Chapter 5.7 Father
The Imperial dungeons had been a place of scientific revolution. For the first time in human history, a project on the scale of one of the great Empires of old was taking place.
Both the Necrontyr and the Aeldari would have laughed at the very notion of what was being constructed, like watching a caveman attempt to assemble a steam engine.
It was crude. It was unrefined. But it was functional and as efficient as it could be made. Humanity would walk the stars again, and by the Emperor's command they would do so free from the malevolent presence of the Warp.
The room that housed the Golden Throne, a masterpiece of psychic technology from an unknown time and an unknown builder to all but the Master of Mankind, was lined with gleaming machines constructed by Adepts of the Mechanicus which served directly under their Omnisiah. Cables ran hither and thither, all leading to the subject of all this work – The Imperial Webway Gate.
Atop the Golden Throne sat a figure in ornate Auramite armour, his eyes closed and his mind focused entirely on the stabilization of his Great Work. Through the thoughts of this one single individual, the whole of the Imperial Webway was being held together, the oppressive forces of the warp kept at by his will alone. Without his focus the entire pathways being reinforced by Mechanicus specialists deep within the twisted knot of tunnels of the previously existing Webway would have collapsed into chaos. His strength alone kept the project on track.
Had it been allowed to have been completed it would have been the crowning achievement of the Imperium. The Emperor's Great Work would have spelt salvation for his species.
The figure now hovering in the centre of the room spelt the end of that hope.
It was a monstrous thing, a creature of many eyes that opened and closed randomly across its form, many limbs and tentacles writhed along its frame. Its skin was a deep red, and from what appeared to be the head of the beast glowed a pair of bright yellow eyes.
"FATHER!" boomed the creature in a voice beyond mortal comprehension. All but the strongest willed within the chamber recoiled at the sound.
Machines exploded in a shower of sparks. Liquids spilled across the previous pristine floors. Sirens of alarm blared as tech priests skittered about desperately trying to suppress the chaos that flooded the overwhelmed devices. All around the room, the Golden Custodes turned a levelled their spears at the apparition, bolts of metals passing through its hazy form ineffectively.
The figure laughed as the fire from the Emperor's guardians harmlessly passed through his shade, and from his form hundreds of daemonic creatures fell like raindrops from a passing cloud. The creatures began to assault the Custodes, attempting to rend and tear the glorious golden armour from the steadfast warriors. Some even turned their focus to the Mechanicus Adepts, either tormenting them by interrupting their work, or outright slaughtering them for their own twisted amusement.
"MAAAAGNUS!" roared the figure atop the Golden Throne, his words echoing like a thunderclap. In an instant, all the Daemons vanished, blasted back into the warp from whence they came, their temporary corporeal forms shattered by the psychic shockwave.
The great giant however just continued to laugh, as it drifted to the bottom of the Golden Device, running an ethereal hand across and into a panel sealed at the base. More sparks and more explosions rocked the device as the figure sat on top was forced to clench his eyes even tighter to prevent the machine from spiraling out of control. The Emperor fought the massive etheric forces, compensating for the damage to keep his life's work stable.
The monster seemed to flicker a little, as if it was reaching the edge of its abilities. It drifted up to the top of the device, harassed all the while by the figure in gold, desperate to distract or destroy the beast as it continued to encroach upon their Lord and Master. It came face to face with the Master of Mankind, a grotesque grin splitting across its face.
"Hello Father," said Magnus, his voice quiet and calm so only the Emperor could hear, "I come to bring you a warning. This could be what you might consider a debt come due. On Nikaea you shamed me, publicly humiliated me, and threatened me and my sons with extermination. For what? Doing what you made me to do? For doing what you YOURSELF DO? You should have taken me back to Terra with you. You should have made me an instrument on this project. I would have aided you, I would have been your most ardent and effective architect. Instead, the end result is… this."
Magnus spread his various projected limbs wide, to encompass all of the carnage and madness that was taking place below them. Fires burned, machines lurched as the greatest minds in the Imperium tried to restore order.
"I know you can hear me, Father. I can feel the strain your mind is under just keep this entire planet from plunging into the immaterium. You can't speak. You can't move. Without psychic reinforcement even you will not be able to hold back the warp for long. You are like a drunk, grasping at his glass, desperately trying to prevent it falling from the table and shattering on the floor. You would survive this, of course, you are no stranger to walking within the warp, but the same could not be said for this world or its people. Your project would also be dead, completely futile, and you don't want to give up yet do you. Even now your 'Great Work' is more important than your sons…"
Magnus leaned in close, still ignoring the harassment of the golden Custodes below. The Master of Mankind remained seated, his face twisted and contorted into a visage of pain, his muscles twitching and flexing with the psychic effort of holding everything together.
"It would be so easy for me to give things a little push, to tip it over the edge… but I won't. Not yet. I want to be here, in person, when all your work gets devoured by the immaterium. When everything you have wasted our lives on comes crashing down. And I am coming Father, WE are coming. All of us whom you have injured or cast away in your quest for galactic domination. We will prove how much better we are than you. We will turn your Imperium of suffering and pain, into one of rebirth and joy. We will out do you, Father, we will eclipse you as every child should. I would wish you well… but I am well aware of the agonies you are under. See you soon Father. Very soon."
Magnus let out another laugh, turning as volleys of metal passed meaninglessly through his image. He could see them all below him. Constantin Valdor, Ra Endymion, Amon Tauromachian and others. Insignificant flies to him now. Maybe the Ten Thousand could have cut their way through the Legions during the older days, to rid the Emperor of the tools when they had served their purposes. No longer. With the power of the Primordial Essences flowing through him, Magnus could have disassembled them all at the atomic level with a thought… But not at this distance. Even his abilities had their limits, for now. He would deal with them all, soon enough.
As the image of the beast faded back to the warp once more, Malcador burst through the doors of the Imperial Dungeon and ran to the steps of the Gold Throne, followed closely behind by several Sisters of Silence. Sweat was dripping from his face, both from the exertion of running, but also the fear in understanding exactly what he had felt transpired down here in the depths of the Great Work. The Sigillite knew this was one of the possible futures that could have occurred… but the scale of the damage was far beyond what had been hoped.
He ran from station to station, checking readouts and grabbing any surviving Adepts to report on the status of the machine that groaned under the strain now put upon it. He needed data. He could feel the effects of the damage through his superior psychic talents but he needed raw numbers. He needed to know which devices were operational, what could be used to stablise the situation.
"This is not good. This is NOT good…" muttered the Sigillite as he moved across the room, "It is too much… too much… too much…"
Malcador turned to look at his friend sat high above, feeling the expressed pain and agony he was under. Screwing his eyes shut and pinching bridge of his nose, the Regent of Terra resolved a decision that would forever change the Imperium. They had both wanted to avoid this, but they had no choice. Time was running out. The Sigillite turned to Kaeria Casryn, foremost of the Sisters of Silence that had joined him here.
'What is it, Lord Regent?' signed the Oblivion Knight, using the sign language of the Sisters of Silence with clipped perfection.
"The worst case scenario has occurred," replied Malcador, solemnly, "Your Lord and Master cannot retain control without additional power to draw upon. Even his excessive might has its limits, and even now he struggles with all his might to save us all from being plunged into the immaterium. Much like any warrior, he needs reinforcements. We must begin the Unspoken Sanction at once. Without their aid I fear everything will be lost before we can even strike back at our enemies. There can be no delay, do what must be done and initiate the process immediately. Go. Now."
There was a slight hesitation from Kaeria Casryn, before she finally nodded and signed, 'As you command, Lord Regent. It shall be done.'
"Even that may not be enough…" muttered Malcador to himself as the Oblivion Knights withdrew from the Imperial Dungeons, "We had hoped the Unspoken Sanction would only be needed in the most dire of circumstances so my Lord could walk again… Or in the case of his injury. However for now, this will be the minimum necessary to prevent disaster. We would need twenty times that amount now for that. I will have to instruct far more additions be built and brought down, but that will take time. I only pray we can have the time…"
"Lord Regent," growled Constantin Valdor, finally finishing giving orders to those Custodes still standing and turning to the Sigillite, "What has happened? I no longer hear the words of our Master. That creature has done something to him."
"The 'creature' was the Emperor's wayward son, Valdor," replied Malcador, leaning heavily on his staff, "Magnus has done what we feared the most and consorted with creatures of the darkest malice. I fear several of his sons have turned against our Lord and soon they will see to destroy everything. The damage here is but the first shot in a larger conflict."
Valdor stiffened.
"So the Astartes and the Primarchs have commited treason?"
"Not all…" sighed Malcador, "There may be some we can count of for their loyalty. Russ is above reproach. Rogal as well will not be found wanting."
"We should remove the Seventh Legion from all positions around the Imperial Palace," snapped Constantin, "We cannot trust any of the Astartes at this time."
"I'm afraid the situation is so dire that we are beyond that option," answered Malcador, pointing to the Imperial Webway Gate, "The enemy knows of a back door into the Imperial Palace. They have crippled its guardian, and now seek to attack us where we are weakest."
"I will have the Ten Thousand martial at once," responded Valdor, "But what has that to do with the Seventh?"
"Brave as you are, fine Custodes," smiled Malcador sadly, "Your numbers will not be enough. Soon the horrors of the warp will flood the project we have sought to protect. If Magnus and his allies march on Terra through this weakness you will not be able to hold them alone. We will need to commit as much force as we can muster through the gate to hold for as long as we can. Mars is in crisis and cannot help us. The warp storms block much of the aid we could otherwise expect. We may have no choice but to commit the Imperial Fists to the Webway."
"Absolutely NOT!" roared Valdor, "In this moment we cannot permit Astartes down into the Imperial Dungeons! Their loyalty will need to be tested before we could allow such an action!"
"If their loyalty is found wanting we have already lost, Valdor," said Malcador, quietly, "We must speak with Rogal and inform him of what is to come. If the enemy also brings war to the skies above Terra we cannot hold the Throne World with a single Legion. Even if you are committed entirely to the Webway, if the enemy deploys the majority of their forces there we will be overrun. We are faced with an impossible choice, to weaken our defenses above to ensure the Webway entrance does not fall, or to risk the enemy invading the Imperial Palace from below and so strike our backs when they are turned."
Constantin Valdor remained silent for a moment, considering what has been said. Then, finally, he nodded though Malcador could feel it was begrudging.
"Very well, Lord Regent. We shall set up a meeting with the Praetorian of Terra. If we need to sacrifice the Seventh to hold the Webway, so be it."
"Rogal will not be happy to send his sons to the slaughter," mused Malcador, "And we cannot leave the surface defenseless either. If I felt we could resolve the Martian Crisis quickly, I would suggest committing forces there to win decisively and so bring the victors to defend us here. However, I fear the hand of our enemy is already involved with Mars. It is not a battle we can afford to lose, but we cannot overcommit whilst Terra is vulnerable given our limited forces. We will bring all available Solar Forces back to Terra, even if it permits the enemy a swift advance through the system. The more forces we can commit from other worlds to the surface of Terra, the more Imperial Fists can be committed to aid the defense of the Webway."
"We should have broken the backs of the Martian Rebels long before now," muttered Valdor, venomously.
"And if we had our enemy would simply have struck sooner," admonished Malcador, "The entire Seventh Legion is still on Terra, not scattered all over Mars! The Ten Thousand stand together here, and NOT on Mars! Had we committed to the Martian Civil War we would be engaged in distraction we can ill afford right now. We must focus on what we can accomplish with the current state of play."
"Of course, you are correct, Lord Regent," bowed Valdor, "But as you say, if things are this dire we will need more forces, and soon."
"We will discuss this with Rogal," said Malcador, beginning to walk with the Custodes out of the Dungeons, "We will all have to make difficult decisions in the coming days. We may even have to deploy weapons that are forbidden by morality, and make deals with the purest evil to obtain victory. But if we should fail… the Imperium will be no more. Your Master will be no more. And the galaxy will spiral into age of madness, the like of which we have never seen before."