[center][h1]The Council of Nikaea: Day Three[/h1][/center]
[h3]Year: 001.M31[/h3]
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The Emperor watched as the Council room slowly filled before him. The Primarchs of the Legiones Astartes and their retinues entered the room first. Behind them filed in the High Lords and their own accompanying persons. Behind those came the seemingly endless tide of Remembrancers who would record and document the proceedings of the council. All fell under the watchful eye of the Emperor of Mankind as they took up their positions within the chamber. The center floor belonged to Malcador, who nodded to the Primarchs and their retinues as they entered.

At last, all were seated, and silence began to grow upon the room as those assembled waited for the Sigillite to call the debate into being once more. Instead however, he turned to the Emperor, seated higher than all others as he watched the room. Malcador inclined his head to him before speaking. “The third day of debate upon the Edict of Tolerance will commence shortly.” He said, his voice even and emotionless, “But before we begin, the Emperor will speak.”

The Emperor stood, looking to each Primarch or Equerry in turn before he spoke. “I called this council, my children, that the matters that sow discord amongst our ranks might be debated in a rational, calm manner.” He spoke softly, but all in the room heard his voice. “This has not been the case. Twice before we have convened to discuss these matters of import, and twice before now they have been interrupted before a satisfactory conclusion could be reached.” His eyes bored into all within the room as he remained silent for some time before continuing. “You will all hear me now - conduct unbefitting of persons of your stature will not be tolerated. Any Primarchs or Equerries, or all other persons, who are found to be acting out of line will be disbarred from future proceedings. All contributions or objections to the topics of debate within the Council will be nullified.” Having said his piece, the Emperor returned to his seated position.

Malcador nodded to the Emperor, and spoke once more, “With that, I declare the third day of the Council of Nikaea to be in attendance.”

With that word, the chime of the vox-cast system blared to life once more and once again the resonant, booming voice of one of the Emperor’s Custodes made a firm declaration.

[i]”Now will follow a brief review of all evidence admitted before this Council as of the last open discussion.

Primarch Augor Astren has submitted a voxscriber with the verified, recorded word of Malcador the Sigilite in his role as the Convener of the Council of Nikaea. In the record, he  states that the purpose of the Council is to discuss the retainment or abolition of the Edict of Tolerance, and specified that whether or not the Edict of Tolerance contradicts the Imperial Truth is one of the topics, though not the principal one. The recording concludes with his statement that the actions taken by those who spoke against the Imperial Truth and the dictates of the Imperium have been noted and shall be countermanded.”[/i]

The blaring vox-announcement then abated.

Much like on the first day of the debates, Micholi was the first to rise and make his way to the central podium. With a calm, professional air he introduced himself as he custom as “Micholi Vakarian, 2nd Legion Night Watch, Primarch.” before he took a deep breath, resting his hands on the podium itself.

“Before we begin, while I would normally never dare to speak on behalf of my siblings and if they wish to elect to speak for themselves it is fully within their rights to, but for the purposes of time I would like to take this opportunity on behalf of myself and the other Primarchs to apologize for our behavior. Both to the Emperor and the Imperium at large who are watching this moment with keen interest. We are meant to represent the best of humanity and these last few days, we have allowed our passions and biases to get the better of us. We will strive to live up to the ideal going forward.”

Allowing himself a moment of silence out of respect for the weight that a Primarch offering an apology should hold, Micholi soon got started properly. “For the purposes of the record and to dismiss this persistent belief that some in the Imperium seem to hold that the Edict of Tolerance was somehow me pulling some kind of con on the Emperor, I feel like is in this Council’s interest to hear the exact story of how the Edict in question came to be and why it took the form that it currently holds.”

“I acknowledge that the version of events that is about to be told is from my point of view. As such, I cannot speak for the intentions or motives behind the actions of either the Emperor or Malcador, since both also played a part in events. I also request from my siblings not to interrupt until I am finished.”

Taking a measured glance around the chamber, Micholi soon began. “The idea for the Edict of Tolerance came into being during my original meeting with the Emperor on the Reserve in the year eight hundred and twenty two of M30. Having spent my life being raised by and fighting alongside a mixture of humans and xenos from a number of species and worlds against a mixture of humans and eldar, the idea of discarding comrades in arms and family solely because they weren’t human was unthinkable.”

“While I could have very easily used my privilege as a Primarch to safeguard them, the evidence of their existence and actions supported the idea that Humanity and non-human life could live together peacefully in coexistence. To blindly hate all non-human life without thought or question is nothing but mindless zealotry, a concept that seemingly went against the Imperial Truth that the Emperor had just introduced me to at the time. After a prolonged discussion between us, the Emperor acknowledged my point of view and the Edict of Tolerance was soon under construction.”

Shifting himself just a little, Micholi quickly continued “Coming out of the Age of Strife, many human populations had suffered great injustices at the hands of a variety of xenos races, many of whom had now nothing more than a few lines in a history data slate. The Sol system itself, the heart and birthplace of the Imperium, was plagued by xenos slavers lurking in the outer systems until the system was unified under the Emperor. I myself witnessed the elegant and decadent cruelties of the Eldar first hand.” There was a slight twitch of the Primarch’s head, drawing attention to the vile, ugly looking scar of tainted flesh that remained even centuries afterwards.

“To ignore this evidence and the effect that had on developing a culture of xenophobia would have been nothing short of madness. However, there is also evidence of xenos races that have done humanity no wrongs or have even banded alongside them in mutual protection against the many horrors spawned from the Long Night. To a truly rational mind free of superstitious beliefs that the Imperial Truth seems intended to foster, both fields of evidence have to be considered before action is taken.”

“I had a number of intentions for the Edict of Tolerance, which I made completely transparent to the Emperor and Malcador from the beginning. The option for humanity not to stand alone in the stars by being able to offer those who do not mean us harm a hand of peace and coexistence is the most clear, but it was also designed to, in the long run, help humanity cast aside mindless hatred for those that weren’t the same. To encourage thought before action by actually observing a situation rather than treating all encounters the exact same. To, as the examples of harmful and twisted examples of xenos life dwindled and their vile acts nothing more than lines in a data slate, allow evidence of peaceful and good xenos life to flourish.”

“Part of the purpose of this Council is to decide if the Edict of Tolerance has failed in its purpose. It hasn’t. It is working as intended. But it is a long term project and the fruit it will bear may take centuries yet to fully ripen… but even after such a short period of time, it has allowed many to let go of old, mindless hatred in favor of a more thoughtful, rational mindset.” 

“Some of my siblings might argue that the Edict of Tolerance is a contradiction to the Imperial Truth or even the Treaty of Mars. This is not the case. In the matter of the former, the Edict is meant to provide those in a position for a first contact a chance to pause and think about the situation before making a rash action. This doesn’t mean that the xenos species in question will survive, but instead that their death will be due to reason and rationality rather than blind hate and zealotry.”

There was… a slight delay from Micholi before he started speaking again. “I will be the first to admit that the Edict of Tolerance and the Treaty of Mars have had a long and somewhat… rocky history. There has always been the question of ‘How far is too far?’ in relation to the Mechanicum’s willingness to examine, learn and reverse engineer xenos technology even before the Edict of Tolerance came into existence… and I mourn the fact that so many have been judged to have crossed that line, often due to following the Edict. It is a sad and terrible thing to lose a mind dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge or the improvement of humanity, even when that dedication causes them to start down the darkest and most twisted paths that should not be explored.”

“However, the sad truth is that the question would still linger, even without the Edict of Tolerance. The Mechanicum would almost certainly still find inspiration and discovery in captured or recovered pieces of Xenos technology, if only because of the knowledge that something [i]can[/i] be done with technology, even if they don’t know exactly how to recreate it yet. If anything the existence of the Edict means that these examinations can be better regulated and observed since those more inclined towards examining and tinkering with xenos technology can do so officially with a degree of safety rather than creating hidden labs to horde possibly dangerous technology gathered illegally either in person or via some kind of grey market without any kind of oversight at all.”

“Basic curiosity is both a blessing and a curse after all. Oftentimes, stamping it out completely is next to impossible. Better to foster an environment where such minds can be of use but also be monitored for their own well being and safety… as well as those around them. After all, a human mind completely isolated from outside influence can delve into dark and terrifying places.”       

Offering a polite bow of his head to Malcador and the Emperor, Micholi returned to his seat to finally allow others to speak. 

The doors to the Council Chamber flew open with a loud bang as Kaldun the Golden Conquerer entered in full armor and all his glowing glory. A wide smile across his face, he greeted his family and the council at large in his customary, shouting, voice. “Hello father!” He gave a deferential bow to the Emperor, as was proper, before turning to the rest of the council. “And hello to my brothers and sisters and all of their sons and daughters! I apologize for the lateness of my arrival! A Space Hulk appeared in Imperial Territory and my sons and I dealt with it as swiftly as possible! It is in Mechanicum’s hands as we speak!”

He began to move towards an open spot next to his sister’s representative, Ayushmakti, his trusted sons following dutifully behind him.“I trust that I did not miss much beyond the ridiculous notion that the Edict be cancelled being turned down?” 

He surveyed the room, taking in the tense and combative atmosphere. His smile slipped, but only briefly before coming back into full force.

“Ah! That would be a no then! Disheartening, but I’m sure we can all come to see the benefits of utilizing the Xenos rather than wasting resources eradicating them! Not as true equals, of course! That would be ridiculous! But similar to how I have tamed the Ogryn! Why waste potential, when we can utilize it for the betterment of the Imperium?” He sat down in his seat, still beaming at the crowd around him.

The Sisters of Praxia had thus far retained their own counsel, Daena, Sekhmetara, and Nelchitl sitting apart from their siblings after having been conspicuously absent from the prior proceedings on the Edict of Tolerance. Uncharacteristically, the Mistress of the XIVth and her daughters did not attend in robes or gowns or uniforms but instead in their voidblack warplate. Two short robed figures stood behind the seats of the Primarch and her Praetor Primus, each holding their spears upright. The aged human woman that had attended the Legion at the opening of the Council was once more in attendance, but this time her blue and white uniform made no attempt at humility or modesty, her chest now heavy with a bevy of medals and awards that predated the Treaty of Mars. Of the three most prominent, two were obscure to all but the oldest of veterans - a lightning strike, and a triple helix - but the third was unmistakable. A winged skull over a sword, sigil of the Astartes themselves.

The three Primarchs had remained entirely silent until the arrival of Kaldun, the Angel’s impassive face splitting into a thin smile. “He seems your type, Sekhmetara,” she whispered, a fleeting hope arising in her that perhaps now the quarrelsome siblings could achieve something of note.

Or at least not murder each other.

“Fair to look at, a bit of a blunderer.” Sekhmetara mused quietly, one golden goblet obscuring her grin from the rest of the chamber, before her large hazel eyes turned to Daena, her grin becoming more of a toying, if fair, smile. “Not incorrect, but what then, does that say about you, Lady Azrael?” For the moment, the Conqueror of Mithra was more interested in the pomp and circumstance of her siblings as she was the actual matter at hand.

“A [i]bit[/i] of a blunderer?” Nelchitl questioned sardonically as she repulsed at her mind’s replay of Kaldun entering boisterously into the council chambers. She sat impassively for a few moments, the further words of Sekhmetara still fresh in her mind before she turned with a quizzical look to the Angel at her side, “What did I miss in the last two hundred years Daena?” she stated quietly, almost teasingly, an ear still kept on the evolving situation with Kaldun and Augor.

Daena made a [i]sound[/i] in between a choke and a laugh, the Primarch almost spitting her wine out. Looking at Nelchitl out of the corner of her eye, a small smile formed as she turned her attention back to Sekhmetara. “If you must know, Nelchitl, in those early days it was our dear sister who was blundering.”

“That is not how I remember it.” Sekhmetara spoke with the smug grin of someone who very much believed her own words, both hands resting atop her knee as one leg crossed over the other, the metal of her armour making no noise as she did, so poised were her motions, focusing on proceedings only half as much as the memories their words stirred proved far more riveting.

“There has been some substantive evidence presented on those exact points, brother.” Augor Astren answered in a somewhat clipped tone. “Evidence which, even in spite of repeated efforts and entreaties, certain malfeasant actors have been endeavoring to evade and avoid addressing.” He then pressed a hand to his voxcaster switch and formally announced himself.

“Augor Astren, Primarch of the Stargazers, his Emperor's Twelfth Astartes Legion. Fabricator Intendant of the Forge World of Last Light.” His speech broke momentarily for the record before proceeding.

“There have been multiple calls and appeals during the course of these discussions to dispassionately review and discuss the possible merits and detriments of the Edict of Tolerance as well as those exhibits which have been submitted before this Council as evidence. Any such discussion along these lines has yet to transpire. The opening inquiry of the second gathering has yet to even be addressed. All that has been offered between us have been empty and vain platitudes or else ventures to turn the topic of our discourse away from the true matter at hand. So I now present this Council with a new inquiry:

Does [i]anybody[/i] here intend to discuss the substance of this matter? If not, I motion we move directly to our final verdict. There can be no compelling purpose serviced by additional hollow argumentation without and around the true matter at hand.” He lifted his bionic talon from his voxcaster and cast his gaze across the chamber with a raised brow and hollow look.

“The substance is simple-” Kaldun paused in his response, belatedly standing. “Kaldun, Primarch of the Golden Spears, Fifteenth Legion, Lord of Baalros!” He looked back at Augor, smile matching his brother’s look. “The substance is simple! Is it not? Utilizing Xenos as an inferior but still useful force is dangerous! I do not deny this! But so are many of the technologies the Mechanicum and our own forces use! Plasma weapons may explode in our hands! Experimental machine spirits may go mad with rage! Yet we do not ban or destroy these things! Why? Because their benefits outweigh the risks! Some Xenos must be destroyed, and all must be subjugated! But to eradicate them out of simple disdain is wasteful! Utilize them as my own Golden Legion does! Put them where they will best serve the empire!” 

Augor smiled thinly as he pressed down on his voxcaster switch once more. “In light of the Fifteenth Primarch’s honest enthusiasm for this matter, I withdraw my proposed motion. Brother - these exact issues you raise were to have been the topic of the second open discussion, though we were sadly drawn away from them. I would now like to request a moment of this Council’s indulgence, to permit our most welcome sibling to review the record of the Council. I imagine he, at least, might have an honest interest in answering the original inquiry posed at the outset of the Second open discussion.” He then made a gesture towards his own retinue, and a Servo-Skull rose from amongst his retinue and circled around the chamber walls to approach kaldun’s own podium and deposit a data-slate before him.

“Thank you brother! I will review the record immediately!” Augor nodded and withdrew his hand from his voxcaster switch as Kaldun picked up the dataslate and began rapidly reviewing its contents - a complete record of the proceedings of the Council of Nikaea up until that moment. For anybody else, the daunting volume would have taken weeks or months to finish reading through even once. For a Primarch such as Kaldun, he would be able to fully read through and think over the body of data in mere minutes. 

“Do I dare to hope we might have finally moved on from damned accusations,” Daena murmured to her sisters, visibly relaxing in the face of Kaldun’s exuberance. Still, those who knew her well could recognize that she was on edge - and her Astartes still seemed ready for action.

Arnulf Wode, sitting nearby, snorted in derision. “There’ll be more bickering in this Council than a pack of orks brawling over who gets to lead their degenerate kind into war again, mark my words. You’ll get more civility from ambulls at the feeding trough.” 

Saul, sitting next to him, put a hand on his shoulder. “Arnie, don’t be so negative. You don’t know that for sure.”

“Wait and see.” Wode growled. “Wait and see.”

“Ambulls make for pleasant hunting.” Sekhmetara mused to herself, watching the proceedings with as much of a glint in her eye as she might very well a hunt of the more traditional nature. “There is much that can be gained from observing even that which we do not wish to see.” She spoke again, almost reproachful, towards her siblings and their entourage, leaning back in her seat, a vague recline, before sipping from her wine glass, savouring the crisp taste as she did so.

“See? Your sister’s got the right idea, you should listen to her more.” Saul said. “She’s very wise.”

“What are you, my wife?” Wode said, turning to Saul with a smile. He laughed, and shook his head.

“Not my type. Too uh…” Saul made a box shape with his fingers. “I like a little more…”

He made a curving shape with his hand, and Wode rolled his eyes.

“He needs someone who appreciates that the best part of the Ambull hunt is the steaks at the end.” Sekhmetara spoke with an even more sly grin, half concealed behind her wine glass as she took another sip. “You would enjoy Mithra.”

Saul hid his own smile behind his datapad, safe from Wode’s glowering. “I’m sure I would, Lady Sekhmetara.”

“You can have him, sister.” Wode growled, “Get him out of my hair for once. Let him hunt Ambull ‘til he dies of old age and save me from his nagging.”


The floor of the Council chamber did not have time to fall silent again.

Micholi flicked his vox-speaker on, physically turning to look at his cybernetic brother as he answered “Very well. Let us discuss your questions from the second gathering Augor. You offered concerns about multiculturalism being used by elements within and without the Imperium to stir up unrest and rebellion, alongside an argument that having a slightly less productive population that will rebel due to more mundane issues rather than due to being treated poorly due to not being human.”

A degree of sarcasm entered Micholi’s voice as he got going “For a moment, let us assume that the idea of human purity isn’t an irrational superstition. This council comes to the conclusion that all non-human citizens of the Imperium need to die. Sure, the xenos populations are the first target but we wouldn’t be able to stop there. After all, once the Xenos are gone we’ll have to purge ourselves of the abhuman populations as well. After all, all the evidence brought against the Edict of Tolerance and the xenos populations it has brought in applies to the abhuman strains of humanity as well since they take up jobs from baseline humanity, are not treated equally by the law because they’re not human and are just as prone to uprising and being stirred into rebellion against the Imperium and the Imperial Truth.”

There was a pause before Micholi finished “And of course… At the end we’ll have to exterminate ourselves and our legions. The amount of genetic modification that has to go into creating an astartes legionnaire is a solid argument that any of us are as close to baseline humanity as the Ogryn are. The only reason we couldn’t be considered a variant of humanity ourselves is because astartes cannot reproduce - and require baseline humans as the basis for our creation. So tell me Augor, in the name of human purity… where do we stop swinging the axe?”    

Augor promptly hit his voxcaster switch and answered, his tone flat and his voice even. “You are the first amongst this Council to raise the notion of Abhumans. If you are asserting that Abhumans are anything [i]less[/i] than Human, in spite of having been officially recognized and and endorsed both by the Officio Medicae of the Administratum as well as the Divisio Biologis of the Mechanicum, I believe you are alone in that assessment. When one speaks of Humanity, writ whole, those peoples are implicitly understood to be included. Your answer, as with every other issue of this gathering thus far, is an allegorical aside adjacent to the actual topic, and once more we have strayed away from the original inquiry - which you have once more sought to evade. In the simple interest of not reciprocating such blatant equivocation however, I will answer your question.” He turned his empty gaze away from Micholi and looked, almost reverently, towards the balcony in the rear wall where the Emperor presided.

“The descent of the axe stops exactly and precisely where the Emperor of All Mankind decrees it should stop.” After a lingering moment of silence, his gaze then snapped back to Micholi.

“Do you have anything [i]relevant[/i] to contribute?” He asked, his tone acidic.

“...Augor, I must say that a part of me is envious of you. To be able to say with complete confidence that because something is written by the Division Biologis or the Officio Medicae… or even the Emperor himself that [i]that[/i] is the way the universe truly is and anything that happens in practice that suggests differently is irrelevant. Because it is a reality that those xenos races brought into the Imperium via the Edict of Tolerance are generally afforded the same, somewhat limited rights and social standing of abhuman strains.” Micholi countered back with a cool, calm voice. “After all, didn’t our brother Kaldun just now claim upon his arrival that he tamed the Ogryn and that the xenos should be treated as them, not as true equals?”  

“If you are seeking an admission that Abhumans are not treated as Human in practice despite the Laws of the Imperium, here it is: I freely admit such is the case. It yet remains that you are the only one amongst this Council to suggest that they are anything less than Human, or that their status is at all relevant to our discussion of the Edict of Tolerance - which, to be utterly clear, [i]it is not[/i].” Augor ground out. “You continue to avoid addressing the actual merits and implementation of Edict of Tolerance itself, continued [i]prevarication[/i] in this manner can serve no further purpose. Has nobody here [i]anything[/i] substantive to say regarding the Edict other than our noble brother Kaldun?”

“Oh but Augor, it [i]is[/i] relevant to this discussion because it reveals the hypocrisy and double standards of the arguments being made against the Edict.” Micholi answered back. Raising a hand, he started to raise fingers as he listed off points. “Concerns about humans being made unemployed by those working for less or because they are fundamentally better at the tasks in question. Concerns about unrest and rebellion in relation to the Imperial Truth due to being viewed as less than human and desiring to be treated equally. Having forces outside and within the Imperium targeting these groups in order to create divisions and infighting. All of these apply to any given strain of abhuman within the Imperium just as much as any xenos citizen, but we’re not having a council to discuss this clear failure of the Imperium to treat its citizens equally… might I say actually ignoring it [i]completely[/i], solely because in the far distant past, the ancestors of this minority group were human.”  

Finally, at long last, the Primarch of the Twelfth Legion paused in his relentless barraging of the Second, pulling back from his podium-mounted voxcaster and seeming to raise his brow at Micholi’s conclusion. After a moment, he switched the device back to its active state, and in a much more accomodating tone, answered.

“Your point in this matter is, belatedly, factually relevant.” He stated. “In the interest of forestalling additional specious rebuttals, I propose we go forward on the presumption that this argument should not be refuted solely due to the obvious predominant ordination of Humanity and its Abhuman variant strains. This much is self-evident and would be the case in the presumption of the Edict of Tolerance being retained. This particular aspect of our discourse may merit revisitation, but it would be unreasonably prejudicial at this moment for us to not require further, more compelling argumentation.” He then switched off his voxcaster, his stance receding in clear indication he had no intention of elaborating further.

Micholi also went to sit down again and turn off his voxcaster, but before he did he respectfully looked towards Malcador and humbly asked “I request that the matter of the clearly unequal treatment of the Imperium’s abhuman strains despite Imperial Law be brought up as a subject of discussion at some point during this Council at a later date? Because outside of the Edict of Tolerance, it is an issue that should be discussed.”

Thoughtfulness on his face, Malcador turned away, and for a moment after, Malcador could be seen discussing quietly with the Emperor, out of earshot of voxspeaker capture. Yet, undeterred, came the voice of the Imperial Armada’s head from the ranks of the High Lords at the front of the room, a man with a great deal of visible augmentation:

‘Constansa Suati-Falkan, Grand Admiral of the Imperial Armada. With [i]respect,[/i] Primarch Micholi,’ he said, clearly not seeing the topic as one to respect, ‘the idea that abhumans are equal to true humanity is an absurdity - they are warped facades of us, and lesser for a reason. Is an ogryn capable of building worlds? Does a ratling know true courage? And besides which, I am well aware of the Edict’s final step: socially, any given xeno race reaching that stage is granted effective abhuman status. Yet, if abhumans are taken to be on an equal level with unaffected humans, well…’ He left his comment unfinished, trusting the rest of the room to see his point.

“A number of Abhuman Variants are graced, strainwide, with the privilege of full Imperial Citizenship equal to that of any other Adept, Grand Admiral.” Augor Astren remarked calmly, not even bothering to switch on his voxcast relay as Malcador conferred with the Emperor. “Are you suggesting the form and spirit of Imperial Law in this matter is in error?”

‘Well-’ Constansa blinked at the accusation. ‘Rather, if that is so-’

‘Ahem.’ Malcador, apparently saving the Grand Admiral from outright embarrassment, had returned to his seated position, and simply stated ‘In consideration of the discussion at hand, the Primarch of the Night Watch’s request may be attended to once it has been deemed that an appropriate moment to do so has presented itself. To wit, the present discussion of the Edict of Tolerance remains the primary point at this stage of affairs.’ To Augor, he simply shot a quick look that said “let the man bow out gracefully.” The Twelfth Primarch, for his part, had turned away from the Admiral and resumed his cross-armed, placid posture and did not appear interested in pursuing the tract further.

A watery rush and a tap of metallic claws heralded the voice of the Abyssal Primarch.

"Sarghaul, Tartareus, Progenitor of the Ninth," there was a slight note of irritation in his words as the circumstance of introduction clashed with the terseness of his habits, though it was quick to fade. "The Sigillite overlooks the true weight of the abhuman strains in the matter of the Edict. Deviate as they are, their lines remain permutations of the human genus, and as such they must be judged. Where evolution or selective guidance dictate, they may even arise to be more meritorious in the fulfilment of their purpose than the unmodified." Though it was difficult to say for certain, the graven eyes of his visor seemed to shoot a brief yet baleful glance at Suati-Falkan. "To equate them with the xeno is madness. As evidence has shown, it is in the nature of species to fight over dominance and survival. This is an imperative as old as the vitae-helix, untempered by the vagaries of technology. It marks the xeno as forever our foes, and total eradication alone will satisfy it. The abhuman are, by the necessities of their flesh, our allies in this battle. I have spoken."

Across the room, the assembled Doomsayers tensed as Sarghaul began to speak. Daena’s face, calm to begin with, morphed into a truly expressionless mask. Beneath the table her hands were gripped tight enough to turn her knuckles white.

Distaste spread across Nelchitl’s face as Sarghaul spoke. The sting of his earlier insult against Daena was still fresh in her mind and although she found herself in agreement with his words she could not bring herself to voice it as she snuck a look at Daena at her side.

The soft contours of Sekhmetara’s fair features grew tighter even as Nelchitl tensed as well, but her eyes did not drift from the speaker, not to her sibling in comfort or to gauge the reaction of the room, honing in with the hawk like focus of the huntress she embodied, her wine momentarily forgotten.

Before it could properly resume, the discussion of the Council was interrupted by a commotion outside of the chamber. A muted yelp of fright. The staccato march of heavy armored footsteps upon the marble floor. Dozens - perhaps hundreds of feet with a weight and cadence that could only belong to the Astartes. A great clamor as those within the hall outside took flight from it. Heavy footfalls of a large being, larger than any Astartes and heavily armored.

The doors of the chamber crashed open with a thunderous sound that echoed about the room. Through them marched a thin ceremonial column of the Sixteenth Legion - devoid of their usual arms but maintaining bolt pistols and chainswords at their sides. At their head marched Eiohsa, clad not in her full battle plate but instead in an ornate and exquisite suit of ceremonial terminator armor not worn for centuries, since before the time of the Rangdan. At her side hung a similarly ornate force sword likewise dating before the time of the Rangdan. Rage oozed off of her in waves, palpable to all within the room. Some of the attending Remembrancers fainted as she strode forth, psychic energy arcing from her eyes as she fixated her attention upon the man who had just spoken.

“Sarghaul!” She bellowed, her voice an almost inhuman howl of fury infused with the power of the warp. “You will answer to me!” She drew closer, the heavy tread of her armor reverberating through the room as her Legion stood mutely behind her. “Where is Ormis, you monstrous thing in the guise of man? Tell me now!”

The viscous rush of the Abyssal One’s breath was joined by the metallic clicking of his claws faintly tapping against each other as he turned his etched features towards her, almost idly. Small flashes of light briefly coursed along the length of the blades, nearly too dim to have been a deliberate effort, but enough for what they were - an implicit warning.

“I never knew you to care for the travels of my gene-spawn.” Amid the ever-moving tide of his breath, his voice was as deathly cold as his stare. He raised a taloned hand and almost carelessly let it rest on the lectern before him. “Nor is that for you to know. You would do better to put such zeal into being timely.”

Prometheus had spent much of the day on other matters, dispatching orders while idly listening to the proceedings of the council. With the dramatic entrance of his sister intent on taking Sarghaul to task, and considering the volatile nature of the council so far, Prometheus whispered into his vox making several snapped orders.

So, too, did the Emperor and Malcador alike take note of the affair. Whether or not it was noticed, all pict-captures in the room seemed to suffer malfunction at once, and all who were not of the Legions beyond these two seemed to acquire blank gazes, unhearing and unseeing, and unable to tell what had or would take place. Even the High Lords would not recall this event as it had come to pass.

“My delay is not one of idleness, monster.” She said, drawing closer, now seeming to tower over her ‘brother’ where normally his bulk would have dwarfed her. “I despise the atrocities you visit upon those unfortunate enough to cross your path. I loathe with every fiber of my being the horrors you inflict upon those who draw your ire. But you and your Legion have gone too far, [i]brother[/i].” She stepped forward, drawing level with her brother, an armored finger pushing aggressively into his chest.

“As the Emperor dictates, it is no business of mine how you conduct your campaigns, vile as they may be. But it was not enough for your spawn to fire upon my Legion, to slay hundreds of my Daughters, slaughter countless innocents in the course of your marauding amongst the people of the Imperium. No, in your brazen madness you defile the very integrity of humanity itself.” She stood rigid with fury as she spoke. “Your ‘Infestus’ are a crime against existence, twisted beyond recognition in flagrant defiance of the Imperial Truth and all sense and reason - how the Emperor has allowed these experiments I cannot fathom. The warping and corrupting and debasement of countless human beings is a crime for which we would wipe any civilization from existence. And yet that was not enough for you.” Her demeanor seemed to cool, and all throughout the room felt a weight settle upon their minds as she spoke, vague images of horrific nightmarish imagery from beneath the seas of Carcinus flickering within their minds. “You have abducted my Daughters and performed your vile, monstrous experiments upon them. The Astartes of the Sixteenth Legion subjected like so many others to your depraved machinations. You have inflicted upon them the same tortures you have countless Imperial citizens. Your crimes would be spoken of in hushed whispers were they to come from even the likes of the Rangdan - and yet they are perpetrated by one of our own. And yet you dare refuse me.” Her face darkened further, and she stared into his visor, unblinking.

“I will have the heads of every single one of your ‘Fleshweavers’, Sarghaul. And if you stand in my way, it will be your whole Legion. Know this.”

Usriel, having long arose from his seat after Eiohsa had barged into the council, glared upon the form of his sister before he called out to her, a cold, uncaring tone coming from the Nineteenth Primarch, “Subdue yourself, Eiohsa. You have much gall to come into this accord so late and with such boisterous accusations to a peer and his spawn. I demand you explain yourself at once!”

“Calm yourself Usriel…” Micholi was quick to speak up, even as he looked thoughtful. “While there has long been a history of bad blood between Sarghaul and Eiohsa, I do not believe she would make a scene like this without just cause.” Looking at Eiohsa, he decided to ask “The name you speak of… Ormis. I have met the man as one of the joint leaders of the Abyssal Lurkers’ contingent during the war on Laeran. Please… give us the full story, sister. If you have evidence to back it, all the better.”

Arnulf Wode sat with his 5th Army Group Praetor, Saul Imogen. Until then, both had been quiet, Wode with his arms folded across his chest, looking bored, and Saul taking fastidious notes. Now, Wode sat up, interested. He looked at Saul, meeting eyes, and, with deliberate motion, unbuckled the flap of his bolt pistol holster. The pistol within sat, primed and loaded. Saul swallowed, visibly, and unbuckled his own holster, although the common stub pistol within had no chance of hurting anyone in the room but himself.

“See now why I told you to come to this meeting armed.” Wode muttered.

“What’s the play?” Saul asked. 

“No play.” Wode said, “If violence breaks out, we go for the exit so I can hand you off to our ceremonial guard. No offense, old friend, but you wouldn’t last a second in a room where primarchs are throwing punches. Then I go back in.”

Saul nodded, uneasy. The masters of the Tenth watched as the drama unfolded. Wode sighed. “I was hoping this one would be more civilized.”

Nimue didn’t really say anything or show any acknowledgement other than an obviously disinterested ‘How unfortunate’, simply returning to lazily looking over her fingernails. In truth, it was a matter of the victim rather than the perpetrator. She had not long ago accused Eiohsa and her pet empire of high treason against the Imperium of Man, not to mention the two having detested each other for many decades. Their daughters had even drawn arms and slain each other at the ‘incident’ of Maline, something Nimue had not forgotten. She could not, and would not, care less about the fate of the Daughters of Iron.

Daena’s form shifted ever so slightly, the armored Primarch making a single motion with her hand. “Eiohsa always knew how to make an entrance,” she breathed out with a voice like steel. Her wings curled in tight around her armored frame, though if that was out of a protective instinct or a desire to launch herself across the room was impossible to tell.

Next to her, the mortal she had brought seemed as unaffected by the Emperor’s power as any Astartes, the aged woman’s face filled with disappointment as she looked at Sarghaul. “Nine was always the most creative,” she said, her voice filled with more sorrow than rage. “The most adaptable.”

Though the Doomsayers did not move, the aura of menace emanating from the Astartes was palpable. Hands lowered to the hilts of ceremonial blades, helmets were brought to a low rest, and the ambient temperature seemed to drop by a full degree. Behind the assembled women, the two robed figures raised the spears that they held high above their heads - to a height convenient for an Astartes to grab.

But still, they remained, Daena and her daughters refusing to move from the united bloc they had forged with Sekhmetara and Nelchitl.

Nelchitl, for the first time since the third day had begun, found herself genuinely interested in the happenings as the last of her sisters finally made her arrival. Aghast at the sizable contingent that Eiohsa arrived with, Nelchitl had been mere moments from standing to object to her sister's brazen show of force in the presence of the Emperor Himself only to become confused at the Primarch of the Sixteenth’s accusations against Sarghaul and his Lurkers.

She leaned forward, intensity filling her eyes as she absorbed everything being said by her siblings, and everything unsaid as they jockeyed back and forth with accusation and counter. She shot a look toward the head of the chamber, her eyes brushing over the brilliance that sat unmoving at the head of the room, and although he seemed not to notice her gaze, she was sure he was aware of it, aware of her intentions. With only the briefest of moments she turned back to her siblings. The idea that even the possibility of violence had come to the footstep of the Emperor, and by one of his own children set her heart alight with a need to act.

She leaned toward Daena, a hand falling to grasp at her sister's armored thigh out of the sight of the others as she too seemed enthralled in the events unfolding before them. “I can take them Daena.” she stated quietly, “He would allow it I am sure. I felt His approval.” she tilted her head toward the Angel, her eyes flickering with excitement as she took in her sister's own eyes, “But I’ll need one of your spears.” she licked her lips as she nodded her head back in the direction of the weapons.

Nelchitl’s whisper broke Daena from her reverie, the tension draining from her body as she turned to look her sister in the eye. “Not yet, Nelchitl. Not yet. There will be no doubt when He wishes you to perform that task. None,” she said in a hard voice, her eyes filled with more sorrow than her sister had ever seen before.

A soft click, followed by a quiet hum of energy was all the initial sign that Sekhmetara had reacted at all. Her glaive remained in the hands of one of her attendants, but the gauntlet of her other hand shimmered to life, volkite cells priming within the golden artifice of her armour. Still her eyes narrowed, and she spoke no words, the guise of the huntress fully falling upon the expression of the Mithran Primarch, unaware or uncaring of the debate between her closest siblings for the moment as her mind analysed the scene before her, lining up her best approaches and killing strikes without the need to focus on it, the wilder side of Sekhmetara fully in its element.

Kaldun stood, lightning crackling along his body as fury overtook him. He already despised his brother of the Ninth Legion, so it came as no shock to him that Sarghaul would do this. The abomination had been allowed to go on with his monstrous experimentations for too long, but enacting his foul transgressions on the daughters of Eiohsa was a line that not even the most neutral of Kaldun’s brothers and sisters could let pass. He strode forward, small golden sparks leaping out as he stood by his sister. Behind him, his two trusted sons moved to stand behind Ayushmakti. 

“Evidence? What more evidence do you need beyond how his abominable spawn treat injured humans! They drag them back from the battlefield and force them to undergo his foul mutations!” He looked around at his brothers and sisters, arms wide as he gestured, his angered voice carried throughout the room. Small sparks of lightning leapt from his claws punctuating his words. 

“Do we really think, any of us, that he would draw the line at doing the same to our sons or daughters? I believe Eiohsa! And I believe that he knew and approved of such crimes!”

“Impossible!” Usriel snapped at Kaldun, his voice showing clear disdain for his sibling’s swiftness of baselessly accusing another, “To think such horrendous crimes would be perpetrated from Astartes unto another is nothing short of preposterous!”

Augor, for his part, blindly gazed at some point of space approximately above the center of the Council chamber, his features impassive and stony. More tellingly, his bionic hands had begun hurriedly tapping across the control runes of his podium’s data-lectern, and as the confrontation continued to escalate he finally turned to direct his empty sight almost witheringly towards Malcador.

The message he had just sent to the Convener’s own stand near the back of the chamber had been a simple [i]‘This session has been exceptionally disrupted and strayed from its original purpose. I implore you to either adjourn or to act.’[/i]

While he was still clearly giving Eiohsa his attention, Micholi decided to unknowingly follow Augor’s example as he sent a message towards the Convener’s stand as well since sending a message directly to the Emperor was likely out of the question. [i]Malcador, I’m not sure if it’s you or the Emperor himself doing it, but I suggest now is the time to get the mortals out of the room and any possible crossfire. This is going to be bad enough without a body count.[/i]

Receiving the message, and glancing but momentarily toward the Emperor for affirmation, Malcador quickly returned a response to Augor: [i]The cameras were shut down the moment the disruption began, and all non-Legiones staff, you may note, are currently unable to bear witness. I assure you, the Imperium is not watching.[/i] Still, Augor was right: to act swiftly would be pertinent.

“This council is officially adjourned until the disruption by the Primarch Eiohsa has been suitably handled.” Malcador intoned, tapping his hammer once. He did not expect anyone to pay heed or actually leave, but it helped separate this affair from official proceedings. “Eiohsa, kindly explain yourself.”

Wode stood up at this cessation, grabbing Saul by the back of his uniform jacket. He carried the man the way a mother cat carries a kitten to the doorways Kaldun had barged through, and handed his mind-clamped praetor to a waiting guard. He was handed a boltgun in return, which he took and slung over his shoulder. He stalked back to his seat and sat, lighting a cigarette as he did so. He was unsure of what he might add to a dispute his brother and sister had going on that he wasn’t even aware of, but he was there, and ready.

As the mortals were escorted out of the Council, Nimue was still glancing between the Primarchs and weighing their reactions. It seemed with them, or at least with the Golden Oaf, to be those leaning towards preparations of violence. Nimue in turn, while still conveying her pretense of disinterest, placed one of her hands upon the relic sword Calibryown, and gestured to her Equerry with the other. 

“Elizabeta, I would have told you to take the High Lords out with yourself, but it seems that The Emperor has already seen to that. As such, I would have you know, if you wish to avoid an untimely death at the hands of one of my ‘siblings’, take your leave now.”

“Mistress, The Primarch of the Daughters has brought a hundred strong” The Equerry protested.

“A hundred Astartes that, if this council sheds blood, will certainly all be dead by the end of it. I will not repeat myself Daughter, either leave now or die here.” Nimue lectured back to her. The Equerry however did not shift from her position, other than to place her hand too on a weapon, a bolt pistol.

“So be it.” Nimue said in resignation, partly saddened but also pleased by the choice.

The reaction that ran through the veins of the Rasenan was one that had been placed directly into his DNA by the Emperor himself, but had been honed and bred into him by an upbringing as a gladiator-slave, Kaelianos already half-rising from here he had just a second ago been reclining quite leisurely - expecting that they would get back to the monotonous matter of allowing or refusing xenos into the Imperium, with some caveat or another to go with it; instead Eiohsa, the absentee sister and Primarch, had stormed into the council - this [b]sacred[/b] council - as if she were in the presence of lesser beings, and not indeed her genetic peers and their own gene-father.

“Dominus,” breathed Salvius quietly at his side, the quartet he had bought with him already on their feet with their hands upon weapons, “we are prepared to follow where you lead.”

Kaelianos would have expected nothing else from his loyal and beloved sons, each man of them taking up positions near their, perhaps foolishly, unarmed Primarch.

The towering warlord let a hiss of breath escape from between teeth of a tight-set jaw, the stench of conflict as set in his nostrils as it were to his - partially deranged - sister or Salienti brother, one seemingly more than prepared to fight, and the other apparently caught between the clash of arms in his ears and the more logical step of awaiting evidence from the psyker-Primarchs lips.

By now he was on his feet, hands balled into fists and glaring eyes the colour of a stormy sea, glancing from the Primarch he saw quite frankly as an intruder, and the golden hound that came so readily to her side, evidence or no.

Oh he was personally prepared to wait for evidence, there was no doubt of it, but it had best be something immeasurably conclusive, or - weapons or no - there would be blood.

Metal rasped against metal as the midnight-clad Primarch raised a clawed hand to contemptuously force Eiohsa’s thrusted finger aside, the pointed tips of his digits brushing a hair below her chin with an audible whistle. Behind him, the Lictors remained impassive, though Traal had almost casually produced a bolt pistol and Despoiler knife - where from, no one could say.

“Have you nothing better but to senselessly vomit outrage? The Infestus are a necessity, and your daughters...” Sarghaul punctuated his words with a distorted breath. “I remember how renegades among them once stood between the condemned and their punishment. It was wise of you to leave them to oblivion, but you seem to revel in flouting Truth.” A rumble that might have been a sound of disdain came from beneath his helm like the crash of a distant storm. “The Truth of our Emperor, and that of circumstance. For let all in this chamber know that never have Astartes not of my blood set foot into the halls of the Fleshweavers. That is falsehood, as is all you ever speak.”

Certainly, the grave accusations Eiohsa made against Sarghaul would be treasonous coming from any lesser mouth; in truth, it seemed farcical coming from Eiohsa’s mouth in particular but for the very real anger she bore toward him. The Infestus were one matter- something to firmly discuss later on- but to suggest he had altered the very fabric of the Emperor of Man’s own work toward foul ends would be unthinkable to mere mortals. To the Emperor himself, the thought was as readily settled as sensing the truth of Sarghaul’s words, and finding no lie in them. Naturally, the Daughters of Iron interfering with the Abyssal Lurkers’ operations had been its own punishment, for the losses they took upon themselves, but naught came to the forefront which was so egregious as this suggestion.

“Sarghaul speaks truth, Eiohsa,” he intoned, his voice grave, and to Eiohsa herself might even come off as condescending if listened to the wrong way. “He knows not of any kidnapping, nor of experimentation upon the flesh or geneseed of any Astartes, least of all yours or his own; and I trust he would keep proper track of his own Legion’s actions. I bid you, daughter, cease wasting everybody’s time.” Though it seemed a flat rebuke, there remained a challenge in it nonetheless: [i]Show your hand, or else end this charade.[/i]

Eiohsa at first did not respond to the Emperor’s words, her attention fixed on Sarghaul. Metal scraped on metal as she gripped Sarghaul’s upraised wrist in a massive, psychically strengthened hand. “Of course you would say such, abomination. I know you well, you would defend such crimes to the Emperor himself. No, I have seen these things with my own eyes, witnessed horrors and nightmares the likes of which no sane mind could condone. Creatures of such mutant, abominable nature that only the sickness that pervades your legion could have conceived of them.” She narrowed her eyes, “It is ironic you speak of the Imperial Truth, when you and your own [i]spawn[/i] defile it so brazenly.” Turning to the Emperor, she inclined her head slightly towards him, “It is not bare suspicion that brings me here, father, know this.” 

Scarcely constrained by the grasp upon them, the Tartarean’s bladed fingers inched ever closer to Eiohsa’s face, sparks of psychic lightning crackling along them. His voice was unchangingly flat and monotone. “Show your truth, then.”

Lightning crackled from her eyes as she stared furiously at her kin. She remained silent for a moment, before she turned away from him in disgust. “Bring them in.” She commanded to her Legion, her voice strained. “Let them see.”

From the hall, another tumult came, the rumble of yet more armored feet clanking upon the stone floor. In marched a small column of the Sixteenth Legion moving two abreast, each bearing a sealed container shared between two, and at the tail end walked a massive, cloaked figure. The thing seemed to bear some vague resemblance to the human form, but no details could be gleaned through the thick layer of concealing fabric. More Astartes of the Sixteenth flanked the small procession as they did so, marching in perfect synchronicity. 

With a series of heavy thuds, the Astartes set down their loads and stood at attention next to them.Though their expressions were impossible to glean through their helmets, their body language was visible even through the power armor they wore. Each Astartes of the XVI was filled with rage, their movements stiff and deliberate. All present could see that, as they stood at attention beside their crates, none could keep their eyes off of the Primarch of the IX Legion. 

“Your spawn would never disobey you, monster.” She spat at him, “Most of them do not possess the capacity for it. You have ensured that. They are of your flesh, of your blood, and of your mind. Even without your instruction, they perform your heinous experiments. They have followed your example to the fullest. You ought to be [i]proud[/i].”

She stood aside to allow all those assembled to view the evidence she had presented, and the first pair of her Astartes opened the case between them, revealing a revolting crustacean-like thing - and yet one that had once been, unmistakably, the form of a human - an Astartes. “One of the Astartes of the Sixteenth Legion, my daughters.” She cast a hand towards the case, demanding all view the horrid thing within. It had visibly been human, once, but beyond that one could say little. Jagged plates of living tissue jutted out from scarified skin, burrowing through it in places. One hand was missing several fingers; the other was gone entirely, replaced with a finely grafted pincer. The face was, perhaps mercifully, lost in a mosaic of interlocking chitinous segments.

She gestured to the second box, and it too opened to reveal an even grislier sight. Lined with surgical gashes where it was not encased in carapace, it was all but impossible to see where the bestial ended and the human began. Pairs of jointed crawling legs lined the chemically bloated corpse, its original limbs severed or lost in the grotesquely cascading folds of spined flesh. A ghastlier vision yet was the face, a nearly untouched half glaring out in painful incongruity from the aberrant bulk around it.

Her voice was twisted with emotion as she spoke, “I need not burden your minds with what I saw done to her body whilst still ‘alive’ in the laboratories of Carcinus.” Despite her words, all present felt that same dread imposition upon their minds. Hints of the events she refused to describe forcing their way into the consciousness of all present.

Proceeding onwards to the next crate of horrors, she turned once more to the Emperor and her kin. “All of us know the horrors visited by the Ninth upon the citizenry of the Imperium.” She said, almost lifelessly. “His ‘Infestus’, the fell beasts deployed by the Legion en-masse, naught but the very same humans we and the Astartes were created to protect. I do not know what madness could have driven such creation. I do not know why this greatest of transgressions has not been eliminated. But perhaps all within this chamber must be reminded.” She stepped aside, gesturing once more to a crate that opened to reveal what were unmistakably specimens of the Infestus swarms utilized by the Abyssal Lurkers. Jagged chitinous exoskeleton emerged from knotted flesh, jaws silently parted open in what must have been half screams, half bestial roars. As the eye traveled across them, the transition from human to abomination was clear enough to see. The bodies grew ever more distorted with each container, as if to display a cross-section of some surreal evolutionary path that spanned from forceful augmentation to the sinister wholeness of something that had manifestly been born a monster.

She walked to a fourth chest now, mutilated limbs and viscera lining its interior. “The ‘Charybdes’ the Ninth Legion employs - I know not what led to their initial evolution. But this… it is not merely one of their constructs upon the form of the great beasts. The Geneseed of the Sixteenth Legion itself has been altered and used to further distort these [i]things[/i]. The Geneseed you created, Emperor, has been warped and twisted, made a cruel mockery of for the implantation into beasts of horrors beyond description. This is but a young, failed implantation I have brought. Far, far worse lies below the ocean waves of Carcinus.” She gestured, and the fifth and final chest opened. If the contents of the previous four had been horrific in their distortion of the human form, what lay there in a mess of tangled limbs was plainly bestial. Its sharp angular body, many insectile legs and layered mandibles marked it as a creature of the deep, but some disquietingly unnatural details betrayed a guiding hand in its growth. No charybdes of the Ninth had been known to have six eyes, nor such odd domed protrusions on the upper side of its body, nor a carapace that subtly yet suddenly darkened when exposed to the light even after death.

She looked to the Emperor and to the assembled Primarchs before her, meeting their gaze one by one. Her eyes hard, her rage a palpable presence within the room. Her expression fell once more however as she moved at last to the cloaked figure. She murmured something, her voice almost inaudible. She felt everything her Astartes did as she felt with all humanity, every ounce of pain, every second of violation and horror, the fear, disgust, despair, and most of all the white hot burning fury that had sustained her life through the tortures of the Ninth Legion. She was awash in its intensity, but even so, she became subdued. “I am sorry.”

The massive, hulking figure gave no audible reply, save a deep croaking sound - what once might have been words had they come from a different mouth. The Primarch paused, golden tears glistening in her eyes, her hand poised to grip the fabric hiding the thing. She lingered, uncertain, but before she could pull it away the beast itself moved. A chitinous, clawlike hand emerged, roughly grasping at the heavy fabric and pulling at it clumsily. Raspy, gurgling breathing that sounded like a grunt of exertion followed as the fabric finally came free, tearing in several places as it clung to what was revealed to be hard, chitinous plates. 

It was little wonder that the cloaked shape had been so uneven, for the figure beneath was so warped as to be unable to stand upright. Segments of exoskeletal shell had been fused along her spine, their angles forcing her posture into a perpetual hunch. Her right arm, swollen to a grotesque size and pierced by bony spikes that spread into a grisly simulacrum of a living gauntlet, weighed her down, despite her superhuman strength. The withered, almost atrophic appendage on her opposite flank did little to counteract the imbalance, nor could the stiff, plodding legs and the repugnant flabby extensions that had once been feet hold her straight. Yet the worst was the head, with its unmistakable human eyes strikingly misplaced and lost in the folds of organic chaos.

“One of my daughters.” Eiohsa said simply, though pain and anguish filled her words, turning to the Emperor once more. “On the world of Pyotrskov, the Ninth Legion detected the signatures of Eldar vessels in the vicinity. The liquidation of the world’s population was ordered for their failure to engage.” She paused, a look of hatred passing from her to Sarghaul. “My Legion maintained a small garrison on the world, for it held a strategically vital location. The Sixteenth intervened, evacuating those we could to shield the people from a rabid pack of killers let loose. His spawn persisted in the killing of hundreds of my legion, the destruction of a strike cruiser, dozens of vehicles, and millions of Imperial citizens.” She turned back to Sarghaul, “But as my Daughter has informed me, over a hundred of my Legion were not slain. Rather, they were taken prisoner by his Legion. Taken prisoner and brought to Carcinus, where his Fleshweavers conducted such experiments and tortures I dare not describe, the products of which you see before you.”

As Eiohsa spoke, Prometheus lifted his data slate and began searching through it, looking for the records and reports of the Pyotrskov campaign. He sought to find the truth of the matter before the council descended into madness. 

She moved towards Sarghaul once more, “My Daughter escaped your world, returned to me, and told me of your doings. I admit, I did not believe even you were capable of such things - but the evidence was before me. I journeyed to Carcinus, hid amidst your Legion, saw firsthand the horror within your flesh laboratories. The memories I carry with me are of horrors the likes of which would destroy the average mind. What I have brought with me is but a fraction of what lurks beneath those ocean waves. Vast laboratories and flesh pits, from which spawn the bleakest nightmares conceivable by human minds.”

Her hand rested on the handle of her sword as she spoke, and as she did, those same nightmare images beneath the waves of Carcinus flashed through the minds of all assembled. Grotesque, twisted monstrosities of flesh, [i]things[/i] born of humanity that ought not exist, and more - the barest hints of the horrors and traumas she had experienced. “I wondered too, how your Legion attained such quantities of material for their vile experiments. I no longer wonder - for I have been told by my daughter that not only the Astartes of the legion upon Pyotrskov were used, but that they were used to create [i]new[/i] subjects. One hundred of my daughters were not enough to sustain such horrors for so long. Like father, like son - they have taken prisoner countless human girls and forced the implantation process upon them.” Warp lightning crackled around her being as she spoke, her voice far, far too calm for the events she described. “You [i]farmed[/i] them. Like lab rats, your spawn implanted hundreds with the geneseed of the Sixteenth to fuel their deranged mockeries of science. I have seen Imperial citizens taken en masse for these purposes. Astartes and mortal humans both emerging from these chambers of horror twisted and warped effigies in the mocking image of profane arts.” 

She turned from Sarghaul now, oblivious to the room as she sought the Emperor’s intervention. “The Legion as a whole is guilty, my Emperor...  [i]father[/i], but his Fleshweavers moreso than all the rest. They have visited such horrors upon humanity that were he not your Son himself, we would call upon their kind a crusade so wrathful the very stars would tremble at our fury. His Legion has corrupted and twisted your very handiwork in pursuit of these depraved, evil crimes. These outrages have been visited upon humanity and my Legion not by a foreign power, but one of our own.” She rounded on Sarghaul now, eyes blazing with psychic might. “So tell me, Sarghaul Tartareus, Primarch of the Ninth Legion - where is the man responsible for this? Where is Ormis? I will have the heads of him and every Fleshweaver of the Ninth Legion. Or I will have yours.”

Daena audibly retched as the mangled forms of the Daughters of Iron were revealed, one after another. Acrid bile rose in the Angel’s throat, staining her gauntlets as she brought her hands up to buy time to force it back down. Her meticulous, well-ordered mind was aflame, every facet of her superhuman intellect consumed with dread visions all revolving around one central thought: [i]It is happening again.[/i] The crunch of ceramite slamming against ceramite filled her ears, overpowered by the horrid wail that was only produced when two chainswords clashed upon each other.

For the Mistress of the XIVth, the Council of Nikaea did not exist. She stood upon a field of corpses, Astartes felled by Astartes, coursing with rivers of blood. Beneath her, impaled by her spear, was a figure that she would not, [i]could not[/i], name, smiling weakly as their life ebbed out of them. A hand rose torturously slowly towards her, the smile growing as it did. “May all your sins be forgiven, O murderer mine.”

Within the grand chamber, the sound of retching ended as soon as it began. Daena io Azrael rose her head to gaze straight forwards, and there was neither sorrow nor rage in her eyes. “Not yet, Nelchitl,” she repeated in a cold voice devoid of emotion, uncaring for the bile that dripped from her lip as she spoke. “Our Father will tell you Himself when it is time.”

Nelchitl’s head swam. The evidence placed against Sarghaul was damning, but a piece of her wished to refute it. For the Tartarean to bring forth his own evidence to absolve himself of the claims being laid forth by Eiohsa. She warred with her humors as choler and melancholy vied to take hold of her actions at the sights that the Sixteenth were providing. That one could debase humanity, the single most perfect creation to ever exist, in such vile ways filled the Emerald Priestess with agony. With sorrow and rage.

“When better a time Sister?” she began, her eyes devoid of the wild excitement from before, replaced now with purpose, a singular need for violence.

Daena turned her face to look at her sister, the Fourteenth’s impassive gaze now truly a mask, resembling more of a statue than a living being. A thousand different answers swam through her mind, the Primarch’s will focused almost entirely on burying the errant thoughts and false futures clouding her vision. [i]When the galaxy bu- When the claw drips red wi- When my spear once more pierces the breast o- After death and blood and slaughter and be- A thousand horns will blare and a million li- There will be only toll of the bell in reme-[/i] “When He commands it,” she said, in a harder voice than Nelchitl had ever heard from her sister.

“It’s true.” Wode said, miserable. “Gods above, it’s true.”

He buried his face in his hands, rubbing at his eyes. He looked up after a few seconds of this, staring at the ruined remnants of the Daughters, etching into memory, like so many other horrible sights he could never forget. Was this his future now? Forced to tolerate a sibling that had engaged in degenerate excess well in above that of even the most deranged Salient merchant princeling?

He had torn down a whole world for less. He looked to his right, where Daena, Nelchitl, and Sekh sat, as if noticing them for the first time. 

“Y’know I almost wish I hadn’t been found.” He said, closing his eyes in very real pain. He gritted his teeth, and veins stood out in his neck. He vibrated with emotion he didn’t want to release, but sought an exit irregardless. “I wish Father had killed me when he blew up my tank. I can’t stand this. Who else? Who else would do this? Sully our names and the trust of the people we’re supposed to protect? Turn our nieces and nephews and their own sons into monsters in secret, behind closed doors?”

He sat up, putting his hands on his lap. Tracks of tears ran down his face, surely due to emotion, but his stoic expression betrayed almost none now. “Is Sarghaul the only one? Or are there more?”

Usriel, at the showing of the first evidence, visibly recoiled at the sight of one of his nieces having been mutated in such a manner, even through his helmet it was clear. Yet, he could do little more than continue to watch as, one after the other, further evidence was revealed. It was that great figure, the cloaked one, that brought his motions to an end as his gaze studied each detail of the form of one of his nieces. It was soon that Usriel would slowly move his hands, carefully removing the helmet that he so commonly hid behind, and, for the first time to some, revealed his face to all present at the council. Tears openly streamed down his face as he gazed down upon the daughter of Eiohsa, feeling a great many emotions over such a sight. There was only a great beat of his heart before denial of the evidence redirected his gaze to the accuser and barked out in a harsh tongue, “No Astartes would willingly do this to their family! None! You speak lies to us, speak lies to the Emperor! Our sons and daughters, they are family! This is the work of other forces, I am sure of it!”

It was clear to all that Usriel could do little to hold back his emotions as he wept in anguished denial, “Do you think any could possibly believe that a cousin would do such things to another?! Woe upon any who would believe such lies that come from your wretched mouth!”

The Primarch of the Eighth watched his brother, reacting more to his removal of the ever-present helmet than to the very sights before him, though it could not be denied he was just as sickened by them as Eiohsa appeared to be. Nevertheless, he had seen sights on his homeworld which would turn the stomachs of lesser beings, this simply added the complication of the possibility that they were his distant gene-kin, something he would very much like to believe was not true.

“Sister,” he began in what he considered to be a calm and reasonable tone, his knuckles having turned white by this point, fingernails digging into palm flesh, “we asked you to provide evidence, and it would appear that you have done just that!” Now he raised his arms and gently placed his bleeding hands together in front of him, his emotions barely kept in check on his stoic face, “but how can we take the face words of one who can change her shape and form at will? How do we know it is our brother who has done this, the bad blood between you and he is well known after all, and that a being as powerful as yourself did not come here to fill our minds with pointed visions and… a grotesque menagerie… to bring this bitter feud to an end, [i]once and for all[/i] one way or another?”

Kaldun, quietly choking on his rage as the parade of monstrosities was revealed, spoke through gritted teeth. “Not even the Sentinels, as coldly as they view humanity, subject them to the crimes of the Infestus. There is no line the Lurkers will not cross. Family means nothing to them.” He turned his gaze to Kaelianos, his voice slowly returning to its full shouts. “You want the truth? You want [i]more[/i] evidence of their crimes! Any Psyker with sufficient skill can see the truth in her own mind! The Emperor will be able to see beyond a shadow of a doubt that there is no lie from my sister’s mouth! That [i]thing[/i],”  he pointed at Sarghaul, golden electricity crackling up and down his armor, “and his spawn have violated not only Imperial law, but everything that we hold sacred!”

Nimue then chose this moment to speak up, in response to her brother’s accusation. “A shared vision between psykers is no proof or evidence of the Ninth Primarch’s guilt, you Oaf… not to mention The Emperor’s own insight.”

“You dare insult me!” Kaldun snarled, golden lightning now striking erratically around him.

“I would, Primarch of the Fifteenth, if reading the psychic visions of others not being any insurance of truth was not already widely known - besides yourself, it seems.” Nimue snarked at the enraged Primarch.

Kaldun laughed, mockingly. “Of course you say anything to defend that thing. Your own hatred of Eiohsa and her daughters is well known! Even yesterday you were baselessly accusing her of treason!” 

“Baselessly…” Nimue seethed. She closed her eyes then, her time fighting with Daena under Sekhmetara’s auspices a reminder of how this has gone before “Yet, no. Our father The Emperor has already spoken Kaldun. You may doubt my words, but you are insisting on doubting him. The Emperor is Truth.” She said firmly, reigning in her outrage with the certainty of the truth she had witnessed for herself.

Off to the side of the chamber, not having moved since the commotion began, Augor Astren and his retinue observed the unfolding pandemonium. Although Kyrius at least appeared to be struck by the appalling nature of the revelations, the small group comprising Mephitor and a number of the Legions’ consuls stood stoically and unmoving as they looked on. More enigmatic still was the reaction of the Twelfth Primarch himself, who had simply continued corresponding with Malcador via his data-lectern, and otherwise was simply gazing blindly at some distant point of space.

[i]‘...you have my word it shall be left to the Custodes to handle. This is simply additional deterrent.’[/i] He sent the latest message back. [i]‘Inform Constantine Valdor of this contingency so that we are not stepping on each others’ toes.’[/i]

[i]Understood.[/i] Some more typing to the Captain-General, and in the same moment the utterance of “We may be adjourned, but that does not mean you are free to argue with unrestrained commentary of one another’s intent and allegiance.” Even as he said this, it was clear that even the Master of the Administratum was, in a word, disgusted by what he saw of Eiohsa’s evidence. Something inhumane had happened to cause these, no matter their true origin.

Almost absently, Augor motioned to one of his Praetors standing-by near the Twelfth Legion’s podium. The Astartes dutifully stepped near to the Primarch and detached a nerve-cable leading between the back of their armor and a servo skull. The skull in question was unusually bulky - a conspicuously bulky and block-shaped mechanism was hanging like a distended growth out from the bottom of the floating cranium, displacing what would otherwise have been a standard array of repulsors. What purpose the skull was intended for was unclear, but as it drifted near to Augor Astren’s head, the Twelfth Primarch finally turned his empty gaze to the unfolding commotion between the Primarchs gathered in the midst of the Council chamber, and began to carefully scrutinize every small motion they made.

For the first time since Eiohsa had appeared, a voxspeaker was turned on in order to give Micholi’s voice more power without having to try shouting over his kin. “Nimue, Kaldun, before you draw blood… Kaldun, whose mind do you suggest the Emperor peer into in order to find answers?” His tone was devoid of emotion, his expression neutral… even as one of the arm rests of his chair was clearly reaching the limits of being snapped off by his hand.

Kaldun sneered at Nimue. “For once, you speak something that isn’t twisted!” He kept his eyes on her, replying to Micholi. “The minds of the tortured daughter of Iron before us! Everything Eiohsa claims is true! Some of you would doubt [i]my[/i] words,” he glared at Nimue, “The Emperor can look into the tortured minds of Eiohsa’s daughter and see that I do not lie!” He spat the last word out at Nimue like a curse.

The presence of the Emperor and Malcador could never be mistaken. The force of psychic might around them permeated their surroundings without significant effort from either party. The third of the triumvirate was encumbered with no such burden of might, the golden spectre who stalked in the shadow of cosmic beings.

When Constantin Valdor stepped from the shadow of the colonnades he was unseen. Golden armour internally inscribed with the names of countless slain foes moved with quiet menace as the cascade of volume threatened to turn to a torrent of violence. There were those who spoke of Valdor as the first primarch, the legion-sire of the custodes themselves. The bedlam which unfolded across the chamber spoke to the lie of this claim. The primarchs were beings of cosmic wrath and pride forced into the bodies of near-mortals. Valdor was the calm in the storm, the wrath of the Emperor forged into glorious golden iron.

The clang of metal on metal resounded through the chamber as the butt of his guardian spear struck the ground, caving through the stone relief which concealed the swiftly erected plasteel beneath.

"Speak your ills, but the next blade to be drawn will die." The tone of the Custodian was unyielding, but devoid of rage, as passionless as the eyes of Valdor which regarded the primarchs in their assemblage. Each had been tried and tested on the anvil of his martial skill upon Terra and each had been found wanting, this was no idle threat, as the Custodian Guard of the Emperor shifted in stance, each but Valdor bringing their spear down in a defensive arc. "You stand in the presence of the Master of Mankind. Act accordingly."

Offering Constantin a respectful bow of his head, Micholi took a breath before he started speaking over the voxspeaker again. “The Emperor has confirmed that Sarghaul is not lying about having no knowledge of this, and I trust his exploration of the mind of the victim before us, and that Eiohsa’s testimony is true. This evidence suggests four possible scenarios to my knowledge… none of which are good.” 

“The first is that the crimes against humanity happening on Carcinus are being committed by the Ninth legion without Sarghaul’s knowledge or approval.”

“The second is that prior to this Council, Sarghaul had his memory of events on Carcinus removed, but I suspect if this was the case, the tampering would be noticeable to some degree.”

“The third is that Sarghaul has somehow developed a means or technique of being able to hide information from the abilities of the Emperor himself and is lying about his knowledge… an utterly legendary feat but not completely impossible in theory.” 

“And finally, the last is that Usriel is right and that there is some outside force that has managed to infiltrate Carcinus and are committing these crimes on the Ninth’s homeworld in some attempt to frame the Ninth Legion and its Primarch Sarghaul of these crimes.” 

Micholi paused for a moment to glance around at his kin and peers before stating “I do not believe that Eiohsa, despite her prior history with Sarghaul, would resort to the extreme of twisting her daughters in this manner solely to frame Sarghaul… even more so because I am sure that all communications to Carcinus are going to be blocked so that the planet can be investigated properly.”

“Your final point merits some consideration, brother.” Augor intoned, still standing at his podium, his demeanor stiff and hunched - but otherwise still unshaken. “The Primarch of the Sixteenth, just a few moments ago, spoke and said she had personally been to Carcinus and born witness to that which transpired there. Perhaps there is additional insight into this matter she could provide us with, given her presence there.”

Augor turned his blind gaze to Eiohsa. “Tell us, sister, what do you think of our brother’s theory? As well, just so there is no misapprehension in this matter, perhaps you might tell us how you came to be there to bear witness without alarming the Ninth Legion.”

Eiohsa looked upon her brother with visible disdain. The Mechanicum’s plaything, a mad zealot whose fanaticism showed no end. She wished to ignore his question. She wished to bring her spear upon Kaelianos, who had insinuated that she could have visited these horrors upon her own daughters. She wished to strike down Nimue who batted aside her grievances with callous disregard. She wished to scream aloud to the heavens, to any who would listen, as the cacophony within her mind shrieked on endlessly, trillions of voices that drowned out the world around her. She remained silent for some time, mustering thoughts before she spoke. “As the Eighth has said.” She began, her words slow and deliberate. “I change shape and form at will. I go unnoticed when I wish, in the guise of a common woman. I can assume whatever form I desire, or create the illusion of such.”


As she spoke, her features shifted and her form changed shape. A Blank would have seen through the facade - but save to the likes of her siblings Kaldun or Nimue, it was as though a fully armored member of the Ninth Legion stood before them. Even to them, or to a blank, an indistinct male Astartes now spoke through the glamour of imitated armor with a rasping, filtered voice, “I infiltrated Carcinus in the guise of the Ninth Legion. That is how.” 

Her form shifted back once more to that she had entered with and she spoke once more in a flat, dead voice. “I will not grace the baseless assertions I have done these things to my own Legion with a reply. Know only that further such claims will end only at the tip of my spear. I speak nothing but the truth, plain and unvarnished. I have made my demands. I will let truth speak for itself. Investigate Carcinus if you wish, if they do not try to destroy my dau- [i]further evidence[/i] beforehand. The Emperor may hear my words now and know that I speak only that which I have confirmed with my own eyes.” She remained still, otherwise, but it was plain to all that she was restraining herself, and with massive effort.

“Deceiver!” called Usriel, clear anger wrought in his voice and his presence becoming known once more as he glared upon the shifting form of Eiohsa. He continued with a voice of pure rhetoric as he talked to the rest of the Council, “Look upon her! Her form is but a farce, how do we know that what she says is all but a fabrication against the sons of Sarghaul! She could do anything she desired by such changing forms and she could get away with anything! I blame you not for what happened to your daughters, Eiohsa, but I believe you to be falsely accusing Sarghaul and his sons for the actions of another so that you may slight him!”

The Nineteenth Primarch looked between the other Primarchs and stated in a subdued tone, “If she is capable of this level of transformation then her word cannot be trusted! For how do we know if she has-“

A heavy thud reached the ears of all within the chamber, and all eyes turned towards the source of the sound. The Astartes around who the furor had erupted had collapsed, unable to support her own bloated, twisted, warped bulk any longer. The intrusion upon her mind by the Emperor, though voluntary on her part, had been too much for her to bear any longer. She was damaged, at long last beginning to lose her grip upon reality. She tried to speak, but only a choked gurgling sound could be heard. Eiohsa felt what the others could not, however, and she stared in shock and disbelief, paralyzed. 

A small part of her had hoped beyond hope that she could save her, somehow. Restore her body, give the woman - Anastasia Irina Nevsky - a life once more. Logically, she knew it was impossible. The traumas and horrors she had experienced were too much for any mind short of a Primarch to bear, and even they could not escape it unchanged. And yet she had hoped against all sanity that at least [i]this one[/i] could be saved. She could not stand to fail another. Desperately, blindly, and without cause, she had hoped.

She stood still, unable to move. Her daughter wished for death, death on her own terms. She wished to die with what little dignity remained to her. She had done her duty, fulfilled her promise to herself that she would see the Lurkers brought to justice. And she begged her mother to end her. But Eiohsa could not. Despair weighed upon her mind, tears glistened in her eyes as she choked on her own words. She could not add another name, another one lost on her watch. She had fought for centuries for a better future - and for this? To end more of her daughter's lives? Had she not killed enough? Had enough of her daughters not died by her own hand during the dread wars against the Rangdan?

She watched, unable to move or to speak as she was overwhelmed by the weight of emotion upon her, as her daughter rose. Slowly, painfully, she pushed herself to stand as tall as she could with her warped form. Once again, Eiohsa felt the same plea. [i]End me, mother.[/i] Eiohsa wept, for she could not do so, her limbs refused to move, words would not come to her. She had failed her daughters even in this. She could not add another voice to the chorus within her mind. Even now, the pain and agony of the last moments of trillions souls howled within her. And yet to add another as she stood before her here and now… she could not bring herself to. She sensed sorrow and grief from her daughter now, and love - love she did not expect. Silently, she begged for aid from any of her siblings within the crowd. 

A crack of thunder filled the council chamber as an object crossed the room in a barely perceptible flash. Anastasia, for all that remained of her, swayed unsteadily before Eiohsa, the blade of Daena’s force spear and several feet of its hilt protruding from her chest where only a fraction of a second earlier had been nothing. Across the room, having moved too fast for Daena or Sekhmetara to stop her, Nelchitl stood. With a leg up on the council table before her, and an arm still outstretched where it had loosed the Angel’s powerful weapon. Nelchitl’s armor gleamed as incorporeal electricity danced over it, her eyes alight for the briefest of moments with the immaterial tumult of the warp. Behind Daena the Doomsayer’s assistant stood, empty-handed yet unflinching.

“Rest now.” the Emerald Priestess stated sorrowfully as the twisted form of Anastasia collapsed in a heap before her gene scion. With the deed done she passed her gaze over Eiohsa, pity at the weakness on display filling her features as she did. Her leg coming down from the table, the Emerald Priestess turned to the golden figure of Constantin Valdor and bowed her head respectfully, “If you deem this worth my life, I offer it now Captain-General.”

Wode stood, his expression solemn. He looked at Constantin, the same man that had beaten him to the ground on Terra so many years prior. “If you kill her, kill me too. I’d rather die than live in an Imperium where horrors like that cannot be put out of their misery.”

Eiohsa stared transfixed in horror. It had happened before she could do anything to intervene or prevent it. Yet - if she could have, would she? A small part of her felt some twisted form of gratitude. Her daughter was at peace now. Time seemed frozen around her as she reached out towards the form of her daughter as she fell. She caught her, blood and fluids spilling against her armor as she fell to her knees beside her daughter. Tears streamed from her eyes as she held her, her expression hidden from the view of those around her. 

“I am sorry.” She whispered hoarsely, remaining hunched over the body, oblivious to the world around her. 

The gaze of the Custodian Captain-General fell on Nelchitl and Wode with an intense focus, but one which seemed to lack either anger or acceptance. A long moment of anticipation drew onwards as Valdor remained both motionless and silent, before he simply turned to look upon the deceased monstrosities and the primarchs at the centre of it all.

After a respectful moment of silence, it wasn’t Micholi but his Head Librarian Uther that softly broke the silence as he asked loud enough for the daughters present to hear from his position by his Primarch’s side “Did we know who she was? Her name, at least.” 

One of the assembled Astartes of the Sixteenth Legion spoke up, her voice thickly accented and her grasp of the language obviously not a fluent one. “Anastasia Irina Nevsky. Former Squad Sergeant of the Sixth Desayta of the Two Hundred and Thirty First Chapter of the Sixteenth Legion. First of three daughters. Mother of one daughter and one son.” 

As one, the assembled Astartes dipped their heads solemnly, and the one who had spoken up fell silent as she fell back into line.

Respectfully, Uther bowed his own head in silent thanks as he stepped back into position in turn.

The next voice to speak came that voice of Nodis, speaking in a solemn voice as all the Sentinels bowed their heads to the sight of the fallen Daughter of Iron, “Then may Anastasia Irina Nevsky rest now without pain. May she rest knowing we will not allow such other suffering to any such family. May our cousin rest knowing that we shall bring those who caused this suffering to justice.”

All throughout the chaos that had surged through the hall of the Council, Sarghaul himself had remained oblivious to the outcries and manifestations of disgust rising around him. The gaze of his beastly mask was fixed on the gruesome contents of the evidence crates, now and then shifting between them with slight movements of the head that undulated in almost appraising nods. His fingers occasionally gave a reflexive turn or twitch, as if he were picturing to himself possible improvements or modifications upon the surgical nightmares. At length, however, his eyes snapped up, and after casting an inscrutable look around the chamber rose to meet the Emperor’s radiance without wavering.

"I hold by my words,” he rumbled without expression, “None of them have stepped into the halls of the Fleshweavers, or I would have tasted their blood in the water there. In what crevice they were altered, I cannot say. Know, lord, that I and all my true progeny disavow these works. I have forbidden the transfiguration of the Astartes template, and my will is their will. Any who have conspired to transgress against it will be punished." 

He snapped a claw with a harsh click, leaving little to the imagination concerning what form this punishment would take, before pointing a condemning finger at Eiohsa. 

"But I will not act on accusations from the likes of her. She has brazenly lied to all gathered here to conceal the crimes of her own kind. Not only did her Daughters engage the Sixth Tempest on Pyotrskov despite being admonished to stand down, they roused the world's populace to armed rebellion." 

Malcador interrupted, laying down a data slate. Through the commotion, he had been analyzing the Pyotskov campaign. His eyes studied the abominations briefly while he decided upon his next words. 

“Despite what those present may feel, or accuse,” began the Sigilite, though giving Eiohsa a meaningful look. “Accounts from the Sixteenth tell a different story than those from the Ninth. Their perspectives being so radically different, it is of no surprise. According to these reports, however, they indicate that Sarghaul is correct. The Daughters of Iron refused and resisted a lawful order given by the Primarch of the Ninth Legion. The Ninth was engaged in combat with members of the civilian population and the Sixteenth. Though who fired first is unclear.” 

Prometheus spoke, his attention drifting to the twisted Astartes. “The outrage these creatures illicit, I understand. However, the facts as spoken by the Sigilite are clear. Your accusations, Eiohsa, are misinformed. Your daughters were not innocent victims on Pyotrskov. That said, if Sarghaul was aware of these… experiments, I would not know.” He turned to his brother Primarch “If I learn that you did have knowledge of this, I will lead the Legions to Carcinus myself.”

The Tartarean’s head remained bowed, his already guttural voice stifled to an even lower pitch by his posture as he answered, “Such would be your duty, as mine would be to bear your penance.”

When Sarghaul spoke a Knight of Awe clad in terminator power armor stepped into the room, the sound of his massive form called attention to him. The crunch of ceramite could be heard from beyond the doors, many more terminator elite had followed. A brief flash of a gesture from Prometheus, battle sign for ‘halt-guard’, stopped the Terminator who took up a guard position at the door but seemed poised to intervene if the council descended into violence.

The creaking shuffle of the Abyssal’s own behemoth steps sounded again as he heavily edged back to look upon the Emperor once again.

"Bid me eliminate this sabotage, o liege, be it rot from within or infection from without,” there seemed to be a renewed firmness in his words to the Lord of Mankind, as if the full of his proverbial obstinacy had now risen like a rock unveiled by the tide, “I will strike when I know the truth, not at the mere word of one who abets treason."

“With all due respect,-” Micholi spoke up, looking at Sarghaul as he rose to his feet “-While I understand the desire to make up for one’s failures… and regardless of if the source of these horrors is internal or external, the fact that they were able to operate on your domain of Carcinus [i]seemingly[/i] without your knowledge can be considered nothing but a failure on your part, Sarghaul… The fact that your role in this matter is suspect at this time would mean that leaving the matter in your hands alone might be akin to letting the guilty judge the guilty and decide where the hammer will fall.”

Turning towards the Emperor, Micholi bowed his head humbly as he asked “While it is up to you to decide what measures are required here, I would have to request that an unbiased third party should be leading this investigation…Or, if you deem Sarghaul’s intentions of dealing with this black mark against the Imperium pure and accept his request to handle the matter himself, provide him with agents assured not to be connected to the web of corruption that he will be tearing apart.”

[center][h3]The Verdict[/h3][/center]

The Emperor, silent until now, at last rose from his seat, quieting the noise of the room as though he were a titan rising from beyond an infinite horizon. Those who were not seated would be compelled to; those who were would remain glued to their chairs as he at last moved forward, Malcador giving up his position to grant his liege lord the stage. Unnoticed in the atmosphere, a single servo-skull reactivated, circling around the back of the hall for its pict-recorder to capture the Emperor’s visage and voice head-on.

“Hear now the words of my ruling.” His expression was clear, devoid of any doubt. The evidence had been shown, and thus He would be heard.

“I am not blind to the needs of the Imperium. I am deeply conscious of them, for it is humanity whom I am most in thrall to - it is the good of all humans which I serve, and thus it is that the decisions I make are considered in great depth, to ensure all of humankind is protected by them. It is why this war council was convened, in truth; for you too are human, my Primarchs and my High Lords, and as leaders in your own right, your voices ring out as beacons.”

“I have seen humanity at its best and at its worst, and so too have I seen the alien in flux. The xeno mind is by definition dissimilar to human thought, more so than any abhuman, and to blindly give humanity over to the alien is to damn it as surely as would letting the human form mutate beyond recognition. It is true, too, that variation of xeno minds is itself variegated - some are incomprehensible, and yet some in theory draw close enough to human-like that one might mould them in our image. This is the concept of the Edict of Tolerance, in practice: to ensure any xeno race under its banner will, after long consideration, become akin to human, such that rebellion against humanity’s will is impossible.”

“The more conscious of Imperial proceedings will be aware that this cannot be so. Even humans rebel against their masters at times - it need only be evidenced by the many smaller fiefdoms of humanity that comprise the remnants we seek to integrate into the whole, each summing the Imperium to more than its mere components, yet too many requiring force to bring them to compliance. This is key: human rebellion may always reach into the hearts of some, be they misguided, seeking personal gain, or simply contrarian. It is through acknowledgement of this fact that we can be ready for the possibility, and it is this reason that I have formed the Imperial Army and the Legiones Astartes.”

“To say that it is therefore untrue that the xeno can be a part of the Imperium is a fallacy. What remains true is that they are not human, and are not afforded the same freedoms by default, but for a race that is inhuman to simply be erased belies the use that can be gained from their cooperation as auxiliaries to humankind. What is also true is that not all xenos can be granted this gift, the chance to contribute to a greater whole than their own selves, for as with the city-states that call themselves human empires, some are simply untenable for how they see us.”

“Nonetheless, some see this Imperium, and recognise humanity as beyond them, and take the chance they are given to bathe in our light. The possibility remains that they will turn their back on this light once more. I know this, I acknowledge it, and I am prepared for it. Woe betide he who ignores my warning or breaks faith with me; he shall be my enemy, and I will visit such destruction upon him and all his followers that, until the end of all things, he shall rue the day he turned from my light.”

“And to you gathered here, my Primarchs, my High Lords, and all their auxiliaries, and all else who bear witness to this message from afar, know this: the Edict of Tolerance may yet fail. It may prove in time that it cannot be maintained, or that it is not practical to upkeep, or that each xeno who falls under its protection shall abuse that protection to strike at the Imperium’s heart. But we shall be prepared for these possibilities, and until such time as they rear up to be cut down, I see no need to alter the dictates of the Edict of Tolerance at present. Neither shall I loosen their bonds, nor tighten their grip as one would a vice; they have, so far, shown to be robust.”

“So too shall I say to my Primarchs, you serve the Imperium as I do. You are granted power and knowledge to do this, and you are trusted by the many souls above you to wield them responsibly. I hear men speak of power and knowledge as though they were abstract concepts to be employed as simply as a sword or a gun. They are not. Power is a living force, and the danger with power is obsession. A man who attains a measure of power will find it comes to dominate his life, until all he can think of is the acquisition of more. Nearly all men can stand adversity, but few can stand the ultimate test of character, that of wielding power without succumbing to its darker temptations.”

"Peering into the darkness to gain knowledge of the Warp is fraught with peril, for it is an inconstant place of shifting reality, capricious lies and untruths. The seeker after truth must have a care he is not deceived, for false knowledge is far more dangerous than ignorance. All men wish to possess knowledge, but few are willing to pay the price. Always men will seek to take the shortcut, the quick route to power, and it is a man’s own mind, not his enemy or foe, that will lure him to evil ways. True knowledge is gained only after the acquisition of wisdom. Without wisdom, a powerful person does not become more powerful, he becomes reckless. His power will turn on him and eventually destroy all he has built.”

"It is power you seek to understand through the Librarian’s Crusade. To bring many of a kind together, and to send them forth in the Imperium’s name, to acquire the wisdom necessary to breach true knowledge, and yet in doing so risking recklessness, as if even one Librarian or mortal psyker is to attempt to pursue the quick route to power, calamity could befall all their number, and even those Primarchs who are present. It is not an engagement to plan with a light heart, if ever such existed, and it is under different circumstances, should more of the Astartes be enthused with the idea of gaining false knowledge without knowing its falsehood, that I might deny its implementation outright.”

"It is with pride that I acknowledge the Primarchs who wish to enact it as knowing they are not yet wise. A lack of wisdom is not in itself a black mark, but to know one is not wise and to seek wisdom to correct it is a sign of humility indeed, and a sign that one will show care in their pursuit of knowledge, albeit one must examine that care in depth to ensure one is not misled. The seeking of wisdom is noble, but it is not universal.”

"To delve too profoundly into matters of the Warp is a condition whose perils I cannot understate. This applies not only to the Librarian’s Crusade, which I shall permit in the Imperium’s name, but to the Librarius departments of each and every Space Marine Legion. Henceforth, it is my will that all Legions shall maintain a complementary department of [i]Consuls-Opsequiari[/i], those Legionaries who are proven to have the wisdom to ensure their members are acting in accordance with the wishes of Primarch, Emperor, and Imperium, and to bear witness to their Librarius such that if any should attempt to seek power without wisdom, they will be brought down before their foolishness can bring ruin to their siblings and their charge over the Imperium’s protection and expansion. A suitable complement of Consuls from each participating Legion will travel with the Librarian’s Crusade, along with a certain detachment of my own Custodians, who will report back the findings of the Crusade and allow its progress to be monitored. Should results prove insufficient, further limitations upon the Librarius departments may be implemented. Else, I wish upon the Librarian’s Crusade good luck in finding the wisdom they seek.”

"Before this conclave’s end, I shall but remind all who hear this of one last thing: one need not befriend the alien to tolerate it for its usefulness.”

The servo-skull’s pict-capture ceased, its use ended at last.

[center][h3]The Judgement[/h3][/center]

The sensation that held the room’s participants in place did not. And at last, a hint of the Emperor’s displeasure showed on His face through an otherwise clear expression.

“Do not believe that I am unfair to you, my children,’ he restarted, even his tone just a touch more stern than before. ‘It is as I stated, that I am in the Imperium’s thrall precisely because its needs require tending, by I and by others, yourselves included. You, too, must place the Imperium’s needs over your own; to squabble over differences that ultimately matter not in the grander scheme of the Imperium’s conquering of the galaxy is to distract yourself from the greater purpose I have in mind for each and every one of you.”

“I shall reiterate once more. I make my decrees with intent to protect humanity and the Imperium, including all present in this hall. I forbid certain technologies, for to utilise them would be to invite doom upon us, even if only one such use exists amongst a macrocosm of possible good. I have denied the existence of false gods, for it is religion that has hindered humanity in the past, and it is with extreme caution that I allow the few cultural practices of the Legions that err toward such hindrance, in faith that they will not be allowed to hold back those who bear them when the time comes to serve the Imperium. The Edict of Tolerance was not implemented without great care as to its form and function, for I am strongly aware that to allow an alien race into the Imperium who seeks our downfall could lead to needless death that could otherwise have been bypassed. And most pertinently, I have disallowed the modification of the human genome, for it is such that the unmutated human form is without inherent flaw, and consequently that Astartes, Custodes, and Primarch alike iterate upon this in ever more particular and beneficial fashion.”

“Each grows stronger than the last. This can only be so as a result of fastidious efforts to make it so, in particular my own. To alter any of these is therefore inviting the possibility of unforgivable chaos, should a given change be less than suited to purpose, and its complexity is such that even I would not entrust myself to follow this course alone, nor any but the most intelligent and conscious of human minds to act in that path alongside me. To modify humanity’s genetic base is already suggesting that it is not already fit for purpose; to then go so far as to modify the gene-seed of the Astartes, whose implementation I arranged with great care to ensure they were beyond rather than merely beneath humanity’s standard, is consequently to suggest that this is not sufficient.”

He turned, very deliberately, to face Sarghaul.

“It is to suggest, my son, that you could do better, with few to none of the precautions I took in my turn, least of all direct oversight. You may not have had influence in this project directly, but it is your example that your Fleshweavers have followed, and it is your lack of awareness of their work that resulted in these abominations against my will, the human form, and your sister Legion alike. Your Legion, in spirit, is you - and you have disobeyed my direct order to you, made so long ago when we first met. You were not to pursue further genetic experimentation, and yet it grows ever more apparent that the Infestus are the end result of such.”

“You are not incorrect to state that truth ought to be pursued, however. There is evidence yet to be gathered on the matter. Evidence that lies in your world of Carcinus. Evidence which, should your Legion learn that it is sought, may be destroyed before it can be verified. Therefore, [b]Sarghaul Tartareus, I compel you. Call your Legion to the world of Advex-Mors, every Abyssal Lurker in the galaxy, and in particular all of your Legion’s Fleshweavers. You shall tell them that a suspected Rangdan resurgence requires investigation and purging if present, and nothing more or less. You shall be stationed on-world, and you shall tell each arrival to stand down and disarm as they are apprehended. Your Fleshweavers shall be held in confinement by my Custodians, and the rest shall remain idle under watch by the Consuls of the Daughters of Iron, until such time as the truth is ascertained.[/b]” 

His gaze burned with the light of a thousand suns as he ended his decree. “If evidence runs against the Abyssal Lurkers, know that I will not be merciful. The investigation will be conducted and led by the Custodian Guard. They will have full authority to conscript whatever forces they require to further the investigation until such time as they have gathered sufficient evidence. The Legio Astartes are not to interfere with this process unless specifically requested by them. Any disobedience in any regard to my decree will not be tolerated.”

The Emperor spoke to all now. “It was my hope, my children, at the culmination of the Ullanor Crusade, that I could return to Terra with good heart. I was confident in you, my children, that the future of my Imperium was safe within your hands. That the Great Crusade could continue on unabated even without me at its head. Matters of import call me to Terra. And I was glad to know that the Crusade would not suffer in my absence.” He surveyed the room unblinking, his gaze harsh like that of an eagle surveying its prey. “It seems I was mistaken. In my absence, and even in my presence, you fight amongst yourselves. You defy my will. Many of you are blind. And some of you have defied humanity itself. It has become apparent to me that I must name a replacement for my authority within the Crusade, lest such civil strife rear its head once more in my absence.” 

His eyes alighted upon Daena, and he nodded. “For this task I need one of my Primarchs who has served loyally at my side throughout the years. Who does as I order without question, without complaint. One who truly understands the Imperial Truth in its entirety and has accepted it [i]wholeheartedly[/i]. One who will not falter from doing [i]whatever[/i] is required to safeguard the Imperium. One whom I can rest assured in granting such great power. Rise, Daena io Azrael, Primarch of the Fourteenth Legion, Doomsayers. I name you Warmaster, and you will speak with my own authority. All your orders shall be followed as if from my own mouth.”

The Emperor stood now, His word decreed. “I hereby call The Council of Nikea to a close.”

[b][...End Log.][/b]
[b][...Terminating.][/b]
[b][Imperial Thought for the Day: Abhor the Malevolent. Suffer not the Abomination. Know thy purpose.][/b]