~Moot of Men and Eld~

~798. M30~

~Segmentum Ultima~

~Charnac~

~Kytan, Shield-Captain of the Custodian Guard, Most-Junior Warrior of the 300 Companions~

Of all 31 names yet bestowed upon him. His second was his favorite. Given to him by the Emperor himself, after swearing the oaths of loyalty and formally completing his initial training. The memory had been crystalized in his mind, a single moment that he treasured beyond any other.

He was kneeling, his Auric Warplate freshly made by the hands of his lord, studded with the finest-wrought jewels of Terran artisans gifted to his lord, clad in the silks of the master weaver guilds knit for him and him in specific. His hand was on his guardian spear, and his other rested upon his knee.

A hand reached down to him, touching his shoulder. A voice of bells and lightning spoke to him in loving pride.

"Rise, my tyger-warrior. For my immortal hand and eye has framed thy fearful symmetry."

He looked up, and beheld the graven face of the man who stood above gods. The one who tread upon the jeweled crowns of the sorcerer-tyrants of Terra, upon the monster-gods they summoned and worshiped, and rendered them all into ash and memory. The outline of strong features and brazen skin the only thing distinguishable behind a halo of burning golden light. And yet the eyes were perfectly clear to him. Crystal, burning, blazing blue, shining brighter and stronger than any sapphire.

Shining, and filled with the love of a father, for him.

And so Kytan Tyger-Warrior rose from his knees, and greeted his brother angels observing the ceremony with a flame in his breast. A flame of pride and adoration, one that had yet to extinguish, only temper and settle warmly in his heart. That burning love a creator had for his creation, it humbled him even as it bolstered his soul with adamantium dignity.

For he was chosen by the Emperor. What other honor could he possibly ask for? What other treasure or pleasure? What other purpose or duty? Nothing could ever compare to that truth.

When the lord Sigillite, most-honored friend of the Emperor, informed him of his duty, he was delighted to receive the honor. Looking upon the faces of the grim-humored Thunder Warriors had damped his delight, but furthered his determination. If he could help these honored souls who fought alongside his lord, he would.

And so they were gathered up, the survivors of the Battle of Mount Ararat as scattered and sickly as they were, had come the moment the word had been distributed. The lord Emperor had need of them, and they arrived, despite the tragedy of their decommissioning.

Their very gene-enhancements betraying them, their titanically powerful bodies ravaging their own health, their instincts clawing at their own minds. The Thunder Warriors were doomed to die, whether in honorable battle or a slow and miserable decay, and according to the tales of his older brothers, they all knew this upon accepting the lightning-banner of the Emperor.

They were dead men, storm warriors who wielded red-river-making Ka'Tahs.

They were fighting to give Terra a future free of the suffering that befell them and the people they loved. Their deaths long accepted with grim smiles and gallows humor.

Kytan Tyger-Warrior respected the dead men more than any other mortals he had met thus far. He would not hesitate to give them an honorable death if it was required.

Clad in scraps of brass and leather, standing at attention despite how their limbs twitched to make ghosts of their brothers, the image of a group of men ruined by war and ready for another battle all the same. Two-hundred and sixty in all, barely enough to form a single legion, where once they marched as twenty legions of three hundred men apiece. The last ghosts of the dead men. War-bulls scarred and dying.

Several had died on their way here, screaming 'Unity' as they battled visions of past enemies.

Standing on a xeno ship, over a xeno world, in a xeno system, in a far-flung corner of the Galaxy. For one of two purposes that they would soon divine.

A man allied with xenos had claimed to be the son of the Emperor. A claim the Emperor backed as 'possible'. A claim they would interrogate with gifts and weapons in hand. If he was indeed of their lord's blood, the Thunder Warriors would serve him faithfully, and Kytan would serve as emissary to his lord. If he was not, they would fall upon him, kill him, kill his allies, and kill as many as they could before being killed in turn.

All assembled warriors were prepared for either possibility.

The doors to the ready-chamber opened and a giant stepped forth. Surpassing any in size save the Emperor himself, clad in foreign plate and dress, but bearing the distinct, familiar helm of a human. A white-skull face, crowned in golden laurel, bearing a winged helm and halo. The image of a tomb-saint, a dead man clad in blessed accolades and laid to rest, but walking on regardless.

The xenomail was deep, burning blue save for the right arm, which was a cool, sanguine red. About this mail was silks of white as a tabard and cloak. At the man's waist was a sword and shield of pure burning gold. Kytan recognized both. They were the exact image of his lord's own arms, but duller, weathered with age and use. Even then, they burned with an inner fire. They told a story he did not name, not yet, not until they giant spoke.

In a rumbling, familiar tone, the giant spoke. "The warriors of my lord-father. I confess, I expected nothing to return with my messenger." It was perfect high-Terran, the regal tones of one who had spoken such all their life, and had spoken it among nobility.

The giant reached up with blue and red hands, and lifted his helm from his head.

Kytan beheld the face of the one who may descend from his lord. Strong jaw, but fair flesh. Imperial nose and high cheeks. Blond hair instead of black. Brows naturally forming into a stern expression. The countenance of an ideal warrior, but not unrealistically so. A face perfected humanity, but not beyond humanity. The face of a living, breathing man.

And eyes of volcanic, blazing blue.

"I am Malum Caedo. That is not my true name, it is one I have assumed. Speak your purpose so that I may see to it."

"I am The Emperor. That is not my true name, it is one I have assumed. I will speak to you your purpose..."

As the higher in status, Kytan spoke first. "I am Shield-Captain Kytan of Thirty-One-Names. Warrior of the Custodian Guard. Warrior of the 300 Companions. I act as hand and voice of the lord Emperor, to observe and judge his proclaimed son, to bear gifts for the honest, to bear weapons against the deceiver."

Blue eyes turned to him. "And your judgment?"

"My observation is not yet complete." Kytan answered, and the giant nodded in acceptance. He turned to the warrior standing next to Kytan. The most venerated commander of the Thunder Warriors, one of the few still left alive.

Clad in plates of mostly ruined brass over failing powered armor. A coat of scrap scales over exposed joints. A pelt of a great white and spotted predator-beast of a defeated sorcerer-tyrant over his shoulders and head. And shaking hands carrying a tattered, ruined banner of storms and starlit dreams, and a flickering power sword.

Arik Taranis, bearer of the Lightning Banner, and he who first cried 'Unity' as the last enemy on Terra fell to the Emperor's armies. Survivor and scar-faced warrior of old, staring at the giant with grim expression, betraying nothing of his emotions behind this mask of flesh.

"Arik Taranis. Improvised Primarch of the Ad-Hoc Thunder Legion." The dead man spoke, voice growling with age and self-destructing vocal chords. "The same as the stuffy one in gold. If you're the Emperor's son, will fight for you until we die. If you're a liar, we'll murder you and all of your friends, and die trying. We'll be mean about it too, for daring to get our hopes up."

…Stuffy?

He wasn't stuffy, was he?

The giant nodded in acceptance again, and replied. "Do you have a judgment ready then?"

"Aye, I do." Arik Taranis reached up with his hand, scratching at his chin with the hilt of his sword. "I'd judge that Emperor had a love of cream-skinned women with pretty-gold hair."

Kytan at once wished to banish the thought of his lord having intercourse from his mind. The very idea seemed inherently wrong.

The giant snorted, before the snort turned into a long chuckle. Grim smiles began to grow on the faces of the thunder warriors, even as their instincts told them to kill the source of the noise. Soon enough, the chuckling died down, and the giant looked over the assembled warriors. A grim expression slowly grew, and Kytan could see little difference between it and the expressions of the thunder warriors.

The grim countenance of a dead man, who fought on for those who yet still and may one day live.

That expression on a so-familiar face made Kytan's heart clench in sudden worry, even if he knew his lord was free of harm.

"I know of you, Thunder Warriors. Gene-wrought warriors of my lord father, who fought to unify Terra. Who fought even as your enhancements began to destroy you. You are dying as we speak, and fit for nothing save war."

"I know of you, and I know of a way to save you. Doing so would mean becoming my warrior-sons, bound by covenant of blood and flesh. For within my body lies a reagent, a geneseed, and with it you may be saved to fight on. But you will know nothing of life beyond war, should you accept, there is no peace that I can foresee, only battles and enemies as numerous and powerful as the stars themselves, and I can ill afford to let warriors of your caliber rest."

"I will let the choice be yours and yours alone. If you choose against becoming my sons, then I will send you away, or give you an honorable death somewhere. It is the least of the honors I can bestow upon you."

Arik Taranis stared into the eyes of the giant for a long moment, before a grim chuckle issued from his lips. This chuckle was echoed throughout the band of dead men, and after a moment, the Primarch spoke. "Emperor gave us a similar speech, our answer was the same then. We're warriors and little else. Fill our bodies with whatever you see fit. So long as you fight for humanity, so will we. You say that you'll need to fight against things as strong and many as the stars? Then we'll just have to get good at slaying stars."

Another grim chuckle. "Course, don't see what less than three hundred corpses are going to do for you, with those thousands of ships at your disposal."

A smile fit for a statue of old. "The ships of my provisional allies are not my ships. I suspect many of them will leave after the moot, and all of them will refuse to fight under my banner. They will be fighting under their own banners, just besides us."

The giant turned his gaze out to the assembled Thunder Warriors, and drew his sword. Raising it high into the air above him, it blazed to life and cast a burning, golden, familiar light upon them.

The Thunder Warriors, legs shaking from gene-malfunction, fell to their knees before the light. Kytan struggled to prevent his own legs from falling at the sight. They beheld it with wonder in their eyes, and the light banished the darkness from their minds, even if only briefly.

"Then know this, my Star Slayers, I am Malum Caedo. I am Roboute. I am the thirteenth and final son of the Emperor of Mankind. I fight for the future of mankind, for the future of everything good, and against the monster-gods of hell. Under my banner you will know nothing but war, a war against all the evils that hell can conjure, and a war I will ensure you achieve victory within."

"A war against evil itself. One we will win."

"This I swear."

Reality crashed inwards behind the giant, and the scene of xeno-laboratory stretched behind him, xeno and tech-priest medicae stood ready in the laboratory, and the giant smiled. His sword stopped burning, and it was sheathed at his side once more.

The demons of their mind seemed fearful to return while it was still present. Their shaking just slightly less than before. Their grim expressions tainted with painful hope.

"Rise if you would, Star Slayers. I must see to your health at once. You're of no use to me as dead men."

Kytan's judgment finalized in his mind.

This was the son of his lord, there was no doubt of that.

What other geneline would declare war against the gods with promises of inevitable victory and unbreakable conviction? What other geneline would declare such and make him believe in it?

The most immediate change in the storm soldiers was the diminishment in the shaking and instability, as xeno-medicaes performed healing sorceries upon the dead men. A temporary solution they called it, even as years of damage disappeared from their forms and their eyes were cleared of unstable wroth. A quiet had settled upon them now, many simply looking at their hands, free of any shaking.

They did not react as tech-priests came over to them, drawing samples of blood to measure against samples drawn from the seemingly inexhaustible supply present in the son of his lord. This blood was run through refinement-processes and machines he recognized as relatively basic apothecary-devices, from which a white-gold fluid was produced and bottled.

Geneseed, the son of his lord called it, a sum total of primordial germ-cells that his body naturally produced that could be used both to enhance the baseline performance of the human form, and as the seed-culture for the growth of many artificial organs and glands, normally implanted into the host body to grant abilities beyond human standard. Many functions present from the same basal cells upon being subject to differing treatments.

He was familiar with the substance. The Emperor used it in the creation of his new Astartes legions, but it was a manual creation, a product of his scientists and laboratories, and product that had to be produced in batches for many years, and harvested in small amounts from matured glands forming in the new Astartes after a period of five years.

And his lord's son's body produced the substance with seemingly no limit, an infinite font of the genetic-foundation required for the rapid production of superhuman soldiers. They were not an equal to the Custodes, but they did not require the hand-crafting of the Emperor himself to produce.

"Many implants will have to be skipped. They are too old to survive many of them, even with the biomancies of the Eldar at my disposal." The son of his lord mused quietly, a hand rubbing against his chin in thought. Kytan turned to regard him as he continued. "They already have a black carapace, the progenoid is required to ensure gene-stability, and the basal geneseed of course, but little else will be planned I think. Not until more testing is done to determine what implants are safe for those beyond adolescence. It was never something I looked too deeply at before, a mistake on my part."

Kytan nodded his head, now was as appropriate a time as any. He let his guardian spear rest against his shoulder. He reached into the side-bag he carried, and retrieved the contents within.

A thick, half-meter-tall and half-meter-wide tome, weighty enough to make a mortal struggle, penned by the hand of the Sigillite himself.

A bag that contained many dozens of smaller bags, each filled with a unique grouping of flora-seed, and a second book, equally as thick and weighty as the first, this one penned by the hand of the Emperor himself.

"I mentioned gifts, son of my lord." He spoke aloud, bringing Malum Caedo's gaze to him and what he held. He blinked, reaching down to take them from his hands and glance at their contents.

"I am glad to have passed your judgment, Shield-Captain Kytan." Malum Caedo spoke idly, resting the gifts in the crook of one arm and looking at him.

"Indeed, Malum Caedo. From this point on, I shall serve as the Emperor's voice in your retinue, should you permit it."

"...I have told you my true name, yes?" The son of his lord questioned aloud, brows furrowing.

"May I speak frankly, son of my lord?"

"I'd prefer it, in truth."

"Malum Caedo is a more impressive name."

The son of his lord blinked at that, taking a moment to reply. "I have mixed emotions at that statement, Shield-Captain. I am glad I chose an impressive name, but I still hold greater fondness for my true name."

"A great crossroads then. I shall aid you as I can upon this difficult path."

The son of his lord snorted in an amused fashion. "Then I shall call upon you soon. The moot of the Eldar is scheduled for the next day, and in truth I hold some dread for it."

Kytan thinned his lips behind an auramite helm. "Why is that, son of my lord?"

Malum Caedo worked his jaw for a moment, considering the answer. "...The Eldar have three main factions currently. The urbanites, who are almost exclusively our enemies and shall not be present, the exodites, who are staunch allies of good moral character and firm determination, and the nomadic…"

Malum Caedo met the eyes of an xeno-medicae, who nodded solemnly at him. The son of his lord continued.

"The nomadic see everything that isn't them as tools at best and vermin most often."

Kytan considered this for a moment.

"...How many will be in attendance, Malum Caedo?"

"By the last estimate I heard? Some fifty-thousand in the auditorium. Five-thousand will be allowed to speak. And five-hundred million present in the system."

Kytan considered the numbers for a moment, then to his weapon.

"I have not the ammunition for so many, son of my lord."

Malum Caedo laughed, as did the xeno-medicae still present.

AN : This one is probably a two-parter