Chapter 10: Negotiations with a Rogue Trader Noble
(Markus POV)
At the very least, roasted grox wasn't nearly as bad as I feared. Certainly gamy, but with my hunger so demanding and years of 'enjoying' the Navy's galley food, it was practically gourmet. By the time we had actually started talking, I had gone through three plates of it and some vegetable vaguely related to potatoes. Tharja had her share but remained quiet for the most part, seeming content to let me speak for us both. A heartwarming bit of trust, as well as a blessed bit of practicality. If nothing else, I was happy she didn't object in any way to the snipers trained on us from the balcony above. Cecelia spoke first, straightforward as I expected. "I suppose before we begin, I should secure some privacy for such an important conversation." She slid an odd, oblong little bit of archeotech from her pocket, no bigger than a postcard. With the flick of a switch on the side, silence reigned a strange bubble of white noise on all electronic channels—a brilliant bit of deception. I approved, yet more would be needed against more supernatural eavesdroppers. I hesitantly raised a hand to grab her attention, well aware of the weapons aimed in my head from three different angles. "If you would like, I can offer a bit of assistance to ensure our privacy."
Cecilia blessedly didn't shoot me out of hand, a reasonable woman I was pleased to note. Far more as she didn't immediately agree or dismiss me out of hand but seemed to think it through. "I suppose the method you would use is more esoteric in nature?" At my nod, she took another moment to think it over. "I would much prefer if you could explain what exactly you sought to do." She queried.
I grimaced, irritated that I would be undermining myself before she even accepted the offer. Probably on purpose, but it was still annoying to negotiate with someone competent. "The first method would require I exert my own psychic talents to serve a similar purpose to that device of yours on the table." Unfortunately, she didn't comment one way or the other, smiling as if prepared to wait a year for me to offer the second option. "The second would be to allow me to 'modify' said device directly." I eventually offered.
Another pause as she considers before she slid the jammer towards me, across the table. She was gesturing as she spoke. "Try not to break it." I snorted at the insinuation, hefting up the surprisingly heavy little box. I carefully let the Void flow through me, into the jammer. I kept my thoughts on my needs, desires, and accumulated souls—even a fraction of the percentage of Skulltaker's given to me by the Void was enough, but it wouldn't suit my designs. Lines of black threaded throughout it, pulsing in a spiral rune to devour the power of any who would seek to scry or otherwise spy on this device's new domain.
An experiment successfully followed through on, and privacy assured, I handed back the little box with a smirk. It didn't last in the face of Cecelia's, lips curled in disgust. I felt a chill sweat down the back of my neck as the distinct whines of las rifles being primed keened above me.
"A psyker then, and certainly not of the God-Emperor considering your lack of holy sigils. Certainly not an Inquisitor. You may hold power comparable to one, but you would've already shown your rosette if you were. So then, do you serve the Ruinous Powers?"
Even with my superhuman abilities, I had the distinct feeling that my skills in purely physical martial tactics wouldn't see me through a fight with this woman. With no helmet and my connection to the Void tenuous as it currently was, I was all the more apprehensive. But the words she spoke, the idea I would ever serve those pathetic parasites, was infuriating. It was all that I could do to keep myself from trying to throttle her for the insinuation. I spoke slowly, enunciating each word clearly with a tremble of suppressed wrath. "For the sake of civil discussion, I will forgive that insult." She didn't relent. "How generous of you," I growled my next sentence, stopping myself from more hostile action by imagining how scarred her wooden dining room table would be if I gripped it with claws like Skulltaker's. Some people relaxed by painting, exercise, or reading. I did by imagining all the new ways I could hurt my enemies.
"But for the same courtesy, refrain from speaking as if I hold any positive emotion for those wretches. That archeotech will now serve as a way to blind anyone who seeks to spy on you by technological means or supernatural. If that as well as my own efforts to cleanse this planet of their taint aren't enough to prove my willingness to disregard them and disrupt their efforts, then shoot me now." I said the words with confidence and dwindling rage as I composed myself, but that was a bluff. I very much didn't want to fight these people. Still, their need to see all psykers without the control of their God-Emperor hanging over them as a threat to be purged was irritating.
(Cecelia Kotei POV)
On a scale from one to ten, one being her talks with the average Arbites squad and ten being some of her most daring deals with Xenos, this conversation was already nearing a seven. There were, of course, several key differences in comparison to her younger years.
For one, the man and young woman across from her were not untrained fools with archeotech they barely understood, nor were they pirate filth who lived on the edge of oblivion by the whim of a single bolt or screw. Her son had been as straightforward as always, offering the most pertinent information first for her negotiation strategies. They were both more than merely skilled, using both superior firepower and intelligent tactics to leverage their archeotech to devastating effect. If they were even half as effective as Remmy said, then Cecilia was among dangerous stars. She could barely restrain the familiar grin of excitement to a smirk instead.
"Then if you were both adherents to the will of the God-Emperor, and truly wished to appease my entirely sensible cautious nature, you might share some knowledge of your… technique." She thrust, avoiding a giggle as Markus actually scowled. It was lovely to get a real reaction from her opponents, whether in battle or from across a negotiating table. He paused himself, gathering himself as he visibly took in the room, examining everything from the guards above to the ceiling as if he could see more than the merely material.
It wouldn't surprise her. Psykers were notorious for having 'visions' of all kinds. Navigators were always staring into space to focus on things only seen in the Warp. Probably why most of them went insane. Although if he thought to test her patience, she was more than willing to play that game. She was thus surprised when he finally asked a genuinely irrelevant question. "For the sake of redundancy, I'll assume that everyone in this room is someone worthy of trust?"
Rather than take such a statement as an insult as most nobles would, Cecilia gave it due thought. She capitulated with a nod. She could talk to her men later on about the need for secrecy. Provided that any secrets spoken were actually that overwhelming. Her men certainly knew plenty about the Ruinous Powers. Once the incursions had begun, Cecilia had revealed most of what she knew directly for the sake of survival. "I can assure you that so long as I feel nothing you say is profoundly heretical or otherwise noteworthy and would require me to report it later, your words will not leave this room."
He still didn't seem that reassured curiously enough, reaching his hand out for her archeotech jammer before speaking again. "For the sake of paranoia, I'm going to hold that until this part of the conversation is over." She slid it back, letting him grasp it in armored fingers for a moment before he spoke.
(Remmington Kotei POV)
Of course, it would be the duty of an honorable and God-Emperor fearing son to ensure his mother's privacy. Especially when she was talking to a man who might very well seek to free their homeworld from the grip of the Warp or damn them all to blasphemous oblivion. Instead, his friends, brothers in arms had demanded the right to be a part of such a conversation. All the more so when it was their homeworld being discussed. So Kotei had snuck them in, despite his mother's demands, through a secret passage hidden in the wall behind her favorite painting. She had shown it to him once as a child, with a series of digits in the wall cleverly hidden as spiral designs interspersed across the borders. She would so be displeased with him for this. Not that his friends seemed to overly care about the consequences. "Jones, I swear if you elbow me one more time," Pate muttered darkly in the recesses in the wall. Jones retaliated, grinning as he did so again with a grin.
Before it could escalate, Kotei spoke, if only to distract them until something in the conversation outside drew their attention. "I think he's about to speak." Discontent grumbles were his reward for his efforts, though quiet enough to not be overheard. They all fell silent as that odd bit of archeotech his mother had pulled out began to glow in Markus' grip. An obvious bit of psychic working, without a far darker color than the few examples Kotei had seen. Markus was almost certainly not a God-Emperor sanctioned psyker. If that was even his real name.
"First, I will state to all listeners that while I may work with the Emperor, I do not work for him, as you so rightly deduced." The man was undoubtedly bold to admit something so dangerous without a single notable reaction. The many men above indeed weren't as composed, their las rifles audibly priming themselves. Lady Tharja was equally calm, though Kotei noted with a chill in his veins that she was staring intently at his mother, with her hands creeping forward to grasp the silver tableware.
His mother seemed to notice, as well. "Lady Tharja, I would ask you to avoid any unnecessary hostilities." She asked, with the same chillingly calm tones she'd used to talk even the most callous of nobility from making more foolish threats. Lady Tharja spoke, a husky voice that soothed a man to relaxation before she presumably slid her knife into someone's flesh. The fact she was reaching specifically for the knives and forks only lent weight to the mental imagery.
"Should I be willing to await my death calmly, without resistance then, because you fear me so?" It was a strange question that had no obvious answer that wouldn't leave an awful aftertaste for anyone, no matter the victor. His mother seemed unperturbed, still smirking that way she did when she felt she held the best cards. "I would say if you were truly as compassionate as your… partner claims, you would be more than willing to avoid any misunderstandings. I also took the liberty of replacing all your cutlery with brittle glass innards. A near-useless set of weapons, and quite understandable, I feel after tales of your skill with knives."
Lady Tharja just grinned at that, a predatory thing that showed a hint of the deviously vicious nature beneath the alluring exterior. "Lover would be more accurate, and I feel no need to soothe you when it is not I who desired this meeting. From my perspective, you are at best cowards who would sooner swallow poison than allow yourselves to be even possibly 'corrupted' with a single thought not your own—a cult with trappings of grandeur and inherent superiority. Also, anything can be a worthy weapon in the right hands."
The malice, disdain, and genuine pity of all things that she used to speak of the followers of the God-Emperor was bewildering. Like listening to a mutant mourn a man's sanity. Let alone the dread born as she casually hefted both her own and her apparent lover's cutlery between her fingers. It was either a masterful boast of martial skill and oratory technique to humble a man or a genuine warning. Neither was heartening to consider; a thought echoed in the minds of everyone present, except for Markus as the man laughed.
"Not as bluntly as I would put it, but faithful enough to my ideals. In my eyes, humanity has fallen in countless ways throughout the millennium. Constantly teetering on the precipice of ruin for so long that near disaster is the status quo sadly enough." The casual way he spoke such blasphemy was somehow worse than Tharja's own indictment. As if his very species was itself at fault for their struggles. Worse still, his mother apparently agreed with the heretic. A merely waved hand was her response, a gesture for the madman to continue his tirade. None of his squad spoke, enthralled by the absurdity of the situation.
"By my best estimates, approximately 99.995% of those who do not worship the God-Emperor, nor the Ruinous Powers have no reason to place their trust in humanity." His mother cut the claim short; her tone clipped in the way it was when she was particularly peeved. "A strange and near meaningless claim to make. They would be heretics at worst and fools at best."
Markus smiled as if he had been handed the deed as planetary governor. "Is it really, though? A man with no prospects must rob nobles and kill his fellow man to support his family lest they starve. Yet, it is the Arbites, not heretical cultists, that will punish him for it. Why then should he be grateful to the God-Emperor, let alone his fellow man, for his circumstances?" His mother tried to speak, to retaliate such nonsense, but Markus talked over her, gaining steam.
"What if a woman, an Imperial Guardswoman, is violated by her superior officer on the eve of battle? Not only is her body defiled by those supposedly appointed as her betters, but her spirit as well? A young boy, innocent and faithful, is abused by a priest of the Imperial faith, should he still say his prayers before such men, worshippers of the same God-Emperor that are supposedly represented by such disgusting degenerates?!" The words were like artillery, booming, and wrathful now, demanding answers from his mother.
She didn't speak, a disgusted twist to her mouth. Kotei himself could barely breathe, unsure what he should be feeling. His mother at least could talk, though her words were far slower, measured in that way she did when she was about to admit something she desperately didn't want to. "A zealot then, railing against a system that has stood for millennia without your extremism. I very much doubt that, even if you may have a point, simple corruption such as you speak of can be so easily eradicated by you." The words were spoken with venom and vitriol, a verbal assault unto itself. Kotei realized with a distant shock of thought that he'd never heard his mother use that particular turn.
'Markus,' grinned now, with a particularly vicious edge to it that disturbingly mirrored his psychic lover. "So you admit that you recognize the flaws in the Imperium? Though I imagine that it wouldn't be too hard for a rogue trader to acknowledge such things for the sake of practicality." Kotei's mother merely kept her frown, unimpressed the man had deduced such a thing. Kotei was equally so, an easy guess for a man as seemingly well learned and suspiciously well informed. 'Markus' didn't seem deterred, though. "The best part of my designs are quite simple. The Imperium of the God-Emperor may toss aside those who won't conform, bend to the whims of their self-appointed betters or lie down and die when commanded. Still, I firmly believe in a more humane path."
The smile he flashes reminded Kotei of some of the worst dealmakers in the Hive's nobility. Those fools who were infamous for overindulging in vices or embezzling the throne gelts they should've used in the expansion and fortification of their own assets. Kotei's mother finally answered the foolish madman, her words like sharp whip cracks. "I suppose you will deign to offer details of this benevolent plan of yours." From the fact, the las rifles above were still whining with unspent shots, the men above were just about done entertaining the man as well. Tharja was grinning, gripping the knives and forks while visibly eyeing each of the snipers above. Kotei and his squad barely breathed too harshly, lest they shatter the tension into full-blown bloodshed. Although from 'Markus's' grin, he seemed either unworried about such threats against his person or optimistic, his next words would resolve the pressure.
"A question first, to set the stage. You seem an intelligent woman and probably well-informed, though. Suppose the Emperor is the God of Humanity. In that case, The Four represent the obsessions, aggressive ambitions, rampant despair, and mindless warmongering we could all theoretically succumb to. What is the missing facet of mortality that all species suffer in this cruel galaxy of ours?" A strange question, dangerous as well. Such knowledge is meant probably for the God-Emperor's own purview. Kotei's mother, though, seems genuinely confused by it until a strange child of horror and fascination takes its place. "NO…" she whispers into the silence.
Evidently, 'Markus' knows exactly what her guess is and is pleased by her deduction. "The lacking factor is Death." Just as the word leaves his mouth, the archeotech in his hands flashes with the strange black lines threaded throughout it. A beat, before his mother draws the hell pistol at her hip, the tension ratcheting up so much Kotei is surprised no one can hear his heart hammering in his chest. Fingers on triggers above creaked like the tightening of half a dozen ropes. 'Tharja' barely shifted, yet the slightest tightening of her muscles seemed to radiate a palpable threat to all present. Attack now, and I will make you pay, her body language alone said, with her expression demented enough to cement the unspoken warning. Insanely enough, 'Markus' kept going as if he couldn't see the multiple gun barrels pointed directly at his skull.
"Let us say, 1,000 men and women across the galaxy are raised by heretical cultists deserving of grisly and gruesome deaths. I've delivered such sentences myself, though not as much as I would like quite yet. 500 are unrepentant. They would be better off dead to avoid their actions endangering their fellow man and their idiocy polluting the human gene pool. Another 250 are unsure of themselves, nothing more than young men, women, and even children with no idea how to contribute to human society because they were not raised to." Markus narrated, the occupants of the room growing confused as he kept talking. Worse still, Kotei could see the point he was trying to make already, and it made sense. A twisted and ridiculous kind of idea.
"750 men, women, and children, all dead for the crime of being born in the wrong family and circumstances through no fault of their own. I wouldn't be needed in a better society, nothing more than a mad doomsayer on the street deserving of a noose with a long drop and a very shortstop. But those entirely theoretical people are not, unfortunately, in said entirely speculative better society, and neither are we. There are no support groups for those who want to become better people. No way offered to them so they may love, dream, live, and die with dignity. They will be shot like dogs if they are rated even 'worthy' of such mercy by their executioners instead of a more gruesome end. With all that sophistry, let us imagine that of the final 50, they are miraculously guided by those with the resources, time, dedication, and faith needed to rehabilitate them." Kotei's mother answers as 'Markus' finally paused to take a breath.
Her words were quiet, but Kotei had never heard her say anything so horrific in his life. "Quite unlikely, in truth." 'Markus' smiled, gesturing at her now to continue. A strangely infuriating bit of turnaround. Kotei's mother had never looked so…defeated as she kept going. In her grip, the hell pistol dropped a little lower with every word till it was holstered by the end. "Sheer proportion says that of those 1,000, most will be shot down along with their families before such thoughts cross anyone's mind. Those who survive will be interrogated, thoroughly, children or not. Perhaps 5 out of that 1,000 you posited will receive any such support, and it will come with enough restrictions to nearly mimic their origins." The painful familiarity in his mother's voice was exhausted as if she had personally witnessed such atrocities, even participated. It wouldn't be the last time the beautiful veneer of the Imperium of Man was ruined by disgusting realities. For a young man who had already had to murder his father to preserve such a society, it was akin to ripping away his already tattered idealized eyes of humanity.
That his mother, his personal hero, could ever have a part in such things was worse than a knife to the heart. After all, a child was merely one who could not frankly think for themselves and form their own conclusions, no matter how horrid the truth might be in the end. No one in Epsilon Squad would fit that description after today. Markus seemed to respect the solemnity of the vulnerability offered, nodding in a subdued manner with his grin gone for something far colder. No mad grin or overly flamboyant tones and gestures while he spoke. It was chilling to watch, with nothing more than an overwhelming passion for the subject he spoke on to animate his speech as if he'd turned nearly every one of his emotions off with a switch. Kotei could easily believe Markus was an Inquisitor. All by masterfully manipulating the moral high ground away from his mother by bringing all the explicitly innocent victims of the Imperium in as representative examples, whether psykers or not.
"Just as you say. But let's keep it optimistic, for the sake of everyone, yes?" Markus' eyes swung to face the divot in the walls where Kotei and the squad hid, pinning them with a look. Kotei wasn't even sure if he could be more surprised. Had Markus always known Epsilon Squad was there? "The last 200 from my own scenario are the ones I want to focus on. They are repentant, dedicated to righting their wrongs, and need nothing more than a chance. As the Imperium stands today, they won't have it, and most never will. I will even admit it is understandable if still depressing. Most psykers are more or less raised surrounded by the Warp's corrupting influence always pressing in on their minds. If I had to describe the experience to those without such 'gifts,' I would ask you to imagine what it would be like to listen to every one of those demons outside, in your head, screaming their demands every moment of your life until the day you die."
Dead silence grips the room, as well as the ears of the audience, and to Kotei's horror, his imagination. The scenario described is envisioned in his mind's eye without any actual desire to. Kotei could almost visualize it all too well, the screams of the damned, the tempting offers made in his moments of weakness, the demands for bloodshed in the heat of battle, and no way to make it stop. It wasn't just the idea of living with it that genuinely shook Kotei, but the implications of having been raised like that. With no other way of life and the creeping dread of knowing that no one else could understand you or what you dealt with every day. Even Kotei could barely begin to comprehend it because he had been 'fortuitous' enough to survive a flurry of daemonic incursions. Had actually heard the horrid things daemons whispered, screeched, and bellowed across the battlefield. From the pained look on her face, Kotei's mother had similar thoughts.
"It is quite unpleasant and far more so for myself and my unusual origins. I came into my gifts while falling through a portal in the Warp, landing on a Space Hulk and struggling to survive. It was there I met Tharja, in fact." The way he says the words so remarkably blasé is almost eerie. Kotei's mother interrupts, a genuine bit of confusion in her tone from what would seem an impossible claim. "Surely you jest. None could go through the Warp with no hope their selves or their sanity would remain." Markus simply smiled himself, a broken thing with straight teeth twinkling along with his strangely vibrantly colored gray eyes and enlarged pupils. It's a smile lacking even the memory of joy that goes on as if in memory of better times.
"I can assure you, I didn't, in fact, leave the Warp with my sanity completely unharmed. Merely, shall we say, bloodied but unbowed? My eyes were not always this color and shape, and I would have far more scars if not for the archeotech that I found on that hulk. Worse still, I not only fell through space but time as well. The Warp is quite fickle that way. I suppose once I made my willingness to be unimpressed nor broken by daemonic idiocy, they found the idea to throw me impossibly far from home equally amusing." The archeotech in his hand's flashes again. However, no one reacts quite the same as before. The las rifles above cease their whining, and Cecilia's eyes it for a moment. "That isn't a weapon or some arcane bit of malicious sorcery, is it? Does it honestly do what you claimed?" She questions.
"Right about now, as I speak of not only my past but fundamental truths of the power I wield, sorcerers desiring some advantage over me will seek to scry me. They will at best suffer the mother of all headaches, or at worst, their power will slip from their control and subsequently suffer a dire end for it. On the space hulk, such measures were unnecessary simply because the inherently hectic nature of it's construction and usual travel method disrupt such tactics. But the most important thing I discovered there was how to harness the psychic power of Death."
An insanely bold claim, one that Markus seems more than willing to persist in. "I will freely concede that I am no messiah of a new religion in the making, nor do I desire to usurp or otherwise undermine the authority of the Emperor."
"But you pointedly do not refer to him as the God-Emperor; you don't respect the authority of his appointed representatives or seem willing to throw yourself on the God-Emperor's judgment. Your claims of harnessing the power of death don't help your case either. If it was true, then why not throw yourself on the God of Humanity's mercy, to serve His will?"
"I do not and will not refer to anyone, or anything as a God. Why should I? The 'Gods' in the Warp are nothing more than overly bloated psychic parasites, so self-absorbed they are liable to be crushed by their egos' gravitational weight if they were forced into the material reality. Most if not all, Xenos 'Gods' are, in fact, nothing more than those who are powerful enough relative to their followers to warrant such a title. More importantly, through the power of the Void, I can effectively grant daemons True Death that even they would fear, a method of control over those with usually wild psychic talent, and an effective way to beat the forces of the Ruinous Powers at their own game. Attempting to offer my life to the Emperor's mercy would be wasting all that potential. Worse still, it would be more akin to presenting my life to everyone who so happens to decide who gets to even see the Emperor. Do you honestly believe I would be allowed to approach the Golden Throne itself without being executed?"
It was beyond absurd, or insane, or even revolutionary, but a plan and claim that was incomprehensible. At least for Kotei. If such a thing was possible, the God-Emperor would have already been doing it. A way to save countless human beings, to strike back at the Ruinous Powers? Why wouldn't the God-Emperor be willing to use it? But Cecilia accepted it; only a single question whispered in a strange mix of hope and fear. "How exactly?"
A genuine, earnest smile from Markus was the first response. Then he elaborated. "The Void is mainly unemployed and unknown to the broader galaxy because it has never been called upon by someone willing to bind themselves to it. It is even for good reason that most wouldn't know how to or would ever desire to. As a rogue trader, perhaps when you were once lost among the stars, have you ever felt yourself to be trapped with nothing but bad options?" Cecilia barely hesitates, nodding once.
"Thus, you might have a frame of reference for my own state of mind as I landed with few resources, no real allies to call upon, and little reason to believe myself capable of surviving more than a fortnight. There is something inherently liberating about firmly believing you are about to die, that there are no more deliberations needed. That you will either die well or, by the slimmest chance of fate, live a bit longer to do more good before your end. It was while I grasped such thoughts, crushed by grief for life I would no longer live, the terror of the nightmares that awaited me, and a sort of overwhelming spite, that I found the Void. It is the logical scientific endpoint of the universe itself, where within some trillion years perhaps, every star in the sky will go out. Simultaneously, the conceptual death of both sentient and sapient beings that everything everywhere that values itself cannot help but strive to avoid.
Even daemons can be subject to True Death. It is merely tricky to ensure before they avoid it by hiding in the Warp. The Void is by no means benevolent. By swearing the oaths I have, I will die one day, no matter how long it takes, such a price to ensure my soul remains capable as it is at numerous techniques. My service to the Void requires I murder a great many souls, daemon or otherwise but for apparent reasons, daemons are easiest to claim from both a moral standpoint and for the sake of humanity. I have even given some of my most treasured memories of my family to the Void for power. Both to protect them from those who would retaliate against me and to achieve my plans. All this to point out why it makes sense the Emperor would not want to work with the Void, nor would he often have a reason. I'm not arrogant enough to believe that what I do will never have negative consequences, nor do I have a drastic overestimation of my capabilities. One day the Void will take me, body, and soul. But until then, I will fight for humanity. Not for the Emperor. I hold only the highest respect for him. I have seen him in the Warp bright enough to illuminate it's most treacherous depths, know of some of the countless ways he still watches over all of humanity. I empathize with a man who has done so much and would do so much more for a just cause. But that is all. I will not worship him, and I will adhere to the idea that until I can speak to him, face to face, I will never worship him."
(Markus POV)
The little archeotech jammer in my hands flashes again, proving it's worth in less than a day amid the silence. I filter the dregs of souls left from the mutants I've slaughtered into it, with a few holes weaved in for specific 'Warp signatures' for lack of better terminology. A few spots for a certain old man's signature on a glorified yellow-painted toilet and his soul fragments were made specially. Admittedly it had taken a while to notice, but I could feel one nearby watching me. Not acting for or against me for what I suspected to be since I'd landed on Aurelia. A brilliant bit of psychic subterfuge using the hectic nature of Aurelia to mask the presence of any shard of the Emperor's soul. Let alone to spy on little old me. The main reason I had noticed was the persistence of the feel of his spirit at work, even after the second long War in the Warp had ended.
With its presence confirmed, getting the locals' assistance willingly was a priority. If I could save Aurelia for Ulkair, hopefully, the shard might smooth my way for me. Arguably more important, I needed followers, those who would understand and espouse my goals. If I couldn't convince people as close to the edge as this, I deserved to be killed now before making the situation worse.
Admittedly, corrupting the minds of the young with my ideas was contemptible but arguably necessary. The boys shouldn't have been listening in. Still, if I could remove their naïve idealism early, they would grow up with the critical thinking skills that seemed rare no matter when I was. If they hated me for destroying their idealized vision of the Imperium, I doubt I'd care. Ignorance would only hurt them more in the long run than sugar-coating such unpalatable truths. The men and women to come in the future to investigate Aurelia, if I were successful, would be Inquisitors. Those with the ultimate license to kill and would have virtually free reign to terrorize the people of Aurelia for daring to survive a daemonic invasion.
But for my final bit of theater, I would need to offer a token of some sort, a way for my would-be allies to test my claims all their own. Binding an entity of the Void directly to Cecilia herself would be too extreme, to her son easily misunderstood as a threat. Archeotech offered would be suspect at best and ultimately limited in application or relevance to the Void itself. Perhaps I should leave it them then?
"If you would like, I could give you an object of your choice Void-touched. Granting it some small measure of the Void itself. A blade that can cut through nearly anything and even deliver True Death to a daemon, for instance." I offered quietly. It didn't escape me that as soon as I began talking about the atrocities the Imperium itself was capable of, Cecilia seemed far less willing to defend the Imperium's policies and ideals. Personal experience of the worst sort, judging by the glassy look in her eyes. Yet as I make the offer, a light is reminded in her expression. Perhaps she knows of the whirlwind to be reaped even should all go well because her actual request is quite devious. I deeply approve.
"What about a method of detecting and counteracting corruption from the Warp? Would that require one to swear themselves to the 'Void' as you have?" She pondered around, beautiful mind turning the possibilities over. I could undoubtedly oblige such commendable forward-thinking. "While usually, it would require an oath or offering to make it so, I could try to make a sanctuary of sorts. The exact mechanics would be malleable depending on the location chosen. Preferably it would be a well-guarded secret, meant as a sort of training ground for those new to their psychic talent and a place to cleanse the souls of those who have been unwillingly corrupted."
My Shade informed me that the souls hiding in the wall were leaving its range, the pressure winding down as the terms were hammered out. Cecilia, as she finally named herself, was certainly willing to squeeze me for all I was worth, a new passion in her eyes as the negotiations continued. By the time it was over, night had fallen, or at least the closest thing a planet lost in the Warp had. The snipers trooped off without a word from a strange three-fingered gesture of hers, leaving the final three occupants to ourselves next to the door. Handing back the archeotech jammer was irritating, but I could make something with a similar purpose later, and I needed goodwill more than privacy for now. Tharja was visibly pleased, standing primly with a softer grin in place of her last more unhinged expression. Cecilia seemed wryly amused, folding her arms after pocketing the archeotech jammer.
"Did you ever have any intention of staying on Aurelia?" Lady Kotei asked, with the tone of someone who already suspected the real answer. She was smart, seeing through me quite quickly. I decided to repay the favor with some honesty. "No, my plans will require a great deal of traveling amongst the galaxy. Recruiting the 'dregs' of current Imperium society for the cause. Hamstringing the enemies of humanity via surgical strikes. If I were to stay, I would have to present myself to the curious souls who would arrive to exploit the people of Aurelia." Not that heroic, I would abandon the very people I sought to save when I was done, but I was happy with not being the Imperium hero. Fame was arguably worse than infamy since fear would work to my benefit more, at least at first. Cecilia spoke, grudging respect in her eyes but an upset mood to her voice.
"In my younger years, I might've called you a coward for going off to fight instead of suffering politics with me. Instead, I will ask what your ultimate plans are for Aurelia. I imagine you will seek to free us from the grip of the Warp, yet if you accomplish this, you would require someone to remain and tell a more favorable tale of your accomplishments. An ally to touch upon for information. A confidant, perhaps?" Cecilia leaned forward a touch, hand at the hollow of her throat to bring wandering eyes down the opening of her pure white shirt. With her lips pursed and lovingly soft voice, it was all I could do to stare determinedly into her eyes rather than ponder the temptation. Even with Tharja in my life, the allure of a grown woman offering herself triggered any man's ancient instincts before a beautiful woman.
It was also why, staring into her low-lidded eyes, I noticed the twinkle of mischief and delighted amusement as I struggled to get some saliva into my suddenly dry throat. "For the sake of curiosity, what would you have done if I'd actually fallen for that?" The words were out of my mouth before I'd even thought of them. At least she was amused, Cecilia giggling in an infuriatingly adorable way along with Tharja's own throaty chuckles behind me. Cecilia herself twisted around in an elegant pivot to leave. Even swishing her coattails on the way out with her words echoing behind her. "I would've probably shot you. I cannot abide by the easily manipulated as my allies. I can offer you a room for the night or an escort to one of the outposts at the border if you would like."
I told her that I would head for the outposts to gather supplies and check on my own allies, a mere gesture to both signal her acknowledgment and invite the presence of a pair of well-armed tempestus scions. Tharja was still laughing as we left the well-appointed mansion the size of an apartment block. The two scions escorting us to the northern edge of the perimeter. Presumably where Maw, Ferro, and Aranea were last seen. "I like her. If I was willing to share, I would approve of bedding her first." Tharja casually mentioned. My monogamous tendencies were twisted in knots at the statement, providing Tharja more amusement as I suspected the point was. Whether she was actually serious, she refused to elaborate no matter how I pestered her.
Blessedly, the tempestus scions were as stoic as propaganda said. They said nothing the entire time, ignored Tharja's antics, and soon left us to a room in a converted warehouse overlooking the perimeter. Silence reigned, the quiet after a battle ended. The scent of burned metal and flesh wafted obnoxiously throughout the streets. The warehouse itself was well sealed, at least against it, ironically originally for the contents of what was once a warehouse for grox meat rations. The old freon cooling systems were even retooled as air conditioning. Tharja lying down soon after she'd found the bed that was no more than a series of cots on the concrete floor. It was hilariously enough the most luxurious thing we'd ever slept on, Tharja so enamored that she'd even fallen asleep before she could make too many demands for me to join her.
I was too busy plotting tough. Newton was more than eager to assist me, offering his designs not only for implementation in the armor but modification. If my fight with Skulltaker had revealed anything, it was that I would have to refine both my fighting style and my equipment. The Tyr, for instance, was great for inflicting wounds and even death on mortal enemies. That was pretty irrelevant, though, for opponents that didn't even have static organs. My ability to fight in close quarters would also have to be developed since it seemed that any opponent worth the weight of my full arsenal would also be able to shrug off my ranged arsenal to close the distance. Unless I was willing to upgrade the virtual instincts granting me even the chance to meet such foes towards a more marksman based skillset, I would need to incorporate my Tyr directly into my gauntlet.
Newton disabused me of that notion, offering tips on melding it into my forearm instead to better handle the recoil and offering more versatility. Aranea sent an update on her current stock after asking as I tried to get an idea of how much raw material I had to work with. Apparently, she had used the few supernatural scraps she had claimed so far to augment her original role as a mechanic/saboteur. Creating an interconnected pocket dimension in her physical body, linked through her Shade to hold virtually limitless matter so long as her actual metallic body was unharmed. The innovation alone was glorious, worthy of later experimentation. Still, for now, it just meant that Newton and I could reorient our designs toward a far more aggressive power-armor platform.
The burning talon, a melee-based bit of archeotech meant to utilize the suit's own excessive heat from internal systems to superheat a shard of adamantium into a punch dagger grafted into the same arm with the theoretical Tyr arm-cannon. My left arm would only grow by about a mere six pounds of weight, with Newton's advice to counterbalance that with a 'grind blade' in the opposite arm. Both the talon and the grinding blade were experimental at Newton's last updates on their designs, liable to break if made with purely physical components. But he rightly postulated that with the Void to supernaturally reinforce them, they would serve as an effective means to stay as lethal as possible in close quarters. Ensuring they would remain collapsible with the rest of my armor required they be shortened to ten inches apiece, but that was a small price to pay.
The real challenge was the legs, hips, and torso. Put quite simply, it was a mess, and one neither Newton nor I were satisfied with. On the space hulk, the need for every advantage against the ravenous hordes demanded efficiency be cast aside for pure lethality. With the relative safety of Hive Hadria, daemonic armies, and mutant hordes or not, I could actually think about my needs and plan out the design of my suit. The suit innards' techno-organic nature was softer than the original metallic skeletal analog, countered by the extra magnetically fused armor plates. The gravitational based wings were right for the omnidirectional assault tactic I favored. However, the grappling hooks were so far made irrelevant unless I used them to string up a Void web around threatening enemies.
The hardlight generator was built haphazardly into the small of my back, offering an obvious target to an even slightly intelligent foe. Newton showed the designs for various shielding systems. Still, it wasn't worth losing the virtual reality visor's use in high-speed combat. I was never one much for shield use, but I did table the idea for a heavy drone with AI installation to serve a similar vanguard purpose. Eventually, the grappling hooks were shifted from my hips and forearms onto my shoulders, losing their natural combat ability for a bit of a more streamlined purpose in utility and territory control in casting Void webs. Kinetic stabilizers were made more ubiquitous to thread their way from just my limbs into the whole of the suit to see me able to not only move fast to retain much more control no matter how exactly I landed. It paid to be paranoid, especially in this insane galaxy.
Every sword stroke would wield every muscle in my body. The hardlight generator was retooled with new algorithms to provide after-images to replace the lack of feints in my unique nascent sword style. Sub armor pistons in the limbs were likewise stretched for less direct assistance in my attacks up to my waistline and collarbone, respectively. Allowing such strength enhancements to be more geared towards prolonged combat than the bursts of strength as initially designed. From chaos marines to orks and daemons, most combatants would be able to outlast me by only playing defensively, a rarity amongst most of my foes, admittedly. Even so, it would be better to counter such deficiencies now than allow them to persist. Then we got into the meat of the design work, much to Newton's glee.
The legs were the most substantial parts of the human body. Yet, I didn't use them as often as possible because I didn't have the strength or experience to make such strikes fatal or at least not as potential weaknesses should I be countered. Newton had an excellent plan to weaponize every kick to a magnificent degree, though. First, he offered a new batch of virtual training simulations, two separate programs in fact. The first would be meant to deliver a crash course in hand to hand combat, assuring that I could fight off the more deadly foes the galaxy had to offer for a few moments should I be caught strangely enough without a blade immediately in hand. Utilizing nearly every known martial art style, I would more or less become the Batman of 40K in three hours of real-time.
It would last far longer to me, though, he warned, and be far more dangerous besides than the initial installation considering I would have to be consciously aware to ensure said instincts didn't override my usual thought processes. The second would be based on my desire for a more sword-based style, with martial arts trappings to round out my close combat portfolio. Effectively, Newton would be using the scans, data, and simulation capabilities of both himself, the suit itself, and the 'cyberbrain' to set me against every foe I fought or had seen fight so far in a never-ending gauntlet. It would require double the time of the first as well, six hours real-time roughly. But for more technological designs, he had the rough outline of a heavily modified design.
The original device was called the 'Kinetic Reversal Fist,' with the purpose being to obviously reverse the force of my opponent's strikes to enhance my own. It would require a massive redesign of the legs, hips, and feet of my suit in-depth. Installing nodes of 'kinetic sinks' in networks to trap every step and enemy attack's kinetic power to create a cumulative build-up of potential destruction toward my enemies once released on the contact of my feet and knees into their faces or other bits of their anatomy. The rough time to break down and rebuild such a thing, even with the suit's innards' organic nature to streamline some of the processes, was around eight hours. It was worth it to me, though, and doable besides with just enough power in the suit to fuel it all on its own. With the photosynthetic nature of the outer skin in full effect, it would be devastating.
Aranea had enough from looting the countless corpses Maw didn't eat, and Ferro didn't play with to make it happen, with approximately sufficient resources in three hours for one more addition. I would need a second sword, not just for the 'cool' factor, but to offset the Prifma Finis' own weaknesses. While undeniably powerful with the Void so heavily invested in it, many of my enemies were strong enough to take absurd wounds like a chest full of holes with ease. Newton was perfectly aware, offering a final design for my perusal.
With the blade of supernaturally empowered plasma shortened a bit to a more knife-like weapon, I could use a more powerful main hand sword. It would be a saber to intimidate my enemies and allies, useful for both cutting apart hardier foes and able to use sheer kinetic force to hammer slippier opponents into a more favorable position. The composition was used during the constant skirmishes against work war bosses in the golden age of humanity, tweaked dozens of times. It was a big and menacing thing with particle disruption technology that would later be used in the Imperium's power swords. With a particle disruption field and chain teeth, the size of a claymore, the size of a few atoms apiece at the edges. In the galaxy of Warhammer 40K, why shouldn't I use a giant particle chain sword? It certainly fit my needs and was cool looking besides.