As always, there are three advance chapters on P-atreon:p-atreon/ SkySage24
The labs aboard the Aetos Dios were quiet, empty, and had been sealed for several days. The lights were off, leaving them dark and almost desolate.
That changed when a large hand enveloped in a black glove erupted through the fabric of reality, sliding downwards and opening a fluttering gash into the insanity of the Immaterium as it did.
But none of the horrors of the Warp emerged from the wound, only the Emperor and Isha, marching out into the lab, the gash sealing itself the moment they had no more use for it.
Isha switched on the lights, noting the thin layer of dust that had settled across the room in her absence, and clearing it with a wave of her hand so that everything was immaculate and gleaming once more.
The Emperor-, George, and it was still strange to think of him that way, cleared his throat. "I need to check on Horus, take a report from my generals, and resume command of the campaign once more. I trust you will have no trouble continuing your previous work?"
"I won't," Isha said, shaking her head.
"Do you have any questions before I go, then?" The Emperor asked.
She still wasn't used to this, this awkward but sincere politeness. Isha wasn't sure she ever would be.
Not to mention that deep down, she was still angry and upset.
But that was no reason not to take advantage of it to sate her curiosity.
"I had a question for you about your null maidens," Isha said, finally letting the curiosity that had been simmering inside her spring forth.
The Emperor raised an eyebrow but didn't seem very surprised by her choice ot topic. "What about them?"
"Where did they come from?" Isha asked, leaning forward. "I had assumed they were super soldiers of your creation, derived from scraps of Necron technology of some sort, but when I spoke to their leader the other day, she said she was simply born the way she is. How is that possible? What are they? One of the results of your people's genetic experiments during your Golden Age? A result of the Void Dragon's presence?"
The Emperor seemed taken aback by the rapid-fire questions, but he did not take offense. "To tell you the truth, I do not know."
Of all the answers Isha had expected, that had not been one. She stared at the Emperor, watching both his body language and aura as hard as she could.
But he radiated complete honesty and sincerity, not a hint of deceit about him.
"I…what?" It was not exactly a graceful response, but Isha was unable to find anything else to say to convey her surprise.
The Emperor shrugged, unusually informal, but completely honest. "I truly do not. I had known nulls to be born since before humanity reached the stars. One of my first companions and lovers during my earliest mortal lives, Enkidu, was one. But no matter where I sought answers to how they come to be, I was unable to find them. I cannot tell where their souls go, or if they even have souls, though they seem capable of the same range of emotions as normal humans. Even analyzing their DNA has proved of little help. I did eventually locate the gene I think is the source of their abilities, but I was never able to understand how it worked no matter what I did, much less where it came from."
Isha found herself at a loss for words. If even the Emperor did not know where the null maidens or their kin had come from, then…how did this work?
"Do you have any theories, at least?" She asked once she found her voice again. "Anything at all."
The Emperor spread his hands helplessly. "A few, but nothing with any tangible evidence to back it. I too had considered that perhaps it is the Void Dragon's influence, but no matter what I did to tighten the bonds on its cage, it never seemed to affect the birth of nulls. I have wondered, perhaps, if the Necrons in ages past conducted experiments on Terra, on humanity's ancestors, but it is hardly as if I can ask them."
"That is…" Isha trailed off, unable to find the words to express what she was thinking in the human language.
But the Emperor only nodded in understanding. "I know. But, well, I spent many centuries trying to unravel this mystery, and I intend to try again in the future, but we do not have the time right now."
"I understand," Isha acquiesced. "I will resume my work immediately. Thank you for answering my question."
The Emperor gave a brisk nod before leaving, shutting the door behind with a clang, leaving Isha alone with her thoughts.
Countless people in the Imperium wondered what the private sanctum of Malcador the Sigillite looked like.
Many had tried to spy upon him, to locate it, to steal from it. Few had ever succeeded, and even fewer had survived afterward.
And a handful, just a precious handful, of people had visited it as guests.
It was a gallery, placed at the highest peaks of Bai-heng, filled with statues and paintings and other pieces of art that had been plundered from conquered nations, given as tribute by warlords, and gifts from nobles seeking to curry the favour of the Emperor's right hand.
And the gallery's owner slouched in a chair in front of the tall windows, staring at the far peaks and the gathering clouds. His cowl was thrown back, revealing an aged hawk-like face and wiry grey hair. And his customary staff, a gift from the Emperor, was thrown aside, lying on the carpet behind him, discarded like mere garbage.
In his hands instead, Malcador held a crystal goblet of deep red wine, which he raised to his lips and drained in a single go. The wine was exceptionally strong, made not just of alcohol, but a chemical cocktail designed to affect even transhumans. It had been a favorite of the nobility of Old Albia, made up of descendants of enhanced humans from the Golden Age.
For Malcador, the only reason it affected him was that he allowed it, not dispelling the effects with his psychic powers. Even then, a glass of the wine would have killed an ordinary human, and rendered the aristocrats of Old Albia quite incoherent.
Malcador merely felt buzzed. One of the consequences of the fact that he had been a soldier during the Iron War, augmented to better fight in the name of Sol. His enhancements were far more potent than the lingering remnants of their ancestor's genes which the Albian aristocracy had, diminished by time and the inbreeding they had foolishly engaged in under the belief it would maintain their gifts.
It was, Malcador reflected, quite unfortunate. He would have loved to be able to get drunk properly. It had been far too long.
Unfortunately, the only things that could make him drunk were so toxic that the potential side effects weren't worth it.
Throwing his head back, Malcador stared at the marble ceiling high above.
What was he going to do?
It was not that he and the Emperor had never quarreled before. They had known each for thousands of years, they had disagreements, even violent ones at times.
But there had never been a reason for it like this.
The alien. The Eldar. The Xeno.
Isha.
She was everything the Emperor despised, and yet, she now had his ear. The Emperor, who had hardened himself and laid waste to entire nations without remorse, now hesitated to kill a xeno warp-construct or to eradicate her so-called children who hovered just outside of Sol.
It was unthinkable. Unbelievable.
Almost…heretical.
But it was the truth.
The Emperor had forged an actual binding pact with her, for reasons that utterly escaped Malcador. That, more than anything, made Malcador wonder if his old friend had lost all sense, had forgotten everything they had learned.
It had shaken Malcador to his core, as had the unyielding glint in the Emperor's eyes that had made it clear he would not tolerate any argument on the matter.
"Isha has more than earned this. I have mistreated her and taken her for granted, and it is time I stopped doing so. This pact to ensure that we are on even ground is the least I can do."
The memory of those words still made the bile rise in Malcador's throat.
And now Malcador could not help but fear for what lay ahead. The plans they had made, the goals they sought…sentimentality, and trusting aliens, would only be an obstacle to that.
The Emperor of Mankind had the will to do what was necessary…but Malcador did not think his old teacher George did.
He admired George, the man who had been his mentor and teacher, who had saved so many lives during the Iron Wars, during the first Psychic Awakening, and the Age of Strife.
That man was a hero of myth and legend, and he indeed had Malcador's eternal respect and gratitude for all he had done and all he had taught the Sigillite.
But humanity did not need a hero.
It needed the Emperor. It needed his ruthlessness, his distance, and his willingness to look at the greater picture and not allow himself to be caught up in concerns for the little people.
And Malcador feared that Isha's machination had made his old friend forget that.
Even at this moment, her influence was clear. The clouds rumbled, and it began to rain, countless droplets of clear water falling upon the heart of the Imperium.
Such a thing should have filled Malcador's heart with joy, to see rain upon his homeworld once again. True rain, not acid rain or the results of some bioweapon or sorcery.
But it just felt like another reminder of how Isha had made herself indispensable, and had somehow earned the Emperor's trust.
They had taken every precaution, had judged everything she had done with an eagle eye, and yet.
How had it happened?
…no, Malcador knew the answer to that question.
His old friend had always been unbearably lonely. As George, and as the Emperor. He had gotten better at hiding it as he assumed the mantle of the latter, but it had never truly gone away.
And in Isha, he had found an equal at last, one who could see through him no matter what he did, who could keep up with him mentally, who had an even greater breadth of experience and skill.
The temptation for his old friend must have been unbearable, and it seemed he had finally given in to it.
But it was a problem. Malcador needed to convince the Emperor to listen to him, to remind him that the Eldar could not be trusted.
And to do that, he needed to put himself on even footing with Isha somehow. Malcador did not bother to delude himself into believing that he could ever rival her for power, but surely, he could at least find a way to match some of her abilities, such as being able to see past the Emperor's aura no matter what.
He did not need to be Isha's equal in every way, only a few ways.
The question was how.
The power of Chaos was as obvious as it was laughable. They would no doubt delight in stealing Malcador's allegiance from the Emperor, and he refused to give them the satisfaction. For all his anger and frustration with the Emperor at the moment, Malcador still believed he was the last, best hope for humanity.
But what else was there? The relics of the Golden Age, perhaps, but those were few and far between, and unlikely to provide what Malcador needed.
Perhaps Eldar relics and sources of power…but Malcador did not even know where to start. He could try absorbing strength from some of Isha's creations, he supposed, but it did not seem particularly likely. There was also the option of heading out to Iyanden, to see what, if anything, the Craftworld had to offer.
Malcador filed that away as something to explore and research, but with no clear benefits at the moment.
And there was one more option.
Molech.
His old friend had never really gone into the details of what he had been doing during his millennia-long absence from Terra, only insisting that his work had been critical to humanity's survival and that whatever he had done had made him much, much stronger. And he hadn't exactly been weak when Malcador had first met him!
The only detail the Emperor had divulged of his time traveling the galaxy during the Age of Strife was that he had gone to a planet named Molech, where he had done…something, which he refused to explain. And he had left Alivia Sureka, one of the handful of other human immortals, a companion of the Emperor's even older than Malcador himself, behind to guard that world.
Molech, perhaps, was where the Emperor had gained his strength.
And it might just have the answers to Malcador's problems.
Author's Note: Alivia Sureka is a Perpetual character from canon, but she's the only Perpetual I have ported over, with the source of her immortality being different. Other Perpetuals do not exist in this timeline.
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