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"So, did you tell her the truth?"
"Partially. I only showed and told her what she needed to know."
"Rather untrusting, are you lord?"
"There are parts of me that still argue on whether I should have told you two at all. And I am still unsettled by that wording."
"It is true however. Wherever you go in the Imperium, should you tell them even a tenth of what you did us or the Inquisitor, you will be referred to as nothing else."
"Well, it does not mean I have to like it."
Nergui ceased his meditation above the floor in cross-legged position, descending upon his own two feet once more and looking closely into the Custodian's features.
"Why so closed to the possibility lord?"
Kronos looked thoughtful, as he paced around the room, before settling on the one of the observation windows. The small battlegroup, consisting of roughly 15 vessels comprised of destroyers, escorts, frigates, cruisers, and the Mars class battlecruiser Malcador Resplendent, had stopped to refuel and prepare the world practically next door to Sors: Libra.
Libra was an underwater world with an absolutely minuscule population that was nonetheless important to the local trade. Due it's abundant natural life, the planet produced an absurd amount of fossil fuels, which like most combustible materials, could be converted into prometheum. The planet itself did not possess the capabilities to process the fuels, so bulk cargo freighters simply picked up all they could carry from what the local populace could extract.
The commence usually occurred on Sors, which was now a heaping pile of dead rock. The world was starved of currency, so the fleet would provide a small relief to it's population of four million or so, in exchange for all the resources it needed for the upcoming journey.
Kronos had memorized all this info, along with a generalized history course on the entire world in mere minutes. Yet another thing he had yet to get used to, his information processing capabilities were greatly boosted in comparison to an average human, though what he experienced now was on a whole other level.
"I am not a leader of men, White Scar. I cannot hold inspiring speeches that rouse my fellows to upmost devotion. I cannot organize vast bureaucratic organizations to suit my needs. I cannot rule over worlds. I was taught by my Emperor to be shrewd in politics, but never actually practice them myself. That is not what I am. I am a soldier, a warrior devoted to him. At most, I can be a general, an assassin or spy. Great roles perhaps, but still only suited wholly to the military arm of this empire. I am not capable of fixing this Imperium, and as long as I am not, I cannot truly accept anyone calling me lord, or any such title of governance."
"Then it is fortunate that "lord" is not merely a title of governance, is it not?" the Stormseer smiled, though it quickly dropped when he noticed the Custodian's somber mood. It was only natural really, he thought. Not one being in the Imperium could fathom the weight upon his shoulders. "Then how do you plan on fulfilling the Emperor's mission? You must learn Kronos, like all things, this art, for on Holy Terra the most dangerous battles are not fought with Bolter and Chainsword, but with words and paper."
"I was thinking...perhaps the Emperor already has one in store for such a task, one who would be a thousand times more effective than me."
Nergui arched his brow curiously.
"I thought you said he did not speak to you, lord."
Kronos shook his head.
"Not exactly," he turned around to face the Stormseer. "I find myself sleeping less frequently these last few days since my...merging. Even before, I hardly needed it. Custodes can survive practically indefinitely even in a complete vacuum and with no rest. But, it is optimal that we receive at least some sleep. Yet, I find mine is less disturbed by my own physiology, and more so because of...visions."
"Visions?"
"I cannot put them into words exactly, and I do not know if I interpret them correctly, but perhaps..."
"Perhaps I can help you with that?"
"I was hoping so."
Nergui nodded, and sat down once more, motioning Kronos to do the same. The White Scar was dressed in merely a ceremonial robe, whereas the golden warrior was still clad in full armor, finding it's bulk difficult to properly manipulate, though ultimately succeeding.
"The art of astral projection is useful for many things, though one of them is following "threads" of fate. By projecting yourself into the Empyrean, you are far more in tune with it. It is a far more profound experience than simply meditating on it, though it is also immensely dangerous. Warp predators lurk restlessly there, looking for their next meal and a psyker's soul shines like a beacon in a deep ocean."
"However, following threads of fate this way is far more accurate as well, than mere prediction. It is an art that receives begrudging respect, for not many can do it without losing their souls."
"Then what makes you assume I can do it? I may have the power of a portion of the Emperor's soul, but I am as unused to it as a babe, Stormseer."
"I can be your guide, lord. You need only find the thread, for we can follow it together."
Kronos seemed to think about it for a moment, before nodding.
"Then teach me, Stormseer."
"Gan."
The White Scar, still clad in his ruined armor he had refused to remove for days, roused from his trance. Batu himself was clad only in a loincloth and a robe haphazardly thrown on, having emerged from the training cages just minutes prior. He went to place his prosthetic arm on the younger warrior's shoulder, but upon looking at the scorched stump Gan himself had, decided against it.
Instead the firm but gentle grip of his remaining arm, now healed and whole, rocked the pauldron of his armor. Batu looked into his brother's face, but he was not focused on the old warrior, instead observing through a looking glass into a hospital cell.
In it, the prone form of the child they had rescued lay, breathing in a regular pattern.
"You have been watching her."
Gan nodded.
"It is strange. When I first laid eyes upon that child...I thought her a brat. Merely another mortal, but infinitely more annoying due to her insufficient age. Yet she saved our lives, even though from afar, on numerous occasions. She survived on a hellish desert world, wracked with war, murder and heretic bloodlust for weeks."
"She would've made a fine Astartes," Batu mused.
Gan paused, then nodded.
"Instead she is stuck to a hospital bed, unable to wake up and constantly spied and watched to make sure she does not unleash the stuff of the Warp upon us all. It is unfair."
"Gan?" Batu said, lifting his hand, worry plain in his features. The young warrior's eyes had darkened.
His arm shot up like a bolt of lightning, striking a nearby wall and denting the metal. But it was a momentary burst. His hand fell by his side, as his head drooped to stare at the floor.
"How much more can we sacrifice? How much can...can humanity sacrifice, before we are rid of these worthless, spineless hordes worshiping raving gods?"
"As much as it is needed" Batu said, his voice stern now. Grief was one thing, but there could be no appeal to weakness. "It is the Emperor's will. We were bred and built to endure the hardships no other man can, so that mortals may not. That is our duty. And only in death does duty end."
Batu grabbed the larger Astartes by the arm, lifting him to his eyes from his seat. His own adamant stare met a reluctant one, yet after a few seconds, Gan sighed as he closed his eyes.
"You are right. I am sorry Battle-Brother."
"Brother-Sergeant," Batu corrected, and at that a small smile played at his lips.
Gan's eyes shot open in surprise, then something close to reverence.
"You-you have been...?"
"In far shittier circumstances than I would've liked, but at the moment, yes. I am leader of the Unbroken."
"The Unbroken?" Gan asked, puzzled.
"We are no longer the 6th, or any other squad destroyed Gan. All survivors have been placed in the same Tactical Squad for now, numbering exactly ten. And that is the name we will bear to reflect our triumph, rather than our failures."
"...Did Bodol come up with it?" Gan said, a smile finally on his lips, though barely disguising his sadness.
"As a matter of fact, Chuulunbold did. Speaking of whom, come brother. We must get that arm fixed up. And we must meet the rest of the squad. It is imperative we all learn to work together for what is to come."
Gan gave him a questioning look.
"The Custodian requires us, Gan. You have missed much. We have a lot to discuss."
All three of them stood completely quiet. Neither Gladius nor Amalia wished to speak before their lady did, and said lady was finding it difficult to even properly articulate her words.
Finally, the feisty Sororita got fed up with the pregnant silence, and strolling straight into the Inquisitor's field of vision, spoke in a voice that was as brutish as it was delicate.
"With all due respect, Catherine, but what in the bloody Hell do you think you are doing? Surrendering control of the battlegroup to the White Scars, sending out an immediate call to action to all available nearby forces, compromising the Holy Ordos' authority by placing yourself in direct subservience to them? Have you lost your mind?!"
Catherine remained still, her head rested behind her hands, joined in a steeple. Gladius cleared his throat uncomfortably, which sounded more like a machine wheeze.
"While I do not agree with the exact wording Sister Amelia used, I will say madame, perhaps you are using a far greater degree of reverence that should be necessary in such an action, even for a Custodian."
"You do not understand," was her simple reply, said in an uncharacteristically petite voice.
"Then help us understand," Amelia spat, exasparated. "Throne on Holy Terra, I swore an oath of blood to you, Inquisitor. And I've yet to see a more loyal servant than Gladius. I know the rampant paranoia is a necessary part of your job, but this is ridiculous."
"Let me rephrase that, Amelia: you cannot understand," the Inquisitor said, and this time her voice was forceful, cold as ice. "What that Custodian showed me...there's no way to describe it. I can only tell you this: if that man...being is not one touched by the Emperor Himself, I don't know who is."
"You have never used such wording, madame. Even in regards to Living Saints you've seen and interacted with yourself."
"The more you talk of this, the more I grow suspicious of this Custodian. He does not even bear their traditional armor."
"Enough, both of you," the Inquisitor said, in a voice that invited no more argument. "The Custodian was explicit in what he told me. Even if I could properly express it, it would be far above either of your clearance levels. But I will tell you this: Holy Terra itself may be in jeopardy, and Kronos may possess the key to save it."
Both of them looked in each-other's eyes, one the epitome of confusion and even fearful, while the other mechanically cold due to his situation alone, though not faring much better on the inside.
"I will tolerate no more insubordination, not on this matter at least. The call has been made, and I have already received hundreds of astropathic messages heeding my call. If any other Inquisitor desires to overwrite it, they will have to go through me, the White Scars and the Custodian himself. This is final."
Begrudgingly, both of them nodded, and made to exit her personal quarters.
"Amelia, a moment, if you please."
The Sororita spared one last look to the Throne Agent before he departed, as she turned towards the Inquisitor, who raised herself off the table. There was an unspoken tension as the two women approached each-other, but it soon melted as Catherine's expression turned into a more delicate one. A rare side of her she only showed to Amelia, and occasionally Gladius.
"I am sorry Amelia. I truly am. You know I would never keep you in the dark without purpose," she said, resting her hand on her shoulder. It was a wasted gesture, for the Sister could not feel anything underneath her armor, though the meaning was not lost.
Amelia sighed. Of course, it was only natural. That did not mean it did not hurt.
"Just make sure you are right about what you are doing. I will not be so conceited as to judge one of the Emperor's own golden sons, but...all I will say is, the ruin of the Imperium thus far has been built upon false prophets."
"I don't think you would have such doubts if you saw what I did."
"Perhaps. Let us hope it will be so."
Kronos opened his eyes, only to be immediately confused.
His field of vision had greatly expanded, only for him to quickly realize that he now possessed four eyes. What he saw before him was not much easier to understand however, as he looked upon a seething pit of chaos, a trillion colors man had never laid eyes upon warring and strangling each-other. Creatures popping into existence only to dissolve back into the void.
Vast shapes of incomprehensible size moving in the far off distance. Noises that would drive fear into the most resolute heart, completely different from any sound a creature of flesh and blood could ever produce.
This was the place where ideas became forms, metaphors became literal meanings, and reality and fantasy had no distinction. It was Hell, through and through, however. Kronos could imagine no other place where such cacophony of psychic feedback would converge so violently.
And he was alone. Whether the Stormseer had not yet found him or was still working on projecting himself, Kronos looked out into the darkness without any backup. Yet he was far from defenseless. Instinctively, he clutched a weapon.
Actually two, as he stared down: massive spears of golden light sprung forth, each a replica of his own Guardian Spear, clutched in two pairs of arms: one lower emerging from his abdomen, and one upper, his natural arms. He scouted out into the veil of madness in front of him, yet the Warp beasts that lurked just out of reach stayed that way, never approaching his light, even for a glance.
Then he saw it: a light in-between the darkness. A stable beacon in an ever shifting sea of infinity, approaching him. In a mere heartbeat, the Stormseer was before, looking a spitting image of his real self, only made of an ethereal white light rather than flesh. Kronos himself, from what he could see, was doing the exact same, though the light he gave off was gold.
Curious.
The Stormseer's lips did not move, for they did not need to. Their words were pure thought, conveyed to one another in psychic waves like voice traveled through sound waves.
What is?
Your form. Four arms, four eyes. Great feathery wings. I'd almost mistake you for a daemon, if it weren't for the resemblance to a Living Saint.
Why is it so?
I do not know. Each psyker capable of such a feat manifests differently. I've seen many a stranger avatar. Many appear as animals, some as chimeras, others still even stranger things. Although...
Kronos cocked his head curiously.
It may be a result of your...unique situation: two souls merged into one. Four eyes, four hands, the wings of an eagle, like those of Old Earth.
Kronos paused, before nodding. It made sense, somewhat, in the realm of the physical figurative that was the Warp.
The Stormseer beckoned him, as he launched away into the depths. Kronos too moved, surprising himself as he powered through the darkness like a rocket, trailing Nergui. Two sparks, one of brilliant white and the other of blinding gold.
Eventually, the Stormseer fell behind the Custodian.
It is your thread of fate to find. I cannot see it. You must guide us to it.
Kronos nodded, not entirely sure what to look for, though still attempting his best. Through the roiling tides of Chaos did he look. He did not know for how long. Time was strange here. Nergui had told him it was not even linear, but rather that it worked by whatever laws were randomly chosen then and there.
Days, weeks, maybe even months passed by, or maybe it was mere nanoseconds. Or perhaps, that time had even gone backwards. Whatever had happened, after much searching, Kronos was drawn to something.
A pinprick of gold, like a distant star, glared at him, catching his attention in comparison to the rest of the aether. He flowed toward it, the Stormseer left behind as the Custodian chased after the glint. It grew brighter and brighter, until it encompassed his vision. Reaching out one of his hands, he grasped it, only to be pulled, much like a spring coiling after being stretched.
He was catapulted into what he could only assume was the vision of the future itself. The deep ocean of the Warp was gone, replaced by the starry sky of the Milky Way. Before him, Terra stood. But not the Terra he knew.
Wracked in scars, from battles yet to come. Large sections of the continental crust entirely burned. And atop it all, the Star of Chaos. The eight-sided symbol was unmistakable. But, it too was broken, disintegrating.
And above it all, another symbol was crushing it: the Omega letter of the Ancient Greek alphabet, wrapped in the golden wings of the Imperial Aquila.
The symbol too was cracked, broken and bent. But never entirely destroyed. It stood resolute, a beacon among the stars for all humanity to witness.
And just like that, it was gone. Like being pulled by rope towed by a great machine, he was dragged back into the insanity of the Warp. But even so, the Stormseer was there to greet him.
Did you find what you were looking for?
Kronos spared a thought to the things he had witnessed. Several in fact. Too many to properly count, truly. But ultimately, he chose on one course of action that would ultimately decide the fate of his journey.
I did.
They emerged at the bridge of the Crescent Moon, the ship now acting as the de facto leader of the battlegroup. Custodian and Stormseer looked upon their command staff.
The Chaplain and second senior officer aboard the ship, Bodol was the first to greet them. A giant of towering white ceramite, his skull helm cut an intimidating figure among even the other Space Marines, which betrayed the ruthless streak he executed the enemies of the Imperium with, but not the gentle words of encouragement that rang to his fellows in private hours.
Both remaining sergeants of the detachment were there, one old and wizened, and one new but no less experienced. Batu, the one the Custodian had fought alongside, and Ustgakh, whom he'd only met recently.
At last, there was Gan, whom Kronos had insisted be there, for purposes yet unknown to all of them. But they were merely the extent of his command crew within the ship itself.
Spread across the room, were many screen depicting pict-transmissions of every other important officer within the fleet. Captains, Commissars, and more were all listening fervently for the word of their new commander. Among them, the Inquisitor and Admiral also stood at the ready.
Removing his helm to observe all those assembled with his own eyes, Nergui followed suit.
"I apologize for letting you wait so long. But after consulting with the Stormseer, I have made my decision: we make for Macragge."
A torrent of discussion spread forth from the assembled mass of fleet officers, but a single staff hitting against the floor several times silenced each of them. Nergui ceased when the last voice fell, the sound of his traditional staff echoing as if present in every single ship in the battlegroup.
"I realize this may come as a shock to you all, and I too admit I believed Holy Terra was to be our intended destination. But it is not so. After counselling with most respected Stormseer Nergui, the word of the Emperor is clear as day."
"Our journey to Terra comes later. First, we must rush to the heart of the Ultramarines' empire. The Warp is turbulent, a storm brews," Kronos said, now looking outside the windows of the vessel, out into deep space where, like a blotch of spilled paint in water, the Eye of Terror churned and twisted with malicious energies. "Something terrible will occur. I believe you all have heard the predictions, and rumors. Whole systems blacking out, the Astropathic Choir on Terra being overwhelmed by cries for help, Daemon Primarchs emerging from millennia old slumbers."
A murmur of agreement now spread across the gathered. The only one who did not speak a word was the Inquisitor herself, who was watching the proceedings with a steely gaze.
"Whatever happens, when it does happen, we will need to be on Macragge. It is imperative. Our pathway to Terra leads there."
Kronos took a moment to stare into each assembled officer, before nodding once. Whether it was to himself or his subordinates no one could tell.
"You are dismissed."
The majority of screens flickered out, except for one. The Inquisitor, having remained silent throughout the entire proceeding, finally opened her mouth:
"What do you intend to do, Custodian? What is your purpose?"
"Inquisitor, I will be truthful with you. I am not entirely sure myself, but most likely," he spared a glance to Nergui. "Forge some new alliances...and witness the awakening of a sleeping titan."
Catherine stood for several more seconds quiet. That answer couldn't have satisfied her. But it would have to do, for now at least. They would see the results of their prediction when they got to Ultramar.
"You should pray that you are right Custodian. I sense damnation awaiting us all if you are not."
"I do not pray. You know that."
"Quite hypocritical of someone inhabited by God."
"Or entirely logical. To me he is a man. The most brilliant and powerful single man to ever live? Perhaps. But nothing more," Kronos finished, clearly not in the mood for such a discussion. He turned his back to the screen, his entourage following him, ready to leave the bridge, only for Kronos to pause and slightly turn his head.
"For whatever it is worth, I would consider praying if I did believe as you do however. I fear we face a living nightmare far greater than we can imagine."
With that, the Custodian at last properly turned his back on the Inquisitor, whose screen went black like all the others.
"Bodol?"
"By your word Custodian, the orders have been sent already. They were pending the announcement only. We depart in five standard hours."
"Good. What of the rest of your Chapter?"
"The White Scars hear Terra's call, Custodian," Ustgakh informed in a dry voice, the first time Kronos had heard the normally silent Devastator Sergeant speak. "Joghaten Khan rushes even now to meet with us, and offer his full martial might. He also brings reinforcements to replace at least some our slain brothers."
"Recuperate," Gan chimed in. "Never replace."
Before the conversation could go down that route again, Kronos decided to continue.
"And what of other forces called here? Who has responded?"
"Over 70 ships have hailed us their supports lord. Among them are the 3rd Company of the Doom Legion Chapter."
The group at last arrived at their destination: the observation deck overlooking the ocean world below, as well as the final preparations the ships were undergoing.
"It is almost beginning," Kronos said, looking out into the mass of assembled ships. He turned around again, to greet every Astartes warrior there.
"I am not one for inspiring speeches. But I will say, as a personal token from me, you are all dutiful beyond the necessary. This journey will be long, and hard. Much blood will still have to be shed, I'm afraid. But I do not think you care about any of that, if everything you've said and done is any indication," at that, the first smile in a long time graced his lips. "You are all men I could see myself fighting and dying alongside."
"The feeling is mutual Custodian," Batu was the first to say.
"Aye," Nergui forwarded.
Kronos nodded.
"We march for Terra, but most of all, we march for the Emperor."
"For the Emperor!" they all said, crossing their arms in the Imperial Aquila almost perfectly at the same time, which Kronos returned.
"Go back to you duties. We have much to do."
The Astartes dispersed, except for Gan, who was beckoned over by the Custodian.
"Gan, I would like you to be my sparing partner for the duration of this trip."
Gan had a look of surprise on his face bordering on shock.
"Custodian...I...certainly I am not worthy nor qualified. I doubt even our Brother-Captain Joghaten, who is the finest blade master I have ever seen, could measure up to you in a physical dance of the edged weapon."
"I do not need your finest warrior Gan. I need you. Will you accept my offer or not?"
Gan seemed to ponder for several seconds, before nodding, albeit reluctantly.
"It would be dishonorable to reject, Custodian."
"Good man," Kronos said, rocking his shoulder. "I will inform you of our first session. At this time, you understand, I am more than a little busy."
Gan nodded again, and they both departed, each to attend to their task, each with doubt clawing at their mind over upcoming events.
Author's notes: Wooooo, another new chapter. Between this and Pathos I am just on a roll lately. And so are you guys. Holy shit, 13 reviews last chapter. Let's see if we can top that ye?
Anyway, besides that, not much to say about this. I think you can have a pretty good guess of what Kronos saw right there, and why he's going to the home of the blueberries. If you've been paying attention since like, Chapter 4, you should also have a pretty good idea what's going to happen next.
Besides that, I have to say, always appreciative of the kind words, though criticism is equally if not even more appreciated. I truly do want to grow this story as much as I can, because seeing how it's going, it's going to be a loooooooooooooooong one.
That's all there from me this time. Catch y'all on the next chapter. Bone of Dome out.