Bolded and Italicized words are explained in bottom author's note
===begin===
There is but one end goal for us–you, the boy, myself–and that is power. Is that not what you have sought all these years?
Yes, but I will not take such things as the cost of his humanity! You play with fire, sorcerer, allowing us to reach into such a…dark realm!
It is necessary if we are to face the colossal threats which await in this world, and that is omitting those which shall inevitably come from mine.
I know, but still. Don't we have some strength here?
If I was able to so easily defeat you, can you imagine what the many creatures stronger than I could do? Tapping into the Immaterium is necessary for the boy to truly achieve power and face anything that shall come
Issei. His name is Issei. He is not like those sycophantic followers of yours, you degenerate psycho. He's a human being, he feels, he believes, and he cares. Following your path will truly damn him.
That is why you are here. You keep him from following my path. I forsook my humanity long ago, and I would do so again without hesitation if that meant restoring my legion. The only reason I humor you with these notions of morality is because I was tasked to protect him, both literally and I believe spiritually. I will fail in keeping his soul pure, but you…you will not, though I am loath to admit it. With your guidance he will become something greater, an ideal to strive for.
You know I oppose all you have in store for him, right? You will make him an outcast, a freak. People will shun him. They always do with what they do not understand.
Yes, but it is necessary. You will be the friend and mentor he will need in those moments when he peers into the depths of madness and when the world around him despises him.
You are a monster, you know that. You use all those around you like tools. Even Issei is one to you.
Do not act so high and mighty, lizard. You have your own selfish goals you hope to achieve with the boy, as I have mine.
At least I have a limit to what I would do. Some lines should never be crossed.
And that is why you are no longer free, why you are a puppet to the whims of hosts. I serve no being but myself. I am a slave to no one.
And look where that got you, jackass.
===Line break===
Bright, blinding lights were the first thing to greet the injured Issei Hyoudou as his mind slowly reacquainted itself with conscience. The world about him was a haze of flashes and blurs, white, black, a spectrum of dismal color dancing across his vision as he forced his distorted self into an upright position. Instantly he collapsed, pain burning up his left arm and chest, announcing a great price extracted from his body. A cough escaped his lips, a raspy wheeze of air subduing his will for great movements.
Where was he? Why was everything white? Why did it hurt so much to move? Where were his parents?
Images flashed before his eyes in quick succession, mere moments in time eliciting memories from a jaded subconscious.
A fence stood before him as he gazed at the darkened visage of his home.
A winged creature emerged from the shadows of a hall, blood and body parts glistening in the now invading light.
Black teeth pierced his right arm and pulled flesh and tendon apart, snapping the limb away from him.
A realm of white greeted him, an oversized blue armored…thing staring into the heavens.
The attacking creature lay crumpled dead in the streets, a faint purple light glowing in the remnants of his vanished arms and hands.
A great, red dragon stood over him, sympathy in its piercing, eternal eyes, promising comfort and a life beyond death.
Issei knew now. Knew he had survived an attack. Knew he was a cripple. Knew his parents were dead.
Like a falling hammer, the notion crashed upon his mind, loneliness and debilitating sadness seizing him in a wave of immense emotional turmoil. The one thing he had always cherished in his life was gone. Two of the kindest people to exist, the only remaining comforts he had left, his mom, his dad, were taken from the world, taken from him.
By a monster.
Falling to the potent mix of depressed tragedies and wishes for second chances, Issei cried with every inch of his being, soaking his pillow in a frenzy of inner turmoil until he no longer had any tears or screams or thoughts to give.
The life he knew was gone in a matter of moments, and now he was left with the broken wreckage and a broken future. In the end, he just lay there on his hospitable bed, blank and cracked like a house of glass. He did not know what to do or how he was going to go on with life after this. Between the loss of his parents and what he knew as insanity setting in, he was lost, and as far as he could tell, there was no future worth having awaiting him.
With these thoughts in mind, the young boy turned his gaze from the depressed beige of the ceiling to the wreckage that was what remained of his body. Just as he brutally remembered, his right arm was gone, useless to any form of existence beyond the hospital and worthless pity, cut off from the elbow down and nothing more than a wretched stump.
His left arm, however, was an oddity in and of itself, a welcomed gift his mind barely perceived. Although memory stated that the assailant (rationality dictated it was not a devil, devils, much like dragons and spooky space wizards were not real) had cut off the appendage after it had flung him against the walls of his home, yet somehow, his left arm existed.
Impossible, he was very much aware of that fact, but maybe he had just been confused when that event happened. He had banged his head against a wall really hard, so it wasn't too far-fetched that he saw things which defied reality…
To make sure he was not hallucinating his arm's presence, Issei gently moved it, raising his hand and flexing the fingers which should not have been there. Though stiff and protesting any form of movement, his arm was not a conjured figure, the senses spoke for themselves.
It was alive, functioning, and undamaged.
"How?" his voice sorely murmured, speaking for the first time in what felt like days, cracking and raw.
You have me to thank for that child, a dark authoritarian voice boomed in his subconscious. Whilst you were unconscious and your home's authorities remained idle, I regrew your arm with what little psychic energy you had left after your great awakening.
Issei's mind grinded to a halt in the wake of the voice in his mind.
Regrew? Psychic Energy? Great Awakening? Was what he saw when he first woke up real?
No, nonononono, that was not possible, completely and wholly impo…
Do not waste your time with recollection and debates of reality. Your mind does not lie to you, boy. Accept your fate and the situation that awaits you.
Then another voice, kinder though just as deep and commanding, announced itself.
Leave him be, space wizard. Now is not the time for your schemes.
That was the dragon, the cool, nice, somehow real dragon that was friends with him.
The voice chuckled.
I'm glad you think so highly of me, partner.
"J…just to be sure, you are real?"
Did you not hear any of what I said?
Ignore the angry smurf, partner, he has long since forsaken what it means to be human. To answer your question, yes. Everything you saw was real, we are real, and we are here for you.
He was not completely alone…
But maybe this was insanity deceiving him. A doctor on the TV back home once said that the mind was especially skilled at lying to itself, especially after traumatic incidents. He had no way of knowing this was actually true.
"Prove it."
Neither entity within him spoke, but he could feel something happening, something running through him and…manifesting where his right arm should have been.
Glowing swirling crimson and gold energy, bathed the place of the missing appendage, solidifying with each circuitous route its energies took. Feelings began to re-emerge in the arm, as if each nerve and cell was being regrown and flooded with power.
It did not feel natural.
But it did feel epic.
With a final glistening flare, a metallic arm formed, extending up to the elbow in red, gold, and hidden steel. On the uppermost surface, cherry plating stood resolute in the open air, a simple two piece gauntlet upon the forearm and face of the hand. The forearm piece resembled welded together rings bearing little ornamentation apart from golden trimming on its farthest edges, whereas the hexagonal hand protector was smooth and unblemished. Beneath the gap between these pieces, darkened, battle-tested metal ran, connecting them and offering protection against anything that would try to pierce through the broad armor. Then there were the hands, carrying the same red coloring and parted armor aesthetic. Each finger was divided into three miniature protective coverings, save for the thumb which was graced with only two, allowing for full movement capabilities. Similar to its bigger plate brothers, the same dark under-armor protected the few gaps they held.
"Holy crap!" Issei shouted as he gazed upon the large conjured fist that stood where mere moments ago a stump resided. The armor moved like his hand would, seamlessly and without delay, a perfect fit to his body, a part of him.
What did you do to the boosted gear wizard, the dragon questioned in a menacingly calm voice.
Modified it. It does not do to scream boost every time a power increase is needed. The enemy will know of your intentions and will plan accordingly. Once more, this gauntlet is better suited to harness the psyker powers our host possesses.
I suppose there is some truth to your arguments, but still, did you need to change the look?
The boy carries with him the legacy of the Thousand Sons. His armor shall reflect that.
You want him to carry the legacy of arrogance, betrayal, and manipulation?
No. Only what we used to be, in the days of Prospero. When we still believed in our utopia of knowledge. Our dreams shall be embodied in him.
If Issei was completely honest with himself, he had no idea what either was talking about and did not feel inclined to butt in, having been lost the moment the words boosted gear were brought up and too focused on his new hand to acknowledge whatever it was they discussed.
His arm was back, and it was different, stronger than before, a true marvel to gaze upon.
If only his dad–the self proclaimed super nerd–could see this…
But he could not, would not, and never would. In his brief moment of elation, Issei was reminded once more that his parents were well and truly gone. And now he knew it was his fault, as the armored fist's existence declared. He, though unconscious within his own mind, had fought and defeated the creature that killed his parents somehow, unlocking powers he never knew were real. In breathtaking clarity, he knew he could have done exactly the same act if he stayed home with his parents.
With a sigh, Issei let his head fall as he stared off into nothing. If he had been there, he might have saved them. If he had been there, he might still have a family. But he wasn't, and there was no changing that. His parents would stay dead, as dead as the thing that had killed them.
The young boy shivered, reminded of that creature. It was an unholy abomination that had come to bring death to his home, an unholy abomination that deserved much more than what had happened to it.
Raw anger coursed through Issei slowly at first, gradually solidifying itself as the predominant feeling at the forefront of his mind.
The gauntleted arm began to glow, purple spasms of electricity striking and flaring along the tips of his fingers and palms, growing in strength and shape. The lights around him began to dim as power began to radiate from him in minute waves of displaced energy.
Issei paid no heed to these visual occurrences; his attention lay in his emotions, his enraged emotions. He wanted something, absolutely craved it, but he did not know what it was…
Partner, listen to me. You need to relax right now. Partner. Partner!
Issei barely registered the voice in the back of his mind as his spiral continued. The anger felt good, the power felt good. With the flick of a wrist, a single bolt of purple energy was sent flying into the wall directly opposite of him, evaporating upon the blank surface and leaving behind an ashened visage.
Partner please! Calm down!
The dragon's pleads continued to fall upon deaf ears, growing ever quieter with each passing second.
Issei felt so very far away from everything, floating in a miasmic haze of anguish that invaded his body and seemed to reach to his very soul as more manifestations of light appeared in his gauntleted hand.
The temperature in the hospital room began to rise.
Things were falling apart, yet it felt…intoxicating, vengeful, righteous, perfect.
BOY! YOU WILL HEED MY WORDS OR THEY SHALL BE THE LAST YOU EVER HERE! the deep commanding voice of the blue creature in Issei's mind screamed through his very being, shutting down every single thought, emotion, and sight, leaving nothing but a will to obey.
It was in that moment that the young boy truly felt the presence of something greater, the overwhelming aura of the aged being, the respect and fear it commanded, its might and undying perseverance. He could only cower in its presence, obey its demands.
Hear my voice.
Issei did indeed hear it. There was only the voice, nothing else existed within his blank, senseless state. The voice was good, the voice was right, the only thing right, the only thing to exist to him.
Breathe deep. Relax.
Issei obeyed as commanded, and slowly but surely, sensation began to return, instantaneously noting the extreme heat around him.
Then perception reactivated. The knowledge of a room existing around him seized his mind–he lay in bed, there was a table beside him, walls enclosed him, a door was beyond his reach.
Focus on the gauntlet
Issei found his eyes wandering to the creation where his right arm used to be, idolizing the flawless, armored aesthetic that still continued to glow with supernatural light.
Let it go
Issei realized his hand was balled in a fist as if clutching something, something only he could perceive in his subconscious. Without a second thought, he unclasped his hand, witnessing the armor's gradual loss of resonating energy. It grew darker, easing away the purple and red brightness like a wave straining ever higher along the beach.
It felt funny experiencing the light leaving, as if he was turning a circular switch in his mind that resided where his normal, human arm should have been. So enraptured with this new sensation was Issei that he did not notice his gauntlet was gone until the two voices within him resumed their chatter.
It is done.
What did you do?
Assumed control of his mind temporarily and brought him away from the…corruptive influence his powers may have. For the time being, he shall not have access to these abilities until he has fully mastered his emotions and his mind. The untrained can so easily find themselves pawns to the whims of darker beings.
Fully back to normal, Issei could not help but feel uncomfortable with what the space wizard said. Corruption, he had heard of that word at church with Irina's family, but he never really found out what it meant.
Just from the way it was used though, the young boy knew it was bad, and he didn't want to do bad things or experience bad things. He already had, and it well and truly hurt.
He didn't want to hurt, echoes of the pain he had felt crawling back into his thoughts as quickly as they had before the voices appeared in his head.
Boy, do not waste your time on such worthless self-pity. It will only bring you more pain and keep you from what matters. The space wizard spoke to him once more, ordering him away from his soon to be ruminations.
Issei heeded his words, forcing his train of thought to stop with some effort.
There will be time to mourn and honor your parents' legacy. The space wizard said in a calmer, softer voice. Issei could imagine him standing beside him, arm on his shoulder imparting his wisdom to him.
We must look to the future, boy; we have much to achieve.
Hesitantly, the young boy responded, "Okay."
He did not know what he was getting into or what lay ahead, but there was something awaiting him, something beyond all he knew. Although it terrified him, he knew he needed to move forward, almost by instinct, to strive for whatever he was searching for, to strive to be better than what he currently was.
While he knew would hurt for a long time, stumble and struggle, one day, he would achieve wonders. One day, he would achieve…greatness.
===line break/6 years later===
In the quiet solitude of his home, Issei Hyoudou sat in meditation, floating above the floor of his living room and encased in a gentle psychic aura, the Enumerations bestowed upon him by his mentor Ahriman sifting through his mind like sand through a sieve. This was his ritual, his everyday practice to strive for that perfect mental state the space wizard constantly talked about. Meditation after breakfast, meditation after school.
Less thinking, more serenity, young Hyoudou.
Issei sighed to himself, adhering to the words of his ever present Magister Templi. He could practically see the 'tut, tut, tut' expression of his holy smurfness chastising him.
Answering back with an affirmative 'yes magister,' he once more returned to channeling his emotions through these aged mental exercises.
The Enumerations, the foundation of control of the psyker abilities of the Thousand Sons. A way to pierce the veil of emotional and inner imbalance and find the sanctity of mind to wield the Warp perfectly. When one's mind had mastered the Enumerations, they mastered themselves. When they mastered themselves, they mastered their psychic abilities.
Taking a deep breath, Issei cleared his mind and began.
The First Enumeration: the founders and first masters of the Cult of Tizca. Establishing a sense of emotional constancy and a clear mind. Easiest to achieve for the psychically inclined.
There was naught but peace in the mind of Issei. The world around him barely registered in his senses.
The Second Enumeration: the mind parts from bodily concerns, finding purity in psychic ascension.
All senses parted from Ahriman's pupil, shed like an old skin, falling from him and freeing him from the requirements of the physical plane. Issei was above such things as hunger, desire, sight, and hearing. He simply was now.
The Third Enumeration: perception returned, enhanced, feeling energy within all surrounding objects, seeing all around with the sixth sense naturally linked to psykers.
This was the hardest of the Enumerations Issei had mastered; it was a constant battle to only perceive his surroundings, not "pursue them" as his magister called it. He felt their existence there, almost like a natural draw, but he had to find that subconscious, enlightened will to not be drawn to them and lose his mental state.
They called to him, their energy a non-existent light beckoning his attention, tempting him to fall from his absolute focus.
There had to be nothing but his mentality, his psychic spirit within his focus. Everything else was peripheral, detected but not pursued. There but of no consequence to enlightenment.
Issei resisted his surroundings' call, taking no note of the great diminishment of their distracting presence. The Third Enumeration was conquered, and thus, Issei pulled himself from his meditative state, slowly descending from the air, wrapped in the satisfaction granted by his achieved inner balance.
Normally, these sessions ended with a sudden crash onto the hardwood floor, a tirade of curses and his magister's chiding accompanying him as he continued his day.
And so the Third Enumeration falls to your learnings. I must admit I had begun to think you would never reach this level having seen your previous failures.
"Hardy har, har, har, magister." Issei chortled, remembering the many, many, many failings and mental pains the Third Enumeration had caused him. "At least I did it, finally, you smug bastard. You better watch out, pretty soon I'll be able to kick your ass."
Ahriman chuckled dryly, a rare occurrence which left Issei genuinely surprised. It was a cold day in hell when the spooky space wizard did anything vaguely…human. Usually, he was about as emotional as a wall of paint.
Only time will tell, you still have many more to master, and they will only continue to increase in difficulty.
"Can you just let me enjoy the moment, please, magistar?
Very well. Bask in your achievement, young Hyoudou. I shall await your presence in the soul scape tonight. Our match must continue.
"Yes, magister," Issei responded, his elation of achieving the Third Enumeration dying down at the mention of Ahriman's "tactical exercises." The Arch-Sorcerer's pupil always found chess fascinating as a game, a simple, relaxing game, nothing more; however, his magister turned that beloved game into something wholly horrifying, a complete and utter massacre of his tactical confidence.
And that was setting aside Ahriman's tendency to quickly shift the game into four dimensional chess at the drop of a hat. He always said it had something to do with testing emotional mastery and adaptability. Issei was never entirely sure what the message behind all of it was. He was usually too pissed to listen when the game became a teachable moment.
Relax, partner. The smurf wizard's a prick by nature. All you can do is take it like a man.
Issei smirked at that, happy that his big red, magical dragon buddy was thinking precisely what he was at that moment. Ddraig was his homie, his amigo, his friend, and his second mentor. While Ahriman focused on his mental and magical capacities, Ddraig worked with his mastery of the "sacred gear" Issei possessed, his reforged (Ddraig had yet to forgive the space wizard for that) Loginus, as well as teaching him how to fight in a way befitting the host of the Welsh Dragon. Those sessions had been…eventful to say the least. Many a tree in the nearby forest had been utterly destroyed by the power of the Boosted Gear and its magic wielding bearer.
Of course, Ddraig chalked that up to penting out all the frustration Ahriman caused with his demeanor and stickler teaching style. Issei on occasion agreed with that statement.
"You know, I actually thought that the years of tutoring would make him less of a…you know."
Psychopathic douche? This is Ahriman, we're talking about. You should have known he was going to stay a piece of shit.
The sorcerer's pupil conceded that point, having had to break apart the many fights that had flared up between Ddraig and the Archsorcerer, over the years over Ahriman's ways and teaching.
Issei shuddered, forcing back the memories his magistar had shown him during some of his training. The grim darkness of the far future was horrifying, the story of the Thousand Sons–Ahriman's legion–tragic. What he became as a result of these was despicable and haunted him to this day. They even haunted Issei, to a lesser degree, prime fuel for his nightmares the few times he did not enter the soulscape when he went to sleep.
How far the mighty and noble fall.
Moving past these ruminations, Issei went about the rest of his morning routine, preparing himself for the day ahead, letting his excitement from achieving the Third Enumeration to return and raise his mood.
With an extra pep in his step, Issei left his home and began his journey to school.
===line break===
The orphanage was a place no child should have lived–underfunded, falling apart, and run by people who did not care whatsoever about those within their charge. It was a child's hell, a place of broken dreams and never ending sadness.
Nobody wanted the older kids, they were delinquents.
Nobody wanted the middle kids, they were always too sad.
Only the youngest were lucky enough to be granted a home beyond this pit, save for him.
To everyone, he was a freak, a mistake, a mutation. His very existence was anathema to the normal children who went on with their lives. It was as if an aura of unnaturalness radiated from him like rays from a sun. No one pierced this veil. No one ever would.
But he bore it all with grim determination. His mentors kept him company when others would not, taught him to rise above these straits, to strive for something more.
He was something more, he was a psyker and wielder of the Boosted Gear. Power coursed through his veins along with red hot blood.
He was extraordinary and today was the day he would break from this misbegotten hell, live a life of his own.
It was so simple, too simple really according to the blue guy in his head. Such simple mind control and magical forgery would ensure he never saw this place, nor the people within ever again.
With a deep breath, the young boy let his Magistar take over his consciousness and lead him to freedom.
===line break===
The boy was alone again but content with his isolation. He had a home and money, inherited from his deceased parents. He had a job running errands and delivering things for his neighbor. He even went to school.
Life was good, and though he craved company from those around him, he was content to keep things the way they were. His time in the orphanage had turned him off from the company of his fellow man and so he kept to himself.
And so we have his current situation, strolling through town, thinking about life so far and the future before him. While there were ways to see what lay ahead, that was far beyond the boy's current abilities, so he delighted himself with guesswork and personal bets of success.
He was going to achieve great things, so many great…
"Ouch!"
The boy's thoughts were brought to a halt as he collided with someone. Knowing his surroundings was never his strong suit, especially when he was lost in thought, so it was no surprise that he would accidentally hit something eventually.
Picking himself up off the floor, he gazed up at the person he hit, coherent thought ceasing as he stared at the visage of an angel.
The first thing he noted was her eyes, gemstones of a radiant, dark blue, glistening down at him. Her skin was of marble, unblemished and of an exceptionally fair complexion. Her wheat gold hair curled fell in silky tresses along the sides of her face down to her shoulders. Her figure was a sight to behold, sculpted to perfection and delightfully sinful to gaze upon, full breasts and rubenesque hips.
But most of all, what truly caught the boy's attention were her wings.
While invisible to the average person, the boy was different, he had true sight and could see behind concealments. This angel had wings, twelve of them stretching from her back, their feathers of the purest white, radiating divine power.
Words failed the boy as all he could do was stutter and look away from the angel, who giggled lightly at his inability to speak.
"It's alright little one. It's alright, no harm done. My name is Gabriel, what is yours?"
Finished. God dammit. This took too long to write, and for the most part I like what I wrote. I am sorry it took so long to come out, but I rewrote so much of this so many different ways, and well eventually I said fuck it and here we have this (the big issue was with meeting Gabriel, and where to put it).
So yeah. Hope you liked it. More will come in the 6 years between the hospital and the morning meditation thing with the next chapters. We get more grief then, since I sort of glossed over it, get some training, see the seeds of chaotic corruption begin to take root with a certain shitty person, and more Thousand Sons themes boosted gear. Oh and more Gabriel, definitely more of the holy Seraph.
Terms:
Enumerations: psychic practices of the Thousand Sons for basically tuning their psychic abilities/unlocking their full potential without being corrupted by the Warp. There are 10 known levels (Ahriman has mastered them), but there believed to be many beyond that which nobody apart from Magnus the Red, primarch of the Thousand Sons, has reached.
Magistar Templi: master of one of the cults of the Thousand Sons–the Athaneans (Telepathy), the Corvidae (precognition), the Pavoni (physiokinesis, manipulating one's own biological matter), the Pyrae (pyrokinesis), and the Raptora (telekinesis).
Cult of Tizca: Any of the cults of the Thousand Sons, see above.