40000th Catalyst (40k Mass Effect Reaper Self Insert)
- Thread starter Black-Aengel-01
- Start date
- Crossover
Uhhhhh what? Fucking Eldar and their brain farting problems of making stuff as fucky as possible.
Though he just got dipped on and dare to say I got the feeling he would literally rip Cegorach a new one for this prank that is not actually a prank.
Anyways @Black-Aengel-01 found TYPO's.
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- Location
- Taken by the hand to a land that they understand
In the grim dark future, vaccine side effects can get pretty nasty.
You know have a funny though
Red (Destroy/Khorne)
Blue (Control/Tzeentch)
Green (Nurge/Synthesis)
Pink (Slaanesh/Give Up?)
OK Slaanesh doesn't fit much
Red (Destroy/Khorne)
Blue (Control/Tzeentch)
Green (Nurge/Synthesis)
Pink (Slaanesh/Give Up?)
OK Slaanesh doesn't fit much
How could you! I had almost forgotten about that travesty of an ending.
....... That actually makes sense just like How Endless used Auriga as a test site from Endless space universe
Still though what is all that magic and warpstone stuff????
Shamanistic Ancient type psyker techniques and stuff like rune priest=magic???????
- Location
- Somewhere and Nowhere in a state of super-position
I was under the impression that his souls merely reached a critical mass that allowed them sovereignty from the Warp, due to creating a miniature Realm of Souls that's created and maintained by his souls and his souls only.
He is "beyond" the Warp in the sense that his Ego Barrier is strong enough to create a small, personal slice of the Immaterium like the Emperor does.
Since he is not an immaterial psychic pattern, he doesn't have to participate in the four tumours "Great Game", since he has both physical and mental control of his souls, rather than THEM that vye and struggle for mental control of countless souls across the entire galaxy.
The power of owning the hardware running your software!
Otherwise, it's still something relating to the Well of Infinity, and thus the Warp.
- Location
- a nice place
what the hell just happend?
- Location
- Texas
He was infected with a Daemon of each C. God
Said Daemons could've ranged from Lesser to Greater Daemons.
He was injected with said Chaos to force him too develop an immunity/resistance.
Edit: Either that or he now share headspace with the C. Gods theirselves now...
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- Location
- In the Space between Spaces
Greater daemons actually.
Well, considering the disease in question, its bound to be something no one likes.
Its pretty much a pre-requisite for being a Trickster God. So you kind of have to forgive him, he is trying to help.... Though it is more than okay to punch him with a noctilith powerfist in the face.
- Location
- United States
Be careful, they give you Chaos autism. I assume that Cegorach either knows that Mekhane will win this or is at least very confident in it, since risking it all on a gamble like that is a bit stupid. But I don't know what his plan for dealing with a massively pissed off machine god is once Mekhane is done purging his system.
- Location
- Salt Lake City, UT, USA
"Chaos Autism"...
Well that explains the golden bone throne idiot more profoundly than anything else I've ever encountered.
That being said:
There's something y'all are not contemplating here though. Mekhane will without question win this little spat he'll be having with those Greater Daemons. And that'll definitely help him with the resistance to Chaos Exposure.
But remember also that he has that Purified Empyreal Essence he can generate at will. So what happens when he overwrites those Greater Daemons' connections to their source Chaos God with his own energies?
Mekhane Daemons, that's what.
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Let's just be clear, what Cegorach is doing right now is injecting Mekhane with HIV.
Mekhane's immune system is either going to fight it off and win. Or he's going to get infected.
There's no immunization against chaos you can't expose someone to small amounts of chaos and let them build up an immunity.
You either go all in and win or you fall.
Vaalintine
Wild Wondorous Wolfalope
OUt of everything he could have done, to turn about and make himself and his Harlequins completely detestable is something I would not have expected the Laughing God to do. Like, how does anyone expect to not see the eldar as a whole as irredeemable after this?
- Location
- Africa
well for one thing the Laughing God is an Old One not an eldar
Chapter 27
- Location
- In the Space between Spaces
40000th Catalyst
Chapter 27
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-Lorhan System
--Lorha I
---Hive Gargada
Thomas walked past the market stalls as he made his way to the overgrown apartment complex that he lived in. At this point he was used to Mekhane's insects roaming around the middle regions of the hive, selling their wares, foods and other exotic stuff that could be considered heretical if the Mechanicus priesthood were endorsed.
Considering that the Ecclesiarchy and the Mechanicus have had a feud since the former's inception Thomas knew that many of the priests were secretly glad that Mekhane had done so. Personally he should have cared more about the techpriests losing their privileges, because Mekhane could also do that to the official church, but apparently Mekhane's reasons were simple enough to understand. Apparently his hatred of the Adeptus Mechanicus is transcendental to everything and had begun making a new group of scientists and researchers that have no ties to the admech in any way shape or form. In his own words, he couldn't care any less if you worshipped the Emperor, a wicker chair or the flying spaghetti monster –whatever the hell that is- so long as it's not the Ruinous Powers and you treat science and technology like a tool to be understood and not the extension of some god that does not exists and is actually inspired by the dreams of a giant godlike soul eating alien gas cloud in a metal body that looks like a dragon. He never got a straight answer about that last point, but considering the few hints Mekhane had said about it, Thomas was sure he did not want to know.
Still, selling mixtures between an insect like creature and a machine to the local public as pets was something that was still odd. However some people had them already. Even he could admit that having a large flying insect as a smart pet that happily carries your stuff to work and helps around the workstation and house to be a boon.
"You're so cute! Who's a cute bug?" Thomas glances to his side seeing a girl near the stairs playing with her pet bug. The cat sized thing doing its renowned tip toe dance in joy which elicited an even bigger grin from the blond haired child. "You are!" Thomas may not be fond of insects, but even he could find the look a beetle like insect to roll over on its back and make shrilling noises as it's tickled on its belly to be a rather endearing sight.
Still, insects, or insect like creatures are not for him. And they are not for everyone either.
Of course Mekhane knew that and had started making other cyber-animals as pets. Thomas had to force his roommate to not buy that cyberfluff creature, no matter how absolutely adorable it was. His training as a psyker had made certain that not even the puppy eyes worked on him. His roommate's or the fluff's.
Still, pets are not the only thing that Mekhane had brought into the Lorhan system. In the last six months since he was here, Loyalty to Mekhane had skyrocketed at an exponential rate. No doubt thanks to the extra hours and day of rest he had given the people of the hives and the constant new variety of foods and amenities he had created for them.
Thomas had come from a Hive world himself, and while he had traveled a lot thanks to his Inquisitor –may she be safe- he had yet to encounter a hive where they sell chocolate flavored nutrient bars at every level of the hive. That and, apple flavored, and kiwi, and candy flavored. And any more flavors. He was certain that thanks to the food alone just about everyone was pledging their fealty to the alien like god.
And when you consider the speeches Mekhane gives, and then subsequently delivers, -or more hilariously, already had done it- people just fall in love for him.
It irked Thomas but he had to admit that the mechanical titan had a way with the people of the hives the way no nobility ever had. Just now, there are well over two hundred billion people thanking that monster for all the things he has done for them.
And he could not blame them.
Personally… he himself would be thankful to Mekhane if the creature was an imperial planetary governor and an actual human with the blessings of the Emperor. But he isn't. That thing is not a human, and Thomas was certain that if he could, he would have abolished faith in the God Emperor.
"Well, at least he is smart enough to not do it." The psyker murmured to himself.
"Who's smart enough?" He heard the familiar voice and turned to the place that it came from. "Are you talking to yourself again?"
Thomas had to hold back a sigh. "A man from the manufactorum." He lied. "Let it go, my day has been crappy. How about you?" He asks his roommate.
The oriental descent man smirked good-naturedly. "Nice and quiet. Have not had to deal with any gangers this week at all." That's because Mekhane had killed most of them and turned their corpses into weapons. Of course he did not need to tell Eric Lee that. The man knew because he was part of the new PDF program that Mekhane had devised to streamline the connection between military police force and planet defense force.
Now the man takes jobs hunting down criminals and the like as there are no xenos to fight off. And likewise so is Thomas, but he himself has more experience for investigative work, something that his psyker powers are an excellent tool for.
"Well, since your day has been nice,…" Thomas begins. "…how about we go inside and you cook for me?" he lifts a bag of groceries. Mostly nutrient bars and some seasoning, but the other man has a skill in the kitchen that somehow managed to extract flavor even out of stale bars. When flavor filled foods and seasonings started appearing in the market in large quantities, he remembered how Eric literally started crying tears of joy thanking the Emperor and Mekhane with his open arms.
"I'm starting to think that the only reason you live with me is for my cooking."
Thomas nodded. "And your apartment is cheap too."
Eric frowned. "You mean shitty."
The psyker grinned. "You could say something like that."
"So you want to live in a dump?"
"What does that say of you? It's your apartment and you lived there for years."
The oriental man sighed in-between amusement and exasperation. Reaching out for the bag of groceries he "You are un-" Then it fell from his grip as from everywhere and place of the hive a thunderous wail of agony began. It was a wail that held no finite number of voices. A cacophony and a symphony intertwined in their sonorous resonance display of harrowing anguish. "What the heck is that!?"
Thomas did not know. But he did not waste time asking questions. He had his lasgun already drawn and ready for a fight. "Let's go!" He commanded the fellow PDF soldier who nodded and took out his own weapon and followed the psyker.
Thomas breathed in and drew sight from the sea of souls and beheld the threads of soul light and his heart nearly stopped in horror.
Since Mekhane's alteration of the psyker's mind, Thomas has been able to not only use his powers with greater ease and precision. But he has been able to touch the machines' spirits and call them to his will. Automatic doors, data slates, generators, servo skulls, they all heard his summons and replied.
But not only that. He could see the spiritual data threads that told him of Mekhane's presence in the machine. Threads of strange non-Euclidean mathematics he hadn't the slightest understanding off that turned his world into a panoply of crimson red and aquamarine hues.
But now, they were different. Instead of a pleasant, cool green and dark red, they were burning in red, blue, green and pink.
The colors of the Archenemy. Of Chaos.
Despair began to worm its way into Thomas' heart and mind at the imagined and very possible probabilities. If Mekhane were to be corrupted by the touch of chaos… If… then… They would all be doomed!
Doomed!
"Hey Thomas…?" He heard Eric's voice meekly question, and he turned to the man. "Why the screaming turned into laughter?"
Thomas, shocked and surprised turned to the threads and he doubled back in stumped astonishment.
The threads were aquamarine once again.
"Well shit…"
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Where once a battle raged. Now only reigns silence.
Where once two opposing forces waged epic conflict. Now a temporal lull in the conflict ruled.
Teeth, claws, blades and other abominable weapons and tools of death and suffering and pain were lodged in the body of the great dragon.
And yet the white and green and red and black titan of titans was the only one among the five aberrations of nature to be smiling in dark amusement.
The greater daemons, once beings capable of lying waste to whole armies and propagate untold acts of calamity and slaughter, were now frozen in both motion and thought. Held and bound by an ocean sized will of unfathomable depth. And this ocean wanted them dead.
And they sank amid the sea of spiritual flesh.
Their minds and spirits struggled, resisting the pull into the deep of the serpent dragon, but try as they may, neither brute strength nor spell would be enough to separate them from the overwhelming force that bound them to and continued to drag them into the abyss that lay within.
And slowly, one by one, the daemons disappeared beneath the roiling flesh of the dragon into the abyss that lay beneath.
Darkness
.
.
.
.
..
…
….
…..
"Where…"
…
"…am…"
…
"…I…?"
"Inside."
Eyes and teeth turned, pleasures of excess and putrefaction of ills twisted and bore down/up as the wings of the changing beak creaked its twisted neck and the horned dog blared its teeth. They all beheld the source of all speech.
And they were driven to a momentary shock.
Death.
Not the rotting pestilence and despair that the aspect of death carried. But an end already reached where not even the maggots of decay can touch. A silence without despair, for there was no voice to call and no will to break.
There were mounds, heaps of fragmented soul corpses as high as the inexistent abyss like sky, held together by chains of shattered memories and long forgotten voices. Each mountain of spiritual and memory cadavers made at the very least of a million dead minds. And at the summit of these silent shriveled mountains of the unwhispering dead sat the victors/survivors of a battle that no one, save the participants, ever witnessed or knew of.
Shining like a king/light of triumph/endurance and cold analytical indifference that only a being bound solely by its self-devised designs and will could achieve, they looked down at the FOUR who had dared to invade their sacrosanct realm. All sixteen billion, eight hundred and seventy five million, four hundred and thirty six thousand and two hundred and eighty four of them.
The servant of the hound was first to recover, as it is the very vessel of defiance and battle. Hefting its blood stained axe of brass and cold steel, the bloodthirster's wings pulled at the conceptual air and made a beeline towards the Champions/Survivors of the Mounds.
The blade of the bloodthirster's corrupted axe has been known to time and again cleave the metal of the greatest constructs of mankind has ever used. Even a thousand times blessed land raider has been split in twain by a single slice of that weapon.
But as the killing blow made its arch, a single, human hand reached out and the mighty weapon's blow was silenced.
There was no sound of the clash between two forces. There was no conceptual wing from the sheer might of the attack.
Nothing.
For all intends and purposes, the blow from the Khornate daemon had simply ceased to exist in its entirety. And when the daemon looked at the impossibility with raging fury radiating from its body, the action of the Champion/Survivor that held the weapon was mirrored by every other ruler of their own mound. Like if they were one and the same.
And such was the connection that the bloodthirster was able to perceive from where his weapon made contact. He was not being held back by one being.
No.
It was the entire totality of the entity that called itself Mekhane that was holding the weapon at bay and all of its malevolent corruptive energies. In here, they/it ruled with an absolute iron fist.
"Lower beings should be thankful when their host takes the time to build his inner realm to their habitability." It spoke, a sentence that conveyed many terrible things to those who heard it. "Not strike him." The Champion/Survivor released the weapon, and a force that did not exist before suddenly blasted the greater daemon away to where the rest of its debased brethren were still unmoving.
The action spurring the rest to motion.
Or so they tried.
It was only then that they realized that everywhere their essences turned, there was an overwhelming pressure that grew exponentially in the reverse direction, forcing them into place and making them unable to move. Unnatural seals and runes in a language that has never existed sealing them in both space and time.
And when the bloodthirster stopped its flight down to them, they drew upon the fountain of power that made them greater servants of their patron gods as a last resort to escape from this unnatural place.
However that very fountain of power was rapidly shrinking as the very same force that was forcing them in to place was also smothering whatever connection they had to the warp.
This place…
This place is…
"My personal Empyrean." The Champions/Survivors said as one. "In this place, were my will and self is all that exists, I impose the rules of causality. Built out of myself and by myself, this realm is as close to a representation of the Empyrean as I have simulated."
And yet…
There is…
No…
"But even so, in this place there is no life. No emotion to fuel you. No thoughts of sentients or emotional weakness for you and your debased kind for you to gorge on." A grin from the Champions/Survivors. Yet they held no pleasure, no joy, no happiness. Only an emptiness that seemingly stretched for all infinity and wanted to drown the life spark of the very universe itself. "Without your sustenance, how would you survive? Without your cloak of lies and deceptions, what is your true appearance? I wonder."
"YOU DARE!!??" The four daemons shrieked, cried, weeped, roared, moaned. "WE ARE NIGHTMARES GIVEN SHAPE! TALES OF TRAGEDY, DEATH, CARNAGE AND CONSPIRACIES MADE MANIFEST! THE BANE OF WHOLE CIVILIZATIONS INFINITELY OLDER THAN YOU! JUST LIKE THE ANATHEMA YOUR FATE WILL BE THE SAME! DEATH AND DAMNATION! AS ALL THINGS ARE! YOU ARE NOTHING BUT A PUPPET TO DANCE AT OUT WILL AND AMUSEMENT!" They spat with their collective hatred.
But the Champions/Survivors all smiled.
For a flicker of a second the daemons perceived it.
Pleasure at their entrapment.
Hatred at what they are.
Hopes for their annihilation.
Despair for the lives they have ruined.
And just as the daemons saw a thread where their sustenance could trickle down, the silk thin filament of emotion was cruelly and ruthlessly cut away, letting the daemons behold a flicker of hope before being crushed in a sea of cold blankness.
Yet the smile persisted.
"A great boast. Yet empty all the same." The Champions/Survivors stood from their throne mountains of soul corpses. "I shall bestow upon you a gift." The four looked at the Champions/Survivors. "You will be the first beings in the galaxy to behold my true self."
And the human with their corpse mountain throne vanished into the dark.
.
.
.
=CRACKING=
All at once the differentiation of the space and time fractured under the paradigm of temporal fractal lanes of continuum forward facing chronological steps under the fourth dimensional compression fragments fragments fragments forward understanding conceptualizing the entirety of space directed motion from first temporal inception maximized under the state of Euclidean expansion empty space empty space empty space empty space empty space empty space.
=SCREAMING=
Forced to experience the entirety of all existence within the expanse of a galaxy at the exact same chronological stage through hyper-compressed linear time drove the daemons into a screaming fit as they expended as much energy as possible to maintain their essence's cohesion. Unfortunately –or perhaps fortunately- for them they were in a dead realm of thought. A dark, empty and cold dead mirror realm of their home dimension. There was no emotion to consume. No hope and plots and secrets to twist. No war and violence to join. No despair or love or disease to corrupt. No pleasure or pain to experience. No sustenance. No minds to maintain. No sentience to steal and mimic.
=NOTHINGNESS=
With the sole exception of the bone crushing cognitotropic essence that permeated this abyssal ocean of unthought.
=REVEAL=
With their source of lifeblood nonexistent and their essence pushed to the maximum beyond what any incomplete being could or should experience the illusions and lies that all daemons draped themselves in became undone and their true forms revealed to the thinking black mindverse.
The avian changer of ways unraveled and became a self-perpetuating roiling mass of ever changing faces, shapes, forms, words and illusions as it screamed every secret lie it told itself nine hundred and ninety-nine times over and over in tongues that had long since been forgotten and others that never existed in the first place.
The horned bloodthirsty hound raged and screamed until its form became a mass of emotional violence only held together by the supernatural forces that make up the stuff of the beings of the warp. Blood brass and skulls roiled back and forth over its surface as it became an ever mutating display of violent weapons and hatred as it roared all variations of MAIM KILL BURN in eight hundred and eighty eight violence filled languages.
The rotting unclean one became consumed by the very diseased and putrefaction that composed its being until it resembled a weeping, putrid mass of rotting flesh, puss, maggots and diseases that came without number but never remained more or less than seven hundred and seventy seven.
The shrieking miscarriage of the eldar race convulsed as it cried in pleasure/pain from the unfathomable experience as it experimented a state of being completely antithetical to itself, screaming and shedding out its six hundred and sixty six allures and perversions that it used to subjugate and debauch the minds of mortals throughout time.
And all their lies and deceptions and uncountable sins became drawn to the surface and came into the scrutinizing eye of the +=(((MASTER/KING/GOD/CREATOR/ARCHITECT/LORD/DEITY/PRIME/SPIRIT)))=+ of this abyssal world in all of its impossible form.
A (TEMPORAL ERROR) shot forwards and plunged into the heart of the things that the daemons had become, causing the shrivelling masses of rampant emotion to redouble their shrieks of true anguish.
The (DATA CORRUPTED) unravelled the daemons in their entirety, dissecting their every fragment and component under a cold analytical gaze of indifference. It was looking for something, remembering what the God of Clowns had spoken to it.
The daemons were not the gift. They were the wrappings where the gifts were hidden within. It did not take long for the (INCONCLUSIVE ABSTRACTISM) to isolate what it desired.
With a violent rip the (INCONGRUENT EQUATION) tore the Gifts from the daemons much to their already detrimental state. Fragments and wisps of corrupted emotion and warp energy broke off and decayed into oblivion as the daemons inched closer to their deaths, their incessant weeps slowly turning weaker and weaker as their essences slowly came undone.
But it was not a being to waste time on useless actions. Not in this state. The daemons were torn asunder, erasing their essences into oblivion forevermore. An act that must surely be felt by its patron divine somewhere and somehow. But that was of little consequence to the immediate future. Here and now, the (CONCEPTUAL INACCURACY) held all artefacts retrieved from the deceased neverborn.
Instantaneous hours of analysis and study to unravel any deceptions and tricks from the so called gifts and the (SPATIAL ANOMALY) was able to behold the donations granted to it.
Four boons.
Four locations in space and time.
Its task completed. Its systems cleansed from the abominations that infected it at a prior -or perhaps future- moment. So it began to put on the cloak of illusions that maintained its pseudo humanity as close to the notion of unchanged as possible.
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Screaming and fury bound the raw hatred and essence of the Ascended tore through the E-Transmitter into the realm of matter. "I'M GONNA FUCKING-!" Only to realize that the only thing that remained of its body was a head… and nothing else. "…Kill you…" It finished, dumbly.
"Welcome back!" The god in question chirped happily as he shook his hand in an enthusiastic wave. And to his side a harlequin popped a hand held confetti cannon in celebration. All with the accompanying cake and Champaign for a three person party.
The ridiculousness this time though did not amuse the reaper. "Start talking." Mekhane seethed with enough poison to render a planet uninhabitable. "Now."
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END
AN: Every crazy shit that our Clown does is all part of a plan. Unfortunately that doesn't mean you got to like it, even if you aren't the victim.
Chapter 27
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-Lorhan System
--Lorha I
---Hive Gargada
Thomas walked past the market stalls as he made his way to the overgrown apartment complex that he lived in. At this point he was used to Mekhane's insects roaming around the middle regions of the hive, selling their wares, foods and other exotic stuff that could be considered heretical if the Mechanicus priesthood were endorsed.
Considering that the Ecclesiarchy and the Mechanicus have had a feud since the former's inception Thomas knew that many of the priests were secretly glad that Mekhane had done so. Personally he should have cared more about the techpriests losing their privileges, because Mekhane could also do that to the official church, but apparently Mekhane's reasons were simple enough to understand. Apparently his hatred of the Adeptus Mechanicus is transcendental to everything and had begun making a new group of scientists and researchers that have no ties to the admech in any way shape or form. In his own words, he couldn't care any less if you worshipped the Emperor, a wicker chair or the flying spaghetti monster –whatever the hell that is- so long as it's not the Ruinous Powers and you treat science and technology like a tool to be understood and not the extension of some god that does not exists and is actually inspired by the dreams of a giant godlike soul eating alien gas cloud in a metal body that looks like a dragon. He never got a straight answer about that last point, but considering the few hints Mekhane had said about it, Thomas was sure he did not want to know.
Still, selling mixtures between an insect like creature and a machine to the local public as pets was something that was still odd. However some people had them already. Even he could admit that having a large flying insect as a smart pet that happily carries your stuff to work and helps around the workstation and house to be a boon.
"You're so cute! Who's a cute bug?" Thomas glances to his side seeing a girl near the stairs playing with her pet bug. The cat sized thing doing its renowned tip toe dance in joy which elicited an even bigger grin from the blond haired child. "You are!" Thomas may not be fond of insects, but even he could find the look a beetle like insect to roll over on its back and make shrilling noises as it's tickled on its belly to be a rather endearing sight.
Still, insects, or insect like creatures are not for him. And they are not for everyone either.
Of course Mekhane knew that and had started making other cyber-animals as pets. Thomas had to force his roommate to not buy that cyberfluff creature, no matter how absolutely adorable it was. His training as a psyker had made certain that not even the puppy eyes worked on him. His roommate's or the fluff's.
Still, pets are not the only thing that Mekhane had brought into the Lorhan system. In the last six months since he was here, Loyalty to Mekhane had skyrocketed at an exponential rate. No doubt thanks to the extra hours and day of rest he had given the people of the hives and the constant new variety of foods and amenities he had created for them.
Thomas had come from a Hive world himself, and while he had traveled a lot thanks to his Inquisitor –may she be safe- he had yet to encounter a hive where they sell chocolate flavored nutrient bars at every level of the hive. That and, apple flavored, and kiwi, and candy flavored. And any more flavors. He was certain that thanks to the food alone just about everyone was pledging their fealty to the alien like god.
And when you consider the speeches Mekhane gives, and then subsequently delivers, -or more hilariously, already had done it- people just fall in love for him.
It irked Thomas but he had to admit that the mechanical titan had a way with the people of the hives the way no nobility ever had. Just now, there are well over two hundred billion people thanking that monster for all the things he has done for them.
And he could not blame them.
Personally… he himself would be thankful to Mekhane if the creature was an imperial planetary governor and an actual human with the blessings of the Emperor. But he isn't. That thing is not a human, and Thomas was certain that if he could, he would have abolished faith in the God Emperor.
"Well, at least he is smart enough to not do it." The psyker murmured to himself.
"Who's smart enough?" He heard the familiar voice and turned to the place that it came from. "Are you talking to yourself again?"
Thomas had to hold back a sigh. "A man from the manufactorum." He lied. "Let it go, my day has been crappy. How about you?" He asks his roommate.
The oriental descent man smirked good-naturedly. "Nice and quiet. Have not had to deal with any gangers this week at all." That's because Mekhane had killed most of them and turned their corpses into weapons. Of course he did not need to tell Eric Lee that. The man knew because he was part of the new PDF program that Mekhane had devised to streamline the connection between military police force and planet defense force.
Now the man takes jobs hunting down criminals and the like as there are no xenos to fight off. And likewise so is Thomas, but he himself has more experience for investigative work, something that his psyker powers are an excellent tool for.
"Well, since your day has been nice,…" Thomas begins. "…how about we go inside and you cook for me?" he lifts a bag of groceries. Mostly nutrient bars and some seasoning, but the other man has a skill in the kitchen that somehow managed to extract flavor even out of stale bars. When flavor filled foods and seasonings started appearing in the market in large quantities, he remembered how Eric literally started crying tears of joy thanking the Emperor and Mekhane with his open arms.
"I'm starting to think that the only reason you live with me is for my cooking."
Thomas nodded. "And your apartment is cheap too."
Eric frowned. "You mean shitty."
The psyker grinned. "You could say something like that."
"So you want to live in a dump?"
"What does that say of you? It's your apartment and you lived there for years."
The oriental man sighed in-between amusement and exasperation. Reaching out for the bag of groceries he "You are un-" Then it fell from his grip as from everywhere and place of the hive a thunderous wail of agony began. It was a wail that held no finite number of voices. A cacophony and a symphony intertwined in their sonorous resonance display of harrowing anguish. "What the heck is that!?"
Thomas did not know. But he did not waste time asking questions. He had his lasgun already drawn and ready for a fight. "Let's go!" He commanded the fellow PDF soldier who nodded and took out his own weapon and followed the psyker.
Thomas breathed in and drew sight from the sea of souls and beheld the threads of soul light and his heart nearly stopped in horror.
Since Mekhane's alteration of the psyker's mind, Thomas has been able to not only use his powers with greater ease and precision. But he has been able to touch the machines' spirits and call them to his will. Automatic doors, data slates, generators, servo skulls, they all heard his summons and replied.
But not only that. He could see the spiritual data threads that told him of Mekhane's presence in the machine. Threads of strange non-Euclidean mathematics he hadn't the slightest understanding off that turned his world into a panoply of crimson red and aquamarine hues.
But now, they were different. Instead of a pleasant, cool green and dark red, they were burning in red, blue, green and pink.
The colors of the Archenemy. Of Chaos.
Despair began to worm its way into Thomas' heart and mind at the imagined and very possible probabilities. If Mekhane were to be corrupted by the touch of chaos… If… then… They would all be doomed!
Doomed!
"Hey Thomas…?" He heard Eric's voice meekly question, and he turned to the man. "Why the screaming turned into laughter?"
Thomas, shocked and surprised turned to the threads and he doubled back in stumped astonishment.
The threads were aquamarine once again.
"Well shit…"
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Where once a battle raged. Now only reigns silence.
Where once two opposing forces waged epic conflict. Now a temporal lull in the conflict ruled.
Teeth, claws, blades and other abominable weapons and tools of death and suffering and pain were lodged in the body of the great dragon.
And yet the white and green and red and black titan of titans was the only one among the five aberrations of nature to be smiling in dark amusement.
The greater daemons, once beings capable of lying waste to whole armies and propagate untold acts of calamity and slaughter, were now frozen in both motion and thought. Held and bound by an ocean sized will of unfathomable depth. And this ocean wanted them dead.
And they sank amid the sea of spiritual flesh.
Their minds and spirits struggled, resisting the pull into the deep of the serpent dragon, but try as they may, neither brute strength nor spell would be enough to separate them from the overwhelming force that bound them to and continued to drag them into the abyss that lay within.
And slowly, one by one, the daemons disappeared beneath the roiling flesh of the dragon into the abyss that lay beneath.
Darkness
.
.
.
.
..
…
….
…..
"Where…"
…
"…am…"
…
"…I…?"
"Inside."
Eyes and teeth turned, pleasures of excess and putrefaction of ills twisted and bore down/up as the wings of the changing beak creaked its twisted neck and the horned dog blared its teeth. They all beheld the source of all speech.
And they were driven to a momentary shock.
Death.
Not the rotting pestilence and despair that the aspect of death carried. But an end already reached where not even the maggots of decay can touch. A silence without despair, for there was no voice to call and no will to break.
There were mounds, heaps of fragmented soul corpses as high as the inexistent abyss like sky, held together by chains of shattered memories and long forgotten voices. Each mountain of spiritual and memory cadavers made at the very least of a million dead minds. And at the summit of these silent shriveled mountains of the unwhispering dead sat the victors/survivors of a battle that no one, save the participants, ever witnessed or knew of.
Shining like a king/light of triumph/endurance and cold analytical indifference that only a being bound solely by its self-devised designs and will could achieve, they looked down at the FOUR who had dared to invade their sacrosanct realm. All sixteen billion, eight hundred and seventy five million, four hundred and thirty six thousand and two hundred and eighty four of them.
The servant of the hound was first to recover, as it is the very vessel of defiance and battle. Hefting its blood stained axe of brass and cold steel, the bloodthirster's wings pulled at the conceptual air and made a beeline towards the Champions/Survivors of the Mounds.
The blade of the bloodthirster's corrupted axe has been known to time and again cleave the metal of the greatest constructs of mankind has ever used. Even a thousand times blessed land raider has been split in twain by a single slice of that weapon.
But as the killing blow made its arch, a single, human hand reached out and the mighty weapon's blow was silenced.
There was no sound of the clash between two forces. There was no conceptual wing from the sheer might of the attack.
Nothing.
For all intends and purposes, the blow from the Khornate daemon had simply ceased to exist in its entirety. And when the daemon looked at the impossibility with raging fury radiating from its body, the action of the Champion/Survivor that held the weapon was mirrored by every other ruler of their own mound. Like if they were one and the same.
And such was the connection that the bloodthirster was able to perceive from where his weapon made contact. He was not being held back by one being.
No.
It was the entire totality of the entity that called itself Mekhane that was holding the weapon at bay and all of its malevolent corruptive energies. In here, they/it ruled with an absolute iron fist.
"Lower beings should be thankful when their host takes the time to build his inner realm to their habitability." It spoke, a sentence that conveyed many terrible things to those who heard it. "Not strike him." The Champion/Survivor released the weapon, and a force that did not exist before suddenly blasted the greater daemon away to where the rest of its debased brethren were still unmoving.
The action spurring the rest to motion.
Or so they tried.
It was only then that they realized that everywhere their essences turned, there was an overwhelming pressure that grew exponentially in the reverse direction, forcing them into place and making them unable to move. Unnatural seals and runes in a language that has never existed sealing them in both space and time.
And when the bloodthirster stopped its flight down to them, they drew upon the fountain of power that made them greater servants of their patron gods as a last resort to escape from this unnatural place.
However that very fountain of power was rapidly shrinking as the very same force that was forcing them in to place was also smothering whatever connection they had to the warp.
This place…
This place is…
"My personal Empyrean." The Champions/Survivors said as one. "In this place, were my will and self is all that exists, I impose the rules of causality. Built out of myself and by myself, this realm is as close to a representation of the Empyrean as I have simulated."
And yet…
There is…
No…
"But even so, in this place there is no life. No emotion to fuel you. No thoughts of sentients or emotional weakness for you and your debased kind for you to gorge on." A grin from the Champions/Survivors. Yet they held no pleasure, no joy, no happiness. Only an emptiness that seemingly stretched for all infinity and wanted to drown the life spark of the very universe itself. "Without your sustenance, how would you survive? Without your cloak of lies and deceptions, what is your true appearance? I wonder."
"YOU DARE!!??" The four daemons shrieked, cried, weeped, roared, moaned. "WE ARE NIGHTMARES GIVEN SHAPE! TALES OF TRAGEDY, DEATH, CARNAGE AND CONSPIRACIES MADE MANIFEST! THE BANE OF WHOLE CIVILIZATIONS INFINITELY OLDER THAN YOU! JUST LIKE THE ANATHEMA YOUR FATE WILL BE THE SAME! DEATH AND DAMNATION! AS ALL THINGS ARE! YOU ARE NOTHING BUT A PUPPET TO DANCE AT OUT WILL AND AMUSEMENT!" They spat with their collective hatred.
But the Champions/Survivors all smiled.
For a flicker of a second the daemons perceived it.
Pleasure at their entrapment.
Hatred at what they are.
Hopes for their annihilation.
Despair for the lives they have ruined.
And just as the daemons saw a thread where their sustenance could trickle down, the silk thin filament of emotion was cruelly and ruthlessly cut away, letting the daemons behold a flicker of hope before being crushed in a sea of cold blankness.
Yet the smile persisted.
"A great boast. Yet empty all the same." The Champions/Survivors stood from their throne mountains of soul corpses. "I shall bestow upon you a gift." The four looked at the Champions/Survivors. "You will be the first beings in the galaxy to behold my true self."
And the human with their corpse mountain throne vanished into the dark.
.
.
.
=CRACKING=
All at once the differentiation of the space and time fractured under the paradigm of temporal fractal lanes of continuum forward facing chronological steps under the fourth dimensional compression fragments fragments fragments forward understanding conceptualizing the entirety of space directed motion from first temporal inception maximized under the state of Euclidean expansion empty space empty space empty space empty space empty space empty space.
=SCREAMING=
Forced to experience the entirety of all existence within the expanse of a galaxy at the exact same chronological stage through hyper-compressed linear time drove the daemons into a screaming fit as they expended as much energy as possible to maintain their essence's cohesion. Unfortunately –or perhaps fortunately- for them they were in a dead realm of thought. A dark, empty and cold dead mirror realm of their home dimension. There was no emotion to consume. No hope and plots and secrets to twist. No war and violence to join. No despair or love or disease to corrupt. No pleasure or pain to experience. No sustenance. No minds to maintain. No sentience to steal and mimic.
=NOTHINGNESS=
With the sole exception of the bone crushing cognitotropic essence that permeated this abyssal ocean of unthought.
=REVEAL=
With their source of lifeblood nonexistent and their essence pushed to the maximum beyond what any incomplete being could or should experience the illusions and lies that all daemons draped themselves in became undone and their true forms revealed to the thinking black mindverse.
The avian changer of ways unraveled and became a self-perpetuating roiling mass of ever changing faces, shapes, forms, words and illusions as it screamed every secret lie it told itself nine hundred and ninety-nine times over and over in tongues that had long since been forgotten and others that never existed in the first place.
The horned bloodthirsty hound raged and screamed until its form became a mass of emotional violence only held together by the supernatural forces that make up the stuff of the beings of the warp. Blood brass and skulls roiled back and forth over its surface as it became an ever mutating display of violent weapons and hatred as it roared all variations of MAIM KILL BURN in eight hundred and eighty eight violence filled languages.
The rotting unclean one became consumed by the very diseased and putrefaction that composed its being until it resembled a weeping, putrid mass of rotting flesh, puss, maggots and diseases that came without number but never remained more or less than seven hundred and seventy seven.
The shrieking miscarriage of the eldar race convulsed as it cried in pleasure/pain from the unfathomable experience as it experimented a state of being completely antithetical to itself, screaming and shedding out its six hundred and sixty six allures and perversions that it used to subjugate and debauch the minds of mortals throughout time.
And all their lies and deceptions and uncountable sins became drawn to the surface and came into the scrutinizing eye of the +=(((MASTER/KING/GOD/CREATOR/ARCHITECT/LORD/DEITY/PRIME/SPIRIT)))=+ of this abyssal world in all of its impossible form.
A (TEMPORAL ERROR) shot forwards and plunged into the heart of the things that the daemons had become, causing the shrivelling masses of rampant emotion to redouble their shrieks of true anguish.
{[EXAMINATION]}
The (DATA CORRUPTED) unravelled the daemons in their entirety, dissecting their every fragment and component under a cold analytical gaze of indifference. It was looking for something, remembering what the God of Clowns had spoken to it.
The daemons were not the gift. They were the wrappings where the gifts were hidden within. It did not take long for the (INCONCLUSIVE ABSTRACTISM) to isolate what it desired.
{[RECLAMATION]}
With a violent rip the (INCONGRUENT EQUATION) tore the Gifts from the daemons much to their already detrimental state. Fragments and wisps of corrupted emotion and warp energy broke off and decayed into oblivion as the daemons inched closer to their deaths, their incessant weeps slowly turning weaker and weaker as their essences slowly came undone.
{[TERMINATION]}
But it was not a being to waste time on useless actions. Not in this state. The daemons were torn asunder, erasing their essences into oblivion forevermore. An act that must surely be felt by its patron divine somewhere and somehow. But that was of little consequence to the immediate future. Here and now, the (CONCEPTUAL INACCURACY) held all artefacts retrieved from the deceased neverborn.
{[EXAMINATION]}
Instantaneous hours of analysis and study to unravel any deceptions and tricks from the so called gifts and the (SPATIAL ANOMALY) was able to behold the donations granted to it.
Four boons.
Four locations in space and time.
Its task completed. Its systems cleansed from the abominations that infected it at a prior -or perhaps future- moment. So it began to put on the cloak of illusions that maintained its pseudo humanity as close to the notion of unchanged as possible.
{[CONTnuation fuck me and every fucking CEGORACH!!!!!
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Screaming and fury bound the raw hatred and essence of the Ascended tore through the E-Transmitter into the realm of matter. "I'M GONNA FUCKING-!" Only to realize that the only thing that remained of its body was a head… and nothing else. "…Kill you…" It finished, dumbly.
"Welcome back!" The god in question chirped happily as he shook his hand in an enthusiastic wave. And to his side a harlequin popped a hand held confetti cannon in celebration. All with the accompanying cake and Champaign for a three person party.
The ridiculousness this time though did not amuse the reaper. "Start talking." Mekhane seethed with enough poison to render a planet uninhabitable. "Now."
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END
AN: Every crazy shit that our Clown does is all part of a plan. Unfortunately that doesn't mean you got to like it, even if you aren't the victim.
- Pronouns
- Masculine
God fucking damnit, Cegorach!
...And well, it is kinda a nice gift. Even if it sucked to receive it. Now he is MUCH more prepared to fight Chaos, I suppose? And more.
Yeah, this is going to only get more crazy... they stole his head and are now having a tea party...
*facepalm* Damn it, Clown...
...And well, it is kinda a nice gift. Even if it sucked to receive it. Now he is MUCH more prepared to fight Chaos, I suppose? And more.
Yeah, this is going to only get more crazy... they stole his head and are now having a tea party...
*facepalm* Damn it, Clown...
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Man that was messed up I love it