Credits: @mothnoodle and @MarshalSolgriev
Location:
The Ursh Front
The Fortress of Bastion
“Welcome to Bastion, My King.” The Custodes spoke over the howl of Terra-Watt crafted engines as the Emperor’s personal craft steadily spun down after its recent landing. The gleaming gold of its armour had been concealed by the dust and ash that seemed everywhere across the Ursh front.
None of that touched the man who strode from the disembarkment ramp with the purpose of one without pause. He had not travelled in the full regalia of his office, the majesty of such ill suited for containment within the confined space of the transport, yet the more simple combat plate, akin to that worn by the Custodes himself, gleamed as if it had just been forged. This had little to do with the armour itself, for the lone custodes assigned to Bastion that greeted him had no such luck. The very presence of the Master of Mankind simply rejected the foul taint that was the wasteland of Ursh.
The full detachment of his bodyguard leapt from the transport behind him, a moment before the Gunship screamed back into the sky, such a valuable piece of ancient technology could not risk idling in place, and could lend its not insignificant firepower to the nearby front while the Emperor fulfilled his duties.
“See that the Primarch is informed of my arrival, he is not summoned, I can wait.” The Emperor strode forwards, heading for the great command tower of Bastion, a fortress of rockcrete that had more in common with a brick than it did any fine piece of architecture. It was one of many fortresses hastily erected to prevent Urshite counterattack, one of the lesser ones when it came to scope and staffing, but it was still a fortification grand enough to have been the envy of his forces at the start of this long campaign. How far they had come, yet infinitely further still to go.
“My King, may I address this failing early, the administrative cadre of this fortress is understaffed, we have but one Sigilite in attendance.” It would be inaccurate to suggest there was embarrassment in the tone of a Custodes, but perhaps this could have drawn near. He knew that in matters of experience the Emperor was not able to bring his own administrative staff with him, for mortals would be unable to handle the forces with which the Gunship could attain.
“Very well, have them brought to the Command Centre, I will require a scribe.”
“Yes My King.”
—--
The Command centre was not a grand room, it did not need to be. Spartan furniture sat at the heart of the room, with several rudimentary cogitators whirring away at its edges, keeping track of the limited data one could gather in the swirling dust storm that was the front beyond Bastion.
It certainly did not have furnishing suitable for the form of the Emperor, and so he stood, gazing out of the reinforced windows which dominated one side of the room, providing a view of the fortifications below.
He did not have much time alone these days, and so the Master of Mankind allowed himself to slip steadily into the silence of isolation, so totally that the distant roar of guns met his profoundly advanced senses, reaching out with the great force of his physic might.
Until that silence and isolation would come suddenly to a close.
With a pitter and patter of footsteps, a young woman who could not be twenty yet appeared in the doorway, carrying a basket of pens and ink over one arm and a stack of notebooks tucked under the other. But for the calligraphic letters embroidered painstakingly around the hems of her clothes, she looked as mundane and normal as could be as she curtsied deeply to the Emperor.
“M-My Emperor! It is the greatest honor that you are here. I.. I do apologize that this room- well we have no room grand enough for your stature and excellence and, well, I am afraid I am the o-only one available to assist you.” She curtsied again as she finished, hovering in the doorway uncertainly.
The Emperor allowed the young woman her brief moment of hurried salutations before raising a hand, stilling the runaway thoughts and vocabulary of the calligraphically encumbered woman.
“I chose this meeting place, I knew what could be expected. Please.” He motioned with one gauntleted hand to one of the chairs at the meeting table, none suited for his frame, but that did not mean he looked to impose that generally. “I seem to recall the Sigillite speaking of your parents once, keen minds for literature.” Even the great mind of the Emperor might struggle to hold the details of all those who served his burgeoning realm, but the servants of his oldest ally were among those he kept more thorough tabs on, hidden under the remit of humanising care and affection.
“I am sorry that the task I require of you will hold little such literary stimulus, my mind is drawn to great matters, and I find myself in need of a notary for these meetings.” It was an understatement of the gravest kind. The spellwork wreathed by the cultists of Ursh had drawn enough power from the realm beyond that it could have scoured the world of human life, only his will fought against it, a constant pounding at his temples that threatened to run away with all thought.
“May I rely on you, attendant?”
She scuttled forth to sit in the chair he had indicated. “Of course my Lord!!!! Anything y-you require!” She began to set out her pens in preparation. “A s-small task m-may be great, if done with g-great p-purpose.”
The tranquility of the command center was broken once more as a gentle tapping on the chamber’s portal announced the arrival of another. No door barred their entrance into the room, yet they performed the action anyway. It was a vain action as their very presence was the epitome of noise incarnate. Hulking ceramite of black wrapped around their muscular form. An idling powerpack lightly drowned the area in a constant drone from the chugging engine. Their servos softly whined as they moved into the room proper.
“My Emperor,” the man said as he walked a few inches forward. Each syllable was spoken from the maw of a lion, carrying the weight of authority and bravery in his voice. His winged, knightly helmet was cradled under his left arm, leaving his face bare to the other two. Olive skin, dark eyes, and short raven hair that had been recently cut and shaven. His very appearance was like a mangled, mortal version of the godly being that stood opposite of him. The servos in his ornate armor, a dark reflection of a Custodes warplate, screamed as he knelt down onto one knee and dipped his head. Their right fist came to the Raptor on their chestplate, turning the skull of the zmaj towards the Emperor as he saluted.
The skull seemed to smile.
“Primarch Aeternus of the First Legio Cataegis comes at your command. Always and forever. Raptor Imperialis, Imperator, your God-Slayer has arrived,” the Primarch intoned in solemn respect for the Emperor of the Imperium.
Portia emitted a soft eep at the honor of being in such presences, and immediately began to scribble- in her personal shorthand- everything that was said.
“Your service honors me, as it does our Vision.” The Emperor spoke, one hand motioning to a larger seat at the table that only Portia sat at. While none were fit for the Emperor, some had been altered to suit the frames of the Thunder Warriors, as it had intended to be a stronghold housing them. At Portia’s side and at the offered place, there appeared to be a ceramic cup of crystal clear water, fresher than could be found for great distances, if at all, on Terra. For the mind of others it did not appear summoned, but self correcting, as if they had always been there. “I know well the trials of this front, I cannot resupply the whole garrison at this moment, but for now, enjoy the boons of my favour.” Before the Thunder Warrior could question, the Emperor spoke again. “This Agent of the Sigilitte is acting as my scribe, do not be troubled by her presence.
The majestic form of the Master of Mankind drew closer to the table, a spartan and utilitarian piece of furniture to match the building it was housed within. “It is not for my commands that I am present, I am told you have questions for your Emperor, I am here.”
Portia did not dare take a sip, lest she miss a single word in her record, but she resolved to find a small vial somewhere- perhaps wash an old inkpot- to keep some in as a memento of this momentous occasion. Then she blinked. Had the water been there a moment ago? Perhaps it had but… if it had been there when she entered, how did she know it was from the Emperor Himself? Why had she not thought to save some when she entered? Perhaps she had not seen it until now. She decided she would not question the Emperor. Her work was more important than the provenance of such a gift.
Primarch Aeternus accepted the offer without complaint. He rose from his kneeled salute on whining servos, moving to his designated seat in a few steps, and planted himself down in the chair. His form delicately relaxed back into the gene warrior sized, cushioned back. Despite the proximity with his beloved king, the Cataegis didn’t appear squirmish or anxious about the Emperor. Curiously, Rex’s only inclination of agitation was a slight narrowing of his eyes. To him, his Emperor was a magnificent man clad in an aura of gold.
“Thank you, my king,” he responded swiftly before draining the ceramic cup in a single drown. It was hardly enough to quench a warrior of his imposing size, yet it seemed to suffice beyond its contents. The zmaj seemed satisfied at least. The mug was delicately placed back down as he flashed a small, scarred smile to the Sigilite. He dipped his head to her, “Thank you for joining us, Sigilite.”
Portia stopped breathing for several seconds, smiling and bowing her head slightly in the absence of her traitorous voice. She reached with a shaking hand to take a sip of the mysterious water, narrowly avoiding spilling it across her notebooks. She was as a mouse in the presence of gods, what else should she do but tremble?
The next second was met with a short period of silence. It was nearly suffocating as Aeternus simply stared at the golden edifice that was the Emperor. Rex remembered every single moment that he had warred with Him. Every single triumph. Every single discussion. Every single treasure. Every single march from Himalazia. It flashed before his eyes as he carefully picked his next words. The Emperor was a king beyond men, yet he was a man all the same. The words spilled out before he could completely finish a compelling discussion.
“It has been some time, my lord. The time that has elapsed since we last fought together has been long. Your presence alone brings me strength on this day. The work that has kept you away - the Astartes - I’ve seen with my eyes. They are beyond my expectations. I think they are worthy warriors that will replace us.” Aeternus finally spoke, his words still held their harsh edge yet his tone suggested a heavy amount of thought. None of the words that he spoke came with biting aggression. Each was a dutiful acceptance of circumstances far from his control. His eyes flicked to the agent as she wrote, aware that his words were being recorded before turning back to the Emperor.
“I’ve had decades now to think of questions to ask. I tore through Gyptus with the blade you had gifted me in Akkad, taken from the fallen hands of the Great King. I bore the Raptor from Urartu to the Ethnarchy with thousands of Thunder Warriors. I bled Sanctii of its shining walls with thousands less. Now, I war against Kalagann with less than a thousand. I will fight until none of us are left and Unity is achieved. Only three questions remain in my mind.” The Primarch said as if in a trance. He remembered all of his campaigns with explicit detail. Nothing was forgotten in his long trek across Terra. It brought a warm smile to his harsh features, but it quickly vanished as he prepared for his Emperor’s request. His face visibly hardened as he even dared to think it.
“Why are you bleeding us out, my Emperor?” He asked. The question had unconsciously formed as they left Sanctii. The Primarch knew the answer to some degree, he’d realized it as the First Legio Astartes warred next to them for several campaigns now. It was a different matter entirely to hear it from the source. From the man that he could easily consider his father in all regards.
The statuesque features of the Emperor were momentarily marred, a face of human perfection cast low into an expression of sorrow such that it was hard to look upon and not weep. It was as if the emotions of the Master of Mankind could not be contained, bleeding into the air around him. He took a moment, and then another, before he vocalised any reply, before speaking simply.
“Tell me, most honored of subjects, who I have fought and bled beside in days past, who bears the mark of my favour for as long as all but my most treasured allies, tell me why do you think I do this?” He did not seek to hide or deflect from the matter, but instead seemed to at least give the Thunder Warrior the benefit of voicing his most direct thoughts.
The Emperor’s expression gave the Primarch pause. His features scrunched as if ashamed that he had even asked the question in the first place. The man that had raised him up from nothing. It felt like the scolding of a parent or the disappointment of a family member. He had to press on. Thousands of dead brothers and sisters pushed him on.
“The geneflaw, my lord,” Aeternus responded, his features sullen as he remembered every Cataegis he was forced to cull. The giant warrior placed both of his armored hands on the table as he spoke. His right hand twitched from the memories, frequently used in the rite of passing with a silvered dagger in palm. He continued unprompted, “it is the single leading cause for the death of your Thunder Warriors. Wyrd cannot harm us, bullets cannot stop us, and blades cannot terminate us; however, the geneflaw can do what our enemies cannot.”
“A perfected warrior would not have these issues,” the Primarch of the God-Slayers finished. His voice was calm as if reading directly from a tome. He did not voice the obvious. Warriors like Valdor or Amalasuntha existed as perfectly refined products of the Emperor, yet Aeternus knew that they were a small order and difficult to create. His Cataegis were different and the Astartes more so. It made the next words more difficult to pull to the surface than anything else.
“You bleed us, my lord, because we are beginning to expire.” The Primarch stated his final answer to the Emperor’s question. It was a hard, logical truth that he had seen in more recent years of the Unification Wars. It made him think of Caligula, who had evaded the curse for as long as he had.
“What does a father want for his sons when the end is inevitable? To die in pain and misery, or to embrace the wings of death with glory in their hearts and a song of battle on their lips?” The Emperor asked, but it was more a question for himself than for any of those present, a distant look across his aquiline features for but a moment, before he exhaled, and looked upon Aeternus clearly. “You have the right of it, and your Godslayers last better than most, there is madness in the pain coming for you, and I have forged you into too great a caste of warriors to allow that to run unchecked.”
“The time approaches,” Portia murmured, “That will with due decision make us know… What we shall say we have, and what we owe.”
The Primarch of the First Legio Cataegis closed his eyes for a moment. He had expected such an answer. The pain of it ran rampant against his soul, yet Aeternus felt no need for vengeance or retribution. He had already chosen to accept his fate. The answer was salve over a single wound that had festered for many years, but it was a bitter medicine to remedy the issues that remained. How many thousands perished before knowing that their Emperor had prepared for their eventual decline?
“It matters not how we perish, my Emperor, only that it is by your side at the end,” Aeternus responded, his eyes flicking open once more to his genefather. His tone was somber and accepting. The words rang truly to the ears of the man-beyond-men. Despite the questions, he held no animosity against the one that had raised him. He simply wished He had been more forthright about their efforts. Once more, Rex was compelled to press with the weight of a hundred years behind him.
“I had known for decades that we were dying. I’d taken upon myself the task of easing their suffering,” the Primarch looked down to his right gauntlet, imagining the stain of a hundred men and women that he’d given peace through murder. He’d never regret those actions, even if they were now retroactively vain. They each would go on to see Unity, however that would appear. Their deaths allowed him to speak on, “my Emperor, with your powerful gene-alchemy, was there no way to save them from their afflictions?”
“With what the ravages of time have left us, upon Terra? Perhaps.” The Emperor's great shoulders almost seemed to shrug as he spoke with a wistful sadness, a startling shock of honesty from the lips of the Master of Mankind. “But it would have taken everything, all our efforts, there would be no Astartes, no recruitment, while the war burned on, to save those whose minds in most part have already begun to fray and flee from them in a manner that cannot be fixed.” The giant man flexed his own gauntlet, as if too bearing the blood and hurt of those that played through the mind of the Primarch. Little perhaps, did the Thunder Warrior know, that such thoughts were as open to him as the words spoken aloud.
“It was not an easy decision, but I cannot achieve our great purpose without regret and sacrifice. I have mourned them all.”
He was Cataegis. They felt emotions in a way different from the standard human. Countless horrific gene-augments had confused their body’s natural hormones beyond the baseline. They felt fear, joy, excitement, dread, and all others in a way that could not be easily conveyed. Aeternus, however, could only display it in a way that was truly unique to him. It was in the dark parts of his eye that a sadness formed. A grim, forlorn look that dared to cross his similarly aquiline features.
The Primarch registered the information, continuing to stare at the magnificent being that was his Emperor. Aeternus breathed deeply as he chose to accept what he had been told. His Emperor would never lie. It was all that he could do for he would never bite back against the man that he followed. He was incapable of doing so. It was the same answer that Malcador had told him many moons ago, yet Rex held a small hope that his king would have a different answer.
“We are beyond saving. I understand that now, my king. With the Cataegis that remain, we will achieve Unity in your name.” Primarch Aeternus responded at last. His voice grew in confidence, overlapping the sorrow that dared to seep into his soul. His resolve had evolved in the closing seconds of their discussion. Through the pain, he’d see that his siblings would have their glorious death and raise them as heroes of Unity. Rex knew all of them wished for this end as it was. The Emperor was merciful enough to allow that.
“Only one question remains that I ask of you, my Emperor,” the Lord of the First stated. It was the last thing that he’d wish to be answered if death came for him. If his king was correct, then that time would soon come for them all. The demise of thousands of his warriors did not reside with him in that question. It was truly his own.
“I do not remember a time before my life as the First Primarch of the First Legio Cataegis. Only the persecution of Unity and raising the Raptor over Terra has remained. I do not suffer the curse as the rest of my siblings have, nor do I experience the same as my kin.” Aeternus admitted, flashing a glance at Portia as she wrote away in her notebook before returning his gaze to the Emperor. The faces of his fellow Primarchs appeared in his mind as he spoke. His siblings. Despite their closeness to him, Rex had always felt a vague sense of exclusion from them.
“What am I?” Aeternus asked with a tone tinged with pleading. He had not remembered a time when he wasn’t the Primarch. His warriors had given him strange names in passing. Each of them had called him some variation of parent as they died in their mercy killings. At times, it had nearly drowned him in madness. Perhaps, he wondered, if this was his curse amongst their number.
Portia was staring at Aeternus, her pen still transcribing what was spoken without need for her eyes upon the page.
“A blessing and a curse both.” The Emperor spoke in response, allowing his servant the fullness of his attention at words tinged with the sorrow of loss. “That which has made the Custodians, the Thunder Warriors and the Astartes is as much art as it is science, it wars with the human form. The human form is not born equal in its capacity to accept such transformation. It would see the flaw that ravages so many others remains controlled in your form, perhaps permanently, but it is unlikely.” His last words were spoken with greater sorrow, lines forming across the previously unbroken visage of the Master of Mankind.
“A blessing that for now your mind is your own, a curse to watch with clarity the same curse among your siblings.”
The Primarch of the First Legio Cataegis stared at the Emperor for a second longer before nodding in acceptance. Aeternus’ features echoed the sorrowful emotions of the man across from him, yet they were quickly replaced with genewarrior stoicism. His form visibly relaxed as if unshackled from the greatest of his burdens and allowed to fall away from him. He was prepared for whatever remained of the Unification Wars, no matter what was thrown at him.
“Thank you. You honor me beyond words that I can express, my King,” Aeternus finally responded with a small, ugly smile that stretched his myriad scars. He lifted his zmaj-side gauntlet from the table in a hovering motion, palm turned to the side in offering to the Emperor. One last gesture. “If you will allow me, then I’ll depart now to finish this war and raise your name over Kalagann’s stronghold. I’ll do so with a thousand burdens lifted from my soul.”
In the margins of her work, Portia sketched a brief portrait of that smile for her to describe in fine words later.
“You are dismissed Primarch, whatever may come, you have brought glory to the Imperium.” The Emperor's expression did not change as he spoke, the same solemn sense of loss surrounding him as the Thunder Warrior took his leave. He allowed the silence to remain for some time after, although no true silence blessed the mind of the Emperor. The endless cacophony of the enemy's psychic assault rent across his mind, but there was reprieve in a sense, to be able to focus solely on that for a few moments.
Eventually his gaze turned to the small form of the Sigilitte he had briefly commandeered. He had not intended to take such an agent from her duties, but he had begun to notice the subtle differences in her reactions. There was something unique about her that was worth investigating, ideally without the recourse of direction.
“You will provide the minutes of this meeting to my Custodians, then please prepare your belongings. I am afraid I still have need of an administrator.” There was a hint of amusement to the Emperor's words, even as he made to leave. Bastion could manage without an agent of her order for the short time it would take to replace her. As he passed her at the table he spoke with a slight laugh. “You captured his likeness well.”
Portia, blushing, stared at the Emperor for a few silent seconds before ducking her head. “Th-Thank you, Emperor.” Her face was beet red. “I will do as you command.”
She stared at him as he left, then got busily to work preparing her transcript to be shared, mind occupied with what he could possibly want with an ordinary girl like her.
Location:
The Ursh Front
The Fortress of Bastion
“Welcome to Bastion, My King.” The Custodes spoke over the howl of Terra-Watt crafted engines as the Emperor’s personal craft steadily spun down after its recent landing. The gleaming gold of its armour had been concealed by the dust and ash that seemed everywhere across the Ursh front.
None of that touched the man who strode from the disembarkment ramp with the purpose of one without pause. He had not travelled in the full regalia of his office, the majesty of such ill suited for containment within the confined space of the transport, yet the more simple combat plate, akin to that worn by the Custodes himself, gleamed as if it had just been forged. This had little to do with the armour itself, for the lone custodes assigned to Bastion that greeted him had no such luck. The very presence of the Master of Mankind simply rejected the foul taint that was the wasteland of Ursh.
The full detachment of his bodyguard leapt from the transport behind him, a moment before the Gunship screamed back into the sky, such a valuable piece of ancient technology could not risk idling in place, and could lend its not insignificant firepower to the nearby front while the Emperor fulfilled his duties.
“See that the Primarch is informed of my arrival, he is not summoned, I can wait.” The Emperor strode forwards, heading for the great command tower of Bastion, a fortress of rockcrete that had more in common with a brick than it did any fine piece of architecture. It was one of many fortresses hastily erected to prevent Urshite counterattack, one of the lesser ones when it came to scope and staffing, but it was still a fortification grand enough to have been the envy of his forces at the start of this long campaign. How far they had come, yet infinitely further still to go.
“My King, may I address this failing early, the administrative cadre of this fortress is understaffed, we have but one Sigilite in attendance.” It would be inaccurate to suggest there was embarrassment in the tone of a Custodes, but perhaps this could have drawn near. He knew that in matters of experience the Emperor was not able to bring his own administrative staff with him, for mortals would be unable to handle the forces with which the Gunship could attain.
“Very well, have them brought to the Command Centre, I will require a scribe.”
“Yes My King.”
—--
The Command centre was not a grand room, it did not need to be. Spartan furniture sat at the heart of the room, with several rudimentary cogitators whirring away at its edges, keeping track of the limited data one could gather in the swirling dust storm that was the front beyond Bastion.
It certainly did not have furnishing suitable for the form of the Emperor, and so he stood, gazing out of the reinforced windows which dominated one side of the room, providing a view of the fortifications below.
He did not have much time alone these days, and so the Master of Mankind allowed himself to slip steadily into the silence of isolation, so totally that the distant roar of guns met his profoundly advanced senses, reaching out with the great force of his physic might.
Until that silence and isolation would come suddenly to a close.
With a pitter and patter of footsteps, a young woman who could not be twenty yet appeared in the doorway, carrying a basket of pens and ink over one arm and a stack of notebooks tucked under the other. But for the calligraphic letters embroidered painstakingly around the hems of her clothes, she looked as mundane and normal as could be as she curtsied deeply to the Emperor.
“M-My Emperor! It is the greatest honor that you are here. I.. I do apologize that this room- well we have no room grand enough for your stature and excellence and, well, I am afraid I am the o-only one available to assist you.” She curtsied again as she finished, hovering in the doorway uncertainly.
The Emperor allowed the young woman her brief moment of hurried salutations before raising a hand, stilling the runaway thoughts and vocabulary of the calligraphically encumbered woman.
“I chose this meeting place, I knew what could be expected. Please.” He motioned with one gauntleted hand to one of the chairs at the meeting table, none suited for his frame, but that did not mean he looked to impose that generally. “I seem to recall the Sigillite speaking of your parents once, keen minds for literature.” Even the great mind of the Emperor might struggle to hold the details of all those who served his burgeoning realm, but the servants of his oldest ally were among those he kept more thorough tabs on, hidden under the remit of humanising care and affection.
“I am sorry that the task I require of you will hold little such literary stimulus, my mind is drawn to great matters, and I find myself in need of a notary for these meetings.” It was an understatement of the gravest kind. The spellwork wreathed by the cultists of Ursh had drawn enough power from the realm beyond that it could have scoured the world of human life, only his will fought against it, a constant pounding at his temples that threatened to run away with all thought.
“May I rely on you, attendant?”
She scuttled forth to sit in the chair he had indicated. “Of course my Lord!!!! Anything y-you require!” She began to set out her pens in preparation. “A s-small task m-may be great, if done with g-great p-purpose.”
The tranquility of the command center was broken once more as a gentle tapping on the chamber’s portal announced the arrival of another. No door barred their entrance into the room, yet they performed the action anyway. It was a vain action as their very presence was the epitome of noise incarnate. Hulking ceramite of black wrapped around their muscular form. An idling powerpack lightly drowned the area in a constant drone from the chugging engine. Their servos softly whined as they moved into the room proper.
“My Emperor,” the man said as he walked a few inches forward. Each syllable was spoken from the maw of a lion, carrying the weight of authority and bravery in his voice. His winged, knightly helmet was cradled under his left arm, leaving his face bare to the other two. Olive skin, dark eyes, and short raven hair that had been recently cut and shaven. His very appearance was like a mangled, mortal version of the godly being that stood opposite of him. The servos in his ornate armor, a dark reflection of a Custodes warplate, screamed as he knelt down onto one knee and dipped his head. Their right fist came to the Raptor on their chestplate, turning the skull of the zmaj towards the Emperor as he saluted.
The skull seemed to smile.
“Primarch Aeternus of the First Legio Cataegis comes at your command. Always and forever. Raptor Imperialis, Imperator, your God-Slayer has arrived,” the Primarch intoned in solemn respect for the Emperor of the Imperium.
Portia emitted a soft eep at the honor of being in such presences, and immediately began to scribble- in her personal shorthand- everything that was said.
“Your service honors me, as it does our Vision.” The Emperor spoke, one hand motioning to a larger seat at the table that only Portia sat at. While none were fit for the Emperor, some had been altered to suit the frames of the Thunder Warriors, as it had intended to be a stronghold housing them. At Portia’s side and at the offered place, there appeared to be a ceramic cup of crystal clear water, fresher than could be found for great distances, if at all, on Terra. For the mind of others it did not appear summoned, but self correcting, as if they had always been there. “I know well the trials of this front, I cannot resupply the whole garrison at this moment, but for now, enjoy the boons of my favour.” Before the Thunder Warrior could question, the Emperor spoke again. “This Agent of the Sigilitte is acting as my scribe, do not be troubled by her presence.
The majestic form of the Master of Mankind drew closer to the table, a spartan and utilitarian piece of furniture to match the building it was housed within. “It is not for my commands that I am present, I am told you have questions for your Emperor, I am here.”
Portia did not dare take a sip, lest she miss a single word in her record, but she resolved to find a small vial somewhere- perhaps wash an old inkpot- to keep some in as a memento of this momentous occasion. Then she blinked. Had the water been there a moment ago? Perhaps it had but… if it had been there when she entered, how did she know it was from the Emperor Himself? Why had she not thought to save some when she entered? Perhaps she had not seen it until now. She decided she would not question the Emperor. Her work was more important than the provenance of such a gift.
Primarch Aeternus accepted the offer without complaint. He rose from his kneeled salute on whining servos, moving to his designated seat in a few steps, and planted himself down in the chair. His form delicately relaxed back into the gene warrior sized, cushioned back. Despite the proximity with his beloved king, the Cataegis didn’t appear squirmish or anxious about the Emperor. Curiously, Rex’s only inclination of agitation was a slight narrowing of his eyes. To him, his Emperor was a magnificent man clad in an aura of gold.
“Thank you, my king,” he responded swiftly before draining the ceramic cup in a single drown. It was hardly enough to quench a warrior of his imposing size, yet it seemed to suffice beyond its contents. The zmaj seemed satisfied at least. The mug was delicately placed back down as he flashed a small, scarred smile to the Sigilite. He dipped his head to her, “Thank you for joining us, Sigilite.”
Portia stopped breathing for several seconds, smiling and bowing her head slightly in the absence of her traitorous voice. She reached with a shaking hand to take a sip of the mysterious water, narrowly avoiding spilling it across her notebooks. She was as a mouse in the presence of gods, what else should she do but tremble?
The next second was met with a short period of silence. It was nearly suffocating as Aeternus simply stared at the golden edifice that was the Emperor. Rex remembered every single moment that he had warred with Him. Every single triumph. Every single discussion. Every single treasure. Every single march from Himalazia. It flashed before his eyes as he carefully picked his next words. The Emperor was a king beyond men, yet he was a man all the same. The words spilled out before he could completely finish a compelling discussion.
“It has been some time, my lord. The time that has elapsed since we last fought together has been long. Your presence alone brings me strength on this day. The work that has kept you away - the Astartes - I’ve seen with my eyes. They are beyond my expectations. I think they are worthy warriors that will replace us.” Aeternus finally spoke, his words still held their harsh edge yet his tone suggested a heavy amount of thought. None of the words that he spoke came with biting aggression. Each was a dutiful acceptance of circumstances far from his control. His eyes flicked to the agent as she wrote, aware that his words were being recorded before turning back to the Emperor.
“I’ve had decades now to think of questions to ask. I tore through Gyptus with the blade you had gifted me in Akkad, taken from the fallen hands of the Great King. I bore the Raptor from Urartu to the Ethnarchy with thousands of Thunder Warriors. I bled Sanctii of its shining walls with thousands less. Now, I war against Kalagann with less than a thousand. I will fight until none of us are left and Unity is achieved. Only three questions remain in my mind.” The Primarch said as if in a trance. He remembered all of his campaigns with explicit detail. Nothing was forgotten in his long trek across Terra. It brought a warm smile to his harsh features, but it quickly vanished as he prepared for his Emperor’s request. His face visibly hardened as he even dared to think it.
“Why are you bleeding us out, my Emperor?” He asked. The question had unconsciously formed as they left Sanctii. The Primarch knew the answer to some degree, he’d realized it as the First Legio Astartes warred next to them for several campaigns now. It was a different matter entirely to hear it from the source. From the man that he could easily consider his father in all regards.
The statuesque features of the Emperor were momentarily marred, a face of human perfection cast low into an expression of sorrow such that it was hard to look upon and not weep. It was as if the emotions of the Master of Mankind could not be contained, bleeding into the air around him. He took a moment, and then another, before he vocalised any reply, before speaking simply.
“Tell me, most honored of subjects, who I have fought and bled beside in days past, who bears the mark of my favour for as long as all but my most treasured allies, tell me why do you think I do this?” He did not seek to hide or deflect from the matter, but instead seemed to at least give the Thunder Warrior the benefit of voicing his most direct thoughts.
The Emperor’s expression gave the Primarch pause. His features scrunched as if ashamed that he had even asked the question in the first place. The man that had raised him up from nothing. It felt like the scolding of a parent or the disappointment of a family member. He had to press on. Thousands of dead brothers and sisters pushed him on.
“The geneflaw, my lord,” Aeternus responded, his features sullen as he remembered every Cataegis he was forced to cull. The giant warrior placed both of his armored hands on the table as he spoke. His right hand twitched from the memories, frequently used in the rite of passing with a silvered dagger in palm. He continued unprompted, “it is the single leading cause for the death of your Thunder Warriors. Wyrd cannot harm us, bullets cannot stop us, and blades cannot terminate us; however, the geneflaw can do what our enemies cannot.”
“A perfected warrior would not have these issues,” the Primarch of the God-Slayers finished. His voice was calm as if reading directly from a tome. He did not voice the obvious. Warriors like Valdor or Amalasuntha existed as perfectly refined products of the Emperor, yet Aeternus knew that they were a small order and difficult to create. His Cataegis were different and the Astartes more so. It made the next words more difficult to pull to the surface than anything else.
“You bleed us, my lord, because we are beginning to expire.” The Primarch stated his final answer to the Emperor’s question. It was a hard, logical truth that he had seen in more recent years of the Unification Wars. It made him think of Caligula, who had evaded the curse for as long as he had.
“What does a father want for his sons when the end is inevitable? To die in pain and misery, or to embrace the wings of death with glory in their hearts and a song of battle on their lips?” The Emperor asked, but it was more a question for himself than for any of those present, a distant look across his aquiline features for but a moment, before he exhaled, and looked upon Aeternus clearly. “You have the right of it, and your Godslayers last better than most, there is madness in the pain coming for you, and I have forged you into too great a caste of warriors to allow that to run unchecked.”
“The time approaches,” Portia murmured, “That will with due decision make us know… What we shall say we have, and what we owe.”
The Primarch of the First Legio Cataegis closed his eyes for a moment. He had expected such an answer. The pain of it ran rampant against his soul, yet Aeternus felt no need for vengeance or retribution. He had already chosen to accept his fate. The answer was salve over a single wound that had festered for many years, but it was a bitter medicine to remedy the issues that remained. How many thousands perished before knowing that their Emperor had prepared for their eventual decline?
“It matters not how we perish, my Emperor, only that it is by your side at the end,” Aeternus responded, his eyes flicking open once more to his genefather. His tone was somber and accepting. The words rang truly to the ears of the man-beyond-men. Despite the questions, he held no animosity against the one that had raised him. He simply wished He had been more forthright about their efforts. Once more, Rex was compelled to press with the weight of a hundred years behind him.
“I had known for decades that we were dying. I’d taken upon myself the task of easing their suffering,” the Primarch looked down to his right gauntlet, imagining the stain of a hundred men and women that he’d given peace through murder. He’d never regret those actions, even if they were now retroactively vain. They each would go on to see Unity, however that would appear. Their deaths allowed him to speak on, “my Emperor, with your powerful gene-alchemy, was there no way to save them from their afflictions?”
“With what the ravages of time have left us, upon Terra? Perhaps.” The Emperor's great shoulders almost seemed to shrug as he spoke with a wistful sadness, a startling shock of honesty from the lips of the Master of Mankind. “But it would have taken everything, all our efforts, there would be no Astartes, no recruitment, while the war burned on, to save those whose minds in most part have already begun to fray and flee from them in a manner that cannot be fixed.” The giant man flexed his own gauntlet, as if too bearing the blood and hurt of those that played through the mind of the Primarch. Little perhaps, did the Thunder Warrior know, that such thoughts were as open to him as the words spoken aloud.
“It was not an easy decision, but I cannot achieve our great purpose without regret and sacrifice. I have mourned them all.”
He was Cataegis. They felt emotions in a way different from the standard human. Countless horrific gene-augments had confused their body’s natural hormones beyond the baseline. They felt fear, joy, excitement, dread, and all others in a way that could not be easily conveyed. Aeternus, however, could only display it in a way that was truly unique to him. It was in the dark parts of his eye that a sadness formed. A grim, forlorn look that dared to cross his similarly aquiline features.
The Primarch registered the information, continuing to stare at the magnificent being that was his Emperor. Aeternus breathed deeply as he chose to accept what he had been told. His Emperor would never lie. It was all that he could do for he would never bite back against the man that he followed. He was incapable of doing so. It was the same answer that Malcador had told him many moons ago, yet Rex held a small hope that his king would have a different answer.
“We are beyond saving. I understand that now, my king. With the Cataegis that remain, we will achieve Unity in your name.” Primarch Aeternus responded at last. His voice grew in confidence, overlapping the sorrow that dared to seep into his soul. His resolve had evolved in the closing seconds of their discussion. Through the pain, he’d see that his siblings would have their glorious death and raise them as heroes of Unity. Rex knew all of them wished for this end as it was. The Emperor was merciful enough to allow that.
“Only one question remains that I ask of you, my Emperor,” the Lord of the First stated. It was the last thing that he’d wish to be answered if death came for him. If his king was correct, then that time would soon come for them all. The demise of thousands of his warriors did not reside with him in that question. It was truly his own.
“I do not remember a time before my life as the First Primarch of the First Legio Cataegis. Only the persecution of Unity and raising the Raptor over Terra has remained. I do not suffer the curse as the rest of my siblings have, nor do I experience the same as my kin.” Aeternus admitted, flashing a glance at Portia as she wrote away in her notebook before returning his gaze to the Emperor. The faces of his fellow Primarchs appeared in his mind as he spoke. His siblings. Despite their closeness to him, Rex had always felt a vague sense of exclusion from them.
“What am I?” Aeternus asked with a tone tinged with pleading. He had not remembered a time when he wasn’t the Primarch. His warriors had given him strange names in passing. Each of them had called him some variation of parent as they died in their mercy killings. At times, it had nearly drowned him in madness. Perhaps, he wondered, if this was his curse amongst their number.
Portia was staring at Aeternus, her pen still transcribing what was spoken without need for her eyes upon the page.
“A blessing and a curse both.” The Emperor spoke in response, allowing his servant the fullness of his attention at words tinged with the sorrow of loss. “That which has made the Custodians, the Thunder Warriors and the Astartes is as much art as it is science, it wars with the human form. The human form is not born equal in its capacity to accept such transformation. It would see the flaw that ravages so many others remains controlled in your form, perhaps permanently, but it is unlikely.” His last words were spoken with greater sorrow, lines forming across the previously unbroken visage of the Master of Mankind.
“A blessing that for now your mind is your own, a curse to watch with clarity the same curse among your siblings.”
The Primarch of the First Legio Cataegis stared at the Emperor for a second longer before nodding in acceptance. Aeternus’ features echoed the sorrowful emotions of the man across from him, yet they were quickly replaced with genewarrior stoicism. His form visibly relaxed as if unshackled from the greatest of his burdens and allowed to fall away from him. He was prepared for whatever remained of the Unification Wars, no matter what was thrown at him.
“Thank you. You honor me beyond words that I can express, my King,” Aeternus finally responded with a small, ugly smile that stretched his myriad scars. He lifted his zmaj-side gauntlet from the table in a hovering motion, palm turned to the side in offering to the Emperor. One last gesture. “If you will allow me, then I’ll depart now to finish this war and raise your name over Kalagann’s stronghold. I’ll do so with a thousand burdens lifted from my soul.”
In the margins of her work, Portia sketched a brief portrait of that smile for her to describe in fine words later.
“You are dismissed Primarch, whatever may come, you have brought glory to the Imperium.” The Emperor's expression did not change as he spoke, the same solemn sense of loss surrounding him as the Thunder Warrior took his leave. He allowed the silence to remain for some time after, although no true silence blessed the mind of the Emperor. The endless cacophony of the enemy's psychic assault rent across his mind, but there was reprieve in a sense, to be able to focus solely on that for a few moments.
Eventually his gaze turned to the small form of the Sigilitte he had briefly commandeered. He had not intended to take such an agent from her duties, but he had begun to notice the subtle differences in her reactions. There was something unique about her that was worth investigating, ideally without the recourse of direction.
“You will provide the minutes of this meeting to my Custodians, then please prepare your belongings. I am afraid I still have need of an administrator.” There was a hint of amusement to the Emperor's words, even as he made to leave. Bastion could manage without an agent of her order for the short time it would take to replace her. As he passed her at the table he spoke with a slight laugh. “You captured his likeness well.”
Portia, blushing, stared at the Emperor for a few silent seconds before ducking her head. “Th-Thank you, Emperor.” Her face was beet red. “I will do as you command.”
She stared at him as he left, then got busily to work preparing her transcript to be shared, mind occupied with what he could possibly want with an ordinary girl like her.
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