Lord Sir Lexicanium Joaquin Abdul. The Monster Of The Eleventh Legion. The Black Knight. He who's armor bore ninety eight names, though his sword was strangely bare. The self-proclaimed most powerful of Kesar's sons.
And your enemy.
He stood in the center of the circle, surrounded on all sides. A hundred against one.
It had started four hundred against one.
The man before him raises his staff, and for a moment electricity pools around his arms, dancing and bouncing across its length as it gathers into a blow that could truly harm the Astartes.
The Pride Of The Library dispelled it with contemptuous ease, twisting his blade to leave just enough of the bio-lightening to ravage the man's body. He falls, screaming as the circle wavers and pushes back. The Terran Born stares down at him, his unreadable eyes still crackling with lightning.
In a moment, you could see a lifetime of calculations pass through his eyes. A million tiny problems clear to him, but in which way should they be made clear? In what order would they be most effective?
"Remember:" the ancient Astartes spoke, his voice deceptively human, compassionate, "Center around the staff. Let it magnify your strength."
It would make you faster. went unsaid, but somehow we all understood it. Such was the power of this monster, this storm made flesh. It demanded our attention, spoke without speaking. It was a force of nature leaving you with nothing but the smell of ozone and the shaking of your arms.
He turns, and eyes still glowing with Psykic power scan a captive audience. His arm outstretched, and instinctively you grip your Force Sword, a massive, inelegant thing closer to a meatcleaver than a proper blade, even tighter. Dramatically, he shifts his arm, and the gentle swing of his holy blade points to all of us in turn, as fey eyes looked into our very souls.
And his sword fell upon me.
"Next." He called.
And in a rush of adrenaline you charge. The world blurs around you, as your heart roars in challenge and you take your first step. He levels his sword, pulling it back into a more neutral stance, as you raise your blade high over your head for a single, overwhelming attack.
And activate Warp Speed.
The world shifts, elongating as color is slowly stripped from it. A step, and the greyscale world explodes in light. Vibrant, azure colors dance in your vision, growing brighter and brighter as you run.
Until at last, the Astartes is forced to prepare for your attack, twisting his rapier to the side as he raises it aloft.
Letting you swerve your greatsword to the side, and pierce his folly! His sword readjusts, his body shifts, and to your overwhelming joy you realize you are faster than him yet!
But Lord Abdul is an Astartes, and like all Astartes he is a master swordsman. So, with minimal effort, with little movement, his blade catches yours.
A clang rings out across the battlefield, the resounding song of metal meeting metal, blade meeting blade, and like all kindred spirits the two stick together. Your blade does not budge, does not run down the length of his like you'd have thought, but the teeth of your weapons lock, trying to find whom is the strongest.
More worrying yet, your foe does not budge. His blade does not fly back, nor sway, nor retreat. It is like hitting an adamantium wall, for it holds no sway, gives no quarter.
Your eyes widen, as for a moment
and with joyous laugh you realize you as faster than him.
But Lord Abdul was an Astartes, and like all Astartes he was a master swordsman. With minimal movement, he twisted his sword again, forward and straightening it out, and to my overwhelming joy I realized I was faster than him yet!
And then our blades met, and for a moment Kesar's smallest son waits for you.
Your throat dries, and you try to readjust, to pull yourself back, but too late. For the Master Of The Antigians, twists his blade, and your own momentum turns against you.
Warp Speed or no, you fall to the ground in a blur of painful kinetic energy, slamming into it just as the energy field cuts a thin line, no larger than a papercut, into the nape of your neck.
"Good tactics." The Least Warden spoke at last, "And your use of Warp Speed was splendid. However, I would recommend stackinv Iron Arm as well, that you would be both faster and stronger than I."
He turned away from me, and I felt a spirit of jealousy overtake me. My face flushed red in embarrassment, as for the first time I felt to question my lord's teachings. How dare he, after all, embarrassing me. What purpose did this have, to beat us up so? To prove his superiority? To beat into us loyalty? To satisfy his own ego?
"And remember to keep your wrists loose until the moment you are to strike. It helps prevent fatigue, and strengthens your blows."
Kesar's most hated son turns away from you, swaying his arms dramatically as he had done now two hundred times, and would do ninety nine more.
Until like shattering glass rage overtook you, and fate was changed once more.
Your Fists slammed against the ceramite of the deck of the arena as your mind is washed in red hit rage. Lord Abdul, that worthless, no-good cursed fool turns to you, but tor once his gaze does not paralyze, his eyes do not inspire. But they do fill you with dread, bunting what you had to say.
But say it you did anyway.
"THIS IS STUPID!" You shout, slamming your hands again, and pushing yourself to your feet, "WE'LL NEVER BE ABLE TO BEAT YOU!" You cry. Your legs shake, and for a moment, you're afraid they'll give out on you, as The Warden's Son shifts his full attention on you.
"Well, of course you'll never beat me." Lord Abdul says, confusion clear on his face. Not because it should be, but because he makes it. Because he knows you can't read him as he can you. Because he mocks you, knowing you're lesser than him.
Red, hot tears spill from your eyes, cupping your face like waterfalls of magma as you finally fall to your knees. "THEN-" Your voice comes out harsh, choking, as months of frustrations and inhuman training spill out at once, "WHY DO Y-YOU HAVE US FIGHT YOU!?" You scream again, "WE'LL NEVER BE ABLE TO WIN! WE'LL NEVER BE ABLE TO BEAT AN ASTARTES!"
"Ohh." The Black Knight gapes, before changing his persona at once, "I see what this is."
The crowd of Antigians pushes back, as others push them forwards, and the Eternal Warden gives them a glare, daring any to capitalize on this, any to make fun of my weakness. Like he had for everyone who'd broken down.
"Is that what…" the Pride Of The Library stops making sure his words sunk into each of us, "all of you think?"
He watches, appearing to your blurry vision shocked-appalled as his Antigians confusedly nod.
"I can't believe this." Lord Abdul sighs, "I can't believe none of you see how awesome-how amazing you guys are!"
Your cry becomes a sniffle, as your confusion clouds your mind.
"You think you can't beat an Astartes?" The Asartes asks incredulously, "You know why I don't fight you in groups, right?" He didn't wait for them to answer, "'Cause you'd win! You'd beat my butt so hard I wouldn't have a scrap of dignity left!"
He laughes at that, a bold, heart laugh that seemed so inhuman on his normally unreadable face. So false. But it seemed so human so genuine you couldn't help but join in.
But he continues, with such honest excitement that it wormed its way into your heart, until it infected you, too. "You are Psykers! The greatest of all mankind! You can heal the sick in seconds, burn armies to to dust in moments, see the future!"
He gestured wildly at that, and, again, you cannot hel but chuckle, wiping the last of your tears away, as all eyes once more glued to your master.
"You are Psykers!" He continues,"The greatest of all mankind! You have powers most can only dream of!" He turns, shifting to not only gesture to all all you, but to congratulate individually, to show his examples, "Strength to flip over tanks!" He nodded to an Antigian you didn't recognize, and continued, slowly, spinning, "Lightning enough to knock them down!" He turns to Lucille, nodding as he continues on, "And speed enough to outrun their shells!"
He turns to you, nodding in recognition. Of your strength, of your skill, and your face became red once more as you realize how high he thinks of you. That he, one of the Angels of Death, would speak highly of you at all. You felt almost...silly, reacting like you did. Like a child not wanting to go to their schola.
But Lord Abdul didn't care. Instead, he offers his hand to help you up, and pats your back in reassurance when you rejoin him on even ground.
"You are all marvelous." He says, staring at once at you, and through you, "The greatest artifice this galaxy hath ever made." And he turns away, gesturing more, once more, to the crows. The every Antigian that needed to hear it. "I tell you: Already just two of you could already beat an Astartes, and just ten could stay a Custodes' hand!"
The crowd, all of us, already glued to this Astartes, already clinging to his every word, grew quieter still.
"And this is not your end!" He cast his arms out wide, beckoning us all in, closer, and closer into his cult of personality, "I tell you: By the end of my training all of you will be able to match my Brothers!"
The boldness of the statement caught us. It stilled the air, and calmed the Warp around it, as it too felt pulled to make it a reality.
He must have felt it question. "And will you stop there!" He called, bringing his hands to his chest, gesturing to his heart, his center. Like a fisherman reeling in his catch.
"N-no!" You felt yourself scream, a hundred voices at your back, resounding in this room. Resounding in the Warp. In the stillness, the calmness left in Kesar's wake.
"NO!" He agreed, "For that is not your end! Not the limit of your potential! For you can go even further! I tell to you: Soon you shall match Astartes, but one day you shall best Custodes!"
And the crowd. You, all of you, cheered. You didn't know why. It felt so impossible, so unendingly long a journey that it would never be achieved. And yet?
Yet it rung true. For what made you lesser than all those Psyker overlords who overtook planets? Those centuries old monsters who, by themselves, slayed armies? What made you, you who had the backing of the Imperium, you who could one-day beat Astartes, you who was trained by Joaquin Abdul himself, what made you lesser than they?
And yet you still sensed something. An immutable, untouchable, untraceable, invisible barrier in the Warp that should never be scrapped by mortal hands. And you felt him reach forward, and break It.
"And one day!" Your grandmaster shouted, as if he too was hesitant at the words, "You shall be able to scrape at at level of Primarchs!"
You cheer again, but few still do. They do not get it. For how would one match a Primarch? Did not they have more power in each muscle fiber, in each cell than you in your entire body?
But you saw it. For he had broken it. For through the Warp, for through time, and training, and through its Black Knight, it could be done.
The grandmaster noticed his pupils' reservations. Their hesitance.
"I see…." And, his humanity was gone. Once more replaced with the fey-like mask of an unknowable transhuman warrior. A warrior without peer, that none could know his thoughts. "A demonstration is in order."
Your blood runs cold as The Monster Of The Eleventh Legion turns to you. But he reads your face, and waves away your concerns. "Don't worry." He assures you, and you can hear his smile, feel it, "I won't hurt you, Aeve."
The world stops. "You know my name?" You ask, barely above a whisper.
The Astartes smiles brighter, until his soul, shining in illustrious white armor, matched his material form, "Of course." He whispers back, like a father proud of his child, "I'd never forget you."
You felt...happy. Recognized. The way your parents used to make you feel before they threw you unto the Black Ship. Like a close friend.
Less than you felt for your husband, less than you hoped to have for your children. But...the type of feeling you had with Lucille. The type of feeling you hoped for all your friends, one day.
"Now," The Astartes said, cold again, though as he let you go you felt like you could almost still hear the warmth in his voice. Almost. "I need you to pick out another person, of all the Antigians, to fight with you. Just one: To prove I speak the truth."
You nod, turning back to face the crowd, and divining which, of all of them, would prove the Black Knight's words the most.
Lucille seemed a pretty good pick. She was a friend of yours, the day to your night. For she, too, was a master biomancer: One who could heal wounds Luke you wouldn't believe. She loved shifting her face and muscles, too, to better keep up with the latest trends. Which, though her tall, hourglass figure, blonde hair, and unnaturally sparkling eyes probably wouldn't give you an edge over the Astartes, spoke much of her skills. She knew Warp Speed as well, you were pretty sure, and though her weapon was a staff, you could see you two, flanking the Pride Of The Library, and overwhelming him with a furry of blows.
Or, you recognized another from yesterday's practice. A man who'd done nothing wrong, as far as you could tell. He seemed old, older than all of you, but Juevenat made such things hard to judge. What mattered, though, is that he was by far the most skilled of you all. He hadn't broke, he hadn't spoken. He seemed...almost empty inside his charcoal black eyes and raven black hair.
But he'd been the only one able to heal back his own arm in yesterday's assessment exercise, showing no scar on his dark brown skin. And he took to the Willpower Training better than most, swaying and melding with his sword as naturally as breathing. You were pretty sure he had picked up swordsmanship from somewhere, too, though where he had you'd never heard.
Then, there was your husband? Adim was a marvelous man, as handsome in body as he was in soul. Which was quite good, considering you could see both. His long, blonde hair he'd refuse to cut somewhat hiding the beautiful, natural, sea-green orbs he called his eyes. Plus, being a Biomancer with you meant he was always incredibly muscular, and the scars he kept are all super hot and-you were getting off track.
But your husband could throw lightning fast, you knew all of his abilities, and you knew he knew yours. He knew Iron Arm too, meaning he could cast it on you. He...also knew a bit of Telepathy? Not that it'd be useful here…
You looked at more, at nearly every Psyker training in the Antigians. But you realize you didn't know any of the rest. Not truly, not personally. And, while it'd be a powerful message to challenge your Lord Abdul with a stranger, you knew not whether they would appreciate it.
The fools, stepping down when it was their turn to make history.
It was for that reason that you narrow down your choices further. For, while the mysterious stranger seems the strongest pick, you knew him not and oft were men to self-sabatogue, and turning away their glory. You know him, for he was strong, but you do not know if he would cover for you when the situation demanded for it, or if he would flee, or press the attack. He is an unknown, and for all his power and skill, you do not know if you can trust him. And...to be honest, you want to share this moment with someone you love, not just to win but to cherish this day forever.
Which left Lucille and Adim. Both smart, tactical choices in their own right, both people you dearly cared about. Both can do it, you realize, so long as you believe the Black Knight's words both can let you win. Lucille has the speed, the power, the skill. And Adim, bless him, has the strength, the support, the teamwork.
They are both enough.
The only weakness is you.
Which is why, running forward, you grab your husband's hand.
"Uhh!" Your honey-buns protests, but you have already decided this one for him. Like any wife when her husband considered going to battle would for him.
You drag him, like a fisher proudly proclaiming her catch, before The Son Of The Kesar. On whose inhuman, inscrutable face you can just barely see smirk.
"Adim." The Librarian says calmly, as he slowly lowers into his 'saber' stance, "Good choice."
Your husband bows respectfully, though you do not miss how he, exasperatedly, side-eyes you.
You send him a glare back, calling it revenge for not running to you earlier.
He silently apologies, and tries to explain for a split second.
But you turn your head, and snuff him out.
"But I warn you." The Least Warden adds, his eyes crackling with lightening as his Astartes Power Armor hums in anticipation, "I won't be holding back."
Your husband grips his staff all the tighter. "Uhh-yeah! So-sweet sugary nectar?" He calls to you, uncertain, "I think this might be a bit of a bad ide-"
"Begin!"
Immediately you rush forward, lifting your weapon on high as you your vision swarms with Psykic energy. Like a thousand tiny worms stripping the world of color, save for the ugly red marks they leave behind.
It didn't matter.
For as Warp Speed took its effect once more, you knew yourself faster than your teacher, than Astartes, and that was too great a boon to turn down.
So you ran forward like a madwoman, confident in your power-your strength.
In less than a second, you had crossed the distance between you and your enemy, and in less than a second your blades met once more.
But this time, this time? Things were different.
For your husband had not been idle, even in so short a time. You had hoped he'd have thrown a blast of lightning, forced the Astartes back so you could try for a lucky blow. Or thought, maybe, the unexpectedness of everything, of his opponent, had confused him, paralyzed him so it'd take a few seconds to act.
You saw now just how brilliant your man was.
For as your sword slammed against Lord Abdul's this time it moved. With reinforced strength from your husband's cast of Iron Arm, you realized with overwhelming joy you were both faster, and stronger than him. Than any Astartes!
You felt the grin, the crackle, the joy of your teachers as your cleaver cut for his chest.
"Good, good!" The space marine boomed, locking eyes with you, and then your husband, "Support each other! Work together, and any enemy shall fall to your hands!"
Yet, as your blade kept his busy, you saw him reach his other hand forward and, for moment, heard the building buzz of lightening, and saw the symbol burned into his armor's palm.
Until three blasts of lightening rolled past you and your Grandmaster was forced to flee from an overwhelming barrage. A look behind you, and you see your husband's staff, still crackling with excess lightning and looking back, manage to raise your blade just in time to block the Black Knight's next blow.
He draws his weapon back, dipping past your guard, only to dodge back as a bolt of lightning hurls through where his chest used to be. He launches a bolt of lightning back, aiming for Adim, but with speed not even Astartes could match you block it.
The Pride of the Library swipes at you again, but you jump back, and just barely dodge the crackle of his Power Sword.
He takes the opportunity to dash towards your husband, and already you realize the weakness of your plan. You run after him, slicing at his back to force him around, and then sliding past him to place yours between your backfire support once more, as your husband launches q half-dozen bolts of lightning to keep the Grandmaster from capitalizing on such a moment, and forcing him back.
"Good!" Lord Abdul calls once more, "Good! Already you ha forced me to use my Psykic powers! Already any other would have fallen by your hands!" The Astartes promises.
You bring your sword to bare while he monologs, slashing your blade like the greatsword it might as well be into his chest.
But he lifts his sword, gripping it with both hands and letting you throw him further away from your husband...while also pushing him out of the way of yet another bolt of lightning.
"Already, you are on the level of Astartes!" He shouts, as you launch a bolt of lightning at him yourself, "Can you not see it in these two? For are they your strongest! Your exemplars of might and skill!"
His sword lashes out, blocking your blow as a wall of electricity erupts from his blade. Frantically, you scurry a dodge, as not for the first time the Antigians marvel at the Terren Born's might.
"NO! They are your brother and your sister! A husband and his wife challenging the might of the Legions!"
Frantically, you look back, but you see not your husband through the blinding light. Was he still there? Was he disqualified? Separated? You didn't know. But you still had your objective, and, reminded of his insane power, you knew you had to stop him from simply using it again to wipe the battlefield clean.
"Already you can do this!" The Astartes proclaimed, promised, grinding in the same points, treading the same grounds, "But I ask again! Will you stop here?"
"NO!" The words rip themselves from your throat faster than you can think, drawing your foe's attention back to you, just in time to parry your blade with his buckler, and stab towards your eyes.
Only to jump back once more, as a lob of electricity flew past his his face, and turned his attention back towards your husband.
He growls, audibly so, as you dive between your mentor and your lover before he can so much as think of crossing the distance.
"No." He agrees, as, finally, he uses Warp Speed upon himself, and you are thrown into a flurry of frantic blocking, dodging, parying, and backstabbing, saved only by the timely interventions of your husband, who launched bolt after bolt to buy to you time-To let you last just a minute longer.
And, silently, your husband began to scratch ancient symbols, who's words were old when the universe was young, into the floor.
"For you are Psykers!" The Monster continues, "You are the Antigians! You are fielded with the best for you are the best! For through your strength men are made whole!"
You faster and faster you block his strikes, as for once the Least Warden was faster than you. Weaker, still, but through his speed and skill and swordsmanship raw strength had ceased to matter, as if he trained to fight just such a foe. Yet, you grit your teeth, pouring more and more power into your body, and trusting your husband distractions until one of you could find a way to reverse the tide.
"And what is to stop you from going even further?" He continues undaunted, as you are forced to take a step back.
"Nothing!" You answer for him. For though your eyes have begun to bleed, though your body has begun to tire and slow down: it mattered not. For you were an Antigian. A master of biology and Biomancy. A Psyker beyond compare.
And deep, deep in your heart, there was an ache you couldn't ignore! A burning passion to win! To better yourself! To match this exemplar of might and magic and win! To become the strongest!
You didn't have time to learn if the others felt the same way, or if the Warden had less effect on those he didn't fight, but it mattered not. You'd win this, even as you took another step back, even as you gave more ground, you'd find a way to win this!
"Yes!" Lord Abdul encourages, beating me back with a stream of endless blows, his body blurring faster and faster, until even to under Warp Speed you could barely see him, barely move to block.
But for all that your body was failing, your soul was made free.
Unable to keep up physically, you slowly, slowly, released your soul from its bindings, arcing electricity like mad through you blade: That wonderful, unwieldy, extension of your mind, body, and soul.
And through it you sprayed a beam of lightening, just long enough that, when you took a step back, Abdul couldn't follow you.
"Feel the thrum of battle in your hearts!" Your Lord commanded, "Feel as it drives you on!"
He launches another, massive blast of lightening, but this time you were prepared. You dove back, dropping, just for a moment, your Warp Speed as you felt your husband drop Iron Arm. And together, you blasted an attack back. Surrounded by blistering heat, and overwhelming light, you shot back a beam of plasma just big enough to carve yourself a safe space. Just big enough to get you some ground.
And the runes under your feet began to glow.
"To better yourselves, even after everyone else has stopped!' A wave of humanity enters into the Black Knight's voice at that, his speech, suddenly, almost a childish beg before it restored itself, "For what makes you worse than a Custodes? What keeps you from the level of Arthon, from the Imperium's greatest heroes!"
He probably could have kept such an attack going forever, such was the horror of what you were facing, but eventually Lord Joaquin Abdul dropped his attack, though whether because he sensed how close you were to failing, to dying, or because he figured he could win faster in melee, you did not know.
But what matters is that the Least Warden lept to the side, dodging your blasts of lightening, and sprinting towards you two an untouchable monsters. You tries to recast Warp Speed, but too late as his blade sliced towards you at impossible speeds. You flinch back, just barely managing a block, only for it to be batted aside and, with another swing.
The Monster Of The Eleventh Legion swings his blade once more, aiming for your throat, only for your husband's staff to to block the blow. He turns towards your love, and for a moment you think of diving in, before a single, impeccable image pierces your mind's eye.
In a moment of barely contained horror you dive out of the circle Lord Abdul had wisely pushed you to, just as your husband detonated his Runic circle.
And, in a moment that would fell Baneblades, that would shatter hopes, and break armies across its back, a star rose to the heavens. A beam of light filled the circle, shooting towards the Monster and your white knight. And to your horror, it engulfed them in its light.
"No!" You feel yourself scream.
But the light cared not, for it had claimed them. Yet further, and further it rose, until it split upon the four-layer latic-barfiers, and broke them.
Instantly, fire-retardant liquid began to sprinkle from the ceiling, but not enough, as the light rose higher, and higher, searing through the ceiling, and through the next, and the next.
Until a small bolt of lightning pierced the wall of light and zapped you out of your stupor.
You blink, as the light fades, and before your eyes appears a black clad knight, a shadow of his father, and his father before him. And, in plate still steaming from the heat, with an arm still burning in hold anathematic fire, he held Adim.
He spoke before you got a chance to.
"Okay, first of all:" his voice seethed in rage, "Shame on you for nearly killing yourself during a training exercise." He spoke, as he raised an empty hand, and a spark of electricity jumped from his hand, caressing down you're husband's face, who flinched, and sized as it touched his skin.
"And second-" He continued, his voice rumbling louder and louder with every word, "shame on you for nearly killing me during a training exercise!"
Adim nods frantically and, with a huff of steam, Abdul let's him go.
"But….I admit," The Terran Born huffs, like a disappointed dad trying not to laugh, "That was a blow that would have slain any of my Brother." And again, you can feel his smile, his pride, in the Warp, "And injured even Custodes."
He pauses, letting his words sink in over the pouring sprinklers, "It was proof of just how powerful you are. That two of your numbers would have done better than my own Brothers!" His voice booms, happy, and angry, proud and enraged.
Again, he paused, collecting himself, before turning to Adim, "Never do that again." He commands, "You had proven your strength before, and no glory this day is worth the sacrifice of your life."
He shakes his head, and sighs, before looking to the ceiling, and, you think, briefly wondering how he was going to explain such damage.
"Well, I'm afraid to say we're over time time today." He growls through clenched teeth, "Tomorrow, we'll be going over the lessons learned here: How to defend your support, swordsmanship, teamwork, and-" He glared at Adim, "the importance of preserving your own life."
He took one last moment, surveying his Antigians, and seeing something you did not. Some progress that would drive him tomorrow, stained by human imperfection. And, somehow, you felt that drove him to.
"Dismissed!" Lord Abdul called, marching off to do...whatever it was Astartes did.
Your husband breathes a sigh of relief, as, finally, your body realizes just how tired it should be. You wanted nothing more than to just collapse into your bed, and sleep forever.
But you still had one more thing to do, before you got to sleep.
And so, as the adrenaline leaves your system, you march once more to your beloved: like a soldiers coming home from war.
He tries to give you a charming smile, the kind that always makes your heart swoon.
But jokes on him. You're already swooning!
And it still doesn't stop you from smacking him in the head for being an idiot. Your idiot.
)
