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

Chapter 32: Consequences
I heard the crack of breaking bones, and my body went limp. The master then threw me away, but only my head hurt when I hit the floor.

He was saying something, but I couldn't hear what he was saying. The world went in and out of focus, dimming before becoming unbearably bright then dimming again.

I couldn't breathe. My lungs wouldn't work.

'Help me…'

I tried to speak, but everything hurt so much I could only form the words in my mind.

The floor vibrated for a moment, then I heard something walking towards me. Deep footsteps reverberated through the stone floor. Finally, a dark shadow passed over me as a taloned foot covered in thick black hair landed right in front of my eyes.

Something soft picked me up, then I felt myself passing through a tight tube that was warm and wet and dark.

*Gasp!

I woke up with a start. The pain was gone and I could breathe again. I had been tucked in under a white blanket. Several other children were asleep around me in soft looking beds. The room I was in was dimly lit, but I could see that there were more beds around me.

Instinctively, I listened to the rhythms of breathing as the master had taught me. Each breath had a distinct sound that should be memorized and followed. Each breath could tell me whether they were functional or close to breaking.

There were at least several hundred different breaths around me, and all of them were slow and drawn out. It sounded like the rhythm of temporary incapacitation. At this moment, I had the advantage over all those around me.

"Awake already, are we?"

I froze. Before I could even process what I heard, I could feel something bubbling up inside me. The voice I heard was musical, but I could feel my heart rate increasing. I was losing control. The master would not forgive that.

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

"A weapon must always be under control." The master said as we were lined up against the wall by him and his trainers. Today, he had a pistol in his left hand.

"Stand there without moving." He ordered us, and we all stood with our backs against the wall.

There was some metallic clinking and a small animal was brought out in front of us on a leash. It sniffed at the floor, then looked up at us with big black eyes. There was a slight sheen on its wet nose. Then it barked and wagged its tail.

"Look at the creature before you." He said, and we all focussed our eyes on the furry thing. "Exitus Acta Probat." He repeated the line carved into the stone relief that hung above us, then he pointed the pistol at the animal's head and fired.

I felt the boy next to me flinch at the sound, then the master pointed the pistol at him, and fired again.

15 times, the master's pistol fired. I knew because I counted the number of times it roared after he pulled the trigger. It was important to memorize things like these, for the master might ask us a question at the end of today's lesson. I could not see where all the shots landed, for the master had told us to stand here without moving. So, I kept my eyes still, locked onto the bloody remains of the animal brought before us.

The only two I could see who were shot were the people immediately to my right. The master shot the boy, and the girl next to him. She had twitched when the boy's blood spattered her cheek, so the master shot her next.

"Control begins with calmness." The master said as he lowered the pistol. "What you see before you is all there is. Nothing else matters." The master began to walk towards us. "Stand at ease." He ordered, and we all took the moment to blink before clasping our hands behind our backs and spreading our feet to shoulder width.

"What is in front of you?" The master said as he turned to one of the children to my left.

"It is a dog, sir." I heard the voice of a young boy sound out.

*BLAM!

There was a thud of a body hitting the floor, then the master's boots clomped against the floor as he stepped in front of the next person in line.

"It is meat now." The master said. "What is meat?" He asked.

"It is sustenance, sir." This time it was the voice of a young girl.

The master didn't say anything, and proceeded to the next person in line.

"What is sustenance?" He asked.

"It is fuel for our operation, sir." A young boy replied.

Again, there was no reply, but the master's footsteps rang as he walked down the line.

"What does it mean to operate?" He asked.

"It means to maintain function until the order can be carried out, sir."

The master stepped forwards again, and this time he stood before me. I could see the barrel of the gun in his hand as it raised and pointed at my face.

I did not blink, nor did I move. Anyone who could not control themselves enough to stare straight down that barrel had been shot and converted into meat long ago.

"What is the order?" The master asked me.

"To serve the Imperium by eliminating the target, sir." I answered.

The pistol lowered and the master walked away from us.

"150 pushups, starting now. All who fail will be added to today's sustenance." He said, and we all got down from where we stood and began following his orders.

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

I felt nothing at the time. I could not afford to feel anything. Feelings were a loss of control. But now, I could see and feel things that I should not from that voice. I heard a bird sing and thought it was beautiful. I heard the trickle of water and felt calm.

I scrunch my eyes shut and grit my teeth while covering my ears with both hands.

Exitus Acta Probat. Exitus Acta Probat. Exitus Acta Probat.

The outcome justifies the deed.

The outcome justifies the deed.

The outcome justifies the deed.

I repeated the master's words over and over in my head to block out the voice.

We had a purpose, and what we went through was just a part of producing the necessary outcome. It was normal. It was natural. It was the way the world worked.

A smooth skinned hand wrapped around my forearm, and pulled me up away from the bed.

I lashed out, striking out with my free fist blindly.

I cannot lose control. I cannot lose control. I cannot lose control.

A weapon that cannot be controlled cannot carry out its function. A failure to carry out function is a failure of operation. A failure of operation means being converted into meat.

I do not want to be converted into meat.

A soft hand placed itself behind my head, and pressed my face into something soft. I smell the sweet scents of flowers.

No, it is just the scent of the reproductive organ of a plant. The master taught us that they draw in insects to use them with their smell. The source of this smell is just trying to trick me. It is just another trap, another method to make me lose control.

If I lose control, I will be converted into meat, like all the others who lost control.

I struggle to get away from the hands that hold me. I cannot be near whatever this is. I need to retreat and reconsider my options. I have to re-establish control. I need to…

A lullaby begins next to my ear. The musical voice… Her musical voice brings back memories I had buried long ago.

I wasn't always in that dark place. I wasn't always fighting to survive for every second of my life.

There were two people who took care of me. There was a man and a woman. I used to laugh and run around them. But, I can't remember their names or faces.

Family. That was what I used to have.

Water comes out of my eyes, and I scream into the breast of the person holding me, letting out a muffled howl against their skin.

Soft fingers caress the back of my head as her other hand pats me on the back.

"Mama!" I cry. "Mama!"

That was what I used to say when I dove into the arms of the woman who was my family.

My body went limp as I cried and cried, soaking the white fabric of her clothing.

She held me the entire time, singing softly as she cradled me.

Eventually, voice hoarse and head heavy, I fell asleep in her arms.

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

I awoke again in the same soft bed I woke up in last night. Daylight shone through a number of high-up windows. I could hear other children waking up around me. Their breathing was getting shallower and quicker.

Slowly, I pushed myself out of the bed. We were in a large room with smooth white walls and red carpeted floors. I felt the fabric with my feet, testing its safety. It was soft, but there was definite hard ground underneath it.

There were many many beds filled with children around me. I counted the number of rows top and bottom, and did some quick multiplication. There were almost a thousand of us here. I could recognize some from the stone sparring arenas we had been forced to live in. I did not know their names. None of us had any. A weapon does not have a name.

"Good morning Lorien." A husky feminine voice came from behind me, and I whipped around. I felt no presence there. I heard no breathing. There should have been no one behind me.

My eyes met a pair of gray eyes belonging to a woman with pointed ears and red hair kneeling by my bed. Behind her, I saw a few hundred other women with the same ears but different colored hair walking amongst the beds, waking the other children. They were all very tall and willowy. Yet, they all moved like the master used to. Precise, perfectly balanced, and with purpose.

"If you are awake, then get out of your bed." The woman said sternly. "There is much to do today Lorien."

It was at this point I realized she was referring to me with that name. The red haired woman sighed and stood up.

"My name is Elalindra." She said, turning to the children around me. "I and the other women here will be looking after you from today. Sit there staring any longer and you will miss the morning meal. Now, stand up and make your beds."

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

'At the same time', an Aeldari with blond hair and silver eyes stood before the Emperor beside a woman of Arabian descent. Both wore brown cloaks, but the hood part was off at the moment.

"One day after your arrival and you're already causing mischief." Neoth grumbled.

The three of them were in his office within the Sanctum Imperialis. Several pieces of ancient Terran artwork and literature were placed on the walls, or encased behind plexiglass cases on marble plinths. A stained glass window was behind the massive desk that they all stood in front of, coloring the light that shined through it and painting the wall and floor in several different hues.

He was standing before them, like the headmaster of a school before two regular troublemakers.

"It was at your mother's invitation." Isha shrugged. "I may be an accomplice, but shouldn't you direct your first complaint towards the instigator?"

"Hush now." Erda pouted. "These things often start at the bottom, then go to the top. If I am the one who envisioned this act, then it is natural that you should take the blame first before anyone gets to me."

"So, you mean to cut me off like a lizard's tail?" Isha snorted.

"It is the duty of a servant to protect their master." Erda laughed with one hand covering her mouth. "Even if it is just a farce, you could try to at least act like you're buying time for me."

"We were summoned here together." Isha huffed. "I think it is too late to avoid whatever comeuppance is coming."

"Enough." The Emperor's voice was calm, but there was a heaviness to it that was not there before. "I've talked to the Director Primus of each assassin temple." He continued in the same tone. "Since the remaining initiates think the others are dead, they cannot re-matriculate the children you took into their temples. The mental conditioning will not be as effective if those they thought dead came back." His eyes turned upon Isha, and she met his gaze defiantly. "In addition, as long as you continue visiting each temple to show off the 'beast', they have no issue with you taking the children who fail from now on." The Emperor blinked once, then softened his features as he chuckled a little. "I even have requests from some of them to make the 'performance' more visceral."

"Is that so?" Isha replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. "I can conduct a live demonstration upon their bodies if they wish."

"The addition of the sound of crunching bones or a little spray of blood when you swallow them will be enough, according to them." Neoth replied, remembering what the Director Primus of the Vindicare Temple had said to him.

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

"It will save us the time getting the initiates used to the sound of violence." The bald assassin had stated over a communicator after finishing his report regarding the interruption caused by Isha and Erda to the Emperor.

"Will this not interfere with your operations?" The Emperor asked in return.

"I am an assassin." Vindicare replied. "No operation has the perfect environment. If the conditions change, then adaptation is necessary to complete the order."

"This is a large interruption." The Emperor pointed out. "Is your decision unaffected by the individuals involved?" Both Isha and Erda were powerful beings in more ways than one. If the Director Primus was compromising out of fear, that would be a greater problem than what the two goddesses had done. The assassin temples could not be allowed to cowed or threatened by anything.

There was a short pause, then the Vindicare assassin resumed speaking. "It is the same as taking a shot from a distance." He said, using what he knew best as an analogy. "Wind speed. Humidity. Lighting. The position of the target. All of these are out of our control, but that gives us no reason not to make the shot. Correction is all that is necessary to take out the target. The actions of Lady Erda and her guest are another factor out of my control. As an assassin, it is my responsibility to take them into account, and use them to my advantage if possible."

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

"Fine." Isha replied. "If it's just sounds and a bit of red liquid, I can add that to the deception."

Neoth nodded, then turned towards the other goddess.

"As for you Erda, the matter is more serious." The Emperor said with a grim look on his face. "Why didn't you come to me before you acted?"

"I've told you my thoughts about the assassin temples." Erda replied, returning his glare. "107 children would not have made it if we had arrived a second later."

"My Imperium murders thousands everyday." The Emperor's boots rang against the marble floor as he stepped to stand in front of Erda. "In the past hour alone, my Thunder Warriors have ended the lives of over 500 humans of all ages on this planet. Will you interfere with them as well without asking me?" His shadow loomed over her as he looked down at her.

"If it will save a life that I can, I will." She replied, unafraid, unmoved by the threatening posture.

The air seemed to grow heavier as the two stood there, and the pages of various books turned on their own behind the plexiglass as the paintings on the wall shook.

"As the Emperor of this Imperium, I cannot allow that." He finally said. "The children you saved will remain with Isha, and she can continue collecting the dropouts. Their food, clothing, and other amenities will be provided by the Imperial Palace's budget." The doors to the Emperor's office opened and two Custodes in dark gray armor, ornamented with gold, with red pauldrons marched in.

"However, you will remain in my laboratory from now on." The Emperor said as Erda watched the two Custodes from the Shadowkeeper Shield Host approach her. "I will have two of my Custodes escort you and LE-2 there. If you need to speak with me or do something outside the laboratory, then you will have to gain my approval through them."

"So, you will imprison me?" Erda said sadly as she turned back to the Emperor.

The Shadowkeeper Shield Host were the battalion of Custodes that acted as the wardens of the Dark Cells. It was their duty to ensure dangerous objects and individuals from Old Night remained where the Emperor had left them.

"This Imperium is not a playground." The Emperor said grimly. "There are procedures and laws that must be obeyed."

Erda bowed her head and remained silent.

"Take her back to her shuttle and return her and LE-2 to my laboratory." The Emperor said as he looked up to his Custodes. The two jailers nodded and walked towards Erda. One offered his hand to her, as a gentleman would to a lady who needed an escort. Erda gave the Emperor a sad smile before turning and accepting the hand of the Custodes. The Shadowkeeper who took her hand turned and began to lead her out of the Emperor's office, as the other took up the rearguard position behind her.

Isha held her tongue until the three of them had left, then turned towards the Emperor.

"You imprison your own mother but let the alien free?" She said angrily.

What happened to Erda was unfair. The mother of humanity could not be expected to ask for permission for every act. If there was a child about to be hit by a truck, one does not go to the police to ask if they can be allowed to jaywalk to save them.

"As much as I would like to blame you, you were just a tool in this situation." The Emperor growled as he walked around his desk and sat behind it. "Additionally, I can tell where you are at any time as well as what you are doing through the scar I left. That was why I allowed your little venture when I sensed you nearing the assassin temples in the first place. Not to mention, Lady Callidus was with you, and it was she who kept me updated on the situation."

"Then isn't this a little excessive?" Isha gestured to the door Erda had left from. "There was no harm done."

"It is the principle of the matter." The Emperor's right fist clenched as he spoke. "What happens when there is nobody near her to inform me of what is going on? What happens if she acts against me in a way that I cannot cover up?"

This act had taken place in complete secrecy, but there was no guarantee the next interference would. If the Emperor was not at least notified, the consequences may expose Erda and some of the more sensitive projects associated with her.

Having the Imperial Assassins follow her or monitor was not a guarantee either. Erda's strict refusal to call them by their names indicated that she merely stomached what they did to create more of their number. If she wanted to, there was a good chance she could evade or eliminate them.

"Every critical failure is preceded by smaller faults." Neoth said as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "Erda's flaunting of protocol is one such fault that cannot be allowed to grow into a failure."

"She acts in humanity's interests as a whole." Isha huffed.

Erda's acts were not random, nor were they totally selfish. She moved to save as many people as she could. After all, that was the way she had been envisioned as the mother of humanity.

"Yet, she is powerless to save it." The Emperor replied grimly.

Isha sighed, then walked around the Emperor's desk right up to his chair. The height difference between them meant that she still had to look upwards to meet him eye to eye, but she drew close enough to him that they were mere centimeters apart.

"I will warn you, Master of Mankind." She whispered, stressing the last word of his title. "Erda is not a human who can be convinced. Her priorities cannot be changed by using a carrot and a stick. She may look and act human, but there will be dire consequences for treating her like one. You may buy time by cajoling her into doing what you want with force, but she is just like you. She will do anything to save humanity in the way she sees fit."

"Then, what do you propose?" Neoth said quietly.

"Allow her to act as she needs to, just like my family did in our Pantheon." Isha said as she stared into his eyes. "If you cannot do that, bind her in chains and rob her of all freedom."

Neoth snorted and turned away. "Just like Asuryan and Khaine did to you." He muttered.

That was the result of Isha's and Kurnous's unilateral act of speaking to the Aeldari despite the edict.

"If you want to truly change how she thinks, you would need to engage her in a divine debate just like I did with you." Isha said quietly. "However, I doubt she would survive the process."

"Because she is weakened?" Neoth asked tiredly.

"Because Xozer fell." There was no emotion in Isha's voice, just the pronouncement of a diagnosis she had made based on everything she knew about Erda.

Neoth grit his teeth at the name. "There was no choice." He hissed.

"Perhaps." Isha replied gently. "I do not make a judgment of whether what was done was right or wrong. It is merely the order of events that lead to this sorry situation the both of you are in that I describe."

Neoth closed his eyes as his brow furrowed. For a moment, the two deities sat and stood there for a while.

"Can you help me?" Neoth finally said, face still scrunched up with frustration.

Isha remained silent for a while, and anger deepened Neoth's frown as it began to well up in his heart. Then, she opened her mouth to speak.

"Erda is a deity created when humanity was united on this planet." Isha said softly. "If there is a chance to restore what she was, it is there." Suddenly, she placed a hand on his shoulder, and the skin that touched him flashed gold as similarly colored sparks jumped away from the point of contact. "But, that is a double edged sword, Neoth." Isha's eyes bored into Neoth's own, imploring him to listen. "The closer you get to uniting humanity, the stronger she will become. If she breaks free from the constraints you put on her now before you can reconcile with her, I do not know what she will do."

There was only the crackle of golden sparks for a few moments, then Isha pulled away from him.

"I did not expect her to so proactively enlist my assistance in saving some of her children." She said as she stared at the door Erda had left from. "However, as a fellow maternal goddess, I can relate to her motivation for doing so."

"What is it?" Neoth asked.

"Desperation." Isha replied. "Terra cannot support human life, and it is only the technology from before Old Night that allows her children to persist. That fact motivates her to entrust her children to others who can take care of them where she cannot."

Neoth leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face with one hand.

"And I am not one of those she can entrust." His voice was resigned, exhausted, and depressed.

Why else would she keep coming into conflict with him if she could trust him?

There was a flicking sound, and he felt something hit his ear.

"If she didn't, she wouldn't work with you at all." Isha sighed as she crossed her arms. "I guess she doesn't trust you blindly, just like you cannot believe her interference will always have a positive outcome. Hence, she tries to spread her eggs around into different baskets."

Neoth shot her a quizzical look. It was obvious she had just flicked his ear.

"What?" Isha asked irritably as she put her hands on her waist. "Do you regret bringing me to Terra already for complicating your life?"

"... No." Neoth finally replied as he dropped the matter. "I do not understand Erda as a goddess, or as a mother." A small smile crossed his face. "I appreciate your advice. Thank you."

"Advice is not worth anything if it isn't followed, so you do not owe me anything." Isha snorted. "I'll keep it in mind until after you repair your relationship with Erda."

Neoth shook his head, chuckling to himself quietly. He couldn't tell whether it was her way of telling him to hurry up and make amends with Erda, or a roundabout way of cheering him up.

Perhaps this was how Aeldari expressed the phrase 'You can do this!' to each other.

But, most of all, he could feel the nosey and meddlesome parts of Isha's maternal nature coming through. One part irritation, one part impatience, and mostly a desire to see some effort put in to make things better.

Taking in a deep breath, he reset the atmosphere of the room.

"It isn't related to this, but I have something for you." He said, changing the subject.

"Don't you mean someone?" Isha said as she narrowed her eyes.

"You really are no fun." Neoth sighed as he leaned back in his chair again.

"Half of my children's blood runs through his veins. I can sense him approaching." Isha snorted.

Neoth sighed, then returned to his persona as the Emperor.

"Malcador has released Ael Wyntor and the body of your child." He announced as he rose from his chair. "I decided to have both of them sent here, since the rooms below are occupied with your future diplomats."

"He seems scared and uncertain." Isha commented. "I wonder if I can go give Malcador a flick on the forehead." An angry smile began to twist the ends of her mouth upwards.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't." Neoth warned as the doors to his office opened again.

A/N: I don't usually do these post chapter A/Ns, but I felt it worth it since I didn't get the opportunity to explain why the tone might have shifted from comedy to grimdark really quickly in the text.

As depicted in the side stories, what happened to the Aeldari during the War in Heaven was horrific. As the Aeldari reincarnate, they are effectively stuck in a death loop fighting an enemy that defies all reason with no end in sight. Isha had to watch that for millions of years, so she is used to seeing extreme stress and trauma.

Erda is also hardened to suffering, as she has watched humanity since its birth. She knows just how cruel they can be to one another, and the almost unlimited amount of suffering they can create.

The training that these children endured is mundane from that perspective. It may be horrible, but it could be worse. As Erda mentoined, these orphans had a high chance of ending up on the streets without the Imperial Assassin Temples. If they were left to become street urchin, an infinitely small number might have been adopted or rescued by some good samaritan. However, it would be much more likely that they would end up dying from hunger, dehydration, violent crime, or in the process of some pervert's depraved hobby. In that light, death during training in the Assassin Temples is not the worst thing that could have happened to them. At the very least, their suffering is for a utilitarian good. All the other death would have truly been for no purpose.

If killing tens of thousands of children creates an assassin who can stop a civil war that will destroy even more lives, then that trade is worth it.

This is why Erda stomachs the creation of the Imperial Assassins. However, she is still quite bitter about what happens to the children, and that is apparent in the way she talks to Callidus. It is in some senses an unreasonable outburst of anger, but Erda herself is not a 100% reasonable individual.

Neoth is not given the same treatment for two main reasons.
1. This is not the worst thing he has ever done.
2. Treating him that way would be counter-productive. He would become even more entrenched and less responsive to anything Erda would say if she pushed him away from her in the same manner.

The assassins' emotions are already dead. They either don't care that Erda is angry with them as they know she will not interfere, or understand Erda's anger as an unfortunate but predictable response to their actions. She knows this, which is why she allows herself this small bit of spite towards them.

In a sense, this shows some of her more caring tendencies. The only direct acts against any human she takes are effectively meaningless or harmless, as the individuals involved either do not care about it or can live with it.

Another reason the deities can go from joking or laughing about things to topics of death and destruction is because the deities actively try to dwell on the positive side of things. Isha in particular described this the best for herself in Chapter 26:

Chapter 26: Cultural exchange said:
"There is no point submerging myself in misery. Better to walk forwards with a laugh and a smile." The goddess laughed sadly as she curled up in the alcove. "Besides, sorrow and suffering are the beginning of my miracle. Steeping myself in them too long would be dangerous for me and for you."

It is analagous to the gallows humor many police, firefighters, morticians, paramedics, and ER nurses use to get through their daily life while being exposed to horrific events. (e.g. accidents, crimes, deaths, and injury of all manner)
 
Chapter 33: The Fall of Xozer (Part 1)
A/N: Thank you Naranka and Skyborne for reading through the setting information for Xozer.

A/N2: Apologies for the second REALLY long A/N, but since we'll be seeing things during the Age of Strife on Terra. Here are a few terms and technologies that might need to be clarified beforehand.

Nuclear weapons:
These are referred to as 'atomics' on Terra during the Age of Strife AKA Old Night. There are three major classifications of atomics.

1. Dirty atomics: Dirty bombs. These aren't actual nuclear weapons. They're just bombs with radioactive material stuffed into them to irradiate and poison as many people as possible. They are also used to 'ruin' the genetic codes of the nobility of various groups on Terra. This is not only done directly by the mutagenic radiation, but also done by damaging the electronic data of their genetic code that might be stored in data centers or cybernetic archives. Ionizing radiation can fry semiconductors at high enough levels, or given enough time. They can also be used to deny access to the quarters, artifacts, and possessions of these nobles by irradiating the area so badly it is near impossible to approach without suffering from severe radiation poisoning. This prevents the nobility from recovering their heirlooms and artifacts, effectively robbing them of their power and legitimacy to rule.

2. Atomics: 'Standard' nuclear weapons. This classification includes both nuclear fusion and fission bombs. To the ignorant, both are just really big explosions that release radiation. As a side note, mathematically, hydrogen bombs release as much radiation as conventional nuclear fission bombs and are just as likely to give you cancer or leukemia. These are used to utterly destroy a location, which is pretty much their intended use today.

3. Pure atomics: These are very rare Dark Age of Technology nuclear weapons that create a miniature star stabilized by using dark matter as part of the device's core. Their intended targets are usually protected by several layers of Dark Age of Technology void and ion shields, so the energy of the device needs to be applied for a continuous amount of time to penetrate all the layers of shielding.

To clarify, the three terms above were organized by myself after reading where these weapons were used and their effects in canon. The way pure atomics function is an entirely original creation by myself.

Volkite Weaponry:
I had the pleasure of talking with Red Flag about these weapons. After looking through table-top rules and codex entries, I've slightly re-touched how these weapons work. In canon, they are horrific to use on biological targets, but don't have the greatest armor penetration. The tabletop game rules reflect this. Las cannons, meltas, and plasma based weapons have higher armor penetration and sometimes greater strength than Volkite weaponry of similar size. Volkite weaponry only has a special rule that makes any wound a mortal (unavoidable) one on certain dice rolls.

To summarize how the Volkite beam functions in this story, they fire muons/higgisons within a laser column that acts like an enlarged set of optical tweezers. The laser burns or attempts to burn through armor, clothing, and the dry epidermis while carrying the muons/higgisons. When these muons/higgisons interact with heavily electro-positive hydrogen like those found in water, it replaces the electron of the hydrogen atom, creating a hydroxide ion and a heavy version of hydrogen with a greatly reduced atomic radius. When several of these modified hydrogen atoms get close enough together, they spontaneously fuse due to no longer being repelled by the electron clouds that are supposed to keep them apart.

So, the TLDR of this weapon is any meaty target that gets hit by the beam is turned into a miniature hydrogen bomb over time. The number Red-Flag came up with for handheld Volkite weaponry was conversion of 0.001mol of hydrogen should result in a 14 megajoule explosion. That's an explosion with a blast radius of 99% lethality at 3m and a 50% lethality at 3.6m assuming no shrapnel is generated. (Which there will be a lot of since bone and other pieces of personal belongings will be flying everywhere.)

This fits the portrayal in the game Boltgun. Any enemy that is exposed to the beam for long enough explodes, killing everyone in a small radius around them.

As a side note, a wet target is not easy to kill with a Volkite weapon. The laser column vaporizes the exposed water before the muons/higgisons can get to them, reducing the density of the water molecules. This results in a lot of smaller pops happening in quick succession, and not a single large explosion. Water that has been incorporated into protein crystals (like those in cells) are trapped where they are, and that buys the time for the muons/higgisons to convert enough of them to detonate the target.

It is also a very bad idea to fire Volkite weapons at any water source. It will blow up, sending superheated water and steam everywhere. However, if you can find your enemy's water supply, you could inflict a lot of damage with a well placed shot. You will also need significant personal protection/armor to fire this weapon in the rain.

In canon, all land-based Volkite weaponry fires beams. However, all orbital versions of Volkite weaponry are warheads or bombs that are deployed against planets.

I've put this down to Volkite weaponry being mediocre at getting through armor, which is what most ships are covered in. Their unique properties to convert water into hydrogen bombs is also not that useful, simply because you're not guaranteed to hit something that can be converted by the muons/higgisons in the enemy ship. Additionally, opening several holes in the hull is just as bad, and you only need a lance beam or macro-cannon shell for that.



Erda sat across from Leetu. The Space Marine and her were in the passenger section of their shuttle. One Shadowkeeper Custodes watched them while the other occupied the cockpit.

She smiled sadly to herself. Her son had returned to her and talked with her. He may have even gained a new confidant to talk to. But, here she was, once again being sent away in order to serve him as another part of his Imperium of Man.

Perhaps this was the way things were fated to be. Even if his personality had returned, he would end-up making the same choices as before. But, that should not have been surprising. He was the Emperor, the Protector of Humanity, and the Master of Mankind. So long as he kept those titles, he would never be free from his fate.

The geiger counter within the shuttle began to crackle and beep, indicating an increase in radiation levels within the ship. The Shadowkeeper Custodes in the passenger section turned his head towards her slightly, and Erda raised a hand in apology.

Slowly, the geiger counter grew silent as she let out her stress with a long sigh. Her mind replayed the events with Neoth almost an hour before.

'Was I unfair to him?' she wondered.

Erda did not lie when she said she could not ask for his approval to save a life. The lives that could wait for such approval were not the lives she was compelled to save. Thus, she could not make that promise.

She could have mollified him by simply speaking the words of obedience, but it was she who had said that 'a deity's word should always be kept'. It would serve as a poor example as a parent to not follow her own advice.

'In the end, was it foolish to hope that things could end differently, Neoth?'

Her hands clasped together tightly as she felt pain jab throughout her body with every pulse of blood through her veins.

There had been thousands of disagreements between them. There had been thousands of arguments, and during them millions of hurtful words had been traded by both sides.

Even then, she wanted to watch over him. She didn't have the strength to protect him anymore, but he was still her son.

Then again, he was just one of her many children.

He may be the one who was most like her, and one of the very few who could talk to her as an equal. However, if his life were placed on a scale against any of her other children, she would choose the ones which could not protect themselves.

Erda's figure blurred slightly, showing a mature woman and young girl sitting there silently with their hands clasped in their lap. She was unsure of what she could do now and what she should do from now on. However, the old hag pinched her chin between thumb and forefinger as she scowled to herself. Her thoughts were going back to the past. Bitter memories rose and sank back into her mind until she came upon the moment of no return.

The moment all of Terra's recorded history was burned.

The moment the majority of Terra's population was killed.

The moment all hope for a self-directed future and the restoration of Terra died.

The Fall of Xozer.

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

In the time of Kalagann of Ursh, our most glorious overlord, long-forgotten cities were routinely sacked, or burned, or simply evaporated in nuclear storms. Seas were regularly stained with blood, skies with ash, and landscapes were often carpeted with the bleached and numberless bones of the conquered. When armies marched, they marched a billion strong. The ragged banners of a million standards swayed above their heads in the atomic winds. The battles were stupendous maelstroms of blades and spiked black helms and baying horns, lit by the fires of cannons and burners.

Kalagann's general, Shang Khal, had assembled a significant horde of irregular levies from the southern client states of Ursh with the help of Lord Martial Anult Keyser. These forces were used to support his main armed strengths, including the infamous Tupelov Lancers and the Red Engines during the invasion. The Nordafrik technogogues had preserved a great deal more high technology for the good of their conclaves than Ursh possessed, and sheer envy, more than anything, motivated the war. Kalagann was hungry for the fine instruments and mechanisms the conclaves owned.

Eight epic battles marked Shang Khal's advance into the Nordafrik zones, the greatest of them being Xozer.

-Chronicle of Ursh: The Fall of Xozer

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

A woman of Arabian descent sat in the stern corner of the bridge of the Bucephelus. Her body and face were covered by a brown hooded cloak. However, the cloak did little to hide how unwell she was. Everyone on the bridge could see the material quiver as her body shivered under it, as if ravaged by a heavy fever. They could also hear her breathing; laborious and pained interrupted by the occasional pained gasp.

Commodore Agesilaus pulled his eyes away from her and turned to his Lord in golden armor standing beside him at the holomap.

"My Lord, the situation on Terra grows dire. Lady Erda's condition worsens by the minute."

The Commodore's brow was furrowed with worry, and nervous sweat dripped from his chin.

"She is my oldest companion." The giant in golden armor answered, and his head turned slightly as if to look at the much smaller man. But, before he could complete the movement, the giant's thick jaw clenched and he forced his eyes to focus on the holomap. "She knows my limits, and what I am capable of. She will tell me when the time comes, not you."

"As you will, my Lord." Agesilaus saluted, dropping the matter. The warning was clear in the tone the last two words were spoken with. He did not wait for a return salute. His Lord could not turn in his direction, for to do so meant he would have to look in Lady Erda's direction. His Lord was not a patient being under normal circumstances. Watching Lady Erda suffer earlier had frayed his meager temper to the breaking point. If he turned towards her again... If he saw what was happening on Terra through her, he would lose what remaining reason he had left.

"How far has the Omnissiah gone?" His Lord changed the subject. "We must determine what we can salvage, before there is nothing left."

"The God Machines Truth code has not received a new block from the remaining nodes of the federation's super-luminary communication network." Commodore Agesilaus answered. "Therefore, the Omnissiah still remains on a local network of less than star system size. That also means we have no means of tracing it back to its current location." The Commodore added a filter onto the holomap, displaying all of the systems that had been cut off from the human federation's networks. The blackout started from Sol, then spread out from system to system. Each one of them was removed from the list of possible locations the Omnissiah could transfer its data to. "Destruction of all network nodes proceeds as planned, so the avenues of its escape are decreasing as we speak. The only medium of communication left for these systems is the Warp."

Agesilaus felt a bitter taste in his mouth as he said the words 'as planned'. He was the 16th Commodore to say those words over and over again. Tearing down an interstellar communication network as well as all its redundancies while burning the backup systems and archives was a grueling task. The majority of his predecessors had died of old age while following that plan.

"Commodore!" One of the technicians on the lower bridge suddenly shouted. "Part of the fleet has been pulled out of the Warp by MoS (Men of Stone) null-fields! Transmitting details to central holomap!"

A list of ships and affected battlegroups appeared on the holomap, as well as the source of the null-fields that had diverted them out of the Warp. It appeared the Men of Stone ships that had obstructed part of their fleet belonged to the orbital defenses of a planet close to a region of 'Calm Space'. These regions were prime candidates for Warp gate construction due to the more predictable currents of the Warp that were linked to certain regions of the galaxy. Since there was no Warp Gate here, the planet must have been a more recent acquisition by the human federation.

"We don't have time for this." Agesilaus's Lord said quietly, then turned to the rest of the bridge. "I will be taking direct control of the situation." His voice boomed. "Order the rest of the fleet to reverse course and prepare to exit the Warp. All ships are to fire upon all non-friendly ships immediately upon return to the materium. We will attack the enemy fleet from two flanks; the ships that were pulled out of the Warp, and ourselves." He turned to the technicians in charge of the Bucephelus's internal systems. "Shift all power to the Bucephelus's shields and engines. Load all ordinance silos with Volkite warheads."

"My Lord, the ships pulled out of the Warp have not reported any attacks. They may have simply run afoul of the planet's automated defense grid." Commodore Agesilaus whispered to the giant after the orders were given. "We do not know whether the planet associated with the MoS null-fields has been affected by the Omnissiah or not. They may still be human."

"That term…" His Lord's voice was deep and rumbled like the growl of a great beast. "is reserved for all those who follow my path."

"As you will, my Lord." Agesilaus gave a salute, and the giant in golden armor returned to the holomap. Cold sweat drenched the Commodore's back. It was not easy questioning the being before him, but he had to make the effort. This was supposed to be a mission to save what they could of humanity, but with every passing day it seemed more like they were just burning everything to the ground. He turned around to the woman huddled at the back of the bridge, and saw a single tear stained eye pointed at the back of his Lord, begging him to stop.

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

Xozer, the heart of the Nord Afrik Conclaves, and the site of Terra's rejuvenation. Massive solar arrays, protected from the abrasive sand filled winds by built in miniature ion shields, provided the heat energy necessary to distill vast quantities of well water. Heavy metals and radioactive particles were removed from the toxic liquid drawn up from ancient mines with this method. Further filtration removed the organic solvents and chlorine compounds that could not be removed by the distillation process. Finally, special centrifuges were used to separate out the toxic heavy water from the normal water. The heavy water was electrolyzed to form breathable oxygen and deuterium or tritium for their nuclear fusion reactors. The more important normal water was used to wash away the toxic fallout from the dirt that came from Terra's nuclear apocalypse. It was only after this long and arduous cleaning process that the rejuvenated soil could be shipped out to the agricultural zones outside the city walls, and placed back down to be reirrigated with more purified normal water to restore the vitality of Terra's soil.

To protect all of this from the elements, special resins were molded into protective sheets that could cover Xozer's farmlands. The airtight seals protected the plants and microbiome from the rad storms while holding in the precious moisture Terra's desiccated winds threatened to drink dry.

Yet, even with all these technological marvels, it was Xozer's religious hierophants that retained control over the city. They proclaimed these technologies to be gifts from ancient gods, for although they could operate these machines, they did not understand them. Investigation into how they worked was forbidden. Religious reverence was one reason, but there was also a fear that attempting to disassemble any of these machines to figure out how they worked would result in the destruction of an irreplaceable artifact and nothing else.

Ofcourse, as all things, economic interests also ensured that no efforts were made to replicate the devices. Artifacts are priceless precisely because they are unique. Once an item can be regularly replicated, it is only artificial scarcity that keeps the original's value.

This concept of forced or artificial scarcity has long been with humanity. When the world still ran on fossil fuels instead of Promethium and nuclear fusion, oil cartels reduced production and refining to strangle the market of the energy it needed to run. Hence, by decreasing the effort they put into their work, they increased the value of the oil they had already siphoned out of the ground. This paradoxically lazy way of increasing the wealth they already had ensured they had a larger voice in global politics than they deserved.

Naturally, the hierophants' monopoly on the rejuvenating technology of Xozer could not be released from the hands of those with vested interests. Like a fat water seller in the desert, the hierophants of Xozer and the oil cartels drip feed their customers with a resource they were lucky enough to inherit from the earth.

Thus, it was for these three reasons of religion, practicality, and economics that Xozer never shared or expanded the methods to rejuvenate Terra's lands.

Yet, despite the pride, greed, and sloth of those in power, Xozer and its Nord Afrik Conclaves were a prosperous region of Terra.

Not only were they lucky enough to retain much of the technology of the ancients, they were also protected by the lands around them. A natural fort created by pollution and nuclear fallout kept them safe from invaders for decades on end.

Their northern borders with Europa were separated by a body of caustic sludge that was once called the Mediterranean sea.

Steep cliffs that used to be hidden by the ocean deterred any invasion from the west.

The southern borders, where much of the African continent's flora and fauna had once existed, were radioactive wastelands; so irradiated by atomics that even mechanical circuitry would short out from the ionizing radiation.

Their eastern border was the least defended, for the only thing between them and any invader was a massive desert. Unlike all their other natural defenses, this one had always been there. The sheer lack of life within this region had spared it from atomics and other weaponry that had decimated all the other regions.

It was from here that Shang Khal invaded.

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

Over a period of nine days and nights, the war machines of the Red Engines blasted their way across the cultivated agroponic pastures and reduced them back to the desert, from which they had originally been irrigated and nurtured. They cut through the laserthorn hedges and the jeweled walls of the outer conclave, and unleashed dirty atomics into the heart of the ruling zone, before the Lancers led a tidal wave of screaming berserkers through the breach into the earthly paradise of the gardens at Xozer, the last fragment of Eden on a corrupted planet.

-Chronicle of Ursh: The Fall of Xozer

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

Tolu Abdullahi was a guard upon the walls of Xozer. For more than a week, the sounds of war had echoed from beyond the horizon. The cries of monstrous creatures and the roar of colossal engines rumbled through the ground, interrupted only by the boom of atomic explosions that rang like the footsteps of a giant marching towards them.

Endless streams of refugees from the farming colonies on the outskirts of the conclaves' territory continued to enter the city through the gates below them. They were a mass of hooded cloaks and baggage from the height he observed them from; swarming to the city like lines of ants.

The walls he stood upon shined under the harsh sun, covered in diamond-like crystals. These were the focussing lenses for the laser defense system of Xozer. It was one of the few designs remembered by the technogogues from before the Age of Strife.

He looked back towards the 5th and 6th defensive walls which were within the original void shields that kept the city safe during the Age of Strife. The shields were at their highest strength, tinting everything inside with dark blue and purple hues.

Between each defensive wall was fertile farmland. He could see the dark brown of the tilled and watered soil.

That was what these walls had been made to protect. New ones were erected whenever the population of the city grew beyond the old. They served as both the first line of defense, and a preventative measure for conflict. Hiding the arable farmland Xozer created kept the jealous techno-barbarians and raiders ignorant. That was how Xozer had kept itself safe originally.

However, that changed in the past several decades. The sale of clean fertile soil beyond the walls had slowly allowed information of what Xozer could do to leak out to the outside world. Of course, it was not simple greed that motivated the hierophants to do so. A great famine had once ravaged the city due to a crop blight. Livestock starved to death, and it was only a matter of time before the people did the same.

The low ranking progressive Upashtar had attempted to overcome this crop blight by gene-breeding livestock. These genetically enhanced organisms could survive with less food yet would grow quickly to replace the animals that had died already.

As a result of their efforts, the Upashtar no longer walked the streets of Xozer.

In the end, thousands starved to death or died in the ensuing riots.

To prevent this from happening again, Xozer now dispersed its food production to several thousand satellite farms. The geographical distance separating each farm would ensure future blights would not kill all the crops. It also dispersed the risk of any future disasters. If there ever was another food shortage, all who bought Xozer's soil were bound by contract to share what they produced with each other and the city.

Tolu turned back to facing outside the city walls, only to have his ears assaulted by the megaphones built into the walls. They had begun blaring the hierophants' tri-hourly sermons.

He sighed as the same story of how Xozer survived and grew was repeated by the slow, droning voice of the hierophants. According to them, it was thanks to the divine will of god and the faith of their forefathers, but Tolu was skeptical of their claims.

The stories that came from the speakers every three hours stated that god had kept this single city safe. They were the only ones free of the genetic taint that had brought down divine wrath upon the people of Terra.

As a society, Xozer's fixation upon genetic purity separated their population into genetic classes. Each one was based on the degrees of deviation from the self-proclaimed 'originals'. The hierophants and nobility occupied the highest rank with their unmodified genetics. All others proceeded downwards to the next level. Greater numbers of so-called mutations and modifications relegated individuals to a lower class. Yet, despite 'pure' genetics being the only barrier between the classes, class-warfare still existed in Xozer.

This was the crux of the problem for the Upashtar. Their solution of gene-breeding was both a solution to the famine, and a way to improve their class's standing. Yet, the concept that gene-breeding or sculpting could lead to a positive outcome clashed heavily with the main-stream ideology within the city. It also provided an opportunity for the more conservative Xozerites to exploit. They accused them of attempting to feed the embodiment of sin to all of Xozer, and pervert the purity of their genetics with their invention. An incited mob killed all those who worked on the gene-breeding project. The Upashtar fought back, as expected, and that was all that was needed for the Xozerites to label them as heretics and condemn them all to physical and spiritual exile. Every Upashtar was rounded up, and sent into the underground factories. There, their gene-codes were re-written, destroying their intelligence and leaving them little more than dumb brutes who followed any order given to them.

As the ones who instigated the original mob, the Xozerites accepted the 'punishment' of dealing with what remained of the Upashtar. All of the mentally incapacitated men and women were sold into slavery. The Xozerites' coffers became full that day. As for the people of Xozer, they were distracted from their hungry bellies for a time. They celebrated for 'evil' had been destroyed.

At least, that was what Tolu's old commander had told him once. That man had always loved conspiracy theories. His lips grew loose during the long campfire nights they endured in the cold desert. He heard that particular tale during one of their patrol missions, when all other topics died out.

Regardless, of the veracity of the man's stories, the majority of Xozer's populace ascribed to this genetic hierarchy and the divine origin story of the city's birth.

Tolu was not one of them. He had seen too much of the realm of the ancients.

He and his company had been deployed on the border patrols in the past. Once, a sand avalanche forced them to take a treacherous route through the ruined wastes of the outer regions of Xozer's territory. There, he had seen the remains of megalopolises far larger than Xozer.

The skeletons of skyscrapers jutted out of the desert sands like the ruined tombstones of giants. Row after row they stood side by side, like the marker stones in a heavily occupied cemetery. Gutted remains of what must have been cannons of impossible size lay with barrels half-buried in the ground on the outer limits of a city tens of hundreds of times the size of Xozer. Centuries after being exposed to pure atomics that replicated the sun, the remains endured; showing that they were made of alloys that not even the technogogues of the Nord Afrik Conclaves could forge.

After walking through the ruined city of the ancients, Tolu could not help but be overcome by a massive sense of loss. This was what they used to be able to create, and now they could only stand and gawk at what their ancestors had once done instead of adding to their legacy.

When he returned to Xozer after that patrol, he found a burning question in his mind that almost clawed its way out of his throat.

What god protects a single city after allowing such ancient marvels to fall?

But, to speak out was to be silenced, just as the Upashtar were. So, he held his tongue, picked up his gun, and followed his orders.

Suddenly, Tolu's communicator beeped in his ear. He pressed down on the earpiece to make sure he would not miss what was to be said.

"EGD(East Gate Defence Group) 5-3-9 this is control. Bogey at East Gate. Bearing 65 degrees. Altitude 6km. Confirm visual. Over."

Tolu pulled down the optics attached to his helmet and checked the direction reported, as he spoke into his communicator.

"5-3-9, control. Wilco. Break."

His eyes found the target, and he finished his report.

"Visual confirmed. Roma patrol plane. Over."

"Connecting cam. Maintain visual. Over."

"Wilco. Over."

There was a short pause then the communicator crackled again.

"Dim sight. Maintain visual until Tango loss. Out."

Tolu hurriedly increased the opacity of his optics, darkening the image as he covered the bottom half of his face with a light brown scarf.

There was a flash of light as several of the crystals embedded in the wall let loose beams of photons focussed on the Roma patrol plane. The glare of the lasers made Tolu wince both from the heat, and the explosion that appeared in his optics as the plane was pierced from several directions at once.

"5-3-9, control. Return to guard duties. Out."

A sigh escaped his mouth as he unwrapped the bottom half of his face and returned the optics back to their default settings.

The armies of Ursh had located Xozer. That only meant one thing.

The gates below him groaned as they began to lower, and panicked screaming began to come from the people still outside the walls. Rapid gunfire followed, as the guards below unloaded their magazines into the remaining refugees trying to enter. Gas grenades were mercilessly thrown into the crowd to blind and confuse them, so they wouldn't be able to overwhelm the guards below by running in all at once.

Tolu looked off to the horizon so he could avoid staring down at the scene unfolding below him. Yet, he still heard the clang of the gate slamming shut and locking into place as well as the increased screaming of all those who had been locked out.

His eyes caught something moving, and he maximized the magnification on his optics. Brass beasts spewing smoke and fire walked forwards on clawed legs, followed by hulking brutes in thick metal armor carrying swords, spears, and guns.

"Control, 5-3-9. Over."

"Go-ahead 5-3-9. Over."

"Red Engines spotted. Bearing 87 degrees. Over."

"Connecting cams. Maintain visual. Over."

Tolu continued to stare at the approaching army as control took longer than usual to reply.

"5-3-9. Deny Kalagann his skulls at the East Gate. Over."

A grimace crossed Tolu's face, but he only shouldered his weapon as he answered his communicator.

"Wilco. Over."

"Roger. Out."

Tolu flicked off the safety, pointed his weapon downwards, and began firing Volkite beams into the crowd below.

Several meters to his left and right, he heard the other men in his platoon begin to do the same.
 
Chapter 34: The Fall of Xozer (Part 2)
A/N: Since we'll be seeing things during the Age of Strife on Terra. Here are a few terms and technologies that might need to be clarified beforehand.

Sciomancy: Determination of fate using the dead, ghosts, or spirits.

Phantasmagorian: Adjective describing a state of constant shape-shifting/changing

Oneirocriticks: Psykers that specialize in fortune telling in general. How they do this varies from individual to individual, so fortunes are usually determined by taking statements from several at once and cross-referencing them against each other and current events.

Murengon: Ancient Scottish term for grimace. On Terra, it seems to be used to refer to a heavily defended position. As for the origin of this term, I guess it comes from the fact that a heavily defended position is difficult to deal with. i.e. grimace inducing.

Wrathskin: This term is not from canon, but it describes the armor used by the berserkers and enhanced soldiers of Ursh. It is similar to Space Marine power armor, but due to the Black Carapace not being invented, the armor is irreversibly melded to the user's body and connected directly to their nervous system. This means that it is almost impossible to remove the armor once it is put on.



On the opposite side of the battlefield, General Shang Khal of Ursh stood on top of a vitrified dune. He was a three meter giant, sealed in the power armor the Urshites called Wrathskin. Both of his armored boots were embedded in red-hot glass. The once polished plates of armor that encased him were rough with knicks and dents. What color the original metal was could not be seen under the black ash that had bonded with it. Vicious spikes jutted out from his knee guards and shoulder pauldrons. The optics on his helmets glowed a fiery red, making them the only thing not covered by soot.

Those burning eyes now watched scores of bestial Red Engines plod across the remains of farmlands. The heat exuded with their flaming breath immolated the buildings around them as well as the land itself, drying out the soil and turning it back into desert. Their brass clawed feet left molten footprints wherever they went, glassing the ground and incinerating what little biomatter was left within it.

Beside the Red Engines walked the factory produced soldiers made from the facilities that had survived the initial atomic war waged by their forefathers. The automated surgical tables and growth vats buried underground had allowed the processing of millions of the weak, the disrespectful, and the heathenous every day.

"General Khal." A figure also in fully sealed Wrathskin approached him. "The last of the Nordafrik's armies has been encircled and destroyed."

"Lord Marshal Anult Keyser." Shang Khal's voice was a calming baritone. Any who heard it for the first time would look around for another speaker; for such a voice could not come from the blackened effigy of war and death. Yet, this was the voice of Shang Khal. The man who commanded armies billions strong, and who had broken the defenses of the Nord Afrik Conclaves.

"That is good news." Shang Khal said without moving. "I believe the Roma were once again responsible for our victory?"

"Their patrol planes give us the advantage of intelligence." Anult Keyser replied. "It is easy to encircle an enemy who cannot hide from us."

The Nord Afrik armies used the desert to their advantage. Snipers hidden under sand covered tarps armed with Volkite Calivers would turn walking columns of infantry into a line of fragmentation grenades made of blood and bone.

Traps would be prepared using the land itself.

Unpurified water unfit for consumption could be pumped deep underground to create temporary groundwater streams. These would erode away the bottom layers of earth, forming quicksands that would swallow any enemy that tried to chase them.

Artificial dunes would be set-up using more dirty water and light resin pipes to allow the sands to stick together. With a couple of cleverly placed explosives added in, the man-made dune could be collapsed with a single button, covering the escape route of the Nord Afrik armies, or sealing in an enemy into a prepared kill-box.

Traveling in armored vehicles was impractical as well. Tracked and wheeled vehicles would break down from sucking in silica into their intakes, clogging their engines and filters.

Yet, the Nord Afrik armies did not rely on the desert alone to take out their enemy's means of transportation and mobile artillery. Mechanized columns had more than once found themselves falling into pitfalls covered by reinforced plastics that could support a couple tonnes of armored humans, but not 50 to 70 ton vehicles. Even when soldiers meticulously stabbed the desert sands with metal poles, all the Nord Afrik armies did was replace the pitfalls with a dispersed array of compaction activated shape-charges. Geysers of molten metal flying at supersonic speeds would erupt directly beneath any heavy vehicle, tearing through the thinner under armor and shredding its occupants.

For many decades, these desert combat specialists kept the border of the Nord Afik Conclaves safe from invaders. Widely dispersed troops traveling in small numbers would whittle down their enemies with traps, ambushes, and other guerilla tactics as they attempted to cross the dry dunes under the unrelenting sun.

Shang Khal knew their tactics, having lost millions of men on forced reconnaissance missions. He knew only a few would return, but he sent them anyway. After all, it was their duty to die so Shang Khal could see how the Nord Afrik Conclaves planned to kill his main force.

He quickly came to the conclusion that there was no way to predict their attacks or find their ambushes. They knew the deserts like the back of their hands, and their Volkite weaponry meant the forces of Ursh would always be outgunned.

So, he decided to trample over them with sheer numbers.

He took billions of slaves, serfs, servants, and civilians from the southern client states, and sent them into the underground factories of the ancients. There, they would be reforged into disposable tools of war that knew no fear. Only boundless anger echoed in their minds, which was kept in control by his Wrathsingers.

These berserkers would serve as the vanguard and sacrificial shield for his more experienced mercenaries and career soldiers.

He had their armor welded onto them, and their blood circulated through the armored packs they carried on their backs so the food and water that the Nord Afrik Conclaves would target would be encased in metal during transit and consumption.

Instead of tanks, he used the Red Engines. They were brass colored fire breathing beasts made of metal that fed on blood and skulls to proceed forwards. These creatures did not care if the dunes fell upon them, nor when the ground opened up into a muddy pit. They vitrified the sand into molten glass and emerged from where the Nord Afriks had buried them. Yellow sands would turn orange, then liquify as the Red Engines burst out of the sea of burning silica they converted the deserts into. They howled with the sound of screaming metal and growled with the crackle of hot sparks as they fell upon Shang Khal's enemies, shrugging off the Volkite beam for there was no flesh within them to convert into bombs.

With their ambushes and traps nullified, their targets covered in thick armor that could not be taken off, the Nord Afrik armies were forced to retreat to rethink their strategies.

But, Shang Khal did not allow them to do so. He had no intention of letting his enemies learn from him as he did from them. Lord Marshal Anult Keyser was key to this part of Shang Khal's strategy. It was his job to ensure all those who fled did not survive.

Keyser was a well connected man. His warrior spirit resounded with many mercenaries and warlords. Yet, none could ignore the importance of his lieutenant, Wilhym Mardol. He was an efficient organizer and procurer of supplies. It was he who ensured whatever verbal agreement Keyser made was reinforced with contracts and sweetened with trade agreements of much needed resources the various mercenary groups required. With Keyser's charisma and Mardol's mercantile mind, many warbands had sworn oaths to heed the call should Keyser ever need them.

The Roma, eternal denizens of the skies, were one such mercenary band. They were bound by honor bargains made with the Lord Marshal, and enticed by the promise of an endless supply of fresh soil and water. These mercenaries lived in the last surviving aerial-carriers from the Dark Age of Technology. Their mobile bases in the stratosphere kept them safe from the radiation storms and contaminated air most other humans breathed. Yet, they were unable to truly cut themselves off from the earth. Fresh soil and water were constantly scarce, for their internalized farms had been operating far beyond what they had been originally designed for.

This was what allowed Keyser to convince them to join him. In exchange for fresh soil and water, the Roma had lent their aid to Keyser. Their patrol planes told the Lord Marshal where the Nord Afrik armies fled as well as the state of the lands before them. Armed with that knowledge, the dispersed defense forces of the Nord Afrik Conclaves were destroyed one by one.

"Did the Roma provide any direct support?" Shang Khal asked Keyser as he continued to watch the Red Engines march forwards.

"No General. Their fighters remain in reserve for the final battle."

Shang Khal nodded to himself. The desert was particularly inhospitable to flyers of all kinds. The sand destroyed them in three ways.

Firstly, it would get sucked into the jet intakes or rotor engines when it was kicked up during take-off and landing. The sand would then melt inside the various components and harden into glass at high altitude or if the engine ever stopped. This glass would then either block or lacerate the various exhaust pipes and fuel lines within the craft. Thus, causing it to overheat or possibly even explode

Secondly, the sand itself would erode the bodies of the flyers themselves. This erosion would weaken the structure of the vehicle over time, and was lethal during combat maneuvers. Aircraft are designed to be as efficient and light as possible. A single invisible weak spot in their frame created by erosion could lead to them splitting apart from the intense g-forces evasion and dog fighting required.

Finally, the sandstorms that occasionally formed rendered large areas of the desert off limits to any flying craft. Even approaching one was dangerous. Microscopic silica traveled at insane speeds high up around the main storm. Any flyers that traveled through these invisible clouds of abrasive crystals would soon find themselves flying blind as their view ports and camera lenses would be scratched up. From there, it would be up to the pilot's skill whether they could manage to crash-land, or dive into the storm itself. The former option had a surprisingly high chance of survival, for the dunes of the desert were quite soft compared to other surfaces. The latter was a death sentence.

The Roma's flyers avoided all of these problems. Their aircraft never landed. The only time they stopped flying was to dock at their aerial carriers to recharge their batteries, and the carriers themselves cruised on the jet streams far above any storm

Yet, it was not out of fear for the Roma's well being that Shang Khal only requested their patrol planes at the moment.

"Good." Shang Khal said as he turned towards Keyser, pulling his armored boots free from the molten glass. "The oneirocriticks spoke of swarms flying through the skies at the start of this campaign. Although the hierophant's armies have had no air cover so far, I fear they may be holding their fighters in reserve for the last murengon."

Keyser's fists clenched and he shook his spike-helmed head to show the sneer hidden under it with his body.

"I do not trust the dream watchers General." Keyser grumbled. "They dabble in majiks and speak with djinni."

The oneirocriticks were psykers conscripted by Shang Khal. They specialized in reading portents and deciphering dreams. They had all spoken of swarms covering the skies when the last defenses of Xozer fell. Shang Khal interpreted this as a counter-push by the Nord Afrik that would seek to take his head. Many losing armies in the past had organized suicidal charges that struck down the command posts of the victor at the last second. This led to chaos and confusion of the battlefield, allowing any remaining forces of the losers to escape. Such an attack using aircraft might succeed, and even if Shang Khal survived, its effects would be devastating in the long run.

Shang Khal had drained the southern client states dry for this campaign. He had to finish this war at Xozer. Otherwise he would not have the soldiers to keep the stolen artifacts safe, nor the sacrifices to satisfy the Red Engines' continued terms of service. If he allowed a large enough force to escape, his remaining forces would be bled dry by the experienced guerrilla fighters and snipers of the Nord Afrik.

The Roma's fighter craft were held in reserve to prevent this final suicidal charge.

"I gave you the oneirocriticks for you to use. Do not take their skulls or spill their blood, for now." Shang Khal's baritone voice stated calmly. "What are their latest prophecies?"

"They prattle about the hierophants' sciomancy, and their phantasmagorian ways. But, all I see is weakness slaved to the falsehood of genetic purity." Keyser growled. "If it were not for the artifacts of the ancients they were lucky enough to inherit, they would have fallen to us a hundred years ago."

"Yet, we did not defeat them a hundred years ago." Shang Khal chuckled. "Only with the combined might of the armies of Ursh and the client states have we managed to gather enough men to overwhelm them." The General walked past the Lord Marshal, looking back at the rear end of his armies. "Only by relying on the strengths of pagans and apostates have we managed to get this far." Shang Khal said as he gestured to the sight before him.

Endless hordes of armored soldiers, Red Engines, and long lines of Nord Afrik prisoners chained together marched forwards. Spiked collars dug into the prisoners' necks, and the manacles were locked between the radius and ulna of their arms by barbed metal rods. Blood dripped down the swaying chains as the heavy links shifted the barb inside their wounds, breaking clots open, and sending fresh drops to stain the sands.

Some of these prisoners were soldiers who were unlucky enough to survive. They were not the ones who surrendered, for the berserkers of Ursh did not tolerate cowards. Those who threw down their weapons were fed to the Red Engines on the spot. These men and women were picked up from the sands, knocked out by chance or left behind to die due to their wounds by their comrades.

The others were farmers and civilians who had failed to run away in time.

At first, these chains held slaves and sacrifices from the southern client states, but the last of those had already been consumed. Now, locally procured blood, skulls, and souls filled the army's mobile larder.

"The Roma do not believe in our God, but they provide our troops with information our Red Engines and berserkers could never give us." Shang Khal continued speaking as he raised both arms, like a conductor before an orchestra; directing the chorus of sobs and occasional screams coming from the chained chattel. "It is only by using everything we have that we can finally liberate the gifts of the ancients from the greedy hands of the hierophants."

"I still do not see the point of keeping them alive." Keyser muttered. "The Nord Afrik dead do not rise from their corpses, nor do multi-colored monstrosities savage us from the skies."

"We shall see." Shang Khal said as he turned his head towards a group of palanquins being carried by several gene-brutes. These slow, ape-like beings with oversized muscles were what remained of political prisoners within Xozer. Their genetics had been overwritten, leaving them with only enough intelligence to follow simple commands. As a society that valued genetic purity, these modifications were the cruelest form of punishment and spiritual exile Xozer could inflict. They had been used as a replacement for work animals; tilling fields and carrying heavy objects like horses or mules. That was, until Shang Khal came. Now, they served him as pack-horses and a source for propaganda to vilify the Nord Afrik Conclaves.

"If they have spoken falsely, they will suffer." Shang Khal turned back towards Keyser. "I will consult my Wrathsingers for the coming battle."

"May the skulls of our enemies pave the path forwards for us." Keyser shouted out, ringing his chest plate with a fist slammed into it in salute.

"May their blood slake our thirst." Shang Khal replied, doing the same.

Keyser turned back to the front lines as Shang Khal did the same towards the rear.

After a few minutes marching, the Lord Marshal reached his lieutenants lying prone on top of one of the highest dunes. Most were using electronic binoculars to look at something in the distance, while the one with the vox equipment built into his armor was talking to someone over the comms.

"Lord Marshal." Wilhym Mardol acknowledged his superior while continuing to look through the eyepieces of the binoculars.

"Anything to report, Mardol?" Keyser asked as he crouched down beside him, head and body hidden in the shadow of the dune.

"The Roma lost a patrol plane near Xozer, and our first ranks have gotten within eyeshot of murengon." Mardol reported back. "We have reports that the Nord Afrik have started killing the refugees they couldn't take in."

"Hah." The Lord Marshal let out a brief laugh, full with amused sarcasm. "The ancients had a saying for this, didn't they? 'Caught between a rock and a hard place, was it'?"

"Out of the frying pan and into the fire is another one, and more fitting considering their predicament." Mardol replied dryly. "Whether it be in the Red Engine's flames, or the blast of their Volkite beams, death is the only fate available for the weak."

"Well said." Keyser patted his lieutenant on the shoulder pauldron, before turning to the others. "Strength is the only measure of worth, and not arbitrary notions of purity or genetics. We are here to reclaim what is rightfully ours from the greedy and the fearful."

"If there is anything left." Mardol retorted bitterly.

Keyser stared at the back of Mardol's helm for a moment, then turned to another one of his lieutenants.

"Report on the situation of the city." The Lord Marshal ordered.

"They have locked themselves inside their walls, Lord Marshal." The lieutenant replied. "We have no sightings or reports of flyers taking off, and the Roma patrol planes report no other forces besides ours for at least a hundred kilometers. We can encircle the city during the night, and attack from all sides with the morning sun."

"Good." The Lord Marshal nodded, then slid down the dune.

"Keep the vox open with the Roma, and delegate the watch of the city to the soldiery." He ordered. "I want you all to call up the troops who will be participating in the attack tomorrow. I wish to address them before they separate out. Our communication methods might become unreliable. They should be reminded of what we fight for, in the event orders no longer reach them. Mardol. You come with me." The lieutenants put down their binoculars and slid down the dune as well, then saluted the Lord Marshal before heading to carry out his order.

The Lord Marshal and his second in command walked away from the main army; away from the front lines. Finally, they stood in the ruins of one of the incinerated farms. What used to be homes and storage silos were smoking piles of ash, and the glassed ground crackled under their armored feet.

"I sense an anger directed at me within you, Mardol." Keyser said as he came to a stop. "What is the matter?"

Mardol took a deep breath before replying. "You've seen what we've done on our way here."

Keyser nodded as he spoke. "We trampled the weak, as we have always done."

"Yes, but salted the ground as well." Mardol replied dryly, gesturing to the burnt farmland around them. "We promised the Roma and many others soil and water. Now, there is nothing left to give."

"All of this came from the artifacts within Xozer." Keyser shrugged. "So long as we secure them, our honor bargains will be fulfilled."

"It took decades for the hierophants to expand their colonies this far. We have no idea how long it will take to learn how to replicate their feats, if we can replicate them at all." Mardol stepped towards Mardol, glass crackling under his armored boot. "Shang Khal has made many promises to gather the resources for this campaign. Kalagann may be the overlord of Ursh, but Ursh herself has been almost bled dry. If we cannot satisfy all those we have bargained with, this army will turn on itself, and we may lose all that we have gained."

Keyser snorted at that. "Do you fear a rebellion by the Southern client states?"

"I do not fear." Mardol said quietly. "I predict what can happen, and tell you that we may be on borrowed time."

Keyser sighed and took his own step towards his second in command. "Mardol… The hierophants have long guarded their secrets of prosperity. It is only recently that we have learned of what they have hidden within their walls. If they had remained barricaded behind their defenses and not sold soil and water to those around them, we may have remained ignorant until they were too powerful to resist. The hierophants must fall for Ursh to survive."

"I know all of that Keyser. I know we strike them down now to avoid having a future foe."

"Then, is it the breaking of the bonds of honor that you fear?" Keyser asked. "If we must fight against our old allies, then so be it. The weak will always be vanquished by the strong. If we die, then it only means we were not strong enough to live. The ones who kill us will be the ones to inherit the earth, and they will create a better world than the one we leave them."

"You do not need to preach to me like the Wrathsingers of Ursh." Mardol shook his head. "I do not fear death, Keyser. When my time comes, my blood will water the soil so new growth can come from it. My strength will have been used to harden and sharpen the swords of the one who slays me. But…" Mardol closed the distance between himself and the Lord Marshal. Their chest plates touched as his voice dropped to a whisper. "That is where my anger towards you comes from, Keyser. You told me… You told all of us that we would make a better world for those who came after us. It was the hope you gave to us, a rabid bunch of thugs and barbarians in the slums of Ursh, that angers me now." He stepped away, throwing an arm out, gesturing to the blackened obsidian glass that covered the ground, the burnt barns and houses, as well as the bone fragments jutting out of ash piles. "Is the world truly becoming better here? This glass is more toxic than the desert sands. The air is gradually filling with the smoke from the Red Engines. Keyser, I have followed you loyally for over a hundred years. So, please tell me. What do we gain at the end of this campaign?"

Mardol turned back to Keyser; his compatriot and leader of tens of thousands of battles. Slaughter and bloodshed were common sights to the both of them, but the destruction of what was once fertile land had shaken Mardol. Until now, the only places they had fought were so polluted or radioactive it did not matter what they did.

"We will have the artifacts of Xozer, and the means to restore life to this world." Keyser spoke slowly and calmly, addressing his friend's fears. "It will be slow, and there will be much strife. That is why we must be strong. We will need to protect ourselves, and the means to rejuvenate the planet. Some of our allies will betray us, but that has been the state of things for a long time. We have betrayed and been betrayed many times when we were just mercenaries. This is no different."

Keyser placed a hand on Mardol's shoulder pauldron, giving him a reassuring pat before speaking in a more jovial tone. "Besides, you worry too much. Shang Khal was ordered by Kalagann to recover the treasures of Xozer for Ursh. Do you think he would allow them to be destroyed?"

"Accidents can happen." Mardol warned.

"That is why you and I will be on the frontlines." Keyser said as he leaned towards his friend. "We will be there to guide our forces to where they will be needed. The berserkers and Red Engines will only take the walls and other defensive installations on the outskirts of the city. The fighting within the central parts will be done by us."

Shang Khal's army had many forces within it. Anult Keyser was personally in command of the Tupelov Lancers; cybernetically enhanced cavalry carrying genetically enhanced warriors. They would come after the berserkers and Red Engines penetrated the walls to fight in the more complicated inner complexes of Xozer. Thus, the collateral damage to the city itself would be minimized.

"Keyser…" Mardol's fists clenched once before relaxing. "Will we have a victory after the fighting?"

"Of course we will. That is, unless we lose." Keyser chuckled. "But, that is the same as any battle. This one is no different to the thousands we have lived through. The strong survive. The weak feed the strong. If we die tomorrow, then it only means Xozer and the hierophants had a strength we did not see. That is the beauty of battle. It defines things clearly into two states. The living and the dead. Should we end up as the latter, our deaths will feed them, and they will write the next chapter for humanity in our stead. Although…" The Lord Marshal paused to snort and his voice took a mocking tone. "After seeing their soldiers, I doubt that they will prove me wrong." There was a darkness there in his voice. An almost instinctive hatred being directed at Xozer and all of its people. Mardol watched as his friend shook his head, and resumed speaking with a lighter tone. "Regardless, win or lose, humanity will be improved. Weakness will be cleansed, and our species will be hardened in the flames of strife and suffering. That is the Truth, Mardol. The Truth of the world, and all existence."

Mardol snorted at that. Keyser always had a dramatic streak about him that came with his charisma, but lately he had taken a far more philosophical slant in his speeches. "I would like to survive this battle." He retorted dryly.

Keyser drew back and let out a laugh. "So do I. That is why I need you with me, Mardol. You think of things I cannot, and I speak of things you cannot imagine. We are both needed here, in this moment, to make our dreams come true. We are the ones who made this campaign possible. Neither General Shang Khal, nor the great overlord Kalagann himself could have gotten this far. Believe in me, Mardol. I will see us through this."

Mardol sighed, then stepped back and saluted by banging his right fist against his chest plate. "As you will, Lord Marshal Anult Keyser."

Keyser returned the salute, and the two of them walked back towards the front lines.
 
Interlude: First night on Terra
A/N: Thank you Naranka and Skyborne for reading through this section.

The last of the children rescued from the assassin temples had been put to sleep. Now, Erda, the assassin, and herself were preparing the teachers and carers necessary for their purpose.

Isha was copying the original personalities that had formed her core into simulacra of their original bodies. Erda and the assassin were with the plants making the bodies, arranging for the Imperial Palace cooks to provide the necessary nutrients and minerals required to create each one.

The assassin was stuck in her maid disguise. Her job was to repeatedly carry carts of food to an impromptu 'banquet' supposedly hosted by Malcador for some unknown guest. Erda herself was standing guard outside the room, ensuring no others would intrude on the rows of oversized pitcher-plant-like structures Isha had grown. These specially designed plants would digest the materials thrown into them, reorganizing them into the bodies necessary to provide comfort and counsel to the children.

It would take a long time to alleviate the trauma these children had been through. Removal of the emotional scars was virtually impossible without wiping their memories. They would have to learn to live with them.

Still, it was not all bad news. Their minds and bodies were now hardier than most humans. The suffering they had endured would be useful to them when they came in contact with the less hospitable of her children. Redirecting any psychic probe to those memories would serve as a potent reminder for her children to keep their psychic feelers to themselves.

The Aeldari were proud, emotional, and valued strength to a great degree. Most humans were viewed as little more than animals, like gorillas who had learned sign-language or parrots that could mimic speech. These children of Erda would show them what their species could survive, and what they were capable of without cybernetic enhancements or psychic abilities.

That was the only way to avoid petty bickering between Erda's children and hers. It would not be enough for the Aeldari to admit that there were a few exceptions amongst the animals. The diplomats she would train would have to show them humanity's base-line potential. Only then would her children begrudgingly accept humanity as a fellow space-faring race instead of another resource to exploit or vermin to exterminate.

Isha's eyes scanned the multiple layers of bridges that composed the outer parts of the Imperial Palace, observing the humans below through narrowed eyes.

She had left Erda with one of the simulacra that would be teaching the children. It was a portion of herself that mimicked what she used to be, so she was aware of what was going. It may speak and act differently to her totality, but it was still Isha making the decisions. They were currently discussing the syllabus for the children's education, as well as what to do for any who rejected their planned occupation. Having a disgruntled diplomat, bitter about being forced to become one, would be a flaw that any opposing party would not hesitate to exploit.

Her own body was in the personal quarters given to her by Erda. It was originally Erda's, but the mother of humanity had no need for them.

Isha stifled a yawn as she continued to watch the citizenry of the Imperium. Her physical form was made to be life-like, and hence it would cease functioning without sustenance, sleep, or psychic energy. She was currently separated from her children and depleted of all psychic energy from the numerous transformations and growing of the plants. Thus, food, drink, and sleep were imperative for her to stay in the materium.

However, she resisted the urge to sleep for the moment. There was no critical reason. Merely a curiosity, or perhaps it was her attempt to find some comfort in familiarity. She had watched the Aeldari from the immaterium on her throne, even when the edict bound her. Staring down at the millions of people outside the Sanctum Imperialis mimicked that experience, reminding her of how she used to exist. But, there was another reason she stayed awake. Her eyes may have been moving slowly, but they were looking for something.

Finally, her eyes stopped on a medium sized figure in a hooded cloak wandering through the night crowds.

She sighed to herself.

The Emperor does not sleep. He has no need to. He is no longer human, no matter how much he pretends to be. Yet, since his subjects are nought but mortal, all work stops while they slumber. During that time, he wanders in the form of a normal human amongst the citizens of the Imperium.

One might think the Emperor's nightly walks were a waste of time and energy. However, there was nothing else left for the God of Heroes to do. Simple paperwork and organization take no time for the processing power of a god who can calculate the perfect trajectory of lance and macro canon shells into gigantic hands made of magma. Experimental simulations and gene-designs can be completed in an instant. So, the speed at which all the Emperor's duties are completed is determined by how quickly his subjects can carry out his orders. Therefore, once the human portions of the Imperium finish their work, the Emperor is also freed from his duties for the day.

Isha stifled a yawn as her eyes followed the God of Heroes. He passed by hundreds of his subjects unnoticed by them. If anyone else saw him now, they would assume he was searching for something or someone who would become an important part of the Imperium in the future. Those knowledgeable of the Warp and its more malicious denizens would assume he was patrolling the populace, rooting out hidden evils no one else could know about.

But, Isha knew there was no lofty goal nor latent danger that motivated these walks.

The Emperor was simply observing his subjects, recording all those he could in the legend of humanity.

There was no need to do it this way. Any human who followed his path would become part of this legend. Their service to him would save their soul from Chaos in exchange for being immortalized in the story of their life.

But, he did it anyway.

Neither she nor he knew what made him walk out amongst his people.

Perhaps it was some divine instinct as the legend of humanity and its heroes that drove him into the streets; to see the setting the story would take place in with his own eyes.

Perhaps some part of Gilgamesh pined for Enkidu and emulated him in the only way he could.

Perhaps the Emperor did this to remind himself what he fought for by seeing what he protected.

The laughter of an unbroken family sitting down for dinner leaking out of a window.

The sight of a group of factory workers trading jokes and stories over a bottle of amasec in a bar.

The warm embrace of a newly wed couple after a hard day's work.

It could be any one of those reasons, all of them, or maybe even none of them.

Yet, the Emperor walked across the bridges and through the streets every night he could.

He rubbed shoulders with his subjects, but never spoke to them.

He saw the good and the bad, yet passed no judgment during his walks.

He walked with all of them, but utterly alone.

Isha sighed again as her silver eyes continued to observe the Emperor. His hood slipped slightly, possibly blown by the wind, showing the light brown skin of those belonging to the Yndonesic bloc. A flat nose and full lips were the most identifying features on his face, but the combination was neither appealing nor ugly.

The Emperor pulled his hood forward, and continued walking.

Isha could not find the words to describe the expression that was on the Emperor's face the moment his hood slipped. But, it did not look happy.

Loneliness. Sadness. Nothingness.

Those were the words closest to what she saw.

Her brow furrowed as she continued watching the Emperor.

It was obvious he did not glean any satisfaction from these walks. It was a fruitless endeavor. Whatever catharsis gained from watching the happiness of others was washed away by the inability to join it. Every night was only another reminder of what the Emperor no longer was.

But, he could not stop himself from changing his form, and donning his hood when the Imperium's work was done for the day.

Isha did not know whether this continuation of an old habit was a good or bad sign. She had not inspected the information of the Emperor after his change, and was ignorant of what his mindset was at the moment.

Her eyes blinked sleepily as she followed his disguised form from the balcony. The last time she had slept was when she had fallen unconscious upon the pylon world of the Necrons, but she remained awake to watch him.

Was she looking at him out of worry, or was she looking at him out of pity?

She did not know the answer to that question either. Perhaps it was both.

There was much to be worried about the God of Heroes. He may have recovered some of his sanity, but he was a ruthless leader. Humanity's worth was still being determined by her. She hoped they would be an ally against Chaos, but that was not guaranteed yet.

There was also much to pity about the Emperor. First and foremost, there was the matter of his birth.

She said she envied it.

To be born out of idealism.

To be desired by the ones who created him.

It was the polar opposite of how she had been made, but it too was cruel in its own way.

What does a man who achieved apotheosis due to design rather than desire think of the humanity he was forced to lose?

Would he miss it, or would he see it as shedding a weakness that held him back?

The Shamans only thought of the ideal they would create. They did not imagine such an ideal could have emotions of its own.

Yet, their ideal was born in a mortal body, and lived among mortal people.

He suffered humanity's cruelty, their selfishness, and their idiocy. First from his uncle, and then from many others he met during his travels. He saw with his own two eyes the worst of what they could be, while being designed to be the pinnacle of their potential.

That contradiction… The failure of innocent idealism to function in harsh reality is what made the boy into the man who eventually became a god.

Isha watched the Emperor wander the streets until the moon rose to its zenith, then pushed off the railing to return to the room.

There was nothing she could do for him at the moment. He would have to carry whatever emotional baggage he still had on his own.
 
Chapter 35: The Fall of Xozer (Part 3)
A/N: Thank you Skyborne for reading through the speech of this section.

A/N: Since we'll be seeing things during the Age of Strife on Terra. Here are a few terms and technologies that might need to be clarified beforehand.

Grand-cruiser: A classification of warship that attempts to put a battleship's worth of firepower into a cruiser sized vessel. Due to this extra ordinance, these ships are very slow and brittle for their size, for their extra guns add weight to the ship while reducing the number of void shield capacitors and armor they can carry. They are best suited for defensive engagements or in the rear of allied formations; from where they can provide fire support using their heavy weaponry.

In 40K, the knowledge required for the specialized plasma generators necessary to provide enough power to so much excessive weaponry in their 'relatively' compact frame has led to the devolution of this class of ships.

Many have lost the lance and plasma macro-cannon batteries they once had, and now carry standard macro-cannon batteries or fighter hangars instead. This has not done much to improve their speed, meaning they do badly in fleet engagements as they cannot keep up with the rest of the ships in the fleet. Many are used as solo-raiders, taking advantage of their extra-firepower to out-gun the cruiser class vessels usually used to protect supply convoys. Their speed issue is dealt with by setting ambushes for their prey.

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

The sun had just set, and the moon was slowly growing brighter as the dusklight faded. Its face, fully uncovered by Terra's shadow, was the same bright white it had been for millions of years.

Grisly pyres littered with human bones, burning plastics, and metals let out black smoke into the sky as they lit the ground with orange light.

Banners of the southern client states and various mercenaries were raised high, showing a million different markings of billions of soldiers, savages, and sycophants.

The desert had been flattened, with excess sand shoveled away. Now, the entire army stood in a colossal basin surrounded on all sides by hastily piled dunes.

Keyser stood before the army on a mound of large white shards from one of the defense walls that the Nord Afrik Conclaves used to defend their cities and homes. The jagged pieces of shattered lenses and focussing crystals made it look like he was standing atop an iceberg that was poking out of the middle of the desert..

The Lord Mashal activated his comms with a mental command, and spoke to all of those before him at once.

"Soldiers of Ursh, soldiers of fortune, soldiers of the southern client states. Tomorrow, this campaign ends." Keyser's tone was deep and firm. He spoke calmly, for his voice was taken into the earpiece of every man and woman before him. Too loud, and he would have blown their eardrums out.

"The fighting itself has only lasted 9 days, but the preparations have taken decades, and the attempts to take this land stretch back centuries. We stand upon ground never tread before, except by the pigs of the Nord Afrik Conclaves. Now, we are the ones who stand here while their bleached bones stick out of the sands."

"We are at the end of an era. An era of loss. An era of failure. But, it is because of that loss and failure we stand here today. Let no man forget the importance of those who came before us. It is through their sacrifice that we have gotten here as well."

"Likewise, all of you standing here with me shall lay the stones that make the foundations for a new era. An era where we can rebuild and regrow. An era of endless glory and an end to our species' wide stagnation."

"One thing stands in the way of all this!"

"Xozer! A city obsessed with genetic purity!"

"Xozer! A city kept safe by luck and inheritance!"

"Xozer! A city whose people know nothing of hunger or thirst!"

"They have done nothing to earn their rewards, yet they milk the artifacts of the ancients to fatten their coffers and themselves."

"There is no bargaining with them. Look at what they do to their own dissenters! They use the gene-tech they abhor as punishment, robbing their own scientists of their ability to think and their political rivals a means to speak out!"

"We are not the same as them! If you wish to show the superiority of your ideas, let them be tested! If you wish to be heard, fight for it! That is the way we have all done things, for we know what it is like to wander days without food or water! We know the suffering of radiation sickness and the slow death of cancer! We don't have the luxury to let ourselves be deluded by farcical nonsense like the purity of genetics! Strength and survival is everything!"

"Humanity's greatest power comes from our ability to use everything and anything to our advantage! Those who do not have the will to claim that power shall be left behind by the ones who will!"

"Imagine what sort of world will be left if Xozer is allowed to rise! A world where everyone's role is pre-determined by their birth, and there is no method to change it! We, the mercenaries and soldiers who stand here would be at the bottom rung of that hierarchical ladder! We came from the slums, the gutters, the savage wastes! We were born into hardship, but we had the strength to claw ourselves out of the alleys and garbage dumps! We took the risk of enlistment, or served as apprentices in warbands! We fought, and won! That would never happen in Xozer! We would have been rounded up and turned into mindless animals like the ones over there!"

"That is the reason Xozer must fall. Its existence is antithetical to what we are, to what humanity is. They are a plague on the face of this planet. Like an infected wound they fester behind their walls, growing ever more lethal. This army is the cauterizing knife that shall burn out the pestilence that is Xozer."

"Let not a single hierophant live. Let not a single noble survive. Let not a single citizen of Xozer outside their walls when we bring them crashing down upon their heads."

"The attack will be simple. We shall surround the city and pressure it from all sides. Your captains, commanders, and officers shall guide you to your positions and provide the necessary instructions. Follow their words, for they are your betters in many ways. They shall draw out your full strength, and give you the means to move forwards. Not that they will be behind you."

There were a series of laughs from the soldiers. All of them knew their commanders always lead from the front. They were the fiercest, most aggressive, and most ambitious members of their number. It was only the strict order of succession that ensured the next in line was always prepared to take the former's place whenever they eventually fell.

"I myself will be there on the frontlines…" Keyser continued, no different than the force commanders amongst them. "But, that is why I have called you all here tonight."

"Xozer, despite its many weaknesses, is blessed by many artifacts of the ancients. It will be a hard battle for all of us. Vox-communications might be jammed, runners waylaid. In the event orders fail to find you, I want you to press onwards to the center of the city. Xozer's more important functions lie there. Pushing towards the center will force them to redirect forces away from other positions and towards yours, allowing us to move forwards as a whole. I know this sounds like a fool's errand. Why should any of us, especially our friends in the mercenary bands want to take on more enemies than necessary? That is why I want you all to remember what it is we fight for here. This battle is not only about soil and water. It is about us. It is our way of life. It is about what it means to be human, for you, for me, for all of us! If we fail, then this world will eventually fall into the hands of Xozer and its Nord Afrik Conclaves. They will inherit the earth, and all men and women will be bound at the point of their birth to lives that those in power 'claim' their genetics mandates them to."

"That is the fate that awaits a world where Xozer wins. That is the fate you and I fight to overcome. That is the reason for this war! The reason to fight! The reason to die! I am ready to give my blood, flesh, and bones for this! What say you!"

Keyser lifted a fist, and a billion others rose from the armored armies before him.

"Keyser! Keyser! Keyser!" They shouted in unison, some even tearing off their helmets to scream his name at the top of their lungs.

"Should I fall, I want you to step on my back and use it as a springboard, launching yourself at the enemy! Take my skull, and use it as the stepping stone to place the next foot forwards! No matter the cost, Xozer dies tomorrow!"

"Keyser! Keyser! Keyser!" The ground rang as a billion feet stamped the ground, shaking the sand mounds and sending small rivulets of silica sliding down them.

"Soldiers! Fight for your future! Fight for yourselves! Fight with your trust placed in me and the words I speak this day, and we shall have victory!"

"Keyser! Keyser! Keyser!"

Lord Marhsha Anult Keyser held up his hand, ordering them to stop chanting.

"Move out!" The simple order went to everyone of them, and the banners began to part as the battalions and brigades separated out towards their pre-planned points of attack. Billions of troops waded through the dunes, and started brisk marches that would take them hundreds of kilometers across the desert in less than 10 hours.

Keyser watched them go into the desert night. He traded a few nods, gauntleted handshakes, and salutes with the few soldiers who wanted them as they passed by. Finally, only his core lieutenants, comms officers, and the Tupolev Lancers remained.

"Any final words from Shang Khal?" He asked Wilhym Mardol.

The lieutenant shook his head, but then spoke nervously.

"The oneirocriticks muttered about majiks. They spoke again about sciomancy and the phantasmagorian ways of the hierophants. They dug out their own eyes when they began to scream of swarms blotting out the sky and scratched the skin off their arms saying they were replaced with stone and slough."

Keyser snorted and asked, "Are they dead?" His tone was bored and irritated at the same time.

"Not yet." Mardol replied. "I chained them to their posts to keep them from harming themselves any further, and stopped the bleeding with bandages and tourniquets."

"Good." A smile could be heard in Keyser's voice. "They still need to answer to me should their ramblings about non-existent Nord Afrik flyers swarming the skies prove false. Death by their own hands is too kind a fate. I have suffered their mad ravings for long enough. Majiks are nothing but trickery and lies. Only the weak and unfocussed fall before it."

Keyser then turned to his Vox officer, oneirocriticks ignored, and assured that there were no last minute changes to the strategies made by Shang Khal. "Call the Roma." He ordered "Have their fighters on standby, and order them to begin providing air cover once the outermost laser defenses have been destroyed, or if they spot any Nord Afrik flyers."

Finally, he turned to his troops. One of them brought his steed to him; a six-legged creature that had the shape of a horse under its thick armor. However, instead of hooves it had wide gripping claws. Its limbs were obviously mechanical from the way they whirred and occasionally hissed as hidden hydraulics moved. The only organic components inside it were part of its brain, and some of its blood vessels that went through a counter-current filter and a nutrient-oxygen bath to keep it alive.

"Lancers..." He said quietly as he jumped aboard. "We must be the first to enter the central portions of the city to secure the artifacts. The future of Ursh rests on your shoulders. Do not let the other battalions beat us."

All the other lancers saluted as his lieutenants got on their six-legged cyborgs.

"Tomorrow, this campaign ends, and the next one begins." Keyser said and the lancers laughed. It has always been like that, ever since they were just a mercenary band. They weren't called dogs of war for nothing. They sniffed out conflict and carnage, like starving mongrels looking for scraps, for that was the only time they got paid. Even now, as part of the official forces of Ursh, that hadn't changed.

"There is no end to war." Keyser said softly. "That is the beauty of it." He turned to his men as he unbuckled the weapon attached to the side of his steed. It looked like an oversized mace with a thick handle the width of a grown man's thigh and about as tall. Yet, despite its blunt appearance, this weapon was a lance. The tip was shaped like a drill bit from an oil rig. Multiple conical gears, each with several rows of serrated teeth, ground inwards. They sucked in air from the front and shot it out the back. Keyser revved its engines several more times, making sure the bearings and axles that held each gear were all aligned. Each pull of the trigger let loose a mechanical roar that dulled to a hungry growl as the weapon's parts spun down.

"We all want something that lasts forever." Keyser spoke as he stowed his lance, finished with his tests. "An eternal means to slake our thirst and fill our bellies. War will do that for us. Blood and skulls is all it asks for in return."

"For Khorne!" One of the lancers called out. He was the most devout of them. Although all of the Tupolev Lancers were forced to hear the Wrathsingers' sermons at least once when they became part of Ursh's official army, this one made it a daily ritual whenever they were off duty.

"For Khorne." Keyser nodded, and the optics in his eyes seemed to glow with orange flames.

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

Shang Khal watched the Tupolev Lancers leave with the rest of the troops. Only his honor guard, and several dozen Red Engines as well as the sacrifices needed to run them remained at the command post. The remaining weapons, mortars, guns, and atomics had been carried off by the armies moving to the positions he had briefed them about.

There was no need for centralized reserves. The sheer size of Xozer meant that if any of the armies on the far side of the city fell, there would be no time to replenish it from the command post.

Additionally, Shang Khal hoped this placement of troops would nullify the effect of any final suicidal charge by the hierophants against him and the command post.

With his forces so dispersed and communications bound to be disrupted, it was unlikely for any commands made here would reach their target in time. So, Shang Khal abandoned all central commands, leaving Keyser and the other commanders in control.

There were no major issues with that. Strategy and tactics operated on two different levels. He had already told Keyser and the others what needed to be secured and protected. It was now their job to figure out how that would be done.

What this meant for Xozer was that any attack on the command post would be made in vain. The attacks on their city would not stop, nor would it falter. Those on the front lines would keep fighting, even if they managed to kill Shang Khal and destroyed what little remained here.

In a sense, he was the bait for any of Xozer's remaining flyers, if they had any. The skies had been clear, even after the Roma patrol plane had been destroyed by Xozer. He would have expected at least a drone or two to fly over, but nothing came. The lack of any aerial vehicles was starting to make him wonder if the oneirocriticks had spoken falsely.

Still, he continued to make his preparations for them regardless. He may have organized things so his death would have no meaning, but that did not mean he wanted to die.

Any flyers that attacked here would be easy prey for the Roma fighters. The command post was far away from the defensive emplacements of Xozer. There would also be no fear of friendly fire with Keyser on the front lines. Therefore, the counter attack of the Roma should be swift and simple.

Victory was all but assured to Shang Khal, but the general did not stop thinking of possible scenarios and eventualities.

Finally, Shang Khal turned away from the basin and back to the palanquins carried by the gene-brutes.

If all else failed, he personally would have to march into Xozer to recover the artifacts. The Wrathsingers would need to be made ready when he did.

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

(Far away from Terra, on the fringes of the human federation.)

The Bucephelus emerged from the Warp, haloed in golden light as it left the whirlpool of purple energies behind with the thousands of other ships under its command.

The rest of the ships which had been pulled out of the Warp were positioned on the far side of a fleet of Grand cruisers and other smaller classifications of vessels. A blue planet covered in water with several cities large enough to be visible from orbit was off to the side. Boarding craft were inbound to the Bucephelus's ships, but the sudden emergence of it and its main fleet sent them scurrying back to their carriers and hangars.

"Fire." The golden giant gave the order, and the fleet sandwiched in between the ships it had accidentally pulled out of the Warp, and the fleet that had just emerged was showered with torpedoes, macro cannon shells, and lance blasts.

Out gunned ten to one, and forced to disperse due to the torpedoes that were roaring towards them, the fleet of Grand cruisers returning fire was disorganized and scattered. Holes appeared in their volleys, allowing the golden giant's ships to leisurely maneuver into position to avoid being hit by the enemy's shells. Void shields were given ample time to recharge between scattered lance beams that failed to overwhelm them in the first volley.

"Push through them, and enter the planet's orbit."

The Bucephelus broke ranks, and thundered towards the planet. The defense fleet noticed and began to concentrate their fire on the massive ship, but its shields shrugged off all of their weapons like raindrops. Torpedoes, bombardment shells, plasma blasts, and lance beams only rippled the dark blue and purple void shields surrounding it.

Finally, the Bucephelus entered the planet's orbit. The defense fleets fire petered out before then, unwilling to commit friendly fire upon their own homes. The planetary defense guns picked up where they left off, but even their more numerous shells and laser beams failed to penetrate the shields of the Bucephelus. Soon, the golden giant's flagship had left the firing arc of their land-based defenses, and was now thousands of kilometers above their blue oceans.

"Open planet-side silo doors." The golden giant ordered, and ordinance silos on the port side flank of the Bucephelus opened up.

"Deploy Volkite warheads."

Several spherical objects the size of a two-story house were launched, scattering over the ocean's surface before sinking beneath the waves.

"Proceed to the next body of water."

The Bucephelus repeated the act 5 times, deploying Volkite warheads across the entire planet. Meanwhile, Commodore Agesilaus got his comms officer to activate an open channel, and handed the microphone to his Lord.

When the Bucephelus finished deploying its payload of weapons, each one capable of converting all the water around it into an explosion that could wipe out continents, the golden giant spoke.

"This is the Humanity Restoration Fleet." His tone was grim, jaw tight and brow furrowed. "Surrender now. Send all of your command staff and officers to your home planet, and I will give you mercy. Resist me, and watch your planet die before you join them."

One by one, the defense fleet's ships ceased firing on the golden giant's fleet. After a further moment, the comms terminal beeped and the officer in charge sent the reply message to the central holo projector.

A grizzled man with white hair glared at the camera transmitting his image.

"We surrender." He said bitterly. "But what assurances of safety do we have? What are your terms?"

The golden giant snorted then turned to the Commodore. Agesilaus grimaced, then barked an order to his crew.

The several dozen dorsal tri-barreled lance turrets of the Bucephelus opened fire, cutting the ship which had answered him into several dozen pieces.

"There are no terms." The golden giant broadcast his message as the defense fleet's flagship was consumed in an orange explosion. "You have taken enough of my time. There is none left for debate. This is my last warning to you all. Abandon your vessels immediately and return to your home planet. Now, obey or die."
 
Chapter 36: The Fall of Xozer (Part 4)
A/N: I've added some links to music and ambient sounds. These are just my personal opinion, so take them or leave them. Put the name in quotes ("") if searching on YouTube, otherwise you'll get a lot of unrelated search results.
♪1 Legio Symphonica - From Iron Cometh Strength | Warhammer 40K Music


♪1

Keyser looked at the legions of disposable berserkers before him from his steed. Millions of 2 meter giants encased in spiked black and red armor stood eerily still with motorized chain axes or swords in both fists. A few of them had black canisters attached under their nutrient and power packs. They surrounded the city on all sides. Sand dunes had been piled up in front of them, protecting them from the laser emitting walls and Volkite Caliver wielding snipers that stood upon it. Xozer now lay in what looked like a misshapen yellow crater almost 300 km in diameter. The sun was just rising, coming up from behind them and casting their armored shadows towards Xozer. The blood and guts from the refugees who had been denied entry covered each of the gates, like jam on the lips of a messy eater biting through a slice of toast slathered in pureed fruit.

"Are we still in contact with the other battalions?" The Lord Marshal asked his comms officer.

"We are." The man nodded.

"Good. Order them to begin the wave attacks, and wait for our signal."

Berserkers began to climb the dunes, edging their way to the top so they would all appear above it at the same moment.

Then, all at once, they charged. Swarms of soldiers ran silently, screams of rage locked inside their own armor with their bodies.

Yellow-ish orange beams of Volkite fire struck them, but their battle-lust drove them to instinctively bob and weave, forcing the snipers to adjust their aim as their target's side stepped or dove forwards to escape the cutting effect of the laser tweezers each Volkite Caliver fired.

Suddenly the sands before the city exploded as something sparkly yet invisible whipped to and fro. Cuts began to appear in the armored suits of the berserker nearest to these small explosions.

Laserthorn hedges were buried around the city. Each one was a bundle of 7 crystalline tentacles made of fiber optic cables that carried laser light from the walls' optical resonator out into the field, deploying the immense concentration of photons from inside the walls in anti-infantry quanta.

Yet, the lasers the hedges emitted were set to frequencies most effective against metal and ceramics; the two most common materials that armor was made out of. Flesh and bone boiled and charred, but it took the laserthorns two or three seconds more to cut through the berserkers themselves, compared to the milliseconds it took to penetrate their armor.

The berserkers did not give them that time, nor did they falter from losing an arm or a leg. Sand and dust was kicked up as their armored feet skidded through it, obscuring them from vision for a moment before they charged through the temporary smokescreen they made. Berserkers ducked under or side stepped the almost invisible optical tentacles lashing out at them, relying on the bestial instincts and superhuman reflexes their forced enhancements gave them. In turn, they slashed at the fiberglass cables of the laserthorn with the serrated teeth of their chain weapons. Their limbs were black blurs as they hacked into the laserthorn hedges with their chain weapons, sawing through them while constantly moving. Soon, the outermost layer of hedges were turned into sparking crackling wrecks, writhing around like beheaded snakes.

However, the laserthorn hedges had done their job. The snipers with Volkite Calivers all had genetically enhanced eyes with reorganized retina that were placed above the blood vessel layer, and several hundred times the neurons in an unmodified eye. Beams of yellow-ish orange energies struck the berserkers exactly where the laserthorn hedges had opened up their armor, converting the water in their bodies into miniature hydrogen bombs and blowing them up and anyone near them in grisly fashion.

Red splotches began to spread across the yellow sands around Xozer, as if a mass of fully engorged mosquitoes had been smashed by an invisible hand.

Still, the berserkers came from behind the dunes. Wave after wave of armored soldiers proceeded forwards, cutting through the next row of laserthorn hedges and drawing closer to the city walls.

Finally, the walls themselves opened fire, sending pillars of light five or six men wide across the ground, like a prison searchlight. Everything caught within the shimmering circle of light melted. Day turned to night from the brightness of Xozer's defenses, as the walls' beams outshone the sun. Soon, a circle of molten glass surrounded the city like a castle moat. The feet of the new waves of berserkers sank into it, slowing them down to the point the Volkite Calivers could be directed at them long enough to melt their armor and detonate them from the inside. In turn, the laser walls fell silent, recharging their optical resonators. The snipers were enough to deal with Xozer's enemies for the moment.

"Send in the Red Engines." Keyser ordered. "Prepare our mortars, and send the signal."

The first wave of Red Engines galloped up the dunes, and ran across the burning orange liquid silica. Each one let out a mechanical scream that sounded like an overexcited dog, happy at seeing a familiar face. The sight in front of them reminded the creatures that inhabited these machines of their home in the Warp; a place where flames and liquid brass erupted from the land as blood poured from gigantic skull towers under an ashen sky.

Volkite beams hit the Red Engines, and were ignored as they charged towards the walls. Even as several snipers directed their fire in unison at the head and shoulders of one, they only succeeded in melting off its metal skin, revealing only metal muscles and metal bones which would not explode.

The second wave of Red Engines walked slower with platoons of berserkers, acting as roofs or shields against the Volkite snipers of Xozer like an ancient battering ram does against arrows.

The last remaining laserthorn hedges erupted from the sands that still remained near the base of the crystalline walls, severing the metallic limbs of the first wave of Red Engines, sending their writhing bodies skidding across the ground.

The Red Engines that walked more slowly stopped out of range of the thrashing tentacles, then began spewing flames upwards at the snipers, hiding the berserkers who lept out from under it from their sight. These berserkers, under the cover of flame and smoke, cut down the last of the defensive hedges.

But, by then, the crystalline walls of Xozer had recharged and they let loose their fury in all directions. Daemonic machines and madmen vanished in a flash of light, and were replaced by a hellscape of boiling glass that warped the image of Xozer with heat mirages.

"Fire the mortar!" Keyser ordered, and an angled tube wide enough to swallow a fully armored berserker roared as it launched an atomic in a high arc towards the city. Mortars from the other brigades followed suit, sending more atomic shells from the battalions surrounding the city totalling to over ten thousand radioactive warheads that rained down on Xozer from all sides.

Lasers began to fire upwards from the outer and inner walls of Xozer to intercept the shells, melting their casings, and prematurely detonating the explosives that would cause the fission reaction of the atomics. The shells shot out of the sky scattered their military grade fission material across the land. Uranium purified till it was 90% the radioactive isotope fell down upon the snipers, causing them to be violently sick with radiation as its deadly rays passed through their skin and sliced up their cells.

But, ten thousand shells was too much for the crystalline walls of Xozer to shoot out of the sky, especially with their optical resonators so depleted by their previous attack. Only those that would have hit directly or landed inside were shot down. Mushroom cloud after mushroom cloud erupted around the megalopolis as the atomics Xozer's defenses were forced to ignore struck the ground outside the walls. Dust engulfed the city as the heat and shockwaves from the atomics rocked the land, sending cracks through the crystalline walls, and wiping out the surviving snipers who stood upon her ramparts.

Even the armies of Ursh hiding behind the dunes outside the city tens of kilometers away stumbled as their atomics exploded again and again around the city.

"Now!" Keyser shouted, and his steed reared back. "Charge!"

The Tupolev Lancers thundered up and down the dunes with the rest of the berserkers and Red Engines. Even as the dark mushroom clouds loomed over them, they dove into the dust and ash. The six clawed feet of their steeds ran across the burning glass, traveling almost a hundred kilometers an hour. Radioactive dust obscured them from Xozer's sensors, and their enhanced bodies weathered the gamma rays that penetrated everything while their air tight armor kept out the alpha and beta radiation.

Beams of light shot out blindly through the dust, turning the gray and brown cloud into a blazing orange as it set the particles floating through the air aflame. But the dust dispersed the light coming from the laser defenses of Xozer, weakening them. A normal man would still be cooked to cinders, but the armored soldiers of Ursh could still move for a single second in that beam. That was all the time those on the edges of the laser needed to dodge out of the way. The unlucky few who were caught dead center by some miraculous shot melted and burned before they could clear the blast radius of the beam.

After 15 minutes, Keyser and his Tupolev Lancers reached the East gate of Xozer. Despite the explosions and laser fire, the remains of the refugees were still plastered upon it. The bloody gate was clamped shut like the mouth of a tortured prisoner of war, bloodied, but still refusing to answer their interrogator's questions.

Keyser pulled out his lance, and the rotating gears roared as he stabbed it into the side of the gate.

"Climb!" He ordered the berserkers as he and his lancers dug into the metal and ceramics of the gate.

The berserkers began to climb up the side of the gate. They first clambered onto the mechanical steeds of the lancers, then the shoulders of the lancers themselves. After going as high as they could go, they pulled out their chain weapons, and cut out shallow grooves and notches for their fingers to grab hold of. Slowly, they scaled the sides of the gate, digging out hand holds for themselves as they went.

Keryser finally pulled his lance out of the hole he had dug, then pulled out a black canister from a pouch on his steed. He looked up at the berserkers, and saw the ones with the black canisters had gotten into their pre-planned positions. They too began cutting shallow indentations into the walls with their chain weapons.

He placed the black canister, a melta-charge, into the hole he dug and then ordered a berserker to place themself over the hole. The berserkers with the melta-charges did the same with their own bodies, pushing their explosives into the indentations they had dug.

"Detonate!" Keyser yelled, and the melta-charges exploded. The berserkers who lay on top of them acted like a make-shift seal, directing more of the explosion into the gate and walls of Xozer.

Bits and pieces of blackened armor and limbs rained down on the Tupolev Lancers and remaining berserkers. But, Keyser only smiled as the bloody East gate of Xozer slowly fell inwards.

"Finish tearing down the outermost walls." Keyser ordered all the berserkers, and they began to walk into the now exposed guts of the thick walls, torn open by the falling gate and their melta-charges.

Meanwhile, Keyser turned towards the site revealed by the opening they had made.

Green farmlands were rapidly turning brown as their crops wilted, killed by the radioactive dust falling from the sky. Beyond them was another crystalline wall.

Such a sight should have made any sane man lose hope, especially after seeing the cost of taking the outermost walls. But, Keyser's reinforced eyes told him this one would be easier than the last. He could see the snipers who were supposed to be on top of it were missing. Most likely they were already dead from the atomic explosions that had occurred outside. Only the innermost walls protected by the shimmering dark blue void shields survived unscathed. It was that, or they were crippled with radiation sickness. Regardless, the armies of Ursh would have an easier time taking it down.

Off in the distance, he heard a series of new explosions followed by the crash of a different gate falling inwards. Crackling and rumbling filled the air as a section of crystalline wall crumbled like a calving glacier.

In the sky, he saw the sun grow dark, obscured with ash and dust. Lightning flashed in these new clouds, filled with ionizing radiation, generating ion storms that were steadily growing stronger.

Behind him, the ground glowed orange from the heat, and scores of armored soldiers and Red Engines crossed over the molten glass to flood into the breached outer walls.

The Lord Marshal dropped off his cybernetic steed, and grabbed a handful of dirt on the ground. He felt the damp clumps of soil between his armored fingers, then turned to his lieutenants.

"Bring up the mortars and prepare the burners." Keyser ordered. "Begin the wave attacks on the second walls, but let loose the Red Engines first. Their laserthorn hedges cannot fly out of this damp heavy soil. They can only work in dry sand."

There was no heaviness in his voice, no regret in his tone. Neither was there satisfaction, elation, or even the faintest tinge of joy.

This was a mundane spectacle to Keyser. The sights and sounds around him were merely those of another war on Terra. The weapons and tactics may have differed in other battles, but the effect on those waging it and the environment were the same.

Death, destruction, and the creation of hell on earth out of what was once somebody's home.

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

The assault on Xozer continued. More atomics were launched at the inner walls from mortars, but burners were added to this as well. Thick smoke poured from these flaming contraptions that looked like massive instrumental horns on wheels. The black clouds blocked the berserkers from the defensive wall's sight, forcing the defenders to use their energies inefficiently to take them down. Wave after wave of genetically modified men and women in irremovable armored suits came at them, depleting their optical resonators of photons quicker than they could recharge.

After several hours, these walls fell in the same way as the first, with sacrificial melta-charges buried into holes and dents carved out by drill bits and chain weapons.

Cannons were brought up to lay siege to the next set of walls, firing from behind the destroyed remains of Xozer's outer defenses, and out of their line of sight. These inner walls were smaller and weaker than the outermost, for each ring decreased in circumference, reducing the number of focussing crystals and optical resonators they could carry. Now, the Urshite armies could afford to use more conventional explosive shells, which fell upon the snipers and crystalline walls, forcing the defenders to split their fire between Ursh's artillery barrages and the endless berserker hordes.

Shang Khal truly had amassed billions for his armies, and even if each wave cost thousands of lives, he could have them repeat the same charge a million times over.

The farmlands that were between each wall wilted and withered as the black smoke from burners, radioactive fallout from atomics, and chemical residue from cannon shells polluted the land. What remained was trampled beneath the berserker's boots, or burned under the clawed feet of the Red Engines.

When Keyser reached the 6th wall from the center of the city, his charge stopped. They had reached the ancient void shields that had kept the original city safe from the atomic apocalypse that had burned everything else around them, and his cannons and atomic mortar shells could not penetrate it. The blue fields of energy only rippled, even when fission reactions erupted directly on top of it.

However, the population within Xozer's original walls eclipsed what it had been designed to support. The inhabitants of the farmlands between the outer walls and refugees from the outer colonies filled the streets, crushing anyone who fell beneath them as they struggled to find safety somewhere in the overcrowded city. Already, some of their number suffocated as the sheer number of bodies trying to move forwards compressed and compacted their chests.

The original inhabitants of the inner walls who had taken shelter in their homes did not have much to look forward to either. Although they were safe from the masses for now, it was only a matter of time before the riots would begin. Anyone on the bottom floors was sure to be easy prey, and these inhabitants had begun barricading themselves in preparation for the chaos that was to come.

Dark clouds covered the sky, smothering the remaining solar arrays the city still had. Without them, there would be far less clean water to drink and grow crops with. Overpopulation already physically impaired the city, but things would only get worse from there. It was now only a matter of time before Xozer's population would begin to die from hunger and thirst.

Outside, Keyser's forces set up a siege, placing their cannons and mortars in more ideal positions, so their volley fire was dispersed evenly across the shield, stressing every part of it at once so its capacitors would have no time to take turns to recharge.

The hierophants watched all of this from the center of the city, behind the dark blue veil of the void shields. All 7 of them sat in a circle, while the nobility sat or lay around them.

Despair should have taken a hold of them as volleys of explosive shells and atomics fired in unison beat their final defenses at once in organized regular intervals. There would be no quick death from incineration. The force of Ursh made sure that enough time was given to confirm the shield still held, before firing the next wave of artillery fire. Keyser and Shang Khal would ensure all within the last murengon of Xozer died at the hands of their soldiers, not their explosives.

However, the men and women in power only smiled tiredly. They had known this time would come the moment they started selling fresh soil and water. Yet, they had to do something to stop the recurrence of another famine. They had never expected it to come so soon, or so quickly. Who could have dreamed a billion soldiers could cross their desert while constantly being harassed by Volkite fire and the elements?

"The impure assault us once more." A robed man said quietly. A circlet of metal with the number 1 hung from his neck. He was referring to the genetically enhanced Urshite warriors and techno-barbarian ravagers as one group. Both were genetically impure savages in the hierophants' eyes, as were most of the people outside Xozer.

"It is a cycle that has gone on from before." Another robed hierophant with the number 2 hanging from his neck shrugged. "Do you not remember how Xozer came to exist in the first place?"

Their city had survived the original atomic fires that scoured the planet. That war too had been fought with genetic abominations shaped like oversized men.

"Then, there is no hope for humanity." A robed woman with the number 3 sighed.

"There never was any hope for humanity. Look at the nobility." Hierophant number 4 said as he gestured to a drooling man with a ridiculously protruding chin and dull eyes. "Does that look like perfection? They are the purest humans we have, and all they can do is sit and rot."

The most genetically 'pure' humans in Xozer had been preserved, cut off from the genetically 'impure' rabble. Secluded away, they had bred only with other genetically 'pure' humans for over a thousand years. Even with their medically extended lives, enough generations of inbreeding had left the nobility of Xozer a mentally deficient mess.

Although they existed as a class in Xozer society, they were merely the mouth pieces of the hierophants, and scapegoats should things go wrong.

One of the hierophants sighed, the number 5 swinging from her neck. Then, she smiled as she stroked the balding misshapen head of one of the nobles. The man was morbidly obese, and sat in a puddle of his own filth. Yet he giggled like a little boy as he vacated himself, clapping his hands together gayly. "But look at the joy in their eyes as they putrefy." The hierophant said, voice tinged with both jealousy and love. She envied them for their simplicity, and their freedom from all things due to their simplicity.

They had raised these nobles from birth, for the parents were too mentally impaired to do it themselves. Each one was like a child to them, and they treated them like their own.

"Indeed, it is a joyous sight…" Hierophant number 6 chortled. "To wallow in your own stink and filth, like pigs in mud."

"Hence the name of this place." Number 1 replied solemnly.

Xozer. The term is an ancient noun for pigs, boars, and swine. When used as an adjective, it describes a thing that is fat and filthy.

This was the name that the city chose itself, with only the hierophants fully aware of what it meant.

"We are all pigs, rooting around in the remains of what was once a verdant world." Hierophant number 7 said as he stood, placing a hand on a meek looking girl covered in bloody bandages. Her body could not produce clots, and her skin was so weak it split at the slightest bit of stress. Red eyes and white hair showed a total lack of melanin production in her body. A single ray of sunlight would be lethal to her. Yet, she smiled as the number 7 patted her head. He was the father who gave her all she needed to live, and the father who raised her to be dumb, mute, and ignorant.

"Let us show them all what that means, and the Truth of all life."

Each hierophant reached down, and picked up their staves of office. Each stave looked like a shepherd's crook, and a bell hung from the crooked top of each one. The metal clappers clanged against the insides of the bell, tolling them as the hierophants gently guided their inbred nobility down the halls in a single line.

"Death comes from life." Hierophant 1 chanted. "Mold only grows when there is moisture and food. Rot only spreads upon the fresh and the ripe. For death to exist, there must be life. For release to exist, there must be suppression. For despair to grow, there must be hope."

"But in the end, there is only the end." Hierophant 2 continued.

"That was the lesson we learned when the famine struck, and the crop blight claimed all we created." Hierophant 3 said as she slammed the bottom of her staff against the floor. Her bell rattled as the echo traveled down the stone halls, like the sound of a judge's gavel at the end of a sentencing.

"Half a city starved to death, and the remaining half only kept alive by feeding them the ones who died." Hierophant 4 spat out, lips pulled back revealing his yellowed teeth and bleeding gums.

"We are here because our forefathers failed to learn the lessons the other ancients took with them." Hierophant 5 sighed as she swung her crook, tolling her bell like a shepherd calling his sheep towards them. "They refused to die when it was their time, and so our agony continues long after it should have ended."

"But that is the point of all life." Hierophant 6 laughed. "To struggle, to fight, and eventually to fall back into the muck it was born from, fully made aware that there is no escaping death."

"And it is then that the Grandfather provides his blessings, and cures us of the pain that is life." Hierophant 7 pronounced grimly.

"But we have failed the Grandfather." Hierophant 5 lamented, her voice solemn and back bending from shame.

"Indeed, we have." Hierophant 1 cried from the front of the line. "The pigs we prepared have been taken by wild dogs, but in their haste they have chased our cattle into a corner, and now the despair we had hoped to grow over another hundred years is ripe enough to harvest."

"The fruits of Eden grown for plague and pox are now rotting outside ahead of schedule." Hierophant 4 muttered bitterly, like a farmer who had his cattle poached or taken by wolves.

"The harvest will be smaller than planned, but there will be a harvest." Hierophant 2 said soothingly, making the best of a miserable situation.

The line of hierophants, and the shuffling nobles finally came to a set of blast doors, airtight and locked shut. Hierophant 1 pressed his hand against the keypad, and the door hissed as it unlocked itself and opened to reveal a dark and grimy airlock.

All of the hierophants and their charges huddled inside, and let the contraption cycle as broken sprayers attempted to clean the individuals inside it before opening the next set of doors.

When the inner doors of the airlock opened, everyone except the hierophants clutched at their stomachs, became violently sick, or bled from rapidly expanding burns on their weak skin.

Radiation had begun to fill the room, for they were walking above one of the wells where unfiltered and untreated water from the polluted mines deep in the crust was pulled up.

The hierophants dragged or beat the nobles they had cared for until now like cattle, forcing them forwards with their shepherds' crooks even as they squealed and grunted like piglets in a meat processing factory.

Hierophant 7 only wrapped his bony hand around the albino girl's upper arm, and forced her to shuffle along with him onto the catwalks above the well. The girl's bandages grew thick and heavy with blood as her skin broke apart from the unending onslaught of alpha, beta, and gamma radiation. Red wads of cloth began to fall off, taking chunks of skin with them, exposing fat and muscle to the toxic air.

The girl could only gag from the pain. Every inch of her body felt like it was burning.

One by one, the hierophants pushed or threw the nobles into the toxic waters. Their fat and misshapen bodies splashed into the brackish waters, then turned them white with foam as they thrashed about in pain. Meat and bone melted from the toxic chemicals left inside them, and even the blood that spilled turned black as the solvents inside the water reacted with it on a chemical level.

As hierophant number 7 came to the catwalk, the albino girl grabbed his hand and stared pleadingly up into his face.

Hierophant 7 looked down at the girl quizzically. He had not taught her anything, for he had thought her too stupid to learn. Her parents were particularly mentally deficient, unable to learn that sticking a finger into a fire would cause a burn. Thus, he thought her too simple to understand what was going on.

Yet, there was a fear in her eyes. She had seen what had happened to the others, and been able to put two and two together.

Through some miracle of genetics, this girl had a normal level of intelligence. It had merely been left to rot, unwatered with knowledge, and unkept by the hierophants who satisfied every need for her in her stead.

Slowly, a sadistic smile grew across the hierophant's face, realizing that the simple girl he had kept as a pet was not so simple at all.

"Wonderful." He whispered. "To think even after all we did to you and your bloodline, you still managed to be born." His other hand stroked the girl's hair, pulling strands from her scalp as her body continued to break down from the radioactive soup they stood above. "The Grandfather and his minions will enjoy you." He said, then dangled her over the catwalk, watching as the skin and nails of her hands began to tear as she tried to desperately hold onto him. Finally, the girl fell, and disappeared from view in a white splash of water.

"We will bring forth the Grandfather's gardeners, and his messengers." Hierophant 7 said as he turned his back on the radioactive pool below him. "They will fertilize the barren sands, and bring back the Truth to a people that forgot to die when they murdered the planet itself."



Author's Note 1:
I understand some will be surprised that Xozer turned out to be a Nurgle enclave. It should be quite confusing, considering the fall of this city is supposedly what doomed Terra and humanity as well as caused the split between Neoth and Erda. For better or for worse, this is not something I have control over. Xozer was a Nurgle aligned state in canon material, and it remains so in this story.

All will become clear in good time (3 more parts to be exact), but I would also like to point out that, besides the name 'Xozer', there were several other hints and foreshadowings regarding what exactly was inhabiting the highest points of power for this city.

The most obvious tell is in the novel "Horus Rising", which is where the Chronicle of Ursh comes from. It is pretty clear that Nurgle is the one associated with Xozer, while Khorne is the one associated with Shang Khal.

However, that is an extra-literary source, so the foreshadowing in this story itself are below:

Part 1: The hierophant's speeches come every 3 hours, which is one of the numbers of Nurgle. His other number is 7 and 7 is his preferred number although 3 is supposed to be his as well.

Part 1: Nurgle's 'armies' (if that is what you can call his disorganized hosts of daemons), are referred to as Tallybands. Counting and recording the numbers of poxes and plagues, as well as the symptoms and deaths of each one is a vital part of their function as well. This 'accounting' is quite prevalent in those associated with Nurgle, with the rank of Tallyman existing for the Death Guard. The references to economics and the slothful way Xozer gained its fortunes is an attempted allusion to the way Nurgle works.

Part 1: Xozer as a society is afraid of innovation and change, which is what the conflict between the Xozerites and Upashtar symbolizes. The conservative Xozerites destroyed the Upashtar completely and turned them into mindless beasts, but the rest of Xozer only watched as this happened. As the Chaos power of stagnation and eternal cycles, this is in line with Nurgle's philosophy, and symbolizes his hatred of Tzeentch; the changer of ways.

Part 2: Xozer's military strategy in the Eastern deserts is based around fatiguing the enemy to death. This is a favored tactic of Nurgle's.

Part 2: Keyser expresses an almost instinctual hatred for Xozer, which is a reflection of Khorne's hatred for Nurgle and the lazy way the Plaguefather spreads itself across all things.

Part 2 and 3: Xozer's philosophy is often seen as deterministic. i.e. set in stone before birth. Genetics is the way this is done, but the concept of being stuck in a pre-planned route is a concept Nurgle encompasses.

Part 1 and 4: The city and its society is often described as greedy, fat, and gluttonous. These are all character traits of Nurgle. The way the gates are described as mouths covered in jam is another visceral imagery that is related to Nurgle.

Part 4: A minor symbolism, but the laserthorn hedges are a 'clean' version of the thrashing vines/tentacles of Nurgle's garden.

Part 4: (This is a slightly humorous meta reference.) I didn't give any of the hierophants names, because I was lazy. They all only receive numbers for that reason. Laziness is a trait of Nurgle.

Nurgle is not only the Ruinous Power of poxes and plagues. As the Greater Demon Ulkair once said, "corrosion and ruin are Nurgle's as well." Pollution and degradation whether they be moral or material in nature attracts Nurgle's interests.

Some might feel the idea of degradation overlaps with Slaanesh, and you would be right. That is why the two hate each other on an instinctual level. Nurgle is the degradation that comes from lack of maintenance and apathy. Slaanesh is the degradation that comes from active cruelty. Symbolically, this is why Nurgle was able to take Isha from Slaanesh in the first place. The degradation of the Aeldari's lives and society partially comes from apathy and indolence. Hence, Nurgle was able to lay claim to the Goddess of Life who did nothing to help them in the immaterium (no matter how painful that inaction was for Isha herself). Slaanesh still fought Nurgle for the mother of the Aeldari, and it was only after significant losses that the Plaguefather finally secured his prise in the route that did not happen.

Now that Xozer has been revealed to be a Nurgle aligned society, the more obvious Nurgle imagery described in the "Horus Rising" novel will begin.

Author's Note 2:
I'm putting in an interlude next week, because the depression has hit Nurgle levels for this section, and we need something positive to freshen things up. For those of you who want to just read the next part of the Fall of Xozer, a partial draft is up on my Patreon, along with the positive interlude.

Positive interludes are planned to be put in every two parts of the Fall of Xozer in order to brighten the mood, and remind everyone that the Fall of Xozer is an event that happened in the past. What is done is done. The only thing the characters can do is move forwards, and hopefully make improvements on their previous actions.

Author's Note 3:
I have received a question from a reader as to why the Emperor does not seem to have agents on Terra to do his will, and why none of them appear at Xozer. I have put my answer below:

Althought the focus of this section of the story is on Xozer, as the Emperor mentioned in "Mother meets Mother", other regions of Terra are also tainted by horrible things.

The Mericas have plutocrats that harvest fresh organs from children to rejuvenate themselves.

The Albians enforce rigid class rules, and treat the peasantry as little better than animals.

Other priest-kings, zealots, technobarbarians, and technophiles hold fiefdoms and domains across the planet.

This is also before the Psi-Wars, which is another devestating conflict which is when the Thunder Warriors were deployed in large enough numbers to be recorded in history.

When you look at it this way, the war between Ursh and the Nord Afrik Conclaves is just another war on a planet where war never ends.

Similarly sized conflicts are taking place in at least three or four different locations at the same time as the Fall of Xozer.

Also, as Erda mentioned in "Political Realignment", there are several Daemon Princes on Terra that are egging on the worst tendencies of humanity. This means that both the Emperor and Erda are not aware of which part of Terra is causing the worst damage to it. Isha, Neoth, and Erda know with hindsight that the fall of Xozer was the symbolic end of humanity's autonomy. However, at this moment in time, even Erda is unsure whether Xozer is the most important place.
 
Interlude: Because I want you to
I thought things would be different after leaving the dark underground training square, and the master.

"30km run, starting now." A tall woman with long pointed ears said. We all looked at her blankly for a moment, but she only turned to the left and motioned for us to move.

I was with almost a thousand other children in a giant brightly lit gymnasium. We had all been fed some sort of barley or grain porridge with fruit this morning, and provided shoes that fit our feet with a set of warm clothes as well. Yet, here we were being ordered to run in exactly the same manner as the master.

"Spread out." Elalindra ordered. She was watching over the group of children who had woken up near me. There were ten of us in total. Other women with the same long ears herded their groups of children, spacing them out for some reason. Perhaps they wanted to lessen the amount of collateral damage when they began to weed out the weak ones.

"Wait." The long eared woman said as she brushed a strand of red hair behind her ear. We stood there, evenly spaced out as row after row of children began to start running. Once the group ahead of us was a few meters ahead, Elalindra said, "Go." and we began to run. Elalindra followed beside us, skipping instead of running. She seemed to float through the air with every step, traveling the same distance we took 5 or 6 steps to travel in a single hop.

We continued to run for a while, then I noticed one of the children in the group ahead of us slowing down. It was a boy, and he seemed to be having trouble breathing.

Suddenly, the boy's legs gave way, and he fell. I and the others of my group sidestepped around him easily. He had been far enough ahead of us to react, and we had ample room between us to avoid him.

I turned my head to see what would happen to him; what would happen to me if I too should stumble.

A different long eared woman approached the fallen boy, and he struggled to get on his feet.

I had seen this sight before, back in the dark training arena of the master. All who fell during the runs were often trampled by the rest of us. Those who could still move after that always tried to get back up, even though it was useless. The master or one of his assistants would slowly approach the one who fell, and execute them. Even if they managed to stand back up, they would still be shot.

Failure only happened once.

The boy must have known what was going to happen to him as well, because I could see tears flowing down his eyes. It was already too late for him, but some animal instinct kept his hands and feet moving, dragging him away from the woman approaching behind him.

The woman reached him in only two steps, and the boy's tears were followed by verbal cries.

How were we going to be disposed of here? These women were obviously stronger than us. Would he have his neck snapped, or would they beat him to death in front of us all so we could see the cost of failure?

The long eared women did neither of those. She simply picked him up, then hugged him.

I felt something hot and cold shoot through my head and chest.

That boy had failed, but he was not punished. He was embraced and rewarded for being weak. Yet, here I was running at these women's orders for a reason I did not understand.

The world in front of me turned red. I could feel my blood boil at the unfairness of our treatment.

My feet stopped moving, and I stood still. More and more runners passed me by, but I didn't join them.

I felt a bitter taste rising in the back of my mouth as something made my hands ball into fists.

"What is the matter, Lorien?" Elalindra asked me, staring down at me with her gray eyes.

I glared back at her. Feelings that I had long since forgotten began to boil up inside me, forcing me to grit my teeth to hold them inside.

"I don't want to run." I finally spat out. Running was tiring. Running was painful. Running reminded me of too many things I didn't want to think of.

Elalindra crouched down, bringing her face closer to mine. Her legs were so long that she still couldn't lower herself to my level, but I could see her expressions more clearly than before.

"Is that so." She said quietly. It was not a question, nor was it a threat. It sounded more like a sigh. An acceptance of fact. We stared at each other for a moment, then I shivered as the anger inside me drained away. The adrenaline induced heat was now gone, leaving only the chilling touch of regret. Now, I was all too aware of what I had just done. I had disobeyed. I had failed. I had lost control of my emotions, and acted stupidly because of them.

My brain and body froze. Ice water now ran through my veins, and I turned away from Elalindra's eyes.

A shadow fell over my face as Elalindra's hand reached for me, and I closed my eyes.

I was going to die now. All of those who closed their eyes in the face of danger died.

Fingers plopped themselves onto my head, and mussed my hair for a while before traveling down the back of my head.

"Good." Elalindra smiled. "You were able to speak your own mind."

For one moment, I didn't understand what she had said. Then, relief coursed through my body, relaxing every muscle I had, and returning my temperature to normal.

"Why do you not want to run?" Elalindra asked, and the words spilled from my mouth as I felt them.

"I get tired, and I don't know why I have to."

Infantile. That was what those words were. Instinctual, like the bleating of a lamb or the barking of a puppy. Yet, they were true.

"I see." Elalindra's hand cupped the back part of my jaw, and her index finger massaged the muscles behind my ear. "You don't have to run."

The words were gentle, but a pang of panic made my heart skip a beat. Was I being thrown away? Had I been deemed unnecessary, or unworthy? Had I disappointed her with my lack of control over myself and my actions?

"Then…" I stammered. "Then why did you tell us to run?"

If I didn't have to run… If there was no threat of punishment or means of weeding out those who did or didn't, why was I being asked to do this?

"Because I want you to."

The answer was as simple as that. There was no logic or reason. There was just a wish and an emotion.

"That is the reason I ask you to." Elalindra continued as she stroked my head. "I want you to run, so I ask you to run, and you have the right to say you do not wish to." She lowered her head, pressing her forehead against mine. "If you want to stop running, we will sit here and talk until lunch time, or whenever you want to start running again."

"... Why?"

Several questions were compacted into that single word.

Why are you doing this for me? Why did you save me? Why didn't you come earlier? Why are you giving me the ability to choose what we do?

But, at the very end, the infantile part of my brain asked the stupidest and simplest question.

Why do you want me to run?

Elalindra smiled, then pulled her head away from mine. "Because it is fun to run with someone. I want you to remember that."

My heart skipped another beat.

Fun.

I had forgotten the feeling, but I remembered it now. My hand reached for hers, and she took it gently as she stood. I turned back to the direction where the other children were running. Many of them no longer were, instead talking to one of the tall women who watched over us. Some talked to them one on one, others were in small groups.

"Shall we?" Elalindra asked. Her waist was slightly bent so she could keep holding my hand.

I nodded, and I began to move forwards. Faster and faster my feet went. My lungs pumped in air like bellows, and something else began to bubble in my chest. It came out as a sort of strange hiccup at first, but then it flooded out just as it used to.

Laughter. The gay sounds I made when playing tag or hide and seek.

There was a musical sound beside me. It was Elalindra's laugh. I turned to stare up at her, and her red hair flowed behind her like the tail of a shooting star, and her face was just as bright as one.

And we laughed, consumed by the runner's high, striving to see who was faster than the other.

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

An hour later, my lactic acid filled muscles sorely regretted my earlier actions.

"Apologies, Lorien." Elalindra said sheepishly as I lay on the ground panting. "You are used to pushing past your limits. I should have stopped you earlier."

"It's… fine…" I stammer out between breaths. I had tried to race Elalindra, having completely forgotten how she had kept pace with us while skipping earlier. Of course, she won every single time. Elalindra was kind, but she was also surprisingly competitive.

"Can you stand?" Elalindra asked. Her ears seemed to be drooping a bit, possibly with worry or regret.

I shook my head, unable to speak.

"It is almost lunch time." Elalindra sighed. "To make amends, I guess I shall have to carry you to the table."

Before I could understand what she said, her arms scooped me up and held me to her breast. Her skin was cool and soft, like touching fresh blankets. As she walked, she hummed. I felt the vibrations in her throat travel through her body and into me as my ears heard the slightly sad song coming from her musical voice.

Sleepiness took over me, and I closed my eyes in her arms.

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

Author's Note:
When Aeldari do something, there is usually a double or even triple meaning to their actions. Elalindra and the others simulacra of Isha are both treating the mental scars of the children, and teaching the basics of diplomacy.

At its core, diplomacy is the statement of what each party wants, and finding a solution that is satisfactory for both sides. Naturally, diplomacy between interstellar empires is more complex, especially when dealing with parties that are hostile with each other. The revelation of what one truly wants is a weakness that can be exploited. High level diplomacy is like Poker. The one who can bluff the best can take more than their fair share of the pot.

That is a lesson for another day, however. Elalindra and the others need to ensure the acts the children went through while in the assassin temples such as running or exercising don't trigger vicious bouts of PTSD later on. Their efforts are centered more around re-associating those acts with positive or fun things.

Still, the reason their training/counseling format takes this physical and psychological approach is to instill this micro-scale concept of saying what you want, and finding a way both parties can be satisfied. Elalindra wants Lorien to run, but Lorien does not want to. Elalindra promises that such an act will be fun, and convinces Lorien to run with her. It is extremely basic, but it is still a form of diplomacy.

Additionally, as the Goddess of Life, Isha naturally wants all beings to enjoy life. Running, eating, talking, etc. All those acts should be enjoyed by the living, and it is for that reason as well that she tries to get the children to have fun in even these simple things.
 
Chapter 37: The Fall of Xozer (Part 5)
The skull of the ex-head librarian hummed as it retracted a specialized claw into the machinery attached to its base. Lord Nour watched the shiny laminated and resin reinforced bone bobble once, as if it was bowing. Then, the small grav-motors at the base of the servo-skull lifted the willingly donated remains of the ex-head librarian up into the cavernous halls of the Imperial Library.

Lord Nour watched it go before turning his eyes to the tome that had been laid on the table in front of him. He had come here to take a look at the Chronicle of Ursh. Vidar had recommended it to him once, and what the Lord from the Terrawatt clans said before the recommendation had clung to his mind for some reason.

"It is not the Imperium's soldiers, nor their weapons I fear."

The Terrawatt clans rarely spoke in frivolous riddles. They preferred speaking directly, and used facts or logic whenever they could. Therefore, there were few ways Vidar's words could be interpreted. If it was not the soldiery or the weaponry of the Imperium, the only things that remained were its economics, its legislations, and its Emperor. He didn't need three guesses to figure out which one Vidar was referring to.

Lord Nour removed one of his reading gloves. They were a required piece of clothing in order to preserve the priceless books in this section of the library from finger oils and moisture. He placed his bare hand on the security panel built into the solid metal book cover that encased the tome. It beeped, approving his biosignatures, then there was a clunking sound and a seam opened up on one side. Nour put his glove back on ,and then slowly opened the book cover. He grimaced as he saw several bulges attached to the inner side. These were ball bearing filled explosives that had been pointing at him while the metal book cover was closed. Forcing it open would have most likely resulted in a shotgun spray of shrapnel shooting through his upper torso.

'It isn't in the restricted section for nothing.' Nour thought to himself as he opened the tome.

For two hours Nour read through the histories of Kalgann. It followed the broad strokes of what the children of the Nord Afrik Conclaves were taught of their ancestral enemy. The acts and events were written in a more sympathetic light, but the death tolls were no different at least. It was an interesting portrayal of how a barbaric slaughter could be seen as a glorious victory when viewed from the otherside. However, all of the cataclysmic battles that were taught to the children of the Nord Afrik Conclaves were referred to as minor skirmishes in the Chronicles of Ursh. Each one was just a preparatory step to the great goal of taking down the ancient capital of the Nord Afrik Conclaves; Xozer.

Nour did not know much about Xozer. He had seen the blackened ruins and vitrified basin surrounding it. Supposedly, a pure atomic had been detonated above the city, and destroyed both it and its attackers. The explosion also sent shockwaves of some sort that shut down caches of ancient technology all across the Afrik continent, Europa, the region that would become the Achaemenid empire, the lands of the Indol, and even the Yndonesic Bloc.

Yndonesic historians said that the effect of this shockwave might have inspired the first primalist Ethnarchs. It was these zealots who wished to revert all humanity to an age before technology. The sudden loss of ancient devices and facilities may have been seen as a sign from the divine, and allowed the overly religious a rallying call to coalesce into the Church that eventually birthed the bloody regime of Cardinal Tang.

Unfortunately for the scholars, all they had was theory. The loss of vast amounts of technology also meant the loss of vast amounts of information and evidence. The psi-wars that occurred shortly after did little to stem the leakage of human history.

The only thing that could be confirmed was that almost all of the relics from the Dark Age of Technology ceased to function across the Afrikan, Indol, Achaemenid, and southern parts of the Eurasian tectonic plates.

The only reason humanity survived at all in these regions, was thanks to the massive increase in psykers across these regions.

But, that was not a blessing. Psykers are feared and hated for a reason.

Nour snorted as he read about how the altruistic society of the Nord Afrik Conclaves was described. The idea that they were all mercantile with the sale of potable water and fertile soil being portrayed as the beginnings of economic slavery was cynical at best. He wondered what Vidar found to be enlightening in this obviously colored propaganda piece from a defeated enemy's past.

Xozer had fallen hundreds of years ago, and this Chronicle of Ursh came from the same age. The Ursh in this book merely occupied the same geography as the Ursh the Imperium defeated. Even if the overlord of modern Ursh shared the same name as the Kalagann in this book, there was no logical reason to believe that they were the same individual. Ritualistic name changing, or even coincidence made more sense than to believe what was on the pages. Of course, it was impossible to confirm that now. The Thunder Warriors had raised Ursh to the ground, and the only thing that remained of Kalagann was his Armour of Pearl placed in the Imperial Palace for display.

Leathery pages turned again as Nour read more about how the final battle unfolded at Xozer. He read about how atomics were deployed enmasse, and how Xozer's walls fell one by one.

On the next page, a deep crease dug itself into Nour's brow.

What was once merely a propaganda piece had been replaced by the scratchings of a madman.

It described plagues of insects, as thick as monsoon rain and so vast in their swirling masses that they blacked out the sun falling upon Keyser's forces. They choked air intakes, weapon ports, visors, ears, mouths and throats. Water boiled without fire. Engines overheated or burned out without warning. Men turned to stone, or their bones turned to paste, or their flesh succumbed to boils and buboes and flaked off their limbs.

The only parts that made sense was when the book described men going mad and turning upon their own.

Majiks and demons were referenced outside of simile and metaphor. Names that he had no idea how to pronounce were used over and over again like nouns, verbs, or adjectives; as if the reader was supposed to understand what was happening from these names alone.

"Found something interesting?" A feminine voice whispered into his ear, and Nour froze. A drop of sweat fell from his forehead onto his hand, and he realized they had been trembling for some time.

"Lady Callidus." Nour whispered. "This place is quite exposed."

There was a husky chuckle from behind him, and he heard the air rustle as the assassin drew away from him.

"We are in the restricted section of the Imperial Library, Lord Nour." The Imperial assassin said in a casual tone. "For now, even the servo-skulls have given us privacy."

Nour suppressed a shiver that tried to creep down his spine. This visit was unscheduled, and no one enjoys an unscheduled visit from an assassin, especially in private.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Nour answered civilly. He kicked himself internally as he did so. It was rare for him to be civil to the assassin. Their conversations were usually more frank. In his fear, he had fallen back on the instinctual good manners of his highborne upbringing, and the assassin would notice that.

"Do not be afraid." Lady Callidus drolled. "I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people."

Nour snorted, recognising the Catharic quote from Luke 2:10. So, the assassin had come as a messenger today.

"Careful." Nour said with a chuckle, tension easing at the assassin's joke. "Practice of religion is a punishable offense."

"Oh, spare me the lecture." The assassins sighed as she walked around the table and into Nour's view. "Eternally loyal I may be to the Imperium of Man and the Master of Mankind, but even I have complaints I wish to air from time to time."

"A complaint?" Nour said with a raised eyebrow. Referring to the Emperor as a god did not sound like much of a complaint. It sounded more like an attempt at suicide.

"It's nothing much." Callidus sighed. "I just wish to be used as something more than an errand girl once in a while."

"As a normal person, I believe it is better when assassins are used for nothing but errands." Nour said sourly.

"What are you, a pacifist?" The assassin snorted back.

"I am a politician." The Lord shrugged. "Violence is the last tool that should be used."

"Well then, I retract my previous statement." A grin spread across the assassin's face as she spoke. "You should be very afraid of the message I bring."

"And what is the message?" Nour replied as his eyes narrowed.

"Finish that book first." Lady Callidus said, gesturing to the book in its explosive rigged case. "You have already put one foot over the boundary between those like myself and the rest of the Imperium. Ignorance cannot be afforded by those who speak with the Emperor's word, or act as the Emperor's hand."

Nour raised an eyebrow at the assassin. This book was far from what he would consider enlightening, but the Lord from the Terrawatt clans would not have recommended him a piece of fiction out of whimsy. His fingers turned another leathery page, and his brow furrowed again at the mention of golden angels raining down from the sky. His eyes turned upwards, looking at the decorations of the Imperial Palace. Beautiful humanoid beings with giant wings were engraved with gold leaf where the decorative pillars on the library walls met the arched gothic ceiling. Another shiver passed through his body, as he felt their pupiless eyes stare down at him judgmentally from above.

"Apt symbolism, aren't they?" The assassin chuckled before him. "Angelos is an ancient term for messenger, and as messengers of a higher power, they were referred to as such. Who better to be portrayed in a place where words from our far more glorious past are given to those who merely survived till the present."

"And you?" Nour said sourly. The quote of Luke 2:10 were the words of a monster made of nothing but feathers and eyes speaking as an angel of God. What sort of 'angel' was she pretending to be while risking the Emperor's fury?

"I am the hand of the Emperor." Lady Callidus smiled. "I will remain so until the Emperor tells me 'It is enough: stay now thine hand'."

"2 Samuel 24:16." Nour said quietly, referring to the passage of the Catharic book that referenced the angel of death.

"Correct." The assassin smiled, then laughed. "How ironic that the ones tasked with destroying a thing must know the most about it."

"It is only when a target can be recognized that it can be taken out." Nour said, before looking down at the book again and reading the next line.

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

Wilhym Mardol watched as another wave of shells hid the ancient void shields again. No mushroom clouds appeared, for there was no dust or rubble to kick up when the atomics struck the shields. All they could see was a massive flash that shot up into the sky as the void shield redirected the explosion's own force against itself. They had been shelling the city for several hours from behind the broken remains of the 7th defensive wall. However, the dark blue barrier remained firm.

Roma fliers flew over them occasionally, providing air cover while remaining far enough away from the blasts of the atomics. The updraft created by the heat from the atomics hitting the shields was gradually forcing away the ion storm that had been brewing above them, allowing the sun to once again hit the ground.

The ground was black and brown. Rotting plants filled the untrampled fields, while burnt and crushed remains showed where the armies of Ursh had passed.

"Mardol!" Keyser called from beside him. "How much longer must we wait for the shields to fall?"

Mardol sighed. Honestly, he had no idea. This shield was an artifact from the ancients. There was no telling what it was capable of. However, that didn't stop Keyser from asking him just like he always did whenever he had to deal with something technical or logistic related.

"It will take some time." Mardol said irritably. "Those shields supposedly survived the original apocalypse. We may be here for several days."

"Damn the cowards." Keyser muttered. "They only prolong their suffering by hiding from us."

'And ours as well.' Mardol thought to himself. The oxygen in their suits was not infinite. Another few hours, and they would need to start thinking about rotating troops out of the irradiated zones to refill their oxygen supplies, and possibly gather nutrient canisters from Shang Khal. Sieges were grueling for both sides.

Still, the citizens of Xozer would have it infinitely worse than them.

"It seems they evacuated the outer walls before the battle. There are no civilians in the farms, which means they must be packed in this last murengon. However…" Mardol leaned in towards Keyser so his voice could be hidden from the others. "The lack of armed infantry resistance worries me. Besides their defensive laser walls and the snipers, we haven't run into any other standing forces. I would have expected at least gene-brutes to be deployed against us."

"Do you think they are setting up a trap?" Keyser asked.

"No." Mardol shook his head. "That shield prevents them from attacking us, just as it protects them from our fire. If they were going to organize a trap, it would have been when we attacked the second layer of defensive walls."

Xozer's firepower decreased with every wall that fell, while Keyser's forces grew more concentrated. The second wall was the best place for a trap in Mardol's mind, for it was both hidden behind the first wall and only marginally weaker than the first in terms of firepower.

A dedicated resistance with infantry or mechanized vehicles assisted with supporting fire from the crystalline walls would have inflicted heavy casualties on them. Even if their forces outnumbered those of Xozer's, concentrating whatever military strength it had left could have created a force strong enough to break the Urshite encirclement. Should that have happened, they would have had to worry about being flanked by the defenders. Shang Khal and Keyser had discussed counters for such an attack, but in the end all their planning ended up going unused.

Keyser then chuckled slightly, before turning to Mardol.

"Your weakness is that you overthink things, Mardol." The Lord Marshall said. "The answer lies in the dirt around us. Look at the farming equipment left mid-use, and the messy tracks that lead into the murengon. There were no soldiers here, only farmers. The arrogant fools never expected us to breach the first wall."

Mardol looked down at the fields, and saw hoes and hand plows left behind. People had been working here until the last moment.

"They must have run under the shields when the first atomics fell." Keyser chuckled again. "But, it is too late for them. They will soon learn what it means to live outside their shielded conclaves as the cancers and leukemia consume their bones and bodies."

The words were spit with caustic venom, and Mardol felt his hand ball into a fist.

"We did not come here to inflict pain and misery, Keyser." He hissed. "We inflict pain and misery out of necessity, not malice."

The two armored men stared at each other upon their steeds, then Keyser turned away.

"... You are right." He said slowly then laughed. "Forgive me, Mardol. The battle has boiled my blood and my brains."

Mardol sighed and put his hand on the Lord Marshall's forearm.

"You promised us a better world where our worth would be known, Keyser." He whispered. "I can't have you losing your mind and getting killed by a stray shot until you get us there." His helmet optics pointed at the rotting crops in the fields, and the burning land, as if to remind his friend just how far they were from their dream.

"We will get there, Mardol." Keyser said as he patted his friend's hand as the mortars and cannons fired the next salvo in the background. "It will take time, but we will get th-"

Suddenly, there was a deep bubbling sound, like boiling mud. As both men turned back to the blue dome surrounding the city, they watched it ripple and writhe, despite not having received the next salvo of shells.

The shield was falling apart, but not because the forces of Keyser had overstressed it.

"NO!" Keyser cried out as he watched the atomic and explosive artillery shells fired moments earlier fall into the center of the city.

There was a stunned silence. Seconds turned to minutes as they all waited to hear the sound of explosions.

But nothing happened.

"Were the shells defective?" Keyser finally said.

Mardol shook his head. "That was tens of thousands of shells, Keyser. Tens of thousands of shells from a hundred different munition plants. What do you think the odds are that we all fired the duds at the same time?"

The odds were astronomically low. No reasonable explanation existed for what just happened. However, there was an unnatural answer.

"Majiks…" Keyser hissed venomously.

"And powerful ones at that." Mardol said glumly, then he froze.

"They say all majik comes from sacrifice." He said slowly. "Did they sacrifice their shield generators to cast that spell?"

A chill went through all of them at the same moment. The order of events lined up. Xozer hadn't used any majiks until now, and the sudden unexplained failure of the ancient void shields was too perfect to be coincidence.

"Men, prepare to charge into the city." Keyser gave the orders hastily. "Ignore everything, and focus on your hate. Majiks fail before Khorne's fury. We must get to the hierophants and stop their next spell."

The hierophants of Xozer had just sacrificed the void shields that kept them and their ancestors safe from atomics in order to use their majiks. There was no telling what other priceless artifacts would be used up next.

"Can we get into contact with the other brigades?" Mardol asked the Vox officer as Keyser organized his forces for the assault.

"I can't get a clear signal." The Vox officer shook his head. "The radiation was already interfering from before, but there has been nothing but white noise ever since the shields fell."

"Then fire the signal flare for an all out assault." Keyser ordered, returning from the berserkers and other lancers.

The Vox officer nodded, and pulled out a massive flare gun that looked more like a hand held cannon from his back holster. A huge flare was loaded, then fired up into the sky. It rose like a reverse shooting star, trailing a tail of red smoke as it flew.

Off in the distance on either side, two more blood red flares rose, and then more followed as the signal traveled through the encircling armies.

"Fire the targeting flares for our cannons and mortars." Keyser ordered his Vox officer again. "Have them target the next walls."

"Keyser, our shells will not explode." Mardol reminded the Lord Marshal. "Their majiks will nullify them."

"They cannot nullify their mass." Keyser replied. "If they cannot explode, then their lasers cannot detonate before they land." His helmet turned to the breaches in the destroyed wall before them. Although many, each one was quite narrow, creating a dangerous bottleneck. They were the perfect locations for the enemy to concentrate their remaining fire power. "We need as many soldiers to get inside the city. I would throw rocks at them if it would get another lancer beyond those walls."

The Vox Officer loaded another flare while the two of the spoke, and fired a green flare before firing a second yellow one in parabolic arcs at the wall that had been hidden behind the shields.

"Get ready! Lancers! With me!" Keyser called out to his troops, and the berserkers took cover by each of the ragged edges within the 7th wall.

The thunder of cannons and mortars came, and laser fire flashed from beyond the wall. But, the heat only melted the swiftly rusting metal casings and rotten explosives of each shell. The liquified remains struck like ancient cannon balls, shattering some of the crystal lenses.

"Charge!" Keyser shouted as he heard the sound of cracking crystals, and the berserkers obeyed. They spilled out of the cracks all at once instead of waves, and the remaining lenses opened fire. The lasers on the lower sections of the walls remained unscathed, and they let loose their fury on each of the gaps before them. Light spilled out of each crack, and all who stood there sublimated into gas leaving nothing behind. The ruined wall melted like wax, and the gaps in the ruined 7th wall were sealed with a mixture of its own molten ceramics and metals.

Yet, even as the lasers roared like blast furnaces, the clack of metal claws on crystalline surfaces could be heard. Keyser and his Tupolev Lancers lept from the top of the destroyed 7th wall, just as the walls of Xozer finished firing. The clawed feet of their metal steeds had clambered up the ruined wall, finding purchase on the shattered crystals and cracked surfaces. The berserkers had been a distraction, baiting the city into using its dwindling reserves to wipe out as many Urshite soldiers as possible. Now, the Tupolev Lancers flew through the air, safe from laser fire.

"Spread out!" Keyser commanded as his mechanical steed slammed into the ground, kicking up dirt and dust like a bomb. All 6 metal limbs groaned as they attempted to absorb the force of the landing. Several of the lancers fell, failing to hit the ground with all 6 limbs at once. Clawed limbs popped off or exploded from the strain put upon them, sending their riders flying in random directions.

Keyser gave them no heed, instead moving forwards while jinking at random moments. As if on cue, Volkite fire came from above. The last wall had been covered by void shields, so the snipers were still alive and able to fight. All of them wore thick oxygen masks with leaded face plates, and were protected by bulky looking body suits.

The Tupolev Lancers charged forwards, avoiding the Volkite fire as best as they could. They were in a race against time. Once the optical resonators recharged, they would all be incinerated in an instant.

Keyser saw the massive diamond-like crystal in front of him begin to glow, and ceased his evasive movements. Instead he forced his steed forwards as fast as he could in a straight line. Volkite beams began to scar his armor, drilling through it in preparation to blow him up from the inside.

Keyser grabbed a melta charge from a pouch on his pack, primed it and threw. At the same time, he forced his steed to about turn with a mental command. All 6 legs scrambled as the cybernetic horse and rider skidded sideways before finally building enough friction against the ground to begin running back the way they came. Only a second later, the melta charge detonated. Superheated plasma was sent out in a small sphere, liquifying the crystals nearest it to it, and shattering more with its shockwave.

The Volkite snipers continued firing at Keyser, further cutting into his armor and weakening the backplate. Then, a burning yellow flare blinded them. Their beams scattered as they lost sight of Keyser, and the Lord Marshall swerved out of the few beams that remained on target.

Mardol gave a sigh of relief as he lowered the massive flare gun he had snatched from the Vox officer's back holster. Keyser always stood at the front of any engagement. That was why his men followed him. Despite their many recent arguments, Keyser still had his respect, his loyalty, and his filial love.

"Lancers!" Keyser roared, Volkite beam scars still glowing on his armor like worms made of molten metal. "Climb!" Then he turned and charged the ruined section of wall.

Mardol cursed internally as he tossed the flare gun back to the Vox officer. The Lord Marshal's armor was the weakest amongst all of them right now, having just been savaged by several Volktie beams.

"Outrun the Lord Marshal!" He ordered. "Cover him with your bodies if you have to! Let not the first lance of Tupolev fall so close to victory!"

Battle cries and war whoops sounded as the lancers charged forwards. They pushed their steeds to the limits, trying to catch up with their leader. Volkite beams rained down on them, but they were panicked and disorganized. Instead of concerted volleys, they splashed down at random intervals and targets. The snipers were still recovering from their partial blindness, and the black mass of armored soldiers appeared only as a blur, hiding Keyser from their sights.

The lancers' steeds clambered up the walls, losing little speed. They leapt from crack to crevice like mountain goats, and clawed their way up like cats when they could find no other purchase. They scaled the wall, several stories tall. It towered over everything like a ruined cliff face. Yet, it only took the Tupolev Lancers a few seconds to reach the top.

"Faithless cowards!" Keyser roared as he jabbed his lance forwards, snagging the arm of one of the snipers leaning over the ramparts to shoot at them. The grinding gears yanked the man in, turning his upper half into minced meat in an instant before his legs and waist simply fell off the tip, all sinews and tendons to the rest of it torn to shreds. His steed stuck its head over the top as it grabbed onto the ledge with its two fore limbs. Then, it let loose a jet of fire from its mouth, engulfing Xozer's soldiers in orange flames. Some stumbled backwards and fell off the walls, screaming to their deaths. Others ran into their compatriots, yelling for help, only to spread the conflagration that was consuming them onto others.

Amidst the chaos, Tupolev Lancer after Tupolev Lancer clambered over the ramparts, and joined the killing on the walls. Soon, there was nothing but charred corpses and red slurries on the ramparts.

"8 of you run down the walls in that direction. Clear out the snipers, and then begin boring holes for melta charges to disable the walls. The other brigades might not have been able to make it, so we must assist them. We need the rest of Shang Khal's armies to enter the murengon. Otherwise we might get surrounded and overwhelmed." Keyser began giving orders as his men joined him. "You 8 do the same in the other direction. The rest, follow me to the city center."

16 of Keyser's men began to purge the rest of Xozer's defenses as the rest turned to look inwards to the city.

Unlike the other outer areas, the last sections of the city were heavily urbanized. There were no pastures here, or if there were they had been built over by various factories, habitation towers, and storage silos for food or fuel.

"We'll travel across the roofs and bridges." Keyser said as he pointed to the center of the city. Massive corridors connected some of the buildings, and hordes of people could be seen crowding upon them. "We don't have the time to navigate our way through their maze-like streets, or the explosives to simply blow our way to the center. Now, follow me!"

Keyser's steed lept from the walls once again, and landed on the flat roof of a factory of some sort.

Mardol gave another internal sigh as he followed suit. Roofs aren't usually meant to bear weight. There was a good chance the heroic charge of Keyser could have ended with him simply falling through the building, and disappearing under the rubble like the heel of a slapstick comedy.

'At least he picked a roof with lots of air conditioning units and ventilation fans on it.' He grumbled internally. Such heavy machinery indicated a lot of weight was on the roof already, meaning it was more likely to be strong enough to land on.

Keyser and the Tupolev Lancers ran across the roofs, leaping over the alleys and streets, and sometimes crashing through windows and storming through factory floors, administrative buildings, and habitation blocks. They trampled any who stood before them, not even bothering to raise their weapons to get them out of the way. Blood and gore coated every inch of them, their weapons, and their steeds.

As they landed on another heavily reinforced roof, they heard an explosion in the distance. A faint bluish-purple glow began to rise from one of the sectors of the city. It was diagonally across from their location, in an outer ring than they were. Keyser and his men had just crossed the 2nd. The sheer density of buildings meant the last 5 defensive walls were incapable of firing, having been converted into power relays for the infrastructure beyond them.

"Ionizing radiation." Mardol said quietly as they watched the bluish-purple glow grow brighter. "One of the brigades must have let loose dirty atomics into the city."

"The signal flare only gave the order for an all out assault." Keyser replied grimly. "They're following their original orders to wipe out Xozer's nobility." He turned to the rest of the lancers. "The other brigades might be slow to arrive. Prepare for the fight of your lives. Remember, majiks only waylay the misguided and unfocussed. Steel yourselves."

The Tupolev Lancers nodded. Mardol started to do the same, but then something in his peripheral vision froze every microlitre of blood in his body.

"KEYSER, LOOK!" Mardol pointed, and the Lord Marshal as well as all the others turned their eyes in the direction of his finger.

In the very center of Xozer were a series of massive distillation towers. Besides them, were giant domed buildings that housed the centrifuges. Several boxy filtration plants were placed all around these. Each one shone in the sunlight like polished silver, but that silver shine was swiftly being covered by the dark brown color of rusted metal. Corrosion spread over the buildings like mold, growing bumps and rough spikes like stalagmites across its surfaces. The full curves of the domed centrifuges sagged and buckled, like the cheeks of a starving pauper. Rust brown was joined with the gangrenous green of over oxidized metals, and the distillation towers that stood proud began to sag.

Then they fell. With iron shrieks, and metallic groans, each one crumbled as if it were made of sand. Their heavy tops crashed right through the sagging centrifuge buildings and filtration plants, releasing black streams of gas or polluted water into the air that began to rise as clouds over the center of the city.

Not one of the Tupolev Raiders could speak as the entire filtration and purification system collapsed in on itself in a pile of rubble, rust, and dust. Xozer had just killed itself. There was no way for it to survive without its filtration plants. Their enemy had committed suicide right before their eyes, taking with them Shang Khal and Ursh's prize.

"Lord Marshal." Mardol finally spoke. "We have to fall back."

Keyser remained silent, only staring at the growing black cloud in the center of the city.

"There is nothing left for us here, and we are over extended in enemy territory. We need to fallback to one of the other rings, then give the signal for the entire army to retreat so we can all fall back as one."

Once again, Keyser did not reply, but Mardol saw his friend's fist tighten around the handle of his lance.

"Keyser!" Mardol hissed, drawing close so he could whisper in private to him. "We failed. Now, we have to worry about the southern client states and the honor bargains we can no longer uphold. We cannot afford to waste any more lives."

"Waste?" Keyser spoke quietly, and Mardol felt a pang of terror at how calm his friend sounded. "No lives are wasted in the struggle of war. That is the beauty of it, Mardol. Everything has its purpose, whether it be the lowest slave soldier or the highest ranking general."

"This is not the time to be babbling about your philosophies, Keyser!" Mardol shouted back. "We need to fall back."

"And leave the hierophants to guffaw at our retreat?" The Lord Marshal shook his head. "No. Our mission is not yet complete until their lives end."

"They've already killed themselves." Mardol growled. "They've killed their people. They've killed everything that they stood for. They destroyed themselves and the legacy of their forefathers. What is the point of fighting here anymore?"

"To ensure they do not do this somewhere else." Keyser said as he pointed the gear tips of his lance at the black cloud in the distance. "Do you think the hierophants will stop with just this one city? They will spread their foul mind-sickness to all who will listen. They've already shown just how far they are willing to stoop to spite us. They will not stop when we retreat. They will take their majiks, and corrupt everything they can touch."

The other Tupolev Lancers looked at Keyser, Mardol, and the black cloud covering the ruined artifacts. Many of them gripped their lances in barely suppressed anger at having been denied their prize. It was not just the destruction of the artifacts, but the city-wide suicide that they had just witnessed that boiled their blood. That was the coward's way out. A spiteful, bitter, and ugly way to end not only themselves but everyone associated with them.

Yet, Mardol also spoke true. There was no strategic point to fighting anymore. Xozer was now dead, and it could never return to its former glory. The threat to Ursh had been eliminated, even if the main prize was gone.

Then Keyser chuckled slightly, and turned his steed to face his lancers. "Besides, I've just thought of a way to fulfill our honor bargains."

"What?" Mardol replied, unable to understand how Keyser could possibly hope to recoup what had been lost.

"Look at what covers us. It is blood, and what is blood but water and nutrients."

Mardol's steed took a step back, reflecting the revulsion Mardol felt at that moment.

"You cannot be seriously thinking to-"

"Capture the entire surviving populace of Xozer? Oh, I am Mardol. That is the only way to give the Roma and all the others their pound of flesh."

In exchange for fresh soil, and fresh water Mardol proposed to give the remaining people of Xozer to their creditors. Not as slaves, but as fertilizer. Each person was filled with clean unirradiated water, and had fed on fresh grains for many years. They would satisfy the Roma, at the very least, who had to recycle their own dead in their farms aboard their aerial carriers.

"Have you lost your mind, Keyser!" Mardol shouted out.

"IT IS THE ONLY WAY THROUGH THIS DESPAIR, MARDOL!" Keyser retorted with ten times the volume, forcing Mardol back with the rage in his voice. "I know we've failed to gain control of the artifacts, but this is the next best option. The only way forwards, and not backwards."

"Keyser…" Mardol spoke. This was not a plan, but plain madness. There were maybe a few hundred million survivors in the city. Hardly enough to satisfy the nutritional needs of the southern states. The air power of the Roma may remain on their side, but civil war and strife were unavoidable now.

They had lost, and there was no point to any further butchery. Yet, the Lord Marshal either refused to or was not able to see that.

Mardol felt his heart sink, seeing his friend and comrade of hundreds of thousands of battles fall so low. At this moment, he sounded no better than the berserkers they used as cannon fodder.

"Lord Marshal! Look! The cloud." Another lancer cried out, and they all looked up at the black cloud.

It was moving. Tendrils were spreading out from it, and descending into the city while also spreading out over them like a net. Its shadow had begun to darken the sky, and there was now a low droning noise echoing from it.

All of the Tupolev Lancers except Keyser stepped backwards with their steeds, realizing what the black thing was. It was not a cloud, but a swarm of buzzing insects so concentrated and so thick that it was blocking out the sun. Ungodly screams began to rise from the portions of the city the swarm had touched, and new swarms rose with those screams, spreading deeper and further into the winding streets of Xozer.

"So, the foul majiks of the hierophants shows its face." Keyser crowed. "Do you see, Mardol? Do you see, my lancers?" He pointed towards the swarm spilling out of the ruined artifacts. "Look at what the hierophants have done with the wondrous legacy of our glorious past. Instead of handing it over to those worthy, they destroyed it all out of spite and bitterness. Now, they seek to spread death and decay over everything." Keyser raised his lance, standing with the swarm and ruins to his back. The gears of his lance screamed as he revved its engines. "This cannot be allowed to stand! I now charge into the heart of darkness to show those hierophants that THEY HAVE NOT WON! Who is with me!"

One by one the Tupolev Lancers raised their lances. "Keyser! Keyser! Keyser!" They chanted. They did not fear death. They did not fear pain. They were not defeated, and the hierophants would pay for what they had done.

"Good." Keyser nodded. "Now, harness your hate. Let Khorne's fury flood your veins."

"Keyser!" Mardol grabbed his friend's forearm. "We must fall back!"

This place was in the middle of a desert. There was nothing to protect. Their homes in Ursh were far far away. This battle was already lost, and the only thing that mattered was getting as many men and women out of here before the hierophants majiks consumed them all.

"Silence coward!" Keyser yanked his arm out of Mardol's grip and backhanded him off his steed. "I will not stop! I cannot be stopped!" He roared. "This is the only way forward for all of us. The only way to survive!"

Mardol landed on his chest plate, but at that moment he could have been staked through the heart and not felt it.

Something was rotting inside of him. The glorious vision that once inspired him was crumbling before his very eyes.

'There is no better world, is there Keyser?' Mardol asked the image of his friend in his heart. 'War isn't just a tool for you. It's not just lip service to the Wrathsingers of Ursh that flows from your mouth.' The dream he thought he shared with his friend blackened and died as he lay there in the ground. 'You are no hero. You are no leader. You are just a man. The same sort of man that burned this planet to its bare bones in the first place.'

Every achievement, every victory, every raucous celebration in his memory darkened with despair. Every sight and sound he had of Keyser withered as the veneer fell off of it.

'And I helped you do it.'

Mardol returned to the real world, back from the black pit that had replaced the organs in his chest.

Keyser was saying something to the others, but he couldn't hear it. His ears rang with the white noise of utter silence. His glazed eyes caught sight of something in the blood and muck before him.

It was the hilt of a broken chain blade. The same sort of weapon that the berserkers had used. Its tip had been melted off, and the serrated chain was fused to the blade itself.

Mardol looked at the lance he had dropped when Keyser had struck him from his steed, then back to the broken berserker's blade.

Some part of him whispered to him that something was not right. There were no berserkers here. Keyser had left them all back at the 7th wall. This shouldn't be here. It might be a trap.

But Mardol felt his fingers closing around the handle, pulling it out of the now brown gore around them. Small worms and maggots crawled out of the minced putrefying meat, before hurriedly burrowing away as if trying to hide away from sight. The broken blade was barely the length of a combat knife, but its small size meant it could be hidden behind Mardol's armored wrist.

Mardol stood up from the ground, and Keyser looked down at him.

"Leave if you want, First Lieutenant Wilhym Mardol." He said quietly. "Thank you for your service until now. I couldn't have reached here without you."

The first lieutenant shook his head. "I've come this far, Lord Marshal. I shall be with you until the end."

"Good." Keyser said, tone pleased. "Get on your steed, Tupolev Lancer. Here, take my hand."

Keyser reached down towards Mardol. Their hands clasped each other, then Mardol yanked the Lord Marshal towards him while jumping up at the same time. He pulled the broken blade out, holding it in a reverse grip like a dagger, and slammed it through the weakened backplate of his old friend's armor.

"This is it, Keyser." Mardol said slowly, locked in a one armed embrace with the Lord Marshal. He could feel his friend freeze from shock and began to fall backwards. He then twisted the blade, destroying as many redundant organs inside Keyser's chest as he could as he heard the other Tupolev Lancers cry out in rage behind him. "You and I should never have lived this long."

The two slammed into the roof they were on with a metallic thunk, driving the broken blade hilt and all into Keyser's body.

"Traitor!" One of the lancers cried as he stabbed the rotating drill gears into the side of Mardol's torso. Metal chips and shards shot out of the back end of his lance, pelting the lancer's armor and sending up sparks. However, instead of red blood and pink meat, the only thing that came out of the armor was a gangrenous green sludge.

Mardol's arm spun backwards and grabbed the haft of the lance, then lifted the Tupolev Lancer and his steed upwards as his body swelled. Armored plates rusted and fell off like overly dry skin, but instead of a man, a massively obese thing with twisted horns emerged from Mardol's armor.

It guffawed as the other soldiers could only stare up at the gangrenous bloated corpulent thing that was now squatting over them. Its guts were hanging out of its stomach from a crescent shaped wound that looked like a grinning maw. Every inch of it was covered in boils, pimples, or weeping ulcers leaking yellow pus that steamed like acid as it hit the ground.

"Such beautiful friendship broken. Such wondrous dreams darkened by despair." It spoke, and every hair on the Tupolev Lancers stood on end in pure revulsion at its voice. "This is the true end of all War, for the Grandfather is the beginning and the end." It guffawed again as the black swarms descended upon all of them.

The sounds of their wings were so loud it blocked out the Tupolev Lancers' own cries as they became blinded by the black bodies of the flies that now surrounded them. Their steeds let out streams of fire, but the flies only flew into the flames, blocking the barrels of the internalized flamethrowers with their charred remains and extinguishing the pilot lamps and electric starters. They crammed themselves into every nook and cranny they could find, compacting their own bodies and crushing themselves into the lancers armor. Maggots crawled out of their cracked carapaces, chewing their way out of their parents, and then set to work on the metal armor of the Wrathskin.

Their mechanical steeds shrieked as their joints began to rust and give out, suffused with the digestive juices and oxidative haemolymph of the flies. Screws and bolts popped off as the pressure from so many insects forcing themselves inside their air intakes and flamethrower nozzles bloated the now brittle metal of their stomachs.

Meanwhile, the lancers heard the crink crank of a million almost microscopic mouths gnawing at their airtight armor. They swatted and slapped at themselves, trying to make it stop, but soon their joints were so full of gunk that they could no longer reach their backs or their legs.

One lancer let out a bloodcurdling scream as his armor hissed, internal air leaking out of a hole the maggots had finally chewed through his armor. More and more hisses followed, as the maggots finished on the metal, and then set about on the skin and muscle beneath. Soon, blood began to leak out from the holes, as flies, worms, and more maggots made their way inside.

Another lancer tore off his helmet, unable to bear the sound of thousands of mouths chewing on him from the inside out. His face was swiftly obscured by the swarms, and the few lancers nearest to him watched him fall to the ground and writhe in agony as the insects forced their way into every available orifice they could find.

"Do not worry." The horned head of the creature loomed out of the darkness above them. Its many fat chins wobbled as it grinned, revealing rotten teeth and bleeding gums. "Death is but the next part of the cycle. Join your Lord Marshal and his First lieutenant in the joyous chorus of endless suffering."

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

Nour sighed and took off one of his reading gloves so he could rub the bridge of his nose.

He had just finished the section about the betrayal of Wilhym Mardol, and the daemon that came out of his body.

What message the author hoped to instill with such disgusting descriptions was unknown to him, but he could imagine the visceral nature of the deaths of the Tupolev Lancers.

"Is any of this true?" He asked Lady Callidus who was sitting opposite him. "I'm guessing these majiks the chronicle refers to are the doings of psykers?" He continued as the assassin remained silent. "But, all their abilities are based around the manipulation of the mind and the senses. These are far too direct. The only way I can make any sense of this is that these are descriptions of complicated illusions that brought about some sort of psychosomatic injuries in its victims."

"Your experience with psykers stems mostly from the lessons of the psi-wars, I presume?" Callidus asked back.

"That is what we are taught." Nour answered.

"The psi-wars were indeed mostly just that." Callidus nodded. "Mental enslavement with psychic abilities, and the control of millions with hallucinations."

"Then are you saying this is something else?" Nour said as he pointed to the lines describing the swarms of insects and daemons tearing themselves out of human bodies.

"Thoughts and dreams are an interesting thing." The assassin said, causing the Lord to give her a quizzical look. "They come from men and women in the real world, but they persist long after those who envisioned them are gone. They can move armies, topple empires, or even build them up as well. Their message can remain as potent or even grow stronger should their creator be martyred. There is real power there. We often like to think that we are the ones who wield that power, but there are times when it is not clear which is controlling which."

"Are you saying that our ideologies are controlling us like pawns on a chessboard?" Nour scoffed.

"It would be easier if they were. At the very least, that would mean they had rules and goals in their game." Callidus shrugged again. "It is because it is never that clear that constant vigilance must be maintained."

"Vigilance against what? This?" Nour gestured to the book before him.

"The enemies of man are many." Callidus replied. "Sometimes it is not enough to eradicate them. Their ideals, their culture, their very memory must be burnt and forgotten."

"And is that what the Emperor did?" Nour said as he put his reading glove back on and turned the page. "Did he burn Xozer to the ground, and render my ancestors homeless and at the mercy of feral psykers?"

"Is that bitterness in your voice?" Callidus asked.

The story of Xozer was the history of the Nord Afrik Conclaves, the region Nour came from.

"If there is, it comes from my exasperation with you." Nour muttered, waving off the accusation. "If any of this is true, then I see no salvation for the city, its inhabitants, or the armies surrounding it."

Callidus suddenly let out a burst of laughter.

"Pardon me." She said as she calmed down. "It's just that your judgment of them was harsher than the Emperor's."

"He thinks this is worth salvation?" Nour jabbed a finger at the descriptions of the hierophants, and the sacrifices they made to cast their majiks.

"It's not a question of what he thinks, or what he wants." Callidus said softly. "He must act. No matter how horrible, no matter how cruel, no matter how inhumane the deed may be, he must do it in order to save humanity."

"Save them from what?" Nour asked, and the assassin's green eyes gazed into his brown ones.

"Everything." She said. "The terror. The machine. The mutant. The alien. And of course, humanity itself."

Nour sighed. The assassin was obviously not going to be helpful in figuring out what any of this meant. Further questions would be a waste of time.

His fingers turned the page, and he looked down to the last stand of Shang Khal. The descriptions of events were just as insane as the rest of what he had read, but at least there was a sort of strange metaphoric irony that could be read between the lines.
 
Chapter 38: The Fall of Xozer (Part 6)
A/N: This is the penultimate chapter of the Fall of Xozer. One more interlude (which will be much more positive and traditionally heroic), and the final part which explains the rift between Erda and the Emperor.

Note: Sorry for the long delay. I've been busy with IRL events both professional and personal. I'm still busy with those things, so I can't go back to my previous weekly post rate.

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

Shang Khal stood atop one of the dunes his armies had charged over. Both gauntlets groaned as his fists clenched, shaking with boiling rage as he watched the cloud of insects spread from within the city.

"We have gathered the remaining prisoners and oneirocriticks." Another armored figure, a full head shorter than Shang Khal, said as he scaled the dunes. He was Mafeo Orde, master of the Wrathsingers. Bleached skulls hung from sooty chains attached to a belt with several pouches around his waist. The grisly ornaments formed a sort of skirt made of blackened metal links and ivory bone. The Mark of Khorne was carved into both of his shoulder pauldrons. Dried blood dyed every inch of his armor a blackish brown. His helmet had the facial bones of his favored enemies welded onto it on the front and the sides, forming a sort of grim three faced asura.

"Call the minions of Khorne with your choir." Shang Khal said softly as his gauntlets creaked under his grip. "The hierophants have brought the Plaguefather's tallybands from the Warp. The Taker of Skulls would be upset if we left his hordes univinted. Send them after me. I will head to the center of the city myself."

"As you will, General Khal." Mafeo Orde saluted the 3m giant before him by slamming his fist against his chest plate, then turned back to the thousands of prisoners and 9 oneirocriticks that had been dragged across the sands from the main camp.

Shang Khal swiftly disappeared over the opposite side of the dune as he began to march towards the city. His honor guard and several platoons of berserkers followed behind him.

"Wrathsingers!" Mafeo Orde cried. "Bring the oneirocriticks before me!"

The other Wrathsingers were in armor similar to Mafeo Orde's, with fewer bones and less blood on some of them. Each one carried a spiked mace with a head the size of a bowling ball in their hands. The black metal they were made of began to glow orange as heating elements within them warmed up.

9 bedraggled men and women were picked out from the thousands of other weeping and sniffling prisoners. They were dragged by the arm or foot before the master of the Wrathsingers.

"Liars!" Mafeo shouted, and then brought his own mace down upon one of the oneirocriticks skulls, obliterating the man's head like a watermelon. Steaming blood and sizzling meat spattered out in all directions, drawing a few screams from the prisoners closest to the front.

"Heretics!" Mafeo shouted again, crushing the head of the next oneirocritick, a shivering woman with what was once silky raven black hair.

"Thrice blasted blasphemers!" He said as he swung his mace to and fro, flattening the face of one man and removing the next with the backswing. "Your skulls do not deserve a place at the seat of Khorne! Let your blood rot inside your flesh! Let your memory fade with the wind!"

5 more times his orange hot mace swung. 5 more heads were bashed apart, with their neck stumps cauterized in the same blow that blasted their skulls apart.

Execution and spiritual punishment complete, Mafeo Orde turned back to his Wrathsingers.

"Prepare the pyre." He said to them, and they dragged the headless bodies into the center of the prisoners, piling them up in the middle of them.

"Now, my choir." Mafeo said as he turned to the shivering men and women chained before him. The giant mace was returned to his belt, before he began to approach them. "Sing with hate and fury. Call out to all consuming Khorne, and release your flesh and open your soul to the Blood God." He pulled out a metal stamp, like those made to impress insignias into wax. His thumb depressed a switch near the head, causing the raised bits of metal to glow like a branding iron.

The three faced skull helm turned to one of the prisoners. A wounded Xozer soldier with a broken leg. She was chained to a shivering man in a farmhand's overalls and gloves. A spiked collar was around each of their necks, linked together with a link of chain about a meter and a half long. Both hands were bound by manacles that went between the radius and ulna.

"Will you accept Khorne's mark?" Mafeo asked, looming over the woman. She glared back at him, even as her limbs trembled, then spat. The globule of spit landed at Mafeo's feet, and the branding stamp in his hand began to rise.

Then it slammed down on the forehead of the man next to her. Steam and the sound of sizzling flesh began to rise as the civilian screamed. At the same time, several other cries rose as the other Warthsingsers asked the same question to other prisoners at random, and branded those next to them when they were summarily rejected.

"Will you give Khorne your feet?" Mafeo asked the woman again.

Shock and surprise had numbed her senses, unable to understand why he had inflicted punishment upon another. Her head shook more out of disbelief rather than fear or any thought of self-preservation.

Her shoulders jerked as Mafeo's armored boot slammed down on the right ankle of the farmer who had received the brand instead of her.

On and on the torture went, proceeding from extremeties to torso. Every denial by the one questioned inflicted the pain and punishment on those next to them.

Once, the soldier was too slow to answer Mafeo's question, stilled by the constant pleas and cries from the farmer for her to remain silent.

"Please! Just stop! Stop!" He begged between pain filled pants. "Just… Just don't answer! Please! Just! Please! Please! Please!"

"Will you give Khorne a finger?" Mafeo asked again.

She could only shiver in silence, torn between guilt and fear. She knew what would happen if she rejected him, and dreaded what would happen if she accepted him.

The Master Wrathsinger's massive hands grabbed the woman's manacled hands, causing her to yell as the metal spikes lodged between the bones of her arm twisted. His giant index finger and thumb pinched her pinky finger, then pulled it off.

Her scream joined the others as blood spurted from her hand. From then on, the primordial fear of pain drove her head to shake every time Mafeo asked her a question, not even understanding what he asked her to give.

The farmer and the others begged both the captors and the questioned to stop. But, as more and more of their body was taken for Khorne, their begging turned to bitter cursing. Vengeful cries of hate and pain rose from the prisoners. Even those untouched by the Wrathsingers' questions or their violence began to scream. They knew not by what rhyme or reason the Wrathsingers would choose the questioned and the tormented. The randomness of the violence and cruelty tortured their mind and soul with sheer uncertainty.

"Do you give Khorne your freedom?" Mafeo asked the women before him. She was shivering uncontrollably. Her trousers were wet with urine, and her uninjured hand cradled the other with its missing finger. She shook her head mutely. The farmer beside her burbled with his toothless mouth. Bloody lips attempted to call her a treacherous whore. They both knew she was dooming him while freeing herself. His eyeless face glared in her direction, even as he lay in the sand turned to bloody mud with all his limbs gone and most of his skin removed.
Mafeo's hands, however, did not reach for the farmer this time. They instead approached the woman's neck.

"I said no." Her words came out of her like a whisper. "I said no! No!" She began to thrash, hitting her hands against Mafeo's chest plate. The pain of her missing pinky was forgotten with sheer panic. The chains around her ankles rattled, and she dragged the farmer's torso a little as her feet kicked out, attempting to get away from Mafeo.

"NO!" She screamed as Mafeo's hands closed around her neck.

There was the sound of groaning metal, and Mafeo's hands removed themselves from her neck, holding the two halves of the spiked collar that had been there. His hands then went to the manacles, and tore them apart. The woman gasped in pain as the metal spikes that had been between her bones were removed, and she could only sit there for a while like the few dozen who had been surprisingly set free.

"Go where you wish." Mafeo said, before taking a small canteen from his belt. "Take the blood of the one next to you. The desert is dry, and it would not do to die of dehydration now after everything you have been through."

The woman took the bottle with shaking hands, and then turned to the bloody mess that had been a man beside her.

Part of her couldn't understand why he was alive. Blood continued to pump out of his wounds like water from a spring. But, her brain obeyed Mafeo's words, too full of relief from fear with the promise of freedom right before it. She pressed the canteen's mouth against one of the farmer's wounds, and heard liquid pouring echo out of it.

"Good." Mafeo said, placing an armored hand on her shoulder. "Now, drink."

Mind numb, she lifted the canteen to her lips, and swallowed the iron tasting liquid within.

Flames leapt up from the broken body before her, and its skin blackened and hardened as its moisture left it from the heat. Then, a red clawed hand burst out from the charred remains, followed by a narrow horned head with a fanged maw. Its over sized tongue stuck out from between its teeth, glistening with saliva and tasting the air with its pointed tip.

Around her, other demons emerged from the tortured, stepping out of the Warp into the materium. The veil had been weakened and corroded by Nurgle's presence, allowing them to answer the calls of insane vengeance and mad hate. They came for the cries of the unlucky ones bound next to the prisoners who were given the option to accept suffering and rejected it.

The 2m Bloodletter of Khorne grabbed the stunned woman by the throat. Then, it twisted her head off, like unscrewing a bottle. Blood spurted into the sky from her open neck. Flames leapt from its palm; eating away at the skin, fat, hair, and muscles coating her skull. It then lifted the cleaned bones, and roared as the other daemons of Khorne did the same.

The surviving prisoners screamed and cried as they saw what was in store for them, adding higher pitches to the baritone voices of the demons.

"Sing! Sing as one!" Mafeo called to the prisoners and daemons before him. "Let the cry of Khorne ring throughout the world! Let your voice resonate with his, for the murdered and murderers scream in a single symphony! This is the Truth of all things! Bitter enemies! Trusted allies! It all matters not! Blood flows! Skulls fall! We all struggle to survive at any cost except to ourselves! That is the Truth that binds and drives us! That is the song that unites our voices when we raise them up to the heavens, begging for answers to questions that do not exist! Now, Khorne has answered! Slaughter is meaningless! War is indiscriminate! It is for that reason we are all joined as one through it! We all stand equal beneath Khorne's blade, and are crushed by it all the same when it lands! Brothers! Sisters! We are all one through Khorne and his cry! Blood for the Blood God! Skulls for the Skull Throne!"

Flaming swords appeared in the hands of the Bloodletters. The dark clouds above began to fill with orange embers, bathing the ground with bonfire lights. One by one, the daemons spilled the blood of the screaming men and women. Filled with fury born from the unfairness of it all, and suffused in the selfishness of self-preservation, the prisoners provided kindling for the psychic pyre growing from their thoughts and emotions.

"Let the hierophants hear our song!" Mafeo cried as the Bloodletters began to turn towards Xozer. More and more demons came from the victims of Mafeo and his Wrathsingers. They stepped out of the black smoke of fat and muscle. They emerged with the crackle and pop of bones bursting open as their marrow boiled.

Flesh hounds took form from the bloody meat.

Bloodcrushers burst out of the piles of burning bones and skulls.

Bloodthirsters descended from the smoke filled skies on bat-like wings, emerging from thin air; for the barrier between real and unreal had been breached by two of the Ruinous Powers.

The clouds above Xozer began to glow a sickly green, contrasted by the burning red that had emerged above the Wrathsingers. The two colors clashed against each other in the sky. They smashed into each other like two beasts butting heads, attempting to claim or protect their territory.

The final battle for Xozer had begun.

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

Shang Khal and his honor guard entered the dying city, and waded into the cloud of flies. The buzzing insects swarmed them, only to turn the sound of their beating wings into the crackle pop of flaming embers. The bugs burned meters before reaching any of them. Shang Khal's fury reduced them their semi-corporeal forms to cinders. Not even ash was left behind as he ignored them with his almost blinding rage.

Above them, Roma fliers had started dog fighting in the air. Their enemies were gargantuan insects carrying horned and rotting riders waving rusted cleavers.

On the ground, the half-eaten remains of a mortar team crawled towards the General. Swollen hands, covered with skin that squirmed from the maggots underneath, rose towards him; begging for help.

Shang Khal walked past them all, leaving his honor guard to lop off the heads of his dying soldiers. Their spiked swords glowed orange as they swung, offering the remaining flesh and blood to Khorne.

Red Engines emerged from the darkness as they drew closer to where Keyser's forces had stopped. They were spitting fire in every direction as they fought back the swarms of insects and Poxwalkers that had begun to crawl out of the city. Several of these machines were almost buried in green rot and brown rust. Only their head was left free to squirm as ferrotrophic funguses sprouted fruiting bodies over them to spread their metal-eating spores.

Bloodthirsters landed there, crushing Red Engine and rotten followers of Nurgle equally under their hooved feet. Khorne did not suffer the weak, and even his own daemons were not excluded from that. The Greater Daemon cleaved off the fanged head of its lesser brethren with its axe. Then, it tore out the Warp creature inhabiting it only to swallow it and any shred of power it had left.

Finally, Shang Khal reached the 7th wall of Xozer. It alone stood in his way, with its breaches resealed by molten metal and ceramic. The General unsheathed his sword, raised the giant blackened and knocked blade above his head with both hands, then swung. For a brief moment, a different sword appeared before all those that saw him. A massive black blade so large its tip seemed to cut through the clouds.

Then the wall split open. A massive cut gashed itself through it and the walls beyond it, ripping through the city and carving a path to its center. Hurricane winds blew back like the blast from a bomb, and the ground trembled from the blow Shang Khal made with Khorne's sword.

Shang Khal shivered as he pulled the now normal sized blade from the earth. Then his left hand lashed out, grabbing one of his own honor guard and crushed the man's head helm and all in his grip. Flames spread from him, melting the metal armor of two more of his most trusted friends and advisors, cooking them alive inside. Smoke and the smell of burnt meat leaked from the ruined joints and shattered optics as the two were turned into blackened statues.

The General finally regained control of himself, pulling away from Khorne as he sheathed his blade.

He made no apologies, nor rousing speeches. It was all he could do to keep his wrath pointed at his enemies and away from his allies. His brains boiled in his skull, frying the synapses he used for higher thinking and reasoning; the nerve cells that allowed him to organize and strategize for victory. Dryness filled his throat, and the air in his lungs seemed to burn as Khorne cooked him from the inside out.

"Follow me." He said in his deep voice, and walked through the gash in the wall he had made.

'The Warp and its creatures are rabid dogs to be unleashed upon the enemies of Ursh.' Shang Khal told himself as he soldiered on into the city. 'But, being rabid dogs, they will bite the hand that holds their leash.'

His right hand stroked the handle of the black sword at his side. The Overlord Kalagann himself had provided it to him, along with lessons of the Warp and its creatures.

'We are the invaders in this story. The momentum is ours.' Shang Khal told himself.

The Warp was a reflection of the materium's thoughts and dreams. It was for that reason they controlled it, and not the other way around. That was one of the lessons from Kalagann, who had shackled the daemons that moved the Red Engines, and taught the Wrathsingers the rites necessary to call forth Khorne's daemons.

Xozer crumbled before him, so even if the hierophants had called forth their patron god, Khorne would vanquish the Plaguefather just as Shang Khal had crushed the defenses of the hierophants.

'Time does not exist in the Warp.' Shang Khal thought to himself as he strode through the gap in the 6th wall he had cut. 'By breaching the realm of real and unreal, the hierophants have opened one final path for my victory.'

The world around them no longer followed the rules of reality, nor the laws of physics. Mind triumphed over matter now, and in the timeless Warp, it was possible to choose when and where things would be.

The technology of Xozer still existed in the past, even though it had been destroyed in the present. Shang Khal only had to drag it back to his future, and overwrite what was and is while it was still soft and pliable from the presence of the two gods.

A bestial growl leaked from between Shang Khal's lips.

There was neither strategy nor tactics in this battle now. The inelegant and unpredictable flow of the emotions and ideologies of humanity dominated this battlefield. The despair of the desperate defenders now leaked from their souls like pus from an infected wound. It had begun to spread across the deserts, defiling and desecrating the dry sands, filling them with muck and mucus.

Khorne continued to call him from the Skull Throne. He could feel the Blood God in his mind, talking to him without words in a voice that had no sound. Concepts and memories flowed from the congealed mass of subconscious thought that was the Warp, slowly replacing his own and leaving nothing but the Lord of Murder's message ringing in his ears.

Shang Khal shook his head, and repeated one of the mantras taught to him by the Overlord Kalagann.

'Gods are the tools of mankind. Their religions are the opiates for the masses. Their sermons are but soothing balms for the weary and the weak.'

Neither Kalagann nor Shang Khal believed in or worshiped the gods. It was for that reason the majik wielding oneirocriticks had been allowed to live, instead of being slaughtered immediately as Khorne would have most likely wanted. The practicality of their existence outweighed the bloodthirst of Ursh, even though they had been useless in the final battle.

'Mankind is the maker of its own fate, and the Warp follows in our footsteps.' Shang Khal said to himself as he took another step forward. 'I am the General of this campaign. It is my words and my orders that dictates what happens here.'

Slowly, Shang Khal felt the hot touch of Khorne recede, leaving gaping holes in his mind. Instead of childhood memories, he saw pyroclastic bombs being dropped on villages with straw roofs. Instead of the names of his parents, he heard the clang of swords on shields and armor. This was the price for wielding a weapon from the Warp; the pawning off of treasured memories or valuable items for power.

There was a flash of light in the General's peripheral vision, and he turned towards it.

A squad of 5 or 6 Volkite snipers appeared from one of the city's alleys, cutting their way through the swarms of insects with their beam weapons. The smallest servants of Nurgle exploded upon contact with the yellow-ish orange streams of energy. Thus, allowing the survivors to carve holes large enough for them to pass through unmolested. Padded patrol equipment covered them. Air tight visors and lead laced fabrics kept both the radiation and the swarms out. Several civilians were with them as well, wrapped in thick clothing with wetted cloth covering their faces and mouths.

Shang Khal watched as one of them jerked back at the sight of him, and began to raise his weapon.

The General chuckled to himself.

These men and women were trying to get out of the city, turning their backs on the society that spawned them. Despite everything, they had closed their eyes and shut their ears to Nurgle's message. They would not sit idly by, and wait for death to claim them.

'Yes…' Shang Khal thought to himself as he watched the barrel of the Volkite Caliver rise towards him. The moment was extended by his gene-sculpted synapses, making everything move with almost infinite slowness. 'Rise up. Fight.'

It was Xozer and Ursh that had commenced battle here, not Nurgle and Khorne. Man should have been the one to end this; not the Gods themselves.

Shang Khal smiled, heart warmed by this sign of strength. It was not the strategic victory he envisioned, nor would it be a glorious battle with a well matched foe. Yet, this final fight before he descended into the Warp consumed center of the city would be a new treasured memory for him.

Even in the depths of Plaguefather's garden of despair, mankind still made its own destiny.

Suddenly, another Volkite sniper grabbed the other's gun, shoving it downwards. The sniper who had attempted to shoot Shang Khal turned to him to protest, but the sniper stopping the shot only shook his head. The sniper holding the barrel then turned towards Shang Khal, and stared into his eyes.

'Let us go. There is nothing left to fight over.'

Shang Khal read the message in the man's straight back and his firm gaze. He saw it in the way he stopped his fellow sniper from firing, while keeping his finger on the trigger of his own.

In reply, the General's right hand drew the blackened and knocked sword out of its scabbard.

'I am not done with you, or your city.' He said wordlessly.

The soldiers' shoulders tensed as Shang Khal relaxed his limbs, preparing to lunge forwards. Then a dark shadow fell over them. A giant gangrenous creature with a bloated belly and twisted antlers crashed down out of the swarms, shaking the ground and sending dust flying in every direction.

"Welcome, General." It gurgled. "The Grandfa-." Whatever the daemon was about to say was cut off, along with the bottom half of its face as Shang Khal's sword sliced upwards.

"I am the General. You are a weapon." Shang Khal said as the daemon of Nurgle stumbled backwards. "Now be silent." The raised sword then slashed downwards through the creature's skull, slipping between the antlers and opening up its bloated belly. The guts and digestive juices turned to ash and steam as they burned like the bugs, vaporizing before reaching Shang Khal.

"Go! Get back! Back into the city!" Shang Khal heard one of the snipers say as they ran away from him, taking the civilians with them.

"But Tolu!" The one who had tried to shoot him shouted.

"We can't fight that thing! Come on! We'll find another way out! Now move!"

Shang Khal watched as they disappeared, carving out their own path through the swarms of insects with their Volkite Calivers. Eventually, they disappeared from sight; hidden by the rot flies. He turned back towards the gaping gorge he had carved all the way to the center of the city.

"Mankind makes its own future." He said to no one as his honor guard formed up behind him.

Legions of Bloodletters were entering the city, following the path he had carved, or climbing over the walls themselves. Flesh hounds ran in the streets, searching for fresh game in the form of human or daemon flesh. Bloodcrushers snorted as they passed by him, then roared while they charged towards Plaguebringers and Poxwalkers, attempting to gore them on their horns. The ground shook as the Bloodthirsters landed, crushing buildings and swatting away bridges and towers with their axes.

The city colored in nothing but the blackness of billions of bugs was now lit with bonfire orange as the burning daemonic hordes of Khorne began to batter their way past the tallybands of Nurgle.

"Follow me." Shang Khal said, ignoring the cacophony of the daemons around him. "It is time to end this charade."

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

At the center of the city, surrounded by the croak of Plague Toads and the flap of moth wings, the 7 hierophants chanted the lessons of Nurgle.

They felt the Wrathsingers' hymns coming from beyond the city, and felt its message like raw magma erupting from the earth. Even now, those who had not been consumed by the rot flies and their maggots fought against their fate. The psychic emanations resonated with these survivors, awakening the instincts they needed to struggle against the fat grip of Nurgle upon their souls.

In return, the hierophants began their own sermons.

"Three by three the chant is made." One of the seven hierophants droned. "With birth comes the first suffering; for the first sound made is a cry of pain."

"With life comes the lesson that this pain will never end." A second cried.

"In death, we are given a false rest, for the end of life is not the end of the soul." The third line came.

"War, disease, drought, and famine. All end in Grandfather's Garden." The fourth line came solemnly.

"That is the lesson of the Plaguefather. The world falls apart each day, taking another step along the road of entropy." The fifth line fell from someone's lips.

"Nurgle offers no salvation. Nurgle offers no deliverance. Nurgle only offers enlightenment and the acceptance of the inevitable." The sixth line came with almost sadistic joy.

"Accept. Accept. Accept. Just as all are welcome in the Garden, accept all the blessings of the Great Corruptor." The seventh line repeated itself.

"Disease is but the form our flesh takes when it accepts the inevitable, for it is merely the rot happening before its time." The eighth line came out irritably.

"And so we shall become part of that rot. The rot that changes the form. The rot that metamorphoses the flesh. The transfiguration of mind and soul." The ninth line was echoed by the raucous croaking of the Toads and deep flapping of wings.

"Three by three the chant is made." hierophant 7 said again for the tenth time as feverish sweat fell from his brow. It had been several days since the Grandfather had sent his minions. Even now, the forces of Rot fought the minions of Brass, Blood, and Bone. Neither side was winning.

A Great Unclean One hacked at and puked over hordes of Bloodletters with its rusty cleaver and gut-maw. Then a Bloodthirster smashed its guffawing head in with its axe.

Beasts of Nurgle embraced Bloodcrushers, giggling even as Flesh hounds chewed at their slug-like body.

Rot flies and their riders fell, from the flaming skulls fired from Skull Cannons. The Bloodthirsters upon these burning machines roared with victory with their flaming swords held high, even as they were surrounded by swarms of Poxwalkers and Plaguebringers. Soon, they would join the others before them, buried beneath the bubonic bodies and suffused in the stench of sickness.

The chant was beginning to tax him and his fellow hierophants. He could feel his mind slow, and his breath falter. A cough interrupted his chant, and in that brief moment of clarity a question appeared in his mind.

'There are only 7 of us. Who is chanting the last two lines?'

He felt a grim chill spread through him, and the coughing consumed all the air in his lungs. Beside him, he watched his fellow hierophants fall as their sicknesses suddenly robbed them of their strength.

The croaking grew louder as did the beating of wings, but it was not the sound of toads or moths.

Ravens circled them like birds of carrion, watching them with beady avian eyes.

'Grandfather!' hierophant number 7 cried out in his mind, unable to speak from the coughing. 'Why?'

Nurgle did not answer. He had left, taking the boons of his blessings with him. The Plague Lord's attentions were now focussed on the masses of dead and dying, whether they be from Xozer or Ursh. No longer watched over by their patron god, the hierophants experienced his poxes and plagues as any other would.

In the Grandfather's place, there was only the multi-octave laughter of the Raven Lord; the patron god of schemers and traitors.

Planning and scheming is not a trait of the Lord of Flies. He seeps into the mind, just like sickness. His message infects all, but it spreads from the bottom up. The least fortunate are the ones who find him first.

The hierophants were the farthest thing from his usual followers. They were too clever, too privileged, too ambitious, and too arrogant.

Those were the traits of Tzeentch, the eternal Paradox within the Warp that allowed those closest to it to serve his siblings, only to take them back at the height of their power and pride.

'GRANDFATHER!' hierophant 7 screamed in his mind as the black birds descended upon him, croaking hungrily.

The last thing he saw was an obsidian beak heading straight for his eyes.

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

Maffeo Orde swatted at an alien beast before him with his mace. It had three arms and two legs, and its skin was a bright azure blue. Around him, more of the creatures spilled forth from the now purple pyre they had made from the prisoners. Firework flames spread from the 9 oneirocriticks corpses as blood leaked from their necks like oil from a knocked over barrel.

"9 heads lost! 9 brains crushed! 9 sources of knowledge gone!" The blue thing gibbered with its oversized mouth as its single eye opened wide. A sky blue iris glowed upon its black sclera. "9 days! 9 days! 9 da-!" The thing was silenced as Mafeo smashed his mace over the thing's head, splattering him and the ground with blue liquid, as if it were a balloon filled with navy ink.

Strange flattened creatures with curved wings flew out of the fire, screaming as they did so. The sound came from the mouth below their eyes on the front of their face, as well as the many fanged openings that were upon their bellies.

Monsters with robe-like skins, and mouths where their hands should have been floated out with them, spreading azure flames from all of their orifices.

Purple versions of the multi-limbed beast Mafeo had just slain skittered out as well, before throwing balls of purple light at the Wrathsingers that remained.

Maffeo bellowed like a bison, no longer capable of speech. Hate coursed through every iota of his being. His three faced skull helm let out steam from all three nasal bones as he snorted, then he charged into the growing armies of Tzeentchian daemons.

The once orange pyre was now a mix of blue and violet flames. It shot up towards the sky, adding a third color to the two that were butting heads above them.

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

Shang Khal reached the center of the city. He had no idea how long it had taken him. The sun neither rose, nor fell. The only illumination was from the sickly green glow, bonfire lights, and azure flames in the cloudy skies above.

The remains of one of the centrifuge buildings towered before him. Its contents bubbled as if it were a massive cauldron, spilling corrosive ooze from its lip when a bubble exploded too close to the edge.

"Guard me while I travel back to the past." He ordered his honor guard, and they saluted before taking up a loose box formation around him.

The daemons of Nurgle stayed away, watching from the shadows as schools of Screamers swam in the sky above him like shoals of fish. Khorne's hordes were still tearing into the tallybands of Nurgle, while Tzeentch's daemons began to dominate the sky, engaging the Roma and driving their fightercraft away from the center of the city.

Shang Khal knelt with one hand placed on the bubbling centrifuge building. He read its nature with his mind, decoding every atom of information from its long history. Slowly, the rust and corrosion receded, replaced with its former form. The distillation towers rebuilt themselves, with pieces of them falling upwards before rebinding to each other.

Simultaneously, the images of Shang Khal's honor guard retreated back into the city, walking backwards as Shang Khal alone traveled back through time, to recover the artifacts.

'Mankind is the maker of its own fate, and the Warp follows in our footsteps.' Shang Khal recited the mantras of Kalagann, ignoring thousands of sorcerous whispers as he brushed against the domain of Tzeentch; the self-styled Master of Fate.

Bit by bit, he dragged every part of the interlinked artifacts back from the past.

The skyscraper sized distillation towers.

The colossal centrifuge buildings.

The smallest pore within the filtration facilities filters.

Shaking with exertion, Shang Khal proceeded to make this version of the artifacts real.

'The Warp is a reflection. The Warp is unreal. The Warp rhymes after we state the reason.'

These artifacts had fallen apart only because of the powers of the Warp. Thus, what could be done with the Warp could be undone through the Warp.

The ground shook and past voices of the dead rang in every ear. The sky tore apart as the clouds of the Three receded, returning to where they had been before all of this.

But, instead of blue skies, all that was above Shang Khal was the writhing maelstrom of uncontrolled Chaos. Uncountable daemons unaligned with the Ruinous Powers watched him and his men, like vultures circling the sky over a pack of lions waiting for scraps.

Shang Khal stared up at the swirling void of gray, black, and white. This was supposed to be the future he was staring at, yet this was not the Urshite victory he had imagined.

Then the artifacts before him began to melt.

He saw nuclear fire warp the materials they were made of.

He saw nanite swarms tearing it apart at an atomic level.

He saw bombs go off, shattering the distillation towers, and sending them tumbling down once again.

This was the future he saw, and in it the fate of the artifacts remained unchanged.

"We have followed in your footsteps." One of the daemons above him said. It had six wings, and wore a human face. Yet, its mouth was so wide it could be seen protruding from out behind the human ears. "But we are not your servants or your slaves. We are daemons. We are the beings all mortals should bow their heads to." It laughed, and two forked tongues flopped out from both sides of its mouth. "From now on, we shall be pulling your strings. Your people on this planet will be at our beck and call. But, before that, witness the last act the people of this planet have made on their own."

Shang Khal returned to the present, and he was surrounded by Nurgle's daemons. His honor guard were separated from both him and each other. Seas of Nurglings shoved them apart with their sheer mass, giggling even as they were hacked apart.

Then a Great Unclean One grabbed one of his friends and advisors in a meaty paw. Its fat fingers began to squeeze, denting the armor around the honor guard's waist.

Shang Khal started to stand, but his legs gave out forcing him to kneel. Fungal hyphae had begun to wrap around his feet, secreting digestive acids and enzymes as they entered his armor and ate away at his flesh.

Despair had begun to eat at his soul, and now the Warp reflected that corrosion of his conviction with the consumption of his flesh.

He had failed. He had seen the future, and there was no path where the artifacts survived. Whether it was atomics, nanites, or even simpler explosives the end of the artifacts was cemented as fact in the future.

But why?

"Why?" Shang Khal whispered out loud as he fought against his despair. He saw the outcome, but didn't understand the process. Finding the reason was his only hope he had of fighting off the rot in his spirit, and restoring the fury he had used to burn off the touch of Nurgle.

There was a metal groan as the armor of the honor guard in the Great Unclean One's hand gave a little bit more, crushing its occupant. Then there was a bloodthirsty roar, and the flapping of bat wings.

A Bloodthirster crashed down onto the battlefield before the greater daemon of Nurgle. Its muscled and clawed hand grabbed the upper half of the honor guard sticking out of the meaty paw of its Nurglite counterpart.

Then the two daemons pulled. Like two toddlers fighting over a Christmas cracker, they yanked on the bottom and top halves of the human.

Shang Khal heard a high pitched scream, and learned the gender of the woman now being pulled apart physically and metaphysically.

The greater daemon of Nurgle laughed, childishly, enjoying the tug-of-war. Its Khornate equivalent took offense to that, and with a hateful bellow, slammed its battle axe into the Great Unclean One's face. The gangrenous daemon lost its balance, and the individual held in both of their hands twisted in their grip.

There was the tearing sound of metal and meat, and both daemons stumbled backwards as their prize was torn in two.

The Bloodthirster looked down at the now limp top half of the women, snorted once, then tossed it over its shoulder like a used tissue paper.

The Great Unclean One looked down at the bottom half still in its grip with the string intestines hanging out, shrugged, and dropped it like a spoiled child does with a broken toy.

'The Warp is a reflection. The Warp is unreal. The Warp rhymes after we state the reason.' Kalagann's mantra echoed in Shang Khal's mind as he watched the Nurglings gather around the broken halves of what was once his friend and advisor.

This was the reason for the artifacts' destruction. This was the rhyme to the reason he had searched for.

Shang Khal sat back on his knees and howled into the air.

The Warp reflected humanity here. Like Xozer and Ursh, these daemons tore into each other without mercy or remorse. They savaged each other for the prize of human souls, just as he had butchered billions of the enemy and his own soldiers to take the artifacts for Ursh.

And at the final moment, their conflict tore apart what they had wanted most.

Like the daemons that had torn apart that single honor guard, they had ruined the thing that they had spent everything fighting for.

Yet, that was not enough. Like the Bloodthirster and Great Unclean One, humanity savaged each other, long after the reason they had waged war had ended.

Just like Keyser had done when he attempted to press endlessly forward.

Just like Shang Khal had done when he unsheathed his sword before that group of snipers attempting to escape the city.

Just like their ancient forefathers did when they launched atomic after atomic at each other in mutually assured destruction.

Hate and despair seethed within Shang Khal as he felt Khorne's touch burn more and more of his brain while the fungi of Nurgle ate away at his body. Words left his vocabulary, only allowing bestial roars and meaningless bellowing to come from his lips. His hands shook as he screamed, head almost blurring as it rocked madly back and forth.

Around him, Nurglings pointed and laughed as pink and blue horrors clapped their many hands, having finally joined the fray in earnest.

They were all here to watch him. To see whether the great General of Ursh would rot away before he was burned to ash in this session of the Great Game.

Then all time stopped, and a bright golden light ended Shang Khal's suffering.

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

Author's Note:

There are probably some questions about who is responsible for what.

The Ruinous Powers haven't really manipulated humanity into doing what it wants. They aren't even really here, which is why they are represented as colors within the clouds. An infinitely small part of their psyche has been drawn to this conflict. In short, it's a really messy version of Neoth being able to talk to Joan, while still being the same person. Another similar occurrence is when Isha divides out the individual personalities of those who became part of her.

Humanity is responsible for the destruction of its own future. They have already ruined the planet once, and now they do so again. The Warp is only a reflection of that. That is why the daemons of Nurgle and Khorne act the way they do.

Tzeentch is here in order to explain away the more paradoxical elements of each group. A plan to create an Eden only to let it rot is both paradoxical and overly complicated, making it a plan unfitting of Nurgle. Shang Khal using oneirocriticks despite being aligned with Khorne is another strange occurrence that Tzeentch has to explain. So, Tzeentch did not orchestrate the events, although it may have allowed some individuals greater access to information about their Patron Gods, as well as how best to call them.

As for the unaligned daemons, the Ruinous Powers are not the only thing in the immaterium. The uncountable unaligned daemons are creatures from both before and after the War in Heaven. They are the Daemon Princes that Erda referred to when talking to Isha.

The daemon with 6 wings and a human face is Pharaa'gueotla. It and its brethren have been waiting for a Warp event of this magnitude so they can reverse the order of things. Until this moment, humanity on Terra has been making its own decisions. The Warp is merely a reflection or symbolism of that. However, the daemons are ideologies with personalities. They do not enjoy the current order of things where they are essentially secondary to reality. So, with the Ruinous Powers tearing down the boundaries of reality, they can begin to switch the order of who acts according to whose whims. Instead of the daemons merely representing certain ideologies, humanity will act out the ideologies of the beings of the Warp.

As the daemon prince of treachery and guile, it wears a human face despite predating humanity, and its two-tongues hanging out of either side of its mouth is a physical representation of the idioms for two-tonguedness, and speaking out of either side of one's mouth.

It also takes some Christian imagery, with its 6 wings being a reference to Lucifer. However, it is not a daemon spawned by humanity, but much older and alien.
 
Interlude: Fight and Flight
A/N: Since we'll be seeing things during the Age of Strife on Terra. Here are a few terms and technologies that might need to be clarified beforehand. This interlude is essentially an Imperial Guard-esque story where we see the horrors of the Warp from the ground level.

Xozer Patrol Suits: These are heavily padded atmospherically sealed NBC (Nuclear Biological Chemical) suits. You can use a Tempestus Scion Carapace Armour as a reference for your imagination. The outer padding is laced with lead fibers, and serves as protection from radiation and insulation against heat. Underneath this padding layer is an airtight slip layer that isolates the outer padding from the inner skin layer, as well as reduces friction between the two layers. This dual layer design keeps the potentially contaminated outer padding from the inner water recycling systems. Water is taken from the wearer's sweat and other excreta, and filtered before being deposited in a water bladder situated around the back of the waist. This suit is also equipped with a disposable grappling hook on the left arm that is used to abseil down tall objects. The cable is composed of liquid resin that hardens as it is ejected from spinnerets on the user's wrist. These spinnerets weave the liquid resin into strong wires, similar to how spiders weave their webs. This cable can extend for several dozen meters before the tension begins to tear it. The user will have to either drop the rest of the way, or re-attach to a surface with a new hook and create a new strand to continue dropping down.

Cherenkov radiation: It's the reason for the blue color you see when a nuclear reactor is on. You can wiki the physics yourself.

Cauliflower ears: A deformity of the ear cartilage and skin that happens from repeated physical abuse of the ears. This usually happens when someone gets punched in the head a lot, and is a sure sign that whoever has these ears is used to regular violence.

CQB: Short for Close Quarter Battle. AKA CQC (Close Quarter Combat) Military acronym for situations where both melee and ranged combat are expected in close quarters situations.

302: HTTP status code for a temporary redirect to another server. 302 usually occurs when websites are taken down for maintenance, content updates, or redirection to a region-specific version of a site. In the situation it is being used in the story, this is a response coming from a gateway to the city network. (This is just a reference. I'm not actually seriously stating that HTTP will somehow survive almost 15 thousand years into the future.)

Xozer Squad Level Military Organization:

Point Man: A position in formations taken by the best marksman in the squad. The necessity for spotting things from far away, and making split-second decisions that can impact the entire squad makes many who fulfill this position tightly wound and at times overly aggressive.

Rifle Man 1 and 2: The nomenclature remains from when soldiers still used rifled weapons. The usage of Volkite Calivers makes these soldiers sniper, rifleman, and squad automatic support. These soldiers have yet to gain a full aptitude and psyche eval to be deployed in more specialized roles.

Grenadier: These soldiers carry an extra grenade launcher with their gear. Their job is suppressing targets behind cover, and general crowd control. They also often serve as a dual purpose mechanic and demolitions specialist.

Medic: The second most important member of the squad. In addition to first aid and triage, they carry several injectors full of stem-cells with them. These stem-cells that can be primed with a built in chemical concoctions to replace almost any cell in the body. Medical knowledge is needed to identify what tissues have been damaged within the patient, how to prime the stem cells, and how to inject them into the body to get them to the point of injury ASAP. They also serve as the second in command, taking charge when the Squad leader falls. The requirement to remain calm under stress has many of them operating almost mechanically.

Squad leader: The squad leader's duty is to make tactical decisions for the squad, although strategic ones may be made if central control is lost. They are also trained to look after the squad's mental health, and ensure unit cohesion remains.

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

Tolu Abdullahi shouldered his Volkite Caliver and fired downwards from the 6th wall. The shields had suddenly given out, and the Urshite berserkers were already crawling out of the cracks of the 7th wall like termites.

'And just after I got rotated from the 1st to the 6th wall.' He cursed to himself as he fired.

"Squad! Focus targets. Don't spread your fire!" He called out to the 5 others assigned to this section of wall.

"They just keep coming, Sergeant!" Mandla, the man to his right yelped.

"Oh grow a pair Mandla! At least they aren't shooting back at us!" Fatima, one of the two women assigned to Tolu's squad, shouted back.

"Shut up! Keep firing!" Tolu silenced the both of them before tapping the side of his helmet to activate the short wave communicator in his helmet. "Control! ETA on the laser recharge!"

"Hol- … po-... contact… in-de… city trans-. Tac-... co-..."

"Fuck!" Tolu swore as nothing but jumbled garbage came back.

"Whadda we do Sergeant?" Kamau called out in his deep voice as he fired with the rest of them, cutting through the armor of a berserker and blowing up several of its armored fellows with the explosion.

'What do we do?' Tolu thought to himself as he switched targets with the rest of the squad.

"Sergeant!" Kwame, the man on the furthest left part of the line formation Tolu and his squad were in, called out. "Contact on the walls! three o'clock!"

"Shit!" Tolu yelled, and he turned to his left. He and his squad were positioned on the south eastern part of the 6th wall. If enemies were coming from the east, it meant that their defensive positions had been breached, and their enemies were on the wall as well.

Tolu's reinforced eyes scanned down the line, and caught sight of several armored soldiers on six-legged steeds trampling his fellow snipers in the distance.

"Squad! Get off the walls!" Tolu ordered.

"Sergeant?!" Mandla yelled. Their last orders had been to hold their positions for as long as possible. Falling back without orders was a guaranteed court martial.

"Just do it!" Tolu yelled as he pressed a switch on the left sleeve of his patrol suit. A small disposable grappling hook popped out of the wrist, and he shot it into the city-side lip of the defensive wall.

The wall was too narrow to fight armored cavalry. Only two or three snipers could fire side by side for a shot. More might be able to shoot if they could stagger the line by having the front snipers kneeling, but with so many other squads in the way it was all only theoretically possible. What was worse, with control being unresponsive, even if they did manage to stop the cavalry charge, the damage was done. That section of wall was now defenseless, devoid of their snipers. More Urshite soldiers would appear, and they no longer had the numbers to keep them at bay.

Tolu checked that the rest of his squad had shot their grappling hooks into the wall, then made a cutting motion with his hand.

"Drop!" He ordered, and all six of them began to abseil down the wall. Reinforced struts in the left sleeve and shoulder padding of their patrol suits held their weight, allowing them to travel down with only one arm. After a couple dozen meters, the wires released from their wrists began to groan, and they paused to prepare another grappling hook. They fired it into the wall before them, made sure the new cable was taught, then cut the older straining cable to continue abseiling down.

"Sound off!" Tolu ordered once they reached the ground, cutting the latest wire and loading a new hook into the mechanism.

"Chiamaka, medic here."

"Fatima, pointman here."

"Mandla, RM (Rifle Man) one here."

"Kwame, RM two here."

"Kamau, grenadier here."

Tolu nodded. "We've lost all comms with control, and the 6th wall has most likely been breached. All the other walls no longer serve as defensive weapons, so we'll be stuck fighting in the city."

Fatima and Mandla swore at that. The inner parts of Xozer were heavily urbanized. Twisting alleys and maze-like roads would obstruct their shots. It took time to drill through the Urshite Wrathskin. Without enough distance, the berserkers and other Urshite soldiers could close upon them before their Volkite weapons could detonate them.

"Do you have a plan, Sergeant?" Chiamaka asked calmly.

Tolu remained silent for a while before looking up. He could see bodies and body parts of fellow snipers falling from the walls.

"Xozer is lost." Tolu said.

Kamau let out a tired sigh as Kwame simply shook his head. Meanwhile, Fatima scowled and Mandla shivered while Chiamaka stared at Tolu, waiting for him to continue. They all had a bad feeling ever since the battle started. When the first mushroom clouds rose, the feeling only grew worse. Now, their Sergeant merely voiced what they all thought.

"I'm not fucking surrending." Fatima growled. "You know what they'll do to us."

"We're not surrendering." Tolu nodded. "But we can't leave while the city is surrounded."

Fatima swore again, kicking a nearby garbage can hard enough to dent it.

"Then what should we do?" Chiamaka asked. Her eyes were as cool and calm as her voice. Combat medics such as her were usually like this.

Distant to the point of being aloof, they were almost mechanically professional when on the job. Tolu didn't know whether it was due to their original temperament or their training, but he was thankful for it nonetheless. That was one less person he had to worry about losing it.

"We hole up somewhere in the city." Tolu said. "The inner parts of the city are denser than the outer ones. They won't be able to search every building, even with their numbers. Once most of their forces have moved past our position to attack the inner parts of the city, we run for it."

"Run where, Sergeant?" Mandla moaned. "There's only desert out there."

"Whadd'about the Europa-side garrison forts?" Kamau said quietly. "They're to the North of here. They should still be standing."

"Nah, that place is a death trap." Kwame quipped. "If the Urshites keep invading, we'll be pinned between them and the Mid-Terranean basin. I've been there on patrol once. Whatever's in that basin eats through everything. Even its fumes are enough to take out low altitude flyers. We'll have nowhere to run, with even less defenses. We should head over to the Atlan wastes. I've heard some of the black market traders from the Mericas know a way across it."

"And where the hell are we gonna find one of these traders?" Fatima snapped sarcastically. "Most of 'em up and left days ago when Ursh started their invasion."

"Cool it people." Tolu said. "We'll think about where to go once we've left the city. For now, we need to find a place to hide."

"Whadd'about the city transport hub?" Kamau suggested. "The rails bridges are higher up than the walls, so they won't be able to see us from above or below. With all them trains docked at the stations and the garages, we'll have clear firing lines to shoot down if we set up in between them stations."

"Yeah, and we can raid the maintenance lodges near there." Kwame said, nodding to himself. "The crews usually have snacks and ration bars for the mid-night shifts. Joined them once during a night patrol of the city for a drink. Might still have that bottle of Amsec there as well."

"Is alcohol the only thing you think of?" Fatima sighed.

"They don't call it the water of life for nothing." Kwame shrugged back.

"Alright… Squad!" Tolu said firmly, and the other 5 soldiers straightened up. The banter was over, and they were about to receive their orders. "We're moving to the south-east transport hub station. Once we're there; we'll move to the maintenance lodge outside the station, collect supplies, then set-up a lookout in between the stations. Now, let's move it people! I want a patrol formation. It'll take a while for those armored assholes to finish climbing the walls, but they'll outrun us once they do. If the East-side wall has fallen, they might already be in the city. Keep your eyes and ears open."

The rest of the squad nodded, and they began to head into the alleyways of the city. They traveled in a staggered line formation, jogging quickly to save their stamina while maintaining speed. Fatima was first in line with Mandla right behind her. Tolu was next, with the squad's medic Chiamaka close behind. Kwame and Kamau took up the rear.

They passed through the first few streets without incident. However, as they proceeded further into the city, the quietness began to set off their instinctual alarm bells.

"Where are the refugees?" Fatima muttered. "They were packed in here like canned meat."

"Can't hear them either." Mandla whispered. "If they broke into one of the hab-towers, we should hear the fighting."

"Alright people, keep an eye out for an ambush, but stay moving." Tolu ordered. "Kamau, prep a smoke. Anyone comes up behind us, blind'em."

"Aye Sergeant." Kamau replied, slinging his Volkite Caliver over his back, and switching to a pump-action grenade launcher.

After several minutes, the squad made it to one of several sets of dual-helical staircases. One was for going up, while the other was for only going down. Both had signs of being used.

"You think the refugees left these?" Mandla asked as they climbed up the stairs. There was a small mound of broken suitcases and crushed bags around the staircase itself. It looked like they had been all dumped here from a great height, splattering them like rotten fruit on the pavement.

"Someone must have gotten the same idea as Kamau." Kwame replied.

"At least we know anyone at ground level won't see or hear us." Chiamaka said. The stairs and streets were quiet, and the railway bridges showed no sign of occupation. If it weren't for the belongings strewn around the stairwell one would have assumed this place to be abandoned.

The south-east transport hub station was a massive building. Dozens of trains could be docked at its multiple platforms, with room to spare for food courts and other amenities. However, Tolu and his squad tensed the moment they entered it. The entire building was both dark and deathly quiet.

"Squad, pushing-wedge formation." Tolu ordered, and Kwame moved up to join Mandla so they could cover Fatima's flanks, allowing her to focus on the front. Kamau moved up closer to Tolu and Chiamaka, preparing to suppress any targets that came from behind them with his gas grenades.

The group was silent as they moved past the trains, and headed to the unoccupied tracks. The torn remains of clothes and shiny sheen of spilt body fluids could be seen reflecting the dim-light of the station.

There was a rattle from one of the stalls, then the skittering of something hard and pointy on the polished floors.

"Ignore it." Tolu whispered as Mandla jumped and began to turn behind them; following the direction of the noise. "Keep moving forward. Get to the maintenance lodge."

Mandla obeyed silently, letting his training take over and suppressing the panicky emotions that had begun to bubble up. They could all feel the clammy touch of something staring at them from the shadows. The feeling reminded them of their patrols in the wastes outside Xozer, where the cannibalistic Technobarbarians roamed. Those men and women had no means of producing their own food and water, so they took their sustenance from the bodies and belongings of other humans. The same hungry eyes could be felt, wandering over their bodies as slick tongues wetted thick lips that smacked together with expectation.

Suddenly, Fatima raised her left fist by her head, making the sign for an immediate stop. "Shadow, 200 m ahead."

"Squad, box around point." Tolu ordered, and the other members took positions around Fatima, keeping a lookout around her as Tolu moved up beside her.

"What is it?" He whispered to Fatima.

"I don't know." She whispered back. "Between 30 to 40 cm tall, but can't get a good look. It's squatting on the floor behind that chair. Might be a child."

"A child?" Tolu asked back. "In all of this?"

The missing refugees, the torn clothes, and the spilt blood made that possibility unlikely. Whatever happened here had not been peaceful. There were too many signs of violence to believe that a defenseless child had somehow survived all of it.

"Your call to make, Sergeant." Fatima replied. "Do I take the shot?"

"No." Tolu shook his head. "The Volkite flash will dull our eyes in this darkness. Get back in formation. Let's mo-"

There was the screech of chair legs on smooth tiles as the shadow that had been squatting behind the chair pushed it out of the way. Hard claws clacked against the floor, and a sickly green ball waddled its way into view. It was a lumpy thing, like a sack of potatoes that had grown twig like arms and fat toddler legs. A pair of horns jutted out of the top of its squashed head with no neck. Sickly yellow eyes leered at them above a mouth fixed in a gaping grin, showing the cracked and rotting teeth inside.

Neither the creature nor Tolu moved for a few moments. He was frozen, unable to understand how something so obviously dead and rotten could still be moving. He could see maggots and worms crawling under and over its skin. He saw holes revealing intestines that had been randomly crammed inside its body like cotton in a stuffed animal.

"Sergeant." Chiamaka nudged him, rousing him from his shock. "We have movement."

Tolu shook his head, clearing it of the creature's nauseating image. He looked around, and saw Fatima and Mandla were still frozen still, forced to stare at the misshapen ball of rotten meat and maggots. Kwame, Kamau, and Chiamaka had avoided seeing the creature, having been looking away from it when they took up the box formation. He shook Fatima out of her stupor by the shoulder, while kicking Mandla's leg.

"Move!" He ordered. "Get to the tracks! Get out of the station!"

He could now hear the click clack of claws on tiles, and the rattling of steel girders as unseen things ran amongst the supports near the ceiling. They were being surrounded on all sides. He shot a look at the creature that had appeared before them, only to see it lick its lips hungrily.

As they ran past the train, the doors to each car opened in sequence. More of the things flooded out behind them, quickly obscuring the floor with their mass.

There was a thwump from behind him, and some of the creatures splattered apart as a gas grenade went through them. Kamau pumped the slide of his grenade launcher, shoving another grenade into the barrel and fired again. Blinding gas began to fill up behind them, obscuring the mass of ball-like creatures.

However, Kamau grimaced as the creatures crawled after them, eyes wide open and mouths even wider.

"Gas won't slow 'em down Sergeant!" Kamau yelled as he switched back to his Volkite Caliver.

Tolu looked behind him again and swore. The things were surprisingly fast, rolling and bouncing over each other to gain speed. They were beginning to overtake them on their flanks, surrounding them on both sides.

"Fatima, Kwame! Go ahead to the maintenance lodge!" Tolu ordered as they jumped off the platform and onto the tracks. "Kamau, Chiamaka! Go with them and cover their backs! Mandla! You're with me! Buy them the time they need to get the lodge open!"

All 5 soldiers followed his orders, and 4 of them ran ahead as Mandla and Tolu turned back.

"Suppress the right flank! I'll take the left! Ignore the center until I say so!"

The two men fired in opposite directions, creating a series of explosions that tore up the station floor as the creatures exploded like grenades, wiping out several dozens of their sibling creatures. Tables, chairs, stalls, and carts were thrown back or into the air with the explosions. Yet, more balls of rotten meat rolled over the rubble and flames to replace them.

A ruptured gas tank from a food stall caught fire, then exploded, spreading orange flames across one of the train platforms. With the new light, Tolu saw what happened to the refugees. Bodies were piled up inside the trains, thrown on top of each other like bags of grain in a larder. Bits and pieces of them were carried by the creatures.

A hand there, a fistful of liver there, a length of intestine strung up like a jump rope between three. They waved their gruesome trophies in the air, taunting the both of them; as if to underline what exactly the creatures would do to them once they were caught.

"They're too many of them!" Mandla shrieked.

Tolu turned in his direction, and saw something strange happening with Mandla's targets.

The yellow-ish orange beams of his Volkite Caliver were not detonating the creatures on contact like Tolu's. Instead, it had to drill into them for a bit as if their skin was covered in armor. Bit by bit they were pushing Mandla back, overwhelming him.

A jolt of panic passed through Tolu as he turned back to his own flank, and found his own weapon decreasing in efficiency. Before, the creatures vaporized like drops of water on a heated metal pan. Now, he too had to hold the beam on target for an extra second to detonate them, allowing the creatures to close the distance.

"Mandla, fall back!" Tolu shouted as he tore open a flap on the back waist portion of his patrol suit, revealing a large bladder of water that was linked to the suit's recycling system.

Mandla took one look at what his Sergeant was doing, and ran as fast he could out of the station.

Tolu fired into the swarms approaching him as he counted to ten. Hopefully that was enough time for Mandla to get out of the station. The blast should dissipate quickly once out in the open.

As thousands of clawed hands reached for him, Tolu exhaled as hard as he could and loosened his jaw. Then he tore the bladder from the tubes attaching it to his suit, and threw it over the creatures. His genetically enhanced eyes sighted the bladder, then he jumped backwards as he fired.

The bladder detonated like a bomb upon contact with the Volkite beam. Superheated steam sterilized the station, boiling away most of the small creatures in front of Tolu, and scattering the swarms behind them with the shockwave. The ceiling supports and steel girders buckled, then the front half of the station collapsed, burying the tram exit under rubble.

Tolu flew backwards like a bullet from a gun, and skidded along the bridge like a skipping stone before rolling to a stop. He coughed and choked as blood came up out of his lungs; bruised by barotrauma. Then he almost vomited. The blast had torn open one of his air seals, and he could now smell the stench of rot and decay in the air around them.

"Sergeant!" Someone shouted, and he felt hands slip under his arms.

"Get his feet! Carry him gently!" Tolu's blurry vision looked up to see Kamau carrying his top-half while Mandla took the bottom. Chiamaka was issuing orders as Fatima and Kwame kept a lookout.

Relief washed over him, and he let go of his consciousness.

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

Tolu woke up about a half-hour later. He had been stripped of his patrol suit and laid down on a table that smelled of cleaning alcohol. There were several terminals and binders thrown on the floor, suggesting this was the administrative office of the maintenance lodge. The make-shift operating table he was on was made by pushing several office desks together.

Chiamaka had treated his internal wounds with a stem-cell cocktail primed to replace the damaged tissue in his lungs and throat. The injection went into a vein in his left arm to ensure the cells would be taken to where they were needed as quickly as possible.

"You should be able to move now." The medic said after she was done inspecting his throat, ears, and nose. "The barotrauma you suffered from that explosion thankfully didn't blow out your eardrums. However, expect chest discomfort, shortness of breath, and mild tinnitus for at least two weeks. Of course, the bruising is going to hurt for a while as well." She pulled out a handheld injector from her medical pouch and swiftly inserted the needle into his upper arm. "This should manage the pain temporarily." She said as she pulled out the injector and detached the disposable needle.

"Thanks Chiamaka." He replied as he got off the sterilized table.

"You're welcome." She replied, packing up her medical equipment. "Fatima and Mandla are keeping watch outside. Kwame's collecting supplies and Kamau's fixing your suit's water recycler. Give them a word once you're ready."

"Sure." Tolu nodded as he stretched his limbs, testing their mobility.

"What do we do now?" Chiamaka asked. There was a slight quiver in her voice, a crack in the professional armor showing the tinge of fear beneath as the clink of injectors going into pouches and zippers being shut came from her hands.

"What do you mean?" Tolu asked back.

"Those… creatures in the station. What do you think they were?"

"I don't know."

"Do you think they are some new Urshite gene-weapon?"

"No." Tolu shook his head. "The transport hub-station was behind us, and those things had enough time to butcher those people before we got there. Whatever they were, they came from inside the city."

Chiamaka's hands stopped, as the buzzing fluorescent lights illuminated the partially packed medical pouch.

"What do you think that means?" She whispered.

Tolu closed his eyes for a moment, then shook his head. "I don't know. But, it doesn't matter. The plan doesn't change. We're getting out of here."

"Are you not worried about what this implies?" Chiamaka asked as she turned towards him.

The failure of the shields. The sudden appearance of the creatures from within the city. Both were too sudden to be coincidence. Something more sinister had shown its face here, shuffling out of the shadows of Xozer to snatch at their souls. They could hear the voices of the hierophants whenever the images of the things appeared in their minds. The droning voices of the tri-hourly sermons rang in their ears, while the laughing faces of the rotten balls of gangrenous skin stuffed with haphazard gizzards danced under their eyelids.

"I am. But, now isn't the time to think about it."

The dying city that they had decided to abandon might be trying to take them with it, but that didn't change what they were going to do. Tolu wasn't going to die here in this godless place.

This was no holy city. It was no different than the ruins that lay half-buried in the desert sands far out in the radioactive wastes, in nature as well as fate. After everything was over, all that would remain would be another blackened and melted ruin buried by sand. Once again, humanity tore at itself, reducing it and all it had created to nothing.

"I wish I could be as single-minded as you are." Chiamaka said softly as her hands resumed packing the medical pouch.

Tolu paused for a moment.

'Single minded…' he thought to himself. 'I just don't want to die.' He turned to Chiamaka. Her brown hair was in a tight bun revealing a teardrop shaped face. Her features were soft and her cheeks smooth. Only her helmet was removed, but he knew the shape of the soft body underneath the thick protective patrol suit and its lead laced fibers.

Tolu shook his head. 'I don't want to see anyone else die either.'

"We'll get through this." He said softly to Chiamaka, then he changed his tone to the harsher military one reserved for giving orders. "Once you're packed, get Kwame for me. Tell him we move in 5."

"Yes Sergeant." Chiamaka nodded as the mechanical professionalism provided by her training hardened her features and optimized her movements.

Tolu headed into the back of the maintenance lodge, passing through the door that separated the office area from the workshop in the back. Kamau was bent over Tolu's patrol suit with a small annealing tool, closing the broken air seals with melted filaments of resin.

"Sergeant!" Kamau laughed as he saw Tolu come in. "Good'ta see you back on your feet. Gave us all a scare when you blew up the station."

"Glad to see you're in good spirits." Tolu muttered, then changed the subject. "How's my suit?"

"Fixed as much as it can be." Kamau shrugged. "I got the water recycling fixed, but the protective plates in your chest and back are cracked."

"So it won't stop as many bullets or blades as before." Tolu sighed. "Anything else I should know?"

"There's this air seal, but if it holds, you have nothing else to worry about." Kamau said as he put down the annealing tool and sealed the suit helmet on. An air tube ran out of the back of the helmet to a pump, and there was a whine as it began to fill the suit with air. The suit inflated like a balloon in a few seconds. Kamau then shut off the pump and then pulled out a massive drain pan filled with water from under the workbench. He submerged the entire suit, and the two of them stared at the pan for a few moments.

"Good." Kamau nodded to himself as no bubbles rose from the suit. "All better. You wanna put it on?"

"Yeah." Tolu nodded. "Help me in."

"Aye, Sergeant." Kamau nodded back.

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

"Thanks Kamau." Tolu said as he took his helmet from the larger man. "You ready to move?"

"Yah. Any time Sergeant." Kamau nodded, picking up his grenade launcher and Volkite Caliver from a shelf in the workshop. "Can't take any of the stuff from this workshop. All built into the building." He gestured to the various appliances he had been using earlier. Everything was connected to the wall via tubes or cables.

"Alright. Let's get back to Kwame and get ready to move." Tolu said as he put his helmet on. "I'm not too comfortable staying so close to where those things are."

"You think there're still some left?" Kamau said as he put his own helmet on.

Tolu paused for a moment. He knew there were more of the rotten creatures. The explosion hadn't killed them all. Most of them had simply been knocked back by the shockwave.

"... Better safe than sorry." Tolu said instead. "Now come on. Let's go."

"Aye, Sergeant."

Tolu's mind replayed the events in the station as he and Kamau walked out of the workshop and into the empty office space. The things started to become resistant to his Volkite beams the moment he noticed them resisting Mandla's. It was as if the very idea that their weapons wouldn't work against the creatures had infected him, passed along with the panic he felt from Mandla.

Logic told him such an idea was insane. But, logic didn't allow for things made of rotten skin and mashed up guts to move.

If his theory was correct, then it would be safer to say as little as possible of things. The less the others knew of what the things could or couldn't do, the better. That way, their weapons should work as well as they expect.

That was, if Mandla had kept his mouth shut.

Tolu bit back the tinge of irritation he felt to the youngest member of their squad. Then shook his head.

There was no point trying to fight those things anyway. There were too many to kill. It would be better to run away when possible.

The two men entered the kitchenette of the maintenance lodge, and saw 6 bags of various make stuffed with food and water. A couple rolled up magazines could also be seen shoved in between the straps. Chiamaka was standing by the far wall with her arms crossed while Kwame was tightening the straps on a backpack.

"Good news." Kwame said as he gave one final tug. "Someone here was gonna have a late night birthday party, so the entire place was stocked with snacks and other bites. Even found a bottle of Amasec." He tapped a glass bottle strapped to the side of the backpack. A birthday card was still tied to it with a ribbon.

"Kwame…" Tolu grimmaced.

"What?" Kwame shrugged. "It's not like they're going to come back for it."

Tolu sighed in response and grabbed two of the bags. "Kamau. Grab a bag for Fatima or Mandla. Let's go."

Kamau grabbed two bags with a frown. The petty thievery of a gift didn't sit right with him either. However, desertion carried a heavier penalty than minor looting.

Kwame shrugged and shouldered the backpack with the Amasec, then picked up a shoulder bag and handed it to Chiamaka. The medic also gave him a look through narrowed eyes before taking the bag.

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

Tolu pushed upon the door of the maintenance lodge. They were several hundred meters away from the collapsed end of the station. Fatima and Mandla were keeping watch in opposite directions.

The rail bridge they were on was wide enough to allow several pairs of tracks, and stretched off into the distance all the way to the center of Xozer. It was an open field with clear lines of sight in almost all directions. The only thing obstructing their view were the gray walls made of concrete, metal, and resin that bordered it on either side like guardrails.

"Fatima. Mandla. See anything?" Tolu asked as he handed one of the bags to Fatima.

"No Sergeant." Fatima reported, shouldering the bag. She then leaned in towards him, turning off her short range communicator and speaking to him by pressing her helmet against his so the vibrations could pass between their face plates. "Mandla's been awfully quiet ever since the station. Hasn't said anything actually."

"I'll talk to him." Tolu said quietly, then pulled away.

Mandla was taking a bag from Kamau, and the others were walking out of the maintenance lodge.

"Squad!" Tolu shouted and they stood to attention. "We are leaving the maintenance lodge and finding a place out on the bridges where we can secure clear lines of fire, while remaining hidden as possible. We also have some sort of hostiles inside the city as well, so keep your eyes wide. I want a herringbone formation. Fatima, Kwame. You two are in the front. Mandla, Chiamaka, I want you two in the middle. Mandla and I will take the rear."

Everyone in the squad saluted, and moved to their positions.

As they were walking down the tracks, Tolu opened a private channel with Mandla.

"You alright Mandla?" He said as he slowed his pace so the two of them marched side by side.

"It's… nothing." Mandla replied.

Tolu sighed internally. Mandla was the youngest of the squad, and the most cowardly. Ironic, given that 'mandla' meant 'strength' in one of the ancient Nord Afrik dialects. Perhaps that juxtaposition of his name and his nature further complicated the issue.

But, he was still part of Tolu's squad.

"Alright then." The sergeant said. "Then I'm just going to shoot the breeze here so feel free to jump in whenever you want." Tolu looked around to make sure everything was clear around them, then started talking. "I gave you an order and you followed that order to the letter. You did what you were supposed to do. That's all I can ask anyone in my squad. If you feel guilty for feeling relieved when I ordered you to run, then don't. Anyone would be scared from all of that."

"But you weren't, Sergeant." Mandla said suddenly. "You stood your ground, and even blew yourself up."

"Well, don't do what I did." Tolu huffed. "I don't recommend it. I've got weeks of chest pains and bruises to look forward to."

"But you still stood your ground. Why?"

'Why?' Tolu thought to himself. 'I'd like someone else to explain that to me…'

He himself hadn't had time to come to terms with what had just happened. In that adrenaline fuelled moment, he simply ordered and acted with his training and instincts. Now, without the overriding rush of his survival instincts, he could feel the clammy touch of fear creeping out of his memories and chilling his skin.

"I don't know." Tolu admitted. "I don't know why I did that, or even whether I'd be able to do the same thing again. But…" Tolu stepped towards Mandla and punched him lightly on the arm. "Don't go being a hero. That's the last thing I need. You're part of my squad, and if you get stuck somewhere trying to make-up for this, it becomes my job to pull you out. Okay? I'm the sergeant here. There's a reason I get paid more than you guys."

The two men let out a light laugh. The difference in their salaries wasn't that big, and it was a moot point anyway. With Xozer fallen and them having deserted their posts, the chances of them getting any pay at all was reduced to 0 twice. The joke wasn't really funny, so it was more an acknowledgement that humor had been displayed. Still, the sound seemed to lift the mood around them.

Then there was an explosion in the distance. Bluish-purple light began to rise from a section of the city several kilometers away.

"Dirty atomics." Tolu muttered, then switched to the squad wide channel. "Alright people, we're going into a high-rad zone from here on. Helmets on at all times, and take deep slow breaths to make your air last longer!"

"Patrol suits won't save us if we run near that, Sergeant." Kamau said. "Fallout dust could build up in random places. We need a Geiger-counter to navigate safely from here."

"Nearest one is probably the req-hall." Kwame replied. "We'll have to get off the bridge, but this place is a dead end now. Fallout will probably reach us in a few minutes. Our air will probably last us another couple hours, but we have no idea if the Urshite encirclement will be loose enough to escape through before then."

Tolu's teeth ground together in frustration. They had just been through hell to get up here. Now, they had to go back down into the compacted alleys of the city. They could run into the armored soldiers of Ursh down there, as well as other nightmares like the swarms of creatures in the station. But death approached them from above and below now; in the form of radioactive dust and monsters made of flesh or steel.

"Sergeant!" Fatima suddenly called out from the front. Tolu turned in her direction, just in time to see the massive distillation towers in the center of the city crumble. His gene-sculpted eyes saw rot and rust spread across the building, eating away at them from inside and out. Black clouds began to rise, spewing out of the punctured centrifuge buildings like a fountain of inky tar.

The entire squad was silent as they watched the artifacts that allowed the city to exist collapse. An immense sense of loss shot through them. Xozer had just committed suicide, rather than allow its treasures to be taken by the Urshite invaders. It was an act of spite that left a bitter taste in their mouths. Thousands of years of knowledge, research, and engineering had gone into those artifacts. Now, all that was left of them were rusted ruins and the black cloud rising above them.

Tolu stared up at the cloud, and watched it begin to rain down on the city.

At first it was only a small sound, barely noticeable amongst the cacophony of war. But every hair stood on end when Tolu realized the new sound filling the air.

Screams.

Bloodcurdling screams of uncountable numbers and painful magnitude came from the city. The sound of the unholy choir spilling their lungs out into the air was like the shriek of metal wheels on rails. Tolu's mind conjured up an image of an out of control train skidding to its dooms as its frantic conductor slammed the broken brakes repeatedly.

Tolu ran to the side of the bridge, and looked down at where the cloud had fallen.

"We have to get off the bridge, now!" Tolu shouted. He could see the blackness spreading outwards, revealing itself to be composed of countless insects of all kinds. Locusts, flies, beetles, and moths were descending upon the city. New screams rose wherever they fell.

"Where?" Kamau yelled back. "The station is buried, and we're too high up to jump."

"What about the maintenance lodge?" Mandla said.

"Won't work." Kwame shook his head as he and Fatima joined the others near the side of the bridge. "Building codes require all workshops to be well ventilated. We need someplace that can be sealed airtight."

"Then we need to find a hab tower." Chiamaka said nervously, eyeing the approaching cloud. "The hab towers need to be able to seal themselves whenever the winds blow in from the rad-wastes or the Europa border. Hopefully their air seals can keep those things out."

"Wherever we're going to go, we need to get there fast." Fatima warned. "I give us twenty minutes before that shit's all over us."

"We'll have to use our grappling hooks again." Tolu shouted back. "We'll find the tallest building possible, and drop down over it as far as we can go." He pointed at a pillar shaped like a cylindrical pillar with several boxy structures atop of it. "That one. That's the tallest one closest to us."

"That's still a drop of several meters." Chiamak muttered as she looked down as well.

"It'll have to do. Come on! Let's go!" Tolu yelled as he began to run along the bridge until they were directly above it. "Remember. Slow descent." He said as the rest of the squad followed him. "Go too quickly, and you'll snap the cable. When you hit the ground, drop and roll!"

He turned back to his squad once they were directly over the building.

"Kamau. Ditch the grenade launcher and ammo. It's just extra weight from here. Fatima. Take his pack. You're the lightest and he's the heaviest. Kwame, take his weapon."

The three carried out his orders. Kamau was the largest and heaviest of them. Hene, he was the one who's cable would be strained the most. There was no way to know exactly how far a single cable could sustain any of their weights, but leaving one of their own behind wasn't an option.

'Ironic.' Tolu thought to himself as he fired his grappling hook into the train bridge's wall. 'We abandon the city, yet not each other.' The punishment for desertion, as well as the immorality and dishonor of the act itself was beaten into him as well as every other soldier. Deserters were said to be scum, only out to save their own skin.

'I don't feel a single spec of remorse leaving this city, but not once have I thought of leaving anyone behind.'

This place was a place of lies. Its history was based upon a myth, and the spiritual rot brought on by that fake superiority complex had begun to manifest itself in reality.

Tolu shook his head, and turned to his squad to make sure they too were ready to make the drop. This was not the time to ponder philosophical thoughts. Perhaps the fear was beginning to tire his mind out; disassociating from the things around him and looking within itself.

Tolu shook his head again, bringing himself back to the problem at hand. 'Focus.' He said to himself. He was a more practical man than this.

"Remember! Slow descent! Drop and roll when you hit the ground!" He reminded his squad again.

" "Aye/Yes, Sergeant!" " They all said back as they placed their weapons around their neck and shoulders on slings.

Tolu nodded, then stretched out his left arm to its full length. "Alright! Drop!" He ordered, and they stepped off the bridge. There was a moment of weightlessness. He heard the wind rushing past as he fell below the bridge wall, then his body was snapped back by the cable. He grunted as he felt the supports built into his suit dig into his armpit as all of his weight concentrated there. Seconds passed as they slowly stopped swinging to and fro. Now, they dangled from the bridge like silkworms hanging by a thread.

Slowly, their cables began to lengthen, dropping them downwards towards the cylindrical building. There was a raised metal hatch on the roof, angled diagonally to allow water or dust to fall off of it with gravity. It was about one and a half meters long and maybe 90 cm wide.

The boxy structures on top were bee hives. He could see various planters and plant pots on the balconies of the floors below, and flowering vines were wrapped around the base of the building.

"Shit's getting awful close Sergeant." Fatima called out.

Tolu grimaced. The black cloud was getting closer and closer. He could hear the buzzing of wings and the scritch scratch of hairy insect legs rubbing together.

"We're almost there!" Tolu shouted back. "Keep still and drop slowly!" He wasn't sure whether he was talking to them or reminding himself. The cloud was only a few kilometers away. Focussing his eyes upon it exposed his mind to the mass of insects that formed it, bringing up bile from his guts. Yet, pulling back from it and seeing it as a whole froze his insides. He could see the cloud swallowing entire buildings and engulfing the train bridge like a thick fog. It was as if the blackness of the night sky had come alive, turning into a massive amoeba. Millions of hair-like pseudopodia wrapped around anything it touched, smothering them before digestion.

Tolu's cable began to groan, and he thought he heard the twanging of snapping fibers. Tolu checked the others, and made sure they were at the same elevation as he was.

"Get ready!" Tolu called out, positioning his Volkite Caliver across his stomach with its sling so it would be parallel to the ground.

Tolu tensed as he felt the cable give, then dropped as it snapped. He positioned his feet shoulder width apart and bent his knees as the building roof hurtled towards him. He kicked forward the moment he felt his toes touch the ground, attempting to convert the pull of gravity into a forwards motion. He rolled, then there was a crashing sound. His vision grew bleary; consciousness wavering from the pain of the impact and the shock of slamming into something. He looked around and saw the remains of wood and beeswax around him. His forward roll had sent him into one of the bee hives. He tensed instinctively, preparing to be assaulted by hordes of stinging insects but nothing came. Looking down, he saw all of the occupants of the bee house were dead. Tufts of white fungus grew out of their joints, and small mushrooms were growing out of multiple hexagonal cells.

"Sound off!" Tolu shouted, groggily getting to his feet.

"Medic here." Chiamaka groaned.

"Pointman here." Fatima shouted, unshouldering Kamau's bag of supplies and tossing it to the big man who was nursing a sore shoulder on the floor.

"RM one here." Mandla called out.

"RM two here." Kwame said as he checked his bag for the bottle of Amasec, and nodded to himself seeing it wasn't broken.

"Grenadier here." Kamau muttered, still rubbing his shoulder. "And give me my weapon Kwame." He growled.

Kwame unslung Kamau's Volkite Caliver and handed it to him before offering a hand to help him up.

Tolu let his squad pick themselves off the roof as he jogged over to the hatch. He put in the administrative passcode given to all soldiers, only to have the lock beep angrily at him.

"Shit." He cursed quietly, and held down three numbers simultaneously for a few seconds. A window with lines and lines of numbers popped up with the numbers 302 displayed on the second to last line.

"SHIT!" Tolu swore. "Kwame! Get over here!"

"Problem with the lock?" The man said as he jogged up to the sergeant.

"We've got a 302." Tolu growled as he moved out of the way so Kwame could take a look at the logs on the screen. "Someone redirected the building's networks to a different server."

Kwame took a look and sighed. "Server address looks to be local. It's probably in the building. Someone must have set-up the redirect so the building's system wouldn't re-ping the network when they took it offline."

"Fuck." Fatima swore as the rest of the squad moved in around the hatch. "That means our passcodes won't work."

"For the moment." Kwame nodded. "City network would sniff this sort of trick in a couple hours. Redirects are only used when something has to be taken offline for maintenance. Smugglers like to use this trick to keep people out of their business dealings. Handovers of goods, haggling. Anything they only need a short amount of privacy for."

Tolu looked at the approaching cloud. They had another 10 or so minutes at best. "Any idea how to get through this?" He asked.

Kwame shook his head. "Nothing we can do from here. If command was still up we could have them ping the building. That's assuming it's still physically connected to the city network. If they've cut all physical connections, then you're going to need a battering ram or a blow torch to get in."

Tolu shook his head. "If we cut our way through, we breach the air seals of the building. Plus, if someone disconnected this building from the network, that means there are people still inside."

"We're worrying about the people of the city now?" Kwame snorted.

Tolu was silent for a moment. They were deserters. Whatever responsibility they had to the city was gone the moment they left their post. Everyone in this city might as well be an enemy to them.

He took a look back at the approaching cloud.

"We ring." Tolu said. "If we don't get an answer in 5 minutes we cut open the door."

Kwame stepped out of the way as Tolu pressed the digital buzzer button on the keypad.

Seconds passed, and the buzzing sound of insects grew ever louder. The squad pointed their weapons at the door, preparing to cut their way through the metal and glass.

"Who are you?!" A male voice suddenly blared out from the speakers.

"We're part of the Xozer defense force." Tolu replied. "Open the hatch."

"The defense force? What in the world are you doing up there?"

"Listen, we don't have time to chit chat here!" Tolu yelled back. "There are hostiles closing in. Now open the hatch!"

"Hostiles? Why do you think that hatch was locked in the first place! Find somewhere else to take your problems. We've got hostiles of our own here!"

Tolu grimaced. They were running out of time, and the occupants were less than cooperative. He gave a look over at Fatima and she shouldered her Volkite Caliver, preparing to fire into the door to cut through it.

"Tolu! Wait!" Kwame suddenly shouted. "Hey, is that you Hadidi?"

"Kwame? That you?" The voice adopted a friendlier tone as soon as Kwame's voice was heard.

"Yeah! It's me!" Kwame shouted back. "Let us in!"

"Hold on a minute." Hadidi replied. "We put a barricade up there as well. It's gonna take a while to move it out of the way. Just stay there."

The intercom went silent for a while, then they heard the sound of feet running up steps followed by the slow screech of something heavy being pulled across a floor.

"Friend of yours?" Tolu asked as he lowered his weapon.

"Remember the black market traders I was talking about?" Kwame said. "That's one of them."

"Thought they all left by now." Fatima said as she lowered her weapon as well.

"Must have gotten stuck here for some reason." Kwame shrugged. "Let's just thank our lucky stars for this break."

"I'm more worried about what they said about a barricade." Chiamaka spoke cautiously.

Tolu looked back at the remains of one of the bee hives, and the fungus that grew out of the insects. "Keep your eyes peeled." He warned. "We might not be alone here."

Several minutes passed uneventfully. The squad was in a box formation around the hatch with their weapons shouldered. They could still hear Hadidi and whoever else was in the building working to clear the way, but the hatch still remained closed.

"Sergeant, we're running out of time." Fatima said as she eyed the approaching cloud.

"Too late to cut our way through." Tolu replied. "We have to hold this position."

Suddenly, there was the tearing sound of velcro, and the squad turned to see Kwame pulling out the bottle of Amasec he had taken from the maintenance lodge.

"Whadda you doing Kwame?" Kamau asked, expressing the question all of them were thinking.

"Relax. I'm not getting this out to drink." Kwame said as he pulled out a book from his bag of supplies. "It's a 170 proof bottle of alcohol. The flash point is below room temperature. Unscrew the bottle, plug in some paper for a fuse, and we've got ourselves a homemade fire bomb." Kwame worked as he spoke, raising the makeshift molotov cocktail when he was finished.

"You think a little fire is going to keep us safe?" Fatima snorted.

"Better than nothing." Kwame shrugged.

Tolu looked up at the cloud of insects, let out a breath and then tightened his jaw.

"Alright squad, hostiles are in range! Weapon's free! Fire! Fire!"

Yellow-ish orange beams cut through the incoming cloud, opening holes that they widened by sweeping their weapons up and down, left and right.

The cloud began to surround them, and the droning of insectile wings drowned out all other sounds. Their Volkite beams continued to tear through the darkness, slowly forming an indentation within the cloud that descended upon them.

The hatch behind them hissed, then opened outwards.

"Get in!" A man wrapped in several layers of clothes cried out.

"Fatima! Kwame! Go!" Tolu ordered.

The two stopped firing, and ran down the stairs in the hatch. The swirling masses of insects drew closer, now only a dozen meters away.

"Clear!" Fatima called back.

"Kamau! Chiamaka! Go!" Tolu cried out.

Two more Vokite Calivers stopped firing, and the sphere carved out by their beams shrank again. Now, only the continuous fire from Mandla's and Tolu's weapons held the insects back.

Tolu grimaced. The insects would swarm them the moment they stopped firing. One person couldn't cover enough angles to maintain the perimeter, but the hatch was too thin to allow both of them to step back through it. Whoever stepped through the hatch last would have to face the blackness alone.

"Sergeant! Go!" Mandla shouted. "They need you more than me!"

"Shut up Mandla!" Tolu yelled back. Their timing would have to be perfect in order to retreat through the hatch safely.

"Hurry!" Hadidi shouted from the hatch. "They're surrounding you!"

Tolu looked down on the floor, and saw worms and maggots crawling across it. He swore, but couldn't bring his weapon down to burn them. It was all he could do to keep the flying insects at bay.

Suddenly there was a blur of movement beside him. Mandla was charging into the swarm, firing his weapon as he went. The insects around them followed him, swooping in on his exposed back and away from Tolu and the hatch.

"Mandla!" Tolu shouted after the rapidly vanishing figure of the youngest member of his squad. "Mandla!" He shouted again, as the silhouette began to vanish in the blackness.

Something bright flew past his head at that moment, and shattered on the ground. The chime like note of splintering glass was followed by the fwoosh of rapidly expanding flames. Then the electric hum of Volkite Calivers came as the rest of the squad came back out of the hatch.

"Grab the kid!" Kwame yelled at him as the other 4 members re-expanded the perimeter of safety with yellow-ish orange beams of energy.

Tolu ran towards Mandla. The heat and light of the fire bomb had driven away the insects that had surrounded him, but he just stood there, seeming to be in shock.

"Come here!" Tolu yelled, grabbing the man by the arm and violently dragging him back to the hatch. He cursed internally. They were back to square one and down a man. The flames from Kwame's improvised fire bomb were already starting to die out, and there were more insects than before. Their weapon's fire couldn't keep up.

As his mind raced to find a solution, a giant figure in a white bodysuit with a mesh faceguard stepped out of the hatch. "Get behind me!" A deep grizzled voice said, then he raised a massive tube attached to a series of tanks on his towards the swarm. White smoke began to spray upwards into the cloud of insects, and the swarms' movements slowed. "Get a move on!" The man said, and Tolu's squad jumped down the hatch.

Once they were all through, the man too stepped backwards through the hatch, continuously spraying smoke as he went. Another figure in a white suit hit a switch on the inside of the hatch, and it swung shut and there was a heavy thunk as locking bolts and air seals slammed into place.

"Tfou…" The man in the beekeeper suit cursed, expressing his disgust in an ancient dialect. "You alright?" He said as he took off the mesh faceguard and attached hood. A thick curly beard covered a square jawed Arabic face. Both of his ears were disfigured and wrinkled, like heads of cauliflower.

"Yeah. Thanks." Tolu replied, panting. He could taste blood in the back of his throat. Running to get Mandla and the shouting before that had irritated his bruised lungs. "I'm sergeant Tolu Abdullahi."

"Nasir Al-Karar." The man answered with his own name. "If you'll excuse me, we have other problems to deal with. Hadidi. They're your responsibility." The man turned, taking the other figure in the beekeeper suit with him. Tolu's eyes caught a red white and black sign of a skull and crossbones on their backpack tanks.

"Looks like it's my turn to pull you out of trouble, eh Kwame?" Hadidi said as he slapped Kwame on the arm while Tolu watched the two in white walks down the stairs. They were on a wide landing above several flights of stairs. Lights lit the area brightly, and there was a pile of various pieces of furniture shoved to one side. The beige floor tiles were scarred white, bearing the drag marks of various table legs and other sharp corners.

"Seems like it." Kwame shrugged then turned to the rest of the squad. "This is Hadidi. He's a smuggler from Europa. Crosses the Atlan wastes and comes up over the old western cliffs."

"And why is he here?" Fatima asked pointedly.

Hadidi raised an eyebrow at her tone, and looked over at Kwame.

"This is Fatima. Our pointman." Kwame said.

"Ah, that explains the anger." Hadidi shrugged, dropping the cautious look on his face. "I was taking one final job, but the war got here before I could finish preparing. I've been the guest of my client ever since, although I do provide some technical services to earn my keep."

"So the lock was your handiwork?" Kamau grumbled.

"Kamau. Our grenadier." Kwame continued the introductions. "That's our medic Chiamaka, the squad leader Tolu, and that bouzbal on the floor is Mandla."

"Pleasure to meet all of you." Hadidi bowed. "And yes, it was I who locked the doors. My client wanted to make sure the building was safe from those outside."

"And what about this talk of hostiles?" Chiamaka asked. "Are there enemies in the building?"

"It's quicker if I show you." Hadidi said as he turned towards the stairs, then turned back towards them. "Kwame. My client let you and your friends in partially because you have better weapons than they do. But, that's also why we didn't let you in the first place. Don't make me regret vouching for you."

"We'll keep that in mind." Tolu answered instead. Nasir was no stranger to violence. His burly physique and disfigured ears showed the hardship he had been through.

The 7 of them began to walk down the stairs. Tolu gave Mandla a once over and simply told him to follow. There would be a better time to dress him down for his suicidal heroism. They were still in danger at the moment.

"Where are the other occupants of the building?" Fatima asked.

"You'll see them." Hadidi replied. He wrapped several layers of thick cloth over his face, only leaving his eyes exposed.

They stepped off of the stairs onto another landing which led to several apartments. All of the doors were open, allowing them to see inside. Various bags containing cans, ration bars, and water were stacked up, as if the occupants had been packing for a long trip for some time.

"There were a lot of sick people here. Lot of farm hands who came running from the outer colonies came back to live with their families, and they brought a sickness with them." Hadidi said as they went down the next flight of stairs. "At first they thought it was just the shock of losing everything. A temporary depression of their mood and mind. But when their bodies began to turn pale, and the smallest wounds gangrenous, they knew it was something else. Nasir and the other people who were still healthy quarantined the infected in their own homes. They didn't report what happened to the city out of fear of being locked in here with them. It was around this time Nasir contacted me. He wanted me to get his family out of the city. It was a matter of time before the city found out what happened, and he wanted his family to be out of here when they did." Hadidi sighted. "I don't deal in people. It's too messy and the punishment for getting caught is a lot worse. But, Nasir is a good customer. I made an exception for him. Unfortunately, being unused to this, it took longer than usual for me to make the preparations. That's how I got trapped here."

"What does this have to do with the hostiles?" Chiamaka asked pointedly, irritated by the roundabout way the story was going.

Hadidi stopped at one of the apartments. The door was locked, but typing in a passcode opened it. "A few hours ago, the sick stood up again and began attacking everyone they could. Insects spilled out of their mouths with every breath, and a single scratch would rot your flesh." He opened the door, and led the squad into the apartment. The smell of sterilization agents and cleaning alcohol wafted out of it. The living room had been converted into a make-shift operating theater. On the dining table was a rotted corpse. Its hands and feet had been nailed to the wood. The hair had sloughed off with the body's scalp, revealing yellowed bone. Cataract eyes stared at them upside down from the lolling head.

The squad paused for a moment, unsure what the body had to do with anything, then it moved. Its mouth opened and closed, while it arched its back trying to pull its hands and feet off of the nails.

"This is one of the first who turned. We managed to pin him down, and even tried to find a cure at first. Then the rest of the sick started attacking us. We used up most of the weapons I had prepared for the journey across the Atlan wastes fighting them off. Even then, almost everyone in the building was infected." Hadidi said bitterly, glaring at the moving corpse. Then motioned for the rest of them to leave.

"Did you kill the rest?" Tolu asked as Hadidi shut the door of the apartment behind them.

"If only it were that easy." Hadidi snorted. "Tell me, how do you kill something that is already dead?" He didn't wait for Tolu to answer as he descended down the next flight of steps. "I have seen many things in the wastes. Technobarbarians cannibals. Ancient weapons powered by Abominable Intelligences. Gene-monstrosities that worm their way into your mind. Yet, I have never seen a corpse move." The next landing they arrived at was occupied by Nasir and two more individuals in beekeeper suits. They were spraying the pesticides from earlier down the stairwell, filling the floors below with poison gas. The stairs themselves were blocked by beds, desks, tables, and other furniture. "We barricaded the stairs, and secured ourselves in the upper levels." Hadidi said. "We're safe for now, but food and water are limited here. On top of that, there's that swarm of insects outside. I'm not sure how much time we have left."

Hadidi turned to the soldiers, as if to say that there was nothing else to say.

Tolu looked down at his feet.

Another dead end. Another place without rest. It felt like the city itself was trying to tell him that escape was impossible. Even in death, they would join the walking corpses and wander the cadaver of Xozer like maggots in fetid meat.

Tolu shook his head.

"Do you have a way out of the city?" He asked instead.

"I did…" Hadidi sighed. "Although all the fighting and insanity going on outside has probably rendered it unusable."

Chills began to creep up his legs, and he felt it clamber upon his back.

No hope.

No escape.

No rest.

"Tolu?" Chiamaka said to him, and he felt her hand placed on his back.

The chill receded where he felt her touch, as if her body heat melted it away. It was physically impossible for that to happen. The padding of his suit and her glove ensured they were insulated from each other. Yet, he felt warmth spread from the point of contact between her hand and his back.

He turned back to Chiamaka and gave her a reassuring nod.

"My squad and I are going to get out of the city." Tolu replied. "Do you want to come with us?"

"You want to go back outside?" Hadidi snorted. "I've seen what those insects can do to you. The walking corpses exhale them with every breath. The corpse you saw is only safe because it was drowned in insecticides and antiseptics. Believe me, it would be better to jump off the roof than let those insects take you."

"But we can't stay here either." Tolu replied. "You said so yourself. You have no idea how long we have left."

Hadidi remained silent, so Tolu continued.

"Our weapons can hold those swarms back temporarily. If we move fast enough, we may be able to keep on cutting a path through the insects."

"And where would we go?" Hadidi asked. "The swarms spread across the city, but there is no guarantee they will stop at its limits. Even if it did stop at the outermost walls, that's several dozen kilometers of open ground without cover that we will have to cross."

Tolu remained silent for a while. What was said was true. There was no guarantee that the swarms had not swallowed the entire world. Yet, he met Hadidi's gaze when he answered.

"You may be right. There may be no escape outside. But, I do not know that for certain. What I do know is that at this moment, we are on borrowed time. Whether it is the food, or the water, or even the very walls and windows of this building itself, something will give out. We cannot stay here. We must move on."

The two men locked eyes, then Hadidi let out an amused snort.

"I'm just a smuggler." He said. "But, I've seen many many things in the wastes and various cities across the globe. You don't survive this long in this trade by being still. We are on borrowed time, but the decision to move is not mine to make." Hadidi gestured to the burly man in the beekeeper suit. "Nasir is my client, and it is he who decides whether to leave or not."

"Awfully loyal for a simple smuggler." Fatima snorted.

"Perhaps." Hadidi shrugged. "It is my way of drawing a line between being a man and becoming a monster." He pulled his sleeve up a bit, revealing metal components embedded in his flesh. "Now, go to Nasir. He will probably want your help holding back the dead. Although, you'll have to deal with them anyway if you wish to leave this place. They have taken over the bottom floors, after all"

"Alright." Tolu nodded. I'll talk to Nasir. In the meantime, could you get my squad a place to rest? We've got our own food and water. We just need someplace to sit."

"I'll take them to one of the open apartments. There should be plenty of room. Only Nasir, his wife, and his daughter are left."

"Thank you." Tolu nodded, then motioned for the rest of his squad to follow Hadidi. He turned towards Nasir as his squad went back up the stairs

"Nasir?" He spoke to the large man's back.

"Just a moment." He said as he sprayed a mote of bugs that had risen above the pesticide mist filling the lower floors "Layla. Keep smoking them." He said, allowing the second figure in the beekeeper suit to smoke the floors below. "I overheard what you said to Hadidi." Nasir said.

"And your answer?" Tolu asked.

Nasir sighed then motioned for Tolu to follow him. They walked over to a couch set up on the landing. Nasir sat there while Tolu stood before him. "Tell me Tolu. What happened to the other soldiers?" He asked suddenly.

Tolu grimaced beneath his face mask. "I don't know." He said truthfully.

"Of course you don't." Nasir snorted. "You are a deserter. No normal soldier would appear on the roof of a building at random. Command wouldn't order something so outlandish. So, you were there without orders." Nasir removed his helmet, revealing his rugged face underneath the mesh mask. "And you were without orders because you deserted your post." He glared at Tolu for a moment.

Tolu returned the look stoically.

He had deserted his post.

He had left the other soldiers to die.

He had allowed the enemy to get past him and into the city.

But, there was no guilt there. He had done what was needed to keep himself and his squad alive. If there had still been a chain of command, and a concrete plan to protect the city, he might have stayed. Yet, there was nothing. There was no reason given to him to stand at the wall and serve.

So he left. That was all.

However, that was all sophistry. The fact of the matter was, he was still a deserter. He could not refute the accusation that he had run to save his own life. So, the only thing he could do was stand by his decision.

No guilt. No shame. No regret.

Finally Nasir snorted and broke eye contact.

"Stay calm." He said, waving his hand. "One time I would have cared very much about that fact. Now, not so much." He sighed and leaned back on the couch, staring up at the landing above them.. "Two of my sons were in the defense force." He said suddenly. "You would not know them. They were out guarding the outer colonies. I have received notice of their deaths several days ago."

"I am sorry for your loss." Tolu replied.

"Forty years I worked for this city." Nasir almost whispered. "First as a farmhand, then as an overseer."

Tolu listened patiently. The extreme nature of the situation they were in had overstressed Nasir's mind. Cracks were showing in his psyche, revealing the more vulnerable parts of his soul.

"I rose up the ranks with age, married, and had a family. I even set up a couple of bee hives to enjoy as a hobby for my retirement." Nasir spilled his thoughts, unburdening himself of the loss and despair.

"Now it is all gone." He said finally, resigned and exhausted.

There was a pause between them for a moment. Finally, Tolu broke it.

"What are you going to do?"

Would he sit here in despair until the monsters outside and inside overwhelmed them?

Nasir snorted and looked back at Tolu. "I'm not dying here like some rat trapped in a box." He spat out. "You want to get out of the city? Fine. We'll join you. But, listen well." He growled. "My family comes first. They are all that matter to me."

"Fine." Tolu nodded. "I may have abandoned my post, but I'm still a soldier."

He had no lofty ideals of protecting and serving, but that did not mean he was without morals. He was a soldier, but not because he had to. There were other occupations his genetics could have got him, but in the end this was the one he chose.

Truth be told, his younger self had joined mostly for the adventure. It was a chance to see the world outside the walls, and escape from the boring monotony of everyday life.

But, even after witnessing what was out there, he stayed. Even as some of his compatriots left the force and returned to the fields, he stayed.

'Why?' He thought to himself.

Was it fear? The fear of one day facing the things outside the walls without a weapon?

…or was it some heroic aspiration that he still had from his younger days?

"Good." Nasir said. "But before that, I need your help clearing out the dead. Hadidi showed you the one in the apartment?"

"He did." Tolu replied, cutting short his introspection.

"One of my neighbors was a doctor. She tried to treat them." Nasir said tiredly. "Her corpse is probably shuffling around on the lower floors with the others. End their suffering."

"We will." Tolu nodded.

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

Tolu separated from Nasir in order to talk with the rest of his squad. He needed to speak with Mandla about his actions.

After that, they would have to organize a meeting with Nasir and his family in order to deal with the dead.

His squad was resting in one of the apartments. Fatima was checking their weapons at the dining table with Kamau. Kwame was checking the supplies making a list of what was in each bag. Chiamaka sat in one of the corners with Mandla and an unfamiliar woman. Hadidi was behind her, watching them all.

Tolu approached the three, and they turned towards him.

"You are Tolu, I guess." The woman said as he approached.

"Yes, and you are?"

"Aya. I am Nasir's wife and Layla's birth mother." She stood and bowed slightly. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Likewise." Tolu bowed back. "Can I speak with Mandla for a moment?"

"Of course." Aya replied. "If you would like some privacy, the room in the back is free."

"Thank you. Mandla. Come with me."

The two of them left the group. Tolu shut the door behind them, then motioned for Mandla to sit.

"So…" He started out. "How're you feeling?"

"I'm…" Mandla paused. "... fine." He said.

"Right." Tolu sighed. "If you don't want to talk about it, then just listen to me for a bit." He leaned back a bit and took in a deep breath.

"You're one of my squad. Even if we deserted and there's no worry about court marshals or demotions, that hasn't changed." He put a hand on Mandla's shoulder. "I told you before, I don't need you to be a hero."

"But, was there any other way back then?" Mandla suddenly replied.

"What?" Tolu's brow furrowed.

"It was just the two of us out there. You're the squad leader. You're the one who makes sure everyone works together. In that situation, isn't your life more important than mine?"

Tolu remained silent for a while. When he spoke next, his voice bordered on a growl. "Do you want to die, Mandla?"

Mandla shied away from Tolu, wilting under his gaze like a dying flower.

"I don't know. Ever since the station, I keep seeing things, thinking things." He whispered. "I keep thinking about what happens when I die. Will I be forgotten? Will there be anything left?" His pupils widened as he spoke, eyes glazing over. "When I dove into the insects, I was afraid. But, at the same time, I was relieved."

Tolu let out a long sigh, then grabbed Mandla by his collar and slammed him into the nearest wall.

"Mandla." He said quietly. "What you're saying makes you a scumbag. You know that right?"

What Mandla had attempted was suicide, not self-sacrifice. He had wanted his death to have some purpose, so he ran into the first opportunity that presented itself to him. Yet, that was a selfish act. To wish for his death to have some meaning meant inflicting trauma and guilt on those he left behind.

"I… I can't help it." Mandla sniffled. "If I have to die, I don't want to die in vain."

Tolu took in another deep breath to calm himself, then let go of Mandla's collar and collapsed onto a nearby stool.

"If you wanted to die with honor, you should have stayed on that wall." He said dryly. "There is no honor with death. Even when the city was still standing all you got was your name on a plaque, and maybe a small state funeral. Now, there won't even be that." He let out another sigh. "There will be nothing left of this city, or the people who died trying to defend it. Death is meaningless."

Mandla slid down the wall, as his legs bent like deflating pistons. "Then what should I do?" He said as he lay slumped on the floor. "I'm the weakest link here. I don't want to be a burden."

Tolu snorted at that.

"You think the rest of the squad out there is strong? Each one of them has their own issues. I have my own issues."

Tolu knew all of their issues. It was his job to do so. Fatima had anger issues, and suffered from PTSD from the firefights she had survived. Kwame coped with his problems by engaging in mild kleptomania outside the squad. Kamau was weak to peer pressure, and Chiamaka shut her heart to almost everyone else after seeing so many die in her line of work.

"Nobody is asking you to be strong." Tolu said, standing up from the stool. "Stick with the team, and holler when you see or hear anything strange. That's all we can do for eachother." He leant down and extended a hand to Mandla. "We need you, Mandla. Don't go dying on us."

Mandla sniffled, then reached up and grabbed Tolu's hand and allowed his squad leader to pull him up from the ground.

"Mandla." Tolu said sternly in his harsher military tone. "You will follow me and my orders." He ordered.

Mandla blinked once, tightened his features, and saluted. "Yes, Sergeant!"

Tolu nodded, then gave the younger man a slap on the arm. "Come on. We've got work to do."

As the two exited the room, Kwame turned around to face them.

"Had your little talk, Mandla?" He called out.

"... Yes." Mandla replied nervously.

"Good." Kwame smiled. "Because you owe me a bottle of Amasec."

"You and your Amasec." Fatima snorted as she worked on one of their Volkite Calivers.

"Don't doubt the power of a good drink." Kwame huffed at her, then turned back towards Mandla. "And don't think you'll be out of this debt by kicking the bucket. I'll come down there and kick your arse if you do, honest."

Mandla looked surprised for a moment, then laughed. "Then I better keep an eye out for a bottle then."

The rest of the squad laughed lightly. The joke wasn't funny. There was no punchline. But, they laughed a little just so there would be no awkward silence. The atmosphere in the room lightened a bit, warmed by their mirth.

"Alright people." Tolu ordered. "We've got work to do and we need a plan to do it."

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

Tolu and his squad met up with Nasir and Aya to plan the purging of the lower floors.

Now Nasir and Kamau, the two biggest men, were pulling apart the barricade on the stairs. Layla continued spraying pesticides down the stairwell to keep the bugs away, while Hadidi and Tolu stood behind Nasir and Kamau with long poles made from broken bed frames.

The rest of the Squad stood back several meters away from the four in front, while Aya stood behind them with a fire extinguisher.

"Not much left." Nasir grunted as he lifted a chest of drawers and threw it over the banister. They could hear the wood shattering as it smashed against the stairwell before being obliterated on the ground floor.

"Remember, once they start coming through, just turn and run." Tolu reminded the two.

Suddenly, the barricade began to creak as something started pushing from the other side.

"Fallback!" Tolu ordered as he and Hadidi moved forwards, ready to shove the dead back if they broke through with their poles. Volkite beams detonate their targets, meaning they could not shoot the dead while the two removing the barricade were near them. It was their job to buy Nasir and Kamau time to get to cover while remaining at a relatively safe distance.

A hole opened in the barricade as stacked dressers and tables began to splinter apart. Rotting hands reached out, and deep death rattles echoed out of it like the baritone croaks of a thousand toads.

"Go! Go!" Tolu shouted at the two of them as the rest of the barricade crumbled. They passed him, and he threw his pole at the approaching dead, knocking several of them back and blocking the stairs with their bodies. He turned back and ran up to the stairs, and dove into the entrance of an apartment. "Fire!" He yelled, and Volkite beams shot down the stairs.

There was an explosion, and the building's fire alarms began to scream. Some of the sprinklers in the stairwell turned on, and Tolu heard the sizzling of water on flames.

"Alright, plan phase 2!" He called out. "Nasir. Hadidi. Stay here with Layla and Aya. Kamau, come with me."

The two soldiers returned to their squads, and recovered their weapons.

"Alright squad! Remember the plan! We're going into CQB with unsure footing. I want two pairs and two on overwatch on the landing directly above us at all times. Fatima, Chiamaka, that's you two. Remember, we'll be working with only the laser component of our Volkite Calivers, but the heat will still boil any target we hit. Keep your distance."

" "Aye/Yes, Sergeant!" " They answered back.

Tolu and Kamau began to descend the left side of the stairwell, with Kwame and Mandla walking down the right. Tolu and Kwame were the pointmen, while the others were the wingmen. Each wingman braced their weapon against the point man's upper arm or shoulder, ensuring they couldn't accidentally hit their paired partner.

The stairwell was cracked, and blackned. The metal banister had been shredded apart, and splinters of wood and lay scattered around where the barricade had been. There were a few pulverized bodies, smashed by the pressure wave that lay collapsed further down the stairs.

Tolu fired the laser component of his Vokite Caliver in short bursts, burning a hole through each joint and the head. They couldn't be sure the corpses were dead, and they couldn't burn them with the fire extinguishers overhead. The next best thing was to disable them.

Water slicked the stairs, forcing them to make each step slowly and carefully. Like fencers gauging their distance, they moved forwards step by step.

They slowed as they came to the first apartment, and Tolu lowered his weapon slightly, hiding his profile as Kamau moved up beside him and turned 90 degrees sideways. The larger man's elbow moved in front of Tolu's, as they prepared to expose themselves out of cover while they moved past the door.

Kamau's elbow shoved Tolu backwards. A flinch-reaction transferred from his body pushed Tolu back, just in time to avoid something pink and fleshy blur past their heads.

A tongue. A massive tongue had just whipped right passed them from inside the apartment.

"Contact!" Kamau yelled a moment later.

"Back up!" Tolu ordered, and they stepped away from the apartment. They could hear the squelch of soggy feet approaching them over the fire alarms.

A cracked horn appeared first. Rot brown and sickly white, it resembled a dead tree, then the rest of the creature crawled out from the apartment. Misshapen, slumped, and covered in weeping boils, a one-eyed four legged thing appeared. It looked like a toad; bloated in appearance with a huge mouth.

Red laser fire rained down from above, burning holes in its already mottled complexion, as Fatima and Chiamaka began to suppress the creature. Tolu and the other three retreated backwards up the stairs, carefully but quickly.

The toad shivered and scratched at its pockmarked face with its forearms under the laser fire. Then it jerked backwards, its single eyeball exploded from a direct shot from Fatima.

"Clear!" Tolu shouted as he and the others retreated far enough away from the toad, and the red lasers raining down on the toad were replaced by beams of yellow-ish orange. There was a flash of light, and the roar of an explosion, then there was nothing. Glowing partially melted concrete was all that remained of the toad.

"Alright people, form up!" Tolu shouted. And the squad retook their positions.

They were only half-way down to the next floor.

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

Tolu's squad cleared out the rest of the apartments in similar fashion. The entire operation took about two hours. The dead and the toads hid in the apartments, waiting in ambush, but they cleared each room without casualty.

The insects spawned from the corpses were either burned by their lasers, or died in the pesticides, finally freeing Layla from her constant vigil.

Now, Hadidi, Nasir, and his family stood across from Tolu's squad in one of the apartments. Both sides were bent over a map of the city spread across a dining table.

"We saw Cherenkov radiation west of this location." Tolu said, pointing to the sector they saw bluish-purple light rising from the dirty atomics. "You don't have any radiation proof clothing here, so whatever route we take it'll have to avoid this entire area." He drew a circle around the map that covered the shortest routes to the city wall.

"Then the only route left is to the east." Hadidi muttered.

"But that creates another problem." Tolu replied. "Command is no longer operational, meaning the gates most likely can't be opened. We either have to look for a breach in the wall, or climb over."

"Climbing won't be a problem." Hadidi spoke up. "The cliffs of the west where the oceans once were are taller than your walls. I have the equipment for that. However…" He gestured to one of the windows where the swarms of insects were. The cloud was thinner than before, but still present. "We would need constant covering fire while we are getting over."

"We can't guarantee that." Tolu shook his head. "The wall is too high to effectively cover with our weapons from the ground, and splitting our team between those on top and those down below might cause one or the other to get overwhelmed. Not to mention the friendly fire risks."

"Then the only option is to look for a breach." Nasir sighed.

"Or a better place to bunker down." Chiamaka said.

The rest of the people at the table looked at her quizzically. The entire point of this discussion was to find a way to escape. If they needed to hide, there was no reason to move.

"Our chances of finding a breach are completely up to chance." Chiamaka continued speaking. "We have no guarantee we'll find an exit to get through, and the circumference of the city is so large we would cover a tenth of it at best before the day ends. On the other hand, we know of several guard posts and bunkers within the city itself. If this cloud of insects does not abate, it may be better to secure a location for us to rest. That way we can search for an exit over several days."

Tolu grimaced. The idea of spending days in the dead city was not one he wished to entertain, but Chiamaka was right. Searching blindly for a breach in the wall was a plan based on nothing but hope.

Deep rumbling laughter echoed in his ear, and he froze instinctively.

There was something behind him.

He heard the sound of a fat wet tongue licking thick lips, and the slow drip of viscous saliva. The world seemed to dim and ripple, as if he was on the verge of falling asleep.

"Tolu?" Chiamaka's voice brought him back from the darkness, returning him to the table. Everyone was looking at him worriedly.

There was nothing behind him. There was no laughter, nor licking of lips.

"Sorry…" Tolu apologized as he wiped his brow with the back of his hand. The glove became slick with sweat. "We'll head for the wall first." He said finally. "There's no guarantee any of the bunkers are still functional. If we get stuck there, we truly will be backed into a corner. At least the areas near the walls are more open."

The bunkers would be in the city itself, amongst the numerous twisting streets and paths. They would be forced to take any threat in close quarters. It would be safer to maneuver near the walls.

They had seen the mechanical cavalry come from the east side. Surely the Urshites would have created breaches in the walls for their other forces to follow through?

Tolu justified his reasoning as he shook off the cold touch of whatever exhaustion induced hallucination had gripped him.

"Even so…" Chiamaka said. "We should keep the bunkers and depots in this area in mind. If we do not find a breach, we will need a fallback plan."

To charge forward blindly, hoping to find salvation.

To retreat into supposed security, in the attempt to buy time before death claimed them.

Hope and fear clashed within Tolu's brain, making him wince as a headache began to throb.

"Alright." He finally said. "If we don't find a breach, or have to retreat from the wall we'll get back into the city and check the bunkers and depots one by one."

He had always valued the input of his squad. This decision was no different. Even if he personally wanted to escape as quickly as possible, what Chiamaka said made sense.

"We'll move as a group." Tolu continued, changing the discussion from a strategic to a tactical one. "Nasir and co will be in the middle. Fatima and Kwame will be up front. Kamau and Chiamaka will be at the rear. Mandla and I will take up the middle. We'll keep the swarms at bay from the front and above while we're on the streets."

The rest nodded or saluted in response.

"Alright, pack your bags and get ready to move."

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

The doors to the apartment building opened, releasing a thick mist of pesticide gas. The insects swarming around it fell to the ground dead, and were quickly trampled by 9 pairs of feet.

Tolu and the rest moved as far as they could through the mist, then opened fire as they exited the white cloud of poison. The swarms were thinner, and less organized than before, but they still surrounded them from every angle. Still, their Volkite Beams incinerated them all the same, opening up the darkness like beams from a powerful flashlight, illuminating a path in the night.

As they ran, the swarms of insects suddenly receded, falling backwards like the waves of a lowering tide. Tolu looked up at that moment, and saw a massive sword raised above the city. The blackened blade split the sky, tearing a hole through the green smog clouds above them. His body froze as he felt the murderous rage radiating from it like the heat of an open furnace.

Then the sword began to fall.

"Get down!" He managed to yell, then the ground threw him into the air.

He and the others were thrown about like cups and cutlery on a table slammed by an angry fist.

"Get up!" Tolu yelled.

He could feel something was coming. The air in his lungs seemed to burn with each breath, despite the air coming from his suit's internalized air tanks.

There was a buzzing sound, and he looked up to see the insects heading towards them again. All 6 of them opened fire, burning away the insects and surrounding them in orange embers.

"Keep on moving!" Tolu yelled.

The perimeter they had carved was all that they could see. Everything else was obscured by ash, burning bugs, or writhing insects. Slowly, they backed away down the streets vaguely in the direction of the walls.

Suddenly, the swarms parted. They fell away, like the exhausted waves of a spent tsunami, retreating back into the city. There, several meters in front of them was a giant figure in blackened armor. Spikes jutted out of their shoulder pauldrons, and knee guards. The optics in the helmet glowed red, bathing everything it saw in crimson, as if their very gaze stained the ground with blood. The claw-like fingers on each gauntlet were dirty with gore and bone fragments.

Tolu's mind had a moment to process the almost paradoxical nature of the giant's armor. It was so hostile and dangerous that it was more a tool of murder than protection.

He saw Mandla jerk backwards and raise his weapon out of the corner of his eye, and grabbed the weapon, forcing it downwards.

Mandla stared up at him incredulously, and for one moment Tolu didn't understand why he had acted as he had.

His brain accelerated endlessly, lengthening a single moment to infinity, as it worked feverishly to figure out why his body had acted the way it had.

That was not a man. It was an avatar of murder. It was killing incarnate. The moment they engaged it would be the moment they died.

That was a man. Bloodthirsty and brutish, he was the leader of the Urshite forces, and the general who had orchestrated the death and destruction of Xozer.

Violence was meaningless. It was spawned from it and fed off it.

Violence was meaningless. They were too close, and his armor was too thick.

Conflicting yet concurrent information flowed into Tolu's mind from his eyes. A dull pain shot through the muscles holding his pupils and lens in the proper position.

The being before them was barely human. Its genetic enhancements and mechanical improvements went far beyond what was scientifically possible.

There was something else there… something unnatural that did not follow the rules everyone else was bound by.

The stench of smoke and taste of metal filled his mouth, even though his suit was still sealed.

'We can't fight that thing.' His mind caught up with what his instincts had told him, and he knew why he had forced Mandla's weapon down.

All that transpired in the time it took for him to blink. The time it took for him to start then stop the assimilation of optical information.

A massive headache dyed Tolu's sight red. He grit his teeth, holding in a scream of pain.

The giant was still before them, staring at them hungrily. Tolu could not see the giant's face, but he could read his intent as the giant moved like a cat preparing to pounce.

He could see it in the subtle way the giant's body shifted as he turned towards them.

He could see it in the slow straightening of the tilted helm, righting itself as the giant gave them his full attention.

He could see it in the red glow of both optics that had locked onto him and his squad.

Behind the giant was a massive crack in the wall. Beyond it lay the desert. They only had to push past the giant. Fight it head on, and breakthrough to freedom.

'But, violence is not the answer.' Tolu thought to himself.

That was what had brought them here in the first place.

That was what the being before them wanted.

Then, there was only one thing left to do.

Tolu relaxed the tension in his muscles, and straightened his back. Both his overtaxed eyes and exhausted brain strained, but he stared back into the glowing red optics of the giant.

'Let us go. There is nothing left to fight over.'

He willed to the giant.

The giant had won. Xozer was dead. They were deserters and refugees. Xozer was as much an enemy to them as it was to the giant.

They did not want revenge, or retribution. All they wanted was to live.

Tolu watched as the giant's head tilted downwards, as if the being inside the armor was grimacing. Then it drew a blackened and knocked sword from a scabbard at its waist.

'I am not done with you, or your city.' He felt the words although none were spoken.

Tolu's muscles tensed, preparing to push Mandla back as he saw the giant prepare to lunge forwards…

Then a shadow fell over all of them as a giant gangrenous creature with a bloated belly and twisted antlers crashed down out of the swarms above them. The ground shook once again, causing all of them to stumble, and dusty winds washed over them. Foul burbling spilled forth from the gangrenous creature's mouth, but whatever it said was silenced mid sentence as the giant cut off the bottom half of the creature's face.

Tolu didn't wait to see what would happen next. "Go! Get back! Back into the city!" He shouted, pushing Mandla as he went.

"But Tolu!" Mandla started to object, looking back at the breach in the wall they had been looking for.

"We can't fight that thing! Come on! We'll find another way out! Now move!" Tolu shouted back, as they fired into the swarm, cutting a path back into the city's corpse.

They ran, firing their weapons into the black swarm as they did, but the streets of Xozer were no longer simply dark dingy pathways. Puddles of grime and sewage stuck above blocked drains began to bubble and boil. Embers filled the air around them, lighting everything in an orange glow. The roars of primal beasts sounded from behind them, as well as the baying of hungry hounds.

Tolu felt vomit rising up in his throat as he ran. He could feel something beginning to worm its way into his head. Twin voices of sickening burbling and frightening roaring were echoing between his ears. Hot and cold pangs of emotion shot through him, robbing him of his body heat at one moment, before injecting liquid fire into his veins.

"Come on, keep moving!" He yelled, as much as to himself as to the others. It was all he could do to hold onto his sanity.

If they didn't fight, the swarms would consume them. If they stood their ground, the roaring baying creatures brought into the city by the giant would devour them.

Fight and flight. Both instincts were activated as they fought against despair and fled from rage.

Suddenly the swarms parted, revealing a clearing full of bodies. Armored warriors from Ursh lay on the ground, Wrathskin cracked open like the carapaces of half-eaten shellfish. Two Urshite soldiers stood their ground, back to back. Melta weapons were in their hands, and they fired conical blasts of thermal energy at the misshapen monstrosities holding rusted cleavers in their hands.

Tolu saw one of the Urshite soldiers turn in their direction for a moment, before snapping back to the swarms of rotting monsters around them.

Deep rumbling laughter echoed in his ear once again, and it was joined by a crackling chuckle that sounded like the pop of wet branches in a bonfire.

Tolu's feet stopped, and the others following him did so as well.

The enemies that had killed Xozer lay before him, surrounded on all sides and utterly at his mercy. He may not have been its most zealous defender, but the city was still his home. The faces of friends and family that had died due to the actions of Ursh flowed to the forefront of his mind. An alien anger began to bubble up inside of him, filling his chest with a pressure that screamed to be released.

Another part of him stood back, sedentary and sadistic.

'Let these barbaric fools suffer the consequences of their actions.' it said.

'It was they who unleashed this evil upon the world. A Volkite shot would be too quick. Let them be consumed like their comrades by the minions of despair.'

Tolu could feel his cheek muscles pull his mouth apart into an insane grin.

Attack them, or abandon them. It made no difference. They were dead anyways.

They were all dead.

That was the only explanation for the insanity around them. They had all died at some unknown moment, and ended up in hell. These were the demons of that realm, and they had come to reap the evil mankind had sown.

The Urshite soldier who had looked at Tolu fired again and again, but the demons drew closer between each shot. Overwhelmed by their numbers, the Urshite let off one final shot. Then, a rusted cleaver swung from overhead, and was barely parried by their melta weapon. Tolu saw the demon laugh as its reddish brown blade began to corrode its way through the black metal of the gun. Inch by inch, it began to dig its way through towards the Urshite's head.

The deep rumbling laughter was louder now, triumphant over the crackling chuckle. The rage he felt earlier was dying out, and it was replaced with a chilling apathy towards everything.

As his body began to grow cold, an image he had seen out on patrols flashed through his mind. The sight of ancient buildings in the sands, jutting out like tombstones in a graveyard.

That would be all that was left of Xozer, and the people within it.

A different heat flooded through Tolu's body at that moment. A burning drive to do something, anything. A fighting feeling that made him lift his Volkite Caliver up and fire.

The laser popped the demon's head like a water balloon, and the Urshite soldier kicked the headless corpse backwards. The swarms of demons were momentarily knocked back by the body. In that moment of relief, the Urshite soldier dropped their melta weapon and drew a chain-bladed sword.

"Squad, assist them!" Tolu ordered, as he fired into the turned backs of the rotten demons. His squad followed suit, tearing into the demons as the Urshite soldiers counterattacked with conical blasts of fire and a roaring blade.

He would not be buried under the buildings of Xozer, with their skeletal remains as his only tombstone.

He would not die for this bastion of lies, and decay.

He would fight against death, run from war, and survive this man-made hell no matter the cost.

To hell with old adversaries. To hell with vengeance and revenge. None of that mattered in the grave. On top of that, if this was all the afterlife had to offer, he would work with the very mass-murderers that destroyed everything to escape it.

The demons were all destroyed after several minutes of fighting. Sandwiched between the ex-defenders of Xozer and the invaders from Ursh, there was not much they could do. The insects hovered above them, held back by the rising updrafts from the burning bodies of the demons.

The two Urshite soldiers turned towards Tolu and his squad. Neither group moved for a moment, then Tolu stepped forwards.

"We're looking for a way to survive." He said simply. "Do you want to come with us?"

There was no response from the two soldiers, and several awkwards seconds passed in silence. Then the soldier wielding the chain blade lunged forwards, motorized weapon roaring. Tolu jerked backwards, raising his gun, only to have the blade cut the air above his head and clash against a spiked blade wielded by a horned demon.

The other Wrathskin enclosed soldier ran forwards, putting themself in between Tolu's squad and a pack of hound like creatures made of exposed muscle and bone. Their melta weapon fired twice, reducing the pack to ash in twos and threes, then the hounds were upon them. Their fist punched through the first hound that snapped at them, only to have their outstretched arm snagged in the jaws of another.

"Fire! Fire!" Tolu ordered, and he and his squad blew apart the hounds that had surrounded the soldier wielding the melta weapon as the other dueled in melee with the horned demon.

Tolu's eyes barely kept up with the blurring blades of both demon and genetically enhanced human. The only thing he could clearly see was the sparks flashing whenever the spikes of the demon's sword met the chained teeth of the soldier's blade.

As the last Flesh hound fell, Tolu turned his weapon and hit the horned demon in the eye with a single laser. That was all the distraction needed for the soldier to slip their blade under the demon's arm, and saw it off. Disarmed, the demon stepped back, but not quick enough to avoid an armored boot that kicked it to the ground. The demon's head vanished in a flash of melta fire from the other soldier, and the battle with the demons ended for the moment.

Both soldiers turned back towards Tolu, and lowered their weapons. Neither spoke, but stood at ease, as if waiting for orders.

"... Alright." Tolu said, slowly realizing their silence was not something they kept willingly. These two were muted by their masters, who sent them into the city as cannon fodder. But, despite their expendable status, these two would not die. They had fought against the demons of despair within Xozer, and had now taken up arms against the monsters of war that had motivated their creation.

They were not simple slaves, nor genetically enhanced biological automata.

They were human, trapped in the insanity that was this hell around them.

"We're going to head to the nearest bunker." Tolu said slowly. "The world has gone to shit, and demons are flooding into the city from the outside. We need to find a place to rest and plan what to do next." He cast a glance towards Nasir's family. All three were disheveled and visibly exhausted, as if the life had been drained out of them. His squad too was breathing heavily and he could see fatigue shivers shaking their limbs. All of them looked up to him. He was the one who was giving the orders, and leading them on. It was through him they were able to ignore their own personal fears and doubts, following him in the hope that he could get them out of this.

Tolu turned around, and began to march deeper into the city. The others followed him, focussing on his back in order to blind themselves to the madness and monstrous corpses around them.

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

They reached the bunker without incident. Its mechanical systems functioned as expected, and the entire group could finally sit down and rest.

Layla and Aya collapsed in Nasir's arms, mentally spent. They clung to him like drowning people would cling to driftwood. He in turn wrapped his arms around their shoulders, shielding them like a bird guarding its chicks with its wings.

Tolu ordered everyone, including the two Urshite soldiers to rest. His squad was barely able to respond with the 'Yes, sir.' of their training. That was never a good sign. Such lapses in the ingrained reflexes drilled into them indicated that their psyche was hanging by a single thread.

Tolu watched as his squad collapsed into the various bunks and cots inside the bunker, and abandoned themselves to the oblivion of sleep. The two Urshite soldiers sat down in one of the corners, and stopped moving like machines that had powered down for the day. He himself was also tired, but the feeling from before would not let him rest. A sense of urgency pushed him forward, filling his body with adrenaline and endorphins.

He checked on the locks on the doors, opened up maps of the surrounding area, and puzzled over what to do next. It was only the sound of light footsteps behind him that broke his concentration.

"Are you not tired?" A feminine voice came from behind him.

"Chiamaka…" Tolu let out a sigh. "I could say the same to you."

"I had a couple hours of rest." Her voice hardened slightly with her next sentence. "You haven't stopped moving at all."

"Has it been that long already?" Tolu muttered to himself. He hadn't realized the passage of time at all. Perhaps he was more tired than he thought.

"I'll take the next watch." Chiamaka said softly. "Go to sleep."

Tolu shook his head at that. "No… I can't sleep. Not now."

"Why?" Chiamaka asked. He could hear the narrowing of her eyes and furrowing of her brow through the tension of her voice.

'Why?' He didn't understand it either. But, something inside him was driving him forwards.

Was it some survival instinct? Some base desire to live, to exist no matter the cost.

Was it some rebellion against his old home, and the lies it had told?

The image of the ancient wonders of old mankind went through his mind again.

"We cannot end like this." He said to no one.

They were once a united people on this planet. That was the only way they could have created wonders so durable that they resisted the heat of atomics and the abrasive sands of centuries.

They were once masters of all they could see, and their empire reached up beyond the stars. Their bodies could be rebuilt at a genetic level to do exactly what they wanted it to, and there was no stigma attached to investigation and ingenuity.

To have everything end like this.. the ending of their legacy as the playthings of creatures from nightmare and insanity…

He now knew in his heart that the deep laughter he heard in his head was no hallucination. There was something out there, laughing at him. It wanted to see him squirm, to see him lose hope, to submerge him in misery and despair.

There was another thing out there. That crackling chuckle belonged to it. It wanted him to lose control, and strike out at everything around him.

Warm arms embraced him from behind, and Chiamaka's cinnamon sent a pleasurable shiver up his spine.

"Calm down." She whispered into his ear. "Your shoulders are getting stiff."

Tolu realized the tension going through his muscles, and took a deep breath.

"Not everything rests on you, Tolu. We will be with you, as we always have been."

A warmth grew in his breast, different to the all consuming fire that had spurned him to act.

He leaned back into Chiamaka's embrace, enjoying the softness of her skin and breasts with the back of his head.

"What should we do?" He asked her. He could feel the madness spreading outside. He could see it through the walls if he wanted to, and observe the nightmarish battle between rage and despair. They were still trapped in hell. This bunker was only a temporary haven. One accidental step by the greater demons outside, and this bunker would collapse like an anthill trodden on by a toddler.

"I do not know." Chiamaka admitted. "But, whatever happens, I will be with you."

A faint smile crossed Tolu's face, and he leaned back into her arms. Warm sleep came quickly, and its dreamless darkness provided his mind respite from all that had happened that day.

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

5 days passed in the bunker. The first two were spent cleaning the place up, sorting through food, and setting up the water recycling units they brought with them. The rest were used to talk, sleep, and keep busy with menial tasks.

The two Urshite soldiers, Riya and Ananya, remained slightly apart from the rest. Kamau and Kwame attempted to remove their armor so they could speak, but quickly abandoned their efforts. The machine was bound to their flesh in such a way that it was almost a second skin. Tearing it off would kill them through blood loss, if not infection. In the end, the two groups had to make do with basic hand signs and gestures.

Surprisingly, both were women.

Tolu watched the war outside through the walls. Neither side seemed to gain the upper hand. Endless killing and corruption repeated itself, as the demons cut each other apart. He told the others what he saw, and what he heard. He spoke of the laughing and chuckling creatures that had infiltrated his mind at times, and the others shared similar experiences.

The Urshite who lost her melta weapon, Riya, described feeling guilt and self-disgust when she saw him. She had been conscripted from a province far to the east of the Nord Afrik. The inner portions of Xozer reminded her of the hives she had come from, and the sight of them filled her with self-loathing. She had been part of the army that had invaded and destroyed their homes. Her death at the hands of these demons was a just desert for her. The moment that thought crossed her mind, the demons overwhelmed her.

When Tolu and his squad saved her, she was filled with a warm feeling.

'Absolution.' Riya wrote when asked to describe what she felt. 'I felt I had been forgiven for what I had done, and I wished to make my repentance by helping you. That was why Ananya and I stood in front of you as the demons of Khorne came. You saved us from dying a miserable death. That was the first time I was glad to have the enhancements they forced me to undertake.'

Tolu shared his theories of emotions and belief being connected with the demons. The creatures in the station became stronger when they lost hope, as did the demons that surrounded Riya and Ananya.

"They win when we give up." Tolu said to the others as they sat or stood around one of the tables in the bunker. "If we abandon ourselves to despair or rage, they win. It won't matter how many weapons we have, or how great our defenses are. But they are not harmless without our emotions either. A blade is still a blade. Fight them like any other enemy. Treat them with no lesser or greater concern than the Technobarbarians or Abominable Intelligences. Stick together. Trust each other. We've survived one trip through hell already. We can make another out of it."

On the 6th day, Tolu saw the world ripple. As he watched the demonic war outside, his vision warped. Shapes stretched outwards, then inwards as if the sight before him was an image on a melting mirror whose metal was bubbling and boiling.

The same sense of urgency began to fill his breast. A fire began to burn in his heart that refused to go out.

"Alright people, this is it!" He called out to them. "Pack everything up. We move in five!"

Their food was running out, and they would still need supplies to cross the Atlan wastes.

Now was the moment they needed to run.

Tolu felt it in his bones, and in his soul. If they did not leave today, they never would.

"Ready?!" He asked as his squad and the others assembled behind him at the door.

They all nodded, and he saw hands tighten around bag straps and weapon grips.

"Whatever happens, don't stop." Tolu said. "Just follow me."

The doors of the bunker hissed, and slid open on their hydraulics.

They exited their refuge onto an alien world. The streets of Xozer were layered with pus and blood. The skyscrapers that towered over them were coated with brass, and fire jetted out of the factory chimneys like the belch of a series of volcanoes.

The smaller demons they saw from the station were dotted all around them. They were all running, rolling, or splashing in puddles of viscous sewage like children playing in the rain.

Manta ray-like creatures flew over them in flocks that resembled schools of fish.

The ground shook as a hoofed foot, as wide as a man is tall, slammed down next to them. The bat winged demon it belonged to bellowed as it stumbled backwards from an gangrenous obese demon of equal size.

"Come on!" Tolu yelled as he ran between the two demon's legs. They were too occupied with each other to notice them, and the other smaller demons would not approach while the two fought.

The smaller demons began to surround them, and Tolu's squad opened fire as they ran. Volkite beams lashed out, cutting a path through the swarms, while the last melta weapon roared behind them, keeping their rear clear.

Suddenly, the ground shook. The world flowed backwards, reverting from the alien world of the demons back to the mundane streets of Xozer.

Tolu stared dumbly at the familiar sights before him, then a blinding flash obscured everything.

Bombs were going off around him, obliterating the city bit by bit.

Swarms of gray dust then appeared, eating away at every surface. He watched his arm dissolve into nothing, and barely had time to scream before the next vision assaulted him.

Death and destruction repeated itself before him a thousand times over, then he collapsed to his knees back in the alien world of the demons composed of green rot, red blood, and shiny brass.

A giant demon stood before them. Antlers jutted out of its head, and a second lipless mouth grinned from its pot-belly. Both orifices licked their exposed gums, wetting brown chipped and broken teeth.

The demon before them laughed, and Tolu recognized its voice. It was the same laugh he heard back in Nasir's apartment when they were deciding what to do.

He stared up into its eyes, and despite its wide eyed grin, there was no mirth in its eyes. Hate burned within each orb. The emotion was only matched by the sadistic glee that made each eye glow with a green light.

He had resisted the will of this demon.

He had not played the part it had planned for him.

He had cared for his team, instead of only himself.

He listened to his reason and training, instead of his fear and desperation.

He had kept their hope alive, instead of allowing that hope to become fertilizer for fresh despair.

Now, it was done with him. This demon would take things into its own hands. He, Tolu, would serve as a living reminder to all who defied the Plague Lord Nurgle and his Greater Daemons.

Tolu retched as his eyes read the name from the demon's gaze. It was a name he was not supposed to know, yet he could not help but learn it.

The daemon reached down towards him with a pudgy hand. It would tear him apart in front of the others, and do the same to their hope. Yet, he would not be allowed to die. There would be no rest in the Garden of Nurgle.

A bolt of Volkite energy struck the demon's face, forcing the hand away.

"Get up!" Chiamaka shouted, grabbing him by the arm.

"Come on Sergeant! Which way?!" Kwame asked, joining Chiamaka's Volkite fire with his own.

Mandla, Kamau, Fatima all joined it, shooting the demon in the face while Ananya fired her melta weapon at the swarms that had begun to surround them.

"This way!" Tolu shouted, and turned towards the center of the city.

He did not know why he turned that way. He moved only on instinct now. His eyes saw something there. Something golden. Something bright. Whatever it was, it was the only thing unlike the rest of the nightmares.

A shadow flew over them, and a bat winged Bloodthirster slammed its hooves down in front of them.

All 12 of them skidded to a stop before the demon.

Tolu turned towards the rest of them, and saw that the group had broken apart.
Nasir kneeled in the street, hugging his wife and daughter to him as he closed his eyes, preparing for the end.

Fatima, Kwame, and Kamau were back to back, firing into the swarms of Nurglings around them, prepared to go down fighting.

Hadidi had pulled out a strange pistol, and each shot fired something that obliterated any demon it touched.

The two Urshite soldiers raised their weapons, preparing to charge the Bloodthirster in order to open a path for Tolu and the rest.

Chiamaka stood there, staring blankly up at the sky.

'It can't be helped.' Tolu thought to himself, as he watched them splinter apart. 'We no longer think there's a way to survive.'

They were sandwiched between the two greater demons, with Nurglings and Screamers to their sides and above. He himself saw no way out of this.

The only thing that could save them was a miracle.

But there was no god here to save them.

Tolu joined Chiamaka, staring up at the green, red, and purplish clouds thundering above them.

Then the clouds parted.

A blazing sun appeared above them. Golden and blinding, it burned away the filth surrounding them, and forced the greater daemons to their knees. Smoke rose from their bodies as they gurgled and roared in pain.

Tolu and the others huddled together, unsure of what was going on. They all stared upwards in awe at this new presence that was purging the nightmare from the world.

The Bloodthirster stumbled to its feet, and lifted its axe. It would smash these paltry humans who had denied it. There were two amongst their number who belonged to it. Its massive shadow covered them as it raised its arms and spread its wings. Then, a golden spear pinned it to the ground, slamming it face first into the concrete and asphalt street.

An angel stood atop the pinned demon. Winged and armored in blazing auramite, there were no words to describe it other than beautiful.

More and more angels rained from the sky, engaging the flyers in the sky and cutting down the demons on the ground.

The others kneeled before the angel, struck by an all consuming awe. They no longer saw anything else but the golden figure before them, and prostrated themselves at its feet.

But Tolu remained standing.

He stared up into the blindingly beautiful face of the angel.

His eyes could not understand the features it wore, and perceived it as a white light.

His brain understood that as something beautiful.

But his heart beat faster and faster in his breast.

Adrenaline pumped into his blood, as a chilling sensation gripped every inch of his skin, raising gooseflesh as it went.

This was not what it seemed. The same skepticism he felt whenever he heard the sermons of the hierophants niggled in his mind.

This was too good to be true. A good God would not wait till the last moment to save them. Why had this angel appeared before them right at the moment all hope of escape was lost, and the death and destruction of this place was inevitable?

With that realization, Tolu's eyes pierced the blinding halo of the angel's aura.

What he saw constricted every blood vessel in his body, and froze him to his core.

The beautiful features of the angel were twisted with rage, and weeping in despair.
 
Chapter 39: The Fall of Xozer (Part 7)
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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Chapter 40: Ael Wyntor
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.
 
Chapter 41: Simple things
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.
 
Chapter 42: Avelroi
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."
 
Chapter 43: Rylanor
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.

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- 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.
 
Honestly, the most tragic thing about the Emperor's Children's fall to Slaanesh is that I think in a sense, lots of them are practically in-name-only versions of themselves

Gave up anything to do with actual perfections, why they're doing so, actual professionalism and likely what interests they actually did have before

Now it's all sheer depravity and narcissism

Without the corruption, they wouldn't just be disgusted by all of it, they'd actually find it horribly unfulfilling and wasteful
 
Honestly, the most tragic thing about the Emperor's Children's fall to Slaanesh is that I think in a sense, lots of them are practically in-name-only versions of themselves

Gave up anything to do with actual perfections, why they're doing so, actual professionalism and likely what interests they actually did have before

Now it's all sheer depravity and narcissism

Without the corruption, they wouldn't just be disgusted by all of it, they'd actually find it horribly unfulfilling and wasteful
Yes, it is a twisted self-serving honor that they now serve, based around slights and grudges of ages past. Their vanity and arrogance is only matched by their entitlement, which is exactly the sort of thing the Old Emperor's Children abhorred. Rylanor and a few other original Emperor's Children often butted heads with Fulgrim, bordering on insubordination as they often saw him as too proud and arrogant. This was even before his fall to Slaanesh, although the ferocity and frequency of their disagreements did increase quite a lot after the Laer campaign.
 
Yes, it is a twisted self-serving honor that they now serve, based around slights and grudges of ages past. Their vanity and arrogance is only matched by their entitlement, which is exactly the sort of thing the Old Emperor's Children abhorred. Rylanor and a few other original Emperor's Children often butted heads with Fulgrim, bordering on insubordination as they often saw him as too proud and arrogant. This was even before his fall to Slaanesh, although the ferocity and frequency of their disagreements did increase quite a lot after the Laer campaign.

It really is quite the waste

I honestly don't see that many Warrior Poet/Scholar types in fiction, let alone in anything like something between modern to military SciFi armed forces types

So I see the same with the Thousand Sons

They really are all wasted and twisted as what they now are
 
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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.

The Imeprial herald reminds me of the scene when the Herald of the Change arrives at Caladan by the order of the Padishah Emperor for the Atreides to take over the governing of Arrakis.

The video of the scene:

 
The Imeprial herald reminds me of the scene when the Herald of the Change arrives at Caladan by the order of the Padishah Emperor for the Atreides to take over the governing of Arrakis.

The video of the scene:

I will be honest, that scene was my inspiration. I was listening to a lot of Dune OSTs while writing the scene.
 
Chapter 44: Thunder Warriors
- 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.
 
Last edited:
Chapter 45: I ask you my Emperor
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.
 
Chapter 46: The Imperial Truth
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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.'
 
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How does this law take into account secret societies/religions? Those can last a long while

It's harder when the wealthy are part of them, mostly out of boredom and/or a desire to feel special/smart
 
How does this law take into account secret societies/religions? Those can last a long while

It's harder when the wealthy are part of them, mostly out of boredom and/or a desire to feel special/smart
They would be illegal.

The regulatory system would be based around licenses and permits. Basically, religious activity is treated the same as LARPing (although perhaps prohibition era speakeasies might be closer to the actual situation).
If you walk down the street in full viking costume with twin battle-axes, the police are going to ask you a couple of questions. (Or if you go around dressed in full military camoflauge with a fake assault rifle.)
Similarly, if you go down the street evangelizing or giving out pamphlets, the Arbites would probably drag you away for being a public disturbance without the proper licenses. They might even charge you with solicitation or attempted fraud if you go about trying to preach about heaven and how there are certain ways to live that are holy or good. Solicitation and fraud are the charges used, because such evangelizing often connects to tithes or donations.

To evangelize, you'd have to submit your script or planned speech to an Imperial censor who would review it to see whether there was any inflamatory, threatening, or seditious language.
Factual correctness would also be another metric, so saying that the Earth is flat or the solar system revolves around the earth would also get your submission rejected.

After the above basic screening, the speeches would be collated and reviewed in tandem with all other speeches coming from a batch to look for signs of Chaotic or Warp influence. It is done in this batch system to ensure that Chaotic messages are not hidden between several different speeches in order to avoid detection, but might take effect if heard in a certain order. This would have to be done by more loyal censors, which Malcador will have to train.

If an evangelic speech is approved, all religious sermons would have to take place in regulated areas, and under Arbites supervision to ensure the speaker does not go off-script. Minor deviations might simply be noted down and logged to penalize future submissions for evangelization. Major deviations would result in an immediate arrest.

Attempting to circumvent this system entirely by gathering into secret groups would result in charges of conspiracy, suspected sedition, or attempted treason. Severity of punishment would be proportional to the degree of responsibility. People who just followed along might get a couple months of hard labor. Organizers would be interrogated, and might even end up as servitors. (Servitor conversion seems to be the Imperium's favoured punishment for rioters and other disturbers of the public peace).

Finally, donations or tithes for religious activities are classified as a luxury, and failure to submit tax documentation will automatically land you in massive trouble with the Administratum. Buildings used for religious purposes also have to have permits for such activities, and those activites are also reviewed by Imperial Censors, public safety officials, health regulators, etc. (e.g. If you want to jump up and down all at once in religous rapture, you have to have your building inspected to ensure it can withstand the vibrations. If you want to sacrifice chickens, then you'd have to submit a manual for how to procure such chickens, what you will do to those chickens, how to confirm you have not lost any chickens, how you plan to dispose of the chickens, etc. etc.)

For pre-existing secret societies and religions, there will be a grace period where they can apply for the relevant licenses and permits without fear of being incarcerated for past actions. They will have to get rid of many of their old practices to become legal, but the alternative of continuing to remain a secret religion is risking the Arbites busting down the door.

Religions with high-ranking patrons will be dealt with in the same way. If they're doing it to create a cult of personality around themselves, they can do that legally. However, any gifts/donations will be taxed and they will have to get rid of many practices that they may personally enjoy. Failure to do so means conducting a religion illegally, which means that they risk charges of tax evasion at the very least and treason at the worst. If they do attempt to corrupt the Arbites and Administratum officials, that's actually conducing the worse crime of corruption, interference with an Imperial Servant during their duties, and conspiracy. Everyone involved would be fired and incarcerated.

Basically, you will be forced to endure German levels of paperwork and bureaucracy in order to organize a large-scale religions with various rituals and teachings. The simpler and less invasive the religion is into the daily lives of a person, the more likely you can get approved.
 
They would be illegal.

The regulatory system would be based around licenses and permits. Basically, religious activity is treated the same as LARPing (although perhaps prohibition era speakeasies might be closer to the actual situation).
If you walk down the street in full viking costume with twin battle-axes, the police are going to ask you a couple of questions. (Or if you go around dressed in full military camoflauge with a fake assault rifle.)
Similarly, if you go down the street evangelizing or giving out pamphlets, the Arbites would probably drag you away for being a public disturbance without the proper licenses. They might even charge you with solicitation or attempted fraud if you go about trying to preach about heaven and how there are certain ways to live that are holy or good. Solicitation and fraud are the charges used, because such evangelizing often connects to tithes or donations.

To evangelize, you'd have to submit your script or planned speech to an Imperial censor who would review it to see whether there was any inflamatory, threatening, or seditious language.
Factual correctness would also be another metric, so saying that the Earth is flat or the solar system revolves around the earth would also get your submission rejected.

After the above basic screening, the speeches would be collated and reviewed in tandem with all other speeches coming from a batch to look for signs of Chaotic or Warp influence. It is done in this batch system to ensure that Chaotic messages are not hidden between several different speeches in order to avoid detection, but might take effect if heard in a certain order. This would have to be done by more loyal censors, which Malcador will have to train.

If an evangelic speech is approved, all religious sermons would have to take place in regulated areas, and under Arbites supervision to ensure the speaker does not go off-script. Minor deviations might simply be noted down and logged to penalize future submissions for evangelization. Major deviations would result in an immediate arrest.

Attempting to circumvent this system entirely by gathering into secret groups would result in charges of conspiracy, suspected sedition, or attempted treason. Severity of punishment would be proportional to the degree of responsibility. People who just followed along might get a couple months of hard labor. Organizers would be interrogated, and might even end up as servitors. (Servitor conversion seems to be the Imperium's favoured punishment for rioters and other disturbers of the public peace).

Finally, donations or tithes for religious activities are classified as a luxury, and failure to submit tax documentation will automatically land you in massive trouble with the Administratum. Buildings used for religious purposes also have to have permits for such activities, and those activites are also reviewed by Imperial Censors, public safety officials, health regulators, etc. (e.g. If you want to jump up and down all at once in religous rapture, you have to have your building inspected to ensure it can withstand the vibrations. If you want to sacrifice chickens, then you'd have to submit a manual for how to procure such chickens, what you will do to those chickens, how to confirm you have not lost any chickens, how you plan to dispose of the chickens, etc. etc.)

For pre-existing secret societies and religions, there will be a grace period where they can apply for the relevant licenses and permits without fear of being incarcerated for past actions. They will have to get rid of many of their old practices to become legal, but the alternative of continuing to remain a secret religion is risking the Arbites busting down the door.

Religions with high-ranking patrons will be dealt with in the same way. If they're doing it to create a cult of personality around themselves, they can do that legally. However, any gifts/donations will be taxed and they will have to get rid of many practices that they may personally enjoy. Failure to do so means conducting a religion illegally, which means that they risk charges of tax evasion at the very least and treason at the worst. If they do attempt to corrupt the Arbites and Administratum officials, that's actually conducing the worse crime of corruption, interference with an Imperial Servant during their duties, and conspiracy. Everyone involved would be fired and incarcerated.

Basically, you will be forced to endure German levels of paperwork and bureaucracy in order to organize a large-scale religions with various rituals and teachings. The simpler and less invasive the religion is into the daily lives of a person, the more likely you can get approved.

If the Emperor wishes to be more thorough, I think they'll go even further towards things not actively being worshipped

Investigating old temples and statues and pieces of legend and mythology

Frankly, many of our ancient pagan religions/mythologies may have been involved in some VERY disgusting and/or immoral actions. Whether it be bestiality, incest, orgies, human sacrifice, child sacrifice and/or ritualized torture.

Ishtar=Astarte=Astaroth=Venus=Aphrodite=Morning Star=Lucifer/Satan

So a goddess may not necessarily have really horrific myths involved with her, but she may have been their version of Slaanesh

Places like Istvaan had chaotic ruins, as I recall

The Imperium , who are Militant Humanist Atheists will essentially be calling loads of ancient cultures "daemon worshippers"….it would be a BIG slap to the face to many of the human worlds they encounter and be used to wipe out entire cultures on the basis of them long being "tainted"
 
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Chapter 47: Embodiment of Ideals
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.
 

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