Editing The Tales of the Emperasque: Part Seventeen

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''Continued from [[The Tales of the Emperasque: Part Sixteen]]''.

==9-175-001-M42==

Vect watched the explosion from his throne room, inscrutable. The damage from the warships was vastly greater, of course, but the fact that the warships had extracted first was significant. He straightened up from his throne, waving the crystal away. The damage was done. The city was crippled, and now there would be Archons from half a dozen Kabals shrieking for his head in retribution for what he had ‘allowed’ to transpire.

As he turned his back on the sight of the ruins, the faintest sense of prickling on the back of his neck alerted him to danger. He spun about, but even to his eyes, the room was vacant.
A feeling of dread, fading since the battle ended, grew back in his guts. He knew that sense. He had suppressed it, like every Dark Eldar of his age did, but he knew it. It was some remnant, some lingering shred of his psychic power, reacting to something powerful.

Unseen, in a scorched and burned room many hundreds of kilometers away, a machine covered in glyphs pulsed to life.

The Emperor released He’Stan and Vulkan from his psychic grip as they emerged on the plains outside the Dark Eldar building they had used to launch the attack. 

“WELL DONE, MY SON, LORD HE’STAN, VERY WELL DONE INDEED,” he said.

“The beacon worked?” Vulkan asked.

“I SENSE IT EVEN NOW,” the Emperor confirmed. Vulkan allowed himself a sigh of relief. 

“That’s our secondary mission accomplished, at least,” he said.

“AND OUR PRIMARY IS WELL UNDER WAY,” the Emperor confirmed. “SEE TO THE TROOPS. I MUST RETURN TO CADIA.”

“To Cadia, Sire?” He’Stan asked.

“INDEED, PILGRIM, CADIA. A SMALL FORCE OF SPECIALISTS IS GATHERING THERE FOR THE NEXT STEP OF MY PLAN TO BUY US SOME MORE TIME BEFORE THE NEXT MAJOR CHAOTIC INCURSION,” the Emperor said. 

“NECRONS ARE PROBLEMATIC, BUT FINITE. TYRANIDS ARE PROBLEMATIC, BUT PREDICTABLE. CHAOS IS POTENTIALLY INFINITE AND BY ITS NATURE, INSCRUTABLE. I WILL NEED TO THIN THE HERD BEFORE WE CAN SAFELY BEGIN ANY MAJOR INTERNAL REFORMS,” he explained. 

“FEAR NOT, YOU WILL BE CALLED UPON TO ASSIST WHEN THE TIME COMES, BUT UNTIL THEN, I THINK IT BEST THAT YOU RETURN TO NOCTURNE AND PASS ALONG WHAT INTELLIGENCE AND TACTICS YOU HAVE GAINED ON YOUR SEARCHING FOR THE ARTEFACTS.”

“Especially since I’m here to show you where I left them,” Vulkan added. He turned to regard the shorter man. 

“If that is what you prefer, of course,” he said.

“YOU DON’T HAVE TO DECIDE NOW, EITHER OF YOU.” The Emperor’s eyes glowed purple for a moment. 

“MY DETACHMENT ON CADIA’S NEARLY READY. I’LL SEE YOU WHEN I CAN.” He vanished in a rush of air as the two Salamanders departed for the re-forming Imperial unit.

==9-175-001-M42==
Commissar Blenkach paced the parade ground at Kasr Vortiga with impatience and nerves in equal measure. The Emperor was returning with deployment orders, so he had been told, and now all he had to do was wait and think of all the little things he needed to have done before the Emperor arrived, but hadn’t had time.
The air parted and burst with purple mist behind him, bringing him about and onto a reverent knee. “LORD COMMISSAR, THERE YOU ARE,” the Emperor said. “HOW ARE THE WAR PSYKER DEPLOYMENTS GOING?”
“Right on schedule,” the aging Commissar reported. “My Lord God, I feel I must ask…why are the conventional forces of the Imperial Guard not being deployed in your plan?”
“BECAUSE IF THE PLAN ACTUALLY WORKS, WE WON’T EVEN NEED THEM,” the Emperor said. “BESIDES, WE HAVE PLANETS TO RECOVER. WE DIDN’T KEEP EVERY WORLD ABBADON AND HIS ALIEN ALLIES ATTACKED IN THE BLACK CRUSADE.”
“True,” Blenkach conceded.

“BUT TO BUSINESS. ARE THE CRYO-TRANSPORTS READIED?”
“They are indeed, your Highness, though I have been requested to pass along a note of confusion as to their destination,” the elderly Commissar reported.
“OH, I KNOW. I KEPT THEIR DESTINATION SECRET SO THAT THEY COULD NOT BE INTERCEPTED. SIMPLY TURN THEM OVER TO ME SO I CAN DIVERT THEM AS NEEDED,” the Emperor instructed.
“By your will, my Lord God,” Blenkach said. “When will you be departing?”
“LESS THAN AN HOUR, IF ALL GOES WELL, BUT I NEED TO MAKE SURE OF SOMETHING FIRST,” the Emperor said.
“May I ask what that is?” Blenkach inquired.
“PLEASE DON’T, COMMISSAR. SOME ASPECTS OF THIS CAMPAIGN ARE COMPARTMENTALIZED FOR A VERY GOOD REASON.”

Slaanesh sighed happily as the trickle of incoming Dark Eldar souls trailed off to its normal levels. “Well, that was fun,” he remarked.
“Wasn’t it, though?” a daemonette remarked, basking in the glow of conquest. The shriveled souls around her vanished into the ether with tortured screams.
“I dare say I’m feeling relieved,” Slaanesh said, rising from his pulsing throne. “I think I’ll take advantage of this.”
“How do you mean, Master?” the daemonette inquired, batting her lashes coquettishly.
“I think it’s time I go to repay a debt,” Slaanesh said, and vanished in a rush of scented, musky air.

Far from the Vaults of Excess, the Blood God Khorne sat atop his throne. The endless plains of blood-slicked skulls around him hazed with fog and the clamor of battle as trillions of souls, daemons, and mortal warriors vied for his favor.
Khorne watched the battle, seething. “A full-scale raid on Commorragh,” he growled, gripping the skulls of his armrests.
“It is, my Master,” a fiery spectre at his side said disgustedly.
“And it has now ended?” the Blood God snarled.
“So it would seem. We can not confirm. There is much tumult in the ranks of the Prince of Excess, the filthy slut, and we see little in the City of Darkness itself,” the daemon replied.
“FUCK HIM! We have greater concerns,” Khorne said, his rage boiling over. “The Anathema, his resurrection has stripped me of one of my greatest servants, and now that fool Angron is so busy concocting his vengeance against his father that I can barely reach him!”
“Shall I go myself, Master?” the fire daemon asked, fingering his axe.
“Fool! He would cleave you in twain. Let Angron have his fun. Find out more about this Commorragh raid,” Khorne ordered, settling back into his seat to watch the battle below.

The Astronomican’s power is unparalleled. Its psychic signal is unlike anything else in the universe, and it draws Tyranids as much as it repels daemons. Its chorus has been described by Navigators as like a choir of angelic singing, and can be perceived as far from Terra as Macragge. To those who can see it, namely the Navigators and some strong alien psychics, the brilliant light in the darkness is the most glorious thing they can comprehend.
Dark Eldar can’t see the Astronomican. Their psychic senses have been suppressed and scoured away by millennia of decay and hatred, so that their weak souls do not fall prey to the darker aspects of the Warp. So when a small machine that the Emperor had had built from the damaged components of the Golden Throne’s now-unneeded life support systems and powered by a small portion of his psychic capabilities activated in the corner of a scorched building in Commorragh, nobody noticed.
The Dark City crawled with the opportunistic. Millions of Dark Eldar and their mercenaries picked over the rubble of the invasion, searching for the dead and dying to enjoy. In a crumbling building near a destroyed Webway Gate, however, a small machine made of golden metal pinged a signal into the Warp, and for an instant, the strongest living Navigators felt a funny return on their Warp Eye’s vision.

Asdrubael Vect nearly flew down the stairs of his tower, sprinting for his Dais. The machine was protected in a shielded, atmospherically-sealed hangar, so that only he and his crew could reach it. As he arrived in the room, he breathed a sigh of relief, seeing that the crew was already readying it for takeoff. He slid into the throne and unsealed the hangar doors as the Dais lifted off from the floor of the room.
He wasn’t leaving, though. He waited, his hands clutching his weapons, and listened for whatever was coming.
Far above, the Webway Gate that the Scourge had passed through rippled and opened. Eyes below craned up to see what was happening. Perhaps a slave ship returning with its living cargo?
The machine in the abandoned building pulsed once, sending a short, coded message to the Gate above.
On a planet in the Segmentum Tempestus, where a group of Imperial Guard units had been desperately fighting off the Tyranid Bioforms of a Leviathan splinter until mere days before, a Webway Gate suddenly activated, with no warning whatsoever.

A massive blast of perfumed air from the foot of the Skull Throne sent warriors scurrying away. Slaanesh, Prince of Excess himself, appeared before Khorne, his born rival. Instantly, the Blood God’s worshippers averted their eyes, lest they be sucked into the Prince’s service.
“Khorne, some debts should be paid before they start to fester,” Slaanesh whispered.
The Blood God started, astonished. “Your temerity does you credit, slut, but nothing else!” he roared. He lifted his colossal sword and held it aloft, drawing the gaze of every warrior in the Citadel of Brass. “I will break you for this!”
“Then come get me,” Slaanesh giggled, extending a tentacle. The tentacle hardened into a blade as it formed, and the Prince charged.

The Emperor waited impatiently on the surface of Cadia as a small group of ships circled the planet overhead. “AAAAANY MINUTE NOW,” he said to himself, his psychic senses extended.

Khorne swung his sword parallel to the ground, cleaving the sky where Slaanesh had been moments before. “Your parasitism lends you strength, whore,” Khorne growled, blocking a thrust from Slaanesh’s weapon.
“Strength enough for vengeance,” Slaanesh shot back. “Strength enough to defeat you!”
“In my own CITADEL?” Khorne roared, lunging forward a pace and throwing his arm out to push Slaanesh back several steps. “Dream on, you disgusting, honorless worm!”

The Gate over the ruins of the Dark City shimmered, but what emerged was not a Dark Eldar ship. From the rippling field of energy over the Gate’s mouth emerged nothing more or less than an entire Tyranid Hive Ship.
The city erupted in fire as the Dark Eldar, primed from the attack on their home, assaulted the unexpected threat in their midst. Even as the smarter Dark Eldar Captains opened fire on the Gate instead, destroying it, the gigantic living vessel flailed, finding itself cut off from its retreat.
Vect deployed in his Dais, seeing his opportunity return. Perhaps the chance to show the other members of the Kabal that he was still very much in charge would be enough to re-cement his position?

As the beacon tied to his power faded away, the Emperor made his move. Teleporting from the surface of Cadia, he made his way through the Warp to the Eye, with the nearly-unmanned support vessels trailing in his wake.

Khorne was winning. Slaanesh had let his newfound power go to his head, and he was barely keeping ahead of the older God’s swings.
The Prince of Pleasure ducked a savage swing from the Blood God’s blade, hearing it sing past his head. “Upstart! THIEF!” Khorne roared, gripping his sword with both hands and driving it forward.
Slaanesh sidestepped the blow and moved to grapple his enemy, but Khorne had already withdrawn. “Do you feel your pride blinding you, or does it happen so often you don’t even notice?” Khorne mocked him. He thrusted the blade at his enemy sideways, and Slaanesh had to scramble back a pace to avoid having one of his arms cleaved straight off. His blade of hardened flesh rose in defense, and it shook from the force of the blow. “I took a breast last time, Slaanesh. I’ll take an eye this time,” he promised darkly. His legions of warriors beyond the throne roared their approval, their eyes trained to the ground.
“I’m not beaten yet, gruesome,” Slaanesh shot back, lunging at Khorne with a vicious attack that actually pushed Khorne back to the base of the Skull Throne. “You’ll have to…oh…”
Khorne’s beady, bloodshot eyes narrowed as Slaanesh staggered back a pace, grinning maniacally. “Something distracting you, stripling?” he growled, swinging his sword at Slaneesh’s pulsing legs.
The Pleasure God caught the blow on his own weapon, beaming ecstatically. “You little fool! This…oh, this is new!” He thrust a palm out and slammed it into Khorne’s armor, driving himself back and out of Khorne’s reach. “Oh, that human fellow is crafty indeed, isn’t he?”
“What are you babbling about?!” Khorne raged, hacking away at Slaanesh with a furious anger. He swung his blade again and again, and each time it rebounded from the hardened tentacle.

“That Anathematic Emperor just unleashed a swarm of monsters into Commorragh,” Slaanesh giggled. He turned his baleful gaze on the Blood God, his smaller wounds knitting shut. “Oh…you’re in for it now,” he breathed, raising his weapon.
The legions of Khorne, that had been listening to the battle from below, lest they see Slaanesh and be twisted away from their master, milled about. “How do we stop this madness?” one cultist demanded. “We can’t fight that abomination without seeing him!”
“Did he bring a retainer? Warriors?” another demanded.
“None! The cocky shit came alone!” the first fumed.
“Then we can do nothing,” the second said bitterly. “We will simply have to…” he trailed off.
A World Eater beside him turned to glare. “Have to what, mortal?” he asked angrily.
“…I bet nobody’s guarding the Palace of Excess right now, since Fulgrim lost to his brother,” the cultist said slowly.
Silence fell over the group of warriors as that idea passed amongst them. “Then perhaps we should avail ourselves of it,” one of the cultists said cheerfully, testing the edge of his blade.
“OR NOT,” a new voice said.

A shimmering beam of purple light raced along the ground, cutting a swathe through the army of Khornates, and boiling a pathway through them. The Emperor fired again, sending a World Eater column into oblivion. “COMING THROUGH!” he roared, shifting aim and firing again.
“Corpse thief! Slay the false god!” one of the other Khornates roared, and the battle was joined, as thousands of Khornate warriors raced for the massive Emperor that had somehow appeared in their midst.
“YOU GUYS KNOW I STOLE THIS BODY FROM HERE, RIGHT? HOW WILL KHORNE REACT IF YOU DESTROY IT?” the Emperor asked in between swipes of his claws.
“We will be rewarded for returning his property, beast!” one of the cultists snarled, hurling a grenade.
“LIKE SKARBRAND WAS?” the Emperor laughed, erasing a gang of cultists with a sweep of his massive arms. “SURE. ANYWAY, SO LONG.”
In a flash, the Emperor was gone, leaving the cultists and Berserkers stumbling in the rush of air. They rose to their feet, looking around, but the Emperor was gone.
“What the hell just happened?” one warrior demanded of his comrades as he rose to his feet.
“The coward fled!” another proclaimed, laughing in triumph.

Their triumph, however, was shattered, by the sudden appearance of several hundred shadows above them. The assembled warriors looked up and gaped as metal pods rained from the sky. “What madness is this?” one demanded, scrambling out of the way.
The pods landed like a hailstorm amongst them, breaking the Khornates’ group up. Several dozen were crushed outright. As the dust settled, even as the battle between gods raged in the background, the pods erupted in shrapnel, shredding the warriors as they clustered around their new targets.
Slaanesh roared in laughter as the Dark Eldar souls raced through him. “Khorne, you old battlewagon, this is too much fun! You really aren’t as good at this as you say you are,” he said cruelly, slamming a tentacle across his ancient enemy’s face.
Khorne staggered back, seemingly blinded, and Slaanesh lunged in for a kill. Too late, he saw the burning malice and glee in Khorne’s eyes, and even as he struggled to halt his advance, Khorne brought the pommel of his blade up in a punishing strike. Slaanesh lurched backwards, his momentum reversed.
The pods on the field below began belching smoke like they were aflame, mingling with the blood-mist and fog on the battlefield. The Khornates clustered around them, brandishing their weapons in anticipation of a good fight.
A hideous, high-pitched whine erupted from within them, grinding at the ears of the surrounding warriors. “What buggery is that? A sonic weapon?” one demanded, clamping his hands over his ears.

Slaanesh straightened up, glaring at Khorne. “Nice trick, love. Try this,” he snarled, leaping through the air, sword held high.
Khorne roared with laughter and caught his descending opponent with a lunge. He grabbed the Prince of Excess and hurled him bodily through the air to slam into the pool of boiling blood at the foot of his throne. Slaanesh shrieked in sudden surprise. “You can swell on power all you wish, slut, but you’re no fighter,” Khorne declared, flourishing his blade. “Now, let’s see about that eye…”
The whine grew louder and louder, until the warriors on the plain had had quite enough. “Smash the blasted things!” a World Eater roared, hacking away at the metal pod with his chain axe.
A hand, clad in a pointed glove, sprang from within the pod. The Khornate blinked in shock behind his mask as the metal glove ran him straight through.
The other warriors paused in their bloodlust to gape. The whine cut off abruptly, as if someone had thrown a switch.

Slaanesh scrambled backwards, trying to rise, but the blood stuck to his arms and threatened to drag him down. Khorne stepped over his thrashing body, lifting his sword high. “Which eye do you like the least? I’ll be fair and take that one only,” he growled.
A piercing shriek broke the sounds of Slaanesh’s struggling. Both gods looked out to where the pods had landed, unnoticed in their titanic struggle.
Khorne’s troops were vanishing into a veritable maelstrom of blood. Soldiers, thousands of them, were twisting and writhing across the battlefield, slicing and blasting their way through Khorne’s suddenly outclassed soldiers. Above the sounds of dying men, firing guns, and clashing melee weapons, a single, ululating battlecry could be heard.
“WRRYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!”
Nearly two hundred cells of Eversor Assassins slashed their way across the plain, cutting down Khorne’s distracted army by the armful. Powered by drug concoctions that could drive lesser men insane, the killing machines churned screaming cultists and even Space Marines to mulch beneath their hyperactive movements.

“Assassins? That bastard dares unleash his assassins on ME?!” Khorne raged. “Does he think me some petulant Imperial rebel he can simply erase?” He turned his wrathful gaze on Slaanesh, who was scrambling for the bank of the moat. “I’ll end you first, upstart,” he snarled, advancing.
Slaanesh cursed. “Not today, I think,” he said, and in a thunderclap of brilliant light, vanished back to his own realms. Khorne stumbled and blinked.
His prey was gone. Once again, Slaanesh had eluded his grasp. He threw his head back and roared his anger to the bloody sky. “YOU’LL NOT ESCAPE ME THIS TIME, SLUT!” he screamed, and the sound of his wrathful voice rumbled dust on the plains.
The Eversors were undeterred, slashing away at the ranks of Khorne’s forces. Even as they moved, their casualties mounted: they couldn’t bring down the entire army of Khorne at once. But then, they weren’t supposed to.
The Blood God’s forces fought back with a hateful vengeance, throwing themselves into the slaughter. The chainaxes of World Eater veterans as old as the Imperium flashed against the poison gauntlets and plasteel armor of the Eversors, and cleaved them open.
Inexorably, the swarm of Eversors vanished under the tide of red, until only the pods that had borne them there remained, and they too disappeared in a shower of sparks as the Khornates with chain weapons cleaved them apart.
“What the hell was the purpose of that?” a cultist demanded, wiping drug-riddled blood from his forehead, as silence fell over the battlefield, split only by detonating Eversors and the triumphant shouts of individual warriors. None answered him.

The Emperor breathed a sigh of relief that could bowl a man over, safe in the hangars of Kasr Vortiga. “IT WORKED.”
“A plan to disrupt the Tyranids, Chaos, and the Dark Eldar alike…I must say, my Lord God, I am thoroughly impressed,” Lord Castellan Creed admitted, puffing on his cigar. “But won’t Khorne and Slaanesh alike focus on us now?”
“HOW? WITH SLAANESH HUMILIATED AND KHORNE’S ARMIES DAMAGED, THOUGH OF COURSE HE CAN CALL THEM BACK SOON, BOTH OF THEM WILL HAVE TO DEFEND THEMSELVES FROM THE OTHER TWO CHAOS GODS NOW, AND WITH ABBADON AND FULGRIM OUT OF COMMISSION, WE’VE BOUGHT SOME BREATHING ROOM,” the Emperor said. “AND IF THEY DO COME OUT OF THE EYE SWINGING, CREED, I’M SURE YOUR TACTICAL SKILL WILL HOLD THE LINE UNTIL I CAN RALLY THE TROOPS A BIT. EVEN NOW, MY SONS GATHER THEIR FORCES FOR AN ASSAULT ON THE WORLDS WE’VE LOST AROUND THE EYE AND THE PATHS OF THE TYRANIDS.”
“May I ask what end we seek to achieve here, my Lord God?” Creed inquired carefully. “Beating back Chaos is a huge gain, of course, but it sounds like you have something more long-term in mind, Sire.”
“OH, I DO INDEED, LORD CASTELLAN. FEAR NOT. I WOULDN’T SACRIFICE THAT MANY ASSASSINS IN A SINGLE ATTACK UNLESS I KNEW IN ADVANCE WHAT IT WOULD ACHIEVE,” the Emperor said grimly. “PLEASE SEE TO THE RECONSTRUCTION OF YOUR WORLD. I HAVE A MEETING TO ATTEND.”

==4-187-001-M42==

Vulkan clasped his hands below his chin and watched the holograms flickering before him. “You need even ask?” he said mildly. “Of course the ports of Prometheus are open to stage your forces.”
“I didn’t think you’d say no, Vulkan,” Lion El’Jonson said from orbit. He looked down at the tiny red ball visible through his viewport. “The Emperor assures me that my campaign will strike a blow against the Dark Mechanicus forces harassing the Obscura battlegroups, but it’s a bit of a journey from Nocturne, given that Ultima has its own problems.”
“I’ll be busy, too, Lion,” Guilliman said from his own ship. “The campaign the Emperor has set us upon could take a hundred years to complete, given our…decayed technological advantage,” he admitted. “I will miss the Stormhammers we used to have.”
“AND BELIEVE ME, I APPRECIATE IT,” the Emperor said from the surface into the vox the Salamanders had provided. “BUT I WON’T BE ABLE TO LEAD IN PERSON. I’M GOING TO BE UP TO MY EYES IN REFORM WORK ON TERRA ALONE…AND REALLY, ONLY I AM GOING TO BE ABLE TO TAKE THIS WAR TO THE FORCES OF CHAOS ON THEIR OWN TERMS.”
Vulkan rubbed his temples, thinking carefully. “Father…if I may…what, exactly, did your deployment of those Eversors accomplish besides enraging Khorne?”
“WELL, WHAT’S SLAANESH’S WEAKNESS ABOVE ALL ELSE?” the Emperor asked.
“Pride,” Guilliman answered in a moment. “Insurmountable, personal, cocky pride.”

“EXACTLY. KHORNE’S ANGRY, HIS TROOPS’ MORALE IS DAMAGED, AND NOW KHORNE IS GOING TO NEED ANGRON TO KEEP HIS MEN IN LINE MORE SO THAN HE HAS AT ANY POINT SINCE THE HERESY ITSELF,” the Emperor pointed out. “AND SLAANESH IS NOTHING IF NOT SPITEFUL. HE’LL GO HOME TO HIS PALACE IN THE WARP AND SULK, AND MAYBE EVEN RESURRECT FULGRIM IF HE CAN, AND THEN HE’LL THROW THEM AT KHORNE IN A TIDAL WAVE. WHEN THAT HAPPENS, I EXPECT THE OTHER TWO CHAOS POWERS WILL JOIN IN.”
“So this was as much to tie up their forces with infighting as it was to accomplish any logistical goals?” Vulkan asked, musing that over.
“INDEED. FEAR NOT. WHEN THEY COME FOR US AGAIN, WE’LL BE FAR MORE READY FOR THEM,” the Emperor said grimly. “WE MAY HAVE BOUGHT OURSELVES A THOUSAND YEARS TO PREPARE.”
“That would be ideal, of course,” Vulkan said, “but what exactly will you be doing while we…well, pick up where we left off?”
“PREPARING FOR A CHANGE OF AUTHORITY,” the Emperor said coldly. “I CAN’T DISCOUNT THE POSSIBILITY THAT THE CHAOS GODS CAN EXERT SOME INFLUENCE OVER ME IN THIS FORM. CLEARLY THEY HAVEN’T YET, BUT WHAT IF TZEENTCH FINDS A WAY? I CAN’T RISK IT.”
“So…are you just going to kill yourself and try again?” Vulkan asked, flabbergasted, as his brothers made noises of surprise.
“GIVE ME SOME CREDIT,” the Emperor roared dismissively. “I’M GOING TO MAKE SURE THINGS GET OFF TO A BETTER START WITH YOU AND YOUR BROTHERS, OF COURSE, AND MAKE SOME…STRATEGIC REPLACEMENTS ON THE SENATE OF THE HIGH LORDS OF TERRA BEFORE I EVEN ATTEMPT SUCH A THING. WE’RE TALKING YEARS, HERE.”

Vulkan was silent for a long moment, and his brothers were no doubt sharing his thoughts. “I suppose I can understand your desire not to inhabit that thing any longer than is necessary, at least,” Vulkan said at last.
“OH, YES. OF COURSE THERE ARE HIGHER PRIORITIES THAN MY OWN PERSONAL COMFORT, BUT THAT’S CERTAINLY A PART OF IT.” The Emperor looked up to where Guilliman’s ship was visible as a comet in the sky as it burned around the planet’s orbit at seventy times the speed of sound. “BESIDES, GENTLEMEN, ONE THING HAS NOT CHANGED IN THE TEN THOUSAND YEARS OF MY ABSENCE. I STILL HOLD THAT HUMANITY IS ONLY WORTH CONQUERING THIS TUMULTUOUS GALAXY IF IT IS UNSULLIED. IF ITS LEADER RESORTS TO DAEMONOLOGY AND SORCERY TO GET ANYTHING DONE, WHAT DOES THAT SAY ABOUT THE IMPERIUM AS A WHOLE? I’D RATHER NOT BE AN ALL-POWERFUL HYPOCRITE, THANKS.”
“Naturally,” Lion said heavily. “That is perfectly true.”
“AS FOR THE REFORMS, I SUSPECT THAT THE PROBLEM WILL JUST BE ONE OF INERTIA. ABSENT LEADERSHIP LEADS TO STAGNATION, AFTER ALL.”
Guilliman addressed the elephant in the room with his next comment. “And this…Emperor-worshipping nonsense?”
The Emperor was quiet for a time. “I DON’T KNOW YET. I DON’T THINK IT’S GOING AWAY, CERTAINLY.”
“The fact that it actually does seem to serve as a shield against certain kinds of daemonic forces is troubling,” Lion admitted. “But is it the act of believing in something, or the thing in which one believes, that allows the believer strength?”
“A LITTLE OF BOTH, FROM WHAT I CAN DISCERN,” the Emperor said irritably. “WHICH DOESN’T HELP.”
“Then for now…perhaps we should let it stand, and simply move to stabilize the Imperium as best we can,” Guilliman concluded heavily.

“THAT SEEMS TO BE THE CASE, YES,” the Emperor said. “I KNOW, IT BURNS ME TOO, BUT I DON’T SEE A CHOICE.”
Lion nodded glumly. “Then it stands. If you will, Sire, I must depart for the fronts,” he said, rising to his feet.
“CERTAINLY. MY SONS, GOOD LUCK OUT THERE. VULKAN, A WORD?” the Emperor asked as Guilliman and Lion cut their signals and made for the Warp.
“Yes, Sire?” Vulkan asked.
“I WANT TO KNOW HOW THIS ARTEFACT HUNT IS GOING FOR YOU SO FAR,” the Emperor said. “PLEASE UNDERSTAND THAT YOUR PRIORITY HAS TO BE THE DEFENSE AND EXPANSION OF THE IMPERIUM, NOT HE’STAN’S JOURNEY.”
“Of course I understand, Father,” Vulkan said patiently. “If I had to, I could remake some myself. But I left this task for my sons to complete. If I told them to abandon it, how would that make me look?”
“A FAIR POINT, MY SON,” the Emperor admitted. He heaved a sigh and rose to depart. “THEN I MUST MAKE FOR TERRA. FARE WELL, VULKAN.”
“Likewise, Sire. I’ll see you when I can,” Vulkan said, and cut the transmission.
He turned to his Battle-Brothers, several of whom had been waiting out of vox range for his call to end. “Now then, Salamanders…let’s get to work,” he said proudly. “The Imperium isn’t going to rebuild itself.”

The End.

[[Category:The Tales of the Emperasque]]