Cold…
Everything is so cold…
Where am I…?
The last thing I remember is… a Witch chomping down on me.
Am I dead?
I can't feel anything but coldness. I can't see anything but darkness.
I must be dead, then.
Is this Heaven?
Is it not paradise, filled with flowers and sweets, but an endless cold void?
Is this Hell, then?
Is it not a flaming pit, filled with anguished screams, but an endless cold void?
What is this place, exactly?
Light.
A sliver of light.
I must move toward the light.
Maybe that's where Heaven is.
Maybe that's where… Madoka is…
Far Seer Kirahla was pleased.
Her operation succeeded marvelously, and even the rebellious Pathfinder Azrael was silent after his return. The stay in the daemon's barrier seemed to have left a mark on his psyche.
That would be for the best, for she could ill afford an important member of her war host go rogue on her.
And now, the golden waystone that they retrieved sat perfectly on the mount in the Wraithguard's head. In a few moments, her Bonesingers would bring the incomplete construct online, and then she would be able to ask the mon-keigh soul inside some questions.
"Far Seer, all preparations are complete."
And as expected, her Bonesingers were ready.
A soft breeze ruffled Kirahla's long silver hair. She carelessly combed them with her finger, before putting on her helmet. It would be wise to not show her face to her captive. "Very well. Proceed with the activation ritual."
The ritual to awaken a Wraithguard was a complex one, even though the construct itself was no more than eight feet tall. This one was intentionally left without its arms or legs, and only essential systems were installed.
It was a prison, after all.
The eye symbol glowed faintly as the Bonesingers chanted and the wraithbone of the construct responded. It soon fused with its wraithbone support frame, and became one with it. When the chanting finally finished, the eye symbol radiated golden light, and its frame quivered slightly, as though it was alive.
"Koko wa… doko desu ka?" The mon-keigh soul spoke in a strange language. "Watashi… mada… ikiteru no?"
This would be more difficult than the Far Seer had imagined.
She closed her eyes and sat down in front of it. A psychic communication was necessary.
"Welcome back, Tomoe Mami, to the world of the living."
Homura left the door to her residence open.
She knew she was being followed on her way home. She knew that the other person—His servant—would have questions for her because he saw her Rosette. And as expected, before she had a chance to turn on the lights, the huge figure burst into the room, with a large gun in his hand.
"Welcome." She was a bit annoyed as she turned to address the burly man, towering two feet over her. Half his skull was replaced by metal plates, and there were metal around his joints that creaked as he moved. He wore a great cloak on his back, a pair of dull grey pants, and some armor plates on his torso and his legs. What caught her eyes, though, was that he wore a larger version of her Rosette on his chest. "Please, try not to stain the carpet with your feet, and remember to knock next time."
"Tell me, girl." The man spoke in a language Homura had never heard before, but somehow she was able to understand it. "Tell me, what association do you have with the Emperor's Holy Inquisition?"
"I am Akemi Homura." She answered calmly, somehow able to speak his language. "I am an ally of the Emperor."
"Why should I believe you?" Inquisitor Kane was genuinely surprised when Homura responded to his question with fluent High Gothic.
There was no reason for him to believe her claims. All he had been able to confirm at the moment was the existence of daemons on the planetary surface. The Warp Storm had raged around the planet for at least ten millennia. He knew that because this planet's populace was untouched by the Great Crusade: otherwise, they would have knowledge of the Emperor.
But now, the girl who stood in front of him claimed that she was an "ally"—not a "servant", but an "ally"—of the Emperor.
What arrogance! What foolishness! What… heresy!
"How did you come into possession of a Rosette?" He amplified his voice psychically, and the water glass on the tea table behind the girl shattered from it.
"It is unlikely that he would be convinced so easily." The voice spoke in Homura's head, "He is one of the men chosen to guard the Imperium from the Threat Beyond, after all."
"I will likely require your help in order to enlist him." Homura thought silently, as she continued to stare at the barrel of the Inquisitor's gun without fear.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes."
"Very well, then. You may count on my help." The voice said with a hint of resignation. "But be warned. My manifestation in you—or anyone, for that matter—would likely attract all kind of threats to your planet, horrors that you cannot hope to defeat even with Madoka's power. In the best case, your planet would be wiped clean of sentient life. I trust you would rather not see that outcome?"
"Indeed." A small smile crept into the corner of Homura's lips as she spoke out loud.
"Answer me!" Kane was losing his patience. With his free hand, he pulled out a small cube from his satchel. "Answer me, or you shall face your worst nightmare!"
Homura shifted her eyes at the small cube. It was shiny gunmetal gray in color, and it had the symbol of the Inquisition etched on each of its faces. Though subtle, Homura also observed some specks of blood staining its faces.
"A torturing device." She met the Inquisitor's gaze again, not betraying a sliver of fear with her voice. "If you want the truth, you can simply read my mind."
"I'm not about to fall for a cheap trick like this, heretic." Mind-reading would require Kane to lower his own mental defenses. If the girl was possessed, it would also be fatal for him.
"Help me pry open his defense." Homura implored as she closed her eyes. Her Soul Gem—now in the form of a ring on her left middle finger—released a small burst of violet light, and the Inquisitor suddenly bent over in pain.
"Follow my lead." The voice instructed, as Homura concentrated her efforts. "Find the weakest spot in his defenses. Feel his weakness. Form your power into a sharp stiletto, and stab at it with care, for if you ever make a mistake, however small, his defensive mechanisms will fry his brain."
The Inquisitor had never felt such pain before, a sharp stabbing pain like someone had thrust a power sword through his cranium. The girl—or whatever was instructing her—knew full well how to penetrate the defenses of a trained psyker, and she was doing a marvelous job of making Kane's day worse than it already was.
The pain did clear his mind a little, however. The girl possessed enough power that she could simply overwhelm his mental defenses and fry his brain, but she seemed intent on penetrating it with a surgical strike. Why would she do that? It would be much easier to render him a thrall if his brain was fried and his soul erased.
Kane was not about to beg for mercy. With all his will, he raised his pistol and fired several wild shots in Homura's direction. None of the shots hit, but Homura's concentration was temporarily disrupted by the booming reports. That gave Kane the window he needed to gather himself, tackle Homura to the ground and shoved the smoking muzzle against Homura's forehead.
The skin on her forehead sizzled, and Homura made a small yelp of pain. Kane was panting because he was, too, in pain due to Homura's psychic assault: "Die, heretic."
Before he could depress the trigger, though, Homura broke through his defenses.
"This one shall not die by your hand today, Inquisitor." A voice boomed in Kane's head, which made his grip on his pistol suddenly loosen. With another yelp, the muzzle tore away from Homura's forehead, leaving behind a bloody ring.
Kane watched with horror as he lost control of his body. What sort of daemon could breach his defenses so perfectly, that the implants in his brain did nothing to prevent?
"I am no daemon, Inquisitor, though in a manner of speaking, the ways we operate are similar."
Kane's body peeled off of Homura and she let out a sigh of relief. It was then that she noticed a ray of violet light from her ring merging with a ray of golden light from her Rosette and bearing into the Inquisitor's forehead.
"That is the mark of our power." The voice sounded distant this time, and it was then that Homura noticed a certain emptiness in her, as if a part of her soul had departed from her body and she was no longer "whole".
"Daemon! Do not think for a second that you have won!" Somehow, Kane still had control of his voice. His arms flailed about as he fought to control the rest of his body, but even the flailing soon came to a stop as he stood motionless in front of Homura.
The burning pain in Homura's forehead disappeared as soon as she waved her Soul Gem ring in front of the wound. The incompleteness greatly unnerved her, and she wanted to reach out to the Inquisitor to take a part of her back, but a wave of warmth washed over her as soon as she tried to lift a finger. The warmth was so comfortable that Homura's muscles momentarily relaxed and she drew in a long breath before returning her attention to the Inquisitor.
The Inquisitor's arms and legs were perfectly still, as if they were bound by invisible restraints. Shadows danced in his pupils as Homura stared into them, shadows of gold and steel grey whirling into a maelstrom of colors.
"We mean you no harm, Inquisitor." As Homura spoke, the voice spoke with her. Somewhere deep inside him, Kane knew that he was not—and would not be—possessed, that the girl in front of him was pure and faithful, and that the voice was an entirely different entity compared to a daemon.
"Speak, then! What do you hope to accomplish by attacking me?"
"We simply wish you to listen to our story, and believe."
"How could I believe you?"
"Have faith, my child." Their voices were in unison yet again, and Homura was as surprised as the Inquisitor. It was obviously His words, and yet Homura was speaking with him. Was there some sort of resonance between Him and her, or was it a simple coincidence?
What Homura did not know was that as she spoke those words, her eyes gave out a flash of golden brilliance. The Inquisitor's eyes widened as the flash hit, and he was overwhelmed by a vision, so powerful that when it finished, he could only gasp for breath as his entire body collapsed on the ground.
Homura's legs almost gave in when the Inquisitor collapsed. The ray of light from the Rosette was gone, and she felt complete; she knew that He had returned into her Rosette, and He was once again with her.
"What did you have him see?" Homura asked out aloud as she observed the Inquisitor. His breathing was fast and shallow, his face pale and dotted with beads of sweat. His eyes, especially, were unfocused, staring at somewhere beyond the ceiling. He clenched his abdomen with both his hands, as if he was mortally wounded.
"Something that would convince him." The voice said simply.
Homura could only wonder what it was. He had told her countless stories: of His twenty sons, of how only eighteen of them remained as He reunited with them, of how half of those betrayed Him and tried to destroy the very Imperium He tried to create, of how He was confined on a twisted life-supporting machine to ensure humanity's continued existence, and of how He found her amidst a sea of hatred, terror and destruction.
If the vision was powerful enough to render even a hardened Ordo Malleus Inquisitor hallucinating on the floor, it must have been a particularly painful memory to Him, Homura thought.
While Homura mused, though, Kane was in a state of shock. The scene he had seen was so visceral that it was as if he was there, with his most loyal son's broken body at his feet, and staring at His most beloved son feeling nothing but sorrow and fury. Even though Kane knew that the wounds were not there, he could not help but reel in the agony inflicted upon Him, knowing full well what He must do.
Kane could not find words to describe how he felt at the moment, clenching onto wounds inflicted in a time long past by a foe long dead. It was several moments before he could gather himself, and bring his body to a kneeling position, quivering uncontrollably as it was.
He was in the presence of a God, and His mortal vessel.
"Only now do you believe us." Homura said in unison with Him, and she could not help but feel a hint of disappointment in His voice. "We thought your faith strong."
"Forgive me… forgive me, my Lord Emperor, for my impudence." Kane barely found the courage to speak audibly in His presence. In ten thousand years, He had not spoken a single word, leaving mortals to interpret his actions through prayers and divinations. And right then, He graced him—an Inquisitor, almost insignificant in the grand scheme of things—with His divine presence.
"It was prudent of you to err on the side of caution, though we did not expect that you would damage our home." Homura turned to stare at the wall that stopped the bolter bullets. A handful of bowl-sized craters dotted the wall, blasting away bricks and mortar like they were wet tissue paper.
Such power, if wielded properly in her hands, would up her chances of defeating Walpurgisnacht immensely, Homura thought.
"But that is something we can fix." Homura said again, as she helped the Inquisitor stand up. The look of hostility in his eyes was gone; in its place were simple awe, admiration, and fear.
Kane's entire body still shook from excitement: "What would you ask of me?"
"First, you can relax. I'm not your subject of worship; He is." Homura picked up the bolt pistol lying on the ground with a small grunt. The pistol was almost too large for her, but she liked the size.
"But you are His mortal vessel!" If it were not for that blasted Warp Storm around this planet, the Inquisitor would have called every chapter of Space Marines and every fleet the Imperial Navy could muster and secure her.
She was humanity's only hope!
"I am simply His messenger." Homura smiled as she released the bolt pistol's magazine. The large box contained short stubby bullets of a foreign make, with brass casings and bright gray tips. "We will have to work for Him in secret. The lives on this planet are precious to Him, as they are to me."
"I understand."
"You must have many questions." Homura maintained her smile and flicked on the living room light. The Inquisitor was amazed at the vastness—the emptiness—of it. All of its walls—including both the carpet and the ceiling—were pure white, with large vid screens covering much of the wall to his left. In the middle, there were benches, strangely shaped and colored, surrounding a glass tea table, on which shattered fragments of the water glass rest.
"Would you like to have a cup of tea while we discuss our situation?"
"Welcome back, Tomoe Mami, to the world of the living."
The voice—a deep female voice, and a strangely soothing one at that—echoed inside Mami as she tried to feel her hands and feet. There was nothing. Her limbs were gone. Her head, too, it appeared, as she could not even move her field of view.
She was horrified. If her head were gone, then she should not be alive! Why, then, did the voice welcome her back to "the world of the living"?
"Who are you? What's going on? Why can you speak in my head?"
Far Seer Kirahla subconsciously grinned as she sensed the panic and fear within the mon-keigh spirit. Her interrogation subject was in a fragile psychological state; she needed only nudge her subject over the edge.
"We are Eldar. We saved you from certain annihilation, since you possess knowledge we seek. In particular, we seek to understand and perhaps replicate your Waystone."
Eldar?
Mami's fear deepened as she heard the word. They were not other Magical Girls seeking to neutralize her. She had no knowledge of the term. They knew more about her than she knew about them, and that made her shiver slightly.
"Who are you exactly? Where am I?"
"We are not your kind. You are confined inside our camp, as your mortal body has been destroyed in combat against a daemon."
Mami froze.
"You're lying! If my body's gone, then how am I—!"
Mami slowly glanced around as she regained control of her vision. Somehow, her field of view was tinted yellow. Moreover, she sat in front of a handful of humanoid creatures, all of which had slender figures, wearing sleek bone-colored armor and helmets with strange symbol etched into them.
Only one of those creatures was sitting, and Mami somehow knew that that one was the one conversing with her in her mind. She was wearing a set of robes over her armor, and her face was obscured by a blue and yellow helmet like the rest of the creatures.
"Glance down at your body, Tomoe Mami, and embrace the truth."
Kirahla saw the Wraithguard's head tilting down, showering the wraithbone frame with golden light from its eyepiece. And then, the soul inside the Wraithguard let out a psychic wail so powerful that even she had to terminate her connection with it and brace herself.
The wail washed over Kirahla like a tidal wave. Even though human emotions were much less intense than Eldars, Kirahla still reeled a little from the grief and the anguish in the wail. Glancing around her, she saw much of her retinue with their bodies bent and their hands over their ears. It came as no surprise; such a powerful psychic blast could have left some of them in a coma.
When Kirahla redirected her attention at the Wraithguard, she found that it had powered off itself. The psychic fail-safe built into it must have considered the blast as an attempt by some daemon to take control of the device.
She sighed. Reactivation of the construct would take a couple of days, at best, and there was no doubt that the mon-keigh Inquisitor had noticed it by now.
As he would take action, so should she, Kirahla thought.
Sergeant Dividus grunted as he set down a rather large case on the ground. The evening breeze brushed against his exposed head, and he made a growl of frustration.
As per the Inquisitor's orders, his squad had been pulled off of surveillance duty. Even though the Eldar had made no moves in the past few days, the Inquisitor insisted that the mission was a futile one as he had evidently encountered Eldar interference despite their surveillance.
Dividus did not voice his complaints, even though the lack of action infuriated him. The Inquisitor was an abominable psyker, and it was only due to his affiliation with the Ordo Malleus did he have authority over them.
And now, he had relegated them to courier duty!
"Brother Sergeant, why must we leave the sacred equipment of the Imperium on this planet of abominations?" Sullivus mumbled into his vox channel as he, too, set down a large crate of weapons. "We should be purging the planet of the blasted mutant infestation, not giving them these weapons!"
Indeed, Dividus nodded; if it were their equipment, he would have thought the Inquisitor insane, or worse.
"Sire, forgive me if I ask an imprudent question." It was Torvus, carrying a stack of bolt pistol magazines.
"Speak." Dividus rumbled. The squire was eager to learn the ways of a Space Marine. Although physically Torvus was neither the strongest melee fighter nor the sharpest shooter, he had an excellent sense of tactics, and in a duel he would often gain advantages through exploiting the smallest of opportunities.
"The Inquisitor had grown more and more irritable of late." The squire continued. "He had first assigned us on a surveillance mission best left for the Guards, and now he asks us to leave equipment around for a purpose of which he could not speak. Is this normally what an Inquisitor would do under the circumstances?"
Dividus sank himself in thought as all of his squad gathered around him. They had left nine crates of weapons and ammunition behind a rather moderate house under the cover of the night, and all that was left for them was to return to their camp and wait for further instructions.
"Indeed, the Inquisitor's behavior was out of the norm." Iohannes commented as they silently moved away from the house and into the forest. "Torvus' observation was not incorrect, but I hesitate to label the Inquisitor a heretic."
"We should, after all, expect him to turn traitor tomorrow." Sullivus added. "Brother Sergeant, do you think that the Warp Storm had stirred some sort of change in him?"
"I cannot say for certain at the moment, but it certainly is not impossible." Dividus finally answered as he came to a stop. His squad maintained guard formation around him with excellent discipline, and observed their surroundings. "We should observe him some more, before we accuse him of heresy. He is a decorated Inquisitor, after all."
With a slight pause, he clenched his fist and added: "If he were traitorous, I shall be the first to put a bolter round through that abominable skull of his."
Homura quietly observed the Space Marines as they left the crates in her back yard.
"These are my crusaders." The voice spoke with a hint of pride. "They are my proudest creations. It was with them that I created the Imperium, first uniting the warring tribes on Terra, and then branching out to the stars. But I have told you my tale a few times."
"Yes, you have." Homura gave him a weak smile as she grunted. The crate in front of her glowed faint purple and lifted itself off the ground. With a series of small gestures from her hand, the crate nimbly fit through the open window, maneuvered through the door, and landed with a small thud inside her living room. With some effort, she transported all nine of them inside.
Homura then made her way to the crates, now resting under the milky white light in her living room. They were as long as Homura was tall and thoroughly painted olive green, with a two-headed Imperial Aquila painted on each side and the lid. The crates were made of metal, with plenty of scrapes and marks marring each one.
She tilted the lid of a crate to allow it to slide down onto the floor. In front of her, gleaming in the milky white light of the living room was two stacks of long green rifles, surrounded by box magazines. "So these are the weapons of the Imperium, your tools against the enemies of Man."
"The Inquisitor requisitioned the equipment from the Imperial Guard, as I expected." He commented as Homura picked up one of the guns. It was as long as some of the sniper rifles she had in stock, but it was considerably lighter, with stamped metal frame and a thin barrel.
"It feels somewhat flimsy." Homura made the comment as she shouldered the rifle. The sights were acceptable, and the trigger was easy to reach. The weapon overall used better material than the sniper rifles she had, as it was much lighter, but she did not know how destructive it may be compared to them.
"It was necessity." He said as Homura placed the weapon into her shield. "The Imperial Guard numbers in the billions. To arm and supply each Guardsman, however brief his battlefield life expectancy may be, we have to produce cheap and maintainable weapons en masse, like the Soviets did in the 20th century."
Homura opened another crate. Lying in it were large hand guns surrounded by similarly oversized sickle magazines. "And these are the pistols you used to arm your men."
"Indeed. These fire 75-caliber gyrojet shells to reduce recoil. You will still feel some kick as the powder charge at the bottom of the shell expels it out the barrel, but the powder charge removes the need of arranging rocket engines on the shell into angles to produce spin." There was a hint of pride in his voice as he explained. "It was my invention. I chose the weapon to arm my sons. This is merely a scaled-down version of the larger weapon."
Homura picked up a bolter shell. It was stubby, and Homura noticed that the bottom part had a percussion cap attached to it: "This is a large bullet. The recoil is likely to still be significant."
"Unfortunately, yes. I do not recommend you firing it without preparing yourself." The voice said, "This weapon and its ammunition were designed for use with power armor."
"So with power armor, I will be able to use much larger weapons?" Homura mused as she stuffed the pistols and magazines into her shield, and lifted the lid off of another crate with a gesture, "Such as this one?"
The crate contained a large weapon disassembled into about a dozen parts. The barrel of the weapon was as long as a broom stick, and as thick as a man's arm. The other parts were unpainted, and they were obviously used, as Homura observed scratches and scars on the surface of some parts.
"Indeed. This is a 40 millimeter autocannon, usually for a team of men." The voice commented as Homura laid her hands on the barrel. The metal was cold to the touch, yet strangely warming to her. Immediately she picked the parts up, and with a skill only seen in veterans put the enormous weapon together in under two minutes.
"It suits me." She commented as she examined the complete weapon. It was as long as Homura was tall, and the body's width was as long as Homura's arm. "The power of such a weapon, and the weight and recoil that comes with it; don't you think so?"
"You will need more than power armor to use an autocannon, my child." Homura pulled a large box of autocannon rounds out of the crate, and slid it onto the right side of the weapon. With a tug, she pulled out the chain of rounds from the box magazine, and carefully adjusted the weapon's feed tray so that the rounds would go smoothly into the weapon.
"I wonder about that…" She laid her left hand on the top grip of the weapon, and wrapped the autocannon with a violet aura. With a grunt, she lifted the enormous weapon to her hip, and firmly gripped the vertical grip at the end of the weapon with her right hand. "I'm stretching my arm to hold the grips."
"And you are diverting your power to lift the weight." Homura pulled the charge handle of the weapon with her left hand. The weapon gave a quiet metal sound, and Homura smiled, knowing that it was well maintained. "You will also need to divert your power to compensate for the large recoil."
"I will need to test it." Homura gently placed the large weapon into its crate. She knew that in the city there was no place for her to test such a loud and destructive device. "If I want to replace my machine gun with this cannon, I will have to know it as well as my body."
"Kane may know a place. If not, he will find a place for you."
"What else is there for me?" She simultaneously lifted the lids off of the rest of the crates. There was a lascannon and a stack of plasma guns, and four crates of ammunition and power packs for the weapons. "I might need his help to assemble some of the weapons."
"Kane did think of everything." Homura heard his smile, and she smiled with him.
"This time around, Walpurgisnacht would feel my wrath."
With a slight pause, she corrected herself.
"Our wrath."
The Fabricator-General of Mars made a mental sigh as he approached the Imperial Palace.
In his oculus was the same image of sulfur-colored sky, and from his olfactory sensor he detected the same atmospheric composition from an exact Terran year ago, when he visited Terra on the same errand.
He sighed. The fetid planet, holy to all humanity, had been rotting ever since the internment of the Omnissiah, along with His Imperium. Though he was the faithful servant of the Machine God, and the rise—and fall—of the Imperium was of little importance to him, he still felt a small hint of emotion upon receiving the array of sensory data from Terra.
The small adamantine gate opened in front of him. This was no main entrance to the Palace—that was blocked off by billions of pilgrims making their way to get even a glimpse of the Emperor's resting place—but a side passage, one that used to ferry materiel and resources into the massive underground labyrinth, and one that was little known even to the Custodes.
"Fabricator-General." A tall lithe humanoid figure stood with a pair of Adeptus Custodes guards to welcome him. He was robed in red with a black trim and exquisite golden embroidering, and his robe was decorated with many small objects of gold and silver. Many strips of parchment, some as long as an adult human arm, were attached to his robe with wax seals.
He raised his head and looked directly into the Fabricator-General's oculus, and the Fabricator-General immediately recognized him as the Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes: the completely silver hair, the creases on his face and hundreds of scars—big and small—rendered it all but unique in the Imperium.
"Captain-General." With the whirring of a servo, the Fabricator-General acknowledged his presence. It was customary for the Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes to welcome him each time the Fabricator-General came to this particular entrance.
The adamantine gate closed behind them with a screech and a loud clang, and there was no other sound except the Custodes' footsteps and the skittering of the Fabricator-General's own legs on adamantine floor. The hallway was dimly lit with perpetually burning torches, and in this low light, the Fabricator-General could make out the torch holders, each made of adamantium and unique in its sculpting.
It was hard to imagine that such an impressive underground structure would be surrounded by billions upon billions of starving and decrepit subjects eking out an existence around the very God they worship, the Fabricator-General thought. He then chuckled with a dry mechanical laugh when he noticed, in his log entries, that he had made the exact same thought every time he came through this passage.
"What is the matter?" The Captain-General asked with a small smile on his face. The Fabricator-General liked his smile: always friendly, never intimidating. It was hard to imagine that the person that greeted him could stand his ground against several Space Marine Chapter Masters.
"Random musings of an old man." The lack of emotions in his synthesized voice did not bother the Captain-General in the least. He had known the Fabricator-General for ninety years counting this year, since he had taken the honorable title of Captain-General, and the Fabricator-General had always offered interesting insights to him every time they met. Even though at the moment his body was nothing but a metal block with eight arachnid legs and a lime green dome top, the Fabricator-General was still very much wise.
"So, tell me," The Fabricator-General talked with a whir of a servo as they continued to proceed in the long and winding tunnel, "How is the Omnissiah?"
"There hasn't been much change from ninety years ago, let alone last year." The Captain-General's answer drew another flat chuckle from his friend.
"What have your men observed?"
"There is a small increase in the rate of fuel consumption for the Astronomican, as reported by the Adeptus Astra Telepathica; otherwise, nothing had changed."
"Then it is as I feared." The Fabricator-General was the only person who had access to the maintenance procedures and technical specifications of the Golden Throne. Nearly a millennium of visits, and he could reproduce the exact drawings and specifications without relying on his link to the main Mechanicus altar. "The Throne's condition continues to deterioriate."
"How long do you think it will hold?"
"It is difficult to say. I will need to make some further prayers to the Machine God and the Machine Spirit of the Throne."
They came in front of another small adamantine gate, barely big enough to fit a single Astartes warrior. In the twilight, the Fabricator-General made out the image on the gate—it was the Tree of Life, from an ancient Terran philosopher long forgotten in the history of time. It was rumored that the Omnissiah Himself chose the image for this gate, one of eight in total that leads to His chamber, the smallest of all, and the closest to the Golden Throne.
The Captain-General walked up to the small cogitator panel on the side, and pressed his palm against it. Through his wireless antenna, the Fabricator-General attempted to communicate with the Machine Spirit of the cogitator, but was simply refused; its Spirit spoke a much more ancient dialect of the Lingua Technica, and could not understand him.
"Shibboleth." The Captain-General spoke, in compliance with the demands of the Machine Spirit. The enormous gate creaked and slid open, and light pierced the twilight in the tunnel.
The Sanctum Imperialis was truly massive. The cavernous circular room needed no illumination, for the walls lit themselves by reflecting the light the Throne emitted. Ornate reliefs adorned each square inch of the walls, depicting different scenes of the Emperor in His Great Crusade. On each of the twenty pillars around the room, a banner of a Space Marine Legion hung on a metal pole. Eleven of those were then replaced by the Imperial banner, but the banners of the nine Loyalist Legions remained. The Emperor's Companions lined the chamber's edge, standing immobile, as if in silent prayer.
The Golden Throne sat right in front of them, the mechanical wonder that made even Warhound Titans look and feel insignificant in front of it. Psykers were brought in through a side passage, and bound to Him in front of the enormous machine, branding them with His Mark forever and becoming an Astropath of the Imperium. The machine itself was covered with pipes, wires, and conduits; the slow but steady hum was accompanied by the occasional screaming of psykers becoming Astropaths.
The Fabricator-General and the Captain-General approached the Golden Throne from the rear. With a few words from his wireless antenna, the Fabricator-General requested a console on the Golden Throne; one with a large tube screen and a keyboard was provided to him.
"The spoken dialect of Lingua Technica for the Throne's Machine Spirit was long forgotten, and only I know its verbal form." The Fabricator-General muttered as two small metal manipulators extended from his boxy body with a whir of his servos. The keyboard clattered with crisp sounds, and several beeps and chimes came from the console as a verbal response for the Captain-General.
"So, how is the Golden Throne?"
The Fabricator-General only sighed as the console folded back into the Golden Throne after a long period of silence. There was no word exchanged between them for what seemed like an eternity, and the Captain-General realized the gravity of the situation. His eyes widened a little, and then his shoulders sagged.
"How long?"
"Several years, at best."
"At worst?"
"A month."
"I understand. I shall notify the other High Lords."
With a curt nod, the Captain-General walked out of the Sanctum with the Fabricator-General.
There would be much to do in light of this diagnostic.
Both the Imperium—and humanity—were running out of time.