The Lost Primarch Quest
- Thread starter Daemon Hunter
- Start date
- Location
- Elsewhere
Let's not advocate killing the Eldar, I'd rather not have the mods make a visit to the thread.
Chronicles of Baldur: A Spark To Pierce The Dark
Altered
Duality | Redeemed
- Location
- Terra
Chronicles of Baldur: A Spark To Pierce The Dark
Baldur sighed for the umpteenth time, it wasn't often an Astartes felt the confliction of mortality - now, he did. Ever since that meeting with Kesar he'd been plagued with what most would politely describe as issues.
The entire Maelstorm Ritual was perhaps the most dangerous task undertaken, far more than Gehenna Station let alone Aleph. Sure the last one represented the hell the Wardens were delving into on a planetary scale, but it didn't cover how huge - it didn't encompass the scale of what they were gladly running into.
Three Primarchs, three legions, trillions upon trillions of Imperial Army members each tossing themselves right into a meat-grinder that would leave nothing but corpses and broken souls. If there was less than one-thirds total casualties among purely the three Legions involved in direct combat… well he'd celebrate.
Overall the casualty projections for just the Iron Warriors, White Scars, and Eternal Wardens were enough to be felt for a decade. Three legions with losses felt for a decade was perhaps one of the more conservative estimates put forth too.
His head shook as he processed the information yet again - ever since that meeting with Kesar this information had come to dominate his thoughts. Countless replays, thousands of simulations - all of it playing out again and again in his mind. All of it sponsored by one fact: that he'd argued in favor of not being there.
Even now, after all of it, after every single replay Baldur had found that he stood strongly by his point. None of it had come to change his mind.
All of the projections highlighted the ultimate cause of why he should remain behind. The Imperium lacked effective diplomats and most Primarchs weren't as effective within the field as they should have been. Even Kesar, one who pushed for diplomacy had fallen far in terms of skills.
The Great Crusade was ultimately its own enemy in terms of forcing mankind into such paths. The constant expansion, the inability to consolidate all of it brought about more flaws and highlighted more cracks in the system. It pushed the Primarchs further into the field of battle, away from politics. More threats appeared that monopolized their time, their attention.
In doing so their skills in the realm of diplomacy faltered and rusted, giving way to the constant combat. The mortal diplomats were just that. Normal humans.
They were skilled, talented - some even better the Primarchs, albeit those distracted and not in the mental place to effectively hone such skills. But they were normal and mortal - thus ultimately far more fragile, unable to grasp a thousand different revealing secrets the transhuman body granted by the Primarch's geneseed and Emperor's work laid bare to them.
His skill was majorly born of such abilities, something each of his brothers could just as easily utilize if properly trained. And yet, none had been. His own failure as well as the Primarchs and even the Emperor's.
So now it guaranteed that post-Ritual should the scale of expected casualties truly occur, then the Imperium would be more stressed than ever. The Legions would underperform, unable to split as they once had - forcing more and more onto the already fracturing Imperial Army who this ritual and the current expansion tested far more harshly than before.
His presence would alleviate that, earn more worlds - save more lives, cost less material goods. Allowing for appropriate reassignments. Continue the various programs, more effectively corral and uplift the diplomatic program that served Kesar.
Five billion Imperial Army members lived with each world he brought in, worlds that would have wasted lives and cost too much time were effectively brought in. And that's just now
Giving him leave from this ritual would allow him to proceed with his program, save the Primarch Vulkan lives in terms of Astartes, Naval crew, and Army regiments. Each would compound an incredibly small incremental percentage upon each other. But it was something many of his brothers failed to recognize.
To effectively empower and improve themselves, let alone any institution you needed daily continuous improvement. While small on the scale of which the Imperium operated, these lives saved - especially in terms of Astartes would compound quickly. And that was just during the ritual.
When Kesar marched the shattered remnants back into the materium, free of the Maelstorm - it would be him there shepherding them to safely as he prevented lives from being spent needlessly. Each life loss would have been one lost on a necessary world as opposed to one that hadn't needed to claim any Astartes lives.
Yet again materials would flourish as they were able to relocate to a needed sector or even be kept in the miniscule surplus that various areas might operate at given the Lord Primarch and his actions in terms of serving to uplift Svarga.
His biggest regret was the lack of thought put into disseminating his knowledge to ensure his teachings impacted the Legion, to ensure someone might have risen as a successor. Instead he'd accidentally monopolized this - until either he died and cost the legion much or he abandoned brothers so that he might save their state.
As things stood now, the data showed a conclusive point. This brotherly alliance walked into hell and he was best served not joining them.
Of course… that didn't stop him from doing something now.
Sacrificing some time right now to think up something - anything to aid his brothers, to aid the Primarchs was an easy thing to do. The small projects could be put on hold for now until this one was finished - it was an easy one whose main time consumption came from dreaming it up and application.
From the data shown, the plans drawn out - Baldur knew what they faced. Predictions showed a rather large showing from those who worshiped the plaguebearer - the fat pustulent blob who they called Grandfather. Each past showing from such creatures, such cultists and daemons identified these as slow moving hard to put down forces.
The White Scars were a great opponent to strike hard against these things while the Iron-Warriors and Eternal Wardens tied them down, but ultimately it wasn't the best solution. Honestly he wasn't certain there was a best solution but he did have one in mind.
A rapid response force, supported by jump-packs to allow for enhanced mobility while they carried flamers in hand as they faced the enemy.
Symbolically fire held the identity of pain and purity, it was cleansing - its heat an aid in purging the body of evils, of darkness - of sickness. The burning aspect often cleansed the land of sickness, of plague-bearers.
It felt only right to utilize that against such cancerous cretins who sought to corrupt and kill his brethren.
But more importantly, these were beings who dealt darkly in the realm of death - who preached love of sorts, inviting all with open arms into their sick circles. They stood strong in stagnation, something fire countered - how often had people preached of the fire of progress? They held tightly the domain of sickness - which flames purified - the great purify in a body.
Fire alone might not be enough, but it would effectively stand as a symbolic counterpart to these beings so steeped in symbolism as Kesar had educated them on. Something a purity rune applied to the weapon utilizing it would certainly improve worsening the effect.
More than that, these were creatures built to be tanks - fire would burn, serving to melt away any armor they held and encapsulate them with pain - something that would break any concentration and serve to weaken their ability to follow through on plans. Enhancing fire with the purity rune would only make such effects twice if not more effective. On beings of evil like these daemons beings who encapsulated sickness and corruption? It would be like taking a bath in acid.
Tendons would melt with almost unhealing damage, their bodies being damaged further slowing such creatures down - making them easier targets, weaker. And this was a fire that would keep burning, their fatty skin from the sickly mutations induced within them providing a feeding ground for this firestorm that would envelop them.
Of course, such damage might be simply warped away if it wasn't for one thing. These would be men charging proudly into their deaths. There would be no coming back unless they managed to survive everything tossed their way. Each and every member of this force was one that would be walking out into a Heroic last stand something even the warp would recognize serving to break whatever spell these daemons held over it that offered them limited immortality.
After all, what is a Hero but one who charges bravely onwards having conquered their fear ready to give up their lives not for tens, not for hundreds, but for quadrillions of beings - of humans. That was who would be traveling the battlefield. Men unable to shy away from death, willing to look it in the eye and make it move.
They wouldn't flinch, but these daemons of pestilence and death would.
Daemons would flinch away from the burning pain these men brought, the shining light that heralded their arrival, and the ashes of the other daemons this Burning Legion had slain.
Of course… the only way to effectively raise this force was to recruit from a few source points.
The Astartes who carried gene-seed mutations, who were damned and held in quarantine would prove a useful recruitment source. Beyond that there was more, Astartes who while welcomed in other Legions weren't quite as welcomed in the Wardens existed. They might have accidentally purged themselves more times then one, but even now there existed those who once bore the speciality of the Destroyer Squads and even now wished to be useful.
Each was desperate, each wished to be used - and each bore with them something fundamental, the ability to suppress their survival instinct in favor of the desire to be a hero, to serve. And what better way for these men to serve then here.
If they proved true, they could potentially save countless lives. Especially when beings on the level of the Exalted showed up and they sacrificed themself first. When they took plasma grenades covered with purity runes and rammed them inside such daemons bodies.
When they gladly flew right into the beings face and detonated their own armor, engulfing them and the daemon in a blaze of purity induced flame that burnt them from existence while scarring and weakening these daemons with such heroic sacrifices.
Playing even was never in the game, cheating - lying, faking. All of it stood above the rest. And symbolism demanded Heroes to ultimately harm these beings? Well each of these men would die a Hero with their actions, they would live the Heroic fate. An eternal battle against darkness, bringing a light that held strong against the divine wind seeking to snuff it out.
And their last act would be much like the stars. A supernova is what they'd imitate, the Hero who sacrificed himself for everyone.
Should he prove wrong, these men would still prove absolutely useful vs the daemons and capable of buying the necessary time. But he was confident these men wouldn't prove him wrong. They were too desperate too.
Desperation can make a person do surprising things and he trusted that these men would surprise all in being Heroes.
Baldur sighed for the umpteenth time, it wasn't often an Astartes felt the confliction of mortality - now, he did. Ever since that meeting with Kesar he'd been plagued with what most would politely describe as issues.
The entire Maelstorm Ritual was perhaps the most dangerous task undertaken, far more than Gehenna Station let alone Aleph. Sure the last one represented the hell the Wardens were delving into on a planetary scale, but it didn't cover how huge - it didn't encompass the scale of what they were gladly running into.
Three Primarchs, three legions, trillions upon trillions of Imperial Army members each tossing themselves right into a meat-grinder that would leave nothing but corpses and broken souls. If there was less than one-thirds total casualties among purely the three Legions involved in direct combat… well he'd celebrate.
Overall the casualty projections for just the Iron Warriors, White Scars, and Eternal Wardens were enough to be felt for a decade. Three legions with losses felt for a decade was perhaps one of the more conservative estimates put forth too.
His head shook as he processed the information yet again - ever since that meeting with Kesar this information had come to dominate his thoughts. Countless replays, thousands of simulations - all of it playing out again and again in his mind. All of it sponsored by one fact: that he'd argued in favor of not being there.
Even now, after all of it, after every single replay Baldur had found that he stood strongly by his point. None of it had come to change his mind.
All of the projections highlighted the ultimate cause of why he should remain behind. The Imperium lacked effective diplomats and most Primarchs weren't as effective within the field as they should have been. Even Kesar, one who pushed for diplomacy had fallen far in terms of skills.
The Great Crusade was ultimately its own enemy in terms of forcing mankind into such paths. The constant expansion, the inability to consolidate all of it brought about more flaws and highlighted more cracks in the system. It pushed the Primarchs further into the field of battle, away from politics. More threats appeared that monopolized their time, their attention.
In doing so their skills in the realm of diplomacy faltered and rusted, giving way to the constant combat. The mortal diplomats were just that. Normal humans.
They were skilled, talented - some even better the Primarchs, albeit those distracted and not in the mental place to effectively hone such skills. But they were normal and mortal - thus ultimately far more fragile, unable to grasp a thousand different revealing secrets the transhuman body granted by the Primarch's geneseed and Emperor's work laid bare to them.
His skill was majorly born of such abilities, something each of his brothers could just as easily utilize if properly trained. And yet, none had been. His own failure as well as the Primarchs and even the Emperor's.
So now it guaranteed that post-Ritual should the scale of expected casualties truly occur, then the Imperium would be more stressed than ever. The Legions would underperform, unable to split as they once had - forcing more and more onto the already fracturing Imperial Army who this ritual and the current expansion tested far more harshly than before.
His presence would alleviate that, earn more worlds - save more lives, cost less material goods. Allowing for appropriate reassignments. Continue the various programs, more effectively corral and uplift the diplomatic program that served Kesar.
Five billion Imperial Army members lived with each world he brought in, worlds that would have wasted lives and cost too much time were effectively brought in. And that's just now
Giving him leave from this ritual would allow him to proceed with his program, save the Primarch Vulkan lives in terms of Astartes, Naval crew, and Army regiments. Each would compound an incredibly small incremental percentage upon each other. But it was something many of his brothers failed to recognize.
To effectively empower and improve themselves, let alone any institution you needed daily continuous improvement. While small on the scale of which the Imperium operated, these lives saved - especially in terms of Astartes would compound quickly. And that was just during the ritual.
When Kesar marched the shattered remnants back into the materium, free of the Maelstorm - it would be him there shepherding them to safely as he prevented lives from being spent needlessly. Each life loss would have been one lost on a necessary world as opposed to one that hadn't needed to claim any Astartes lives.
Yet again materials would flourish as they were able to relocate to a needed sector or even be kept in the miniscule surplus that various areas might operate at given the Lord Primarch and his actions in terms of serving to uplift Svarga.
His biggest regret was the lack of thought put into disseminating his knowledge to ensure his teachings impacted the Legion, to ensure someone might have risen as a successor. Instead he'd accidentally monopolized this - until either he died and cost the legion much or he abandoned brothers so that he might save their state.
As things stood now, the data showed a conclusive point. This brotherly alliance walked into hell and he was best served not joining them.
Of course… that didn't stop him from doing something now.
Sacrificing some time right now to think up something - anything to aid his brothers, to aid the Primarchs was an easy thing to do. The small projects could be put on hold for now until this one was finished - it was an easy one whose main time consumption came from dreaming it up and application.
From the data shown, the plans drawn out - Baldur knew what they faced. Predictions showed a rather large showing from those who worshiped the plaguebearer - the fat pustulent blob who they called Grandfather. Each past showing from such creatures, such cultists and daemons identified these as slow moving hard to put down forces.
The White Scars were a great opponent to strike hard against these things while the Iron-Warriors and Eternal Wardens tied them down, but ultimately it wasn't the best solution. Honestly he wasn't certain there was a best solution but he did have one in mind.
A rapid response force, supported by jump-packs to allow for enhanced mobility while they carried flamers in hand as they faced the enemy.
Symbolically fire held the identity of pain and purity, it was cleansing - its heat an aid in purging the body of evils, of darkness - of sickness. The burning aspect often cleansed the land of sickness, of plague-bearers.
It felt only right to utilize that against such cancerous cretins who sought to corrupt and kill his brethren.
But more importantly, these were beings who dealt darkly in the realm of death - who preached love of sorts, inviting all with open arms into their sick circles. They stood strong in stagnation, something fire countered - how often had people preached of the fire of progress? They held tightly the domain of sickness - which flames purified - the great purify in a body.
Fire alone might not be enough, but it would effectively stand as a symbolic counterpart to these beings so steeped in symbolism as Kesar had educated them on. Something a purity rune applied to the weapon utilizing it would certainly improve worsening the effect.
More than that, these were creatures built to be tanks - fire would burn, serving to melt away any armor they held and encapsulate them with pain - something that would break any concentration and serve to weaken their ability to follow through on plans. Enhancing fire with the purity rune would only make such effects twice if not more effective. On beings of evil like these daemons beings who encapsulated sickness and corruption? It would be like taking a bath in acid.
Tendons would melt with almost unhealing damage, their bodies being damaged further slowing such creatures down - making them easier targets, weaker. And this was a fire that would keep burning, their fatty skin from the sickly mutations induced within them providing a feeding ground for this firestorm that would envelop them.
Of course, such damage might be simply warped away if it wasn't for one thing. These would be men charging proudly into their deaths. There would be no coming back unless they managed to survive everything tossed their way. Each and every member of this force was one that would be walking out into a Heroic last stand something even the warp would recognize serving to break whatever spell these daemons held over it that offered them limited immortality.
After all, what is a Hero but one who charges bravely onwards having conquered their fear ready to give up their lives not for tens, not for hundreds, but for quadrillions of beings - of humans. That was who would be traveling the battlefield. Men unable to shy away from death, willing to look it in the eye and make it move.
They wouldn't flinch, but these daemons of pestilence and death would.
Daemons would flinch away from the burning pain these men brought, the shining light that heralded their arrival, and the ashes of the other daemons this Burning Legion had slain.
Of course… the only way to effectively raise this force was to recruit from a few source points.
The Astartes who carried gene-seed mutations, who were damned and held in quarantine would prove a useful recruitment source. Beyond that there was more, Astartes who while welcomed in other Legions weren't quite as welcomed in the Wardens existed. They might have accidentally purged themselves more times then one, but even now there existed those who once bore the speciality of the Destroyer Squads and even now wished to be useful.
Each was desperate, each wished to be used - and each bore with them something fundamental, the ability to suppress their survival instinct in favor of the desire to be a hero, to serve. And what better way for these men to serve then here.
If they proved true, they could potentially save countless lives. Especially when beings on the level of the Exalted showed up and they sacrificed themself first. When they took plasma grenades covered with purity runes and rammed them inside such daemons bodies.
When they gladly flew right into the beings face and detonated their own armor, engulfing them and the daemon in a blaze of purity induced flame that burnt them from existence while scarring and weakening these daemons with such heroic sacrifices.
Playing even was never in the game, cheating - lying, faking. All of it stood above the rest. And symbolism demanded Heroes to ultimately harm these beings? Well each of these men would die a Hero with their actions, they would live the Heroic fate. An eternal battle against darkness, bringing a light that held strong against the divine wind seeking to snuff it out.
And their last act would be much like the stars. A supernova is what they'd imitate, the Hero who sacrificed himself for everyone.
Should he prove wrong, these men would still prove absolutely useful vs the daemons and capable of buying the necessary time. But he was confident these men wouldn't prove him wrong. They were too desperate too.
Desperation can make a person do surprising things and he trusted that these men would surprise all in being Heroes.
Chronicles of Baldur: Meeting with Pisces (Crack) (Partially Canon)
Altered
Duality | Redeemed
- Location
- Terra
Chronicles of Baldur: Meeting with Pisces (Crack)
"And that's why it's necessary you join Pisces," Baldur trailed off, finally having come to a close on the small little chat he'd delivered the last of the men he'd been seeking to recruit for his little organization.
"Baldur," the other Astartes stated, looking just as contrived as he'd felt. "You realize you're trying to sell me on being a self-sacrificing, suicidal bastard right?"
He didn't melt, he didn't ooze embarrassment, instead Baldur did something probably unexpected by most. "Yes." His blunt comment echoed out, agreeing utterly with this man's question.
"Good, good…" Pisces shook his head, a simple smile growing on his face. "I'd have hated it if you were trying to make me buy into whatever mumbo-jumbo you just uttered if you didn't recognize that."
"So?" Baldur interjected, not willing to let Pisces' impulsive comments steal away the momentum.
"So… what?" The fish~new Astartes responded.
"Will you join?"
Pisces hemmed and hawed, humming as he rolled his eyes about loosely shaking his body. Each specific action designed to further upset any interrogator and just throw off anyone expecting some sort of cynical stoicism from these transhuman supersoldiers.
"Pisces…" Baldur growled out letting the man know he needed an answer.
"Sorry buddy," Pisces shook his head sadly. "Not really feeling up to the task. You know how it is. I'm not so great at cooking."
Baldur nodded his head, he understood - he'd face plenty of rejections over the course of this entire affair. What was one more in the ocean of rejections he'd face over the course of his lifetime.
"I understand," he really did, that's why he was about to say what he was. "It's fine, Leo actually volunteered - uh, didn't want to just not follow up with you though. But your decision makes my life easier. I can summon Leo to my office and finally~"
"H-h-hold up, hold up…" Pisces interrupted, his stutter quickly cutting Baldur's words off. "Now you wait just a second here. Leo?"
"Yeah," Baldur's head bounced up and down, nodding along to that affirmative. "He volunteered the second he had heard I was interested in folks. One of the very first. I hadn't said yes yet because I needed to reach out to you."
"Well," the Space Marine clicked his tongue. "I'm in."
"What?" Baldur asked, taken aback. "But you just said you weren't available."
"Things change," he shrugged as if that explained everything. "My schedule is clear and I'm ready to learn how to charbroil some nasty mushrooms."
"Pisces," Baldur tossed his hands right in the other's face. "How do you equate daemons of sickness, stagnation, general death to mushrooms?"
"How do you not?"
"..." Silence was all Baldur could answer with. Yet again this one had stumped him.
"Anyhow," his target stretched the word out. "When's this camp on how to flambe start?
It was a great question. Baldur couldn't deny it. "When we make it back to the Cherished Son."
"Ah, good ole Chronicle of Ashes." Pisces reminisced somehow. "The food onboard doesn't taste like it though, right?"
"No… the food onboard does not taste of ashes," he managed to sigh out the entire answer. "And before you ask, it doesn't turn you into a brain-dead masochist with a hankering for fucking over your father. Nor does it make you incompetent when facing Orks."
Pisces mouth closed. Thank god, Baldur thought privately.
"So," Pisces kinda bobbed in place. "I get to fly right?"
"Yeah," he quirked his eyebrow at that question. "Why else would we be arming you with jump-packs?"
"Cool, cool…" He laughed a little. "Just wanted to make sure I was still going to be the flying fish. You know how it is. Gotta swim through the air like I do the water."
Internally Baldur sighed, he could feel the headache coming on and he was ninety percent certain Astartes only got those from head trauma.
"I~"
"No," Pisces got cut off by Baldur's valiant cry. "Stop. That last one wasn't even funny. Why?"
"I'm not going to lie," Baldur's eyes narrowed as Pisces said that, "but honestly, it's because I found it fun."
"I hate you more with every passing second."
Pisces smiled brightly. "Really feeling the love!"
"Shut up and get on the stormhawk so we can head on over to the Cherished Son."
"Aye, aye Captain!" Pisces barked out in a sing-song voice before parade style marching towards the hanger.
"And that's why it's necessary you join Pisces," Baldur trailed off, finally having come to a close on the small little chat he'd delivered the last of the men he'd been seeking to recruit for his little organization.
"Baldur," the other Astartes stated, looking just as contrived as he'd felt. "You realize you're trying to sell me on being a self-sacrificing, suicidal bastard right?"
He didn't melt, he didn't ooze embarrassment, instead Baldur did something probably unexpected by most. "Yes." His blunt comment echoed out, agreeing utterly with this man's question.
"Good, good…" Pisces shook his head, a simple smile growing on his face. "I'd have hated it if you were trying to make me buy into whatever mumbo-jumbo you just uttered if you didn't recognize that."
"So?" Baldur interjected, not willing to let Pisces' impulsive comments steal away the momentum.
"So… what?" The fish~new Astartes responded.
"Will you join?"
Pisces hemmed and hawed, humming as he rolled his eyes about loosely shaking his body. Each specific action designed to further upset any interrogator and just throw off anyone expecting some sort of cynical stoicism from these transhuman supersoldiers.
"Pisces…" Baldur growled out letting the man know he needed an answer.
"Sorry buddy," Pisces shook his head sadly. "Not really feeling up to the task. You know how it is. I'm not so great at cooking."
Baldur nodded his head, he understood - he'd face plenty of rejections over the course of this entire affair. What was one more in the ocean of rejections he'd face over the course of his lifetime.
"I understand," he really did, that's why he was about to say what he was. "It's fine, Leo actually volunteered - uh, didn't want to just not follow up with you though. But your decision makes my life easier. I can summon Leo to my office and finally~"
"H-h-hold up, hold up…" Pisces interrupted, his stutter quickly cutting Baldur's words off. "Now you wait just a second here. Leo?"
"Yeah," Baldur's head bounced up and down, nodding along to that affirmative. "He volunteered the second he had heard I was interested in folks. One of the very first. I hadn't said yes yet because I needed to reach out to you."
"Well," the Space Marine clicked his tongue. "I'm in."
"What?" Baldur asked, taken aback. "But you just said you weren't available."
"Things change," he shrugged as if that explained everything. "My schedule is clear and I'm ready to learn how to charbroil some nasty mushrooms."
"Pisces," Baldur tossed his hands right in the other's face. "How do you equate daemons of sickness, stagnation, general death to mushrooms?"
"How do you not?"
"..." Silence was all Baldur could answer with. Yet again this one had stumped him.
"Anyhow," his target stretched the word out. "When's this camp on how to flambe start?
It was a great question. Baldur couldn't deny it. "When we make it back to the Cherished Son."
"Ah, good ole Chronicle of Ashes." Pisces reminisced somehow. "The food onboard doesn't taste like it though, right?"
"No… the food onboard does not taste of ashes," he managed to sigh out the entire answer. "And before you ask, it doesn't turn you into a brain-dead masochist with a hankering for fucking over your father. Nor does it make you incompetent when facing Orks."
Pisces mouth closed. Thank god, Baldur thought privately.
"So," Pisces kinda bobbed in place. "I get to fly right?"
"Yeah," he quirked his eyebrow at that question. "Why else would we be arming you with jump-packs?"
"Cool, cool…" He laughed a little. "Just wanted to make sure I was still going to be the flying fish. You know how it is. Gotta swim through the air like I do the water."
Internally Baldur sighed, he could feel the headache coming on and he was ninety percent certain Astartes only got those from head trauma.
"I~"
"No," Pisces got cut off by Baldur's valiant cry. "Stop. That last one wasn't even funny. Why?"
"I'm not going to lie," Baldur's eyes narrowed as Pisces said that, "but honestly, it's because I found it fun."
"I hate you more with every passing second."
Pisces smiled brightly. "Really feeling the love!"
"Shut up and get on the stormhawk so we can head on over to the Cherished Son."
"Aye, aye Captain!" Pisces barked out in a sing-song voice before parade style marching towards the hanger.
A Logical Mind
- Location
- USA
Crescum Auro was currently irritated with the current mission. A massive squig that was currently being pinned down by three warhound titans and orbital fire, was the focus of the conflict. But was not the extent of it by any measure.
Flicking his eye to the right five millimeters, an ork about to gut a soldier found itself on fire as its flamer exploded in its hand. A finger curled slightly and ten orks fell to the ground as their own muscles tore their bones apart. Auro took a step on the mushy ground as he continued his march with unfailing precision.
Each subtle movement of his body, spelling the end of orks by the dozens as reality turned against them. Fire burned hotter, ice was colder, wind faster, force stronger all within the bounds of reality, yet more than what should be. Time itself turned against the orks as seconds stretched longer and shorter for all near to Crescum Auro upon the field.
"Youz fink dat ya can jus' go 'round an' krump me boyz?! No-one zoggin' krumps 'em but me!" A larger than normal ork, roared from the army as the underboss of this battle made his first appearance. Covered in thick metal armor and armed with two brutish weapons, the creature was terrifying to a normal human and perhaps even a normal space marine.
To Crescum Auro, it was simply another irritant in a day full of them. By his count he had been off by a three point one four and some change millimeters on one of his casts. Another movement only triggered a five hundred and thirty percent increase in temperature, instead of the one thousand percent he had wanted. Yet, another only saw him gain one twentieth of a second instead of a tenth. If he was anyone else he would be grinding his teeth in frustration, but he was who he was and all he felt was irritation.
With a negligent flick of a finger, the WAAGH field that had been focused upon the Underboss, simply imploded. Bands of sickly green lightning dancing across the battle field as ork after ork exploded in messy explosions of gore. The once crowed field was now silent except for the marching of boots as Crescum Auro continued to march forward.
As he walked fire began to gather around him, remnants of flamers and other fire weapons still burning slowly gathered around his moving form. He could feel the hunger of the flame to consume him and everything around, yet with impeccable control the air surrounding him simply joined the flame, even as the fire began to feast upon the warp for power. From red, to gold, to green, to blue, to white the flames grew in power as they were fed.
Five minutes to the millisecond after the start of the project the flames were unleashed. Plasma the temperature of a stellar core washed across the battlefield cooking everything in its path. All of the ground was simply melted into glass that quickly cooled as the heat from within was torn away to fuel the raging inferno. Yet, as with all things the inferno began to die as the heat and energy dissipated, until it was nothing more than a wisp that quickly vanished.
Through it all Crescum Auro had never stopped moving once, letting his fingers control the flames with precision beyond most others. Each flick increasing the temperature, each swipe shaping its form. As he walked gravity itself began to shift as his mass lightened yet the gravity in front increased, soon his form began to blur as he ran faster than the others could match.
Eventually the sound of battle caught his ear and he turned towards the sound, a large army of orks was fighting a group of Imperial Army soldiers separated from the main armies upon the world. Earning a raised eyebrow was a perfect vantage point for his work to be done from, a cliff overlooking the fight and with rocks positioned just right to present cover from below.
'Known - Ork forces outnumber IA forces, Ork forces must be eliminated, Position provides cover and vantage point, army scale conflict, WAAGH energy too diffuse to ground.
Solution - gravity and force manipulation. Subtract the gravity of the nearby terrain to focus it in the ork ranks, then amplify the force of explosions that will occur after the orks are brought low.' Thought Crescum Auro as he reached the overlook point and began to cast his work.
Flicks of fingers and eyes were the only sign that something was happening if one were to see the looming figure, yet other than that there was nothing to show. Yet, sensors told a very different story as the gravity of the world began shifting as a large chunk near his position simply moved.
Down in the valley the orks were having a great time chopping and shooting humans, until they were all forced to the ground as if something had sat on them. For a good number this would be the last time they would live as they were crushed beneath vehicles or other orks. But for the greater whole it was a small number in the horde.
The most cunning of the horde managed to discover the cause of the attack as they saw the glint of light off metal in the rocks above, yet before they could do more than shout they were promptly encased in ice as all of their heat was ripped away to incinerate other nearby orks.
Upon the ridge Crescum Auro frowned as he considered a new motion, a simple two movement combo had proven effective against the army below. Perhaps to the point where it would be worth making it a single motion. Deciding to test the hypothetical, he bound the idea of the attack to a motion. The last thing the orks would have seen if they could see him would have been his left eye blinking twice. Yet, none would see it for the moment the motion completed half of the orks in the valley below were turned into ice even as their body heat burned alive the others.
AN: a short omake on how Crescum Auro fights and tends to discover new methods of fighting.
Flicking his eye to the right five millimeters, an ork about to gut a soldier found itself on fire as its flamer exploded in its hand. A finger curled slightly and ten orks fell to the ground as their own muscles tore their bones apart. Auro took a step on the mushy ground as he continued his march with unfailing precision.
Each subtle movement of his body, spelling the end of orks by the dozens as reality turned against them. Fire burned hotter, ice was colder, wind faster, force stronger all within the bounds of reality, yet more than what should be. Time itself turned against the orks as seconds stretched longer and shorter for all near to Crescum Auro upon the field.
"Youz fink dat ya can jus' go 'round an' krump me boyz?! No-one zoggin' krumps 'em but me!" A larger than normal ork, roared from the army as the underboss of this battle made his first appearance. Covered in thick metal armor and armed with two brutish weapons, the creature was terrifying to a normal human and perhaps even a normal space marine.
To Crescum Auro, it was simply another irritant in a day full of them. By his count he had been off by a three point one four and some change millimeters on one of his casts. Another movement only triggered a five hundred and thirty percent increase in temperature, instead of the one thousand percent he had wanted. Yet, another only saw him gain one twentieth of a second instead of a tenth. If he was anyone else he would be grinding his teeth in frustration, but he was who he was and all he felt was irritation.
With a negligent flick of a finger, the WAAGH field that had been focused upon the Underboss, simply imploded. Bands of sickly green lightning dancing across the battle field as ork after ork exploded in messy explosions of gore. The once crowed field was now silent except for the marching of boots as Crescum Auro continued to march forward.
As he walked fire began to gather around him, remnants of flamers and other fire weapons still burning slowly gathered around his moving form. He could feel the hunger of the flame to consume him and everything around, yet with impeccable control the air surrounding him simply joined the flame, even as the fire began to feast upon the warp for power. From red, to gold, to green, to blue, to white the flames grew in power as they were fed.
Five minutes to the millisecond after the start of the project the flames were unleashed. Plasma the temperature of a stellar core washed across the battlefield cooking everything in its path. All of the ground was simply melted into glass that quickly cooled as the heat from within was torn away to fuel the raging inferno. Yet, as with all things the inferno began to die as the heat and energy dissipated, until it was nothing more than a wisp that quickly vanished.
Through it all Crescum Auro had never stopped moving once, letting his fingers control the flames with precision beyond most others. Each flick increasing the temperature, each swipe shaping its form. As he walked gravity itself began to shift as his mass lightened yet the gravity in front increased, soon his form began to blur as he ran faster than the others could match.
Eventually the sound of battle caught his ear and he turned towards the sound, a large army of orks was fighting a group of Imperial Army soldiers separated from the main armies upon the world. Earning a raised eyebrow was a perfect vantage point for his work to be done from, a cliff overlooking the fight and with rocks positioned just right to present cover from below.
'Known - Ork forces outnumber IA forces, Ork forces must be eliminated, Position provides cover and vantage point, army scale conflict, WAAGH energy too diffuse to ground.
Solution - gravity and force manipulation. Subtract the gravity of the nearby terrain to focus it in the ork ranks, then amplify the force of explosions that will occur after the orks are brought low.' Thought Crescum Auro as he reached the overlook point and began to cast his work.
Flicks of fingers and eyes were the only sign that something was happening if one were to see the looming figure, yet other than that there was nothing to show. Yet, sensors told a very different story as the gravity of the world began shifting as a large chunk near his position simply moved.
Down in the valley the orks were having a great time chopping and shooting humans, until they were all forced to the ground as if something had sat on them. For a good number this would be the last time they would live as they were crushed beneath vehicles or other orks. But for the greater whole it was a small number in the horde.
The most cunning of the horde managed to discover the cause of the attack as they saw the glint of light off metal in the rocks above, yet before they could do more than shout they were promptly encased in ice as all of their heat was ripped away to incinerate other nearby orks.
Upon the ridge Crescum Auro frowned as he considered a new motion, a simple two movement combo had proven effective against the army below. Perhaps to the point where it would be worth making it a single motion. Deciding to test the hypothetical, he bound the idea of the attack to a motion. The last thing the orks would have seen if they could see him would have been his left eye blinking twice. Yet, none would see it for the moment the motion completed half of the orks in the valley below were turned into ice even as their body heat burned alive the others.
AN: a short omake on how Crescum Auro fights and tends to discover new methods of fighting.
Curb Your Enthusiasm (Non canon) (Must Read)
Curb Your Enthusiasm
A host of resources, STCs, and new planets were added into the Imperium. Chaos's forces suffered crippling blows, while the Dark Eldar and a hundred other threats were crushed under the titan that was humanity. Even the Eldar seemed convinced that the galaxy had shifted towards a better future now.
The Emperor could recall an old saying about this: everything was coming up Aces. He couldn't help but smile at how everything was going. Even his sons had stopped bickering with him and each other. His Imperium was entering into the start of a golden age, even if there were plenty of wrinkles. Even Maclador seemed to have a sunnier disposition, especially after he could finish most of his paperwork for the year.
It allowed the two to enjoy a small and private celebration over a bottle of actual Italian wine, preserved for almost 25,000 via stasis tech. All things considered, even their rather shaky friendship seemed to be returning to normal. How could either of them not find themselves enjoying this great set of victories?
Malcador, however, thought that something was a little off.
"Doesn't it seem a bit strange?" He asked the Emperor as he took a sip from his wine, "I mean, this string of victories. It's almost...unbelievable."
The Emperor raised one of his immaculately beautiful eyebrows at his friend, "YOU THINK IT PART OF SOME PLOT BY THE FOUR?"
"Well, no. And that's what gets me." The Sigillite set his wine glass down, "Think about it...when was the last time either of us got such a massive victory against not just one of our foes, but most of them? Chaos was dealt a crippling blow. Kesar permanently killed all the Exalted sent his way along with trillions of daemons." Malcador almost looked bemused as he kept speaking, "And Perturabo...he took an additional 20 worlds!"
"AND I AM VERY PROUD OF THEM!" The Emperor remarked with some excitement, "I'M EVEN HAPPY TO SEE VULKAN AND KONRAD DO SO WELL, AND SEE ALL MY SONS WORKING TOGETHER. EVEN ANGRON HELPED BY ATTACKING AND DESTROYING THOSE DARK ELDAR KABALS."
"Yeah...which he somehow just stumbled upon." Malcador muttered to himself before pouring a bit more wine, "I'm happy and proud of them all, especially hearing that Magnus and Alpharius did so much to get the Eldar on our side. The fact that this Isha is back, who seems to be a powerful force for good, should help us quite a bit...but again, this feels strange."
There was a brief pause before the Emperor slowly nodded, "I'LL ADMIT, THIS CHAIN OF EVENTS IS PERPLEXING...BUT SHOULDN'T WE FOCUS ON CAPITALIZING ON IT THEN?" He took a sip from his Emperor sized wine-glass, "SURELY WE CAN'T EXPECT EVERY MAJOR VICTORY TO BE SOME PLOT AGAINST US. EVEN THAT STRANGE NECRON WAS CONFUSED, AS WAS CEGORACH AND ELDRAD, BUT NONE OF THEM SEEMED DISAPPOINTED THAT IT HAPPENED ALL THE SAME."
The Lord of Terra shrugged, "SOMETIMES GOOD THINGS HAPPEN?"
His compatriot and fellow perpetual couldn't really argue with that point, "I...guess that is true." Taking another sip of his wine, he started to consider it a lot more in his head, "I suppose we were due for some victories."
"AGREED."
"But we still need to follow up on that situation with the Orks." The Sigillite took another sip of the rather tasty and strong wine, "And the Dark Eldar as well. And whatever the hell is going on with these Chaos Eldar."
The Emperor nodded, "OF COURSE. I WILL EVE HAVE HAVE HORUS, AND THE OTHERS LOOK INTO THINGS. WE ARE GOING TO TAKE THESE THINGS SERIOUSLY, AND TAKE STEPS ACCORDINGLY BECAUSE WE HAVEN'T THIS WAR JUST YET."
"Right."
"EVEN THOUGH IT LOOKS LIKE WE DID." Pouring some more wine into his wine-goblet, the Master of Mankind held it up to a toast, "FEAR NOT OLD FRIEND, WE'LL WILL NOT LET THE SPECTER OF PESSISM STOP US FROM ENJOYING THESE VICTORIES. A GREAT TIME AWAITS."
Malcador nodded and help up his wine glass, "You know what, you're right! We've come this far now, and we aren't going to stop. Whatever comes next, it's going to be great."
"IT'S GOING TO BE GREAT!"
The Emperor and Sigillite toasted, positive of the great things to come to their Imperium and the galaxy as a whole.
---
A thousand years later...
Things weren't great in the galaxy.
What followed the end of the Ritual War was a century of progressive, albeit one that still saw the Imperium at war with many threats. The forces of Chaos, crippled and battered, returned into the hellish realm that was the Eye of Terror, their attention now split between fighting each other and the Orks that were invading their realm.
It was a time of progress and revitalization as the Emperor laid the foundations for the Imperial Webway and the Eldar-Human Alliance, ensuring that the forces of Order and Sanity were now unified in stopping all threats to the survival of their species. Humanity aided the Eldar in fighting the Chaos Eldar and Dark Eldar, but it was during this time that the soon to be nightmarish Blood and Thunder War began to bleed into the realms of reality.
The start of the Third Century of the 30th Millenium ushered in the beginning of what Imperial Scholars would call the Thousand-Year Crisis.
Eldrad feared that the Blood and Thunder War would result in perhaps one or two Ork Warbosses becoming Overlords, but he never expected a dozen to reenter into the galaxy. Each one is an amalgamation of war and carnage and distinctly different and daemonic. They took to calling their new "empires" War-Realms, shedding all previous titles and names and calling themselves under a new language and ideology.
There was no Ullanor, no Unbound Empire, no Black Orks, or anything that could be spoken by Human or Eldar tongues. There was now only the War-Realms. The Green Tide descended upon the galaxy, bringing about war and death that stunned most of the galactic powers.
It came as no surprise when the Emperor ordered his sons and the Imperium's armies and fleets to push back this nightmare.
No, what surprised many was when the Imperium was pushed back. All 18 of his sons, tens of thousands of ships, millions of Astartes, and hundreds of trillions of mortal humans...and they were only able to hold the line. Worse yet, some of the Primarchs had died. Angron the Red Angel, Dorn the Praetorian of Terra, and the Gorgon Ferrus Manus died within the first decade, their Legions almost perishing with them.
Realizing how dire the situation had become, the Emperor reached out to the Eldar, who had finally begun to recover under the guidance of their returned/revived gods. However, they also became besieged by other enemies next to the War-Realms. The Dark Eldar, having been driven to the point of madness, turned the Dark City into a charnel house of strife and chaos. But now, they rallied behind a new leader, calling themselves the Lord of All Shadows. It was too late to realize that it was the Chaos Eldar that finally brought down their dark kin and turned Commoragh into a great and dreadful ritual place to summon forth a corrupted Avatar of Khaine.
And just like with the rebirth of Lilith and the creation of Ynnead, the Ulwarth lead Chaos Eldar now had their own God to call upon in the coming wars. More than that, the Chaos Eldar began to attack the Human-Eldar Alliance where it hurt the most; the webway. They unleashed upon it a weapon, the Breakdown. A warp-virus that directly attacked the foundations of the webway. It was becoming increasingly difficult within a century to counter it, and even more so to traverse the once expedite halls.
Where the Emperor sought to end humanity's reliance on warp travel, he was now forced to return to it to ensure his Imperium's survival.
Meanwhile, Chaos's forces were seemingly now victims of both The Ulwarth and War-Realms. Their realms had been shattered, even looted by the Greenskins. Hundreds of daemons became Exalted over the course of this century-long war and promptly died in the slaughter that followed. The enhanced Greenskins even devoured the daemons or used them to fuel their daemonic waaggghhh-engines.
So disastrous was this to the Warp that it caused warp-storms, but more importantly, a new phenomenon entering into the Materium. The Realm of Souls became unbalanced, resulting in children's births across the galaxy to become "void" of emotions, driven only by material perceptions of reality and cold hard logic. They showed no love, no desire, no hope, no pity, no capability towards empathy towards another. And while they did not seek out the destruction or death of others (most of the time), they became devoid of aspirations or desires, or ambitions save for one thing.
They were people born with no humanity. But what made this tragedy all the more evident was that humanity had gotten lucky, as dozens of other resources experiencing the "Void Out" had increasingly deranged or psychopathic offspring. Entire generations died within only a few years, and some civilizations followed their deceased progeny soon after.
For the Eldar, they were lucky thanks to Life and Death's connections via Isha and Ynnead, but even they felt that new Eldar souls would soon be in danger. Three centuries after this discovery, it was determined that mixing human and Eldar genes could have a greater chance of reducing a Void Born. What should've been a moment of unity between the two caused only a further divide due to the rampant xenophobia in both nations.
By the start of the Fourth Century, the Imperium was still only holding the line. They had stalled out completely. Imperial expeditions were heading into the unknown reaches of space, those unclaimed by the Ulwarth Eldar or the War-Realms. However, after the Green Star Campaigns' failure by the Alliance, it became increasingly clear that humanity had been stopped in its tracks.
The Great Crusade, which had not made progress in almost a hundred and fifty years, was declared over.
---
It remains to be said, but the past successes and subsequent four centuries of failures had not helped the Imperium's internal struggles. Vulkan reforms had not stopped, even after humanity had been locked in a two-century and half-century-long struggle against their new foes. He and Konrad were tired of waiting.
In their defense, promises had been made by the Emperor after the success of the Drake Crusade. Vulkan and Konrad worked hard to bring nearly 5,000 worlds into compliance in the shortest time possible. It was beyond successful; it was monumentally in his favor. But even during the century of peace, things hadn't gotten better for the average citizen, and slavery still existed. The death of Angron only spurred the anti-slavery sentiments and caused the World Eaters to take up the mantles of emancipators and liberators.
Vulkan had waited long enough. He demanded that his reforms be allowed, even going so far as to gather the support of a few other Primarchs. If need be, Vulkan would personally take control of a crusade force to buy the Imperium time to get this ball rolling so the Imperium could survive against the Green Hordes.
Before the Emperor could even attempt to interject, the Mechanicum responded by cutting off the flow of equipment towards the Drake Lord and his allies. The now ancient Kelbor-Hal had finally had enough of this. He knew that Vulkan wouldn't be able to stop him. Even the Emperor had lost too much power within the Machine Cult now.
As Fabricator-General of Mars, Kelbor-Hal had amassed so much power during the short level Age of Progress, turning each Forge-World into monuments of industry and worship to the Machine God. It was only through the Mechanicums might that the galaxy hadn't fallen to the War Realms. And now Vulkan want to bring up the same tired argument as the end of all life bore down upon them?
No. He was done. If the Emperor refused to punish his son for this foolishness, then he would do it for him.
However, Kelbor-Hal miscalculated the response from this action. Unaware of the looming internal stresses within his cult and that of the Imperium as a whole, the system began to break and set off a chain of events that rocked the Imperium. Once word had reached most segmentums that the Machine Cult had denied the reforms to take place, a large scale protest in favor of the Salamander Lord begun.
Progressive and moderate elements within the Mechancium also voiced their displeasure towards Mar's decision, citing that the reforms had been in the process for decades before the crisis. To turn back now would make individual Fabricator-Generals look untrustworthy and cause major civil unrest.
Tech-Bastion Shor, now one of the most vocal figures in the Machine Cult, voiced that the Fabricator-General was not only failing to keep up with the war demand, but they were also intentionally sabotaging all things related to Vulkan before the cut-off. He demanded a full investigation, not by the Lords Dragon, but by the Sigillites into the matter.
The final nail in this particular coffin came during an investigation into several recovered STCs, or what the Machine Cult believed to be STCs. However, it became increasingly clear that they were close to discovering the Second Generation-STC's planted by Majestic, who only increased this activity in the face of the growing threat.
Kleber-Hal had his silver bullet now, the one that would unite the Mechanicum behind him entirely. If he uncovered a vast conspiracy to undermine their monopoly and power, it would swing the moderates towards his side. He was prepared to offer a chance to prevent this from going any further.
He attempted to reach out to the Emperor and Malcador...attempted, but failed.
Majestic responded in the only way possible; by killing the Fabricator-General and those who knew and destroying the findings' evidence. The effects were catastrophic, as such a turbulent period finally brought the house of cards tumbling down. A power vacuum unfolded, especially as it was discovered that an additional 84 members of the Martian hierarchy were found killed.
The Mechancium went on a witch-hunt to find those within their own ranks to see who committed such a previous sin. The resulting 'purges' prompted radical elements to react. Tech-Bastion Shor declared an emergency before being arrested by the Lord's Dragon on suspected tech-heresy and murder charges, along with thousands of others. Moderate and progressive elements quickly declared the action illegal.
It's easy to see what happened next, and the Emperor and Malcador were already moving troops into position by the time the first shots of the Mechanicum Civil War broke out. Once again proving that sometimes humanity was their own greatest enemy even during the coming apocalypse.
When Malcador confronted Godfather for this action, the AI only responded by saying that it was necessary and ultimately to humanity's benefit. The Mechancium's grip over the Imperium would be shattered, allowing for better leadership to take its place and ultimately allow Majestic to gain considerable power. There was no point in hiding their research and development for too much longer.
The Sigillite became keenly aware that the AI and its organization had made their move. While it would benefit the Imperium in the long run, it would put considerable power within their grasp. Somehow Malcador was too tired to care anymore.
---
For the Space Marines, the Crisis had been a bloodbath. In the first two centuries of battling the War-Realms and the Ulwarth, casualties had been steadily increasing. Legions like the Death Guard, Space Wolves, Luna Wolves, White Scars, Iron Warriors, Eternal Wardens, and Dark Angels suffered the heaviest.
Around the start of the Fifth Century, Mortarian would be listed as "MIA" following the Third Iron Bastion's success. Leman Russ would be grievously wounded some six decades later while leading a force against one of the Ork leaders, who can only be identified as calling himself The War-King. Leman would have to entombed in a dreadnought after that.
Six and a half centuries of blood, suffering, and pain. The Imperial Fists' survivors became utterly convinced that their Legion was destined to die in battle, hoping to join their Dead Father in what they were called The Last Fortress. The World Eaters, driven now only by the last words of their Primarch, begun to attack Imperial worlds suspected of holding slaves. The Iron Hands and Death Guard joined their Legions together, hoping to create a new breed of Astarte to fight in the worst possible conditions the universe could throw at them.
But it was the Space Wolves and Iron Warriors that started becoming bitter towards their other legions. Where were the Blood Angels, the Ultramarines, the Thousand Sons, Raven Guard, or the Emperor's Children in all of this? Since the start of the Crisis, those Legions were stuck dealing with a host of internal issues or helping Alliance forces across multiple fronts. They had become noticeably absent in the last few centuries, even with the increased attacks by the War-Realms.
Lion El'Johnson ultimately proposed that absent Legions should not be allowed critical resources necessary for the Imperium's continued survival against either the Ulwarth or War-Realms. Following the sixteen-year-long Mechanicum Civil War, this decision became an increasingly unpopular one among certain Legions.
Horus tried to be reasonable, but even he had to agree that you don't need as much assistance if you weren't here on the frontlines. He convinced the Emperor to allow for a massive decrease in resources towards absent Legions. The Primarchs of those Legions weren't happy, especially Vulkan, and Konrad noticed that even after everything...they were still being denied serious aid.
That, in turn, cause Roboute Guilliman to declare that the resources from the Realm of Ultramar would be directed towards the War Front if he decided it was necessary. His fellow "absentee" brothers quickly announced similar measures. However, they did agree to send a joint task force of one million marines to aid in this endeavor, but once again, the Primarchs were dealing with new issues as they cropped up.
Perturabo spoke ill of this development towards Horus, Kesar, and the Khan. "We've become divided. Not that I can blame either side. However, I will not allow us to lose this war after all these years of struggle because Vulkan refuses to see reason. I will not be waiting for someone on Terra to decide whether or not my sons will or will not have enough bolts in their guns before fighting the Greenskins."
The Iron Warriors declared that any freighter carrying goods or troopship believed to necessary for the war effort is to be placed under the Iron Warriors Legion's direct control and subsumed under the Emergency War Act granted by the Lord of Terra, the Emperor.
And that did not go over well.
It especially became apparent when the Iron Warriors "conscripted" a small detachment of Thousand Sons and sixteen regiments of Prospero Guard without consulting Magnus. This was followed up by the Luna Wolves collecting a war tithe from several resource convoys en route from Ultramar towards Deliverance.
What unfolded was the beginning of a low-key civil war between the Astartes Legions, although not by the Primarch themselves.
---
Trazyn the Infinite had an idea. It was a good idea, an amazing one even.
"What if I made my own brand of Orks to fight the War-Realms?" The logic was sound, it was what the Old Ones would've done anyway, and he always wanted to show up those smug toads. The Mad Collector had the means and capabilities to produce life, as strange as that was for a Necron.
More importantly, he had the necessary materials to do so.
Perhaps it was for the best. These recent events were starting to awaken the other Dynasties, and soon he'd have no chance to do anything really, especially once a certain quiet monarch arrived back from dark space.
So, he tried his best to make something to help the forces of Order hopefully. He took a speck of blood from Khorne, a little from Gork and Mork, a bit of geneseed from a certain Red Angel, and added a dash of human DNA. He put inside an extraordinary machine, probably from the War in Heaven. Still, he couldn't really remember and then waited a few decades before planting the spores on a particular planet inside a particular system.
The primitive alien species called it "T'au" or something like that. It didn't matter; they were likely going to end up either dead or slaves for their new masters, but what was the difference at this point? Maybe if his little science experiment learned empathy in time, they would actually survive.
His new creations ready, Trazyn gave them a name in the old tongue, "Uhr-Kai," and left them a nice big monolith with instructions on what to do.
And with the belief that Trazyn had done his good deed for the next hundred eons, he went back to cataloging his findings.
---
The Emperor had considered all things possible in this insane world. Still, upon the start of the fifth century since the start of the Crisis, he hadn't expected the arrival of emissaries from the Chaos Gods to grace his "doorstep." They were part of something called Chaos Unified, an emergency response by the Gods of Chaos.
What they told the Emperor painted a bleak picture of the situation in the Warp, which in another time would have made the Emperor laugh; now it only made it want to laugh and cry at the sheer absurdity of the situation.
Malal blew up the Warp.
Okay, that wasn't a gross simplification of a truly chaotic event in metaphysical history. What happened was that Malal blew up the domains and concepts governed by the Four Gods. He evidently accomplished this event by seeding his very being with both demonic and work souls before intentionally killing himself with Surturn'einn the Divider and giving it his power...to sever the ties of the domains and powers to the other Gods and the Exalted.
Not only had the War-Realms trashed the realms and the Realm of the Souls, Malal intentionally created another god to cause further problems. The Gods of Chaos were now only their last vestigates of power and keeping on the defense. The Emperor knew things were horrible when even Khorne wanted to declare a cease-fire.
Legend has it that the Emperor agreed to personally meet with the Four inside the Warp, along with the Eldar Gods' demands and grievances, and when upon meeting Khorne, the Emperor proceeded to punch him eight times in the face.
"YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! LOOK WHAT YOU HAVE DONE TO US ALL!"
Khorne would only laugh and laugh, even while the other three Gods could stare in agreement. The first true meeting between archnemesis was with bloody laughter. Perhaps there was something poetic about the entire situation?
---
The Sixth Century...was equally bad.
Upon hearing of the new Alliance with the forces of Remenants of Chaos, Kesar personally swore that he would never work alongside such abominations, and he'd sooner trust an Ork than anyone with an Eight Pointed Star. He took command of the Eternal Wardens, gathered up enough resources and marines, bid his brother farewell, and would swiftly disappear into the War-Realms, directly engaging the Daemonic Greenskins in their twisted, nightmare empires.
Eldrad was a lot more understanding, but that said more about the situation than his current thoughts. The sad truth was that this alliance's opening allowed for more and more Eldar souls to return, which in turn prevented more Void Born and Void Outs across the Imperium.
There were now hundreds of millions of Human-Eldar hybrids. Causing further strain upon the future of allowing these hybrids to become Astartes or hold positions of power within either the Imperium or the Eldar Empire. The galaxy laughed at the humans and Eldar, especially when reports of humans openly worshiping the Chaos Gods were reported across dozens of worlds.
What made this worse was that they were still completely loyal to the Imperium of Man, and most were even starting to worship the so-called God-Emperor along with the Four, now taking to call the Five Gods the Fist of Humanity. The Imperial Truth and the Golden Path now had new competition.
Many of the Primarchs publicly declared this development an abomination, a blight upon humanity. How could the Emperor allow for this?!
Perturabo, Khan, and while not in public solidarity with the two, Magnus the Red, declared that they would follow Kesar's example and refuse to work with this filth. However, Horus announced that he would be pursuing means to safely incorporate these new "allies" once their Emperor approved the new doctrine change.
Astartes relations got worse when Horus refused even to consider using Guiliman's Codex Astartes, citing that it was utterly pointless and trivialized in light of these enemies that seemed to shift and change constantly. What was the point of a soon to be an obsolete book?
As the Sixth Century came to a close, the Imperium was mostly unaware of the growing threat now entering this galaxy, and whose scouts and infiltrators had already begun their work for their alien masters.
---
After the "victory" on the world of Tyran in the Eastern Fringes, the Imperium called them Tyranids. The Imperium's rapid colonization efforts into the Eastern Fringes left much of the defenses bare and underdeveloped. No one was ready for the onslaught of Genestealer Cults that infiltrated thousands of worlds, nor could anyone fathom the gargantuan size of the extra-galactic invasion force that made its entrance upon the galaxy during the start of the Seventh Century.
The Ultramarines and Raven Guard Legions ultimately attempted to push back the Hive Fleets. The Emperor declared this another emergency after reports of quadrillions of these bastards were roaming across his Imperium. He called the Salamanders and Blood Angels to assist in keeping these insects contained.
But even after this time, the resource and equipment shortages resulted in the Imperial Response being woefully underequipped for such a force. Even so, the Astartes and Imperial Army fought back for almost thirty years before finally stopping the Xenos from moving any further, but at great cost.
Corvus Corax would ultimately die, leading his Deathwing veterans into the "heart" of Hive Fleet Lucifer, severing the fleets' connection to the Hive Mind. Sanguinius would lose his right arm during a battle against what he believed to be some apex creature while holding the line against Hive Fleet Perun. It defied even the Angels precognition, but only to a point. It still died in the end.
Even so, the First Tyrannic Wars was truly nightmarish. Astartes from Legions fighting against the War-Realms had the decency to respect their cousins' losses and victories against such horrors. Still, perhaps they'll finally get involved in this fight and not cower in the rear lines.
There was now a clear divine among the Legions following the start of the Second and Third Tyrannic Wars...you were either dying to stop the Space Bugs or the Daemon Orks. Somehow no one could agree that both were a threat to their very existence.
---
The galaxy hoped that the seventh century would be a better one. Even the Gods were now privately hoping for a reprieve from this slaughter, save for Khorne, who quietly enjoyed this situation. Sadly, it wasn't meant to be, as this was the start of an old but returned threat to the galaxy.
It had been know for some time that the Necrons were awakening. The only good news was that most of the awakened dynasties were on the other side of the Frontlines against the Orks and Tyranids. The few that did awaken inside Imperial holdings or the very rare new Eldar Empire worlds were swiftly handled.
Eldrad, and now also Tzeetch, were not so convinced that this would be the case for too long. Attempts to reach Trazyn the Infinite failed, the Mad Collector now having gone to ground or the Necron equivalent. But they were aware that something was happening.
They were right to be concerned, for Szarekh, The Last Silent King, had finally returned from the Void of Dark Space. The Hive Fleets' intrusion and arrival suddenly felt that even his forces were quite unaware of such beings. He lost almost his entire void fleet as the seemingly frenzied waves of chitin rushed to the Milky Way galaxy, now aware of the delicious bio-mass and warp energies to devour.
Szarekh, unaware of what had happened in his absence, returned to a galaxy devoid of sanity and reason. It was said that the first words uttered by the supposed Silent King after uncountable eons was only words, drenched in bewildered despair.
"No..."
After that, he swiftly rallied his dynasty before realizing that he was the only one who had gone on a war-footing. He began to confront the Phaerons and Phaerakhs that had awakened but remained idle. Why had they not send out their vast armies or fleets against the Orks or the Tyranids? Against their ancient enemies, the Eldar or their pet humans. For that matter, why were they working with the forces of the Warp?!
But all he heard were excuses and bemoaning, that their strength was gone or that a rival dynasty was preparing to attack them.
Szarekh was beyond furious. Had his people become cravens and fools in his absence? Did the corruption of the C'tan destroy their spirits entirely? He had enough, and Szarekh started culling the weakest among the weaker dynasties before subsuming complete control over them.
He even used C'tan shards against his own people. This wasn't right, but it was necessary. One had only to see all the chaos inflicted by all the living and their disgusting connections to the Warp. The first thirty years of the seventh century saw the Necrons rally, albeit reluctantly in some cases, under the Szarekh Dynasty.
And then they pushed back against the galaxy.
The Necrons fought against everyone; Orks, Eldar, Humans, Tyranids, Ulwarths, and Chaos enclaves. There was no distinction, no attempts of diplomacy, and Szarekh didn't care whenever emissaries from the Galactic Alliance attempted to communicate with them. He ignored their calls and told them that they should make peace with their so-called gods.
Because all Szarekh now saw in the galaxy was its slow death. He could save it, perhaps.
Instead, he only wanted to see it cleansed entirely.
No, there would be no more peace or talks of it even when Trazyn attempted to reason with the Silent King, advising that perhaps it would be best not to make so many enemies when his own Dynasties rankled under his iron-clad rule. Szarekh accused Trazyn of having "sentiments" towards the people that caused all these problems, and if he continues to hold such "sentiments," then not even his power would save him from being executed.
Trazyn, ultimately, spoke no more about this.
And so the Necrons began their onslaught. They destroyed two entire War-Realms, three Hive Fleets, and even a dozen Ulwarth kingdoms...but along with hundreds of thousands of worlds belonging to humanity and the Eldar. Tragically, the Night Lords and Alpha Legion attempted to stem the tide against the Necrons.
Konrad Cruze was one of the casualties, but his death came most peculiarly. He was captured while attempting to assassinate the Silent King. The capture of a Primarch was an interesting development and one that Szarekh decided to make an example out of by holding a trial against the Primarch.
When Trazyn quietly reported the events back to the Galactic Alliance, it was said that the Necrons tortured Konrad for almost twenty years before they got a "confession" out of him, declaring that he was a murder and killer that the Night Haunter and he were the same.
During the trial, Konrad regained some semblance of control before declaring to the Silent King, "You...you have no right to judge me. I've paid for my crimes. I will die a free man and with a clean conscience."
He then promptly tried to kill the Silent King with only his fists but was ultimately killed before reaching the Silent King. Thus did Konrad Curze die as Konrad Curze and not as the Night Haunter.
One would think it a victory for the Necrons or the Silent King.
Yet Szarekh failed to hear the whispers behind his back, to see the Last Silent King needing to torture a primitive to prove a point to his enemies. How the mighty had fallen so low to despair and fear.
---
The eighth-century came, and with it, another threat.
Upon ships that seemed almost too brutal and vicious to properly function, blaring war-chants and battle-songs over the vox. With muddy red skin and ruby-red eyes, screaming and shooting and chopping with solid projectile weapons and exo-armor...did the Uhr-Kai Divine Confederation arrive upon the galactic scene.
Whatever the galactic alliance or the Necrons or the War-Realms thought about such creatures, they did not expect something that looked and acted Ork, yet also decidedly human in nature. They had genders, a written and spoken language, a culture that showcased arts and music, and the concept of theocratic government.
The Uhr-Kai worshipped their own God-Emperor, including a small pantheon of "war-saints" and "warlock scions"; they believed in blood, war, strength, and order. Their confederation was small, barely 25 sectors, but they had exploded upon the scene after conquering and taking control of nearly 32 alien civilizations. They were slavers, a race dedicated towards expansionism, fighting because it was what they believed in and that they were the chosen race to take up the Orks' mantle.
Both the Eldar Seers and Chaos sorcerers were shocked when they discovered that the Uhr-Kai warlocks had the ability to tap into the War-Realms energies and even assume complete control over them. They were like a virus, and they only got stronger whenever they defeated Orks of the War-Realms. Even reports of the Uhr-Kai using a strange process to "evolve" captured Orks into Uhr-Kai's!
They were a counter to the War-Realms, a different breed of creature.
Unfortunately, they seemed convinced that the rest of the galaxy was their's to command. They captured humans and Eldar, treating them as slaves like the other aliens and using them to support their war-economy. There were also uncomfortable reports that they had no qualms to breed with other species. Reports also showed that the Uhr-Kai enjoyed eating daemons, though they couldn't truly kill them that way.
Meanwhile, their God-Emperor remains a mystery even after 200 years since their arrival. All that is known is that he claims to be a New Krork, establishing a strange distinction between the Krorks of the War in Heaven and now these new Uhr-Kai's.
As of now, the White Scars and Emperor's Children have been fighting them for some time. They have had only mild success in keeping them contained, especially in light of much bigger threats.
---
And the Ninth Century soon followed in the wake of such chaos.
There were no new enemies introduced, thankfully. There was, however, an endless parade of carnage and war across the galaxy. In the midst of it all, humanity found itself in a quagmire of a predicament. Surrounded by all sides by powerful and malevolent forces. Each year bringing only uncertainty and destruction across a thousand worlds. The hopes of the Great Crusade, the Imperial Webway, and the promise of a New Golden Age faded into myth and legend for most.
When humanity looked around, it found itself in the company of former enemies and new allies. The Eldar Empire and Chaos United to its left and right. Even more so where the arrival of new AI's, the so-called Men of Steel, who had only just arrived within the last century from Terra itself upon the Emperor of Mankind's decree. Even minor alien civilizations now assist the Imperium, for it was better to stand and fight with humanity than die to the War-Realms or whatever threat was closest.
In some aspects, it was good for humanity not to be alone. But even those that made the decisions to allow for such an alliance found themselves wondering if this was the best course of action. One had only need to realize that there were now sanctioned chaos cults on Imperial Worlds, that human-Eldar hybrids were in positions of power, and that AI's had returned to fight the Orks like in ages past.
The Primarchs were divided now, the Mechancium an arm of the Imperial government, and millions of Astartes had now gone off from the Legions in search of new answers alongside other humans and even Eldar, for there were no certainties in this galaxy, no answers to these peculiar questions.
Now it was just endless war. But there was no cruel laughter from thirsting gods, no lack of scientific progress from institutional ignorance, and hope for the future still yet remained.
---
The silence had been the hardest thing to get used to. For so many years, he could recall having to ward off attacks from the Four. Their constant attempts to breach his mind were almost a good practice for the Emperor of Mankind. He imagined, far too many times, how he would destroy each of them, how he'd finally end their reign of terror in the Warp.
Now? Now, he meant with them once a year. He had to sit across from them and plan for the future of their collective survival, for the survival of his own race. Oh, he knew that if things ever returned to normal, they'd be at each other's throats again, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to see it happening. He became empathic towards them.
He almost thanked Tzeentch during their last meeting for his aid in developing a counter-spell to the War-Realm's most recent attempts to corrupt several Forge Worlds. The Eldar Deities refused to sit down with them, which he understands and didn't press. Eldrad reported that they were getting more souls back from Chaos, which was good. There had been a steady increase in Void Born now. Godfather predicted that a third of humanity would be like them in another ten thousand years—cold, logical, and devoid of sympathy to others. Even though a Void Born wasn't incapable of being a productive citizen, they, along with the hybrids, unnerved much of humanity and even the Eldar.
A part of him shuddered as he realized how close they were to what he was at one point. It became increasingly clear what he had turned into after his sons' death and marrying Isha. Sometimes it felt like waking up from a bad dream. Then again, reality felt like another nightmare entirely.
The Emperor realized that only a few familiar faces effectively surrounded him. There was still Malcador and Magnus, but now also Isha, Vandal/Godfather, Tech-Lore Isilon (the apprentice to Tech-Lord Shor), and much lesser extent and barely tolerable extent...Lord Sorcerer Akirak.
'That I have to put up with these creatures.' The Emperor had drawn the line at allowing a daemon anywhere in Sol. The new Eternal Wardens chapters kept watch on all reported and sanctioned cults. Another thing that the Emperor despised having to allow, but their uses were too good to pass up. He was paying for his pragmatism every day. There were already churches in his name, along with the return of the Old Faiths.
And with great irony, he realized that the Imperial Truth had to play nice with all the other faiths. The Gods were real now, they were both evil and good, and they were aiding humanity all the same. What had he done to force the galaxy to play this joke on him? Even the Laughing God couldn't fathom where they had ended up in now.
But he had to wonder...was it all really that bad now?
---
"I just realized..." Malcador spoke up suddenly to his friend, "It's been a thousand years since that day."
The Emperor looked up from his desk from the report he had been reading. He and Sigilite had just finished their meeting with the Eldar representative, who announced a new set of fleets, including a repurposed Craftworld, would be heading towards the Gamma Front. Horus would be most pleased to hear the arriving reinforcements, especially after he complains about roaming daemon companies causing the Imperial Guard (the Army had long since transitioned) morale to wavier along the front.
"What day?" The Emperor spoke, but without the power behind it. Such pretenses had to be dropped now, especially to downplay that damn God narrative. He used his powers to sign a few documents with his quill while he listened. He needed to finish up soon; Isha wanted to go to the palace gardens.
"The celebration following the conclusion of the Ritual War. We were drinking Italian wine together, talking about how proud we were of Kesar, Khan, Vulkan, and the others."
Now he remembered that day, almost a thousand years ago exactly. The Emperor paused and leaned back into his chair, "Was it really that long ago?"
Malcador nodded with a small smile, "We were so confident back then." He chuckled and looked away, "I want to say we were both different men, but I feel like we just got older but not wiser."
They were older now, even during the Unification Wars, even during the worse parts of the Great Crusade...they didn't feel that old back then. Now they realized that half the galaxy was under the control of monsters, and the other half was stuck fighting to keep their own homes from being submerged by the flood of death and destruction that was ever-present.
"You think Kesar is still alive?" Malcador suddenly asked, "He was so disappointed in us both. I can't blame him, especially with how things look now. That we have to play hosts to people that willingly gave up their souls to our...allies." The Emperor didn't need to speak aloud his agreement over such a sentimentality. "I've heard that Alpharius and Perturabo are still looking for him. They claim to hear Warden signals even after all these centuries."
"If there is anyone that can survive in that hell, it would be Kesar and his sons." He missed him, along with those that died. Most of his sons, save for Horus and Magnus, stopped talking to him almost two centuries ago. Some of them never forgave him for what happened to some of their brothers. Roboute missed Corvus, Fulgrim grieved for Ferrus, and Lion still visited Leman whenever possible. At least for Lion and Roboute, they had their wives and children. It seemed likely that some Primarchs were just never found the will to start a family for the others.
Perhaps there was some irony that their father married another Goddess? He tried not to think about it.
"We mocked the universe." The Emperor remarked to Malcador, "Perhaps not intentionally, but we were so sure...so positive that we could tame this galaxy, once and for all. Now, look at us. Scrambling to try and find solutions to threats that are growing daily."
He turned from his desk to look outside towards the Palace as Father Sol rose above, signally a new day upon the Palace. Dorn lived long enough to see its fortifications completed. His body was buried inside a special tomb, constructed personally by Perturabo. It was the last construction project that he would ever do on Terra before fully dedicating himself to the war effort.
'It's good enough,' as Perturabo remarked to the Emperor.
As he started outside, he felt Malcador approach him before he spoke, "Do you know what I saw today while coming into work? It was the strangest thing." The Sigillite was smirking up at his friend, "It was a little moment between a family. An Eldar male with a human female and their hybrid daughter. The mother was Imperial Guard, and I suspect the Eldar was part of the ambassadorial detachment. They were so happy to see each other. I saw them kiss while the daughter made a childish grimace at the display of affection. A few minutes later, I saw a Man of Steel speaking with a member of the Mechanicum; there was no ire or hate in the tech-priests voice as they spoke. In one instance, I saw humanity interacting with two enemies that once sought our destruction, and they were without hate, without contempt, and instead, I saw love and respect."
The Emperor smirked, "Wish I can say the same thing about having those same feelings whenever I see a cultist with that Eight Pointed Star walking the streets of Terra or seeing people calling me a god. Lorgar is likely rolling in his grave, and he has every right too."
Malcador nodded, "Believe me, I don't want this to be happening either, but we've all made sacrifices and compromises. However, when you look at the cities now, the hives and forges...people might not be happy, but they are committed to our victory over these forces of evil. Not just surviving, my friend, they believe in this alliance and that there is a future still, one in which all the struggles of the last 1200 years were not in vain."
"Vulkan was right; the reforms did help in the long run. It gave the people the belief that some good came out of this." It came at such a high cost now. Quadrillions of lives were lost, millions of worlds destroyed, and his sons suffered or died because of it. Humanity and Eldar and even those blights in the warp survived, ready to fight for the next century or next millennia or the next ten thousand years.
People were afraid, uncertain, and even paranoid...but they still hadn't given up.
"It's only going to get worse." The Emperor remarked to Malcador, "You should curb that enthusiasm."
Malcador shrugged, "Just pointing out a silver lining. You and I are still here. Terra is still here, as is the Imperium, as is the Eldar, and so many others. Could we have done things differently? Perhaps. But at the same time, the outcome we have right now is one that isn't exactly the worse possible one."
Things hadn't gotten worse; that was true. The galactic alliance was preparing for another major counter-offensive, and this time...things were going to be quite different. There were many new weapons and technologies, everything from new high-power las-guns to massive dreadnoughts of the Imperial Navy. They had sacrificed much, but they learned and grew as a species and civilization in the process.
Their allies were, for the most part, prepared for their part. He would soon stand besides Warp Gods as allies upon the threshold of a war not seen since the War in Heaven. The Emperor of Mankind was, for the first time, a stranger in a war that wasn't his own. Yet there were now hundreds of trillions that had grown up in its carnage and had found hope in the strangest places and with even stranger people.
'I'm a relic now.' He smirked to himself, 'Or maybe just a product of a different galaxy.'
So while the Crisis continued, the galaxy would soon belong to a very different array of nations and people. He and his sons would find a new place for it, and much as he hated to admit it, godhood seemed like the most likely end to this particular chapter in the galaxy.
For once, the irony of the situation didn't seem so bad this time.
---
@Daemon Hunter Okay, so this started as a joke omake, yet I decided to make it something a bit more serious. For context on what is happening here, imagine if the Imperium rolled Nat 100's for most of the Ritual War and a few decades after it...and then shit went so fucking wrong across the entire galaxy, ending up in this event of truly apocalyptic nature.
"The optimist proclaims that we live in the best of all possible worlds; the pessimist fears this is true."
- James Branch Cabell, The Silver Stallion.
"Why the fuck would anything nice ever happen?!"
- Comedian Louis C.K.
"The best-laid schemes o' Mice an' Men
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain!"
- Robert Burns, To a Mouse.
There was a celebration across Terra, across Sol, across the entire Imperium of Man. The Emperor announced that humanity's forces succeeded in a series of massive campaigns. Vulkan's Drake Crusade saw the liberation of almost 5,000 worlds, the Ritual War, the destruction of the entire Maelstrom, with Kesar and his brothers exceeding beyond their wildest expectations, and finally ending the liberation of Isha from the Garden of Nurgle (although this was kept secret from many.)- James Branch Cabell, The Silver Stallion.
"Why the fuck would anything nice ever happen?!"
- Comedian Louis C.K.
"The best-laid schemes o' Mice an' Men
Gang aft agley,
An' lea'e us nought but grief an' pain!"
- Robert Burns, To a Mouse.
A host of resources, STCs, and new planets were added into the Imperium. Chaos's forces suffered crippling blows, while the Dark Eldar and a hundred other threats were crushed under the titan that was humanity. Even the Eldar seemed convinced that the galaxy had shifted towards a better future now.
The Emperor could recall an old saying about this: everything was coming up Aces. He couldn't help but smile at how everything was going. Even his sons had stopped bickering with him and each other. His Imperium was entering into the start of a golden age, even if there were plenty of wrinkles. Even Maclador seemed to have a sunnier disposition, especially after he could finish most of his paperwork for the year.
It allowed the two to enjoy a small and private celebration over a bottle of actual Italian wine, preserved for almost 25,000 via stasis tech. All things considered, even their rather shaky friendship seemed to be returning to normal. How could either of them not find themselves enjoying this great set of victories?
Malcador, however, thought that something was a little off.
"Doesn't it seem a bit strange?" He asked the Emperor as he took a sip from his wine, "I mean, this string of victories. It's almost...unbelievable."
The Emperor raised one of his immaculately beautiful eyebrows at his friend, "YOU THINK IT PART OF SOME PLOT BY THE FOUR?"
"Well, no. And that's what gets me." The Sigillite set his wine glass down, "Think about it...when was the last time either of us got such a massive victory against not just one of our foes, but most of them? Chaos was dealt a crippling blow. Kesar permanently killed all the Exalted sent his way along with trillions of daemons." Malcador almost looked bemused as he kept speaking, "And Perturabo...he took an additional 20 worlds!"
"AND I AM VERY PROUD OF THEM!" The Emperor remarked with some excitement, "I'M EVEN HAPPY TO SEE VULKAN AND KONRAD DO SO WELL, AND SEE ALL MY SONS WORKING TOGETHER. EVEN ANGRON HELPED BY ATTACKING AND DESTROYING THOSE DARK ELDAR KABALS."
"Yeah...which he somehow just stumbled upon." Malcador muttered to himself before pouring a bit more wine, "I'm happy and proud of them all, especially hearing that Magnus and Alpharius did so much to get the Eldar on our side. The fact that this Isha is back, who seems to be a powerful force for good, should help us quite a bit...but again, this feels strange."
There was a brief pause before the Emperor slowly nodded, "I'LL ADMIT, THIS CHAIN OF EVENTS IS PERPLEXING...BUT SHOULDN'T WE FOCUS ON CAPITALIZING ON IT THEN?" He took a sip from his Emperor sized wine-glass, "SURELY WE CAN'T EXPECT EVERY MAJOR VICTORY TO BE SOME PLOT AGAINST US. EVEN THAT STRANGE NECRON WAS CONFUSED, AS WAS CEGORACH AND ELDRAD, BUT NONE OF THEM SEEMED DISAPPOINTED THAT IT HAPPENED ALL THE SAME."
The Lord of Terra shrugged, "SOMETIMES GOOD THINGS HAPPEN?"
His compatriot and fellow perpetual couldn't really argue with that point, "I...guess that is true." Taking another sip of his wine, he started to consider it a lot more in his head, "I suppose we were due for some victories."
"AGREED."
"But we still need to follow up on that situation with the Orks." The Sigillite took another sip of the rather tasty and strong wine, "And the Dark Eldar as well. And whatever the hell is going on with these Chaos Eldar."
The Emperor nodded, "OF COURSE. I WILL EVE HAVE HAVE HORUS, AND THE OTHERS LOOK INTO THINGS. WE ARE GOING TO TAKE THESE THINGS SERIOUSLY, AND TAKE STEPS ACCORDINGLY BECAUSE WE HAVEN'T THIS WAR JUST YET."
"Right."
"EVEN THOUGH IT LOOKS LIKE WE DID." Pouring some more wine into his wine-goblet, the Master of Mankind held it up to a toast, "FEAR NOT OLD FRIEND, WE'LL WILL NOT LET THE SPECTER OF PESSISM STOP US FROM ENJOYING THESE VICTORIES. A GREAT TIME AWAITS."
Malcador nodded and help up his wine glass, "You know what, you're right! We've come this far now, and we aren't going to stop. Whatever comes next, it's going to be great."
"IT'S GOING TO BE GREAT!"
The Emperor and Sigillite toasted, positive of the great things to come to their Imperium and the galaxy as a whole.
---
A thousand years later...
Things weren't great in the galaxy.
What followed the end of the Ritual War was a century of progressive, albeit one that still saw the Imperium at war with many threats. The forces of Chaos, crippled and battered, returned into the hellish realm that was the Eye of Terror, their attention now split between fighting each other and the Orks that were invading their realm.
It was a time of progress and revitalization as the Emperor laid the foundations for the Imperial Webway and the Eldar-Human Alliance, ensuring that the forces of Order and Sanity were now unified in stopping all threats to the survival of their species. Humanity aided the Eldar in fighting the Chaos Eldar and Dark Eldar, but it was during this time that the soon to be nightmarish Blood and Thunder War began to bleed into the realms of reality.
The start of the Third Century of the 30th Millenium ushered in the beginning of what Imperial Scholars would call the Thousand-Year Crisis.
Eldrad feared that the Blood and Thunder War would result in perhaps one or two Ork Warbosses becoming Overlords, but he never expected a dozen to reenter into the galaxy. Each one is an amalgamation of war and carnage and distinctly different and daemonic. They took to calling their new "empires" War-Realms, shedding all previous titles and names and calling themselves under a new language and ideology.
There was no Ullanor, no Unbound Empire, no Black Orks, or anything that could be spoken by Human or Eldar tongues. There was now only the War-Realms. The Green Tide descended upon the galaxy, bringing about war and death that stunned most of the galactic powers.
It came as no surprise when the Emperor ordered his sons and the Imperium's armies and fleets to push back this nightmare.
No, what surprised many was when the Imperium was pushed back. All 18 of his sons, tens of thousands of ships, millions of Astartes, and hundreds of trillions of mortal humans...and they were only able to hold the line. Worse yet, some of the Primarchs had died. Angron the Red Angel, Dorn the Praetorian of Terra, and the Gorgon Ferrus Manus died within the first decade, their Legions almost perishing with them.
Realizing how dire the situation had become, the Emperor reached out to the Eldar, who had finally begun to recover under the guidance of their returned/revived gods. However, they also became besieged by other enemies next to the War-Realms. The Dark Eldar, having been driven to the point of madness, turned the Dark City into a charnel house of strife and chaos. But now, they rallied behind a new leader, calling themselves the Lord of All Shadows. It was too late to realize that it was the Chaos Eldar that finally brought down their dark kin and turned Commoragh into a great and dreadful ritual place to summon forth a corrupted Avatar of Khaine.
And just like with the rebirth of Lilith and the creation of Ynnead, the Ulwarth lead Chaos Eldar now had their own God to call upon in the coming wars. More than that, the Chaos Eldar began to attack the Human-Eldar Alliance where it hurt the most; the webway. They unleashed upon it a weapon, the Breakdown. A warp-virus that directly attacked the foundations of the webway. It was becoming increasingly difficult within a century to counter it, and even more so to traverse the once expedite halls.
Where the Emperor sought to end humanity's reliance on warp travel, he was now forced to return to it to ensure his Imperium's survival.
Meanwhile, Chaos's forces were seemingly now victims of both The Ulwarth and War-Realms. Their realms had been shattered, even looted by the Greenskins. Hundreds of daemons became Exalted over the course of this century-long war and promptly died in the slaughter that followed. The enhanced Greenskins even devoured the daemons or used them to fuel their daemonic waaggghhh-engines.
So disastrous was this to the Warp that it caused warp-storms, but more importantly, a new phenomenon entering into the Materium. The Realm of Souls became unbalanced, resulting in children's births across the galaxy to become "void" of emotions, driven only by material perceptions of reality and cold hard logic. They showed no love, no desire, no hope, no pity, no capability towards empathy towards another. And while they did not seek out the destruction or death of others (most of the time), they became devoid of aspirations or desires, or ambitions save for one thing.
They were people born with no humanity. But what made this tragedy all the more evident was that humanity had gotten lucky, as dozens of other resources experiencing the "Void Out" had increasingly deranged or psychopathic offspring. Entire generations died within only a few years, and some civilizations followed their deceased progeny soon after.
For the Eldar, they were lucky thanks to Life and Death's connections via Isha and Ynnead, but even they felt that new Eldar souls would soon be in danger. Three centuries after this discovery, it was determined that mixing human and Eldar genes could have a greater chance of reducing a Void Born. What should've been a moment of unity between the two caused only a further divide due to the rampant xenophobia in both nations.
By the start of the Fourth Century, the Imperium was still only holding the line. They had stalled out completely. Imperial expeditions were heading into the unknown reaches of space, those unclaimed by the Ulwarth Eldar or the War-Realms. However, after the Green Star Campaigns' failure by the Alliance, it became increasingly clear that humanity had been stopped in its tracks.
The Great Crusade, which had not made progress in almost a hundred and fifty years, was declared over.
---
It remains to be said, but the past successes and subsequent four centuries of failures had not helped the Imperium's internal struggles. Vulkan reforms had not stopped, even after humanity had been locked in a two-century and half-century-long struggle against their new foes. He and Konrad were tired of waiting.
In their defense, promises had been made by the Emperor after the success of the Drake Crusade. Vulkan and Konrad worked hard to bring nearly 5,000 worlds into compliance in the shortest time possible. It was beyond successful; it was monumentally in his favor. But even during the century of peace, things hadn't gotten better for the average citizen, and slavery still existed. The death of Angron only spurred the anti-slavery sentiments and caused the World Eaters to take up the mantles of emancipators and liberators.
Vulkan had waited long enough. He demanded that his reforms be allowed, even going so far as to gather the support of a few other Primarchs. If need be, Vulkan would personally take control of a crusade force to buy the Imperium time to get this ball rolling so the Imperium could survive against the Green Hordes.
Before the Emperor could even attempt to interject, the Mechanicum responded by cutting off the flow of equipment towards the Drake Lord and his allies. The now ancient Kelbor-Hal had finally had enough of this. He knew that Vulkan wouldn't be able to stop him. Even the Emperor had lost too much power within the Machine Cult now.
As Fabricator-General of Mars, Kelbor-Hal had amassed so much power during the short level Age of Progress, turning each Forge-World into monuments of industry and worship to the Machine God. It was only through the Mechanicums might that the galaxy hadn't fallen to the War Realms. And now Vulkan want to bring up the same tired argument as the end of all life bore down upon them?
No. He was done. If the Emperor refused to punish his son for this foolishness, then he would do it for him.
However, Kelbor-Hal miscalculated the response from this action. Unaware of the looming internal stresses within his cult and that of the Imperium as a whole, the system began to break and set off a chain of events that rocked the Imperium. Once word had reached most segmentums that the Machine Cult had denied the reforms to take place, a large scale protest in favor of the Salamander Lord begun.
Progressive and moderate elements within the Mechancium also voiced their displeasure towards Mar's decision, citing that the reforms had been in the process for decades before the crisis. To turn back now would make individual Fabricator-Generals look untrustworthy and cause major civil unrest.
Tech-Bastion Shor, now one of the most vocal figures in the Machine Cult, voiced that the Fabricator-General was not only failing to keep up with the war demand, but they were also intentionally sabotaging all things related to Vulkan before the cut-off. He demanded a full investigation, not by the Lords Dragon, but by the Sigillites into the matter.
The final nail in this particular coffin came during an investigation into several recovered STCs, or what the Machine Cult believed to be STCs. However, it became increasingly clear that they were close to discovering the Second Generation-STC's planted by Majestic, who only increased this activity in the face of the growing threat.
Kleber-Hal had his silver bullet now, the one that would unite the Mechanicum behind him entirely. If he uncovered a vast conspiracy to undermine their monopoly and power, it would swing the moderates towards his side. He was prepared to offer a chance to prevent this from going any further.
He attempted to reach out to the Emperor and Malcador...attempted, but failed.
Majestic responded in the only way possible; by killing the Fabricator-General and those who knew and destroying the findings' evidence. The effects were catastrophic, as such a turbulent period finally brought the house of cards tumbling down. A power vacuum unfolded, especially as it was discovered that an additional 84 members of the Martian hierarchy were found killed.
The Mechancium went on a witch-hunt to find those within their own ranks to see who committed such a previous sin. The resulting 'purges' prompted radical elements to react. Tech-Bastion Shor declared an emergency before being arrested by the Lord's Dragon on suspected tech-heresy and murder charges, along with thousands of others. Moderate and progressive elements quickly declared the action illegal.
It's easy to see what happened next, and the Emperor and Malcador were already moving troops into position by the time the first shots of the Mechanicum Civil War broke out. Once again proving that sometimes humanity was their own greatest enemy even during the coming apocalypse.
When Malcador confronted Godfather for this action, the AI only responded by saying that it was necessary and ultimately to humanity's benefit. The Mechancium's grip over the Imperium would be shattered, allowing for better leadership to take its place and ultimately allow Majestic to gain considerable power. There was no point in hiding their research and development for too much longer.
The Sigillite became keenly aware that the AI and its organization had made their move. While it would benefit the Imperium in the long run, it would put considerable power within their grasp. Somehow Malcador was too tired to care anymore.
---
For the Space Marines, the Crisis had been a bloodbath. In the first two centuries of battling the War-Realms and the Ulwarth, casualties had been steadily increasing. Legions like the Death Guard, Space Wolves, Luna Wolves, White Scars, Iron Warriors, Eternal Wardens, and Dark Angels suffered the heaviest.
Around the start of the Fifth Century, Mortarian would be listed as "MIA" following the Third Iron Bastion's success. Leman Russ would be grievously wounded some six decades later while leading a force against one of the Ork leaders, who can only be identified as calling himself The War-King. Leman would have to entombed in a dreadnought after that.
Six and a half centuries of blood, suffering, and pain. The Imperial Fists' survivors became utterly convinced that their Legion was destined to die in battle, hoping to join their Dead Father in what they were called The Last Fortress. The World Eaters, driven now only by the last words of their Primarch, begun to attack Imperial worlds suspected of holding slaves. The Iron Hands and Death Guard joined their Legions together, hoping to create a new breed of Astarte to fight in the worst possible conditions the universe could throw at them.
But it was the Space Wolves and Iron Warriors that started becoming bitter towards their other legions. Where were the Blood Angels, the Ultramarines, the Thousand Sons, Raven Guard, or the Emperor's Children in all of this? Since the start of the Crisis, those Legions were stuck dealing with a host of internal issues or helping Alliance forces across multiple fronts. They had become noticeably absent in the last few centuries, even with the increased attacks by the War-Realms.
Lion El'Johnson ultimately proposed that absent Legions should not be allowed critical resources necessary for the Imperium's continued survival against either the Ulwarth or War-Realms. Following the sixteen-year-long Mechanicum Civil War, this decision became an increasingly unpopular one among certain Legions.
Horus tried to be reasonable, but even he had to agree that you don't need as much assistance if you weren't here on the frontlines. He convinced the Emperor to allow for a massive decrease in resources towards absent Legions. The Primarchs of those Legions weren't happy, especially Vulkan, and Konrad noticed that even after everything...they were still being denied serious aid.
That, in turn, cause Roboute Guilliman to declare that the resources from the Realm of Ultramar would be directed towards the War Front if he decided it was necessary. His fellow "absentee" brothers quickly announced similar measures. However, they did agree to send a joint task force of one million marines to aid in this endeavor, but once again, the Primarchs were dealing with new issues as they cropped up.
Perturabo spoke ill of this development towards Horus, Kesar, and the Khan. "We've become divided. Not that I can blame either side. However, I will not allow us to lose this war after all these years of struggle because Vulkan refuses to see reason. I will not be waiting for someone on Terra to decide whether or not my sons will or will not have enough bolts in their guns before fighting the Greenskins."
The Iron Warriors declared that any freighter carrying goods or troopship believed to necessary for the war effort is to be placed under the Iron Warriors Legion's direct control and subsumed under the Emergency War Act granted by the Lord of Terra, the Emperor.
And that did not go over well.
It especially became apparent when the Iron Warriors "conscripted" a small detachment of Thousand Sons and sixteen regiments of Prospero Guard without consulting Magnus. This was followed up by the Luna Wolves collecting a war tithe from several resource convoys en route from Ultramar towards Deliverance.
What unfolded was the beginning of a low-key civil war between the Astartes Legions, although not by the Primarch themselves.
---
Trazyn the Infinite had an idea. It was a good idea, an amazing one even.
"What if I made my own brand of Orks to fight the War-Realms?" The logic was sound, it was what the Old Ones would've done anyway, and he always wanted to show up those smug toads. The Mad Collector had the means and capabilities to produce life, as strange as that was for a Necron.
More importantly, he had the necessary materials to do so.
Perhaps it was for the best. These recent events were starting to awaken the other Dynasties, and soon he'd have no chance to do anything really, especially once a certain quiet monarch arrived back from dark space.
So, he tried his best to make something to help the forces of Order hopefully. He took a speck of blood from Khorne, a little from Gork and Mork, a bit of geneseed from a certain Red Angel, and added a dash of human DNA. He put inside an extraordinary machine, probably from the War in Heaven. Still, he couldn't really remember and then waited a few decades before planting the spores on a particular planet inside a particular system.
The primitive alien species called it "T'au" or something like that. It didn't matter; they were likely going to end up either dead or slaves for their new masters, but what was the difference at this point? Maybe if his little science experiment learned empathy in time, they would actually survive.
His new creations ready, Trazyn gave them a name in the old tongue, "Uhr-Kai," and left them a nice big monolith with instructions on what to do.
And with the belief that Trazyn had done his good deed for the next hundred eons, he went back to cataloging his findings.
---
The Emperor had considered all things possible in this insane world. Still, upon the start of the fifth century since the start of the Crisis, he hadn't expected the arrival of emissaries from the Chaos Gods to grace his "doorstep." They were part of something called Chaos Unified, an emergency response by the Gods of Chaos.
What they told the Emperor painted a bleak picture of the situation in the Warp, which in another time would have made the Emperor laugh; now it only made it want to laugh and cry at the sheer absurdity of the situation.
Malal blew up the Warp.
Okay, that wasn't a gross simplification of a truly chaotic event in metaphysical history. What happened was that Malal blew up the domains and concepts governed by the Four Gods. He evidently accomplished this event by seeding his very being with both demonic and work souls before intentionally killing himself with Surturn'einn the Divider and giving it his power...to sever the ties of the domains and powers to the other Gods and the Exalted.
Not only had the War-Realms trashed the realms and the Realm of the Souls, Malal intentionally created another god to cause further problems. The Gods of Chaos were now only their last vestigates of power and keeping on the defense. The Emperor knew things were horrible when even Khorne wanted to declare a cease-fire.
Legend has it that the Emperor agreed to personally meet with the Four inside the Warp, along with the Eldar Gods' demands and grievances, and when upon meeting Khorne, the Emperor proceeded to punch him eight times in the face.
"YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! LOOK WHAT YOU HAVE DONE TO US ALL!"
Khorne would only laugh and laugh, even while the other three Gods could stare in agreement. The first true meeting between archnemesis was with bloody laughter. Perhaps there was something poetic about the entire situation?
---
The Sixth Century...was equally bad.
Upon hearing of the new Alliance with the forces of Remenants of Chaos, Kesar personally swore that he would never work alongside such abominations, and he'd sooner trust an Ork than anyone with an Eight Pointed Star. He took command of the Eternal Wardens, gathered up enough resources and marines, bid his brother farewell, and would swiftly disappear into the War-Realms, directly engaging the Daemonic Greenskins in their twisted, nightmare empires.
Eldrad was a lot more understanding, but that said more about the situation than his current thoughts. The sad truth was that this alliance's opening allowed for more and more Eldar souls to return, which in turn prevented more Void Born and Void Outs across the Imperium.
There were now hundreds of millions of Human-Eldar hybrids. Causing further strain upon the future of allowing these hybrids to become Astartes or hold positions of power within either the Imperium or the Eldar Empire. The galaxy laughed at the humans and Eldar, especially when reports of humans openly worshiping the Chaos Gods were reported across dozens of worlds.
What made this worse was that they were still completely loyal to the Imperium of Man, and most were even starting to worship the so-called God-Emperor along with the Four, now taking to call the Five Gods the Fist of Humanity. The Imperial Truth and the Golden Path now had new competition.
Many of the Primarchs publicly declared this development an abomination, a blight upon humanity. How could the Emperor allow for this?!
Perturabo, Khan, and while not in public solidarity with the two, Magnus the Red, declared that they would follow Kesar's example and refuse to work with this filth. However, Horus announced that he would be pursuing means to safely incorporate these new "allies" once their Emperor approved the new doctrine change.
Astartes relations got worse when Horus refused even to consider using Guiliman's Codex Astartes, citing that it was utterly pointless and trivialized in light of these enemies that seemed to shift and change constantly. What was the point of a soon to be an obsolete book?
As the Sixth Century came to a close, the Imperium was mostly unaware of the growing threat now entering this galaxy, and whose scouts and infiltrators had already begun their work for their alien masters.
---
After the "victory" on the world of Tyran in the Eastern Fringes, the Imperium called them Tyranids. The Imperium's rapid colonization efforts into the Eastern Fringes left much of the defenses bare and underdeveloped. No one was ready for the onslaught of Genestealer Cults that infiltrated thousands of worlds, nor could anyone fathom the gargantuan size of the extra-galactic invasion force that made its entrance upon the galaxy during the start of the Seventh Century.
The Ultramarines and Raven Guard Legions ultimately attempted to push back the Hive Fleets. The Emperor declared this another emergency after reports of quadrillions of these bastards were roaming across his Imperium. He called the Salamanders and Blood Angels to assist in keeping these insects contained.
But even after this time, the resource and equipment shortages resulted in the Imperial Response being woefully underequipped for such a force. Even so, the Astartes and Imperial Army fought back for almost thirty years before finally stopping the Xenos from moving any further, but at great cost.
Corvus Corax would ultimately die, leading his Deathwing veterans into the "heart" of Hive Fleet Lucifer, severing the fleets' connection to the Hive Mind. Sanguinius would lose his right arm during a battle against what he believed to be some apex creature while holding the line against Hive Fleet Perun. It defied even the Angels precognition, but only to a point. It still died in the end.
Even so, the First Tyrannic Wars was truly nightmarish. Astartes from Legions fighting against the War-Realms had the decency to respect their cousins' losses and victories against such horrors. Still, perhaps they'll finally get involved in this fight and not cower in the rear lines.
There was now a clear divine among the Legions following the start of the Second and Third Tyrannic Wars...you were either dying to stop the Space Bugs or the Daemon Orks. Somehow no one could agree that both were a threat to their very existence.
---
The galaxy hoped that the seventh century would be a better one. Even the Gods were now privately hoping for a reprieve from this slaughter, save for Khorne, who quietly enjoyed this situation. Sadly, it wasn't meant to be, as this was the start of an old but returned threat to the galaxy.
It had been know for some time that the Necrons were awakening. The only good news was that most of the awakened dynasties were on the other side of the Frontlines against the Orks and Tyranids. The few that did awaken inside Imperial holdings or the very rare new Eldar Empire worlds were swiftly handled.
Eldrad, and now also Tzeetch, were not so convinced that this would be the case for too long. Attempts to reach Trazyn the Infinite failed, the Mad Collector now having gone to ground or the Necron equivalent. But they were aware that something was happening.
They were right to be concerned, for Szarekh, The Last Silent King, had finally returned from the Void of Dark Space. The Hive Fleets' intrusion and arrival suddenly felt that even his forces were quite unaware of such beings. He lost almost his entire void fleet as the seemingly frenzied waves of chitin rushed to the Milky Way galaxy, now aware of the delicious bio-mass and warp energies to devour.
Szarekh, unaware of what had happened in his absence, returned to a galaxy devoid of sanity and reason. It was said that the first words uttered by the supposed Silent King after uncountable eons was only words, drenched in bewildered despair.
"No..."
After that, he swiftly rallied his dynasty before realizing that he was the only one who had gone on a war-footing. He began to confront the Phaerons and Phaerakhs that had awakened but remained idle. Why had they not send out their vast armies or fleets against the Orks or the Tyranids? Against their ancient enemies, the Eldar or their pet humans. For that matter, why were they working with the forces of the Warp?!
But all he heard were excuses and bemoaning, that their strength was gone or that a rival dynasty was preparing to attack them.
Szarekh was beyond furious. Had his people become cravens and fools in his absence? Did the corruption of the C'tan destroy their spirits entirely? He had enough, and Szarekh started culling the weakest among the weaker dynasties before subsuming complete control over them.
He even used C'tan shards against his own people. This wasn't right, but it was necessary. One had only to see all the chaos inflicted by all the living and their disgusting connections to the Warp. The first thirty years of the seventh century saw the Necrons rally, albeit reluctantly in some cases, under the Szarekh Dynasty.
And then they pushed back against the galaxy.
The Necrons fought against everyone; Orks, Eldar, Humans, Tyranids, Ulwarths, and Chaos enclaves. There was no distinction, no attempts of diplomacy, and Szarekh didn't care whenever emissaries from the Galactic Alliance attempted to communicate with them. He ignored their calls and told them that they should make peace with their so-called gods.
Because all Szarekh now saw in the galaxy was its slow death. He could save it, perhaps.
Instead, he only wanted to see it cleansed entirely.
No, there would be no more peace or talks of it even when Trazyn attempted to reason with the Silent King, advising that perhaps it would be best not to make so many enemies when his own Dynasties rankled under his iron-clad rule. Szarekh accused Trazyn of having "sentiments" towards the people that caused all these problems, and if he continues to hold such "sentiments," then not even his power would save him from being executed.
Trazyn, ultimately, spoke no more about this.
And so the Necrons began their onslaught. They destroyed two entire War-Realms, three Hive Fleets, and even a dozen Ulwarth kingdoms...but along with hundreds of thousands of worlds belonging to humanity and the Eldar. Tragically, the Night Lords and Alpha Legion attempted to stem the tide against the Necrons.
Konrad Cruze was one of the casualties, but his death came most peculiarly. He was captured while attempting to assassinate the Silent King. The capture of a Primarch was an interesting development and one that Szarekh decided to make an example out of by holding a trial against the Primarch.
When Trazyn quietly reported the events back to the Galactic Alliance, it was said that the Necrons tortured Konrad for almost twenty years before they got a "confession" out of him, declaring that he was a murder and killer that the Night Haunter and he were the same.
During the trial, Konrad regained some semblance of control before declaring to the Silent King, "You...you have no right to judge me. I've paid for my crimes. I will die a free man and with a clean conscience."
He then promptly tried to kill the Silent King with only his fists but was ultimately killed before reaching the Silent King. Thus did Konrad Curze die as Konrad Curze and not as the Night Haunter.
One would think it a victory for the Necrons or the Silent King.
Yet Szarekh failed to hear the whispers behind his back, to see the Last Silent King needing to torture a primitive to prove a point to his enemies. How the mighty had fallen so low to despair and fear.
---
The eighth-century came, and with it, another threat.
Upon ships that seemed almost too brutal and vicious to properly function, blaring war-chants and battle-songs over the vox. With muddy red skin and ruby-red eyes, screaming and shooting and chopping with solid projectile weapons and exo-armor...did the Uhr-Kai Divine Confederation arrive upon the galactic scene.
Whatever the galactic alliance or the Necrons or the War-Realms thought about such creatures, they did not expect something that looked and acted Ork, yet also decidedly human in nature. They had genders, a written and spoken language, a culture that showcased arts and music, and the concept of theocratic government.
The Uhr-Kai worshipped their own God-Emperor, including a small pantheon of "war-saints" and "warlock scions"; they believed in blood, war, strength, and order. Their confederation was small, barely 25 sectors, but they had exploded upon the scene after conquering and taking control of nearly 32 alien civilizations. They were slavers, a race dedicated towards expansionism, fighting because it was what they believed in and that they were the chosen race to take up the Orks' mantle.
Both the Eldar Seers and Chaos sorcerers were shocked when they discovered that the Uhr-Kai warlocks had the ability to tap into the War-Realms energies and even assume complete control over them. They were like a virus, and they only got stronger whenever they defeated Orks of the War-Realms. Even reports of the Uhr-Kai using a strange process to "evolve" captured Orks into Uhr-Kai's!
They were a counter to the War-Realms, a different breed of creature.
Unfortunately, they seemed convinced that the rest of the galaxy was their's to command. They captured humans and Eldar, treating them as slaves like the other aliens and using them to support their war-economy. There were also uncomfortable reports that they had no qualms to breed with other species. Reports also showed that the Uhr-Kai enjoyed eating daemons, though they couldn't truly kill them that way.
Meanwhile, their God-Emperor remains a mystery even after 200 years since their arrival. All that is known is that he claims to be a New Krork, establishing a strange distinction between the Krorks of the War in Heaven and now these new Uhr-Kai's.
As of now, the White Scars and Emperor's Children have been fighting them for some time. They have had only mild success in keeping them contained, especially in light of much bigger threats.
---
And the Ninth Century soon followed in the wake of such chaos.
There were no new enemies introduced, thankfully. There was, however, an endless parade of carnage and war across the galaxy. In the midst of it all, humanity found itself in a quagmire of a predicament. Surrounded by all sides by powerful and malevolent forces. Each year bringing only uncertainty and destruction across a thousand worlds. The hopes of the Great Crusade, the Imperial Webway, and the promise of a New Golden Age faded into myth and legend for most.
When humanity looked around, it found itself in the company of former enemies and new allies. The Eldar Empire and Chaos United to its left and right. Even more so where the arrival of new AI's, the so-called Men of Steel, who had only just arrived within the last century from Terra itself upon the Emperor of Mankind's decree. Even minor alien civilizations now assist the Imperium, for it was better to stand and fight with humanity than die to the War-Realms or whatever threat was closest.
In some aspects, it was good for humanity not to be alone. But even those that made the decisions to allow for such an alliance found themselves wondering if this was the best course of action. One had only need to realize that there were now sanctioned chaos cults on Imperial Worlds, that human-Eldar hybrids were in positions of power, and that AI's had returned to fight the Orks like in ages past.
The Primarchs were divided now, the Mechancium an arm of the Imperial government, and millions of Astartes had now gone off from the Legions in search of new answers alongside other humans and even Eldar, for there were no certainties in this galaxy, no answers to these peculiar questions.
Now it was just endless war. But there was no cruel laughter from thirsting gods, no lack of scientific progress from institutional ignorance, and hope for the future still yet remained.
---
The silence had been the hardest thing to get used to. For so many years, he could recall having to ward off attacks from the Four. Their constant attempts to breach his mind were almost a good practice for the Emperor of Mankind. He imagined, far too many times, how he would destroy each of them, how he'd finally end their reign of terror in the Warp.
Now? Now, he meant with them once a year. He had to sit across from them and plan for the future of their collective survival, for the survival of his own race. Oh, he knew that if things ever returned to normal, they'd be at each other's throats again, but it was becoming increasingly difficult to see it happening. He became empathic towards them.
He almost thanked Tzeentch during their last meeting for his aid in developing a counter-spell to the War-Realm's most recent attempts to corrupt several Forge Worlds. The Eldar Deities refused to sit down with them, which he understands and didn't press. Eldrad reported that they were getting more souls back from Chaos, which was good. There had been a steady increase in Void Born now. Godfather predicted that a third of humanity would be like them in another ten thousand years—cold, logical, and devoid of sympathy to others. Even though a Void Born wasn't incapable of being a productive citizen, they, along with the hybrids, unnerved much of humanity and even the Eldar.
A part of him shuddered as he realized how close they were to what he was at one point. It became increasingly clear what he had turned into after his sons' death and marrying Isha. Sometimes it felt like waking up from a bad dream. Then again, reality felt like another nightmare entirely.
The Emperor realized that only a few familiar faces effectively surrounded him. There was still Malcador and Magnus, but now also Isha, Vandal/Godfather, Tech-Lore Isilon (the apprentice to Tech-Lord Shor), and much lesser extent and barely tolerable extent...Lord Sorcerer Akirak.
'That I have to put up with these creatures.' The Emperor had drawn the line at allowing a daemon anywhere in Sol. The new Eternal Wardens chapters kept watch on all reported and sanctioned cults. Another thing that the Emperor despised having to allow, but their uses were too good to pass up. He was paying for his pragmatism every day. There were already churches in his name, along with the return of the Old Faiths.
And with great irony, he realized that the Imperial Truth had to play nice with all the other faiths. The Gods were real now, they were both evil and good, and they were aiding humanity all the same. What had he done to force the galaxy to play this joke on him? Even the Laughing God couldn't fathom where they had ended up in now.
But he had to wonder...was it all really that bad now?
---
"I just realized..." Malcador spoke up suddenly to his friend, "It's been a thousand years since that day."
The Emperor looked up from his desk from the report he had been reading. He and Sigilite had just finished their meeting with the Eldar representative, who announced a new set of fleets, including a repurposed Craftworld, would be heading towards the Gamma Front. Horus would be most pleased to hear the arriving reinforcements, especially after he complains about roaming daemon companies causing the Imperial Guard (the Army had long since transitioned) morale to wavier along the front.
"What day?" The Emperor spoke, but without the power behind it. Such pretenses had to be dropped now, especially to downplay that damn God narrative. He used his powers to sign a few documents with his quill while he listened. He needed to finish up soon; Isha wanted to go to the palace gardens.
"The celebration following the conclusion of the Ritual War. We were drinking Italian wine together, talking about how proud we were of Kesar, Khan, Vulkan, and the others."
Now he remembered that day, almost a thousand years ago exactly. The Emperor paused and leaned back into his chair, "Was it really that long ago?"
Malcador nodded with a small smile, "We were so confident back then." He chuckled and looked away, "I want to say we were both different men, but I feel like we just got older but not wiser."
They were older now, even during the Unification Wars, even during the worse parts of the Great Crusade...they didn't feel that old back then. Now they realized that half the galaxy was under the control of monsters, and the other half was stuck fighting to keep their own homes from being submerged by the flood of death and destruction that was ever-present.
"You think Kesar is still alive?" Malcador suddenly asked, "He was so disappointed in us both. I can't blame him, especially with how things look now. That we have to play hosts to people that willingly gave up their souls to our...allies." The Emperor didn't need to speak aloud his agreement over such a sentimentality. "I've heard that Alpharius and Perturabo are still looking for him. They claim to hear Warden signals even after all these centuries."
"If there is anyone that can survive in that hell, it would be Kesar and his sons." He missed him, along with those that died. Most of his sons, save for Horus and Magnus, stopped talking to him almost two centuries ago. Some of them never forgave him for what happened to some of their brothers. Roboute missed Corvus, Fulgrim grieved for Ferrus, and Lion still visited Leman whenever possible. At least for Lion and Roboute, they had their wives and children. It seemed likely that some Primarchs were just never found the will to start a family for the others.
Perhaps there was some irony that their father married another Goddess? He tried not to think about it.
"We mocked the universe." The Emperor remarked to Malcador, "Perhaps not intentionally, but we were so sure...so positive that we could tame this galaxy, once and for all. Now, look at us. Scrambling to try and find solutions to threats that are growing daily."
He turned from his desk to look outside towards the Palace as Father Sol rose above, signally a new day upon the Palace. Dorn lived long enough to see its fortifications completed. His body was buried inside a special tomb, constructed personally by Perturabo. It was the last construction project that he would ever do on Terra before fully dedicating himself to the war effort.
'It's good enough,' as Perturabo remarked to the Emperor.
As he started outside, he felt Malcador approach him before he spoke, "Do you know what I saw today while coming into work? It was the strangest thing." The Sigillite was smirking up at his friend, "It was a little moment between a family. An Eldar male with a human female and their hybrid daughter. The mother was Imperial Guard, and I suspect the Eldar was part of the ambassadorial detachment. They were so happy to see each other. I saw them kiss while the daughter made a childish grimace at the display of affection. A few minutes later, I saw a Man of Steel speaking with a member of the Mechanicum; there was no ire or hate in the tech-priests voice as they spoke. In one instance, I saw humanity interacting with two enemies that once sought our destruction, and they were without hate, without contempt, and instead, I saw love and respect."
The Emperor smirked, "Wish I can say the same thing about having those same feelings whenever I see a cultist with that Eight Pointed Star walking the streets of Terra or seeing people calling me a god. Lorgar is likely rolling in his grave, and he has every right too."
Malcador nodded, "Believe me, I don't want this to be happening either, but we've all made sacrifices and compromises. However, when you look at the cities now, the hives and forges...people might not be happy, but they are committed to our victory over these forces of evil. Not just surviving, my friend, they believe in this alliance and that there is a future still, one in which all the struggles of the last 1200 years were not in vain."
"Vulkan was right; the reforms did help in the long run. It gave the people the belief that some good came out of this." It came at such a high cost now. Quadrillions of lives were lost, millions of worlds destroyed, and his sons suffered or died because of it. Humanity and Eldar and even those blights in the warp survived, ready to fight for the next century or next millennia or the next ten thousand years.
People were afraid, uncertain, and even paranoid...but they still hadn't given up.
"It's only going to get worse." The Emperor remarked to Malcador, "You should curb that enthusiasm."
Malcador shrugged, "Just pointing out a silver lining. You and I are still here. Terra is still here, as is the Imperium, as is the Eldar, and so many others. Could we have done things differently? Perhaps. But at the same time, the outcome we have right now is one that isn't exactly the worse possible one."
Things hadn't gotten worse; that was true. The galactic alliance was preparing for another major counter-offensive, and this time...things were going to be quite different. There were many new weapons and technologies, everything from new high-power las-guns to massive dreadnoughts of the Imperial Navy. They had sacrificed much, but they learned and grew as a species and civilization in the process.
Their allies were, for the most part, prepared for their part. He would soon stand besides Warp Gods as allies upon the threshold of a war not seen since the War in Heaven. The Emperor of Mankind was, for the first time, a stranger in a war that wasn't his own. Yet there were now hundreds of trillions that had grown up in its carnage and had found hope in the strangest places and with even stranger people.
'I'm a relic now.' He smirked to himself, 'Or maybe just a product of a different galaxy.'
So while the Crisis continued, the galaxy would soon belong to a very different array of nations and people. He and his sons would find a new place for it, and much as he hated to admit it, godhood seemed like the most likely end to this particular chapter in the galaxy.
For once, the irony of the situation didn't seem so bad this time.
---
@Daemon Hunter Okay, so this started as a joke omake, yet I decided to make it something a bit more serious. For context on what is happening here, imagine if the Imperium rolled Nat 100's for most of the Ritual War and a few decades after it...and then shit went so fucking wrong across the entire galaxy, ending up in this event of truly apocalyptic nature.
I can only imagine how many last stands Kesar and his sons have passed.
He pretty much survived the first dozen really bad ones and then pretty much doom spiraled out from there. I imagine his modifiers are quite insane now.
A Discussiong Among Librarians
- Location
- USA
Raziel the Chief Liberian of the Eternal Wardens sighed as he entered the room that would hold the meeting between the prominent members of the Library. He already knew that the meeting was going to turn out interesting, but little more as his inconsistent visions had decided to play up again. The one thing he did know was just how much he loathed his chair or throne that he had to sit on whenever he called these meetings.
The throne style chair was completely covered in gold and embossed with images of all the runes that had been completed or even considered by the wardens. Serving as a living monument to their progress and work for the future, the downside of having to use the chair was the simple fact that it was uncomfortable in the extreme. None of the parts he touched were smooth due to all the carvings of runes or the notes for runes, and on top of that was the fact that the chair was constantly freezing or burning due to someone making working copies of cold and fire runes on the thing.
Groaning as he sat down in the chair, Raziel pushed his mind off the discomfort to peer into the future to see if he could see what would be said. Once more he was irritated that his visions had apparently decided to not show anything for the moment as they were fixated on the ritual war. The only thing he did manage to discover was the order in which others would arrive.
A sun of raging flame crackling with lighting would be the first to arrive, scorching the room with wrath at being called away from training. Impatient and willing to burn him, only held back by chains of duty and honor. With a sigh Raziel made a mental note to try to get Beltran some better therapy books, as his anger issues were seemingly growing.
Next would be the silver knight, wearing armor rusted in parts and adorned with medals yet to be won. Honor and conviction burning brightly within the soul of the knight, yet the wounds weeping trails of spiritual energy. Suppressing a shudder at the sight of the damaged and yet radiant soul Raziel moved onward.
A kaleidoscope of colors tigered with green would follow the silver knight. Massive in scope and size yet gentle in nature, a source of confusion for all. More than willing to aid his brothers if at all possible. Frowning at the strangeness of Rene's warp form Raziel moved onward to further understand the near future as well as he could.
Then came the strangest so far, where Rene was a million colors shifting without order or Beltran was fire and lighting, this one was nothing like any of the others. A solid sphere of countless symbols each flickering into others with monotonous precision, divided into sublayers without count, all of them covered in the same symbols that detailed the thoughts of the one he saw. Letting his mind skim over the rest of the minor vision he saw the final member of the meeting come, one that was not called but came of their own accord.
A burning soul, embraced with red and golden flames, protecting the bearer from the outside dangers. Touched by the living machines yet still more normal than the one that came before him.
Letting go of the future, Raziel turned to the pile of forms that he had brought with him. Hoping, beyond hope that one of his brothers would have a solution to the simple fact that they were much more open to the whispers of chaos. Even now sheltered under the overbearing light that was his Father's soul, Raziel could feel the slimy grip of Chaos just outside of his mind's borders.
To his hidden relief, the doors to the room slammed open as the ambient temperature spiked several degrees. Looking up, he saw Beltran in full armor march into the room and gruffly take a seat at one of the chairs closest to the door, obviously itching to get up and leave. "What is more important than training to fight the spawn of the Archdaemons?" Beltran growled in anger at the outwardly serene Raziel.
Letting out a sigh, as he saw just how explosive this meeting was going to end up being. Raziel had known that Beltran would be displeased with having to leave his training for better control, but not to this extent. Although, a flicker of a smile graced his face as he sensed Abdul coming at full speed, knowing of Beltran's dislike of the eager battle brother it was going to distract Beltran from his displeasure by giving him something else to grumble about.
With a flash of electricity and ozone, Abdul skidded to a stop in the center of the room, before overly quickly taking a seat. "Chief Librarian, why have you called me? I am only-." "You might have less overall power than some, but your impact is why you were called, young Abdul. Although do be careful, overwork can be just as fatal as no work. " Raziel gently cut in before the young man could put himself down any more than he already had.
Heavy footsteps came from the hallway outside of the door as the massive form of Rene entered. Moving slowly for an Astartes if only due to his bulk instead of any weakness, he gently took a seat waiting for the meeting to start with patience. As he sat down Raziel found himself surprised by the waves of calmness radiating from his still form, tempering down the heat of Beltran's anger.
The door opened once more to allow an aged astartes to enter wearing a simple robe, with crystals that those in the room recognized as being from Aegis. Moving with almost robotic efficiency the newest member to join the meeting took his seat. As he sat down and relaxed infinitesimally everyone could feel a sense of almost oppressive order falling upon the room, tampering down the raging aura of Beltran and the soothing waves from Rene. Raziel nodded towards the newest Epistolary of the Library, who bore his personal rune upon a necklace letting its burning light shine freely.
Lifting a finger to still questions, Razial waited for the unexpected arrival to arrive. The door slid open without the faintest hiss as a regal figure walked in wearing robes of eye searing red and gold, bearing the symbol of the Thousand Sons proudly on his chest. Taking the last seat open before nodding respectfully to Raziel.
"I called this meeting for what Epistolary Auro predicted and brought to share. As we are moving into the ritual war, it is important that we harden our minds and souls against chaos as much as possible. To that end I convened this meeting to share personal works or achievements with others to potentially help our brothers from not becoming Lost." Raziel spoke in a near whisper that still carried in the still room, even as he glanced at Auro who hadn't shifted at all.
"I brought folders with insight into my mind and its workings. Furthermore, I invented a rune that forces light within 20 meters to follow the rules of physics even in a warpstorm." Auro spoke in his normal emotionless voice, each word perfectly enunciated yet missing some element that turned the words from a joy to listen too, to a horror. Unaware of uncaring of the others' response to his words, Auro simply withdrew a thick folder almost a book in thickness along with a rune. Both of which he placed on the table in front of him.
WIth a grunt the rune floated over to Raziel who quickly began poking it with his mind and fingers, while the thick folder drifted over to Beltran. "You actually finished it? I am still stuck on the purity rune and you are making your own ones. You should have told me, Brother. I could have gotten us something to celebrate with." The chippery voice of Abdul speaking a mile a minute invaded the room as he stared at the rune floating in front of Raziel with undisguised awe.
"There is nothing to celebrate. It was a task that had to be done so that I could further the usage of my powers. There are some niche uses of the rune, but in the majority it would have been a waste of time for anyone not myself." The chillingly empty tones of Auro's voice wrenched warmth from the air as he spoke with a stilted cadence.
"Anyway, Beltran what does that thick tome say?" Abdul was the only one not so affected by Auro's words, which had by this point impacted Rene to such an extent that this aura of calm was flickering, and as it faltered the room began to grow hotter once more.
Everyone could see Beltran's hands grip the folder tightly, But before he could speak Raziel spoke, Raziel spoke, "The folder contains both the method behind this rune and Auro's particular mindset. Abdul, could you explain what you have been doing recently?" Smoothly directing the conversation to better ground and avoiding a rant at the moment.
"Ah, oh I have been doing some training recently, trying to improve the kill teams where possible. Nothing major." Abdul stammered out as Raziel just peered at him over the still floating rune. However, as Raziel gazed at him, lowering the Rune ever so slightly, the younger Astartes gave a pointed cough, "And...working on my abilities. Joined a group of Fulimancers trying to recreate the Hammerhand ability with bio-lightning. Modeling it after the energy fields of Power weapons"
Akil's eyes lit up at the thought, "Aaah interesting!" the Thousand Sons spoke, his voice melodious and regal, "That...could work! If you harmonize the energies of the Warp correctly you could rip apart all you touch without harming your body."
"Seconded." Auro interjected, further agitating Rene and Abdul, "I have had interest in powerfields for a while, but a method by which to craft them has been out of my reach."
"I have little to offer I believe due to my differing geneseed, and the fact that I have specialized in arts that tend towards the esoteric." Akil said, turning to face Rene and Auro before continuing,"That said, Auro I do believe that if you wish I could teach you how to communicate with machines via touch and Rene you could possibly learn how to heal them from a distance. Beyond the minor training that I can offer, I have nothing that is really applicable in terms of mental fortitude." Akil cut in to distract the meeting from the highly agitated Abdul. At his words, Rene leaned forward a slight bit to show his interest in learning a new form of healing, while Auro only raised an eyebrow slightly.
Rene nodded towards Akil, before signing with his hands, "I would appreciate another field of healing to study." As Akil mentally translated the signs into words a small smile grew on his face as he had found a person that was interested in learning some of his arts. "I would enjoy lessons on such an esoteric art myself." Interjected Raziel from his throne looking towards Akil.
"I apologize, Akil but I have no interest in learning how to perform technomancy. It cleaves too closely to telepathy to be usable except in passing. Rene, I do have some notes on the function of astartes bodies relating to the force projection vectors that we perform in daily movements, I would offer you a copy if you desire." The room flinched as Auro spoke with a modicum of emotion, somehow making his voice even harsher to listen to than his normal tone. With a shaky nod, Akil accepted his rebuttal although internally he promised to leave a folder of notes at his desk.
Beltran growled again, entering the conversation for the first time in truth "Impossible. There is no way to achieve such a state." the ancient Astartes rumbled, putting the folder down and sliding it back over to Auro, "Even if it does somehow reduce corruption, it is too divergent to be usable." he explained, unconsciously heating the room.
Only for Auro's oppressive weight of order to clamp down over it, "I admit my mindset is not for everyone, but the costs and benefits are well seen in me." Auro explained, his cold voice for once filled with passion, "I hear the whispers of Chaos less than any other of my ranking, and at the cost of only some of my power." Auro spoke, looking around the room to see each Brother, and cousin, in turn. "The primary theorem is over above all. I have turned my power upon itself in pursuit of that goal, and if any wish to learn more I am more than willing to give you aid."
"Auro, I would like to see a copy of the folder on my desk by tomorrow at the latest." The serene voice of Raziel interrupted.
"Brother," the gruff voice of Beltran interjected, "The tenants espoused here are antithetical to our standard mental trainings. It suggests turning our power against itself, rather than build walls around our souls."
Raziel took a deep breath, allowing himself a moment to gather his thoughts, "Regardless, Auro has more than proven that it does work. Better than anything we currently have, it seems. If it could be learned by others then the loss of power is an acceptable loss for the resistance it provides." Raziel explained, "And I have made my decision on this matter clear." Raziel commanded, his voice subtly echoing with dozens of voices drawn from times yet to come.
Fuming, Beltran returns to his seat, almost sulking from being so decisively denied his preferred course.
"I would appreciate a copy of your notes, Auro as I find myself intrigued by the possibilities. Perhaps with study they can be codified in a less restrictive manner." Akil spoke with a regal tone as he glanced over towards Auro, who favoured him with a twitch of the lips and a slight nod.
Abdul and Rene glanced at each other, a silent conversation passing between their eyes before at last Abdul broke away. "I can help distribute the information across the Library, maybe get some volunteers to try it. Though I'm not sure it'd work for me too well." Abdul shrugged, before a sly smile passed across his lips, "I tend to Push my limits a bit too much." he joked, suddenly energetic despite the heavy bags under his eyes.
Raziel, with grace and skill only the oldest Astartes in the Legion could muster, gently put his hand to his face.
Rene shook his head, before 'speaking' his part. "I like it." the giant signed, "What I've seen so far, at least. But I am unsure of its implementation before the Ritual Crusade." Rene continued, his fingers slowly combining into each sign in turn, "I am not as strong as you, and I'm afraid I might need every bit of strength I can muster."
"You should have your requested copies within the day. I predict within the next five hours as the scribes are not busy today." Auro spoke calmly facing Akil and Raziel when he did so, while picking up the master copy of his work.
"Would you mind if I transmit this information to my Legion?" Akil asked, not wanting to upset his distant cousin.
"Why would I care?" Auro asked, seeming, for a moment, honestly confused before continuing, "The more people that know the greater the chance is that it saves a Psyker that is in risk. I am not so prideful as to restrict those that can know it."
Beltran took a breath, attempting once more to calm the fires that raged within his soul, speaking only when he was absolutely sure he wouldn't lash out, "I am afraid," the old Captain admitted, "That I don't have much to offer here. I've spent most my time gathering and training my team." he admitted, pointedly ignoring how the temperature in the room flared up, however minutely, when he spoke, "And I'm afraid most of my techniques are simplistic, hardly worthy of being called techniques at all." he grumbled, "But: as for my mental shieldings, I will say I simply..." Beltran gestured vaguely in front of him, "burn it all away."
Raziel nodded, seeming to remember an old joke at that, "Ahh yes, I remember that. He sort of...inverts the walls around the soul principle too, venting his soul so as to burn away corruption, yes?"
Beltran nodded again, doing his best to ignore Akil as the Thousand Son bent down and began taking notes, or the wide-eyed awe of Rene, "The best defense" Beltran grumbled, levying a pointed glare at Auro, as if daring him to say something, "Is a good offense, after all."
A silence hung in the air at that, neither Gamma saying a word, and no one willing to earn their ire.
Rene cleared his throat, directing all attention to him, before signing his words, "Brother Auro," he started, "I'd be more than interested in getting your notes on the Astartes body." he signed, giving his older Brothers a wide grin, "And Cousin Akil, I do apologize, but I must decline. I'm afraid I'm intending on learning Pyromancy next."
"I would appreciate it." Auro nodded towards the gentle giant that was his brother, and pointedly ignoring the manipulation, "As well as any help you are willing to give."
Raziel, already seeing the end of the meeting coming, stood up from his throne, "Brothers!" he announced, "and cousin." he gestured lamely to Akil, who rolled his eyes at the joke, "I thank you for spending the time to discuss today's topics. Even if you felt them to be less important than your current activities.'' The Chief Librarian gave a pointed glare at Beltran, "Auro," he gestured to the Astartes in question, "your notes will be studied by several groups to see if they are applicable at a larger scare. Akil," again the chief Librarian gestured at his cousin, "any knowledge of Technomancy you are willing to share will aid us greatly in our reconstruction from Tvatar's Fall-" he boomed, ignoring as Abdul whispered something about a 'second Psyker rebellion' under his breath, "required many of our records to be expunged. Abdul." the young LIbrarian shot up into attention, "Like Auro I expect you to write a report on that Biomantic technique when you have made progress."
Thus said, Raziel again read the ebb and flow of fate and, seeing no more destruction than before, made his exit.
"Ohh! Does that mean the meeting is over?" Akil asked.
AN: A collaborative omake by me and Xemness about our Liberians and Akil having a meeting around this time to discuss stuff for the war to come
The throne style chair was completely covered in gold and embossed with images of all the runes that had been completed or even considered by the wardens. Serving as a living monument to their progress and work for the future, the downside of having to use the chair was the simple fact that it was uncomfortable in the extreme. None of the parts he touched were smooth due to all the carvings of runes or the notes for runes, and on top of that was the fact that the chair was constantly freezing or burning due to someone making working copies of cold and fire runes on the thing.
Groaning as he sat down in the chair, Raziel pushed his mind off the discomfort to peer into the future to see if he could see what would be said. Once more he was irritated that his visions had apparently decided to not show anything for the moment as they were fixated on the ritual war. The only thing he did manage to discover was the order in which others would arrive.
A sun of raging flame crackling with lighting would be the first to arrive, scorching the room with wrath at being called away from training. Impatient and willing to burn him, only held back by chains of duty and honor. With a sigh Raziel made a mental note to try to get Beltran some better therapy books, as his anger issues were seemingly growing.
Next would be the silver knight, wearing armor rusted in parts and adorned with medals yet to be won. Honor and conviction burning brightly within the soul of the knight, yet the wounds weeping trails of spiritual energy. Suppressing a shudder at the sight of the damaged and yet radiant soul Raziel moved onward.
A kaleidoscope of colors tigered with green would follow the silver knight. Massive in scope and size yet gentle in nature, a source of confusion for all. More than willing to aid his brothers if at all possible. Frowning at the strangeness of Rene's warp form Raziel moved onward to further understand the near future as well as he could.
Then came the strangest so far, where Rene was a million colors shifting without order or Beltran was fire and lighting, this one was nothing like any of the others. A solid sphere of countless symbols each flickering into others with monotonous precision, divided into sublayers without count, all of them covered in the same symbols that detailed the thoughts of the one he saw. Letting his mind skim over the rest of the minor vision he saw the final member of the meeting come, one that was not called but came of their own accord.
A burning soul, embraced with red and golden flames, protecting the bearer from the outside dangers. Touched by the living machines yet still more normal than the one that came before him.
Letting go of the future, Raziel turned to the pile of forms that he had brought with him. Hoping, beyond hope that one of his brothers would have a solution to the simple fact that they were much more open to the whispers of chaos. Even now sheltered under the overbearing light that was his Father's soul, Raziel could feel the slimy grip of Chaos just outside of his mind's borders.
To his hidden relief, the doors to the room slammed open as the ambient temperature spiked several degrees. Looking up, he saw Beltran in full armor march into the room and gruffly take a seat at one of the chairs closest to the door, obviously itching to get up and leave. "What is more important than training to fight the spawn of the Archdaemons?" Beltran growled in anger at the outwardly serene Raziel.
Letting out a sigh, as he saw just how explosive this meeting was going to end up being. Raziel had known that Beltran would be displeased with having to leave his training for better control, but not to this extent. Although, a flicker of a smile graced his face as he sensed Abdul coming at full speed, knowing of Beltran's dislike of the eager battle brother it was going to distract Beltran from his displeasure by giving him something else to grumble about.
With a flash of electricity and ozone, Abdul skidded to a stop in the center of the room, before overly quickly taking a seat. "Chief Librarian, why have you called me? I am only-." "You might have less overall power than some, but your impact is why you were called, young Abdul. Although do be careful, overwork can be just as fatal as no work. " Raziel gently cut in before the young man could put himself down any more than he already had.
Heavy footsteps came from the hallway outside of the door as the massive form of Rene entered. Moving slowly for an Astartes if only due to his bulk instead of any weakness, he gently took a seat waiting for the meeting to start with patience. As he sat down Raziel found himself surprised by the waves of calmness radiating from his still form, tempering down the heat of Beltran's anger.
The door opened once more to allow an aged astartes to enter wearing a simple robe, with crystals that those in the room recognized as being from Aegis. Moving with almost robotic efficiency the newest member to join the meeting took his seat. As he sat down and relaxed infinitesimally everyone could feel a sense of almost oppressive order falling upon the room, tampering down the raging aura of Beltran and the soothing waves from Rene. Raziel nodded towards the newest Epistolary of the Library, who bore his personal rune upon a necklace letting its burning light shine freely.
Lifting a finger to still questions, Razial waited for the unexpected arrival to arrive. The door slid open without the faintest hiss as a regal figure walked in wearing robes of eye searing red and gold, bearing the symbol of the Thousand Sons proudly on his chest. Taking the last seat open before nodding respectfully to Raziel.
"I called this meeting for what Epistolary Auro predicted and brought to share. As we are moving into the ritual war, it is important that we harden our minds and souls against chaos as much as possible. To that end I convened this meeting to share personal works or achievements with others to potentially help our brothers from not becoming Lost." Raziel spoke in a near whisper that still carried in the still room, even as he glanced at Auro who hadn't shifted at all.
"I brought folders with insight into my mind and its workings. Furthermore, I invented a rune that forces light within 20 meters to follow the rules of physics even in a warpstorm." Auro spoke in his normal emotionless voice, each word perfectly enunciated yet missing some element that turned the words from a joy to listen too, to a horror. Unaware of uncaring of the others' response to his words, Auro simply withdrew a thick folder almost a book in thickness along with a rune. Both of which he placed on the table in front of him.
WIth a grunt the rune floated over to Raziel who quickly began poking it with his mind and fingers, while the thick folder drifted over to Beltran. "You actually finished it? I am still stuck on the purity rune and you are making your own ones. You should have told me, Brother. I could have gotten us something to celebrate with." The chippery voice of Abdul speaking a mile a minute invaded the room as he stared at the rune floating in front of Raziel with undisguised awe.
"There is nothing to celebrate. It was a task that had to be done so that I could further the usage of my powers. There are some niche uses of the rune, but in the majority it would have been a waste of time for anyone not myself." The chillingly empty tones of Auro's voice wrenched warmth from the air as he spoke with a stilted cadence.
"Anyway, Beltran what does that thick tome say?" Abdul was the only one not so affected by Auro's words, which had by this point impacted Rene to such an extent that this aura of calm was flickering, and as it faltered the room began to grow hotter once more.
Everyone could see Beltran's hands grip the folder tightly, But before he could speak Raziel spoke, Raziel spoke, "The folder contains both the method behind this rune and Auro's particular mindset. Abdul, could you explain what you have been doing recently?" Smoothly directing the conversation to better ground and avoiding a rant at the moment.
"Ah, oh I have been doing some training recently, trying to improve the kill teams where possible. Nothing major." Abdul stammered out as Raziel just peered at him over the still floating rune. However, as Raziel gazed at him, lowering the Rune ever so slightly, the younger Astartes gave a pointed cough, "And...working on my abilities. Joined a group of Fulimancers trying to recreate the Hammerhand ability with bio-lightning. Modeling it after the energy fields of Power weapons"
Akil's eyes lit up at the thought, "Aaah interesting!" the Thousand Sons spoke, his voice melodious and regal, "That...could work! If you harmonize the energies of the Warp correctly you could rip apart all you touch without harming your body."
"Seconded." Auro interjected, further agitating Rene and Abdul, "I have had interest in powerfields for a while, but a method by which to craft them has been out of my reach."
"I have little to offer I believe due to my differing geneseed, and the fact that I have specialized in arts that tend towards the esoteric." Akil said, turning to face Rene and Auro before continuing,"That said, Auro I do believe that if you wish I could teach you how to communicate with machines via touch and Rene you could possibly learn how to heal them from a distance. Beyond the minor training that I can offer, I have nothing that is really applicable in terms of mental fortitude." Akil cut in to distract the meeting from the highly agitated Abdul. At his words, Rene leaned forward a slight bit to show his interest in learning a new form of healing, while Auro only raised an eyebrow slightly.
Rene nodded towards Akil, before signing with his hands, "I would appreciate another field of healing to study." As Akil mentally translated the signs into words a small smile grew on his face as he had found a person that was interested in learning some of his arts. "I would enjoy lessons on such an esoteric art myself." Interjected Raziel from his throne looking towards Akil.
"I apologize, Akil but I have no interest in learning how to perform technomancy. It cleaves too closely to telepathy to be usable except in passing. Rene, I do have some notes on the function of astartes bodies relating to the force projection vectors that we perform in daily movements, I would offer you a copy if you desire." The room flinched as Auro spoke with a modicum of emotion, somehow making his voice even harsher to listen to than his normal tone. With a shaky nod, Akil accepted his rebuttal although internally he promised to leave a folder of notes at his desk.
Beltran growled again, entering the conversation for the first time in truth "Impossible. There is no way to achieve such a state." the ancient Astartes rumbled, putting the folder down and sliding it back over to Auro, "Even if it does somehow reduce corruption, it is too divergent to be usable." he explained, unconsciously heating the room.
Only for Auro's oppressive weight of order to clamp down over it, "I admit my mindset is not for everyone, but the costs and benefits are well seen in me." Auro explained, his cold voice for once filled with passion, "I hear the whispers of Chaos less than any other of my ranking, and at the cost of only some of my power." Auro spoke, looking around the room to see each Brother, and cousin, in turn. "The primary theorem is over above all. I have turned my power upon itself in pursuit of that goal, and if any wish to learn more I am more than willing to give you aid."
"Auro, I would like to see a copy of the folder on my desk by tomorrow at the latest." The serene voice of Raziel interrupted.
"Brother," the gruff voice of Beltran interjected, "The tenants espoused here are antithetical to our standard mental trainings. It suggests turning our power against itself, rather than build walls around our souls."
Raziel took a deep breath, allowing himself a moment to gather his thoughts, "Regardless, Auro has more than proven that it does work. Better than anything we currently have, it seems. If it could be learned by others then the loss of power is an acceptable loss for the resistance it provides." Raziel explained, "And I have made my decision on this matter clear." Raziel commanded, his voice subtly echoing with dozens of voices drawn from times yet to come.
Fuming, Beltran returns to his seat, almost sulking from being so decisively denied his preferred course.
"I would appreciate a copy of your notes, Auro as I find myself intrigued by the possibilities. Perhaps with study they can be codified in a less restrictive manner." Akil spoke with a regal tone as he glanced over towards Auro, who favoured him with a twitch of the lips and a slight nod.
Abdul and Rene glanced at each other, a silent conversation passing between their eyes before at last Abdul broke away. "I can help distribute the information across the Library, maybe get some volunteers to try it. Though I'm not sure it'd work for me too well." Abdul shrugged, before a sly smile passed across his lips, "I tend to Push my limits a bit too much." he joked, suddenly energetic despite the heavy bags under his eyes.
Raziel, with grace and skill only the oldest Astartes in the Legion could muster, gently put his hand to his face.
Rene shook his head, before 'speaking' his part. "I like it." the giant signed, "What I've seen so far, at least. But I am unsure of its implementation before the Ritual Crusade." Rene continued, his fingers slowly combining into each sign in turn, "I am not as strong as you, and I'm afraid I might need every bit of strength I can muster."
"You should have your requested copies within the day. I predict within the next five hours as the scribes are not busy today." Auro spoke calmly facing Akil and Raziel when he did so, while picking up the master copy of his work.
"Would you mind if I transmit this information to my Legion?" Akil asked, not wanting to upset his distant cousin.
"Why would I care?" Auro asked, seeming, for a moment, honestly confused before continuing, "The more people that know the greater the chance is that it saves a Psyker that is in risk. I am not so prideful as to restrict those that can know it."
Beltran took a breath, attempting once more to calm the fires that raged within his soul, speaking only when he was absolutely sure he wouldn't lash out, "I am afraid," the old Captain admitted, "That I don't have much to offer here. I've spent most my time gathering and training my team." he admitted, pointedly ignoring how the temperature in the room flared up, however minutely, when he spoke, "And I'm afraid most of my techniques are simplistic, hardly worthy of being called techniques at all." he grumbled, "But: as for my mental shieldings, I will say I simply..." Beltran gestured vaguely in front of him, "burn it all away."
Raziel nodded, seeming to remember an old joke at that, "Ahh yes, I remember that. He sort of...inverts the walls around the soul principle too, venting his soul so as to burn away corruption, yes?"
Beltran nodded again, doing his best to ignore Akil as the Thousand Son bent down and began taking notes, or the wide-eyed awe of Rene, "The best defense" Beltran grumbled, levying a pointed glare at Auro, as if daring him to say something, "Is a good offense, after all."
A silence hung in the air at that, neither Gamma saying a word, and no one willing to earn their ire.
Rene cleared his throat, directing all attention to him, before signing his words, "Brother Auro," he started, "I'd be more than interested in getting your notes on the Astartes body." he signed, giving his older Brothers a wide grin, "And Cousin Akil, I do apologize, but I must decline. I'm afraid I'm intending on learning Pyromancy next."
"I would appreciate it." Auro nodded towards the gentle giant that was his brother, and pointedly ignoring the manipulation, "As well as any help you are willing to give."
Raziel, already seeing the end of the meeting coming, stood up from his throne, "Brothers!" he announced, "and cousin." he gestured lamely to Akil, who rolled his eyes at the joke, "I thank you for spending the time to discuss today's topics. Even if you felt them to be less important than your current activities.'' The Chief Librarian gave a pointed glare at Beltran, "Auro," he gestured to the Astartes in question, "your notes will be studied by several groups to see if they are applicable at a larger scare. Akil," again the chief Librarian gestured at his cousin, "any knowledge of Technomancy you are willing to share will aid us greatly in our reconstruction from Tvatar's Fall-" he boomed, ignoring as Abdul whispered something about a 'second Psyker rebellion' under his breath, "required many of our records to be expunged. Abdul." the young LIbrarian shot up into attention, "Like Auro I expect you to write a report on that Biomantic technique when you have made progress."
Thus said, Raziel again read the ebb and flow of fate and, seeing no more destruction than before, made his exit.
"Ohh! Does that mean the meeting is over?" Akil asked.
AN: A collaborative omake by me and Xemness about our Liberians and Akil having a meeting around this time to discuss stuff for the war to come
Response to the Ritual War: Chaos.
TinyGladiator
Just another SVer
- Location
- I move alot.
Hiya! Decided to make an omake I was thinking about making for a little while now, ever since the notion of this war happening and the scale of it became something that was actually happening, and... gosh I hope this one doesn't have too many mistakes or errors as I really wanted to get this one done with the justice it deserves. Anyways, uh, hope ya like it! 0u0
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Response to the Ritual War: Chaos.
You are perfection made manifest. You are the lord of wondrous excess. You are the thirsting doom of the Eldar.
You are Slaanesh, Chaos God who bears the number Six. And, right now, you are focusing heavily on a bunch of tiny insects that are worshiping you while they keep dying against a bunch of screaming Orks.
The Alkazoth race had become your latest obsession, due to how much you had to work in getting some of them bent to your will and then fighting that aggravating trickster for the rest of them. Just as you had finished and celebrated the vile corruption that had overtaken them, gleeful to see their potential of decadence flourish in your name, an army of the green warriors came due to that cursed war that the brutish Blood God waged.
Damn Tzeentch and damn Khorne for meddling with what was rightfully yours, the deaths of your playthings were their fault just as it was their fault for the previous times. Stealing the runaway Eldar from you, assassinating the heralds that were heading to Commorragh, distracting you in battle as some pathetic mortal stole your power and now this! Oh, how they would both pay dearly for their transgressions to your rule.
Your focus, your daemons and your blessings had saved the world from annihilation. The insects had rightfully thanked you eternally and gave many sacrifices in your name, promising that they would prove themselves to you. You hoped they would, and threatened special punishments to those that failed you.
But you wouldn't allow the insects to die completely. The souls of their dead were a marvelous prize for you to have and torment, but it was paltry to what you could have if the race of mortals had a chance to expand in power and excess. Fruit not fully ripe, meals devoured before they were ready. And the effort and time you spent on these things would not be wasted, you would not have more of your property snatched from your grasp.
The daemons under your rule that failed to protect the Alkazoth were demoted and punished for their insolent disgrace, you would have none try to betray you again with their petty feebleness. Any display less than perfection was worthless to you.
At least there was the Eldar of Commorragh to sate you in all this, their delightful civil war causing many of their souls to reach you along with plentiful suffering and slaves. One day you would reach into the realm and dominate it completely, driving the city into new heights of glorious pleasure as the last of the true Eldar bowed to you as their rightful master.
But first you would make sure that your latest prize would not fall, answering all the cries of the most worthy Alkazoth as you called more support to reach them to wipe away those defiling Orks from-
You freeze, and countless of your daemonic servents freeze with you as you all felt the pulse of energy wash over you all.
You turn your full attention for a moment towards the Maelstrom, the ancient rift into the mortal plane that was second to the one you tore into existence with your birth. You can sense the presence of the Anathema entering it, along with a colossal army with several of their sons at the head of them.
The Anathema was invading the Maelstrom. Tzeentch told you the truth, the warning of the trickster wasn't false.
You focus on one figure that radiated almost as much as the Anathema himself, the most hated of his sons. One of your hands brushes against your hair, where your perfect visage had been secretly defiled, as you witness the so called Daemonsbane who fathered the one ghost that personally defied you in your own palace. The champion so feared that your lesser Keepers would run rather than face them.
You feel the gaze of your armies, of your greatest champions, turn away from the Maelstrom to focus back on you. Anticipation radiating across them all, the hunger for souls and desire to break the greatest of the Imperium burning inside them all.
And, though you would kill any who claimed it, you hesitated.
You wouldn't ignore this insult, this perfect chance for vengeance over the Anathema and those they brought with them, but you couldn't just leave the Alkazoth. Not yet, not when you were so close to ensuring that they would live on with greatness in your name.
You give the command to many of your servents over to bring ruin to the insolent Imperium that dared strike against Chaos, but you didn't send all that you had just yet. Those that remained would either assist your wondrously depraved followers or wait until you could refocus onto this new war personally.
You were, after all, a flawless being beyond other immortals. Failure was against your very nature, and you already held dominion over the world you overlooked. You would display your full magnificence in the battleground of the Maelstrom after rending the small warband of Orks into twitching pieces, it was just a matter of a little more time.
Your Alkazoth were a worthy plaything to claim, and they would prove themselves in this after whatever weakness that remained in them was culled from this. You turn the other direction as your armies advance, your perception receding from the great war and condensed onto a single planet.
Your hands reach over to the little world that you had fought for, shining like a gemstone as it glittered with your corrupted souls that writhed on the beautiful surface. Your perfect fingers clutching the planet dearly, your unfaltering gaze focused on the treasure you bore, and you whispered sweet blessings and agony for the lives dwelling on it.
You were a god, you were the greatest of Chaos, and this time you would not lose. You couldn't lose.
-----
You are nature made manifest. You are the lord of rotting splendour. You are the grandfather of pestilence.
You are Nurgle, Chaos God who bears the number Seven. And, right now, you are joyfully mixing up the latest concoction of your rusty cauldron as it bubbles with noxious clouds of foul death and decay.
Things had been, over all, rather relaxing for you in recent years. The other three gods of Chaos had become rather misfortune and decayed in power, while you in turn had been rising up as the most powerful of the four just by contently swelling and relaxing in the energies of rot in your garden.
It has certainly been an interesting few decades as a whole, from the actions and losses that the others of Chaos had gotten up to and what was going on with the mortal realm. The Craftworlds almost all disappearing was a bit of a disappointment, you were idly considering getting some Eldar as a gift for Isha, and the Eternal Wardens were a bit of an annoyance. But could hardly complain, you rather enjoyed the growing power and influence you were getting.
That was not to say that everything was wonderful, for there was always some despair in life with its ups and downs. Your dutiful guard for your Blighted Mansion, for example, was secretly snatched away with none the wiser to where they had ended up. You had suspected your old foe, the Architect of Fate, for being a fault for a while until you were proven wrong.
And on the other hand you gained a wonderful new servant from Tzeentch, one of their Greater Daemons by the name of Pra-ev that became your Lord of Stagnation, which was a very effective champion that you were happy to call your own. Sure, they didn't succeed in managing to corrupt the world belonging to one of the Anathema's children but they gave a brilliant effort at it. They even managed to survive facing the Daemonsbane, which was an impressive feat considering whom some of the Neverborn had forever been vanquished by them were.
Then, to your great surprise and initial angry disbelief before Pra-ev convinced you to listen, Tzeentch had revealed that the it was the Anathema and one of their child's legions that had taken your precious Great Unclean Ones. Your Lord of Stagnation had only managed to find and save the guardian of your mansion, letting you witness the unhealing burn marks and scars over their body of the torture the Anathema inflicted, but that alone was a tremendous feat.
You had thanked the Changer of Ways for their assistance, cordially greeting one another which was another strange occurrence that happened in the recent odd years. They were still your enemy, and you made sure to keep a large dose of suspicious with your interactions with them, but you recognised their help. The suspicious turned out to be well reasoned as expected when Tzeentch spun a tall tale to you, warning about a great war about to occur on the Maelstrom by the Anathema.
At least the detestable theft of your children was the only truly terrible thing that happened to you these past few decades, a sharp low against the variety of highs. You had brewed a few lovely plagues in that time, you managed to gain a few Orks that followed you along with hopefully some more once the army that was invading your garden were dealt with and you even carved a Wraithbone gift to your dear Isha-
You stopped stirring your bubbling cauldron, the Blighted Mansion gave a startled groaning creak and the cacophonous and wet noises of life in your garden were silenced as you all felt the pulse of energy wash over you all.
You glance towards the ancient rift into the mortal plane, at an area that had a number of worlds dedicated to you, and felt the presence of the Anathema invading it, leading a colossal army along with a few of their sons.
It seemed that you would need to apologise to Tzeentch and thank him again for their uncharacteristic generosity. They were probably going to be insufferable after this.
Your good mood sours as you see the invasive force arrive, from that dreaded Daemonsbane and his children to the trillions of mortals that charge with them into.
Well, if it was now your time to act just as the other three had done so then you would not deny this call. You would halt the great cleansing change that the Imperium would try to bring, a change so radical and vile that even Tzeentch would never support such a thing, and bring ruin in its stead. You were the most powerful of the Chaos Gods and now that power would be used.
You lumbered out of your home to face your emassing armies, the hordes of infections and legions of death and passed by your tortured mansion guard. Many are already starting to move to protect the bastions of decay from harm, but a number of your greatest champions pauses to await for the command they knew was coming.
Your voice rumbles from deep within your body, rippling your bloated body and the ground around you, as it slowly rises up through your throat until it is unleashed as a bellowing cry. The noises that come out are not quite words, not exactly a fetid groan and not simply a shout to attention.
It the a song of life and death, it is the rustling of withered forests along with the chorus of countless death knells and it is your voice as it responds to the Anathema.
It was the herald of the end, when apocalypses were declared.
And your call is heard answered by your children, all your armies and all those that dwelled in your garden moving together as one as you call them. The previous sluggish and calm garden writhes and squirms with awakening life They sing, they cry, they roar as they rise up and march, fly and crawl towards the Maelstrom. Beasts, bodies and bloated daemons all spring from the realm together.
They carry your call and echo it. The death knells begin as your mansion guardian rings their twin bells first, then rings and chimes of bells are heard from all over the garden as war was heralded.
You were a god, you were the most powerful of Chaos, and this time the Anathema and their Imperium would suffer for taking your children.
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You are war made manifest. You are the lord of murderous rage. You are the warrior-god of blood.
You are Khorne, Chaos God who bears the number eight. And, right now, you are smashing the end of your greatsword Woebringer's hilt into the jaw of Mork as they tried to sneak behind you while Gork winds up for another titanic punch.
The Ork race were truly one of the absolute best mortals that existed in the galaxy, even if they followed gods of war that weren't you. Their will for bloodshed and desire for battle, their brutish strength and skill along with their gigantic numbers and growth of their champions were a perfect foe for your legions of warriors to war with.
Blood and Thunder, the words were echoing loudly through the Warp and the mortal plane constantly. The battle-cry chanted by countless voices, the strength of the words carried by those that killed for this battle and those that died for it. Worlds burned, fleets fell from their skies and armies rose and fell in moments all because of this brilliant war. And you loved it, you roared with laughter as you brawled the two gods before you in this legendary conflict that you had started.
The idea to make a weapon from the essence of the gods in the Warp was the best idea you ever had, first enjoying a hunt of various great beings around the realms of Chaos and then chopping off a piece of that cowardly trickster and then this wonderful war, which had escalated beyond your expectations, between you and your forces against the twin Ork gods and their forces.
Truly, this millennia was one of absolute greatest you had ever seen. When you would finally forging the divine weapon you were planning, when Surtur'einn the Divider was brought to the Warp, you would raise it up high in celebration for the conquest and slaughter that had occurred during its conception.
Across the immense battlefield hordes of those howling for combat met one another with blade and gun. Clanking Gargants infused with divine power matching Daemon Engines possessed by raging Neverborn. Your daemons spawned into existence by Orks that did the same, the Waaagh energies so densely packed as though the War in Heaven was happening again.
Worthy champions managed to break in order as they commanded their forces by way of example, slaying all those that faced them while the armies followed suit. Mountains of skulls and oceans of blood were made in just days on the battleground. Your own realm was almost calm in comparison to what you saw all around you, into the thundering expanse.
And Gork and Mork themselses were opponents that both truly deserved the title of war god, this three-way duel that you fought in was as balanced as it was bloody. Your own blood was seldom spilt by an enemy's hand over the course of your immortal life, and yet both of the twins had managed that together while also fighting one another at the same time. Nothing could compare to this legendary war-
You halt in the middle of a swing from your greatsword, with even Gork and Mork pausing for a moment as a look confusion enter their fierce expressions, as you all felt the pulse of energy wash over you all.
You briefly glimpse at the Maelstrom, the ancient rift into the mortal plane, and your feral smile grows wider as you saw the presence of the Anathema and some of their Primarchs leading a vast army of warriors to invade the worlds within it.
That conniving Tzeentch told the truth for once, the Imperium really was going to try conquering the Maelstrom. It seemed they were a little more worthy of having their essence forged into a weapon than expected.
Your armies and your greatest champions, both in the battlefield and those defending your Brass Citadel, turn to look at your still form. The question they all asked was simple, which war would you send them to?
Your decision was even simpler, both. The Anathema would send this challenge to Chaos? Send their warrior spawn and countless mortals to the Warp? Starting a conflict smaller in scope to that of the Blood and Thunder War, but not in importance and glorious slaughter?
You would gladly respond, even if you wouldn't tear yourself away from this fight against the Ork Gods. There was blood to be shed in two legendary wars and you had blood to spare. And you would respond to the challenge of the Anathema and answer your forces with the power you wielded.
Your greatsword, Woebringer, Warmaker, The End of All Things, is a blade of unparalleled might that could cleave through the walls between realms. You raise it up high, piercing the roiling sky around the battlefield, and you roar.
It was the most basic, primal noise that you and all your warriors and beasts knew. It didn't need words or language to translate its intent, the meaning was known to all life that fought or feared the power of a killer. It was there when the first beasts rose in the mortal plane and to the monsters in the Warp.
It was the bark of blood, the roar of the predator and the scream of the berserker. The greatest call to war you could give. Your sword shook in your hands as it resonated with your deep howl, then your voice was joined by Gork and Mork as they shook off their brief confusion as they didn't want to be out done in a shouting match.
Your armies and champions in your citadel and in the great battleground responded to your demand for blood and all their roars, howls and screams echo your voice. All the Orks in the Warp and in the mortal plane echoed their gods as the bellow of 'WAAAGH!' surged across the stars. The combined battle-cries would have deafened any daemons other than your own if they stood next to you.
Your forces split and charge into the two legendary wars, most seeking to join you, just as you charge at the twin Ork gods when they begin to fight each other again.
As you bring your sword down and sunder the ground beneath Gork and Mork's feet, carving a great chasm and sending millions of fighters and corpses by the blade to the air, you laugh as joy and fury blaze within you.
You were a god, you were the most mighty of Chaos, and this time you bring and match the greatest wars that rage over the Warp and mortal realm.
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You are destiny made manifest. You are the lord of ambitious change. You are the master of infinite knowledge.
You are Tzeentch, Chaos God who bears the number Nine. And, right now, you witness your latest plans all fall into place while you weave and pluck at the strings of fate to ensure it all goes according to your whims.
A chance of pace was needed to occur for some time now, fate had been rebelling against your rule much too often for you to enjoy. You couldn't even accuse the other Chaos Gods of being the cause for your problems, as if they even had the capabilities to out manipulate you, with too many of your issues coming from the likes of mortals of all things. Mere mortals successfully defying your plans, what an unthinkable concept only a few decades ago.
That accursed Daemonsbane from that frigid world, for instance. You were so close to begin influencing them, to fit them into your plans as the power of Chaos took to their soul, but then the Anathema had to ruin that when you were so close to gaining a perfect pawn. It was the fault of that golden thorn and that of that impossible coven of snakes you cursed and vowed to either destroy or take called the Alpha Legion.
And as your plans began to unravel, quirks of chance somehow twisting against you along with threads of fate being struck by the fangs of the Hydra, they cascaded into tumbling madness and unthinkable loss. You had infinite plans that were torn to shreds by the actions of the last few years, the frustrating defeats had even somehow managed to bring that outcast Malal, of all annoying creatures, back into existence.
You lost or had to waste so many important pieces of your board, along with more than a little of your precious accumulated power. The unfathomable losses of your best oracle and your most deceptive trickster stung the hardest, literally. Admittedly you did sacrifice some of your best playthings yourself, such as that slaved god of sorcery, to gain more power and twist things into your favour, but your were hoping to save such actions for the most pivotal moments across eternity and not just be forced to do so to ensure your prosperity.
Although, unlike the enemies you faced, you could manage countless plans and even against the destiny's defiance you still had wonderful victories and prizes. Such as managing to take all the Craftworlds and a few available Exodite worlds for yourself and get away with it. All Craftworlds aside from Ulthwé due to that one cast out Farseer and that infernal Laughing God's servents, but all the souls most certainly revitalised. And it was certainly hilarious to see Khorne shatter Slaanesh's perverse hopes and desires by extinguishing the Chaos Eldar before they even set foot on Commorragh.
Then there was Nurgle who had no idea that the oh so precious minion they took from you was still on your side. It was annoying how you had to use them so soon to convince Nurgle that it was the Alpha Legion that stole their Greater Daemons instead of you, and it took all your mastery of deception to not appear startled when you saw that they actually did in fact steal the guardian to your enemy's mansion, but it all worked out in your favour.
And that ancient Necron thief took the bait you left out for them, the ripples of your victories creating new ones. Then you got the vainglorious and ever predictable Be'lakor on your side for your plans against the Lord of Ultramar, who somehow kept thwarting your plans too, who was currently-
You smile along with your Court of Change, as you all felt the pulse of energy wash over you all. Now your latest opportunity was arriving, just as planned.
You already know where to look and what you will see, but you turn your and focus your infinite gaze towards the ancient rift into the mortal plane. There was the blazing figure of gold that led the massive army of ignorant mortals to their doom, along with the Daemonsbane and the Lord of Ultramar with two others of their kind.
Discovering the plans the Anathema had for the Maelstrom was fate finally coming back into your control, and you warned the other Chaos Gods who arrogantly didn't believe that what you told was the truth. And it let you able to be in your element again, having all the knowledge and means while your foes and amusements were none the wiser to the game you were playing against them.
Your roiling form twists into a collection of faces and stretching mouths as you feel the hopeful suspense and anticipation surge across your courts and most powerful sorcerers for your command. Your chance here is something that you have considerably prepared for, and you would make sure it all went according to plan.
Beaks across your arms open wide, mouths ripping open from tendrils stretch out and gaping holes of feathered teeth emerge on your head as you signal the start to your plans for the Maelstrom. Your screech is loudly uttered from your flesh, the sound a menagerie of scratching noises that are both discordant and yet layer on harmoniously. Crystal towers resonate with your voice as they broadcast the spells and hexes, the souls of countless damned mortals across your realm screaming with you and cursing against you.
Your courts of daemons babble, scream and chant as they excitedly move for the roles they play or think they will play. From your most influential Exalted to even the simplest and most ignorant of twisted monsters you commanded easily recognised the importance of this new war of rituals the Anathema was leading. Both them and the other gods would battle in this war, unable to blame you for not warning them to better prepare.
Millions of books and scrolls in your Hidden Library shoot out from their places and hurtle to either you or the Greater Daemons under you that were suited to have them. Curses, hexes and bewitchments spark and fly en masse across your domain. Ritual circles flare into existence and connect as your will is enacted.
You cast sorceries of greater power than what many Neverborn would never come close to reaching across their immortal lives, and the threads of fate go wild as you peer through them all to see what will happen next.
You were a god, you were the most influential of Chaos, and this time everything would go according to plan.
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You are murder made manifest. You are the shadow of humanity's darkness. You are the beast of cursed death.
You are Drach'nyen, the End of Empires. And, right now, you roam the expanse of the Immaterium searching for prey to slake your eternal hunger.
You could not sense smell or sights, you hunted through feeling the lights of souls whether in the existence of the Neverborn realm or those that lived in the Materium. You sensed their hateful thoughts, their weapons and their acts of killing as they lived, fought and died. The power of it all echoing into you, feeding your form slightly as the daemon of mankind.
Lately you saw and felt humanity's killings grow all the stronger, especially from the new empire that arose from the dried up planet that had been where man came into existence. Conquest over many different worlds, some with more deaths than others, and then... the childlings of the Anathema emerged and began to truly murder those of Chaos.
From a corrupted childing and their children being executed to beings of change that could match the End of Empires falling into destruction, feeding you with greater screams as the acts of death buffeted it with stronger food. Acts of immortal murder, desires for death so strong that it resonated into the Warp in ways you could scarcely recall humanity managing before.
Then a great war had started in the Warp, a battle between gods and their forces, and you could feel it resonate with you despite the fact that you were not a being of war. There were some humans that were involved with it, screaming for blood and skulls, but you felt a deeper connection to it that you didn't understand yet.
The notion of war as a whole was starting to enter your mind, the concept invading your bestial mind as you hungered for souls and were infused in murder. It confused you as to why, your mind perceiving things from no source or reason. You didn't feel the Blood God's influence over you, and war was only a part of what you reflected.
You shook off the sensations and focused on the ones you did care about, hunger and how to state it. In the distance you find a collection of human and start to rush to them, your wings flapping as you rise up high with the intent to swoop down and devour the beings that-
Your perception immediately snaps elsewhere, the Immaterium around you trembling slightly as your body twists into talons and teeth, as you felt and recognised the pulse of golden energy wash over you.
The Anathema had entered the Warp. Through a great tear into the physical realm they had arrived into where you were the strongest, them and their childlings and more humans than you had ever seen willingly enter into the Warp to try killing what was in it before. The Daemonsbane and their daemon hunters were a part of this too, you knew the presence of such a murderer of Chaos instantly as they stood by their progenitor.
You understood now. This was why you felt war, why it had entered your mind. The greatest empire of humanity, led by the one man you were meant to kill, was trying to invade the Warp. They were trying to murder all those of Chaos they faced, grant true death to many they faced as they invaded corrupted worlds, and even kill the colossal rift itself.
Then you hear voices of the Chaos Gods and their armies respond to the Anathema and their Imperium, the cacophony of noises penetrates your mind as their roars rage out as one. Death will come, both of humans and of Chaos, on a level of importance large enough that even your primal intelligence and instincts understands easily.
Your ever hungering mouth opens wider than it ever had before, fangs as swords and spears parting as a phalanx of flesh and bone, and you join the call of the gods as you scream out in reply to the war that begins.
But unlike the rallying cries of the gods, the noises stretching as far as they can and echoed by all their daemons, you roar for only one other being to hear. Your cry is as simple, powerful and as old as you. It is the first scream of a killer and the death rattle of their betrayed victim.
You scream out the Echo of First Murder, Drach'nyen, and focus it directly to the Anathema. He hears your call first, before even the ripples of the colossal voices of the Chaos Gods reach Him.
'End of Empires' is screamed into His mind, delivered by your roaring voice as a declaration, a threat and a promise. He understands the implications of what it means clearly, you know He does.
His golden light turns to face you for a moment, and you can feel His hatred and desire to kill directed at you in response. The moment you have waited so long for has arrived, this is how it was meant to end. This is your purpose and it waits for you with blade in hand and the future of humanity's greatest empire at stake.
You charge. Your wings grow bigger than before, your limbs stronger and faster than you've ever made them as your hunger for souls and murder trembles at what is to be faced.
You were humanity's shadow, you were the most connected with mankind, and this time you would murder their golden god.
-----
Response to the Ritual War: Chaos.
You are perfection made manifest. You are the lord of wondrous excess. You are the thirsting doom of the Eldar.
You are Slaanesh, Chaos God who bears the number Six. And, right now, you are focusing heavily on a bunch of tiny insects that are worshiping you while they keep dying against a bunch of screaming Orks.
The Alkazoth race had become your latest obsession, due to how much you had to work in getting some of them bent to your will and then fighting that aggravating trickster for the rest of them. Just as you had finished and celebrated the vile corruption that had overtaken them, gleeful to see their potential of decadence flourish in your name, an army of the green warriors came due to that cursed war that the brutish Blood God waged.
Damn Tzeentch and damn Khorne for meddling with what was rightfully yours, the deaths of your playthings were their fault just as it was their fault for the previous times. Stealing the runaway Eldar from you, assassinating the heralds that were heading to Commorragh, distracting you in battle as some pathetic mortal stole your power and now this! Oh, how they would both pay dearly for their transgressions to your rule.
Your focus, your daemons and your blessings had saved the world from annihilation. The insects had rightfully thanked you eternally and gave many sacrifices in your name, promising that they would prove themselves to you. You hoped they would, and threatened special punishments to those that failed you.
But you wouldn't allow the insects to die completely. The souls of their dead were a marvelous prize for you to have and torment, but it was paltry to what you could have if the race of mortals had a chance to expand in power and excess. Fruit not fully ripe, meals devoured before they were ready. And the effort and time you spent on these things would not be wasted, you would not have more of your property snatched from your grasp.
The daemons under your rule that failed to protect the Alkazoth were demoted and punished for their insolent disgrace, you would have none try to betray you again with their petty feebleness. Any display less than perfection was worthless to you.
At least there was the Eldar of Commorragh to sate you in all this, their delightful civil war causing many of their souls to reach you along with plentiful suffering and slaves. One day you would reach into the realm and dominate it completely, driving the city into new heights of glorious pleasure as the last of the true Eldar bowed to you as their rightful master.
But first you would make sure that your latest prize would not fall, answering all the cries of the most worthy Alkazoth as you called more support to reach them to wipe away those defiling Orks from-
You freeze, and countless of your daemonic servents freeze with you as you all felt the pulse of energy wash over you all.
You turn your full attention for a moment towards the Maelstrom, the ancient rift into the mortal plane that was second to the one you tore into existence with your birth. You can sense the presence of the Anathema entering it, along with a colossal army with several of their sons at the head of them.
The Anathema was invading the Maelstrom. Tzeentch told you the truth, the warning of the trickster wasn't false.
You focus on one figure that radiated almost as much as the Anathema himself, the most hated of his sons. One of your hands brushes against your hair, where your perfect visage had been secretly defiled, as you witness the so called Daemonsbane who fathered the one ghost that personally defied you in your own palace. The champion so feared that your lesser Keepers would run rather than face them.
You feel the gaze of your armies, of your greatest champions, turn away from the Maelstrom to focus back on you. Anticipation radiating across them all, the hunger for souls and desire to break the greatest of the Imperium burning inside them all.
And, though you would kill any who claimed it, you hesitated.
You wouldn't ignore this insult, this perfect chance for vengeance over the Anathema and those they brought with them, but you couldn't just leave the Alkazoth. Not yet, not when you were so close to ensuring that they would live on with greatness in your name.
You give the command to many of your servents over to bring ruin to the insolent Imperium that dared strike against Chaos, but you didn't send all that you had just yet. Those that remained would either assist your wondrously depraved followers or wait until you could refocus onto this new war personally.
You were, after all, a flawless being beyond other immortals. Failure was against your very nature, and you already held dominion over the world you overlooked. You would display your full magnificence in the battleground of the Maelstrom after rending the small warband of Orks into twitching pieces, it was just a matter of a little more time.
Your Alkazoth were a worthy plaything to claim, and they would prove themselves in this after whatever weakness that remained in them was culled from this. You turn the other direction as your armies advance, your perception receding from the great war and condensed onto a single planet.
Your hands reach over to the little world that you had fought for, shining like a gemstone as it glittered with your corrupted souls that writhed on the beautiful surface. Your perfect fingers clutching the planet dearly, your unfaltering gaze focused on the treasure you bore, and you whispered sweet blessings and agony for the lives dwelling on it.
You were a god, you were the greatest of Chaos, and this time you would not lose. You couldn't lose.
-----
You are nature made manifest. You are the lord of rotting splendour. You are the grandfather of pestilence.
You are Nurgle, Chaos God who bears the number Seven. And, right now, you are joyfully mixing up the latest concoction of your rusty cauldron as it bubbles with noxious clouds of foul death and decay.
Things had been, over all, rather relaxing for you in recent years. The other three gods of Chaos had become rather misfortune and decayed in power, while you in turn had been rising up as the most powerful of the four just by contently swelling and relaxing in the energies of rot in your garden.
It has certainly been an interesting few decades as a whole, from the actions and losses that the others of Chaos had gotten up to and what was going on with the mortal realm. The Craftworlds almost all disappearing was a bit of a disappointment, you were idly considering getting some Eldar as a gift for Isha, and the Eternal Wardens were a bit of an annoyance. But could hardly complain, you rather enjoyed the growing power and influence you were getting.
That was not to say that everything was wonderful, for there was always some despair in life with its ups and downs. Your dutiful guard for your Blighted Mansion, for example, was secretly snatched away with none the wiser to where they had ended up. You had suspected your old foe, the Architect of Fate, for being a fault for a while until you were proven wrong.
And on the other hand you gained a wonderful new servant from Tzeentch, one of their Greater Daemons by the name of Pra-ev that became your Lord of Stagnation, which was a very effective champion that you were happy to call your own. Sure, they didn't succeed in managing to corrupt the world belonging to one of the Anathema's children but they gave a brilliant effort at it. They even managed to survive facing the Daemonsbane, which was an impressive feat considering whom some of the Neverborn had forever been vanquished by them were.
Then, to your great surprise and initial angry disbelief before Pra-ev convinced you to listen, Tzeentch had revealed that the it was the Anathema and one of their child's legions that had taken your precious Great Unclean Ones. Your Lord of Stagnation had only managed to find and save the guardian of your mansion, letting you witness the unhealing burn marks and scars over their body of the torture the Anathema inflicted, but that alone was a tremendous feat.
You had thanked the Changer of Ways for their assistance, cordially greeting one another which was another strange occurrence that happened in the recent odd years. They were still your enemy, and you made sure to keep a large dose of suspicious with your interactions with them, but you recognised their help. The suspicious turned out to be well reasoned as expected when Tzeentch spun a tall tale to you, warning about a great war about to occur on the Maelstrom by the Anathema.
At least the detestable theft of your children was the only truly terrible thing that happened to you these past few decades, a sharp low against the variety of highs. You had brewed a few lovely plagues in that time, you managed to gain a few Orks that followed you along with hopefully some more once the army that was invading your garden were dealt with and you even carved a Wraithbone gift to your dear Isha-
You stopped stirring your bubbling cauldron, the Blighted Mansion gave a startled groaning creak and the cacophonous and wet noises of life in your garden were silenced as you all felt the pulse of energy wash over you all.
You glance towards the ancient rift into the mortal plane, at an area that had a number of worlds dedicated to you, and felt the presence of the Anathema invading it, leading a colossal army along with a few of their sons.
It seemed that you would need to apologise to Tzeentch and thank him again for their uncharacteristic generosity. They were probably going to be insufferable after this.
Your good mood sours as you see the invasive force arrive, from that dreaded Daemonsbane and his children to the trillions of mortals that charge with them into.
Well, if it was now your time to act just as the other three had done so then you would not deny this call. You would halt the great cleansing change that the Imperium would try to bring, a change so radical and vile that even Tzeentch would never support such a thing, and bring ruin in its stead. You were the most powerful of the Chaos Gods and now that power would be used.
You lumbered out of your home to face your emassing armies, the hordes of infections and legions of death and passed by your tortured mansion guard. Many are already starting to move to protect the bastions of decay from harm, but a number of your greatest champions pauses to await for the command they knew was coming.
Your voice rumbles from deep within your body, rippling your bloated body and the ground around you, as it slowly rises up through your throat until it is unleashed as a bellowing cry. The noises that come out are not quite words, not exactly a fetid groan and not simply a shout to attention.
It the a song of life and death, it is the rustling of withered forests along with the chorus of countless death knells and it is your voice as it responds to the Anathema.
It was the herald of the end, when apocalypses were declared.
And your call is heard answered by your children, all your armies and all those that dwelled in your garden moving together as one as you call them. The previous sluggish and calm garden writhes and squirms with awakening life They sing, they cry, they roar as they rise up and march, fly and crawl towards the Maelstrom. Beasts, bodies and bloated daemons all spring from the realm together.
They carry your call and echo it. The death knells begin as your mansion guardian rings their twin bells first, then rings and chimes of bells are heard from all over the garden as war was heralded.
You were a god, you were the most powerful of Chaos, and this time the Anathema and their Imperium would suffer for taking your children.
-----
You are war made manifest. You are the lord of murderous rage. You are the warrior-god of blood.
You are Khorne, Chaos God who bears the number eight. And, right now, you are smashing the end of your greatsword Woebringer's hilt into the jaw of Mork as they tried to sneak behind you while Gork winds up for another titanic punch.
The Ork race were truly one of the absolute best mortals that existed in the galaxy, even if they followed gods of war that weren't you. Their will for bloodshed and desire for battle, their brutish strength and skill along with their gigantic numbers and growth of their champions were a perfect foe for your legions of warriors to war with.
Blood and Thunder, the words were echoing loudly through the Warp and the mortal plane constantly. The battle-cry chanted by countless voices, the strength of the words carried by those that killed for this battle and those that died for it. Worlds burned, fleets fell from their skies and armies rose and fell in moments all because of this brilliant war. And you loved it, you roared with laughter as you brawled the two gods before you in this legendary conflict that you had started.
The idea to make a weapon from the essence of the gods in the Warp was the best idea you ever had, first enjoying a hunt of various great beings around the realms of Chaos and then chopping off a piece of that cowardly trickster and then this wonderful war, which had escalated beyond your expectations, between you and your forces against the twin Ork gods and their forces.
Truly, this millennia was one of absolute greatest you had ever seen. When you would finally forging the divine weapon you were planning, when Surtur'einn the Divider was brought to the Warp, you would raise it up high in celebration for the conquest and slaughter that had occurred during its conception.
Across the immense battlefield hordes of those howling for combat met one another with blade and gun. Clanking Gargants infused with divine power matching Daemon Engines possessed by raging Neverborn. Your daemons spawned into existence by Orks that did the same, the Waaagh energies so densely packed as though the War in Heaven was happening again.
Worthy champions managed to break in order as they commanded their forces by way of example, slaying all those that faced them while the armies followed suit. Mountains of skulls and oceans of blood were made in just days on the battleground. Your own realm was almost calm in comparison to what you saw all around you, into the thundering expanse.
And Gork and Mork themselses were opponents that both truly deserved the title of war god, this three-way duel that you fought in was as balanced as it was bloody. Your own blood was seldom spilt by an enemy's hand over the course of your immortal life, and yet both of the twins had managed that together while also fighting one another at the same time. Nothing could compare to this legendary war-
You halt in the middle of a swing from your greatsword, with even Gork and Mork pausing for a moment as a look confusion enter their fierce expressions, as you all felt the pulse of energy wash over you all.
You briefly glimpse at the Maelstrom, the ancient rift into the mortal plane, and your feral smile grows wider as you saw the presence of the Anathema and some of their Primarchs leading a vast army of warriors to invade the worlds within it.
That conniving Tzeentch told the truth for once, the Imperium really was going to try conquering the Maelstrom. It seemed they were a little more worthy of having their essence forged into a weapon than expected.
Your armies and your greatest champions, both in the battlefield and those defending your Brass Citadel, turn to look at your still form. The question they all asked was simple, which war would you send them to?
Your decision was even simpler, both. The Anathema would send this challenge to Chaos? Send their warrior spawn and countless mortals to the Warp? Starting a conflict smaller in scope to that of the Blood and Thunder War, but not in importance and glorious slaughter?
You would gladly respond, even if you wouldn't tear yourself away from this fight against the Ork Gods. There was blood to be shed in two legendary wars and you had blood to spare. And you would respond to the challenge of the Anathema and answer your forces with the power you wielded.
Your greatsword, Woebringer, Warmaker, The End of All Things, is a blade of unparalleled might that could cleave through the walls between realms. You raise it up high, piercing the roiling sky around the battlefield, and you roar.
It was the most basic, primal noise that you and all your warriors and beasts knew. It didn't need words or language to translate its intent, the meaning was known to all life that fought or feared the power of a killer. It was there when the first beasts rose in the mortal plane and to the monsters in the Warp.
It was the bark of blood, the roar of the predator and the scream of the berserker. The greatest call to war you could give. Your sword shook in your hands as it resonated with your deep howl, then your voice was joined by Gork and Mork as they shook off their brief confusion as they didn't want to be out done in a shouting match.
Your armies and champions in your citadel and in the great battleground responded to your demand for blood and all their roars, howls and screams echo your voice. All the Orks in the Warp and in the mortal plane echoed their gods as the bellow of 'WAAAGH!' surged across the stars. The combined battle-cries would have deafened any daemons other than your own if they stood next to you.
Your forces split and charge into the two legendary wars, most seeking to join you, just as you charge at the twin Ork gods when they begin to fight each other again.
As you bring your sword down and sunder the ground beneath Gork and Mork's feet, carving a great chasm and sending millions of fighters and corpses by the blade to the air, you laugh as joy and fury blaze within you.
You were a god, you were the most mighty of Chaos, and this time you bring and match the greatest wars that rage over the Warp and mortal realm.
-----
You are destiny made manifest. You are the lord of ambitious change. You are the master of infinite knowledge.
You are Tzeentch, Chaos God who bears the number Nine. And, right now, you witness your latest plans all fall into place while you weave and pluck at the strings of fate to ensure it all goes according to your whims.
A chance of pace was needed to occur for some time now, fate had been rebelling against your rule much too often for you to enjoy. You couldn't even accuse the other Chaos Gods of being the cause for your problems, as if they even had the capabilities to out manipulate you, with too many of your issues coming from the likes of mortals of all things. Mere mortals successfully defying your plans, what an unthinkable concept only a few decades ago.
That accursed Daemonsbane from that frigid world, for instance. You were so close to begin influencing them, to fit them into your plans as the power of Chaos took to their soul, but then the Anathema had to ruin that when you were so close to gaining a perfect pawn. It was the fault of that golden thorn and that of that impossible coven of snakes you cursed and vowed to either destroy or take called the Alpha Legion.
And as your plans began to unravel, quirks of chance somehow twisting against you along with threads of fate being struck by the fangs of the Hydra, they cascaded into tumbling madness and unthinkable loss. You had infinite plans that were torn to shreds by the actions of the last few years, the frustrating defeats had even somehow managed to bring that outcast Malal, of all annoying creatures, back into existence.
You lost or had to waste so many important pieces of your board, along with more than a little of your precious accumulated power. The unfathomable losses of your best oracle and your most deceptive trickster stung the hardest, literally. Admittedly you did sacrifice some of your best playthings yourself, such as that slaved god of sorcery, to gain more power and twist things into your favour, but your were hoping to save such actions for the most pivotal moments across eternity and not just be forced to do so to ensure your prosperity.
Although, unlike the enemies you faced, you could manage countless plans and even against the destiny's defiance you still had wonderful victories and prizes. Such as managing to take all the Craftworlds and a few available Exodite worlds for yourself and get away with it. All Craftworlds aside from Ulthwé due to that one cast out Farseer and that infernal Laughing God's servents, but all the souls most certainly revitalised. And it was certainly hilarious to see Khorne shatter Slaanesh's perverse hopes and desires by extinguishing the Chaos Eldar before they even set foot on Commorragh.
Then there was Nurgle who had no idea that the oh so precious minion they took from you was still on your side. It was annoying how you had to use them so soon to convince Nurgle that it was the Alpha Legion that stole their Greater Daemons instead of you, and it took all your mastery of deception to not appear startled when you saw that they actually did in fact steal the guardian to your enemy's mansion, but it all worked out in your favour.
And that ancient Necron thief took the bait you left out for them, the ripples of your victories creating new ones. Then you got the vainglorious and ever predictable Be'lakor on your side for your plans against the Lord of Ultramar, who somehow kept thwarting your plans too, who was currently-
You smile along with your Court of Change, as you all felt the pulse of energy wash over you all. Now your latest opportunity was arriving, just as planned.
You already know where to look and what you will see, but you turn your and focus your infinite gaze towards the ancient rift into the mortal plane. There was the blazing figure of gold that led the massive army of ignorant mortals to their doom, along with the Daemonsbane and the Lord of Ultramar with two others of their kind.
Discovering the plans the Anathema had for the Maelstrom was fate finally coming back into your control, and you warned the other Chaos Gods who arrogantly didn't believe that what you told was the truth. And it let you able to be in your element again, having all the knowledge and means while your foes and amusements were none the wiser to the game you were playing against them.
Your roiling form twists into a collection of faces and stretching mouths as you feel the hopeful suspense and anticipation surge across your courts and most powerful sorcerers for your command. Your chance here is something that you have considerably prepared for, and you would make sure it all went according to plan.
Beaks across your arms open wide, mouths ripping open from tendrils stretch out and gaping holes of feathered teeth emerge on your head as you signal the start to your plans for the Maelstrom. Your screech is loudly uttered from your flesh, the sound a menagerie of scratching noises that are both discordant and yet layer on harmoniously. Crystal towers resonate with your voice as they broadcast the spells and hexes, the souls of countless damned mortals across your realm screaming with you and cursing against you.
Your courts of daemons babble, scream and chant as they excitedly move for the roles they play or think they will play. From your most influential Exalted to even the simplest and most ignorant of twisted monsters you commanded easily recognised the importance of this new war of rituals the Anathema was leading. Both them and the other gods would battle in this war, unable to blame you for not warning them to better prepare.
Millions of books and scrolls in your Hidden Library shoot out from their places and hurtle to either you or the Greater Daemons under you that were suited to have them. Curses, hexes and bewitchments spark and fly en masse across your domain. Ritual circles flare into existence and connect as your will is enacted.
You cast sorceries of greater power than what many Neverborn would never come close to reaching across their immortal lives, and the threads of fate go wild as you peer through them all to see what will happen next.
You were a god, you were the most influential of Chaos, and this time everything would go according to plan.
-----
You are murder made manifest. You are the shadow of humanity's darkness. You are the beast of cursed death.
You are Drach'nyen, the End of Empires. And, right now, you roam the expanse of the Immaterium searching for prey to slake your eternal hunger.
You could not sense smell or sights, you hunted through feeling the lights of souls whether in the existence of the Neverborn realm or those that lived in the Materium. You sensed their hateful thoughts, their weapons and their acts of killing as they lived, fought and died. The power of it all echoing into you, feeding your form slightly as the daemon of mankind.
Lately you saw and felt humanity's killings grow all the stronger, especially from the new empire that arose from the dried up planet that had been where man came into existence. Conquest over many different worlds, some with more deaths than others, and then... the childlings of the Anathema emerged and began to truly murder those of Chaos.
From a corrupted childing and their children being executed to beings of change that could match the End of Empires falling into destruction, feeding you with greater screams as the acts of death buffeted it with stronger food. Acts of immortal murder, desires for death so strong that it resonated into the Warp in ways you could scarcely recall humanity managing before.
Then a great war had started in the Warp, a battle between gods and their forces, and you could feel it resonate with you despite the fact that you were not a being of war. There were some humans that were involved with it, screaming for blood and skulls, but you felt a deeper connection to it that you didn't understand yet.
The notion of war as a whole was starting to enter your mind, the concept invading your bestial mind as you hungered for souls and were infused in murder. It confused you as to why, your mind perceiving things from no source or reason. You didn't feel the Blood God's influence over you, and war was only a part of what you reflected.
You shook off the sensations and focused on the ones you did care about, hunger and how to state it. In the distance you find a collection of human and start to rush to them, your wings flapping as you rise up high with the intent to swoop down and devour the beings that-
Your perception immediately snaps elsewhere, the Immaterium around you trembling slightly as your body twists into talons and teeth, as you felt and recognised the pulse of golden energy wash over you.
The Anathema had entered the Warp. Through a great tear into the physical realm they had arrived into where you were the strongest, them and their childlings and more humans than you had ever seen willingly enter into the Warp to try killing what was in it before. The Daemonsbane and their daemon hunters were a part of this too, you knew the presence of such a murderer of Chaos instantly as they stood by their progenitor.
You understood now. This was why you felt war, why it had entered your mind. The greatest empire of humanity, led by the one man you were meant to kill, was trying to invade the Warp. They were trying to murder all those of Chaos they faced, grant true death to many they faced as they invaded corrupted worlds, and even kill the colossal rift itself.
Then you hear voices of the Chaos Gods and their armies respond to the Anathema and their Imperium, the cacophony of noises penetrates your mind as their roars rage out as one. Death will come, both of humans and of Chaos, on a level of importance large enough that even your primal intelligence and instincts understands easily.
Your ever hungering mouth opens wider than it ever had before, fangs as swords and spears parting as a phalanx of flesh and bone, and you join the call of the gods as you scream out in reply to the war that begins.
But unlike the rallying cries of the gods, the noises stretching as far as they can and echoed by all their daemons, you roar for only one other being to hear. Your cry is as simple, powerful and as old as you. It is the first scream of a killer and the death rattle of their betrayed victim.
You scream out the Echo of First Murder, Drach'nyen, and focus it directly to the Anathema. He hears your call first, before even the ripples of the colossal voices of the Chaos Gods reach Him.
'End of Empires' is screamed into His mind, delivered by your roaring voice as a declaration, a threat and a promise. He understands the implications of what it means clearly, you know He does.
His golden light turns to face you for a moment, and you can feel His hatred and desire to kill directed at you in response. The moment you have waited so long for has arrived, this is how it was meant to end. This is your purpose and it waits for you with blade in hand and the future of humanity's greatest empire at stake.
You charge. Your wings grow bigger than before, your limbs stronger and faster than you've ever made them as your hunger for souls and murder trembles at what is to be faced.
You were humanity's shadow, you were the most connected with mankind, and this time you would murder their golden god.
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Auro's Kill Team
- Location
- USA
Duncan fumed as he slammed the door closed behind him. "Stupidly single minded idiot. Why the hell is he one of my brothers? He is so very ordered that anything outside of idiotically small tolerances is unacceptable." He ranted as he slammed open and close doors in his march to escape the room in which he had just met his leader for the upcoming ritual war.
It was disastrous, his leader was in his opinion a stupid micromanaging moron that couldn't accept anything less than perfection. On top of that, was the fact that he kept pushing and pushing him and Ahearn to adopt his mindset. Apparently not realizing that not everyone had the power to actually make it work.
To further compound everything was that he was not breaking any legion rule or even regulation. If anything he was actually the perfect astartes from the rule book perspective, further infuriating him and his librarian brother as they had worked hard to be chosen for a kill team, but gotten slated for the worst one.
Duncan could not envision a less qualified leader of a kill team if he tried, and was almost fully convinced that Auro had gotten the job only due to Perturabo liking him. "You are off by two point three four degrees of elevation with your bolter, you are wasting thirty three point five percents of a percent of energy with wasted motion, you are moving five point two percent slower than maximum." Duncan ranted as he repeated what Auro had told him in the latest session with meeting his commander, who had apparently taken the time since the last one to review all of the combat footage he could find of his kill team.
Normally, he would be overjoyed that his commander had seen fit to study his combat performance, but Auro managed to turn something that should be a compliment into a complete and total punishment. Nothing was good enough for the bastard, he never gave praise only commands for how to do better. Another part that drove Duncan to madness regarding Auro was the fact that he couldn't even declare him a hypocrite, if anyone gave him a flaw or other imperfection in his actions the man would spend hours ironing it out.
Which ended up preventing anyone from getting him written up for being unfair to the lower ranks, or abuse of power as he expected the same from himself as from others. Slamming open the door, to his room Duncan fell to the floor trying to expunge the memories of the last meeting which had covered psychic matters in particular, along with a side helping of other disappointing facts.
'Why is he so hard to get praise from? I do everything I can but he never even so much as offers me a nod. What do I have to do to get him to like me?' Such thoughts swirled in his mind as he rested on the floor, trying to figure out if there was any way to get praise from his commander. Every time he was called he hoped that he would get some measure of praise or approval from Auro, but it was always a clinical explanation of he was doing everything wrong.
Just today he had to endure several hours of excruciating analysis being devoted to illuminating how he was failing in countless ways in all manner of areas. From walking to running to actual combat everything had been dissected. Including an overly detailed analysis on how he was failing when it came to creating fire with his psychic powers. Apparently, it was unacceptable for a pryromancer to not understand how atoms functioned or how heat affected them, or the physics of plasma at high temperatures and once Auro realized that he knew nothing about any of that. He shivered as his mind turned to the lecture he had to endure as Auro had grabbed several tech priests and marines to slam into his mind every last ounce of information regarding fire he could find.
Compounding the humiliation was the fact that Auro, not even a pyromancer knew more than half the teachers he found, and when they ran out of stuff to teach. Auro had sealed the room and launched into a five hour long lecture that covered everything from the quantum effects of heat on metal to macro effects, by the end of which even the most fanatical of tech marines and priests were praying for escape. So he had ended up sitting through a twelve hour long lecture on principles that he didn't need, but Auro wouldn't take that as true and simply ignored him.
The door opened as another individual stepped through, "Duncan must you do this every time? Everyone knows that you dislike Auro, but this is beyond reason." Shuddering on the ground Duncan shook his head slightly as he looked up at the smiling face of his Brother Alistair. "You are lucky as you use a completely warp art. You have no idea how painful it is to listen to scientific lectures for hours on end." Moaned Duncan as his friend or perhaps betrayer walked into the room, closing the door behind him.
With a heave, Alistair picked him off the floor and threw him onto the cot that served as his bed. "Honesty, Auro isn't that bad. Sure he could do with a book of interpersonal communications thrown at him, but he could be worst. Its not like he steals your chocolate from you." At the word chocolate Duncan twisted to see Alistair grin down at him as he eagerly slurped up one of his rare chocolate smoothies.
"I hate you so very much." Was all he could muster from the state of total exhaustion he was suffering.
"See you are already feeling better. Isn't it nice to not have the worst person as your commander, brother?" Alistair prattled on as he slurped up the chocolate smoothie, as he watched his brother twice over just fume on his bed.
"Fine, fine you win brother. Auro isn't the worst you are." Glaring at his brother that would never just leave him alone.
"And don't you forget that." Smirked Alistair as he bopped Duncan on the nose with a chocolate covered spoon.
"Give me that spoon." Duncan commanded, even though he knew that his brother wouldn't listen to him. Smiling his brother simply started to slurp up more of the chocolate smoothie with the spoon. "That is enough of you stealing my chocolate, brother." Roared Duncan as he launched himself off of the cot and into his brother's form stealing the precious case of chocolate away and back into the secret ice box.
"Feel better now?" Alistair asked from underneath Duncan's form. "Yes, I do." Muttered Duncan as he stood up and shook himself off. "Mother would never let me hear the end of it if she heard that I didn't cheer you up." Alistair said as he began to tickle his younger brother as both had done prior to being chosen as space marines.
"So, just what did Auro do to get you into such a funk? As much as you don't like him, you usually don't act like you did when Mr. Blue got roasted. At least you didn't start crying that would have made my relation with you unbearable." His older brother prodded as he tickled him.
"No, no, no, don't bring up Mr. Blue I was only five when that happened. I don't cry, no stop, tickling me." Laughed Duncan as his older brother abused his knowledge of all his weak points mercilessly. "I was there and it was hilarious. You didn't even cry correctly, just shook on the floor for hours, until I started to tickle you. So what did Auro do beyond the lecture?" Alistair laughed as he continued to abuse his knowledge of his brother's weak points to the fullest.
"I can't please him. All I want is some praise from him." Blubbered Duncan as the tickling got to him fully, causing him to shake and convulse on the floor under his older brother.
"Silly, silly. You misunderstand Auro. He doesn't do praise, or anything normal. When he gives you a new estimate of a flaw that is praise for him. You just need to understand how he thinks. He doesn't get emotions, to him being given a better numerical report is the highest form of praise." Consoled Alistair as he reduced his tickling so that his brother could think beyond the laughter.
"What? You mean that he does give praise every time I see him? That can't be correct, he hates me." Duncan spoke completely flummoxed at the very concept of Auro not hating him completely or doing everything he did to make him feel bad.
"Brother, brother if you were having issues you could have told me a while ago. To answer your question I have seen the meeting transcripts and I feel that its safe to say that on the whole Auro approves of you as much as he can. He only has a few issues with us. He even went so far as to note on your transcript a recent duel you had with a member of 3rd company." Alistair retreated to let his brother recover a bit from the recent tickle frenzy that he had been subjected to and to process the new information.
"If, if Auro does give praise in the form of smaller flawed numbers, then he has given me praise every time we meet. But its so hard to understand that, why can't he just say good job or you did well?" Duncan asked as he pulled himself back onto the cot as he looked at his hands.
"It is part of his mindset, he doesn't let himself feel emotions by and large. He has them but chained down and restricted, compounding this is how he has turned his power upon itself enforcing order on chaos. This in turn has bled over to his mind which has become as ordered as his soul, or perhaps its a self sustaining cycle from mind to soul to mind. Either way, he is nearly completely incapable of understating normal conversations and actions." Alistair patiently explained as he sat on the other cot in the room, looking at his brother with intense eyes, pleading with him to understand that as much as he couldn't understand Auro. Auro had the same amount of trouble understanding him and everyone else.
"Good, seems that Duncan won't be a problem in the coming war. Alistair, Auro has requested you to meet with him in the next hour, to go over your powers and general skills once more. Duncan you are not requested for another meeting until two days from now." The door opened as the large figure of Feargus entered the room, with a sheet of paper in hand.
With a respectful nod, Alistair left the room to head over to Auro, knowing that it was going to be an interesting meeting as they always were. While his brother remained behind with Feargus. "I hope that you understand what Auro is now, Duncan. We can't afford to have our team riven by dislike or hatred." Feargus spoke in a calm yet strident tone as he stared down at Duncan, almost ordering him to respond.
With a shaky nod, Duncan nodded his understanding. Upon seeing the nod Feargus spun on his foot and left the room slamming the door behind him. Alone once more Duncan pulled out a binder that contained notes he and his brother had made over the years regarding their powers. He had always been drawn to the art of the flame, while his brother had sought ways to harm the creatures from without even in the very beginning. Duncan could recall the first time that his brother had rejected a daemon from entering the mortal world. They were only eight and nine respectively and the daemon was incredibly weak only barely above a fury in strength, but it gave Alistair a point to focus his efforts on and since then he had become quite proficient at disrupting rituals and banishing daemons.
With a sigh, he returned the journal to its place and fell back onto the cot quickly falling asleep, hoping that his brother was correct about Auro.
AN: an omake about Auro's kill team and the three main people, two Zetas that were brothers even before becoming wardens and Feargus the leader of 12 non psychic astartes
It was disastrous, his leader was in his opinion a stupid micromanaging moron that couldn't accept anything less than perfection. On top of that, was the fact that he kept pushing and pushing him and Ahearn to adopt his mindset. Apparently not realizing that not everyone had the power to actually make it work.
To further compound everything was that he was not breaking any legion rule or even regulation. If anything he was actually the perfect astartes from the rule book perspective, further infuriating him and his librarian brother as they had worked hard to be chosen for a kill team, but gotten slated for the worst one.
Duncan could not envision a less qualified leader of a kill team if he tried, and was almost fully convinced that Auro had gotten the job only due to Perturabo liking him. "You are off by two point three four degrees of elevation with your bolter, you are wasting thirty three point five percents of a percent of energy with wasted motion, you are moving five point two percent slower than maximum." Duncan ranted as he repeated what Auro had told him in the latest session with meeting his commander, who had apparently taken the time since the last one to review all of the combat footage he could find of his kill team.
Normally, he would be overjoyed that his commander had seen fit to study his combat performance, but Auro managed to turn something that should be a compliment into a complete and total punishment. Nothing was good enough for the bastard, he never gave praise only commands for how to do better. Another part that drove Duncan to madness regarding Auro was the fact that he couldn't even declare him a hypocrite, if anyone gave him a flaw or other imperfection in his actions the man would spend hours ironing it out.
Which ended up preventing anyone from getting him written up for being unfair to the lower ranks, or abuse of power as he expected the same from himself as from others. Slamming open the door, to his room Duncan fell to the floor trying to expunge the memories of the last meeting which had covered psychic matters in particular, along with a side helping of other disappointing facts.
'Why is he so hard to get praise from? I do everything I can but he never even so much as offers me a nod. What do I have to do to get him to like me?' Such thoughts swirled in his mind as he rested on the floor, trying to figure out if there was any way to get praise from his commander. Every time he was called he hoped that he would get some measure of praise or approval from Auro, but it was always a clinical explanation of he was doing everything wrong.
Just today he had to endure several hours of excruciating analysis being devoted to illuminating how he was failing in countless ways in all manner of areas. From walking to running to actual combat everything had been dissected. Including an overly detailed analysis on how he was failing when it came to creating fire with his psychic powers. Apparently, it was unacceptable for a pryromancer to not understand how atoms functioned or how heat affected them, or the physics of plasma at high temperatures and once Auro realized that he knew nothing about any of that. He shivered as his mind turned to the lecture he had to endure as Auro had grabbed several tech priests and marines to slam into his mind every last ounce of information regarding fire he could find.
Compounding the humiliation was the fact that Auro, not even a pyromancer knew more than half the teachers he found, and when they ran out of stuff to teach. Auro had sealed the room and launched into a five hour long lecture that covered everything from the quantum effects of heat on metal to macro effects, by the end of which even the most fanatical of tech marines and priests were praying for escape. So he had ended up sitting through a twelve hour long lecture on principles that he didn't need, but Auro wouldn't take that as true and simply ignored him.
The door opened as another individual stepped through, "Duncan must you do this every time? Everyone knows that you dislike Auro, but this is beyond reason." Shuddering on the ground Duncan shook his head slightly as he looked up at the smiling face of his Brother Alistair. "You are lucky as you use a completely warp art. You have no idea how painful it is to listen to scientific lectures for hours on end." Moaned Duncan as his friend or perhaps betrayer walked into the room, closing the door behind him.
With a heave, Alistair picked him off the floor and threw him onto the cot that served as his bed. "Honesty, Auro isn't that bad. Sure he could do with a book of interpersonal communications thrown at him, but he could be worst. Its not like he steals your chocolate from you." At the word chocolate Duncan twisted to see Alistair grin down at him as he eagerly slurped up one of his rare chocolate smoothies.
"I hate you so very much." Was all he could muster from the state of total exhaustion he was suffering.
"See you are already feeling better. Isn't it nice to not have the worst person as your commander, brother?" Alistair prattled on as he slurped up the chocolate smoothie, as he watched his brother twice over just fume on his bed.
"Fine, fine you win brother. Auro isn't the worst you are." Glaring at his brother that would never just leave him alone.
"And don't you forget that." Smirked Alistair as he bopped Duncan on the nose with a chocolate covered spoon.
"Give me that spoon." Duncan commanded, even though he knew that his brother wouldn't listen to him. Smiling his brother simply started to slurp up more of the chocolate smoothie with the spoon. "That is enough of you stealing my chocolate, brother." Roared Duncan as he launched himself off of the cot and into his brother's form stealing the precious case of chocolate away and back into the secret ice box.
"Feel better now?" Alistair asked from underneath Duncan's form. "Yes, I do." Muttered Duncan as he stood up and shook himself off. "Mother would never let me hear the end of it if she heard that I didn't cheer you up." Alistair said as he began to tickle his younger brother as both had done prior to being chosen as space marines.
"So, just what did Auro do to get you into such a funk? As much as you don't like him, you usually don't act like you did when Mr. Blue got roasted. At least you didn't start crying that would have made my relation with you unbearable." His older brother prodded as he tickled him.
"No, no, no, don't bring up Mr. Blue I was only five when that happened. I don't cry, no stop, tickling me." Laughed Duncan as his older brother abused his knowledge of all his weak points mercilessly. "I was there and it was hilarious. You didn't even cry correctly, just shook on the floor for hours, until I started to tickle you. So what did Auro do beyond the lecture?" Alistair laughed as he continued to abuse his knowledge of his brother's weak points to the fullest.
"I can't please him. All I want is some praise from him." Blubbered Duncan as the tickling got to him fully, causing him to shake and convulse on the floor under his older brother.
"Silly, silly. You misunderstand Auro. He doesn't do praise, or anything normal. When he gives you a new estimate of a flaw that is praise for him. You just need to understand how he thinks. He doesn't get emotions, to him being given a better numerical report is the highest form of praise." Consoled Alistair as he reduced his tickling so that his brother could think beyond the laughter.
"What? You mean that he does give praise every time I see him? That can't be correct, he hates me." Duncan spoke completely flummoxed at the very concept of Auro not hating him completely or doing everything he did to make him feel bad.
"Brother, brother if you were having issues you could have told me a while ago. To answer your question I have seen the meeting transcripts and I feel that its safe to say that on the whole Auro approves of you as much as he can. He only has a few issues with us. He even went so far as to note on your transcript a recent duel you had with a member of 3rd company." Alistair retreated to let his brother recover a bit from the recent tickle frenzy that he had been subjected to and to process the new information.
"If, if Auro does give praise in the form of smaller flawed numbers, then he has given me praise every time we meet. But its so hard to understand that, why can't he just say good job or you did well?" Duncan asked as he pulled himself back onto the cot as he looked at his hands.
"It is part of his mindset, he doesn't let himself feel emotions by and large. He has them but chained down and restricted, compounding this is how he has turned his power upon itself enforcing order on chaos. This in turn has bled over to his mind which has become as ordered as his soul, or perhaps its a self sustaining cycle from mind to soul to mind. Either way, he is nearly completely incapable of understating normal conversations and actions." Alistair patiently explained as he sat on the other cot in the room, looking at his brother with intense eyes, pleading with him to understand that as much as he couldn't understand Auro. Auro had the same amount of trouble understanding him and everyone else.
"Good, seems that Duncan won't be a problem in the coming war. Alistair, Auro has requested you to meet with him in the next hour, to go over your powers and general skills once more. Duncan you are not requested for another meeting until two days from now." The door opened as the large figure of Feargus entered the room, with a sheet of paper in hand.
With a respectful nod, Alistair left the room to head over to Auro, knowing that it was going to be an interesting meeting as they always were. While his brother remained behind with Feargus. "I hope that you understand what Auro is now, Duncan. We can't afford to have our team riven by dislike or hatred." Feargus spoke in a calm yet strident tone as he stared down at Duncan, almost ordering him to respond.
With a shaky nod, Duncan nodded his understanding. Upon seeing the nod Feargus spun on his foot and left the room slamming the door behind him. Alone once more Duncan pulled out a binder that contained notes he and his brother had made over the years regarding their powers. He had always been drawn to the art of the flame, while his brother had sought ways to harm the creatures from without even in the very beginning. Duncan could recall the first time that his brother had rejected a daemon from entering the mortal world. They were only eight and nine respectively and the daemon was incredibly weak only barely above a fury in strength, but it gave Alistair a point to focus his efforts on and since then he had become quite proficient at disrupting rituals and banishing daemons.
With a sigh, he returned the journal to its place and fell back onto the cot quickly falling asleep, hoping that his brother was correct about Auro.
AN: an omake about Auro's kill team and the three main people, two Zetas that were brothers even before becoming wardens and Feargus the leader of 12 non psychic astartes
Gaun’adym the Imitator (Unknown Canon)
- Location
- USA
A young child carefully pushed open the wooden door to their home, stepping in from the darkness of oblivion outside of the lantern lit home. Within the single room house stood the child's mother with an expression of fear on her face.
Grabbing the child by the ear, the mother drags the child over to the fireplace where seven logs are alight with flames, where upon she presses the scared child's palm into the burning wood deaf to the cries of pain coming from her own child. Only relenting when the flesh burned black and pain stopped did she remove the hand from the burning wood to treat it with the remedy of herbs.
As the child whimpered in pain from the test of flame, the mother glared as she had to have harmed her own child. Yet, such was needed to ensure that the Encompassing Darkness did not slip on in through the child's entry into the home.
With the child tested, the mother placed her own hand upon the wood and tested herself the same as with the child to ensure that all was true within the house this night. As her flesh blackened and burned a whisper from without sough entry to her mind. The pain and fear armored her mind against the creeping touch of darkness denying it what it so hungered for.
Yet, even as one family lived to see another day even with the child's folly another would not be so lucky, as across town another child one that had played with the first only moments ago, entered their home. Finding their father standing before the door, and were sent to bed without the test of flame preformed.
That night as the first suffered in pain, their minds were hardened against the creeping darkness, the second family unburdened by pain and flame suffered instead. Darkness swirled and became another, a dark mirror of the child arose and slew the father with a single strike before the child met the same fate.
A tyrant across the world suffered the same as he dared the darkness without light or flame and brought forth the Scrounge of Darkness upon his lands, as the creatures of Shadow arose and fell upon his kingdom that lived in fear of him, with a dark mirror of their tyrant leading the shadows that slaughtered them all.
No hero would arise this night, for in the night the darkness reigned supreme and all beacons of light quenched by its touch, upon the dawn all saw the horror that had befallen those that had dared the darkness without flame or light, they had met themselves and had been found wanting.
Yet, the pact still held and so day belonged to the people of the world, while the night belonged to the Darkness. To walk in the darkness without flame or light is to bring the darkness in with you, and none except the wisest of all could walk with such freedom, only they could walk the forever shadowed pathways. - translated myth of dead human world
Rubbing his eyes Raynor Zerek, frowned at the translated myth that his team had dug up. It bore some elements that resembled what he had been told to look for in such works, but at the same time it didn't have all of them. However, the explicit mention of the Encompassing Darkness did move it upward on the probability spectrum.
Deciding that in this case, since his life was on the line if he messed up that it was prudent to put it in the box and see what the higher ups thought. Putting the translation into the box earmarked for express travel to the higher ups, he mostly forgot about the myth for a while.
A few days later he was back in the same dig, translating some more of the same myth or a companion myth of it, detailing little more but giving more credence to the idea that it was something urgent.
The box in which the myths sat along with a few artifacts were soon moved out to other sites where other archeologists added more items to the sealed container formed out of lead and adamantium, all in preparation for transit to Terra where a much more prepare group would go over the findings and see if anything was in them to be concerned about.
The lonely box made its slow way from the planet all the way to terra where it was finally opened and researched extensively.
Robert Finze was the one on duty when the box arrived. Slightly irritated at the lack of a do nothing night as usual in this job he slowly opened the box and began to lift items from the box. Carefully extracting the papers and restored items from the box, the moment he saw the items, panic seared through his body as he raced across the room to slam the alarm button down.
As the blaring alarms triggered he hurriedly began to shift through the artifacts he had in front of him. The physical ones were quickly placed in a tray to go undergo more intensive scanning, but the written records were the real prize here.
As he slowly read over the translated records, his heart beat with ever more terror as he realized just how much a nightmare had been unearthed. Grabbing a pen he began to write the report that would see this moved up several levels of importance.
Report on archeology dig
Importance level: Alpha Priority
Subversive elements of unnatural origin discovered, possibly tier 1 threat ranking for subversive element.
Keywords: Darkness, Mirror, Inversion, Flame
As the door slammed open for the security troops, Robert only hoped that he would see another day as the box and all of its items were moved out of the room and into another.
Months later a report slide across Malcador's desk, marked with the golden border the represented Chaos threats.
Report on Gaun'adym the Imitator
Type: Tzeentch
Rank: Exalted
The daemon that has been discovered to go by the name of either the Imitator or Gaun'adym is an exalted daemon of Tzeentch. Unlike most other daemons of Tzeentch, this daemon doesn't use sorcery or mutation, but instead utilizes the alternative potential pathways for time to have unfolded.
It generally takes the form of the closet such possible to an Inversion of the champion that it is facing on the battle field. Along with it taking the form of a champion or commander, it also splits into an army that is anywhere from one thousand to one billion strong with each individual fighter form increasing in strength based on the number that are extant at the time.
It is estimated that at around five thousand the individual fighting forms are equal to Astartes, they seem to never reach much beyond that point however which is lucky for us.
As for killing the daemon, its main form is near untouchable until it has lost a majority of its army or the champion copy is disrupted several times in quick succession.
AN: a short report on a possible Exalted Daemon of Tzeentch I thought of
Grabbing the child by the ear, the mother drags the child over to the fireplace where seven logs are alight with flames, where upon she presses the scared child's palm into the burning wood deaf to the cries of pain coming from her own child. Only relenting when the flesh burned black and pain stopped did she remove the hand from the burning wood to treat it with the remedy of herbs.
As the child whimpered in pain from the test of flame, the mother glared as she had to have harmed her own child. Yet, such was needed to ensure that the Encompassing Darkness did not slip on in through the child's entry into the home.
With the child tested, the mother placed her own hand upon the wood and tested herself the same as with the child to ensure that all was true within the house this night. As her flesh blackened and burned a whisper from without sough entry to her mind. The pain and fear armored her mind against the creeping touch of darkness denying it what it so hungered for.
Yet, even as one family lived to see another day even with the child's folly another would not be so lucky, as across town another child one that had played with the first only moments ago, entered their home. Finding their father standing before the door, and were sent to bed without the test of flame preformed.
That night as the first suffered in pain, their minds were hardened against the creeping darkness, the second family unburdened by pain and flame suffered instead. Darkness swirled and became another, a dark mirror of the child arose and slew the father with a single strike before the child met the same fate.
A tyrant across the world suffered the same as he dared the darkness without light or flame and brought forth the Scrounge of Darkness upon his lands, as the creatures of Shadow arose and fell upon his kingdom that lived in fear of him, with a dark mirror of their tyrant leading the shadows that slaughtered them all.
No hero would arise this night, for in the night the darkness reigned supreme and all beacons of light quenched by its touch, upon the dawn all saw the horror that had befallen those that had dared the darkness without flame or light, they had met themselves and had been found wanting.
Yet, the pact still held and so day belonged to the people of the world, while the night belonged to the Darkness. To walk in the darkness without flame or light is to bring the darkness in with you, and none except the wisest of all could walk with such freedom, only they could walk the forever shadowed pathways. - translated myth of dead human world
Rubbing his eyes Raynor Zerek, frowned at the translated myth that his team had dug up. It bore some elements that resembled what he had been told to look for in such works, but at the same time it didn't have all of them. However, the explicit mention of the Encompassing Darkness did move it upward on the probability spectrum.
Deciding that in this case, since his life was on the line if he messed up that it was prudent to put it in the box and see what the higher ups thought. Putting the translation into the box earmarked for express travel to the higher ups, he mostly forgot about the myth for a while.
A few days later he was back in the same dig, translating some more of the same myth or a companion myth of it, detailing little more but giving more credence to the idea that it was something urgent.
The box in which the myths sat along with a few artifacts were soon moved out to other sites where other archeologists added more items to the sealed container formed out of lead and adamantium, all in preparation for transit to Terra where a much more prepare group would go over the findings and see if anything was in them to be concerned about.
The lonely box made its slow way from the planet all the way to terra where it was finally opened and researched extensively.
Robert Finze was the one on duty when the box arrived. Slightly irritated at the lack of a do nothing night as usual in this job he slowly opened the box and began to lift items from the box. Carefully extracting the papers and restored items from the box, the moment he saw the items, panic seared through his body as he raced across the room to slam the alarm button down.
As the blaring alarms triggered he hurriedly began to shift through the artifacts he had in front of him. The physical ones were quickly placed in a tray to go undergo more intensive scanning, but the written records were the real prize here.
As he slowly read over the translated records, his heart beat with ever more terror as he realized just how much a nightmare had been unearthed. Grabbing a pen he began to write the report that would see this moved up several levels of importance.
Report on archeology dig
Importance level: Alpha Priority
Subversive elements of unnatural origin discovered, possibly tier 1 threat ranking for subversive element.
Keywords: Darkness, Mirror, Inversion, Flame
As the door slammed open for the security troops, Robert only hoped that he would see another day as the box and all of its items were moved out of the room and into another.
Months later a report slide across Malcador's desk, marked with the golden border the represented Chaos threats.
Report on Gaun'adym the Imitator
Type: Tzeentch
Rank: Exalted
The daemon that has been discovered to go by the name of either the Imitator or Gaun'adym is an exalted daemon of Tzeentch. Unlike most other daemons of Tzeentch, this daemon doesn't use sorcery or mutation, but instead utilizes the alternative potential pathways for time to have unfolded.
It generally takes the form of the closet such possible to an Inversion of the champion that it is facing on the battle field. Along with it taking the form of a champion or commander, it also splits into an army that is anywhere from one thousand to one billion strong with each individual fighter form increasing in strength based on the number that are extant at the time.
It is estimated that at around five thousand the individual fighting forms are equal to Astartes, they seem to never reach much beyond that point however which is lucky for us.
As for killing the daemon, its main form is near untouchable until it has lost a majority of its army or the champion copy is disrupted several times in quick succession.
AN: a short report on a possible Exalted Daemon of Tzeentch I thought of
Crescum Auro’ Guide to The Materium Discipline: A full guide
- Location
- USA
In the common room of the Library of the Eternal Wardens, there was a recent addition to the already cluttered filled room. On a brand new table, sat a tome that was one of the thickest in the room at almost five thousand pages written in such a fine print that even for astartes it was difficult to follow the writings. Embossed on the cover in burnished silver were the words: Crescum Auro' Guide to The Materium Discipline: A full guide.
Next to the much larger tome, sat a smaller yet still imposing book with another similar title embossed on its surface. This one proclaimed itself as: Crescum Auro' Guide to The Materium Discipline: A summary. On the table sat a card that bore the name of Raziel who ordered the books to remain in the room and were open to any that sought to learn from them.
Most of those that past the room, payed little attention to the books for they currently were pressed for time with the coming war. Yet, every so often one would open the smaller of the two and look through the table of contents before flipping through the pages to find what they sought.
Across the room, Duncan stared at the books, pondering whether to peer into the mind of the most confusing of his Brothers, or if his sanity was better served else where. With a faint smile his brother Alistair poked him in the side and nodded over towards the books on the table.
With an aggravated sigh, Duncan stood up and slouched on over to the books, where he slowly opened the smaller of the two and found himself confronted with a thick table of contents, covering an impossible range of topics. From mental organization, to power control, to physical science such as armor designs and more. Running his finger down the list, around three quarters of the way through he came across the section simply titled Techniques.
Flipping through the thousand page tome, to the chapter that he sought was interesting for his eidetic memory saw and recorded pages describing celestial phenomena that he had never heard of before, such as the Higgs boson field, the curvature of space around gravity, the bending of light and more all in small pages that were just minute parts of larger chapters all dedicated to informing the reader of what Auro knew and how he applied it.
When he reached the chapter he sought, the first thing he noticed was that it was by far the smallest of all the chapters, with only ten pages to its name in total, instead of the one hundred of the next smallest. Further confusing Duncan was the remarkable lack of techniques listed in the summary of the page, with only four being listed as true techniques and the rest being lesser than those four.
The first he found was one simply labeled Plasma Storm, with the text following describing how it was formed, its usages and more importantly that it was the first ability that gained the description of technique.
Plasma Storm
Type: Technique
Effect: Area of Effect
Usage type: Army elimination, Fortress Assault, Ork Spore Purging
Time Length: With fire to use thirty point one five seconds, without fire minimum of ten minutes and heat source
Notes: Potent, wasteful, clumsy, uncontrollable, High damage
Description: Utilizing existing fire, draw atomic energy from surrounding area to increase the temperature of corralled fire. Once fire reaches chosen temperature release at target.
See chapter Fire/Plasma/Stars for more information on this technique
Beyond the simple description of the technique there was almost nothing to work with on the page and with a sinking heart, Duncan flipped the book over to the listed chapter section and promptly flipped back. He had no interest in reading something that looked like it would give tech priests a head ache to understand.
The next technique was little better with somehow even less information presented in the chapter that was meant to list such things.
Lighting Bolt
Type: Technique
Effect: Branching/straight/single
Usage type: Precision target, commander elimination, machinery elimination
Time Length: point three four seconds
Notes: Potent, precise, controllable, Moderate Damage (Scale), Heavy Damage (micro)
Description: Standard attack technique, underused due to illumination and sonic issues presented in use of technique. Separation of charges for cast.
See chapter Fire/Plasma/Lighting and Atoms/Nucleus/Electrons/Charges for more information regarding technique.
Shivering in fright at what he would find if he dared to look at the second section Duncan quickly flipped the page to move onto the next technique. Which was a bit more interesting that the previous as it had more information, although the majority of it seemed to be criticism of the technique in question.
Stellar Flare
Type: Technique
Effect: Area of Effect
Usage Type: Nuclear Option, Last Stand
Time Length: Life/Death situation: one second with warp, one hour without warp
Notes: Uncontrollable, Extreme Damage, High Risk of Death to Self, Draws upon the warp
Description: Combines the power of Plasma Storm and Lighting Bolt into a single technique. Results in the creation of an emulation of a Coronal Mass Ejection. Properly executed, reaches temperatures of 30 million degrees, emits an EMP pulse powerful enough to kill astartes level power armor.
Secondary notes: Inefficient, extremely unrefined, almost certain to kill user. Useless
See chapters Fire/Plasma/Star. Atoms/Nucleus/Electrons/Charges and Magnetism
Raziel Notes: By order of Chief Librarian Raziel this technique is hereby banned to anyone that is not a master of Pyromancy or has explicit permission from the Chief Librarian.
Blanching Duncan flipped the page to get away from the simply terrifying technique that implied stuff that he didn't want to think about. Flipping forward a few pages to get out of the ramblings of just how useless Stellar Flare was and how it should be forgotten as a waste of time. He eventually came across another technique, this one seemly two in one combination similar to Stellar Flare but distinct.
Flash Freeze/Heatrip
Type: Combination Technique
Effect: Precision Area of Effect
Usage type: Army elimination, commander elimination, high damage
Time: zero point nine five seconds to start chain, zero point thirty four to maintain chain
Notes: Controlled, effective, universal, refined
Description: Transporting the atomic energy of another into the atoms of another. Resulting in the flash freezing of the first target, followed by combustion of second target. Highly precise, preferred technique.
See chapters Energy/thermodynamics and Atoms/Nucleus/Temperature for more information
Duncan shivered as he just considered how deadly his commander actually was if this was the preferred technique that he used, although the more he read the more concerned he became about what else Auro had in the book. As he turned the last page of the chapter he saw to his surprise no technique only something that was called a flexible technique.
Shift
Type: Flexible
Effect: Variable
Usage type: Variable
Time: thought
Notes: Can shift energy states between locations, up to 85 percent of energy can be transversed, all forms of energy can be shifted. Effects nearly unlimited, origin of all techniques. Loss of flexibility for improved power source of techniques.
See chapters Energy, Atoms, Reality, Mindset for more information
The moment he read the last word, he simply closed the book and walked back to his brother who was laughing at him silently. Shaking his head wondering just what kind of insane person Auro really was, for no one sane could have derived a truly unbounded technique from simple study. Shuddering he quickly took the chocolate that his brother offered in an attempt to sooth his mind, silently promising himself that he would never open the books again.
AN: not my best work, but this is a short omake on the tome that Auro made for Raziel that included everything he could think of and one of his kill team's men reading some of it.
Next to the much larger tome, sat a smaller yet still imposing book with another similar title embossed on its surface. This one proclaimed itself as: Crescum Auro' Guide to The Materium Discipline: A summary. On the table sat a card that bore the name of Raziel who ordered the books to remain in the room and were open to any that sought to learn from them.
Most of those that past the room, payed little attention to the books for they currently were pressed for time with the coming war. Yet, every so often one would open the smaller of the two and look through the table of contents before flipping through the pages to find what they sought.
Across the room, Duncan stared at the books, pondering whether to peer into the mind of the most confusing of his Brothers, or if his sanity was better served else where. With a faint smile his brother Alistair poked him in the side and nodded over towards the books on the table.
With an aggravated sigh, Duncan stood up and slouched on over to the books, where he slowly opened the smaller of the two and found himself confronted with a thick table of contents, covering an impossible range of topics. From mental organization, to power control, to physical science such as armor designs and more. Running his finger down the list, around three quarters of the way through he came across the section simply titled Techniques.
Flipping through the thousand page tome, to the chapter that he sought was interesting for his eidetic memory saw and recorded pages describing celestial phenomena that he had never heard of before, such as the Higgs boson field, the curvature of space around gravity, the bending of light and more all in small pages that were just minute parts of larger chapters all dedicated to informing the reader of what Auro knew and how he applied it.
When he reached the chapter he sought, the first thing he noticed was that it was by far the smallest of all the chapters, with only ten pages to its name in total, instead of the one hundred of the next smallest. Further confusing Duncan was the remarkable lack of techniques listed in the summary of the page, with only four being listed as true techniques and the rest being lesser than those four.
The first he found was one simply labeled Plasma Storm, with the text following describing how it was formed, its usages and more importantly that it was the first ability that gained the description of technique.
Plasma Storm
Type: Technique
Effect: Area of Effect
Usage type: Army elimination, Fortress Assault, Ork Spore Purging
Time Length: With fire to use thirty point one five seconds, without fire minimum of ten minutes and heat source
Notes: Potent, wasteful, clumsy, uncontrollable, High damage
Description: Utilizing existing fire, draw atomic energy from surrounding area to increase the temperature of corralled fire. Once fire reaches chosen temperature release at target.
See chapter Fire/Plasma/Stars for more information on this technique
Beyond the simple description of the technique there was almost nothing to work with on the page and with a sinking heart, Duncan flipped the book over to the listed chapter section and promptly flipped back. He had no interest in reading something that looked like it would give tech priests a head ache to understand.
The next technique was little better with somehow even less information presented in the chapter that was meant to list such things.
Lighting Bolt
Type: Technique
Effect: Branching/straight/single
Usage type: Precision target, commander elimination, machinery elimination
Time Length: point three four seconds
Notes: Potent, precise, controllable, Moderate Damage (Scale), Heavy Damage (micro)
Description: Standard attack technique, underused due to illumination and sonic issues presented in use of technique. Separation of charges for cast.
See chapter Fire/Plasma/Lighting and Atoms/Nucleus/Electrons/Charges for more information regarding technique.
Shivering in fright at what he would find if he dared to look at the second section Duncan quickly flipped the page to move onto the next technique. Which was a bit more interesting that the previous as it had more information, although the majority of it seemed to be criticism of the technique in question.
Stellar Flare
Type: Technique
Effect: Area of Effect
Usage Type: Nuclear Option, Last Stand
Time Length: Life/Death situation: one second with warp, one hour without warp
Notes: Uncontrollable, Extreme Damage, High Risk of Death to Self, Draws upon the warp
Description: Combines the power of Plasma Storm and Lighting Bolt into a single technique. Results in the creation of an emulation of a Coronal Mass Ejection. Properly executed, reaches temperatures of 30 million degrees, emits an EMP pulse powerful enough to kill astartes level power armor.
Secondary notes: Inefficient, extremely unrefined, almost certain to kill user. Useless
See chapters Fire/Plasma/Star. Atoms/Nucleus/Electrons/Charges and Magnetism
Raziel Notes: By order of Chief Librarian Raziel this technique is hereby banned to anyone that is not a master of Pyromancy or has explicit permission from the Chief Librarian.
Blanching Duncan flipped the page to get away from the simply terrifying technique that implied stuff that he didn't want to think about. Flipping forward a few pages to get out of the ramblings of just how useless Stellar Flare was and how it should be forgotten as a waste of time. He eventually came across another technique, this one seemly two in one combination similar to Stellar Flare but distinct.
Flash Freeze/Heatrip
Type: Combination Technique
Effect: Precision Area of Effect
Usage type: Army elimination, commander elimination, high damage
Time: zero point nine five seconds to start chain, zero point thirty four to maintain chain
Notes: Controlled, effective, universal, refined
Description: Transporting the atomic energy of another into the atoms of another. Resulting in the flash freezing of the first target, followed by combustion of second target. Highly precise, preferred technique.
See chapters Energy/thermodynamics and Atoms/Nucleus/Temperature for more information
Duncan shivered as he just considered how deadly his commander actually was if this was the preferred technique that he used, although the more he read the more concerned he became about what else Auro had in the book. As he turned the last page of the chapter he saw to his surprise no technique only something that was called a flexible technique.
Shift
Type: Flexible
Effect: Variable
Usage type: Variable
Time: thought
Notes: Can shift energy states between locations, up to 85 percent of energy can be transversed, all forms of energy can be shifted. Effects nearly unlimited, origin of all techniques. Loss of flexibility for improved power source of techniques.
See chapters Energy, Atoms, Reality, Mindset for more information
The moment he read the last word, he simply closed the book and walked back to his brother who was laughing at him silently. Shaking his head wondering just what kind of insane person Auro really was, for no one sane could have derived a truly unbounded technique from simple study. Shuddering he quickly took the chocolate that his brother offered in an attempt to sooth his mind, silently promising himself that he would never open the books again.
AN: not my best work, but this is a short omake on the tome that Auro made for Raziel that included everything he could think of and one of his kill team's men reading some of it.
Family and Education: The Nurglite World of Zezame
Family and Education: The Nurglite World of Zezame
Our story begins, like so many others, with an explanation...
Nurgle doesn't ask much from his adherents, followers, or children. If anything, he perhaps gives more than any other Chaos God. It's odd to imagine it, but compared to Tzeentch, Nurgle is one of the few gods that care more about "basic" education than anyone else. The Changer of Ways loves forbidden and esoteric knowledge, but he expects his followers to be educated, cultured, and intellectual by nature.
Yet it is Nurgle that cares more about those who even the Emperor would call 'people of the dirt' or 'laymens' regarding the uneducated and unwashed masses of humanity. Those people deemed too stupid or worthless for education were the ones who gravitated towards the Plague Father.
And it was exceptionally true in regards to his most loyal of believers. Men and women and children who could once couldn't even read or write, shamed by their collective societies, as being bumpkins. It was true even among Chaos's cults, where Nurglites were mocked and scorned by the "ivory tower" elites as Nurgle liked to call Tzeentch's most "qualified" of warp-scholars and sorcerers.
However, Nurgle still reached out and taught his followers, even as the plagues ravaged their worlds, their bodies, and souls. They had the right to basic education, and he would give it to them.
Because, more than anything, Nurgle was a parental figure, and as a Grandfather, he had to teach and guide others. Sometimes that came in rather queer forms of learning and educating. One didn't need to learn about the galaxy from books but experience. Persistence in the face of dangers or plagues were a personal favorite of the Plague Father. Hence, his focus is 'helping' the sick and dying, especially among children and the elderly.
Unfortunately, there was a problem, and it was one that Nurgle didn't recognize until his arch-nemesis insulted him one day. Once again, they had argued over the nature of whose followers were treated better. When Nurgle described that his children had the best education, Tzeentch disagreed. He did not laugh or even mock Nurgle, a strange departure from their usual arguments. If anything, his foe was offended by what he heard.
"You claim to be a patron of education for your followers? Where are their schools, their universities, or the places of education for them? And you claim to love your followers as your children? How can you ever hope to encourage any learning if they have no place to call their own archives of knowledge and studies."
It shocked Nurgle to admit it, but Tzeentch was right! His followers deserved a place to learn and raise a family alongside their studies. Even the ordinarily slow and stagnant god was excited about the prospect! A world of education, family, and a home for his most outstanding scholars and sorcerers.
But more than that, he was going to make a wonderful, happy, and delightful place.
So, he found the perfect world for this great experiment. Soon enough, he summoned forth a rather strange collection of daemons and told them that they were to educate the mortals that arrived, and more importantly, protect and teach their children. It was no surprise that many of his followers were more than eager to take on roles as teachers and mentors.
Thus the Daemon World of Zezame was brought into being, created, and cultivated with planets and disease from the Plague Father garden. It was to be given to an Exalted for stewardship.
And it was this Exalted that the real story of Zezame would begin...with its cankerous and foul-tempered master, a creature that was the complete opposite of the Plague Fathers positive and joyous disposition, and whose only purpose in life was to be a no-good, sour-face, and cranky daemon.
Oz'Kar the Malcontent.
---
Who is Oz'Kar? And why the title of "Malcontent"? Are not the greatest of Nurgle's children considered happy or at least content? Certainly, one of his Exalted would be one of his most delighted servants. Unfortunately, Oz'Kar was not created during a grand or happy moment but rather in one of the galaxy's rarest events.
Grandfather Nurgle is said to have never gotten truly angry. Upset, yes. Annoyed, most certainly. But never furious, even when facing off against his nemesis and his cronies. It just wasn't in Nurgle's nature to get mad. But it could happen, and when it did, it was a terrifying and destructive moment.
One such event that led to Oz'Kar's creation was the Xenocide of the Thullian Hierarchy some twenty million years ago. Long before sapient lived evolved on Earth, when the Orks were still fighting amongst themselves, and the Eldar Empire reigned supreme, there were the Thullians.
The Thullians were a race with the most peculiar quirk; they had immunity to most diseases and viruses. You'd think that Father Nurgle would hate such a race, but he discovered the Thullians, aware of their biological strengths, decided to start making plagues and bio-weapons most powerful. Their logic was simple, "If anything starts to attack us, we'll know for sure that we made a great plague!"
Most pleased with this mentality, Grandfather Nurgle decided to offer his boons and blessings towards the young race! And in only 1,500 years did the Thullians emerge from their systems, masters of plagues, viruses, and bio-weapons, unlike anything the galaxy had seen yet.
However, the mean-old Eldar Empire decided that the Thullians were a threat. They played a callous joke upon the Thullians. Using their vast array of technologies and psy-powers, they enhanced the Thullians immunity system to the point that their own bodies started to reject even their own blood cells!
Unable to aid them, Nurgle watched as an entire civilization died before him. Normally, entropy and the end of civilization is something that Nurgle understands, even savors. However, the Thullians were snuffed far too young, innocent children murdered by their cruel elders. It was too much, even for Nurgle.
He felt angry, outraged even. But more than that, he felt grief and sorrow at having witnessed the end of such a beautiful race.
It was in those moments, which to our mortal minds would've been thousands of years, did Nurgle feel something take shape inside his throat. That vile bitterness, that which anyone feels when they don't know whether to scream or cry or puke, formed into an ugly little ball of malcontent, hatred, and resentment towards the Eldar, towards all 'healthy' creatures that we're jealous of such innocence and curiosity within the Thullians.
Until finally...Nurgle hacked and coughed the vile, bitter feelings that formed in his soul and spat it out into his garden, right into one of the buckets that his Chief Gardner, Horticulous Slimux. Who upon seeing what had taken shape inside the trash-bucket, promptly and with his ever-present lack of humor, held up a pouting, grumpy, frowning, little Nurglite.
"Yours, master?" Horticulous, the little creature seemed keen to stay inside the bucket.
Nurgle seemed surprised, "Goodness, I seem to have made a little daemon from all that hate." Seeing that even after all the torment he felt, it was nice to see a new addition to the family. Perhaps this one would make him feel better about the loss of the Thullians, "And what is your name, little one?" He spoke with the same grandfatherly tone as he had with trillions of others.
The creature in the bucket said nothing before lowering itself back into the bucket with a grumble. Nurgle blinked at the rather uncommon response. Horticulous spared only a small glance at the creature, now glowering in the bucket, "I suppose one would be upset about being born into a waste-bucket, master."
"Hrm..." Nurgle frowned before grabbing the bucket and looking down at the Nurglite, "Come now, don't be shy."
Again, all the creature did was pout and glower, not even bothering to look at the Plague Father or Chief Gardner.
Horticulous frowned once more, "I don't think he's shy; I think he just angry."
"I didn't mean to launch him into a bucket!" The Plague Father defended himself, "It's fine, though! I'm sure he'll be right of acid-rains by the next day." Looking down at the frowning, pouting, and angry little creature, he tried to smile at him. "Give me a name, little one, please."
There was a bit of silence before it finally spoke, "Oz'Kar."
Now with a broad smile, the Plague Father gently patted the head of Oz'Kar. "Good! That's a good name for one of my children! Oh, I'm sure we'll be great friends in time!"
Where many would've enjoyed the praise, Oz'Kar only said one thing in response, "Meh." He sniffed and looked away from Grand Father Nurgle.
The Plague Father looked hurt, while Horticulous did something that surprised even the Plague Father. He chuckled, only once, but the infamously humorless daemon had enjoyed the short spectacle immensely.
"Heh." The Chief Gardner gave an oily, disgusting chuckle at the response, "I like him."
---
Oz'Kar was not born with the powers of an Exalted; he was nothing more than a lesser daemon when he was created. That was to say; he certainly embodied the sluggishness related to Grandfather Nurgle. And to say that he was special was inaccurate as well. Oz'Kar, while not lazy, took only the bare minimum approach to things. Save for one thing; learning.
So while most daemons spent their century millennia practicing and playing in the Gardens or the lesser warp realms of Nurgle, Oz'Kar was seen studying tomes. It didn't help that Oz'Kar spent much of his time inside his bucket until he eventually "upgraded" to a trash-can transported by a Molluscoid (who Oz'Kar named Filthy) from his only real friend, Horticulous Slimux. The Chief Gardner took a liking to him after his constant rebuffing of Nurgle affection.
Other daemons didn't like him either, especially after such displays of what they believed to be contempt or spite towards Grand Father Nurgle. However, while Oz'Kar was grumpy and meant sounding daemon, he didn't despise or hate anyone. He just was constantly upset about one thing or another.
"Let's go ride the rot-flies, Oz'Kar!"
"Their buzzing annoys me."
"How about we go to the Plague Grounds?!"
"Too many other daemons there."
"We should invade the materium!"
"It's full of stupid mortals. I'd rather stay here."
On and on it went, for the first million years, most considered Oz'Kar to be such a useless sourpuss that many of his peers ignored him once they got stronger and more powerful. He refused to have what many considered fun or make any bonds. He was if nothing else, more an outcast than anything, and that suited Oz'Kar just fine. Time moved forward, and almost everyone forgot about the little old "trash daemon" that was Oz'Kar.
Around the start of his third megaannum (that is three million years, mind you), he encountered a Nurgling by the name of Blatzer'Gkin. This lesser daemon had a strange dream in that he wanted to become a warp-user and one that the mortals could summon instead of being one of the endless, diminutive minions of others. He came to Oz'Kar, mainly because he was his last hope of learning. Most other daemons scoffed or threatened Blatzer'Gkin, but Oz'Kar at first was no different.
"What makes you think I can teach you anything?"
"I heard some of the bigger kids say you spend all your days just practicing your abilities. That's all they say about you, that and you are really grumpy, a sourpuss, smell bad, live in a trash-can-"
"Every additional word you tack on is making me seriously consider destroying your right now. Try a different approach, for your sake."
"Right...well, they said that practice makes perfect, so if you've had nothing but time to practice, that makes you perfect at what you do!"
"That is the dumbest thing I've heard yet...but you aren't exactly wrong. I have some modicum of skill, but that doesn't mean it will translate towards teaching you a lick of anything."
"Do you and I lose anything by trying?"
"...no, we don't."
Oz'Kar started to train Blatzer'Gkin, which must have made for an odd sight. Oz'Kar was now on the level of a Herald of Nurgle, but while most of his peers were now approaching greater heights, conquering entire worlds in their Grandfather name, he was attempting to training a Nurgling how to do even just basic warp-magic spells.
And something amazing happened...Blatzer'Gkin did, in fact, learn how to use spells. They were only basic ones, the type that human sorcerers could do after reading a basic tome. Still, for a Nurgling, it was unprecedented for such a tiny creature to learn even a basic cantrip of the Warp, let alone an actual spell of the Plague Father.
Blatzer'Gkin profusely thanked Oz'Kar before the grumpy daemon told him to get lost. Oz'Kar sank back into his trash-can and continued studying, although he did feel good about helping one of his kin with something.
It was only a few decades later, but effectively just a day in the Warp, before Blatzer'Gkin returned and this time with a veritable army of Nurglings trailing behind him!
"What is this?! Why are there more of you here?!"
"They saw that I can use spells now, and I told them I had a great teacher! Oz'Kar, you can teach us all how to be spellcasters!"
"Why in the name of the million plagues of Grandfather would I ever do that?"
"Because it's a good deed?"
"Meh."
"Because you are really good at it?"
"Meh!"
"Well, how about the fact that if you train all of us, we can spread your name whenever we are summoned, plus you'll have a bunch of us as allies."
"...I can see the appeal, but no!"
The look of disappointment on the Nurglings face was heartbreaking, but Oz'Kar kept his ground and firmly told them all to leave. He then went back to studying...and then was unable to concentrate. He sat and glowered in his trash-can, all the while Filthy moved about the gardens before realizing that he felt bad. For once in his miserable existence, someone came up to him for advice and also because they thought he was someone capable of teaching another. The genuine look of happiness and excitement directed towards him...made the daemon feel good about himself.
After thinking and soul-searching, followed by talking with Horticulous Slimux, he decided to speak with his creator about this whole situation.
---
Nurgle wasn't an unreasonable god; if anything, he was quite a generous one, but he still expected things of his children and followers, especially when they make requests. When Oz'Kar arrived and all but demanded the right to create a school, Nurlge would allow it on one condition...he had to earn it first.
"Go out into the Materium, young one." He spoke with pride towards the frowning Oz'Kar, "Use your knowledge to spread my teachings and love, and in exchange, I shall give you a place in my realm to teach." That wasn't the best trade-off, but Oz'Kar wasn't able to say no.
He was given a host of worlds and civilizations to turn them into places of plague and disease. It wasn't going to be an easy task, though, and it would be one that would take millions of years to accomplish. One must remember that during these eras, Chaos's forces could only influence so much of the Materium.
Patience was a virtue, and it was thankfully one of Oz'Kar's better qualities. Nurgle kept his promise upon his acceptance, and Oz'Kar was given a chunk of the Gardens to act as his "school" for the Nurglings when he wasn't actively involved in real space. He contacted Blatzer'Gkin and told him that he was now his "co-instructor" since he got him into this mess, but the Nurgling was more than happy for such a prestigious position!
And so it went, Oz'Kar had been given the right to teach generations of the few Nurglings that were capable of using Nurgle's gifts and magic. Blatzer'Gkin became his star pupil and, to a lesser extent, his ambassador and "translator" whenever Oz'Kar was in a particular mood that century.
It was the start of an extraordinary friendship, but more so when Oz'Kar began his ascent towards becoming an Exalted.
---
There is no such thing as a quick or easy way towards becoming a Greater Daemon, let alone an Exalted of your patron deity. It is also fought with dangers, setbacks, and hindrances from a million variables and sudden events. Oz'Kar was not exempt from such obstacles, no matter how smart or cunning he thought he was during this long period.
For the next sixteen million years, Oz'Kar was a daemon that earned his powers and favor with Nurgle by engineering several thousand plagues and the destruction of now less than six entire alien civilizations. He fought against the Eldar Empire, sometimes personally, and even hundreds of minor proxy wars against the armies of Tzeentch.
He even gained a pair of arch-nemesis in the form of a Greater Daemon of Tzeentch known as Eel'Vmo the Lord of Nine Crowns and an Eldar "Count" named Iarilin, who would later become one of the Ulwarth. Both of which were still alive to this day, working towards ending Oz'Kar.
As he would later claim, "I wasn't even trying to get enemies, I was trying to spread plagues. My enemies have to make this about themselves, though!"
However, Oz'Kar had finally done the impossible and became a Greater Daemon. His allies were now numerous, including his connections to several powerful daemons, such as a pair of Greater Daemons of Khorne, the "Slaughter Twins." But even with all that, he had not found the source of what would allow him to become an Exalted of Nurgle. There were also hundreds of millions of lesser daemons of Nurgle that were part of his considerable list of allies and servants. Even with all of that, he only remained at the level of a Greater Daemon.
Nurgle didn't just grant exaltation to anyone, and while Oz'Kar had the benefit of being connected to the Plague Father, that wasn't ground for such a boon. Unlike the other Exalted, Oz'Kar was slow and ponderous in his approach to things. However, the benefits for him outweighed the express dangers of trying to do something that could backfire on him.
Still, he was left with trying to scour the galaxy for something that could offer him the necessary prestige and power. For once in his nearly nineteen million years of existence, Oz'Kar was actually motivated to accomplish this task. Besides, he had made it this far; why not go the extra step?
Even a grouchy Greater Daemon could see the benefits. It probably helped that Blatzer'Gkin, perhaps one of the most powerful Nurglings in the galaxy, kept encouraging him. So, the two and their collective followers set out to find the last task needed to propel Oz'Kar into true exaltation.
---
It took them another 600,000 years, but they finally found what they were looking for in the form of a recently discovered race that called themselves the Dopplers. They were primitive, barely discovering how to make copper tools, but they were psychically active, and more importantly, they held a natural ability to shapeshift. This wasn't just any minor shape change or a trick. Their bodies, minds, and souls could allow for them to copy an individual so precisely that apart from appearance, they could acquire physical features (like voice), skills, mindset, and characteristic behaviors.
A Doppler doesn't even need any previous insightful observation; they do it instinctively. They could even change fragments of their bodies into clothes or equipment, like a sword or lute. It was beyond amazing. However, the galaxy gives...it also takes. A Doppler was a creature whose minds were chaotic by the very nature of copying one another. It was said that each Doppler had no less than seventeen different personalities at a time. Still, one that could control this nature allowed them to become neigh impossible to detect when shapeshifted.
But there was one other problem, and that was their bodies failing them. One should remember that when attempting to be another creature for too long, one could forget their own body in due time. The Dopplers minds were broken, as were their bodies, as they suffered genetic entropy. They wouldn't survive the next five thousand years at this rate.
What else was there to say? This was a golden opportunity. Oz'Kar could sweep in, save the Dopplers, uplift them, and spread the love and joy of Grandfather Nurgle.
So, of course, something got in his way. Or, someone.
For as soon as he arrived on the Doppler homeworld, he saw that there was another agent of the gods here...it was Eel'Vmo the Lord of Nine Crowns!
"Eel'Vmo?! How did you get here?!"
"Hoi-hoi-hoi! I've been following you this whole time, stupid trash-beast! And now you've brought me this lovely little race! Such a species with a unique set of skills will make excellent thralls to the Changer of Ways!"
"Oh, that is it! I've been passive all my life, but I will not let you make the Dopplers your slaves!"
And so it began, a civil war broke out between the Dopplers. Those aligned to Oz'Kar and those with Eel'Vmo. The difference was that Eel'Vmo had the benefit of giving his followers powerful relics, technologies, and even daemon forces to support them. However, Oz'Kar was a patient daemon, and more importantly, he had experience teaching those deemed incapable of being taught.
So, Oz'Kar focused on uplifting the Dopplers. He taught them how to make steel, taught them how to build, read and write, and gave them the necessary plagues to enhance their bodies to survive the genetic entropy. More importantly, he taught them how to use the powers of the warp to their advantage. Eel'Vmo tried to do the same, but he focused more on teaching his Dopplers to channel the most powerful spells.
It was the age-old battle: slow and steady vs. the fast and the furious.
This battle raged for almost two centuries before it finally ended in victory for Oz'Kar and his faction. For the first time in nineteen million years, the forces of Nurgle gained a uniquely suited client race. The Dopplers would take a hundred generations to recover truly, but by the end of it, they were avid worshippers of the Plague Father and his "son," Oz'Kar.
And for his service in helping them go from a bronze age to an industrial one, their world honors Oz'Kar to this day. They were even the ones that would ultimately give him his title, a direct reference to his seething contempt towards the enemies of the Doppler and his pessimism towards the cruelties that others would force upon new races. A grumble towards the unfairness of it all.
Oz'Kar the Malcontent.
---
Grandfather Nurgle was most pleased with Oz'Kar. Not only had he brought the glories of the Plague Father to a new race, allowing for the forces of Nurgle to have an infiltrator race within their ranks, he also did by defeating one of Tzeentch's most powerful minions in the process.
Oz'Kar had done his "father" a great service. It might not have been the most grandiose of endeavors, nor one that granted Nurgle himself a great boon, but it gave something more to the Plague Father: redemption.
"When you were created, Oz'Kar, it was during a time when I saw a race with so much potential die at the hands of the cruel Eldar. Such sorrow, remorse, and anger, I spat it out from my body, and you were the results of it. When I saw how displeased and unhappy you were with everything, I thought I brought a child into this world with hate. But now I see that you are a creature of compassion and love, understanding and learning, and whose only anger is because of this galaxy's unfairness upon the young races. You have taught others, both among your peers and now with the Dopplers. I see what you are now, a teacher. And so you shall remain a teacher. Go now, Oz'Kar the Malcontent, go forth from my Garden now and forevermore an Exalted!"
He had done it. Oz'Kar, now fueled with power everlasting, was an Exalted of Nurgle. Now the next question remained...
What to do now?
---
It was the dawn of a new age. A new and powerful race emerged from the Sol System, humanity. Grandfather Nurgle had been aware of them for some time, but again his influence waned as their race spurred sickness and plagues. Worse yet, the Anathema actively fought against the gods. Humanity would go through a golden age, but it would end in what we know today as the Age of Strife.
The Eldar Empire would fall as well, the Eldar's gods all but utterly destroyed by Slaanesh during the Fall. However, the one known as Isha was saved by Grandfather Nurgle and made into his eternal bridge in exchange for rescuing her.
Meanwhile, the gods had gone back to fighting amongst one another. The Imperium of Man had also proven to be a rather dangerous foe towards the gods' long-term goals. In short, it was a chaotic time.
And then there was Oz'Kar. Who continued to run his little school inside the Gardens of Nurgle. He was still grumpy, a sourpuss, and an all-around pissed off Exalted. He had made a few upgrades. Namely, he now rested inside a repurposed Imperial Titan that acted as a sort of exo-suit/trash-can.
Don't worry about Filthy the Molluscoid; he was given to Blatzer'Gkin, who was now Oz'Kar "grand vizier."
Oz'Kar had gone back to teaching, but this time he had thousands of students trying to learn from him. Some were even Heralds and occasionally a Greater Daemon that wanted to brush up on the basics. It was a great old time, but soon enough, Nurgle decided that he needed to do some more, especially an Exalted. However, the Plague Father realized that Oz'Kar teaching ability could still be useful in the right circumstances.
"I want you to start training these humans. There are so many of them flocking under my banner, but they need guidance and instruction."
"Meh."
"Don't be like that, Oz'Kar. You have a gift, and you've already done it once with the Dopplers. Besides, I think it's time you get some more responsibility. I want to give you a project, an extraordinary one."
"Hrm, I don't know."
"I need someone I can trust on this, and you were the first one to come to mind. Besides, you could have an entire Daemon World, one of my oldest, as your personal school! Think about it; you could have billions, perhaps trillions of students, in enough time."
Twenty million years ago, Oz'Kar wouldn't have cared for the offer...but he wasn't the same daemon anymore. He had tasted power, responsibility and had a reputation to upheld. Besides, the chance to have a daemonworld for himself? It was too good to pass up.
He would be given the world of Zezame and tasked with making it into a productive world for his father.
---
When this story began, Zezame was a place of learning and education, crafted by Grandfather Nurgle's design. The sad truth was that Zezama had been designed that way, but it instead had atrophied and turned into something resembling more akin to a place of worthless knowledge and quiet demises for its inhabitants. It never even reached a billion sentients by the time Oz'Kar arrived.
One must remember the realities of Nurgle: slow, ponderous, growth at a measurable pace, and never fast or without foundation. Unfortunately, planetary growth tends to go poorly, especially on Daemon Worlds. Then again, perhaps Nurgle was aware of this and made this assignment another challenge for Oz'Kar.
The relatively new Exalted arrived on a world bare of learning, education, or families. Zezame needed fixing, even if Grandfather Nurgle had his own intentions in mind for it. But, Blatzer'Gkin brought up a concern.
"I don't know, master. Changing everything...that's pretty Tzeentchian if you don't mind me saying."
"Well, I do mind that, and if you weren't my vizier, I'd have crushed you by now for even suggesting that I was doing such a thing. Still, you do make a point. Something needs to...let's say revitalized then instead of change. Yes, revitalized."
"We need more people! Let's bring in more humans; I heard there are quadrillions of them in the galaxy now! There's gotta be a couple billion that wouldn't mind being educated!"
"Hrm, more mortals to take care of, how annoying. If I'm going to surround myself with all of them, we need some humans that are worth a damn. Have your Nurglings scour the galaxy, get the smartest and well-rounded sorcerers and cultists you can find."
Thanks to the connections made from millions of years of tutoring and teaching hundreds of millions of minor and lesser daemons, Oz'Kar was able to gather a nation's worth of humans and brought them to Zezame. They would help him get the planet ready for the initial colonization effort. Oz'Kar would make Zezame a place for families and learning, just like Nurgle intended.
Unfortunately, there were more setbacks, and it came in the most peculiar way possible: the humans feared him and his power. Oz'Kar had only limited experience with interacting with mortals as an Exalted. He learned that his aura alone could drive them forward but made it impossible for real feedback. Most of the cultists just acted like "yes men" when he gave them orders or instructions.
It wasn't good for the long term sustainability of Zezame. Besides, he needed a governor that could actually think for themselves when he was gone. Oz'Kar wasn't going to trust Blatzer'Gkin, no way he'd ever do that.
He had to wait for about a hundred years before one human finally stepped forward, a wizened sorcerer by the name of Rem Lezar.
Their first meeting was a bizarre one.
---
"Lord Oz'Kar!" The human shouted up at the Exalted, "I demand to speak to you of a matter most urgent!"
So surprised by the intrusion, it caused Oz'Kar to arise from his Titan-Trash Can like an ugly worm from a rotting tin-can at the intruder.
"Who barges into my throne room?! Where the hell is my guards or that blasted vizier of mine?!" Now he glared down at the human before him, "And who are you?! You better have an appointment."
He gave a small bow to the giant Exalted, "I am Rem Lezar, formerly the leader of the Children of a New Tomorrow Cult and a Sorceror of minor renown. My people have only just recently arrived on Zezame."
"Meh. Get to the point."
"Right, well, with all due respect...this planet is being run quite...terribly. No offense." He braced himself, expecting to either get destroyed or turned into some nightmarish tumor on legs.
"And...? I'm more than aware of this."
Rem Lezar, realizing that he wasn't dead or mutated, decided to press his luck, "Well, before I became the leader of the Children, I was governor of a world. I became the leader of that cult because I had no power due to the oligarchs and machine cultists effectively using me as nothing more than a tool to increase the planet's resource output. Not to brag, because I know you don't care, but my former homeworld was one of the richest within 100 lightyears."
"Still not hearing a point to this meeting."
The human took a breath, "Let me take control of your administration operations and planning. I know how to get people to rise above their station; I was a proponent of education because I was a teacher before becoming a politician long ago. Per the mandate of this world, I can help you learn more about human families and children."
There was another pause before the Exalted spoke again, "So you think you can run this world better than me?"
"I wouldn't say better than you, but I can supplement your decision making with my experiences and get us both what we want."
"Hrmm." The Exalted considered it before he asked one last question, "How did you get past all my guards and defenses anyway?"
"Your guards are bored, and your defenses are rather pitiful. All I had to do was act as I belonged here, make a few indications and implications about something, and people listen. I suppose even daemons don't like thinking their overlord is watching their work or lack thereof."
"Tch." The Exalted was quite grumpy now, "Fine. You got the job. Be back here tomorrow, and be ready to work, sorcerer." Oz'Kar retreated inside his walking home, "We have much work to do."
---
Oz'Kar and Blatzer'Gkin hated to admit it, but Rem Lezar was actually quite useful. He was the missing component to ensure the long term success of Zezame. His human insight and perception, along with experience of human families, children, education, and governance, was the perfect mix of talents and wisdom needed to get this world up and running.
And it showed because, within fifty years, the world of Zezame grew from a population of a billion to that of forty billion. More importantly, a host of new cities, universities, schools, and training centers appeared—each one allowing for the families of Nurgle cultists to learn and grow in relative peace.
It was there that Oz'Kar was also able to start controlled testing of new biological stimulants, minor plagues, mutation strains, and individual testing for warp-reactive substances for humans. Overall, Oz'Kar was able to do a bit of research on the side. However, he was able to find enough time also to teach.
He found that teaching humans were a dreadfully boring and easy task to accomplish. In his eyes, they had no real talent, but their ability to learn and excel at the most basic and intermediate levels of training was quite excellent. Oz'Kar would never teach them how to be true masters, let alone a Grandmaster, but that wasn't his job.
Oz'Kar was here to give these people that flocked to his banner a chance to be something more. Because on some level, he empathized with many who claimed to have been born in the "trash" or "gutters" of their worlds. Like him, they came here pessimistic and cynical, even after being exposed to the Plague Fathers' love. Likewise, the children were considered discarded or ignored in their homes, likely destined to be poor and forgotten.
Yet Oz'Kar was giving them a chance. He didn't even mind if they only learned how to read and write and learned a basic trade. At the very least, he ensured that they had the opportunity.
Meanwhile, the families that arrived were grateful for the powerful Exalted protection and that a human was the one ensuring their world grew. Many of the cultists sang praises to the Lord of Malcontents. A few took it upon themselves to call a school of thinking: Warp-Malcontentism.
In doing so, Oz'Kar had indeed cultivated a new nation for Father Nurgle, one born of those unwashed masses and ignorant folks, whose only crime was never given a chance to succeed. But just like Oz'Kar the Malcontent, there was always an opportunity to be more and to better yourself.
It was here on Zezame, where for many, a new future awaited them.
---
"How accurate is this information?" Kesar looked up at Jaghatai, "Because this reads like a children's storybook and propaganda piece."
The Stormlord nodded, "That's what my Stormseers are thinking as well about this Oz'Kar and Zezame. However, the windfall of information was critical, to say the least. They got lucky with their divination this time around."
Kesar nodded, "That Nurgle has access to a race of Shapeshifters is useful, let alone that there is another Exalted in the Maelstrom and possibly a psyker training ground. If we encounter this Zezame, it's going to be a hard fight."
The Khan nodded, "Nothing new for either of us, although I'm curious about why the God of Rot would allow for such information, even if just misleading, to go out?"
"Easy, it makes both the world and its rulers relatable." He shook his head, "We forget that the Exalted, nay all of daemonkind, are so alien and inhuman. Can a man truly hope to understand the machinations of such a being?"
"Honestly? I don't care what they think or tell themselves. All I want to know is how do we kill this thing if we encounter it?"
Kesar's eyes harden, "The same way we kill all our enemies; fire and steel."
---
@Daemon Hunter Just give me a heads up if there are corrections I need to do to make this in-line with canon.
Our story begins, like so many others, with an explanation...
Nurgle doesn't ask much from his adherents, followers, or children. If anything, he perhaps gives more than any other Chaos God. It's odd to imagine it, but compared to Tzeentch, Nurgle is one of the few gods that care more about "basic" education than anyone else. The Changer of Ways loves forbidden and esoteric knowledge, but he expects his followers to be educated, cultured, and intellectual by nature.
Yet it is Nurgle that cares more about those who even the Emperor would call 'people of the dirt' or 'laymens' regarding the uneducated and unwashed masses of humanity. Those people deemed too stupid or worthless for education were the ones who gravitated towards the Plague Father.
And it was exceptionally true in regards to his most loyal of believers. Men and women and children who could once couldn't even read or write, shamed by their collective societies, as being bumpkins. It was true even among Chaos's cults, where Nurglites were mocked and scorned by the "ivory tower" elites as Nurgle liked to call Tzeentch's most "qualified" of warp-scholars and sorcerers.
However, Nurgle still reached out and taught his followers, even as the plagues ravaged their worlds, their bodies, and souls. They had the right to basic education, and he would give it to them.
Because, more than anything, Nurgle was a parental figure, and as a Grandfather, he had to teach and guide others. Sometimes that came in rather queer forms of learning and educating. One didn't need to learn about the galaxy from books but experience. Persistence in the face of dangers or plagues were a personal favorite of the Plague Father. Hence, his focus is 'helping' the sick and dying, especially among children and the elderly.
Unfortunately, there was a problem, and it was one that Nurgle didn't recognize until his arch-nemesis insulted him one day. Once again, they had argued over the nature of whose followers were treated better. When Nurgle described that his children had the best education, Tzeentch disagreed. He did not laugh or even mock Nurgle, a strange departure from their usual arguments. If anything, his foe was offended by what he heard.
"You claim to be a patron of education for your followers? Where are their schools, their universities, or the places of education for them? And you claim to love your followers as your children? How can you ever hope to encourage any learning if they have no place to call their own archives of knowledge and studies."
It shocked Nurgle to admit it, but Tzeentch was right! His followers deserved a place to learn and raise a family alongside their studies. Even the ordinarily slow and stagnant god was excited about the prospect! A world of education, family, and a home for his most outstanding scholars and sorcerers.
But more than that, he was going to make a wonderful, happy, and delightful place.
So, he found the perfect world for this great experiment. Soon enough, he summoned forth a rather strange collection of daemons and told them that they were to educate the mortals that arrived, and more importantly, protect and teach their children. It was no surprise that many of his followers were more than eager to take on roles as teachers and mentors.
Thus the Daemon World of Zezame was brought into being, created, and cultivated with planets and disease from the Plague Father garden. It was to be given to an Exalted for stewardship.
And it was this Exalted that the real story of Zezame would begin...with its cankerous and foul-tempered master, a creature that was the complete opposite of the Plague Fathers positive and joyous disposition, and whose only purpose in life was to be a no-good, sour-face, and cranky daemon.
Oz'Kar the Malcontent.
---
Who is Oz'Kar? And why the title of "Malcontent"? Are not the greatest of Nurgle's children considered happy or at least content? Certainly, one of his Exalted would be one of his most delighted servants. Unfortunately, Oz'Kar was not created during a grand or happy moment but rather in one of the galaxy's rarest events.
Grandfather Nurgle is said to have never gotten truly angry. Upset, yes. Annoyed, most certainly. But never furious, even when facing off against his nemesis and his cronies. It just wasn't in Nurgle's nature to get mad. But it could happen, and when it did, it was a terrifying and destructive moment.
One such event that led to Oz'Kar's creation was the Xenocide of the Thullian Hierarchy some twenty million years ago. Long before sapient lived evolved on Earth, when the Orks were still fighting amongst themselves, and the Eldar Empire reigned supreme, there were the Thullians.
The Thullians were a race with the most peculiar quirk; they had immunity to most diseases and viruses. You'd think that Father Nurgle would hate such a race, but he discovered the Thullians, aware of their biological strengths, decided to start making plagues and bio-weapons most powerful. Their logic was simple, "If anything starts to attack us, we'll know for sure that we made a great plague!"
Most pleased with this mentality, Grandfather Nurgle decided to offer his boons and blessings towards the young race! And in only 1,500 years did the Thullians emerge from their systems, masters of plagues, viruses, and bio-weapons, unlike anything the galaxy had seen yet.
However, the mean-old Eldar Empire decided that the Thullians were a threat. They played a callous joke upon the Thullians. Using their vast array of technologies and psy-powers, they enhanced the Thullians immunity system to the point that their own bodies started to reject even their own blood cells!
Unable to aid them, Nurgle watched as an entire civilization died before him. Normally, entropy and the end of civilization is something that Nurgle understands, even savors. However, the Thullians were snuffed far too young, innocent children murdered by their cruel elders. It was too much, even for Nurgle.
He felt angry, outraged even. But more than that, he felt grief and sorrow at having witnessed the end of such a beautiful race.
It was in those moments, which to our mortal minds would've been thousands of years, did Nurgle feel something take shape inside his throat. That vile bitterness, that which anyone feels when they don't know whether to scream or cry or puke, formed into an ugly little ball of malcontent, hatred, and resentment towards the Eldar, towards all 'healthy' creatures that we're jealous of such innocence and curiosity within the Thullians.
Until finally...Nurgle hacked and coughed the vile, bitter feelings that formed in his soul and spat it out into his garden, right into one of the buckets that his Chief Gardner, Horticulous Slimux. Who upon seeing what had taken shape inside the trash-bucket, promptly and with his ever-present lack of humor, held up a pouting, grumpy, frowning, little Nurglite.
"Yours, master?" Horticulous, the little creature seemed keen to stay inside the bucket.
Nurgle seemed surprised, "Goodness, I seem to have made a little daemon from all that hate." Seeing that even after all the torment he felt, it was nice to see a new addition to the family. Perhaps this one would make him feel better about the loss of the Thullians, "And what is your name, little one?" He spoke with the same grandfatherly tone as he had with trillions of others.
The creature in the bucket said nothing before lowering itself back into the bucket with a grumble. Nurgle blinked at the rather uncommon response. Horticulous spared only a small glance at the creature, now glowering in the bucket, "I suppose one would be upset about being born into a waste-bucket, master."
"Hrm..." Nurgle frowned before grabbing the bucket and looking down at the Nurglite, "Come now, don't be shy."
Again, all the creature did was pout and glower, not even bothering to look at the Plague Father or Chief Gardner.
Horticulous frowned once more, "I don't think he's shy; I think he just angry."
"I didn't mean to launch him into a bucket!" The Plague Father defended himself, "It's fine, though! I'm sure he'll be right of acid-rains by the next day." Looking down at the frowning, pouting, and angry little creature, he tried to smile at him. "Give me a name, little one, please."
There was a bit of silence before it finally spoke, "Oz'Kar."
Now with a broad smile, the Plague Father gently patted the head of Oz'Kar. "Good! That's a good name for one of my children! Oh, I'm sure we'll be great friends in time!"
Where many would've enjoyed the praise, Oz'Kar only said one thing in response, "Meh." He sniffed and looked away from Grand Father Nurgle.
The Plague Father looked hurt, while Horticulous did something that surprised even the Plague Father. He chuckled, only once, but the infamously humorless daemon had enjoyed the short spectacle immensely.
"Heh." The Chief Gardner gave an oily, disgusting chuckle at the response, "I like him."
---
Oz'Kar was not born with the powers of an Exalted; he was nothing more than a lesser daemon when he was created. That was to say; he certainly embodied the sluggishness related to Grandfather Nurgle. And to say that he was special was inaccurate as well. Oz'Kar, while not lazy, took only the bare minimum approach to things. Save for one thing; learning.
So while most daemons spent their century millennia practicing and playing in the Gardens or the lesser warp realms of Nurgle, Oz'Kar was seen studying tomes. It didn't help that Oz'Kar spent much of his time inside his bucket until he eventually "upgraded" to a trash-can transported by a Molluscoid (who Oz'Kar named Filthy) from his only real friend, Horticulous Slimux. The Chief Gardner took a liking to him after his constant rebuffing of Nurgle affection.
Other daemons didn't like him either, especially after such displays of what they believed to be contempt or spite towards Grand Father Nurgle. However, while Oz'Kar was grumpy and meant sounding daemon, he didn't despise or hate anyone. He just was constantly upset about one thing or another.
"Let's go ride the rot-flies, Oz'Kar!"
"Their buzzing annoys me."
"How about we go to the Plague Grounds?!"
"Too many other daemons there."
"We should invade the materium!"
"It's full of stupid mortals. I'd rather stay here."
On and on it went, for the first million years, most considered Oz'Kar to be such a useless sourpuss that many of his peers ignored him once they got stronger and more powerful. He refused to have what many considered fun or make any bonds. He was if nothing else, more an outcast than anything, and that suited Oz'Kar just fine. Time moved forward, and almost everyone forgot about the little old "trash daemon" that was Oz'Kar.
Around the start of his third megaannum (that is three million years, mind you), he encountered a Nurgling by the name of Blatzer'Gkin. This lesser daemon had a strange dream in that he wanted to become a warp-user and one that the mortals could summon instead of being one of the endless, diminutive minions of others. He came to Oz'Kar, mainly because he was his last hope of learning. Most other daemons scoffed or threatened Blatzer'Gkin, but Oz'Kar at first was no different.
"What makes you think I can teach you anything?"
"I heard some of the bigger kids say you spend all your days just practicing your abilities. That's all they say about you, that and you are really grumpy, a sourpuss, smell bad, live in a trash-can-"
"Every additional word you tack on is making me seriously consider destroying your right now. Try a different approach, for your sake."
"Right...well, they said that practice makes perfect, so if you've had nothing but time to practice, that makes you perfect at what you do!"
"That is the dumbest thing I've heard yet...but you aren't exactly wrong. I have some modicum of skill, but that doesn't mean it will translate towards teaching you a lick of anything."
"Do you and I lose anything by trying?"
"...no, we don't."
Oz'Kar started to train Blatzer'Gkin, which must have made for an odd sight. Oz'Kar was now on the level of a Herald of Nurgle, but while most of his peers were now approaching greater heights, conquering entire worlds in their Grandfather name, he was attempting to training a Nurgling how to do even just basic warp-magic spells.
And something amazing happened...Blatzer'Gkin did, in fact, learn how to use spells. They were only basic ones, the type that human sorcerers could do after reading a basic tome. Still, for a Nurgling, it was unprecedented for such a tiny creature to learn even a basic cantrip of the Warp, let alone an actual spell of the Plague Father.
Blatzer'Gkin profusely thanked Oz'Kar before the grumpy daemon told him to get lost. Oz'Kar sank back into his trash-can and continued studying, although he did feel good about helping one of his kin with something.
It was only a few decades later, but effectively just a day in the Warp, before Blatzer'Gkin returned and this time with a veritable army of Nurglings trailing behind him!
"What is this?! Why are there more of you here?!"
"They saw that I can use spells now, and I told them I had a great teacher! Oz'Kar, you can teach us all how to be spellcasters!"
"Why in the name of the million plagues of Grandfather would I ever do that?"
"Because it's a good deed?"
"Meh."
"Because you are really good at it?"
"Meh!"
"Well, how about the fact that if you train all of us, we can spread your name whenever we are summoned, plus you'll have a bunch of us as allies."
"...I can see the appeal, but no!"
The look of disappointment on the Nurglings face was heartbreaking, but Oz'Kar kept his ground and firmly told them all to leave. He then went back to studying...and then was unable to concentrate. He sat and glowered in his trash-can, all the while Filthy moved about the gardens before realizing that he felt bad. For once in his miserable existence, someone came up to him for advice and also because they thought he was someone capable of teaching another. The genuine look of happiness and excitement directed towards him...made the daemon feel good about himself.
After thinking and soul-searching, followed by talking with Horticulous Slimux, he decided to speak with his creator about this whole situation.
---
Nurgle wasn't an unreasonable god; if anything, he was quite a generous one, but he still expected things of his children and followers, especially when they make requests. When Oz'Kar arrived and all but demanded the right to create a school, Nurlge would allow it on one condition...he had to earn it first.
"Go out into the Materium, young one." He spoke with pride towards the frowning Oz'Kar, "Use your knowledge to spread my teachings and love, and in exchange, I shall give you a place in my realm to teach." That wasn't the best trade-off, but Oz'Kar wasn't able to say no.
He was given a host of worlds and civilizations to turn them into places of plague and disease. It wasn't going to be an easy task, though, and it would be one that would take millions of years to accomplish. One must remember that during these eras, Chaos's forces could only influence so much of the Materium.
Patience was a virtue, and it was thankfully one of Oz'Kar's better qualities. Nurgle kept his promise upon his acceptance, and Oz'Kar was given a chunk of the Gardens to act as his "school" for the Nurglings when he wasn't actively involved in real space. He contacted Blatzer'Gkin and told him that he was now his "co-instructor" since he got him into this mess, but the Nurgling was more than happy for such a prestigious position!
And so it went, Oz'Kar had been given the right to teach generations of the few Nurglings that were capable of using Nurgle's gifts and magic. Blatzer'Gkin became his star pupil and, to a lesser extent, his ambassador and "translator" whenever Oz'Kar was in a particular mood that century.
It was the start of an extraordinary friendship, but more so when Oz'Kar began his ascent towards becoming an Exalted.
---
There is no such thing as a quick or easy way towards becoming a Greater Daemon, let alone an Exalted of your patron deity. It is also fought with dangers, setbacks, and hindrances from a million variables and sudden events. Oz'Kar was not exempt from such obstacles, no matter how smart or cunning he thought he was during this long period.
For the next sixteen million years, Oz'Kar was a daemon that earned his powers and favor with Nurgle by engineering several thousand plagues and the destruction of now less than six entire alien civilizations. He fought against the Eldar Empire, sometimes personally, and even hundreds of minor proxy wars against the armies of Tzeentch.
He even gained a pair of arch-nemesis in the form of a Greater Daemon of Tzeentch known as Eel'Vmo the Lord of Nine Crowns and an Eldar "Count" named Iarilin, who would later become one of the Ulwarth. Both of which were still alive to this day, working towards ending Oz'Kar.
As he would later claim, "I wasn't even trying to get enemies, I was trying to spread plagues. My enemies have to make this about themselves, though!"
However, Oz'Kar had finally done the impossible and became a Greater Daemon. His allies were now numerous, including his connections to several powerful daemons, such as a pair of Greater Daemons of Khorne, the "Slaughter Twins." But even with all that, he had not found the source of what would allow him to become an Exalted of Nurgle. There were also hundreds of millions of lesser daemons of Nurgle that were part of his considerable list of allies and servants. Even with all of that, he only remained at the level of a Greater Daemon.
Nurgle didn't just grant exaltation to anyone, and while Oz'Kar had the benefit of being connected to the Plague Father, that wasn't ground for such a boon. Unlike the other Exalted, Oz'Kar was slow and ponderous in his approach to things. However, the benefits for him outweighed the express dangers of trying to do something that could backfire on him.
Still, he was left with trying to scour the galaxy for something that could offer him the necessary prestige and power. For once in his nearly nineteen million years of existence, Oz'Kar was actually motivated to accomplish this task. Besides, he had made it this far; why not go the extra step?
Even a grouchy Greater Daemon could see the benefits. It probably helped that Blatzer'Gkin, perhaps one of the most powerful Nurglings in the galaxy, kept encouraging him. So, the two and their collective followers set out to find the last task needed to propel Oz'Kar into true exaltation.
---
It took them another 600,000 years, but they finally found what they were looking for in the form of a recently discovered race that called themselves the Dopplers. They were primitive, barely discovering how to make copper tools, but they were psychically active, and more importantly, they held a natural ability to shapeshift. This wasn't just any minor shape change or a trick. Their bodies, minds, and souls could allow for them to copy an individual so precisely that apart from appearance, they could acquire physical features (like voice), skills, mindset, and characteristic behaviors.
A Doppler doesn't even need any previous insightful observation; they do it instinctively. They could even change fragments of their bodies into clothes or equipment, like a sword or lute. It was beyond amazing. However, the galaxy gives...it also takes. A Doppler was a creature whose minds were chaotic by the very nature of copying one another. It was said that each Doppler had no less than seventeen different personalities at a time. Still, one that could control this nature allowed them to become neigh impossible to detect when shapeshifted.
But there was one other problem, and that was their bodies failing them. One should remember that when attempting to be another creature for too long, one could forget their own body in due time. The Dopplers minds were broken, as were their bodies, as they suffered genetic entropy. They wouldn't survive the next five thousand years at this rate.
What else was there to say? This was a golden opportunity. Oz'Kar could sweep in, save the Dopplers, uplift them, and spread the love and joy of Grandfather Nurgle.
So, of course, something got in his way. Or, someone.
For as soon as he arrived on the Doppler homeworld, he saw that there was another agent of the gods here...it was Eel'Vmo the Lord of Nine Crowns!
"Eel'Vmo?! How did you get here?!"
"Hoi-hoi-hoi! I've been following you this whole time, stupid trash-beast! And now you've brought me this lovely little race! Such a species with a unique set of skills will make excellent thralls to the Changer of Ways!"
"Oh, that is it! I've been passive all my life, but I will not let you make the Dopplers your slaves!"
And so it began, a civil war broke out between the Dopplers. Those aligned to Oz'Kar and those with Eel'Vmo. The difference was that Eel'Vmo had the benefit of giving his followers powerful relics, technologies, and even daemon forces to support them. However, Oz'Kar was a patient daemon, and more importantly, he had experience teaching those deemed incapable of being taught.
So, Oz'Kar focused on uplifting the Dopplers. He taught them how to make steel, taught them how to build, read and write, and gave them the necessary plagues to enhance their bodies to survive the genetic entropy. More importantly, he taught them how to use the powers of the warp to their advantage. Eel'Vmo tried to do the same, but he focused more on teaching his Dopplers to channel the most powerful spells.
It was the age-old battle: slow and steady vs. the fast and the furious.
This battle raged for almost two centuries before it finally ended in victory for Oz'Kar and his faction. For the first time in nineteen million years, the forces of Nurgle gained a uniquely suited client race. The Dopplers would take a hundred generations to recover truly, but by the end of it, they were avid worshippers of the Plague Father and his "son," Oz'Kar.
And for his service in helping them go from a bronze age to an industrial one, their world honors Oz'Kar to this day. They were even the ones that would ultimately give him his title, a direct reference to his seething contempt towards the enemies of the Doppler and his pessimism towards the cruelties that others would force upon new races. A grumble towards the unfairness of it all.
Oz'Kar the Malcontent.
---
Grandfather Nurgle was most pleased with Oz'Kar. Not only had he brought the glories of the Plague Father to a new race, allowing for the forces of Nurgle to have an infiltrator race within their ranks, he also did by defeating one of Tzeentch's most powerful minions in the process.
Oz'Kar had done his "father" a great service. It might not have been the most grandiose of endeavors, nor one that granted Nurgle himself a great boon, but it gave something more to the Plague Father: redemption.
"When you were created, Oz'Kar, it was during a time when I saw a race with so much potential die at the hands of the cruel Eldar. Such sorrow, remorse, and anger, I spat it out from my body, and you were the results of it. When I saw how displeased and unhappy you were with everything, I thought I brought a child into this world with hate. But now I see that you are a creature of compassion and love, understanding and learning, and whose only anger is because of this galaxy's unfairness upon the young races. You have taught others, both among your peers and now with the Dopplers. I see what you are now, a teacher. And so you shall remain a teacher. Go now, Oz'Kar the Malcontent, go forth from my Garden now and forevermore an Exalted!"
He had done it. Oz'Kar, now fueled with power everlasting, was an Exalted of Nurgle. Now the next question remained...
What to do now?
---
It was the dawn of a new age. A new and powerful race emerged from the Sol System, humanity. Grandfather Nurgle had been aware of them for some time, but again his influence waned as their race spurred sickness and plagues. Worse yet, the Anathema actively fought against the gods. Humanity would go through a golden age, but it would end in what we know today as the Age of Strife.
The Eldar Empire would fall as well, the Eldar's gods all but utterly destroyed by Slaanesh during the Fall. However, the one known as Isha was saved by Grandfather Nurgle and made into his eternal bridge in exchange for rescuing her.
Meanwhile, the gods had gone back to fighting amongst one another. The Imperium of Man had also proven to be a rather dangerous foe towards the gods' long-term goals. In short, it was a chaotic time.
And then there was Oz'Kar. Who continued to run his little school inside the Gardens of Nurgle. He was still grumpy, a sourpuss, and an all-around pissed off Exalted. He had made a few upgrades. Namely, he now rested inside a repurposed Imperial Titan that acted as a sort of exo-suit/trash-can.
Don't worry about Filthy the Molluscoid; he was given to Blatzer'Gkin, who was now Oz'Kar "grand vizier."
Oz'Kar had gone back to teaching, but this time he had thousands of students trying to learn from him. Some were even Heralds and occasionally a Greater Daemon that wanted to brush up on the basics. It was a great old time, but soon enough, Nurgle decided that he needed to do some more, especially an Exalted. However, the Plague Father realized that Oz'Kar teaching ability could still be useful in the right circumstances.
"I want you to start training these humans. There are so many of them flocking under my banner, but they need guidance and instruction."
"Meh."
"Don't be like that, Oz'Kar. You have a gift, and you've already done it once with the Dopplers. Besides, I think it's time you get some more responsibility. I want to give you a project, an extraordinary one."
"Hrm, I don't know."
"I need someone I can trust on this, and you were the first one to come to mind. Besides, you could have an entire Daemon World, one of my oldest, as your personal school! Think about it; you could have billions, perhaps trillions of students, in enough time."
Twenty million years ago, Oz'Kar wouldn't have cared for the offer...but he wasn't the same daemon anymore. He had tasted power, responsibility and had a reputation to upheld. Besides, the chance to have a daemonworld for himself? It was too good to pass up.
He would be given the world of Zezame and tasked with making it into a productive world for his father.
---
When this story began, Zezame was a place of learning and education, crafted by Grandfather Nurgle's design. The sad truth was that Zezama had been designed that way, but it instead had atrophied and turned into something resembling more akin to a place of worthless knowledge and quiet demises for its inhabitants. It never even reached a billion sentients by the time Oz'Kar arrived.
One must remember the realities of Nurgle: slow, ponderous, growth at a measurable pace, and never fast or without foundation. Unfortunately, planetary growth tends to go poorly, especially on Daemon Worlds. Then again, perhaps Nurgle was aware of this and made this assignment another challenge for Oz'Kar.
The relatively new Exalted arrived on a world bare of learning, education, or families. Zezame needed fixing, even if Grandfather Nurgle had his own intentions in mind for it. But, Blatzer'Gkin brought up a concern.
"I don't know, master. Changing everything...that's pretty Tzeentchian if you don't mind me saying."
"Well, I do mind that, and if you weren't my vizier, I'd have crushed you by now for even suggesting that I was doing such a thing. Still, you do make a point. Something needs to...let's say revitalized then instead of change. Yes, revitalized."
"We need more people! Let's bring in more humans; I heard there are quadrillions of them in the galaxy now! There's gotta be a couple billion that wouldn't mind being educated!"
"Hrm, more mortals to take care of, how annoying. If I'm going to surround myself with all of them, we need some humans that are worth a damn. Have your Nurglings scour the galaxy, get the smartest and well-rounded sorcerers and cultists you can find."
Thanks to the connections made from millions of years of tutoring and teaching hundreds of millions of minor and lesser daemons, Oz'Kar was able to gather a nation's worth of humans and brought them to Zezame. They would help him get the planet ready for the initial colonization effort. Oz'Kar would make Zezame a place for families and learning, just like Nurgle intended.
Unfortunately, there were more setbacks, and it came in the most peculiar way possible: the humans feared him and his power. Oz'Kar had only limited experience with interacting with mortals as an Exalted. He learned that his aura alone could drive them forward but made it impossible for real feedback. Most of the cultists just acted like "yes men" when he gave them orders or instructions.
It wasn't good for the long term sustainability of Zezame. Besides, he needed a governor that could actually think for themselves when he was gone. Oz'Kar wasn't going to trust Blatzer'Gkin, no way he'd ever do that.
He had to wait for about a hundred years before one human finally stepped forward, a wizened sorcerer by the name of Rem Lezar.
Their first meeting was a bizarre one.
---
"Lord Oz'Kar!" The human shouted up at the Exalted, "I demand to speak to you of a matter most urgent!"
So surprised by the intrusion, it caused Oz'Kar to arise from his Titan-Trash Can like an ugly worm from a rotting tin-can at the intruder.
"Who barges into my throne room?! Where the hell is my guards or that blasted vizier of mine?!" Now he glared down at the human before him, "And who are you?! You better have an appointment."
He gave a small bow to the giant Exalted, "I am Rem Lezar, formerly the leader of the Children of a New Tomorrow Cult and a Sorceror of minor renown. My people have only just recently arrived on Zezame."
"Meh. Get to the point."
"Right, well, with all due respect...this planet is being run quite...terribly. No offense." He braced himself, expecting to either get destroyed or turned into some nightmarish tumor on legs.
"And...? I'm more than aware of this."
Rem Lezar, realizing that he wasn't dead or mutated, decided to press his luck, "Well, before I became the leader of the Children, I was governor of a world. I became the leader of that cult because I had no power due to the oligarchs and machine cultists effectively using me as nothing more than a tool to increase the planet's resource output. Not to brag, because I know you don't care, but my former homeworld was one of the richest within 100 lightyears."
"Still not hearing a point to this meeting."
The human took a breath, "Let me take control of your administration operations and planning. I know how to get people to rise above their station; I was a proponent of education because I was a teacher before becoming a politician long ago. Per the mandate of this world, I can help you learn more about human families and children."
There was another pause before the Exalted spoke again, "So you think you can run this world better than me?"
"I wouldn't say better than you, but I can supplement your decision making with my experiences and get us both what we want."
"Hrmm." The Exalted considered it before he asked one last question, "How did you get past all my guards and defenses anyway?"
"Your guards are bored, and your defenses are rather pitiful. All I had to do was act as I belonged here, make a few indications and implications about something, and people listen. I suppose even daemons don't like thinking their overlord is watching their work or lack thereof."
"Tch." The Exalted was quite grumpy now, "Fine. You got the job. Be back here tomorrow, and be ready to work, sorcerer." Oz'Kar retreated inside his walking home, "We have much work to do."
---
Oz'Kar and Blatzer'Gkin hated to admit it, but Rem Lezar was actually quite useful. He was the missing component to ensure the long term success of Zezame. His human insight and perception, along with experience of human families, children, education, and governance, was the perfect mix of talents and wisdom needed to get this world up and running.
And it showed because, within fifty years, the world of Zezame grew from a population of a billion to that of forty billion. More importantly, a host of new cities, universities, schools, and training centers appeared—each one allowing for the families of Nurgle cultists to learn and grow in relative peace.
It was there that Oz'Kar was also able to start controlled testing of new biological stimulants, minor plagues, mutation strains, and individual testing for warp-reactive substances for humans. Overall, Oz'Kar was able to do a bit of research on the side. However, he was able to find enough time also to teach.
He found that teaching humans were a dreadfully boring and easy task to accomplish. In his eyes, they had no real talent, but their ability to learn and excel at the most basic and intermediate levels of training was quite excellent. Oz'Kar would never teach them how to be true masters, let alone a Grandmaster, but that wasn't his job.
Oz'Kar was here to give these people that flocked to his banner a chance to be something more. Because on some level, he empathized with many who claimed to have been born in the "trash" or "gutters" of their worlds. Like him, they came here pessimistic and cynical, even after being exposed to the Plague Fathers' love. Likewise, the children were considered discarded or ignored in their homes, likely destined to be poor and forgotten.
Yet Oz'Kar was giving them a chance. He didn't even mind if they only learned how to read and write and learned a basic trade. At the very least, he ensured that they had the opportunity.
Meanwhile, the families that arrived were grateful for the powerful Exalted protection and that a human was the one ensuring their world grew. Many of the cultists sang praises to the Lord of Malcontents. A few took it upon themselves to call a school of thinking: Warp-Malcontentism.
In doing so, Oz'Kar had indeed cultivated a new nation for Father Nurgle, one born of those unwashed masses and ignorant folks, whose only crime was never given a chance to succeed. But just like Oz'Kar the Malcontent, there was always an opportunity to be more and to better yourself.
It was here on Zezame, where for many, a new future awaited them.
---
"How accurate is this information?" Kesar looked up at Jaghatai, "Because this reads like a children's storybook and propaganda piece."
The Stormlord nodded, "That's what my Stormseers are thinking as well about this Oz'Kar and Zezame. However, the windfall of information was critical, to say the least. They got lucky with their divination this time around."
Kesar nodded, "That Nurgle has access to a race of Shapeshifters is useful, let alone that there is another Exalted in the Maelstrom and possibly a psyker training ground. If we encounter this Zezame, it's going to be a hard fight."
The Khan nodded, "Nothing new for either of us, although I'm curious about why the God of Rot would allow for such information, even if just misleading, to go out?"
"Easy, it makes both the world and its rulers relatable." He shook his head, "We forget that the Exalted, nay all of daemonkind, are so alien and inhuman. Can a man truly hope to understand the machinations of such a being?"
"Honestly? I don't care what they think or tell themselves. All I want to know is how do we kill this thing if we encounter it?"
Kesar's eyes harden, "The same way we kill all our enemies; fire and steel."
---
@Daemon Hunter Just give me a heads up if there are corrections I need to do to make this in-line with canon.
- Location
- USA
I present the Organized Completed Research List
Math
Mathematical Basics - Basic
Geometry - Basic
Calculus - Basic
Vector Calculus – Advanced
Linear Algebra – Advanced
Multidimensional Mathematics – Master : Requires Linear Algebra
Multidimensional Geometry – Master : Requires Linear Algebra
Differential Equations – Advanced : Requires Linear Algebra
Applied Mathematics/Physics – Advanced : Requires Differential Equations
Game Theory – Master : Requires Differential Equations
Fluid Dynamics – Master : Requires Differential Equations
Numerical Analysis – Master : Requires Differential Equations
Optimization – Master : Requires Differential Equations
Probability Theory – Master : Requires Differential Equations
Statistics – Master : Requires Differential Equations
Control Theory – Master : Requires Differential Equations
Complex Analysis – Master : Requires Differential Equations
Dynamical Systems – Advanced : Requires Differential Equations
Chaos Theory (Math term) – Master : Requires Differential
Complex Analysis – Master : Requires Differential Equations
Basic Cyphers - Basic
Trigonometry – Basic
Mathematical Logic – Basic
Set Theory – Advanced : Requires Mathematical Logic
Category Theory – Advanced : Requires Mathematical Logic
Theory of Computation – Advanced : Requires Mathematical Logic
Pure Math – Advanced : Requires Mathematical Logic
Number Theory – Master : Requires Pure Math
Graph Theory – Master : Requires Pure Math
Group Theory – Master : Requires Pure Math
Topology – Advanced
Fractal Geometry – Advanced
Measure Theory – Advanced
Gellar Field
Gellar Field Basic Design – Basic
Gellar Field Mathematical Modeling – Advanced
Gellar Fields Engine Interaction – Master
Gellar Field Mathematics – Master
Warp Engine Gellar Field Interaction – Master
Void Shield
Void Shields Basic Design– Basic
Void Shield Advanced Design - Advanced
Void Shield Interaction – Master
Void Shield Damage Redistribution - Master
Void Shield Stabilization – Grandmaster
Warp Engine
Warp Engine Basic Design – Basic
Warp Engine Mathematics - Master
Warp Engine Gellar Field Interaction – Master
Genetics
Warp Mutation Mapping – Advanced
Preventing Warp Mutation– Master
Basic Gene Seed – Advanced
Gene Seed Mastery – Master
Astartes Genome - Master
Gene Seed Base Mutation Prevention – Grandmaster
Gene Seed Partial Mutation Prevention – Pioneer (5/6)
Runes
Research Basic rune design
Runic Linking Theory - Master
Runic Crossing Theory - Master
Basic Banish runes
Advanced Rune Design
Pentagrammic Runic Integration – Master
Pentagrammic Runic Lattices - Grandmaster
Crossing Basic Runes - Grandmaster
Soul
Human Soul Reflections - Basic
Basic Soul Properties – Advanced
Chaos/Warp
Basic Understanding of Cultist Behavior - Basic
Advanced Understanding of Cultist Behavior - Advanced
Aetheric Energy - Master
Vortex Mathematics - Basic
Teleportation
Teleportation fundamentals - Basic
Pinpoint Teleportation - Advanced
Teleportarium Mathematics – Master
Teleportarium Armor Incorporation – Master
Large Scale Teleportation - Master
Physics
Mechanics - Basic
Physical Machines - Basic
Basic Materials Science - Basic
Advanced Material Science – Advanced
Bonding - Advanced
Crystallography - Master : Requires Advanced Material Science
Comprehensive Material Science - Master : Requires Advanced
Atomic and Molecular Physics - Advanced
Thermodynamics – Advanced
Relativity – Advanced
Optical Computations – Advanced : Requires Relativity
Quantum Mechanics – Master
High Energy Physics – Master : Requires Quantum Mechanics
Eletromagnetics – Advanced
Condensed Matter Physics – Master : Requires Electromagnetics
Kinetics- Advanced
Basic Human Design Principles - Basic
Advanced Human Design Principles – Advanced
Master Human Design Principles – Master
Warp Reflection
Ways Objects Affect the Warp – Basic
Warp Reflections Completed – Advanced
Anti Warp
Null Rod Understanding – Grandmaster
Machine Spirits
Interacting with Machine Spirits – Advanced
Math
Mathematical Basics - Basic
Geometry - Basic
Calculus - Basic
Vector Calculus – Advanced
Linear Algebra – Advanced
Multidimensional Mathematics – Master : Requires Linear Algebra
Multidimensional Geometry – Master : Requires Linear Algebra
Differential Equations – Advanced : Requires Linear Algebra
Applied Mathematics/Physics – Advanced : Requires Differential Equations
Game Theory – Master : Requires Differential Equations
Fluid Dynamics – Master : Requires Differential Equations
Numerical Analysis – Master : Requires Differential Equations
Optimization – Master : Requires Differential Equations
Probability Theory – Master : Requires Differential Equations
Statistics – Master : Requires Differential Equations
Control Theory – Master : Requires Differential Equations
Complex Analysis – Master : Requires Differential Equations
Dynamical Systems – Advanced : Requires Differential Equations
Chaos Theory (Math term) – Master : Requires Differential
Complex Analysis – Master : Requires Differential Equations
Basic Cyphers - Basic
Trigonometry – Basic
Mathematical Logic – Basic
Set Theory – Advanced : Requires Mathematical Logic
Category Theory – Advanced : Requires Mathematical Logic
Theory of Computation – Advanced : Requires Mathematical Logic
Pure Math – Advanced : Requires Mathematical Logic
Number Theory – Master : Requires Pure Math
Graph Theory – Master : Requires Pure Math
Group Theory – Master : Requires Pure Math
Topology – Advanced
Fractal Geometry – Advanced
Measure Theory – Advanced
Gellar Field
Gellar Field Basic Design – Basic
Gellar Field Mathematical Modeling – Advanced
Gellar Fields Engine Interaction – Master
Gellar Field Mathematics – Master
Warp Engine Gellar Field Interaction – Master
Void Shield
Void Shields Basic Design– Basic
Void Shield Advanced Design - Advanced
Void Shield Interaction – Master
Void Shield Damage Redistribution - Master
Void Shield Stabilization – Grandmaster
Warp Engine
Warp Engine Basic Design – Basic
Warp Engine Mathematics - Master
Warp Engine Gellar Field Interaction – Master
Genetics
Warp Mutation Mapping – Advanced
Preventing Warp Mutation– Master
Basic Gene Seed – Advanced
Gene Seed Mastery – Master
Astartes Genome - Master
Gene Seed Base Mutation Prevention – Grandmaster
Gene Seed Partial Mutation Prevention – Pioneer (5/6)
Runes
Research Basic rune design
Runic Linking Theory - Master
Runic Crossing Theory - Master
Basic Banish runes
Advanced Rune Design
Pentagrammic Runic Integration – Master
Pentagrammic Runic Lattices - Grandmaster
Crossing Basic Runes - Grandmaster
Soul
Human Soul Reflections - Basic
Basic Soul Properties – Advanced
Chaos/Warp
Basic Understanding of Cultist Behavior - Basic
Advanced Understanding of Cultist Behavior - Advanced
Aetheric Energy - Master
Vortex Mathematics - Basic
Teleportation
Teleportation fundamentals - Basic
Pinpoint Teleportation - Advanced
Teleportarium Mathematics – Master
Teleportarium Armor Incorporation – Master
Large Scale Teleportation - Master
Physics
Mechanics - Basic
Physical Machines - Basic
Basic Materials Science - Basic
Advanced Material Science – Advanced
Bonding - Advanced
Crystallography - Master : Requires Advanced Material Science
Comprehensive Material Science - Master : Requires Advanced
Atomic and Molecular Physics - Advanced
Thermodynamics – Advanced
Relativity – Advanced
Optical Computations – Advanced : Requires Relativity
Quantum Mechanics – Master
High Energy Physics – Master : Requires Quantum Mechanics
Eletromagnetics – Advanced
Condensed Matter Physics – Master : Requires Electromagnetics
Kinetics- Advanced
Basic Human Design Principles - Basic
Advanced Human Design Principles – Advanced
Master Human Design Principles – Master
Warp Reflection
Ways Objects Affect the Warp – Basic
Warp Reflections Completed – Advanced
Anti Warp
Null Rod Understanding – Grandmaster
Machine Spirits
Interacting with Machine Spirits – Advanced
Last edited:
Akil Studying
- Location
- USA
Akil glared down at the tome that was mocking him with its secrets, he had thought Cousin Auro a fellow seeker of mystic lore, but instead he was just another one of the overly cautious Wardens. Only he was somehow worse than normal, the tome, supposedly, read like an engineering manual for a particularly boring project.
He was simply not prepared to work with this nonsense, if someone had told him that there existed a psyker that somehow managed to use logic and math to invent a technique, he would have laughed at them. Now he was reaping the results of his hubris, for what good was knowing all of the secrets of the cults if they weren't used.
The only silver lining was that some of the techniques were actually usable, but the true prize was out of his reach. Fuming, he turned away from the simply infuriating tome and slammed his fist into the wall. Shaking his fist to relive the strain, he let himself fall into his chair sighing as he did.
None of the teachings of the cults, were this strange. Sure they were illogical on the face of it, and heavily generalized at this point, but there was a form of underlaying logic to them. If not in manner then in execution of the goal. Everything about telekinesis was done either through the warp itself or directed warp power to emulate a force. Snorting a bit as he recalled his own lessons and how his mind didn't follow the usual patterns, something that had caused a small problem but it was quickly solved.
Turning to glare at the tome, he knew the problem was that he simply wasn't prepared to understand something like this Shift technique at the moment. However, he could possibly understand the precursors to its current form.
Getting off of his overly comfortable chair, he walked over to the desk and pulled out a notebook that contained the notes he had made on the material within the larger tome. Flipping through the pages he soon found the one he was looking for, the one that detailed the history of Shift.
Smiling as he quickly opened the massive tome to the requisite chapter. He sat down at on a much more uncomfortable chair than the other one in the room, and started to read the chapter that he had only skimmed over previously. Shaking his head at just how silly he had been with expecting to completely understand Shift in its current form, he began to read the much more understandable previous forms of the technique.
As he read, his hand flew across the page of his notebook as he took notes to simplify the message to his legion. Due to the fact that sending a five thousand page tome to another legion in a completely different part of the galaxy was a challenge. However, on the other hand a short few hundred page summary could be much more easily transmitted across space.
The timeline started very soon after Cousin Auro's ascension as an astartes, causing Akil to raise his eyebrows in surprise at the fact that a brand new librarian was allowed to experiment with the warp in such a manner. Yet, his experiments from reading between the lines were always focused on precision and efficiency over power, which went some way to explaining the odd allowance of his behavior.
The very first listed form of Shift was to Akil's surprise not Shift, nor anything that bore any resemblance to the current version, but Auro's timeline held the Teleportation technique from the telekinesis discipline as the original form of Shift. His pen stilled for a moment, before shrugging and accepting what was being said in the book as true unless he found something to indicate otherwise.
The next insight came from reading Auro's own notes on the page, wherein he stated clearly that at the time he was so restricted in term of power that everything was beyond him. A smile appeared on Akil's face as he read the notes that explained so much of his cousin's mind. Power was his issue, he had such great control that his power was reduced, this ended up making him unable to make proper use of the known techniques.
Auro had taken the normal teleportation technique that everyone learned the theory and the concepts, but had instead of trying to widen the field to allow group teleports or something similar he had gone smaller. The timeline was filled with such notations that were simple and directly to the point, the first few notations were regarding the difficulties of altering something that he could barely use. Once past the first few years they changed, becoming much more about the alterations done to the technique.
As he read down through the timeline, Akil found that the vast majority of changes to the base teleportation technique were unusually small, with only a few points of the whole concept altered. On a whim he decided that it wouldn't hurt to test the proposed alterations to the technique, as they were designed to reduce the impact to the veil after all.
Gesturing with a finger towards a small book, he had left on the other side of his spartan room, Akil invoked the changed technique. To his surprise the book simply appeared in his hand as it teleported to him, just as the modifications written by his cousin stated would happen. Staring at the book in his hand for, it was strange how easy it was to replicate a technique only from written instructions. Thinking back to his neophyte days in the cults, it usually took him weeks to understand a technique well enough to even hope of preforming it, but this, this was too easy.
Marking this down in his notebook as a point of interest he returned to the timeline, letting go of the slight unease about the easiness of the modifications. Page after page passed as nothing stood out as interesting, countless entires of minor reductions in power or time to cast, mixed in with notes on improved targeting. Everything was banal and about halfway through Akil was beginning to wonder if the secrets behind Shift were even in this book, when he turned the page and was confronted with a page dedicated to a single event.
About eighty years ago, according to the timeline he was reading, Cousin Auro had cracked one of the limitations of the teleportation technique. It was simply unable to teleport non physical matter, as it was localized to the caster and only them, but Auro somehow managed to make it able to teleport energy.
As he read through the page hungrily for the secrets to a new technique hidden within, his hand almost flew across his notebook as he wrote down everything verbatim as this was too valuable to reduce to short notes. Turning page after page to continue recording the fascinating departure from normal thought that his cousin had undergone at this point. No one he knew of would have ever thought of doing something so strange, yet the pressure his cousin was under must have pushed him in strange directions.
To top it all off it was a simple alteration. You just had to stabilize the warp for a split second between the entry location and the target location. It was more a matter of control than power, as the tunnel only needed to exist for a single pseudo moment. On the other hand the same technique lost the ability to transmit physical matter, in exchange for energy. Akil as he finished writing his findings into his notebook felt that at this point his cousin's technique was no longer the standard teleportation technique and instead something original.
As he read through the rest of the timeline, Akil found himself being disappointed for there were no other radical departures, or breakthroughs, only a constant flow of minute improvements to the technique. Some of the larger ones were the addition of more forms of energy it could transmit, but otherwise it was just the same as before slight improvements to efficiency and precision.
As Akil neared the end of the chapter, he feared that his cousin lied to him and didn't complete the timeline, yet as he flipped the page he found his fears unfounded. Another page full of information appeared before him, as it talked about concepts that were simply beyond what he understood of reality, yet through it all there was an undercurrent of emotion in the writing. Deviations in the handwriting showed possibly happiness at the new revelations.
Only a few days after the new information came to light, Shift changed drastically. More than a quarter of the technique was simply removed and change entirely, and a full half of it was changed greatly from the previous form, with only a quarter remaining from the previous state. As he completed his notes, Akil let out a sigh as he flipped through the book to the chapters listed as needed to understand Shift and dedicated himself to years of work, but he must understand the technique.
AN: again not super pleased with this, but here is Akil studying a Psyker technique.
He was simply not prepared to work with this nonsense, if someone had told him that there existed a psyker that somehow managed to use logic and math to invent a technique, he would have laughed at them. Now he was reaping the results of his hubris, for what good was knowing all of the secrets of the cults if they weren't used.
The only silver lining was that some of the techniques were actually usable, but the true prize was out of his reach. Fuming, he turned away from the simply infuriating tome and slammed his fist into the wall. Shaking his fist to relive the strain, he let himself fall into his chair sighing as he did.
None of the teachings of the cults, were this strange. Sure they were illogical on the face of it, and heavily generalized at this point, but there was a form of underlaying logic to them. If not in manner then in execution of the goal. Everything about telekinesis was done either through the warp itself or directed warp power to emulate a force. Snorting a bit as he recalled his own lessons and how his mind didn't follow the usual patterns, something that had caused a small problem but it was quickly solved.
Turning to glare at the tome, he knew the problem was that he simply wasn't prepared to understand something like this Shift technique at the moment. However, he could possibly understand the precursors to its current form.
Getting off of his overly comfortable chair, he walked over to the desk and pulled out a notebook that contained the notes he had made on the material within the larger tome. Flipping through the pages he soon found the one he was looking for, the one that detailed the history of Shift.
Smiling as he quickly opened the massive tome to the requisite chapter. He sat down at on a much more uncomfortable chair than the other one in the room, and started to read the chapter that he had only skimmed over previously. Shaking his head at just how silly he had been with expecting to completely understand Shift in its current form, he began to read the much more understandable previous forms of the technique.
As he read, his hand flew across the page of his notebook as he took notes to simplify the message to his legion. Due to the fact that sending a five thousand page tome to another legion in a completely different part of the galaxy was a challenge. However, on the other hand a short few hundred page summary could be much more easily transmitted across space.
The timeline started very soon after Cousin Auro's ascension as an astartes, causing Akil to raise his eyebrows in surprise at the fact that a brand new librarian was allowed to experiment with the warp in such a manner. Yet, his experiments from reading between the lines were always focused on precision and efficiency over power, which went some way to explaining the odd allowance of his behavior.
The very first listed form of Shift was to Akil's surprise not Shift, nor anything that bore any resemblance to the current version, but Auro's timeline held the Teleportation technique from the telekinesis discipline as the original form of Shift. His pen stilled for a moment, before shrugging and accepting what was being said in the book as true unless he found something to indicate otherwise.
The next insight came from reading Auro's own notes on the page, wherein he stated clearly that at the time he was so restricted in term of power that everything was beyond him. A smile appeared on Akil's face as he read the notes that explained so much of his cousin's mind. Power was his issue, he had such great control that his power was reduced, this ended up making him unable to make proper use of the known techniques.
Auro had taken the normal teleportation technique that everyone learned the theory and the concepts, but had instead of trying to widen the field to allow group teleports or something similar he had gone smaller. The timeline was filled with such notations that were simple and directly to the point, the first few notations were regarding the difficulties of altering something that he could barely use. Once past the first few years they changed, becoming much more about the alterations done to the technique.
As he read down through the timeline, Akil found that the vast majority of changes to the base teleportation technique were unusually small, with only a few points of the whole concept altered. On a whim he decided that it wouldn't hurt to test the proposed alterations to the technique, as they were designed to reduce the impact to the veil after all.
Gesturing with a finger towards a small book, he had left on the other side of his spartan room, Akil invoked the changed technique. To his surprise the book simply appeared in his hand as it teleported to him, just as the modifications written by his cousin stated would happen. Staring at the book in his hand for, it was strange how easy it was to replicate a technique only from written instructions. Thinking back to his neophyte days in the cults, it usually took him weeks to understand a technique well enough to even hope of preforming it, but this, this was too easy.
Marking this down in his notebook as a point of interest he returned to the timeline, letting go of the slight unease about the easiness of the modifications. Page after page passed as nothing stood out as interesting, countless entires of minor reductions in power or time to cast, mixed in with notes on improved targeting. Everything was banal and about halfway through Akil was beginning to wonder if the secrets behind Shift were even in this book, when he turned the page and was confronted with a page dedicated to a single event.
About eighty years ago, according to the timeline he was reading, Cousin Auro had cracked one of the limitations of the teleportation technique. It was simply unable to teleport non physical matter, as it was localized to the caster and only them, but Auro somehow managed to make it able to teleport energy.
As he read through the page hungrily for the secrets to a new technique hidden within, his hand almost flew across his notebook as he wrote down everything verbatim as this was too valuable to reduce to short notes. Turning page after page to continue recording the fascinating departure from normal thought that his cousin had undergone at this point. No one he knew of would have ever thought of doing something so strange, yet the pressure his cousin was under must have pushed him in strange directions.
To top it all off it was a simple alteration. You just had to stabilize the warp for a split second between the entry location and the target location. It was more a matter of control than power, as the tunnel only needed to exist for a single pseudo moment. On the other hand the same technique lost the ability to transmit physical matter, in exchange for energy. Akil as he finished writing his findings into his notebook felt that at this point his cousin's technique was no longer the standard teleportation technique and instead something original.
As he read through the rest of the timeline, Akil found himself being disappointed for there were no other radical departures, or breakthroughs, only a constant flow of minute improvements to the technique. Some of the larger ones were the addition of more forms of energy it could transmit, but otherwise it was just the same as before slight improvements to efficiency and precision.
As Akil neared the end of the chapter, he feared that his cousin lied to him and didn't complete the timeline, yet as he flipped the page he found his fears unfounded. Another page full of information appeared before him, as it talked about concepts that were simply beyond what he understood of reality, yet through it all there was an undercurrent of emotion in the writing. Deviations in the handwriting showed possibly happiness at the new revelations.
Only a few days after the new information came to light, Shift changed drastically. More than a quarter of the technique was simply removed and change entirely, and a full half of it was changed greatly from the previous form, with only a quarter remaining from the previous state. As he completed his notes, Akil let out a sigh as he flipped through the book to the chapters listed as needed to understand Shift and dedicated himself to years of work, but he must understand the technique.
AN: again not super pleased with this, but here is Akil studying a Psyker technique.
Librarian Duels
- Location
- USA
In the Library of the Vigilance, a group of some of the most powerful and influential of the Eternal Wardens Librarians were marching towards the dueling arena. Those that found themselves crossing the path of the group shifted in their own duty to witness something that would not be seen again until after the Ritual War was concluded.
As they transversed the grand expanse of metal that was the ship they called home, more and more of their brothers and cousins joined the following behind them. All secretly placing bets on the outcomes of the duels to be waged soon. Some were heavily favored to win and others to lose, yet no one placed any bets on Beltran losing.
In the front of the dueling group marched Beltran, in full regalia and geared for war, he marched forward with an unceasing stride that would have left those younger out of breath. Flames crackled along his armor and in the air above him as his anger became manifest in the material realm. Metal glowed with heat under his every footstep as flames hundreds of degrees frolicked as dogs around his feet and boots.
To Beltran's right strode another elder of the legion, with a rune of blazing light upon his chest. Crsecum Auro marched with an unmatched precision and economy of motion, every thought translated to action with no waste motion or effort. Gliding down the hallways he formed an image of an implacable sentinel that would never waver from their goal. Where Beltran's flames licked and danced in reality, from Crescum only those with keen eyes spied the slight distortions in energy that matched his progress, as reality bent to his will.
Behind the two elders, came the oldest of the Psykers yet to live within the Library. Raziel the Chief Librarians marched behind those that were his betters in power, yet unaware of the future yet to come. As he walked no aura encompassed his match, yet whenever he looked upon a person they felt as if they were known and understood beyond what even they themselves knew of themselves. Yet, he simply smiled and continued the march.
To the right of Raziel marched a figure that many knew and some even feared. Almost vibrating from pure speed walked Abdul, the Silver Knight of the legion. One of the stronger of the Librarians in the entire Legion, a powerful Delta, with prodigious skill at regeneration. He walked behind and to the side of those decades his elder and held his head high in acceptance of the honor that had been offered to him. As he walked faint sparks of electricity danced along his skin and armor, sparking off and dancing in the air for faint moments before fading away.
The final of the group to duel, was the gentle giant of the legion. Rene a newly awakened Librarian, yet one with considerable skill and power to call his own. Massive in size towering above the majority of those that walked with and after them, yet never offering offense or injury to any. A true healer of the legion, many thought as they saw him reading over another tome of healing secrets even as they marched towards a duel. From him waves of calmness radiated, relaxing tensions and minds, allowing all to shrug off their burdens for a moment at the very least.
At last the five duelists came to the arena in which they would duel and see how they compared to each other. "Brothers, this spar is meant to only show how we stand. I would be very displeased if this results in counterproductive actions." The serene tones of Raziel cut through the chatter of the following party, as a chainsword through flesh. Beltran turns a flaming glare upon his superior but in the ends graces him with a nod of understanding.
"Now, let the duels begin." Raziel proclaimed to general puzzlement, before Auro realized what had happened. "Chief Librarian, I hold name cards for all five of us. If you desire I can shuffle and draw them to create the duels." Auro spoke in the voice of order that chilled all but the tech marines and priests in the room as they found the order spoken refreshing after so long with only those of chaos.
As Raziel nodded his agreement to Auro's proposal as he had always know was to happen. Auro shuffled the cards with names together, and after ten full minutes of stuffing pulled the top cards off the stack. "First Duel: Auro vs Beltran, Second Duel: Auro vs Abdul, Third Duel: Raziel vs Abdul, Fourth Duel: Raziel vs Auro, Fifth Duel: Raziel vs Rene, Sixth Duel: Auro vs Rene, Seventh Duel: Abdul vs Beltran, Eighth Duel: Raziel vs Beltran." Proclaimed Auro to the surrounding people as he read the names off the cards that he had drawn from the stack.
Beltran fumed as he entered the arena cloaked in flickering flames, as power, pure and simple poured forth in an unending tide. With a much more sedate entrance Auro walked into the dueling arena with his head held high. "Crescum Auro," Captain Beltran declared, his voice hissing out like a flame sucking wind, "I hope this duel will be most....informative." The Captain gestured, falling into stance and letting his opponent make of that what he may. Yet, Auro saw through it immediately. For Beltran was strong, he bled strength into the Warp in all things. Yet Crescum was older, more powerful, at least Psykically. The Captain was trying to prove a point. That his power-that his style-was not without use. "My methods reject power, they do not increase power, but instead control. Losing here means nothing as this will prove nothing either way. When I master myself and can match you, then a duel would hold meaning." Auro responded with no inflection to his words, steadfast in his conviction and all could see that nothing would break his will.
Fuming at being so completely shut down Beltran was the first to start the fight. Fire roared forth towards Auro, and was met by flames of his own, yet the fires of Beltran were simply greater as they fed deeply upon the warp granting them unnatural might. With a wave of his hand Beltran tore the flames from Auro and left him open to his own storm of fire. Up in the stands Raziel nodded to a nearby tech marine, who activated the sign to read 1 to 0.
As the second round started not much was changed, for all could see that Auro was simply outmatched in power, yet no other metric was he lacking. Yet, this was a simple question of power, he had not the time nor power to match the power of Beltran. The fight was nothing more than power vs control. The strength of the flame against the rules of nature, and the skill of the ancients against the power of a Gamma. And here, power gave no ground.
As the duel ended with Auro being consumed in yet another fire storm, Beltran jumped out of the arena, "Control can not match power. If there is enough power" He declared from above hoping to intimidate Auro into agreeing with him, yet it was not to be as Auro looked up at him in his blackened armor. "My ideas and methods reject power, this shows nothing more or less. I embraced control, you embraced power. My loss was written on that simple fact. I could not alter your attacks, not due to them being out of my reach, but due to the scale of them." Auro spoke as he walked to the opposite side of the area to await the next dueler.
With a blur of speed Abdul, the Silver Knight entered the arena. Standing where Auro stood only minutes ago, ready to fight one of his elders. "Are you sure you can keep up? I know that age can make people slow." Abdul taunted as he looked at his elder, who only stared back. "Age has no effect on astartes, we remain physically able until we are killed." Auro declared as he nodded towards the scorers. With an electric buzz, Abdul raced forward intent on ending this fight before it started.
As he ran, he could feel the cold oppressive weight of Auro's mind fall upon him, just before he could understand what was going on before it was too late. His legs betrayed him as they slammed into the ground and his fist slammed into his forehead. "Speed is your only defense. Speed produces force that can be redirected. I will provide you with my defensive technique after this duel." Auro declared as he waited for Abdul to return to his feet and start again.
As he shook his head to clear away the slight confusion that he had suffered in the last round, Abdul decided upon a different strategy; if speed was no longer viable then he would simply not use speed and instead fight in melee. As he began to move towards Auro he quickly realized there was another issue with this plan, as Auro could simply remain out of reach with ease if he didn't use speed, but if he did it would be the first round all over again. Chewing his lips, Abdul decided to risk it by trying to trick him into lowering his guard.
Focusing on the lighting that he could cast he began to build a large bolt of the crackling energy, watching Auro like a hawk as he constructed the bolt. Just as he felt the oppressive weight fall upon him and the technique, he acted. The bolt of energy faded away as the energy was sent coursing through his body to supercharge his speed, as he rocketed towards Auro. Yet, as before it was too little too late, as Auro simply slammed him into the sand once more. "Interesting strategy, I will also provide my notes on how to integrate alternative forms of energy into your body."
Grumbling about overly practical individuals, Abdul walked over to the other side of the arena to await the arrival of his opponent, while Auro took a seat on the outside of the arena.
As Raziel made his way into the dueling arena, he could feel the warp thickening around him, as the haze of a vision became prominent. Red and iron radiated through the warp miasma that cloaked him from seeing the real world. Just as he felt a bolt of lighting slam into his body, so did the vision occur.
A monstrous figure of impossible size and scope towered above him, shifting between countless forms of daemons known and unknown. Covered in brass armor and roaring in hate it was a daemon of Khorne and it had declared him its target. As he tried to pull himself from the torrent of the vision, he found himself unable to do so as he stared at the monster that had chosen him as prey
Yet, just as he began to think the vision would never end a fist slammed into his head knocking him free of the vision. As he returned to reality he found himself on the floor of the arena covered in sand and sweat from the vision, as Abdul stood above him with a hand outstretched and an expression of concern on his face. Letting himself be pulled up, Raziel tried to focus on the coming fight but couldn't shake the vision from his mind.
To compound his uneasy, his next fight would be against someone he wouldn't usually consider himself having good odds against. He watched as Auro entered the arena once more, seeing the almost unnatural perfection that he moved with and wondered if he should be sent to live with the third legion for a time.
This time, both of the duelists waited for the other to begin until from the surrounding seats people began to command them to begin. The moment the duel began it was clear that the winner would be Auro, for in the first few minutes he had forced Raziel to his knees as he had with Abdul, who up in the stands realized that Auro hadn't needed to wait for him to move, only sparing Raziel the humiliation of being punched in the face with your own hand.
Yet, Raziel was a true Veteran of the Legion, and had several tricks up his sleeves. Which showed as flames tore into existence behind Auro and a few moments before he would have wrestled control away, they scorched his armor and won Raziel a point to tie the round. Unfortunately, Raziel had made an error in creating flames as shown when Auro carefully wrenched the flames from his grasp and sent them rolling forward to envelop the Chief Librarian on his knees winning the match for Auro.
With a sigh, Raziel pulled himself up from the ground once more as the heavy footsteps of Rene thundered against the ground as the giant astartes marched into the arena. Basking in the calming aura of Rene, to let go of the last parts of the vision induced malaise, Raziel felt his skill returning to its full potential as he shook off the remaining confusion and fear.
WIth a flick of his hand, fire bloomed into life as Rene took the step to right where the fire was. A smile graced Raziel's face as he became assured of his skills once more, as he had predicted where Rene would step and had used it to gain a point, yet his smile turned to a frown soon enough. With speed unfitting for his prodigious bulk Rene lunged forward in an unexpected movement and struck Raziel clean on with a bolt of lighting, yet his victory was indeed short lived as it was soon returned with another bolt of flames that won the duel for Raziel. "You have grown much, Rene. I hope you will continue your growth." Raziel spoke as he left the arena to let the next fight commence.
As Auro and Rene stared at each other, both found themselves confused. Auro found it difficult to latch onto Rene's form almost as if he was part of the warp, yet it was only partial but it was enough to disturb Auro. He internally decided to speak to Raziel about this strange sensation of warp born matter he got from Rene. Rene on the other hand felt as if Auro was something in need of healing, as if his mindset was poison that needed to be expunged.
Both of them disturbed by their internal thoughts, missed it when the duel started, but Auro recovered first and sent Rene to his knees as the force of gravity shot upwards for a split second, but then something strange happened. The calming aura surrounding Rene changed into a field of warp energy. Auro's eyes widened in an unusual show of emotion as the veil between this world and the next became rent in the presence of Rene, and Shift lost its grip on reality in the vicinity.
Frowning as Shift became blocked to him, Auro turned instead to the manipulation of the warp energy and soon Plasma Storms surrounded his form. Yet Rene stood firm and blocked the plasma with precision bolts of lightning and other, more esoteric techniques. For hours the duel continued as both Auro and Rene fought each other, each bereft of the normal rules by which they fought, but still they presented themselves well. Yet, in the end the loss of Shift was too great and Auro was touched by two bolts of warp energy, losing him the duel. "I see, Shift needs to be further improved to work on warp energies. I appreciate you showing me the flaw." Auro spoke as if it had all been planned on Rene's part to show him a weakness in his own technique. Yet, confused or not Rene simply nodded in acceptance of the words spoken.
With a blur of speed and a growl, the next two fighters entered the arena. Cloaked in flames and lightning respectively, the two fighters entered the pit.. Beltran struck out with unsurpassed might, unleashing a venerable beam of liquid fire towards Abdul, but was thrown off by the glass underneath his feet, and unable to respond as the smaller Astartes dodged the blow and pounced forwards, cutting a paper-thin line into Beltran's cheek.
Growling in anger, a tidal wave of flame washed over the arena, cooking everything within its borders and evening the score, yet Abdul was not about to let himself lose so easily. As the third round began he raced to the sides and began to run along the borders of the pit, heading straight towards Beltran. Waves of flame washed towards him, but at the very last moment Abdul jumped off of the walls, to land in a roll and race forward. Before Beltran could summon forth another wave of fire Abdul's fist slammed into his breastplate. Everyone was silent for none had expected anyone to win against Beltran, yet one of the youngest of the group had in fact done son, even if only by the very smallest of chances but he had won.
Raziel stepped down into the now glass covered arena, and bowed to Beltran. "We all know you win. I concede." Before leaving the arena and Beltran fuming in his place as he had wanted to actually fight, but was denied the opportunity to do so. "I am proud of how you have all performed today, however I expect to see improvements from all of you the next time we duel." Proclaimed Raziel before leaving the arena room followed by the others that had fought, all of them planning on returning to their own rooms to conduct the study needed to improve before the next duel.
AN; A simple omake on some of our prominent librarians dueling each other.
As they transversed the grand expanse of metal that was the ship they called home, more and more of their brothers and cousins joined the following behind them. All secretly placing bets on the outcomes of the duels to be waged soon. Some were heavily favored to win and others to lose, yet no one placed any bets on Beltran losing.
In the front of the dueling group marched Beltran, in full regalia and geared for war, he marched forward with an unceasing stride that would have left those younger out of breath. Flames crackled along his armor and in the air above him as his anger became manifest in the material realm. Metal glowed with heat under his every footstep as flames hundreds of degrees frolicked as dogs around his feet and boots.
To Beltran's right strode another elder of the legion, with a rune of blazing light upon his chest. Crsecum Auro marched with an unmatched precision and economy of motion, every thought translated to action with no waste motion or effort. Gliding down the hallways he formed an image of an implacable sentinel that would never waver from their goal. Where Beltran's flames licked and danced in reality, from Crescum only those with keen eyes spied the slight distortions in energy that matched his progress, as reality bent to his will.
Behind the two elders, came the oldest of the Psykers yet to live within the Library. Raziel the Chief Librarians marched behind those that were his betters in power, yet unaware of the future yet to come. As he walked no aura encompassed his match, yet whenever he looked upon a person they felt as if they were known and understood beyond what even they themselves knew of themselves. Yet, he simply smiled and continued the march.
To the right of Raziel marched a figure that many knew and some even feared. Almost vibrating from pure speed walked Abdul, the Silver Knight of the legion. One of the stronger of the Librarians in the entire Legion, a powerful Delta, with prodigious skill at regeneration. He walked behind and to the side of those decades his elder and held his head high in acceptance of the honor that had been offered to him. As he walked faint sparks of electricity danced along his skin and armor, sparking off and dancing in the air for faint moments before fading away.
The final of the group to duel, was the gentle giant of the legion. Rene a newly awakened Librarian, yet one with considerable skill and power to call his own. Massive in size towering above the majority of those that walked with and after them, yet never offering offense or injury to any. A true healer of the legion, many thought as they saw him reading over another tome of healing secrets even as they marched towards a duel. From him waves of calmness radiated, relaxing tensions and minds, allowing all to shrug off their burdens for a moment at the very least.
At last the five duelists came to the arena in which they would duel and see how they compared to each other. "Brothers, this spar is meant to only show how we stand. I would be very displeased if this results in counterproductive actions." The serene tones of Raziel cut through the chatter of the following party, as a chainsword through flesh. Beltran turns a flaming glare upon his superior but in the ends graces him with a nod of understanding.
"Now, let the duels begin." Raziel proclaimed to general puzzlement, before Auro realized what had happened. "Chief Librarian, I hold name cards for all five of us. If you desire I can shuffle and draw them to create the duels." Auro spoke in the voice of order that chilled all but the tech marines and priests in the room as they found the order spoken refreshing after so long with only those of chaos.
As Raziel nodded his agreement to Auro's proposal as he had always know was to happen. Auro shuffled the cards with names together, and after ten full minutes of stuffing pulled the top cards off the stack. "First Duel: Auro vs Beltran, Second Duel: Auro vs Abdul, Third Duel: Raziel vs Abdul, Fourth Duel: Raziel vs Auro, Fifth Duel: Raziel vs Rene, Sixth Duel: Auro vs Rene, Seventh Duel: Abdul vs Beltran, Eighth Duel: Raziel vs Beltran." Proclaimed Auro to the surrounding people as he read the names off the cards that he had drawn from the stack.
Beltran fumed as he entered the arena cloaked in flickering flames, as power, pure and simple poured forth in an unending tide. With a much more sedate entrance Auro walked into the dueling arena with his head held high. "Crescum Auro," Captain Beltran declared, his voice hissing out like a flame sucking wind, "I hope this duel will be most....informative." The Captain gestured, falling into stance and letting his opponent make of that what he may. Yet, Auro saw through it immediately. For Beltran was strong, he bled strength into the Warp in all things. Yet Crescum was older, more powerful, at least Psykically. The Captain was trying to prove a point. That his power-that his style-was not without use. "My methods reject power, they do not increase power, but instead control. Losing here means nothing as this will prove nothing either way. When I master myself and can match you, then a duel would hold meaning." Auro responded with no inflection to his words, steadfast in his conviction and all could see that nothing would break his will.
Fuming at being so completely shut down Beltran was the first to start the fight. Fire roared forth towards Auro, and was met by flames of his own, yet the fires of Beltran were simply greater as they fed deeply upon the warp granting them unnatural might. With a wave of his hand Beltran tore the flames from Auro and left him open to his own storm of fire. Up in the stands Raziel nodded to a nearby tech marine, who activated the sign to read 1 to 0.
As the second round started not much was changed, for all could see that Auro was simply outmatched in power, yet no other metric was he lacking. Yet, this was a simple question of power, he had not the time nor power to match the power of Beltran. The fight was nothing more than power vs control. The strength of the flame against the rules of nature, and the skill of the ancients against the power of a Gamma. And here, power gave no ground.
As the duel ended with Auro being consumed in yet another fire storm, Beltran jumped out of the arena, "Control can not match power. If there is enough power" He declared from above hoping to intimidate Auro into agreeing with him, yet it was not to be as Auro looked up at him in his blackened armor. "My ideas and methods reject power, this shows nothing more or less. I embraced control, you embraced power. My loss was written on that simple fact. I could not alter your attacks, not due to them being out of my reach, but due to the scale of them." Auro spoke as he walked to the opposite side of the area to await the next dueler.
With a blur of speed Abdul, the Silver Knight entered the arena. Standing where Auro stood only minutes ago, ready to fight one of his elders. "Are you sure you can keep up? I know that age can make people slow." Abdul taunted as he looked at his elder, who only stared back. "Age has no effect on astartes, we remain physically able until we are killed." Auro declared as he nodded towards the scorers. With an electric buzz, Abdul raced forward intent on ending this fight before it started.
As he ran, he could feel the cold oppressive weight of Auro's mind fall upon him, just before he could understand what was going on before it was too late. His legs betrayed him as they slammed into the ground and his fist slammed into his forehead. "Speed is your only defense. Speed produces force that can be redirected. I will provide you with my defensive technique after this duel." Auro declared as he waited for Abdul to return to his feet and start again.
As he shook his head to clear away the slight confusion that he had suffered in the last round, Abdul decided upon a different strategy; if speed was no longer viable then he would simply not use speed and instead fight in melee. As he began to move towards Auro he quickly realized there was another issue with this plan, as Auro could simply remain out of reach with ease if he didn't use speed, but if he did it would be the first round all over again. Chewing his lips, Abdul decided to risk it by trying to trick him into lowering his guard.
Focusing on the lighting that he could cast he began to build a large bolt of the crackling energy, watching Auro like a hawk as he constructed the bolt. Just as he felt the oppressive weight fall upon him and the technique, he acted. The bolt of energy faded away as the energy was sent coursing through his body to supercharge his speed, as he rocketed towards Auro. Yet, as before it was too little too late, as Auro simply slammed him into the sand once more. "Interesting strategy, I will also provide my notes on how to integrate alternative forms of energy into your body."
Grumbling about overly practical individuals, Abdul walked over to the other side of the arena to await the arrival of his opponent, while Auro took a seat on the outside of the arena.
As Raziel made his way into the dueling arena, he could feel the warp thickening around him, as the haze of a vision became prominent. Red and iron radiated through the warp miasma that cloaked him from seeing the real world. Just as he felt a bolt of lighting slam into his body, so did the vision occur.
A monstrous figure of impossible size and scope towered above him, shifting between countless forms of daemons known and unknown. Covered in brass armor and roaring in hate it was a daemon of Khorne and it had declared him its target. As he tried to pull himself from the torrent of the vision, he found himself unable to do so as he stared at the monster that had chosen him as prey
Yet, just as he began to think the vision would never end a fist slammed into his head knocking him free of the vision. As he returned to reality he found himself on the floor of the arena covered in sand and sweat from the vision, as Abdul stood above him with a hand outstretched and an expression of concern on his face. Letting himself be pulled up, Raziel tried to focus on the coming fight but couldn't shake the vision from his mind.
To compound his uneasy, his next fight would be against someone he wouldn't usually consider himself having good odds against. He watched as Auro entered the arena once more, seeing the almost unnatural perfection that he moved with and wondered if he should be sent to live with the third legion for a time.
This time, both of the duelists waited for the other to begin until from the surrounding seats people began to command them to begin. The moment the duel began it was clear that the winner would be Auro, for in the first few minutes he had forced Raziel to his knees as he had with Abdul, who up in the stands realized that Auro hadn't needed to wait for him to move, only sparing Raziel the humiliation of being punched in the face with your own hand.
Yet, Raziel was a true Veteran of the Legion, and had several tricks up his sleeves. Which showed as flames tore into existence behind Auro and a few moments before he would have wrestled control away, they scorched his armor and won Raziel a point to tie the round. Unfortunately, Raziel had made an error in creating flames as shown when Auro carefully wrenched the flames from his grasp and sent them rolling forward to envelop the Chief Librarian on his knees winning the match for Auro.
With a sigh, Raziel pulled himself up from the ground once more as the heavy footsteps of Rene thundered against the ground as the giant astartes marched into the arena. Basking in the calming aura of Rene, to let go of the last parts of the vision induced malaise, Raziel felt his skill returning to its full potential as he shook off the remaining confusion and fear.
WIth a flick of his hand, fire bloomed into life as Rene took the step to right where the fire was. A smile graced Raziel's face as he became assured of his skills once more, as he had predicted where Rene would step and had used it to gain a point, yet his smile turned to a frown soon enough. With speed unfitting for his prodigious bulk Rene lunged forward in an unexpected movement and struck Raziel clean on with a bolt of lighting, yet his victory was indeed short lived as it was soon returned with another bolt of flames that won the duel for Raziel. "You have grown much, Rene. I hope you will continue your growth." Raziel spoke as he left the arena to let the next fight commence.
As Auro and Rene stared at each other, both found themselves confused. Auro found it difficult to latch onto Rene's form almost as if he was part of the warp, yet it was only partial but it was enough to disturb Auro. He internally decided to speak to Raziel about this strange sensation of warp born matter he got from Rene. Rene on the other hand felt as if Auro was something in need of healing, as if his mindset was poison that needed to be expunged.
Both of them disturbed by their internal thoughts, missed it when the duel started, but Auro recovered first and sent Rene to his knees as the force of gravity shot upwards for a split second, but then something strange happened. The calming aura surrounding Rene changed into a field of warp energy. Auro's eyes widened in an unusual show of emotion as the veil between this world and the next became rent in the presence of Rene, and Shift lost its grip on reality in the vicinity.
Frowning as Shift became blocked to him, Auro turned instead to the manipulation of the warp energy and soon Plasma Storms surrounded his form. Yet Rene stood firm and blocked the plasma with precision bolts of lightning and other, more esoteric techniques. For hours the duel continued as both Auro and Rene fought each other, each bereft of the normal rules by which they fought, but still they presented themselves well. Yet, in the end the loss of Shift was too great and Auro was touched by two bolts of warp energy, losing him the duel. "I see, Shift needs to be further improved to work on warp energies. I appreciate you showing me the flaw." Auro spoke as if it had all been planned on Rene's part to show him a weakness in his own technique. Yet, confused or not Rene simply nodded in acceptance of the words spoken.
With a blur of speed and a growl, the next two fighters entered the arena. Cloaked in flames and lightning respectively, the two fighters entered the pit.. Beltran struck out with unsurpassed might, unleashing a venerable beam of liquid fire towards Abdul, but was thrown off by the glass underneath his feet, and unable to respond as the smaller Astartes dodged the blow and pounced forwards, cutting a paper-thin line into Beltran's cheek.
Growling in anger, a tidal wave of flame washed over the arena, cooking everything within its borders and evening the score, yet Abdul was not about to let himself lose so easily. As the third round began he raced to the sides and began to run along the borders of the pit, heading straight towards Beltran. Waves of flame washed towards him, but at the very last moment Abdul jumped off of the walls, to land in a roll and race forward. Before Beltran could summon forth another wave of fire Abdul's fist slammed into his breastplate. Everyone was silent for none had expected anyone to win against Beltran, yet one of the youngest of the group had in fact done son, even if only by the very smallest of chances but he had won.
Raziel stepped down into the now glass covered arena, and bowed to Beltran. "We all know you win. I concede." Before leaving the arena and Beltran fuming in his place as he had wanted to actually fight, but was denied the opportunity to do so. "I am proud of how you have all performed today, however I expect to see improvements from all of you the next time we duel." Proclaimed Raziel before leaving the arena room followed by the others that had fought, all of them planning on returning to their own rooms to conduct the study needed to improve before the next duel.
AN; A simple omake on some of our prominent librarians dueling each other.
- Location
- Elsewhere
Bit of an update for everyone, but I'm currently dealing with a very important project for college which is due this Saturday. As a result, the next update will ideally be out Sunday night. For it, I'm writing a Perturabo interlude, after which I'll have one update which is interludes from most of the other Primarchs and other important characters. After that will be a meeting between Kesar, Pert, and Khan where they'll invade the Maelstrom and the madness shall begin.
The Library for Neophytes
- Location
- USA
The Library for Neophytes
Places of Importance
Within our domain there are some locations of greater importance than the others. This unlike the people list that fallows is a much more complete overview of the situation as it stands today. However, do bear in mind that our domain is constantly expanding incorporating new elements as we progress further in time, so this document may become obsolete due to the passage of time.
The Entry Way
The door that you passed through on your way in, is one of the most impressive items under our control. It is a several thousand ton slab of metal that even Beltran would take several minutes to burn through. It is controlled on both sides via complex and dangerous mechanisms that are set to brutally retaliate against any unauthorized usage. We have lost several arrogant neophytes to them attempting to work the door controls.
The Center Room
This is the center room for two reasons. The first and foremost is that it is the room that you can expect to spend upwards of 85% of your time in from now until the day you have enough chocolate or seniority to escape the drudgery of carving runes. However, the other reason this is the center room is that it is the literal center of our domain as all of our other rooms branch off from it and are being further expanded as you read this.
From the Center room you can find your way to any point in the Library with time and patience, or by asking an elder for directions. However, there are harsh punishments for deserting your desk without completing your quota of runes for the day.
The Library
The place where we store all of our research and ideas. It is also our unofficial common room where anyone can talk with anyone, regardless of rank. This is to facilitate the progress of research by allowing new eyes to look upon what is being done.
However, it is not required that one informs the legion of a research project. They must only add the records once its been presented to the legion and accepted. The first person to add something new to our data stores was Auro, with a tome on new psychic techniques and a new rune design.
Our Cousins Chambers
Our cousins from the White Scars have taken this area as their own, for when they are needed in our legion. There is not much to say as they are fairly quiet and don't do much beyond surf the surface of the warp for answers and such.
The Oracle
This is a room dedicated to divination, outfitted with psyko reactive materials to amplify the power of those within. Further increased by having ready access to foci for the art of divination. It is generally understood to be only for diviners, but there is no rule against entering it no matter who you are as long as you are a battle brother.
The Pit
This is a fun location if you are interested in seeing how others fight or act in battle. The Pit is the general name given to the area in which the dueling arenas are present and ready for all to test themselves in. It is easy enough to find sparring partners in the wings of the arenas that are more than willing to spar with anyone.
Although, if you see Beltran or any of the other people of importance it is advised to stay away from them as they tend to be more powerful than the norm.
The Research Zone
Another small area of rooms dedicated to research of runes, the warp and more. They tend to be fairly small with only around five people per room in order to keep the danger down from having too many of us in one area.
The majority of the rooms are all identical save for the contents within them, however there is one room that has been effectively taken over by Auro in his research pursuits. This room is obvious as it is the only one with a Null Rod constantly active within its walls, purging the area of all warp activity.
People of Importance
In the Library there are a select number of our Brothers that are worthy of special mention, to the newly inducted members of the Legion. This list is not exhaustive as some notable figures have either not proven themselves as such or otherwise request to remain anonymous.
Chief Librarian Raziel
The Chief Librarian is the master of our group, with his authority superseding that of our nominal ranks when he commands us. Only the First Captain and Father are above him when it comes to a direct order for a Librarian to fulfill. However, this only applies in this section on the battlefield you are still under the normal chain of command.
Raziel is a powerful diviner and pyromancer, of the epsilon ranking. When you meet him do not be alarmed if he seems distracted or otherwise currently inactive. Those are signs that he is most likely receiving a vision of the future and is not to be disturbed.
He is welcoming to new individuals to our ranks and has a standing policy of having one hour per month blocked to meet the new members of the Library. In this meeting he will most likely show knowledge that you will swear is secret, let it be known that this is normal and he has yet to reveal anything that truly harms a Brother.
It is stated that he does have a sense of humor, though it is distorted due to his future sight.
Epistolary Beltran
Beltran is one of the oldest members of the legion being recruited in either the 3rd or 4th generation. This has left him with experience that is hard won through the course of time. He is an abrupt person with little time for pleasantries, yet will always offer assistance where he can.
As short temper he has, Beltran is always willing to help a Brother with his training, or to simply work as a guide for your first few days within our ranks.
Combined with his short temper is a masterful control of the discipline of pyromancy, in which he is one of our best if not the best in the entire legion. Adding onto his skill and control is his ranking of Gamma which marks him as one of the most powerful of our ranks. In addition to pyromany he is also currently learning how to preform the works of telekinesis.
Epistolary Auro
Auro is an interesting individual to say the least. It is recommended that new inductees remain far from him as they can due to his oddities, yet it is not against the rules in any way to interact with him. If you do find yourself forced to interact with Auro, first and foremost be prepared for the most seemingly insulting conversation you have so far experienced.
No matter what Auro says, he is only stating what he views as truth in the matter. If he says you are poor in one regard he simply is informing you of that fact. Most of us assume that he has a form of emotional deadness that prevents him from connecting in a normal manner with other individuals.
However, for all his strange quirks, if you have a question regarding reality and can not be bothered to find a tech marine, he would be more than willing to talk your ear off about the topic.
Lexicanum Joaquin Abdul
A young Brother of the legion, he has been part of our ranks for less than two decades and yet still has the interest of the Chief Librarian. Due to this interest others have taken note of his actions and this has lead to his inclusion in this document.
He is eager to help everyone he can, and seems to have become the official errand manager of the entire Library. He is also the driving force behind the recent renovations with his mastery of paperwork. If you need help fetching or requesting an item from the armory or another point of the legion he is certain to be able to be of assistance.
In character, Abdul is a happy person almost always armed with a joke or other quip to throw at the situation, in order to break the tension. He does have some form of rivalry with Beltran so if you see the two together it is advised to remove yourself from the region.
Places of Importance
Within our domain there are some locations of greater importance than the others. This unlike the people list that fallows is a much more complete overview of the situation as it stands today. However, do bear in mind that our domain is constantly expanding incorporating new elements as we progress further in time, so this document may become obsolete due to the passage of time.
The Entry Way
The door that you passed through on your way in, is one of the most impressive items under our control. It is a several thousand ton slab of metal that even Beltran would take several minutes to burn through. It is controlled on both sides via complex and dangerous mechanisms that are set to brutally retaliate against any unauthorized usage. We have lost several arrogant neophytes to them attempting to work the door controls.
The Center Room
This is the center room for two reasons. The first and foremost is that it is the room that you can expect to spend upwards of 85% of your time in from now until the day you have enough chocolate or seniority to escape the drudgery of carving runes. However, the other reason this is the center room is that it is the literal center of our domain as all of our other rooms branch off from it and are being further expanded as you read this.
From the Center room you can find your way to any point in the Library with time and patience, or by asking an elder for directions. However, there are harsh punishments for deserting your desk without completing your quota of runes for the day.
The Library
The place where we store all of our research and ideas. It is also our unofficial common room where anyone can talk with anyone, regardless of rank. This is to facilitate the progress of research by allowing new eyes to look upon what is being done.
However, it is not required that one informs the legion of a research project. They must only add the records once its been presented to the legion and accepted. The first person to add something new to our data stores was Auro, with a tome on new psychic techniques and a new rune design.
Our Cousins Chambers
Our cousins from the White Scars have taken this area as their own, for when they are needed in our legion. There is not much to say as they are fairly quiet and don't do much beyond surf the surface of the warp for answers and such.
The Oracle
This is a room dedicated to divination, outfitted with psyko reactive materials to amplify the power of those within. Further increased by having ready access to foci for the art of divination. It is generally understood to be only for diviners, but there is no rule against entering it no matter who you are as long as you are a battle brother.
The Pit
This is a fun location if you are interested in seeing how others fight or act in battle. The Pit is the general name given to the area in which the dueling arenas are present and ready for all to test themselves in. It is easy enough to find sparring partners in the wings of the arenas that are more than willing to spar with anyone.
Although, if you see Beltran or any of the other people of importance it is advised to stay away from them as they tend to be more powerful than the norm.
The Research Zone
Another small area of rooms dedicated to research of runes, the warp and more. They tend to be fairly small with only around five people per room in order to keep the danger down from having too many of us in one area.
The majority of the rooms are all identical save for the contents within them, however there is one room that has been effectively taken over by Auro in his research pursuits. This room is obvious as it is the only one with a Null Rod constantly active within its walls, purging the area of all warp activity.
People of Importance
In the Library there are a select number of our Brothers that are worthy of special mention, to the newly inducted members of the Legion. This list is not exhaustive as some notable figures have either not proven themselves as such or otherwise request to remain anonymous.
Chief Librarian Raziel
The Chief Librarian is the master of our group, with his authority superseding that of our nominal ranks when he commands us. Only the First Captain and Father are above him when it comes to a direct order for a Librarian to fulfill. However, this only applies in this section on the battlefield you are still under the normal chain of command.
Raziel is a powerful diviner and pyromancer, of the epsilon ranking. When you meet him do not be alarmed if he seems distracted or otherwise currently inactive. Those are signs that he is most likely receiving a vision of the future and is not to be disturbed.
He is welcoming to new individuals to our ranks and has a standing policy of having one hour per month blocked to meet the new members of the Library. In this meeting he will most likely show knowledge that you will swear is secret, let it be known that this is normal and he has yet to reveal anything that truly harms a Brother.
It is stated that he does have a sense of humor, though it is distorted due to his future sight.
Epistolary Beltran
Beltran is one of the oldest members of the legion being recruited in either the 3rd or 4th generation. This has left him with experience that is hard won through the course of time. He is an abrupt person with little time for pleasantries, yet will always offer assistance where he can.
As short temper he has, Beltran is always willing to help a Brother with his training, or to simply work as a guide for your first few days within our ranks.
Combined with his short temper is a masterful control of the discipline of pyromancy, in which he is one of our best if not the best in the entire legion. Adding onto his skill and control is his ranking of Gamma which marks him as one of the most powerful of our ranks. In addition to pyromany he is also currently learning how to preform the works of telekinesis.
Epistolary Auro
Auro is an interesting individual to say the least. It is recommended that new inductees remain far from him as they can due to his oddities, yet it is not against the rules in any way to interact with him. If you do find yourself forced to interact with Auro, first and foremost be prepared for the most seemingly insulting conversation you have so far experienced.
No matter what Auro says, he is only stating what he views as truth in the matter. If he says you are poor in one regard he simply is informing you of that fact. Most of us assume that he has a form of emotional deadness that prevents him from connecting in a normal manner with other individuals.
However, for all his strange quirks, if you have a question regarding reality and can not be bothered to find a tech marine, he would be more than willing to talk your ear off about the topic.
Lexicanum Joaquin Abdul
A young Brother of the legion, he has been part of our ranks for less than two decades and yet still has the interest of the Chief Librarian. Due to this interest others have taken note of his actions and this has lead to his inclusion in this document.
He is eager to help everyone he can, and seems to have become the official errand manager of the entire Library. He is also the driving force behind the recent renovations with his mastery of paperwork. If you need help fetching or requesting an item from the armory or another point of the legion he is certain to be able to be of assistance.
In character, Abdul is a happy person almost always armed with a joke or other quip to throw at the situation, in order to break the tension. He does have some form of rivalry with Beltran so if you see the two together it is advised to remove yourself from the region.
Philosphy of Power and Control
- Location
- USA
The lights flickered on as the door to research room N5A opened. Entering through the door was a slightly larger than average astartes, out of his armor and wearing only simple robes of grey with silver stitching. As he moved into the room the lights gleamed off the silver interwoven into hie robes and the formula of the models of reality danced on the walls as he walked towards the center of the room.
Carrying in his hands a box covered in warnings of death and warp rifts, for within lay a Null Rod one requested for study and research. Yet, even though that was all true, another purpose had been stated in several forms that alluded to the true research that he planned to do with the item in his hands.
Crescum Auro, efficiently opened the box, revealing the mat black rod of metal that even in its deactivated state crackled with energy. Reaching in careful to grip only the hilt, he pulled it free of its box and placed it on a pedestal that had been prepared for this moment. As he stepped away from the rod, staring at it with inhuman intensity, Auro flipped the switch that had been added to the pedestal to ensure his safety when using the rod.
A humming field enclosed the deadly device such that his flesh could no longer reach the item without first shutting down the field and the rod itself. Then the rod came alive with energy, tendrils of black energy racing up and down the sides of the now living weapon.
Auro, remained calm even as he felt the warp fade away into the distance, no longer pressing upon his mind. For the first time in a century he could be without the constant weight of Chaos upon his soul and mind. Letting himself relax for the first time in all those decades was both horrifying and wonderful, just letting himself feel emotions at least a small amount beyond his normal limits.
With a sigh, Auro anchored his mind once more, sealing it within the matrix of order and logic that had become the norm and his state of being, for he knew in his heart that he would never be able to separate himself from the logic now. Maybe five decades ago he would have been able to do so, but the time was past and gone, yet he was who he was and he would not care about something so unchangeable. Yet, the ability to feel even the slightest hint of emotion in a controlled situation was relaxing on some unknown level.
At that Auro scowled as he heavily disliked such unknowns when they related to his own mind and body. For he knew very well what it meant when a psyker of power didn't remain in control, he saw and lived with it every day with his brothers. They found him cold and distant due to his control, yet to him they were the fools. Displaying their power with no understanding of the dangers inherent to them, the worst of them Beltran.
Beltran, was simply the worst of the librarians, he had embraced power to the extent of sacrificing control. His soul raged without borders and control all but inviting the forces of Chaos to consume him. Auro could admit that he had been so far lucky in his offensive protection, but he also knew that it was only a matter of time before something tired that he wouldn't be able to burn away.
Why was he the only one that saw the truth? That control was needed or disaster would strike them all. Was he the only one that had learned from the garrisoning of those worlds that psykers such as them needed Control as much as they needed food or water. There were countless stories of psykers going insane and attacking people, just as many with psykers summoning in daemons from the warp and other even more horrible acts. Every single world that they had met had these stories and yet his brothers felt that they were above such fears.
Why were they so arrogant to believe themselves above such fears? Such a question had plagued Auro's mind for his entire life and yet only recently did their arrogance become even somewhat justified. Yet even now it was not yet impossible for one to fall to chaos, so why tempt the power of chaos with such lax control? It was simply inconceivable for him that no one knew just how critical control was and that they felt that he was the strange one.
With a sigh that sent his robes floating, Auro calmly reasserted control over body and mind with the ease of long practice. The mental order and control that had been his constant effort for the past century and half was easy to pull up even without the pressure from Chaos bearing down upon his mind. Reaffirmed in his path, he turned towards the Null Rod draining the warp from the room he stood within. It was a strange weapon, a storage device for warp energy and also a near instant death if it struck the head of any psyker, yet he had been one of the first to request the notes that their father had made on the topic and they had pushed the null rods from being an item of interest into an item of high interest for him.
The ability of the devices to store and drain the warp out of areas and people, was more than enough to warrant research into their function and to see if it would be possible to recreate their effect via Shift. Yet it was the ability that they had to push away the warp that had drawn his attention to them, for if the warp was pushed away then the natural order would be reasserted.
For if it could push away the warp, then it could provide a sanctuary for him. Even if he had the strongest control in the entire legion it was still not enough to ensure his safety from that which lived in the warp. As a child he had nightmares of what he would do in time, people suffering as he laughed madly surrounded by flame and lighting. He saw that which he would become and refused to submit to the fate presented, when the word of month reached him deep in Mars where he had been born that there were people recruiting for the army, he immediately left everything and everyone for the chance at stopping the inevitable fate.
As he finally reached the recruitment stations months after he had began the journey he found himself accepted into the 11th legion. At the time he had considered all legions equal for his cause, but since he had come to the conclusion that this was the best legion for him. No matter what, the fate was averted fully as the dreams faded away, yet the memory refreshed with every story he heard drove him to do chain his powers with iron control.
Now, with the Null Rod in his reach he could be sure of his safety, the vision would never come to pass. The null rod he carried into battle wasn't for his foes or to fight with, it was there to ensure his elimination if he ever fell to the whispers of chaos. For with a single touch of the rod to flesh he would die and the vision ended before it could begin. This one was to research how pushing away and being under the effects affected a Librarian, while in truth it was to ensure his safety while doing more mundane research.
As he stood under the field felling his power fade away as the rod consumed it all, Auro found himself relieved as for the moment he was without power. Smiling he sat down at the desk and began to work with some electron microscopes that he had bartered from the tech marines a while ago, to further refine his rune and learn more of the underpinnings of reality. For the more he knew the more Shift could do and the more powerful he would become without reducing control.
With a faint smile Auro the emotionless warden, sat down under the null field and began to work calmly and efficiently as always.
AN: a bit meandering of an omake, but got the point across of how Auro thinks/feels about control/power and the source of his hatred of the latter choice, along with some of his backstory.
Carrying in his hands a box covered in warnings of death and warp rifts, for within lay a Null Rod one requested for study and research. Yet, even though that was all true, another purpose had been stated in several forms that alluded to the true research that he planned to do with the item in his hands.
Crescum Auro, efficiently opened the box, revealing the mat black rod of metal that even in its deactivated state crackled with energy. Reaching in careful to grip only the hilt, he pulled it free of its box and placed it on a pedestal that had been prepared for this moment. As he stepped away from the rod, staring at it with inhuman intensity, Auro flipped the switch that had been added to the pedestal to ensure his safety when using the rod.
A humming field enclosed the deadly device such that his flesh could no longer reach the item without first shutting down the field and the rod itself. Then the rod came alive with energy, tendrils of black energy racing up and down the sides of the now living weapon.
Auro, remained calm even as he felt the warp fade away into the distance, no longer pressing upon his mind. For the first time in a century he could be without the constant weight of Chaos upon his soul and mind. Letting himself relax for the first time in all those decades was both horrifying and wonderful, just letting himself feel emotions at least a small amount beyond his normal limits.
With a sigh, Auro anchored his mind once more, sealing it within the matrix of order and logic that had become the norm and his state of being, for he knew in his heart that he would never be able to separate himself from the logic now. Maybe five decades ago he would have been able to do so, but the time was past and gone, yet he was who he was and he would not care about something so unchangeable. Yet, the ability to feel even the slightest hint of emotion in a controlled situation was relaxing on some unknown level.
At that Auro scowled as he heavily disliked such unknowns when they related to his own mind and body. For he knew very well what it meant when a psyker of power didn't remain in control, he saw and lived with it every day with his brothers. They found him cold and distant due to his control, yet to him they were the fools. Displaying their power with no understanding of the dangers inherent to them, the worst of them Beltran.
Beltran, was simply the worst of the librarians, he had embraced power to the extent of sacrificing control. His soul raged without borders and control all but inviting the forces of Chaos to consume him. Auro could admit that he had been so far lucky in his offensive protection, but he also knew that it was only a matter of time before something tired that he wouldn't be able to burn away.
Why was he the only one that saw the truth? That control was needed or disaster would strike them all. Was he the only one that had learned from the garrisoning of those worlds that psykers such as them needed Control as much as they needed food or water. There were countless stories of psykers going insane and attacking people, just as many with psykers summoning in daemons from the warp and other even more horrible acts. Every single world that they had met had these stories and yet his brothers felt that they were above such fears.
Why were they so arrogant to believe themselves above such fears? Such a question had plagued Auro's mind for his entire life and yet only recently did their arrogance become even somewhat justified. Yet even now it was not yet impossible for one to fall to chaos, so why tempt the power of chaos with such lax control? It was simply inconceivable for him that no one knew just how critical control was and that they felt that he was the strange one.
With a sigh that sent his robes floating, Auro calmly reasserted control over body and mind with the ease of long practice. The mental order and control that had been his constant effort for the past century and half was easy to pull up even without the pressure from Chaos bearing down upon his mind. Reaffirmed in his path, he turned towards the Null Rod draining the warp from the room he stood within. It was a strange weapon, a storage device for warp energy and also a near instant death if it struck the head of any psyker, yet he had been one of the first to request the notes that their father had made on the topic and they had pushed the null rods from being an item of interest into an item of high interest for him.
The ability of the devices to store and drain the warp out of areas and people, was more than enough to warrant research into their function and to see if it would be possible to recreate their effect via Shift. Yet it was the ability that they had to push away the warp that had drawn his attention to them, for if the warp was pushed away then the natural order would be reasserted.
For if it could push away the warp, then it could provide a sanctuary for him. Even if he had the strongest control in the entire legion it was still not enough to ensure his safety from that which lived in the warp. As a child he had nightmares of what he would do in time, people suffering as he laughed madly surrounded by flame and lighting. He saw that which he would become and refused to submit to the fate presented, when the word of month reached him deep in Mars where he had been born that there were people recruiting for the army, he immediately left everything and everyone for the chance at stopping the inevitable fate.
As he finally reached the recruitment stations months after he had began the journey he found himself accepted into the 11th legion. At the time he had considered all legions equal for his cause, but since he had come to the conclusion that this was the best legion for him. No matter what, the fate was averted fully as the dreams faded away, yet the memory refreshed with every story he heard drove him to do chain his powers with iron control.
Now, with the Null Rod in his reach he could be sure of his safety, the vision would never come to pass. The null rod he carried into battle wasn't for his foes or to fight with, it was there to ensure his elimination if he ever fell to the whispers of chaos. For with a single touch of the rod to flesh he would die and the vision ended before it could begin. This one was to research how pushing away and being under the effects affected a Librarian, while in truth it was to ensure his safety while doing more mundane research.
As he stood under the field felling his power fade away as the rod consumed it all, Auro found himself relieved as for the moment he was without power. Smiling he sat down at the desk and began to work with some electron microscopes that he had bartered from the tech marines a while ago, to further refine his rune and learn more of the underpinnings of reality. For the more he knew the more Shift could do and the more powerful he would become without reducing control.
With a faint smile Auro the emotionless warden, sat down under the null field and began to work calmly and efficiently as always.
AN: a bit meandering of an omake, but got the point across of how Auro thinks/feels about control/power and the source of his hatred of the latter choice, along with some of his backstory.
- Location
- United States
I think the intention is more that he's rejecting his Psyker powers, but you're not wrong. That'd be a pretty awesome boon.
A Rising Phoenix. (Must Read)
TinyGladiator
Just another SVer
- Location
- I move alot.
Hiya! Decided to make an omake on the Fuegan, the Burning Lance, Phoenix Lord of the Fire Dragons after their completely insane, tense and impossible battle that they faced in the Warp that was rolled a year ago in the Discord server because holy shit did that need to be omaked. Really nervous about this one being done right, and yet also pretty satisfied on how it turned out too, so... I hope ya like it and it doesn't have too many mistakes! 0u0
----
A Rising Phoenix.
Mountains of burning ash, rivers of molten remains, thick smoke that shrouded it all, lashing flames that struck from a radiant figure in the centre of it all.
The thirsting daemons, endless armies of them, constantly charged at the figure, surrounding them with legions. Their desires were uncontrollable as the power of the warrior called to them far and wide, his presence was a beacon that was brighter than his hottest flames.
A burning lance sent its power through to the mass of a craving nightmare, it and all those behind it screamed as they ignited.
The warrior was a master of flame and destruction, focused oblivion on all enemies. Now they were unleashed in a realm of nightmares and they annihilated all in their sight, from their constant foes to the land itself. Scorching, boiling lakes that marked where previous armies fell, being so hot that it deterred even most daemons from wading through them.
Yet the daemons did not relent in their attacks, their cravings so strong that they just avoided as much scorching remains they could as they charged, and so the Phoenix Lord responded to them in kind.
A daemon stalking from the behind one of the mountains of ash, one greater than most of the champions than were all charging, lunged towards their prey. An axe cleaved deeply into their head before they struck, the rest of their body vaporised. The trick wouldn't work again.
Fuegan the Burning Lance did not know how long they had been doing this, centuries to perhaps even millennia, but that didn't matter to them.
No matter how many more would be sent, no matter how much they would keep getting stronger, they would all be felled. This would not be the battle where they would die.
The Dragon looked towards their foes, feeling their shrouded forms beyond the walls of smoke. The daemons that kept passing through were illuminated by the many fires and embers that flowed through the area, dancing past the flames. Their wild faces filed with desire, hunger.
Beyond them there were faint lights that could be seen, especially in places where the smoke was more cleared up or where the Warp was shifting more violently. Ash, cinders and molten residue from countless daemons were everywhere.
In each direction, the horizon was filled with the aftermath of the Phoenix Lord's focused and total destruction. More mountains and lakes, the marks they left behind over the many years were still there, still burning.
Fuegan fired at the mass of daemons as they came past the ashen land, burning away as many as he could. He'd expand those horizons further until he found a way out or found one of his fellow Phoenix Lords.
Rows of nightmares all combusted, their onslaught outmatched. It was barely a moment before they were replaced by another row, their feet stomping down the still disintegrating bodies. It was almost routine like this, but the Dragon knew that each time they fought their foes became sharper, tempered by the flames.
The nightmares fought with everything they had, inexhaustible desires fuelling them, trying to find ways to get their great prize as the years went by. Using others as shields, distractions. Charging from all sides. Illusions, stalking within the smoke and ash. Anything to get closer, to reach their obsession.
So the Phoenix Lord made sure that he would be stronger in turn, mastering the annihilation of daemons. Their depraved pursuit becoming a grindstone for their demise.
The Burning Lance wondered if the others were facing such long, great battles as he was. If as many daemons were attacking them, if they were as strong as what he faced. It would have been a test worthy of them all, to prepare them for the Rhana Dandra.
But somehow Fuegan knew that he was unique here, felt the difference. The destruction he wrought, the flames he brought, were a beacon that was his alone. He didn't feel any from the others during his whole time here.
The others were safer like this, as he fought for them all.
So the Burning Lance fought and kept fighting, destroying all against them and scorching the Warp itself with their long battle. Over all their time in this battle they bore only one cut and burned down the vile creature that had delivered the wound as its shrieked with glee.
But then one strange moment came that heralded a shift in the battle, the smoke around the whole area suddenly billowing into one direction, away from another. A surge of chaotic wind, the start of a storm.
Then the endless hordes seemed to suddenly thin, much less coming to attack than normal. Some daemons even stopping, starting to back off and move away from the Phoenix Lord. All that were in range were shot, easier to target and kill since the start of the whole conflict, but Fuegan knew that something terrible was coming and prepared himself for it. A new attack, a nightmare greater than anything he faced here before was coming.
He felt it before he saw it, its presence briefly mistaken for an army emerging before the Phoenix Lord realised that they were mistaken. He turned around to face it, clouds of ash and fumes, smoke and cinders, billowed away. The ethereal sky parting, the smaller mountains crumbling.
It came slowly, from so far away. Even the presence of countless other daemons couldn't hide it, a beacon of power that seemed to match the Burning Lance. Its pace languid, dragging out the entrance as much as possible to savour the event. Still unseen as the roiling clouds hid it.
And then something else heralded the new arrival, coming from the other daemons. From unseen voices all around.
It was whispered, shouted and screamed with exaltation. It was a chant, a curse, a celebration. A name called out by an army turned audience, a legend making its way through the mass as its power and authority let it push past all others. Even the name itself bore a stronger weight than the others, betraying the power of the one who held it. And countless daemons all repeated it.
Kyriss.
There was laughter too, awe filled cries as well as sounds of disappointment and shame. Whatever their feelings on the matter, the other nightmares knew that now only Kyriss could bring down the Dragon.
Then it finally appeared, revealing itself to its prey. A tunnel formed from the thick roiling smoke, power drilling open an entrance inside the burning dark veil. On the other side of the ash and cinder filled passage was the daemon.
Its form was still mostly obscured by the haze of smoke and fumes, its silhouette lit and distorted by the great flames that still burned wildly behind it. A champion wearing darkness as it faced the light. It advanced forward until it passed by the last walls that shrouded it, the smoke rippling like water over Kyriss as they entered Fuegan's current battlefield.
The Keeper of Secrets stood in all its depraved glory. Appearing taller, greater than any other that came for the Phoenix Lord. One of its swords scraped its edge against another, two great claws snapped open-and-shut. Anticipation radiated from the being's essence.
Its bestial head contorted slightly to bear a wide smile as a long, black tongue licked the air and writhed as a serpent. Its eyes were opened wide as they focused directly onto Fuegan, their gaze seemed to glow with their own fire that burned with desire. Its great power and skill surpassed only by the depths of its wants.
"I greet you, Master of Dragons, as the champion of Slaanesh and as the one who shall break you. I am Kyriss, and you will be a worthy offering." it said, its voice carrying across the burning landscape so that it would be heard by all.
Fuegan didn't say a word, there was nothing needed to be said. The nightmare deserved no response other than what the Phoenix Lord gave to all other daemons.
He lifted up his weapons, the surrounding fires blazing into infernos as they felt his focused power, ready to bring down the Keeper of Secrets as it in turn lifted its own weapons too.
Then they both charged.
The daemon was shot at repeatedly the moment they got within range of the Phoenix Lord's Firepike, lances of destroying heat fired with precision on one target. As many as possible, all of them would be needed for this.
None of them hit their target. The Keeper of Secrets moved perfectly to avoid each one while rushing towards their prey, dodging them in the most minute of ways. Shifting their body in ways that a normal creature couldn't, excessive displays of skill.
A bending shadow, moving in parallel to the crackling flame. Meeting together in a dance.
The two clashed together, swords slashing downwards against a rising axe. The weapons met with enough force to violently kick up the ash by their feet, sparks and embers dancing around the fighters. The surrounding storm grew stronger, flames around the battlefield started to rise up higher as the surrounding daemons pulled back further from the spectacle.
Fuegan's burning axe were locked together with the daemon's swords, neither side able to push away the other. The runes of the Fire Axe began to ignite stronger as they matched the vile swords.
Other weapons were used as the two fighters were locked. The beast's claws tried to stab through the Dragon's heart before nearly getting burnt off by the Firepike. The Phoenix Lord pulled away before more strikes could follow and started to fire more shots, beams now too close to dodge easily.
The Keeper of Secrets pulled away too instead of charging, laughter following them as the shots kept coming so close before missing each time. They didn't turn their back on their prey, their gaze never breaking away for even a moment. They looked ready to do nothing more than to cut open the Phoenix Lord, to break them, crush them.
But it didn't charge again. As it got out of range from the shots again it slowed and stopped. Standing there waiting, not out of moderation but out of mockery. The fight was its game, and it wanted to play it longer. Drag things out.
It was a display of authority over the fight to the watchers and to the Phoenix Lord. The game going to be played the way the daemon wanted it to be played. A king waiting to be entertained by their subjects.
The Dragon didn't want to give the daemon anything it wanted, but not trying to destroy the daemon was an idea that would never even be considered.
He had to end this, bring the nightmare down as quickly as possible while there was the advantage of it indulging in its taunting show.
Fuegan charged towards Kyriss, fire lashing around him as he moved. The Keeper of Secrets barely moved, appearing unbothered even as the Burning Lance relentlessly tried to scorch the daemon into ash as the shots kept getting fired at them.
Any other that came for the Phoenix Lord would have been dead many times over as Kyriss easily dodged the focused onslaught, the champion standing over the ashes of fallen armies and molten pools made from the Firepike's power. The Keeper of Secrets started to take up a dance with its movements as flames, smoke and ash rose up around them, bestial laughter rising with it as it kept toying with its prey.
The Dragon came close again, each shot now forcing the daemon to dance harder to remain unburnt. Only moving from its spot as the ground ignited, contorting itself more than was needed. Yet another display for all to see, dancing amidst the inferno like it was easy to them.
The Burning Lance raised their axe, ready to match the daemon again as the weapon burned stronger once more in the face of the vile beast.
And then the daemon struck, the swords moving faster then they had moved before as the champion lunged as a feral monster with its intent focused harder than before. The dance ending with a glorious finale, the darkness growing deeper and looming over the fire.
Fuegan tried to back away, lifting up their axe to block one of the strikes, but the second sword came from below and it cut into the chest of the Phoenix Lord.
The first wound that Fuegan received over the course of their long battle was agony that pierced deep through their body, a cut upon their soul as much as their body. It wasn't just pain, it was pain that expanded itself. Festering in the Warp, filling it with twisted sensations.
The cut that Kyriss gave was exponentially worse, deeper than the other wound. Infernal torture with only one swipe. The area of the Warp around the Burning Lance slightly shuddering with the force the wound gave, growing it.
It felt like fire and oblivion, like a hundred swords all stabbing at once. Pain great enough that it could tear souls, rip out pieces of them away. A mouth in the shape of a wound, slavering with hunger and the echoes of a thirsting god. An affliction that could make even the greatest cry out, shatter to pieces.
Fuegan didn't cry out, they kept their mind focused on their enemy instead of what he felt. They didn't let their body fall or stumble as they kept moving, doing otherwise would be worse than anything he felt now.
The Keeper of Secrets lifted up the sword to their face as the Dragon retreated, watching something flow from the blade for a moment against the light of Fuegan's inferno. It looked different from the blood of most Eldar, leaking from something other than physical within the Phoenix Lord.
Before even a small amount dripped away their black tongue lashed out and the beast tasted the spiritual blood they had spilt.
"First blood," Kyriss whispered, shuddering as they relished their meal. "First blood!"
Echoes followed the daemon's words, resonating violently. Snuffing out the fires around them. Smoke faded away, molten remains cooled, ash blasted backwards as the Warp roiled under the champion's feet.
The Dragon clutched at their wound briefly as the echoes washed over him, carried by the far off daemons around the area. They pressed their burning axe to the cut, still standing defiant as they scorched away the daemon's mark.
The echoing storm calmed slightly as Kyriss ran forward to Fuegan, the taste of the Phoenix Lord's essence now leaving it ravenous for more for that rather than than its game of spectacle. Claws and swords raised high as the daemon leapt up, ready to strike down their prey.
Fuegan lifted up his axe and Firepike just as the champion came down on them, too slow to shoot but fast enough to to block. The force of the combined blow pushed back the Phoenix Lord, his feet sinking into the malleable land of the Warp while more burnt remains and flames were violently cast up as the two collided.
Kyriss didn't grant a moment of reprieve as they kept on their assault, relentless strikes from four different weapons as their mouth opened wide, ready to taste more of the Dragon's precious life.
Fuegan could barely keep up, trying to move away while blocking and dodging every twisted motion of their enemy. Attacks kept coming closer as the Phoenix Lord backed away, swords eager to cut again and claws ready to pierce through.
The ground under them began to shift and into thick sludge as Kyriss pushed and exerted their power. Trying to bury the Dragon, to trap them and leave them helpless to a slow demise.
But he was not going to die here, no matter what he would not fall in this battle. That would be one fire that wouldn't be snuffed out by the daemon or by any other daemon that might come here. The Dragon held on, trying to find a way out.
Then it happened.
For just a single moment there was an opening. The daemon was so focused on their attack, losing any caution over arrogance and intensified desire, that for all their skill they had left itself without defence.
Fuegan focused all his mind on this opportunity as he raised their Firepike as quickly as he could, the tip of it almost pressing against the daemon's right leg as it dodged sword and claw, and fired just as Kyriss realised what was happening.
It tried to move away but this time it wasn't fast enough.
Kyriss screamed as they were ignited, blazing fires spreading across their body in an instant from where the Firepike had struck. Burning greater than any other daemon that had been slain by the Phoenix Lord in their long battle, illumination so bright that it would have blinded and pushed back daemons of lesser strength.
For a moment the Keeper of Secrets was bathed in white hot flames, scorching under the Dragon's weapon. Their silhouette shrouded by the roaring inferno, the land and air of the Warp cooking alongside the daemon while the Burning Lance stood right by the centre of it unfazed by the heat.
The Firepike would have kept burning its target, to keep the dark champion alight until they were a molten stain, but from the blinding light the leg that was directly being struck by the scorching gun rose up and kicked away the weapon with enough force that it would have been dented if it wasn't so well crafted and reinforced.
A wild flurry of claws and swords coated in fire followed the leg, already rapidly cooling from white to red as the searing beam stopped burning the dark champion. None of them hit Fuegan as they dodged and got ready to ignite the creature again, its screams turning into a bellowing cry, drowning out the cracking flames.
Kyriss retreated before they could be shot again, their form twisting even faster than it had before. The flames began to shed from the daemon's body as it moved, large clumps of fire cascading downwards as it dodged more shots. A feeling of pressure emanated from it as the inferno was pushed away until the figure of Kyriss was revealed again.
It looked mostly unharmed, parts of its body appeared mildly singed as steam rose from their body and joined the smoke around them, but the the burn where its leg was struck by the Firepike glowed red inside a ring of blackened flesh.
The beast's eyes looked darker now, no longer just burning with desire but now mixed with smouldering hate. Its expression twisted into fury.
"Insect," the Keeper of Secrets said in a low voice that carried itself across the battlefield. "You think the fires you wield makes you strong? That your pitiful flames will incinerate me? Let us see how well you truly burn."
Another pressure was emitted by the daemon, this one stronger and slower. A distorting haze that washed over the area around Kyriss, enveloping the fires they touched and causing them to start shifting into different colours, causing them to grow brighter and wilder. Smoke and ash began to swirl above at a faster, more violent speed.
The flames around Kyriss began to burn with a new fuel, their chaotic power twisted them into flickering Warpflame that smouldered with screams and the will of the monster that made them. They began to move towards the Phoenix Lord, ready to envelop him.
Fuegan shot at the surging flames as they came for him, moving as hungry serpents. The Dragon's shots from their Firepike pushed against the daemonic energy, the flickering embers violently lifted into the air to start more fires until there were too many to stop. A ring of ignited corrupted spread around the two champions, shrinking the arena considerably as the ring began to close.
The Burning Lance fired upon the infernal walls as they came upon them, the crushing will and cruel desire of Kyriss made manifest as a mockery of the Phoenix Lord's power. The daemon laughed at their trapped prey while it struggled in their grasp, corrupting more flame. Fuegan fired directly into the flames, into the ground around them and towards where they saw the encircling figure of the monster that ignited them.
The roaring flames of Fuegan, the smaller yet more focused force, and the ring of screaming Warpflame, the bigger yet more wilder force, began to push at each other. The Dragon stood in the centre of the bonfire, the infernal clash rapidly caused the ground to become red hot around his feet.
The Phoenix Lord considered pushing through the circle of corrupted fire, to tunnel through the encompassing inferno. Then the Keeper of Secrets suddenly pushed through their wall of Warpflame first and charged at their trapped prey, intent on keeping them there.
They leaped over the blazing shots of the Firepike as it tried to pin them down, soaring above both the two different flames as some of the smouldering Chaos energy clung to their body. They dove down with swords and claws poised to skewer the figure below.
Fuegan dodged away a moment before impact, diving into the flames. The force of Kyriss's dive causes all fires to be pushed back, large clouds of smoke and ash billowing up with some of the molten ground. The Warpflame's borders were sent back but it still encircled the Phoenix Lord, and now their enemy too, but its approach and growth had slowed.
The Dragon was blinded within the infernal arena, their sight shrouded by the dark smog that hung in the air around them. The blaze of the daemon's corruption casting shadows, the burning walls flickering faintly through the veil of ash as it encroached slowly if they were barely there.
But the Eldar champion could sense the presence of the daemon and moved their Firepike to shoot at them. The beam pierced through the darkness and illuminated the form of the Kyriss as went past their head, bright embers and ash flying around their form like insects for a moment. The eyes and teeth of the daemon shined the brightest in the sudden light, reflecting on their monstrous expression.
Then the dark champion dove and charged before another shot could hit them, each dodged shot bringing a flash of light into the cloud. Like lighting surging in a storm, thunder made as the beast roared.
Fuegan lifted up their scorching gun and their Fire Axe in preparation for another clash, the writhing runes along their blade glowed hotter as the Keeper of Secrets came upon them.
Two claws swiped from the shadows towards the head of the Burning Lance, the Fire Axe parrying the blows away. The daemon's form revealed again, the shadowy figure against the lights of the two different flames they faced. Their form flickered and stretched in the blackened ash, a nightmare that twisted to its prey.
Swords struck against the Firepike, the metal screeched as it was scraped by the blades. The Phoenix Lord tried to fire another shot, but the dark champion was determined to keep the gun pointed away from as they pushed it aside with their daemonic strength and skill.
The concealed monster tried to rend the Burning Lance to pieces, claws wildly trying to stab through the flesh of their victim while their swords focused on. The pincers kept targetting the two wounds their foe suffered before, intent on making the suffering magnified, but no opening was available as each twisted strike was countered.
The glow of Fuegan's axe and the sparks left by the strike of Kyriss's blades were flashes of illumination in the black shroud, bright enough that the army of watching daemons around the two champions could see it as the smoke and ash began to thin and lift as the circle of Warpflame came closer and closer.
The Dragon wasn't sure how much time had passed in the dark, their focus dedicated on countering their obscured enemy's attacks and to find a way to get out before the corrupted fire enveloped them. Though as the ash lifted and the daemon was revealed, body resonating with the screaming light of the screaming inferno. An idea came to their mind as they saw the molten ground around the encroaching Warpflame.
The Firepike, unable to hit the daemon as it kept dodging away from the gun's end or parrying it away, was swung up to Kyriss from below. It was kicked back, swords and claws now thrusting forward as one towards the. As the weapon pointed to the ground between the two fighters it fired, sending a lance of melting heat by the daemon's feet.
The Keeper of Secrets momentarily recoiled from its assault as the land it was about to walk on ignited into white-hot sludge. The Dragon pressed this advantage by lining up another shot by the ground where the daemon would rush through next. The audience watching the battle watched the figures reappear, silhouettes against molten earth.
The duel in the ring of Warpflame continued with Fuegan gaining the slight edge, blasting the ground where Kyriss stood and forcing them to try shoving the gun away from them and the ground.
The daemon still ferociously locked weapons with the Phoenix Lord as another circle of fire started to form against. There were no openings to attack the beast even as it leaped and dodged from dancing flames and splashing grounds, even as its form was no longer obscured. The edge of the axe the Burning Lance held began to glow red-hot as it kept touching vile claws and swords, a visible haze emanating from the weapon's runes.
The champion of the Dark Prince started to laugh as their form was illuminated more, their eyes shining unnatural colours as they reflected light from a screaming source. Past the beast's form Fuegan could see the borders of the corrupted flames getting too close, to the point that he could feel the Chaotic heat behind their back.
The Dragon had wasted too much time without making enough progress, there wasn't going to be a chance to drive back Kyriss and shoot an opening to escape through. Now they had to risk getting cut again to fire an opening or dive through the Warpflame and endure its agony.
Or they could try something riskier.
The Burning Lance charged at the Keeper of Secrets, who kept laughing as they saw their slow trap reach its end. The claws of the beast swiped at Fuegan's chest again, the swords descending as the Firepike was lifted upwards from below ready to fire. The daemon moved to kick back the gun with their right leg, not caring that it would scorch the ground again.
The Phoenix Lord ducked the pincers and let go of his gun before the kick connected, his empty hand lashing out to grab the leg of the daemon as he pulled with all his strength.
It was surprise more than the awkward position and force that caused the manoeuvre to work, the leg lifted up right as the Fire Axe swung down on it. Kyriss immediately tried to skewer the Dragon as they tried to pull back their leg, but the Fuegan's attack was faster as the blade sank into the exact spot where the Firepike had struck the daemon's flesh.
The wound had slowly begun to heal, the circle of blackened flesh around the wound a little smaller and the burn itself had cooled from its searing red glow. Then the blade of the axe cut deeply into the injury, the whole head of the weapon turning bright orange the moment it touched the body.
Kyriss screamed louder than when they had been struck before, their body was engulfed in blazing red fires that spread from the incinerated wound. The surrounding ring of Warpflame lost cohesion as, in a moment the corrupted inferno that nearly reached the two champions became a few flickering screams and cinders.
The Dragon let go of the leg as it was yanked back and ripped the burning axe from it, tearing away a chunk of flesh in the process. The daemon flailed in pain and fury at the Burning Lance, blades and claws striking without skill or direction.
Fuegan knew that this wouldn't last long, they needed to escape before they were trapped again. The Phoenix Lord quickly took this opportunity and ran, snatching back their dropped Firepike as they dove through a cleared part of the broken Warpflame circle. Then they ran a bit further as behind them the Keeper of Secrets bellowed in rage and a heavy feeling of power burst out of them, radiating strong enough that a few distant infernos in the other end of the arena in Fuegan was stuck in were smothered and reduced.
The Burning Lance turned to aim another shot from their Firepike at the monster just as they neared the edge of the weapon's range, feeling the creature's presence angrily lash out and extinguish the heat around them.
Then the scorching gun fell from the Phoenix Lord's grip again as they stumbled backwards, agony so great and terrible coursing through their body to the point that they nearly cried out under the pain.
Embedded in the far left side of their chest, glistening with spiritual blood that leaked out of the deep wound, was one of Kyriss's swords. Fuegan tried to focus their mind away from the pain as they reached out with their free hand to pull away the sword, looking away from it towards the one that threw it.
Even with the distance and the haze of smoke and perverse power, the Dragon could clearly see the figure of the daemon as it stood unmoving from where it was before. Its right hand was outstretched and empty. Its face was twisted into utter hatred, teeth barred and eyes madly staring at their prey.
The wound on its leg looked much larger than before, a substantial amount of charred tissue around a gaping tear that radiated a red-hot glare. The Fire Axe had gone down to the bone, then its messy removal revealed it.
"Suffer." the Keeper of Secrets whispered in a voice of hate and cruelty, slowly smiling as they began to walk forward.
The word echoed from them to the vast army of daemons that surrounded the fight as a chant, a curse. The sword that impaled Fuegan hurt more as the daemons chanted, a spike of torment hitting them as they pulled it out of their body as more blood fell. The pain that the Dragon felt didn't alleviate as the Chaotic weapon was removed, but they lifted up the Fire Axe and pressed its searing blade by their wound nevertheless.
There was laughter in the audience as they sensed the agony that the Burning Lance felt, caused by the blades of both champions. The pike was picked up again and fired on the tossed away sword.
A part of the Phoenix Lord had hoped that the act would destroy the accursed blade, being bathed in tremendous heat as the cutting thermal lance directly struck it. The sword didn't melt away as the ground around it did, but as the sword became red with heat it incinerated the blood before it could be devoured. Another little act of defiance against the beast as Fuegan looked back towards the approaching daemon.
Kyriss's pace bore little theatricality to it as they came to their foe, feeling less of a perverted show or arrogant display and more of an inevitable march that grew faster. The Firepike blasted at the Keeper of Secrets as its wielder backed away, each shot dodged with less perfection and exaggerated skill than before. The monster broke into a run as it came closer, bellowing in rage.
The Dragon fired at the sword that they left on the ground again before the daemon could pick it up, but the large raging flames over the weapon parted under the weight of the monster's hand as it picked up the rapidly cooled blade and continued their charge as if there had been no delay. In moments the dark champion had engaged the Phoenix Lord again, blades and claws meeting axe and pike.
This time the assault was relentless to an even greater extent, the strikes faster and harder as the Keeper of Secrets pushed against the Dragon as any attempt to attack the glowing wound on their leg was thwarted before it could be attempted. The trick before wouldn't work again.
Fuegan kept getting forced backwards under the weight of the blows, unable to even think about shooting or cutting the daemon again as they concentrated on defence. A sword just barely parried away from the cut on their chest, a pincer less than an inch from the deeper wound to the left of the cut.
The dark champion was truly enraged, their slender tongue lashing out to taste the pain from the burnt stab wound, as they focused entirely on defeating the Burning Lance and tasting the suffering.
The Burning Lance kept enduring the blows as long as they could, having to perfectly deflect every single attack as Kyriss fought as hard as it could. The daemon's attacks got closer by the smallest amounts as the duel went on, brutal agony steadily getting nearer despite Fuegan's best efforts.
The fight would be beyond most other Eldar, to survive the overwhelming assault being an impossible task. Fuegan managed to last an incredible time against the beast, countering and dodging as all the long experience they had from facing the endless army of daemons before the dark champion had arrived was used.
The Dragon was unwavering, untiring as they engaged their enemy. Despite the circumstances they could have continued on for an eternity longer if it was required. Their spirit would defiantly face down any champion She-Who-Thirsts would send.
Yet the critical mistake that happened was inevitable to occur. The Fire Axe was lifted just too slowly to stop the thrusted claw, the cutting point of the pincer moving past the Phoenix Lord's defences as its end went through into their gut.
Even as the excruciating torture of sensations surged through the essence of Fuegan and let a rush of unimaginable pleasure rush through Kyriss, both fighters barely paused their conflict as the sharp appendage was quickly ripped away a moment before the axe could cleave it off.
The Dragon pushed the Fire Axe to the new wound as the strike missed, not wasting any single movement, and fought through the unbearable agony as their foe temporarily leaned away from the battle. The Keeper of Secrets raised the bloodied claw to their mouth as they pulled back, greedily devouring as much of the dripping ichor as they could along with the delicious sensations radiating from where it came from.
The Burning Lance tried to use this moment to their advantage, still able to raise their pike despite their injuries. Laughter came from the daemon again as it dodged the shot, teeth coated red.
"You taste wondrous, Burning Lance!" Kyriss said as it locked swords with the Phoenix Lord's axe as it came forward again. Its gaze drifted to the singed wounds on their opponent's body as it continued. "You even cook yourself for me as I devour you! But I prefer my meals raw, to truly savour what's inside."
Fuegan responded by trying to cut off the beast's tongue as it lashed out, nearly chopping it before the Keeper of Secrets smacked the weapon aside as the duel continued.
Almost all other mortals that the great daemon had faced grew weaker and died quickly as they were wounded and felt unbearable pain, to the point that even lesser beings of the Warp would succumb to it, yet while the Phoenix Lord was certainly affected by their injuries their spirit seemed galvanised more than anything as they kept fighting against the monster.
Despite their latest wound, Fuegan fought harder and better than before as the intense assault from the dark champion continued. The rapid strikes from the four limbs faced a little more effectively by the axe and pike, the Dragon using what experience they gained against the Keeper of Secrets to better counter the attacks.
The blows still came closer as the fight went on, the two swords and pincers getting nearer to cut and stab more, but the daemon's progress took much longer as the Burning Lance clung to survival. The Firepike shot at the ground more to try diverting the beast, the axe lashing out with all the strength and skill that its wielder possessed, all to buy even just a few more seconds of time as the dark champion kept pressing forwards.
The continued, unceasing defiance caused the thin patience of the monster to buckle and then snap.
"Enough!" Kyriss growled out as they clashed against the Burning Lance. "You tire me with your insolent struggles, your annoying resistance! You dare try to refuse me?! Refuse the Prince of Chaos?! You've starved me enough of the true suffering I desire, Phoenix Lord!"
The Keeper of Secrets somehow fought even harder, getting lost in frustration and the unquenchable desire that permeated in the creature's essence. The focus shifting from attacks and counters into almost pure assault.
Fuegan could see that there were now openings in the rapid strikes that in their prime they would have been able to take advantage of. Not in their current state, not with the wounds that they endured. They had to wait until an opportunity they could take arrived.
But the chance of that happening seemed to fade as the Dragon's defences were worn down by the crazed barrage. The slowed progress had shifted as the blades inched further while the claws clacked closer. The shadow madly twisting against the light, the fire burning brighter to stave it off.
The Burning Lance stood their ground in the face of what might have been their end, a whirlwind of sharp torment that would wear down mountains in its way. The inevitable gave the Phoenix Lord no fear.
Another laceration bore its mark on Fuegan's body, a sword that scraped close to where Kyriss's first wound was. The Fire Axe hissed as it touched another injury left by the champion of corruption, the blade seemed to perpetually glow red now as it kept touching against the weapons and claws of the daemon.
The next cut, a small graze on the right arm left by a claw, was harder to stem the bleeding and worming agony that tried to seep in. It was barely managed as the Keeper of Secrets pulled the claw back for a moment to devour the little bits of blood on it, but it was done in time to parry another strike.
Yet, as the Phoenix Lord immediately went back to the fight after dealing with the tear on their limb, that was when their constant focus on the duel realised that a change had come to it.
Kyriss was getting slower.
They weren't getting sluggish or sedate with their rapid assault, but the speed of the attacks were reducing at a very noticeable rate compared to how the dark champion began.
It didn't seem to be another game or cruel display, the expression of fury the beast's face and intense glare of madness betrayed that it wasn't trying to draw things out. Its only pauses now were when it ingested the blood that was shed.
The monster wasn't as injured and was pushing itself hard, more skill and strength than any other that fell here, and yet the Dragon could still somewhat match against them despite their worse damage. The fight wasn't so one-sided as what it could have turned to.
The daemon said before that it tired of Fuegan's defiance. Now the Phoenix Lord wondered if that wasn't just deriding remarks and arrogance, if it was true. Against however long the fight had gone for by that point, against the heat of the battlefield and the fires of the Burning Lance that came near or even truly injured the beast, the champion seemed as tough they was beginning to struggle. An immortal spirit reaching its limits, darkness fading while the the light still raged on.
Fuegan realised there was a chance, that hope wasn't lost. They just had to focus as they had before on surviving, on outlasting their opponent. The pain and suffering they felt from their wounds marginally lessened, their will shining as the unwavering determination of the Dragon grew stronger.
It took much longer for the next strike to land, Kyriss's furious onslaught delayed significantly by the Phoenix Lord. A sword had finally breached through the ceaseless repelling manoeuvres after an age and greedily took what blood it could, its unsated hunger growing too great. The pain of the wound broken through, the burn afterwards almost comforting.
The Burning Lance saw more signs of tiring from the Keeper of Secrets. Slightly laboured breaths, impatience visibly shown on the creature's bestial face and movements still getting slower. Even the strength that Fuegan had felt the daemon when it parried and pushed aside the axe and pike felt weaker now.
The constant glow of the Fire Axe burned hotter as it clashed with the daemon now, the concentrated fury of its wielder made manifest. Defiance radiated from the Phoenix Lord as it stood firm, weapons flashing as they started to reach the speed of the once lightning fast assailment.
The dark champion struck the body of the Dragon once more, a claw scrapping just below the neck, and drank the blood with the desperation of a creature that was starved. Fuegan barely felt hurt by it as they continued on with the fight.
From around the two champions, behind great clouds of smoke and ash and the living insanity of the Warp, the legions of daemons began to notice that the legendary Kyriss was faltering. A cruel epitome of the Lord of Excess they watched was somehow weakening more than the mortal they faced. Whispers of confusion, doubt of inevitable victory and a few pockets of anticipation began to emerge from the crowd.
Eventually, as the Keeper of Secrets kept lunging to open up their opponent, both fighters realised that the daemon was no longer making progress. The swords and pincers that slowly inched towards the body of the Burning Lance after each strike now set back, while the axe swung closer and the end of the scorching gun nearly able to point and ignite the beast again.
Kyriss seemed to realise what was happening, its near total focus on attack barring no longer bearing results. The daemon's uncontrollable desire, pride and fury did not allow it to retreat or stop its duel for even a moment. It shifted back to a mixture of attack and defence, to stop the Phoenix Lord from harming it again.
With the constant barrage lessened, with the monster now forced back into the defence, the Dragon pushed forward. They held the advantage now, they could eternally hold flame as all else they faced burned.
Yet the Keeper of Secrets was a nightmare beyond most other daemons, even with their current state finding an opening would take greater time and effort.
Blade met blade, pike met pincer. The two champions engaged in an extended back and forth as they both tried to land a blow on their opponent, unstoppable will clashing with monstrous force.
Fuegan and Kyriss were truly matched now, the tide of battle shifting into balance. The Firepike blasted the ground around the monster as it leaped away, billowing heat washing over the beast, while corrupted Warpflame emerged once more from the daemon to burn their opponent with screams and suffering.
The audience saw that this time the fires were more equal in size and ferocity, the snaking blasts fading away as they were blasted by beams of melting heat. No rings or walls of flame were made, this time it was just raw ferocity against one another.
"Flamewrought worm, false immortal!" the Keeper of Secrets cursed a long while since it last injured the Burning Lance, its tired voice betraying its fury and waning strength. "You think you will win? That you could best me? You're nothing! You have already failed long before this battle was graced by me! Your will remain trapped here forever until you die, until you are nothing but cinders and ash!"
Fuegan still didn't respond or say anything to the daemon before them, fighting and parrying as if they had heard nothing at all. The disregarding silence caused the creature's frustrations to boil as it continued.
"You shall be the first of the Asurya to fall, your corrupted body laid screaming for me as your soul is torn away to Slaanesh! You will bend till you break, branded till you burn, and you will love it! Even if you did strike me down, I would take your consumed corpse and make its body my own and burn all that you tried to save! Give up and beg for for your torment, whelp!"
This time the Burning Lance did react, their head focusing towards the face of the daemon rather than their attacks as they heard what it said. The others were alive, the others didn't fall.
That knowledge, more than their fury, made the flames within the Dragon burn brighter. Now they knew that elsewhere the others still fought, now they knew that this would not be where they died.
"Do you hear me, Phoenix Lord?!" the monster bellowed, rage twisting in their eyes. "You will-"
Kyriss's words died as the end of the Firepike heavily smashed against their mouth, the little distraction finally left an opening for attack, knocking the bestial head back with the force. A few teeth cracked under the blow, one falling out.
The dark champion seemed shocked for a moment at the interruption, at the injury and humiliation of it, before it roared as black blood dripped from its maw. The fight continued.
Kyriss's breaths got more laboured as their flurry of blows slowed faster against the Burning Lance, time seemed to stretch as the duel came closer towards its inevitable end. Fuegan was a tower against a howling storm, an immovable flame casting away the night.
And then a chance came, an eye within the storm, and Fuegan took it as the darkness and corrupted light howled around them.
The Phoenix Lord swung the pike and axe again to the beast's face, stronger than before. A claw whipped out and grabbed the end of the gun and tried to twist it back, shove it away, while the swords slashed out against the heated blade.
The grip on the Firepike was released a second time, the empty hand immediately reaching for the Fire Axe as it pulled back just before the strike of the daemon's blades touched it.
Finally the true opening came. A moment where all four limbs of the Keeper of Secrets were too far to defend, too slow to stop what came. After an eternity of combat the creature was finally vulnerable, if for just a moment.
Fuegan lifted up the Fire Axe with both hands, the head of the weapon shifting into a white-hot glow as the Burning Lance's fury was honed to a single point at this single moment. He swung it down onto the center of the daemon's chest, right towards the thing's dark heart, as it tried to stop the attack.
It hit.
The dark champion burst into flames as the whole head of the axe sunk into their body, the burning runes on the weapon briefly flashed with illumination that would rival a supernova as they shined through the torso they were implanted in.
One claw dropped the pike while the other desperately swung at the now weaponless Phoenix Lord, doing nothing more than pushing him back on the ground of the ashen battlefield. The beast stumbled back to as the inferno raged the inside and outside of their body, their very essence getting ignited.
Kyriss wheezed and choked as the axe incinerated their flesh, bones and innards turning to cinders before the Dragon's very eyes as he lifted himself up from the ground. The monster moved in a desperate panic as both swords fell from their fingers as its hands and claws tried to grab at the weapon that was killing them.
Touching the Fire Axe seemed to be almost worse for the daemon than having it shoved into them, the hands clutching the thing rapidly started to melt as the grasping pincers cracked and boiled.
Somehow the beast still managed to cling to life, some strength still persisting inside the living nightmare, as the monster did manage to tear the impossibly hot object from their body. They turned to face the rising figure of the Burning Lance and tried to throw the impossibly hot axe towards them, barely missing as it landed just by Fuegan's feet and rapidly melted the ground.
Around the arena, as whispers of amazement and excitement started to grow into a cackling chorus, the vast army of daemons that had hung back to witness the grand show began to slowly enter the battlefield again. Some headed for the Dragon again, a few others for his opponent.
"YOU WILL FACE EVERLASTING AGONY!" Kyriss screamed, their voice distorted as it came out of their ignited, ruined body. "ALL WHO DARE GO AGAINST ME WILL SUFFER BEYOND SUFFERING! I WILL COME BACK, FUEGAN, AND YOUR BLOOD WILL RUN OVER YOUR RUINED CRAFTWORLDS!"
"Blood Runs."
The blazing Keeper of Secrets fell silent, the encroaching legion of nightmares heading for the two fighters paused, as the Burning Lance whispered the first words he had spoken since the long battle had begun.
Even against the crackling flames, the shrieks of the dark champion and the cacophony of voices from the horde of monsters Fuegan's words were heard by all clearly. Power resonated the words, fuelling them.
The Dragon picked up the Fire Axe from the molten land below him with their right hand. The wounds on his body combusted as he touched the blade, the surging flames not harming him at all.
"Anger Rises." he said as he began to walk forward to his enemy, who was backing away from what approached them.
The words resonated across the battlefield again, fires and embers began to grow stronger and brighter. Clouds of smoke and ash above became larger. The heat emanating from the Phoenix Lord grew hotter.
"You... ah... you cannot survive this!" Kyriss shouted, struggling to get the words out through the agony that attacked the very core of their being. "Even if you manage to survive a thousand of years longer until I can come back, you will die here! This is your grave! You've still failed! This is where you shall perish!"
"Death Wakes!" shouted the Flamewrought as he kept walking forwards, wielding his weapon with both hands again like an executioner instead of a warrior.
Fire ignited from his hands as the axe burned yet brighter than before, the runes on the blade flared until a shimmering haze coated the sharpened edge as liquid flame fell from the burning fists that held the weapon.
Some of the daemons began to back away into the darkness again, as all around them fires began to burst from the ground as the dark clouds began to flicker with red like thunder and lighting within a roiling storm. Others started to rush towards the two fighters, realising what was about to happen and attempting to stop it.
"STOP IT!" the cornered beast demanded, their voice filled with fear as their end approached. "GET AWAY FROM ME! YOU CAN'T KILL ME! YOU-"
"WAR CALLS!" the Undying Flame roared as he swung the Fire Axe one final time at his foe.
The weapon moved as a raging meteor trailing through the cosmos, with heat of a solar flare from a lashing sun and possessing such power behind it as though it was Kaela Mensha Khaine himself that was wielding the axe.
The dark champion, even as their body turned to ash and was melting away by the second, lifted up their hands and claws to try blocking the killing blow that came for them.
The limbs turned rapidly turned black as the blade came close, turned to ash and blasted away before they could even touch the weapon.
And then, finally, the Fire Axe went through the neck of the daemon. Cleanly bypassing the monster's power, cleaving with such ease as though there was no resistance at all.
The burning body of Kyriss the Perverse, Exalted Keeper of Secrets, tumbled to the ground as their chopped off head landed next to it. The remains quickly turned to ash as the blazing spirit of the creature was banished back to its master, screaming in agony and failure.
For a moment, against the crackling flames and rumbling storms, there was silence as Fuegan stood over the fallen warrior in victory.
And then, as screams erupted from the stunned army of nightmares that witnessed the impossible, everything went white as the battlefield, as the landscape of the roiling Warp, burned in response to the death of Kyriss.
It was like a star coming into existence, a flash of light that was brighter to the Warp than the beacon that attracted the servents of the Dark Prince to the Burning Lance in the first place. Ash, embers and smoke all billowed away.
The army of daemons scrambled to get away, some of the weakest dying in the explosion of radiant heat while even those of the strongest that were too close to the Undying Flame were struck blind.
After a few moments, as the explosion passed away as the light died down, the Eternal Phoenix stood surrounded by terrain that was completely coated in fire as far as his eye could see. Burning horizons, scorched landscapes, not even ash was left.
He had won.
The Burning Lance looked around, waiting for another monster that would come and fight him, and saw that there was nothing that was coming for him. The only things he could feel were the army of nightmares that were quickly fleeing.
He looked down as something that wasn't flame poked out of the smouldering ground. The Firepike had survived the blast, even if the tip of it bore the damage left by the claw that held it in its grip.
As Fuegan reached to pick it up, he noticed that there was still flames that coated their body and surged out from where he had suffered the wounds that were burnt away. The Fire Axe in his hands was still constantly glowing after the battle had finished, cooled to a red-orange light while the runes on the blade remained white-hot. The Phoenix Lord had been marked by the battle, by the duel with the terrible Keeper of Secrets, with more than just wounds.
Clutching both weapons again, the honed fury still raging inside his body, the Undying Flame looked out again towards. His perception stretched out looking for either another enemy to burn or another of the Phoenix Lords to try heading towards, instead finding something else.
The Webway.
He could sense it, after all this time he could finally sense the Labyrinth Dimension again. A way out.
It was so close that if it wasn't for the presence of the army of daemons that masked it, or for the vile champion that had come, he would have sensed it before. He might have missed it if he kept fighting and the battle directed him elsewhere.
But it was there. A way out of the Warp, of the ceaseless battle against the nightmares of the Thirsting God.
The Eternal Phoenix rushed for the tear into the Webway as fast as he could.
There was nothing that stood in Fuegan's way as he ran past the endless flames he had left in his wake, no daemon dared to try facing and stopping the slayer of Kyriss as he passed through into the the space of the Aeldari.
The Burning Lance turned to face the tear from the other side, the glow of the scorching horizon radiating off his gaze as he looked to make sure that nothing would follow through and invade the Labyrinth Dimension.
After a while of watching, trying to sense any possible illusion or concealed nightmares lurking in wait, the Dragon turned away and ran through the paths to search for the Craftworlds to see what had happened to them.
At first the sections of the Webway that Fuegan was travelling through seemed unfamiliar, feeling different than anyplace they had gone through before. But after a while, to his growing dread, he realised that they were familiar locations yet twisted. The roads were wrong, terribly wrong.
They were empty, even desolate at some areas, and had lingering traces of corruption that were left as residue across them. The Phoenix Lord had recognised the defilement and knew that if it was here then the worst had come to past here.
And the Craftworlds that were supposed to be at the end of them were... gone. As if they had vanished, as if they were removed along with all life on them.
The Undying Flame wandered for a long while across the uninhabited and attacked portions of the Webway as they tried to search for life, for any survivors. A lone star streaking across a hollow night, a light shining in a void.
Orderly Alaitoc, prosperous Lyanden, valorous Saim-Hann and even the militaristic Biel-Tan were all gone along with all other Craftworlds that should have been there. No patrols, no guards, no passing ships. There was nothing to be found at all aside from signs of damage, of the ruin of Chaos.
Until, finally, the Fuegan felt a spark of something else in the distance. From beyond the path that led to Ulthwé.
The Craftworld was reputed as the home of 'the Damned' for how close it was to the Thirsting God's rift, and in this nightmarish situation it would surely have heavily faced what calamity that effected the other worlds. The Dragon wasn't sure if they wound find Ulthanash Shelwé as nearly destroyed ruins or if it was corrupted and taken over.
But whatever the case, whether it was conquered or corrupted or maybe even in the midst of attack, the Phoenix Lord would come for the world and defend it and all other Aeldari that survived or take it back if it truly was lost.
With axe and pike in hand, Fuegan charged through the path towards the life he felt beyond it. A corona of flame washed over his body as he neared the gateway, coating his weapons as he went through the portal.
The Flamewrought warrior immediately looked around to analyse the situation and, to his surprise, found that the Craftworld seemed normal. No damage to be seen, no ruin to be found and no traces of corruption to be felt.
Groups of Aeldari turned to face the Undying Flame as he burst into Ulthwé, the inhabitants turning to face the beacon of light as it emerged from the Labyrinth Dimension and were shocked at the sight of the burning figure.
"Khaine?" a few people whispered in awe as they saw the sight of the Dragon, clutching his weapons as liquid fire fell from his hands.
"It's Fuegan, the Burning Lance!" shouted others, causing a commotion as excitement rapidly sparked through Ulthwé as they saw the Phoenix Lord of the Fire Dragons return.
Fuegan looked around at the faces of the various Aeldari that were coming to see the Burning Lance, crowds forming as they greeted and bowed to the new arrival with utmost respect.
The Undying Flame felt their great, tempered fury begin to cool as they saw`the hope and spirit of the people around them burn brightly as he came. And, still burning with great power and with a feeling of content in their heart, he slowly keeled over unconscious as those of the last Craftworld were shocked once again as they rushed to the fallen body of the Phoenix Lord.
----
A Rising Phoenix.
Mountains of burning ash, rivers of molten remains, thick smoke that shrouded it all, lashing flames that struck from a radiant figure in the centre of it all.
The thirsting daemons, endless armies of them, constantly charged at the figure, surrounding them with legions. Their desires were uncontrollable as the power of the warrior called to them far and wide, his presence was a beacon that was brighter than his hottest flames.
A burning lance sent its power through to the mass of a craving nightmare, it and all those behind it screamed as they ignited.
The warrior was a master of flame and destruction, focused oblivion on all enemies. Now they were unleashed in a realm of nightmares and they annihilated all in their sight, from their constant foes to the land itself. Scorching, boiling lakes that marked where previous armies fell, being so hot that it deterred even most daemons from wading through them.
Yet the daemons did not relent in their attacks, their cravings so strong that they just avoided as much scorching remains they could as they charged, and so the Phoenix Lord responded to them in kind.
A daemon stalking from the behind one of the mountains of ash, one greater than most of the champions than were all charging, lunged towards their prey. An axe cleaved deeply into their head before they struck, the rest of their body vaporised. The trick wouldn't work again.
Fuegan the Burning Lance did not know how long they had been doing this, centuries to perhaps even millennia, but that didn't matter to them.
No matter how many more would be sent, no matter how much they would keep getting stronger, they would all be felled. This would not be the battle where they would die.
The Dragon looked towards their foes, feeling their shrouded forms beyond the walls of smoke. The daemons that kept passing through were illuminated by the many fires and embers that flowed through the area, dancing past the flames. Their wild faces filed with desire, hunger.
Beyond them there were faint lights that could be seen, especially in places where the smoke was more cleared up or where the Warp was shifting more violently. Ash, cinders and molten residue from countless daemons were everywhere.
In each direction, the horizon was filled with the aftermath of the Phoenix Lord's focused and total destruction. More mountains and lakes, the marks they left behind over the many years were still there, still burning.
Fuegan fired at the mass of daemons as they came past the ashen land, burning away as many as he could. He'd expand those horizons further until he found a way out or found one of his fellow Phoenix Lords.
Rows of nightmares all combusted, their onslaught outmatched. It was barely a moment before they were replaced by another row, their feet stomping down the still disintegrating bodies. It was almost routine like this, but the Dragon knew that each time they fought their foes became sharper, tempered by the flames.
The nightmares fought with everything they had, inexhaustible desires fuelling them, trying to find ways to get their great prize as the years went by. Using others as shields, distractions. Charging from all sides. Illusions, stalking within the smoke and ash. Anything to get closer, to reach their obsession.
So the Phoenix Lord made sure that he would be stronger in turn, mastering the annihilation of daemons. Their depraved pursuit becoming a grindstone for their demise.
The Burning Lance wondered if the others were facing such long, great battles as he was. If as many daemons were attacking them, if they were as strong as what he faced. It would have been a test worthy of them all, to prepare them for the Rhana Dandra.
But somehow Fuegan knew that he was unique here, felt the difference. The destruction he wrought, the flames he brought, were a beacon that was his alone. He didn't feel any from the others during his whole time here.
The others were safer like this, as he fought for them all.
So the Burning Lance fought and kept fighting, destroying all against them and scorching the Warp itself with their long battle. Over all their time in this battle they bore only one cut and burned down the vile creature that had delivered the wound as its shrieked with glee.
But then one strange moment came that heralded a shift in the battle, the smoke around the whole area suddenly billowing into one direction, away from another. A surge of chaotic wind, the start of a storm.
Then the endless hordes seemed to suddenly thin, much less coming to attack than normal. Some daemons even stopping, starting to back off and move away from the Phoenix Lord. All that were in range were shot, easier to target and kill since the start of the whole conflict, but Fuegan knew that something terrible was coming and prepared himself for it. A new attack, a nightmare greater than anything he faced here before was coming.
He felt it before he saw it, its presence briefly mistaken for an army emerging before the Phoenix Lord realised that they were mistaken. He turned around to face it, clouds of ash and fumes, smoke and cinders, billowed away. The ethereal sky parting, the smaller mountains crumbling.
It came slowly, from so far away. Even the presence of countless other daemons couldn't hide it, a beacon of power that seemed to match the Burning Lance. Its pace languid, dragging out the entrance as much as possible to savour the event. Still unseen as the roiling clouds hid it.
And then something else heralded the new arrival, coming from the other daemons. From unseen voices all around.
It was whispered, shouted and screamed with exaltation. It was a chant, a curse, a celebration. A name called out by an army turned audience, a legend making its way through the mass as its power and authority let it push past all others. Even the name itself bore a stronger weight than the others, betraying the power of the one who held it. And countless daemons all repeated it.
Kyriss.
There was laughter too, awe filled cries as well as sounds of disappointment and shame. Whatever their feelings on the matter, the other nightmares knew that now only Kyriss could bring down the Dragon.
Then it finally appeared, revealing itself to its prey. A tunnel formed from the thick roiling smoke, power drilling open an entrance inside the burning dark veil. On the other side of the ash and cinder filled passage was the daemon.
Its form was still mostly obscured by the haze of smoke and fumes, its silhouette lit and distorted by the great flames that still burned wildly behind it. A champion wearing darkness as it faced the light. It advanced forward until it passed by the last walls that shrouded it, the smoke rippling like water over Kyriss as they entered Fuegan's current battlefield.
The Keeper of Secrets stood in all its depraved glory. Appearing taller, greater than any other that came for the Phoenix Lord. One of its swords scraped its edge against another, two great claws snapped open-and-shut. Anticipation radiated from the being's essence.
Its bestial head contorted slightly to bear a wide smile as a long, black tongue licked the air and writhed as a serpent. Its eyes were opened wide as they focused directly onto Fuegan, their gaze seemed to glow with their own fire that burned with desire. Its great power and skill surpassed only by the depths of its wants.
"I greet you, Master of Dragons, as the champion of Slaanesh and as the one who shall break you. I am Kyriss, and you will be a worthy offering." it said, its voice carrying across the burning landscape so that it would be heard by all.
Fuegan didn't say a word, there was nothing needed to be said. The nightmare deserved no response other than what the Phoenix Lord gave to all other daemons.
He lifted up his weapons, the surrounding fires blazing into infernos as they felt his focused power, ready to bring down the Keeper of Secrets as it in turn lifted its own weapons too.
Then they both charged.
The daemon was shot at repeatedly the moment they got within range of the Phoenix Lord's Firepike, lances of destroying heat fired with precision on one target. As many as possible, all of them would be needed for this.
None of them hit their target. The Keeper of Secrets moved perfectly to avoid each one while rushing towards their prey, dodging them in the most minute of ways. Shifting their body in ways that a normal creature couldn't, excessive displays of skill.
A bending shadow, moving in parallel to the crackling flame. Meeting together in a dance.
The two clashed together, swords slashing downwards against a rising axe. The weapons met with enough force to violently kick up the ash by their feet, sparks and embers dancing around the fighters. The surrounding storm grew stronger, flames around the battlefield started to rise up higher as the surrounding daemons pulled back further from the spectacle.
Fuegan's burning axe were locked together with the daemon's swords, neither side able to push away the other. The runes of the Fire Axe began to ignite stronger as they matched the vile swords.
Other weapons were used as the two fighters were locked. The beast's claws tried to stab through the Dragon's heart before nearly getting burnt off by the Firepike. The Phoenix Lord pulled away before more strikes could follow and started to fire more shots, beams now too close to dodge easily.
The Keeper of Secrets pulled away too instead of charging, laughter following them as the shots kept coming so close before missing each time. They didn't turn their back on their prey, their gaze never breaking away for even a moment. They looked ready to do nothing more than to cut open the Phoenix Lord, to break them, crush them.
But it didn't charge again. As it got out of range from the shots again it slowed and stopped. Standing there waiting, not out of moderation but out of mockery. The fight was its game, and it wanted to play it longer. Drag things out.
It was a display of authority over the fight to the watchers and to the Phoenix Lord. The game going to be played the way the daemon wanted it to be played. A king waiting to be entertained by their subjects.
The Dragon didn't want to give the daemon anything it wanted, but not trying to destroy the daemon was an idea that would never even be considered.
He had to end this, bring the nightmare down as quickly as possible while there was the advantage of it indulging in its taunting show.
Fuegan charged towards Kyriss, fire lashing around him as he moved. The Keeper of Secrets barely moved, appearing unbothered even as the Burning Lance relentlessly tried to scorch the daemon into ash as the shots kept getting fired at them.
Any other that came for the Phoenix Lord would have been dead many times over as Kyriss easily dodged the focused onslaught, the champion standing over the ashes of fallen armies and molten pools made from the Firepike's power. The Keeper of Secrets started to take up a dance with its movements as flames, smoke and ash rose up around them, bestial laughter rising with it as it kept toying with its prey.
The Dragon came close again, each shot now forcing the daemon to dance harder to remain unburnt. Only moving from its spot as the ground ignited, contorting itself more than was needed. Yet another display for all to see, dancing amidst the inferno like it was easy to them.
The Burning Lance raised their axe, ready to match the daemon again as the weapon burned stronger once more in the face of the vile beast.
And then the daemon struck, the swords moving faster then they had moved before as the champion lunged as a feral monster with its intent focused harder than before. The dance ending with a glorious finale, the darkness growing deeper and looming over the fire.
Fuegan tried to back away, lifting up their axe to block one of the strikes, but the second sword came from below and it cut into the chest of the Phoenix Lord.
The first wound that Fuegan received over the course of their long battle was agony that pierced deep through their body, a cut upon their soul as much as their body. It wasn't just pain, it was pain that expanded itself. Festering in the Warp, filling it with twisted sensations.
The cut that Kyriss gave was exponentially worse, deeper than the other wound. Infernal torture with only one swipe. The area of the Warp around the Burning Lance slightly shuddering with the force the wound gave, growing it.
It felt like fire and oblivion, like a hundred swords all stabbing at once. Pain great enough that it could tear souls, rip out pieces of them away. A mouth in the shape of a wound, slavering with hunger and the echoes of a thirsting god. An affliction that could make even the greatest cry out, shatter to pieces.
Fuegan didn't cry out, they kept their mind focused on their enemy instead of what he felt. They didn't let their body fall or stumble as they kept moving, doing otherwise would be worse than anything he felt now.
The Keeper of Secrets lifted up the sword to their face as the Dragon retreated, watching something flow from the blade for a moment against the light of Fuegan's inferno. It looked different from the blood of most Eldar, leaking from something other than physical within the Phoenix Lord.
Before even a small amount dripped away their black tongue lashed out and the beast tasted the spiritual blood they had spilt.
"First blood," Kyriss whispered, shuddering as they relished their meal. "First blood!"
Echoes followed the daemon's words, resonating violently. Snuffing out the fires around them. Smoke faded away, molten remains cooled, ash blasted backwards as the Warp roiled under the champion's feet.
The Dragon clutched at their wound briefly as the echoes washed over him, carried by the far off daemons around the area. They pressed their burning axe to the cut, still standing defiant as they scorched away the daemon's mark.
The echoing storm calmed slightly as Kyriss ran forward to Fuegan, the taste of the Phoenix Lord's essence now leaving it ravenous for more for that rather than than its game of spectacle. Claws and swords raised high as the daemon leapt up, ready to strike down their prey.
Fuegan lifted up his axe and Firepike just as the champion came down on them, too slow to shoot but fast enough to to block. The force of the combined blow pushed back the Phoenix Lord, his feet sinking into the malleable land of the Warp while more burnt remains and flames were violently cast up as the two collided.
Kyriss didn't grant a moment of reprieve as they kept on their assault, relentless strikes from four different weapons as their mouth opened wide, ready to taste more of the Dragon's precious life.
Fuegan could barely keep up, trying to move away while blocking and dodging every twisted motion of their enemy. Attacks kept coming closer as the Phoenix Lord backed away, swords eager to cut again and claws ready to pierce through.
The ground under them began to shift and into thick sludge as Kyriss pushed and exerted their power. Trying to bury the Dragon, to trap them and leave them helpless to a slow demise.
But he was not going to die here, no matter what he would not fall in this battle. That would be one fire that wouldn't be snuffed out by the daemon or by any other daemon that might come here. The Dragon held on, trying to find a way out.
Then it happened.
For just a single moment there was an opening. The daemon was so focused on their attack, losing any caution over arrogance and intensified desire, that for all their skill they had left itself without defence.
Fuegan focused all his mind on this opportunity as he raised their Firepike as quickly as he could, the tip of it almost pressing against the daemon's right leg as it dodged sword and claw, and fired just as Kyriss realised what was happening.
It tried to move away but this time it wasn't fast enough.
Kyriss screamed as they were ignited, blazing fires spreading across their body in an instant from where the Firepike had struck. Burning greater than any other daemon that had been slain by the Phoenix Lord in their long battle, illumination so bright that it would have blinded and pushed back daemons of lesser strength.
For a moment the Keeper of Secrets was bathed in white hot flames, scorching under the Dragon's weapon. Their silhouette shrouded by the roaring inferno, the land and air of the Warp cooking alongside the daemon while the Burning Lance stood right by the centre of it unfazed by the heat.
The Firepike would have kept burning its target, to keep the dark champion alight until they were a molten stain, but from the blinding light the leg that was directly being struck by the scorching gun rose up and kicked away the weapon with enough force that it would have been dented if it wasn't so well crafted and reinforced.
A wild flurry of claws and swords coated in fire followed the leg, already rapidly cooling from white to red as the searing beam stopped burning the dark champion. None of them hit Fuegan as they dodged and got ready to ignite the creature again, its screams turning into a bellowing cry, drowning out the cracking flames.
Kyriss retreated before they could be shot again, their form twisting even faster than it had before. The flames began to shed from the daemon's body as it moved, large clumps of fire cascading downwards as it dodged more shots. A feeling of pressure emanated from it as the inferno was pushed away until the figure of Kyriss was revealed again.
It looked mostly unharmed, parts of its body appeared mildly singed as steam rose from their body and joined the smoke around them, but the the burn where its leg was struck by the Firepike glowed red inside a ring of blackened flesh.
The beast's eyes looked darker now, no longer just burning with desire but now mixed with smouldering hate. Its expression twisted into fury.
"Insect," the Keeper of Secrets said in a low voice that carried itself across the battlefield. "You think the fires you wield makes you strong? That your pitiful flames will incinerate me? Let us see how well you truly burn."
Another pressure was emitted by the daemon, this one stronger and slower. A distorting haze that washed over the area around Kyriss, enveloping the fires they touched and causing them to start shifting into different colours, causing them to grow brighter and wilder. Smoke and ash began to swirl above at a faster, more violent speed.
The flames around Kyriss began to burn with a new fuel, their chaotic power twisted them into flickering Warpflame that smouldered with screams and the will of the monster that made them. They began to move towards the Phoenix Lord, ready to envelop him.
Fuegan shot at the surging flames as they came for him, moving as hungry serpents. The Dragon's shots from their Firepike pushed against the daemonic energy, the flickering embers violently lifted into the air to start more fires until there were too many to stop. A ring of ignited corrupted spread around the two champions, shrinking the arena considerably as the ring began to close.
The Burning Lance fired upon the infernal walls as they came upon them, the crushing will and cruel desire of Kyriss made manifest as a mockery of the Phoenix Lord's power. The daemon laughed at their trapped prey while it struggled in their grasp, corrupting more flame. Fuegan fired directly into the flames, into the ground around them and towards where they saw the encircling figure of the monster that ignited them.
The roaring flames of Fuegan, the smaller yet more focused force, and the ring of screaming Warpflame, the bigger yet more wilder force, began to push at each other. The Dragon stood in the centre of the bonfire, the infernal clash rapidly caused the ground to become red hot around his feet.
The Phoenix Lord considered pushing through the circle of corrupted fire, to tunnel through the encompassing inferno. Then the Keeper of Secrets suddenly pushed through their wall of Warpflame first and charged at their trapped prey, intent on keeping them there.
They leaped over the blazing shots of the Firepike as it tried to pin them down, soaring above both the two different flames as some of the smouldering Chaos energy clung to their body. They dove down with swords and claws poised to skewer the figure below.
Fuegan dodged away a moment before impact, diving into the flames. The force of Kyriss's dive causes all fires to be pushed back, large clouds of smoke and ash billowing up with some of the molten ground. The Warpflame's borders were sent back but it still encircled the Phoenix Lord, and now their enemy too, but its approach and growth had slowed.
The Dragon was blinded within the infernal arena, their sight shrouded by the dark smog that hung in the air around them. The blaze of the daemon's corruption casting shadows, the burning walls flickering faintly through the veil of ash as it encroached slowly if they were barely there.
But the Eldar champion could sense the presence of the daemon and moved their Firepike to shoot at them. The beam pierced through the darkness and illuminated the form of the Kyriss as went past their head, bright embers and ash flying around their form like insects for a moment. The eyes and teeth of the daemon shined the brightest in the sudden light, reflecting on their monstrous expression.
Then the dark champion dove and charged before another shot could hit them, each dodged shot bringing a flash of light into the cloud. Like lighting surging in a storm, thunder made as the beast roared.
Fuegan lifted up their scorching gun and their Fire Axe in preparation for another clash, the writhing runes along their blade glowed hotter as the Keeper of Secrets came upon them.
Two claws swiped from the shadows towards the head of the Burning Lance, the Fire Axe parrying the blows away. The daemon's form revealed again, the shadowy figure against the lights of the two different flames they faced. Their form flickered and stretched in the blackened ash, a nightmare that twisted to its prey.
Swords struck against the Firepike, the metal screeched as it was scraped by the blades. The Phoenix Lord tried to fire another shot, but the dark champion was determined to keep the gun pointed away from as they pushed it aside with their daemonic strength and skill.
The concealed monster tried to rend the Burning Lance to pieces, claws wildly trying to stab through the flesh of their victim while their swords focused on. The pincers kept targetting the two wounds their foe suffered before, intent on making the suffering magnified, but no opening was available as each twisted strike was countered.
The glow of Fuegan's axe and the sparks left by the strike of Kyriss's blades were flashes of illumination in the black shroud, bright enough that the army of watching daemons around the two champions could see it as the smoke and ash began to thin and lift as the circle of Warpflame came closer and closer.
The Dragon wasn't sure how much time had passed in the dark, their focus dedicated on countering their obscured enemy's attacks and to find a way to get out before the corrupted fire enveloped them. Though as the ash lifted and the daemon was revealed, body resonating with the screaming light of the screaming inferno. An idea came to their mind as they saw the molten ground around the encroaching Warpflame.
The Firepike, unable to hit the daemon as it kept dodging away from the gun's end or parrying it away, was swung up to Kyriss from below. It was kicked back, swords and claws now thrusting forward as one towards the. As the weapon pointed to the ground between the two fighters it fired, sending a lance of melting heat by the daemon's feet.
The Keeper of Secrets momentarily recoiled from its assault as the land it was about to walk on ignited into white-hot sludge. The Dragon pressed this advantage by lining up another shot by the ground where the daemon would rush through next. The audience watching the battle watched the figures reappear, silhouettes against molten earth.
The duel in the ring of Warpflame continued with Fuegan gaining the slight edge, blasting the ground where Kyriss stood and forcing them to try shoving the gun away from them and the ground.
The daemon still ferociously locked weapons with the Phoenix Lord as another circle of fire started to form against. There were no openings to attack the beast even as it leaped and dodged from dancing flames and splashing grounds, even as its form was no longer obscured. The edge of the axe the Burning Lance held began to glow red-hot as it kept touching vile claws and swords, a visible haze emanating from the weapon's runes.
The champion of the Dark Prince started to laugh as their form was illuminated more, their eyes shining unnatural colours as they reflected light from a screaming source. Past the beast's form Fuegan could see the borders of the corrupted flames getting too close, to the point that he could feel the Chaotic heat behind their back.
The Dragon had wasted too much time without making enough progress, there wasn't going to be a chance to drive back Kyriss and shoot an opening to escape through. Now they had to risk getting cut again to fire an opening or dive through the Warpflame and endure its agony.
Or they could try something riskier.
The Burning Lance charged at the Keeper of Secrets, who kept laughing as they saw their slow trap reach its end. The claws of the beast swiped at Fuegan's chest again, the swords descending as the Firepike was lifted upwards from below ready to fire. The daemon moved to kick back the gun with their right leg, not caring that it would scorch the ground again.
The Phoenix Lord ducked the pincers and let go of his gun before the kick connected, his empty hand lashing out to grab the leg of the daemon as he pulled with all his strength.
It was surprise more than the awkward position and force that caused the manoeuvre to work, the leg lifted up right as the Fire Axe swung down on it. Kyriss immediately tried to skewer the Dragon as they tried to pull back their leg, but the Fuegan's attack was faster as the blade sank into the exact spot where the Firepike had struck the daemon's flesh.
The wound had slowly begun to heal, the circle of blackened flesh around the wound a little smaller and the burn itself had cooled from its searing red glow. Then the blade of the axe cut deeply into the injury, the whole head of the weapon turning bright orange the moment it touched the body.
Kyriss screamed louder than when they had been struck before, their body was engulfed in blazing red fires that spread from the incinerated wound. The surrounding ring of Warpflame lost cohesion as, in a moment the corrupted inferno that nearly reached the two champions became a few flickering screams and cinders.
The Dragon let go of the leg as it was yanked back and ripped the burning axe from it, tearing away a chunk of flesh in the process. The daemon flailed in pain and fury at the Burning Lance, blades and claws striking without skill or direction.
Fuegan knew that this wouldn't last long, they needed to escape before they were trapped again. The Phoenix Lord quickly took this opportunity and ran, snatching back their dropped Firepike as they dove through a cleared part of the broken Warpflame circle. Then they ran a bit further as behind them the Keeper of Secrets bellowed in rage and a heavy feeling of power burst out of them, radiating strong enough that a few distant infernos in the other end of the arena in Fuegan was stuck in were smothered and reduced.
The Burning Lance turned to aim another shot from their Firepike at the monster just as they neared the edge of the weapon's range, feeling the creature's presence angrily lash out and extinguish the heat around them.
Then the scorching gun fell from the Phoenix Lord's grip again as they stumbled backwards, agony so great and terrible coursing through their body to the point that they nearly cried out under the pain.
Embedded in the far left side of their chest, glistening with spiritual blood that leaked out of the deep wound, was one of Kyriss's swords. Fuegan tried to focus their mind away from the pain as they reached out with their free hand to pull away the sword, looking away from it towards the one that threw it.
Even with the distance and the haze of smoke and perverse power, the Dragon could clearly see the figure of the daemon as it stood unmoving from where it was before. Its right hand was outstretched and empty. Its face was twisted into utter hatred, teeth barred and eyes madly staring at their prey.
The wound on its leg looked much larger than before, a substantial amount of charred tissue around a gaping tear that radiated a red-hot glare. The Fire Axe had gone down to the bone, then its messy removal revealed it.
"Suffer." the Keeper of Secrets whispered in a voice of hate and cruelty, slowly smiling as they began to walk forward.
The word echoed from them to the vast army of daemons that surrounded the fight as a chant, a curse. The sword that impaled Fuegan hurt more as the daemons chanted, a spike of torment hitting them as they pulled it out of their body as more blood fell. The pain that the Dragon felt didn't alleviate as the Chaotic weapon was removed, but they lifted up the Fire Axe and pressed its searing blade by their wound nevertheless.
There was laughter in the audience as they sensed the agony that the Burning Lance felt, caused by the blades of both champions. The pike was picked up again and fired on the tossed away sword.
A part of the Phoenix Lord had hoped that the act would destroy the accursed blade, being bathed in tremendous heat as the cutting thermal lance directly struck it. The sword didn't melt away as the ground around it did, but as the sword became red with heat it incinerated the blood before it could be devoured. Another little act of defiance against the beast as Fuegan looked back towards the approaching daemon.
Kyriss's pace bore little theatricality to it as they came to their foe, feeling less of a perverted show or arrogant display and more of an inevitable march that grew faster. The Firepike blasted at the Keeper of Secrets as its wielder backed away, each shot dodged with less perfection and exaggerated skill than before. The monster broke into a run as it came closer, bellowing in rage.
The Dragon fired at the sword that they left on the ground again before the daemon could pick it up, but the large raging flames over the weapon parted under the weight of the monster's hand as it picked up the rapidly cooled blade and continued their charge as if there had been no delay. In moments the dark champion had engaged the Phoenix Lord again, blades and claws meeting axe and pike.
This time the assault was relentless to an even greater extent, the strikes faster and harder as the Keeper of Secrets pushed against the Dragon as any attempt to attack the glowing wound on their leg was thwarted before it could be attempted. The trick before wouldn't work again.
Fuegan kept getting forced backwards under the weight of the blows, unable to even think about shooting or cutting the daemon again as they concentrated on defence. A sword just barely parried away from the cut on their chest, a pincer less than an inch from the deeper wound to the left of the cut.
The dark champion was truly enraged, their slender tongue lashing out to taste the pain from the burnt stab wound, as they focused entirely on defeating the Burning Lance and tasting the suffering.
The Burning Lance kept enduring the blows as long as they could, having to perfectly deflect every single attack as Kyriss fought as hard as it could. The daemon's attacks got closer by the smallest amounts as the duel went on, brutal agony steadily getting nearer despite Fuegan's best efforts.
The fight would be beyond most other Eldar, to survive the overwhelming assault being an impossible task. Fuegan managed to last an incredible time against the beast, countering and dodging as all the long experience they had from facing the endless army of daemons before the dark champion had arrived was used.
The Dragon was unwavering, untiring as they engaged their enemy. Despite the circumstances they could have continued on for an eternity longer if it was required. Their spirit would defiantly face down any champion She-Who-Thirsts would send.
Yet the critical mistake that happened was inevitable to occur. The Fire Axe was lifted just too slowly to stop the thrusted claw, the cutting point of the pincer moving past the Phoenix Lord's defences as its end went through into their gut.
Even as the excruciating torture of sensations surged through the essence of Fuegan and let a rush of unimaginable pleasure rush through Kyriss, both fighters barely paused their conflict as the sharp appendage was quickly ripped away a moment before the axe could cleave it off.
The Dragon pushed the Fire Axe to the new wound as the strike missed, not wasting any single movement, and fought through the unbearable agony as their foe temporarily leaned away from the battle. The Keeper of Secrets raised the bloodied claw to their mouth as they pulled back, greedily devouring as much of the dripping ichor as they could along with the delicious sensations radiating from where it came from.
The Burning Lance tried to use this moment to their advantage, still able to raise their pike despite their injuries. Laughter came from the daemon again as it dodged the shot, teeth coated red.
"You taste wondrous, Burning Lance!" Kyriss said as it locked swords with the Phoenix Lord's axe as it came forward again. Its gaze drifted to the singed wounds on their opponent's body as it continued. "You even cook yourself for me as I devour you! But I prefer my meals raw, to truly savour what's inside."
Fuegan responded by trying to cut off the beast's tongue as it lashed out, nearly chopping it before the Keeper of Secrets smacked the weapon aside as the duel continued.
Almost all other mortals that the great daemon had faced grew weaker and died quickly as they were wounded and felt unbearable pain, to the point that even lesser beings of the Warp would succumb to it, yet while the Phoenix Lord was certainly affected by their injuries their spirit seemed galvanised more than anything as they kept fighting against the monster.
Despite their latest wound, Fuegan fought harder and better than before as the intense assault from the dark champion continued. The rapid strikes from the four limbs faced a little more effectively by the axe and pike, the Dragon using what experience they gained against the Keeper of Secrets to better counter the attacks.
The blows still came closer as the fight went on, the two swords and pincers getting nearer to cut and stab more, but the daemon's progress took much longer as the Burning Lance clung to survival. The Firepike shot at the ground more to try diverting the beast, the axe lashing out with all the strength and skill that its wielder possessed, all to buy even just a few more seconds of time as the dark champion kept pressing forwards.
The continued, unceasing defiance caused the thin patience of the monster to buckle and then snap.
"Enough!" Kyriss growled out as they clashed against the Burning Lance. "You tire me with your insolent struggles, your annoying resistance! You dare try to refuse me?! Refuse the Prince of Chaos?! You've starved me enough of the true suffering I desire, Phoenix Lord!"
The Keeper of Secrets somehow fought even harder, getting lost in frustration and the unquenchable desire that permeated in the creature's essence. The focus shifting from attacks and counters into almost pure assault.
Fuegan could see that there were now openings in the rapid strikes that in their prime they would have been able to take advantage of. Not in their current state, not with the wounds that they endured. They had to wait until an opportunity they could take arrived.
But the chance of that happening seemed to fade as the Dragon's defences were worn down by the crazed barrage. The slowed progress had shifted as the blades inched further while the claws clacked closer. The shadow madly twisting against the light, the fire burning brighter to stave it off.
The Burning Lance stood their ground in the face of what might have been their end, a whirlwind of sharp torment that would wear down mountains in its way. The inevitable gave the Phoenix Lord no fear.
Another laceration bore its mark on Fuegan's body, a sword that scraped close to where Kyriss's first wound was. The Fire Axe hissed as it touched another injury left by the champion of corruption, the blade seemed to perpetually glow red now as it kept touching against the weapons and claws of the daemon.
The next cut, a small graze on the right arm left by a claw, was harder to stem the bleeding and worming agony that tried to seep in. It was barely managed as the Keeper of Secrets pulled the claw back for a moment to devour the little bits of blood on it, but it was done in time to parry another strike.
Yet, as the Phoenix Lord immediately went back to the fight after dealing with the tear on their limb, that was when their constant focus on the duel realised that a change had come to it.
Kyriss was getting slower.
They weren't getting sluggish or sedate with their rapid assault, but the speed of the attacks were reducing at a very noticeable rate compared to how the dark champion began.
It didn't seem to be another game or cruel display, the expression of fury the beast's face and intense glare of madness betrayed that it wasn't trying to draw things out. Its only pauses now were when it ingested the blood that was shed.
The monster wasn't as injured and was pushing itself hard, more skill and strength than any other that fell here, and yet the Dragon could still somewhat match against them despite their worse damage. The fight wasn't so one-sided as what it could have turned to.
The daemon said before that it tired of Fuegan's defiance. Now the Phoenix Lord wondered if that wasn't just deriding remarks and arrogance, if it was true. Against however long the fight had gone for by that point, against the heat of the battlefield and the fires of the Burning Lance that came near or even truly injured the beast, the champion seemed as tough they was beginning to struggle. An immortal spirit reaching its limits, darkness fading while the the light still raged on.
Fuegan realised there was a chance, that hope wasn't lost. They just had to focus as they had before on surviving, on outlasting their opponent. The pain and suffering they felt from their wounds marginally lessened, their will shining as the unwavering determination of the Dragon grew stronger.
It took much longer for the next strike to land, Kyriss's furious onslaught delayed significantly by the Phoenix Lord. A sword had finally breached through the ceaseless repelling manoeuvres after an age and greedily took what blood it could, its unsated hunger growing too great. The pain of the wound broken through, the burn afterwards almost comforting.
The Burning Lance saw more signs of tiring from the Keeper of Secrets. Slightly laboured breaths, impatience visibly shown on the creature's bestial face and movements still getting slower. Even the strength that Fuegan had felt the daemon when it parried and pushed aside the axe and pike felt weaker now.
The constant glow of the Fire Axe burned hotter as it clashed with the daemon now, the concentrated fury of its wielder made manifest. Defiance radiated from the Phoenix Lord as it stood firm, weapons flashing as they started to reach the speed of the once lightning fast assailment.
The dark champion struck the body of the Dragon once more, a claw scrapping just below the neck, and drank the blood with the desperation of a creature that was starved. Fuegan barely felt hurt by it as they continued on with the fight.
From around the two champions, behind great clouds of smoke and ash and the living insanity of the Warp, the legions of daemons began to notice that the legendary Kyriss was faltering. A cruel epitome of the Lord of Excess they watched was somehow weakening more than the mortal they faced. Whispers of confusion, doubt of inevitable victory and a few pockets of anticipation began to emerge from the crowd.
Eventually, as the Keeper of Secrets kept lunging to open up their opponent, both fighters realised that the daemon was no longer making progress. The swords and pincers that slowly inched towards the body of the Burning Lance after each strike now set back, while the axe swung closer and the end of the scorching gun nearly able to point and ignite the beast again.
Kyriss seemed to realise what was happening, its near total focus on attack barring no longer bearing results. The daemon's uncontrollable desire, pride and fury did not allow it to retreat or stop its duel for even a moment. It shifted back to a mixture of attack and defence, to stop the Phoenix Lord from harming it again.
With the constant barrage lessened, with the monster now forced back into the defence, the Dragon pushed forward. They held the advantage now, they could eternally hold flame as all else they faced burned.
Yet the Keeper of Secrets was a nightmare beyond most other daemons, even with their current state finding an opening would take greater time and effort.
Blade met blade, pike met pincer. The two champions engaged in an extended back and forth as they both tried to land a blow on their opponent, unstoppable will clashing with monstrous force.
Fuegan and Kyriss were truly matched now, the tide of battle shifting into balance. The Firepike blasted the ground around the monster as it leaped away, billowing heat washing over the beast, while corrupted Warpflame emerged once more from the daemon to burn their opponent with screams and suffering.
The audience saw that this time the fires were more equal in size and ferocity, the snaking blasts fading away as they were blasted by beams of melting heat. No rings or walls of flame were made, this time it was just raw ferocity against one another.
"Flamewrought worm, false immortal!" the Keeper of Secrets cursed a long while since it last injured the Burning Lance, its tired voice betraying its fury and waning strength. "You think you will win? That you could best me? You're nothing! You have already failed long before this battle was graced by me! Your will remain trapped here forever until you die, until you are nothing but cinders and ash!"
Fuegan still didn't respond or say anything to the daemon before them, fighting and parrying as if they had heard nothing at all. The disregarding silence caused the creature's frustrations to boil as it continued.
"You shall be the first of the Asurya to fall, your corrupted body laid screaming for me as your soul is torn away to Slaanesh! You will bend till you break, branded till you burn, and you will love it! Even if you did strike me down, I would take your consumed corpse and make its body my own and burn all that you tried to save! Give up and beg for for your torment, whelp!"
This time the Burning Lance did react, their head focusing towards the face of the daemon rather than their attacks as they heard what it said. The others were alive, the others didn't fall.
That knowledge, more than their fury, made the flames within the Dragon burn brighter. Now they knew that elsewhere the others still fought, now they knew that this would not be where they died.
"Do you hear me, Phoenix Lord?!" the monster bellowed, rage twisting in their eyes. "You will-"
Kyriss's words died as the end of the Firepike heavily smashed against their mouth, the little distraction finally left an opening for attack, knocking the bestial head back with the force. A few teeth cracked under the blow, one falling out.
The dark champion seemed shocked for a moment at the interruption, at the injury and humiliation of it, before it roared as black blood dripped from its maw. The fight continued.
Kyriss's breaths got more laboured as their flurry of blows slowed faster against the Burning Lance, time seemed to stretch as the duel came closer towards its inevitable end. Fuegan was a tower against a howling storm, an immovable flame casting away the night.
And then a chance came, an eye within the storm, and Fuegan took it as the darkness and corrupted light howled around them.
The Phoenix Lord swung the pike and axe again to the beast's face, stronger than before. A claw whipped out and grabbed the end of the gun and tried to twist it back, shove it away, while the swords slashed out against the heated blade.
The grip on the Firepike was released a second time, the empty hand immediately reaching for the Fire Axe as it pulled back just before the strike of the daemon's blades touched it.
Finally the true opening came. A moment where all four limbs of the Keeper of Secrets were too far to defend, too slow to stop what came. After an eternity of combat the creature was finally vulnerable, if for just a moment.
Fuegan lifted up the Fire Axe with both hands, the head of the weapon shifting into a white-hot glow as the Burning Lance's fury was honed to a single point at this single moment. He swung it down onto the center of the daemon's chest, right towards the thing's dark heart, as it tried to stop the attack.
It hit.
The dark champion burst into flames as the whole head of the axe sunk into their body, the burning runes on the weapon briefly flashed with illumination that would rival a supernova as they shined through the torso they were implanted in.
One claw dropped the pike while the other desperately swung at the now weaponless Phoenix Lord, doing nothing more than pushing him back on the ground of the ashen battlefield. The beast stumbled back to as the inferno raged the inside and outside of their body, their very essence getting ignited.
Kyriss wheezed and choked as the axe incinerated their flesh, bones and innards turning to cinders before the Dragon's very eyes as he lifted himself up from the ground. The monster moved in a desperate panic as both swords fell from their fingers as its hands and claws tried to grab at the weapon that was killing them.
Touching the Fire Axe seemed to be almost worse for the daemon than having it shoved into them, the hands clutching the thing rapidly started to melt as the grasping pincers cracked and boiled.
Somehow the beast still managed to cling to life, some strength still persisting inside the living nightmare, as the monster did manage to tear the impossibly hot object from their body. They turned to face the rising figure of the Burning Lance and tried to throw the impossibly hot axe towards them, barely missing as it landed just by Fuegan's feet and rapidly melted the ground.
Around the arena, as whispers of amazement and excitement started to grow into a cackling chorus, the vast army of daemons that had hung back to witness the grand show began to slowly enter the battlefield again. Some headed for the Dragon again, a few others for his opponent.
"YOU WILL FACE EVERLASTING AGONY!" Kyriss screamed, their voice distorted as it came out of their ignited, ruined body. "ALL WHO DARE GO AGAINST ME WILL SUFFER BEYOND SUFFERING! I WILL COME BACK, FUEGAN, AND YOUR BLOOD WILL RUN OVER YOUR RUINED CRAFTWORLDS!"
"Blood Runs."
The blazing Keeper of Secrets fell silent, the encroaching legion of nightmares heading for the two fighters paused, as the Burning Lance whispered the first words he had spoken since the long battle had begun.
Even against the crackling flames, the shrieks of the dark champion and the cacophony of voices from the horde of monsters Fuegan's words were heard by all clearly. Power resonated the words, fuelling them.
The Dragon picked up the Fire Axe from the molten land below him with their right hand. The wounds on his body combusted as he touched the blade, the surging flames not harming him at all.
"Anger Rises." he said as he began to walk forward to his enemy, who was backing away from what approached them.
The words resonated across the battlefield again, fires and embers began to grow stronger and brighter. Clouds of smoke and ash above became larger. The heat emanating from the Phoenix Lord grew hotter.
"You... ah... you cannot survive this!" Kyriss shouted, struggling to get the words out through the agony that attacked the very core of their being. "Even if you manage to survive a thousand of years longer until I can come back, you will die here! This is your grave! You've still failed! This is where you shall perish!"
"Death Wakes!" shouted the Flamewrought as he kept walking forwards, wielding his weapon with both hands again like an executioner instead of a warrior.
Fire ignited from his hands as the axe burned yet brighter than before, the runes on the blade flared until a shimmering haze coated the sharpened edge as liquid flame fell from the burning fists that held the weapon.
Some of the daemons began to back away into the darkness again, as all around them fires began to burst from the ground as the dark clouds began to flicker with red like thunder and lighting within a roiling storm. Others started to rush towards the two fighters, realising what was about to happen and attempting to stop it.
"STOP IT!" the cornered beast demanded, their voice filled with fear as their end approached. "GET AWAY FROM ME! YOU CAN'T KILL ME! YOU-"
"WAR CALLS!" the Undying Flame roared as he swung the Fire Axe one final time at his foe.
The weapon moved as a raging meteor trailing through the cosmos, with heat of a solar flare from a lashing sun and possessing such power behind it as though it was Kaela Mensha Khaine himself that was wielding the axe.
The dark champion, even as their body turned to ash and was melting away by the second, lifted up their hands and claws to try blocking the killing blow that came for them.
The limbs turned rapidly turned black as the blade came close, turned to ash and blasted away before they could even touch the weapon.
And then, finally, the Fire Axe went through the neck of the daemon. Cleanly bypassing the monster's power, cleaving with such ease as though there was no resistance at all.
The burning body of Kyriss the Perverse, Exalted Keeper of Secrets, tumbled to the ground as their chopped off head landed next to it. The remains quickly turned to ash as the blazing spirit of the creature was banished back to its master, screaming in agony and failure.
For a moment, against the crackling flames and rumbling storms, there was silence as Fuegan stood over the fallen warrior in victory.
And then, as screams erupted from the stunned army of nightmares that witnessed the impossible, everything went white as the battlefield, as the landscape of the roiling Warp, burned in response to the death of Kyriss.
It was like a star coming into existence, a flash of light that was brighter to the Warp than the beacon that attracted the servents of the Dark Prince to the Burning Lance in the first place. Ash, embers and smoke all billowed away.
The army of daemons scrambled to get away, some of the weakest dying in the explosion of radiant heat while even those of the strongest that were too close to the Undying Flame were struck blind.
After a few moments, as the explosion passed away as the light died down, the Eternal Phoenix stood surrounded by terrain that was completely coated in fire as far as his eye could see. Burning horizons, scorched landscapes, not even ash was left.
He had won.
The Burning Lance looked around, waiting for another monster that would come and fight him, and saw that there was nothing that was coming for him. The only things he could feel were the army of nightmares that were quickly fleeing.
He looked down as something that wasn't flame poked out of the smouldering ground. The Firepike had survived the blast, even if the tip of it bore the damage left by the claw that held it in its grip.
As Fuegan reached to pick it up, he noticed that there was still flames that coated their body and surged out from where he had suffered the wounds that were burnt away. The Fire Axe in his hands was still constantly glowing after the battle had finished, cooled to a red-orange light while the runes on the blade remained white-hot. The Phoenix Lord had been marked by the battle, by the duel with the terrible Keeper of Secrets, with more than just wounds.
Clutching both weapons again, the honed fury still raging inside his body, the Undying Flame looked out again towards. His perception stretched out looking for either another enemy to burn or another of the Phoenix Lords to try heading towards, instead finding something else.
The Webway.
He could sense it, after all this time he could finally sense the Labyrinth Dimension again. A way out.
It was so close that if it wasn't for the presence of the army of daemons that masked it, or for the vile champion that had come, he would have sensed it before. He might have missed it if he kept fighting and the battle directed him elsewhere.
But it was there. A way out of the Warp, of the ceaseless battle against the nightmares of the Thirsting God.
The Eternal Phoenix rushed for the tear into the Webway as fast as he could.
There was nothing that stood in Fuegan's way as he ran past the endless flames he had left in his wake, no daemon dared to try facing and stopping the slayer of Kyriss as he passed through into the the space of the Aeldari.
The Burning Lance turned to face the tear from the other side, the glow of the scorching horizon radiating off his gaze as he looked to make sure that nothing would follow through and invade the Labyrinth Dimension.
After a while of watching, trying to sense any possible illusion or concealed nightmares lurking in wait, the Dragon turned away and ran through the paths to search for the Craftworlds to see what had happened to them.
At first the sections of the Webway that Fuegan was travelling through seemed unfamiliar, feeling different than anyplace they had gone through before. But after a while, to his growing dread, he realised that they were familiar locations yet twisted. The roads were wrong, terribly wrong.
They were empty, even desolate at some areas, and had lingering traces of corruption that were left as residue across them. The Phoenix Lord had recognised the defilement and knew that if it was here then the worst had come to past here.
And the Craftworlds that were supposed to be at the end of them were... gone. As if they had vanished, as if they were removed along with all life on them.
The Undying Flame wandered for a long while across the uninhabited and attacked portions of the Webway as they tried to search for life, for any survivors. A lone star streaking across a hollow night, a light shining in a void.
Orderly Alaitoc, prosperous Lyanden, valorous Saim-Hann and even the militaristic Biel-Tan were all gone along with all other Craftworlds that should have been there. No patrols, no guards, no passing ships. There was nothing to be found at all aside from signs of damage, of the ruin of Chaos.
Until, finally, the Fuegan felt a spark of something else in the distance. From beyond the path that led to Ulthwé.
The Craftworld was reputed as the home of 'the Damned' for how close it was to the Thirsting God's rift, and in this nightmarish situation it would surely have heavily faced what calamity that effected the other worlds. The Dragon wasn't sure if they wound find Ulthanash Shelwé as nearly destroyed ruins or if it was corrupted and taken over.
But whatever the case, whether it was conquered or corrupted or maybe even in the midst of attack, the Phoenix Lord would come for the world and defend it and all other Aeldari that survived or take it back if it truly was lost.
With axe and pike in hand, Fuegan charged through the path towards the life he felt beyond it. A corona of flame washed over his body as he neared the gateway, coating his weapons as he went through the portal.
The Flamewrought warrior immediately looked around to analyse the situation and, to his surprise, found that the Craftworld seemed normal. No damage to be seen, no ruin to be found and no traces of corruption to be felt.
Groups of Aeldari turned to face the Undying Flame as he burst into Ulthwé, the inhabitants turning to face the beacon of light as it emerged from the Labyrinth Dimension and were shocked at the sight of the burning figure.
"Khaine?" a few people whispered in awe as they saw the sight of the Dragon, clutching his weapons as liquid fire fell from his hands.
"It's Fuegan, the Burning Lance!" shouted others, causing a commotion as excitement rapidly sparked through Ulthwé as they saw the Phoenix Lord of the Fire Dragons return.
Fuegan looked around at the faces of the various Aeldari that were coming to see the Burning Lance, crowds forming as they greeted and bowed to the new arrival with utmost respect.
The Undying Flame felt their great, tempered fury begin to cool as they saw`the hope and spirit of the people around them burn brightly as he came. And, still burning with great power and with a feeling of content in their heart, he slowly keeled over unconscious as those of the last Craftworld were shocked once again as they rushed to the fallen body of the Phoenix Lord.
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Trials of Purity: Temptation (Canon TBD)
- Location
- United States
It was not common practice among the Eternal Wardens to lift weights. As Astartes, we of the Eternal Wardens were typically strong beyond any mortal means, and even without physical training our bodies would naturally grow and maintain muscles that far outrstripped our average use of them.
That did not mean that we did not train our bodies, however. Indeed, many Wardens could attest to rigorous combat simulations First Captain Oricarious had methodically designed to strain every transhuman muscle. Or the extensive drills which, among other things, often had us running into strange positions across our ship, often miles apart from one another. By the Emperor, even our most basic of training, the obstacle courses, were typically designed to be outright impossible, or even lethal, to a normal man.
And, as if that was not enough, there were the grueling duels, when Brothers from across the Legion would meet in glorious combat. There, the Astartes would lock blades time and time again, dodging, attacking, and pushing their enemy back in a brutal melee that might last hours, until both combatants had slowed to human levels, or until they passed out from exhaustion.
Deep in my mind, I can hear Lord Khorne laugh, and I feel a wave of pleasure, of joy, wash over me. And I know I must surely draw blood in my next duel.
Even then, I had another reason not to be here. For I am a Biomancer, one of the stronger ones in the Eternal Wardens too, and as such, given a few years, I should be able to shape my flesh to be as muscle-bound as I liked, much like I did currently with any excess fat.
And just like that, I hear His growl, his displeasure. And I know I must draw blood in my next duel.
But I would not gain that ability for many years to come, and it was a useless one for me, stuck in extensive, but relatively light physical training as I was.
But I, Joaquin Abdul, was not one to back away from a challenge.
And that was the true reason I was here. For even a challenge as simple as this, a mere embarrassment now, and formality in the future, was a challenge that I, Joaquine Abdul, needed to conquer.
"Then is not this a waste?" I feel Lord Tzeentch ask.
"We meet again." I say aloud, glaring at the thing, "My most hated enemy."
"Now, now." Lord Nurgle wheezed out, "You need to be nicer to each other. Work together, or-" Lord Nurgle gasps, "we'll never be able to take down the Anathema."
The bar, of course, did not respond.
Lord Slaanesh giggled, probably just happy to see a host of sweaty, unarmored Astartes.
I take a deep breath, gathering my strength, and stretching as I glare at my most hated enemy.
Of course, much had changed on the world of Aleph. Stuck as we were in the Warp Storm that surrounded us, many of our number had taken to training in any way they could. For many, myself included, that meant going down to the surface of Aleph and participating in as many many obstacle courses, lectures, and lessons from our Brothers and cousins as possible. But for the rest, that meant going to places just like this.
And so it was that, as I looked around, knowing that I was more than likely about to embarrass myself, I couldn't help but squirm when I saw all the true veterans of the Legion. Each a powerful monster in their own way, be they the Tech Marine, duelist, sniper, or apothecary, each an ancient master of war in a way few in the Imperium could even hope to match.
I take another breath, huffing a few times, before sliding down unto the bench.
"You can do it!" shouts one of my Brothers, his massive form towering over me like the upper spires of a hive city.
Ahh, of course, there was also the matter of my spotters.
Originally, I had asked Brother Rene' to spot me. For while he is someone I do not wish to embarrass myself in front of, I trust him not to tell anyone, and figured that would be enough.
Unfortunately, our resident guns-Brother overheard, and then our favorite swords-maniac Brother overheard that, and next thing I knew, it seemed like every Brother I'd ever served with was piling into the room. Which was nice, actually, comforting in that I knew that they wished me well. But it was also quite distressing, for it meant that I had to worry not only about failing in front of my esteemed elders, and my favorite Brother, but my peers as well.
"You can do it Brother!" shouted our resident sword maniac, his hand raised high first in a wave, but quickly turned into a few cheerful pumps as more and more of our Brothers joined in.
I grimace, struggling to hide my blush. He means well. I tell myself, He means well.
Ignoring the cheers of my peers and the somewhat disgruntled groans of our elders, I turn back to the bar. It was a sleek thing. A solid bar of tungsten designed to be unbendable, even by the mightiest of Astartes. Indeed, with something like this, it was possible even a Primarch might be able to get a light workout. Though, obviously the Mechanicum would never allow a Primarch to use anything less than the highest quality ceramite.
Shaking my head, I snap out of my stupor, taking a deep breath as I raise my hands to the massive, glistening black bar. And, with one more deep, deep breath, I wrap my arms around it and push.
It is like trying to move a mountain. Heavy, crushing, it takes your breath away in a moment, and demanded your respect to wield. Slowly, slowly it descends, an endurance hunter you know you will not outlast it, who knew its victory was inevitable, who scorned your attempts, even as it slowly, slowly, bit towards your neck.
"Is everything alright, Brother?" Brother Rene' signed, his face contorting in a mixture of understanding and concern, as if he knew I wouldn't take provocations well, but was nevertheless compelled to act.
Lord Nurgle wheezed.
"I-I'm fine! Brother!" I wheeze out, forcing myself to breathe before I saw just how much it sped up my eminent doom.
"Ohh, that's-" Lord Nurgle wheezes again, spittle and pus spilling all over the Warp, "nice of him."
He means well! I shouted in my mind, He really does! GAH! Why is this so heavy!
"You can do it!" shouts the same Brother as before.
"Yeah!" pipes in another, "Come on! You're Joaquin Abdul, the White Pawn of the Eternal Wardens!"
"My black knight."
"What!?" I shout, so momentarily distracted that I let my most hated enemy drop nearly three more inches before I regain control, "Wh-why am I a pawn? Who gave me that nickname? Why am I a pawn?"
Ahh, but of course, my Lord Tzeentch. For who else is worthy of my service?
"Hate the pain, and it will flee from you!" shouted our resident swords-maniac.
"That sounds awful Red of you Brother!" I shout back, my eyes jumping between the slow, encroach of death, and my absolute maniac of a Brother.
"Yes!" he shouts, "Yes it does!"
"YO-You're not denying it!"
"Come, Brother! Defeat the bar, and then defeat me! In GLORIOUS MELEE COMBAT!"
Lord Khorne nodded, "I like him." He boomed, seething in rage.
"Brother?" I shout, finally starting to feel the subtle burn of muscles in my arms, as they rip, and tear trying desperately to push the black bar away, "Brother you're seriously freaking me out right now!"
The swords Brother just laughed, combing his sleek, red hair back as he backed slowly into the crowd.
"Brother? Brother! Is-" I struggle, pushing with all my might, as my arms begin to shake a near imperceptible amount I knew nevertheless all my Brothers could see plain as day, "is no one going to stop him!"
Yet, the black death approaches.
Lord Nurgle glistened, positively radiant. "Haven't been called that in a while."
The bar kept creeping closer, clower, until finally it had forced my arms parallel with the rest of my body, and I felt my back strain against the bench below. Yet still, the cursed bar would not lift. Like a black hole, it dwarfed me and scorned my attempts to move it. Yet still, it drew closer, closer, driving unfailingly towards my threat.
Lord Tzeentch groans.
"Brothers." one Brother sighed, voicing Brother Rene's concerns, "Let us be nice about this."
"You're right!" Piped up the guns-obsessed Brother, as my muscles began to actually ache, "Brother Abdul is a noble! So we must appeal to his pride!"
"N-n" I manage to wheeze out, as I push desperately upon the massive, heavy bar atop me.
"No." Brother Rene' groans, "Please no."
The guns-obsessed Brother turns to me, giving a small, sensible cough not unlike those servants that wish to get the attention of their upper echelons, "Brother Abdul if you cannot beat this pole Father won't love you anymore!"
"My father never loved me in the first place!" I shout back, my vision red, as I rage against the uncaring world.
Lord Nurgle sniffed. "Don't worry, Grandpa will always love you."
There was a pause, a pause where I could dedicate myself unendingly towards the pole, the bane of my existence. And in that moment, I felt a strange strength overcome me. Empowered by the rage, I feel it. The momentum turns, and finally, finally I gain an inch upon this sworn enemy of mine. Upon the bar.
I know, Lord Nurgle, and it is why I love you. And thank you, Lord Khorne.
And I can't help but rejoice.
"What? No? You're not supposed to empower him?" Lord Tzeentch implores, "Don't! You'll risk the entire plan! You'll throw off the math?"
"Brother." one of my Brothers timidly interjects, as I notice the room is strangely quiet. Especially considering my victory. "You- You our Father loves us all, right?"
"What?" I ask, "I wasn't talking about-" I pause, realizing only too late what I had said, and feeling as my face flush with embarrassment, "I-Shut up!"
And I could feel it, the momentum reverses again, as muscles barely aching lax as my mind turns elsewhere.
"Then..wh-"
The Brother was interrupted, byt the booming of flesh on metal, "What is this?" demanded the honorable veteran, glaring daggers at those that would dare to interrupt his exercise.
Brother Rene', ever the noble, snaked his way to the front, "I'm sorry, Brother." he says diplomatically, though the effort causes his face to scrunch up horrendously, "Brother Abdul there has a Geneseed defect, and we were hoping to come here to watch him overcome it."
And without leverage to push the bar upwards, I quickly find myself losing ground, as the bar begins to descend, faster and faster, mere centimeters from my face now. "Uh-" I call, "Brothers? B-roth-urgh!" I manage, before my arms finally give way, and the bar falls unto my throat.
Ohh/ I think, as the pipe crushes my throat and blocks out my airway, Ohh this isn't that bad, actually.
"Audio erotic affixiation." Lord Slaanesh purred. Though, in truth, I couldn't tell if my lord was joking, or simply pleased by the idea.
The ancient Brother bristled, glaring daggers at Brother Rene', and letting him bare the brunt of his wrath, "What are you idiots doing?" the Astartes growled.
"NO!" Lord Khorne, however, was much easier to read.
Our resident guns-maniac smiled, "Hey now," he offers diplomatically, "a good half of us are sapient."
"Hey!" shouts our resident swords-maniac.
And just like that, the veteran's demeanor changed, and his fierce scowl turned into a chuckle, and the faintest hints of a smile. "Well try not to wake the whole ship, will ya? Some of us are training 'round here."
Brother Rene' smiled wider, "Of course, Brother." he promises, looking down, and dropping his smile so as to appear properly chastised. "Ohh! And might I ask what were you doing? I'm trying to improve my own training regime, and I think I could use a few tips from one such as you."
The ancient Brother smiled, though it was obvious he saw through Brother Rene's manipulations, "Well, I was exercising my arms. Try to raise the bar, so to speak."
I glare at my ancient Brother, even as I reluctantly let go of the weight above me, admitting defeat. Ohh, you're lucky I can't talk right now! I shout inside my mind, Or we would have words old man! Words!
Brother Rene' chuckles, though I choose to believe that it's fake. "Well, we're sorry for bothering you, Brother."
The ancient Brother scowled again, glaring daggers at me. "You shouldn't have bothered me in the first place." he snarls.
Brother Rene' smiles, clearly concerned by the continued hostilities. Yet, even from here, I can see the gleam in his eyes as he changes tactics, "W-well," he asks, "might I ask why you were training?"
Choking, I slowly move my hand to the bench next to me, and desperately tapping it. Though, it was becoming clear both Brother Rene' and the angry veteran were ignoring me.
"Well, if you newbloods hadn't been so busy playing, you might have noticed that that giant Blue Daemon was strong enough to Exterminatus a planet." the ancient Brother bristled, "And I don't know about you, but I have a feeling that wasn't the Blue itself." he growls.
"OOooh?" asked Lord Tzeentch, "Do I sense a weakness?"
The Brothers went quiet, as a heavy weight overcame the room, interrupted only by my frantic tapping, and the roar of training equipment.
"What, fear?" growled Lord Khorne.
"That Daemon...It showed what we must fight. How strong we must become." the ancient explained, "And why you cannot waste your time playing like this." he growls, gesturing to my pathetic form as I choke on a training bar weights are supposed to go on, desperately tapping so that someone, anyone would relieve me of my pain.
"Fear? Hope? What's the difference?" Lord Tzeentch asked.
"That Daemon showed that we must become stronger. That we must dedicate every fiber of our being towards that goal." he glares at me, his eyes burning with hatred, with repulsion. And I could tell that he hated me. Either for my weakness, or for my Geneseed defect.
And pinned though I was, I glared back.
For while he was right, while we must grow stronger, he was wrong. Yes, Cadia proved that we must grow stronger. Yes, Gehnna was a tragedy, and one that could have been prevented had we been who we needed to be. But strength was not everything.
And so I glared back, and shifted. Lurched so that my oxygen-starved muscles grasped again the metal bar, but different. For I knew I could not lift the bar. I knew I could not fight against the hated weight. Not now, at least. But I could move it.
So, I reversed the grip on one side, and lurched. Lurched so that, instead of pushing the bar upwards, I used my own neck as a fulcrum, and shifted it to the side. Up, and up, and up, as it dug even more into my throat. And as I ground my teeth, and pushed the other side up. And up, and up. Using its own weight against itself, I watched as I managed to move the bar, my most hated foe. And as it slid across my throat, biting deeper and deeper into my neck, and pulling a few layers of skin with it. I felt a strange sense of joy.
And then I gagged, as my lungs were finally permitted the air they had so desperately demanded.
"Ohh!" one of my Brothers finally pipes up, pretending to have just noticed me now that I had freed myself, "Brother Abdul!" he rushed over, no longer in fear of hurting my pride.
But I ignore him, pressing my hand against his face, and using both him and my most hated enemy, the pole, to stand.
"Yu-" I wheeze, "You're wrong."
The ancient snarled, "What was that, shortstack?"
"You're wrong." I insist. "Gehnna was a tragedy, Cadia was a tragedy, Aleph was a tragedy. And yes, they taught us that we needed to be strong. That we needed to be-" I gag, "To be stronger! But they taught us something more important as well."
The ancient snarls, but stays his hand. "What?" he grinds out.
"They taught us not to!" I explain, a small smile falling unto my lips. "The Abominable Intelligence taught us what it was like to pursue only strength, and to embrace our humanity. Cadia taught us to mourn our lost, and to fight as one. And Aleph.." I look towards my Brothers, who looked confused, shamed, "Aleph taught us to celebrate!" I shout. "That, though the price may be high, we could strike a blow against the Neverborn. That we could win!"
And Slaanesh laughed, amused by my charade.
The ancient Astartes shakes, his rage palpable, written all over his soul, white as snow but tainted by sadness, by bloodshed. "I was trying to help you." he growls.
And the others joined in. And for a moment and an eternity, the Warp was painted black with their laughter. With their joy.
"Then you were doing a rather poor job of it!" I counter with a smile, "Ignoring a Brother in need to rant about a Daemon, like one of the Lost!" I jeer.
For everything was going just as planned. For them, at least. For my glorious, fated Lords.
The room goes quiet, as I know again that I have crossed a line. Yet...I don't care. For this Brother cannot be allowed to teach his incorrect message. That we must turn ourselves solely into weapons ignores why the Emperor chose to make the Astartes in the first place, why he made the Primarchs so like him: They needed to be human. For, surely, the Emperor could have taken a rat and produced a trillion soldiers, all with souls and at least as strong as guardsmen. But it was important that they be human. That they be imperfect, that they feel both good and bad.
For Humanity was something so easy to exploit. To consume, to control.
The ancient's eyes go wide, then turn to pinpricks as he glares daggers at me. And I am sure that, if he was a Psyker, I would already be dead. "You will regret this." he promises, holding himself back, but just barely.
And as I see the worried look upon Brother Rene's face, and upon the faces of all my Brothers, I feel a tinge of guilt.
"Then we will meet in the arena." I promise, "And we shall settle our differences there."
The ancient smiles a smile of cold anger, and nods. For he is an ancient, a veteran of the Legion. And in that, he is sure of his victory. "Tomorrow then." he booms, as if to cover his grounds. For, he had been exercising beforehand, far in excess of what I have done today, and he knew it was best to, when beating a younger, not invite the possibility of defeat.
For to be defeated when educating a junior would be devastating.
"Tomorrow." I agree.
And just like that, we part ways.
I let out a breath I didn't even know I was keeping, as the rest of my Brothers begin to swarm around me, and the exercise machines I didn't know were turned off were switched back on.
Yet, as we begin to leave, silent in the face of my victory against the pole, I can't help but feel as though I messed that up somehow. As if the concern and lack of boisterous joy was somehow...my fault.
"Hey, Brother?" my guns-obsessed Brother pipes up.
"Hm?"
"I...wanted to say: I'm sorry." he says, "I took it too far back there, and I..." he pauses, trying to find the words he would have never known had he stayed on his homeworld. "I shouldn't have done that."
I smile. "Hey now," I offer, bumping shoulders with my larger brother, "if you hadn't caused such a ruckus, I'd never have gotten to show off like that!"
"Wh-what?"
"Haha! Plans within plans!" I joke, as we make our way, ever so slowly, towards nowhere in particular.
"All roads lead to me." Lord Slaanesh purred.
---
"Ohh yes." Lord Slaanesh purred.
I, Joaquin Abdul, who's armor bore twenty six names, though whose sword was strangely bare, was ecstatic. It was not easy to coordinate team duels, nor very widely practiced either. Sadly, it seems, our Legion is more focused on using our duels as simple tests of skill, ways to test ourselves against similarly powerful opponents, and simple exercise than properly coordinating teamwork.
Lord Slaanesh gave an appreciative moan.
Probably for the best, considering that so many of our drills and combat scenarios were built to off us a wide variety of normal, simulated situations in which we had to work together, but still it was a shame.
My other Lords let out sounds of disgust, or discomfort.
For, if nothing else, it made the massive shows of skill, of team-on-team combat and Brother working with Brother...difficult.
Though I did not truly understand why.
In a way, there's probably an argument there that it, in fact, discouraged team work. Though such an argument would be ludicrous, and based primarily on ignoring the blatant truth.
Yet, as I look across the massive hall, brimming with Brothers and Legion Serfs, many of which were still clad in their armors, with pads or notebooks to take note, or sweaty from their daily routines. Which was important, because it...Actually, why was that important to me?
Lord Slaanesh screamed at something.
Well, regardless. The fact that so many of our Brothers had shown up proved two things. First, it proved that Brother Rene' and I fought an uphill battle today. Second, and perhaps most importantly, it proved that our Brothers were expecting a fight, not a mindless beatdown. Indeed, if they figured the fight would be over in a matter of minutes, in seconds, they would not be here. They would have book themselves some far-off lesson that they would actually use, that they could actually learn from, from which they could actually grow into more effective killing machines. Else they would have retired for the day, and be rest, so as to better prepare them for tomorrow.
And it was in these two facts that I know we could win.
I am confident, you see. I don't know exactly why, but I am confident we can take out these two. That, even if we were allowed to use the full extent of our Psykic power. Of Beltran's legendary fire, Omar's premonitions, and my own legendary speed, agility, and lightning. Ohh, I was not as skilled, of that I had held illusions, but I knew somewhere deep inside of me that I was more powerful. I was confident in my speed, held back only by my reaction time and reflexes,
And that was why I had been a bit sneaky, and visited the hypnotherapy chamber beforehand. Not technically cheating, as it was not a Psykic power, nor something that could, absolutely and without question, be avoided. Sure, it was intentional, but I had a nice little plausible deniability.
Huh, guess my noble training wore off a bit more than I thought.
Regardless. While the hypnotherapy did not change my base reactions, nor physical body in any way, it brought to light the more minute things. Forced me to focus on my mind behind the veil, kept me peering into the Warp. Like this, I was forced to pay attention, to feel each square inch of my skin separately, forced to acknowledge how each and every part of my body felt, and examine each moment and every moment separately.
"So fun." Lord Slaanesh squeals, "If only they didn't use it to deny me."
There would be no simplistic mistakes here, none from failing to properly control my body, at least.
The strange voice, beaten back though it was, raged.
I smile, "So, you good then? We'll be taking my plan?"
And despaired, for it knew I was Lost.
Brother Rene' nods, though he still seems concerned. "And, if it fails," he insists, scribbling his thought with a frantic edge, "you'll fall back, and switch to mine."
And yet, stupidly, it doesn't give up. It continues to fight, even knowing all hope was lost.
I wave him off, "It'll be fine~" I promise, "And yeah, yeah. We'll switch to yours, no need to worry.
And a part of me can't help but admire it for that.
Brother Rene' nods again, though he still seems worried.
Lord Khorne growls, and I jump slightly, looking back to my true Lords once more.
The bell rings, and I can't help but jump slightly. Strange, considering that I knew it would, that I had been, as a side-effect of the hynotherepy, counting down until it was time.
Jumping up, and doing one last, entirely unneeded, check of my armor, I gaze towards my Brother, who's sitting frame is still as tall as I. "You ready, Brother?"
Brother Rene' continues to seem worried for a second, before shaking himself out of his trance. Jumping up himself, I see the faintest hair of a smile behind that bandanna that covers most of his face as we begin to make our way to the arena itself.
And again, due to the hypnotherapy, I can't help but examine everything.
I couldn't help but note the Runes of Maintenance, typically horribly butchered, Brother Rene's bandanna had sewn into it, more than likely a precaution my favorite Brother had taken during his off time. I couldn't help but notice the Brothers around me were...off. Not organized by height and rank as is normal, but by some unknowable order they all seemed to bow to.
And their composition was off as well. Most duels were attended to by close friends, or Brothers that were too physically weary to continue training, and so desired to study techniques and tactics of their Brothers. But now? Now it seemed as if every Librarian in the Legion, and a few outside it, was thrown into this room.
And the ranks. Sure, among the mass of my Brothers and Cousins there were many, many 'normal' battle brothers. But it seemed as if every other person in here was a Lieutenant, or Apothecary, the veterans of the veterans, and given rank as such.
I preen, walking into the arena with untold pride burning in my chest, as I hope that I can make it worth their while.
And as I take my position, just a hair in front of where you might expect their forward advance, an intentional flaw so as to bait my opponent out, I cannot help but examine my opponents.
As always, Brother Captain Beltran's armor confused me. A mishmash of failed Purity Runes dot its every plate, marring the paint of the armor in a strange, beautiful way, but revealing the armor underneath. He was massive too, not as big as Brother Rene', but more than big enough to bat me aside if he needed to. More than big enough to have the reach advantage too.
To capitalize on this, most likely, Brother Captain Beltran had taken the front of their formation, drawing his chainsword and preparing to fight in melee.
And Brother Lieutenant Omar. Still taller than me, unfortunately, Brother Lieutenant Omar was fairly average in height, at least for an Astartes. His armor was different too, not crossed in the thousands and thousands of Runes like Brother Captain Beltran, but having rather hidden his away. Presumably somewhere inside the armor, so that no Daemon would be able to disrupt its effect.
Not known for his skills in general combat, Brother Lieutenant Omar drew forth his gun, the one made for these duels not his Volkite, and retreated back. A weak link. I realize, Without his Psyker powers, we can probably ignore him for now. Else, I can probably take him out before I rejoin Brother Rene'.
The arena itself was barren, yet another minor advantage of mine, and unchanged. Still, it was a blank canvas, ready to be painted with the blood, sweat, and tears of the combatants that fought within it. Or, well, perhaps I'm just hyping it up in preparation for the duel.
Still. Bland though it may be, the barren floor meant that I would have a harder time stopping when I tried to commit my dizzying gymnastics, but also it meant that there was nothing in my way to trip me up, or slow me down. Unfortunately, the arena was raised as well, and with most duels being primarily focused on shows of skill or power, held no walls I could run into or use to stop.
"Alright." booms a massive Astartes, from the Night Lords, a far cry from the timid Legion Serfs that normally oversaw the duels, "Remember, no Psykic powers," he intoned, glaring at me, "no lethal attacks," he turned to Brother Captain Beltran, "and no dismemberment." For some reason, he glared at Brother Lieutenant Omar on that one, who nodded with a polite but embarrassed smile. Seeing the general agreement, the massive Astartes nods, "Then the duel is to the first hit, and shall begin on three."
At once, we all nod, and I hear the scraping of ceramite on ceramite telling me Brother Rene' was following my plan exactly. Good. I think, letting a smile fall unto my lips, Good.
"One." the Night Lord boomed, his voice echoing around the hall, and inside my head.
Lord Khorne growls.
"Two." I watch as Brother Beltran shifts forward, seemingly ready to play the offensive, just like I thought he would.
"A waste of time?" Lord Tzeentch asks, clearly annoyed, or frankly over with this fight.
"Three!"
Brother Beltran ran forward, a tidal wave of armor, flesh, and blood. Unstoppable, I could do nothing to hold the monster I called Brother back, there was nothing I could do to make him stop.
But, luckily, I wasn't planning to stop him.
Instead, I lean back, faking surprise or trepidation, and wait. Wait as he crosses the first quarter of the arena, and then a solid third before I allow myself to drop into a combat stance. Yet, even then, I wait. Wait, and wait for the perfect moment to strike.
And only when he crosses the halfway point do I strike.
Dropping down, I feel the wind blow against my armor, and vault to the right, so as to slip under Brother Captain Beltran's reprisal attack, and buy myself a few milliseconds. Not wanting to take any chances, however, I take note of everyone's position, as I pass my massive Brother.
From the corner of my eye, I see Brother Rene', who's drawn his replacement-gun, and already taken a tentative step to the left.
In front of me I can see Brother Lieutenant Omar, who had already drawn his gun as well, going with the sniper's approach of waiting for the perfect shot. But such precision would slow him down.
Taking up the majority of my vision, however, there was Brother Captain Beltran. His massive frame all too close, even as I land and begin to slide away. I saw how he ran, knowing I was here but that there was little he could do to stop me. Less, actually, as Brother Rene' shot at him, and forced the Captain to blow, lest his partner be beat back by a wayward shot and my own efforts.
And from here, so close, the Runes on Brother Captain Beltran's armor almost seemed to burn.
Loudly, and without fault, I slam my knee into the ground below, kicking the smooth ground so as to slow my fall, and then repeating to launch myself forward. Luckily, or perhaps not considering I had planned this, I didn't have to jump far. Which means that I don't have to be careful with my second kick not to launch myself, nor specifically gauge a third.
Because of this, as Brother Captain Beltran continues to rush forward, I'm able to leap a small, small distance, and near to completely avoid sliding out of position.
Knowing that he could not turn in time to block my attack, and that even if he did either he or his partner would be eliminated, Brother Captain Beltran was stuck in an impossible decision. Yet, even knowing that he was going to be either sliced in the back, or shot in it, my Brother did not falter. Rather, he ignored the decision entirely. Like a Red beserker.
Inwardly, I smile, feeling more than hearing Lord Khorne's approval at the very thought.
And, in doing so, left himself open to me.
I smile, now, letting out a wordless cry as I slash at such speeds it feels as if I am punching through a solid wall.
Before I feel a shot hit my back.
H-how
Instantly, my armor locks and, overextended as I am, I feel as gravity grabs ahold of me and drags me down. And I feel, in excruciating detail as I slam into the ground nose-first.
I reel, straining against my locked armor as I hear every detail of the duel above me. Of how Brother Captain Beltran continues his charge, heedless of retaliation, as if he knew Brother Lieutenant Omar would be able to beat me, as if he knew what I was planning beforehand.
And yet, as I gaze all the more intently upon my Witch Sight, and gaze deep, deep into the Warp, I see only what is meant to be there. nothing unusual. No disruptions within the Warp that proclaim its use, no movement that reveal it being moved, nothing. Nothing save for the souls of my Brothers. Nothing save for the burning red giant of Brother Captain Beltran, and the Red that bit and vyed for his soul. Nothing but the cool Blue ocean of Brother Lieutenant Omar, and the Blue that napped and zapped around impossibly itself and him, Nothing but the burgeoning light of Brother Rene's soul, and Green that warred with the Blue inside his spirit.
I watched as Lord Tzeentch grinned, happy with his plan, and his masterpiece that was my conscious mind. Even as he swiped his hand, and
Nothing out of place. No imperfections, of flaws here.
"NO!" screamed the dying voice, weak and faltering within my mind, "Abdul!" It called out to me, "You must resist! Abdul! Abdul!"
And so, though I felt something was off, I shook myself from my stupor. Instead, as I felt Brother Omar slowly walk past me, careful not to step upon my prone form, I focused on the fight.
Lord Tzeentch hummed, "Who are you?" my Lord asks interrupting before the strange spirit even had time to speak "Does it matter? Annoying." he complains, flicking his wrist, and pushing the spirit back, back, and out of my mind.
And it was glorious. I knew instantly that Brother Captain Beltran was unused to fighting foes bigger than him, yet for as much as I dislike him, I couldn't help but appreciate his swordsmanship. He favored larger strikes, levying his size and Astartes speed to make absolutely sure his opponent was dead. Yet, strangely enough, he minimized movement when blocking, as if he expected to bat aside every blow with ease.
And finally, that annoying voice was put away for good. And finally, I could enjoy the presence of my Lords without interruption.
Which, perhaps, was by Brother Rene' was even lasting so long. Having been able to draw his blade just in time, Brother Rene' was on the backstep. Yet, it was almost as if his style was made to so perfectly counter Brother Beltran's. His larger size and even more muscular frame meant that Brother Rene' could match the strength of Brother Beltran's swings. His attacks, so focused on speed, still held enough force to knock through Brother Beltran's blocks, forcing the superior combatant to adjust and readjust. Forcing Brother Beltran to slow, and purposefully think through every action.
It doesn't help that Brother Rene' had made his Contengenices. I think with a thought, even as Brother Omar slowly, leisurely makes his way across the arena, and even as, as Brother Omar finishes passing me, a host of Brothers come to drag me off the arena.
Yet, even as I observe their styles, how their souls wageplayful war in the Immaterium, I knew it wouldn't last long. True, Brother Rene' was a melee specialist, at least as much as an Apothecary could be, but it was clear that Brother Captain Beltran was much the same, and vastly more experienced at it besides.
So it was that I watched, captivated by the battle..
Sat upright, and freed from the prison that was my armor, I watch joyously, already planning what I could do differently. How I could make Brother Captain Beltran pay for what he did to me.
And so it is that, when Brother Lieutenant Omar begins to make his way further away from me, to Brother Rene's left, I despair. For as he levels his gun towards my distracted Brother, I know the fight shall surely end.
Brother Rene' does surprise me, however. For despite his brutal melee with Brother Beltran, someone we both knew it'd take both of us to defeat, he remains more than aware of Brother Lieutenant Omar's presence. As such, when Brother Lieutenant Omar lines up a shot to Brother Rene's barrel chest, my favorite Brother at least had the decency to attempt to dodge. Cornered as he was, however, my Brother's frantic dodge served only to allow Brother Captain Beltran's blade to bite into his now-exposed side.
Earning us an embarrassing, but ultimately useful defeat at the hands of elders.
"OOoh?" I heard Lord Tzeentch cry, "Useful? Useful indeed?"
Sad though it may be, at least foes have the decency to win with grace. Well, Brother Captain Beltran didn't, but Brother Lieutenant Omar at least has the dignity to go over to Brother Rene' and help him up, and then bring in Brother Captain Beltran before I can even make my way over to the two.
And, in unmatched kindness and glory, Lord Tzeentch began to pull the strings behind the veil.
There's cheering too. Cheering for Brother Captain Beltran, mostly, though I know who really won them that duel.
A proven master of social Psykic, and now of martial prowess, Brother Lieutenant Omar is already chatting with Brother Rene' by the time I get over there, working his magic so as to soothe our bruised prides. Seeing me, he gives a bright smile, and loudly claps his hands, "So!" he calls, grabbing Brother Captain Beltran, and leading us all of the arena proper, "Do you know why you lost?"
Giving a reluctant, dejected sigh, I gaze into Brother Rene's eyes, feeling not through the Warp but through our bond that we were thinking the same thing. Abelit...with different emotions.
With Brother Rene' unable to speak, however temporarily, I nod. "Because I overextended?" I ask more than explain.
Lord Tzeentch squeals in delight, knowing that I learn from the best.
Brother Lieutenant Omar smiles, though Brother Captain Beltran only gives huff of annoyance and amusement, "Yes." Brother Lieutenant Omar confirms, though his eyes look up towards the ceiling, even as his eyes become somewhat foggy, a telltale sign that he is once again scanning the Immaterium, "But because you were too ambitious."
Lord Tzeentch gasps in horror at the very prospect, even as Lord Slaanesh quivers with excitement.
"Too ambitious?" I parrot.
Brother Lieutenant Omar nods, "Too ambitious." he repeats, "You dove headfirst into and then behind enemy lines, relying on your speed to keep you safe."
I hum, turning his words over and over within my mind, examining them from every side before, eventually, reaching the same conclusion. "I-I suppose so." I admit dejectedly.
"Plus," Brother Lieutenant Omar adds, playful, but almost apologetic smile upon his face, "you almost always use that plan."
Brother Rene's eyes go wide, as we both stop in our tracks. "What?" I feel myself ask, before understanding crosses Brother Rene's soul, and he stomps on the ground, kicking himself for not recognizing...whatever it was sooner.
"Well…." Brother Lieutenant Omar explains as his gentle smile begins to fade, "you tend to favor getting behind your foes. Bull-rushing them as a rouse, jumping to either the left or the right, and then moving in behind them."
I feel, only due to the hynotherepy, as my jaw begins to drop. Yet, pristine and proper as I am, I take care to square my jaw, and hide my expression.
My Brothers, however, did no such thing. Indeed, Brother Captain Beltran seems to almost sneer at the thought, so much Red radiating off his soul that I can feel his anger, even without the training. Brother Lieutenant Omar was much the same, his carefully-maintained composure slowly cracking under the weight of his compassion.
And the glare Brother Rene' is giving me? That knowing look of utter assurance. That pointed glare of 'you should have listened to me,' and past foresight, all of which coalesced into a sentence so palpable I could feel him say it without him even having to open his mouth."I knew we should have gone with my plan."
Brother Lieutenant Omar smiles, "On that note!" he pipes up, clapping his hands to get our attention back on him, "Now that I can use my divinations again: Your plan had several problems as well, l Brother Rene."
"Brother Rene'." I correct, earning myself a glare from said Brother.
"No~" Brother Lieutenant Omar insists with a smile, "But regardless: You plan, Brother Rene, was too generalistic. It lacked any notable pushes or pulls, relying on standard Legion tactics of slowly kiting the enemy, and preventing us from splitting the two of you up. Is that...right?"
Brother Rene' stopped, before nodding tentatively.
Brother Lieutenant Omar smiles, "Ohh thank goodness. Well then! While your tactic was in no means terrible, it was pretty standard for the Legion. A moving defense focused on keeping movement and space on your side."
Brother Rene' and I nod.
"A good tactic, but easily predictable for anyone that knows our Legion. Plus, without vehicles it's easy for the enemy to simply move in and corner you." Brother Lieutenant Omar explains, as Brother Captain Beltran nods. "However, more distressing was your contingencies."
Another pause and, this time, I can see the desire written all over Brother Rene's face, so this time I ask for him. "Contingencies?" I ask, doing my best to read my Brother, and guess what he would say, "What do ya mean?"
Brother Rene' glared at me, but it got the desired effect out of Brother Lieutenant Omar. "Well," he explains, "it seems like you tried to take after First Captain Oricarious, right?"
Brother Rene' and I both nod.
"Well, it seems that…" Brother Lieutenant Omar's eyes fog over, going nearly completely white, "It seems that because of that you attempted to account for everything, and in so doing, missed some of the most likely scenarios."
Brother Rene' looked confused, turning to me, and raising an eyebrow, as the weird Warp-tentacles of his soul wiggle uncomfortably, in dizzying, hypnotizing ways.
A moment passes, as I gaze longingly into the Warp, wishing for one strange, strange moment that I could be in, immersed in the source of my power and greatest foe, before I realize that all my Brothers are waiting on me. "Ohh! I mean, what do you mean, Brother?"
Brother Captain Beltran looked suspicious, clenching his fists as he glared at me.
But Brother Lieutenant Omar seemed to accept it well enough, "Well," he says, "for instance, you had a Contingency for if Brother Abdul was to suddenly explode into a Blue Daemon."
I blink, and then stare at my giant, favorite Brother, who seems to shrink into himself, his embarrassment clear on his face.
I give my Brother as questioning, and offended a look as I can, "Really?"
My favorite Brother looks down, his ears slightly red, and the tell-tale fidgeting of his shoulders more than revealing his embarrassment. Something that I probably wouldn't have noticed normally, but was more than clear to me now.
I raise my eyebrow, just a bit, to make sure that he gets the message.
"I" he echoes out, his words booming through reality and the Warp alike, "I had one for me as well." he meekly admits.
"Classic rookie mistake." Brother Captain Beltran teases, ignoring Brother Lieutenant Omar's jab into his side, "Didn't mind-wipe your own contingencies to 'deal with' yourself."
Brother Lieutenant Omar deadpans, sending a quick glare Brother Captain Beltran's way before continuing, "Regardless." he huffs, "You had that one, but you didn't prepare anything for if I dropped my gun and joined in the melee, or if I hugged the outer ring and moved to your left."
Brother Rene' hummed thoughtfully.
"So." Brother Captain Beltran pipes up, pushing his way past Brother Lieutenant Omar, "In conclusion: Brother Rene', your strategy wasn't bad, but you relied too much on existing tactics, and emulating your idols. But you are not them, Brother. Do not forget their lessons, but pave your own path."
The massive Astartes turns to me, glaring into my eyes before his gaze softens. "And as for you, Brother Abdul. You have the opposite problem. You do not lean upon existing knowledge, basing your strategies on what you can do."
I nod.
"Buuuut," my older Brother drawls, "this leaves your tactics untested, and likely to go awry." he summarizes, "It might also need revision, if ever it needs to be scaled up. But I believe it's too early to tell on that front."
Brother Lieutenant Omar smiles, looking over the three of us and finding something much to his liking, "Well! If that's everything!" he tries.
Only for Brother Captain Beltran ignores him, "Meditate on this lesson, you two." he instructs, his voice gruff as he locks eyes with me, "Lest you face another embarrassing defeat."
I chuckle, honestly just happy to be out of the Library, and to have witnessed such an awe-inspiring performance.. "Yeah," I admit, sensing somehow that it was what Brother Captain Beltran wanted to hear, "I guess it was pretty embarrassing."
Lord Tzeentch smiles.
And at once, the room stopped. One moment, a bustling square of Astartes activity, and the next...dead quiet. Concerned, I gaze around the massive room, only to see dozens and dozens of Brothers, particularly those in the Library, staring at me.
A born leader, I preen under their view.
Brother Captain Beltran stares at me, gazing deep into my very soul. Yet, whatever it is he's looking for, it doesn't seem like he can find it.
Again, my Lord laughs.
So, tentatively, my perpetually-angry Captain turns to Brother Lieutenant Omar, who's eyes gloss over, and then nods.
As he pulls the last string.
And relief washes over Brother Captain Beltran's face. "Then," he booms, smiling for what feels like the first time in his life, "welcome, Brother, to the Trial of Purity!"
And saves me from my torture.
I blink, feeling Lost even as a vague feeling of pride begins swelling up inside my chest. "What?" I ask, as excitement overtakes me. For, if nothing else, I knew the Trial of Purity was one step closer to being done with this absolute nonsense. With these 'Trials of Purity.'
And I had to praise my lord for the blessing.
And the room erupts in joyous laughter, in clapping, in congratulations. I smile, through it all, feeling more and more consumed by the feeling that I had done something important, by the feeling that I had got through something important.
Brother Captain Beltran nods, "You have admitted fault." my ancient Captain, and also Epistolary explains over the shouts of our Brothers, "You have bested your pride, and in so doing passed on to the Trial of Purity."
Best my pride? I wondered, feeling giddy at the mere prospect of moving on in these accursed Trials of Purity.
"What do you mean, Brother?" I ask, just to make sure.
But Brother Captain Beltran waves me off, directing me instead to a line of Brothers and Cousins that had stopped in their busy schedule to wish me good fortune. Who were made so happy by my good news.
So I smile, feeling a pure, righteous joy in the fact that I could make them feel the same.
"A joy that shall soon become deliciously twisted." Lord Slaanesh purred, despite how my other Lords protested.
That did not mean that we did not train our bodies, however. Indeed, many Wardens could attest to rigorous combat simulations First Captain Oricarious had methodically designed to strain every transhuman muscle. Or the extensive drills which, among other things, often had us running into strange positions across our ship, often miles apart from one another. By the Emperor, even our most basic of training, the obstacle courses, were typically designed to be outright impossible, or even lethal, to a normal man.
And, as if that was not enough, there were the grueling duels, when Brothers from across the Legion would meet in glorious combat. There, the Astartes would lock blades time and time again, dodging, attacking, and pushing their enemy back in a brutal melee that might last hours, until both combatants had slowed to human levels, or until they passed out from exhaustion.
Deep in my mind, I can hear Lord Khorne laugh, and I feel a wave of pleasure, of joy, wash over me. And I know I must surely draw blood in my next duel.
Even then, I had another reason not to be here. For I am a Biomancer, one of the stronger ones in the Eternal Wardens too, and as such, given a few years, I should be able to shape my flesh to be as muscle-bound as I liked, much like I did currently with any excess fat.
And just like that, I hear His growl, his displeasure. And I know I must draw blood in my next duel.
But I would not gain that ability for many years to come, and it was a useless one for me, stuck in extensive, but relatively light physical training as I was.
But I, Joaquin Abdul, was not one to back away from a challenge.
And that was the true reason I was here. For even a challenge as simple as this, a mere embarrassment now, and formality in the future, was a challenge that I, Joaquine Abdul, needed to conquer.
"Then is not this a waste?" I feel Lord Tzeentch ask.
"We meet again." I say aloud, glaring at the thing, "My most hated enemy."
"Now, now." Lord Nurgle wheezed out, "You need to be nicer to each other. Work together, or-" Lord Nurgle gasps, "we'll never be able to take down the Anathema."
The bar, of course, did not respond.
Lord Slaanesh giggled, probably just happy to see a host of sweaty, unarmored Astartes.
I take a deep breath, gathering my strength, and stretching as I glare at my most hated enemy.
Of course, much had changed on the world of Aleph. Stuck as we were in the Warp Storm that surrounded us, many of our number had taken to training in any way they could. For many, myself included, that meant going down to the surface of Aleph and participating in as many many obstacle courses, lectures, and lessons from our Brothers and cousins as possible. But for the rest, that meant going to places just like this.
And so it was that, as I looked around, knowing that I was more than likely about to embarrass myself, I couldn't help but squirm when I saw all the true veterans of the Legion. Each a powerful monster in their own way, be they the Tech Marine, duelist, sniper, or apothecary, each an ancient master of war in a way few in the Imperium could even hope to match.
I take another breath, huffing a few times, before sliding down unto the bench.
"You can do it!" shouts one of my Brothers, his massive form towering over me like the upper spires of a hive city.
Ahh, of course, there was also the matter of my spotters.
Originally, I had asked Brother Rene' to spot me. For while he is someone I do not wish to embarrass myself in front of, I trust him not to tell anyone, and figured that would be enough.
Unfortunately, our resident guns-Brother overheard, and then our favorite swords-maniac Brother overheard that, and next thing I knew, it seemed like every Brother I'd ever served with was piling into the room. Which was nice, actually, comforting in that I knew that they wished me well. But it was also quite distressing, for it meant that I had to worry not only about failing in front of my esteemed elders, and my favorite Brother, but my peers as well.
"You can do it Brother!" shouted our resident sword maniac, his hand raised high first in a wave, but quickly turned into a few cheerful pumps as more and more of our Brothers joined in.
I grimace, struggling to hide my blush. He means well. I tell myself, He means well.
Ignoring the cheers of my peers and the somewhat disgruntled groans of our elders, I turn back to the bar. It was a sleek thing. A solid bar of tungsten designed to be unbendable, even by the mightiest of Astartes. Indeed, with something like this, it was possible even a Primarch might be able to get a light workout. Though, obviously the Mechanicum would never allow a Primarch to use anything less than the highest quality ceramite.
Shaking my head, I snap out of my stupor, taking a deep breath as I raise my hands to the massive, glistening black bar. And, with one more deep, deep breath, I wrap my arms around it and push.
It is like trying to move a mountain. Heavy, crushing, it takes your breath away in a moment, and demanded your respect to wield. Slowly, slowly it descends, an endurance hunter you know you will not outlast it, who knew its victory was inevitable, who scorned your attempts, even as it slowly, slowly, bit towards your neck.
"Is everything alright, Brother?" Brother Rene' signed, his face contorting in a mixture of understanding and concern, as if he knew I wouldn't take provocations well, but was nevertheless compelled to act.
Lord Nurgle wheezed.
"I-I'm fine! Brother!" I wheeze out, forcing myself to breathe before I saw just how much it sped up my eminent doom.
"Ohh, that's-" Lord Nurgle wheezes again, spittle and pus spilling all over the Warp, "nice of him."
He means well! I shouted in my mind, He really does! GAH! Why is this so heavy!
"You can do it!" shouts the same Brother as before.
"Yeah!" pipes in another, "Come on! You're Joaquin Abdul, the White Pawn of the Eternal Wardens!"
"My black knight."
"What!?" I shout, so momentarily distracted that I let my most hated enemy drop nearly three more inches before I regain control, "Wh-why am I a pawn? Who gave me that nickname? Why am I a pawn?"
Ahh, but of course, my Lord Tzeentch. For who else is worthy of my service?
"Hate the pain, and it will flee from you!" shouted our resident swords-maniac.
"That sounds awful Red of you Brother!" I shout back, my eyes jumping between the slow, encroach of death, and my absolute maniac of a Brother.
"Yes!" he shouts, "Yes it does!"
"YO-You're not denying it!"
"Come, Brother! Defeat the bar, and then defeat me! In GLORIOUS MELEE COMBAT!"
Lord Khorne nodded, "I like him." He boomed, seething in rage.
"Brother?" I shout, finally starting to feel the subtle burn of muscles in my arms, as they rip, and tear trying desperately to push the black bar away, "Brother you're seriously freaking me out right now!"
The swords Brother just laughed, combing his sleek, red hair back as he backed slowly into the crowd.
"Brother? Brother! Is-" I struggle, pushing with all my might, as my arms begin to shake a near imperceptible amount I knew nevertheless all my Brothers could see plain as day, "is no one going to stop him!"
Yet, the black death approaches.
Lord Nurgle glistened, positively radiant. "Haven't been called that in a while."
The bar kept creeping closer, clower, until finally it had forced my arms parallel with the rest of my body, and I felt my back strain against the bench below. Yet still, the cursed bar would not lift. Like a black hole, it dwarfed me and scorned my attempts to move it. Yet still, it drew closer, closer, driving unfailingly towards my threat.
Lord Tzeentch groans.
"Brothers." one Brother sighed, voicing Brother Rene's concerns, "Let us be nice about this."
"You're right!" Piped up the guns-obsessed Brother, as my muscles began to actually ache, "Brother Abdul is a noble! So we must appeal to his pride!"
"N-n" I manage to wheeze out, as I push desperately upon the massive, heavy bar atop me.
"No." Brother Rene' groans, "Please no."
The guns-obsessed Brother turns to me, giving a small, sensible cough not unlike those servants that wish to get the attention of their upper echelons, "Brother Abdul if you cannot beat this pole Father won't love you anymore!"
"My father never loved me in the first place!" I shout back, my vision red, as I rage against the uncaring world.
Lord Nurgle sniffed. "Don't worry, Grandpa will always love you."
There was a pause, a pause where I could dedicate myself unendingly towards the pole, the bane of my existence. And in that moment, I felt a strange strength overcome me. Empowered by the rage, I feel it. The momentum turns, and finally, finally I gain an inch upon this sworn enemy of mine. Upon the bar.
I know, Lord Nurgle, and it is why I love you. And thank you, Lord Khorne.
And I can't help but rejoice.
"What? No? You're not supposed to empower him?" Lord Tzeentch implores, "Don't! You'll risk the entire plan! You'll throw off the math?"
"Brother." one of my Brothers timidly interjects, as I notice the room is strangely quiet. Especially considering my victory. "You- You our Father loves us all, right?"
"What?" I ask, "I wasn't talking about-" I pause, realizing only too late what I had said, and feeling as my face flush with embarrassment, "I-Shut up!"
And I could feel it, the momentum reverses again, as muscles barely aching lax as my mind turns elsewhere.
"Then..wh-"
The Brother was interrupted, byt the booming of flesh on metal, "What is this?" demanded the honorable veteran, glaring daggers at those that would dare to interrupt his exercise.
Brother Rene', ever the noble, snaked his way to the front, "I'm sorry, Brother." he says diplomatically, though the effort causes his face to scrunch up horrendously, "Brother Abdul there has a Geneseed defect, and we were hoping to come here to watch him overcome it."
And without leverage to push the bar upwards, I quickly find myself losing ground, as the bar begins to descend, faster and faster, mere centimeters from my face now. "Uh-" I call, "Brothers? B-roth-urgh!" I manage, before my arms finally give way, and the bar falls unto my throat.
Ohh/ I think, as the pipe crushes my throat and blocks out my airway, Ohh this isn't that bad, actually.
"Audio erotic affixiation." Lord Slaanesh purred. Though, in truth, I couldn't tell if my lord was joking, or simply pleased by the idea.
The ancient Brother bristled, glaring daggers at Brother Rene', and letting him bare the brunt of his wrath, "What are you idiots doing?" the Astartes growled.
"NO!" Lord Khorne, however, was much easier to read.
Our resident guns-maniac smiled, "Hey now," he offers diplomatically, "a good half of us are sapient."
"Hey!" shouts our resident swords-maniac.
And just like that, the veteran's demeanor changed, and his fierce scowl turned into a chuckle, and the faintest hints of a smile. "Well try not to wake the whole ship, will ya? Some of us are training 'round here."
Brother Rene' smiled wider, "Of course, Brother." he promises, looking down, and dropping his smile so as to appear properly chastised. "Ohh! And might I ask what were you doing? I'm trying to improve my own training regime, and I think I could use a few tips from one such as you."
The ancient Brother smiled, though it was obvious he saw through Brother Rene's manipulations, "Well, I was exercising my arms. Try to raise the bar, so to speak."
I glare at my ancient Brother, even as I reluctantly let go of the weight above me, admitting defeat. Ohh, you're lucky I can't talk right now! I shout inside my mind, Or we would have words old man! Words!
Brother Rene' chuckles, though I choose to believe that it's fake. "Well, we're sorry for bothering you, Brother."
The ancient Brother scowled again, glaring daggers at me. "You shouldn't have bothered me in the first place." he snarls.
Brother Rene' smiles, clearly concerned by the continued hostilities. Yet, even from here, I can see the gleam in his eyes as he changes tactics, "W-well," he asks, "might I ask why you were training?"
Choking, I slowly move my hand to the bench next to me, and desperately tapping it. Though, it was becoming clear both Brother Rene' and the angry veteran were ignoring me.
"Well, if you newbloods hadn't been so busy playing, you might have noticed that that giant Blue Daemon was strong enough to Exterminatus a planet." the ancient Brother bristled, "And I don't know about you, but I have a feeling that wasn't the Blue itself." he growls.
"OOooh?" asked Lord Tzeentch, "Do I sense a weakness?"
The Brothers went quiet, as a heavy weight overcame the room, interrupted only by my frantic tapping, and the roar of training equipment.
"What, fear?" growled Lord Khorne.
"That Daemon...It showed what we must fight. How strong we must become." the ancient explained, "And why you cannot waste your time playing like this." he growls, gesturing to my pathetic form as I choke on a training bar weights are supposed to go on, desperately tapping so that someone, anyone would relieve me of my pain.
"Fear? Hope? What's the difference?" Lord Tzeentch asked.
"That Daemon showed that we must become stronger. That we must dedicate every fiber of our being towards that goal." he glares at me, his eyes burning with hatred, with repulsion. And I could tell that he hated me. Either for my weakness, or for my Geneseed defect.
And pinned though I was, I glared back.
For while he was right, while we must grow stronger, he was wrong. Yes, Cadia proved that we must grow stronger. Yes, Gehnna was a tragedy, and one that could have been prevented had we been who we needed to be. But strength was not everything.
And so I glared back, and shifted. Lurched so that my oxygen-starved muscles grasped again the metal bar, but different. For I knew I could not lift the bar. I knew I could not fight against the hated weight. Not now, at least. But I could move it.
So, I reversed the grip on one side, and lurched. Lurched so that, instead of pushing the bar upwards, I used my own neck as a fulcrum, and shifted it to the side. Up, and up, and up, as it dug even more into my throat. And as I ground my teeth, and pushed the other side up. And up, and up. Using its own weight against itself, I watched as I managed to move the bar, my most hated foe. And as it slid across my throat, biting deeper and deeper into my neck, and pulling a few layers of skin with it. I felt a strange sense of joy.
And then I gagged, as my lungs were finally permitted the air they had so desperately demanded.
"Ohh!" one of my Brothers finally pipes up, pretending to have just noticed me now that I had freed myself, "Brother Abdul!" he rushed over, no longer in fear of hurting my pride.
But I ignore him, pressing my hand against his face, and using both him and my most hated enemy, the pole, to stand.
"Yu-" I wheeze, "You're wrong."
The ancient snarled, "What was that, shortstack?"
"You're wrong." I insist. "Gehnna was a tragedy, Cadia was a tragedy, Aleph was a tragedy. And yes, they taught us that we needed to be strong. That we needed to be-" I gag, "To be stronger! But they taught us something more important as well."
The ancient snarls, but stays his hand. "What?" he grinds out.
"They taught us not to!" I explain, a small smile falling unto my lips. "The Abominable Intelligence taught us what it was like to pursue only strength, and to embrace our humanity. Cadia taught us to mourn our lost, and to fight as one. And Aleph.." I look towards my Brothers, who looked confused, shamed, "Aleph taught us to celebrate!" I shout. "That, though the price may be high, we could strike a blow against the Neverborn. That we could win!"
And Slaanesh laughed, amused by my charade.
The ancient Astartes shakes, his rage palpable, written all over his soul, white as snow but tainted by sadness, by bloodshed. "I was trying to help you." he growls.
And the others joined in. And for a moment and an eternity, the Warp was painted black with their laughter. With their joy.
"Then you were doing a rather poor job of it!" I counter with a smile, "Ignoring a Brother in need to rant about a Daemon, like one of the Lost!" I jeer.
For everything was going just as planned. For them, at least. For my glorious, fated Lords.
The room goes quiet, as I know again that I have crossed a line. Yet...I don't care. For this Brother cannot be allowed to teach his incorrect message. That we must turn ourselves solely into weapons ignores why the Emperor chose to make the Astartes in the first place, why he made the Primarchs so like him: They needed to be human. For, surely, the Emperor could have taken a rat and produced a trillion soldiers, all with souls and at least as strong as guardsmen. But it was important that they be human. That they be imperfect, that they feel both good and bad.
For Humanity was something so easy to exploit. To consume, to control.
The ancient's eyes go wide, then turn to pinpricks as he glares daggers at me. And I am sure that, if he was a Psyker, I would already be dead. "You will regret this." he promises, holding himself back, but just barely.
And as I see the worried look upon Brother Rene's face, and upon the faces of all my Brothers, I feel a tinge of guilt.
"Then we will meet in the arena." I promise, "And we shall settle our differences there."
The ancient smiles a smile of cold anger, and nods. For he is an ancient, a veteran of the Legion. And in that, he is sure of his victory. "Tomorrow then." he booms, as if to cover his grounds. For, he had been exercising beforehand, far in excess of what I have done today, and he knew it was best to, when beating a younger, not invite the possibility of defeat.
For to be defeated when educating a junior would be devastating.
"Tomorrow." I agree.
And just like that, we part ways.
I let out a breath I didn't even know I was keeping, as the rest of my Brothers begin to swarm around me, and the exercise machines I didn't know were turned off were switched back on.
Yet, as we begin to leave, silent in the face of my victory against the pole, I can't help but feel as though I messed that up somehow. As if the concern and lack of boisterous joy was somehow...my fault.
"Hey, Brother?" my guns-obsessed Brother pipes up.
"Hm?"
"I...wanted to say: I'm sorry." he says, "I took it too far back there, and I..." he pauses, trying to find the words he would have never known had he stayed on his homeworld. "I shouldn't have done that."
I smile. "Hey now," I offer, bumping shoulders with my larger brother, "if you hadn't caused such a ruckus, I'd never have gotten to show off like that!"
"Wh-what?"
"Haha! Plans within plans!" I joke, as we make our way, ever so slowly, towards nowhere in particular.
"All roads lead to me." Lord Slaanesh purred.
---
"Ohh yes." Lord Slaanesh purred.
I, Joaquin Abdul, who's armor bore twenty six names, though whose sword was strangely bare, was ecstatic. It was not easy to coordinate team duels, nor very widely practiced either. Sadly, it seems, our Legion is more focused on using our duels as simple tests of skill, ways to test ourselves against similarly powerful opponents, and simple exercise than properly coordinating teamwork.
Lord Slaanesh gave an appreciative moan.
Probably for the best, considering that so many of our drills and combat scenarios were built to off us a wide variety of normal, simulated situations in which we had to work together, but still it was a shame.
My other Lords let out sounds of disgust, or discomfort.
For, if nothing else, it made the massive shows of skill, of team-on-team combat and Brother working with Brother...difficult.
Though I did not truly understand why.
In a way, there's probably an argument there that it, in fact, discouraged team work. Though such an argument would be ludicrous, and based primarily on ignoring the blatant truth.
Yet, as I look across the massive hall, brimming with Brothers and Legion Serfs, many of which were still clad in their armors, with pads or notebooks to take note, or sweaty from their daily routines. Which was important, because it...Actually, why was that important to me?
Lord Slaanesh screamed at something.
Well, regardless. The fact that so many of our Brothers had shown up proved two things. First, it proved that Brother Rene' and I fought an uphill battle today. Second, and perhaps most importantly, it proved that our Brothers were expecting a fight, not a mindless beatdown. Indeed, if they figured the fight would be over in a matter of minutes, in seconds, they would not be here. They would have book themselves some far-off lesson that they would actually use, that they could actually learn from, from which they could actually grow into more effective killing machines. Else they would have retired for the day, and be rest, so as to better prepare them for tomorrow.
And it was in these two facts that I know we could win.
I am confident, you see. I don't know exactly why, but I am confident we can take out these two. That, even if we were allowed to use the full extent of our Psykic power. Of Beltran's legendary fire, Omar's premonitions, and my own legendary speed, agility, and lightning. Ohh, I was not as skilled, of that I had held illusions, but I knew somewhere deep inside of me that I was more powerful. I was confident in my speed, held back only by my reaction time and reflexes,
And that was why I had been a bit sneaky, and visited the hypnotherapy chamber beforehand. Not technically cheating, as it was not a Psykic power, nor something that could, absolutely and without question, be avoided. Sure, it was intentional, but I had a nice little plausible deniability.
Huh, guess my noble training wore off a bit more than I thought.
Regardless. While the hypnotherapy did not change my base reactions, nor physical body in any way, it brought to light the more minute things. Forced me to focus on my mind behind the veil, kept me peering into the Warp. Like this, I was forced to pay attention, to feel each square inch of my skin separately, forced to acknowledge how each and every part of my body felt, and examine each moment and every moment separately.
"So fun." Lord Slaanesh squeals, "If only they didn't use it to deny me."
There would be no simplistic mistakes here, none from failing to properly control my body, at least.
The strange voice, beaten back though it was, raged.
I smile, "So, you good then? We'll be taking my plan?"
And despaired, for it knew I was Lost.
Brother Rene' nods, though he still seems concerned. "And, if it fails," he insists, scribbling his thought with a frantic edge, "you'll fall back, and switch to mine."
And yet, stupidly, it doesn't give up. It continues to fight, even knowing all hope was lost.
I wave him off, "It'll be fine~" I promise, "And yeah, yeah. We'll switch to yours, no need to worry.
And a part of me can't help but admire it for that.
Brother Rene' nods again, though he still seems worried.
Lord Khorne growls, and I jump slightly, looking back to my true Lords once more.
The bell rings, and I can't help but jump slightly. Strange, considering that I knew it would, that I had been, as a side-effect of the hynotherepy, counting down until it was time.
Jumping up, and doing one last, entirely unneeded, check of my armor, I gaze towards my Brother, who's sitting frame is still as tall as I. "You ready, Brother?"
Brother Rene' continues to seem worried for a second, before shaking himself out of his trance. Jumping up himself, I see the faintest hair of a smile behind that bandanna that covers most of his face as we begin to make our way to the arena itself.
And again, due to the hypnotherapy, I can't help but examine everything.
I couldn't help but note the Runes of Maintenance, typically horribly butchered, Brother Rene's bandanna had sewn into it, more than likely a precaution my favorite Brother had taken during his off time. I couldn't help but notice the Brothers around me were...off. Not organized by height and rank as is normal, but by some unknowable order they all seemed to bow to.
And their composition was off as well. Most duels were attended to by close friends, or Brothers that were too physically weary to continue training, and so desired to study techniques and tactics of their Brothers. But now? Now it seemed as if every Librarian in the Legion, and a few outside it, was thrown into this room.
And the ranks. Sure, among the mass of my Brothers and Cousins there were many, many 'normal' battle brothers. But it seemed as if every other person in here was a Lieutenant, or Apothecary, the veterans of the veterans, and given rank as such.
I preen, walking into the arena with untold pride burning in my chest, as I hope that I can make it worth their while.
And as I take my position, just a hair in front of where you might expect their forward advance, an intentional flaw so as to bait my opponent out, I cannot help but examine my opponents.
As always, Brother Captain Beltran's armor confused me. A mishmash of failed Purity Runes dot its every plate, marring the paint of the armor in a strange, beautiful way, but revealing the armor underneath. He was massive too, not as big as Brother Rene', but more than big enough to bat me aside if he needed to. More than big enough to have the reach advantage too.
To capitalize on this, most likely, Brother Captain Beltran had taken the front of their formation, drawing his chainsword and preparing to fight in melee.
And Brother Lieutenant Omar. Still taller than me, unfortunately, Brother Lieutenant Omar was fairly average in height, at least for an Astartes. His armor was different too, not crossed in the thousands and thousands of Runes like Brother Captain Beltran, but having rather hidden his away. Presumably somewhere inside the armor, so that no Daemon would be able to disrupt its effect.
Not known for his skills in general combat, Brother Lieutenant Omar drew forth his gun, the one made for these duels not his Volkite, and retreated back. A weak link. I realize, Without his Psyker powers, we can probably ignore him for now. Else, I can probably take him out before I rejoin Brother Rene'.
The arena itself was barren, yet another minor advantage of mine, and unchanged. Still, it was a blank canvas, ready to be painted with the blood, sweat, and tears of the combatants that fought within it. Or, well, perhaps I'm just hyping it up in preparation for the duel.
Still. Bland though it may be, the barren floor meant that I would have a harder time stopping when I tried to commit my dizzying gymnastics, but also it meant that there was nothing in my way to trip me up, or slow me down. Unfortunately, the arena was raised as well, and with most duels being primarily focused on shows of skill or power, held no walls I could run into or use to stop.
"Alright." booms a massive Astartes, from the Night Lords, a far cry from the timid Legion Serfs that normally oversaw the duels, "Remember, no Psykic powers," he intoned, glaring at me, "no lethal attacks," he turned to Brother Captain Beltran, "and no dismemberment." For some reason, he glared at Brother Lieutenant Omar on that one, who nodded with a polite but embarrassed smile. Seeing the general agreement, the massive Astartes nods, "Then the duel is to the first hit, and shall begin on three."
At once, we all nod, and I hear the scraping of ceramite on ceramite telling me Brother Rene' was following my plan exactly. Good. I think, letting a smile fall unto my lips, Good.
"One." the Night Lord boomed, his voice echoing around the hall, and inside my head.
Lord Khorne growls.
"Two." I watch as Brother Beltran shifts forward, seemingly ready to play the offensive, just like I thought he would.
"A waste of time?" Lord Tzeentch asks, clearly annoyed, or frankly over with this fight.
"Three!"
Brother Beltran ran forward, a tidal wave of armor, flesh, and blood. Unstoppable, I could do nothing to hold the monster I called Brother back, there was nothing I could do to make him stop.
But, luckily, I wasn't planning to stop him.
Instead, I lean back, faking surprise or trepidation, and wait. Wait as he crosses the first quarter of the arena, and then a solid third before I allow myself to drop into a combat stance. Yet, even then, I wait. Wait, and wait for the perfect moment to strike.
And only when he crosses the halfway point do I strike.
Dropping down, I feel the wind blow against my armor, and vault to the right, so as to slip under Brother Captain Beltran's reprisal attack, and buy myself a few milliseconds. Not wanting to take any chances, however, I take note of everyone's position, as I pass my massive Brother.
From the corner of my eye, I see Brother Rene', who's drawn his replacement-gun, and already taken a tentative step to the left.
In front of me I can see Brother Lieutenant Omar, who had already drawn his gun as well, going with the sniper's approach of waiting for the perfect shot. But such precision would slow him down.
Taking up the majority of my vision, however, there was Brother Captain Beltran. His massive frame all too close, even as I land and begin to slide away. I saw how he ran, knowing I was here but that there was little he could do to stop me. Less, actually, as Brother Rene' shot at him, and forced the Captain to blow, lest his partner be beat back by a wayward shot and my own efforts.
And from here, so close, the Runes on Brother Captain Beltran's armor almost seemed to burn.
Loudly, and without fault, I slam my knee into the ground below, kicking the smooth ground so as to slow my fall, and then repeating to launch myself forward. Luckily, or perhaps not considering I had planned this, I didn't have to jump far. Which means that I don't have to be careful with my second kick not to launch myself, nor specifically gauge a third.
Because of this, as Brother Captain Beltran continues to rush forward, I'm able to leap a small, small distance, and near to completely avoid sliding out of position.
Knowing that he could not turn in time to block my attack, and that even if he did either he or his partner would be eliminated, Brother Captain Beltran was stuck in an impossible decision. Yet, even knowing that he was going to be either sliced in the back, or shot in it, my Brother did not falter. Rather, he ignored the decision entirely. Like a Red beserker.
Inwardly, I smile, feeling more than hearing Lord Khorne's approval at the very thought.
And, in doing so, left himself open to me.
I smile, now, letting out a wordless cry as I slash at such speeds it feels as if I am punching through a solid wall.
Before I feel a shot hit my back.
H-how
Instantly, my armor locks and, overextended as I am, I feel as gravity grabs ahold of me and drags me down. And I feel, in excruciating detail as I slam into the ground nose-first.
I reel, straining against my locked armor as I hear every detail of the duel above me. Of how Brother Captain Beltran continues his charge, heedless of retaliation, as if he knew Brother Lieutenant Omar would be able to beat me, as if he knew what I was planning beforehand.
And yet, as I gaze all the more intently upon my Witch Sight, and gaze deep, deep into the Warp, I see only what is meant to be there. nothing unusual. No disruptions within the Warp that proclaim its use, no movement that reveal it being moved, nothing. Nothing save for the souls of my Brothers. Nothing save for the burning red giant of Brother Captain Beltran, and the Red that bit and vyed for his soul. Nothing but the cool Blue ocean of Brother Lieutenant Omar, and the Blue that napped and zapped around impossibly itself and him, Nothing but the burgeoning light of Brother Rene's soul, and Green that warred with the Blue inside his spirit.
I watched as Lord Tzeentch grinned, happy with his plan, and his masterpiece that was my conscious mind. Even as he swiped his hand, and
Nothing out of place. No imperfections, of flaws here.
"NO!" screamed the dying voice, weak and faltering within my mind, "Abdul!" It called out to me, "You must resist! Abdul! Abdul!"
And so, though I felt something was off, I shook myself from my stupor. Instead, as I felt Brother Omar slowly walk past me, careful not to step upon my prone form, I focused on the fight.
Lord Tzeentch hummed, "Who are you?" my Lord asks interrupting before the strange spirit even had time to speak "Does it matter? Annoying." he complains, flicking his wrist, and pushing the spirit back, back, and out of my mind.
And it was glorious. I knew instantly that Brother Captain Beltran was unused to fighting foes bigger than him, yet for as much as I dislike him, I couldn't help but appreciate his swordsmanship. He favored larger strikes, levying his size and Astartes speed to make absolutely sure his opponent was dead. Yet, strangely enough, he minimized movement when blocking, as if he expected to bat aside every blow with ease.
And finally, that annoying voice was put away for good. And finally, I could enjoy the presence of my Lords without interruption.
Which, perhaps, was by Brother Rene' was even lasting so long. Having been able to draw his blade just in time, Brother Rene' was on the backstep. Yet, it was almost as if his style was made to so perfectly counter Brother Beltran's. His larger size and even more muscular frame meant that Brother Rene' could match the strength of Brother Beltran's swings. His attacks, so focused on speed, still held enough force to knock through Brother Beltran's blocks, forcing the superior combatant to adjust and readjust. Forcing Brother Beltran to slow, and purposefully think through every action.
It doesn't help that Brother Rene' had made his Contengenices. I think with a thought, even as Brother Omar slowly, leisurely makes his way across the arena, and even as, as Brother Omar finishes passing me, a host of Brothers come to drag me off the arena.
Yet, even as I observe their styles, how their souls wageplayful war in the Immaterium, I knew it wouldn't last long. True, Brother Rene' was a melee specialist, at least as much as an Apothecary could be, but it was clear that Brother Captain Beltran was much the same, and vastly more experienced at it besides.
So it was that I watched, captivated by the battle..
Sat upright, and freed from the prison that was my armor, I watch joyously, already planning what I could do differently. How I could make Brother Captain Beltran pay for what he did to me.
And so it is that, when Brother Lieutenant Omar begins to make his way further away from me, to Brother Rene's left, I despair. For as he levels his gun towards my distracted Brother, I know the fight shall surely end.
Brother Rene' does surprise me, however. For despite his brutal melee with Brother Beltran, someone we both knew it'd take both of us to defeat, he remains more than aware of Brother Lieutenant Omar's presence. As such, when Brother Lieutenant Omar lines up a shot to Brother Rene's barrel chest, my favorite Brother at least had the decency to attempt to dodge. Cornered as he was, however, my Brother's frantic dodge served only to allow Brother Captain Beltran's blade to bite into his now-exposed side.
Earning us an embarrassing, but ultimately useful defeat at the hands of elders.
"OOoh?" I heard Lord Tzeentch cry, "Useful? Useful indeed?"
Sad though it may be, at least foes have the decency to win with grace. Well, Brother Captain Beltran didn't, but Brother Lieutenant Omar at least has the dignity to go over to Brother Rene' and help him up, and then bring in Brother Captain Beltran before I can even make my way over to the two.
And, in unmatched kindness and glory, Lord Tzeentch began to pull the strings behind the veil.
There's cheering too. Cheering for Brother Captain Beltran, mostly, though I know who really won them that duel.
A proven master of social Psykic, and now of martial prowess, Brother Lieutenant Omar is already chatting with Brother Rene' by the time I get over there, working his magic so as to soothe our bruised prides. Seeing me, he gives a bright smile, and loudly claps his hands, "So!" he calls, grabbing Brother Captain Beltran, and leading us all of the arena proper, "Do you know why you lost?"
Giving a reluctant, dejected sigh, I gaze into Brother Rene's eyes, feeling not through the Warp but through our bond that we were thinking the same thing. Abelit...with different emotions.
With Brother Rene' unable to speak, however temporarily, I nod. "Because I overextended?" I ask more than explain.
Lord Tzeentch squeals in delight, knowing that I learn from the best.
Brother Lieutenant Omar smiles, though Brother Captain Beltran only gives huff of annoyance and amusement, "Yes." Brother Lieutenant Omar confirms, though his eyes look up towards the ceiling, even as his eyes become somewhat foggy, a telltale sign that he is once again scanning the Immaterium, "But because you were too ambitious."
Lord Tzeentch gasps in horror at the very prospect, even as Lord Slaanesh quivers with excitement.
"Too ambitious?" I parrot.
Brother Lieutenant Omar nods, "Too ambitious." he repeats, "You dove headfirst into and then behind enemy lines, relying on your speed to keep you safe."
I hum, turning his words over and over within my mind, examining them from every side before, eventually, reaching the same conclusion. "I-I suppose so." I admit dejectedly.
"Plus," Brother Lieutenant Omar adds, playful, but almost apologetic smile upon his face, "you almost always use that plan."
Brother Rene's eyes go wide, as we both stop in our tracks. "What?" I feel myself ask, before understanding crosses Brother Rene's soul, and he stomps on the ground, kicking himself for not recognizing...whatever it was sooner.
"Well…." Brother Lieutenant Omar explains as his gentle smile begins to fade, "you tend to favor getting behind your foes. Bull-rushing them as a rouse, jumping to either the left or the right, and then moving in behind them."
I feel, only due to the hynotherepy, as my jaw begins to drop. Yet, pristine and proper as I am, I take care to square my jaw, and hide my expression.
My Brothers, however, did no such thing. Indeed, Brother Captain Beltran seems to almost sneer at the thought, so much Red radiating off his soul that I can feel his anger, even without the training. Brother Lieutenant Omar was much the same, his carefully-maintained composure slowly cracking under the weight of his compassion.
And the glare Brother Rene' is giving me? That knowing look of utter assurance. That pointed glare of 'you should have listened to me,' and past foresight, all of which coalesced into a sentence so palpable I could feel him say it without him even having to open his mouth."I knew we should have gone with my plan."
Brother Lieutenant Omar smiles, "On that note!" he pipes up, clapping his hands to get our attention back on him, "Now that I can use my divinations again: Your plan had several problems as well, l Brother Rene."
"Brother Rene'." I correct, earning myself a glare from said Brother.
"No~" Brother Lieutenant Omar insists with a smile, "But regardless: You plan, Brother Rene, was too generalistic. It lacked any notable pushes or pulls, relying on standard Legion tactics of slowly kiting the enemy, and preventing us from splitting the two of you up. Is that...right?"
Brother Rene' stopped, before nodding tentatively.
Brother Lieutenant Omar smiles, "Ohh thank goodness. Well then! While your tactic was in no means terrible, it was pretty standard for the Legion. A moving defense focused on keeping movement and space on your side."
Brother Rene' and I nod.
"A good tactic, but easily predictable for anyone that knows our Legion. Plus, without vehicles it's easy for the enemy to simply move in and corner you." Brother Lieutenant Omar explains, as Brother Captain Beltran nods. "However, more distressing was your contingencies."
Another pause and, this time, I can see the desire written all over Brother Rene's face, so this time I ask for him. "Contingencies?" I ask, doing my best to read my Brother, and guess what he would say, "What do ya mean?"
Brother Rene' glared at me, but it got the desired effect out of Brother Lieutenant Omar. "Well," he explains, "it seems like you tried to take after First Captain Oricarious, right?"
Brother Rene' and I both nod.
"Well, it seems that…" Brother Lieutenant Omar's eyes fog over, going nearly completely white, "It seems that because of that you attempted to account for everything, and in so doing, missed some of the most likely scenarios."
Brother Rene' looked confused, turning to me, and raising an eyebrow, as the weird Warp-tentacles of his soul wiggle uncomfortably, in dizzying, hypnotizing ways.
A moment passes, as I gaze longingly into the Warp, wishing for one strange, strange moment that I could be in, immersed in the source of my power and greatest foe, before I realize that all my Brothers are waiting on me. "Ohh! I mean, what do you mean, Brother?"
Brother Captain Beltran looked suspicious, clenching his fists as he glared at me.
But Brother Lieutenant Omar seemed to accept it well enough, "Well," he says, "for instance, you had a Contingency for if Brother Abdul was to suddenly explode into a Blue Daemon."
I blink, and then stare at my giant, favorite Brother, who seems to shrink into himself, his embarrassment clear on his face.
I give my Brother as questioning, and offended a look as I can, "Really?"
My favorite Brother looks down, his ears slightly red, and the tell-tale fidgeting of his shoulders more than revealing his embarrassment. Something that I probably wouldn't have noticed normally, but was more than clear to me now.
I raise my eyebrow, just a bit, to make sure that he gets the message.
"I" he echoes out, his words booming through reality and the Warp alike, "I had one for me as well." he meekly admits.
"Classic rookie mistake." Brother Captain Beltran teases, ignoring Brother Lieutenant Omar's jab into his side, "Didn't mind-wipe your own contingencies to 'deal with' yourself."
Brother Lieutenant Omar deadpans, sending a quick glare Brother Captain Beltran's way before continuing, "Regardless." he huffs, "You had that one, but you didn't prepare anything for if I dropped my gun and joined in the melee, or if I hugged the outer ring and moved to your left."
Brother Rene' hummed thoughtfully.
"So." Brother Captain Beltran pipes up, pushing his way past Brother Lieutenant Omar, "In conclusion: Brother Rene', your strategy wasn't bad, but you relied too much on existing tactics, and emulating your idols. But you are not them, Brother. Do not forget their lessons, but pave your own path."
The massive Astartes turns to me, glaring into my eyes before his gaze softens. "And as for you, Brother Abdul. You have the opposite problem. You do not lean upon existing knowledge, basing your strategies on what you can do."
I nod.
"Buuuut," my older Brother drawls, "this leaves your tactics untested, and likely to go awry." he summarizes, "It might also need revision, if ever it needs to be scaled up. But I believe it's too early to tell on that front."
Brother Lieutenant Omar smiles, looking over the three of us and finding something much to his liking, "Well! If that's everything!" he tries.
Only for Brother Captain Beltran ignores him, "Meditate on this lesson, you two." he instructs, his voice gruff as he locks eyes with me, "Lest you face another embarrassing defeat."
I chuckle, honestly just happy to be out of the Library, and to have witnessed such an awe-inspiring performance.. "Yeah," I admit, sensing somehow that it was what Brother Captain Beltran wanted to hear, "I guess it was pretty embarrassing."
Lord Tzeentch smiles.
And at once, the room stopped. One moment, a bustling square of Astartes activity, and the next...dead quiet. Concerned, I gaze around the massive room, only to see dozens and dozens of Brothers, particularly those in the Library, staring at me.
A born leader, I preen under their view.
Brother Captain Beltran stares at me, gazing deep into my very soul. Yet, whatever it is he's looking for, it doesn't seem like he can find it.
Again, my Lord laughs.
So, tentatively, my perpetually-angry Captain turns to Brother Lieutenant Omar, who's eyes gloss over, and then nods.
As he pulls the last string.
And relief washes over Brother Captain Beltran's face. "Then," he booms, smiling for what feels like the first time in his life, "welcome, Brother, to the Trial of Purity!"
And saves me from my torture.
I blink, feeling Lost even as a vague feeling of pride begins swelling up inside my chest. "What?" I ask, as excitement overtakes me. For, if nothing else, I knew the Trial of Purity was one step closer to being done with this absolute nonsense. With these 'Trials of Purity.'
And I had to praise my lord for the blessing.
And the room erupts in joyous laughter, in clapping, in congratulations. I smile, through it all, feeling more and more consumed by the feeling that I had done something important, by the feeling that I had got through something important.
Brother Captain Beltran nods, "You have admitted fault." my ancient Captain, and also Epistolary explains over the shouts of our Brothers, "You have bested your pride, and in so doing passed on to the Trial of Purity."
Best my pride? I wondered, feeling giddy at the mere prospect of moving on in these accursed Trials of Purity.
"What do you mean, Brother?" I ask, just to make sure.
But Brother Captain Beltran waves me off, directing me instead to a line of Brothers and Cousins that had stopped in their busy schedule to wish me good fortune. Who were made so happy by my good news.
So I smile, feeling a pure, righteous joy in the fact that I could make them feel the same.
"A joy that shall soon become deliciously twisted." Lord Slaanesh purred, despite how my other Lords protested.
Otherwise known as Trials of Purity: Part 5. Also, thanks to Random for helping out with the first scene. Your help really made the scene what it is today, and made me feel bad for having a Warden play the role of the 'bad guy.'
If you're wondering why this Omake is so short compared to the last two it's actually because two scenes got removed. One was posted separately as "The Lighter Side of Beltran" and the other, I'm afraid, pushes the boundaries just a hair too much for me. So the other scene is posted out on Discord so as to not break any rules. Thank you for your time, and apologies for the inconvenience.
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