987.M41 Unknown daemon world
Magnus the red stood over the daemon world just outside the eye of terror. The Imperials had long since given up trying to reclaim the world after the greater daemon's had begun pouring out of the warp rifts that covered the world. A handful of the daemon's not belonging to Tzeetch still wandered the landscape of the planet, causing trouble wherever they went, but for the most part, the planet belonged to the god of change.
Vast crystalline libraries filled with forbidden knowledge spanned miles of the planet's terrain, with avian mutants and daemons trying desperately to learn all they could. To any mere mortal, it was a brilliant sight. To the crimson daemon, it was a reminder. A reminder that Tzeentch was the one that pulled the strings, keeping the knowledge hidden from those on the planets surface eternally, constantly changing the records, paths, and halls.
He grimaced as he watched one of the many corrupted Astartes wander through the libraries. The man had been searching for eternity, since the days of the heresy, trying in vain to find the answers he was searching for.
This was but one example of the millions of souls that wandered the libraries of the planet.
"My Primarch," one of his sons stated, kneeling behind him, "The catalyst is in its final preparations, all we require is your word."
Magnus nodded to the Astartes in question, before teleporting down to the planet's surface. The catalyst, a great blue, glass spire that stood miles high. The physics of the object would normally be called into question, but due to the malignant nature of the warp, such concepts as gravity and balance were quickly thrown aside.
He stood at the base of the spire, the door leading into it standing at over a dozen meters tall. He pushed the doors open, their weight being meaningless compared to his strength as both a Primarch and a Daemon Prince.
The room inside stretched all the way to the top of the spire, with pitch darkness looming over him. The size of the room was completely deceptive, being far larger on the inside than it was on the outside. While the diameter on the outside was only a kilometer at most, the inside was far larger, reaching almost ten kilometers.
The floors and walls were made of a reflective, crystalline material which mirrored the Primarch's crimson form, the entire room lighting up a crimson red as he was reflected by each and every surface. At the center of the room stood a tall pedestal, standing at almost three meters in height. To the Primarch's massive form, this was waist hight.
A single handprint, just large enough to fit Magnus' current form sat at the center of the pedestal. Reaching forward, the Primarch pressed his hand into the pedestal. Less than a second passed before a bright beam of blue energy shot up from the ground, consuming the pedestal, Magnus, and almost the entirety of the room. The beam continued upward, reaching higher and higher until it reached the top of the spire.
The spire's top was a mass of misaligned crystal, which caused the massive beam of energy to split, sending bright beams of psychic energy flying across the galaxy. Many of these beams hit their intended targets, sending a psychic signal to dozens of rogue warbands. Some, connected with other daemon worlds which had similar, if smaller, spires constructed upon them. These spires redirected the message, sending them in different directions. Some of these were a warning, others, misinformation, and others still a desperate gamble.
But there was one that Magnus had utter confidence in and the only one that he personally guided. This message went to a ship of Imperial origin, an amusingly named ship known as the Emperor's Boot, its goal to open a line of communication to the one being in the galaxy Magnus felt he could start fresh with, perhaps.
They were Imperial, yes, but that did not mean they couldn't be turned. They were one of the Emperor's own offspring, a sensei. In a way, his half brother.
True, his relative was anathema to his very being, but Tzeentch himself at least claimed to have held a conversation with him. And besides, he only purged Chaos when he chose to, it was not a constant thing.
There were many myths associated with the Sensei, some saying they were invisible to chaos, others saying they were born of it, and yet more still claiming that they were the Emperor reborn. Magnus personally didn't believe any of these, determined to see what his fathers machinations had done for his own mind's eye.
[-----]
"Again!" Lucius yelled as Michael dodged a strike from his blade. The two danced, swinging swords that under normal means would be considered the most dangerous things in the galaxy.
Jarod sat on the sidelines, drinking… something, from a ceramic mug. He wasn't sure what exactly he was drinking, but it was good enough that he didn't bother to check. In his other hand, he held a data-slate, scrolling through bits of information he had been given by inquisitor Karev.
Michael grunted as Lucius swept his legs out from under him, the imitation of the Laer blade striking hard enough to break bones, were Michael's legs not protected from such things. Michael groaned, looking up at the empty white sky that made up his mind-scape.
Just under a year ago, he had been named Kiara's official caretaker, and Matthias her forge master. From Matthias, she would learn the technology and mechanics of Humanity. Michael and Salah would at least attempt to give her some semblance of normalcy in terms of home life.
When she received the official news, Salah had all but demanded Michael learn how to use a sword properly. For weeks the two of them had trained, the more experienced and agile Eldar dancing circles around Michael as he attempted to stand his ground. Sufficed to say, he failed miserably.
He didn't give up, however.
Lucius had offered to teach him how to use a sword, and the two would train in his own mind when he slept, slowly increasing his muscle memory and skill with a blade. He trained for days, and those days turned into weeks, those weeks, into months, and Michael began to noticeably improve, his skills showing whenever he and Salah sparred. Instead of mere seconds, their matches began lasting over a minute. Then three minutes. Then five. Then, Michael fought her to a draw.
By that point, many Eldar Howling Banshee's had begun to take notice of their spars. It disturbed many of them that a relatively unaugmented human was keeping up with, and even matching their Exarch. Many of them challenged Michael, desperate to prove to themselves that this Mon'keigh wasn't beginning to best their own superior.
They all lost.
Somehow, someway, Michael had managed to beat every single howling banshee on the craftworld in single combat, except the Exarch herself. He had only ever fought her to a draw.
It was that situation that led him to spar with the former champion of Slaanesh so vehemently. He had limited his own strength inside his own mind to that of his normal body, and even though he felt he never really would match the captain of the Emperor's Children in speed and strength, his skill was a noticeable trait.
"Remember, keep your feet moving, never let yourself be in one place for very long." Lucius chided as he helped Michael to his feet.
Michael gave a determined nod, before turning to Jarod, "Well, Jarod, what time is it?" Michael asked.
Jarod looked down at his data-slate idly, "About time for you to wake up. While you and Lucius have spent about a month here, it has been about seven hours in the real world."
Lucius laughed, "Well, it seems we've been getting sloppy in out time dilation." he remarked.
Michael rolled his eye's, "Yeah, yeah, I get it. Anyway, Jarod's right, I have another match with Salah as it is, and Kiara and I wanted to go get ice cream."
Jarod blinked as he realized what Michael said, "They have ice cream?" he asked.
Michael shrugged, "The Aeldari equivalent at any rate. Closer to yogurt really."
Jarod chuckled, "You truly will never cease to amaze me, Michael. When did you become a stay at home dad?"
Michael sputtered for a moment, before sighing as Jarod laughed, and Lucius' deep chuckled joined in. Michael glared at the space marine, "You don't have to be so smug about it you know, you're kinda stuck doing the same thing alongside me."
Lucius chuckled, "And yet I see what you cannot, the Exarch has been training, harder than you perhaps, to keep you from surpassing her."
Michael rolled his eyes, "Yeah, well I just so happen to have the greatest sword master to ever grace the face of the galaxy stuck in my head, I'm pretty sure your training beats out whatever she's doing."
Lucius chuckled, "A year ago I was the chosen champion of the Dark Prince, yet here I am, training you."
"Oh how the mighty have fallen," Michael uttered satirically.
"You know, it is rather unusual that you are able to keep up with the Exarch as well as you do, even managing to fight her to a draw." Lucius commented, changing the subject, "I wonder if your psychic abilities might be manifesting."
Jarod perked up at the mention of Michael's abilities, "What do you mean?"
"I mean that he may his power may be manifesting itself in some form of biomancy. He moves far faster, and is much more coordinated than any normal human should be, even inside his own mind. How else does he keep up with me?" he explained.
Michael put a hand to his chin, "So you're saying I'm some kind of Biomancer?" he asked.
Lucius shrugged, "It is merely a theory, nothing more."
After a few more minutes of banter, Michael decided he'd best wake up to prepare for his match with Salah. If he were to show up late it would be the end of his reputation.
Michael woke up in his bed inside the hab he and Kiara had been living in. Getting up, he quickly got dressed and walked into the kitchen to begin cooking breakfast. The kitchen table was covered in bits and pieces of metal, wiring, and circuitry, evidence of Kara's apprenticeship with Matthias.
Michael carefully moved them all to the side and began preparing a rudimentary breakfast: eggs and bacon. Or at least, as close as he could get with Eldar food on hand.
Much of the livestock the Eldar carried was similar to the Imperium's, the Grox, in particular, being a beast both species cultivated. Grox bacon was something Michael had to specifically ask for, as those he talked to had no idea what he's been talking about. The eggs were a bit easier, belonging to some kind of bird the Eldar kept -- the thing actually looked closer to a duck than a chicken really.
Regardless, the food was good, and if the little ball of energy that came dashing out of her room was anything to go by, Kiara could smell it. The small, red-haired girl was wearing what amounted to a child-sized mechanicus robe. The red color, white checkered edges, and a hood, everything had been made to fit her. The only alteration was the lack of sleeves, something that she'd done herself when aforementioned clothing kept getting caught on the bits of metal she was constantly working on.
"Well good morning to you too!" Michael said with a laugh as Kiara sat down at the table.
"Morning! What's for breakfast?" She asked, knowing full well what Michael was cooking.
Michael smiled as he set the food on her plate, sliding it in front of her. The resounding awe in her voice was enough to make him chuckle. Kiara began devouring the food, muttering a 'thank you!' between bites.
Michael began to dig into his food as well, enjoying the foreign taste. Granted he's been eating food meant for Eldar for close to a year by now, but no matter how often he did he was always fascinated by the taste. The eggs themselves had a natural sweetness, in sharp contrast to the salty taste of the Grox bacon. Not a bad combination.
After the two finished eating hand washing up, they headed out toward the training ground. The stares people had given the two as they walked by had died off after the first few months, a strange sense of normalcy taking over.
They eventually reached the training ground, the guards at the entrance acknowledging their presence with a sharp nod. Michael and Kiara made their way through the compound until they heard the sounds of battle. Making their way toward the noise, they soon found themselves watching two Howling Banshee's duking it out.
They danced around each other, their 'training' swords glowing with energy. It was clear to anyone with knowledge of swordplay that the two had done this dance dozens of times before, dancing away from attacks before striking forward with one of their own.
To any normal human, it was something so quick and beautiful that they would have a difficult time keeping track of it. To someone like Michael, while still beautiful, he was able to spot the holes in their defense, or when they hesitated or pulled their strikes. A year of training to combat the Banshee's had given Michael an insight into their fighting style that few could match.
Finally, one gained the advantage over the other, their sword landing at the base of the other's neck. Once the two left the arena, those spectating started to glance toward Michael, some of them muttering in conversation.
Kiara glared at some of the ones who gave them dirty looks, but Michael focused on ignoring them. Instead, he walked over to a weapon rack and grabbed the largest, most unwieldy weapon available. It was still as light as a feather -- in terms of weaponry -- and as sturdy as adamantine. The three-foot blade was wider than most Eldar weapons, looking more like a medieval human arming sword than anything the Aeldari would make.
"I see your tastes haven't changed at all," Salah said from behind him.
He turned around, eyeing her armored form. Her wraithbone armor was something that he had seen far more in a year than most men would in their entire lifetime, something that made Michael chuckle.
Her twin power swords hung at her hips, the blades being two feet and two and a half feet for her left and right hands, respectively. They were outright deadly when she got going, and Michael had only barely managed to fight her to a draw, losing outright more often than not.
He hoped that would change today.
"A longer blade, still lightweight, and easily held in one hand? I'd be an idiot not to pick it up." He said with a grin.
Salah let out a 'hmph' before walking toward the arena. Much as the two of them might not hate each other's guts anymore, Salah's growing respect for Michael still hadn't reached 'friend' quite yet.
Stepping into the arena, Michael gave the weapon an experimental twirl, before gripping it firmly in his right hand. He activated his arms las-gun, setting it to the lowest setting. Not enough to harm, but enough to let you know you'd been hit. It was an agreement the two had come to almost immediately, as Salah used two weapons, whereas Michael only used one.
A handful of the matches had been conducted without his lasgun, but even still, he was skilled enough that Salah saw no reason to prohibit it. In his matches against other howling banshee's, a few had refused to let him use the weapon. He'd still won.
The two of them readied their stances, each standing on one end of the arena. A crowd of Eldar surrounded them, itching to see what would happen. A swift 'begin' from someone outside their attention signaled the beginning of the battle, and Salah launched herself forward.
Michael did the same, using the longer blade to block the downward strike by Salah, before sending a punch with his left arm toward her stomach. Salah backed off almost immediately, barely dodging the strike, while retaliating with one of her own. She thrust her longer blade forward, towards Michael's head, which he dodged easily. He swung his sword, going to hook her left arm from underneath, only for her to swiftly dodge to the side.
The two exchanged many blows, none landing or even coming close to doing anything approaching damage. The Aeldari around them had since lost their stalwart composure and were cheering, not only for Salah but for Michael as well. Yes, he was human, but he had worked to become their Exarch's equal. A handful of them had fought alongside him against the Emporer's Children, and now, they knew that he wasn't someone to be disrespected.
It was a miracle that Michael was able to keep up with her, as even though he was definitely slower than the Eldar, his strikes held a larger amount of power, and combined with the fact that he used his lasgun to repost many attacks, it came out to him being able to hold his ground against the Exarch.
Michael's mind idly considered what Lucius had mentioned about him using biomancy subconsciously to keep up with Salah, and wondered if there was a way he could test it.
He thrust his sword forward, nicking the armor on her hip. He dodged one of her attacks, the blade whizzing by his face. He would have to consider the implications of the fact further once the battle ended, but it seemed as though Lucius might be right.
Normally, an Eldar was supposed to be far faster than any human, but Michael had been keeping up with her. When his blade scraped the edge of her shoulder, he realized suddenly that he was beginning to overtake her. Move for move, strike for strike, Michael was slowly wearing her down.
It finally ended with him tripping her up, literally, with his foot sweeping her legs out from under her and his sword stabbing the ground an inch away from her shoulder, his knee firmly planted on her stomach, and his lasgun pointed directly in her face.
Silence reigned as the crowd watched in awe, and with a face of unfaltering shock plastered onto Salah's face, "I yield." she said, simply and without flair.
The crowd erupted, some cheering, some cursing, others trying to make sense of what had happened. A Mon'keigh, a human, had bested their Exarch. An Aeldari who had been locked into their path, to be considered the best of the best. He had won.
Michael stepped off of her, pulling the blade out of the wraithbone floor. He held out a hand to the fallen Exarch, which after a moment of hesitation, she took. Michael hoisted her upward, grinning like a madman.
"Well, it seems like I finally won one of our little grudge matches." He said, his face beaming.
Salah blinked, looking at Michael's grinning visage. Within the confines of her own mind, she wondered when he had begun looking so… different. It was something she knew hadn't happened overnight either. His face hadn't changed per se, but it looked sharper as if it were… more real, for lack of a better phrase. His eyes burned with a passion she had seen in very few Aeldari, and even fewer humans. His brown hair and beard gave off a warm, friendly feeling, like a warm blanket.
Without thinking, acting on pure emotion, Salah fell forward, her smaller body leaning into his. She didn't even register the looks some of the other Eldar gave her, nor the whispers that started once Michael's blush had become clearly visible.
She was still in shock, barely functioning mentally, and had fallen into using Michael as a kind of emotional support. Her head spun with a thousand questions; some pertaining to how he had gotten so strong, some asking why he was picking her up bridal style, why she couldn't think straight, why she heard the distinct cheer of a child, why she felt the warm embrace of a bed…
All of these questions faded into nonexistence, however, when she heard his voice.
"You did good, now get some rest." He said, and she felt him plant a kiss on her forehead.
She was out like a light, not a minute later.