"If you are good, the Emperor shall protect you."
Those were the words my parents said to me every morning, every meal, and every night after the prayers of thanks.
Fires burn nearby; unseen but the crackling of burning wood and the rising temperature tells me it is closing in.
I squirm in the dust and dirt; the remains of what should have been a simple apartment that is now a dark maze of debris.
'Why?' The question passes through my head.
I had been good today. I awoke at daylight, said my prayers, and washed my face. I ate all my breakfast, did my chores, and studied at the local church. I sat down with my mother and father, listened to them chat about grown up things over dinner, then there was a bang.
When I awoke, everything was dark. I cried for my mother and father, but no answer came.
Now, here I am, struggling through cracks breathing in then coughing up dust and smoke.
'Why?' I had been good today. Why did the Emperor not protect me?
My muscles weaken from lack of oxygen. My brain slows from heat stress. All I can do now is lie here, wondering what it was that I had done to deserve this.
Was it because I had talked back to my father a week before?
Was it because I played a prank on my mother with a frog I found?
Suddenly, the debris around me begins to rumble and dust falls upon me like snow from a tree branch.
Then the darkness recedes, as if the sun had just risen over the horizon. But, instead of warmth, a cool wind of fresh air rushes in cleaning out my lungs and soothing my burnt skin.
Slowly, I look up and see a giant figure holding up the building that had collapsed on top of me with one hand.
The light comes from him, like a golden beacon that banishes the darkness of hell.
With his other hand, he reaches for me, scooping me up in his arm like a babe. The pain and difficulty I had breathing are gone, washed away by the person's brilliance.
"Are you the Emperor?" I found myself asking. Had he come to protect me as my parents promised? Or was this something else?
The figure says nothing as he lets the rubble fall from his hand. Even the dust cloud and rocks pay reverence to him, only falling where he isn't as well as avoiding the path he plans to take.
He carries me for a few minutes. We travel through ruined streets and bombed buildings. Hundreds of meters pass by with every step without raising a single wind. When we are on the outskirts of my home city, he finally puts me back down on the ground with all my injuries healed.
I could see a small camp in the distance. People in white clothes with red crosses rushed between several tents with similar markings. Various ambulances and cars drive to-and-fro from the city.
I turn towards the figure who had rescued me, only to find he is gone.
Wizened eyes opened, over 6000 years older than those in his dream. Wrinkles covered the face that had been young at one point, and long knobbly fingers were clasped around the staff gifted to him by his oldest friend.
Malcador sat in his office, clothed in his hooded cloak in the office of the Imperial Regent. This office was the only one capable of giving orders in the Emperor's stead. He had closed his eyes to meditate for a moment. But, he found himself venturing further into his mind than anticipated.
Suddenly, there was a knock on the grand set of double doors, large enough to let in an entire tank.
"Come in." Malcador said as he waved his hand, opening the heavy set of doors with his telekinesis.
"Apologies for the interruption, Imperial Regent." A servant girl in a long-skirted uniform said with a bow. "My master has sent the latest reports regarding the high lords."
Malcador sighed at this and gestured for the girl to come close. A soon as she passed the doors, they slammed shut.
"Lady Callidus." Malcador said. "I thought I told you to focus on educating the acolytes of your temple."
The servant girl snorted, then her face twisted. Her entire body contorted out of shape. Flesh, skin, and bone remolded themselves like clay under a sculptor's hands. Beneath the long skirt and frills of her uniform, a black skin-tight Synskin Bodyglove emerged hidden underneath the skin of her disguise.
"And they called me a monster." Lady Callidus said as her original face reformed itself.
She was a tall and slender woman with red hair in a ponytail. High cheekbones and a thin jaw gave her a beautiful yet arrogant face, accentuated by her narrow green eyes that seemed to stare into one's soul.
"I can see why you psykers were so feared once." She said as she walked towards Malcador's desk. "Any disguise might as well be meaningless if you can just read the mind of the person approaching you."
"It takes a certain degree of practice." Malcador replied. "You haven't answered my question, Lady Callidus."
"I do not need to be with the initiates every waking hour." She shrugged. "What purpose does my presence have when they are merely learning how to operate under extreme pain? If anything, I should return when they are sufficiently broken in. That way, positive emotions are formed with my reappearance."
"All so you can break them again."
Lady Callidus only smiled at the accusation.
"The Imperium asked for living, thinking weapons. A weapon cannot be afforded the ability to change allegiances, nor can it be allowed to deviate from its purpose." Her face warped itself into a mirror image of Malcador's own. "The damage each one can do without this mental conditioning is… considerable to say the least." She said in his wizened voice before returning to her own. "They will obedient to the Imperium, and no one else not even themselves."
Malcador sighed. Lady Callidus was one of several progenitors of the Assassin Temples that the Emperor and him had started up. No matter how mighty an empire's army, the only time they were used on internal affairs was during a coup. Besides, the Assassin Temples would cause a lot less collateral damage. Especially compared to the Thunder Warriors, and the upcoming Space Marine legions that would replace them.
However, training assassins of that caliber was a time-consuming task. At the moment, only the progenitors who had been with the Emperor and Malcador from before Old Night were capable of service. Most of them were preoccupied with training the new recruits.
The one exception seemed to be Lady Callidus. However, that was probably a matter of personality. As an assassin based on subterfuge and deception, the political circles of the Imperial Palace were a playground to her. Then again, it could be that the initiates had yet to reach the physical fitness required to survive the effects of Polymorphine. That drug was a nanotechnological marvel from the golden age of humanity. It allowed Lady Callidus to disguise her body into anyone or anything she wished; assuming their mass was similar.
"What have you brought me?" Malcador muttered, resigned to the assassin's quirks. "You came here out of boredom, so something must have piqued your interest."
"Lords Kestutis, Laurynas, Vytautas from Albia have introduced a number of amendments to the next bill." She said, producing a data drive from her hand. "Several relaxations of building regulations as well as other terms. Of course, all of these are beneficial to certain enterprises that are associated with them and their families."
"At this stage?" Malcador said with a raised eyebrow as he accepted the data drive from her. "It goes to the chamber for a vote this evening."
"They have enough votes to invoke a second round of debates, delaying the bill. It is a minor inconvenience officially, if it wasn't for the legislation required for the 'special' ventures of the Imperium."
"How much do they know?"
His words were quiet, but the shadows in the room seemed to lengthen, hiding his face under the darkness from his hood.
"Nothing." Lady Callidus answered, and light returned to normal in the room. "They only know that you yourself were seen talking with the chairperson. They most likely assumed it was important enough that you would ignore the amendments to pass it as quickly as possible."
"I made that performance to underline that this bill had the support of the Imperial Regent." Malcador sighed. "I suppose they have forgotten what that means."
The Imperial Regent spoke with the Emperor's word in his absence. Thus, to disobey the Imperial Regent meant disobedience towards the Emperor.
Demotion was the kindest fate that awaited any, an honorable way out for those who simply failed due to circumstance.
Suicide was the next best option. It allowed a noble to retain their innocence, before they could be dragged before the courts and pronounced guilty.
But, for all those who were too foolish or feeble to understand what insolence to the Master of Mankind meant, death was the only outcome.
"Shall I deal with them?" Lady Callidus asked. "I can make it look like an accident or have them simply disappear. The Chamber of Lords will still have quorum, and the others will fall in line without them. It will also give us an opportunity to put the houses of Albia in their place."
"No." A slow smile spread across Malcador's thin lips. "The Emperor has been gone from Terra for too long, and they have forgotten what it means to serve him."
Imperial Regent was only one of the many titles he had, but he had another official one in the Imperial records.
"Besides, it is high time I set-up another scarecrow." The Master of Assassins' smile split open into a vicious grin.
Woe betide all who stand in the way of the Imperium and the Master of Mankind.
The three lords mentioned by Lady Callidus found themselves in a room in the Imperial Palace. All three had come on their own.
One, Lord Kestutis, sat at the table, sampling various snacks and cakes on plates before him. He was at best described as portly, and at worst borderline obese. If it wasn't for the many gene-enhancements and modifications the rich and privileged were provided, he would have been in a far sorrier state.
The second, Lord Laurynas paced irritably on the opposite side of the table to Kestutis. He was a spindly nervous looking creature with twitchy eyes looking everywhere around him.
The final one was Lord Vytautas who leaned against the wall behind Kestutis's chair. He was right in the middle between too fat and too skinny, balancing out the odd trio.
"We should not be meeting like this." Laurynas snapped, tailed overcoat flapping behind him as he paced.
"Calm yourself." Kestutis said between bites. "Things like this get put in bills all the time. Why else would our families send us into the Imperial Palace?"
"As hostages." Vytautus quipped from the wall. "Signs of servitude to the Imperium."
"Ever the pessimist." Kestutis snorted. "We are not like the fools of the Pan-Pacific empire or the zealots of Ursh. Albia joined the Imperium willingly. Our Ironside Clans matched the Imperium's Thunderwarriors in battle, drawing out the Emperor himself in order to parlay." He tossed a bite-sized sandwich into his mouth and gave it only two bites before he swallowed it down his fat throat. "Our relationship with the Imperium is a partnership, unlike the other conquered nations who were too weak or too stupid to survive."
At the beginning of the Unification War, the Emperor allied with the Achaemenid Empire, the Yndonesic Bloc, and the Terrawatt Clans. This Tripartite alliance was geographically split, but each shared a special status amongst all other regions of the Imperium.
They joined the Emperor willingly, and had never been conquered.
Now, Albia has been shoving its elbows onto the table of political power as a similar unconquered nation.
Albia fought the Imperium to a standstill with what future generations would recognize as the walking sarcophagi known as Dreadnoughts. That was what the Ironside Clan were. Manually operated suits of armor that could be outfitted to fight at any range.
During the first battle, the Ironsides waited as the Thunder Warriors charged into battle. Their spies had shown them what had taken place in Jermani. Bullets could not stop the gene-mutants of the Imperium.
The first three ranks of Ironsides instead engaged them in melee, using their metal fists and steam projectors.
Albia is a frigid land in the far North. The oceans that once allowed heat to be circulated to this region have long since dried up. Promethium fuel is better spent warming the homes of the rich and powerful than to produce the ammunition for flamers.
So, instead of fire, a crueler weapon for this land was slapped together.
Steam is arguably the deadliest form of water. It floats in air, enters the soft mucous membranes of the body with a breath, flies deep into the alveoli where it condenses releasing all of its heat.
Many Thunder Warriors choked to death with burnt lungs after receiving a mouthful of pressurized steam, if they didn't have their face boiled off first.
Gouts of steam covered the battlefield as the Ironsides began to duel with individual Thunder Warriors. Eventually, the water vapor cooled in the cold air, forming a dense fog that blinded the boltgun fire of the Imperium's armies. Then the rest of the Ironside Clans marched from behind the hills and knolls they had crouched down behind, hidden by being partially buried in dirt and rock. They fired blindly into the mist with their autocannons, covering everything in front of them. Ironside, Thunder Warriror, it didn't matter. All were struck. However, an Ironside struck by fire would merely be damaged, or at worst lose a pilot. The Thunder Warriors died, turning their Power Armor as well as all their other weapons into trophies to be collected on the battlefield.
Eventually, the order was given to fall back with their dead and wounded, ending the first battle between Albia and the Imperium.
Even after the Thunder Warriors brought better optics and heavier weapons, the Ironside Clans gave little ground.
Targeting their pilots made no difference. By the next day, somebody else was already operating the metal shell.
Tearing the machines apart took too long, and too many soldiers. At least two Thunder Warriors were needed for that, and cooperation was not their forte.
Finally, with the destruction of Albia not being a priority, the Emperor himself intervened and parlayed with Albia's leadership.
Albia was meant to be but a means to enter the techno-barbarian region of the Nordyc in order to destroy the Priest-King Maulland Sen. From there, the Imperium was to overthrow the Kievan Rus Khagnate and open the final beachhead that would allow the long overdue burning of Ursh to begin.
The Thunder Warriors failed at this, and their delay strained the Yndonesic Bloc and Terrawatt Clans who had to hold back the kingdom of Ursh and the Pan-Pacific Empire while the Thunder Warriors were delayed in Albia. As punishment the Leader of the Thunder Warriors, Arik Taranis, was forced to publicly humiliate himself by asking for the forgiveness of the nobles of Albia.
He was responsible for the unnecessary bloodshed between Albia and the Imperium, who both hated the sorcerers of Ursh and the Pan-Pacific Empire.
If it were not for the Emperor's oratory abilities that reminded the nobles of Albia who their real enemies were, Arik Taranis's head may have been paraded around their soot-filled cities where ragged children would have thrown stones at it.
The true enemies of the Imperium and Albia were:
The Kingdom of Ursh.
The Pan-Pacific Empire.
The Kingdom of Urartu.
And The Ethnarchy.
Everything else was chaff..
"We do not have the support of our houses, Kestutis." Laurynas retorted. "We set about this endeavor to show those who sent us here what we could do. If word gets back to Albia before we are ready, there will be grave consequences for us."
"Perhaps, perhaps not." Vytautus shrugged. "That Merican, Noum Retraiva, puts in things that enrich him on a daily basis within his administrative duties."
"We are not the Master of the Administratum!" Laurynas shouted as he stopped and turned towards the other two. The chandelier above him shook slightly from his voice. For a moment, there was only the clinking of the crystal ornaments hung from the ceiling.
"We are three minor lords seeking to take back what was rightfully ours from those idiots back in Albia." Laurynas snarled. "This is just the first step in that endeavor. The more favors we send to the branch houses and businesses that the main house has overlooked, the more power we gain. Eventually, it should be enough to force the heads of our respective houses into retirement, and return us to our rightful place."
He pointed at Kestutis first. "You put in an amendment to set-up a fast track for the food production plants, allowing them to reduce the number of inspections and reporting."
He pointed at Vytautus next. "You put in an amendment to increase the amount of oxygen rations to border regions further away from the Imperium."
Finally, he placed a hand on his chest. "I removed the stipulations that required a minimum number of servitors for all construction sites."
The other two lords looked at each other. Laurynas was the most ambitious of the three of them, but he was also the most narcissistic. During their time together, the found it was better to let him tire himself out. Otherwise, his diatribe against the people back home in Albia and everyone except himself would drag on forever.
"All these seemingly minor amendments give us power." Laurynas continued. "A fast-track can be provided by a minor lord such as ourselves, so long as the food is only meant for local markets associated with that lord. Increasing the oxygen rations to the border regions opens the way for a new blackmarket that we can control. The castrum cities of Albia are all soot-blackened and smog-filled. A can of fresh air will be worth far more there than on the border regions. The people there are used to the radiation winds and dust storms. They are barely worth the meat on their bones, much less fresh air. Nobody will notice the difference between the number of canisters provided and the number received. After all, it is our job to collect that information. Removing the minimum number of servitors cuts conversion expenses. Cheaper work crews means more profit, especially for the businesses associated with me."
Laurynas resumed his pacing, having satisfied himself for the moment.
"The Emperor is absent, and there are no major wars at the moment. But, his mutated freaks march towards Mt. Ararat. War with the Kingdom of Urartu and the Ethnarchy comes soon, and when it does there will be no room for our 'petty' games with Albia."
This is the state of affairs in the Imperial Palace. Bureaucrats, nobles, dignitaries, and other officials of varying importance use and are used by each other in their endless struggles for personal power and prestige. Not all that they do is evil, but it is selfish.
"So, why did you call us here, Kestutis?" Laurynas asked as he paced, only to be met with silence. He turned to see the fat lord frozen, hand mid-way to reaching for the next cupcake.
"I thought it was Vytautus that called us here." Kestutis said, but the third lord was already shaking his head.
A chill ran down all three of their spines. They sat frozen for a moment, not daring to move, lest whoever had arranged them to be in the same room decided to do whatever it was they planned to them at that moment.
Several moments passed, but nothing happened.
Finally, Kestutis's hand finished its motion, and closed around the cupcake before tossing it into his mouth.
"Do you think this is a warning?" Vytautus said nervously, mostly to himself.
Laurynas didn't answer. He was too busy holding down the boiling bitterness inside him. So many others plotted and schemed just as he did. Yet, he was the one that was scolded for this minute infraction upon Imperial law. The hypocrisy was blatant. What did the Imperium care about the politics of Albia? No, the Imperium should pay more respect to them. It was the Emperor that came to them for parlay, not the other way around. Yet, here the Imperium chastised them like children with their hand caught in the cookie jar.
The sound of chewing was the only sound in the room as Laurynas stewed in his bitterness. Vytautus remained on the wall, now pulling at a lock of hair out of nervousness.
"Oh, will you stop eating, you buffoon!" Laurynas finally yelled, lashing out with impotent rage.
But, Kestutis continued eating. He now grabbed small cakes and biscuits in handfuls, shoveling them into his mouth. Half-chewed food spilled out from his lips. Both hands smushed the items grabbed by them into the bolus of food stuck in his jaw, forcing masticated morsels into his windpipe.
Pure panic could be seen in the man's eyes, but his body continued to stuff itself, suffocating himself with his own hands.
Finally, the man's eyes rolled up into his skull as his body fell backwards onto the floor. There, he managed to convulse once, then died.
Laurynas stepped away from the body. He had heard of the psykers and what they could do. Nightmarish tales of entire cities being mind-controlled by the brain-mutants were often told to the children of Albia. Their long history with the kingdom of Ursh and its sorcerers meant they were more knowledgeable than most on the topic.
But, before he could do anything with that information, there was a snapping sound from above him.
*CRASH
Vytautus slid down the wall, staring at the bloody smear Laurynas had been reduced to under the fallen chandelier. Fear filled every breath, only allowing him shallow pants. Slowly, he started to crawl towards the door. He was certainly next, but even if he couldn't come up with a single idea to escape this, his instincts urged him to run.
He managed to drag himself half a step before his body gave out. Air would not enter his lungs, even as every muscle in his torso struggled to draw it in.
As his vision blurred and his brain began to die from the lack of oxygen, he saw a hooded figure standing over him.
"Ma…ca…" He mouthed a name as his arms tried to reach out to the figure, but they simply passed right through the hem of his robes.
The world darkened, but the image of the Imperial Regent seemed to become clearer. A wizened hand reached down, and grabbed his face. He could feel the dry canvas like skin on his cheeks, even though this man could not be there.
"I said I need a scarecrow." Malcador said. "I thought it poetic that you all died with the means of your avarice, but suffocation leaves too peaceful a face."
The wrinkly hand wrenched violently forcing him to turn onto his back, causing his eyes to look upwards.
"You do not understand the importance of the Imperium, or the Emperor." Malcador continued. "You think psykers and gene-monstrosities are the worst Old Night had to offer." The blurry image of the room's ceiling seemed to ripple, like a dim reflection on a lake. "As thanks for your final service and martyrdom, you will be allowed to know who our real enemies are."
Malcador stepped back, and Vytautus could do nothing but stare as the curtains that kept sane from insane were drawn back.
He saw a world filled with nothing but brass, blood, and flame. Uncountable masses were butchered endlessly by blood red daemons using fangs, flames, claws, and blades.
He saw a garden filled with death and decay. Crowds of souls sobbed and suffered as they stumbled through pus, phlegm, and putrid vomit puked up by the fleshy bulbous plants of the garden. Tentacle-like vines lashed out, leaving fresh bleeding wounds for the countless maggots and flies around them to nestle and breed in. Yet, these souls could do nothing but beg for the blessings of the god that infected them in the first place.
He saw a shattered series of continents, each dotted with impossible architecture. His eyes burned and twisted, unable to understand where up or down was, much less past and future.
Then he saw his reflection in a massive eye. The iris was a blazing azure blue, and it was wide open. A screeching caw flooded his ear canals, filling his mind with paradoxes and problems no sane mind could understand. He saw himself screaming and banging on the surface of the eye from the inside, as if he himself was trapped within the burning orb of the avian monstrosity before him.
Vytautus's face froze mid-scream, despite having no air in his lungs to make a sound. Rigor mortis set in far faster than was possible, forming a mask of terror that seemed to radiate with the horror he had witnessed.
Three dead men lay in the room, slowly filling with the stench of spilt urine and voided bowels.
There was a click as the door to the room unlocked, and a servant girl walked into the room.
Lady Callidus inspected each of the corpses, smiling as she came to Vytautus's body.
'It is easy to kill a man.' She thought to herself. 'A poison dart through the skin. A single blade to the neck. It is even more trivial for a psyker. Holding a vein closed in the brain for 30 seconds or so will be enough to create an aneurysm.'
She bent down, towards Vytautus's face, reflecting the features frozen in fear on the surface of her eye.
'Killing is easy. It is the death of that which you have killed that is hard to control.' She stood back up, turning to the remains of Laurynas. She rubbed a finger against her jawline in thought, then shook her head. There was not much recognizable about the body.
'That is the purpose of an assassination. It is the scalpel that cuts out the infection before it can rot the body, preventing the cauterizing touch of war.' She looked down at Kestutis. His chin was covered in drool, and the food that had been forced into him was beginning to spill out. Both eyes were rolled back, giving the body a baleful white-eyed stare. The assassin looked over him for a moment before nodding to herself, giving it a passing grade.
'It is hard for the orator to speak in the open when they fear the Vindicare's bullet that took the life of their predecessor. It is difficult for the rebel cell to form when they fear that one of their members may be a Callidus in disguise. The psyker cult crumbles in the presence of the Culexus. The Eversor ensures that all those who see the remains of their work are reminded of the grisly fate of those who betray the Imperium.'
Lady Callidus walked to the door of the room, and began drawing in a deep breath.
'Rejoice, new martyrs of the Imperium. In your death, you shall serve as a reminder to all the other fools who come after you. With the fear you inspire, you will save far more than you served in life. The Emperor is merciful to all who die in his service. You shall find yourself in his grace, forever locked in the fable of your death.'
A high-pitched scream rang out of the room.
"Help! Help! Guards! Someone!" A servant girl cried as she stumbled out of the room, hands clutching at her face. "Someone! Please!" Her cries drew the normal palace guards, and a few lords.
Several days later, the three lords' deaths were determined to be due to a freak accident. Lord Kestutis merely choked on some crumpets. Lord Laurynas was the victim of shoddy craftsmanship. Lord Vytautas death was determined to be due to a panic attack. The craftsmen in charge of installing the chandelier were prosecuted with professional negligence. However, in light of this being their first offense, each received a suspended sentence. Soon, they all vanished from the palace, reassigned to different posts.
The amendments proposed by the three were removed. The bill passed with unanimous agreement that evening with its original wording.
A/N: I have posted maps to some of the other sites I have posted, as well as my Pa-treon. The original map was made by emwattnot on reddit.
