanctum Imperialis. Marble pillars and golden decorations lined the walls of the corridor, while a red carpet made of interwoven metal and resin fibers lay in the center of the floor. Any other fabric would have been flattened by the armored boots of the Custodes long ago. Naturally, all visitors to the Palace had to wear shoes at all times. Otherwise, the red staining the fibers would have been blood instead of dye.

'By the way…' Isha asked, changing the subject. 'I was wondering about the name of your shuttle. Who named it?'

'Neoth.' Erda shrugged. 'I originally wanted it to be named the Past, Present, and Future. But, he said that was too obvious.'

'So, why did it change to the Emperor's Grip?'

'It comes from a quote by George Orwell 'Who controls the past controls the future: who controls the present controls the past.' It was the compromise we reached. As it is my personal shuttle, the ship's name symbolizes Neoth's control over humanity's fate.'

'I wouldn't call that much of a compromise.' Isha snorted.

'By making the name seem to be a reference to him, he makes himself responsible for all that shuttle does.' A small smile crossed Erda's face. 'It was his way of standing in front of me to take the brunt of whatever was to come. You may imagine a controlling fist from the name, but it was intended to be a shielding hand cradling a small object in its center.'

Arrogant on its surface. Fascistic and despotic in sound. Yet, even as the Emperor, there was an attachment that only those who knew him could see.

He was a tyrant due to his nature, but he envied Enkidu who walked with humanity. Now, it was hard to say whether it was simply his nature or necessity that made him take the mantle of the Emperor.

'So, he still loves you.' Isha signed with a sad smile. There was a hint of envy in her expression. She did not wish for the Emperor's love, but this conversation was a painful reminder that Erda's children were still with her. Lilieath and Eldanesh were both out of her reach.

'He will always love me.' Erda replied. 'I have watched him since before he became what he was. I watched him as he wandered off into the desert after murdering his uncle. When he stumbled under the heat, a cooling wind brushed against his brow. When he dug into the earth out of thirst, water welled up from the moist dirt.' She paused to take in a breath of air. Despite speaking silently, the emotions depleted the oxygen in her blood rapidly. 'I am the mother he and all humanity sprang from. That fact has never changed, no matter how many times we have fought, nor how many times he has hurt me.' Her brown eyes looked up at Neoth's armored back. 'Even when he lost all control and became the burning figure upon his golden path, he has cared for me.'

Erda turned her head towards Isha, brown eyes meeting silver ones through the fabric of the hood. 'I have said it before, but allow me to say it again. Thank you, mother of the Aeldari, for restoring a portion of his sanity.'

A tired smile spread across Isha's lips. She could tell Erda was truly thankful, but she could also empathize with the other maternal emotions that were no doubt bubbling in her breast.

'There is no need to hide your feelings from me.' She signed as she shook her head. 'I know the black hatred in your heart that wishes to consume the both of us.'

Erda sighed softly then nodded.

'Yes. I hate you and myself.' Her eyes were fixed on the floor as her hands formed the words. 'I hate you for doing something I was not able to do for tens of thousands of years. I hate myself for being proved powerless in helping my son. Yet, I am indebted to you in this regard.' Her right arm blurred, then split into three. The young and old hands were superimposed upon each other, forming the hand signs necessary to communicate, but the soft feminine hand of the mature woman extended itself towards Isha. 'So long as you do not stand in humanity's way, I will swallow these feelings as I have swallowed the bitterness and anger that I felt towards the Emperor.'

Isha took Erda's hand in her own, accepting the handshake gently.

'Do not worry, I would have felt the same if it was my Eldanesh marching before us.' She replied after they let each other go.

'A mother's love is possessive to some degree.' Erda raised a hand to cover her mouth as she chuckled. 'But, there comes a time that we will have to let go, no matter how much it breaks our heart.'

Isha remained silent. That was the decision Erda made, and she could not agree with it. She may have abandoned the path where she decided what was right and wrong for her children, but she had never stopped trying to help them. If she had let go, she would have never broken Asuryan's edict.

But, that was a freedom Erda did not have. What can a dead world give to things that require life?

"We have arrived." Neoth interrupted their conversation. They stood before a set of blast doors decorated with the Imperial symbols and colors. There was the electric hum of a machine receiving a code, then the locks within the doors began to undo themselves. There was the sizzle of a dissipating void shield as the doors slid into the walls and floor to reveal a hanging corridor made of plexi-glass. It was attached to a thin stone gray tower; knobbly and crooked like an outstretched arthritic finger pointing at the roof of the Sanctum Imperialis. Dirt was still smeared across parts of it, as if the tower had shoved its way out of the very ground during its erection. The Imperial Palace walls surrounded it on all sides, forming a small courtyard around the tower. Several hanging corridors attached to the tower at different heights. All of them varied in length due to the tower's uneven surface. It was as if this part of the Imperial Palace had been built around the tower, confining the ancient architecture within marble walls inlaid with gold.

The three walked across the hanging corridor towards the tower. Isha looked around, and saw several half-spheres attached on the outer roof and upper sides of the corridor. They were proximity triggered melta-charges that would be primed to detonate should the doors be forced open. There were several other defenses outside the corridor as well. One was composed of prism-like focussing crystals disguised as gem-like objects on the very bottom of the courtyard. They would fire up into the plexi-glass corridors whether the melta-charges detonated or not. Whoever was caught in the focal point of these lasers would meet a grisly end. If the melta-charges destroyed the corridor, whatever survived the inferno would be cut apart. If any intruder managed to disarm the melta-charges, they would be swallowed by molten plexi-glass as the lasers liquified the material the corridors were made of. Of course, the disarmed melta-charges would detonate at point-blank range from the heat after that.

The entry point to the tower was also covered by a blast door, but she could see it was a later addition to the building's architecture. This part of the corridor was attached to the tower like a boarding tube of a void-ship; pressed up against the stone like a leech's mouth on skin.

Once again the electric hum of a code being transferred came, and the void shields and blast doors opened to reveal a hole bored into the tower itself. Smooth edges reminiscent of solidified lava flows showed that this hole had been cut open with extreme heat.

Isha looked around as the doors and shields sealed the tower again.

The interior of the tower was amenable to human habitation. The floor was made of the same gray stone as the tower, but the furniture consisted of ordinary looking tables and chairs. Cogitator screens and data tablets hung or lay on some of these. Two individuals were sitting at one of the tables, with two more standing slightly behind them.

One was an old man in a hooded cloak with an ornate staff in one hand. This was Malcador, the Imperial Regent and 6000 year old Perpetual. He was of mortal birth, but his psychic gifts and ancient technology kept him alive far longer than any normal human.

One was an old woman with virtually no hair remaining on her head and perhaps even less flesh on her bones. She was clothed in a pleated shift of victorian style. It was white in color, and the only other item of clothing upon her was a sturdy belt and las pistol holster at her waist. This was Amar Astarte, a gene-sculptor of Terra who had served many techno-barbarian Warlords. Creating mutants and monstrosities was her specialty, and she had survived this long only because her patrons had been satisfied by her wares. She herself, however, viewed all she made as mistakes and mishaps. It was only after witnessing what the Emperor himself could do with the surviving gene-tech on Terra that she pledged her loyalty to the Imperium to learn more secrets of gene-crafting.

One was a towering giant in golden armor with an ornate spear in his right hand. This was Constantin Valdor, Captain-General of the Custodes and officially the first of their number. He was in charge of the Imperium's progress in the Unification Wars, handing down strategic directives to the Thunder Warrior legions while giving direct orders to the regular Imperial army. But, he was no armchair general. He had stormed across the battlefield more than once whenever it was tactically or politically necessary. As all Custodes, he was a soldier and statesman both.

The final individual was not among those requested by Erda. She appeared to be a maid in an apron dress, but none of the psychic beings were deceived by her physical appearance. This was Lady Callidus, the Imperial assassin that was tangentially useful in the realm of politics. Technically, it was the Vanus Temple infocytes that were meant to infiltrate and investigate in secret. However, as it was occasionally useful for those assassinated to appear to be alive, Lady Callidus and her skills struck a unique balance between deception and violence that was useful within the Imperial Palace.

"Malcador." Erda said with narrowed eyes. "There are more here than I asked for."

"Lady Erda." Malcador replied as he bowed his head slightly. "I sensed that this matter would be political to some degree, hence I thought it important that all parties involved be represented."

"And you chose the one who can change their face at will?" There was a slight tinge of sarcasm in Erda's voice. Representation often meant recognition. To choose a Callidus Assassin for that role was oxymoronic if not down right paradoxical.

"Who better to represent an organization that should not be recognized?" Astarte interjected with her raspy voice as she eyed the hooded Isha curiously.

"Well said." Erda nodded. "But, I have a guest here. I will not have one with those questions in her mind before her."

Astarte snorted as a strained smile crossed Malcador's face. One did not need to be a psychic to guess what the assassin was thinking if they knew her for long enough, and everyone in this room had been acquaintances or partners for at least 300 years.

"Lady Erda…" Malcador said as he sent the Emperor a pleading look. Imperial Regent he may be, but when it came to Erda it was only the Emperor who could override her orders. Yet, the Emperor remained quiet this time.

"It is fine." A musical voice sounded through the chamber, causing every remaining muscle in Astarte's body to tense. She was the only non-combatant in the room, and ironically the youngest of all the people there. But, she had not survived this long on Terra without picking up a few tricks. Line after line of memorized chemical reactions and genetic code went through her mind, allowing her to hold onto herself by using her obsession with knowledge to shut out the warbles of birds and trickle of creeks.

Isha pulled back the hood covering her face, while returning to her Aeldari height and form. "So long as she gets her answer, she should be well behaved."

Silver eyes crossed over each individual, reflecting each one as she gazed at them.

Astarte fixed her eyes on the table before her, well aware of the dangers of interacting with any psychic being. Not much was needed for them to worm their way into the mind of their victims.

The other three returned her gaze with varying degrees of emotion.

Malcador gave her a weary look, before shooting another at the Emperor. Bringing an alien deity to Terra was out of character for the Emperor. As his oldest friend, the Imperial Regent was worried about what this change in behavior meant more than anything else.

Constantin Valdor did not blink as her eyes met his. He hadn't blinked once since she had entered the room. His eyes had remained open to ensure he wouldn't lose sight of her for even a nanosecond. Yet, there was no emotion in his gaze or face. It was impossible to tell whether he was wary of her, or merely acting as any Custodes would. After all, the Custodes are not human enough to blink.

The assassin remained immovable, still taking the form of a maid. Even after being called out, her pride as a shapeshifter caused her to refuse to return to her original form. But, the burning question in her mind seemed to grow as she felt Isha looking at her.

"Fine." Erda sighed. "Satisfy her curiosity."

Isha walked up towards the assassin, who merely bowed her head and curtsied. The alien was a guest of Erda's and her disguise demanded she treat her as such.

Isha's right arm blurred, and there was a small spray of blood.

A long needle, slightly bloodied, was grasped in Isha's right hand. On the maid's body, a small pinky-sized hole had opened in her side. It was the exit wound where Isha had plucked the poisoned needle hidden underneath the assassin's skin.

Isha's hand flipped the needle around, holding it like a dagger, then slammed it into her own eye. There was the dull sound of warping metal, then the Aeldari goddess lowered her hand.

"This is your answer." Isha said gently as she slipped what remained of the poisoned needle into the front pocket of the assassin's apron dress. It had split apart down the center, spreading open like a whisk. The Aeldari's silver eyes were unblemished, without the slightest hint of irritation or reddening.

'Can I kill that?'

That was the question that always appeared in the assassin's mind whenever she saw something or someone new.

She couldn't react when the alien had plucked the needle from her body, and any physical attack might as well be useless against whatever the alien was made out of.

Lady Callidus bowed again, still keeping the form of the maid. She had her answer, and expressed her thanks in the only way she could with her current form.

"I know you think you're lowering your communication skills to our level…" Erda huffed. "But, a physical demonstration like that just makes you look barbaric."

"Oh. Was I that obvious?" Isha snorted as she turned back towards Erda. "Even more so, am I wrong?"

"No." Erda replied. Lady Callidus was the one who was rude first in that regard. She had appeared before Erda's guest with dangerous curiosity. "Thank you for your succinct answer." She said sarcastically before turning to the assassin. "You can stay now. Take whatever form you wish."

"Thank you, Lady Erda." The assassin finally spoke as her face and hair returned to their original shape and color. The hole in her body closed up as she reformed her flesh, staunching the bleeding.

"To think, I'm the one closest to human." Astarte said with dry laughter. Out of all of them, she was the one who looked least human with her almost mummified appearance. However, compared to the psyker, the Custodes, the shape-shifting assassin, as well as whatever Erda, the Emperor and the alien were, she was just very old.

"My Emperor." Malcador said, rising from his seat with his staff before turning to his friend. "May I assume you will share the reason for your decision with us?" He bowed his head, ensuring his question would not appear insolent or sarcastic. His free hand gestured towards Isha, indicating what the decision in question was.

"Rise, old friend." The Emperor replied. "Although I understand the situation is odd for many of you, I shall share with you what has happened to lead us here."

—-------------------------------------------------

The room remained silent after the Emperor finished speaking. Naturally, he had omitted Isha and Erda's conversations, as well as his attempt to re-wrap Isha in chains when they reached Terra. He also left out any mention of gods or god-hood and his own history.

To summarize what he did share; he discovered Isha on one of the planets he intended to recover some more gene-tech from. She helped him lure the Aeldari refugees into a trap while preparing a trap of her own for him. The two of them fought to a stand still, and read each other's mind entirely during the fight. Then, Isha had agreed to help him unify humanity in return for future assistance with her species' war against Chaos.

Of course, his definition of salvation also remained hidden as well.

"My Emperor." Astarte was the first to speak up. "How much Xenos knowledge may be shared with me?" Of course, her one concern was her craft. Although she specialized in operating and recovering artifacts from the Dark Age of Technology, she would gleefully take anything else she could get her hands on. Seeing Isha's physical and psychic abilities had also aroused her interests. The Space Marines were lesser copies of the Emperor's genetics, yet they were superior to any natural born human. She could not stop wondering what she could create if she had access to Isha's genetics.

"None." The Emperor replied firmly. "You have not reached my level of expertise in gene-crafting. You do not have the right to ask for more when you have yet to master what you have been given."

"As you say my Emperor." Astarte replied. It was a long-shot, but she expected the answer. "Lady Isha." She said, turning to the Aeldari. "What can I offer for your knowledge?"

Malcador and Erda both sighed simultaneously. This was to be expected. Astarte had always served the warlord with the greatest access to gene-tech and Dark Age of Technology artifacts. Until now, she only had the techno-barbarian warlords of Terra to offer her services, but it appeared she truly didn't care who or what she pledged her allegiance to.

"Nothing." Isha replied. "But, I commend your bravado and fool's bravery for asking to serve another before your current patron." Sarcasm and amusement was mixed in the Aeldari's tone, but Astarte only shook her head.

"I have neither, Lady Isha. I ask now because now is the only chance I have."

"Oh?" The Aeldari raised an eyebrow. "Why is that?"

"I speak before Lady Erda and her guest." Astarte answered. "The Emperor cannot harm me if you, the one who fought him to a stand still, accepts my service. He cannot stop me from speaking at this meeting convened under Lady Erda's orders without tarnishing her hospitality. Therefore, it is only now that I can speak freely without fear of punishment."

"Clever little creature." Isha chuckled, amused by her political guile. "And arrogant as well. You think yourself valuable enough to survive slighting the Emperor after this meeting and its protections end?"

"Should you reject me, I have nowhere else to go." The over-aged woman shrugged. "I do not fear death or torture at this age. I know too much to be thrown out of the Imperial Palace. Thus, the only threat available is the withholding of knowledge and restriction of my craft. Both are counterproductive to the Emperor's goals. Besides, I have no choice but to be loyal to the Emperor. He has known this from the day we met, and it is because he knows that I only serve my craft I will never betray him. Although…" A proud smile pulled her wrinkled lips back to reveal pearly white teeth. "I do admit I believe I am still useful to him."

"Interesting." Isha laughed. "But, I have no interest in you or your services, human. Although, I suppose it may serve your Emperor if I answered the odd question about gene-crafting in general. But…" She fixed Astarte with a cold stare. "Do not pester me. Charity should only be accepted, and not asked for."

Astarte bowed her head quickly, sending the few strands of white hair attached to her bald scalp fluttering like cut kite-strings in the wind.

"I shall await you in my laboratories should you find yourself in a gracious mood."

"You will only talk to her after I have heard what you are going to share." The Emperor ordered Isha. "Astarte serves me, and I will decide what she needs to know."

"So your master says." Isha shrugged, speaking to Astarte. "But, as his student and disciple, you should show reverence to his decision."

"I do every day by serving him and no other."

"How very human." Isha laughed as she turned towards Erda. "Arrogant, obnoxious, unrepentant, and avaricious to no end."

"Indeed." Erda gave a tired sigh before smiling softly. "But it is those traits that make them endearing."

"Quite." Isha nodded. "Perhaps I should have said it was child-like instead. I could have used those words for many of my children as well."

"Enough." The Emperor interrupted. "Malcador, do you have any comments?"

The Imperial Regent remained seated, stroking his staff with one finger. He was the most directly involved in this, as he was about to lose his 'friend' Ael Wyntor to the Aeldari.

"If she has all your secrets, my Emperor, then there are only two ways to ensure that data breach does not destroy us." He stated calmly. "If silencing her is out of our capabilities, then cooperation is the only option."

"An obvious observation." Isha snorted. "So, you say to my face that you trust neither me nor Erda's hospitality."

"It is my responsibility to doubt." Malcador said with a polite smile. "It is the ones closest to the individual that must ask the most questions."

"So he says." Isha flashed a sarcastic smile towards the Emperor. "You have a good friend, Master of Mankind. Despite ignoring him so often, he still does his duty as confidant." She turned away from the entire group and readorned her hooded cloak. "Erda, shall we leave the rest of them to debate what they shall do to me?" She spoke as she shrank and ears rounded.

"Well, if they have no intention of sharing their thoughts with us, then it cannot be helped." Erda shrugged. "Come, assassin. I have a favor to ask my guest, and I will need your help with the details."

The female assassin reassumed her disguise, and followed the two woman-shaped beings as they exited Malcador's retreat.

Neoth sighed internally while his physical form kept up the persona of the Emperor. He could still tell where Isha was at all times, so her leaving his sight did not do much to hide her activities. Additionally, Erda seemed to have some sort of agreement with her as a kindred maternal deity that restricted her actions. Still, that wild personality of hers and unrelenting tongue was exhausting.

"I shall return to my laboratories." Astarte said as she stood up. "Ezekiel has free reign there while I'm away, and I'd like to reclaim my position there."

"Amar." Malcador called out.

"I know when to keep quiet." The old woman croaked back. "You don't survive as many warlords as I have without knowing when to keep your mouth shut and when to speak."

The blast doors and shields opened and shut, leaving only the Captain-General, the Imperial Regent, and the Emperor in the room.

"I must ask." Malcador began. "Could you not have killed her?"

"Do you think I did not attempt that?" The Emperor asked back.

"I believe you did, once." Malcador replied. "But, I cannot see how she can resist even one blow from you now."

Malcador was an accomplished psyker, and was capable of reading the strength of metaphysical beings to some degree. The Aeldari goddess was far far weaker than the Emperor as he was now. In fact, she was barely equal to Erda who was on her deathbed. A sufficient number of greater daemons could overpower them, which was part of the reason Erda remained either near the Emperor or under the protection of one of his wards.

"The Aeldari do not die easily." The Emperor repeated the adage all survivors of any conflict with the Aeldari often repeated. "She would find a way to make things worse for her killer than her jailer."

"And is that what we intend to do to her?" Malcador said as he turned towards the Emperor. "Imprison her here with you?"

"Not at the moment." He shook his head. "Erda has invited her as a guest, and that means something to the both of them."

Malcador sighed, then gave a tired smile.

"Having another secret we cannot expose to anyone is not a major issue. We have billions of them already." A thoughtful expression crossed his face then. "But, I do not trust Xenos."

"You do not trust anyone." The Emperor stated bluntly.

"You have me there, old friend." He said with a laugh. "I question everyone and everything, and it is that feature that has allowed me to be your confidant."

"That is the privilege of having the same dream as me."

"A dream on the cusp of becoming reality." Malcador stood up from the chair and summoned one of the data tablets towards him with a bout of telekinesis. "We have come far. Conquering Terra with the same resources all the other factions have theoretical access to has taken time, but the conquered peoples do not question our power. The fear of thunder has been firmly ingrained in them." A map appeared of a single legion of Thunder Warriors 5000 strong patrolling the wastelands of the Franc. "After Avelroi, Urartu, and the Ethnarchy the changing of the guard can commence. We can finally shed the last dependencies of the techniques from Old Night, and begin a truly human reconquest of the stars." Malcador's wrinkled hand tightened its grip on the data tablet. "We are so close, old friend." He whispered.

"Do you fear that my change in behavior jeopardizes everything we have done?" The Emperor asked quietly.

"I do not fear. I question." Malcador replied as he put down the data tablet and looked into the brown eyes of the Emperor.

The two stared at each other for a while as the Captain-General of the Custodes watched the both of them quietly.

Finally, the Emperor flashed a small smile that was returned by his friend.

"Reading the mind of an alien while being read by it was taxing." He said, rephrasing what had happened between Isha and him. "I have seen things from different perspectives, and learned how to say the same thing with different words." He put an armored hand on his friend's shoulder. "Yet, my goal has not changed. Salvation, for all humanity."

Malcador let out a small sigh. He believed his friend's words. He had to, or there was no point to his questioning.

"But you might have changed how you want to get there." He said as he patted the armored hand upon his shoulder.

"Yes. I have." The Emperor said as he withdrew his hand. "Perhaps I have grown soft through the experience. I find myself considering Erda's pestering to use dialogue instead of destruction."

A dry chuckle came from Malcador's throat. Pestering was not how he would have described the fights between the two of them. It was only his psychic gifts that allowed him to watch the two of them argue.

"There have been times that I too have asked for your leniency, and been refused it." Malcador added on, pulling another data tablet towards him. Upon it were several proposals on countering religious zealotry. Legislation based around regulation rather than prohibition were written down in detail, but all of them had been rejected by the Emperor in the past. "If you wish to take a softer style in your rule, I will serve you as I always have as the Imperial Regent."

A frown crossed the Emperor's brow as he took the data tablet from Malcador. Religion was a touchy subject on many levels for him, but it was also the most draconian portion of his rule. Many churches, covents, monasteries, temples, and shrines had been burned to the ground at his direction. More than once, the people who lived there remained inside as stone ceilings collapsed from heat stress-fractures created by the Promethium streams launched from Heavy Flamers.

"Knowledge corrupts." The Emperor said quietly, handing back the data tablet to Malcador.

"To be forewarned is to be forearmed." His friend countered.

Spirituality and religion were intertwined with the beings of the Warp. The multitude of Priest-Kings and Ethnarchs that plagued Terra with strange boons or mutations was proof of this. Yet, to be completely oblivious to the concept of the immaterium was like living in a sterile bubble. One perforation, and those inside would be exposed to infections and disease they had no immunization against.

Malcador had proposed several means of immunizing the populace against religion beyond simple prohibition. Allowing minor cults to grow and eventually self-destruct in a controlled manner would allow the religious to sully their own image for them. Letting a few false prophets more interested in selling 'power crystals' and 'healing bath waters' than any actual belief loose for a few months before arresting the fraudsters and revealing who they were could also nurture a healthy skepticism against all those who brought strange promises of salvation. Whether such mundane tactics would have any effect against the temptations of the Ruinous Powers was unknown, but it would be better than nothing. After all, such social events were what gradually drained the strength of religion from before Old Night.

Enlightenment dispelled the need for religion to explain things, but skepticism was also required to reject and renounce all those who brought temptations of eternal salvation.

However, to experiment with spirituality risked looking into the depth of one's soul. Since the soul was connected to the immaterium, to look deep into one's self risked peeking into the realm of thoughts and dreams. For almost all individuals, what they would see would be harmless or so incomprehensible it would be as if they had seen nothing at all. Yet, it was still a risk that the Emperor had not entertained until now.

Failure was impossible for him, so leaving the entirety of the Imperium unimmunized was a non-issue, so long as the bubble of ignorance remained unbroken.

The Emperor's brow creased even further, then relaxed as he let out a sigh.

"I will contemplate the matter." He said softly. "Thank you. Malcador."

"I am your friend, my Emperor. I will stand by you regardless of whether I agree with you." The old man bowed his head. "No matter how harshly you treat me or the insults you may throw at me, I will remain." Malcador's voice dropped to a whisper as he said the next sentence. "If I do not do so, I have no right to be at your side."

The armored hand of the Emperor patted Malcador's shoulder gently twice in thanks.

"Valdor." The Emperor called out to his Captain-General, who had remained immobile this entire time. "Do you have anything to say?"

"No, my Emperor." The Custodes replied in a surprisingly dulcet tone. There was nothing for him to do here. Isha could not be killed with Valdor's spear, and the politics here operated with a different mental arithmetic to that of the Imperial Palace. There was a more emotional touch to it that could not be mimicked by the Custodes. Therefore, the correct answer to this problem of statecraft was to remain silent.

Constantin Valdor had no emotions, just like any other Custodes. Everything was a problem that required a solution, and he was here to appraise what sort of problem the Emperor's partner and Erda's guest was.

At the moment, he had no solution to provide, and there was no extra-information the Emperor would give to elaborate on the situation. Hence, he had nothing to say.

"I see." The Emperor replied, as if he had expected Valdor's answer. "Both of you, follow me to my office. We shall discuss what to do with Avelroi and the Thunder Warriors."

 

[Nidhog153]

---

Erda and Isha rode on one of the private shuttles of the Imperial Palace that ran on suspended rails beneath the various aqueduct like bridges. It was a small craft, not much larger than an automobile, but it moved at near supersonic speeds on its electromagnetic rails. Lady Callidus was seated in her disguise behind them.

"There is much innocent blood spilled where we are going." Isha said as her ears twitched.

"Of course there is." Erda replied. "We travel to one of the assassin temple training grounds."

"The Vindicare Temple." Isha muttered as she reviewed Neoth's memories.

"Their attrition rates for initiates is far higher than the others." Erda spoke sadly. "Some of the trainees are enrolled despite being unfit to survive the training."

"And what do you want me to do about it?" Isha asked. "Your Emperor and Imperial Regent approved this project, and all its methods."

A Vindicare assassin is constructed from a human. The term 'constructed' is accurate, for when a Vindicare assassin finishes his or her training, they are a biological machine that simply carries out its orders.

Move. Aim. Fire. Move. Aim. Fire.

Love. Anger. Fear. All of it is cut out and replaced with muscle memory and tactical scenarios to assassinate as many targets with as little energy necessary. They are all marksmen of impeccable skill, and even greater patience.

"Part of the training process involves the dulling of their empathy." Erda sighed. "They enroll children to fail on purpose, to deaden the emotions of their more valuable candidates without excessive physical harm."

"That was what was decided to be necessary by your son." Isha's voice was terse. "Do you think I can unilaterally interfere just because I am your guest?"

"No, but I think I have an alternative to the current state of affairs. Your kind enjoys deception, doesn't it?" Erda flashed her a sly smile.

The bits and pieces of information Isha had clicked together, and her eyes narrowed as a predatory grin stretched across her lips.

"So, you want to save those lives while ensuring the trauma your son wants is still instilled."

"I can tolerate their deaths, but that doesn't mean I want to." Erda shrugged. "But, like yourself, I am also limited in what I can do for my children. That is why I need your help."

"You shouldn't need my help." Isha snorted. "Dead as you are, you are still their home planet."

"The state I am in is only partially responsible for my inability to help them. I could work through proxies, but that does not solve the core issue that makes any act I try to do meaningless." Erda looked out of the window, looking down at the people walking to and fro over the various aqueduct-like bridges crisscrossing below.

"For time immemorial, the problem with the majority of humanity's struggles is a matter of distribution. Drought, famine, a lack of fuel, or even people. All of these are not caused by a total lack of resources, but an uneven distribution between different parties." There was no emotion on her face as she looked down from the window. "Humanity had the ability to solve all of its problems, but it never did." She closed her eyes and her brow furrowed. At the same time, her right hand came to her throat, as if she was having trouble breathing. "It is easy to blame the avarice of powerful men and women in high places…" She finally said after a while. "But, at its core, the issue is based on the behavior of humanity as a species." Erda's brow smoothed out and her hand dropped into her lap. "Humanity as a whole does not do things without a purpose. The purpose may be horrible or meaningless, but it still exists. Likewise, I cannot save someone without ensuring there is a purpose for it."

Isha stared off into the distance. Erda was a goddess living with her own choices, just as Isha lived with hers. Isha could not dictate how her children were to live their lives. Similarly, Erda also struggled with the result of a decision she had made.

"Is the lessening of their pain not a good enough purpose?" Isha said quietly as the shuttle descended into the darker parts of the Imperial Palace.

"It would be, if it lasted." Erda replied. "The initiates of each temple are taken from the orphans of the Imperium. It is due to this mass acceptance of any and all children who cannot be cared for by their parents that the level of crime and economic hardship is lesser in Imperial controlled regions than in others." Her hands clasped together in her lap. "If I were to save the children, it would also have to be in a way that gave them a purpose. It would be irresponsible for me to throw them out of the temples and onto the streets. More suffering would come from that than letting things progress on their own. Better for them to die in the temples than become prey for criminals, or become criminals themselves. At least their deaths have a positive effect there for the future of humanity, creating the weapons necessary to end conflict before it begins."

"I guess that is doubly true with the state you are in." Isha said as she looked at Erda, inspecting her from head to toe.

"Correct." Erda smiled sadly. "Terra cannot sustain human life without the technology from before Old Night. Likewise, I cannot sustain any human life on my own. If I simply took the children with me, they would eventually feel as if they were exposed to the raw environment of Terra."

"Is that why Leetu has his helmet on around you all the time?"

Erda gave a slight nod.

"If he didn't, even his Space Marine physiology would eventually give out in my presence."

Terra was a dead world. The very air was mildly radioactive, and if it wasn't for the gene-tech used by almost every techno-barbarian tribe and their serfs, humanity would have died out a long time ago. Erda was synonymous with Terra, and expressed the effects of its environment on all humans in her immediate presence. She managed to keep the worst of it to skin-contact, but only the enhanced could survive being near her for extended periods of time without adequate protection. Children, with their smaller bodies and lack of enhancements, would be riddled with cancers and radiation sickness if they stayed near her for too long.

"And so, you ask me for a favor." Isha sighed. "Fine, but what do I receive in return? If possible, I would like to prevent myself from loving your children."

If she did, the decision that made her activate Asuryan's edict would extend to them as well, and she would be unable to take direct action with humanity.

"Hope for the future, the feelings of those children, and something to keep you occupied while you stay with us." Erda answered.

Isha let out a short laugh. The mother of humanity was craftier than her children gave her credit.

"Alright. I'll play along." She said as she turned towards Erda. "But, what about the other children? The children who do not fail?"

Erda wished to save the children from the assassin temple without jeopardizing Neoth's plans. That meant that the children who would become the killing machines for the Imperium would be left in the temples.

"I can only save all of those I can." Erda said quietly. "Someday, I hope they can be free as well." Her voice trembled slightly, and it sounded higher pitched and younger than it should have been for a woman of her age. "At the very least, they will have the survival skills to have a chance to live through whatever this galaxy can throw at them."

The shuttle began to slow as it reached its destination. The assassin temple appeared to be a simple administratum building darkened by shadows like many other buildings at this level outside the Sanctum Imperialis but still within the Imperial Palace. The shuttle detached itself from its electromagnetic rails and unfurled several propellers. Its rotors took it half-way up the building to a VIP entrance balcony.

"Assassin, contact the Director Primus of the Vindicare temple." Erda said before the shuttle docked and its doors opened. "Inform him that there will be a new way of disposal for the dropout."

The disguised Lady Callidus nodded and exited the shuttle first. Left alone, Erda turned to Isha.

"Here, take this." She said as a single raindrop formed and suspended itself above her palm. "I may not have much, but humanity still lives upon me. I have means of recuperating myself. You do not."

Isha touched the droplet of water, and it was absorbed into her as if it had hit desert sands.

"I guess this will do." She said as she drew back her hand.

That was a small portion of psychic power that was exchanged between them. It was miniscule, but it would be enough to assist Erda's little charade.

—-------------------------------------------------

There was a dull thud as a child's body hit the stone floor. Hundreds of others were on the ground with them; either completely limp or huddled in the fetal position. Bruises varying from red to dark purple covered almost every surface of their skin.

"Exitus Acta Probat." A bald muscular man said. His body was covered in a skintight black bodysuit which fit over his ergonomic physique. "The outcome justifies the deed." He spoke, referencing the motto carved under the stone relief hanging above the dark underground sparring arena. The only illumination came from harsh spotlights pointed downward on the children from above, following their every movement while blinding them to everything outside the small circle of light around them.

"Today you learned what it means to survive. Feel no shame in doing that." The man walked over to one of the collapsed children on the ground. "A weapon's worth is in its function." His hand closed around the throat of a fallen girl, dragging her up as she gagged. Her limbs were in too much pain to struggle or fight him. "To cease function is to cease being useful." His forearm bulged as his fingers began to tighten around the child's windpipe. "Those of you still standing are still functional. You have survived using whatever means you had at your disposal."

Several of the standing children looked down at their hands. Their knuckles were red and bloodied, and they sported broken bleeding noses or back eyes on their faces. A few had pebbles or rocks they had grabbed from the ground while fighting their sparring partners that dripped with blood.

"Now, this is the outcome of your deeds." There was a crack as the child's neck broke in the man's grip, and he tossed the limp body to the ground like a used rag.

"You have saved your own life, and taken your opponents. This is the purpose of a weapon; to preserve life through the elimination of another." The bald man walked over to the next fallen child. This one was less badly wounded, and had the strength to squirm on the ground like a worm trying to wriggle away from a bird. "Exitus Acta Probat." The bald man repeated as he turned to the sparring partner of the child who lay before him. "Your opponent is still functional." He said calmly. "A weapon's worth is in its function." The child before him trembled under his gaze. "Do you want to survive, or not?" The question was asked as casually, as if asking for the number of sugar cubes one would like in their tea.

The child's fists trembled, then he stepped forward. He looked down at the child on the ground, face swollen and lips bleeding. His hands reached down, grabbed the child's head, then slammed it into the stone floor. Again and again, he smashed his opponent's skull into the stones, destroying the brain inside the bone while saving his knuckles from further abuse.

There was a crunch, and the small body spasmed once before lying still.

"Exitus Acta Probat." The bald man said as he walked away from the child, frozen with his opponent's head still in his hands. "This is what it means to survive."

Suddenly, the man stopped mid-step. He tilted his head slightly, then nodded.

"You have another lesson in survival today." He said calmly. "In the wild, the strong eat the weak. Now, you will witness what this means."

There was the rumble of the cargo elevator that led to this underground section of the assassin temple, hidden in the darkness created by the spotlights. Pneumatic pistons hissed loudly as the doors to the elevator opened, then heavy footsteps sounded throughout the arena. Several new spotlights turned on, and focussed on the source of the sound.

A beast with a red face and six eyes stared at the children. It was the height of three men and had the girth of five more. Vicious raptor talons sprouted from each of its fingers and toes. Thick hair covered its back and chest, yet the corded muscles could be clearly seen moving underneath its fur. It walked forwards quickly to the body of the girl with the broken neck, then swallowed the body in a single mouthful.

"This is what it means to be weak." The bald man continued, standing to the side to ensure he was out of the beast's way. "Exitus Acta Probat."

The clawed creature swallowed the boy with the broken skull next. He was sucked into its maw feet first, pulling his head from his opponent's limp hands. One by one, the collapsed children were swallowed by the creature, leaving only a few stains of blood from nose bleeds or cuts on the floor.

After swallowing the last fallen child whole, the beast turned towards the bald man. Its lips quivered, as if suppressing a growl. The bald man merely stared back at it, unemotional, but his suit seemed to bulge as his muscles prepared themself to move.

A single second passed, and the beast turned away, lumbering into the darkness as the spotlights turned off. Finally, the pneumatics of the doors to the cargo elevator hissed as they closed, and the elevator rumbled again as it lifted the creature away from the sparring arena.

"You are nameless." The bald man spoke again, walking in front of the children who remained. "You do not exist. When you cease to function, nothing will remain."

A few of the children stared at the blood stains where their peers had been a few moments ago, breathing erratic and afraid.

"Exitus Acta Probat." The bald man repeated again. "You are here because there is a deed that must be done. You are here because the Imperium requires your future service."

He clasped his hands behind his back and spread his feet shoulder width apart. "30km run, starting now. All who fail will be taken to be fed to the animal you just saw."

—-------------------------------------------------

The Clawed Fiend sat in the cargo elevator, ears flicking irritably. Its chest and stomach bulged in and out awkwardly, rearranging the individuals inside as their broken bones and organs were repaired within the oversized crop that was not part of its original physiology.

Finally, the elevator reached its destination and the door opened revealing Erda and the Callidus assassin in her maid disguise waiting beside a number of boxes filled with pillows and air tanks.

"I sensed two on the verge of death." Erda spoke as the Clawed Fiend stepped off of the elevator. "Were you able to save them?"

The beast nodded, then wretched. Its fanged mouth opened wider with each attempt at regurgitation. Finally, several children were vomited out; unconscious but completely unharmed with unblemished skin.

"Place them in the boxes." Erda ordered the assassin. Her hands wavered for a moment, stretching out towards them before pulling themselves back.

After spitting out the last unconscious child, the Clawed Fiend began to shrink and morph back into the Aeldari form of Isha.

"Your son's Imperium is brutal." She said bitterly, picking up one of the unconscious children and placing them in a cushioned box to be smuggled out of the assassin temple.

"They are a necessary evil, according to Neoth and Malcador." Erda sighed irritably. "Admittedly, an assassination incurs less casualties than war, but the training process is unkind to say the least."

"And so the lives of the many are saved by the sacrifice of the few." Isha spat as she attached a breathing mask to another child's face before closing the lid on the box.

"That is the ideal for any utilitarian society." Erda said sadly as she stepped away from the children. 'Assassin, have the preparations been made for their rooms in the Sanctum Imperialis?' She asked with sign language, sending an angry glare at the current leader of the Callidus Temple.

'They have, Lady Erda.' Callidus replied in sign language. 'These children will be smuggled into the Sanctum Imperialis officially as part of the candidates for Astarte's Space Marine project. After that, they will be redirected to the rooms assigned for Lady Isha's usage.'

"Good." Erda breathed a sigh of relief, then switched to telepathy to communicate with Isha. 'Now, we only have to repeat this performance at the Callidus, Adamus, and Eversor Temples.'

'What about the Venenum, Vanus, and Culexus Temples?' Isha asked.

'The temples of the poisoners and information gatherers do not use the same methods to traumatize their initiates into obedience. They can wait.' Erda said tiredly. 'As for the Culexus, I doubt we can pull off the same trick there. Their null-fields will begin to erode your disguise.'

Isha frowned. The Culexus Temple specialized in converting the strongest Blanks into anti-psyker assassins. Their mere presence would block out the Warp, and revert the immaterial to nothingness. Her disguise was based on shifting her immaterial essence into the shape she wished. Hence, she too would feel their effects.

'I can hold their effects back, if I had more power.' She offered. Isha was a goddess. Even the strongest Blanks could not resist her, if she had enough psychic energy to punch through their field.

'I have no more to give.' Erda shook her head. 'Omega level Blanks are rare, and the Culexus Temple's efforts are currently focussed on research and development for their wargear at the moment. That means the children are looked after well in comparison to the other temples. They cannot afford for them to die, at the very least.'

Her shoulders visibly slumped at the admission. She too would feel the effects of the Blanks' null-fields, and in her state it would feel like being dipped in a vat of acid. Yet, she worried about them all the same.

Isha sighed as the last child was sealed into a cushioned box with a canister of breathable air.

'So, we move on to the next step of your ploy.' She communicated mentally as she turned towards Erda.

'We do.' Erda nodded. 'If an alliance with your children and mine is going to be seriously entertained, diplomats who are used to you and your culture will be necessary.'

'And since there are no other Aeldari here, you wish for me to educate them.'

That was the hope Erda spoke of earlier. The children who had their deaths feigned in front of their peers would not be remembered nor recorded anywhere. Hence, there was a great degree of freedom away from official oversight. Therefore, educating them in something as unimaginable as the mannerisms of Xenos for the purpose of peace was well within the realm of possibility.

'I cannot nurture them. I cannot even touch them.' Erda said as she stared at her hand. 'I cannot simply free them with nowhere else to go either. Neoth will simply round them up and send them back to where I took them from.' Her hand balled into a fist, nails digging into her palm. 'But, if they are with you, they will have a purpose.' She said as she turned towards Isha. 'Neoth and Malcador will have their assassins. You will have a future hope for cooperation with your kin.'

'And you?' Isha asked, raising an eyebrow.

'I will not have to listen to them weep and die in the darkness.' Erda replied with a sad smile.

The mother of humanity was not deaf to her children's cries. She merely could not act either due to the cruelty being necessary for the Imperium, or being conducted by the Imperium. Even if she could act, her very touch would spread radiation and pollution into their bodies.

Thus, she sat in the dark laboratories of the Himalazia mountains, feeding the last sons she could raise with what remained of her divine blood.

"Then let us move on to the next temple." Isha said the words out loud. "We will need many to have any hope of bridging the gap between our species."

"Indeed." Erda nodded as the first sealed boxes containing the smuggled children were picked up by mechanical arms and loaded onto a barge destined for the Sanctum Imperialis.

 

[Nidhog153]

I heard the crack of breaking bones, and my body went limp. The master then threw me away, but only my head hurt when I hit the floor.

He was saying something, but I couldn't hear what he was saying. The world went in and out of focus, dimming before becoming unbearably bright then dimming again.

I couldn't breathe. My lungs wouldn't work.

'Help me…'

I tried to speak, but everything hurt so much I could only form the words in my mind.

The floor vibrated for a moment, then I heard something walking towards me. Deep footsteps reverberated through the stone floor. Finally, a dark shadow passed over me as a taloned foot covered in thick black hair landed right in front of my eyes.

Something soft picked me up, then I felt myself passing through a tight tube that was warm and wet and dark.

*Gasp!

I woke up with a start. The pain was gone and I could breathe again. I had been tucked in under a white blanket. Several other children were asleep around me in soft looking beds. The room I was in was dimly lit, but I could see that there were more beds around me.

Instinctively, I listened to the rhythms of breathing as the master had taught me. Each breath had a distinct sound that should be memorized and followed. Each breath could tell me whether they were functional or close to breaking.

There were at least several hundred different breaths around me, and all of them were slow and drawn out. It sounded like the rhythm of temporary incapacitation. At this moment, I had the advantage over all those around me.

"Awake already, are we?"

I froze. Before I could even process what I heard, I could feel something bubbling up inside me. The voice I heard was musical, but I could feel my heart rate increasing. I was losing control. The master would not forgive that.

—-------------------------------------------------

"A weapon must always be under control." The master said as we were lined up against the wall by him and his trainers. Today, he had a pistol in his left hand.

"Stand there without moving." He ordered us, and we all stood with our backs against the wall.

There was some metallic clinking and a small animal was brought out in front of us on a leash. It sniffed at the floor, then looked up at us with big black eyes. There was a slight sheen on its wet nose. Then it barked and wagged its tail.

"Look at the creature before you." He said, and we all focussed our eyes on the furry thing. "Exitus Acta Probat." He repeated the line carved into the stone relief that hung above us, then he pointed the pistol at the animal's head and fired.

I felt the boy next to me flinch at the sound, then the master pointed the pistol at him, and fired again.

15 times, the master's pistol fired. I knew because I counted the number of times it roared after he pulled the trigger. It was important to memorize things like these, for the master might ask us a question at the end of today's lesson. I could not see where all the shots landed, for the master had told us to stand here without moving. So, I kept my eyes still, locked onto the bloody remains of the animal brought before us.

The only two I could see who were shot were the people immediately to my right. The master shot the boy, and the girl next to him. She had twitched when the boy's blood spattered her cheek, so the master shot her next.

"Control begins with calmness." The master said as he lowered the pistol. "What you see before you is all there is. Nothing else matters." The master began to walk towards us. "Stand at ease." He ordered, and we all took the moment to blink before clasping our hands behind our backs and spreading our feet to shoulder width.

"What is in front of you?" The master said as he turned to one of the children to my left.

"It is a dog, sir." I heard the voice of a young boy sound out.

*BLAM!

There was a thud of a body hitting the floor, then the master's boots clomped against the floor as he stepped in front of the next person in line.

"It is meat now." The master said. "What is meat?" He asked.

"It is sustenance, sir." This time it was the voice of a young girl.

The master didn't say anything, and proceeded to the next person in line.

"What is sustenance?" He asked.

"It is fuel for our operation, sir." A young boy replied.

Again, there was no reply, but the master's footsteps rang as he walked down the line.

"What does it mean to operate?" He asked.

"It means to maintain function until the order can be carried out, sir."

The master stepped forwards again, and this time he stood before me. I could see the barrel of the gun in his hand as it raised and pointed at my face.

I did not blink, nor did I move. Anyone who could not control themselves enough to stare straight down that barrel had been shot and converted into meat long ago.

"What is the order?" The master asked me.

"To serve the Imperium by eliminating the target, sir." I answered.

The pistol lowered and the master walked away from us.

"150 pushups, starting now. All who fail will be added to today's sustenance." He said, and we all got down from where we stood and began following his orders.

—-------------------------------------------------

I felt nothing at the time. I could not afford to feel anything. Feelings were a loss of control. But now, I could see and feel things that I should not from that voice. I heard a bird sing and thought it was beautiful. I heard the trickle of water and felt calm.

I scrunch my eyes shut and grit my teeth while covering my ears with both hands.

Exitus Acta Probat. Exitus Acta Probat. Exitus Acta Probat.

The outcome justifies the deed.

The outcome justifies the deed.

The outcome justifies the deed.

I repeated the master's words over and over in my head to block out the voice.

We had a purpose, and what we went through was just a part of producing the necessary outcome. It was normal. It was natural. It was the way the world worked.

A smooth skinned hand wrapped around my forearm, and pulled me up away from the bed.

I lashed out, striking out with my free fist blindly.

I cannot lose control. I cannot lose control. I cannot lose control.

A weapon that cannot be controlled cannot carry out its function. A failure to carry out function is a failure of operation. A failure of operation means being converted into meat.

I do not want to be converted into meat.

A soft hand placed itself behind my head, and pressed my face into something soft. I smell the sweet scents of flowers.

No, it is just the scent of the reproductive organ of a plant. The master taught us that they draw in insects to use them with their smell. The source of this smell is just trying to trick me. It is just another trap, another method to make me lose control.

If I lose control, I will be converted into meat, like all the others who lost control.

I struggle to get away from the hands that hold me. I cannot be near whatever this is. I need to retreat and reconsider my options. I have to re-establish control. I need to…

A lullaby begins next to my ear. The musical voice… Her musical voice brings back memories I had buried long ago.

I wasn't always in that dark place. I wasn't always fighting to survive for every second of my life.

There were two people who took care of me. There was a man and a woman. I used to laugh and run around them. But, I can't remember their names or faces.

Family. That was what I used to have.

Water comes out of my eyes, and I scream into the breast of the person holding me, letting out a muffled howl against their skin.

Soft fingers caress the back of my head as her other hand pats me on the back.

"Mama!" I cry. "Mama!"

That was what I used to say when I dove into the arms of the woman who was my family.

My body went limp as I cried and cried, soaking the white fabric of her clothing.

She held me the entire time, singing softly as she cradled me.

Eventually, voice hoarse and head heavy, I fell asleep in her arms.

—-------------------------------------------------

I awoke again in the same soft bed I woke up in last night. Daylight shone through a number of high-up windows. I could hear other children waking up around me. Their breathing was getting shallower and quicker.

Slowly, I pushed myself out of the bed. We were in a large room with smooth white walls and red carpeted floors. I felt the fabric with my feet, testing its safety. It was soft, but there was definite hard ground underneath it.

There were many many beds filled with children around me. I counted the number of rows top and bottom, and did some quick multiplication. There were almost a thousand of us here. I could recognize some from the stone sparring arenas we had been forced to live in. I did not know their names. None of us had any. A weapon does not have a name.

"Good morning Lorien." A husky feminine voice came from behind me, and I whipped around. I felt no presence there. I heard no breathing. There should have been no one behind me.

My eyes met a pair of gray eyes belonging to a woman with pointed ears and red hair kneeling by my bed. Behind her, I saw a few hundred other women with the same ears but different colored hair walking amongst the beds, waking the other children. They were all very tall and willowy. Yet, they all moved like the master used to. Precise, perfectly balanced, and with purpose.

"If you are awake, then get out of your bed." The woman said sternly. "There is much to do today Lorien."

It was at this point I realized she was referring to me with that name. The red haired woman sighed and stood up.

"My name is Elalindra." She said, turning to the children around me. "I and the other women here will be looking after you from today. Sit there staring any longer and you will miss the morning meal. Now, stand up and make your beds."

—-------------------------------------------------

'At the same time', an Aeldari with blond hair and silver eyes stood before the Emperor beside a woman of Arabian descent. Both wore brown cloaks, but the hood part was off at the moment.

"One day after your arrival and you're already causing mischief." Neoth grumbled.

The three of them were in his office within the Sanctum Imperialis. Several pieces of ancient Terran artwork and literature were placed on the walls, or encased behind plexiglass cases on marble plinths. A stained glass window was behind the massive desk that they all stood in front of, coloring the light that shined through it and painting the wall and floor in several different hues.

He was standing before them, like the headmaster of a school before two regular troublemakers.

"It was at your mother's invitation." Isha shrugged. "I may be an accomplice, but shouldn't you direct your first complaint towards the instigator?"

"Hush now." Erda pouted. "These things often start at the bottom, then go to the top. If I am the one who envisioned this act, then it is natural that you should take the blame first before anyone gets to me."

"So, you mean to cut me off like a lizard's tail?" Isha snorted.

"It is the duty of a servant to protect their master." Erda laughed with one hand covering her mouth. "Even if it is just a farce, you could try to at least act like you're buying time for me."

"We were summoned here together." Isha huffed. "I think it is too late to avoid whatever comeuppance is coming."

"Enough." The Emperor's voice was calm, but there was a heaviness to it that was not there before. "I've talked to the Director Primus of each assassin temple." He continued in the same tone. "Since the remaining initiates think the others are dead, they cannot re-matriculate the children you took into their temples. The mental conditioning will not be as effective if those they thought dead came back." His eyes turned upon Isha, and she met his gaze defiantly. "In addition, as long as you continue visiting each temple to show off the 'beast', they have no issue with you taking the children who fail from now on." The Emperor blinked once, then softened his features as he chuckled a little. "I even have requests from some of them to make the 'performance' more visceral."

"Is that so?" Isha replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I can conduct a live demonstration upon their bodies if they wish."

"The addition of the sound of crunching bones or a little spray of blood when you swallow them will be enough, according to them." Neoth replied, remembering what the Director Primus of the Vindicare Temple had said to him.

—-------------------------------------------------

"It will save us the time getting the initiates used to the sound of violence." The bald assassin had stated over a communicator after finishing his report regarding the interruption caused by Isha and Erda to the Emperor.

"Will this not interfere with your operations?" The Emperor asked in return.

"I am an assassin." Vindicare replied. "No operation has the perfect environment. If the conditions change, then adaptation is necessary to complete the order."

"This is a large interruption." The Emperor pointed out. "Is your decision unaffected by the individuals involved?" Both Isha and Erda were powerful beings in more ways than one. If the Director Primus was compromising out of fear, that would be a greater problem than what the two goddesses had done. The assassin temples could not be allowed to cowed or threatened by anything.

There was a short pause, then the Vindicare assassin resumed speaking. "It is the same as taking a shot from a distance." He said, using what he knew best as an analogy. "Wind speed. Humidity. Lighting. The position of the target. All of these are out of our control, but that gives us no reason not to make the shot. Correction is all that is necessary to take out the target. The actions of Lady Erda and her guest are another factor out of my control. As an assassin, it is my responsibility to take them into account, and use them to my advantage if possible."

—-------------------------------------------------

"Fine." Isha replied. "If it's just sounds and a bit of red liquid, I can add that to the deception."

Neoth nodded, then turned towards the other goddess.

"As for you Erda, the matter is more serious." The Emperor said with a grim look on his face. "Why didn't you come to me before you acted?"

"I've told you my thoughts about the assassin temples." Erda replied, returning his glare. "107 children would not have made it if we had arrived a second later."

"My Imperium murders thousands everyday." The Emperor's boots rang against the marble floor as he stepped to stand in front of Erda. "In the past hour alone, my Thunder Warriors have ended the lives of over 500 humans of all ages on this planet. Will you interfere with them as well without asking me?" His shadow loomed over her as he looked down at her.

"If it will save a life that I can, I will." She replied, unafraid, unmoved by the threatening posture.

The air seemed to grow heavier as the two stood there, and the pages of various books turned on their own behind the plexiglass as the paintings on the wall shook.

"As the Emperor of this Imperium, I cannot allow that." He finally said. "The children you saved will remain with Isha, and she can continue collecting the dropouts. Their food, clothing, and other amenities will be provided by the Imperial Palace's budget." The doors to the Emperor's office opened and two Custodes in dark gray armor, ornamented with gold, with red pauldrons marched in.

"However, you will remain in my laboratory from now on." The Emperor said as Erda watched the two Custodes from the Shadowkeeper Shield Host approach her. "I will have two of my Custodes escort you and LE-2 there. If you need to speak with me or do something outside the laboratory, then you will have to gain my approval through them."

"So, you will imprison me?" Erda said sadly as she turned back to the Emperor.

The Shadowkeeper Shield Host were the battalion of Custodes that acted as the wardens of the Dark Cells. It was their duty to ensure dangerous objects and individuals from Old Night remained where the Emperor had left them.

"This Imperium is not a playground." The Emperor said grimly. "There are procedures and laws that must be obeyed."

Erda bowed her head and remained silent.

"Take her back to her shuttle and return her and LE-2 to my laboratory." The Emperor said as he looked up to his Custodes. The two jailers nodded and walked towards Erda. One offered his hand to her, as a gentleman would to a lady who needed an escort. Erda gave the Emperor a sad smile before turning and accepting the hand of the Custodes. The Shadowkeeper who took her hand turned and began to lead her out of the Emperor's office, as the other took up the rearguard position behind her.

Isha held her tongue until the three of them had left, then turned towards the Emperor.

"You imprison your own mother but let the alien free?" She said angrily.

What happened to Erda was unfair. The mother of humanity could not be expected to ask for permission for every act. If there was a child about to be hit by a truck, one does not go to the police to ask if they can be allowed to jaywalk to save them.

"As much as I would like to blame you, you were just a tool in this situation." The Emperor growled as he walked around his desk and sat behind it. "Additionally, I can tell where you are at any time as well as what you are doing through the scar I left. That was why I allowed your little venture when I sensed you nearing the assassin temples in the first place. Not to mention, Lady Callidus was with you, and it was she who kept me updated on the situation."

"Then isn't this a little excessive?" Isha gestured to the door Erda had left from. "There was no harm done."

"It is the principle of the matter." The Emperor's right fist clenched as he spoke. "What happens when there is nobody near her to inform me of what is going on? What happens if she acts against me in a way that I cannot cover up?"

This act had taken place in complete secrecy, but there was no guarantee the next interference would. If the Emperor was not at least notified, the consequences may expose Erda and some of the more sensitive projects associated with her.

Having the Imperial Assassins follow her or monitor was not a guarantee either. Erda's strict refusal to call them by their names indicated that she merely stomached what they did to create more of their number. If she wanted to, there was a good chance she could evade or eliminate them.

"Every critical failure is preceded by smaller faults." Neoth said as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Erda's flaunting of protocol is one such fault that cannot be allowed to grow into a failure."

"She acts in humanity's interests as a whole." Isha huffed.

Erda's acts were not random, nor were they totally selfish. She moved to save as many people as she could. After all, that was the way she had been envisioned as the mother of humanity.

"Yet, she is powerless to save it." The Emperor replied grimly.

Isha sighed, then walked around the Emperor's desk right up to his chair. The height difference between them meant that she still had to look upwards to meet him eye to eye, but she drew close enough to him that they were mere centimeters apart.

"I will warn you, Master of Mankind." She whispered, stressing the last word of his title. "Erda is not a human who can be convinced. Her priorities cannot be changed by using a carrot and a stick. She may look and act human, but there will be dire consequences for treating her like one. You may buy time by cajoling her into doing what you want with force, but she is just like you. She will do anything to save humanity in the way she sees fit."

"Then, what do you propose?" Neoth said quietly.

"Allow her to act as she needs to, just like my family did in our Pantheon." Isha said as she stared into his eyes. "If you cannot do that, bind her in chains and rob her of all freedom."

Neoth snorted and turned away. "Just like Asuryan and Khaine did to you." He muttered.

That was the result of Isha's and Kurnous's unilateral act of speaking to the Aeldari despite the edict.

"If you want to truly change how she thinks, you would need to engage her in a divine debate just like I did with you." Isha said quietly. "However, I doubt she would survive the process."

"Because she is weakened?" Neoth asked tiredly.

"Because Xozer fell." There was no emotion in Isha's voice, just the pronouncement of a diagnosis she had made based on everything she knew about Erda.

Neoth grit his teeth at the name. "There was no choice." He hissed.

"Perhaps." Isha replied gently. "I do not make a judgment of whether what was done was right or wrong. It is merely the order of events that lead to this sorry situation the both of you are in that I describe."

Neoth closed his eyes as his brow furrowed. For a moment, the two deities sat and stood there for a while.

"Can you help me?" Neoth finally said, face still scrunched up with frustration.

Isha remained silent for a while, and anger deepened Neoth's frown as it began to well up in his heart. Then, she opened her mouth to speak.

"Erda is a deity created when humanity was united on this planet." Isha said softly. "If there is a chance to restore what she was, it is there." Suddenly, she placed a hand on his shoulder, and the skin that touched him flashed gold as similarly colored sparks jumped away from the point of contact. "But, that is a double edged sword, Neoth." Isha's eyes bored into Neoth's own, imploring him to listen. "The closer you get to uniting humanity, the stronger she will become. If she breaks free from the constraints you put on her now before you can reconcile with her, I do not know what she will do."

There was only the crackle of golden sparks for a few moments, then Isha pulled away from him.

"I did not expect her to so proactively enlist my assistance in saving some of her children." She said as she stared at the door Erda had left from. "However, as a fellow maternal goddess, I can relate to her motivation for doing so."

"What is it?" Neoth asked.

"Desperation." Isha replied. "Terra cannot support human life, and it is only the technology from before Old Night that allows her children to persist. That fact motivates her to entrust her children to others who can take care of them where she cannot."

Neoth leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face with one hand.

"And I am not one of those she can entrust." His voice was resigned, exhausted, and depressed.

Why else would she keep coming into conflict with him if she could trust him?

There was a flicking sound, and he felt something hit his ear.

"If she didn't, she wouldn't work with you at all." Isha sighed as she crossed her arms. "I guess she doesn't trust you blindly, just like you cannot believe her interference will always have a positive outcome. Hence, she tries to spread her eggs around into different baskets."

Neoth shot her a quizzical look. It was obvious she had just flicked his ear.

"What?" Isha asked irritably as she put her hands on her waist. "Do you regret bringing me to Terra already for complicating your life?"

"... No." Neoth finally replied as he dropped the matter. "I do not understand Erda as a goddess, or as a mother." A small smile crossed his face. "I appreciate your advice. Thank you."

"Advice is not worth anything if it isn't followed, so you do not owe me anything." Isha snorted. "I'll keep it in mind until after you repair your relationship with Erda."

Neoth shook his head, chuckling to himself quietly. He couldn't tell whether it was her way of telling him to hurry up and make amends with Erda, or a roundabout way of cheering him up.

Perhaps this was how Aeldari expressed the phrase 'You can do this!' to each other.

But, most of all, he could feel the nosey and meddlesome parts of Isha's maternal nature coming through. One part irritation, one part impatience, and mostly a desire to see some effort put in to make things better.

Taking in a deep breath, he reset the atmosphere of the room.

"It isn't related to this, but I have something for you." He said, changing the subject.

"Don't you mean someone?" Isha said as she narrowed her eyes.

"You really are no fun." Neoth sighed as he leaned back in his chair again.

"Half of my children's blood runs through his veins. I can sense him approaching." Isha snorted.

Neoth sighed, then returned to his persona as the Emperor.

"Malcador has released Ael Wyntor and the body of your child." He announced as he rose from his chair. "I decided to have both of them sent here, since the rooms below are occupied with your future diplomats."

"He seems scared and uncertain." Isha commented. "I wonder if I can go give Malcador a flick on the forehead." An angry smile began to twist the ends of her mouth upwards.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't." Neoth warned as the doors to his office opened again.

---

A/N: I don't usually do these post chapter A/Ns, but I felt it worth it since I didn't get the opportunity to explain why the tone might have shifted from comedy to grimdark really quickly in the text.

As depicted in the side stories, what happened to the Aeldari during the War in Heaven was horrific. As the Aeldari reincarnate, they are effectively stuck in a death loop fighting an enemy that defies all reason with no end in sight. Isha had to watch that for millions of years, so she is used to seeing extreme stress and trauma.

Erda is also hardened to suffering, as she has watched humanity since its birth. She knows just how cruel they can be to one another, and the almost unlimited amount of suffering they can create.

The training that these children endured is mundane from that perspective. It may be horrible, but it could be worse. As Erda mentoined, these orphans had a high chance of ending up on the streets without the Imperial Assassin Temples. If they were left to become street urchin, an infinitely small number might have been adopted or rescued by some good samaritan. However, it would be much more likely that they would end up dying from hunger, dehydration, violent crime, or in the process of some pervert's depraved hobby. In that light, death during training in the Assassin Temples is not the worst thing that could have happened to them. At the very least, their suffering is for a utilitarian good. All the other death would have truly been for no purpose.

If killing tens of thousands of children creates an assassin who can stop a civil war that will destroy even more lives, then that trade is worth it.

This is why Erda stomachs the creation of the Imperial Assassins. However, she is still quite bitter about what happens to the children, and that is apparent in the way she talks to Callidus. It is in some senses an unreasonable outburst of anger, but Erda herself is not a 100% reasonable individual.

Neoth is not given the same treatment for two main reasons.
1. This is not the worst thing he has ever done.
2. Treating him that way would be counter-productive. He would become even more entrenched and less responsive to anything Erda would say if she pushed him away from her in the same manner.

The assassins' emotions are already dead. They either don't care that Erda is angry with them as they know she will not interfere, or understand Erda's anger as an unfortunate but predictable response to their actions. She knows this, which is why she allows herself this small bit of spite towards them.

In a sense, this shows some of her more caring tendencies. The only direct acts against any human she takes are effectively meaningless or harmless, as the individuals involved either do not care about it or can live with it.

Another reason the deities can go from joking or laughing about things to topics of death and destruction is because the deities actively try to dwell on the positive side of things. Isha in particular described this the best for herself in Chapter 26:

"There is no point submerging myself in misery. Better to walk forwards with a laugh and a smile." The goddess laughed sadly as she curled up in the alcove. "Besides, sorrow and suffering are the beginning of my miracle. Steeping myself in them too long would be dangerous for me and for you."

Click to shrink...

It is analagous to the gallows humor many police, firefighters, morticians, paramedics, and ER nurses use to get through their daily life while being exposed to horrific events. (e.g. accidents, crimes, deaths, and injury of all manner)

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N: Thank you Naranka and Skyborne for reading through the setting information for Xozer.

A/N2: Apologies for the second REALLY long A/N, but since we'll be seeing things during the Age of Strife on Terra. Here are a few terms and technologies that might need to be clarified beforehand.

Nuclear weapons:
These are referred to as 'atomics' on Terra during the Age of Strife AKA Old Night. There are three major classifications of atomics.

1. Dirty atomics: Dirty bombs. These aren't actual nuclear weapons. They're just bombs with radioactive material stuffed into them to irradiate and poison as many people as possible. They are also used to 'ruin' the genetic codes of the nobility of various groups on Terra. This is not only done directly by the mutagenic radiation, but also done by damaging the electronic data of their genetic code that might be stored in data centers or cybernetic archives. Ionizing radiation can fry semiconductors at high enough levels, or given enough time. They can also be used to deny access to the quarters, artifacts, and possessions of these nobles by irradiating the area so badly it is near impossible to approach without suffering from severe radiation poisoning. This prevents the nobility from recovering their heirlooms and artifacts, effectively robbing them of their power and legitimacy to rule.

2. Atomics: 'Standard' nuclear weapons. This classification includes both nuclear fusion and fission bombs. To the ignorant, both are just really big explosions that release radiation. As a side note, mathematically, hydrogen bombs release as much radiation as conventional nuclear fission bombs and are just as likely to give you cancer or leukemia. These are used to utterly destroy a location, which is pretty much their intended use today.

3. Pure atomics: These are very rare Dark Age of Technology nuclear weapons that create a miniature star stabilized by using dark matter as part of the device's core. Their intended targets are usually protected by several layers of Dark Age of Technology void and ion shields, so the energy of the device needs to be applied for a continuous amount of time to penetrate all the layers of shielding.

To clarify, the three terms above were organized by myself after reading where these weapons were used and their effects in canon. The way pure atomics function is an entirely original creation by myself.

Volkite Weaponry:
I had the pleasure of talking with Red Flag about these weapons. After looking through table-top rules and codex entries, I've slightly re-touched how these weapons work. In canon, they are horrific to use on biological targets, but don't have the greatest armor penetration. The tabletop game rules reflect this. Las cannons, meltas, and plasma based weapons have higher armor penetration and sometimes greater strength than Volkite weaponry of similar size. Volkite weaponry only has a special rule that makes any wound a mortal (unavoidable) one on certain dice rolls.

To summarize how the Volkite beam functions in this story, they fire muons/higgisons within a laser column that acts like an enlarged set of optical tweezers. The laser burns or attempts to burn through armor, clothing, and the dry epidermis while carrying the muons/higgisons. When these muons/higgisons interact with heavily electro-positive hydrogen like those found in water, it replaces the electron of the hydrogen atom, creating a hydroxide ion and a heavy version of hydrogen with a greatly reduced atomic radius. When several of these modified hydrogen atoms get close enough together, they spontaneously fuse due to no longer being repelled by the electron clouds that are supposed to keep them apart.

So, the TLDR of this weapon is any meaty target that gets hit by the beam is turned into a miniature hydrogen bomb over time. The number Red-Flag came up with for handheld Volkite weaponry was conversion of 0.001mol of hydrogen should result in a 14 megajoule explosion. That's an explosion with a blast radius of 99% lethality at 3m and a 50% lethality at 3.6m assuming no shrapnel is generated. (Which there will be a lot of since bone and other pieces of personal belongings will be flying everywhere.)

This fits the portrayal in the game Boltgun. Any enemy that is exposed to the beam for long enough explodes, killing everyone in a small radius around them.

As a side note, a wet target is not easy to kill with a Volkite weapon. The laser column vaporizes the exposed water before the muons/higgisons can get to them, reducing the density of the water molecules. This results in a lot of smaller pops happening in quick succession, and not a single large explosion. Water that has been incorporated into protein crystals (like those in cells) are trapped where they are, and that buys the time for the muons/higgisons to convert enough of them to detonate the target.

It is also a very bad idea to fire Volkite weapons at any water source. It will blow up, sending superheated water and steam everywhere. However, if you can find your enemy's water supply, you could inflict a lot of damage with a well placed shot. You will also need significant personal protection/armor to fire this weapon in the rain.

In canon, all land-based Volkite weaponry fires beams. However, all orbital versions of Volkite weaponry are warheads or bombs that are deployed against planets.

I've put this down to Volkite weaponry being mediocre at getting through armor, which is what most ships are covered in. Their unique properties to convert water into hydrogen bombs is also not that useful, simply because you're not guaranteed to hit something that can be converted by the muons/higgisons in the enemy ship. Additionally, opening several holes in the hull is just as bad, and you only need a lance beam or macro-cannon shell for that.

---

Erda sat across from Leetu. The Space Marine and her were in the passenger section of their shuttle. One Shadowkeeper Custodes watched them while the other occupied the cockpit.

She smiled sadly to herself. Her son had returned to her and talked with her. He may have even gained a new confidant to talk to. But, here she was, once again being sent away in order to serve him as another part of his Imperium of Man.

Perhaps this was the way things were fated to be. Even if his personality had returned, he would end-up making the same choices as before. But, that should not have been surprising. He was the Emperor, the Protector of Humanity, and the Master of Mankind. So long as he kept those titles, he would never be free from his fate.

The geiger counter within the shuttle began to crackle and beep, indicating an increase in radiation levels within the ship. The Shadowkeeper Custodes in the passenger section turned his head towards her slightly, and Erda raised a hand in apology.

Slowly, the geiger counter grew silent as she let out her stress with a long sigh. Her mind replayed the events with Neoth almost an hour before.

'Was I unfair to him?' she wondered.

Erda did not lie when she said she could not ask for his approval to save a life. The lives that could wait for such approval were not the lives she was compelled to save. Thus, she could not make that promise.

She could have mollified him by simply speaking the words of obedience, but it was she who had said that 'a deity's word should always be kept'. It would serve as a poor example as a parent to not follow her own advice.

'In the end, was it foolish to hope that things could end differently, Neoth?'

Her hands clasped together tightly as she felt pain jab throughout her body with every pulse of blood through her veins.

There had been thousands of disagreements between them. There had been thousands of arguments, and during them millions of hurtful words had been traded by both sides.

Even then, she wanted to watch over him. She didn't have the strength to protect him anymore, but he was still her son.

Then again, he was just one of her many children.

He may be the one who was most like her, and one of the very few who could talk to her as an equal. However, if his life were placed on a scale against any of her other children, she would choose the ones which could not protect themselves.

Erda's figure blurred slightly, showing a mature woman and young girl sitting there silently with their hands clasped in their lap. She was unsure of what she could do now and what she should do from now on. However, the old hag pinched her chin between thumb and forefinger as she scowled to herself. Her thoughts were going back to the past. Bitter memories rose and sank back into her mind until she came upon the moment of no return.

The moment all of Terra's recorded history was burned.

The moment the majority of Terra's population was killed.

The moment all hope for a self-directed future and the restoration of Terra died.

The Fall of Xozer.

—-------------------------------------------------

In the time of Kalagann of Ursh, our most glorious overlord, long-forgotten cities were routinely sacked, or burned, or simply evaporated in nuclear storms. Seas were regularly stained with blood, skies with ash, and landscapes were often carpeted with the bleached and numberless bones of the conquered. When armies marched, they marched a billion strong. The ragged banners of a million standards swayed above their heads in the atomic winds. The battles were stupendous maelstroms of blades and spiked black helms and baying horns, lit by the fires of cannons and burners.

Kalagann's general, Shang Khal, had assembled a significant horde of irregular levies from the southern client states of Ursh with the help of Lord Martial Anult Keyser. These forces were used to support his main armed strengths, including the infamous Tupelov Lancers and the Red Engines during the invasion. The Nordafrik technogogues had preserved a great deal more high technology for the good of their conclaves than Ursh possessed, and sheer envy, more than anything, motivated the war. Kalagann was hungry for the fine instruments and mechanisms the conclaves owned.

Eight epic battles marked Shang Khal's advance into the Nordafrik zones, the greatest of them being Xozer.

-Chronicle of Ursh: The Fall of Xozer

—-------------------------------------------------

A woman of Arabian descent sat in the stern corner of the bridge of the Bucephelus. Her body and face were covered by a brown hooded cloak. However, the cloak did little to hide how unwell she was. Everyone on the bridge could see the material quiver as her body shivered under it, as if ravaged by a heavy fever. They could also hear her breathing; laborious and pained interrupted by the occasional pained gasp.

Commodore Agesilaus pulled his eyes away from her and turned to his Lord in golden armor standing beside him at the holomap.

"My Lord, the situation on Terra grows dire. Lady Erda's condition worsens by the minute."

The Commodore's brow was furrowed with worry, and nervous sweat dripped from his chin.

"She is my oldest companion." The giant in golden armor answered, and his head turned slightly as if to look at the much smaller man. But, before he could complete the movement, the giant's thick jaw clenched and he forced his eyes to focus on the holomap. "She knows my limits, and what I am capable of. She will tell me when the time comes, not you."

"As you will, my Lord." Agesilaus saluted, dropping the matter. The warning was clear in the tone the last two words were spoken with. He did not wait for a return salute. His Lord could not turn in his direction, for to do so meant he would have to look in Lady Erda's direction. His Lord was not a patient being under normal circumstances. Watching Lady Erda suffer earlier had frayed his meager temper to the breaking point. If he turned towards her again... If he saw what was happening on Terra through her, he would lose what remaining reason he had left.

"How far has the Omnissiah gone?" His Lord changed the subject. "We must determine what we can salvage, before there is nothing left."

"The God Machines Truth code has not received a new block from the remaining nodes of the federation's super-luminary communication network." Commodore Agesilaus answered. "Therefore, the Omnissiah still remains on a local network of less than star system size. That also means we have no means of tracing it back to its current location." The Commodore added a filter onto the holomap, displaying all of the systems that had been cut off from the human federation's networks. The blackout started from Sol, then spread out from system to system. Each one of them was removed from the list of possible locations the Omnissiah could transfer its data to. "Destruction of all network nodes proceeds as planned, so the avenues of its escape are decreasing as we speak. The only medium of communication left for these systems is the Warp."

Agesilaus felt a bitter taste in his mouth as he said the words 'as planned'. He was the 16th Commodore to say those words over and over again. Tearing down an interstellar communication network as well as all its redundancies while burning the backup systems and archives was a grueling task. The majority of his predecessors had died of old age while following that plan.

"Commodore!" One of the technicians on the lower bridge suddenly shouted. "Part of the fleet has been pulled out of the Warp by MoS (Men of Stone) null-fields! Transmitting details to central holomap!"

A list of ships and affected battlegroups appeared on the holomap, as well as the source of the null-fields that had diverted them out of the Warp. It appeared the Men of Stone ships that had obstructed part of their fleet belonged to the orbital defenses of a planet close to a region of 'Calm Space'. These regions were prime candidates for Warp gate construction due to the more predictable currents of the Warp that were linked to certain regions of the galaxy. Since there was no Warp Gate here, the planet must have been a more recent acquisition by the human federation.

"We don't have time for this." Agesilaus's Lord said quietly, then turned to the rest of the bridge. "I will be taking direct control of the situation." His voice boomed. "Order the rest of the fleet to reverse course and prepare to exit the Warp. All ships are to fire upon all non-friendly ships immediately upon return to the materium. We will attack the enemy fleet from two flanks; the ships that were pulled out of the Warp, and ourselves." He turned to the technicians in charge of the Bucephelus's internal systems. "Shift all power to the Bucephelus's shields and engines. Load all ordinance silos with Volkite warheads."

"My Lord, the ships pulled out of the Warp have not reported any attacks. They may have simply run afoul of the planet's automated defense grid." Commodore Agesilaus whispered to the giant after the orders were given. "We do not know whether the planet associated with the MoS null-fields has been affected by the Omnissiah or not. They may still be human."

"That term…" His Lord's voice was deep and rumbled like the growl of a great beast. "is reserved for all those who follow my path."

"As you will, my Lord." Agesilaus gave a salute, and the giant in golden armor returned to the holomap. Cold sweat drenched the Commodore's back. It was not easy questioning the being before him, but he had to make the effort. This was supposed to be a mission to save what they could of humanity, but with every passing day it seemed more like they were just burning everything to the ground. He turned around to the woman huddled at the back of the bridge, and saw a single tear stained eye pointed at the back of his Lord, begging him to stop.

—-------------------------------------------------

Xozer, the heart of the Nord Afrik Conclaves, and the site of Terra's rejuvenation. Massive solar arrays, protected from the abrasive sand filled winds by built in miniature ion shields, provided the heat energy necessary to distill vast quantities of well water. Heavy metals and radioactive particles were removed from the toxic liquid drawn up from ancient mines with this method. Further filtration removed the organic solvents and chlorine compounds that could not be removed by the distillation process. Finally, special centrifuges were used to separate out the toxic heavy water from the normal water. The heavy water was electrolyzed to form breathable oxygen and deuterium or tritium for their nuclear fusion reactors. The more important normal water was used to wash away the toxic fallout from the dirt that came from Terra's nuclear apocalypse. It was only after this long and arduous cleaning process that the rejuvenated soil could be shipped out to the agricultural zones outside the city walls, and placed back down to be reirrigated with more purified normal water to restore the vitality of Terra's soil.

To protect all of this from the elements, special resins were molded into protective sheets that could cover Xozer's farmlands. The airtight seals protected the plants and microbiome from the rad storms while holding in the precious moisture Terra's desiccated winds threatened to drink dry.

Yet, even with all these technological marvels, it was Xozer's religious hierophants that retained control over the city. They proclaimed these technologies to be gifts from ancient gods, for although they could operate these machines, they did not understand them. Investigation into how they worked was forbidden. Religious reverence was one reason, but there was also a fear that attempting to disassemble any of these machines to figure out how they worked would result in the destruction of an irreplaceable artifact and nothing else.

Ofcourse, as all things, economic interests also ensured that no efforts were made to replicate the devices. Artifacts are priceless precisely because they are unique. Once an item can be regularly replicated, it is only artificial scarcity that keeps the original's value.

This concept of forced or artificial scarcity has long been with humanity. When the world still ran on fossil fuels instead of Promethium and nuclear fusion, oil cartels reduced production and refining to strangle the market of the energy it needed to run. Hence, by decreasing the effort they put into their work, they increased the value of the oil they had already siphoned out of the ground. This paradoxically lazy way of increasing the wealth they already had ensured they had a larger voice in global politics than they deserved.

Naturally, the hierophants' monopoly on the rejuvenating technology of Xozer could not be released from the hands of those with vested interests. Like a fat water seller in the desert, the hierophants of Xozer and the oil cartels drip feed their customers with a resource they were lucky enough to inherit from the earth.

Thus, it was for these three reasons of religion, practicality, and economics that Xozer never shared or expanded the methods to rejuvenate Terra's lands.

Yet, despite the pride, greed, and sloth of those in power, Xozer and its Nord Afrik Conclaves were a prosperous region of Terra.

Not only were they lucky enough to retain much of the technology of the ancients, they were also protected by the lands around them. A natural fort created by pollution and nuclear fallout kept them safe from invaders for decades on end.

Their northern borders with Europa were separated by a body of caustic sludge that was once called the Mediterranean sea.

Steep cliffs that used to be hidden by the ocean deterred any invasion from the west.

The southern borders, where much of the African continent's flora and fauna had once existed, were radioactive wastelands; so irradiated by atomics that even mechanical circuitry would short out from the ionizing radiation.

Their eastern border was the least defended, for the only thing between them and any invader was a massive desert. Unlike all their other natural defenses, this one had always been there. The sheer lack of life within this region had spared it from atomics and other weaponry that had decimated all the other regions.

It was from here that Shang Khal invaded.

—-------------------------------------------------

Over a period of nine days and nights, the war machines of the Red Engines blasted their way across the cultivated agroponic pastures and reduced them back to the desert, from which they had originally been irrigated and nurtured. They cut through the laserthorn hedges and the jeweled walls of the outer conclave, and unleashed dirty atomics into the heart of the ruling zone, before the Lancers led a tidal wave of screaming berserkers through the breach into the earthly paradise of the gardens at Xozer, the last fragment of Eden on a corrupted planet.

-Chronicle of Ursh: The Fall of Xozer

—-------------------------------------------------

Tolu Abdullahi was a guard upon the walls of Xozer. For more than a week, the sounds of war had echoed from beyond the horizon. The cries of monstrous creatures and the roar of colossal engines rumbled through the ground, interrupted only by the boom of atomic explosions that rang like the footsteps of a giant marching towards them.

Endless streams of refugees from the farming colonies on the outskirts of the conclaves' territory continued to enter the city through the gates below them. They were a mass of hooded cloaks and baggage from the height he observed them from; swarming to the city like lines of ants.

The walls he stood upon shined under the harsh sun, covered in diamond-like crystals. These were the focussing lenses for the laser defense system of Xozer. It was one of the few designs remembered by the technogogues from before the Age of Strife.

He looked back towards the 5th and 6th defensive walls which were within the original void shields that kept the city safe during the Age of Strife. The shields were at their highest strength, tinting everything inside with dark blue and purple hues.

Between each defensive wall was fertile farmland. He could see the dark brown of the tilled and watered soil.

That was what these walls had been made to protect. New ones were erected whenever the population of the city grew beyond the old. They served as both the first line of defense, and a preventative measure for conflict. Hiding the arable farmland Xozer created kept the jealous techno-barbarians and raiders ignorant. That was how Xozer had kept itself safe originally.

However, that changed in the past several decades. The sale of clean fertile soil beyond the walls had slowly allowed information of what Xozer could do to leak out to the outside world. Of course, it was not simple greed that motivated the hierophants to do so. A great famine had once ravaged the city due to a crop blight. Livestock starved to death, and it was only a matter of time before the people did the same.

The low ranking progressive Upashtar had attempted to overcome this crop blight by gene-breeding livestock. These genetically enhanced organisms could survive with less food yet would grow quickly to replace the animals that had died already.

As a result of their efforts, the Upashtar no longer walked the streets of Xozer.

In the end, thousands starved to death or died in the ensuing riots.

To prevent this from happening again, Xozer now dispersed its food production to several thousand satellite farms. The geographical distance separating each farm would ensure future blights would not kill all the crops. It also dispersed the risk of any future disasters. If there ever was another food shortage, all who bought Xozer's soil were bound by contract to share what they produced with each other and the city.

Tolu turned back to facing outside the city walls, only to have his ears assaulted by the megaphones built into the walls. They had begun blaring the hierophants' tri-hourly sermons.

He sighed as the same story of how Xozer survived and grew was repeated by the slow, droning voice of the hierophants. According to them, it was thanks to the divine will of god and the faith of their forefathers, but Tolu was skeptical of their claims.

The stories that came from the speakers every three hours stated that god had kept this single city safe. They were the only ones free of the genetic taint that had brought down divine wrath upon the people of Terra.

As a society, Xozer's fixation upon genetic purity separated their population into genetic classes. Each one was based on the degrees of deviation from the self-proclaimed 'originals'. The hierophants and nobility occupied the highest rank with their unmodified genetics. All others proceeded downwards to the next level. Greater numbers of so-called mutations and modifications relegated individuals to a lower class. Yet, despite 'pure' genetics being the only barrier between the classes, class-warfare still existed in Xozer.

This was the crux of the problem for the Upashtar. Their solution of gene-breeding was both a solution to the famine, and a way to improve their class's standing. Yet, the concept that gene-breeding or sculpting could lead to a positive outcome clashed heavily with the main-stream ideology within the city. It also provided an opportunity for the more conservative Xozerites to exploit. They accused them of attempting to feed the embodiment of sin to all of Xozer, and pervert the purity of their genetics with their invention. An incited mob killed all those who worked on the gene-breeding project. The Upashtar fought back, as expected, and that was all that was needed for the Xozerites to label them as heretics and condemn them all to physical and spiritual exile. Every Upashtar was rounded up, and sent into the underground factories. There, their gene-codes were re-written, destroying their intelligence and leaving them little more than dumb brutes who followed any order given to them.

As the ones who instigated the original mob, the Xozerites accepted the 'punishment' of dealing with what remained of the Upashtar. All of the mentally incapacitated men and women were sold into slavery. The Xozerites' coffers became full that day. As for the people of Xozer, they were distracted from their hungry bellies for a time. They celebrated for 'evil' had been destroyed.

At least, that was what Tolu's old commander had told him once. That man had always loved conspiracy theories. His lips grew loose during the long campfire nights they endured in the cold desert. He heard that particular tale during one of their patrol missions, when all other topics died out.

Regardless, of the veracity of the man's stories, the majority of Xozer's populace ascribed to this genetic hierarchy and the divine origin story of the city's birth.

Tolu was not one of them. He had seen too much of the realm of the ancients.

He and his company had been deployed on the border patrols in the past. Once, a sand avalanche forced them to take a treacherous route through the ruined wastes of the outer regions of Xozer's territory. There, he had seen the remains of megalopolises far larger than Xozer.

The skeletons of skyscrapers jutted out of the desert sands like the ruined tombstones of giants. Row after row they stood side by side, like the marker stones in a heavily occupied cemetery. Gutted remains of what must have been cannons of impossible size lay with barrels half-buried in the ground on the outer limits of a city tens of hundreds of times the size of Xozer. Centuries after being exposed to pure atomics that replicated the sun, the remains endured; showing that they were made of alloys that not even the technogogues of the Nord Afrik Conclaves could forge.

After walking through the ruined city of the ancients, Tolu could not help but be overcome by a massive sense of loss. This was what they used to be able to create, and now they could only stand and gawk at what their ancestors had once done instead of adding to their legacy.

When he returned to Xozer after that patrol, he found a burning question in his mind that almost clawed its way out of his throat.

What god protects a single city after allowing such ancient marvels to fall?

But, to speak out was to be silenced, just as the Upashtar were. So, he held his tongue, picked up his gun, and followed his orders.

Suddenly, Tolu's communicator beeped in his ear. He pressed down on the earpiece to make sure he would not miss what was to be said.

"EGD(East Gate Defence Group) 5-3-9 this is control. Bogey at East Gate. Bearing 65 degrees. Altitude 6km. Confirm visual. Over."

Tolu pulled down the optics attached to his helmet and checked the direction reported, as he spoke into his communicator.

"5-3-9, control. Wilco. Break."

His eyes found the target, and he finished his report.

"Visual confirmed. Roma patrol plane. Over."

"Connecting cam. Maintain visual. Over."

"Wilco. Over."

There was a short pause then the communicator crackled again.

"Dim sight. Maintain visual until Tango loss. Out."

Tolu hurriedly increased the opacity of his optics, darkening the image as he covered the bottom half of his face with a light brown scarf.

There was a flash of light as several of the crystals embedded in the wall let loose beams of photons focussed on the Roma patrol plane. The glare of the lasers made Tolu wince both from the heat, and the explosion that appeared in his optics as the plane was pierced from several directions at once.

"5-3-9, control. Return to guard duties. Out."

A sigh escaped his mouth as he unwrapped the bottom half of his face and returned the optics back to their default settings.

The armies of Ursh had located Xozer. That only meant one thing.

The gates below him groaned as they began to lower, and panicked screaming began to come from the people still outside the walls. Rapid gunfire followed, as the guards below unloaded their magazines into the remaining refugees trying to enter. Gas grenades were mercilessly thrown into the crowd to blind and confuse them, so they wouldn't be able to overwhelm the guards below by running in all at once.

Tolu looked off to the horizon so he could avoid staring down at the scene unfolding below him. Yet, he still heard the clang of the gate slamming shut and locking into place as well as the increased screaming of all those who had been locked out.

His eyes caught something moving, and he maximized the magnification on his optics. Brass beasts spewing smoke and fire walked forwards on clawed legs, followed by hulking brutes in thick metal armor carrying swords, spears, and guns.

"Control, 5-3-9. Over."

"Go-ahead 5-3-9. Over."

"Red Engines spotted. Bearing 87 degrees. Over."

"Connecting cams. Maintain visual. Over."

Tolu continued to stare at the approaching army as control took longer than usual to reply.

"5-3-9. Deny Kalagann his skulls at the East Gate. Over."

A grimace crossed Tolu's face, but he only shouldered his weapon as he answered his communicator.

"Wilco. Over."

"Roger. Out."

Tolu flicked off the safety, pointed his weapon downwards, and began firing Volkite beams into the crowd below.

Several meters to his left and right, he heard the other men in his platoon begin to do the same.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N: Since we'll be seeing things during the Age of Strife on Terra. Here are a few terms and technologies that might need to be clarified beforehand.

Sciomancy: Determination of fate using the dead, ghosts, or spirits.

Phantasmagorian: Adjective describing a state of constant shape-shifting/changing

Oneirocriticks: Psykers that specialize in fortune telling in general. How they do this varies from individual to individual, so fortunes are usually determined by taking statements from several at once and cross-referencing them against each other and current events.

Murengon: Ancient Scottish term for grimace. On Terra, it seems to be used to refer to a heavily defended position. As for the origin of this term, I guess it comes from the fact that a heavily defended position is difficult to deal with. i.e. grimace inducing.

Wrathskin: This term is not from canon, but it describes the armor used by the berserkers and enhanced soldiers of Ursh. It is similar to Space Marine power armor, but due to the Black Carapace not being invented, the armor is irreversibly melded to the user's body and connected directly to their nervous system. This means that it is almost impossible to remove the armor once it is put on.

---

On the opposite side of the battlefield, General Shang Khal of Ursh stood on top of a vitrified dune. He was a three meter giant, sealed in the power armor the Urshites called Wrathskin. Both of his armored boots were embedded in red-hot glass. The once polished plates of armor that encased him were rough with knicks and dents. What color the original metal was could not be seen under the black ash that had bonded with it. Vicious spikes jutted out from his knee guards and shoulder pauldrons. The optics on his helmets glowed a fiery red, making them the only thing not covered by soot.

Those burning eyes now watched scores of bestial Red Engines plod across the remains of farmlands. The heat exuded with their flaming breath immolated the buildings around them as well as the land itself, drying out the soil and turning it back into desert. Their brass clawed feet left molten footprints wherever they went, glassing the ground and incinerating what little biomatter was left within it.

Beside the Red Engines walked the factory produced soldiers made from the facilities that had survived the initial atomic war waged by their forefathers. The automated surgical tables and growth vats buried underground had allowed the processing of millions of the weak, the disrespectful, and the heathenous every day.

"General Khal." A figure also in fully sealed Wrathskin approached him. "The last of the Nordafrik's armies has been encircled and destroyed."

"Lord Marshal Anult Keyser." Shang Khal's voice was a calming baritone. Any who heard it for the first time would look around for another speaker; for such a voice could not come from the blackened effigy of war and death. Yet, this was the voice of Shang Khal. The man who commanded armies billions strong, and who had broken the defenses of the Nord Afrik Conclaves.

"That is good news." Shang Khal said without moving. "I believe the Roma were once again responsible for our victory?"

"Their patrol planes give us the advantage of intelligence." Anult Keyser replied. "It is easy to encircle an enemy who cannot hide from us."

The Nord Afrik armies used the desert to their advantage. Snipers hidden under sand covered tarps armed with Volkite Calivers would turn walking columns of infantry into a line of fragmentation grenades made of blood and bone.

Traps would be prepared using the land itself.

Unpurified water unfit for consumption could be pumped deep underground to create temporary groundwater streams. These would erode away the bottom layers of earth, forming quicksands that would swallow any enemy that tried to chase them.

Artificial dunes would be set-up using more dirty water and light resin pipes to allow the sands to stick together. With a couple of cleverly placed explosives added in, the man-made dune could be collapsed with a single button, covering the escape route of the Nord Afrik armies, or sealing in an enemy into a prepared kill-box.

Traveling in armored vehicles was impractical as well. Tracked and wheeled vehicles would break down from sucking in silica into their intakes, clogging their engines and filters.

Yet, the Nord Afrik armies did not rely on the desert alone to take out their enemy's means of transportation and mobile artillery. Mechanized columns had more than once found themselves falling into pitfalls covered by reinforced plastics that could support a couple tonnes of armored humans, but not 50 to 70 ton vehicles. Even when soldiers meticulously stabbed the desert sands with metal poles, all the Nord Afrik armies did was replace the pitfalls with a dispersed array of compaction activated shape-charges. Geysers of molten metal flying at supersonic speeds would erupt directly beneath any heavy vehicle, tearing through the thinner under armor and shredding its occupants.

For many decades, these desert combat specialists kept the border of the Nord Afik Conclaves safe from invaders. Widely dispersed troops traveling in small numbers would whittle down their enemies with traps, ambushes, and other guerilla tactics as they attempted to cross the dry dunes under the unrelenting sun.

Shang Khal knew their tactics, having lost millions of men on forced reconnaissance missions. He knew only a few would return, but he sent them anyway. After all, it was their duty to die so Shang Khal could see how the Nord Afrik Conclaves planned to kill his main force.

He quickly came to the conclusion that there was no way to predict their attacks or find their ambushes. They knew the deserts like the back of their hands, and their Volkite weaponry meant the forces of Ursh would always be outgunned.

So, he decided to trample over them with sheer numbers.

He took billions of slaves, serfs, servants, and civilians from the southern client states, and sent them into the underground factories of the ancients. There, they would be reforged into disposable tools of war that knew no fear. Only boundless anger echoed in their minds, which was kept in control by his Wrathsingers.

These berserkers would serve as the vanguard and sacrificial shield for his more experienced mercenaries and career soldiers.

He had their armor welded onto them, and their blood circulated through the armored packs they carried on their backs so the food and water that the Nord Afrik Conclaves would target would be encased in metal during transit and consumption.

Instead of tanks, he used the Red Engines. They were brass colored fire breathing beasts made of metal that fed on blood and skulls to proceed forwards. These creatures did not care if the dunes fell upon them, nor when the ground opened up into a muddy pit. They vitrified the sand into molten glass and emerged from where the Nord Afriks had buried them. Yellow sands would turn orange, then liquify as the Red Engines burst out of the sea of burning silica they converted the deserts into. They howled with the sound of screaming metal and growled with the crackle of hot sparks as they fell upon Shang Khal's enemies, shrugging off the Volkite beam for there was no flesh within them to convert into bombs.

With their ambushes and traps nullified, their targets covered in thick armor that could not be taken off, the Nord Afrik armies were forced to retreat to rethink their strategies.

But, Shang Khal did not allow them to do so. He had no intention of letting his enemies learn from him as he did from them. Lord Marshal Anult Keyser was key to this part of Shang Khal's strategy. It was his job to ensure all those who fled did not survive.

Keyser was a well connected man. His warrior spirit resounded with many mercenaries and warlords. Yet, none could ignore the importance of his lieutenant, Wilhym Mardol. He was an efficient organizer and procurer of supplies. It was he who ensured whatever verbal agreement Keyser made was reinforced with contracts and sweetened with trade agreements of much needed resources the various mercenary groups required. With Keyser's charisma and Mardol's mercantile mind, many warbands had sworn oaths to heed the call should Keyser ever need them.

The Roma, eternal denizens of the skies, were one such mercenary band. They were bound by honor bargains made with the Lord Marshal, and enticed by the promise of an endless supply of fresh soil and water. These mercenaries lived in the last surviving aerial-carriers from the Dark Age of Technology. Their mobile bases in the stratosphere kept them safe from the radiation storms and contaminated air most other humans breathed. Yet, they were unable to truly cut themselves off from the earth. Fresh soil and water were constantly scarce, for their internalized farms had been operating far beyond what they had been originally designed for.

This was what allowed Keyser to convince them to join him. In exchange for fresh soil and water, the Roma had lent their aid to Keyser. Their patrol planes told the Lord Marshal where the Nord Afrik armies fled as well as the state of the lands before them. Armed with that knowledge, the dispersed defense forces of the Nord Afrik Conclaves were destroyed one by one.

"Did the Roma provide any direct support?" Shang Khal asked Keyser as he continued to watch the Red Engines march forwards.

"No General. Their fighters remain in reserve for the final battle."

Shang Khal nodded to himself. The desert was particularly inhospitable to flyers of all kinds. The sand destroyed them in three ways.

Firstly, it would get sucked into the jet intakes or rotor engines when it was kicked up during take-off and landing. The sand would then melt inside the various components and harden into glass at high altitude or if the engine ever stopped. This glass would then either block or lacerate the various exhaust pipes and fuel lines within the craft. Thus, causing it to overheat or possibly even explode

Secondly, the sand itself would erode the bodies of the flyers themselves. This erosion would weaken the structure of the vehicle over time, and was lethal during combat maneuvers. Aircraft are designed to be as efficient and light as possible. A single invisible weak spot in their frame created by erosion could lead to them splitting apart from the intense g-forces evasion and dog fighting required.

Finally, the sandstorms that occasionally formed rendered large areas of the desert off limits to any flying craft. Even approaching one was dangerous. Microscopic silica traveled at insane speeds high up around the main storm. Any flyers that traveled through these invisible clouds of abrasive crystals would soon find themselves flying blind as their view ports and camera lenses would be scratched up. From there, it would be up to the pilot's skill whether they could manage to crash-land, or dive into the storm itself. The former option had a surprisingly high chance of survival, for the dunes of the desert were quite soft compared to other surfaces. The latter was a death sentence.

The Roma's flyers avoided all of these problems. Their aircraft never landed. The only time they stopped flying was to dock at their aerial carriers to recharge their batteries, and the carriers themselves cruised on the jet streams far above any storm

Yet, it was not out of fear for the Roma's well being that Shang Khal only requested their patrol planes at the moment.

"Good." Shang Khal said as he turned towards Keyser, pulling his armored boots free from the molten glass. "The oneirocriticks spoke of swarms flying through the skies at the start of this campaign. Although the hierophant's armies have had no air cover so far, I fear they may be holding their fighters in reserve for the last murengon."

Keyser's fists clenched and he shook his spike-helmed head to show the sneer hidden under it with his body.

"I do not trust the dream watchers General." Keyser grumbled. "They dabble in majiks and speak with djinni."

The oneirocriticks were psykers conscripted by Shang Khal. They specialized in reading portents and deciphering dreams. They had all spoken of swarms covering the skies when the last defenses of Xozer fell. Shang Khal interpreted this as a counter-push by the Nord Afrik that would seek to take his head. Many losing armies in the past had organized suicidal charges that struck down the command posts of the victor at the last second. This led to chaos and confusion of the battlefield, allowing any remaining forces of the losers to escape. Such an attack using aircraft might succeed, and even if Shang Khal survived, its effects would be devastating in the long run.

Shang Khal had drained the southern client states dry for this campaign. He had to finish this war at Xozer. Otherwise he would not have the soldiers to keep the stolen artifacts safe, nor the sacrifices to satisfy the Red Engines' continued terms of service. If he allowed a large enough force to escape, his remaining forces would be bled dry by the experienced guerrilla fighters and snipers of the Nord Afrik.

The Roma's fighter craft were held in reserve to prevent this final suicidal charge.

"I gave you the oneirocriticks for you to use. Do not take their skulls or spill their blood, for now." Shang Khal's baritone voice stated calmly. "What are their latest prophecies?"

"They prattle about the hierophants' sciomancy, and their phantasmagorian ways. But, all I see is weakness slaved to the falsehood of genetic purity." Keyser growled. "If it were not for the artifacts of the ancients they were lucky enough to inherit, they would have fallen to us a hundred years ago."

"Yet, we did not defeat them a hundred years ago." Shang Khal chuckled. "Only with the combined might of the armies of Ursh and the client states have we managed to gather enough men to overwhelm them." The General walked past the Lord Marshal, looking back at the rear end of his armies. "Only by relying on the strengths of pagans and apostates have we managed to get this far." Shang Khal said as he gestured to the sight before him.

Endless hordes of armored soldiers, Red Engines, and long lines of Nord Afrik prisoners chained together marched forwards. Spiked collars dug into the prisoners' necks, and the manacles were locked between the radius and ulna of their arms by barbed metal rods. Blood dripped down the swaying chains as the heavy links shifted the barb inside their wounds, breaking clots open, and sending fresh drops to stain the sands.

Some of these prisoners were soldiers who were unlucky enough to survive. They were not the ones who surrendered, for the berserkers of Ursh did not tolerate cowards. Those who threw down their weapons were fed to the Red Engines on the spot. These men and women were picked up from the sands, knocked out by chance or left behind to die due to their wounds by their comrades.

The others were farmers and civilians who had failed to run away in time.

At first, these chains held slaves and sacrifices from the southern client states, but the last of those had already been consumed. Now, locally procured blood, skulls, and souls filled the army's mobile larder.

"The Roma do not believe in our God, but they provide our troops with information our Red Engines and berserkers could never give us." Shang Khal continued speaking as he raised both arms, like a conductor before an orchestra; directing the chorus of sobs and occasional screams coming from the chained chattel. "It is only by using everything we have that we can finally liberate the gifts of the ancients from the greedy hands of the hierophants."

"I still do not see the point of keeping them alive." Keyser muttered. "The Nord Afrik dead do not rise from their corpses, nor do multi-colored monstrosities savage us from the skies."

"We shall see." Shang Khal said as he turned his head towards a group of palanquins being carried by several gene-brutes. These slow, ape-like beings with oversized muscles were what remained of political prisoners within Xozer. Their genetics had been overwritten, leaving them with only enough intelligence to follow simple commands. As a society that valued genetic purity, these modifications were the cruelest form of punishment and spiritual exile Xozer could inflict. They had been used as a replacement for work animals; tilling fields and carrying heavy objects like horses or mules. That was, until Shang Khal came. Now, they served him as pack-horses and a source for propaganda to vilify the Nord Afrik Conclaves.

"If they have spoken falsely, they will suffer." Shang Khal turned back towards Keyser. "I will consult my Wrathsingers for the coming battle."

"May the skulls of our enemies pave the path forwards for us." Keyser shouted out, ringing his chest plate with a fist slammed into it in salute.

"May their blood slake our thirst." Shang Khal replied, doing the same.

Keyser turned back to the front lines as Shang Khal did the same towards the rear.

After a few minutes marching, the Lord Marshal reached his lieutenants lying prone on top of one of the highest dunes. Most were using electronic binoculars to look at something in the distance, while the one with the vox equipment built into his armor was talking to someone over the comms.

"Lord Marshal." Wilhym Mardol acknowledged his superior while continuing to look through the eyepieces of the binoculars.

"Anything to report, Mardol?" Keyser asked as he crouched down beside him, head and body hidden in the shadow of the dune.

"The Roma lost a patrol plane near Xozer, and our first ranks have gotten within eyeshot of murengon." Mardol reported back. "We have reports that the Nord Afrik have started killing the refugees they couldn't take in."

"Hah." The Lord Marshal let out a brief laugh, full with amused sarcasm. "The ancients had a saying for this, didn't they? 'Caught between a rock and a hard place, was it'?"

"Out of the frying pan and into the fire is another one, and more fitting considering their predicament." Mardol replied dryly. "Whether it be in the Red Engine's flames, or the blast of their Volkite beams, death is the only fate available for the weak."

"Well said." Keyser patted his lieutenant on the shoulder pauldron, before turning to the others. "Strength is the only measure of worth, and not arbitrary notions of purity or genetics. We are here to reclaim what is rightfully ours from the greedy and the fearful."

"If there is anything left." Mardol retorted bitterly.

Keyser stared at the back of Mardol's helm for a moment, then turned to another one of his lieutenants.

"Report on the situation of the city." The Lord Marshal ordered.

"They have locked themselves inside their walls, Lord Marshal." The lieutenant replied. "We have no sightings or reports of flyers taking off, and the Roma patrol planes report no other forces besides ours for at least a hundred kilometers. We can encircle the city during the night, and attack from all sides with the morning sun."

"Good." The Lord Marshal nodded, then slid down the dune.

"Keep the vox open with the Roma, and delegate the watch of the city to the soldiery." He ordered. "I want you all to call up the troops who will be participating in the attack tomorrow. I wish to address them before they separate out. Our communication methods might become unreliable. They should be reminded of what we fight for, in the event orders no longer reach them. Mardol. You come with me." The lieutenants put down their binoculars and slid down the dune as well, then saluted the Lord Marshal before heading to carry out his order.

The Lord Marshal and his second in command walked away from the main army; away from the front lines. Finally, they stood in the ruins of one of the incinerated farms. What used to be homes and storage silos were smoking piles of ash, and the glassed ground crackled under their armored feet.

"I sense an anger directed at me within you, Mardol." Keyser said as he came to a stop. "What is the matter?"

Mardol took a deep breath before replying. "You've seen what we've done on our way here."

Keyser nodded as he spoke. "We trampled the weak, as we have always done."

"Yes, but salted the ground as well." Mardol replied dryly, gesturing to the burnt farmland around them. "We promised the Roma and many others soil and water. Now, there is nothing left to give."

"All of this came from the artifacts within Xozer." Keyser shrugged. "So long as we secure them, our honor bargains will be fulfilled."

"It took decades for the hierophants to expand their colonies this far. We have no idea how long it will take to learn how to replicate their feats, if we can replicate them at all." Mardol stepped towards Mardol, glass crackling under his armored boot. "Shang Khal has made many promises to gather the resources for this campaign. Kalagann may be the overlord of Ursh, but Ursh herself has been almost bled dry. If we cannot satisfy all those we have bargained with, this army will turn on itself, and we may lose all that we have gained."

Keyser snorted at that. "Do you fear a rebellion by the Southern client states?"

"I do not fear." Mardol said quietly. "I predict what can happen, and tell you that we may be on borrowed time."

Keyser sighed and took his own step towards his second in command. "Mardol… The hierophants have long guarded their secrets of prosperity. It is only recently that we have learned of what they have hidden within their walls. If they had remained barricaded behind their defenses and not sold soil and water to those around them, we may have remained ignorant until they were too powerful to resist. The hierophants must fall for Ursh to survive."

"I know all of that Keyser. I know we strike them down now to avoid having a future foe."

"Then, is it the breaking of the bonds of honor that you fear?" Keyser asked. "If we must fight against our old allies, then so be it. The weak will always be vanquished by the strong. If we die, then it only means we were not strong enough to live. The ones who kill us will be the ones to inherit the earth, and they will create a better world than the one we leave them."

"You do not need to preach to me like the Wrathsingers of Ursh." Mardol shook his head. "I do not fear death, Keyser. When my time comes, my blood will water the soil so new growth can come from it. My strength will have been used to harden and sharpen the swords of the one who slays me. But…" Mardol closed the distance between himself and the Lord Marshal. Their chest plates touched as his voice dropped to a whisper. "That is where my anger towards you comes from, Keyser. You told me… You told all of us that we would make a better world for those who came after us. It was the hope you gave to us, a rabid bunch of thugs and barbarians in the slums of Ursh, that angers me now." He stepped away, throwing an arm out, gesturing to the blackened obsidian glass that covered the ground, the burnt barns and houses, as well as the bone fragments jutting out of ash piles. "Is the world truly becoming better here? This glass is more toxic than the desert sands. The air is gradually filling with the smoke from the Red Engines. Keyser, I have followed you loyally for over a hundred years. So, please tell me. What do we gain at the end of this campaign?"

Mardol turned back to Keyser; his compatriot and leader of tens of thousands of battles. Slaughter and bloodshed were common sights to the both of them, but the destruction of what was once fertile land had shaken Mardol. Until now, the only places they had fought were so polluted or radioactive it did not matter what they did.

"We will have the artifacts of Xozer, and the means to restore life to this world." Keyser spoke slowly and calmly, addressing his friend's fears. "It will be slow, and there will be much strife. That is why we must be strong. We will need to protect ourselves, and the means to rejuvenate the planet. Some of our allies will betray us, but that has been the state of things for a long time. We have betrayed and been betrayed many times when we were just mercenaries. This is no different."

Keyser placed a hand on Mardol's shoulder pauldron, giving him a reassuring pat before speaking in a more jovial tone. "Besides, you worry too much. Shang Khal was ordered by Kalagann to recover the treasures of Xozer for Ursh. Do you think he would allow them to be destroyed?"

"Accidents can happen." Mardol warned.

"That is why you and I will be on the frontlines." Keyser said as he leaned towards his friend. "We will be there to guide our forces to where they will be needed. The berserkers and Red Engines will only take the walls and other defensive installations on the outskirts of the city. The fighting within the central parts will be done by us."

Shang Khal's army had many forces within it. Anult Keyser was personally in command of the Tupelov Lancers; cybernetically enhanced cavalry carrying genetically enhanced warriors. They would come after the berserkers and Red Engines penetrated the walls to fight in the more complicated inner complexes of Xozer. Thus, the collateral damage to the city itself would be minimized.

"Keyser…" Mardol's fists clenched once before relaxing. "Will we have a victory after the fighting?"

"Of course we will. That is, unless we lose." Keyser chuckled. "But, that is the same as any battle. This one is no different to the thousands we have lived through. The strong survive. The weak feed the strong. If we die tomorrow, then it only means Xozer and the hierophants had a strength we did not see. That is the beauty of battle. It defines things clearly into two states. The living and the dead. Should we end up as the latter, our deaths will feed them, and they will write the next chapter for humanity in our stead. Although…" The Lord Marshal paused to snort and his voice took a mocking tone. "After seeing their soldiers, I doubt that they will prove me wrong." There was a darkness there in his voice. An almost instinctive hatred being directed at Xozer and all of its people. Mardol watched as his friend shook his head, and resumed speaking with a lighter tone. "Regardless, win or lose, humanity will be improved. Weakness will be cleansed, and our species will be hardened in the flames of strife and suffering. That is the Truth, Mardol. The Truth of the world, and all existence."

Mardol snorted at that. Keyser always had a dramatic streak about him that came with his charisma, but lately he had taken a far more philosophical slant in his speeches. "I would like to survive this battle." He retorted dryly.

Keyser drew back and let out a laugh. "So do I. That is why I need you with me, Mardol. You think of things I cannot, and I speak of things you cannot imagine. We are both needed here, in this moment, to make our dreams come true. We are the ones who made this campaign possible. Neither General Shang Khal, nor the great overlord Kalagann himself could have gotten this far. Believe in me, Mardol. I will see us through this."

Mardol sighed, then stepped back and saluted by banging his right fist against his chest plate. "As you will, Lord Marshal Anult Keyser."

Keyser returned the salute, and the two of them walked back towards the front lines.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N: Thank you Naranka and Skyborne for reading through this section.

---

The last of the children rescued from the assassin temples had been put to sleep. Now, Erda, the assassin, and herself were preparing the teachers and carers necessary for their purpose.

Isha was copying the original personalities that had formed her core into simulacra of their original bodies. Erda and the assassin were with the plants making the bodies, arranging for the Imperial Palace cooks to provide the necessary nutrients and minerals required to create each one.

The assassin was stuck in her maid disguise. Her job was to repeatedly carry carts of food to an impromptu 'banquet' supposedly hosted by Malcador for some unknown guest. Erda herself was standing guard outside the room, ensuring no others would intrude on the rows of oversized pitcher-plant-like structures Isha had grown. These specially designed plants would digest the materials thrown into them, reorganizing them into the bodies necessary to provide comfort and counsel to the children.

It would take a long time to alleviate the trauma these children had been through. Removal of the emotional scars was virtually impossible without wiping their memories. They would have to learn to live with them.

Still, it was not all bad news. Their minds and bodies were now hardier than most humans. The suffering they had endured would be useful to them when they came in contact with the less hospitable of her children. Redirecting any psychic probe to those memories would serve as a potent reminder for her children to keep their psychic feelers to themselves.

The Aeldari were proud, emotional, and valued strength to a great degree. Most humans were viewed as little more than animals, like gorillas who had learned sign-language or parrots that could mimic speech. These children of Erda would show them what their species could survive, and what they were capable of without cybernetic enhancements or psychic abilities.

That was the only way to avoid petty bickering between Erda's children and hers. It would not be enough for the Aeldari to admit that there were a few exceptions amongst the animals. The diplomats she would train would have to show them humanity's base-line potential. Only then would her children begrudgingly accept humanity as a fellow space-faring race instead of another resource to exploit or vermin to exterminate.

Isha's eyes scanned the multiple layers of bridges that composed the outer parts of the Imperial Palace, observing the humans below through narrowed eyes.

She had left Erda with one of the simulacra that would be teaching the children. It was a portion of herself that mimicked what she used to be, so she was aware of what was going. It may speak and act differently to her totality, but it was still Isha making the decisions. They were currently discussing the syllabus for the children's education, as well as what to do for any who rejected their planned occupation. Having a disgruntled diplomat, bitter about being forced to become one, would be a flaw that any opposing party would not hesitate to exploit.

Her own body was in the personal quarters given to her by Erda. It was originally Erda's, but the mother of humanity had no need for them.

Isha stifled a yawn as she continued to watch the citizenry of the Imperium. Her physical form was made to be life-like, and hence it would cease functioning without sustenance, sleep, or psychic energy. She was currently separated from her children and depleted of all psychic energy from the numerous transformations and growing of the plants. Thus, food, drink, and sleep were imperative for her to stay in the materium.

However, she resisted the urge to sleep for the moment. There was no critical reason. Merely a curiosity, or perhaps it was her attempt to find some comfort in familiarity. She had watched the Aeldari from the immaterium on her throne, even when the edict bound her. Staring down at the millions of people outside the Sanctum Imperialis mimicked that experience, reminding her of how she used to exist. But, there was another reason she stayed awake. Her eyes may have been moving slowly, but they were looking for something.

Finally, her eyes stopped on a medium sized figure in a hooded cloak wandering through the night crowds.

She sighed to herself.

The Emperor does not sleep. He has no need to. He is no longer human, no matter how much he pretends to be. Yet, since his subjects are nought but mortal, all work stops while they slumber. During that time, he wanders in the form of a normal human amongst the citizens of the Imperium.

One might think the Emperor's nightly walks were a waste of time and energy. However, there was nothing else left for the God of Heroes to do. Simple paperwork and organization take no time for the processing power of a god who can calculate the perfect trajectory of lance and macro canon shells into gigantic hands made of magma. Experimental simulations and gene-designs can be completed in an instant. So, the speed at which all the Emperor's duties are completed is determined by how quickly his subjects can carry out his orders. Therefore, once the human portions of the Imperium finish their work, the Emperor is also freed from his duties for the day.

Isha stifled a yawn as her eyes followed the God of Heroes. He passed by hundreds of his subjects unnoticed by them. If anyone else saw him now, they would assume he was searching for something or someone who would become an important part of the Imperium in the future. Those knowledgeable of the Warp and its more malicious denizens would assume he was patrolling the populace, rooting out hidden evils no one else could know about.

But, Isha knew there was no lofty goal nor latent danger that motivated these walks.

The Emperor was simply observing his subjects, recording all those he could in the legend of humanity.

There was no need to do it this way. Any human who followed his path would become part of this legend. Their service to him would save their soul from Chaos in exchange for being immortalized in the story of their life.

But, he did it anyway.

Neither she nor he knew what made him walk out amongst his people.

Perhaps it was some divine instinct as the legend of humanity and its heroes that drove him into the streets; to see the setting the story would take place in with his own eyes.

Perhaps some part of Gilgamesh pined for Enkidu and emulated him in the only way he could.

Perhaps the Emperor did this to remind himself what he fought for by seeing what he protected.

The laughter of an unbroken family sitting down for dinner leaking out of a window.

The sight of a group of factory workers trading jokes and stories over a bottle of amasec in a bar.

The warm embrace of a newly wed couple after a hard day's work.

It could be any one of those reasons, all of them, or maybe even none of them.

Yet, the Emperor walked across the bridges and through the streets every night he could.

He rubbed shoulders with his subjects, but never spoke to them.

He saw the good and the bad, yet passed no judgment during his walks.

He walked with all of them, but utterly alone.

Isha sighed again as her silver eyes continued to observe the Emperor. His hood slipped slightly, possibly blown by the wind, showing the light brown skin of those belonging to the Yndonesic bloc. A flat nose and full lips were the most identifying features on his face, but the combination was neither appealing nor ugly.

The Emperor pulled his hood forward, and continued walking.

Isha could not find the words to describe the expression that was on the Emperor's face the moment his hood slipped. But, it did not look happy.

Loneliness. Sadness. Nothingness.

Those were the words closest to what she saw.

Her brow furrowed as she continued watching the Emperor.

It was obvious he did not glean any satisfaction from these walks. It was a fruitless endeavor. Whatever catharsis gained from watching the happiness of others was washed away by the inability to join it. Every night was only another reminder of what the Emperor no longer was.

But, he could not stop himself from changing his form, and donning his hood when the Imperium's work was done for the day.

Isha did not know whether this continuation of an old habit was a good or bad sign. She had not inspected the information of the Emperor after his change, and was ignorant of what his mindset was at the moment.

Her eyes blinked sleepily as she followed his disguised form from the balcony. The last time she had slept was when she had fallen unconscious upon the pylon world of the Necrons, but she remained awake to watch him.

Was she looking at him out of worry, or was she looking at him out of pity?

She did not know the answer to that question either. Perhaps it was both.

There was much to be worried about the God of Heroes. He may have recovered some of his sanity, but he was a ruthless leader. Humanity's worth was still being determined by her. She hoped they would be an ally against Chaos, but that was not guaranteed yet.

There was also much to pity about the Emperor. First and foremost, there was the matter of his birth.

She said she envied it.

To be born out of idealism.

To be desired by the ones who created him.

It was the polar opposite of how she had been made, but it too was cruel in its own way.

What does a man who achieved apotheosis due to design rather than desire think of the humanity he was forced to lose?

Would he miss it, or would he see it as shedding a weakness that held him back?

The Shamans only thought of the ideal they would create. They did not imagine such an ideal could have emotions of its own.

Yet, their ideal was born in a mortal body, and lived among mortal people.

He suffered humanity's cruelty, their selfishness, and their idiocy. First from his uncle, and then from many others he met during his travels. He saw with his own two eyes the worst of what they could be, while being designed to be the pinnacle of their potential.

That contradiction… The failure of innocent idealism to function in harsh reality is what made the boy into the man who eventually became a god.

Isha watched the Emperor wander the streets until the moon rose to its zenith, then pushed off the railing to return to the room.

There was nothing she could do for him at the moment. He would have to carry whatever emotional baggage he still had on his own.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N: Thank you Skyborne for reading through the speech of this section.

A/N: Since we'll be seeing things during the Age of Strife on Terra. Here are a few terms and technologies that might need to be clarified beforehand.

Grand-cruiser: A classification of warship that attempts to put a battleship's worth of firepower into a cruiser sized vessel. Due to this extra ordinance, these ships are very slow and brittle for their size, for their extra guns add weight to the ship while reducing the number of void shield capacitors and armor they can carry. They are best suited for defensive engagements or in the rear of allied formations; from where they can provide fire support using their heavy weaponry.

In 40K, the knowledge required for the specialized plasma generators necessary to provide enough power to so much excessive weaponry in their 'relatively' compact frame has led to the devolution of this class of ships.

Many have lost the lance and plasma macro-cannon batteries they once had, and now carry standard macro-cannon batteries or fighter hangars instead. This has not done much to improve their speed, meaning they do badly in fleet engagements as they cannot keep up with the rest of the ships in the fleet. Many are used as solo-raiders, taking advantage of their extra-firepower to out-gun the cruiser class vessels usually used to protect supply convoys. Their speed issue is dealt with by setting ambushes for their prey.

—-------------------------------------------------

The sun had just set, and the moon was slowly growing brighter as the dusklight faded. Its face, fully uncovered by Terra's shadow, was the same bright white it had been for millions of years.

Grisly pyres littered with human bones, burning plastics, and metals let out black smoke into the sky as they lit the ground with orange light.

Banners of the southern client states and various mercenaries were raised high, showing a million different markings of billions of soldiers, savages, and sycophants.

The desert had been flattened, with excess sand shoveled away. Now, the entire army stood in a colossal basin surrounded on all sides by hastily piled dunes.

Keyser stood before the army on a mound of large white shards from one of the defense walls that the Nord Afrik Conclaves used to defend their cities and homes. The jagged pieces of shattered lenses and focussing crystals made it look like he was standing atop an iceberg that was poking out of the middle of the desert..

The Lord Mashal activated his comms with a mental command, and spoke to all of those before him at once.

"Soldiers of Ursh, soldiers of fortune, soldiers of the southern client states. Tomorrow, this campaign ends." Keyser's tone was deep and firm. He spoke calmly, for his voice was taken into the earpiece of every man and woman before him. Too loud, and he would have blown their eardrums out.

"The fighting itself has only lasted 9 days, but the preparations have taken decades, and the attempts to take this land stretch back centuries. We stand upon ground never tread before, except by the pigs of the Nord Afrik Conclaves. Now, we are the ones who stand here while their bleached bones stick out of the sands."

"We are at the end of an era. An era of loss. An era of failure. But, it is because of that loss and failure we stand here today. Let no man forget the importance of those who came before us. It is through their sacrifice that we have gotten here as well."

"Likewise, all of you standing here with me shall lay the stones that make the foundations for a new era. An era where we can rebuild and regrow. An era of endless glory and an end to our species' wide stagnation."

"One thing stands in the way of all this!"

"Xozer! A city obsessed with genetic purity!"

"Xozer! A city kept safe by luck and inheritance!"

"Xozer! A city whose people know nothing of hunger or thirst!"

"They have done nothing to earn their rewards, yet they milk the artifacts of the ancients to fatten their coffers and themselves."

"There is no bargaining with them. Look at what they do to their own dissenters! They use the gene-tech they abhor as punishment, robbing their own scientists of their ability to think and their political rivals a means to speak out!"

"We are not the same as them! If you wish to show the superiority of your ideas, let them be tested! If you wish to be heard, fight for it! That is the way we have all done things, for we know what it is like to wander days without food or water! We know the suffering of radiation sickness and the slow death of cancer! We don't have the luxury to let ourselves be deluded by farcical nonsense like the purity of genetics! Strength and survival is everything!"

"Humanity's greatest power comes from our ability to use everything and anything to our advantage! Those who do not have the will to claim that power shall be left behind by the ones who will!"

"Imagine what sort of world will be left if Xozer is allowed to rise! A world where everyone's role is pre-determined by their birth, and there is no method to change it! We, the mercenaries and soldiers who stand here would be at the bottom rung of that hierarchical ladder! We came from the slums, the gutters, the savage wastes! We were born into hardship, but we had the strength to claw ourselves out of the alleys and garbage dumps! We took the risk of enlistment, or served as apprentices in warbands! We fought, and won! That would never happen in Xozer! We would have been rounded up and turned into mindless animals like the ones over there!"

"That is the reason Xozer must fall. Its existence is antithetical to what we are, to what humanity is. They are a plague on the face of this planet. Like an infected wound they fester behind their walls, growing ever more lethal. This army is the cauterizing knife that shall burn out the pestilence that is Xozer."

"Let not a single hierophant live. Let not a single noble survive. Let not a single citizen of Xozer outside their walls when we bring them crashing down upon their heads."

"The attack will be simple. We shall surround the city and pressure it from all sides. Your captains, commanders, and officers shall guide you to your positions and provide the necessary instructions. Follow their words, for they are your betters in many ways. They shall draw out your full strength, and give you the means to move forwards. Not that they will be behind you."

There were a series of laughs from the soldiers. All of them knew their commanders always lead from the front. They were the fiercest, most aggressive, and most ambitious members of their number. It was only the strict order of succession that ensured the next in line was always prepared to take the former's place whenever they eventually fell.

"I myself will be there on the frontlines…" Keyser continued, no different than the force commanders amongst them. "But, that is why I have called you all here tonight."

"Xozer, despite its many weaknesses, is blessed by many artifacts of the ancients. It will be a hard battle for all of us. Vox-communications might be jammed, runners waylaid. In the event orders fail to find you, I want you to press onwards to the center of the city. Xozer's more important functions lie there. Pushing towards the center will force them to redirect forces away from other positions and towards yours, allowing us to move forwards as a whole. I know this sounds like a fool's errand. Why should any of us, especially our friends in the mercenary bands want to take on more enemies than necessary? That is why I want you all to remember what it is we fight for here. This battle is not only about soil and water. It is about us. It is our way of life. It is about what it means to be human, for you, for me, for all of us! If we fail, then this world will eventually fall into the hands of Xozer and its Nord Afrik Conclaves. They will inherit the earth, and all men and women will be bound at the point of their birth to lives that those in power 'claim' their genetics mandates them to."

"That is the fate that awaits a world where Xozer wins. That is the fate you and I fight to overcome. That is the reason for this war! The reason to fight! The reason to die! I am ready to give my blood, flesh, and bones for this! What say you!"

Keyser lifted a fist, and a billion others rose from the armored armies before him.

"Keyser! Keyser! Keyser!" They shouted in unison, some even tearing off their helmets to scream his name at the top of their lungs.

"Should I fall, I want you to step on my back and use it as a springboard, launching yourself at the enemy! Take my skull, and use it as the stepping stone to place the next foot forwards! No matter the cost, Xozer dies tomorrow!"

"Keyser! Keyser! Keyser!" The ground rang as a billion feet stamped the ground, shaking the sand mounds and sending small rivulets of silica sliding down them.

"Soldiers! Fight for your future! Fight for yourselves! Fight with your trust placed in me and the words I speak this day, and we shall have victory!"

"Keyser! Keyser! Keyser!"

Lord Marhsha Anult Keyser held up his hand, ordering them to stop chanting.

"Move out!" The simple order went to everyone of them, and the banners began to part as the battalions and brigades separated out towards their pre-planned points of attack. Billions of troops waded through the dunes, and started brisk marches that would take them hundreds of kilometers across the desert in less than 10 hours.

Keyser watched them go into the desert night. He traded a few nods, gauntleted handshakes, and salutes with the few soldiers who wanted them as they passed by. Finally, only his core lieutenants, comms officers, and the Tupolev Lancers remained.

"Any final words from Shang Khal?" He asked Wilhym Mardol.

The lieutenant shook his head, but then spoke nervously.

"The oneirocriticks muttered about majiks. They spoke again about sciomancy and the phantasmagorian ways of the hierophants. They dug out their own eyes when they began to scream of swarms blotting out the sky and scratched the skin off their arms saying they were replaced with stone and slough."

Keyser snorted and asked, "Are they dead?" His tone was bored and irritated at the same time.

"Not yet." Mardol replied. "I chained them to their posts to keep them from harming themselves any further, and stopped the bleeding with bandages and tourniquets."

"Good." A smile could be heard in Keyser's voice. "They still need to answer to me should their ramblings about non-existent Nord Afrik flyers swarming the skies prove false. Death by their own hands is too kind a fate. I have suffered their mad ravings for long enough. Majiks are nothing but trickery and lies. Only the weak and unfocussed fall before it."

Keyser then turned to his Vox officer, oneirocriticks ignored, and assured that there were no last minute changes to the strategies made by Shang Khal. "Call the Roma." He ordered "Have their fighters on standby, and order them to begin providing air cover once the outermost laser defenses have been destroyed, or if they spot any Nord Afrik flyers."

Finally, he turned to his troops. One of them brought his steed to him; a six-legged creature that had the shape of a horse under its thick armor. However, instead of hooves it had wide gripping claws. Its limbs were obviously mechanical from the way they whirred and occasionally hissed as hidden hydraulics moved. The only organic components inside it were part of its brain, and some of its blood vessels that went through a counter-current filter and a nutrient-oxygen bath to keep it alive.

"Lancers..." He said quietly as he jumped aboard. "We must be the first to enter the central portions of the city to secure the artifacts. The future of Ursh rests on your shoulders. Do not let the other battalions beat us."

All the other lancers saluted as his lieutenants got on their six-legged cyborgs.

"Tomorrow, this campaign ends, and the next one begins." Keyser said and the lancers laughed. It has always been like that, ever since they were just a mercenary band. They weren't called dogs of war for nothing. They sniffed out conflict and carnage, like starving mongrels looking for scraps, for that was the only time they got paid. Even now, as part of the official forces of Ursh, that hadn't changed.

"There is no end to war." Keyser said softly. "That is the beauty of it." He turned to his men as he unbuckled the weapon attached to the side of his steed. It looked like an oversized mace with a thick handle the width of a grown man's thigh and about as tall. Yet, despite its blunt appearance, this weapon was a lance. The tip was shaped like a drill bit from an oil rig. Multiple conical gears, each with several rows of serrated teeth, ground inwards. They sucked in air from the front and shot it out the back. Keyser revved its engines several more times, making sure the bearings and axles that held each gear were all aligned. Each pull of the trigger let loose a mechanical roar that dulled to a hungry growl as the weapon's parts spun down.

"We all want something that lasts forever." Keyser spoke as he stowed his lance, finished with his tests. "An eternal means to slake our thirst and fill our bellies. War will do that for us. Blood and skulls is all it asks for in return."

"For Khorne!" One of the lancers called out. He was the most devout of them. Although all of the Tupolev Lancers were forced to hear the Wrathsingers' sermons at least once when they became part of Ursh's official army, this one made it a daily ritual whenever they were off duty.

"For Khorne." Keyser nodded, and the optics in his eyes seemed to glow with orange flames.

—-------------------------------------------------

Shang Khal watched the Tupolev Lancers leave with the rest of the troops. Only his honor guard, and several dozen Red Engines as well as the sacrifices needed to run them remained at the command post. The remaining weapons, mortars, guns, and atomics had been carried off by the armies moving to the positions he had briefed them about.

There was no need for centralized reserves. The sheer size of Xozer meant that if any of the armies on the far side of the city fell, there would be no time to replenish it from the command post.

Additionally, Shang Khal hoped this placement of troops would nullify the effect of any final suicidal charge by the hierophants against him and the command post.

With his forces so dispersed and communications bound to be disrupted, it was unlikely for any commands made here would reach their target in time. So, Shang Khal abandoned all central commands, leaving Keyser and the other commanders in control.

There were no major issues with that. Strategy and tactics operated on two different levels. He had already told Keyser and the others what needed to be secured and protected. It was now their job to figure out how that would be done.

What this meant for Xozer was that any attack on the command post would be made in vain. The attacks on their city would not stop, nor would it falter. Those on the front lines would keep fighting, even if they managed to kill Shang Khal and destroyed what little remained here.

In a sense, he was the bait for any of Xozer's remaining flyers, if they had any. The skies had been clear, even after the Roma patrol plane had been destroyed by Xozer. He would have expected at least a drone or two to fly over, but nothing came. The lack of any aerial vehicles was starting to make him wonder if the oneirocriticks had spoken falsely.

Still, he continued to make his preparations for them regardless. He may have organized things so his death would have no meaning, but that did not mean he wanted to die.

Any flyers that attacked here would be easy prey for the Roma fighters. The command post was far away from the defensive emplacements of Xozer. There would also be no fear of friendly fire with Keyser on the front lines. Therefore, the counter attack of the Roma should be swift and simple.

Victory was all but assured to Shang Khal, but the general did not stop thinking of possible scenarios and eventualities.

Finally, Shang Khal turned away from the basin and back to the palanquins carried by the gene-brutes.

If all else failed, he personally would have to march into Xozer to recover the artifacts. The Wrathsingers would need to be made ready when he did.

—-------------------------------------------------

(Far away from Terra, on the fringes of the human federation.)

The Bucephelus emerged from the Warp, haloed in golden light as it left the whirlpool of purple energies behind with the thousands of other ships under its command.

The rest of the ships which had been pulled out of the Warp were positioned on the far side of a fleet of Grand cruisers and other smaller classifications of vessels. A blue planet covered in water with several cities large enough to be visible from orbit was off to the side. Boarding craft were inbound to the Bucephelus's ships, but the sudden emergence of it and its main fleet sent them scurrying back to their carriers and hangars.

"Fire." The golden giant gave the order, and the fleet sandwiched in between the ships it had accidentally pulled out of the Warp, and the fleet that had just emerged was showered with torpedoes, macro cannon shells, and lance blasts.

Out gunned ten to one, and forced to disperse due to the torpedoes that were roaring towards them, the fleet of Grand cruisers returning fire was disorganized and scattered. Holes appeared in their volleys, allowing the golden giant's ships to leisurely maneuver into position to avoid being hit by the enemy's shells. Void shields were given ample time to recharge between scattered lance beams that failed to overwhelm them in the first volley.

"Push through them, and enter the planet's orbit."

The Bucephelus broke ranks, and thundered towards the planet. The defense fleet noticed and began to concentrate their fire on the massive ship, but its shields shrugged off all of their weapons like raindrops. Torpedoes, bombardment shells, plasma blasts, and lance beams only rippled the dark blue and purple void shields surrounding it.

Finally, the Bucephelus entered the planet's orbit. The defense fleets fire petered out before then, unwilling to commit friendly fire upon their own homes. The planetary defense guns picked up where they left off, but even their more numerous shells and laser beams failed to penetrate the shields of the Bucephelus. Soon, the golden giant's flagship had left the firing arc of their land-based defenses, and was now thousands of kilometers above their blue oceans.

"Open planet-side silo doors." The golden giant ordered, and ordinance silos on the port side flank of the Bucephelus opened up.

"Deploy Volkite warheads."

Several spherical objects the size of a two-story house were launched, scattering over the ocean's surface before sinking beneath the waves.

"Proceed to the next body of water."

The Bucephelus repeated the act 5 times, deploying Volkite warheads across the entire planet. Meanwhile, Commodore Agesilaus got his comms officer to activate an open channel, and handed the microphone to his Lord.

When the Bucephelus finished deploying its payload of weapons, each one capable of converting all the water around it into an explosion that could wipe out continents, the golden giant spoke.

"This is the Humanity Restoration Fleet." His tone was grim, jaw tight and brow furrowed. "Surrender now. Send all of your command staff and officers to your home planet, and I will give you mercy. Resist me, and watch your planet die before you join them."

One by one, the defense fleet's ships ceased firing on the golden giant's fleet. After a further moment, the comms terminal beeped and the officer in charge sent the reply message to the central holo projector.

A grizzled man with white hair glared at the camera transmitting his image.

"We surrender." He said bitterly. "But what assurances of safety do we have? What are your terms?"

The golden giant snorted then turned to the Commodore. Agesilaus grimaced, then barked an order to his crew.

The several dozen dorsal tri-barreled lance turrets of the Bucephelus opened fire, cutting the ship which had answered him into several dozen pieces.

"There are no terms." The golden giant broadcast his message as the defense fleet's flagship was consumed in an orange explosion. "You have taken enough of my time. There is none left for debate. This is my last warning to you all. Abandon your vessels immediately and return to your home planet. Now, obey or die."

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N: I've added some links to music and ambient sounds. These are just my personal opinion, so take them or leave them. Put the name in quotes ("") if searching on YouTube, otherwise you'll get a lot of unrelated search results.
♪1 Legio Symphonica - From Iron Cometh Strength | Warhammer 40K Music

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♪1

Keyser looked at the legions of disposable berserkers before him from his steed. Millions of 2 meter giants encased in spiked black and red armor stood eerily still with motorized chain axes or swords in both fists. A few of them had black canisters attached under their nutrient and power packs. They surrounded the city on all sides. Sand dunes had been piled up in front of them, protecting them from the laser emitting walls and Volkite Caliver wielding snipers that stood upon it. Xozer now lay in what looked like a misshapen yellow crater almost 300 km in diameter. The sun was just rising, coming up from behind them and casting their armored shadows towards Xozer. The blood and guts from the refugees who had been denied entry covered each of the gates, like jam on the lips of a messy eater biting through a slice of toast slathered in pureed fruit.

"Are we still in contact with the other battalions?" The Lord Marshal asked his comms officer.

"We are." The man nodded.

"Good. Order them to begin the wave attacks, and wait for our signal."

Berserkers began to climb the dunes, edging their way to the top so they would all appear above it at the same moment.

Then, all at once, they charged. Swarms of soldiers ran silently, screams of rage locked inside their own armor with their bodies.

Yellow-ish orange beams of Volkite fire struck them, but their battle-lust drove them to instinctively bob and weave, forcing the snipers to adjust their aim as their target's side stepped or dove forwards to escape the cutting effect of the laser tweezers each Volkite Caliver fired.

Suddenly the sands before the city exploded as something sparkly yet invisible whipped to and fro. Cuts began to appear in the armored suits of the berserker nearest to these small explosions.

Laserthorn hedges were buried around the city. Each one was a bundle of 7 crystalline tentacles made of fiber optic cables that carried laser light from the walls' optical resonator out into the field, deploying the immense concentration of photons from inside the walls in anti-infantry quanta.

Yet, the lasers the hedges emitted were set to frequencies most effective against metal and ceramics; the two most common materials that armor was made out of. Flesh and bone boiled and charred, but it took the laserthorns two or three seconds more to cut through the berserkers themselves, compared to the milliseconds it took to penetrate their armor.

The berserkers did not give them that time, nor did they falter from losing an arm or a leg. Sand and dust was kicked up as their armored feet skidded through it, obscuring them from vision for a moment before they charged through the temporary smokescreen they made. Berserkers ducked under or side stepped the almost invisible optical tentacles lashing out at them, relying on the bestial instincts and superhuman reflexes their forced enhancements gave them. In turn, they slashed at the fiberglass cables of the laserthorn with the serrated teeth of their chain weapons. Their limbs were black blurs as they hacked into the laserthorn hedges with their chain weapons, sawing through them while constantly moving. Soon, the outermost layer of hedges were turned into sparking crackling wrecks, writhing around like beheaded snakes.

However, the laserthorn hedges had done their job. The snipers with Volkite Calivers all had genetically enhanced eyes with reorganized retina that were placed above the blood vessel layer, and several hundred times the neurons in an unmodified eye. Beams of yellow-ish orange energies struck the berserkers exactly where the laserthorn hedges had opened up their armor, converting the water in their bodies into miniature hydrogen bombs and blowing them up and anyone near them in grisly fashion.

Red splotches began to spread across the yellow sands around Xozer, as if a mass of fully engorged mosquitoes had been smashed by an invisible hand.

Still, the berserkers came from behind the dunes. Wave after wave of armored soldiers proceeded forwards, cutting through the next row of laserthorn hedges and drawing closer to the city walls.

Finally, the walls themselves opened fire, sending pillars of light five or six men wide across the ground, like a prison searchlight. Everything caught within the shimmering circle of light melted. Day turned to night from the brightness of Xozer's defenses, as the walls' beams outshone the sun. Soon, a circle of molten glass surrounded the city like a castle moat. The feet of the new waves of berserkers sank into it, slowing them down to the point the Volkite Calivers could be directed at them long enough to melt their armor and detonate them from the inside. In turn, the laser walls fell silent, recharging their optical resonators. The snipers were enough to deal with Xozer's enemies for the moment.

"Send in the Red Engines." Keyser ordered. "Prepare our mortars, and send the signal."

The first wave of Red Engines galloped up the dunes, and ran across the burning orange liquid silica. Each one let out a mechanical scream that sounded like an overexcited dog, happy at seeing a familiar face. The sight in front of them reminded the creatures that inhabited these machines of their home in the Warp; a place where flames and liquid brass erupted from the land as blood poured from gigantic skull towers under an ashen sky.

Volkite beams hit the Red Engines, and were ignored as they charged towards the walls. Even as several snipers directed their fire in unison at the head and shoulders of one, they only succeeded in melting off its metal skin, revealing only metal muscles and metal bones which would not explode.

The second wave of Red Engines walked slower with platoons of berserkers, acting as roofs or shields against the Volkite snipers of Xozer like an ancient battering ram does against arrows.

The last remaining laserthorn hedges erupted from the sands that still remained near the base of the crystalline walls, severing the metallic limbs of the first wave of Red Engines, sending their writhing bodies skidding across the ground.

The Red Engines that walked more slowly stopped out of range of the thrashing tentacles, then began spewing flames upwards at the snipers, hiding the berserkers who lept out from under it from their sight. These berserkers, under the cover of flame and smoke, cut down the last of the defensive hedges.

But, by then, the crystalline walls of Xozer had recharged and they let loose their fury in all directions. Daemonic machines and madmen vanished in a flash of light, and were replaced by a hellscape of boiling glass that warped the image of Xozer with heat mirages.

"Fire the mortar!" Keyser ordered, and an angled tube wide enough to swallow a fully armored berserker roared as it launched an atomic in a high arc towards the city. Mortars from the other brigades followed suit, sending more atomic shells from the battalions surrounding the city totalling to over ten thousand radioactive warheads that rained down on Xozer from all sides.

Lasers began to fire upwards from the outer and inner walls of Xozer to intercept the shells, melting their casings, and prematurely detonating the explosives that would cause the fission reaction of the atomics. The shells shot out of the sky scattered their military grade fission material across the land. Uranium purified till it was 90% the radioactive isotope fell down upon the snipers, causing them to be violently sick with radiation as its deadly rays passed through their skin and sliced up their cells.

But, ten thousand shells was too much for the crystalline walls of Xozer to shoot out of the sky, especially with their optical resonators so depleted by their previous attack. Only those that would have hit directly or landed inside were shot down. Mushroom cloud after mushroom cloud erupted around the megalopolis as the atomics Xozer's defenses were forced to ignore struck the ground outside the walls. Dust engulfed the city as the heat and shockwaves from the atomics rocked the land, sending cracks through the crystalline walls, and wiping out the surviving snipers who stood upon her ramparts.

Even the armies of Ursh hiding behind the dunes outside the city tens of kilometers away stumbled as their atomics exploded again and again around the city.

"Now!" Keyser shouted, and his steed reared back. "Charge!"

The Tupolev Lancers thundered up and down the dunes with the rest of the berserkers and Red Engines. Even as the dark mushroom clouds loomed over them, they dove into the dust and ash. The six clawed feet of their steeds ran across the burning glass, traveling almost a hundred kilometers an hour. Radioactive dust obscured them from Xozer's sensors, and their enhanced bodies weathered the gamma rays that penetrated everything while their air tight armor kept out the alpha and beta radiation.

Beams of light shot out blindly through the dust, turning the gray and brown cloud into a blazing orange as it set the particles floating through the air aflame. But the dust dispersed the light coming from the laser defenses of Xozer, weakening them. A normal man would still be cooked to cinders, but the armored soldiers of Ursh could still move for a single second in that beam. That was all the time those on the edges of the laser needed to dodge out of the way. The unlucky few who were caught dead center by some miraculous shot melted and burned before they could clear the blast radius of the beam.

After 15 minutes, Keyser and his Tupolev Lancers reached the East gate of Xozer. Despite the explosions and laser fire, the remains of the refugees were still plastered upon it. The bloody gate was clamped shut like the mouth of a tortured prisoner of war, bloodied, but still refusing to answer their interrogator's questions.

Keyser pulled out his lance, and the rotating gears roared as he stabbed it into the side of the gate.

"Climb!" He ordered the berserkers as he and his lancers dug into the metal and ceramics of the gate.

The berserkers began to climb up the side of the gate. They first clambered onto the mechanical steeds of the lancers, then the shoulders of the lancers themselves. After going as high as they could go, they pulled out their chain weapons, and cut out shallow grooves and notches for their fingers to grab hold of. Slowly, they scaled the sides of the gate, digging out hand holds for themselves as they went.

Keryser finally pulled his lance out of the hole he had dug, then pulled out a black canister from a pouch on his steed. He looked up at the berserkers, and saw the ones with the black canisters had gotten into their pre-planned positions. They too began cutting shallow indentations into the walls with their chain weapons.

He placed the black canister, a melta-charge, into the hole he dug and then ordered a berserker to place themself over the hole. The berserkers with the melta-charges did the same with their own bodies, pushing their explosives into the indentations they had dug.

"Detonate!" Keyser yelled, and the melta-charges exploded. The berserkers who lay on top of them acted like a make-shift seal, directing more of the explosion into the gate and walls of Xozer.

Bits and pieces of blackened armor and limbs rained down on the Tupolev Lancers and remaining berserkers. But, Keyser only smiled as the bloody East gate of Xozer slowly fell inwards.

"Finish tearing down the outermost walls." Keyser ordered all the berserkers, and they began to walk into the now exposed guts of the thick walls, torn open by the falling gate and their melta-charges.

Meanwhile, Keyser turned towards the site revealed by the opening they had made.

Green farmlands were rapidly turning brown as their crops wilted, killed by the radioactive dust falling from the sky. Beyond them was another crystalline wall.

Such a sight should have made any sane man lose hope, especially after seeing the cost of taking the outermost walls. But, Keyser's reinforced eyes told him this one would be easier than the last. He could see the snipers who were supposed to be on top of it were missing. Most likely they were already dead from the atomic explosions that had occurred outside. Only the innermost walls protected by the shimmering dark blue void shields survived unscathed. It was that, or they were crippled with radiation sickness. Regardless, the armies of Ursh would have an easier time taking it down.

Off in the distance, he heard a series of new explosions followed by the crash of a different gate falling inwards. Crackling and rumbling filled the air as a section of crystalline wall crumbled like a calving glacier.

In the sky, he saw the sun grow dark, obscured with ash and dust. Lightning flashed in these new clouds, filled with ionizing radiation, generating ion storms that were steadily growing stronger.

Behind him, the ground glowed orange from the heat, and scores of armored soldiers and Red Engines crossed over the molten glass to flood into the breached outer walls.

The Lord Marshal dropped off his cybernetic steed, and grabbed a handful of dirt on the ground. He felt the damp clumps of soil between his armored fingers, then turned to his lieutenants.

"Bring up the mortars and prepare the burners." Keyser ordered. "Begin the wave attacks on the second walls, but let loose the Red Engines first. Their laserthorn hedges cannot fly out of this damp heavy soil. They can only work in dry sand."

There was no heaviness in his voice, no regret in his tone. Neither was there satisfaction, elation, or even the faintest tinge of joy.

This was a mundane spectacle to Keyser. The sights and sounds around him were merely those of another war on Terra. The weapons and tactics may have differed in other battles, but the effect on those waging it and the environment were the same.

Death, destruction, and the creation of hell on earth out of what was once somebody's home.

—-------------------------------------------------

The assault on Xozer continued. More atomics were launched at the inner walls from mortars, but burners were added to this as well. Thick smoke poured from these flaming contraptions that looked like massive instrumental horns on wheels. The black clouds blocked the berserkers from the defensive wall's sight, forcing the defenders to use their energies inefficiently to take them down. Wave after wave of genetically modified men and women in irremovable armored suits came at them, depleting their optical resonators of photons quicker than they could recharge.

After several hours, these walls fell in the same way as the first, with sacrificial melta-charges buried into holes and dents carved out by drill bits and chain weapons.

Cannons were brought up to lay siege to the next set of walls, firing from behind the destroyed remains of Xozer's outer defenses, and out of their line of sight. These inner walls were smaller and weaker than the outermost, for each ring decreased in circumference, reducing the number of focussing crystals and optical resonators they could carry. Now, the Urshite armies could afford to use more conventional explosive shells, which fell upon the snipers and crystalline walls, forcing the defenders to split their fire between Ursh's artillery barrages and the endless berserker hordes.

Shang Khal truly had amassed billions for his armies, and even if each wave cost thousands of lives, he could have them repeat the same charge a million times over.

The farmlands that were between each wall wilted and withered as the black smoke from burners, radioactive fallout from atomics, and chemical residue from cannon shells polluted the land. What remained was trampled beneath the berserker's boots, or burned under the clawed feet of the Red Engines.

When Keyser reached the 6th wall from the center of the city, his charge stopped. They had reached the ancient void shields that had kept the original city safe from the atomic apocalypse that had burned everything else around them, and his cannons and atomic mortar shells could not penetrate it. The blue fields of energy only rippled, even when fission reactions erupted directly on top of it.

However, the population within Xozer's original walls eclipsed what it had been designed to support. The inhabitants of the farmlands between the outer walls and refugees from the outer colonies filled the streets, crushing anyone who fell beneath them as they struggled to find safety somewhere in the overcrowded city. Already, some of their number suffocated as the sheer number of bodies trying to move forwards compressed and compacted their chests.

The original inhabitants of the inner walls who had taken shelter in their homes did not have much to look forward to either. Although they were safe from the masses for now, it was only a matter of time before the riots would begin. Anyone on the bottom floors was sure to be easy prey, and these inhabitants had begun barricading themselves in preparation for the chaos that was to come.

Dark clouds covered the sky, smothering the remaining solar arrays the city still had. Without them, there would be far less clean water to drink and grow crops with. Overpopulation already physically impaired the city, but things would only get worse from there. It was now only a matter of time before Xozer's population would begin to die from hunger and thirst.

Outside, Keyser's forces set up a siege, placing their cannons and mortars in more ideal positions, so their volley fire was dispersed evenly across the shield, stressing every part of it at once so its capacitors would have no time to take turns to recharge.

The hierophants watched all of this from the center of the city, behind the dark blue veil of the void shields. All 7 of them sat in a circle, while the nobility sat or lay around them.

Despair should have taken a hold of them as volleys of explosive shells and atomics fired in unison beat their final defenses at once in organized regular intervals. There would be no quick death from incineration. The force of Ursh made sure that enough time was given to confirm the shield still held, before firing the next wave of artillery fire. Keyser and Shang Khal would ensure all within the last murengon of Xozer died at the hands of their soldiers, not their explosives.

However, the men and women in power only smiled tiredly. They had known this time would come the moment they started selling fresh soil and water. Yet, they had to do something to stop the recurrence of another famine. They had never expected it to come so soon, or so quickly. Who could have dreamed a billion soldiers could cross their desert while constantly being harassed by Volkite fire and the elements?

"The impure assault us once more." A robed man said quietly. A circlet of metal with the number 1 hung from his neck. He was referring to the genetically enhanced Urshite warriors and techno-barbarian ravagers as one group. Both were genetically impure savages in the hierophants' eyes, as were most of the people outside Xozer.

"It is a cycle that has gone on from before." Another robed hierophant with the number 2 hanging from his neck shrugged. "Do you not remember how Xozer came to exist in the first place?"

Their city had survived the original atomic fires that scoured the planet. That war too had been fought with genetic abominations shaped like oversized men.

"Then, there is no hope for humanity." A robed woman with the number 3 sighed.

"There never was any hope for humanity. Look at the nobility." Hierophant number 4 said as he gestured to a drooling man with a ridiculously protruding chin and dull eyes. "Does that look like perfection? They are the purest humans we have, and all they can do is sit and rot."

The most genetically 'pure' humans in Xozer had been preserved, cut off from the genetically 'impure' rabble. Secluded away, they had bred only with other genetically 'pure' humans for over a thousand years. Even with their medically extended lives, enough generations of inbreeding had left the nobility of Xozer a mentally deficient mess.

Although they existed as a class in Xozer society, they were merely the mouth pieces of the hierophants, and scapegoats should things go wrong.

One of the hierophants sighed, the number 5 swinging from her neck. Then, she smiled as she stroked the balding misshapen head of one of the nobles. The man was morbidly obese, and sat in a puddle of his own filth. Yet he giggled like a little boy as he vacated himself, clapping his hands together gayly. "But look at the joy in their eyes as they putrefy." The hierophant said, voice tinged with both jealousy and love. She envied them for their simplicity, and their freedom from all things due to their simplicity.

They had raised these nobles from birth, for the parents were too mentally impaired to do it themselves. Each one was like a child to them, and they treated them like their own.

"Indeed, it is a joyous sight…" Hierophant number 6 chortled. "To wallow in your own stink and filth, like pigs in mud."

"Hence the name of this place." Number 1 replied solemnly.

Xozer. The term is an ancient noun for pigs, boars, and swine. When used as an adjective, it describes a thing that is fat and filthy.

This was the name that the city chose itself, with only the hierophants fully aware of what it meant.

"We are all pigs, rooting around in the remains of what was once a verdant world." Hierophant number 7 said as he stood, placing a hand on a meek looking girl covered in bloody bandages. Her body could not produce clots, and her skin was so weak it split at the slightest bit of stress. Red eyes and white hair showed a total lack of melanin production in her body. A single ray of sunlight would be lethal to her. Yet, she smiled as the number 7 patted her head. He was the father who gave her all she needed to live, and the father who raised her to be dumb, mute, and ignorant.

"Let us show them all what that means, and the Truth of all life."

Each hierophant reached down, and picked up their staves of office. Each stave looked like a shepherd's crook, and a bell hung from the crooked top of each one. The metal clappers clanged against the insides of the bell, tolling them as the hierophants gently guided their inbred nobility down the halls in a single line.

"Death comes from life." Hierophant 1 chanted. "Mold only grows when there is moisture and food. Rot only spreads upon the fresh and the ripe. For death to exist, there must be life. For release to exist, there must be suppression. For despair to grow, there must be hope."

"But in the end, there is only the end." Hierophant 2 continued.

"That was the lesson we learned when the famine struck, and the crop blight claimed all we created." Hierophant 3 said as she slammed the bottom of her staff against the floor. Her bell rattled as the echo traveled down the stone halls, like the sound of a judge's gavel at the end of a sentencing.

"Half a city starved to death, and the remaining half only kept alive by feeding them the ones who died." Hierophant 4 spat out, lips pulled back revealing his yellowed teeth and bleeding gums.

"We are here because our forefathers failed to learn the lessons the other ancients took with them." Hierophant 5 sighed as she swung her crook, tolling her bell like a shepherd calling his sheep towards them. "They refused to die when it was their time, and so our agony continues long after it should have ended."

"But that is the point of all life." Hierophant 6 laughed. "To struggle, to fight, and eventually to fall back into the muck it was born from, fully made aware that there is no escaping death."

"And it is then that the Grandfather provides his blessings, and cures us of the pain that is life." Hierophant 7 pronounced grimly.

"But we have failed the Grandfather." Hierophant 5 lamented, her voice solemn and back bending from shame.

"Indeed, we have." Hierophant 1 cried from the front of the line. "The pigs we prepared have been taken by wild dogs, but in their haste they have chased our cattle into a corner, and now the despair we had hoped to grow over another hundred years is ripe enough to harvest."

"The fruits of Eden grown for plague and pox are now rotting outside ahead of schedule." Hierophant 4 muttered bitterly, like a farmer who had his cattle poached or taken by wolves.

"The harvest will be smaller than planned, but there will be a harvest." Hierophant 2 said soothingly, making the best of a miserable situation.

The line of hierophants, and the shuffling nobles finally came to a set of blast doors, airtight and locked shut. Hierophant 1 pressed his hand against the keypad, and the door hissed as it unlocked itself and opened to reveal a dark and grimy airlock.

All of the hierophants and their charges huddled inside, and let the contraption cycle as broken sprayers attempted to clean the individuals inside it before opening the next set of doors.

When the inner doors of the airlock opened, everyone except the hierophants clutched at their stomachs, became violently sick, or bled from rapidly expanding burns on their weak skin.

Radiation had begun to fill the room, for they were walking above one of the wells where unfiltered and untreated water from the polluted mines deep in the crust was pulled up.

The hierophants dragged or beat the nobles they had cared for until now like cattle, forcing them forwards with their shepherds' crooks even as they squealed and grunted like piglets in a meat processing factory.

Hierophant 7 only wrapped his bony hand around the albino girl's upper arm, and forced her to shuffle along with him onto the catwalks above the well. The girl's bandages grew thick and heavy with blood as her skin broke apart from the unending onslaught of alpha, beta, and gamma radiation. Red wads of cloth began to fall off, taking chunks of skin with them, exposing fat and muscle to the toxic air.

The girl could only gag from the pain. Every inch of her body felt like it was burning.

One by one, the hierophants pushed or threw the nobles into the toxic waters. Their fat and misshapen bodies splashed into the brackish waters, then turned them white with foam as they thrashed about in pain. Meat and bone melted from the toxic chemicals left inside them, and even the blood that spilled turned black as the solvents inside the water reacted with it on a chemical level.

As hierophant number 7 came to the catwalk, the albino girl grabbed his hand and stared pleadingly up into his face.

Hierophant 7 looked down at the girl quizzically. He had not taught her anything, for he had thought her too stupid to learn. Her parents were particularly mentally deficient, unable to learn that sticking a finger into a fire would cause a burn. Thus, he thought her too simple to understand what was going on.

Yet, there was a fear in her eyes. She had seen what had happened to the others, and been able to put two and two together.

Through some miracle of genetics, this girl had a normal level of intelligence. It had merely been left to rot, unwatered with knowledge, and unkept by the hierophants who satisfied every need for her in her stead.

Slowly, a sadistic smile grew across the hierophant's face, realizing that the simple girl he had kept as a pet was not so simple at all.

"Wonderful." He whispered. "To think even after all we did to you and your bloodline, you still managed to be born." His other hand stroked the girl's hair, pulling strands from her scalp as her body continued to break down from the radioactive soup they stood above. "The Grandfather and his minions will enjoy you." He said, then dangled her over the catwalk, watching as the skin and nails of her hands began to tear as she tried to desperately hold onto him. Finally, the girl fell, and disappeared from view in a white splash of water.

"We will bring forth the Grandfather's gardeners, and his messengers." Hierophant 7 said as he turned his back on the radioactive pool below him. "They will fertilize the barren sands, and bring back the Truth to a people that forgot to die when they murdered the planet itself."

---

Author's Note 1:
I understand some will be surprised that Xozer turned out to be a Nurgle enclave. It should be quite confusing, considering the fall of this city is supposedly what doomed Terra and humanity as well as caused the split between Neoth and Erda. For better or for worse, this is not something I have control over. Xozer was a Nurgle aligned state in canon material, and it remains so in this story.

All will become clear in good time (3 more parts to be exact), but I would also like to point out that, besides the name 'Xozer', there were several other hints and foreshadowings regarding what exactly was inhabiting the highest points of power for this city.

The most obvious tell is in the novel "Horus Rising", which is where the Chronicle of Ursh comes from. It is pretty clear that Nurgle is the one associated with Xozer, while Khorne is the one associated with Shang Khal.

However, that is an extra-literary source, so the foreshadowing in this story itself are below:

Part 1: The hierophant's speeches come every 3 hours, which is one of the numbers of Nurgle. His other number is 7 and 7 is his preferred number although 3 is supposed to be his as well.

Part 1: Nurgle's 'armies' (if that is what you can call his disorganized hosts of daemons), are referred to as Tallybands. Counting and recording the numbers of poxes and plagues, as well as the symptoms and deaths of each one is a vital part of their function as well. This 'accounting' is quite prevalent in those associated with Nurgle, with the rank of Tallyman existing for the Death Guard. The references to economics and the slothful way Xozer gained its fortunes is an attempted allusion to the way Nurgle works.

Part 1: Xozer as a society is afraid of innovation and change, which is what the conflict between the Xozerites and Upashtar symbolizes. The conservative Xozerites destroyed the Upashtar completely and turned them into mindless beasts, but the rest of Xozer only watched as this happened. As the Chaos power of stagnation and eternal cycles, this is in line with Nurgle's philosophy, and symbolizes his hatred of Tzeentch; the changer of ways.

Part 2: Xozer's military strategy in the Eastern deserts is based around fatiguing the enemy to death. This is a favored tactic of Nurgle's.

Part 2: Keyser expresses an almost instinctual hatred for Xozer, which is a reflection of Khorne's hatred for Nurgle and the lazy way the Plaguefather spreads itself across all things.

Part 2 and 3: Xozer's philosophy is often seen as deterministic. i.e. set in stone before birth. Genetics is the way this is done, but the concept of being stuck in a pre-planned route is a concept Nurgle encompasses.

Part 1 and 4: The city and its society is often described as greedy, fat, and gluttonous. These are all character traits of Nurgle. The way the gates are described as mouths covered in jam is another visceral imagery that is related to Nurgle.

Part 4: A minor symbolism, but the laserthorn hedges are a 'clean' version of the thrashing vines/tentacles of Nurgle's garden.

Part 4: (This is a slightly humorous meta reference.) I didn't give any of the hierophants names, because I was lazy. They all only receive numbers for that reason. Laziness is a trait of Nurgle.

Nurgle is not only the Ruinous Power of poxes and plagues. As the Greater Demon Ulkair once said, "corrosion and ruin are Nurgle's as well." Pollution and degradation whether they be moral or material in nature attracts Nurgle's interests.

Some might feel the idea of degradation overlaps with Slaanesh, and you would be right. That is why the two hate each other on an instinctual level. Nurgle is the degradation that comes from lack of maintenance and apathy. Slaanesh is the degradation that comes from active cruelty. Symbolically, this is why Nurgle was able to take Isha from Slaanesh in the first place. The degradation of the Aeldari's lives and society partially comes from apathy and indolence. Hence, Nurgle was able to lay claim to the Goddess of Life who did nothing to help them in the immaterium (no matter how painful that inaction was for Isha herself). Slaanesh still fought Nurgle for the mother of the Aeldari, and it was only after significant losses that the Plaguefather finally secured his prise in the route that did not happen.

Now that Xozer has been revealed to be a Nurgle aligned society, the more obvious Nurgle imagery described in the "Horus Rising" novel will begin.

Author's Note 2:
I'm putting in an interlude next week, because the depression has hit Nurgle levels for this section, and we need something positive to freshen things up. For those of you who want to just read the next part of the Fall of Xozer, a partial draft is up on my Patreon, along with the positive interlude.

Positive interludes are planned to be put in every two parts of the Fall of Xozer in order to brighten the mood, and remind everyone that the Fall of Xozer is an event that happened in the past. What is done is done. The only thing the characters can do is move forwards, and hopefully make improvements on their previous actions.

Author's Note 3:
I have received a question from a reader as to why the Emperor does not seem to have agents on Terra to do his will, and why none of them appear at Xozer. I have put my answer below:

Althought the focus of this section of the story is on Xozer, as the Emperor mentioned in "Mother meets Mother", other regions of Terra are also tainted by horrible things.

The Mericas have plutocrats that harvest fresh organs from children to rejuvenate themselves.

The Albians enforce rigid class rules, and treat the peasantry as little better than animals.

Other priest-kings, zealots, technobarbarians, and technophiles hold fiefdoms and domains across the planet.

This is also before the Psi-Wars, which is another devestating conflict which is when the Thunder Warriors were deployed in large enough numbers to be recorded in history.

When you look at it this way, the war between Ursh and the Nord Afrik Conclaves is just another war on a planet where war never ends.

Similarly sized conflicts are taking place in at least three or four different locations at the same time as the Fall of Xozer.

Also, as Erda mentioned in "Political Realignment", there are several Daemon Princes on Terra that are egging on the worst tendencies of humanity. This means that both the Emperor and Erda are not aware of which part of Terra is causing the worst damage to it. Isha, Neoth, and Erda know with hindsight that the fall of Xozer was the symbolic end of humanity's autonomy. However, at this moment in time, even Erda is unsure whether Xozer is the most important place.

 

[Nidhog153]

I thought things would be different after leaving the dark underground training square, and the master.

"30km run, starting now." A tall woman with long pointed ears said. We all looked at her blankly for a moment, but she only turned to the left and motioned for us to move.

I was with almost a thousand other children in a giant brightly lit gymnasium. We had all been fed some sort of barley or grain porridge with fruit this morning, and provided shoes that fit our feet with a set of warm clothes as well. Yet, here we were being ordered to run in exactly the same manner as the master.

"Spread out." Elalindra ordered. She was watching over the group of children who had woken up near me. There were ten of us in total. Other women with the same long ears herded their groups of children, spacing them out for some reason. Perhaps they wanted to lessen the amount of collateral damage when they began to weed out the weak ones.

"Wait." The long eared woman said as she brushed a strand of red hair behind her ear. We stood there, evenly spaced out as row after row of children began to start running. Once the group ahead of us was a few meters ahead, Elalindra said, "Go." and we began to run. Elalindra followed beside us, skipping instead of running. She seemed to float through the air with every step, traveling the same distance we took 5 or 6 steps to travel in a single hop.

We continued to run for a while, then I noticed one of the children in the group ahead of us slowing down. It was a boy, and he seemed to be having trouble breathing.

Suddenly, the boy's legs gave way, and he fell. I and the others of my group sidestepped around him easily. He had been far enough ahead of us to react, and we had ample room between us to avoid him.

I turned my head to see what would happen to him; what would happen to me if I too should stumble.

A different long eared woman approached the fallen boy, and he struggled to get on his feet.

I had seen this sight before, back in the dark training arena of the master. All who fell during the runs were often trampled by the rest of us. Those who could still move after that always tried to get back up, even though it was useless. The master or one of his assistants would slowly approach the one who fell, and execute them. Even if they managed to stand back up, they would still be shot.

Failure only happened once.

The boy must have known what was going to happen to him as well, because I could see tears flowing down his eyes. It was already too late for him, but some animal instinct kept his hands and feet moving, dragging him away from the woman approaching behind him.

The woman reached him in only two steps, and the boy's tears were followed by verbal cries.

How were we going to be disposed of here? These women were obviously stronger than us. Would he have his neck snapped, or would they beat him to death in front of us all so we could see the cost of failure?

The long eared women did neither of those. She simply picked him up, then hugged him.

I felt something hot and cold shoot through my head and chest.

That boy had failed, but he was not punished. He was embraced and rewarded for being weak. Yet, here I was running at these women's orders for a reason I did not understand.

The world in front of me turned red. I could feel my blood boil at the unfairness of our treatment.

My feet stopped moving, and I stood still. More and more runners passed me by, but I didn't join them.

I felt a bitter taste rising in the back of my mouth as something made my hands ball into fists.

"What is the matter, Lorien?" Elalindra asked me, staring down at me with her gray eyes.

I glared back at her. Feelings that I had long since forgotten began to boil up inside me, forcing me to grit my teeth to hold them inside.

"I don't want to run." I finally spat out. Running was tiring. Running was painful. Running reminded me of too many things I didn't want to think of.

Elalindra crouched down, bringing her face closer to mine. Her legs were so long that she still couldn't lower herself to my level, but I could see her expressions more clearly than before.

"Is that so." She said quietly. It was not a question, nor was it a threat. It sounded more like a sigh. An acceptance of fact. We stared at each other for a moment, then I shivered as the anger inside me drained away. The adrenaline induced heat was now gone, leaving only the chilling touch of regret. Now, I was all too aware of what I had just done. I had disobeyed. I had failed. I had lost control of my emotions, and acted stupidly because of them.

My brain and body froze. Ice water now ran through my veins, and I turned away from Elalindra's eyes.

A shadow fell over my face as Elalindra's hand reached for me, and I closed my eyes.

I was going to die now. All of those who closed their eyes in the face of danger died.

Fingers plopped themselves onto my head, and mussed my hair for a while before traveling down the back of my head.

"Good." Elalindra smiled. "You were able to speak your own mind."

For one moment, I didn't understand what she had said. Then, relief coursed through my body, relaxing every muscle I had, and returning my temperature to normal.

"Why do you not want to run?" Elalindra asked, and the words spilled from my mouth as I felt them.

"I get tired, and I don't know why I have to."

Infantile. That was what those words were. Instinctual, like the bleating of a lamb or the barking of a puppy. Yet, they were true.

"I see." Elalindra's hand cupped the back part of my jaw, and her index finger massaged the muscles behind my ear. "You don't have to run."

The words were gentle, but a pang of panic made my heart skip a beat. Was I being thrown away? Had I been deemed unnecessary, or unworthy? Had I disappointed her with my lack of control over myself and my actions?

"Then…" I stammered. "Then why did you tell us to run?"

If I didn't have to run… If there was no threat of punishment or means of weeding out those who did or didn't, why was I being asked to do this?

"Because I want you to."

The answer was as simple as that. There was no logic or reason. There was just a wish and an emotion.

"That is the reason I ask you to." Elalindra continued as she stroked my head. "I want you to run, so I ask you to run, and you have the right to say you do not wish to." She lowered her head, pressing her forehead against mine. "If you want to stop running, we will sit here and talk until lunch time, or whenever you want to start running again."

"... Why?"

Several questions were compacted into that single word.

Why are you doing this for me? Why did you save me? Why didn't you come earlier? Why are you giving me the ability to choose what we do?

But, at the very end, the infantile part of my brain asked the stupidest and simplest question.

Why do you want me to run?

Elalindra smiled, then pulled her head away from mine. "Because it is fun to run with someone. I want you to remember that."

My heart skipped another beat.

Fun.

I had forgotten the feeling, but I remembered it now. My hand reached for hers, and she took it gently as she stood. I turned back to the direction where the other children were running. Many of them no longer were, instead talking to one of the tall women who watched over us. Some talked to them one on one, others were in small groups.

"Shall we?" Elalindra asked. Her waist was slightly bent so she could keep holding my hand.

I nodded, and I began to move forwards. Faster and faster my feet went. My lungs pumped in air like bellows, and something else began to bubble in my chest. It came out as a sort of strange hiccup at first, but then it flooded out just as it used to.

Laughter. The gay sounds I made when playing tag or hide and seek.

There was a musical sound beside me. It was Elalindra's laugh. I turned to stare up at her, and her red hair flowed behind her like the tail of a shooting star, and her face was just as bright as one.

And we laughed, consumed by the runner's high, striving to see who was faster than the other.

—-------------------------------------------------

An hour later, my lactic acid filled muscles sorely regretted my earlier actions.

"Apologies, Lorien." Elalindra said sheepishly as I lay on the ground panting. "You are used to pushing past your limits. I should have stopped you earlier."

"It's… fine…" I stammer out between breaths. I had tried to race Elalindra, having completely forgotten how she had kept pace with us while skipping earlier. Of course, she won every single time. Elalindra was kind, but she was also surprisingly competitive.

"Can you stand?" Elalindra asked. Her ears seemed to be drooping a bit, possibly with worry or regret.

I shook my head, unable to speak.

"It is almost lunch time." Elalindra sighed. "To make amends, I guess I shall have to carry you to the table."

Before I could understand what she said, her arms scooped me up and held me to her breast. Her skin was cool and soft, like touching fresh blankets. As she walked, she hummed. I felt the vibrations in her throat travel through her body and into me as my ears heard the slightly sad song coming from her musical voice.

Sleepiness took over me, and I closed my eyes in her arms.

—-------------------------------------------------

Author's Note:
When Aeldari do something, there is usually a double or even triple meaning to their actions. Elalindra and the others simulacra of Isha are both treating the mental scars of the children, and teaching the basics of diplomacy.

At its core, diplomacy is the statement of what each party wants, and finding a solution that is satisfactory for both sides. Naturally, diplomacy between interstellar empires is more complex, especially when dealing with parties that are hostile with each other. The revelation of what one truly wants is a weakness that can be exploited. High level diplomacy is like Poker. The one who can bluff the best can take more than their fair share of the pot.

That is a lesson for another day, however. Elalindra and the others need to ensure the acts the children went through while in the assassin temples such as running or exercising don't trigger vicious bouts of PTSD later on. Their efforts are centered more around re-associating those acts with positive or fun things.

Still, the reason their training/counseling format takes this physical and psychological approach is to instill this micro-scale concept of saying what you want, and finding a way both parties can be satisfied. Elalindra wants Lorien to run, but Lorien does not want to. Elalindra promises that such an act will be fun, and convinces Lorien to run with her. It is extremely basic, but it is still a form of diplomacy.

Additionally, as the Goddess of Life, Isha naturally wants all beings to enjoy life. Running, eating, talking, etc. All those acts should be enjoyed by the living, and it is for that reason as well that she tries to get the children to have fun in even these simple things.

 

[Nidhog153]

The skull of the ex-head librarian hummed as it retracted a specialized claw into the machinery attached to its base. Lord Nour watched the shiny laminated and resin reinforced bone bobble once, as if it was bowing. Then, the small grav-motors at the base of the servo-skull lifted the willingly donated remains of the ex-head librarian up into the cavernous halls of the Imperial Library.

Lord Nour watched it go before turning his eyes to the tome that had been laid on the table in front of him. He had come here to take a look at the Chronicle of Ursh. Vidar had recommended it to him once, and what the Lord from the Terrawatt clans said before the recommendation had clung to his mind for some reason.

"It is not the Imperium's soldiers, nor their weapons I fear."

The Terrawatt clans rarely spoke in frivolous riddles. They preferred speaking directly, and used facts or logic whenever they could. Therefore, there were few ways Vidar's words could be interpreted. If it was not the soldiery or the weaponry of the Imperium, the only things that remained were its economics, its legislations, and its Emperor. He didn't need three guesses to figure out which one Vidar was referring to.

Lord Nour removed one of his reading gloves. They were a required piece of clothing in order to preserve the priceless books in this section of the library from finger oils and moisture. He placed his bare hand on the security panel built into the solid metal book cover that encased the tome. It beeped, approving his biosignatures, then there was a clunking sound and a seam opened up on one side. Nour put his glove back on ,and then slowly opened the book cover. He grimaced as he saw several bulges attached to the inner side. These were ball bearing filled explosives that had been pointing at him while the metal book cover was closed. Forcing it open would have most likely resulted in a shotgun spray of shrapnel shooting through his upper torso.

'It isn't in the restricted section for nothing.' Nour thought to himself as he opened the tome.

For two hours Nour read through the histories of Kalgann. It followed the broad strokes of what the children of the Nord Afrik Conclaves were taught of their ancestral enemy. The acts and events were written in a more sympathetic light, but the death tolls were no different at least. It was an interesting portrayal of how a barbaric slaughter could be seen as a glorious victory when viewed from the otherside. However, all of the cataclysmic battles that were taught to the children of the Nord Afrik Conclaves were referred to as minor skirmishes in the Chronicles of Ursh. Each one was just a preparatory step to the great goal of taking down the ancient capital of the Nord Afrik Conclaves; Xozer.

Nour did not know much about Xozer. He had seen the blackened ruins and vitrified basin surrounding it. Supposedly, a pure atomic had been detonated above the city, and destroyed both it and its attackers. The explosion also sent shockwaves of some sort that shut down caches of ancient technology all across the Afrik continent, Europa, the region that would become the Achaemenid empire, the lands of the Indol, and even the Yndonesic Bloc.

Yndonesic historians said that the effect of this shockwave might have inspired the first primalist Ethnarchs. It was these zealots who wished to revert all humanity to an age before technology. The sudden loss of ancient devices and facilities may have been seen as a sign from the divine, and allowed the overly religious a rallying call to coalesce into the Church that eventually birthed the bloody regime of Cardinal Tang.

Unfortunately for the scholars, all they had was theory. The loss of vast amounts of technology also meant the loss of vast amounts of information and evidence. The psi-wars that occurred shortly after did little to stem the leakage of human history.

The only thing that could be confirmed was that almost all of the relics from the Dark Age of Technology ceased to function across the Afrikan, Indol, Achaemenid, and southern parts of the Eurasian tectonic plates.

The only reason humanity survived at all in these regions, was thanks to the massive increase in psykers across these regions.

But, that was not a blessing. Psykers are feared and hated for a reason.

Nour snorted as he read about how the altruistic society of the Nord Afrik Conclaves was described. The idea that they were all mercantile with the sale of potable water and fertile soil being portrayed as the beginnings of economic slavery was cynical at best. He wondered what Vidar found to be enlightening in this obviously colored propaganda piece from a defeated enemy's past.

Xozer had fallen hundreds of years ago, and this Chronicle of Ursh came from the same age. The Ursh in this book merely occupied the same geography as the Ursh the Imperium defeated. Even if the overlord of modern Ursh shared the same name as the Kalagann in this book, there was no logical reason to believe that they were the same individual. Ritualistic name changing, or even coincidence made more sense than to believe what was on the pages. Of course, it was impossible to confirm that now. The Thunder Warriors had raised Ursh to the ground, and the only thing that remained of Kalagann was his Armour of Pearl placed in the Imperial Palace for display.

Leathery pages turned again as Nour read more about how the final battle unfolded at Xozer. He read about how atomics were deployed enmasse, and how Xozer's walls fell one by one.

On the next page, a deep crease dug itself into Nour's brow.

What was once merely a propaganda piece had been replaced by the scratchings of a madman.

It described plagues of insects, as thick as monsoon rain and so vast in their swirling masses that they blacked out the sun falling upon Keyser's forces. They choked air intakes, weapon ports, visors, ears, mouths and throats. Water boiled without fire. Engines overheated or burned out without warning. Men turned to stone, or their bones turned to paste, or their flesh succumbed to boils and buboes and flaked off their limbs.

The only parts that made sense was when the book described men going mad and turning upon their own.

Majiks and demons were referenced outside of simile and metaphor. Names that he had no idea how to pronounce were used over and over again like nouns, verbs, or adjectives; as if the reader was supposed to understand what was happening from these names alone.

"Found something interesting?" A feminine voice whispered into his ear, and Nour froze. A drop of sweat fell from his forehead onto his hand, and he realized they had been trembling for some time.

"Lady Callidus." Nour whispered. "This place is quite exposed."

There was a husky chuckle from behind him, and he heard the air rustle as the assassin drew away from him.

"We are in the restricted section of the Imperial Library, Lord Nour." The Imperial assassin said in a casual tone. "For now, even the servo-skulls have given us privacy."

Nour suppressed a shiver that tried to creep down his spine. This visit was unscheduled, and no one enjoys an unscheduled visit from an assassin, especially in private.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Nour answered civilly. He kicked himself internally as he did so. It was rare for him to be civil to the assassin. Their conversations were usually more frank. In his fear, he had fallen back on the instinctual good manners of his highborne upbringing, and the assassin would notice that.

"Do not be afraid." Lady Callidus drolled. "I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people."

Nour snorted, recognising the Catharic quote from Luke 2:10. So, the assassin had come as a messenger today.

"Careful." Nour said with a chuckle, tension easing at the assassin's joke. "Practice of religion is a punishable offense."

"Oh, spare me the lecture." The assassins sighed as she walked around the table and into Nour's view. "Eternally loyal I may be to the Imperium of Man and the Master of Mankind, but even I have complaints I wish to air from time to time."

"A complaint?" Nour said with a raised eyebrow. Referring to the Emperor as a god did not sound like much of a complaint. It sounded more like an attempt at suicide.

"It's nothing much." Callidus sighed. "I just wish to be used as something more than an errand girl once in a while."

"As a normal person, I believe it is better when assassins are used for nothing but errands." Nour said sourly.

"What are you, a pacifist?" The assassin snorted back.

"I am a politician." The Lord shrugged. "Violence is the last tool that should be used."

"Well then, I retract my previous statement." A grin spread across the assassin's face as she spoke. "You should be very afraid of the message I bring."

"And what is the message?" Nour replied as his eyes narrowed.

"Finish that book first." Lady Callidus said, gesturing to the book in its explosive rigged case. "You have already put one foot over the boundary between those like myself and the rest of the Imperium. Ignorance cannot be afforded by those who speak with the Emperor's word, or act as the Emperor's hand."

Nour raised an eyebrow at the assassin. This book was far from what he would consider enlightening, but the Lord from the Terrawatt clans would not have recommended him a piece of fiction out of whimsy. His fingers turned another leathery page, and his brow furrowed again at the mention of golden angels raining down from the sky. His eyes turned upwards, looking at the decorations of the Imperial Palace. Beautiful humanoid beings with giant wings were engraved with gold leaf where the decorative pillars on the library walls met the arched gothic ceiling. Another shiver passed through his body, as he felt their pupiless eyes stare down at him judgmentally from above.

"Apt symbolism, aren't they?" The assassin chuckled before him. "Angelos is an ancient term for messenger, and as messengers of a higher power, they were referred to as such. Who better to be portrayed in a place where words from our far more glorious past are given to those who merely survived till the present."

"And you?" Nour said sourly. The quote of Luke 2:10 were the words of a monster made of nothing but feathers and eyes speaking as an angel of God. What sort of 'angel' was she pretending to be while risking the Emperor's fury?

"I am the hand of the Emperor." Lady Callidus smiled. "I will remain so until the Emperor tells me 'It is enough: stay now thine hand'."

"2 Samuel 24:16." Nour said quietly, referring to the passage of the Catharic book that referenced the angel of death.

"Correct." The assassin smiled, then laughed. "How ironic that the ones tasked with destroying a thing must know the most about it."

"It is only when a target can be recognized that it can be taken out." Nour said, before looking down at the book again and reading the next line.

—-------------------------------------------------

Wilhym Mardol watched as another wave of shells hid the ancient void shields again. No mushroom clouds appeared, for there was no dust or rubble to kick up when the atomics struck the shields. All they could see was a massive flash that shot up into the sky as the void shield redirected the explosion's own force against itself. They had been shelling the city for several hours from behind the broken remains of the 7th defensive wall. However, the dark blue barrier remained firm.

Roma fliers flew over them occasionally, providing air cover while remaining far enough away from the blasts of the atomics. The updraft created by the heat from the atomics hitting the shields was gradually forcing away the ion storm that had been brewing above them, allowing the sun to once again hit the ground.

The ground was black and brown. Rotting plants filled the untrampled fields, while burnt and crushed remains showed where the armies of Ursh had passed.

"Mardol!" Keyser called from beside him. "How much longer must we wait for the shields to fall?"

Mardol sighed. Honestly, he had no idea. This shield was an artifact from the ancients. There was no telling what it was capable of. However, that didn't stop Keyser from asking him just like he always did whenever he had to deal with something technical or logistic related.

"It will take some time." Mardol said irritably. "Those shields supposedly survived the original apocalypse. We may be here for several days."

"Damn the cowards." Keyser muttered. "They only prolong their suffering by hiding from us."

'And ours as well.' Mardol thought to himself. The oxygen in their suits was not infinite. Another few hours, and they would need to start thinking about rotating troops out of the irradiated zones to refill their oxygen supplies, and possibly gather nutrient canisters from Shang Khal. Sieges were grueling for both sides.

Still, the citizens of Xozer would have it infinitely worse than them.

"It seems they evacuated the outer walls before the battle. There are no civilians in the farms, which means they must be packed in this last murengon. However…" Mardol leaned in towards Keyser so his voice could be hidden from the others. "The lack of armed infantry resistance worries me. Besides their defensive laser walls and the snipers, we haven't run into any other standing forces. I would have expected at least gene-brutes to be deployed against us."

"Do you think they are setting up a trap?" Keyser asked.

"No." Mardol shook his head. "That shield prevents them from attacking us, just as it protects them from our fire. If they were going to organize a trap, it would have been when we attacked the second layer of defensive walls."

Xozer's firepower decreased with every wall that fell, while Keyser's forces grew more concentrated. The second wall was the best place for a trap in Mardol's mind, for it was both hidden behind the first wall and only marginally weaker than the first in terms of firepower.

A dedicated resistance with infantry or mechanized vehicles assisted with supporting fire from the crystalline walls would have inflicted heavy casualties on them. Even if their forces outnumbered those of Xozer's, concentrating whatever military strength it had left could have created a force strong enough to break the Urshite encirclement. Should that have happened, they would have had to worry about being flanked by the defenders. Shang Khal and Keyser had discussed counters for such an attack, but in the end all their planning ended up going unused.

Keyser then chuckled slightly, before turning to Mardol.

"Your weakness is that you overthink things, Mardol." The Lord Marshall said. "The answer lies in the dirt around us. Look at the farming equipment left mid-use, and the messy tracks that lead into the murengon. There were no soldiers here, only farmers. The arrogant fools never expected us to breach the first wall."

Mardol looked down at the fields, and saw hoes and hand plows left behind. People had been working here until the last moment.

"They must have run under the shields when the first atomics fell." Keyser chuckled again. "But, it is too late for them. They will soon learn what it means to live outside their shielded conclaves as the cancers and leukemia consume their bones and bodies."

The words were spit with caustic venom, and Mardol felt his hand ball into a fist.

"We did not come here to inflict pain and misery, Keyser." He hissed. "We inflict pain and misery out of necessity, not malice."

The two armored men stared at each other upon their steeds, then Keyser turned away.

"... You are right." He said slowly then laughed. "Forgive me, Mardol. The battle has boiled my blood and my brains."

Mardol sighed and put his hand on the Lord Marshall's forearm.

"You promised us a better world where our worth would be known, Keyser." He whispered. "I can't have you losing your mind and getting killed by a stray shot until you get us there." His helmet optics pointed at the rotting crops in the fields, and the burning land, as if to remind his friend just how far they were from their dream.

"We will get there, Mardol." Keyser said as he patted his friend's hand as the mortars and cannons fired the next salvo in the background. "It will take time, but we will get th-"

Suddenly, there was a deep bubbling sound, like boiling mud. As both men turned back to the blue dome surrounding the city, they watched it ripple and writhe, despite not having received the next salvo of shells.

The shield was falling apart, but not because the forces of Keyser had overstressed it.

"NO!" Keyser cried out as he watched the atomic and explosive artillery shells fired moments earlier fall into the center of the city.

There was a stunned silence. Seconds turned to minutes as they all waited to hear the sound of explosions.

But nothing happened.

"Were the shells defective?" Keyser finally said.

Mardol shook his head. "That was tens of thousands of shells, Keyser. Tens of thousands of shells from a hundred different munition plants. What do you think the odds are that we all fired the duds at the same time?"

The odds were astronomically low. No reasonable explanation existed for what just happened. However, there was an unnatural answer.

"Majiks…" Keyser hissed venomously.

"And powerful ones at that." Mardol said glumly, then he froze.

"They say all majik comes from sacrifice." He said slowly. "Did they sacrifice their shield generators to cast that spell?"

A chill went through all of them at the same moment. The order of events lined up. Xozer hadn't used any majiks until now, and the sudden unexplained failure of the ancient void shields was too perfect to be coincidence.

"Men, prepare to charge into the city." Keyser gave the orders hastily. "Ignore everything, and focus on your hate. Majiks fail before Khorne's fury. We must get to the hierophants and stop their next spell."

The hierophants of Xozer had just sacrificed the void shields that kept them and their ancestors safe from atomics in order to use their majiks. There was no telling what other priceless artifacts would be used up next.

"Can we get into contact with the other brigades?" Mardol asked the Vox officer as Keyser organized his forces for the assault.

"I can't get a clear signal." The Vox officer shook his head. "The radiation was already interfering from before, but there has been nothing but white noise ever since the shields fell."

"Then fire the signal flare for an all out assault." Keyser ordered, returning from the berserkers and other lancers.

The Vox officer nodded, and pulled out a massive flare gun that looked more like a hand held cannon from his back holster. A huge flare was loaded, then fired up into the sky. It rose like a reverse shooting star, trailing a tail of red smoke as it flew.

Off in the distance on either side, two more blood red flares rose, and then more followed as the signal traveled through the encircling armies.

"Fire the targeting flares for our cannons and mortars." Keyser ordered his Vox officer again. "Have them target the next walls."

"Keyser, our shells will not explode." Mardol reminded the Lord Marshal. "Their majiks will nullify them."

"They cannot nullify their mass." Keyser replied. "If they cannot explode, then their lasers cannot detonate before they land." His helmet turned to the breaches in the destroyed wall before them. Although many, each one was quite narrow, creating a dangerous bottleneck. They were the perfect locations for the enemy to concentrate their remaining fire power. "We need as many soldiers to get inside the city. I would throw rocks at them if it would get another lancer beyond those walls."

The Vox Officer loaded another flare while the two of the spoke, and fired a green flare before firing a second yellow one in parabolic arcs at the wall that had been hidden behind the shields.

"Get ready! Lancers! With me!" Keyser called out to his troops, and the berserkers took cover by each of the ragged edges within the 7th wall.

The thunder of cannons and mortars came, and laser fire flashed from beyond the wall. But, the heat only melted the swiftly rusting metal casings and rotten explosives of each shell. The liquified remains struck like ancient cannon balls, shattering some of the crystal lenses.

"Charge!" Keyser shouted as he heard the sound of cracking crystals, and the berserkers obeyed. They spilled out of the cracks all at once instead of waves, and the remaining lenses opened fire. The lasers on the lower sections of the walls remained unscathed, and they let loose their fury on each of the gaps before them. Light spilled out of each crack, and all who stood there sublimated into gas leaving nothing behind. The ruined wall melted like wax, and the gaps in the ruined 7th wall were sealed with a mixture of its own molten ceramics and metals.

Yet, even as the lasers roared like blast furnaces, the clack of metal claws on crystalline surfaces could be heard. Keyser and his Tupolev Lancers lept from the top of the destroyed 7th wall, just as the walls of Xozer finished firing. The clawed feet of their metal steeds had clambered up the ruined wall, finding purchase on the shattered crystals and cracked surfaces. The berserkers had been a distraction, baiting the city into using its dwindling reserves to wipe out as many Urshite soldiers as possible. Now, the Tupolev Lancers flew through the air, safe from laser fire.

"Spread out!" Keyser commanded as his mechanical steed slammed into the ground, kicking up dirt and dust like a bomb. All 6 metal limbs groaned as they attempted to absorb the force of the landing. Several of the lancers fell, failing to hit the ground with all 6 limbs at once. Clawed limbs popped off or exploded from the strain put upon them, sending their riders flying in random directions.

Keyser gave them no heed, instead moving forwards while jinking at random moments. As if on cue, Volkite fire came from above. The last wall had been covered by void shields, so the snipers were still alive and able to fight. All of them wore thick oxygen masks with leaded face plates, and were protected by bulky looking body suits.

The Tupolev Lancers charged forwards, avoiding the Volkite fire as best as they could. They were in a race against time. Once the optical resonators recharged, they would all be incinerated in an instant.

Keyser saw the massive diamond-like crystal in front of him begin to glow, and ceased his evasive movements. Instead he forced his steed forwards as fast as he could in a straight line. Volkite beams began to scar his armor, drilling through it in preparation to blow him up from the inside.

Keyser grabbed a melta charge from a pouch on his pack, primed it and threw. At the same time, he forced his steed to about turn with a mental command. All 6 legs scrambled as the cybernetic horse and rider skidded sideways before finally building enough friction against the ground to begin running back the way they came. Only a second later, the melta charge detonated. Superheated plasma was sent out in a small sphere, liquifying the crystals nearest it to it, and shattering more with its shockwave.

The Volkite snipers continued firing at Keyser, further cutting into his armor and weakening the backplate. Then, a burning yellow flare blinded them. Their beams scattered as they lost sight of Keyser, and the Lord Marshall swerved out of the few beams that remained on target.

Mardol gave a sigh of relief as he lowered the massive flare gun he had snatched from the Vox officer's back holster. Keyser always stood at the front of any engagement. That was why his men followed him. Despite their many recent arguments, Keyser still had his respect, his loyalty, and his filial love.

"Lancers!" Keyser roared, Volkite beam scars still glowing on his armor like worms made of molten metal. "Climb!" Then he turned and charged the ruined section of wall.

Mardol cursed internally as he tossed the flare gun back to the Vox officer. The Lord Marshal's armor was the weakest amongst all of them right now, having just been savaged by several Volktie beams.

"Outrun the Lord Marshal!" He ordered. "Cover him with your bodies if you have to! Let not the first lance of Tupolev fall so close to victory!"

Battle cries and war whoops sounded as the lancers charged forwards. They pushed their steeds to the limits, trying to catch up with their leader. Volkite beams rained down on them, but they were panicked and disorganized. Instead of concerted volleys, they splashed down at random intervals and targets. The snipers were still recovering from their partial blindness, and the black mass of armored soldiers appeared only as a blur, hiding Keyser from their sights.

The lancers' steeds clambered up the walls, losing little speed. They leapt from crack to crevice like mountain goats, and clawed their way up like cats when they could find no other purchase. They scaled the wall, several stories tall. It towered over everything like a ruined cliff face. Yet, it only took the Tupolev Lancers a few seconds to reach the top.

"Faithless cowards!" Keyser roared as he jabbed his lance forwards, snagging the arm of one of the snipers leaning over the ramparts to shoot at them. The grinding gears yanked the man in, turning his upper half into minced meat in an instant before his legs and waist simply fell off the tip, all sinews and tendons to the rest of it torn to shreds. His steed stuck its head over the top as it grabbed onto the ledge with its two fore limbs. Then, it let loose a jet of fire from its mouth, engulfing Xozer's soldiers in orange flames. Some stumbled backwards and fell off the walls, screaming to their deaths. Others ran into their compatriots, yelling for help, only to spread the conflagration that was consuming them onto others.

Amidst the chaos, Tupolev Lancer after Tupolev Lancer clambered over the ramparts, and joined the killing on the walls. Soon, there was nothing but charred corpses and red slurries on the ramparts.

"8 of you run down the walls in that direction. Clear out the snipers, and then begin boring holes for melta charges to disable the walls. The other brigades might not have been able to make it, so we must assist them. We need the rest of Shang Khal's armies to enter the murengon. Otherwise we might get surrounded and overwhelmed." Keyser began giving orders as his men joined him. "You 8 do the same in the other direction. The rest, follow me to the city center."

16 of Keyser's men began to purge the rest of Xozer's defenses as the rest turned to look inwards to the city.

Unlike the other outer areas, the last sections of the city were heavily urbanized. There were no pastures here, or if there were they had been built over by various factories, habitation towers, and storage silos for food or fuel.

"We'll travel across the roofs and bridges." Keyser said as he pointed to the center of the city. Massive corridors connected some of the buildings, and hordes of people could be seen crowding upon them. "We don't have the time to navigate our way through their maze-like streets, or the explosives to simply blow our way to the center. Now, follow me!"

Keyser's steed lept from the walls once again, and landed on the flat roof of a factory of some sort.

Mardol gave another internal sigh as he followed suit. Roofs aren't usually meant to bear weight. There was a good chance the heroic charge of Keyser could have ended with him simply falling through the building, and disappearing under the rubble like the heel of a slapstick comedy.

'At least he picked a roof with lots of air conditioning units and ventilation fans on it.' He grumbled internally. Such heavy machinery indicated a lot of weight was on the roof already, meaning it was more likely to be strong enough to land on.

Keyser and the Tupolev Lancers ran across the roofs, leaping over the alleys and streets, and sometimes crashing through windows and storming through factory floors, administrative buildings, and habitation blocks. They trampled any who stood before them, not even bothering to raise their weapons to get them out of the way. Blood and gore coated every inch of them, their weapons, and their steeds.

As they landed on another heavily reinforced roof, they heard an explosion in the distance. A faint bluish-purple glow began to rise from one of the sectors of the city. It was diagonally across from their location, in an outer ring than they were. Keyser and his men had just crossed the 2nd. The sheer density of buildings meant the last 5 defensive walls were incapable of firing, having been converted into power relays for the infrastructure beyond them.

"Ionizing radiation." Mardol said quietly as they watched the bluish-purple glow grow brighter. "One of the brigades must have let loose dirty atomics into the city."

"The signal flare only gave the order for an all out assault." Keyser replied grimly. "They're following their original orders to wipe out Xozer's nobility." He turned to the rest of the lancers. "The other brigades might be slow to arrive. Prepare for the fight of your lives. Remember, majiks only waylay the misguided and unfocussed. Steel yourselves."

The Tupolev Lancers nodded. Mardol started to do the same, but then something in his peripheral vision froze every microlitre of blood in his body.

"KEYSER, LOOK!" Mardol pointed, and the Lord Marshal as well as all the others turned their eyes in the direction of his finger.

In the very center of Xozer were a series of massive distillation towers. Besides them, were giant domed buildings that housed the centrifuges. Several boxy filtration plants were placed all around these. Each one shone in the sunlight like polished silver, but that silver shine was swiftly being covered by the dark brown color of rusted metal. Corrosion spread over the buildings like mold, growing bumps and rough spikes like stalagmites across its surfaces. The full curves of the domed centrifuges sagged and buckled, like the cheeks of a starving pauper. Rust brown was joined with the gangrenous green of over oxidized metals, and the distillation towers that stood proud began to sag.

Then they fell. With iron shrieks, and metallic groans, each one crumbled as if it were made of sand. Their heavy tops crashed right through the sagging centrifuge buildings and filtration plants, releasing black streams of gas or polluted water into the air that began to rise as clouds over the center of the city.

Not one of the Tupolev Raiders could speak as the entire filtration and purification system collapsed in on itself in a pile of rubble, rust, and dust. Xozer had just killed itself. There was no way for it to survive without its filtration plants. Their enemy had committed suicide right before their eyes, taking with them Shang Khal and Ursh's prize.

"Lord Marshal." Mardol finally spoke. "We have to fall back."

Keyser remained silent, only staring at the growing black cloud in the center of the city.

"There is nothing left for us here, and we are over extended in enemy territory. We need to fallback to one of the other rings, then give the signal for the entire army to retreat so we can all fall back as one."

Once again, Keyser did not reply, but Mardol saw his friend's fist tighten around the handle of his lance.

"Keyser!" Mardol hissed, drawing close so he could whisper in private to him. "We failed. Now, we have to worry about the southern client states and the honor bargains we can no longer uphold. We cannot afford to waste any more lives."

"Waste?" Keyser spoke quietly, and Mardol felt a pang of terror at how calm his friend sounded. "No lives are wasted in the struggle of war. That is the beauty of it, Mardol. Everything has its purpose, whether it be the lowest slave soldier or the highest ranking general."

"This is not the time to be babbling about your philosophies, Keyser!" Mardol shouted back. "We need to fall back."

"And leave the hierophants to guffaw at our retreat?" The Lord Marshal shook his head. "No. Our mission is not yet complete until their lives end."

"They've already killed themselves." Mardol growled. "They've killed their people. They've killed everything that they stood for. They destroyed themselves and the legacy of their forefathers. What is the point of fighting here anymore?"

"To ensure they do not do this somewhere else." Keyser said as he pointed the gear tips of his lance at the black cloud in the distance. "Do you think the hierophants will stop with just this one city? They will spread their foul mind-sickness to all who will listen. They've already shown just how far they are willing to stoop to spite us. They will not stop when we retreat. They will take their majiks, and corrupt everything they can touch."

The other Tupolev Lancers looked at Keyser, Mardol, and the black cloud covering the ruined artifacts. Many of them gripped their lances in barely suppressed anger at having been denied their prize. It was not just the destruction of the artifacts, but the city-wide suicide that they had just witnessed that boiled their blood. That was the coward's way out. A spiteful, bitter, and ugly way to end not only themselves but everyone associated with them.

Yet, Mardol also spoke true. There was no strategic point to fighting anymore. Xozer was now dead, and it could never return to its former glory. The threat to Ursh had been eliminated, even if the main prize was gone.

Then Keyser chuckled slightly, and turned his steed to face his lancers. "Besides, I've just thought of a way to fulfill our honor bargains."

"What?" Mardol replied, unable to understand how Keyser could possibly hope to recoup what had been lost.

"Look at what covers us. It is blood, and what is blood but water and nutrients."

Mardol's steed took a step back, reflecting the revulsion Mardol felt at that moment.

"You cannot be seriously thinking to-"

"Capture the entire surviving populace of Xozer? Oh, I am Mardol. That is the only way to give the Roma and all the others their pound of flesh."

In exchange for fresh soil, and fresh water Mardol proposed to give the remaining people of Xozer to their creditors. Not as slaves, but as fertilizer. Each person was filled with clean unirradiated water, and had fed on fresh grains for many years. They would satisfy the Roma, at the very least, who had to recycle their own dead in their farms aboard their aerial carriers.

"Have you lost your mind, Keyser!" Mardol shouted out.

"IT IS THE ONLY WAY THROUGH THIS DESPAIR, MARDOL!" Keyser retorted with ten times the volume, forcing Mardol back with the rage in his voice. "I know we've failed to gain control of the artifacts, but this is the next best option. The only way forwards, and not backwards."

"Keyser…" Mardol spoke. This was not a plan, but plain madness. There were maybe a few hundred million survivors in the city. Hardly enough to satisfy the nutritional needs of the southern states. The air power of the Roma may remain on their side, but civil war and strife were unavoidable now.

They had lost, and there was no point to any further butchery. Yet, the Lord Marshal either refused to or was not able to see that.

Mardol felt his heart sink, seeing his friend and comrade of hundreds of thousands of battles fall so low. At this moment, he sounded no better than the berserkers they used as cannon fodder.

"Lord Marshal! Look! The cloud." Another lancer cried out, and they all looked up at the black cloud.

It was moving. Tendrils were spreading out from it, and descending into the city while also spreading out over them like a net. Its shadow had begun to darken the sky, and there was now a low droning noise echoing from it.

All of the Tupolev Lancers except Keyser stepped backwards with their steeds, realizing what the black thing was. It was not a cloud, but a swarm of buzzing insects so concentrated and so thick that it was blocking out the sun. Ungodly screams began to rise from the portions of the city the swarm had touched, and new swarms rose with those screams, spreading deeper and further into the winding streets of Xozer.

"So, the foul majiks of the hierophants shows its face." Keyser crowed. "Do you see, Mardol? Do you see, my lancers?" He pointed towards the swarm spilling out of the ruined artifacts. "Look at what the hierophants have done with the wondrous legacy of our glorious past. Instead of handing it over to those worthy, they destroyed it all out of spite and bitterness. Now, they seek to spread death and decay over everything." Keyser raised his lance, standing with the swarm and ruins to his back. The gears of his lance screamed as he revved its engines. "This cannot be allowed to stand! I now charge into the heart of darkness to show those hierophants that THEY HAVE NOT WON! Who is with me!"

One by one the Tupolev Lancers raised their lances. "Keyser! Keyser! Keyser!" They chanted. They did not fear death. They did not fear pain. They were not defeated, and the hierophants would pay for what they had done.

"Good." Keyser nodded. "Now, harness your hate. Let Khorne's fury flood your veins."

"Keyser!" Mardol grabbed his friend's forearm. "We must fall back!"

This place was in the middle of a desert. There was nothing to protect. Their homes in Ursh were far far away. This battle was already lost, and the only thing that mattered was getting as many men and women out of here before the hierophants majiks consumed them all.

"Silence coward!" Keyser yanked his arm out of Mardol's grip and backhanded him off his steed. "I will not stop! I cannot be stopped!" He roared. "This is the only way forward for all of us. The only way to survive!"

Mardol landed on his chest plate, but at that moment he could have been staked through the heart and not felt it.

Something was rotting inside of him. The glorious vision that once inspired him was crumbling before his very eyes.

'There is no better world, is there Keyser?' Mardol asked the image of his friend in his heart. 'War isn't just a tool for you. It's not just lip service to the Wrathsingers of Ursh that flows from your mouth.' The dream he thought he shared with his friend blackened and died as he lay there in the ground. 'You are no hero. You are no leader. You are just a man. The same sort of man that burned this planet to its bare bones in the first place.'

Every achievement, every victory, every raucous celebration in his memory darkened with despair. Every sight and sound he had of Keyser withered as the veneer fell off of it.

'And I helped you do it.'

Mardol returned to the real world, back from the black pit that had replaced the organs in his chest.

Keyser was saying something to the others, but he couldn't hear it. His ears rang with the white noise of utter silence. His glazed eyes caught sight of something in the blood and muck before him.

It was the hilt of a broken chain blade. The same sort of weapon that the berserkers had used. Its tip had been melted off, and the serrated chain was fused to the blade itself.

Mardol looked at the lance he had dropped when Keyser had struck him from his steed, then back to the broken berserker's blade.

Some part of him whispered to him that something was not right. There were no berserkers here. Keyser had left them all back at the 7th wall. This shouldn't be here. It might be a trap.

But Mardol felt his fingers closing around the handle, pulling it out of the now brown gore around them. Small worms and maggots crawled out of the minced putrefying meat, before hurriedly burrowing away as if trying to hide away from sight. The broken blade was barely the length of a combat knife, but its small size meant it could be hidden behind Mardol's armored wrist.

Mardol stood up from the ground, and Keyser looked down at him.

"Leave if you want, First Lieutenant Wilhym Mardol." He said quietly. "Thank you for your service until now. I couldn't have reached here without you."

The first lieutenant shook his head. "I've come this far, Lord Marshal. I shall be with you until the end."

"Good." Keyser said, tone pleased. "Get on your steed, Tupolev Lancer. Here, take my hand."

Keyser reached down towards Mardol. Their hands clasped each other, then Mardol yanked the Lord Marshal towards him while jumping up at the same time. He pulled the broken blade out, holding it in a reverse grip like a dagger, and slammed it through the weakened backplate of his old friend's armor.

"This is it, Keyser." Mardol said slowly, locked in a one armed embrace with the Lord Marshal. He could feel his friend freeze from shock and began to fall backwards. He then twisted the blade, destroying as many redundant organs inside Keyser's chest as he could as he heard the other Tupolev Lancers cry out in rage behind him. "You and I should never have lived this long."

The two slammed into the roof they were on with a metallic thunk, driving the broken blade hilt and all into Keyser's body.

"Traitor!" One of the lancers cried as he stabbed the rotating drill gears into the side of Mardol's torso. Metal chips and shards shot out of the back end of his lance, pelting the lancer's armor and sending up sparks. However, instead of red blood and pink meat, the only thing that came out of the armor was a gangrenous green sludge.

Mardol's arm spun backwards and grabbed the haft of the lance, then lifted the Tupolev Lancer and his steed upwards as his body swelled. Armored plates rusted and fell off like overly dry skin, but instead of a man, a massively obese thing with twisted horns emerged from Mardol's armor.

It guffawed as the other soldiers could only stare up at the gangrenous bloated corpulent thing that was now squatting over them. Its guts were hanging out of its stomach from a crescent shaped wound that looked like a grinning maw. Every inch of it was covered in boils, pimples, or weeping ulcers leaking yellow pus that steamed like acid as it hit the ground.

"Such beautiful friendship broken. Such wondrous dreams darkened by despair." It spoke, and every hair on the Tupolev Lancers stood on end in pure revulsion at its voice. "This is the true end of all War, for the Grandfather is the beginning and the end." It guffawed again as the black swarms descended upon all of them.

The sounds of their wings were so loud it blocked out the Tupolev Lancers' own cries as they became blinded by the black bodies of the flies that now surrounded them. Their steeds let out streams of fire, but the flies only flew into the flames, blocking the barrels of the internalized flamethrowers with their charred remains and extinguishing the pilot lamps and electric starters. They crammed themselves into every nook and cranny they could find, compacting their own bodies and crushing themselves into the lancers armor. Maggots crawled out of their cracked carapaces, chewing their way out of their parents, and then set to work on the metal armor of the Wrathskin.

Their mechanical steeds shrieked as their joints began to rust and give out, suffused with the digestive juices and oxidative haemolymph of the flies. Screws and bolts popped off as the pressure from so many insects forcing themselves inside their air intakes and flamethrower nozzles bloated the now brittle metal of their stomachs.

Meanwhile, the lancers heard the crink crank of a million almost microscopic mouths gnawing at their airtight armor. They swatted and slapped at themselves, trying to make it stop, but soon their joints were so full of gunk that they could no longer reach their backs or their legs.

One lancer let out a bloodcurdling scream as his armor hissed, internal air leaking out of a hole the maggots had finally chewed through his armor. More and more hisses followed, as the maggots finished on the metal, and then set about on the skin and muscle beneath. Soon, blood began to leak out from the holes, as flies, worms, and more maggots made their way inside.

Another lancer tore off his helmet, unable to bear the sound of thousands of mouths chewing on him from the inside out. His face was swiftly obscured by the swarms, and the few lancers nearest to him watched him fall to the ground and writhe in agony as the insects forced their way into every available orifice they could find.

"Do not worry." The horned head of the creature loomed out of the darkness above them. Its many fat chins wobbled as it grinned, revealing rotten teeth and bleeding gums. "Death is but the next part of the cycle. Join your Lord Marshal and his First lieutenant in the joyous chorus of endless suffering."

—-------------------------------------------------

Nour sighed and took off one of his reading gloves so he could rub the bridge of his nose.

He had just finished the section about the betrayal of Wilhym Mardol, and the daemon that came out of his body.

What message the author hoped to instill with such disgusting descriptions was unknown to him, but he could imagine the visceral nature of the deaths of the Tupolev Lancers.

"Is any of this true?" He asked Lady Callidus who was sitting opposite him. "I'm guessing these majiks the chronicle refers to are the doings of psykers?" He continued as the assassin remained silent. "But, all their abilities are based around the manipulation of the mind and the senses. These are far too direct. The only way I can make any sense of this is that these are descriptions of complicated illusions that brought about some sort of psychosomatic injuries in its victims."

"Your experience with psykers stems mostly from the lessons of the psi-wars, I presume?" Callidus asked back.

"That is what we are taught." Nour answered.

"The psi-wars were indeed mostly just that." Callidus nodded. "Mental enslavement with psychic abilities, and the control of millions with hallucinations."

"Then are you saying this is something else?" Nour said as he pointed to the lines describing the swarms of insects and daemons tearing themselves out of human bodies.

"Thoughts and dreams are an interesting thing." The assassin said, causing the Lord to give her a quizzical look. "They come from men and women in the real world, but they persist long after those who envisioned them are gone. They can move armies, topple empires, or even build them up as well. Their message can remain as potent or even grow stronger should their creator be martyred. There is real power there. We often like to think that we are the ones who wield that power, but there are times when it is not clear which is controlling which."

"Are you saying that our ideologies are controlling us like pawns on a chessboard?" Nour scoffed.

"It would be easier if they were. At the very least, that would mean they had rules and goals in their game." Callidus shrugged again. "It is because it is never that clear that constant vigilance must be maintained."

"Vigilance against what? This?" Nour gestured to the book before him.

"The enemies of man are many." Callidus replied. "Sometimes it is not enough to eradicate them. Their ideals, their culture, their very memory must be burnt and forgotten."

"And is that what the Emperor did?" Nour said as he put his reading glove back on and turned the page. "Did he burn Xozer to the ground, and render my ancestors homeless and at the mercy of feral psykers?"

"Is that bitterness in your voice?" Callidus asked.

The story of Xozer was the history of the Nord Afrik Conclaves, the region Nour came from.

"If there is, it comes from my exasperation with you." Nour muttered, waving off the accusation. "If any of this is true, then I see no salvation for the city, its inhabitants, or the armies surrounding it."

Callidus suddenly let out a burst of laughter.

"Pardon me." She said as she calmed down. "It's just that your judgment of them was harsher than the Emperor's."

"He thinks this is worth salvation?" Nour jabbed a finger at the descriptions of the hierophants, and the sacrifices they made to cast their majiks.

"It's not a question of what he thinks, or what he wants." Callidus said softly. "He must act. No matter how horrible, no matter how cruel, no matter how inhumane the deed may be, he must do it in order to save humanity."

"Save them from what?" Nour asked, and the assassin's green eyes gazed into his brown ones.

"Everything." She said. "The terror. The machine. The mutant. The alien. And of course, humanity itself."

Nour sighed. The assassin was obviously not going to be helpful in figuring out what any of this meant. Further questions would be a waste of time.

His fingers turned the page, and he looked down to the last stand of Shang Khal. The descriptions of events were just as insane as the rest of what he had read, but at least there was a sort of strange metaphoric irony that could be read between the lines.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N: This is the penultimate chapter of the Fall of Xozer. One more interlude (which will be much more positive and traditionally heroic), and the final part which explains the rift between Erda and the Emperor.

Note: Sorry for the long delay. I've been busy with IRL events both professional and personal. I'm still busy with those things, so I can't go back to my previous weekly post rate.

—-------------------------------------------------

Shang Khal stood atop one of the dunes his armies had charged over. Both gauntlets groaned as his fists clenched, shaking with boiling rage as he watched the cloud of insects spread from within the city.

"We have gathered the remaining prisoners and oneirocriticks." Another armored figure, a full head shorter than Shang Khal, said as he scaled the dunes. He was Mafeo Orde, master of the Wrathsingers. Bleached skulls hung from sooty chains attached to a belt with several pouches around his waist. The grisly ornaments formed a sort of skirt made of blackened metal links and ivory bone. The Mark of Khorne was carved into both of his shoulder pauldrons. Dried blood dyed every inch of his armor a blackish brown. His helmet had the facial bones of his favored enemies welded onto it on the front and the sides, forming a sort of grim three faced asura.

"Call the minions of Khorne with your choir." Shang Khal said softly as his gauntlets creaked under his grip. "The hierophants have brought the Plaguefather's tallybands from the Warp. The Taker of Skulls would be upset if we left his hordes univinted. Send them after me. I will head to the center of the city myself."

"As you will, General Khal." Mafeo Orde saluted the 3m giant before him by slamming his fist against his chest plate, then turned back to the thousands of prisoners and 9 oneirocriticks that had been dragged across the sands from the main camp.

Shang Khal swiftly disappeared over the opposite side of the dune as he began to march towards the city. His honor guard and several platoons of berserkers followed behind him.

"Wrathsingers!" Mafeo Orde cried. "Bring the oneirocriticks before me!"

The other Wrathsingers were in armor similar to Mafeo Orde's, with fewer bones and less blood on some of them. Each one carried a spiked mace with a head the size of a bowling ball in their hands. The black metal they were made of began to glow orange as heating elements within them warmed up.

9 bedraggled men and women were picked out from the thousands of other weeping and sniffling prisoners. They were dragged by the arm or foot before the master of the Wrathsingers.

"Liars!" Mafeo shouted, and then brought his own mace down upon one of the oneirocriticks skulls, obliterating the man's head like a watermelon. Steaming blood and sizzling meat spattered out in all directions, drawing a few screams from the prisoners closest to the front.

"Heretics!" Mafeo shouted again, crushing the head of the next oneirocritick, a shivering woman with what was once silky raven black hair.

"Thrice blasted blasphemers!" He said as he swung his mace to and fro, flattening the face of one man and removing the next with the backswing. "Your skulls do not deserve a place at the seat of Khorne! Let your blood rot inside your flesh! Let your memory fade with the wind!"

5 more times his orange hot mace swung. 5 more heads were bashed apart, with their neck stumps cauterized in the same blow that blasted their skulls apart.

Execution and spiritual punishment complete, Mafeo Orde turned back to his Wrathsingers.

"Prepare the pyre." He said to them, and they dragged the headless bodies into the center of the prisoners, piling them up in the middle of them.

"Now, my choir." Mafeo said as he turned to the shivering men and women chained before him. The giant mace was returned to his belt, before he began to approach them. "Sing with hate and fury. Call out to all consuming Khorne, and release your flesh and open your soul to the Blood God." He pulled out a metal stamp, like those made to impress insignias into wax. His thumb depressed a switch near the head, causing the raised bits of metal to glow like a branding iron.

The three faced skull helm turned to one of the prisoners. A wounded Xozer soldier with a broken leg. She was chained to a shivering man in a farmhand's overalls and gloves. A spiked collar was around each of their necks, linked together with a link of chain about a meter and a half long. Both hands were bound by manacles that went between the radius and ulna.

"Will you accept Khorne's mark?" Mafeo asked, looming over the woman. She glared back at him, even as her limbs trembled, then spat. The globule of spit landed at Mafeo's feet, and the branding stamp in his hand began to rise.

Then it slammed down on the forehead of the man next to her. Steam and the sound of sizzling flesh began to rise as the civilian screamed. At the same time, several other cries rose as the other Warthsingsers asked the same question to other prisoners at random, and branded those next to them when they were summarily rejected.

"Will you give Khorne your feet?" Mafeo asked the woman again.

Shock and surprise had numbed her senses, unable to understand why he had inflicted punishment upon another. Her head shook more out of disbelief rather than fear or any thought of self-preservation.

Her shoulders jerked as Mafeo's armored boot slammed down on the right ankle of the farmer who had received the brand instead of her.

On and on the torture went, proceeding from extremeties to torso. Every denial by the one questioned inflicted the pain and punishment on those next to them.

Once, the soldier was too slow to answer Mafeo's question, stilled by the constant pleas and cries from the farmer for her to remain silent.

"Please! Just stop! Stop!" He begged between pain filled pants. "Just… Just don't answer! Please! Just! Please! Please! Please!"

"Will you give Khorne a finger?" Mafeo asked again.

She could only shiver in silence, torn between guilt and fear. She knew what would happen if she rejected him, and dreaded what would happen if she accepted him.

The Master Wrathsinger's massive hands grabbed the woman's manacled hands, causing her to yell as the metal spikes lodged between the bones of her arm twisted. His giant index finger and thumb pinched her pinky finger, then pulled it off.

Her scream joined the others as blood spurted from her hand. From then on, the primordial fear of pain drove her head to shake every time Mafeo asked her a question, not even understanding what he asked her to give.

The farmer and the others begged both the captors and the questioned to stop. But, as more and more of their body was taken for Khorne, their begging turned to bitter cursing. Vengeful cries of hate and pain rose from the prisoners. Even those untouched by the Wrathsingers' questions or their violence began to scream. They knew not by what rhyme or reason the Wrathsingers would choose the questioned and the tormented. The randomness of the violence and cruelty tortured their mind and soul with sheer uncertainty.

"Do you give Khorne your freedom?" Mafeo asked the women before him. She was shivering uncontrollably. Her trousers were wet with urine, and her uninjured hand cradled the other with its missing finger. She shook her head mutely. The farmer beside her burbled with his toothless mouth. Bloody lips attempted to call her a treacherous whore. They both knew she was dooming him while freeing herself. His eyeless face glared in her direction, even as he lay in the sand turned to bloody mud with all his limbs gone and most of his skin removed.
Mafeo's hands, however, did not reach for the farmer this time. They instead approached the woman's neck.

"I said no." Her words came out of her like a whisper. "I said no! No!" She began to thrash, hitting her hands against Mafeo's chest plate. The pain of her missing pinky was forgotten with sheer panic. The chains around her ankles rattled, and she dragged the farmer's torso a little as her feet kicked out, attempting to get away from Mafeo.

"NO!" She screamed as Mafeo's hands closed around her neck.

There was the sound of groaning metal, and Mafeo's hands removed themselves from her neck, holding the two halves of the spiked collar that had been there. His hands then went to the manacles, and tore them apart. The woman gasped in pain as the metal spikes that had been between her bones were removed, and she could only sit there for a while like the few dozen who had been surprisingly set free.

"Go where you wish." Mafeo said, before taking a small canteen from his belt. "Take the blood of the one next to you. The desert is dry, and it would not do to die of dehydration now after everything you have been through."

The woman took the bottle with shaking hands, and then turned to the bloody mess that had been a man beside her.

Part of her couldn't understand why he was alive. Blood continued to pump out of his wounds like water from a spring. But, her brain obeyed Mafeo's words, too full of relief from fear with the promise of freedom right before it. She pressed the canteen's mouth against one of the farmer's wounds, and heard liquid pouring echo out of it.

"Good." Mafeo said, placing an armored hand on her shoulder. "Now, drink."

Mind numb, she lifted the canteen to her lips, and swallowed the iron tasting liquid within.

Flames leapt up from the broken body before her, and its skin blackened and hardened as its moisture left it from the heat. Then, a red clawed hand burst out from the charred remains, followed by a narrow horned head with a fanged maw. Its over sized tongue stuck out from between its teeth, glistening with saliva and tasting the air with its pointed tip.

Around her, other demons emerged from the tortured, stepping out of the Warp into the materium. The veil had been weakened and corroded by Nurgle's presence, allowing them to answer the calls of insane vengeance and mad hate. They came for the cries of the unlucky ones bound next to the prisoners who were given the option to accept suffering and rejected it.

The 2m Bloodletter of Khorne grabbed the stunned woman by the throat. Then, it twisted her head off, like unscrewing a bottle. Blood spurted into the sky from her open neck. Flames leapt from its palm; eating away at the skin, fat, hair, and muscles coating her skull. It then lifted the cleaned bones, and roared as the other daemons of Khorne did the same.

The surviving prisoners screamed and cried as they saw what was in store for them, adding higher pitches to the baritone voices of the demons.

"Sing! Sing as one!" Mafeo called to the prisoners and daemons before him. "Let the cry of Khorne ring throughout the world! Let your voice resonate with his, for the murdered and murderers scream in a single symphony! This is the Truth of all things! Bitter enemies! Trusted allies! It all matters not! Blood flows! Skulls fall! We all struggle to survive at any cost except to ourselves! That is the Truth that binds and drives us! That is the song that unites our voices when we raise them up to the heavens, begging for answers to questions that do not exist! Now, Khorne has answered! Slaughter is meaningless! War is indiscriminate! It is for that reason we are all joined as one through it! We all stand equal beneath Khorne's blade, and are crushed by it all the same when it lands! Brothers! Sisters! We are all one through Khorne and his cry! Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!"

Flaming swords appeared in the hands of the Bloodletters. The dark clouds above began to fill with orange embers, bathing the ground with bonfire lights. One by one, the daemons spilled the blood of the screaming men and women. Filled with fury born from the unfairness of it all, and suffused in the selfishness of self-preservation, the prisoners provided kindling for the psychic pyre growing from their thoughts and emotions.

"Let the hierophants hear our song!" Mafeo cried as the Bloodletters began to turn towards Xozer. More and more demons came from the victims of Mafeo and his Wrathsingers. They stepped out of the black smoke of fat and muscle. They emerged with the crackle and pop of bones bursting open as their marrow boiled.

Flesh hounds took form from the bloody meat.

Bloodcrushers burst out of the piles of burning bones and skulls.

Bloodthirsters descended from the smoke filled skies on bat-like wings, emerging from thin air; for the barrier between real and unreal had been breached by two of the Ruinous Powers.

The clouds above Xozer began to glow a sickly green, contrasted by the burning red that had emerged above the Wrathsingers. The two colors clashed against each other in the sky. They smashed into each other like two beasts butting heads, attempting to claim or protect their territory.

The final battle for Xozer had begun.

—-------------------------------------------------

Shang Khal and his honor guard entered the dying city, and waded into the cloud of flies. The buzzing insects swarmed them, only to turn the sound of their beating wings into the crackle pop of flaming embers. The bugs burned meters before reaching any of them. Shang Khal's fury reduced them their semi-corporeal forms to cinders. Not even ash was left behind as he ignored them with his almost blinding rage.

Above them, Roma fliers had started dog fighting in the air. Their enemies were gargantuan insects carrying horned and rotting riders waving rusted cleavers.

On the ground, the half-eaten remains of a mortar team crawled towards the General. Swollen hands, covered with skin that squirmed from the maggots underneath, rose towards him; begging for help.

Shang Khal walked past them all, leaving his honor guard to lop off the heads of his dying soldiers. Their spiked swords glowed orange as they swung, offering the remaining flesh and blood to Khorne.

Red Engines emerged from the darkness as they drew closer to where Keyser's forces had stopped. They were spitting fire in every direction as they fought back the swarms of insects and Poxwalkers that had begun to crawl out of the city. Several of these machines were almost buried in green rot and brown rust. Only their head was left free to squirm as ferrotrophic funguses sprouted fruiting bodies over them to spread their metal-eating spores.

Bloodthirsters landed there, crushing Red Engine and rotten followers of Nurgle equally under their hooved feet. Khorne did not suffer the weak, and even his own daemons were not excluded from that. The Greater Daemon cleaved off the fanged head of its lesser brethren with its axe. Then, it tore out the Warp creature inhabiting it only to swallow it and any shred of power it had left.

Finally, Shang Khal reached the 7th wall of Xozer. It alone stood in his way, with its breaches resealed by molten metal and ceramic. The General unsheathed his sword, raised the giant blackened and knocked blade above his head with both hands, then swung. For a brief moment, a different sword appeared before all those that saw him. A massive black blade so large its tip seemed to cut through the clouds.

Then the wall split open. A massive cut gashed itself through it and the walls beyond it, ripping through the city and carving a path to its center. Hurricane winds blew back like the blast from a bomb, and the ground trembled from the blow Shang Khal made with Khorne's sword.

Shang Khal shivered as he pulled the now normal sized blade from the earth. Then his left hand lashed out, grabbing one of his own honor guard and crushed the man's head helm and all in his grip. Flames spread from him, melting the metal armor of two more of his most trusted friends and advisors, cooking them alive inside. Smoke and the smell of burnt meat leaked from the ruined joints and shattered optics as the two were turned into blackened statues.

The General finally regained control of himself, pulling away from Khorne as he sheathed his blade.

He made no apologies, nor rousing speeches. It was all he could do to keep his wrath pointed at his enemies and away from his allies. His brains boiled in his skull, frying the synapses he used for higher thinking and reasoning; the nerve cells that allowed him to organize and strategize for victory. Dryness filled his throat, and the air in his lungs seemed to burn as Khorne cooked him from the inside out.

"Follow me." He said in his deep voice, and walked through the gash in the wall he had made.

'The Warp and its creatures are rabid dogs to be unleashed upon the enemies of Ursh.' Shang Khal told himself as he soldiered on into the city. 'But, being rabid dogs, they will bite the hand that holds their leash.'

His right hand stroked the handle of the black sword at his side. The Overlord Kalagann himself had provided it to him, along with lessons of the Warp and its creatures.

'We are the invaders in this story. The momentum is ours.' Shang Khal told himself.

The Warp was a reflection of the materium's thoughts and dreams. It was for that reason they controlled it, and not the other way around. That was one of the lessons from Kalagann, who had shackled the daemons that moved the Red Engines, and taught the Wrathsingers the rites necessary to call forth Khorne's daemons.

Xozer crumbled before him, so even if the hierophants had called forth their patron god, Khorne would vanquish the Plaguefather just as Shang Khal had crushed the defenses of the hierophants.

'Time does not exist in the Warp.' Shang Khal thought to himself as he strode through the gap in the 6th wall he had cut. 'By breaching the realm of real and unreal, the hierophants have opened one final path for my victory.'

The world around them no longer followed the rules of reality, nor the laws of physics. Mind triumphed over matter now, and in the timeless Warp, it was possible to choose when and where things would be.

The technology of Xozer still existed in the past, even though it had been destroyed in the present. Shang Khal only had to drag it back to his future, and overwrite what was and is while it was still soft and pliable from the presence of the two gods.

A bestial growl leaked from between Shang Khal's lips.

There was neither strategy nor tactics in this battle now. The inelegant and unpredictable flow of the emotions and ideologies of humanity dominated this battlefield. The despair of the desperate defenders now leaked from their souls like pus from an infected wound. It had begun to spread across the deserts, defiling and desecrating the dry sands, filling them with muck and mucus.

Khorne continued to call him from the Skull Throne. He could feel the Blood God in his mind, talking to him without words in a voice that had no sound. Concepts and memories flowed from the congealed mass of subconscious thought that was the Warp, slowly replacing his own and leaving nothing but the Lord of Murder's message ringing in his ears.

Shang Khal shook his head, and repeated one of the mantras taught to him by the Overlord Kalagann.

'Gods are the tools of mankind. Their religions are the opiates for the masses. Their sermons are but soothing balms for the weary and the weak.'

Neither Kalagann nor Shang Khal believed in or worshiped the gods. It was for that reason the majik wielding oneirocriticks had been allowed to live, instead of being slaughtered immediately as Khorne would have most likely wanted. The practicality of their existence outweighed the bloodthirst of Ursh, even though they had been useless in the final battle.

'Mankind is the maker of its own fate, and the Warp follows in our footsteps.' Shang Khal said to himself as he took another step forward. 'I am the General of this campaign. It is my words and my orders that dictates what happens here.'

Slowly, Shang Khal felt the hot touch of Khorne recede, leaving gaping holes in his mind. Instead of childhood memories, he saw pyroclastic bombs being dropped on villages with straw roofs. Instead of the names of his parents, he heard the clang of swords on shields and armor. This was the price for wielding a weapon from the Warp; the pawning off of treasured memories or valuable items for power.

There was a flash of light in the General's peripheral vision, and he turned towards it.

A squad of 5 or 6 Volkite snipers appeared from one of the city's alleys, cutting their way through the swarms of insects with their beam weapons. The smallest servants of Nurgle exploded upon contact with the yellow-ish orange streams of energy. Thus, allowing the survivors to carve holes large enough for them to pass through unmolested. Padded patrol equipment covered them. Air tight visors and lead laced fabrics kept both the radiation and the swarms out. Several civilians were with them as well, wrapped in thick clothing with wetted cloth covering their faces and mouths.

Shang Khal watched as one of them jerked back at the sight of him, and began to raise his weapon.

The General chuckled to himself.

These men and women were trying to get out of the city, turning their backs on the society that spawned them. Despite everything, they had closed their eyes and shut their ears to Nurgle's message. They would not sit idly by, and wait for death to claim them.

'Yes…' Shang Khal thought to himself as he watched the barrel of the Volkite Caliver rise towards him. The moment was extended by his gene-sculpted synapses, making everything move with almost infinite slowness. 'Rise up. Fight.'

It was Xozer and Ursh that had commenced battle here, not Nurgle and Khorne. Man should have been the one to end this; not the Gods themselves.

Shang Khal smiled, heart warmed by this sign of strength. It was not the strategic victory he envisioned, nor would it be a glorious battle with a well matched foe. Yet, this final fight before he descended into the Warp consumed center of the city would be a new treasured memory for him.

Even in the depths of Plaguefather's garden of despair, mankind still made its own destiny.

Suddenly, another Volkite sniper grabbed the other's gun, shoving it downwards. The sniper who had attempted to shoot Shang Khal turned to him to protest, but the sniper stopping the shot only shook his head. The sniper holding the barrel then turned towards Shang Khal, and stared into his eyes.

'Let us go. There is nothing left to fight over.'

Shang Khal read the message in the man's straight back and his firm gaze. He saw it in the way he stopped his fellow sniper from firing, while keeping his finger on the trigger of his own.

In reply, the General's right hand drew the blackened and knocked sword out of its scabbard.

'I am not done with you, or your city.' He said wordlessly.

The soldiers' shoulders tensed as Shang Khal relaxed his limbs, preparing to lunge forwards. Then a dark shadow fell over them. A giant gangrenous creature with a bloated belly and twisted antlers crashed down out of the swarms, shaking the ground and sending dust flying in every direction.

"Welcome, General." It gurgled. "The Grandfa-." Whatever the daemon was about to say was cut off, along with the bottom half of its face as Shang Khal's sword sliced upwards.

"I am the General. You are a weapon." Shang Khal said as the daemon of Nurgle stumbled backwards. "Now be silent." The raised sword then slashed downwards through the creature's skull, slipping between the antlers and opening up its bloated belly. The guts and digestive juices turned to ash and steam as they burned like the bugs, vaporizing before reaching Shang Khal.

"Go! Get back! Back into the city!" Shang Khal heard one of the snipers say as they ran away from him, taking the civilians with them.

"But Tolu!" The one who had tried to shoot him shouted.

"We can't fight that thing! Come on! We'll find another way out! Now move!"

Shang Khal watched as they disappeared, carving out their own path through the swarms of insects with their Volkite Calivers. Eventually, they disappeared from sight; hidden by the rot flies. He turned back towards the gaping gorge he had carved all the way to the center of the city.

"Mankind makes its own future." He said to no one as his honor guard formed up behind him.

Legions of Bloodletters were entering the city, following the path he had carved, or climbing over the walls themselves. Flesh hounds ran in the streets, searching for fresh game in the form of human or daemon flesh. Bloodcrushers snorted as they passed by him, then roared while they charged towards Plaguebringers and Poxwalkers, attempting to gore them on their horns. The ground shook as the Bloodthirsters landed, crushing buildings and swatting away bridges and towers with their axes.

The city colored in nothing but the blackness of billions of bugs was now lit with bonfire orange as the burning daemonic hordes of Khorne began to batter their way past the tallybands of Nurgle.

"Follow me." Shang Khal said, ignoring the cacophony of the daemons around him. "It is time to end this charade."

—-------------------------------------------------

At the center of the city, surrounded by the croak of Plague Toads and the flap of moth wings, the 7 hierophants chanted the lessons of Nurgle.

They felt the Wrathsingers' hymns coming from beyond the city, and felt its message like raw magma erupting from the earth. Even now, those who had not been consumed by the rot flies and their maggots fought against their fate. The psychic emanations resonated with these survivors, awakening the instincts they needed to struggle against the fat grip of Nurgle upon their souls.

In return, the hierophants began their own sermons.

"Three by three the chant is made." One of the seven hierophants droned. "With birth comes the first suffering; for the first sound made is a cry of pain."

"With life comes the lesson that this pain will never end." A second cried.

"In death, we are given a false rest, for the end of life is not the end of the soul." The third line came.

"War, disease, drought, and famine. All end in Grandfather's Garden." The fourth line came solemnly.

"That is the lesson of the Plaguefather. The world falls apart each day, taking another step along the road of entropy." The fifth line fell from someone's lips.

"Nurgle offers no salvation. Nurgle offers no deliverance. Nurgle only offers enlightenment and the acceptance of the inevitable." The sixth line came with almost sadistic joy.

"Accept. Accept. Accept. Just as all are welcome in the Garden, accept all the blessings of the Great Corruptor." The seventh line repeated itself.

"Disease is but the form our flesh takes when it accepts the inevitable, for it is merely the rot happening before its time." The eighth line came out irritably.

"And so we shall become part of that rot. The rot that changes the form. The rot that metamorphoses the flesh. The transfiguration of mind and soul." The ninth line was echoed by the raucous croaking of the Toads and deep flapping of wings.

"Three by three the chant is made." hierophant 7 said again for the tenth time as feverish sweat fell from his brow. It had been several days since the Grandfather had sent his minions. Even now, the forces of Rot fought the minions of Brass, Blood, and Bone. Neither side was winning.

A Great Unclean One hacked at and puked over hordes of Bloodletters with its rusty cleaver and gut-maw. Then a Bloodthirster smashed its guffawing head in with its axe.

Beasts of Nurgle embraced Bloodcrushers, giggling even as Flesh hounds chewed at their slug-like body.

Rot flies and their riders fell, from the flaming skulls fired from Skull Cannons. The Bloodthirsters upon these burning machines roared with victory with their flaming swords held high, even as they were surrounded by swarms of Poxwalkers and Plaguebringers. Soon, they would join the others before them, buried beneath the bubonic bodies and suffused in the stench of sickness.

The chant was beginning to tax him and his fellow hierophants. He could feel his mind slow, and his breath falter. A cough interrupted his chant, and in that brief moment of clarity a question appeared in his mind.

'There are only 7 of us. Who is chanting the last two lines?'

He felt a grim chill spread through him, and the coughing consumed all the air in his lungs. Beside him, he watched his fellow hierophants fall as their sicknesses suddenly robbed them of their strength.

The croaking grew louder as did the beating of wings, but it was not the sound of toads or moths.

Ravens circled them like birds of carrion, watching them with beady avian eyes.

'Grandfather!' hierophant number 7 cried out in his mind, unable to speak from the coughing. 'Why?'

Nurgle did not answer. He had left, taking the boons of his blessings with him. The Plague Lord's attentions were now focussed on the masses of dead and dying, whether they be from Xozer or Ursh. No longer watched over by their patron god, the hierophants experienced his poxes and plagues as any other would.

In the Grandfather's place, there was only the multi-octave laughter of the Raven Lord; the patron god of schemers and traitors.

Planning and scheming is not a trait of the Lord of Flies. He seeps into the mind, just like sickness. His message infects all, but it spreads from the bottom up. The least fortunate are the ones who find him first.

The hierophants were the farthest thing from his usual followers. They were too clever, too privileged, too ambitious, and too arrogant.

Those were the traits of Tzeentch, the eternal Paradox within the Warp that allowed those closest to it to serve his siblings, only to take them back at the height of their power and pride.

'GRANDFATHER!' hierophant 7 screamed in his mind as the black birds descended upon him, croaking hungrily.

The last thing he saw was an obsidian beak heading straight for his eyes.

—-------------------------------------------------

Maffeo Orde swatted at an alien beast before him with his mace. It had three arms and two legs, and its skin was a bright azure blue. Around him, more of the creatures spilled forth from the now purple pyre they had made from the prisoners. Firework flames spread from the 9 oneirocriticks corpses as blood leaked from their necks like oil from a knocked over barrel.

"9 heads lost! 9 brains crushed! 9 sources of knowledge gone!" The blue thing gibbered with its oversized mouth as its single eye opened wide. A sky blue iris glowed upon its black sclera. "9 days! 9 days! 9 da-!" The thing was silenced as Mafeo smashed his mace over the thing's head, splattering him and the ground with blue liquid, as if it were a balloon filled with navy ink.

Strange flattened creatures with curved wings flew out of the fire, screaming as they did so. The sound came from the mouth below their eyes on the front of their face, as well as the many fanged openings that were upon their bellies.

Monsters with robe-like skins, and mouths where their hands should have been floated out with them, spreading azure flames from all of their orifices.

Purple versions of the multi-limbed beast Mafeo had just slain skittered out as well, before throwing balls of purple light at the Wrathsingers that remained.

Maffeo bellowed like a bison, no longer capable of speech. Hate coursed through every iota of his being. His three faced skull helm let out steam from all three nasal bones as he snorted, then he charged into the growing armies of Tzeentchian daemons.

The once orange pyre was now a mix of blue and violet flames. It shot up towards the sky, adding a third color to the two that were butting heads above them.

—-------------------------------------------------

Shang Khal reached the center of the city. He had no idea how long it had taken him. The sun neither rose, nor fell. The only illumination was from the sickly green glow, bonfire lights, and azure flames in the cloudy skies above.

The remains of one of the centrifuge buildings towered before him. Its contents bubbled as if it were a massive cauldron, spilling corrosive ooze from its lip when a bubble exploded too close to the edge.

"Guard me while I travel back to the past." He ordered his honor guard, and they saluted before taking up a loose box formation around him.

The daemons of Nurgle stayed away, watching from the shadows as schools of Screamers swam in the sky above him like shoals of fish. Khorne's hordes were still tearing into the tallybands of Nurgle, while Tzeentch's daemons began to dominate the sky, engaging the Roma and driving their fightercraft away from the center of the city.

Shang Khal knelt with one hand placed on the bubbling centrifuge building. He read its nature with his mind, decoding every atom of information from its long history. Slowly, the rust and corrosion receded, replaced with its former form. The distillation towers rebuilt themselves, with pieces of them falling upwards before rebinding to each other.

Simultaneously, the images of Shang Khal's honor guard retreated back into the city, walking backwards as Shang Khal alone traveled back through time, to recover the artifacts.

'Mankind is the maker of its own fate, and the Warp follows in our footsteps.' Shang Khal recited the mantras of Kalagann, ignoring thousands of sorcerous whispers as he brushed against the domain of Tzeentch; the self-styled Master of Fate.

Bit by bit, he dragged every part of the interlinked artifacts back from the past.

The skyscraper sized distillation towers.

The colossal centrifuge buildings.

The smallest pore within the filtration facilities filters.

Shaking with exertion, Shang Khal proceeded to make this version of the artifacts real.

'The Warp is a reflection. The Warp is unreal. The Warp rhymes after we state the reason.'

These artifacts had fallen apart only because of the powers of the Warp. Thus, what could be done with the Warp could be undone through the Warp.

The ground shook and past voices of the dead rang in every ear. The sky tore apart as the clouds of the Three receded, returning to where they had been before all of this.

But, instead of blue skies, all that was above Shang Khal was the writhing maelstrom of uncontrolled Chaos. Uncountable daemons unaligned with the Ruinous Powers watched him and his men, like vultures circling the sky over a pack of lions waiting for scraps.

Shang Khal stared up at the swirling void of gray, black, and white. This was supposed to be the future he was staring at, yet this was not the Urshite victory he had imagined.

Then the artifacts before him began to melt.

He saw nuclear fire warp the materials they were made of.

He saw nanite swarms tearing it apart at an atomic level.

He saw bombs go off, shattering the distillation towers, and sending them tumbling down once again.

This was the future he saw, and in it the fate of the artifacts remained unchanged.

"We have followed in your footsteps." One of the daemons above him said. It had six wings, and wore a human face. Yet, its mouth was so wide it could be seen protruding from out behind the human ears. "But we are not your servants or your slaves. We are daemons. We are the beings all mortals should bow their heads to." It laughed, and two forked tongues flopped out from both sides of its mouth. "From now on, we shall be pulling your strings. Your people on this planet will be at our beck and call. But, before that, witness the last act the people of this planet have made on their own."

Shang Khal returned to the present, and he was surrounded by Nurgle's daemons. His honor guard were separated from both him and each other. Seas of Nurglings shoved them apart with their sheer mass, giggling even as they were hacked apart.

Then a Great Unclean One grabbed one of his friends and advisors in a meaty paw. Its fat fingers began to squeeze, denting the armor around the honor guard's waist.

Shang Khal started to stand, but his legs gave out forcing him to kneel. Fungal hyphae had begun to wrap around his feet, secreting digestive acids and enzymes as they entered his armor and ate away at his flesh.

Despair had begun to eat at his soul, and now the Warp reflected that corrosion of his conviction with the consumption of his flesh.

He had failed. He had seen the future, and there was no path where the artifacts survived. Whether it was atomics, nanites, or even simpler explosives the end of the artifacts was cemented as fact in the future.

But why?

"Why?" Shang Khal whispered out loud as he fought against his despair. He saw the outcome, but didn't understand the process. Finding the reason was his only hope he had of fighting off the rot in his spirit, and restoring the fury he had used to burn off the touch of Nurgle.

There was a metal groan as the armor of the honor guard in the Great Unclean One's hand gave a little bit more, crushing its occupant. Then there was a bloodthirsty roar, and the flapping of bat wings.

A Bloodthirster crashed down onto the battlefield before the greater daemon of Nurgle. Its muscled and clawed hand grabbed the upper half of the honor guard sticking out of the meaty paw of its Nurglite counterpart.

Then the two daemons pulled. Like two toddlers fighting over a Christmas cracker, they yanked on the bottom and top halves of the human.

Shang Khal heard a high pitched scream, and learned the gender of the woman now being pulled apart physically and metaphysically.

The greater daemon of Nurgle laughed, childishly, enjoying the tug-of-war. Its Khornate equivalent took offense to that, and with a hateful bellow, slammed its battle axe into the Great Unclean One's face. The gangrenous daemon lost its balance, and the individual held in both of their hands twisted in their grip.

There was the tearing sound of metal and meat, and both daemons stumbled backwards as their prize was torn in two.

The Bloodthirster looked down at the now limp top half of the women, snorted once, then tossed it over its shoulder like a used tissue paper.

The Great Unclean One looked down at the bottom half still in its grip with the string intestines hanging out, shrugged, and dropped it like a spoiled child does with a broken toy.

'The Warp is a reflection. The Warp is unreal. The Warp rhymes after we state the reason.' Kalagann's mantra echoed in Shang Khal's mind as he watched the Nurglings gather around the broken halves of what was once his friend and advisor.

This was the reason for the artifacts' destruction. This was the rhyme to the reason he had searched for.

Shang Khal sat back on his knees and howled into the air.

The Warp reflected humanity here. Like Xozer and Ursh, these daemons tore into each other without mercy or remorse. They savaged each other for the prize of human souls, just as he had butchered billions of the enemy and his own soldiers to take the artifacts for Ursh.

And at the final moment, their conflict tore apart what they had wanted most.

Like the daemons that had torn apart that single honor guard, they had ruined the thing that they had spent everything fighting for.

Yet, that was not enough. Like the Bloodthirster and Great Unclean One, humanity savaged each other, long after the reason they had waged war had ended.

Just like Keyser had done when he attempted to press endlessly forward.

Just like Shang Khal had done when he unsheathed his sword before that group of snipers attempting to escape the city.

Just like their ancient forefathers did when they launched atomic after atomic at each other in mutually assured destruction.

Hate and despair seethed within Shang Khal as he felt Khorne's touch burn more and more of his brain while the fungi of Nurgle ate away at his body. Words left his vocabulary, only allowing bestial roars and meaningless bellowing to come from his lips. His hands shook as he screamed, head almost blurring as it rocked madly back and forth.

Around him, Nurglings pointed and laughed as pink and blue horrors clapped their many hands, having finally joined the fray in earnest.

They were all here to watch him. To see whether the great General of Ursh would rot away before he was burned to ash in this session of the Great Game.

Then all time stopped, and a bright golden light ended Shang Khal's suffering.

—-------------------------------------------------

Author's Note:

There are probably some questions about who is responsible for what.

The Ruinous Powers haven't really manipulated humanity into doing what it wants. They aren't even really here, which is why they are represented as colors within the clouds. An infinitely small part of their psyche has been drawn to this conflict. In short, it's a really messy version of Neoth being able to talk to Joan, while still being the same person. Another similar occurrence is when Isha divides out the individual personalities of those who became part of her.

Humanity is responsible for the destruction of its own future. They have already ruined the planet once, and now they do so again. The Warp is only a reflection of that. That is why the daemons of Nurgle and Khorne act the way they do.

Tzeentch is here in order to explain away the more paradoxical elements of each group. A plan to create an Eden only to let it rot is both paradoxical and overly complicated, making it a plan unfitting of Nurgle. Shang Khal using oneirocriticks despite being aligned with Khorne is another strange occurrence that Tzeentch has to explain. So, Tzeentch did not orchestrate the events, although it may have allowed some individuals greater access to information about their Patron Gods, as well as how best to call them.

As for the unaligned daemons, the Ruinous Powers are not the only thing in the immaterium. The uncountable unaligned daemons are creatures from both before and after the War in Heaven. They are the Daemon Princes that Erda referred to when talking to Isha.

The daemon with 6 wings and a human face is Pharaa'gueotla. It and its brethren have been waiting for a Warp event of this magnitude so they can reverse the order of things. Until this moment, humanity on Terra has been making its own decisions. The Warp is merely a reflection or symbolism of that. However, the daemons are ideologies with personalities. They do not enjoy the current order of things where they are essentially secondary to reality. So, with the Ruinous Powers tearing down the boundaries of reality, they can begin to switch the order of who acts according to whose whims. Instead of the daemons merely representing certain ideologies, humanity will act out the ideologies of the beings of the Warp.

As the daemon prince of treachery and guile, it wears a human face despite predating humanity, and its two-tongues hanging out of either side of its mouth is a physical representation of the idioms for two-tonguedness, and speaking out of either side of one's mouth.

It also takes some Christian imagery, with its 6 wings being a reference to Lucifer. However, it is not a daemon spawned by humanity, but much older and alien.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N: Since we'll be seeing things during the Age of Strife on Terra. Here are a few terms and technologies that might need to be clarified beforehand. This interlude is essentially an Imperial Guard-esque story where we see the horrors of the Warp from the ground level.

Xozer Patrol Suits: These are heavily padded atmospherically sealed NBC (Nuclear Biological Chemical) suits. You can use a Tempestus Scion Carapace Armour as a reference for your imagination. The outer padding is laced with lead fibers, and serves as protection from radiation and insulation against heat. Underneath this padding layer is an airtight slip layer that isolates the outer padding from the inner skin layer, as well as reduces friction between the two layers. This dual layer design keeps the potentially contaminated outer padding from the inner water recycling systems. Water is taken from the wearer's sweat and other excreta, and filtered before being deposited in a water bladder situated around the back of the waist. This suit is also equipped with a disposable grappling hook on the left arm that is used to abseil down tall objects. The cable is composed of liquid resin that hardens as it is ejected from spinnerets on the user's wrist. These spinnerets weave the liquid resin into strong wires, similar to how spiders weave their webs. This cable can extend for several dozen meters before the tension begins to tear it. The user will have to either drop the rest of the way, or re-attach to a surface with a new hook and create a new strand to continue dropping down.

Cherenkov radiation: It's the reason for the blue color you see when a nuclear reactor is on. You can wiki the physics yourself.

Cauliflower ears: A deformity of the ear cartilage and skin that happens from repeated physical abuse of the ears. This usually happens when someone gets punched in the head a lot, and is a sure sign that whoever has these ears is used to regular violence.

CQB: Short for Close Quarter Battle. AKA CQC (Close Quarter Combat) Military acronym for situations where both melee and ranged combat are expected in close quarters situations.

302: HTTP status code for a temporary redirect to another server. 302 usually occurs when websites are taken down for maintenance, content updates, or redirection to a region-specific version of a site. In the situation it is being used in the story, this is a response coming from a gateway to the city network. (This is just a reference. I'm not actually seriously stating that HTTP will somehow survive almost 15 thousand years into the future.)

Xozer Squad Level Military Organization:

Point Man: A position in formations taken by the best marksman in the squad. The necessity for spotting things from far away, and making split-second decisions that can impact the entire squad makes many who fulfill this position tightly wound and at times overly aggressive.

Rifle Man 1 and 2: The nomenclature remains from when soldiers still used rifled weapons. The usage of Volkite Calivers makes these soldiers sniper, rifleman, and squad automatic support. These soldiers have yet to gain a full aptitude and psyche eval to be deployed in more specialized roles.

Grenadier: These soldiers carry an extra grenade launcher with their gear. Their job is suppressing targets behind cover, and general crowd control. They also often serve as a dual purpose mechanic and demolitions specialist.

Medic: The second most important member of the squad. In addition to first aid and triage, they carry several injectors full of stem-cells with them. These stem-cells that can be primed with a built in chemical concoctions to replace almost any cell in the body. Medical knowledge is needed to identify what tissues have been damaged within the patient, how to prime the stem cells, and how to inject them into the body to get them to the point of injury ASAP. They also serve as the second in command, taking charge when the Squad leader falls. The requirement to remain calm under stress has many of them operating almost mechanically.

Squad leader: The squad leader's duty is to make tactical decisions for the squad, although strategic ones may be made if central control is lost. They are also trained to look after the squad's mental health, and ensure unit cohesion remains.

—-------------------------------------------------

Tolu Abdullahi shouldered his Volkite Caliver and fired downwards from the 6th wall. The shields had suddenly given out, and the Urshite berserkers were already crawling out of the cracks of the 7th wall like termites.

'And just after I got rotated from the 1st to the 6th wall.' He cursed to himself as he fired.

"Squad! Focus targets. Don't spread your fire!" He called out to the 5 others assigned to this section of wall.

"They just keep coming, Sergeant!" Mandla, the man to his right yelped.

"Oh grow a pair Mandla! At least they aren't shooting back at us!" Fatima, one of the two women assigned to Tolu's squad, shouted back.

"Shut up! Keep firing!" Tolu silenced the both of them before tapping the side of his helmet to activate the short wave communicator in his helmet. "Control! ETA on the laser recharge!"

"Hol- … po-... contact… in-de… city trans-. Tac-... co-..."

"Fuck!" Tolu swore as nothing but jumbled garbage came back.

"Whadda we do Sergeant?" Kamau called out in his deep voice as he fired with the rest of them, cutting through the armor of a berserker and blowing up several of its armored fellows with the explosion.

'What do we do?' Tolu thought to himself as he switched targets with the rest of the squad.

"Sergeant!" Kwame, the man on the furthest left part of the line formation Tolu and his squad were in, called out. "Contact on the walls! three o'clock!"

"Shit!" Tolu yelled, and he turned to his left. He and his squad were positioned on the south eastern part of the 6th wall. If enemies were coming from the east, it meant that their defensive positions had been breached, and their enemies were on the wall as well.

Tolu's reinforced eyes scanned down the line, and caught sight of several armored soldiers on six-legged steeds trampling his fellow snipers in the distance.

"Squad! Get off the walls!" Tolu ordered.

"Sergeant?!" Mandla yelled. Their last orders had been to hold their positions for as long as possible. Falling back without orders was a guaranteed court martial.

"Just do it!" Tolu yelled as he pressed a switch on the left sleeve of his patrol suit. A small disposable grappling hook popped out of the wrist, and he shot it into the city-side lip of the defensive wall.

The wall was too narrow to fight armored cavalry. Only two or three snipers could fire side by side for a shot. More might be able to shoot if they could stagger the line by having the front snipers kneeling, but with so many other squads in the way it was all only theoretically possible. What was worse, with control being unresponsive, even if they did manage to stop the cavalry charge, the damage was done. That section of wall was now defenseless, devoid of their snipers. More Urshite soldiers would appear, and they no longer had the numbers to keep them at bay.

Tolu checked that the rest of his squad had shot their grappling hooks into the wall, then made a cutting motion with his hand.

"Drop!" He ordered, and all six of them began to abseil down the wall. Reinforced struts in the left sleeve and shoulder padding of their patrol suits held their weight, allowing them to travel down with only one arm. After a couple dozen meters, the wires released from their wrists began to groan, and they paused to prepare another grappling hook. They fired it into the wall before them, made sure the new cable was taught, then cut the older straining cable to continue abseiling down.

"Sound off!" Tolu ordered once they reached the ground, cutting the latest wire and loading a new hook into the mechanism.

"Chiamaka, medic here."

"Fatima, pointman here."

"Mandla, RM (Rifle Man) one here."

"Kwame, RM two here."

"Kamau, grenadier here."

Tolu nodded. "We've lost all comms with control, and the 6th wall has most likely been breached. All the other walls no longer serve as defensive weapons, so we'll be stuck fighting in the city."

Fatima and Mandla swore at that. The inner parts of Xozer were heavily urbanized. Twisting alleys and maze-like roads would obstruct their shots. It took time to drill through the Urshite Wrathskin. Without enough distance, the berserkers and other Urshite soldiers could close upon them before their Volkite weapons could detonate them.

"Do you have a plan, Sergeant?" Chiamaka asked calmly.

Tolu remained silent for a while before looking up. He could see bodies and body parts of fellow snipers falling from the walls.

"Xozer is lost." Tolu said.

Kamau let out a tired sigh as Kwame simply shook his head. Meanwhile, Fatima scowled and Mandla shivered while Chiamaka stared at Tolu, waiting for him to continue. They all had a bad feeling ever since the battle started. When the first mushroom clouds rose, the feeling only grew worse. Now, their Sergeant merely voiced what they all thought.

"I'm not fucking surrending." Fatima growled. "You know what they'll do to us."

"We're not surrendering." Tolu nodded. "But we can't leave while the city is surrounded."

Fatima swore again, kicking a nearby garbage can hard enough to dent it.

"Then what should we do?" Chiamaka asked. Her eyes were as cool and calm as her voice. Combat medics such as her were usually like this.

Distant to the point of being aloof, they were almost mechanically professional when on the job. Tolu didn't know whether it was due to their original temperament or their training, but he was thankful for it nonetheless. That was one less person he had to worry about losing it.

"We hole up somewhere in the city." Tolu said. "The inner parts of the city are denser than the outer ones. They won't be able to search every building, even with their numbers. Once most of their forces have moved past our position to attack the inner parts of the city, we run for it."

"Run where, Sergeant?" Mandla moaned. "There's only desert out there."

"Whadd'about the Europa-side garrison forts?" Kamau said quietly. "They're to the North of here. They should still be standing."

"Nah, that place is a death trap." Kwame quipped. "If the Urshites keep invading, we'll be pinned between them and the Mid-Terranean basin. I've been there on patrol once. Whatever's in that basin eats through everything. Even its fumes are enough to take out low altitude flyers. We'll have nowhere to run, with even less defenses. We should head over to the Atlan wastes. I've heard some of the black market traders from the Mericas know a way across it."

"And where the hell are we gonna find one of these traders?" Fatima snapped sarcastically. "Most of 'em up and left days ago when Ursh started their invasion."

"Cool it people." Tolu said. "We'll think about where to go once we've left the city. For now, we need to find a place to hide."

"Whadd'about the city transport hub?" Kamau suggested. "The rails bridges are higher up than the walls, so they won't be able to see us from above or below. With all them trains docked at the stations and the garages, we'll have clear firing lines to shoot down if we set up in between them stations."

"Yeah, and we can raid the maintenance lodges near there." Kwame said, nodding to himself. "The crews usually have snacks and ration bars for the mid-night shifts. Joined them once during a night patrol of the city for a drink. Might still have that bottle of Amsec there as well."

"Is alcohol the only thing you think of?" Fatima sighed.

"They don't call it the water of life for nothing." Kwame shrugged back.

"Alright… Squad!" Tolu said firmly, and the other 5 soldiers straightened up. The banter was over, and they were about to receive their orders. "We're moving to the south-east transport hub station. Once we're there; we'll move to the maintenance lodge outside the station, collect supplies, then set-up a lookout in between the stations. Now, let's move it people! I want a patrol formation. It'll take a while for those armored assholes to finish climbing the walls, but they'll outrun us once they do. If the East-side wall has fallen, they might already be in the city. Keep your eyes and ears open."

The rest of the squad nodded, and they began to head into the alleyways of the city. They traveled in a staggered line formation, jogging quickly to save their stamina while maintaining speed. Fatima was first in line with Mandla right behind her. Tolu was next, with the squad's medic Chiamaka close behind. Kwame and Kamau took up the rear.

They passed through the first few streets without incident. However, as they proceeded further into the city, the quietness began to set off their instinctual alarm bells.

"Where are the refugees?" Fatima muttered. "They were packed in here like canned meat."

"Can't hear them either." Mandla whispered. "If they broke into one of the hab-towers, we should hear the fighting."

"Alright people, keep an eye out for an ambush, but stay moving." Tolu ordered. "Kamau, prep a smoke. Anyone comes up behind us, blind'em."

"Aye Sergeant." Kamau replied, slinging his Volkite Caliver over his back, and switching to a pump-action grenade launcher.

After several minutes, the squad made it to one of several sets of dual-helical staircases. One was for going up, while the other was for only going down. Both had signs of being used.

"You think the refugees left these?" Mandla asked as they climbed up the stairs. There was a small mound of broken suitcases and crushed bags around the staircase itself. It looked like they had been all dumped here from a great height, splattering them like rotten fruit on the pavement.

"Someone must have gotten the same idea as Kamau." Kwame replied.

"At least we know anyone at ground level won't see or hear us." Chiamaka said. The stairs and streets were quiet, and the railway bridges showed no sign of occupation. If it weren't for the belongings strewn around the stairwell one would have assumed this place to be abandoned.

The south-east transport hub station was a massive building. Dozens of trains could be docked at its multiple platforms, with room to spare for food courts and other amenities. However, Tolu and his squad tensed the moment they entered it. The entire building was both dark and deathly quiet.

"Squad, pushing-wedge formation." Tolu ordered, and Kwame moved up to join Mandla so they could cover Fatima's flanks, allowing her to focus on the front. Kamau moved up closer to Tolu and Chiamaka, preparing to suppress any targets that came from behind them with his gas grenades.

The group was silent as they moved past the trains, and headed to the unoccupied tracks. The torn remains of clothes and shiny sheen of spilt body fluids could be seen reflecting the dim-light of the station.

There was a rattle from one of the stalls, then the skittering of something hard and pointy on the polished floors.

"Ignore it." Tolu whispered as Mandla jumped and began to turn behind them; following the direction of the noise. "Keep moving forward. Get to the maintenance lodge."

Mandla obeyed silently, letting his training take over and suppressing the panicky emotions that had begun to bubble up. They could all feel the clammy touch of something staring at them from the shadows. The feeling reminded them of their patrols in the wastes outside Xozer, where the cannibalistic Technobarbarians roamed. Those men and women had no means of producing their own food and water, so they took their sustenance from the bodies and belongings of other humans. The same hungry eyes could be felt, wandering over their bodies as slick tongues wetted thick lips that smacked together with expectation.

Suddenly, Fatima raised her left fist by her head, making the sign for an immediate stop. "Shadow, 200 m ahead."

"Squad, box around point." Tolu ordered, and the other members took positions around Fatima, keeping a lookout around her as Tolu moved up beside her.

"What is it?" He whispered to Fatima.

"I don't know." She whispered back. "Between 30 to 40 cm tall, but can't get a good look. It's squatting on the floor behind that chair. Might be a child."

"A child?" Tolu asked back. "In all of this?"

The missing refugees, the torn clothes, and the spilt blood made that possibility unlikely. Whatever happened here had not been peaceful. There were too many signs of violence to believe that a defenseless child had somehow survived all of it.

"Your call to make, Sergeant." Fatima replied. "Do I take the shot?"

"No." Tolu shook his head. "The Volkite flash will dull our eyes in this darkness. Get back in formation. Let's mo-"

There was the screech of chair legs on smooth tiles as the shadow that had been squatting behind the chair pushed it out of the way. Hard claws clacked against the floor, and a sickly green ball waddled its way into view. It was a lumpy thing, like a sack of potatoes that had grown twig like arms and fat toddler legs. A pair of horns jutted out of the top of its squashed head with no neck. Sickly yellow eyes leered at them above a mouth fixed in a gaping grin, showing the cracked and rotting teeth inside.

Neither the creature nor Tolu moved for a few moments. He was frozen, unable to understand how something so obviously dead and rotten could still be moving. He could see maggots and worms crawling under and over its skin. He saw holes revealing intestines that had been randomly crammed inside its body like cotton in a stuffed animal.

"Sergeant." Chiamaka nudged him, rousing him from his shock. "We have movement."

Tolu shook his head, clearing it of the creature's nauseating image. He looked around, and saw Fatima and Mandla were still frozen still, forced to stare at the misshapen ball of rotten meat and maggots. Kwame, Kamau, and Chiamaka had avoided seeing the creature, having been looking away from it when they took up the box formation. He shook Fatima out of her stupor by the shoulder, while kicking Mandla's leg.

"Move!" He ordered. "Get to the tracks! Get out of the station!"

He could now hear the click clack of claws on tiles, and the rattling of steel girders as unseen things ran amongst the supports near the ceiling. They were being surrounded on all sides. He shot a look at the creature that had appeared before them, only to see it lick its lips hungrily.

As they ran past the train, the doors to each car opened in sequence. More of the things flooded out behind them, quickly obscuring the floor with their mass.

There was a thwump from behind him, and some of the creatures splattered apart as a gas grenade went through them. Kamau pumped the slide of his grenade launcher, shoving another grenade into the barrel and fired again. Blinding gas began to fill up behind them, obscuring the mass of ball-like creatures.

However, Kamau grimaced as the creatures crawled after them, eyes wide open and mouths even wider.

"Gas won't slow 'em down Sergeant!" Kamau yelled as he switched back to his Volkite Caliver.

Tolu looked behind him again and swore. The things were surprisingly fast, rolling and bouncing over each other to gain speed. They were beginning to overtake them on their flanks, surrounding them on both sides.

"Fatima, Kwame! Go ahead to the maintenance lodge!" Tolu ordered as they jumped off the platform and onto the tracks. "Kamau, Chiamaka! Go with them and cover their backs! Mandla! You're with me! Buy them the time they need to get the lodge open!"

All 5 soldiers followed his orders, and 4 of them ran ahead as Mandla and Tolu turned back.

"Suppress the right flank! I'll take the left! Ignore the center until I say so!"

The two men fired in opposite directions, creating a series of explosions that tore up the station floor as the creatures exploded like grenades, wiping out several dozens of their sibling creatures. Tables, chairs, stalls, and carts were thrown back or into the air with the explosions. Yet, more balls of rotten meat rolled over the rubble and flames to replace them.

A ruptured gas tank from a food stall caught fire, then exploded, spreading orange flames across one of the train platforms. With the new light, Tolu saw what happened to the refugees. Bodies were piled up inside the trains, thrown on top of each other like bags of grain in a larder. Bits and pieces of them were carried by the creatures.

A hand there, a fistful of liver there, a length of intestine strung up like a jump rope between three. They waved their gruesome trophies in the air, taunting the both of them; as if to underline what exactly the creatures would do to them once they were caught.

"They're too many of them!" Mandla shrieked.

Tolu turned in his direction, and saw something strange happening with Mandla's targets.

The yellow-ish orange beams of his Volkite Caliver were not detonating the creatures on contact like Tolu's. Instead, it had to drill into them for a bit as if their skin was covered in armor. Bit by bit they were pushing Mandla back, overwhelming him.

A jolt of panic passed through Tolu as he turned back to his own flank, and found his own weapon decreasing in efficiency. Before, the creatures vaporized like drops of water on a heated metal pan. Now, he too had to hold the beam on target for an extra second to detonate them, allowing the creatures to close the distance.

"Mandla, fall back!" Tolu shouted as he tore open a flap on the back waist portion of his patrol suit, revealing a large bladder of water that was linked to the suit's recycling system.

Mandla took one look at what his Sergeant was doing, and ran as fast he could out of the station.

Tolu fired into the swarms approaching him as he counted to ten. Hopefully that was enough time for Mandla to get out of the station. The blast should dissipate quickly once out in the open.

As thousands of clawed hands reached for him, Tolu exhaled as hard as he could and loosened his jaw. Then he tore the bladder from the tubes attaching it to his suit, and threw it over the creatures. His genetically enhanced eyes sighted the bladder, then he jumped backwards as he fired.

The bladder detonated like a bomb upon contact with the Volkite beam. Superheated steam sterilized the station, boiling away most of the small creatures in front of Tolu, and scattering the swarms behind them with the shockwave. The ceiling supports and steel girders buckled, then the front half of the station collapsed, burying the tram exit under rubble.

Tolu flew backwards like a bullet from a gun, and skidded along the bridge like a skipping stone before rolling to a stop. He coughed and choked as blood came up out of his lungs; bruised by barotrauma. Then he almost vomited. The blast had torn open one of his air seals, and he could now smell the stench of rot and decay in the air around them.

"Sergeant!" Someone shouted, and he felt hands slip under his arms.

"Get his feet! Carry him gently!" Tolu's blurry vision looked up to see Kamau carrying his top-half while Mandla took the bottom. Chiamaka was issuing orders as Fatima and Kwame kept a lookout.

Relief washed over him, and he let go of his consciousness.

—-------------------------------------------------

Tolu woke up about a half-hour later. He had been stripped of his patrol suit and laid down on a table that smelled of cleaning alcohol. There were several terminals and binders thrown on the floor, suggesting this was the administrative office of the maintenance lodge. The make-shift operating table he was on was made by pushing several office desks together.

Chiamaka had treated his internal wounds with a stem-cell cocktail primed to replace the damaged tissue in his lungs and throat. The injection went into a vein in his left arm to ensure the cells would be taken to where they were needed as quickly as possible.

"You should be able to move now." The medic said after she was done inspecting his throat, ears, and nose. "The barotrauma you suffered from that explosion thankfully didn't blow out your eardrums. However, expect chest discomfort, shortness of breath, and mild tinnitus for at least two weeks. Of course, the bruising is going to hurt for a while as well." She pulled out a handheld injector from her medical pouch and swiftly inserted the needle into his upper arm. "This should manage the pain temporarily." She said as she pulled out the injector and detached the disposable needle.

"Thanks Chiamaka." He replied as he got off the sterilized table.

"You're welcome." She replied, packing up her medical equipment. "Fatima and Mandla are keeping watch outside. Kwame's collecting supplies and Kamau's fixing your suit's water recycler. Give them a word once you're ready."

"Sure." Tolu nodded as he stretched his limbs, testing their mobility.

"What do we do now?" Chiamaka asked. There was a slight quiver in her voice, a crack in the professional armor showing the tinge of fear beneath as the clink of injectors going into pouches and zippers being shut came from her hands.

"What do you mean?" Tolu asked back.

"Those… creatures in the station. What do you think they were?"

"I don't know."

"Do you think they are some new Urshite gene-weapon?"

"No." Tolu shook his head. "The transport hub-station was behind us, and those things had enough time to butcher those people before we got there. Whatever they were, they came from inside the city."

Chiamaka's hands stopped, as the buzzing fluorescent lights illuminated the partially packed medical pouch.

"What do you think that means?" She whispered.

Tolu closed his eyes for a moment, then shook his head. "I don't know. But, it doesn't matter. The plan doesn't change. We're getting out of here."

"Are you not worried about what this implies?" Chiamaka asked as she turned towards him.

The failure of the shields. The sudden appearance of the creatures from within the city. Both were too sudden to be coincidence. Something more sinister had shown its face here, shuffling out of the shadows of Xozer to snatch at their souls. They could hear the voices of the hierophants whenever the images of the things appeared in their minds. The droning voices of the tri-hourly sermons rang in their ears, while the laughing faces of the rotten balls of gangrenous skin stuffed with haphazard gizzards danced under their eyelids.

"I am. But, now isn't the time to think about it."

The dying city that they had decided to abandon might be trying to take them with it, but that didn't change what they were going to do. Tolu wasn't going to die here in this godless place.

This was no holy city. It was no different than the ruins that lay half-buried in the desert sands far out in the radioactive wastes, in nature as well as fate. After everything was over, all that would remain would be another blackened and melted ruin buried by sand. Once again, humanity tore at itself, reducing it and all it had created to nothing.

"I wish I could be as single-minded as you are." Chiamaka said softly as her hands resumed packing the medical pouch.

Tolu paused for a moment.

'Single minded…' he thought to himself. 'I just don't want to die.' He turned to Chiamaka. Her brown hair was in a tight bun revealing a teardrop shaped face. Her features were soft and her cheeks smooth. Only her helmet was removed, but he knew the shape of the soft body underneath the thick protective patrol suit and its lead laced fibers.

Tolu shook his head. 'I don't want to see anyone else die either.'

"We'll get through this." He said softly to Chiamaka, then he changed his tone to the harsher military one reserved for giving orders. "Once you're packed, get Kwame for me. Tell him we move in 5."

"Yes Sergeant." Chiamaka nodded as the mechanical professionalism provided by her training hardened her features and optimized her movements.

Tolu headed into the back of the maintenance lodge, passing through the door that separated the office area from the workshop in the back. Kamau was bent over Tolu's patrol suit with a small annealing tool, closing the broken air seals with melted filaments of resin.

"Sergeant!" Kamau laughed as he saw Tolu come in. "Good'ta see you back on your feet. Gave us all a scare when you blew up the station."

"Glad to see you're in good spirits." Tolu muttered, then changed the subject. "How's my suit?"

"Fixed as much as it can be." Kamau shrugged. "I got the water recycling fixed, but the protective plates in your chest and back are cracked."

"So it won't stop as many bullets or blades as before." Tolu sighed. "Anything else I should know?"

"There's this air seal, but if it holds, you have nothing else to worry about." Kamau said as he put down the annealing tool and sealed the suit helmet on. An air tube ran out of the back of the helmet to a pump, and there was a whine as it began to fill the suit with air. The suit inflated like a balloon in a few seconds. Kamau then shut off the pump and then pulled out a massive drain pan filled with water from under the workbench. He submerged the entire suit, and the two of them stared at the pan for a few moments.

"Good." Kamau nodded to himself as no bubbles rose from the suit. "All better. You wanna put it on?"

"Yeah." Tolu nodded. "Help me in."

"Aye, Sergeant." Kamau nodded back.

—-------------------------------------------------

"Thanks Kamau." Tolu said as he took his helmet from the larger man. "You ready to move?"

"Yah. Any time Sergeant." Kamau nodded, picking up his grenade launcher and Volkite Caliver from a shelf in the workshop. "Can't take any of the stuff from this workshop. All built into the building." He gestured to the various appliances he had been using earlier. Everything was connected to the wall via tubes or cables.

"Alright. Let's get back to Kwame and get ready to move." Tolu said as he put his helmet on. "I'm not too comfortable staying so close to where those things are."

"You think there're still some left?" Kamau said as he put his own helmet on.

Tolu paused for a moment. He knew there were more of the rotten creatures. The explosion hadn't killed them all. Most of them had simply been knocked back by the shockwave.

"... Better safe than sorry." Tolu said instead. "Now come on. Let's go."

"Aye, Sergeant."

Tolu's mind replayed the events in the station as he and Kamau walked out of the workshop and into the empty office space. The things started to become resistant to his Volkite beams the moment he noticed them resisting Mandla's. It was as if the very idea that their weapons wouldn't work against the creatures had infected him, passed along with the panic he felt from Mandla.

Logic told him such an idea was insane. But, logic didn't allow for things made of rotten skin and mashed up guts to move.

If his theory was correct, then it would be safer to say as little as possible of things. The less the others knew of what the things could or couldn't do, the better. That way, their weapons should work as well as they expect.

That was, if Mandla had kept his mouth shut.

Tolu bit back the tinge of irritation he felt to the youngest member of their squad. Then shook his head.

There was no point trying to fight those things anyway. There were too many to kill. It would be better to run away when possible.

The two men entered the kitchenette of the maintenance lodge, and saw 6 bags of various make stuffed with food and water. A couple rolled up magazines could also be seen shoved in between the straps. Chiamaka was standing by the far wall with her arms crossed while Kwame was tightening the straps on a backpack.

"Good news." Kwame said as he gave one final tug. "Someone here was gonna have a late night birthday party, so the entire place was stocked with snacks and other bites. Even found a bottle of Amasec." He tapped a glass bottle strapped to the side of the backpack. A birthday card was still tied to it with a ribbon.

"Kwame…" Tolu grimmaced.

"What?" Kwame shrugged. "It's not like they're going to come back for it."

Tolu sighed in response and grabbed two of the bags. "Kamau. Grab a bag for Fatima or Mandla. Let's go."

Kamau grabbed two bags with a frown. The petty thievery of a gift didn't sit right with him either. However, desertion carried a heavier penalty than minor looting.

Kwame shrugged and shouldered the backpack with the Amasec, then picked up a shoulder bag and handed it to Chiamaka. The medic also gave him a look through narrowed eyes before taking the bag.

—-------------------------------------------------

Tolu pushed upon the door of the maintenance lodge. They were several hundred meters away from the collapsed end of the station. Fatima and Mandla were keeping watch in opposite directions.

The rail bridge they were on was wide enough to allow several pairs of tracks, and stretched off into the distance all the way to the center of Xozer. It was an open field with clear lines of sight in almost all directions. The only thing obstructing their view were the gray walls made of concrete, metal, and resin that bordered it on either side like guardrails.

"Fatima. Mandla. See anything?" Tolu asked as he handed one of the bags to Fatima.

"No Sergeant." Fatima reported, shouldering the bag. She then leaned in towards him, turning off her short range communicator and speaking to him by pressing her helmet against his so the vibrations could pass between their face plates. "Mandla's been awfully quiet ever since the station. Hasn't said anything actually."

"I'll talk to him." Tolu said quietly, then pulled away.

Mandla was taking a bag from Kamau, and the others were walking out of the maintenance lodge.

"Squad!" Tolu shouted and they stood to attention. "We are leaving the maintenance lodge and finding a place out on the bridges where we can secure clear lines of fire, while remaining hidden as possible. We also have some sort of hostiles inside the city as well, so keep your eyes wide. I want a herringbone formation. Fatima, Kwame. You two are in the front. Mandla, Chiamaka, I want you two in the middle. Mandla and I will take the rear."

Everyone in the squad saluted, and moved to their positions.

As they were walking down the tracks, Tolu opened a private channel with Mandla.

"You alright Mandla?" He said as he slowed his pace so the two of them marched side by side.

"It's… nothing." Mandla replied.

Tolu sighed internally. Mandla was the youngest of the squad, and the most cowardly. Ironic, given that 'mandla' meant 'strength' in one of the ancient Nord Afrik dialects. Perhaps that juxtaposition of his name and his nature further complicated the issue.

But, he was still part of Tolu's squad.

"Alright then." The sergeant said. "Then I'm just going to shoot the breeze here so feel free to jump in whenever you want." Tolu looked around to make sure everything was clear around them, then started talking. "I gave you an order and you followed that order to the letter. You did what you were supposed to do. That's all I can ask anyone in my squad. If you feel guilty for feeling relieved when I ordered you to run, then don't. Anyone would be scared from all of that."

"But you weren't, Sergeant." Mandla said suddenly. "You stood your ground, and even blew yourself up."

"Well, don't do what I did." Tolu huffed. "I don't recommend it. I've got weeks of chest pains and bruises to look forward to."

"But you still stood your ground. Why?"

'Why?' Tolu thought to himself. 'I'd like someone else to explain that to me…'

He himself hadn't had time to come to terms with what had just happened. In that adrenaline fuelled moment, he simply ordered and acted with his training and instincts. Now, without the overriding rush of his survival instincts, he could feel the clammy touch of fear creeping out of his memories and chilling his skin.

"I don't know." Tolu admitted. "I don't know why I did that, or even whether I'd be able to do the same thing again. But…" Tolu stepped towards Mandla and punched him lightly on the arm. "Don't go being a hero. That's the last thing I need. You're part of my squad, and if you get stuck somewhere trying to make-up for this, it becomes my job to pull you out. Okay? I'm the sergeant here. There's a reason I get paid more than you guys."

The two men let out a light laugh. The difference in their salaries wasn't that big, and it was a moot point anyway. With Xozer fallen and them having deserted their posts, the chances of them getting any pay at all was reduced to 0 twice. The joke wasn't really funny, so it was more an acknowledgement that humor had been displayed. Still, the sound seemed to lift the mood around them.

Then there was an explosion in the distance. Bluish-purple light began to rise from a section of the city several kilometers away.

"Dirty atomics." Tolu muttered, then switched to the squad wide channel. "Alright people, we're going into a high-rad zone from here on. Helmets on at all times, and take deep slow breaths to make your air last longer!"

"Patrol suits won't save us if we run near that, Sergeant." Kamau said. "Fallout dust could build up in random places. We need a Geiger-counter to navigate safely from here."

"Nearest one is probably the req-hall." Kwame replied. "We'll have to get off the bridge, but this place is a dead end now. Fallout will probably reach us in a few minutes. Our air will probably last us another couple hours, but we have no idea if the Urshite encirclement will be loose enough to escape through before then."

Tolu's teeth ground together in frustration. They had just been through hell to get up here. Now, they had to go back down into the compacted alleys of the city. They could run into the armored soldiers of Ursh down there, as well as other nightmares like the swarms of creatures in the station. But death approached them from above and below now; in the form of radioactive dust and monsters made of flesh or steel.

"Sergeant!" Fatima suddenly called out from the front. Tolu turned in her direction, just in time to see the massive distillation towers in the center of the city crumble. His gene-sculpted eyes saw rot and rust spread across the building, eating away at them from inside and out. Black clouds began to rise, spewing out of the punctured centrifuge buildings like a fountain of inky tar.

The entire squad was silent as they watched the artifacts that allowed the city to exist collapse. An immense sense of loss shot through them. Xozer had just committed suicide, rather than allow its treasures to be taken by the Urshite invaders. It was an act of spite that left a bitter taste in their mouths. Thousands of years of knowledge, research, and engineering had gone into those artifacts. Now, all that was left of them were rusted ruins and the black cloud rising above them.

Tolu stared up at the cloud, and watched it begin to rain down on the city.

At first it was only a small sound, barely noticeable amongst the cacophony of war. But every hair stood on end when Tolu realized the new sound filling the air.

Screams.

Bloodcurdling screams of uncountable numbers and painful magnitude came from the city. The sound of the unholy choir spilling their lungs out into the air was like the shriek of metal wheels on rails. Tolu's mind conjured up an image of an out of control train skidding to its dooms as its frantic conductor slammed the broken brakes repeatedly.

Tolu ran to the side of the bridge, and looked down at where the cloud had fallen.

"We have to get off the bridge, now!" Tolu shouted. He could see the blackness spreading outwards, revealing itself to be composed of countless insects of all kinds. Locusts, flies, beetles, and moths were descending upon the city. New screams rose wherever they fell.

"Where?" Kamau yelled back. "The station is buried, and we're too high up to jump."

"What about the maintenance lodge?" Mandla said.

"Won't work." Kwame shook his head as he and Fatima joined the others near the side of the bridge. "Building codes require all workshops to be well ventilated. We need someplace that can be sealed airtight."

"Then we need to find a hab tower." Chiamaka said nervously, eyeing the approaching cloud. "The hab towers need to be able to seal themselves whenever the winds blow in from the rad-wastes or the Europa border. Hopefully their air seals can keep those things out."

"Wherever we're going to go, we need to get there fast." Fatima warned. "I give us twenty minutes before that shit's all over us."

"We'll have to use our grappling hooks again." Tolu shouted back. "We'll find the tallest building possible, and drop down over it as far as we can go." He pointed at a pillar shaped like a cylindrical pillar with several boxy structures atop of it. "That one. That's the tallest one closest to us."

"That's still a drop of several meters." Chiamak muttered as she looked down as well.

"It'll have to do. Come on! Let's go!" Tolu yelled as he began to run along the bridge until they were directly above it. "Remember. Slow descent." He said as the rest of the squad followed him. "Go too quickly, and you'll snap the cable. When you hit the ground, drop and roll!"

He turned back to his squad once they were directly over the building.

"Kamau. Ditch the grenade launcher and ammo. It's just extra weight from here. Fatima. Take his pack. You're the lightest and he's the heaviest. Kwame, take his weapon."

The three carried out his orders. Kamau was the largest and heaviest of them. Hene, he was the one who's cable would be strained the most. There was no way to know exactly how far a single cable could sustain any of their weights, but leaving one of their own behind wasn't an option.

'Ironic.' Tolu thought to himself as he fired his grappling hook into the train bridge's wall. 'We abandon the city, yet not each other.' The punishment for desertion, as well as the immorality and dishonor of the act itself was beaten into him as well as every other soldier. Deserters were said to be scum, only out to save their own skin.

'I don't feel a single spec of remorse leaving this city, but not once have I thought of leaving anyone behind.'

This place was a place of lies. Its history was based upon a myth, and the spiritual rot brought on by that fake superiority complex had begun to manifest itself in reality.

Tolu shook his head, and turned to his squad to make sure they too were ready to make the drop. This was not the time to ponder philosophical thoughts. Perhaps the fear was beginning to tire his mind out; disassociating from the things around him and looking within itself.

Tolu shook his head again, bringing himself back to the problem at hand. 'Focus.' He said to himself. He was a more practical man than this.

"Remember! Slow descent! Drop and roll when you hit the ground!" He reminded his squad again.

" "Aye/Yes, Sergeant!" " They all said back as they placed their weapons around their neck and shoulders on slings.

Tolu nodded, then stretched out his left arm to its full length. "Alright! Drop!" He ordered, and they stepped off the bridge. There was a moment of weightlessness. He heard the wind rushing past as he fell below the bridge wall, then his body was snapped back by the cable. He grunted as he felt the supports built into his suit dig into his armpit as all of his weight concentrated there. Seconds passed as they slowly stopped swinging to and fro. Now, they dangled from the bridge like silkworms hanging by a thread.

Slowly, their cables began to lengthen, dropping them downwards towards the cylindrical building. There was a raised metal hatch on the roof, angled diagonally to allow water or dust to fall off of it with gravity. It was about one and a half meters long and maybe 90 cm wide.

The boxy structures on top were bee hives. He could see various planters and plant pots on the balconies of the floors below, and flowering vines were wrapped around the base of the building.

"Shit's getting awful close Sergeant." Fatima called out.

Tolu grimaced. The black cloud was getting closer and closer. He could hear the buzzing of wings and the scritch scratch of hairy insect legs rubbing together.

"We're almost there!" Tolu shouted back. "Keep still and drop slowly!" He wasn't sure whether he was talking to them or reminding himself. The cloud was only a few kilometers away. Focussing his eyes upon it exposed his mind to the mass of insects that formed it, bringing up bile from his guts. Yet, pulling back from it and seeing it as a whole froze his insides. He could see the cloud swallowing entire buildings and engulfing the train bridge like a thick fog. It was as if the blackness of the night sky had come alive, turning into a massive amoeba. Millions of hair-like pseudopodia wrapped around anything it touched, smothering them before digestion.

Tolu's cable began to groan, and he thought he heard the twanging of snapping fibers. Tolu checked the others, and made sure they were at the same elevation as he was.

"Get ready!" Tolu called out, positioning his Volkite Caliver across his stomach with its sling so it would be parallel to the ground.

Tolu tensed as he felt the cable give, then dropped as it snapped. He positioned his feet shoulder width apart and bent his knees as the building roof hurtled towards him. He kicked forward the moment he felt his toes touch the ground, attempting to convert the pull of gravity into a forwards motion. He rolled, then there was a crashing sound. His vision grew bleary; consciousness wavering from the pain of the impact and the shock of slamming into something. He looked around and saw the remains of wood and beeswax around him. His forward roll had sent him into one of the bee hives. He tensed instinctively, preparing to be assaulted by hordes of stinging insects but nothing came. Looking down, he saw all of the occupants of the bee house were dead. Tufts of white fungus grew out of their joints, and small mushrooms were growing out of multiple hexagonal cells.

"Sound off!" Tolu shouted, groggily getting to his feet.

"Medic here." Chiamaka groaned.

"Pointman here." Fatima shouted, unshouldering Kamau's bag of supplies and tossing it to the big man who was nursing a sore shoulder on the floor.

"RM one here." Mandla called out.

"RM two here." Kwame said as he checked his bag for the bottle of Amasec, and nodded to himself seeing it wasn't broken.

"Grenadier here." Kamau muttered, still rubbing his shoulder. "And give me my weapon Kwame." He growled.

Kwame unslung Kamau's Volkite Caliver and handed it to him before offering a hand to help him up.

Tolu let his squad pick themselves off the roof as he jogged over to the hatch. He put in the administrative passcode given to all soldiers, only to have the lock beep angrily at him.

"Shit." He cursed quietly, and held down three numbers simultaneously for a few seconds. A window with lines and lines of numbers popped up with the numbers 302 displayed on the second to last line.

"SHIT!" Tolu swore. "Kwame! Get over here!"

"Problem with the lock?" The man said as he jogged up to the sergeant.

"We've got a 302." Tolu growled as he moved out of the way so Kwame could take a look at the logs on the screen. "Someone redirected the building's networks to a different server."

Kwame took a look and sighed. "Server address looks to be local. It's probably in the building. Someone must have set-up the redirect so the building's system wouldn't re-ping the network when they took it offline."

"Fuck." Fatima swore as the rest of the squad moved in around the hatch. "That means our passcodes won't work."

"For the moment." Kwame nodded. "City network would sniff this sort of trick in a couple hours. Redirects are only used when something has to be taken offline for maintenance. Smugglers like to use this trick to keep people out of their business dealings. Handovers of goods, haggling. Anything they only need a short amount of privacy for."

Tolu looked at the approaching cloud. They had another 10 or so minutes at best. "Any idea how to get through this?" He asked.

Kwame shook his head. "Nothing we can do from here. If command was still up we could have them ping the building. That's assuming it's still physically connected to the city network. If they've cut all physical connections, then you're going to need a battering ram or a blow torch to get in."

Tolu shook his head. "If we cut our way through, we breach the air seals of the building. Plus, if someone disconnected this building from the network, that means there are people still inside."

"We're worrying about the people of the city now?" Kwame snorted.

Tolu was silent for a moment. They were deserters. Whatever responsibility they had to the city was gone the moment they left their post. Everyone in this city might as well be an enemy to them.

He took a look back at the approaching cloud.

"We ring." Tolu said. "If we don't get an answer in 5 minutes we cut open the door."

Kwame stepped out of the way as Tolu pressed the digital buzzer button on the keypad.

Seconds passed, and the buzzing sound of insects grew ever louder. The squad pointed their weapons at the door, preparing to cut their way through the metal and glass.

"Who are you?!" A male voice suddenly blared out from the speakers.

"We're part of the Xozer defense force." Tolu replied. "Open the hatch."

"The defense force? What in the world are you doing up there?"

"Listen, we don't have time to chit chat here!" Tolu yelled back. "There are hostiles closing in. Now open the hatch!"

"Hostiles? Why do you think that hatch was locked in the first place! Find somewhere else to take your problems. We've got hostiles of our own here!"

Tolu grimaced. They were running out of time, and the occupants were less than cooperative. He gave a look over at Fatima and she shouldered her Volkite Caliver, preparing to fire into the door to cut through it.

"Tolu! Wait!" Kwame suddenly shouted. "Hey, is that you Hadidi?"

"Kwame? That you?" The voice adopted a friendlier tone as soon as Kwame's voice was heard.

"Yeah! It's me!" Kwame shouted back. "Let us in!"

"Hold on a minute." Hadidi replied. "We put a barricade up there as well. It's gonna take a while to move it out of the way. Just stay there."

The intercom went silent for a while, then they heard the sound of feet running up steps followed by the slow screech of something heavy being pulled across a floor.

"Friend of yours?" Tolu asked as he lowered his weapon.

"Remember the black market traders I was talking about?" Kwame said. "That's one of them."

"Thought they all left by now." Fatima said as she lowered her weapon as well.

"Must have gotten stuck here for some reason." Kwame shrugged. "Let's just thank our lucky stars for this break."

"I'm more worried about what they said about a barricade." Chiamaka spoke cautiously.

Tolu looked back at the remains of one of the bee hives, and the fungus that grew out of the insects. "Keep your eyes peeled." He warned. "We might not be alone here."

Several minutes passed uneventfully. The squad was in a box formation around the hatch with their weapons shouldered. They could still hear Hadidi and whoever else was in the building working to clear the way, but the hatch still remained closed.

"Sergeant, we're running out of time." Fatima said as she eyed the approaching cloud.

"Too late to cut our way through." Tolu replied. "We have to hold this position."

Suddenly, there was the tearing sound of velcro, and the squad turned to see Kwame pulling out the bottle of Amasec he had taken from the maintenance lodge.

"Whadda you doing Kwame?" Kamau asked, expressing the question all of them were thinking.

"Relax. I'm not getting this out to drink." Kwame said as he pulled out a book from his bag of supplies. "It's a 170 proof bottle of alcohol. The flash point is below room temperature. Unscrew the bottle, plug in some paper for a fuse, and we've got ourselves a homemade fire bomb." Kwame worked as he spoke, raising the makeshift molotov cocktail when he was finished.

"You think a little fire is going to keep us safe?" Fatima snorted.

"Better than nothing." Kwame shrugged.

Tolu looked up at the cloud of insects, let out a breath and then tightened his jaw.

"Alright squad, hostiles are in range! Weapon's free! Fire! Fire!"

Yellow-ish orange beams cut through the incoming cloud, opening holes that they widened by sweeping their weapons up and down, left and right.

The cloud began to surround them, and the droning of insectile wings drowned out all other sounds. Their Volkite beams continued to tear through the darkness, slowly forming an indentation within the cloud that descended upon them.

The hatch behind them hissed, then opened outwards.

"Get in!" A man wrapped in several layers of clothes cried out.

"Fatima! Kwame! Go!" Tolu ordered.

The two stopped firing, and ran down the stairs in the hatch. The swirling masses of insects drew closer, now only a dozen meters away.

"Clear!" Fatima called back.

"Kamau! Chiamaka! Go!" Tolu cried out.

Two more Vokite Calivers stopped firing, and the sphere carved out by their beams shrank again. Now, only the continuous fire from Mandla's and Tolu's weapons held the insects back.

Tolu grimaced. The insects would swarm them the moment they stopped firing. One person couldn't cover enough angles to maintain the perimeter, but the hatch was too thin to allow both of them to step back through it. Whoever stepped through the hatch last would have to face the blackness alone.

"Sergeant! Go!" Mandla shouted. "They need you more than me!"

"Shut up Mandla!" Tolu yelled back. Their timing would have to be perfect in order to retreat through the hatch safely.

"Hurry!" Hadidi shouted from the hatch. "They're surrounding you!"

Tolu looked down on the floor, and saw worms and maggots crawling across it. He swore, but couldn't bring his weapon down to burn them. It was all he could do to keep the flying insects at bay.

Suddenly there was a blur of movement beside him. Mandla was charging into the swarm, firing his weapon as he went. The insects around them followed him, swooping in on his exposed back and away from Tolu and the hatch.

"Mandla!" Tolu shouted after the rapidly vanishing figure of the youngest member of his squad. "Mandla!" He shouted again, as the silhouette began to vanish in the blackness.

Something bright flew past his head at that moment, and shattered on the ground. The chime like note of splintering glass was followed by the fwoosh of rapidly expanding flames. Then the electric hum of Volkite Calivers came as the rest of the squad came back out of the hatch.

"Grab the kid!" Kwame yelled at him as the other 4 members re-expanded the perimeter of safety with yellow-ish orange beams of energy.

Tolu ran towards Mandla. The heat and light of the fire bomb had driven away the insects that had surrounded him, but he just stood there, seeming to be in shock.

"Come here!" Tolu yelled, grabbing the man by the arm and violently dragging him back to the hatch. He cursed internally. They were back to square one and down a man. The flames from Kwame's improvised fire bomb were already starting to die out, and there were more insects than before. Their weapon's fire couldn't keep up.

As his mind raced to find a solution, a giant figure in a white bodysuit with a mesh faceguard stepped out of the hatch. "Get behind me!" A deep grizzled voice said, then he raised a massive tube attached to a series of tanks on his towards the swarm. White smoke began to spray upwards into the cloud of insects, and the swarms' movements slowed. "Get a move on!" The man said, and Tolu's squad jumped down the hatch.

Once they were all through, the man too stepped backwards through the hatch, continuously spraying smoke as he went. Another figure in a white suit hit a switch on the inside of the hatch, and it swung shut and there was a heavy thunk as locking bolts and air seals slammed into place.

"Tfou…" The man in the beekeeper suit cursed, expressing his disgust in an ancient dialect. "You alright?" He said as he took off the mesh faceguard and attached hood. A thick curly beard covered a square jawed Arabic face. Both of his ears were disfigured and wrinkled, like heads of cauliflower.

"Yeah. Thanks." Tolu replied, panting. He could taste blood in the back of his throat. Running to get Mandla and the shouting before that had irritated his bruised lungs. "I'm sergeant Tolu Abdullahi."

"Nasir Al-Karar." The man answered with his own name. "If you'll excuse me, we have other problems to deal with. Hadidi. They're your responsibility." The man turned, taking the other figure in the beekeeper suit with him. Tolu's eyes caught a red white and black sign of a skull and crossbones on their backpack tanks.

"Looks like it's my turn to pull you out of trouble, eh Kwame?" Hadidi said as he slapped Kwame on the arm while Tolu watched the two in white walks down the stairs. They were on a wide landing above several flights of stairs. Lights lit the area brightly, and there was a pile of various pieces of furniture shoved to one side. The beige floor tiles were scarred white, bearing the drag marks of various table legs and other sharp corners.

"Seems like it." Kwame shrugged then turned to the rest of the squad. "This is Hadidi. He's a smuggler from Europa. Crosses the Atlan wastes and comes up over the old western cliffs."

"And why is he here?" Fatima asked pointedly.

Hadidi raised an eyebrow at her tone, and looked over at Kwame.

"This is Fatima. Our pointman." Kwame said.

"Ah, that explains the anger." Hadidi shrugged, dropping the cautious look on his face. "I was taking one final job, but the war got here before I could finish preparing. I've been the guest of my client ever since, although I do provide some technical services to earn my keep."

"So the lock was your handiwork?" Kamau grumbled.

"Kamau. Our grenadier." Kwame continued the introductions. "That's our medic Chiamaka, the squad leader Tolu, and that bouzbal on the floor is Mandla."

"Pleasure to meet all of you." Hadidi bowed. "And yes, it was I who locked the doors. My client wanted to make sure the building was safe from those outside."

"And what about this talk of hostiles?" Chiamaka asked. "Are there enemies in the building?"

"It's quicker if I show you." Hadidi said as he turned towards the stairs, then turned back towards them. "Kwame. My client let you and your friends in partially because you have better weapons than they do. But, that's also why we didn't let you in the first place. Don't make me regret vouching for you."

"We'll keep that in mind." Tolu answered instead. Nasir was no stranger to violence. His burly physique and disfigured ears showed the hardship he had been through.

The 7 of them began to walk down the stairs. Tolu gave Mandla a once over and simply told him to follow. There would be a better time to dress him down for his suicidal heroism. They were still in danger at the moment.

"Where are the other occupants of the building?" Fatima asked.

"You'll see them." Hadidi replied. He wrapped several layers of thick cloth over his face, only leaving his eyes exposed.

They stepped off of the stairs onto another landing which led to several apartments. All of the doors were open, allowing them to see inside. Various bags containing cans, ration bars, and water were stacked up, as if the occupants had been packing for a long trip for some time.

"There were a lot of sick people here. Lot of farm hands who came running from the outer colonies came back to live with their families, and they brought a sickness with them." Hadidi said as they went down the next flight of stairs. "At first they thought it was just the shock of losing everything. A temporary depression of their mood and mind. But when their bodies began to turn pale, and the smallest wounds gangrenous, they knew it was something else. Nasir and the other people who were still healthy quarantined the infected in their own homes. They didn't report what happened to the city out of fear of being locked in here with them. It was around this time Nasir contacted me. He wanted me to get his family out of the city. It was a matter of time before the city found out what happened, and he wanted his family to be out of here when they did." Hadidi sighted. "I don't deal in people. It's too messy and the punishment for getting caught is a lot worse. But, Nasir is a good customer. I made an exception for him. Unfortunately, being unused to this, it took longer than usual for me to make the preparations. That's how I got trapped here."

"What does this have to do with the hostiles?" Chiamaka asked pointedly, irritated by the roundabout way the story was going.

Hadidi stopped at one of the apartments. The door was locked, but typing in a passcode opened it. "A few hours ago, the sick stood up again and began attacking everyone they could. Insects spilled out of their mouths with every breath, and a single scratch would rot your flesh." He opened the door, and led the squad into the apartment. The smell of sterilization agents and cleaning alcohol wafted out of it. The living room had been converted into a make-shift operating theater. On the dining table was a rotted corpse. Its hands and feet had been nailed to the wood. The hair had sloughed off with the body's scalp, revealing yellowed bone. Cataract eyes stared at them upside down from the lolling head.

The squad paused for a moment, unsure what the body had to do with anything, then it moved. Its mouth opened and closed, while it arched its back trying to pull its hands and feet off of the nails.

"This is one of the first who turned. We managed to pin him down, and even tried to find a cure at first. Then the rest of the sick started attacking us. We used up most of the weapons I had prepared for the journey across the Atlan wastes fighting them off. Even then, almost everyone in the building was infected." Hadidi said bitterly, glaring at the moving corpse. Then motioned for the rest of them to leave.

"Did you kill the rest?" Tolu asked as Hadidi shut the door of the apartment behind them.

"If only it were that easy." Hadidi snorted. "Tell me, how do you kill something that is already dead?" He didn't wait for Tolu to answer as he descended down the next flight of steps. "I have seen many things in the wastes. Technobarbarians cannibals. Ancient weapons powered by Abominable Intelligences. Gene-monstrosities that worm their way into your mind. Yet, I have never seen a corpse move." The next landing they arrived at was occupied by Nasir and two more individuals in beekeeper suits. They were spraying the pesticides from earlier down the stairwell, filling the floors below with poison gas. The stairs themselves were blocked by beds, desks, tables, and other furniture. "We barricaded the stairs, and secured ourselves in the upper levels." Hadidi said. "We're safe for now, but food and water are limited here. On top of that, there's that swarm of insects outside. I'm not sure how much time we have left."

Hadidi turned to the soldiers, as if to say that there was nothing else to say.

Tolu looked down at his feet.

Another dead end. Another place without rest. It felt like the city itself was trying to tell him that escape was impossible. Even in death, they would join the walking corpses and wander the cadaver of Xozer like maggots in fetid meat.

Tolu shook his head.

"Do you have a way out of the city?" He asked instead.

"I did…" Hadidi sighed. "Although all the fighting and insanity going on outside has probably rendered it unusable."

Chills began to creep up his legs, and he felt it clamber upon his back.

No hope.

No escape.

No rest.

"Tolu?" Chiamaka said to him, and he felt her hand placed on his back.

The chill receded where he felt her touch, as if her body heat melted it away. It was physically impossible for that to happen. The padding of his suit and her glove ensured they were insulated from each other. Yet, he felt warmth spread from the point of contact between her hand and his back.

He turned back to Chiamaka and gave her a reassuring nod.

"My squad and I are going to get out of the city." Tolu replied. "Do you want to come with us?"

"You want to go back outside?" Hadidi snorted. "I've seen what those insects can do to you. The walking corpses exhale them with every breath. The corpse you saw is only safe because it was drowned in insecticides and antiseptics. Believe me, it would be better to jump off the roof than let those insects take you."

"But we can't stay here either." Tolu replied. "You said so yourself. You have no idea how long we have left."

Hadidi remained silent, so Tolu continued.

"Our weapons can hold those swarms back temporarily. If we move fast enough, we may be able to keep on cutting a path through the insects."

"And where would we go?" Hadidi asked. "The swarms spread across the city, but there is no guarantee they will stop at its limits. Even if it did stop at the outermost walls, that's several dozen kilometers of open ground without cover that we will have to cross."

Tolu remained silent for a while. What was said was true. There was no guarantee that the swarms had not swallowed the entire world. Yet, he met Hadidi's gaze when he answered.

"You may be right. There may be no escape outside. But, I do not know that for certain. What I do know is that at this moment, we are on borrowed time. Whether it is the food, or the water, or even the very walls and windows of this building itself, something will give out. We cannot stay here. We must move on."

The two men locked eyes, then Hadidi let out an amused snort.

"I'm just a smuggler." He said. "But, I've seen many many things in the wastes and various cities across the globe. You don't survive this long in this trade by being still. We are on borrowed time, but the decision to move is not mine to make." Hadidi gestured to the burly man in the beekeeper suit. "Nasir is my client, and it is he who decides whether to leave or not."

"Awfully loyal for a simple smuggler." Fatima snorted.

"Perhaps." Hadidi shrugged. "It is my way of drawing a line between being a man and becoming a monster." He pulled his sleeve up a bit, revealing metal components embedded in his flesh. "Now, go to Nasir. He will probably want your help holding back the dead. Although, you'll have to deal with them anyway if you wish to leave this place. They have taken over the bottom floors, after all"

"Alright." Tolu nodded. I'll talk to Nasir. In the meantime, could you get my squad a place to rest? We've got our own food and water. We just need someplace to sit."

"I'll take them to one of the open apartments. There should be plenty of room. Only Nasir, his wife, and his daughter are left."

"Thank you." Tolu nodded, then motioned for the rest of his squad to follow Hadidi. He turned towards Nasir as his squad went back up the stairs

"Nasir?" He spoke to the large man's back.

"Just a moment." He said as he sprayed a mote of bugs that had risen above the pesticide mist filling the lower floors "Layla. Keep smoking them." He said, allowing the second figure in the beekeeper suit to smoke the floors below. "I overheard what you said to Hadidi." Nasir said.

"And your answer?" Tolu asked.

Nasir sighed then motioned for Tolu to follow him. They walked over to a couch set up on the landing. Nasir sat there while Tolu stood before him. "Tell me Tolu. What happened to the other soldiers?" He asked suddenly.

Tolu grimaced beneath his face mask. "I don't know." He said truthfully.

"Of course you don't." Nasir snorted. "You are a deserter. No normal soldier would appear on the roof of a building at random. Command wouldn't order something so outlandish. So, you were there without orders." Nasir removed his helmet, revealing his rugged face underneath the mesh mask. "And you were without orders because you deserted your post." He glared at Tolu for a moment.

Tolu returned the look stoically.

He had deserted his post.

He had left the other soldiers to die.

He had allowed the enemy to get past him and into the city.

But, there was no guilt there. He had done what was needed to keep himself and his squad alive. If there had still been a chain of command, and a concrete plan to protect the city, he might have stayed. Yet, there was nothing. There was no reason given to him to stand at the wall and serve.

So he left. That was all.

However, that was all sophistry. The fact of the matter was, he was still a deserter. He could not refute the accusation that he had run to save his own life. So, the only thing he could do was stand by his decision.

No guilt. No shame. No regret.

Finally Nasir snorted and broke eye contact.

"Stay calm." He said, waving his hand. "One time I would have cared very much about that fact. Now, not so much." He sighed and leaned back on the couch, staring up at the landing above them.. "Two of my sons were in the defense force." He said suddenly. "You would not know them. They were out guarding the outer colonies. I have received notice of their deaths several days ago."

"I am sorry for your loss." Tolu replied.

"Forty years I worked for this city." Nasir almost whispered. "First as a farmhand, then as an overseer."

Tolu listened patiently. The extreme nature of the situation they were in had overstressed Nasir's mind. Cracks were showing in his psyche, revealing the more vulnerable parts of his soul.

"I rose up the ranks with age, married, and had a family. I even set up a couple of bee hives to enjoy as a hobby for my retirement." Nasir spilled his thoughts, unburdening himself of the loss and despair.

"Now it is all gone." He said finally, resigned and exhausted.

There was a pause between them for a moment. Finally, Tolu broke it.

"What are you going to do?"

Would he sit here in despair until the monsters outside and inside overwhelmed them?

Nasir snorted and looked back at Tolu. "I'm not dying here like some rat trapped in a box." He spat out. "You want to get out of the city? Fine. We'll join you. But, listen well." He growled. "My family comes first. They are all that matter to me."

"Fine." Tolu nodded. "I may have abandoned my post, but I'm still a soldier."

He had no lofty ideals of protecting and serving, but that did not mean he was without morals. He was a soldier, but not because he had to. There were other occupations his genetics could have got him, but in the end this was the one he chose.

Truth be told, his younger self had joined mostly for the adventure. It was a chance to see the world outside the walls, and escape from the boring monotony of everyday life.

But, even after witnessing what was out there, he stayed. Even as some of his compatriots left the force and returned to the fields, he stayed.

'Why?' He thought to himself.

Was it fear? The fear of one day facing the things outside the walls without a weapon?

…or was it some heroic aspiration that he still had from his younger days?

"Good." Nasir said. "But before that, I need your help clearing out the dead. Hadidi showed you the one in the apartment?"

"He did." Tolu replied, cutting short his introspection.

"One of my neighbors was a doctor. She tried to treat them." Nasir said tiredly. "Her corpse is probably shuffling around on the lower floors with the others. End their suffering."

"We will." Tolu nodded.

—-------------------------------------------------

Tolu separated from Nasir in order to talk with the rest of his squad. He needed to speak with Mandla about his actions.

After that, they would have to organize a meeting with Nasir and his family in order to deal with the dead.

His squad was resting in one of the apartments. Fatima was checking their weapons at the dining table with Kamau. Kwame was checking the supplies making a list of what was in each bag. Chiamaka sat in one of the corners with Mandla and an unfamiliar woman. Hadidi was behind her, watching them all.

Tolu approached the three, and they turned towards him.

"You are Tolu, I guess." The woman said as he approached.

"Yes, and you are?"

"Aya. I am Nasir's wife and Layla's birth mother." She stood and bowed slightly. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Likewise." Tolu bowed back. "Can I speak with Mandla for a moment?"

"Of course." Aya replied. "If you would like some privacy, the room in the back is free."

"Thank you. Mandla. Come with me."

The two of them left the group. Tolu shut the door behind them, then motioned for Mandla to sit.

"So…" He started out. "How're you feeling?"

"I'm…" Mandla paused. "... fine." He said.

"Right." Tolu sighed. "If you don't want to talk about it, then just listen to me for a bit." He leaned back a bit and took in a deep breath.

"You're one of my squad. Even if we deserted and there's no worry about court marshals or demotions, that hasn't changed." He put a hand on Mandla's shoulder. "I told you before, I don't need you to be a hero."

"But, was there any other way back then?" Mandla suddenly replied.

"What?" Tolu's brow furrowed.

"It was just the two of us out there. You're the squad leader. You're the one who makes sure everyone works together. In that situation, isn't your life more important than mine?"

Tolu remained silent for a while. When he spoke next, his voice bordered on a growl. "Do you want to die, Mandla?"

Mandla shied away from Tolu, wilting under his gaze like a dying flower.

"I don't know. Ever since the station, I keep seeing things, thinking things." He whispered. "I keep thinking about what happens when I die. Will I be forgotten? Will there be anything left?" His pupils widened as he spoke, eyes glazing over. "When I dove into the insects, I was afraid. But, at the same time, I was relieved."

Tolu let out a long sigh, then grabbed Mandla by his collar and slammed him into the nearest wall.

"Mandla." He said quietly. "What you're saying makes you a scumbag. You know that right?"

What Mandla had attempted was suicide, not self-sacrifice. He had wanted his death to have some purpose, so he ran into the first opportunity that presented itself to him. Yet, that was a selfish act. To wish for his death to have some meaning meant inflicting trauma and guilt on those he left behind.

"I… I can't help it." Mandla sniffled. "If I have to die, I don't want to die in vain."

Tolu took in another deep breath to calm himself, then let go of Mandla's collar and collapsed onto a nearby stool.

"If you wanted to die with honor, you should have stayed on that wall." He said dryly. "There is no honor with death. Even when the city was still standing all you got was your name on a plaque, and maybe a small state funeral. Now, there won't even be that." He let out another sigh. "There will be nothing left of this city, or the people who died trying to defend it. Death is meaningless."

Mandla slid down the wall, as his legs bent like deflating pistons. "Then what should I do?" He said as he lay slumped on the floor. "I'm the weakest link here. I don't want to be a burden."

Tolu snorted at that.

"You think the rest of the squad out there is strong? Each one of them has their own issues. I have my own issues."

Tolu knew all of their issues. It was his job to do so. Fatima had anger issues, and suffered from PTSD from the firefights she had survived. Kwame coped with his problems by engaging in mild kleptomania outside the squad. Kamau was weak to peer pressure, and Chiamaka shut her heart to almost everyone else after seeing so many die in her line of work.

"Nobody is asking you to be strong." Tolu said, standing up from the stool. "Stick with the team, and holler when you see or hear anything strange. That's all we can do for eachother." He leant down and extended a hand to Mandla. "We need you, Mandla. Don't go dying on us."

Mandla sniffled, then reached up and grabbed Tolu's hand and allowed his squad leader to pull him up from the ground.

"Mandla." Tolu said sternly in his harsher military tone. "You will follow me and my orders." He ordered.

Mandla blinked once, tightened his features, and saluted. "Yes, Sergeant!"

Tolu nodded, then gave the younger man a slap on the arm. "Come on. We've got work to do."

As the two exited the room, Kwame turned around to face them.

"Had your little talk, Mandla?" He called out.

"... Yes." Mandla replied nervously.

"Good." Kwame smiled. "Because you owe me a bottle of Amasec."

"You and your Amasec." Fatima snorted as she worked on one of their Volkite Calivers.

"Don't doubt the power of a good drink." Kwame huffed at her, then turned back towards Mandla. "And don't think you'll be out of this debt by kicking the bucket. I'll come down there and kick your arse if you do, honest."

Mandla looked surprised for a moment, then laughed. "Then I better keep an eye out for a bottle then."

The rest of the squad laughed lightly. The joke wasn't funny. There was no punchline. But, they laughed a little just so there would be no awkward silence. The atmosphere in the room lightened a bit, warmed by their mirth.

"Alright people." Tolu ordered. "We've got work to do and we need a plan to do it."

—-------------------------------------------------

Tolu and his squad met up with Nasir and Aya to plan the purging of the lower floors.

Now Nasir and Kamau, the two biggest men, were pulling apart the barricade on the stairs. Layla continued spraying pesticides down the stairwell to keep the bugs away, while Hadidi and Tolu stood behind Nasir and Kamau with long poles made from broken bed frames.

The rest of the Squad stood back several meters away from the four in front, while Aya stood behind them with a fire extinguisher.

"Not much left." Nasir grunted as he lifted a chest of drawers and threw it over the banister. They could hear the wood shattering as it smashed against the stairwell before being obliterated on the ground floor.

"Remember, once they start coming through, just turn and run." Tolu reminded the two.

Suddenly, the barricade began to creak as something started pushing from the other side.

"Fallback!" Tolu ordered as he and Hadidi moved forwards, ready to shove the dead back if they broke through with their poles. Volkite beams detonate their targets, meaning they could not shoot the dead while the two removing the barricade were near them. It was their job to buy Nasir and Kamau time to get to cover while remaining at a relatively safe distance.

A hole opened in the barricade as stacked dressers and tables began to splinter apart. Rotting hands reached out, and deep death rattles echoed out of it like the baritone croaks of a thousand toads.

"Go! Go!" Tolu shouted at the two of them as the rest of the barricade crumbled. They passed him, and he threw his pole at the approaching dead, knocking several of them back and blocking the stairs with their bodies. He turned back and ran up to the stairs, and dove into the entrance of an apartment. "Fire!" He yelled, and Volkite beams shot down the stairs.

There was an explosion, and the building's fire alarms began to scream. Some of the sprinklers in the stairwell turned on, and Tolu heard the sizzling of water on flames.

"Alright, plan phase 2!" He called out. "Nasir. Hadidi. Stay here with Layla and Aya. Kamau, come with me."

The two soldiers returned to their squads, and recovered their weapons.

"Alright squad! Remember the plan! We're going into CQB with unsure footing. I want two pairs and two on overwatch on the landing directly above us at all times. Fatima, Chiamaka, that's you two. Remember, we'll be working with only the laser component of our Volkite Calivers, but the heat will still boil any target we hit. Keep your distance."

" "Aye/Yes, Sergeant!" " They answered back.

Tolu and Kamau began to descend the left side of the stairwell, with Kwame and Mandla walking down the right. Tolu and Kwame were the pointmen, while the others were the wingmen. Each wingman braced their weapon against the point man's upper arm or shoulder, ensuring they couldn't accidentally hit their paired partner.

The stairwell was cracked, and blackned. The metal banister had been shredded apart, and splinters of wood and lay scattered around where the barricade had been. There were a few pulverized bodies, smashed by the pressure wave that lay collapsed further down the stairs.

Tolu fired the laser component of his Vokite Caliver in short bursts, burning a hole through each joint and the head. They couldn't be sure the corpses were dead, and they couldn't burn them with the fire extinguishers overhead. The next best thing was to disable them.

Water slicked the stairs, forcing them to make each step slowly and carefully. Like fencers gauging their distance, they moved forwards step by step.

They slowed as they came to the first apartment, and Tolu lowered his weapon slightly, hiding his profile as Kamau moved up beside him and turned 90 degrees sideways. The larger man's elbow moved in front of Tolu's, as they prepared to expose themselves out of cover while they moved past the door.

Kamau's elbow shoved Tolu backwards. A flinch-reaction transferred from his body pushed Tolu back, just in time to avoid something pink and fleshy blur past their heads.

A tongue. A massive tongue had just whipped right passed them from inside the apartment.

"Contact!" Kamau yelled a moment later.

"Back up!" Tolu ordered, and they stepped away from the apartment. They could hear the squelch of soggy feet approaching them over the fire alarms.

A cracked horn appeared first. Rot brown and sickly white, it resembled a dead tree, then the rest of the creature crawled out from the apartment. Misshapen, slumped, and covered in weeping boils, a one-eyed four legged thing appeared. It looked like a toad; bloated in appearance with a huge mouth.

Red laser fire rained down from above, burning holes in its already mottled complexion, as Fatima and Chiamaka began to suppress the creature. Tolu and the other three retreated backwards up the stairs, carefully but quickly.

The toad shivered and scratched at its pockmarked face with its forearms under the laser fire. Then it jerked backwards, its single eyeball exploded from a direct shot from Fatima.

"Clear!" Tolu shouted as he and the others retreated far enough away from the toad, and the red lasers raining down on the toad were replaced by beams of yellow-ish orange. There was a flash of light, and the roar of an explosion, then there was nothing. Glowing partially melted concrete was all that remained of the toad.

"Alright people, form up!" Tolu shouted. And the squad retook their positions.

They were only half-way down to the next floor.

—-------------------------------------------------

Tolu's squad cleared out the rest of the apartments in similar fashion. The entire operation took about two hours. The dead and the toads hid in the apartments, waiting in ambush, but they cleared each room without casualty.

The insects spawned from the corpses were either burned by their lasers, or died in the pesticides, finally freeing Layla from her constant vigil.

Now, Hadidi, Nasir, and his family stood across from Tolu's squad in one of the apartments. Both sides were bent over a map of the city spread across a dining table.

"We saw Cherenkov radiation west of this location." Tolu said, pointing to the sector they saw bluish-purple light rising from the dirty atomics. "You don't have any radiation proof clothing here, so whatever route we take it'll have to avoid this entire area." He drew a circle around the map that covered the shortest routes to the city wall.

"Then the only route left is to the east." Hadidi muttered.

"But that creates another problem." Tolu replied. "Command is no longer operational, meaning the gates most likely can't be opened. We either have to look for a breach in the wall, or climb over."

"Climbing won't be a problem." Hadidi spoke up. "The cliffs of the west where the oceans once were are taller than your walls. I have the equipment for that. However…" He gestured to one of the windows where the swarms of insects were. The cloud was thinner than before, but still present. "We would need constant covering fire while we are getting over."

"We can't guarantee that." Tolu shook his head. "The wall is too high to effectively cover with our weapons from the ground, and splitting our team between those on top and those down below might cause one or the other to get overwhelmed. Not to mention the friendly fire risks."

"Then the only option is to look for a breach." Nasir sighed.

"Or a better place to bunker down." Chiamaka said.

The rest of the people at the table looked at her quizzically. The entire point of this discussion was to find a way to escape. If they needed to hide, there was no reason to move.

"Our chances of finding a breach are completely up to chance." Chiamaka continued speaking. "We have no guarantee we'll find an exit to get through, and the circumference of the city is so large we would cover a tenth of it at best before the day ends. On the other hand, we know of several guard posts and bunkers within the city itself. If this cloud of insects does not abate, it may be better to secure a location for us to rest. That way we can search for an exit over several days."

Tolu grimaced. The idea of spending days in the dead city was not one he wished to entertain, but Chiamaka was right. Searching blindly for a breach in the wall was a plan based on nothing but hope.

Deep rumbling laughter echoed in his ear, and he froze instinctively.

There was something behind him.

He heard the sound of a fat wet tongue licking thick lips, and the slow drip of viscous saliva. The world seemed to dim and ripple, as if he was on the verge of falling asleep.

"Tolu?" Chiamaka's voice brought him back from the darkness, returning him to the table. Everyone was looking at him worriedly.

There was nothing behind him. There was no laughter, nor licking of lips.

"Sorry…" Tolu apologized as he wiped his brow with the back of his hand. The glove became slick with sweat. "We'll head for the wall first." He said finally. "There's no guarantee any of the bunkers are still functional. If we get stuck there, we truly will be backed into a corner. At least the areas near the walls are more open."

The bunkers would be in the city itself, amongst the numerous twisting streets and paths. They would be forced to take any threat in close quarters. It would be safer to maneuver near the walls.

They had seen the mechanical cavalry come from the east side. Surely the Urshites would have created breaches in the walls for their other forces to follow through?

Tolu justified his reasoning as he shook off the cold touch of whatever exhaustion induced hallucination had gripped him.

"Even so…" Chiamaka said. "We should keep the bunkers and depots in this area in mind. If we do not find a breach, we will need a fallback plan."

To charge forward blindly, hoping to find salvation.

To retreat into supposed security, in the attempt to buy time before death claimed them.

Hope and fear clashed within Tolu's brain, making him wince as a headache began to throb.

"Alright." He finally said. "If we don't find a breach, or have to retreat from the wall we'll get back into the city and check the bunkers and depots one by one."

He had always valued the input of his squad. This decision was no different. Even if he personally wanted to escape as quickly as possible, what Chiamaka said made sense.

"We'll move as a group." Tolu continued, changing the discussion from a strategic to a tactical one. "Nasir and co will be in the middle. Fatima and Kwame will be up front. Kamau and Chiamaka will be at the rear. Mandla and I will take up the middle. We'll keep the swarms at bay from the front and above while we're on the streets."

The rest nodded or saluted in response.

"Alright, pack your bags and get ready to move."

—-------------------------------------------------

The doors to the apartment building opened, releasing a thick mist of pesticide gas. The insects swarming around it fell to the ground dead, and were quickly trampled by 9 pairs of feet.

Tolu and the rest moved as far as they could through the mist, then opened fire as they exited the white cloud of poison. The swarms were thinner, and less organized than before, but they still surrounded them from every angle. Still, their Volkite Beams incinerated them all the same, opening up the darkness like beams from a powerful flashlight, illuminating a path in the night.

As they ran, the swarms of insects suddenly receded, falling backwards like the waves of a lowering tide. Tolu looked up at that moment, and saw a massive sword raised above the city. The blackened blade split the sky, tearing a hole through the green smog clouds above them. His body froze as he felt the murderous rage radiating from it like the heat of an open furnace.

Then the sword began to fall.

"Get down!" He managed to yell, then the ground threw him into the air.

He and the others were thrown about like cups and cutlery on a table slammed by an angry fist.

"Get up!" Tolu yelled.

He could feel something was coming. The air in his lungs seemed to burn with each breath, despite the air coming from his suit's internalized air tanks.

There was a buzzing sound, and he looked up to see the insects heading towards them again. All 6 of them opened fire, burning away the insects and surrounding them in orange embers.

"Keep on moving!" Tolu yelled.

The perimeter they had carved was all that they could see. Everything else was obscured by ash, burning bugs, or writhing insects. Slowly, they backed away down the streets vaguely in the direction of the walls.

Suddenly, the swarms parted. They fell away, like the exhausted waves of a spent tsunami, retreating back into the city. There, several meters in front of them was a giant figure in blackened armor. Spikes jutted out of their shoulder pauldrons, and knee guards. The optics in the helmet glowed red, bathing everything it saw in crimson, as if their very gaze stained the ground with blood. The claw-like fingers on each gauntlet were dirty with gore and bone fragments.

Tolu's mind had a moment to process the almost paradoxical nature of the giant's armor. It was so hostile and dangerous that it was more a tool of murder than protection.

He saw Mandla jerk backwards and raise his weapon out of the corner of his eye, and grabbed the weapon, forcing it downwards.

Mandla stared up at him incredulously, and for one moment Tolu didn't understand why he had acted as he had.

His brain accelerated endlessly, lengthening a single moment to infinity, as it worked feverishly to figure out why his body had acted the way it had.

That was not a man. It was an avatar of murder. It was killing incarnate. The moment they engaged it would be the moment they died.

That was a man. Bloodthirsty and brutish, he was the leader of the Urshite forces, and the general who had orchestrated the death and destruction of Xozer.

Violence was meaningless. It was spawned from it and fed off it.

Violence was meaningless. They were too close, and his armor was too thick.

Conflicting yet concurrent information flowed into Tolu's mind from his eyes. A dull pain shot through the muscles holding his pupils and lens in the proper position.

The being before them was barely human. Its genetic enhancements and mechanical improvements went far beyond what was scientifically possible.

There was something else there… something unnatural that did not follow the rules everyone else was bound by.

The stench of smoke and taste of metal filled his mouth, even though his suit was still sealed.

'We can't fight that thing.' His mind caught up with what his instincts had told him, and he knew why he had forced Mandla's weapon down.

All that transpired in the time it took for him to blink. The time it took for him to start then stop the assimilation of optical information.

A massive headache dyed Tolu's sight red. He grit his teeth, holding in a scream of pain.

The giant was still before them, staring at them hungrily. Tolu could not see the giant's face, but he could read his intent as the giant moved like a cat preparing to pounce.

He could see it in the subtle way the giant's body shifted as he turned towards them.

He could see it in the slow straightening of the tilted helm, righting itself as the giant gave them his full attention.

He could see it in the red glow of both optics that had locked onto him and his squad.

Behind the giant was a massive crack in the wall. Beyond it lay the desert. They only had to push past the giant. Fight it head on, and breakthrough to freedom.

'But, violence is not the answer.' Tolu thought to himself.

That was what had brought them here in the first place.

That was what the being before them wanted.

Then, there was only one thing left to do.

Tolu relaxed the tension in his muscles, and straightened his back. Both his overtaxed eyes and exhausted brain strained, but he stared back into the glowing red optics of the giant.

'Let us go. There is nothing left to fight over.'

He willed to the giant.

The giant had won. Xozer was dead. They were deserters and refugees. Xozer was as much an enemy to them as it was to the giant.

They did not want revenge, or retribution. All they wanted was to live.

Tolu watched as the giant's head tilted downwards, as if the being inside the armor was grimacing. Then it drew a blackened and knocked sword from a scabbard at its waist.

'I am not done with you, or your city.' He felt the words although none were spoken.

Tolu's muscles tensed, preparing to push Mandla back as he saw the giant prepare to lunge forwards…

Then a shadow fell over all of them as a giant gangrenous creature with a bloated belly and twisted antlers crashed down out of the swarms above them. The ground shook once again, causing all of them to stumble, and dusty winds washed over them. Foul burbling spilled forth from the gangrenous creature's mouth, but whatever it said was silenced mid sentence as the giant cut off the bottom half of the creature's face.

Tolu didn't wait to see what would happen next. "Go! Get back! Back into the city!" He shouted, pushing Mandla as he went.

"But Tolu!" Mandla started to object, looking back at the breach in the wall they had been looking for.

"We can't fight that thing! Come on! We'll find another way out! Now move!" Tolu shouted back, as they fired into the swarm, cutting a path back into the city's corpse.

They ran, firing their weapons into the black swarm as they did, but the streets of Xozer were no longer simply dark dingy pathways. Puddles of grime and sewage stuck above blocked drains began to bubble and boil. Embers filled the air around them, lighting everything in an orange glow. The roars of primal beasts sounded from behind them, as well as the baying of hungry hounds.

Tolu felt vomit rising up in his throat as he ran. He could feel something beginning to worm its way into his head. Twin voices of sickening burbling and frightening roaring were echoing between his ears. Hot and cold pangs of emotion shot through him, robbing him of his body heat at one moment, before injecting liquid fire into his veins.

"Come on, keep moving!" He yelled, as much as to himself as to the others. It was all he could do to hold onto his sanity.

If they didn't fight, the swarms would consume them. If they stood their ground, the roaring baying creatures brought into the city by the giant would devour them.

Fight and flight. Both instincts were activated as they fought against despair and fled from rage.

Suddenly the swarms parted, revealing a clearing full of bodies. Armored warriors from Ursh lay on the ground, Wrathskin cracked open like the carapaces of half-eaten shellfish. Two Urshite soldiers stood their ground, back to back. Melta weapons were in their hands, and they fired conical blasts of thermal energy at the misshapen monstrosities holding rusted cleavers in their hands.

Tolu saw one of the Urshite soldiers turn in their direction for a moment, before snapping back to the swarms of rotting monsters around them.

Deep rumbling laughter echoed in his ear once again, and it was joined by a crackling chuckle that sounded like the pop of wet branches in a bonfire.

Tolu's feet stopped, and the others following him did so as well.

The enemies that had killed Xozer lay before him, surrounded on all sides and utterly at his mercy. He may not have been its most zealous defender, but the city was still his home. The faces of friends and family that had died due to the actions of Ursh flowed to the forefront of his mind. An alien anger began to bubble up inside of him, filling his chest with a pressure that screamed to be released.

Another part of him stood back, sedentary and sadistic.

'Let these barbaric fools suffer the consequences of their actions.' it said.

'It was they who unleashed this evil upon the world. A Volkite shot would be too quick. Let them be consumed like their comrades by the minions of despair.'

Tolu could feel his cheek muscles pull his mouth apart into an insane grin.

Attack them, or abandon them. It made no difference. They were dead anyways.

They were all dead.

That was the only explanation for the insanity around them. They had all died at some unknown moment, and ended up in hell. These were the demons of that realm, and they had come to reap the evil mankind had sown.

The Urshite soldier who had looked at Tolu fired again and again, but the demons drew closer between each shot. Overwhelmed by their numbers, the Urshite let off one final shot. Then, a rusted cleaver swung from overhead, and was barely parried by their melta weapon. Tolu saw the demon laugh as its reddish brown blade began to corrode its way through the black metal of the gun. Inch by inch, it began to dig its way through towards the Urshite's head.

The deep rumbling laughter was louder now, triumphant over the crackling chuckle. The rage he felt earlier was dying out, and it was replaced with a chilling apathy towards everything.

As his body began to grow cold, an image he had seen out on patrols flashed through his mind. The sight of ancient buildings in the sands, jutting out like tombstones in a graveyard.

That would be all that was left of Xozer, and the people within it.

A different heat flooded through Tolu's body at that moment. A burning drive to do something, anything. A fighting feeling that made him lift his Volkite Caliver up and fire.

The laser popped the demon's head like a water balloon, and the Urshite soldier kicked the headless corpse backwards. The swarms of demons were momentarily knocked back by the body. In that moment of relief, the Urshite soldier dropped their melta weapon and drew a chain-bladed sword.

"Squad, assist them!" Tolu ordered, as he fired into the turned backs of the rotten demons. His squad followed suit, tearing into the demons as the Urshite soldiers counterattacked with conical blasts of fire and a roaring blade.

He would not be buried under the buildings of Xozer, with their skeletal remains as his only tombstone.

He would not die for this bastion of lies, and decay.

He would fight against death, run from war, and survive this man-made hell no matter the cost.

To hell with old adversaries. To hell with vengeance and revenge. None of that mattered in the grave. On top of that, if this was all the afterlife had to offer, he would work with the very mass-murderers that destroyed everything to escape it.

The demons were all destroyed after several minutes of fighting. Sandwiched between the ex-defenders of Xozer and the invaders from Ursh, there was not much they could do. The insects hovered above them, held back by the rising updrafts from the burning bodies of the demons.

The two Urshite soldiers turned towards Tolu and his squad. Neither group moved for a moment, then Tolu stepped forwards.

"We're looking for a way to survive." He said simply. "Do you want to come with us?"

There was no response from the two soldiers, and several awkwards seconds passed in silence. Then the soldier wielding the chain blade lunged forwards, motorized weapon roaring. Tolu jerked backwards, raising his gun, only to have the blade cut the air above his head and clash against a spiked blade wielded by a horned demon.

The other Wrathskin enclosed soldier ran forwards, putting themself in between Tolu's squad and a pack of hound like creatures made of exposed muscle and bone. Their melta weapon fired twice, reducing the pack to ash in twos and threes, then the hounds were upon them. Their fist punched through the first hound that snapped at them, only to have their outstretched arm snagged in the jaws of another.

"Fire! Fire!" Tolu ordered, and he and his squad blew apart the hounds that had surrounded the soldier wielding the melta weapon as the other dueled in melee with the horned demon.

Tolu's eyes barely kept up with the blurring blades of both demon and genetically enhanced human. The only thing he could clearly see was the sparks flashing whenever the spikes of the demon's sword met the chained teeth of the soldier's blade.

As the last Flesh hound fell, Tolu turned his weapon and hit the horned demon in the eye with a single laser. That was all the distraction needed for the soldier to slip their blade under the demon's arm, and saw it off. Disarmed, the demon stepped back, but not quick enough to avoid an armored boot that kicked it to the ground. The demon's head vanished in a flash of melta fire from the other soldier, and the battle with the demons ended for the moment.

Both soldiers turned back towards Tolu, and lowered their weapons. Neither spoke, but stood at ease, as if waiting for orders.

"... Alright." Tolu said, slowly realizing their silence was not something they kept willingly. These two were muted by their masters, who sent them into the city as cannon fodder. But, despite their expendable status, these two would not die. They had fought against the demons of despair within Xozer, and had now taken up arms against the monsters of war that had motivated their creation.

They were not simple slaves, nor genetically enhanced biological automata.

They were human, trapped in the insanity that was this hell around them.

"We're going to head to the nearest bunker." Tolu said slowly. "The world has gone to shit, and demons are flooding into the city from the outside. We need to find a place to rest and plan what to do next." He cast a glance towards Nasir's family. All three were disheveled and visibly exhausted, as if the life had been drained out of them. His squad too was breathing heavily and he could see fatigue shivers shaking their limbs. All of them looked up to him. He was the one who was giving the orders, and leading them on. It was through him they were able to ignore their own personal fears and doubts, following him in the hope that he could get them out of this.

Tolu turned around, and began to march deeper into the city. The others followed him, focussing on his back in order to blind themselves to the madness and monstrous corpses around them.

—-------------------------------------------------

They reached the bunker without incident. Its mechanical systems functioned as expected, and the entire group could finally sit down and rest.

Layla and Aya collapsed in Nasir's arms, mentally spent. They clung to him like drowning people would cling to driftwood. He in turn wrapped his arms around their shoulders, shielding them like a bird guarding its chicks with its wings.

Tolu ordered everyone, including the two Urshite soldiers to rest. His squad was barely able to respond with the 'Yes, sir.' of their training. That was never a good sign. Such lapses in the ingrained reflexes drilled into them indicated that their psyche was hanging by a single thread.

Tolu watched as his squad collapsed into the various bunks and cots inside the bunker, and abandoned themselves to the oblivion of sleep. The two Urshite soldiers sat down in one of the corners, and stopped moving like machines that had powered down for the day. He himself was also tired, but the feeling from before would not let him rest. A sense of urgency pushed him forward, filling his body with adrenaline and endorphins.

He checked on the locks on the doors, opened up maps of the surrounding area, and puzzled over what to do next. It was only the sound of light footsteps behind him that broke his concentration.

"Are you not tired?" A feminine voice came from behind him.

"Chiamaka…" Tolu let out a sigh. "I could say the same to you."

"I had a couple hours of rest." Her voice hardened slightly with her next sentence. "You haven't stopped moving at all."

"Has it been that long already?" Tolu muttered to himself. He hadn't realized the passage of time at all. Perhaps he was more tired than he thought.

"I'll take the next watch." Chiamaka said softly. "Go to sleep."

Tolu shook his head at that. "No… I can't sleep. Not now."

"Why?" Chiamaka asked. He could hear the narrowing of her eyes and furrowing of her brow through the tension of her voice.

'Why?' He didn't understand it either. But, something inside him was driving him forwards.

Was it some survival instinct? Some base desire to live, to exist no matter the cost.

Was it some rebellion against his old home, and the lies it had told?

The image of the ancient wonders of old mankind went through his mind again.

"We cannot end like this." He said to no one.

They were once a united people on this planet. That was the only way they could have created wonders so durable that they resisted the heat of atomics and the abrasive sands of centuries.

They were once masters of all they could see, and their empire reached up beyond the stars. Their bodies could be rebuilt at a genetic level to do exactly what they wanted it to, and there was no stigma attached to investigation and ingenuity.

To have everything end like this.. the ending of their legacy as the playthings of creatures from nightmare and insanity…

He now knew in his heart that the deep laughter he heard in his head was no hallucination. There was something out there, laughing at him. It wanted to see him squirm, to see him lose hope, to submerge him in misery and despair.

There was another thing out there. That crackling chuckle belonged to it. It wanted him to lose control, and strike out at everything around him.

Warm arms embraced him from behind, and Chiamaka's cinnamon sent a pleasurable shiver up his spine.

"Calm down." She whispered into his ear. "Your shoulders are getting stiff."

Tolu realized the tension going through his muscles, and took a deep breath.

"Not everything rests on you, Tolu. We will be with you, as we always have been."

A warmth grew in his breast, different to the all consuming fire that had spurned him to act.

He leaned back into Chiamaka's embrace, enjoying the softness of her skin and breasts with the back of his head.

"What should we do?" He asked her. He could feel the madness spreading outside. He could see it through the walls if he wanted to, and observe the nightmarish battle between rage and despair. They were still trapped in hell. This bunker was only a temporary haven. One accidental step by the greater demons outside, and this bunker would collapse like an anthill trodden on by a toddler.

"I do not know." Chiamaka admitted. "But, whatever happens, I will be with you."

A faint smile crossed Tolu's face, and he leaned back into her arms. Warm sleep came quickly, and its dreamless darkness provided his mind respite from all that had happened that day.

—-------------------------------------------------

5 days passed in the bunker. The first two were spent cleaning the place up, sorting through food, and setting up the water recycling units they brought with them. The rest were used to talk, sleep, and keep busy with menial tasks.

The two Urshite soldiers, Riya and Ananya, remained slightly apart from the rest. Kamau and Kwame attempted to remove their armor so they could speak, but quickly abandoned their efforts. The machine was bound to their flesh in such a way that it was almost a second skin. Tearing it off would kill them through blood loss, if not infection. In the end, the two groups had to make do with basic hand signs and gestures.

Surprisingly, both were women.

Tolu watched the war outside through the walls. Neither side seemed to gain the upper hand. Endless killing and corruption repeated itself, as the demons cut each other apart. He told the others what he saw, and what he heard. He spoke of the laughing and chuckling creatures that had infiltrated his mind at times, and the others shared similar experiences.

The Urshite who lost her melta weapon, Riya, described feeling guilt and self-disgust when she saw him. She had been conscripted from a province far to the east of the Nord Afrik. The inner portions of Xozer reminded her of the hives she had come from, and the sight of them filled her with self-loathing. She had been part of the army that had invaded and destroyed their homes. Her death at the hands of these demons was a just desert for her. The moment that thought crossed her mind, the demons overwhelmed her.

When Tolu and his squad saved her, she was filled with a warm feeling.

'Absolution.' Riya wrote when asked to describe what she felt. 'I felt I had been forgiven for what I had done, and I wished to make my repentance by helping you. That was why Ananya and I stood in front of you as the demons of Khorne came. You saved us from dying a miserable death. That was the first time I was glad to have the enhancements they forced me to undertake.'

Tolu shared his theories of emotions and belief being connected with the demons. The creatures in the station became stronger when they lost hope, as did the demons that surrounded Riya and Ananya.

"They win when we give up." Tolu said to the others as they sat or stood around one of the tables in the bunker. "If we abandon ourselves to despair or rage, they win. It won't matter how many weapons we have, or how great our defenses are. But they are not harmless without our emotions either. A blade is still a blade. Fight them like any other enemy. Treat them with no lesser or greater concern than the Technobarbarians or Abominable Intelligences. Stick together. Trust each other. We've survived one trip through hell already. We can make another out of it."

On the 6th day, Tolu saw the world ripple. As he watched the demonic war outside, his vision warped. Shapes stretched outwards, then inwards as if the sight before him was an image on a melting mirror whose metal was bubbling and boiling.

The same sense of urgency began to fill his breast. A fire began to burn in his heart that refused to go out.

"Alright people, this is it!" He called out to them. "Pack everything up. We move in five!"

Their food was running out, and they would still need supplies to cross the Atlan wastes.

Now was the moment they needed to run.

Tolu felt it in his bones, and in his soul. If they did not leave today, they never would.

"Ready?!" He asked as his squad and the others assembled behind him at the door.

They all nodded, and he saw hands tighten around bag straps and weapon grips.

"Whatever happens, don't stop." Tolu said. "Just follow me."

The doors of the bunker hissed, and slid open on their hydraulics.

They exited their refuge onto an alien world. The streets of Xozer were layered with pus and blood. The skyscrapers that towered over them were coated with brass, and fire jetted out of the factory chimneys like the belch of a series of volcanoes.

The smaller demons they saw from the station were dotted all around them. They were all running, rolling, or splashing in puddles of viscous sewage like children playing in the rain.

Manta ray-like creatures flew over them in flocks that resembled schools of fish.

The ground shook as a hoofed foot, as wide as a man is tall, slammed down next to them. The bat winged demon it belonged to bellowed as it stumbled backwards from an gangrenous obese demon of equal size.

"Come on!" Tolu yelled as he ran between the two demon's legs. They were too occupied with each other to notice them, and the other smaller demons would not approach while the two fought.

The smaller demons began to surround them, and Tolu's squad opened fire as they ran. Volkite beams lashed out, cutting a path through the swarms, while the last melta weapon roared behind them, keeping their rear clear.

Suddenly, the ground shook. The world flowed backwards, reverting from the alien world of the demons back to the mundane streets of Xozer.

Tolu stared dumbly at the familiar sights before him, then a blinding flash obscured everything.

Bombs were going off around him, obliterating the city bit by bit.

Swarms of gray dust then appeared, eating away at every surface. He watched his arm dissolve into nothing, and barely had time to scream before the next vision assaulted him.

Death and destruction repeated itself before him a thousand times over, then he collapsed to his knees back in the alien world of the demons composed of green rot, red blood, and shiny brass.

A giant demon stood before them. Antlers jutted out of its head, and a second lipless mouth grinned from its pot-belly. Both orifices licked their exposed gums, wetting brown chipped and broken teeth.

The demon before them laughed, and Tolu recognized its voice. It was the same laugh he heard back in Nasir's apartment when they were deciding what to do.

He stared up into its eyes, and despite its wide eyed grin, there was no mirth in its eyes. Hate burned within each orb. The emotion was only matched by the sadistic glee that made each eye glow with a green light.

He had resisted the will of this demon.

He had not played the part it had planned for him.

He had cared for his team, instead of only himself.

He listened to his reason and training, instead of his fear and desperation.

He had kept their hope alive, instead of allowing that hope to become fertilizer for fresh despair.

Now, it was done with him. This demon would take things into its own hands. He, Tolu, would serve as a living reminder to all who defied the Plague Lord Nurgle and his Greater Daemons.

Tolu retched as his eyes read the name from the demon's gaze. It was a name he was not supposed to know, yet he could not help but learn it.

The daemon reached down towards him with a pudgy hand. It would tear him apart in front of the others, and do the same to their hope. Yet, he would not be allowed to die. There would be no rest in the Garden of Nurgle.

A bolt of Volkite energy struck the demon's face, forcing the hand away.

"Get up!" Chiamaka shouted, grabbing him by the arm.

"Come on Sergeant! Which way?!" Kwame asked, joining Chiamaka's Volkite fire with his own.

Mandla, Kamau, Fatima all joined it, shooting the demon in the face while Ananya fired her melta weapon at the swarms that had begun to surround them.

"This way!" Tolu shouted, and turned towards the center of the city.

He did not know why he turned that way. He moved only on instinct now. His eyes saw something there. Something golden. Something bright. Whatever it was, it was the only thing unlike the rest of the nightmares.

A shadow flew over them, and a bat winged Bloodthirster slammed its hooves down in front of them.

All 12 of them skidded to a stop before the demon.

Tolu turned towards the rest of them, and saw that the group had broken apart.
Nasir kneeled in the street, hugging his wife and daughter to him as he closed his eyes, preparing for the end.

Fatima, Kwame, and Kamau were back to back, firing into the swarms of Nurglings around them, prepared to go down fighting.

Hadidi had pulled out a strange pistol, and each shot fired something that obliterated any demon it touched.

The two Urshite soldiers raised their weapons, preparing to charge the Bloodthirster in order to open a path for Tolu and the rest.

Chiamaka stood there, staring blankly up at the sky.

'It can't be helped.' Tolu thought to himself, as he watched them splinter apart. 'We no longer think there's a way to survive.'

They were sandwiched between the two greater demons, with Nurglings and Screamers to their sides and above. He himself saw no way out of this.

The only thing that could save them was a miracle.

But there was no god here to save them.

Tolu joined Chiamaka, staring up at the green, red, and purplish clouds thundering above them.

Then the clouds parted.

A blazing sun appeared above them. Golden and blinding, it burned away the filth surrounding them, and forced the greater daemons to their knees. Smoke rose from their bodies as they gurgled and roared in pain.

Tolu and the others huddled together, unsure of what was going on. They all stared upwards in awe at this new presence that was purging the nightmare from the world.

The Bloodthirster stumbled to its feet, and lifted its axe. It would smash these paltry humans who had denied it. There were two amongst their number who belonged to it. Its massive shadow covered them as it raised its arms and spread its wings. Then, a golden spear pinned it to the ground, slamming it face first into the concrete and asphalt street.

An angel stood atop the pinned demon. Winged and armored in blazing auramite, there were no words to describe it other than beautiful.

More and more angels rained from the sky, engaging the flyers in the sky and cutting down the demons on the ground.

The others kneeled before the angel, struck by an all consuming awe. They no longer saw anything else but the golden figure before them, and prostrated themselves at its feet.

But Tolu remained standing.

He stared up into the blindingly beautiful face of the angel.

His eyes could not understand the features it wore, and perceived it as a white light.

His brain understood that as something beautiful.

But his heart beat faster and faster in his breast.

Adrenaline pumped into his blood, as a chilling sensation gripped every inch of his skin, raising gooseflesh as it went.

This was not what it seemed. The same skepticism he felt whenever he heard the sermons of the hierophants niggled in his mind.

This was too good to be true. A good God would not wait till the last moment to save them. Why had this angel appeared before them right at the moment all hope of escape was lost, and the death and destruction of this place was inevitable?

With that realization, Tolu's eyes pierced the blinding halo of the angel's aura.

What he saw constricted every blood vessel in his body, and froze him to his core.

The beautiful features of the angel were twisted with rage, and weeping in despair.