pitiful party placeholder

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+++Classification Vermillion... Granted...+++
+++Intenal Vox Thief Transcript: ******-**-******-*********...+++
+++Circa 001.M31...+++
+++Locale: Nikaea, Council Grounds...+++
+++Records herein sealed by order of The Sigillite...+++
+++Interning Authority... Captain-General Constantin Valdor... Subvault *********-******-********-**-*-*****...+++

“Any moment might be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we are doomed.
You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.”
- Assigned to a pre-M1 Terran remembrancer, identity unknown.

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Parties had never suited Nelchitl, the idea of entertaining nobles, generals, and merchants felt beneath the skills that the Emperor had given her, a waste of her innate talents. So she had avoided the party like the Bonic Plague of old. Sequestered herself away in her own private chambers as she poured over reports from Tempestus and her daughters in other far-flung corners of the Crusade. But she could only keep herself still for so long, could only read endless scrolling data points and reports so many times before she became restless. So she found herself walking the halls of the council building.

She’d left her entourage behind, a nod of authority keeping even her honor guard in their places as she had left her rooms in a black body glove and a flutter of the black cloak she wrapped around herself. Though she knew she was tricking no one with her disguise, she felt that at least acting like she did not wish to be noticed would keep the most mundane of the remembrancers and other dignitaries from approaching her. She stalked the halls, her path taking her quietly toward the location of the party that had been the talk of practically every mortal in the building since its announcement.

Electing to bypass the grand entrance she worked her way around the edges of the hall, avoiding groups of servers and guards as she looked for a more obscure entrance to get a look at what was happening within. As she came around a group of exhausted looking servers beneath the shadow of a large arch she spotted her entrance. A simple portal that servers came and went from like clockwork. She ducked from beneath the arch, drawing gasps and excited chatter as the form of a Primarch seemed to practically materialize in front of the mortals, and made her way to the door quickly.

She stepped into a kitchen busy with activity that almost immediately ceased, only the most engrossed of the chefs in their tasks continuing to go about their cooking and preparations for a heartbeat longer than the rest as Nelchitl entered into their midst.

“Continue your work.” She commanded quietly before starting to pick her way between the stunned cooks to the exit on the other side of the kitchen.

Just before the disguised figure could open the kitchen exit, the door opened. Arnulf Wode stepped through the door, his uniform jacket half off, his field cap hanging off his head at a jaunty angle. He looked tired, he looked worn out, he looked ready to collapse and sleep.

“Don’t stop for me, continue workin’.” He said to the staff, then stopped when he saw the robed figure. He woke up immediately, hand flying to the bolt pistol holstered at his hip. The robed figure was tall, around nine feet, so that meant Astartes, but why they were sneaking around the servant entrances with their identity concealed was beyond him.

“Identify yourself.” He growled, “If you’re a legionary, you got no business bein’ here. Turn around and I won’t take your name.”

Nelchitl stopped in her tracks at the sight of Wode, a small grin creeping across her lips beneath the hood as she leaned back calmly.

“Or what Brother? You’ll get your ass beat again?” she teased, her hands rising to lower her hood and reveal the grin beneath. “Though I have to say, I’m a little upset you thought me an Astartes.” she feigned hurt as she waved an enthralled cook back to his obviously burning food.

Wode’s posture turned from half-crouch to a standing slouch, his face a nonplussed grimace. He buckled the flap of his holster, securing the ivory-handled bolt pistol in its place once again.

“Ha ha. You scared the shit out of me, Nel.” He said, “What are you trying to do, exactly? Sneak -into- the party? Dressed like that? And you don’t think Sekh wouldn’t have known you were coming through this way anyways? You know how the servants blabber.”

He looked around to the staff gawking in awe at their stations, making a token effort to work but clearly enthralled by the conversation taking place. “...No offense.”

“I tend to have that effect on people.” Nelchitl replied with a shrug. She glanced over the surrounding staff, a small part of her offended that they were dallying in their duties, but the rest of her understanding just what it was they were audience to. She lifted her cloak slightly with both hands, the body glove beneath showing through the part at its center as she sighed, “I just didn’t want to be bothered, and I’d hoped to go unnoticed though,” she gestured to the cooks still entranced around them, “it was never going to work.” she admitted with a laugh.

“And you?” she raised an eyebrow as her grin grew, “What are you, Primarch of the Tenth doing leaving through the kitchens?” she ghosted in close to Wode, a predatory glint in her eyes as she moved around him, a finger tracing the cut of his shoulders as she did, “Surely you couldn’t be trying to escape unnoticed,” she tugged at his ceremonial dress, “in such clothes of all things?”

“A bodyglove to a formal dinner?” Wode retorted, his voice a half-chuckle. “That is…”

He seemed to cut off, as if consciously avoiding saying something crass. This was, in fact, exactly what he was doing, as the second half of the sentence would’ve been, ‘..decidedly feral world of you.’ He playfully shrugged Nel’s hand from his uniform, straightening out the miniscule crease she’d created with a single, smart tug.

“In any case, it’s not like I’m going to strip naked on the dance floor and stride out in my birthday suit.” He bulldozed over his clumsy pause. “It’s the dress khakis of the Pact. It’s -designed- for occasions like this. And as for why I’m leaving, it’s because parties wear me out faster in an hour than a week of cross-country in a Predator. I can’t imagine you’re much more fond of them than I. I didn’t expect to see you at all.”

“Sekhmetara would say it’s accentuating.” she teased, raising her cloak to reveal the form fitting view to Wode and several of the human cooks. “And stripping naked surely wouldn’t be the most stunning thing that has happened in that room tonight, of that I am sure with who I’ve been told is in attendance.” she added quietly just for Wode.

She reached down into a pot of some exotic sauce and took a bit on her finger, the cook at the station shrinking away from her reach as she did, “I’m sure I could tire you out much faster than that,” she said almost as an afterthought as she brought her finger up to taste the sauce, “and I can’t say I wasn’t curious of what was happening within. Things like this, they’re a once in a several lifetime event, though we don’t have that issue really.” she admitted before placing an approving pat on the cook beneath her who stumbled forward at the force of the Primarch’s hand.

Wode didn’t look away as she lifted her robes, and the view was nice, but, he wasn’t sure what to say. Nel was pretty, but, they were siblings, weren’t they? Even still he barely knew her, and they didn’t really look alike - she had the tanned skin, the lithe build of an equatorial native, and he looked like a squat, pale-skinned, blond-haired wall of a man. Were they related?

Was he overthinking? Almost certainly. He snapped back in to focus just to catch the second half of the flirt - and it was a flirt, he was certain - which made him produce a noise that was a half cough, half grunt of surprise. Again, the back foot, always the back foot with her.

Push on, that was the Pact way, he thought. He liked her attention, but, he had no idea how to respond to advances from her. “...I suppose we don’t, though I still really don’t think of myself as some… immortal demigod. I wasn’t, until Father came to get me. I mean, I guess I was but… I didn’t know, you know?”

He seemed morose at that. The prospect of outliving everyone he knew was a thought he always came back to, and it always made him feel the same way.

Her brow furrowed in concentration for a moment before she spoke, her tone light with an understanding of what Wode was feeling, “You and I, we were found so recently,” she paused as she regarded the cooks once more before continuing her thoughts, “It can be hard to take it all in.” she agreed before motioning for Wode to follow her, “Though such talk is best done where the mortals can’t hear us.” she turned to give a smile to the closest cook, “The sauce was outstanding.” she added as she lifted the comparatively small man from his feet and placed a tiny kiss on his cheek, “And no one will ever believe you.” she finished as she placed him back on his feet.

Walking from the kitchen she led Wode on through the shadows of the halls once more. He bowed for the menials and kitchen staff. One line cook was present enough mentally to whistle at the primarch, and then the others broke into a ragged cheer. The master of the 10th, for his part, simply shook his head and stalked after his sister.

“Where did you have in mind?” Wode asked, walking behind her. “...It’s not another duel, is it? Warn me if you’re gonna start throwing sword cuts again.”

Nelchitl laughed at Wode’s concern, the sound of it nearly cutting through the shadows around them as she turned down another hall, “Nothing so bad.” she assured him, “I figured we could talk this time, like normal… Primarchs?” she shrugged as they arrived at an empty room adorned with only a simple table for meetings of far less important individuals than them.

Taking up a seat on the table itself she turned to Wode, her eyes alight with curiosity as she regarded him, “You were found mere minutes before me as far as I’m concerned, and maybe I take our situation...” she refrained from the word ‘divinity’, “better than you. But I too have found it hard to adjust at times.”

With a sigh she shrugged the cloak from her shoulders, letting it fall around the table at her hips, “Life was simpler once, that is for sure.” she admitted, “But now He is here to guide me. To guide us.” she finished with a conviction bordering on fanaticism.

Wode sat down in a chair, flipping it around to sit with his chest to the backrest. He looked up at Nelchitl as he spoke. “Normal Primarchs. Not sure if a thing like that exists, but sure.”

If she stared with curiosity, he looked at her with a… hard to describe expression. He seemed at once eager to speak with one of his peers at depth, but, strangely guarded. Equals had been a rarity for him even before he had been elevated as he was.

“He is here indeed.” He said as she finished. “I think about him a lot. He’s… not like anything I’ve ever seen before. To be frank, you aren’t either…”

That’d have to do as a counter-flirt, but it was weak, and he grimaced internally as he said it. “...but he’s somethin’ else. Do you really think he’s a… y’know?”

The last unspoken word being, of course, ‘god’. It wasn’t politic to say such things in Imperial society, but with just them, he figured he could broach the topic.

Her brown eyes studied her sibling as he spoke, the depths of them appearing to stare far deeper into him than should be possible. Her head tilted at the implication of his question, the ghost of a sneer almost seeming to grow across her lips before she stood suddenly, knocking over one of the small chairs around her in the process. She paced away from Wode, a hand reaching down to run along the tabletop as she came to halt some ways away from him.

“What you imply is dangerous,” she spoke quietly, eyeing the walls of the room for any obvious devices that might catch what she said next. For a moment she thought the better of it as her wish that she had worn her armor to scan for eavesdroppers consumed her mind, but the moment passed quickly as her faith overwhelmed her.

“The Emperor is a God? Is that what you mean?” the Emerald Priestess turned to face Wode, beaming as she spoke, “Of course it’s what you mean. That you have noticed it too…” she moved back to Wode, stopping just steps from him, “It fills me with joy beyond measure to know I am not alone.” she confided in him as she took up a kneeling spot before him.

“When did you know?” she asked, her voice a whisper.

Wode looked back, unflinching. Her gaze was piercing, but he was steadfast in all things, even an examination of his very soul. What was there, was there, and he wouldn’t change it for anyone. She knelt before him, and even as she spoke, he never broke eye contact.

“He creates.” Wode said, simply. “He punishes. He guides. And he knows.”

He reached underneath his collar, pulling forth a small, silver chain. On it was the Catheric cross, the faith of the old days, the dark times. “This is from Salient. I never really believed, but, we all had to… pretend. At least in the merchant house I served. Years of war, I didn’t believe anything like a god existed anywhere, and then…”

He tucked the cross back under his shirt. “And then Father came, and I learned I was one of his angels. Not one of the compassionate ones, either, I’m one of the ones with a sword of light and wings of fire. What else makes sense? Are we seriously even going to consider that he’s just… what? A man? Like I thought I was?”

He shook his head. “No. No no no. It doesn’t make sense.”

Her eyes followed Wode’s hand as he pulled out a small symbol of some faith she wasn’t familiar with, though the implication that it now held their Father as its patron was obvious from the reverence he handled it with.

“You and I, Wode, are so very similar.” she spoke quietly, her own hands moving to unzip the front of her body glove. Pulling it down she exposed the brand between her chest. A simple thing, burned into her skin, what felt like an eternity ago on Ixhun. A depiction of the sun in all its glory, rays spreading across her chest in spirals.

“It never healed,” she began as she closed her glove once more, “burned into me by the Priests of Ixhun, focus mirrors took His light and etched this forever into me.” she touched her chest with reverence before bringing her gaze back to Wode. “His power has kept it there, for all these years. I bleed from foul xenos blades, rend flesh from the sting of their weapons, and it all heals. Yet this icon has remained.” she stated in awe as she clutched at it.

“To bring about His vision is our purpose, however that must be done.” she shook her head and motioned vaguely back in the direction of the party, “Sekhmetara, Daena, and the others, they are fine instruments. Worked from silver and gold to carry out His most delicate of plans, the diplomacy, and empire-building that He so requires. But us Wode,” she rose, taking his hand as she did bringing him to his feet with her, a smooth kick of her leg removing the chair from between them as she ushered him up.

“We were wrought from iron Brother. From steel and blood. We bring about His vision when the finer instruments are useless. I hold that we are the most necessary, despite what you may think. For what our other siblings see as needless slaughter or wasteful expense… We see as necessity.” she smiled, faith burning in her eyes, “His will is always necessary, no matter what the others may seem to think of how it is achieved.”

Although he didn’t touch it, Wode could feel only warmth from Nel’s brand, as if there was a sun inside of her, radiating heat from her marred skin. She was right. They were similar, despite their appearances, two blades forged from the same alloy, even the same chunk of ore. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. Something in him calmed as she spoke. He felt right, for the first time since he’d left Salient.

When she picked him up, he’d let her, and he’d opened his eyes to hers, icy blue meeting warm brown. Fire burned in hers, and in his, ice. She smiled, and he did as well.

“In the far future…” He said, his voice soft, “There is only war. And without us, we’d all have to be warriors. Humanity would never paint another picture, never write another song, never cradle another child. Drowned in blood and the laughter of thirsting gods.”

He grabbed her biceps, firm, and pressed his forehead to hers, just like when they’d dueled in that training room. “We cannot let that happen. We -must- give humanity the stars.”

“No other Gods, only monsters.” she insisted as Wode came in close, a brief thought of Isabis’ dire warning startling her as it flashed through her mind, a hint of unexpected panic filling her eyes for the briefest of seconds, “Monsters we will remove.”

She brought her head back from his, a smile still gracing her features, “And Humanity will have them. Of that I am certain, because He is certain of it.” she brought an arm up, if not somewhat awkwardly as Wode held onto her, and cupped the side of Wode’s gnarled face, “You and I, and those we can trust with such confidence,” her smile shortened slightly, a serious edge creeping into her voice as she spoke, “will ensure that outcome.”

He let go of her, stepping back and nodding his head. He was trying to calm a fire in his chest that wouldn’t go out, and standing that close to the Emerald Priestess wasn’t helping. He cleared his throat.

“I’m glad. I’m glad I’m…” He tilted his head up, chin held high. “Not alone. I won’t say anything of what we spoke of here, of course. That’s secret.”

“He would never allow us to wallow alone with such heavy knowledge as ours.” she affirmed to Wode with a smile, the faithful Emerald Priestess once more returned as she replied, “A secret that will one day become fact. This meeting, and our beliefs, will one day roam the Imperium, Wode. They will move humanity to the greatest heights achievable. One day, not far from now, we shall give them the stars, and a God will come with them.” her voice was filled with emotion as she motioned to to the sky above, some unseen mechanism of internal timers lighting an array of lights in the wall behind her as the council building’s chronometers struck some predetermined twilight hour.

Tears struck him then. Emotion welled up within him as he witnessed her faith, pure and true. They ran down his face, tracing the scars and crags before dropping onto his uniform or the floor, some baptism of this space, rivulets of water from a melting iceberg. This visage, stoic, but moved, would be immortalized thousands of years from now, the Sun Priestess on the right, The Saint of Men on the left, their names even forgotten on some worlds, but for now, it was two siblings, two humans, two angels making a solemn promise to one another, free of guile or machination.

[After the Second Day of the Council of Nikea, Meeting Garden]

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The fauna was of something that the likes of Nodis had rarely seen outside the battlefields that he would be deployed to, yet never would have had enough time to properly enjoy it. The Librarian, still adorned in his power armor, walked through it in a somewhat elegant fashion, stepping as lightly as possible as to not disturb the serene feeling of the location. Water from a nearby fountain could be heard, the warmth of what was essentially a greenhouse touched his face as he smiled and closed his eyes. There was little time to truly bask in what the galaxy had to offer, too much time dedicated to war and the conquest of new Imperial lands. However, now, in a brief time after the Council of Nikea had been temporarily adjourned, Nodis could truly allow his mind to be at ease and his emotion to be one other than dull acceptance of the talking Primarchs that had made him glad that he did not have such rivalries amongst his brothers. Truly, there was no greater time for him to enjoy some private peace, to relax in a manner that he knew that his Gene-Father would disapprove of.

Silent bliss overtook him in that moment, closing his eyes to allow for his mind to focus on the feeling of warmth and the smell of plants that had been untouched by war. Nodis breathed out slowly, entering a meditative state as he contemplated the simple nature of his enjoyment outside of his Gene-Father’s sight.

“You are unlike the other gene-sires of Usriel and Usriel himself, Chief Librarian Nodis Solallis.” Came a voice to his rear. Seated calmly on a small bench concealed out of the way of easy line of sight sat Ayushmatki, legs crossed in a comfortable position with a book held in her hand. She smiled, examining him and the garden. “I could list the ways in which you differ, yet it might be simpler to list the only ways in which you seem similar. You are loyal to him. You share a goal in humanity’s unification. And you seem to believe in developing to its furthest extent the capabilities of humankind.” She remained seated, but snapped the book shut, fixing him with a curious glance. “So tell me, how does one such as this survive within the Nineteenth Legion?”

Nodis eyes came open, not suddenly out of shock, and turned to face the seated form of Ayushmatki with his own look of curiosity as if he did not recognize her initially. Then the memory came back to him, the representative of the Daughters of Iron from the council was who he now had the pleasure of speaking with. The Librarian clasped his hands together and his face moved to have a soft smile on his face as he stepped towards the one that had addressed him. “The Steel Sentinels are not as coarse as one might think, they are family. We treat each other as such,” Nodis spoke, his voice light and carried by the same tranquility that the garden provided.

The Librarian continued in his soothing tone, bowing his head to her, “You are Ayushmatki, I am honored to make your acquaintance after having heard you try to smooth over my ideas with Gene-Aunt Nelchitl.”

Ayushmatki nodded to him, “That I am, Chief Librarian. I am glad to have been able to assist in such. The furthering of humanity’s potential, the development of all abilities that could lead to our dominance and security through the stars - such was something I could not permit to be trampled upon. Think nothing of it, it is the duty of any to defend that which they believe in.”

“And yet I will continue to think of it, Ayushmatki. A kindness to me is still something that I must continue to thank you for, after all, we Sentinels do not get much kindness from those outside our legion,” Nodis stated, raising his head to look upon the form of the other. His warm, soft smile permitted as he studied her features, committing them to memory. His gaze did not faulted as he asked in genuine intrigue, “Might I ask what book it is you are reading, fair lady?”

“It is a fictional novel, written by one of the first individuals to step foot upon this world, based upon her initial experiences. It loses its grounding in the facts about a fifth of the way in, and has currently become a rather exciting tale of swashbuckling romance across the stars.” She smiled, raising it in one hand, “You are welcome to it, should you desire, though I do not know if Astartes outside of a small handful of Legions would appreciate it in truth.” After a moment, however, she turned to the original topic. “It is true, unfortunately. Especially between our own primarchs, that there is little love lost between the Nineteenth Legion and many of its comrades. Nevertheless, that is no such reason for it to continue - especially were more of them like their chief librarian.”

“Alas, there is little I can do on such matters,” he said in a warm, albeit disappointed tone, as he stepped closer to Ayushmakti to gingerly take the book. Nodis looked over the cover briefly before looking back at the other, “Though it seems that you may be in such a similar scenario given what my gene-uncles and aunts said to you. If it were my place to apologize for their behavior I would, as such threats should be beneath those who lead us.”

“One would think, yes.” She said, smiling sadly. “Unfortunately it seems the greatest of humanity are often the most cruel and embittered of us all. I confess, I was unprepared for the sheer extent of it when I first arrived. I am accustomed to the sixteenth, and the gulf between her and… most of her kin is alarming, to say the least.” She sighed, “I appreciate your gesture, nevertheless.”

“That said, I still hold out hope for them,” Nodis started with a bit of naivety to him, bringing his hands together as they mirrored each other, “No one is beyond changing their ways, and I guarantee that my aunts and uncles will become better as time passes.”

Ayushmatki raised an eyebrow, folding one leg over the other as she analyzed the man before her quizzically. “You are a very idealistic individual, especially for one of your Legion. Perhaps more so than I had initially realized.” She remained silent for a time after, simply watching him. “Perhaps this galaxy could do with more like you, however. My primarch was as you, once, but the weight of her experiences has worn her down. I am glad there yet remains such within our Imperium.”

“I have learned a lot during my time as an Astartes and Chief Librarian, Ayushmatki. I am but a product of that time,” Nodis clarified, his smile not faltering even as his gaze seemed to go past the woman before he continued, “I admit, I know little of my gene-aunt Eiohsa, though to know that she was once like myself does bring me a hope that I will find those that share my views.”

A thin, pained smile came across Ayushmatki’s face now as she sighed, “Eiohsa… still shares your views, I believe. She is, I would say without reservation, the most kindhearted and genuinely good of all the Primarchs, perhaps of anyone I have ever known. I have seen many people within my centuries, and none of them have held a candle to her. She bears upon her shoulders a pain I do not know if any of her siblings can truly understand, but she continues to press onwards, motivated solely by her conviction to help guide and protect humanity. She has instilled these same convictions and virtues within her Legion, formerly one of the most brutal and callous of all. She has crafted her domain in the likeness of the dream she holds for the future - learning, compassion, a society where all are equal and prosperous.”

“Then she may hold more similar qualities in my father than one might realize, for he too bears a great pain that I know all too well for I have lived through it and the legion is instilled with his own convictions and virtues, our virtues being that of family, home, and vigilance,” Nodis stated freely, his own tone not shifting as he continued to look over her features, “It seems the Daughters of Iron is one of kindness, compassion, and, dare I say, one of true humanity.”

Ayushmatki smiled truly now, and nodded. “I suppose that is one way to phrase it, yes. Her belief, and the belief of the Legion as a whole, is that it is the duty of an Astartes to shield humanity from the horrors of the universe, to stand as an unbreakable wall against the darkness that threatens it and to stem the tide, to be, dare I say, like iron in their defense of the Imperium - and more importantly, the people within the Imperium.” After a moment, she added, “I suspect your Primarch views you and those like you with distaste, then. Or at least some amount of disappointment.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not. There must be a reason Father Usriel has not subject me to the hypnomat,” Noids said, his smile faltering but for a moment only to come back as he spoke once more, adding, “Surely, he cannot detest my personality that much should he allow me to continue this trend of mine.”

“It is possible he sees you as one of his sons above all else. The Primarchs are many and varied. Some would as soon execute the Astartes of their legions as tolerate what they might see as insubordination.” Said Ayushmatki, motioning him to take a seat on the bench. “Others might cherish their sons and daughters more dearly than anything else within the galaxy. Primarch Andreth may detest your views, but he may love you even more.”

“If that is so then that is but a single more positive to add to my father,” Nodis said, moving himself to finally sit next to Ayushmakti while still offering a warm smile. His movement was smooth as he sat down next to her, though he allowed his hands to fold into his lap as he did so. The Astartes continued, “I do believe that Father Usriel does truly hold a love for his sons, and even his nieces and nephews. At least, he holds us in higher regard than most others that is.”

“And that, Chief Librarian, is why I am here.” From her coat, Ayushmatki produced a small, neatly folded letter, handing it to him. “Your Primarch and myself are, unfortunately, at odds with each other, and much the same between him and my own leader. I wish to apologize for my antagonizing of him during the Council’s events this day - and more importantly, offer my sincere and heartfelt thanks to him for his defense of me. We do not see eye to eye, and neither do he and Eiohsa - but despite this, he did not allow his own personal animosity or feelings to cloud his judgement or sway him from his beliefs. As such, I would like you to deliver him this letter.”

The librarian seemed to give a look of genuine surprise as Ayushmakti proclaimed her intentions, cocking a singular eyebrow as he looked upon the letter and hesitantly took it within one of his hands. Inquisitively, he asked, “You realize that my father may not even read it if he knew it was from yourself, correct?”

Ayushmatki nodded. “That is why I am asking you to deliver it, Chief Librarian. I would deliver it myself, but I do not wish to provoke his ire further.” She paused, and after a moment, allowed a small smile to break out. “I wish to speak to him to give him - and your legion - a gift.”

“You are odd, yourself, Ayushmakti, for you wish to gift a man who had threatened to kill you and stated he would without hesitation,” Nodis responded, looking over the woman as he tucked the letter into the book. He allowed himself to return his normal, soft smile before speaking once more, “I could count on one hand the amount of times I have witnessed someone attempting to do such acts.”

“I misjudged your Primarch, Chief Librarian. I thought things I now know to be false, and I wish to make amends. I will not pretend we shall become friends, or that we shall even do more than tolerate each other’s existence - but I nevertheless wish to apologize to him, and to thank him. He may wish me dead - but more importantly than that, he did not allow his hatred of me to cloud his thinking, and he stood by me against the Primarchs of the Seventh and Twelfth. He is a man of integrity and he holds to his principles like iron - or perhaps, steel might be a better comparison.” She smiled, nodding her head. “Perhaps I am a strange one after all. But nevertheless, I wish it done, if you would be willing.”

“It shall be done, for I believe that this could be but a simple step into alleviating the great rift that has come between the Daughters of Iron and the Steel Sentinels,” Nodis stated, his smile not faltering as his words rode the air. The librarian arose from his seat before reaching over to pluck a flower from a nearby plant, presenting it to Ayushmakti and saying, “A token of my gratitude for the time we spent.”

With those parting words, Nodis walked away from the human.

Ayushmatki held the flower, her eyebrow raised as she studied it in her hand. She did not understand why Nodis had handed it to her - she was, after all, perfectly capable of plucking a flower herself if she wished to, for some reason. She briefly entertained the notion of it being a traditional parting from his homeworld - but just as briefly recalled the Steel Sentinels hailed from the forge world of Vion 5 and no such plant life would exist upon it. Despite her confusion, she did not dispose of the flower, instead examining it for several minutes more. She allowed herself to simply relax in the idyllic garden for a time before she returned to her duties, the flower to remain resting on her desk while she decided what to do with it.

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A set of footsteps echoed down the halls of Nikea, heralding three figures as they made their steady progress towards their destination. The state room of the Primarch of the Nineteenth Legion, Usriel Andreth, loomed ahead. Ayushmatki and her guards from the Daughters of Iron, Kumari and Devaki, approached the guards of Usriel cautiously, Ayushmatki bowing to them before she spoke. “I am answering the summons of your Primarch, honored Astartes of the Nineteenth. May I pass?”

The two honor guards silently looked upon Ayushmakti, clear that words were going between them but they were unable to be heard by the mortal and the other two Astartes. After a few moments one spoke, a cruel tone that only befit a member of the Steel Sentinels washed over them, “You may enter, mortal. Cousins, you shall wait out here with us.”

Ayushmatki nodded to them, then to her guards. “Of course, honored Astartes. They will remain behind, I would expect no less.” After a moment’s hesitation, she stepped through the door, entering into Usriel’s state room. Her first thoughts were that it was not what she had expected - but then, she had not really known what to expect. Usriel loomed within the dimly lit room, and Ayushmatki bowed low to him. “Honored Primarch, thank you for agreeing to speak with me.”

The Primarch, standing in front of the conference table meant for him and his siblings, arms crossed behind his back, had his red gaze down upon the woman. It was clear what his emotion was even if it was concealed by the helmet that he had yet to be seen by most without. His voice cut through the tense air, a cold tone overtaking the air, “You realize the two other Primarchs wish you dead at this present moment, mortal. You are bold to come to me seeking to mend this long standing rift without the aid of your Primarch.”

Silence reigned for a moment as Ayushmatki weighed her next words carefully. “It is true, yes.” She said simply, “And it is true you as well would end me if you could. And yet the reason I stand before you is that, in spite of this - in spite of your animosity to my Primarch, her Legion, and myself… you defended me within the Council. Even though my words were those that enraged you, yourself, you defended me. You held to your principles above your personal dislike for me. That means… it means everything. I misjudged you, Honored Primarch, and I wish to apologize. I hold no pretenses that I may mend the divide in full - but if you will humor me, I would seek… tolerance of each other.” She held his gaze, a part of her mind demanding she crouch low and beg his mercy, one she had wrestled with since the Council had begun. “Honored Primarch, I wish to apologize, sincerely and in the deepest terms, for my actions and my perception of you. Eiohsa is… willful, is perhaps the most polite way of putting it - but I assure you, she will stand by everything I say now.”

Usriel was silent for a moment, perhaps contemplating the words of Ayushmakti or perhaps just allowing the offer to hang for a moment. Nonetheless his tone remained similar, stating with a nod, “Very well, mortal. You will not be ended by my own actions or words for this time. However, I expect a proper apology befitting your place as a the mortal you are.”

Ayushmatki raised an eyebrow at Usriel’s words, a slight frown appearing on her features. “Honored Primarch, I understand what you say - but I remain the Equerry of the Sixteenth Primarch. You are above me it is true, the gulf between us is so great it cannot properly be expressed in words. But I will not debase myself before you or any other. I represent not only my Primarch, not only the legion, but the pride of nearly eight hundred worlds. I will bow to you, I will defer to you, and I will offer you my sincerest, most humble apologies. I beg your forgiveness of my personal transgressions, but I will not disgrace myself upon the whim of any. Strike me down if you would - perhaps I would deserve it.” She looked him in the eyes - or at least, the visor. It was different now. She spoke not as the official delegate to a council - but a single woman standing before a man who transcended the very concept of such.

Perhaps, if he decided to end her, she could resist for a time, but it was a sobering feeling to stand in the presence of a being who not only could wipe her from existence but might choose to do so on a whim. She was without the protection of the Emperor and Sigillite in this chamber, and she felt keenly vulnerable. But even so she stood strong, refusing to back down. She bowed low to him, but she did not prostrate herself, her eyes keenly trained on him throughout. If she was to die by his hand, she would at least assure herself the dignity of seeing it coming.

And there was a thick silence, a silence with an intent of murder as it hung over the vulnerable form of Ayushmakti who continued to gaze upon the form of Usriel. It was a silence that would not last, a near snarl coming from the Primarch, “Ever rebellious you Saravati are, or perhaps just you being afforded the confidence of your post as Equerry. I suppose such an apology will be the best I will get from the likes of you, mortal.” His words did not mask his dissatisfaction, clearly wishing to have seen Ayushmakti know the place that any other mortal would have afforded when apologizing to the likes of Usriel.

“At least you know your place,” he added, his words coming colder and colder as he continued, “Nonetheless, I shall accept your apology, human. If only to avoid furthering the divide between Eiohsa and myself.”

Ayushmatki nodded to him. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart, Honored Primarch. I do not come bearing words alone, please, rest assured.” She stood upright once more, no longer bowing to him. “I wish to offer you a gift, if you would be so inclined to accept it. A token of not only my gratitude, but that of the Legion. I would not be so presumptuous as to merely request your forgiveness and offer nothing in exchange.” She allowed a hint of a smile, “That is, again, if you wish to hear what I may offer?”

“A gift?” Usriel inquired, allowing a moment of genuine shock to reverberate through his voice before spoke once more, commanding, “Speak.”

Ayushmatki’s smile broadened. “You know of the master artifice of Eiohsa, yes? The wondrous creations wrought by her hand, unequalled by any. Your Legion’s love of plasma based ordnance is well known, Honored Primarch. If you would permit, I have the authority to redirect one of Eiohsa’s finest pieces of plasma weaponry ever conceived by her mind. An enormous piece of ordnance that any Legion would dream to have. It is currently employed by the First Battle Group of the Legion. I would transfer ownership of this fearsome weapon to your Legion, Honored Primarch, as a gift and as thanks.” She smiled, “Of course, there are numerous smaller individual and vehicle mounted weapons if you would prefer such instead, each of them no less beautiful and masterfully created.”

“Very well,” Usriel said simply with a nod, adding, “Such weaponry is ill-suited to the likes of those outside of my own legion. Eiohsa may have crafted it, she may even think herself a genius for its design, but it is me and my sons who truly know how to bring out the power of plasma weaponry. I shall accept this gift.”

A slight chuckle escaped Ayushmatki at this. “I’m sure she might disagree with you on that, Honored Primarch, but she would not deny your mastery of such engines of war. I am sure it will be put to a most beneficial use. Eiohsa can craft more - she is skilled at such things, if nothing else.” She nodded to him. “Once more, Honored Primarch, I thank you. We are not friends, and we likely never will be - but I hope we can respect one another, as we serve the Emperor in accordance to our own principles, to the best of our own abilities. And even if our principles may not align, a man who adheres so doggedly to his own, even in spite of personal distaste, is a man I must respect.”

“Most mortals I encounter are unworthy of my or my sons respect, your ilk is cut of a lesser cloth. Yet, those that do earn my respect, such as the Sigilite do occasionally come to my attention,” Usriel stated coldly, looking down upon Ayushmakti. His head inclined as if to look past her momentarily as he continued, “Yet, you shall be among one of them. Take this praise, mortal, I do not give it often.”

Ayushmatki nodded to him. “I thank you then, Honored Primarch.”

[...End Log.]
[...Terminating.]
[Imperial Thought for the Day: The only foe that may stop humanity is humanity itself.]

Malcador is Slightly Irritated
[After the Second Meeting]

---

Malcador led the procession of superhumans, his older frame seemingly unhindered as he moved to a room of his choosing. Unlike his master’s previous audience with the Magos of the Mechanicum, he didn’t bother dismissing those present, simply selecting a quiet enough corridor before turning on his heel to face the Primarchs. Angered orbs bored into each of their skulls, and he took a deep breath before he let himself talk.

‘What, pray tell,’ he spoke severely, ‘are each of you thinking when you make death threats to your siblings and their guests? Accusing one another of treason is one thing, serious an accusation as that is to throw about; but whilst I may normally turn an eye to wrothful talk, this is I need remind you a formal gathering. We are here to consider the evidence, not beat at one another with words or with fists as children might in a Schola. Especially a human of relatively limited ability to fight back, Augor.’ This last spear was particularly pointed, considering the content.

“The evidence is already clear. Eiohsa and her Astartes are traitors. Micholi has also made his intent clear. The Sixteenth in particular is already in breach of the Imperial Truth and the laws set down by The Emperor. They only still live because you and The Emperor refuse to enforce your own laws, as you would have and have done against me - on Engraila.” Nimue said, blandly to Malcador. She and him had little to no interactions with each other, so she saw him as just an adept close to The Emperor. Closer than her, though.

“Sigilite, the record is and shall be clear upon review.” Augor stated, face shaded a peculiar, faintly yellow-hue offset against his otherwise ashen complexion. “I began our discourse with a dispassionate and rational call to a reasoned discourse and consensus. Time and time again, the same malfeasant actors have plied their every effort to turn the discourse away from the actual matter at hand.” He threw one of his bionic hands in a wild gesture back towards the chamber door. “The Council is convened for a particularized purpose and they wish to discuss instead evading and redrafting the Imperial Truth. It is precisely as I said - there is a point past which the privilege afforded to them exceeds the boundaries of what should be permissible and verges onto betrayal. There are countless billions of Human souls that will bear witness to these proceedings, and as crass as my reaction was, worse still would it be to permit the impression that egregious dissent and rejection of the Imperial Truth is permissible. My conscience is clear, and I stand by everything I said.” His voice, if tense, was firm and unapologetic.

Usriel remained silent, his hands firmly behind his back as his helmeted view seemed to go past Malcador without any true explanation behind his words to Ayushmatki. It became clear after a moment of silence that Usriel would not speak as his siblings had.

Malcador’s expression slackened slightly as he looked to Usriel. He knew well that the Primarch didn’t like him very much, and perhaps to grant him the same harsh talk as those truly speaking death to their allies was not so equitable.

‘I shall say, Usriel, your efforts to maintain balance are recognised too,’ he soothed, for what it was worth. ‘But, as was just stated by the Emperor, the mass of humanity is important to ensure its own perpetuation. Outright wishing for their death is not especially helpful.

‘Nor, to be clear,’ he added, returning to his harsher tone, ‘is suggesting outright that you will slaughter them for speaking in turn. I would not say to do so is particularly rational, Augor, and no more so to suggest your fellow Primarchs ought to be killed too, Nimue. And, in case you are overly worried,’ he precisely noted to them both, ‘those actions of theirs which go against the Imperium’s dictates have been noted, and are being countermanded as we speak. To simply kill them is to turn their full forces against the Imperium; these are not costs we can safely incur at such a time.’

“Sigillite - I of course trust the measures you take beyond our knowing, and if this is what you claim then I must take you at your word…” Augor began cautiously. “Though I hope you will find my doubts as to their sufficiency forgivable. Countless billions of Adepts. Hundreds of Millions of Tech-Priests. Can you fathom have many revolts, how many rebellions and calls for dissent will go out once the words of these…” He seemed to struggle for a moment before continuing. “...once their words are issued? Can you calculate the number of Priests of the Cult Mechanicum within whom the seed of doubt shall be planted by the Emperor refusing to speak or issue his word despite the deliberate invocation of multiple Primarchs? How many Heretek Savants and Aspirants may have just been born? How many of the Edicted Xenos will take this as signal to rise up? If there is something you know of that we do not that could assuage our fears, I beg of you, in the name of my father, tell us.”

“Augor, your fears are born of a paranoia that I understand, a fear all too present in my own mind. However,” Usriel started, turning to face his brother, “They are not of the faith. They do not understand. You know as well as I do, that they do not know what is to go against what we believe. They are not bound as you are and I am sure a great many priests know this.”

Nimue said nothing. Unlike the others, her concerns with the Imperial Truth were not based on conflicting beliefs she already possessed - or, at least, not entirely. She had already said her part, there was nothing left to say.

‘Please understand, both of you,’ Malcador began explaining, forcing his tone to level out. ‘The Emperor always has reasons to pursue action when he does. If he has been invoked and does not speak- which, I dare say, it is highly presumptuous to assume that he will always speak when called upon, for he is a wolf rather than any dog- then it is likely that he is waiting for the right moment, which of course was displayed with Prometheus’ subsequent statements.

‘And far beyond simply the Cult Mechanicum, there are humans, unmodified humans, those ruling planets and keeping the Emperor’s assets as well as those in their immediate and not-so-immediate employ, who will see these events, and wonder how safe they are when the leaders of humanity’s conquest threaten individuals who are, by their perspective, rather similar to themselves. Not to mention those who will inevitably find this broadcast when they ought not, and feel as if the Legiones are being led by... well, less than rational warriors, shall I say.’

Malcador folded his hands together, looking over the trio before him. ‘You are all rational, I hope? Because I would hope you’d be happier to show that rationality to all and sundry.’

“I have done nothing but show rationality throughout the debates, Sigilite,” Usriel began in a cold tone as his gaze went back to Malcador, “The serf of Primarch Eiohsa had spoken as if Saravata can be trusted, to which I am sure we all know it cannot. If she wished to spout facts then she’d better look to sources that can immediately be approved by the Administratum.” His voice grew colder as he had spoken to the right hand of the Emperor, his red gaze burrowing into the man before turned away from Malcador.

“Know that the human will know her place,” Usriel finished.

“If it is irrational to state the obvious, that Eiohsa breaks laws where others would be punished immediately and harshly, then I would gladly be irrational,” Nimue stated.

“As far as I am aware, Nimue, Eiohsa is a Primarch. She is not above reproach, however, she is able to dictate as she pleases so long as it furthers the Imperium,” Usriel snapped in a blunt coldness, turning his head to his sister.

“Is that so, brother? Then I suppose, my faith too, should be permitted to once again be open to practice… so long as it furthers the imperium, of course. Is that what you are saying?”

“There is no religion other than that of the Machine Cult as decreed by the Emperor.” Usriel retorted.

“Yes, by the Imperial Truth. Which Eiohsa is actively breaking right now. So? Which is it? Is Eiohsa permitted to breach the Imperial Truth because it furthers the Imperium, or is she not because the Emperor’s decree says what she is doing is illegal?”

“Eiohsa is bound by the Imperial Truth and the Edict of Tolerance, as it currently stands she is following the Edict,” Usriel stated.

“Have you even read the Imperial Truth, brother? Did you even hear Eiohsa’s Equerry?” Nimue stated in disbelief.

“Do you accuse me of being ignorant of what my post entails, Nimue? As much as I hate to state it, that serf has yet to do anything wrong other than speak words that you disagree with,” Usriel began.

“The Imperial Truth, as decreed by The Emperor, clearly states the superiority of the human race by virtue of its purity, its right to rule the galaxy, above all others. Eiohsa, through her Equerry, rejects these claims. The Edict of Tolerance does not negate the superiority of man, it only permits the continued existence of the Xenos. Her realm ignores the Imperial Truth entirely, in fact, I would not be surprised if she permitted religious beliefs within her realm as well, I would not be surprised if she consorts with Orks and Eldar in secret, or hoards abominable intelligence. Her Equerry has openly denounced the Imperial Truth and seeks its ‘reform’. How can you be so blind?” Nimue stated, quickly glancing down to the device her Equerry had passed her before leaving the Council Hall, a holographic projector that Nimue activated, and so provided a projection of the Imperial Truth in written form to Usriel and Malcador, shocked that the two of them could be so blind to their own laws and absolute decrees that The Emperor forces on all others.

“If you believe me to be blind then strike me now, for clearly I am without sight, Nimue,” Usriel growled, before continuing, “The Sigillite knows best of us what it means to uphold the Imperial Truth, for he was with the Emperor when it was proclaimed, and he has stated that such matters to correct this behavior are being undergone. The next time you spout this nonsense upon me, I will show Malcador what irrationality is.”

Nimue flares her psyker aura, in preparation for battle, if necessary. She was not surprised - she had suspected for some time that Usriel secretly held stronger beliefs in this regard than he seemed at first, publicly. In truth - she knew Usriel was not ignorant of the Imperial Truth, it was impossible for any Primarch to be so. In reality, it seemed rather that he was in agreement with Eiohsa and Micholi, only he hid behind the pretense of nuance and neutrality.

‘Nimue. Usriel.’ Malcador’s voice projected between the two Primarchs sternly, not an ounce of fear in it. ‘Much as I wish not to tell you again, the discussion of the Edict of Tolerance is precisely why the War Council has been convened. Whether or not it contradicts the Imperial Truth is what you have gathered to discuss - ideally, without infighting such as this.’ Malcador sighed to himself, shaking his head. He knew the Primarchs were strong-minded, that was a given; yet, handling their outbursts remained ever a challenge. ‘Just understand this, all three of you. You are not- I reiterate, you are NOT- to threaten to fight or kill each other or any humans present at the conclave for its remainder. If it happens again, I will be forced to remove you from the hall for the conclave’s remaining duration to ensure peaceable proceedings- and before anyone complains of unfairness, I shall be informing the other Primarchs of this ruling too, and subjecting them to similar reprimand if they fail to follow through. Are we all clear?’

“Remove me from the conclave if necessary, I care not.” Nimue said in casual defiance. “This council is a farce regardless of my presence. The Emperor already knows of all we would provide to him. He very likely has already made his decision, and is simply weighing our reactions. He now knows, so let it be over with.” Nimue said.

Usriel’s voice came through, clear and concise, “Very well, Sigillite.” The Nineteenth’s gaze did not falter from Nimue as his metallic feet scraped against the floor whilst he exited the chamber, leaving his brother and sister with the likes of Malcador.

“Sigillite, there is actually a matter that bears clarification and which may address all of our exact concerns.” Augor spoke, breaking his bout of silence. “You claim now, in our presence, that the purpose of this Council is to discuss whether or not the Edict of Tolerance contradicts the Imperial Truth.” He then folded his hands and deliberately allowed a moment to pause as that statement settled.

“You claimed no such thing when you officially convened the Council. No such declaration of intent was ever issued by you, or by any other office to that matter, to any of the legions…that we know of.” The final three words contained a trembling and insidious air to them, but just as swiftly as they came they went, and Augor carried on.

“Which is to say, amongst other implications, all of the Legions and the Primarchs present at the Council have been speaking around and about the Edict of Tolerance generally. This is the first time its relationship with the Imperial Truth has been brought to a head, though it was mentioned during the first discussion. I would invite you to elaborate upon this fascinating qualification you have just made - though if you do not see a need to do so, I in turn shall be pleased to return to the Council Hall and present it before all of our siblings in your stead.” He cast his empty eyes down at Malcador, his countenance almost serene.

As the Primarch that first brought upon the topic of the Imperial Truth’s contradiction with the Edict of Tolerance, or at least in how it was applied by some… “I am not all that surprised,” Nimue said, a snide remark on the sidelines. She already knew this Council was a farce, after all.

Malcador tilted his head for a moment, as if thinking back to his statements, before blinking and smiling with apparent amusement, and giving out just the lightest chuckle. ‘You are indeed correct, Augor Astren. In the aftermath of so much discussion of that very matter already, I appear to have misremembered when it was first mentioned, and I apologise for that. I am only human, after all.’

‘To re-clarify then,’ he elaborated, ‘the Edict’s contradiction of the Imperial Truth is not, per se, the primary topic; rather, the Edict’s existence, and whether it need be altered or nullified, is as stated in convening periods the main concern, though of course there have been claims as part of that discussion wherein it is cited to contradict the Imperial Truth outright. If you wish to input further evidence of this latter matter,’ he added, ‘you are of course free to do so when the topic comes around again.’

“Then I shall,” Augor replied, his voice conversational but his stance combative. “...and I shall submit as evidence your very word. I shall take care to qualify the scope of the discussion as you have now, of course, and so soon all those partaking in these talks shall treat them in a rather different light. I do not know what game you are playing Sigillite, though it would seem I am now fated to be your instrument in it. Know that all the lives that shall be lost as a consequence of the Imperium writ large viewing these proceedings are as much upon your hands now as they are upon ours.”

‘The conclave is designed to minimise loss of life, Augor,’ Malcador concluded. ‘Lives are bound to be lost nonetheless, and my hands are already soaked with blood simply by virtue of managing the Imperium. As are yours, you see, by virtue of your role as leader of the Stargazers Legion.’ He walked past Augor and Nimue.

---

”...Do you want to hear the lesson I learned from the Age of Strife, dear sister?” Micholi said, his voice low. Augor stared on blindly, impassively, his arms folded as the Primarch of the Second Legion finished speaking. Truthfully, Augor did not approve of Micholi speaking in response to an inquiry that had been directed to their father - but he did not want to discourage the Second Primarch’s pursuit of discourse that, at long last, did not implicitly tread upon father’s station and status. Father would object if and when he had to.

Nimue was scarcely even paying attention to Micholi by that point - her face, cast over with dismay, was instead directed at their father. Augor Astren did not turn to look with her - he still was not yet worthy to meet father’s gaze. But with sight beyond sight, the Twelfth Primarch still beheld the Emperor peripherally.

Their Father did not meet her gaze - he continued to stare, serenely and dispassionately, at the overall layout of the Council Chamber. Not focused with particularity, yet still sharp and encompassing. Seeing all, but only affording every detail with equal notice.

“Why are you silent?” Nimue asked, her tone veering even further towards indignation. “Why will you not defend your own decrees from such obvious subversion?”

Augor’s lips once more began to pull into a frown as he cast his focus between his sister and his father - and took note that Micholi had also turned, directing his argument directly towards their father as if he were now presenting his argument to an arbitrator. He still faced Nimue, but even Augor could see where the Second Primarch’s attention was being drawn.

“The humanity of the Dark Age of Technology didn’t fall due to weakness Nimue.” Micholi began. “In fact, it was rather powerful. It fell because it was cut off from itself. It’s planets divided, unable to travel or talk to ea-”

“Shut up, Micholi.” Nimue snarled. “I am not arguing the tenets of the Imperial Truth with you. You are not its creator. Its decrees only come from him.” She pointed to father, the urgency of the gesture almost violent in its intensity. Augor, for his part, was glad for her crass interjection. He recalled some several decades past when he and Micholi had been speaking of ancient history, and of the Dark Age of Technology. Micholi evidently styled himself as something of a historical scholar - but he had still possessed his tendencies to draw conclusions and seek knowledge that was expressly forbidden. Augor had been almost certain the fool was about to say something adjacent to the discussion that would pry them all off-topic once more, until Nimue had deprived him of the option.

“Very well then.” Augor was almost taken aback when Micholi acceded to Nimue’s directing of the conversation. The Second Primarch had a wary and tired air to him, one that had evidently been weighing down upon him since the start of the Council. He was normally irrepressibly confident and buoyant in demeanor. But despite how the Council had afflicted his disposition, in that moment, the Second Primarch seemed to recoup his regular well of resolve as he turned to face their father. “I can agree with you that now, if ever, the Emperor should make his opinion heard.”

It was genuinely startling to Augor. Micholi was wholly confident the Emperor would support him in this matter, even in light of all the omens to the contrary. Even when his enemies and rivals appealed directly to his father’s authority - as Augor himself had - the Second Primarch kept his faith, and in that single moment the Twelfth Primarch saw a single facet of himself reflected in his brother.

Almost imperceptibly, to a degree that almost certainly went unnoticed as almost all attention in the room was drawn towards the Emperor, Augor Astren flinched. It was nearly an unconscious epiphany - the direction of his own genetic gifts directing his sight beyond sight to reveal truth unseen without him even consciously desiring to do so. For a single moment he saw himself and Micholi standing, in the same light, united with an identical expression of unconditional faith. The direction of that faith differed, but insidiously, a strikingly resonant crack of thought burst from Augor’s brow as he beheld the relationship.

’Both set instances are identical in configuration, but the predicate independent variable of at least one of those instances is false.’

A coiling chill seemed to spiral up and around the Twelfth Primarch’s spine at that realization. In almost all matters of his own faith, the only thing necessary to affirm their inviolate veracity was the certainty that it was what father willed. The Imperial Truth stood as a blazing monolith of ineffable writ in his mind, imperishable and near to the heart of every consideration and decision he made - and that was as it had to be, for it was his father’s will, manifest…

...So why did his father remain silent?

That recreant, shivering silence crept into Augor’s mind like a serpent and coiled suffocatingly around his resolve. All that was required for Augor or, indeed, any of HIS truest followers was the affirmation of his will. The Twelfth Primarch and the Cult Mechanicum could always find this certainty in the shape and form of the Emperor’s writ and decrees - but here, in this moment, when his will was challenged by his own children, Augor felt a stabbing hollow in his heart of a sensation he had never before known, save for once.



Augor could not help himself. He turned his unworthy, empty sight directly towards the Emperor, his father, the Omnissiah - aware that as he did so, so too did every other soul in the chamber. The assembled lords, the Remembrancers, the retinues of every Astartes Legion, even Malcador himself - all turning their attention, as one, to the master of the Imperium in anticipation of an answer.

Choking, crushing silence followed. The Emperor did not move, did not so much as permit his brow or expression to shift. Even his gaze, the scope of his notice, did not waver. He might have been a statue, still and silent as he remained when invoked.

The wedge that had been thrust into Augor’s heart widened, poisonous uncertainty riddling through his mind, pouring through channels that had never known it save for a single instant before, in the Primarch’s darkest hour. As Augor beheld the Emperor and his silence, memories came to the Primarch, unbidden and bearing daggers.

Memory of the Rangdan Campaign. Memory of his children, broken and dying. Memory of flame and blood, of ships splintering apart in the void, of hideous alien forms as cruel in their shape as in their mocking, inhuman laughter.

Augor took to one knee - or was it a saving motion to account for the sudden weakness, the abrupt frailty and emptiness he felt in every limb, in every joint, a hollow and cold cord of frigid attenuation running through every fiber of his being?

In desperation, Augor clasped his hands together over his breast in the sign of the Cog Mechanicum, and hoarsely, he whispered.

_{”...Omnissiah…Deliver us...”}

In the haze that followed, Augor remained on his knee, strugglingly ardently endeavoring to find strength and affirment in his father’s serene countenance. He remained peripherally aware of the words of his brother Prometheus as he interjected, Augor’s heightened senses and mind effortlessly registering and compartmentalizing everything without the Twelfth Primarch truly listening to what was being said. The Fifth Primarch’s sentiments were hollow-sounding, feeble rationale to explain the irrational, much as the entire Council was, much as -

’...Betrayal!’ The twisted, indignant accusation scythed through Augor’s mind reflexively even before the remainder of the blasphemous thought could form. The shade of treachery was banished into the furthest reaches of his mind by the sudden crusade he waged within himself as he wordlessly closed his gaping, empty eyes and meditated in the moment upon his failings and hubris. There could be no doubt, there could be no uncertainty, there could be no weakness - these were things he had to excise from his being. For his father. He did not have to question the Emperor, the Omnissiah and their motives, their actions, or lack thereof. The truth itself was manifest and imperishable already, in word, writ, and will. That Augor had allowed himself to be shaken by his father’s silence was not a failing of the Emperor, but of himself. Nothing more than disappointment from the improvident son-



The world fell away. Augor’s sight beyond sight turned upon the Twelfth Primarch, casting the world into darkness as it lashed and railed against the bastions of his mind.

Betrayal! BETRAYAL! BETRAYAL! Blasphemer! Weak, soundless scion, least and lowest of all twenty wayward children! Most piteous, feebleminded, craven fiend to blemish creation! Sickening, twisted cripple! Infidel! Traitor!



Almost imperceptibly, Augor quivered where he knelt on the chamber floor. Pain bloomed within his brow. Unaccountable, untenable anguish that transcended mere mortal injury. A dissonant wracking, self-castigation and flagellation as the Twelfth Primarch’s mind turned in on itself once more. Bewildered and lost within his own senses, even as he damned and cursed himself with every fiber of his own loathing that he could muster, he struggled to determine why, how he had been reduced to this. Contemptuously, the answer came from within a corner of himself replete with disgust - with himself, and with the obviousness of how he had lain himself low in self-defeat.

He could not be wrong, and the Emperor right in this instance.

Either they were both wrong or they were both right.

Necessarily, the Emperor was correct and right, and this was proper.

But factually, doctrinally, Augor Astren was wrong.

In the preceding moments Augor had proven himself the infidel by arriving at the incorrect conclusion - a revelation which came from the lips of the Omnissiah himself. Yet the conclusion itself had been vested in the infallibility and infinite nature of the Omnissiah and his will. The Omnissiah embodied the mortal aspect of the Machine God. His mortal frame and flesh were fallible, but his mind and will was that of the Machine God, a conduit for divinity itself, and that was immaculate in nature. Augor Astren was either damned for rejecting the Omnissiah’s inherent divinity or else he was damned for rejecting the word of the Omnissiah.

Straightforward reason dictated that the Omnissiah could not be wholly wrong and wholly right simultaneously, nor could he simultaneously utter unblemished truth or unstrained falsehood. The Omnissiah was capable of deceit, certainly, but in this instant, speaking as he was as to his own capabilities and state, there was no reason for him to contradict himself -

’Unless it is all a - ‘

The thought was stamped out and crushed in by the legions of incoherent hatred coursing inside Augor Astren’s mind. He was wrong and the Emperor was right. Nothing more and nothing less, and no notion to the contrary - no matter how self-evident - could be permitted. If such notions were as axiomatic as they seemed, it was only because of a failing of the self. The designs of the Omnissiah were not for Augor Astren to know, and if some manner of the Omnissiah’s spoken word drove the Twelfth Primarch to blasphemy, that was a failing of the child, not of the father.

Managing to draw his concentration back, his insides still riddled with self-directed scorn, Augor endeavored to reaffirm himself by saying as much.

“Brother -” He began, and then realized he was still knelt down on the floor, both of his bionic hands seeming to strain in their tense, coiled gesture of the cog. As the entire room directed their notice back to him, he self-consciously rose once more and began to voice the only sane - the only tenable conclusion that he could draw.

“If the Omniss-” His voice halted, and he started over. “...As the Emperor has declined to speak on this matter, we can only be left with the conclusion that he permitted it to come to fruition for some purpose, even knowing that it contradicts the Imperial Truth…” The words tumbled from his mouth gracelessly, the fervor that would normally have accompanied them now absent, his voice now almost seeming hesitant - though buffered on by the volume and immensity of his form, their frailty was likely lost to most of the onlookers. “...Understand I do not seek to make light of your call or these deliberations, but to suggest that perhaps how the Imperial Truth and the Edict of Tolerance are meant to align, if at all, is not for us to know.”

He had said something similar many times before in the past.

So why was it, only now, that the words seemed to ring hollow in his own ears?

Lightly fettered and untamed rancor coiled like a tumor in Augor Astren’s chest. This reticence could not be permitted. It was tantamount to betrayal. He had to prove his devotion, his loyalty, his very faith to his father -

The Equerry of the Sixteenth Legion spoke.

The rancor within Augor Astren became unleashed. Lacking eyes, there was little warning of the raw, unconditional hatred that was about to erupt from him, save for the manic energy of his laughter as it echoed across the chamber.

“You, Equerry, are out of line - and you will not live to see the Sun in Splendor ever again.”

The chamber became replete with the shocked inhalations and murmurs of those in attendance, and almost invisibly, the Custodian Guards seemed to tense. The Twelfth Primarch did not care.

They had, all of them, done this to themselves.

Just as he had.

[...End Log.]
[...Terminating.]
[Imperial Thought for the Day: Hark, citizens - courage, faith, and duty to one’s masters are the pillars of the Imperium.]

---

---

The Emperor watched as the Council room slowly filled before him. The Primarchs of the Legiones Astartes and their retinues entered the room first. Behind them filed in the High Lords and their own accompanying persons. Behind those came the seemingly endless tide of Remembrancers who would record and document the proceedings of the council. All fell under the watchful eye of the Emperor of Mankind as they took up their positions within the chamber. The center floor belonged to Malcador, who nodded to the Primarchs and their retinues as they entered.

At last, all were seated, and silence began to grow upon the room as those assembled waited for the Sigillite to call the debate into being once more. Instead however, he turned to the Emperor, seated higher than all others as he watched the room. Malcador inclined his head to him before speaking. “The third day of debate upon the Edict of Tolerance will commence shortly.” He said, his voice even and emotionless, “But before we begin, the Emperor will speak.”

The Emperor stood, looking to each Primarch or Equerry in turn before he spoke. “I called this council, my children, that the matters that sow discord amongst our ranks might be debated in a rational, calm manner.” He spoke softly, but all in the room heard his voice. “This has not been the case. Twice before we have convened to discuss these matters of import, and twice before now they have been interrupted before a satisfactory conclusion could be reached.” His eyes bored into all within the room as he remained silent for some time before continuing. “You will all hear me now - conduct unbefitting of persons of your stature will not be tolerated. Any Primarchs or Equerries, or all other persons, who are found to be acting out of line will be disbarred from future proceedings. All contributions or objections to the topics of debate within the Council will be nullified.” Having said his piece, the Emperor returned to his seated position.

Malcador nodded to the Emperor, and spoke once more, “With that, I declare the third day of the Council of Nikaea to be in attendance.”

With that word, the chime of the vox-cast system blared to life once more and once again the resonant, booming voice of one of the Emperor’s Custodes made a firm declaration.

”Now will follow a brief review of all evidence admitted before this Council as of the last open discussion.

Primarch Augor Astren has submitted a voxscriber with the verified, recorded word of Malcador the Sigilite in his role as the Convener of the Council of Nikaea. In the record, he states that the purpose of the Council is to discuss the retainment or abolition of the Edict of Tolerance, and specified that whether or not the Edict of Tolerance contradicts the Imperial Truth is one of the topics, though not the principal one. The recording concludes with his statement that the actions taken by those who spoke against the Imperial Truth and the dictates of the Imperium have been noted and shall be countermanded.”

The blaring vox-announcement then abated.

Much like on the first day of the debates, Micholi was the first to rise and make his way to the central podium. With a calm, professional air he introduced himself as he custom as “Micholi Vakarian, 2nd Legion Night Watch, Primarch.” before he took a deep breath, resting his hands on the podium itself.

“Before we begin, while I would normally never dare to speak on behalf of my siblings and if they wish to elect to speak for themselves it is fully within their rights to, but for the purposes of time I would like to take this opportunity on behalf of myself and the other Primarchs to apologize for our behavior. Both to the Emperor and the Imperium at large who are watching this moment with keen interest. We are meant to represent the best of humanity and these last few days, we have allowed our passions and biases to get the better of us. We will strive to live up to the ideal going forward.”

Allowing himself a moment of silence out of respect for the weight that a Primarch offering an apology should hold, Micholi soon got started properly. “For the purposes of the record and to dismiss this persistent belief that some in the Imperium seem to hold that the Edict of Tolerance was somehow me pulling some kind of con on the Emperor, I feel like is in this Council’s interest to hear the exact story of how the Edict in question came to be and why it took the form that it currently holds.”

“I acknowledge that the version of events that is about to be told is from my point of view. As such, I cannot speak for the intentions or motives behind the actions of either the Emperor or Malcador, since both also played a part in events. I also request from my siblings not to interrupt until I am finished.”

Taking a measured glance around the chamber, Micholi soon began. “The idea for the Edict of Tolerance came into being during my original meeting with the Emperor on the Reserve in the year eight hundred and twenty two of M30. Having spent my life being raised by and fighting alongside a mixture of humans and xenos from a number of species and worlds against a mixture of humans and eldar, the idea of discarding comrades in arms and family solely because they weren’t human was unthinkable.”

“While I could have very easily used my privilege as a Primarch to safeguard them, the evidence of their existence and actions supported the idea that Humanity and non-human life could live together peacefully in coexistence. To blindly hate all non-human life without thought or question is nothing but mindless zealotry, a concept that seemingly went against the Imperial Truth that the Emperor had just introduced me to at the time. After a prolonged discussion between us, the Emperor acknowledged my point of view and the Edict of Tolerance was soon under construction.”

Shifting himself just a little, Micholi quickly continued “Coming out of the Age of Strife, many human populations had suffered great injustices at the hands of a variety of xenos races, many of whom had now nothing more than a few lines in a history data slate. The Sol system itself, the heart and birthplace of the Imperium, was plagued by xenos slavers lurking in the outer systems until the system was unified under the Emperor. I myself witnessed the elegant and decadent cruelties of the Eldar first hand.” There was a slight twitch of the Primarch’s head, drawing attention to the vile, ugly looking scar of tainted flesh that remained even centuries afterwards.

“To ignore this evidence and the effect that had on developing a culture of xenophobia would have been nothing short of madness. However, there is also evidence of xenos races that have done humanity no wrongs or have even banded alongside them in mutual protection against the many horrors spawned from the Long Night. To a truly rational mind free of superstitious beliefs that the Imperial Truth seems intended to foster, both fields of evidence have to be considered before action is taken.”

“I had a number of intentions for the Edict of Tolerance, which I made completely transparent to the Emperor and Malcador from the beginning. The option for humanity not to stand alone in the stars by being able to offer those who do not mean us harm a hand of peace and coexistence is the most clear, but it was also designed to, in the long run, help humanity cast aside mindless hatred for those that weren’t the same. To encourage thought before action by actually observing a situation rather than treating all encounters the exact same. To, as the examples of harmful and twisted examples of xenos life dwindled and their vile acts nothing more than lines in a data slate, allow evidence of peaceful and good xenos life to flourish.”

“Part of the purpose of this Council is to decide if the Edict of Tolerance has failed in its purpose. It hasn’t. It is working as intended. But it is a long term project and the fruit it will bear may take centuries yet to fully ripen… but even after such a short period of time, it has allowed many to let go of old, mindless hatred in favor of a more thoughtful, rational mindset.”

“Some of my siblings might argue that the Edict of Tolerance is a contradiction to the Imperial Truth or even the Treaty of Mars. This is not the case. In the matter of the former, the Edict is meant to provide those in a position for a first contact a chance to pause and think about the situation before making a rash action. This doesn’t mean that the xenos species in question will survive, but instead that their death will be due to reason and rationality rather than blind hate and zealotry.”

There was… a slight delay from Micholi before he started speaking again. “I will be the first to admit that the Edict of Tolerance and the Treaty of Mars have had a long and somewhat… rocky history. There has always been the question of ‘How far is too far?’ in relation to the Mechanicum’s willingness to examine, learn and reverse engineer xenos technology even before the Edict of Tolerance came into existence… and I mourn the fact that so many have been judged to have crossed that line, often due to following the Edict. It is a sad and terrible thing to lose a mind dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge or the improvement of humanity, even when that dedication causes them to start down the darkest and most twisted paths that should not be explored.”

“However, the sad truth is that the question would still linger, even without the Edict of Tolerance. The Mechanicum would almost certainly still find inspiration and discovery in captured or recovered pieces of Xenos technology, if only because of the knowledge that something can be done with technology, even if they don’t know exactly how to recreate it yet. If anything the existence of the Edict means that these examinations can be better regulated and observed since those more inclined towards examining and tinkering with xenos technology can do so officially with a degree of safety rather than creating hidden labs to horde possibly dangerous technology gathered illegally either in person or via some kind of grey market without any kind of oversight at all.”

“Basic curiosity is both a blessing and a curse after all. Oftentimes, stamping it out completely is next to impossible. Better to foster an environment where such minds can be of use but also be monitored for their own well being and safety… as well as those around them. After all, a human mind completely isolated from outside influence can delve into dark and terrifying places.”

Offering a polite bow of his head to Malcador and the Emperor, Micholi returned to his seat to finally allow others to speak.

The doors to the Council Chamber flew open with a loud bang as Kaldun the Golden Conquerer entered in full armor and all his glowing glory. A wide smile across his face, he greeted his family and the council at large in his customary, shouting, voice. “Hello father!” He gave a deferential bow to the Emperor, as was proper, before turning to the rest of the council. “And hello to my brothers and sisters and all of their sons and daughters! I apologize for the lateness of my arrival! A Space Hulk appeared in Imperial Territory and my sons and I dealt with it as swiftly as possible! It is in Mechanicum’s hands as we speak!”

He began to move towards an open spot next to his sister’s representative, Ayushmakti, his trusted sons following dutifully behind him.“I trust that I did not miss much beyond the ridiculous notion that the Edict be cancelled being turned down?”

He surveyed the room, taking in the tense and combative atmosphere. His smile slipped, but only briefly before coming back into full force.

“Ah! That would be a no then! Disheartening, but I’m sure we can all come to see the benefits of utilizing the Xenos rather than wasting resources eradicating them! Not as true equals, of course! That would be ridiculous! But similar to how I have tamed the Ogryn! Why waste potential, when we can utilize it for the betterment of the Imperium?” He sat down in his seat, still beaming at the crowd around him.

The Sisters of Praxia had thus far retained their own counsel, Daena, Sekhmetara, and Nelchitl sitting apart from their siblings after having been conspicuously absent from the prior proceedings on the Edict of Tolerance. Uncharacteristically, the Mistress of the XIVth and her daughters did not attend in robes or gowns or uniforms but instead in their voidblack warplate. Two short robed figures stood behind the seats of the Primarch and her Praetor Primus, each holding their spears upright. The aged human woman that had attended the Legion at the opening of the Council was once more in attendance, but this time her blue and white uniform made no attempt at humility or modesty, her chest now heavy with a bevy of medals and awards that predated the Treaty of Mars. Of the three most prominent, two were obscure to all but the oldest of veterans - a lightning strike, and a triple helix - but the third was unmistakable. A winged skull over a sword, sigil of the Astartes themselves.

The three Primarchs had remained entirely silent until the arrival of Kaldun, the Angel’s impassive face splitting into a thin smile. “He seems your type, Sekhmetara,” she whispered, a fleeting hope arising in her that perhaps now the quarrelsome siblings could achieve something of note.

Or at least not murder each other.

“Fair to look at, a bit of a blunderer.” Sekhmetara mused quietly, one golden goblet obscuring her grin from the rest of the chamber, before her large hazel eyes turned to Daena, her grin becoming more of a toying, if fair, smile. “Not incorrect, but what then, does that say about you, Lady Azrael?” For the moment, the Conqueror of Mithra was more interested in the pomp and circumstance of her siblings as she was the actual matter at hand.

“A bit of a blunderer?” Nelchitl questioned sardonically as she repulsed at her mind’s replay of Kaldun entering boisterously into the council chambers. She sat impassively for a few moments, the further words of Sekhmetara still fresh in her mind before she turned with a quizzical look to the Angel at her side, “What did I miss in the last two hundred years Daena?” she stated quietly, almost teasingly, an ear still kept on the evolving situation with Kaldun and Augor.

Daena made a sound in between a choke and a laugh, the Primarch almost spitting her wine out. Looking at Nelchitl out of the corner of her eye, a small smile formed as she turned her attention back to Sekhmetara. “If you must know, Nelchitl, in those early days it was our dear sister who was blundering.”

“That is not how I remember it.” Sekhmetara spoke with the smug grin of someone who very much believed her own words, both hands resting atop her knee as one leg crossed over the other, the metal of her armour making no noise as she did, so poised were her motions, focusing on proceedings only half as much as the memories their words stirred proved far more riveting.

“There has been some substantive evidence presented on those exact points, brother.” Augor Astren answered in a somewhat clipped tone. “Evidence which, even in spite of repeated efforts and entreaties, certain malfeasant actors have been endeavoring to evade and avoid addressing.” He then pressed a hand to his voxcaster switch and formally announced himself.

“Augor Astren, Primarch of the Stargazers, his Emperor's Twelfth Astartes Legion. Fabricator Intendant of the Forge World of Last Light.” His speech broke momentarily for the record before proceeding.

“There have been multiple calls and appeals during the course of these discussions to dispassionately review and discuss the possible merits and detriments of the Edict of Tolerance as well as those exhibits which have been submitted before this Council as evidence. Any such discussion along these lines has yet to transpire. The opening inquiry of the second gathering has yet to even be addressed. All that has been offered between us have been empty and vain platitudes or else ventures to turn the topic of our discourse away from the true matter at hand. So I now present this Council with a new inquiry:

Does anybody here intend to discuss the substance of this matter? If not, I motion we move directly to our final verdict. There can be no compelling purpose serviced by additional hollow argumentation without and around the true matter at hand.” He lifted his bionic talon from his voxcaster and cast his gaze across the chamber with a raised brow and hollow look.

“The substance is simple-” Kaldun paused in his response, belatedly standing. “Kaldun, Primarch of the Golden Spears, Fifteenth Legion, Lord of Baalros!” He looked back at Augor, smile matching his brother’s look. “The substance is simple! Is it not? Utilizing Xenos as an inferior but still useful force is dangerous! I do not deny this! But so are many of the technologies the Mechanicum and our own forces use! Plasma weapons may explode in our hands! Experimental machine spirits may go mad with rage! Yet we do not ban or destroy these things! Why? Because their benefits outweigh the risks! Some Xenos must be destroyed, and all must be subjugated! But to eradicate them out of simple disdain is wasteful! Utilize them as my own Golden Legion does! Put them where they will best serve the empire!”

Augor smiled thinly as he pressed down on his voxcaster switch once more. “In light of the Fifteenth Primarch’s honest enthusiasm for this matter, I withdraw my proposed motion. Brother - these exact issues you raise were to have been the topic of the second open discussion, though we were sadly drawn away from them. I would now like to request a moment of this Council’s indulgence, to permit our most welcome sibling to review the record of the Council. I imagine he, at least, might have an honest interest in answering the original inquiry posed at the outset of the Second open discussion.” He then made a gesture towards his own retinue, and a Servo-Skull rose from amongst his retinue and circled around the chamber walls to approach kaldun’s own podium and deposit a data-slate before him.

“Thank you brother! I will review the record immediately!” Augor nodded and withdrew his hand from his voxcaster switch as Kaldun picked up the dataslate and began rapidly reviewing its contents - a complete record of the proceedings of the Council of Nikaea up until that moment. For anybody else, the daunting volume would have taken weeks or months to finish reading through even once. For a Primarch such as Kaldun, he would be able to fully read through and think over the body of data in mere minutes.

“Do I dare to hope we might have finally moved on from damned accusations,” Daena murmured to her sisters, visibly relaxing in the face of Kaldun’s exuberance. Still, those who knew her well could recognize that she was on edge - and her Astartes still seemed ready for action.

Arnulf Wode, sitting nearby, snorted in derision. “There’ll be more bickering in this Council than a pack of orks brawling over who gets to lead their degenerate kind into war again, mark my words. You’ll get more civility from ambulls at the feeding trough.”

Saul, sitting next to him, put a hand on his shoulder. “Arnie, don’t be so negative. You don’t know that for sure.”

“Wait and see.” Wode growled. “Wait and see.”

“Ambulls make for pleasant hunting.” Sekhmetara mused to herself, watching the proceedings with as much of a glint in her eye as she might very well a hunt of the more traditional nature. “There is much that can be gained from observing even that which we do not wish to see.” She spoke again, almost reproachful, towards her siblings and their entourage, leaning back in her seat, a vague recline, before sipping from her wine glass, savouring the crisp taste as she did so.

“See? Your sister’s got the right idea, you should listen to her more.” Saul said. “She’s very wise.”

“What are you, my wife?” Wode said, turning to Saul with a smile. He laughed, and shook his head.

“Not my type. Too uh…” Saul made a box shape with his fingers. “I like a little more…”

He made a curving shape with his hand, and Wode rolled his eyes.

“He needs someone who appreciates that the best part of the Ambull hunt is the steaks at the end.” Sekhmetara spoke with an even more sly grin, half concealed behind her wine glass as she took another sip. “You would enjoy Mithra.”

Saul hid his own smile behind his datapad, safe from Wode’s glowering. “I’m sure I would, Lady Sekhmetara.”

“You can have him, sister.” Wode growled, “Get him out of my hair for once. Let him hunt Ambull ‘til he dies of old age and save me from his nagging.”

The floor of the Council chamber did not have time to fall silent again.

Micholi flicked his vox-speaker on, physically turning to look at his cybernetic brother as he answered “Very well. Let us discuss your questions from the second gathering Augor. You offered concerns about multiculturalism being used by elements within and without the Imperium to stir up unrest and rebellion, alongside an argument that having a slightly less productive population that will rebel due to more mundane issues rather than due to being treated poorly due to not being human.”

A degree of sarcasm entered Micholi’s voice as he got going “For a moment, let us assume that the idea of human purity isn’t an irrational superstition. This council comes to the conclusion that all non-human citizens of the Imperium need to die. Sure, the xenos populations are the first target but we wouldn’t be able to stop there. After all, once the Xenos are gone we’ll have to purge ourselves of the abhuman populations as well. After all, all the evidence brought against the Edict of Tolerance and the xenos populations it has brought in applies to the abhuman strains of humanity as well since they take up jobs from baseline humanity, are not treated equally by the law because they’re not human and are just as prone to uprising and being stirred into rebellion against the Imperium and the Imperial Truth.”

There was a pause before Micholi finished “And of course… At the end we’ll have to exterminate ourselves and our legions. The amount of genetic modification that has to go into creating an astartes legionnaire is a solid argument that any of us are as close to baseline humanity as the Ogryn are. The only reason we couldn’t be considered a variant of humanity ourselves is because astartes cannot reproduce - and require baseline humans as the basis for our creation. So tell me Augor, in the name of human purity… where do we stop swinging the axe?”

Augor promptly hit his voxcaster switch and answered, his tone flat and his voice even. “You are the first amongst this Council to raise the notion of Abhumans. If you are asserting that Abhumans are anything less than Human, in spite of having been officially recognized and and endorsed both by the Officio Medicae of the Administratum as well as the Divisio Biologis of the Mechanicum, I believe you are alone in that assessment. When one speaks of Humanity, writ whole, those peoples are implicitly understood to be included. Your answer, as with every other issue of this gathering thus far, is an allegorical aside adjacent to the actual topic, and once more we have strayed away from the original inquiry - which you have once more sought to evade. In the simple interest of not reciprocating such blatant equivocation however, I will answer your question.” He turned his empty gaze away from Micholi and looked, almost reverently, towards the balcony in the rear wall where the Emperor presided.

“The descent of the axe stops exactly and precisely where the Emperor of All Mankind decrees it should stop.” After a lingering moment of silence, his gaze then snapped back to Micholi.

“Do you have anything relevant to contribute?” He asked, his tone acidic.

“...Augor, I must say that a part of me is envious of you. To be able to say with complete confidence that because something is written by the Division Biologis or the Officio Medicae… or even the Emperor himself that that is the way the universe truly is and anything that happens in practice that suggests differently is irrelevant. Because it is a reality that those xenos races brought into the Imperium via the Edict of Tolerance are generally afforded the same, somewhat limited rights and social standing of abhuman strains.” Micholi countered back with a cool, calm voice. “After all, didn’t our brother Kaldun just now claim upon his arrival that he tamed the Ogryn and that the xenos should be treated as them, not as true equals?”

“If you are seeking an admission that Abhumans are not treated as Human in practice despite the Laws of the Imperium, here it is: I freely admit such is the case. It yet remains that you are the only one amongst this Council to suggest that they are anything less than Human, or that their status is at all relevant to our discussion of the Edict of Tolerance - which, to be utterly clear, it is not.” Augor ground out. “You continue to avoid addressing the actual merits and implementation of Edict of Tolerance itself, continued prevarication in this manner can serve no further purpose. Has nobody here anything substantive to say regarding the Edict other than our noble brother Kaldun?”

“Oh but Augor, it is relevant to this discussion because it reveals the hypocrisy and double standards of the arguments being made against the Edict.” Micholi answered back. Raising a hand, he started to raise fingers as he listed off points. “Concerns about humans being made unemployed by those working for less or because they are fundamentally better at the tasks in question. Concerns about unrest and rebellion in relation to the Imperial Truth due to being viewed as less than human and desiring to be treated equally. Having forces outside and within the Imperium targeting these groups in order to create divisions and infighting. All of these apply to any given strain of abhuman within the Imperium just as much as any xenos citizen, but we’re not having a council to discuss this clear failure of the Imperium to treat its citizens equally… might I say actually ignoring it completely, solely because in the far distant past, the ancestors of this minority group were human.”

Finally, at long last, the Primarch of the Twelfth Legion paused in his relentless barraging of the Second, pulling back from his podium-mounted voxcaster and seeming to raise his brow at Micholi’s conclusion. After a moment, he switched the device back to its active state, and in a much more accomodating tone, answered.

“Your point in this matter is, belatedly, factually relevant.” He stated. “In the interest of forestalling additional specious rebuttals, I propose we go forward on the presumption that this argument should not be refuted solely due to the obvious predominant ordination of Humanity and its Abhuman variant strains. This much is self-evident and would be the case in the presumption of the Edict of Tolerance being retained. This particular aspect of our discourse may merit revisitation, but it would be unreasonably prejudicial at this moment for us to not require further, more compelling argumentation.” He then switched off his voxcaster, his stance receding in clear indication he had no intention of elaborating further.

Micholi also went to sit down again and turn off his voxcaster, but before he did he respectfully looked towards Malcador and humbly asked “I request that the matter of the clearly unequal treatment of the Imperium’s abhuman strains despite Imperial Law be brought up as a subject of discussion at some point during this Council at a later date? Because outside of the Edict of Tolerance, it is an issue that should be discussed.”

Thoughtfulness on his face, Malcador turned away, and for a moment after, Malcador could be seen discussing quietly with the Emperor, out of earshot of voxspeaker capture. Yet, undeterred, came the voice of the Imperial Armada’s head from the ranks of the High Lords at the front of the room, a man with a great deal of visible augmentation:

‘Constansa Suati-Falkan, Grand Admiral of the Imperial Armada. With respect, Primarch Micholi,’ he said, clearly not seeing the topic as one to respect, ‘the idea that abhumans are equal to true humanity is an absurdity - they are warped facades of us, and lesser for a reason. Is an ogryn capable of building worlds? Does a ratling know true courage? And besides which, I am well aware of the Edict’s final step: socially, any given xeno race reaching that stage is granted effective abhuman status. Yet, if abhumans are taken to be on an equal level with unaffected humans, well…’ He left his comment unfinished, trusting the rest of the room to see his point.

“A number of Abhuman Variants are graced, strainwide, with the privilege of full Imperial Citizenship equal to that of any other Adept, Grand Admiral.” Augor Astren remarked calmly, not even bothering to switch on his voxcast relay as Malcador conferred with the Emperor. “Are you suggesting the form and spirit of Imperial Law in this matter is in error?”

‘Well-’ Constansa blinked at the accusation. ‘Rather, if that is so-’

‘Ahem.’ Malcador, apparently saving the Grand Admiral from outright embarrassment, had returned to his seated position, and simply stated ‘In consideration of the discussion at hand, the Primarch of the Night Watch’s request may be attended to once it has been deemed that an appropriate moment to do so has presented itself. To wit, the present discussion of the Edict of Tolerance remains the primary point at this stage of affairs.’ To Augor, he simply shot a quick look that said “let the man bow out gracefully.” The Twelfth Primarch, for his part, had turned away from the Admiral and resumed his cross-armed, placid posture and did not appear interested in pursuing the tract further.

A watery rush and a tap of metallic claws heralded the voice of the Abyssal Primarch.

"Sarghaul, Tartareus, Progenitor of the Ninth," there was a slight note of irritation in his words as the circumstance of introduction clashed with the terseness of his habits, though it was quick to fade. "The Sigillite overlooks the true weight of the abhuman strains in the matter of the Edict. Deviate as they are, their lines remain permutations of the human genus, and as such they must be judged. Where evolution or selective guidance dictate, they may even arise to be more meritorious in the fulfilment of their purpose than the unmodified." Though it was difficult to say for certain, the graven eyes of his visor seemed to shoot a brief yet baleful glance at Suati-Falkan. "To equate them with the xeno is madness. As evidence has shown, it is in the nature of species to fight over dominance and survival. This is an imperative as old as the vitae-helix, untempered by the vagaries of technology. It marks the xeno as forever our foes, and total eradication alone will satisfy it. The abhuman are, by the necessities of their flesh, our allies in this battle. I have spoken."

Across the room, the assembled Doomsayers tensed as Sarghaul began to speak. Daena’s face, calm to begin with, morphed into a truly expressionless mask. Beneath the table her hands were gripped tight enough to turn her knuckles white.

Distaste spread across Nelchitl’s face as Sarghaul spoke. The sting of his earlier insult against Daena was still fresh in her mind and although she found herself in agreement with his words she could not bring herself to voice it as she snuck a look at Daena at her side.

The soft contours of Sekhmetara’s fair features grew tighter even as Nelchitl tensed as well, but her eyes did not drift from the speaker, not to her sibling in comfort or to gauge the reaction of the room, honing in with the hawk like focus of the huntress she embodied, her wine momentarily forgotten.

Before it could properly resume, the discussion of the Council was interrupted by a commotion outside of the chamber. A muted yelp of fright. The staccato march of heavy armored footsteps upon the marble floor. Dozens - perhaps hundreds of feet with a weight and cadence that could only belong to the Astartes. A great clamor as those within the hall outside took flight from it. Heavy footfalls of a large being, larger than any Astartes and heavily armored.

The doors of the chamber crashed open with a thunderous sound that echoed about the room. Through them marched a thin ceremonial column of the Sixteenth Legion - devoid of their usual arms but maintaining bolt pistols and chainswords at their sides. At their head marched Eiohsa, clad not in her full battle plate but instead in an ornate and exquisite suit of ceremonial terminator armor not worn for centuries, since before the time of the Rangdan. At her side hung a similarly ornate force sword likewise dating before the time of the Rangdan. Rage oozed off of her in waves, palpable to all within the room. Some of the attending Remembrancers fainted as she strode forth, psychic energy arcing from her eyes as she fixated her attention upon the man who had just spoken.

“Sarghaul!” She bellowed, her voice an almost inhuman howl of fury infused with the power of the warp. “You will answer to me!” She drew closer, the heavy tread of her armor reverberating through the room as her Legion stood mutely behind her. “Where is Ormis, you monstrous thing in the guise of man? Tell me now!”

The viscous rush of the Abyssal One’s breath was joined by the metallic clicking of his claws faintly tapping against each other as he turned his etched features towards her, almost idly. Small flashes of light briefly coursed along the length of the blades, nearly too dim to have been a deliberate effort, but enough for what they were - an implicit warning.

“I never knew you to care for the travels of my gene-spawn.” Amid the ever-moving tide of his breath, his voice was as deathly cold as his stare. He raised a taloned hand and almost carelessly let it rest on the lectern before him. “Nor is that for you to know. You would do better to put such zeal into being timely.”

Prometheus had spent much of the day on other matters, dispatching orders while idly listening to the proceedings of the council. With the dramatic entrance of his sister intent on taking Sarghaul to task, and considering the volatile nature of the council so far, Prometheus whispered into his vox making several snapped orders.

So, too, did the Emperor and Malcador alike take note of the affair. Whether or not it was noticed, all pict-captures in the room seemed to suffer malfunction at once, and all who were not of the Legions beyond these two seemed to acquire blank gazes, unhearing and unseeing, and unable to tell what had or would take place. Even the High Lords would not recall this event as it had come to pass.

“My delay is not one of idleness, monster.” She said, drawing closer, now seeming to tower over her ‘brother’ where normally his bulk would have dwarfed her. “I despise the atrocities you visit upon those unfortunate enough to cross your path. I loathe with every fiber of my being the horrors you inflict upon those who draw your ire. But you and your Legion have gone too far, brother.” She stepped forward, drawing level with her brother, an armored finger pushing aggressively into his chest.

“As the Emperor dictates, it is no business of mine how you conduct your campaigns, vile as they may be. But it was not enough for your spawn to fire upon my Legion, to slay hundreds of my Daughters, slaughter countless innocents in the course of your marauding amongst the people of the Imperium. No, in your brazen madness you defile the very integrity of humanity itself.” She stood rigid with fury as she spoke. “Your ‘Infestus’ are a crime against existence, twisted beyond recognition in flagrant defiance of the Imperial Truth and all sense and reason - how the Emperor has allowed these experiments I cannot fathom. The warping and corrupting and debasement of countless human beings is a crime for which we would wipe any civilization from existence. And yet that was not enough for you.” Her demeanor seemed to cool, and all throughout the room felt a weight settle upon their minds as she spoke, vague images of horrific nightmarish imagery from beneath the seas of Carcinus flickering within their minds. “You have abducted my Daughters and performed your vile, monstrous experiments upon them. The Astartes of the Sixteenth Legion subjected like so many others to your depraved machinations. You have inflicted upon them the same tortures you have countless Imperial citizens. Your crimes would be spoken of in hushed whispers were they to come from even the likes of the Rangdan - and yet they are perpetrated by one of our own. And yet you dare refuse me.” Her face darkened further, and she stared into his visor, unblinking.

“I will have the heads of every single one of your ‘Fleshweavers’, Sarghaul. And if you stand in my way, it will be your whole Legion. Know this.”

Usriel, having long arose from his seat after Eiohsa had barged into the council, glared upon the form of his sister before he called out to her, a cold, uncaring tone coming from the Nineteenth Primarch, “Subdue yourself, Eiohsa. You have much gall to come into this accord so late and with such boisterous accusations to a peer and his spawn. I demand you explain yourself at once!”

“Calm yourself Usriel…” Micholi was quick to speak up, even as he looked thoughtful. “While there has long been a history of bad blood between Sarghaul and Eiohsa, I do not believe she would make a scene like this without just cause.” Looking at Eiohsa, he decided to ask “The name you speak of… Ormis. I have met the man as one of the joint leaders of the Abyssal Lurkers’ contingent during the war on Laeran. Please… give us the full story, sister. If you have evidence to back it, all the better.”

Arnulf Wode sat with his 5th Army Group Praetor, Saul Imogen. Until then, both had been quiet, Wode with his arms folded across his chest, looking bored, and Saul taking fastidious notes. Now, Wode sat up, interested. He looked at Saul, meeting eyes, and, with deliberate motion, unbuckled the flap of his bolt pistol holster. The pistol within sat, primed and loaded. Saul swallowed, visibly, and unbuckled his own holster, although the common stub pistol within had no chance of hurting anyone in the room but himself.

“See now why I told you to come to this meeting armed.” Wode muttered.

“What’s the play?” Saul asked.

“No play.” Wode said, “If violence breaks out, we go for the exit so I can hand you off to our ceremonial guard. No offense, old friend, but you wouldn’t last a second in a room where primarchs are throwing punches. Then I go back in.”

Saul nodded, uneasy. The masters of the Tenth watched as the drama unfolded. Wode sighed. “I was hoping this one would be more civilized.”

Nimue didn’t really say anything or show any acknowledgement other than an obviously disinterested ‘How unfortunate’, simply returning to lazily looking over her fingernails. In truth, it was a matter of the victim rather than the perpetrator. She had not long ago accused Eiohsa and her pet empire of high treason against the Imperium of Man, not to mention the two having detested each other for many decades. Their daughters had even drawn arms and slain each other at the ‘incident’ of Maline, something Nimue had not forgotten. She could not, and would not, care less about the fate of the Daughters of Iron.

Daena’s form shifted ever so slightly, the armored Primarch making a single motion with her hand. “Eiohsa always knew how to make an entrance,” she breathed out with a voice like steel. Her wings curled in tight around her armored frame, though if that was out of a protective instinct or a desire to launch herself across the room was impossible to tell.

Next to her, the mortal she had brought seemed as unaffected by the Emperor’s power as any Astartes, the aged woman’s face filled with disappointment as she looked at Sarghaul. “Nine was always the most creative,” she said, her voice filled with more sorrow than rage. “The most adaptable.”

Though the Doomsayers did not move, the aura of menace emanating from the Astartes was palpable. Hands lowered to the hilts of ceremonial blades, helmets were brought to a low rest, and the ambient temperature seemed to drop by a full degree. Behind the assembled women, the two robed figures raised the spears that they held high above their heads - to a height convenient for an Astartes to grab.

But still, they remained, Daena and her daughters refusing to move from the united bloc they had forged with Sekhmetara and Nelchitl.

Nelchitl, for the first time since the third day had begun, found herself genuinely interested in the happenings as the last of her sisters finally made her arrival. Aghast at the sizable contingent that Eiohsa arrived with, Nelchitl had been mere moments from standing to object to her sister's brazen show of force in the presence of the Emperor Himself only to become confused at the Primarch of the Sixteenth’s accusations against Sarghaul and his Lurkers.

She leaned forward, intensity filling her eyes as she absorbed everything being said by her siblings, and everything unsaid as they jockeyed back and forth with accusation and counter. She shot a look toward the head of the chamber, her eyes brushing over the brilliance that sat unmoving at the head of the room, and although he seemed not to notice her gaze, she was sure he was aware of it, aware of her intentions. With only the briefest of moments she turned back to her siblings. The idea that even the possibility of violence had come to the footstep of the Emperor, and by one of his own children set her heart alight with a need to act.

She leaned toward Daena, a hand falling to grasp at her sister's armored thigh out of the sight of the others as she too seemed enthralled in the events unfolding before them. “I can take them Daena.” she stated quietly, “He would allow it I am sure. I felt His approval.” she tilted her head toward the Angel, her eyes flickering with excitement as she took in her sister's own eyes, “But I’ll need one of your spears.” she licked her lips as she nodded her head back in the direction of the weapons.

Nelchitl’s whisper broke Daena from her reverie, the tension draining from her body as she turned to look her sister in the eye. “Not yet, Nelchitl. Not yet. There will be no doubt when He wishes you to perform that task. None,” she said in a hard voice, her eyes filled with more sorrow than her sister had ever seen before.

A soft click, followed by a quiet hum of energy was all the initial sign that Sekhmetara had reacted at all. Her glaive remained in the hands of one of her attendants, but the gauntlet of her other hand shimmered to life, volkite cells priming within the golden artifice of her armour. Still her eyes narrowed, and she spoke no words, the guise of the huntress fully falling upon the expression of the Mithran Primarch, unaware or uncaring of the debate between her closest siblings for the moment as her mind analysed the scene before her, lining up her best approaches and killing strikes without the need to focus on it, the wilder side of Sekhmetara fully in its element.

Kaldun stood, lightning crackling along his body as fury overtook him. He already despised his brother of the Ninth Legion, so it came as no shock to him that Sarghaul would do this. The abomination had been allowed to go on with his monstrous experimentations for too long, but enacting his foul transgressions on the daughters of Eiohsa was a line that not even the most neutral of Kaldun’s brothers and sisters could let pass. He strode forward, small golden sparks leaping out as he stood by his sister. Behind him, his two trusted sons moved to stand behind Ayushmakti.

“Evidence? What more evidence do you need beyond how his abominable spawn treat injured humans! They drag them back from the battlefield and force them to undergo his foul mutations!” He looked around at his brothers and sisters, arms wide as he gestured, his angered voice carried throughout the room. Small sparks of lightning leapt from his claws punctuating his words.

“Do we really think, any of us, that he would draw the line at doing the same to our sons or daughters? I believe Eiohsa! And I believe that he knew and approved of such crimes!”

“Impossible!” Usriel snapped at Kaldun, his voice showing clear disdain for his sibling’s swiftness of baselessly accusing another, “To think such horrendous crimes would be perpetrated from Astartes unto another is nothing short of preposterous!”

Augor, for his part, blindly gazed at some point of space approximately above the center of the Council chamber, his features impassive and stony. More tellingly, his bionic hands had begun hurriedly tapping across the control runes of his podium’s data-lectern, and as the confrontation continued to escalate he finally turned to direct his empty sight almost witheringly towards Malcador.

The message he had just sent to the Convener’s own stand near the back of the chamber had been a simple ‘This session has been exceptionally disrupted and strayed from its original purpose. I implore you to either adjourn or to act.’

While he was still clearly giving Eiohsa his attention, Micholi decided to unknowingly follow Augor’s example as he sent a message towards the Convener’s stand as well since sending a message directly to the Emperor was likely out of the question. Malcador, I’m not sure if it’s you or the Emperor himself doing it, but I suggest now is the time to get the mortals out of the room and any possible crossfire. This is going to be bad enough without a body count.

Receiving the message, and glancing but momentarily toward the Emperor for affirmation, Malcador quickly returned a response to Augor: The cameras were shut down the moment the disruption began, and all non-Legiones staff, you may note, are currently unable to bear witness. I assure you, the Imperium is not watching. Still, Augor was right: to act swiftly would be pertinent.

“This council is officially adjourned until the disruption by the Primarch Eiohsa has been suitably handled.” Malcador intoned, tapping his hammer once. He did not expect anyone to pay heed or actually leave, but it helped separate this affair from official proceedings. “Eiohsa, kindly explain yourself.”

Wode stood up at this cessation, grabbing Saul by the back of his uniform jacket. He carried the man the way a mother cat carries a kitten to the doorways Kaldun had barged through, and handed his mind-clamped praetor to a waiting guard. He was handed a boltgun in return, which he took and slung over his shoulder. He stalked back to his seat and sat, lighting a cigarette as he did so. He was unsure of what he might add to a dispute his brother and sister had going on that he wasn’t even aware of, but he was there, and ready.

As the mortals were escorted out of the Council, Nimue was still glancing between the Primarchs and weighing their reactions. It seemed with them, or at least with the Golden Oaf, to be those leaning towards preparations of violence. Nimue in turn, while still conveying her pretense of disinterest, placed one of her hands upon the relic sword Calibryown, and gestured to her Equerry with the other.

“Elizabeta, I would have told you to take the High Lords out with yourself, but it seems that The Emperor has already seen to that. As such, I would have you know, if you wish to avoid an untimely death at the hands of one of my ‘siblings’, take your leave now.”

“Mistress, The Primarch of the Daughters has brought a hundred strong” The Equerry protested.

“A hundred Astartes that, if this council sheds blood, will certainly all be dead by the end of it. I will not repeat myself Daughter, either leave now or die here.” Nimue lectured back to her. The Equerry however did not shift from her position, other than to place her hand too on a weapon, a bolt pistol.

“So be it.” Nimue said in resignation, partly saddened but also pleased by the choice.

The reaction that ran through the veins of the Rasenan was one that had been placed directly into his DNA by the Emperor himself, but had been honed and bred into him by an upbringing as a gladiator-slave, Kaelianos already half-rising from here he had just a second ago been reclining quite leisurely - expecting that they would get back to the monotonous matter of allowing or refusing xenos into the Imperium, with some caveat or another to go with it; instead Eiohsa, the absentee sister and Primarch, had stormed into the council - this sacred council - as if she were in the presence of lesser beings, and not indeed her genetic peers and their own gene-father.

“Dominus,” breathed Salvius quietly at his side, the quartet he had bought with him already on their feet with their hands upon weapons, “we are prepared to follow where you lead.”

Kaelianos would have expected nothing else from his loyal and beloved sons, each man of them taking up positions near their, perhaps foolishly, unarmed Primarch.

The towering warlord let a hiss of breath escape from between teeth of a tight-set jaw, the stench of conflict as set in his nostrils as it were to his - partially deranged - sister or Salienti brother, one seemingly more than prepared to fight, and the other apparently caught between the clash of arms in his ears and the more logical step of awaiting evidence from the psyker-Primarchs lips.

By now he was on his feet, hands balled into fists and glaring eyes the colour of a stormy sea, glancing from the Primarch he saw quite frankly as an intruder, and the golden hound that came so readily to her side, evidence or no.

Oh he was personally prepared to wait for evidence, there was no doubt of it, but it had best be something immeasurably conclusive, or - weapons or no - there would be blood.

Metal rasped against metal as the midnight-clad Primarch raised a clawed hand to contemptuously force Eiohsa’s thrusted finger aside, the pointed tips of his digits brushing a hair below her chin with an audible whistle. Behind him, the Lictors remained impassive, though Traal had almost casually produced a bolt pistol and Despoiler knife - where from, no one could say.

“Have you nothing better but to senselessly vomit outrage? The Infestus are a necessity, and your daughters...” Sarghaul punctuated his words with a distorted breath. “I remember how renegades among them once stood between the condemned and their punishment. It was wise of you to leave them to oblivion, but you seem to revel in flouting Truth.” A rumble that might have been a sound of disdain came from beneath his helm like the crash of a distant storm. “The Truth of our Emperor, and that of circumstance. For let all in this chamber know that never have Astartes not of my blood set foot into the halls of the Fleshweavers. That is falsehood, as is all you ever speak.”

Certainly, the grave accusations Eiohsa made against Sarghaul would be treasonous coming from any lesser mouth; in truth, it seemed farcical coming from Eiohsa’s mouth in particular but for the very real anger she bore toward him. The Infestus were one matter- something to firmly discuss later on- but to suggest he had altered the very fabric of the Emperor of Man’s own work toward foul ends would be unthinkable to mere mortals. To the Emperor himself, the thought was as readily settled as sensing the truth of Sarghaul’s words, and finding no lie in them. Naturally, the Daughters of Iron interfering with the Abyssal Lurkers’ operations had been its own punishment, for the losses they took upon themselves, but naught came to the forefront which was so egregious as this suggestion.

“Sarghaul speaks truth, Eiohsa,” he intoned, his voice grave, and to Eiohsa herself might even come off as condescending if listened to the wrong way. “He knows not of any kidnapping, nor of experimentation upon the flesh or geneseed of any Astartes, least of all yours or his own; and I trust he would keep proper track of his own Legion’s actions. I bid you, daughter, cease wasting everybody’s time.” Though it seemed a flat rebuke, there remained a challenge in it nonetheless: Show your hand, or else end this charade.

Eiohsa at first did not respond to the Emperor’s words, her attention fixed on Sarghaul. Metal scraped on metal as she gripped Sarghaul’s upraised wrist in a massive, psychically strengthened hand. “Of course you would say such, abomination. I know you well, you would defend such crimes to the Emperor himself. No, I have seen these things with my own eyes, witnessed horrors and nightmares the likes of which no sane mind could condone. Creatures of such mutant, abominable nature that only the sickness that pervades your legion could have conceived of them.” She narrowed her eyes, “It is ironic you speak of the Imperial Truth, when you and your own spawn defile it so brazenly.” Turning to the Emperor, she inclined her head slightly towards him, “It is not bare suspicion that brings me here, father, know this.”

Scarcely constrained by the grasp upon them, the Tartarean’s bladed fingers inched ever closer to Eiohsa’s face, sparks of psychic lightning crackling along them. His voice was unchangingly flat and monotone. “Show your truth, then.”

Lightning crackled from her eyes as she stared furiously at her kin. She remained silent for a moment, before she turned away from him in disgust. “Bring them in.” She commanded to her Legion, her voice strained. “Let them see.”

From the hall, another tumult came, the rumble of yet more armored feet clanking upon the stone floor. In marched a small column of the Sixteenth Legion moving two abreast, each bearing a sealed container shared between two, and at the tail end walked a massive, cloaked figure. The thing seemed to bear some vague resemblance to the human form, but no details could be gleaned through the thick layer of concealing fabric. More Astartes of the Sixteenth flanked the small procession as they did so, marching in perfect synchronicity.

With a series of heavy thuds, the Astartes set down their loads and stood at attention next to them.Though their expressions were impossible to glean through their helmets, their body language was visible even through the power armor they wore. Each Astartes of the XVI was filled with rage, their movements stiff and deliberate. All present could see that, as they stood at attention beside their crates, none could keep their eyes off of the Primarch of the IX Legion.

“Your spawn would never disobey you, monster.” She spat at him, “Most of them do not possess the capacity for it. You have ensured that. They are of your flesh, of your blood, and of your mind. Even without your instruction, they perform your heinous experiments. They have followed your example to the fullest. You ought to be proud.”

She stood aside to allow all those assembled to view the evidence she had presented, and the first pair of her Astartes opened the case between them, revealing a revolting crustacean-like thing - and yet one that had once been, unmistakably, the form of a human - an Astartes. “One of the Astartes of the Sixteenth Legion, my daughters.” She cast a hand towards the case, demanding all view the horrid thing within. It had visibly been human, once, but beyond that one could say little. Jagged plates of living tissue jutted out from scarified skin, burrowing through it in places. One hand was missing several fingers; the other was gone entirely, replaced with a finely grafted pincer. The face was, perhaps mercifully, lost in a mosaic of interlocking chitinous segments.

She gestured to the second box, and it too opened to reveal an even grislier sight. Lined with surgical gashes where it was not encased in carapace, it was all but impossible to see where the bestial ended and the human began. Pairs of jointed crawling legs lined the chemically bloated corpse, its original limbs severed or lost in the grotesquely cascading folds of spined flesh. A ghastlier vision yet was the face, a nearly untouched half glaring out in painful incongruity from the aberrant bulk around it.

Her voice was twisted with emotion as she spoke, “I need not burden your minds with what I saw done to her body whilst still ‘alive’ in the laboratories of Carcinus.” Despite her words, all present felt that same dread imposition upon their minds. Hints of the events she refused to describe forcing their way into the consciousness of all present.

Proceeding onwards to the next crate of horrors, she turned once more to the Emperor and her kin. “All of us know the horrors visited by the Ninth upon the citizenry of the Imperium.” She said, almost lifelessly. “His ‘Infestus’, the fell beasts deployed by the Legion en-masse, naught but the very same humans we and the Astartes were created to protect. I do not know what madness could have driven such creation. I do not know why this greatest of transgressions has not been eliminated. But perhaps all within this chamber must be reminded.” She stepped aside, gesturing once more to a crate that opened to reveal what were unmistakably specimens of the Infestus swarms utilized by the Abyssal Lurkers. Jagged chitinous exoskeleton emerged from knotted flesh, jaws silently parted open in what must have been half screams, half bestial roars. As the eye traveled across them, the transition from human to abomination was clear enough to see. The bodies grew ever more distorted with each container, as if to display a cross-section of some surreal evolutionary path that spanned from forceful augmentation to the sinister wholeness of something that had manifestly been born a monster.

She walked to a fourth chest now, mutilated limbs and viscera lining its interior. “The ‘Charybdes’ the Ninth Legion employs - I know not what led to their initial evolution. But this… it is not merely one of their constructs upon the form of the great beasts. The Geneseed of the Sixteenth Legion itself has been altered and used to further distort these things. The Geneseed you created, Emperor, has been warped and twisted, made a cruel mockery of for the implantation into beasts of horrors beyond description. This is but a young, failed implantation I have brought. Far, far worse lies below the ocean waves of Carcinus.” She gestured, and the fifth and final chest opened. If the contents of the previous four had been horrific in their distortion of the human form, what lay there in a mess of tangled limbs was plainly bestial. Its sharp angular body, many insectile legs and layered mandibles marked it as a creature of the deep, but some disquietingly unnatural details betrayed a guiding hand in its growth. No charybdes of the Ninth had been known to have six eyes, nor such odd domed protrusions on the upper side of its body, nor a carapace that subtly yet suddenly darkened when exposed to the light even after death.

She looked to the Emperor and to the assembled Primarchs before her, meeting their gaze one by one. Her eyes hard, her rage a palpable presence within the room. Her expression fell once more however as she moved at last to the cloaked figure. She murmured something, her voice almost inaudible. She felt everything her Astartes did as she felt with all humanity, every ounce of pain, every second of violation and horror, the fear, disgust, despair, and most of all the white hot burning fury that had sustained her life through the tortures of the Ninth Legion. She was awash in its intensity, but even so, she became subdued. “I am sorry.”

The massive, hulking figure gave no audible reply, save a deep croaking sound - what once might have been words had they come from a different mouth. The Primarch paused, golden tears glistening in her eyes, her hand poised to grip the fabric hiding the thing. She lingered, uncertain, but before she could pull it away the beast itself moved. A chitinous, clawlike hand emerged, roughly grasping at the heavy fabric and pulling at it clumsily. Raspy, gurgling breathing that sounded like a grunt of exertion followed as the fabric finally came free, tearing in several places as it clung to what was revealed to be hard, chitinous plates.

It was little wonder that the cloaked shape had been so uneven, for the figure beneath was so warped as to be unable to stand upright. Segments of exoskeletal shell had been fused along her spine, their angles forcing her posture into a perpetual hunch. Her right arm, swollen to a grotesque size and pierced by bony spikes that spread into a grisly simulacrum of a living gauntlet, weighed her down, despite her superhuman strength. The withered, almost atrophic appendage on her opposite flank did little to counteract the imbalance, nor could the stiff, plodding legs and the repugnant flabby extensions that had once been feet hold her straight. Yet the worst was the head, with its unmistakable human eyes strikingly misplaced and lost in the folds of organic chaos.

“One of my daughters.” Eiohsa said simply, though pain and anguish filled her words, turning to the Emperor once more. “On the world of Pyotrskov, the Ninth Legion detected the signatures of Eldar vessels in the vicinity. The liquidation of the world’s population was ordered for their failure to engage.” She paused, a look of hatred passing from her to Sarghaul. “My Legion maintained a small garrison on the world, for it held a strategically vital location. The Sixteenth intervened, evacuating those we could to shield the people from a rabid pack of killers let loose. His spawn persisted in the killing of hundreds of my legion, the destruction of a strike cruiser, dozens of vehicles, and millions of Imperial citizens.” She turned back to Sarghaul, “But as my Daughter has informed me, over a hundred of my Legion were not slain. Rather, they were taken prisoner by his Legion. Taken prisoner and brought to Carcinus, where his Fleshweavers conducted such experiments and tortures I dare not describe, the products of which you see before you.”

As Eiohsa spoke, Prometheus lifted his data slate and began searching through it, looking for the records and reports of the Pyotrskov campaign. He sought to find the truth of the matter before the council descended into madness.

She moved towards Sarghaul once more, “My Daughter escaped your world, returned to me, and told me of your doings. I admit, I did not believe even you were capable of such things - but the evidence was before me. I journeyed to Carcinus, hid amidst your Legion, saw firsthand the horror within your flesh laboratories. The memories I carry with me are of horrors the likes of which would destroy the average mind. What I have brought with me is but a fraction of what lurks beneath those ocean waves. Vast laboratories and flesh pits, from which spawn the bleakest nightmares conceivable by human minds.”

Her hand rested on the handle of her sword as she spoke, and as she did, those same nightmare images beneath the waves of Carcinus flashed through the minds of all assembled. Grotesque, twisted monstrosities of flesh, things born of humanity that ought not exist, and more - the barest hints of the horrors and traumas she had experienced. “I wondered too, how your Legion attained such quantities of material for their vile experiments. I no longer wonder - for I have been told by my daughter that not only the Astartes of the legion upon Pyotrskov were used, but that they were used to create new subjects. One hundred of my daughters were not enough to sustain such horrors for so long. Like father, like son - they have taken prisoner countless human girls and forced the implantation process upon them.” Warp lightning crackled around her being as she spoke, her voice far, far too calm for the events she described. “You farmed them. Like lab rats, your spawn implanted hundreds with the geneseed of the Sixteenth to fuel their deranged mockeries of science. I have seen Imperial citizens taken en masse for these purposes. Astartes and mortal humans both emerging from these chambers of horror twisted and warped effigies in the mocking image of profane arts.”

She turned from Sarghaul now, oblivious to the room as she sought the Emperor’s intervention. “The Legion as a whole is guilty, my Emperor... father, but his Fleshweavers moreso than all the rest. They have visited such horrors upon humanity that were he not your Son himself, we would call upon their kind a crusade so wrathful the very stars would tremble at our fury. His Legion has corrupted and twisted your very handiwork in pursuit of these depraved, evil crimes. These outrages have been visited upon humanity and my Legion not by a foreign power, but one of our own.” She rounded on Sarghaul now, eyes blazing with psychic might. “So tell me, Sarghaul Tartareus, Primarch of the Ninth Legion - where is the man responsible for this? Where is Ormis? I will have the heads of him and every Fleshweaver of the Ninth Legion. Or I will have yours.”

Daena audibly retched as the mangled forms of the Daughters of Iron were revealed, one after another. Acrid bile rose in the Angel’s throat, staining her gauntlets as she brought her hands up to buy time to force it back down. Her meticulous, well-ordered mind was aflame, every facet of her superhuman intellect consumed with dread visions all revolving around one central thought: It is happening again. The crunch of ceramite slamming against ceramite filled her ears, overpowered by the horrid wail that was only produced when two chainswords clashed upon each other.

For the Mistress of the XIVth, the Council of Nikaea did not exist. She stood upon a field of corpses, Astartes felled by Astartes, coursing with rivers of blood. Beneath her, impaled by her spear, was a figure that she would not, could not, name, smiling weakly as their life ebbed out of them. A hand rose torturously slowly towards her, the smile growing as it did. “May all your sins be forgiven, O murderer mine.”

Within the grand chamber, the sound of retching ended as soon as it began. Daena io Azrael rose her head to gaze straight forwards, and there was neither sorrow nor rage in her eyes. “Not yet, Nelchitl,” she repeated in a cold voice devoid of emotion, uncaring for the bile that dripped from her lip as she spoke. “Our Father will tell you Himself when it is time.”

Nelchitl’s head swam. The evidence placed against Sarghaul was damning, but a piece of her wished to refute it. For the Tartarean to bring forth his own evidence to absolve himself of the claims being laid forth by Eiohsa. She warred with her humors as choler and melancholy vied to take hold of her actions at the sights that the Sixteenth were providing. That one could debase humanity, the single most perfect creation to ever exist, in such vile ways filled the Emerald Priestess with agony. With sorrow and rage.

“When better a time Sister?” she began, her eyes devoid of the wild excitement from before, replaced now with purpose, a singular need for violence.

Daena turned her face to look at her sister, the Fourteenth’s impassive gaze now truly a mask, resembling more of a statue than a living being. A thousand different answers swam through her mind, the Primarch’s will focused almost entirely on burying the errant thoughts and false futures clouding her vision. When the galaxy bu- When the claw drips red wi- When my spear once more pierces the breast o- After death and blood and slaughter and be- A thousand horns will blare and a million li- There will be only toll of the bell in reme- “When He commands it,” she said, in a harder voice than Nelchitl had ever heard from her sister.

“It’s true.” Wode said, miserable. “Gods above, it’s true.”

He buried his face in his hands, rubbing at his eyes. He looked up after a few seconds of this, staring at the ruined remnants of the Daughters, etching into memory, like so many other horrible sights he could never forget. Was this his future now? Forced to tolerate a sibling that had engaged in degenerate excess well in above that of even the most deranged Salient merchant princeling?

He had torn down a whole world for less. He looked to his right, where Daena, Nelchitl, and Sekh sat, as if noticing them for the first time.

“Y’know I almost wish I hadn’t been found.” He said, closing his eyes in very real pain. He gritted his teeth, and veins stood out in his neck. He vibrated with emotion he didn’t want to release, but sought an exit irregardless. “I wish Father had killed me when he blew up my tank. I can’t stand this. Who else? Who else would do this? Sully our names and the trust of the people we’re supposed to protect? Turn our nieces and nephews and their own sons into monsters in secret, behind closed doors?”

He sat up, putting his hands on his lap. Tracks of tears ran down his face, surely due to emotion, but his stoic expression betrayed almost none now. “Is Sarghaul the only one? Or are there more?”

Usriel, at the showing of the first evidence, visibly recoiled at the sight of one of his nieces having been mutated in such a manner, even through his helmet it was clear. Yet, he could do little more than continue to watch as, one after the other, further evidence was revealed. It was that great figure, the cloaked one, that brought his motions to an end as his gaze studied each detail of the form of one of his nieces. It was soon that Usriel would slowly move his hands, carefully removing the helmet that he so commonly hid behind, and, for the first time to some, revealed his face to all present at the council. Tears openly streamed down his face as he gazed down upon the daughter of Eiohsa, feeling a great many emotions over such a sight. There was only a great beat of his heart before denial of the evidence redirected his gaze to the accuser and barked out in a harsh tongue, “No Astartes would willingly do this to their family! None! You speak lies to us, speak lies to the Emperor! Our sons and daughters, they are family! This is the work of other forces, I am sure of it!”

It was clear to all that Usriel could do little to hold back his emotions as he wept in anguished denial, “Do you think any could possibly believe that a cousin would do such things to another?! Woe upon any who would believe such lies that come from your wretched mouth!”

The Primarch of the Eighth watched his brother, reacting more to his removal of the ever-present helmet than to the very sights before him, though it could not be denied he was just as sickened by them as Eiohsa appeared to be. Nevertheless, he had seen sights on his homeworld which would turn the stomachs of lesser beings, this simply added the complication of the possibility that they were his distant gene-kin, something he would very much like to believe was not true.

“Sister,” he began in what he considered to be a calm and reasonable tone, his knuckles having turned white by this point, fingernails digging into palm flesh, “we asked you to provide evidence, and it would appear that you have done just that!” Now he raised his arms and gently placed his bleeding hands together in front of him, his emotions barely kept in check on his stoic face, “but how can we take the face words of one who can change her shape and form at will? How do we know it is our brother who has done this, the bad blood between you and he is well known after all, and that a being as powerful as yourself did not come here to fill our minds with pointed visions and… a grotesque menagerie… to bring this bitter feud to an end, once and for all one way or another?”

Kaldun, quietly choking on his rage as the parade of monstrosities was revealed, spoke through gritted teeth. “Not even the Sentinels, as coldly as they view humanity, subject them to the crimes of the Infestus. There is no line the Lurkers will not cross. Family means nothing to them.” He turned his gaze to Kaelianos, his voice slowly returning to its full shouts. “You want the truth? You want more evidence of their crimes! Any Psyker with sufficient skill can see the truth in her own mind! The Emperor will be able to see beyond a shadow of a doubt that there is no lie from my sister’s mouth! That thing,” he pointed at Sarghaul, golden electricity crackling up and down his armor, “and his spawn have violated not only Imperial law, but everything that we hold sacred!”

Nimue then chose this moment to speak up, in response to her brother’s accusation. “A shared vision between psykers is no proof or evidence of the Ninth Primarch’s guilt, you Oaf… not to mention The Emperor’s own insight.”

“You dare insult me!” Kaldun snarled, golden lightning now striking erratically around him.

“I would, Primarch of the Fifteenth, if reading the psychic visions of others not being any insurance of truth was not already widely known - besides yourself, it seems.” Nimue snarked at the enraged Primarch.

Kaldun laughed, mockingly. “Of course you say anything to defend that thing. Your own hatred of Eiohsa and her daughters is well known! Even yesterday you were baselessly accusing her of treason!”

“Baselessly…” Nimue seethed. She closed her eyes then, her time fighting with Daena under Sekhmetara’s auspices a reminder of how this has gone before “Yet, no. Our father The Emperor has already spoken Kaldun. You may doubt my words, but you are insisting on doubting him. The Emperor is Truth.” She said firmly, reigning in her outrage with the certainty of the truth she had witnessed for herself.

Off to the side of the chamber, not having moved since the commotion began, Augor Astren and his retinue observed the unfolding pandemonium. Although Kyrius at least appeared to be struck by the appalling nature of the revelations, the small group comprising Mephitor and a number of the Legions’ consuls stood stoically and unmoving as they looked on. More enigmatic still was the reaction of the Twelfth Primarch himself, who had simply continued corresponding with Malcador via his data-lectern, and otherwise was simply gazing blindly at some distant point of space.

‘...you have my word it shall be left to the Custodes to handle. This is simply additional deterrent.’ He sent the latest message back. ‘Inform Constantine Valdor of this contingency so that we are not stepping on each others’ toes.’

Understood. Some more typing to the Captain-General, and in the same moment the utterance of “We may be adjourned, but that does not mean you are free to argue with unrestrained commentary of one another’s intent and allegiance.” Even as he said this, it was clear that even the Master of the Administratum was, in a word, disgusted by what he saw of Eiohsa’s evidence. Something inhumane had happened to cause these, no matter their true origin.

Almost absently, Augor motioned to one of his Praetors standing-by near the Twelfth Legion’s podium. The Astartes dutifully stepped near to the Primarch and detached a nerve-cable leading between the back of their armor and a servo skull. The skull in question was unusually bulky - a conspicuously bulky and block-shaped mechanism was hanging like a distended growth out from the bottom of the floating cranium, displacing what would otherwise have been a standard array of repulsors. What purpose the skull was intended for was unclear, but as it drifted near to Augor Astren’s head, the Twelfth Primarch finally turned his empty gaze to the unfolding commotion between the Primarchs gathered in the midst of the Council chamber, and began to carefully scrutinize every small motion they made.

For the first time since Eiohsa had appeared, a voxspeaker was turned on in order to give Micholi’s voice more power without having to try shouting over his kin. “Nimue, Kaldun, before you draw blood… Kaldun, whose mind do you suggest the Emperor peer into in order to find answers?” His tone was devoid of emotion, his expression neutral… even as one of the arm rests of his chair was clearly reaching the limits of being snapped off by his hand.

Kaldun sneered at Nimue. “For once, you speak something that isn’t twisted!” He kept his eyes on her, replying to Micholi. “The minds of the tortured daughter of Iron before us! Everything Eiohsa claims is true! Some of you would doubt my words,” he glared at Nimue, “The Emperor can look into the tortured minds of Eiohsa’s daughter and see that I do not lie!” He spat the last word out at Nimue like a curse.

The presence of the Emperor and Malcador could never be mistaken. The force of psychic might around them permeated their surroundings without significant effort from either party. The third of the triumvirate was encumbered with no such burden of might, the golden spectre who stalked in the shadow of cosmic beings.

When Constantin Valdor stepped from the shadow of the colonnades he was unseen. Golden armour internally inscribed with the names of countless slain foes moved with quiet menace as the cascade of volume threatened to turn to a torrent of violence. There were those who spoke of Valdor as the first primarch, the legion-sire of the custodes themselves. The bedlam which unfolded across the chamber spoke to the lie of this claim. The primarchs were beings of cosmic wrath and pride forced into the bodies of near-mortals. Valdor was the calm in the storm, the wrath of the Emperor forged into glorious golden iron.

The clang of metal on metal resounded through the chamber as the butt of his guardian spear struck the ground, caving through the stone relief which concealed the swiftly erected plasteel beneath.

"Speak your ills, but the next blade to be drawn will die." The tone of the Custodian was unyielding, but devoid of rage, as passionless as the eyes of Valdor which regarded the primarchs in their assemblage. Each had been tried and tested on the anvil of his martial skill upon Terra and each had been found wanting, this was no idle threat, as the Custodian Guard of the Emperor shifted in stance, each but Valdor bringing their spear down in a defensive arc. "You stand in the presence of the Master of Mankind. Act accordingly."

Offering Constantin a respectful bow of his head, Micholi took a breath before he started speaking over the voxspeaker again. “The Emperor has confirmed that Sarghaul is not lying about having no knowledge of this, and I trust his exploration of the mind of the victim before us, and that Eiohsa’s testimony is true. This evidence suggests four possible scenarios to my knowledge… none of which are good.”

“The first is that the crimes against humanity happening on Carcinus are being committed by the Ninth legion without Sarghaul’s knowledge or approval.”

“The second is that prior to this Council, Sarghaul had his memory of events on Carcinus removed, but I suspect if this was the case, the tampering would be noticeable to some degree.”

“The third is that Sarghaul has somehow developed a means or technique of being able to hide information from the abilities of the Emperor himself and is lying about his knowledge… an utterly legendary feat but not completely impossible in theory.”

“And finally, the last is that Usriel is right and that there is some outside force that has managed to infiltrate Carcinus and are committing these crimes on the Ninth’s homeworld in some attempt to frame the Ninth Legion and its Primarch Sarghaul of these crimes.”

Micholi paused for a moment to glance around at his kin and peers before stating “I do not believe that Eiohsa, despite her prior history with Sarghaul, would resort to the extreme of twisting her daughters in this manner solely to frame Sarghaul… even more so because I am sure that all communications to Carcinus are going to be blocked so that the planet can be investigated properly.”

“Your final point merits some consideration, brother.” Augor intoned, still standing at his podium, his demeanor stiff and hunched - but otherwise still unshaken. “The Primarch of the Sixteenth, just a few moments ago, spoke and said she had personally been to Carcinus and born witness to that which transpired there. Perhaps there is additional insight into this matter she could provide us with, given her presence there.”

Augor turned his blind gaze to Eiohsa. “Tell us, sister, what do you think of our brother’s theory? As well, just so there is no misapprehension in this matter, perhaps you might tell us how you came to be there to bear witness without alarming the Ninth Legion.”

Eiohsa looked upon her brother with visible disdain. The Mechanicum’s plaything, a mad zealot whose fanaticism showed no end. She wished to ignore his question. She wished to bring her spear upon Kaelianos, who had insinuated that she could have visited these horrors upon her own daughters. She wished to strike down Nimue who batted aside her grievances with callous disregard. She wished to scream aloud to the heavens, to any who would listen, as the cacophony within her mind shrieked on endlessly, trillions of voices that drowned out the world around her. She remained silent for some time, mustering thoughts before she spoke. “As the Eighth has said.” She began, her words slow and deliberate. “I change shape and form at will. I go unnoticed when I wish, in the guise of a common woman. I can assume whatever form I desire, or create the illusion of such.”

As she spoke, her features shifted and her form changed shape. A Blank would have seen through the facade - but save to the likes of her siblings Kaldun or Nimue, it was as though a fully armored member of the Ninth Legion stood before them. Even to them, or to a blank, an indistinct male Astartes now spoke through the glamour of imitated armor with a rasping, filtered voice, “I infiltrated Carcinus in the guise of the Ninth Legion. That is how.”

Her form shifted back once more to that she had entered with and she spoke once more in a flat, dead voice. “I will not grace the baseless assertions I have done these things to my own Legion with a reply. Know only that further such claims will end only at the tip of my spear. I speak nothing but the truth, plain and unvarnished. I have made my demands. I will let truth speak for itself. Investigate Carcinus if you wish, if they do not try to destroy my dau- further evidence beforehand. The Emperor may hear my words now and know that I speak only that which I have confirmed with my own eyes.” She remained still, otherwise, but it was plain to all that she was restraining herself, and with massive effort.

“Deceiver!” called Usriel, clear anger wrought in his voice and his presence becoming known once more as he glared upon the shifting form of Eiohsa. He continued with a voice of pure rhetoric as he talked to the rest of the Council, “Look upon her! Her form is but a farce, how do we know that what she says is all but a fabrication against the sons of Sarghaul! She could do anything she desired by such changing forms and she could get away with anything! I blame you not for what happened to your daughters, Eiohsa, but I believe you to be falsely accusing Sarghaul and his sons for the actions of another so that you may slight him!”

The Nineteenth Primarch looked between the other Primarchs and stated in a subdued tone, “If she is capable of this level of transformation then her word cannot be trusted! For how do we know if she has-“

A heavy thud reached the ears of all within the chamber, and all eyes turned towards the source of the sound. The Astartes around who the furor had erupted had collapsed, unable to support her own bloated, twisted, warped bulk any longer. The intrusion upon her mind by the Emperor, though voluntary on her part, had been too much for her to bear any longer. She was damaged, at long last beginning to lose her grip upon reality. She tried to speak, but only a choked gurgling sound could be heard. Eiohsa felt what the others could not, however, and she stared in shock and disbelief, paralyzed.

A small part of her had hoped beyond hope that she could save her, somehow. Restore her body, give the woman - Anastasia Irina Nevsky - a life once more. Logically, she knew it was impossible. The traumas and horrors she had experienced were too much for any mind short of a Primarch to bear, and even they could not escape it unchanged. And yet she had hoped against all sanity that at least this one could be saved. She could not stand to fail another. Desperately, blindly, and without cause, she had hoped.

She stood still, unable to move. Her daughter wished for death, death on her own terms. She wished to die with what little dignity remained to her. She had done her duty, fulfilled her promise to herself that she would see the Lurkers brought to justice. And she begged her mother to end her. But Eiohsa could not. Despair weighed upon her mind, tears glistened in her eyes as she choked on her own words. She could not add another name, another one lost on her watch. She had fought for centuries for a better future - and for this? To end more of her daughter's lives? Had she not killed enough? Had enough of her daughters not died by her own hand during the dread wars against the Rangdan?

She watched, unable to move or to speak as she was overwhelmed by the weight of emotion upon her, as her daughter rose. Slowly, painfully, she pushed herself to stand as tall as she could with her warped form. Once again, Eiohsa felt the same plea. End me, mother. Eiohsa wept, for she could not do so, her limbs refused to move, words would not come to her. She had failed her daughters even in this. She could not add another voice to the chorus within her mind. Even now, the pain and agony of the last moments of trillions souls howled within her. And yet to add another as she stood before her here and now… she could not bring herself to. She sensed sorrow and grief from her daughter now, and love - love she did not expect. Silently, she begged for aid from any of her siblings within the crowd.

A crack of thunder filled the council chamber as an object crossed the room in a barely perceptible flash. Anastasia, for all that remained of her, swayed unsteadily before Eiohsa, the blade of Daena’s force spear and several feet of its hilt protruding from her chest where only a fraction of a second earlier had been nothing. Across the room, having moved too fast for Daena or Sekhmetara to stop her, Nelchitl stood. With a leg up on the council table before her, and an arm still outstretched where it had loosed the Angel’s powerful weapon. Nelchitl’s armor gleamed as incorporeal electricity danced over it, her eyes alight for the briefest of moments with the immaterial tumult of the warp. Behind Daena the Doomsayer’s assistant stood, empty-handed yet unflinching.

“Rest now.” the Emerald Priestess stated sorrowfully as the twisted form of Anastasia collapsed in a heap before her gene scion. With the deed done she passed her gaze over Eiohsa, pity at the weakness on display filling her features as she did. Her leg coming down from the table, the Emerald Priestess turned to the golden figure of Constantin Valdor and bowed her head respectfully, “If you deem this worth my life, I offer it now Captain-General.”

Wode stood, his expression solemn. He looked at Constantin, the same man that had beaten him to the ground on Terra so many years prior. “If you kill her, kill me too. I’d rather die than live in an Imperium where horrors like that cannot be put out of their misery.”

Eiohsa stared transfixed in horror. It had happened before she could do anything to intervene or prevent it. Yet - if she could have, would she? A small part of her felt some twisted form of gratitude. Her daughter was at peace now. Time seemed frozen around her as she reached out towards the form of her daughter as she fell. She caught her, blood and fluids spilling against her armor as she fell to her knees beside her daughter. Tears streamed from her eyes as she held her, her expression hidden from the view of those around her.

“I am sorry.” She whispered hoarsely, remaining hunched over the body, oblivious to the world around her.

The gaze of the Custodian Captain-General fell on Nelchitl and Wode with an intense focus, but one which seemed to lack either anger or acceptance. A long moment of anticipation drew onwards as Valdor remained both motionless and silent, before he simply turned to look upon the deceased monstrosities and the primarchs at the centre of it all.

After a respectful moment of silence, it wasn’t Micholi but his Head Librarian Uther that softly broke the silence as he asked loud enough for the daughters present to hear from his position by his Primarch’s side “Did we know who she was? Her name, at least.”

One of the assembled Astartes of the Sixteenth Legion spoke up, her voice thickly accented and her grasp of the language obviously not a fluent one. “Anastasia Irina Nevsky. Former Squad Sergeant of the Sixth Desayta of the Two Hundred and Thirty First Chapter of the Sixteenth Legion. First of three daughters. Mother of one daughter and one son.”

As one, the assembled Astartes dipped their heads solemnly, and the one who had spoken up fell silent as she fell back into line.

Respectfully, Uther bowed his own head in silent thanks as he stepped back into position in turn.

The next voice to speak came that voice of Nodis, speaking in a solemn voice as all the Sentinels bowed their heads to the sight of the fallen Daughter of Iron, “Then may Anastasia Irina Nevsky rest now without pain. May she rest knowing we will not allow such other suffering to any such family. May our cousin rest knowing that we shall bring those who caused this suffering to justice.”

All throughout the chaos that had surged through the hall of the Council, Sarghaul himself had remained oblivious to the outcries and manifestations of disgust rising around him. The gaze of his beastly mask was fixed on the gruesome contents of the evidence crates, now and then shifting between them with slight movements of the head that undulated in almost appraising nods. His fingers occasionally gave a reflexive turn or twitch, as if he were picturing to himself possible improvements or modifications upon the surgical nightmares. At length, however, his eyes snapped up, and after casting an inscrutable look around the chamber rose to meet the Emperor’s radiance without wavering.

"I hold by my words,” he rumbled without expression, “None of them have stepped into the halls of the Fleshweavers, or I would have tasted their blood in the water there. In what crevice they were altered, I cannot say. Know, lord, that I and all my true progeny disavow these works. I have forbidden the transfiguration of the Astartes template, and my will is their will. Any who have conspired to transgress against it will be punished."

He snapped a claw with a harsh click, leaving little to the imagination concerning what form this punishment would take, before pointing a condemning finger at Eiohsa.

"But I will not act on accusations from the likes of her. She has brazenly lied to all gathered here to conceal the crimes of her own kind. Not only did her Daughters engage the Sixth Tempest on Pyotrskov despite being admonished to stand down, they roused the world's populace to armed rebellion."

Malcador interrupted, laying down a data slate. Through the commotion, he had been analyzing the Pyotskov campaign. His eyes studied the abominations briefly while he decided upon his next words.

“Despite what those present may feel, or accuse,” began the Sigilite, though giving Eiohsa a meaningful look. “Accounts from the Sixteenth tell a different story than those from the Ninth. Their perspectives being so radically different, it is of no surprise. According to these reports, however, they indicate that Sarghaul is correct. The Daughters of Iron refused and resisted a lawful order given by the Primarch of the Ninth Legion. The Ninth was engaged in combat with members of the civilian population and the Sixteenth. Though who fired first is unclear.”

Prometheus spoke, his attention drifting to the twisted Astartes. “The outrage these creatures illicit, I understand. However, the facts as spoken by the Sigilite are clear. Your accusations, Eiohsa, are misinformed. Your daughters were not innocent victims on Pyotrskov. That said, if Sarghaul was aware of these… experiments, I would not know.” He turned to his brother Primarch “If I learn that you did have knowledge of this, I will lead the Legions to Carcinus myself.”

The Tartarean’s head remained bowed, his already guttural voice stifled to an even lower pitch by his posture as he answered, “Such would be your duty, as mine would be to bear your penance.”

When Sarghaul spoke a Knight of Awe clad in terminator power armor stepped into the room, the sound of his massive form called attention to him. The crunch of ceramite could be heard from beyond the doors, many more terminator elite had followed. A brief flash of a gesture from Prometheus, battle sign for ‘halt-guard’, stopped the Terminator who took up a guard position at the door but seemed poised to intervene if the council descended into violence.

The creaking shuffle of the Abyssal’s own behemoth steps sounded again as he heavily edged back to look upon the Emperor once again.

"Bid me eliminate this sabotage, o liege, be it rot from within or infection from without,” there seemed to be a renewed firmness in his words to the Lord of Mankind, as if the full of his proverbial obstinacy had now risen like a rock unveiled by the tide, “I will strike when I know the truth, not at the mere word of one who abets treason."

“With all due respect,-” Micholi spoke up, looking at Sarghaul as he rose to his feet “-While I understand the desire to make up for one’s failures… and regardless of if the source of these horrors is internal or external, the fact that they were able to operate on your domain of Carcinus seemingly without your knowledge can be considered nothing but a failure on your part, Sarghaul… The fact that your role in this matter is suspect at this time would mean that leaving the matter in your hands alone might be akin to letting the guilty judge the guilty and decide where the hammer will fall.”

Turning towards the Emperor, Micholi bowed his head humbly as he asked “While it is up to you to decide what measures are required here, I would have to request that an unbiased third party should be leading this investigation…Or, if you deem Sarghaul’s intentions of dealing with this black mark against the Imperium pure and accept his request to handle the matter himself, provide him with agents assured not to be connected to the web of corruption that he will be tearing apart.”



The Emperor, silent until now, at last rose from his seat, quieting the noise of the room as though he were a titan rising from beyond an infinite horizon. Those who were not seated would be compelled to; those who were would remain glued to their chairs as he at last moved forward, Malcador giving up his position to grant his liege lord the stage. Unnoticed in the atmosphere, a single servo-skull reactivated, circling around the back of the hall for its pict-recorder to capture the Emperor’s visage and voice head-on.

“Hear now the words of my ruling.” His expression was clear, devoid of any doubt. The evidence had been shown, and thus He would be heard.

“I am not blind to the needs of the Imperium. I am deeply conscious of them, for it is humanity whom I am most in thrall to - it is the good of all humans which I serve, and thus it is that the decisions I make are considered in great depth, to ensure all of humankind is protected by them. It is why this war council was convened, in truth; for you too are human, my Primarchs and my High Lords, and as leaders in your own right, your voices ring out as beacons.”

“I have seen humanity at its best and at its worst, and so too have I seen the alien in flux. The xeno mind is by definition dissimilar to human thought, more so than any abhuman, and to blindly give humanity over to the alien is to damn it as surely as would letting the human form mutate beyond recognition. It is true, too, that variation of xeno minds is itself variegated - some are incomprehensible, and yet some in theory draw close enough to human-like that one might mould them in our image. This is the concept of the Edict of Tolerance, in practice: to ensure any xeno race under its banner will, after long consideration, become akin to human, such that rebellion against humanity’s will is impossible.”

“The more conscious of Imperial proceedings will be aware that this cannot be so. Even humans rebel against their masters at times - it need only be evidenced by the many smaller fiefdoms of humanity that comprise the remnants we seek to integrate into the whole, each summing the Imperium to more than its mere components, yet too many requiring force to bring them to compliance. This is key: human rebellion may always reach into the hearts of some, be they misguided, seeking personal gain, or simply contrarian. It is through acknowledgement of this fact that we can be ready for the possibility, and it is this reason that I have formed the Imperial Army and the Legiones Astartes.”

“To say that it is therefore untrue that the xeno can be a part of the Imperium is a fallacy. What remains true is that they are not human, and are not afforded the same freedoms by default, but for a race that is inhuman to simply be erased belies the use that can be gained from their cooperation as auxiliaries to humankind. What is also true is that not all xenos can be granted this gift, the chance to contribute to a greater whole than their own selves, for as with the city-states that call themselves human empires, some are simply untenable for how they see us.”

“Nonetheless, some see this Imperium, and recognise humanity as beyond them, and take the chance they are given to bathe in our light. The possibility remains that they will turn their back on this light once more. I know this, I acknowledge it, and I am prepared for it. Woe betide he who ignores my warning or breaks faith with me; he shall be my enemy, and I will visit such destruction upon him and all his followers that, until the end of all things, he shall rue the day he turned from my light.”

“And to you gathered here, my Primarchs, my High Lords, and all their auxiliaries, and all else who bear witness to this message from afar, know this: the Edict of Tolerance may yet fail. It may prove in time that it cannot be maintained, or that it is not practical to upkeep, or that each xeno who falls under its protection shall abuse that protection to strike at the Imperium’s heart. But we shall be prepared for these possibilities, and until such time as they rear up to be cut down, I see no need to alter the dictates of the Edict of Tolerance at present. Neither shall I loosen their bonds, nor tighten their grip as one would a vice; they have, so far, shown to be robust.”

“So too shall I say to my Primarchs, you serve the Imperium as I do. You are granted power and knowledge to do this, and you are trusted by the many souls above you to wield them responsibly. I hear men speak of power and knowledge as though they were abstract concepts to be employed as simply as a sword or a gun. They are not. Power is a living force, and the danger with power is obsession. A man who attains a measure of power will find it comes to dominate his life, until all he can think of is the acquisition of more. Nearly all men can stand adversity, but few can stand the ultimate test of character, that of wielding power without succumbing to its darker temptations.”

"Peering into the darkness to gain knowledge of the Warp is fraught with peril, for it is an inconstant place of shifting reality, capricious lies and untruths. The seeker after truth must have a care he is not deceived, for false knowledge is far more dangerous than ignorance. All men wish to possess knowledge, but few are willing to pay the price. Always men will seek to take the shortcut, the quick route to power, and it is a man’s own mind, not his enemy or foe, that will lure him to evil ways. True knowledge is gained only after the acquisition of wisdom. Without wisdom, a powerful person does not become more powerful, he becomes reckless. His power will turn on him and eventually destroy all he has built.”

"It is power you seek to understand through the Librarian’s Crusade. To bring many of a kind together, and to send them forth in the Imperium’s name, to acquire the wisdom necessary to breach true knowledge, and yet in doing so risking recklessness, as if even one Librarian or mortal psyker is to attempt to pursue the quick route to power, calamity could befall all their number, and even those Primarchs who are present. It is not an engagement to plan with a light heart, if ever such existed, and it is under different circumstances, should more of the Astartes be enthused with the idea of gaining false knowledge without knowing its falsehood, that I might deny its implementation outright.”

"It is with pride that I acknowledge the Primarchs who wish to enact it as knowing they are not yet wise. A lack of wisdom is not in itself a black mark, but to know one is not wise and to seek wisdom to correct it is a sign of humility indeed, and a sign that one will show care in their pursuit of knowledge, albeit one must examine that care in depth to ensure one is not misled. The seeking of wisdom is noble, but it is not universal.”

"To delve too profoundly into matters of the Warp is a condition whose perils I cannot understate. This applies not only to the Librarian’s Crusade, which I shall permit in the Imperium’s name, but to the Librarius departments of each and every Space Marine Legion. Henceforth, it is my will that all Legions shall maintain a complementary department of Consuls-Opsequiari, those Legionaries who are proven to have the wisdom to ensure their members are acting in accordance with the wishes of Primarch, Emperor, and Imperium, and to bear witness to their Librarius such that if any should attempt to seek power without wisdom, they will be brought down before their foolishness can bring ruin to their siblings and their charge over the Imperium’s protection and expansion. A suitable complement of Consuls from each participating Legion will travel with the Librarian’s Crusade, along with a certain detachment of my own Custodians, who will report back the findings of the Crusade and allow its progress to be monitored. Should results prove insufficient, further limitations upon the Librarius departments may be implemented. Else, I wish upon the Librarian’s Crusade good luck in finding the wisdom they seek.”

"Before this conclave’s end, I shall but remind all who hear this of one last thing: one need not befriend the alien to tolerate it for its usefulness.”

The servo-skull’s pict-capture ceased, its use ended at last.



The sensation that held the room’s participants in place did not. And at last, a hint of the Emperor’s displeasure showed on His face through an otherwise clear expression.

“Do not believe that I am unfair to you, my children,’ he restarted, even his tone just a touch more stern than before. ‘It is as I stated, that I am in the Imperium’s thrall precisely because its needs require tending, by I and by others, yourselves included. You, too, must place the Imperium’s needs over your own; to squabble over differences that ultimately matter not in the grander scheme of the Imperium’s conquering of the galaxy is to distract yourself from the greater purpose I have in mind for each and every one of you.”

“I shall reiterate once more. I make my decrees with intent to protect humanity and the Imperium, including all present in this hall. I forbid certain technologies, for to utilise them would be to invite doom upon us, even if only one such use exists amongst a macrocosm of possible good. I have denied the existence of false gods, for it is religion that has hindered humanity in the past, and it is with extreme caution that I allow the few cultural practices of the Legions that err toward such hindrance, in faith that they will not be allowed to hold back those who bear them when the time comes to serve the Imperium. The Edict of Tolerance was not implemented without great care as to its form and function, for I am strongly aware that to allow an alien race into the Imperium who seeks our downfall could lead to needless death that could otherwise have been bypassed. And most pertinently, I have disallowed the modification of the human genome, for it is such that the unmutated human form is without inherent flaw, and consequently that Astartes, Custodes, and Primarch alike iterate upon this in ever more particular and beneficial fashion.”

“Each grows stronger than the last. This can only be so as a result of fastidious efforts to make it so, in particular my own. To alter any of these is therefore inviting the possibility of unforgivable chaos, should a given change be less than suited to purpose, and its complexity is such that even I would not entrust myself to follow this course alone, nor any but the most intelligent and conscious of human minds to act in that path alongside me. To modify humanity’s genetic base is already suggesting that it is not already fit for purpose; to then go so far as to modify the gene-seed of the Astartes, whose implementation I arranged with great care to ensure they were beyond rather than merely beneath humanity’s standard, is consequently to suggest that this is not sufficient.”

He turned, very deliberately, to face Sarghaul.

“It is to suggest, my son, that you could do better, with few to none of the precautions I took in my turn, least of all direct oversight. You may not have had influence in this project directly, but it is your example that your Fleshweavers have followed, and it is your lack of awareness of their work that resulted in these abominations against my will, the human form, and your sister Legion alike. Your Legion, in spirit, is you - and you have disobeyed my direct order to you, made so long ago when we first met. You were not to pursue further genetic experimentation, and yet it grows ever more apparent that the Infestus are the end result of such.”

“You are not incorrect to state that truth ought to be pursued, however. There is evidence yet to be gathered on the matter. Evidence that lies in your world of Carcinus. Evidence which, should your Legion learn that it is sought, may be destroyed before it can be verified. Therefore, Sarghaul Tartareus, I compel you. Call your Legion to the world of Advex-Mors, every Abyssal Lurker in the galaxy, and in particular all of your Legion’s Fleshweavers. You shall tell them that a suspected Rangdan resurgence requires investigation and purging if present, and nothing more or less. You shall be stationed on-world, and you shall tell each arrival to stand down and disarm as they are apprehended. Your Fleshweavers shall be held in confinement by my Custodians, and the rest shall remain idle under watch by the Consuls of the Daughters of Iron, until such time as the truth is ascertained.”

His gaze burned with the light of a thousand suns as he ended his decree. “If evidence runs against the Abyssal Lurkers, know that I will not be merciful. The investigation will be conducted and led by the Custodian Guard. They will have full authority to conscript whatever forces they require to further the investigation until such time as they have gathered sufficient evidence. The Legio Astartes are not to interfere with this process unless specifically requested by them. Any disobedience in any regard to my decree will not be tolerated.”

The Emperor spoke to all now. “It was my hope, my children, at the culmination of the Ullanor Crusade, that I could return to Terra with good heart. I was confident in you, my children, that the future of my Imperium was safe within your hands. That the Great Crusade could continue on unabated even without me at its head. Matters of import call me to Terra. And I was glad to know that the Crusade would not suffer in my absence.” He surveyed the room unblinking, his gaze harsh like that of an eagle surveying its prey. “It seems I was mistaken. In my absence, and even in my presence, you fight amongst yourselves. You defy my will. Many of you are blind. And some of you have defied humanity itself. It has become apparent to me that I must name a replacement for my authority within the Crusade, lest such civil strife rear its head once more in my absence.”

His eyes alighted upon Daena, and he nodded. “For this task I need one of my Primarchs who has served loyally at my side throughout the years. Who does as I order without question, without complaint. One who truly understands the Imperial Truth in its entirety and has accepted it wholeheartedly. One who will not falter from doing whatever is required to safeguard the Imperium. One whom I can rest assured in granting such great power. Rise, Daena io Azrael, Primarch of the Fourteenth Legion, Doomsayers. I name you Warmaster, and you will speak with my own authority. All your orders shall be followed as if from my own mouth.”

The Emperor stood now, His word decreed. “I hereby call The Council of Nikea to a close.”

[...End Log.]
[...Terminating.]
[Imperial Thought for the Day: Abhor the Malevolent. Suffer not the Abomination. Know thy purpose.]

Rage Can Be Necessary

---

Captain Mayalen stood resplendent in her armor, the proud markings of the Second Company emblazoned upon her breastplate and worn in tandem with the solemn banners of mourning for all those she had lost on Arel, nearly two-fifths of her entire company. Before her were the vaulted doors to her Primarch’s private chamber and beyond it, her Scion raged. Mayalen winced as the sound of objects of near priceless value were smashed to dust and the stateroom beyond was turned into debris, all the while her Primarch screaming in the native tongue of Ixhun, though Mayalen had the sense not to listen to what was being said.

She had been at the embarkation deck when her Primarch had made her unexpected return from the Council’s deliberations for the day and rarely had she seen Nelchitl so incensed at her own allies; her own kin. Her Scion had stormed off the lander in silence, moving past the assembled honor guard with not so much as a glance in their direction. The Second Captain had sensed the deep hurt in those Serpents that had been chosen to welcome Nelchitl back to the Solstice’s End. She’d seen it in the way they held their bolters once their Scion had disappeared beyond the blast doors, in how they had walked in silence back to their arming chambers, and when they had looked upon her; their Captain; for reassurance. She had offered them each firm words of their worth, assurances that they would never have been picked were they not worth the notice of their esteemed Scion, and though today she had not taken notice of them, next time would be different.

With words that barely did justice to mend the pride of her juniors, Mayalen had made to follow Nelchitl, and had been shocked to find it nearly impossible not to know where she had gone. She had followed a trail of broken servitors and chattering Techpriests, offering the sign of the aquila and a few words of apologies to the hooded adepts as she followed the trail of holy oils and mechanical components of their destroyed machines all the way back to her Primarch’s private chambers.

Here she had stood for nearing four hours, Nelchitl’s destruction on the other side of the doors unceasing. A particularly large crash resounded from beyond the doors, the impact of whatever it was Nelchitl had destroyed reverberating through the bulkhead beneath the Second Captains’ feet and through her dampened armor.

“Is this a bad time?” came the voice of Sofia di Fabrizio from her right, Mayalen shifted slightly as she found her superhuman senses caught off guard, so lost in thought at the enraged actions of Nelchitl as she was that the Mistress of the Fleet had practically gotten on top of the Astartes. The woman stood several heads shorter than Mayalen but what she lacked in stature she made up for in sheer presence. The Mistress; a mortal; demanded respect with every word she spoke and in the very way she moved. The navy ratings joked that their Mistress had managed to tame Nelchitl, though the Serpents knew it was very much the other way around. Mayalen had long held her in high regard, her tactical and strategic knowledge in the void was immense, her ability in oratory cunning, and her skills with a blade and the artificer laspistol she kept at her waist put some of the most seasoned Auxilia to shame.

The Astartes frowned down at the Fleet Mistress as she spoke, “I’m afraid it’s certainly not the best. Mistress I’m sure you’re more in tune with the happenings at the Council than I or any of my Sisters ever could be, I pray that you know what has incensed our Lady so terribly.”

The Mistress folded her arms and took a spot leaning along the bulkhead, her gaze barely rising to meet the Astartes in front of her, “I have much to attend to for the fleet alone, and Magos Decius is throwing a fit on my bridge, going on and on about servitors and damage notices.” she waved a hand dismissively, “Do you truly think I have the time to follow the proceedings from planetside as I deal with the Martians and arrange for everything we require to move on from this Council?”

Mayalen felt her frown turning into a small smile as she watched the grin on the Mistress’s face grow, “Of course I do Mistress, who else but you could do all that and still have the time to listen in on the Council?” the Second Captain stated matter-of-factly.

“And your faith is well placed.” the mortal confirmed with a nod, “Our Primarch got into it with that culo the Tartarean. About what exactly I’m not positive, though I understand that it got heated. Not to mention that this was all in front of Him. If I had to guess I’d say she’s just as embarrassed as she is pissed in there.”

Mayalen shifted uncomfortably in her power armor, “I should have guessed as much. The Primarch of the Abyssal Lurkers has always been… divisive for lack of a better word.”

“He’s a bastard is what he is.” the Mistress stated flatly, “Though, I didn’t come here to chat about the gossip from planetside, as interesting as that may be. I have news that will only further worsen our Primarch’s mood.” she slipped a datapad from her belt and handed it to Mayalen.

The Captain consumed the data in mere moments and handed the dataslate back as she shook her head, “If only this could wait for her to calm herself.”

“Were it so easy.” the Mistress stated as she turned and pressed her command signet into the locking mechanism of the door. With a hiss the locks disengaged and the door moaned as it strained to open.

“You can stand behind me if it makes you feel any safer, Mistress.” Mayalen offered as the doors screeched open, so bent and deformed were they that the mechanisms began to sputter sparks into the hallway as they worked. Smoke began to roll out of the room beyond as the doors continued their agonizing opening, and water ran around their feet from some unseen source beyond them.

Mistress Fabrizio laughed at the offer and crossed her arms defiantly, “If the Priestess wants me dead for this news, there is not much a single Astartes can do to stop her,” she stood side by side with the Captain of the Second, “I’ll take my chance here.”

Mayalen smiled warmly at the mortal, her respect for the woman growing evermore as one of the doors came to a grinding halt before it could fully open. The two slipped through the narrow opening between the broken doors and stepped into a very different environment from what they had left on the other side.

Smoke filled the room, fed by a number of small electrical fires that licked at smashed furniture and torn draperies around the chamber. The chamber itself lay in ruin, anything that hadn’t been bolted to the deck was in pieces about the room, red warning lights flashed, overhead lights flickered and sparked in their mounts, and the low thrum of exposed power cables filled the room.

Mayalen moved her gaze about the room and took in the destruction that Nelchitl had managed with awe. Pipes hung from the ceiling, spouting water and less than healthy alternatives into the chamber, and at the far end of the room stood the cause of it all.

The Emerald Priestess was facing away from them. Stood before a massive mosaic of the Emperor, her hands outstretched at her sides and her head thrown back in forlorn disgust. Mayalen heard the Fleet Mistress gasp as her own eyes fell upon what had surprised the mortal so.

A vast scar had been torn through the image, giving the ghastly image of the Emperor cut open from hip to shoulder. By some cruel coincidence of the ancient ship’s design, the wound wept a deep red hydraulic fluid as if the Emperor himself was bleeding before them.

“My Lady.” Captain Mayalen spoke, biting back the hesitation in her voice as she continued, “We bring news.” She dropped to a knee and gently pulled the stunned Mistress Fabrizio down as well. She dared not bring her gaze up as she felt the scrutiny of the Emerald Priestess fall on her.

“Speak then, or be gone.” the Primarch spoke, her tone sending icicles into the mind of the Captain of the Second. She winced in pain at them and quickly composed herself as she kept her head low, “The Obscurus Rebellion has--”

“Obscurus Rebellion!?” Nelchitl cut off her Captain as she struck a colonnade with such force that it shattered and fell into the chamber, “OUT.” Nelchitl raged, her voice so sudden and laden with command that Mistress Fabrizio dropped the dataslate she had been holding and practically sprinted from the room. Mayalen, though Astartes, strained not to drop her helmet as she too rose and hurried from the chamber.

Mayalen turned to watch her Primarch as she once more began to rage in her chambers. Arcing electricity somewhere in the room cast long shadows through the growing smoke and the Second Captain could have sworn that she caught a glimpse of something terrible and unknowable through the glowing red smoke just before the doors shut.

“That went well.” Mistress Fabrizio stated meekly as her breath came in ragged gasps. The color in the proud admiral's face had all but gone as she steadied herself against the wall.

“We are alive.” Mayalen agreed, her enhanced metabolism flooded with combat stims from the autosensors of her armor as she reconciled with an emotion she hadn’t felt since before her ascension to Astartes. Fear.

[Placeholder]

---

The vast scope of the Council hall was writ ever more vast by the absence of the assembly. Still the chamber buzzed with a sense of capacity, but not in the physical sense. The psychic wrath of the Emperor still crackled through the air, the ire of the Master of Mankind scorching the air with the metallic tang of the Immaterial.

"It would seem there is one matter yet to address.” Despite the more intimate company of fewer figures, the Master of Mankind’s tone did not waver from the uncompromising force of will that had defined his final proclamations of the council as he beheld those he had bid remain, motioning with one hand to the quiet, poised figure of Sekhmetara. “A daughter provides me with wrongs performed by another son, of a less grand extent most certainly, but still a matter that requires addressing.

“The efforts of your Stargazers have merit, Augor, but my will has ever been that each Legion is beholden to none but the Imperium and their Primarch. The work of Corneceus Sicanus has been brought to my attention. I would have you explain upon what authority he acts.” The Emperor’s tone eased somewhat as he addressed the remaining male Primarch, certainly lacking the personal condemnation leveled against the charges that had shortly been heard in the chamber, and would no doubt proceed after this matter had been addressed. When the Emperor’s eyes turned to the paler of his daughters remaining, his words were clipped, dealing with the matter in a cold manner.

Augor, for the first time since the Council had begun, looked as though he had been caught entirely off-guard. He had visibly recoiled where he still stood before his podium, and even without eyes the lines of stricken apprehension were evident upon his face. The remainder of the Twelfth Legion’s retinue had likewise seemed to stir with a mixture of upheaval, the Consuls evidently taken aback, muttering to themselves in Lingua-Technis and gazing between the Emperor and the Twelfth Primarch.

After several unsettled moments, Augor appeared to recover. He grasped his podium with both hands and took in a long, shuddering breath before he began to speak. As he did so, it took several moments for the onlookers to realize that he was not addressing anybody in particular - rather, he was speaking to the room at large.

”They shall stand, adamant clad, and they shall be his angels of death. They shall carry with them the light of Sol Invictus, the unconquered, and all shall know them and hearken only to despair. Every step they shall take will be his grace and shall advance the destiny of man. For them to witness their enemies shall be to know victory, for they shall be the leaden spear of death as it sweeps across the stars. Their word itself shall be truth, and their veracity shall unmake all deceit and all of man shall be reunited in his splendor. They shall stand no ignominy, and all challenge will break futilely about their frames, for their very grasp shall see the dominion of man eternal stead.”

The recitation was familiar to all in the chamber. Even if they had not heard the exact refrain before, the recognition of what it must have been was evident. Every Marine in the chamber had heard, and spoken, a passage much like it. Augor intoned the whole of it, his head lowered faintly, his posture fervent. Only at its closing did he raise his head, and when he did, the Twelfth Primarch barked out a booming, exigent imperative - even with the Sigilite impeding the expression of power, his words were tinged with a hint of impulsive force that demanded answer.

”ASTARTES!” The Primarch of the Twelfth Legion boomed, setting most of his own retinue aback in startlement - save for the Consuls and Praetors amongst their number, who had sprung to attention, and even a few of the marines amongst the processions of the other Legions seemed to stir as realization crashed upon them.

”WHAT IS YOUR LIFE?”

His own marines, clustered about him at his podium, answered immediately in resonant chorus. “My honor is my life.” They all answered, their voices raising to the peak of the chamber.

”WHAT IS YOUR FATE?”

“My duty is my fate.” This time, the answer did not come merely from Augor’s marines. Either due to the subtle, demanding power laced through his tone, or due to their own compulsion and bond, a small number of marines about the room added their own murmured answer to the reply.

”WHAT IS YOUR FEAR?”

“My fear is to fail.” Additional voices from about the room joined in the chorus - and before those who had only muttered, now spoke with voices aloft.

”WHAT IS YOUR REWARD?”

“My salvation is my reward.” The voices rose in volume.

”WHAT IS YOUR CRAFT?”

“MY CRAFT IS DEATH.” The answer coursed through the room, nearly matching the intensity of the Twelfth Primarch in its own fervor.

”WHAT IS YOUR PLEDGE?”

”MY PLEDGE IS ETERNAL SERVICE.” The answer had risen to a roar that clashed with Augor Astren’s call.

Evidently satisfied, Augor loosened his grip on the podium before him, raising his bionic hands and beckoning to those assembled in the chamber.

“Astartes, you all who have avowed your honor and your exaltation, you who are the greatest warriors to ever live - when you swore the Oath of Moment, to which body did you pledge your service?”

The answer that came to him came now only from his own Marines, the hint of power that had laced his words before now gone. “To the Legion.”

“And when you swore the Oath of Moment, to whom did you pledge your loyalty?”

“The Primarch.”

“And when you swore the Oath of Moment, to what did you swear the whole of your being?”

This time, the answer was split - for a brief moment, it seemed as though other marines from about the room would again begin to take up the call - but the moment ended when the two rivaled words met in the air.

A silence fell across the room, an awkward series of exchanged glances crossing the space between the assembled Legions as Augor Astren simply gazed on serenely, as though he had not heard the discordance in the response.

“There can be no doubt that all who stand amongst us and count themselves Astartes, are the greatest and highest servants of the Emperor. We are his instruments, his weapons, the very manifestation of his invincible will. This is not a status of privilege. It is earned, through service and honor - and through avowal. It is not a stature attained and hoarded, it is a height from which we all must endeavor to never fall.” He paused, sweeping the room with his blind sight before carrying on.

“It is a call to be answered - and to fail to answer is to forsake what it is, to be Astartes. So now, hear me all, - those amongst us here who would rather die than continue to serve the Emperor, step forth.”

Silence reigned. The chamber was still.

“The autonomy of the Legions is inviolate to most ends - it is known.” Augor finally spoke. “It ends only and whence loyalty falters. None have dared, now, to step forth, for they know in their hearts the true depths of the oaths they have made and must keep. It is only whilst in the throes of pain beyond reckoning that this certainty waivers, and it is therefore at that juncture where intervention is necessary. The Apothecaries of the Twelfth Legion do not infringe upon the sovereign authority of the Legions. They are saviors, tasked with the renewal of the highest oaths and curses ever sworn by man. There is no denying that even the Astartes succumb to pain and doubt - and that is why the work of Corneceus Sicanus and his acolytes is necessary. It is the duty of all Astartes to aid each other in overcoming all burdens, all hazards, and all perils - and it is also the duty of all Astartes, where one of their own forsakes their oaths, to rebuke the failing.” Augor cast his hands out to the assembled Legions.

”Our service to the Emperor does not end at our willing. The bonds of our glory and our hate to the one who stands above all cannot permit it. All here know this to be true- it is what you swore. It is what you avowed.” He lowered his hands to grip once more at his podium.

“I say again.” His voice was as even as polished marble as just as cold. “Any who would rather perish than continue to serve The Emperor of All Mankind, Master of the Cosmos, come forth!” He then turned his gaze to the Emperor, at long last.

“Father. The work cannot end. If even one mind in this room thinks such a thing, it is a failure, a betrayal of the most profound and abhorrent kind, and evidence of the necessity of our intervention. If none do, then there can be no rational objection to the practice.”

He then turned his gaze back to the assembled room. “Well?” He demanded. “Who here dares to think light of their vows? Who here speaks, whose word means nothing? Who here spoke lies to the pledge, whose heart is naught but insipid ashes to be swept away? If you have not the audacity to reveal yourselves, then let there be no more protestation, for the deliverance of the maimed and crippled must be carried out.”

The silence which met Augor’s display proved almost as deafening as his words and those of his sons. None of those present in the entourage of Sekhmetara stepped forwards, in fact, those few Tears of Dawn who stood in her company had joined the chorus, and their Primarch among them offered them no reproach. The Emperor himself did not act to interrupt, the seething din of his psychic might refraining from direct interaction with this, the plane of reality.

“The loyalty of your sons has never been in question.” The Emperor spoke with a softness which still carried across the room, the force of his personality rippling through the air like a surge through the storm, no matter the tone. With just as much care, the Emperor’s eyes settled on Nimue, before intoning, “Speak your piece.”

“Augor.” Nimue said, deadpan, unimpressed eyes only mildly conveying her annoyance at her brother’s long routine getting in her way. “You are very quick to align whatever you say with The Emperor’s Will. I care not for your drivel, the Astartes of the Seventh Legion are mine, and only mine. It was ordained as such by The Emperor when he gave the then Iron Maidens to me, and I would do with them as I see fit. My Celestial Inheritors follow my will, and through my will The Emperor’s. By your man, Corneceus, doing his work, he rejects and desecrates the inviolability of my command over my Daughters. If I say them dying forwards The Emperor’s will, then so does The Emperor.”

“Your word is not that of the Emperor’s, sister. None of the Primarchs may speak as to his will beyond what he has dictated - that is something which I have repeated, adamantly, every wretched day of this Council since it started, seeming though as it now does that my words fell on deaf ears each and every single time.” Augor’s face twisted in displeasure. “Unless I hear otherwise from the One Who Stands Above All, there can be no sane recourse but to reject your seditious will in this matter. Your Astartes, like all of us, are HIS Soldiers even before they are yours. Or have you forgotten the oath you have sworn, the glorious promise we all should strive to keep? I have already spoken as to the matter of the sovereignty of the Legions, but I did not speak then for your benefit or rebuttal. What I spoke then is objective reality, the state of things as they are and as they should be, and there is but one force in all of the universe that may decree otherwise.”

“I would speak.” With only a small pause for appearance’s sake, the Primarch of the Sixteenth Legion turned her attention to Augor, leaving Nimue to silently sneer at the unwanted aid. “We have witnessed the atrocities visited upon my Legion by those of the Ninth, brother. Are these horrors not still fresh within your mind?” She stood fully, gaze boring into him as she spoke. “Your Legion accepts no injury as enough, yes? No matter how grievous, your Corneceus and his ilk will salvage even naught but the brain of an Astartes and implant it into a body of metal. Tell me, brother - would you have done the same to my daughter, Anastasia? Do you mean to imply that?”

“Yes.” There was no hesitation or reticence to be found in Augor’s countenance as he replied. He almost seemed to relish in the exultation the answer gave him. “Her theft from this world before she could be saved is a tragedy - and your so-called mercy nothing less or more than an execution.”

“Then you and your cult have forsaken yourselves and humanity.” She said simply, her expression darkening, staring at him with a growing revulsion and hatred. “What our sister Nelchitl did for her, that I could not bring myself to, was a kindness. She had gone through enough - more than enough. The Astartes are still human. And yet you would see them pushed to fight after horrors indescribable. You would visit upon those who have served loyally and selflessly a cruel, torturous fate to sate your own mad delusions. In your fanatical quest to serve mankind and its the master, you have forsaken it. Sarghaul and yourself, you are one and the same in this.” Her form was stiff as she spoke, and she wished nothing more than to strike out at him. “I see it clearly now. You disgust me, ‘brother’. You are little better tha-”

“Enough.” The commanding voice which cut across the din of the chamber was a new one, brought forth by one who had remained silent since the main session of the chamber had come to a close. The armoured form of Sekhmetara moved from among her own retinue to stand between the two hostile siblings, her movement appearing almost languid despite the speed with which she crossed the distance, her palms spread, hands low in a warning gesture to the pair. The air she had displaced billowed across the room, filled with the abrupt and sudden acrid tang of ozone, the space itself between her and Augor’s podium almost seeming to shimmer in a line that the Primarch of the Twentieth Legion had deftly intercepted. Augor had not moved, but his visage now seemed to radiate with an invisible, baleful intensity - which receded only as Sekhemetra continued to speak.

“Have we not all raged and ranted enough?” The strain of the long toil of the council fueled her words, the hurt of its conclusion, and her thinning patience, but it did not bleed into the melody of her tone, conciliatory yet assertive, even as a low hum filled the air from the blades of the Custodes activating in response to the unfolding scene.

“I brought this matter to father not to accuse anyone of treason, or worse, but that we might cut out another canker of disunity between us, and move forwards with one purpose in the glory of the Imperium, in Humanity.” The Mithran’s primarch’s eyes swept between both siblings, two individuals who she knew more in deed and name than in self. “Please.” She asked with an earnest, if not begging, tone.

“Well spoken, Pakhetera.” Malcador’s speech was ever wizened by the age of his appearance, practically wavering with the weight of years, but such was his way with things the notes still carried, hands clutched around the stave of his office. His use of the Mithran term for the Primarch of the Twentieth Legion earned a brief flicker of recognition from the Emperor and a warm smile from the Primarch herself. “We have sailed through the storm, let us rest in the calm before the next torrent overtakes us.” The words of the Regent were not as forceful as the Emperor's own, but still they came with psychic empathy, encouraging cooler words with more than just the content of his words.

The penumbra of calming energy thus almost seemed to rob the Twelfth Primarch of his capacity to speak, murder and zealous rage still wavering within body. Almost as though displacing the violent impulses roiling within his thoughts, Augor clenched tightly along the rims of his podium - predictably causing the edges to shatter to pieces in his grip. The innumerable splinters then tumbled to the ground, caught fire halfway through their descent, and arrived upon the floor in wafting layers of crackling ash. Another reign of silence was cast across the room in the wake of the abrupt, thunderous snapping of the wooden frame. Black, fractal static tracery burnt its way down the sides of his podium where his bionic hands had gone taut.

“Peace, brother.” Sekhmetara spoke softly to Augor, before her hands fell back to her sides, even as the Emperor gestured for the next to speak.

“Usriel Andreath, Primarch of the Steel Sentinels, Prefect of Vion 5,” began the first of the Nineteenth Legion, “It is under my opinion that while there is a clear violation of command, I disagree that this breach was in bad faith. As our duty is to the Emperor, we are to fight until we no longer cannot, if the life of an Astartes can be prolonged to continue this duty, then it shall be done. In the name of the Emperor, for the Imperium, and the Mechanicum, no life of our sons and daughters should be wasted if we can help it.”

The weight of her new title and command still sat uneasily upon Daena’s brow, the Warmaster’s uncertainty only heightened by the horrid circumstances under which she was elevated to the lofty post. Sekhmetara had the right to defuse the situation as the one who had gone to their father, but she wondered if she had already begun to undermine herself by not speaking sooner.

Now however the Angel would speak, the winged Primarch having put on neither airs nor pretenses after her elevation and instead addressing her siblings from the place in the chamber she had ever sat.

“An Astartes is an icon of mankind,” she began cautiously, attempting to place the room upon even footing. “Surely on this all agree. Exemplars of the human form, granted strength and will akin to the heroes of old, they are an inspiration to all. But not because of their strength alone. An army of battle automata with their silica wafers replaced by the brains of soldiers is not the army our Father made. Why is this?”

“The Astartes are to be the protectors of humanity.” Came the voice of the Sixteenth once again.

“Do you see such an army anywhere, War Master? It does not exist. This practice is not some measure intended to produce Legions, it is nothing less than the salvation of the crippled and the maimed!” Augor barked out indignantly in the same moment as the Sixteenth Primarch spoke, their voices colliding and overlapping in the council halls, the booming echoes of both clashing across the high ceiling.

Eiohsa continued, ignoring her brother’s interjection. “Their duty, and our duty, is the defense and development of humanity! The Astartes are warriors! But they are humans, first and foremost! Born of humanity, and of human make and mind! They exist not to destroy and to war until the end of time, but to help ensure a prosperous future! They are not robots, mindless automata whose very purpose is nothing but war. They are Human. Beings.”

“If you are suggesting that those who have been saved by my Apothecaries are any less in stature, any less in their profound honor and exalted grace than any other Astartes, then you demean the very spirit of Humanity, the very essence of our will to survive, our sovereign mastery of will!” Augor carried on over Eiosha, his voice growing ever louder as he went.

Eiohsa’s voice grew in turn, amplified by a growing psychic echo that followed her word. “Saved them from what, brother? Forced them into fighting on and on and on in a war with no end? They have pledged themselves to the defense and the uplifting of man, but they have not pledged their humanity to war.”

“They have pledged themselves to The Emperor, and if he demands that they fight, then they will fight! You forget your VOWS, your OATHS, your PROMISES, sister. Your words are nothing but errant wind!” Augor finally directed his eyeless sight to Eisha as both their voices climbed.

“They have pledged themselves to The Emperor’s dreams. WE have pledged ourselves to the ideals and the dream of the Emperor and the Imperium! Not to a man! He has shown us, with his Truth and his example, that we are to build a future based on reason and principles, not follow in the footsteps of one man! No matter how great he may be, what is even greater is the idea of the Imperium, the principles of the Truth, and his Dream for us! I know the pledge I made to the Emperor, brother. But it seems you have forgotten yours.”

“YOU-” Augor began, but abruptly feel silent, his head whipping down and to the side. There, standing by the edge of the Podium, drifted the comparatively diminutive form of the Archmagos, Mephitor, a single sinuous and slender Mechadendrite seeming to hover and waver emphatically in the air during the unheard, soundless exchange between him and the twelfth Primarch. The Archmagos drifted higher into the air, setting just below the height of the Twelfth Primarch himself, and spoke then in their voxcoded, synthesized speech, their words resonant with the haze of static.

“The Apothecaries of the Stargazers save Human lives where others would permit them to end, and the loss of Human life, of the life of an Astartes, is to be forestalled. Whether the intent of the individual or the group is to service the will of the Omnissiah or to furnish the manifestation of his glorious vision for mankind, they adhere to the oath of the Apothecary to inflict no harm upon their fellow man. To administer the so-called ‘Peace’ upon the grievously wounded is to kill one’s own kin, and is directly detrimental not only to the dignity and standing of the Emperor’s Astartes, but also sets back the efforts of the Great Crusade. Statistical data compiled from the legions shows that tens of thousands of marines between every legion are killed by their own Legions every standard cycle, in circumstances where their judgment and true desires are sufficiently impacted to make effective consent impossible.”

“Yes. YES!” Augor stated triumphantly as he roused back to the discussion of Mephitor’s words. “Which returns to my earlier statement! In the moment of anguish, the individual cannot give reliable consent to whether they wish to live or die, but either way, it does not matter. If there are ANY who would WISH to DIE rather than to continue to serve the Emperor, the Imperium, or the glorious vision they have sworn to uphold, then death is what they shall have, for they have forsaken their oaths, their very names, their very memory, and are traitors! To save them from death and betrayal can only be the most sacred of duties!”

Eiohsa stood, watching, her lip curled in distaste as a miasma of loathing rolled from her figure. “Empathy is one of the most crucial traits of humanity.” She said, weighing each word as it passed her lips. “It is what defines a monster in the skin of man from one of our own.” Her eyes bored into those of Augor and the Archmagos as she spoke. “It is what drives us to care for our own. To endanger ourselves in service of another. It is what drives us to create a better future for all humanity. The Astartes are human. The measure of one’s humanity is not a matter of flesh, but of mind and spirit. It i-”

“If your empathy drives you to slaughter your own Astartes and soldiers out of hand when they could be saved, then you possess no Empathy, for you are not Human. You are merely an animal. A rabid, insensate beast slavering and snapping at any sign of weakness to be savaged and devoured. You sicken me, you craven Grox.” Augor retorted, the smell of ozone starting to build in the surrounding air.

Eiohsa’s expression remained stony and cold, though hints of what lurked beneath forced their way through in the way her lip curled and her eye twitched. “There was a time not long past when I would have defended your practice before the Emperor and all our siblings wholeheartedly and without reservation. Unlike many, the Astartes of the Sixteenth have replaced flesh with machine in order to better fulfill their duties to humanity. I commend, and follow, the practice of enabling our sons and daughters to fight on, no matter what. Ultimately, there is no true difference between interment within the Sarcophagus of a dreadnought and the measures of the Stargazers - or indeed my own Legion. In this, there can be no dispute. Whether one’s mind is within a body of flesh and blood or of iron and ceramite is ultimately irrelevant. Yet they remain human. Human within a body of whatever material. Their thoughts, their hopes, their dreams, and their pain. My experiences upon the world of Carcinus have made me understand, as none of you can understand, when even the mind of an Astartes is ready for an end. There is nothing inhuman about a shell of armor and guns, for it is more than the mere husk that conveys humanity. But in forcing such a fate upon our most noble of soldiers when they have seen enough? When they have served long and well, and are at last ready for rest? There is no humanity.”

She looked down upon him, filled with disgust. “You call me an animal, a ‘slavering beast’. Yet you have forsaken your humanity in your madness. You are little more than a depraved, cruel construct of dogma and fanaticism. You force such fates upon those who have served humanity with no care, for only mindless pursuit of your despicable ends will suffice. I name you worse than any beast, for a beast knows love, a beast knows family, and kindness. But you? You are nothing more than a cruel machine in the flesh of what was once a man. In the words of your despicable cult,” Her spear appeared in her outstretched hand and she struck it upon the marble floor, her voice thundering through the room. “I name you abominable intelligence!”

One moment was all it took. The strands of fate converged here and now, snapping into focus as soon as Eiosha had finished her denunciation. Fire and death filled Daena's vision, her gaze sweeping across the chamber. Looking through the eyes of the dead, she saw the doom that was to come. Mechadendrites dug into flesh, plasma discharges bored through ceramite, psychic might flayed minds bare. Scores died in the chaos of Eiosha and Augor's duel, each death forcing the Angel's perspective to yet another damned. They fought and fought and fought , Astartes slaying Astartes like she had seen in the worst of her nightmares, each blow only engendering yet more hate. The floor reeked of blood, gore and offal splattering across the chamber, marring her father's perfect face. Why didn't he do anything? Why didn't she do anything? They continued to sit watching as limbs were sawn off, the limbs cauterizing, heads scoured clean of their flesh leaving behind only bare skulls, the ground itself erupting to spear warrior and scribe alike.

Yet she did nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing nothing
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"Enough!" she cried, her voice laced with power and command that caused both mortal and Astartes to fall limp. "The both of you shall hold your tongues, or I shall take them myself," she decreed, placing herself between both camps with one flutter of her wings. "You are Primarchs, instruments of His will, and you shall act like it in His presence," she continued, cold fury in her voice. She had watched for three days as her siblings had bickered among themselves, the best and the worst of them permitting themselves to be dragged down into petty squabble with enough furor behind them to burn worlds. No more. There was no room for a wallflower, especially one who bore the title of Warmaster.

"Put. Down. Your. Arms."

Daena’s imperative had been immaculately timed - she had reacted just as quickly as the mechanical rancor of the Stargazers. Even as the first words had been leaving her lips, the entirety of the Twelfth Legion’s party had been raising or otherwise charging their weapons - pausing just short of a perilously charge by Daena’s swift intervention. The Custodes themselves were tensed and on edge, having been a scant instant from dropping into combat postures themselves.

Towering over the assembled warriors clad in Red and Ebon, the Twelfth Primarch loomed like a spider, four of his servo-arms having reared up to orient the ends of esoteric implements of war in Eiosha’s direction. Arrayed beneath him, Astartes hefted Omnissian Power Axes, audibly crackled with volatile energies, and the plethora of Tech-Priests surrounding them had produced, seemingly out of the folds of their robes or else thin air, an armory of heavy ordinance - all poised on the precipice of being unleashed.

Augor raised a bionic hand in a closed fist. “By your order...Warmaster.” His brow was drawn taut from some form of concentration or consternation, if not both. He was no longer scowling or grimacing - instead, his lips were drawn in a firm, hard line.

The very air seemed to sag and rustle with relief as a multitude of weapons were either lowered or secreted away once more. The air around Augor Astren shivered and wavered with barely contained heat. With a static pop, another section of the Primarch’s now heavily abused podium erupted into flame and then fell from the rest of the structure to clatter and break to pieces across the floor, scattering smoldering ashes and embers about.

“As you wish.” Said the Sixteenth, standing passively immobile from the moment she had spoken her piece, showing no sign of preparing for combat. The Astartes of the Sixteenth Legion stood at her side with weapons leveled at the Primarch of the Stargazers. Bolters, plasma, and all manner of meticulously reproduced archaeotech wonders leveled with cold precision. The very air around her crackled with immeasurable psychic might, the air charged with ozone.

At a wordless command, the Astartes surrounding her lowered their weapons, returning to their position at attention, silently watching her and waiting for what she might instruct. Eiohsa simply stood, having not moved a muscle since she had spoken, her eyes focused on her target, hatred etched into every square centimeter of her expression.

“Primarch of the Sixteenth legion. You have offered me, my sons, and all those who follow me the most grievous and reckless offense possible using mere words alone.” Augor said, his voice low. “With the Omnissiah himself as my witness, I swear you and your daughters will suffer for this. You will be made to know the consequences of my contempt, and bear to my wrath, raw and unfettered. I shall do all of this and more, I promise, without violating the oaths I have sworn to our father. Your very world shall come unraveled about you, the cosmos shall behold this, and know that your upbraiding was preordained.”

Eiohsa remained still, her expression immaculate and serene, reminiscent of the Warmaster herself. She gave no indication that she had heard the words of her brother, and if she had, showed no signs of concern over such.

“There was once a time.” She began, eyes staring into a past now long forgotten, “That I once believed myself to be created for a grand purpose. From the moment of my first true memory, sitting upon the shore of a burning lake, in a rotting husk of humanity’s former glory, I believed I was destined to help enlighten and uplift humanity. By the hand of the Emperor himself, I was brought into this world with a desire to create, to nurture, and to build a bright future.”

Her eyes turned down towards her brother, now, and she continued. “I now know differently. I was crafted as a tool. A weapon. A shield. A hammer. Whatever must be used to defend humanity from those who would prey upon it, and force it down a dark path I dare not speak of. Such is the duty of a Primarch. Such is the duty I take above all else. Against the worst of humanity’s foes I have fought, as have we all, and so this truth has been revealed to me. Whatever threats you levy against me, Primarch of the Twelfth Legion, I accept gladly. For it is my duty to stand in the path of such threats to humanity, and it is a duty I undertake gladly.”

”This is why she was chosen.” The thought came unbidden to Sekhmetara as she watched the display of imminent violence and swift cessation broiling through the chamber. Two of her siblings that Sekhmetara had failed to control, and the sight of perfection that was the most loved of her siblings brought to angelic fury in the face of it. Not simply her sibling now, Sekhmetara remembered, as if she could ever forget, her Warmaster. Still the psychic presence of her aura suffused the room, fighting the rage within them all to bring about calm, but there was only so much that could work against the Inferno, and what use had that been.

”What a mockery their foolishness has made of you.” The unravelling judgement of her own mind resounded like spoken words to Sekhmetara as she studied the room with the silent rage she kept from her face. This room of demigods she had trusted to show some semblance of restraint in the presence of their genesire. “Naive, flawed, Redundant.” Beneath the purse of her full lips, her teeth ground, startlingly perfect eyes, flecked with the gold of her power resting on Daena once more, ”And there, the thief who will prosper for it.” Sekhmetara drew a hand up to her features, sweeping back through her hair to correct an errant strand. The touch of her own fingers brought her back to reality. The maintenance of peace, the execution of duty, for the moment this was more important than whatever emotional turmoil she felt.

“My own concerns are matters of the sanctity of my Legion. My Daughters fight and die in glory for the Emperor. Should they fall in his name it is the duty of none other than their own sisters to ensure the fulfillment of their final duty.” The Mithran Primach’s attention settled on Augor, for the moment ignoring the waves of hostility that one without the psychic empathy of her mind could surely feel. “Your apothecaries may teach my own how to perform this duty, that we may also show our dedication to the Crusade entirely.” The ache in her soul did not subside, but perhaps that had been her failing. Her commitment was not total, her Legion reflected that. They could always give more. “The matter of our sister's retribution is not addressed, however. It is within her right to seek such.” Sekhmetara motioned to Nimue, having no particular words of note for the escalating conflict between the two loudest parties present beyond the ire of their failure to function within the parameters she had anticipated. As she finished speaking, Sekhmetara retook her seat, a goblet of wine immediately turning between her fingers, before taking a long gulp disguised artfully as an elegant sip.

“Honored sister, truthfully, were it merely a matter of disseminating the necessary knowledge, me and mine would be pleased to instruct your Apothecaries and leave it at that.” Augor replied, turning his face to Sekhemetra, his voice shifting almost smoothly from barely contained fury to calm and evenly paced. “I trust that, in light of the pledges you and your daughter have sworn, that you would make judicious use of such teachings. There are, however, practical concerns. Though I naturally do not doubt the capabilities of your apothecaries, the knowledge and expertise needed to conduct the procedures and operations performed by my apothecaries, all of whom are fully inducted in the rites and mysteries of the machine, is doubtlessly withheld from most of them. I also doubt you have a sufficient number of Techmarines to make up for that shortfall. I will, of course, honor the request regardless. You shall have the knowledge and be capable of disseminating it across your legion for their eventual independent use. But until such time as that can be assured, I am afraid, where possible and necessary, my apothecaries must continue to intervene. The havoc of battle does not always leave the time or opportunity for concession or permission, and when forced to make a choice in the heat of battle, my apothecaries will always choose to save lives.”

Nimue, having remained silent following Eiohsa’s and Augor’s battle of ideals, was only now being noticed again by the two Primarchs who had almost entered in battle. Honestly, she was disappointed that The Warmaster intervened, because while Eiohsa trying to turn this confrontation into yet another tirade about empathy and all those things Eiohsa cared for annoyed Nimue to no end, at least the possibility of her being maimed would make up for it. Unfortunately, now they were merely back to where they started.

‘I do not care for all this other talk of monsters, beasts and abominable intelligence,’ Nimue pondered to no one in particular. ‘I simply seek justice and retribution for the defiling of what is mine by one of Augor’s men. I could not in the slightest care less for the justifications for or against his actions - quite simply, if I say he shall not touch my Marines, he shall not. I am quite sure that The Emperor, who is right before us, I might add, is more than willing to make the obvious choice of agreeing with me.’ She then gestured to said imperious figure, observing them all still.

‘It is really quite simple then. The Emperor speaks; The Twelfth Legion stops meddling in things they ought not; the Apothecary fellow preferably dies, and we all go on our merry way,” Nimue finished cheerfully.

“Your reasoning is flawed, Nimue,” Usriel stated blankly, “Firstly, you state that the Emperor will agree with you and yet he has made no inclination otherwise, and until he makes such a motion you should not state what his ‘obvious’ decision would be. Secondly, you speak of your daughters as only being yours and yours alone as possessions, not people deserving to be saved to continue their work. While I adhere to each Legion’s rule under their Primarch, there are situations where it would be best to save those who need it. My sons would wish to continue serving throughout their years if they knew that they had the chance. Lastly, you prefer to see an Astartes dead for doing what he believed to be the best to do what all Apothecaries do, save the lives of other Astartes.”

Usriel’s red glare continued to passively look towards Nimue, no motion coming from him to dictate emotion otherwise. Then he spoke again, this time his inflection growing colder, “Think, how would you feel if I demanded the head of one of your daughters for doing her duty?”

Nimue ignored Usriel, in a deliberate manner that could only suggest irreverence. “Well, my Emperor? You should speak, else your Primarchs will certainly continue to make fools of themselves and try to kill each other over petty insults. Would you not say that simply resolving this matter cleanly is fitting? A quick, fine duel, that is all I ask.” Nimue spoke to the emperor - she was certainly becoming a master at ignoring her siblings.

Despite herself, Daena's brow twitched in annoyance as Nimue once again deigned to speak for their father, to push and prod at the Master of Mankind. The dignity of the Throne was being undermined in the chamber intended to glorify it, and she knew then and there why she was chosen for her role.

"The question is of duty, and of death. Nimue has decreed that her daughters have a duty beyond mere battle. Death is the end of duty. Does the end of duty therefore mean death? What is to be done to an Astartes who has been rendered incapable of carrying out their duty? These are questions for philosophers, for the Legions to consider under the guidance of their gene-sires. Perhaps there is a true answer, but it shall not be found while tempers run high and spirits are frayed. Only if we come together as siblings, rather than as rivals will it be known to us. But before that may occur, hate must be rooted out."

Daena's tone immediately shifted as her eyes met first Augor's sightless gaze and then Nimue's beatific perfection, the Warmaster risking much at the hope of peace. "The affront is one of honor. A challenge has been made, and satisfaction demanded. Do you accept, Augor?"

Augor raised a hollow brow. “For the head of my Chief Apothecary? Their loss, even in the hypothetical, would prove incalculably fearsome to the prospects of many campaigns, current and future. Even were I to accept, I would appoint a second without risk to Corneceus himself - which I take my sister will not accept. The so-called afront is to have saved lives, the challenge does not demand I pay life, but to pay in honor, as the warmaster says. If neither of you suggest a reasonable alternative, sanity dictates I deny the challenge and accept the ignomy that entails.”

“Tch”.

Nimue was not amused. The Emperor had said nothing, The Warmaster, Usriel, Eiohsa were all involving themselves… And Augor would continue to refuse the duel if The Emperor did not force it.

“Then there is nothing that can be done.” Nimue said flatly. She would seek justice through… other means. With that said, Nimue turned and moved to storm out of the room.

“Enough.” The sound of the Emperor’s voice carried across the room, the ire of the proceeding Council and Trial still present in his words even as the pure psychic shock of his being set the air to trembling. “My children, you were not created to function on interpretations of my will alone, you each have purpose beyond this, than to debate what I did or did not, will or will not, say.” The Emperor’s stance upon the seat crafted for him was almost casual, as close to reclining as one might expect be possible for the Master of Mankind, but his attention was severe as he watched those assembled.

“It is true that I gave command and sovereignty to each of you, yet it is also true that this comes with the duty to serve the Imperium, unto death should the moment arrive.” The slow tone of the Emperor’s words gave an impression of a mind still in debate, although whether anyone could be convinced of such would be another matter. The Emperor rarely spoke without purpose or clarity. “The ability to prolong the lives of Legionaries beyond the damages of their mortal form has long been an aspect of their charge, of their vow. Any process that allows this to occur is a tool that should be in the arsenal of all legions, not one. The process shall be passed on to each Legion.” With the initial aspect of the ruling complete, the Emperor stood, the sweep of his cloak rising behind him as if stirred, falling down from golden plate of his armour. “The Stargazers have my blessing to maintain their current parameters for the full extent of a Terran year, as of this day, such that the benefit of their knowledge may be fully imparted to their fellow legions. After which, the practice of doing so shall be the duty of each legion, and no further interference or infringement of fellow legions shall be permitted.” As the words issued forth, they became law within the fabric of the Imperium, more binding than any lengthy debate of the Imperial Senate.

“Be that as it may, the duty of command for each Legion was invested upon one of you, and until the declaration of my Warmaster, no more than that.” The gradual hardening of the Emperor’s tone was not subtle, although it never reached the cascade of rage that had brought the matter of the Council to a close. “My will on this matter was not sought until now and I cannot deny that an ill has been done against the duties and privileges I have granted to you all.” The Emperor’s gaze fell fully upon Augor, in a manner that was both understanding, yet stern. The image of the father who understood, yet could not excuse. “Your Legion will answer the challenge of the Celestial Inheritors, and may the rite of combat decide upon which side justice will fall.”

“As the Emperor speaks, it shall be done.” Augor answered immediately. Rather than anything approaching either shame or remorse, his expression was nothing short of rapturous as he bowed low before the Emperor, before turning his gaze to Nimue.

“Nimue Arcadia, Primarch of His Emperor’s Seventh Astartes Legion, Enchantress of Engralia - by the decree of the Emperor of All Mankind, The One Who Stands Above All - I, Augor Astren, Primarch of His Emperor’s Twelfth Astartes Legion and Fabricator Intendant of Last Light, accept your demand for satisfaction. In accordance with Imperial Law, I invoke my right to dictate the time and place of our contest. It shall transpire five hours from now, in the grand plaza of the Council Hall of Nikaea. I further invoke my right to secondment and shall produce Skitarius Praetor Alpha Primus Andron Axaltus as combatant in the stead of Archmagos Apothecary Corneceus Sicanus.”

“How so… Augor, of you, dear brother”. Nimue replied. “If you want to hide your pet, so be it. I accept”.

“So shall it be.” The words of the Emperor may have sounded dismissive from the lips of another being, but with the force of will behind them, they arose simply with the touch of finality. “The Captain-General shall preside over the matter.” The Emperor did not even look to Valdor as he spoke, instead his gaze fell upon the newly appointed Warmaster. “Daughter, we must speak of matters of the Crusade.” The casual summons, so easily given as the Emperor moved to leave the chamber held with them the fabric of destiny.

Every fiber of Daena’s being demanded that she follow as she was bid, the Primarch’s body taking a step on its own accord before she arrested herself with an iron will. “We must, Father, but your children still grieve. Insults have been done this day that time will not mend. Augor, Eiosha, I would speak with you both when my present business is concluded. Tend to your own Astartes, the both of you,” she said with a voice of command, only then letting herself be pulled along by the tide of fate the Emperor so effortlessly had stirred.

[...End Log.]
[...Terminating.]
[Imperial Thought for the Day: Stand strong in thy purpose, let no doubt cloud your mind, let your heart be of iron, and you shall never falter.]

With the matter of the Edict of Tolerance and Xenos rights defended on the Council floor, Micholi's presence at the Council meetings took a more observational role in proceedings, with the Primarch taking the opportunity in order to get some much needed work done. That wasn't to say that he wasn't listening and paying attention to all matters being discussed by the Council at any given time since any issue being raised so that the Emperor and the Primarchs could weigh in on it was generally an important one and deserved being paid attention to, but few subjects required his direct input. The issue of Braining was one in which he didn't really care one way or the other to much and while Augor and Eiosha clashed over it, Micholi had been simply working on a dataslate.

It was after the Council had retired and in the privacy of his spartan offices that what Micholi was working on was finally brought to completion. However, despite being able to recall every word of the document with accurate precision, the Primarch took the time to review it again in order to check his wording with great care.

The document in question had been in the making for a surprising long time, through only once the Council was announced did it finally start to take a physical form. History had always been a passion of the Primarch and the chance to try and shed some light on one of the key moments of galactic history (even if only from a human perspective) had long been on his mind, but Micholi had re-framed from doing so sooner for political reasons.

Sparking scientific discussion about the early days of the Age of Strife and the possible causes of the Warp Storms that were truly the final nail in the coffin of Humanities former galactic ambitions could be viewed in a negative light by some; While it had taken a long time, Micholi did believe he had managed to find the correct wording for the document to ensure that the reader would clearly be able to see that all theories and ideas presented within were developed via the recovering of data and information much like an Explorator Fleet rather then actual first hand experimentation would ensure that any case made that he had breached the Treaty of Mars would fall flat on its face... but he had already factored in that there were going to be those who claimed such anyway.

The foreword was respectful and humble, written to appease the Mechanicum of Mars and make it clear to the reader that Micholi's intentions were purely those of a fellow historian and scientist seeking to start earnest discourse and promote the sharing of information so that an accurate picture of what happened to bring an end to the Dark Age of Technology and herald in the Age of Strife could be reached. It also made clear that the data and information that the following theories were based on were from incomplete and (at times) questionable sources and as such should not be treated as absolute truth, even if they were penned in the words of a Primarch. Instead, it should be viewed as Micholi sharing what information he had picked up during the cause of the Crusade and that based on it, these were the most sound theories he could establish with what he had access to. As new data was found, such theories would either be updated or disproven and cast aside as required.

The first theory to be presented for judgement was that the storms of the Age of Strife were triggered as a result of an over usage of warp drives and warp travel technology on a galactic scale over a (relatively) short period of time. This was clearly a topic that had the potential to be highly controversial and Micholi treated it with the respect and care it was due. The Primarch tried to establish the action of tearing open a rift between Reality and the Warp as akin to that of soil degradation in mass scale farming; There is the possibility that the more one tears open a rift between the dimensions, the less stable local space around the area will become and that doing this over and over again over an extended period of time would cause negative results.

The second theory was a brief look into human nature and the stresses of desperation. Namely, evidence suggested that the Age of Strife proper began before the Warp Storms that isolated or consumed countless planets due to conflicts such as the war against the Men of Iron, civil wars within humanity itself and invasions by hostile xenos species such as the Orks (which evidence suggests were a blight on the galaxy even back in the Dark Age of Technology) taking advantage of the general chaos. Being assailed by threats, the powers that be of Humanity might have started to explore projects to turn the tide that would have either been ill advised or outright insane under normal circumstances. The theory suggests that the warp storms might have been the result of a currently unknown experimental device that went horribly wrong... or, considering humanities history of weaponizing technology, horrifically right.

The tone of the second theory was that of a cautionary tale. The desperation and panic tended to create more mistakes and disasters then miracles and that trusting completely in an experimental, untested idea over tried and proven methods to win the day can easily lead to catastrophic results.

The third theory was almost certainly the one that had the possibility of causing the least controversy. Supported by the facts that a great number of Dark Age technology was clearly produced with the assistance of the Men of Iron before they betrayed humanity and that prior to the warp storms of the Age of Strife that humanity was winning the conflict against the Men of Iron, even if it had come at great human cost, there was a strong possibility that the warp storms of the Age of Strife were created by some unknown weapon or device developed by the Men of Iron as a last ditch effort to wipe out humanity and all other organic life. It is unclear if this might have been done with some idea of the Men of Iron capitalizing and trying to win the war once the storms abated or if it was done as an attempt to take organic life down with them out of spite, but since the Men of Iron's grand new campaign never manifested and organic life is still here, it can safely be said that either way their final gambit failed.

The epilogue itself retreaded the ground that the three theories presented were done with incomplete data discovered during the cause of the Crusade. It stressed that at the time of writing, actual experimentation into any of these ideas would be illegal in the Imperium and by the Treaty of Mars. Uncovering data and information in pursuit of knowledge to further bring understanding to this dark and bloody period in history was clearly alright through.

There was a recent addition to the epilogue that Micholi found himself debating keeping in through because it was about the Emperor and the Treaty of Mars:

'I am aware of the fact that the Mechanicum has long held the view that one day the Emperor would review and ease up on some of the restrictions of the Treaty of Mars once Humanity was prepared to handle these otherwise dangerous fields of study. I feel the need to offer the possibility of hope to support your faith in that belief. I do not claim to be able to understand the motives of the Emperor, but while he is a warrior and diplomat of unmatched, legendary skill... the Wars of Unification on Terra and the Crusade we are currently fighting were first and foremost won in the Emperor's laboratory due to his skills as a scientist.

At the time of writing this, the Emperor has deemed to promote one of the Primarchs to continue leading the Crusade in his stead as Warmaster so that he may return to Terra. While it is true that he has countless duties and responsibilities to take care of, I earnestly believe that one of them will be to return to the laboratory in time. I cannot begin to guess what the Emperor might deem worthy of his attention to investigate, but if his insights can discover a means to make these dangerous and restricted fields of study safe enough for humanity to explore them properly, we might see some restrictions eased in time.'

For a moment, Micholi considered removing that section. It was purely observational, but he still remembered Augor's annoyance with him for 'claiming to know the motives of the Emperor' during the debates. Then again, Augor was smart and prescriptive enough to recognize that what he had written was likely true.

If nothing else, it would help the document do its job of distracting the more hard line members of the Mechanicum from the results of the Council about the Edict of Tolerance. Sending copies of the document to his various siblings for peer review, Micholi submitted a copy to Mechanicum channels like any other thesis developed by a Tech Priest in order to be reviewed.

---

---

The private quarters of the Primarch of the Sixteenth Legion aboard the Ultima Ratio resembled a strange hybrid of machine shop and administrative center more than they did a place of residence. Her quarters were located deep within the vessel, well protected by numerous layers of armor and redundant bulkheads to ensure that its occupant was as safe as possible within. There was no bed or ornamentation within the room, nor even a place to properly rest. All luxury or comforts had been stripped from the room long ago, and in its place remained nothing but rows upon rows of tools, banks of cogitators humming quietly as they processed data streams, numerous pieces of technology in various states of assembly laying strewn across numerous surfaces. A curious chair sat before a large desk, wires hanging from it at roughly neck height.

Within this chair sat Eiohsa, her face a stony, unreadable mask. She was not reclined within it as she would be whilst connected to it. No information flashed through augmetic data ports through her mind. She sat in silence, staring at seemingly nothing, as she silently raged at her own weakness.

She had failed in everything. This she knew. She had failed the Imperium during the Rangdan xenocides. She had failed the Emperor, who had extended her such trust and concessions to her faith. She had failed her daughters once more now, sending them to their deaths against the Ninth Legion. And even now - she had failed her daughter who had undergone such trials, such horrors, to warn her and the Imperium of the crimes of the Abyssal Lurkers. She had been unable to give her the mercy of a swift death as she had desired, paralyzed by her own guilt and heartbreak. Only the action of her sister Nelchitl had preserved what little dignity Anastasia had retained.

What use had humanity, had the Emperor, had anyone for such a failu-

The door to her chambers flung open with a crash as the heavy doors slammed against the walls behind them, countless miscellaneous pieces falling to the floor from the tables on which they had been perched. Eiohsa looked up only halfheartedly, knowing that it could be no threat - though she almost welcomed the idea.

Through the doors strode Ayushmatki, her expression dour and harsh. Around her floated a curious collection of objects. Bottles of wine and other alcohol, finely crafted chairs adorned with plush cushions, platters of food that Eiohsa dimly recognized as hailing from Hive Bronakavh and Hive Kuznekhtinsk. She fixed Eiohsa with a glare that burned through her like the heat of a laser, the array of items she had brought with her gently settling to the ground as she closed the distance between them.

“What has become of you?” She demanded, staring at her leader. Eiohsa looked up at her, eyes meeting those of her closest friend. She had shrunk her form, intentionally or not, to equal that of the people of Kayaamat. “What became of the woman I befriended centuries ago? I don’t see her now. I just see a dried up, empty husk sitting in this chair.”

Ayushmatki’s eyes narrowed before her leader could speak. “Trying to work? Is that going to be your excuse to me? Look at you, Eiohsa. I loved you as a sister. I fought alongside you for years - decades, even. We joined this Imperium together. I still remember how you spoke of your dreams for it and for humanity. They were beautiful, and I surrendered what power I had upon Kayaamat to you knowing you could bring them to fruition.” She sighed, and only now could Eiohsa see that tears glistened in her eyes.

Eiohsa could not bring herself to reply, only remaining silent as she accepted her friend’s berating. “Much like the woman it belongs to, this room was once a beautiful sight to behold, you know.” Came Ayushmatki’s voice once more, as she cast her hand around at the nonexistent accommodations and scattered hardware. “This room was once a display of humanity’s prowess. Art of your own make and from the best artists upon Kayaamat hung upon these walls. Upon these shelves there once sat cities, Eiohsa - dreams for the future. Your dreams for the future. There were no weapons of war within this room, only the groundwork for the dreams for which we have fought for so long. And yet what do I see now?”

“And what good have those dreams done humanity, my friend?” Eiohsa replied, her voice dead and hollow. “What good were they when came the Rangdan? I indulged in those dreams before I heard the news. Perhaps, Ayushmatki, had I not followed such foolishness I could have saved the people of Arretius, and we would not have lost the strategic initiative. Had I onl-”

She was cut off as her friend slapped her across the face, the sound of the impact ringing through the room. “You would not have, you fool, and you well know it.” Snapped Ayushmatki, her eyes blazing with fury and sadness. “I do not know what disease has afflicted you since those dark days, my friend. I know of your empathic abilities - and I now share many of them myself as I share your blood. I know of your pain, Eiohsa - and yet when I have tried to aid you, you push me away. You see yourself as nothing but a tool, and I know you will not believe me when I tell you otherwise. So I am not going to try. Perhaps one of your siblings can do that some day - perhaps I can, when you allow me through that ego of yours.”

Forcefully, she pulled her friend up from her position, almost dragging her over to a clear space within the room. The items she had brought with her floated through the air to arrange themselves neatly within the space, and with a psychic push, Ayushmatki forced Eiohsa to sit upon one of the chairs.

“Instead, we are going to enjoy yourselves.” She declared, with an air of forced frivolity. “It has been far, far too long since we had a nice talk like this, you know. If memory serves, it was the year 861 when last we simply talked. You have avoided it since then.” Ayushmatki’s eyes never left Eiohsa’s as she poured a glass of wine. “I learned of this chemical from one of your siblings.” She said, “Drink.”

Eiohsa held the glass, watching her friend. She had made no effort to resist as she had moved her. “You know you cannot stop me returning to my duties? You caught me in a moment of weakness. I must return to work, there is no time for this.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not.” Came the reply, “I dare you to try it. I, however, will enjoy this vintage. From one of our worlds, in fact.” She sipped the drink, savoring the flavor. “Oh, yes, we are not alone.” She said, almost as afterthought.

The doors to her chambers were thrown open with a loud crash once again as Kaldun kicked open the doors to the chamber. Under each arm was a massive casket with the symbol of Baalros stamped on it.

“Sister! Mighty Human! I have come to answer your call for celebration! We have won a victory this day!” He sat the casks down and glanced dismissively at the wine. “That is for idle chatter! This is a celebration! I have brought the finest casks of ale from my home planet!” He surveyed the rest of the room, an eyebrow raised in surprise. “You have made some changes since I was last here I see! Going for uncomfortability and frugality! We may need more ale to make this comfortable! But enough about your decor choices!” He set the casks down and embraced Eiohsa in greeting. “It is good to see you outside of the debate chambers sister!”

He cracked open a cask and brought forth three mugs, filling them and handing them to his companions. “Drink! We have stopped the senseless slaughter of useful Xenos, and we have brought the full might of the Emperor’s gaze upon the foul Lurkers! To the honored dead Anastasia! To the continued usefulness of the Xenos!” He knocked back his ale with several large gulps, smacking it back onto the cask that was not broken with a wide grin.

Eiohsa stared in absolute bewilderment as the radiant golden form of her brother burst through the doors. “Y-you brought him?” She asked, turning to Ayushmatki. No reply came to her however, as she seemed to have developed a sudden and inexplicable deafness and a fascination for the artful designs painted with silver ink upon the exterior of the bottle.

She took the mug as it was forced into her hands, her eyes wide and her expression that of a woman who was completely and utterly lost. “What are you two doing?” She demanded, suddenly serious. “Do you mean to celebrate this? It is a great tragedy we have brought to light, in hopes of bringing justice. This is not… this is no occasion for celebration! There is work to be done yet!”

“I invited your sister, Daena, as well. I figured you ought know that.” Came the voice of Ayushmatki once more, completely oblivious to her protestations. “And do drink that wine - or the ale your brother has brought with him. Either will do - I ensured all of them were treated with that herb Sekhmetara told me of.”

Eiohsa stared, dumbfounded, as Ayushmatki raised an eyebrow at her. “Do I need to have Kaldun make you do it? I’m sure he’d be willing - he seemed very, very proud of the brewing skills of his people. You wouldn’t want to hurt his feelings by not drinking it, would you? And this wine - a fine reserve from the world of Velinuk. I had it shipped here intending to use it during festivities during the Council, but alas never had a chance to! I am glad it will be enjoyed by fitting palates nonetheless.”

She looked to Eiohsa, and her expression of mirth dropped for a second as she looked her Primarch in the eyes. “Drink.” She ordered. “I will not stand by any longer and watch you destroy yourself needlessly.”

Slowly, reluctantly, Eiohsa brought the wine to her lips. The sweet liquid trickled across her tongue, and she realized with some surprise the familiarity of the drink. “This was my favorite, back then.” She murmured, almost to herself. “I gave the producer a special charter to continue to produce it, too.”

Ayushmatki smiled, and nodded. “You’re damn right it is - you might have forgotten but I haven’t. Now finish it. We have plenty.” She nodded once again as Eiohsa did so, and then began to taste the ale her brother had brought. “As he says, tonight we will celebrate. It may not feel it to you, but this was a victory.”

“We have brought a great tragedy to light, yes! But it would be an even greater tragedy to have let it wallow in the dark waters of the Lurkers homeworld! Anastasia made her sacrifice to stop others from being turned into monsters, to shut down the Infestus project! That is a victory! Her life and sacrifice should be remembered, in a great celebration!” He looked around the room again, shrugging. “But since this isn’t a great celebration type of room we’ll just drink to her memory!” He emptied his mug again, to prove his point.

“I never knew why you liked such sweet things! By the way you went on about them you’d think that they could knock a Primarch off their feet in two sips!” He waved a dismissive hand. “Nothing like Baalrosi Golden Ale! This will get us well and truly drunk in a short amount of time!”

He waved the mug in the direction of Ayushmatki. “The Mighty Human is correct! There is no sense in destroying yourself! We are bringing the Lurkers to their knees! We are defending the subjects of the Imperium! We are one step closer to galactic peace! All of these are worth celebrating individually! But we are together and as you said there is much work left to be done! So we celebrate them all tonight and tomorrow we go back to work!” He emptied his ale for a third time.

“Such is the Baalrosi way!”

Eiohsa stared at Kaldun once more. Then, slowly, a smile broke across her lips. Even as she sat there - the eternal howling within her mind never abating, she could not help but smile at his enthusiasm. “I suppose you have a point, brother.” She murmured, nodding towards her drink. “And yet, I cannot shake this feeling as though I have failed. The Imperium, my daughters, humanity as a whole. It is my duty to protect them, is it not?” She sighed, shaking her head. “But you are right, I suppose.” She raised the mug to him before drinking deep from its contents, wincing at the bitter taste. “I have never understood ale, however.” She admitted.

“That’s because you drink to enjoy whatever you’re drinking!” Kaldun shook his head at the notion, draining his mug once more. “You don’t drink ale for the taste! Least of all Baalrosi Golden Ale! You drink it for the effects!” Kaldun’s already normally loud tone of voice was steadily rising the more ale he consumed, not that he noticed. “Of course it is our duty to protect our sons and daughters and the humans who cannot protect themselves!” He raised a mug to Ayushmakti, grinning at her. “Excluding you of course, Mighty Human!”

He focused his attention back on Eiohsa. “But our shields can only extend so far! And if we were to protect them completely from all harm they would never grow! They would stay stagnated and weak! Ripe for the picking should we ever leave them! You cannot protect everyone! Deciding success or failure by that judgement will only drive you mad! Protect those you can! Avenge the rest!”

“And yet.” She said, staring into the contents of the mug for a moment longer before draining the entire thing in one gulp. “I remain with these memories of all those who I failed to defend, brother. How am I to celebrate when I must live with their last moments upon my mind at all times? I have fought - as long as you have - to defend humanity. Yet during the wars against the Rangdan how many worlds were wiped clean by my hand to deny the enemy that which I could not defend? I live with their deaths within my mind every day, brother.”

“Ah! You speak of your Empathy! Simultaneously your greatest strength and your greatest weakness! I have a simple solution to dealing with that! It will be only brief but it will be quite effective!” He filled her mug again with ale, before refilling his own and draining it again. “Getting quite drunk! It is very effective!” He waved the mug, somewhat haphazardly now, in the air again. “If you want to use that logical reasoning that you so like to use, with its straight lines and orderly business, you can just think about how much worse it would’ve been if someone like Usriel had been there instead of you! The worlds would have been Exterminatused immediately! Or used as bait for the Rangdan! However many you managed to save would have died without being even given a chance! What you managed to do during the Rangdan is also a victory that we should drink too!” He emptied his ale once more, gesturing at Ayushmakti as he did so. “Mighty Human! Explain it to her in those logical words she likes!’’

Ayushmatki nodded, thus far unaffected by alcohol. “While I would not go as far as to call it a victory - Lord Kaldun is correct, Eiohsa. Without you, without your empathy and compassion, your determination to defend humanity… we all know of the fate of those under the ‘protection’ of the Abyssal Lurkers during those wars. How many owe you their lives? Many died under you, it is true - but they died for a purpose. Their deaths were not in vain. It is this you stress to your Legion, yet you seem not to believe it yourself.”

“I will say this plainly - you are a fool. The most brilliant, genius, wonderful fool I have ever known. You bring to humanity such wondrous gifts, you save so many countless lives, and your dreams for the future are enough to make one weep. Kaldun - have you heard all of her dreams? I must have her tell you, some day.” Ayushmatki closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “And yet despite this you are crueler to yourself than I can even put into words. For this time being if nothing else, I beg you - allow yourself to be who you once were.”

Eiohsa stared into the mug of ale, her expression blank. It seemed almost as if she had frozen in time, sat perfectly motionless. Ayushmatki was almost ready to speak again, to reprimand her - when she moved once more. Draining the entire mug in a single gulp, she looked to her brother - at eye level with him now. “Very well.” She said, forcing a smile - though hints of her eternal sorrow still tugged at her eyes. “I shall try.”

Kaldun blinked at the sudden height increase, before laughing. “I had forgotten you could do that! Excellent!” He filled her mug again. “We drink tonight! To victory! To justice! To trying!” He finished his ale once more, before turning his gaze to Ayushmakti. “No calling me Lord, Mighty Human! There are no Lords beneath the Emperor! I am simply his son and servant, Kaldun! And everyone drinks the ale! Mighty humans included!” He placed a primarch sized mug in her hand. “To drinking!”

Even if Daena did not know the way to her sister’s quarters, the sounds of her exuberant brother ensured that a guide was not required. Tracing her way through the voidship with feather light steps, her appearance in the doorway was unnoticed for some time as she stared inside with a soft smile. Kaldun’s joy was infectious, even to the point of making Eiohsa - the only Primarch save perhaps Usriel and Sarghaul more dour than Daena herself - smile.

“I’m afraid that I’ve brought no gifts,” she said as she passed the threshold, finally announcing herself. “They are right, sister. Now is not the time for sorrow.” The Angel had taken the time to change out of the battleplate she had worn to the Council’s close, now garbed in a simple silver raiment that gleamed in the presence of the golden son of Baalros. “We must take what victories we can, in a business such as ours.”

“Welcome, honored Primarch.” Came the voice of Ayushmatki, a smile on her face as she raised a glass to her. “I have conferred with your sister, and procured a wine she claims you enjoyed greatly! Please, sit! We must break this one of her melancholy for the time being, one way or another!”

Eiohsa raised an eyebrow at these words, but said nothing, merely shaking her head as a genuine smile once more graced her lips. “I concede, I concede.” She said, a hint of laughter tinting her words. “Welcome, Daena. My apologies to you and Kaldun both that my quarters are not suited for such company.” She poured herself another glass of wine, savoring its flavor for the first time in a century and a half.

Kaldun whirled around at the unexpected voice of Daena. A grin across his face as he saw her. He strode, slightly off balance, forward to give her a greeting hug as well.“Aha! Daena! Sister! Welcome to the celebration! The Mighty Human had forewarned me of your arrival and I brought a fourth mug for just this occasion!” He filled it and left it on the unbroken cask within her reach. “If you want something with more kick than your favorite wine! And nonsense Eiohsa! Any quarters are suitable quarters for a celebration!” He laughed and downed his own mug yet again, before pausing. “Do I have to call you Warmaster now?! Will I be in some form of trouble if I don’t!? We both know I am not going to do that! Congratulations on your promotion as well dear sister! To the promotion of our sister to Warmaster! May she lead the Imperium to great victory and honor!” The mug was tilted towards the ceiling once more.

With a swiftness that belied her grim reputation, Daena took the proffered mug in hand and clapped it against Kaldun’s. In a single fluid motion, she brought it down to her lips, drained it dry, and slammed it back upon the cask. “A drink worthy of a king, and I have known many,” she said approvingly, before far more gently taking a glass of wine in hand. It was a bad habit that Sekhmetara had instilled in her, but it seemed appropriate for the occasion. “For you, Kaldun, he who can make even Eiohsa smile, I shall permit you to ever call me Daena,” she announced in a grave voice, as if passing a most solemn judgement. Kaldun laughed again, raising his mug in salute.

Turning to Ayushmatki, the Primarch inclined her head ever so slightly with an apologetic shrug. “I am typically not the sort called to break melancholies, but I shall do what I may,” she said as she finally sat herself down, irisless eyes finally fixed upon Eiohsa. “Our brother continues to speak truthfully. It is not the chamber that makes itself fit for celebration, but the company.”

A glass and a mug joined the toast, Ayushmatki and Eiohsa raising their drinks as Kaldun had. “To Warmaster Daena.” They said in unison.

Ayushmatki smiled to herself, sipping mildly from her glass. “Alas that I no longer possess a liver to experience the effects as you do. But I can enjoy the taste all the same. And another thing you ought enjoy the taste of, honored Primarchs - delicacies from her home. Lord Kaldun I am sure you have heard of at least some of these? If she never even spoke of them while you trained with her upon Terra I would call it madness.” She gestured to plates of food arrayed before them. Steaming bowls of spicy sauces and seasoned rice, potatoes, and ground meats filled the air with a heady aroma. “More elaborate takes on them, of course. Many of these were not easily acquired within the underhives before her arrival. After her revolution and destruction of the old order however - I will swear before all, one has not had what is best in life before eating from a mysterious cart by the side of a factorum selling these dishes. I will take those mystery meal carts before the finest chefs on Terra.”

A genuine smile appeared on Eiohsa’s face at long last, alongside a growing red tinge to her cheeks as she shook her head in exasperation. “You praise me too much, Ayu.” She said in mock protest, but a hint of pride could be heard in her speech. “It has been too long since I disguised myself to eat from those carts, though. Perhaps when this crusade is finished, I may compile a list of the best of them.”

After a moment, she turned to Daena. “Tell me, sister.” she said. “Exactly how do you think she persuaded Sekhmetara to provide her wine from her own stores? And how did she persuade you to join us here? There are many things about her that remain a mystery to me - and this is one of them.”

She frowned, the effects of the alcohol stronger now, and a mischievous tone crept into her words. “Almost as great a mystery as how she once favored mechadendrites like those of the Mechanicum without ever having heard of their ilk. For entirely nonutilitarian purposes, no less.”

At these words, a flush crept into Ayushmatki’s cheeks, and she busied herself once more with studying the design upon the wine bottle.

“Oh ho! Was the mighty human not always so humanoid in her shape?! That is a mysterious thought! What uses could the mechadendrites have that a humanoid shape could not!? You’d think that with the lack of opposable thumbs, holding things would be difficult, no?!” He opened and closed his hand to demonstrate.

“Daena! Have I or our sister shown you the spear she crafted for me years and years ago!?” Without waiting for an answer, he activated the teleportation beacon in his armor and summoned the Thunder of Labrys to his hand. The force spear appeared in a golden flash of light in its default short state. “The Thunder of Labrys she calls it! It is a mighty and fine weapon! And it has an equally mighty name! Not as eloquent as your Heavenly Raiment, but a powerful weapon and name indeed!”

“I am not yet drunk enough to compare our spears, brother,” Daena said in a soft voice, swirling the glass of wine in her hand as she appraised Eiohsa and Ayushmatki. She seemed not precisely immune to Kaldun’s presence, his sheer force of personality, but rather inured to it. Time spent with Sekhmetara had ensured it. “You would be surprised, Kaldun, how useful a dendrite can be. All manner of tools can be mounted upon them, to say nothing of their ability to reach into the most cramped of spaces.”

Kaldun looked briefly disappointed before setting down his spear and picking up his mug once more, his grin returning. “I am sure we will fix that before the night is over!” He drained it again as Daena spoke, confusion crossing his face. “But I can mount things upon my hands! Eiohsa has done so with the claws on this very armor!” He waved his free hand to prove the point. “And fingers can reach into plenty of cramped spaces, just as easily! I remain unconvinced of the superiority of mechandrites, sister!” With his announcement made, he gulped down his mug again.

“You only have two hands, brother,” Daena said dryly as she took a sip of her wine.

A burst of high pitched laughter interrupted the two as Eiohsa, struggling to contain herself, hurriedly forced down the remainder of the contents of her glass. She held one hand over her mouth, tears of laughter glistening in her eyes as she slapped her thigh with the other. Ayushmatki, seated next to her, had flushed a dark scarlet color in her cheeks despite their wholly synthetic make.

“Oh yes, sister! She told me in detail how dextrous and versatile they could be! She suggested, earnestly and on multiple occasions, that I obtain my own!” Another burst of laughter, and she wiped the tears from her eye, a drunken hiccup following in its wake. “I was content not to - but you ought have seen her back then. Oh before she destroyed that body - it was a sight.” With a grin towards Daena, she nodded enthusiastically, “Hands that might be needed for all sorts of tasks too, I was told. I was the one who made that body for her, no less. Much as this one - thankfully, after her duel with the witch-queen of Yuzhantiy she permitted me greater influence over the design!”

Ayushmatki, for her part, cleared her throat, desperately trying to change the topic - and failed. “Yes this body is excellent, I can taste things quite we- I mean… this curry. It is delicious. We ought try some I think.”

Kaldun looked back and forth between the three women, baffled. Consigning it to the pile of things he’ll never figure out with a shrug, he focused on Ayushmatki. “What is this?! A duel I have never heard of!? For shame Mighty Human! If there is a greater story of you violently murdering a witch-queen it is to be shared at every available opportunity! Not hidden and only brought up in passing!” He scooted forward in his chair, eyes wide with excitement and anticipation. “What happened!? And how! To who! And why!”

Eiohsa beamed, swaying slightly in her seat as she refilled her glass once again. “She will not tell you, I’m afraid! Much too embarrassed of it! The Witch-Queen of Yuzhantiy - for one, the only queen she ever encountered who could not be brought low by servo-tentacles alone! For another - Ayushmatki is perhaps the greatest psyker from Kayaamat in the six centuries she has lived thus far! But before her there was another, kept alive by… truthfully I never recovered enough of her to determine it, but what I must assume was advanced augmetics and her own psychic prowess.”

The chair creaked slightly as she reclined in it, the tinge of alcohol on her cheeks growing stronger as she launched into her retelling of the story. For a time, at least, the memory of horrors past seemed dimmed by good company and drink.

“Ah it was during our wars of unification! Before the great betrayal! Ayushmatki and I met shortly after I conquered Hive Bronakavh from within, you see - she had subjugated her own home much as I had. Like sisters we were - and are!” She grinned widely, recalling fond memories of that time, “We formed our armies into one single unstoppable juggernaut. For every enemy army we defeated, millions of their soldiers threw down their insignia to join our cause! But there was one exception. The armies of Hive Yuzhantiy, controlled by some psychic enthrallment of great power from atop its spire. We tried bombarding it for over a week to no avail. The heaviest ordnance imaginable - even that great plasma weapon that I have recently learned she transferred to the nineteenth! Nothing could make a dent! We fought our way to its base for weeks after that, and it was horrible, to tell you the truth. I was devastated to see the destruction we wrought - but I could feel, as I do now, the suffering of the people under its ruler.”

She paused for dramatic effect before extending a hand towards Ayushmatki. “When we finally arrived, however - she stood in my way and demanded my sword! Never before or since has she acted in such a manner, more like you, brother, than her normal demeanor. ‘This is my duty’ she told me before ascending the spire. It was fortunate too that I stayed behind - a vast counterattack by the enemy fell upon us. Outnumbered ten to one we were, and it seemed as though the greatest stores of enemy super heavy weapons bore down upon us. We were ragged, tired, and low on ammunition. That battle was one of the greatest of my life before the Emperor found us.” She smirked, “But it pales in comparison to what our ‘Mighty Human’ was up to, I assure you.”

“You see,” She began, leaning forward in her seat. Her previous gloomy, somber demeanor entirely gone, replaced at last by something similar to her prior persona.

Ayushmatki interrupted her, raising a hand as she spoke. “The Witch-Queen of Yuzhantiy was an extremely powerful psyker, moreso even than myself, who had amassed significant power within the ruling class of Kayaamat. What Eiohsa does not consider important to mention is that I, much like herself, am a mutant from the lowest dregs of the underhives of the world. The Witch-Queen, whose name I ordered stricken from history, was born into the upper tier of society upon this world. I would not have survived past my fortieth year were it not for the replacement of my body with augmetics over time - and I am fortunate I met Eiohsa, for her skill with such gave me new lease on life. The Witch-Queen, however - I heard her call to me as we drew near. She had known of me since my birth, somehow, and had issued a challenge for this duel. And so, I went to meet he-”

“She undersells it!” Insisted Eiohsa, in turn raising a hand to silence her friend. “Oh she’ll tell you what the historical record written by some dry Remembrancer might say - but I have never seen such drama from her! And to ask for my sword! Not armor, not some miraculous piece of archeotech, no no, merely my sword! She ascended the elevator to the Witch-Queen’s chambers and in there she dueled her to the death! The battle lasted for two days. Lighting, fire, and more destroyed huge swaths of the spire. Sections of plascrete the size of a baneblade fell upon the witch-queen’s own forces! She scarcely used the sword at all, for a time! It was nothing short of an exchange of psychic prowess the likes of which the galaxy is rarely fortunate enough to witness! Brother - you would have wept to see it I am sure. The name Mighty Human is apt - for I know of few others who could single handedly destroy a great hive spire and bring it crashing to the ground. But it is not merely that! As they exhausted their energies against each other, Ayushmatki knew she could not best her in the powers of the Warp alone - and so she herself brought down the tower with an enormous burst of warpfire and lightning the likes of which I am sure could gut a battleship!”

Eiohsa paused mid-story, her face lighting up. “I believe I still have that blade within this room, a moment.” She stood from her chair, walking with the swiftness and purpose of a Primarch despite the minute wobble in her step. Within a minute she had returned, bearing with her an ornate single edged force sword inlaid with swirling golden filigree upon its blade. “It was this!” She declared, “I insisted upon it being hers after the fact, but she would not take it, even for ceremonial purposes.”

A glint lit up her eye now, and her words came in an excited rush. “As she brought down the spire, their duel continued in freefall. Blasts of lighting, fire, and eldritch energies tore apart the falling structure into a million fractal pieces! As they neared the ground, Ayushmatki at last drew near to her and with the last vestiges of psychic power she could manifest, plunged the blade through the heart of the Witch-Queen of Yuzhantiy! Not ten seconds later, the rubble impacted the earth! With the witch-queen’s death, her armies awoke as if from daze and surrendered en-masse. I feared my friend dead, and searched for her within the rubble for days before I felt her. Most of the body I had created - servo-tentacles and all - had been annihilated in the impact. But her brain and spinal column were reinforced and survived mostly intact! I built her a new body - thankfully, this time, without servo tentacles. As Kaldun has so graciously put it, and I said so myself - hands will do just fine!”

“My primarch, please, you are being sidetracked once more.” Insisted Ayushmatki, clearing her throat as she desperately attempted to keep Eiohsa focused. “While her account may be… embellished, it is not inco-”

“Nonsense!” interjected Eiohsa once more. “I can show you embellishment if you so desire, but in this I am innocent, I promise.”

Ayushmatki nodded, clearly not wishing to risk the teasing once more. “Either way, yes, Honored Kaldun. That is… more or less the story.”

Kaldun followed the story with an excited glint in his eyes, nodding in excitement with Eiohsa’s words and shaking his head at Ayushmakti’s attempts to downplay the story. When it was finished he stood and slapped Ayushmakti on the back in approval. “I knew there was a reason you were so mighty for a human! What a story! What a battle! The poets would sing of such a duel on Baalros for centuries! Shame on you, Mighty Human, for never telling me this!” He looked down at her, wagging a finger. “And don’t think I did not notice you using ‘honored’ in place of Lord! It is just Kaldun! There is no need for such formalities with me! Much less in this time of celebration!”

“Once again,” Daena said slowly, staring at Eiosha over the rim of her glass, “you find it easier to praise others than yourself, dear sister.” Taking a sip, she turned her head to Ayushmatki and Kaldun before lazily waving a hand. “You two know what I mean. Her reports are always remarkably terse about herself. No matter what she accomplished.”

Eiohsa went motionless at these words, her expression once more becoming tense. “Sister,” She said, now staring once more into the mug in front of her. “There is a reason for such. I would have thought you of all would understand that.” She looked up, a heavy sigh escaping her. “I do not need honors or credit. I am merely performing the duty for which I was designed. It was made clear to me, during the wars against the Rangdan, that I am a tool for humanity. A tool does not need commendation for doing what it was created to do, and so neither do I. My daughters… it is upon their shoulders and those of mortal humanity that our successes are borne. It is a thankless task for which I was created, and as such I need none.” A thin smile reappeared once more as she looked down at the mug of ale in her hand, “This, however, is nevertheless a nice break from that.”

A sharp ring sounded throughout the room as Daena placed her wine glass down, staring Eiosha in the eyes with the most severe expression her sister had ever seen her wear outside of combat. “You self admonishing fool. You are as human as your daughters.”

Silence elapsed for a moment as Eiohsa stared into her mug, her expression hardening. She looked up to her sister. “Am I? Am I truly?” She asked, her words tense. “After everything I have seen and done, sister? When I must live with the final moments of trillions of humans at all times - most of them dead at my own hand? Certainly, something of me is human, or was.” She sighed, “You, sister, would best understand this I thought. We both see death - you see what has yet to come, and can work to avoid it. I only know what has already come to pass, and must endure the weight of hundreds of worlds destroyed by my hand.” She let out a deep sigh, draining the mug of ale. “I am the Lady of Iron, as decreed by our father himself. It is my duty to endure it. How many human beings could endure such? How could one still be called human after they have done what I have?”

As she spoke, a weight settled upon the room, much as it had within the council chambers upon Nikea. Phantasmal imagery - a ghost of sensation - settled upon the minds of those within the room. A vague impression of the experiences of which she spoke. The endless, howling chorus of a trillion dead souls trapped forever within their final moments.

“Do not think to claim that you can endure such,” Daena chastised, her gaze unmoving from her sister. “You are an artificer, a smith. You should know that iron must be wrought so that it may bend, lest it instead break. You are permitted to be human. As much as you and some of our brothers seem to think otherwise.”

“And yet how many now lie dead because of it? When I received news of the Rangda invasion, I was building a city, Daena. It was beautiful. A work of art.” She shook her head, “And it did nothing to save the lives of those who I had been charged to defend. Humanity is imperfect, sister - and those imperfections lead to death and destruction.” She cast her hand to the room around them, brimming with schematics, weapons in various states of creation, diagrams of fortresses, and more. “If I must purge myself of my own humanity to protect humanity, I will do so. Do not claim to me that you do otherwise. I have sensed it as clear as day.”

“Were your daughters combat capable? Had they been trained and made ready? Was your wargear prepared? The answer to all of these are yes. Enough of your flagellation, I will not tolerate it. We must think of things other than war - both for humanity and our own sanity,” Daena replied in a firm voice, like that of a parent scolding a particularly recalcitrant child.

“As if I retain any of either.” Eiohsa muttered darkly to herself.

“Very well, sister. It was childish of me to bring things to such dark places to begin with.” She said, feigning concession. “Tell me, then, what would you speak of? Have you plans, now that the council is adjourned?”

“There is a mystery that needs unraveling, you may have seen the hints of it from my reports,” she said, picking her glass back up and taking a sip. “There is a power in the Obscurus. Advanced, and unknown to us. They have been providing arms to forces across the Segmentum. Their identity and goals must be uncovered.”

“I understand, too, that these arms they have provided are a mark above many of our own if I am not mistaken, yes?” She said, leaning forward with interest. “I have longed to acquire some of these advanced technologies they display before the Mechanicum can hoard them away from the Imperium proper. I was to deploy back Segmentum Ultima, to continue the expansion of the Imperium eastward. I intend to speak to father, and request I be allowed to accompany his Custodians to their investigation of Carcinus. Should that fall through…” she trailed off, smiling once more. “I suppose I must follow orders, should my sister request my presence within Obscurus, musn’t I? I will gladly accept.”

“Perhaps time with Sekhmetara will do as much for your mood as it has mine,” she replied coyly.

Eiohsa laughed, “I have heard of our sister and her reputation. It is a shame she was not discovered earlier, it was lonely before Rangdan, having only one sibling who seemed to understand the concept of fun.” She nodded, sipping at her wine. “It will be good to speak to Sekhmetara. I have yet to meet her properly. Tell me - what other wines does she carry?”

Kaldun looked between Daena and Eiohsa as they had their minor argument, finishing two more mugs of the ale in the process. He had to open the second cask he had brought, watching the two women. When there was an opening in the conversation, he leapt in. “Your empath powers! They are psychic are they not?! Why not just turn them off! Like with biolightning!” Small bolts of golden lightning leapt from his fingertips and stopped suddenly. He waggled his fingers, repeating the process a few times, to accentuate his point.

Eiohsa stared at him for a moment, silently. “Impossible.” She declared, shaking her head. “Utterly impossible, I am sure of it.”

“Nonsense! It is a psychic power! We are two of the most powerful Psykers in existence! The idea that you cannot turn off your own powers is preposterous!” He turned to Daena. “Sister! You know that I am right! Even your own prodigious powers can be stopped, no?!”

Daena nodded at her brother, attempting to catch up to his score by finishing a glass of wine before replying. “It’s true. Admittedly, sometimes visions can surprise me, but with enough focus they can be suppressed.” Usually. She saw no reason to bring up morose talk by discussing what she saw when she looked at the Emperor.

Blinking in disbelief, Eiohsa looked between the two of them. She opened her mouth to protest, before closing it, before opening it once more, and then finally draining yet another glass of wine. She said nothing, merely closed her eyes and focused.

She focused inwards. Feeling the writhing mass that weighed upon her mind. Feeling the currents of the Warp that flowed and eddied through her. She waded through it for hours. Perhaps days. Perhaps years. Exploring and poking and prodding until she was satisfied. She took the threads of the warp in her hand and manipulated them, feeling the change as she did so. She wondered what would happen if she tried to pull them to her, away from the myriad different directions they seemed to wish to drift.

It was a strange feeling - or absence of such - that slowly enveloped her. The world felt emptier now. She opened her eyes, realizing that no longer could she feel the ship’s crew around her. No more did she sense their signatures in the warp. It was silence, pure silence in a way she had never before experienced in her life. She stared at the two of them, before bursting into hysterical, uncontrollable laughter. Bent double in the chair, she let the mug fall from her hand, clattering to the floor as she was seized by this fit of nearly mad cackling.

“I think it worked!” Kaldun announced to Daena, finishing another mug in celebration.

“Is this what it is like?” She wheezed, forcing the words out through a monumental effort. “Was it needless?” She looked to Ayushmatki, desperate for some sort of assurance that she was in fact dreaming. “What a fool I have been!” She exclaimed, before laughter consumed her once more.

Her laughter caught in her throat and tears ran in her eyes now, laughter fully giving way to heaving sobs. “It was needless.” She gasped, “It was all needless?! Everything? All of it? This horror within me?” She looked to the two of them once more. “Are you telling me that for the past century and a half I have lived with the greatest torture imaginable all on the basis of my own ignorance?”

Daena saw her tactless brother’s mouth begin to open and physically intervened, walking across the room to drape one arm around Eiosha’s shoulder. “Oh my poor sister,” she whispered, her gaze panning across the room as she thought how to most delicately deliver her hypothesis. “Something tells me that you felt as if you deserved this. That you never thought to try.”

It was Ayushmatki that spoke next, “I can almost guarantee that such is the case.” She stood, walking over to her Primarch, “You have always tried to be perfect. And you have always refused the idea that you might not be. Perhaps it was built into you, like so much else. Perhaps you developed it on your own.” She sighed, “And yet all the same, even back during the wars upon Kayaamat, you would take personal responsibility for everything. It was a concern then, and it only grew from there. Perhaps i-”

She was cut off as Eiohsa raised a hand, not looking up from the ground. “Ayu, please.” She murmured, “You speak the truth, but please. A moment. This is… I…” she trailed off, looking up to them. “This has defined who I am since the moment I met another. Since I crawled from the lake of fire as an infant. It has shaped the person I am. Perhaps I do deserve it, or perhaps the Emperor saw fit for its use for… whatever purpose I was to serve within his Imperium.” She drew breath, shaky and uncertain. “I do not even know what to do now. I have thought this a blessing and a curse I must bear until my final day - and now…?” She looked between the three of them, beseeching their advice.

“Now!? Now you wield it, rather than letting it wield you!” Kaldun spoke, finally unable to contain himself despite Daena’s pointed look. “You turn it on only when it would benefit you! During negotiations or interrogations?! Nothing better than being able to know what those opposite you are feeling! During battle, when you must be as strong as the iron of our armor and as cold as the northern peaks of Baalros? Turn it off! There is no benefit in feeling what you have already felt too many times before! You get used to the lack of emotions rushing into you, so that when you do have it off it does not affect you at all! Training! That is what you do now! Train to wield your power properly!” With a satisfied nod, Kaldun finished another mug.

“Our brother is correct. To do anything less would be a true failure of your duty,” Daena said, not so subtly insisting that Eiosha stop needlessly torturing herself.

Silence elapsed once more as Eiohsa looked between them. Slowly, she sat back upright, pulling both of her siblings into a tight embrace, and Ayushmatki into a much gentler one. “Thank you.” She murmured, her expression once more a genuine smile. “I… I have been a fool. Thank you.”

She turned her eye to Ayushmatki, “I know you brought stronger than wine and ale to this, dear Ayu - stop holding out on us. I have true reason to celebrate now. And the food! Yes! We mustn’t let it go to waste either!” She leaned down, bringing one of the now slightly cooled dishes to her nose. “I have not eaten this in…” She trailed off, “some time. Come, sister, brother! Let me share the delicacies of my home! As my thanks! Ayushmatki, where is it?”

Lazily, Ayushmatki gestured to one of the crates she had brought with her, from which a bottle of clear liquid marked in strange letters floated up. “You had but to ask, old friend.” She said, smiling.

---

[...End Log.]
[...Terminating.]
[Imperial Thought for the Day: Life is temporary. Duty is eternal. Use thyself well, for self destruction aids the Malevolent.]

---

Fear gnawed at her belly as Eiohsa stood before the Emperor of Mankind. Fear, and hope.

The ordeal of Carcinus sickened her. Filled her with disgust, and horror, and fury, and with purpose. Deep within Carcinus lay her daughters, many of them known to her - others, terrified and unknowing of what had been forced upon them. She would return to them. She had to return to them. Who knew how many of them still lived in those dark, horrific catacombs? How many were suffering even now under the knives of the Lurkers?

The Emperor was her one chance. Who knew if the Custodes’ arrival might result in their deaths? Would they be cast out to rot in some abyssal pit, covered up and scrubbed away to hide their existence from the Emperor’s ten thousand? The Emperor could grant her what she wanted, allow her to accompany them to Carcinus, to infiltrate that dreaded world again and ensure their safety from the Ninth Legion.

“Father.” She said, eyes downcast as she stood across from him. “I beg of you, grant me this boon. You have sent your Ten Thousand to investigate Carcinus, to determine once and for all the guilt of the Ninth. I thank you for this, and apologize for my transgression upon the Council in such a manner.” She looked up to him, “But, if you would permit it, I wish to accompany them. To infiltrate the world once more and rescue my Daughters and the others the Ninth have imprisoned from that horrific place. I do not fully know what else lies in wait, and I fear they may try to destroy my Daughters to hide evidence of their crimes.”

Silence reigned for a time as the Emperor watched her. She felt herself burning in his presence. There was nothing to be done but place herself at his mercy and beg for it. This was the final thread by which she held on to sanity. The duel with Augor yet lay in wait. But after everything she had seen. Everything she had felt… she had propelled herself onwards through the Crusade through sheer force of will. There was always a goal. A task she had to accomplish to further the Crusade. Every step she took through dirt soaked in the blood of those she had sworn to protect was to ensure that never again would such sacrifices be needed.

And for what? There were tasks ahead - but for the first time she found herself wondering if they were truly worth it. Here. Now. Rescuing her daughters from the Ninth - that was something she KNEW was good. Something she KNEW would be worthwhile. He had to allow her.

“I cannot permit such a thing, my daughter.”

Eiohsa could not speak. She bit her tongue, staring at him. Pathetic. Weak. Rusted iron. A broken tool.

“If your involvement were discovered, it would cast a shadow of doubt upon the investigation that cannot be afforded.” He continued. The heat radiating from him changed, now. It no longer burned her, but seemed to soften. It was warm. It enveloped her. Comforting her. “If you were known to have entered the world before my Ten Thousand, it would plant the seed of doubt in the hearts of many. They would say the Custodes were deceived by you. That you planted false evidence. Be still, my Daughter, and have patience.”

“I believe you.” He said, speaking again before she could. “I know you would not bring such falsehoods before me. The Custodians will determine for me, beyond a shadow of a doubt, where the blame lies, and upon whom the executioner’s sword will fall. And when it falls, my daughter, you will have the honor of holding the blade.”

Eiohsa stared at him wordlessly for what seemed hours. This… no, this couldn’t be it. This could not be it. She couldn’t simply be… denied. Her Daughters were there. Suffering. She could still feel every iota of horror and misery in that forsaken hole. The miasma of death and decay and violation. It clung to her soul, even as she stood before the Emperor. The thought of leaving them to suffer in that mire for a second longer grated against the very core of her being. The thought of leaving anyone in that nightmarish abyss.

“But…” she grasped for words. Something. Anything. Anything to convince him. “I can disguise myself. You know that! None would ever have cause to be suspicious. To them I would be just one more Custodian. Indistinguishable from all the rest.” She looked at him, pain in her eyes. The weight of her memories crushed her as she grasped for anything, any lifeline at all. “I can’t just… I can’t just leave them there.” She half-whispered. “That place it… it isn’t human. It’s… perhaps they were once human, the Fleshweavers, but…” she stood before him. Pathetic. Foolish. Unable to even come up with the words to describe what she had seen.

“Be that as it may, the risk is too great.” He looked at her solemnly. “I believe you, my daughter. But the risk, no matter how unlikely it may be, is too great. When we stand upon the precipice of truth, not even the smallest misstep can be permitted.”

Eiohsa stared at him silently before she collapsed into a nearby chair, cradling her head in her hands. Hollow and defeated.

She stared into nothingness for years. Time stretched on for eternity as she tried to shut out the sounds in her mind. The scenes of exterminatus. The screams of a dying world. The toxic, stifling miasma of Carcinus.

She looked up to see the Emperor sitting across from her, nary a trace of emotion upon his perfect features. He simply waited for her.

“Why did you make me this way?” She asked of him under her breath.

The words caught in her throat, and she seized on them.

“Why did you make me this way?” She asked again, louder now.

“Why!? Why did you?! Tell me now, damn you! What do you want?! Why do I wade through the blood of those I have sworn to protect?! I ask nothing. I seek no rewards or accolades. I merely wish to build a better Imperium, Father. I wish to build your better Imperium. Why can’t I?”

The Emperor looked at her impassively for a moment before speaking. “I named you Lady of Iron for this purpose. And I knew when I met you that you could be trusted with such thankless tasks. That you could, and would, break the darkness that threatens humanity beneath you to secure its future. I knew you fought not for honor, glory, or riches. And I knew you could be trusted not only to do what needed to be done in the dark, but to do so with mercy, and compassion. I knew you could bear upon your shoulder this burden.”

“Then why, as the infant who you would one day name the Lady of Iron, the Primarch of the Sixteenth Legion, sat upon the shore of the burning lake through which she crawled dream of enlightenment, equality, prosperity, and a united galaxy before she had ever glimpsed the stars or heard another human voice? Why must the blunt instrument of the Imperium’s wrath be cursed with dreams of a brighter future she will never see? Surrounded by naught but war and death, the endless screams of the dying echoing forever in her mind? Why is she cursed with hope for love and peace to reign, for art and poetry and philosophy to replace tanks and guns and battleships? Why is she fighting for a future that seems ever more distant with every battle? As her daughters fall dead around her fighting for their dream shared with the Emperor of Mankind, fat kings and petty despots of countless worlds reign over their subjects as though livestock. Why has her father made her this way? Why have you made me this way?”

The Emperor remained silent, watching her pensively.

“Why must I dream of these things, father? I am your creation, wrought by your hand. It is by your design I was gifted the skills I hold. But why? In every moment of my life endless dreams for the future spring forth. Utopia. A perfect society where none must ever fear for their safety, where none ever go hungry, where all have a roof over their heads and a place within an enlightened society? I see wondrous cities in my mind’s eye, father. And then I am asked not to create, but to destroy them. To raze them to the ground and kill, maim, destroy, and desecrate. Why, father, I beg you. Please, tell me why!?”

Tears ran from her eyes as she poured her heart out to the Emperor, to her father. Her form trembled within its seat, her hands shaking with emotion as she held her head in them. She could not bear to look him in the eye now, could not bear witness to that white hot inferno. In its presence she would surely be swept aside, burned alive as she was now, exposed, vulnerable. “If it is my fate to be executed, Emperor - Father. If it is my fate to not see the golden age of the Imperium, if I am to die for the good of the Imperium, if I am incompatible with your future, if I am to burn in the flame of the Imperium’s conquests - please.” She looked up, finally, meeting his imperious burning gaze with her own distraught, bloodshot one. “Please do not force me to suffer any more. I am done. If the Imperium is to live without me, I accept it. I have failed, certainly.” She drew breath, letting out another choked sob. “I have failed you, I have failed the Imperium, and I have failed humanity. If I must be slain - do it now. Please. I have fought for centuries for you and for humanity, carrying the burden of this Empathy and the sight of the warp upon my shoulders for all time - and I am done, Emperor. If you truly do love us, as your children, grant me this dignity and spare me the torture of this burden I must bear, spare me the agony of fighting for a future I will never see. Please.”

“Every waking moment, every day, of every year, I hear them.” She whispered, after silence had elapsed. She could not look the Emperor in the eyes. Not now. “This beautiful, wonderful gift of yours has become a curse, father. Every moment I live, as I look upon you now, begging for mercy, I hear them. The ones I couldn’t save. It was my duty to protect them.” She choked back a sob, her eyes clenched shut. “And I failed them.”

“Yet the Imperium stands strong, my daughter.” Spoke the Emperor, looking upon her with the same haughty, imperious gaze that burned with the fury of a thousand sons. “Their sacrifice, though tragic, was necessary for the bright future our endeavor stands for. And yet, you speak of hearing them? What troubles you, my child?”

“As if my own, father, I felt their deaths, their suffering, every iota of pain, horror, grief, despair, anger, and betrayal they felt when they fell prey to the grip of the Rangdan. The same abilities you gifted me - this Empathy - have ensured I can know nothing but this nightmare every day. I know their names. Every single one. I still know the feeling of their flesh burning in the phosphex we laid to destroy the bio-constructs of those unspeakable horrors. The horror, the terrible horror, of Exterminatus. My flesh, devoured by the life-eater virus, wiped from existence in the light of cyclonic torpedo, seared from the bone in the heat of a Mortalis missile. It was my duty, my purpose, to protect them - and I failed.”

She sat, silent, her eyes focused on some object far in the distance now, far from the Emperor, where those battlefields still raged within her mind. The deaths of how many millions of people around her. Entire planets consigned to oblivion by her hand when the enemy tide grew too strong. The sight of her own Daughters, corrupted and warped by the touch of the Rangdan, what remained of their minds begging her for death, for mercy, for their gene-mother to save them from this fate worse than any death. Empty, glassy eyes forced onward in war against their kin by the Rangdan monstrosities. Onward and onward they marched within her.

“What troubles me, father, is that my life has become a living hell.”

The Emperor looked upon her with a curious mix of emotion visible upon his face. Sorrow. Sympathy. Compassion. And… Pride?

“My daughter.” He said, looking upon her with those same burning eyes. “You have not failed.” He stood, looking upon her with that same curious expression. “It was never my intention you be saddled with such a burden. You were taken from me in your infancy and raised where I could not teach you how to control them. Upon Terra, you showed such mastery of so many things, and I was proud of you, my daughter. Had I known, I would have taught you.” He sighed, “But you have not failed.”

“How?” She asked, golden tears glistening upon her cheeks. “How many trillions have died under me? At my hand? On my word?” She stood in turn, “I, whose sole purpose is to serve humanity, have failed to protect them. Entire planets destroyed. Cultures burned to ash.”

“And in doing so, do you know how many you have saved?”

“What?”

“Do you know how many lives you have saved, my daughter?”

“I… I do not know.” She whispered, eyes wide.

“If the reports from your own hand are to be believed, it is many, many more than have died under you. Each death is a tragedy, my daughter, a tragedy necessary for the future of our Imperium. When I spoke to you, when we met, I named you the Lady of Iron, for I saw within you the determination and resolve to do what needed to be done when others could not. I am sorry, my daughter, that you have suffered so - truly, it was not my intent.” He smiled at her, “But by making those choices, hard as they were, you saved many more lives that would have been lost under others. I know I made my choice well. You concern yourself not with honor or glory, the praise of your peers - only the wellbeing of humanity. In this, if nothing else, you have made me proud.”

Eiohsa said nothing, merely stared at the Emperor for a time, lost in his words.

“You are the Lady of Iron. You do not break, but become something new, stronger, when fed through the fires of war. Some day, my daughter, you will build cities as you dream. The Imperium has need for minds of peace as well as minds of war.”

“That is all I have ever wanted, since the first moment I swore loyalty, father. To bring the beautiful things you have gifted to my mind into reality. To bring forth technology long forgotten, and see the worlds of the Imperium prosper anew with its fruit. To bring up every impoverished child in a loving home, to see them educated and fed and brought into a peaceful, enlightened Imperium. All of these things and more, father, is all I have ever wanted.” She said, tears once more welling in her eyes.

The Emperor watched her silently once more, his expression a serene facade of impartiality. At last, he spoke to her. “And you will, some day.”

Tears glistened on her cheeks as he stared at him. “Thank you, father.” She whispered.

---

[...End Log.]
[...Terminating.]
[Imperial Thought for the Day: Love thy Father, the Emperor, and be delivered.]

---

---

The progenitors of both the Stargazers and the Daughters of Iron had been requested to stay on station near Nikaea after the audience with the Emperor had finally concluded. Such a request meant little from most, even some of the Imperium’s highest notables, but this came from the newly christened Warmaster. Delays galled Daena, especially in considering the severity of the situation, but they were necessary. Augor had more pressing business, and Eiohsa…. Eiohsa was far too raw after having seen her daughters toyed with like a juvenat’s schola experiments. Time was required for the both of them.

But there had been time enough. Both had been summoned not to the planet below, but to the Doomsayer’s Gloriana, the Redemption. The siblings were directed to land in a massive cargo bay that had been cleared for the occasion, the cavernous chamber empty for the moment save for the winged Warmaster herself. No grand reception awaited the Primarchs, and the Angel had even forgone her own panopoly. She sat in the exact center of the bay, dressed in plain black training gear, wings folded over herself as she focused her mind on what was to come. A part of her wished she was fighting orks instead.

Without fanfare, a single small vessel approached and docked within the vast battleship. From it, a small procession departed, headed by a massive figure. Towering over approximately a dozen companions clad in simple garb from Kayaamat and the other worlds of Saravata, the Primarch of the Sixteenth Legion strode forward, her expression blank. Since her meeting with the Emperor, and the night of merriment aboard her own flagship, she had stewed in her thoughts within her private quarters. Change was, slowly, taking form in her mind. The thoughts and sensations of those around her no longer drifted into her - still a novel sensation, or lack thereof. She was alone with nothing but her thoughts and the echoes of the dead. Eiohsa was clad not in the ceremonial armor she had worn during the council, but an unadorned and utilitarian suit of terminator armor. The heavy armored footfalls of the master-crafted suit echoed across the empty bay as she approached her target.

“Daena.” She said simply as she drew near her sister, inclining her head slightly. “My apologies that my foolish actions have lead to this.”

A sliver of Daena’s consciousness noted her sister’s arrival, the urge to grin and to frown warring within her as she appraised Eiohsa. She had been dour for so long that the Angel doubted she would understand what was so humorous about her appearance. “Sister. You have come ready for war,” the Mistress of the XIVth said in a soft voice, less accusation and more statement of fact. “I would ask for you to sit with me, but,” she added with a shrug as she trailed off, voluminous wings rippling about her as she did, sending a soft rain of feathers to the deck. “Nonetheless, be at peace. We await our brother.”

“Forgive me, then, sister.” Said Eiohsa, nodding her head once more. “I… I assumed that was why I was here.”

She nodded to the small entourage that followed her, and two attendants stepped forward, skilled hands moving with practiced ease and dexterity. The hiss of airtight seals releasing filled the air around them, mechanical locks releasing, powered connections dying down. With a small nod of thanks, she stepped down from the chassis of war, clad in a simple bodysuit similarly devoid of decoration or extravagance.

She sat down, cross legged, beside Daena to wait, “You believe, then, that he may be dissuaded from violence?”

"I was named master of war, Eiohsa. Not bringer of it," Daena murmured, the core of her attention far from the physical space that they happened to share. “I believe his vengeance may be mitigated. But now, silence while we wait.”

Their brother did not come quietly.

Clearly having made the same assumption that Eiohsa herself had, the Primarch of the Twelfth Legion had saw fit to reroute the Light of the Omnissiah, the Twelfth Legions’ own Gloriana-class vessel, to draw abreast of the Redemption less than a thousand kilometers off to its sister vessel’s starboard side. Where the Redemption was almost inconspicuous in the backdrop of space with its subdued black and silver color scheme, the Light of the Omnissiah was a blaring and brazen icon of brilliance in the void. Much of its coloration adhered to the standard pattern of Mars, albeit with the superlative addition of gold across most of its structure. The massive craft had also been given substantial external modifications that seemed to be purely aesthetic. Towering cathedrals, spires, immense icons of the Cog Mechanicum and a giant sigil depicting the Emperor in his aspect as the Omnissiah dominated the surface area of the exterior hull. Swarming about it like remoras around a shark were dozens of escort craft and what looked like personal Imperial transports. Few of these were broadcasting Twelfth Legion IFF signals, but instead seemed to be ships of the true Mechanicum, as well as the personal vessels of several Remembrancers and even two which were part of the retinue of the High Lords.

Likewise, Augor did not deign to transit over to the Redemption via shuttle, but instead by way of a light cruiser that docked directly with the comparatively massive Gloriana - sticking out almost like a vibrant thorn from the larger, darker craft’s flank.

Thankfully, their brother’s excess had halted there. He arrived in the same armor and harness he had worn during the Council, and his retinue was even somewhat smaller than Eiohsa’s, discounting the swarm of servo-skulls - though it included, notably, a number of Remembrancers who had doubtlessly been sent invitations to join him. His expression as he emerged into the hold was inscrutable - his empty gaze, the set of his mouth, and the lines of his face revealing nothing.

The atmosphere of the chamber suddenly seeming to strain and flood with the tang of ozone, remaining an indicator of his disposition.

“Warmaster.” Augor halted ten meters away and bowed expansively to Daena, before rising and making a two-handed gesture of the Cog Mechanicum with his bionic hands. “First amongst the Omnissiah’s children. I trust his will shall be furthered here between us.”

He finally smiled - though still his sentiment was inscrutable. The only thing his smile revealed was teeth. “I have foreseen it.”

Daena stood slowly, unfurling as she raised herself off of the ground. It was a show for the Remembrancers, one that she engaged in without much conscious thought, but the picts of the Primarch’s wings unfolding were no less impressive for being a show. The bow was returned in kind, the symbol of the cog pointedly not. It would not do for her to reply to it even if she did believe.

“Augor, my brother, you who found me in the dark. The first of our siblings I saw with my own eyes,” she said in a sad voice, her memories flashing to the days of the decimated Stargazers, whose losses against the Rangdan had been so terrible. In those days, Augor Astren had been a piteous, wretched shell of a man, tortured and uncertain in all things. Nothing like the confident and calculatingly severe Primarch who stood before her now. “Our Father’s will shall be done, of that you have my word. There is nothing He despises more than discord between His children, and I endeavor to solve this here and now, if you would listen. I will not deny that a great insult has been done to you.”

“‘Great’ does not sufficiently describe it, Warmaster. Civilizations have perished for even the suspicion of such accusation. Hundreds of billions of souls consigned to nucleonic fire. It was the first of the Omnissiah’s Exigencies stipulated in the Treaty of Mars, and one that required no adjustment by the ruling priesthood of the Mechanicum, for it was already their will. There is no greater adversary to Humanity than Abominable Intelligence. My sister has done no less than declare me the antithesis not only of all of Humanity, of the Imperium, and of the Mechanicum, but of our father as well.”

Augor did not even look at Eiohsa as he spoke, though he did raise a pointed talon to jab emphatically in her direction. “It is the single greatest condemnation that can be uttered. I would slay one of my own sons for aiming such a disparagement at anybody without just cause. Even a xenos. The gravity with which I take this insult cannot be understated.” Augor’s words were clearly rehearsed, and evidently just as much for show as Daena’s own motions.

“As you say,” Daena said with an inclination of her head. “And if I felt our sister spoke in truth, I would not have called you here. You know as well as I what she has seen - not just the horrors freshly of now, but those she endured in the Rangdan. I speak to you not only as my brother, but as one of few who can say they know what those days called for. I ask of you, as a father, were it not for the clarity of thought granted by the Machine-Cult, can you not imagine yourself saying the rash and impudent so soon to witnessing the desecration of your own sons?”

“Perhaps I can - but respectfully, Warmaster, I cannot conclude that my sister’s words were borne of either recklessness or grief. The subject of the gathering was one the Sixteenth Primarch was in favor of and, by her own admission, has been practicing to an extent - and furthermore, I was not the object of her legitimate and otherwise righteous wrath and despair. I made a rational appeal to the avowal of our souls to the Omnissiah, to our duty to all of mankind and our obligation to save those who might forsake their oaths. I cannot imagine a Primarch taking such leave of their senses, nor any Astartes for that matter, to such an extent as to levy such a perilous insult in that moment unless it was to elicit a calculated effect.” Augor’s intonation was clear, and he carefully enunciated every individual syllable as he carried on.

“You forget, brother.” Spoke the Sixteenth, her words carefully measured. “I do not merely see that which is around me. I feel it - I perceive it - as though the experiences of those others around me are my own. Tell me truthfully, Brother - have you held your dying sons in your arms? Felt the life slip from their bodies violated by the cruelest sciences ever dreamt by human minds? Felt that violation as if your own flesh and blood? Then have you stood before an assemblage of your kin who not only denied that such wrongs could have been perpetrated, but some claiming them to be visited by your own hand? Then, have you stood before your brother who tells you, to your face, that there is never enough?” She fixed him with an even, expressionless gaze, but the anguish in her words was evident. “My opposition was not, and never will be, to the procedures themselves. You are correct - I have used them in the past, and will continue to use them in future. What I argued for was mercy. For nuance. And in my fury, and my foolishness, I believed you had none.”

She stood, walking to him, “Show me then, that I was wrong.”

Augor held a bionic palm up and out to halt Eiohsa’s approach, and six servo-arms noticeably craned up and inwards just as she came within striking distance - giving him for all intents and purposes the appearance of a spider that was rearing up to attack.

“I spoke then, that those whose words meant nothing bore hearts of insipid ashes to be swept away by all true servants of the Imperium. You directed the most dire aspersion possible to me, my sons, and my followers. I in turn, swore a curse upon you. A personal oath of vengeance that I shall carry with me either until it is fulfilled or I am no more - an oath that I swore upon the Omnissiah himself, our father, in his very presence.”

Augor still faced Daena as he spoke, staring directly past Eiohsa’s head as she stood before him in a deliberate refusal to acknowledge her proximity. Only once he had finished speaking did he finally turn his hollow eyes to the Sixteenth Primarch.

“Unlike some, my word is my bond. I am capable of mercy. My vow in this matter affords none. You have done this to the both of us, sister. I am obligated to carry out this sentence - and I see no reason not to begin now.”

He raised his Omnissian Axe in one hand and brought its haft down to bang against the bay’s hull, as though a judge delivering his final verdict. He continued to speak, though now his words were subtly embodied by his rhetorical power, the same psyker abilities he used to deliver sermons and battlefield litanies now being directed in condemnation of his sister. Even if it scarcely had any impact upon his fellow Primarchs, the effect it would have upon their retinues would prove immense, and what the Remembrancers would bring away with them would prove the efficacy of his words - which was likely his intention.

“As to the matter of my sons and my care for them, I can say with perfect clarity that I care more for the life and suffering of a single one of my Astartes than you care for your entire legion combined. You play at war, sending your daughters to be slaughtered in droves, as if the only thing you learned from the Rangdan Xenocides was how to spend their lives freely. Do not speak to me of the cruelty of science. Do not speak to me of violation. Do not speak to me of loss. I am Augor Astren, Primarch of the Stargazers, and I have borne witness to horrors you can scarcely fathom in the darkest reaches of the cosmos beyond the light of our father’s Astronomican. I have safeguarded the Imperium of Man from the most malignant and insidious forces in the galaxy, far from the eyes of any who might offer thanks or praise, and I have not spoken of them for their very knowing would be a toxin in the minds of all fair and noble Adepts. I have liberated worlds, civilizations, dynasties from the clutches of depravity that you do not even have the basis of knowledge to comprehend - and at Vaomir, my sons and I cast down and smote the greatest threat the Imperium has ever known since the Rangdan. All of this and more, I have done while ensuring the vows and oaths sworn by us all were kept true, and doing everything within my power and where possible to preserve the lives of my sons. You speak of your daughter’s execution as if it was mercy, as if you stand upon the zenith of morality to claim that her suffering in that moment was greater than us, greater than our capacity to heal the fallen, greater than our father and his infinite insight, and perhaps most blasphemous of all - that her anguish was somehow greater than your daughter herself. You permitted her to be executed to appease a shadow. Of course I do not call your folly mercy - not when I know it was well within our power to restore to her a full life and the capability to experience joy, without forcing her to perish in ignominy and to have made a liar of her and yourself in the process. You, Eiohsha izva Bronakavh, are craven, bereft of the capability to love, and bereft of integrity - and you have not yet even begun to experience the immensity of my displeasure.”

“You dare?” Said she, her voice hollow at first, filled with more disbelief than anger. She stood, eyes wide, before responding in kind, her own voice ringing with the might that had felled empires and humbled kings. Her spear flew to her hand as she stood defiant before him, striking its butt upon the ground in turn. “You DARE!? I have faced horrors the likes of which you could scarce-dream. You dare claim I throw my daughters' lives away like the Sixteenth’s leaders of old? I and my daughters have fought without end. Fought in the darkest campaigns the Imperium has born witness to. I know more than you could even begin to comprehend of sufferi-”

“Prevaricate all you want. I shut off all the recording devices and started broadcasting neurostatic interference the moment you opened your errant mouth.” Augor cut her off lazily, not even raising his voice. The onlookers in his retinue, who might otherwise have been appalled by the shockingly low ploy, seemed to be swayed by his warp-laden words - and some of them even snickered aloud as his desired sentiment overbore their wills.

“Enough,” Daena hissed, the word a spell of its own. Though she lacked their father’s might, it nonetheless sufficed to cut through the veil of warpcraft Augor had weaved, the order laced with her gene-gift. “If you have rage enough to engage in such showmanship, then it shall be redirected. Talk is pointless if you insist on these games, brother. The both of you can lay your sorrows end upon end for all the good that the comparison will do, or you,” she said, pointedly gazing at Augor, “can fulfill your oath with honor instead of perfidy and you,” she continued, shifting her head to Eiosha, “can rid yourself of your self defeating sorrows.”

“Answer, for if you seek to continue upon your present course then neither of you shall be welcome here.”

Eiohsa’s expression did not change in response to the Warmaster’s commands. She remained silent for a moment, the air around her smelling of ozone as it crackled with energy. Eventually, she looked away from Augor, towards her sister. “I shall do as you wish, sister, if our brother will do the same.” Eiohsa nodded to Daena. “What rules would you set forth?”

“My daughters had a way of things, when they still strode upon Old Earth,” Daena said, speaking more for the cameras than for Eiosha. “Our Father had many generals and chiefs sworn to his service, most of whom had sworn mighty oaths of great calumny and rage upon one another. These could not be set aside, but neither could they be permitted to slay their foe, for their lives had been bound by oaths mightier still to the Emperor. As have yours,” she said in a flat voice, turning between Augor and Eiosha before settling her gaze upon her sister.

“Of the crime you have been accused of, I find you guilty. Of the oath sworn to seek recompense, I find it fair - kinder by far than most would receive. But I shall decide when and how it will be fulfilled, to ensure the functioning of our Father’s will. For now though, neither of you are in the mood to accept dooms pronounced. No. You shall bleed each other of your wrath and sorrow, and I shall decide when you are ready, as the Judicators of old.”

Daena paused there, and with a single leap thrust herself within the air, gazing down upon her siblings with a pitiless gaze. “The rules are simple. You shall not compromise the structural integrity of this chamber. You shall not cause damage to any other area of this vessel. You shall not bring injury or harm to any aside from each other. And you shall not kill. Know that this is not the beginning of the settlement, merely its prologue. Do you find these terms acceptable, brother, sister?”

Eiohsa nodded, giving no hint to the flurry of emotion that raged within her. Her face was like an effigy of iron, unmoving and cold. Within, she felt the warring sensations of fury and resignation. Fury that she had been forced into such circumstances. Fury that she had faltered in her duties to such an extent. Fury with the man who stood across from her. Fury even at her beloved sister. But there was resignation - she was tired of war and of conflict. Tired of constant struggle. Tired of suffering and misery and the inevitable cycle of hardship and strife. She did not want to fight. She did not want to take up her spear against her brother. She wanted no part in further bloodshed, even against him. But she gave no hint of these emotions. “Yes.” She said, the vortex that whirled within her audible only to those of her retinue who knew her well, and perhaps to the Angel who called down from above. “I do.”

“I do not.” Augor stated flatly. “Pardon me, Warmaster, but such an arena is far too disadvantageous to my opponent, and I decline to elaborate as to what parameters might render it more suitable as that would prove sufficiently disadvantageous to myself. However, beyond your choice of arena, I find your terms acceptable. If I may suggest an alternative?”

Daena smiled wryly at her brother, and then gave a nod. “By all means.”

Augor brought up a hand to the side of his head and murmured a binaric command. After a moment he uttered another before resuming his former posture. “I have just ordered one of my ships to launch a single shock charge upon the planet’s surface within the range of the current terraforming efforts - the remainder of our forces have been alerted so as to deter alarm. The blast shall level the terrain and create a relatively even, featureless waste upon which the both of us may suitably vent our wrath upon the other in accordance with your terms - and more fairly.” Augor inclined his head to Daena, ever so faintly.

“Let it be done.”

Eiohsa nodded. “Very well, then.”



As both of the Primarchs returned to their transports - Eiohsa to return to her own ship and Augor simply heading directly to his light cruiser’s teleportarium - Mercaerath strood alongside his father with a frown.

“Father. You have deceived the Warmaster. By your own acknowledgement she is first amongst the Omnissiah’s children. Were you in your right mind, you yourself would demand just cause for your own behavior.”

Augor nodded. If there was anybody in the galaxy he would accept such chastisement from freely, it was Kyrius, savior of more than simply his life. “I weighed my obligation of loyalty to the Warmaster against the vow I swore before the Omnissiah. I concluded that insofar as one does not directly contravene the other, my vow supersedes her authority. That is why such deception was ultimately necessary. Insofar as the Warmaster permits herself to be deceived, I cannot permit her to interfere with this matter. That is why I had our Remembrancers transmitting a live feed to be edited and redistributed in real time, in case the Warmaster demanded I terminate their recording at any point. I could then truthfully claim that it was beyond my immediate power to prevent its dissemination.”

“And I imagine you believe that also justifies the orders you sent?” Kyrius asked inquisitively. “You claimed advantage simply to reap the benefits of another unspoken one?”

“I yielded a small advantage for the benefit of reaping a greater one.” Augor corrected. “Binharic invocations and communion with the Machine Spirits and Master Spirit of the Redemption would have taken time and concentration and would not have sufficiently skewed the battle in my favor, potentially. Always remember this, Kyrius - the mind, itself, is the most formidable weapon we all possess. I elected to use mine in the pursuit of the curse I lay upon my foe. That my enemy declined to do so and that the Warmaster permitted me to is the Sixteenth’s failure and the Fourteenth’s decision.”

“Some might argue that you invite further accusation of perfidy and injustice, father.”

“Such arguments are correct, but we are far beyond the grounds of reticence and reason. If I have to snuff out every star in the void to see my vow fulfilled, it will be done, and I will apologize for nothing and to nobody for what I had to do. So I swore. Would you do any differently, Kyrius?”

Kyrius was silent for several moments, staring straight ahead as they advanced before answering.

“I do not know. I permit that your sister’s trespass demands answer. I remain uncertain if all of…this remains necessary.”

“I swore before the Omnissiah.” Augor repeated. “If I deem it necessary, then so be it.”



“Bad start,” Vairya Kurus said laconically, the Doomsayer’s Legion Mistress fitting her gene-mother’s armor onto her divine frame. “Shouldn’t have let him bring his entire entourage aboard.”

“He is the wronged party,” Daena said softly, staring impassively at a hololith of Nikaea below. The blast-site of the Twelfth Legion’s shock munition seemed exactly as promised from remote analysis, simply a wide crater in the terrain, though direct analysis would be necessary to determine whether its mundane appearance matched its nature. “I permitted him his game, but he will accept my judgement. He must,” she finished in a flat voice.

“And if he doesn’t?” the XIVth’s second in command asked, clasping her Primarch’s breastplate tight against her.

“Then he doesn’t. It would not be our first enforcement,” she muttered, though both knew what she did not say. ‘Enforcements’ were trivial affairs when the disagreements were between mortals, or even Astartes, for the will of the Legion was absolute and its might unassailable. Dealing with other Primarchs was another matter entirely.

“Mother.”

“I know, Vairya.”



“Take up thy Armor, Strength, and bear upon thy shoulders the harm wrought by thy foe who would stand in service of the Malevolent.”

The words echoed within the throats not of thousands, but of only three. The sacred Litany before battle. In a chorus of millions, its words had formed the death knell of many an empire. Now, she took what little comfort she could in them.

“Take up thy Shield, Love, and protect those dear to your heart from thy foe who would stand in service of the Malevolent.”

The chant was broken up by the sound of armored plate sealing into place. The hiss and whine of capacitor banks charging filled the air. The mechanical rack as heavy shells chugged into place within meticulously tuned firing mechanisms. Layered forcefields of exquisite make flickered to life with a dull hum. The eerie sound of an arsenal to fell an empire assembled in comparative silence.

“Take up thy Horn, Wisdom, and lead the forces of the Light against thy foe who would stand in service of the Malevolent.”

Eiohsa stood, accompanied only by two trusted companions within this chamber. Ayushmatki had departed days ago, returning to the management of the Saravati Empire and bidding her friend of centuries a concerned farewell. None of her flesh and blood tended to her amidst sculptures worked by her own hand from the iron of a thousand sundered empires. Two mortals. A man and a woman, both from her home of Kayaamat, assisted her in the donning of her armor. Their voices spoke in perfect tandem with her own.

“Take up thy Sword, Duty, and in defiance strike down thy foe who would stand in service of the Malevolent.”

No other words were spoken during this time, for there was nothing else to say. Her spear was light and agile in her hand, perfectly crafted. It had perhaps no equal in the galaxy. Yet despite that, the weight felt magnified a thousand-fold. She had not wanted it to come to this.

“Take up thy Holy Cause, the Good Creed Devasayana in devotion to Devan above and below us, and cleanse their world of the taint of thy foe who would stand in service of the Malevolent.”

Silence elapsed as the two attendants inclined their heads slowly, marking the sign of divinity across their chests as their leader strode forth, clad in her monstrous suit of war.

---

Eiohsa spoke with a dull monotone into her armor’s vox-link. “I want the full report from your orbital scan the moment it’s finished processing. I want a full team with me to reconnoiter the area. I do not trust my brother in the slightest.”

“Understood, mother.”

“Only a fool would surrender an advantage willingly.” She scoffed. “My brother is many things - and a fool is not one of them. I will sniff out what he has attempted to rig in his favor with this battlefield. And it will be his undoing.”

“What do you intend?”

“I intend to do what is best, child.” Said Eiohsa, her expression impossible to discern behind the visor. “One way or another, I have already lost this battle. Whether it ends with my spear at his throat, or his own blade at mine, I have lost.”



The analyst, selected by the Fourteenth, had preceded the other groups to the battlefield and carefully examined it, sampling the earth and performing penetrating scans of the terrain.

"Surface impact crater's material composition appears mundane.” She reported to Daena upon her arrival. Her tone was perfunctory and unconcerned. “Mineral composition is many times higher in density than the norm for this region, but falls inside expected parameters given forces of compressive and thermal shock due to impact from a shock-round bombardment. Surface composition is a calefaction-hardened thermal crust, trace radiation detected below the norms of what was expected. Trace heat and thermal instability in pockets throughout, all falling within expected parameters. No anomalous structures or substances detected beneath the surface. This...is a crater. In ten years it will be impossible to distinguish from a natural one."

Daena glanced down at the analyst for a moment, but only a moment. “We both know that is not true. Geologically, topographically, certainly. But in the ways that matter? This place will be remembered,” she said in a tired voice, the certainty of her pronouncement warring with the apprehension as to what it would be remembered for.

“Let my siblings proceed with their bloodletting.”

Across to the Northern edge of the crater, Augor and his retinue - now including a veritable army of Tech-Priests and Artificers - swarmed over and around the Twelfth Primarch, tending to every scant centimeter of his armor and armaments. The Primarch himself stood, unmoving, serene, and unreadable as he prepared for the fight ahead.

From the Southern edge, Eiohsa observed the crater through the visor of her helmet. Around her swarmed myriad mortals and Astartes alike, fussing over last minute quadruple checks of every single system within the armor, uttering hurried prayers for her victory, and more. Eiohsa herself remained immobile, her expression fixed into a scowl as she surveyed the land, eyes peeled for any irregularities in it.

“I suppose this cannot be delayed any further.” She said, hefting her spear and preparing to enter the crater. “Let us see what trickery my brother has intended.”

Across to the other side, Augor’s horde of technicians had finally moved away, and the Twelfth Primarch, now in his full and true wargear, leapt from the lip of the crater to land with a crowning waft of unsettled dust in the depression below - from where he began to stalk forward slowly. Turning the full might of her armor’s auspexes and her warp-sight onto her brother, Eiosha pried into everything she could discern about his gear based on sight alone.

Before her senses could even touch upon his armor itself, they passed through no less than three imperceptible, concentric rings of variant forces, each one layered over the last. Force fields, each one of a different make and with different properties. Two of them were recognizable as a refractor field and as the conversion field generated by an Iron Halo. The third eluded her repository of knowledge, but from what she had heard it seemed likely to be one of the Mechanicum’s so-called ‘Voltagheist’ fields - something she had never personally seen employed before but knew academically was employed by their frontline zealots of lower-order priests, the Corpuscarii and Fulgurites.

Finally reaching his armor itself, Eiosha immediately took in the startling degree of irregular asymmetry to the design. The chassis was one that had been taken apart and reworked painstakingly over a century. Every nodule, every bump, every groove and every segment there told a story. This was the armor of a man who learned from every injury and misstep he suffered, building himself up and around them. Each irregularity in the armor’s surface represented a moment in its history where it must have suffered substantial damage and had been subsequently modified to render it imperishable. Based solely from what she could observe on the surface, the outermost layer was some form of reactive armor rather than being a more regular and conventional ceramite or adamantine alloy. That was not the most concerning thing however.

What truly made Eiosha take notice of that armor was its recent history. Her insight informed her, certain as battle-steel, that the Twelfth Primarch’s armor had not suffered so much as a scratch inside of the last three decades. This was armor that had been tempered and molded in conflict and war until both it and its wearer had evolved to the point where injury had become a remote hypothetical.

She then turned his gaze to his weapons.

His many, many weapons. His bionic talons, she knew, were electrostatic gauntlets. He held, lightly for the moment, his Omnissian Power Axe in one hand - its configuration was abnormal even for the wildly divergent designs of the Mechanicum. She knew enough to determine that it was truthfully another weapon which, incidentally, had been adorned and also functioned as a power axe. It seemed to be channeling and siphoning radiant energies directly into it, as if it were the end-point of flowing current for the entire area. Mounted on each of Augor’s back-mounted servo arms was a different weapon module, each ensconced in an encapsulating mechanism that shielded them from her awareness, for now. Lesser mechadendrites writhed at the joints of the Primarch’s armor, each bristling with penetrating mechanisms or else digital emitters - and as she watched, Augor Astren made his first substantive move.

He hefted his power axe in both hands, and slammed its haft down onto the crust of the crater floor. Immediately, there was a massive discharge of volatile energies, and the crust where the haft had slammed down fell apart into a superheated slurry of magma and molten metal. Writhing across Augor’s armor, the insidious mechadendrite hive that had been seated betwixt his mounted limbs pulled itself across his arms, dangling itself above the superheated pool of lava...into which it then dropped itself, instantly becoming submerged and vanishing into the pool. It was then that one of Augor’s six servo-arms reared up and its capsule drew back, revealing one of the concealed weapons. Opting not to start with his favored Conversion Beamer, Eiosha could instantly discern that the dish-shaped, radial implement he was pointing at her was some kind of sonic weapon - something she had never seen employed anywhere in the Imperium before. It was something she only knew of from her encounters with the Eldar, though the make of Augor’s device was nothing like their slim and graceful designs. It bore instead the hallmark boxy and tumorous aesthetics expected of a Mechanicum armament.

Eiosha’s analysis was interrupted by the then nearly imperceptible - the barely audible whine of harmonic resonance. The sonic device was more than just a weapon - Augor was using it to scan her. Immediately, one of her armor’s alerts pinged - the sound being emitted by the device was modulating along a number of frequencies, each one reverberating until it pulsed against a layer of Eiosha’s armor or some element of her equipment, probing for weak points and applying strain to them.

As that happened, her auspexes also reported a shift in the surrounding atmospheric pressure. It was climbing. A storm was brewing, and the wind picked up, starting to fill the depression of the crater with dust - and then, a second alert pinged. Her armor’s insulation and capacitors were fighting off some impulse to dump her power reserves into the open air - and then, she felt the last of it. Augor’s psychic touch. He was reaching out across the immaterium like a leech to feed off of her vital energies.

Despite herself, Eiohsa smiled. Something in her blood, implanted so many centuries ago deep within the laboratories of Terra, revelled in the sensation of battle. That such battle might be against an equal - a foe to challenge herself, to best her, even, was a rare delight to be savored. Everything else fell away into the bottomless void of oblivion as the spirit of war took hold. She breathed deep, before her senses once more encompassed all that surrounded her.

She seized upon her own armor, strong-arming its systems into line. Her mind raced against every new threat, reacting in near-instantaneous fashion against the actions of her enemy. Her armor adjusted itself as she brute-forced its systems into configurations never before intended, adjusting the resonant frequency of each component when the probing of her foe’s sonic weaponry found its mark. The tendrils of her brother’s energy writhed around her, and she seized those in turn, summoning her own reserves of strength as she repulsed his attack.

“You’ll have to do better than that!” She called, commencing her own offensive. Against such a foe, much of her arsenal would be worthless - and it was thus that the Maw of Yaman rose to its firing position, spitting forth a terrible payload of heavy bolts in the direction of her foe. Her spear sang in her hand as she pushed herself along, ethereal wisps of energy floating behind her as she raced towards her quarry at speeds that ought have been impossible.

Her enemy’s psychic attack had been rebuffed - but it instantly resumed. It would be a battle of attrition in the warp. She could continuously fend him off. He could continuously attack her. At some point the toll in concentration would be telling for one of them. As Eiosha leapt into her furious charge, unloading a storm of bolter rounds in Augor’s direction, he raised two servo-arms and their capsules drew back, revealing their implements.

The first was an eradication beamer - a well-known if still esoteric weapon of war mounted on the Mechanicum’s Onagers. Its tip pulsed, and a ray of scintillating yellow light erupted forth in a wide cone. The bolter rounds that entered that field of yellow light frayed at the edges and began to tumble and spin in their flight, some of them even unraveling and dissolving into particulate matter as the field of energy atomized them. The piteous remnants of her bolter volley that made it through the burst of light were so tattered they could no longer even be called munitions, and were swept across and away upon Augor’s force fields like dust.

The second was another well-known weapon employed by the Mechanicum’s Taghmata - an oversized torsion canon. Its workings remained a mystery even to Eiosha, but what it did was evident enough - it was a gravity weapon. But he was not aiming it at her, at least not yet. He was aiming it at the terrain -

The ground erupted beneath Eiosha’s feet, completely robbing her of traction and forward momentum as the Earth itself collapsed beneath her. A cataclysm of earth, rock, and crust flew up in every direction as the Twelfth Primarch’s Torsion cannon simply ripped the ground beneath Eiosha’s feet up and out from under her before slamming it back down on top of her. Every time she attempted to break free, he simply did the same, continuously pulling earth and rocks out from under her. The ground itself seemed to be alive under the Twelfth Primarch’s ministrations, and without traction, even a Primarch could not charge - and all the while, he continued to attack her through the warp.

Once again, she seized the tendrils of his psychic attack as soon as they latched onto her, crushing them in her grip. She snarled, hurling a furious storm of warp-lightning against her foe. A vast, torrential column of concentrated hatred that homed in upon the Twelfth. She aimed her weapons at him once more, firing off another volley of bolter rounds at him. The deafening blast filled the air as she felt the adrenaline of facing a true opponent fill her. In the miasma of debris she struggled through, many of her bolts simply went astray and even her Warp Lightning grounded in a few chunks of earth - but enough got through to remain a threat. The Twelfth Primarch still had not even moved from his starting position, simply firing another ray from his eradication beamer to sweep away her hail of projectiles, and raising a single hand to summon currents of his own warp lightning while reaching out to individually quash the psychic energies much as she did with his own. The fearsome current of her purple and blue energies wrestled in an incandescent clash in the air above the crater with the gold and red energies of her brother - all through it, her auspex scanners dutifully informed her that the Twelfth Primarch’s energy reserves seemed to be climbing rather than depleting as would be expected with such free use of such heavy and energy intense weaponry - but he could not possibly be draining the energy from her warp lightning. So how? Where was he getting his power?

She summoned her strength, forcing apart the terrain itself with an almighty head of psychic might. With a terrible groaning, boulders were torn from the earth, varying in size from that of a man to that of a tank. She cast her hand towards him, hurling the meteor swarm towards her target at such a terrific speed, they became naught but a blur. She reached out to him with tendrils of her own mind, locking around whatever could be seized in a sudden grip of iron as invisible chains lashed out from the empyrean to bind her foe.

She threw herself, armor and all, from the ground that roiled beneath her feet, into the air. Enormous golden wings of a shimmering, radiant light burst forth from behind her as she held herself aloft, wreathed in a corona of golden light. She cast her senses about her once more, straining, through every resource she had at her disposal, to root out every last detail of her foe that she could.

She was distracted from her attempts to unravel the mystery of where Augor was getting his energy when she realized she could not move.

Augor, seemingly wholly unconcerned for the golden chains binding him, still had not moved from his spot - but his torsion canon had tracked Eiosha as she leapt into the air, and its gaol-rings began to hum and spin eerily. The boulders she had shapechanged and flung came apart in shards and lumps of clod, slowing and reversing in motion before being lazily flung away by unseen force - which latched onto Eiosha and held her immobilized in place. An alert in her armor informed her that was currently experiencing more than fifty times Terra-standard gravity - and that the gravitational forces acting on her were rapidly spinning, applying immense strain to every fiber of her being. Thankfully, for a brief moment, Augor’s psychic attacks had ceased - likely as he diverted his focus to abjure the chains she had put him in.

Drawing on her reserves of strength once again, she railed against the effects of her foe’s weapon, her eyes focused on him, burning with hatred. This was folly, she realized dimly. Attempting to destroy another Primarch outright, through brute force - especially the Twelfth - was naught but a fool’s errand.

The torsion cannon loomed large in her sight, and she focused all of her might upon it, boring into its internal workings with the fury of a woman possessed. It was an unfamiliar task, on an unfamiliar device, but as she felt it shift within her grip, she felt that same innate understanding begin to flood through her. She set to her task with a vengeance, tearing loose connections and wreaking whatever havoc within its internal workings that she could manage.

It worked - she saw the gaol rings along the torsion cannon’s emitter barrel sputter, spark, and grind to a halt. The capsule that normally ensconced it drew close - and in that moment, Eiosha saw the interior of the capsule seethe. Autocimulacra - the damage she had done was temporary. The torsion cannon was gone, but only for now. It was time to finally apply some pressure to her brother -

Her armor pinged with another alarm. Somewhere within it, Augor’s sonic weapon had resonated with something she had no sensory input with. It had only detected as much because of the rippling force that then transferred to the rest of the armor. Eiosha mentally tallied down the list of every individual component in her armor that was isolated from its own internal sensors but came up with a blank. There was nothing. The only material she had with her not plugged into her armor’s systems was -

...The two-stage solid rocket fuel in her bolter ammunition.

She could almost see the contemptuous smile on Augor’s face beneath his helmet as her golden chains dissolved from around him and he raised his free bionic hand to snap his fingers.

The frequencies she was blasted with then transformed from analytic to offensive, and the frictive power and strain of the acoustic forces that washed over her caused sparks to dance in exactly one part of her armaments: Her bolter rounds.

Eiohsa swore, cursing herself and the man in front of her. A quick pulse of information to the armor, and the hardpoints jettisoned their load with alacrity. Eiohsa threw up a wall of shimmering golden energy to shield herself from the blast as thousands of rounds detonated just as Augor’s psychic attacks also resumed. She seethed, redirecting her own psychic energy onto him once more. She swatted aside his own attack and observed that another one of his servo arms had reared up to take the place of the one that had mounted the torsion cannon. Its capsule unsealed, revealing the brutal, ribbed length of a neutron laser - another weapon used by the Mechanicum’s Onagers. If her armor was hit by that, no amount of shapechanging would save it. Neutron cascading would cause its constituent atoms to break apart and after a moment of exposure, freely begin to fuse and split. She could already see the ghostly-blue light of the neutron blast forming at its head.

Within the eerie blue light of the weapon’s charging, she saw her doom. Not by the hand of Augor Austren, but by the deathly glow of an atmospheric incinerator torpedo igniting in the upper atmosphere of the world of Arretius. Around her, friends and family watched in shock and horror as the fleet of the Sixteenth Legion abandoned them to the ravages of the xenos from beyond the stars. Not merely abandoned, rather, but consigned to burn in the fires of war for the failures of their leadership. She hugged her children tight, knowing there was nothing to be done as the blast consum-

Eiohsa cast her hand out, throwing a golden aura around the neutron laser to hold it fast and wrench it away from her, now held immobile in an irresistible psychic grip. Her eyes blazed within the helmet as she stared down and focused in on his mind. Tears streaked down her cheeks as she shook within her armor. Absent all subtlety, all finesse, all pretense of anything but pure, brute force, she began her assault on his mind.

She had mentally assailed many entities in her campaigns. Twisted malformed xenos, erratic, lunatic cultists, even a few Drukhari. She had also done so, a blissfully few number of times, on those she would normally have called allies - even those with augmented minds. Augor’s was, much to her surprise, largely unaugmented. Evidently he had decided his neural matter was too precious to risk fouling with artifice - though that did not mean nothing was there. His skull and cranium were ensconced in a cybernetic dome and crown, and as her psychic might lashed at it, her thread of focus split - and seemed to coil down Augor Astren’s nervous system, coursing down, down, down through his chest, across his arms and through his legs -

The terrain where the Twelfth Primarch was standing seemed to explode in a sudden pyroclastic eruption of molten earth and metal, a massive inferno seeming to swell and spread through the terrain at Augor’s feet. Finally evidently startled and unsettled for the first time since their duel had begun, Augor took several hurried steps back - which was when Eiosha noticed. He did not seem nearly as impaired as he should have been by her attack. Even though her thread psychic focus had been split, she had still touched his mind and forced visions into his mind. Visions of death. A terrible avenging angel who had come to visit a wrath unmatched by the fury of a thousand sons. Augor saw cities burn in the light of phosphex, felt the living flame eating away at his flesh, over and over, tens of millions of souls trapped within the malevolent, hateful grip of exterminatus. The biting, searing, rending agony as a planet was consumed. He was hurled through an endless void, adrift in a vast sea of endless, infinite psychic screaming. On and on it went, never ending. The final moments of countless human beings, brought about by the hand of the Sixteenth in her wars in the Emperor’s name. Augor died. Over and over again he died. His body was torn to shreds by bolter fire. His very soul lashed at by the golden light of the Spear of Ultima. An endless, piercing, soul chilling wail pervaded it all. The world exploded into ten trillion fractal particles of endless death and destruction, hammering into the Twelfth Primarch without end, without relent. As if his own flesh and blood, consumed by the ravages of war, he felt the full, mind numbing cacophony of the Sixteenth’s mind unload itself into him. Every iota of pain, sorrow, grief, despair, fury, rage, and agony she had born upon her shoulders from the lost voices of ten trillion souls for centuries unleashed in a blinding supernova that blotted out all else.

But as she had delivered her memories through her split thread of mental contact with his mind, she too saw his own thoughts and memories in turn, as though peering down upon his memories.

She was struck by the parallels and repulsed by fresh depravities even she had never experienced. Not only the similar immensity of the horrors he had witnessed and performed, but also by the grief, the rage, the utter despair that had accompanied him. Eiosha stood and saw herself partially reflected for a single solitary instant in her brother - and then she also saw his madness.

She saw planets full of Humans, enslaved by mind-devouring parasitic xenos. Saved by Augor Astren and the Stargazers and their technology - only for the Mechanicum to declare the entire population tainted. Only to witness the entire population forcibly lobotomized and converted into servitors. Only for the planet to be deemed ‘irrevocably’ unclean, and subjected to Exterminatus. A thousand campaigns fought, trillions of souls saved through stalwart effort and might, only to then be cast away like dice due to an errant word later. To suffer horrors at his own hands, or those of his own Imperium, far worse than what their fates would have been had he left them well enough alone in the clutches of ravenous xenos. She saw shapeless, writhing titans of tumorous flesh that eclipsed warships surging across plains, the sky embroiled with turbulent warp engines that seemed like they would unravel the skein of the cosmos. She saw technology, wonderous in its applications, either smashed or dismantled on the spot in spite of the good it might have done, the lives that might have been saved. She saw Augor Astren maim, mutilate, and murder tens of thousands of ordinary Adepts with his own hands for no crime greater than rank suspicion. Crowning the back of the recesses of his mind loomed some unseen, glorious, radiant idol with indiscernible features she could not make out - and at its feet was heaped a bloodied galaxy of torment. An offering borne before it both in adulation and appalled, bottomless guilt, as though begging for absolution.

Any normal man would have shattered under her attack. Augor Astren, with the mind of a Primarch, the experiences to match her own, and with the aid of the curious defensive mechanism he had clearly just employed, managed to bear the burden and recover after visibly recoiling.

’I admit, I am impressed.’ She heard his voice vox-casting to her on an open channel. ’In all my campaigns, I think I have only ever killed a single Psyker who was more powerful than you, witch.’

Despite his words, clearly meant to intimidate her, his actual distress could not be hidden from her senses. The attack had clearly injured him and spoiled his focus, somehow. Perhaps he was hemorrhaging internally, from the almost imperceptible, buzzing slur that accompanied his words. But all the same, the mechanism intended to deter psychic attack on his mind had channeled that warp energy through his electoos and cybernetics, directly through his hands, feet, and his power axe, to ground into the earth as raw power - which, in this case, had nearly caused him to be consumed in the previously small and unassuming pool of magma he had created when the duel had first begun. The device was not perfect - but she could now sense his psychic attacks fading away as he diverted his mental abilities fully to defending himself, and her auspexes registered several new power signatures coming online within his armor - cogitators that would help filter out and handle the strain from her attack even further.

’Yes...impressive indeed. More formidable than I estimated, an error on my part. I underestimated your capabilities and overestimated my artifice. This is an error that shall never be repeated.’ She felt the last connections between their minds slip away as his full psychic power became a bastion standing between them, and the golden light that encased the Twelfth Primarch’s neutron laser faded away.

Eiosha then noticed that her brother’s energy stores had drastically increased abruptly. The wind whistling through the crater had intensified, and the sky seemed to have darkened. Crackling static energy seemed to crawl across the ground and every exposed surface of her armor, all of it radiating and flowing to the Twelfth Primarch. The stench of ozone would have been overwhelming outside her helmet.

’...But I was also expecting you to have done this sooner.’

Realization dawned on her. The magma pool. He had generated it right at the start of the duel and dropped an entire mechadendrite hive down into it - and having just dumped the brunt of her psychic attack as raw power into the earth, it had just grown substantially. It had to be tied to his steadily climbing reserves of power.

Not intending to give her a free moment to contemplate the implications, Augor reoriented his neutron laser at Eiosha and fired. A beam of ghostly blue brilliance erupted into being.

The supercharged energy beam tore through the air, a bright lance of energy that impacted its target. The deadly beam sundered all in its path. Atoms were shredded to nothing in a blinding flash of light, the sound of flesh flash-boiling and of armor being torn asunder filled the air where the Sixteenth Primarch had been. The torn, mangled shreds of what remained fell to the ground with a heavy impact and slowly began to dissipate as the illusion wore off. Augor Astren whirled as his screaming sensors alerted him to the approach he had been ignoring - so addled had he been by the duplicity of the Sixteenth Primarch, the illusion had made him ignore his own armor’s readings in a single-minded moment of tunnel vision.

Before the remnants of the illusion impacted the ground, a blur of motion surrounded in a crackling golden aura slammed into the voltagheist field of the Twelfth Primarch. The shielding of her armor’s protective fields, and the corona of golden energy that surrounded her, sparked and fizzled in a brilliant display. Though her features were obscured by a helmet, all could hear the scream of primal fury that erupted from the radiant figure as she ploughed through the defenses of the Twelfth, driving the masterwork spear Atonement straight for the heart of her quarry.

Having penetrated through his voltagheist field and knowing that neither the refractor field nor the Iron Halo’s field could deter her physical presence, Eiosha had been certain there could be no further barriers to her attack - but Augor, though deceived, had not been caught entirely flat footed. The hair across her body bristled as the Twelfth Primarch’s voltagheist field pulsed, snapping off and then erupting back to functionality as a shockwave of arcing energies that surged outwards from Augor’s armor. She could sense Augor dumping a substantial chunk of his energy reserves into the pulse as well, enough to give it physical heft that forced her back, even as the Twelfth Primarch raised his Omnissian Axe in a double-handed grip to block while also backstepping. His servo arms all realigned, and once more separated from him, Eiosha could tell she had only an instant before they unleashed their fury on her.

And then, the magma pool exploded.

The head of the mechadendrite hive burst from the surface of the pool and fired a long stream of pressurized, cutting magma at her with enough force to power through tank armor - and it also carried in its currents the writhing form of several individual autonomous, worm-like constructs, each of them incandescent with molten heat.

Within that lava she heard armageddon. A million souls trapped within howled for her blood. Phantasmal, skeletal hands grasped for her, glowing with the malevolent red aura of war. They were coming for her. They were coming for her. They were coming for her. They were coming for her. They were coming to drag her into the earth, to drown amidst the blood of all who had died by her hand.

Eiohsa reacted on instinct. A golden, incandescent wall erupted between herself and her foe, slamming into each combatant with immense, unstoppable force. She, and Augor, were hurled apart from each other and away from the erupting pool of magma. Turning, she saw the mechadendrite hive sinking back into the molten depths even as the long line of lava it had spit out pooled in a stream across the ground. Perhaps a dozen writhing mechadendrites, each one radiant and glowing with white-hot intensity, coiled where they were on the ground and began to burrow and return below.

They were laughing at her now. The skulls within the ground that stared up at her with empty eye sockets that wept endless rivers of blood. They laughed at her. Helpless. Pathetic. Those twisting warped assemblages of the enemy writhed before her eyes, they would come for her again, she was sure of it. She would not go! She would not!

She reached out, seizing the twisted mass of glowing hot mechadendrites and every other as it tried to submerge once more beneath them. Her eyes glowed as she heaved at it with all her might, wrenching it and its spawn free and hurling them into the distance. Her eyes widened as she saw the glowing light of one of her opponent’s weapons.

Then, the entire world about her was bathed yellow as scintillating, dire yellow energy poured across her frame as the Twelfth Primarch’s eradication beamer emitted a cone of deadly energies at her. The ground and air around her shivered and then dissolved, atomized and rubbed from existence by that merciless presence.

Dozens of warnings flashed within her mind as parts of her armor were destroyed outright. Her conversion field - powerful enough to weather the full might of an enemy artillery battery - offered no aid against the ray of the eradication beamer. Eiohsa hurled herself into the air once more. Not directly up, but toward her opponent, through the narrower part of the deadly cone. She hurtled towards her foe once more, spear in hand as she plotted an irregular, errant path. The Twelfth Primarch’s eradication beamer could not steadily track her movement as it fired - but his other weapons could. Even as Eiosha spied the neutron laser’s capsule closing back up and another servo arm maneuvering into firing position in its place, the sonic weapon pulsed and bombarded her with a shock of resonant force - and now, her armor, heavily damaged and missing pieces all over, could no longer be adequately shapechanged on the fly to protect everything at once.

There was more laughter. Around the rim of the canyon stood the eighteen other Primarchs, the Emperor, her dear Ayushmatki. They stood. Silent. Judging. She screamed at them to say something, to intervene, to bring this madness to an end and to end her suffering. The voiceless throng of a million souls cackling in effervescent madness reached up around her, engulfing her.

Data still streamed into her mind through the augmetic cables in her spine even as she felt skeletal hands tearing at them within, and it became immediately obvious that she would be unable to protect all of her armor from this point on. Her arms, and her body, were the most vital points - and so the decision was reached almost immediately to sacrifice the protection of her legs. Eiohsa reached out once more, tearing free from the glowing red tendrils that lept from the ground to envelop her arms, her eyes, now partially exposed by the impact of her brother’s weapons, blazing with a golden light that blotted out all else. Tears streamed from them, as she focused her psychic might around the servo-weapons of her brother. With all of the force she could muster, she strained against the connections that held his weapons in place. A daunting prospect when she felt at those connections and realized that though the enemy doubtlessly had a procedure to remove the harness itself, while connected it and the servo arms were directly secured to his spine. Telekinetic force that could sunder the earth beneath them, rend apart the armor and chassis of the heaviest of tanks, and breach the mightiest of walls seized upon those connections, and pulled. It was harder than she could have ever imagined - but she felt cables beginning to give way under the strain. Metal shrieked in protest as it was torn from bone and flesh alike, just as the armor on her legs slowly began to disintegrate from the focused attention of the sonic lance - but she roared in triumph as three servo-arms were torn from him. Held aloft in the golden aura were the transonic lance, the torsion cannon, and the neutron cannon. She extended her arm, and clenched her fist. The weapons were crushed to scrap in her grip and flung to the horizons as she hovered above her foe.

As she turned, she saw the capsule mounted on the servo arm that had been repositioning had peeled back to reveal Augor Astren’s famed conversion beamer.

From her perspective, it seemed like the entire world suddenly exploded. Having used conversion beamers herself, she recognized peripherally that the Twelfth Primarch had missed her, likely due to her wrenching off three of the other arms and damaging the back-mounted harness itself. The stream of antimatter that he had fired had likely shot right by her by a meter or so and she was caught in the explosive annihilatory blastwave that blossomed into existence where it had passed, merely engulfing her in a tremendous blast from seemingly every direction at once.

The world began to fall to pieces around her. The continents shifted and buckled beneath her feet as the cataclysm engulfed her. She was carried aloft in the irresistible flow of destruction that encompassed her reality. The hands of bone seized her again, pulling her towards a white yawning maw as the earth itself split apart beneath her to reveal a catacomb of nothing but bone, jutting out at her, clawing for her, ready to seize her and to tear her apart. Perhaps, she prayed, it would free her.

Conversion beamers, she realized, some singular strain of logic piercing through her madness. One of her own favored tools of destruction. Against the motive elemental skills of her brother, however, it would be naught but a boon for him. The deadly beamers mounted in the arms of her armor were utterly useless in this battle, and the thought of using them had not even crossed her mind. Perhaps if Augor used his own conversion weapon against her again she could attempt to block the shot with her own antimatter streams, though that was but a single forlorn thought jumbling about in her mind as she fell from the sky and into the awaiting fields of bone below.

The ground warred with her. Trapping her. At the bidding of her foe, it clawed and bit at her, great gaping maws wrenching themselves from the ground to assail her. The world opened up beneath her as hard, white protrusions burst forth from it. The earth turned to a field of bone beneath her feet, and she began to sink into it. Again those skeletal hands burst forth, wrapping themselves around her body. Red iridescent digits groped and grabbed at her, seizing hold of her arms and legs. She warred against the reverberating screams that echoed in her mind, the eerie howling of a wind that blue from the cosmos down onto her.

Eiohsa was buried in the pulverized bones of all who had died by her hand, and the world swam around her. Damage reports flickered to life before her eyes - and she realized that the weakened armor upon one of her legs had been completely destroyed in the blast. She enveloped herself in the same golden light once more, bursting forth from where she had been buried and into the sky once more. She surveyed the land, weeping golden tears as she beheld the endless fields of bone, rivers of blood pouring through them towards her foe. The enemy may have nullified some of her greatest weapons - but she held one indisputable advantage over him - and, deprived of his full control of the grasping hands that plunged into the earth to assail and destroy her, that drained the earth of its essence to feed his infernal energies, she could now use that advantage to its full effect. Warp lightning crackled around one hand, and a vast ball of warp flame gathered in the other, ethereal winds of the Immaterium howling around her as she cast the deadly spells that filled her with the force to annihilate near anything that was caught in its path. The wispy remnants of a million revenants that encircled her evaporated instantaneously in the all-encompassing blast.

Augor Astren, whose own psychic attacks have been conspicuously absent since he had switched fully to a defensive posture with them, simply held a hand aloft and retaliated with his own stream of hellish warp-lightning whilst turning his psychic bulwark to deny and diminish as much of Eiosha’s power as he could, given the gap in power between the two - but he clearly did not intend to give her the moments she needed to overwhelm him. Still unable to accurately aim his servo-mounted weapons due to the damage she had inflicted, he hunched over to draw a correct angle of fire on the Sixteenth Primarch and fired his still-functional eradication beamer. Now further out than before the ray of power was more diffuse, the constituent atoms in the affected air destabilizing and growing volatile rather than atomizing on the spot - but now, the cone was so wide that Eiosha could no longer readily evade it simply by flying out of it.

The burning light of the Emperor enveloped her, and she knew she would be washed away, burned to a cinder to drift endlessly through the universe as naught but the constituent atoms of cosmic dust. She screamed aloud, in defiance, as her body burned in the golden light that consumed her. She burned in the heat of supernova as she was enveloped fully in her foe’s light. But like so many times before she fought through the pain, setting her course on her enemy, illuminated in the horrific red glow as he called forth the forces that assailed her. He bent the light of the Emperor himself against her, burning away everything in its path.

Eiohsa responded not trying to fly away from it - but once more she hurtled forwards and upwards, towards her foe, like a comet wreathed in golden flame. Spear at the ready, she channeled her strength into reinforcing herself, her armor, and her weapons. The atomizing beam of the eradication beamer struggled against golden bonds that cinched tight the make and purpose of her armor. The exposed flesh of her leg sizzled and burned - but she did not pay heed to the pain, for she was reinforced in her purpose. The gleaming tip of Atonement crackled with an aura of golden energy as she slammed into Augor’s Voltagheist field once more, its tip hardened with its purpose - to strike home and true. As she pushed to penetrate through it, the Twelfth Primarch raised two mechadendrites from his sides, both clutching primed mindscrambler grenades that he clearly intended to detonate on the spot, and his final servo-arm’s capsule peeled back to reveal his final mounted weapon - a graviton cannon. Eiosha instantly realized that the bonds she had conjured would act only to her detriment if the power from the weapon connected with her. Atonement pierced through the voltagheist field, and predictably, Augor immediately pulsed it as he did before to bludgeon her with the raw force of its resurgence as he took a practiced backstep while moving to block. But with their purpose reinforced by the blazing corona of energy that surrounded it, spear and bearer pushed through the Voltagheist field a second time, flying with unbelievable speed towards her foe, and thrusting forward to drive the tip home in its target.

Several things then happened at once.

Augor Astren’s twin mindscrambler grenades detonated as he managed to partially deflect Eiosha’s spearblow to penetrate the side of his armor rather than his heart with his axe. The reactive armored surface detonated then, jamming the spear in place, having impaled the Twelfth Primarch and causing ruinous heat to lash across the Sixteenth Primarch’s hand. Then, Twelfth Primarch reached out and grabbed Eiosha as she stabbed at him by the dangling remnants of her now unarmored leg. Every vestige of psychic power Augor had then, he diverted away from maintaining his mental bulwark and diverted into directing his powers into the Sixteenth primarch whilst her own focus and concentration was bent on pouring her psychic might into her force spear, as well as dealing with the impairing effects of the mindscrambler grenades which had seemingly left the Twelfth Primarch unaffected.

Every power that Augor Astren had intended to use had his prior psychic attacks ever touched upon her mind now came to fruition. In that instant, Eiosha’s entire body was set ablaze, flames leaping into being across her flesh and the surface of her armor. Her blood began to boil in her veins, vital force began to pour from the point of contact like a burst dam, and immense throes of warp lightning coursed through every fiber of her being.

Eiohsa screamed in agony. Her world exploded before her as the stars bore fruit to a billion fractal universes that descended upon her in an unstoppable, infinite wave. The stars screamed at her, and she screamed back, the mocking laughter and jeers of all those who had come before returning now as gaunt, emaciated corpses danced around her in perfect synchronicity. The hands of bone and iron reached once more for her, grabbing hold of her flesh and beginning to tear her asunder. She screamed. And screamed. And the air was filled with the awful sound of one of the Emperor’s scions fighting for every breath she took.

But she took those breaths. Forcing her way through the pain, she drove an armored fist into the face of her brother, clutching his forehead in hand as she channeled every single shred of power she had into his mind - and into her spear, lodged in his side. His helmet’s external layer detonated, enveloping her hand, and once more the cranial mechanism that had defended her opponent from the previous mental attack launched at him roared to life. Power surged between the two Primarchs then, almost like a connected circuit, both of them pouring raw, hateful psychic energies into each other, which then seethed through the Twelfth Primarch’s body, through his axe and legs, and grounded itself beneath them - and as before, the Sixteenth Primarch’s immense psychic might proved so potent that the earth itself could not withstand the redirected power. Still close enough in proximity to the original magma pool that the terrain around them was already steaming-hot, it gave way readily beneath them with a fiery eruption, causing both Primarchs to sink into a rapidly-growing chasm of superheated rock and metal. The field of bones upon which she stood opened up beneath her in a vast, infinite maw that swallowed her and her opponent whole. The world ceased to exist as its burning tongue of blood and fire flooded into Eiosha’s exposed, unarmored eyes - save through her vision of her foe’s twisted and immense soul before her, writhing and battering at her as they both sank into oblivion. Her final mental assault had evidently finally deprived him of his fearsome cunning, having reduced his stratagem down to clawing at her with his bionic talons while the red hot hands of iron probed and pierced into every gap in her armor. She did not relent, and after a failed effort to pull the force spear out from the armor that trapped it, instead ripped it to the side, completely tearing away that piece of her foe’s abdomen. Another series of detonations filtered through the magma like distant, rumbling thunder, the sudden change in pressure causing her head to reel. He then savaged her arm with his talons, causing her already heavily abused fingers to slip.

The hands gripped her once again. They clawed at her in tandem with her opponent. White hot, full of hatred, they pried away at her being with relentless force. They seized around her armor, peeling away years of work in moments, and they fell upon her skin with ravenous hunger, tearing off her flesh with their burning claws and feasting upon her soul. They seized around the shaft of her spear, and pulled.

Atonement fell away from her grasp to plunge further, deeper down into the growing pool of superheated rock. A hollow pit filled Eiosha’s gut as its presence faded into the distance beneath them - a void that was then shortly replaced with rage.

They were coming for her.
They were coming for her.
They were coming for her.
They were coming for her.
They were coming for her.
They were coming to take her.
They had taken everything already. Her spear. Her world. Her mind. Her love. Her future. They tore at her soul and her flesh, and she fought against them just as she fought against the demon before her. There would be nothing left of her if she surrendered now, surrendered to the nameless, faceless abomination that fought her.

Fully submerged in the now extended magma pool, the two Primarchs tore at each other like primates. There was no elegance or technique to their blows, the thick, dense magma impeding even their enhanced strength as they struggled against each other, their armor falling away and off them, burning in pieces.

Eiohsa felt a strange clarity descend upon her as she fought in what she was sure would be her final moments. She looked before her and saw not the faceless demon enshrouded in a red cloak of war, but Augor Austren - her brother, the Twelfth Primarch. Why were they fighting? Where had gone the demon against which she had struggled? She fought against the phantasms of her mind in a final, desperate bid to save not only her own life - but that of her enemy. The golden wings sprung once more from her body and propelled her upward. Even as she ceased her attempts to destroy him, she wrapped the one arm she had remaining around him, pulling her foe from the lava that surrounded them. She burst forth from the glowing, molten rock in a radiant golden beacon of light that shot into the sky, golden wings shining brightly against the gathering clouds above. The hands reached out to seize her, to drag her down into the depths below once more. They would drown her. They would destroy her. But she soared above them, and they recoiled, evaporating in the intense golden light that radiated from her. Like a miniature sun she hovered there, half conscious, knowing that the battle was over. None of her armor remained, and she hung silhouetted in the sky.

She saw the Emperor and his sons and daughters, arrayed before her. She bowed low to Him. The Primarchs - her brothers and sisters - remained immobile, impassive. Kaldun held no love, only contempt. Wolfram stared at her, weighing her in his imperial apparatus and finding her wanting. Daena watched her with those empty eyes, judging her, condemning her. She called out to her - to any of them - in despair to save her, to show mercy. But there was none. She had deserved this. They would not spare her. They would not save her. She would burn before them now. Weak. Pathetic. Superstitious fool. Abomination. Witch. Failure..

The Emperor looked upon her, his gaze serene as she stared at him with hope and begged his forgiveness, his mercy. His eyes burned into her now, as he lifted his hand to point his thumb down. All light vanished from the world, save that of the Emperor’s iridescent glow and her own golden aura. She was alone within the void, accompanied only by the judge - and the executioner. Emaciated, skeletal arms wrapped around her once more. She struggled and fought as she was pulled, screaming, to her Foe who would be her doom. Held immobile, by countless emaciated claws and hands she stared into oblivion, and wept as the axe fell upon her.

She scarcely noticed anything about the world, transfixed as she. Noticed nothing as the battered, barely alive Twelfth Primarch directed his last remaining reserves of strength left upon her. The now forge-hot graviton cannon, glowing with a molten light raised to the ready position, taking aim. Eiohsa scarcely heard the weapon as it fired, pieces of her body being torn to shreds in its vortex. She was barely conscious and felt nothing as it ripped her body to pieces. The weapon hurled the battered, mutilated Primarchs away from each other, dozens of meters apart. They landed upon the hard ground unceremoniously more than thirty meters down, lying in crippled, helpless heaps splattered over with oozing rivulets of still-molten-hot lava, the air shimmering around both of them. Augor lay surrounded in the red glow of the forge, the mechadendrites Eiosha had thrown away finally sidewinding their way back to his motionless form, surrounding him like a wreath of fire serpents. Eiohsa lay ensconced in the dim, golden light of psychic wings and golden tears illuminating her battered, mutilated form.

Angels of gleaming silver daubed with streaks of black descended from upon high as the divine forms crashed to the earth, the Apothecaries of the Doomsayers reversing the color scheme of their Legion. Eiosha and Augor both were examined and stabilized by the heavenly host, Astartes granted narthecium and jetpacks rapidly seeing to the Emperor’s children. The ruined arena was filled with the roars and whines of engines arcing powered armored forms into the air and then slowing them upon their descents, the expected black and silver garbed women filling the battlespace.

Some reverently recovered what could be salvaged of the wrecked wargear and tattered flesh left in the wake of the encounter, the Doomsayers showing equal favor in the operation. The same egalitarian treatment was at play for the majority of the host, the Astartes forming perimeters around both demigods to separate one from the other. At last, she came, Daena descending upon true wings formed from neither artifice nor psychic might, gazing dispassionately at the destruction wrought. Augor had conspired against her and the fairness of the trial, that much had become obvious, but she could not bring herself to care. His perfidy would simply be taken from his sum of the verdict. Her doom had not yet been pronounced.

When the Warmaster spoke, her voice reverberated across the shattered crater and beyond, the words filled with a strength beyond what mere lungs could provide. To those who had arrived to watch the conflict in person, she sounded as if she were standing before them, the recordings carrying her will with a perfection beyond petty technical specifications. “Augor Astren. With the Emperor as your witness, you swore that Eiohsa izva Bronakavh and her daughters would suffer for their offense. That they would be made to know the consequence of your contempt, and bear your wrath, raw and unfettered. You would do all of this, and more, you promised, without violating the oaths you have sworn to our Father. Her very world shall come unraveled about her, and the cosmos shall behold it, and know that her upbraiding was preordained,” she repeated, announcing to one and all the terrible vow that had been made.

“So solemn a vow may not be abrogated by any power, save perhaps death, and I again hold it kinder than deserved. I deem it fulfilled in part, but not in full. Has your wrath abided such that you will now hear my will?” If she cared for the ruin her siblings had brought each other to, Daena’s face did not show it; the Angel may as well have been made of stone for all she revealed. Of Eiosha, even less concern was shown. Her sister would need to be tended to for wounds far worse than her body had suffered, but not now.

When Augor opened his mouth to speak, no words came out - molten iron had set inside and sealed his throat. Frowning, the Twelfth Primarch instead raised a bionic talon to the side of his head. His movements were slow, stiff, and halting. After several moments, a servo-skull whirred down by his side and began to speak in a heavily distorted, voxcoded voice.

’My wrath-click-has not govern-chck-ed my design-click-s here. I shall hear your will.’

“Be that as it may, you have shown a greater fury this day fit for our father’s greatest foes. You know well that were she crafted by any other than our Father’s mind she would have perished to a fraction of your furor. It is by his will and his design that she still lives despite the powers of primordial destruction you have unleashed. I hold your oath of wrath fulfilled, and shall hear no more of it,” Daena decreed, before her gaze turned pitilessly upon Eiosha.

“Let us speak now of contempt. Our sister rules seven hundred and seventy seven worlds, an empire in its own right, the pride of her works. There is nothing she takes more joy out of than the peace and prosperity of its citizens, for though she loves all mankind, she feels the most responsibility for those under her direct rule. Seven hundred and seventy seven worlds.”

”From these our sister shall levy seven hundred and seventy seven souls, one from each, to join your service. Their lives shall be yours to use as you see fit, save that you may not punish them for the crimes of their former masters. You shall treat them as you would any with similar skills and experiences who entered your service from Last Light. But even this price is too low. I am vexed that such discord was sewn between the two siblings who were most in agreement on the argument at hand, but I take some relief in knowing that the transition our Father decreed shall be brief. As such, your Techmarines need not spend their valuable time teaching Eiosha’s how to perform the proper procedures. Instead, they will spend their one year impressing upon the Daughters of Iron the proper contempt to be shown towards Abominable Intelligence, and correcting any errors that may have led to this unfortunate state of affairs.”

“Do you both accept this doom?”

Augor appeared to hesitate for a moment, as if uncertain - but his keen mind had evidently started working properly again and so rather than begin to formulate a protest or argument, he simply turned his blind gaze to Eiosha. His previously hollow eyes, now filled with cooling spheres of molten iron, gave him a dark and leaden stare as he gauged her own reaction.

There came no audible reply from the battered, maimed figure lying insensate upon the crater floor. Eiohsa stared into oblivion, into nothingness, into the void of space before which she lay atop a field of blood and bone. Over her stood the Angel, her sister, her spear poised at her throat, irisless eyes staring down at her without emotion or care. She was to be her doom after all, Eiohsa realized. The Emperor had ordered her removal, and he watched the proceedings from above, radiant golden light burning away whatever meager defenses she could have mustered against her sister. A part of her, however small, was grateful. If she were to die, it would be by the hand of one of the few who had seen her for more than a living weapon, piteous fool, treasonous heretic, abominable witch, loathsome aberration.

The words she spoke were heard only in the mind of her target, hovering in the air above those she had judged. She spoke to the phantasm before her and thus to Daena herself above her. She felt the tip of her spear against her bare flesh and smiled. “Am I to join the Lost, then?” She asked, her smile wavering. “I am glad it was you. It was only a matter of time. Father would never permit otherwise, not when I have failed his design. It was foolish of me to hope otherwise. But I am glad the last sight I see will be the sister I loved.” A single golden tear trailed down her cheek as she stared up at what was to be her end. “Please.” She said, her breath catching in her throat as she felt herself begin to sink into the rivers of bone and blood below. “Was I only to live, as a weapon, until our goal was within reach? Was it worth it? Will it be worth it? Everything we have done?” The spear began to sink into her, as the grasping, skeletal hands reached out for her once more, pulling her into the morass below. She reached out, her hands stained in the blood of trillions.

Brief flashes of the phantasmal, nightmare scene flashed briefly within the Angel’s mind as the Sixteenth spoke. An apocalyptic expanse of bone and blood reached unto the horizon, where burned the spires of the world of Arretius in the searing light of orbital bombardment. It pulsed, it breathed with an eerie malevolence that defied all rationale - and it hated. It pulled with hungry fangs and the skeletal hands of the dead at the Sixteenth, intent on swallowing her up, bent on destroying its creator. Above it all was the Emperor who watched in silent judgement, beside his Primarchs who would mold the Imperium in their shape.

“May all your sins be forgiven, O murderer mine.”

The world exploded.

Eiohsa lay upon the soil of an impact crater, staring into the sky. She was alive. Frantically, she felt for the prying hands - and found none. The world of Nikea greeted her not with silence, but a deluge of sound. Around her were Astartes - not of her own blood, but those of her sister, Daena. She forced herself upright, eyes wide as she stared, transfixed, at the form of the Fourteenth in the sky. Her eyes glowed with a golden light, empty sockets burned in her struggle filled with those born of her mind. Those of the Doomsayers around her who tried to tend to her were pushed aside without heed. Her words rang in her mind now, her true words.

Seven hundred and seventy seven souls.

She wanted to cry out in denial, to refuse this transgression upon herself and her people, but she could not. She could not bring herself to look upon her opponent who had driven her to this. She could not even bring herself to look upon her own Daughters who looked upon the scene in dismay from afar. It was her charge to defend humanity - and moreso, to defend her own people. To acquiesce to this decree was anathema, the very thought boiled within her with a toxic malevolence. Against near any other she would have resisted. And yet, as she emerged from the depths of madness, it became more and more evident that to comply was the only way.

“Yes.” She said, the word a bitter acid upon her tongue as it forced its way from her. “I accept.”

Eiohsa collapsed onto the surface once more, her strength extinguished by her true defeat. A thought drifted to the forefront amidst a churning maelstrom. “My spear.” She murmured, only half conscious, to those who attended to her. “Bring it up, I beg of you.”

“I also click must accept, chck then.’ Augor stated via the servo-skull after several severe moments of thought. ’If my oath chck has not yet been ful-click-filled in its entire-chck-ty, I shall have to en-click-sure it is through this click Doom I am offer-click-ed whilst adhering to chck your terms...warmaster.’

“Are you yet discontent, brother? Speak now, or be at peace,” Daena said flatly.

Augor turned his head faintly to leer at Daena with his new uneven, leaden eyes. ’It is as click you yourself said, click Warmaster. My curse can-chck-not be abrogat-click-ed by any power click save death - and in your next chck breath you deemed my click vow in-click-complete.’ Augor conveyed, his face finally starting to crawl over with visible irritation - though whether with Daena or the limited faculties of his mouthpiece was uncertain. ’Then you offer me chck a pittance of chck scraps by which to ful-click-fill the remain-chck-der of my word. chckI am dis-click-content beyond measure, chck yet I shall click accede to your will click to the extent my click oath of vengeance chck permits me to. click Great-chck-er work has been wrought click with less. If my chck oath can be ful-chck-filled with-click-in the bounds of your click pronouncement, it shall be.’

A voice rose from the Sixteenth as she looked across to the Twelfth, her eyes narrowed. The medicae of the Doomsayers busied around her, but she ignored their requests, pushing herself into a sitting position once more. "Would you then have her end me, 'brother', to slake your bloodthirst?"

’That would be chck in defiance of the click spirit of my oath.’ Augor stated flatly without averting his molten gaze from Daena.

Daena’s furor was a rare thing, and when it did show itself she kept it under her iron will. The implications of Augor’s statements were clear enough to rile it from the depths of her enchained heart, but predictable to the point that she did not risk losing control. She did, however, let it fuel her response.

Do you wish, then, for a day in which our Father pronounces Eiosha’s death? And for you to wield the spear which lances her heart? she thought, the words hammering into Augor’s mind as she returned his stare. Such is the only way your oath may be fulfilled without violating Father’s will. You know this, Augor Astren. You knew this when you made your vow.

Augor’s steaming-hot, bionic talons curled into fists where he sat as the servo-skull slowly ground out his response. ‘I swore that she click and her daughters would chck suffer, that they would chck bear my wrath, that chck their world would come undone clickand that all would behold this chck and know it was preordained. I did click not speak to chck nor demand death, for I knew even click then that such would contravene the will of the click Omnissiah, Warmaster. That is the difference click between reckless aspersion and chck calculated avowal. Even in the throes of rage unlike click what I have known before, I remained click cognizant of my loyalty to our father. Even in chck pronouncing my curse, I held him and his click wishes to be paramount and pre-chck-dominant. It is true - to execute the Sixteenth at the click Omnissiah’s order would fulfill the chck curse, but it was not the end I fore-chck-saw to my vow. I promised to break chck Eiohsha izva Bronakavh and her daughters click and that the galaxy would know of their click castigation at my hands. You recited my curse in full, chck Warmaster, you should know its implications full chck and well.’

Then, Augor Astren reached out across the air and grasped the servo-skull in one bionic hand, crushing it into pieces. Hunching over with the visceral sound of tearing flesh, the Primarch gagged, and then his whole body coursed over with streams of red and golden warp-lightning. With a mute cry of anguish, one of the Twelfth Primarch’s mechadendrites darted into his mouth and pulled, and after several moments the freshly remolten metal that had been filling his esophagus was pulled free and ejected from his body, scattering across the ground before Daena as though it were brilliant ichor. The hunched-over Primarch then turned his now-leaden gaze back to the Warmaster, his molten eyes now visibly crackling and aglow with the brilliant empyreal energies he had summoned. He spoke then, blood trickling from his lips as he did.

“How dare you think so lightly of me. How dare you even suspect my word is any less than I have claimed. Mark it well, Warmaster, I have said it before and I say it again: My sons and I are the truest servants of the Omnissiah in existence. You dishonor me with your tremulous doubt.”

Daena fluttered down to earth, her face placid at Augor’s reproach. “You are correct, of course. You are the most loyal to our Father’s will. Never shall you disobey any oath made to him. Do as thou will then, with but one request. I have given you scraps in exchange for the full measure of your oath, compensation woeful in comparison. Let it now be a gift for your restraint. I will bind you to no Doom, for I know you shall do nothing to jeopardize our Father’s work. That is all that matters.”

And should such a day come where that terrible order is given, Daena thought to her brother and he alone, I shall ensure yours is the honor of swinging the blade.

Augor bowed his head to her, and raised his bionic hands in a pose of veneration, palms upright and fingers splayed.

“Warmaster…” He whispered.

Delirious, scarcely comprehending the words that were being spoken, Eiohsa said nothing.

A roar filled the air as the Doomsayers left the field, the Angel and her daughters departing the carnage with judgement proclaimed and accepted. The needs of the Crusade weighed heavily upon the Warmaster’s heart, and as her wings sped her away from the field her mind already shifted to the more comfortable contemplation of conquest. It served better, at least, than the worry that though a verdict had been rendered, justice was far from done.

Augor rose and walked away without another word, raising one bionic talon to the side of his head. Minutes later, he and his retinue vanished, their forms seeming to unravel in lines of scintillating blue light.



The vox and holofeeds that wound up being disseminated afterwards proved to be heavily edited and touched-up by the Twelfth Legion and its sympathizers. Augor had evidently not been bluffing aboard the Redemption - even surveillance equipment aboard the Warmaster’s ship had abruptly seemed to malfunction as they were bombarded by neurostatic signals the moment anybody said anything that had not comported with the Twelfth Primarch’s preferred narrative.

Although several different versions of the holovid were ultimately released, the one which passed through the greatest number of hands wound up being the one with the least amount of editing. It was a straightforward (if misleading) record of the council session and of the Sixteenth Primarch directing her insult to the Twelfth Primarch and his retinue of Stargazers and Tech-Priests, followed by Augor Astren’s invocation of his curse. The initial meeting between the Twelfth, Fourteenth, and Sixteenth Primarchs was then shown - Augor’s greeting of the Warmaster, Daena’s deliberately practiced rise and sweep of her wings, and the Twelfth Primarch’s condemnation of Eiosha. The scene then cut dramatically to a slowly rotating overhead view of the crater where the two had dueled, both Primarchs slowly approaching the other before they had begun to unleash their weapons.

The fight was inevitably interrupted the final time Eiosha rushed in to clash with Augor - when his mindscrambler grenades both detonated, the holofeed went stark white, and moments later cut to the two Primarchs, both now heavily damaged, suspended in the air right before Augor Astren blasted Eiosha to pieces with his Graviton Cannon. The last shot depicted was of Augor Astren walking away from the scene, leaving Eiosha and her ragged body behind while the Warmaster’s final proclamation was played as a voice-over.

Rampant speculation and theories over the various different versions and releases of the holovid bloomed overnight, compared with the different commentaries of the Remembrancers that Augor had brought with him alongside the remarks of ‘weapons specialists’ and ‘tacticians’ of the High Lords’ staffs who deigned to add commentary to certain aspects of the videos, all naturally invited to do so by the Twelfth Primarch. From the moment the Twelfth Primarch had left the council building he had intended to control and manipulate the narrative of the incident to his benefit - which he had.

The general consensus that thus emerged, though it had its detractors, was that Augor Astren had ‘won’ the duel, and that the Sixteenth Legion was now cursed, and that the Warmaster had blessed the Twelfth Primarch’s goal and acknowledged his status as the most loyal Primarch to the Emperor’s will.

Amongst the Legions themselves, most saw through the surface-layer of duplicity - many of them had been at the council and the ensuing fight who knew better what had truly transpired, although they retained their own diversity of opinions regardless. Amongst the Imperial Army and amongst the High Lords and much of the Administratum, it entered their subconscious as fact, and from them down into the general malaise of the public’s collective unconscious. The greater Mechanicum, almost paradoxically, remained the most skeptical of the holovids and their presented outcome - not only due to their recognition of the altered nature of the documents, but due to the unseen and nebulous affinities of their doctrinal allegiances. Nonetheless, even amongst them, the Warmaster’s final proclamation still left a mark, and it became known amongst the Mechanicum that Augor Astren of the Ordo Astranoma had been acknowledged as the Omnissiah’s most loyal servant.

The ensuing sentimentality, perceptions, and rumors that developed would later serve as tinder for the flame that would engulf the entire Imperium.

---

[...End Log.]
[...Terminating.]
[Imperial Thought for the Day: And weep, ye children, and reap the fruits of blind wrath.]

Year 001.M31
Onboard the Astra Urbe, Flagship of the Imperial Star League
In orbit above Terra

The last of the reports had arrived. The Council of Nikea was officially over. Wolfram read through the documented and authorized events of the three days, everything he had access to from his position. And from Wolfram’s view, the Council had ultimately been a massive waste of time, resources, manpower, and energy. It’d left a Primarch crippled, an entire Legion under investigation, and failed to resolve anything on one of the most contentious topics plaguing the Imperium’s internal affairs. Just about the only decisions of any real significance were the order that all Legions of the Astartes were ordered to begin learning the practice of the infamous ‘Braining’ techniques used by the Stargazers, and the declaration of Daena of the Doomsayers as Warmaster.

Her appointment was just about the only good thing to come out of the whole sordid affair as far was Wolfram was concerned, and this certainly plagued his mood as he marched through his vessel, the grim and sour expression borne on his face making it plainly clear to a passerby that the Primarch was in a state of utter dissatisfaction. Approaching the vessel’s chambers for meetings of the Imperial Star League’s general staff, Wolfram stopped to speak to one of the Astartes standing watch over the entryway.

“This meeting is not to be interrupted for any reason barring an attack on the Sol system itself, understood? If any couriers come bearing news of lesser import, send them to Captain Marko on the bridge. I’ll contact him afterwards to address anything.”

The marine acknowledged this order with a brief nod and affirmation. “Aye, Sir.” and Wolfram returned the gesture as he entered the chambers.

Already assembled were the four members who consisted of Wolfram’s general staff: General Germaine Varr, formerly the Legion Master of the ISL in their days before Wolfram’s discovery, leader of the legion’s ground forces. Admiral Bethar Andaris, leader of the legion’s space forces, a former member of the Parrisan Star Navy, and a man of fiery passion. General Ophiel Santar of the Imperial Army, head of the legion’s attached ground forces and a logistical mastermind. And lastly, Admiral Michael Kyrax of the Imperial Navy, leader of the legion’s attached space forces and an expert fleet strategist.

All four men offered the Primarch a stern salute as he entered, which he returned as he took his place at the meeting table. Punching in some information to a data-slate, Wolfram cleared his throat before speaking.

“Today’s meeting contains information designated as security level occultatum. No one outside this room is authorized to know the full details of what we discuss. If you’ll check your data-slates, you’ll find files containing the reports I’ve been authorized to access from the recent Imperial council, dubbed the Council of Nikea.”

Wolfram paused to give the men time to read over the summary of information provided to them. Generals Varr and Santar shared the occasional glance of stern frustration and concern, while Bethar nearly sent his fist through the table in rage were it not for a single hand place upon his massive shoulder by his counterpart Admiral Kyrax, with Bethar responding to the gesture with a nod and a forceful exhale.

“I can see you understand the grave nature of these reports. While not the worst possible outcome, it both further reinforces my concerns for the future safety of the Imperium, and justifies my decision to not attend the council, and instead focus on protecting and fortifying the Imperium as it stands today. Unfortunately, I fear that alone will not be enough, and that we need to work to anticipate brash action from those we have traditionally worked alongside.”

“I’ll begin by presenting these topics from the least-concerning to the most immediate issue, so that we can clear the matters of lesser importance from our minds as quickly as possible and devote our focus to where it needs to be the most. With that said, the first order of business. My sister Daena of the Doomsayers has been appointed as the Emperor’s Warmaster, designated to continue the conquests and campaigns of the Crusade as my father, the Emperor, returns here to Terra. If there are any of you who would object to this appointment, and would refuse to acknowledge orders from the Warmaster as though they were orders from the Emperor himself, speak up now.”

Not a single man spoke, their faces sharing the same look of solemn stoicism and formality. Wolfram dipped his head in acknowledgement before clearing that point from his data-slate and continuing.

“Next: The Edict of Tolerance. The original intended topic of discussion for the council. Ultimately, the Emperor’s final verdict resolved nothing. The Edict continues to stand as it has, with the exact same exceptions, limitations, requirements, and allowances. Those who denounced it before continue to do so, as do those who defended it or otherwise followed it as required. Now, there are not many Xeno auxiliaries within the Imperial Star League or our attached Imperial Army and Navy forces given our general distance from fronts involving Xeno first contact, and subsequent lack of recruitment from those worlds. Nonetheless, I feel it pertinent to request that we issue a formal announcement to remind the men and women in our service that the Edict remains law, and any antagonization or attack against Xeno soldiers or voidsmen within our forces will be met with charges ranging from misdemeanor insubordination to high treason depending on the severity of the act in question. If any of you would object, speak now.”

Once again, there was unanimous silence, and Wolfram simply carried on.

“Now, onto the matter of business of the so-called ‘braining’ procedure. For those who are unfamiliar with the term or cannot recall, it is a proposed alternative to the traditional practice of Astartes Dreadnaught internment practices by the Stargazers legion, preserving a dying marine in a similar method, but allowing them to act as an infantryman rather than a large assault walker. It has been decreed that all Legions are ordered to at least send their tech-marines to learn of the process. The ISL will be making full use of this procedure given the tactical advantages and suitability to our deployment tactics, something our forces’ dreadnaughts struggle to meet. However, all Astartes who are administered this procedure will be deployed in a dedicated force unit of their own, lead by one or more Tech-Marines. All Chapters of the ISL will operate ‘Undying Companies’ consisting of the Chapter’s Dreadnaughts, Brain-Astartes, and their Tech-Marine leaders. Germaine, Bethar, do either of you have any objections to this decision?”

Both men shook their heads, and Germaine offered a simple reply. “No, sir. I’ll issue the order as soon as we’re finished here.”

“Good. And that brings us to the first of the two most concerning parts of these reports, and the ones that must remain secret beyond these walls. My sister Eiohsa, leader of the Daughters of Iron and a close ally, has made a grave accusation against our brother Sarghaul and his legion, the Abyssal Lurkers. She claims that the Legion has been engaging in grotesque practices of anatomical modification and change upon not just Imperial Army personnel and members of their own legion, but also recovered casualties of other legions operating in the same theatres of battle. Her reported evidence included both her own observations upon infiltrating the Lurkers’ homeworld, as well as recovering a lost member of her legion who had been subjected to such horrors. In response, the Emperor has ordered the Abyssal Lurkers in their entirety to remain under guard on the world first contact with the Rangdan was made, and members of the Emperor’s Adeptus Custodes have been sent to their world to investigate these claims. Several of my siblings, whether out of camaraderie, hatred, or both have already made predisposed opinions of the verdict, and may react poorly if the outcome falls a certain way.”

Taking the chance to speak, Germaine interjected. “Sir, as unthinkable as it might sound, I don’t see either side backing down should the Adeptus Custodes findings lead to the Emperor ruling in their opponents’ favor. Animosity between legions is nearing a boiling over point, and I fear that this might just lead to that tension breaking. I’d like to formally submit that we once again begin running operational wargames for both War Plan Iron and War Plan Aqua.”

Silence overtook the room as Wolfram eyed Germaine before pondering this request, looking down in thought with a hand resting on his chin. All five men in the room were familiar with both operations mentioned, but had long ago shelved them in a rather naive hope they would remain unnecessary, and debate about their reinduction had been a focal point of staff meetings as tensions between the Legiones Astartes had risen. War Plan Iron was the operating name for strategic deployments and opening moves in a hypothetical Imperial military action against the Daughters of Iron, and War Plan Aqua was the same for the Abyssal Lurkers.

Both plans had been briefly created, alongside equivalents for the other Legions, upon their reunification with their primarch, and were studied until the reunification was deemed a success, and thus the plans were shelved. However, with the increasing risk of outright war between legions, there had been many an argument on reopening the plan files for preparation should the Emperor order action against one or more legions. Every time, the decision had been made that it was not yet time to believe such action would be necessary. Now, Wolfram was cursing himself for his naivety, feeling that it might already be too late to properly prepare for such scenarios.

After much internal debate, Wolfram looked up and delivered his decision. “Submission accepted, Germaine. Begin updating and running up-to-date revisions of War Plans Iron and Aqua. As well as Steel, Ostrum, Sapphire, and Bronze. I don’t trust them to behave should the verdict fall a certain way, and I intend to be as prepared as possible for any eventuality.”

“If there are no objections or further suggestions, that brings us to the last matter of attention. The battle between my siblings Augor and Eiohsa. Following the duel, I received correspondence that seems to contradict the official declaration of a ‘draw’ and it is clear that the battle has left Eiohsa in a far from ideal condition, to say the least. Given the origin point of this conflict, and the repeated antagonistic history between the two legions, as well as the DoI and the Machine Cult, I greatly fear this is the beginning of wider bursts of conflict, and given the size of both sides, this could spread as a wider security concern for the Imperium. As such, alongside those previously ordered to be activated, I’m authorizing the reactivation of War Plans Rust and Sand. In addition, Preservation Plan Alpha is now in full effect.”

This last line led to multiple shared looks and sideways glances between the general staff. Preservation Plan Alpha was the internal operation plan in the ISL for the prioritization of the defense of the Segmentum Solar, to the detriment of all else if necessary. It included contingencies for both external threats too grave to defeat in reactive engagements, as well as internal civil conflict. To all four men, the fact that their Primarch would order them to begin active preparation for such an eventuality showed just how dire he felt the situation truly was.

“I sincerely hope I’m being overly cautious in these decisions, and that my concerns prove unfounded. But I cannot take any chances and risk the safety of the heart of the Imperium on the assumption that those who have been at each other's throats for decades will suddenly decide that open conflict is a step too far. Once he has returned from the Council, I will be submitting what I’ve decided here to the Emperor, ideally in person, and hope that he will understand my concern and authorize some of the larger plans and organizational procedures I’ve been developing. Our next meeting will be convened after that. You are dismissed.”

Wolfram watched as the four others stood and offered salutes before departing from the chambers. A deep exhale left him as the door shut behind the last of them. Wolfram fell back in his chair and ran his hands over his face in exasperation. This entire ordeal was a greater drain on his mental and emotional psyche than anything else had ever been, and he genuinely feared for the safety and future of the Imperium.

A single fist thudded against the surface of the meeting table as Wolfram sat forward again. There were an insane number of potential dividing lines, factions, and possible points of first conflict in this scenario, and trying to prepare for all of them was going to run Wolfram and his forces ragged. There was no way about it, the moving parts were simply too complex to cover all at once. And not helping in the slightest was the seeming complete apathy from the Emperor. The man seemed almost completely oblivious to the signs that his most senior leaders were practically begging to rip each other to shreds at the first opportunity. Wolfram knew he and his father needed to have a long discussion about such issues, but he feared this would never happen. Discussion with the Emperor was rare, especially in private. And few were often given more than lip service to their concerns when granted such an opportunity. But nonetheless, Wolfram needed to try. The Imperium itself might depend on it.

And then there was the matter of Eiohsa. By what he had received, the fight had utterly shattered her. And as much as he was concerned for his sister’s well-being, his more immediate concern was that one of the largest and most divisive subfactions of the Imperium was now suffering from compromised leadership. The last thing Wolfram’s plans needed was a conflict of opportunism between Saravata and someone trying to take advantage of this nightmare. Ultimately there was not much he could do about such a situation in the current moment, so he set it aside for now.

What mattered at the first and foremost moment was preparing for the Emperor’s arrival from Nikea, congratulating Daena on her appointment as Warmaster, and reviewing and submitting recent after action reports, logistical orders, and other campaign procedures. These oncoming times would likely be the most important of his life, and Wolfram wanted his focus entirely on them as soon as possible. Departing from the meeting chambers and dismissing the guards on watch, he quickly returned to his quarters for a brief period of rest, readying himself for what was to come.

The Solstice's End - Legio XVII Flagship

---

Space above Nikaea was crowded. Swarms of smaller craft moved around the far larger cargo transports of the Munitorum as equipment, munitions, and foodstuffs were given over to the insatiable appetites of the twenty-odd expeditionary fleets in orbit above the burgeoning world. Small motes of light darted between cargo transport holds open to the void and the far larger warships of the legions as a dance of mindnumbing logistics was played out in utter silence. A thousand small craft alone moved between four different Munitorum cargo ships around the immediate space of the Solstice’s End as a number of larger bulk lifters shuttled ponderously toward the blinking lights and gaping maws of loading bays scattered across the behemoth warship, only one of more than a dozen of such warships in the void above Nikaea, each a dazzling pearl of activity strung out above the maelstrom of the world below.

Aboard the flagship of the Seventeenth legion, the activity was unceasing. Officers and Munitorum adepts hurried about with flutters of Departmento forms and writs of delivery as shuttle after shuttle touched down, unloaded, and lifted back off through the integrity fields of a hundred different hangar bays. The ship itself, by no means at a war footing, maintained a constant screen of vigilance, turrets tracking the individual craft as they came and went and an endless stream of vox hails and databursts confirming and reconfirming identities, cargo, approaches, and delivery windows. Yet for all this effort even the veteran crew of the mighty Gloriana could not keep up with everything in their near space. A number of smaller craft, though none intending harm to the magnificent ship, had managed to approach and land undetected; and though their Departmento issued timetables had been immaculately followed by the flight crews, each had been greeted by a stern Astartes fireteam and a high-ranking beratement at the hands of the Serpent’s human counterparts.

“High velocity approach detected.” The chime of the sensor-servitor’s robotically calm tone belied the threat of its message, spoken loudly enough that the warning carried over the condescending tones of the ship’s administrators, the implication hanging in the air in the silence that followed.

Whichever unfortunate rating had the position of monitoring approaching traffic at this exact moment had less than a handful of moments to react. An almost impossibly small, on the cosmic scale of the Imperium’s space-going vessels, broke away from the larger swarm of traffic among the orbiting fleets. The turn was shockingly quick even for the nature of void travel, such that all but the Imperium’s most agile craft would be pulled apart by their own motive forces.

“Potential attack vector, brace action recommended.” The same hangerbound servitor chimed in its equally monotonous tone, the time that passed just enough for the mortal crew present to begin to register what was occurring. The Astartes, already in motion, had a handful of moments in advantage. It was still not enough to be in position before a streak of gold erupted into the hanger bay. The wave of noise struck first, passing through the environmental skein of the craft, powerful engines immediately erupted in cacophony as they passed out of the vacuum.

Any weapons and defenses that snapped to the new arrival immediately faltered as a towering figure dropped from the ancient body of her craft. She struck the plate of the ship with a heavy clang despite her grace, the ease of her landing not negating the force of impact of her armoured form touching down. Rising to her full height, the eyes of Sekhmetara’s helm regarded those present, in whatever state they may be, before the sound of her voice, distorted yet still sonorous by her helm issued forth, waiting only for the scream of Apoasha’s jets to die down as the craft settled into its idle hover.

“Take me to my sister.”

A number of deck ratings that had been caught between the onrush of Sekhmetara’s approach and the response of security personnel found themselves on their knees as the armored figure of a Primarch fell before them. Further back, stunned Armsmen exchanged unsure glances among one another before the vox amplified response of a Serpent cut through the shock of the moment.

“Lady Sekhmetara,” the Serpent, a Sergeant of the Second Company by markings, began as she mag-locked her bolt pistol to her thigh and offered the sign of the Aquila with her armored hands, “The Emerald Priestess is in counsel with the Mistress of the Fleet and the Captain of the Second, I must apologize, Lord, as standing orders are clear to ensure no interruptions of this,” she stated defiantly, a notable waver in the distorted sound of her voice through her vox grill as she stood admirably against a demigod.

The lights of Sekhmetara’s helmet lenses momentarily flicked out, the gleaming green of the protective glass seeming to swim for the moment before the light returned and the lenses no longer presented a temporary, dull, kaleidoscope.

"Do not make me repeat myself, niece, that was not a request." The level nature of her voice was a sure sign of the broiling anger beneath the helm. It was not the Mithran manner to conceal emotions, if misdirection was necessary it would be done with a core of truth. To deaden oneself suggested a tempest that could only be stalled, and never contained. The roar of the jetbikes engines picked up again, the ancient spirit with the war machine responding to the base urges of its bonded rider. Just as menacingly, the telltale click of its hurricane bolter system cycling to fire. It was a reflex reaction based on a violent impulse, but Sekhmetara made no move to calm the beast howling within the circuits of the steed.

The Serpent stood still as a statue as Sekhmetara and her jetbike made their intentions clear. Were it perhaps another Astartes, or even a mortal making these demands the Sergeant may have noticed the nearly autonomous response of the jetbike, but blinded as they were by the demigod before them their mind was as far from the jetbike as it could be.

There was a shift in the demeanor of the Sergeant as she pivoted where she stood with an arm outstretched toward one of the massive exit doors from the hangar, “This way Lord.” she stated before taking off at a brisk pace, the roar of Apaosha’s engines ringing in her helmet as she did.

---

Standing before the door of Nelchitl’s chambers Captain Mayalen was alerted of the arrival of her Primarch’s sister the moment her likeness had been confirmed in the hangar bay, and though Sergeant Santino did an admirable job at attempting to redirect the Mithran she had failed as expected.

Now the Captain tracked the progress of her Sergeant and guest on her helmet’s holodisplay as she worked out her words for the demigod to explain the situation taking place on the other side of the doors at her back. Not long later the Legion’s guest arrived before her.

Dropping to a knee, Captain Mayalen lowered her head differentially, “Apologies Lady Sekhmetara, our Mother is predisposed and wished for no interruptions.” she paused as she raised her head to look the Mithran straight on, “Though I believe you are surely an exception to this request.” She stood and with a few keystrokes at the door controls stepped back as the doors once more opened on tortured hinges, water running into the only recently dry passageway once more as smoke rolled forth from the space between the parting doors.

As the ashen cloud rolled forth from the chamber the gleam of Sekhmetara’s form was momentarily dulled, the demigod standing in the full force of the dark surge as the doors parted. Beyond the momentary pause, there seemed little reaction from the primarch as to this revelation, no question as to the state or cause of the broiling smoke and slough of water. Without another word, the Mithran Primach stepped forwards, her glorious image disappearing into the swell. Given the orders her sister’s legion had attempted to impart on her, she did not feel the need to echo that the chamber be resealed, which the grinding gears of the ship soon spoke truth to her assessment.

Within her helm, the optical interface of her helmet flickered against the darkness, the lenses damaged by the wrathful heat of her eyes it was struggling to process the environment. Her own senses superior to the task, she removed the helm, casting it aside. The priceless artifact of Imperial artifice clattered to the ground, already forgotten as Sekhmetara continued to move forwards. Molten trails of superheated gold rolled down her cheeks, leaving faint burn marks in their wake which would heal long before they could scar. Still, even a Primarch could feel the sting of such heat, and she welcomed the sharpening trickle of pain.

“Sister.” Sekhmetara called out, an unusual tone of vulnerability tainting her words as she sought the Emerald Priestess, not from fear of being lost in the destruction, her own senses guided her well enough, but a more personal pain and fear, of being unwilling to delay their reunion any further. When no response greeted her immediately, the burning light of her eyes flared into existence, bright even through the darkness as twin lines of white-hot fury issued forth from her, burning long arcs in whatever remained of the ship work around her, metal crumpling before her as if it was wood on a fire. “Nelchitl!”

“Sekhmetara.” the voice of Nelchitl answered from somewhere further into the room, her voice discordant as smoke twisted the normally poetic accent of the Emerald Priestess into a flat monotone.

“You push my wishes aside.” the monotone of her voice came again, this time from another direction, the Emerald Priestess no doubt circling her sister in the gloom as Sekhmetara’s gifts flared to life and began to cut through the ruins of the room, “Why?”

“Am I that to you as well? An inconvenience to your wishes?” Sekhmetara seethed into the darkness, the armoured talons of her fingers pressing into the palm of her gauntlets with an audible grind. “Are you not more than my sister? Dawn-of-my-heart? Must I find reason to seek your embrace? Next I wish your company shall I request it through your equerry and join your line of supplicants?” The words tumbled forth from her lips, the first of her dripping tears beginning to sear the tips of her mouth. As she spoke, the light of her eyes blazed brighter, even more so than when she had unleashed her distress.

“I would see you!” She snarled into the darkness before the light surged, a blazing golden halo igniting from Sekhmetara, the long brown curls of her hair blazing into yellow, then molten white as her psychic power coursed through her form, a halo of pure heat and light crowning the scion of the Emperor in her most terrible glory, casting back ever greater amounts of the Darkness.

Fear did not flood the other Primarch in the room as Sekhmetara made her psychic might be known. Instead, the Emerald Priestess stopped her incessant circling of her sister, her face filled only with shame as Sekhmetara’s radiance finally cut through the din of Nelchitl’s destruction.

“For you, my sister, I would steal your bones for another sunrise,” Nelchitl stated quietly where she stood, the shattered mural of their Father her backdrop once more, “To Mictlān and back I’d gladly go, for one more day with you.” She offered the enraged demigod of her sister a genuine smile, though the shame remained as her sister saw the full display of her own outrage in stark color.

Nelchitl stepped away from the mural, crossing the void to her favorite sibling, her radiance painful even to one of the Emperor’s children, “What enrages you so?” She whispered as she brought a hand up to wipe away a molten tear from Sekhmetara’s perfect features, the other coming up to cup her chin as she did, “Rage does not suit you, just as our dear Daena. You’re both far too graceful for it.” she frowned, “It is best left to me.” She added with a small laugh.

As Nelchitl took the searing tear onto her own digit, the gleaming valley of a scar left behind in its wake continued to flicker upon Sekhmetara’s features, even as her skin began to reknit with visible speed, the gleaming after-trail of heat right at the core of the valley through her skin. Still, her hair remained golden-white, heat leaching from it into the air, but of a purer, cosmic tone, fighting awake the choking soot of the rather more mundane destruction belching into the air. “I will feel what I feel, Sister, not even you can turn aside the Sun’s glare, would that I could.” Despite her words, an element of softness crept into her tone. “I failed, I did not do enough for Father to trust me with the burden of his command...and now the jackals will rend our Sister’s flesh instead of mine.” She did not hide the competing twists of envy, concern, and shame that wracked her from her dearest sister. How else could she see it? For a moment she had control between their warring siblings, but her Father and Sister had allowed them to resort to greater violence. The discord would fester, only because her father had not been able to place the burden upon her.

“Why must they all act like savages and machines!? What hearts do they have?” Her rage flared again, this time without the tears of loss, air hissing into steam before the molten orbs of her eyes as her vision focused on her sister. “You feel it too, this disbelief, this is why you are here, why we find ourselves rooted in destruction.” She spoke, without any judgment, her own touch finally reaching for her sister, embracing the shorter Primach with a force that would shatter mortal humans.

Wrapped up in Sekhemetara’s embrace Nelchitl stood, pain etched on her features as her beloved sister’s anger burned at her every exposed bit of flesh, yet she remained. Her own hands came to rest at Sekhmetara’s armored back as her sister’s anguish was made known.

“He has His reasons Sekhmetara…” she began, her gaze moving to attempt to look into the radiance of her sister’s features, “that Daena is Warmaster and not you, I can not say why. But He must.” her gaze faltered as the afterimage of Sekh was burned into her corneas, her face shying away from Sekh as she pushed softly off of the burning ember of a demigod.

“Were things different, had I known, maybe we could have petitioned him. A united front that our beasts of brothers and sisters never could have managed…” she sighed and turned to the mural behind her, the hydraulic fluid still leaking down the gash in His image as it had since she had created the wound.

“But we did not know, and He did not ask our input.” she frowned as the heat of Sekhmetara continued washing over her, “I can not offer you answers Sekh, but I can offer you release, though temporary,” she said as she beckoned to the destroyed chamber around them.

With careful slowness, Sekhmetara released her hold on Nelchitl, stepping away from her, frowning slightly at the pain her presence caused her ‘younger’ sibling. “No, there are no answers.” She sighed, before the burning light of her eyes and halo finally faded, leaving only the low gleam of her searing white hair. The elegant primarch lent down, her taloned gauntlets claiming the twisted remains of what could once have been half a cogitator, weighing the hefty warped body of metal with an evaluating raise of her eyebrow. “But we can always finish what you’ve started.” Before, with a cathartic shriek of frustration, the Mithran primarch cast the great weight into the darkness of the smog, a thunderous crash heralding its landing.

“There are always answers,” Nelchitl whispered to her Father as she the cogitator disappeared into the smoke. With the resounding crash of the machine's further demise, she turned to Sekhmetara, a smile on her face and excitement in her eyes as she hefted a shard of masonry off the floor. With a yell, she sent the piece flying, careful to miss what remained of the mural, and watched contentedly as the stone smashed into the bulkhead shattering into pieces and shear ornamental metal from the wall.

“Then sister,” she stated as she meandered over to an already badly damaged ornamental column, “you worry too much, our dear Angel will survive, as she always has!” she exclaimed as she placed a kick to the center of the pillar. Supports in the floor gave way at the strength of a demigod, the pillar tumbling down nearly whole as wires sparked and the work of artisans long dead was dashed through water and broken tiling.

“Perhaps! And while Daena is busy attending to the whining of our siblings, we can earn ourselves greater glory, the worlds of the galaxy open before us! None shall conquer as we shall conquer, and none shall again.” Sekhmetara roared again, although this time some good humour flooded her declaration, even as Sekhmetara tackled herself through the stone wall of another mural, one not so dedicated to her father’s likeness, the stone powdering before her like plasterboard, the Mithran primarch sprawled laughing boisterously in the rubble. “Why do you not have wine sister!? Have I taught you nothing?” She laughed, throwing a piece of rubble at her sister, masonry with enough force to shatter mortal bone expended like snow on a child’s playground.

Stone dusting across her Nelchitl turned with a laugh on her lips, “Of course I have wine, I learned much of it above Praxia and when we first met, though the servants are far too terrified to bring it to me now.” she admitted as she lazily tossed a piece of stone at her sister's recumbent form.

“But we can try to get some.” she offered as she loped over to a panel on the wall. With a few flicks of her fingers, she let out a defeated sigh and placed her entire fist through the panel.

“I swear that one was broken earlier.” she admitted as she turned to face the door, “WINE.” she bellowed, knowing full well that those outside would hear her, “Happy now Sekh?”

“Then they are terrible servants.” Sekhmetara laughed, the impact of the stone on her armour barely registered to the demigod as she pulled herself to her feet, dust falling from her in patterns that swirled in the air, her eyes casting around the room. “A bottle or two and I’ll have already designed you a much ‘nicer’ room to replace this one.” The Mithran primarch’s eyes narrowed on Nelchitl for a moment, the look of the huntress surpassing that of the diplomat, before she sprung into action, the full force of her impacting with Nelchitl’s own, ceramite crashing into ceramite with force that echoed through the chamber greater than all previous impacts. Nelchitl was the Emperor’s blade and held perhaps first claim among the warriors of the Emperor in martial skill, but many forgot who had first taught her to hunt among the stars.

There was no duel, no trade of weapons, but in attempting to bring Nelchitl to the ground Sekhmetara pulled no force, throwing her might into wrestling her sister down, seeking to pin her before whatever poor soul was volunteered for this duty found the wine.

In a beat of her hearts, Nelchitl found herself in a position she had not expected as her sister hit her at full force. “So rocks weren’t enough!” she laughed as she brought her armored arms around her sister’s own armored form. She fought for purchase on the destroyed floor of the room, her boots clipping over the wet steel in a trail of sparks. With a thought, she could have maglocked herself in place, stripped Sekhmetara of her momentum, but that idea would be no fun. It would be to her like Micholi, winning off technicality as he prised Nelchitl from the ring.

With a roar of laughter, the Emerald Priestess instead dug the toe of her boot into the deckplating, steel and tile peeling away like steel before a powersword. She found purchase then as her foot smashed into some sort of support beam, and with a roar lifted her sister up as she threw her own weight backward.

Sekhmetara’s laugh continued through the catastrophic violence of their wrestling, even as she was lifted backward, the Primach pausing only to brace herself for the impact before she struck the deck, the weight, and force of her form cracking through the floor with a blow that would entirely snap a human in half, let alone break their back. But for her, the delay from which she responded was negligible, her long legs reaching up to grasp Nelchitl around the waist even as her sister held on with her arms, attempting to use the strength of her lower body to flip them back around.

“Nothing is ever enough sister! That is our destiny!”

With fire in her eyes, Nelchitl scrambled to release herself from Sekhmetara’s grappling even as she barely finished slamming her demigod of a sister into the deck with bone-jarring force. She writhed as the Huntress brought her legs about her, strength and position threatening to end the match before even a half a minute had passed. But the Emerald Priestess would never throw in the towel so easily.

With Sekhmetara lifting the two of them back over, Nelchitl twisted her armored form between her sister’s grasp, her arms wrenching out to take one of Sekhmetara’s own legs tight against her chest as she spun in a death roll like that of the Crotalids of Ixhun, the armored demigod spinning and twisting far too fast for her size.

Then as the armoured forms churned upon the ground at speed beings of their scope should have found impossible, even the smoothness of their armoured forms sparked with friction and tension upon the metallic ground, the unsurmounted artifice of their plate proving far superior to the rudimentary construction of the Imperial Navy, great gouges ripped in the flooring of metal and stone.

Sekhmetara could feel her leg being pulled out of position long before it occurred, the tension of the force registering in her mind in a moment and perfectly mapping where such force would place her form. Knowing and being able to do anything about it were two rather different matters. There were a thousand and one ways to finish this fight, but most resorted to violence well beyond the nature of their sparring. She drew out the fight as much as she could, knees and fists finding weaker points in Nelchitl’s armoured form, the crushing power of her legs brought tight around her sister to the point of putting her ceramite clad form under creaking strain, but eventually, the rolling force of Nelchitl brought them to a steady halt, the Mithran primarch pinned beneath her sister, panting with strain and effort, but still a wide grin of enjoyment upon her features.

“If only your pilots flew as well as you fought sister, you’d stop crashing into the side of spaceports.” She laughed, flopping fully back on the ruined deck. “I wonder if the sound of battle has delayed the wine.”

“The wine!” Nelchitl called with a victorious laugh as she rolled away from Sekhmetara and came to stand. Offering a hand to help her sister up she swatted the air between them with the other, “My pilots fly well enough, very good at improvising too.” she joked as she relived the bone-jarring crash at the citadel above Praxia some time ago, “And you should seem them in action when there is something to kill rather than avoid.” she beamed as she gloated over her daughter’s abilities.

There was a wrap at the broken door before it began its painful opening, and though no one entered the room, two pitchers of the sweet wine Sekhmetara was so fond of were deposited just within the threshold of the room before the door closed on its tortured hinges.

“And the wine finally arrives,” Nelchitl exclaimed happily as she scooped both pitchers from the floor and pressed one into Sekhmetara’s hands.

No sooner had the wine been placed in Sekhmetara’s hand than an impressive portion of the pitcher’s contents were downed by the taller of the sisters, the graceful length of her neck somewhat less elegantly heaving with the force of her thirst before she let out a long sigh, grinning to her sister as she finished drinking, wafting the pitcher in her direction in the manner a mortal might direct a glass to bring attention.

“You missed the best part of my party, dearest one, those arrogant glory seekers, the Legio Mortis, being forced by father to kneel to me, and only me.” She snickered, sipping more conservatively, “Perhaps that was meant as some sort of jest by father or Malcador, about my own nature.” She snickered, brushing some of the debris from her armour as she struck a decidedly imperious pose, interrupted only by another gulp of wine. “Still, if their jibes earn me the greatest of the Titan Legions, I will wear them and be thankful, and bask in the bitter tears of the Cult Mechanicum.”

"No party could compare to company such as this." Nelchitl laughed as she motioned to the remainder of the destroyed chamber about them as she settled into the familiar tones of Sekhmetara's musings.

---

---

The stateroom of the Sixteenth Legion upon Nikaea was a sparsely decorated, simplistic affair. Used almost exclusively by the minute delegation of Ayushmatki and her escorts, the room’s magnificent construction and opulent golden filigree stood at sharp contrast with the simple metal desk that stood at its center, flanked by a temporary sleeping arrangement reminiscent of a military encampment more than anything else. The only sign of decoration was a relatively plain white banner, upon which the numerals XVI were written in unadorned, simplistic script.

Ayushmatki Nanavna izva Kuznekhtinsk busied herself within the room, furious. Furious with Eiohsa - the thrice-damned fool who wore her heart upon her sleeve and had never learned to temper her tongue around her kin. Furious with her kin, who drove the woman she served to such heights of madness with their transgressions upon her. Furious with herself - for she knew not how to break the afflictions that haunted her.

There was no point in trying with her, she had begun to reason. There was no point in trying to get through to one as stubborn and obstinate as she. In times of crisis her iron will was an invaluable asset. Now? It served only to trap her within her own mind. She would not watch the duel that would unfold soon. She had no stomach for it. She knew, deep down - that the Sixteenth was not ready in the slightest for such a challenge. And yet she would do so anyway, throwing herself upon a grenade not to save those around her, but in a blind act of desperation.

“Equerry.” The hushed voice of one of her aides lilted over to the table to her. “There is somebody requesting entrance to meet with you. They requested you by name. A Tech-Priest, Magos Tienxia Urcurz - I think they might be part of the Twelfth Legion’s retinue.”

“Thank you, Vishala. Could you let them in?”

The aide nodded once, moving swiftly to the ornate doorway of the room and pulling the door ajar. Ayushmatki frowned as scanning readouts from the aide’s ocular cybernetics filtered through her mind, but she said nothing, instead rising to her feet to greet the new arrival.

“Magos Tienxia Urcurz, yes? What brings you here?”

Her visitor stepped across the threshold. Magos Tienxia Urcurz' heavily augmented form possessed neatly curved, molded bionic limbs and an uncomplicated, armored frame. The shoulders of her crimson Martian robes parted to make room for a bristling surface of spine-like mechadendrites that covered her shoulders and ran up and down her back and head - framing her countenance with a gleaming, silvery mane of bionic spikes. Her face had been cybernetically modified along the halves of her skull - her upper cranium bristling and overcrowded with multi-faceted lenses, omnispex sensors, and redundant utility mechanisms, while her jaw was a tri-sectioned convergence metal plates. Her visage had the seeming of some predatory xenosform.

“Testament be upon you, Adept.” Her vox-encoded voice had but a single layer of hazy, reverberant distortion and had retained the feminine intonation of her original voice rather than having assumed the traditional barbed, uninflected hiss of static favored by most priests with full voxcoder-mediated voices. “Tell me - do you believe in fate?”

“Is this a test, Magos?” Replied the Equerry, raising an eyebrow almost imperceptibly. “I do not. There are, certainly, paths more likely trod. But if you ask if I believe in some universal, binding thread that ties us to a specific course of action - frankly, no. I find the concept preposterous. Have you come merely to bore me with such frivolities as this whilst this foolish duel takes place, Magos?”

Tienxia held up a placatory hand. “Patience, Adept. It is well that you do not believe in Fate. There are many even amongst the Cult Mechanicum who do not, but there are times when circumstances conspire to advise its momentary consideration regardless. Amongst those of our creed for example, are the Logis. In principle, they are merely statisticians and analysts. They identify exploitable trends and reliable patterns within confined sets of information - yet also, our faith within their talents occasionally produces results that transcend mere mathematical science. Something bordering on prophecy, as Heretechnical as it might be to suggest it. This is why The Logis are so venerated within the Cult Mechanicum.”

Tienxia halted abrupted and started pointedly at Ayushmatki, clearly expecting a reply.

“Do you speak of the influence of the Immaterium, Magos? Warp-spawned powers beyond mortal ken, beyond those that beings like myself bend to our will?” A trace of a smile crossed her synthetic lips, “I believe there are things not yet explained, or explicable, by Imperial science and reason. Certainly, there are things beyond our understanding.”

“No. That is not what I was implicating. The Mechanicum has something of a doctrinal aversion to Psykers.” Tienxia commented idly.

Ayushmatki raised a hand, “A moment, please - I did not speak of psychic powers wielded by myself, I know well the antipathy for psykers amongst your number, but of phenomena beyond such. Is that what you speak of?”

“I do not speak of any aspect of the Immaterium, such that we are presently aware of its relation to the material universe, Adept. There is indeed much that remains beyond our awareness within both, but in this matter I constrain myself to what is known of the realm in which we reside. Study and knowledge of the Immaterium is, after all, most harshly and stringent proscribed by the Treaty of Mars. Perhaps this is something of an inconvenient and inexplicable constraint, albeit one that is not relevant to the matter at hand.” Tienxia’s tone had taken on an amused, somewhat condescending lilt to it, as though she were chiding an acolyte for doctrinal error.

“Perhaps so, Magos, perhaps so. Then please, sit, and tell me what it is you have come for that we may not waste more of your valuable time on such trivial matters.” Ayushmatki nodded to an unused chair by the desk, sitting down in her own once more as she did so. “Has this to do with the Sixteenth and the Twelfth?”

Tienxia did not move. The chair erupted in billowing flames. “In a manner of speaking.” The Tech-Priest answered with a congenial nod, carrying on as though absolutely nothing untoward had happened even as the chair’s frame and upholstery blackened and began to fray away with audible cracks, embers spilling through the air.

“As a premise - you are not of my faith so I do not demand that you accept it, merely that you consider it. The Machine God encompasses all of creation, the universe, the immaterium, and so forth. The universe, and everything in it, are a part of its body. Which is to say, we are all within a machine - though not necessarily a part of it. It is the Machine God’s will that we each possess volition, of course. Hence, free will is accepted to exist as an abstraction defining an aspect of the Will of the Machine God.”

The chair crumpled and began to disintegrate into ashes across the floor, the flames that had consumed it dying down into smoldering, ruinous traceries of light.

Ayushmatki said nothing initially, merely listened to the words her unexpected visitor with an expression of apparent disinterest. “And are you here to imply the events in whose shadow we speak are themselves a factor of the will of the machine god? That the fool of a woman I follow has spoken such obscene and ridiculous things as part? Or do I misunderstand? Forgive me, Magos, I simply wish to know why it is we speak now.”

Tienxia shrugged and splayed her hands. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. Who can truly say of such matters? No. What we are here to discuss is you, Adept.” Finally, it hit Ayushmatki. Tech-Priests of the Cult Mechanicum were sticklers for formalities such as titles. After all, they regularly possessed an abundance of honorifics they insisted upon being recognized in turn. Tienxia had never once acknowledged Ayushmatki’s formal role as Equerry of the Sixteenth Legion, nor even as a member of the Sixteenth Legion, and it was the emphasis with which the Tech-Priest employed the word that finally made it evident: She was explicitly insulting Ayushmatki by addressing her with the lowest title possible to afford to her, or to anybody else in the Imperium.

Tienxia finally turned away from the desk to cast her multi-faceted gaze across the heaped, blackened wreckage of the chair. Under her withering gaze, the ruined remnants abruptly split apart with sharp and violent cracks. Repeatedly.

“You see, free will exists, but Fate too exists. All of the world is a Machine, and like any Machine, there is intent and purpose in its design. Elements that enter certain realms of the Machine thus enter a course that cannot be feasibly averted, free will aside. Which is to say…”

Tienxia turned to glance almost conspiratorially at Ayushmatki. “You, Adept, have been caught up in the Machine. If Fate could be said to exist, you are now Fated.” The final remnants of the wooden chair then seemed to shudder and dissolve into nothingness, almost as if they had been atomized. Ayushmatki’s internal geiger counter briefly spiked, then subsided.

Ayushmatki laughed. A high note, only barely tinted by the inflexion of speech synthesizers, she leaned back in her chair as she laughed in the face of the Magos who stood before her. At last, it subsided, and she looked upon the woman before her in a new light, and smiled. “Ah but if it is so, Magos, then it has been so for a very, very long time. From the very moment Eiohsa laid me low when I first met her, before I had joined her, the very moment my own life became entwined with one of the Emperor’s spawn, I knew it would take a different course. You have come here only to state the obvious in meandering half measures and pathetic insults.”

“I have come here on a mission of mercy, Adept. Perhaps you have always been Fated, but now you find yourself in a part of the machine that will shortly be the end of you.” All trace of cordiality had vanished from Tienxia’s voice, replaced by a cold, iron finality. “There is a way to extricate yourself from the machine though and to carry on in service to the Sixteenth child of the Omnissiah. Make light of my direction in this matter at your peril.” She then turned to Ayushmatki, approaching the desk and laying her hands on its surface, hunching over and seeming to glower at the Equerry, her silvery spines bristling over like some manner of looming warp-horror.

Then, almost as if she had not just implicitly warned Ayushmatki of her impending death, the Tech-Priest’s former congenial tone returned and she abruptly asked: “Tell me, have you ever been to Sol? The system is quite splendid, even if you hold no love for Mars. Very little you have ever heard sung of it in praise has been exaggerated. Every Adept should endeavor to visit the cradle of Humanity at least once.”

“Once.” Came the reply, “Once, when we had first made contact with the Imperium, almost a hundred and sixty standard years ago.” She leaned forward, steepling her fingers, “What is it that you speak of within the birthplace of Humanity that will ‘save me’, hm?”

“Sol Invictus, the Unconquered Sun in Splendor. You may have heard of it.” Tienxia answered blithely. “There is a void fortress and Imperial laboratory in close proximity to it, even closer than Mercury. Those who visit that station and meditate in the observatory in contemplation of the heart of the Sun are said to have beheld the Sun in Splendor.”

“Ah, yes, that which I was told by the Twelfth that I would never again see, when I spoke in defense of the Edict during the Council.” She raised an eyebrow, “Certainly, the sight of the sun at the heart of Sol is an inspiring one.”

“Indeed.” Tienxia drew back from Ayushmatki’s desk, the tension seeming to drain from her body and her bristling mane of spines falling in a relaxed wave. “Of course, the Primarchs each contain a spark of the Machine God’s Divinity. The parameters of what they say are important, and not merely in the sense of what they intend to convey. In a sense, you living to see the Sun in Splendor again would be something of a Divine Paradox - a break from Fate and the Providence of the Machine God. An inviolate act of volition so pure that, in a way, it would be a truer act of veneration than if you abruptly took up the faith. It might even be possible for you to be declared a living Saint, much like our own dear Corneceus Sicanus is to be with the Omnissiah having sanctioned and mandated his practices.”

Ayushmatki’s eyes were wide in genuine surprise. She raised a finger, then lowered it, lips parted slightly as she racked her mind for a response. “I… that is certainly quite the proposal, Magos. Certainly… quite the proposal indeed.” She narrowed her eyes, “And quite the occasion for the Cult Mechanicum, I am sure. But I must ask - why this specific act, hm? It is known, the Emperor’s children are not infallible. As evidenced by Eiohsa herself. The word of the Twelfth is, in turn, certainly not the decree of any divine being. I see no reason to treat it differently than that of any other.”

“Naturally.” Tienxia nodded. “Which is where we come back to the matter of volition. Even for a Primarch, within whom resides Divinity itself, words are cheap. It is intent and action that matters. If the Primarch speaks at the eve of battle ‘We shall not allow the enemy to evade us,’ the intent is usually one of bolstering morale or generating positive sentiment - and so it does not matter in a doctrinal sense whether or not the enemy in that scenario manages to escape. If the Primarch avows themselves of the same, either in private or before a select audience, and then takes particular and discrete actions to ensure their word is true - then what they have said, doctrinally, is an oath. A geas, if you will. Perhaps even a Prophecy - which, in their case if not ours, would not even be Heretechnical. Much like with the oath of vengeance and wrath that the Twelfth Primarch has sworn against the Sixteenth for her offense.”

“It seems, then, to me that the Twelfth Primarch ought be more careful with such oaths, Magos.” Came the reply, audibly unimpressed. “Certainly, Eiohsa does not bandy about such words so freely and without restraint, I would expect the same of the Twelfth, should his words carry such weight as to be prophecy and mandate.” She forced a thin smile, “But, then, I have not been inducted into the mysteries of the machine cult like you yourself have been, and can offer only the opinions of an outsider on these matters. Forgive me for saying this, but I do not believe such a… visit would do much to assuage the threat made against my person.”

Tienxia shook her head and raised a single chiding finger. “Though I can excuse not wanting to pay much heed to the proverbial circus the two Primarchs have made of these affairs, still one should pay mind to the cognizance of their repute. Augor Astren, for example, has a reputation for honesty. He is capable of deceit, naturally, but he has made a point of demonstrating over a span of nearly two centuries that his literal word is his bond. It is one of the few things concerning his own character of which he has remarked himself to be ‘justly’ proud. Hence, the sudden crux of your capability to invoke a Divine Paradox. He is a Primarch. Even in the throes of fugue, this very possibility is something that has occurred to him, of that we can be certain. So yes - the threat might not abate. That depends on how much weight you afford his pride in this matter, but given your action would be doctrinally significant, it would certainly at least give him pause.”

Tienxia’s hand fell. “You can entertain the route of possible absolution, or you can let the Machine consume you.”

Ayushmatki remained silent for a time, watching the woman in front of her with an expression that belied no hint of emotion. “Thank you, Magos, for your warning.”

“Oh, no thanks is required.” Tienxia remarked flippantly as she turned to leave the room. “Why, I was practically obligated to tell you. After all, doctrinally, all that is about to transpire would mean so much less, had you not known.”

Right at the threshold of the room, Tienxia paused faintly and spoke, back still turned to Ayushmatki, in a calm and even intonation that carried with it a leaden weight.

“You will not live to see the Sun in Splendor ever again. It is the Will of the Machine God.”

The Tech-Priest left without another word.

Ayushmatki leaned back in her chair, pressing her thumb and index finger to the bridge of her nose. The burnt scent of the ashes scattered across the floor, all that was left of the chair she had offered the Magos, wafted across her face. “I suppose it was too much to hope the damn cog-fuckers would see reason and work together with us for the betterment of the Imperium as a whole, wasn’t it?”

She looked to the two Astartes that had shadowed her for near the entirety of the Council, each standing within the far corners of the room. “Kumari, Devaki, thank you. You may return to the Legion, if you wish. Eiohsa has given you leave to do as you see fit in this regard.” She sighed, “Sometimes, I wish I could still get drunk.”

[...End Log.]
[...Terminating.]
[Imperial Thought for the Day: Fear not the enemy with sword in hand before you, but that guised as your own among you.]

Kaldun slammed the door to his stateroom behind him, only narrowly missing Chandrian as the Astarte hurried into the room behind him. The Primarch was in a fury that was notable, even for him. They would have to do their best to keep it behind closed doors, or as much as they were able too. Chandrian opened the door and spoke to the two Spears that had followed them. “Guard the door, stop anyone you can, alert us to those you can’t.” They nodded their understanding, and Chandrian closed the door and turned to face his Primarch.

Without a word, Kaldun put his fist through the desk that had been left for him and smashed it violently on the ground until it broke in two. If Chandrian had been human, the sudden cacophony of violence would have been startling. As it was, he simply counted how many blows it took for the desk to break in half (Six smashes. It seemed they had built the desk for sturdiness. A pity.) Kaldun threw the one half that remained on his fist towards the wall and kicked the other soon after. The two halves shattered against the wall with a deafening crash.

“I see you’re taking today’s events well.” Chandrian noted, stepping back and to the side slightly. It would be best to get the fury out of the way now, before trying to address anything that had happened during the Trial. Not that there was much to talk about aside from the accusations Eiohsa had made.

“MONSTERS. BASTARDS!” Kaldun shouted, lightning bolts sparking off of him in fury. They struck against the walls, tearing out chunks and leaving burn marks all along the office. “We knew! We knew what they were all along and we let them get away with this!” He grabbed a chair but it disintegrated in his hands as lightning raced up it from his grip. With an unintelligible growl, he shot out another lightning bolt at the wall, setting the tapestry there alight.

“Well, we didn’t let them get away with anything.” Chandrian pointed out, watching another bolt of lightning whisk by. The Lurkers were always a sore spot with Kaldun, and today’s events only threw fuel on the fire. A lot of fuel on the fire. “As soon as you discovered what the Lurkers were, you refused to work with them and actively hindered their attempts at gathering humans for ‘research’ when you were in the same sector.”

“I should have killed Sarghaul as soon as I met him! Then purged his foul spawn from the galaxy! It would have improved the Imperium! It would have saved Eiohsa’s daughters!” The words came out with such fury that for a moment Chandrian was afraid Kaldun would unintentionally ignite the air in front of him. When that, fortunately, did not happen Chandrian simply shook his head. It was a pretty dream, but nothing more than that.

“No, you would have gotten yourself and all of your sons killed by the Imperium as they took down the rogue Primarch that killed his brother.” Chandrian realized his mistake almost as soon as the last word left his mouth, but it was too late by then. Kaldun let out another furious shout, more akin to a roar. In a flash, faster than Chandrian could comprehend, the Thunder of Labrys was drawn and flung at the wall next to him. With a thunderous crack it embedded itself almost a foot into the wall, lightning crackling off of it.

“That thing is not my brother! It is a monster that my father should have killed in the cradle!” Kaldun’s voice seemed to shake the room, and another bolt of lightning tore off of him and destroyed a chunk of the wall. He picked up a piece that landed next to him and threw it back at the wall, sending smoking shards scattering everywhere. Chandrian nodded, stepping another foot or two away from the embedded spear. Brother had been a poor choice of words, but his point remained the same regardless of Kaldun’s feelings.

“Be that as it may, attacking Sarghaul then,” he hurried as he saw an idea enter Kaldun’s furious mind, nipping a problem in the bud. He was too angry to trust with sudden, impulsive ideas. “or now will only turn the vast majority of the Imperium against us. Even if the Daughters of Iron take our side, that is not a battle we will be able to win without destroying ourselves or crippling the Imperium at large, at a time when we need to keep it together with the Emperor stepping back. As much as we trust Eihosa, we have no solid evidence that the others are willing to go off of. Patience is required, and then we can mete out the justice that is so long overdue.”

“And,” he added helpfully, “we stopped them from turning over the Edict of Tolerance. Which not only would have crippled the Imperium and cost a massive amount of resources to enact, it would have crippled the Golden Legion in particular. So it wasn’t all bad news today.”

Kaldun stood for a few moments, seeming to not have even heard Chandrian, breathing heavily. Then he let out another bellow of frustration, destroying another part of the room with lightning. Chunks scattered against his armor, smoking from the heat. A few more moments of silence followed before Kaldun had mastered himself enough to speak. When he did, something else had entered his mind. Chandrian could tell. “Fine. We will wait. For now. But we won’t be idle. What was that planet that had the altered Ogryn?”

“Trandashar. They had altered the Ogryn so much through cyborgs and chemicals that they were able to put up a fight against the Spears.” Chandrian looked over at the destroyed room before turning his attention back to Kaldun, confused by the question. His Primarch had never cared to think back on former enemies before. They were all the same to Kaldun. “Why?”

“I want you to have the Golden Legion start carrying a significant number of them, in reserve. In addition, I want the Spears to start studying combat footage of all of our fellow Legions. If anyone asks, we are increasing the combat capability of our Auxilia and hoping to increase the Spears' knowledge by studying other Legions.” Kaldun began to pace back and forth, crushing debris beneath his feet. Chandrian’s eyebrows rose with concern, and a dawning realization that they were heading into dangerous territory. as the Golden Conqueror continued to speak. “Also increase the recruitment of the Golden Legion. I want their numbers to increase as fast as possible without sacrificing too much training.” The Primarch continued before Chandrian could interject, waving a hand to stave off any warnings or attempts to divert his mind from this train of thought.

“Even if we assume that the Lurkers allow the Custodians to search through their den of monstrosities without any trouble, we can’t assume that they’ll just accept the Emperor’s punishment without a fight. I want the Spears to be alert for when the Lurkers try to escape justice, and I do not want them to be unprepared.”

Kaldun paused, looking over at Chandrian. “Perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps Sarghaul is correct, and he has lost control of his spawn and he will allow them to be exterminated as they should be. Perhaps this will all be for nothing more than increasing the combat effectiveness of the Spears. But if I’m not, I don’t want it to be a drawn out battle.”Kaldun clapped his hands on Chandrian’s shoulders. “If they ever tell the history of a Civil War in my Father’s Imperium, it will not be a history of months and years, bloody battles and bitter victories. It will be a history of days and weeks, swift justice and merciless executions. All because the Golden Spears were ready.” He gave Chandrian a small shake on the shoulders.

“And we will be ready.”

The Solstice's End - Legio XVII Flagship

“Hateful to me as the gates of Hades is that man who hides one thing in his heart and speaks another.”
- Assigned to a pre-M1 Terran remembrancer, identity unknown.

---

Days had passed since the end of the Council’s deliberations and yet still the Solstice’s End and her expeditionary fleet drifted silently over the budding planet of Nikaea. Things had been tense the last time that Nelchitl had set foot on the planet below, and though her own self-imposed isolation from the continued meetings and debates that followed even after the final day had appeared to have been for the best, it had become clear to the Emerald Priestess that now more than ever she needed to make herself available. To strengthen and even maintain her relations with her own siblings was appearing far more vital than it ever had since her discovery 19 years before. She had watched the holovids of the duel between her Augor and Eiohsa, and she had watched and listened as the pictfeeds and the Remembrancer’s data streams set dangerous trends following her brother’s foolish choice to make such an event public. Sides were being chosen between the mortals of the myriad expeditionary fleets over Nikaea, no doubt between the Astartes themselves, and though Nelchitl was starkly lacking the cut of cloth for politics that many of her siblings had been gifted by their Father, she was not so dull as to miss the lines of war being drawn in the sand even as many of her sibling’s legions departed to return to the Crusade writ large.

It was this realization of the precarious position His realm stood in that prompted her to make requests to several of her siblings. A chance to maintain herself in their good graces, and even to figure out where they themselves were beginning to draw their own lines.

Thus she found herself in an Auxiliary bay of the Solstice’s End. Not one for the pomp and circumstance of her favored sister or the theatrics of her practically machine brother she stood with a small hand-picked retinue of her daughters at her side and a single cohort of Solar Auxilia hoisting a number of honor rolls and regimental colors of the 685th Expeditionary Fleet.

Far above her, in the bridge of the Solstice’s End, the officer of the watch would receive a request to land in the auxiliary bay of the mighty warship. Upon examination of the request, the officer would no doubt see the requestor, and automatically approve it. Under these circumstances, the battered iron-grey Thunderhawk of the Tenth, the Pact of the Lance found itself being waved into position by the Army auxilia crew as Nelchitl and her retinue no doubt watched.

As the ship touched down, the access ramp on the side banged open, allowing passengers to climb out, and so they did. Arnulf Wode, clad for once in his powered plate armor, jumped to the deck, the boots mag-locking to the ferrosteel decking with a whump-clang that echoed throughout the cavernous hall. It was a subtle, but entirely intentional disregard of Crusade protocol - it was unbecoming and dangerous for the genefather of a Legion to precede his escort, but Wode did it anyway, for it was his way. Two more forms followed him out, an Astartes in the Pact’s iron-grey plate, and a smaller, human form in an armored vacuum suit. After them, an honor guard of the Saturnyne Auxilia, all of them bearing the close-boarding axe that was one of their feared weapons. They carried no banners or symbols, as was the Tenth’s tradition.

Wode took off his helmet, hooking it to his belt and replacing it with a tattered, ochre-yellow field cap that he had worn since the Salient deserts, and strode across the bay, his countenance grim. He stopped short of his sister’s entourage, and saluted, fist to breastplate.

“Sister.” He said, “Thank you for allowing us to board on such short notice. To get formality out of the way…”

He turned his head as his retinue caught up. “This is Johann Kohl, my… third in command, and Saul Imogen, my sixth.”

The other Astartes nodded, removing his helmet. Thin, white hair billowed from under it, revealing a weather-lined face with a sour expression. Saul flipped the faceplate of his vacuum suit up and smiled, his teeth dazzlingly white against his dark tan Salient complexion.

“I don’t remember if you’ve met them, but here they are.” He smiled, and looked around. “Fine ship you’ve got too, you don’t mind me saying.”

Nelchitl found herself smiling as the tattered Thunderhawk of the Tenth passed through the hangar’s integrity field and touched down, the unceremonious entrance of her brother widening her smile even more as he placed himself out front of the normal Imperial procedures for meetings such as these.

She shook her head and laughed lightly as her brother cut through the formality even further while he quickly introduced his own small retinue.

“I have seen your Saul at the Council floor Wode, though I can not say the same for your Third. An honor to be in your presence again Imogen,” she said as she stepped forward and offered the mortal an armored hand on his shoulder, “And to you, Praetor, a fine day to meet.” she swept a hand out behind her to her own retinue, passing briefly over the few assembled Astartes as she introduced them as the master of the Tenth had.

Saul, boldly familiar with the Serpent’s mistress, placed his hand on hers and inclined his head. “Honored you remembered me. I’ll have to show you the sketches I drew of you in profile sometime, I think you’d like them. I had plenty of time with all the bickering to get them right.”

“I would like that very much.” the Emerald Priestess assured Saul as she slipped an oversized hand out from under his and across the mortals cheek with a genuine smile.

Kohl, for his part, cracked his whipcord smile, an expression devoid of any real mirth or pleasure. “After I watched you fight my father on the pict-recordings, I had to meet you. If it had been me in that chamber instead, you might not have had such an easy time.”

“Can it.” Wode said, casting a withering gaze at his second, though the gaze softened. Kohl simply returned to neutrality, but there was a palpable, smug aura surrounding the Astartes.

“Captain Itzel Mayalen of the Second Company, along with a distinguished Sergeant of hers, Arabel Santino and her squad.” she passed over the assembled Solar Auxilia, aware that they needed no introduction with their regimental colors held proudly before them.

The Pact’s complement of Auxilia held their axes in front of them to silently salute their own comrades, for these men and women had shared the same horrors, albeit in different places. Wode nodded to all of them, beaming at his sister’s retainers. He was about to shake hands with all of them, but his sister quickly disabused that notion. Comradeship would have to wait, given the nature of this meeting.

Turning back to Wode and his entourage her smile became clipped as her tone dropped from it’s earlier levity, “Come Brother, there is much to discuss before I wish you to depart.”

Wode’s face turned grim. He nodded.

“No doubt what you wish to speak of is what I wish to speak of.” He said, replaying the footage of the duel he’d watched, along with everyone else in the Crusade. “We’ll, of course, allow our retainers to speak of this as well? I brought my men here specifically for their input.”

Nelchitl nodded to Wode, a sly grin creeping across her features even as her tone remained serious, “I would ask for nothing more, I find the insight of those I am not accustomed to all the more enlightening.” she affirmed before turning to make for the exit.

In lock-step, Nelchitl’s own retinue of Solar Auxilia, Saturnyne to the last, came to brisk attention and shifted cleanly to allow the Primarch’s and their retinues to pass between them. As if an afterthought Nelchitl turned as she reached the door and addressed the mortal retinues as they were about to be left behind, “Saturnyne, drink and make merry with your kin while your Scions speak, there is alcohol enough to go around on the Solstice’s End. Though do be sure to make it back to your ship before the Lord Wode.”

“Do not.” Wode said, with gravity, “Get anyone pregnant.”

With that, she smiled. Turning to lead on Wode and his retinue with little in the way of a conversation she guided them to a well-adorned chamber of luscious couches and well-stocked tables of food. Reclining in a chair obviously built for her she motioned to a similarly constructed chair for Wode and allowed Captain Mayalen and Wode’s own retinue to chose their own positions.

As the doors shut behind them and the group found their places Nelchitl eyed Wode before she spoke, “This duel, it bodes ill for all. I’m sure you are aware.” she inclined her head to the side and gazed over Saul and the Praetor, “I wish to hear your thoughts, all of you of course.”

Wode sighed, pulling his cap off and running a gauntleted hand through what little hair he had. Saul made a sad frown, and Kohl, ever the stoic, simply gazed straight ahead.

“I admit, I am naive about…” Wode started, wishing he didn’t have to voice what he thought, “...almost everything, concerning our father’s war. I have had to change a great deal. My legion has had to change a great deal, but under no circumstance, no possible situation, can I ever say that what I saw today was favorable for us.”

He looked his sister, beloved Nelchitl, in her eyes. “There was real hatred. It was not like our duel, not even close. Irreconcilable grievance. How could those two ever share a room, let alone a battlefield ever again?”

“It’s like the bickering of merchant princelings on my homeworld. Our homeworld,” Saul said, looking to Wode, “And we both know how that ended up.”

Kohl spat. “Interesting that our father tolerates such behavior, these days. He was not like this in the old times.”

Nelchitl turned her gaze to each as they spoke, her features betraying nothing beyond the vague interest in almost any topic she expressed at most meetings, though her nodding betrayed a more serious intent behind her as she sat slightly forward in her seat.

“I admit, our duel was nothing but the bonding of kin. I had no intent in causing any great harm to you during it, though I took pleasure in doing so anyway.” she laughed slightly, a flash of her violent nature passing across her eyes as she relived the duel with Wode, “But I agree fully. What was on display, for all to see nonetheless, was nothing short of hatred.”

She shifted and turned to Saul, her dark eyes falling upon him as her lips parted in a soft smile, “Your Princelings, they killed and killed did they not? Perhaps not at first, but eventually, they would bring ruination to their rivals, and to their own.” she allowed a small frown to grow as she continued to address the mortal, “That you see the writing on the wall with this, it displeases me.” she admitted.

Saul nodded. “I’m sure you’ve researched our planet since meeting Arnie, but yes. They were well on their way to ruination when the Premier found us. I’m ashamed to say that we were using war to end war ourselves, but…”

He smiled, looking into his lap. “The Legions thankfully made our efforts obsolete. I’m just worried that that solution won’t work again.”

Finally, and without turning to Kohl, she answered his words, “That you believe it is our Father that orchestrated this sits ill with me Praetor. He would allow no such thing, this was our dear sister’s doing, our newly crowned Warmaster’s first blunder if you may.”

Kohl inhaled sharply at this mild rebuke, but nodded, looking towards the deck. “I apologize. But my intent remains the same. In the old times, it would be decimation. Whole legions of good men burned for far less, and believe me when I say that.”

Wode turned to Nelchitl as Kohl finished. “Johann was with our father on Terra. He… well. The stories he tells of that time are disquieting, to say the least.”

“My greatest pride.” Kohl said, the flat disinterest in his voice momentarily defeated, “And in a lot of ways, my greatest regret. The old legions had many good men, and none as fractious as our brothers and sisters now.”

“So, that is our thoughts, sister.” Wode rumbled. “Is this prelude to war? Civil war?”

Nelchitl, her hair entangled in her fingers as she listened, brought herself to sit fully upright as Wode finally brought forth what they had all be thinking of, what every individual in the room feared.

“My… Our Father’s dominion has changed since you last tred upon the dirt of Terra, Praetor, and though I envy you for everything you bore witness to in the footsteps of the Emperor, I am pained to say that the Imperium you once knew is gone.”

The Emerald Priestess leaned forward and snatched up a goblet of wine before rising from her seat and making to walk around the room, “He guides us, as he always has, yet he leaves the Crusade for Terra,” she swallowed a gulp from the goblet and features twisted slightly as it hit with a far more sour flavor than usual, “why I can not say. Though I know he does everything for good reason Praetor. He leaves our dear sister Daena at our head, Warmaster of his armies, surely he knows that she can handle this position if he laid it at her feet. And yet…” she shrugged and waved to the assembled group. “She appears to have allowed our siblings to take a step down a dark path.”

“Civil war.” she shook her head, “I do not see it coming so quick, but I see the signs. I listen to the whispers of the mortals, I see that my own Daughters have been on edge since the pictfeeds, and I fear we are not the only of our siblings meeting as such.”

“Perhaps we are on an unavoidable path, or perhaps we worry too much Wode, perhaps we lack faith.” the Emerald Priestess stopped behind her brother and leaned over the side of his seat, “Do you think me mistaken? Am I wavering in my faith in Father?” she asked in a tone far more personal than her earlier words to the group at large.

Faith. The word had a pronounced reaction in all three Lancers. Wode’s hand flew to his neck, intending to grasp the Catheric cross beneath his shirt, but his armor blocked it. Saul closed his eyes, his face a grimace of pain, and Kohl simply sneered. It was a long time before anyone spoke.

“I have faith in Father.” Wode said, slowly, choosing his words with care. “But I do not have faith in us.”

Saul nodded. Kohl, his humors choleric, chimed in. “Faith is ridiculous where our Father is concerned. He is a man, like any of us, though he is the greatest of us.”

Wode glared up at Kohl with anger. “Can it, Johann.”

The Praetor directed his sneer to his father. “With respect, father, I won’t. Do you expect me to sit here and listen to this Salienti drivel? Have you parade around a ghost of humanity’s past when we’re supposed to be putting it behind us?”

Nelchitl stood to her full height as Kohl directed his ire to his own genefather, sorrow filling her features as she cut into the display, “Perhaps you too, Praetor, should have been left on Terra among the killing fields and the bones of dead empires.” she stated coldly, though her pain was evident as she spoke, “I pity you my nephew, that you lack the vision to behold as we do, to believe as we do. So stuck in your old ways, those wonderful and terrible times long gone, you miss the galaxy marching on without you.” she finished as she slipped around Wode’s seat to sit on one of its arms, cutting only a small sorrow filled smile to Saul as she did.

Wode looked up to her, face filled with worry. Without thinking, seeking the solace of touch, he replaced his arm that had been on the armrest onto her lap. Kohl shook his head, and spoke again.

“I think, Aunt, you speak true.” He eventually said. “But my disgust has never affected my loyalty. I can only hope it brings me death before I witness these great works perish.”

This time turning her attention to her brother she continued her sorrowful tirade, “To lack faith in us, in our own siblings, and in His Warmaster… Is that not to be shaken to the core brother? To have our faith in Him questioned at its most base?” she sighed and placed a gentle hand on his armored thigh, “It pains me to say this, so much so I can not express it, but I see His realm spiraling out of control following our own siblings actions. And I yearn for Him to fix it. Yet here we are,” she smiled softly, “alone and with only one of our own to set right these wrongs.”

Wode sighed, the exhalation implying great pain. “You’re not wrong sister. This Council, our sibling’s duel, I have to say, my faith has been sorely tested. I don’t like seeing our work undone, even if my involvement in it is new. But…”

He gritted his teeth. He looked into Nelchitl’s eyes, then Saul’s, then Kohl’s. He found three different emotions in all of them, but each was their own comfort. He slammed the fist not resting on his sister’s body into the armrest of his chair, startling everyone in the room with a rifle-crack noise.

“But god dammit! War’s what we do, isn’t it?” He bellowed. “Does it matter who we fight? Truly? Saul, you and I kicked every other Salient bastard’s ass on our world, didn’t we? And you Johann, you killed the thunder warriors when you were asked, didn’t you?”

Both nodded. Wode continued his tirade. “And Nelchitl, you damn near killed me. Any enemy. We swore to fight -any- enemy for this crusade. And I don’t know about all of you, but I fucking meant it. For our father’s work, I would kill any god damned thing he pointed me at, whether I was related to it or not. Augor and Eiosha want to start a war with family?”

He leaned forward. “I’ll unmake them, if I have to. For a galaxy that is truly ours, I’ll kill a traitor as gladly as I’ll kill an alien, mark me very god damn well.”

Saul nodded at this, his smile terse but serious, and Kohl merely offered his knife-slit, psychopath’s grin. Wode looked to his sister.

“And you?”

“Was there ever a question of it?” the Emerald Priestess beamed, herself reinvigorated by Wode’s display of his dedication to all they held dear. Silently, she felt foolish for having doubted that she would end up somehow arrayed against her Father, that she could ever truly be shaken to her base and lined up to wage war against that which she held most dear.

“If need be I’ll end even you, my dear Wode.” she smiled as she lifted his arm from her lap and placed it back on his. Standing up she moved back around the room, stopping this time before the form of Wode’s implacable Praetor. With a flash of movement, she had him between her arms, the Terran veteran held aloft from under his arms by the Primarch of the Seventeenth with ease.

“I would expect and hope for no less.” Wode growled, but good naturedly. He grinned as Nelchitl approached, then picked up his frustrating 3IC. Kohl was his most difficult son, but his brilliance could not be denied. That the man’s icy exterior had cracked, even so slightly, at this meeting made Wode’s heart soar with hope.

“Perhaps you have use still,” she stated as she spun him in her hands as if some tool, “You have seen many an upheaval in your time, that you see this any different, I find hard to believe.” she placed the Praetor back down and smiled upon him with the warm of the sun, “Those unnecessary were purged once, to do it again would not be unheard of. You may prove very useful to help us keep our Father’s realm, your Father’s realm.” she finished happily before moving now towards Saul.

Kohl bore this attention with the barely-tolerated demure of a poorly behaved cat, but he did bear it. When she smiled at him, he blinked, nonplussed, but quickly resumed his facade.

“It is the nature of warriors to complain.” He said, quietly, “And the oldest ones complain the most. But I would not have you think of me as anything but the weapon I am. My only desires are a worthy cause, and a worthy death. The details…”

The praetor pursed his lips, nodding to himself. “I’ll leave to you and my father, and our father of fathers.”

“Your father will no doubt use you at your best Praetor, of this I have no doubt.” she replied as she stopped in front of Saul.

Wode beamed at Kohl, his approval for the taciturn Astarte’s words evident in the pride in his eyes. Saul, for his part, looked up at the Emerald Priestess as she approached him, blinking and smiling, seeming confused, even now, as to why she would bother approaching him.

Looking down upon the mortal frame of Saul Imogen, Nelchitl felt a pang of regret at allowing him to attend this meeting, though the feeling quickly passed as she realized the absurdity of it. If one such as Saul could stand at Wode’s side up to this point, then there was no use keeping his mortal mind blind to the wider Imperium that moved around his greatest friend and brother.

“You and I, we share something very precious.” she began as she took a seat on the couch next to the mere man, “Our brother that is.” the massive form of the Primarch loomed over Saul as she brought an arm around his shoulder, “To trust you as he does leaves me no doubt I can do the same. And trust you I do, for who better to ensure my brother’s safety than one with very real reason to fear the maelstrom that may be coming. Your mortality is your strength, and I expect you to wield it where we can not.” she motioned to the other three functional immortals in the room, “And ensure he remains breathing as best you can.”

“I still fear Wode, that what has begun can not be stopped. It is insidious, the nature of these things. It creeps in veiled in righteous fury and bruised pride, and it leaves behind only ashes. Like the great wastes of your homeworld,” she leaned forward and inclined her head toward Kohl, “or even yours Praetor.”

“I trust I can count on you Wode, on your Praetor and the Tenth,” she clenched Saul’s shoulder softly, “And on you as well Saul.”

Saul’s body trembled with emotion, but he choked it down as best he could. He nodded, and when he spoke, it was gravelly with barely contained feeling.

“When I met the Premier, I knew. I saw him before Arnie did, you know. I surrendered to him.” He swallowed. “I was nothing before all of this. No family, no money, no hope, no future. I don’t think what Arnie and I were trying to do would’ve worked without the Premier and what he’s done. He gave us back everything. All I can do now is give him everything. It’s what our Pact means, after all.”

Her gaze remained light as she turned to await the answer of her brother, a hint of anticipation evident as she studied his grizzled features.

“Saul’s right. We can’t go back on our promise.” Wode said, simply. “And now, I make the same promise to you, Nelchitl. I will die before I let the Imperium fall.”

Nelchitl smiled, the warmth spreading through her features as she pulled Saul in close almost out of instinct rather than any sort of grand display.

“As will I, Wode, death before dishonor, or the collapse of all our Father holds dear. To give this Imperium a million years, I’d gladly give myself.” The Emerald Priestess released Saul from her embrace, tears running down her face as she did. With a hint of confusion, she wiped the tears away and composed herself.

“I must ask, though I feel I have asked much, of which of them do you feel more likely? To turn on our Father?”

Wode folds his arms, staring at his knees as he thinks. “I suppose Augor. Though I don’t have great faith in either, I admit, if Augor’s accusation is true. But my brother, with his… machine idolatry, it makes me uncomfortable. The Mars technocracy does great and good works, and there are many good people in my brother’s legion. I certainly couldn’t make war without them.”

He looked up at the ceiling. “But I don’t trust Augor. I don’t like what his legion does - the braining. As for Eiosha…”

He shook his head. “So much talent, but she spreads it so far. Always a great work here, an invention there, a campaign here, psyker magicks there. She spreads herself too thin, and a woman that works with too many tools at once eventually injures herself grievously. They both, I fear, are due for a fall from grace.”

“Augor is chained by his dogma, by his Priesthood. I do not fear him. Though I understand your views.” she paused and waved a lazy hand, “Eiohsa however… She is broken, a craven in a position made for the stalwart. She does not act as we do, only in half measures and broken promises.” she turned to Saul and then her own daughter for the first time since this meeting had begun.

“Mayalen, how many worlds does she possess?” she asked of her Captain.

There was no hesitation as the Serpent spoke for the first time, “777 inhabited worlds, many of which are self-sufficient forges or fortress worlds. She maintains her own shipyards and war industry my Lady.”

“This is what I fear of the two. The one with the means, and the broken mind, to go against our Father. Augor is misguided, but he is constrained by the Martian Priesthood. Eiohsa lacks the restraints he has on him. This is what worries me.”

“Seven hundred and seventy seven worlds?” Wode said, aghast. He put his hand to his temple, closing his eyes. “Forgive me, but I can hardly imagine the scale. I only had the one, and ‘had’ is a strong term. I wasn’t even the master of it until Father came. Seven hundred seventy seven…”

Kohl and Saul seemed to blanch at this as well. Wode grinned at the two of them. “The things we could’ve done with all those worlds, eh?”

Kohl shook his head. “Administration is a waste of our talents, and our lives. Like tying a racehorse to a plow when a grox bull would do.”

Saul laughed at this. “And I’m the beast of burden then, I suppose?”

Kohl looked at the human, and spoke. “You’re wasted on a human’s lifespan, Imogen. If we’d found you as a youth, we would have given you apotheosis, but alas, you had to go and get old before we could get to Salient.”

Saul bowed his head in mock penance. “I’ll do better next time then.”

“See that you do.” Kohl said, and tittered in an odd giggle. At no point did any of this emotion ever reach his eyes, but, it seemed as genuine as the Praetor could get.

“I have to say I agree with my Praetor, Nelchitl.” Wode said eventually, “But I do have something else to say on the matter. Seven hundred and seventy seven worlds fly Eiosha’s banner…”

He leaned forward in his seat. “But do they fly the Imperial eagle? Salient was one world, but it was a fractured world, broken up into city states only loyal to their merchant princes. The concept of loyalty to Salient itself, to view every Salienti citizen as an equal, was an alien concept. True loyalty to the planet, and to the Imperium, was only forged in war.”

He closed his eyes. “I do not believe it is as simple as seven hundred and seventy seven worlds, itself a huge chunk of any given galactic sector, being loyal to our Father’s cause just because the woman who owned them swore fealty. And with all those forges, all of those weapon manufactorums cranking out material, how difficult would it be to amass an army large enough to stall the Crusade? To stop it even?”

“Nothing is ever so simple brother.” Nelchitl agreed as she leaned back into the couch, its frame creaking beneath her armored weight as she did, “A holding so large, and for so long in her hands… I doubt their loyalty has ever truly been in the light of Imperial rule. She bends them to her own needs. It’s Industry already provides for all of her Legion, for all of the units they claim attached as well.”

The Primarch shook her head and placed an arm over the back of the couch, “The armies you speak of already walk the stars. They wave the Imperial Aquilla on their banners, stamp it to their armor and arms. But for how long...?” she trailed off, allowing the others to speak if they wished.

“Not much longer, if recent events are anything to go by.” Wode rumbled. He crossed his arms. “What I’m suggesting, Sister, will be considered traitorous speech if overheard by the wrong people, but it needs suggesting nevertheless. These contingencies I’m going to suggest your legion take as well as mine were thought up by our very own executioner, Praetor Kohl here.”

The Astartes nodded, dipping his head.

“Of all of us, and I include you as well sister, I believe he has the best idea of the internecine nature of Imperial rule.” Wode continued, “I believe in father’s dream, but dreams are rarely realized without acknowledging the nightmares either. I am proposing including within our Legions training for anti-Astartes combat. All the way down to where to stab with a knife, all the way up to the weaknesses of Legiones Astartes tactical and strategic doctrine.”

“This is, not, of course, to suggest that warfare like this will become commonplace.” Saul said, “Just that knowing what that kind of conflict will look like and how to prosecute it may be a boon in the coming days.”

“That’s right.” Wode nodded, “The Imperium of our dreams will be vast, encompassing all of humanity, of all cultures, races, and creeds, including Homo Sapiens Astartes. They will rub up against one another. They will come in conflict with one another, and if a legion as large as the Daughters of Iron decides they’re tired of their gene-mother taking in on the cheek, they can be met without surprise, without shock, with nothing except what a noncompliant world would meet; resolve, and determination.”

“And meeting such…” Kohl began in his reedy voice, “...hopefully they can be brought to their senses before final censure is needed.”

Nelchitl kept the surprise from her features well enough. A hint of her emotions only making itself known in the sudden shift in her position as Wode and his Praetor spoke. She scowled at the Praetor as he finished, the taste of shame rising in her throat as she did.

“You have started this, haven’t you?” she asked, her eyes narrowing, “Your Legion already trains, or is at least prepared to, for Astartes on Astartes then?” she disliked the proposition greatly, some childish part of her believing that deal with only Eiohsa would be enough to solve this problem, but she knew better than that, even if she was remiss to admit it.

“Even before all of this, you have been preparing. How distrusting you must be of us all Praetor,” she slipped her arm down and around Saul at her side, and though the action was simple it carried with it all the promise of violence that the Emerald Priestess was known for, “I wish not for cousins to come to blows if it can be avoided. To cut the head off of the snake is my ultimate goal if it comes to such.” she gently squeezed Saul’s shoulder as she spoke.

“But if it must, if it is unavoidable for my daughters to fight their cousins, I will agree to this. But not yet, there is still time to avoid this.”

Kohl met the accusation with his usual stoicism. If her words bothered him, it would’ve been impossible to tell without biometrics screenings, but nevertheless, he responded.

“My personal company has always trained like this.” Kohl said, “And only recently have I gotten approval to give what I know to the rest of the Lightnings.”

Wode cleared his throat at that, and Kohl dipped his head in response. “The Pact, I apologize. It may not seem sincere, but I have no desire for Astartes civil war either. But my father is, despite his many flaws, a practical man, and eventually he let me have my time in the sun. If this conversation ends, and the only result, Aunt, is that you think less of me for being paranoid, then let it be so.”

Saul nodded, hoping to dissipate the tension in the room. He didn’t recognize fully the danger he was in with Nelchitl so close, but he knew that the paradigm had shifted in a way that was not healthy. He spoke next.

“We are a warfighting legion.” He affirmed, “And it is the job of any group of soldiers to prepare for the conflicts that seem realistic. I think it would be a sad day if the Astartes Legion, the finest weapon produced by man, goes the way of horse cavalry or biplanes because we didn’t accurately predict the kind of wars we’d have to fight.”

“Training is also not warmongering, sister.” Wode said, fixing her with his steel-grey gaze. “The Tenth would never advocate for war to fix the dispute between the Stargazers and the Daughters. Merely that if open conflict does erupt, that the dissent is put down as efficiently as possible, with minimum time and loss of life. If our legions can burn whole systems of aliens and non-compliant cultures, what could they do to our own worlds, many of whom are only guarded by a token levy of Imperialis Militia? And how much destruction could they reap if our response is inadequate?”

“We are all warfighting Legions, Saul. Though some admittedly more than others, and yet I know of no others that think as you do.” she shook her head, a sigh escaping her lips, “Perhaps that is our flaw.” she admitted.

The grip on Saul’s shoulder waned and Nelchitl continued, “I do not think ill of you Praetor, I am just… surprised, that an Astartes can think as you do. My daughters do not imagine a day when they would fight their cousins.”

“We only relish that which takes place in a sparring cage, I must admit.” Captain Mayalen chimed in from her corner of the room. Nelchitl nodded to her daughter and continued.

“My Serpent’s are perhaps the most well suited for the violence of our Father’s Crusade, and yet I admit, I think they would be hardpressed to raise a bolter against a cousin.” Nelchitl’s features became weary as she pulled Saul in close as if for some sort of comfort, “I have no issue putting down one of my own siblings. I would do it in a heartbeat were it to maintain the Imperium, to further His goals. Here I have been, daydreaming of the day I truly fight one of you to the height of our abilities, nothing pulled or redirected. Yet I failed to see the obvious in that eventuality Kohl. I missed the logic that drove your decision.”

“I think you wise beyond credit, even if your area of expertise has a niche application.” she smiled at Kohl now, Saul still being pulled against her armor as she did, “Never could I hate a nephew with such promise.”

“The Serpents I have had great respect for since before they reclaimed you, and it has only grown since then.” Kohl said, with more grace than the two Lancers with him ever thought possible, “...and fratricide is never a quality someone should feel regret for not possessing the capability to do. I too crave the honor of single combat, but in reality, it’s never as simple as simply beating someone in a contest of arms. Every champion slain inspires one of his spears to take his place, and it is those spears he leads who are the true strength in his arms.”

There was silence from the Tenth delegation, until Wode broke it. “I wish I did bring a remembrancer for that line, Kohl. Where have you been hiding that chestnut?”

“Oh, around and about.” Kohl said airily, and he tittered.

Wode directed his attention back to his sister. “As for you, Nelchitl, I understand your fondness for Praetor Imogen, I would hold him that close all the time if I could. However, I do ask that when we leave, you return him to us, alright?”

“Oh, you don’t -have- to.” Saul said from between the Emerald Priestess’s arms, “It’s quite nice here.”

“I have several Remembrancer’s aboard if you’d wish to repeat your wisdom for the masses, Praetor.” Nelchitl smiled deviously as she made the ridiculous offer.

Turning now back to Wode the Emerald Priestess’s mind was made up, her path set in the outcome of all she had garnered from those assembled. “I would like your training regiment, everything you have. Though I wish not to spread it far, I will begin with those daughters I trust most.” she nodded to Wode and then his Praetor.

“And I wouldn’t mind keeping Saul for a while. Perhaps he could even be elevated beyond his kin, I see only wasted potential in allowing you to remain fragile as you are.” she admitted, a sly grin creeping over her lips as she pulled him closer in mock protection at Wode’s request.

The 5th army praetor, a mere human and a short one at that, was held fast by what seemed to be a casual hug. Nelchitl’s muscles were like steel cable, and although they exerted almost no force in the gentle hug, it was like being tied to a hospital gurney. Wode raised both eyebrows at this gesture, then looked to Kohl, who seemed very interested in the point where the bulkheads met the overhead of the space.

“As much as I would like to be abducted by a host of warrior women who are the peak of genetic perfection…” Saul started, and Wode laughed, throwing his head back and bellowing laughter. Kohl closed his eyes and his shoulders shook, and Saul grinned.

“Well, alright, put like that there doesn’t really appear to be a downside.” Saul said, and Wode howled again with laughter.

“What a problem you’ve developed, Saul.” Wode said through tears, “Reminds me of those old terran myths about kings and how goddesses would steal their life’s essence in bed. What an absolutely terrible problem to have.”

“Oh, so I’m a king now?” Saul said, then looked up, craning his neck, to look Nelchitl in the face. “See? I’m royalty. I got prospects, so you wouldn’t even have to be embarrassed.”

Voice wavering with suppressed humor, Kohl spoke up. “If you two would stop thinking with the little spears, I believe we were asked a question? Are we simply to let my aunt steal Saul away because she can flutter her eyelashes at you, Father?”

Wode rolled his eyes, and it was Saul’s turn to laugh, and he did so generously. “In other legions they behead warriors who talk like that to their genesire, Johann.”

“Oh?” Kohl tittered. “I do hope it’s the Stargazers that practice such ways, so they can put a new body on me so I can do it again.”

Saul shook his head and responded. “Dearest Nelchitl, Emerald Priestess, I know you’ve been wooed by my galaxy-level charms, but, if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to stay as I am. Just a little rejuvenat every so often. Mortality gives me the onus to complete the Premier’s vision, you see. If I have a deadline, I just do better work, you know?”

Nelchitl allowed her brother and his sons their time to speak candidly to one another, enjoying the banter as she held Saul with a waning smile. “A shame to be sure,” Nelchitl stated with dismay as she passed a hand along the curve of Saul’s cheek, “you’ve so many uses only given the time to realize them. A man like you…” she allowed her words to trail off unfinished as she smirked at Wode.

“Besides, I wouldn’t treat you like one of those Terran kings. What use would you be to me if I stole the essence of your soul as you slept, simply a dead husk is worth nothing to me.” she stated seriously, the more subtle meaning of Wode’s ancient reference lost on the Emerald Priestess as easily as such other subtle ideas.

With a sigh, she released Saul from her embrace and stood. Passing her gaze over Wode’s chosen sons and then to Wode himself she frowned, “Were we able to spend more time together, I would have you all stay with me as long as the Council kept us tied up here.” she shook her head and her frown warmed slightly at the action, “But we have all been delayed here too long as it stands. My daughters have their own issues beyond the confines of this system that I must see to personally.” she strode across to Wode where he sat and placed a hand on his shoulder as she stopped at his side, “Next time we meet, I pray that our conversation here was unneeded.” she smiled and took her hand from Wode, “Till next time, my favored nephews.” she finished as she left the chamber, the hum of vox chatter emanating from her suit as she disappeared around the corner.

A historic meeting

With the affairs of the council starting to wrap up, the task of the various chambers and offices of the Primarchs being emptied so that they could proceed with the Crusade once all matters were settled began, though the efforts wouldn’t start in earnest until the Emperor called the Council officially complete.

For his part, Micholi’s spartan attitude towards luxury and personal comfort proved rather beneficial in that it had taken less than an hour to organize his offices on the planet and it was doubtful it would take much longer than two in order to have everything packed up and shipped out when it was over. As such, those laborers connected to him and his legion were currently enjoying a respite from their otherwise taxing lives.

A legion serf who was currently acting as a secretary respectfully led the figure that had requested an audience with the Primarch into his office, pausing at the doorway to glance towards said guest in order to ask “How would you care to be introduced?”

Ardel Mantz stopped dead in his tracks at the question of the Night Watch serf. His mind was alight with options as he processed the question. “I hadn’t imagined I’d have a choice in such a matter.” he admitted as he began to walk once more, “Pardon my surprise,” he offered with a calm smile, “however your Lord deems most reasonable for his guest’s introductions will suffice.” he finished with a nod as he followed the serf further into the Council’s back rooms and antechambers.

The serf in question offered a respectful nod of their head before the door to the Antechamber was opened. Stepping forward, they called out for the seated Primarch to hear “Historiographer Ardel Mantz of Hive world Nova Sulis to see you my lord!” While Primarch Micholi was well known for not investing too heavily in formalities and parade, there seemed to be some level of respect given to guests as Micholi looked up from the dataslate he was looking at and rose up to greet the new arrival properly.

“Thank you Reginald.” Micholi politely offered to the serf, who offered a bow as they stepped out to leave the two alone. “Historigorapher Mantz… or would you prefer Ardel? Please take a seat.” There was a gesture towards one of the seats on the opposite side of the basic desk that the Primarch had; There were several different sizes, clearly intended for the different sizes and bulks that came with meeting and talking with people of various sizes, be they human, xenos, legionary or even fellow primarch.

Stopping at the entryway, Ardel fussed with his overcoat as the serf moved to open the doors. Shifting from his jacket to his collar, then back to his jacket and up to his hair he barely noticed as the doors swung wide and he was introduced to the Primarch of the second legion beyond.

With a start he took an awkward step forward waiting to be addressed by a son of the Emperor, merely nodding meekly as he was directed to take a seat before the figure. So caught up in his own anxiety was he that he took a seat in a chair very obviously not made for a human. But Ardel was too engrossed in the primarch before him.

“Ardel Mantz…” he stated as his brain attempted to figure out what he should be called. “Ardel will do Lord.” he spit out far more composed than his initial offering. He bowed his head politely to the Primarch as his fingers finnicked with the cuffs of his jacket.

For his part, Micholi didn’t seem inclined to point out Ardel’s blunder. His centuries of service to the Imperium had gotten him somewhat used to a degree of awe being inspired in those he was speaking to after all. “So Ardel… as much as it is a pleasure to meet you, I rarely have the time for purely social encounters. At least in the sense of sitting back and enjoying a conversation with a member of what should be one of the Imperium’s most respected professions. How might I help you?”

“No no, of course right, why I’m here,” Ardel quickly spat out as he placed a ream of papers on the desk before the Primarch. He began to sort through the papers messily, pushing fastened packets of information out on the small area of desk he was now obviously claiming. Packets of densely packed script scrawled along the margins of old texts, the papers themselves obviously torn from old tomes and manuscripts. Here and there the writing wove between the lines of the pages original texts themselves, accompanied randomly by hand drawn diagrams and images. Ardel fussed over the pages before he pushed a small stack from the desk to fall out of the Primarchs sight and took a set of papers in his hands not so dissimilar from those he had been sorting through seconds prior.

With a smile that betrayed how far out of his league he was he thumbed through the papers and stopped on a page of text densely packed with handwritten notes. He ran a thumb down the page, mumbling to himself as he read and tapped pointedly as he found what he had been looking for.

“Here here, Lord, I’ve got it here.” he said quickly as he turned the paper around in his hand to reveal a crudely drawn ring of mechanical nature festooned by smaller groups of scrawling notes and what appeared to be a star in close proximity.

“Lord the ‘Sun-Snuffer’ as referred to in text dated back to the war against the abominable Men of Iron, Lord.” he pursed his lips and continued, “massive machines used to devour entire stars Lord, and there’s, there’s more…” he said hurriedly as he leaned down to sort through the papers he had thrown onto the floor just earlier.

For what it was worth, Micholi took his head to look over the documents that Ardel was revealing to him. They could have easily been absorbed and processed within a matter of seconds, but the Primarch was clearly taking his time in order to try and make his guest feel more comfortable… as well as have the time to get future documents in order. “Very interesting discoveries… They also help to define just how massive and destructive a scale this conflict must have been. After all, even if the Men of Iron only ever produced one of these devices to work in the field, that would still mean that there are entire star systems that ceased to exist due to its star being destroyed. A troubling thought…”
There was a slight pause, before the paper in question was lowered as Micholi gave Ardel his attention again. “I try not to make assumptions, but I’m guessing you’re trying to give greater understanding and context to the war with the Men of Iron, including what actual technological feats they were capable of?”

Ardel’s head sprung up from under the desk at the words of the Primarch, beads of sweat shaking free from his head as he righted himself fully. He lifted another bundle of papers and spoke now in an attempt to answer the demigods' question, “No Lord no, I know one of your status. You know, the,” he struggled a moment, a shade of ruby rushing across his cheeks as he realized he was rambling before he steeled himself once more to push for his theorems, “A child of the Emperor no doubt knows these things I say but I must say them,” he smiled meekly, “as almost proof of their validity. To put them against none other than one of the Emperor’s children, there is no better thesis defense.”

“This, this was known as the ‘Mechanivore’, machines that could decimate entire worlds and here, this,” he turned the paper to face Micholi as he grabbed another weathered page and splayed it out along with a few others to create an interlocked image of some ghastly mechanical construct, “it is said, through technologies most vile, that it could devour space and time as data Lord.” he wiped the sweat from his brow with the very page he was offering before dropping it and flipping one of the pages that made up the hand-drawn image of the Mechanivore to show yet more text.

“Your new theorem on Old Night, and these texts, born from the darkest crypts of the catacombs of the long lost Archmagos Messeppos’ Citadel, I believe they may be related Lord.”

For a moment it looked like Micholi was going to say something, but instead he shifted in his seat as he reached out to accept the paper on the ‘Mechanivore’ in order to inspect it for himself. “Might I ask how you have come to this conclusion?” He asked, even as he read… before he paused to lower the page to make eye contact again. “Don’t get me wrong, I can see the possible connections. I just would prefer to understand your point of view and the conclusions you have personally drawn.”

Ardel licked his lips as the Primarch scrutinized his paperwork and directed his questioning gaze to him. He leaned back involuntarily as he came under Micholi’s gaze, “Lord I’m saying, I believe that these Men of Iron, and their weapons galactic terror, I believe that they did build a weapon as you postulated… Though I…” he squirmed a moment before continuing, “I can’t be certain, my research thus far has been… limited. It is difficult,” he raised a finger to the sky pointedly, “Nay impossible! To make the journeys necessary to gather the information required to further corroborate this theory though I admit.”

He sat forward to the edge of the seat once more and sorted through the mess of papers at his feet before dragging a worn scroll of considerable age from within the pile. He unfurled it a map, obviously once extravagantly detailed, but long since ravaged by time. “Many worlds I believe have the information required to further these claims, many of them abandoned, predating the Imperium all.” He turned his gaze to Micholi, hope burning in his eyes, “With your blessing, Lord, I wish to travel to these places and continue my research… To prove your theory, and by extension mine, true as to our dark past.”

Micholi rested his elbows on the arms of his chair, bringing his hands together to clasp them just before the center of his chest as he offered a small, gentle and warm smile. “I would be more than happy to give you the permissions you require in order to investigate these matters further. Even in the event that this theory is proven incorrect and the Men of Iron failed to weaponize the warp in a manner that caused the warp storms of the Age of Strife, considering the nature of war I believe it is in our interests to investigate these worlds anyway.”

“If the crusade has taught nothing else, it is that relics and weapons of wars that happened hundreds, if not thousands of years ago can often remain long after the war in question has been over and forgotten, but still highly dangerous. Land mines are a good example of this, but some of the weapons and technology left behind can often be a lot more dangerous in nature… I would make the request to know what planets you intend to visit and that you make regular reports to detail your progress.” There was a look of concern on his face when he said this, clearly thinking in Ardel’s interests. “If nothing else, in the unfortunate event that in your search and studies you uncover an active threat from the past that proves deadly even after all this time, your silence and lack of reports will draw attention to it and your death will have saved lives in the long run.”

Ardel burst from his seat, a smile glowing from his face as he nearly took to hug the Primarch stopping just short of the Emperor’s sons oversized desk. “Lord of course! I can provide all relevant data of planets I believe to be worth exploration! I have,” he pressed the map forward excitedly, “this is not the only I have accrued, but it is where I’d like to start, Segmentum Pacificus, along the border of Segmentum Obscurus. I require only a ship for transit, though of course…” he took a step back and awkwardly sat back in his chair, squirming excitedly as he did, “a team could be greatly beneficial. Like-minded intellectuals could be a great boon to an expedition such as this.”

He nodded his head and pulled a crumpled paper from his pocket, obviously it had never been intended for viewing by the Primarch, and yet here it was, “I’ve assembled a list actually, of fellow Remembrancers present in the fleets, that could be of assistance. With your sway… We could assemble a true team for this undertaking, with the resources needed to make real forward progress in humanities understanding. We could unlock secrets long thought lost, Lord. A humbling thought, truly, and you are our gracious benefactor to push our knowledge ever further. I can not thank you enough.” he bowed in his chair as he finished.

There were but a few moments to review the planets in question and thus the most likely course to be taken in order to go from one to the other. As well as overlooking the list of possible personnel that Ardel would recommend to assist in the matter; Some of them Micholi knew personally having met them, but some were merely names on the sheet for him. There was a brief moment of thought… before he nodded his head.

“Yes… I believe I can make those requests happen. I will also bring in some members of the Mechanicum that have proven themselves to be…open minded enough to help the cause of progression, but not to the point of recklessness. I’ll also make a request to one of the Night Watch fleets to alter their patrol route somewhat in order to cover these systems… They’ll have other duties to perform in the region so they will not be at your beck and call, but they might be able to spare a squad to look after you and your team in the field, alongside being a relatively local source of reinforcements in the event that something happens. Would that be acceptable to you?”

“It’s far more than I could have ever hoped for Lord Micholi.” Ardel stated with genuine awe at Micholi’s willingness to back his expedition. “If it please you, I could ensure we are ready to leave at once and begin our search as soon as able.”

“Then I will send some messages out and see what I can get you on such short notice.” Micholi offered, before he politely nodded his head as he dismissed the man with a simple“I wish you good fortune in your efforts Ardel.”

As Sekhmetara made her way towards Kaldun’s quarters, she was passed by frightened human retainers, all hurrying or flat out running away from her brother's room. They all gave her a hurried, deferential bow, as they passed by but they did not stop. Something had spooked them greatly. It took little time to get to Kaldun’s room and in no time she was approaching his door. Two of his sons stood outside, force spears at their side.

Upon seeing her approach, they banged the spears down on the ground. One of them announced her as she drew close. “Lady Sekhmetara of our sister legion The Tears of Dawn is approaching, Kaldun!” He gave an apologetic shrug as the door opened. “Today’s events greatly angered him.”

The elegant form of Sekhmetara, clad in the kaleidoscopic gown of terror-bird feathers she had worn upon the opening ceremony of the Council moved, flanked by two of her own mortal guards. She would have not worn the gown a second time at the same great gathering, but her brother had yet to be graced by the sight of it and she felt that terribly unfair. With her heightened senses, even the elongated train of the gown offered no difficulty to both herself and the servants that rushed by. She accepted the hurried bows of those she passed, while perhaps good decorum should not be rushed, she was entirely sure that anything which caused mortals to not halt in proper deference to herself was of great importance, either to the Imperium or their own immediate survival.

"I certainly understand any frustration my brother might have." The ebony primach smiled one of her more charming smiles to her brother’s guardians as they reached the entrance, dismissing her own two companions with a quick wave of her hand before moving into the chamber alone.

The room was destroyed. Burns dotted the walls from where lightning had hit them, and there were claw marks across any surface that could have been conceivably reached. The desk that had been put there for Kaldun’s use was ripped in half, its ends thrown on either side of the room. The Thunder of Labrys was jammed into the wall immediately to the right of the room, sunk into the wall several inches from the force of its throw. Chandrian, Kaldun’s second, gave a deferential bow to her as she appeared. “I will leave the two of you to discuss.” He left quickly, moving by her.

Kaldun turned to his sister, breathing heavily, and gave a bright smile at the sight of her. “Sister! To what do I owe this delightful surprise visit?!” He held out his arms and moved forward to hug her.

Sekhmetara met the embrace with true warmth, the soft touch of her gown and form against his armour. She had not expected such immediate warmth from her fellow primach, given her previous encounters with her siblings who's unfortunate cultures lacked the emotive expression of her own, but it was a welcome change and no ounce of surprise made it to her expression or slowed her reciprocation.

He looked around the room, a bit sheepishly. “You seem to have caught me in a moment of passion! I do feel bad about running out the human servants! They always seem to be frightened by my yelling!” He grabbed one of the few chairs that had survived his wrath and offered it to her. “Please, sit! It would be rude for me to not offer you what I can!”

"They are but things, brother, they can be replaced." She waved a dismissive hand, the painstaking work of many mortal craftsman dismissed upon the whims of a Primach. She took the offered seat, crossing one leg over the other beneath the long skirts of her gown, the shimmering feathers catching the light as they were intended to. "I do not bemoan the company of any of our siblings, they all play their role in our Father’s grand vision, but some are more trying than others." She offered Kaldun a more personal, conspiratorial smile to the diplomatic one his guards had received while she studied her sibling, for the first time in so proximate and intimate a setting.

"But we need not discuss them if you would rather not destroy more of what is left of your furniture, we have much to catch up on." She chuckled softly, a sonorous noise which spoke of true fascination with one of her estranged fellow Primachs, an increasingly small number of introductions left to give.

Kaldun laughed. “Trying! That is a very diplomatic word for it! Yes, trying is what Sarghaul and Nimue are! I’ll use that instead of ‘monstrous’ and ‘mad’! Much more diplomatic!” He grinned at her, waving a hand. “But enough about our ‘trying’ siblings! I see that you would like to work together, to increase your legion’s psychic knowledge! Well, you have come to no better place! The Golden Legion is the premier source of psychic knowledge and power in the entirety of the Imperium! We can even train your auxilaries, be they mortal or xenos!” Kaldun grinned, smacking his chest as he made his boast.

“We have all been born upon different worlds, faced different trials and had to overcome them in our own ways. If anything we would simply get more done if we build bridges between us rather than burn them.” Sekhmetara spoke with a lightly scolding tone, although it sounded as much a jest as any true advice, before smiling at his words on the psychic matter.

“I would like to focus on the advancement of the Tears in psychic doctrine, as opposed to our mortal or xenos auxiliaries.” The elegant dexterity of her fingers momentarily straightened an errant fold of her gowns, even this corrective measure seemingly perfectly designed to highlight the perfection of the primach herself.

“The combined psychic might of those wishing to take part shall join my efforts in the Galactic North, although I seek to engage in the matter myself, it will primarily be a test of the Astartes themselves.”

“Very well! I will do my best to not accuse our ‘trying’ siblings anymore, regardless of their actions! Our father wants a united front, and the Imperium will only benefit from such unity!” He nodded at her words about the auxiliaries. “Fair enough! We shall elevate the Librarians of the Tears of Dawn to the level of the Golden Spears! While I wish we would do the same with your auxiliaries, the Legion takes precedent! I will leave the diplomacy to you and your daughters! As you may have noted, my sons and I are ‘trying’ diplomats!” He laughed again, pleased with his joke.

“How many of my sons do you wish to be on this venture? I cannot send too many, as we are needed to combat the psychic powers of the Eldar on the craftworld, but we do need a strong number of trained psykers to help guide the others! And there is none better than the Spears at training and wielding psychic powers!”

“However many you wish to spare, although this is a matter of research and thought, experience and an ability to teach will likely be far more useful than numbers.” Sekhmetara spoke with an amused smile which matched her brother’s tone, even if her enjoyment was rather more based on speaking with someone not currently accusing the entire room of treason as opposed to finding his wit truly amusing. “My Legion itself will likely be dispersed across an ever growing front, and I will not ask my siblings to commit greater resources than my own Legion can spare, especially to a matter which concerns itself with more esoteric aims than purely our commitments of conquest to our father. Sekhmetara rose from where she sat, her skirts shimmering in the Light of the room, her own grace no doubt throwing into further contrast the chaos of the room about them.

“My Equerry shall provide further details of the administrative side of matters should they be required.” Sekhmetara knew every proposed detail of what she had planned, but did not feel the need to spend her own time communicating such, such was the task of minds that did not also have to consider the cosmic front of galactic war. “But if you wish to spend some time in quarters not entirely ravaged by the wrath of a scion of the Emperor, you are welcome to return with me to my own delegation, we will be toasting another round of debate survived.” She smiled, with a more direct form of a amusement, the golden flecks of her eyes sparkling as much as her own personal radiance.

Kaldun nodded, thinking to himself. “Very well, I have a number of my sons in mind for teaching! There will only be 500 of them, but they are all patient and skilled in teaching! They will be able to guide research and thinking, and hopefully prevent any accidents!”

He laughed, looking around the room. “As much as I enjoy toasts, I should stay behind and help clean up my own mess! The poor servants wouldn’t be able to pull the Thunder of Labrys out of the wall, much less repair some of the damages I have done! No, that will require a psychic touch! I thank you for coming sister! We will toast soon, I am sure of it!” He stood himself, waving goodbye to Sekhmetara and turning to begin putting the room he had destroyed back together.

The Mithran primach moved with her usual effortless grace as she passed from the chamber, looking back over her should to accept the wave of her sibling as she did so. She wasn't a foot from the exit before the mortal bodyguard who currently accompanied her fell into step behind her from their place at the entrance. The first visit of many planned for the day. There truly was no rest for the wicked.

After Day 3 Council had concluded

Usriel’s Room

The door to Usriel’s room vibrated slightly as Kaldun banged on it. “Brother! I have come to talk with you! I missed the rest of the council when I left to calm myself! I need you to tell me what happened in my absence!” The door slid open and Kaldun strode into the room with a vibrant grin. “It is good to see you again Usriel!” His arms went wide to hug his brother but he paused. “I almost forgot! You do not want to be embraced!”

“Tell me! How are you doing!? I saw that the events of the Council affected you greatly! It was a trying time for all of us, but we made it through without a drop of blood being spilled before our father! That is a victory!” He sat in front of the blackened meeting table, beaming across at Usriel. “So I ask again brother! How are you holding up after today’s Council session?! I could feel father’s anger crackling through the air even after I had left! It must have been as passionate as the debate that I participated in!”

Though, even as Kaldun came and exclaimed, the father of the nineteenth had not moved from his seat, only a slight turn of the head with the red glare of his helmet pointing back at Kaldun. There was a moment of silence before Usriel would respond, “Indeed. The Stargazers were being held accountable for their motions of disembodying Astartes with grievous injuries and putting them upon augmented chassis. After all, only in death does duty end.”

Eyeing the Golden Conqueror for another moment, Usriel leaned back in his seat, bringing his hands into a steepled position as he cocked his head ever so slightly. While his voice did not show it, it was clear there was an air of skepticism as he continued to speak, “Yet, I feel as if that is not what you had come to talk about, Kaldun. After all, you seem to be more inclined to go to that shapeshifting witch far more than wanting to deal with myself. So I ask now, why have you come?”

Kaldun shook his head with a laugh. “Come now! I love most of my family, but that does not mean I am blind to their faults! Eiohsa views the Stargazers actions emotionally and as great crimes against our sons and daughters! She would have only informed me of her view on it, which is not something I need!”

“You however, I know will only tell the truth! You are many things Usriel, but you will not lie to me or spin any of the facts in your own favor!” He gave a dismissive gesture. “As for my other question, can I not ask my brother if he is doing alright after seeing him cry?! What kind of brother would I be if I simply ignored that?!”

“My tears over my niece were the same as any other atrocity committed against my sons and their cousins. Though, I suppose I cannot argue against your kindness,” Usriel responded in his normal coldness, his gaze unwavering. A moment past as he adjusted his hands to grip his chair, speaking out as coldly as he could, “Now, since you have come to talk, let us talk. How do you feel about Daena’s promotion to warmaster?”

Ignoring the increasing coldness of his brother, Kaldun responded with a beaming smile. “As you say! Just know I am always here for you Usriel! That is what family is for!” He turned his head to the side in confusion at the next question, but shrugged. “I think she is an excellent choice! Impartial, logical, fair and very dedicated to the cause! There are some who will call her a mutant, but given the existence of the Edict and the wide variety of our own siblings that our father has shown no issue with I think that she will be fine! A far better choice than me, at least! Someone who will care about the day to day operations and how well all of us are working together! I would just point in the vague direction of the galaxy and say ‘Conquer all of that’!” He laughed, pleased with himself.

“Why do you ask, brother?!”

“Mere curiosity,” Usriel said blankly as he began to condense the loud words of his sibling into the whys as to why Daena had been made into the warmaster. He turned his head to look towards the wall bearing the Cog of the Mechanicum. Another moment of silence before the colder of the brothers next spoke, “I suppose she is a fine choice, I hold her in high enough regard to say that she will prove capable for the time being.”

“A fine compliment brother! She will prove capable indeed!” Kaldun laughed again, amused at the idea of one of their siblings, genetically designed by their father to be perfect and nigh unstoppable, being merely capable at the art of war.

“Speaking of war brother, are you joining us on the craftworld siege that Augor is preparing?! I hear that there is a great deal of tech and information on the planet that will benefit the Imperium and our efforts!”

“Of course. Albeit, I am not attending out of the prerogative of implementing the foul xeno-tech, but I am attending to behind reaping vengeance for my sons. Augor had since restrained me from bringing the entirety of the Steel Sentinels to bear, but I will be taking my finest,” Usriel responded, his coldness breaking away momentarily as he seemed to relish the idea of purging the Aeldari there from existence.

“Excellent brother! I look forward to purging the xenos that refuse to surrender with you! I have not spoken with Augor myself yet, but from what I understand our Imperial forces need more psykers to combat the psychic powers of the xenos themselves! Unless I am mistaken I’ll bring my own finest sons to battle their finest psykers in glorious combat! Which brings me to my next question!” Kaldun leaned forward onto Usriel’s desk, excitedly. The desk groaned under the added weight, almost inaudible beneath the primarch’s words.

“You have connections to the Mechanicum, yes?!” Before Usriel could respond, Kaldun continued. “Of course you do! That means you could get robots with specific designs built, yes!? My sons and I need to increase the variety our Guardians! The factories we have managed to secure for our use have been satisfactory, but are not up to the standard of flexibility of the rest of our army! Could you help us in this endeavour, brother!?”

“Perhaps…” Usriel mused for the moment,
bringing his gaze back to the Golden Conqueror, pondering the thought of reallocating some of the production to aid another’s legion. “However, retooling manufactorums and production lines takes time, Kaldun. Not to mention, you have not spoken of the STCs regarding these ‘Guardians’ of yours. Upgrading those sacred instructions will take time and will need to be approved by myself, the Holy Synod of Mars, and the Synod of Vion 5.”

“Aha! Fortunately you will not need to upgrade the sacred instructions of Baalros!” Kaldun declared, with more than a little amusement, setting a datapad down in front of Usriel. “My sons have identified STCs that will require minimal modifications! These models are perfectly designed to allow a psi-crystal into their matrix! That will allow them to be controlled even better than the Mechanicum’s own cybernetic warriors can!”

Kaldun started pacing around the room, swept up in his idea. “We can test them out on the Craftworld invasion, the Eldar are strong warriors and they will provide ample testing grounds, and if they are a success we can look into improving other robots so that my sons and other Librarians could use them to the same effect as these designs!”

“Think about it brother! Your own librarians would doubtlessly be even more skilled at controlling such designs than my own sons, and you could keep them more secure from being targeted by the various enemies of man!”

Usriel had a moment of pause as he thought about the words of Kaldun, knowing full well of how useful such weapons could be against the Aeldari threat. The Nineteenth son watched Kaldun’s pacing, before his mind was nearly instantly concluded. He said in a more of an enthused tone, clear that he was smiling faintly behind his helm, “You need not to say another word to convince me, Kaldun. I shall have some lines of production altered so you may have these weapons. Of course, all modifications will need to be approved, but our standing as sons of the Omnissiah will sway the Synod of Mars.”

“Excellent! Soon enough we will be able to crush our enemies with the might of the Astartes and the cunning of the Mechanicum!” Kaldun beamed back at his brother. “We will see the perfect testing grounds upon the craftworld as we bring the vile Eldar to heel! It will be a glorious sight as we crush them beneath the might of the Imperium!”

“How soon do you want me to visit and pick up the designs!?”

“I will send you a message as soon as we have the first working one made so that you may see and judge for yourself,” Usriel responded, bringing up a data-slate and typing into it for but a brief moment, “As soon as I return to Vion 5, I will have Fabricator-Technis Arx work upon this. Should I not be there, it is he who you will speak to.”

“Excellent! I knew I could rely on you brother! Between our two forces we will crush the Xenos that oppose us!” Kaldun grinned again, practically shaking with excitement.

“Which reminds me brother! What happened during the rest of the Council after Sarghaul’s crimes were revealed? I know there is something about Augor happening, but I had to leave lest my rage overtook me and made me do something regrettable!”

Usriel paused for a moment only another Primarch could register, thinking to himself before speaking, “It was about the Stargazers as a whole, it seemed they took the critically injured Astartes that were no longer able to healed and took their brains to be put onto metal chassis, so that their duty does not yet end. They did so to other legions as well, such matters did not seem of much import for me to note otherwise, though the Witch was against Augor’s view.”

“Ah! The Stargazers’ practice of keeping Astartes fighting! A sensible action that some of our siblings seem to have taken issue with! It is no different than dreadnoughts no? Regardless! Which ‘witch’ spoke out against Augor? That moniker could describe any of our sisters who are psychically inclined!” He laughed again, grinning at a memory. “I have been called such a title by rebel humans who had never seen psychic abilities before! So really, any sufficiently psychically powerful sibling of ours could get such a moniker! So! Which of our siblings is against Augor?”

“Eiohsa and Nimue,” Usriel answered simply, before proceeding to elaborate, “Though I will admit my comment of ‘witch’ was based upon Eiohsa alone.”

“Nimue and Eiohsa agreeing on something? That is the amazing part of this! Though I suppose Augor’s methods go both against the morals of Eiohsa and the aesthetics of Nimue! It is a strange thing to be caught upon, preserving the life of one of our children when each of them is a precious resource to be conserved at all cost! I imagine the three of them argued for some time, so we can skip over that! What was our father’s ultimate decree upon the matter after hearing the arguments for and against?”

“The Emperor decreed that the Stargazer’s procedure shall be mandated and taught to the other legions,” Usriel stated, before bringing his arm up to a display that appeared on the table. The blue hum echoed across the darkened chamber, though the contents were clear enough, a frame of Eiohsa and Augor clad in their respective armors. The two were facing each other down, weapons drawn with the intent to kill each other. “Though, the warmaster decreed that Augor and Eiohsa settle their differences through a duel. That is something I figured that you’d enjoy much more than talk of proceeding and rulings,” Usriel revealed, leaning back in his chair and cocking his head towards Kaldun.

Kaldun immediately stood up with such force that his chair flew backwards and crashed against the door behind him. “There was a duel?! And nobody told me?! When?! Where?! Who won!? How did it happen!? Don’t answer that! I can just watch it!” He paused, and then looked at Usriel. “Could you start it instead of showing me a screen?! Quickly, please! I want to see how Eiohsa’s distractions affected her fighting! And how Augor did against a psyker of such potent power, without the might of his full army behind him! Our brother is formidable, but a duelist he is not!”

Usriel allowed a silence to pass before he brought up the recording, allowing the duel to play out just as how it had been recorded for the public to see. The standoff, the fight, the carnage, and Augor being declared the winner by the warmaster were those parts that were only useful for Usriel to even be given so much as a light grumble about. The Nineteenth was happy to see Augor having won the duel, more so to see that Eiohsa had gotten her dues for being the shapeshifting witch that he saw her as. However, Usriel could truly only care for Eiohsa, not her well being, but rather the fact that he viewed her injuries as not enough to satisfy his own roiling anger against her.

Kaldun commented, mostly to himself, as he watched the duel.

“I think each of them brought enough firepower to destroy a planet! Shame they aren’t like us, and use only simple weapons and powers eh brother?”

“Yes! Yes! You’re a stronger Psychic, use that to your advantage!”

“A ranged fight? Hopefully not the entire battle!”

“I spoke too soon! Go, go get him!”

“Aha! That is a big gun! Nothing like a spear of course, but explosions are always exciting!

“Hit him directly! Stab him with the spear!”

“Golden shields! Works every time!”

“How many guns does he have, anyway?”

“Throw his weird metal tentacles away, haha!”

“Rip him to shreds! To shreds!”

“Hmm, she’s distracted! He’ll take advanta-Yeah, there he goes!”

“Scrambler grenades? A bold strategy!”

“Oh, boo! How can we watch if they’re in the middle of magma?”

“Why are you helping him? He’s clearly not done! This will just-there it is!”

Kaldun looked over at Usriel, a grin across his face. “An excellent duel, brother! I feel that having it so soon after Eiohsa’s battle and claims against Sarghaul was a mistake, as she was clearly distracted! But, it is what it is! Hopefully this will put Augor’s petty oath to rest! He’s always been unnecessarily sensitive! Was that the last thing I missed? Or was there another exciting development from the argument?”

“No,” Usriel said simply, commenting in a grim tone, “Though in my opinion, Augor should have finished the duel properly.”

“He was already being pulled from a molten death by Eiohsa! Even with her distraction he only won due to her lack of thought!” He looked his head at Usriel, smile fading. “Unless you mean killing her! That would be a foolish decision! In addition to killing family in cold blood being the gravest sin you could commit, his life and his legion’s life would be forfeit! A duel is not a battle to the death, and killing your opponent is murder! And, as I’m sure you’re aware brother, murdering one of our father’s children is treason! The punishment for treason is death!” His voice was sharp and disapproving.

“That witch is nothing more than a security risk, even less a sibling. Her worlds are already proof enough that she cannot be trusted, but her ability to change bodies at will is something I cannot abide. No secret is safe so long as she exists,” Usriel hissed at Kaldun, standing from his seat with such intensity as to almost knock it back, his hands laying upon the smooth surface of the table. The Nineteenth Primarch, spoke in a voice wrought with anger and paranoia, “She is a treacherous wretch, Kaldun. She is unfit for leadership if she is to allow her daughters to be taken by some rogue Astartes! I will never call her sister, nor you or any of the others brother or sister! My family has been long dead and none of you are ever going to replace them!”

“Do not think you are the only one who has lost his first family!” Kaldun snarled back, leaning in to face Usriel, his fingers digging into the desk. “We have all lost those who raised us, some of us were not even lucky enough to have them! Do not think you are not the only who has known the shock and grief of finding out they are gone, and you are certainly not the only one to mourn such a loss! We’re all you have left! We’re the only ones in the entire galaxy who can even begin to understand what you’re going through Brother! We’re your family!”

Kaldun shoved off of the desk and began pacing back and forth through the room, waving his hands as he ranted.

As the door opened, Kaldun threw up a hand and blocked it off with a barrier of golden energy, preventing the Sentinels from interfering. He continued, growing louder and angrier with each word and every step.

“Your paranoia is getting the best of you! You see a dagger in every shadow, a lie upon everyone’s lips! Eiohsa does not do the things she did during the Rangdan if she was a traitor! Billions of potentially useful humans and thousands of her daughters, annihilated! We’re Primarchs! We’re all security risks! Sarghaul flouts our father’s commands and experiments upon humans, which even you can’t pretend is the work of rogue sons of his! He created the Infestus, and he taught his sons how to make more! Why do you think the Imperial Army fears working with them?! Death is preferable to what they do to you if you are wounded! I possess a temper so strong that I could destroy entire armies if provoked enough! Nimue is so arrogant and ambitious that she openly sides with Sarghaul out of sheer spite of Eiohsa, accusing her baselessly and plotting her death! To say nothing of her ability to influence others!”

“Augor is so blinded by religion, something banned by our father I might add, and so fragile that he is willing to swear a treasonous oath of murder and vengeance upon loyal citizens and astartes of the Imperium! Who knows what spying technology he has placed to ensure that his cult is protected and he is never caught unaware! Wode cares so much for his men that he might choose them over the Imperium! Nelchitl is as easily filled with rage as I am! Sekhmetara only speaks in honeyed words that hide her true intentions! Daena is capable of pronouncing dooms that force people to obey her word! Kaelianos has his own personal empire and endless drive! Micholi is a master of subterfuge and diplomacy with the Xenos! He doesn’t see them as slaves, he sees them as equals!”

“You are a master of fortification, loyal to the Omnissiah, and filled with paranoia! We are all security threats! By the very nature of being Primarchs, we are a threat! The only thing keeping us in check is loyalty to our father, and our combined vision of a united galaxy! And your complaint against Eiohsa is that she possesses abilities that several of us also possess? She can shapeshift! So what?! Nimue can manipulate the minds of all of those around her! I can destroy almost anything in front of me! That all means nothing! You speak of rogue astartes? What about yours? Your rogue sons started a war that was only averted by the Inheritors coming and making things worse!”

“Trea-!” Kaldun began to continue to rant but was cut off by Usriel’s fist coming into contact with the Golden Conqueror, snapping his head back. A staggering blow that had come from a Primarch that normally allowed words of others to go through him.

“None of my sons are rogues, you wretch!” bellowed Usriel in an anger that bordered hatred, the nineteenth Primarch now showing the full extent of his care of his sons. He brought back another fist, moving to continue his assault, exclaiming, “You know nothing of MY sons!”

Kaldun grinned at Usriel, blood trickling down his jaw, as he stepped back and deflected the follow up punch. He blocked the next one, mocking Usriel. “Ah! You punch harder than the witch! Maybe add that to your paranoia! ‘Eiohsa is fortunately not physically stronger than me!’”

He with his own flurry of punches speaking as he stepped forward. “Forgive me, brother but sons who ignore orders and do what they will sounds an awful lot like rogue astartes! Do not worry though! You have no rogue sons because the Daughters of Iron killed them as soon as they acted against orders! Convenient, no?!”

“They did not ignore orders! The Daughters’ idealism got in the way of protocol, you oaf!” Usriel bellowed, stepping away from Kaldun’s flurry, seeing the strikes coming before Kaldun had finished with the last. One impacted into the armor of his shoulder before Usriel rammed his side into Kaldun to push him towards the wall. He cried out, “They killed MY sons for following protocol! My sons! They are nothing but idealist wretches waiting for their mother to lead them to slaughter again!”

“We all saw the report! Your sons were ordered to stand down, and then they fired upon the Daughters!” Kaldun stepped to the side, avoiding most of Usriel’s shoulder charge. Usriel was not the only one with prescience. “When the Daughters retaliated in self defense, your sons were killed!” Kaldun grabbed the desk and threw it at Usriel, immediately following behind it with a charge.

Without a word, Usriel let loose a cry of anger, sending a blow through the desk and carrying it through to Kaldun in his charge. Kaldun deflected it with his arm and crashed into Usriel. The force of Kaldun’s charge took the two of them through the wall, breaking through with a thunderous sound. The two Primarchs fell to the ground, still struggling.

It was then that the Astartes of the Nineteenth managed to breach into the room, having to resort to using plasma cutters to drill through the wall. The sons of Usriel came in, following the devastation and raising plasma rifles at Kaldun before a loud voice, shrouded in authority and anger at the fighting Primarchs came over the two, “Father, Uncle! Stop this madness!”

Kaldun paused and looked up, fist raised to strike at Usriel, a quizzical look on his face. “What? We are simply settling differences of opinion! There is no madness here!”

The sons of Usriel looked unswayed and Kaldun gave a small shrug as he pulled himself to his feet. "Very well! I will meet you on the Craftworld brother! Together our legions will crush the Eldar!" With that and a cheery wave, met with smoldering silence from Usriel, Kaldun headed back towards his own quarters. The plasma rifles followed his every step until he was out of sight.

Through Rock and Metal and Time

---

Gugann
Ipian Cave System
2837 hours local time

---

Surprise filled her senses. It was a strange sensation. One she seldom felt these days. It reminded her of the first time she’d been permitted to witness the rising of the sun’s rays over the depiction of the Great Serpent of creation; Yahautl. The beams of sunlight had ran like molten gold over the mural of Yahautl as she birthed the sun and gave rise to all humanity, the beautiful mural depicted in the highest chamber carved into the stone of Mount Xanautl’s peak. Or of the first time she’d witnessed the hordes of the Easterners descend upon her city’s walls. The seething tide of baying bodies breaking against the steadfast defenses of Ocotopec like waves. Though unlike the awe she had felt in those moments, now she only felt disgust.

Disgust filled Nelchitl like an overflowing well as she removed the helmet from one of her fallen daughters before her. With a hiss, the helmet lost its hermetic seal and came loose in a wash of stale air revealing the Astartes beneath. Her face was impossibly aged, especially by the standards of the functionally immortal warriors of the Emperor, so much so that the skin of her daughter seemed to crack and fall away as dust where Nelchitl’s fingers brushed her cheek reverentially. She recalled her earliest days with her Father, devouring tens of thousands of years of human history and information to gain His praise in between lessons in combat and tactics, and the memory of the great tyrants of ancient Gyptus entombed in their sarcophagi deep beneath their pyramids sprung to the front of her mind.

She scowled as she placed the helmet back on her daughter to preserve the body within and rose from her position of kneeling. “Leave their armor sealed.” she instructed as she moved through her guard of terminator clad Serpents, “Make no attempt at geneseed recovery, I fear they are too degraded.” she added on angrily as she pushed further down the tunnel and deeper into the vast cave network of Gugann.

Outwardly she exuded a cold rage, her every step filled with murderous intent as she led her daughters on by the stabbing glow of their lumen beams through the darkness. Inwardly she lamented the chain of events that had led her to this point. The Council had waylaid her so completely that she had only been able to read the missives from her astropaths in what was first annoyance at her daughters’ inability to handle these crude xenos. Yet as the missives continued to arrive, her annoyance had faltered into genuine concern. That such a well-stocked and armed fleet as the 691st was having such trouble with these foul xenos spoke to a much larger threat than had been originally gleaned from the astropath’s messages. Her mood had not gone unnoticed by her siblings, and in fact, she was sure it had caused her outbursts in front of Him on more than one occasion, much to her own displeasure.

The bark of bolter fire echoed down the tunnel towards Nelchitl. She paid the sounds no mind as they entered into a large cavern, the ceiling soaring away from them into a vast dark abyss. The cavern itself stretched some several hundred meters to a trio of joining tunnels on the far side.

From the dark maws of the three tunnels came the tell-tale flash of weapons fire, her superhuman senses easily picking out the change in radiance from standard bolters and heavy bolter fire, punctuated by the hot blue flashes of plasma at a rhythmic rate. Her Terminators spread out at her sides as she began to cross the length of the cavern just as the first of the Serpents began to appear from the tunnels at the far side, weapons firing in tight bursts as the Astartes withdrew in superb order from the tunnels and into the caverns. Nelchitl swallowed her displeasure at the sight of Serpents retreating in the face of a foe as the final Astartes exited the tunnels to join their squads.

One Astartes appeared to move slower than the rest as if the joints of their armor were ill-kept or damaged before the Serpent simply crumpled to the cavern floor at the mouth of the tunnel. She marveled at the lack of feedback at the sight. No weapons discharge struck her daughter, no melee weapon pierced her armor, and the strange sensation of witchcraft was absent. The Serpent simply died with no cause to be seen. As quickly as her daughter had fallen their body was pulled into the depths of the darkness at the tunnel entrance as the vile xenos of Gugann spilled from the tunnels.

Nelchitl’s gorge rose as the abominations that were the Hrud xenoforms made themselves known. The bipedal creatures loped toward them, their forms obscured by some form of distortion field making it near impossible to focus on the beings. Explosions of bolter rounds and incinerating plasma amidst their throng seemed to grant them no greater sense of urgency as they moved with the same slow and inescapable inevitability of time itself toward the withdrawing Serpents.

“Standard line.” Captain Nenetl barked to her already obeying Terminators, “My Lord they outnumber us three-to-one.” she added as the assault cannons of her Terminators opened up on the seething mass of xenos and were quickly followed by the other myriad of weapons the veterans carried. Rounds and plasma discharge screamed over the heads of the retreating Serpents, finding their marks with wet detonations in the mass of Hrud surging toward them.

“Six-to-one Captain.” Nelchitl corrected, the grin on her face obvious from her tone as she let fly a group of plasma shots from her pistol.

---

Nelchitl had gazed upon the dead Hrud with an air of disinterest. Its liquefied body was heaped onto a stainless steel surgery table and was slowly sliding to the tiled floor in an operating theater located far away from the main medicae bay. The harsh white lights of the theater reflected painfully from the white ceramic tiles that lined the room and threw grisly shadows across the Hrud’s vivisected corpse.

A number of grotesque liquefied forms of what could only have once been organs of unknown purpose had been set aside on a smaller table drawn up alongside the operating slab, each in their own steel bowl of varying sizes and arranged in no particular order that she could discern. Standing silent vigil over the organs was the 691st Fleets Chief Apothecary, Peña. Though her helmet remained on, Nelchitl could sense her daughter's bruised pride in the way she stood silently brooding over the organs.

A hiss of augmetics drew the gaze of Nelchitl away from her daughter and to the source of the Chief Apothecarion’s displeasure, Genetor Prata Petruvio, Tech Priest of Mars and member of the Magos Biologis. A trio of mechadendrites hung over his head, moving in slow motions as the tools at the ends probed and cut away at the xenos corpse.

“Tell me Magos, what you have summoned me here for,” Nelchitl ordered as the Magos continued his dissection. Slowly, and several seconds later, as if only just registering the words of the Primarch, the Adept turned to face her while his dendrites continued their work. His face was a gnarl of augmetics, a silver grate replacing his mouth and nose while a number of red lenses replaced both of his eyes. What skin remained of his face was pallid and drawn tight around steel. Where the shadow of his hood covered his neck Nelchitl noted the flash of steel in the darkness and decided that the Magos had likely passed the Crux Mechanicum some decades or greater before this day.

With a whir of memory coils spooling beneath his robes the Adept’s many eyes focused and unfocused in spasming shutters on the Primarch as a soft blue glow filled them, no doubt from the reams of data being recalled to deliver his findings to Nelchitl.

“Statement: Blessed be the Omnissiah and his kith. Wait.” the Magos began as he bowed his head to the Primarch, his augmitter scratchy and seeming to struggle with the words as it continued, “Statement: Hrud xenoform require further examination, data incomplete at this time. End.”

“Then why have you summoned me?” Nelchitl asked, the patience in her voice wearing thin as the Adept seemed to walk around whatever it is he had summoned her for.

“Request: This research requires a live sample, Hrud liquefaction makes study impossible. End.” The Magos’ many lenses all focused at once onto the Primarch, the whir of his data spools winding down at the same moment that a soft red glow filled one of his lenses.

Nelchitl took a short breath as she reigned in her annoyance, “Magos, these xenos are too dangerous to retrieve alive. The nature of their weapons is still unknown—“

“Counter: Incorrect. Hrud xenoform weapons have been discerned with an accuracy of 87.68%. Statement: Hrud do not use weapons. Wait.” the Magos cut off Nelchitl as she spoke, quickly continuing before the Primarch’s rage could overtake his speech, “Hypothesis: Hrud species wield the immaterium to induce accelerated entropy. End.”

Nelchitl, her mind awash at the brazen Adept, took a step forward before halting herself, “These creatures use warp sorcery?” she ventured as she turned to regard the corpse with greater disdain.

“Fact: Hrud age all matter within a 6.2-meter radius. Hypothesis: Hrud utilization of the aether is likely natural to the species. No witchcraft has been noted in all 12,373 battle reports. End.” A new dendrite revealed itself from beneath the Adept’s deep red robes and rose to head height with Nelchitl, a weathered and rusted section of Mk IV plate held delicately in the dendrite as proof of the aging these Xenos inflicted.

“Tell me Magos, how then do we capture such a creature?”

The Adept sat silently, the whir of data spools under his robes once more the only tell that the Magos was not simply staring at the Primarch without any sort of answer for her question.

“Fact: Expedition Auxilia casualties 48.02%. Astartes casualties at 12.39%.” a cold burst of air escaped somewhere under the Magos' robes as some internal mechanism worked overtime to calculate some unknown problem, “Hypothesis: Further losses are acceptable to gain an advantage over Hrud. End.”

Nelchitl scoffed as the Magos’ detached augmitter listed off the casualties, “Magos Petruvio, I will not sacrifice more of my daughters, or the Auxilia, for your science project.”

The Adept seemed to stare once more, light flickering in his lenses as his dendrites continued their work behind him, “Statement: The 691st receives 5,037 containers of munitions every two weeks. 1,024 containers of replacement weapons and mechanical parts every one week, up 536 containers from the last data point. Hrud must be destroyed, losses are unsustainable. The Crusade must go on, the Omnissiah wills it. End.”

Doing her best not to strike down the Adept where he stood, Nelchitl leveled her gaze on the steel and organic form of Petruvio, “I will not risk my daughters for your pet project. We shall exterminate the Hrud and move on. The 691st Expeditionary Fleet will receive an extended refit period once this extermination is complete to recuperate from its greater than average losses.”

“Counter: The 691st will require 5.7 ye—“

“That is not a suggestion, Genetor.” Nelchitl growled, her patience with the Adept finally at its end, “Glean what you can from the dead. Expect no live subjects. Assist the fleet as you always do.”

The Magos bent his head in deference to the Primarch of the Seventeenth, “Statement: Blessed be the machinations of the Omnissiah. End.”

“The Emperor Protects.” Nelchitl replied as she turned from the operating theater with a scowl.

---

Her daughters flowed through the line of terminators in an intricate dance, each one as precise as it was deadly as the next. They passed the more heavily armored line of Nelchitl’s guard as they ripped off staccato bursts from their bolters and continued for the entrance that their Primarch had only just entered the cavern from.

Nelchitl, herself knowing better than to charge headlong into the mass of Hrud, waved her own Terminators back with one hand as she fired her plasma pistol in the other. As one the terminators moved in reverse, each armored footfall accompanied by the death they spat at the approaching horde of xenos before them.

Where on most battlefields the Scion of the Seventeenth had to worry herself for incoming fire and attack, against the mystifying Hrud she only had to worry of distance, and of that there was plenty for the time being as her daughters cut a swathe through the front of the Xenos advancing on them.

Though sour at the idea of retreat, Nelchitl couldn’t help but to be proud of the performance of her daughters as they withdrew. Their fires were precise, devastating, and outstandingly coordinated. Where one of the Terminators’ fire died to reload the Astartes that had passed through them only moments before took up the task without pause, filling the lull in fire with a fusillade of death as they covered the individual Terminators at every reload.

Their withdrawal forming into a tighter and tighter semi-circle, Nelchitl keyed her vox as the last of the terminators came shoulder to shoulder.

“Take your leave Captain.” she ordered as the Hrud practically filled the cavern. The Terminators, with the Hrud almost pulling in close enough to begin using their warp sorcery, shimmered brightly and became incorporeal before they disappeared completely. If the Hrud felt fear, Nelchitl was sure they would have been overwhelmed by it at the sight of the Astartes that had been hidden behind the massive terminators.

In a semicircle three Astartes deep, devastator squads of the Serpents of the Sun stood as statues. “Flamers.” Nelchitl stated without need for the vox as she stood directly amidst the line of her daughters. Pilot lights licked excitedly at the wide mouths of the weapons before the cavern was ablaze with flaming prometheum, the Hrud simply melting in the ensuing conflagration.

The heat of so many flamers in such a confined space threw temperature warnings across Nelchitl’s visor, a low oxygen warning quickly joining the flashing alerts as the prometheum fires greedily sucked up the oxygen in the cavern and adjoining tunnels to fuel their wrath, a low howl of wind passing into the cavern as the flames ate more and more. The flamers sputtered and died as one as the wall of fire before the Astartes did the work for them, the Hrud simply throwing themselves into its hungry clutches as the mass of Xenos pushed those closest to the flames into them against their wishes.

There was an odd lull in the fight as Primarch and Astartes alike watched in grim fascination as the Hrud shambled to their deaths before them. But the moment ended quickly as the flames began to wane, the low oxygen warnings flashing with more intensity as Nelchitl’s suit warned of possible vacuum and locked her helmet's release automatically.

The Hrud closed once more.

---

“What do you mean orbital scans are inconclusive?” Nelchitl’s dissatisfaction was evident as the mortal before her offered further bad news.

“My Lord, the Hrud congregate in extinct lava tubes, their position is too deep below the surface to give accurate readings. These systems are vast…” Admiral Antonio Rivera of the 691st Expeditionary Fleet trailed off as he caught the gaze of the Primarch.

A scowl on her lips Nelchitl waved a hand toward a cluster of Army Officers that stood to the side of the strategium, “What of servoskulls and servitors to map the systems?”

The officers passed a few unsure glances between each other before a Major in the colors of the Tallbern Royal Dragoons stepped forward, “Lord, the Adepts of Mars have tried and failed to map the systems, and we have sent several of the fleet’s best scout teams in with heavy losses and little to show for it. It is believed that the Hrud target their attempts, though we have not come to an agreement over if they know the purpose of these parties or not.” he gave a curt salute and stepped back into the safety of his fellow officers.

Waving a dismissive hand at the comments Nelchitl sat forward in her seat as she studied the hololith of the planet before her.

“We hold much of the surface, yet we struggle to take a few cave systems?” she asked incredulously of the assembled staff of the 691st.

“The cave systems of Gugann are vast Lord, immense geological activity has created uncounted interconnected systems that crisscross much of the mantle together beneath the surface. We hold perimeter on many of the entrances at the surface, but still untold thousands are left unsecured.” Admiral Rivera offered an answer with a respectful nod.

Nelchitl, chewing on her lip, took several moments to answer as she studied the data and displays before her. “We have made gains though? I see several units within the tunnel systems themselves. What of these?” she gestured to a number of large clusters of units marked as within the tunnel systems.

“We have had success in several systems, Lord. Elements of the Salvarian Hussars have set up a number of defense bases in large caverns several kilometers into some branches of the tunnels, isolating the tunnels to their rear from those deeper within the planet. The Tallbern Royal Dragoon’s,” the General speaking offered a nod to the Major from earlier as he spoke, “Trippialis Medium Foot Regiments, and several detachments of Armsmen from the fleet have had success using this tactic.”

“We take and secure chokepoints and cut off what territory they can use Lord.” a second General, his body soft with the power of his station and his mind seemingly in a similar condition, added confidently, his demeanor obviously lifted by the other officers who had stepped up to answer the Primarch’s questions.

“I’ve connected the dots myself, General.” Nelchitl stated abruptly. She relished the look of shattered pride on the face of the rotund general as he shrunk back into his safety net of fellow officers. She decided to write him orders to the surface as she watched the wretch do his best to hide from her gaze behind his more talented comrades.

“Armsmen though?” she nodded approvingly, “perfectly suited for the tight confines of cave systems. Though I am wary of reducing the forces present aboard ship.”

“We have replaced the depleted detachments with Auxilia regiments less suited to the cave fighting my Lord. Namely mechanized and armored formations.” Admiral Rivera answered her concerns expertly before any of the other mortals could fumble in the face of a doubtful Primarch.

“As you deem fit, Admiral.” Nelchitl agreed before turning her attention back to the hololith. “We will see these xenos destroyed, of that I am sure.” she looked over the assembled staff and smiled brightly as she rose, “The Emperor protects.”

The room echoed the words in agreement.

---

A volley of krak grenades rose up from the rear line of Astartes, soaring peacefully through the air before landing among the still burning bodies of the Hrud and their newly surging living comrades. The Hrud advanced, those closest to the krak grenades reeling as they recognized their danger but too committed to avoid their impending doom.

A series of explosions filled the room, and more Hrud melted away in their strange deaths. Lascannons opened up from the third row, their bright red lines spelling the doom of the first couple rows of approaching Hrud.

Smiling, Nelchitl breathed in the smell of burning xenos that her helmets scrubbers couldn’t quite remove from the air as she watched the lances of red death punch through the disgusting xenos with ease. She was about to signal for the company of Tallbern Royal Dragoons situated in the tunnel behind them to bring up the defensive breastworks when lances of multicolored energies too chaotic to look at punched back through the mass of Hrud and slammed into her Daughters.

“Incoming fi—” a Squad leader managed before they were cut in two by one of the bright bolts.

“Find that fire and smother it!” The Emerald Priestess roared as more lances of the vibrant energies struck her line of Astartes.

---

“The Sigillite sends his regards, and wishes to inform you, Lady Nelchitl, of his hopes for a swift conclusion of this campaign.” the unassuming mortal spoke with a conviction and confidence that belayed their station.

Nelchitl, with a genuine smile on her face, nodded to the human. A woman of some forty or so Terran years, dressed in the muted colors of Malcador’s Order Elucidatum.

“His well wishes are always welcome.” she replied as she read the report that the Elucidatum had hand-delivered to her.

Several hours had passed since the Black Ship had arrived in-system. Its warp signature had heralded its arrival, though no missives or transmissions had been sent to forewarn the 691st, prompting a hasty combat deployment of the picket and a regrouping of the fleets ships of the line as they moved to meet the vessel before it translated into real space.

Nelchitl had been impressed at the speed with which the fleet had reacted. Cruisers had broken their positions at high anchor in only hours, forming into a well-versed formation that spoke of the skill and experience of the Imperial crews aboard. At the same time, the pickets had managed to bring themselves above the plane of the suspected translation point, placing themselves to dive on the ship like circling vultures were the need to arise.

While the bridge crews had worried of the arrival of a Hrud fleet, Nelchitl had felt something else. A foreboding as she watched the viewscreens fill with the aethereal tumult of the warp while the ship translated. Quickly identified as the Black Ship Terra Eternum, a Lunar class cruiser, Nelchitl had realized why her dread had set in as she watched it close to join the fleet, a single launch departing from the many hangars of the vessel transmitting a request for docking with the Sigillite’s own authentication.

They had received the ship with only the barest required formality for such a meeting, and Nelchitl had found herself annoyed and vaguely upset that Malcador himself had not actually been aboard the shuttle. But now she felt different as she read the report in her hands.

“This is true then?” she asked of the Elucidator as she moved the paper over a candle at the table between them.

Regarding the paper with an air of disinterest as it slowly burned, the Emerald Priestess turned it lazily in her hand spreading the hungry orange flame to the entire message.

“The Sigillite himself believes it has been proven enough to warrant this meeting. Though he admits it is not as concrete information as he wishes it to be. Their agents are very skilled, and their processes are as thorough as ours.” the woman admitted with a regretful nod, “as quickly as two of our agents are in place, one is uncovered. The ongoing monitoring has cost the Elucidatum dearly, Sire.”

The Emerald Priestess waved a dismissive hand, “All sacrifices worthy of praise, to ensure His vision endures those most devoted are always ready to sacrifice everything. These operatives have not given their all in vain,” she motioned to the burning paper in her hand with a flick of her eyes, “this message is proof of that.”

There had been a short pause as Nelchitl had regarded the last of the paper before dropping it to the table to let it burn completely. A tiny grin crept over her face as she looked from the small fire to the Elucidator, “If this is true, it means there will be a momentous shift within my Father’s Imperium. Should I expect another Black Ship when such information is uncovered?” she asked, relishing the implications of such a discovery.

“Of course, Sire. Malcador would trust such a task to none other of the Emperor’s children.” the woman replied with a respectful bow of her head. A lie for certain, Nelchitl was sure.

“Then I look forward to the arrival of a second Black Ship, Elucidator.” Nelchitl had said as she stood to leave the room.

“The Emperor Protects.” the mortal woman said with hands folded into the Aquila over her chest.

“Yes, yes he does.” The Emerald Priestess agreed with a wry smile as she returned the salute.

“Pull me the most detailed maps of Ultima available, and be discrete. We don’t need any unwanted attention to such a request.” Nelchitl voxed privately to Admiral Fabrizio on the bridge of the Solstice’s End.