The planet on which he'd awoken was, fortunately, not beset by the forces of Chaos or any Xenos race. It was a planet of humans, ruled entirely by humans – as far as he was aware. By far, it was one of the strangest worlds he'd ever seen; the whole surface of it was just one big city, covering every single inch of land in concrete and metal. There were no oceans; all the water flowed through gargantuan tubes that stretched across the breadth of the whole planet – a single, continuous water source that was continually purified and recycled from the filth of the people.
The planet almost reminded him of Tera, in a way, but the biggest difference was that this planet hadn't spawned, as of yet, the gargantuan Hive Cities that dug deep underground, housing trillions in dark, dank, and cramped spaces; instead, the cities here were spread out – far and wide, encompassing millions of miles with hardly any space in between. Mountains were flattened, entire forests harvested, and more or less every single natural resource taken and exploited.
But that was where the similarities ended.
More than anything, the world reminded him of Nostramo – that shattered husk of a rock that used to be his home planet. Titanic foundries and factories arose from the cities like singular monoliths, belching black smoke and white ash directly into the clouds, choking the sky black and blotting out the sun. It was a planet of perpetual night, where tiny flickers of sunlight could stream in only through the gap between the cities, where the sky was not as dark. Everywhere and everything else was shrouded in shadow and ash, clogged by smog and filth.
Unlike Nostramo, however, there was no centralization anywhere. Instead of a centralized form of government, the planet was ruled by gargantuan guilds, each holding immense power over portions of or entire sectors of the sprawling mega-cities that dotted the entirety of the world, monopolizing vast industries and businesses. But these guilds were no more than gangs, siphoning money from the people, through extortion, blackmail, theft, and all sorts of crimes that, frankly, reminded him a little too much of home. Slavery was rife, the lowest of the low dragged from their homes and forced to labor in the factories and foundries, whipped and tortured till they died where they worked and their places were taken by another.
At the top of the guilds were those who referred to themselves as the True Masters, corrupt despots who ruled in decadence and cruelty. Power hungry, ambitious, and utterly mad, the True Masters suffered no challenge to their rule. Public tortures and executions were a common scene.
The planet's main industry revolved around a naturally-occurring substance known only as Shimmer, which – when imbibed – sometimes granted its users visions of the future or, in most cases, extra-sensory perception. However, it was also a highly dangerous and addictive substance that, in large enough quantities, resulted in madness, mutation, and – if a person was lucky – death. Unfortunately, just about every industry on the planet revolved around the control, refining, and consumption of the Shimmer; even street children consumed the narcotics in small doses, lying sprawled in dingy streets and dark alleys, their minds absent from their bodies in an attempt to forget their misery. The same truth was even more horrific for the adults, the non-slave workers who toiled in the factories; the Shimmer was a means of escape, a means of attaining freedom.
The whole of it was horrifying. But not unfamiliar. Because there were many worlds across the Imperium that were just like this, seeped in misery and degradation, sin and corruption. It was just the sort of world that would force the Night Haunter back out of its cage.
And yet, even the great shadow, there remained embers of hope – of rebellion.
Konrad Curze's eyes narrowed as a rabble of about twenty thugs surrounded an isolated group of the Green Keepers, one of many rebel groups that dotted the planet. This one, in particular, fought to bring back the old forests and the blue of the sky. It didn't matter what their goal was. They stood against the True Masters and, thus, were labeled as enemies – insects to be crushed and enslaved. Disappointingly, the rebels did not have much in the way of weapons, carrying only makeshift melee implements that afforded them little to no offensive capabilities.
They were all going to be captured.
Curze himself looked on from the darkness, cloaked by shadows – unseen and imperceptible. Though, to be certain, the technology of this world was not advanced enough to detect him. They had cameras and ballistic weapons aplenty, but his observations told him that whatever technological advancements this planet might've developed had taken a halt when the current hegemony was established, when the True Masters consolidated their power and a semblance of order was forced upon the people. It made sense, of course, as the greedy and the powerful would always wish to maintain and impose the status quo that gave them power to begin with.
Truly a dystopian nightmare. Or, at least, it tried to be one.
But this was nothing he'd not seen before; in fact, Curze had seen far worse. This planet might've been a crime-ridden hellhole of a world, but – somehow – Nostramo was still worse. This planet, whatever it happened to be called, wasn't even on the spectrum of terrible.
And, honestly, he – himself – had done far worse to innocent people than the True Masters themselves had ever done, atrocities that brought entire planets and systems to their knees. But those were the actions of the Night Haunter, not Konrad Curze. And so, he had to do things differently. He had to be better. And, ultimately, ruling through fear was ineffective.
The rebel group consisted of five men and four women, barely armed and armored. How or why they were cornered did not matter – only that they were. And he was going to save them. This world would be brought to heel – tamed and ordered.
As the thugs charged and the rebels huddled together, Konrad Curze leapt from the rooftop and, like a great whirling shadow, subdued the thugs with measured strikes to their blind spots, rendering them unconscious and unscathed. The whole thing happened in less than a second, faster than any human – enhanced or otherwise – could possibly react to or even perceive. No deaths. The physical act of holding himself back made his hands shake. Strange. Konrad turned to the rebels, examining each of them, briefly, for signs of injuries. There were none. They stood there, staring at his darkened and shadowed form, eyes wide with even more fear than before. Understandable. The Primarch Aura, as he'd learned, could be tuned for many things beyond simple charisma.
In Konrad's case, his aura was tuned to induce fear and trepidation. He turned it off and watched as the rebels sunk to their knees – men and women soiling themselves before him. He turned it on again, but, this time, Konrad tuned his aura to boost his presence and charisma. "Stand and pick up their weapons. You'll need them for the wars to come."
While the thugs carried only melee implements, theirs were still considerably better compared to what the rebels had – electrified batons and power-fists as opposed to metal poles and dull knives. The dazed rebels moved at his command, picking and looting whatever they could find. The thugs also carried with them Slaving Nets, essentially jet-propelled nets that they used to catch feeling targets, mounted on wrist-launchers; however, its secondary function was as a torture device as it tightened and tightened in response to movement, whilst the thin metal strings that made up the net were sharp enough to cut through skin and flesh. If not freed, then the captive would face a slow and, very often, agonizing death.
Cruel weapons. His sons... or... the criminals who'd received his Gene-Seed often made use of similar contraptions. And they were rather creative with it, intentionally prolonging the suffering of their victims as to record more of their screams, their cries for mercy.
"We will turn those weapons against their masters," Konrad said. Justice was not merciful, but it was fair. The thugs on the ground, for instance, probably deserved death, but Konrad himself knew nothing of their crimes and what other things they might've been guilty of; to murder all of them on simple probabilities was something the Night Haunter did. For their crime of attempted assault, death was not warranted. "Soon. For now, break their shin bones and take me to your leaders."
Justice was fair. It had to be fair. The rebels obeyed his command as well. Though, this time, they needed no further prodding as they took their looted weapons and bashed apart the knees of the downed thugs. Konrad's eyes narrowed. Was this fair? It certainly seemed like it. In fact, this sort of punishment seemed almost light. The thugs would've captured them, tortured and humiliated them, before taking them to the foundries to be forced into servitude. Broken knees were a far lighter alternative to hacking off body-parts, which had been the first thing Konrad thought of.
But then he looked into the future and found that they would've just bled out and died on the streets as the nearest medical center was about a hundred miles further into the city, closer to the Industrial Districts.
There were many who watched from the safety of their homes, through the cracks of their windows. They were frightened, but Konrad saw the glimmer of hope in their eyes, the realization that they did not have to live the lives they lived now, that they could, in fact, stand up against the tyranny of the True Masters, that justice was not a foregone idea. Hope, Konrad mused. He was meant to inspire hope – not fear. His presence and the presence of his legion was meant to inspire those who witnessed them.
The rebels then took him to their base if operations in this part of the mega city, where their impotent and incompetent leaders gathered. Old men and old women, clinging onto old hopes and old dreams. They had no plans, Konrad soon realized, no means of actually fighting back. The most they'd ever done was assault a bunch of thugs who served the True Master of this sector, nameless buffoons who were so low on the food chain that their leaders didn't even know they existed or cared to figure out who they were when their corpses were brought up to be recycled and turned to biscuits. The rebellion, without his aid, was doomed to fail. That they still existed simply meant they were so powerless and so puny that the True Master simply didn't think to get rid of them, like inconsequential pests that, ultimately, brought no harm.
Their base of operations was an abandoned warehouse that'd once been used to store vast amounts of Shimmer, before it was abandoned for unknown reasons. "Is this it? Is this all the Green Keepers amounts to? What kind of rebellion even is this?"
Their total number of members? Around a hundred.
A hundred.
The smallest Shimmer Refinery had about ten million people working in it, slaving away in the refining pits, where their lungs burned and their skin and flesh melted off of their bones. A hundred people wasn't even large enough to bring usher forth dissent and treason, let alone a true revolt; as they were now, the Green Keepers were nothing more than a gang of dreamers – driven and courageous though they were in the face of overwhelming adversity. There was potential here, Konrad mused.
"There were many of us when the movement began," One of their eldest explained. "But time has taken its toll. And many of our brothers and sisters were taken by the True Masters, enslaved, forced to work to their deaths in the refineries. Now, we are not even a shadow of what we used to be."
"Very well, then. I will join you. In this darkness, let there be light and hope." Konrad spoke, his Primarch Aura blaring around him. And those around him clung to his every word. They gathered around him, like moths to a flame, even the elders and those who'd abandoned the very concept of hope. After everything he'd been through, Konrad mused, taking over a gang took no effort. "In time, we shall topple the True Masters from their thrones; in time, your children and their children, after them, shall look up and see a blue sky."
AN: Ch45 is up on (Pat)reon!