TALE - Just Because

[Sigismund229]

Hectarion sat some way apart from his brothers, passing his single remaining eye over Godstooth, inspecting each and every tooth's sharpness. His axe hadn't tasted blood in many years, not in the quantities it was about to. Like my legion he thought. The Great Crusade over, the Crimson Lions had returned to the Dominion to feast their victory, rule their realm and prepare themselves for the next conflict, the next chance for glory. But the chance never came. With the largest xenos nests eradicated, their empire's ground to dust, the Crimson Lions had become the warrior kings of an empire without an enemy. Many legions had found a role in peacetime. The Halcyon Wardens as the Imperium's diplomats, the Warbringers and Scions Hospitalier its scientists. They had adapted to these roles as readily as they had sharpened their blades for war. The Crimson Lions had not. Try as they might, rule though they did, they could never fit seamlessly into their new role. Warriors they had once been, warriors they remained, first and foremost. Like a sword, in peace they had become rusty, weakened, their appetite for blood growing with every year they spent at peace, their need for glory becoming greater with every repetition of tales told by the Gutuatri of the Great Crusade. Each time they received a call to arms, they took to the field with a thiner veneer of control than before.

 

Ancients' Blood, my legion needs this. We need this battle. As this thought flashed through his mind, a smile began to tug at Hectarion's mouth, the blood to pump faster through his veins at the mere thought of battle. With a sickening lurch, he realised it wasn't just his legion who needed it. He was no less a warrior than his sons, no less addicted to the glory there was to be found in battle an the sheer joy of combat. It had been decades since he'd last felt the splash of blood on his face or roared from the exhilaration of driving his enemies before him. Standing, Hectarion slid Godstooth through his belt loop and walked to Alex's side.

 

He looked into the same oblivion as his brothers. But he felt no sense of doom, no sense of apprehension. Instead, he felt a rising exhiliration that he hadn't felt in millenia. His entire body tensed, his fingers curled into clenched fists but not in anger, no. They clenched as an outlet for the battle fury Hectarion could already feel beginning to burn through his body. After years spent caging it up, it felt good to know he would soon be able to unleash it. "Let them come" he said to his brothers, trying to suppress the taunting laughter he could hear in the back of his head, a feral grin splitting his face.

[simison]

+My sons.+

 

The Jade General turned as his eyes swept over the beach he and his brothers stood upon. Of course, it wasn't truly a beach. Among the Primarchs, the General was the least experienced with the Emperor's visions. Where he was, it was impossible to ascertain, and that fact bothered him. It bothered him more than the invading xeno species. 

 

Though, we'd be fools to underestimate this foe, he thought to himself as he scanned the brotherhood. Where once twenty stood, their number had been reduced to fourteen. Each absence represented a weakness, a crack that might lead to the death of another. 

[simison]

Daer'dd: Brother, I had a brilliant idea!

 

Alexandros: Oh? What is it?

 

Daer'dd: You should ride on my shoulders into battle!

 

Alexandros: I-what?

 

Daer'dd: Primarch cavalry! The enemy will never see it coming!

 

Alexandros: ...I have concerns.

[simison]

Alexandros stood in a room of black mirrors. The room was lit without a source of light. A wind blew, catching the red cape of his armor in its embrace. His green eyes roved the space, watching and waiting. 

 

"Behold."

 

The voice came from nowhere as it echoed in the room. The Warmaster shifted in the Lorica as he turned this way and that, but no answer came to him. His eyes caught movement. The mirror before him glowed red. The red grew in vibrancy as he watched. When the last tendril of darkness vanished, metal melted through the mirror. Alexandros tightened his grip on the Spear of Terra. 

 

An axe, barbed and stained with old blood, emerged from the mirror. A hand followed as it gripped the shaft. Armor, crimson and brass, covered the hand and the arm. Finally, a body slid through the mirror.

 

Alexandros, Warmaster of the Imperium, stared at the new being and new only profound disappointment.

 

The being's hair had remained red as his. The eyes though. No longer were they green. They burned with red irises and black sclera. The skin, Alexandros did not know. The new red hue might have been skin, or it might be a covering of blood. A ritual had been used either way. The being grinned. It spoke with Alexandros' voice in dripping sarcasm, "You are not pleased?"

 

Alexandros could not help but notice the being did not carry a shield. A second, smaller axe occupied its other hand. It too was a brutish instrument of war. In fact, everything about the being spoke of simple brutality. From the open-jawed skulls wrapped around it to the throbbing sigils of the Blood God, the being had vigorously slaughtered subtlety at some point in his past. 

 

Or was potential future more accurate?

 

"I will never become you," Alexandros said. It was a matter of fact statement.

 

The twisted doppelganger laughed. "No, you are too weak." He paused as his attention was directed elsewhere. "Warmaster? They named you, Warmaster?"

 

Alexandros scowled before he felt the same pull into temporary omniscience. A name came to him, "Ares."

[simison]

Ares' grin grew wider. "What name could be more befitting than a god of war?"

 

"On of top of betraying every ideal we've devoted ourselves to, you've also surrendered your intellect. Truly, how proud you must be of your choice?" Alexandros countered.

 

"The name itself has power. Who remembers the old tales listing his supposed faults? None. All they remember is the name and his power!" Ares slammed the twin axes against each other. "And in that void, I took it for my own and grew its infamy! Both of my fathers set me on this path, one providing the body and the other providing the spirit. Under Xanthivus' tutelage, I laid waste to the Sindhuan Empire as my first step to glory."

 

"Xanthivus," Alexandros repeated with disgust. "That monster? He was incapable of seeing anyone who wasn't Hellasan as human."

 

"He was Hellas' greatest general."

 

"Only in terms of aggression. When the Drukhari slaughtered him, they removed my greatest thorn among the Hellasan army."

 

"A waste!" Ares spat. "With rejevunat treatments, he served me all his days, even after my ascension. The Imperial Army was quite proud to be led by a general of his caliber. Well," Ares added with a sneer. "Until the day he joined me to overthrow the Emperor." 

 

Alexandros drew himself to his full height. Clad in his terminator plate, he drew a small sense of satisfaction that he stood above his Khornate counterpart, who wore artificer armor instead. "In which case, I am doubly thankful for his warranted demise. Never will he have the chance to threaten the citizens of the Imperium."

[simison]

A retort nearly stumbled out of Ares' lips. Then his eyes flashed to the Warmaster's side. Alexandros reluctantly followed his gaze and made the same discovery. The mirror on his right had begun to glow. Unlike the hostile red of Ares' mirror, a purple light tinged the darkness before overpowering it. A familiar shield began emerging from the mirror. The same one the Warmaster wore upon his own arm. 

 

Alexandros Darshan VonSalim stepped through the mirror. He was not clad in the Lorica Praeses in its terminator finery but the more streamlined Auspice Armor. No Spear of Terra rested in his hand which held onto Xiphos, his famed sword. To the Warmaster, this version of himself seemed to be a snapshot of his days before he had been appointed Warmaster. The Warmaster glanced at Ares before back to the newest entity. "You are not simply my past, are you?"

 

The newest Alexandros studied the Spear of Terra. "I don't think so. I could never picture myself commissioning a weapon as ostentatious as that."

 

"I didn't," the Warmaster stated.

 

Alexandros cocked his head. A moment of realization passed through him. "Father made you...us Warmaster over Icarion?"

[Kelborn]

Now an arrogant Warmaster version, saying "of course I am Warmaster" and a Chaos one enviously saying "why you? Why not me?", please.

 

;)

[Doctor Perils]

No, a Suzerainty version! :P

[simison]

The sound of slamming metal distracted the pair as Ares growled. "More weaklings! And this one," he stated as he pointed an axe to the newest Alexandros, "Remains hiding in the shadows of a throne he can just take."

 

"It is where we have always preferred to occupy," Alexandros occupied, throwing a confused look at the Warmaster.

 

The Warmaster shrugged. "Father asked I serve, and I would not refuse him."

 

"Icarion serves as Warmaster," Alexandros explained. "With our combined efforts, this rebellion will be ended before too long."

 

Ares spat in disgust. "As if you truly understood the powers with which you struggle against. Even if you should succeed, you cannot close the gate on enlightenment. The Pantheon will not be denied."

 

"Pantheon?" Alexandros repeated, ignorance written across his face.

 

The Warmaster missed such innocence. "You will learn, one way or another," he said sourly. 

 

Ares grinned at the reluctant admission. The three paused before the newest Alexandros shifted his attention.

 

"Is that mirror growing tumors?"

 

All swung their heads to the mirror next to the one Ares' had exited from. The Warmaster could not disagree with the question. Fleshy growths grew from spots across the obsidian glass as bile seemed to flood from the other side. The contained flood heralded the arrival of an armored hand. The glove may have been purple once, but it was coated in old pus. It was also ridden with age and holes. The hand paused before retreating. In its place, a massive zweihander pierced through. Corrosion and rust covered the entire blade. The blade was held outward as a revolting being finished stepping through. 

 

The air fouled as the smell of rotting flesh filled the room. 

 

The being glanced around the room before releasing a hearty laugh that shook bulging flesh. "Isn't this a nice surprise?" The others cringed before the latest arrival, but, if he noticed, he did not take offense. 

 

"Why must you be on this side?" Ares hissed.

 

"And greetings to you too! Or should I say to myself!" The Nurgle disciple laughed at his joke before resting the point of his large sword on the floor. "I suppose I should introduce myself. Then again, all of you know of my old name. If you prefer it, I will not stop you. However, for the sake of convenience, call me Father Alex, adopted son of Nurgle!"

[simison]

Father Alex possessed bulk to match the Warmaster. Yet, where the Warmaster's size was due to his armour, Father Alex looked as he had engorged himself at a dozen banquets. The once sharp chin had three brothers, and the Primarch's fat-filled stomach throbbed through wasted armour. Boils the size of human hands leaked stomach acid across the exposed, sickly yellow skin. 

 

"How can this be?" Alexandros muttered.

 

"Why not?" Father Alex cocked his head. "Little Alex. We have always sought to build bonds between kith and kin. Grandfather, alone among the Four, have always treasured such bonds. I once believed I had to choose between my duty to humanity and my own family." Father Alex gestured to himself. "Grandfather showed me a third solution, one where I can have both."

 

The Warmaster scowled, both in anger and in disgust. "I too was petitioned with such a bribe. We would not have fallen to such twisted logic."

 

"Nor allow our body to be ruined as such," Ares added as he glared at the hanging gut.

 

Father Alex laughed as he patted his belly. "I have never felt better! And true, there were more factors and complications that I may have left out, but I do not deceive. Family was the thrust of my ascension and now I enjoy such company that none of you could hope to partake of outside Grandfather's embrace." Father Alex smiled before his eyes alighted. "What's this? Another to join our fine company?"

Edited June 4, 2019 by simison

[simison]

This time the mirror to the Warmaster's left filled with color. It was difficult to tell at first. Brown did little to distinguish itself from the darkness, until it covered over half of the mirror. A staff emerged first. It was bare of the esoterica that was typical of stave wielders, but the Warmaster could feel a subtle thrum of energy imbued within it. Although made of high quality metal, it bore a simple wooden appearance. Were it not for a Primarch's powerful vision, the Warmaster may have been fooled into thinking the stave was wood. 

 

In contrast to the earthy color, saffron armor moved out of the mirror. It too was surprisingly free of emblishment and adornment. When the being materalized, the Warmaster was struck by how similar and how different the being was. His skin was chocolate, and his head was bare. The eyes were the same though, alive with green. The Warmaster, gaining with practice, pulled a name from the unseen wellspring of knowledge. "Darshan." After a moment, he added, "Just Darshan."

 

Darshan bowed. "Warmaster."

 

"Bah!" Ares snarled. "I like the look of this one even less."

 

Darshan glanced at the Khornate. "I confess, I am somewhat surprised I am capable of falling so far."

[Nomus Sardauk]

I take it Darshan is Alexandros if he landed in Sindhuan territory rather than Hellas?

[simison]

The volume difference between Ares' snarls and Darshan's soft words only added to the contrast. 

 

"I'm also confused," 'Little' Alex said as he looked over the ensemble before focusing on Darshan. "The rest of us seem to share the same origin point in terms of skin tone, barring corruption," Ares flexed red musle, while Father Alex chuckled," and facial structure. Not to cause offense, but why are you so different?"

 

"Who can say?" Darshan answered. "Perhaps you are using the wrong perspective. Perhaps I am what the Emperor originally intended when he created us."

 

Ares growled. "What insanity would infect the Emperor to create us in the image of the barbaric Sindhuans? Even this one," he said as he pointed a thumb at Little Alex," looks more promising as a warrior than you do."

 

"Appearances can be deceiving," the Warmaster countered. "Can you not sense his power?" 

 

Ares' wordless grunt was the closest he could come to acknowledging the point. 

[simison]

For power, subtle though it may be, gravitated around Darshan. The Warmaster could guess Darshan's path. The saffron armor's bare appearance more than hinted at a much greater focus on inward possibility than outward symbolism. This was a version of himself that had eschewed the material for the immaterial. The Warmaster admitted to himself that it sated a long-dormant piece of curiosity about his past. At the same time, he did not regret his current path. "You rival Magnus."

 

Darshan paused. "I have never known Magnus."

 

Little Alex quirked an eyebrow. "I know of Magnus."

 

"Indeed," Father Alex added. "He's been a rather spirited foe of mine."

 

"I know not of this one either," Ares dryly added. "Does that make you the king of witchkin among our brotherhood?"

Edited June 5, 2019 by simison

[simison]

"I do not care for such matters," Darshan answered without rancor. He shifted slightly. "Another approaches."

 

"I'm not looking forward to this," Little Alex said as the group eyed the mirror to Ares' left. The other mirrors had gradually shifted as one color dominated. In a flash, painful pink, garish yellow, and neon green splattered over the mirror. A figure did not so much as emerge as flew through the opening.

 

Ares snarled as he took an involuntary step forward, axes at the ready. "And now to be joined by a Slaaneshi fool."

 

"Bold words for one of Khorne's mindless brutes," the figure countered as he shifted back and forth. 

 

"And what shall we call you, good sir?" Father Alex inquired, his smile ever-present.

 

The being grinned. "Andruva."

Edited June 6, 2019 by simison

[simison]

Without a doubt, Andruva wore the least amount of armor out of all of them, even compared to Father's Alex dilapidated mail. Two shinguards was all he wore on his legs, a balteus for his waist, and two sleeves of metal covered his arms. 

 

His original arms.

 

The Warmaster counted eight limbs connected to Andruva's back. Each 'stalk' divided into two more limbs. There was no symmetry at what was at the end of those limbs. Some ended in human hands, both callused male and smooth female hands. Other limbs seemed to be bereft of bone and twisted and turned like octopus limbs. A few ended in claws from several different species. Altogether, Andruva had twenty limbs of one sort or another. Half of which carried a weapon; his original hands clutching barbed whips. 

 

Scarlet blood trickled down his pale hands where the barbs tore into his white flesh. 

 

The Warmaster grimaced. "Abomination."

 

Andruva laughed. "Do I not meet your expectations, Warmaster? Does enlightenment displease you? I could rectifiy it. For instance, I've been ever so eager to try this one technique I observed on -"

 

"Enough!" Ares shouted, axes still aimed at Andruva. "Your prattling is pointless wind, and no matter how many more mutations you grow on your back, you will never be of any true worth in war."

 

"Tsk, tsk," Andruva countered as he wagged a finger and two tentacles. "I think you'll find I'm more than a match for you or any warrior who wishes to share in my delights. Four other limbs circled downward toward Ares' left flank, while four others went high and threaten him from the opposite direction. "By all means, initiate."

 

The Warmaster heard Little Alex's thoughts echo in his mind, I wouldn't complain.

 

Before a fight could happen, Andruva's head snapped to a different direction, throwing his wild mane of hair flying. "What's this? Another plaything to enjoy?"

[simison]

This time, it was the mirror next to Little Alex that transformed from darkness into a mix of gold and red. A weapon with a golden appearance pierced through the opening. Four blades curved outward in an open claw, connected to a central staff. It proved to be a short weapon as its wielder stepped out a second later. The being seemed a cross between Darshan and Alexandros. His skin was lighter than the brown of Darshan, but not quite as pale as the Warmaster's. His face mirrored the similar qualities found in the people of Old Europa, but his hair was black. A proud moustache settled above his lips with lengthy sideburns framing his face. 

 

To the surprise of the others, his skin was as red as Ares'. 

 

"Another barbarian?" Ares muttered.

 

The new arrival pointed his right weapon, the splayed varja, at Ares. "Watch your words, asura! You have the honor of speaking with Raja Indra, Lord Warmaster of the Imperium! I tolerate no threat to the Imperium, to my Legion, or to myself!" Indra emphasized the point by slamming the pommel of his other weapon, a curved trident, against the floor. 

 

"He certainly has fire, and gleams as well," Father Alex commented. 

 

It was true. Of the two warmasters, Indra's armor not only matched Alexandros in terms of bulk, sophistication, but outmatched in how much of it shined in Imperial gold. In fact, more engravings danced across Indra's armor than the Warmaster's. Likewise, his weapons, though no doubt effective weapons of war, were works of art. The most ostentatious item Indra wore was a golden crown. 

 

"Quaint," Andruva added.

 

Darshan studied Indra with a shadow of a frown. The Warmaster couldn't help but notice the similarities between Ares and Indra. "I suppose you too landed among the Sindhuans?"

 

"I did!" Indra boldly declared, his eyes never leaving Ares. "It was to begin my own path to glory, though it was but a humble step compared to the day the Emperor brought me to my legion. They had spirit, but they lacked vision. I took their penchant for tank warfare and perfected it."

 

Andruva wrinkled his nose. "You hid in a machine to make war?"

 

Indra growled as he brandished his trident. "I did no such thing. I formed the greatest cavalry force the galaxy has ever seen: the Hathi corps. I have crushed enemies of Mankind from one end of the galaxy to the other. The victories I delivered to the Emperor was what convinced him to name me Lord Warmaster," he finished with a glowing sense of pride.

 

Darshan's frown never manifested on his face, but the Warmaster could sense a profound sense of disappointment. "Have you spent any time pursuing the deeper aspects of existence?"

[simison]

Indra mirrored Darshan's frown as the two stared at each other. "Do not take me for some mindless brute," Indra began, his voice gentler. "I am neither ignorant nor a foe of the arts of both creation and reflection. However, we are, first and foremost, a creature of war. It is our purpose and, therefore, our highest priority. When the galaxy is under Imperial dominion, then more time can be spent on other priorities." 

 

Before anyone could offer a rebuttal, Indra huffed as his eyes locked on a single point. "What new embarrassment approaches?"

 

Eyes swiveled to the mirror next to Father Alex. A swirl of blue and purple centered on the mirror and expanded as the two colors danced around each other. The dance gave way to fire. Two torches carried shifting flames, which transitioned through every color of the spectrum before their gazes. Three feet stepped out of the mirror. Then it was one. Then two. 

 

The being exiting the mirror confused the senses. He wore robes, not armor with the same shifting colors of the twin torches he carried. Symbols would appear and then disappear in the folds of the robe. Of the torches, one was of usual height, while the other was as tall as a staff. 

 

That was the closest the being came to normal. 

 

In one instant, he was a singular being. In the next, there were three. Two other bodies stood facing to the left and to the right of the center body, connected in an unclear manner. Each body was different too. The central body mirrored Alexandros with glowing red hair. The right body more resembled Darshan with his darker skin. The left body was different from all with bright blond hair and shining blue eyes. The flanking bodies would appear and disappear at a pattern that eluded the Warmaster. 

 

The being shifted his head slightly to the left and to the right. His vision only encompassed two others, but the Warmaster knew he had seen everyone else. When the being spoke, one, two, and three voices echoed in a monotone, "I am Om-skry."

[simison]

"And I thought I was a headache to look at!" Father Alex said with a chuckle. 

 

Om-skry did not move, but the left body materialized and stabilized as it said in an angry voice, "Champion of Stagnation, you have traded power for worthless bonds. The knowledge of existence laid in your grasp, and you let it slip through your fingers for the sake of souls who matter little in the scope of eternity."

 

"So, this is the end result of Magnus' offer," the Warmaster muttered. "It's as fruitless as I suspected."

 

The left body disappeared as Om-skry's center turned its gaze on the Warmaster. "You too are a fool. You fight a hopeless war against the unstoppable ocean, trusting in a vain hope and a charlatan."

[simison]

The Warmaster bristled. Not at the insult, but the subtle insight into his plans. "No amount of power is worth enslaving myself to Tzeentch."

 

"By binding yourself to the Warp, you have become blinded to much, limited as you will always be by what your master will allow you to know," Darshan added.

 

The three aspects of Om-skry united for a moment as three heads glared at the two. "The Materium is a desolate place where true sight can only be obstructed by the flesh. Limited as you are by the forced structure of bone and sinew, you will never perceive nor harness the power to unmake reality." The twin flames grew into a joined conflagration that caused Father Alex to lean back with frustration. Shadows played among the mirrors before they, and the flame, faded back to proper size. 

 

"Parlor tricks," Ares said. 

 

Before Om-skry could counter, he shifted. "Another approaches, this one more limited than others."

 

The mirror next to Darshan emitted gold and purple. Unlike Om-skry's mirror, the two did not mix and maintained a clear boundary between both. A spear poked through. For a moment, the Warmaster thought it was a sister blade to his own Spear of Terra with a similar teardrop-blade. As more of it emerged, the similarity dispelled itself when no eagle followed. Instead, this spear was simpler. 

[simison]

When its wielder marched into the room, its full purpose was revealed. It was a throwing spear in the style of the ancient pilum. Likewise, its owner seemed to have stepped forth from ancient times. With a scutum on his left hand, the helmless being surveyed the room with blue eyes and blond locks shorn close to scalp. There was a hardness to his demeanor the Warmaster found alien. "Who are you?"

 

The being paused as he stared at the palatine aquila upon the Warmaster's chest. To the Warmaster's surprise, the being saluted. "Imperator Legionis Quintus, commanding the Jermani Legion."

 

Little Alex quirked an eyebrow. "Your name is the 'Fifth'?"

 

"All Legion Imperators are named after their creation designation," Quintus explained matter-of-fact. 

 

The Warmaster struggled with the ramifications of that particular revelation. To be denied a proper name? "Who named you?"

 

"The Emperor of Mankind," Quintus answered without hesitation. 

 

Andruva asked as two of his extra hands stroked one tentacle limb, "How is that possible? You would have been but larva when the Pantheon ripped you away from Terra."

 

Quintus narrowed his eyes on Andruva. "I refuse to speak with Warp abominations."

 

"Abomination he is, but I echo the question," Indra said. 

 

Quintus glanced at Indra before his eyes flitted back and forth between Indra and the Warmaster. "Understood. No such event occurred. The Imperators were created and perfected upon noble Terra."

 

"To think, some of my brothers bemoaned our kidnapping," Darshan murmured. "If only they knew what would have happened to us."

 

Quintus huffed. "This was the original intention of our creation all along. We are made to be the Emperor's finest generals, and humanity's most potent weapon against her enemies. I am honored to be of service to the Emperor, the Imperium, and all of Mankind." 

[simison]

"Do you all wear the same armor?" Indra asked as he looked over Quintus' mail. The style was undeniably that of an ancient Roma legionary at the height of the Roma empire wits its emphasis on additional plating on the shoulders and the chest. Of course, the power armor encased all of Quintus, but the sole distinguishing mark for Quintus was a Roma 'V' marked on both shoulders. Even the shield, which the Warmaster and Little Alex had used to portray an emblem of their own choosing, displayed the Raptor Imperialis, a common icon from the early Great Crusade.

 

"No, we do not," Quintus answered. "Other Imperators have subtle variations to better align with their designated combat proficiencies."  

 

"They're nothing more than vat-grown conscripts, as devoid of war spirit as the Mechanicum's toy soldiers," Ares declared with indifferent dissatisfaction.

 

Quintus scowled at Ares before he pointed his pilum elsewhere. "Another abomination?"

 

For a moment, there was confusion. All of them looked at where Quintus pointed, but it seemed to be a plain mirror. Then Alexandros realized it was different. The darkness beyond the glass bubbled. They all waited. No weapon appeared.

 

Instead, a figure walked out. The first detail the noticed were the twin black gauntlets on the entity's hands. It was the sole armor he wore. The rest of him was clad in a shroud of night. The being was also hairless and had skin as white as Andruva's. Only this one's eyes were pitch black, iris, sclera, and all. The eight-pointed star was the sole sigil the being bore, engraved on the gauntlets. 

 

Power, strong and malicious, clung to him. 

 

Andruva, Father Alex, Ares, and even Om-skry became still. 

 

The Warmaster was the first to break the silence. "Who are you?"

 

The figure spared the Warmaster a glance. "I am He Who Balances." The voice was a mere whisper. It echoed throughout the room. 

 

"Balance," Ares scoffed as he wrestled back a shard of his belligerence. "Your name is more inane than the last o-"

 

He who Balances turned his attention on Ares. "Be silent, Ares."

 

The Primarch of Khorne's jaw snapped shut. The other three leaned away from He Who Balances. The other five Primarchs tensed. A long minute passed as they watched Ares struggle with the binding. At first, it was limited to trying to open his mouth. The longer he struggled, the more enraged his grunts and muffled screams became. Ares twisted an axe toward his face in desperation. He Who Balances smiled but said, "Kowtow, Ares."

 

The axes fumbled out of Ares' grasp as his body obeyed. It threw him to the floor as his muscles spasmed, fighting against the command. It was fruitless. Ares, with all of his pride and rage, prostrated himself before He Who Balances. The three Chaos Primarchs tightened their grip on their weapons. 

 

Yet, it was Darshan who spoke next. "That's not raw power. You're manipulating their oaths."

 

He Who Balances tore his attention away from the suffering Ares. "You see much, limited as you are. Each of these four have traded their names and souls to a patron. I have made no such foolish bargain. I aimed higher and have been rewarded with control of the four Choirs. Embracing Chaos is a fool's bargain. One must reject to receive true enlightenment."

 

Darshan's eyes swept over the four. "Thus, they are beholden to you."

 

"Indeed." 

 

"You have no control over grandfather," Father Alex protested, a rare frown on his face. 

 

He Who Balances turned to him. Father Alex, to his credit, did not flinch. "No, but what value would there be in that? Their very natures is what makes them valuable and easy to exploit." 

 

Om-skry's three aspects manifested, each with a hateful snarl. "You dare believe you can manipulate the Changer of Ways?"

 

"The one most incapable of lasting victory?" He Who Balances stated, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Of course." Om-skry's twin torches blazed with red flame, but He Who Balances simply watched and waited. The flames died back down. "Even if the Changer could fight its own nature, it still must contend with the Plague Lord, the Prince of Pleasures, and the Blood God. If one threatens me, all I have to do is redirect another to counter. And that is why," He Who Balances continued as he raised a single gauntlet before forming a tight fist. "I am above them. I am He Who Balances."

[simison]

He Who Balances' attention drifted away. For a moment, confusion wrote across his face. "What fate is this?"

 

The mirror next to Indra shifted to, not one color, but several. A camouflage pattern for forest fell upon the mirror before changing to one more appropriate for urban warfare. The barrel of a rifle lead the way as the next entity to creep forward at a tactical walk. The being was far smaller than any of the others, well below a third of their heights. He was older. Gray hair dominated his features, and war had added lines to his face. 

 

The man wore power armor, but it was not fit for a Primarch.

 

"A mortal?" Indra declared in complete shock.

 

The man took one look around the room and seemed to be equally shocked by the beings around. "By the Throne..."

 

"How about you give us your name...soldier?" the Warmaster offered.

 

The man latched onto the opportunity to focus his attention on something. "Lord General Row-vell, at your service...my lord?"

[simison]

"That's not necessary. We are all the same being, appearances inside," Little Alex said. "Although I admit, you are more than different than the rest of us."

 

"Quite the disappointment," Andruva declared. "To see our esteemed self reduce to such a pitiful form."

 

General Row-vell attempted to glare at the Champion of Slaanesh. Unfortunately, the glare withered in a few seconds. The Warmaster could see Row-vell's soul suffer beneath the corrupting energies dominating the other half of the room. 

 

"Row-vell, focus on me," Darshan commanded. The Warmaster nearly mirrored the command. Darshan had poured a degree of his psychic might into the order. Row-vell followed the order without question. "Explain to me your service."

 

"My lord, I enlisted in the Emperor's service during the last century of the Unification Wars. I hail from the Bania region, and have served among the Old Five Hundred since those first days. I earned my first regimental command before the onset of the Great Crusade." As Row-vell explained, the Warmaster saw Darshan imparting a portion of his might to protect the old soldier from the Warp's influence. The more Row-vell spoke, the more stable his condition became. 

[simison]

"...currently deployed, and defending the Gothic sector," Row-vell finished. He stood straighter now. 

 

"Have you even picked up a blade in your life!?" The room's occupants swung their heads to see Ares climbing to his feet. The Warmaster glanced at He Who Balances and saw him with a faint, satisfied smile. 

 

Row-vell scowled at Ares, temporarily immune to the sights before him. "A Lord General wielding a sword is as useful as an Ogryn with an astrophysics textbook. My greatest use is by maintaining my distance from the front lines to better direct the tides of war. The only exception is to provide my men a rallying figure." Row-vell gestured to the camouflaged power armor he wore.  

 

Ares fumed. "What weakness! I refuse to believe this cur has anything to do with us."

 

A retort was on Row-vell's lips before it died unexpectedly. "What manner of witchcraft is this?"

 

The mirror next to Om-skry filled with green aetheric lightning. A spear pressed through the lightning. To the Warmaster's shock, the blade featured Aeldari runes. The being that stepped through, likewise, wore armor stepped in alien symbology. The biggest surprise, however, were the being's ears. They were longer and more pointed than a human's but not as extreme as the Eldar. 

 

The green eyes, though, were all too-familiar. 

 

Om-skry, standing next to the newest entity, wore open confusion upon its three faces. "What fate could possibly have forced this?"

 

"One beyond you, creature," the being answered, both hands gripping its force spear. 

 

"This isn't possible!" Indra protested. "The Emperor would never created this travesty!"

 

The being's silver cloak swirled as it turned to face Indra. "The Emperor is incapable of such a feat. But there are other, more powerful beings in our galaxy."

 

"You dare!" Indra hissed.

 

The Warmaster intervened. "Perhaps an introduction is due. Who, and what, are you?"

 

The entity regarded the Warmaster before offering a respectful nod. "I am Ardann, Asuryan's chosen 'Master of War'."

 

The Warmaster paused. "The chief deity of the Eldar?"

 

Indra shot a suspicious look at the Warmaster. "How do you know that?"