++Ordo Xeno Memoriam: Thol - The Emperor's Temporal Inquisitor++
++Volume 1, Section 3: Remnant Campaign as compiled by Alchemical Construct designation 001/A "Michelle"++
For as talkative as he was, Marcus never enjoyed the topic of Remnant. When I knew him, he couldn't hold his firebeer very well, nor were his stories more wonderful to listen to than some of the self-styled "Bardains of the Tomes". However, he did hold the respect (if grudgingly) of the entire Regiment; none the least to say about 2nd Company.
It wasn't until after the expedition to Nula that I began to take a serious look into the life of the man I served. Going through his datafiles, I came across a reference to a planet that didn't exist. Remnant. It was mentioned in passing during a shoddily written up report following the cessation of operations on-planet.
But details about Remnant remained elusive. All documents that had survived the campaign were burned by order of [Redacted] and the surviving Vox Ghosts met their fates in the hellfires of the Nulan purge, defiant to the end, fighting shoulder to shoulder with their Lord.
But then the Emperor Himself intervened, and the Reckoning was a word of praise and joy on everyone's lips. More detail is available, but not here. See Volume 3 for further information.
So, with all eye witnesses now returned to us, I began to interview them with earnest, especially the ones that had perished on planet. Their stories of the campaign were surprising, and filled with desperate holding actions, armored blitz assaults and no shortage of infighting between the Imperial and the natives.
Stories of single squads ordered to evacuate and hold entire city blocks were all too common, even as reinforcements arrived to stem the ever growing tide. More than a few told of how surprised and relieved they were to see the grandiose Hellfire herself in atmosphere.
But they avoided talking about one incident. What ended the campaign. The ones that had met their end in Remnant's orbit, or in subsequent operations were even skeptical about talking about it. But I kept digging, questioning, demanding. Even when they were dying of starvation, or of thirst, they would not yield. Either they can size up AI constructs with a glance, or I'm a big softie, even digitized.
But then one man decided he didn't want to take things to chance on "a young upstart". And he talked. He broke the silence, and by extension, the code of honor held up above all by every man, woman, and child both in the Regiment and in the fleet.
And when he was done, I realized that I had found what I was looking for. And I also realized I regretted looking for it to begin with.
++Biological Scans Complete++
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++Homo Sapien Identified++
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++DNA Sample Valid++
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++Identity Confirmed. Access Granted++
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++Beginning Download, packet_1++
++Location Confirm. Galactic North-East. Segmentum Ultima. Unknown System. ++
++Register System?++
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++Function Failure. System Already Registered++
++Retrieve System Name++
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++[Date redacted by Ordo Xenos, effective {Redacted}.{Redacted}.M{Redacted}]++
Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok.
It was normally the case that he would retreat to his office in times of stress for a nice pot of recaf and to listen to the soothing sounds of the massive gears operating the clock within which the Headmaster's office had been built.
But tonight was different.
Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok.
Tonight, he drank no recaf from a well-loved mug made from seemingly alien materials, nor did the ticking of the clock soothe his frazzled nerves.
Nor was the object sitting in the position of honor upon his desk supposed to see the light of day.
Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok.
Tonight, he drank his ancestor's ancient swill, distilled on their impossible journey, imbued with the very qualities that had allowed them to survive. Hardiness, full body, and a coarse, fiery passion that was felt all the way down the gullet.
Whipping his head back, he drained the alien crystal decanter for the fourth time since arriving and removing that accursed object. Thoughts, plans and responses weighed heavily on his mind, more so than usual. Infinitely more so.
The Headmasters of the Hunter Academies were publicly known as sometime friends, sometime bitter rivals but capable of getting along and working together. The Ruling Council had considered itself blessed that those who essentially commanded one of the most powerful resources on the planet were able to get along so well, despite their differences.
For little did they know of the truth.
Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok.
He'd thought about going public with the truth many a time, each iteration slightly different than the last, but each ending with the same result. A burned out husk of a planet, under the rule of….unsavory individuals.
No, the truth shall stay hidden, lest it be let out at an inopportune time, and ruin everything the past two generations of Headmasters had been working towards.
He looked himself over in the faint reflection in the glass. His normally pale face was flushed from the swill, but the glasses with the crooked bridge was still the same as this morning. His hair had long since gone white, but he supposed that's what he got for neglecting his greens. Oum, did he hate kale.
Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok.
Gingerly, he set the decanter on the desk beside him, letting his gaze and thoughts drift to the dust encrusted bottle of impossibly hard steel, emblazed with the sigil that went from salvation and hope for the future to eternal damnation and secrecy.
Then he let it drop down to the armored tome bound by DNA scanner locks upon which the bottle sat, also embossed with the same stylized "I", skull motifs, double headed eagle and written in the language of the mythical First Humans.
Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok.
Ever the student of history, he'd excelled at his studies at the elite Schola where he had been sent as a child, but lacked much vigor in the physical exams compared to his compatriots.
It was this love of the academic that he had been marked for Beacon, the Light House of Remnant. It was into the mind that loved history that the ancient, dead language of the First Founders was put. And it was from reading the tome that had caused him to forsake the recaf this eve.
The first chapters were the entirety of an instruction manual so convoluted and riddled with metaphors that he had to actually remove the object in question from the vault cleverly hidden in the center of the floor. And even then it was an arduous task. He'd read it, but he'd be damned if he actually understood that the first time around.
The rest?
He poured the impossibly ancient liquor into his impossibly beautiful decanter and took a gentle swallow before allowing his mind to retread down that path.
The rest was a series of instructions on what to do in case of certain emergencies, clearly intended to be passed on from one generation to the next. But that wasn't the worrying part.
It was when it got into the description of the types of emergencies that he had begun to worry. And with each new word he'd read in that long lost tome, that worry had only grown, compounded by his own theories and plans, some of which were already in motion.
Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok.
He nearly had a heart attack after reading the chapter titled "Heresy 101". For it was here that he had begun thinking of activating the ancient device, a "Single-Use Astropath-Simulated Vox" after the criterion for a demonic cult incursion were laid bare before his eyes, and it was here that he realized that his planet would not merely be burnt to a crisp if he failed to cinch down on the cult.
It was also here that he realized he was not alone. No, Mankind was strong amidst the stars, carrying on a legacy of bitter survival, every new day a victory by itself.
Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok.
It was also there that he realized why he had been chosen for Beacon. It wasn't just because of his political and academic abilities, just as James hadn't been sent to Atlas just because of his tactical abilities. No, the man was able to lead, to inspire. With grey in his temples, he still looked like a front line commander, and the citizen soldiers of Atlas loved him for it.
Just as the Ruling Council and Vale loved him for his own wise console.
He took a larger swig from the decanter, draining it to one third of what he had put in.
Which meant he had but one decision to make, and seal the fate of an entire world. Millions of lives, in the palms of his hand, the recesses of his mind.
He felt large and powerful, and at the same time, small and meek. Who was he, a single man, to have such enormous control over an unknowing population? What right gave him that?
He looked over at the SUSAV on his desk, occupying the Beolon's share of available work space.
That. That single thing. This piece of human developed technology, this thing, device, that contained a tortured soul of a…psyker. Waiting for use. In limbo, not knowing the passage of time.
Suddenly, he did not want to signal for help. If these First Humans were anything like the tome mentioned, then it might be better off not inviting them. The subconscious rating of Faunus as second class citizens was actually mellow compared to what he believed would happen if First Humans arrived now. Oum, it was the favorable option!
Yes. His mind was made up. If humanity devised a method to fight demons before, they can do it again, but better. He resolved to make a case to James in the morning. His R/D division was leagues better than his own, much to the delight of James and the detriment of himself.
Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok.
His mind made up, he moved over to the desk and set the slightly full decanter onto the desk. Something glinted. He looked carefully in the direction of the flare of light, and found himself staring at the SUSAV.
No, just a trick of the imagination, he said to himself. Just as the SUSAV was out of sight, the glint returned. A single flash.
"What in the name of Oum is going on here…?" he muttered to himself, looking about the SUSAV for the source of the glint. Upon finding nothing, he reviewed where he was standing and the approximate location of the flash.
Now, from what he could already tell, the flash was coming from an unknown source, reflecting off of the double headed eagle, the "Holy Aquilla", if his translation was correct.
Which meant that something wonky was going on with the symbol, or the "amseac" was tainted with something. Either way wasn't good; someone tampering with the symbol here meant they had penetrated to the highest levels of security that Remnant boasted, and had seen the very alien device sitting upon his desk, with the floor vault opened. If the drink was tainted, then he faced the possibility of not only everything noted above, but of biological contamination or a bioweapon. Again, neither mean fun times ahead.
He looked around the room and saw nothing. Exactly as he expected of a master spy. So then he tried something he knew couldn't be defeated, and reached out with his Semblance.
This…turned up some interesting details. There was indeed a presence within the confines of his office, but was closer than he had expected it to be.
Nor was it of human form.
The SUSAV sitting on his desk was emanating a very, very strong paternal style of love. So strong was the emotion, that when he looked at it though the second mode of his glasses, the thing was glowing a bright, blinding gold, emanating a palpable heat.
Quickly, he cut off the flow of Aura to his Semblance. The glow subsided and his glasses regained their normal magnifying properties.
"There is no way this can be possible…" he muttered to himself. He reached out and ran a hand along the smooth surface, feeling the alien metals, plastics and the dust of centuries built up upon it. Then he sent a pulse of his Semblance through the object. And he got a different response than the first time.
This time, he got a feeling of loneliness, of isolation mixed in with the warm paternal love. Almost like two competing psyches were in the same soul supposedly contained within the SUSAV.
"This is absolutely insane." The words echoed quietly around the empty office.
Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok.
He sat there, examining the SUSAV with both unaugmented and his augmented senses. As he continued to sit there, looking at it again and again, he began to feel a desire suddenly take root within his head. A mere thought, a wonderment, nothing more. But the more he looked at the device before him, the more he wanted to follow through with it.
And so, after staring at it for about twenty minutes, he reached out with his hand and lightly brushed the glowing device.
And then it shocked him, as static electricity would shock one touching a metal doorknob after rubbing a balloon over oneself.
But rather than transferring energy, this transferred a vision.
Creatures of unspeakable descriptions, locked in vicious, eternal battle with warriors clad in great suits of armor, wielding the largest weapons he had ever seen. Some of the warriors were even larger than the "normal" rank and file. Their command prowess was that to be held in awe, expertly directing the wounded warriors around them, encouraging, demeaning, ordering them in an unceasing cycle, even as their own soldiers fell to the ground with terrible rents and holes blown into their powerful armor.
Looking around he noticed smaller figures, and large armored vehicles moving in between the giants. Some wore green and tan fatigues, some wore overcoats of every description. Most carried handheld weapons much smaller than those of the smaller giants. These puny weapons fired red-angry stabs of energy, merely agitating the otherworldly hordes. However, he saw, as soon as one nightmarish entity turned its gaze unto the small human, a magnificently garbed giant stepped in, wielding a sword as long as the warrior was tall, and cleaved the nightmare into nothingness, screaming a battlecry at the top of his lungs, face twisted in unyielding, unending rage.
Interspersed with the large and varied colors of small warrior tanks, there came massive machines of war, like squat walkers, wielding miniguns of immense calibers, glowing blast cannons, a wall of machineguns to name a few.
Behind them, were larger, bipedal walkers. Large cannons, or gatling guns for arms, the hunched big brothers of the squat walkers stomped about, raking unrelenting fire from their massive guns, while back mounted launchers spat long range death onto the front lines.
Behind them, and fewer in number, even more immense walkers tread, squashing untold numbers beneath their own treads, doing battle with others of their own kind, or with massive swarms of lesser beings, mowing them down with mechanical precision and coldness.
The sheer scale of the conflict raging before his eyes began to stretch what his mind could accept as possible. These immense creations of war, all bent on and designed for destroying their opposites in battle, nothing but gothic artistry among them, pointed arches, cathedrals and weapons of immense size, shape and function.
But above all, at the very head of the frontlines, where the warriors of Man had cut deep into the lines of indescribable horrors from Beyond, there lay a familiar sight, a familiar feeling. The paternal love, the palpable warmth. The golden glow, now as bright as a star.
I am Melonia, a soft and coarse voice whispered into his mind as he observed the battle raging below. Before you stands the Master of Man, the Immortal God-Emperor of Mankind, Savior of Humanity. With him stands the Astra Militarum, His Sons and Grandsons, the dead Mortal and Immortal forces of His Imperium. Here they fight alongside Him, helping Him wage His war so the living might know a universe that much more peaceful. For in this universe, even the dead can know no peace. There is only war, in this, the grimdarkness that is the 41st Millennium of Man.
The view switched to that of an orbital view of a planet, the likes of which he had never seen before. It was lush, green, full of life. And then a shadow moved. Looking closer, he saw that the shadow was a ship, and then the view shifted to that of one closer to the ship.
If you can hear my voice, see what I have seen, then you too are witch-kin, the damned mutant brother of Humanity. I fear for you, and even in my deathless state, know that I pray for your deliverance unto the Emperor. For in Him, you will find salvation. You will find peace, as I have.
To call the ship large would be the most massive understatement of his life. Hardly had he seen a creation of such immense proportions, of either man or nature's devising. And the sheer amount of ornate arches decorated with prayers and words of wisdom, hate and hope scrawled onto the impervious looking armor told him this was a man-made vessel, despite its mind boggling size.
The vessel slowly arced around the planet before being sling shot out into space. The planet below began to change as it turned. At first it was a fading of the lush color of the planet, then a sore opened up on the planet, spilling forth into the lands surrounding it. From there, it spread unto the rest of the planet, consuming it entirely, bathing the once lush habitat with unnatural and impossible shades of terrible energies.
I pray for your salvation, my friend, my brother, sister. Many a soul, family, galaxy has fallen to the machinations of the Immaterium. If there is even the slightest suspicion of heretical cults afoot, cry for help.
Then images from terrible scenes flashed before his mind's eye.
Massive blood choked warriors wielding gore-encrusted weaponry massacring civilians. Blue armored warriors unleashing massive demons and using powers he could tell were bending the laws of the universe. Green warriors spreading filth and disease to all in contact with them, and pink warriors annihilating species with acoustic weaponry, shrieking in orgasmic ecstasy.
If you see these terrible emanations of fallen champions and demigods, then your fight is already over.
There is no hope for your soul.
Just before the vision cut out, he saw five symbols, each one seared into his brain with the unimaginable horrors that went along with them.
Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok. Tik. Tok.
When he awoke, he didn't know how long has passed since the vision began.
When he awoke, he realized he was horizontal instead of sitting.
When he awoke, he realized what needed to happen. He had to cry for help, or damn the planet to a hellish existence for the rest of eternity.
Pushing himself off the floor, he regained his seat and dimly found the cup of recaf he had begun the evening with and took a swig from it.
Then, he took a breath and breathed a quiet prayer to the God of the First Humans. I may not have believed in this Emperor for very long, but I'll take any help I can get.
He sat down in the chair behind his desk and flipped the pages to the first chapter, how to start the SUSAV…there's got to be a better name for this thing. How about Susan? Yeah, Susan works.
He turned on his scroll terminal and brought up the files he wanted to send, collecting them into a single compressed folder and then setting it aside for the data transfer.
"Face unit towards yourself. In the top, right corner, extend the Lance of Astropahy. Do not press the Rune of Activation, otherwise the Machine Spirit will not respond to your requests." He shook his head and attempted to wipe the frustration from his eyes. It was awful enough reading through it the first time. But he would do it. He knew he would, just as Drill Abbot Samriel knew he would when he had selected him, Dr. Lavernius Mayhew Ozpin [PhD, Early Remnant History] for the role of Headmaster of Beacon Academy in the kingdom of Vale.
Ozpin drank no more of the amseac, distilled aboard an impossibly large Voidship, but instead switched to recaf. It would be a long night, and he still had to induct the newest crop of students in the morning. Glynda would kill him, but he fancied that would be the better of a scattering of bad options if he failed to get this out.
As he worked long hours into the night, occasionally cursing the Cult of the Machine and their lack of clarity on "fucking anything with an Oum-damned battery pack", his only other companion was the steady ticking of the massive gears which no longer held any comfort for him.
For soon the slow, minute tiks and toks would be a commodity that his fellow Remnatians would pay the ultimate price for. He just hoped many wouldn't have to do it.
Tik.
Tok.
Tik.
Tok.
Tik.
Tok.
++Download Complete++
++Thought for the Day: Fear the shadows, for they contain horrors no sane man can survive++