[h3]The Eleventh Labour[/h3]The Solstice's End - Legio XVII Flagship[hr]Space above Nikaea was crowded. Swarms of smaller craft moved around the far larger cargo transports of the Munitorum as equipment, munitions, and foodstuffs were given over to the insatiable appetites of the twenty-odd expeditionary fleets in orbit above the burgeoning world. Small motes of light darted between cargo transport holds open to the void and the far larger warships of the legions as a dance of mindnumbing logistics was played out in utter silence. A thousand small craft alone moved between four different Munitorum cargo ships around the immediate space of the [i]Solstice’s End[/i] as a number of larger bulk lifters shuttled ponderously toward the blinking lights and gaping maws of loading bays scattered across the behemoth warship, only one of more than a dozen of such warships in the void above Nikaea, each a dazzling pearl of activity strung out above the maelstrom of the world below.

Aboard the flagship of the Seventeenth legion, the activity was unceasing. Officers and Munitorum adepts hurried about with flutters of Departmento forms and writs of delivery as shuttle after shuttle touched down, unloaded, and lifted back off through the integrity fields of a hundred different hangar bays. The ship itself, by no means at a war footing, maintained a constant screen of vigilance, turrets tracking the individual craft as they came and went and an endless stream of vox hails and databursts confirming and reconfirming identities, cargo, approaches, and delivery windows. Yet for all this effort even the veteran crew of the mighty Gloriana could not keep up with everything in their near space. A number of smaller craft, though none intending harm to the magnificent ship, had managed to approach and land undetected; and though their Departmento issued timetables had been immaculately followed by the flight crews, each had been greeted by a stern Astartes fireteam and a high-ranking beratement at the hands of the Serpent’s human counterparts.

“High velocity approach detected.” The chime of the sensor-servitor’s robotically calm tone belied the threat of its message, spoken loudly enough that the warning carried over the condescending tones of the ship’s administrators, the implication hanging in the air in the silence that followed.

Whichever unfortunate rating had the position of monitoring approaching traffic at this exact moment had less than a handful of moments to react. An almost impossibly small, on the cosmic scale of the Imperium’s space-going vessels, broke away from the larger swarm of traffic among the orbiting fleets. The turn was shockingly quick even for the nature of void travel, such that all but the Imperium’s most agile craft would be pulled apart by their own motive forces. 

“Potential attack vector, brace action recommended.” The same hangerbound servitor chimed in its equally monotonous tone, the time that passed just enough for the mortal crew present to begin to register what was occurring. The Astartes, already in motion, had a handful of moments in advantage. It was still not enough to be in position before a streak of gold erupted into the hanger bay. The wave of noise struck first, passing through the environmental skein of the craft, powerful engines immediately erupted in cacophony as they passed out of the vacuum.

Any weapons and defenses that snapped to the new arrival immediately faltered as a towering figure dropped from the ancient body of her craft. She struck the plate of the ship with a heavy clang despite her grace, the ease of her landing not negating the force of impact of her armoured form touching down. Rising to her full height, the eyes of Sekhmetara’s helm regarded those present, in whatever state they may be, before the sound of her voice, distorted yet still sonorous by her helm issued forth, waiting only for the scream of Apoasha’s jets to die down as the craft settled into its idle hover.

“Take me to my sister.”

 A number of deck ratings that had been caught between the onrush of Sekhmetara’s approach and the response of security personnel found themselves on their knees as the armored figure of a Primarch fell before them. Further back, stunned Armsmen exchanged unsure glances among one another before the vox amplified response of a Serpent cut through the shock of the moment.

“Lady Sekhmetara,” the Serpent, a Sergeant of the Second Company by markings, began as she mag-locked her bolt pistol to her thigh and offered the sign of the Aquila with her armored hands, “The Emerald Priestess is in [i]counsel[/i] with the Mistress of the Fleet and the Captain of the Second, I must apologize, Lord, as standing orders are clear to ensure no interruptions of this,” she stated defiantly, a notable waver in the distorted sound of her voice through her vox grill as she stood admirably against a demigod.

The lights of Sekhmetara’s helmet lenses momentarily flicked out, the gleaming green of the protective glass seeming to swim for the moment before the light returned and the lenses no longer presented a temporary, dull, kaleidoscope.

"Do not make me repeat myself, niece, that was not a request." The level nature of her voice was a sure sign of the broiling anger beneath the helm. It was not the Mithran manner to conceal emotions, if misdirection was necessary it would be done with a core of truth. To deaden oneself suggested a tempest that could only be stalled, and never contained. The roar of the jetbikes engines picked up again, the ancient spirit with the war machine responding to the base urges of its bonded rider. Just as menacingly, the telltale click of its hurricane bolter system cycling to fire. It was a reflex reaction based on a violent impulse, but Sekhmetara made no move to calm the beast howling within the circuits of the steed.



The Serpent stood still as a statue as Sekhmetara and her jetbike made their intentions clear. Were it perhaps another Astartes, or even a mortal making these demands the Sergeant may have noticed the nearly autonomous response of the jetbike, but blinded as they were by the demigod before them their mind was as far from the jetbike as it could be.

There was a shift in the demeanor of the Sergeant as she pivoted where she stood with an arm outstretched toward one of the massive exit doors from the hangar, “This way Lord.” she stated before taking off at a brisk pace, the roar of Apaosha’s engines ringing in her helmet as she did.
[hr]
Standing before the door of Nelchitl’s chambers Captain Mayalen was alerted of the arrival of her Primarch’s sister the moment her likeness had been confirmed in the hangar bay, and though Sergeant Santino did an admirable job at attempting to redirect the Mithran she had failed as expected.

Now the Captain tracked the progress of her Sergeant and guest on her helmet’s holodisplay as she worked out her words for the demigod to explain the situation taking place on the other side of the doors at her back. Not long later the Legion’s guest arrived before her.

Dropping to a knee, Captain Mayalen lowered her head differentially, “Apologies Lady Sekhmetara, our Mother is predisposed and wished for no interruptions.” she paused as she raised her head to look the Mithran straight on, “Though I believe you are surely an exception to this request.” She stood and with a few keystrokes at the door controls stepped back as the doors once more opened on tortured hinges, water running into the only recently dry passageway once more as smoke rolled forth from the space between the parting doors.

As the ashen cloud rolled forth from the chamber the gleam of Sekhmetara’s form was momentarily dulled, the demigod standing in the full force of the dark surge as the doors parted. Beyond the momentary pause, there seemed little reaction from the primarch as to this revelation, no question as to the state or cause of the broiling smoke and slough of water. Without another word, the Mithran Primach stepped forwards, her glorious image disappearing into the swell. Given the orders her sister’s legion had attempted to impart on her, she did not feel the need to echo that the chamber be resealed, which the grinding gears of the ship soon spoke truth to her assessment.

Within her helm, the optical interface of her helmet flickered against the darkness, the lenses damaged by the wrathful heat of her eyes it was struggling to process the environment. Her own senses superior to the task, she removed the helm, casting it aside. The priceless artifact of Imperial artifice clattered to the ground, already forgotten as Sekhmetara continued to move forwards. Molten trails of superheated gold rolled down her cheeks, leaving faint burn marks in their wake which would heal long before they could scar. Still, even a Primarch could feel the sting of such heat, and she welcomed the sharpening trickle of pain.

“Sister.” Sekhmetara called out, an unusual tone of vulnerability tainting her words as she sought the Emerald Priestess, not from fear of being lost in the destruction, her own senses guided her well enough, but a more personal pain and fear, of being unwilling to delay their reunion any further. When no response greeted her immediately, the burning light of her eyes flared into existence, bright even through the darkness as twin lines of white-hot fury issued forth from her, burning long arcs in whatever remained of the ship work around her, metal crumpling before her as if it was wood on a fire. “Nelchitl!”

“Sekhmetara.” the voice of Nelchitl answered from somewhere further into the room, her voice discordant as smoke twisted the normally poetic accent of the Emerald Priestess into a flat monotone.

“You push my wishes aside.” the monotone of her voice came again, this time from another direction, the Emerald Priestess no doubt circling her sister in the gloom as Sekhmetara’s gifts flared to life and began to cut through the ruins of the room, “Why?”

“Am I that to you as well? An inconvenience to your wishes?” Sekhmetara seethed into the darkness, the armoured talons of her fingers pressing into the palm of her gauntlets with an audible grind. “Are you not more than my sister? Dawn-of-my-heart? Must I find reason to seek your embrace? Next I wish your company shall I request it through your equerry and join your line of supplicants?” The words tumbled forth from her lips, the first of her dripping tears beginning to sear the tips of her mouth. As she spoke, the light of her eyes blazed brighter, even more so than when she had unleashed her distress.

“I would see you!” She snarled into the darkness before the light surged, a blazing golden halo igniting from Sekhmetara, the long brown curls of her hair blazing into yellow, then molten white as her psychic power coursed through her form, a halo of pure heat and light crowning the scion of the Emperor in her most terrible glory, casting back ever greater amounts of the Darkness.

Fear did not flood the other Primarch in the room as Sekhmetara made her psychic might be known. Instead, the Emerald Priestess stopped her incessant circling of her sister, her face filled only with shame as Sekhmetara’s radiance finally cut through the din of Nelchitl’s destruction.

“For you, my sister, I would steal your bones for another sunrise,” Nelchitl stated quietly where she stood, the shattered mural of their Father her backdrop once more, “To Mictlān and back I’d gladly go, for one more day with you.” She offered the enraged demigod of her sister a genuine smile, though the shame remained as her sister saw the full display of her own outrage in stark color.

Nelchitl stepped away from the mural, crossing the void to her favorite sibling, her radiance painful even to one of the Emperor’s children, “What enrages you so?” She whispered as she brought a hand up to wipe away a molten tear from Sekhmetara’s perfect features, the other coming up to cup her chin as she did, “Rage does not suit you, just as our dear Daena. You’re both far too graceful for it.” she frowned, “It is best left to me.” She added with a small laugh.

As Nelchitl took the searing tear onto her own digit, the gleaming valley of a scar left behind in its wake continued to flicker upon Sekhmetara’s features, even as her skin began to reknit with visible speed, the gleaming after-trail of heat right at the core of the valley through her skin. Still, her hair remained golden-white, heat leaching from it into the air, but of a purer, cosmic tone, fighting awake the choking soot of the rather more mundane destruction belching into the air. “I will feel what I feel, Sister, not even you can turn aside the Sun’s glare, would that I could.” Despite her words, an element of softness crept into her tone. “I failed, I did not do enough for Father to trust me with the burden of his command...and now the jackals will rend our Sister’s flesh instead of mine.” She did not hide the competing twists of envy, concern, and shame that wracked her from her dearest sister. How else could she see it? For a moment she had control between their warring siblings, but her Father and Sister had allowed them to resort to greater violence. The discord would fester, only because her father had not been able to place the burden upon her.

“Why must they all act like savages and machines!? What hearts do they have?” Her rage flared again, this time without the tears of loss, air hissing into steam before the molten orbs of her eyes as her vision focused on her sister. “You feel it too, this disbelief, this is why you are here, why we find ourselves rooted in destruction.” She spoke, without any judgment, her own touch finally reaching for her sister, embracing the shorter Primach with a force that would shatter mortal humans.

Wrapped up in Sekhemetara’s embrace Nelchitl stood, pain etched on her features as her beloved sister’s anger burned at her every exposed bit of flesh, yet she remained. Her own hands came to rest at Sekhmetara’s armored back as her sister’s anguish was made known.

“He has His reasons Sekhmetara…” she began, her gaze moving to attempt to look into the radiance of her sister’s features, “that Daena is Warmaster and not you, I can not say why. But He must.” her gaze faltered as the afterimage of Sekh was burned into her corneas, her face shying away from Sekh as she pushed softly off of the burning ember of a demigod.

“Were things different, had I [i]known[/i], maybe we could have petitioned him. A united front that our beasts of brothers and sisters never could have managed…” she sighed and turned to the mural behind her, the hydraulic fluid still leaking down the gash in His image as it had since she had created the wound.

“But we did not know, and He did not ask our input.” she frowned as the heat of Sekhmetara continued washing over her, “I can not offer you answers Sekh, but I can offer you release, though temporary,” she said as she beckoned to the destroyed chamber around them.

With careful slowness, Sekhmetara released her hold on Nelchitl, stepping away from her, frowning slightly at the pain her presence caused her ‘younger’ sibling. “No, there are no answers.” She sighed, before the burning light of her eyes and halo finally faded, leaving only the low gleam of her searing white hair. The elegant primarch lent down, her taloned gauntlets claiming the twisted remains of what could once have been half a cogitator, weighing the hefty warped body of metal with an evaluating raise of her eyebrow. “But we can always finish what you’ve started.” Before, with a cathartic shriek of frustration, the Mithran primarch cast the great weight into the darkness of the smog, a thunderous crash heralding its landing.

“There are always answers,” Nelchitl whispered to her Father as she the cogitator disappeared into the smoke. With the resounding crash of the machine's further demise, she turned to Sekhmetara, a smile on her face and excitement in her eyes as she hefted a shard of masonry off the floor. With a yell, she sent the piece flying, careful to miss what remained of the mural, and watched contentedly as the stone smashed into the bulkhead shattering into pieces and shear ornamental metal from the wall.

“Then sister,” she stated as she meandered over to an already badly damaged ornamental column, “you worry too much, our dear Angel will survive, as she always has!” she exclaimed as she placed a kick to the center of the pillar. Supports in the floor gave way at the strength of a demigod, the pillar tumbling down nearly whole as wires sparked and the work of artisans long dead was dashed through water and broken tiling.

“Perhaps! And while Daena is busy attending to the whining of our siblings, we can earn ourselves greater glory, the worlds of the galaxy open before us! None shall conquer as we shall conquer, and none shall again.” Sekhmetara roared again, although this time some good humour flooded her declaration, even as Sekhmetara tackled herself through the stone wall of another mural, one not so dedicated to her father’s likeness, the stone powdering before her like plasterboard, the Mithran primarch sprawled laughing boisterously in the rubble. “Why do you not have wine sister!? Have I taught you nothing?” She laughed, throwing a piece of rubble at her sister, masonry with enough force to shatter mortal bone expended like snow on a child’s playground.

Stone dusting across her Nelchitl turned with a laugh on her lips, “Of course I have wine, I learned much of it above Praxia and when we first met, though the servants are far too terrified to bring it to me now.” she admitted as she lazily tossed a piece of stone at her sister's recumbent form.

“But we can try to get some.” she offered as she loped over to a panel on the wall. With a few flicks of her fingers, she let out a defeated sigh and placed her entire fist through the panel.

“I swear that one was broken earlier.” she admitted as she turned to face the door, “WINE.” she bellowed, knowing full well that those outside would hear her, “Happy now Sekh?”

“Then they are terrible servants.” Sekhmetara laughed, the impact of the stone on her armour barely registered to the demigod as she pulled herself to her feet, dust falling from her in patterns that swirled in the air, her eyes casting around the room. “A bottle or two and I’ll have already designed you a much ‘nicer’ room to replace this one.” The Mithran primarch’s eyes narrowed on Nelchitl for a moment, the look of the huntress surpassing that of the diplomat, before she sprung into action, the full force of her impacting with Nelchitl’s own, ceramite crashing into ceramite with force that echoed through the chamber greater than all previous impacts. Nelchitl was the Emperor’s blade and held perhaps first claim among the warriors of the Emperor in martial skill, but many forgot who had first taught her to hunt among the stars. 

There was no duel, no trade of weapons, but in attempting to bring Nelchitl to the ground Sekhmetara pulled no force, throwing her might into wrestling her sister down, seeking to pin her before whatever poor soul was volunteered for this duty found the wine.

In a beat of her hearts, Nelchitl found herself in a position she had not expected as her sister hit her at full force. “So rocks weren’t enough!” she laughed as she brought her armored arms around her sister’s own armored form. She fought for purchase on the destroyed floor of the room, her boots clipping over the wet steel in a trail of sparks. With a thought, she could have maglocked herself in place, stripped Sekhmetara of her momentum, but that idea would be no fun. It would be to her like Micholi, winning off technicality as he prised Nelchitl from the ring.

With a roar of laughter, the Emerald Priestess instead dug the toe of her boot into the deckplating, steel and tile peeling away like steel before a powersword. She found purchase then as her foot smashed into some sort of support beam, and with a roar lifted her sister up as she threw her own weight backward.

Sekhmetara’s laugh continued through the catastrophic violence of their wrestling, even as she was lifted backward, the Primach pausing only to brace herself for the impact before she struck the deck, the weight, and force of her form cracking through the floor with a blow that would entirely snap a human in half, let alone break their back. But for her, the delay from which she responded was negligible, her long legs reaching up to grasp Nelchitl around the waist even as her sister held on with her arms, attempting to use the strength of her lower body to flip them back around.

“Nothing is ever enough sister! That is our destiny!”

With fire in her eyes, Nelchitl scrambled to release herself from Sekhmetara’s grappling even as she barely finished slamming her demigod of a sister into the deck with bone-jarring force. She writhed as the Huntress brought her legs about her, strength and position threatening to end the match before even a half a minute had passed. But the Emerald Priestess would never throw in the towel so easily.

With Sekhmetara lifting the two of them back over, Nelchitl twisted her armored form between her sister’s grasp, her arms wrenching out to take one of Sekhmetara’s own legs tight against her chest as she spun in a death roll like that of the Crotalids of Ixhun, the armored demigod spinning and twisting far too fast for her size.

Then as the armoured forms churned upon the ground at speed beings of their scope should have found impossible, even the smoothness of their armoured forms sparked with friction and tension upon the metallic ground, the unsurmounted artifice of their plate proving far superior to the rudimentary construction of the Imperial Navy, great gouges ripped in the flooring of metal and stone.

Sekhmetara could feel her leg being pulled out of position long before it occurred, the tension of the force registering in her mind in a moment and perfectly mapping where such force would place her form. Knowing and being able to do anything about it were two rather different matters. There were a thousand and one ways to finish this fight, but most resorted to violence well beyond the nature of their sparring. She drew out the fight as much as she could, knees and fists finding weaker points in Nelchitl’s armoured form, the crushing power of her legs brought tight around her sister to the point of putting her ceramite clad form under creaking strain, but eventually, the rolling force of Nelchitl brought them to a steady halt, the Mithran primarch pinned beneath her sister, panting with strain and effort, but still a wide grin of enjoyment upon her features.

“If only your pilots flew as well as you fought sister, you’d stop crashing into the side of spaceports.” She laughed, flopping fully back on the ruined deck. “I wonder if the sound of battle has delayed the wine.”

“The wine!” Nelchitl called with a victorious laugh as she rolled away from Sekhmetara and came to stand. Offering a hand to help her sister up she swatted the air between them with the other, “My pilots fly well enough, very good at improvising too.” she joked as she relived the bone-jarring crash at the citadel above Praxia some time ago, “And you should seem them in action when there is something to kill rather than avoid.” she beamed as she gloated over her daughter’s abilities.

There was a wrap at the broken door before it began its painful opening, and though no one entered the room, two pitchers of the sweet wine Sekhmetara was so fond of were deposited just within the threshold of the room before the door closed on its tortured hinges.

“And the wine finally arrives,” Nelchitl exclaimed happily as she scooped both pitchers from the floor and pressed one into Sekhmetara’s hands.

No sooner had the wine been placed in Sekhmetara’s hand than an impressive portion of the pitcher’s contents were downed by the taller of the sisters, the graceful length of her neck somewhat less elegantly heaving with the force of her thirst before she let out a long sigh, grinning to her sister as she finished drinking, wafting the pitcher in her direction in the manner a mortal might direct a glass to bring attention.

“You missed the best part of my party, dearest one, those arrogant glory seekers, the Legio Mortis, being forced by father to kneel to me, and only me.” She snickered, sipping more conservatively, “Perhaps that was meant as some sort of jest by father or Malcador, about my own nature.” She snickered, brushing some of the debris from her armour as she struck a decidedly imperious pose, interrupted only by another gulp of wine. “Still, if their jibes earn me the greatest of the Titan Legions, I will wear them and be thankful, and bask in the bitter tears of the Cult Mechanicum.”

"No party could compare to company such as this." Nelchitl laughed as she motioned to the remainder of the destroyed chamber about them as she settled into the familiar tones of Sekhmetara's musings.