Theologicul Theatrikz
Residual energies within accepted parameters. Air quality subpar by organic standards, but unchanged. Locks and seals in place, strained but holding. An armoured, skeletal digit made one last pass over the collected data. Everything seemed to be fine, as always. He allowed himself a short beep, an equivalent of the organic sigh, then turned and left the chamber. Several sets of reinforced doors sealed shut behind him.
Data about the catacombs streamed to him from dozens of sources, confirming things he already knew. Everything was just fine, or well, about as fine as things could be on a space hulk in the middle of nowhere. His limited empire was running just fine. His empire of dirt. With another beep, he gave a few orders and headed for the surface, in need of some metaphorical fresh air.
The citizens, as usual, were polite, if nothing else. The bone chilling void in the Warp that accompanied him made sure of that. He browsed a few wares, wishing he could return the shopkeepers' forced smiles. And then, suddenly, he heard something over the chatter of the marketplace. A chant, melodic, surprisingly pleasant to listen to. He felt drawn to it, to the edge of the market.
Humans and other assorted creatures were huddled around a small wooden podium. A robed figure stood on top and led the chant:
"Head His wisdom, for He will protect you from evil! Whisper His prayers with devotion, for they will save your soul! Honour His servants, for they speak in His voice!"
The crowd repeated after him in almost perfect unison, creating a rather wonderful audible experience. He gazed at the session for a good few minutes, finding himself nodding in rhythm. It was then that a tap on the shoulder broke his trance:
"I did not take you for a religious sort."
He turned to see a form at odds with her pleasant voice, clad in a suit of armour probably heavier than him. Regulation-short brown hair had grown a bit longer and had clumsily been tied into a ponytail. The boltgun she held was most certainly still in peak condition, however.
"Perhaps not anymore, canoness. But we have had out share of dealings with deities."
"I find it strange that non-imperial cults always seem to have a pantheon of sorts. One radiant deity is more than enough, if you ask me."
"I can still scarcely fathom how this Emperor of yours garners such reverence from so many followers."
"Well, it being mandatory certainly helps in some places," she chuckled to herself, "but He is loved genuinely as our saviour and guide through the galaxy at large."
"Almost the complete opposite of the nightmares that haunt the past and present of my people. What's left of them."
She gave him an inquisitive look:
"I would hate to impose upon you, but ever since me and my sisters arrived here, I have been endlessly curious about all these other pantheons."
"Do you, per chance, wish to better understand your potential enemies, Serena?"
Her smile curled into a devilish grin:
"That is certainly a bonus on the side."
"Well, I would not be against sharing my memories and knowledge," he beeped, "it would certainly give me something to do."
"Yes, about that. Me and the sisters have been thinking of a... novel approach."
"Oh?"
The building itself was rather old, to say the least. The walls were barren, colourless, sometimes falling apart just a bit. Nothing a few thousand scarabs couldn't fix, though. Even the few hundred he had brought with him could probably do it in a timely manner. The main chamber, though, was quite clean, undoubtedly due to the sisters' efforts. The colour of the stage's curtains was rather pale from age and the podium was not the largest, but it was more than useable.
Some of the sororitas waved to him, while others were still busy rehearsing. Serena stood in the middle of it in a set of simple civilian clothes, their only remarkable trait an imperial aquila sown onto the shoulders. As soon as she noticed him, she waved:
"Ah, Thebes, good to see you've made it."
"Why would I not? You know my other obligations are few and far between."
"Well, you could have fallen victim to stage fright."
"Hah, I suppose that is a concern. I would not miss being part of such a unique production, however."
"It is rather great. Plus, it keeps us all busy. An idle minds drifts, and much too often drifts to sin."
"Diligent as always."
"And that's why I'm the canoness. Now, hurry and go get your... things ready," a small squad of scarabs landed on his shoulder and seemed to give her a mean look, "the audience shall be here soon. Limited though it may be."
Though their numbers were lacking, the visitors were assuredly varied. Miriana and a few of her winged furies, a few gaunts in rather fashionable suits and topped off by Gorasho, Snogrot and a small army of children. A tiny eldar with long, black hair was carried in on Gorasho's shoulders, giggling. They sat down on cobbled-together seats, took out some hastily-prepared treats and waited, undoubtedly shivering with anticipation.
"Captain, did we really have to go here?"
"Come onz, lil' runt. Thiz'll be gud, Iz tell ya'!"
"Ugh, I hope so. We could be outside playing pin the grenade on the squig."
The curtains parted without warning, revealing a robed figure. The brown cloth covered them so completely that only the voice gave away the canoness' identity. She looked up, her face hidden behind a simple, emotionless mask:
"Good evening, boys, girls and ghouls. To keep you waiting would be most cruel. Today, we shall tell you a tale, in such great detail. One that shaped the very Earth, with the Imperium's birth."
Whatever talking there had been in the room was silenced, as the audience stared on, captivated. Many more figures appeared on stage, guardsmen in what looked like junk armour, in a perfectly unified, exaggerated march. Simple props followed suite, including a crudely drawn sun and misplaced lighting effects.
"For holy Tera was no stranger to strife, barbarians were always ready to take one's life. But then, the Emperor appeared, and was rightfully feared. Genius beyond words, he united many of the lords."
The stage was graced by the grey knights, headed by Beren, walking with his helmet raised to the sky and with a cape hastily duct-taped to his backpack. With a single swipe of his hands, the two groups engaged in exaggerated, thankfully non-lethal combat.
"Man, beast, nor dragon could stand, and His victory was grand. The god knew of past glory, however, and decided on a course possibly gory. To unite men under one banner, in any conceivable manner."
The imperial's part of the play proved to be a smash hit, ending at the point where modern history began. The Emperor's wounds suffered at the hands of the favoured son. Assembled together, they took up almost the entire stage, united in an almost heavenly chorus, led by the sororitas.
It would have brought a tear to his eye, had he had tear ducts. The crowd cheered and clapped wildly, though the sound was not that impressive due to their number. The humans bowed out and the lights dimmed. His cue.
With a burst of emerald energy he materialised mere metres from his original vantage point, the audience gasping in surprise. Such an eye-catching display allowed the scarabs to skitter onto the stage unnoticed an completely cover it. He gazed at them for a few seconds, drinking the suspense in their gazes, then finally began:
"You have heard many things today. The birth of a fledgling empire, through fire and fray. And yet, when the stars themselves were young, it was our ballads that were sung," on cue, the scarabs rose and formed a humanoid figure, almost sickeningly thin and freakishly tall, "frail in body but unparalleled in mind, this is the story of a doomed kind," the sun prop again descended and the fake necrontyr walked to inspect it, "the stars were our passion, infatuation, no mere flight of fashion. And once we were beaten and bruised, we were then used."
A second swarm suddenly appeared from the prop and swirled together into a misshapen creature, legless, yet possessing other malformed appendages. The mass seemed to beckon to the necrontyr.
"They promised us, appropriately, the stars. From the fringes of space to Mars. We forged for them bodies of living steel, so that our enemies could become their meal. Our kings, blinded by visions of glory," the fake necrontyr now seemingly conversed with almost a mirror image of itself, but much larger and floating above the stage. Two of the scarabs lit up with an intense green light, mimicing the star god's forged eyes, "only too late did they realise, only too late did they analyse. Their were turned to monsters, their souls and essence tossed in a dumpster," the necrontyr's scarabs shifted around until they assembled into a much more familiar form of a necron, and also gained two glowing eyes. A small cluster drifted in the air and was greedily gobbled up by the mimicked C'tan. The necron gazed up, "only too late did we rise up. Only too late did we lock them up."
Thebes suddenly spun around and struck the fake god with his staff. One by one, the scarabs lit up, then scattered across the entire stage. Within moments, they formed small, cube-like clumps on the ground. The lord rose up with one of the 'cubes' in his hands and gazed at it intently as he recited his final verses:
"Weakened, we turned to slumber. A shattered people, our minds dreamt of wonder. And now we wake, across the stars. From the fringes of space, almost to Mars."
He bowed almost to the ground. The applause was thunderous and the kids screamed and laughed. Excellent.
Miriana turned over to Malakar, both still clapping:
"We should get in on this. Warp, everyone should."
"Not a bad idea at all, farseer.
As the applause still echoed through the decrepit theatre, Serena allowed herself a sigh of relief. Their first success, hopefully one of many. She couldn't help but smile. A skeletal form entered her field of vision and she looked up at the lord, fighting the chill that ran down her spine at the same time:
"Ah, you were amazing! Great job, great job!"
He bowed slightly and emitted a buzz:
"Your part was no less inspirational. Though, I would have a question."
"And what would that be?"
"In your part, you mention the Emperor fighting a dragon? Was that meant literally?"
"Oh, indeed," she smiled, "though, not much more is known about the beast other than it was buried on Mars. They say the Mechanicus only exists because of it, as this dragon supposedly fills their dreams and waking moments with all things mechanical."
"I... see." had he had a spine, a shiver would have ran down it.
"Is something the matter?"
"Oh, no, no," oh, fledgling races and their ignorance, "just thinking about how this all is going to turn out, is all."
"Well, then, you'll be happy to hear we've already sold out for next week."
After a brief pause, he had only one thing to say:
"Damn."
These new theatrical history lessons became not only popular, they became a sensation rivalling that of arm wrestling. Slowly, more and more of the Big Rok's ethnicities and cults asked for permission to join the troupe. Eldar, tau, ork, even tyranid joined together for evenings of history and legends, where actors portrayed famous events, battles and myths, with a smidge of idealisation, of course. Okay, maybe a fair bit of idealisation.
He had never felt so alive in his immortal form before. It was an incredible sensation, only dimmed by the fact he had no heart which could beat with excitement. More and more of his previous idle lingering was replaced with preparations, to the point where he thanked the Warp so much of the day-to-day functions of the tomb could be automated.
All but one.
Yet as the theatrical sensation intensified, so too did negligence. And with negligence, came an everlasting, unquenchable hunger.
It was in the middle of the lord's performance, just as the scythe-wielding mimic was about to swallow the sun itself. There was a light quake, unnoticed by most of the audience and performers. More important than the quake were the sudden alerts he received from sentries positioned within the tomb.
Oh, no. No, no, no. Without even stopping to snap his fingers, he commanded the scarabs to follow in a cloud, clumsily jumped off the podium and headed for the exit, while shouting:
"I am terribly sorry, but I must go."
While most remained idle in states of confusion and bewilderment, a single figure watched intently, before shouting to her subordinates:
"Get me my armour."
He walked as fast as he could, which was still painfully slow by most standards. It was therefore quite easy to catch up to him using a light jog, her armour clanging with every step of the way.
"I did not expect company," he spoke, without even turning his head.
"Few expect the... ech, you know. What's going on?"
He was silent as she awkwardly tried to match his speed, then replied:
"The nightmare of my people is trying to return. I can only hope I am fast enough to prevent it."
"Return? But how? Didn't your segment mention you locked them up?"
"Yes, and that was no lie. But a god is not so easily chained. We could merely shatter and imprison the resulting pieces."
"And I take it you have one."
"Imprisoned along with my legion. The Stormlord probably did not wish to risk detaching it from our systems. The technology used is unpredictable at times. He's probably glad he got rid of it," he paused for a moment again, "you should probably not join me."
She frowned:
"What?!"
"The enemy we would potentially face is horrid beyond words, imagination and nightmares."
"I have seen my fair share of horrors, Thebes. I'm going."
"Then hold onto your soul."
The chamber itself was no less discomforting than the rest of the necron catacombs. Dark, lonely, echoing with the skittering movements of the its denizens. But the object within, suspended in the air using a set of alien mechanisms, was discomforting. Her eyes saw but a small black cube, her ears heard nothing out of the ordinary.
And yet she heard something, directly within the confines of her mind. An otherworldly, eldritch wailing which sent a chill into her very bones. The lord directed a swarm scarabs to perform tasks she could not hope to describe, while the cube emitted bursts of green light at random intervals. She held onto her bolter, gritting her teeth, readying for the worst.
The worst came. With a final flash of light, something suddenly emerged. Initially a dark, formless cloud, it almost immediately warped into an almost humanoid shape, wrapped in a menacing cloak. A hellish scythe grew from its arm, even as Thebes moved to contain the monster with a blast from his warstaff.
Serena stood frozen. It was no mere temporary fright or irrational fear. It was a primal terror, coded into her very genetics due to the tamperings of the star devourer. She tried to back away, her legs trembling, and fell instead. Closing her eyes, trying to will it all away. Immediately, a memory flung itself into the present and the scene played out.
The orphanage the only place she had ever known, set aflame. The monster standing there, covered in its heretical markings and clutching a wicked blade. The screams of the other children as the cultist got closer. She had closed her eyes and then, a gunshot brought blessed silence to everything. The heretic was dead, his head reduced to a bloody mush. Still crying, she looked towards the other end of the orphanage, where an armoured figure stood.
"Children, this way!" the sister had shouted.
They followed her without question. The entire city was on fire, yet their guide lead them without error, slicing her way through heretic and mutant alike, chanting with all her breath. They finally reached a transport craft, a dozen more dead in their wake. They were loaded inside and she sat next to the sister, her once-pristine armour stained crimson with blood. The warrior nun took off her helmet, releasing a short mane of black hair, and allowed herself a sigh of relief. Her emerald eyes looked to little Serena, and she said, ruffling the child's hair:
"Don't worry, little one. The Emperor protects."
Her eyes shot open. Her legs trembled no more, her resolve strong as steel. She took a deep breath, clutched her bolter tightly and rose. The monster was resisting the lord's attempts at imprisoning it once more, and Thebes seemed to be using all of his might in the battle of the minds.
She began the chant, drilled into her over hundreds of days and deserved punishments:
"A spiritu dominatus. Domine, libra nos," she aimed her holy weapon, "from the lighting and the tempest," her chant rose to a rousing shout, "our Emperor, deliver us!"
The star god did not pay attention to the rat in the room, at first. But then, the first shell impacted its flesh of living metal... and tore it asunder like a mere napkin. The reaper howled terribly and looked her way. Thebes followed, no less surprised. The canoness did not move an inch, surrounded by a strange, ethereal glow.
"From plague, temptation, war! Our Emperor, deliver us," the monster's shoulder shattered like the mutant's skull, "from the scourge of the Kraken! Our Emperor, deliver us," its chest burst into flame like the witch's robes, "from the blasphemy of the Fallen! Our Emperor, deliver us," it screeched before its head dissolved like the heretic's teachings, "from the begetting of daemons! Our Emperor, deliver us!"
Finally, weakened and bruised as the enemy was, Thebes gained the upper hand, his almost arcane technology pulling the monster back to its cage. Still, the Bringer of Night resisted, its howls enough to shatter a lesser fleshling's mind. She remained unfazed in her zealous devotion and shot a final burst of fire:
"From the curse of the mutant, Our Emperor, deliver us," finally, it could resist no more and receded into its prison. Her enemy vanquished, she finally allowed her senses to rest, finishing the prayer, "a morte perpetua. Domine, libra nos."
Thebes wanted to sigh in relief, but emitted only something between a beep and a growl. He walked to her as she was inspecting how many rounds she had left:
"You... how did-?"
She replied with a smile:
"The Emperor protects."
"Well, now I see how He defeated the Dragon. Remind me to never get in your way."
"If I do my work right, I won't have to."
After a brief pause, they shared a heartfelt laugh. Well, reactorfelt on one side.
The stage had become quite lively during rehearsals. A large ork nob stood in the middle, his skin painted red, and posed with a large, pyrotechnic sword:
"Iz Kola Menshi Kain! And Iz 'ere ta' bring ya' pain!"
Miriana shook her head:
"No, this won't do."
Malakar scribbled something into a notepad:
"I suppose we could always use a custom battlesuit... at least we have the dark eldar part ready."
A group of daemonettes did exaggerated gymnastics in the corner, wearing what might have passed for seasonal fashion in a bondage club. Needless to say, they attracted a few gazes. The two that started it all watched from the audience's seats, Serena enjoying a squig sandwich:
"Aren't they just adorable?"
"I do not think I would be one to judge," Thebes had his legs perched on top of the seat in front of him and it threatened to buckle under the weight, "though it is most certainly charming."
She smiled:
"And all thanks to an enterprising idea and some teamwork! That deserves an imperial fist!"
Their gauntlets clashed in the air with a resounding clang.