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

[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.

Adrathic Weapons: These are a Terra exclusive weapon that has yet to be rediscovered anywhere else in the former human Empire. They are described in a similar manner to Necron Gauss Flayers, but fire beams of bright colored energy that causes their target to disappear into orange sparks or embers. They were confiscated by the Emperor during the Unification Wars, and are only available to the Custodes in 30K/40K. As Age of Strife technology tends to be a mix of both psychic and scientific innovation (the Castigator Titan, the Dark Glass, the Neverborn Androids, the STC and all things Akashic), Adrathic technology interacts with both the material and immaterial planes of existence. This makes them both dangerous, and difficult to produce. Even the Mechanicum is banned from learning how these weapons operate, much less are made.
(Unfortunately, the TableTop rules of these weapons make them much less impressive than their description.)

Ship-bound crew: Due to the Cybernetic Revolt during the Age of Strife, void ships are forced to have large populations of menial humans to operate the ship itself. Every void ship is essentially a mobile city with thousands, if not millions of personnel who spend their entire lives aboard the vessels.

A/N2: I've added some links to music and ambient sounds. These are just my personal opinion, so take them or leave them.
♪1 Immortal Imperium Unites
♪2 [ Darktide OST ] IMPERIUM OF MAN
♪3 Emperor Advances
♪4 Darling in the Franxx - Vanquish (OST)
♪5 DARLING in the FRANXX OST - CODE:002
♪6 月の記憶 - Memories of the Moon - Tsukihime 月姫 Remake OST
—-------------------------------------------------

A giant in golden armor watched the last of the enemy shuttles land upon the planet below. His Warp sight penetrated the clouds, and observed the command crew exit their craft to face angry mobs and grim looking military police.

Agesilaus, the current Commodore of the fleet, stood by him on the ornamental observation deck of the Bucephelus. He saw only white clouds drifting over the continents and oceans. It was only his master that was inhuman.

"All of the non-ship bound crew have been removed from the surrendering vessels." Agesilaus reported. "The reeducation of the menial population bound to each ship's service will begin as they are integrated into our reserves. They should be loyal enough for you in 2 or 3 generations."

"And the planet?" The giant asked.

"..." Agesilaus paused. The giant could see everything below them. He was not asking for a report, but for Agesilaus's opinion. "They will remain cowed, but uncooperative." He said grimly. "However, intercepted transmissions and communications state a grand tribunal will commence before renegotiation attempts will be made."

"And so the Vox Populi will have its pound of flesh." The giant snorted derisively.

"It is the fastest way to restore political order. Somebody must be held responsible." Agesilaus sighed as he stepped forward and stood next to his lord. "Their defeat was too fast, and the battle out of sight for the masses. They do not know how meaningless it is to resist." The Commodore grimaced to himself. "The trial will be a witch trial. They will burn those commanders for their supposed cowardice; politically if not physically."

The armored fists of the giant creaked as he clenched them. Then both relaxed, and he turned away from the viewing windows.

"Reorganize the fleet." He said with a voice devoid of emotion. "They have been demilitarized, and shall not threaten our flanks again. Resume course to the next Warp gate hub. We will search for traces of the Omnissiah there."

"As you will my…"

The door to the observation deck opened before Agesilaus could finish, and his voice stopped. Yet, it was not shock at who stepped through that stopped him.

The door opened, revealing Lady Erda standing there. As soon as her form entered the giant's eyes, Agesilaus felt his throat close up in fear as a murderous wrath began to radiate from his Lord.

Lady Erda stumbled onto the observation deck. Her limbs trembled, and sweat dripped down her chin and neck.

"It is time, Neoth." She said sadly, voice defeated and bitter. "Do as you must."

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

Heliosa-32 watched the Warp unfold over what remained of the city of Xozer. The city and the immaterial tear were both large enough to be comfortably visible from the orbit of Luna. Purple tendrils and clouds had covered the dark green and blue central portions of the city days ago. Now, they had spread so far that they obscured the ash gray and dust brown craters left by the battle at the outer walls.

A small smile dimpled her smooth white cheeks as she turned her gray eyes to another potion of the planet. Another Warp rift was opening there; centered around another battle between ideologies. The silky dress she wore, white and sparkling like the Lunar dust outside, shifted as she leaned back upon a floating egg-shell shaped throne. Its curved sides cradled her, and the gravitic levitators held her weight without bobbing. Pearly white hair ran down her exposed back, hiding the series of neural linkage tubes that connected her brain to the cogitators in the throne.

Heliosa-32 was the head of one of many Selenar gene-cults, and she was currently observing Terra from one of the planet-facing viewing windows. Ladies in waiting, all with the same face as her, stood by with refreshments in their hands.

"The Warp resonance has spread to other regions, 32." Another woman, identical to Heliosa-32, said as she stepped forwards from behind Heliosa-32's throne. Gray eyes turned towards another part of the planet, and wrinkled with amusement as purple clouds and tendrils began to spread upon other continents.

"The plebeians destroy themselves, as their gene-code determines." Heliosa-32 said in a melodramatic manner. "They are truly an unsalvageable branch of humanity. Barbaric and insatiable. Small wonder the first lot left the planet for Luna."

"That may be so…" The other Heliosa grimaced. "However, the effects may extend further than just one planet."

Heliosa-32 gave an exasperated sigh, then backhanded the Heliosa who had spoken up across the face. Elongated nails cut through skin and fat, spilling blood from the muscles underneath. The other Heliosa stumbled backwards, but by the time her hand reached the cuts on her cheek they had already scabbed over. A few light scratches knocked off the solidified blood and plasma, crumbling it to dust and revealing unblemished skin where the wound had been seconds before.

"Do not forget, 31, that I am the most advanced version in charge." Heliosa-32 spat venomously. "My decisions determine the actions of the Heliosa cult, and have already taken the effects of the Warp into account." Heliosa-32 sat back in her egg-shell throne, looking up through the viewing window at the storms and tendrils spreading across the planet below Luna. "Besides, the other Selenar have agreed to let those below do as they wish."

"I remember that well, daughter." Heliosa-31 replied, bitter resentment bleeding through her otherwise calm voice.

"Come come, mother." Heliosa-32's voice dripped with sarcasm. "You treated 30 just as I do you. When 33 is born, I will be treated the same. But, that is their right. They are better than us by definition, and so their word is law."

Heliosa-32 placed a hand over her lower abdomen, lovingly stroking the small bulge that was growing there.

"Power must pass on to those most fit to wield it, and for us that is always the next iteration." Heliosa-32 gave a loving smile towards the being growing in her. "It is what separates us from the plebeians below. Their eternal attachment to power and wealth burned everything they built to the ground."

"Our ancestors expected simple man to die out ages ago." Heliosa-31 warned grimly. "Their tenacity is not to be underestimated, no matter how self-destructive they are."

Heliosa-32 nodded at that. "I expect the barbarians to survive this. In fact, I want them to." She licked her lips as she turned her eyes back to the planet below. More and more breaches of reality were splitting open, as the barrier between real and unreal broke down. Each was centered around a different war, a different battle between ideologies.

"Hell will be unleashed on the planet's surface." Heliosa-32 said softly. "Imagine what sort of struggle for survival will ensue? When the storms pass, only the most potent gene-lineages will have survived."

"I hope you will be as cautionary as I am, if the task falls to your daughter." Heliosa-31 snorted. "Care will have to be taken when choosing which gene-codes are to be taken into ours."

"Do not worry." Heliosa-32 chuckled lightly. "My daughter and the daughters after her will be better than either of us. The next iteration always is."
♪1
As Heliosa-32 stroked her stomach again, there was a flash of light. Both 31 and 32 looked up.

Where there had only been purple blights spreading across the planet like mold on old bread, there was now a blazing star. It had appeared above the Nord Afrik continent, and its blinding light penetrated the dimming filters of the observation window.

Heliosa-32 shivered as she felt the light wash over her. That was no mere explosion. She could feel it with her enhanced mind, and terror gripped her heart.

"Activate our Gellar fields ahead of schedule." She ordered, rising from her egg-shell throne as she did so. "Send word to the other cults for them to do the same. Synchronize the fields and shut all observation windows and ports! Now!" Her voice rose as the fear she felt spread through her, releasing adrenaline and cortisol into her system.

Ordinarily, her advanced genetics would have controlled that. However, before the being below them on the planet's surface, those enhancements meant nothing. These emotions did not come from her brain or body. This fear came from her very soul. She could feel the intention of the being within the light, and it made her skin crawl.

Alarms began to blare, interrupted only by the shattering of glass as her handmaidens dropped everything and scurried away to carry out her orders. Standing alone in the middle of the cacophony, Heliosa 32 glared defiantly at the light as heavy shutters closed over the viewing windows.

The purple tendrils of the Warp were already receding, burned away or shoved back into the unreality they had come from.
But, all that was left behind was the now blackened ruins of Xozer.

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

Tolu Abdullahi stood before the angel, frozen stiff by what he saw. Tears of blood flowed down the Angel's twisted features. Its perfect skin was wrinkled by muscles pulled tight with gritted teeth and furrowed brow.

Then the Angel screamed.

Raw information slammed itself into his mind, forcing both hands to drop his Volkite Caliver, covering his ears in vain. The weapon, hanging from his neck by its sling, felt like an anchor around his neck. Its meager weight forced his weakening knees to buckle as the psychic scream continued.

Tolu saw men running across fields filled with barbed wire and machine gun fire.

He saw women and children lined up before a ditch, then a line of soldiers shot them all at once.

Bombs and bullets rained down upon cities and towns from various times, engulfing their inhabitants in flames.

He watched giant void ships tear into each other like carnivorous paramecia, ramming their armored prows through the long hulls of similarly shaped vessels. Adamantine armor plates were chewed through by the violence of the impact. Atmosphere, debris, and crewmen spilled out, like the cytoplasm of a cell into empty space.

War and death, over and over again. The images, sounds, tastes, and touch of each scene repeated themselves, as if to hammer into his head the nature of humanity. He could feel the information overwriting him, forcing him to accept a conclusion that had been made by someone else.

This is what they were, and that was the only explanation for their actions. There were no daemons to blame, nor Chaos gods to hold responsible. They were all that was needed to justify what happened here.

The endless repetition continued, like a mad-man telling themselves something until they themselves believed it to be true.

Tolu screamed back, but his own voice refused to reach his ears. Only the disappearing air from his lungs and the iron taste of blood told him he was screaming.

'NO! NO!' He screamed to himself. This could not be what they were. He refused to believe it. 'That is not who we are!' He pushed back against the assault on his mind with that message.

The visions lessened, dimming in intensity, allowing the information from his own body to begin reaching his brain.

The first sight his tearful eyes saw was the Angel. It remained before him, standing proudly with both wings spread. It seemed to blaze with a golden fire that covered both its skin and its armor. One foot was placed on the neck of the Bloodthirster, still pinned to the ground by the Angel's spear.

Tolu stared back up into the Angel's face, and saw it looking down at him.

A shiver went through his body.

Before, it had been looking at nothing, catching them only in its peripheral vision. Now, the eyes that leaked blood were focussed solely upon him.

The Angel's foot pressed downwards, forcing a choking growl out of the Bloodthirster's neck as it pulled out its spear from the daemon's body.

'Move!' Tolu told himself, but he remained still. He was paralyzed before the Angel, frozen by fear and awe, and weak from the assault on his mind. Even now he could feel his brain dip in and out of consciousness between blinks.

The Angel's spear rose; bladed tip pointing at Tolu's head.

Then there was a roar.

The ground shook as the corpulent mass of the Great Unclean One behind Tolu and the rest charged over them, head lowered and antlers pointing towards the Angel.

The Angel turned to face the new threat, and was suddenly thrown off balance as the Bloodthirster pushed itself off the ground.

Two against one, the Angel seemed to have lost its advantage…

But, it still faced its enemies head on.

The Bloodthirster stuck the Angel from overhead, and had its axe blocked by the shaft of the spear. A single shove sent it flying backwards into a nearby building, burying it in ferrocrete rubble. The Great Unclean One lowered its antlers, attempting to gore the Angel through its exposed flank.

A single backward swipe with the butt of the spear smashed through the daemon's right antler, knocking the daemon head over heels and sending it rolling like a ball down the street.

There was another roar, followed by searing flames as the Bloodthirster rose from the rubble, only to be pinned to the ground like an insect as a different Angel stabbed it through the back with its own spear.

Tolu looked skywards, and instead of the green, red, and azure clouds there was a blinding ball of light above them. It blocked out the sky, and banished all the darkness, yet they were not blinded by its luminescence. It was thanks to that he saw more winged figures streaking down from the sky like shooting stars in a meteor shower. He could not count their number. They were as numerous as drops of rain in a storm.

He did not know where he got that imagery from. It had not rained even once on Terra in his lifetime. Yet, he could grasp the imagery as information from another source continuously flowed into his brain.

Instinctively he knew what was about to happen.

"Come on!" He yelled to the others, who either sat or kneeled on the ground in stunned silence. "Get up! Move!" He grabbed Chiamaka by the arm, forcing her to stand. "Run! Follow me!" He called out again, and the others stood wobbly, as if waking from a dream.

"Listen to me!" He yelled. "We have to get out of the city! There is no salvation here! Now move!" Each one of his squad, Nasir and his family, and the two Urshite soldiers turned towards him. He looked into each of their eyes, making sure they heard his words, then began to run.

The world ended around them as they scurried through the labyrinthian streets of Xozer.

Angels and daemons fought, as if to replicate some form of religious apocalypse. But, Tolu knew this was no battle.

The daemons were doomed.

Instead of the clouds representing their patron gods, there was only the blazing light in the sky. It stood in the daemons' way, preventing them from returning home. The light's Angels did the rest.

Tolu ran between the legs of an Angel and Bloodthirster. Both of their weapons were locked together, spear and axe bound together in a grating embrace. The Angel kicked the daemon in the side of its knee, breaking the joint and forcing it to the ground as soon as they passed. Then the Angel bit down on the daemon's neck, spilling crimson blood from its corded throat.

In the distance, Tolu saw a group of Angels drawing and quartering a Great Unclean One. They had pinned it to the ground, and were pulling out the intestines that inflated its belly.

Tolu closed his eyes, no longer able to bear witness to the torture and retribution inflicted upon the daemons.

The Angels were taking back what had been taken from humanity.

They drank back the blood that had been slurped up by Khorne's hordes.

They tore out the bodies swallowed by Nurgle's minions.

If hell is the home of daemons, then this was heaven. It was the realm antithetical to daemons and monsters. Thus, being here was as torturous for them as hell was for humanity.

"Come on!" Tolu yelled to the others. "Stay with me! Don't look back! Run! RUN!"

Nurglings and Horrors ran around them, gibbering and squealing like pigs being herded to slaughter. One of the Nurglings turned towards Tolu. Its eyes widened and mouth twisted into a smile as it tasted his desperation and despair. Then a giant foot in golden armor landed right beside Tolu, as another Angel stamped the lesser daemons out of existence.

The mortal humans continued on, running forwards blindly as wrathful weeping angels wiped out the rest of the daemons on the ground and in the air.

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

Gaius Marcellus was a fighter pilot of the Roma. His squadron had been tasked by Keyser with keeping watch over the battlefield and eliminating any Xozer forces that might try to breach the siege.

Those orders were later overridden by Shang Khal, who told them to begin bombing the black mass that had emerged from the city.

Now, there were no orders. There was only survival.

A screaming daemon with many mouths shot past his fighter, leaving trails of blue flames in its path. His hands flew over the control panel, forcing the grav pods within the craft to freeze the fighter in space, sticking it to its coordinates like glue. His cockpit stopped just short of the azure flames that floated in the air, narrowly avoiding running into them. Those flames would not burn him. They would eat through his craft like acid, and devour him alive like giant amoeba.

Nothing was as it seemed for the past 6 days. At first, they fought giant flies with rotten riders throwing balls of pus and sewer sludge at them. Now, these new monsters joined the dog fighting, further crowding the sky above Xozer.

Gaius keyed in another set of coordinates, and his fighter dropped out of the air. Clawed chitinous legs slashed through where he was, as another rotten fly-like monster flew through where he had been.

His co-pilots arms flew upwards as the fighter entered freefall. The man had started gibbering after staring into the eyes of the screaming demons, forcing Gaius to shoot him with his stub gun.

'Don't think about anything.' Gaius said to himself. 'Remember the money. The money!'

He was a materialistic man. No matter the mission, no matter the casualties, no matter the number of aerial murders he committed; he slept easy every night. Killing was just another means of work. What he did was no different to a predator killing and eating prey.

However, against these daemons, he was the one on the lower rung of the food chain.

"Status report!" He yelled into his headset as he redirected his fighter upwards. Twin wing mounted Adrathic destructors flared, sending yellow beams of scintillating energy into one of the rot-green flies. The creature's form rippled once, like a reflection on a lake, then it vanished leaving only an orange afterimage of its existence.

"Squadron casualties nearing 73%!" One of the support staff on the aerial-carriers shouted back. "Carrier altitude continuing to decrease! Engines are on maximum power, but we're still being dragged in towards the center of the city!"

"Shit!" Gaius swore.

The strange storm that had covered the entire city extended up into the stratosphere where clouds could not form. Red, green, and azure blue tendrils made of similarly colored smog had swallowed several of their town-sized aerial–carriers, consuming them like sardines trapped in the tendrils of a jellyfish.

The surviving aerial-carriers were forced to run from the skies, dropping downwards towards the polluted planet's surface. But, now they could not stop falling. Something was pulling them downwards, dragging their massive frames from the sky.

Gaius could hear the straining of the metal support structure of the carrier over his headset, as well as the whimper of the young man meant to assist him.

"Keep the carrier in the air!" He ordered. "We can't live on the surface any longer!"

The Roma truly could not live on the surface. Their bodies were built to survive in the oxygen deficient stratosphere. Their bones, blood vessels, and muscles were made to resist the g-forces of flight. Such advantages in the sky were excess weight and baggage down on the ground. They would be far weaker than the humans who had evolved to adapt to their pollution ridden world they lived in.

Gaius's craft twisted out of the way of a stream of flames, returning fire with Adrathic beams.

'Don't think about anything!' He told himself again, as a tattered cloak with jagged mouths sticking out of its sleeves floated past his view screen. Whispering voices seemed to echo around him, and he thought he saw the bloody lips of his dead co-pilot moving in unison with their words.

Suddenly there was a flash. The rot flies, screamers, and flamers fell from the sky, burning and smoking like moths flying through a torch light.

Gaius barely had time to blink before his headset buzzed again.

"Altitude rising! We're free! Gaius we're fr-" The young man's voice cut out without warning, then the echoes of multiple explosions reached Gaius's fighter.

Gaius looked up, and saw the massive aerial carrier he called home falling, burning, and breaking apart.

Above them was a blazing star. It had wiped out the clouds and the storms, but instead of the blue sky there was only white light.

As he sat there, mouth half agape as everything he owned and cared about fell past him, something with avian wings shot past his fighter craft.

First it was one, then another and another. Bright winged creatures were falling from the sky in the thousands, shooting down to the ground like meteors. He watched several punch through the wreckage of the carrier, tearing through it like bullets from a machine gun would a corpse. Fresh explosions welled up where they entered the carrier, and orange flames shot out like blood.

"All fighters, protect the carriers!" Gaius ordered. "Climb and engage tangos before they hit!"

Their fighters relied on the carriers for recharging and rearming. The loss of their carriers meant the death of them all. He and the other Roma survivors sent their fighters skywards, hurtling towards the winged figures that fell towards them like flaming meteors with comet tails.

Gaius sighted one of the winged beings, and fired both of his Adrathic destructors. The being rippled, then turned orange, but only its top half disappeared. The lower torso froze mid fall. A golden tasset, with a pair cuisse, greaves, and sabatons stood upon nothing. He saw the waist turn as he passed, as if the missing head was following him with its eyes.

Before he could turn his attention to the next flaming creature, the winged being began to reform. Golden lights wove themselves into a fauld, plackart, and breastplate. Pauldrons and rebraces and vambraces emerged from thin air in an instant. But, instead of a helmet, a wrathful weeping face of such angelic beauty he could look at nothing else emerged.

An explosion nearby broke the spell of the angel's rapture. Gaius turned to see one of his fellow fighters torn apart by a golden sword wielded by a different angel. The blade cut through the reinforced alloys and void shielding like butter. The fragments burst into flames, dissolving into dust and ash leaving nothing behind.

Gaius jinked his craft sideways instinctively, and the angel he had shot slashed through the air he had occupied moments before. He fired his Adrathic destructors into the exposed back of the angel. This time he kept firing, exposing the angel's entire being to the effect of the Adrathic beams.

But the angel would not disappear.

Its body and wings turned orange and vanished, only to reappear again as the very beams of energy he fired warped and mixed with the light it was made of. It weaved the destructive power of his weapons into itself, respinning its body from the strand-like beams of energy he fired into it.

The angel could not be killed. It was born out of humanity's self-destructive nature. Attacking it merely reinforced its reason for existence. Thus, the only thing Gaius managed to do was drain his fighter's power cells as he emptied them out of his Adrathic destructors.

The ship began to stall as it over exerted itself, then it began to fall. Unable to change direction, the angel only had to turn and dive straight down to catch it.

The last thing Gaius saw as the angel's blade tore through his body was the surviving aerial carriers limping away in every direction, as golden flaming angels rained down upon them.

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

"Come on! Keep moving!" Tolu shouted again. How many times he had said the same words he didn't know.

The light above them had begun to fall. He could see it getting closer and closer to the tips of the skyscrapers. They began to blacken and melt like wax candles before it. Yet, there was no heat. There were no flames. It was not because of the thermal energy of the light, or the intensity of its brightness that the buildings melted. Reality was being remolded like clay according to the light's will.

There were no more daemons around them. The angels had done their work in a few hours. Now they flew from the city, spreading their divine message to the rest of the planet.

If it was humanity's destiny to destroy itself on this planet, then their god would oblige.

Better to die at the hands of an angel, than in the claws of a daemon.

The light was right above them now. Its brightness painted the black, brown, and green street white. The corners and turns straightened out, melting away to reveal only a flat blank world with nothing in it.

One by one Tolu heard his companions stop running. First it was the clomp of armored Wrathskin boots that stopped, then the pitter patter of Nasir and his family's shoes.

"Don't stop! Don't look back!" He yelled.

They were too close to the light. Looking back would allow them to see it, and that alone would destroy them. They would be rewritten as the world was around them.

Suddenly, Tolu was yanked backwards by Chiamaka's arm.

"Tolu…" she called out to him.

He shouldn't look back. That was where the light was. But, he could not stop himself to see why Chiamaka had stopped.

Instead of the visor of the patrol suit, there was only the top half of a marble statue in Chiamaka's likeness. It stuck out of a wall of light that had swallowed her lower half. Cracks spread across the smooth white surface, and the statue crumbled into shining dust.

"Chiamaka!" Tolu cried, reaching for the salt-like substance she had dissolved into.

But his fingers refused to move.

He looked down and saw his own hand turning white. The petrification spread, unraveling his suit and clothes as his skin was replaced by smooth stone-like substance. Cracks began to spread, and his fingers broke off and dissolved into the same cubic crystal dust Chiamaka had disappeared into. Bit by bit, he lost his senses as his body disintegrated. Soon, only his sense of sight remained, staring at the approaching wall of light.

The world turned white as the wall of light passed over him, and Tolu clenched his eyes shut fearing the end. Seconds passed, but oblivion never came. Instead, the light began to dim. The sensation of his body returned, and he could feel his fingers clenched into fists against his palms. The world around him was deathly quiet, and he felt something strangely soft underneath his feet.

Slowly, Tolu opened his eyes, and saw a different sort of underworld to the hell and heaven he had witnessed earlier.
♪2
A black sky was above him, but it was not dark. He could still see his surroundings, but night blindness would have been a blessing for him at this moment.

Billions upon billions of human bodies lay on top of eachother, forming mountains and valleys of corpses. Each one still had all its flesh, or what it most likely retained at the moment of expiration. Yet, it was all too clear that none lived. Their contorted limp bodies lay there like rag dolls. Bleached skin showed blood no longer flowed through their veins, and the rolled up eyes stared up at him with blank sclera.

Yet, even though they were unmistakably dead, they did not remain silent. They did not remain still. They were not at rest. They moaned silently, endlessly screaming out their last thoughts in psychic voices. Here they were all trapped in their final moments, re-living the scenes before the light of life left them in this underworld.

Tolu screamed as his mind understood where he was, and stumbled backwards. His feet slipped, and he fell down the mountain. Fingernails held in place by rigor mortis and teeth from opened mouths scratched and punctured his skin. But the pain was nothing to him.

When he stopped rolling, he scrambled to his feet.

"Chiamaka!" He screamed.

"Kwame! Kamau! Fatima! Mandla! Riya! Ananya!" The rest of the names of his squad and the two Urshite soldiers followed.

"Hadidi! Nasir! Layla! Aya!" He called out the names of the civilians he had met.

Only silence answered him.

Tolu collapsed, sobbing. The isolation of this place; the idea that he was the one living thing in this world gripped his heart like a vice.

"Somebody! Anybody!" He cried out again.

Nobody answered.

Still sobbing, Tolu clambered to his feet. He could not stay here. This place was for the dead, and unless he wanted to join them he had to keep moving. He walked for what felt like an eternity in the valley of corpses.
His tears dried, and his sobbing turned into hurried panting.

"I'm not dead!" He screamed to no one, or perhaps to himself. "I'm not dead!"

He wasn't going to die here. He saw what would happen to him if he did. The bodies he trod upon made that all too clear.

Suddenly he tripped; foot snagged on an outstretched hand, solidified in a claw-like form by rigor mortis. His forehead banged against the exposed skull of another body, sending sparks of pain throughout his body.

For a moment, he could only lie there; curled in a fetal position as he held his head and whimpered as the pain slowly went away.

'Chiamaka…' He called out the name of his love. The sweet image of her smiling face temporarily wiping away the images of the dead around him.

Then there was a light.

♪3
In the darkness, a bright golden glow sparked into existence before him. He covered his eyes, blinded by the sudden luminance, then looked up at a giant figure before him.

All pain was gone. The cold touch of isolation was replaced by an all encompassing warmth. Strength filled his body, and Tolu stood to his feet.

The being before him was beautiful. He could only understand it as such. He could not see how long their hair was, or whether they were a man or woman. Yet, he knew what he saw was a work of art beyond description.

Then the being spoke in a voice that was both man and woman.

"Why do you deny me?"

For a moment, Tolu couldn't understand what he had been asked. There was nothing he could ever deny the being before him. It was too beautiful, too magnificent. Through it, he saw the ancient ruins upon Terra in their former grandeur. He saw floating cities full of people like him, enjoying food and drink. He saw mountainous voidships the size of several cities traveling between the stars.

Then he saw the entirety of the Fall of Xozer. He saw the angels descending from the sky, and the blazing light that followed them.

"Why did you do that?!" He shouted back, stumbling back from it at the same time.

He felt betrayed. This beacon of light. This vision of humanity's potential. It had come to cull them at their final hour. Why?

"I did nothing." The being answered back. Its voice was devoid of emotion as if the statement were a simple fact. "What happened here was done by your own hands."

Images flowed from the being to Tolu. Perspectives and memories from those within Xozer and Ursh flashed across his eyes and whispered themselves into his ears.

"Did you see me there?" The being asked.

"No…" Tolu spat out bitterly. "I did not see you there…" Then his tone turned accusatory. "I did not see you there."

The same words, first spoken as an admission, were now spoken as an accusation.

"You did nothing." Tolu repeated the being's own words. "Why? Did you lose hope in us? If so, why come back now? Why act as the grim reaper for a people who does not live up to your standards?"

Tolu had abandoned his own homecity. He had deserted his post. He turned his back on Xozer, for he could neither believe in it nor its mythology. If the being before him had also abandoned them, why did it return now?

"Hope." The being spoke, and for the first time there was almost the slightest color of emotion. A bitter sarcasm darkened its words. "It is a dangerous thing. Look where it led them. See what became of their blind determination."

Visions of Keyser and Shang Khal flowed into Tolu's mind. The words and deeds of the hierophants entered as well. The thoughts and emotions of enemies and traitors filled his heart with revulsion, but he felt what the being before him spoke of.

Those butchers and madmen had not given into despair. They had not acted without reason. They moved in accordance with what they thought was best, and hoped for a better tomorrow.

Hope.

It was what sustained him through all of the death, destruction, and despair. Yet, he did not have a monopoly on it. His enemies also felt that emotion, and they relied on it just as he did.

Tolu's stomach heaved and he dry retched, disgusted by the experience of being the people he most despised. He saw their determination, and their drive. He saw their perspective, and although it sickened him, he could not refute them as he could when he was ignorant.

If he had been in their shoes, and lived their lives, he might have been the one carrying war and decay on his shoulders.

"Then what is the point of it all?" Tolu spat out, breathing heavily from nausea. "If this is all we are, then why do you even care? If hope and determination are but the devices of fools and zealots, why even bother appearing here to slaughter us?!"

If humanity was doomed to self-destruction, why come to them now. Better the beacon of all that was good to exist on its own; ignorant and pure of all of humanity's failings.

Tears leaked from Tolu's eyes, as regret gnawed at his chest.

It would have been better to believe that Keyser, Shang Khal, and all the other invaders from Ursh were just rabid animals instead of thinking, breathing people.

It would have been better to only know the ruins instead of seeing them in their glory days. At least, in his ignorance, he could have marveled at what they might have been. Now, he knew just how badly their beauty had been desecrated.

"I do not need hope to believe in your potential, and you know nothing of just how far I intend to go for you." The being said quietly. "I know what your potential is. I have seen it first-hand. Witness the wonders you have created."

Once again, Tolu saw all that his species had accomplished.

Pure joyful awe filled his heart as he sat up and stared at the sights the being showed him.

He saw his species leave the planet they had been born on for the first time.

He watched in wonder as the first Warp portal opened, allowing mankind to travel far beyond the solar system they had evolved within.

Space elevators rose from the surfaces of planets, branching out to form entire mechanical rings that served as drydocks for ships and centers of trade.

The flying cities he had seen earlier grew larger and larger, until entire artificial continents traveled across the globe. These Orbital Plates controlled the weather and sunlight with their shadows, bringing fruitful harvests and healthy bounties that benefited all below them.

"See their beauty? See their grandeur?" The being spoke from beside him, voice gentle as a lover's whisper. "This is the power of humanity. This is your potential. This is what you can and have accomplished." The visions stopped, leaving Tolu and the being alone in the valley made by mountains of corpses. "I know this. I am this." The being said tiredly. "You do not need more hope. You do not lack determination." The being suddenly leaned forwards, faster than Tolu could react. An armored hand closed around his throat, and lifted him up to the being's eye level. "What you need is order. What you lack is control. What you deserve is an iron collar bound to a chain leash to drag you back from the precipice of self-destruction."

The words were spoken quietly, but Tolu could hear the anger boiling beneath the surface.

"I shall bind you in such a way that you shall never bite at your own body ever again. You will be as great as you can possibly be."

Tolu stared into the being's eyes. He saw through them into its very soul. Every event experienced by humanity lay within it, and in its near infinite memory it saw every flaw and every feature mankind had to offer.

It saw them for what they were, as individuals and as a species. From all that, it had made its judgment.

They would all be saved, no matter the cost. Even these dead souls piled up endlessly had been saved. They lay here at the moment of their death, safe from the monstrous creatures who sent their daemons to assist in the self-destruction of Xozer. In exchange for their salvation, they would serve as examples of everything wrong with humanity. Their lives would be turned into lessons, and their tombstones would become testaments to the trials failed by mankind.

However, Tolu could not simply accept the being's judgment.

"Then did you weld the seams that held those ships together?" He shot back, even as the being's armored fist closed around his throat. "Did you sit over their blueprints and schematics, drawing every detail of their construction? Did you teach the engineers and scientists of those times everything they knew?"

The being did not reply to his questions, but Tolu continued speaking, for he already knew the answer.

"No, you did none of those things. You watched over us, yet never led us."

In all the visions shared by the being, it never appeared in them once. For all the glorious things it knew, it was only an observer to all of it.

"Humanity made it to the stars once, without your help!" Tolu managed to spit out through clenched teeth. "We built the buildings and the voidships and the artifacts with only our mortal minds and the knowledge left to us from our forefathers. We did those things without you!"

Tolu waited for the being to become angry. He expected it to lash out at him, and force him to bend the knee before it.

But the being did nothing. The fist closed around his throat no longer strangled him. It merely held him there, like a pup held up by the scruff of the neck.

Tolu looked into the being's eyes, and once again saw into its soul.

What he was talking to was an infinitesimally small portion of a far greater whole. The emotions it spoke with were single sparks coming off a blazing star. It was so small that its interactions were but a single drop in an ocean of information. Thus, whatever it felt or thought was insignificant to the rest of it.

In short, the man Tolu Abdullahi it spoke to was literally too insignificant for the being to get angry at.

Still, he could not remain silent. No matter how unimportant or irrelevant he might be to this being, he had to make his plea.

"Please. Give us the chance to make it there once again."

The being did not answer him. Several seconds passed as Tolu waited for an affirmation or a rejection. Then it dropped him.

"There is only one path here." The being said sadly.

Before Tolu could process what had been said, great winds blew towards him. He tried to look at the being once again through squinted eyes, but the rushing air dragged him back away from it. He felt them pulling him upwards, lifting him higher and higher out of the valley of the dead and above the peaks of the corpse mountains.

As he rose, he saw the full extent of this artificial underworld. The entire populations of millions of worlds over thousands of years lay here in eternal agony.

So many failures.

So many deaths.

Yet, even amongst all of this, there was a single golden path rising above the gloom and doom. He saw shadowy figures walking upon the path, carrying golden bricks and golden mortar to lay the next stones for it. At their forefront, the golden being stood, staring up at Tolu as the winds carried him up into the black sky.

Tolu stared into the being's eyes one final time, and then everything went dark.

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

Tolu awoke to find a weight on his chest. He looked down, and saw Chiamaka on top of him. They were both in their patrol suits, but their positioning was closer to that of the morning after their day off. Her head rested on his collar bone, with both arms wrapped around his torso. Her legs lay between his and she breathed the slow breath one does when asleep.

Tolu let his head drop back, relief flooding his body. They were both laying upon soft desert sands. Golden angels continued to fly overhead in the blue sky, but they were so far away all he could see were fluttering specks.

"You're awake." Chiamaka said to him and he looked down at her again.

"Yeah, I am." He flashed her a tired smile.

"What happened?" She said and he felt her arms gently squeeze him, as if to confirm he was still there. He placed his arms over her and did the same.

"I don't know."

The memories of the world of the dead were rapidly fading from his mind. His body had been obliterated when he entered that realm, so the memories of that place had not been stored within his brain. All that remained was a feeling of great frustration, and nostalgia.

'But, I'm still alive…' Tolu thought to himself.

That fact alone meant something.

Perhaps he was thrown out because he was not worth the being's time.

Perhaps he was thrown out because he was too obstinate for it.

Or perhaps the being had listened to his plea.

Tolu patted Chiamaka on the shoulder with one hand, and she hugged him one last time before pushing off of him and standing up. She reached down and pulled him up as well.

The rest of the squad, Nasir's family and the Urshite soldiers were all there around them. They too seemed to have just woken up, and were groggily getting to their feet.

One of the two Urshite soldiers stopped suddenly, then patted her helmet with shaking hands. The piece of metal rocked back and forth loosely, then she tore it off and threw it to the ground.

Brown skin and black hair were revealed to the sunlight for the first time in years, and a tearful cry came out of Riya's throat. The metal prison she had been sealed into had been broken, and for the first time in years she felt fresh air on her face.

Ananya quickly followed suit, tearing off her helmet and taking off her gauntlets. The neural connectors embedded into her flesh had been removed. The skin that had been peeled off of her when she had been conscripted and interred in the Wrathskin had been regrown.

For a while, the rest stood by and let the two women cry. The voices that had been trapped for dozens of years were finally free.

Tolu looked up to the sky again. Angels continued to fly above them, heading away from the now blacked ruin of Xozer. He could see faint figures on the horizon, stumbling or marching off into the distance.

'So, we were not the only ones swallowed up by the light and returned from it.' He thought to himself.

Perhaps one of them had convinced the being to let them all go.

Perhaps it never intended to keep them there in the first place.

Tolu shook his head. It didn't matter any more. Xozer, Ursh, all of it was behind them.

"You alright?" Tolu asked as he stretched out a hand to Riya. She sniffled, and took it. He winced slightly. She may have been freed from her Wrathskin, but she was still a 2 m genetically enhanced giant. He could feel the bones in his hand groan in her grip.

"Alright people, let's check the gear and get ready to move." He said to the others. His squad saluted, while Nasir and Hadidi nodded back. Riya and Ananya were still sniffling, so he stood by them while they got their feelings in order.

' "There is only one path here."... was it?' Tolu thought to himself as he looked up into the sky again.

He refused to walk that path; the path of the golden being. Thus, he had been thrown out back into reality to fend for himself.

'Still… Thank you…'

The golden being had let him go, and had saved the people who followed him. That was enough to know that whatever it was, it was not evil. It may not be good. It may not have been right. But, it was still a being that worked for humanity.

"Where to, Sergeant?" Kamau asked as he shouldered a bag of supplies.

"Europa." Tolu said automatically. It was where they were headed for in the first place, but for some reason that direction seemed right to him.

"We'll head to Europa." Tolu said again, and he turned his genetically enhanced eyes Northwards.

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

Mafeo Orde limped across the desert sands. He was the only survivor of the Wrathsingers. His armor was burnt black, and the three skulls that had been welded onto his helm had cracked off during the battle. Both pauldrons that had once borne the mark of Khorne were torn off, revealing the sparking circuitry and wiring of the Wrathskin.

For 6 days he had fought endlessly against pink and blue horrors, and for that feat he had been rewarded.

Mafeo stared up at the angels of God that flew above him.

Yes.

'God.'

He too had been swallowed by the light, and saw the mountains and valleys made of corpses.

"God…" His voice rasped, hoarse from 6 days of endless screaming and roaring.

"God loves us." He whispered to himself. "God is great. God is mighty. God is the one and only."

He remembered the sight of the underworld, and the golden path built within it.

"Yes, God loves us. He loves us all. He kills because he loves. He hates because he loves. He feels because he loves."

That was the message he had brought back from the land of the dead. No mind could bear that burden; to witness so much death. A being which did not care about them could not do that for them. Thus, the number of dead was proportional to that being's love, and it was truly endless.

"Through His scars we see His commitment." Mafeo whispered to himself. "Suffering is our prayer. Faith is our armor. Through battle we are offered redemption, and for those worthy God shall send his Angels."

The armored giant shivered with joy, experiencing the rapture of his new found God.

"GOD!" He cried out to the heavens. "HALLOWED BE THY NAME! THY KINGDOM COME! THY WILL BE DONE ON THE EARTH AS IT WAS IN HEAVEN!"

Mafeo Orde turned Northwards, back to Ursh, back to his home, back to the factories and laboratories that allowed this invasion to happen. He would burn them to the ground. The knowledge required to create the Red Engines and Wrathskin would be destroyed.

God had deemed humanity unworthy of such things. It was only with the blessing of God that they could be allowed access to such knowledge again.

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

Agesilaus stood on the command bridge of the Bucephelus. A woman of Arabian descent was in the stern corner, crying.

He could feel her misery as if it were his own. Every pained sob tore at his chest, and wetted his eyes with empathetic grief.

He turned towards her once, and in that moment he saw her form shift between three ages.

One was an old woman, clutching various memorabilia to her chest. An old medal. A browning photo album. A dress uniform. An old diary. One by one they dissolved away into dust, leaving her wrinkled fingers to clutch at her empty chest.

One was a young woman, holding a body so badly burnt he could not tell if it belonged to a man or a woman. She cradled its head in her arms, while resting its back on her knees. Choking sobs came from her throat as she rocked back and forth.

One was a young girl. Her cheeks were wet with tears, and her inner thighs were damp with blood. A small creature was held between her palms. Its twig-like arms reached up to the girl's face, and spider leg fingers opened and closed in an attempt to touch her cheek. Then the premature creature spasmed, and fell limp.

"I can't take it anymore!" One of the bridge staff shouted out, and shoved himself away from his terminal.

"Where are you going?" Agesilaus asked the man sternly.

"Anywhere!" He shouted back. "Just… not here. I can't take it!"

Something snapped within Agesilaus. "YOU ARE A SON OF MANKIND!" He bellowed, grabbing the man by his collar and shoving him against the wall. "I won't ask you to do your job, or stay stoically silent. Cry. Weep if you must. But, you will not ignore our mother's pain." He let go of the man, who collapsed in a sobbing pile.

"We failed her. We all failed her." He said to no one.

For a while there was only the sound of sobbing and sniffling on the bridge as Erda's sorrow continued to spill out onto them. Agesilaus returned to the holomap, trying to distract himself with information and statistics.

He didn't bother giving orders. The effects of Erda's pain was not limited to the bridge of the Bucephelus. All of the personnel aboard the Emperor's ships could feel it. They all recognized her as their 'mother', and that connection linked them like an umbilical cord to a womb. They could feel both her love and pain through that psychic link.

'The death of our heritage. The death of our people. The death of our hope.' Agesilaus thought to himself, categorizing the three kinds of grief he felt from her.

Terra was being purged. Humanity would no longer be able to self-destruct on a planetary scale again. The tools that could do that would be destroyed, as well as all knowledge associated with them. They would be put in a state of bare subsistence; a sort of slow elongated death.

'Like putting a terminally ill patient into a medically induced coma.' Agesilaus thought to himself.

It would buy them time to finish their battle with the Omnissiah. After that, the reconstruction could begin.

'Although I will not live to see it.' Agesilaus remarked grimly.

Several hours were spent in somber silence, as they waited for their Lord to return.

Finally, a portal opened, and the golden giant stepped out of it. A bitter expression was carved into his features, and he marched forwards silently towards the central holomap displaying the planet below them.

—-------------------------------------------------
♪4
Neoth stared at the planet. It was similar to Terra, back before its destruction. Blue oceans spread between green continents, and cities glowed bright on the side that faced away from the planet's star.

He stretched out his hand, as if to stroke the planet before him. His psychic senses reached out at the same time, and read the minds of every person on it.

"How are you going to take responsibility for this failure?" A circle of politicians coldly asked the Defense Minister in charge of the fleet.

"Cowards! Have you no shame!" A military tribunal cried as the captains of the ships he had impounded hung their heads with balled fists.

"Traitor! Traitor! Stone them!" A mob cried, as they hurled rocks at the crew men who had been forced to surrender.

Already the world was wracked with strife as the various parties sought to blame each other for the loss of their ships, and their autonomy.

Endless debates of how to resist the coming invasion army they assumed he would deploy, and the steps needed to disable the Volkite spheres were made, only succeeding in furthering the divide into tribalism as they all refused to compromise from their proposed way of achieving the same thing.

War was inevitable. He may have lit the spark that set the timber ablaze, but it was these humans that provided the fire and poured gasoline on it in order to feed their greed and save their pride.

It was a familiar sight. He had seen it repeated over and over again, with or without his interference. He knew how this farce would play out, and what the ending of this story would be.

Neoth stretched his psychic sense further, deeper, penetrating the oceans and reaching for the Volkite warheads he had deployed.

He heard Erda rise behind him, standing upright in shock as she felt him reach for the weapons.

"NO!" She screamed, and her hands reached out to stop him.

At the same time, he closed his outstretched hand into a fist.

Every Volkite warhead activated in that instant, converting thousands of tonnes of sea water into a supermassive hydrogen bomb.

White spires of super-pressurised steam rose, punching through the stratosphere as the explosions kicked it upwards.

Earthquakes wracked the crust, tearing apart fault lines and reactivating volcanoes as the planet's burning blood was forced out of its mantle by the shockwave.

The cities fell, shaken to pieces, sending skyscrapers crumbling to the ground. Continents split apart, opening mouth-like ravines that swallowed everything above them into the dark earth.

Fiery armageddon rained down on those that survived the initial quake. Molten chunks of rock fell upon them like a meteor shower.

For those left, they saw the white spires that had appeared in an instant collapse. The impossibly high columns of water fell back to earth, producing biblical floods made of boiling water that scoured away the surface.

Neoth turned away from the planet, back towards Erda and the rest of the bridge crew of the Bucephelus.

The mortal humans stared in shock at what he had done, unable to understand the justification for this extermination.

Erda met his gaze, then closed her eyes and bowed her head. Her brow furrowed as if the sight of him caused her physical pain.

Once again he reached out with his psychic senses, touching the mind of every person within his fleet.

"This is mercy." He said to all of them. "Listen to what they said and see where it led the others like them." Visions of what he had seen in the minds of the people on the planet were transmitted to them. Memories of what happened with humans in similar situations were brought up before their eyes. "In a few hundred years, this world would be another breeding ground for nothing but nightmares. Even if we had not come, that timespan would only have changed from a few hundred to a few thousand."

He let the message sink in, giving them time to process what he had shown them.

"These are the rights of man. This is the liberty of human nature." He told them. "Mankind's tools have outgrown their maturity. If we waged war with stones and wooden spears, we would not have risked destroying ourselves. But, war and death have become industrialized far beyond what can be imagined. That is what it means to live in this Dark Age of Technology. Entire worlds disappear into the Warp, or are physically wiped out of time in an instant. Our most advanced creations have rebelled, and seek to make us their playthings. Aliens run rampant in our domain, feeding on our people's suffering. The Terror within all things seeks to suffuse every part of what we are with nothing but nightmares, and swallow us all into an unending hell with no salvation in sight."

He brought up scenes from within themselves. They remembered the sights of daemon worlds brought into existence by Warp technologies of human make. They remembered celestial hemispheres left behind where chronometric weapons manned by Men of Iron had erased half a planet from existence.

"Our duty is to remove the forbidden fruit of knowledge that taints our species' lips." Neoth said grimly. "There are some things we are not ready for, and the price for overreach extends far beyond those originally responsible. The Omnissiah is one such example we seek to stamp out. I do not need to remind you what it has done and what it will do to all of us if it succeeds. That cannot be the ending to our story."

His people had seen enough of what the Omnissiah had done, and what it left behind. The nightmarish abattoirs and experimentation tables were bad enough, but the truly horrific things were what was left behind in the cages.

"Humanity does not have the time to fight against itself." Neoth said softly. "There is only one path for our salvation."

He felt every man woman and child listen to him, and silently bow their heads in obedience.

Gone was the golden age of mankind.

Gone was the hope for endless growth and prosperity.

This was the age of reckoning for their arrogance, and only in the destruction of what they had created could they preserve their humanity.

All that was left was their duty; to themselves, to their friends and family, and to their species.

Neoth's brown eyes looked down at Erda.

She stared up at him from the floor where she had collapsed with tear filled eyes.

—-------------------------------------------------
♪5
Erda stared up into her son's eyes.

Shock and pain tore at her breast, but she could not find the voice to shout at him.

She saw past the veneer of the golden giant, all the way to the land of the dead and the figure on the golden path.

The God of Heroes was there, head thrown back with mad laughter as tears of blood ran down his face.

'What sort of god allows this to happen?' His mind screamed to no one.

'What sort of savior brings salvation like this?' He said to the fresh corpses raining from the sky, as the new set of examples of his 'mercy' joined the pile of souls around him.

'What right do you have to hope for a better future for humanity?' He clawed at his cheeks as the absurdity of his own actions battered his brain with contradictions and paradoxes. 'What right do you have? You who have let them do as they wished?'

He had wished for a world where mankind could make their own decisions.

This Age of Strife was the result of that.

To rail against it was a childish act. It would be immature, like a spoiled brat being upset that they didn't get what they wanted. He had no right to scold them for their actions when he stood bye and let them make them.

'But this cannot be our end.' He managed to sputter out between bouts of crazed giggling. 'Our story… The Legend of humanity cannot be finished like this…'

His feet took a step forwards, even as he rocked back and forth from bouts of mad raucous laughter and sarcastic snickering. Even in this insane state of his, the avatar of human progress still moved forwards. The golden path extended under his feet, lighting the way for the shadowy figures who followed him. All the while the dead continued to rain from the black void up above, piling up to form new mountains and valleys of failure.

Erda closed her eyes, unable to watch his torment any longer.

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

'And that is the end of the Fall of Xozer.' The old woman mused to herself, sitting across from Leetu in her shuttle.

The young girl and the young woman merged back into her, returning to the form of a single woman of Arabian descent in a brown cloak.

'You took humanity's self-destructive nature within you, ensuring their souls would remain out of the hands of the Terror.' She sighed. 'You provided the reason for their actions, and the justification for their deeds. You became the scapegoat they would all blame.'

That was the burden the Emperor bore. The dead did not remain silent in the underworld. He heard their sobs and cries and curses every moment he was alive.

'But you deemed that worth it.' Erda stared down at her hands. 'You prioritized the salvation of their souls over everything else. You prioritized the existence of humanity above all.'

'In the end, however, I cannot allow things to continue on as they are.' She looked towards the underground laboratories, and the 20 unborn babes within their technological wombs.

'You are not the only one who can see the future, Neoth. There is no hope here. I watched it die in my own two hands.' Her hands balled into fists as she remembered the twig like arms reaching up to her. 'Humanity is old enough to make its own choices. They do not need a shepherd; although what you are becoming is closer to a slave master.'

She gave a sarcastic snort to herself. In the end, even with his sanity restored, who he was and what he planned did not change. For all his lofty ambitions and dreams of human autonomy, he was the first to try to correct the errors of their ways.

But that was not true autonomy.

'You may not be able to live with their choices…' She thought to herself. 'But your brothers and sisters deserve a chance. A chance to try, a chance to grow, and of course the chance to fail. That is what it means to grow up. Whatever they face out there, they must face it alone. I give them that leniency. I give them that freedom. I do so because I believe in them. They are hardier than you think. Even in hell, they will find ways to survive.'

The image of the mother of the Aeldari crossed her mind. 'I suppose that was the same decision Isha came to as well. No wonder you two fought. If you cannot trust me to act on my own, you would find the notion of letting her free even more disagreeable.'

Perhaps he would come around in time. He had agreed to work with that alien, after all.

But, just as he could not trust her, she could not trust him.

'My children do not deserve to live with your boot on their back for all eternity. They will not survive it, and neither will you.'

Cold determination chilled her blood, as she prepared herself to continue where she had left off. Even if her actions might cause him to kill her, she could not allow the possibility of those 20 to grow up on this planet.

Suddenly the shuttle shifted. She felt it turn away from the peaks of the Himalazia mountains, and back to the Imperial Palace.

"Where are we going?" She asked the Shadowkeeper Custodes that stood guard over her.

"The Emperor has ordered us to return and take you to him." The Custodes replied. "We will hand you over to the Emissaries Imperatus when we land."

Erda raised an eyebrow at that. The Emissaries Imperatus were the Custodes meant to represent the Emperor himself at any event he could not be present at. They were his heralds, and spoke with his words. To have her guards exchanged from the Shadowkeepers to them was a message in itself. At the very least, she was no longer being treated like some forbidden artifact from Old Night.

Her shuttle landed back at the Imperial Palace in a few minutes. Leetu remained to watch over the shuttle, for the Shadowkeepers left it to return to the Dark Cells. Erda herself was escorted back to the Emperor's chambers, led by a pair of Custodes with a red pauldron and a gray white robe wrapped around the waist of their golden armor.

She found the Emperor standing in front of his desk. His auramite armor was gone, and instead he was clothed in a loose fitting long sleeved tunic and trousers; both in dark green. He was holding a Volkite caliver he had taken out of a floating display case. The weapon was aged, but still functional. His hands twisted the knobs and flicked its switches with familiarity, as if he had used it personally for many years before. He turned away from the weapon as Erda entered, and placed it back in its case. The transparent resin sealed itself back up, and floated back to the set of artifacts recovered during the conquest of Europa.

He too had been thinking about the Fall of Xozer in his own way.

"Erda." He said, acknowledging her. "I have rescinded my earlier orders."

"I see that." Erda replied curtly. "Why?"

Neoth remained silent for a moment, searching for words. Then he sighed and turned towards her.

♪6

"I do not want to fight with you." He said as he stared into her eyes.

"Neither do I." She replied, matter of factly.

"Yet, we keep coming into conflict."

"We do, but is that so strange?" Erda stepped towards him as she spoke. "You took in all the symbols of self-destruction and human hubris into yourself. You did so to justify your acts as a human upon the other humans on this planet and beyond."

"That was never my intent." Neoth replied.

He had no control over himself when he emerged as that ball of light; blinded by wrath and despair. He acted only as a god could in that state, expressing the actions of mortal men and women in divine form.

"No, it wasn't." Erda acknowledged him with a shake of her head. "But, you knew what would happen and did it all the same."

"Would it have been better to let them fall into the hands of the Ruinous Powers then?" Neoth replied, voice exhausted and defeated.

"I did not say that." Erda shook her head again.

That was a strawman argument. Saying an action was wrong was not the same as saying it should not have been taken.

"Then what are you trying to tell me?" Neoth took a step towards her, arms and hands opened to her. "How do we work together, and save humanity?"

"Save humanity…" Erda chuckled and shook her head. "Do you truly believe that was what happened here?"

Neoth remained silent. A pained expression crossed his face, and his opened arms trembled a little, but he kept them where they were. He had appeared before her unarmored with his heart laid bare. There was bound to be some degree of pain from this meeting. He was prepared for that when he removed his armor, physically and mentally.

"Your angels did their job well." Erda continued, watching Neoth's face intently. "After purging Xozer, they suppressed knowledge, burned records, and put the populace on this planet on a path that would never allow them to recuperate on their own."

"They did not do just that." Neoth retorted. "They freed many from the grip of overlords and tyrants over reliant on technology to hold their people down."

"Yes you did free many." Erda nodded. "Those freed struck out on their own, unshackled from their past lives. But, in the place of the overlords and tyrants, zealots and ethnarchs just as cruel filled the gap left behind. They took inspiration from your actions, and butchered millions in mimicry of you. They burned their history, destroyed their technology, and gave thanks to you as they flagellated themselves and their followers."

Neoth grimaced as Erda spoke of the anti-technological faiths that had sprung up across the planet. There were many such faiths during the Psi-Wars. Cardinal Tang from the Yndonesic bloc was one such surviving ethnarch who ascribed to that religion. They carried on where his angels left off, justifying the reversion of humanity to a primal state as an act of God.

"I…" He started to refute the accusation, but Erda lifted her hand, stopping him.

"It may not have been what you wanted. It may not have been what you intended. Yet, you are responsible for all of it." She said sadly, referring to the secondary effects of the Fall of Xozer. "But you know that already. How could you not? Their corpses pile up within you, growing the mountains and darkening the valleys that surround your Golden Path."

Neoth did know that. Any who died in his service or due to his actions would end up in that land of the dead.

"What choice do I have?" He finally spat out. "I only see one path. Even if it can twist and turn now, it does not change the fact there is only one."

"I cannot tell you the answer, Neoth." Erda said as she shook her head. "I cannot give you a solution for saving humanity. After all, even though I am their mother, I do not wish to save them."

"Do you not love them?" His voice had a bitter tinge to it, unhappy of that admission from his own mother. It felt like a rejection, an abandonment. But he bit back his worst instincts and waited for her to answer.

"I do…" Erda gave him a sad tired smile as she spoke. "But I cannot save them. Why wish to do something beyond my reach? There is only misery down that road. The only thing I can do is watch, listen, and forgive."

Erda accepted humanity as it was, including all its flaws. Thus, there was no need to save them. If they damned themselves with their own hands, so be it. She would fall into hell with them to keep them company, just as her celestial body had begun to transform into a daemon world.

It would have been torturous for her and her children. The chances of them freeing themselves were astronomically small. The chances of her returning from the Warp were even smaller. It was likely that only the celestial corpse of Terra would be spat out when the Warp storms ended.

Neoth would not have forgiven her if she had allowed that, so she told him when the final tipping point had come. Just as she allowed humanity to do as it wanted, she extended the same freedom to the Master of Mankind.

There was a moment of silence between them, then Neoth opened his mouth wearily. "Is that what you extend to me now, forgiveness?"

"You have never needed my forgiveness." Erda chuckled. "But, if you want it, I will give it to you." She reached forward, taking his giant hands in her own. "I will forgive you for all the sins you committed against my children. I will forgive you for all the pain you have inflicted upon me. But, that is not what you want or need." She squeezed his fingers gently at that. "I cannot speak for the billions you have killed, directly or indirectly. I cannot accept your confessions in their stead. But most of all, I cannot make you forgive yourself."

Neoth closed his eyes.

She was right. He felt guilt for what he did. Why else was he so bitter when was forced to face what he had done? Even if he himself deemed it necessary, it was with great resentment and anger that he did the acts he did.

But, that was all meaningless.

"I cannot apologize for what I have done. To do so is meaningless self-satisfaction." He told her what he told himself.

This galaxy was a cruel place to live in. To brood upon the unfortunate events that forced his hand was an exercise in self-aggrandizement and egoism. The dead would not want to listen to his complaints, his lamentations, or his regrets. All they did was curse him and what he had done to them as they re-lived every event in their lives only to die at his or his servant's hands.

"If you pity me for what I bear, do not bother." He said as he looked into her eyes. Tears had begun to bead there, as she stared into his soul. "Someone must make the sacrifice for our salvation. I myself am not excluded."

"No one has asked you to make that sacrifice, Neoth." Erda whispered to him.

"Thus, I tell no one about it." He felt her hands grip his, as if to ask him to not say the next words.

"Humanity will be saved, even from itself. That has been decided. No one will stop me."

Erda gave a sigh at that.

"Humanity is not a beast to be chained, and you are not a monster shackled by responsibility to them." She said as she let go of his hands. "Let them be free and be free of them."

Neoth simply shook his head.

"Just like you cannot stop yourself from saving those children, individual humans who just happened to be there, I must continue with the salvation of humanity. That is who and what I am."

The saving of humans and the salvation of humanity. That 3 letter difference between the words put them on other sides of an invisible line.

"I know." She said as she took a step back with a tearful smile on her face.

Neoth felt his shoulders slump slightly. Another conversation that went nowhere. Another failed attempt at reconciliation.

In the end, the Emperor was alone.

Suddenly Erda jumped forwards, wrapping both arms around him. "But whatever happens in the future…" She said as she gave the surprised face of the Emperor a smile. "I love you, my son. I have always loved you and will continue to love you forever more. No matter what happens between us, remember that."

Neoth slowly felt his somber mood receding. The bitter rejection he felt melted away.

"As do I… Mother." He said as he returned her embrace.

Nothing had changed between them. They disagreed on what to do as always, but at least they could do so knowing that the other still loved them.

The two spent a few moments hugging each other, appreciating the warmth of another being's skin on their own. Finally, Erda stepped away from Neoth, and he let go of her much smaller frame.

The Emperor cleared his throat gruffly, before adopting a more serious posture.

"Regarding your situation, I have decided to change the direction of my approach." He said, as if to hide the moment of emotional openness. "If I cannot stop you from acting as you must, then the least I can do is to give you the authority to do so."

"I guessed as much." Erda chuckled, enjoying the slight blush of embarrassment on the Emperor's face. "That would be the only reason for you giving me two of your heralds as escorts. Although, wouldn't it have been better for you to trade my guards for them after you had your talk with me?"

"Those are two separate matters." The Emperor replied. "I would have given them to you regardless of the outcome. It is as I said, I do not want to fight with you any longer."

He had listened to Isha's advice. No matter the ending of his discussion with Erda, he would have allowed her to act as she needed to.

"Your actions would be done with my sanction." The Emperor continued. "I can even provide you with an official political role if you wish. Although, an introductory ball or social debut will be needed in order to introduce you to the political class of my Imperium."

"Thank you, Neoth." Erda gave a small laugh. "However, I do not wish for political power. My freedom and your heralds will be enough."

The Emperor nodded, accepting her rejection of his offer.

"Do as you must, Erda. I will handle everything else. However…" He said, then gave her a slightly sterner look. "If you become too well known, I will have to give you some form of title. That would mean you would be forced to deal with the political elite from time to time."

Erda wrinkled her nose at that. Mother of humanity she may be, but there were parts of her children she did not enjoy seeing. Politics was one of them.

"Well then…" She said tartly. "I shall be as inconspicuous as I can."

The Emperor let out an amused snort at that. It was a ridiculous notion to try to use the provision of a political position as punishment. But Erda found the idea of mixing with the establishment distasteful. She had no great aspirations, nor thirst for power. What she wanted was far simpler than that.

'Are all maternal deities like this?' He wondered to himself, then gave up thinking about it.

"What do you plan to do now?" Erda asked him.

Before, she would not have had to ask. The Emperor of ages past was almost mechanically predictable in his actions, and he would have refused to answer anyways.

What was before her was no longer a machine or monster dead set on achieving a certain goal, but a man.

"Humanity's time of strife is over. Old Night has broken, and the comatose sleeper can be awakened." The Emperor turned away from Erda, looking back through the stained glass window behind the desk. "Once Urartu falls, and the Ethnarchy is no more, Merica and Hy-Brasil will merge with my Imperium peacefully."

Discussions had been made between all three parties when they assaulted the Pan-Pacific Empire together. Those diplomatic ties remained, and the Master of the Administratum Noum Retraiva had been working with his old relatives back in his home polity.

"And the Thunder Warriors? Avelroi?" Erda asked. "Will you purge them as you originally planned? Provide one final example to the rest of those who step out of line?"

"No." The Emperor shook his head. "I will talk to my Thunder Warriors. I understand their grievances against me. It has been growing ever since their humbling at Albyon. Avelroi will serve a different purpose. Hopefully, there will be less blood spilled."

"I see." Erda nodded. "I will return to your sons then. Too much time has been spent away from them. I originally only wanted to see what could have caused you to bring back an alien deity."

"Are they doing well?" The Emperor asked without turning back.

"They are growing." Erda answered.

"Good." The Emperor let out a sigh. "I look forward to meeting them."

---

A/N: This is the end of the Fall of Xozer, and a glimpse into the horrors of Old Night. There was another interlude with the Omnissiah planned, but I lost a Pa-treon due to the story being too depressing already, so that story is going to be delayed until a better time. I'm guessing everyone (including myself) needs to recover from the depression and despair of these chapters. When the Emperor makes reference to the Omnissiah, and says that what it does is worse than the Exterminatus of an entire planet, the rest of the crew are convinced on a factual basis. It is that bad.

If the fact that Tolu's squad and the others survived seems odd, that is because he was originally intended to be the only survivor. However, that would be turbo-depressing, even if it was more themetically fitting. He went through a variety of versions, from Blank, to psyker, to totally normal person. I ended up with going the latent psyker route, whose abilities awakened due to exposure to the Warp. This was mostly to allow a single character to see into the metaphysical and physical sides of the events, providing a more concrete perception of the Warp and its effects.

As for Mafeo Orde, he was a canon character who is noted to be the only survivor on Ursh's side of the conflict. Hence, I was forced to keep him alive in some sense. Due to his reprehensible nature, I have given him the Lovecraftian good-end, where he is alive but driven totally insane by the beings he has been exposed to.

The amount of biblical symbolism that went into this chapter is immense. The reference to angels, flaming angels falling from the sky, the fact that Tolu and co. turn into salt like crystals when they disappear into the light (Soddom and Gomorra), the "biblical" floods caused by the Volkite weapons, etc. I spent a fair bit of time thinking about this, so I wanted to say that I put the effort in because I would probably start crying if no one noticed.

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[Nidhog153]

Isha walked down the halls of the Sanctum Imperialis. Two Custodes were escorting her and a much smaller man in brown robes followed behind her. His hands wrung each other nervously, and sweat continued to bead down his forehead.

'Malcador…' Isha thought to herself bitterly.

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

Aely Wyntor was a normal man, or had at least believed himself to be one. He had memories of growing up as the son of an Administratum clerk, and through some stroke of luck, secured himself a friendship with one of the most important members of the Imperial Bureaucracy; the Imperial Regent Malcador.

That was what he thought his backstory was, but his last conversation with his 'friend' had begun to crack the conviction that he had.

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

"Curious. Your nausea is less pronounced than last time." Malcador said as he stroked his wrinkled chin. The two of them were having a private lunch in Malcador's office. It was a semi-regular occurrence amongst Malcador's chosen; the men and women Malcadro found interesting enough to promote to his personal service.

Ael Wyntor held back the contents of his stomach. The story Malcador had just told him was gut wrenching in more ways than one.

"This is the first time you have told me such things." Ael replied bitterly.

Malcador had recounted certain actions he had taken against a lord attempting to secede from the Imperium. It was in the early days of the war against Ursh, and the lord must have thought that the Thunder Warriors were too busy to deal with an uprising on the other side of the planet.

"Is it now?" Malcador said lazily as he turned the rotary dumbwaiter around, putting a wall of condiment bottles between the two of them.

Déjà vu struck Ael in that moment. Those same bottles stood between him and Malcador, but this time they were coated in spittle and vomit.

"Urgh!" He groaned, covering his mouth with his hand as his stomach heaved.

"Has this refreshed your memory?" Malcador said with a crooked smile as he watched Ael struggle to keep control of himself.

"Why?" Ael managed to sputter out. Many questions were merged into that single word.

'Why tell me these things?'

'Why disgust me in such a way?'

'Why act in such an inhospitable manner?'

"Because, my dear friend…" Malcador sighed. "Our friendship has come to an end."

Ael Wyntor's body went cold, but at the same time he felt a sense of relief.

'At last, it will end…'

The thought appeared in his mind, as if there were another person speaking with his voice behind him.

"Are you going to kill me?" Ael said quietly. There were enough rumors about the Imperial Regent, and given the nature of the story he had been told it was unlikely he'd be allowed to live.

"No." Malcador said while shaking his head. "It won't matter what secrets you take with you. You will be going to a place with far more dangerous ones, after all."

Ael Wyntor's vision went red. Vertigo sent his head spinning as various sights and sounds began to play in his brain. He fell forwards onto the table, knocking aside plates and cutlery as he grabbed at his head and began to writhe in pain.

"I am quite upset by this arrangement…" Malcador said as Ael's cutlery and plates smashed against the floor. He watched his 'friend' bang his head against the table, then lash out in pain, knocking bottles of condiments and sauces from the dumbwaiter onto the floor. "But this is not petty revenge against that." The Imperial Regent leaned back in his chair, lifting his own plates and cutlery off the shaking table with his psychic gifts. "I believe there are times when it is easier to deal with mental trauma all at once; like tearing off an old bandage."

Ael Wyntor fell to the floor as he saw himself dying over and over again.

Jumping off a balcony.

Bludgeoning his own head in against a wall.

Stabbing himself through the throat with a sharpened pen nib.

With each death, he remembered their cause.

Secrets. Horrible secrets and stories of murder and mutilation done by the man before him.

Verbal oration with additional hand motions and the occasional psychic transmission of memory.

He spent sleepless nights tormented by what he had been told, losing his sanity as normality collapsed around him. Food lost its taste. Entertainment lost its luster. Every shadow seemed to lengthen, trying to swallow him up into the abyss the words spoken by Malcador's wrinkled mouth had opened.

"Do not fear, Ael Wyntor." Malcador spoke lazily. "You feel afraid because you think you are human. It is because you think you are normal that you reject the abnormal. However, you never were normal to begin with."

Ael glared up at his 'friend' as he spasmed. What did he mean by that?

"Do you remember your parents, Ael? Do you remember what your occupation was before meeting me? Do you even have any personal memories that do not include your 'friend'?"

Ael Wyntor felt something crack inside him.

He couldn't remember his parents' names.

He couldn't remember what work he had done before meeting Malcador.

He couldn't remember any personal events older than 4 or 5 years ago, even though he was far older than that. Everything else was just information, like the dates of events and wars.

"You were never normal, Ael Wyntor." Malcador chuckled. "Thus, you have nothing to fear about my secrets. You are already part of them."

The red hot pain slowly began to fade as the words percolated into his brain and chilled him to the core.

"That's right." Malcador nodded. "You have no one. No one to fear for. No one to care about. No one to worry over as the nature of this Imperium is laid bare before you. All you have to worry about is yourself, and I guarantee your safety."

Ael's thrashing limbs stilled, robbed of their strength. The Imperium's macro-scale atrocities had no effect on him here in the Sanctum Imperialis. The only way they could have affected him was via proxies. But, Ael Wyntor had no one. He was a nobody.

"You are not a normal person." Malcador said. "You are just a flesh puppet I kept to check how far my sanity had fallen past the standard norms. As long as you went insane, I was assured that my mental fortitude remained intact. A sort of mental taring system I kept to amuse myself."

Ael laid utterly still, like a corpse. The only identity he had was of Malcador's friend. Now, that too had been taken away from him. Thus, there was truly nothing left inside him. No fear. No anger. Nothing.

'At last, it will end…' He heard his own voice speak to him, relieved that it was all over.

Suddenly, his arms pushed him off the floor, as his legs lifted him up. His body moved without his will, and he stood before Malcador like a puppet dangling from its strings.

"Clean yourself up and go to your mother." Malcador commanded, and Ael's body began to leave the room to obey. "You may feel depressed now, but she should be able to remedy that." Malcador called out after him. "I've uncovered all your mental scars, and cut out the damaged tissue. A clean cut heals faster than a messy one." There was no malice in the Imperial Regent's voice. It was all conversational, as if nothing extraordinary had happened at all. "I will miss our chats, my friend."

The doors shut before Ael could reply, but his mind quickly lost interest in the Imperial Regent. It would be pointless to get angry at a man who was so far removed from human emotions that they could act so cordially with someone they had utterly destroyed. That man truly felt no malice towards Ael Wyntor.

'But who is this 'mother' he mentioned?' Ael's mind seemed to have taken an interest in the word for some reason. He had no parents, so it could not be the woman who birthed him.

'It doesn't matter…' He thought to himself. Whoever they were, they would be the same as Malcador. A being far above his understanding which would play with him like a doll.

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

That was what Ael Wyntor thought before he met the woman Malcador had called his mother.

As soon as the doors to the Emperor's office opened, her form entered his eyes.

Golden hair, silver eyes, white skin, and a white shift.

*Ba-dump

His frozen heart skipped a beat.

'Beautiful…'

Like an untouched field of snow lit by the rising sun, she seemed pure and clean of all taint in this patchwork of secrets and lies that was the Imperium.

*Ba-dump

His dry mouth was rehydrated with fresh saliva. Her long ears and greater than average height accentuated her exotic beauty, making her stick out of the gaudy gold and reds of the Imperial Palace.

*Ba-dump

'At last, it will end…' His own voice came from behind him, and his stricken eyes widened.

Not human.

The being before was an alien being on the homeworld of humanity. It was something that called to the part of him that wanted to die.

Fear accelerated his heart to maximum speed. Adrenaline flooded his body, releasing cold sweat from every pore.

The lethargy of depression burned away as his blood began to boil. Every natural instinct was activated at once.

The alien approached him slowly, one step at a time. Her silver eyes caught him in their gaze, fixing him to the floor like a frog glared at by a serpent.

He wanted to both run towards and away from her. Love, hate, and fear tore at his breast, as he was both mesmerized and repulsed by her alien beauty.

That woman could tear his body apart like a piece of paper. She could out run him in a single step, and kill with a single word.

Her beauty was that of a wild animal with corded muscle beneath the smooth skin. Like a panther, her steps were soundless and smooth.

There was no way he was related to this creature, this apex predator in fair form. Yet, part of him longed for her. His heart ached from the sweet flower-like smell that he instinctively knew was hers. His mouth watered at the sight of the curve of her waist and the nape of her neck.

Her arms reached for him, hands open.

His knees trembled, suppressing the urge to run into those arms, into her embrace.

'No…' Ael Wyntor shook his head. Those were not the warm welcoming arms of a woman, but the spread jaws of death opening to devour him.

This being would kill him. She would tear him apart and devour his soul.

Part of him wanted that to happen. It wanted to stop thinking, stop existing.

He was a nobody. He was nothing. He was a manufactured disposable item made by Malcador. His mind and body were used up when his 'friend' told him secrets, and when it became too much a new Ael Wyntor would be prepared and sent out to befriend Malcador.

That was the only worth of Ael Wyntor.

But, he didn't even have that anymore. Malcador had disowned him, so the part of him that had remained from the very first iteration was now free, and it now wanted to return to the woman before him.

"N-gh!"

Ael attempted to reject the being before him, but he choked instead as his own throat constricted attempting to strangle him.

He didn't want to reject the woman before him. She was everything he ever wanted.

He didn't want to be near the woman before him. She was the end of everything he ever knew.

The fair white arms wrapped around him, like vines around a branch.

He breathed in her scent, sweet and warm.

His body relaxed.

'At last, it will end…'

He could not run. He had no reason to run. He was returning to where he came from, leaving nothing behind.

"Live." The woman whispered the word into his ear, and he felt blood curdling rage course through him.

She had rejected him. She refused him. The only thing he wanted was to return to her, and she denied him that wish.

He tried to push away from her, overwhelmed by emotions of past lives, of past 'Ael Wyntors'. They only wanted it all to end, but this person denied them that.

Arrogant. That was what she was. She didn't know what he had been through. What he had suffered. What he knew.

He wanted to inflict every atrocity he had experienced upon her in that instant. Let her understand what it felt like jumping off a building. Let her feel the sticky blood spilling out of her neck, opened up by a paper knife. Let her know the slow dread of losing all sense and emotion from sleepless nights and waking nightmares.

Her arms pressed his struggling body into hers, and he felt her soft skin against his. Her body warmth flowed through the thin white shift, and her sweet smell filled his nose.

Slowly, his murderous rage was replaced by a bitter sulk. Despite her denial, he could not deny how much he yearned for her at the same time. It felt good to be in her arms, against her body.

He nuzzled his nose against soft skin directly beneath her ribcage, as if to bury his face into her, like a child.

"I will stay by your side." She said softly. "I will walk with you, and talk with you, and keep you company." Her hand stroked his hair, tousling it like a toddler's. "I love you, Ael Wyntor."

Bitter tears started to fall down his cheek.

As much as he resented her, he loved her as well. From the moment he saw her, he loved her.

At that moment, the man who had nothing and nobody became a son and found his mother.

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

Isha held the man in her arms as he cried silently.

Ael Wyntor was an Aeldari-human hybrid made by Malcador, but it might be better to describe him as a well-made chimera of sorts.

Aeldari DNA was tri-helical. This was an advantage that allowed them to resist greater amounts of DNA damage, making them resistant to mutation and radiation at a fundamental level.

Human DNA was dual-helical, making it incompatible with Aeldari biology.

Ael Wyntor's body was a well made mix of human organs and Aeldari organs, woven together into a single living being. Care was taken to ensure each half recognized the other as a part of itself. It must have taken several years of 'teaching' the cell lines that would form Ael Wyntor in order for them to not reject the other. It was for this reason Malcador kept the corpse of the original Aeldar in a preservative nutri-vat solution. Ael Wyntor could not simply be cloned. He had to be manufactured from the start, and pieced together like a work of art.

She sighed to herself as she inspected his body with her psychic senses, looking through every cell in a few minutes.

Even his brain was a mix of Aeldari and human components, with Aeldari hippocampi but a human limbic system.

That was the core of his mental problems, however.

Ael Wyntor's emotional outbursts and depressive episodes were triggered by memory. These parts of his brain were Aeldari in origin, and were most likely made that way to ensure he had the same ability all her children had. Namely, the recovery of past experiences from the immaterium post-reincarnation.

The hippocampi, or the Aeldari equivalent of the human organ, was designed to do that. However, this part of the brain was also loosely tied in with emotion.

Aeldari emotions were more intense than human ones. Thus, even though Ael Wyntor's limbic system was human in design, these main emotional centers would be overwhelmed whenever emotions emerged from the hippocampi. These Aeldari emotions would color anything he felt at the time, suffusing him in whatever the memory associated with that emotion was.

This was the scientific source of the sound of his own voice, his descent into obsession with memory, and his extreme depressive episodes.

For what purpose the Sigilite had done this, she didn't know. Perhaps that was for the better. If it had been for some perverse pleasure, she might have lost control and killed him.

Slowly, she soothed her own anger by hugging Ael Wyntor into her.

He may need her, but she also needed him at that moment. By being his loving mother, she could distract herself from her own murderous rage.

She too was Aeldari, and prone to emotional outbursts. Stability was something that took many years to master, but she could take her time with Ael Wyntor. He would live longer than the average human, and he was hers now, not Malcador's. There would be ample time to provide him with better memories to blot out the black ones instilled by the Sigillite.

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

Neoth watched the mother and son embrace.

In the past, he would have watched with indifference or boredom or disgust.

It was not the familial expression of emotion that would have upset him, but the fact that Isha was an immaterial creature from the empyrean.

This emotional connection she was creating with Ael Wyntor would feed her, and the almost mundane form the process took was why it was so sickening.

Those warm arms embracing Ael Wyntor would have appeared to be the legs of a spider entrapping new prey in invisible silk strands.

Those kind words would have seemed like fangs, seeping into the targets brain, numbing them to pain as they reassured them and brought temporary relief from their emotional distress.

That was Neoth's view of all things that originated from the immaterium. They were all predators or parasites that fed on the weakness and vulnerabilities of mortal beings.

However, he now no longer harbored such dark thoughts.

Whatever she was, the fact that Isha was Ael Wyntor's mother was true. Both of them felt it, and that maternal connection was not something to hate or abhor.

Neoth looked up at the ceiling of his office, up at the hundreds of artifacts and items he had collected throughout the Unification Wars. Through their past, he reflected on his own personal life as just a mortal man.

His biological mother had died in childbirth. Whether that was just an unfortunate accident, or due to some complication caused by his unnatural nature, he did not know. He was raised with goats' milk, and weaned off of it with ground-up seed and berries with dried meat provided by his father.

That man was nothing special. He was a man of that time, barbaric and violent by the standards of modern man. Mistakes would be met with a slap or shouting. Compliments for others were non-existent, but he was an endless self-aggrandizing braggart.

Truly, his father was nothing special for a man of that primitive time.

'Perhaps the apple hasn't fallen far from the tree.' He thought to himself, kneading his temples with his armored fingers as he realized many of those descriptors could be used for him as well.

Even so, it was that man who raised him as a babe.

It was that man who brought his lips to the goats' teat.

It was that man who crushed tough wild seeds between rocks and sifted through them to dig out stray grains of sand.

It was that man who taste tested the berries to make sure they weren't poisonous before feeding them to his infant son.

'Love that is easy to see, and love that is hard to see…' Neoth mused as he watched Isha.

The love before him between mother and child was easy to see. It was warm, and accepting, and natural.

The love his father felt for him was not so visible. On the surface, it did not exist. But, how else could he explain the effort that man made to provide sustenance for him?

There was no comparing the two forms. Even if the male parent of mammals lacked the biological advantages and organs of child rearing that a woman had, being more difficult did not make a thing inherently better. Regardless, the fact that both forms of love existed was undeniable.

'I may not have respected him, but I loved him enough to avenge him.' Neoth thought to himself.

Perhaps he could use this moment of reflection when he met the 20 unborn sons he had made. His perception of them was complicated, to say the least. They were tools and weapons for the completion of his plan, but they were also his children. Their origins lay with many bitter memories, but he shook his head and sent his thoughts towards other things. He did not want to think about what happened on Molech. To do so would sour his mood too much.

'Erda…' Instead, Neoth's thoughts shifted to his own equivalent of Isha.

He had first recognized her existence sometime during his travels across the globe. Perhaps it was when he was crossing the first desert. He felt something watching him from the distance. At first, he assumed it was another bird of prey or scavenger waiting for him to weaken, However, he did not feel the same hungry intent from the gaze. Time passed, and he grew more unnerved by the unfamiliar nature of the eyes that laid upon him. He felt no hostility from the gaze, and it did not make his skin crawl. It was closer to a slight itch that he could not scratch.

'Perhaps it was embarrassment.' Neoth chuckled to himself. He was still a brat too big for his boots back then. Striking out alone across the desert with no food or water had been harder than he expected. If it wasn't for his psychic gifts he would have certainly died. Normal humans couldn't draw up groundwater from the depths of the earth beneath hundreds of meters of sand.

'That was exhausting.' He sighed, remembering the frustration he felt as the liquid slipped and spilled underground from his psychic grip.

'Erda…' He sighed mentally. He didn't need someone to cry on, like Ael Wyntor. But, leaving things between them as they were now was… irritating for him.

'I don't want to fight with Erda…' He concluded. Even without all the divine implications and symbolism their current conflicted status brought, he personally did not want things to be the way they were between them.

'I don't need someone to cry on, and I don't need to be reassured about what I am doing. I don't need admiration or praise. I do what must be done. That is enough. But… I… don't want to see her with that expression.'

That expression. That sad resigned smile that seemed to have given up on everything, but didn't want to show that to him.

'Do not… give up on us. Do not abandon us.' Neoth gave the irritation he felt a form in words.

'But, the only way to ask that of her is to trust her.' Neoth gave another mental sigh.

Erda resigned herself to being ignored by him again. That was the reason for her smile. Thus, the only way to rectify that was to deal with that core issue.

'Fine…' Neoth thought, and sent a psychic message to his Emissaries Imperatus.

'I am the Emperor of the Imperium of Man. So long as she acts with my word, her acts will be made mine.'

Just like the shuttle she rode upon was named 'The Emperor's Grip' to hide her existence, his heralds would act as the cover for her actions. Those actions might contradict his own. However, his own plans were twisted masses of false leads and traps. A few more seemingly contradictory orders would alert no one.

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

Isha allowed Ael Wyntor to stand on his own after he stopped crying, unraveling his arms from her, freeing him like a butterfly from its cocoon.

"Mo…ther." Ael Wyntor stammered out. He was still slightly shaky before her, feeling the gap in their existences instinctively. He was only half Aeldari, and that made him painfully aware how weak he was compared to the rest of her children.

"Isha." She said with a smile. "My name is Isha, Ael Wyntor. I am what you feel me to be. Life in all its parts, and your maternal parent. My blood runs in your veins, and my joy beats in your breast."

Ael Wyntor drew a sharp breath as he felt the warmth of her acceptance wash over him.

"Why have you called for me, Isha." He asked, bending one knee and bowing his head before her.

"Must there be a reason a mother wishes to see her child?" Isha chuckled.

"No." Ael shook his head. "Yet, I am not just a child. I am a grown man. I cannot simply stand by and accept your benevolence. I must have an occupation or trade. I would wish this to be one that assists you."

"Hmmm…" Isha mused.

Ael Wyntor's mental state was still vulnerable. His desire to do something must be an instinctual understanding that keeping himself busy would distract himself from the memories of his past life. It was either that, or he wished to reinvent himself with this life to shrug off the pain of the old.

"Ordinarily I would be delighted by your devotion, but our situation makes things difficult." She put her arms on her hips. "I cannot have you preaching my teachings here, and although your human parts have matured, you do not have control over your Aeldari organs or emotions."

This was the homeworld of humanity, so having Ael Wyntor begin preaching an Aeldari faith in the anti-religious Imperium would go badly for everybody involved. Furthermore, he himself was possibly more unstable than before. He thought he was human until now. However, he could no longer tell himself that. Sooner or later, his Aeldari biology would come into conflict with his human parts.

"If I require teaching I will learn." Ael pressed on.

Isha frowned. Ael's new attachment to her was driving him to emulate her, and her fully Aeldari children. Hence, his desire to learn of her and be in her service. However, he was not a full Aeldari. He was a hybrid. He would need to accept that fact, and find a balance between both sides.

"Fine then…" Isha finally nodded, losing the frown. "I will have to take you on as my servant."

Neoth palmed his face as Ael looked up at her in surprise.

"Your… servant?" He asked back.

"Yes. It would seem quite nepotistic in this situation, but with no other gods or even Aeldari to entrust you to, you will have to be my servant." Isha nodded to herself, matter-of-factly, as if what she had said was the most obvious thing in the world.

'Well, in the proper context, her actions make sense.' Neoth thought to himself.

Isha was a deity, thus she would be at the top of whatever Aeldari society she was a part of. This made her effectively royalty wherever she went.

Royalty, both Aeldari and human, often had the custom of sending their children into the service of close friends or relatives. This had the dual benefit of creating close ties between groups, and providing the children with knowledge of the customs and necessary day to day jobs to run a realm. For the Aeldari, it had a third additional benefit of allowing their children to learn ways to curb their pride by working in the service of another.

However…

"And what will I do as your servant?" Ael asked, reassuming his composure.

"I don't know."

Neoth palmed his face a second time as Ael's eyebrow twitched.

"You… don't know?" Ael asked with a strained smile.

Isha shrugged. "Ordinarily, I would send you to be in charge of an entire planet, but I don't even have a biosphere or castle for you to maintain at the moment. You're too young to ask to manage a portion of the Webway. Even if you were old enough, one wrong turn and the Warp spiders would make a quick meal out of at least half of you if I did that."

Cold sweat started to bead on Ael's brow as he learned what Isha would have done if she still had her full capabilities.

'This is a splendid case of asking the wrong person at the wrong time.' Neoth muttered to himself.

Isha was one of the main deities of the Aeldari pantheon. Only the most powerful and resourceful Aeldari would have been able to talk to her, let alone ask her a favor. Naturally, her answer to the request of 'give me a job' would be fitting for a person of that scale.

Ael would have probably got a more appropriate answer if he answered one of the simulacra dealing with the rescued children. They were far closer to mortals in terms of existence and nature. Then again, not many mortals had the opportunity to ask a deity for a personal favor.

"..." Ael ended up remaining silent, unsure how to continue the conversation.

"Don't worry. I'm sure we'll be able to find something for you to do." Isha said as she patted him on the head. "They have a human saying for this, don't they? 'Life always finds a way!' "

'That's not what that means.' Neoth and Ael both thought the same thing at the same time.

 

[Nidhog153]

Neoth watched the mother and son leave his office. Ael Wyntor had not noticed him the entire time he had been there.

'I suppose it was fitting he never noticed. I didn't care about him or his pain for the entirety of his existence.'

Of course, it was more the fact that Isha's presence attracted him far more than his own that caused Ael Wyntor not to notice him. Malcador's mental scarring had also instilled an instinctive dislike of the Imperium. As its leader, it would be better for Neoth not to interact with Ael Wyntor. Still, the lack of acknowledgement was rather amusing to him. Not many humans could refuse him on principle.

'Although there have been others.' Neoth's mind went back over the individuals who had turned away from him, denying him and his path. Some never came back. Others arrived at the same conclusion he did after coming to the end of their life.

The auramite armor around him unlocked, and removed itself from his gigantic muscular frame. His psychic abilities lifted its individual parts off of him, which were then stowed in the pocket dimension he used to keep his more valuable possessions. More casual garbs emerged from the same pocket dimension, and wrapped around his skin. The dark green silk hid the mechanical access ports and cybernetic portions that appeared at regular intervals across his body.

His eyes turned to the artifacts recovered from Europa, falling upon a familiar Volkite Caliver. The resin casing moved towards him according to his mental command, and he picked the weapon up.

'Xozer…' Neoth reminisced about what had happened there, as he waited for Erda's shuttle to return.

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

Isha sat across from Ael in her room. She had just finished lecturing on the basics of what an Aeldari was, as well as how his body worked.

"So, you are saying that there is no Aeldari soul possessing me?" Ael asked.

"You are yourself, Ael." Isha nodded. "There is no ghost or specter haunting you."

"Then… the voices…" He felt a chill on his shoulders, remembering the relief they expressed when he was about to die. If they were from someone else he could simply try to ignore or fight them, but they weren't. They came from him.

"They come from you, meaning there is no easy way for them to disappear." Isha said as she placed a hand on his shoulder. "Let's start by finding something you enjoy."

Ael felt the warmth from her hand dispel the chill he felt. He smiled back, but his features clouded soon afterwards.

"I don't know what I enjoy…"

His life had been centered around Malcador. His only identity was that of Malcador's friend and companion. The only entertainment he knew were the chats and semi-philosophical debates they had.

"I know, but that is not unnatural." Isha said reassuringly. "Everyone starts out that way. So, finding something to enjoy is easy. Just try everything."

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

"Hmm…" Isha murmured to herself.

Ael lay collapsed in a sweaty pile before her.

"Your brain and nervous system have a lot of Aeldari components, but your musculature and skeleton are mostly human. Thankfully, your tendons and ligaments are closer to Aeldari, so you won't have to worry about tearing your body apart. That gives you excellent hand eye coordination, but very little stamina."

Ael's only response was to keep borderline hyperventilating. Several minutes of basic exercise evolved into stretches and then into a combination of interpretive dance and singing. All of this flowed from one to the other without breaks, and continued for several hours.

The idea was to find a sport or activity he could do himself to distract from his memories. It worked in part. He was certainly in no state to reminisce over anything at the moment. Surprisingly, mimicking her movements was not difficult, and he was engrossed enough with the exercise that he only realized how out of breath he was after his body gave out on him.

"I suppose we'll have to start with more sedentary activities first." His mother mused to herself. "We can try to gauge your talent with the immaterium after that."

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

Almost an hour later, Ael stood behind a kitchen counter. Isha had sung it into existence herself, but it was human in design. She had used the information she had extracted from Neoth as a reference, allowing Ael to stand at it without difficulty. He too had participated a little in its construction. The water tanks connected to the sink were attached by his hand. He had them brought to the door by the palace staff. They recognized him from his time of service towards Malcador, and his requests still carried some clout with them. The boxes of ingredients in ice boxes were also brought by them as well..

"As my servant, one of your key responsibilities is to pay tribute to me." Isha said from beside him, nodding to herself.

"Tribute?" Ael looked up at her, one eyebrow raised.

"Yes." Isha crossed her arms and smiled. "In ages past this was done with song, dance, praise, or offerings of art and sculpture. Yet, at the very beginning, all worship stems from the offering of food. Hunters would give part of their kill, either at a temple or by incinerating it on a pyre. Farmers would provide some of their crop in a similar manner."

"I see…" Ael answered. Isha had told him that she was a goddess, and not as a hyperbole of her beauty or power. He was still struggling to come to terms with what that meant, but he had gotten the gist that symbolism and intent were important to her.

However…

"And what does this have to do with me?" He was neither a farmer nor a hunter, and they were supposedly trying to find something he enjoyed to distract himself from his depression.

"You are my servant." Isha said matter-of-factly. "Thus, as a show of fealty, it is customary for you to provide a sacrifice to me. However, this planet's environment is conducive to neither hunting, foraging, or farming. Thus, in order to provide an offering in a similar manner, we shall have to make do with you cooking it yourself."

"Must the sacrifice be food?" Ael asked. She had mentioned several other options, such as art and poetry. The fact that food was where they were going seemed to incur a leap of logic.

"You could show fealty to me via art or poetry…" Isha said as she tapped her chin. "But, those feats require a gallery or audience to gain meaning. The act of sacrifice to a deity is symbolic. Food is the easiest to understand, for that is a sacrifice of what is required for one's own sustenance. Likewise, sacrifices of blood or body parts also have great meaning, even at a personal level. Of course, neither of us would want that."

She narrowed her eyes at him, and he quickly nodded in agreement. He wasn't interested in harming himself, and if his mother disliked the idea of self-harm as a sacrifice he was more than willing to agree.

"However…" Isha continued. "You cannot go about showing works of art about me to the larger populace on this planet, and we don't have the space to store such works here. Thus, the simplest symbol of sacrifice would be the provision of labor from you in the form of food."

Ael nodded. Her explanation made sense, however…

"Are you sure you're not just hungry?" He said, looking up at her with narrowed eyes.

It was more natural to suspect a more personal physical motive for this sudden change in direction.

"... I do not deny it." Isha said with a sniff. "It is a limitation for me being here."

Ael let out a short laugh, and covered his mouth immediately when Isha shot him a reproachful look.

Isha had to act like a living being in order to exist in the materium. Thus, she needed to eat and sleep just like any other mortal. She had explained this fact to him with a vexed expression at the time. He had not understood why at the moment, but it was becoming more obvious that the restrictions she felt were injuring her pride as a goddess.

He cleared his throat, and resumed his composure.

"Then I will do my best."

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

Ael enjoyed cooking more than he thought. It was an interesting mix of physical activity and mental exertion. Memorizing the steps of a recipe kept his mind busy, while the act of cutting, pan flipping, and stirring required strength and flexibility at the same time. Being forced to mutli-task between watching the time for broiling, boiling, or frying items also kept him from becoming over obsessed with single things.

"Were things to your satisfaction, mother?" He asked as Isha dabbed at her mouth with a napkin.

He had prepared a full course meal for her, and she had eaten all of it. It would have been filling for an ordinary woman, but his mother was physically larger than most men. Added to the fact that her physical body didn't follow the rules of reality, she could still be hungry.

"It was good." Isha said simply. "The seasoning was slightly simplistic, but I think you have some talent with constructing cuisine."

"I see." Ael nodded. "I made it as the recipe said, but I too find most Imperial cuisine to be… lacking."

Malcador's table was always stocked with a number of condiments, so he had no problems until now. However, taste testing his own cooking made him realize just how much extra flavor he had been adding to his food. The only thing that kept him from changing the recipe was his uncertainty of Isha's reaction.

"We Aeldari tend to have more tolerant bodies and tastes." Isha nodded. "You too have most likely inherited some of that. I suppose that it might be worth introducing to proper Aeldari cuisine, or what I can replicate of it here."

"I would like that." Ael replied.

"Then it will be a promise for another day, perhaps." Isha smile. "Night is already here, and there are other things to do and people to meet tomorrow."

Ael looked out the window. Sure enough, the only lights outside were synthetic. He had been so engrossed with what he had been doing, he hadn't even realized the sun had set.

Sheepishly, Ael scratched his cheek, then focussed on what Isha had said to him.

"People?" He asked.

Isha nodded. "There are others under my care on this planet. I would like you to meet them."

"Are they…?" Ael asked, half excited, half afraid.

"They are completely human." Isha shook her head, and Ael let out a sigh of relief and disappointment. "However, they are like you in more ways than one." She continued. "But talk of them can wait till tomorrow." She stood up from the table, and walked towards a corner of the room near the window. "Take the bed. It is too small for me."

"Where will you sleep?" Ael asked.

Isha didn't reply, instead singing softly. Strands of white fibers emerged from thin air, reaching up to the ceiling and walls. They wove themselves together, forming a sort of silken hammock. It reminded Ael of a moth's cocoon stuck to a spider's web.

Isha jumped up into the Wraithbone hammock, and peeked over the edge down at him.

"Someday, you too will learn how to do this. It is your birthright. Good night, Ael Wyntor."

Ael only nodded dumbly, both unnerved and amazed by the display of her psychic abilities.

She smiled again, and then disappeared. The soft sound of sleep breathing started to come from the hammock, releasing Ael from his shock.

Isha made it seem so simple, but Bonesinging broke the laws of the universe. The ease at which she made something from nothing in the exact way she wanted it showed just how powerful she was.

'And she said I can do the same thing as well…' Ael thought to himself. Fear and excitement pulsed through him. The idea that he could one day break the laws of physics, and rewrite the world as he wanted it was… intoxicating. However…

Ael looked at the dirty dishes, cutlery, and cooking utensils.

He was Isha's servant, so naturally she left all the cleaning duties to him as well.

Aeil sighed and started clearing the table and kitchen counter. The activity was also a good distraction for him. As he put the last plate in the drying rack he chuckled to himself.

'This is fun enough.' Ael thought.

He found enjoyment in the simple things. Cooking, cleaning, talking. That was enough to keep him occupied. He didn't need to know the dark secrets of the Imperium or the psychic arts of the Aeldari to be fulfilled.

With that thought, the sticky feeling he felt when he saw Isha Bonesing her hammock into existence left him.

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

Isha smiled to herself as she felt the pride and arrogance leave her son.

'I may be able to teach you sooner rather than later.'

Had he become too prideful or power hungry she would have had to take a longer time to ensure he could live in balance.

But Ael Wyntor was a good boy. Why else would he have become so horrified and depressed after hearing Malcador's secrets; simple stories of the misfortune of others?

It was because he was a good man that he could not bear them.

It was because he could empathize and sympathize with the victims that he despaired with the dead.

'But, being good alone will not save you.' Isha thought to herself as she stopped pretending to be asleep and drifted into unconsciousness.

'This galaxy is a harsh place, but I will teach you how to survive it.'

She would teach him and the other human children. Hopefully, they would be the bridge between humans and all Aeldari. And if they did not want to be? Well… they would at least have the strength to survive on their own.

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

A/N: If you see a trend of Isha and her figments constantly pushing people to their limit, that is symbolic of her nature as an embodiment of evolution.

 

[Nidhog153]

Lord Nour closed the Chronicle of Ursh. The metal book cover locked itself, and the servo-skull of the ex-Head Librarian carried it away.

"Your thoughts?" The assassin sitting before him asked, head resting lazily on her hands.

"What do you want me to say?" Nour snorted. "Should I dismiss the entire story as the ravings of religious madmen? Or, should I be shaken by its allusions that our beloved Emperor is a divine being?"

"Is he a divine being?" Lady Callidus asked him coquettishly.

Nour stifled a shiver. The small smile she wore seemed almost predatory. Her slightly parted smile showed her sharp canines, like the fangs of some beast peeking out from beneath curled lips.

"I do not know." Nour shook his head, erring on the side of caution. "He is not human, but that much is an open secret amongst the other Lords."

"Indeed." Lady Callidus nodded, leaning back away from Nour. "What normal human grows to over 4 meters tall and lives for at least 800 years without aging? Even the Imperial Regent has the decency to appear as ancient as he is."

Nour gave an internal sigh. It was hypocritical of the assassin to insinuate the Emperor's divine nature, but still threaten anyone who mentioned it. However, it would be safer not to broach the matter any further.

"The most common theory is that he is a Man of Gold from the Dark Age of Technology." Nour continued the topic, stating the most popularly accepted rumor amongst the ruling class. "That is why the Lords fear and hate him. The Men of Gold were said to be protectors of the worlds they were deployed on. Tools to better our lives." Nour thought back to the rantings of one of the more delinquent Lords he had gotten close to for an investigation.

"It is an out of control weapon from Old Night." The fat man spat, believing himself safe in the privacy of his dacha. Lord Nour smiled and nodded, waiting for the verbal diarrhea to end so he could continue extracting information from the Lord's flippant lips. "Mark my words, young Nour, the Emperor cannot be allowed to lead. He is a tool made by men, and was meant to be used by us. We cannot let this go on. As things are, we would be no better than having an Abominable Intelligence ruling over us, ordering us around to make things more efficient." The man belched loudly, and Nour fetched him a chalice of Amasec. "We, the Lords, Princes, and Kings of old are the only ones who have the right to rule." The fat Lord said as he drank. "For now, we'll let the broken machine do its work, rebuilding our empire on Terra. Once it is finished, we will have to think of a way to shut it down."

It was not long after that the fat Lord was found dead. The obituaries stated he choked to death after swallowing his own tongue.

"He is not too far from the description." Nour continued, stating his own previously held beliefs. "The Imperium is better than the chaos of the un-unified regions. I suppose the only thing the Lords have to complain about is their betrayed expectations."

Lady Callidus snorted. "Arrogant of them to assume the betterment would come in a form they would control. Humanity is a poor judge of what is best for them as a species."

"Are the theories correct then?" Nour asked.

"What do you think?" Callidus countered, leaning in towards him.

Nour weighed his words carefully as a bead of sweat dripped down his brow. Callidus may appear a calm and collected individual, but her appearance was just another one of her weapons. The assassin was neither rational nor logical. She was simply intelligent. It was that intellect that allowed her to mimic the appearance and actions of a normal human being, but he could see the veneer beginning to peel off the longer they spoke about the Emperor.

Fanaticism. Zealotry. He could feel it in her veiled threats, and the way she tried to coax the wrong words from his mouth.

No logical or rational person would try to do that; to attempt to goad a person into sealing their own doom. It made even less sense when she was supposedly carrying a message for him.

"It is the only logical explanation for his longevity and appearance, not to mention his chosen color scheme." Nour finally said, adding a slight bit of humor to the end. He did not think the assassin would find it funny, but her disguise as a normal person would force her to laugh at that.

A dry chuckle came from the assassin's mouth, as predicted, and she leaned back into her chair.

"I would refrain from taking that thought any further." She said, "Even now, your jest borders on insolence."

Nour raised an eyebrow, unsure what she meant. It was obvious that any theory or rumor of the Emperor's origin was a taboo topic. Then he realized she was referring to his jibe at the Emperor's apparent favorite color.

"Are you serious?" He asked, slightly perplexed that she would threaten him for something so trivial.

"Is it worth finding out?" She snorted.

Nour shook his head with a sigh. He had no intention nor interest in finding out.

"What did you want with me?" He said, changing the topic. The quicker this interaction ended the better. Every word from the assassin's mouth was starting to sound like a trap, and she provided no answers to anything he asked. She was toying with him, like a cat with a rat.

"As I said, I am a messenger." Callidus replied, and she pulled a data tablet out from behind her back. "Have you heard of the city of Avelroi?" She said as she tossed the device onto the table.

"It is the region from where Lord D'agross is from within the lands of the Franc." Nour replied, picking up the tablet. "His uncle Havuleq leads it."

"Tithes from Avelroi and its sister cities have dwindled over the years. Skandian raiders are the reason they give." Callidus said with a derisive snort.

"What do you expect from the Franc?" Nour shrugged. "Rebellion and rabble rousing is in their blood."

"It is amusing and irritating to see how such concepts remain." Callidus sighed. "Their blood has long been diluted over thousands of years of intermingling."

Nour flipped through several reports, and apologetic letters regarding the tithes inside the data tablet. Avelroi was a low density city with only about 100,000 or so civilians living inside it. A far cry from the billions living inside the Hive cities of Indoi. Their economy was relatively diversified with industrial and agricultural sectors that kept the city self-sufficient. Their defenses consisted of the usual fortress walls and militias one would need to hold back raiders. Most of these were now manned by Imperial garrisons, but the number of troops was quite low for the city's size.

Nour frowned at this detail. It was a slight oddity amongst the pages of mundane data, and it drew his eye. Their garrison's numbers had not been depleted suddenly, but had been low from the start and had gradually been reduced over the years.

"The previous D'agross understood the futility of resisting the Imperium." Callidus said as she watched Nour look over the data. "For his foresight, Avelroi and her surrounding cities were granted a greater amount of freedom than those who resisted. An effort to encourage peaceful unification with the Imperium at the time. They also received Imperial investments and subsidies for their obedience."

"If these numbers are true, then their cover story of Skandian raiders is dubious." Nour concluded. "Although they have pointed out that the low number of Imperial Troops makes it harder to defend against Skandian raids, I find it hard to believe that they fought the raiders off with only their militias without incurring a single Imperial casualty." He set the tablet down and looked at the assassin. "But you already knew that."

"Of course." Callidus nodded. "However, the Imperium must respect their autonomy. Some tithes paid are better than none, and their past cooperation forces us to show leniency. It would not do well for the negotiations with Hy-Brasil and Merica if the Imperium treated a region that willingly unified with the Imperium too harshly."

"If that is the case, then send a Governor." Nour replied. "Malice is not always the reason for tardy tithes. Genuine incompetence with accounting and lack of managerial skills have been the cause for perceived disobedience. The Governor will take over the mundane tasks of accounting and dealing with the Imperial bureaucracy. The regional leaders can remain in power as well as keep any private earnings or entitlements they have legal rights to. Thus, both parties save political face."

"One will be sent." Callidus nodded. "Her file is also in there." She swiped a finger on the tablet, bringing up the profile of a young woman.

"A fresh graduate?" Nour snorted. "Are you trying to get her killed?"

Governors were, at face value, a glorified accountant and manager of economics. However, they were essentially the controllers of the Imperium's assets within the unified areas of the Imperium. Thus, there were always conflicts behind the scenes between Imperial Governors, and pre-existing leaders.

Sabotage. Scandal. Assassination. All three occurred on a semi-regular basis between the Governors and those who had been in control of the land being governed.

Sending a fresh graduate who had no experience with the darker side of their occupation was like putting a young lamb before a wolf. They would be torn apart in seconds.

"The Hall of Lords have made this appointment, and at the moment Avelroi's infractions are not so serious the Emperor has to intervene directly." Callidus shrugged.

"Lord D'agross. This must be his scheme." Nour muttered. "Havuleq must have asked for an incompetent Governor to act as a scapegoat for any failures. Governors are allowed to take over economic control of a region, but that also means any failures would ultimately be theirs. If Havuleq can blame the Governor for his own failures or inadequacies, then he can buy himself a few more years free from Imperial scrutiny."

"'Failures and inadequacies'..." The assassin parroted him, then let out a cynical chuckle. "Do you truly believe that is what this is?"

"Embezzlement and personal aggrandizement then." Nour rephrased his previous statement. "Although, one could describe that as a failure and an inadequacy. A man who cannot control his own urges is just a beast."

"Indeed…" Callidus nodded. "Havuleq is quite a beast. I'm sure you've heard rumors of how he came into power?"

"I believe it was that he assassinated his own uncle with his brother." Nour recalled from the numerous salacious stories and backbiting he heard.

"The rumors are correct." Callidus smiled. "However, even as a beast, he has an almost instinctive understanding of how to manipulate people."

"A common enough trait for one in the nobility." Nour snorted. "Life in politics is often spent mollifying others. If I can get another signature on a bill with a good word or two, then I'd write a poem full of praises. After all, words don't cost money."

Nour then narrowed his eyes at the assassin. "If you know this much, why even bother entertaining their flimsy efforts? Simply replace their chosen Governor with a more senior one. Even if the Hall of Lords has made their decision, there are countless other ways to temporarily replace a Governor. Have her remain home due to sickness or other personal injury. A substitute will have to be sent in order for the Governor to begin their Governorship. Such substitutes are usually more senior, as they have to be experienced enough to deal with taking over an unfamiliar Governorship as a replacement. It won't look good on her record, but such a substitute should be able to find enough evidence to have Havuleq indicted or imprisoned. After that, it should be a simple matter to find a more obedient individual to take his place."

"We already have the Governor we want." Callidus replied.

Nour's eyes widened, then narrowed. "... You are trying to get her killed."

Callidus raised her hands, feigning a surrendering pose to the accusation.

"A fresh idealist loyal to the Emperor and top of her class." She said, summarizing the young woman's psychiatric evaluation and academic grades. "Havuleq will not be able to hide his misdeeds from her, and she will not have the connections or experience to deal with it covertly. Thus, the only outcome from their meeting is her murder."

"That would allow you to replace both Lord D'agross and Havuleq, and send a message to any other disobedient regions without overtly threatening their internal autonomy." Nour sighed. He had no idea what other information they had on the D'agross bloodline, but apparently it was enough to sacrifice one woman in order to execute them all. That was the only fate that awaited anyone who killed one of the Emperor's servants.

"Close, but not our intent." Callidus said quietly, and she dragged her finger across the data pad. Patrol routes of various Imperial forces were brought up, with one particular group being highlighted.

Nour's blood ran cold as he read who the Imperium planned to send.

"You don't intend to send the Thunder Warriors after them?" He asked, mostly out of disbelief.

"Why not?" The assassin smiled. "The Imperial garrisons at Avelroi are understaffed, and will most likely be unable to suppress a full scale rebellion. If Avelroi rebels, the surrounding cities will most likely follow their example, meaning the Imperium's standard forces will be depleted in the region. If that were to happen, who would blame us for redirecting the legion patrolling the area for 'Skandian Raiders' reported by Avelroi herself?"

Nour felt his skin bump up into gooseflesh. It sounded as if the Imperium already knew the city was going to rebel, and had prepared to deal with it in the bloodiest way possible.

"It is far beyond what is required to quell a rebellion." He spoke warily. "The Thunder Warriors are relentless. They will not stop until everything is dead. You are trying to put out a house fire by blowing it up with a bomb."

"True, cutting off Havuleq's head along with a few others would be enough to scatter the rest." The assassin admitted.

"But that's not what you want." Nour's eyes went wide as the realization dawned on him. "You want to use the Thunder Warriors against them. You want them to engage in a one-sided massacre."

Lady Callidus remained silent, taking the conspiratorial accusation coolly. Then she gave a slight nod with a small smile.

Lord Nour sat back in silence, swallowing the admission.

"But why?" He asked after a moment's pause. "The Thunder Warrior's reputation is already bad enough within the Imperium. Why blacken it further? They are only feared now because they act against the enemies of the Imperium. Only children see them as heroes of the Imperium. If they are turned against a part of the Imperium, even if it has rebelled, they will be hated by all."

The Thunder Warriors were ruthless. They crushed whoever faced them without mercy. If they were turned loose on Avelroi and her surrounding cities, nobody would be safe.

Rebel.

Civilian.

It would not matter to them. They would all be brutalized as enemies of the Imperium. Such a thought would terrify even the most stalwart Imperial loyalist, for their loyalty would mean nothing when the Thunder Warriors came. They would be slaughtered like the rest for simply existing in the same space.

This was too heavy handed. The Thunder Warriors were designed to fight the Abominable Intelligences, genetic monstrosities, and psychic mutants of Old Night. To have them unleashed on disorganized rebels, no matter how insolent, was unthinkable.

"I suppose they would." The assassin replied, matter-of-factly.

Something clicked together in Nour's mind.

"This was never about Avelroi." He said, doing his best to still the shiver in his voice. "This was about the Thunder Warriors."

The assassin nodded, and gave him a slow clap to congratulate his arrival at the conclusion.

"It is another step on a long path for their decommissioning." Callidus said softly. "If the Thunder Warriors were to disappear now, there might be some who would be… sympathetic to their plight. After all, they do not truly know what they are. That would be especially true amongst the regions who unified with the Imperium peacefully. The people there might take their disappearance the wrong way, and fear the same would happen to them."

Nour pinched his chin between thumb and forefinger in thought.

What she said was true. The Thunder Warriors were seen as powerful soldiers by most of the citizenry. Those who met them first hand would have a different opinion, but their sudden disappearance would raise many questions. Some might even raise conspiratorial theories, and use their disappearance as fuel to fan the flames of their own rebellions to gain more power. What better martyr was there than a betrayed soldier?

"The massacre of the population of Avelroi and several of her surrounding cities will paint them as the monsters that they are." Callidus continued. "No one will question why they are gone. The only thing that will come from their mouths will be sighs of relief."

"That's not the end of this plan, is it?" Nour asked with narrowed eyes. "There have been rumors of a new breed of weapon for the Imperium. Tithes of children were taken from Europa, Old Albia, Brasil, the Achaemanid, Indoi, all over the planet. At first everyone in the Hall of Lords assumed they were used to expand the Emperor's bodyguard or his Thunder Warriors… but their numbers never increased in proportion with the number of children taken."

The disappearance of the Thunder Warriors, even if they had no sympathizers left, would still invite rebellion. The Imperium would need a new breed of weapon to keep its grip on the unified regions. That thought connected with past rumors he had heard through various Lords and dignitaries.

"There is a new weapon being added to the Imperial arsenal." Callidus answered, affirming the rumors. "Where the Thunder Warriors were just 'warriors', these will be 'soldiers'. They will function at a level far beyond what the Thunder Warriors were capable of."

Nour stifled another shiver. 'What does the Emperor intend to use these weapons on?' He thought to himself. The Unification Wars were almost over. There were no major enemies left, yet the Emperor was enhancing his arsenal instead of redirecting resources for reconstruction and peace.

"Why tell me this?" Nour asked the assassin. The information he now knew touched upon the hidden intentions of the Emperor. A single spilled word would be quickly followed by a gallon of blood from his own throat.

"Because, 'Governor Nour', the Emperor's plans have changed." The assassin swiped a finger across the data tablet again, showing his own profile as well as a penal notice stripping his Lordship for delinquency and deviancy. As punishment, he was to take over the region of Avelroi and assist its management to deal with the problems it had.

Nour grabbed the data tablet and scrolled back to see who exactly had instigated the chain events that lead to his punishment. After reading the first missives from house Zafranat, his own house, he snorted and put down the tablet.

The head of the main house of Zafranat had sent several petitions and apologetic missives to the Imperial Palace. They asked for forgiveness, for sending such a 'delinquent' into the Hall of Lords, but begged the Imperial Regent for mercy and allow him to show penance by taking more menial tasks.

The head of Zafranat was trying to ruin his reputation without damaging his own. Furthermore, by getting him sent to a more remote and menial position, Nour would be less protected physically and politically. No doubt the internal power struggle within Zafranat had forced the head's hand, and the only way for him to win was to kill Nour.

Naturally, the Imperium had decided to use this to its advantage, just as they had used his blackened name to form contacts with the seedier side of the Imperium.

"Will my contacts be looked after?" Nour asked, referring to the men and women who had fed him information within the Imperial Palace.

"Imperial agents are already escorting them from their former lives." Callidus answered. "They have served the Imperium, and will be rewarded."

Nour gave a short sigh, then nodded, accepting the assassin's answer. He would have preferred to have overseen their safe transit, but at the moment there was nothing he could do.

"What is his new plan then?" Nour asked instead. "Have his goals changed?"

He had heard how things were supposed to have gone. However, the assassin had explicitly stated those plans had changed. The Emperor was not one to make last minute changes to a plan, and this one had already taken several months if not years to prepare. Such a change of scope suggested the goal itself had changed.

"His goal is the unification of humanity on this planet. That hasn't changed." The assassin shook her head. "However, he has decided to offer each of his enemies one final chance."

Nour snorted at that.

"Are you saying the Thunder Warriors are his enemies?" They were the ones at the center of this conspiracy. All the other victims were just kindling for their pyre.

"You are all His enemies." The assassin spoke softly, but her words carried an emotional intensity Nour had never heard before. "Each and every worthless one of you stands in His way. Knowingly or unknowingly you hold our species back from its potential. Yet, in His infinite mercy and patience, He has decided to provide you the opportunity to prove yourselves."

Her eyes stared into his. The pupils were black pools of lightless darkness, like holes that opened up into the abyss of the underworld itself.

There was no hatred there. No malice. The only emotion there was the desire to murder him.

Nour swallowed loudly as he began to understand how Callidus's mind worked. Her every thought was centered around killing. Like a broken record, her brain constantly repeated the command, 'murder murder murder'.

The only thing keeping her from killing everything around her like an out of control gun servitor was the Emperor and his vision for humanity.

Nour pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his brow and neck.

The woman before him was a weapon, not a human. He had his suspicions for a long time, but to have them confirmed like this with her right in front of him was… unnerving to say the least.

'Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.' He thought to himself. 'You're just as much of a monster as the Thunder Warriors.'

Nour cleared his throat and refolded his handkerchief before putting it back in his pocket.

"Is my demotion from a Lord to a Governor part of proving myself?" He asked, continuing the conversation from where it left off.

"It would have been, had you held any attachment to your lordship." Callidus snorted. "Your mission, Governor, is to gather the enemies of the Imperium together."

Nour narrowed his eyes. "So, the Emperor wishes to take a leaf out of Machiavelli's book, does he? 'The new ruler must determine all the injuries that he will need to inflict. He must inflict them once and for all.'"

"Correct." Callidus acknowledged Nour's quote from 'The Prince'. "The corruption within the Imperium has been tolerated until now, for the old order is the greatest enemy of the innovator. They were allowed to exist so political power and economic control could be peacefully transferred from their fiefdoms and vassals to the Imperium. However, the Emperor has decided to cut out the rot that lies within his domain ahead of schedule. Obedience through fear will no longer be enough."

"It is a reasonable plan." Nour muttered. "The Emperor will be able to centralize power around himself with the dissenters gone. If he follows Machiavelli's quote to the letter, a more lenient system of government should arise from their ashes. At the moment, the only recourse for disobedience by any region is death."

"I am glad you can see the outcomes for your mission." Callidus smiled.

"I do have one problem with it though." Nour grumbled. "If I am to gather the enemies of the Imperium together, it would mean I would be part of their number."

"Who better to draw them out than a disgraced deviant lord?"

"I was referring to the part where I would most likely have to die with them."

"There will be arrangements made." Callidus's face shifted, drawing back her hair into her scalp as the skin darkened to match Nour's complexion. "Your current reputation is borderline unsalvageable anyways." She said with his voice and face. "Even if you were able to return home, you would not be able to be welcomed back with open arms. Think of it as a fresh start."

Nour watched her testily, then sighed and leaned back into his chair. "Fine then. I will need funds to begin, but I suppose that is why you are sending me to Avelroi."

"They were written off as a suitable expense to tar the reputation of the Thunder Warriors. Use their lives and their resources as you see fit."

"I see. Then the more immediate issue is Havuleq." He sent the assassin a questioning look. "Will you be getting rid of him for me?"

"No. I have other responsibilities that will keep me occupied." She pointed behind him. "He will be your tool for that task."

Nour didn't sense anything behind him. He had heard nothing as well. Yet, when he turned to follow Callidus's finger, he saw a muscled shadow with a skull for a face staring down at him.

"This is an Eversor assassin." Callidus said as Nour remained utterly still. "He and his ilk will be the tools the Imperium uses to show its displeasure. More technical assistance will come from the Vanus assassin connected through his face mask."

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Nour." A feminine voice came from the skull face before him, surprisingly casual for a member of the assassin temples. "Apologies, for our more silent friend. I will direct him to where he is needed, when the time comes."

Nour stared back into the baleful green optics glowing in the eye sockets of the skull masked assassin. The Eversor assassin remained utterly still, like a statue.

"The pleasure is mine." He finally replied, finding his voice. "Will I be given a more visible entourage when I leave for Avelroi? Havuleq and the head of Zafranat will try to assassinate me if I arrive seemingly unguarded."

"Yes, you will." Callidus replied. "He should be arriving at any moment now."

Heavy steps began to echo from behind one of the bookshelves. Nour could not hear the clink clank of metal, so whoever it was did not wear armor. However, there was an audible weight to every step.

A large man, only a little taller than 2 meters, emerged from around the corner. Silken tunics clothed his artistically muscled body. His hair was pale white, and almost shoulder length. However, Nour could see a mixture of Afrik and Caucasoid traits in his face. The two ethnic origins merged pleasantly, with his high cheekbones and full-lips giving him a friendly amicable countenance.

"Lord Nour, a pleasure to make your acquaintance." The man's voice was composed of soothing gentlemanly tones. "My name is Rylanor, and I am one of the Emperor's Children."

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N: Due to the powers of democracy on my Patreon, I have written a R-18 romantic comedy snippet (~4800 words) about Maxil and Kaelyth (the human smuggler and Aeldari Outcast from "Interlude - A Trader's Tale").

There were 5 options regarding extra perks for Patreons. An Audio Book version of this story. Commissioning Art for the story. Proofreading/Discussions of people's story ideas. AMA sessions. Yet, the one that got voted in was the NSFW content.

As for why I chose the 2 OCs from the interlude to write this… I didn't have any characters that were that intimate at their relevant parts of the plot, so they were one of two pairing I could use.

This is not really relevant to the story. I just needed to vent. I'm proud of my work, but not too proud that I had to do it.

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

- Europa: over 300 hundred years ago -

My mother's hands tightened on my shoulders as we stood with the other noble houses of Europa. All 400 stood together under their banners and heraldic flags that waved in the dry desert winds. The various entourages and processions of each house sprawled out behind us for hundreds of meters. All of us were kitted out in the finest regal dressings our environmental suits would allow. The poisonous winds from the Mid-Terranean basin blew towards us today, so such a gathering would have usually been postponed.

But today was no ordinary day.

The winds died down, causing our flags to fall limp. Only the banners were left to display each house's heraldry; their history and beliefs summarized in a single symbol. I had memorized each and every one under my mother's careful tutelage. At one time, I would have smiled, remembering the legends and stories associated with every house. Now, the banners hung limply from their supports, like the corpses of hanged men.

We waited in the silence left by the once whistling air and flapping flags.

Then there was a thump.

We could all feel the shockwave through the sands, quickly followed by another. The sound of thousands of heavily armored soldiers marching in unison was traveling through the earth.

The intake valve on my mother's mask began to flutter, and my father wrapped an arm around her shoulders to calm her.

Far behind us stood mountainous ridges of black obsidian glass. The old stories called them the Alpine Scarps, and spoke of their formation. Atomic fire rained from the skies, suffusing everything in murderous heat and poisonous light. When the first people of Europa emerged from their shelters, the mountains and hills around them had been replaced by blackened crystals of silicon. These molten mountains of glass were infused with the poison of atomics. Geiger counters would begin screaming at their base.

Time and wind hand chipped away at these first crystals, sharpening the once rounded edges into microscopic knives and needles. No man could cross these radioactive masses of flensing blades. No vehicle could hope to climb the almost vertical cliffs. They had been a natural barrier, protecting our lands from the overly ambitious Francs and the meticulous Jermans.

Now, these mountains were the wall we were pressed up against by the invaders.

The first sign of them was through heralds who came demanding an audience with each of the 400 houses of Europa. Each one spoke of a new empire growing out of the splintered Achaemenid with allies such as the backwards Yndonesics and mythical Terrawatt clans. They told tall tales of giants in impregnable armor unifying the Nord and Mid-Afrik polities, as well as the hive cities in the lands of the Indoi.

My father found the herald who came to us amusing, and invited him into our home as a guest. He wanted a rambunctious fool to act as entertainment for his court, and the far-fetched tales of the herald were imaginative, if nothing else. The herald's stay went well until the matter of faith was brought up.

The herald claimed to be an atheist, an immoral breed of human who had no character nor conviction; according to my father. He spoke of his lack of faith as enlightenment, angering everyone in the court and embarrassing his host, my father.

The herald was beaten until he bled, and thrown out of the city gates to be picked apart by the scavengers of the wastes.

"Such a fate is fitting for the godless folk. He should be right at home with the other miscreants." My father said.

A few days later, we were invaded by the forces spoken of in the fantastical tales of the heralds.

They came from the Mid-Terranean basin, traveling over the toxic fumes on flyers we had never seen before. They flew in under the radar, and dropped their cargo of troops without landing. Then, they activated afterburners to escape our air space, out running the anti-air missiles and auto-gun shells our defensive turrets fired.

At first there was derisive laughter in our halls, for only a hundred or so troops had been dropped off by their flyers. We had no idea what sort of monster had been released in our domain. Each one of them was an armored giant that moved faster than the wind, and could tear a tank apart with their bare hands. The one saving grace for us was that they were disorganized. Instead of using guerilla tactics, flanking our forces, or even attempting to pin our armies by attacking vital supply lines and the cities themselves, they chased after our soldiers like rabid dogs.

We fell back, retreating and giving ground while laying traps for them. They were strong, but not invincible. Furthermore, they were stranded in our lands with no sign of reinforcement or rescue. We thought them fools whose only danger lay in fighting them head on. How else were we to describe their head long charges into minefields and obvious ambushes.

We were so sure that our victory would come, with time.

Then the second wave came.

They burst from the ground in massive tubes tipped with hundreds of grinding gears. All who were above them were shredded to pieces in the drilling bits that could tear through bedrock. Then those tubes opened, and the few hundred we were struggling to hold back were reinforced by thousands more.

We thought the invaders foolish, but whoever led them was not.

They let loose their war dogs, knowing how both they and we would react.

They predicted that we would view them as fools, and think it clever to draw them away from our cities and production centers.

They gave us the false hope that we could grind them down… That the few hundred was all our enemies could muster.

Yet, all we did was follow their plan exactly the way they wanted us to.

Once the fighting no longer endangered the cities they wished to claim, they assaulted us from underground with pinpoint accuracy. Their subterranean strikes shattered the one hope we had to defeat them by destroying our lines of communication and command posts. Divided, disorganized, and disoriented, our armies stood no chance before the invaders.

No one returned from the battlefield. The only source of information we had were from panicked vox-communications and vid logs that cut out to static.

The main houses of each nobility fled the cities, leaving the head of the branch house temporarily in charge. They would test the waters with the invaders, and see whether surrender was an option. Through them we learned that the heralds' farcical tales were historical fact.

The empire they spoke of, the Imperium, had come to claim all the cities of Europa in order to bring unity to this planet. This Imperium was led by the Emperor, and he demanded our surrender at this location; backed up against the Alpine Scarps.

The sound of marching was now audible to the ears. I could see the sands jump slightly with every step taken.

A golden eagle with its wings spread emerged over the horizon, followed by the Imperium's banner. The head of an eagle with two thunderbolts crossed behind it rose as the forces that carried the banner climbed over the dunes.

There were thousands of them. Giants in yellowish-beige armor carrying guns so large they would crush a normal man with their weight. Yet, even the banner holder who had to carry his weapon and the giant banner in each hand gave no sign of being over encumbered. The golden eagle perched above the Imperium's crest neither swayed nor bobbed in his grip, making it appear frozen mid-flight.

Thunder Warriors. That was the giants' name.

"Oh Lord who art in heaven…" My mother began to pray, only to be shaken roughly by my father.

The Emperor had burned every church and temple in our cities. Faith would not be forgiven. The only belief allowed was in the Imperial Truth the heralds spoke of.

The giants came within ten meters of us, and stopped.

My father locked eyes with both my mother and me, then walked forth with the other heads of the 400 houses.

They all knelt down on one knee in a line before the giants.

An ordinary sized man walked out from between the ranks of giants. He held a scroll with both hands, and wore silken robes that were bright white with golden trimmings. His hands were enclosed in skin tight gloves with gold lines running down the tip of each digit to the wrist.

The man unraveled the scroll, then began to speak.

"By the grace of the Emperor of the Imperium, Master of Mankind and the Protector of Humanity, I bring forth His third and final terms for surrender." The man said, voice amplified by the speakers built into his respirator. "The cities of Europa shall be placed in a bare trust for the Emperor. The 400 houses shall become the trustees, appointed to manage the Emperor's assets and investments in accordance with His word. A flat tithe will be paid annually to the Imperium. The rate shall be negotiable every ten years based on the needs of the Imperium and the status of assets within the bare trust. The Emperor reserves the right to change the trustee of his assets whenever He sees fit. Inspection and audits shall be done without warning or notice. Denial of cooperation shall result in the removal of the trustee and liquidation of all assets. The following shall be exempted from the bare trust. All weapons and manufactorums related to the production of said weapons shall become holdings of the Imperium and will be managed by His Imperial Armies. Garrisons of His soldiers shall man them, and they will act as the arbiters of His law for all civil and criminal disputes. Cooperation from them can be sought by the trustees should conflict arise in the management of the bare trust. These are the Emperor's terms."

The robed man lowered the scroll and looked down at all 400 hundred of the heads of Europa. Some of them shook with shame at the sheer audacity of the terms of surrender. They would be stripped of all power, and reduced to accountants and bureaucrats. Their ability to write laws and mete out punishments were taken from them. The fruits of their labor would not be enjoyed by them, but by the Imperium. Even the ability to defend themselves would be taken. Without arms they would be reliant on the Imperium for protection against the raiders and savages that roamed outside their walls.

Yet, these were the only terms that would spare their lives.

"By our blood, we humbly accept the Emperor's terms." All 400 hundred said in unison, even though a few voices shook with emotion. "To seal this bond, we give our first born son, the pride of our future and the carrier of our history to the Emperor. They shall serve you as a son shall serve his father, and carry your name to eternal glory."

"So it shall be remembered." The robed man replied, and two servants scurried forwards to set up a table before him. The scroll he carried was laid out upon it. One by one the 400 heads of houses laid their insignias upon it in wax or blood depending on their familial customs.

As the signing continued, the Thunder Warriors began to march forwards. We all watched as they approached the Alpine Scarps, and began to climb it. The impenetrable crystal barrier cracked under their boots, and crumbled in their armored grip as they climbed the cliff faces. Their armor kept them safe from the flensing shards, while their enhanced biology weathered the radiation. Thousands upon thousands clambered over it, like ants swarming over a much larger beetle.

I saw some in our procession swallow loudly, as they saw what the Thunder Warriors were capable of.

There was some question as to why the Emperor had chosen this location to accept our surrender. Some of us even expected it to be a ruse to slaughter us, backed up against a border with no escape.

Now I knew why our surrender had to take place before the Alpine Scarps.

This was a message from the Emperor.

It would not have mattered whether His Thunder Warriors came from the toxic Mid-Terranean basin or the impregnable Alpine Scarps. There was no necessity for flyers or subterranean troop transports. The Thunder Warriors alone were all that he needed. They were unstoppable, unrelenting, and indomitable. Whatever previously held belief or principle would be overturned before them and their master. Our defeat was inevitable, and His rule inescapable.

That was a lesson the Francs and Jermans would no doubt learn soon. The Alpine Scarps kept us safe from them, but it also prevented us from attacking them as well. Thus, neither Europa, nor Franc, nor Jermani had any major defensive installations on this side of our borders. Thousands of Thunder Warriors would descend upon them through their undefended nethers, like ancient Hannibal did in the fairy tales my mother told.

As the ranks of Thunder Warriors thinned, a different set of armored soldiers emerged. These were enclosed in ornate golden plate armor, and carried giant spears as tall as they were in one hand. A giant blade tipped each spear, with gun barrels on either side.

However, it was not their armaments or armor that held my gaze.

It was their movements.

The sands did not shake when they moved. Every step was as silent as a single dust mote floating to the floor. Yet, they moved with such speed that their red helm plumes billowed behind them. So perfect was their balance that rather than walking upon the earth it appeared as if the earth was receding under them, drawing us closer like victims of a quicksand trap.

One such giant stood before me and my mother. Its red helm plume fell, indicating it had stopped. Its shadow hid us from the sun, and the dark eye holes in its helm looking down at us showed no hint of humanity.

A golden gauntlet opened up, and reached downwards to me, palm upwards.

My mother gave my shoulders one final squeeze, then let go. I heard the flutter of her mask's intake valve as she stifled a sob.

I reached up into the giant's hand, and its golden fingers closed around my hand and forearm. However, it did not hurt. So controlled were the giant's movements, that I did not even feel the discomfort of hard metal through my environmental suit.

The giant turned, and walked back to where several flyers were just touching down. They came from above the clouds, streamlined and glowing gold.

I kept my eyes locked forwards. I was not leaving my family. I was returning to the one I now belonged to.

I was one of the Emperor's children now. I would serve him as a loyal son for the sake of the cities of Europa; for the sake of the Imperium.

Had I been born in a lower house or perhaps even an ordinary civilian I would never have known this hardship. Yet, this was the price for my privileged upbringing. The price of being one of noble birth with the responsibility to rule.

'Good bye, mother.' I thought to myself as I boarded the flyer with the golden giant.

The last I saw of her was as a small speck through a window looking up at me, as I disappeared into the clouds.

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

Nour looked up at the statuesque physique of Rylanor. This man was a walking weapon. He could tell that those bare hands could crush his skull. Yet, the deadliness of Rylanor's form did nothing to detract from his beauty.

'That is the sinister part of it.' Nour thought to himself.

The Thunder Warriors were brutish and violent in their appearance, making it hard to recognize them as anything but weapons of war.

This Rylanor… This new breed of Imperial weapon was far more sinister, like a bomb hidden in a gift basket.

"The pleasure is mine, my Lord Rylanor." Nour bowed.

"Please." Rylanor's voice came from right beside his head. "We are not in a formal setting, just Rylanor is enough." The giant smiled at him gently, but Nour could not stop the cold sweat leaking out of every pore. He had not heard Rylanor move, nor sensed his approach. His life could have ended that very moment, and he would have never known about it.

"This is one of the Imperium's new weapons." Lady Callidus explained. "He is not one of the Emperor's biological children, so you need not worry about the honorifics. He comes from Europa, where they have that tradition of donating their sons and daughters to settle disputes."

Nour looked up at Rylanor, to see whether some reaction would come at this denigration of his former homelands, but the man acted as if Lady Callidus had not spoken.

"Besides…" Rylanor continued, "It would be poor form for us going forwards. I am to be your bodyguard, Lord Nour. Best not to raise any undue suspicions."

"If you say so… Rylanor." Nour managed to reply.

"Good." Rylanor nodded. "After all, this may be one of the last times to speak frankly. During my duties, I shall remain mostly silent. Better for those who face us to think of me as nothing more than your brute." He chuckled slightly, as if with true mirth at his own joke.

"Disarming, aren't they?" Lady Callidus whispered. "Sociable. Humorous. Intelligent. There shall be no need to keep them segregated from the Imperium, unlike the Thunder Warriors."

"Have you ever been to the land of the Franc? I do recommend the food there." Rylanor continued speaking as if nobody else but the two of them were there. "Their cuisine is one of the more palatable aspects of their culture, pun intended of course."

Nour wondered whether he was seeing things with the surreal way Rylanor acted. It was as if the assassin didn't exist, and her whispers were merely figments of his imagination.

"Lord Nour?" Rylanor spoke to him, redirecting his attention to Rylanor's eyes. Each one had a light pink iris, and in their reflective wetness he saw both the standing Eversor assassin and sitting Lady Callidus.

Rylanor did see the assassins, he heard every word they said, yet he utterly ignored them.

"Their personality gives them certain… peculiarities based upon their origins." Lady Callidus continued her explanation of Rylanor. "Noble born children are taught from birth to fear assassination, and Rylanor is no exception." She chuckled as Rylanor continued to ignore her. Yet, his timely silence was kept so she could speak, making it obvious he could both hear her and cooperate with her. "However, such idiosyncrasies are not always faults. If anything, their emotions make them far less predictable."

"I have heard you come from the Nord-Afrik, Lord Nour." Rylanor said as Lady Callidus stopped speaking. "I personally have never visited, but I have fought with men and women from your homeland when I worked with the Imperial Army. They were all brave, loyal soldiers of the Imperium."

"That there is this weapon's true power." Lady Callidus spoke-up again. "I'm sure you can easily imagine how dangerous armies composed of these weapons would be. Charismatic, intelligent, and only marginally less lethal than a Thunder Warrior." The assassin leaned back in her chair lazily. "Imagine a battlefield with them on it. Ordinary soldiers will rally behind them. Stranded platoons will hold the line, waiting for their reinforcement. The very thought of them will keep conscripts fighting, no matter how dire the situation gets." She chuckled to herself softly. "You feel it yourself, do you not? The allure they exude. The reassuring strength they bring. The fear they inspire."

The assassin suddenly stood up, picking up the data tablet as she did so. The Eversor assassin was already gone, vanished without a warning.

"I said this member of the Emperor's Children was not the Emperor's biological spawn, but drops of His blood flow through this weapon's veins." The assassin's eyes narrowed at Rylanor. "A grand inheritance from the Master of Mankind. Let us hope they use it well."

Lad Callidus began to walk away from the two of them, leaving Nour alone with Rylanor.

"Your penal assignment will be handed down officially in three weeks' time." She said over her shoulder. "Take care to make no overt arrangements. It would be better for you to act surprised at the announcement, after all."

The assassin disappeared behind a bookshelf, and her footsteps stopped the moment she was out of view.

"I find the library to be more enjoyable when the only sound audible is the turning of pages." Rylanor said snidely, giving the first hint that he recognized the assassin's presence. "Is there anything else you would like to discuss with me, Lord Nour?"

"No…" Nour shook his head. "No. I have much to consider at the moment."

"Understandable." Rylanor nodded. "Today's meeting was not done in the way I would have liked."

Nour let out a dry laugh. He came here to satisfy idle curiosity. Now, he was stuck within one of the darkest conspiracies of the Imperium's history. The idea that any meeting with Rylanor could have been pleasant sounded like a bad joke.

"And how would you have arranged our meeting?" Nour asked, morbidly curious how this enhanced being would have done things.

"As friends." Rylanor said quietly, sitting down in the chair beside him. "As fellows." He said, leaning towards him. His size made him look like an adult sitting in a toddler's chair. "As servants to the citizenry of the Imperium."

"Servants?" Nour gave the giant before him a quizzical look. That was not the word he would have used to describe a child pawned off to the Imperium to be turned into a weapon.

"You think I believe myself to be a slave, just because I was given to the Emperor by my parents?" Rylanor gave voice to Nour's question calmly. His eyes studied Nour's face, watching for any sign of fear or embarrassment.

Nour paused for a moment, weighing his words, then sighed and voiced his honest thoughts.

"Are you not?" He asked the gene-enhanced being before him.

Rylanor smiled, and unconscious relief filled Nour's breast. Apparently telling the truth was the best way to build a relationship with Ryalnor.

"If I am a slave, it is only to my duty as one in a position of power." Rylanor said gently. "This world… This Imperium has many imperfections, but after seeing what is outside of it…" The friendly features darkened. His smile, smooth as marble, morphed into a grim granite like glower. "Lord Nour, any sort of order is preferable to chaos."

Nour felt the weight of his words. The sort of weight one feels when speaking to a veteran of a hundred wars. The weight of personal experience and sacrifice.

Still, he had to ask. "Do you feel the same after hearing what was supposed to happen?"

"Yes." Rylanor replied immediately, and his features returned to a soothing statuesque smile. "You wonder what horrors could be worse than what was described just now. What reasons might justify the unjust killing of the men who gave their lives for the Emperor." Rylanor paused, as if considering how to break down a difficult concept to a child. "The answer is both easy and hard to explain, but at its core it comes down to faith."

"Faith?" Nour asked, bemused. He had half-expected to be told to wait and see for himself, but the explanation provided didn't make much sense either.

"The Thunder Warriors are… fanatical." Rylanor said, chewing each word slowly in his mind to make sure they were the right ones. "I have heard this became most apparent during the battle with the Priest-King Maulland Sen in the Nordyc regions."

"Their separation from the Imperial Truth is deserving of destruction?" Nour asked. It made more sense than the single word answer given to him, but how the Thunder Warriors had become religious was a mystery of its own.

"Not exactly." Rylanor shook his head. "They have not broken from the Imperial Truth. However, their philosophy is one with the 'old ways'."

"The 'old ways'?" Nour parroted, unsure what Rylanor meant.

"The ways that kept us alive during the Psi-Wars and Old Night." Rylanor explained, and Nour narrowed his eyes.

Rylanor spoke of religion. The 'old ways' was one euphemism used to avoid the Imperial iterators and censors, but it was too vague to understand without the proper context. The Psi-Wars and Old Night provided that context. Religious people often used those two periods of time as examples of religion working for the good of the people.

"Do you know why the 'old ways' were outlawed by the Imperium?" Rylanor's voice was conversational, despite the danger of the subject matter.

"They were a backwards wasteful set of practices that divided us." Nour said carefully, paraphrasing the message of the Imperial Iterators.

"When opposing ways exist, that is the conclusion one would reach." Rylanor nodded. "However, for a unified community, the 'old ways' were quite beneficial."

"Are you trying to get me killed?" Nour said with an exasperated sigh. He was starting to wonder whether being associated with the Emperor provided some sort of carte blanche protection regarding religion.

"Do not worry. I will keep you safe, even from them." Rylanor gestured to the top of one of the bookshelves. Nour looked, only to see nothing there, but when he turned back to Rylanor he saw the man staring at a different bookshelf behind him.

"Old Night has not been kind to us as a species." Rylanor continued to speak as his eyes followed something unseen. "These trying times have demanded much of us. However, not everyone is intelligent or emotionally in control of themselves to do what must be done." Rylanor snorted, and returned his eyes to Nour. "The demand for sacrifice requires a justification, and the justification for self-sacrifice for the longest time has been faith. Men and women gave up activities they enjoyed, and shared what little they had in the name of higher powers. Even the stingiest miser would pay tithes to his community and church out of fear for his immortal soul. It is that sacrifice and cooperation that kept us going during this Age of Strife."

Rylanor's smile soured slightly as he continued. "Of course, when there was truly nothing left to give, holy wars and crusades have been useful tools for the purpose of holding political power. Whether it be motivated by reducing the number of mouths to feed, or to gain a valuable resource, or regain credibility by securing a holy victory, the 'old ways' made it far easier for people to act out violently. The higher powers took all the blame for their actions, after all."

An exasperated sigh leaked from Rylanor's lips, but was quickly followed by a reassuring smile. "However, as a tool for survival, faith has outlived its usefulness. The time for sacrifice is ending. Now is the time for growth and unity."

"And the Thunder Warriors refuse to give up this… faith of theirs?" Nour asked Rylanor, and the man's reassuring smile turned into a tired, sad one. His eyebrows drooped, and the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes smoothed out.

"They cannot give it up." Rylanor said softly. "They may have been made into weapons, but they were men once, boys even. To do what they have done for hundreds of years requires something to believe in."

"Do you pity them?" That was the emotion Nour heard within Rylanor's voice.

"I do." Rylanor nodded. "But, I do so in the same way one would pity a beggar in the street." He locked eyes with Nour. "If they prove to be a threat to the Imperium, they should be buried in the dirt and forgotten. Like Faith, if their usefulness has been outlived, they should not be allowed to exist. The citizens of the Imperium, their safety, and their happiness should be prioritized over all else." His tone was quiet, but resolute.

"What will happen to them now?" Nour asked Rylanor. Avelroi had been spared from the Thunder Warriors, no longer to be used to blacken their name. However, he had not been told how they would be handled.

"I do not know." Rylanor admitted honestly. "I will tell you what I can, though. In two weeks time, my brothers and I shall be attending a ceremony with the Thunder Warriors with the Emperor. Hopefully the Emperor can convince them of the error of their ways."

Rylanor gave another gentle smile to Nour, then stood up. "It has been a pleasure talking with you, Lord Nour. I look forward to working with you in the lands of the Franc."

He extended a giant hand towards Nour.

Nour paused for a moment, then shook Rylanor's hand.

"Likewise." Nour replied.

Rylanor nodded then turned away from Nour, leaving him once again alone in the library.

Nour mulled over everything he had been told and heard.

"Charismatic indeed." He muttered to himself. Lady Callidus had been correct in her assessment. Rylanor and the 'brothers' he mentioned were certainly more advanced than the Thunder Warriors. He had been afraid of the man at first, but now he found himself liking him despite all of his trepidations.

Yet, he was still wary.

What the Emperor intended to do with them, and the Thunder Warriors on a fully conquered Terra was a mystery. Were they to keep hold of his territories, and ensure his will was obeyed to the letter on every corner of the planet? Or were they perhaps meant to…

Nour looked up at the ceiling, at the angels carved into the tops of the pillars.

As he stared at them, he noticed something. Each and every angel was pointing upwards, towards the center of the library's ceiling. There, a holographic map of the stars hovered in mid-air.

Nour stifled a shiver.

The Unification Wars were almost over, but perhaps all that meant was a greater crusade lay beyond the horizon.

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

A/N:

According to the Codex entries and Horus Heresy material, the Emperor's Children were the only Legion capable of working with non-enhanced members of the Imperial Army. All other Legions used 'lesser' troops as artillery or heavy equipment operators and little else.

At their inception, the Emperor's Children were unique in that they actually coordinated with standard humans on the battlefield, leading and giving tactical as well as strategic orders. The Antarctic Clearance, for example, is marked by Imperial historians as a victory achieved by Army Group Antilles, but detailed analysis of the conflict shows that it was the 3rd Legion who provided the tactical and strategic commands that allowed the campaign's successful completion. Similar examples are said to be littered throughout the Unification Wars, where the 3rd Legion leads standard Imperial forces to victory without taking center stage.

This natural ability to lead was ascribed to the unique upbringing of the 3rd Legion's initiates, whose tutelage in the Europa aristocracy provided them with many historical and modern examples of leadership within combat scenarios. This gave them the base knowledge to lead diverse armies composed of troops coming from very different cultural backgrounds.

The other Legions were unable to mimic this style of leadership, preferring to go into battle with only their battle brothers, leaving ordinary humans to support or menial roles.

This unique ability amongst all legions, the ability to relate and inspire the common man, was what eventually convinced the canon Emperor to allow the 3rd Legion to act as his aquilifers and equerries. They were the embodiment for his ideals for the new Legions that replaced the Legiones Cataegis (Thunder Warriors), and thusly favored greatly by the Emperor in canon.

The Emperor's Children keep these traits from canon, and it is this memory of noblesse oblige that kept Rylanor free from Slaanesh's taint.

They were meant to be leading the way for a better future for everyone.

They were meant to be the carrier of the Emperor's vision for a unified humanity.

They were meant to bear the Emperor's message for hope, honor, duty, and humanity.

This is what the Ancient of Rites stood for, as well as the countless other loyalists of the 3rd Legion who were slain by Fulgrim and his traitors upon Isstvan III.

Fulgrim betrayed this vision of what the Emperor's Children were. Not only did he turn his back on the Emperor, but he abandoned his duty, forsook the common boring man in his arrogance, and spent all his time in self-aggrandizing narcissism after falling to Slaanesh.

As a side note, the Emperor's Children did not gain their name after the Proximan Betrayal. They were given the Palatine Aquila for protecting the Emperor, but their name does come from the Europa nobility and how they gave their sons to the Emperor after they were humiliated by his 'Thunder Legions' (I really wish BL would use consistent names instead of allusions). "The Horus Heresy Book One - Betrayal" confirms this twice by mentioning the name's origins in the Europa nobility, and by stating that Fulgrim making the name "The Emperor's Children" official only reaffirmed the 3rd Legion's pre-existing title.

 

[Nidhog153]

- Nordyc Plains: 5 years before the Battle of the Red Frost -

"So… how much you think Old Sen's sermons are just a crock of shit?" The thick bearded Anders gave a smug smile. He always wore that smile when he wanted to goad one of the crew into a bad-faith debate.

"Shut it Anders." The commander ordered gruffly. "This tin can stinks bad enough without you opening your damn mouth."

The Rapid Heavy Infantry deployment and Nexus Operations vehicle, or RHINO for short, was pretty cramped for the 4 of us. There was me, Erik the techy, Harald our driver, Anders our gunner, and the old commander we called Chef (Short for Bataljonschef, or Battalion Commander).

The rear section relegated for troops was large enough to carry 10 half-man, half-machine monstrosities we called Troldfolk. However, all that extra troop transport space meant there was less for the RHINO's crew.

"But don't you think it's strange, Chef ?" Anders continued. "How's the cycle of rot and rebirth not part of the strand of change? Look at the hard-bread in our ration packs. Stuffs gone through plenty change with all that mold on it."

"I said shut it Anders." The commander repeated his order. "We lost contact with the mechanized infantry after they reported contact 3 days ago. I don't need you to add to my headaches. Erik, what's the sensor dish say on this old biddy?"

I took a look down at the various readouts and screens from the RHINO's cogitators. The only thing I could see were the frigid Nordyc plains and other vehicles like ours kicking up white ash with their treads.

"Nothing so far, Chef . Just us and the other transports." I reported.

"Shit." The Chef swore. "We just crossed the tertiary defense line. They should be here."

"Maybe they took that old diddy the great 'Tyrant-Prophet of Maulland Sen' likes to blather on about to heart and waltzed on out of here. You know? The one about the necessity of change, but to remember the cyclical nature of the universe…" Anders pantomimed the hand gestures of the Priest King mockingly, wiggling his fingers and pretending to throw off sparks.

"Do we keep on going forward, Chef ?" Harald asked, ignoring Anders.

"Keep us at cruising speed." The Chef said. "We can't go back until we know what happened to them."

We kept on moving forwards with the other RHINOs, kicking up more dust and toxic crystals as we went.

The Nordyc plains were a frigid wasteland covered by white ash and poison. Mutants and murderous machines wandered these wastelands, tearing apart anything they got their talons, tentacles, or vivisecting scalpels into. The Priest-King Maulland Sen, also known as the Tyrant-Prophet ruled these lands, providing so-called divine prophecies predicting the future for his people.

"For all the talk of great prophecy and destiny, Old Sen sure hasn't made much way with the rotting Albians has he?" Anders chuckled. "400 years, so they say, but the good'ol prophet's got no answers when it comes to them."

A sigh left my lips as I tried to drown out Ander's blathering with my own thoughts.

Faith in Maulland Sen might have been great once, but it had waned over the years. It all went well in the beginning, while the Priest-King unified the scattered techno-barbarian tribes under his rule. People flocked to him when he could predict when the ion storms would hit, and where to set up their lightning rods to gather power from the sky. He gained many acolytes when he shared the inner workings of his gods, but the once mighty religion of Maulland Sen was now mostly a formality. 300 years of fruitless fighting against the Albian steam-walkers, and dwindling rewards from the raids Maulland Sen himself planned had slowly bled the faith out of his people.

"Slave girls cost 3 months pay now, 'cuz the raids don't work no-more." Anders continued his grumblings. "Quality's gone down too. Albian girls, 'specially the high-born ones, were a treat."

"The priests need the slaves we have for their rituals." The Chef pushed back. "We need more mind-mutants to make sure we keep pressuring the Albian forces. If they start crossing our borders enmasse, we'll have no way to stop them."

"Let them cross." Anders shrugged. "There's nothing out here for them to take. Just ash and storms. They'd be wasting their time searching for us."

"That's the reason we can't let them cross." The Chef retorted grimly. "There's nothing to slow them down, besides the weather. If they get serious enough to make a concerted push, they'd reach our border cities within weeks."

Anders laughed, as if the Chef had just told a joke. "Albians getting serious? They can't stop squabbling over who rules who. Even if they did, they can't just ignore the Francs and Jermans. All they'll manage are those petty revenge attacks they do from time to time."

*BEEP

One of my screens began to flash, and IFF (Identification Friend or Foe) tags began to appear on the map in front of me.

"Chef, I think we've found our guys, and some friends."

"Status?" The Chef asked, scrunching himself down in the cramped cabin to look at the screens over my shoulder.

"I've got about 50,000 enemy infantry in a half-envelopment by our mechanized infantry." I reported. "They've got our backs to us, but I can't tell who's winning."

The Chef grimaced, then pulled himself back to his seat and pulled out a pair of magnoculars from under his seat.

"I'll take a visual." He said as he squeezed his way past the gunner's seat. "Get out of the way Anders."

Anders leaned out of the way as he checked the sights on the two heavy stubber turrets that were attached to the roof of the RHINO. His flippant lips were drawn together in a grim line as he switched his attention from his turrets to the forward mounted snub-nosed cannon that took up half of the front hull.

The Chef squeezed past him and opened the roof hatch. His hood and gas mask straps ruffled in the wind as he peered through the magnoculars. Finally, he retreated back into the RHINO and shut the hatch.

"How was it Chef ?" Harald asked.

"Not good." The Chef shook his head. "I didn't see any sparks or flames from our side. Mind-mutants must be spent or dead. Enemy doesn't seem to be tired out either. If things go on, they're gonna grind us down."

There was a grim silence as we gave the Chef time to think of what to do next.

"Call the other RHINOs." The Chef finally said. "We're going to charge their exposed rear, and dump the Troldfolk on them. The disruption should let our infantry break away from the enemy."

We all said our Ayes, and I got on the radio to relay his commands to the rest of the troop transports.

Harald brought the RHINO to top speed, and the engine roared as we all charged towards the exposed back of our enemy.

They were all covered in a yellowish-beige or bronze colored armor with an eagle head and two thunderbolts engraved on their pauldrons.

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

"Primarch Ushotan, the enemy approaches."

The primarch of the Thunder Warriors, officially known as the Legiones Cataegis, turned his head to the side, and observed the charging troop transports approaching them from the 'front' of his legion.

"Then they have taken the bait." He responded with a voice mangled by strained vocal cords and interrupted by static from the vox unit built into his rebreather. "Make sure the rearmost line keeps up their charade until they've gotten too close to pull back."

Ushotan turned back to the 'rear' of his legion engaging the men in power armor. They were from one of the Nordyc mechanized infantry battalions. Their duty was to defend the outermost cities of the savage Nordyc kingdom built by the Priest King.

The Nordyc men of the first rank fought against the Thunder Warriors with the desperation of men on death's door. The others behind them stood utterly still, occasionally raising an arm as their slaved power armor moved according to pre-programmed commands. Frozen blood clogged the holes in their torsos, and their locked leg servos kept them standing upright.

Ushotan watched boredly as his Cataegis raised their un-revved chain blades, and pretended to parry and miss as they engaged the Nordyc troops in melee. Then his ears perked as he heard the sound of roaring treads growing louder.

"CATAEGIS!" His voice boomed, drowning out the sound of the approaching RHINOs. "FIRST RANK! ABOUT TURN!"

The Thunder Warriors who had their backs turned towards the RHINOs turned around in unison, staring into the growing headlights of the RHINOs. Heavy stubber fire started to pepper their armor, sending up sparks as they bounced off of their ceramite armor.

"FIRST RANK! CHARGE!" Ushotan ordered, and the ground shook as the Thunder Warriors ran towards the RHINOs with roaring chain blades.

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

"Oh shit!" Harald exclaimed as the armored giants began counter-charging them.

"Heavy stubbers are bouncing off of them! Permission to switch to the cannon!" Anders yelled.

"Granted! Use the melta-shells!" The Chef shouted back.

Anders stretched behind him and unlocked the ammo compartment. Swiftly, he slid a shell the size of a small boulder out of its storage container, and into the loader near the rear.

"Contact in 30 seconds!" Harald shouted out. "Do we evade?!"

"Run the bastard over!" The Chef ordered. "We need to get close enough to the enemy's main force or the Troldfolk will just tear each other to bits!"

"Got it!" Harald gunned the engines, and turned the RHINO towards one of the armored giants. He aimed the vehicle so the treads would crush the enemy as they passed, otherwise the front mounted cannon might be damaged in the impact with the enemy's armor.

I watched the giant grow larger as we approached. He wasn't stopping, or slowing to evade.

'Gene-monsters…' I snorted as I thought to myself. They were all brainless brutes that ran in like animals.

Suddenly, the giant stopped. He skidded across the ashy wastes, letting his remaining momentum bleed off, then kneeled on one knee as he punched one of his arms into the ground.

A chill went through me. That wasn't the action of a rabid animal. What that motion meant, I had no idea, but the thing in front of us wasn't blind with rage or pain. It acted in the way it did because it thought it could win this game of chicken with the RHINO.

The RHINO's right tread ran into the giant, and the entire vehicle tilted sideways.

The seat belt cut into my chest as the RHINO ran up the giant's arm like a slope, lifting half of it into the air. Then I saw a blur on the side camera screen, and something slammed into the bottom of the RHINO. The entire vehicle flipped on its side, and skidded across the ground. Sparks and the sound of screaming metal blinded and deafened us, as we were thrown around like cheap plastic in a snowglobe.

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

Ushotan watched his Cataegis flip the enemy RHINOs on their sides one by one. Each one of them could tear through ceramite a centimeter thick with their bare hands. Supporting an entire tank on one shoulder was well within what they could do.

"The Nordyc infantry has done its job well." He said to the Thunder Warrior beside him as the last RHINO was flipped over. "Give them the Emperor's mercy."

The sound of revving chainswords came from behind him, followed by blood curdling screams, and the splash of spilled blood.

"SECOND RANK!" Ushotan shouted out. "PREPARE BOLTERS!"

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

"Aghhh! AHHHHHH!"

The sound of Harald screaming brought me back to consciousness. I looked around and saw Anders and the Chef shaking their heads and coming to. Harald was already awake, but not for his benefit. Several support beams from the screen racks, and what looked like a drive axle had impaled his left leg.

"Oh shit… OH SHIT!" Anders shouted. "Live melta-shell in the cabin!"

I looked up, and saw the shell Anders had been trying to load into the cannon bent and jammed near the roof hatch.

"Calm the fuck down!" The Chef yelled. "Anders, pull out the melta-charge and get it away from the contact fuses in the shell! We can't get out until it's made safe! Erik, try and get Harald free!"

"Aye sir!" I crawled around in the ruined cabin, and found the toolkit bolted onto the cabin wall. I pulled out a small circular saw, and a length of insulated electric cable.

"Bite down on this. You'll crack your teeth otherwise." I put the thick plastic coated cable in between Harald's teeth, and revved up the saw. His screams were muffled as I began to cut the metal metal pinning him in place.

*VRRRRRRRR!

Sparks shot into the cabin as a chainsaw blade cut through the floor plates, and my right hand.

"Agggghhhhhhh!" I screamed, falling back from the motorized blade swinging back and forth. The motion reminded me of a knife jammed into a ration can, twisting and turning to cut a hole wide enough to get at the insides.

"I got it!" Anders shouted as he pulled a bronze cylinder with rounded ends attached to wires and circuitry.

"Erik! Grab the radio and get out!" The Chef yelled as he kicked open the hatch.

I turned back to Harald, who was staring up at us with tear filled eyes. His gagged mouth mumbled something as he shook his head. I grit my teeth. There was no way to save him now. When the flailing chain blade was pulled back, I lunged forward, snatching. the portable radio hanging next to Harald. There was the groan of bending metal as armored fingers began to peel the floor plates back like the top of a tin can.

Turning back to the hatch, I began to crawl my way out, only to have Harald grab my leg.

"Let go!" I turned to shake him loose, only to see a giant armored hand reach in through the hole carved into the RHINO's stomach and grab him. It pulled him out of the RHINO with the wet pop of cartilage, leaving the pinned leg; torn from its socket. Muffled screaming came through the hole Harald had been pulled out of, only ending with an eggshell crack, and a heavy thump.

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" I yelled as I scrambled out of the hatch, following Anders and the Chef.

Outside, there were blurs of bronze and beige as giants tore apart both men and the Troldfolk that had been shaken free from the RHINOs. Each Troldfolk was a knobbly mass of black metal and pink flesh. The ones climbing out of our RHINO had whirring buzzsaws extending from their trunk like arms. Others had their limbs replaced by writhing masses of sparking tentacles, crushing claws, or spike hammers connected to overpressurized pistons.

The Troldfolk groaned like dying diesel motors as the metal supports that replaced their bones ground against each other within their flesh. Then the pain-amplifiers buried in their brains activated, sending visible sparks out of their skulls. Blind with rage and pain, they roared and swiped at anything that moved around them.

"Erik! Fucking run!" The Chef cried out, already several meters away from the wreckage of the RHINO with Anders.

I followed them, stumbling over myself as the ground shook as giant monstrosities tore at each other.

There was the scream of thousands of blades cutting through metal, followed by the splatter of meat and blood as buzzsaws and chain blades struck past each other.

"Erik! Duck!" The Chef screamed, and I dove into the ashy ground. A shadow passed over me, followed by a mighty wind as the thick arm of a Troldfolk flew over my head like a thrown javelin.

"Get up!" The Chef ordered again, and I followed his words blindly. The roars of more Troldfolk came behind me, but their number dwindled as I heard the sound of a chain blade dopplering from high pitch to low as it swung.

"Give me the radio!" The Chef shouted as he snatched it from me. "This is Bataljonschef Boden!" He shouted into it as he turned and continued running away from the flipped RHINOs and fighting giants. "All units, f-"

There was a bang, and my vision went red as something splattered onto my face. The smell of iron filled my lungs. I wiped my face on my sleeve, and it was only then I realized I'd been knocked to the ground. The world was strangely quiet, with the only noise being the high pitched ringing in my ears.

Anders was next to me, shaking his head. Ropy strings of meat were stuck to his beard and hair. He too seemed stunned, too stupified but what was going on to even realize he still held the melta-charge and contact fuse in his hands.

I shook my head, trying to shake off the daze I realized I was in. My eyes looked back to where the Chef had been in front of me, only to find his bottom half still standing.

Blood spurted out of it like a broken drinking fountain. Knees were locked in position, still not realizing the brain that had given the order had been turned into a pink mist.

There was another series of booms, and I saw flashes of red and yellow explosions across the field.

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

Ushotan's scarred lips smiled as he saw the last of the enemy's officers blown apart by Bolter shells. His Cataegis fired at anyone who seemed to be trying to give orders, turning anyone who reached for a radio, or who attracted the eyes of their fellow soldiers into gory effigies.

The primarch of the Thunder Warriors drew in a massive breath to give the final order he could give his men.

"CATAEGIS!" His voice bombed with the same volume as their namesake. "CHARGE!"

All 10 legions of Thunder Warriors ran stampeded forwards. The earth shook under their feet, and the ash on the ground was kicked up and churned into a thick choking toxic fog behind them.

Ushotan pulled his own chain blade free from his hip. The enemy could no longer out think them, or out run them. There would be no tricks or tactics to interfere with their work.

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

I sat there, stunned, unmoving even as the Chef's remaining knees and legs crumpled to the ground.

Anders screamed, then started running off in a random direction.

I felt the ground shake, like a minor earthquake. My eyes turned back to where the enemy had been only to see a wave of bronze giants thundering forwards with a gray cloud at their backs.

"Shit!" I scrambled to my knees, shaken out of my stupor by the sight of the stampeding giants approaching.

There was another scream, and Anders came running back. Behind him, was a bronze giant covered in blood. There were several cuts and dents in the giant's armor where a Troldfolk buzzsaw had nicked him, but that gave me no hope.

There had been ten Troldfolk within our RHINO. Even if only half had survived the crash, this giant had dispatched them all without losing his life or any of his limbs.

The giant followed Anders slowly, but each step was three or four times the length of a normal man. I could see the dust swirl in eddies around him, pulled into miniature tornadoes as his titanic frame tore through the air.

Anders suddenly fell, tripped by his own two feet, most likely numb with fear.

If this were a holo-film, I would have laughed derisively at Ander's idiocy. But, I could find no fault in him. Here I was, frozen stiff with fear, unable to do anything but watch as the bronze giant drew closer.

Ander tried to crawl forwards, unable to stand. The giant, having reached Anders, shoved an armored toe under his stomach and flipped him over onto his back.

I swallowed as I watched the giant lift up his chain blade, and aim it at Ander's head. This giant wanted to witness the kill. He wanted to stare into Ander's eyes as the serrated teeth of the chain blade tore through Ander's skull.

There was a blinding flash, and I heard the distinct roar of a melta-charge going off. Both Anders and the giant disappeared in a ball of superheated violet plasma.

Then there was only a blackened glassy crater where both of them had been.

I let go of the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, hyperventilating as the paralyzing fear finally broke with the disappearance of the giant.

I had to run. There were more of those things coming after us. I had to run and call for help. Maulland Sen needed to send all his forces from his central castle to stymie this invasion. These were not the Ironsides of the Albians. Who these giants belonged to I had no idea, but there was no mercy nor forgiveness in their heart. These things were too brutal, too hateful, too-

There was a massive thump as something landed in front of me. As the dust settled, I saw blackened bronze armor moving.

The top half of the giant had survived the melta-explosion, and he was still alive.

I froze with fear, hoping it had been some trick of the light.

Then the giant dragged his torso forwards.

I hoped that this was some reflex, some last spurt of a dying creature unable to understand what had happened to it.

A soldier from a different RHINO ran past, blinded with fear and adrenaline. The giant caught the man as he ran, and tore him apart like a rag doll. Arms and legs came off as if they were held together by tissue paper instead of tendons. The head burst like a grape between the giant's fingers.

Then the giant turned his blood stained face towards me.

I screamed and ran. It didn't matter where. So long as I could get as much distance between me and that thing I didn't care.

Something struck me in the small of the back. I heard the crack breaking bones, and my legs went both limp and numb.

The scraping of half-melted armor came from behind me as the giant crawled towards me.

Sobbing, I did the same, inching forwards on my elbows as I tried to get away.

A massive hand grabbed me by the shoulder and flipped me over. The giant crawled onto me, crushing my stomach with its weight as he tore off his rebreather, revealing thick white teeth.

He was going to bite down on me. Like a wolf, he would chew through my face and skull.

Then the giant fell. His massive chest squeezed the air out of lungs, and his head slammed into the ashy ground as it went limp.

I lay there, taking in short pants of air with what little lung capacity I had left.

The giant had finally died, but his corpse pinned me to the ground. The footfalls of the other giants shook the ground, sending up puffs of ash around me with every step. I could not run, but there might be the one way for me to survive.

I held my breath as the shaking of the ground grew, and closed my eyes as the stampede of giants passed around me.

Covered by the dead giant, I hid in plain sight as just another corpse.

But it did not last.

I couldn't breathe. The giant's corpse was squeezing the air out of my lungs, choking me to death with his weight. My chest burned as I prayed to Maulland Sen to save me. I was never truly into the faith. None of us border city dwellers were, but as I lay there I prayed to Maulland Sen and the gods he spoke of.

Suddenly the giant corpse was lifted off of me, and my rebreather squeaked noisly as I sucked in air through its many filters. My tear filled eyes only showed may a blotchy shape standing above me. I blinked them away as best as I could, and screamed.

A bronze giant stood over me, holding the corpse of his brethren in one hand.

I could only sit there, shivering uncontrollably, as the giant watched me.

"Do you renounce your faith?" The giant's voice was monotone and filled with static, sounding more like a broken machine than a man.

I nodded as hard as I could, despite having been deep in prayer moments ago.

"Do you wish to be our friend?"

Once again I nodded.

"Good."

The giant leaned down, and grabbed me by the throat. What little air I had left was squeezed out of me, and the world turned dark.

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

I woke up stripped naked and on white bed sheets. A figure in white robes finished tying bandages around the stump of my wrist with metal tendrils, then pulled away. The beep-beep of a heart monitor attached to my chest was the only sound in the room.

I was in a sterile room with an air filtration unit, most likely some sort of prefabricated field hospital.

I didn't recognize the make. It must belong to the giants, making me a prisoner of war.

I let out a breath I didn't know I had been holding, relieved to be alive.

There was the woosh of air jets, and the door to the pre-fabricated structure opened. One of the giants stepped out of an air-lock style entrance chamber and approached me.

"So, you wish to be our friend." The giant's voice was hoarse to the point that listening to it made my throat hurt.

I nodded in response.

"Then, will you agree to tell your people what happened here, and of the error of your ways?" The giant was now at my bedside, looming over me.

Dumbly I nodded again. Whatever would get this monster away from me, I would do.

"Good." The giant smiled, and cold sweat began to leak out of every pore. I heard the heart monitor beeping rapidly, exposing the fear in my heart.

"Medicae!" The giant called, and the white-robed figure clattered into view. I heard the click clack of several dozen pointed legs on metal, and noticed that the robed figure did not bob with every step, but seemed to float across the floor.

"Gag this man." The giant ordered, and the white-robed figure pounced on me like a praying mantis. I saw under its hood as it moved. Glassy cameras had replaced the creature's eyes, and metal mandibles were in the place of its mouth. It shoved something into my mouth with pointed claw like fingers, and metal tentacles restrained my arms and shoulders.

"Implant a saline and nutrient pack into him." The giant ordered. "It will be several days march to the closest raider city, and we want our new friend and messenger to be hydrated and loud of voice when we get there."

I heard the whir of saws and needles as the metal tentacles descended upon me to carry out the giant's orders.

"You shall renounce the evils of your ways when we get to your city, and skin you alive before them." The giant chuckled, then stared into my eyes. "Your eyes seem to be saying something, but it is too late my new friend." The giant smiled. "Thunder only comes after the lightning has struck. When we march, you are all already dead."

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

A/N: Believe me, the only reason the Thunder Warriors are this barbaric is because the campaign in the Nordyc against Maulland Sen was just that bad.

Valdor recounts in "Birth of the Imperium" that the Thunder Warrior's demonstrated their greatest weakness during this campaign, namely their uncompromising nature. Redeemable civilians, and slaves taken against their will were all slaughtered by the Thunder Warriors. Ushotan himself was at the forefront, laughing even with his arm broken and helmet gone as the killing went unstopped.

They were unable to be deployed with normal human troops due to their violent nature, and the fact that any one of them could simply die due to genetic defect gave them a cavalier attitude that ignored all risks.

They are often portrayed as the victims of the Emperor, but the truth is that they were thinking monsters who enjoyed killing everyone they could. That was the purpose they believed had been given to them by the Emperor, and this philosophy mixed with a twisted faith is why they were sentenced to their decommissioning at Mt. Ararat.

The Battle of the Red Frost is the final battle of the Nordyc campaign, and took place in the Warp corrupted castle of Maulland Sen.

 

[Nidhog153]

View: https://youtu.be/UkNM7kiJ-tA?si=l-_osdYrW-o5PAbt
An audiobook version of the first half of the first chapter is out on YouTube! Check it out!

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N: Apologies, but my computer broke so I couldn't post for two weeks.

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

Neoth stepped off the ramp of the auramite-plated Stormbird. Valdor, and two of the Legio Custodes accompanied him down the ramp. They had landed in the middle of a desert, far from the Imperial Palace or any other human habitation for that matter. Before him were representatives of the Legiones Cataegis. Not all of them were here, but the primarchs of each of the 20 Legiones were there to represent them. Arik Taranis, their leader, was at the forefront of all the Cataegis.

His newest creations were also present, albeit in far fewer numbers. Only those in the upper ranks of each Legion were here, lined up in rows of 4 rows of 10 or 12. They were a multicolored series of armored soldiers standing to attention, facing the yellowish-beige or bronze armored maniples of Cataegis who simply stood straight.

Neoth walked in between them, his 20 new Legions on the right, and his 20 older Legiones on his left.

The Captain-General turned as they walked, locking eyes with one specific Thunder Warrior.

'Ushotan.' Neoth remembered the man Valdor had noticed. The Cataegis primus of the 4th Legiones, the 'Iron Lords', had been brought up several times by Valdor when debating what to do with the Thunder Warriors in general.

"He was like the ghost of all murders." Valdor stated at the time, brow furrowed as he described what he saw.

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

The Battle of the Red Frost, the final battle against the Priest-King and Tyrant-Prophet Maulland Sen, was a siege where the Legiones Cataegis and the Imperial Army were deployed in unison. They had both participated in the Nordyc campaign, but until then the Imperial Army could only follow the trail of death and destruction the Cataegis left behind.

The unaugmented human troops were led by the Emperor and his Legio Custodes, in order to ensure morale remained high under the grueling conditions. The 4th Legiones of the Legiones Cataegis were led by Ushotan.

At the last castle of Maulland Sen, red snow fell from a sky filled with purple clouds. This final bastion of the Priest-King was built into a mountain. Sickly green light could be seen rising out from behind the walls, even from a distance. The pitch black walls were embellished with artistic yet cruel geometry. Bladed curves and crystalline spikes covered every surface, and made the normal troops of the Imperial Army shiver just by looking at them. It was as if they could feel a ghostly razor touching their skin, raising it into gooseflesh as they imagined what it would be like to slide their hands or face against those sadistic surfaces.

Various flame weapons lined the battlements, and when the siege began, black and purple fire melted the surrounding ice. The meltwater flowed down the rocks, turning gray and thick as it ran. It became a waist deep sludge that swarmed over the Imperium's armies. The filthy water found its way through airtight gaskets and armored seals, short circuiting the electronics and stalling the engines of the Imperium's tanks and other vehicles.

In the end, only the Imperium's infantry was left combat ready. Yet, the Emperor ordered his unenhanced forces to continue on. To retreat now would expose them to a counter-attack, and with their vehicles incapacitated, the only thing they would be retreating to was a cold starving death in the freezing Nordyc wastelands.

The Thunder Warriors needed no such encouragement. They stomped over the gray sludge, bolters and chain blades in hand.

When the battle began in earnest, tentacled and beaked mutants wriggled out of the castle gates, swallowing men whole or setting them ablaze with azure flames.

Mechanical monstrosities covered in chains and spikes used entombed psykers to paralyze the unenhanced men and women of the Imperial Army with agonizing hallucinations and mirages.

Lopsided cannibal cultists, covered in stitches with extra arms, legs and heads dragged off the men and women disoriented by the machines. They hoisted those they captured on hooked standards so their compatriots could watch them being torn apart. A cruel and vicious attempt to break the morale of the Emperor's troops.

But worst of all were the whispers that would not stop. Endless chattering filled every ear. The meaningless noise gradually began to make a horrific sense the longer one listened to it. Blood began to flow out of ears and eyes. Madness took over any who strayed too far from the physical presence of the Emperor or his Custodes.

In that Chaos, it was the Thunder Warriors who broke through the enemy lines. They were immune to the whispers that waylaid the unenhanced troops of the Imperium, as well as many of the other mirages and hallucinations sent their way. Instead, every moment they spent exposed to the madness simply made them more ferocious, as if it were fueling their thirst for blood and violence.

After nearly a day of ceaseless fighting, the enemy focussed their forces to punch through the weakening Imperial Army lines. Conversely, their own ranks thinned where the Imperium was strongest.

Strategically it was the right thing to do. Breaking the siege encirclement would allow Maulland Sen's forces to sandwich the Imperium's forces against the castle walls. However, during this brief moment of reorganization, the Thunder Warriors broke through the enemy defenders. They reached the bare walls of the castle, and blew holes in it with explosives. Then, they flooded into the castle and began slaughtering everyone they could reach.

Kidnapped slaves. Ignorant servants. Blind citizens. Coerced workers.

It did not matter.

They killed them and the priests who controlled the monsters defending the city, causing the enemy formations to fall apart.

Free from the psychic controls of Maulland Sen's priests, their monsters either collapsed or struck out at their own troops in their madness.

The cruel machines lost all inhibition, injecting pain stimulants into their entombed psykers until the mind-mutants unleashed psychic screams that tore themselves and the torturous machines apart, tearing holes in their own lines.

The zealots of the Priest King charged into the Imperium's gunlines without covering fire, and were gunned down by the men and women who had weathered the assault of the Tyrant Prophet.

Yet, even though the battle was won, the killing would not stop.

Constantin Valdor entered the ruined castle while the Emperor stayed with his remaining troops, shielding their minds and buttressing their morale with his presence.

There, he saw the surviving Thunder Warriors butchering everything in sight, chasing after screaming women and crying children with the same vigor that they hounded the surviving priests and cultists of Maulland Sen.

In the middle of it all was Ushotan. His head was held back as laughter spilled from his lips into the sky. Cataegis, cultists, and civilian corpses lay around his feet. His broadsword, surrounded in crackling crimson plasma, dangled limply from his broken arm. Innocent and guilty blood spattered his armor and exposed face, for his helmet had been torn off his head.

The primarch of the 4th Legiones looked at Valdor, grinning from ear to ear, twisting the scars on his face.

"I understand…" He said to the Captain-General, as the red snow falling around them was replaced with ordinary white ice crystals. "For the first time, I understand why the Emperor made me." The primarch let out one final choking guttural laugh as the purple clouds above them began to dissipate. Then the Thunder Warrior became deathly silent as he turned to face Valdor.

"You wouldn't understand." Ushotan said softly to the silent Valdor. "You will never feel the same as I do." He hissed.

Valdor made no reply. He simply scanned his surroundings, and began to march past the primarch. Maulland Sen's corpse was not here, and the battle would not end while the Priest-King kept his head.

The Captain-General didn't bother trying to order the Thunder Warriors. They had already shown him how they treated his orders. He would only be wasting time and air.

Ushotan snorted as the Custodes ignored him. "I pity you, Captain-General." He said to Valdor's back.

Several hours later, Valdor returned from the depths of the castle with Maulland Sen's head. The Captain-General's announcement of the Imperium's victory was made to the tired and terrified troops outside the castle, as well as the corpses inside the walls being buried by pure white snow.

The Thunder Warriors had already left, leaving for the next battle, the next slaughter.

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

Constantin Valdor had always been the most cautious amongst the Emperor's inner circle regarding genecraft. His interactions with the Thunder Warriors only added to his long list of reasons to avoid using that particular branch of technology. Thus, discussions of what to do with the Legiones Cataegis, and the Emperor's other projects often ended up as debating matches between the Captain-General and the Sigillite.

Astarte didn't bother joining those discussions. She was too busy thinking of how to make and perfect her future creations. The usage of genecraft was a foregone conclusion in her mind, so she didn't bother with the questions that usually came before implementation.

Erda also kept her silence, but her silence was closer to that of the Emperor's. It was as if the two of them already knew the answer to the question at hand, but were waiting for the Captain-General and Imperial Regent to put it into words.

"We have an army of bombs that think." Valdor said to Malcador once he returned to the Sanctum Imperialis with the Emperor from the Nordyc campaign. "They act without guilt because of that. A bomb does not care who or what it kills. It only goes to its target and kills everything it can in its blast radius. That is what they think themselves to be. They have convinced themselves that killing is all they can do, and it is all they are good for."

"They act exactly as we have designed them." Malcador replied. "All of the physical capabilities of a Custodes in a mass-producible and obedient form."

"They do not obey orders." Valdor responded, pointing out the part of Malcador's statement that he felt was wrong.

"They do not obey complicated orders." Malcador corrected. "Further refinement and modification will be necessary for future generations, but for the foes we face on Terra the Legiones Cataegis will be enough."

"And what do we do with them once the next generation is ready to serve?" Valdor asked slowly. "What does a thinking bomb do when it has nothing left to destroy?"

Malcador sighed, admitting without words that Valdor had scored a point against him. The Thunder Warriors could not live in a time of peace. They were all children of techno-barbarians; both friend and foe. Violence was all they knew, before and after their conscription into the Legiones Cataegis. Techno-barbarians were not the most nurturing parents, after all.

'Might makes right' was the only way they understood the world, and the only way they had stayed alive.

There was also the nihilism that pervaded their ranks. Their enhancements, scientific and metaphysical, resulted in many deaths and mutations. Sometimes it resulted in them keeling over, with no discernible cause of death. Other times it was more obvious, as their bodies exploded from the internal pressure built up by countless tumors or in-fighting organs.

This constant reminder that they were on death's door made them more cavalier. It did not matter if they lived or died. They were all on borrowed time already, and there is nothing a dead man has to fear. No danger, no punishment, no pain would stop them.

These mental and physical traits meant that there was no rest for them in a world without war. Civilian life was out of the question. They could kill ordinary humans just by running into them. Their aggressive temperament made fights or brawls an inevitability. Their lack of care for punishment or reprimand made them unrepentant. People would die around them, and such incidents would sully the image of all future generations of genecrafted soldiers.

After a few moments, Malcador opened his mouth again. "What does any army do with spare ammunition reaching its expiration date?" He asked rhetorically. "Use it up, or destroy it." The Sigilite answered his own question. "It would be a mercy for them. Better to let them die a legend, than live on and be treated like monsters."

"And the ones who come after? What of them?" Valdor questioned Malcador as the Emperor watched the both of them. "How will we avoid replicating the same problems we have with the Cataegis? They too will be weapons in a war that will be far more complicated than anything we have experienced here."

"Do not worry." Malcador smiled. "Unlike the Cataegis, you will not be the one responsible for them."

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

The Captain-General and the primarch of the 4th Legiones broke eye contact as Neoth and his Custodes walked past him.

'There is no convincing them as the Emperor.' Neoth thought to himself, feeling the minds and emotions of the Cataegis staring at him.

They neither hated nor feared him. All he felt from them was a bitter resentment.

He already knew their arguments against him, and he also knew no words could make things right between them.

'I will need to show them why I made them.' Neoth sighed internally. 'They think I need weapons. They think I am just another tyrant.'

The God of Heroes grimaced internally as he saw what was to come.

'I will need to show them…' Neoth thought to himself as he came to a stop in the center of his Legions and Legiones. He felt all those before him growing smaller, less significant as he allowed his mindset to shift from mortal man to divine being. 'They will need to learn of the arrogance of believing they understand me, and the error of their ways.'

God is not understood. God is not questioned. God is obeyed.

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

Ushotan watched his maker walk past, coming to a stop in front of Arik Taranis; the leader of the Legiones Cataegis. Behind his maker were smaller versions of Ushotan and his fellow Cataegis. However, unlike the Cataegis who stood in loosely formed rectangles, these new soldiers stood in propper rank and held themselves in the same manner as ordinary Imperial Army soldiers.

'Like tin soldiers out of a mold.' Ushotan thought to himself. This was the first time he had seen them personally, but he had heard from the other Cataegis primarchs of smaller gene-enhanced soldiers fighting on the outskirts of their battles. Some had the noticeable stiffness of vat-grown clones. Their movements were compartmentalized; completing one action fully before moving to the next instead of flowing between the two like a normal person's would.

Ushotan grimaced. To see them at his maker's back while the Cataegis were before him was nauseous. The positioning reminded him of how the Imperial Iterators conducted their speeches. Those blabber mouths would stand before an ignorant crowd, with the symbols of the Imperium at their back. In this situation, it was the Cataegis who were being talked down to by the Emperor, and these new soldiers were the representation of the Imperium.

Hate coursed through Ushotan's mind as he glared past the Emperor at the men in multi-colored power armor..

'We are the ones who built this Imperium.' The thought echoed in his mind bitterly.

The Raptor Imperialis was their symbol, and it was their name that was inscribed in the Imperial records as the bringers of unity to Terra.

'That is our place.' Ushotan growled to himself in his mind.

It was they who should be at the Emperor's back, not them.

Ushotan turned his head away from them, focussing on the Emperor instead.

The Emperor was his maker. It might have been that ancient hag and her technicians who had pressed the buttons and conducted the surgeries that transformed his body, however, he knew it was the Emperor that gave them the instructions on how to do so. He has seen Astarte's previous work. Many had been slain by his and his fellow Cataegis's hands in the training grounds where they were tested. They were something else entirely compared to those things.

But that was not the only part of their creation the Emperor was involved in. That was not the true reason he called him his maker.

His maker was a tyrant like no other.

He was strong.

He was cunning.

He was ruthless.

And, most importantly, he was beautiful.

Ushotan had no expectations for humanity. He had seen too many of the worst of them during the Unification Wars. Many times he had seen techno-barbarian bands and cultists flock around leaders who only had their looks and sweet words.

He smiled to himself, remembering those fools and miscreants scattering like ants when he tore their 'divine' leader's spine out of their body.

'Beauty as a virtue is an instinct of man.' Ushotan thought to himself idly as he waited for the Emperor to reveal why he had gathered them here.

His Emperor took his physical and ideological beauty further than the average charismatic charlatan. He used his words and looks to form attractive propaganda. Children played with paper armor molded to mimic the one he and his fellow Cataegis wore. They imitated the most vicious mass murdering monsters made by the Imperium as heroes, and their parents let them.

Truly, his tyrant had no equal when it came to controlling those under him.

That was why the Emperor was the maker of the Legiones Cataegis.

'So why?' Ushotan felt the rage he felt at their shaming at Albia bubble up again. 'Why do you tolerate them?'

By 'them' he meant all those who stood in the Emperor's way.

The lords from Albia were the worst offenders. Ushotan still remembered the almost blinding anger he felt when he and the rest of the Cataegis were forced to kneel before those fat, bearded lords. To see his maker standing by them side-by-side, as if he were an equal to them, made his arms and legs shake with shame.

Those were the most egregious and unforgivable of them. Yet, even the oldest of allies were at fault. The greedy Yndonesic bloc, and the arrogant Achaemenid Empire were no longer as cooperative as they once were almost 600 years ago.

There were precious few Cataegis still alive from that time. Only Arik Taranis, most of the primarchs, and the odd soldier here and there remembered those early days of the Imperium.

'They debated whether we should have an eagle and thunderbolts as our insignia.' Ushotan mused to himself. 'Some thought it wasn't fitting, that it sent the wrong message… Fools.'

"CATAEGIS!" Arik Taranis's voice boomed. "SALUTATIO MILITARIS!"

'They thought this Imperium was meant to build something.' Ushotan thought to himself as he saluted the Emperor with his brothers. 'That the Imperium was meant to recover and restore this blasted planet. They said an eagle only builds its own eerie, and that storms only bring destruction.'

He laughed silently as he watched the Emperor. 'The Emperor made no mistake with his insignia.'

That was why he made them this way. That was why he killed the weak and unworthy for the Emperor.

And that was why the Emperor's recent actions angered him and his fellow Cataegis.

'You made us.' Ushotan thought as his eyes fixated on the Emperor's chiseled features. 'Use us.'

Empires can only exist when there are wars to win, lands to take, and endless expansion to distract the populace. How else would one unify a single polity composed of so many different parts? Class. Culture. Race. Creed. The Imperium had not eliminated those divisions. It only focussed their efforts on their shared enemies.

Thus, the day the Imperium ran out of enemies was the day it would start to die. It would cannibalize itself, just like the organs of the Thunder Warriors themselves.

'Use us.' Ushotan willed towards the Emperor. 'If there are no more enemies, we will make them for you. Rebels, dissidents, guerrillas, it will not matter. We will crush them endlessly, keeping the impossible goal of unity on this planet alive and well for eternity.'

Ushotan watched the Emperor open his mouth…

"The Unification Wars are over."

With those words, Ushotan's world broke.

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

Rylanor watched the Legiones Cataegis all freeze at once, then begin to tremble. He could see the millimeter vibrations rumbling across them, as they struggled to remain frozen in the saluting position.

"Unity has not yet been achieved." The Emperor continued, and Rylanor saw some of the Cataegis recover from their initial shock. Most were still trembling with emotion, but a few had stilled, listening quizzically to the Emperor's words.

"However, the level of resistance has decreased to the point it is no longer worth calling a war." The Emperor continued. "All regions of Terra bar one have begun the process of diplomatic alignment with the Lex Imperialis. Soon, they too will become part of the Imperium through legislation and trading treaties."

This was not what the Cataegis wanted to hear. This was not what they expected of the Emperor.

"I say this to you ahead of all my other servants as a reward for your service, and to inform you of your options from now on."

Rylanor saw Arik Taranis perk up at this. Out of all the Cataegis, he alone had not expressed any emotion at the Emperor's words. However, it was not due to a lack of emotion, or apathy.

'He is a survivor.' Rylanor thought to himself.

Arik Taranis was one of the first Cataegis ever created. That meant he had lived through over 6 centuries of war on the front lines with his constantly degrading body.

'A living Ship of Theseus.' That was how Rylanor would describe the man. Cataegis required constant replacement of their organs to continue functioning. Ordinarily these would be supplied by the Medicae attached to their Legiones. However, on the field, such replenishments could not be relied on. In those situations, the Cataegis relied on the closest source of organs, namely each other. Dead or critically wounded Cataegis would have their organs recycled into the ones who were still alive.

Thus, for a Cataegis as ancient as Arik Taranis, it was almost a guarantee that there was nothing left of his original body.

This man had neither shame, nor fear, nor ambition. All he cared about was survival.

"Amar Astarte has found a solution for your ailments." The Emperor continued. "The mutations you have lived with can be healed with her treatment. With them, you can continue serving me if you wish to do so. However, the Legiones Cataegis will be disbanded. You will all be reassigned to the new Legions behind me, depending on your aptitude and progression of your treatment."

The Emperor paused again before continuing.

"For those of you who wish not to serve me any longer, there is a plan for your dischargement. We have projects that will transfer your mind to a new body. A body that will have both your ailments and your enhancements removed. The Imperium will provide you with options for retraining and education, as well as a permanent monthly pension that you may use as you wish."

There were no cries of joy, no whoops of celebration, no sighs of relief that came with the completion of a job.

Instead, Rylanor felt a murderous rage leaking out from the Cataegis, locked into the saluting position. He looked at his brothers and fellow Legions, and noticed some had placed their hands on the bolter and chain blades attached to their belt.

However, the Custodes did not react at all to the hostility radiating before them, and neither did the Emperor.

"Although I have never led you directly on the battlefield, know that I was satisfied with what you did and shall not reprimand you for your actions. Still, I can no longer allow you to serve as you have. Are there any among you who have issues with my terms?" The Emperor finished his speech with a question. There was a deathly silence. Common sense stated there was no disagreeing with the Emperor. As the ones sent after those who did, the Legiones Cataegis understood this the best.

"Good." The Emperor nodded. "Then-"

"I do!" A single bitter voice rose up from the Cataegis's ranks.

The Emperor turned in its direction.

"Then come before me and voice your grievances, primarch Ushotan." He said.

There was no surprise the Emperor knew Ushotan's name. Each primarch was handpicked by him out of the rank and file. However, the Cataegis eyed him warily. They knew their maker was not a foolish man, and he knew the value of theatrics as a good tyrant would. This interruption had been expected, if not planned for. They would wait for the moment, to see how the Emperor intended to let things play out.

The primarch of the 4th Legiones marched out from the line behind Arik Taranis. Fists and jaw clenched, his entire posture screamed his insolence. He knew he was playing a role in the Emperor's script, but the emotions he felt were not changed by this fact. The betrayal, disappointment, and rage he felt were not for show.

Ushotan stepped onto the invisible stage between the multi-colored Legions and bronze Legiones Cataegis. The Emperor turned towards Ushotan, so both had only their sides pointing to the spectators.

"You took me from my family." Ushotan said slowly. "Your gene-sculptors carved me up. They took out my insides and replaced them with what you needed to turn a boy into a monster. Yet, through all of that, I harbored no hatred towards you. You were strong. My tribe was weak. That was all the explanation I needed. I have butchered thousands upon thousands of techno-barbarians in your name for that same reason. Their blood wets my blade for your sake, for your strength. It is because you were greater than all others that you deserved to rule them."

Emotion entered Ushotan's voice in earnest, and his lips pulled back in a bared teeth grimace.

"But, you wavered. You made peace with the fools at Albia, and now seek to make alliances with Merica and Hy-Brasil." The Cataegis spat out the names of the two regions of Terra with venom. "I know what they do to their own children there. I have seen how they treat their people. What makes them so different to all the others we have slaughtered in your name! What gives them the right to live while those others died!"

The Emperor did not reply.

The Mericans harvested their own children for spare organs, and the immortality they gained from that created a kleptocratic society that focussed all wealth towards the already wealthy.

Hy-Brasil was ruled by Dalmoth Kyn, another psyker dictator who ruled with an iron fist, and jealously guarded the boons of Terra's last rainforests.

The people who ruled these polities were no better than the countless other techno-barbarians Ushotan and his brothers had slain. To welcome them into the Imperium was an insult to not only the Cataegis, but the people they killed as well.

"You were a just master once. You spared no one, and handed down the punishment for disobedience equally. Now look at you! You spend your time politicking with weaklings and cowards no different than the sniveling sycophants you had me slay! And for what?! To restore some veneer of ancient civility on this blasted rock?!"

Rylanor placed a hand on one of his brother's shoulders, gently holding him back. The man noticed that he had unconsciously stepped forwards, and gave an appreciative nod to Rylanor before stepping back into position. Rylanor saw similar movements taking place amongst the IIIrd and VIIth Legion. They were the most protective of the Emperor's honor. He did not hold it against his brother, or the other Legions, for he too bristled at the accusation. However, the Emperor had called them all for a reason. Just like when he sent the Cataegis to climb the Alpine Scarps, there was a message being made here.

"Was it the slaughtering of the 'civilians' that made us inferior to these usurpers?" Ushotan waved a hand towards the Legions, drawing glares from them. "Those serfs and slaves are as guilty as the tyrants and mind-mutants they belonged to!" The Cataegis primarch shouted. "Through their labor, they built the weapons those tyrants used. Through their obedience, they let their leaders gain unlimited power! Just because they do not pick up a gun or sword makes them no less culpable than the raiders and slavers they fed, clothed, and serviced! So what if they scream! So what if they beg! Even the world's most despicable deviant will grovel to save his life! Likewise, their pleas for forgiveness entitles them to nothing."

Ushotan's tone calmed down, but the bitterness inside it was audibly black.

"There are no innocents in war. Every single one of them was a cog in the machine. The only thing separating them from soldiers is that they never learned to fight. If I am a monster made to kill men and women, then I shall kill them all equally. No mercy. No forgiveness. No remorse. The fairness of the strong against the weak."

Ushotan took a step towards the Emperor.

"I am a weapon. The only one I will be loyal to is the one that wields me. You were the one. You were the one who told me who to kill. You were the one being I was loyal to. Now, you have discarded us. You have discarded me. What am I supposed to do now when there is a tyrant in front of me who acts just like all the others I have slain?"

There was a deathly silence at the Cataegis threat. Only the Custodes and the Emperor seemed unaffected by it.

"You wish to test me, Ushotan?" The Emperor asked calmly.

"If you are just a tyrant, like all the others squabbling wretches you had me kill in the name of unity, then I will do what a great man once made me to do."

There was an electric crackle as Ushotan pulled his broadsword free.

The Emperor made a backwards motion to his hand, and his Custodes stepped away from him. "You know what will happen if you defy me." He said softly, yet somehow loud enough that all in the Legions and Legiones could hear.

"Then make an example of me." Ushotan spat as he lowered his stance, preparing to strike.

"Do you do this to convince your brothers?" The Emperor asked, tone utterly calm despite the threat of rebellion before him.

"They will draw their own conclusions." Ushotan snorted. "I only wish to see you returned to what you were. A just dictator who laid down the law upon all others equally. A king who knew what it would take to break the back of all resistance. An Emperor with no mercy, no restraint, no limits."

The Emperor closed his eyes, then nodded.

"Very well. Come." He said as he stared back calmly into Ushotan's face. "I will use you, Ushotan, to show you all how little you understand of why I made you." The Cataegis appeared confused for a moment, unsure of what the Emperor meant. "You think I made you because I needed weapons. You are much more and much less than that."

*DZZZZRRRR-!

Ushotan's broadsword crackled as he struck at the Emperor, blind with rage.

He had no delusions that he could defeat the Emperor. He would most likely die for his disobedience, but he did not fear death. He was already a dead man walking. From the day he was taken from his family, he had been living with a bomb in his body. He has seen many others like him explode as their own muscles tore them open. He had seen friends fall to the ground dead mid-sentence without warning.

He was a mass-murderer. He remembered the various men and women he had cut apart with his blade. When the battle lust ended and the red cleared from his mind, he could remember each and every face. At first, the only way he could stop the nightmares was by telling himself that this was what the Emperor had made him to do.

A weapon does not cry. A weapon does not regret. A weapon only kills, and he had done a lot of that. Once he had come to that realization, what reservations did he have about enjoying what he did? He served his purpose, and what tool does not enjoy doing what it was created to do?

That was the conclusion he reached under those purple clouds in the ruins of the castle of Maulland Sen. He started laughing when he realized that, staring up at the falling red snow as his body burned with adrenaline and ecstasy.

'After all of that, what right do you have to say I could have been better?'

Time seemed to stop still, endlessly elongated by his enhanced neurons and synapses. His mind spent the processing power it would usually use to make more complicated attacks with decoding the Emperor's last words.

'I kill because that is what I was made to do. If that was not my purpose, then what was it all for?'

The deaths.

The pain.

The fear of keeling over dead, or being torn apart from the inside at any moment.

All of it.

Why? What was it all for?

Ushotan's plasma enclosed blade slowed to a stop as his mind went into an existential spiral.

Neither he nor the Emperor moved, as if frozen in time.

Then the Emperor took a step forward.

Ushotan's eyes tried to widen, unable to understand what was going on, but the muscles would not move. Nothing moved except the Emperor. Even the sparks of crimson plasma on his broadsword were frozen mid-flight like forks of lightning.

"You are not just a weapon." The Emperor said softly. "You were my messengers, my angels to a divided Terra. The fact that the contents of that message were violent and bloody was unfortunate, but that is a fact of life here. This world ruled by lords, priests, kings, and tyrants offers few avenues for unity. Raw power is the only thing that can crush their pride with fear. Only then could they be shaken out of their self-aggrandizing traditions and beliefs. I spared Albia, Europa and all the others because there are differences between them and the ones I had you exterminate. They are cruel out of incompetence, sloth, perversion, or greed. They turn a blind eye to the suffering they cause, minimizing it as the sufferings of the plebian. They are mundane and base in their evil. The same cannot be said for those like the Priest-King and the Overlord of Ursh. They are an entirely different breed of evil. They cannot be taught the error of their ways. They cannot be cowed. They cannot be bargained with. The only unity they can accept is the shared silence of the grave."

Ushotan listened to the Emperor, slowly beginning to accept the surreal experience.

'And the Pan-Pacific? What of them?' He asked. 'They only wished to be left alone.'

"At that time, they did." The Emperor nodded. "After failing for centuries to win the war they started with the Yndonesic Bloc… After their own failed attempt at unity that extended over the ice wastes of the Arctic all the way to Albia… After seeing Ursh burn and the Cataegis on the horizon… They finally sued for peace. Yet, by then too much blood had been spilled. The blood debt was too heavy to be forgotten."

'Then the Imperium broke the Pan-Pacific Empire to satisfy politics.' Ushotan countered, using words that took away the Emperor's artistic veneer upon events. 'They were the enemy that allowed common ground to be built amongst lands as far apart as the Yndonesic Bloc and Albia. That was the only reason it had to burn. They were the scapegoat to bring together bitter enemies and indifferent parties. A sacrifice for your unity. A sacrifice to grow your empire. A sacrifice that will have to be repeated again and again if you are to hold your grip on power.'

"Do you hate me for that?"

The Emperor tilted his head, and his long dark raven hair took a second to catch up with his movements. The locks of hair floated behind him, as if he were moving through water. Ushotan could not help but notice that in the moment. Despite all his anger and disappointment, the Emperor was still beautiful.

'I am a weapon.' Ushotan replied. 'What I feel matters little so long as I am used, and I have seen the worst the animals that call themselves humans have to offer.'

'I saw it on the battlefield.'

'I saw it when we cut into prison camps of techno-barbarians.'

'I saw it when we stormed into the meat-larders of cannibals and cultists.'

'I saw it in the eyes of mechanical monsters operated with brains harvested from the poor and the young.'

'I saw it in the vacant stares of those we found in the basement crypts where priests and lords kept other humans as pets and pleasure items.'

'I saw it in the fearful stares of all those who knew what I knew, seen what I had seen, and did nothing to stop it. Those sniveling civilians, serfs, and slaves served their masters right up to the point we finally defeated them.'

'I killed all of them. No matter how hard they screamed, or their excuses for why they allowed such atrocities to happen, I killed them.'

'That is why you need us, Emperor. Your Imperium has many fitting the description of the foes I slew for you. They will be the new sacrifices used to hold the Imperium together. Rebellion. Corruption. Insolence. GIve us a reason, and we will pile their heads at your feet, water your lands with their blood.'

'Innocent, guilty, good, evil. All words with the same meaningless definition. There is only the strong and the weak. The powerful and the powerless. Muddling the two together brings about indecisiveness and imperfection. That is not something I can stand to watch happen to you. Burn down the cities of Albia. Break the guilds of the Yndonesic Bloc. Rule as an Emperor should, for when an Empire runs out of true enemies, the only way to keep it together is to make new ones for eternity.'

There was a long pause within that single instance of stopped time, then Ushotan thought-spoke again.

'If you wanted us to be messengers or angels, then you chose poorly. I neither knew of nor understood what you wanted us to say or symbolize. All I was made to do was hate the enemy, kill the disobedient, and help you rule by fear of retribution.'

"The origin story of every empire is watered with blood." The Emperor nodded. "That is how it has been for humanity since time immemorial. However, what begins with blood need not grow with it. But… you and your brothers cannot be swayed by words. You have seen too much, and I have not led you for a long time."

Ushotan grimaced.

The Emperor did not lead the Cataegis. It was Valdor and the Custodes who ordered them around. The Emperor was too busy mollycoddling the unenhanced soldiers who could only cower without him. The feeble wretches were worthless in Ushotan's eyes. All they did was slow them down and drain their resources. Why the Emperor even bothered with them when he could make more Cataegis from their children was a mystery to him.

"You and your brothers are not weapons." The Emperor said again. "I have no need for weapons at all."

The Emperor stood back, moving freely within frozen time. The sand jumped around his feet, then froze mid-air like splashes of water in a still-frame photo of a skipping stone bouncing across a pond.

A chill went through Ushotan, finally understanding how insane the situation was. This was no hallucination or illusion. Reality itself had bent to the Emperor's will.

'What…' Ushotan started to speak only for the Emperor to interrupt his thoughts.

"My plans require an Imperium built by humanity's own hands. Even if I am the one who gives the orders, humanity must be the one to understand and carry them out." He said as he stepped towards Ushotan. "Once again, I will say it. I have no need for weapons."

The Emperor smiled briefly, then walked past Ushotan.

*RRRRT- KRAKOOOOM!

The sound of the crackling plasma returned, only to be interrupted by a sonic boom.

Ushotan stumbled forwards, completing his lunge, striking only empty air.

For a few moments, there was only the sound of the broadsword's plasma field held in Ushotan's shaking hand.

The primarch of the Iron Lords turned back towards the Emperor, the man who had stopped time itself just to talk to him; a single cog in the Emperor's already vast armies.

Armies that perhaps weren't even necessary.

"Who do you serve, Ushotan?" The Emperor's voice came from behind him, and the primarch turned in its direction. He saw the Emperor's cape covered back, turned towards him completely open and utterly vulnerable.

Ushotan's fingers relaxed, and the plasma field dissipated from his sword. He stabbed the thick blade into the sand as he got down on one knee.

"I am Ushotan, 4th primarch of the Iron Lords and eternal servant to the Imperium of Man and its Emperor."

The Emperor nodded and turned towards the other Cataegis who had seen what had happened. Each and every one of the Thunder Warrior knelt as the Emperor's eyes passed over them.

"You have all lost your way and mistaken my meaning." The Emperor's voice boomed as he spoke to all of them. "As penance, you will surrender control of all forts and garrisons to the Imperial Army and Legions behind me over the next 2 years. They will take over the defense of the Imperium's holdings in your stead. Once that is done, the entire Legiones Cataegis will gather at the base of Mt. Urartu. This will all be overseen by the IIIrd Legion. This responsibility is given to them for their performance during the Antarctic Clearance. Their ability to work with and command the standard forces of the Imperium should allow a seamless transfer of power from the Cataegis."

The Cataegis kept their heads bowed, despite their demotion. The removal of responsibility and standing was a great shaming. Yet, they did not shake with anger like they did when forced to bow before the leaders of Albia.

"Once the Cataegis have done this successfully, I personally will lead the final battle against Mr. Urartu and the Ethnarchy hiding behind them."

There was a slight stirring, not from the Cataegis, but the newer Legions. To be led by the Emperor himself was an honor beyond measure. To show such favoritism for the failed Legiones Cataegis was surprising.

"Over the centuries, I have had you fight many battles. Yet, I have not led you once." The Emperor spoke to his Cataegis. "Thus, it is not surprising that you have lost your way. This is a failure both on your part, and in mine. This is my penance to you."

The Cataegis bowed their heads, silently accepting the Emperor's words.

"I leave the rest to you, Valdor." The Emperor said, turning to his Captain-General. "Begin the transferral of command from you to the IIIrd Legion."

"As you will, my Emperor." Valdor saluted and took center stage.

The Emperor returned to the Stormbird with the other two Custodes as Valdor began to call the Cataegis Primarchs and Arik Taranis forward as well as the highest ranking IIIrd Legion members.

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

Ushotan watched the Emperor's Stormbird fly off into the sky. His heart trembled and blood rushed as he remembered the awe he felt before his maker.

The Emperor was no tyrant. He was no man. That truly was…

Ushotan stilled his trembling fingers and spotted a different Cataegis also clenching his fist to still a similar tremor.

They knew what they had witnessed defied all reason. No mere man freezes time, and such a being has no need for armies or empires.

Ushotan turned his eyes towards the new Legions, and saw them standing blankly to attention. Fury made him see red in that moment, and he clenched his teeth to bite back the hateful roar that had built up inside him.

They didn't know what they had witnessed. They had not seen the Emperor stop time. All they saw was him move inexplicably fast, and that was it. So base were their reaction speeds in comparison to theirs, they had not been able to process the miracle before them.

'Blind dullards.' Ushotan cursed them internally, then proceeded towards the doll-like Valdor to discuss how best to organize the changing of the guard.

His eye then noticed one of the IIIrd Legion approaching them clenching his fist, stifling the same awe inspired tremor the Cataegis felt.

'Perhaps there are some that are worthy…' Ushotan thought to himself, then turned his mind to focus on the task at hand.

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

Rylanor had not heard what the Emperor said, nor had any of the Cataegis. Those words were for Ushotan and Ushotan alone.

Yet, he had heard the words right before that, as well as seen the miracle that happened immediately after.

He had gotten the message, just as he had gotten the message when the Emperor made his Thunder Warriors cross the Alpine Scarps.

'I saw the Emperor appear in two places at once.' Rylanor remembered the nanosecond instance his enhanced eyes and reflexes had captured. 'His image moved from where he was to where he had been. Invisible footsteps in the sand were traced by his feet, but it was only when his present self met his past that reality restored itself.'

Rylanor understood what the Emperor had done. He had not moved so fast that he was a blur. If he had, the order of events would have been from past to future. Rylanor would have seen the Emperor stepping first, and then the disturbed sand. Yet, that was not what Rylanor saw.

The Emperor was before Ushotan, and behind him at the same time. Sand splashes made by armored boots appeared in mid-air, but they only began to fall once the image of the Emperor's current position backtracked through them to meet his past self. When the two selves met, the past Emperor faded and all the events occurred at once. That was the cause of the sonic boom, for it was at that moment the air had finally realized something had moved through it.

A man who can stop time has no enemies. No bullet or bomb could hit them, and no barrier or shield could stop them. Armies would mean nothing, and resistance was impossible.

So, why would such a being need an army? Why would such a being need weapons like them?

Rylanor could not find a logical answer sufficient enough to explain it. They all relied on drawing imaginary limits around a power he had never even known the Emperor had.

"You think I made you because I needed weapons." The Emperor had said. "You are much more and much less than that."

'What are you, Emperor?' Rylanor asked internally as he walked, stifling the tremor in his fingers by clenching his fist. 'What do you want with us?'

He felt a long-forgotten feeling, back when he was just a noble child in Europa, back when he still went to church and prayed.

'Why god?' He had once prayed. 'Why did you make me? What do you want from us?'

Rylanor shook his head, trying to regain control of himself.

There was no god. That was what the Imperial Truth preached.

Yet, he could not stop the feeling of rapture that had begun to sneak out of a long-forgotten door in his memories.

---

A/N: Explanation for the Emperor's actions takes place next chapter.

 

[Nidhog153]

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---

Neoth looked up at the overhead storage compartments of the Stormbird as it took off.

"Are you going to come out, or remain hidden for the entire trip?" He asked.

One of the compartments opened, and a small lithe figure leapt out of it onto the red plume of a Custodes.

"Is it fine for you to leave Ael and those children?" Neoth asked as he watched a doll size Isha make herself comfortable amongst the smooth fibers of the Custodes's helm.

"This is just another simulacra." Isha replied as she inspected the make-shift sofa she had made for herself, then nodded in approval at her work before sitting down. "Besides, there is no need for me to be with Ael the entire time. I'm having him attend the classes regarding basic diplomacy with the other children. As a hybrid of both our species, he will find himself stuck between human and Aeldari interests, regardless of what he wants. The skills he will learn will be valuable for both."

"So you came to spy on me out of boredom?" Neoth snorted.

"Caution, to be more precise." Isha said with a sly smile. "This was the first major move you have made to change course. I wished to see what would happen with my own eyes."

"And what is your appraisal?"

"It is a step in the right direction." Isha flashed him a cold smile. "Although it does not forgive what you have done to their souls."

Neoth's mouth drew into a bitter line as he turned back towards where the Thunder Warriors were far below the rising Stormbird.

His Warp sight looked at each one of their souls marked with a very familiar brand. The brand of the Chaos God of Hate and Blood, drawn in Golden Ink.

"They were the next step in my plan." Neoth said quietly as he turned back to Isha.

"The salvation of humanity at the cost of everything else." Isha sighed. "They take power from the brand and its owner, yet their actions are intrinsically tied to you and the Imperium. Their legends and deeds are made yours via propaganda and imagery."

'They were your first experiment to see if humanity could successfully usurp the Ruinous Powers.' Isha communicated via telepathy.

"But, war alone is not enough." Neoth said tiredly.

'Every aspect of evil, of Chaos, had to become mine.' He conveyed the thought to her mentally, unable to voice it even when there were no others but the Custodes and Isha around him.

"We shall see." The goddess said softly, eyes slightly narrowed as if appraising the Emperor. "But, those plans have changed, haven't they?" Isha said after a short moment, resting her chin on her hand as she gave Neoth a knowing smile. "They had reached the limit of what they could do, according to your original plan. Their legacy was to be continued by the new Legions."

"They were." Neoth nodded. "There is only so much they can do, so much that they can embody, and fixing them would have been more costly than destroying them."

The cure he offered the Thunder Warriors would use the Progenoid glands of his new Legions. It was the only way to ensure their volatile physiology could be sustained with a fresh supply of stem cells from the glands.

Neoth had originally intended to use these glands to begin mass-production, but that would have to be delayed for the moment.

At the very least, militarily, he would not suffer greatly. Thunder Warriors were stronger and faster than the member's of his new Legions. They were lacking in flexibility with their tactics and strategy. However, the Unification Wars had given both him and Valdor plenty of experience in working around that limitation.

"They are a purely epicurean expression of war." Isha smiled sadly. "Normal soldiers usually wage war for one of two things. The ideals and virtues of Stoicism, or Epicurean materialism. I saw my own children fight over patriotism, philosophy, or abstract morals. I saw them go to war for material resources, hedonistic enjoyment, and dreams of expansionism. Your Cataegis are firmly in the latter category, but only in the basest form. They enjoy killing. They have no other trade to sustain their livelihood. They have no other way to justify their own existence. War is the only material thing keeping them alive, thus they have no choice but to continue waging it."

"I know." Neoth replied slightly irritably. "I know…" He whispered painfully this time.

Isha paused for a moment, letting the Neoth calm down. The God of Heroes collected all the souls reaped by his Thunder Warriors, theirs included. That was the entire point of the brand of Khorne written in golden ink upon their souls. He knew what they went through, what they thought, and what they felt up until the moment of their death.

"I am sorry." Isha apologized. "It was vindictive of me to bring up such painful memories. You know your sins better than anyone else."

"It is alright." Neoth shook his head. "But, if you know that much you should be able to predict why I have decided to reveal myself to them."

"I can see it." Isha's silver eyes narrowed as she stared at the Emperor's face. "The death of your religion."

Neoth stifled a sigh at her phrasing.

"The Imperial Truth is not a religion. It is a faith without a god." He said irritably.

"I would still call it a religion." Isha snorted. "You are hardly a normal human. If the difference between faith and religion is whether the object of belief is mundane or divine, then the Imperial Truth is certainly a religion based around you."

"It isn't." Neoth replied bluntly. "Human excellence, worship of scientific ideology, and nationalism. Those are the three core tenets I used to forge the Imperial Truth."

Faith is only the action of belief in an object. That object can be a person, a nationality, or even an idea. However, out of all objects, those that are supernatural instill the strongest bonds.

Faith in a person can fail should that person prove unworthy.

Faith in a nationality can falter when looking into its limitations or observing other ways of living.

Faith in an ideal requires a stoicism not many can continue to maintain when faced with reality.

Only objects that are abstract, illogical, and unquestionable can maintain a bond that would weather all hardship; a bond that would ignore all scrutiny. Of course, building that bond is as hard as breaking it.

"Yet, the symbol for all three is you." Isha chided him. "You formed a cult of personality around yourself. However, you are superhuman, even by the genetically enhanced standards of mankind. Thus, no matter what, the Imperial Truth is a religion."

"Perhaps…" Neoth acquiesced the point with a bitter look. "At the very least, it states resolutely that I am not a god."

Isha let out a trilling laugh like a bird's song in spring.

"They will treat you as one regardless!" She said, after recovering from her laughing spell. "Making a person not believe is as difficult as making them believe in the first place. A single line, no matter how many times it is repeated, won't change that."

"It was necessary." Neoth huffed. "You know that."

"I do…" Isha's face took a more somber look, almost pitying. "I know why you did it, as well as why you made the Imperial Truth antithetical with all other religions."

Neoth remained silent. Isha knew all his reasons and his excuses. She was merely confronting him with what he already knew, forcing him to review his actions.

'You had to take special care to destroy every other religion you met. Otherwise, the Imperial Truth would be perverted into a blatant religion instead of an implied one.' Isha communicated the thought through telepathy, keeping the Custodes onboard out of the loop. 'And of course there was the other benefit of claiming a monopoly regarding the thoughts and emotions of every human you met.'

'That was a side-effect. I do not wish to be worshiped, only obeyed.' Neoth thought back to her.

Isha raised an eyebrow at the admission, and remained silent to see what he would say next.

"Faith was a shortcut to my objectives." Neoth said bitterly. "Despite the failings of all religions, I cannot argue with their statistics."

"They say one can see the face of god through suffering, and there is an element of truth to that." Isha's voice was cynical. As a deity who was routinely brought out of the Sea of Souls when her children's suffering was the greatest, the saying was painfully true for her as well.

"Communities with religion survive for longer than those that don't during times of hardship." Isha continued in a more matter-of-fact tone. "It is a quixotic result on the surface for those who see religion as nothing but faulty superstition, but it cannot be ignored."

"I know, and it is a frustrating fact." Neoth shook his head sadly. "Faith binds communities together. It gives them something they can all agree upon, no matter how incorrect that thing is. That alone births a sense of community, a sense of cooperation. It also allows difficult decisions to be made without justification or reasoning. Men and women have done incredibly foolish things in the name of gods, but that also means they can be made to do things they do not understand for the same reason. That is useful, especially when speed and action are of urgency."

"And your reasons are hard to understand indeed." Isha said mockingly.

Neoth snorted. "Do you think they would listen if they knew what all my plans were?" He asked rhetorically instead.

"No, most wouldn't." Isha admitted softly. 'If that happened, you would have to deem them inhuman.'

Humanity is neither inherently good nor evil. While some might leap at the chance to join the Emperor's Golden Path, many would be equally repulsed by the idea. Even if they had no better alternative, their soul would scream at them that the sacrifice of everyone and everything else was not the way forward.

"The Great Crusade, and the Golden Path will demand many sacrifices. Sacrifices that many will not understand. Even if they did, many would not have the strength to make them." Neoth let out a soft sigh from his nostrils. "I have no delusions about the nature of mankind. They will need something to believe in to forge onwards. Hence, the need for the Imperial Truth. A faith with no god. A faith that instills belief in human exceptionalism, knowledge, and manifest destiny. A faith that will justify the bloodiest acts, the blackest deeds, and the most painful costs for the sake of a golden dream. My dream. A dream of a galaxy for humanity."

"Utilitarian as always." Isha said with a tired sigh. Then she flashed Neoth a kinder smile. 'But, your plans have changed.' She said to him with telepathy.

Neoth nodded. 'Before, I could not risk being called a god.' He thought back. 'I could not risk being incorporated into any faith or religion. There already is one faith I will have to stomach, and I cannot risk being added to another one. I as the Emperor may be mortal, but my legend must be under my direct control. Otherwise my image, my meaning, my path might be altered in ways that would seem they were always that way.' Neoth scowled off into the distance; in the direction of the rust red fourth planet from Sol. 'The one faith I can allow is that of the Machine God.' He thought bitterly. 'It is a neutered religion, obsessed with the recitation of binaric-codes and protocols instead of meaningless hymns or praise. Thus, acting as the Omnissiah of that religion would at worst drive me to be more obsessed over knowledge, but that is not a great divergence from what I already am.'

'And now?' Isha asked mentally.

'I can afford a little extra baggage.' Neoth replied with a small smile. 'Malcador has asked me to consider more leniency regarding religion.'

'And this demonstration is part of it?'

'The Cataegis do not believe in humanity any longer. The brand on their soul, and everything they have experienced leads them to believe in survival of the fittest, and nothing else. I will need them to believe in something greater than that to break that prejudicial worldview.'

"Hence, that almost boorish display of power." Isha chuckled.

"What better way to convince an army that they are not necessary?" Neoth shrugged.

Neoth had broken their belief that they were simply weapons. They could not reach that conclusion when he himself said so, and demonstrated what he could do. He had also changed their perspective of him from mortal tyrant to unknowable deity.

'Their brand also renders them resistant to all things sorcerous.' He added on. 'Khorne's all consuming hate rejects all immaterial intrusion upon their being, mine included. It was a useful trait to use against the large numbers of techno-barbarian psykers on Terra. However, that was why they needed a truly physical demonstration to convince them. Hence, my usage of Necron chronometric lore.'

"That will not last for long." Isha warned. "Mortals can only bear a mystery for a while. Leave them waiting, and the awe they felt will be forgotten through apathy or turn into an insane obsession."

"I know." Neoth nodded. "I will show them a world worth fighting for."

Neoth looked off into the distance, as the largest population of humans in the area.

"I will allow them to think of me as they will. If they wish to see me as a god, I will allow it. For the others who wish to follow other more traditional religions, I have had Malcador begin preparations with changes to the Lex Imperialis." A grim look crossed Neoth's face. "When the Ethnarchy is brought down, I will relinquish my persecution of religion."

"You will allow them to believe what they want, including what they think about you." There was no modicum of surprise in Isha's voice. Too many things got caught up in the paradox of a god denying its own existence. The best way to return things to normal was to allow them to move on their own accord. Neoth would loosen his grip on humanity, returning some of the autonomy he had taken from them as the Emperor.

"Freedom of religion." Neoth nodded. "Yes, I will restore that, but this Imperium will still be built upon science and knowledge." He sounded slightly flippant and snobbish when he said that.

Isha gave an internal sigh. Neoth personally still disliked religion and deities as concepts. As hypocritical as it was, those were his feelings on the matter.

'Oh, well. At least it is an improvement.' Isha thought to herself privately.

"I will use faith as a tool, when I need it. I will rely on miracles and my divinity, when it is necessary." Neoth continued, and Isha smiled politely as she held back the urge to pinch his nose or pull his cheek for the blatant double standard. "However, the practice of organized religion by all others shall be treated as any other unnecessary luxury. Tithes will be outlawed. Donations will be taxed as income. Churches and temples will be treated no differently than any other building. What takes place in a person's home is of no concern to me, but when religion goes beyond personal belief it will be regulated like any other public activity."

"Are you willing to take the risk?" Isha asked through narrowed eyes. "To trust humanity again?"

Freedom of religion meant there were avenues for all sorts of entities to slip into the society Neoth was crafting. She was not only talking of beings from the immaterium. Many charlatans and con men had used religion to take from the ignorant and desperate.

"I have always taken risks." Neoth said with a tired smile. "Besides, there will be signs if something from the immaterium should attempt to find purchase in my Imperium. Beliefs without acts are as vacuous as the void. Should one of the four exploit my leniency, there will be physical evidence of their teachings. Malcador will handle the more mundane interlopers who will attempt to take advantage of my citizens."

Isha tilted her head quizzically.

"To create a means of finding such evidence of their corruption would require a great communal network within the Imperium. A social safety net that cares for those most likely to succumb to them."

"It will." Neoth nodded. "I will need to be able to reach the darkest corner of the Hive Cities, and ensure that the Imperium is represented there as well."

His features turned more serious as he spoke the next words.

"Which is why I will need to purge my political enemies in the legislative branch of the Imperium."

That was the part of his plan he had involved Nour with. However, he had no intention of leaving everything to the former Lord from Zafranat. His enemies would only show themselves when they thought they could take back control of the planet for him, and money would not be convincing enough.

"The old leaders fear losing power, and will stand in the way of any project that empowers the lower classes." Neoth continued, leaving the details left unsaid.

However, Isha could see the strands of fate beginning to tangle together into a web that would ensnare all of the Emperor's enemies; both mortal and immortal.

"That is good." Isha replied, only commenting on what he said and not what she could see. "Your intentions may come from utilitarianism and practicality, but I look forward to seeing just how far you are willing to care for your people."

"You will not ask about the assassins?" Neoth asked cautiously. They were one organization he had no intention of shutting down, but contradicted the entire image of a better kinder Imperium.

"I hold no expectations for you, Emperor." Isha sighed. "Just because you give them this freedom does not mean you will be unconditionally kind to them."

Neoth nodded solemnly, and began to turn away.

"However, that is enough." Isha continued. "Fewer people will suffer. Fewer people will be in pain. I will keep taking in all the children your assassins fail, and I have my own plans as well."

Neoth turned back to her with a quizzical look.

Isha returned it with a smug smile. "Not all the children have the right aptitude for diplomacy. They lack the aggression, confidence, or ambition to successfully stand up to one of my children. They are instead kinder, more patient, and more understanding. They will serve as the replacements of my simulacra once I am gone."

Isha's stay here was temporary. Even if it might last a couple centuries, there would come a time she would not be there for the new children the assassin temples would fail. Thus, she had already begun building a sustainable system that would keep saving those children on its own.

Neoth gave her a thankful nod, then flashed her his own smug smile.

"You have predicted or already known what I intended, but there is one thing you were mistaken about."

"Oh, what is that?"

"I do not do all these things for only utilitarian reasons. I am also doing this to try to work with you."

Isha's ears twitched up and down in surprise once as her eyes widened. Then her eyes narrowed as a quizzical eyebrow raised, silently ordering him to continue his explanation.

"Your legends depict you as a goddess of mercy and fairness." Neoth shrugged. "The teachings left in your temples tell of the importance of social harmony and cooperation. Thus, I have tried to adopt those traits into my own Imperium where I can."

"I… see…" Isha replied, unsure as to how to react. She did approve of the proposed changes, but to be told that he did them partially out of respect to her left an itchy feeling inside her.

"Feel proud, Neoth." She finally said with a prideful sniff, deciding to take it as primly as possible. "I have not been surprised like this for a long time."

Neoth allowed himself a slight chuckle at the tiny Aeldari goddess with her nose turned up in the air. No matter how properly she tried to present herself, her current size made her difficult to take seriously.

After a moment, he leaned back slightly against the wall of the Stormbird.

"It is not my objective to be evil." He said to nobody in particular. "I just didn't see any other choice."

Isha blinked at the admission. It was a rare moment of weakness displayed by the Emperor. There was no physical or mental vulnerability exposed here, but the fact that the Emperor allowed anyone to see his regret was not the action of a god, but a man.

The goddess wondered whether she should attempt to console him…

He knew he was wrong, even when he convinced himself it was the only way forward. To try to justify that for him to his face would only irritate him. This was his cross to bear, and he would not let go of it. Yet, with him no longer incoherent with insanity, he could not simply suffer in silence. That was the source of those words.

"Humanity was great once." Isha finally said softly. "It may not have been perfect, but there was a time where your kind was close to your idealized society based on knowledge, innovation, and curiosity. It always had the potential, and so long as humanity exists it can try and try again."

There was a moment of silence, filled only by the rumble of the Stormbird's engines.

"We have much work to do." Neoth finally said. "In a little over two years time, some of the Cataegis will be ready to retire. We will have to perfect the technologies and methods to provide them with the means to enter civilian life by then."

"Fine." Isha nodded. "I promised to help you through this, and a goddess's word is not broken lightly."

Neoth gave her a small smile. She voiced the same sentiment Erda had often attempted to lecture him about.

Quite frankly, he didn't truly believe it. Gods and Goddesses were still the creations of mortal minds. They were as ephemeral and untrustworthy as the species that spawned them. They changed with the times, but acted as if that was the way they always had been. It may not be intentional, but that was the way they were.

'But that takes hundreds if not thousands of years…' Neoth thought to himself. 'I can trust this promise for at least two.'

"By the way.:." Neoth asked with a sterner expression. "Just how long are you going to sit there?"

Despite knowing his Custodes did not feel emotions, the Custodes in question did not seem amused with the tiny fairy sitting on his head.

"It's actually quite comfy here." Isha said as she lounged back on the red plume sofa she had made for herself. "Whoever your designer is for their helms, they have a fine choice in material."

"You will return that to normal, won't you?"

"I can try." Isha shrugged.

"Your answer does not inspire confidence." Neoth grumbled. "Do you intend to remain there when we return to the Imperial Palace?"

"I don't see why not." A coy smile crossed Isha's face. "As long as I stay still, most would think of me as just another ornament. It would allow me to keep an eye on you out in the open."

Neoth snorted.

"As an ornament, you are one of horrid taste." He muttered.

"Says the man who paints everything gold." Isha shot back.

Neoth sent his Custodes a look, and the armored soldier reached up and plucked the goddess off his head; holding her by the scruff of her shift like a naughty cat. A footlocker opened up, and Isha was dropped unceremoniously into it before it shut and locked itself.

"This is how stowaways are treated on Terra." Neoth said to the footlocker. "Next time, you can ask for permission when you want to travel with me."

A couple of angry pings and pangs came from the footlocker as its contents bounced around inside it.

'Reminds me of that fairy from Neverland.' Neoth thought to himself as the Custodes took off his helmet to comb out the tangled fibers of his plume.

'Perhaps I'll stick her in a jar next time she annoys me.'

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N1 : Good news. I have been promoted recently. Bad news. My new position has so many responsibilities that it's eating into my writing time. I can no longer promise weekly updates for a while.

A/N2 : Couple of mini-trivia notes so I don't have to explain certain things in text to preserve pacing.

Tracer rounds: Only 1 out of every 10 rounds carries the mix of metals and salts to emit the visible light we all see in films. This means there are ten times as many bullets as there are tracer rounds flying through the air. This isn't really a Warhammer exclusive thing. It's just something militaries do to reduce costs.

Abominable Intelligence Weapon preferences: AI in Warhammer-verse like UR-025 are armed with relatively mundane weapons, such as auto-cannons. This is explained in this story by the fact that laser, plasma, and rail-gun weapons generate large electromagnetic fields while firing. This is uncomfortable for AI as their 'thoughts' are literally composed of the spin of electrons and other subatomic particles (they use quantum computing) that can be influenced by magnetic fields. However, this does not stop AI from using laser, plasma, or rail-gun technology. It just means they don't like shooting such weapons often. i.e. they will use EMP weapons, nukes, or other more esoteric things such as graviton guns if necessary. It's just that when they do use them they tend to be large-scale, instantaneous weapons such as bombs or pulses. This is because bearing the discomfort for a moment is less likely to influence their long-term decision making and memories as it's statistically unlikely a single instance will affect every redundant component within them.

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

- IIIrd Legion Remembrancer Audio Log: 29135
The IIIrd Legion's number brings the old adage "third time's a charm" to mind.

Although it may be insolent of myself to suggest that the Emperor is capable of creating anything less than perfect, my time spent with them in comparison to the other Legions reinforces my belief that most projects generally achieve their best state at the 3rd iteration. No other legion possesses the same nobility and charisma these men possess. Only in raw strength are they matched by their brother Legions. However, a man's greatest power is not in his body but his mind.

Of all of the Emperor's creations, I believe they alone truly embody the Emperor's vision of tomorrow. But like all things, the IIIrd Legion has its own unique limitations. Candidates for the Legion are severely limited. Only my home province of Europa has had the loyalty and strength of character to continuously provide such high quality sons, educated in the highest courts of the land in matters as far reaching from philosophy to practical military theory.

On second thought, the discriminatory nature of the IIIrd Legion's recruitment might be for the better. The benefits of selecting only the best of what humanity has to offer becomes most apparent when comparing their performance with the VIIIth Legion's. I can only assume that the Emperor created them in an attempt to recycle the truly worthless dregs and filth of humanity. It is either that, or the Emperor's love and mercy towards mankind expands far wider than I can imagine. Where a lesser man would abandon such miscreants to their own hell, the Emperor provides salvation through service.

Regardless, this audio log is meant to record the deeds of the IIIrd Legion. It is meant to highlight their achievements and underline why they are deserving of the Emperor's favor amongst all others to their detractors.

Of all the Legions, the IIIrd is the sole Legion that has successfully integrated with the Imperial Army. Every campaign they have led, you will hear stories where their members fought side by side with men and women on the ground. This is a far cry from the standard practices of the other Legions, who either rush ahead of the unenhanced troops, or relegate them to menial tasks far behind the front lines.

I would deem such abandonment and mollycoddling a dereliction of duty, but the Emperor is far more patient and gracious than myself. There have been no reprimands to the other Legions for their failure to truly utilize their advanced biology and training in the way the Emperor intended. Those Legions should be grateful for this leniency, yet in their ignorance, I have heard them voice notions that the Emperor displays favoritism towards the IIIrd Legion instead.

Favoritism… Bah! What favoritism is there in His fair judgment? Why not give those exceptional at what they do the heaviest tasks and the greatest labors? But, this is not the time to discuss the failings of the other Legions.

It all began during the Antarctic Clearance, when the IIIrd Legion was still in its infancy, as were my grandparents. The campaign is officially listed as a victory brought about by Army Group Antilles, yet it was the IIIrd Legion who were the true architects of its success. Even this small deception within Imperial records is part of the reason they are truly a Legion unlike any other.

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

- Antarctic Campaign: Point Φ (Phi)

Rylanor opened and closed his hands a few times inside his gloves. His new surgical scars ached slightly in the cold, even under the thick layers of fabrics and meshes that composed his Neophyte outfit. He could shut out the pain if he wanted to, but he didn't. The idea of becoming truly unfeeling chilled his core in a different manner to the elements around him.

'I am not a Custodes.' Rylanor thought to himself as he continued marching through the snow.

Behind him were the men and women of the Army Group Antilles' 18th Battalion 15th Platoon. Over half a dozen men and women trudged through the snow in thick white coats, gloves, and boots. Sleighs carrying heavy stubbers and rockets were dragged behind them by hand.

Rylanor focussed his ears behind him, monitoring their marching speed, listening for the regular krnk of compacting snow under their boots. After a few minutes of listening, Rylanor took in a deep breath through his rebreather and turned around. Their marching pace had slowed slightly, most likely due to the fatigue and the -40°C temperatures that seeped through their thick trousers and jackets. They were a little ways away from their designated point, but keeping their current pace may not be for the best.

The 15th Platoon stopped when they saw the 2 meter giant leading them standing in their way.

'They need only a few minutes to catch their breath.' Rylanor thought to himself. 'And a reminder for why they are doing this.'

Morale was an unseen resource on the battlefield, and the loss of it could crush an army faster than any attack.

"Form up!" Rylanor ordered, and waited for the men and women to get into rank in front of him. Once they had assembled into their lines, Rylanor unbuckled his rebreather, and took off his helmet. Speeches were best given face to face. If bearing the biting cold for a few minutes could inspire the men and women before him, it would be worth the discomfort.

"I understand you have been forced to march the furthest amongst all the other Platoons of the 18th Battalion." Rylanor began, acknowledging their fatigue. "Yet, I would like for you to understand the importance of this campaign."

His enhanced eyes went over each one, observing the small rise and fall of their chests, monitoring their exhaustion levels from how hard they breathed.

'3 minutes.' Rylanor thought to himself. 'That's how long this speech has to be to allow them to catch their breath.'

"Water is a common necessity of all life." Rylanor spoke as he continued to assess the health of the Platoon. "With the expansion of the Imperium, greater volumes will be necessary to drink and produce food. Rationing has already begun in the more urbanized areas, but this current scarcity may turn into a full blown drought should we fail to secure the Antarctic ice beneath our feet."

Rylanor stamped lightly to stress the point.

"The Antarctic is one of the largest sources of safe water to drink. The extreme cold of this region has preserved the permafrost beneath the surface layers of radioactive fallout. Unlike the wells from your homelands, this water is composed entirely of normal water. You can drink as much of it as you like without having to centrifuge it. However, Abominable Intelligences left by ancient wars have also been preserved by the cold. They are all armed with an electromagnetic pulse emitter on top of more conventional weaponry. This is why we must conduct this campaign with only infantrymen and handheld weaponry. Our small arms will not trigger its emitter, whereas a tank battalion or flyer brigade would be disabled by its weapons. These Abominable Intelligences must be dismantled before our air barges and drilling platforms can begin the work of harvesting the ice for the citizens of the Imperium to use."

Rylanor paused, allowing the men and women before him to drink in the importance of this mission, and why they had to fight on foot. Some steeled themselves, understanding just why they had to suffer in this frigid wasteland. Others remained unstirred, numb in both body and soul to Rylanor's message.

So, the enhanced warrior took a new approach.

"I know you are fighting in foreign lands far from home…" He started, appealing to them with sympathy. "But remember that what we do here today will save the lives of those you left behind. Once we harvest this water, the recyclers installed by the Imperium will keep it in the city's systems for eternity. The future of billions, both those that live now and those who will come after you, rests on your shoulders."

Rylanor stressed the responsibility they all had, underlining what would have been obvious to a more astute mind. Yet, he took the care to breakdown the meaning of his earlier message into a form that could be more easily related to.

"You have been made to march here, separated out into platoons to deal with one of the Abominable Intelligences guarding the water beneath your feet." Rylanor continued, now placating any grievances they might have against their current situation with additional explanations. "Currently, the rest of the 18th Battalion is spread across a kilometer radius circle. This circle will be the killbox for one of the Abominable Intelligences we stalk."

Rylanor's voice became sterner. If this was a speech to a bunch of civilians, he could have continued in a more placative tone. But these were soldiers before him. Soldiers who might witness their friends and compatriots die. It would be easy to simply execute those who ran and control them with fear, but such means of maintaining order were sub-optimal. It forced him to remain here with them to keep order. Hence, he would have to steel them mentally for sacrifice while keeping their morale high.

"The rumors you have heard of these machines may chill your hearts, perhaps more so than the cold steals the heat from your bones." Rylanor said truthfully. "They are said to tower over buildings. Their armor bounces bullets off of them like drops of rain. Their firepower can take out scores of tanks and flyers in seconds. Some of these are true, and the nervousness you feel is justified. However, there is no such thing as an invincible enemy."

Rylanor turned his eyes across the men and women of the 15th Platoon. He was confirming their fears, but at the same time fixing their expectations of the enemy to a realistic level. It would take the sting away when the first shots were fired, replacing panic with a milder cynical dread.

His enhanced eyes crossed over them once again, checking to see that their breathing had steadied. Now he had to end on a concrete high note; something that would be both motivational yet useful.

"You have already heard this once during the briefing, but the machine mind is flawed!" Rylanor continued, deciding to remind them all of the plans they had been briefed on. "The more it thinks, the hotter it gets. The hotter it gets, the slower it thinks. The slower it thinks, the more mistakes it makes. The 18th Battalion will destroy this machine in two steps. First, the platoons of the 18th Battalion will separate out and hit the machine from all sides. This will force the machine to divide its attention in multiple directions, forcing it to overthink. This is important, because the more the machine overthinks, the slower and less accurate its counter attack will be. Once the machine is distracted the second step of the pl-"

Rylanor stopped his speech mid-sentence and turned his head. It was a foolish move for one trying to restore morale in one's troops. Yet, Rylanor made the motion regardless.

'Gun fire…' Rylanor thought to himself, picking up on the faintest echoes of 50 caliber bullets being fired in staccato. 'One of the platoons must have been discovered, or panicked.' His mind was sharp as steel, and cool as the winds blowing around him, analyzing the situation from circumstantial evidence.

The Abominable Intelligence must have run into the 1st or 2nd Platoon, judging from the direction the sound came from. That meant it had brushed against the left flank of the half-formed encirclement.

A simple mind would have assumed the Abominable Intelligence would simply go down the line, eliminating platoon after platoon. It would have been easier if their foe was that simple. If it had, the 18th Battalion would have been able to encircle the Abominable Intelligence in a spiral formation. All they had to do was order any platoons that were attacked by it to fall back while moving the platoons on the end of the encirclement past the enemy before attacking.

However, the Abominable Intelligences were craftier than that. After it had finished destroying whatever platoon it had encountered, it would start repositioning itself to the other end of the line trying to encircle it. That way, it would always be moving away from one flank while attacking the other. Without vehicles, the normal troops would not be able to keep up with it, and without encircling it, the 18th Battalion would not be able to destroy it. From then on it would move in a zig-zag pattern, ensuring only one of its flanks was exposed to the enemy so it could focus its processing power on that side.

'I can hear something brushing against the snow. It's coming this way.'

Rylanor's mind went through the various formations and tactics held in reserve for this situation, and then settled on one.

"Set up the weapons." Rylanor ordered curtly.

The men and women before him took a second to react to the sudden change. The warm yet strict tone he had used earlier was gone. In its place was a voice so cold it felt like a razor pressed against their neck.

Rylanor used his ears to keep track of how far the 15th Platoon had gotten in setting up their weapons. He listened for the clack of racked bolts from heavy stubbers and the soft thunk of rockets being loaded into man-portable launchers. Meanwhile, his enhanced eyes were scanning the dark horizon. The planet's southern pole was turned away from the sun this season, and the winds had kicked up the toxic snow into a minor blizzard. Visibility was low, but Rylanor's eyes found the machine approaching them in the blurry darkness. It was the size of a small house with 8 thick legs. The synthetic plasti-steel muscles were hidden behind thick angular armor. Its dodecahedral body was perched on a rotating base. There was no head. Instead, it had small bulges on all 12 of its sides. These contained the sensor pods and cameras it used to see and hear.

"Hand me a targeting flare." Rylanor said to one of the soldiers behind him, and a flare gun was hurriedly brought before him. He attached it to a loop on the back of his belt, then unbuckled his chainsword and lascarbine.

Rylanor kept his breath short and shallow, using only one of the three lungs installed within him. He had taken off his rebreather to give the speech, and now he didn't dare take his eyes of the enemy to put it back on. Breathing like this was painful, but isolating the toxic contamination of his innards to one lung at a time would allow him to breathe for longer without it.

'50 minutes…' Rylanor estimated the amount of time he had before all three of his lungs would fail.

"Fire the 'all-out-attack' flare." Rylanor ordered, and a pair of soldiers in white trench coats unloaded a long mortar-like tube from one of the sleds. They pointed it upwards, and one of them pulled a cord coming out of its base. A small rocket shot into the sky, emitting a blood red glow as twin screams of high and low pitches came from the whistles built into its stabling fins.

"Begin direct support on my targets when I begin firing. Proceed to phase two when you see the targeting flare." Rylanor ordered, then began jogging at a brisk pace of 30km/h towards the machine.

The Abominable Intelligence raised itself off the ground, extending its legs so it could approach them faster. The flare made it obvious they had noticed it. Up until now, it had been trying to creep up on them, doing the equivalent of crawling on its belly with its 8 legs; as ridiculous as it seemed for such a large machine.

'But it has already succeeded once.' Rylanor admitted begrudgingly as he noticed the almost black stains of frozen blood on its legs. There was only the sound of heavy stubber fire on the wind, and no noise from the machine's weapons. It must have trampled them underfoot, using the low visibility and sound of the wind to hide its approach until it was too late.

A seam opened on the right of the machine's 12 sided body, exposing a series of tubes pointing upwards. There were four thunks as cold launch systems thrust four identical missles free from their silos. Then all four ignited their engines, shooting towards Rylanor and the 15th Platoon.

'Hunter Killers…' Rylanor observed, as the world slowed down as his mind sped up.

He couldn't let them hit the 15th Platoon. Even if the missiles didn't wipe them out, enough casualties would break their morale.

Rylanor hip fired his lascarbine as he jogged. The first two shots went wide as he adjusted his aim, then the third hit the missile furthest behind right on its tip. 3 more las beams struck before the armored casing gave way and its warhead detonated.

'Anti-air flechettes.' He observed, as the explosion bloomed outwards in slow motion; his reinforced eyes noticing the silvery glint of armor piercing darts spreading out in the bright white and orange cloud.

His lascarbine swiveled to focus on the foremost missile, aiming a good ten or so centimeters below its tip.

'Can't detonate the warhead. Explosion will hide the other missiles.' Rylanor reminded himself as he aimed for the guidance system of the Hunter Killer.

Three shots, and a hole opened up in the missles side spilling out gray smoke as the silicon wafers that composed its guidance system were vaporized by a las beam. The now braindead Hunter Killer went screaming off in a random direction, tumbling round-and-round as it went.

A single second was all it took, and two of the 4 Hunter Killers were disabled. All the normal humans could see was a series of lasbeams fired out as if from a fully automatic machine-gun from a man moving at the speed of a cruising car.

Only two could react in a tactical manner; the gene-crafted Rylanor, and the silicon mind of the Abominable Intelligence.

The second and third Hunter Killers curved midair, turning towards Rylanor. The second hid the third Hunter Killer behind it, ensuring Rylanor could not take them out one by one. He grimaced internally as he saw the machine adapt its tactics.

*RA-TA-TA-TA!

Blazing white tracer rounds flew overhead, spraying the air around the two Hunter Killers, as the 15th Platoon's heavy stubber opened fire.

The Hunter Killers dropped their altitude, getting out of the stream of bullets that were approaching them. Then continued rocketing towards Rylanor, skimming the ground and creating dust plumes behind them as they went.

A small smile crossed Rylanor's lips. The 15th had followed his orders, and fired on the targets he had fired upon. He let out a short breath, focussing his mind and stilling his thoughts like he did during the practice duels he had with his brothers. Every step he needed to take, every turn he would need to make appeared before him in picture perfect clarity.

The lascarbine in his left hand let off a series of whip-like cracks as the chainsword in his right roared.

A ball of blinding white light erupted as the second Hunter Killer detonated prematurely, hiding both Rylanor and the third Hunter Killer from each other's eyes and sensors. Gene-enhanced organs went into overdrive, switching from a 30km/h jog to 40km/h sprint in a second.

Rylanor held his chainsword in front, using it as a shield for his head and upper body as he bent downwards into a crouch run. The expanding ball of fire scalded his gene-crafted flesh, yet fresh cells replaced the damaged epidermis almost instantaneously. Burnt skin was shed away like an old sunburn. He kept his jaw slack and lungs empty as the shockwave ran through him, ignoring the popping of capillaries and other minor blood vessels as his flesh rippled with the concussive force. Armor piercing flechettes grazed and punctured his body's extremities. However, those that would have hit his head and torso bounced off his thick shoulder pauldrons and the rotating teeth of the chainsword held in front of him.

'Now!' Rylanor thought to himself, jumping upwards as the third Hunter Killer appeared centimeters beneath him. He had outrun the machine's expectations of him, reaching it before it could detonate its warhead. His chainsword sliced through the middle of the Hunter Killer, cutting off its warhead from its rocket engine, then the Hunter Killer and gene-enhanced warrior flew past each other. Both tumbled across the ground, carried by their momentum.

*KABOOM!

The last Hunter Killer exploded, sending a gout of dust and smoke into the air.

Rylanor was already running towards the Abominable Intelligence again. His lascarbine cracked like a series of whips, sending las beams to dissipate harmlessly against the machine's armor. But, those shots were not sent in vain.

'I'm still here.' The beams of las energy said, glowing bright red in the smoke and dust that hid Rylanor from the 15th Platoon. 'And I'm still fighting.'

Heavy stubber fire re-started, now hitting the Abominable Intelligence, as the morale of the men and women of the 15th Platoon rose.

'Your move…' Rylanor thought to himself, as he jogged towards the giant machine.

The first bout between them had ended. The next step of the duel between man and machine was now underway.

Two new seams opened on the lower side of the machine as it closed its vertical missile silo.

'Auto-cannons…' Rylanor noted as the multi-barreled weapons emerged from underneath its armor. He fired several more shots on the machine's right side, then curved his path slightly so he would approach from the same side. The heavy stubber fire from the 15th Platoon began to concentrate on the right side of the machine. The bullets did nothing against its armor, but the vibrations from the impacts and flashes from tracers blinded the Abominable Intelligence's sonar, thermal, and visual sensors on the sides that were struck.

Both auto-cannons began firing blindly. Rylanor's reinforced eyes caught the muzzle flash and dodged out of the way as he predicted where the barrels were pointing.

The first series of shots went wide, creating a curtain of dust behind and in front of Rylanor. He grimaced as he fired his lascarbine to show the 15th Platoon as he was alive, then quickly turned around as a stream of bullets tore up the ground where he had been.

Rylanor's opponent was no mindless automaton. It was a machine that thought with semi-conductors nerves and silicon memory chips. It was predicting his movements, just as he was trying to read its.

Having lost its target, the Abominable Intelligence feinted by turning its right auto-cannon slightly towards the 15th Platoon.

Rylanor answered its feint with a jab of las fire towards the weapon, striking the gun shield at the base of the barrels, threatening the cartridge belts behind it.

Simultaneously, he jumped backwards, avoiding the mili-second counter from the machine's left auto-cannon.

But the exchange was not done yet.

The right auto-cannon now opened fire in front of Rylanor as the left closed in from behind. Each weapon weaved up and down a few degrees, creating a wall of explosions that were slowly closing in.

Rylanor continued sprinting straight at the wall of explosions coming towards him. Seconds before he was torn apart by the stream of explosive bullets, heavy stubber fire connected with the openside of the right auto-cannon. Its armored cartridge belts jumped and jostled with every bullet that bounced off it, causing the auto-cannon shells to enter the cam of the weapon irregularly. For a brief moment, the right auto-cannon stopped firing, whirring to eject any potentially jammed shells. In that brief moment, Rylanor dove through the brief gap in the machine's barrage. Both auto-cannons resumed firing, trailing behind Rylanor as he sprinted to outrun the turning speed of each weapon. His lascarbine struck the gun shields of each auto-cannon, threatening to cut through the cartridge belts should it turn its guns away from him to attack the 15th Platoon.

'10 minutes...' Rylanor counted out the amount of time since the all-out-attack flare had been launched. 'The other Platoons of the 18th Battalion should be nearby.' He thought to himself as the explosions tearing up the ground behind him began to draw closer.

He clipped his chainsword back onto his belt and grabbed the targeting flare in its stead.

A burning white ball shot out from Rylanor over the machine, blinding all of its optical sensors. His lascarbine blinded its thermal sensors with pinpoint shots on several bulges on its left side. Snow and dirt shot up as he skidded to a stop, then dived into the temporary blind spot. Both auto-cannons went wild, spraying as wide an area as possible to score at least one hit.

More las fire returned from the falling clods of dust and slush, as if taunting the machine's reduced aim.

As the Abominable Intelligence spun both auto-cannons to return fire, a second stream of heavy stubber fire struck it from the side, followed by a third and fourth from different directions.

The other Platoons of the 18th Battalion had arrived, dragging their heavy stubbers through the snow on their sleds towards the blazing red all-out-attack flare above them. More and more 50 caliber fire peppered the machine from all sides, blinding and confusing it with vibrations, heat, and light.

New seams opened on the Abominable Intelligence armor as 3 more auto-cannons and two upward facing missile silos emerged. Rylanor fired at one of the missile silos, but the machine ignored the las beams and continued readying its weapons.

Until now the machine had viewed Rylanor as the main threat, but now it prioritized its current situation as the greater danger. The humans were trying to carry out some sort of plan, and that plan required blinding and confusing it from all sides. It didn't know what they were trying to do, but whatever it was it gave them the confidence to continue showering it with ineffective bullets that bounced off its armor. There was no getting out of this situation with only two auto-cannons, so it would overwhelm its enemies with raw firepower. It might lose a missile silo to Rylanor, but it would be worth destroying all the other humans supporting him.

Rylanor's eyes narrowed as he saw the machine continue to unfurl its weapons, preparing to take a flesh wound so it could deal a killing blow.

But the IIIrd Legion had studied how the machines thought. They knew from the historical records of failed expeditions how their code operated.

Rylanor charged towards the machine, invisible to its sensors due to the sheer volume of 50 caliber fire hitting it from every angle. His eyes burned as they observed every tilt, angle, and joint of the machine's 8 legs.

He dove past the first leg, hitting the inside joint with his chainsword as he passed it. He kicked the second, then launched off it to strike at a third.

5 times he struck in a couple seconds, causing the machine to stumble as its legs buckled temporarily. All of its weapons paused as it rapidly recalculated the necessary targeting algorithms.

As it stumbled, one of its 12 faces turned downwards, and was free from the endless heavy stubber fire. In that moment, it saw the enhanced human pulling his arm back with a grenade.

All of the machine's weapons began to retreat under its armor as the grenade left Rylanor's fingers. The metal seams finished sealing themselves, just as the fragmentary case plinked off its armor. Then the grenade exploded, knocking the already off-balance Abominable Intelligence backwards.

'It is overheating.' Rylanor thought to himself as he watched the machine try to rebalance itself almost drunkenly.

The constant barrage of attacks was beginning to confuse it. Even if they couldn't dent its armor, they were slowing its brain by overloading it with information.

He watched it stumble for one more step, then leapt out of the way as it slammed three of its legs where he had been.

The machine had reevaluated its priorities. The humans around it couldn't physically hurt it, but Rylanor was an annoyance it would no longer ignore.

Rylanor rolled out of the way of another tree-trunk like foot as the machine stamped at him madly. Its head was bowed over, keeping one face pointed to the ground where the heavy stubber fire could not blind it, all so it could keep an eye on the gene-enhanced human who was the biggest pain in its side.

Yet, even as gouts of snow and dust exploded around him with every stamp, Rylanor smiled.

Suddenly there was an explosion, and the machine teetered precariously, ceasing its flurry of melee attacks to stop itself from falling over. Another explosion slammed into the machine, followed by another and another.

Rocket teams had surrounded the Abominable Intelligence while it had been distracted by the heavy stubber fire and Rylanor. Contact-fused rockets now pummeled it along with the 50 caliber fire. However, unlike the bullets that merely blinded the machine, these rockets slammed into it like the fists of a giant boxer, knocking it back and forth with every explosion and rattling its insides through the armor plates.

Dazed and confused, the machine opened up its weapons to kill the rocket teams surrounding it.

It could feel components starting to come loose.

It could feel its silicon nerves beginning to overheat and irreparably fray.

The machine fired all five of its auto-cannons, tearing into several of the rocket and heavy stubber teams around it. But the humans did not falter. Battlelust and adrenaline numbed them to fear as they continued firing, even as the machine loomed over them spraying explosive death around it at a rate of hundreds of rounds per second.

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

"Reloaded!" Andile heard his loader, Bailey shout.

"Backblast clear!" He yelled out as he readied his rocket launcher in the kneeling position and took aim.

"Clear!" Mark, the reserve shooter shouted out, and Andile pulled the trigger.

His rocket flew upwards, and exploded against the armor of the machine swaying above them. Orang explosions flashed one after another, sending it rocking back and forth as it returned fire. A couple of shells went over their heads, cracking the air with sonic booms.

"Reloaded!" Bailey shouted again, as he jammed another rocket into the launcher.

Another series of auto-cannon shells tore up the ground next to them, as the machine rocked back and forth under the assault. The explosions knocked Andile on his side. He quickly patted himself down to figure out if he'd been hit, but felt no wetness or warmth that indicated blood.

"Move!" Mark yelled, helping Andile to his feet. Bailey was already running, carrying the remaining rockets in their carrying racks to the next firing position.

Around them, dozens of similar three-man teams fired their rockets and repositioned between shots.

The air was filled with screamed orders, roaring cannons, and the whoosh and thump of exploding rockets.

They were only about a dozen meters away from the machine. Any further, and they couldn't guarantee a successful shot.

Being so close to the towering machine should have filled them with fear. Yet, the only thing they all felt was the rush of adrenaline.

A stream of explosions tore up the ground before them, and Bailey disappeared in a gout of flames as the rockets he carried detonated. The explosion knocked Andile on his back, luckily, for the stream of shells that killed Bailey went through the air where he had been. Dust and snow filled the air, blinding him as auto-cannon shells exploded around him.

When sound returned to his ears, the first thing he heard were Mark's screams.

"My leg!" The man cried, clutching at the shredded mess beneath his right knee.

Andile scrambled to his feet, pulling out a length of elastic cord from the basic kit they had all been given. He needed to stop the bleeding, everything else was secondary.

"Fuck!" Mark swore as Andile tied the cord above the wound, then he grabbed the man's collar once he had finished.

"Shoot!" Mark yelled as he fought back the pain. "Just fucking shoot!"

Andile could only nod, overwhelmed with adrenaline and dazed by the explosion from earlier. He ran back to his launcher, put on his shoulder, and took a knee.

'I only have one shot…' The thought was surprisingly calm in the cacophony of yelling and explosions around him. His target rotated, swayed, and rocked like a ship on a stormy sea, bobbing in and out of his launcher sights.

'One shot…' Andile thought as he aimed at one of the machine's auto-cannons, and watched it sway in and out of the targeting reticle.

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

For Rylanor, the rockets and explosions all seemed to happen in slow motion. He could see them moving through the air, like slow moving fish in a shallow pond. His eyes followed the rocket fired by a lone soldier, and he smiled as he watched the rocket slam into the ammunition belt of the Abominable Intelligence. A chain reaction ensued, as explosive cartridges detonated like a set of fire crackers, blowing the weapon off the arm that aimed it.

Rylanor began to move to the opposite side of the injured machine, crouch running to ensure he remained as hidden as possible. The battle was finished. It was only a matter of time before the normal troops took the machine apart, but casualties would be high. That would not do for a first battle. This was but the first step in Army Group Antilles campaign, and Rylanor wanted morale to be as high as possible.

So, it was up to him to ensure they ended on a high note.

The enhanced soldier knelt down in the snow, and watched as the rocket teams around the machine began to focus on the obvious hole in the machine's armor.

The machine spun its body, hiding the weak point away from enemy fire, tanking the series of rockets that were aimed at that one point. The consecutive explosions shoved the machine to one side. Its dodecahedral body tilted towards Rylanor, and in that moment he jumped. His hands grabbed onto the broken remains of the auto-cannon arm, and he pulled himself into the machine, even as it spun in an attempt to shake him off.

Once inside, Rylanor braced himself against the hole's edges and looked around. There was no space within the machine, save for the hole where the auto-cannon would have been stored and the ruined remains left by the detonated ammunition boxes. Everything else was covered in a secondary layer of armor, which was interspersed with heat sinks and coolant tubes.

Rylanor revved his chainsword, and jabbed it point first into the Abominable Intelligence's second layer of armor. Bit by bit, his weapon ate through the secondary layer of protection. Steam burst out of the gap his weapon had made as coolant tubes hidden within burst, spraying him with scalding noxious fumes as the machine shivered and groaned. After a few minutes of sawing, his weapon slipped into the softer silicon of the machine's brain as the hole widened to fit his blade. Rylanor twisted and turned his sword, physically lobotomizing and disemboweling the Abominable Intelligence at the same time.

Finally, with one final shudder, the machine ceased moving.

Then it fell.

Like a chopped down tree, it collapsed to one side, slamming into the ground sending dust and snow up into the air.

Rylanor let out a sigh as his muscles relaxed, and sat back in the dark innards of the now dead machine. The machine had landed, hole side downwards, burying him itself into the snow. Yet, the insides of the machine were beginning to heat up. The power core must have been damaged, either during the fall or while Rylanor was carving up the Abominable Intelligence's insides. Sections of the second layer of armor were already beginning to glow with the heat.

'If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles.' He thought to himself dryly as he began to dig his way out of the machine, carving a tunnel through compacted snow and slush with his bare hands.

This victory had been preordained in the briefing rooms above cogitators and datapads. Its strategies and tactics had been perfected over hundreds of hours of preparatory drills.

Perhaps that was why he felt no overwhelming feeling of joy or relief. At least, he would like to think that was the reason.

'Now comes the hard part…' He thought as he left the melting machine, and began to dig upwards.

Rylanor emerged from the snow as a gout of molten metal shot out behind him. Like lava from a volcano, it shot into the sky silhouetting Rylanor in orange light and flames as he emerged before the 18th Battalion.

'Like a phoenix…' Rylanor chuckled to himself, as he watched the soldiers gaze up at him in awe.

"He did it… He actually did it!"

"Did you see that?!"

"Rylanor! Rylanor!"

The men and women before him began to cheer his name as molten metal continued to shoot into the sky behind him.

"STOP!" Rylanor ordered with a stern gaze.

The cheering immediately ceased, and the smiles of joy wavered as fear touched their hearts.

"Assess our casualties." Ryanor ordered with a quieter tone. "Recover the dead and wounded. Call for our flyers. I want medicae teams and supply ships, now."

The men and women around Rylanor quickly realized where they were, and what had just happened. The machine's counter attack had been brutal. Many teams had been hit, and the wounded would not last long in the cold. Every second counted.

A vox-officer uttered hurried reports and requests, giving the all clear for the support teams and their flyers to move-up. The rest began to dig through the snow to collect what they could of their dead and wounded.

Rylanor redonned his rebreather as the 18th Battalion searched for their fallen compatriots, then he joined them in their search. His reinforced musculature proved useful, allowing him to carry many dead and wounded over to a thick insulative sheet someone had laid out. His eyes checked each set of ID tags on the soldiers, and his mind memorized their names. Messages of condolences and letters would need to be given out to the next of kin. Names would have to be inscribed into plaques and memorial walls. The Imperial Army would have their own services and notices. However, they did not have the same resources the IIIrd Legion had in terms of sculptors, artists, iterators, and remembrancers.

Once the medicae teams and supply ships arrived, Rylanor gathered up the entire 18th Battalion before him. They stood to attention as he looked down at them to give a speech.

"This victory…" Rylanor began. "Was not won by the actions or words of a single man. It was won by you and your faith. Faith in the Imperium and the equipment it provides. Faith in your superiors and the orders they give. Faith in me, and most importantly faith in yourselves. Had even one of you lost faith in any one of these things and fled, we would all not be here."

Rylanor drew himself up to his full height, then saluted the 18th Battalion.

"This victory is yours. The victory of the 151st Army Group Antilles 18th Battalion. I salute you and thank you for your service."

The men and women remaining all returned his salute. Behind them, those wounded but still conscious did their best to salute, for they could see Rylanor turn to salute them as well.

"Remember this moment." Rylanor continued. "This is the power of unity. Our power! The power of humanity when it comes together for a common goal. Together, mankind can bring down the toughest foes, conquer the harshest climates. Nothing will stop us! Nothing will scare us! We are the soldiers of the Imperium! The light of the Emperor extends with every step we take, bringing with it the return of human civilization. We are the heralds of a new age! A new dawn! So long as we stand together we shall always be victorious. Now, do a final spot check. We move in 15 minutes to the next ambush point. Dismissed."

Rylanor dropped his salute, and the men and women of the 18th Battalion began to disperse to check their weapons and equipment.

'They will not run any more.' Rylanor thought to himself as he checked his own equipment, replacing the saw chain of his chainsword and the powerpack of his lascarbine. He could see it in the surety of their movements. He could hear the new confidence in their voice as they spoke to one another.

'Courage will push them forwards, and honor will bind them to their duty.'

Courage. The driving force that resisted fear, and tempered rashness.

Honor. The empty prize men and women had died for throughout the ages.

The very first philosophers had long debated these concepts, and all the noble sons of Europa had been educated by the remnants of their texts, as well as their political and military usage.

Rylanor put on his best smile underneath his rebreather, as the men and women of the 18th Battalion gathered up before him.

"Follow me." Rylanor ordered before turning around, and the men and women behind him walked forwards with him, dragging sleds filled with guns, 50 caliber bullets, and rockets into the snowy wastes.

'I will not apologize for what I do to them.' Rylanor thought as he led the 18th battalion to their next battle. 'Nothing of worth comes without sacrifice. Someone must fight. Someone must die. If there is nobody willing to pay that price, then we are all doomed. That is why I will not apologize. Instead, I will give them my thanks. I will give them my respect, and I will remember them for as long as I live. That is my burden, as the one who bestows honor upon them.'

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

- IIIrd Legion Remembrancer Audio Log: 29135

A man will fight for money, or power. He will fight for virtues, for a while at least. But a man will die for honor. He will put his life before this immaterial concept which has no material benefit nor binding meaning. This concept that is too lacking in material benefit to be epicurean, yet is too transactional to be stoic has been the motivating force for many soldiers. It has held the line during the most grueling sieges. It has inspired the bloodiest vendettas. It has redeemed the most unforgivable traitors.

Yet, despite all the things it has inspired, it is not the gaining of honor that gives it its power. It is the giving of honor that truly makes this word mighty.

Courage and honor, I have heard some of the XIIIth Legion chant.

How little they understand the concepts.

Honor is not to be won like some prize on the battlefield. It is to be bequeathed from one of virtue onto another. It is to be passed down from soldier to soldier, from commander to trooper. It is given by those who have it to those who need it through actions and examples.

Army Group Antilles participated in many wars around the southern hemisphere, and carried on the culture the IIIrd Legion instilled within them even after the IIIrd Legion moved on to other parts of the globe. The bonds forged in their first battle, set in the example shown by the Emperor's Children, became self-propagating.

That is why the IIIrd Legion, who understands the true value of honor, are the embodiment of the Emperor's ideals and the perfect example of what he can create.

—-------------------------------------------------
A/N: Rylanor does not have the Black Carapace implanted in him yet, as it has yet to be developed this far in the past. Bolters are also much rarer during this age. Even Thunder Warriors were not fully equipped with Bolters until much later in the Unification Wars. This is also why he does not have any power armor on him. However, he is pretty much complete, as displayed by his physical capabilities. The lack of power armor is shown in his running speed, which is about 15~30km slower than the average Space Marine when they are in full power armor. (They can run at a canon speed of 55~70 km/hr)

A/N2: The blueberries are often disliked for being the goody 2 shoes of the 40K universe. However, it was the Emperor's Children who were the true teacher's pets in the 30K setting, so they are as insufferably good, noble, and heroic as can be imagined.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N: Apologies for the two month hiatus. I've been trying to create a backlog of chapters, so I don't have to feel like I'm being hounded by upload dates. Real life has been busy as well, so I'll probably be switching to a monthly upload schedule. This Apocrypha was written on June 23rd, and it's mostly here because I was worried people didn't know who Rylanor was or what he is most famous for in 40K. The events are a re-telling of the latter part of Isstvan III from Rylanor's perspective.

A few Dramatis Personae might also be necessary.

Saul Tarvitz : Depending on the novel, he is a captain, first-captain, or simple line-officer within the Emperor's Children. When the loyalists were betrayed on Isstvan III, Sault Tarvitz (Emperor's Children), Garviel Loken (Sons of Horus) and Tarik Torgaddon (Sons of Horus) managed to reorganize the scattered loyalists into a cohesive fighting force. Their objective was to hold back the traitors, and find some way to report Horus's treachery to the Imperium. After three months of ruthless fighting, Horus was forced to orbitally bombard the loyalists, as their position within the Precentor's Palace had stymied every ground assault the traitors launched against it.

Vistario, Akhtar, and Murshid: The trio of Thousand Sons sent to investigate a cryptic message in the short story "The Ancient Awaits". They find Rylanor in the ruins of Isstvan III.

—-------------------------------------------------
"Hold!" Rylanor's voice boomed through the Dreadnought's speakers. Bolter shells and Volkite beams bounced off his thick adamantium carapace as he returned fire with his auto-cannon.

The Venerable Dreadnought and the dozen or so Space Marines that followed him traded fire with men using the same Mark IV Power Armor. They ducked in and out of cover, dashing out only when their brothers managed to give sufficient suppressive fire for them. Beams, bolt shells, and balls of plasma flew back and forth between both parties. Yet, Rylanor and the other loyalists were forced back, bit by bit. It was not that they were lacking in terms of armaments, protection, or tactics. They were evenly matched against their enemy in those regards. They were simply outnumbered.

Dust and rubble fell down upon them as the basement shook violently.

"They're trying to bury us with orbital bombardments!" One of the loyalists spat angrily.

Rylanor grimaced as he let loose another stream of explosive shells, forcing the traitors to hide, and allowing one of his brothers to fall back safely.

Things were much worse than they seemed.

The basement of the Precentor's Palace was well over a kilometer underground. Only the dorsally mounted Bombardment cannons of their Battle Barges could shake this place. But, that was not the worst problem. If the Precentor's Palace was being bombarded, it meant there was a hostile warship within firing range above them. A warship that might shoot down the only hope they had left here.

"Fallback to the hangar!" Rylanor ordered. "I will hold the entrance! The rest of you activate the remaining anti-orbital defenses! Stealth is no longer an option! We'll launch while the warship above us is distracted!"

The loyalists sent back their affirmations via the tactical display on their helmets, and began to retreat deeper into the facility. Rylanor stood between them and the traitors, using his Dreadnought as a moving shield as he waddled backwards. The thick adamantium blocked the bolter shells and Volkite beams fired their way, while the occasional armor piercing balls of plasma were smashed apart by his power fist's disruptive fields.

Even after his internment into a Dreadnought, Rylanor's eyes and reflexes remained largely intact. Swatting away the glowing balls of plasma, and dispersing the superheated matter before it could touch him was difficult, but not impossible.

As the Ancient retreated with the other survivors, he reflected as to how exactly they had gotten here.

Rylanor had become separated from Saul Tarvitz and the other loyalists during the initial Virus bombing. He had been outside when it happened, atop the roof of the Precentor's Palace. The civilian populace of Choral City melted away before his eyes as the Life-eater virus did its work.

The Venerable Dreadnought he had been interred in was thankfully able to withstand the virus's penetrative capabilities. Ordinary Power Armor filters only slowed the virus, and did not offer full protection. He retreated back into the Palace, after committing the atrocities of his gene-father to memory. The firestorm was coming, and even his Dreadnought would not survive it.

After that, he managed to regroup with a few other loyalists who had evaded the Life-eater virus, as well as a few unexpected individuals.

'Ironic, that we were saved by our original enemy.' Rylanor thought bitterly as he laid down another stream of suppressive fire.

The original mission on Isstvan III was the suppression of a rebellion. That mission was still underway when they had been betrayed, and there were still enemy Warsingers fighting on the planet. Rylanor and his loyalists had run into one such group of survivors as they searched for Saul Tarvitz. A battle ensued, and the Warsingers were eliminated. However, their actions puzzled Rylanor.

Soldiers who could continue fighting, even as their entire planet died around them, did not move without purpose. The Warsingers were an empathetic group of fighters. Rylanor had seen them attempt to comfort or shepherd survivors, even as the Life-eater virus ate away at their skin. A few of the other loyalists shared Rylanor's confusion, and used their enhancements to recover the last memories of their enemies. That was how they had learned of this underground hangar, and the ship that lay within it. It was this ship that had given those Warsingers the hope to keep fighting during the Virus bombing. Now, it was the hope of Rylanor and the remaining loyalists.

'One ship…' Rylanor thought as he retreated backwards into the hangar. 'If we can get one ship off this planet, we can warn the other Legions of what happened here…'

The entire underground hangar shook again as another magma bomb detonated above them. There was the scream of shearing metal, and the roof buckled. Support beams and jagged chunks of ferrocrete fell down upon them.

Rylanor smashed an incoming piece of debris with his powerfist, turning it into dust before its weight could crush him. "Take off!" he roared.

There was no more time. They had hoped to launch in secret, but the waves of traitor troops deployed after the Virus bombing forced them to fight. Now, with this orbital bombardment, they would have to put all their faith in the skills of the pilot, and dumb luck to evade the warship hovering directly overhead.

The sleek ship rose off the ground. It had no weapons, nor shields. All it had to protect itself was its speed and relatively small signal profile.

There was another quake, and the roof collapsed. Tons of rock rained down on the rising ship, slamming it back into the ground and cracking its hull. A falling support beam cut through its starboard wing. The engines of the starship flared, as the last inputs of the now dead pilot were registered. Vitrifying flames bathed the loyalists behind Rylanor, vaporizing their flesh and melting their armor in an instant.

Pure hate roared through the Dreadnought's speakers as Rylanor laid into the remaining traitors before him.

They had failed.

The traitors' deeds would go unreported and unpunished. Even as he pulverized traitors with his power fist, and tore them apart with unrelenting streams of auto-cannon fire, he had failed.

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

Rylanor was left alone in the dark, half-collapsed hangar. For some reason the stream of traitor Space Marines had petered out.

'Did a hallway or staircase collapse? Surely, I have not killed all of them.' Rylanor mused to himself. His internal tactical display showed that several days had passed since he had killed the last traitor he could find.

The Dreadnought squatted down, de-powering its servos and hydraulics as Rylanor reduced the output of his generator.

If the passage to the surface had collapsed, then Rylanor was trapped here. He was interred in a Dreadnought with only one arm. Digging himself out of here was impossible.

'Nothing to do but wait.' The Ancient thought grimly, as his consciousness slowly dropped into a stasis coma.

Whether it was rescue or the chance for further retribution, the Ancient would wait.

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

It was a sound that awoke Rylanor; a base thrumming that rippled through the very ground, sending a prickling sensation through his skin as it passed through him. His Dreadnought reactivated as a gout of dust and debris blew out of the old passageway. Rylanor kept his Dreadnought still. He was currently hidden behind the remains of the crushed starship, out of direct line of sight from the hangar doors. The allegiance of these new intruders was unknown to him, so he kept silent as they walked into the hangar.

Rylanor's concern grew as he heard the new intruders entering the hangar. Their footfalls were heavy, a clear indication of Power Armor of some sort. Yet, it was not that sound that set his nerves on edge.

It was their voices.

He could hear them talking to each other, clearly and without the tell-tale sound of vox-muffling. That meant they were walking around without their helmets on, but he could still not understand what they were saying to each other.

The Ancient looked at his tactical auspex. Only a few decades had passed since he entered his stasis-coma. If this was a few hundred, or a few thousand he might have been able to accept linguistic drift as the reason for why standard-gothic was no longer recognizable.

He heard the clatter of something being kicked across the hangar floor, followed by a series or repeated noises.

Laughter. It was laughter he was hearing. Someone was laughing in this unmarked tomb of his brothers, pissing on their graves with their mirth.

Rylanor remained still, even as fury boiled within him.

He had no idea as to the allegiance of the intruders, nor their armaments or number for that matter. Now was not the time to give in to rage. Better to let the enemy come to him.

The armored footsteps approached the starship he was hidden behind. Rylanor readied his assault-cannon. The power fist was too noisy and too bright to use for an ambush.

The foot of one of the intruders peeked out from behind the corner. Rylanor recognized the colors of the IIIrd Legion, his colors, on the boot.

The next step brought the bottom of the intruder's weapon into view. It was unlike anything Rylanor had ever seen before. Vibrantly painted, it had sinewy organic looking harp strings and echo chambers built into it. Spines and curved blades jutted out from what looked to be an almost phallic barrel with a speaker where the muzzle should have been.

The 3rd step brought the intruder's face into view, and Rylanor struck at it with his unpowered power fist the moment he saw it.

Where there had been a man's head once, was a sickening pile of wrinkled skin covered in spines and glistening lubricant. Whoever this had been, they had replaced their eyes and mouth with black diaphragms that constantly vibrated, allowing the twisted thing to see with sound.

It was a mockery that Rylanor could not allow to exist.

Rylanor stepped out of the shadows, as his former brother's headless body fell to the ground. His auto-cannon was already roaring, obliterating two more traitors as his power fist crackled to life.

More IIIrd Legion traitors were around the ruined hangar, digging through its remains. An unexploded Virus bomb lay on the ground, most likely recovered from the surface by the band of scavengers. All of them had the same or similar enhancements applied to their flesh, and held sadistic weapons in their hands. Twisted sound came from the speakers that replaced their mouths, barking orders in the form of hideous melodies.

Fire was traded between them. Pulses of sound shook the weakened hangar as Rylanor's auto-cannon shredded the traitors, causing their flailing bodies to fire up towards the ceiling. Several shots grazed the Dreadnought, sending spin-chilling vibrations throughout the metal, threatening to liquify Rylanor's flesh as cavitation bubbles formed inside the amniotic fluid around him.

The fight only lasted a few minutes. Even with their new weapons, the traitors could not kill the occupant of the Venerable Dreadnought. However, the Ancient was not uninjured.

Rylanor limped around the remains of the starship. Several of his internal systems were destroyed, and his feet were barely functional. The tactical auspex had shattered from the vibrations, and he could taste blood in the fluid around him.

'One… more…' Rylanor thought as he dragged his Dreadnought around the corner of the ship. A trail of blood and gore led to the last surviving traitor. His bisected upper torso lay there, seemingly dead.

Slowly, Rylanor approached the traitor.

Even this seemingly dead corpse could not be trusted. He was still trapped in this hangar, and that meant he would have to enter a stasis-coma again. No traitor could be left alive; either to harm him directly, or call for help.

Suddenly, the traitor flipped over. In his hands was the weapon of the first traitor Rylanor had killed.

The Dreadnought's waist and left ankle rotated in opposite directions, swiveling Rylanor's body out of the way of the traitor's weapon. The auto-cannon lowered, preparing to fire.

Then the traitor laughed. A repeated buzzing and humming sound came from the diaphragms that replaced his eyes and mouth, then he fired up into the ceiling.

Rylanor's auto-cannon obliterated the traitor's body, but the damage had been done. Ferrocrete and metal began to rain down upon him once again.

The Ancient ducked under the remains of the starship, trying to use it as cover from the debris. Metal supports punched right through the starship's hull, denting the adamantium armor and tearing off one of his legs.

Finally, the shaking stopped, and Rylanor was left alone once more.

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

'How many years has it been?' Rylanor thought idly to himself as he worked with the one hand his Dreadnought had.

Decades, at the least, although he would not have been surprised if someone told him it had been centuries. Working with only one oversized hand meant progress was infinitesimally slow.

He was currently tinkering with the twisted machine the traitor had left behind. Cables connected both him and it to the reactor of the ship. Its internal powerlines had miraculously survived both the first and second collapses, allowing Rylanor to keep both himself and the twisted contraption powered. The Dreadnought's own generator had died on him shortly after his reunion with his twisted brothers.

The contraption finally activated, letting out a constant hum of bone-tingling noise. Rylanor grabbed it and placed it in the depression he had dug behind him, on top of the other parting gift the traitors had left him. The Virus bomb they had found would be put to good use.

'Now I wait.' He thought to himself as he leaned back, allowing his weapons to point upwards, pretending to be dead.

Rylanor could not move, and he was not going to die. However, he would not spend an eternity waiting for another band of miscreants to discover him.

'Fulgrim…' Rylanor's thoughts uttered the name with thermonuclear hate. 'I will kill you for what you have done to us.' His thoughts did not stop with the compatriots who had died here. The things the IIIrd Legion had been transformed into… that was an unforgivable insult to those who had been transformed, those who remembered what they once were, and to the Emperor who originally made them.

'Come, Fulgrim.' Rylanor thought as he stared up at the ruined ceiling, scarred by the blasphemous sounds the traitors had unleashed.

'Come.'

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

Rylanor glared up at the serpentine creature that had once been his gene-father. The Primarch's lower right arm had impaled his Dreadnought's power fist with a curvaceous alien sword. Another hand had dug itself through a crack in his armor, and was currently wrapping around what remained of his body.

"Do. Not. Do. This!" He barked through the Dreadnought's speakers.

"Why not?" Fulgrim hummed, "I am your master. I can do whatever I like. I can crush you or I can raise you up." The Primarch leaned down, as if to kiss the Dreadnought's helm covering Rylanor's face. "Return to the Legion. Accept the gifts of the Dark Prince, and you will walk at my side, clad once again in flesh. You can be anything, old friend! I will sculpt you into something beautiful - a god to these mortals!"

"All we have left between us is that we will die together!" Rylanor roared.

Blue flames had begun to burn the upper carapace of the Dreadnought. The Life-eater Virus of the bomb Rylanor had just detonated was spreading across the metal, igniting the residual organic material in the dust that was on it. Everything happened in slow motion, courtesy of the psychic sorcery of the Thousand Sons.

"I am Rylanor of the Emperor's Children, Ancient of Rites, Venerable of the Palatine Host, and proud servant of the Emperor of Mankind. Beloved by all! I reject you now and always!" He shouted back in his Primarch's leering face.

Fulgrim threw his head back and laughed.

"I'm sorry, did it sound like I was offering you a choice?"

Fulgrim pulled his hand from the hole in the Dreadnought, dragging Rylanor from his sarcophagus. Nutrient tubes and umbilicals tore as his skin was exposed to the dry dusty air, spilling amniotic fluid that had expired long ago.

"I will remake you, brother." Fulgrim's elongated tongue licked his lips, sensuously wetting them before parting them to reveal the serpentine fangs beneath them. "You will be my crowning achievement." The daemon Primarch crooned as he caressed the sickly pale remains of Rylanor; holding him to his breast like a new mother would her first babe.

Cold dread filled Rylanor's thoughts. He could sense the creature Fulgrim had given himself to. He could smell its intoxicating musk and hear its melodious laughter. His Primarch had not always been like this. He had been a man of virtue once. When and how this transformation had taken place he did not know, but it had happened.

Rylanor was not arrogant enough to imagine himself to be greater than his Primarch. His gene-seed came from the being before him, after all. Unable to escape, fight, or even die he could see the inevitable fate that lay before him. He would succumb, eventually. If a demi-god couldn't resist, what chance did a mortal have?

'But, that is no reason to stop fighting.' Rylanor thought to himself as he glared up at Fulgrim. 'I have waited for over 10,000 years, buried in the rubble you and the other traitors brought down upon us. For 10,000 years I have resisted rot and blinding rage in the butchered remains of humanity's dream. For 10,000 years I have sat with the corpses of my brothers, dreaming of the day I would bring your death. This will not go easily, Fulgrim. I shall not fall to one who has forgotten what honor means.'

'Primarch Fulgrim!' A sudden psychic message sounded out, sent by the Thousand Son Vistario. 'Rylanor deserves better than you.'

The Primarch's eyes flicked upwards towards the traitor. The ecstatic glimmer within them darkened at the interruption and insult, turning his eyes into black pools filled with the most sadistic poison.

'He deserves better than all of us.' The Thousand Son thought-spoke, then he raised his bolt pistol and fired into the back of his brother's skull. Akhtar's head exploded, and the psychic spell slowing the Virus bomb's explosion lifted.

Fire spread across all of them in an instant.

Fulgrim disappeared from Rylanor's eyes, replaced only with pitch blackness.

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

The first thing Rylanor noticed when he woke was he had his hands back. He opened and closed them dumbly for a moment, unable to understand why they were there. He had lost all his limbs to a long-eared Xeno early on in the Great Crusade. The fiendish creature was quick with a blade, and had dismembered both him and his squad before being brought down by concentrated bolter fire. What's more, the Xeno's weapon had been coated in some sort of poison or virus that prevented his body from being repaired by replacement organs. Internment into a Dreadnought was the only option left for him after that.

Rylanor looked at his hands again, the first time in over 10,000 years.

'Is this the beginning?' He wondered to himself. 'The beginning of their attempts to break me?'

Fulgrim had promised to return his flesh, and here he was returned to his original body.

'But where is Fulgrim?' Rylanor thought. The place he was in was eerily quiet. He heard no melodious laughter, nor spine-chilling chuckles. He couldn't even hear the slightest hint of wind.

Slowly, Rylanor stood up, and looked around him.

He was in the land of the dead. That was the only way he could describe it. Mountains of corpses stretched for as far as the eye could see. Yet, his nostrils detected nothing. The smell of rotting flesh and voided bowels was absent, as if even the bacteria that would have started decay had died.

'So, I am dead.' Rylanor thought to himself as he sat down on the mound of bodies he had awoken upon. He looked around to see if Fulgrim was also here, but saw neither the idealized man nor the serpentine monster.

'Perhaps it is for the better…' Rylanor thought to himself. Hate still burned in his chest. Even if this were truly the afterlife, he could easily see himself trying to kill the Primarch a second time.

But that would be pointless.' He sighed to himself.

For a while, the Ancient of Rites sat there, staring out blankly at the mountainous ridges composed of corpses around him. Then he stood up, and began walking. He had no idea where to go, nor whether there was any point, but sitting here and doing nothing didn't sit well with him.

'I have done enough sitting already.' Rylanor thought to himself. 'It feels good to stretch my own legs after 10,000 years.'

For a while, Rylanor did nothing but walk up mountains of bodies, and down valleys filled with corpses. He had no idea where to go, or what to do, but he walked on regardless. After a while, he realized the scenery had changed. Instead of the land of the dead, he was walking through pitch blackness. He looked down at himself, and found him wearing his old Power Armor; complete with bolter and chainsword connected to his belt. He paused for a moment, then continued on forwards. He had no idea what this meant, but it felt good to be back in his old Power Armor. Bitter sweet nostalgia tightened the two hearts in his chest as memories of the Unification Wars and the early victories of the Great Crusade came back.

'Things were simpler back then.' Rylanor reminisced. 'The battles were costly, and the sacrifices were great. Yet, we still restored more than we ruined.'

They still fought for a dream back then. A dream of a new golden age for humanity.

As Rylanor continued walking, he realized there were others around him. Dark figures hidden in shadow walked endlessly through the darkness beside him. Some did so with obvious signs of fear; backs bent and knees shaking. Others marched stoically, like trained soldiers trekking across a plain.

Suddenly, the darkness lifted as golden light shined from behind him. It drew a sparkling line across the ground, illuminating his path in the darkness.

A familiar presence came from Rylanor's back. The Ancient of Rites turned, and his eyes widened as he saw a familiar face.

"You are-"

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

A/N: So, Rylanor gets some closure after his canon death in 40K in this-verse.

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[Nidhog153]

A/N: Character Reminder

Lorien: A girl rescued from the Vindicare Temple. She struggles with the mental conditioning of the training there, and has an almost psychotic hatred of weakness instilled in her.

Elalindra: One of Isha's simulacra. She takes the form of an Aeldari woman with gray eyes and red hair.

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

Isha watched the children rescued from the Assassin Temples through the eyes of her simulacra. The two weeks she had spent reassuring them of their safety with her, and nurturing the bond of trust had born fruit. The emotions of the children had largely returned, and they could talk with both her and each other normally. Jokes, pranks, playtime, and laughter were slowly returning to their behavior patterns. However, they were far from fine.

Their mental conditioning still remained, which had led to a couple incidents. One child almost dislocated another child's shoulder due a triggered combat reflex. Another struck her friend's solar plexus hard enough to paralyze their diaphragm during a game of tag.

'They didn't mean to.' Isha sighed to herself, remembering the look of shock on their faces when they realized what they had done.

Thankfully, her simulacras' talents in biomancy ensured no lasting harm was done. However, she could sense fear building up inside them.

'They fear their lack of control…' Isha thought to herself as one of her simulacra hugged another of the children who had acted out accidentally. 'So I must give it to them.'

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

"Sparring practice?" Lorien repeated Elalindra's words dumbly.

"Your body moves without your mind." Elalindra replied cryptically. "The weapons you have been given must be made yours, otherwise they will wield you."

Lorien stifled a sigh. Elalindra was kind to her, and the other children. However, there were times when she was extremely vague in her answers.

Currently, Lorien and the other children rescued from the Master were sitting at a circular table eating breakfast. The menu was a simple but filling combination of flatbread and various hummus.

The other children looked at each other worriedly. Sparring was not something they had fond memories of, and although they knew Elalindra and the other long-eared women meant them no harm, they couldn't stop the chill they felt at the word.

"I don't want to." Lorien said glumly, looking down at her half eaten flatbread.

"I know." Elalindra nodded. "I know you fear hurting others and being hurt yourself." She reached down, cupping Lorien's cheek. "What you fear shall not come to pass, for you will not be facing each other. You will all be facing me."

The long-eared red haired women smiled as surprise widened Lorien's eyes. "I will allow you to face your fear through me. Master the monster you see inside yourself, and make peace with what you are."

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

Lorien and the other children walked out into the gymnasium they all used for daily exercise. White springy curls now covered the floor. Several other long-eared women were walking around the gymnasium, singing softly. The white material grew where they stepped, covering the hard floor with a carpet that felt like soft grass beneath Lorien's feet. Other groups of children walked with their caretakers, spreading out across the gymnasium.

"Don't worry." Elalindra said with a smile. "You won't be sparring against each other. I will teach you how to use what you have been given. Now, gather around me."

Lorien and the others encircled Elalindra, faces slightly tense.

The moment they completed the circle, Elalindra's form blurred. She lunged like a fencer, swiftly approaching one of the boys in the circle. The sudden movement triggered his killing reflex. His center of balance dropped, and he jabbed at where he thought her throat would be. But, instead of soft cartilage, his fist slapped into Elalindra's open hand. With a pull and a twist, the boy was sent rolling past the long-eared woman.

"Stand up." Elalindra said as she extended a hand towards the fallen child. He shook his head, dizzy but unhurt. "All you have are reflexes." She said as she pulled the boy back onto his feet. "There is no thought, no control, only speed, and action in your movements. Hence, it is easy to use your own movements against you." Her back straightened as the boy returned to his earlier position. "You have all been given weapons, but you do not know how to use them. That is dangerous, for you hold something that can harm others, but cannot wield it well enough to defend yourself." Her eyes met theirs as she turned to each child. "Make those weapons your own. Wield them willingly, and with purpose."

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

- Lorien

My knees collapsed under me as I panted breathlessly. All the others were in a similar state, either lying back or sitting down covered in sweat.

Elalindra's sparring session had gone on for hours, and not once had we been able to hit her. It was as if she knew what we would do before we did it, twisting and twirling out of the way at the last moment. Even when we surrounded her, she remained untouchable. All that could be seen was a blinding flash of red hair, trailing behind her like the tail of a comet.

I glared up at the gray eyed woman. She smiled back, a patronizing expression mixed with bored amusement.

A spark of anger flared in my brain, sending electrical impulses that forced my lactic-acid laden muscles to stand up again.

"Weakness." Elalindra said as she sidestepped my punch. "That is what you fear." Her tone remained unmoved, even as she twirled out of reach of my follow-up chop. "Even the perception of being looked down upon is enough to send adrenaline through your brain."

I grit my teeth as I spun to follow her. The instincts beaten into me by the Master and his assistants fired one after the other, sending punches, kicks, elbow strikes, and knees after her.

"But, it is not only that." Elalindra chuckled as she danced around me. "You hate losing. You hate being weak. You hate being looked down upon."

Hot. My body felt like it was burning. A bloody red was staining everything I saw.

'Losing means death. I cannot lose.'

My mind went back to the dark training grounds; to the last day I was there. We were all paired up, and then ordered to kill our opponent.

We were evenly matched. Both of us had survived there for years.

But I lost.

I stumbled, tripping on nothing and collapsed onto the soft white grass.

"That is why you lost." Elalindra crouched down, kneeling before me.

My arms and legs shook as I tried to get back up.

I was back in the Master's training grounds, on the hard floor with my arms and legs shaking. The other child was still standing; fists raised, knees bent. I forced my body to stand again, and lunged.

"You refused to lose." Elalindra murmured as she watched me struggle, slipping on the white ground beneath us.

The floor of the training grounds was gray. I observed that as I fell down onto it again. My blood was the only thing that colored it, a dark sticky red that splattered onto the dull background. One more time, I rose. I couldn't lose. I needed to…

"That's not true, is it?" Elalindra asked me, bringing me back to the gymnasium. "You didn't lose when you were beaten and broken. You lost much earlier than that."

I glared up at the red-haired woman. The lights above her cast a shadow over me.

I was back in the training grounds again, thrown back onto the hard stones after my lunge, staring up at my opponent.

We were supposed to be evenly matched, but every time we traded blows I was the one who ended up on the ground. He stood back, feet apart and arms raised.

'Losing means death. I cannot lose.'

My teeth ground together as I rose. We were ordered to fight to the death by the master, but all he did was stand back and wait as I got up.

"You didn't stop." Elalindra's voice brought me back out of the memory. "You kept on attacking, even though your body couldn't keep up."

"He was weak." I spat back, dazed and delirious from exertion. My vision swam in and out of focus as the white carpet of the gymnasium was replaced with the gray stones of the training grounds. "He wouldn't finish me off. He let me get up."

"Because that was the easiest way to kill you." Elalindra said softly. "You could have used the time he gave you to catch your breath, or observe your opponent. Instead, you attacked again and again until your stamina ran out. He used your own aggression against you, letting you waste your energy while allowing you to slam yourself into the hard ground when you fell."

My mind replayed the entire fight back in the training grounds. We were evenly matched, and at first neither of us had the advantage. Then a jab went under my guard, and hit me in the ribs. It was not a painful blow, but it was strong enough to make me lose a single breath. I countered, trying to inflict an equal amount of damage, but I was a second too slow. He guarded my blow, and from then on I was a single breath behind him. That small disadvantage began to build up as more and more jabs and blows slipped under or through my guard. What was one missed breath became two, then three.

He hopped backwards after grazing my jaw with a left hook. I charged after him, trying to tackle him to the ground. I couldn't keep up with him using punches and kicks, so I tried to wrestle him to the ground. But, my hands never touched him. He threw me over his shoulder, letting me slam into the hard ground.

After that, I was stuck in a loop. I'd get thrown to the ground, stand up and charge, then get thrown to the ground again. Every time a new bruise bloomed across my skin, brought on by gravity and the hard ground.

Finally, it was all I could do to stand, and it was only then he moved in. I endured another half-hour of punches and kicks, but eventually I collapsed in a bloody mess.

Then, I was swallowed by the black beast.

"Your aggression almost got you killed." Elalindra said softly. "Although important, aggression alone will not keep you alive. I will teach you the other things you need." She reached down and picked me up. "The first thing you will need to learn is that not all battles can be won." She said softly.

"Come now. Today's bodily exercise is over." Elalindra said to the other children, helping them to their feet as well. "After lunch, we will be exercising your mind next."

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

The afternoon lessons were something Elalindra and the others had begun a few days after Lorien and the other children had arrived here. They covered arithmetics, geography, gothic-linguistics, and history. Despite their inhuman appearance, they were quite well versed in those topics.

However, instead of allowing the children to disperse and spend a little free time before dinner, Elalindra began another lesson.

"What do you think the key is to achieving victory throughout history?" Elalindra asked at the end of their history lesson. "Is it economics, military strength, social policy, tactics, or technology?"

Lorien and the others pondered over the question for a moment. There were several case studies Elalindra had spoken to them about where one or more of these factors had been important. Economics ensured supplies for a prolonged campaign. Military strength provided the raw power to brute force a win. Social policies that cultivated loyalty towards a state could create a unity that could withstand great adversity. Tactics and technology both created asymmetries in ability that could change the tide of a critical battle.

All of them seemed probable answers, but since there was an example for each one, it was a hard choice to make.

"Good." Elalindra nodded as the children pondered in silence. "You have listened to me well over these past few weeks. Well enough to know that the answer was not one of the examples I gave."

Lorien frowned slightly. It was a sly trick to list various options, as if they were valid choices, while hiding the true answer in silence. Then again, Elalindra and the other women were never quite forthright about anything.

"The answer I was looking for was diplomacy." Elalindra said. "When faced with an adversary, the easiest way to overcome them is to face them with a friend. Why is this?"

It sounded like a simple question, but none of the children came up with the same answer.

"Having a friend means you outnumber them." One answered.

"That can be true. For individuals, we are rarely more than ourselves. Hence, having more friends means having more numbers. Yet, for countries or factions that can vary in size, having an ally could still mean you are still lesser even when combined. What other reasons might diplomacy have been the greatest factor in achieving victory?"

"They could be in a different place to where you are." Another child piped up. "That could allow for a pincer movement or a surround."

"Indeed." Elalindra nodded. "Having an ally far away could be far more valuable than having one next to you."

"Elalindra?" One of the children suddenly asked. "When you say victory, are you talking only about battles?"

"Well noticed." The red-haired woman smiled. "You have good ears. Victory can be achieved in many ways. Battle is but one of them. Trade embargos, treaties, creating co-dependent economies… All of these are ways to achieve victory through economic means."

"You can't win by just making money." Lorien grumbled.

"That is true." Elalindra nodded. "However, economics is an important factor for victory. It can both win battles and prevent them from happening in the first place."

"But, how do you make allies Elalindra?" Another boy asked.

"There are many ways. But, the one I will teach you from today is called diplomacy."

"Isn't that just talking with someone?"

"At face value, it is. Yet, convincing someone with mostly words is a difficult task. Successful diplomats need to use everything around them in order to gain the outcome they want. Today's case study begins in the city of Muntinlupa. There was a war there. A dreadful one, with atrocities committed by all parties involved. However, this is not the part to discuss for today. At the end of the war, hundreds of former soldiers were captured as prisoners of war, and incarcerated in the jail of Muntinlupa. The president of the country Muntinlupa was in wished to execute them all. He personally had lost his wife, children, and siblings to the invaders. Retributionist sentiments amongst the populace were high, and many were against the idea of continuing to feed and imprison the prisoners of war. Killing them would have increased his popularity greatly. However, all of the prisoners of war were eventually set free, and sent back to their homeland. This was brought about by several years of diplomacy that appealed to both the economic and emotional sentiments of all parties."

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

Lorien listened to Elalindra's story of the song "Night Goes on in Muntinlupa".

It was a song written by two men held in prison, sent to fight in a war they didn't want to. That captured their feelings of sorrow and homesick, and managed to get it back to their homeland. This song soon found itself in the streets of their defeated homeland, and rekindled efforts to see them repatriated. Yet, the stance of the president remained strongly opposed to pardoning the prisoners of war, even with future promises of economic aid and assistance.

That was, until a music box containing the song "Night Goes on in Muntinlupa" was sent to him as a gift. It contained none of the lyrics, but the song itself drew the president's interest. When he was told where the song had come from, as well as the lyrics, the president remained silent for a time.

A few days later, the surviving prisoners of war were all pardoned by the president.

To his people, he gave a speech explaining his actions with the following quote.

"I should be the last one to pardon them as they killed my wife and three children and five other members of the family. I am doing this because I do not want my children and my people to inherit from me hate for people who might yet be our friends for the permanent interest of the country. After all, destiny has made us neighbors."

"Diplomacy does not take place only at the conference table, or only with carrots and sticks." Elalindra said as she began to end the lesson. "It is not an art form that is devoid of soul, and made to be purely materialistic. At times, one must implore to another's mercy, and trust in the goodness of their soul and their desire for a better future."

Lorien stared up at the red haired woman. Although it was a pleasant story with a happy ending, it scared her. Believing in the good will of another did not come easy for her. Even now she was distant from the other children, not even bothering to remember their names. They were all still competitors in the struggle for survival to her, even if the environment they were in was kinder than the Master's.

"Now, stand up, all of you." Elalindra said. "Bring out the tables and help me with the plates. It is dinner time now."

Lorien stood up and began to do her bit with the others in silence.

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

A/N: The story of Muntinlupa is a real-life one, and a good example of how diplomacy can turn bitter enemies into begrudging neighbors and eventually into friends. The fact that it was a song that changed everything is also something quite Aeldari. I have changed the quote a little-bit to remove mentions of countries so it is not inherently obvious which ones are being spoken of (plus it is another reference from over 28,000 years ago in-story). However, I felt it was not right to convert that story into a fictional futuristic one that was similar to it, so I have once again used a real-life example from our history.

 

[Nidhog153]

Neoth watched the exit ramp of his Stormbird open onto one of the landing pads of the Sanctum Imperialis. The flight had been otherwise uneventful, with the miniature Isha having fallen silent in her impromptu prison.

'The tri-weekly meeting in the Chamber of Lords. Appointing the new Grand Provost Marshal. Preparing additional envoys and messages to Merica and Hy Brasil. Discussing the new messages for my Iterators regarding religion. Codifying all of it into law… And of course, finding time to talk with the Paternova of the Navigators.'

He stifled a sigh as he listed out his schedule for the day.

'And on top of that, I have that soul-transfer device I need to work on with Isha.'

And he would have to do all of it by himself.

Neoth cast a slightly envious look at the metal box Isha's simulacra was locked in.

As a 'mortal', he was always only himself. In other words, although he could create an illusion to replace himself, he couldn't actually create multiple copies of himself to split up his workload. The Emperor was only a great man, and that mythology needed to be preserved to keep himself in the materium.

Isha, on the other hand, could exist in multiple states at once. While he was the Emperor and only the Emperor, all of Isha's simulacra and herself were 'normal' life-forms that 'coincidentally' acted in accordance with what Isha would do.

'Then again…' He thought to himself as he got off the Stormbird. 'It would be a nightmare to keep all of the simulacra's memories in coherence.'

Time was relative, and each simulacra had its own individual perception of time. Hence, there was no true way to keep the events each simulacra experienced in an unquestionable timeline. She could use references, such as clocks or events that her simulacra experienced from different perspectives to arrange what she saw or heard in a manageable order, but it would still be a mental nightmare to organize all the experiences into one coherent memory.

Although, perhaps she didn't bother to organize the events at all. Time was meaningless in the immaterium, and that was what she was used to. Therefore, the order of events was probably less important to beings such as her.

Neoth pondered on the oddities of a being with very little concept of time as he walked back to his office. It was a useful distraction to temporarily ignore the jam packed status of his schedule. His Custodes followed behind him. One of them carried the metal box Isha's simulacra was in.

The doors to his office opened, moved by his psychic strength. He felt a certain silver pair of eyes watching him from one of the alcoves above, and let out an internal sigh. Motioning for his Custodes to place the metal box on his desk, he then sent them out and shut the door telekinetically behind them.

"I would hope you are here for something constructive, for I have no interest in continuing our argument." He said irritably in the direction he felt the alien goddess was.

"I am not here to waste your time." Isha replied with a slight pout. "You only have another twenty or so minutes before you have to sit above your Lords and watch them bicker."

"Then I will get straight to the point." Neoth said as he pulled a data tablet from his pocket dimension. "I have designs for the soul transfer machine you spoke of once, and I want to run them by you."

"Fine." Isha said as she approached the metal box on his desk and unlocked it. "Show me your designs."

Neoth moved to hand the device to Isha, then stopped. The doll sized Isha he had expected to pop out of the box never came. Instead, an ivory white arachnid shaped creature crawled out of it onto Isha's arm. The closest thing it resembled was a spider, but only in the fact that it had two main body parts and many legs. In fact, it was impossible to say how many legs it had at one time at all. Instead of walking, it moved by growing new quadruple jointed legs from its carapaced front half. Then, it would suck the outstretched leg back into itself, pulling itself forwards, like the pseudopodia of some sort of protozoa.

"What's wrong?" Isha said as she stroked the hand-sized spider-like thing on the back.

"Nothing." Neoth stated calmly, although he didn't step any closer towards Isha. Both eyes remained fixed cautiously on the many legged creature that had reached Isha's shoulder.

"Ah, you've met the White Guardians before." Isha said with a chuckle, stroking the rounded beetle like carapace that covered its top half.

"I have." Neoth replied tersely.

The thing on Isha's shoulder was a Warp Spider, one of the many natural denizens of the Webway. They did not populate every region of it, thankfully. The regions that they did inhabit were off limits to all but the Aeldari. Neoth had several encounters with them. None of them were pleasant.

"Do not worry." Isha chuckled again, amused by Neoth's discomfort. "I have merely transformed the simulacra into something else. It is easier to stay in the materium when there is only one of you."

'Then… what shape did you take while the simulacra was talking to me?' Neoth thought to himself. An unpleasant image of a human-sized Warp Spider taking Isha's place flitted through Neoth's mind, and he quickly dismissed it. Hopefully it was a plant or something else less dangerous she had transformed into.

"Are they a species incorporated into your cycle of life?" Neoth said as he finally approached Isha and handed her the data tablet.

"They are. Although, they existed before my children." Isha said as she began to browse through the various designs. "They are natural inhabitants of the Webway, and the source of some of my children's technology. Bonesinging was developed by observing their unique biology. A sort of biomimesis, if you will. It is why they can flow from the Webway to Wraithbone constructs so fluidly."

"What are they?" Neoth asked as Isha scrolled through pages of design documentation and notes in a couple of seconds.

"A form of life that is no longer capable of surviving in this galaxy." Isha sighed. "Before the War in Heaven, the Sea of Souls was easier to access. Its resources were not inherently dangerous to use, and many species were able to thrive with the power it provided. The Warp Spiders are one of those species, and used to be able to survive outside of the Webway and certain Wraithbone constructs. Now, they cannot survive in the materium." She scratched the Warp Spider's carapace again. "Although, that is probably preferable to you."

"I have seen these things feed. It was not a pleasant sight." Neoth muttered.

The Warp Spiders, or White Guardians as the Aeldari called them, inhabited certain sections of the Webway. Sections Neoth gave a wide berth during his initial travels through the Webway. He had watched what happened to any mortal or immortal that entered their domain unprepared.

'They eat existence.' Neoth remembered as he kept a wary eye on the Warp Spider.

Through some freak coincidence, the Warp Spider shared two features with terrestrial spiders. They could eject a stringy silk-like substance, and they digested their prey outside their body.

Their 'silk' was ejected from the tips of the leg-like appendages they could grow at will. However, unlike terrestrial spiders, their 'silk' was not a chemical polymer chain. It was actually a part of their body, elongated and narrowed to the point they appeared like strands of silky filaments. These would cling to their prey, and begin to digest it.

Warp Spiders didn't just eat the physical body, but devoured everything that composed their victims. Thoughts, emotions, memories. All of it. The most recent thoughts were eaten first, often causing their prey to forget how they wandered into the Warp Spiders' feeding ground in the first place. They would become confused, lost, and surrounded by swarms of Warp Spiders pouring out of the very fabric of the Webway.

It was an insidious way of feeding. Their victims would be unable to form coherent thoughts in order to escape their situation. Such thoughts would be consumed as they were being made by the Warp Spiders. This effectively paralyzed their victims with confusion, as more and more of them was eaten. Eventually, they wouldn't even remember why they even attempted to enter the Webway. It would feel as if they were transported from their home, possibly even their childhood, into the midst of thousands upon thousands of white, long-limbed, carapaced creatures.

'A live lobotomization.' Neoth thought grimly, remembering the thrashing daemons he had once seen being fed upon by the Warp Spiders. They covered it from head to toe, eating even the Warp flames it ejected in self-defense.

"Do you fear them?" Isha asked, one eyebrow raised.

"I do not have pleasant memories of them." Neoth said grimly. "I ran afoul of them once, when I was first exploring the Webway. It was not a pleasant experience."

"I am not surprised." Isha chuckled. "As a species that is part of my cycle of life, they are quite hostile to anything not of my blood. However, there is no reason to fear them now. You are far wiser, and more powerful now than you were then."

"I may be able to deal with a few thousand, but even then killing them is pointless." Neoth muttered. "At best, it is a waste of my power. At worst, it could allow daemons to infiltrate the portions that I purge."

"Yes, there is a reason the Webway remains free from daemonic incursion, despite the damage it sustained during the War in Heaven. Although…" Isha sighed. "They have not acclimatized to the newer portions of the Webway."

"Can you not order them to move into those regions?" Neoth asked.

"Just because a species becomes part of my cycle of life does not mean I can control them." Isha snorted as the Warp Spider sank through her skin, returning the small portion she had cast off to watch the Emperor's speech to his Thunder Warriors. "They merely see my children in a favorable light, for all species that are part of my cycle can be reborn through my tears. As my continued existence is dependent on the wellbeing of my children, the species that are part of my cycle instinctively know it is counterproductive for them to hurt them."

'Symbiosis…' Neoth thought to himself. That was the relation between the Aeldari and the other species within Isha's cycle of life. The Tear of Isha was a terraforming miracle in the form of a psychic data matrix that would reformat a planet and seed it with species from the goddess's cycle of life. Isha's and the Aeldari's existence essentially served as a backup for any species that went extinct. Hence, the instinctual favoritism said creatures felt towards the Aeldari. Of course, it was just an instinct. Individual organisms could still learn to hate the Aeldari if given enough reason to.

Isha finished reviewing the information on the data tablet and returned it to Neoth.

"The core concepts you have here are correct, but the methodology is both abrasive and limited." Isha gave her conclusion. "Using materials that can transfer psychic energy, such as the alloys you use to make force weapons, as a restrictive medium for the soul to travel will prevent the psychic energy that forms the soul from dissipating. However, your alloys do not have the ability to transfer or store detailed information. This will cause many memories and their personality to be lost during the transfer. You may achieve a sort of reincarnation with this, but the result would be an incoherent wreck at best. They would be the lucky ones. At least they would still be able to move and possibly recover with an entirely new personality. Most will not retain even their basic survival instincts. Catatonia or coma is all that awaits them in their new life."

Neoth grimmaced. This was, quite frankly, his own assessment of his designs. Souls were a form of organized psychic energy that contained all the information that composed a person's personality and memories. His design sought to exploit that feature by using psychic conductive materials as a sort of piping or wiring to carry the soul from one physical form to another.

Most human souls dissipated upon entering the immaterium, releasing all of their energy and information into the Warp. Those that didn't either had control of psychic energy during their life, or their psychic energy was 'colored' by their information to the point it retained their identity even when freed from the body.

His solution isolated the soul from the immaterium, giving it nothing to dissipate into in the first place.

The only problem was that force weapon alloys were only meant to conduct psychic energy, and redirect it into the weapon's emitters or storage units. Naturally, this meant there was very little consideration for the information within that psychic energy. It was a bit like forcing a boiled egg through a sieve. The amount of egg wouldn't change, but its shape and texture would.

That was the core issue with his design, although it was not the only issue.

"I can see that you've tried to reduce the damage to the target's soul by widening the channels for psychic energy within the alloys, and by cutting apart the individual's soul before the transfer process. By partitioning the soul in an organized manner, you hoped to reduce the amount of information lost during transit." Isha said as she crossed her arms. "However, transferring a soul in this manner is a bit like using an uninsulated wire. I would say that only half of the psychic energy that composes a soul will end at its destination, and that's the optimistic assumption."

That was the other issue. Force metal alloys were not the most efficient material to transfer psychic energy.

Neoth had considered using the limited supplies of Blackstone, or Noctilith as it was called during the Dark Age of Technology, but that in itself was a self-contradiction. Blackstone could act as an insulative material for the soul transfer process, but it would also prevent him from assisting or observing the process. As this was a psychic procedure, using something that would block his own psychic abilities was paradoxical at best, self-defeating at worst. The target's soul could end up trapped in the device, with no way to get it out except destroying it. Of course, if he destroyed the device while the soul was stuck in it, it would dissipate into the immaterium. Hence, it would be an immense waste of time and resources for everyone involved.

"I understand my design has failings." Neoth replied. "I was hoping for solutions, rather than criticisms."

"What solutions can I offer with materials such as these?" Isha sighed. "It would be like attempting to build a void ship out of sand and spit."

"These are the materials mankind can reproduce on its own." Neoth grumbled. "I know the psycho-plastic nature of Wraithbone is the ideal material for my purposes. However, this device must be reproducible on a galactic scale. Making it out of Wraithbone would make that impossible."

"You wish for a final scalable version in two years? For what? Surely, a serviceable prototype will be enough for your Thunder Warriors."

"Creating a proto-type predicated on Wraithbone would cause all other versions to be dependent on it."

"Your Imperium already intends to use the materials of my children." Isha huffed. "That relic you call the Golden Throne is wrought from Wraithbone and Aeldari runes covered in a shell of auramite and adamantium."

Neoth narrowed his eyes at the accusation. The Golden Throne was a relic from the Dark Age of Technology. He had discovered it under the deserts of Asia, and was currently assembling the parts to reconstruct it within the Sanctum Imperialis. Its innards were Aeldari in origin, but to describe it as an entirely Aeldari creation rankled his pride.

"It is a human invention." Neoth retorted. "When a hunter carves a statue out of an ivory tusk, the elephant is not attributed as its creator."

He saw Isha's ears twitch irritably at the comparison but she remained silent. There was a strange look in her eyes, somewhere between pity and frustration.

"Regardless, the Golden Throne only has to be made once." He continued, unable to decipher the look he received, but taking her silence to be an acquiescence to his argument. "This is different. It needs to eventually be replicated enmasse, and adopted as a part of the recruitment method of my legions."

"And you are afraid of this process becoming reliant on the Aeldari?"

"My caution is two fold." Neoth shrugged. "Yes, I do not want my Imperium to be reliant on aliens. However, this is also to protect your children from my citizens."

"Oh?" Isha exclaimed with a raised eyebrow. "Do explain."

"There will be many who will be tempted by the idea of true reincarnation." Neoth stated calmly. "Some may attempt to replicate what we create here. If they came to the conclusion that Wraithbone was all they needed, they would be motivated to take those materials from your children. Some may do this peacefully. Others will not."

Isha shrugged at that.

"If you are worried about what your people might do to the Aeldari, then do not. I am confident my children can deal with those who would attempt to steal from them. Additionally, although irreplaceable for you, Wraithbone is not as precious to my children. They have provided tools and gifts made of Wraithbone to the client races and other aliens in the past. They may do so for you, should you make the appropriate alliances."

"And what would they ask for in return?"

"That would depend on the time, place, and individuals involved." Isha shrugged. "Of course, you do not have the time to go searching for my children. So, I will provide you with the materials you need to create the device."

"That is rather generous of you." Neoth said with narrowed eyes, questioning her nonverbally what she wanted in return for the Wraithbone.

"We are working together, for the time being." Isha replied with a coy smile. "Besides, it would be less irritating for me to work with what I know instead of using your alloys."

Neoth frowned for a moment, then sighed. Perhaps this was her way of returning his previous gesture, when he said he was going to include greater aspects of mercy and fairness into the social structure of the Imperium.

"Do as you wish then." He said as he stepped past her towards the doors. "I have a meeting to watch over. Feel free to add any notes or comments to the designs in that data tablet. I will review them at the end of the day."

Isha watched him leave before turning back to the data tablet.

She had sown the first seeds of cooperation. Hopefully they would sprout further on. The soul transfer machine was not a critical part of the Imperium, but it was a slightly useful one. Having her children become necessary to this one small aspect of the Imperium's future recruitment process would allow some trade connections to be created. That alone would make it easier for future relations to be made, and reduce the chance of war breaking out between them.

'And it will hopefully allow me to convince him to assist him with his other projects.' She thought to herself.

The Golden Throne, and its sister device, the Dark Glass were replications of Soul Engines. The Old Ones had used them to create deities like herself and the Webway. The versions the humans had taken inspiration from were most likely later versions the Old Ones had made the Aeldari create, but that did not make the designs Aeldari.

'You believe it will be the crowning achievement of your Imperium.' She thought to herself ruefully, staring out of the window and across the surface of Terra. Her Warpsight penetrated the desert sands of the Asiatic plate, allowing her eyes to inspect the mountainous pyramidal construct buried deep beneath the surface.

'You believe it will allow you to take my children's inheritance, the Webway, and claim it for yourself. Yet, you do not see the true danger you invite into the heart of your Imperium.'

She let out a soft sigh, remembering the great deed of Shaimesh, and his port city of Commorragh.

The Warp Spiders did not inhabit that section of the Webway, and that left it vulnerable to the horrors of the Warp. No doubt it was under siege by the Ruinous Powers and other psychic predators at this very moment.

Dysjunction.

It was a phenomenon only seen near the Webway cities of the Aeldari that were made with Shaimesh's knowledge. In these regions of non-space, the unreality of the Warp could penetrate the Webway and spill daemons and madness into it.

The Golden Throne invited the same danger to this planet. Neoth may think his immaterial hating touch would be enough to hold the daemons back, but the Webway was not a structure made of physical parts. A breach within it could not be patched up like a leaky pipe. Once broken, that fact would be impossible to change.

Isha turned back to the data tablet.

There was still time. Neoth would only attempt to complete the Golden Throne after recovering the Dark Glass. That meant she had at least until the beginning of his Great Crusade to find a solution for that particular problem.

'We do what we can when we can.' She said to herself as she began to add to Neoth's designs.
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