A/N: Cha 2 review responses are in my forums as normal. And here, finally, we have the last of the three prologues that set the stage for the story. I can't remember the last time I had three separate prologues, but then again Revelation spans almost 40,000 years of history. Organizing it was a challenge; trying to make it organized and enjoyable was damned near impossible. So, this week the last prologue, and next week we get to meet Lyta Rothid of the Inquisition, and our primary POV character for the first parts of this story.
Chapter Three: Fiat Lux
There was peace in exertion; a meditation in the perfection of movement. Beauty.
As two demigods clashed, Caligus of the Menaloi ruminated on the beauty of movement perfected. His guardian spear, beloved Poiesis, crackled with energy as it clashed with its brethren. The flash of competing energies as the two guardian spears contested each other would have blinded him save for the filters of his helm lenses.
Even in training, Caligus fought as he would have to fight for Him-armored and armed. His opponent that day was as strong as he was; as fast. His armor was as powerful and ornate as Caligus's own. What his opponent lacked was the almost seven thousand years of experience that Caligus could claim. He lacked the 912 names that Caligus had earned through his deeds and accomplishments over his long life.
Though valiant, though a shield-captain of the Palaiologian Chamber, Valerian counted only two centuries of experience to his name. Calgus wielded his experience as second spear. He'd made it his life's study to understand the perfection of movement and the beauty of precision. He took a turn for nearly a century as Tribune, and another as drill-master for those newly elevated to the rank of Custodes. He stood with perfect control over his transhuman body for three centuries within the chambers of the Golden Throne. He had even stood guard for the Emperor's chosen servants. He was Adeptus Custodes.
And yet...and yet.
His younger opponent broke the attempted spear lock, spun free and swung his own guardian spear low at the much older Custodes' augmented leg.
Caligus spun his hip, presenting the back join of the artificial limb and managed to just get his spear in place to turn a maiming blow into a minor hurt. He rolled forward; the sound of his armor against the ceremite plates of the would cause many a mortal to cover their ears in pained alarm. The move bought him scarce seconds before his opponent was on him in a flurry of blows that would have blurred to the mortal eye for their inhuman speed.
There was beauty in the perfection of movement, and in that fashion young Valerian was beautiful, for every move was the perfect balance of power, speed and the conservation of momentum that Caligus had been teaching his brothers for millenia. He responded in kind; for though he was ancient even among the Custodes, he remained a son of the Emperor. Though the Fall and failure of the Custodes occurred many thousands of years before his birth, Caligus assumed the penance for that failing when he donned his golden armor and draped the black cloak about his shoulders for the first time. Even four millennia later, it remained a burden he bore stoically.
But he knew within the first minutes of this contest that he would not prevail.
Perhaps worse than knowing he could not prevail was being able to see with absolute clarity the very steps that would overthrow him. His mind traced every step Valerian would take-it was a classic combination of speed, power and offensive force that he himself taught many of his brothers. He brought his spear up to begin the established counter move, but though his spirit still stood strong, the augment joint of his left shoulder was not as fast as his right, causing his defense to be a split second slower than his attacker.
That split second resulted in Valerian striking with a blistering combination of a blank bolter to his face plate, a stomp-kick to his knee and a punch that could powder rockcrete to his chest, all done in a single second. It created the separation between them that allowed Valerian to hook his guardian spear behind that same stomp-kicked artificial knee and cut.
Caligus slammed into the floor of the gymnos in defeat. He did not resent the pain. He could feel his body healing already and his augments auto-repairing; he felt no anger against his brother. Valerian fought well and fairly; it was a clean win.
What he felt was a deep, profound sense of sadness. It is time.
The other Custodes held out a gauntlet, which Caligus accepted. Once the two stood, they parted and bowed in the formal fashion. "Well struck, Valerian," Caligus said. "Valoris chose well when he named you shield captain."
"Thank you, brother."
Even among soft-spoken warriors, Valerian was a soft-spoken man. His brothers of the Palaiologian Chamber named him philologus, a name he no doubt bore within the chestplate of his armor. It meant scholar, and it was a name well-earned. Even among the ten-thousand, Caligus knew that Valerian had a bright future.
The two parted ways, their task completed. Tradition held someone about to undergo a blood game to spar with an elder brother to hone his skill for the hunt. Yes, Caligus thought to himself, young Valerian had a bright future ahead of him. He would bring honor to his chamber.
For his part, his day's duty done, Caligus left the gymnos and began the long trek back to his quarters. With the loss so clearly on his mind, he found himself focusing on objects far down the endless halls of the palace. Though his focus was as sharp as ever, giving him minute details on tapestries hundreds of meters distant, he could not help but notice how much longer it took to achieve that focus than it should have.
He'd lost much of his original body in his defense of the emperor. His left leg on Luna, his right shoulder blade thousands of years ago in the Sabbat Worlds. One of his hearts was artificial, as were several other organs. Only his eyes remained his own. Though those transhuman eyes were still far more powerful than those of any mortal, the speed with which he used to wield them was far from where it should have been.
His loss in the gymnos that day was no new thing; twice now brothers of his own Menaloi Chamber had defeated him at spar within the past year, where always before he reigned supreme. His strength remained. But his speed and reaction times failed him. Still greater than any space marine, but not as great as he once was.
Within his personal chambers, a small space of stone and candles, he stripped off the golden ceremite and adamantium armor. He placed his guardian spear beside the stand of his armor, and took a sponge from the basin of water in a corner of the room. It was large by the standards of Terra, but only because it's occupant was large. Even out of armor, Caligus stood over eight feet in height.
He washed slowly; a measured, practiced series of movements that resulted in the days' exertions being cleaned from his skin in the space of four minutes. Cleaned, he donned the unadorned black robes all of his Order wore when not on duty, and left his chambers.
The Tower of the Hegemon served many functions within the Sanctum Imperialis. Deep within the tower the loyal serfs of the Adeptus Custodes manned the Command Center of the Ten Thousand themselves. Every aspect of the palace, a structure that spanned much of the continent, was overseen and monitored from that station. From the Command Center, the Custodes would know of any incursions into the palace and be able to respond with speed and precision. No secret was safe from the watching eyes of the Codifiers of the Custodes.
An annex made of blackstone served as a prison of those psykers who represented a threat to the Imperium. But more pertinently for Caligus, the lower levels of the tower housed four chambers of Custudes themselves. For over four thousand years, Caligus called this place home. He knew every inch of the tower as he knew the intricate mechanisms of his plate. He could recount every nick in the adamantium halls, left intentionally exposed since they were gained during the great Heresy. He knew every statue and every portrait on the golden walls. He knew the names of every proud serf who served, and knew the names of their ancestors whose bones were woven into their raiments.
He had led shield companies in campaigns across the Sol System. He personally led the shield company that cleared the underhives of the north polar regions of a witch cult that numbers in the thousands. That same company followed his leadership with the Captain General himself to wipe out a xenos incursion into the void fortresses of Pluto.
The many names inscribed in his plate were earned in battle. And always he came back to this place which he knew so well; which provided comfort and beauty and peace.
The chapel of the Menaloi Chamber was sacred. Established just after the Emperor accepted his fate on the Golden Throne, the domed space was dedicated to his sacrifice and glory by sacred oils and the unified decree of all five hundred Custodes of the Chamber. Like his personal chambers, the chapel was not decorated in the high gothic fashion of the many basilicas that dominated the landscape of Holy Terra. In fact, most priests of the Ecclesiarchy would find the space wanting.
It held only the standard of the Menaloi chamber that they carried in the defense of the palace ten thousand years ago. Tattered, ancient fabric hung from the golden double-eagle of the Imperium, over which was embossed in turquoise and rubies the head of a guardian spear held horizontal to the eagle's wings. They did not need graven images of the Emperor; or the fevered rantings of those who claimed to be his priests. The Custodes knew better than anyone who and what the Emperor was. They worshiped him not as a god, but as their Emperor and progenitor. They honored his sacrifice for Mankind, and acknowledged their own failing in saving him.
Caligus stood in the empty chapel, staring at the ancient standard his forebears carried, before he knelt down and then fully prostrated himself on the cold golden tiles of the chamber floor. In his mind, he began to recite every one of his 912 names, and the feats accomplished to earn those names.
He recounted the many injuries he had the honor to receive defending the Throne. They were hard won against the most powerful heretics, sorcerers, Traitor marines, demons and xenos.
When he had done, his internal senses assured him ten hours had passed. Still he remained prostrate on the gold tiles. They were warmed by his massive form, but their warmth was hard won from his own. Still he didn't move. He pressed his broad forehead against the tiles without cushion, his arms spread to either side, and let his names, deeds and trophies of battle fall away from him.
When the armor was shed and the warrior left behind, all that remained was Caligus. All that remained was the young nobleman, barely five, guided by his father's proud hand to the golden giant who stood at their door. A fat, robed figure from the Adminsitratum stood behind, but it was the golden giant who stood at the doors of their spire that held the young boy's eyes.
"A long road stands before you, child," the long-dead Custodes told him. "A path of pain and sacrifice. But know this-if you survive, there is no greater honor than to serve His Will. There is no greater means than to walk the path of the Custodes. Will you serve Him?"
The memory rang through Caligus' mind with startling clarity. The ascention of Custodes occurred before puberty, and most lost their memories of their childhood. Caligus was no exception, and had no memories of his time before his ascension. And yet that memory burned in his mind now, so clear and perfect he felt as if he were standing there now, a tiny child, taking a hand as large as his torso.
Both in his memory, and aloud, he said, "I will serve."
With that statement, and the memory that spawned it, Caligus dreamed for only the second time of his ascended life. He dreamed that he stood his duty once more in the Sanctum, the power of the Throne saturating the air so powerfully most mortals fainted just approaching the hallowed hall. More than one had perished from coming too close, or gone insane.
In his dream, though, the light of the throne flickered. He heard screams echoing through the hall-the moans of uncountable masses terrified by the coming of a long night. On the throne itself, wrapped in the arcane mechanisms of the Mechanicus, the rotted flesh of the Emperor's head turned and stared at him with empty sockets, deep within which burned the fires of eternal truth.
The light of the throne flickered again. Caligus heard the mechanized screams of tech priests and Magos scrambling madly around the vast, continental-sized mechanism. Watching them even in his dream, Caligus saw that none of the vaunted tech-priests of Mars knew what was happening, or how to fix it.
Lost. So much was lost. The voice sounded human, but also beyond human. It echoed to Caligus as if shouted from a hall far, far away.
Suddenly he was seized by a flaming agony unlike anything he had memory of. He moaned from it as every atom of his body was subjected to terrible fire. It made his very bones vibrate from it; his hearts raced so hard his ears flooded from the sound of his own transhuman blood. And in the midst of that unbelievable agony, a voice spoke to him.
In death, rebirth. In falling night, rising dawn. From despair, hope. All things must end.
Abruptly the dream ended.
Caligus could do nothing more than gasp. In the course of the dream he had curled into a fetal position from the unendurable agony. His massive, muscular arms were held close to his chest and shook still from the numbing power of the dream.
"Brother, what did you see?"
With effort that would have astounded him at any other time of his life, Caligus forced his eyes open to see none other than Heracleon kneeling before him. The Tribune of the Hetaeron Guard still bore his plate from the most holy chambers of the Sanctum, though he'd removed his helm to reveal the broad, dark-skinned face of man who counted almost as many centuries as Caligus himself.
"He spoke to me," Caligus said. His voice caught in his throat. His eyes watered. "He shared his pain with me, brother. If only the smallest part."
From behind him, Caligus heard another speak. "Sit him up, tribune."
Heraclean did so. His own great strength easily lifted Caligus, for Caligus' limbs continued to shake such he could not control them. He had little choice but to lean on his brother as Heraclean lifted him off the floor and into a sitting position.
Blinking back tears that had not graced his eyes since his mortal span, Caligus saw the other speaker was the Captain General himself. Like Heraclean, Trajann Valoris had removed his helm to reveal his own broad, deeply scarred face. All of them bore similar features wrought by their common origins, but even among the Custodes Valoris looked the part of their leader. He too wore his Castellan plate, an ornate and beautifully crafted power armor of ceremite and adamantium that dated from before the Heresy. He removed his powered gauntlet and with his own flesh took Caligus by the hand.
"A doom scryer came to us," the Captain-General said. "She felt your dream. Tell us, what did you see?"
"I saw the light of the throne darken," Caligus said. The thought disturbed him, for such a thing had never happened in the ten thousand years of the Emperor's entombment. "He shared his pain with me, brother. Pain beyond endurance. Yet he has endured for so long. He told me…"
It was difficult to concentrate, but the words of the dream had burned themselves into his mind more powerfully than all the names he'd earned in his life.
"In death, rebirth," Caligus recited. "In falling night, rising dawn. From despair, hope. All things must end."
Speaking the words aloud acted almost as a key, unlocking the profound meaning of them in a way he'd never imagined. The pain lingered in his bones, but he embraced it like an old friend as he met the Captain General's eyes.
"I am to be His eyes. I will shed my plate, and my guardian spear. I will go out into the masses of Holy Terra and be His sight. He seeks hope, not for himself, but for mankind. The Emperor seeks hope reborn, and I shall be His eyes that find it."
Valoris did not challenge his claim. How could he, when every sanctioned psyker in the palace bore witness? Instead, the captain general of the Adeptus Custodes continued to hold his hand. "Your flesh burns hot. I can sense vibrations within your bones. The pain lingers?"
"Only the smallest part of it," Caligus said. "I would bear it and a thousand times more, if it should aid His burdens an iota. I am unworthy of this burden. Unworthy of this task. And yet I shall prevail, brothers. For Him. For his vision of what we could have been, but fell so far short of achieving."
"None are unworthy who are chosen by the Emperor's own hand," Valoris said. "And if I were in His stead, I could find none worthier." He glanced over Caligus at Heracleon. "Tribune, I shall handle this from here."
The tribune replaced his helm and left to do his duty. Valoris and Caligus were alone in the chapel once he left.
"There was more," Valoris said.
"Yes, brother," Caligus said. He took deep breaths to center himself. Though his limbs felt weak, he stood, as did the Captain General. "He shared a vision with me of the throne mechanism itself. In my dream, the light of the throne darkened, and the Mechanicus could not fix it, because they did not understand it. The tech priests perform age-old tasks by rote, without knowledge or understanding of the mechanisms they operate. The Throne is failing, and they cannot fix it. The Emperor knows this, and now we do as well."
The Captain General showed no sign of surprise at this knowledge; and in his calm acceptance Caligus knew that the state of affairs was not a mystery to the other man. "How many know this?" he asked.
"As few as possible," Valoris admitted. "Some steps are being made, but it is a difficult thing. None but the Emperor himself truly understood the nature of the throne. He built the palace here because components he needed for the throne already existed here. If it fails, none on Terra or Mars could repair it."
"And if it fails, so too does the Astronomicon, the only means we have of navigating the Warp."
Trajoris met his gaze squarely. "And so too the Imperium itself." With his bare hand, Trajoris gripped Caligus' shoulder. "He would not have chosen you if you were not worthy; nor, if memory serves, is this the first time he has done so. His vision extends farther than any of ours. You surrender your plate and guardian spear, but the role you take now is more important than any of ours. When will you go?"
"There is no time to waste," Caligus said. "I am not certain of much, but of that I am sure."
"Then let us go and ensure you do not walk among the masses without means to do your duty," Valoris said. "Before you surrender your plate, you will add one more name to your armor. You are Metatron, the God Emperor's mediator with men, and it is His will you do now, and His will alone."
~~Revelation~~
~~Revelation~~
Caligus strode through the halls of the palace in his armor. He bore his guardian spear; his chest plate bore a new name, granted by the Captain General of his order. He walked alone, as was right. Though the other Custodes were his brothers, it was always their way to fight alone. The Adeptus Custodes were not soldiers; they were never intended to be soldiers. Rather, they were the executioners of the Emperor's will.
Those other Custodes he passed all understood. They stepped out of his path and bowed their heads in a sign of respect. Few knew the exact details of his vision, but all knew that the Emperor had spoken to him for a second time in his life. They were His children, before even the Primarchs, and felt when the Emperor spoke to their brethren.
He reached the Hall of Armaments—the ancient ramparts that held the armor and weaponry of the Adeptus Custodes. He moved through the various security points, borne through without pause by the coding of his armor and gene seed. When he reached the vast Chamber of Champions, a phalanx of serfs in the livery of the Custodes stood waiting to attend.
"By the Emperor's will, I am called to serve another path." The ancient, High Gothic words that Caligus had feared to say no longer felt so dire on his lips. He knew the day was coming soon when he had to surrender his armor and weapon and go abroad. Despite the belief that the Custodes were immortal, the truth was that they too aged and died, though at a prodigiously slower rate than their fellow man.
But suddenly the day he dreaded no longer gave him cause to fear; he found strength and joy in the knowledge that he would serve the Emperor still. Even now, as the pain he felt from his vision continued to burn in his bones, he knew that his new mission was as important as any he had ever had.
"Custodes, we honor your service," the majordomo of the chamber said with a reverent bow.
The ceremony unfolded as hundreds of similar ceremonies had before. "This is Poiesis, my guardian spear. With this weapon I have slain the enemies of the Emperor. I take now it's name into my heart, and give it to your keeping so that it may be reborn with a new name in the hands of my successor."
It took four strong serfs to receive and carry the weapon. They did so with plastek gloves to ensure no bare mortal fingers touched it.
"This is my helm," he continued, having removed one of the most sophisticated weapons in the palace. "With this helm, I have spied out the enemies of the Emperor and laid them low."
So it went, piece by piece. Every part of his armor had a history, both the nearly seven thousand years he had worn it, and the thousands of years his predecessors wore it before him. The armor was from the golden age of the Imperium, when their Master still walked amongst them. The knowledge and skill of their crafting was long lost, like so much else.
Finally, only the man remained, clad in a plain black robe, with bare feet against the cold tiles of the Chamber. The serfs bowed one last time; his majordomo spoke the formal words. "Custodes no longer, but honored above all. May His Light protect and keep you in all your journeys."
Caligus did not bow; Custodes bowed to none save the Emperor. Though he was Custodes no longer, that would never change. Instead, he nodded to those proud serfs, bound to their duties as their parents and grandparents were for ages before, and only then turned and walked out of the Tower barefoot, and clad only in a loose black robe.
When he arrived at his next destination, it was to be met by one of the few of his brothers older even than himself.
Caligus remembered training with Brother Kalluin as a young man, barely into his first century. Kalluin at the time was a Shield Captain, and was first ascended right after the Siege of Terra. Those who trained him walked at the Emperor's side. That he still lived, over nine thousand years later, spoke of the power of his gene-seed.
Like Caligus, he'd surrendered his plate in the Hall of Armaments and became an Eye of the Emperor. Most who surrendered their plate due to extreme age or injury went out among the Imperium to establish spy networks and hunt down threats. Kalluin remained on Terra, and in time became the heart of the Oculis Imperitoris.
He remained seated at a desk piled high with vellum scrolls, data slates and cogitators. Beyond his front chambers, Caligus knew the Ancient maintained far more chambers with the most powerful cogitators, datalooms and auspex machines known to the Imperium.
Though he could still see, Kalluin was so old his irises had gone gray when he turned them upon Caligus.
"I see the Emperor's hand upon your shoulder, brother," he said by way of greeting. He spoke the High Gothic of his youth, and no other language. "Come."
Kalluin stood slowly with his mechanical legs. He turned and led Caligus into the back chamber, and for the first time the new Eye of the Emperor got to see the web behind the spider.
Hundreds of adepts in the livery of the Custodes sat at cogitator and auspex stations. Caligus could feel the slight hum in the back of his mind of an astropath choir nearby, solely at Brother Kalluin's command. None looked up from their stations as Kalluin led Caligus further into the heart of the Custodes' spy network, until finally they arrived in a densely packed arming chamber.
"Dark tidings fill the choirs," Kalluin said. "Our Doomscryers tell me Cadia will fall soon, if it has not already. Your vision has been relayed to me, and confirms what we believe. A darkness is coming. Already, the Great Enemy probes our defenses."
The Ancient paused by a hololith table deeper within the command room. At a hidden command, a reality sphere appeared, detailing a structure from the dead sands of Luna. "A traitor sorcerer infiltrated Luna. The Inquisition stumbled onto his path, and he was destroyed. Only one junior agent of the Inquisitor's retinue survived. We feel certain he was the distraction. The Doomscryers believe another made it through."
"This has happened before. Our brothers stand ready."
"Yes. Yet the doomscryers tell me this is different. I warn you of this so you know. Darkness comes quickly."
"Yes, brother."
They went further, crossing several secured chamber doors, until they reached an armory separate and apart from that of any Chamber.
Throughout the room were weapons and ancient, powerful armor from the earliest days of the Imperium, when the Tech Priests of Mars still held some understanding of their tech. There was more, though. The room was filled with throne gelts in purses and credit chits of denominations to make princes weep. There were bolters and power swords and everything he would need.
Most important of all was an unmarked Ident chip that ensured he would be unmolested by any loyal subject of the Imperium. He stripped his black robe and pulled on the raiment of his new role. He was Custodes no longer; he was now one of the many Eyes of the Emperor who roamed through the Imperium.
"Do you know where you will go?"
"I will go where the Emperor guides my steps."
"Until He gives you a specific direction, brother, might I make a suggestion?"
"Of course."
"The sole survivor of the Inquisition from the incursion of Luna. It might yield some interest to discover how this mortal survived."
Caligus raised a brow. Kalluin would not mention it if it were not pertinent. "Then that is where I shall start, brother."
A/N: With this chapter, we now know that we are on Terra at M41.999, during 13th Black Crusade. And can also tell you that I finished writing the drafts of Chapter 52 this week, so Revelation will be finished, regardless of how many readers I have by then. Fair warning to those who hate flashbacks...there will be significant flashbacks throughout. Because, again, this story encompasses 40,000 years. If we looked back that long from this date, it would span pretty much all of human history and pre-history.
References:
Vaults of Terra Series, Chris Wraight
Watchers of the Throne, Chris Wraight