Day 23, Continued
The throne room of the Planetary Governor was alight with all the decorations and pomp that could be gathered on such short notice. Its vast ceiling, painted in an awe-inspiring likeness to the starry night sky not that different from what he remembered from his time training on Holy Terra, had increased the luminosity of its false-stars to an almost glaring level. Far below, on either sides of the long carpet that led straight to the throne itself, where Governor Selvik sat, ranks of Imperial Guardsman in dutifully polished uniforms and armed with ceremonial lasrifles, stood at attention, each standing precisely ten paces from the next. Beyond them, in the wings of the throne room, countless men and women of affluence and power stood, draped in rich enough finery that, all together, they could have been sold for a small starship.
Twelve men and women marched down the central aisle, towards the governor. The first was the Lord-General, someone Belleric knew had not even been present in the command tent during the battle. The two behind were the colonels who had been left in command of the Imperium's forces after the Inquisitor had entered the fight herself and they were positioned at the front. The nine behind them were a number of officers of various ranks, each accredited with playing important roles in the 'success' of the battle. The throne room thundered with applause from the nobles and others in the wings, the grateful leadership of the city cheering on the Heros of Deimos. One set of hands, in a corner of the throne room, remained still, however.
Belleric watched the ceremony with utter indifference, unwilling to so much as lift his hands in applause to the men and women that had, supposedly, led and won the battle being honored by Selvik. The Tempestus Scion, and it was now the Tempestus Scion with the deaths of every other man in his company in the Battle of Deimos leaving him the last of his kind on Monstrum, could not care less for this, but he'd been directed to attend in place of Inquisitor Ellen.
Those orders had not come from the Inquisitor herself, as she had remained secluded within her chambers, apparently making plans for future campaigns according to his master's pet psyker who had also been the only one to see her since the battle. That a stormtrooper grunt, not even an officer, had been sent would no doubt be seen as an insult, but he'd obeyed.
The other ceremony attendees gave him a wide berth, perhaps owing to his grimly hostile appearance and he could see a couple of palace guard giving him nervous glances every now and again. He did not care, nor did he care that his mood was likely not helping the situation.
His brothers-in-arms, the men with whom he had trained and fought alongside for decades, were all dead. Other Guard units might have been changed without care, but Scions were different in many ways, one of them how close they were with their own. They operated as a team and the loss of one was keenly felt, like a punch to the gut.
His life as a Scion was likely over. He could be given a new team of other Scions that had survived the deaths of their squads, perhaps, but that was rare and such units never had the same cohesion as a group that had been trained from the start with one another in the Schola Progenium. No, more likely, he was going to be move to some other unit. A bodyguard, perhaps, if he was lucky. If he was not, he would be placed behind a desk somewhere and start pushing paper for the Administratum. He shuddered at the thought.
Despite his mind being elsewhere, Belleric was still a trained warrior and his senses had not diminished. He was aware of the person, a guardsman judging by the distinctive clack of boots on tiled floor in this room filled with only the fanciest forms of footwear, approached him from behind at an angle. He did not turn, but tensed, as though expecting an attack. Normally, the rear would have been covered by one of his brothers, Roric or Arin usually depending on which had annoyed Major Lensk more that day. Their absence was like a weight in the back of his mind, making him paranoid.
"Sir," A somewhat familiar voice spoke and Belleric half-turned, glancing over his shoulder to see Corren, a grunt who, like Belleric himself, had lost the whole of his squad in the previous battle and been wounded. They'd both been dragged off the battlefield by medics and stuck in the same healing tent. Granted, Belleric's wounds were arguably not quite so permanent as Corren's own.
Belleric nodded, forcing himself to relax slightly. He'd seen the one-armed guardsman in action, saw him fire a plasma pistol at the ork warboss and save the life of the Inquisitor. Something Belleric and his own squad of Scions had failed to assist in.
He wasn't going to lie, a part of him hated Corren for that, but a larger part respected the man for something that had taken real mettle to do. Not many mortal humans could face down an Ork larger than many of the Astartes, let alone survive with 'only' a lost arm in exchange. While it took a lot more than mettle to become a Scion, he could freely admit that Corren at least had that qualification in sufficient supply.
The one-armed Guardsman's shoulder ended in a stump that had been carefully patched up by the medics, the bandages now covered by his dress uniform's sleeve that had been stitched up to not just hang freely. In the tent they had been both been taken to the pair had spoken some in-between Corren's occasional blackouts from the bloodloss and moments where the painkillers wore off. Corren looked far better now, though still seemed pale and he kept shifting around uncomfortably, as though there was an itch he couldn't scratch. Belleric could also see he seemed just a tad unsteady on his feet, likely still on some kind of medication.
"How's the stomach?" Corren asked and Belleric shrugged. An ork had nearly disemboweled him, but Belleric had managed to keep his guts inside his stomach long enough for the medics to keep him from dying a slow, painful death. Granted, life was just as slow and painful now, as he'd refused to take a full dosage of painkillers, only accepting enough to let him function. He deserved the pain for failing his squad.
"Fine," Belleric grunted. "Your arm?"
"Still missing," Corren replied with a dark chuckle. "I've heard some of the officers who lost limbs are getting augments. I might be in line for one after them."
"You and plenty of others," Belleric said. His status had given him access to higher quality care and his stomach had been patched up in a few hours by the tent's chief medical officer. The stitches were now contained within a cast that had been wrapped around his entire lower stomach. It made sure that he couldn't bend over or really turn on his hips. It also itched. Badly. "Surprised to see you here."
Normally, a regular guardsman's only hopes of ever getting into the throne room of a Planetary Governor's palace would be as an escort or honor guard, or as apart of something like this ceremony.
"My regiment's colonel is attending," Corren said simply. "Only about twenty of us left that are coherent enough to act as any kind of escort. I guess I got lucky."
Belleric nodded. More than a few of the regiments who'd been in the thick of the fighting had been reduced to a few companies of able-bodied men, if even that. It may have been a victory, but it was a horrifically costly one.
A tech-priest walked past the pair of them, for some reason gently shaking a thurible of incense on the end of a small chain, and Belleric's eyes narrowed slightly. The scent was off somehow, but what drew his attention was the priest themself. They were one he had seen before and they weren't a member of the palace's tech-priests, but one of Vidriov's lot. What were they doing here?
"Something the matter?" Corren asked and Belleric was surprised the man had noticed, the guardsman's gaze following his to the tech-priest.
"Its nothing," Belleric said, shaking his head. Probably one of the Inquisitor's schemes. He had his orders to attend this ceremony, he'd fulfill them. A small part of him, a paranoid part, wondered if the reason he'd been sent here was because he was expendable and the Inquisitor was intending to assassinate everyone present. Probably not. He wasn't big on the politics of this world, but he was fairly certain the Inquisitor would have just commanded the ringleaders be round up and shot.
Schemes just weren't her style.
Vidriov was falling or… sinking? He was submerged, dropped into an ocean, utterly dark, which stirred at his presence. The pressure he felt was like nothing he had ever experienced before, not even from the strongest of machine spirits he'd interfaced with, yet it was not harmful, nor did it threaten to sweep him away, threaten to crush him beneath its weight that was greater than the force a titan could exert.
He lifted one hand in front of his face and found he could see it despite the darkness. Except that shouldn't have been possible. He no longer had hands of flesh, having cut them away to replace them with mechanical limbs long ago. Yet there they were, the hands he had possessed once. He looked down, not feeling the craning of motors along his neck, but the sensation of flesh stretching and tightening. The rest of his body was similarly returned to its natural, weak state, although clad in the red robes of his order.
How was this possible? What was this? Who had spoken to him?
Hello, Vidriov.
The voice came from all around him, from the waters themselves. It was a quiet voice yet held the same power within it as he had felt from the ocean. He had likened this being to a machine spirit, but it was so much more. Could this be… the Machine God?
I am not your god, Vidriov. My name is Tide.
With each word, meaning revealed itself to him. Each word was complex beyond the letters that made it up and his mind struggled to comprehend everything, particularly the name of this entity. 'Tide'. There was so much there that it almost made his head hurt.
A part of Vidriov was terrified, naturally. He was trapped, surrounded by a power so far beyond himself there was no proper analogy he could think of to describe the disparity. Yet, he felt no hostility from this being, no malice, nor even cold indifference. It was reassurance, geniality, even love. While it denied being the Machine God, at the very least this was no daemon of code. But, could this really just be a powerful machine spirit?
You know me, Vidriov. At least, partly.
Organism-04 flashed through his mind and understanding came with it. The Archaeotech bioweapon against both xenos and diseases. It was not as simple, not as unintelligent, as he had thought.
Yes. We have much to discuss.
Tide studied the machine priest now held within his Domain. He could feel the adulation coming off of him, but also the fear. Vidriov had mentally compared the sensation of being within the Domain to the feeling of interfacing with a machine spirit, albeit vastly more powerful than what he had ever worked with. In a way, Tide could admit, he sort of was, if one wanted to get loose with terminology.
Vidriov, like Purilla, had trouble speaking like this, when Tide did not alter the Domain to be less… empty to their sight. Since he didn't want to just talk at Vidriov and study his thoughts in lieu of a proper response, Tide shifted reality all around Vidriov.
He had created a forest from Earth for Purilla because he'd sensed she missed the trees from her childhood, before she'd been taken away by the black ships. If he wanted Vidriov to be comfortable, however, that wouldn't do.
A library came into existence all around his guest, though this was no ordinary creation, just like the forest was no ordinary forest. It was endless and its shelves held no books, but databanks and slates. It was a tech-priest's library and the moment it took form he could feel Vidriov's small curiosity about what information might be contained within it, though it was overshadowed by all the other emotions running through him at the time.
Tide had taken the form of the Arbiter before with Purilla, but that was because he'd wanted to remind her of his inhumanity and how that wasn't always a bad thing. For Vidriov, however, that wouldn't work in the same way. So, he crafted from his memories a certain… other character.
The Master Chief formed, clad in full armor, before Vidriov. Instantly, he could feel Vidriov's intrigue regarding the suit of powered armor that was unfamiliar yet also clearly human in design.
"Hello, Vidriov," Tide said, hiding the small fanboy thrill that came from speaking through the Master Chief's own voice.
"Who-!" Vidriov stepped back, his hand going to his throat. Tide would have grimaced if he had lips. This tech-priest had removed his vocal cords and much of his jaw many decades prior, replacing it with a 'superior' mechanical version. It was no wonder that speech with long forgotten parts would be unfamiliar and strange.
"I told you, I am Tide," He said in reply to the half-asked question. "You know me as Organism-04, though I would prefer you did not call me that to my face."
Vidriov steadied himself and Tide could see he was mentally running through his religion's commandments, the Mysteries and the Warnings. It was a calming mechanism and surprisingly effective.
"You…" Vidriov said after a long moment. His words were slow and carefully enunciated as though he were considering every syllable. "Are… a… machine… spirit?"
"If that is what you wish to consider me, I will not stop you," Tide said with a shrug.
"You are… the organ-ism?" Vidriov sounded the final word out and Tide nodded.
"More specifically, I am the intelligence behind the organism," Tide added helpfully. "When you injected yourself, you allowed me to contact you like this and bring you here, to my Domain."
Countless ideas and theories were running through Vidriov's mind, Tide watching them all. That this was a trick, that this was real, that everything around him was a dream. In a way, he was correct on all accounts, but Tide doubted knowing that would make things clearer.
"You are… an intelligence?" Vidriov asked, still jarred by the half-forgotten method of communication. "An intelligent… machine?"
He could see a dark horror beginning to well up within Vidriov at the idea, the terror of being at the mercy of an Abominable Intelligence. Tide intended to assuage that fear.
"I am not a machine, at least not one of metal and wires," He said. If one wanted to get philosophical, he and all organic forms of life were just different types of machines. The Mechanicus, or at least certain elements of it based off what he had learned from the memories of those adepts he had acquired and Vidriov's own, even believed such to be the case, that humanity were just different and inferior types of machines. "I am made of flesh as much as you are."
He could tell that calmed Vidriov down, though only somewhat. Abominable Intelligences, like the Men of Iron that had contributed to the downfall of ancient humanity, were horrific to most of the Mechanicus, heretical in the extreme. However, machines with organic components and minds, like servitors and even the Tech-Priests themselves, were not only acceptable but actively praised as sacred.
Of course, Tide was still an unknown and very much inhuman entity, Abominable Intelligence or no. Vidriov was right to be afraid, especially since he had just willingly infected not only an entire hive city full of tens of billions of people but also himself.
"What are you?" Vidriov asked, attempting to gather up his courage while hiding his fear. He could not hide his thoughts or feelings from Tide's gaze, but there was no reason to let him know that. Not yet, anyways.
"I am Tide," He replied, enjoying the small spike of frustration that came with that unhelpful answer. "I am the Flood. I am here to help."
"Help who?" The Genetor demanded, suspicion bubbling within him.
Tide sent the feelings of a comforting smile towards Vidriov and saw him tense like he'd been physically struck. He answered.
"Everything."
Reality collapsed and Vidriov was once more adrift, sinking in an endless black ocean. But this time, the universe was not empty. An ugly scar, like a wound that had been left to fester, tore through the space in front of him. He saw it through, he was given the understanding, the vision provided by his mind and soul. To those eyes, the rift was horrific, a gateway into a realm filled with horrors beyond comprehension, beyond age, beyond the laws of the material universe.
Maddened armies of terrible power and visage clashed in eternal brawls of galaxy-rending scope beneath a citadel of brass scorched black by flames that stood atop an ever-growing mountain of skulls that dwarfed titans and battleships, abominations that could only have existed within the nightmares of madmen cackled with insane laughter as they slipped between ever-changing labyrinths of crystal and silver, weaving infinitely complex schemes against their foes, their allies, even themselves, wretches wracked with such filth and acrid diseases that the mere sight of them could have turned the stomachs of even the most stalwart of warriors and who relaxed beneath the shade cast by vast panoplies of unreal trees that rotted away in moments before springing up anew, and monsters of such capricious beauty and debaucherous cruelty that they could have made the stonehearted weep and lovers slit the throats of their partners, who danced in ways both languid and sprightly amid fields of screaming supplicants and moaning victims.
Vidriov gazed into the Realm of Chaos and he knew it was only by the grace of whatever entity held him here that it did not gaze back.
He tried to scream. He could not. He tried to run. He could not. He tried to turn away his gaze. And it was this that he was able to do.
The rift disappeared, obscured by more of the endless ocean, but the images he had seen from it were burned into his mind.
I showed you a small part of Chaos, not the full truth. You would not survive the sight of such things. Not sane, in any case. I apologize for making you see such horrors, but it was important for you to understand that, as vile and horrific as you feel to witness such monsters, I still am disgusted by them more.
Why? The question crossed Vidriov's mind unbidden even as he tried to calm his mind, tried to calm the feeling of adrenaline pumping through him. It was difficult, since it had been so long since he'd encountered anything to make him feel so utterly horrified.
You and the rest of humanity fear and hate the daemon, and rightly so, because of the suffering they inflict, because of their opposition to your Emperor, because of their enmity towards your kind. I fear and hate them for their actions as well, but also the damage they inflict upon the universe itself.
Images once more came and understanding came with them. He saw the galaxy, pulsing and teeming with life. He felt, experienced, so much. Pain, suffering, joy, love, sadness, melancholy, hope, anger. It was beautiful and terrible in equal measure and it was right. It was a gear that turned perfectly in time with countless others like it, it was the gentle hum of a starship's engine as it fired for the first time, the subtle whirring and clicks of a perfectly wrought piece of engineering. The universe itself lived, was a mechanism of incomprehensible scale, and all things experienced within its expanse were important, good and bad, orderly and chaotic. Life grew and changed and fought and died and prospered. It was proper. It was right. It was sweetness.
And then the rift returned.
He did not see into it as before but saw it as it took root in the galaxy. He saw it spread, tendrils of corruption that grew like the roots of weeds, burying themselves deep and feeding upon the nutrients, the emotions, of the galaxy, of the universe. There was suffering from this, but it was wrong, excessive, repulsive. These experiences did not contain sweetness, but rot. These did not feed growth, did not feed life or the universe, but reduced it, twisted it and made it monstrous and abominable.
Vidriov knew much of this already. The universe was a machine, the Machine. The Motive Force itself was responsible for all life's blessed movements, while the daemon was a corruption of that holy work.
You understand, in your own way. The universe suffers because of these so-called 'gods'. They are nothing but parasites and deserve only destruction. However, I am not powerful enough to accomplish this. Not yet.
Vidriov saw something, but he was unable to describe or even fully comprehend just what he was looking at. It seemed to change in form and majesty, going from a mighty beast that could have swallowed whole star systems to a microscopic bacteria no more significant than any other and everything in between. He saw it was more advanced in one moment than even the greatest stories of the Golden Age of Technology, then less than even the most primitive of feral world savages. Yet, throughout every change, something remained the same, though Vidriov could not say what.
This… being was mighty and had a righteous cause to stand behind. However, that alone would not have been enough to secure Vidriov's loyalty. What drew him to it was what else it had, its secret insight into the nature of the universe, of the Machine God and the Motive Force.
Neural Physics, while I would hesitate to call the same, is similar in concept to the Motive Force you worship. It is a power that I can wield, to a degree, and I grow more adept with it each day as I grow. However, that alone will not be enough to safeguard the universe or even this galaxy.
It was… asking for help? Vidriov's help?
He should have said no. There was still so much he did not understand about this being, about its plans, its origins. Yet, he did not.
He felt something within his mind click, a moment of perfect clarity. Such moments were blessed, granted by the Machine God in moments of great importance. This was such a moment and the feeling of divinity filled his breast.
Vidriov could not kneel, but he bowed his head low and gave his answer.
"Yes, Chosen of the Machine God."
Tide blinked or would have if he were still a normal human. He had not given Vidriov that feeling of clarity and he doubted it came from the Machine God. Vidriov had come up with that on his own.
I am not chosen by any for this task, he tried to clarify. It is one I have taken up myself, as you are choosing to.
Vidriov didn't believe him. Or, rather, Tide could tell that the tech-priest had his own idea of what was happening.
"You are chosen, though you may not see it yet, my lord," Vidriov replied and Tide would have arched an eyebrow this time at the sudden granting of a title. "I do not believe the Machine God would have created a being with such insight and knowledge except in the holy task of repairing its mighty work. And that is your task as you have proclaimed."
Tide really wanted to reject that notion, he was by no means a holy being let alone the chosen of some mechanical deity. Except… He really couldn't.
He'd initially expected this conversation to go differently. He'd expected Vidriov to deny him, to rail against the filthy xenos, while Tide continued to show him more and more of the universe's hard truth until eventually causing him to reluctantly aid him. He'd spent several seconds planning out the entire conversation and its countless possible paths the moment Vidriov had infected himself, an amount of time that seemed small until one considered he was thinking on the matter with the collective intelligence of literally millions of brains. This sudden figurative bending of the knee, and he suspected it was only figurative because Vidriov was currently floating in an endless black ocean of void, was miraculous and, frankly, a little strange. However, the tech-priest's words were sincere.
If he denied Vidriov's sudden adoration for him, he'd do possibly irreparable damage to their very new, very fragile relationship before it had even had a chance to grow into something.
But Tide didn't want to lie to the tech-priest either. It wasn't because he was a morally good person, he'd lied plenty in his past life, but because of the knowledge he had of this universe. In 40k, almost every problem he could think of had been caused, in some way, by a lie or a withholding of important information. He had to strive to be different.
So, he would tell Vidriov, deny him and try his best to explain exactly why he wasn't an agent of some all-powerful god…
Except nothing was really coming to mind.
When looking at it from Vidriov's point of view, it really did make some amount of sense. An entity of great power with the ability to manipulate the 'machinery' of the universe itself, one crafted of flesh to ensure that it was not an abominable intelligence, who wanted to protect all life in the universe against threats to allow it to grow and continue to exist for reasons that could only be partially understood?
Tide himself did not fully understand his own nature, so how could he deny something that he couldn't be sure of? He didn't think he was divine, but something had put him here in control of the Flood. He hadn't thought about it much before now, but could it have been the Machine God?
He'd initially believed it was one of the Chaos Gods or maybe even the Emperor, but he didn't think they were even aware of his existence at this point. As for the Machine God… that particular deity wasn't one he had learned much about in his past life, so his information on it was rather limited beyond the teachings of the machine cult. However, now that his notice had been drawn to it, he could see a number of… rather eerie similarities between what he knew of Precursor beliefs and the Machine Cult's, at least in the more esoteric sense.
Machines were alive in a way. Hell, works of Neural Physics architecture like star roads were possibly sentient. And, if one thought about it, the universe being alive and wanting to create other forms of life to experience itself sure sounded similar to a cosmic being that crafted organic beings to reveal its knowledge to.
As far as he knew, there was no entity in the Warp like the Machine God. There were other kinds of 'gods' of course, the Void Dragon shard trapped on Mars was a contender for the title of Omnissiah alongside the Emperor, but… An all-powerful god?
Tide was not religious or even particularly spiritual. Although, being tossed into another reality, let alone Warhammer, as the damn Flood had given him a whole lot of questions. It was an aspect of his new life that he had deliberately not thought about too much. It tended to get cyclical, something that could end up eating a lot of his expanded mental power if he wasn't careful.
He could not refute Vidriov's beliefs since he didn't actually have any evidence that he wasn't the Machine God's chosen agent. While he personally believed it was the responsibility of the person making the assertion to provide the evidence that supported it, Vidriov, along with most of the galaxy it seemed, did not share that common sense. Tide could already tell Vidriov's world view had shifted and settled into a new status quo, one with him as some kind of… well, not a god, at least. He wasn't the Omnissiah, but something akin to an archangel, divinely appointed.
Was this how the Emperor had felt when first speaking with the Martians? He was sensing a pattern and he wasn't sure he really liked it…
Very well, Tide stated at last, though to Vidriov only a moment would have passed. While I do not share your beliefs in my having some kind of ordained nature, I will not oppose them either. Your faith is your own and I have no right to take it from you.
Tide could sort of understand why the Emperor had decided to burn down every church on Terra, along with most of the holy men who refused to give up their faith, given that the Chaos Gods very much liked to subvert the faith of people into faith towards them. However, that didn't mean he condoned it or wanted to do the same. He had no issue with religion on the whole, it was just when that religion did stuff like slaughtering innocents, burning cities, or committing war crimes like they were items on a bucket list that he had an issue.
What this meant was he had an issue with most religions in the 40k galaxy, but he wasn't going to tear down all of them. Unlike worship in the Chaos Gods, the Machine Cult could be changed into a force for good in the galaxy. At least, Tide hoped so.
Vidriov bowed his head again and Tide could feel the man's faith and belief being reinforced by Tide's words. He hadn't done anything wrong, so why did he feel… icky?