The Custodian-Genetor
Part 3: The Deal
Long ago, Belisarius Cawl set foot upon Macragge.
It was truly, truly long ago. Long before the fall of the Imperium. Long before the War of the Beast. Right after the Sundering, in fact. When the Emperor's Son laid upon the precipice of death, by the hands of his traitorous brother. He was no Archmagos Veneratus then, no Custodian-Genetor, still picking up the pieces of his teacher's craft. The devastation of the Heresy had been significant and the knowledge he sought fragmented. But he stepped upon Macragge, yes.
He had to see the state Roboute Guiliman was in. To know the mortality of even a Primarch. To see what he had to match, to
surpass if he had to.
Some fifteen thousand years have passed since. Cawl had changed greatly. Long gone were the days where he was
a Genetor rather than
the Genetor. He had grown older and wiser. Bitter and somber. Taken on the mantle of Fabricator-General of Mars for a time before being cast out by politics. Creating wonder after wonder, tasting bitter failure at his works of the Adeptus Astartes, feeling great shame and betrayal when the Third Curse showed itself...
And all the while, Roboute Guiliman did not change. Still dying eternally. Still frozen in time.
At least, that is what the Tau had told him.
The project he embarked upon for the Tau Empire was the work of mere decades, in retrospect. For all the differences in biology between mankind and the Tau, for all the frailties the Tau faced in contrast to even mortal man-flesh, some things in nature were still the same. Lessons could be carried over. Methods could still be applied. The same augmentations - strength, metabolism, mental acuity - were still universally appreciated. And when one added the Kroot into the genetic mixture...
Suffice to say, Cawl now had new ideas to build upon the Omophagea. Nothing heretical, of course. Simply...
innovative.
But when Belisarius Cawl returned to Macragge alongside his bodyguard, as eternal as they have always been, he saw fanfare - not for himself, though he made no attempt to hide his return. No, the celebrations were much greater, far too prolific. Far too many
Space Marines involved.
And then he learned the truth. And what had transpired when he was away - and in
transit.
----
The Imperial Trust, it was called, was a small sub-sector sized polity, one of the many Imperial Remnant that now dotted the galaxy. They were small, but their actions had impact that verged on the galactic. Not least because the Emperor Himself had chosen one of the holy men there, a mere Deacon, to become his
Last Saint.
And this same man would give his life to bring back Roboute Guiliman, just days before he returned.
This, amongst other revelations, coloured Belisarius Cawl's day. Other Primarchs had returned, four of them! Vulkan, Jaghatai Khan, Corvus Corax and Leman Russ had all returned to lead the Quartus Imperium - and Corvus Corax, who Cawl always knew to have the spark of genetic genius in him, had gone far and beyond any expectations.
They called them the Trueborn. The next evolution of the Adeptus Astartes.
And in almost every regard, they outstripped the performance of his Primaris.
It would sting. It
did sting. And for all that Cawl knew that this too was good, it
frustrated him.
Fifteen thousand years of work, banging his head against the work of a genius beyond even him. And someone else did it
first.
Not wanting to darken the festivities, Belisarius Cawl kept to himself.
Until a blind man came to see him.
----
Ulysses, his Shield-Captain, noticed scant seconds before he did, and was far faster to act. Whirling into motion, he and his Custodians quickly stood between Cawl and the Eldar.
Eleven Aspect Warriors looked back at him, their faces cowled beneath scowling war masks. Cawl could name each of their Aspect Temples - they made no attempt to hide those
- but it was the
man they stood around that truly caught his attention. He wore a blindfold around his head, moving with a calculated slowness - but there was a surety in his motion that resembled, no,
exceeded what those with eyes had.
Cawl knew before he even spoke. This man was a Psyker.
"Belisarius Cawl," the old man chuckled. "It is good to finally meet you."
[Who are you,] Cawl asked.
"Only a man with an offer," replied the old seer. "You feel frustrated that a Primarch has done what you cannot."
[I am the Custodian-Genetor. This is my only task.]
"Indeed, indeed," the old man nodded. "But even a genius amongst geniuses cannot build a puzzle with half the pieces."
Cawl paused.
[What do you mean?] He asked.
And so the Blind Seer told him. And the Custodian-Genetor
saw.
----
Simple. So
simple. It was so clear in retrospect, so blindingly obvious. And he had been going about it the wrong way the entire time.
Cawl should have known that the Adeptus Astartes were not wholly material. No, their power had to come from elsewhere. Their genes were of
Primarchs, a twice-over dilution of the
immensely psychic Emperor of Mankind! Of course there had to be more to their makeup than simple biomechanics. But he had been blind. Obsessed. Trying to make them fit the mould of the Custodians, who were something else entirely.
Why else would each Custodian be a personal masterwork, whereas the Adeptus Astartes were
Legion.
"Do not beat yourself up, Archmagos," the old man chuckled, as ever in good cheer. "It took us a long time to see the truth ourselves, in the only place anyone
could."
And so, the seed of an idea was placed in Cawl's mind.
[And what would such a place be,] asked the Custodian-Genetor.
The old man smiled.
"And that, Archmagos, is why I am here. My name is Munstrum Ridcully, the Blind Seer. Of the Imperial Trust."
Cawl's eyes widened. His mechanical heart seized for an instant. He was one of
them.
"And I extend an invitation for you to visit my world, one unlike any other. One where you may find your answers - as well as many others."
Cawl said the words at once.
[I accept.]
Ridcully smiled.
"Then welcome to Avernus, Custodian-Genetor."
