Chapter 15: The Seer and the Saint (Lucious POV)
Plop. Plop. Plop. Plunk.
The skull skips thrice before vanishing beneath the obsidian surface. I stoop to gather another from the alabaster expanse at my feet—a shoreline of bones bleached by terrible purpose. The hollow eye sockets gaze up at me, eternal witnesses to acts long past. They offer no resistance as I send them on their final journey.
Plop. Plop. Plop. Plunk.
Here, in the depths beneath the depths, I find solace. The under-underhive—a realm where the hive's foundation meets the planet's ancient soil. A place forsaken by all but the most persistent shadows. The air is thick, laden with particulates that would scour the lungs of lesser beings like sandpaper. Each breath is a testament to endurance, a reminder of the gifts bestowed upon me by the Emperor's grace.
Absolute darkness envelops everything. A void so complete that direction becomes an abstract concept, irrelevant and redundant. Without light, without the distractions of the corrupted world above, my all-seeing eye can rest. The relentless assault of impurity and imperfection that plagues my vision elsewhere is mercifully absent here. In this abyssal sanctuary, there is only Nullmaw—the pure manifestation of the Emperor's will, untainted by the falsehoods that pervade the hive.
I stand at the edge of a vast expanse of not-water, a lake that is no lake at all. Its surface is a mirror of blackness, undisturbed save for the unseen ripples caused by the skulls I cast.
This is where we brought them—the misguided souls ensnared by Jessamine's heresy. Their final purpose served in nourishing Nullmaw, preparing it for the awakening that will cleanse this world. In their sacrifice we gave them redemption. In their hopeless devotion to a false saint we brought them back to the Emperor's light, their souls once dedicated to that desiccated corpse now repurposed, reoriented, returned to the Emperor's side.
The silence is more than merely profound. Not even the mutants dare to venture this deep. Nothing lives here. The air would choke them, the pressure crush them, the darkness consume them. But I am unburdened by such frailties.
The Emperor protects.
I close my eyes—not that it makes any difference in this pitch-black void—and let my other senses guide me. The weight of the next skull in my hand, the coarse texture of bone worn smooth in places, jagged in others. The faint echo of each toss as it skips across the surface, a momentary disturbance in the stillness.
Plop. Plop. Plop. Plunk.
The ground beneath my feet is uneven, a mixture of natural rock, bone, and the detritus of forgotten eons. It's a rare thing, an impossibility, in the hive, to feel the true soil, the untouched crust of the planet itself. Up above, everything is imported or made of iron, steel, ferocrete, and plascrete, a maze of artificiality layered upon itself over millennia. But here…
Here there is a primal honesty.
I inhale deeply, the abrasive air filling my lungs. It would be agony to most—a searing discomfort—but to me, it's invigorating. A reminder of my purpose, of the purity I seek. The gifts I've received allow me to navigate this realm effortlessly. The darkness poses no obstacle; my vision pierces it as if it were midday on Holy Terra. The toxic air is a mere tickle to my throat.
In the silence, I can hear the heartbeat of Nullmaw, a slow and deliberate rhythm that resonates with something deep within me. It is patient, eternal, and soon it will awaken to fulfill its destiny. The Emperor's own heartbeat, echoed here from across the stars. Soon His time for mercy will be at an end, His tolerance spent, His wrath kindled fully.
Soon…
I reach down and run my fingers through the fine layer of dust and particulates that coat the ground—a mixture of eroded stone and the remnants of countless lives. There's a texture to it, a story in every grain. It's a connection to something larger than the hive, larger than myself.
The stillness is interrupted only by the soft sounds of my movements and the occasional distant creak of the hive settling—a reminder that even this deep, we are never truly separate from the colossal structure above. Yet down here, those sounds are muted, insignificant.
I contemplate the irony that in this place of death and decay, I find the closest thing to peace. Away from the ceaseless cacophony of corruption that assaults my senses elsewhere. My eye—the one gifted with true sight—rests easy here. There's no deceit to unravel, no hidden sins to expose. Just the pure, unadulterated essence of the Emperor's will manifested through Nullmaw.
As I prepare to cast another skull, I feel a subtle shift—a ripple that isn't caused by my actions. It's as if Nullmaw itself stirs in anticipation. I pause, attuned to the change. The air seems to thicken further, the oppressive weight of the darkness pressing in.
Then, faintly at first, a glow begins to permeate the abyss. An unwelcome radiance that causes the shadows to recoil. The very particles in the air shudder, drawing back from the approaching light.
I don't need to turn to know who approaches. Her presence is an affront, a stain upon this sanctuary… and familiar.
"Hello, little rat," I say, my voice echoing softly in the cavernous space. There's no need for pleasantries; she knows as well as I do the futility of coming here.
Her light grows stronger, pushing back the darkness, causing the surface of Nullmaw to ripple and hiss in protest. The not-water churns, its perfect stillness disrupted by false illumination.
"Must you do that?" I sigh, the throbbing behind my eye intensifying in sympathy. The eye of true sight perceives her light not as brilliance but as a distortion—a glaring falsehood that grates against the very fabric of truth. "You're causing it pain. You know it's still helpless, for now. Is that what you've descended to hmm, false saint? Torturing the defenseless?"
She steps closer, her footsteps silent on the bone-laden ground. "It will cause me great pain soon enough," she replies, her voice carrying a weight beyond her years. There's a steadiness to her tone, a conviction that only deepens my disdain. "I am merely ensuring that when it does, empathy will not be lost on it."
I grit my teeth, resisting the urge to shield my eyes. Instead, I focus on the tactile sensations—the roughness of the skull in my hand, the coolness of the not-water at my feet. Anything to anchor myself against the assault of her presence.
"Why have you come?" I ask, casting the skull with unnecessary force. It skips violently across the surface before sinking into the depths. "To apologize? To confess? No, that can't be it. You're hardly in a position to condemn me anymore without embracing hypocrisy yourself, are you? Aurora. False saint. Liar and mother of lies."
She doesn't rise to the bait. Instead, she moves to stand beside me, her gaze fixed on the restless expanse of Nullmaw. The light emanating from her causes the not-water to bubble and seethe, wisps of vapor rising like the last breaths of the dying.
"I considered killing you," she states plainly. I'm unsure if she's speaking to me, or the lake that isn't a lake.
A bitter laugh escapes me. "And yet here you are, talking. Seeking what? Forgiveness? Absolution for your sins?"
"A kindred spirit," she speaks softly, almost silently.
I feel a flicker of surprise—a rare emotion. Turning to face her fully, I endure the assault of her counterfeit light upon my senses. It offers no warmth, no comfort—only the harsh glare of dishonesty.
Her features are cast in sharp relief by her own glow—the blindfold concealing her eyes, the set of her jaw, the subtle tension in her posture. She appears both resolute and weary, a paradox that only reinforces the falseness I perceive.
"Here, of all places," I remark, gesturing to the desolation around us. "You seek companionship?" I'm unable to keep the sarcasm out of my tone.
"Yes," she continues, seemingly unperturbed by the tension or my incredulity. "I'm alone now. The closer anyone comes to me, the further they seem. It's too painful to be near anyone I care for anymore."
"The guilt of your sins weighs heavier when you're near those you've damned," I retort, scooping the not-water to soothe the throbbing in my eye, splashing it over my face. The liquid is cool, a balm derived from the Emperor's own purity—untainted, unlike her. I wash my face in it and the migraine of being close to such imperfection eases, if only a little.
"Are you speaking to me, or to Jessamine?" she inquires.
"The sentiment applies equally," I reply coldly. "Jessamine birthed this heresy. Through her failures, her shattered faith, she led countless souls astray. Not just her misguided followers, but all those who opposed them. She drained the Emperor's light from those around her, replacing it with her own tainted illumination. She was rightfully condemned. But her corruption festered, spreading through the hive like a disease until we have the rot we see today."
"I see that," Aurora concedes, her gaze cast downward as the not-water—a manifestation of Nullmaw's essence—continues to writhe under her scrutiny.
"You see nothing," I snap, anger flaring. Despite my disdain, she steps closer, drawing level with me.
She bends to pick up a skull, mimicking my earlier actions. As she tosses it, the not-water reacts violently, a hiss echoing as the surface bubbles.
Plop. Plop. Plop. Hiss.
"And now," I continue through clenched teeth, "you exacerbate her sin. You come as a false prophet, a counterfeit saint. Your lies compel others to take up arms and die needlessly. To die for themselves instead of for the Emperor. You damn countless souls, and seek to damn more with every step you take. You are Emperor-damned—"
"Shh," she interjects, lifting a hand. Our skins nearly touch, and a sharp spark leaps between us—a brief flare that forces us both to step back.
"Yes," she agrees, unsettlingly calm. "I am damning many. I am lying to them. I am not the saint."
I curse and flinch away, walking a few feet further down the shoreline before I stop to hurl another skull.
Plop. Plop. Plop. Plunk.
Her candidness is disarming. I narrow my eyes, studying her. There's an earnestness that's unsettling, a sincerity that doesn't align with my perceptions.
"Why are you really here? I can see that you are not here to admit fault and find redemption. I can see that you will not stray from this false path you walk. I can see that nothing has changed between us even as we have changed and embraced our light." I growl, crushing a skull under my boot and skipping just the bowl of the cranium.
Flip. Flip. Flip. Splash.
"I told you already," Aurora replies, coming to stand beside me again. I refuse to show her any reaction of annoyance or pain. "The same reason you have—because I'm alone, and you're the only one in this whole hive who can understand how that feels. At least here, that loneliness is pure, uninterrupted by those who flock around us."
She tosses another skull.
Plop. Plop. Plop. Hiss.
Silence settles between us, heavy and complex. The not-water begins to calm, the ripples subsiding as if reflecting our momentary truce.
"Have you come to convert me to your web of lies?" I ask, skepticism lacing my tone. "To convince me to give up? To attempt to end me outside the appointed time of our mutual testing?"
I growl, seeing her truly, but such sight does not extend to her thoughts. Two sets of thoughts now occupy her mind, though it seems Aurora is the one I am here with now. Perhaps Jessamine doesn't even know. It would make sense; the rat is lying to everyone else, why not to the saint—the failed saint, saint of defilement.
"I don't want you to convert, Lucious," she says, turning those damned light eyes on me again. "I don't even want you to die. I just want to be there when the saint turns your mind inside out and forces you to use that eye on yourself. I want to hear it when your soul shatters and your self-deception fails. Emperor help me, I feel His wrath so strongly when I'm near you."
I lash out in a blur of motion and am not at all surprised when her tranquil form shimmers in the air as she moves to block, faster than either of our eyes could follow. Our augmetic arms meet in a brilliant flash of light. The shockwave throws a great tidal wave out from the shore; the skulls around us crack and dissolve to dust. I pull my arm back, staring at her. "I may not be permitted to kill you now."
"As if you could," she sneers.
I spit at her feet and continue, "I may not be allowed, but so help me, if you invoke the Emperor's name in vain again, in my presence, I will consider an exception to His plans and end you right here, right now."
She rolls her eyes; it's infuriating that I can see it happen despite the blindfold. Sometimes this vision of mine is a curse more than anything—a curse because only I can see the truth, only I can bear it.
"I see," I say after a moment, then nod. "We are kindred spirits, are we not? How impossibly ironic—the false saint and the true seer, with more in common with one another than with any of their followers."
She nods and turns back out to stare at the turbid not-water of Nullmaw.
I do the same.
We stand that way for some time.
"I understand why you do it," I say, deciding that if she is willing to take this rare and impossible opportunity to simply be and be known with the only person who could offer her true empathy rather than mere pity, why not? What's the harm? Her fate is sealed, the void is already unraveling. If she can show restraint as a heretic, who am I to show anything less as a devout servant of the Emperor.
"Do you?" she asks, not really paying attention as she fidgets with a skull.
"Yes," I respond. "I saw it in you even before I was given my true sight. A girl, terrified of failure and willing to do anything to be accepted, to earn her place, to hold onto faith—the faith she thought was correct. A false faith, yes, but the only faith she had." I shrug. "You picked your path and have stuck to it no matter how I tried to dissuade you."
She chuckles and shakes her head, and I know we're both remembering our shared time in the halls of the schola—so close, and yet seemingly thousands of years ago.
She sighs softly, the sound laced with irony. "Is that what you thought you were accomplishing?"
"Yes," I reply, the admission unexpectedly raw. "I hoped you would break, give up reliance on your own strength, come to see the necessity of the Emperor's truth."
She nods. "I did break…"
Tears stream down her cheeks, and I feel... I feel... I squint my imperfect eye shut, reminding myself that I am not perfect. My vision may be, but there are still parts of me that can feel such a feeling—pity—for such a blatant heretic.
"I did break," she confesses. "But not because of you. I saw clearly that I was clinging to a false faith—faith in myself, in the idea of who I thought I was. I saw the suffering of those in the underhive—the starving, the hopeless. And it broke me because I wasn't enough for them."
Her vulnerability is unsettling. I feel an unfamiliar twinge, a stirring of something I can't quite name.
I kick a skull into the not-water and shake my head. "These were all I could save before you came and deceived them again, multiplying Jessamine's sins, her failings. Gathering her dispersed children like lost sheep. Luring them like moths to your false flame."
She stoops and picks up a smaller skull, running her hand over the top of it as if soothing it—as if she could, as if she weren't already too late to prevent the soul from reaching the Emperor's side, purified of its corruption.
"I know," she replies. "I partly came to apologize to all of these daughters and sisters of mine that you've taken already because of my stubbornness, my false belief—time I could have been here, protecting them as I was born to do."
I open my mouth, but she continues.
"I understand why you do it."
I snort as she rolls my own words back on me. "Do you?" I ask, now trading places with her in our dance.
"Yes," she replies softly. "It took me a long time. Unlike you, my perception of others is not absolute." I notice she leaves off qualifying the term with 'right' or 'wrong'—simply total, black or white, no grey.
I nod, and she continues.
"You project onto others the faults you cannot accept in yourself. The imperfections you were taught to despise. You've hidden and purged and buried them beneath layers of self-loathing. A great disunity within yourself—hating but unable to remove, purging but unable to sanitize. So, you turned your gaze outward, fixating on others. It's no wonder Nullmaw found you. You are the living embodiment of everything that brought it into existence: disunity, disharmony, division, doubt, and the blind faith of self-deception."
We stand in silence, two souls adrift in a sea of bones and darkness.
"Tell me," I break the silence, my voice barely more than a whisper. "Why do you persist? Knowing what you know, seeing what you've seen. Why continue on this path? Why the charade, finally at the end, after enduring for so long? Why embrace the lie now?"
She exhales slowly, the sound echoing softly in the void. "Because it's the only path left to me," she replies. "I can't undo what's been done. I can't change the past. But I can face what's coming. I can try to make a difference, however small."
"A futile endeavor," I remark, my tone edged with cynicism.
"Perhaps," she concedes, her gaze distant. "But it's mine. We all have our roles to play."
I mull over her words, the weight of them pressing upon me like the endless tiers of the hive above. "Perhaps," I echo, though uncertainty gnaws at the edges of my conviction.
In this desolate abyss, amidst the bones of the condemned and the restless essence of Nullmaw, we find an uneasy understanding. Not alliance, not friendship, but a recognition of shared isolation—a kinship born of loneliness, of being set apart.
"When next we meet," I say, breaking the fragile spell, "it will not be as kindred spirits."
"No," she agrees softly, her eyes—those damned eyes—even through the blindfold, seem to pierce the darkness, seeing something unseen. "It won't."
She pauses, then asks, "What will you do, Lucious, if you win?"
The question catches me off guard. It's disarming in its simplicity, yet laden with complexities I hadn't anticipated. "When I win," I correct her, a hint of irritation creeping into my voice.
"When," she echoes, unperturbed. She picks up another skull, her mortal hand trembling ever so slightly. The fatigue is evident; she's pushed herself beyond her limits. For a fleeting moment, I consider striking—ending this charade—but something holds me back.
"Stop," she says quietly, as if sensing my thoughts. She tosses the skull with a weary motion.
Plop. Plop. Hiss.
"I didn't come to fight or debate theology," she continues.
I shake my head, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "Why are you—"
"Answer the question!" she snaps, her voice rising. Her light flares, momentarily illuminating the cavern in a harsh, unforgiving glare. She seems larger, more imposing—a shadow cast by a false sun. The intensity forces me to recoil, my eye throbbing with the strain.
"Why?" I shout back, anger bubbling to the surface. "Why do you want to know? You won't be there to see it!"
Silence stretches between us, the echoes of our outburst fading into the abyss. Our conflicting lights wane, retreating like adversaries from a field of battle.
"I don't know," she admits finally, her voice barely audible. "I don't know what I'll do if I win."
I scoff, the sound hollow.
"I'll be alone again," she continues, her tone laden with a sorrow that feels almost tangible. "Truly alone. Even you won't be there to understand what it will be like. There won't be anything, anyone. Just me, changed in ways I can't take back. Isolated. Other. Alone."
I roll my eyes, a gesture she can't see but might sense. "Are you talking about yourself or me?"
She turns to face me, and despite myself, I flinch. There's a pleading in her expression, a haunted look that pierces through her blindfold as if it weren't there.
"Faith," she murmurs. "Do you have enough? Do I? It's impossible to know before the moment comes, if either of us has the faith to survive the consequences of winning."
"I have more than enough," I declare, though a flicker of doubt tugs at me. "My faith is unshakable."
"I wish I had your confidence," she replies, and for once, I believe her sincerity. "I don't know if I can bear to win. Even the false sleep of that damned throne seems preferable to being so alone."
"I don't feel alone," I retort, the lie bitter on my tongue. "I have the Emperor's light. I need nothing else. That is faith."
She shakes her head slowly. "I thought the Emperor would seem nearer to me," she confesses. "Becoming the saint—even a false one—I thought He would feel closer. Instead..."
I remain silent, unsure whether to mock her or listen.
"Instead, I feel like... instead of Him coming closer to me, I've been pulled closer to Him," she continues. "So much closer that everyone else seems so far away. So different. Like I'm not even human anymore. Like I can't relate."
"We are closer," I concede cautiously. "I am closer to the Emperor's purity, and you... you embody the falsehoods that plague humanity. Neither of us is a child anymore. I see clearly, and yes, that makes me alone. But it purifies me, separates me from the corruption, makes me holy."
"No," she agrees. "We're not children, Forced out of childhood, unable to fully enter adulthood. We have no one anymore. But at least for you, victory will mean being literally alone. For me, it'll be a different kind of loneliness. Surrounded by people, so many people..."
She shudders, as if envisioning a future too terrible to bear. "So many people pushing to get close, and by doing so, pushing me further away. Into empty light."
I regard her skeptically. "Are you seeking sympathy from me?"
"I don't know…" She meets my gaze, her eyes weary. "I'm sorry," she says softly. "I shouldn't have come. I came because I thought… I thought I could see you and hate you, Lucious. I thought that would make it easier, somehow."
"I have no problem hating you, little rat."
She nods. "I can't manage to hate you. Jessamine hates you, as she hates all that's impure—even herself. She clung to hate and fear to keep her human, to anchor herself. But in the end, those feelings betrayed her."
"My ability to hate you grows with every word," I snap, though the venom feels forced.
She doesn't react to the provocation. "I won't make her mistakes. But what does that leave me with? Resting in nothing but the Emperor's light, His strength, His power—so directly, even as an imposter? I don't think we were meant to be like this. Humans need one another. We need companionship, community. We strive to become instruments of the Emperor's will, but what happens when we achieve that sacred union? We leave our humanity behind."
I find myself nodding despite myself. "My humanity remains, but it no longer defines me. More of it burns away each day, until finally, I will be pure. Then I won't be burdened by such thoughts as yours."
"So it does bother you—the loneliness," she observes.
"No!" I nearly shout, a surge of anger electrifying my nerves. "I am nothing like you! I want nothing to do with being human! Humanity is flawed, imperfect, and—"
"And that," she interrupts, turning away, "should prove to you that you're not serving the Emperor. The Master of Mankind wills the flourishing of humanity over all else. He is all in all, the epoch of human potential, a bar unreachably high, a god, but a god who never gave up His humanity and one who never gives up on humanity."
Her words strike a chord I didn't know existed. An unfamiliar emotion wells up—something between rage and sorrow. "What do you know of the Emperor?" I hiss.
She doesn't answer. Instead, she begins to walk away, her light receding with each step. The darkness eagerly fills the void she leaves behind.
Tears blur my vision, unexpected and unwelcome. I wipe them away with a furious swipe of my hand. What did she say? Why does it linger?
The blessed darkness returns, the oppressive silence settling once more. I take a deep breath of the abrasive air, letting it scour my lungs.
I step forward, wading into the not-water. The cool embrace of Nullmaw's essence engulfs me, soothing the turmoil within. I need to cleanse my mind, to purge these intrusive thoughts.
"My final temptation," I mutter to myself, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. "And I have passed even this test. A meeting with deceit itself."
I continue deeper, the liquid rising to my chest, then my neck. The weight of it is comforting, a tangible reminder of my purpose.
"Only one thing remains," I declare to the void. "I must shed what remains of my humanity. I must become one with the Emperor's wrath made manifest. I must become Nullmaw."
With that, I submerge completely, the darkness closing over me like a shroud. In the depths, I feel the last vestiges of doubt slipping away. Clarity returns—a singular focus.
The Emperor protects.