A/N: This won't be updated before a while. Another major difference with the lore beside the of course genderbend is that the heresy won't start before M32. With the great crusade taking far longer.
740M30
Malcador: Your thoughts seem to be torturing you, my Empress.
A figure seated on a large chair seemed pensive. Her gaze, radiant with golden light, was fixed on the void, seemingly staring into the distance. The fingers of her armored hand tapped rhythmically on the arm of a wide seat.
In the hundreds of years since she and the Councillor had known each other, the number of times the leader of humanity had seemed troubled could be counted on the fingers of one hand. A being who always had a hundred well-defined plans. And another hundred behind each one.
Empress: No more than usual, my friend.
In front of the two of them was a large table, where a sort of board game with twenty pieces seemed to be unfolding. Ten on each side. The two powerful psykers were engaged in a duel of wits.
And destiny...
Analyzing every possible outcome, in a distant, hazy vision of what the future might hold.
Malcador: So, have you thought about it, Empress?
A rare event occurred. A smile graced the lips of the taller figure, accentuating the divine beauty of her features.
Divine was the word. For ordinary mortals would have fallen to their knees in tears at the sight of her face.
Empress: They'll be sons, Malcador.
A gentle exasperation took hold of her features for the debate they have been having over the last century.
Malcador: Daughters would make more sense I must say, my Empress. It would be better for the troops to have calmer, more restful figures at the head of your armies. Isn't that why you adopted this body after the Olympus alliance? A mother's figure inspires more calm than a father's.
Empress: I don't need soothing mothers, but fierce generals at the head of our armies.
The old man looked at the game in front of them, thinking at the same time about a move he could make.
Malcador: Besides, having a large number of sisters will be more peaceful than brothers. I wasn't an only child, you know, I had many brothers and... It wasn't all smooth sailing. Perhaps women would get along better with each other, rather than twenty different males…
The empress looked away. Of all the subjects she could possibly know. Family wasn't one of them. It had been too long ago. It was too emotional for her to understand.
Malcador: And then I'm sure you've already thought of the question, after all, genetics is your expertise, but wouldn't relying on women's genomes for the geneseeds them make them more stable?
Empress: This time you're right, my friend... I've thought about it too. The thing that keeps nagging at me is why are you so adamant about primarchs being females?
Of course, she was well aware that her advisor had a completely different reason behind his will than the one he was announcing. But that this reason went beyond a man's primary desire, which was to be surrounded by women.
She only had to discover the little man's will.
Malcador: Call it intuition.
Empress: Intuition is a terrible feeling, my friend. You know as well as I do that it is merely giving a name to the whispers of the malicious ruin.
Malcador: And yet, your intuitions are made into pharaminous projects.
He moved a pawn on the board.
Malcador: Or in simple games...
Of course there was nothing simple about it.
Nothing was a game.
With the slightest movement, the blink of an eyelash, how many honest men and women in this fledgling imperium could perish?
Everything was at stake here and now.
Millennia and millennia to come would depend on them.
That's why she seemed so pensive. The time for reconquest had come, yes. But like everyone else, hesitation gripped her as she approached the next big step. She questioned her every move.
A roar shook her soul. A feeling that few could feel, let alone explain. It felt like being on the web of a spider as someone flicked it.
The Empress's gaze quickly turned in another direction. Feeling something through the immaterium. An even bigger storm than usual in the Sea of Souls.
Far away in a lost system.
On a planet light years away, a cataclysm was unfolding.
This planet plunged into the middle of the Eye of Terror. The last door before the forces of chaos.
Chaos engulfed the planet. Its primitive, human population had been corrupted by the dark forces of the ruin. Torn apart by internal wars. Yet a small population that had not yet succumbed to the call of the four gods resisted. And among them, ten psykers.
The souls who still resisted the call of the dark gods fought valiantly. But no mortal soul could hope to win against the infinite forces of the ruin.
And that, though primitive, they knew.
And so these ten gathered in a circle. Knowing that all hope was lost. They decided to try something. One last desperate act.
They came together and pooled their power.
Not to create a new being, as was the case so long ago on Terra.
But they tried to break through.
They sacrificed themselves, and in return broke through reality, and even through the very fabric of the warp. Always reaching beyond. They prayed. For a savior. For just... a little help.
The Empress could see their torment without the slightest difficulty. Yet even she could do nothing but listen to the cackling of the four gods of chaos.
Their prayer, their strength, their final act of despair pierced ever further.
And their prayer was heard.
A loud crack echoed through the immaterial web. And for once, this tumultuous ocean calmed for an instant.
Anyone with a connection to the warp could hear it. That great crack, then that deafening silence. Malcador dropped the game piece in his hand.
The snickering of the four faded.
On the Duke of fates infinite faces, the smile faded. And for a moment, a frown appeared.
In the dark ocean of the warp, the Empress was a lighthouse, and the men little flashlights. But something passed through this hole in reality. Whose presence was but a small candle flame half snuffed out.
Then the entire system was engulfed in a warp storm. Making it invisible to the Empress.
Malcador: But what...
Empress: My friend, I do not have the slightest idea.
she replied for the first time in her life.
Something had happened. A change.
Was it positive or negative? No one knew. But big changes were on the horizon.
Through her psychic powers, this eye that was always turned towards the horizon allowed her to see that everything had just changed.
She looked at the board in front of her.
Empress: Valdor!
A gigantic figure clad in gilded armor, a veritable work of art, stepped through the door into his empress's quarters. She didn't need to shout, and everyone knew it, for even a whisper would have been heard by the captain general of the adeptus custodes.
Constantin: Yes, my Empress?
The man seemed cold, but a little bewildered to hear his empress raise her voice. Just like Malcador. Even if both could see no rage in the empress's features.
Empress: Girl or boy?
Constantin: Excuse me?
He wasn't a fool. He'd overheard their conversation with Malcador, but once again it was more because of this situation and his mistress's more than unusual behavior that he didn't know what to answer at the moment.
Empress: Answer the question.
Words cannot describe how surprised he was at his empress's sudden behavior.
Constantin: girl...?
He replied, sounding unsure of himself. His lips had moved before a single thought had crossed his brain. But after muttering that simple word, he told himself he'd better not go back on his decision. Trusting to chance for once.
Empress: Then it'll be twenty girls.
She said with a slight smile before rising from her seat... She quickly regained her normal height. The smoothness of her footsteps echoing as she made her way to the door, despite her disproportionate height and weight.
The psyker, who was still seated, rose abruptly, seizing his scepter and following the Empress. Surprised that she had cut short her decision.
Malcador: Well, that is quite a sudden turnabout...
Empress: A simple strategic choice. Female parents will allow the geneseed for both males and females. Depriving yourself of half of humanity as soldiers seems a fool choice right now.
She walked through the corridors of the Himalayan mountain palace, her companions at her side.
Empress: My magnum opus awaits. Twenty girls. Twenty me. Twenty generals. They'll be perfect. Twenty concentrates of humanities. In them will rest the hopes of all mankind. They will have the strength to prevail not only when victory is at hand, but also when all light has faded and defeat seems the only alternative, there, they will shine the brightest.
She raised her hand and looked at it.
Empress: The twenty matriarchs.
Darkness bathed the world in eye-burning colored lights. There were only a few hundred of them left. In the midst of all their hopes, only one figure remained. Distinguished only by his slightly larger-than-average height.
The figure watched the hordes of demons invade their worlds. Around him, a few hundred had gathered. Brandishing their spears of wood and stone against the demons with their sharp fangs and overpowering magic.
The situation had simply gone beyond desper.
When the few men and women who had survived turned to their final attempt. They saw no fear in his eyes or face. Only defiance.
Defiance against destruction.
As a red beast armed with a sword pounced on the figure still standing upright. The figure grabbed a single rock from the ground and grabbed the creature in mid-air, shattering its skull with the stone and letting out a howl of rage.
But this scream didn't please Khorne, oh no. It was defying him and the other gods.
Seeing this figure who was like them, a mere mortal, defying defeat. All raised their spears again. Their hearts emboldened.
They were still afraid. They still had no hope. And even if these primitives couldn't understand it, the figure had conveyed its sentiment.
They were only men. Poor human beings in a cruel and indifferent universe.
But even mutilated, wounded, atrophied men would continue to fight. Until the last man had fallen.
Or their enemy destroyed.
And now they had a figure to guide them. They would be a hammer, ready to fall on any target. Their duty was to fight, and they would do their duty.
They had held it.
And they would hold the line.
If death seized them, then it would seize them standing.
The figure walked at their head, looking down at the demons with eyes burning with righteous fury in the face of horror and purifying will in the face of evil.
No demon could look into those emerald-green eyes. For to them they meant only one thing.
He was the absolution.
He was a man.