- Pronouns
- Male
I can't help but associate the number six with Slaanesh in 40k fics (IIRC 7 was Nurgle, 8 was Khorne and 9 was the indecisive Mollusk). Does our MC have history with the most pathetic Tumor?
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Between Heaven and Earth (A Warhammer 40k... Warp Entity Self Insert)
- Thread starter Black-Aengel-01
- Start date
- Novel Sci-Fi Fantasy
- Location
- In the Space between Spaces
The only relationship that he and that whore have in common is that both have a thing for art and that they share the same number. That one wants to recruit the other and that one wants the other to stop existing... well...
- Location
- USA
This is why I love the Orks. They provide a level of comedy to a setting that would otherwise be so dark, grim and serious.
- Location
- USA
It/He/She/They want to be the Nurgle to the Painter's Isha? What a riot!
TheExChipmunk
URoRRuRuRRoR`Ru`R
- Location
- Jundland Wastes, Tatooine
Jokaero, the aliens who make Digital Weapons. While there is no much on them they are highly advanced, to a degree where a single one is a scary foe.
I'm pretty sure they just act super helpful to literally anyone apart from making uber-advanced weapons. They don't actually use the weapons they make (space monkeys are weird like that).
Chapter 1 Part 7
- Location
- In the Space between Spaces
Between Heaven and Earth
Part 7
TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTPart 7
Planets are a thing of the world of matter and stars, where they calmly orbit something greater than themselves, as it is in accordance to the universal laws of physics. In the Warp however, they are very much considered alien things who follow alien laws. Spherical objects of great size and mass in the Materium, they become hybrids of sorts in the Empyrean plane, but even as they are twisted by the currents of the warp and the will of the Powers that swim in its ineffable spatial membranes, they still retain a form that one can speak of them as planetary.
Daemons and Empyrean predators that have learned and specialized in preying on upon Material beings have grown accustomed to the pseudo-rigidity of such objects and know how to navigate their non-mazes.
So when objects of such mass enter their native plane of reality they can find refuge in there from beings who are far more esoteric in nature and struggle to make sense of a half logical existence.
Descending through the atmosphere towards the planet's surface a pair of wings beat the non-existent air as they made their way towards their destination.
The creature was a hideous amalgam of avian and invertebrate body parts painted with impossible hues, at least to a mortal's limited senses. In truth, what it was, was far a stranger visage of things that had no name in a world that followed a logical decree.
The Herald of Tzeentch descended down and as a new constant started to take hold its wings took on a less bizarre design and started forming an archetype that would actually allow it to swim through the skies of the Materium.
Becoming larger and greater, with the ideas of muscles and tendons and bones taking root and shaping its Imago, the azure and violet abomination now resembled a great mutated bird.
Its flight down onto the surface of the planet took it mere minutes of controlled descent through a sky filled with horrors and blood rain storms.
Upon touching the ground, its form shifted slightly once more, the wings becoming akin to a long cloak that trailed off and floated just behind, much like how long drapes wave around underneath the waves.
Its neck engorged itself, growing massive and bloated, and then its beak opened and from its cavernous maw emerged a fully grown and red armoured Astartes.
Kyras landed on the geometric ground covered in ectoplasmic saliva and mucus, but he did not pay any attention to that, instead he looked up at the Tzeentchian herald that he apparently was spat out of and frowned.
Tired as he was, his mind was still sharp, and centuries of war and conflict has made it pretty fast to react to the environment. He had lost consciousness for a moment during that trip, but only instants after being brought back he immediately recognized the presence in front of him. "God Emperor, that is disgusting!"
He willed the etheric slime to be cast off by a mantle of fire rippling over his red armor, cleansing it in its heat. He then glared at the daemon for a moment as he stood, the true form underneath the Herald disguise beginning to tear its way free from its false skin.
"Why did you have to spit me out like that?"
"Sorry about that." It said as the yellow and black demonic dog like mask started poking out from underneath the cloth skins. "Wearing any of the Four's masks influences me. The Tzeenchian one makes me a bit random."
Kyras looked at the warp creature for a moment, worry slowly mounting in his mind. "They influence you?"
A nod. "Not that they would ever make me start eating children or go on a murder orgy and bathe in the blood of virgins, but I do need to act the part when I am in disguise. I am passingly good at acting, but not so that I would be able to play the part of a daemon of the Four Cancer freaks without messing it up every now and then." It explained, tapping the Slaaneshi mask held loosely somewhere on its right shoulder. "Especially these freaks, they disgust me on a fundamental level. So the masks helps out a lot to sell the act."
Kyras nodded in understanding. It made sense, as daemons of the Dark Gods would regularly commit heinous acts whenever they could. It would be challenging to follow their deeds when one is opposed to their very act.
The Astartes looked away from the Painter, and started observing his surroundings and found that while they were not as bizarre as the rest of the Warp places he has been, this one had an entirely distinct and strange air to it.
In his short time in the Warp, Kyras had grown accustomed to the sanitized view of ever shifting landscapes of body parts, gaseous metal, glassy wind, liquid fire and all manner of things that had no business being a physical component of a landscape. The sight of distant protean horrors flying afar, the constant cacophony of laughter and screams intermixed with the sounds of alien throats, the horrific perfumes and sweet stenches that assaulted his nose in spite of his helmet, the colours that he still could not pronounce the names off no matter how much the Painter tried to teach it to him, or the utter sense of wrongness and hostility that came off from everywhere and everywhen. The pressure at the back of his eyes and the slowly growing uneasy feeling that the more he looked into the impossible landscapes the more he was starting to make sense of it.
But this place? It felt eerie. Abandoned and forgotten but not empty. Wherever he looked, his vision could not decide it he was seeing an endless road, or a series of monochromatic rooms that stretched for infinity, or a maze of colourless obsidian cobblestone or just a straight set of halls separated by a countless amount of doors.
This place felt like if it was somewhere mid transition. A place that he walked through without thought and had no purpose past that. A waiting moment, a passing from one place to the next, an action in-between the intent and the result. All of that converted and compressed into a singular physical constant that could not be satisfied with the transition into his mind and had to continue doing so eternally.
A eternal liminal space.
Kyras shook his head and regarded the warp spawn once more, noticing that it too was taking in the scenery. "So where are we?" He asked it.
"Uralan." It replied without looking back, but Kyras felt weight in his hearts when he heard that name. There was importance in it, in the name of wherever they were. He just did not know what. The Painter turned back from its site seeing and expanded upon the name given to the librarian. "A middle ground of sorts. A neutral territory for all beings in the Empyrean, provided they follow its rules. A planet wide liminal space that is essentially the only safe space in the Milky Way's Warp. A place where violence of any kind enacted by you would subject you to a powerful malediction that would allow even a mere fury to fight off an empowered greater daemon of the Powers of Chaos." The Painter began walking off, gesturing to the marine to follow, who did as he listened to the warp creature's explanation of their current location.
And then it delivered the most damning declaration.
"That means that you are not allowed to initiate hostilities with anyone here." It stressed giving the astartes a very stern glare, one that brokered no rebuttal and no objections. "Not one single being. Does not matter what they are or who. Be they Traitor or Neverborn, you will obey the laws of this land. You could even be in front of Abaddon himself, and you would be forced to not even lay a finger on him. Is that understood?"
Kyras growled in his deep voice, anger and shock clearly noticeable in his tone. "You cannot expect me to be friendly with the scum here?! Do you?"
"No I don't, and I don't want you to." It assured. "You can make your hatred and hostility towards a second party be openly known, but you are not allowed to act on it at all. Keep it stern, unwelcoming, but also calm, collected and, above all, peaceful." The Painter declared. "Daemons of Chaos will try to tempt you to start physical hostilities, but so long as you do nothing to them they won't even be able to lay their Taint on you. So keep a lid on your aggression, your powers and your blade. Is that clear." It wasn't a statement.
The epistolary gave a long, hard look at the yellow and black faced devil in front of him. His fists were bawled so tightly that he knew they knuckles were turning white underneath his blue gauntlets. Eventually though, he sighed. "Very well. I shall follow your lead." Not that he has much choice on the matter.
Immediately, the warp creature's expression softened and its shoulders sagged in a mimicry of relief. "Good." It said, nodding satisfied. "I know of a section that I have…" Uncertainty, looking up at the sky as its face's expression turned into one of diffidence and confusion. "…Not sure I can call it claimed actually. Its more like… rented? I think…?" It turned to the marine, meeting his helmeted visage that hid the man's own confusion at the statement the creature just said. "Well, anyway, I have a 'rented' place that we can rest in and not be bothered by unwanted nuisances."
Kyras just kept staring for several, long awkward moments more. "Can daemons even provide… renting services?" Kyras was sure that everything he had seen up to this point somehow did not hold a candle in surrealism to the bizarre idea in his head about a Khornate daemon on a clerk seat providing hosts rooms in a hotel.
It just… it did not make any sense!
"Like I said, not sure I can even call it that." The Painter said, looking at the watery asphalt that the floor had become. "This planet's weird."
Weird was an understatement! Kyras clearly thought. "This entire plane of reality is weird!"
A grin from the warp creature, and they continued off in their trek.
Their walk was slow. Both having to stop every few moments, seemingly to orientate themselves. Or rather, the Painter was the one trying to orientate itself, as apparently it knew the way, just that it was confusing and the path was never the same each time.
Kyras was inclined to believe it. Somehow, these walls and roads seem to be more obtuse than anything his mind tried to make sense of. And he was observing it all through illusionary lenses to diminish the sensory input his mind is forced to experience. He would not want to imagine just how strange it would be to observe this place without such filter. He tried a couple of times to peer through the illusions and every time he started gleaming a bit more than what the creature permitted him, his sense of balance would go meet the Emperor and he would realize only after it had happened that he was walking on the ceiling. Much to the amusement of the daemon and the man's own personal annoyance.
A question popped up in his mind though as they both passed a strange alien statue that seemed… too real and too 'logical' to be just some fluke.
"Painter." At its name the creature's ears perked up.
"Yes? What is it?" It asked, almost instantly.
Kyras frowned thoughtfully at that. The creature was… surprisingly amicable. He knew that it wasn't to be trusted, not that he had any choice in that matter, but the bizarre being was… strangely accommodating.
And not in a Tzeentchian sort of way.
It would answer questions without asking anything in return and oftentimes, it was something that Kyras could somewhat wrap his mind around, even when it was speaking of strange and esoteric concepts that most librarians at times would struggle to make sense of. Perhaps being in the Warp, and under the creature's protection, was slowly opening up Kyras' senses to the currents of the Empyrean. Maybe it was the Painter's manipulations and he was being set up to fail in the end. In the end, the creature was completely casual in how it spoke to the man. Not speaking directly down to him, or making itself seem greater than any man at all.
In fact, it more or less treated Kyras closer to an equal. No… not an equal… someone that could become so in some future, but is not there yet… not by a long margin. Like an apprentice that has some passing talent maybe?
Kyras found himself finding many parallels between this creature and late Chief Librarian Erandes. He hated that, but he was self aware enough, and still of enough a waking state, that he was forced to recognize it.
Erandes would always make time to answer most questions Kyras, and the rest of their battle brothers, presented the late Librarian, provided that he was not too busy himself or deemed a subject ill advised to teach. He found… or at least, seemed to appear, that the creature found some joy in explaining things. That it enjoyed teaching. Much like his own mentor.
Kyras frowned.
Yes. Because even though it taught some things that Radical Inquisitors would love to sell their souls for, it also bore horrible revelations that Kyras… just… didn't want to acknowledge. Even though there was a dark voice in the deep reseses of his mind that was whispering at him to accept what the Painter said. Trying to convince the man that what it was saying was true.
Everything it had said. About the Emperor, his Primarch, his future that it supposedly never will be anymore.
He tried hard to hide it. He tried deeply to fall back on those mental rituals he was taught as an initiate to steady his mind. He tried to disregard it, to disbelieve it, or at least see it from another perspective.
But he couldn't deny the fact that it left him troubled. Deeply so. But…
He looked at the creature that he was following, because he had no other choice, and as much as he hated to think about it… he was thankful that it had not brought up those topics again. Though a part of him wondered what other forbidden secrets it knew. And he dreaded to know when and if it would reveal them to him. And what was it gaining from it?
Regardless, Kyras pressed on. "We passed a statue a while back. I did not fully notice it before, but there were others that vaguely resembled it that we passed."
A smile tugged at the fanged lips of the Painter. "A yes, good eye!" It praised, much to Kyras' ever present frown. "What you see there is one of the few depictions of the original makers of this world."
One of the astartes' brow slowly moved up to the man's hairline. Or what little he had of it. His hair loss wasn't as severe as the rest of his battle brothers', but it still happened and Kyras felt that every time he looked at his own reflection he found a few strands of hair missing. Not that he put much stock in appearances, but he liked his hair. He enjoyed braiding it and placing simple decorations on it. Made him feel impressions he no longer recalled. Faded memories that he was certain were from before his transformation into one of the Emperor's Angels of Death. Sigh, more things to fade away in time. He shook his head, pushing those thoughts aside. "This world is artificial?"
He did not know much of how exactly planets were affected by the Warp during a Warp Storm, or what happened when they were absorbed into the Empyrean itself. But from what he had read, the effects were as varied and as horrific as anything he had ever come to associate with the Empyrean. But this planet felt odd for some inexplicable reason.
Fixed. Stable. Grounded. Like a monolithic rock against a raging storm, resisting the wrath of the elements as it remained there, unmoving, unchanging. A island of strange stability amid a cataclysmic sea.
The devil faced Painter nodded. "Correct. This world was created by a…" It paused, then immediately started frowning, venomously so. "Shit."
That immediately got the astartes on edge. "What is it?"
"There are Neverborn between us and the… rental." Kyras stiffed. The Painter looked back at him. "Remember what I said?"
Kyras would have been insulted if it were anyone else asking that question. Both he and it knew that he knew, but the severity of the situation merited the unnecessary question. As to reinforce the laws that must be obeyed.
Kyras nodded, and the Painter nodded back before reaching a hand out to a door that was not there before. "Don't talk to anyone. Don't pay attention to anyone. Don't look them in the eye if you can help it. And most of all…" It said, getting close to Kyras' face. "…Don't touch anyone. You'll die if you enact any violence here. I may want to help you out of the Warp, but I am not going to throw my life away to save someone with a death wish, is that clear?"
One final nod from the marine, and the Warp creature turned back to the door which now seemed like long flowing drapes, just waiting to be pushed aside.
It let out a deep, deep sigh. A very human gesture. "Here goes nothing." It said, and then pulled the gates open, and walked through.
The Epistolary breathed in a calming breath before steadying himself. And then… he followed through after.
When Kyras passed the threshold into this potentially dangerous place, he was not sure what to expect. He pictured in his mind a room full of all the horrors of the Warp just standing there, trying to avoid each other, or something.
He did not expect it to look like the inside of a bar.
Not at all.
It was strange, the walls were off, in both colour and texture. The patrons were everything that could be placed between impossible and horrifying, and yet they seated upon stools with things in hand and intermingled with each other in ways that would not be out of place in an underhive's bar. Except with the complete exclusion of any violence. But the sense of danger never left. Every eye in the room was staring at the two arrivals, but they did nothing beyond that.
Everything was quiet and uncomfortably so. There was a tension in the air so thick that Kyras could reach out and cut it with his dagger.
That quiet however, was cut by Painter's soft voice interrupting the tension with an observation that Kyras was not aware of. "Huh… I wasn't expecting a Notion-from-Above to manifest here so… well defined."
"Notion from Above?" The space marine whispered just behind the warp spawn, wondering what the heck was a Notion from Above and what it meant here and if he should know of it.
But the Painter cut off any conversations. "Later." It said, then gestured with its eyes to a pathway just beyond the horrors in the bar. "Let's get moving!"
Kyras did not nod, but he agreed entirely, so they both began to make their way through the bar. Kyras in particular making sure he did not meet any of the abomination's stares head on. His mind and eye focusing solely upon the entrance that the Painter was walking towards at a hasty, yet calm pace.
Close.
Just ignore their stares.
Closer.
Just ignore their hungering gazes.
So close.
Ignore their choking presences of bottomless evil.
Almost there.
Ignore their wide grinning jaws full of teeth and promises of pain.
Nearly there!
And then… Azariah Kyras, heard a voice.
"Oooh, if it isn't one of Magnus' little birdies!" Kyras froze at the words that he instinctively knew were directed at him, before slowly turning back and laying his eyes upon the creature that had said that.
A pink mass of shifting flesh with limbs, tentacles and wings emerging and being absorbed back to and from the mass. A pink horror of Tzeentch. Bot one that was so much more.
"You are far from your nest." Its grin grew wider. "But at the same time… you are so close…" And then its form began to melt away, slowly coming to reveal something else taking shape underneath.
A humanoid form.
Dark rusted red armor. Blackened horns upon shoulder plates. A librarian's psychic hood. The badge and cape of a Chapter Master.
His own face.
Smiling darkly back at him.
"...so close… to your Destiny."
It was himself.
"So tell me Azariah Kyras, what does it feel to turn your back upon your Emperor?"
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To be Continued.
AN: Whooo… took a while to write this one. Between studying for my last exam and my drawings… well. Yeah, its been slow writing. Glad that the muse is still up and healthy, so there is that.
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- Pronouns
- He/Him
"I don't know personally, but it made you look like a little bitch so I don't think I'll follow your footsteps "
- Location
- In the Space between Spaces
If only most space marines had that learned the ways of verbal fencing this would be such a slap in the face that even a Lord of Change would have to stop what they are doing to write it down, while in the distance there is a Solitaire with a poster that reads "Apply cold water to burnt area"
- Pronouns
- He/Him
You have my blessing to paraphrase my rebuttal as long as you add a whip crack in the background... because of warp shenanigans.
- Location
- USA
By the laws of Badassery, action filming and the universe, a whip crack is absolutely required after such a statement!
Fanfic writers! To your keyboards!
- Location
- the Literature Club
Unfortunately, only Ciaphas Cain knows diss-fu.
- Location
- In the Space between Spaces
We must make Kyras attend a diss-fu seminar with Ciaphas as the teacher.
but what about verbal jousting because words can hurt
Now that I think about it and that plane of existence words could very well damage you
Now that I think about it and that plane of existence words could very well damage you
- Location
- In the Space between Spaces
Except these morons can clearly kill you and eat your soul.
Its limited to 'physical' damage, and while yes, words do hold power, you are not allowed to use them to cause bodily harm. There is a difference between speaking hurtful things and invoking a fireblast by uttering its true name and pouring power into the enunciation.
- Location
- Russia
I has imagined old retired Caiaphas Cain sitting in his chair in his room in Schola Progenium he has founded drinking some tanna, when a weird daemon and an obviously loyalist space marine librarian somehow teleportrd in. Just to ask fir lessons in diss-fu.
...
Cain calmly sipped his tanna and gave a lecture. After all this is not the strangest situation he was in
- Location
- USA
So what you're saying is that I can perform acts of aggressive pacifism upon daemons here as long as I use pool noodles and pillow gloves. Hehehehehe.
- Location
- In the Space between Spaces
Well... So long as no one gets hurt.... 😁
- Location
- Night Lords' gaming basement
So ironic how the Primarch known for having a glorious mane and being an intellectual produced a Chapter cursed to be so BALD and FOOLISH.
Anyway, Baldy Kyras made me look up this MASTERPIECE again. It's been some time, my beloved Magpies...
- Location
- In the Space between Spaces
Eh, Magnus is smart, but he is also a fool. Arrogance is his method of foolishness. While Kyras... Well he was given a pretty bad hand. As in thrown unprotected head first into the Warp kind of bad. Also, he had worked to get the Chapter to fail in the original timeline, so you kind of have to give him some credit.
Chapter 1 Part 8
- Location
- In the Space between Spaces
Between Heaven and Earth
Chapter 8
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--Uralan
-The Painter
This is bad, this is really fucking bad! Some shape shifting fuck managed to get Kyras' attention in the worst shape imaginable. By mocking him with his own bloodline and wearing the face of his own failure of another timeline. And the damned bloody magpie stopped following me to look at the Horror!
Kyras! You had one job god damn it!
I tried to turn back and fetch him before he got himself killed, but just as I started to make my way back, the scene became filled with the patrons, creating a barricade of formless, demonic bodies between me and Kyras and blocking my view!
I couldn't reach him!
And I couldn't fight in this planet!
He was on his own!
God damn it!
So I did the last thing I could do in this situation. I listened closely and prayed for a miracle. I listened and frowned as I heard the pink horror wearing Kyras' alter ego talk to him, goading him into a confrontation that would get him killed.
"Oh Kyras, Kyras, Kyras. What would you ever do?" It asked, I could still hear its voice clearly. "You are following a daemon around, doing his bidding and dancing to his tune. What would the Emperor say about that? Do you think that he would accept you into his kingdom? What would your brothers say?" That last question was the last one I managed to pick up as a slowly growing mocking laughter began to fill the room.
Jeers and animalistic calls echoed within the confines of the Notion's reach, louder and louder, growing and twisting as the whispers of a thousand throats of inhuman and para-alien design called for the death of one man.
And all I could do was hear it. Drowing my senses as I tried to see past without clawing.
For moments, it was all I could hear.
And then, I heard one voice, familiar and not unlike the abominable moans and cackles of the neverborn I was being barricaded by.
"Please part way." It was Kyras.
As quickly and briefly the politely toned sentence was uttered, the mad cackling and jeering of Neverborn and Empyrean abominations alike ended just as abruptly. As if stunned by the speaker and what action he just did to their faces.
But nothing came of it. They remained affixed and frozen in place still.
And then he spoke again. Calm, collected, and "I have places to be, and unless you want to stand in my way doing nothing like misplaced furniture, then I would greatly appreciate that you step aside."
The sides of my lips began to get pulled up. That had to be one of the most polite ways I have heard anyone say the phrase 'Get the fuck out of my way.'. Not a burn by any stretch of the word. But the delivered insult was very much there and satisfying to hear, because the many faced mistakes in my front growled, hissed and made all manner of threatening noises.
Nothing but bluster anyway, because they were as bound to the laws of this realm as all others and Kyras was very much following them to the letter.
So, slowly, one at a time, making disgruntled noises that no mortal would ever generate, the Neverborn and spiritual predators began to step aside and go back to their prior business. Dealing, gambling and forming pacts with one another as they gorged on preyed souls fragments that they still kept on their person.
And Kyras, the space marine was just standing at the epicentre of the slowly diminishing group, looking at me with a steady gaze. But I could still make out the barely imperceptible tremble of his balled fists in spite of his attempt at making himself appear collected. "Can we please get out of here?" He asked, which almost sounded like a plea.
I stepped aside and gestured to the exit we were meant to take before being interrupted by the pink horror, whom I now noticed had turned back and was shooting the Librarian a pretty scolding glare. If we weren't on Uralan, the Space Marine would have been incinerated… probably after being turned into a Chaos Spawn and thrown into a pit of Slaaneshi fiends to make the pain just be that much more excrutiating. But we were and that Tzeentchian fuckwit can't do shit about it… at least for now.
Better keep an eye on that one for later since it could start plotting to fuck us the moment we leave the planet.
Kyras sighs and starts walking. The moment he makes it past me, I place my hand on his shoulder and take a feel of his soul a bit without going too deep and silently nod to myself in satisfaction. He is not an illusion or someone else acting as him.
Not the first time someone tried to pull a fast one on me. Too bad for them that I learned the importance of a healthy dose of paranoia.
"I am impressed by your self control Kyras." I say to the blue armoured astartes walking at my side. "I know you and your kind are mighty willed and capable of incredible restraint, but the abominations of the Warp have a way with provoking even the most stoic of men."
A sigh from the man as he tried to deflate the anger that still boiled at his insides. "Yes… it's a talent they very much revel in." He agreed, opting not to speak of what the Neverborn whispered to him to get him to react negatively. He turned to me, expressing a half glance. "Mayhaps if you hadn't revealed to me my Chapter's descendence and my possible future fall to Chaos… I would have acted brash and doomed myself." Then another sigh and his tone shifted to one closer to despondency as he regarded me more fully. "It's true, isn't it? We are descendants of Mag-"
"Ah, ah! No speaking the big red magic primarch's name!" I chided him, slapping him over the helm and earning me a glare through it as a result.
"That daemon from before spoke it."
I roll my eyes. "Daemons say his name all the time. You in particular, who shares his blood, are a bit more interesting to look at, so please don't speak his name. Or any of the primarchs', I really like to keep myself in one piece." …Well… that's debatable actually. I may as well be all over the place, doing a hundred little things at all times, but at least the fracture is intentionally designed. The aftermath of a raging godling is hardly considered designed… as far as I am concerned. The godling on the other hand would disagree and me being torn to screaming shreds may be well in its intentional design.
Any further commentary about names and primarchs ended as we continued our walk. As we passed the threshhold into the para-Euclidean passages of this world I needed to halt my stride to take in the scenery before me.
"Huh… Now it's like a hotel… curious." Its rare to see two Notions-From-Above exist so close to each other, so its usually a pleasant surprise. Sure, the multicoloured halls give off the same odd feeling that a hotel passage always gave me when I was of mortal flesh. Liminal spaces be like that. But I happen to have grown to like them a bit, since usually they are points of transition and even the predators that lurk in this plane of madness just follow them out and rarely remain within their confines… except for the specialized predators… those I hate a lot.
I really hate Haggayers a lot. Bloody geometrical malformation had the audacity to try and take a bite out of my leg.
Of course I retaliated and ate its head.
Kyras' hum got me back from my musings. "About that, the place we passed before looked remarkably like a bar. Something about a Notion From Above? Is this what is also happening here?" He asked and I nodded, satisfied that he was learning.
"In a way. Uralan is rather peculiar in that it acts as a point of stability amid a massive sea of insanity, so plenty of things end up 'washing up' ashore here. In a manner of speaking." I explain, "Notions Of Above are a form of Pattern state that has a lot to do with the Imago of things, and like all Patterns, homologous ones have the tendency of coming together, growing in mass and complexity." I gestured my surroundings, the impossible shapes that are its foundations being reduced to more understandable geometries as my influence protects the space marine's mind from straining. "Since Uralan is a neutral territory and no one has any claim to it aside from the small 'rented spaces' on it, these Notions just come together, forming the thing which they are meant to represent."
"So where exactly do these Notions come from?"
"From Above." I say, casually pointing upwards, or for a lack of a better definition of up in this realm. Kyras gives me a curious look at my explanation that does not quite yet explain, so I snort and tell him the other name that the so called Above also has. "Realspace."
And just like that, a lightbulb switches on in his head. I was genuinely tempted to cast an illusion over his head of a lit lightbulb, just for comedy's sake. He looks at the 'hotel' passage, studying it with a scrutinizing gaze as he thoughtlessly strokes his chin in a thoughtful manner. "The Notion of a hotel…" he mutters, his tone curious.
"And of a bar." I say, gesturing back with a tilt of my head. "Notions too are responsible for the general appearance of daemons, given that 'humanoid' sentients are the most common form of higher life in the galaxy."
He looks my way, his helmet hiding the look of surprise in his face. "So, if daemons look like us because of humanity and other humanoid xenos… then, what do they look like without the Notions? Do they have a true shape?"
I shrug nonchallantly. "More or less. I tried an experiment once to seek out that very same thing and it turns out that Neverborn look quite similar to amoeba."
He blinks, mildly astounded with my revelations. "Trully?"
"Amorphous blobs of evil, colour coded to the shit stain that it belongs to. Fitting that non sentient parasites, when stripped of all smoke screens and illusions, return back to being nothing but a bacterium."
"Interesting…" I could see him filing that little tid bit for later. I wonder what he would do with that once he escapes the Warp. But those thoughts are of little consequence anyway. Whether he learns how to move in the appropiate angles that navigating the Warp demands, or not, changes little in the end. We all have our scripts to follow. Including me.
Our walk leads us to an intersection where the halls split off into branching passages that make little sense to a mortal mind bound by three dimensional laws. Having another two dimensions seep in every now and then tends to squew the senses. You cannot have that many right angles in such a small space and not have them touch each other. But in the Warp, everything's possible. "Let's go left. I have a feeling we are on the right track." The place has changed quite a bit since last I visited, like it always does, so I have to track down my place every time I go out.
Not a challenging thing, since I am vaguelly aware of where all of my constituent pieces are scattered, but it's damn annoying when the maze just keeps on shifting constantly. At least it means that I get few visitors and in this plane of reality that's a very good thing.
The librarian next to me shrugged. "I'll follow. You are the only one of us who has a clue where they are heading."
So our walk continues, with him analysing the hallways and looking at the various evenly spaced doors that litter it on its four…six? No wait, thee point five surfaces. Eventually we pass through a pause of the Notion where a familiar fixture of Uralan's landscape seeps through, reminding me of a topic we had not finished conversing off. "You wanted to know of the statues from prior and who made them, correct?" I ask to him, looking back.
He gestures a soundless yawn, before replying. "I suppose I still do."
"Right." I nod. "Eons ago an alien race who had a masterful grasp of Empyrean metaphysics created this artificial planet half within the Warp to act as a safe haven for them to retreat to in case their Empire were ever to collapse from external threats."
"They picked an incredibly awful location then."
I snort. "Without necessary context, I would have agreed with you. But the Aeldari of old were not things that could be trifled with. Even humanity at its peak would not have fared well at all against their powerful technologies and sorceries. Between staying in the Materium and risk the Aeldari's wrath or retreating into the Warp and journey its perils, the decision was an easy one to make."
"Were the Eldar such a threat that fleeing into the Warp was a preferable option?" I nod to him, affirming his inquiry.
"Furthermore, the Empyrean back then wasn't as hostile as it is today. In fact, thanks to this planet…" I say, tapping the steel wool carpet with my foot. "…the species very likely still lives on." I shrugged. "No idea where though, they shed their physical forms millions of years ago, becoming unto the Empyrean itself and disappeared off somewhere that not even the Chaos Gods know of. Probably into the deeper Empyrean strata, another galaxy or probably an entirely different universe. Maybe all of the above." I revealed, causing Kyras to ponder this new information.
We descended into a somewhat confortable silence as we walked the hallways in search of our destination. It didn't take long to find the right door, in spite of the twists and turns we had to make to get here. The door to my 'rented' space was completely unremarkable, even though it was technically made of the memory of ashes long drowned in the waters of discrepancies. Its really interesting how the Imago impositions on abstract Pattern weaves create the strangest of archetypes. It's a shame that this era is so marred by the Old Ones and the Aeldari's sins. "Here we are." I say, and grip the hand shaped door knob, and then, I twist, causing the door to break into a gaping spiral of cinder kissed cobblestone and jagged hair like strands made of metal and bone.
Then I pull back and envelop myself and Kyras upon its arches, making the space marine flinch at the sudden action of all surrounding space unbecoming and retrieving a shape they no longer were.
He looks around, to a darkness as clear as daylight and a humming tune that encased the bones in a blanket of white. A tune that I knew, for I had taught it to all my children.
"Welcome Azariah Kyras…" I said to him, as he breathed in the Not-Air of a domain that did not want him dead by his mere existence. "Welcome to my Realm. Mattuhk, The Vault of Discordant Dreams."
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To be Continued.
Author's Note: This chapter took so much longer to make than intended for many a reason. One of them being that I could not make a satisfying come back for Kyras and I had rewrite after rewrite for days. I lost the chance to type down the original idea I had during exam periods and the days passed and I forgot. And after that, no matter how much I may have tried, no matter how many goats I sacrificed to Satan, I could not retrieve it from Oblivion.
So I pressed on.
The other, slightly less related reasons is that my muse has been stolen by Krita, and Godot tutorials.
BTW, this is how Painter more or less looks like in the Materium without the abstract BS of the Empyrean…. At least… as you know him currently.
So you see, a Black and Yellow Oni mask with a corona of eyes that manifests as a black mane full of leering peepers. Also, his Sun Spear and Primordial Annihilator Disguises. His sixth finger is an extra thumb right next to the first one.
Chapter 8
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--Uralan
-The Painter
This is bad, this is really fucking bad! Some shape shifting fuck managed to get Kyras' attention in the worst shape imaginable. By mocking him with his own bloodline and wearing the face of his own failure of another timeline. And the damned bloody magpie stopped following me to look at the Horror!
Kyras! You had one job god damn it!
I tried to turn back and fetch him before he got himself killed, but just as I started to make my way back, the scene became filled with the patrons, creating a barricade of formless, demonic bodies between me and Kyras and blocking my view!
I couldn't reach him!
And I couldn't fight in this planet!
He was on his own!
God damn it!
So I did the last thing I could do in this situation. I listened closely and prayed for a miracle. I listened and frowned as I heard the pink horror wearing Kyras' alter ego talk to him, goading him into a confrontation that would get him killed.
"Oh Kyras, Kyras, Kyras. What would you ever do?" It asked, I could still hear its voice clearly. "You are following a daemon around, doing his bidding and dancing to his tune. What would the Emperor say about that? Do you think that he would accept you into his kingdom? What would your brothers say?" That last question was the last one I managed to pick up as a slowly growing mocking laughter began to fill the room.
Jeers and animalistic calls echoed within the confines of the Notion's reach, louder and louder, growing and twisting as the whispers of a thousand throats of inhuman and para-alien design called for the death of one man.
And all I could do was hear it. Drowing my senses as I tried to see past without clawing.
For moments, it was all I could hear.
And then, I heard one voice, familiar and not unlike the abominable moans and cackles of the neverborn I was being barricaded by.
"Please part way." It was Kyras.
As quickly and briefly the politely toned sentence was uttered, the mad cackling and jeering of Neverborn and Empyrean abominations alike ended just as abruptly. As if stunned by the speaker and what action he just did to their faces.
But nothing came of it. They remained affixed and frozen in place still.
And then he spoke again. Calm, collected, and "I have places to be, and unless you want to stand in my way doing nothing like misplaced furniture, then I would greatly appreciate that you step aside."
The sides of my lips began to get pulled up. That had to be one of the most polite ways I have heard anyone say the phrase 'Get the fuck out of my way.'. Not a burn by any stretch of the word. But the delivered insult was very much there and satisfying to hear, because the many faced mistakes in my front growled, hissed and made all manner of threatening noises.
Nothing but bluster anyway, because they were as bound to the laws of this realm as all others and Kyras was very much following them to the letter.
So, slowly, one at a time, making disgruntled noises that no mortal would ever generate, the Neverborn and spiritual predators began to step aside and go back to their prior business. Dealing, gambling and forming pacts with one another as they gorged on preyed souls fragments that they still kept on their person.
And Kyras, the space marine was just standing at the epicentre of the slowly diminishing group, looking at me with a steady gaze. But I could still make out the barely imperceptible tremble of his balled fists in spite of his attempt at making himself appear collected. "Can we please get out of here?" He asked, which almost sounded like a plea.
I stepped aside and gestured to the exit we were meant to take before being interrupted by the pink horror, whom I now noticed had turned back and was shooting the Librarian a pretty scolding glare. If we weren't on Uralan, the Space Marine would have been incinerated… probably after being turned into a Chaos Spawn and thrown into a pit of Slaaneshi fiends to make the pain just be that much more excrutiating. But we were and that Tzeentchian fuckwit can't do shit about it… at least for now.
Better keep an eye on that one for later since it could start plotting to fuck us the moment we leave the planet.
Kyras sighs and starts walking. The moment he makes it past me, I place my hand on his shoulder and take a feel of his soul a bit without going too deep and silently nod to myself in satisfaction. He is not an illusion or someone else acting as him.
Not the first time someone tried to pull a fast one on me. Too bad for them that I learned the importance of a healthy dose of paranoia.
"I am impressed by your self control Kyras." I say to the blue armoured astartes walking at my side. "I know you and your kind are mighty willed and capable of incredible restraint, but the abominations of the Warp have a way with provoking even the most stoic of men."
A sigh from the man as he tried to deflate the anger that still boiled at his insides. "Yes… it's a talent they very much revel in." He agreed, opting not to speak of what the Neverborn whispered to him to get him to react negatively. He turned to me, expressing a half glance. "Mayhaps if you hadn't revealed to me my Chapter's descendence and my possible future fall to Chaos… I would have acted brash and doomed myself." Then another sigh and his tone shifted to one closer to despondency as he regarded me more fully. "It's true, isn't it? We are descendants of Mag-"
"Ah, ah! No speaking the big red magic primarch's name!" I chided him, slapping him over the helm and earning me a glare through it as a result.
"That daemon from before spoke it."
I roll my eyes. "Daemons say his name all the time. You in particular, who shares his blood, are a bit more interesting to look at, so please don't speak his name. Or any of the primarchs', I really like to keep myself in one piece." …Well… that's debatable actually. I may as well be all over the place, doing a hundred little things at all times, but at least the fracture is intentionally designed. The aftermath of a raging godling is hardly considered designed… as far as I am concerned. The godling on the other hand would disagree and me being torn to screaming shreds may be well in its intentional design.
Any further commentary about names and primarchs ended as we continued our walk. As we passed the threshhold into the para-Euclidean passages of this world I needed to halt my stride to take in the scenery before me.
"Huh… Now it's like a hotel… curious." Its rare to see two Notions-From-Above exist so close to each other, so its usually a pleasant surprise. Sure, the multicoloured halls give off the same odd feeling that a hotel passage always gave me when I was of mortal flesh. Liminal spaces be like that. But I happen to have grown to like them a bit, since usually they are points of transition and even the predators that lurk in this plane of madness just follow them out and rarely remain within their confines… except for the specialized predators… those I hate a lot.
I really hate Haggayers a lot. Bloody geometrical malformation had the audacity to try and take a bite out of my leg.
Of course I retaliated and ate its head.
Kyras' hum got me back from my musings. "About that, the place we passed before looked remarkably like a bar. Something about a Notion From Above? Is this what is also happening here?" He asked and I nodded, satisfied that he was learning.
"In a way. Uralan is rather peculiar in that it acts as a point of stability amid a massive sea of insanity, so plenty of things end up 'washing up' ashore here. In a manner of speaking." I explain, "Notions Of Above are a form of Pattern state that has a lot to do with the Imago of things, and like all Patterns, homologous ones have the tendency of coming together, growing in mass and complexity." I gestured my surroundings, the impossible shapes that are its foundations being reduced to more understandable geometries as my influence protects the space marine's mind from straining. "Since Uralan is a neutral territory and no one has any claim to it aside from the small 'rented spaces' on it, these Notions just come together, forming the thing which they are meant to represent."
"So where exactly do these Notions come from?"
"From Above." I say, casually pointing upwards, or for a lack of a better definition of up in this realm. Kyras gives me a curious look at my explanation that does not quite yet explain, so I snort and tell him the other name that the so called Above also has. "Realspace."
And just like that, a lightbulb switches on in his head. I was genuinely tempted to cast an illusion over his head of a lit lightbulb, just for comedy's sake. He looks at the 'hotel' passage, studying it with a scrutinizing gaze as he thoughtlessly strokes his chin in a thoughtful manner. "The Notion of a hotel…" he mutters, his tone curious.
"And of a bar." I say, gesturing back with a tilt of my head. "Notions too are responsible for the general appearance of daemons, given that 'humanoid' sentients are the most common form of higher life in the galaxy."
He looks my way, his helmet hiding the look of surprise in his face. "So, if daemons look like us because of humanity and other humanoid xenos… then, what do they look like without the Notions? Do they have a true shape?"
I shrug nonchallantly. "More or less. I tried an experiment once to seek out that very same thing and it turns out that Neverborn look quite similar to amoeba."
He blinks, mildly astounded with my revelations. "Trully?"
"Amorphous blobs of evil, colour coded to the shit stain that it belongs to. Fitting that non sentient parasites, when stripped of all smoke screens and illusions, return back to being nothing but a bacterium."
"Interesting…" I could see him filing that little tid bit for later. I wonder what he would do with that once he escapes the Warp. But those thoughts are of little consequence anyway. Whether he learns how to move in the appropiate angles that navigating the Warp demands, or not, changes little in the end. We all have our scripts to follow. Including me.
Our walk leads us to an intersection where the halls split off into branching passages that make little sense to a mortal mind bound by three dimensional laws. Having another two dimensions seep in every now and then tends to squew the senses. You cannot have that many right angles in such a small space and not have them touch each other. But in the Warp, everything's possible. "Let's go left. I have a feeling we are on the right track." The place has changed quite a bit since last I visited, like it always does, so I have to track down my place every time I go out.
Not a challenging thing, since I am vaguelly aware of where all of my constituent pieces are scattered, but it's damn annoying when the maze just keeps on shifting constantly. At least it means that I get few visitors and in this plane of reality that's a very good thing.
The librarian next to me shrugged. "I'll follow. You are the only one of us who has a clue where they are heading."
So our walk continues, with him analysing the hallways and looking at the various evenly spaced doors that litter it on its four…six? No wait, thee point five surfaces. Eventually we pass through a pause of the Notion where a familiar fixture of Uralan's landscape seeps through, reminding me of a topic we had not finished conversing off. "You wanted to know of the statues from prior and who made them, correct?" I ask to him, looking back.
He gestures a soundless yawn, before replying. "I suppose I still do."
"Right." I nod. "Eons ago an alien race who had a masterful grasp of Empyrean metaphysics created this artificial planet half within the Warp to act as a safe haven for them to retreat to in case their Empire were ever to collapse from external threats."
"They picked an incredibly awful location then."
I snort. "Without necessary context, I would have agreed with you. But the Aeldari of old were not things that could be trifled with. Even humanity at its peak would not have fared well at all against their powerful technologies and sorceries. Between staying in the Materium and risk the Aeldari's wrath or retreating into the Warp and journey its perils, the decision was an easy one to make."
"Were the Eldar such a threat that fleeing into the Warp was a preferable option?" I nod to him, affirming his inquiry.
"Furthermore, the Empyrean back then wasn't as hostile as it is today. In fact, thanks to this planet…" I say, tapping the steel wool carpet with my foot. "…the species very likely still lives on." I shrugged. "No idea where though, they shed their physical forms millions of years ago, becoming unto the Empyrean itself and disappeared off somewhere that not even the Chaos Gods know of. Probably into the deeper Empyrean strata, another galaxy or probably an entirely different universe. Maybe all of the above." I revealed, causing Kyras to ponder this new information.
We descended into a somewhat confortable silence as we walked the hallways in search of our destination. It didn't take long to find the right door, in spite of the twists and turns we had to make to get here. The door to my 'rented' space was completely unremarkable, even though it was technically made of the memory of ashes long drowned in the waters of discrepancies. Its really interesting how the Imago impositions on abstract Pattern weaves create the strangest of archetypes. It's a shame that this era is so marred by the Old Ones and the Aeldari's sins. "Here we are." I say, and grip the hand shaped door knob, and then, I twist, causing the door to break into a gaping spiral of cinder kissed cobblestone and jagged hair like strands made of metal and bone.
Then I pull back and envelop myself and Kyras upon its arches, making the space marine flinch at the sudden action of all surrounding space unbecoming and retrieving a shape they no longer were.
He looks around, to a darkness as clear as daylight and a humming tune that encased the bones in a blanket of white. A tune that I knew, for I had taught it to all my children.
"Welcome Azariah Kyras…" I said to him, as he breathed in the Not-Air of a domain that did not want him dead by his mere existence. "Welcome to my Realm. Mattuhk, The Vault of Discordant Dreams."
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To be Continued.
Author's Note: This chapter took so much longer to make than intended for many a reason. One of them being that I could not make a satisfying come back for Kyras and I had rewrite after rewrite for days. I lost the chance to type down the original idea I had during exam periods and the days passed and I forgot. And after that, no matter how much I may have tried, no matter how many goats I sacrificed to Satan, I could not retrieve it from Oblivion.
So I pressed on.
The other, slightly less related reasons is that my muse has been stolen by Krita, and Godot tutorials.
BTW, this is how Painter more or less looks like in the Materium without the abstract BS of the Empyrean…. At least… as you know him currently.
So you see, a Black and Yellow Oni mask with a corona of eyes that manifests as a black mane full of leering peepers. Also, his Sun Spear and Primordial Annihilator Disguises. His sixth finger is an extra thumb right next to the first one.