Author's Note: For those interested, there are three advance chapters on P-atreon (remove the spaces and dash): p-atreon/ SkySage24.
For anyone interested, here's an invite code to my Discord server: G6HJMeRB
Lukas Chrom.
That was the name that Kelbor-Hal had given them.
Chrom was the source of the virus that had distorted the minds of the Fabricator-General and his cronies, giving them what Kelbor-Hal had thought was a way to shield himself from psychic influence.
He was the Master of Mondus Gamma, one of the largest Forges on Mars. Concerningly, it was also close to the Noctis Labyrinth, though it seemed unlikely that Bel'akor's puppet would also be influenced by the Dragon.
But Monda Gamma itself was a problem for later. First and foremost, they had to find its master before he caused any further trouble.
Fortunately, they did not have to go far.
According to Kelbor-Hal, Chrom was deep in the bowels of Olympus Mons, working on some secret project that was supposed to serve as a counter to the Emperor.
Part of Isha wanted to scoff at the idea of anything a mortal could build being a sufficient counter for an Incarnate God…but Bel'akor was cunning beyond measure. Underestimating him would be foolish. No doubt he had whispered secrets ancient and terrible to his puppet, to prepare Chrom for what was to come.
Such were the thoughts that ran through Isha's mind as she and the Emperor raced towards the entrance of Olympus Mons, Kelbor-Hal held in a bubble of golden light behind them. The Guardian had brought him along for insurance, and Isha could not disagree.
The screeching sound of alarms blared through the air, ships of the Mechanicum buzzing around the field like flies, confused and panicking as they attempted to shoot down the fleeing Aetos Dios. Their efforts were in vain, the Emperor's vessel disappearing into the clouds, carrying the Custodes and mortals to safety.
And ahead of them was their destination: a massive, iron-wrought gate set into the side of the mountain. Easily as large as the Titans they had broken and left behind them, the gate was bristling with hundreds of turrets that were blasting at them as they approached. More than that, it was made of adamantium, the strongest metal mankind could produce, and overlaid with a glowing blue energy field for extra protection.
None of that mattered as Isha wove her way through the artillery fire, which might as well have been moving at a snail's pace to her eyes. Heedless of the energy field, she smashed her power maul against the gate with the strength of ten thousand lions, crumpling the two metre thick sheet of adamantium as if it was nothing.
Ignoring the crackling of the flickering energy field and the alarms behind her, Isha stepped through her makeshift entrance, and into the depths of the mountain-forge.
The inside of Olympus Mons was, she had to admit, impressive. The cavernous entrance hall could have easily fit twice the number of the Titans they had faced just before.
There were dozens upon dozens of grav-lifts and doors everywhere, the silver walls between them inscribed with thousands of equations. Statues lined the room, but none were more prominent than the one at the centre of the hall, the silver figure of a Tech-Priest holding a book in one hand and a burning plasma torch in the other, the latter held aloft as if to the light the way.
There was a string of binary inscribed on the base of the statue in bold crimson letters, which took Isha a moment to process.
No price too high for knowledge, it read.
Isha snorted derisively. And who paid that price? Certainly not the pretentious lords of the Mechanicum, with their petty, self-important squabbles and massive egos.
But there was little time to dwell on it further, as the defenses of the throne room sprang to life.
The defences here were no less impressive; a thousand and more turrets sprang from the walls, except this time, they unleashed not just bullets and plasma, but also more arcane attacks, such as sonic blasts which could shatter steel. The many doors swung open, and legions of Skitarii poured into the room like oversized ants, orderly yet never-ending, opening fire on them.
And it was not just the Skitarii; the statues, in actuality automatons, sprang to life, stepping down from their gleaming pedestals to help defend the fortress from the invaders.
Not that any of the fire got past the gleaming golden barrier erected by the Emperor. The artifice of mortals crashed against the shield of a god, and failed utterly to penetrate it in any way whatsoever.
"Which grav-lift?" Isha inquired, resting the maul on her shoulder as she ignored the skitarii in favour of looking past them.
"That one." The Emperor intoned, pointing at one very nearly at the back of the room, the path blocked by the Skitarii and automatons.
"Shouldn't be too much trouble," Isha noted. "Shall we?"
"Yes." The Emperor said tersely. "As quickly as possible."
The golden barrier he had erected hurtled forward like a meteor before splitting in two, hurling the Skitarii back, leaving them squished between the barrier and the walls on either side of the entrance hall.
More importantly, it cleared a path straight to the grav lift. Isha and the Emperor sprinted down the hall towards it, reaching it in a matter of moments.
"It won't fit all of us," The Emperor noted, surveying the size of the grav-lift.
"We don't need the lift," Isha dismissed the idea, ripping the grav-lift out of the tunnel with a flick of her wrist, and tossing it away carelessly, where it crashed against one of the walls. "We only need the tunnel."
Without waiting for the Emperor to respond, she jumped down, falling head-first into the depths below.
The labyrinth of tunnels through which the grav-lift moved was paved with steel and surprisingly well-lit, most likely to make maintenance easier.
They might have been difficult to navigate for anyone else, but Isha simply flew along the tunnels, darting through them with the speed and agility of a gazelle, the Emperor and Kelbor-Hal not far behind.
"We are close," The Emperor's voice echoed from behind her, the golden aura emanating from him brighter than any of the artificial lighting inside the tunnels. "Just a little further."
"I can sense it as well," Isha agreed.
Left unsaid was the fact that they could sense it at all was worrying in its way. Bel'akor had concealed himself from their senses for so long, but now they could feel him after entering the mountain.
The First-Damned wanted them to come to him, for one reason or another, which did not bode well.
But it was hardly as if they could just walk away, so on they continued.
When they finally arrived at the level they were looking for, the Emperor spoke. "I will go first," He said, quiet but firm.
"Be my guest," Isha shrugged, floating aside to let him take point.
The Emperor did not bother to rip away the doors, he simply walked through them, his aura leaving the metal obliterated and burning, the edges molten like lava. The Fabricator-General's bubble followed him through, and then went Isha.
Isha had expected some sort of massive ritual room; the heart of a Chaos Cult, the domain of a fallen sorcerer, burning with infernal power, the evidence of blood and atrocities splattered across the walls.
She was not disappointed.
The chamber they entered might once have been the lab of a Tech-Priest, but now it was something else entirely. The only source of illumination was the glowing runes on the ceiling, which had been painted with blood and yet shone ominously all the same, mirrored by nearly identical runes on the floor.
The air itself was heavy with the weight of Chaos, one that would have been like lead pressing against the skin to a mortal.
And the room was vast, a cavern that stretched for miles in every direction. Not like the hall above, not because it had been built to be so, but because the very physical dimensions of the laboratory had been twisted and bent, expanded until it strained against the fabric of reality.
A pocket of Chaos in the Materium, built by the ingenuity and dark magic of perhaps the greatest Chaos sorcerer to have ever lived.
Covering the walls were hundreds of human-sized steel pods, surprisingly unmarked and unmarred, but perhaps more unnerving for that.
Skitarii and servitors buzzed around the room, each of them burning with the foul power of Chaos, indicated in the way their metal and flesh had been warped and the way their souls shone like small beacons of darkness. They were accompanied by dozens, hundreds of Chaps Imps, small yet foul creatures of Chaos. Black armoured warriors of Khorne toiling away at labour, Fearlings of Tzentech humming and casting spells from their many mouths, Bubas of Nurgle infesting every crack and corner of the room with disease, and Imps of Slaanesh, seductive men and women driving the human slaves on to ever great heights.
Each of them was no larger than the hand of a normal mortal human, but they burned with the evil of the Chaos Gods.
But they did not respond to the presence of the Emperor and Isha, instead continuing their tasks, painting more sigils, tapping away at the computer banks, and assembling strange machines. That would almost have been strange, but Isha could sense the shackles around the Imps, the spells binding them to the service of a maste who brooked no cowardice or disobedience.
Obsidian obelisks crackled with barely contained power, and after a moment, Isha realized they were arranged around the room in such a way as to create one massive eight-pointed star.
And at the heart of the star, at the centre of the chamber, on a raised platform like a plateau, stood Bel'akor.
He had possessed a Tech-Priest, one that Isha assumed was Lukas Chrom. His eyes were twin voids of black flame, the priest's mechandrites spiked and cruel, the crimson robes decorated with the eight-pointed star of Chaos.
But the man was also dying, Isha could tell. His body could not bear the weight of Bel'akor's presence; the cybernetic parts of him were already red with rust, and what was left of his biological body.. his cells were failing, and cancers were creeping their way through his flesh with every passing moment.
"Lady Isha, Anathema," Be'lakor said through his stolen mouth, the sound discordant and screeching. "Welcome."
"What is this?" Kelbor-Hal breathed in horror, watching from inside his bubble with wide eyes, his hand over his mouth. "This… this is insanity!"
But his words went ignored as the Emperor stepped forward to confront Be'lakor, his blazing sword in hand.
"You dare intrude upon my realm, Be'lakor?" The Emperor hissed, the golden light emanating from him growing brighter and more oppressive, the pressure of his words sending the Chaos cultists crashing to the ground in tangled, flailing heaps.
"Ahhh, I do not think so, Anathema," Bel'akor chuckled, even as he stepped back from the Emperor's light. "You have tried to kill me before, and you have always failed. You will do so again this day."
Isha snorted derisively as she stepped up next to the Emperor. "Do not be a fool. You could not defeat both of us even if you had manifested in your full power, First-Damned. Wearing a human host that is already dying because of you? Hardly."
"Who said I intended to fight both of you, Lady Isha?" Be'lakor cackled. "Certainly not me."
"Planning to run away, then?" The Emperor growled.
"Hardly. But I think you are about to have significantly greater concerns than I, Anathema."
And then both Isha and the Emperor felt it. It was the sensation of sandpaper scraping over a raw nerve, the smell of blood splattered over jagged spikes.
A massive spike of power far away from Olympus Mons, a storm of Chaos swirling around…Mondus Gamma.
Near the Noctis Labyrinth.
"Ah, I see you've felt it," Be'lakor twittered. "That would be the work of my faithful servants, unleashing several Artificial Intelligences and conducting a summoning ritual for an Exalted. It could cause quite a lot of damage if left unchecked. Perhaps even break open the Dragon's prison!"
"You fool!" The Emperor roared. In his rage, his words were not Imperial Gothic, but some ancient human tongue, raw and guttural, but the meaning was perhaps more clear for that, the walls of the mountain cracking under the sound, the ground below them shaking as his power swelled. The Guardian stepped forward with murder in his eyes, but Isha caught his wrist before he could lash out at Be'lakor.
"Go!" She hissed urgently. "Do not let the Dragon escape! I will deal with Be'lakor."
The Emperor snarled but nodded, hurling a bolt of golden lightning at Be'lakor before teleporting away in a flurry of golden fire, taking Kelbor-Hal with him.
The First-Damned's stolen skin was hurled against the wall, both the physical body he was wearing and his immaterial flesh seared by the might of the Anathema, but he was still laughing despite the pain he must have been feeling.
"And now here we are, Lady Isha. Just you, and I."
"Not for long," Isha said quietly, hefting her maul.