Imperium Ascendant

Chaos Interludes - Part 1: Sicarius

Location: The High Temple of the Four Phases - Maccragge
Date: ???


Aeonid Thiel knew that this time he was correct. He was about to die.

That was a natural part of life in Ultramar Tenebrae. And he had come to think of Death as a constant companion during his life. When he was a young boy, and the cult his parents were a part of was destroyed by acolytes of another Phase, he thought he was going to die. But it was not so. Aeonid was taken in by their ranks, learning of the power and beauty that came from worshipping more than one Phase.

Next, he thought he would die when he was selected to be one of the Chosen. Everyone called it a blessing, saying that he would ascend to join the mighty Iskur Hordes. Aeonid was a fool to believe them, but he did. Those illusions were shattered when he saw dozens of boys that were chosen alongside him die horrible, twisting deaths as they drank from the ever-flowing chalice of corrupted blood. But Aeonid did not. He survived his predicted doom.

He was certain he would perish during the flesh changes though. He could see his future corpse clearly in his mind's eye. The sorcerers were effective in their ways, and could change flesh with no more than a chant and a flick of their hands. By the gods they were powerful though! The pain almost killed Aeonid, but he was wrong again. The flesh-changes did not bring about his death, but they did make him into a towering hulk of cruel and effective muscle. He was a member of the Iskur Hordes now, and the enemies of Chaos would tremble before him!

But as he grew in power, he was sure he would die in the many conflicts his warband was sent into. Chaos in Ultramar Tenebrae offended those in the Eye of Terror and the Maelstrom, so wars were fought to ensure none could threaten the realm that Korban the Eversacrifice had wrought. Surely some Khornate Berserker would lop off his head, or he would be devoured by a swarm of Nurgle-blessed flies, but it never happened. Instead he fought and he fought, he schemed and he schemed, and he eventually found himself as the Bloodsworn of his Horde, second only to the Warchief.

This, surely, would be his end. He would either die defending his warchief, or he would be killed when that same warchief grew jealous of his growing power and sought to eliminate a potential rival to his power. Yet when that duel came, it was Aeonid who eventually emerged victorious, and found himself standing while hundreds of the Iskuri knelt before him in submission. Soon those hundreds turned into thousands, and the stars bled and wept as he tore across them. Still he did not die.

And so the threat of death receded, but Aeonid Thiel's imagination did not. He imagined his death countless ways, and that saved his life multiple times. Every single time a Bloodsworn tried to make a play for his throne, Aeonid defeated him, for he had envisioned it countless times in his head. The other Warchiefs marveled at the longevity of the leader of the Crimson Spear Horde, and when they had occasion to be on the same side of a conflict, they would ask him about how he did it.

Aeonid Thiel was not a shy man, and felt no need to lie to them. He had anticipated this scenario as well, so he told them. He told them about how he constantly envisioned his death, and how over time, those visions had mutated. Now he had waking dreams about not only his death, but the death of everyone he met. The moment he met a person, he had already planned out exactly how he was going to kill them. And the more time he spent around that person, the more ways he dreamt of to end their life.

At first, the others were amused. It was a clever, almost cute bit of paranoia, worthy of a servant of Tzeentch. But there was also the brutality of Khorne at work here. The despair of inevitable death that Nurgle brought. Even the cruelty and pride of Slaanesh found a purchase in what Thiel did. And so their laughter soon turned into contemplation, and then into participation. Before long, the warchiefs were holding regular meetings together, coming up with more and more intricate plans to kill anyone they could imagine.

None of them had Thiel's talent, so they perished. One by one, the Warchief of the Crimson Spears found himself alone again, with all of his planning. Still, his allies had been very helpful, for they had given him more resources. Soon the planning increased. It wasn't just individuals anymore, it was institutions. Cult hierarchies had weaknesses he could expose. Industries could grind to a screeching halt with a few carefully placed bolter rounds. Ultramar Tenebrae was a living creature to Aeonid Thiel, and he knew just where to hit it to end its life.

And then the summons came. He was commanded to come to the High Temple of the Four Phases on Macragge, and that was not a request that one refused, not even if they were a Horde Warchief. Clearly someone, or perhaps even something of great importance had discovered his macabre pastime. It wasn't surprising that they had found it. No, Aeonid had seen how that might have happened long ago. There were too many powerful people and organizations that he had made plans for it to have gone unnoticed forever. It had been an incredible life, and he was grateful to have lived it. He'd become bored actually. There was nowhere for him to ascend above Warchief, and he hadn't truly felt any risk in his life for decades. If there was such a thing as a good death in Ultramar Tenebrae, he hoped this was it.

The temple itself was as terrifying as it was beautiful. Art that no sane mind could withstand decorated the ceiling that seemed to be higher than physically possible and statues which seemed to move out of the corner of a gazer's eyes dedicated to multiple aspects of the Four Phases dotted alcoves. At the far end of the temple, atop a set of stairs, sat an altar stained black with the literal ocean of blood that had been spilled on its surface. Behind it were two thrones on either side of a massive stone slab. The only reason that the slab itself wasn't a throne was that its occupant was far too big for any such throne, and its body was not designed to sit.

Korban the Eversacrifice peered down at the Iskuri, his emotions obscured by chitin, warped flesh, and corroded metal. Despite not being able to sense much about the High Priest's intentions, Aeonid could see the ravenous hunger and madness that lay within the creature's eyes. It longed to devour the warchief, just as it longed to devour literally everything else that was within its sight. But this was not some sort of mindless hunger. No, this was a cold and calculating thing. Something that the two of them shared in common.

"Come, Warchief." the Eversacrifice beckoned, motioning with its claw for Aeonid to stand before it. It's voice was raw, reminding Thiell of the scraping of metal and other discordant sounds. "Step forward and let us talk."

Aeonid moved to where he was requested to, curious as to what was going on. The other two seats, dedicated to the other members of the Triumvirate, were empty. It was just Korban and himself within the temple at the moment. It was curious, because whenever a Warchief was to be censured or killed for their actions, all three members needed to be present. Iskur Hordes were powerful things, the greatest warriors in all of Ultramar, but such power could lead to conflict and disruption. Such things weren't desirable for the denizens of that hellish realm, so the Triumvirate let the Hordes do as they pleased, as long as they did not interfere with the Great Work. To punish them, all three had to be in an agreement, in order to prevent civil war from bleeding their numbers dry.

"I have heard all sorts of things about you." Korban continued, peering down at the relatively diminutive Iskuri. "But I would like to hear them directly from your own mouth before I pass my judgement."

"I am good at killing." Aeonid Thiel said with a shrug of his shoulders, relying on the wards that were inlaid in his armor to keep him from going insane as he gazed upon his overlord. "So good, in fact, that I know how I kill everyone that I meet."

"Including myself?"

"Yes."

"Pray tell, how would you do it?"

"Kill you?"

"Please, tell me."

"I have multiple ways I would go about doing such a thing." the Warchief said. "You are no mortal creature, so many ways involve simply imprisoning you, not killing you outright. Censuring a Warchief without the approval of your counterparts so that you are imprisoned, or perhaps framing you for trying to usurp one of the Four. I was raised on stories of what happened to Skarbrand. Perhaps that could be your fate. Killed in all but name as everything that once made you what you are is stripped from you."

"Fascinating. Truly fascinating." Korban replied with a chuckle. "Go on, please. Tell me how you would truly kill me."

"Rangdan Theophages are always an option." Aeonid continued, feeling his excitement rise as he finally communicated with another being who could appreciate what he was doing here. "But if I truly wanted to kill you, I would use the Warp itself. Our scouts found something on Sotha, something that acts like the Firetide of the Enemy. I plant that under your throne, and I duel you here with a dead man's switch in my hand. I take you out with me, and my soul is eradicated so it can't be used as a plaything by four gods who are going to be very mad that I just killed their favorite toy."

Korban the Eversacrifice stared at him for a moment. The creature had sacrificed his humanity long ago, making dark pacts with beings so alien to human sanity that to infer anything from its eldritch features was to court madness. The sheer intensity of its gaze made Aeonid wary, but the fear had been burned from him long ago, back when he had been uplifted and ascended into the mightiest warriors in the galaxy.

Eventually, the High Priest of the Four Phases laughed. He bellowed and cackled enough to make the pillars of the temple shake, as if the gods themselves were laughing along with Korban. They were pleased. What was happening here was to their liking, and Aeonid Thiel was not sure whether the pleasure of those unknowable creatures was something that he wanted to have.

"Good... good..." Korban the Eversacrifice mused, its mandibles twitched with pleasure as a diseased chuckling escaped from its throat, the dying embers of a raucous laughter. "My, what a singularly vicious and effective soldier you are. A testament to our improvements to the Great Enemy's design. But you are called to a higher purpose, Iskuri. I will be the one who shows it to you."

Aeonid's interests were piqued. Another prediction, and another failure. He wasn't going to be dying today. The Four had need of his services in killing someone. That alone would be interesting.

"As for the service in question, you are no fool." the High Priest said. "We ask for your services in killing an enemy. We have many servants who can kill when commanded, but none with your level of talent. This task will require literal millenia of planning, and a tenacity to improvise when solution after solution proves to be fruitless. You will be tested in ways you have never dreamed, but you will also have power that few ever imagined."

It wasn't even a question of desire. Aeonid knew that this is what he had been waiting for, perhaps what he had even been made for. He just hoped that he could live up to the expectations.

"I am yours to command, Eversacrifice." he intoned, dropping to one knee as he bowed his head. "Where will you send me? To the Eye of Terror, or the Maelstrom?"

"Neither. Your target is Imperial."

He could not hide his surprise as he raised his head with a questioning look. Imperial? With a plan that would take thousands of years? Those fools weren't immortal, not like those that had embraced the enlightening truth of the Four. That narrowed his targets down considerably, as the Great Enemy had precious few immortals among their ranks. In fact...

"Which of the Twenty Princes am I killing?"

"None." Korban replied with a wicked grin.

"Forgive me then, my Prophet, but I don't understand who I am to-"

"Your target is the Great Enemy, Aeonid Thiel of the Crimson Spears." Korban the Eversacrifice. "We cannot touch him, we cannot even bear to look at him, for he is the Anathema to us. But you... you have a small bit of him within you, though it has been perfected by our craft. You may understand him in ways we cannot, think of ways to harm him we cannot, and perhaps help us understand the nature of his power that is so alien to what we are. Kill the Emperor of Mankind. Slay the Anathema!"

All Aeonid Thiel could do was nod. His mind was racing with possibilities.

"The Enemy is about to complete their great campaigns. The Rangda and the Orks are no match for them. Their armies will stretch to every corner of the galaxy, save for our strongholds which they cannot penetrate. It is this confidence that will be their undoing. For in their time of great peace, you will be watching, recording, and waiting. And in time, that hubris will expose weaknesses that you will show to us. And when our time is right, the armies that are being prepared even as we speak will be unleashed upon the galaxy! The Anathema will fall, his arrogant princes will fall, their Imperium will crumble, and you shall help us usher in a new era where Chaos stands triumphant!"

With a flick of his claw, Korban the Eversacrifice infused Aeonid with power beyond anything the Iskuri had witnessed. He felt strong. Strong and energetic. He would live forever now, free from the grasp of age and infirmity. There were so many other powers he had been blessed with too, lurking just beneath the surface. Only time would tell what they were, and he couldn't wait to test them out for himself.

"You are Warchief of the Crimson Spears no longer." Korban intoned. "You are now our Hunter, our Assassin. On this world, long before I blessed it with my presence, the lords of this land would use assassins such as these to kill their enemies, to usurp their power and bring about their patron's glory. Men such as these were called a "dagger-man", or "sicarius" in your old tongue. And so you shall be too. Rise, and fulfill your destiny, Sicarius of the Four Phases!"

"Thank you, Most Holy Prophet. I shall not fail you." Aeonid Sicarius replied. "And rejoice, for today is a most special day. For it is today that marks the beginning of the Anathema's demise."

"And I know just where to begin."