Chronicle of Isha, the Goddess of Life (Warhammer 40,000)

[SuperPulp2789]

They are wasted on Slaanesh, hell I gotta say they may as well have already "died" post-corruption as all those new cruel and bizarre "interests" and "enjoyments" took over the rest of their personalities

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N: Apologies for the two month hiatus. I've been trying to create a backlog of chapters, so I don't have to feel like I'm being hounded by upload dates. Real life has been busy as well, so I'll probably be switching to a monthly upload schedule. This Apocrypha was written on June 23rd, and it's mostly here because I was worried people didn't know who Rylanor was or what he is most famous for in 40K. The events are a re-telling of the latter part of Isstvan III from Rylanor's perspective.

A few Dramatis Personae might also be necessary.

Saul Tarvitz : Depending on the novel, he is a captain, first-captain, or simple line-officer within the Emperor's Children. When the loyalists were betrayed on Isstvan III, Sault Tarvitz (Emperor's Children), Garviel Loken (Sons of Horus) and Tarik Torgaddon (Sons of Horus) managed to reorganize the scattered loyalists into a cohesive fighting force. Their objective was to hold back the traitors, and find some way to report Horus's treachery to the Imperium. After three months of ruthless fighting, Horus was forced to orbitally bombard the loyalists, as their position within the Precentor's Palace had stymied every ground assault the traitors launched against it.

Vistario, Akhtar, and Murshid: The trio of Thousand Sons sent to investigate a cryptic message in the short story "The Ancient Awaits". They find Rylanor in the ruins of Isstvan III.

—-------------------------------------------------
"Hold!" Rylanor's voice boomed through the Dreadnought's speakers. Bolter shells and Volkite beams bounced off his thick adamantium carapace as he returned fire with his auto-cannon.

The Venerable Dreadnought and the dozen or so Space Marines that followed him traded fire with men using the same Mark IV Power Armor. They ducked in and out of cover, dashing out only when their brothers managed to give sufficient suppressive fire for them. Beams, bolt shells, and balls of plasma flew back and forth between both parties. Yet, Rylanor and the other loyalists were forced back, bit by bit. It was not that they were lacking in terms of armaments, protection, or tactics. They were evenly matched against their enemy in those regards. They were simply outnumbered.

Dust and rubble fell down upon them as the basement shook violently.

"They're trying to bury us with orbital bombardments!" One of the loyalists spat angrily.

Rylanor grimaced as he let loose another stream of explosive shells, forcing the traitors to hide, and allowing one of his brothers to fall back safely.

Things were much worse than they seemed.

The basement of the Precentor's Palace was well over a kilometer underground. Only the dorsally mounted Bombardment cannons of their Battle Barges could shake this place. But, that was not the worst problem. If the Precentor's Palace was being bombarded, it meant there was a hostile warship within firing range above them. A warship that might shoot down the only hope they had left here.

"Fallback to the hangar!" Rylanor ordered. "I will hold the entrance! The rest of you activate the remaining anti-orbital defenses! Stealth is no longer an option! We'll launch while the warship above us is distracted!"

The loyalists sent back their affirmations via the tactical display on their helmets, and began to retreat deeper into the facility. Rylanor stood between them and the traitors, using his Dreadnought as a moving shield as he waddled backwards. The thick adamantium blocked the bolter shells and Volkite beams fired their way, while the occasional armor piercing balls of plasma were smashed apart by his power fist's disruptive fields.

Even after his internment into a Dreadnought, Rylanor's eyes and reflexes remained largely intact. Swatting away the glowing balls of plasma, and dispersing the superheated matter before it could touch him was difficult, but not impossible.

As the Ancient retreated with the other survivors, he reflected as to how exactly they had gotten here.

Rylanor had become separated from Saul Tarvitz and the other loyalists during the initial Virus bombing. He had been outside when it happened, atop the roof of the Precentor's Palace. The civilian populace of Choral City melted away before his eyes as the Life-eater virus did its work.

The Venerable Dreadnought he had been interred in was thankfully able to withstand the virus's penetrative capabilities. Ordinary Power Armor filters only slowed the virus, and did not offer full protection. He retreated back into the Palace, after committing the atrocities of his gene-father to memory. The firestorm was coming, and even his Dreadnought would not survive it.

After that, he managed to regroup with a few other loyalists who had evaded the Life-eater virus, as well as a few unexpected individuals.

'Ironic, that we were saved by our original enemy.' Rylanor thought bitterly as he laid down another stream of suppressive fire.

The original mission on Isstvan III was the suppression of a rebellion. That mission was still underway when they had been betrayed, and there were still enemy Warsingers fighting on the planet. Rylanor and his loyalists had run into one such group of survivors as they searched for Saul Tarvitz. A battle ensued, and the Warsingers were eliminated. However, their actions puzzled Rylanor.

Soldiers who could continue fighting, even as their entire planet died around them, did not move without purpose. The Warsingers were an empathetic group of fighters. Rylanor had seen them attempt to comfort or shepherd survivors, even as the Life-eater virus ate away at their skin. A few of the other loyalists shared Rylanor's confusion, and used their enhancements to recover the last memories of their enemies. That was how they had learned of this underground hangar, and the ship that lay within it. It was this ship that had given those Warsingers the hope to keep fighting during the Virus bombing. Now, it was the hope of Rylanor and the remaining loyalists.

'One ship…' Rylanor thought as he retreated backwards into the hangar. 'If we can get one ship off this planet, we can warn the other Legions of what happened here…'

The entire underground hangar shook again as another magma bomb detonated above them. There was the scream of shearing metal, and the roof buckled. Support beams and jagged chunks of ferrocrete fell down upon them.

Rylanor smashed an incoming piece of debris with his powerfist, turning it into dust before its weight could crush him. "Take off!" he roared.

There was no more time. They had hoped to launch in secret, but the waves of traitor troops deployed after the Virus bombing forced them to fight. Now, with this orbital bombardment, they would have to put all their faith in the skills of the pilot, and dumb luck to evade the warship hovering directly overhead.

The sleek ship rose off the ground. It had no weapons, nor shields. All it had to protect itself was its speed and relatively small signal profile.

There was another quake, and the roof collapsed. Tons of rock rained down on the rising ship, slamming it back into the ground and cracking its hull. A falling support beam cut through its starboard wing. The engines of the starship flared, as the last inputs of the now dead pilot were registered. Vitrifying flames bathed the loyalists behind Rylanor, vaporizing their flesh and melting their armor in an instant.

Pure hate roared through the Dreadnought's speakers as Rylanor laid into the remaining traitors before him.

They had failed.

The traitors' deeds would go unreported and unpunished. Even as he pulverized traitors with his power fist, and tore them apart with unrelenting streams of auto-cannon fire, he had failed.

—-------------------------------------------------

Rylanor was left alone in the dark, half-collapsed hangar. For some reason the stream of traitor Space Marines had petered out.

'Did a hallway or staircase collapse? Surely, I have not killed all of them.' Rylanor mused to himself. His internal tactical display showed that several days had passed since he had killed the last traitor he could find.

The Dreadnought squatted down, de-powering its servos and hydraulics as Rylanor reduced the output of his generator.

If the passage to the surface had collapsed, then Rylanor was trapped here. He was interred in a Dreadnought with only one arm. Digging himself out of here was impossible.

'Nothing to do but wait.' The Ancient thought grimly, as his consciousness slowly dropped into a stasis coma.

Whether it was rescue or the chance for further retribution, the Ancient would wait.

—-------------------------------------------------

It was a sound that awoke Rylanor; a base thrumming that rippled through the very ground, sending a prickling sensation through his skin as it passed through him. His Dreadnought reactivated as a gout of dust and debris blew out of the old passageway. Rylanor kept his Dreadnought still. He was currently hidden behind the remains of the crushed starship, out of direct line of sight from the hangar doors. The allegiance of these new intruders was unknown to him, so he kept silent as they walked into the hangar.

Rylanor's concern grew as he heard the new intruders entering the hangar. Their footfalls were heavy, a clear indication of Power Armor of some sort. Yet, it was not that sound that set his nerves on edge.

It was their voices.

He could hear them talking to each other, clearly and without the tell-tale sound of vox-muffling. That meant they were walking around without their helmets on, but he could still not understand what they were saying to each other.

The Ancient looked at his tactical auspex. Only a few decades had passed since he entered his stasis-coma. If this was a few hundred, or a few thousand he might have been able to accept linguistic drift as the reason for why standard-gothic was no longer recognizable.

He heard the clatter of something being kicked across the hangar floor, followed by a series or repeated noises.

Laughter. It was laughter he was hearing. Someone was laughing in this unmarked tomb of his brothers, pissing on their graves with their mirth.

Rylanor remained still, even as fury boiled within him.

He had no idea as to the allegiance of the intruders, nor their armaments or number for that matter. Now was not the time to give in to rage. Better to let the enemy come to him.

The armored footsteps approached the starship he was hidden behind. Rylanor readied his assault-cannon. The power fist was too noisy and too bright to use for an ambush.

The foot of one of the intruders peeked out from behind the corner. Rylanor recognized the colors of the IIIrd Legion, his colors, on the boot.

The next step brought the bottom of the intruder's weapon into view. It was unlike anything Rylanor had ever seen before. Vibrantly painted, it had sinewy organic looking harp strings and echo chambers built into it. Spines and curved blades jutted out from what looked to be an almost phallic barrel with a speaker where the muzzle should have been.

The 3rd step brought the intruder's face into view, and Rylanor struck at it with his unpowered power fist the moment he saw it.

Where there had been a man's head once, was a sickening pile of wrinkled skin covered in spines and glistening lubricant. Whoever this had been, they had replaced their eyes and mouth with black diaphragms that constantly vibrated, allowing the twisted thing to see with sound.

It was a mockery that Rylanor could not allow to exist.

Rylanor stepped out of the shadows, as his former brother's headless body fell to the ground. His auto-cannon was already roaring, obliterating two more traitors as his power fist crackled to life.

More IIIrd Legion traitors were around the ruined hangar, digging through its remains. An unexploded Virus bomb lay on the ground, most likely recovered from the surface by the band of scavengers. All of them had the same or similar enhancements applied to their flesh, and held sadistic weapons in their hands. Twisted sound came from the speakers that replaced their mouths, barking orders in the form of hideous melodies.

Fire was traded between them. Pulses of sound shook the weakened hangar as Rylanor's auto-cannon shredded the traitors, causing their flailing bodies to fire up towards the ceiling. Several shots grazed the Dreadnought, sending spin-chilling vibrations throughout the metal, threatening to liquify Rylanor's flesh as cavitation bubbles formed inside the amniotic fluid around him.

The fight only lasted a few minutes. Even with their new weapons, the traitors could not kill the occupant of the Venerable Dreadnought. However, the Ancient was not uninjured.

Rylanor limped around the remains of the starship. Several of his internal systems were destroyed, and his feet were barely functional. The tactical auspex had shattered from the vibrations, and he could taste blood in the fluid around him.

'One… more…' Rylanor thought as he dragged his Dreadnought around the corner of the ship. A trail of blood and gore led to the last surviving traitor. His bisected upper torso lay there, seemingly dead.

Slowly, Rylanor approached the traitor.

Even this seemingly dead corpse could not be trusted. He was still trapped in this hangar, and that meant he would have to enter a stasis-coma again. No traitor could be left alive; either to harm him directly, or call for help.

Suddenly, the traitor flipped over. In his hands was the weapon of the first traitor Rylanor had killed.

The Dreadnought's waist and left ankle rotated in opposite directions, swiveling Rylanor's body out of the way of the traitor's weapon. The auto-cannon lowered, preparing to fire.

Then the traitor laughed. A repeated buzzing and humming sound came from the diaphragms that replaced his eyes and mouth, then he fired up into the ceiling.

Rylanor's auto-cannon obliterated the traitor's body, but the damage had been done. Ferrocrete and metal began to rain down upon him once again.

The Ancient ducked under the remains of the starship, trying to use it as cover from the debris. Metal supports punched right through the starship's hull, denting the adamantium armor and tearing off one of his legs.

Finally, the shaking stopped, and Rylanor was left alone once more.

—-------------------------------------------------

'How many years has it been?' Rylanor thought idly to himself as he worked with the one hand his Dreadnought had.

Decades, at the least, although he would not have been surprised if someone told him it had been centuries. Working with only one oversized hand meant progress was infinitesimally slow.

He was currently tinkering with the twisted machine the traitor had left behind. Cables connected both him and it to the reactor of the ship. Its internal powerlines had miraculously survived both the first and second collapses, allowing Rylanor to keep both himself and the twisted contraption powered. The Dreadnought's own generator had died on him shortly after his reunion with his twisted brothers.

The contraption finally activated, letting out a constant hum of bone-tingling noise. Rylanor grabbed it and placed it in the depression he had dug behind him, on top of the other parting gift the traitors had left him. The Virus bomb they had found would be put to good use.

'Now I wait.' He thought to himself as he leaned back, allowing his weapons to point upwards, pretending to be dead.

Rylanor could not move, and he was not going to die. However, he would not spend an eternity waiting for another band of miscreants to discover him.

'Fulgrim…' Rylanor's thoughts uttered the name with thermonuclear hate. 'I will kill you for what you have done to us.' His thoughts did not stop with the compatriots who had died here. The things the IIIrd Legion had been transformed into… that was an unforgivable insult to those who had been transformed, those who remembered what they once were, and to the Emperor who originally made them.

'Come, Fulgrim.' Rylanor thought as he stared up at the ruined ceiling, scarred by the blasphemous sounds the traitors had unleashed.

'Come.'

—-------------------------------------------------

Rylanor glared up at the serpentine creature that had once been his gene-father. The Primarch's lower right arm had impaled his Dreadnought's power fist with a curvaceous alien sword. Another hand had dug itself through a crack in his armor, and was currently wrapping around what remained of his body.

"Do. Not. Do. This!" He barked through the Dreadnought's speakers.

"Why not?" Fulgrim hummed, "I am your master. I can do whatever I like. I can crush you or I can raise you up." The Primarch leaned down, as if to kiss the Dreadnought's helm covering Rylanor's face. "Return to the Legion. Accept the gifts of the Dark Prince, and you will walk at my side, clad once again in flesh. You can be anything, old friend! I will sculpt you into something beautiful - a god to these mortals!"

"All we have left between us is that we will die together!" Rylanor roared.

Blue flames had begun to burn the upper carapace of the Dreadnought. The Life-eater Virus of the bomb Rylanor had just detonated was spreading across the metal, igniting the residual organic material in the dust that was on it. Everything happened in slow motion, courtesy of the psychic sorcery of the Thousand Sons.

"I am Rylanor of the Emperor's Children, Ancient of Rites, Venerable of the Palatine Host, and proud servant of the Emperor of Mankind. Beloved by all! I reject you now and always!" He shouted back in his Primarch's leering face.

Fulgrim threw his head back and laughed.

"I'm sorry, did it sound like I was offering you a choice?"

Fulgrim pulled his hand from the hole in the Dreadnought, dragging Rylanor from his sarcophagus. Nutrient tubes and umbilicals tore as his skin was exposed to the dry dusty air, spilling amniotic fluid that had expired long ago.

"I will remake you, brother." Fulgrim's elongated tongue licked his lips, sensuously wetting them before parting them to reveal the serpentine fangs beneath them. "You will be my crowning achievement." The daemon Primarch crooned as he caressed the sickly pale remains of Rylanor; holding him to his breast like a new mother would her first babe.

Cold dread filled Rylanor's thoughts. He could sense the creature Fulgrim had given himself to. He could smell its intoxicating musk and hear its melodious laughter. His Primarch had not always been like this. He had been a man of virtue once. When and how this transformation had taken place he did not know, but it had happened.

Rylanor was not arrogant enough to imagine himself to be greater than his Primarch. His gene-seed came from the being before him, after all. Unable to escape, fight, or even die he could see the inevitable fate that lay before him. He would succumb, eventually. If a demi-god couldn't resist, what chance did a mortal have?

'But, that is no reason to stop fighting.' Rylanor thought to himself as he glared up at Fulgrim. 'I have waited for over 10,000 years, buried in the rubble you and the other traitors brought down upon us. For 10,000 years I have resisted rot and blinding rage in the butchered remains of humanity's dream. For 10,000 years I have sat with the corpses of my brothers, dreaming of the day I would bring your death. This will not go easily, Fulgrim. I shall not fall to one who has forgotten what honor means.'

'Primarch Fulgrim!' A sudden psychic message sounded out, sent by the Thousand Son Vistario. 'Rylanor deserves better than you.'

The Primarch's eyes flicked upwards towards the traitor. The ecstatic glimmer within them darkened at the interruption and insult, turning his eyes into black pools filled with the most sadistic poison.

'He deserves better than all of us.' The Thousand Son thought-spoke, then he raised his bolt pistol and fired into the back of his brother's skull. Akhtar's head exploded, and the psychic spell slowing the Virus bomb's explosion lifted.

Fire spread across all of them in an instant.

Fulgrim disappeared from Rylanor's eyes, replaced only with pitch blackness.

—-------------------------------------------------

The first thing Rylanor noticed when he woke was he had his hands back. He opened and closed them dumbly for a moment, unable to understand why they were there. He had lost all his limbs to a long-eared Xeno early on in the Great Crusade. The fiendish creature was quick with a blade, and had dismembered both him and his squad before being brought down by concentrated bolter fire. What's more, the Xeno's weapon had been coated in some sort of poison or virus that prevented his body from being repaired by replacement organs. Internment into a Dreadnought was the only option left for him after that.

Rylanor looked at his hands again, the first time in over 10,000 years.

'Is this the beginning?' He wondered to himself. 'The beginning of their attempts to break me?'

Fulgrim had promised to return his flesh, and here he was returned to his original body.

'But where is Fulgrim?' Rylanor thought. The place he was in was eerily quiet. He heard no melodious laughter, nor spine-chilling chuckles. He couldn't even hear the slightest hint of wind.

Slowly, Rylanor stood up, and looked around him.

He was in the land of the dead. That was the only way he could describe it. Mountains of corpses stretched for as far as the eye could see. Yet, his nostrils detected nothing. The smell of rotting flesh and voided bowels was absent, as if even the bacteria that would have started decay had died.

'So, I am dead.' Rylanor thought to himself as he sat down on the mound of bodies he had awoken upon. He looked around to see if Fulgrim was also here, but saw neither the idealized man nor the serpentine monster.

'Perhaps it is for the better…' Rylanor thought to himself. Hate still burned in his chest. Even if this were truly the afterlife, he could easily see himself trying to kill the Primarch a second time.

But that would be pointless.' He sighed to himself.

For a while, the Ancient of Rites sat there, staring out blankly at the mountainous ridges composed of corpses around him. Then he stood up, and began walking. He had no idea where to go, nor whether there was any point, but sitting here and doing nothing didn't sit well with him.

'I have done enough sitting already.' Rylanor thought to himself. 'It feels good to stretch my own legs after 10,000 years.'

For a while, Rylanor did nothing but walk up mountains of bodies, and down valleys filled with corpses. He had no idea where to go, or what to do, but he walked on regardless. After a while, he realized the scenery had changed. Instead of the land of the dead, he was walking through pitch blackness. He looked down at himself, and found him wearing his old Power Armor; complete with bolter and chainsword connected to his belt. He paused for a moment, then continued on forwards. He had no idea what this meant, but it felt good to be back in his old Power Armor. Bitter sweet nostalgia tightened the two hearts in his chest as memories of the Unification Wars and the early victories of the Great Crusade came back.

'Things were simpler back then.' Rylanor reminisced. 'The battles were costly, and the sacrifices were great. Yet, we still restored more than we ruined.'

They still fought for a dream back then. A dream of a new golden age for humanity.

As Rylanor continued walking, he realized there were others around him. Dark figures hidden in shadow walked endlessly through the darkness beside him. Some did so with obvious signs of fear; backs bent and knees shaking. Others marched stoically, like trained soldiers trekking across a plain.

Suddenly, the darkness lifted as golden light shined from behind him. It drew a sparkling line across the ground, illuminating his path in the darkness.

A familiar presence came from Rylanor's back. The Ancient of Rites turned, and his eyes widened as he saw a familiar face.

"You are-"

—-------------------------------------------------

A/N: So, Rylanor gets some closure after his canon death in 40K in this-verse.

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[Nidhog153]

A/N: Character Reminder

Lorien: A girl rescued from the Vindicare Temple. She struggles with the mental conditioning of the training there, and has an almost psychotic hatred of weakness instilled in her.

Elalindra: One of Isha's simulacra. She takes the form of an Aeldari woman with gray eyes and red hair.

—-------------------------------------------------

Isha watched the children rescued from the Assassin Temples through the eyes of her simulacra. The two weeks she had spent reassuring them of their safety with her, and nurturing the bond of trust had born fruit. The emotions of the children had largely returned, and they could talk with both her and each other normally. Jokes, pranks, playtime, and laughter were slowly returning to their behavior patterns. However, they were far from fine.

Their mental conditioning still remained, which had led to a couple incidents. One child almost dislocated another child's shoulder due a triggered combat reflex. Another struck her friend's solar plexus hard enough to paralyze their diaphragm during a game of tag.

'They didn't mean to.' Isha sighed to herself, remembering the look of shock on their faces when they realized what they had done.

Thankfully, her simulacras' talents in biomancy ensured no lasting harm was done. However, she could sense fear building up inside them.

'They fear their lack of control…' Isha thought to herself as one of her simulacra hugged another of the children who had acted out accidentally. 'So I must give it to them.'

—-------------------------------------------------

"Sparring practice?" Lorien repeated Elalindra's words dumbly.

"Your body moves without your mind." Elalindra replied cryptically. "The weapons you have been given must be made yours, otherwise they will wield you."

Lorien stifled a sigh. Elalindra was kind to her, and the other children. However, there were times when she was extremely vague in her answers.

Currently, Lorien and the other children rescued from the Master were sitting at a circular table eating breakfast. The menu was a simple but filling combination of flatbread and various hummus.

The other children looked at each other worriedly. Sparring was not something they had fond memories of, and although they knew Elalindra and the other long-eared women meant them no harm, they couldn't stop the chill they felt at the word.

"I don't want to." Lorien said glumly, looking down at her half eaten flatbread.

"I know." Elalindra nodded. "I know you fear hurting others and being hurt yourself." She reached down, cupping Lorien's cheek. "What you fear shall not come to pass, for you will not be facing each other. You will all be facing me."

The long-eared red haired women smiled as surprise widened Lorien's eyes. "I will allow you to face your fear through me. Master the monster you see inside yourself, and make peace with what you are."

—-------------------------------------------------

Lorien and the other children walked out into the gymnasium they all used for daily exercise. White springy curls now covered the floor. Several other long-eared women were walking around the gymnasium, singing softly. The white material grew where they stepped, covering the hard floor with a carpet that felt like soft grass beneath Lorien's feet. Other groups of children walked with their caretakers, spreading out across the gymnasium.

"Don't worry." Elalindra said with a smile. "You won't be sparring against each other. I will teach you how to use what you have been given. Now, gather around me."

Lorien and the others encircled Elalindra, faces slightly tense.

The moment they completed the circle, Elalindra's form blurred. She lunged like a fencer, swiftly approaching one of the boys in the circle. The sudden movement triggered his killing reflex. His center of balance dropped, and he jabbed at where he thought her throat would be. But, instead of soft cartilage, his fist slapped into Elalindra's open hand. With a pull and a twist, the boy was sent rolling past the long-eared woman.

"Stand up." Elalindra said as she extended a hand towards the fallen child. He shook his head, dizzy but unhurt. "All you have are reflexes." She said as she pulled the boy back onto his feet. "There is no thought, no control, only speed, and action in your movements. Hence, it is easy to use your own movements against you." Her back straightened as the boy returned to his earlier position. "You have all been given weapons, but you do not know how to use them. That is dangerous, for you hold something that can harm others, but cannot wield it well enough to defend yourself." Her eyes met theirs as she turned to each child. "Make those weapons your own. Wield them willingly, and with purpose."

—-------------------------------------------------

- Lorien

My knees collapsed under me as I panted breathlessly. All the others were in a similar state, either lying back or sitting down covered in sweat.

Elalindra's sparring session had gone on for hours, and not once had we been able to hit her. It was as if she knew what we would do before we did it, twisting and twirling out of the way at the last moment. Even when we surrounded her, she remained untouchable. All that could be seen was a blinding flash of red hair, trailing behind her like the tail of a comet.

I glared up at the gray eyed woman. She smiled back, a patronizing expression mixed with bored amusement.

A spark of anger flared in my brain, sending electrical impulses that forced my lactic-acid laden muscles to stand up again.

"Weakness." Elalindra said as she sidestepped my punch. "That is what you fear." Her tone remained unmoved, even as she twirled out of reach of my follow-up chop. "Even the perception of being looked down upon is enough to send adrenaline through your brain."

I grit my teeth as I spun to follow her. The instincts beaten into me by the Master and his assistants fired one after the other, sending punches, kicks, elbow strikes, and knees after her.

"But, it is not only that." Elalindra chuckled as she danced around me. "You hate losing. You hate being weak. You hate being looked down upon."

Hot. My body felt like it was burning. A bloody red was staining everything I saw.

'Losing means death. I cannot lose.'

My mind went back to the dark training grounds; to the last day I was there. We were all paired up, and then ordered to kill our opponent.

We were evenly matched. Both of us had survived there for years.

But I lost.

I stumbled, tripping on nothing and collapsed onto the soft white grass.

"That is why you lost." Elalindra crouched down, kneeling before me.

My arms and legs shook as I tried to get back up.

I was back in the Master's training grounds, on the hard floor with my arms and legs shaking. The other child was still standing; fists raised, knees bent. I forced my body to stand again, and lunged.

"You refused to lose." Elalindra murmured as she watched me struggle, slipping on the white ground beneath us.

The floor of the training grounds was gray. I observed that as I fell down onto it again. My blood was the only thing that colored it, a dark sticky red that splattered onto the dull background. One more time, I rose. I couldn't lose. I needed to…

"That's not true, is it?" Elalindra asked me, bringing me back to the gymnasium. "You didn't lose when you were beaten and broken. You lost much earlier than that."

I glared up at the red-haired woman. The lights above her cast a shadow over me.

I was back in the training grounds again, thrown back onto the hard stones after my lunge, staring up at my opponent.

We were supposed to be evenly matched, but every time we traded blows I was the one who ended up on the ground. He stood back, feet apart and arms raised.

'Losing means death. I cannot lose.'

My teeth ground together as I rose. We were ordered to fight to the death by the master, but all he did was stand back and wait as I got up.

"You didn't stop." Elalindra's voice brought me back out of the memory. "You kept on attacking, even though your body couldn't keep up."

"He was weak." I spat back, dazed and delirious from exertion. My vision swam in and out of focus as the white carpet of the gymnasium was replaced with the gray stones of the training grounds. "He wouldn't finish me off. He let me get up."

"Because that was the easiest way to kill you." Elalindra said softly. "You could have used the time he gave you to catch your breath, or observe your opponent. Instead, you attacked again and again until your stamina ran out. He used your own aggression against you, letting you waste your energy while allowing you to slam yourself into the hard ground when you fell."

My mind replayed the entire fight back in the training grounds. We were evenly matched, and at first neither of us had the advantage. Then a jab went under my guard, and hit me in the ribs. It was not a painful blow, but it was strong enough to make me lose a single breath. I countered, trying to inflict an equal amount of damage, but I was a second too slow. He guarded my blow, and from then on I was a single breath behind him. That small disadvantage began to build up as more and more jabs and blows slipped under or through my guard. What was one missed breath became two, then three.

He hopped backwards after grazing my jaw with a left hook. I charged after him, trying to tackle him to the ground. I couldn't keep up with him using punches and kicks, so I tried to wrestle him to the ground. But, my hands never touched him. He threw me over his shoulder, letting me slam into the hard ground.

After that, I was stuck in a loop. I'd get thrown to the ground, stand up and charge, then get thrown to the ground again. Every time a new bruise bloomed across my skin, brought on by gravity and the hard ground.

Finally, it was all I could do to stand, and it was only then he moved in. I endured another half-hour of punches and kicks, but eventually I collapsed in a bloody mess.

Then, I was swallowed by the black beast.

"Your aggression almost got you killed." Elalindra said softly. "Although important, aggression alone will not keep you alive. I will teach you the other things you need." She reached down and picked me up. "The first thing you will need to learn is that not all battles can be won." She said softly.

"Come now. Today's bodily exercise is over." Elalindra said to the other children, helping them to their feet as well. "After lunch, we will be exercising your mind next."

—-------------------------------------------------

The afternoon lessons were something Elalindra and the others had begun a few days after Lorien and the other children had arrived here. They covered arithmetics, geography, gothic-linguistics, and history. Despite their inhuman appearance, they were quite well versed in those topics.

However, instead of allowing the children to disperse and spend a little free time before dinner, Elalindra began another lesson.

"What do you think the key is to achieving victory throughout history?" Elalindra asked at the end of their history lesson. "Is it economics, military strength, social policy, tactics, or technology?"

Lorien and the others pondered over the question for a moment. There were several case studies Elalindra had spoken to them about where one or more of these factors had been important. Economics ensured supplies for a prolonged campaign. Military strength provided the raw power to brute force a win. Social policies that cultivated loyalty towards a state could create a unity that could withstand great adversity. Tactics and technology both created asymmetries in ability that could change the tide of a critical battle.

All of them seemed probable answers, but since there was an example for each one, it was a hard choice to make.

"Good." Elalindra nodded as the children pondered in silence. "You have listened to me well over these past few weeks. Well enough to know that the answer was not one of the examples I gave."

Lorien frowned slightly. It was a sly trick to list various options, as if they were valid choices, while hiding the true answer in silence. Then again, Elalindra and the other women were never quite forthright about anything.

"The answer I was looking for was diplomacy." Elalindra said. "When faced with an adversary, the easiest way to overcome them is to face them with a friend. Why is this?"

It sounded like a simple question, but none of the children came up with the same answer.

"Having a friend means you outnumber them." One answered.

"That can be true. For individuals, we are rarely more than ourselves. Hence, having more friends means having more numbers. Yet, for countries or factions that can vary in size, having an ally could still mean you are still lesser even when combined. What other reasons might diplomacy have been the greatest factor in achieving victory?"

"They could be in a different place to where you are." Another child piped up. "That could allow for a pincer movement or a surround."

"Indeed." Elalindra nodded. "Having an ally far away could be far more valuable than having one next to you."

"Elalindra?" One of the children suddenly asked. "When you say victory, are you talking only about battles?"

"Well noticed." The red-haired woman smiled. "You have good ears. Victory can be achieved in many ways. Battle is but one of them. Trade embargos, treaties, creating co-dependent economies… All of these are ways to achieve victory through economic means."

"You can't win by just making money." Lorien grumbled.

"That is true." Elalindra nodded. "However, economics is an important factor for victory. It can both win battles and prevent them from happening in the first place."

"But, how do you make allies Elalindra?" Another boy asked.

"There are many ways. But, the one I will teach you from today is called diplomacy."

"Isn't that just talking with someone?"

"At face value, it is. Yet, convincing someone with mostly words is a difficult task. Successful diplomats need to use everything around them in order to gain the outcome they want. Today's case study begins in the city of Muntinlupa. There was a war there. A dreadful one, with atrocities committed by all parties involved. However, this is not the part to discuss for today. At the end of the war, hundreds of former soldiers were captured as prisoners of war, and incarcerated in the jail of Muntinlupa. The president of the country Muntinlupa was in wished to execute them all. He personally had lost his wife, children, and siblings to the invaders. Retributionist sentiments amongst the populace were high, and many were against the idea of continuing to feed and imprison the prisoners of war. Killing them would have increased his popularity greatly. However, all of the prisoners of war were eventually set free, and sent back to their homeland. This was brought about by several years of diplomacy that appealed to both the economic and emotional sentiments of all parties."

—-------------------------------------------------

Lorien listened to Elalindra's story of the song "Night Goes on in Muntinlupa".

It was a song written by two men held in prison, sent to fight in a war they didn't want to. That captured their feelings of sorrow and homesick, and managed to get it back to their homeland. This song soon found itself in the streets of their defeated homeland, and rekindled efforts to see them repatriated. Yet, the stance of the president remained strongly opposed to pardoning the prisoners of war, even with future promises of economic aid and assistance.

That was, until a music box containing the song "Night Goes on in Muntinlupa" was sent to him as a gift. It contained none of the lyrics, but the song itself drew the president's interest. When he was told where the song had come from, as well as the lyrics, the president remained silent for a time.

A few days later, the surviving prisoners of war were all pardoned by the president.

To his people, he gave a speech explaining his actions with the following quote.

"I should be the last one to pardon them as they killed my wife and three children and five other members of the family. I am doing this because I do not want my children and my people to inherit from me hate for people who might yet be our friends for the permanent interest of the country. After all, destiny has made us neighbors."

"Diplomacy does not take place only at the conference table, or only with carrots and sticks." Elalindra said as she began to end the lesson. "It is not an art form that is devoid of soul, and made to be purely materialistic. At times, one must implore to another's mercy, and trust in the goodness of their soul and their desire for a better future."

Lorien stared up at the red haired woman. Although it was a pleasant story with a happy ending, it scared her. Believing in the good will of another did not come easy for her. Even now she was distant from the other children, not even bothering to remember their names. They were all still competitors in the struggle for survival to her, even if the environment they were in was kinder than the Master's.

"Now, stand up, all of you." Elalindra said. "Bring out the tables and help me with the plates. It is dinner time now."

Lorien stood up and began to do her bit with the others in silence.

—-------------------------------------------------

A/N: The story of Muntinlupa is a real-life one, and a good example of how diplomacy can turn bitter enemies into begrudging neighbors and eventually into friends. The fact that it was a song that changed everything is also something quite Aeldari. I have changed the quote a little-bit to remove mentions of countries so it is not inherently obvious which ones are being spoken of (plus it is another reference from over 28,000 years ago in-story). However, I felt it was not right to convert that story into a fictional futuristic one that was similar to it, so I have once again used a real-life example from our history.

 

[Nidhog153]

Neoth watched the exit ramp of his Stormbird open onto one of the landing pads of the Sanctum Imperialis. The flight had been otherwise uneventful, with the miniature Isha having fallen silent in her impromptu prison.

'The tri-weekly meeting in the Chamber of Lords. Appointing the new Grand Provost Marshal. Preparing additional envoys and messages to Merica and Hy Brasil. Discussing the new messages for my Iterators regarding religion. Codifying all of it into law… And of course, finding time to talk with the Paternova of the Navigators.'

He stifled a sigh as he listed out his schedule for the day.

'And on top of that, I have that soul-transfer device I need to work on with Isha.'

And he would have to do all of it by himself.

Neoth cast a slightly envious look at the metal box Isha's simulacra was locked in.

As a 'mortal', he was always only himself. In other words, although he could create an illusion to replace himself, he couldn't actually create multiple copies of himself to split up his workload. The Emperor was only a great man, and that mythology needed to be preserved to keep himself in the materium.

Isha, on the other hand, could exist in multiple states at once. While he was the Emperor and only the Emperor, all of Isha's simulacra and herself were 'normal' life-forms that 'coincidentally' acted in accordance with what Isha would do.

'Then again…' He thought to himself as he got off the Stormbird. 'It would be a nightmare to keep all of the simulacra's memories in coherence.'

Time was relative, and each simulacra had its own individual perception of time. Hence, there was no true way to keep the events each simulacra experienced in an unquestionable timeline. She could use references, such as clocks or events that her simulacra experienced from different perspectives to arrange what she saw or heard in a manageable order, but it would still be a mental nightmare to organize all the experiences into one coherent memory.

Although, perhaps she didn't bother to organize the events at all. Time was meaningless in the immaterium, and that was what she was used to. Therefore, the order of events was probably less important to beings such as her.

Neoth pondered on the oddities of a being with very little concept of time as he walked back to his office. It was a useful distraction to temporarily ignore the jam packed status of his schedule. His Custodes followed behind him. One of them carried the metal box Isha's simulacra was in.

The doors to his office opened, moved by his psychic strength. He felt a certain silver pair of eyes watching him from one of the alcoves above, and let out an internal sigh. Motioning for his Custodes to place the metal box on his desk, he then sent them out and shut the door telekinetically behind them.

"I would hope you are here for something constructive, for I have no interest in continuing our argument." He said irritably in the direction he felt the alien goddess was.

"I am not here to waste your time." Isha replied with a slight pout. "You only have another twenty or so minutes before you have to sit above your Lords and watch them bicker."

"Then I will get straight to the point." Neoth said as he pulled a data tablet from his pocket dimension. "I have designs for the soul transfer machine you spoke of once, and I want to run them by you."

"Fine." Isha said as she approached the metal box on his desk and unlocked it. "Show me your designs."

Neoth moved to hand the device to Isha, then stopped. The doll sized Isha he had expected to pop out of the box never came. Instead, an ivory white arachnid shaped creature crawled out of it onto Isha's arm. The closest thing it resembled was a spider, but only in the fact that it had two main body parts and many legs. In fact, it was impossible to say how many legs it had at one time at all. Instead of walking, it moved by growing new quadruple jointed legs from its carapaced front half. Then, it would suck the outstretched leg back into itself, pulling itself forwards, like the pseudopodia of some sort of protozoa.

"What's wrong?" Isha said as she stroked the hand-sized spider-like thing on the back.

"Nothing." Neoth stated calmly, although he didn't step any closer towards Isha. Both eyes remained fixed cautiously on the many legged creature that had reached Isha's shoulder.

"Ah, you've met the White Guardians before." Isha said with a chuckle, stroking the rounded beetle like carapace that covered its top half.

"I have." Neoth replied tersely.

The thing on Isha's shoulder was a Warp Spider, one of the many natural denizens of the Webway. They did not populate every region of it, thankfully. The regions that they did inhabit were off limits to all but the Aeldari. Neoth had several encounters with them. None of them were pleasant.

"Do not worry." Isha chuckled again, amused by Neoth's discomfort. "I have merely transformed the simulacra into something else. It is easier to stay in the materium when there is only one of you."

'Then… what shape did you take while the simulacra was talking to me?' Neoth thought to himself. An unpleasant image of a human-sized Warp Spider taking Isha's place flitted through Neoth's mind, and he quickly dismissed it. Hopefully it was a plant or something else less dangerous she had transformed into.

"Are they a species incorporated into your cycle of life?" Neoth said as he finally approached Isha and handed her the data tablet.

"They are. Although, they existed before my children." Isha said as she began to browse through the various designs. "They are natural inhabitants of the Webway, and the source of some of my children's technology. Bonesinging was developed by observing their unique biology. A sort of biomimesis, if you will. It is why they can flow from the Webway to Wraithbone constructs so fluidly."

"What are they?" Neoth asked as Isha scrolled through pages of design documentation and notes in a couple of seconds.

"A form of life that is no longer capable of surviving in this galaxy." Isha sighed. "Before the War in Heaven, the Sea of Souls was easier to access. Its resources were not inherently dangerous to use, and many species were able to thrive with the power it provided. The Warp Spiders are one of those species, and used to be able to survive outside of the Webway and certain Wraithbone constructs. Now, they cannot survive in the materium." She scratched the Warp Spider's carapace again. "Although, that is probably preferable to you."

"I have seen these things feed. It was not a pleasant sight." Neoth muttered.

The Warp Spiders, or White Guardians as the Aeldari called them, inhabited certain sections of the Webway. Sections Neoth gave a wide berth during his initial travels through the Webway. He had watched what happened to any mortal or immortal that entered their domain unprepared.

'They eat existence.' Neoth remembered as he kept a wary eye on the Warp Spider.

Through some freak coincidence, the Warp Spider shared two features with terrestrial spiders. They could eject a stringy silk-like substance, and they digested their prey outside their body.

Their 'silk' was ejected from the tips of the leg-like appendages they could grow at will. However, unlike terrestrial spiders, their 'silk' was not a chemical polymer chain. It was actually a part of their body, elongated and narrowed to the point they appeared like strands of silky filaments. These would cling to their prey, and begin to digest it.

Warp Spiders didn't just eat the physical body, but devoured everything that composed their victims. Thoughts, emotions, memories. All of it. The most recent thoughts were eaten first, often causing their prey to forget how they wandered into the Warp Spiders' feeding ground in the first place. They would become confused, lost, and surrounded by swarms of Warp Spiders pouring out of the very fabric of the Webway.

It was an insidious way of feeding. Their victims would be unable to form coherent thoughts in order to escape their situation. Such thoughts would be consumed as they were being made by the Warp Spiders. This effectively paralyzed their victims with confusion, as more and more of them was eaten. Eventually, they wouldn't even remember why they even attempted to enter the Webway. It would feel as if they were transported from their home, possibly even their childhood, into the midst of thousands upon thousands of white, long-limbed, carapaced creatures.

'A live lobotomization.' Neoth thought grimly, remembering the thrashing daemons he had once seen being fed upon by the Warp Spiders. They covered it from head to toe, eating even the Warp flames it ejected in self-defense.

"Do you fear them?" Isha asked, one eyebrow raised.

"I do not have pleasant memories of them." Neoth said grimly. "I ran afoul of them once, when I was first exploring the Webway. It was not a pleasant experience."

"I am not surprised." Isha chuckled. "As a species that is part of my cycle of life, they are quite hostile to anything not of my blood. However, there is no reason to fear them now. You are far wiser, and more powerful now than you were then."

"I may be able to deal with a few thousand, but even then killing them is pointless." Neoth muttered. "At best, it is a waste of my power. At worst, it could allow daemons to infiltrate the portions that I purge."

"Yes, there is a reason the Webway remains free from daemonic incursion, despite the damage it sustained during the War in Heaven. Although…" Isha sighed. "They have not acclimatized to the newer portions of the Webway."

"Can you not order them to move into those regions?" Neoth asked.

"Just because a species becomes part of my cycle of life does not mean I can control them." Isha snorted as the Warp Spider sank through her skin, returning the small portion she had cast off to watch the Emperor's speech to his Thunder Warriors. "They merely see my children in a favorable light, for all species that are part of my cycle can be reborn through my tears. As my continued existence is dependent on the wellbeing of my children, the species that are part of my cycle instinctively know it is counterproductive for them to hurt them."

'Symbiosis…' Neoth thought to himself. That was the relation between the Aeldari and the other species within Isha's cycle of life. The Tear of Isha was a terraforming miracle in the form of a psychic data matrix that would reformat a planet and seed it with species from the goddess's cycle of life. Isha's and the Aeldari's existence essentially served as a backup for any species that went extinct. Hence, the instinctual favoritism said creatures felt towards the Aeldari. Of course, it was just an instinct. Individual organisms could still learn to hate the Aeldari if given enough reason to.

Isha finished reviewing the information on the data tablet and returned it to Neoth.

"The core concepts you have here are correct, but the methodology is both abrasive and limited." Isha gave her conclusion. "Using materials that can transfer psychic energy, such as the alloys you use to make force weapons, as a restrictive medium for the soul to travel will prevent the psychic energy that forms the soul from dissipating. However, your alloys do not have the ability to transfer or store detailed information. This will cause many memories and their personality to be lost during the transfer. You may achieve a sort of reincarnation with this, but the result would be an incoherent wreck at best. They would be the lucky ones. At least they would still be able to move and possibly recover with an entirely new personality. Most will not retain even their basic survival instincts. Catatonia or coma is all that awaits them in their new life."

Neoth grimmaced. This was, quite frankly, his own assessment of his designs. Souls were a form of organized psychic energy that contained all the information that composed a person's personality and memories. His design sought to exploit that feature by using psychic conductive materials as a sort of piping or wiring to carry the soul from one physical form to another.

Most human souls dissipated upon entering the immaterium, releasing all of their energy and information into the Warp. Those that didn't either had control of psychic energy during their life, or their psychic energy was 'colored' by their information to the point it retained their identity even when freed from the body.

His solution isolated the soul from the immaterium, giving it nothing to dissipate into in the first place.

The only problem was that force weapon alloys were only meant to conduct psychic energy, and redirect it into the weapon's emitters or storage units. Naturally, this meant there was very little consideration for the information within that psychic energy. It was a bit like forcing a boiled egg through a sieve. The amount of egg wouldn't change, but its shape and texture would.

That was the core issue with his design, although it was not the only issue.

"I can see that you've tried to reduce the damage to the target's soul by widening the channels for psychic energy within the alloys, and by cutting apart the individual's soul before the transfer process. By partitioning the soul in an organized manner, you hoped to reduce the amount of information lost during transit." Isha said as she crossed her arms. "However, transferring a soul in this manner is a bit like using an uninsulated wire. I would say that only half of the psychic energy that composes a soul will end at its destination, and that's the optimistic assumption."

That was the other issue. Force metal alloys were not the most efficient material to transfer psychic energy.

Neoth had considered using the limited supplies of Blackstone, or Noctilith as it was called during the Dark Age of Technology, but that in itself was a self-contradiction. Blackstone could act as an insulative material for the soul transfer process, but it would also prevent him from assisting or observing the process. As this was a psychic procedure, using something that would block his own psychic abilities was paradoxical at best, self-defeating at worst. The target's soul could end up trapped in the device, with no way to get it out except destroying it. Of course, if he destroyed the device while the soul was stuck in it, it would dissipate into the immaterium. Hence, it would be an immense waste of time and resources for everyone involved.

"I understand my design has failings." Neoth replied. "I was hoping for solutions, rather than criticisms."

"What solutions can I offer with materials such as these?" Isha sighed. "It would be like attempting to build a void ship out of sand and spit."

"These are the materials mankind can reproduce on its own." Neoth grumbled. "I know the psycho-plastic nature of Wraithbone is the ideal material for my purposes. However, this device must be reproducible on a galactic scale. Making it out of Wraithbone would make that impossible."

"You wish for a final scalable version in two years? For what? Surely, a serviceable prototype will be enough for your Thunder Warriors."

"Creating a proto-type predicated on Wraithbone would cause all other versions to be dependent on it."

"Your Imperium already intends to use the materials of my children." Isha huffed. "That relic you call the Golden Throne is wrought from Wraithbone and Aeldari runes covered in a shell of auramite and adamantium."

Neoth narrowed his eyes at the accusation. The Golden Throne was a relic from the Dark Age of Technology. He had discovered it under the deserts of Asia, and was currently assembling the parts to reconstruct it within the Sanctum Imperialis. Its innards were Aeldari in origin, but to describe it as an entirely Aeldari creation rankled his pride.

"It is a human invention." Neoth retorted. "When a hunter carves a statue out of an ivory tusk, the elephant is not attributed as its creator."

He saw Isha's ears twitch irritably at the comparison but she remained silent. There was a strange look in her eyes, somewhere between pity and frustration.

"Regardless, the Golden Throne only has to be made once." He continued, unable to decipher the look he received, but taking her silence to be an acquiescence to his argument. "This is different. It needs to eventually be replicated enmasse, and adopted as a part of the recruitment method of my legions."

"And you are afraid of this process becoming reliant on the Aeldari?"

"My caution is two fold." Neoth shrugged. "Yes, I do not want my Imperium to be reliant on aliens. However, this is also to protect your children from my citizens."

"Oh?" Isha exclaimed with a raised eyebrow. "Do explain."

"There will be many who will be tempted by the idea of true reincarnation." Neoth stated calmly. "Some may attempt to replicate what we create here. If they came to the conclusion that Wraithbone was all they needed, they would be motivated to take those materials from your children. Some may do this peacefully. Others will not."

Isha shrugged at that.

"If you are worried about what your people might do to the Aeldari, then do not. I am confident my children can deal with those who would attempt to steal from them. Additionally, although irreplaceable for you, Wraithbone is not as precious to my children. They have provided tools and gifts made of Wraithbone to the client races and other aliens in the past. They may do so for you, should you make the appropriate alliances."

"And what would they ask for in return?"

"That would depend on the time, place, and individuals involved." Isha shrugged. "Of course, you do not have the time to go searching for my children. So, I will provide you with the materials you need to create the device."

"That is rather generous of you." Neoth said with narrowed eyes, questioning her nonverbally what she wanted in return for the Wraithbone.

"We are working together, for the time being." Isha replied with a coy smile. "Besides, it would be less irritating for me to work with what I know instead of using your alloys."

Neoth frowned for a moment, then sighed. Perhaps this was her way of returning his previous gesture, when he said he was going to include greater aspects of mercy and fairness into the social structure of the Imperium.

"Do as you wish then." He said as he stepped past her towards the doors. "I have a meeting to watch over. Feel free to add any notes or comments to the designs in that data tablet. I will review them at the end of the day."

Isha watched him leave before turning back to the data tablet.

She had sown the first seeds of cooperation. Hopefully they would sprout further on. The soul transfer machine was not a critical part of the Imperium, but it was a slightly useful one. Having her children become necessary to this one small aspect of the Imperium's future recruitment process would allow some trade connections to be created. That alone would make it easier for future relations to be made, and reduce the chance of war breaking out between them.

'And it will hopefully allow me to convince him to assist him with his other projects.' She thought to herself.

The Golden Throne, and its sister device, the Dark Glass were replications of Soul Engines. The Old Ones had used them to create deities like herself and the Webway. The versions the humans had taken inspiration from were most likely later versions the Old Ones had made the Aeldari create, but that did not make the designs Aeldari.

'You believe it will be the crowning achievement of your Imperium.' She thought to herself ruefully, staring out of the window and across the surface of Terra. Her Warpsight penetrated the desert sands of the Asiatic plate, allowing her eyes to inspect the mountainous pyramidal construct buried deep beneath the surface.

'You believe it will allow you to take my children's inheritance, the Webway, and claim it for yourself. Yet, you do not see the true danger you invite into the heart of your Imperium.'

She let out a soft sigh, remembering the great deed of Shaimesh, and his port city of Commorragh.

The Warp Spiders did not inhabit that section of the Webway, and that left it vulnerable to the horrors of the Warp. No doubt it was under siege by the Ruinous Powers and other psychic predators at this very moment.

Dysjunction.

It was a phenomenon only seen near the Webway cities of the Aeldari that were made with Shaimesh's knowledge. In these regions of non-space, the unreality of the Warp could penetrate the Webway and spill daemons and madness into it.

The Golden Throne invited the same danger to this planet. Neoth may think his immaterial hating touch would be enough to hold the daemons back, but the Webway was not a structure made of physical parts. A breach within it could not be patched up like a leaky pipe. Once broken, that fact would be impossible to change.

Isha turned back to the data tablet.

There was still time. Neoth would only attempt to complete the Golden Throne after recovering the Dark Glass. That meant she had at least until the beginning of his Great Crusade to find a solution for that particular problem.

'We do what we can when we can.' She said to herself as she began to add to Neoth's designs.
--------------------------------------

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[Nidhog153]

A/N:

C'tan and Aeldari terminology:

Nyadra'zatha: the Burning One, the Immolating Glee, the Breath of the Infinite Pit. This is the C'tan responsible for the breaching of the Webway, and the creation of the Dolmen Gates. With the appropriate rituals, shards of this C'tan can allow Necron to pass into the Webway, giving them another means of teleportation on top of their; translocation technology, Inertialess Drives, chronomancy (Veil of Darkness), Phase Shifters, and Eternity Gates. (These are all forms of matter transfer/teleportation or seeming teleportation that the Necron possess. Not all of them are FTL.) Trazyn recovers another shard of this C'tan from Midgardia, which had escaped his collection during the War in Heaven. Nyadra'zatha's destruction is described in the 9th ed Necron Codex by the Aeldari as such.

"The mirth of all cruel things was Nyadra'zatha, who was called the Burning One, the Immolating Glee, and the Breath of the Infinite Pit. All things were its kindling for its will was the searing that blackened the strands of aeons, and its ravenous touch no thing of the real nor the Echo-realm might endure. It was the pyre of the labyrinth, the torch of the ziggurats lost, the reaping winds of ember-blight. How came that thing unto its end no record speaks, but that a single etching upon a single wall upon a single world shows the Silent Lord himself laying the spear unto its molten heart.

So fell Nyadra'zatha, the Burning One." - the Book of Mournful Night, the Dirge of Stars Extinguished

The Dais of Dominion, which is the Silent King's mobile throne, is powered by Nyadra'zatha's essence. This allows the Dais and its occupants to tear a rift into the Webway, allowing it to teleport across vast interstellar gulfs.

Nyadra'zatha's shards can affect the planets they land on, with the shard on Midgardia causing the magma of the planet to form seas of fire on the planet's surface. In the event the shard is freed, according to the "Champions of Fenris A Codex: Space Wolves Supplement", it has the ability to set fire to everything within the range of a bolt pistol.

oghyr: This is another term for Necron, and the War in Heaven. It is used when an Aeldari wants to refer to these in a mocking or negative light. Its real-world roots stem from Manx Gaelic, and it means "spawn, roe". It is used with a similar meaning in the Necron Codex, with the Necrontyr's first war against the Old Ones being referred to as below:

"Alternative myths tell of the war as an oghyr both petty and unworthy, the changeling child of ambition bred of jealousy and spite that soon outgrew those who birthed it and sought to devour them all." - the Book of Mournful Night, the Dirge of Stars Extinguished

"Then there came a time when the oghyr walked the blood roads between stars in manifold guises, and the glittering hordes marched upon the fastness eternal while the Yngir soared on high. The labyrinth was flayed bare, its twisting ways trammeled and its secrets turned back upon those who first whispered to them." - the Book of Mournful Night, the Dirge of Stars Extinguished

I've translated it to be a double insult against the Necron.

Firstly, it points out the fact that they are not the Necrontyr, but created from them. So, there is no way of them going back from their cursed existence. This underlines that they are essentially 'copies' of the original claiming to have an unbroken stream of consciousness.

Second, it points out that they were birthed with the assistance of the C'tan, who are purposefully placed at the lowest rung of modern Necron society due to their past enslavement to them. To be reminded of who created them is an insult in itself.

—-------------------------------------------------

Isha woke from her silken hammock with a start. The room was dark and Ael Wyntor was fast asleep in the bed far below her.

'The Webway…' She thought to herself, analyzing the reason for her waking.

A sharp pining feeling of loss punctured her breast, as if she had just set her eyes upon the burned ruins of something treasured.

"Nyadra'zatha…" She snarled the name of the Star God who was first to invade the Webway.

Isha rose from her hammock, and dropped next to the window. Her feet bent, absorbing both the shock and sound of her landing. Screws and seals unwound themselves at her psychic commands, and the window popped out of its sill as she stepped towards it.

The Goddess of Life leapt onto the now open window sill, then hopped upwards to the Emperor's office. The window fixed itself behind her as she skipped across the near vertical wall, traveling another several dozen meters in a single bound.

There are precious few beings who could interfere with the Webway.

The Old Ones who created it, the Aeldari who inherited it, and the Necron who carved their way into it; following in the Burning One's charred footsteps.

—-------------------------------------------------

Neoth was sitting at his desk, reading through the notes Isha had left him. The sun had already set, and it was well past midnight. The mortal staff or the Imperial Palace's bureaucracy already slumbered, so there was no other work for him to do. Usually he would walk through the masses of mankind in disguise. However, today he had the soul transfer mechanism to prepare, so he used the little free time he had to continue working.

The schematics on the data tablet changed rapidly as various iterations and models were tested and rejected. Suddenly, all activity on the data tablet stopped as the Emperor blinked. He turned to the stained glass window behind him and its individual colored panes detached themselves from their saddle bars and cames. Moments later, a blond haired silver eyed woman landed on the other side of the now empty frame.

"You have an unwelcome visitor." Isha said hurriedly.

'Aside from you?' Neoth deadpanned internally, but kept the thought to himself.

"I have no reports from my ships or soldiers." He said instead. "Who or what do you think has invaded my realm?" Isha may be unpredictable, but she was not one to bother him needlessly.

"Those who travel in the path of the Immolating Glee would leave little for your kind to see." She huffed. "Their numbers must be few, for only in their insignificance can they avoid both our future sight and present senses. All I know is that the taint of the Burning One passed through the places between places and it has not gone back. You-"

"Stop." Neoth interrupted, drawing an irritated glare from Isha. "I do not understand what you are saying, although I can see the urgency." The Aeldari goddess was visibly shaken; so much so that she spoke in a more Aeldari manner with inferences and titles he had no frame of reference for.

Neoth raised a hand, and the auramite frame of the empty stained glass window bent, opening a hole large enough for Isha to step through.

Isha closed her eyes and took a breath as she stepped into the Emperor's office.

"There are Necron here." She said in a strained but calmer tone. "They came through the Webway, and remain here on this planet. I do not know where they are exactly, but they are here."

A deep furrow carved itself into Neoth's brow.

"Are you sure?" He questioned. "I do not see anything with my future sight, and even the Chronomancy of the Necron cannot erase the effect of their actions on past, present, and future."

"I am." Isha replied with an exasperated sigh. "As I said, their numbers must be so few that they truly have no effect upon the grand scheme of things. Their sheer insignificance renders them no different to a rock on the side of a road to our precognition. However, they know that as well, and they have used that against my children many times." Isha's lips twisted into a feral snarl, then relaxed back into a more somber expression. "Even if we cannot catch them, we should investigate what they are doing here."

Neoth rose from his chair, stroking his chin in thought.

Assuming Isha was telling the truth, it was a paradoxical issue he was faced with. His realm had supposedly been invaded by a small force of Necron, but what they were doing and what they intended to do had no effect on his future. To rouse the entire might of the Imperium to find such a force would be both taxing, and detrimental. He was attempting to unify the remaining regions peacefully, and a massive mobilization would impede those efforts. Finding, destroying, and displaying the alien remains might allow him to explain some of his actions, but assembling his forces to search for the Necron would most likely cause the Xenos to go to ground or escape. That would be the worst case scenario, as it would waste his resources, and foment distrust amongst the other regions. The political nuisances within his Imperium would also exploit any failure of his to their perceived advantage. Replacing them was not difficult, but it would be time consuming and extra work that would have been unnecessary.

"Conventional means are off the table." Neoth said to Isha. "However, if no one knows about them, then there will be no witnesses to what I do."

Isha smiled at that. The God of Heroes had agreed to use his authority as a deity. Finding the Necron with the technologically inferior and psychically inept humanity would have been a time consuming and difficult task, but their god was a different matter.

Neoth stretched out his psychic senses, beginning to connect with every human on the planet. Depopulated as it was, a sizeable portion of the planet was still inhabited by humans. Simply seeing if anything strange had entered their field of view, or disturbed their senses would allow him to see where the Necron were. Even if he found nothing, it would tell him where they were not.

The search ended abruptly, however, as he tried to reach one of his Thunder Warriors. The man was not dead. As one of the Imperium's heroes, the man's soul would enter Neoth's realm upon death. However, their mind could not be reached. It was not shielded or occluded behind a psychic veil or wall, but simply gone.

'Stasis lock.' Neoth thought to himself as he recognized the effect of the Necron technology. Frozen in time, the Thunder Warrior could not be interacted with at all.

"I believe I have found our intruders." Neoth said as he drew upon the memories of the other Thunder Warriors in the missing man's Legiones. He waved a hand and a portal began to open before him, leading to the Thunder Warrior's last known location.

"Wait." Isha said suddenly. "If they are still there, do not attempt open conflict with them immediately."

Neoth turned, one eyebrow raised.

"They were your enemies." He stated, questioning the lack of hate and sudden restraint she was showing.

"They are still my enemies." Isha snorted. "Yet, it must be remembered that they are also the shatterers of the Yngir. Without their rebellion, the Star Gods would still be here instead of us. Besides, it will be easier to identify what they were here for by talking with them first. Even if they do nothing but lie, the truth will be in what they do not say."

"If that is the case, then would it not be better for you to remain here?" Neoth asked. "I doubt they would be comfortable in your presence."

"They have killed gods before. That fact will keep them confident enough to tolerate me." Isha said with a bitter chuckle " Besides, they know I am no threat at the moment. They have been waiting for the Fall of my children in their Great Sleep. No doubt they will wish to gloat before the very thing that once decimated their worlds and armies before they engage in any physical hostilities."

Neoth remembered all the other conversations he had with the living metal machines in the past. The ones who could still speak were indeed arrogant, possibly equal to the Aeldari in the patronizing and disdainful way they spoke to the 'younger' or 'lesser' races that came after the War in Heaven.

Yes… he could easily imagine them enjoying the opportunity to mock and belittle the Aeldari goddess before him.

"Are you sure they will react that way?" He asked, just in case. If it were him, he would not have bothered to exchange words with any alien that was lesser, greater, younger or older. That had already been demonstrated in his first meeting with Isha.

"My kind has fought them for millions of years." Isha shrugged. "We are well acquainted with each other's tricks and idiosyncrasies. Not to mention, the actual Necrons with the capacity for individual thought are greatly limited. So long as we have their name, role, and dynasty it should be possible to predict what their objectives are."

"If that is the case, advise me." Neoth said as he turned back to the portal and resumed opening it. "I have not had the luxury of spending millions of years studying them through combat."

"Not just combat." Isha laughed mirthlessly as she followed the Emperor. "We have even collaborated against common enemies in the past. Of course, every hand that was taken was accompanied by one with a blade hidden behind the back."

"That does not put my mind at ease." He grumbled as he turned towards the portal.

"Fear not, 'companion'." Isha said with a small smile. "As per our agreement on that once dead world, we are both bound to ensure the other fulfills their final purpose. We do not carry the blades behind our backs, but have them placed at each other's necks."

"Wonderful." Neoth huffed, and the two stepped through the portal.

—-------------------------------------------------

The portal opened onto the border of a radioactive wasteland. Tall cliffs lay behind them, barely visible in the pitch black night of the new moon. However, the silty ground before them was well lit. Dark green and electric blue splotches of radium, uranium, plutonium and other radioactive isotopes covered the desert sands and occasional rocky outgrowths like the corpses of fluorescent jellyfish on the former seabed. It was a fantastical sight only as beautiful as it was deadly.

"The Atlan Wastes." Neoth said as he wrinkled his nose. "Uncountable rad-weapons and nuclear warheads clashed above here, shot out of the sky far away from the populated continents. The shattered munitions spread the remains of their unexploded payloads across this place." He let out a sigh, remembering the blinding light of the plasmic superstorm that filled the sky as inter-continental shells, missiles, and lasers were fired like bullets from a machine gun. Deafening sirens rang in every city, as the boom of cannons and roar of rocket engines echoed through the air.

"The Thunder Warrior in question was stationed here as a sentry." He said as he stepped into the green and blue lights.

"What was he watching out for, the wind?" Isha said, frowning as well. The irradiated ground stretched as far as the eye could see. Ordinary humans would begin to bleed from every orifice just standing near it. Unshielded machines would fry within seconds. Virtually nothing with Terra's current level of technology could pass through the Atlan Wastes.

"Smugglers have on occasion attempted to use the Atlan Wastes as a means to evade Imperial tariffs and taxes." Neoth replied as he continued walking. "Those with sufficient gear and personal shielding can find ways to pass through, but in doing so they carry both their contraband, and the heavily irradiated dust of this place into my domain. We will both have to clean ourselves once this is over."

"For you maybe." Isha said, and there was a small burst of wind around her as she created an insulating layer of atmosphere over her skin.

Neoth gave her an irritated side-ways look before turning forwards again.

The two continued onwards across the glowing ground, lit from below as if by blue-green neon lights.

"You said you could know the intentions of our uninvited visitors if you had their name, role, and dynasty." Neoth said as the two walked, scanning the horizons with their enhanced physical and metaphysical senses. "Can you infer who they might be through their actions here?"

"The number of Necron who would attempt something like this are few and far between." Isha replied as they began to climb the lip of a glowing crater. "Most would show little interest in the younger races such as yours, and even fewer would bother attempting to remain unnoticed."

"Then you have an idea as to who our intruder is."

"There are a few who might come here." Isha nodded as they crested the lip of the crater. "But there is only one who would bother stasis locking one of your soldiers." The Aeldari goddess's eyes narrowed as she spotted a small host of skeletal metal warriors in the middle of the crater. "There is only one who could stand before gods and daemons without fear of death, destruction, or imprisonment."

"Indeed." One of the skeletal machines replied. Metallic cloak brushing against the irradiated earth, the Necron's cowled head looked up at the two deities with neither fear nor despair. His green eyes glowed like the radioactive ground around them. Two meter Empathic Obliterator in hand, the Necron stabbed its base into the ground with every step like an ordinary walking stick. "Collector, archeovist of the Solemnace galleries, and humble appreciator of the galaxy and its cultures."

"Trazyn." Isha spat the name, as if she had just seen a disgusting insect.

"The Infinite." The Necron bowed mockingly as he added on his title. "What a fortuitous occasion. It is not so often that I meet a thing as old as I am."

"You speak as if you weren't expecting us." Isha snorted as she began to stride down the crater walls towards the archeovist and his host of lychguard.

"An archeologist does not dig blindly." Trazyn chuckled, free hand placed against the green hekatic rune carved into his chest. "And the Aeldari are not the only ones capable of seeing into the future."

"Isha." Neoth said, butting in between the two aliens. "Introduce me to this thief." His eyes flashed gold as they flicked to the Thunder Warrior stuck in stasis lock behind the host of lychguard.

He used the term to belittle the being before him; to break the flow of conversation and reestablish control over the narrative.

However, instead of looking insulted like all the other Necron Neoth had spoken to, Trazyn merely paused for a moment, then laughed.

Pure unadulterated amusement rang from the Necron's solid metal skull and its immovable jaw as the archeovist threw back his head; reacting as if Neoth had told the most amusing joke he had ever heard.

"Apologies." The archeovist said as he drew a metal finger under his eye, as if to brush away a tear from a now nonexistent lacrimal gland. "I just found it comical how you called me a thief after the grand larceny you and your kind have committed upon mine." He shook his head before looking up at the Emperor. "Last time I checked, it was not the Necron who dug through human tombs to find scraps of knowledge. It was not the Necron who stole a god from mankind." Trazyn turned towards Isha, shaking his head. "Humans. What a truly arrogant, yet entertaining race." He let out another chuckle, before turning towards the Emperor. "Have you started on the Aeldari as well?"

Neoth glowered at the metal alien before him, then turned his head to Isha, demanding an explanation.

"Trazyn the Infinite." Isha introduced the Necron again with a sigh. "Do not bother trying to destroy him. It will not work. My children and I have tried many times."

"Do not minimize the deeds of your children, Mother of the Aeldari." Trazyn snickered. "The attempts were still an inconvenience. I do not enjoy being dead. Yet, in this galaxy where even deities may die, I might be the closest thing to immortal."

"A doomed existence." Isha snorted. "An existence bound to forever crave what was taken from it. No content creature spends endless ages searching for things that remind them of what they once had."

"My kind freed itself from our gods, and survived." Trazyn tilted his head, mockingly towards the Aeldari goddess. "How did the Aeldari fare without you?"

There was a tense moment as Isha's jaw clenched. She crossed her arms, holding herself back. Trazyn stared back at her, green eyes glowing brighter than the uranium splotches around them.

"For one of the many who merely survived our onslaught, you do have a high opinion of yourselves."

Hate.

Despite the levity with which he spoke, the emotions Trazyn felt towards the Aeldari goddess bled from every word he used.

Both sides used sarcasm and irony like knives, jabbing into their opponent's greatest insecurities and pains; weaknesses that both had studied for eons in order to gain the upper hand.

However, each party knew the futility of fighting here. Killing Trazyn was meaningless, and harming Isha was impossible. At least, with the equipment the archeovist had brought with him today.

"He is a pilferer of the possessions of others." The goddess finally said, speaking to the Emperor instead of the Necron. "Quite frankly, thief is the title best given to him." A cruel smile drew across her lips as she narrowed her eyes at the archeovist of the Solemnace galleries. "What academic embellishes the historical displays of the very events they have witnessed, or is the infallible metal mind of the Necron no better than the so-called faulty organics of the living?"

Trazyn's head bobbed, mimicking the motion of snorting from his missing lungs.

"I would have thought that sensuous creatures such as yourselves would appreciate the importance of artistic license to such displays." He raised a knobbly metal hand, clenching it into a fist as he did so. "The purpose of a display is not to capture the moment of such events as they are, but the very feeling of them. So long as the piece embodies the very emotions of those that experienced those events, the particularities can be quite malleable."

The green glow of Trazyn's eyes seemed to flicker and grow, like the eldritch flames within the biotransference machines he had been thrown into millions of years ago; betraying the burning obsession that kept him sane.

"And so you have come to my realm to steal from me." Neoth said pointedly, glancing back at the stasis locked Thunder Warrior.

"My Crypteks predicted they would be in short supply very soon." Trazyn said as he unclenched his fist and shrugged. "The younger races are short lived. Your empires' lives are counted in mere millenia, and your cultures last for even less. Be thankful that there will be some evidence of your existence within my galleries. They will exist far longer than you will."

Neoth glared at the Necron, but at the same time he was already deep in conversation with the other alien behind him.

'What does he want?' He asked Isha telepathically, communicating so fast that the psychic message finished before he accused Trazyn of theft.

'He is buying time.' Isha replied back calmly as she glared at the Necron, giving no physical sign of the psychic back and forth. 'Advanced as they are, even the Necron cannot teleport away with this much radiation. His only hope to escape is to re-open a gate through the Webway. No doubt he has another host nearby with a shard of the Burning One. However, that will take time. These boasts and insults are meant to act as a replacement for the weapons he would wield on lesser interruptions. He cannot kill either of us, but he has no reason not to fight us either. Hence, this charade of mockery and grandstanding to give an excuse for standing around and talking for no particular reason. Of course, he is also stroking his own ego.'

'If he is buying time, should we attack?' Neoth asked.

'It is useless.' There was a telepathic signature of vexation coloring Isha's thoughts. 'The Necron are obsession incarnate, and this one is particularly tenacious. He will return, and each time he does he will do more damage in order to get what he wants; like a petulant toddler.'

'If you are telling me to give him what he wants, then know that I am not letting him take one of my warriors without a fight.' Neoth growled mentally.

'Patience.' Isha said as Trazyn began to talk of his Crypteks. 'There may be a way to make this work to our favor. The loss of one of your Thunder Warriors is an unavoidable event, unless you can barter for something of greater interest. However, there are ways to take something in return.'

'What do you propose?'

Information regarding Trazyn's behavioral quirks and proclivities flowed from Isha to Neoth before Trazyn finished his sentence. The means of snatching victory from defeat passed from her to him, bringing what would be the minor loss of a single warrior to a moderate stalemate.

'Will that work?' Neoth asked.

'You heard him yourself. He enjoys spectacles.' Isha replied with a mental snort. 'Give him one. Stroke his pride. Feed his amusement. It is all he has left in his accursed existence.' Isha's harsh mental tone softened slightly, even as her physical form glared daggers at the Necron before them. 'He is a machine. A very life-like and complex machine, but still just a machine. Even at the peak of his unpredictability, the only thing spurring him on are equations and algorithms straining to replicate what he once was. Given the proper input, he will always make the expected output. Use that. We did.'

The conversation ended as Trazyn finished his boast about his galleries.

"Is this your only business here?" Neoth asked, pretending as if he had neither heard Trazyn's boasts nor communicated with Isha.

"For the moment." Trazyn shrugged. "Your homeworld is not the most advanced remnant of your old empire. I merely stopped by to ensure some memento of this Unification War would remain." The Necron chuckled to himself, before staring off carelessly into the distance. "So many differences, yet so many similarities. We tried to unify our dynasties once, and sought the assistance of gods and god-like beings to do so. Although others of my kind may disagree, your struggle here is familiar enough to make me wax nostalgic."

"Then there is nothing left to say." Neoth replied. "I will stand by to watch how you leave to ensure you cannot come back the same way as before. Take your trinket and go."

"Mercy? From humanity? How curious…" The green lights in his eye sockets swiveled to the Aeldari goddess, then back to the Emperor. "If you are willing to let me leave, I would prefer it if I could be allowed to move out of this irradiated waste. It is not pleasant here, even for us."

"Did you not hear what I said?" The Emperor growled. "You will stay here, and I will watch you leave the same way you came here."

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained. Nothing lost just by asking." Trazyn shrugged, then turned towards Isha. "Is this the result of something you have told him?"

"Why would you have to doubt me?" Isha snorted. "Humanity has expended millions of lives for almost nothing. Giving up a single unfinished soldier here means little. Of course, that's the only reason you could remain invisible from either of our foresights."

There was a subtle twitch from the Necron; a slight back and forth of a finger on his free hand, a slight tightening of the grip upon his Empathic Obliterator.

"Aeldari." Trazyn's voice crackled, betraying the seething emotions that could not be expressed on his immovable face. "Always using others to do what they cannot. If only you could use your gifts to save yourselves."

"Says the oghyr who begged for salvation twice." Isha shot back. "Now, make your choice. Go back to your galleries with your half-baked prize, or stay here and bargain for something you will have to fight for later."

Trazyn made a vulgar gesture towards Isha, the Sign of Vokk. In short, it was an obscene gesture wishing her a brutal and humiliating end in all timelines and dimensions.

The goddess merely smiled victoriously; fully aware his own obsessions would compel him to listen.

"You have my attention, human." Trazyn said as he turned back to the Emperor. "How do you intend to complete your brutes?"

"I am under no obligation to divulge my secrets to you." Neoth snorted. "If you wish for a demonstration of their capabilities, you will have to see them for yourself."

"And how am I supposed to find out for myself?" Trazyn retorted sarcastically. "Surely, you do not suggest something as boorish as dueling them? If this is going to be a serious bargain between us, know that I have other means of satisfying my curiosity. These Thunder Warriors of yours come in sets, do they not? The Legiones Cataegis, was it? If I cannot have a prime specimen, I will have to satisfy myself by assembling a wide range of samples for my galleries."

"And with what will you capture them with?" The Emperor said, raising a mocking eyebrow. "It will not be as easy as this time."

"I do have far more than these few hosts at my beck and call." Trazyn's voice crackled.

"And how will you explain such a mass awakening so ahead of schedule to your Awakened Council?" Isha laughed. "They may tolerate you, but you are not entirely free to do as you wish, 'Overlord'."

Trazyn glowered at the Aeldari goddess. She had pointed out his rank within the Necron hierarchy. He was high enough within the Royal Court of the Nihilakh dynasty to be given many leniencies, but not powerful enough to outright ignore his kin. He could irritate or even start a vendetta with one or two dynasties, but that was only allowed so long as the Phaeron of the Nihilakh dynasty and the Awakened Council did not intervene.

"It would not matter either way." The Emperor continued Isha's attack. "Even if you did manage to capture an entire Legiones, you will not do so unharmed. I will see to that. Then, I will have something more valuable than several Legiones Cataegis. The remains of your soldiers." A grim smile crossed the Emperor's face. "Their necrodermis bodies will be paraded through the streets, and their faces plastered upon propaganda pamphlets and holograms as the alien threat to humanity. What better fuel to stoke the flames to forge my Imperium? Humanity will be bound together by fear and hate of the Necron invaders. You will be doing my work for me."

Trazyn's eyes sparked, sending forks of green lightning out of his eye sockets.

It was useless to attempt to bluff by bringing up the phasing technology built into every Necron. No doubt the Aeldari had already told the Emperor the limits associated with Necron teleportation. It was also true that he would incur losses should he be forced to take more violent means to capture the Thunder Warriors. He only captured this one by locking it in stasis from under a Veil of Darkness. To do so in a more populated region would be impossible, and that didn't even begin to take into account the difficulty of returning to this planet without using the Webway.

"Be honored, Trazyn. You will take the place the Old Ones did in your first empire. Trazyn, the unifier of humanity." The Aeldari goddess laughed again, digging a verbal knife into what remained of Trazyn's pride. "I am sure your Awakened Council will be very amused, should they become enlightened to your actions here."

There was a brief pause as Trazyn glared at the god and goddess before him. To be reminded of how the Necrontyr started the War in Heaven was a grave enough insult to make his Empathic Obliterator spark. The Silent King had rallied the scattered factions of the Nectontyr against the Old Ones, using them as a scapegoat for all their woes. To be likened to the Old Ones… To suggest that the Necron take the place of one of their most hated enemies in humanity's history was both an insult and humiliation both for himself, and his kind. He would be the laughing stock of all Necron, as well as an embarrassment big enough to create a concerted force to erase him from existence.

Trazyn would survive whatever assault they might assemble. He had enough contingencies to be confident of that. Still… losing his standing in the Nihilakh dynasty would cause him to abandon much of his collection, and stymie his future archeological endeavors.

After a moment of silence, Trazyn corrected his posture and brushed some radioactive dust off his shoulder. He had lost this particular verbal skirmish. The Aeldari goddess knew too much about his kind, and their culture. If this was one of her younger children, he could have danced circles around them in their ignorance, or simply wiped them from memory with his Empathic Obliterator. However, that also meant she knew exactly where his red lines were. He would get his prize in the end. It was only a matter of how much he would have to pay for it.

"What do you want?" He said, pretending as if none of the insults and jibes had occurred at all. Giving either of these immaterial creatures the satisfaction of annoying him further would only rub dirt into the wounds upon his pride.

"Leave my planet, and never return. That includes any lackeys or Canoptek constructs you may possess." The Emperor ordered. "I will send you one of my Thunder Warriors to find you when the time is right. They will display their full strength then."

Trazyn shrugged. "I will abide by those rules, but I cannot do anything if another dynasty sets you in their sights."

The green lights in his eye sockets drifted over to the Aeldari goddess.

The double speak in his words was clear to her. Should the Emperor fail to uphold his side of the bargain, Trazyn would find other means to inconvenience the two deities here. Awakening one of the more xenophobic and aggressive dynasties ahead of schedule would endanger both humanity and the Aeldari. Doing so would indebt Trazyn to whatever dynasty he used, but the veiled threat served as a reminder that this Necron had his own means of making things worse for all of them if the bargain was broken.

"You will have your prize." Isha replied. "As well as a spectacle that should meet your satisfaction."

"Then we are in agreement." Trazyn opened his left palm skyward, and a crackling hekatic rune appeared for an instant before dissipating into streams of eldritch electricity that ran up his arm and across his necrodermis body.

Isha whispered something into the air, and a curved Wraithbone rune formed before her. Its pearly white lines then untangled themselves, before wrapping around her wrist like a school of glass eels.

Neoth sat back, watching the two elder creatures make their own binding agreements. He had no equivalent gesture or symbol to bind himself, nor ensure the value of his word. There hadn't been much point, since his outlook had not allowed the idea of forming an alliance with Xenos in general.

'I wonder if this makes Isha my guarantor…' He thought to himself, grimacing internally at the thought. Although there was no physical agreement or enforcement for it, having Isha make the binding agreement with Trazyn on his behalf meant he was technically indebted to the Aeldari regarding this 'bargain' with the Necron.

As he was weighing his options of whether it would be worth making his own binding symbol or continue to let the Aeldari goddess cover for him, the ground around him began to spark. Radioactive isotopes began to spontaneously break down, releasing heat and light in flashes of blue, green, and orange.

"And not a moment too soon." Trazyn sighed, then gestured behind him. The stasis locked Thunder Warrior was dropped by his Lychguard; still frozen in time and immune to the radiation, but released by his captors. "I look forward to the day the only thing to remind me of you are the artifacts of your children." He said snidely to the Aeldari.

Isha made no reply. Instead, she sent a psychic message to the Emperor in private.

'Watch.' She said simply.

The sparks around them began to increase in number, concentrated around a single point behind the Necron and decreasing in intensity and frequency with distance.

In the inky sky, a deeper blackness opened up.

'The Webway…' Neoth thought as he stared up into the pit that had opened up above the Necron.

Instead of the endlessly shifting collage of capillaries and tunnels that would usually appear when the Webway opened, there was nothing. An empty pit had opened up with no sides nor rim.

It was the end of everything.

It was a maddening meaningless nihilism that negated all meaning, all definition.

'Now you know why we called it the Breath of the Infinite Pit.' Isha's telepathic voice was soft as she too stared up into the hole in the sky.

Neoth didn't answer. Looking at the hole filled him with a sense of loss, as if he was watching the destruction of the original human empire all over again.

That was what the Burning One was. Utter and complete entropy. The breaking down of all things into their least organized form. The reduction of reality till even space and time had no meaning.

It was a different feeling to what Neoth had experienced with the Void Dragon.

Different, but not as powerful.

One by one the Necron floated upwards, like puppets pulled off the stage by their strings. The void seemed to swallow them as they passed through, like dust caught in the uptake of air from some giant beast's nostril.

Trazyn was the last to be pulled upwards, arms aloft he looked down at the two deities as he ascended towards the breach in the Webway.

Suddenly the Necron's body jerked, and flipped upside down. His head remained fixed where it was, neck straining as green sparks began to escape from the tearing necrodermis.

"Of course." The Necron muttered, as his body went limp, artificial nerves snapping as Isha and the hole in the Webway pulled on them like a rope in a tug of war. "I was wondering why you were as reticent as you were. Foolish of me to believe that something as significant as the Fall of your entire race could temper your pride."

"Your insults stung, Necron." Isha snarled as she stepped forwards. "But be thankful. I'll let you keep the remains of that body for a new display. How does the title 'Reminder of a Reunion' sound?"

A choppy laugh came from Trazyn's head.

"Indeed." His voice sounded more robotic, tone flipping between monotone and melodious. "Till we meet again, Mother of the Aeldari."

There was one final shower of green sparks, and the last strands of necrodermis snapped like strings. The ruined body fell upwards into the darkness, and the head floated towards Isha before coming to a stop before her.

The hole in the air closed, removing all trace of the Necron, bar the single Thunder Warrior stuck in stasis lock. Neoth stared up at where the hole had been, feeling the morose feeling of loss slowly abate as the 'burnt' section of Webway faded away from them with the Necron.

"What was that?" He finally asked Isha.

The goddess was currently rotating Trazyn's head in front of her telekinetically; inspecting it as if it were an apple with possible worms in it.

"Retribution, and a gift for two." She replied cryptically, as she stopped rotating the head and narrowed her eyes. "Trazyn will no doubt frame the body as a reminder of his immortality and impunity in his galleries. This, however, is for you."

Green sparks erupted from the skull as pieces of gray metal covered with countless hekatic runes were torn out of the mechanical skull and pulverized into dust. The violent disassembly continued for a few seconds until all that was left of the head was a cylindrical device with thin metallic threads wrapping around it like a spool of yarn.

"That is Trazyn's brain." Isha said as she tossed it telekinetically towards Neoth. "I've torn out the hekatic engrams required for it to phase back to a Necron stronghold, so you can take it out of this irradiated wasteland. Trazyn himself is no longer inside it, but that component should help you with the soul transfer machine."

"Is that so?" Neoth said as he caught the metal organ with his own telekinetic abilities. "And how exactly will it help me?"

"His ability to reincarnate is based on my children's." Isha said with a grimace. "He does not have a soul to transfer, but the method of transmitting data and preserving personality was found from within the bodies and brains of the Aeldari. Biomimesis, but this time on the Necron's side."

"If the Necron uncovered that much, why is it not more widespread amongst them?" Neoth asked as he turned the Necron brain over. Its structure reminded him of the quantum computers humanity once built, although far more miniature in design.

"How many Necron do you see with an obsession like Trazyn's?" Isha snorted. "But if you want me to spell out the answer for you, it's because the methodology only works for him. More specifically, it would work on Necron with similar personalities and interests. Thankfully, the Necron with the hardware necessary to simulate emotions are few and far between. Only the upper class received bodies and brains that could keep their memories and personality. Those Overlords, Phaerons, kings, and nobles as a whole tended to be less empathetic than most. One must be able to relate to a work of art to appreciate it, and that requires a strong sense of empathy. Trazyn's ability to understand the feelings of others is what makes him unique amongst his race. Although, if such traits were more widespread, the oghyr war may never have started to begin with. Even then, he tends to use his capacity for empathy only to enjoy his collection, and as the occasional weapon to outwit his opponents."

"How does that relate to the soul transfer process?" Neoth said as he peered into the Necron brain with his Warp sight before determining it safe enough to store in his personal pocket dimension.

"Remember how I said that the soul transfer required both psychic energy, and the information within it?" Isha asked. "That was an oversimplification."

"How so?"

"The only way to answer that question is with another series of questions." Isha gave a wan smile. "If you were reborn into a new body with all your memories, would that be you?"

"If a person is the sum of their experiences, then that would be true." Neoth answered automatically. The entire premise of reincarnation depended on that fact.

"Then, if you lost all of your previous memories in the same body, would you no longer be yourself?"

"That's…" Neoth paused for a moment. It was just the inverse of the first statement, but he could not answer it as easily as the first.

"We believe the former to be true, but have difficulty agreeing with the latter. That means that at an instinctual level, we believe ourselves to be more than the sum of our experiences." Isha grimaced, as if something bitter had popped in her mouth before continuing. "Trazyn's ability to recreate himself is the answer to that question. Even in this place, where the radiation is so intense Necron phasing technology doesn't function, the information that is required to 'remake' Trazyn can find a new body. His obsession with art, culture, and trinkets is what identifies him as an individual. You could even say the Solemnace galleries are a physical memory storage facility that serves to reinforce who he is with an external representation of his internal self. Of course, it also serves to stroke his own ego, but even that vain act helps keep him who he is." She finished with a snort.

"Then the remains of the transfer protocol in his brain will act as a reference for how to parse out the souls of those transferred?" Neoth asked.

"It will serve as a guidepost." Isha nodded. "A person can lose all their memories, but still have attachments and interests. So long as the driving force that formed their personality remains, they can rebuild who they are an innumerable number of times."

"So, obsession is the key to reincarnation?" Neoth snorted. "I find that hard to believe. "

"The Shamans that made you reincarnated several times." Isha said with a raised eyebrow. "What were their last thoughts every time they died?"

Neoth paused for a moment, then grimaced as he replied.

"There was a duty that needed to be fulfilled."

"Duty… Another name for something that cannot be let go, or given up." Isha chuckled as the Emperor fixed her with a sour look. "Living is difficult." She said sadly. "Being reborn into this world, while knowing just how cruel it can be, takes a great degree of will. It's not just enough to be afraid of death, or non-existence. There must be a drive to do something. Trazyn will not let his collection remain incomplete, or unfinished. Although, whatever those words mean to him is anyone's guess." A sigh escaped her lips as she stared up at where the hole in the Webway was. "Regardless, it is why he comes back no matter how many times he is killed. No matter how painful it is to exist in a body that can no longer feel the warmth of its own skin, or the relief that comes with a breath of fresh air, he returns to add to the Solemnace galleries."

Her voice carried none of the ire or cynicism it had while she was talking to Trazyn. Instead there was a somber tone within her words.

"Do you pity the Necron?" Neoth asked as he watched the goddess.

Isha shook her head.

"I mourn the Necrontyr and their foolishness." She said softly. "The oghyr are the scar they left behind."

A scar. The remains of a wound; painful to look at and best removed.

Those were Isha's feelings regarding the Necron.

"Besides…" She let out an exasperated sigh. "That particular oghyr has given me more than enough reason to destroy him."

"Destroy, but not kill?" Neoth asked with a raised eyebrow.

A cold smile spread across Isha's lips, like frost across a window.

"One death is not enough for Trazyn the Infinite."

—-------------------------------------------------

FAQ:

What did Trazyn mean by "And the Aeldari are not the only ones capable of seeing into the future."?
This is a double reference.

Firstly, it refers to the base Chronomancy all Necron dynasties have access to.

Secondly, it refers to the head of the Yyth Seer that only the Nihilakh dynasty has.

In short, Trazyn is boasting about how the Necron are equal, if not superior in their ability to predict the future when compared to the Aeldari, and he is also gloating about how Isha has no idea that the Nihilakh dynasty has access to the remains of one of the more powerful precognitive species spawned during the War in Heaven.

The Yyth Seer's head is possessed by the Nihilakh dynasty, and it has been used to predict the future in tandem with their Chronomancy. This gives the Nihilakh dynasty several advantages when it comes to planning ahead.

What is the Awakened Council?
It is a very basic government formed by the Necron who awakened ahead of schedule during the Great Sleep. Its primary function is to ensure no further mass awakenings occur, and also to prevent political rivals from destroying their sleeping opponents. Trazyn mentions them several times during "The Infinite and Divine", and even uses them to set Orikhan up.

Lexicanum states this council was formed in M31, but I could not find any actual in text references as to when it was formed. As Trazyn canonically has a Thunder Warrior locked in stasis, I am assuming both he and the Awakened Council have existed during M30.

Isha knows of them as the Awakened Council has been active for much longer than that in this story, and has had several run-ins with the Aeldari before the Fall.

Why is Trazyn's reincarnation mechanic important for the soul transfer machine?
This is a reference to when Trazyn meets Fabius Bile. Bile has a spike of Wraithbone implanted in clone bodies of his, which allows him to transfer himself into a new body should he die. Bile's reincarnation technique was developed by using the Aeldari Infinity Circuit and biology as a reference. Trazyn recognizes the source of Bile's reincarnation technique, and boasts to Bile that he has something similar, but vastly superior. I have interpreted this as Trazyn having already investigated how Aeldari reincarnation works, and that is the reason he alone has the ability to reincarnate into the bodies of other Necron.

Why were there so many sparks when Nyadra'zatha's shard opened the Webway?
The Burning One is entropy incarnate. It functions to end everything around it at a subatomic level. This takes the form of fire and radioactive decay. Fire is the must understandable way to increase entropy at a chemical level. The radioactive isotopes, on the other hand, are decaying away into more disorganized forms of matter, splitting apart into smaller and smaller atoms.

As the Webway is a place where time is very malleable, Nyadra'zatha's presence shows reality at its end state, which is the utter void seen by Isha and the Emperor. As it is 'nothing', distance and time have no meaning. Hence, traveling through this 'nothing' is instantaneous as the act of traveling through it never happened. Of course, without a means to exit the 'nothing', one will remain trapped in it forever until they exit. Hence, the necessity for either a rift made by a shard of Nyadra'zatha, or a Dolmen Gate.

Isha and the Emperor feel this end state in a synesthetic manner, and that is why emotions of loss are evoked as they are seeing the inevitable death of reality itself.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N : Apologies for the long wait. IRL has been difficult for me.

---

Neoth sat back in the heated pool of one of the bathhouses within the Sanctum Imperialis, with an appropriately sized towel wrapped around his waist. The only sound around him was of the drip of moisture and rippling of water displaced by his movements.

He had these facilities built in order to create a place for the higher ups of the Imperium to mingle. It was a custom often found in the asiatic regions of Terra, but similar practices had also existed in the mediterranean regions as well. Even the more northern reaches of the planet had invented saunas in ancient times.

There were several types of these semi-political and luxury centers within the Imperial Palace; places where unofficial deals could be made, or private information could be shared. The physical comfort and warmth of these places also relaxed the mind and tongue, greasing the wheels of difficult political discussions, or serving as an entry point to a person's darkest secrets.

However, tonight he was the only person using this facility, lying back in one of the heated pools meant for a few dozen.

The meeting with the Necron, and discussion with Isha had been vexing in many ways. He had also used his authority as a god, affecting his mood and personality. Experiencing things in a more human manner often helped him balance out those moments when he had to rely on his divine nature, allowing him to shut out all the voices of humanity on this planet and beyond.

As he lay back with his eyes closed, the sound of soft splashing interrupted his reprieve.

"Hmm… The design isn't bad. Even though our species are different, the act of enjoying cleansing one's body has a commonality between us. Of course, that is if one ignores the gaudiness of the gold everywhere."

Neoth opened his eyes and gave a tired look to his side, where the Aeldari goddess was looking around the bathhouse with a slight frown. Her silken shift was replaced with a long towel that wrapped around her, covering her body up to her knees. Her golden hair was tied with a white Wraithbone ribbon in a high ponytail, keeping it barely off the floor.

"Wouldn't there be a problem if the maternal goddess of the proud and arrogant Aeldari bathed with a human male?" He remarked sarcastically as he propped himself up by his elbows on the pool's edge.

"In old Japan, they had a practice of sharing hot springs with the native primates. It's the same as that." Isha said with a shrug.

Neoth bit back a sigh, deciding to ignore the comparison. It was probably not even meant to be an insult; just a simple reminder that the two of them were different species, and hence didn't perceive the other in that manner. Well, Isha and the Aeldari didn't, at least. Humanity had a wider tolerance in that regard.

"What do you want?" He said as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "As you can see, I've reserved this place for myself to get away from the various troubles I've had to deal with today."

He had even placed a psychic suggestion on the ornate double door, so ordinary people wouldn't be able to remember that there was such a facility here at all. Even the servants who would have been standing by the entrance at all times were thoroughly convinced that their usual stations were elsewhere.

"You know as well as I do that all diplomacy and politics has a public face and a private face." Isha said as she stepped into the opposite side of the same bath as the Emperor. "That discussion with the oghyr was the public side, and this is the follow-up on the private side."

"Public, was it?" Neoth snorted. "Was there anything public about that talk in those wastes?"

It was probably the furthest they could have been from the public eye on Terra.

"Well, I suppose public is not the exact way to put it." Isha said as she sat down on the pool's edge, soaking her feet in the warm water. "However, there were things you couldn't ask me at that time. So, I've decided to come by and be available to you." She kicked the water lightly, playing with it a little. "The things that bother you, the things that interest you, I shall answer up to four of them tonight."

"That is quite magnanimous of you." Neoth narrowed his eyes. "What do you want in return?"

Information was one of the more important things Isha could give. 60 million years of experience was not something to hand out lightly, even if he was limited to four questions.

"As you have seen tonight, I know far more about the places between places." Isha said, as she slipped off the edge and dipped into the water until it was up to her shoulders. "If you do intend to use my kind's inheritance, the Webway, I want you to allow me to join you as an advisor like this time."

Neoth let out a snort.

"Is it not slightly premature for that promise to be made?" He said sarcastically. "I haven't even begun to prepare the site for its construction."

The Golden Throne was still buried under the desert sands of the Asiatic plate, and the lowest levels of the Sanctum Imperialis were not yet ready. After all, there were centuries worth of civilization buried under it. Dark catacombs and tunnels from ancient times burrowed far beneath the underground reactors, water processors, and waste purifiers that supported all life within the Imperial Palace.

"I have no problem with the payment being postponed." She said with a cheeky smile. "Still, to point that out is quite forthcoming for you. Is there something on your mind?"

"I don't enjoy the feeling of being indebted to anyone." He replied as he swept his long black hair back with one hand.

"That is true…" Isha mused with a finger on her bottom lip. "Until now you've either ignored or obliterated your debtors."

"There haven't been many agreements worth honoring." Neoth said with a derisive sniff. "That is all."

"Oh? Then tell me, how will you show that you will keep your promise with me?" Isha raised her left arm, showing the glassy bracelet formed by the rune she had used to symbolize the binding agreement with Trazyn.

Neoth paused for a moment, then shook his head. "No, I'll take what can be given, and listen to what you have to say."

Coming up with some sort of binding symbolism in the bath didn't feel appropriate, not to mention he still had no idea what to use. Besides, the situation wasn't that serious.

"That is agreeable with me." Isha shrugged, sending ripples through the water. "In the end, all I offer are words, so any agreement or compensation towards me can be made by the mouth as well."

Neoth snorted. In short, even if he did renege on his promise to include her in his plans to prepare the Golden Throne, she would give him her unrequested advice anyways. After all, the only thing she would do was talk.

"Then tell me how the Necron knew you would be here."

Trazyn had been expecting them. However, the fact that Isha was here was a secret between the two of them. How the Xeno knew she would be here was concerning to him. Part of the reason Isha came with him was because the Four would not be able to know where she was; hidden by his immaterial hating presence. If the Ruinous Powers could replicate Trazyn's methods, Terra could become the hotbed for a Chaos incursion.

"The Necron can see the future exactly as how it will be when they look at it. Of course, all that means is that they can have a perfect vision of one possible path of fate. However, if they repeat that process enough, they can get a relatively concrete picture of what will always happen amongst those routes. They must have found me that way."

Neoth nodded to himself. He had suspected that might be how they had done it, but he had to be sure. Necron technology was at times almost indistinguishable from the magics of the Warp.

"Can the Ruinous Powers replicate that feat?" Neoth asked.

If there was overlap between the two, it would present a weakness in his wards that the Four could exploit.

"No." Isha shook her head, and the water rippled as her hair stirred the bath like a whisk in a bowl of thin cream. "Necron precognition works by looking through time itself. It is brought about purely through an understanding of the material universe. No matter how close to magic it may appear, the Necron's methods are fundamentally different to ours. The Four cannot see what happens here through your Wards. Only their followers will provide them that information, and even those voices will be but a few hundred amongst trillions across the galaxy. Their own bloat will blind them." An arrogant mocking smile crossed her lips as she stared off into the distance.

Neoth followed her gaze, and saw nothing at first until he realized that she was staring in the direction of the Eye of Terror.

"Could the Necron betray us to them?" He continued with his next worry. The Necron obviously hated Isha, and her children. However, from his previous encounters with them, their stance towards Chaos seemed to be equally hostile. Until now he hadn't really cared to compare how their hate measured against each other, but now that he was working with one of them it was worth confirming.

"The Necron will not share what they know with the Four, much less any of the creatures of the Warp." A cynical smile crossed Isha's face. "They hate the Four as much as they hate me, but more importantly, they do not respect them."

"Respect?" The Emperor asked the single word question with equal parts cynicism and irony. Trazyn took every opportunity to insult and belittle Isha he could take. Respect was not an emotion he believed that Xeno was capable of feeling, or any other Necron for that matter. Of course, the same could be said for the Aeldari.

"Chaos is not a sentient being to them." Isha shrugged. "The immaterium is just another resource in the eyes of the Necron, like metal or promethium. It is theirs to exploit, and its denizens are just vermin that complicate its harvesting. Would you, out of spite, try to get a worm to inflict your revenge? No. The best you can do is throw it at your enemy, like an infantile child. To use the Ruinous Powers would be akin to that. They are unpredictable, untrustworthy, and unworthy to the point that interacting with them is beneath them."

"I see." Neoth nodded. "This has been insightful."

"I am glad to have satisfied your curiosity, but it is not the end." Isha sat back, and the hair that had dripped into the water spread out in front of her, following the water pushed out of the way. Long golden strands seem to stretch out from her, like the roots of a rosemary grown in water. "You still have three more questions."

Neoth raised an eyebrow at that. "I asked four questions."

Including the one regarding respect, by his count he had asked four.

"I am not a genie in a bottle." Isha chuckled. "I will not count one string of inquiry as multiple questions. Besides, the last one was barely worth noting. It would leave a bad taste in both of our mouths if that was all I gave for interrupting your time of respite."

Neoth narrowed his eyes. The goddess before him had not said she would answer four questions, but answer up to four things. He had assumed it meant questions, but apparently the Xeno in front of him was offering to answer entire topics he was curious about. It was a magnanimous gesture. One given from someone who sounded like they held all the cards.

"Do you plan to guilt me into letting you help me?" His voice was calm, with the barerest undertones of a growl. He had already told her he did not enjoy being indebted to anyone, yet she continued to offer things he had not asked for.

"Do not worry." Isha snorted. "I know you are capable of breaking any bargain between us. However, what do you have to lose by listening to me?"

"My time and patience." He grumbled back as he sank into the warm water, leaving only his head exposed.

"Ah…" Isha tapped her chin with a finger, making a thoughtful expression before sighing. "You have my apologies then. Those two resources are quite scarce."

Neoth whipped his arm out of the water, sending a large wave towards Isha on the opposite end of the pool. She flicked a finger in return, and a wave of water of her own rose. The two waves merged silently, canceling each other out.

"If you are feeling so generous…" Neoth growled, sitting up right in the pool, sending rivulets of water cascading down his pectoral muscles like waterfalls flowing down cliffs. "Then you will not mind if I ask more personal questions?"

"I promised to answer four things that bothered you, or interested you." Isha said with a smile, even as her brow furrowed.

The Emperor intended to challenge her; to ask her a question she would not wish to answer. She could understand it. Her presence and offers here unnerved and irritated him. However, he was not so unreasonable as to resort to violence or command her to leave. Hence, he would ask her something private, personal, and painful.

"A goddess does not go back on her word." She said resolutely.

If she backed down here, her friendly gesture would only go that far. If she wanted to intrude upon his most important works, she would have to be prepared to share things equally personal.

"Tell me of your consort, Kurnous." Neoth asked grimly.

Neither deity spoke for a moment. Only the drip of moisture and the slight rippling of the pool's water could be heard.

"I seem to have struck a nerve." Isha said slowly; strained smile twitching as her silver eyes narrowed.

To prod at the open wounds left by the loss of her family was a low blow; an attempt to anger her to the point she would leave the room. However, it was she who came to him to talk, and she could not back down now. If she left, he would not have to worry about denying her later, nor would he feel indebted to her. This would have all been for nought, and a waste of both of their time.

"Spare me your outrage." The Emperor snorted. "You took all of the information within me above that once dead world. You know everything I know about the relationships I've had, the men and women I've bedded, the losses I endured. From you, all I've managed to decode are your basic functions and the associated legends. This will bring us slightly closer to even."

The two of them were on uneven ground at the moment in that regard. She knew more of him than he did of her. Sharing some of her personal matters would even that balance.

Isha turned her head to the side, staring at one of the ornate golden walls and its decorative pillars adorned with birds of prey mid-flight.

The Emperor had her in a chess fork. Whether she stormed out of here or spoke to him, he would be able to negate an advantage she had against him.

However, she had come here, aware of that possibility.

This was not something she wanted to talk about. Yet, if it built some sense of rapport… Perhaps even nurture a slight feeling of sympathy within the Emperor, it would be worth it.

Nevertheless, she could not stop herself from becoming particularly venomous about the topic.

"What do you wish to know?" Isha said, voice bitter and mocking. "The tawdry details of the nuptial chambers within our Pantheon?"

"What was he like?" Neoth asked calmly.

Isha knew what his relationship with Erda, Malcador, and everyone of his Custodes was like. Learning of her bond with Kurnous would reveal both her strengths and weaknesses, much like his relationship with Erda betrayed many of his.

"He was the teacher and student of my children." Isha said slowly. Her voice was calm, but slightly subdued. "He taught the Aeldari how to hunt the Necron, while learning from their trials and tribulations." A bitter smile crossed her face. "He was far from a perfect god. Whenever one of his tactics or strategies failed, many of my children paid the price." She let out a sad sigh before continuing. "His shrine used to have plaques with all their names and deeds. 'The hunters of yore stand as the teachers of tomorrow.' I liked the line that was inscribed at the very bottom of each plaque."

Neoth remained silent, listening to her description. Kurnous was apparently quite a modest god. To put his words below the names of all those that had died due to his mistakes or failures while elevating them showed a deep respect for Isha's children.

Gods usually stood above mortals, and their failures were usually the failures of their followers. Kurnous, however, took the opposite stance.

"Tools and technology were Vaul's domain. War and glory were Khaine's. Kurnous's domain was the teaching and learning of how to survive." Isha continued. "He was neither the strongest, nor the smartest god. He was not the craftiest either. That title belongs to the Laughing God. The one thing he had over all others was his persistence." A sad smile crossed her lips as she spoke, then it faded away as she turned back to the Emperor. "I suppose that is something our species share. Your first hunters caught their game by outlasting them, didn't they?"

"In the ancient past, under the blazing sun." Neoth nodded. "We chased our prey until it collapsed from heat stroke or exhaustion. It is much easier to kill a beast several times your size when it cannot move."

"Kurnous never tried to devise a tactic that would outlast our opponents." Isha shrugged, sending our ripples as her pearly white shoulders bobbed in the pool's water. "The Necron could not be outlived or attrited away. They and their masters were truly endless." She put a finger to her chin in thought, thin smooth neck tilting slightly. "However, in the sense that he refused to give up, he was similar to your kind."

"Did you love him?" Neoth asked.

The question was meant to unsettle her; test her patience and limits. She often did the same to him whenever they spoke, so it was hardly unfair. Besides, Isha knew who he loved, and who he hated. The current state of affairs was what was truly unfair.

However, Isha showed no sign of irritation or hostility. Instead, she looked down into the pool's water, staring blankly past its surface as she retreated into memory.

"My love is reserved for my children." She said tiredly. "Besides, you know how I was created. The Aeldari were conceived in many ways, many of them violent."

The warm water of the pool seemed to chill, darkening with Isha's mood till they matched the color of a stormy sea.

"We were bred to be how we are." Isha said bitterly.

Neoth winced as another part of the information he had received from Isha decoded itself.

'Like chattel…' He thought, adding on to Isha's words.

"You have seen my first legend. The legend of when I shed my first tear for Eldanesh." Isha said vacantly. "I was… different back then."

Neoth winced again as he saw what she meant.

"For a long time, all I did was sit on my throne; sending my tears to my children as their deaths filled my heart with grief."

The golden haired silver eyed goddess sat on her arboreal throne, like a doll.

Blood red tears fell from her cheeks, disappearing into the materium and rippling reality like the surface of a calm lake. The dying cries of her children filled her ears, and their suffering was swallowed by her heart as the Goddess of Life did what she was made to do.

Live.

That was all she did, like a patient on life-support.

She was the mother of a race meant to die instead of their masters, and they were losing.

The Old Ones fortresses fell, both in the materium and immaterium as the C'tan breached the Webway. The defender's psychic blows tore into constantly shifting creatures of such size that they made humanity's most ancient Titans look like toys.

Swarms of scarabs scoured entire worlds. Necron battleships surrounded gargantuan structures that repurposed entire stars as weapons. These black and eldritch green ships surrounded these constructs like schools of fish around a colossal whale.

Blackholes and time travel were wielded as weapons in battles that spanned solar systems and dimensions. Avenues of fate were used to flank the enemy, and entire chains of events ceased to exist as the individuals inside them disappeared before they were born.

"As I sat there, I noticed a man on one of my worlds." Isha continued, bringing Neoth back to the bath house. "He was practicing how to move in the desert sands of one of my children's worlds; learning how to hide one's tracks and disappear under it in an instant, like a desert lizard avoiding the sun."

Neoth saw what she described.

Billions of worlds were connected to Isha's throne. Each one of them was a biome her children occupied. On one desert planet, there was a dark haired man with long ears wielding a familiar wooden spear. He danced across the sands, hardening it under his feet with his psychic gifts so he could kick off of it with full force. Then, in the next instant, the grains swirled under his command, burying him in an instant only to shoot him out at a different location. Ghostly forms of Necron warriors emerged before him, and he tested his techniques and movements against them. The soft sands swallowed their steel toes, causing them to stumble as they attempted to stride through the deserts. Gauss lightning flashed, and was interrupted as a cloud of sand was kicked up by a telekinetic blast.

Particulate storms summoned by his psychic powers surrounded phalanxes of Necron Warriors, blinding their eyes and sensors as the man picked at their outskirts. Like a panther in a jungle, he hid within the storm, preying on the stragglers who stumbled or fell out of position. One by one, the Necrons fell, dismembered to the point their hekatic engrams could no longer recover even a single shard of Necrodermis.

Yet, he was not always successful. A single step too close, a single strike too slow, and Gauss Lightning would tear him apart. Every time he died, the ghostly forms of the Necron would fade, and only the dark haired man would remain with his wooden spear in hand.

"He was not inherently gifted in battle, unlike my father." Isha said softly. "He would trip and fall like a mortal, even in the immaterium where such things did not have to happen."

Neoth watched the dark haired god fight. He used only the physical and psychic strength of the average Aeldari. The rest of his power was dedicated to the recreation of their enemies.

"He practiced endlessly until he was satisfied." The goddess said. "Then, with a single nod to himself he would disappear from my worlds and reappear in the materium. There, he would teach my children the new ways he found to hunt the Necron."

Neoth returned from the memory, and was once again sat across from the golden haired goddess at the opposite end of the pool.

"I watched him every day from my throne." Isha said. "At first, I thought nothing of it. He was just another part of the weapon that was the Aeldari. As their mother, I knew that better than anyone else. But…"

Neoth watched Isha's brow furrow in the scenes from her memory.

The man who used her worlds as his training ground annoyed her.

He came up with many ideas to deal with the Necron, but not all of them worked. Every time he failed, her children paid the price.

At the moment, he was trying to weaponise the ferocious forms of flora that existed on a verdant world. Vines as strong as steel and that moved like snakes swayed under his biomantic commands while roots that could rip through solid rock swam underground to emerge as puncturing spikes from below. However, he was still struggling with the execution. More than once the plants had disobeyed his orders, either refusing to move or intentionally wilting in order to hide underground as tubers, seeds, or spores.

'Foolish…' Isha thought to herself. The god before her would fail again, and her children would die as a result. He sought to find some solution to survive the oghyr's onslaught, even though the answer was right before him. Like the plants that abandoned him, the Aeldari only needed to abandon the Old Ones who controlled them. They could hide their unborn young beneath the dirt or burrow them within the Webway, like seeds or spores, while the Yngir fed upon their masters.

All of those alive now would die, but new generations might be able to survive past the harsh rule of the Star Gods that was to come. Even the Yngir were not eternal. The Aeldari had proved that.

'Of course, we will disappear as well…' Isha thought to herself.

The death of all her current children would mean the cessation of all thought from the Aeldari. That meant their Pantheon would fade from the immaterium.

It was a necessary sacrifice.

The only place available to hide from the oghyr and their Star Gods was death. Even they could not bring back a life that had been lost. That was the only path for survival she could see from her throne, as fortress after fortress crumbled under the Yngir's might.

The children who would be hidden could have no memory of them. No evidence nor records would point to them. There would be nothing to connect them to this point in time or to their gods. Only that complete and utter dissociation could hide them from their enemies.

'But we will not be allowed to do that…'

The Old Ones still had a firm grip on her children, and her as well. Even though they were losing, it did not change the fact that they had once controlled the entire galaxy. The war was still ongoing, and their forces were not totally routed. Victory was a dream, but not an impossible one.

'So why?' Isha thought to herself.

Why fight for masters who wouldn't allow them to run.

Why waste her children's lives in futile trial and error.

"Why?" The Goddess of Life spoke to the God of the Hunt.

"Because they ask for it." He replied; back turned towards her as he attempted to control the plants again. "Win or lose, this galaxy will be changed." Kurnous continued, even as a hyperphase blade cleft his body in two.

"The bounties of past ages will be forever gone, and the only thing we hope to win will be our survival." He said as he reappeared in a new body. "Yet, they do not give up, even when they stand face to face against the Yngir." A wooden spear appeared in his hand, and the Necron forces before him faded, as the battlefield reset for him to try again. "So long as they ask for a successful hunt, I shall answer them. That is my duty as their god, and the least I can do for their sacrifices."

He was the God of the Hunt, and the teacher of those who sought his guidance.

He could not offer raw knowledge like Hoeth, nor did he provide new insights like Hekarti.

Yet, he still taught the Aeldari how to hunt the Necron with means manageable by their frailer forms.

"And do you see victory in your hand, God of the Hunt?" Isha asked.

"I do not know." Kurnous said without turning towards her. "But it is not my duty to make that decision for them. I am the God of the Hunt, and so long as they wish it I will give my blessing upon them."

Isha watched Kurnous as he started his simulation once again upon her worlds.

Then she lifted her hand.

"Those plants will not obey you like that." Her fingers pointed towards the vicious vegetation that once again prioritized their survival over Kurnous's orders. "They will always put their own survival first over yours." Feint strings began to appear in thin air, linking together in the aether like a chain of magnets. "Only when their fates are intertwined with ours, and their legacy is assured will they fight to the end with you."

The plants ceased wilting as the strings connected them to the Goddess of Life. Seeds and spores fell from them into Kurnous's hand, and he whistled softly, spinning a Wraithbone cocoon around each one.

"I shall remember this lesson." He said as he sent the offspring of the plants into the Webway, keeping them hidden far better than the soil of the planet, and spreading them further than any wind or bird could manage. All of this, he relayed back to the plants in their primitive chemical language, along with a simple message.

They would grow again, even if this planet died.

Their future was secured so long as the Aeladari survived.

The cycle of life stored within the core of the mother of the Aeldari ensured that.

Even if the entire Webway was burned down and every last trace of them was erased, Isha's tears would allow them to arise anew upon once dead worlds.

Neoth's brown eyes blinked as he returned from the memory, back to the golden bathhouse and the golden haired goddess before him.

"I did not find him unpleasant." Isha said softly.

There was a man who would not give up, so long as his people asked for him. He stood endlessly amongst the multiple environments they would fight in, and experienced every trouble and tribulation they would.

There was a woman who could not die, so long as her children lived. Their entire lives were forced into her heart, and their pain and suffering was used to rebirth planets.

One was the beginning and the end. The other traveled the journey through the middle.

"Over the many years, we taught and gave each other many things, including our daughter Lilieath." Isha continued. "I have fought with him and laid with him. I suffered millenia of torture beside him in my father's domain. To sum up my feelings for him in a single word is impossible."

"I see…" Neoth said.

For a few moments, there was only the sound of dripping moisture in the bathhouse.

"You still have two areas of intrigue you may ask me about." Isha said tiredly, ending all further discussion about Kurnous.

Neoth sat back in the pool, letting out a short sigh from his nose as he mulled over what he had seen and heard.

There was no weakness there. Any wounds upon her psyche had long since scabbed over into scars. There was no advantage to be gained from further discussion. All that was to be gained was an understanding of Isha as an individual and her ire. Neither were important to the Emperor of the Imperium; the Master of Mankind.

"Tell me about that blackness." Neoth said, changing the topic. "What was it?"

That emptiness he had seen when Trazyn had opened the Webway disturbed him. He had stared into various pits and holes within the Webway where time looped endlessly, creating prisons more inescapable than a black hole. He had passed by craters within the Warp that led to even deeper madness than Chaos itself.

Those sights had made him cautious, but that blackness caused a feeling of dread to spread through him.

"Nyadra'zatha." Isha spat the name with a bitter expression. "The Yngir who breached the Webway." The goddess's eyes narrowed and the waters around her darkened to the color of a stormy sea. "That blackness is a result of it interacting with the strange flow of time within the Webway. It is the state it causes all things to trend towards."

"You called it the Burning One, but I saw nothing of the sort." Neoth said as his brow furrowed. That blackness was the furthest thing from fire or even heat he could imagine. It exuded a different sort of cold from the biting chill of the Warp.

"Flames are merely the easiest of its forms to understand." Isha muttered. "Combustion and explosions are the fastest way to increase entropy, after all."

Neoth's brow furrowed. "Then…"

"Yes." Isha nodded. "That is the end state of all things. It is what the entire observable universe we have is heading towards."

"The heat death of the universe." Neoth's jaw tightened as he understood what the feeling of dread he felt when he looked at it. That blackness was a window into the future. and the inevitable fate of everything around them that science predicted.

"Those blind to all except the now would only see a void." Isha sighed. "But for those who can see past the veil and glean glimpses of what will come, that blackness evokes our greatest feelings of loss. It is the end of all things as entropy increases until all energy and matter becomes so isolated from each other that all things simply cease to be. That is Nyadra'zatha. That is what all things trend towards in its presence. Thankfully, in the materium, it can only accelerate the increase in entropy by a factor of several thousand. Hence, the spontaneous combustion of anything oxidizable around it. However, within the Webway, time can run faster or slower according to the eddies of the immaterium. It is in that near timeless realm that we see the end result of the Breath of the Infinite Pit."

Cosmic nihilsm. An existence where everything that could happen had happened, and there was nothing else left to occur.

Neoth remembered the feeling of loss that had been brought up at the sight of the Infinite Pit. It felt like rewatching the entirety of humanity fall under the darkness of Old Night once again. Unprepared psykers would have been reduced to sobbing wrecks at the sight of it, or simply died from the despair that poured out of the hole in invisible waves.

"What does it seek to gain from that?" Neoth continued, blinking away the discomfort he felt from the memory.

"You have met a fragment of Mag'ladroth, the Void Dragon." Isha snorted. "Do you think the Yngir have wants or desires?"

"No…" Neoth said with a soft shake of his head. "They simply are."

He could still remember the battle against the C'tan shard. A Church of ancient times had popularized the myth of St. George, but its origins lay far further back in human history with the Thracian Horsemen. They had not been alone when they defeated their serpent.

"Indeed." Isha nodded. "The Burning One does not burn all those around it because it wants to. The fact that they are not burning is simply incomprehensible to it. Thus, everything burns around it because it should. There is no other reason for it to do what it does." The goddess let out a tired sigh and the dark waters around her began to clear.

"As difficult as the battle was for you, it may have been fortunate it was a shard of Mag'ladroth and not Nyadra'zatha that found itself here." She said idly. "The former has been a creator, while the latter only destroys. I have seen the shards of the Burning One hasten the death of planets, forcing the mantle out of the insulating crust, spewing the hot blood of their cores into the void. Eventually, all that is left is a barren mass of rock exposed to the solar winds. I doubt your kind would have survived that."

A chill passed through Neoth as he remembered a planet that fit that description.

"Yes, Midgardia." Isha nodded. "Save that knowledge for now. It may be worth something later."

The Emperor's brow furrowed as he realized what she had just told him.

"Do you know what other human worlds have been polluted by C'tan shards?" He growled.

"I can recognize their signs in your memories." Isha shrugged.

"And will you tell me of them?" Neoth leaned forward slightly in the water, muscles tensing like a lion getting ready to pounce.

"At your request." Isha said calmly, making no attempt to react to his threatening posture. "Although, it is sometimes better to leave them be. Even as shards, they can plot and scheme. My children had no need for whatever secrets they carried. I would advise you to do the same, even if you have already used the Void Dragon."

"I will take your advice into consideration, but humanity's path will be dictated by me." Neoth warned before sitting back into the waters of the pool.

"As you wish. I will do my best to make my warnings as direct as possible should you venture too close to doomed folly." Isha replied irritably, long ears flicking like an annoyed cat's.

Neoth snorted, but let the jibe pass.

"Will that thief be able to come here again using that shard?" He asked as he put an elbow on the lip of the pool and rested his cheek on his fist.

"In theory, he may." Isha replied. "However, using Nyadra'zatha or any shard of the Star Gods is taxing in many ways. On top of that, the shards are not exactly cooperative. Overuse may grant an opening for revenge or release. Trazyn will try to keep his usage of the Webway to a bare minimum for those reasons, especially if his exit is near us now that we are familiar with its presence and the element of surprise is lost."

Neoth gave an affirmative grunt at that. That feeling of loss was not something he would forget. Even if it were from a future so far away that even a billion lifetimes of the current universe would not reach it, it stuck to him in a different way to the chill of the Warp.

"What are your intentions for the future?" He asked next, bringing him to his final area of intrigue.

"How far in the future do you wish to speak of?" Isha asked back facetiously.

"After you are gone." Neoth asked grimly, and Isha's fair features pursed as if she had bitten into something sour.

Isha's proposed method of removing the Ruinous Powers from the immaterium would most like incapacitate her as well. Thus, any future where they won would be one without her.

"I see you teaching those children diplomacy. I have you advising me on various matters. Yet, I have not had a clear answer regarding your children." Neoth pressed on as Isha remained silent. "You told me they could survive without you, but that is only a boast and not a plan. How do you plan to have your children exist with humanity?"

"I have already told you that I do not have the ability to tell them how to live their lives." Isha said with a huff, avoiding the question.

"Yet, you are not a puppet to their whims." Neoth pressed on. "There are outcomes you prefer."

"There are…" Isha admitted slowly. "I do not like conflict. I tolerate it because it is necessary, but it is a messy business."

"Then you wish to foster peace between us?" Neoth asked with a raised eyebrow.

"More than that…" Isha let out a sigh before sitting up in the pool, meeting the Emperor's gaze. "Peace can be broken. Oaths can be betrayed. Words can lose their meaning over the ages. Mere coexistence is not enough. Codependence is the only thing that can keep parties together."

The Emperor stared into the silvery eyes of the goddess. Yet, instead of a reflection of himself, he saw a conviction harder than steel.

"Then what will your children rely on us for? You have already offered multiple things to humanity."

"I must admit, there is not much my children can want from you." Isha said tiredly. "My children have no need for material wants, and they will return to being near immortal once the Four are gone. Some of them may return to their self-inflicted isolation, others may return to purging the remains of the oghyr from the stars."

But many might return to their old way of life.

The unsaid portion of Isha's admission weighed down heavily on the both of them.

"I will not suffer another Aeldari empire." Neoth warned. He still planned for humanity to fill the vacuum the Aeldari had left. That was the only way to increase the strength of this Imperium; to empower it to the point it could survive any existential threat.

"I do not wish for them to return to what they were either." Isha said bitterly. "But that may be the result over enough years should they once again be unfettered by age and need."

Neoth snorted at that.

"You would imagine destroying themselves would make the lesson permanent." He said sarcastically.

Isha raised an eyebrow and countered with an equally cynical tone. "Have humans learned to avoid their self-destructive tendencies?"

"They will not, under my rule." The Emperor's tone was calm, but his voice seemed to echo against the walls of the bath house, ringing like a church bell at the top of a mighty cathedral. His words were gospel at that moment, spoken with an unwavering confidence that would have silenced any mortal before him.

"We shall see." Isha said instead, not bothering to debate the issue with him. "Regardless, my children's inability to rely on your kind is something I will have to consider. Thankfully, there will be time. With so many of their former worlds ruined, the rebuilding will not give them the time to fall into depravity. That should keep them occupied for at least several million years."

It took that long to recover from the War in Heaven, and the cataclysm that befell them was equal in scale when focused only on the Aeldari.

"And if they do Fall again?" Neoth asked again, tone calm but demanding a direct answer from the mother of the Aeldari.

"They will not." Isha replied resolutely. "Even in the future, there will be children who remember what happened. They would do everything to stop another Fall." A bitter expression soured the goddess's features as she predicted what would happen. "Their new empire would tear itself apart with civil war should depravity begin to take hold. Slaanesh will not be reborn, but my father may have the last laugh." The frustration furrowing her brow slowly faded as the irritation faded from her face, as a bleak sorrow washed over her features. "Perhaps the rise and fall is necessary to keep life together in a balanced manner."

Neoth let out a derisive grunt at that. "Empires require a vision to remain intact." He said gruffly. "People are held together by a common goal, a shared dream."

Isha let out a tired chuckle at the boast. In the end, conquest and glory were the only solutions of the Emperor.

"And you will show this dream to your people?" She asked sarcastically.

"I am it."

The words sent small ripples away from the Emperor; as the water, the air, and the space around him seemed shudder at the conviction with which he spoke. There was no self-deception, nor confusion regarding this fact for the Emperor.

Isha watched him warily as she waited for the psychic side-effects of the Emperor's statement slowly subside.

As the God of Heroes, he was not entirely incorrect. He was the embodiment of the aspirations of mankind, and the torch bearer for humanity by definition. Even if everyone forgot what he wished to do, or how he would do it his title alone would have them die for him in a heartbeat.

"I cannot lead my children like you lead your Imperium." Isha said slowly. "I have given up that path. It will have to be someone else, or themselves that will find the proper path."

The Emperor let out a sigh, then spoke with a tone so tired one could hear his true age.

"You maternal goddesses…" He said bitterly. "Erda and you both... You have too much faith in those you spawned."

"We know their flaws and love them regardless." Isha said curtly. "That is all."

"Then your love blinds you." Neoth's arm splashed back into the pool as he leaned back and stared up at the bathhouse ceiling. "I know their flaws, and I will fix them."

Isha began to shake her head. If things were so easy, neither she nor Erda would be in the state they were in.

However, as her neck began to turn, her head stopped moving. Finally, she turned back to the Emperor, and gave him a sad smile.

"I hope you can, God of Heroes." She said softly. "May your legend save humanity from itself."

Even if she thought it was impossible, it would serve no point to smash his hope. Besides, it was futile to convince him otherwise. The Emperor could not abandon humanity, and hence could not abandon his attempts to save them from themselves.

"We are done here." The Emperor said tiredly.

He knew that even though Isha wished him well, she did not agree with him. What's more, she did not have a full plan to allow her children to coexist with his people. That would be another thing he would have to consider for the future.

"I guess we are." Isha said, then stood up from the waters and stepped out of the pool. There was a brief gust of air, and a fine mist rose from her skin as the moisture evaporated off her on its own accord. "Good night, Neoth." She said as she held her towel closed and walked past him.

"... Good night, Isha." Neoth replied without turning towards her.

He heard the door open and close as the goddess left, and then he was truly alone with his thoughts.

The matter of coexistence with the Aeldari was something he had tacitly agreed to by leaving Isha alive and unbound. However, what form that would take was yet to be decided. Isha had proposed things the Aeldari could give to him, but he did not know what humanity could give back in return. That was not coexistence. If anything it would make humanity a client state of the Aeldari; a state of existence that would make them dependent on them.

Neoth let out another tired sigh as he realized he was thinking of ways humanity could reciprocate the Aeldari. Perhaps this was another one of the convoluted tricks of diplomacy made by their mother.

"To think, it would have been easier to just rob and steal from them." Neoth muttered to himself. At least, that way he would only have to worry about taking from the Aeldari, and not about giving back.

'For the time being, however…' Neoth thought to himself as he allowed himself to sink into the warm waters of the pool. 'There will at least be a common enemy to bind us together.'

Assistance against the Ruinous Powers was the one thing humanity could always provide the Aeldari. So, at least for the foreseeable future, he could consider working with them.

---

A/N : The biomancy and plants mentioned here are something demonstrated in "The Infinite and the Divine" by the Exodites against the Necron who appear.

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[SpaceK0k0nut]

Diplomacy at work folks. OTL Emps wouldn't even consider working with xenos.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N: This chapter contains spoilers about a number of events from "Valdor: Birth of the Imperium". Kandawire is the main character from that book. Additionally, the reason for the delay is that I had a nightmare of a time figuring out how the "First Heretic" and "False Gods" worked with this story.

—-------------------------------------------------

Neoth and Malcador stood by each other in the Emperor's office, watching a lone flyer take off into the distance through the stained glass window.

"2 days ahead of schedule..." Malcador noted as he pinched his wizened chin. "... just as expected." He nodded to himself before turning to his friend. "This path is fraught with danger."

"More dangerous than purging the Cataegis?" Neoth said with a sarcastic snort.

"The act may take from your armies, but you will remain untouched." Malcador answered back. "The Imperium's core will be tested, and its structure of governance questioned." He turned to look up at his friend's face. "There is still time to send the Legiones Cataegis after Avelroi."

"I have made my decision." Neoth replied firmly, then changed the subject. "How go the preparations with the Terrawatt clans?"

"The Captain General is preparing for their escorts to the sites you requested." Malcador said with a soft sigh. "The Imperial Palace's defenses will be left almost entirely to the Lucifer Blacks and a sparse number of your new Legions when they depart."

"Good." Neoth said quietly.

"I too will depart to Hy-Brasil, and take many of our assassins with me once the Ethnarchy has been defeated." Malcador continued, slightly reproachfully.

Neoth finally sighed, then looked down.

"What do you wish to say, Malcador."

"That this is the last moment to return to our original plan."

The plan to blacken the Legiones Cataegis's name, and have them disappear from the face of Terra.

At first glance, it appeared to be a military and political set-back. The loss of the fighting force that had unified Terra would make the Imperium seem weak and the Emperor's unbroken series of victories upon this planet would end.

However, that false sense of security was what the Emperor wanted his enemies to feel. In that brief moment where it seemed he only had his limited Custodes to draw upon, his closest enemies would gather to strike him.

They would not do it directly. No politician does things in such a manner. Their rebellion would use elements or pawns that could not be traced back to them. There were many disgruntled men and women on Terra who would die gladly, if only to leave a scar on the Imperium. The surviving lieutenants of deposed warlords. Mercenary groups sulking at the forced ban on looting and raping imposed by Imperial jurisdiction. Rebellious fools who hated the idea of having to live under the rule of the Emperor despite having no actual grudges against him.

These pawns would be thrown against his closest allies, namely Constantin Valdor and Malcador. By removing them, the enemies within the Imperium hoped to force the Emperor's hand, and have him elevate them to fill the power vacuum left behind.

Even with all their greed and arrogance, they recognized they could not challenge the Emperor directly. Even if by some miracle they managed to kill him, the only thing that would bring was civil war and a return to the lawless barbarian states that had preceded the Imperium's order. No other besides the Emperor could hold the Imperium together. He would have to survive for them to reap their rewards, even if it was as a figurehead upon a corpse empire.

This was why he needed that momentary weakness, and the false sense of security it brought to the politicians in the Imperium. It was the bait he laid for them to send their minions against him, only for every single one of them to be slaughtered by the newly revealed Legions.

The politicians who sent them would be untouched. Corrupt and greedy as they were, they were still part of the bureaucracy of the Imperium. Hence, the slaughter of the malcontents against his rule, in addition to removing those who had a grudge against him, served to send a hidden message written in blood to their masters.

'I know.'

Those two words would have the lords who worked behind the scenes looking over their shoulder, and shuddering in their sleep until the day they died. Fear would keep them obedient and efficient at their duties, for they would be smart enough to understand it was only the duty they served that spared them the fate of their minions.

With this hidden threat, and the revelation of the new Legions, the Emperor would resume the conquering of Terra at a speed that would overtake that of the Cataegis.

One of their first targets would be the Ethnarchy, where the Cataegis would have died. The destruction of the polity the Cataegis had failed to take by the new Legions would symbolize their superiority over their predecessors. After that; Orloc, Hy-Brasil, Akkad, Oxitania, and the Saragorn Enclave would be attacked and destroyed in rapid succession. Merica was already on track to unify with the Imperium, thanks to the efforts and connection of Noum Retraiva.

That was the plan within plans the Sigilite, the Captain-General, and the Emperor had prepared in order to ensure the culture of obedience in the Imperium's inner workings.

But that was not the plan the Emperor followed now.

"The Unification War will be ended ahead of schedule." Neoth said. "The momentary blank created by the destruction of the Legiones Cataegis will not occur, and the final preparations for the victory declarations proceed as originally planned. What would motivate me to turn back?"

With the Cataegis intact, the Imperium could continue expanding across Terra uninterrupted. What's more, the diplomatic mission he had sent to the remaining un-unified states were bearing fruit. The Mericas had been given the assurances they wanted to preserve their economic independence while given access to the trade routes of the Imperium. Hy-Brasil's tyrant, Dalmoth Kyn, thought himself in a position to infiltrate the Imperium and steal the secrets that gave its Emperor power beyond the common man. Orloc had rejected him, as expected, as well as Akkad, Oxitania and the Saragorn Enclave.

Yet, despite the benefits on the surface, there were losses as well.

"Greater freedoms means less control." Malcador cautioned. "Without the fear that would be instilled by wiping out the Cataegis, those who are only waiting for the Unification Wars to end will act out against you."

Without the binding fear instilled by the brutality of the original plan, opportunism would begin to spread. On top of that, the Cataegis would be left to their own volition, and once freed from their medical dependency on the Imperium, they could strike out on their own.

Leaving them to boast of their deeds would allow them to lay claim to the glory of Unification, which would in turn detract from the Emperor's monopoly on the great deed.

That was one of the more painful costs of the current plan Malcador saw.

The Cataegis may be awed by the Emperor now, but they were still human.

Given time; they could forget, they could overstep, and they could become overambitious.

"The Imperium may not become unquestionable." The Sigilite whispered.

That was the original vision of the Imperium. There would be no diversion from the Emperor's vision. With the fear and awe inspired by his multiple victories and hidden messages, his subjects would look upon him as their only possible salvation. Allowing the Cataegis to survive, and act on their own accord would endanger that.

"So long as there is a dream for an empire, it will live." Neoth said with a smile. "Besides, there are portions of my original plan that remain. A figurehead has been prepared for my enemies to gather around, and bait is being laid within the Imperial Palace." He turned his head towards his desk where the partially completed designs of the soul transfer machine appeared on a data tablet. "The pieces have changed, but the game itself remains the same."

Malcador let out a short sigh. If that were true, he would have been much less worried. The change in attitude towards religion, and the new social safety net would bring both boons and danger. Good kings were not always the most long-lived, and fear lasted far longer than love.

"Then we should make haste with the preparations." He said with a tired smile. "If all goes according to schedule, your sons' first sight will be of a unified Terra."

Regardless of the path, he would stand by his friend to the end. His friend was right. So long as there was a dream to believe in, humanity would follow the Emperor.

Neoth only nodded back in return, and there was a strange silence between the two of them.

"I shall begin the process of promoting Uwoma Kandawire." Malcador continued. "Although she will no longer serve her original role, we still need a Grand Provost Marshal."

Uwoma Kandawire. That was the name of the original figure head. Her role was to serve as the focal point for the malcontents within the Imperium. It was behind her back that the pawns of the politicians would gather, and her clarion call would provide the legitimacy for their rebellion.

The arrest and trial of the Captain General for the massacre of the Legiones Cataegis, and the perversion of the Lex Imperialis. That would be the reason for attacking the Imperial Palace, or more specifically Constantin Valdor. By bringing the leader of the Custodes to justice with the Emperor's own laws, Kandawire sought to set a new precedent that no one was beyond reproach. The new world would not be ruled by force, but by laws made by governments that kept themselves in check.

It was a noble goal, but ultimately doomed due to the use of force to achieve it. If Kandawire truly wished to make sure the law became the new order, she should have never resorted to violence to arrest the Captain General. Even if she did succeed, her ideals would rot around her as that hypocrisy corroded her very convictions.

However, there would be no need for her to act as a figurehead this time.

The Emperor's enemies would be gathered behind Governor Nour's back. He was their new figurehead to gather their political enemies together. However, in order to ensure they would gather behind him, a little push on their side was needed as well.

'Nour has laid the groundwork regarding that as well.' Malcador thought to himself. 'All that is left is to let the Arbites do their work.'

The new Governor had infiltrated many of the corrupt and decadent levels of the Imperial Palace while he was a lord. These lower tier criminals were not critical to the bureaucracy, but losing them in large numbers was problematic. However, Malcador had other uses for them.

'They will be the tinder to smoke out the ones we really want.' He thought to himself. 'Their fates will encourage those higher up to make their move. The Arbites will be the hunting hounds sent to flush out our prey from their hiding places.'

—-------------------------------------------------

Uwoma Kandawire was a heavy set woman; a result of a childhood spent mostly in starvation, causing her body to store calories in memory of the poverty she had survived. Like many from the Afrik regions, fat built up on her lower half, giving her a thick posterior and thighs. Coupled with her shortish stature of 160 cm, another result from poor diet in her younger years, those less fond of her called her a female squat behind her back.

There were many who despised her, both in high and low places. Public servants who are uncompromising, incorruptible, and adept at what they do often are.

Kandawire was a particularly stubborn public servant; a Marshal of the Court for the Adeptus Terra. She oversaw the Adeptus Arbites for part of the Imperial Palace. Her occupation was ensuring that the judges and Arbitrators tasked with protecting the Lex Imperialis, the law of the Imperium, followed it to the letter.

While the Emperor and the Imperial Regent were watching Governor Nour fly off to Avelroi, Kandawire was stuck behind an ornate desk. Parchments covered in wax seals, bundles of paper bound together with twine or metal circles, and far more advanced lithographic data cards surrounded her in organized piles, stacking together in such a way that they formed a literal wall that hid her from view. If it weren't from the scratching of quills, the clicking of mechanical keys, and the odd irritated grunt that came from behind this bureaucratic fort, one would have not assumed a person was behind it.

"Ophar!" She called out from behind her piles of documents, bright white teeth flashing from beneath her tough dark lips.

A tall, gangly man with bulging eyes approached the desk. He pulled at his collar as he came, causing the loose sleeves of his uniform to slide down, revealing the mechanical parts that had replaced his right arm. The skin on his cheeks had the parchment like texture old men of the desert often develop. Gray hairs in his otherwise dark mustache showed his age; although he himself would not have been able to tell anyone how many years he had been alive.

"When I said I hoped you would not crush yourself with work, I never expected to worry quite so literally, kondedwa." Ophar said as he began to tiptoe around the desk, as if afraid the slightest vibration would bring the piles of documents down upon Kandawire's head.

"Our slate-agents report another possible riot is brewing." Kandawire replied, ignoring Ophar's comments. "Water supplies were disrupted for the past 3 weeks to one of the lower hab sectors. Administratum records logged that aid supplies were sent, but dehydration grows ever worse on the streets."

"Theft? Blackmarket profiteering? Embezzlement?" Ophar asked as he rounded the desk to stand by Kandawire's side. A red head scarf covered Kandawire's wiry hair, exposing her round rough cheeks and button nose.

"That was what I wished to ask you." The Marshal of the Court said to her attendant. "I've been scouring these documents for the routes and logs of all the supplies that were sent, but everything seems to be in order."

"Then we can rule out internal sabotage." Ophar said with a shrug. "If it were, the Administratum would record those losses as well."

"They would have come down on us first with a stamped and accepted request for our reprimand and reimbursement for their losses from our coffers first; with all of the associated documentation, of course." Kandawire replied with a cynical snort.

"It is the duty of the Arbites to ensure the peace is kept." Ophar sighed. 'And thus we would get the blame if any harm came to Administratum goods within this sector.' He thought to himself grimly.

"If they wished for us to keep all of their investments safe, they should have given us a jurisdiction within their bureaucracy." Kandawire muttered as she leaned back in her chair.

"I for one am glad they do not." Ophar chuckled. "These piles would have been ten times the size."

Kandawire gave him a withering look, unamused by his attempt at levity before turning back to the piles of paperwork before her.

"It would have given us the ability to deal with corruption." She said solemnly. "At the moment, the best we can do is hand over the results of our investigation to the Administratum and hope the scoundrel in question isn't important enough to bury our evidence."

"It is because we have no jurisdiction that they do not come to assassinate you, kondedwa." Ophar cautioned. "Power brings its own form of danger."

"We're going off topic." Kandawire brushed him off. "At the moment, the Administratum seems to have done their duty, so there are two main possibilities for the shortage."

The Marshal of the Court took in a deep breath, before looking down at a signed and stamped delivery manifest on her desk.

"The first is that the supplies disappeared after they left the Administratum bureaucracy. This means that the loss occurred on the ground, after it reached its destination."

In other words, the water aid had been delivered, but someone within the sector had deprived it from its people. This was a common tactic for brigands and criminals, who often preyed on Imperial supply caravans, only to resell the goods to make their money.

"However, the possibility for this is low." Kandawire grimaced. "Thirst seems to be affecting everyone equally. If this was the result of profiteering, those with money would have been affected less."

"And the second possibility?" Ophar asked.

"That more water was needed than the Administratum gave." Kandawire said as she turned to a different stack of papers. "I've been looking through all these habitation permits and business licenses. The Administratum calculated the amount of necessary aid using documents like these to the deciliter." She then turned to a pile of data slates. "There are no complaints of excess pollution in the levels below this sector, nor the downstream infrastructure. There are no reports from our Slate-Agents of increased organized criminal activity. However, petty theft of food and small trinkets have risen over the past few years. Our patrol units in the area have also reported feeling light headed in the area, and the workers in this area have even submitted official requests for air masks."

"Then it is a population issue." Ophar's brow furrowed.

Unregistered businesses that used water usually used it for one of two purposes. As a solvent for cleaning and washing away waste, or to electrolyse it into hydrogen and oxygen.

However, the evidence gathered by Kandawire closed that possibility.

An increase in industrial waste would break the balance kept by the Imperium's infrastructure, leading to leakage into downstream sectors. This would be noted in a decrease or reduction in water quality in the surrounding areas.

An increase in oxygen production would not explain the gradual decrease in air quality of that area. Such reductions in breathable air occurred occasionally within the Imperial Palace. It was built far up the side of a mountain, and was only sustainable by ancient technology rediscovered by the Imperium. However, there was still the odd ebb and flow of bad air as it circulated throughout the palace. If illegal oxygen production was being done here, the first buyers would be the people within the sector itself.

Thus, the only likely possibility left was that there were more people inside the sector than were to be expected. The petty theft of food and trinkets like toys or nuts and bolts reinforced that line of suspicion.

"This entire Imperial Palace is built high up on the side of a mountain." Kandawire growled. "Humans were not meant to live here. Every life is sustained because of the technological marvels rediscovered by the Imperium and even those are pushed to the limit. A few hundred extra in a sector might be able to eke out an existence, but if the supporting infrastructure fails things can easily descend into chaos."

"Then what will you do, Marshal?" Ophar asked quietly.

The Marshal let out a long sigh.

"Every problem must have a corrective action and a preventative action." She said slowly. "The issue with the failure of infrastructure will have to be dealt with later, most likely by the Administratum. I cannot send my Arbitrators with hammers and nails, after all." The words left her toughened lips with a bitter smile. "The issue with the aid will also have to be left to them. I have already informed them of the issue, and they will eventually get around to it. Even they do not wish to deal with the death of an entire hab sector." Kandawire then stood up from her chair. "The biggest issue is the building riot." She said, looking at an open data tablet screen. "Damage to further infrastructure will endanger more sectors, and delay additional aid from coming in. We must break it up, or contain it."

Reports of growing unrest and looting within the sector scrolled past on the data tablet. Signs of growing organization within the sector's inhabitants and informant reports of secret gatherings being held were flagged in red.

The disruption to water supplies was at the sector level, meaning there was still water in other areas of the Imperial Palace. If there was no more water in the sector, they only had to take it from another to quench their thirst.

"We cannot allow barbarians to have their way, taking what they want by force." Kandawire said with a clenched fist. "The Lex Imperialis protects all of its citizens, but those that break it shall be judged by it. That is what is required to live in a peaceful time. Otherwise all that is left is the rule of the mighty against the weak."

Kandawire and Ophare themselves were victims of such barbarism. The old memories of gunfire, flame, and screams flashed past both of their eyes in that shared moment.

However, Ophar stepped forwards, putting a long spindly hand on Kandawire's shoulder.

"We could be seen as those same barbarians, using force to stamp upon a people already on the brink of dying of thirst." He said quietly.

Kandawire let out a bitter laugh.

"They came here willingly, just like you and I, Ophar. They came here when there were other cities to go to. Whether it was ambition, curiosity, or perhaps blind optimism that motivated them to come here matters not. They came here to make a life for themselves in the heart of the Imperium. But, that does not mean they can do as they please. They live in safety, reaping the boons of the Imperium's industries, and in return they must follow the Lex Imperialis. To take from a state while giving nothing back is the act of a thief or bandit."

The barbarians that sacked her home in the Banda Confederacy were also starving, but that gave them no right to do what they did to her family. What these rioters planned to do was no different.

"I need you to get to your contacts in the Masonic quarters, Ophar. I will head over to the sector to provide oversight of the Enforcers in charge of riot control."

"As you wish, kondedwa."

—-------------------------------------------------

"DISPERSE! BY THE ORDER OF THE ARBITES THIS GATHERING IS ORDERED TO DISPERSE!"

Kandawire's brow furrowed as the loud speakers of one of the Arbitrators boomed. She was currently observing everything from the command Bulwark; a gigantic four wheeled van large enough to carry an entire squad of Enforcers. Giant flashing lumens illuminated the dim sector, while its sirens continued to blair its warning to the gathering crowd far in front of it. 3 more like it were parks in front of the one she was in, and 5 lines of Gunners and shield-bearing Subductors stood in front of the Bulwarks.

Kandawire clicked her tongue as she watched her Arbites from the various screens in the Bulwark.

"Keep your shields up and your power mauls off." She sent out the order through the general channel of the Arbites. "We're here to ensure the riot doesn't spread, not to incite it. Hold your positions as we attempt to de-escalate the situation."

"We've had no water for days!" One of the people in the crowd shouted out. "At least let us get to the neighboring sector! Their taps still run!"

"AID IS COMING! BE PATIENT! REPAIR TEAMS ARE WORKING TO RESTORE THE WATER AT THIS MOMENT!" The Arbitrator's speaker boomed. "THE FIRST BATCH OF AID WAS DELIVERED! A SECOND IS ON ITS WAY! REMAIN CALM AND RETURN TO YOUR HOMES!"

"Good." Kandawire said through the vox. "Keep reminding them that aid did come once. Do not aggravate them, but remain firm. We have to be a deterrent without being a threat."

"How much longer!" Someone screamed. "We haven't had anything to drink for 2 days!"

"RETURN TO YOUR HOMES! UNSANCTIONED GATHERINGS DELAY THE OPERATIONS OF THE IMPERIUM! AID WILL COME! RETURN TO YOUR HOMES! DISBAND THIS GATHERING!"

Kandawire let out a sigh as she watched the crowd and the Arbites on the megaphone shout at each other.

"They show no signs of dispersing Marshal." One of the Arbites monitoring the screens inside the Bulwark said to her.

"So long as they do not move forwards, it is fine." Kandawire snapped back. "This riot is caused by a failure of the state. It would be hypocrisy to inflict further harm on them. We are here to ensure the streets are clear and safe for the aid convoys when they come, and to keep the repair teams safe. That is all."

"Understood Marshal." The Arbites nodded.

Kandawire rubbed the bridge of her nose before returning to monitoring the situation. The standoff had been going on for a couple hours already, and tempers were beginning to fray. She had to continuously remind her troops of the de-escalation tactics she had brought with her in her attempts to improve relations between the Arbites and the populace.

'Governance by law requires consent by the governed.' She reminded herself as the shouting of the crowd continued. 'Otherwise, the Imperium wouldn't be much better than the tyrants and warlords in the wastes.'

She shook her head at that. The Imperium was definitely better than those places. It had laws; the Lex Imperialis. The wastes were governed mostly by force. On the surface, one could claim that the Imperium, which kept control of its provinces through martial might, was no better. However, the presence of laws set it apart from most other polities.

In the wastes, the only way to rectify a murder was to take revenge yourself.

Looting, rape, cannibalism, enslavement. All of these acts occurred on a daily basis. The tyrants and warlords did what they wanted with the people under them, and those in their favor were extended the same freedom.

'At least the Imperium has laws preventing that.' Kandawire thought to herself tiredly. 'All this shouting must have downed my spirits. I'm focussing too much on the failings of the Imperium. Whereas corruption is a thing here, at the very least it is deemed corruption, and not the norm.'

Whether it was a veneer or not, at the very least the concept of being culpable for breaking the Lex Imperialis existed. Officials and bureaucrats were occasionally punished by the policing branches of the Administratum, so things were better here than most places.

Kandawire let out a sigh as she turned back towards the monitors before her, then narrowed her eyes.

"Tighten the formations." She ordered. "They're coming."

Bit by bit the crowd had begun to approach the shield bearing Subductors. Whether it was their growing confidence with their numbers or the deepening thirst; they were inching forward to the shield wall that was blocking off the main street.

"Hold position. Lock your shields together, but keep your power mauls off." Kandawire said again. "Don't budge an inch from here. If we move back, we'll expose side streets for them to move through, allowing them to reach the neighboring sector. Hold firm. These people are a disorganized rabble; exhausted and dehydrated. Let them tire themselves out as they hit your shields. Second and third rows, make sure to support the first, and be ready to plug any holes in our formations."

Kandawire continued giving orders to her Arbites as the crowd continued to approach.

Suddenly, she saw a brown satchel fly from within the crowd.

KRAKOOOM!

The monitor flashed orange as an explosion wiped out part of the Subductor line.

"Gunners, get to the breach and open fire!" Kandawre shouted into the vox as the other command staff began issuing their own orders. "Webbers only! I want whoever threw that bomb alive! Subductors, activate power mauls! Charge! Charge!"

The air was filled with the crackle of electricity and fire as the remaining Subductors activated their weapons and charged into the crowd. Paralyzing bursts of blue sparks lashed out as they struck the men and women in front of them, who also seemed stunned by the sudden blast.

Gunners armed with non-lethal webbers converged to the hole in their formations, and fired adhesive nets in the direction the satchels had been thrown. The sticky strands glued men and women in the crowd together, causing them to trip and stumble, sticking them to the ground when they fell.

Kandawire stifled a growl as she glared at the monitors, watching as the flames from the explosive charred the remains of the dozen or so Arbites who had caught in the blast. Dozens more were lying on the ground, either knocked unconscious or killed by the concussive wave it had created. Chirurgants rushed to the front lines, carrying their white medical cases

Fire. Screams. Smoke. Shadows.

'Reminds me of that night.' She thought grimly.

Almost 30 years ago, Kandawire's home was pillaged by a cannibalistic techno-barbarian tribe called the zooipa. Her parents were in the upper middle class of the Banda Confederacy, but the guards they had hired were not enough when they came. She was 9 at the time. Their old servant Ophar had saved her, carrying her out of her home as the zooipa used their flame-bringers on it. Nobody else survived.

The sight of burning bodies brought back those blasted childhood memories.

"Drive them back, do not pursue." Kandawire ordered as she brought herself back to the present moment. Her Subductors were currently swinging their power mauls viciously, sending shocked convulsing bodies sprawling across the streets. "Once the crowd had been broken up, reform ranks and secure the street. Get me our Chasteners. I want interrogations to begin immediately. Someone brought or built that bomb. I want to know who, and how it was done!"

—-------------------------------------------------

Kandawire stood in front of a kicked down doorway. Several hours had already passed since the riot, and the Chasteners had done their work. Several members of a Snatch-Squad in full plate power armor were around her while lower-ranked Troopers subdued the occupants of the abode in front of them. A woman could be heard screaming bloody murder at the Troopers, while several children and possibly an infant cried inside. The abode itself was one of many similar hab-blocks for workers given permission to live within the Imperial Palace; 3 rooms with a built in kitchenette and bathroom.

"There is no need for you to be here, Marshal." The Malocator of the Snatch-Squad said as they waited. "We already have the confessions from our chasteners, and once the physical evidence is collected we can carry out the sentence immediately."

"I am here to ensure the Lex Imperialis is obeyed." Kandawire growled back. "By all parties."

The Malocator's brows furrowed slightly. "Confessions have already been extracted. We are merely collecting and corroborating the hard evidence to confirm their statements. The Lex Imperialis allows for justice to be carried out by the Arbites on the ground under these conditions for capital offenses."

"We do things by the book." Kandawire said firmly. "You will not search without a warrant, and you will not interrogate without supervision or permission; my permission." The Marshal paused for a moment, then continued in a softer tone. "Tempers are running high, so I am here to ensure proper conduct is followed."

The Malocator made no reaction to the words, nor the tone. His voice remained cold as the metal of his power armor, face concealed by the tri-lensed face mask and respirator all trackers like him wore. "Is there suspicion of the Arbites abusing the Lex Imperialis?" He enquired.

"My presence here has nothing to do with suspicion." Kandawire snorted. "Oversight. Validation. Confirmation. All of them are necessary for a functional bureaucracy and fair treatment for all under the law."

The Malocator remained silent at this as they waited for the suppression of the house to finish. However, Kandawire could still sense his displeasure, even though the furrows in his brow were hidden by his mask. Tempers were running thin, meaning acts of retribution were highly likely. However, that was not the purpose of the law.

'Laws are for the people.' Kandawire thought to herself. 'They are the rules necessary to run this society, no matter how brittle it is.'

The Imperium was brittle in Kandawire's eyes. Its territories were unified by force, leaving much resentment in those conquered. The sudden change in culture also left many who lived off of the carnage and chaos of the warlords and tyrants a drift and bitter at having their livelihood taken away. Mercenaries, privateers, scavengers, and the more unscrupulous merchants were now forced to act as soldiers, laborers, and store clerks. These were menial jobs for men and women who once enjoyed the freedom to strike out on their own. Yet, the only other options were to live in the regions unconquered by the Imperium, or deep in the uninhabited wastes.

'The veneer of civility, plastered onto a populace who would have eaten each outside these walls.' Kandawire's eyes narrowed as the occupants of the abode were brought out. The only adult amongst the four had her arms bound behind her back with thick metal circlets connected by chains to a third on her neck. Aside from the woman, there were three children of ages 5 years, 3 years, and 3 months. The woman had sunburnt skin, covered with blotches and circular surgical scars where bulbous tumors had been. Fresh new teeth sat in worn gums next to older browner enamel in her mouth.

Medical treatment was another boon of living in the Imperium. Cancers and ailments that cut life expectancies down to 30 or 40 years were curable, and the treatments available to those who worked within the palace walls. Kandawire and Ophar had both received it, with Ophar in particular benefiting from gene-therapy that lengthened his already extensive life. It was another part of the give and take between state and citizen. Their labor and taxes were used by the state for such wellness programs to keep them healthy, allowing them in turn to work for longer and harder for the Imperium.

"Gulfin Ga'ella." The Malocator said as he dipped the needle end of his Bio-Sample Extractor into a cut on her upper arm. "Match confirmed." He nodded to himself, then turned to one of the forensic detectives who had come out of the house. "Evidence?" He asked, and the detective pressed a button on the wrist console of his power armor. A vid-log recorded from the headsets of both his and the other Arbites who had entered the house began to play as a 3D hologram before them.

"The components and remaining materials for the explosive device were discovered in the location provided by the confessions." The detective replied as the video accelerated to the point of discovery. A crying baby was lifted out of its crib, and the blankets pulled out of the way to reveal metal screws and plates, a vial of promethium, and several solid oxidizing agents in vacuum sealed plastics. The video continued, showing the detectives picking up fingerprints and DNA evidence from the materials with various scanners before returning the blankets and putting the entire crib into a folded up metal box used to secure evidence that unfurled itself from one of their pockets.

"Then the verdict is clear." The Malocator said grimly as he turned to the woman. "Gulfin Ga'ella…" He said as a servo-skull detached itself from his belt and began recording both his and the woman's face. "... for the crime of conspiracy to commit murder of public officials, possession of hazardous objects in dangerous conditions, the endangerment of minors under your care, and resisting arrest you are pronounced guilty prima facie. All evidence and statements collected from your fellow conspirators are hereby logged under casefile 001788710183. Furthermore, as the core motivation of your crimes results from the crime of procreating without a permit, the severity of your sentence will be further increased due to the nascent hazard you pose to all Imperial citizens. I hereby declare all lesser charges irrelevant in light of the danger you pose through your actions and inactions. Your name will be recorded upon the wall of judgment with your crimes. All possessions and capital will be forfeited to the state and used for restitution to those harmed by you."

The woman spat at the Malocator, sticky sputum splattering on the black metal of his boot; phlegm concentrated from the lack of water in her body.

"Was it so wrong to want a family?" She growled, voice hoarse from thirst and years of bad air she had breathed in before coming here. "I did what I had to do to get my children something to drink. All we wanted was a few hours with their taps, and you couldn't even allow us to do that?!" Her voice rose to a shrill shriek as she stood up on her knees, only to collapse on her own as the exertion drained what little energy she had. "Fine. Kill me. We'd all be dead in another day anyways. Dead from thirst when there's water running in the pipes of the next sector."

A bitter laugh exited the woman's lips as she turned to Kandawire, who was standing slightly behind the detectives surrounding her. "I guess the Emperor wanted slaves and servitors when he opened the doors to his palace. Why else would he bar us from even the simplest of human wants!"

"Fool." Kandawire found herself spitting the word out. "We are not in some utopia. We are in the midst of rebuilding a species that teetered on the brink of extinction." The faces of all the men who had been blown up by the bomb this woman and her conspirators had created flashed before her eyes as she spoke. "The Imperium merely asks for patience. Yet you disobeyed the simplest of rules for your own personal happiness. I lost 17 men. 17 men with families and people depending on them. They died because of your selfishness and impatience."

There was no reply from the woman. Instead, she shot back a withering look, showing just how little she had been moved by the Marshal's words.

"Continue with the sentencing." Kandawire ordered the detectives. "Ensure she gives back what she took from the Imperium."

The Malocator nodded once before turning back to the woman. "Gulfin Ga'ella, for the destruction of Imperial resources and the reduction in its operations you are hereby sentenced to servitor-conversion. Your body and mind will return what it took from the Imperium, paying for the death of its servants and recuperating the loss of its time. You will serve as a gun-servitor for the combined amount of service you took from the Imperium when you incapacitated its servants."

The color drained from the woman's face. She knew what that meant. She had seen the decrepit half-man half-machine automata at her work station. The blank looks on their faces. The painfully reddened flesh where metal met meat.

"No… NO!" She screamed, only to gag as one of the detectives grabbed her by her hair and began to drag her to a Bulwark.

"Careful." The Malocator cautioned his fellow Arbites. "Mind her legs, and do not break her bones. A walking gun-servitor can cover more ground than a stationary one."

Kandawire watched all of this with a disgusted expression. The woman had lost all her rights the moment her sentence had been read out. She was property now; raw materials to be remade to replace the Arbites she had played a part in murdering. Yet, seeing a woman dragged off by her hair reminded her too much of what the zooipa did to her home.

However, this was all within the limits of the Lex Imperialis. In its utilitarian manner; each punishment matched the crime. Every despicable act it ordered had its own depressing yet necessary function. Nothing would be wasted in the Imperium. Even criminals would serve, willingly or unwillingly, as part of the state.

"What do we do with the children, Marshal?" One of the detectives asked, turning Kandawire's attention from the woman being thrown into the back of the Bulwark. The three children were frozen with the marks of dried tears on their cheeks. Even the 3 month old infant did not make a sound, although that was probably more from the weakness of thirst rather than fear.

"It is out of our jurisdiction." Kandawire growled. "The Ordo Infantium will come to collect them, as all children incapable of being cared for are."

No sooner had the words left her mouth, a separate Bulwark pulled up behind them. The only marking it had was of a black oblong sphere with a light orange skull over a wicker basket at its center. Men and women in white robes stepped out of it and approached the children. Kandawire and the other Arbites stepped out of their way silently, barely acknowledging them as the robed Ordo Infantium smiled and approached the children. They spoke softly and kindly to the quivering 5 year old and 3 year old, then poured a cup of a sweet smelling beverage for them to drink.

Kandawire grit her teeth as she watched the children drink slowly, then fall asleep. The smiles faded from the men and women as they gently picked up the children and carried them back to their vehicle.

There was the creak of metal on metal, and the Marshal turned to the Malocator. His fists were balled up tightly, causing his fingers to scrape against his palms.

"Do you have a problem, Jasahn?" She asked softly.

"Apologies, Marshall." The Malocator said softly. "I was just imagining them doing the same thing to Garge's kids."

Kandawire let out a sigh. Garge was one of the Arbites fatally injured in the explosion. He was a single father. His wife had died while emigrating to the Imperium during a raider attack that assaulted the caravan they were traveling with.

"Children of public servants are enrolled in the Schola, should their carers lose the ability to look after them." She said softly. "You will be able to see them again after they graduate."

"If they graduate." The Malocator muttered quietly.

Kandawire pretended not to hear him.

—-------------------------------------------------

Kandawire's chair creaked as she fell into it backwards. The riot had been broken up, and a second set of water aid had reached the sector. Work on repairing the infrastructure had started up again, but despite the good news her spirits were heavy.

10% of the hab-sector had been depopulated, either through thirst or crime. The 10 or so conspirators who had attempted to breach the Arbites' blockade of the sector with their bomb had all been apprehended, and a new investigation into who might have supplied them with the materials was underway. No doubt several more storeroom clerks and guards who were either inattentive or involved in the conspiracy would be found and brought to justice.

'But that doesn't explain the detonator…' Kandawire thought to herself.

They had found the ingredients for the explosive materials, and parts for the bomb casing. Yet, they had not found any components for the detonator.

'There were no traces within the bomb fragments, and there was another thing…'

All of those interrogated had participated in the bomb's construction, but each one only supplied components or assembled a part of it. At first, it seemed to be nothing special. The conspirators were a rag-tag bunch of workers and low-level clerks bundling their combined expertise to create something they couldn't on their own. However, when all of their statements and evidence was lined up, there was a gap in the bomb's construction. Each person thought someone else completed it, but upon closer investigation, no one had seen the completed bomb.

Kandawire's eyes narrowed as she looked over the available evidence again.

'This conspiracy may run deeper…' She thought to herself.

"Burning the mid-night oil again, kondedwa?" Ophar said as he entered her office.

Kandawire looked up to see her old servant walking through the doorway. The sun had gone down long ago, and only light available was the orange desk light she was using. The dimness of the room had allowed shadows to build up in the crooks of his overly long elbows, beneath his bulging eyes, and every wrinkle and crease of his clothes; giving him an even more gaunter horrific impression than usual. He already looked like a rag doll that had been enlarged and brought to life in the sunlight. Now, he looked like that same doll had emerged from the pits of hell to take small children from their beds.

"Tell me you found something." She said tiredly, used to seeing Ophar in the dark. Besides, she dealt with far more monstrous things as part of her job.

"I have." Ophar nodded, walking closer to Kandawire's desk. "At face value, today's incident appears to only be a fault of the citizenry. However, we both know that conspiracy is behind every incident within the Imperial Palace's walls."

"Very timely." Kandawire snorted as she turned one of her screens towards him with the beginnings of an evidence board. The word 'detonator' was circled in red and followed by several question marks. "What have you found?"

"Nothing direct." Ophar replied as he turned the lights on in the office. "Which is as always a blade that cuts both ways. Evidence collected illegally is still inadmissible under the Lex Imperialis."

"Which is why it is best to only find leads for an official investigation." Kandawire warned him.

Evidence collected by breaching the Lex Imperialis was inadmissible during judgment. It was a safeguard common in all law in order to ensure its purveyors protected it during their duties.

That did not mean Kandawire was ignorant of alternative ways to gather information. Although she herself could not go sneaking through the underside of the Imperium to discuss secrets with informants and streetwise scoundrels, her servant Ophar ensured she still had access to their stories. Such stories were the scent trail that led her to more concrete evidence. Of course, having Ophar only follow the faintest of trails ensured he was insignificant enough not to be killed. Kandawire had precious few friends to lose.

"I started by considering the motive for this series of events." Ophar said as he stood next to Kandawire. "Who would stand to gain the most from the "

"A dangerous line of thought." Kandawire snorted. "Assuming to know the intent of our criminal can lead to chasing false ends."

"For most other crimes, that would be true." Ophar shrugged. "However, for conspiracies within the Imperial Palace, the motives are mostly the same."

"Profit." Kandawire gave another snort. "Whether it be in the form of prestige, coin, or goods."

Ophar nodded before continuing.

"The beginnings of this entire series of events starts with overpopulation. That is the core issue. Whether intentionally or through incompetence, someone allowed this issue to grow."

"Then which of the Imperium's governing bodies do you believe is at fault?" Kandawire asked with a raised eyebrow. "The Arbites would be the best group to have identified the issue. We are the ones with boots on the ground."

"But it was not us." Ophar shook his head.

Kandawire gave a short snort. "No it wasn't. We couldn't identify the increase in population. The majority of the extra population was children. Their parents hid them inside their homes, raising them in secret. Without a warrant, no Arbites can arbitrarily inspect habitations."

"That leaves the Ordo Opera Publica in charge of the Palace's infrastructure, the Ordo Censere in charge of collecting various statistics regarding the Palace and its inhabitants, and the Ordo Relinquo in charge of providing living permits."

Kandawire's eyes narrowed as the other suspects were brought up. "The Ordo Censere is the least likely to have noticed. Much of their information is taken from other Administratum records, and more grounded census takers would not have been able to investigate for long enough to find the children. They only go door to door, after all. The Ordo Opera Publica would also be an unlikely perpetrator. They may seem the most complicit with the failure of the water supply this time, but the children were fed and watered within their parents rations. They may have noticed had they grown, but things were still within the margin of error. Possible culpability, but very faint."

"Which leaves the Ordo Relinquo." Ophar said quietly. "Living permits are not once off things, and require semi-regular inspections to confirm their work requirements and health checks are passed. They would have noticed the pregnancy, if not the children themselves during those inspections."

"I don't see an obvious motive." Kandawire grimaced. "As you say, living permits are accompanied by routine inspections, but that is because those who provide the permits are incentivized to find individuals who will succeed in those given roles. Their compensation is tied to the performance and productivity of those receiving the permit. Allowing unregistered children to be born would prevent the parents from receiving state aid, and in turn put extra stress on them. That would lead to a reduction of worker productivity, and in turn a reduction in permit provider compensation."

"And if there were other benefits for providing the living permits to other individuals?"

Kandawire raised an eyebrow at this, then sighed. "A rational actor would find the appreciating nature of a permit the safer investment, but rationality is not a trait I expect from anyone these days. What have you found?"

Ophar reached into his right sleeve, and there was a soft click of a data card exiting a hidden port.

"Work crews in the sector have seen new members with medical scars and sutures upon their bodies." He said as he handed over the almost fingernail sized card to Kandawire.

"A common enough occurrence within these walls. Medical treatment is one of the first benefits to entering the Imperial Palace." Kandawire sniffed as she inserted into a different data slate, fully isolated from any network. "We both had our share of tumors and cysts excised from our bodies when we were first let in here."

"Indeed, it is a common enough occurrence." Ophar nodded. "However, the location of these has a certain commonality to them."

"Which is?" Kandawire asked back as her eyes narrowed. Lists of names were appearing, and she had recognized several from the riot earlier today.

"They appear in the places you would expect augmetics to have been."

"I see…" Kandawire said as she looked through Ophar's notes.

Sutures around eye sockets and the skull where tactical readers and cogitating augmetics might have been.

Frankenstein patchworks of freshly grafted skin on arms and legs where subdermal crystal Electoos could have been placed.

Dissonant mixes of old scars surrounding the joints of new low-grade bionics on workers who seemed unused to their artificial limbs.

"Do we have names?" Kandawire asked as her eyes narrowed.

"Of the lower lord who offered all of these permits?" Ophar said as he reached into his right sleeve again. "Here." A roll of tightly bound and dense parchment appeared from the sleeve.

Kandawire took it from him, and swayed slightly as the weight of the scroll-like object fully transferred itself to her hand. This was no ordinary paper. It was far tougher and denser than the mass-produced pulp products she was used to receiving and using. This came from someone privileged.

The Marshal pulled the scroll open roughly, confident that whatever it was made of would resist the force she used.

"Get in contact with the Administratum's Master of Records." She said as she looked over the list of names. "Check all the permits given and find out where the permittees are. If this lord is after augmetics, there is a possibility today's riot may not be the last."

"And what will you do kondedwa?" Ophar asked cautiously.

"I'll draft a request for an audience." The Marshal said, allowing the scroll to roll shut before sealing in one of the lockable drawers at her desk. "Several of those permitted to enter the Imperial Palace caused the death of my Arbites. At the very least, I can demand a preventative action plan to avoid such situations." She pulled out an auto-quill and selected the relevant templates necessary, before setting it loose on a fresh bit of parchment. The small hand shaped device bobbed up and down in the air before it began scratching out the audience request in black ink. "I'll buy us time while you look into the records. He won't be able to move while I'm in front of him, and even after I've left his attention will be focussed on myself and the Arbites." Kandawire said as she began pulling out her official robes and sashes. "I'm not letting today repeat itself."

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N: There are some characters from canon who appear here.

Man with Purple tinted Spectacles: This is an information broker that appears in "Valdor: Birth of the Imperium". He informs Kandawire via Ophar of various developments within the Imperial Palace regarding supplies and troop placements. He has gained access to highly confidential Imperial communications to get this information. The Department Mysterioso is the fake group Ophar tells this man he is part of when they make their dealings.

Canon material: There are several items coming up that appear in the 40K~30K novels, but some of the more advanced technology is referenced from the original Rogue Trader game book regarding character creation as well as stats for various enemies. Prosthetics (augmetics) come in multiple varieties, with some full-body augmetics being granted to courtesans who serve the powerful. Some of these augmetics have stats equal to those of Space Marines in power armor within the same book, even though they appear no different to normal human limbs. Electoos and other more human-appearing augmetics are still present in 40K, which suggests that these near-human augmetics are still part of the current setting. They are just extremely rare.

Lord Vidar (OC): This is one of the Lords from the Terrawatt clans. He is, like Nour, an informant for the Imperium who investigates the more unsavory part of Imperial politics. His last appearance was in Chapter 28.

—-------------------------------------------------

5 Days Prior to the Water Riot

Steam hissed from a grimy pipe. The alley was damp and dark, with the occasional puddle. A grey slurry, formed by moisture and unswept dust, collected at the base of the walls on either side. Flickering neon signs were the only light available, and the air was filled with insecticidal incense mixed with the stench of sweat and musk. The narrow gap above opened up to the underside of the many bridges that criss-crossed the entire palace, allowing vehicles and people to flow from their various locations; like blood through an artery.

Suddenly, one of the puddles splashed, as if someone had stepped in it. There was a slight shimmer around the rippling water. Another cloud of steam hissed out of a pipe, creating a misty cloud that blocked the alley, only for it to open up like a pair of lace curtains as something passed through it. A coin appeared in mid-air, followed by a few gloved fingers. The coin scraped against the wall until it caught on a small indentation, less than a millimeter deep. The fingers pushed the coin against the wall, causing a spring held flap to give, revealing a small slot. The coin disappeared into the wall as the fingers slipped back underneath the outlines of a cloak that let the light from the other side pass through it; hiding its wearer.

There were a few moments of silence, then the wall sunk inwards, sliding backwards and to the side to reveal a doorway. There was the sound of a couple footsteps, then the hidden door slid back into place, leaving only a damp alley filled with the sound of humming Neon interjected by hissing steam behind.

—-------------------------------------------------

Lord Nour pulled his rebreather down from his mouth with one hand while lifting the camo-cloak off his head with the other. The metal mask hung from his neck by its straps as he looked around the back-end of the information broker's lair. It looked like the basement room of a hab-block; grey ferrocrete exposed and unpainted. Cabinets lined both walls, and several auto-quills floated at empty desks over parchment, transcribing various documents from lithographic or silicon mediums to less tamperable mediums of reinforced parchment and paper.

"Hello, Yohann…" A skinny man dressed in synthleather fatigues with purple tinted spectacles perched on a long nose said as he walked down a set of steps at the back of the room. "If that really is your name."

"Hello, Andrei." Nour replied as he walked between the desks and auto-quills. "If that's really yours."

The man nodded and skipped the bottom step of the stairs. The verbal handshake and code names had been properly made, meaning the safety switch placed underneath the step did not need to be stamped on.

"Earlier than usual." The purple spectacled man said as he walked towards Nour.

Nour shrugged. "Time… it does seem to fly."

"I see." The information broker said.

This particular supplier of information was about to disappear and soon. That was the message encoded in the casual conversation.

"What have you brought me?" The man said as approached Nour, only to stop one desk away from him.

"Several more dirty secrets, and a long list of names." A small card was placed on the desk between them, and the skinny man picked it up. The hairs on his left arm rose slightly, not from fear or nervousness, but static charge as the subdermal Electoos began supplying a small current through his fingers. Inside the man's purple spectacles, the information within the card began to play on the left lens while he kept his right eye on Nour.

After a cursory look, the man snorted and slotted the card into a nearby auto-quill.

"I must say, I feel at times that it should really be you paying me." The man said as the floating hand began to transcribe the information onto a particularly durable yet thin material that resembled parchment but was much denser.

"A hazard's fee?" Nour said with a razed eyebrow. "We both know who your main buyer is. The one who does not haggle."

"I admit, the Department Mysterioso does pay well…" The thin man said with a small smile, referring to the made up name his main buyer used. "But the price could be far higher."

Nour's eyes narrowed slightly. "Don't." He said simply.

"It is my experience that those who are part of the secret are more likely to pay than those who merely want to take a look." The thin man said coyly.

Nour stifled a small sigh. They both knew the other was not being serious, but the severity of the matter demanded he speak. "We both know how they would pay you."

"Yes, yes. I am well aware it would be lead instead of gold that I would receive, if you didn't get to me first." The thin man said, throwing his arms up in surrender.

"Believe me, Andrei…" Nour warned. "You would be lucky if I did get to you first in that situation."

The secrets Nour gave this man were from within the Imperial Palace and belonged to deviant lords and corrupt bureaucrats. Such individuals were rarely rational actors. The most likely ending was kidnapping followed by intensive rounds of torture. Most would think that such acts of brutality were a deterrent, or retribution. The truth was it was mostly motivated fear. Fear that this person had peaked behind the mask of authority. Fear that this person had spilled the beans to someone else. Such emotions did not burn out easily, and did not come from reason. Giving them everything they wanted would not end it.

"Message received." The thin man said with a casual shrug. He had learned enough of what happened behind the curtain of Imperial politics to know what they were capable of. "How would you like to be paid? Hopefully coin this time?"

"In favors, as usual." Nour replied. "And also information."

"Of course…" The thin man sighed. "It's never easy with you higher ranking Imperials."

"I need to organize safe passage for several individuals from beyond the walls." Nour continued, ignoring the man's exasperation. "Their habitation permits will be ready at the gate, but I need you to get them protection while they travel from outside the Imperial Palace."

"More family members of those pleasure girls you have within the palace?" The thin man said as he readjusted his purple tinted spectacles.

"Those pleasure girls are the source of more than half of all your information." Nour warned.

"I make no judgment on Terra's most ancient form of business." The spectacled man said as he drummed his fingers on the nearest desk. "Their protection will be organized by people I can trust. You have my word."

"I also need you to connect me with any information brokers in the Franc regions, the closer to Avelroi the better."

"Avelroi? Ha!" The man laughed, slapping his thigh. The synthleather fatigues sharpened the sound; vat-grown skins glistening like an oil slick under moonlight. "Quite a place to get sent to for an Imperial."

"Do you have information regarding that place?"

"Anti-Imperial sentiments have been brewing there for a long time." The man chuckled. "Its main trade is weapons recycling. Old guns, swords, rockets and anything else the Imperium does not believe worth confiscating or that doesn't get sent to the Terrawatt clan is recycled at cities like Avelroi. Income is steady with all the warbands and belligerent warmongers being defeated, but the writing on the wall is clear as day."

"With unification there will be no more wars, and hence no more weapons to recycle." Nour let out a sigh.

"Drying up a useful yet demeaning trade, just like that." The man snapped his fingers. "I've heard it's hard work. Dangerous too."

"If you know that much, you must know someone inside."

"I do. I'll send a missive ahead. They will find you. Will two days be enough?"

"It will."

"Good." The man nodded, then pulled a coin from his pocket. "I will miss these talks, Yohann."

"Farewell." Nour said, pocketing the coin, and walked past the purple spectacled man to the other hidden door at the farside of the room.

—-------------------------------------------------

Nour walked through several more alleys under his camo-cloak before merging with one of the main streets. It was a street in name only, more a suspension bridge spanning between hab-blocks and work sectors. He changed the cloak's color to a canvas brown before joining the crowd, and moving to a parked transport on one of the circular outcroppings of the bridge. These were parking spaces for flyers; essentially aerial taxis for those with the rank and coin to use them.

Two Arbites Subductors stood before the outcropping, at the bottom of three steps that lead up to the raised platform where several flyers were parked. A gun-servitor stood behind them on the platform itself; turning its blank gaze left and right like a radar dish.

"Identification." One of the Subductors said, raising his hand.

Nour pulled out an old looking wallet with an identification card from his inner jacket pocket.

"Athumani Bamgboshe." He said as he handed it over. "Do you need my papers as well?"

"No need sir." The Subductor said as he lifted the card up to a servo-skull floating at his shoulder. The machine scanned the card with a crisscrossing series of lasers before the machinery in its left eye socket flashed green. "Enjoy your trip." The Arbites said as he handed back the card.

Nour nodded as he took back the card and entered the now open door of one of the flyers.

"Destination?" The pilot servitor sitting in the driver's seat said, voice slightly staticky from the speaker that replaced its mouth and lower jaw.

Nour held a brown businesscard up to the unblinking opticals that occupied the holes where organic eyes would have been.

"Take me to the rear entrance." He said, tapping the address written at the bottom of the card.

"Understood." The pilot servitor replied, and the flyer took off.

Nour leaned back in the chair as the pilot Servitor operated the vehicle silently. There was a plate with some engravings on it attached to the back of the Servitor's head.

'Galarn Thrum : Murder (1st degree) Case file: 000019241841' Nour read.

He let out a short sigh and looked out the window.

Servitors. They were everywhere in the Imperium. A new form of indentured servitude for those who committed serious crimes. That was what these menial ones often were. Repurposed flesh and brain matter that had selfishly taken from the Imperium.

However, on the other end of the spectrum, there were also servitors that were made from willing participants. The gun-servitor on the flyer platform didn't have a plate on it like this pilot servitor. That indicated it was probably a medical conversion. Imperial citizens injured to the point recovery was impossible could have their remains donated for servitor conversion; either via a pre-approved waiver, or with the approval of the next of kin. Any income generated became the possession of the recipient stated in the waiver, or the next of kin who approved the conversion; a sort of social safety net for those who lost the breadwinner of the family.

'Waste not, want not.' Nour thought to himself as the pilot servitor guided the flyer down between two towering blocs. The small craft fell between the various bridges and gangways that formed the mesh-like underside of the Imperial Palace; like a leaf sinking between the roots of a submerged tree. The light dimmed as the numerous shadows from the bridges and buildings above layered upon each other. The darkness didn't last, however, for soon the sun's rays were replaced by the starry lights of electrical lamps and the occasional spotlight that illuminated the innards of the Imperial Palace.
The flyer finally came to rest behind a dark brown building. It was about 6 stories high, and its front opened out onto a 4 lane bridge. Nour exited the flyer, slotting a number of Imperial credit notes into a slot on the dashboard of the flyer. The pilot servitor slumped forwards, saving power while it waited for him to return.

The rear end of the brown building had a small dimly lit lot. Several other flyers were parked there. Some had pilot servitors, others had bored or napping valets at the wheel.

As Nour approached the rear entrance, a bellboy appeared from inside.

"Excuse me sir, but this area is reserved." The bellboy said. He wore a silver vest over white button down shirt with a ruff. Fluted black trousers ruffled slightly as he walked.

Nour's eyes narrowed and he readied himself as he pulled out the brown card he had shown the pilot servitor earlier. "I have an appointment." He said firmly as he handed the card to the bellboy.

The young man took the card and his right iris flickered, changing color rapidly.

"Apologies, Master Neradah." The bellboy bowed as he handed the card back. "Madam Adara is ready in her dressing room."

Nour nodded as he took back the card, but kept his guard up as he followed the bellboy. He didn't recognize him, and the loose fabric of the young man's fluted trousers could hide both weapons and augmetics.

'The problem with conspiracy is that you never really know when it ends.' He grumbled to himself.

He was meeting an ally today, but it was at those moments that assassinations were easiest.

The bellboy opened the door, revealing a set of bead curtains. Floral scents wafted from within, and the high pitched voices of giggling women and fawning sighs seeped through with them. Nour parted them, entering a lobby lit with orange light. Staircases and corridors spread out from it, leading deeper and higher up in the building. A high tempo beat played in the background of the building, muffled by passing through doors and echoing down hallways.

"Nails and breath, master." The bellboy said with a bow, and Nour showed both hands to him, palms down as he submitted to the basic hygiene check. After a brief inspection for sharp edges, and a cursory glance for any obvious signs of infection, the bell boy stepped back and bowed slightly. "This way. Mistress Siobhan is ready for you." He said as he bowed, while courteously pointing to a set of stairs that wound their way up the wall.

Nour nodded and climbed to the 4th floor on his own, leaving the bowing boy behind. The landing of the 4th floor was carpeted with a soft brown rug. The walls were ivory white, and shiny candelabras with fake flames surrounded by misted glass shaped into tulips lit them with a dull orange glow. Hallways lined with various doors extended to either side, like a hotel or apartment building.

The Lord walked down the right hallway and knocked on one of the doors; room 417. There was a click and the door opened on its own, revealing what looked like a woman's bedroom. There was a king sized bed in one corner, and a small shower space opposite to it in the back. A brunette woman was sitting at a dressing table, observing her reflection as she fiddled with the far corner of the thick veil covering her face. Her body's slim yet supple silhouette was visible through a gossamer thin pink shawl draped over her shoulders.

"Is it done?" The woman asked in a calm voice.

"It is." Nour said as he stepped into the room.

The door swung shut behind him, and locked itself while the woman secured her veil.

"Then the only loose end is those girls in that datsche outside the walls. Everyone else can evacuate on their own." She said as she began looking through one of her drawers.

This was Mistress Siobhan's working room; the owner of this particular 'entertainment' center he was in. It also served as a safehouse for some of Nour's informants; a place to escape or retire early when the job of servicing certain lords or ladies in the Imperium became too arduous, or too dangerous.

"Preparations are being made. Thank you for the sconces." Nour replied, keeping several feet between him and Mistress Siobhan; enough distance to allow him to react should anything unexpected occur. "I will be there during the extraction."

"Make sure you do." Siobhan snapped. "You have not given us much time to deal with your disappearance."

Nour let the Mistress's bitterness wash over him. It had been a hectic 2 weeks ensuring those who had assisted him were compensated for their efforts. Assisting the working girls who wanted out of the occupation was one part of his preparations for leaving for Avelroi. He would no longer be here to assist them soon, so many of those who worked with him were getting out while the privileges and protections extended to them from his lordship still remained. Of course, he couldn't organize everything alone. Siobhan was one of many collaborators that formed the network of casual informants and side-job spies that formed Nour's unofficial information network. It was they who were now having to deal with Nour's departure, and they weren't happy. Everything already operated on a knife's edge. Losing him meant losing his protection and resources.

However, there was nothing either of them could do at the moment but deal with the deck of cards that had been dealt.

"How are the others doing?" Nour asked calmly, changing the topic to other business.

"We have them resting in a different building." Siobhan replied tiredly. "Better to have nothing to remind them of what they've been through."

"Do you need anything else?"

"Thank you for the offer…" Siobhan turned to face him, and her veil billowed slightly. "But I've been looking after my girls since before you came to us. We'll manage."

There was no mouth beneath the veil; nor jaw for the matter. Miniature mechadendrites undulated underneath the thin piece of cloth that was hiding her lower face; extending from where her upper lip should have been.

"That's good to hear." Nour replied, already used to the multiple mechanical appendages that extended from Siobhan's otherwise pretty face. The almond shaped eyes narrowed slightly with amusement as her mechadendrites flicked in unison, like the tentacles of an anemone caught in an undersea current.

"It's you I'm worried about." Siobhan said as she pulled out the lower half of a human face from one of her drawers. It was not a flesh and blood thing, but life-like plastics pulled over metal struts. She held the prosthetic underneath her face, and her multiple wormlike tendrils slipped into connection ports like snakes entering a rabbit burrow. "You'll be alone out there with less power and even fewer connections."

"It wouldn't be the first time." Nour shrugged as Siobhan's prosthetic snapped into place. "Besides, there's not much either of us can do about that." He watched her test her jaw, opening and closing it like a normal human. Only her brain was left of her organic body. Everything else had been replaced by her former master for idle amusement.

The warlord who owned her was gone now; squashed under the boot of a Thunder Warrior. Siobhan played dead, pretending to be an inanimate doll in her master's bed chambers until they left. After that, she travelled from place to place until she set up shop in the Imperial Palace itself. There weren't many places with both the technical expertise to maintain her full-body augmetics and still had need for her services.

"Sarah and Joseline will be freed later today." Nour said, talking of the two last girls in the datsche; who had provided him information over the years. "I'll leave them in your care."

"I'll look after them." Siobhan said as she detached her prosthetic lower face and exchanged it for one with thicker lips. "It may seem like a curse for them now, but there are benefits to being fully augmented."

Nour didn't reply to that. Siobhan made light of the matter, but he knew what she had gone through in order to recover from her trans-human nightmare.

"If that is all, then I'll take my leave." He said instead, and turned to leave the room.

"Always business with you isn't it?" Siobhan sighed. "I'd like for you to visit me at least once as a customer." She parted her lips, revealing the inside of her mouth. There was no throat at the back; just a ribbed pocket with multiple folds and well lubricated tendrils lapping back and forth.

"I'll pass." Nour said over his shoulder.

"A shame." Siobhan sighed again. "Don't die." She called after him as he opened the door.

"I'll try." He said with a shrug, and stepped out.

—-------------------------------------------------

Nour kept his features impassive as he walked down the hallway of the datsche. It was the private retreat of one of the deviant lords he used to listen in on the less savory secrets of the Imperium. He had it built outside the Imperial Palace using his own funds and own security; a place to get out of the claustrophobic and overly metropolitan interior of the Imperial Palace. There were several such retreats made by various lords; not all of them deviant.

A servant automata walked in front of him, leading him to the owner of this datsche. Its plastic skin was powder white, with features that appeared almost painted on. Instead of feet, metal spikes clink-clinked against the polished stone that formed the floor. The high-pitched sound was juxtaposed to Nour's heavier footsteps from the leather soles of his boots.

As Nour followed the automata, he looked out of one of the numerous windows that opened up onto the growing city outside the walls of the Imperium.

That was right; a city. The skeletons of skyscrapers and highway columns rose up the side of the Himalazia mountain, leading to the towering walls that surrounded the Hive City that was called the Imperial Palace. Sheer cliff faces were being flattened and turned into easy to climb steps. Loose rock was glued together by sealants and ceramics before being compacted to form foundations for new buildings. Towers and spires grew from between the valleys of mountain ridges; adding new peaks between the snow covered ones that had existed for millennia before them. Sprawls of human habitation were now growing between the valleys, stretching out from the Imperial Palace like the roots from the trunk of a tree.

Yet, life here was far more difficult than within the Imperial Palace. Being so high up the mountain meant that breathable air came at a premium. All individuals that lived here did so with an environmental suit with its own supply of oxygen. Habitations needed to be sealed, and food and water were expensive and lacking in quality.

'The only merit to living here is protection.' Nour thought to himself.

Much of Terra was still lawless. Although the Legiones Cataegis had cleansed many of the warlords and tyrants, their underlings had scattered across the globe. Bands of techno-barbarians and mutants still roamed the wastes; kept alive in the harsh climate by power armor or gene-enhancements. It was often said it was better to die than get caught by one of these; for many had strange customs of gruesome nature. Small towns or camps were easy prey, and for those who could not fight on their own, the only guaranteed safety was either in or near heavily walled fortresses such as the Imperial Palace.

Nour turned away from the window, turning his mind back to business. His eyes checked the furniture on the wall, confirming that the sconces he had gifted to the owner of this datsche had been placed on the walls. Each one was shaped like a different beautiful woman; back arched, and knees curled with outstretched hands cupped together to hold a bluish white flame.

Siobhan had accompanied many powerful men and women as a courtesan both inside and outside the Imperium. Being so close to the upper crust allowed her to be exposed to various forms of luxurious furniture and art. She now used those memories as reference to create her own brand of fashionable items. Women who no longer wished to work as entertainers and escorts under Siobhan's care found employment here. These sconces were just another example of their craftsmanship.

The automata led Nour to a set of double doors, opening them with needle-like fingers, revealing a pompous looking man sitting on a cushy throne with two women standing on either side.

"My dear Lord of Tgieg, Jermani…" Nour said with a bow. "Ave Imperator. My sincerest gratitudes for your time and hospitality."

"No need for the formalities, Nour." The lord snorted. "This datsche is officially outside the Imperial Palace. The one who makes the rules here is me."

"Indeed." Nour acquiesced, keeping his head down to better hide the cynical smirk he could feel tugging at his lips.

"Now, speak quickly. I have enjoyed your gifts." The Lord cast an eye to some of the sconces installed around the room. These ones were also shaped like beautiful women, but machinery was fused into their bodies; odd arms replaced with skeletal metal ones covered in wires and pistons instead of muscles. "Very tasteful…" The Lord's eyes narrowed. "But that may have been to be expected for a fornicator." He snorted.

Nour ignored the jibe. Jerman humor was quite sharp, and often very dark; like their fairy tales. Instead, he continued with his head held down. "As you may have heard, I am being asked to depart to Avelroi. I would appreciate it if you could send a good word to any allies you might have in Jermani. Cousins. Nephews. Nieces. Anyone who can assist me in my governorship."

"Asking a Jerman for help with the Franc… and not during a war." The Lord snorted. "You must be desperate."

"I understand the… cultural issues the Jermans have with the Franc."

"We hate them and they hate us. It is as simple as that."

"Which is precisely why I would wish to borrow any troops you may spare." Nour said as he rose from his bow. "If I am to be governor for long, I would need a force to subjugate any dissenters. Troops with little sympathy would be extremely useful."

"You mean the general populace."

Nour let a mollifying smile cross his lips, imitating the servile snake-like look many suck-ups would make once caught in a compromising position. "Hopefully not all of them."

"Do not sugar coat it." The Jerman Lord said in perfect deadpan. "The Franc and Albion cowards may hide behind flowery language, but Jermans know what must be done to keep order." He placed a hand on the thigh of the woman on his right. "Control must be engineered." He said as his hand crawled up the limb, going out of sight under her skirt. "Full augmentation with a control chip slaved to my neural pattern. An old Jerman means of keeping control." The Jerman said as the woman remained utterly still under his groping. "The Imperium has outlawed it, but keeping the populace in control without it just leads to more casualties. Less people die when there are no riots."

"A direct and efficient approach." Nour nodded, then deepened his smile. "I am aware of other uses for such technology." He said as he pulled out a thin data wafer from his inside breast pocket.

"Is that…?" The Lord said, eyes narrowing as he focussed on it.

"A data wafer with a little gift from our ancient history." Nour nodded as he raised the data wafer towards the Lord. " It will allow you to control what they feel, and even experience it if you wish. Fear. Happiness. Love. Hate. Euphoria. Despair. All human emotion can be created or removed at a whim. A little something from our more advanced age."

"How did you get your hands on it?"

"As you know, I am quite friendly with Lord Vidar from the Terrawatt clans."

"Give it." The Jerman Lord snapped, and Nour began to step slowly towards him.

"Then do I have your word?" Nour said softly.

The Jerman Lord pulled his hand from the woman's skirt and snapped his fingers, and the woman he had just been groping reached behind his throne and pulled out a wax-sealed envelope.

"A letter of recommendation." The Jerman Lord said as Nour took the envelope. "Send it with whatever request you want to the address on it, and you'll get your troops."

"My deepest thanks." Nour took a knee as he extended the hand holding the data wafer towards the Lord.

The Lord motioned to the women beside him, and the two took the data wafer from Nour's hand. Markings like electrical wiring glowed blue upon their exposed skin as they took it from him, showing the Electoos connecting with the data wafer.

"Safe enough." The Jerman Lord muttered, confirming that the data wafer didn't hide a data plague as his two augmented courtesans remained normal after the exposure. He beckoned the two of them towards him with a wave of his hand, and sighed as they placed a hand one either side of his head. The same electric blue wiring appeared on their exposed skin as they connected their cybernetic systems to his, allowing him access to the code on the data wafer.

Nour watched an euphoric grin tighten the man's lips, then his features froze. Only his eyes moved as they suddenly looked around in a panicked motion.

"You seem confused." Nour said, dropping the pleasant expressions on his face as he stood up. "Why has someone suddenly been able to access your augments from outside this building when you're supposed to be on a closed network?"

The two women let go of the man's frozen scalp, even as his eyes glared at Nour.

"This is not the first poison pill I made you swallow." Nour said, tilting his head to the sconces attached to the walls. "I leave you in the company of the women you mutilated and enslaved for several years."

There was a clack, and a prosthetic seam split along the women's arms. Black synthetic muscles rippled as the two of them reached for their former master.

"There will be a fire in an hour." Nour said as he dropped the envelope he received on the floor. "You have about thirty minutes with him before you need to evacuate." He took another envelope from his pocket and put it on a nearby table. "I'll leave your permits here."

Nour left the room, and the automata that led him there shut the doors behind him.

"Was this satisfactory?" The Vanus assassin's voice came from the machine's speakers.

"Yes." Nour nodded.

This entire operation had been two fold. The first objective was to gain the freedom of the two women who had helped him until now. The second was to test the abilities of the Vanus assassin he had been assigned by Lady Callidus. She was introduced to him as an expert in informational warfare and cybernetic intrusion, and she had lived up to her description. The lord's location. The status of his security. The data wafer which became the tool of his demise had all been provided to him by the assassin. However, getting her access required his cooperation. Hiding small transmitters in some of the sconces had been his handy work, and these allowed her to connect to the datsche outside of the Imperial Palace directly allowing him to talk to her immediately after the deed was done.

"I have complete control of the former Lord Ludfig's automated defenses." The Vanus assassin continued using the automata's body. "His intrigue with the mechanical made things far easier. No need to dispose of any human operators or guards."

"And the building?" Nour asked.

"The fire will be started on schedule. No evidence will remain. Electrical fires burn at a temperature over a thousand degrees."

"Hot enough to melt some metals."

"Precisely the point."

Nour nodded to himself.

"Will you be able to replicate these feats in Avelroi?"

The machine commandeered by the Vanus assassin shrugged at that.

"Their systems are older than the ones here, and many have human intermediaries. Adaptations will have to be made. But that is why you are assigned two Imperial assassins. Quite a luxury, if I may add."

"I am being ordered to organize a rebellion against the Imperium." Nour snorted.

"The Emperor demands much from his servants."

Nour let out a sigh at that. He certainly did, although he had not met the man in person to receive his orders.

"Do you have anything new on Havuleq?"

"A sexual predator masquerading as a charismatic philanthropist." The assassin said boredly. "He uses anti-Imperial sentiments to generate scapegoats for his rule while pretending to provide amnesty to those with Imperial ties."

"Amnesty?"

"There are minority groups within Avelroi sympathetic to the Imperium, and it isn't easy for them. Havuleq occasionally employs them as house servants and maids. A philanthropic venture that gives some of these unfortunates an occupation. However, once inside his mansions and out of the public eye, he has his way with them. But, you knew that already."

"I had my suspicions." Nour said as they entered an elevator. "The summated spending reports regarding his mansions and estates remain relatively the same, even though he hires new staff regularly without letting old ones go. No doubt, anyone looking for those he employs is told they are working in a different location, but that is not reflected when all of their taxes, deductibles, and expenses are reviewed." Nou's brow then furrowed. "The fact that almost all of his homes have a heavy duty incinerator was another clue."

"Ah." The Vanus assassin quipped. "You have faced something similar?"

"One of the lords I was investigating had a similar arrangement. They kept on taking in people from these outlying cities into their private residences." The elevator pinged as they reached the ground floor. "Organs. Augmetics. Raw materials for servitors. He took what he could sell from them, and burned the rest." Nour spat as he exited the elevator. "However, it wasn't only money he was after. He used the growing rumors of disappearances in these cities to lobby for greater freedoms regarding security and the legalisation of what would be private armies for lords. You can imagine where he was going with this."

The Vanus assassin nodded the automata's head. Personal military power. It was what most lords wanted. However, there were strict regulations regarding that. The Imperium was the only one allowed to have a standing army. The entourage of lords rarely exceeded a few hundred.

"Havuleq is not as thoughtful as that lord. He simply uses his wealth and power to play with women." The Vanus assassin's tone dripped with mockery. "His brother is the one who maintains the logistics of Avelroi."

"Which is why I want him alive and Havuleq dead."

That automata paused to look at him.

"The two are close. It will be difficult to convince him to work with his brother's murderers."

Nour snorted at that.

"I don't need him to handle the logistics of our new operations. I only need him to send a message."

"And that would be?"

"That there is a new master of the realm."

"Of course." The Vanus assassin shrugged with the automata's shoulders. Politics and power plays went hand in hand. The dramatic often won out over efficiency.

"Sarah and Joseline have finished with the Lord of Tegieg." She said, returning to business. "They're moving to the prearranged exit point. I will disable the fire suppression systems and begin taxing the capacitors and wiring in this building."

Nour nodded as the two of them walked into the lobby. A different automata appeared from the cloak room carrying both his coat and the camo-cloak.

"I'll see you in Avelroi in four days. Better to arrive earlier than expected so they don't have the time to prepare."

"Indeed. We can both imagine what sort of welcoming party that would be." The automata nodded. "The Eversor assassin has already been delivered, and Rylanor is enroute as well. You will be alone during transit, so do take care not to get yourself killed."

With those words, both automatas went limp. The whine of various electrical appliances straining began, and the lights flickered as every electrical system began to overload.

Nour walked out of the building, cloaking himself as he exited as the datsche was consumed by fire.

 

[Nidhog153]

A/N: The events and topics here involving Kandawire reference Valdor: Birth of the Imperium, so if you feel that Kandawire is overly progressive/humane/logical, then I have to say that this is not something I invented.

—-------------------------------------------------

A few weeks passed from the sudden interruption by Trazyn the Infinite.

During that time; Isha gathered children from the assassin temples, continued their reeducation through her simulacra, and shared her knowledge of Aeldari culture with Ael Wyntor.

The Emperor carried out his own activities; monitoring events at Avelroi and within the Imperial courts, adding to the soul transfer machine, and advising those involved with developing his new legions.

Minor kingdoms fell or surrendered peaceably to combined forces of the Emperor's old and new engineered soldiers, continuing the Imperium's unbroken string of victories.

It was at this lull in the action that Isha approached the Emperor in his office.

"I wish to enter the mountain." The goddess said to the Emperor.

The Emperor looked up at her across his massive desk; a wordless look demanding the answer to the question 'Why?'. There was only one mountain she could be referring to, and it was the most guarded location on Terra at this moment.

"I wish to see the children of Molech." The goddess replied, meeting his brown eyes with her silver ones.

"They are my sons." The Emperor's voice was quiet, yet full of dangerous warnings.

"You are their maker." The goddess replied firmly, unwavering in the face of the threat in the Emperor's voice.

A short silence passed between the two of them.

The 20 Primarchs. That was what the two of them were referring to, and neither was false in the way they described them. After all, it was the Emperor himself who used the story of Gepetto and Pinocchio to explain why he referred to them as his sons.

He was their creator, and thus he would allow them to call him father.

It wasn't just a word. They had to be his.

"And what will you do once you have seen them?" The Emperor said quietly, both eyes fixing the goddess with an unblinking stare.

"Nothing for now." The goddess shrugged. "I wish to prepare myself for when they are let loose upon the materium."

The Emperor let out a snort. "Ironic." He muttered. "Both you and Erda think of them as monsters. What mother curses an unborn child like that?"

"One who will love them regardless." Isha's voice was like the quiet before the storm, calm yet boiling beneath the surface. "One who cannot avert her eyes to what her children are."

It was the voice of a mother who had seen her children become monsters themselves, but could not bring herself to cull them.

Erda too had once beseeched the Emperor to kill the Primarchs, and he ignored her with full knowledge she could not harm them. Even now she fed them her life blood, despite having begged for their destruction.

The tear stained face of the mother of humanity surfaced from Neoth's memory for a moment.

Perhaps allowing Erda to talk with the mother of the Aeldari might provide some relief. A shoulder to lean on. This goddess had lived through something similar to Erda, and relinquished her ability to control the Aeldari to spare them from her misery. Perhaps interacting with her might convince the mother of humanity to reconsider her attitude towards the Primarchs.

"You may follow me when I depart to my labs." He said. "Prepare something for Astarte so we have a cover story for your presence, but hand it to me first."

There was nothing this goddess could do to his sons in her depleted state. Besides, Erda wouldn't allow it. She may have called them monsters, but they were children of humanity.

"And what sort of modification would you have me make?" Isha said, putting a hand to her waist. "You already rejected my ideas for improving your Legions."

"There are certain predispositions in the genetics of my Legions." The Emperor replied. "The obsessive sanguinary traits in the IXth Legion is one example."

Now it was Isha's turn to snort at the Emperor.

"You are crafting behavior by modifying their genetics." She said mockingly. "A jeweler working with nought but a cudgel would have an easier time making a ring out of glass."

The Emperor opened his mouth to retort, only to stop as the goddess raised her hand.

"I understand the logic. Certain behavior patterns are genetically associated. This was well documented in the avians that used to live on this planet. You want to give them certain behavioral tendencies and quirks that will accelerate their specialization in certain types of warfare, but what you're doing is directing behavior by giving them mental diseases."

It was a form of engineered obsessive compulsive disorder. Their brain chemistry and synaptic structure would be modified as the gene-seed changed their bodies. Fixations would develop, allowing easier learning and training with less outside motivation. Other less important emotions and thoughts would become distant and forgotten as their compulsions consumed them.

Of course, this only laid the groundwork for a long period of training and indoctrination. However, without it, the variance in every member of the new Legions would be far greater. Considering their origin, such uncontrolled behaviors were a risk the Emperor wished to avoid.

"The gene-tech was perfected in my Custodes." The Emperor muttered. "Their obedience is part of their DNA."

"Which makes it possible to overwrite with sufficient knowledge and preparation." Isha retorted with narrowed eyes.

"Very few have that." The Emperor said as he looked to the side, directing his gaze through the wall towards faint Luna in the sky. The Selenar gene-cults were one of the few groups who had that sort of knowledge.

"Regardless, these traits are the result of those obsessions you have encoded into them." Isha continued. "It is why your people have had such a hard time removing them."

"But as the Goddess of Life, you should know other ways of inputting instinct into an organism." The Emperor countered.

"I do." Isha said softly. "The spider's web, the bird's song, the reflex a child has to hold its breath underwater. All of these are behaviors wrought by genetics. It is possible to make a creature that enjoys only war. The Old Ones proved that."

It was not just war that was encoded into the Krorks. They retained genetic knowledge of complicated physics, mechanics, and even knowledge of the Empyrean in their genes. Each one was born with all they needed to become an experienced mechanic, engineer, or sorcerer. On top of that, they were not totally governed by that instinctual knowledge. They could learn on top of that, and that was what made them such an efficient tool during the ever changing War in Heaven.

"Then give me that knowledge."

"Fine." Isha said with a soft sigh. "I will unlink the latent blood thirst of the IXth from their increased aggression as well as some of the other side-effects of your genetically encoded tendencies. In exchange, I will talk with Erda in the presence of the Primarchs."

"What do you intend to do?" The Emperor said testily.

"Only what any other mother would do." A wan smile crossed Isha's face. "Protect her children's future."

—-------------------------------------------------

Uwoma Kandawire dabbed at her forehead with an embroidered handkerchief, wiping away the bead of sweat forming on her forehead and cheeks as she waited before the doors of the Imperial Regent's office. It had been a few weeks since the water riot, and she had been busy gathering evidence to find the person behind the scenes. She had requested access to a number of communication logs and dispatches from the Administratum a few days ago, and now found herself summoned by Malcador.

'Calm yourself.' She said as she folded her handkerchief. 'At least this is an official summons. They wouldn't get rid of me here. Too many records would be left behind.'

Just the travel permits and security clearances to get here left a long papertrail of where she had been. Killing her here simply wouldn't be worth the bureaucratic coverup when a stray accident could do the job with less scrutiny. At least, that was what Kandawire told herself.

If the Emperor was the light of the Imperium, Malcador was the shadow cast by that light. If there was anything unsavory done in the name of the Imperium, the Imperial Regent's fingerprints were usually on it. Whether this was by political and propagandic design, or simply a result of Malcador's personal preferences was an open question. Regardless, Malcador's unsavory role within the Imperium was well known. Even the ordinary citizenry believed the ancient man whispered falsehoods into the Emperor's ear in order to enrich himself and his bureaucrats.

'If they wanted us to stop the investigation, they would have told us they were taking over with an official notice.' Kandawire thought to herself as she waited to be let in. 'And there was nothing unusual at the last council meeting.'

Kandawire was acquainted with Malcador. Public security councils attended by both members of the Administratum and the Arbites had allowed them to exchange words from time to time. During the brief moments for casual conversation before and after said meeting, she had the opportunity to comment on the current state of the Imperium with the Imperial Regent.

'The warrior is the servant of the worker.' Kandawire thought to herself, reciting her father's words like a mantra. She had said those words to Malcador, when they had once briefly debated about the role of laws in the Imperium.

Civilian governance was crucial for creating any long-lasting government. Recent history proved just how tenuous the regimes of warlords and tyrants were. Endlessly repeating cycles of betrayal, infighting, rebellion, and corruption lead to their eventual demise. To avoid the same fate, the Imperium needed to transition to a more civil bureaucracy where violence was a last resort.

'We're ahead of the curve in that regard.' Kandawire thought to herself.

They had the Lex Pacifica and the Lex Imperialis; the peace-time and war-time laws of the Imperium. Simply having the idea of a peace-time law was important, indicating an eventual end to this more brutal time. Of course, as long as that was not simple lip-service to the masses.

The doors before Kandawire opened silently, rousing her from her thoughts. She felt a slight wind drawing her in as their sheer size generated a minor air current.

"Marshall Uwoma Kandawire, please come in." The Imperial Regent said from across his desk.

Kandawire walked into the room with a 30 degree bow of acknowledgment.

Malcador's office was the size of a small hall. Various pieces of ancient art and sculptures were held in tall display cases that bordered the long carpet that led from the door to his desk; lined up like guards in the audience chamber of a king.

"How are things in the lower courts?" Malcador said as she approached.

"Busy." Kandawire said civilly. "It takes time to calm the nerves and restore reason to the desperate. Our newest citizens have lived under the rule of tyranny for far too long. They must be taught what a public servant is."

"Is that why you have tried to create these 'community outreach' manuals?" Malcador set his hand on a scroll on his desk.

'Ah…' Kandawire thought to herself. 'So it's about that.'

Kandawire had a number of endeavors running in parallel. One of them was the attempt to foster a more communal spirit between civilians and the Arbites. It was an attempt to restore the old concept of 'Consent of the Governed'. Stable governance required citizens to forego extreme means of resolving dispute, and this meant the loss of certain 'rights'; if one was to call vigilante justice and other forms of violent retribution 'rights'. However, one could not be governed while fearing those who governed them. Mutual cooperation between civil servants and citizens was paramount to that.

In other words, the people needed to trust them.

"I have reviewed your suggestions." Malcador said, pushing the scroll to the side. "Regular town halls with citizens, allowing public commentary as well as review of Arbites policies, recruiting Enforcers directly from the communities they will be patrolling, encouraging communal policing…" The Imperial Regent let out a sigh at that. There was far more in the scroll Kandawire had drafted, but he got his general opinion across non-verbally.

"Laws are only laws if they are obeyed, and obedience requires enforcement." Malcador sighed. "As you are aware, this Imperium is still in its infancy. There was a reason we did not reinstate the old concepts of rule via democratic mandate. Mob rule would result in a reactionary and ultimately brittle society vulnerable to soft-sounding words falling on naive or ignorant ears."

"The main function of the law is to protect its citizens." Kandawire countered. "When the physical distribution of power is uneven between the civilian population and the military, unless one wants to resort to barbarism, the law must be the highest degree of authority that all submit to. Yet, a heavy hand invites rebellion. That is why I have drafted these reforms."

"And you believe that can be done with this more sympathetic slant to policing?" Malcador asked humorously.

"A moral government governs with consent." Kandawire said with a straight back. "It does not coerce or enslave its people, but works for them. To do so requires trust, and in order to build trust the actions of the governing body must be legitimate in the eyes of the people. They must understand what it is we do, and wish for us to do it. That is what I believe the Imperium to be."

"And thus all must be equal under the Lex." Malcador concluded in an amused tone, placing his hand on a data slate; a data slate displaying headers that Kandawire recognized.

"I imagine you find the divide between the Arbites and Administratum… frustrating." Malcador continued as fresh sweat began to bead on Kandawire's forehead. The data slate was displaying some of the documents she had requested access to a few days ago, and would have aided in identifying the lord who assisted in the water riots. To see them here meant Malcador knew what she was trying to do.

"Public security is my responsibility." Kandawire replied, even as sweat stung her eyes. "If there are individuals that endanger it, then it would be a dereliction of the duty given to me by the Emperor not to identify them."

"Indeed." Malcador nodded as he picked up the data slate and handed it towards Kandawire. "Which is why I have a proposal for you. A promotion to be precise."

"A promotion?" Kandawire parroted back as she took the data slate.

"There is going to be a reorganization of the governing system of the Imperial Palace. Four 'High' Lords Civilian shall be each given the responsibility of managing an area of governance. They will be the Master of the Administratum, Chancellor of the Estate Imperium, the Lord Commander Militant of the Imperial Armies, and Grand Provost Marshal. Selections have been made for the first three, but the fourth has been… difficult to select a candidate for."

"You wish me to be a Lord Civilian?" Kandawire said dumbly.

"A High Lord Civilian." Malcador corrected. "Highest amongst the ranks of the Magisters Temporals in their relative field. You also mistake my intent for calling you here. I do not personally wish for you to take the post. Your name is but one amongst many others."

"I see." Kandawire said, using the filler words to take a quick breath. "Then may I enquire why this post has been offered to me?"

"The Grand Provost Marshal shall be responsible for the implementation of all law, the imposition of order and the suppression of civil eruption. As you may imagine, having someone too connected can create favoritisms that jeopardizes the Lex's legitimacy. As a refugee from the Afrik with no surviving relations, your neutrality within the Imperial Palace is a unique trait."

'You mean insignificance.' Kandawire thought to herself, and instinctively knew the Imperial Regent was lying. She was not the only unconnected individual in the Imperial Palace. Many refugees and adventurers came to this city to make a life for themselves, so that was not the reason she had been selected. In fact, putting her in a position of power when she had no familial ties, personal resources, or political backing sounded like a bad joke.

"Will this authority extend to the other High Lords Civilian?" She asked, half expecting a mocking smile and a vague insinuation her position would only be figurative.

"All responsibilities in their respective area of governance belong to the High Lords Civilian. The only powers above them are myself, and the Emperor above me." Malcador said matter-of-factly.

Kandawire waited for the punchline, then a flood of adrenaline rushed into her system.

She was being offered power, actual power, to dictate how the Lex was to be enforced across the entire Imperium.

'The warrior is the servant of the worker.' Her father's words repeated themselves in her mind.

"I humbly accept." She said, doing her best to keep the tremble out of her voice.

"Good." Malcador nodded. "Arrangements are being made for the appropriate apparel and facilities for someone of your new status. An aide-de-camp shall meet you later today. She will be assisting you with your activities in your new post. The appointment ceremony date shall be shared with you later. That will be all."

Kandawire bowed and left the office. She half expected to be shot in the back or fall dead from a poisoned needle as she did so. To give a nobody such as herself this much power seemed like a cruel jest with an undignified death being the punchline. Yet, Malcador let her walk out of his office unmolested.

'Perhaps…' Kandaire thought to herself as she looked down at the data slate in her hand. 'The Imperium is something different on Terra afterall.'

—-------------------------------------------------

Ael Wyntor followed behind a tall woman with long ears. This was not his golden haired mother, but a brunette of the same species. However, traces of Isha could be seen in her features such as in the corners of her eyes, or the way she turned her head to look back at him over her shoulder to check he was still keeping up. Isha had told him he was to help her teach some children she was looking after. How exactly she came into custody of them was answered with a vague response of 'from my belly' and a tittering laugh as he blushed slightly. Then she transformed into a massive hairy creature to demonstrate what she meant by those words.

"I believe it is time for you to get used to your birthright." Isha said to him after transforming back. "All of my children are gifted with the ability to see what can happen, and it is high time you opened your eyes. Teach them your tenacity, and they will wake you from your slumber."

"The children are currently doing their daily exercise." The brunette, Tathelin, said as they walked. "However, there are a few who go too far down Khaine's path. Their fear brings them too close to the flame, and it burns their mind and soul, hardening the scars already there while slaking false pride."

Living with Isha for a few weeks had enlarged Ael's Aeldari vocabulary, and he could understand Tathelin's cryptically phrased poetry. There were children here who were overly aggressive in a blood thirsty manner to the point of murder. Yet, that was not brought about by sadism or anger but some fear that made them hold onto their war knowledge like a drowning man would a piece of driftwood. It was becoming a dangerous habit, and causing them to become fixated on it, pulling them further away from the path of recovery while making them prideful as they falsely believed they were getting better by becoming better warriors.

Quite frankly, Ael didn't understand what it was Isha wanted him to do for these children. He would have much preferred to avoid them entirely if he could. Being a playmate to psychotically conditioned adolescents did not sound like it would awaken something in him. If anything, it sounded like a one-way trip to an eternal slumber; or at least a concussion induced blackout.

Tathelin and Ael entered a great auditorium. The ground was covered in a white springy material, and groups of 10 or 12 children dressed in beige or white shirts and pants were sparring with each other in hand to hand combat while being watched over by various Aeldari women. Ael's eyes could barely keep up with their movements as he walked past them.

"Lorien." Tathelin called out, and Ael turned to the child in question.

Lorien was a blue eyed child in her early teens with dark blond hair. She was standing by herself, apart from the other children. Her features hardened when she caught sight of him, and he felt her pupils narrow like a predator that had spotted prey.

"This is the sparring partner who shall teach you your lesson." Tathelin said, gesturing to Ael with an open palm.

"He looks weak." Lorien said bluntly.

"He is, but weakness is something you have yet to learn." Tathelin replied immediately after, causing Ael to close the mouth he had opened to retort. He may have been no herculean avatar of strength, but to be dismissed like that stung at an instinctual level.

"Elalindra told me I would grow stronger from this." The girl's tone was level, almost monotone.

'For someone who is 'too close to the flame', she is almost frigid in demeanor.' Ael thought to himself.

"It will not be a waste of your time." Tathelin said with a slight scold in her voice, like a governess telling off a stubborn ward. "You may begin." She said, and stepped back out from between the two of them.

'Begin what?' Ael had a moment to think, before he jerked back from a fist flying towards his face. A startled noise left his lips followed by a gasp of air as Lorien's heel dug itself into his diaphragm. He rolled backwards with the blow instinctively, trying to gain distance and time to catch his breath.

Lorien continued her attack with a combination of blows, feints, and jabs aimed at disorienting Ael in order to land a more devastating strike. Ael managed to doge, block, and roll with some of the blows; his time with Isha had improved his health and exercise had improved his stamina. Yet, he simply could not react properly to all of her strikes.

"Sto-!" He tried to speak, and immediately stopped as a reverse elbow to the chin almost made him bite his own tongue off.

The girl was relentless, yet she was not attacking in a blind rage. Every attack had an aim within her movements, whether it was to whittle him down or damage him directly. It was a cold fire he felt from her, like frost burn.

'She hates me.' Ael realised as he brought an arm up just in time to block a sideways kick to the throat. He could see it in her eyes, and every second that hatred was growing. With every blow that shook his amateurish guard, and every shaky step he took backwards, he could see her disgust of him deepen and blacken.

A fighter would have been elated at an easy win.

A predator would be rejoicing as he weakened.

A sadist would relish in his pain.

Yet, all he saw in her eyes was a growing hate of him the closer she got to victory.

An upward axe kick knocked the arms he had held before his face like a boxer over his head, then a reverse turning kick shot out towards his exposed throat.

'I'm going to die.' For a brief instant, everything seemed to freeze for Ael. He had stared death in the face, and embraced it many times over his multiple lives. It should have been something he was used to, and would have welcomed a few weeks ago. However, unlike every other time he had met death, an instinct sparked inside him. Liquid fire poured through his nerves, and his multiple deaths flashed past his eyes.

The brain, when sensing death, does an interesting thing. It goes through every memory, every thought, and every emotion in rapid fashion. This is not a failure of organic machinery, or breakdown of human chemistry. It is a last ditch effort to find a solution to a problem with no answers. Death is such an experience like no other, that the brain goes through every memory in vain to find some method to avoid it. This is what is the physical phenomenon when people say, 'their lives flashed before their eyes'.

Ael's brain was now doing the same. The survival instinct so long suppressed under despair and depression had been unearthed, and as it exhausted every possible option it had as a human, it moved on to his other heritage.

For a brief moment, Ael saw himself die. He saw Lorien's foot crush his throat, and the raw hatred in her eyes.

Then he was back in the moment, arms still up and guarding his face.

Lorien shifted forward, preparing the axe kick that would break his guard. Her center of gravity shifted for a split second, and in that moment Ael dropped down and tackled her.

The girl was stronger than him, faster than him, and most importantly more experienced than him in fighting. However, she was only a child in her early teens. Ael was a fully grown man, and he weighed quite a bit more than her.

Ael saw her eyes widen for a moment as he made contact. Then the two of them were rolling across the springy ground of the auditorium.

The world spun around Ael for a moment, then he gagged as Lorien wrapped her legs around his neck in a triangle choke.

"That is enough." Tathelin said with a clap of her hands, and Lorien released Ael.

He coughed once before looking up at her. It took a blink or two to get the blurriness out of his eyes, but when he could see, the girl who had looked at him with a cold hate appeared surprised.

"It is time for the next lesson, Lorien." Tathelin said. "Wipe yourself off, and sit with Elalindra and the rest of your group."

Lorien nodded vacantly, then walked away with the other children who were getting wet towels to cool themselves and clean off the drying sweat.

"Well done." Tathelin said as she touched Ael's shoulder. He felt a strange chill in the air, then the multiple cuts and bruises on his body began to heal. "How was the gift of Asuryan?"

"Uncomfortable." Ael said back as he felt his aching lungs and throat go back to normal. "Was there no other way?"

"Could you have learned to do that?" Tathelin asked back as she helped him to his feet.

'No.' Ael thought to himself. What he had experienced was an instinct. There were no real words to describe it.

"Did she get something out of this?" He enquired instead.

Perhaps it was the lack of long-lasting pain, and the sudden shock of awakening this new 6th sense, but he didn't feel any anger towards the girl. Instead there was an aloof sort of pity in his breast. Hate consumed her, but acting upon it offered no release. The closer she got to victory, the stronger the fire became. That made her a danger to others, and to herself.

'What could have done that to a child?' Ael thought to himself. All of his childhood memories had been fabricated, but he still knew what a normal Terran child was supposed to be like. Lorien was not like that.

"Unlearning an instinct is as hard as awakening one." Tathelin said sadly. "But, both of you still have much to learn from the other."

"We're doing this again?" Ael almost groaned.

"This was merely the beginning." Tathelin chuckled. "Now, come with me. You will be helping myself and the others prepare the mid-day meal. After that, I will be tutoring you in regards to the immaterium. Being able to see means that other things can also see you."

Ael sighed and followed Tathelin to a group of other Aeldari women preparing a meal at what looked like white boards floating in mid-air or held up by opposing lengths of taut wire.

This was going to be his new routine, it appeared, but although he would probably be staring death in the face more often, he could now stand up and stare it back in the eye.

---

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[Nidhog153]

A/N 1 : Although the laboratory where the Primarchs were made is often described as being underground, the description provided by Valdor in "Valdor : Birth of the Imperium" makes it clear that there was an above ground portion as well with walls, roofs, and buttresses.

—-------------------------------------------------

The Himalazia mountains. Its once young rocks were now eternally petrified; geologically dead ever since mankind sent their machines to burrow beneath the crust, harvesting the planet's heat and rare minerals from the molten mantle. Radioactive ash and dust mixed with real snow now capped the peaks, and survivors of the Roma eked out a miserable existence within the crashed wreckage of their once great flying transports.

The Emperor's laboratories were built into the mountain itself. An external portion for receiving flyers and supplies took the form of an Imperial fort, looking down on the opposite side of the mountain to the Imperial Palace. It appeared to be a large military installation made to observe the Palace's blindspot behind the mountain. However, this was merely the cover story. Beneath the fort, the Emperor's most advanced laboratories were buried; deep beneath tonnes of solid rock supported by metal columns formed of alloys humanity had long forgotten the names of. Tunnels and corridors connected rooms filled with bioreactors and genesis pools sealed by rolling adamantine doors, and human guards stood at attention at every intersection and port. It was within this maze of facilities that Isha and the Emperor walked quietly.

The Aeldari goddess kept her face and ears hidden underneath a brown cloak as she walked behind the Emperor. A deep frown creased her brow as the entire facility bore down on her. The Emperor's wards were woven into every inch of the facility. Even its physical layout mimicked a series of runes, creating a literal spell with its very design. Corridors that went nowhere and oddly shaped rooms with nothing in them served to finish each stroke of the runes, which were layered upon each other and joined up in 3 dimensions with seemingly pointless staircases and shafts. All this also served to make this maze of a facility confusing to any unwelcome guests of the mortal variety.

The sides of Isha's hood occasionally twitched as her long ears flicked with irritation. Being here was unpleasant for her; as both a non-human and being of the immaterium. It was like walking along a plank with electrified bars on either side that crackled and hissed every second, threatening to char anyone who touched them.

"I will talk with Astarte." The Emperor said as they walked. "After sharing the new gene-loci you provided, I will oversee the preliminary experiments she will no doubt conduct. My sons are in the same lab, as is Erda. You may speak to her while I observe Astarte's work."

Isha nodded in response, preferring to remain silent. This place had soured her mood, and she did not quite trust her tongue enough to keep the displeasure from being expressed.

Although it was understandable why the Master of Mankind had created such a fortress for his most valued project, the Aeldari would have preferred their defenses to be as invisible as possible. Displays such as these made them stick out like a sore thumb, and it was usually more efficient to have the enemy unaware of your positions instead of attempting to make them impregnable. However, as the Imperium needed to begin from Terra, hiding the Emperor's projects from the immaterum was virtually impossible.

But it still brushed against her sensibilities and spirit.

The final door to the Primarchs' development chamber was formed by a massive gear-like plug slotted into the opening. It hissed as it opened, coming out of its seal and onto a toothed track that allowed it to roll out of the way, revealing an airlock. Both entered, and Isha felt the temperature drop unnaturally. This place was deep beneath the earth, meaning it was much warmer than most expected. All the other areas had to be regularly cooled to allow human habitation, but here the temperature was cold enough to see frost forming in real time, spreading icy fingers out of the doorway as if trying to claw its way out.

Isha wrinkled her nose as the faint stench of blood, rot, and smoke passed her by. There was no actual smell, nor was there a hole to the immaterium here. But, the creatures who lay beyond the final door of the airlock came from the Warp, and it was from them that she felt its diluted touch.

The airlock opened, revealing a room large enough to act as an airport hanger. Technicians in protective environmental suits were milling over various pieces of glassware and laboratory appliances, while Custodes and armed human guards watched them. Centrifuges spinning tubes of red liquids, petri-dishes holding small organs with several different lines of cells, and pipette holders were lined up on long tables. Permanently burning bunsen burners were interspersed among these, like candelabra amongst food during a medieval feast. Yet, despite the sterilizing flames and activity of the men and women here, an arctic chill pervaded the room; leaving mildew frost upon every surface that went untouched for even a moment.

In the center of this all, on a central raised platform, a column of black and silver machinery rose. 20 pods were coupled to the machinery at the top of the column; bound to it by wires, chains, and industrial clamps that surrounded them from every angle, leaving only a small viewing port at the front visible. Tubes filled with red haemolubricant fed into Gellar field generators attached to the back of each pod, containing the Primarch's psychic senses while simultaneously hiding them from immaterial sight.

Isha's silvery eyes looked up and around the place from under her hood, seeing past the now and into the tangled web of what-ifs that surrounded this place, and her brow furrowed at what she saw.

"My Lord." Astarte said, interrupting Isha's observations. The old woman was in an orange environmental suit, just like the other gene-sculptors who were working on the organs of the new Legions. Isha removed herself from the woman's perception, leaving her to talk with the Emperor. He wouldn't mind her slight fiddling with the woman's mind, for he was also in there convincing her brain that he was in an environmental suit similar to Astarte's instead of his suit of auramite armour.

Isha jumped up to the top of the black and silver column. The chill was particularly biting here, but it was not the cold that furrowed her brow. Each of the pods brought glimpses of the future of the individuals. Golden sons rising from Terra. Barbarian warlords growing up in frozen forests with wolves for parents. Crusaders leading a charge to cleanse their world of what they defined as 'taint'.

Children are said to have infinite potential, and these children were at the center of the restoration of humanity. It was not odd to see so many different fates for them. Yet, among those various futures, there were several scenes that appeared out of order.

Isha's silver eyes turned on a pod engraved with the numerals XI. The glass port revealed a developing embryo with translucent skin and a vestigial tail. At the same time, she saw a fully grown child or around 6 or 7 inside the pod with the image of an armoured fist reflected in the glass. The full view of the owner of the fist was occluded to her, both by the various scenes of fate, and the immense Gellar field that surrounded each pod. Yet, the twin-headed Aquila embossed upon the white and gold gauntlet was not supposed to exist until after the Primarchs were born…

"Find something interesting?" A high pitched girlish voice asked from behind Isha.

"The future is always interesting." Isha replied as she turned around.

A young girl with one hand behind her back stood behind her. She was dressed in a simple gown of black cotton, and her dark hair had a slight wave to it like the ripples on a river.

"What have you done here, Erda?" Isha asked slowly.

This was the future part of the triumvirate that was Erda, and it was the future they were discussing now. Yet, things were not in order here, or would no longer be in order very soon. She saw armoured warriors walking past the pods in suits that had yet to be invented, carrying insignias that still lay on drawing boards. There were numerous versions of the same Primarch, all of them mutually exclusive to each other.

"This is not my doing." The young girl shrugged innocently. "These children come from beyond the veil. In their unborn state, they are closer to what they originally were. Time is meaningless in the Warp, and it has less of a hold on them as well. It would not surprise anyone that there are 'what-ifs' that lead back to where they were born."

Isha cast her eyes back on the unfamiliar individuals who shouldn't be here. Some of them were themselves from future years, others were their gene-sons seeking out the origins of their fathers. Most of them reeked of regret and remorse. The questions they bore were not formed from curiosity, but fear and pain. The few who had no such feelings were instead gripped by a dark rapturous ecstasy that did not come from academic satisfaction, but the discovery of a dark secret that could be used as a weapon.

"Does the sight of failure not concern you?" Isha asked the girl.

If all things went well, there would be no need to go back to the past. The fact that these individuals had made the journey here with such emotions was evidence that they were unhappy with their lot under the Emperor. If they had gone as far as resorting to returning to the past, things did not bode well for the Emperor's original plan of a golden humanity.

"Those that succeed will have no need to come here." Erda said darkly. "Hence, we only see the failures that come to pass. Those were the Emperor's words." The young girl aged rapidly into an old woman; skin darkening, toughening, and wrinkling till it looked like the bark of an olive tree. "Yet, it is the paths that do not lead back here that I fear."

Isha looked at the pod beside her, number VI. She could see a man in military uniform, hair cut short in military style.

"And now?" Isha asked as she watched the man in military uniform order orbital bombardments that would wipe out worlds of humans and aliens alike.

"Nothing has changed for them, but that is to be expected. They are unborn, and thus every possibility is still open to them. Even eventualities that seem impossible to us now still remain in the realm of plausibility."

"You think that the Emperor will return to what he originally was?" Isha said, narrowing her eyes as the old woman returned to the young girl.

More than one of the Primarchs could be seen wiping out her children. The occupant of pod XVII took particular gusto in it, crushing Soul Stones under boot before burning what remained of a Craftworld with a proud smile on his face. Such a thing was unlikely to come to pass with the way things were, but that path of fate was still visible to her.

"That too is a possibility." The girl replied. "He may kill you and proceed with his grand plan, even after the Primarchs are born. If he can deign to dally with an alien such as yourself, then you can easily imagine it is equally likely for him to return to what he once was. The occurrence of one improbability naturally means that another may come to place."

Isha looked at the girl again. A mocking cynical smile was on her young face, and her body was half turned away from the Aeldari goddess, hiding her left hand behind her body.

"You are a pessimist." Isha said solemnly.

"Humanity has not given me much to hope for." The young girl chuckled. "Do you not feel anything after seeing so many fall to their bombs, bolters, and blades?"

"That is what it means to see the future." Isha said softly. "If one were afraid of seeing the worst of what was to come, one would not be able to see beyond the veil and act upon it. After all, the only certain way of avoiding the future is never to reach it."

The young girl's eyes narrowed at the implication. The only way to not to reach something that was to come was not be there. i.e. death or oblivion. The suggestion of suicide drew out a rebellious glare from her adolescent eyes.

"And I have seen far worse." Isha said quietly.

Erda's ire slowly drained away as she saw the millions of years of pain contained in those few words.

"How did you deal with what you saw back then?" The mother of humanity asked.

"We lived. Some of it was instinct. Some of it was pride. Some of it was hate." The mother of the Aeldari responded. "The good and the bad were both what kept my kind alive."

"Even though you ended up destroying yourselves, and creating a stain on the galaxy that will harm many more?"

"It may be selfish, but to live is to both suffer and cause suffering. It is also to enjoy and give joy to others." The goddess of life said as she crossed her arms. "My children may have blighted the galaxy with She who Thirsts, but we will also be the ones to fight against Hir the hardest."

"Is that how you will take responsibility for all your sins?"

"No, it is a matter of survival." The Aeldari goddess snorted. "My children do not owe this galaxy anything. We paid for its continued existence in blood during the War in Heaven. It is not for some noble lofty reason that we fight against what we have wrought."

"You called me a pessimist, but for a goddess you are terribly mundane and amoral." Erda chuckled.

"I gave up the ability to judge my children aeons ago. There is no forgiving what they have done, so I stand by them and suffer as they do."

"Do you see some hope for them?" Erda asked as she turned towards one of the pods.

"I do not know." Isha said softly. "The future is uncertain for my children, as it is for yours. However, you should not ask for the opinion of an alien deity regarding your children. I have my own agendas and they are your children. What I hope for may be opposite to yours."

"Of course." Erda said with a pained pitying look at the pulsing fetus within the pod. The dark eyebud, still positioned on the side of its head, seemed to be looking back at her through the glass.

Isha turned back to a different pod, and the floating pre-human inside it. In the physical realm, it seemed oblivious to its surroundings, yet its soul was far from still. Numerous tendrils spread out from it, lapping at the edges of the gellar field like the grasping tendrils of a strangling vine. These spiritual umbilicals drew near to her, like the purple filaments of a plasma globe focusing in on a finger touching their containment sphere.

"Their soul's overflow their bodies." Erda said, sticking her arm past the boundary of the Gellar field around the pod closest to her. The numerous soul strands immediately latched onto the young girl's arm, feeding on the essence of the mother of humanity. "Their time in the Warp was not kind to them, and it begins to show on their physical form."

Isha cast her eyes on a pod number IX. The occupant of this pod was markedly different to the others, growing 6 limb buds instead of the four one would expect. In the future, the two positioned on his back would be angelic wings. Yet, in their naked unformed state, the wing buds made the fetus appear almost insectile with its too many limbs.

She had called these Primarchs to the children of Molech.

Molech; the Canaanite god of child sacrifices. That was what the name was most commonly associated with, but in truth no such god ever existed. Mistranslations and zealous propaganda against the enemies of Rome had solidified that image, but in truth the word originally simply meant 'to sacrifice' in the ancient languages.

However, it was with the Roman definition humanity had used when they named the planet where the Primarchs came from.

She had seen what had happened there through the eyes of the Emperor.

"The Babel education center." She said softly as she stared at pod IX.

"A reference to when all mankind spoke a single language. Unity for all humanity." Erda said as she pulled her arm out of the Gellar field, detaching from the numerous umbilicals of the pod's occupant.

"An orphanage for children across your ancient federation." Isha sighed. "Souls are more powerful the longer they live. It is with age, experience, and emotion that they ripen. That is why the long lives of my children fueled us the most. Yet, humanity took a different approach, didn't it?"

"Self-sacrifice is a trait found more often in the young than the old." The young girl said darkly. "With life-spans extended for thousands of years, they thought themselves eternal and too important to be removed."

"So your kind made do with numbers."

"They gathered gifted children from all across the galaxy." Erda almost whispered, as she age back to an old woman. "Adolescents to infants who tested well in one or more areas of physical, mental, or psychic aptitude with few connections were gathered there."

"All to complete the original objective of the mythical tower of Babel." Isha said as she turned back to the old woman. "To reach god with mortal means."

—-------------------------------------------------

Astarte smiled to herself as she watched the projections for the new genetic sequences provided to her by the Emperor. She had worked with instinctual loyalty before, but such ingrained obedience always carried the risk of subversion by external parties. Even the Emperor's Custodes were not entirely immune to the risk. It also reduced mental flexibility; an unfortunate side-effect to effectively fusing entire neural pathways so predictable behaviors would occur.

However, these new sequences were truly unique in the way they operated. Cell lines for an entirely separate group of organs would create temporary organs within them would chemically and physically restructure the brain for a time before being digested and reabsorbed into the body. She marvelled at the ingenious nature of it as she watched the organ interweave itself in the synthetic brain tissue she had flash grown in order to test its capabilities. It pulled at lobes and brought together mental pathways gently with its microscopically thin root like tendrils, allowing certain thinking patterns to develop before digesting itself into base nutrients. This allowed the initial patterns for mental imprinting to form, but as the various lobes and folds of the brain had not been cemented together at a genetic level, growth was still possible post conversion.

She let out a slight sigh of relief at that. The mental capabilities of the new legions were faster than standard humans at a specification level in terms of synaptic firing speed and memory, not to mention the added function of the Omophagea organ. However, being mentally specialised for forms of warfare at a genetic level had given her some concerns. The Thunder Warriors had proven what the end result of creating organisms purely for the purpose of war was, and there was the Cybernetic Rebellion before that if one wanted more evidence against the creation of sentience solely for the purpose of murder. These new Legions were less aggressive than the Thunder Warriors thanks to the changes in the hormone concoction that pumped through their bodies, but without the psychic presence of their Primarch, she had always worried about their long-term stability.

Astarte had always prided herself in her craft, but quite frankly spending the majority of her life creating nothing but weapons had exhausted her. Gene-sculpting held so much more potential beyond creating monsters. That was why she had joined the Emperor. His vision of a united humanity promised an end to the barbarism on this planet, and a return to growth. An age where culture could finally return, and she would be at last free to practice her craft in other ways.

'This is no doubt her work.' Astarte thought to herself, remembering the blond xeno the Emperor had brought back. This sudden shift in development deviated from the Emperor's original suggestions, indicating her influence.

The idea of having xeno inspirations in her work did not perturb Astarte. Humanity's greatest strength lay in its shamelessness, and she personified that trait most of her life by working for despotic tyrants and barbarian warlords. It didn't matter who got hurt so long as she could continue her work. Likewise, this xeno assistance was nothing to be ashamed of, but seen as an opportunity to steal some of their science for herself.

She had heard old stories of that mercurial race, and how their genetic modifications allowed them to adapt to virtually any environment. They said some were even able to swim in the plasma of suns and survive in the void of space.

"How fair your experiments?" The Emperor asked, interrupting her musings on the xenos' reported capabilities.

"The new organ works as expected." Astarte answered back. "I have identified the necessary chemical signature required to begin its apoptosis. Slight modifications to the Ossmodula and Biscopea can allow them to control its growth and death in tandem with the reinforced ossification of the skeleton and muscle growth. Coupled with Omophagea samples from our current prototypes out in the field, I believe we can incorporate more efficient combat reflexes and specialisations in new recruits. This should accelerate their training, allowing for their military education to progress far faster than before."

"And what effects do they have on the pre-existing conditions of the Legions?"

Astarte grimaced internally at the mention of the issues the Legions' gene-seed faced. Many of them had quirks that could not be written out of their designs. The issue was unique for each Legion, and seemed to stem from the gene-father of each one. However, the Primarchs themselves did not seem to suffer the same issues according to the Emperor's experiments. She took it as a painful reminder of the difference in skill between the Emperor and herself. Although, since there was only one of each Primarch, she could also soothe her pride with the knowledge that it might have been only some miracle of statistics that the Emperor's creations did not suffer the flaws hers did.

"Further specialisation will be required for each Legion." Astarte replied. "However, with this physical means of manipulating the formation of synapses, we can both create and stall instinctual behaviors. For example, the IXth's Sanguinary traits can be physically prevented from forming during their initiate years without modifying the actual code of the gene-seed itself."

'In other words, it is also removable from the Emperor's designs at any point.' Astarte thought to herself. No doubt that was by design. This particular improvement bordered on being antithetical to the Imperium's official stance regarding xenos. The only saving grace it had was that the organ itself was grown entirely out of human cells, and used human genes to function.

"Then begin with developing the XVIIth's organs first."

"Are you sure, my Lord? The XVIIth is one of the more stable gene-lines of the Legions. They require no immediate remedy."

"And it is for that reason they will serve as the safest testing bed for this." The Emperor said to her, turning in his giant environmental suit. "You wished for a more mentally sound and flexible creation. The XVIIth will show whether that will truly be achieved."

"The results will take several years to come in, not to mention difficult to separate from environmental factors. The IXth, XIIIth, or maybe even the IVth would provide clearer results." Astarte countered. The XVIIth were one of her personal victories amongst the Legions. All of their organs were functioning properly with virtually 0 chance of failure, even without the stabilising psychic signal from their gene-father.

"The XVIIth are also the most vulnerable to dogmatic behaviour." The Emperor replied. "We have already seen signs of mental inflexibility in the first candidates."

"I blame the candidates you have recruited and the means of educating them." Astarte grumbled. "I still do not see why we had to recruit from what are effectively penal brigades."

The Emperor did not answer her immediately.

Many of the Legions' recruits came from the children of conquered foes, but the XVIIth was apart from the rest in that their initiates came from the offspring of those the Imperium had utterly exterminated. The only remains of their parent's Chaos tainted culture and teachings was branded onto their backs as a mark of sin, a mark of hate, a mark of what the Imperium sought to stamp out. Such knowledge was dangerous to teach, so the XVIIth's gene-seed had been designed to ensure obedience and loyalty to the Imperium under these conditions. They would be utterly loyal, no matter the abuse and self-hatred they endured while being educated on the evil nature of their sires and their religions.

"It is because of the XVIIth's mental modifications that I wish for you to test the new organ on them." The Emperor explained. "Due to the nature of their education, they may require the organ for a longer period of time. This will serve as a test bed to see how long the organ can function, as well as the degree to which it can influence their behavior."

Astarte thought over this for a moment. There was a line of logic in that argument, however, it was not one she was particularly fond of. This new organ was meant to allow for greater flexibility by being removable in the future. Having it as a semi-permanent controller of behavior seemed to be the opposite of her intended purpose.

"As you will, my Lord." She said, however.

Although not completely convinced, there was logic enough to work with. This could probably be looked at as a stress test of the organ; a measure to see what its limits in the field were. The results would take another decade or so to become conclusive, but the XVIIth was not a mainline fighting force on the face of Terra. That meant she could take her time with her work, and not worry about being harangued by the haughty Constantin Valdor if her experiments interfered with his strategies.

—-------------------------------------------------

Neoth turned to look at the two women standing amongst the Primarch pods, allowing Astarte to muse about the new organ and how to modify the XVIIth with it.

He watched Erda run her hand over one of the pods; over the inscriptions engraved upon it in a language not even his Custodians knew. Around them multiple possibilities played out with power armoured men in different colours marched around them in shock at the sight of their gene-father's origins.

The future was never set in stone. Even now, the ghosts of future failures thronged here, despite the steps he had taken. Numerous what-ifs of the most outlandish scenarios wandered through his laboratories, obscuring the exact event that caused them to come here with their numerous conflicting backstories.

He paid these wraiths no particular attention. At times, simply staying the course was enough to avoid an unfavourable outcome, and there was always the risk of falling for self-fulfilling prophecies. For the moment, 'good-enough' would have to do in regards to his plans; otherwise one could not move on any ambition with speed.

Still, it was slightly aggravating to see the same patterns happening all over again, despite the recent changes in his plan. Then again, humanity was a stubborn creature. Its fate would naturally be as difficult to handle.

His brief introspection was interrupted as he noticed Isha descending from the central pillar.

'Have you seen enough?' He asked the Aeldari with telepathy.

'Not enough to make a decision.' Isha replied curtly. 'Although with all these intertwining fates, it may not be a choice I will have to make.' Her silvery eyes turned on one possible future where two red blades enclosed in crackling power fields sliced through the Gellar field of pod XIII.

'I see Erda's pessimism has rubbed off on you.' The Emperor muttered. 'And I doubt I need to remind you, the very act of attempting to prevent these fates may bring them about.'

'I understand that.' Isha snapped back. 'My mother, Morai Heg duelled with the Raven Lord for many millennia.' She let out a small sigh before continuing. 'However, much of the future rests on what you will do then instead of now. We may truly be powerless to affect it until we get to that point.'

'You believe I will backslide into what I was?' Neoth asked angrily. He too saw the scenes of his sons butchering Isha's children. It was unlikely to happen with his current relationship with the goddess, but the fate still remained visible to both of them.

'The option is there. It was the only way you would accept my help.' Isha answered tiredly.

The Emperor's jaw tightened as he bitback a remark. His eyes moved back to the various possible futures before him of disillusioned men seeking purpose in the past, for their future contained none.

'Will you help me?' He finally asked.

'I will do my best.' Isha replied. 'I too wish for them to be born here. At the very least, I can keep a closer eye on them that way.'

The Emperor nodded to himself, then returned to Astarte to provide a few last minute instructions.

—-------------------------------------------------

A/N 2 : There are references to "Wolfsbane", "The First Heretic", and "False Gods" in this chapter with those mentioned being Leman, Horus, and Argel Tal respectively either see alternative version of themselves or return to the moment of the Primarchs' birth.