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She stood inside the watery chamber, the liquid reaching just below her collar bone, though she was sitting on bent legs.
It was rather chilly for the unaccustomed, but she was far from an initiate when it come to such processes. In truth, she'd experienced far more arduous ways of displaying her devotion. But as one grew older and held more and more sway, so too was one allowed to express their faith more freely, by whichever method they deemed necessary.
Within reason.
The water she stood in was thrice-blessed. It's very chamber had been constructed out of material designed to last millions of years, inert and almost entirely insulating from the heat of the ship beyond. She already disrupted the holy water's presence enough by her lonesome. Anything else could not be allowed.
But then, that disturbance was why she commissioned it in the first place. Her own special way of showing her devotion. Detached from the mass congregations of faith that the majority of the ship partook in, especially the Sisters of Battle. She preferred to confess and cleanse sins on her lonesome. It had been part of her philosophy since she was a mere child: one and one alone could answer before the God-Emperor.
She did not come here to clean herself: she took several baths and chemical scrubs simply to enter the chamber. The water was not to be fouled with earthly filth. It was to cleanse the spiritual doubts away.
Which is why she particularly despised being disturbed. A single hour perhaps was too much out of an Inquisitor's time, especially in such a case, but so far she had been proven wrong in assuming that.
So far.
"Madame Catherine," she heard in a raspy, vocalizer voice she had gotten so used to.
She sighed, repressing most of her annoyance, though she was sure some of it remained on her face. The agent behind her awaited for her. She could sense his urgency through the mere smell he put out into the strictly controlled air of the room, sweat reeking off of him, though he was not stupid enough to not await for his superior to acknowledge him herself.
She arose, water dripping from her frame, now reaching just midway up her thighs. Her brown hair, stretching down to her upper back, was wet at the tips. She turned around, giving her servant a quick one-over with her sharp chestnut eyes.
She was entirely naked, though neither of them particularly cared. If not for the numerous scars running through her frame, she would have made a perfect specimen of the "holy human form", as some of the more death-seeking crew on her ship would comment. As it stood, no one could've told she was in her mid 60s by Terran standard years.
Rejuvenat treatments truly did wonders, though her current state, even in front of a man, didn't particularly matter. When one had served with regiments as stoic as the Catachans and the entirely uncaring Astartes, any shame tended to melt away. Besides, she was not certain the agent before her even had enough flesh left to appreciate such a display.
"Gladius," she acknowledged flatly as she stepped outside the pool. She grabbed her makeshift towel, a large piece of rough leather that she wrapped around her drying frame. It was crass, uncomfortable and often left her with red marks all over. But it was supposed to.
"Madame, I am terribly sorry for intruding on you at this hour," he said knowingly, his grill faceplate moving the only sign he was talking. There wasn't much emotion to a man whose remaining facial features were forehead and some cheek flesh, the rest replaced by cybernetics, even his very eyes. But Catherine didn't need to scout him out as much, as long as his intentions were laid fairly bare anyway.
"I would certainly hope so, Throne Agent," she muttered somewhat sarcastically, as they both moved for the door, the airlock automatically opening and shutting behind them, before another door in front of them opened. The adamantium hull of her personal vessel, beyond that of her sanctity chamber, bit at her bare feet with it's coldness and knurling, but she payed it no mind as they stepped through all the levels of cleaning rooms required to be passed before entering her personal chambers.
"So what is it that demands my immediate attention?"
"The White Scars madame. They demand an immediate meeting of all Imperial elements and commanders. Upon your vessel."
Catherine released a sound somewhere between a sigh and whistle at that. She was almost dumbstruck for a moment, before collecting herself.
"That is rather bold of them," she said as they finally arrived at her own quarters. Libraries piled with many recorded works, ranging from the mos highly sanctioned, to the most heretical, which were sealed under their own special measures. Data pads upon data pads, some outright broken due to sheer disuse. Trophies and commemorations taken from distant worlds.
It was all very personal and upfront for the room of an Inquisitor, though Catherine always valued her humanity beyond the cold, calculating demeanor of some of her colleagues. If people were so idiotic as to try funny things because of it, they were welcome to meet her wrath.
She was still a member of the Holy Ordos. Worlds had burned by her mere word, the planet below another added to the admittedly unpleasant, but rather short and necessary list. She took no joy in it, but was beyond feeling horrified at it.
"The Sons of the Khan, honored be his name, have never been ones for propriety madame. They are loose cannons through and through, shaped by their savage homeworld. The sheer fact that they so rudely demand your presence when you had already set a time of meeting tells as much."
"Aren't most Astartes to an extent, Gladius?" Catherine casually walked to one corner of the room, producing something from a stand. A full body glove, much the same as that of the Sisters of Battle, which she quickly slipped into. Putting such a delicate piece of equipment on without proper help was usually incredibly difficult, though she was nothing if not graceful, and with how much practice she had received over the years, it was done in less than a minute's time.
Something got stuck inside the neck fold of the suit, and she dug into it, meeting the bare flesh with her gloved hand, and fishing out the only belonging she dared bring with her into the sanctity chamber. A miniature Crux Terminatus hung from a thin golden chain around her neck. The Chapter Master of the Howling Griffons had informed her that it was made out of a real Crux Terminatus.
The battle standard of an ancient, venerable Terminator Captain, melted down and kept in the reliquary as hundreds of these amulets, to be given to only the most honored of the Chapter's allies. A fragment, however tiny, of the Emperor's armor resided there. A shard of His majesty hung around her neck. She spared a kiss and a quick muffled prayer to it, before heading back towards the center of the room, where a large pad could be found.
"Especially a First Founding Chapter. Yes, madame, I know. It does not mean I am not allowed to criticize them far out of earshot."
"Spare the Scars your righteous wrath," she said, a slight smile playing at her lips. "They have lost much blood today. All because of some very deceptive and admittedly, very clever traitors."
"You have taught me to doubt in everything, my lady."
"Indeed, but not our closest allies."
"I believe you said they were the ones most worthy of being doubted."
"Perhaps," she said, as her smile increased just the slightest bit. "But that is for me and me alone to do."
"Speaking of which, how goes the purging?" she asked, as the pad began to open up.
"All Sorsan ships have been apprehended and are currently being mass interrogated. Those who are truly innocent will be allowed quarter, though most of them were purged in the initial misreport the traitors handed us."
"Are you sure about that?" she said, the smile not leaving her lips.
Before Cladius could speak again, something took his attention for a few seconds, before his frame became animated again as it was used to.
"I have just received a vox report that over 15% of the Sorsan regiments are being found taint-free, far higher than initial expectations," he said, his mechanical eyes doing the closest thing to squinting as they could. "You planned that, didn't you?"
"Some quickly infiltrated moles and misinformation can do wonders. It seems the ones on the ships got the short end of the intelligent stick," she almost allowed herself a dark chuckle. There few things better in this galaxy than outplaying the servants of Chaos at their own mind games. "These fools and traitors attempt to divide and conquer. But they forget I can do so tenfold."
"And what about the Scars? Were their casualties calculated in your plans as well?"
Her smile dropped at that.
"Your envenomed tongue is good sometimes Gladius, but you really must be more mindful of it."
"Forgive me, madame. I meant no disrespect."
"Yes, yes," she waved nonchalantly, as the pad finished, displaying it's contents. An ornate suit of human power armor stood there, again much like that of the Adepta Sororitas, though far more decorated in Imperial iconography and parchment than would be standard for most. A master-crafted Bolter stood mag-locked on it's hip, designed specifically for her and only her to fire with the upmost efficiency.
With this she was going to need help, as the opening pad had also revealed a pair of Servitors, which set to work removing parts of the armor and grafting it on her frame.
"And to answer your question, it appears the fools aboard the ship were kept as in the dark about the true gathering underneath our feet as we were. It shames me to admit, but the treachery that befall our allies was not something I could've prevented."
"Our Ordo demands of us much, Gladius. Perhaps more than any other. It is our job to scour the broken, cracked mud of this Imperium, and pull heresy like a bad weed. But sometimes, you cannot pull the roots. Sometimes, you may be dealing with a mighty tree, which you simply cannot budge. That is when you must grab a can of prometheum, and burn the roots you cannot pull out. But the possibility of you being burnt in turn by the flaming cinders...is always there," she finished, as the last of the armor was put on her.
"Ever wise, madame."
Dressed in her armor, something could be seen about her that was not there before. There was a powerful regality to be found to it and her features now, even beyond the prominently displayed Inquisitorial symbols all over her frame. To those few that knew her personally, there was a clear distinction evident: that of the Catherine within the armor, and the one without.
"When do the Scars desire to meet?" she asked after a few seconds of silence. Her voice bore little emotion now.
"As soon as you grant them approval to teleport on board our ship madame."
"That impatient?" she mused, though her voice remained unchanged, with perhaps just an extra hint of curiosity. "I fear this is no mere tactless display from our Astartes allies. They must have something important should they be so urgent in contacting us."
She finally turned her head properly towards the man.
"Very well. Inform them that they have permission to board the ship. Inform Amelia that I require her presence as well."
Kronos moved through blinding light, his soul between the world of the living and that of the dead.
There was some peace to be found here, along with a feeling of profoundness. His being, material form and immaterial might, conjoined here, the differences between these two halves melting away.
And then it was gone, the energy of teleportation beacon sizzling as the light receded, and once more they became one with the material realm and it only.
Already he could feel a thousand new presences, each soul shining in it's own way, each one picked up by his Warp senses, while his physical ones picked up all the vivid telltale signs of human activity.
Engine oils, sweat, blood, and more hung in the air. His eyes scanned through the tens of faces who were there, each one displaying signs of shock. He could taste their unease. Hear their chatter, mumbling and heartbeats quicken.
Once, he may have thought so much information would make him sick. But it did not. His body simply had adapted.
"We all remember what we must say, correct?" he voxed to his two followers on a private channel.
They both supplied clicks of confirmation through their helms. Batu took center, moving slightly ahead. Nergui came second, on his right, while Kronos stood further back on the left.
It was only now, in the cusp of his plan that something else became apparent to him, something that had not been relevant in his thoughts since his revelation.
"How are Gan and Mira?"
"You pick a most inopportune time, my lord," Nergui voxed. Lord. That word still sounded strange coming out of his mouth, though he supposed there really was no other way they could refer to him after experiencing his story.
"They have yet to arrive. You can spare a moment to tell me, correct?"
Silence, then another click of affirmation.
"Gan is recovering well, however with such a loss...even an Astartes has trouble coping, you must understand. As for Mira..."
"Yes?" his voice remained entirely steady, despite the imagined shift in pitch to worried that he feared might leak through.
"She is stable. However, she has not awakened. And her mental state is distressed to say the least. Nightmares are poultry compared to what most suffer after such a profound exposure to Chaos, but I fear her's might be the precursor to something worse."
The Custodian stood in silence somewhat, as they passed through the teleportation hall to wherever Batu was leading them. Then he nodded.
He had a duty to uphold, and a reputation he would need to keep unbreakable as an adamantium shield. He could not show more than basic concern. For now.
Now the baseline humans around them were beginning to understand what was truly walking beside them. Recognizing at last the familiar shape that really should've rung bells from the very beginning, mortals descended to their knees, some even laying down on the floor before a guardian of the Emperor.
It was all very ceremonial, over the top and terribly unnecessary. None of the subdued but profound reverence he had once enjoyed as part of the Emperir's Legion, though he could expect nothing else of such a backward age, where each individual thing he had read about seemed like a joke with no punchline.
A morbidity...that was now simply reality.
Even the architecture and build of the ship around, carved into the Gothic style of construction so omnipresent in this era from the mere few pict-feeds he had observed, down to the tiniest decorative memorabilia. It was all in stark contrast to the sleek beauty of now ancient Imperial design.
Kronos tried to not be mindful of such details, though they corroded their way into his skull like acid, poisoning it and leaving a bad taste in his mouth. So much lost...
But again, forwards he strode. His personal breaking point would never be reached. Not as long as he had the will of the Emperor behind him. So long as even a shred of it's existence still remained, he would brave a thousand corrupted Imperia in it's name.
At that, they finally arrived before a grand hall, where several figures were waiting, though displaying no lesser awe on their faces than the humans before them.
All aside from one. A brunette woman, clad in power armor, standing in front of the entourage, had a stone-faced expression even under the sights of three of the Emperor's own off-shoots.
Kronos did not need to ask, for he already knew who she was. The numerous symbols draped and forged all across the armor told him as much. Yet for the first Inquisitor he had seen, he did not know what to make of her yet.
The small group at last converged with their host. A momentary tension seemed to flare forth from the larger group, though it quickly suffused as they all dropped to their knees in sight of the golden giant trailing the two Marines.
All except the Inquisitor herself, who bowed deeply and respectfully, though never touched the floor, and resumed standing upright quickly.
Kronos immediately knew what this was. It was a show of authority. That he may be a superior force, but that she was not be underestimated. That drew his attention somewhat, and for good grace alone he too inclined his head towards the woman.
"White Scars. Custodian," at that word, her facade did crack a little, as he could detect the trace of uncertainty in her voice. "I am Inquisitor Catherine Astoria, of the Ordo Hereticus."
Without much acknowledgement she continued.
"Sister Amelia, Canoness of the Order of the Valorous Heart, and her squad; my personal entourage," as she finished, the Sisters all raised themselves from the ground. The one in front, whom he assumed to be Amelia, rose the last, a deep matriarch's face edged with many scars softened somewhat by it's curiosity and reverence.
"Gladius Craigor, my personal aide, and Inquisitorial Throne Agent," she said, as a heavily augmented man rose to his feet. At the mention of that name, Batu tipped his helmet toward him, which Gladius returned with a pause.
"Admiral of Battlefleet Victoria, and supreme commander of this battlegroup, Maxim Castor. Captain of this vessel, Alexis Hawke. Lord Commissar of the battlegroup-"
The listings went on, as the entire gathering eventually rose from the ground. Kronos filed away their names for later use, of those he could find use of. Most were officers he did not need to know. At last, the Inquisitor concluded her count, as each member of her command staff, numbering two dozen or so, was situated on their feet.
"Batu, liaison to you, my lady," the White Scar said as he removed his helm, tipping his head in her direction.
"Nergui, Stormsteer and acting commander of the 4th Brotherhood of the White Scars situated in Battlegroup Riptide," the Son of Thunder too removed his helm.
And at last, the one everyone in the room was holding their breath for. The Custodian took off his helm as well, revealing his features to the assembled there. He was surprised to see their awe increase, some of them even audibly gasping.
Until he remembered the far greater effect that seeing the Emperor or his closest sons, the Primarchs, had on people. Could he too be projecting such a psychic aura now?
Contemplation about his nature would have to wait however, as he looked upon expectant faces, especially that of the Inquisitor herself.
"Kronos Praesul, Custodian Guardsman, 41st Shield-Company, Champion of the Emperor, beloved by all," he said flatly. No one there needed more info than that. "I trust Batu and Nergui can fill the rest of your command squad in with the details, Inquisitor. However, as it stands, I require a personal audience with you. In private."
Such words would've seemed bold coming from any other person: requesting immediate teleportation to one's private vessel, explaining barely anything and then immediately demanding special privileges from one of the most powerful individuals in Imperial space.
Yet those words came from the mouth of a Custodian, whose requests were paramount to that of the Emperor himself, and although he could sense the hesitation within the Inquisitor, he knew there would be no way to refute him. Some may take joy in such absolute authority. Kronos cared nothing for it. If he had to throw around his position to be a more useful servant, he would.
The Inquisitor provided a small nod, before turning around and motioning for Kronos to follow her. He mag-locked his helm to his armor, as he caught up with her, going through a tunnel and leaving the rest of the group behind to do whatever it was that they needed to do in regards to the debriefing and record writing.
The corridors of the ship were barely spacious enough to accommodate his massive frame, and to simply not overtake his host he had to slow his walking to the most moderate pace, what with the woman reaching up to his abdomen at most.
The majority of the walk was spent exactly like this, total silence engulfing the both of them, aside from their footsteps and whatever noise they happened to greet across the insides of the ship.
"Your personal quarters I presume?"
"Indeed."
Kronos did not spare much thought to the considerably-sized room. What the Inquisitor did with her personal belongings mattered little to him. Though he was curious about one thing.
"Oftentimes Inquisitors simply commission a ship for certain purposes, and then dispose of it, integrating it back into the mainline Navy or merchant fleet, correct?" he waited until she nodded to continue. "However, I seem to be under the impression that this is your personal vessel."
"That is correct. I requisitioned this ship over 20 years ago, and it has been mine since," she said, as she grabbed a metallic seat from somewhere in the room, sitting down but never splitting her eyes from his own for a moment. "Some Inquisitors prefer the more subtle approach of sneaking in through Imperial Navy vessels, or disguising themselves as Rogue Traders or other merchants of the like."
"Of course, I find that such subtlety is lost on me, as I am frequently called whenever the situation has already gone beyond shit, if you will forgive my language. If anything, it's somewhat driven my reputation for the majority of my career that," she spoke without missing a beat, and Kronos could not tell if her eyes were blinking or not. "But don't let me bore you with needless fluff."
"You keep staring into my eyes. You will not find what you are looking for there."
"And how do you know what I am looking for?"
"I have my ways. Ways that I would think you of all people would recognize as far superior to you own."
At that, she straightened somewhat in her seat.
"I am not here to be prodded by you, Inquisitor. I require your compliance, nothing more."
"And why should I give you it?" she said, her eyes returning to his own. "For all I know, you are violating the Lex Imperialis by being here. And a mere Guard cannot command me."
"I can however kill you with no repercussions."
"Would you truly however?"
"Perhaps not. However, whatever suspicions you believe need to be put to rest. This armor," he dinged his chestplate with his index finger. "Needs to be returned to Terra."
"And what is so special about it?"
The irony of the question was not lost on either of them.
"It is called the Armatorum Progressus. It is an ancient relic before even the time of the Imperium, the prototype of all Custodes power armor, and the personal battle plate of the Emperor, beloved by all, during the Age of Technology. I do not think I need to argue with you why this armor being returned to Terra is of upmost importance."
At that, the Inquisitor's stone cold visage finally broke, as she stared with childlike wonder at the armor, as if she were seeing the Emperor himself. She rose up abruptly, her mouth held slightly agape, and Kronos' enhanced sight caught the steam increasing from her breathing ever so slightly, his heightened hearing laying bare the quickening of her heartbeat.
So many emotional pheromones were released into the air that Kronos could not properly tell them all apart. Yet, the Inquisitor was to be given credit for containing her excitement where her body betrayed it.
"H-how can you even know? Why here of all places?"
"Because the Emperor himself told me," the Custodian said, pointing at his chestplate, as the large ornate eagle folded outwards, revealing the blood red gemstone beneath, masked as it's eyes. "You may know him as a god and I as merely a brilliant man, but I am sure we can both agree that he is a genius: even struck low he has placed contingencies all across the galaxy, this armor merely one of them. It not only possesses the claim of a high feat of material science, but also that of immaterial science too."
"A fragment of the Emperor's very soul resided within this armor, and now it does so in me."
"T-that cannot be," she sounded almost frantic, as if the possibility of someone so casually mentioning the spirit of a god inhabiting them was a very threat to her existence, so insidiously terrifying that even one as stoic as her was scurrying back in fear. "You canno-this cannot- you are DELUDED Custodes, the grandeur has gone to you head."
It was almost amusing, seeing one of the supposedly most powerful and ruthless individuals in the Imperium devolving into a sniffling child. That is, if it weren't pathetic. Still, for the first time, Kronos felt a bit of empathy towards the woman. He could not imagine how ten millennia of developing faith would impact the growth of any human as they grew up, especially the ones that required being as fanatic as Inquisitors.
So he approached her, carefully, methodically, not intending to provoke any sudden reaction. He lowered himself to one knee to stare level with her.
"Your tell is the eye. That is what you utilize to do you job. I could see it in how you were probing me earlier," he said, now the roles being switched, as his eyes bore into her own terrified ones now. "I could bet you have trained to see the slightest variations, depending on how close you are. Even the slightest shift of the iris. So tell me...do I appear to be lying now?"
Her demeanor calmed somewhat as she formulated her response.
"And what ensures me you're not using your superior bodily control, down to the last cell to fool me? I have already looked and found nothing."
"Then look again," he muttered.
She obeyed, if only for her own curiosity, and for the briefest instance his eyes glowed gold.
Yet that instance lasted an eternity for her. In that mere moment, she saw the greatest triumphs of the Master of Mankind. The greatest glories of the Great Crusade. Thousands of superhumans warriors, tens of demigods imbued with her god's awesome power, and for just the briefest moment, a first person view of a memory of Kronos himself, feeling that presence.
The presence of the divine cloaked in barely mortal flesh, it's face concealed by a bright aura that both warmed and burned.
The experience ended, and with preternaturally fast reflexes, the Custodian caught the Inquisitor hovering on wobbly legs. He was not surprised to see her crying. He too would've cried, but for different reasons.
If he had any tears left.
"I am not...not worthy to grasp this armor..."
Placing her on stable knees seemed practically impossible, so Kronos opted for the chair instead.
"Spare me the religious fervor and indulge your unworthiness another time please. I need an answer Inquisitor," Kronos said firmly, looking into her face as he retracted himself.
Catherine was still panting even while sat, and her eyes seemed almost glazed over, only half-registering the world. A few minutes passed, before the woman at last collected herself enough to sigh outwardly.
"Yes. Yes of course. I will help you, in any way I can."
Author's notes: SUP BITCHES WELCOME BACK TO DADDY'S PLACE!
Surprised to see a chapter so soon eh? Well, I will say, it was certainly nice to get one down so quickly after so long. So for those of you ravenous for more of this trainwreck, I hope I have satisfied.
Speaking of which, holy smokes, like 12 reviews for one chapter! That's incredible. And also a big part of why I wanted to push this one out so quickly. I feel like the overwhelming support and me taking a break from a few other things has made me jumpstart myself into another gear lately. Will this last? I dunno. But you can certainly help wink wink nudge nudge.
Also, if you like golden banana men, expect to see something very soon on them in my other Warhammer fic...that being, the one-shot dump I haven't updated in months...Anyway, this is Dome of Bones signing out.